#so even though i burned out so hard i feel dead inside a lot of the time. at least i can create THE most baffling sharkuda jersey collectio | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jasonswhitetuftofhair · 2 months

Text

“Come at me, Baby”

Characters/Pairings : Jason Todd (Red Hood) x female!reader.

Synopsis : Jason and Reader spar and after training things get steamy filthy.

Content Warnings : SMUT. Slow burn. Poor writing. Lots of plot. Training/Sparring (reader learns combat). Curse words. Pet names. Overstimulation. Multiple orgasms. Protected sex. Size kink (barely noticeable). Oral (fem rec.). Fingering. Dry humping. Use of object as toy (Jason uses a muscle massage gun on you). Vaginal intercourse. Light bondage (Jason ties your hands w/ resistance bands). Reader insert (sorry). Aftercare.

Fandom : DC, Batman.

Word Count : 5202

Author’s Notes : First fic I’ve written. Like ever. Also, this is a repost; I originally posted this for the first time in October 23’ but I deleted it in December 23’ due to insecurity.

This week had been tiring. Multiple meetings, a lab breakout scare, a few late night patrols all on top of studying the material you’d been given had started to add up. All you wanted was to retire for the night, go to your room and take a nice, relaxing, long, hot bath. Gorge yourself with junk food and put your show on, and then sleep like the dead. But no, tonight called for an evening training session with your training instructor.

Jason. Jason Todd. Before you had entered the gym, you weren't sure if you would be up to train tonight. But watching him enter the double doors with his hot-as-hell all black tactical pants, skin tight athletic t-shirt and combat boot ensemble quickly made you reconsider. As if it was hard.

Ever since Bruce had finally gotten Jason to accept his proposal of conducting training sessions with everybody, you’ve been feeling like a sitting duck. You had been trying to hide your feelings from the older vigilante for a while now. A while as in since you first arrived at the manor. Nearly eight months had you been stumbling around whenever he was near, barely making eye contact and feeling like an idiot because of him. And you had been succeeding, too! Barely, but still. He didn't know anything and now with your new arrangement, how could he not pick up on the vibes you were sending out? It was only a matter of time before your feelings were compromised and you were left heartbroken and feeling like a fool, your friendship with him long gone.

It wasn't so bad, though. You had always been good at adapting and Jason wasn't necessarily bad on the eyes. It was kind of fun, too. His little dry humored remarks, shared inside jokes and just…him, made him good company. After all, he was your friend. You haven't known him long, but it still felt like you’ve known him forever. But that was the problem. Your friendship with him was too much of a treasure to have it be risked just because of a little crush. You’d rather be plagued by the overwhelming melancholy of your predicament than not have him at all. If the only way you could allow yourself to indulge in the feel of his hands on your body was when he was training you in combat, then that was something you were okay with settling for.

“Earth to Y/N. Um hellooooo, you there?” Jason’s equally teasing and concerned words pulled you from your trance you hadn't even realized you’d fallen into.

Your embarrassment quickly appeared on your face and didn't go unnoticed by him. “Yes! Sorry, I’m here.” Having been snapped out of your thoughts, you noticed that Jason had you held against him mid-air. You threw a punch at him, but he of course dodged it so you did what you first thought next. You tried to kick him in his side but he quickly grabbed your ankle and gently but strongly twisted it so that your body changed direction. Before you could lose balance and fall he grabbed your other thigh and caught your body against his, holding you to him. You didn't react at all, though, and his initial thought was that he crossed a line he didn't know of and did something to upset you. He called your name and you didn't answer the first time so he paused the lesson and brought you back to him.

He was a little worried, honestly. He knew you to be like this, often catching you staring off into space and likely daydreaming or stuck in deep thought. It was your expression, though. The mild sorrow, a little bit of adoration shining in those pretty eyes he loved so much, too.

“You sure? We can take a break if you need it,” he offers, gently smiling at you, “is everything okay? I didn't hurt you, did I?” he asks worriedly. Gazing into his eyes, your heart almost swells up. He looks so genuine, like it would hurt him if he hurt you and you let yourself pretend it's for other reasons. “Yes, I’m fine, promise. Just have a headache s’all.” It's enough to relax him just the slightest but he doesn't believe you. Your body language is just not convincing enough. He finally puts you down and lets his eyes skim all over you. He tells himself it's to check for signs of discontent or injury, but he knows he can't lie to himself. Youre just too fucking beautiful. He shakes himself out of it before the blood rushes south and gets back to the lesson.

“So. You really need to get out of the habit of kicking. It can't be your first instinct, sweetheart. You're exposing an entire limb to the enemy and you're not skilled enough yet to counter whatever it is they plan on doing. I know it's hard, but you need to really start implementing your upper body strength,” he explains to you, occasionally letting his fingers linger on your skin when showing you what the enemy could potentially do to you. You truly appreciate how gentle and accommodating he is when it comes to teaching you. You’ve seen him train with the others and sometimes his harsh tone is enough to make you jump even when his words are directed to someone else. He’s been so patient with you and the thought of him going out of his way to train your aversion-to-fighting self makes your heart flutter. You nod along with him, letting him know you haven't gone off to La La Land again.

“Alright. Come at me, honey,” he orders while positioning himself in the default defense stance. Legs strong, but ready to move. Arms by his side ready to catch and balance. Core strong and taut, chest puffed. Eyes on you, just as he likes it. He finds it adorable how clueless your little expression is. Eyes wandering all over the place, arms trying to find a good way to support yourself and legs waddling to their correct position. Like a baby deer learning how to walk. He hears your little words of encouragement to yourself and watches your eyes, watching the gears turn in your brain. While his focus is stuck on your pretty face, he doesn't notice your left hand curling behind you while you spin yourself around, pressing your back to his front. He grunts and catches your right hand before it can land around his bicep. You quickly move your feet backward and jump behind him, putting all your strength into kicking his back hamstring, but he’s already several steps ahead of you. He turns around before your foot can land and grabs your ankle, destabilizing your legs and grabbing your wrists, holding them tight in his right hand.

This of course leads his mind to other things, things that would involve this very position. You curl your leg around his stretched leg and twist your body around, landing you on top of him. Your legs straddling his abdomen and palms resting on his waist. He doesn't mind at all, though and senses a pause in your movement. He notices your tired expression, your flushed face and neck, the sweat on your hairline, neck and brow. You jump, as if just now realizing the position you had him in. You move to sit next to him and he moves into a sitting position, no longer back to floor. You flash him a cheeky grin, happy with yourself for winning this time.

“Did I do good?” you ask him excitedly and he chuckles, your pretty little smile having caused his heart to skip a beat. ‘Did I do good?’. That phrase would be on repeat in his brain for a little while, he could tell. The way you seeked his approval caused his groin to stir and he stood up, quick to distract himself.

“You did. I’m proud, that was much better. We’re gonna focus on your upper torso, now, okay?” He guides you to stand and places his hands on either sides of your shoulders, guiding you to stand in front of him. “I'm gonna throw at you, and you're going to block them.” He playfully wiggles his fist in front of you and you grab onto it giggling. Oh how he adores that sound. He sneakily aims and his fist appears next to your collarbone, you move your body out of the way. He does it again, this time it comes next to your left shoulder. You grab his wrist with both hands and block it. He doesn't miss the way you needed both hands to wrap around his wrist. He moves again, fist to the right of your face. Your eyes widen and he shushes you and you relax. You both know he wouldn't make a move to successfully cause you harm.

This goes on and on for what seems like forever. Your stamina has dwindled down a while ago and he can tell how tired you are. He thinks about cutting training early, but for his own selfish reasons he decides against it. He doesn't want your time together to end. Still, you're barely putting in any effort and you're certainly not trying to hide it from your instructor. His eyes haven't left you since the session began and he was very pleased with all the intel he’s received. Your short, panted breaths. The way your cheeks and neck flushed with that pretty shade of pink that suited you so well. Your wide eyes, how they seemed to sparkle under the annoyingly bright lights of the gym. How they seemed to water whenever he stared into them for too long. Your wobbling lip whenever you got a little too into it. How you went out of your way to put both of your hands on him, regardless of if it was beneficial or not. The way you didn't even move out of the way of his punches anymore. You just watched the muscles of his arms flex and wished they were around you instead.

“You gotta put in some more effort for me, princess. I know you can do it,” he tells you, cooing at the way you whine at him, silently wishing he would end training early. He chuckles. “C’mon, block em’, sweetheart.” You roll your eyes and try to muster up whatever strength left in your exhausted body. Your hands meet his and successfully block a hit. He doesn't forget how you rolled your eyes, though. What he wouldn't do to have you bent over his lap for that. He finishes with the punches and leads you to the equipment.

He stands you in front of the power rack looking thing, gripping your waist and holding you up, waiting for you to grab onto the handles on top. “Chin-ups. Fifteen of em’,” he tells you and you groan. He knows you hate chin ups. “Tsk, tsk. C’mon, princess. Don't make it twenty. These help with your shoulder and bicep strength. Use an underhand grip, palms facing you.” You sigh and get into position, starting what he told you to do. You made sure to be as dramatic as possible, though; you were too tired to keep the brat in you at bay. Jason, on the other hand, doesnt try to hide the way he is blatantly staring at your ass, thighs and waist. He burns the image in his mind and moves closer to you, holding onto your waist to make you feel secure.

You huff and sigh out, hoping he’ll give into you. Throughout the entirety of the session, his hands have been on you. His breath has been on your neck. The feel of his body on yours. Him in your proximity. It was frustrating. Having him so close, but far away. Little did you know he felt the same. His hands move to rub encouraging circles into your hips and you whimper out loud, to your embarrassment. He doesn't even try to hide his smirk, though. Once the exercises are done, he holds onto you, purposefully moving his big hands to rest on your ass, bringing you down. You’re done with his teasing and turn around, pressing your palms flat to his chest and keeping him at bay. You signal with your eyes that you’re not in the mood for the teasing and he coos, holding your face between his two hands. “Is there something you want, baby?” you whine and cry out for him trying to hide your face into his chest but he only lifts your chin back up so he can see you. “Come on, sweetheart, if you want something you have to ask for it.” “hmph! I want you to stop teasing me, Jason!” He smiles wickedly and lets you go. “Training is over,” he states simply and you sigh contentedly, walking to the locker room.

Before you can open it, though, Jason’s hand wraps around your wrist and you turn to him. “You didn't actually think I was done with you, did you?” he asks but doesn't wait for an answer. He opens the door to the locker room and guides you into it before locking the door. In an instant you're pressed against the door, cold wood on your back, and Jason’s mouth on yours. It's not much of a fight for dominance, his tongue having beat yours instantly. It feels heavenly. Not just the feel of his tongue in your mouth, tasting yours, but finally all this pent up tension leaving your body. You sigh into the kiss, Jason’s hand comes up behind your neck to grab the hair at the base and you mewl against him.

You were losing oxygen and his kisses traveled from your lips, to your chin, to your jaw, the sweet spot on your neck. His big hands wrapped tightly around your waist and the feel of his open-mouthed kisses on your neck has your jaw slack and breathing uneven. He smiles at the way you look like a puppy with your open mouth and panting, practically drooling.

“This okay, sweetheart?”

You were practically soaking through your panties by now and the tenderness of his words and low pitch of his voice certainly wasn't helping. You nod a yes and throw your head back at the feel of his harsh sucking on your neck and collarbone. He growls and spanks your bottom, “I need words, Y/N,” he commands and you whine out loud yet again. “Yes! Please, need you, Jason,” you tell him and that’s all he needs to hear.

Carrying the two of you, he picks you up and holds you against him. Your legs wrapped against his waist and he sits down on a bench, you still on his lap. His kisses don't stop and the feel is euphoric. His hands haven't stopped roaming your body. The feel of his big hands groping at your soft, supple flesh through the clothing separating you from him combined with just…him, was damn near enough to make you go crazy. You were tugging at his hair and pressing your face against the crook of his neck, desperate to smell his pheromones and your soft lips pressing kisses of your own against his neck had him hard against you already. When you felt his hardness against your tummy you gasped and tugged on his hair a tad bit harder and he moaned against you. Little curses left his mouth and you were seeing stars. Nothing had barely even happened and you were already this close to being admitted into Arkham Asylum.

Suddenly his hands paused their movements and his tone became one of seriousness. He grabbed your chin and forced your face towards his. Your pretty little glossed over eyes shining up into his had his breath hitch and for a split second he forgot what he needed to do. He could see the curiosity on your face, your teeth tugging your lower lip and he had to avert his eyes.

“Fuck, Y/N. I need to tell you something. I-I like you, Y/N. And not just in a friendship way. I understand—” he started but you cut him off, lurching towards him even more and grabbing his head between your hands, kissing him with a force you didn't know you could possess. He could feel you smile into the kiss and he let you have control this time. Not for long, though. He grabbed your hair into his fist and you gasped. “I-I like you, too, Jason. Have for a while now,” you mumbled against him and he grabbed your plump bottom with both hands, bringing your body flush with his. This only fueled the fire, though; his rock hard cock straining against his pants feeling your core against him had him clenching his jaw and closing his eyes, trying to control himself a little bit.

“I like you a lot, Jason. A lot a lot,” you whimpered against his lips and he smiled. You could see the genuinity in his eyes and the softness in his smile. He placed a gentle kiss against your forehead and then one on your nose and finally one on your lips. “I'm glad, sweetheart. Very glad,” and with that he grabbed your hips and shifted your legs a little bit. He forcedly rocked your clothed cunt against his hardness and your eyes closed, head tossed back. It was almost too much, too fucking much. You had been teased all night long and with all this foreplay you weren't sure if you would last. You tried to paw his hands off of your hips and stop your movement, but you just weren't strong enough. His devilish grin staring up at you, his pretty girl, had you whining and grow the ache in your pussy. “Stop, ‘s too much, stop, please, Jay,” you begged against him and all he could do was smile. “Stop? You want me to stop? But I’m not even doing anything, baby,” he teased. He knew he was teasing the damnit out of you. Even as you begged for mercy, there you were, still riding his clothed dick. You couldn't help but follow his lead though, your hips couldn't help but relish in the feeling of his hands tight on them, guiding you back and forth. Even if you wanted to you weren't sure if you could stop. God, it felt so good. Nothing you had ever felt like before. His hands on your hips and his mouth abusing your sensitive skin. The hardness of him grinding directly onto your clit. It was all so amazing.

He could tell you were close. He’s never had you before but he already knew all your tells. Your panting and labored breaths. The way you couldn't keep your eyes open. The stuttering of your hip movement. How you tried to get closer to him, even though you were flush to him. Gasps and whimpers leaving your mouth. Your hands tried to paw his hands away yet again. Think you’d learn the first time. His mouth went right back to sucking marks into your skin and he cooed at you. “C’mon, babygirl. You can do it. I know you need it, sweetheart. Just let go and cum for me,” he softly commanded. Hips following his words, your pace quickened and he ground you down onto him. His own hips jerked up and his cock spanked your core. Within moments the climax unraveled and you let out a screech. The white hot bliss greeted you and the power of your orgasm could be felt in every nerve ending of your body. You shook for a good thirty seconds and your vision went blurry. You slumped against him tiredly and he chuckled. His soothing hands rubbing circles into your back and sweet nothings helped calm you down and your high rode out. You lazily started unbuckling his belt and he grabbed your wrists, stopping you. Oh how you liked the feel of his hands grabbing you like that. “Tsk, tsk, Princess. ‘M not done with you yet.”

In an instant he was untying your shoe laces, kicking them off your feet and forcing your pants down to your ankles. His hands ripped your panties off and you were exposed. The brisk air was biting against your wet cunt and you gasped slightly. He raised you up against the lockers and wrapped your legs around his head, hands planted firmly on your ass holding you midair. The smell of your arousal and the previous orgasm dripping everywhere had him painfully hard. “Tell me if it's too much, baby, and I’ll stop, okay?” You whispered a ‘yes’ and he finally satiated his desire to have your cunt in his mouth. His mouth went straight for your clit and you shrieked at the feeling. His light little sucks on the nub had you rolling your eyes back and jerking your hips. Continuous moans leaving your mouth only encouraging him. He licked a stripe straight up and down the length of your pussy and his own moans left him. You tasted fucking delicious. Like everything he had imagined. All those times he imagined how you’d feel and he was finally fucking seeing for himself. He felt like a kid on goddamn Christmas, his hands tightening his grip on your ass. You were sure there’d be handprints in the morning. His thumb went to rub rough circles on your little bundle of nerves while he thrust his tongue in and out of your weeping hole. You started to cry out for him, hands pushing against his head and fingers gripping his hair attempting to pull him off of your pussy. Absolute the fuck not. He looked to his right and to his luck there was a set of resistance training bands hanging from a hook. He smirked and looked up at your fucked out face and he chuckled to himself. Holding you up with one hand, he reached to his side and grabbed a cable band. You watched his movement and saw what he was doing and your eyes widened. The kinky bitch. “C’mon, princess. Give em to me. Since you don't know how to keep your hands to yourself, I have to take em away from you,” he teased playfully condescending. He tied your hands together behind your back with the workout gear and he hummed satisfied with himself before resuming his meal. He was fucking merciless with his tongue and you soon learned your crush was a borderline sadist. His mouth wrapped around your clit and his sucks were harsh and unforgiving. Like a man starved, he ate you like you were the last source of hope for his soul. His finger started fucking you, too. He started with one but your drenched hole quickly accommodated for more. Soon enough you were on the brink of another orgasm and he forced it from you roughly. “Again, sweetness. You can cum again, cant you? Give me another.”

The orgasm brought tears to your eyes and you wouldn't stop shaking. Your thighs were quaking around his head and your back arched off of the cool metal of the lockers you were propped against. Toes curling, head thrown back, continuous moans and screams leaving your lips. Your second climax of the night arrived and you screamed into the locker room, little sobs leaving your ruined body. He let you ride out your orgasm against his tongue until he was fully content and gently brought you down, placing one last kiss against your lower body. He sucked his fingers that were just shoved inside you, not breaking eye contact with your tired eyes. He placed his forehead against your own and wiped away your tears.

“You okay, baby? Was that too much?” he asked worriedly. He didnt want to fuck up his first time with you and feared he lost control of himself. You smiled tiredly against him and shook your head lightly. “‘M okay, promise. Jus’ need you, Jason.” He smiled and shuffled you towards the mirror and sinks. He took off his shirt and laid it on the edge of one of the sinks he was about to bend you over. You realized it was for your comfort and smiled up at him, feeling your heart swell up. Even when he was about to absolutely obliterate your cunt, he still managed to be a gentleman. He unbuckled his pants and finally his cock sprung up. He sighed, finally feeling relief. He watched you stare at his size through the mirror, seeing your eyes widen and your teeth tug on your lip. He lightly guided you into the position he wanted you in and you sighed contently, feeling comforted by the thought you would finally be fucked by him. Watching him pull a condom out of nowhere and rip it open with his teeth had you on the edge of your seat. He sheathed himself with it and made sure everything was ready. “Ya’ ready for me, sweetheart?” he asked while lining his tip up with your entrance, smearing your wetness all around his head. You gasped and shouted a little “yes” and he chuckled, sinking in. Even with two orgasms loosening your little cunt up for him, he was still a little much to adjust to. Both of your heads tossed back in sync and you closed your eyes, sighing for him. You worked your hips against him, wanting to feel more. He grunted and grabbed you by your hair, bringing your head up to look in the mirror. “Keep your eyes up here, baby.”

Once you were fully adjusted to his size, he slid almost all the way out and then re-entered your warm, wet heat. It felt so good. He set a pace and it was so heavenly. You could cry with how good it felt. You both needed this, needed this release for all the pent up frustrations in your lives. Sounds of flesh smacking against flesh and his grunts and your little sighs filled the room and the smell of sex was heavy in the air. His hands were on either side of your hips and his eyes met yours in the mirror. It was fucking exotic. Seeing your eyes perfectly, watching the pleasure unravel on your face. Pleasure he was giving you. His pace quickened a hair and you gasped. Your hips moved backwards against him, in time with his thrusts. You felt him deeper and the perfect rhythm of his cock repeatedly hitting that spot inside you almost hypnotized you. He smirked a little bit as he watched your fucked out face in the mirror. No thoughts, head empty. It was clear only pleasure was what you felt.

You didn't even notice him reaching above the both of you and retrieving something from the cabinet. Only when you heard the familiar buzzing noise did you wake up from the transe you were in and see what he had in the mirror. A muscle massage gun. For a moment you were a little confused, why was he hurt? Then you felt the big spherical head of the gun against your clit and your eyes rolled to the back of your head for the umpth time that night. He smiled and cooed at you from above. Yeah, he was definitely a sadist. He angled the gun a little bit to the left, wanting to overstimulate your abused little button. His thrusts hadnt ended and it was too fucking much. His pace was faster and harder and deeper now and had you both moaning up a storm. Your hands were finding themselves gripped onto the sink counter and you were struggling to keep your eyes open and in the mirror. He moved the massage gun setting higher and kept it firm against you. Your thighs were shaking and you were glad you were being held against the sink by him. You weren't sure you would be able to keep yourself up if you weren't.

“C’mon, pretty girl. Give me one more, please. I know you can. Cum for me, sweetheart.” You closed your eyes, feeling bliss about to erupt in you again. He quickly corrected you, though. His hand not being used to hold the machine to your clit came up to your throat, squeezing lightly on the sides. Not enough to cause genuine pain or prevent oxygen into your blood, just enough to give you that lightheadedness and in an instant you came on his cock. Your final orgasm was so intense and pleasurable—not surprisingly—and it lasted nearly thirty seconds. He removed the massage gun and returned both hands to your waist. His brutal thrusts as he chased his own orgasm helped you ride it all out. That blissful feeling that lasted longer than your orgasm did. All the stress leaving your body. Finally his sputtering hips stilled as he emptied his hot load into the condom and you whined, half wishing he was emptying himself into your wet little cunt instead. One day.

You both sighed and felt content again. You were sated and had finally gotten what you wanted. His loving palm rubbing circles into your lower belly, soothing you. He peppered light kisses on your skin and slowly slid out of your heat. He turned you around and kissed your forehead. All this loving kissing of his was making you wanna cry, it felt so good. Not just to be fucked right by him, but to have him, too. He was yours, now. And you were finally his. He grabbed your face between his palms and gazed lovingly into your eyes. “You okay, baby? Was that good? I didn't hurt you did I?” You smiled softly and nodded, “Yes, Jay. I'm perfect. You were amazing,” you reassured him with a blush.

He picked you up and sat you on the edge of the counter and got a washcloth from a basket, wetting it under the sink. He wiped the sweat and cum off your body and gave a kiss to each spot after it was clean. He helped dress you and by the time he was carrying you making his way to your room in the manor it was late. He opened your door and locked it behind him, leading you both to your attached bathroom. He undressed you again and turned on the shower. He lightly coaxed you in, seeing as you were so drowsy from all the night’s activities. He undressed himself and got in, lathering your body wash on a loofah and cleaning you. He wanted to make sure his baby was clean and cozy and content. When he was done washing you, he washed himself and enjoyed smelling like you a little too much. He carried you out of the shower and dried you off, clothing you in jammies and then put on some clothes you had stolen from him a while back.

He held you in his arms and you two cuddled each other all night long. You were his now and he couldn't be happier.

805 notes · View notes

stellamancer · 1 month

Text

beyond the unending night (reader + satoru gojo)

notes: it's finally here. the long awaited halloween fic. yes, i know it's march, but i did start working on it in september. haha. there's so much i could say, but i will leave it at that this fic is, in every sense, a fic that i would not normally write. and yet here we are.

contains: f!reader (no physical description or gendered language is used), no explicit romantic pairing (though you don't have to look hard to find the reader x gojo implications), major character death (played with), semi-graphic depictions of death, blood and violence, minor suicide ideation, canon retelling (lines of dialogue are pulled from the jjk english dub because i'm a dirty dub watcher). opening poem is from higurashi no naku koro ni (minagoroshi-hen). fic title is from giga's beyond the way.

please note that this is a time loop fic and, by nature contains repeating scenes (particularly from canon). please do not read this fic if you do not like that sort of thing.

wc: 21,883 read on ao3 (account required) || playlist

Please tell me what happened in this night. It's like the cat inside the box.

Please tell me what happened in this night. You don't know if the cat in the box is dead or alive. Please tell me what happened in this night. The cat in the box was dead.

The first time, it is instant— you don’t even know what’s happening.

The second, it is by flame, but you barely realize it, barely feel it— a second of mind numbing heat before nothing.

The third time, it is something slicing across your throat; you see the blood spilling everywhere, then the pain follows— a moment of pure agony before nothing.

The fourth time you realize what’s going on; what’s really going on.

You realize you’ve been dying.

You think your head is going to explode.

At first, you think it’s because the subway platform is crowded, insanely so— there are hundreds of people shoved into this space alongside you, packed like sardines in a can. You’ve never been one for crowds, but it’s the reality of things when you live in Tokyo. For the most part, you’ve learned to accept it, but even this crowd is a little much and you wish you hadn’t listened to your friends when they said you should go party in Shibuya for Halloween; you don’t even like partying.

There’s a sharp pain in your temple followed by a thought so loud that it feels like someone is screaming it at you through a megaphone positioned right next to your ear.

It’s the night of October 31, 2018— Halloween in Shibuya.

For the eighth time.

Before you can even question the thought, images flash in your mind’s eye, blurry at first before they come into focus. The platform gates open. Chaos ensues. People dropping onto the subway tracks— spontaneously bursting into flame— their heads, necks sliced off, stomachs cut open—

Bile rapidly builds up in your throat, and you clamp your jaw shut, trying to force it down. Not here. Not now. You try to focus on something else, anything else happening outside of your brain. There’s a pair next to you musing about the people standing on the subway tracks, wondering what the two (the four?) of them are talking about. You blink back tears as you look. You can only see two: a freakishly tall man with white hair dressed in all black, and another man, dressed in strange, yet more traditional looking garb. Are those costumes too? You don’t have a lot of time to think about it as another image forces its way into your brain.

Your corpse— lifeless on the ground.

Your corpse— burning to ash.

Your corpse— bleeding out.

You can’t hold it in any more. Every fiber in your being screams at you to get away from the subway tracks, but instead you rush toward them, shoving people left and right as your hands desperately reach the stability of the gate. You grip it like a lifeline as you retch over the side of it, the contents of your stomach spilling all over the subway tracks.

There’s a quiet murmur of disgust behind you but you can’t be bothered to respond. You need to get out of here. You need to leave. You need to do it before—

The gates open and the crowd starts to move like a tidal wave, pushing and shoving their way through the gate. You’re swept away, vomit long forgotten as you and a few dozen others tumble onto the railway.

Alarm bells go off in your brain, loud and deafening. A voice in the back of your head screams for you to get off the track! Get off the track now before—

The platform erupts into a cacophony of screams, drenched in horror, saturated in fear. You are surrounded by people, by corpses— beheaded, sliced open, bursting into flames.

Your terror roots you to the ground as the carnage ensues around you. It’s only when another person, another corpse, dressed in a magical girl costume collides with your body that you can finally move. But it’s too late, you realize, despaired and helpless, as your bodies fall to the ground.

It’s too late.

You die an eighth time.

You think your chest is going to explode.

At first, you think it’s because it’s so hard to breathe, frustratingly so— there are hundreds of people squeezed into this space alongside you, packed like cattle for slaughter. You've never been one for crowds, but it’s the reality of things when you’re in Shibuya. For the most part, you’ve come to accept it, but this crowd is way too much and you wish you had just stayed home and ordered a pizza; though honestly, the thought of pizza kind of makes you sick.

There’s a dull throbbing in your forehead, followed by a thought so loud that it feels like someone’s hollering at you from a loudspeaker that’s been installed in your brain.

It’s the night of October 31, 2018— Halloween in Shibuya.

You think it's the ninth time now.

Behind you, you hear a woman screaming, her voice crazed and terrified. You turn your head automatically to look at her and when you see her you realize you recognize her yellow and white magical girl costume. You can say with certainty that you’ve never seen her before and yet—

Before you can ruminate more on it, images— memories assault your mind’s eye with a clarity that is absolutely sickening. That woman colliding into you, your bodies slamming into the subway tracks before you both— Your stomach churns violently,

and you feel like you’re going to puke, but you force it down— can't afford to right now. Instead, you make your way over to the woman.

Her head is in her hands as she mutters over and over again about how everyone is going to die. People around her figure that being stuck in here with the crowd has probably gotten to her. You, however, know better.

“...hey,” you say softly.

Her muttering comes to an abrupt halt and slowly she raises her head to look at you. There’s a flash of recognition in her eyes and she grabs you violently by the shoulders. “You! You know, don’t you? That we’re going to die?”

If it weren’t for the fact that you have indeed experienced death here eight times already, then you would have thought she’s lost her mind. Slowly, you nod and she seems relieved by it, her grip on you loosening.

You can’t help but feel a little relieved too— glad to know that you’re not the only one experiencing this nightmare. There’s a voice in the back of your mind that’s confused though. Why is she only remembering now? But then again, it took you a few times before you realized yourself.

Around you people start to gasp, and you glance back toward the railway to see an abnormally tall man with white hair and dressed in all black jump down from the atrium onto the railway. He lands rather gracefully for someone who jumped at least one floor and starts to converse with the other three people (you think they're people— two of them are in some pretty wild costumes) on the track.

Wait. Isn’t it supposed to be just two people: the tall man and the one in the traditional clothes? Where did the other two come from?

“We have to get out of here,” the woman says. “Before they kill us.”

Her grip shifts from your shoulders to your arms and she starts to shove at everyone around you, trying to force her way through. She seems to know, just as well as you do, that any second now the gates will open and the crowd will start spilling onto the railway, littering the tracks with bodies and ash. Neither of you can let yourselves get swept up with the rest. If you do and you end up on those tracks, you’re as good as dead.

People move aside at a snail's pace, many of them too focused on trying to see what is going on on the subway tracks. This isn't good. You need to move faster or else—

The collective sound of the gates opening echoes in your head, a metallic hiss that makes your stomach fold into itself. Before either of you can stop yourselves, you both whip your heads back to look, to confirm, but it’s a mistake.

The briefest lapse in attention is enough to pull you both into the current of people, and try as you might to fight against it, the crowd splits you and the woman apart as it swallows you both whole. You’re both spat onto the tracks at the edge of the platform and your head collides with the metal rails of the track. It feels like your skull is about to crack in two, and it takes every fiber in your being to scramble to your feet. You're close enough to the platform that if you can just climb up it, then you'll be—

“Help! Help!”

It’s the woman’s voice. You turn to see that she ended up a couple meters away from you. She’s staring at you, eyes brimming with fear filled tears as she extends her hand in your direction. You take a step toward her, reaching out.

And then, her entire body is engulfed in flames, the skirt of her magical girl costume a ring of fiery death around her.

Her blood curdling scream is the only thing you can hear, her burning flesh, the only thing you can see. You don’t know what to do.

You can’t save her.

There's something touching your back. You can barely feel the pressure, but it's hot, scorching hot, mind numbingly hot, painfully hothothot.

You know this sensation. You have felt it before. The scent of burning cloth, burning hair, burning flesh clogs your nostrils. It's too late, you realize, helpless, despaired as the flames eat at your body— your soon to be corpse.

It's too late.

You die a ninth time.

It’s October 31, 2018— Halloween in Shibuya.

This is the tenth time.

Your head hurts, but you ignore it. There’s something more important that you need to attend to. You immediately make your way to the woman you met during your last round, the one you watched burn to death. Her costume is still pristine, unmarred by fire and death.

For now.

She’s not screaming this time and while there’s a little voice in the back of your mind that’s concerned by this, you try to ignore it.

“Um, excuse me?” you say when she doesn’t acknowledge you as you approach.

The woman turns to look at you. You’re taken aback by the distinct lack of recognition and it feels almost as if the woman you encountered previously and the one before you now are two separate people. In a way, they technically are.

“Do I… know you?” she finally asks when you don’t say anything.

Your mouth is dry. How do you even answer that? You don’t know her. You just watched her die twice. You know her. She begged you for help. You couldn’t save her.

If you explain all of this you know she’s just going to think you’ve lost your mind. Maybe you already have— you’ve died nine times after all.

You give her a weak smile. “I… just wanted to tell you that you think your costume looks great.”

She blinks, taken aback by your words. There’s no doubt that she wasn’t expecting you to say that. It’s the truth though, her costume is nice; she’s dressed up as a character from a magical girl anime that was popular a couple years ago.

“Thank you! I made it myself!” The woman breaks out into a genuine smile and your heart hurts. In a few moments she’ll die and the costume she worked so hard to make will be nothing but ash on the subway tracks.

“Sorry,” you blurt out before you can stop yourself.

“For?”

For watching her die. For not being able to save her.“...I just kind of came up to you all of a sudden…”

She laughs. “It’s okay.”

It’s not.

You consider telling her that she should try to move. That if she stays here she will die. You don’t want her to die. Again. You can still hear her screaming in your ears as she burned to death. You want to tell her.

You don’t.

“Stay safe, okay?” you say. It almost sounds like you’re begging.

She gives you another smile, kind and gentle and you think you’re far too undeserving of it for not telling her what fate will soon befall her. “You too.”

“I’ll try,” you say and move away from the woman just as the gates open and the crowd surges toward the railway. You do not fight it as you are swept up into the crowd and despite what you said, you do not try, this time, to stay safe.

You die for the tenth time.

It’s October 31, 2018— Halloween in Shibuya.

This is the fourteenth time.

There’s a slight ache in your head, but it’s subtle enough that you can ignore it. The pain you feel lessens with each round and you think it’s a sign that your body no longer feels the need to remind you of the precarious situation that you’re in.

Or maybe you are just becoming numb to everything: your death, the death of the people around you, the death of the woman in the magical girl costume—

You try not to think about it too much as you reach into your bag to check the time on your phone: 8:37PM. There’s not a lot of time: you need to move.

At the very end of your last attempt to escape this nightmare you realized something. You need to know exactly what is going on around you so you can plan accordingly: where to not stand, where to not go. Up until now, you’ve relied almost solely on the knowledge gained from your previous failures to try and survive, but obviously it’s not enough to keep you alive. You’re not sure why you didn’t realize this earlier. The panic, maybe? The fear?

Maybe you really are becoming numb to all this.

Unlike previous iterations, this time you elect to move closer to the gate, positioning yourself somewhere against it where you’re unlikely to be pushed off the platform in a couple minutes when they open. You take great care to place yourself where you can see the ones responsible for the slaughter very clearly. At the beginning, you could only see one, the one who looks the most human, but with each repetition, the other two have become more and more clear. You wonder why. You don’t have time to think about it.

Murmurs nearby alert you to the arrival of the fourth major player involved in the night’s events. You look up and see the white haired man dressed in all black descending upon the platform like an angel from the heavens. This is your first time really looking at him and you realize there’s something almost inhumanly attractive about him. You can’t quite put your finger on it, but it occurs to you that you shouldn’t even try; you don’t have the time to be drooling over some handsome stranger.

You’ve naturally never taken the time to try and listen to whatever the conversation the man and his opponents have before all hell breaks loose on the platform, but you try and lean closer to listen. It’s hard to hear over the dozens of conversations going on behind you, but you try anyway. There might be a clue to what’s actually going on— or better yet, a clue on how to get out of it.

It’s obvious that you’re missing context from what bits of the conversation you do manage to hear, but honestly it all sounds like stuff out of a shounen battle manga. There is one part of the exchange that you manage to hear with a startling sort of clarity. It feels almost as if your heart stops beating as your blood turns ice cold in your veins.

“If I run away, you’re just gonna kill everyone here, right?” the man in black asks.

There’s a pause, and if your heart was still beating it’d be long enough for just four heartbeats.

“If you run away?” The monster with cane repeats, the sadistic grin spreading wide across its features, displaying its charcoal black teeth. The gravelly sound of its voice sets fire to the blood in your veins, your stilled heart thumping wildly, in fear, in anticipation. Soon. It’s happening soon. You brace yourself. “We’re going to do that even if you don’t!”

You die a fourteenth time.

It’s October 31, 2018— Halloween in Shibuya.

This is the seventeenth time now.

Things are going surprisingly well, even as the people around you tumble onto the tracks. You manage to hold on, desperation keeping you from falling into the abyss. This is good, you tell yourself, despite the fact that it’s not the first time you’ve achieved this. Every little victory is worth celebrating, but you have to remain vigilant. This is yet another information gathering loop, and while you know that maybe this time you’ll be lucky and live, there’s still a chance, a big one, at that, that you will die again.

You have to make the most of each and every death.

It’s such a morbid thought, but the ends justify the means, or so you tell yourself. If you have to die a few times to make it out of this unending nightmare, then so be it.

The spot you’re in is a good vantage point; it’s easier to see everything happening below you. It’s so good that it’s actually sickening. You watch as the monster with the cane and one with what looks like branches for eyes slaughter the people on the track, mowing them down, setting them aflame. In another life, in another many lives, that was you down there, and for what feels like the first time in forever, you feel like you’re going to be sick. You feel like, at some point, you likened the scene before you to some kind of shounen battle manga, but you think that was wrong.

This is borderline horror.

Everything plays out before you like a scene out of an action horror flick. If you didn’t know better, you’d think you were just an extra on set, but you know the reality is that you’re just an extra to whatever phantasmal battle is taking place in front of you. The monsters and the strangely dressed man all try to attack the man in black, but he manages to block every hit effortlessly, as if he is protected by some sort of invisible barrier. When it seems the two monsters are about to hit him, he merely jumps out of the way and the two monsters seem to collide, the force of their combined strength sending a gust of air throughout the crowd. The man in black neatly lands on a nearby platform half wall and says something about curse users, whatever those are, to the monsters, before he starts to mock them, pulling down his strange blindfold in the process.

And this, you’ve found, is where you start to get in trouble.

You clearly remember thinking, at some point, previously, that there was something attractive about this man. You still don’t know what it is. You haven’t had the time to try and figure it out, but there is one thing that you do know: you can’t keep your eyes off of him.

He drops back down onto the tracks, antagonizing his opponents in an arrogant tone as he approaches. When he comes to a stop between the two monsters, the second round of their fight begins. They try to hit him, but he dodges still, gracefully, fluidly, like the three of them are embroiled in some sort of passionate, yet violent dance.

You cannot turn your eyes away as he cruelly rips off one of the arms of the one-eyed monster.

You cannot turn your eyes away as he brutally kicks the branch-eyed monster in the abdomen, sending them flying to the other side of the platform.

You cannot turn your eyes away as he effortlessly hurls the one-eyed, now one-armed monster in the same direction, sending them smashing into the wall.

Only when the man in black seems to fly to the other side is the spell over you seemingly broken. Still, your eyes give chase, and your body too, rushing from one side of the platform to the other. You can’t lose sight of this fight, you tell yourself, settling in a spot you recall being safe during your last round. Doing so could mean another death, another loop, another October 31.

You watch as the man in black acrobatically dodges what looks to be vines or roots that the monster with branches for eyes seems to have summoned from the depths of the Tokyo metro. He lands on the monster’s shoulders, balancing on them as he uses its branch-eyes for leverage. The look in the man’s eyes is so crazed that you can see it from where you’re standing. He says something to it and then—

With a feral and sadistic smile, he rips their eyes straight out of their skull.

Your heart is pounding wildly in your chest as you watch the fight unfold. It is horrifyingly, disgustingly violent, yet still you watch as people on the track are killed by the human-like person, blood raining down as their freshly beheaded skulls go flying into the air. He and the one-eyed monster launch their counter attacks against the man in black and the blowback is so intense the power goes out causing everyone to scream.

There’s a faint glow where the man in black is standing that starts to grow brighter and brighter. You can make out his form turning to face the wall, and it seems almost like he’s slammed the monster that had branches for eyes against it with some sort of telekinetic power. Despite the panic from the people around you, you manage to hear him, chuckling like a mad man as he draws closer and closer to the monster.

The one-eyed monster yells out a name, a name you think must belong to the man, but he doesn’t hear it. He doesn’t hear the one-eyed monster as he extends his hands out toward the eyeless monster, exerting some kind of force that you can’t really see. He doesn’t hear the one-eyed monster as the eyeless monster’s entire body is vaporized in a flash of blue light. He doesn’t hear the one-eyed monster, as the lights flicker back on revealing a smoking crater stained with purple blood where the eyeless monster once stood.

But you do.

Satoru Gojo.

You make sure to remember that.

It’s October 31, 2018— Halloween in Shibuya.

And this is the eighteenth time.

You watch as the man called Satoru Gojo stalks through the crowd of people on the subway tracks, chasing after the one-eyed fire monster. It throws people at him, in a clear attempt to slow him down.

It does not work.

Satoru Gojo climbs back onto the platform in a way that you can only describe as inhuman, and the people nearby shriek and move away from him, out of terror, out of fear. You, on the other hand, draw closer, refusing to lose sight of him.

He is relentless in his pursuit of the one-eyed monster. It continues to throw person after person at him, but he does not stop and the people float there, suspended in midair before they are gently lowered to the ground by some unseen force and scramble away.

No one dares get close to Satoru Gojo, everyone on the platform seems to know that doing so means certain death, yourself included. But you still feel the need to keep an eye on him. The monster and the strangely dressed man are focusing more on him than the crowd— anyone in between is just collateral damage.

But not you.

Especially since you’ve made it this far— you’ve never made it this far before.

A voice echoes throughout the platform; you realize it’s the automated announcement.

An eight car train is pulling in. Please wait behind the yellow line.

You can hear everyone’s relief coming from all sides. The train is coming! The train is coming! A ripple of hope makes its way throughout the crowd. With the train comes the chance to get off the platform and the senseless violence that’s been happening here. Some of the people around you are talking excitedly and others are running toward the gates, toeing the yellow line they’ve been instructed to wait behind. And you, you should be excited, you should be hopeful.

All you feel is dread.

It eats at your stomach, at your chest, at your mind. Clawing and gnawing at you in a way that leaves you paralyzed on the platform. There’s something wrong here. You can’t be sure because you’ve never made it this far, never survived long enough for the train to come, but something is just not right.

No.

You must be paranoid. The train coming is a good thing. It has to be a good thing. You are just paranoid. It’s normal. It’s natural. Dying seventeen times would do that to anyone— rob them of hope, condemn them to an existence full of fear.

It is not lost on you that the thought of dying more than once, much less, dying seventeen times is not normal or natural in the very slightest.

But you need hope, you crave it, wildly, desperately. The hope of freedom, of escape is the only thing getting you through this unending nightmare. Every time you die, every time you wake, it is with the hope that maybe, just maybe this iteration will be different, maybe this one will be the one where you make it out, make it back to your friends who must be waiting for you, make it back home where you can be safe and sound. You need the hope to keep going. Because without hope, what will you have left?

The train screeches as it pulls into the station and the people around you laugh in both disbelief and relief. They start to push and shove toward it, fighting to be able to board because there’s no way everyone here will be able to get on an eight car train and being left behind at this point is practically synonymous with death. Unable to decide if you believe in the train as a symbol of hope or a new layer of fear, you are pushed along with the crowd toward it.

The doors of the train cars slide open and the current passengers all rush off as they disembark. You as well as everyone else on the platform can see with a horrifying clarity that the train is filled to the brim with monsters. Monsters that reach out and grab anyone their hands can reach. The woman to your left. The person to your right.

You.

Hope is gone.

What do you have left?

You die for the eighteenth time.

It’s October 31, 2018— Halloween in Shibuya.

This is probably the twenty-sixth time now.

If there is anything this entire ordeal has taught you, it is that you are resilient. Whether it is some innate trait that you never had any reason to uncover before or just a byproduct of being trapped in an unending cycle of being dead and not dead, you don't know. What you do know, though, is that even if you no longer have hope, you at least have your resilience.

Whether you want it or not.

You check the time. It’s 8:35PM. Something flickers in your chest, like a faint light in a sea of darkness, but you ignore it. You don’t have time right now.

With a nimbleness born from your previous failures, you weave your way through the crowd. You’ve done this enough times to know where the gaps are— who will yield and who won’t. Your destination is the escalator that leads off the platform and up to a higher part of the station. You’d noticed previously that the escalator along with every other entrance onto the platform will eventually be blocked by vines or roots of some sort (the work of the branch-eyed monster probably). It’s not a perfect plan because you don’t know what happens on the other side, but whatever it is has to be better than whatever is happening on the side that you’ve been on.

You’d tried to get to the stairs during your last two rounds, but you’d just missed it. You hadn’t been fast enough and had gotten caged and slaughtered along with the rest. But this time, this time you have more time. It’s just one minute, but it’s enough. You know it is.

The flickering in your heart grows stronger. Hope. You try not to pay attention to it— you don’t want to be disappointed yet again. But you want to so badly. A voice in the back of your mind tells you to focus on the good, tells you that if there was truly no way out of this endless nightmare, then why would you get more and more time with each round to escape your fate?

With that thought in mind, you break out into a run, recklessly rushing through the crowd, shoving anyone who will not yield to the side. Out of the corner of your eye you can see the stark white of Satoru Gojo’s hair as he descends upon the platform.

You need to get up those stairs.

Now.

If you remember correctly, the roots and vines don’t close off the area the moment he touches down, but a little after they start talking, so you think there is probably some time, but you can’t leave it to chance.

The stairs are packed, and for some reason no one is moving. The escalator right next to it is just as full and the power doesn’t seem to be working. You don’t have time for this. You clamber onto the escalator’s rubber handrail, ignoring the weird feeling that passes through your body as you do so. You don’t have the time to worry about whatever that is. The people around you start exclaiming around you, but you don’t care, you don’t listen. You wobble as you try to balance yourself and when you think you’re steady you try to run.

But you trip.

And you die for the twenty-sixth time.

It’s October 31, 2018— Halloween in Shibuya.

This marks the thirtieth time.

And you have, finally, finally made it up the escalator, up the stairs with barely a second to spare. You pause, glancing back as the roots or vines or whatever the hell they are seal off the entrance to the platform. You notice that the area where the plants come down is actually fairly clear, despite the crowd. It seems weird, but you don’t dwell on it.

A strange feeling envelops your entire body and your legs turn into jelly. As you sink to the floor, you realize what you’re feeling is relief as all the tension, maybe thirty iterations of Halloween 2018 worth, seeps from your being. You don't remember the last time you felt anything other than fear and dread; it’s weird, but not unwelcome.

That voice in the back of your mind tells you that you can't relax just yet: October 31st isn’t over. Even though you have repeated this night again and again, burning the events that play out on the platform into your memory, you do not know a single thing that happens over here. It would be smart to scope everything out.

Legs still shaky, you rise to your feet and start walking. You think it’s probably for the best to try and head up to the surface and you make your way up to the next floor.

It’s packed with people here too, but relatively peaceful, especially when you compare it to the pandemonium taking place beneath your feet. Still, you can make out the undeniable hum of displeasure resonating throughout the crowd. People complaining about how uncomfortable their costumes are, people complaining about how much they want to go home, people complaining about how much their nights have been ruined because they couldn’t meet up with their friends and—

A thought hits you like an eight car train.

You were supposed to meet up with your friends.

That’s why you were on the platform in the first place— you were waiting for them to arrive, but then the trains stopped working, and people just started pouring into the station out of seemingly nowhere (you think you heard some people say they’d come from the crossing?). Soon after that is when everything went to shit.

You check your phone, though, for once it’s not to look at the time (8:56PM). Instead, you open LINE to check your friends’ group chat. There’s no signal here, for whatever reason, so if there are any new messages, you haven’t received them. The last one was from Kei, mentioning he was enroute, but as far as you know, you’re the only one who made it to Shibuya before the trains stopped.

Did one of them maybe make it here though? Surely, you would have run into them if—

The image of a woman in a magical girl costume fills your vision, burning to death before your very eyes as her screams echo in your ears. It is the first time in what feels like forever that you’ve thought about her and your stomach churns violently. You couldn’t help her, you can’t even help yourself, so how could you even expect to do the same for your friends if they were here? The mere thought of having to watch them die over and over is almost enough to send you over the edge. You don’t know if you could do it.

Would you even have a choice?

No. You can't think like that. You have choices. You've had choices. If you didn’t then, you would still be down below, among the fire and brimstone. Dying, if not dead already. However, instead, you are up here, where, for the moment, it is quiet and peaceful.

That thought, in of itself, is enough to give you a shred of solace, a glimmer of hope.

You take a deep breath and fiddle with your phone a little more, changing your lock screen to a picture you and your friends took at a photo booth not too long ago. The four of you are huddled together, faces squished as if you're all struggling to fit in the frame, despite there being plenty of room. You're mid-laugh because it's the first time you've been in a photo booth in years, Mio and Shin are grinning mischievously and finally, Kei is smiling, but only just slightly, the embarrassment clear on his face. It's probably only been a few months since you all took this picture, but the fact that it feels like it's been years makes your heart ache.

You press your forehead to the screen, like a prayer, like a promise.

You will make it out of this nightmare.

No matter what.

A shrill scream yanks you from your thoughts and you are instantly on your feet, alert as your eyes flit around frantically to identify the source. It doesn't take long for you to find it and when you do, you think you might have stumbled upon a new layer of horror to this nightmare.

It’s not the corpse, dangling by a noose, that terrifies you— by now you’ve seen dozens upon dozens of dead bodies that the sight of just one more doesn’t faze you in the slightest. The thing that’s the most mortifying, that’s the most disturbing is that right next to where the body is tied are two girls, two teenage girls still dressed in their school uniforms.

You can accept monsters and weirdly dressed men being responsible for the carnage tonight, but children too? Both girls look like they’re barely in high school and try as you might to rationalize things, to chalk it up to coincidence, you cannot ignore the ominous energy radiating from them.

The very notion that these two children could have killed someone here is a hard pill to swallow, but so is the fact that you’ve died.

And you’ve had to swallow that pill thirty times now, so what’s once more?

“Listen up!” one of the girls yells over the crowd, but she is mostly ignored; you don’t think everyone here has noticed her and the corpse dangling from the rafters. She scowls and turns to the other girl and says something quietly to her. The other girl nods and almost instantly she’s stringing up another person, another example. You want to look away so badly, and yet you cannot bring yourself to and you watch the poor soul choke to death.

“I said listen, you dumb monkeys!” the girl shouts, and this time she’s caught most of the crowd’s attention. “If you don’t want to end up like these two, you’ll listen to what we have to say!”

There is clear dissent among the crowd, people dismissive as they utter their disbelief. Some seem to think it’s a prank, but you know better. It takes two more examples before the crowd goes silent before the two high schoolers.

“About damn time!” The girl roars and then points toward the atrium, which is currently covered by roots and branches. “All of you move over there!”

You have a bad feeling about this.

Still, you comply; the girls have made it abundantly clear that failure to do so will result in death, though, at this point, you're almost certain this iteration is a bust and death is all but imminent. You try to keep positive— thinking you can at least gather information or, who knows, maybe there's a chance that this one is the one.

Yet when you step onto the mound of vines and branches that cover the atrium it feels as if you've crossed the threshold into hell. Your footing is stable… but for how long?

An eight car train is pulling in. Please wait behind the yellow line.

It's faint, but you can hear the announcement from below. The liquid in your stomach curdles at the sound as you recall the train and, in particular, what is on board. Soon enough, those monsters will be swarming the platform, massacring everyone in reach, guzzling down their blood, feasting on their flesh—

It dawns on you that the people on the platform are the monsters' first course.

And you, and those around you here in the shrubbery, are the second.

As you realize this, the branches and vines disintegrate beneath your very feet and suddenly you are mid air— falling, falling into the abyss below.

You die for the thirtieth time.

It’s October 31, 2018— Halloween in Shibuya.

You've done this nearly sixty times now.

After countless failures, you've decided that you're just not going to go upstairs any more. No matter where you try to go, you still end up herded onto the death trap above the platform where you ultimately fall to your death. You've tried positioning yourself in the same spot, tried bracing yourself for the drop— but nothing seems to work: upon landing, assuming you manage to land without hurting yourself or dying in midair (which has happened a couple times) you get grabbed and killed by one of the monsters from the train. It's probably not impossible, you just don't have the physical prowess or reflexes for it.

If anything, you can try again later, but you sincerely hope you don't have to.

It's 8:32PM, and you have plenty of time to get to your chosen spot for this loop— it's close to the stairs, in the very center of the platform. Here, there's little risk of getting pushed off onto the tracks when the gates open. You'll probably have to move when the train comes, or even before (assuming you survive) to avoid the monsters, but you'll get to that when it's time.

You can't really see the fight once it breaks out after Satoru Gojo arrives, but you still try to keep track of it as best as you can. You see when he hurls both monsters across the platform and you're not sure if it's muscle memory or what but you have to fight the urge to move to the side and watch. It's been a while, yes, but you've seen the fight countless times before— it doesn't change. Satoru Gojo will give chase. He will rip the branches from the branch eyed monster's skull. He will use some kind of power to eviscerate them.

You don't need to watch, but there's something in you that wants to.

It doesn't make sense, you've seen it all before; if you're unlucky you'll see it all again.

The lights go out and people start screaming; Satoru Gojo is ending the life of that one monster. Soon enough he'll be back on the platform, in pursuit of the other. You think at that point it would be good to move, reposition yourself as far from the incoming train as possible.

When he rises from the tracks like a demon straight from hell, you realize it's the first time this loop that you've actually gotten a good look at him. You remind yourself, again, that this isn't the first time you've seen this man, this scene. You can't help but watch, but stare at Satoru Gojo as he stalks through the crowd in pursuit of his prey. His expression is an eerie sort of calm that's at odds with the acts of violence you've seen him commit— his eyes an unnaturally bright blue.

He's a terrifying sort of beauty and you can't help but be captivated by him.

An eight car train is pulling in. Please wait behind the yellow line.

The sound of the announcement sends your heartbeat into a frenzy, snapping you out of your little trance. The train is coming and you need to get moving. As you dart to the edge of the platform, the thought occurs to you that even if you avoid the initial wave of monsters, it's likely you will inevitably be caught by them and killed. It wouldn't be impossible for Satoru Gojo to turn his attention to them instead of the two he's currently facing, but he's just one man— can he truly defeat all those monsters?

You can see the train pulling in and you brace yourself, praying that it'll work out somehow.

The doors hiss open and the screaming starts again as the monsters come bursting out of the train, biting and mauling anyone they can get their hands on. Those who were lucky enough to not be at the front start to scramble away and the monsters give chase. Your body is taut, ready to try and dodge any that come your way.

Out of the corner of your eye you notice something moving through the air. A person? With blue hair? You take the risk to look— they're attacking Satoru Gojo. He tries to punch them but they fly away from him to dodge— disappearing into the crowd.

You hear a loud cracking sound over the cacophony of the crowd and your stomach twists; you know what that sound is. The roots above the atrium disintegrate and bodies from above start to rain down onto the platform.

And then, you're not sure what happens— it's so quick that you only manage to see what looks like an explosion of blood surrounding Satoru Gojo. Corpses litter the ground around him and even from here you can tell he is shaken by the carnage.

The monsters have finally reached where you're standing, and you duck under one as it lunges at you. Although it's big and scary, you realize it's moving kind of slow. Right after it another one comes at you and you take a side step to avoid it; this monster is kind of slow too.

Maybe you can do this.

As soon as you think that a strange feeling courses through you. Every hair on your body feels like it's standing on edge and the voice in your head is telling you to look at Satoru Gojo. You don't understand why because you think he's the least of your worries right now, but you do it anyway.

He's in some sort of stance, one hand raised to his face, fingers bent in some kind of gesture. There's some sort of aura, oppressive and frightening emanating from his form.

Satoru Gojo is doing something.

You just can't tell what.

It’s October 31, 2018— Halloween in Shibuya.

And you are utterly confused.

Barring your first few loops when you weren't fully aware of what was happening, you have very distinct memories of how each of your previous iterations of this night have gone— of each and every one of your deaths. But for your last round, the last thing you remember was feeling the immense power radiating from Satoru Gojo's body, but that's it.

You do not remember dying.

In fact, you don't think you did.

And yet, here you are again, back at the start: it's 8:32PM and the monsters and strangely dressed man are standing on the subway tracks waiting for the arrival of Satoru Gojo.

You don't understand what's going on; you didn't die but you're still stuck in this damn loop. Up until now, your death has served as the trigger to restart the loop. It's not impossible that maybe you suffered a quick and painless death but you're almost certain that isn't the case.

Something else must have happened.

Something having to do with Satoru Gojo.

You have to find out what. If you don't, you won't know how to avoid it, and if you can't do that, then you really might spend an eternity stuck in this nightmare. And so you take great care to repeat the steps of your last round. You need to make sure to survive to the same point you made it to last time.

Miraculously, you do.

The moment you feel that sensation again, a prickling sort of feeling that envelops your entire body, your eyes are on Satoru Gojo— trying to figure out what the hell he's doing. His eyes are crazed with a desperate kind of focus. You see his mouth move— he's saying something. A spell? A prayer? A curse?

You don't know.

You do know.

Your brain feels like it's going to explode.

Again.

It’s October 31, 2018— Halloween in Shibuya.

Again.

You do not know how many times it's been the night of Halloween in Shibuya: you stopped counting around the hundredth loop. It feels like it's been a while since then. Or maybe it hasn't? You don't know any more.

What you do know is that this night ends up going one of two ways before you are forced to repeat it. Either you die, in some way, shape or form or something happens just after nine that forces you to reset. You still don't know what it is exactly; you only know that Satoru Gojo is responsible for it.

You do prefer it to dying— it's far less painful.

But if anything, you wish you could just die permanently and never have to repeat this night ever again.

Unfortunately, you know better.

The only good thing you’ve noticed about all of this is that you really do seem to keep waking up earlier and earlier. The last time you checked, it was at around 8:30. It might take hundreds of thousands of loops, but eventually you’ll certainly wake up early enough to avoid this damn entire mess.

But by the time that happens… will your sanity still be intact? Will you really be able to go back to a normal day to day life after living the equivalent of hundreds of years, repeating the same night over and over again? You don’t even know how you’ve managed to stay sane all this time and as much as you want to believe you could do it…

There has to be a breaking point.

For both your mind and this time loop.

If you’re lucky, you’ll reach the latter first.

There’s a dull ache in your head that feels foreign yet familiar. Your mind is foggy, all your thoughts hazy as you try to recall what the word for this feeling is.

Groggy.

It feels as if you’ve woken up from a nap and you blink the sleepiness away from your eyes. When was the last time you took a nap? It’s been a while… You think you maybe tried once or twice, but you were too nervous, too on edge. Awake or asleep, it didn’t matter because, either way, you were doomed to repeat this nightmare.

As you think this, you realize that something is different.

You’re used to how the start of each loop feels like waking up suddenly and abruptly and it becomes clear to you that you haven’t looped. This is completely uncharted territory.

You need to find out what’s going on.

The first thing you notice is that it’s quiet. Almost eerily so, especially when the last thing you remember was screaming and chaos. You glance around you and find that it looks like all the monsters from the train are dead, the ground littered in their bloodstains and corpses. There were so many of them, you don’t know how someone could have wiped them out so quickly… Could it possibly have been Satoru Gojo’s doing?

More concerning than the complete eradication of the monsters is the fact that nearly everyone else on the platform is standing stock still, their mouths ajar with blank expressions on their faces. It’s almost as if their souls have completely vacated their bodies…

Were you like that too before you woke up?

You hear voices, and your body immediately goes tense as you turn your head in their direction. A little ways ahead of you, you see a man dressed as a monk conversing with the blue haired person from earlier and before them is—

Your heart nearly stops: it’s Satoru Gojo, restrained and on his knees.

Honestly, you can’t make heads or tails of the conversation they’re having; it’s more shounen battle manga nonsense. Satoru Gojo doesn’t seem to be enjoying their conversation either, and he interrupts them, clearly annoyed.

“Are we gonna do this or what?” he asks. “The view sucks and I’m just kinda bored.”

“I wanted to enjoy this sight for a little bit longer, but you are right,” the monk says. “I wouldn’t want anything to happen— gate, close.”

When he says that, Satoru Gojo’s restraints move, the weirdly shaped cubes at the ends of them closing in around him, trapping him in a giant red cube. It starts to shrink until it’s small enough to fit in the monk’s hand.

You gulp and hope they don’t notice that you’re awake. The fact that they haven’t slaughtered the rest of the people standing around you is a good sign, but you don’t want to find out what happens if they know you’re cognizant.

It’s not hard to play the part of a living statue, especially when you compare it to everything else you’ve had to suffer through on this night. You watch as the monk’s allies, the ones who had attacked everyone on the platform, wake up, but before they can do or say anything, the box holding Satoru Gojo slips through the monk’s fingers and makes a dent in the concrete. The look on the monk’s face makes it clear that it’s a problem he wasn’t expecting.

You don’t know a damn thing about Satoru Gojo, but you feel like this kind of thing is the norm for him.

The blue haired person suddenly looks in your direction and you nearly stop breathing. Have they noticed you? It takes everything in you to keep perfectly still, in hopes that maybe they didn't, that maybe they’re looking at something else. They raise their arm and it extends, their hand acting like some kind of projectile. You almost shut your eyes and brace yourself for impact, but their hand flies upwards and hits something on the ceiling, destroying it.

Inwardly, you breathe a sigh of relief— you’re still safe.

For now.

You listen to their following conversation and while you still don’t fully understand everything, it’s clear they’re talking about what to do next since they’ve taken care of Satoru Gojo. Something having to do with someone named Yuji Itadori? The group seems split on what to do about him but it’s clear he’s their next target.

Eventually, everyone but the monk (you heard the blue haired person, who is apparently named Mahito, call him Geto?) runs off, probably to find this Yuji Itadori person. Once they’re gone, Geto speaks and, at first, you think he’s talking to you, but it becomes clear he’s addressing someone else. “Those cursed spirits are actually smarter than the two of you.”

“Give him back!” a voice hidden among the crowd hisses. Your blood runs cold at the sound. You recognize it; it’s one of the high school girls from the upper floor.

“We cooperated with you fully and kept dropping monkeys for you,” says another voice; it must be the other girl that was with her, the one who hung all those people.

“Now give us back Master Geto’s body like you promised!”

“Don’t toy with Master Geto any further than you have!”

You blink in confusion. Isn’t the monk named Geto? The way the girls are talking it sounds like they’re talking about someone else… Is it possible that the body is ‘Geto’ but the person they’re talking to is someone else possessing it? It sounds kind of crazy, but then again, so is every single thing you’ve experienced tonight.

Your suspicions concerning this ‘Geto’ are confirmed only seconds later as he says, “Now begone, or is it your desire to be killed by this body?”

One of the girls vows her revenge and you hear shuffling somewhere else in the crowd as they scurry away. Now you think it’s just you and whoever it is that’s puppeting Geto’s body. You see him plop down in front of the box (the prison realm, you think he’d called it) that’s holding Satoru Gojo.

“You can come out, you know,” he says after a while.

You freeze. The rest of the platform is completely silent. This time you think he might actually be talking to you.

“I know you’re there,” ‘Geto’ adds, his voice casual. “If you’re insistent on hiding, you should know that I’m not afraid of using whatever means necessary to smoke you out.”

Given everything his allies have done, there’s no doubt in your mind that he’s serious. You were hoping to hide out among the crowd until he decided to leave, but it looks like you won’t be able to now.

Looks like this loop is a bust after all.

Your heart starts to race as you weave your way through the crowd. In every single one of your loops, you were always treated like a bit character, never noticed or singled out by any of the major players of the night. Although this is your first time encountering this ‘Geto’ it’s clear to you that he’s involved with everything that’s happened here and honestly, you get the feeling he might actually be the mastermind behind the massacre.

That makes you even more nervous.

You come to a stop in the place where Satoru Gojo was once kneeling before he was put in that box. Now that you’re out in the open, ‘Geto’ looks you over with some sort of nonchalant curiosity.

“You’re…” he starts, sounding thoughtful, "not a sorcerer, are you?”

Sorcerer. You heard that term thrown around by him and his group a few times. It’s what they’ve been referring to their enemies as. It probably wouldn’t be smart to lie and say you are one; you get the feeling he’d see through your lie anyway. “I’m not.”

He hums. “How interesting.”

“...what do you mean?” you ask before you can help yourself.

“It’s just you have an abnormally large amount of cursed energy for a non-sorcerer,” he explains. “Though, I suppose that all just sounds like gibberish to you."

You nod and look down at the box lodged in the floor. It has eyes, big creepy looking eyes. "...are you going to do the same thing to me as you did to that man?"

He laughs, "...fortunately for you, the prison realm only holds one person at a time and I need him sealed away more than you."

"...does that mean you're going to leave him in there forever?"

"If I'm feeling nice, I might unseal him in a hundred years or so."

One hundred years? At this point, you've probably lived roughly that amount of time through your loops alone, but for Satoru Gojo… "Won't he die first?"

"Only if he decides to," 'Geto' says, looking completely and wholly unbothered. "Time doesn't doesn't flow in the box, so when I unseal him, he'll be the same as he was just now. Physically anyway. Who knows how deteriorated his mind will be after all that."

Time doesn't flow in the box.

The words echo in your mind over and over. Time doesn't flow in the box. In other words, that means time has stopped in the box, and if that's the case then—

"Anyway, rather than worry about him, shouldn't you be more worried about yourself?"

You look at 'Geto' and he's smiling at you, it's friendly, but ominous. There's no doubt what is going to happen next, though you had already resigned yourself to this iteration being a bust; it was only a matter of time.

Time doesn't flow in the box.

"I was thinking I might keep you around, even if you aren’t a sorcerer, your wealth of cursed energy would serve my plans well," he muses. "But… it would be too much trouble trying to teach you how to use it in time."

As he talks, you realize this is probably the first time your death is intentional— every other death you've suffered has just been a byproduct of the ongoing slaughter. You were just another casualty, a victim, never a target.

You're scared.

Even though you know that once he kills you, once you die, you'll just loop back to around 8:30 again. You'll be on the platform again. And you'll play out some sequence of events before you eventually die again. And again and again.

Time doesn't flow in the box.

"I'll be nice, though," 'Geto' says, raising a hand and another monster appears out of nowhere. You don’t even bother trying to figure out from where. It doesn’t matter, especially since this monster will surely be the one to end your life. "I'll make it painless."

"...I appreciate it," you say and close your eyes hoping that he's not lying about it.

Time doesn't flow in the box.

He didn't lie.

You die again.

It’s October 31, 2018— Halloween in Shibuya.

And you're trapped.

You don't know how and you don't know why, but you are stuck in a time loop— forced to suffer through the horrific events of the night before you die and begin it all again. It's been a long time since you stopped counting how many loops you've gone through, but if you had to guess, it's probably somewhere in the hundreds now.

You are so very tired.

But it doesn't stop. It won't stop no matter what you seem to do. You are stuck. You are trapped. You are doomed.

“Time doesn't flow in the box.”

Ever since that first loop where you heard whoever is possessing Geto's body say that, the words have been stuck in your head, playing on loop.

You finally realize why.

“Time doesn't flow in the box.”

It's 8:25PM when you wake up; that should be plenty of time.

You need to find Satoru Gojo.

After hundreds of loops you've come to a singular conclusion: you need to prevent him being sealed in the prison realm. You've witnessed it enough to know that you won't be able to do it alone; you'll need his cooperation.

You rush upstairs as fast as you can, ignoring the shiver that runs down your spine as you step onto the stairwell. According to your previous loops, Satoru Gojo arrives on the subway tracks at 8:40PM. With how crowded the upper floor is, you don’t know if you’ll have the time to intercept him and talk to him, but if you can at least figure out where to find him, then you can try and talk to him during a subsequent loop.

When you reach the fourth basement floor, however, you don’t know where you should even start. He’s pretty tall so you think you could spot him in the crowd, but… there are still so many people. It occurs to you that maybe it would be better to try and look from a higher vantage point so you head to the stairs that lead up to the third basement floor. You check your phone again. It’s 8:35PM; you need to hurry.

Luckily for you, you find him very easily on the third basement floor.

The only problem is that he’s in a hard to reach spot— squatting above a sign hanging over the crowd.

You check your phone again. It’s 8:38PM and he’s starting to move, presumably to meet with those waiting for him on the subway tracks. It’s good that you found him, but there’s no doubt about it.

You’re going to need more time.

The moment you wake up, you immediately bolt toward the stairs. It's taken many, many more loops, but you've finally brought the time you wake down to around 8:15. You're still not sure if it's enough time, but there's only one way to find out.

You barrel your way up to the next floor and zig zag through the crowd to get to the next flight of stairs. By the time you get to your destination, you're completely out of breath, your chest heaving as your lungs clamor for air. You’ve done this so many times, yet your body acts like it’s always the first. It sucks, but there’s nothing you can do about it. You slow to a brisk pace to catch your breath and check the time. It’s 8:27— a new record. Hopefully it’ll be enough.

The goal is to catch Satoru Gojo before he moves to his lookout point above the crowd. While not impossible, it would be difficult for you to follow him there. You eye the safety barricade that blocks off the area where he’ll be moving in just a few minutes warily.

Yes, getting over there would be extremely difficult.

You don’t want to think about it right now; you’ll deal with it when the time comes.

Especially since Satoru Gojo has now entered your field of vision.

Your heart starts to race at the sight of him and it feels like it’s beating a million times a second. There isn’t a lot of time. You need to talk to him, but your legs only wobble, your feet planted firmly to the ground. This is not good. You need to move. You need to move.

Finally, after what feels like both an instant and an eternity, your feet finally budge, propelling you in Satoru Gojo’s direction. The beating of your heart only grows louder as you make your way toward him, mingling with the single thought that’s echoing throughout your mind right now: will he even hear you out?

You need to make him.

“Excuse me!” The words nearly come out in a stutter as you realize that you are actually talking to Satoru Gojo. You have watched this man at a distance for so long that it almost felt like he wasn’t real, like he was just another fixture in this nightmare that you’ve been living for far too long. And yet, here he is, right in front of you, in the flesh.

And his attention is on you.

All sound stops: the crowd around you, the thoughts in your head, the beat of your heart. Even though you cannot see them through that blindfold of his, you know that Satoru Gojo’s eyes are on you and the thought of that, the knowledge of it is actually a little overwhelming. Your mouth is dry and suddenly you don’t know what to say, but you need to say something. You need to say something before he thinks maybe you bumped into him by accident and just walks away without a word.

“I need to talk to you!” The words just burst out from your mouth and something about it is just absolutely embarrassing. You’re not sure if it's desperation or the fact that you haven’t really talked to anyone other than the existence occupying Suguru Geto’s body in nearly forever.

Satoru Gojo’s lips slowly start to form a smile, “Oh, yeah?”

The sound of his voice makes your mind go blank. There’s something different about it right now; more playful, amused even. Maybe it’s because he’s talking to you, a harmless human being and not a monster trying to kill him. It’s almost kind of jarring, but you know, with certainty, what Satoru Gojo’s voice sounds like. And the fact that he’s actually talking to you right now has you kind of excited. You nod, doing your best to not show how thrilled you are that he’s not ignoring you.

He hums thoughtfully, “Sorry… but unfortunately I kind of have some business to attend to right now.”

“I—” You start to say that you know that he’s headed down to the platform below to fight with…Choso and Jogo, you think their names are— you don’t know the name of the monster with the branches for eyes. “It’s— it’s really important!”

Gojo tilts his head a little, clearly thinking. You should probably say something else, something to try and convince him to stay a little longer and hear you out, but your mind is both full and blank. Where do you start? From the beginning? Or do you start with what is most important? Maybe you should say what you think will get his attention. You’re not sure, and you realize you really should have thought about this earlier because you’re running out of time right now.

“...mind handing me your phone?”

You stare at Gojo, completely and wholly confused, but he just holds out his hand expectantly. When you don’t move, he wiggles his fingers a little, a silent gesture telling you to hurry it up. Without thinking, you reach into your bag and unlock your phone before handing it to him.

“Kind of sucks that cell service isn’t working right now,” he remarks as he types something into your phone before handing it back. “But! Here's my number.”

You look down at your phone and, sure enough, Satoru Gojo has added himself as one of your contacts. He’s even added a little star to the end of his name. That’s… a little unexpected. Why his number though?

“Are you… hitting on me?” you mutter in your confusion.

He laughs, “Well, you said you had something really important to talk to me about, right? So just give me a call when you get home or some time tomorrow and we can talk then!”

You’re not going to make it home, or even to tomorrow, and neither will Satoru Gojo. As you start to tell him this, he steps past you. Desperate, you try to grab him, but somehow, for some reason, you can’t. You remember he did this with Jogo and the other monster, made himself untouchable.

This is not good.

He gives you a little wave, cheery as he says, “I’ll talk to you later!”

You watch, helpless as he hops over the barricade beyond your reach.

Gripping your phone tightly, you take a deep breath. It's fine, it's not like you didn’t expect things to go well anyway.

You'll just have to try again.

Every time you’ve tried to solicit help from Satoru Gojo, it has gone the same way. He just won’t give you the time of day, and in some ways you can’t blame him; he’s clearly here to deal with the monsters down on the platform. You’re fairly certain that he probably thinks that whatever is going on with you is a much lesser issue in comparison.

Plus, it probably doesn’t help that in the times that you’ve approached him, you haven’t been able to articulate yourself particularly well. Once you start talking to him, you just get hit with something akin to stage fright and the connection between your mind and your mouth just stops working. It’s gotten better with each attempt, but…

It’s just so frustrating.

It is interesting that Gojo has given you his number every time, star symbol and all. You’re not sure what kind of person you were expecting him to be, but after witnessing him literally and viciously rip monsters apart, you’d figured he’d be a little more somber. However, in the fragmented conversations you’ve had with him he’s come off as far more friendly and playful than you would have thought. Is he the type of person to get more serious when the situation calls for it? You can’t help but wonder, but ultimately, it doesn’t really matter.

What really matters is that you’re able to convince him to help you.

You have to convince him.

“Excuse me!” you say, stepping in Satoru Gojo’s path. You don’t stutter this time, and your voice is more sure. This is good.

“Yes?”

His head turns in your direction and you gulp. Gojo’s gaze, despite that blindfold of his, still feels just as overwhelming as it did the very first time you approached him. You have no doubt that he’s sizing you up, but there’s just something about it that makes you feel like you’re being picked apart.

You take a deep breath and step closer to him, hoping your voice sounds firm enough as you say, “I need your help. I’m trapped.”

He chuckles a little, “I know, but yours truly is on his way to go beat up the bad guys keeping you all trapped here, so soon enough you’ll be all free to go on your merry little way.”

Right. You were so caught up in your own plight that you nearly forgot that technically you’re not the only one ‘trapped.’ Satoru Gojo obviously knows that everyone else is confined to this station, but you doubt he knows that you’re confined to this night alone.

“That’s not what I mean!” you sputter.

“Then what do you mean?” Gojo asks. Should you tell him that you mean that you’re trapped in a time loop? You��re honestly not sure— in the movies and manga you’ve read about time travel, revealing that sort of thing risks creating a time paradox which seems to be a bad thing. If you have to tell him, you will, but— “Oh, I get it.”

You stare, bewildered. Did you maybe just spew all of that aloud?

Gojo gives you a mischievous smile. “You’re hitting on me, aren’t you?”

“No!” The word comes flying out of your mouth. You can’t deny he’s attractive— you’ve thought it all this time, but that is not what’s happening here.

“No need to be embarrassed,” he continues, ignoring you. “I totally get it, so if you want, I’d be happy to give you my number!”

Again? You’ve received Satoru Gojo’s contact details in every loop you’ve talked to him, star symbol and all— you even have his number memorized. There’s something kind of odd about how he keeps giving you his number. Part of you wonders if he’s got some sort of ulterior motive, but you haven’t thought too deeply about it. There are way more important things going on.

“I don’t need your phone number,” you say. “I need to talk.”

Your response seems to give Gojo pause. Did you somehow manage to get through to him? No way. Your suspicions are all but confirmed when he gives you that familiar apologetic smile.

“Like, I said, I’m sort of in the middle of something, but…” Gojo reaches into his pockets and rummages around until one hand fishes out a folded up piece of paper. The other hand keeps digging around in his pocket and when Gojo seems to give up on whatever he’s looking for, he turns his attention back to you. “Got a pen?”

What?

Gojo tilts his head. “Well?”

“I do, but…” You trail off, unsure why he’s asking.

He holds out his hand waiting for you to just hand him the pen. You still don’t get it, but you reach into your bag’s front pocket and pull out the pen and hand it to him. Gojo looks almost like an excited child when he takes it from you, quickly scribbling something onto his paper before shoving it and your pen back into your hand.

You look at the paper; it looks like a receipt. For a disturbing amount of mochi that Gojo bought earlier today. The amount of money he spent is almost sickening; way too much to be paying for mochi. More importantly, you notice something juxtaposed over the receipt’s print.

It’s Satoru Gojo’s name and number.

He even drew a little star next to his name.

“If you change your mind later, just give me a call!” he tells you cheerily. “I promise I’ll make it worth your while!”

You gawk at him. He cannot be serious. You literally just told him that you didn’t need it and yet he still gave it to you. He must want you to contact him later, but you can’t even begin to understand why. It can’t have been something you said or did, right? Unless, he’s actually—

“Later!” Gojo’s voice cuts through your thoughts and you notice him walking off with a wave.

You can’t let him get away.

Again.

You crush the receipt in your hand and rush after him. Despite the crowd, Gojo seems to move through the people with ease and it almost seems like they are yielding to him naturally. It’s good for you. Makes him easier to chase.

“Wait!” you yell, but Gojo doesn’t even look back. Bastard. Your muscles strain as you try to run faster. You know you won’t be able to grab him if you get to him, but there has to still be something you can do to stop him. Circle around him? Cut him off before he—

Satoru Gojo reaches the barricade.

“Wait!” you yell again. “Satoru Gojo, wait!”

He does not even acknowledge you.

You’re almost there though. Almost. If you reach out your hand, then maybe, maybe you can grab him. Something in your head tells you that it’s useless; you’ve never been able to touch him. But, you don’t care, you don’t care because you have to try. You stretch out your hand, desperate and hoping, but just as you do, Gojo effortlessly jumps over the barricade, moving to survey the crowd.

Due to your momentum, you almost collide into the barricade, but you manage to stop yourself. You stare at Satoru Gojo through the glass. He watches the crowd for at most three minutes. Is this just another bust? Is there really nothing you can do? There must be a way you can get his attention. Is it possible to climb over the barricade? No, it’s too high. There’s nothing you can grasp onto or use as footing either.

This fucking sucks.

Another minute or two and Gojo will be on the move again, and there will be no way you can follow, no way you can get his attention. You press your hands against the glass, pushing against it. Naturally, it doesn’t budge. Why would it? If only you could get it out of the way. If only you could break it. This stupid barricade is the only thing between you and Satoru Gojo and there’s no way you can climb it, but if only you could break it.

If only you could fucking break it.

Suddenly, the glass feels warm. Satoru Gojo’s image starts to look a little distorted as the warmth beneath your fingers grows. Something is happening. The glass starts to vibrate and shake. Violently. The tremors grow stronger and stronger. You should stop. You should back away.

You don’t.

The barricade starts to crack and fracture and soon the sound of shattering glass resounds throughout the entire room. Everyone starts screaming. No one knows what’s going on— not even you. But you don’t care. It’s gone. The barricade is gone.

You take a step forward, toward Satoru Gojo. He’s on a beam that’s about a two meter drop from where you’re standing. That’s fine. That’s okay. You can make it. You have to. Without a second thought, you jump—

And you land on the beam. You look up and Satoru Gojo’s attention is back on you. He’s finally, finally turned toward you, face twisted into an expression you can’t decipher or even comprehend, but—

Something’s wrong; your world is turning on its axis, but—

Satoru Gojo is looking at you, and—

Up is very quickly becoming down, and—

Satoru Gojo is coming closer, but—

You’re slipping—

But he’s right there, and—

You’re falling, but—

He’s trying to catch you, but—

It’s too late. It’s too late.

The last thing you think you feel—

—is Satoru Gojo’s arms around you.

It’s October 31, 2018— Halloween in Shibuya.

And you are causing a commotion.

“Shit! Fuck!” you curse loudly. The people near you start to shift away but you barely notice; you don’t really care.

You were so close, so fucking close and yet… yet here you are again. It’s quarter past eight and you are back on the goddamn platform. You don’t know what happened; you remember falling and thinking you were going to die, but you are absolutely certain that, once again, this time, you didn’t die.

Is Satoru Gojo at fault again? Did he do something? Like he did all those other times you looped without dying? When you think about it more, you don’t think so. You don’t know what happened; all you know is that you tried to get to him, but you slipped.

And he caught you, you definitely remember that.

You still don’t understand why you looped, but there’s not much you can do about it now; it’s not like you can go back anymore. It just sucks, because you think he might have actually listened if you’d talked to him.

Or he would have come after you for… whatever happened with the barricade. It could have been taken as an attack on the crowd… But if he thought you were doing that, then why would he catch you?

You don’t know.

All you know is that you have to try again.

The only problem is that you don’t know how you managed to shatter the barricade. You think about it as you make your way up to where you’ll find Satoru Gojo. There is the possibility that it wasn’t you and something else happened to it instead, but that feels way too coincidental. It had to be you. That’s the only thing that makes sense. You just can’t figure out how you did it outside of wanting, wishing, praying for the barricade to break. It’s not like you have supernatural powers like Satoru Gojo and his enemies.

Despite your mind being completely and wholly occupied by trying to figure out how in the world you managed to break through that barricade, you still manage to make it to the second basement floor of Shibuya Hikarie by 8:25PM— a brand new record. Satoru Gojo doesn’t show up until around 8:34PM, so that gives you almost ten minutes to try and figure out what you need to do to try and replicate shattering the glass barricade again.

Except—

Except Satoru Gojo is already here.

The thought that maybe you’re mistaken flashes in your mind before it’s quickly dismissed; there’s no way you’d mistake anyone else for him. There is absolutely no denying it: that is Satoru Gojo. Bewildered, you double check the time on your phone. Maybe you misread it and you’re actually late but sure enough you read it right— Satoru Gojo is here early.

What the hell is going on?

Of the thousands of times you have experienced this night, this hell, this sort of thing has never happened before. Everything happens at a specific time, as if adhering to an unseen schedule. It’s likely that what happened in your last iteration did delay Satoru Gojo’s arrival onto the platform, but other than that there has never been a deviation to the time table.

And yet, here Satoru Gojo is, nine minutes early now.

You realize that that’s not the only thing that’s strange: he’s not moving. In previous rounds, when you encounter Gojo here, he’s walking to the lookout spot beyond the barricade. But, right now, he’s just standing there, hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket. It almost looks like he's waiting for something.

Or someone.

This unexpected turn of events has you rooted to the spot. You’re not sure what you should do. No. This shouldn’t change anything. You need to talk to him. As concerning as a change like this is, the extra time it gives you should be a good thing. Despite knowing that, your feet are still firmly planted to the ground.

The crowd shifts and you see Satoru Gojo start to move. Toward the barricade? No. He’s not heading in his usual direction, rather he’s—

You stop breathing.

He’s headed toward you.

He comes to a stop before you, lips curled up to form an amused sort of smile as he says, “Soooo, you needed to talk to me?”

You try to answer but no words come out of your mouth. Are you dreaming? You have to be, right? There's no way that this is actually happening. Could it be that, after thousands of loops, you’ve finally lost it? Your mind shattering along with the glass of the barricade at the end of the last one?

Gojo tilts his head, indicating that he's still waiting for an answer. When you open your mouth, at first, nothing comes out, the words stuck in your throat. You force them out, your voice cracking, “...how did you know?”

He smiles, looking almost mischievous as he reaches up and lightly taps the side of his head. “I remembered, of course!”

All you can do is stare at Satoru Gojo. He remembered? How is that possible? From his perspective, this is the first time you’ve met and while it shouldn’t be possible for him to remember there’s something in your mind that’s keeping you from completely dismissing the possibility.

Gojo laughs, “I take it from the look on your face that you’re not used to this sort of thing happening. Is this the first time?”

“No.” The fact that the word is out of your mouth before you can even really think about it surprises you and you really have to think. Your face scrunches together as you try to remember. Is this really not the first time? Then, the memories assault you, overlapping as they replay simultaneously in your head— a woman in a yellow and white magical girl costume— begging you for help as she burns to death— smiling as she tells you she made her costume herself. “...it happened just once a long time ago.”

“‘A long time ago,’ huh. Sounds like you've been at this for a while now.”

“...unfortunately.”

Gojo hums. “So when you said you didn’t need my phone number…”

“You’d already given it to me a few times,” you say, figuring that’s where this conversation is going.

“Really now?”

Does he not believe you? Or is he just being an ass? You’re not sure, but since you had taken the liberty of memorizing Satoru Gojo’s phone number you recite it back to him to prove your point.

Just when you think you may have stunned Gojo into silence he starts to laugh, obviously finding something funny about the fact that you know his cell phone number. “Seems like you've got quite the fascinating technique there.”

Technique? What is he talking about? Your confusion must be plain on your face because he adds, elaborating, “The time travel.”

You continue to stare at him. You don't think you'd consider what you've been going through time travel, because traveling implies moving from point A to point B, but you've been stuck walking in circles at point A for a long time. What really gets you is… “What do you mean by ‘technique?’”

“You mean you don’t— oh. I get it; no wonder you’re trapped.”

That does not answer your question in the slightest. “Can you please explain what you're talking about? What do you mean by ‘technique?’”

“Right, right… So basically, a technique is like a special sort of power,” he finally explains. “Like I said, your technique seems to be a kind of time travel. Whenever you activate it, your mind is sent back in time.”

What he's saying makes sense, but… “How come you were sent back too?”

He laughs again. “Isn't it obvious? Think back to before— do you remember that I caught you as you were falling?”

You nod slowly. The memory of his arms around you is almost embarrassingly vivid. “...is it because we were touching?”

“Ding, ding, ding! That's correct! Anyone you happen to be touching when you activate your technique gets affected by it too!”

Something about his tone annoys you, but you try to ignore it. He could have just told you rather than make you guess. “How do you know that for sure?”

“Well,” he continues. “You’ve done your little time loop a bunch of times, right? If your technique affected everyone, or even a few people in a select range you would have noticed for sure. And if it affected only just you then we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now, now would we?”

When you think about it, you do think that the woman in the magical girl costume might have bumped into you before the loop where she remembered.

“That’s honestly just conjecture, but I've got pretty good eyes, so I’m hardly ever wrong.”

Gojo gives you a grin and while you do think that his reasoning is sound enough his confidence is a little grating. More than that, though, you’re glad that this conversation is actually going really well.

“Either way,” he says thoughtfully. “It doesn’t look like you can control your technique. Usually a person’s technique manifests when they’re a kid, but you seem to be a special case… in fact, I bet your technique activated for the very first time tonight— probably under some pretty extreme circumstances, too.”

“...dying counts as an ‘extreme circumstance,’ right?”

“Oh, absolutely. Or legitimately thinking that you’re gonna die, but it seems like your body has been unconsciously activating your technique as a sort of defense mechanism. Which is why you’re trapped.”

“So, if I could control it I’d be able to make it out of this time loop.”

“Yeah, but in this case it probably wouldn’t end very well for you,” he points out with a chuckle. “It’s not like you actually want to die, right? I mean, if you did, then your technique wouldn’t even activate in the first place.”

You don’t; what you want is for this night to finally end. To be free from the endless cycle of dying over and over again and again. You don’t think death is quite the answer; even if you were to learn how to control this supposed technique of yours, there’s no guarantee that you would just unconsciously activate it when the grim reaper comes knocking on your door. No, the answer is…

“Anyway!” Gojo’s cheery voice cuts through your thoughts. “I highly doubt that you’re the type that makes a habit of jumping off ledges for the funsies, so the fact that you’ve been dying tells me that some pretty gruesome stuff is about to go down, so, tell me what happens tonight.”

The sudden drop of his voice sends a shiver running down your spine. If it weren’t for the fact that you’ve seen how serious Gojo can get, the sudden shift in demeanor would probably freak you out a bit, but it doesn’t. This is the Satoru Gojo you’re familiar with.

You do have one concern though. “That… won’t create a time paradox or anything, will it?”

“Nah,” Gojo shrugs. “You wouldn’t cause one with the way your technique works, besides, if you’ve only been going back at most an hour or two in time it’s hard to believe you’d be making a really big impact… unless you really believe in the butterfly effect.”

You’re still not quite sure.

“Trust me, it’ll be fine.”

His voice sounds strange. Gentle. Kind. It's the most soothing thing you've heard in a long time and it makes you want to believe him.

“...okay.”

Anxiety is still gripping at you, but you try to dispel it, taking a deep breath before beginning your explanation. For the sake of brevity, it’s probably best that you’re as concise as possible. There isn’t much need to really get into the nitty gritty of things unless he asks specifically.

Naturally, you begin with his arrival onto the platform and how soon after a fight breaks out and how the crowd is unfortunate enough to be involved. Gojo’s expression is passive for the most part, but he does crack the faintest hint of a smile when you mention how he manages to eviscerate one of the monsters.

It disappears once you tell him about the arrival of the train. Between the dozens upon dozens of people being dropped onto the platform by those two high school girls and the hoard of monsters disembarking from the train, everything devolves into pandemonium.

“Wait,” Gojo holds a hand up and you pause. This is his first interruption since you started recounting the night’s events for him. “Everyone is able to see the monsters?”

You stare at him. What a weird question. “...yeah?”

His mouth twists and it looks like he’s thinking about something. You can’t even begin to imagine what. Finally, he comments, “Makes sense.”

It does not, but you don’t ask him to elaborate. Surely if it was important he would have just done so.

“Anyway, in the middle of all that, you… you do something.” Your brows bunch together as you remember the stance Gojo took, the crazed and desperate look in his eyes, the feeling of your head about to explode. “I don’t know how to describe it. At first, it would just force me to… activate my technique, I guess. But now, it just knocks me out for a few minutes.”

Gojo frowns and he rubs at his chin, obviously thinking about what you’ve said. Eventually, he raises a hand and bends his fingers into a familiar gesture. It’s the one that preludes whatever he does on the platform. “Do I do this?”

“Yeah.”

He hums. “Interesting.”

You wait to see if he’ll explain. He doesn’t. Great. Even if he doesn’t think you need to know, it certainly would be nice to. It’s annoying otherwise, but you ignore the feeling and continue. “I can’t tell you what happens when I’m knocked out, but when I come to everyone is basically a zombie and all the monsters from the train are gone. I think you kill them.”

“I probably do,” he says casually. “But what about Volcano Head?”

“...you don't…get a chance to kill him,” you say slowly. Gojo tilts his head, waiting for you to elaborate, but you hesitate. You have to tell him, you know you do, but…

You have seen the interaction so many times and though you don't know the exact nature of the relationship between them, you can tell that seeing Suguru Geto (or rather seeing his body) shook Satoru Gojo to his very core.

There's no doubt in your mind that he will not take this news well.

“Come on now,” Gojo's tone is light-hearted, unaware. “Don't keep me in suspense here.”

It's as if you're withholding the punchline to a joke. In a way, you suppose you are, but you don't think he's going to find it funny.

You take a deep breath. You need to tell him. The worst thing that could happen is that he doesn't believe you, but if that's the case… you'll probably just end up repeating this all again until you find a loop where he does.

Having made it this far, you'd like to avoid all that.

“Before you can get Volcano Head you get restrained by something called the prison realm,” you say slowly, “by someone calling themselves… Suguru Geto.”

The second the name leaves your mouth, there is a clear and obvious shift in the air. Gone is Gojo’s laid-back and frivolous demeanor, replaced with something more somber and almost frightening. The tension grows more and more palpable to the point that you think it might almost choke you.

You almost wish that it would.

“You can’t be serious,” Gojo finally says, once your words have fully sunk in.

“I—” You start to speak, but come to an abrupt stop when you see him shove his hand into his pocket to yank out his phone of all things.

The both of you know full well that there’s no reception here, but you don’t think that he’s planning on making any calls. Gojo scrolls and scrolls on his phone before he stops and shoves the screen in your face. It shows a picture of three people— a teenage girl with a cigarette in her mouth, a younger, happier version of Gojo sporting a pair of round sunglasses and—

“When you say ‘Geto’ is this who you’re referring to?” Gojo demands, using his other hand to point at the third person in the frame— a handsome young man with long dark hair pulled up into a bun.

“Yes, but—”

“That’s impossible. It can’t be him,” Gojo interrupts, his voice firm, cold even. “He’s dead.”

There’s a note of finality in his words that is definitely meant to leave no room for argument. It doesn’t stop you, though. Instead, you glare at Gojo’s stupid blindfold and say, “...being dead doesn’t mean a damn thing! I’ve died hundreds of times and yet I’m still fucking here, but—”

“Your situation is different,” he interjects, the temperature of his tone hiking up, his words like heated hissing. “I killed him almost a year ago. There's no way—”

“You didn't get rid of the body properly!” You cut him off, raising your voice in hopes that he'll take even just a second to stop and listen. It seems to work and you add something you remember ‘Geto’ saying. “You should have had Shoko Ieiri get rid of it, but you didn’t and now some… some kind of gross brain thing is possessing the corpse!”

The air between you both is silent as the grave. Though you can't see it, you can feel the weight of his gaze pressing down on you. He’s definitely having second thoughts about everything you’ve said so far. There’s a chance he might even think you’re his enemy now. You stare him down though, refusing to look away. You’ve made it this far, you can’t— you won’t back down.

“...you’re not lying, are you.” Gojo’s words are more of a statement than a question. There’s no doubt in your mind that he knows the answer, and yet he’s still asking. You wonder if maybe he’s clinging onto some vain hope that maybe, just maybe this all a sick, cruel joke that’s gone way too far.

“I’m not.”

Gojo holds your gaze for a second longer before he lets out a curse. “Fuck!”

“...I’m sorry,” you say quietly, mostly because it feels like the most correct thing to say at this moment. You don’t know the whole story, but it seems like they were close. If so, then it must have hurt Gojo a lot to have killed him, and must hurt even more to know that someone is desecrating the body. You hate that you, a complete and utter stranger, happened to be the person to tell him, but…

It had to be done, for the sake of getting past this unending night, it had to be done.

Gojo runs a hand through his hair and lets out a ragged sigh. “Okay. What happens after that?”

You give him a rundown of what follows; he gets sealed, the monsters wake up and all but ‘Geto’ leave in search of their next target. When you mention the high school girls demanding the brain give Geto’s body back, Gojo snorts loudly.

“Fat chance of that,” he says derisively.

You nod in agreement. It was clear to you that the brain parasite has no intent on giving it up any time soon. “After they leave, he… talks to me.”

“Probably couldn't ignore all that cursed energy you have,” Gojo remarks offhandedly.

You stare at him, expression twisted in a way that shows that you have absolutely no clue what that means. It should be fine for you to ask this one question; it actually concerns you after all. “What does that even mean?”

“Exactly what it sounds like, though… probably doesn't make much sense to you, does it?”

You give him a pointed glare and all Gojo does is laugh.

“Just think of it like having a lot of MP.”

“...Like in a video game?”

“Exactly!” Then, Gojo tilts his head, clearly thinking. You don't bother asking; you don't feel like he'll explain.

“He does ask me if I'm a sorcerer, whatever that is. Is that why?”

“Probably. Ordinary people don't have even a fraction of the energy you're packing.”

‘Ordinary people’ he says as if you’re not an ordinary person who got caught up in all this supernatural sorcery bullshit. Or at least you were, but if the time loops are really a product of your own doing…

“Does he kill you when you answer?” Gojo asks to get the conversation back on track.

“Not right away. What happens next kind of varies,” you answer. “He usually lets me have a question or two before he kills me; I've asked him a couple different things.”

“Really taking advantage, aren’t you?” Gojo says and you're not sure what to make of his tone. Is he mocking you or is he easing back into that laid-back persona of his?

“If I’m doomed to repeat the same situation over and over, I might as well make the most of it,” you respond flatly.

“You know, your technique kind of reminds me of save scumming.”

He’s definitely gone back to acting almost completely unserious— all signs of his earlier agitation are nearly gone.

“So what did you learn?”

“Well, the prison realm only holds one occupant. Once they’re sealed, time stops for them and the only way out is if the bearer unseals them or if they choose to kill themselves.”

“I see… And what about our body jacker?”

“He didn’t go into detail but he said something about… striving toward the evolution of mankind?” You frown a little at the memory. He didn’t explain further because he said that you wouldn’t understand.

“Huh. Interesting. Wonder how he was gonna go about doing that.”

“I don't know, but I can't imagine you'd like it since he goes out of his way to seal you into that box,” you say. “Said you’d get in the way because you’re too strong.”

Gojo shrugs his shoulders and grins a little. Cocky. “Well, I am the strongest sorcerer around, you know.”

You would think him overconfident if you hadn't seen the magnitude of his strength first hand.

“Anyway, that's as far as I ever go. When he's decided he’s done talking to me, he kills me and I loop back.”

“So, in short, what you want help with is getting past that point, right?”

“More or less.”

“And all I have to do is avoid getting caught by the prison realm?”

You nod.

“What’s it look like?” he asks. “A big cage with a bunch of metal bars?”

Now that you think about it, you haven’t woken up early enough to see it before it traps him, but you can’t imagine it looks that much different. “No.. It’s a small box with eyes… It gets big enough to fit you in it, though.”

“Huh.” He stretches his arms out above his head as if he’s trying to emphasize how large he actually is and shoots you a grin. “Should be easy enough then. I bet our body snatcher used the shock of seeing Suguru to trap me but since I'll see it coming, avoiding it'll be a piece of cake.”

Gojo makes it sound so easy, and maybe it really is as simple as that, but you can't help but be worried still.

“Don't tell me you don't think I can do it,” he says, tilting his head.

“It's not that,” you admit. “I'm just concerned I might die before we can get to that point.”

Truthfully, since you know that will just result in another loop you're less concerned with dying itself and more worried about losing the progress you've made in convincing Gojo to help you. Even though it's been clearly proven you can loop him as well, there's no guarantee you'll be able to make the physical contact needed to do it upon death.

“You've made it pretty far on your own, though, right?”

“Yeah, but… I’ve messed up plenty of times.” More than you can even count. “There's also the possibility that taking the time to talk to you might have thrown things out of whack.”

Speaking of time, you check your phone. It's 8:39PM. You curse.

Gojo leans over to check your phone. “Let me guess, I'm supposed to be somewhere right now.”

“Yeah, this is when you’re descending down onto the platform.”

“You know where I am down to the exact minute?” He asks and you tilt your head back and forth a little. It’s not exact per se, but it’s close enough. Gojo chuckles a little. “Man, I didn’t realize that you were actually that into me.”

That earns Gojo a glare from you, but he just laughs it off. “I doubt being a few minutes late is going to make a big difference.”

You certainly hope so.

“Don't worry,” Gojo says and you notice he's using that tone from earlier. “You won't die.”

It’s hard to argue with him when he uses such a reassuring sounding voice and yet, you still open your mouth to try— to voice your doubts, but what he says next silences you before you even can.

“I'll protect you.”

You think your heart stops beating in your chest and your words dissolve in your throat.

He grins at you. “Did you fall in love with me just now?”

That catches you a little off guard. You're willing to admit he's hot, but surely he must be joking. “How could you even think of something like that at a time like this?”

Gojo laughs again. “Well, since someone is so worried about their time table being all messed up, I better head down there; can’t keep Volcano Head and friends waiting, right?”

You blink. Is that it? “Wait, shouldn’t we make a plan or something?”

“Isn’t the plan for me to not get caught in the prison realm?”

Yes, but… “But what about me? Is there anything I can do?”

Gojo stares at you, or at least you think he does. “...I don’t know, is there?”

You’ve seen the encounter between Satoru Gojo and those monsters so many times and you try to picture a version of it where you intervene and… all you can see is yourself getting in his way. You’re no fighter, no… sorcerer, or whatever he is, you’re just some ordinary person that was unfortunate enough to get all caught up in this mess. The most you can probably do is kick the prison realm out of the way when the time comes, but otherwise… “...no, I guess not.”

His expression turns sympathetic. “You’ve done plenty by telling me everything that happens. So just wait up here, and let me handle the monsters.”

You almost nod. Almost. But then you remember what transpires up here above the platform. You know it sounds safer up here where you’re less likely to get involved in the carnage, but… “Wait, no, if I stay up here then I’ll fall to my death when those girls—”

Gojo laughs, interrupting you. “Don’t worry about that. It’ll be fine.”

“How?”

“Just trust me.”

“I…” It’s hard to. After everything you’ve gone through it’s hard to trust in anything, to believe in anything. Even though you’ve made it this far this time, the worry that something will go wrong and that you’ll have to do it all again still lurks in the back of your mind.

Despite all that, you want to believe.

You want to believe that you can make it past this unending night, that one day you’ll wake up and it’ll no longer be October 31, 2018. And the first step towards that is trusting in Satoru Gojo.

“...okay,” you say quietly. “Okay.”

Gojo chuckles then asks, “Anything else before I head off?”

You start to ask if there’s anything you should say, in case things don’t work out, but you stop yourself. You’re choosing to trust him, to believe in him— you can figure out that stuff later if things end up going south after all. So, instead you give him a smile and it feels a little weird because you don’t remember the last time you did. “Good luck!”

For a split second, Gojo looks almost surprised, but then he laughs again, beaming widely at you. He starts to move past you and reaches out to give you what you think is meant to be a reassuring squeeze of the shoulder and then he’s off. You turn to watch him go, the crowd, once again, parting almost naturally for him.

When he reaches the barricade, he pauses, raising his hand as if he’s giving you one last wave. Then he jumps over it onto his little perch and then less than a minute later he’s gone, descending to the platform below.

Now, all you can do is wait.

You check your phone again and it’s 8:44PM. If you remember correctly, the high school girls start threatening everyone right before 9PM. With Gojo’s arrival being shifted back almost five minutes, does that mean that they’ll be shifted back too? It would make sense, but you’re not too sure.

Out of habit, you keep checking your phone and at nearly 9PM, you hear the shrill voice of one of the girls over the crowd, commanding everyone to do what she says, her partner stringing up bodies until everyone listens. Everything plays out just as you remember it, which is mildly comforting, though you know that the events that happen up here are more or less independent from what happens below.

Surely, just as Gojo said, a few minutes aren’t going to change anything, but—

No.

You agreed to trust him. To trust that everything would be fine.

When the girls start to demand that as many people as possible climb onto the roots and vines covering the atrium your heart starts to hammer in your chest. In just a few minutes, all the foliage will disintegrate beneath you, and you and everyone else here will fall into the abyss below.

You are afraid.

There isn’t a single loop where you’ve really survived this fall. If you don’t die in midair, you die right after landing. It’s a death trap, and that’s why you’ve stopped coming up here. There’s a part of you, the part that knows what’s about to happen, that wants to try and run back onto stable footing. But you can’t, because you know if you do then the girls will kill you for sure; you have to stay.

It’ll be fine, you tell yourself, it’ll be okay.

You just have to trust Gojo.

An eight car train is pulling in. Please wait behind the yellow line.

You hear the announcement faintly below you. It’s almost time. You brace yourself and try to stay calm. Gojo said he would protect you, that you wouldn’t die. You don’t know how he intends to keep that promise, but all you can do is believe in his words.

It’ll be fine. It’ll be okay.

The vines and roots start to crack and the ground beneath you starts to give out. You squeeze your eyes shut as that sickening weightless feeling overtakes you. It occurs to you that this is actually quite literally a trust fall— will Satoru Gojo really be able to catch you?

As you fall, you realize almost instantly that something is different.

You’ve experienced this fall dozens of times and so, even though it has been a while since you’ve gone this route, you are very familiar with what it feels like. Something is different. You’re falling faster. The trajectory is changing. It’s like some force, other than gravity, is pulling at you.

Is this Gojo’s doing?

Just as your body collides with the ground you hear the sounds of mutilating flesh meld with the screams surrounding you. Blood and severed limbs litter the ground, but you try to ignore it. You need to focus on your own survival right now. Quickly, you scramble to your feet scan the area around you; you’re on the platform right now and right in front of you is—

Right in front of you is Satoru Gojo.

His back is turned to you, his focus currently elsewhere. Looking at him you realize you recognize this scene, though it’s much closer and at a different angle. He’s about to do that thing, that thing that knocks you out.

Something in you tells you to move closer to him, after all, he used his mysterious powers to deliberately bring you closer to him, right? You rush toward him and as you do something he said earlier pops up in your mind.

Anyone you happen to be touching when you activate your technique gets affected by it too!

Whatever he’s about to do… Is that his ‘technique?’ And if it is, would it work the same way as yours? If so, there’s only one way to find out: you need to touch him. You dodge monsters and other people as you run toward Satoru Gojo and—

A monster still manages to grab you, its large hands wrapping around your wrist. You try and yank it free, but it's much stronger than you are.

“Shit!” you hiss as the monster starts to pull you toward it and away from Gojo. What do you do? Your other hand is still free, should you try to punch it in the face? Or—

Before you can do anything, something blasts the monster’s head clean off. Shocked, you stare as the monster’s body slumps onto the ground, its grip loosening on you instantly. You whip your head around to find that while Gojo still has his back to you, his arm is bent back in your direction, his palm open as if he fired some invisible blast from it.

Then you feel it again, something pulling at you, but this time it's more forceful. Your body is yanked toward Gojo and the second you feel his hand press against you, you see him make that gesture with his other hand.

“Domain Expansion,” he whispers in a strained voice. “Infinite Void!”

Something happens and your vision flashes for a fraction of a second. And then—

The room is enveloped in an eerie stillness; all the violence and bloodshed coming to an abrupt stop. Monsters and humans alike stand like the living dead, unconscious with their eyes wide open as if they are staring into an infinite abyss. You recognize this scene, you’re familiar with it because it’s similar to the one you wake up to after being hit by Gojo’s ‘domain expansion.’ The only difference is the presence of the monsters, who are all but gone when you regain consciousness.

The pressure from Gojo’s hand is gone and he says to you, his voice still low. “If you’re squeamish when it comes to blood and gore, it might be best for you to close your eyes.”

And then he’s gone.

You do not take his advice. You do not close your eyes. How many loops were you unable to witness what’s about to unfold? A few hundred? A few thousand? And if all goes to plan, then you will never get another chance again: there’s no way you could possibly look away.

And what you see unfold before you is that Satoru Gojo was right.

He is the one to kill all the monsters.

It’s not as if you really had any doubt, after all, it seemed like the most logical conclusion to come to and yet…

There’s a difference between knowing and seeing.

All the violence resumes and the platform is engulfed in the sounds of carnage and slaughter once more. The lack of terrified screams makes everything more disconcerting— without them, all you can hear is the squelching echo of mangled flesh and blood splattering all over the place. You can’t really see him, but you can tell where Satoru Gojo is in the crowd as he leaves dozens upon dozens of decapitated heads soaring in his wake. Once or twice, he leaps out of the crowd and even from where you stand you can see the crazed glow of his inhumanly blue eyes as he massacres monster after monster.

Even though you don’t think you have anything to be scared of, you are still terrified: Satoru Gojo is no longer a man, but violence incarnate. You want to move closer to where Gojo gets trapped, but you’re afraid to. What if you get in his way? What if he kills you by accident?

Dying again when you’ve made it this far is definitely not ideal, but isn’t being killed by Gojo the best case scenario? Because then the two of you would probably loop together again and—

No.

Gojo said you wouldn’t die.

He said he’d protect you.

It’s hard to believe when he’s in the middle of a massacre, slaughtering monsters left and right, but you remind yourself yet again that you have to believe in him.

You take a deep breath and start moving, taking care to keep an eye on where Gojo is. You don’t know how long this is supposed to take, but you do know where he ends up when he’s just about done. The closer he gets to that spot, the sooner the prison realm will be unleashed upon him.

There’s a small group of zombified people nearby and you settle yourself among them. It’s not super close, but you think it's close enough that you'd be able to run over and kick the box away from Gojo if you have to. You do a quick survey to see if you can spot the body snatcher, but he's nowhere to be found. Hopefully, he hasn't noticed you moving around, or, if he has, he's more concerned with Gojo than he is with you. Given that you always seem to be the last thing he acknowledges, you'd like to think that he doesn't consider you a threat.

Which you're not, not really anyway.

The sounds of slaughter start to die down and you look to see Gojo approaching the spot where he gets caught. He looks beat, his eyes unfocused and his breathing heavy. You do another quick scan around him and notice a small box a few meters away from him, wrapped in what looks like paper charms or seals or whatever they're called. That has to be the prison realm— though it looks different than what you saw before. Gojo seems to notice it right after you do, his gaze honing in on it, examining it with some measure of bewilderment. Then, some invisible force slices through all the paper seals covering the box and it expands, the corners of the box floating up in midair to reveal what looks like a large sheet of dark red flesh with a large bloodshot eye stapled to the middle.

Disgusting.

If Gojo didn’t realize before, he seems to now, because he takes a step back, away from the grotesque thing. Good, good—

“Hey! Satoru!” Your blood runs cold at the sound of the body snatcher’s voice. He emerges from the crowd, smiling widely as he gives Gojo a wave. “Long time no see!”

Satoru Gojo’s entire body goes rigid. Shit. You told him, you warned him about what was going to happen, who he was going to see, but was that not enough? It’s possible that no amount of warning would have been enough to mentally prepare Satoru Gojo for the sight of the man he said he killed a year ago. After all, you know that there’s a stark difference between knowing and seeing. Even then, if Gojo doesn’t gather his wits and move now then he’s going to get caught and you can’t let that happen.

Your body moves before you can even think about it.

You scramble out from your hiding spot in the crowd and throw yourself in between Satoru Gojo and the prison realm. There’s no way you can kick it away from him now, not when it’s in this form, but maybe, if you get between them you can at least keep it from capturing him.

The eye quivers erratically, as it flits from Gojo to you. Every hair on your body stands on end as it watches you, the pupil dilating and contracting uncontrollably. You can’t look away from it, your own gaze fixed to your image reflected in the black abyss of the pupil. Something in the back of your mind tells you to stop, to get away, it’s dangerous, but you keep your feet firmly planted to the ground.

A second, or maybe even a minute passes and the prison realm shifts, its fleshy form morphing to restrain you.

The body jacker looks at you, his frown tinged with disgust. “Don’t you think you’re being rather rude by butting into what could have been a touching reunion?”

You scowl. Is he still trying to play the role of Suguru Geto?

He sighs and looks past you at Gojo. “Satoru, I thought bringing lesser sorcerers to fight alongside you was more trouble than it was worth?”

You hear Gojo snort from behind you, “It is… but this person here isn’t a sorcerer… Just like you aren’t Suguru Geto.”

The faker almost pouts and presses his hand to his chest as if Gojo's words have wounded him. “Satoru, I’m hurt, how could you say such a thing to your best friend?”

“Cut the bullshit,” Gojo snarls. “You can’t fucking fool me. You might be in Suguru’s body but I know with all my heart and soul that you’re not him.”

The corpse snatcher stares at Gojo, expression blank before he sighs once more. Then, his gaze shifts back to you, his eyes narrowed as he looks at you with sheer disdain. It feels as if you’ve been drenched in ice cold water. There's no smile this time but you already know what's going to happen.

He’s going to kill you.

“I intended to deal with you later since you seemed harmless enough,” he says, raising a hand to summon a monster— the same one he always uses to end your life. “But you’re in the way. So, I think it’s for the best if I just get rid of you right now.”

Instinctively, you try to take a step back but the prison realm’s restraints keep you in place. Not that it would have mattered much, even in the loops where you’ve tried to escape the faker’s monster, it still kills you, too fast and too agile for an ordinary human like you to avoid. All you can do is squeeze your eyes shut and wait for the monster to kill you. At least, it’s always painless.

Something touches your back.

Your eyes shoot open.

Before you is the monster, wiggling and writhing only mere centimeters from your face. It gurgles and snarls at you, desperate to fulfill its master’s wishes and kill you but it doesn’t move any closer. You stare at it with wide eyes, unsure of what to do.

Someone behind you clicks their tongue— Gojo. You try to turn your head to look at him, but your movements are too limited, the most you can do is turn your head to the side. The sounds the monster is making start to change, sounding more frenzied, almost as if it’s in pain, and you flit your eyes in its direction just in time to see its entire body explode. The monster's guts and bright purple blood fly off in every direction, getting on the floor, the ceiling, the zombified bodies of the people unfortunate enough to be nearby, but not on you.

This is Satoru Gojo’s doing.

He steps in front of you, half turned towards you as he moves in between you and the body snatcher. His hands are shoved in his pockets as he loudly says, “Did you really forget about me?”

You’re not sure if he’s talking to you or the body snatcher.

Past him, the imposter scowls, raising his hand once more, probably to summon even more monsters, but Gojo’s quicker, and it almost looks like his eyes are glowing even brighter, the blue looking almost white as he whips his head in the faker’s direction. The sound of mangling flesh and breaking bones echoes throughout the room as Gojo, using that mysterious power of his, seems to break the faker’s arm.

The body snatcher hisses loudly and despite the fact that his face is twisted in very obvious pain, he tries to shoot Gojo a mocking smile. “Do you really think you can kill your best friend again?”

“I already told you,” Gojo turns to fully face the monster inhabiting Geto’s corpse. He tilts his head a little to the side and some force starts to squeeze at the faker’s neck. “You’re not Suguru.”

You hear a loud crack as Gojo telekinetically snaps his neck.

The head rolls onto the ground and you almost look away, but then you notice his eyes still moving, looking around. Is he still alive? Then you remember: the thing possessing Suguru Geto’s body was some kind of parasite. “Gojo! Wait! The brain!”

He reacts almost instantly, head turning and in an instant the skull is crushed and all that remains is red splotch on the ground.

You almost relax. Almost.

But the body is still standing.

Horrified, you watch as it quivers violently before falling to the ground. Then what looks like dozens of black spirits start to erupt from the corpse and the entire room is engulfed with a shrill howling.

What the hell is going on?

“Those must be all the cursed spirits he consumed,” Gojo explains uselessly, voice barely audible over the screaming. “Guess he was empty before.”

You don’t bother asking what he means. There are bigger problems right now. “What do we do?”

“No choice to exorcise them,” he answers plainly.

For him to exorcise them, he means. You both know that there’s not much that you can do. You still can’t move and honestly, you don’t even know if it’s possible to get out of the prison realm’s restraints. Not without dying. And if you die now…

Everything will have been for naught.

You’ll reset time and have to do this all over again— assuming you can even get to this point again.

There has to be something, you just have to think outside the box.

Or rather—

“Gojo!”

He glances back at you.

“You need to seal me in the prison realm!” you exclaim. He turns to face you fully, looking bewildered and you start to explain as fast as you can. “Those things are going to attack any minute right? I can’t move or try to hide and I can’t expect you to protect me the entire time and if I die then I’ll end up looping time again, but— but, if you seal me in the prison realm then that won’t happen.”

Gojo frowns, looking conflicted. “You don’t think I can do it?”

“Wouldn't it be easier if you didn’t have to?”

He tilts head and you think he’s conceding your point.

“Please,” you beg, staring at him desperately. “We don’t have much time. The other… cursed spirits will wake up soon too!”

You don’t have to explain that you mean Volcano Head and friends.

It takes only a second for Gojo to consider the very few options you have. “...how do you seal it? Do you know?”

“I think so,” you answer. “There’s no guarantee it’ll work but I think that if you say ‘prison realm, gate close’ it should seal me inside.”

If anything, it’s worth a shot.

Gojo nods. “Do you know how to break the seal?”

“I… don’t,” you confess. You never asked, and you don’t think the body snatcher would have told you even if you did. He only told you that it holds one and that…

That time doesn’t flow in the box.

“...you don’t have to break the seal.”

Gojo frowns, “Wait a sec—”

“Even if I make it past tonight… What if this all happens again? What if I inadvertently trap myself in another time loop?” you ask. “I… I don’t want to have to go through all of this again. It’s better for me in a place where time doesn’t pass.”

You don’t know for sure if it’ll be better, but right here, right now, it seems like the best option.

It feels like an eternity passes before Gojo says anything.

“...fine,” he agrees and you don’t quite know how to feel about it. The howling around you all grows louder. You wonder why the cursed spirits haven’t attacked yet. Maybe Gojo’s power is holding them at bay… for now anyway. You both know that he can’t ignore them forever.

“...before I do, though, mind if I ask you just one thing?”

You blink. “Not sure what I can do for you in this state…”

He laughs. “I just want to know your name.”

What an odd request. Though, now that you think about it, you don’t think that during this loop or any other loop really, you’ve ever told him your name. It only seems fair to tell him, since you’ve known his for longer than he’s known of your existence.

You tell him your name.

He nods, looking as if he’s committing to memory. Probably easier to remember than his phone number. “Any last words?”

You try to think of something. Nothing comes to mind and you just shake your head.

Gojo takes a deep breath, “Alrighty then… Prison realm, gate close.”

Just as it did the many times you’ve seen Satoru Gojo sealed away, the boxes and restraints around you vibrate a little before they start to close around you, growing large enough to fit your body as they approach.

You won’t see it, but once you’re inside the box will shrink and become small enough to fit in the palm of someone’s hand.

Will it be quiet inside?

In your final seconds, some words, some last words come to mind, and you say them, hoping that he hears them in time. “Thank you, Satoru Gojo.”

You burn the glittering glow of his brilliant bright blue eyes into your mind.

And then, everything is engulfed in an unending black.

It’s November 30, 2018— morning on the campus of Tokyo Prefectural Jujutsu High School.

Satoru Gojo strides through the school grounds, casually tossing a small silver box with eerie blue eyes known as the prison realm up and down in his grasp. Walking at his side is Shoko Ieiri, a pretty woman who’s been unfortunate enough to have been Satoru’s friend since high school.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Shoko asks, twirling a few strands of her long brown hair.

“What do you mean?” Satoru responds nonchalantly. “All my ideas are good ideas.”

Shoko hums in clear dissent, but doesn’t say anything more. Even she knows better than to try and waste her time trying to argue with Satoru. “I’m just worried about their mental state. Didn’t you say that time doesn’t flow in the box?”

“I’d be worried if it was some normal person,” Satoru says. “But after what they’ve gone through I think they’ll be fine.”

“...well, if you say so.”

The two arrive at their destination: the largest training area on the Jujutsu High grounds. Satoru places the prison realm at the center and takes a few steps back with Shoko standing behind him, in case anything happens.

He doesn’t think it will, but it’s always good to take at least a few precautions.

“Gojo, are you sure we should be doing this?” Shoko asks again. “Didn’t they want to remain in the box?”

“Of course I am,” Satoru says with his usual air of confidence before looking back at the prison realm nestled in the grass. He grins and then—

“Prison realm, gate open.”

if you made it this far. thank you. it's my sincerest hope that you enjoyed the ride.

#gojo x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jjk x reader #jjk fanfic

479 notes · View notes

notjustjavierpena · 5 months

Text

Heat

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost

A/N: Many many moons ago (this might be an exaggeration), I wrote a direct message to @undercoverpena about one of her text posts that sent me into a horny spiral. I loved it. You can read the text post here. At lot happened since then, and I bet you all that she must have forgotten or thought I would not finish it, but alas I return from the dead.

Summary: Javier looks so delicious doing hard work under the sun. The kids aren’t home. Heat is not just what the sun gives, it can also be a state of your body.

Pairing: Javier Peña x reader (no y/n)

Tags: +18 smut, clit stim, piv sex, dirty talk, breeding kink, creampie, rough sex, javi p is sweaty and you are horny

Word count: 3k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51636391

Heat

It’s a thousand degrees outside.

It’s the beginning of autumn and it’s boiling hot, so warm that one cannot fully enjoy the weather when it makes everything feel crispier. You’ll be damned if you are going to spend the sparse and sacred hours of being childfree inside your house with a pout though, because your father-in-law has the kids after a long period of him being unable to babysit.

One would think that now that your three children are in Abuelo Chucho’s hands, it would mean having a long-awaited, as well as well-deserved, date night with your husband, but Javier has decided to spend the day renovating the back porch in the heat. You haven’t rolled your eyes at him yet, but the urge has been there several times.

You sit on the porch swing, dangling your feet just above the wooden boards that are soon to be removed and replaced. There’s a glass of cold lemonade in your hand, a bee buzzing somewhere nearby.

Javier is in the shed at the back of the garden. You can hear him move things around, occasionally letting out a swear word moments after something clatters to the floor with a loud bang.

You sip your lemonade through its straw. The honey bee has found the bush of lavender, and you let your eyes close to listen to the sounds of late summer, the start of fall. The sun dances on your lids, sweat forms at the small of your back just above your shorts and right below your cropped t-shirt.

After a few minutes where you’ve leaned back into the backrest of the porch swing, and nearly fallen asleep, you hear Javier returning. Automatically, your eyes open at hearing him speak.

“Hey, enjoying yourself?” He has come over to peck your lips. You allow it, holding up the glass of lemonade afterward to watch his lips close around the straw. He takes a long sip whilst his eyes are fixed on yours.

“Gotta stay hydrated if you want to work in this heat,” you note.

“Just gonna be all pretty sitting there and watching me?” He asks after swallowing, and you have to force yourself to look away from the way his Adam's Apple bobs.

“Mh-hm,” you nod without saying much, knowing you’ll break if you try to get an actual sentence out.

“Alright,” he just replies, and you swear you catch some sort of undertone in his voice. He kisses you again, lingering a second too long for you to be indifferent towards it, and then stretches again. A less collected version of you wants to undo his belt right there, but you let him go instead. Not without regret though.

And then he starts working, dragging planks across the soon-naked porch deck, and you start sweating even more at the sight. Even moreso at the grunts he elicits during his labor.

Javier is beautiful underneath the burning sun, sweat-slicked chest hair peeking out from under his grayish shirt that he has unbuttoned at the top. He rolls his sleeves up to his elbows because they cannot go up any further than that, tightening around the beginnings of his biceps and causing your head to swim when you think about those arms around you.

You allow yourself to ogle him as he is lost in the task. The straw in your lemonade sits in your mouth, your tongue curling around it briefly before you sip to clench your thirst. There’s sweat collecting on Javier’s brow, threatening to drip down, and when it finally does slide down the side of his head, your eyes burn from refraining from blinking as you watch the beads roll down his neck and into the clavicle of it. You press your thighs together.

The gray shirt has darkened in color around his shoulders due to dampness. Whenever Javier turns his back to you, you can see the darker patch has reached his lower back too. Your tongue darts out to lick at nothing around your mouth, and you know that your husband would laugh at you if he saw it.

There’s something dirty about watching the way he brushes slick hair from his forehead. He has knelt down on the deck by now, occasionally on all fours when he reaches for something in front of himself, and when he gets really concentrated, straining his back muscles so much that the shirt starts fighting for its life, he pulls a face that nearly makes you fall off the porch swing.

You bite your lip, choose your words but none seems to do the job so you settle for something more simple, “Javi.”

“Sí, mi amor?” Javier doesn’t look up.

You remind yourself that he has talked about redoing the porch since his father agreed to take the kids. You won’t spoil it for him, and you know that a half-finished project with three kids is not an ideal situation for you, so you compose yourself.

“I think I need to get out of the sun for a bit, can I get you some water?” You ask instead of getting on your knees to beg - or more - and then you walk past him.

“Sure,” he replies as you pass him, and it makes you unable to see the smirk on his face, “Water would be great. Thanks, honey.”

Inside the kitchen, you fill a glass with cold water from the refrigerator. You even get a few ice cubes from the tray in your freezer but instead of dumping them into your husband’s drink, you hold them against your chest with a sigh of relief. Something burns in the pit of your stomach, even more when you return to the porch and hand Javier the glass of water. He hasn’t gotten less enticing; shirt clinging to him, hair sticking to his forehead, a groan as he gets up from the floor.

“Should be done by tomorrow,” he says as he takes the glass from your hand, causing a bolt of electricity to shoot down your spine as your fingers brush. It’s ridiculous since both of you know that he is yours already.

“Mm-hm,” you watch him gulp down nearly all of his drink.

And then he does something that you might never recover from; he pours the remaining water over himself in an attempt to cool down. It wets his hair even more, and he runs his thick fingers through it to shake out the excess droplets.

Time stands still. Your heart hammers in your chest, pulse traveling through your veins until you can feel the throbbing of each heartbeat between your legs. You press your thighs together and let out a whimper of breath.

“Baby?” You say softly to earn a hm? It feels shameful to meet Javier’s eyes. However when you do, you notice his pupils have dilated in desire, gaze flickering down your body for the shortest time, and you choose to strike.

You step into Javier’s personal space, hand reaching up to lie on his chest. The soft pads of your fingers rest on his skin where his buttons are undone, and you try to keep a doe-eyed look on your face as you rub his exposed skin gently.

“I was thinking,” you start, trail off.

“Yes?” He drags the word out. You can hear the smirk on his face but it feels too vulnerable to look him in the eye.

“Since we’re alone,” you continue, gaze fixated on the chest hair that is exposed in the heat, “And since there’s air conditioning inside, we could do something together.”

“Do what?” He says like someone who has figured you out. His strong hand comes up to wrap around your wrist, lifting your palm to his mouth. He kisses it.

Your face burns with embarrassment at the fact that you can barely contain yourself in his presence. That and the fact that it is usually so easy, so why does it feel so difficult to ask for what you want?

“You know what.”

“I need you to say it, need you to ask for it, mi vida,” he teases and places your hand on the side of his face. He releases a breath at your touch, eyes fluttering closed so you feel brave enough to look up at his face. He leans further into you and looks as ready as you to give in.

“I need you to touch me,” your voice trembles. Javier just barely shudders at hearing your words, opening his eyes once more to reveal their darkened color.

“Touch you where?” Javier continues his little game. He mirrors you, touches your face too, “Here?”

“No.”

His hand moves down to brush your neck, “Here then? It must be here.”

“No,” you shake your head, “Please, Javi.”

Javier’s hand slides down your front and settles on the exposed skin of your belly. It causes you to hold your breath. Then it goes down, slips past the elastic band of your shorts and into your damp underwear. You gasp as two of his fingers slide through the wetness between your legs, tips finding your pulsing clit immediately after. Thank God you have hedges around the back garden and thank God that they’re tall enough to keep prying eyes away from the scene that unfolds.

“What about here? I hope it’s here because I don’t want to stop,” he rubs you off slowly until your legs start to shake underneath you. He works his fingers back and forth, from side to side, one on either side of your clit and something builds and builds and—

You come with a little cry and bury your face in Javier’s chest. Your hand on the side of his face falls down to his shoulder which you grip as you soak your underwear even more, thighs trapping his hand as they clamp together. As your head spins, Javier chuckles out a swear word above you.

“Never gets old,” he adds and you start giggling.

After a few seconds of letting you breathe, Javier cups your face and lifts your lips to his own in a kiss that tells you everything you need to know, where you’re heading, which direction. You kiss him back slowly and he licks the inside of your mouth, guides you toward the screen door that leads inside of the house. He has you, you want to say, body and soul.

“Let me take my beautiful wife to bed,” he begs and you nod repeatedly, mumbling a soft plea. He peppers you with sweet kisses that turn more heated as you get closer to the bedroom door. He toes off his shoes on the way, leaving them forgotten in the hallway along with pieces of clothing that he sheds you and himself of.

When you’re both naked, sticking together from the sweat that is already shining on your skin, he hoists you up and carries you to the bed effortlessly. You cling to him by wrapping your limbs around his body, and he kneels down on the bed and places you on your back - and then he doesn’t leave but instead melts into you.

“Te deseo mucho, mi amor,” he murmurs and crushes you so heavenly with his weight, connecting his lips to your throat and sucking a purple mark onto your skin. You’ll scold him for it later but right now, you simply whine. His voice vibrates against your neck, “You really thought all I was gonna do was redo the stupid porch? Not do you?”

“Could’ve fooled me,” you bite back with no real hostility, first snorting at his choice of words and then letting out a sigh as he continues tasting your salty skin, “I was ready to go insane, so please fuck me.”

“Dramatic as ever,” he teases and then holds himself up with one arm so he can reach down between your bodies. You bend your legs and let your knees fall out to the sides, breath hitching until it becomes a whimper when the head of Javier’s cock slides through your folds.

“Please,” you say, and have never been so willing. His cockhead catches on your clit, and your moan comes out a lot louder than intended. You are just about to cover your mouth with your hand when you realize you don’t have to; you can cry and whine and scream all you want to. It makes you yearn for him in a newfound sense and makes you want to scream already.

“Paciencia, mi amor,” he tuts but still reads your mind. He enters you a moment later, pushing inside easily from the slick that’s already smearing your inner thighs. He groans as you take him, eyes intensely focused on yours whilst stretching your pussy open in a delicious sting. Your hands find his broad shoulders instead of their usual place clamped down on your mouth. You let yourself be noisy as you adjust.

“That’s it,” he slurs, “Be noisy all you want. Good girl.”

When he pulls out and eases back in, the two of you moan in unison. He does it again but follows it up with a breathless laugh when your noises already climb in pitch.

“I know, baby, I know,” he says soothingly as if you’ve hurt yourself.

But then he shows no mercy and speeds up. His rhythm becomes something else entirely; hard and fast, sending the eyes in your head rolling backward into your skull with a f-fuck dripping from your lips.

Everything is so different. Usually, you breathe so deeply into each other’s bodies, connecting your lips whenever the other is about to give away what the two of you are doing to the rest of the house. Your noses will bump against each other as you are impossibly close to one another, an occasional h-ah escaping your mouth or a low grunt from Javier’s, and if not even a kiss can cover up the noises, Javier’s strong hand or your own will cover your mouth as you cry through the most intense orgasms a man has ever given you.

But now. Oh God. Javier is making you sing until the house is shaking, every noise bouncing off the walls to ricochet right back to your ears. You can hear yourself sound obscene as he makes you come a second time, wanton moans falling from your slack mouth. You tremble, thighs jiggling along his sides as he drives his cock into you to prolong your pleasure.

“There you are, Christ, you are perfect,” he praises, continues to pound your oversensitive cunt, “Let it all out, baby.”

“More,” you beg, “Don’t stop.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he grunts.

You reach down between your legs as best as you can, already thinking of a third orgasm now that your clit is untouched. If not only to shout yourself hoarse.

Javier traps you between his arms, propping himself up on his forearms and sliding his fingers into your hair. He tugs slightly as he rolls his hips, pain erupting from your sensitive follicles and adding to your third high that is building.

You circle your clit fast, barely able to contain yourself as your cunt goes off into delicious spasm. You think you might actually start crying with how intense it feels, Javier’s cock twitching inside of you whilst he moans too. He buries his face in your shoulder.

“Don’t pull out,” you gasp up at the ceiling, nails creating little crescent marks on the muscles of his broad shoulder, “Javi, oh fuck, come in me. Don’t pull out. Pleasepleaseplease.”

The comment makes Javier pull back a little, raising himself on his elbow to look down at you. His fingers are still in your hair, an occasional moan tumbles out of his mouth as he continues reaching deep inside of you, and his eyes bore into yours. He furrows his brow from being so close, barely able to speak from how ragged his breathing is.

“What—?” He grunts. Any moment now.

“Not ovulating,” you moan back at him, tightening your legs around his waist to punctuate your want, your need. You try meeting his every thrust to encourage his own high, “Please, baby. Need you to come in me.”

“Mierda, estas una chica sucia,” his hips stutter, “You love getting filled to the brim, don’t you?”

You nod frantically.

“Just want me to keep knocking your sweet cunt up, huh?” He moans.

“Yes. Whole fucking football team.”

“C’mere,” he catches your mouth in a heated kiss, nodding slightly, but it turns messy as soon as he gets to orgasm. He whimpers into your mouth when he is just on the brink, and then he gasps as the first rope of come starts to fill you. You let out a big sigh against his mouth for show, taking everything he has to give you whilst he shudders in your arms.

It takes a moment to calm down. Your arms rest beside your head and your eyes close, trying to calm your heavy breathing. Above you, Javier hisses when he pulls out of you and you can immediately feel his come dripping out of you.

Javier kisses your exposed chest. He slides his hands up your forearms to eventually hold each of your hands, flopping down onto you again.

“Ice water,” you say after a while of laying together like this.

“Hm?” He squeezes your hands.

“Go get some ice water, your wife is boiling.”

“Fine,” he groans.

When he comes back, he has also brought a towel and you spend the rest of the afternoon trailing ice cubes across your warm skin after cleaning yourself up. It’ll be easier to work in the colder evening sun anyway.

FOLLOW @notjustjavierpena-fics AND TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS 💖❤️💖❤️

#pedro pascal characters #javi pena #javier pena one shot #javier pena x reader #javier pena smut #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena imagine #javier pena fic #javier pena narcos #javi peña #javier peña #javier pena x you #my writing #husband!javi #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fanfiction

710 notes · View notes

kinokkotsu · 7 months

Text

Home. — Yuta Okkotsu x F.Reader

Today’s Music Recommendation: M. By Anil Emre Daldal

As soon as Yuuta stepped inside the gates of Jujutsu Tech, everyone was there to welcome him, including you.

You held the sides of your long pleated skirt so hard that the fabric began to seem crumble. You were extremely nervous to meet your..friend who hadn’t been with you and the rest for almost a year and now he was finally back home.

There you spotted Yuuta who had grew his hair out and his eyes seemed like he had not slept for decades with eye bags underneath. He grew a bit taller than the last time you saw him.

When His eyes met yours, he gave you a genuine smile. The one you had been craving to see.

You pursed your lips as you held back the tears in your eyes and just calmly walked towards the tall male and give him a friendly hug.

“Welcome back, you..changed a lot.” Yuuta laughed at your very first response.

“That’s right. I’ve grown up, haven’t I?” the rest of the group joined the laughter in which you could only smile at his silly joke.

As many left after welcoming him, you stayed with him and followed his way through the old dorm that he used to stay in. Which you of course helped the man carry his stuff back into his room.

“Woah..i expected my room to be dusty and smokey but seems like somebody has cleaned up my room.” He glanced at you teasingly who was swallowing her own nerves anxiously.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself. Maki and Panda were planning to do so I just volunteered to help.”

You broke the eye contact you had with him and proceeded to open his luggage and recognize his wardrobe.

This man who you thought of as a pure soul had turnt into some scary looking creature but you found yourself still getting comfortable with him.

“Oh and i got you a gift.” Yuuta broke the dead silent within the room with his soothing voice. You who was sitting on her knees before the wardrobe, glanced over your shoulder and looked at the guy that sat at the edge of his bed.

“Come here”

“Why would I? You come here.” you scoffed which made Yuuta chuckle and made his way through towards your figure.

Both of his hands reached out with a thin rose-golden necklace that shone beautifully under the sunlight that was illuminating the room. Your jaw slightly dropped as your eyes admired the jewelry that was intertwined with his slim fingers.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

“It indeed is..”

You began to feel embarrassed for staring at the necklace like you had never seen one before. But in fact, you had never received a gift from no one like this which specialized the beauty of his gift.

“Now I want you to hold your hair for me so I can help you wear this.” Yuuta instructed with a gentle smile. Your eyes locked within his gaze before you nodded and followed his orders.

He was gentle with his movements. Though his face didn’t show any signs of emotion, deep down he was completely nervous as if he was about to piss in his pants right in that spot. he had never done this to any other females which was totally obvious.

Your heart felt like it was about to burst out of your chest. The feelings you got for this man currently got you folding completely. Despite being nervous, You didn’t even know you were holding your breath until his hands were moved away from your shoulders.

“There, I knew it would look good on you.” the male laughed as he let himself fall back onto the ground.

you stared on your neck, ignoring the burning heat in your cheeks. “yeah, thanks.”

“Just thanks?” He hummed. You shot a sarcastic smile on him. “What? You want an overreaction out of me?”

“You can say that,” shrugged the male, giving you a sweet grin.

“Save it.” You couldn’t help but smile. “now go rest, you’ve had a long day.”

All the worries you had while he was gone, The thought of him not coming back, The thought of you not having to confess your feelings for him, just the thought of you not being able to see the face of his can suffocate you from anxiety.

He was back home.

Please Comment and Reblog I really appreciate it 🫶🏻🫶🏻 (follow me also I don’t bite) and yeah i feel like this is what would happen if shibuya incident didn’t occurred.

738 notes · View notes

darknight3904 · 18 days

Text

Blessings

𝕊𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪: ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀꜰᴛᴇʀᴍᴀᴛʜ ᴏꜰ ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜰɪɢʜᴛ ᴡɪᴛʜ ɴᴀᴏʏᴀ, ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴏᴀᴋ ᴜᴘ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴀꜱᴛ ʙɪᴛꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴘᴇᴀᴄᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴜɴɪᴠᴇʀꜱᴇ ɪꜱ ɢᴏɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ɢɪᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ᴏꜰ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴘᴀꜱᴛ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴍᴇɢᴜᴍɪ

𝕎𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤: ᴍᴀᴊᴏʀ ᴊᴊᴋ ᴍᴀɴɢᴀ ꜱᴘᴏɪʟᴇʀꜱ. ᴄᴜʀꜱɪɴɢ. ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ/ᴋɪʟʟɪɴɢ. ʀᴇꜰᴇʀᴇɴᴄᴇꜱ ᴛᴏ ꜱᴇx. ᴏᴜᴛᴅᴀᴛᴇᴅ ᴢᴇɴɪɴ ᴄʟᴀɴ ɪᴅᴇᴀʟꜱ

ɢᴏᴊᴏ x ᴢᴇɴɪɴ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 4ᴋ

ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛ / ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ /ᴍʏ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

2018

November 9

"Thought you were dying there for a few hours." Shoko's voice says

The scent of cigarette smoke hits your nose as you try to get your barrings.

"I would never." You say, your voice is hoarse

"How're you feeling?" She asks passing you a glass of water

"Sore. I'll be fine though," You say gulping the water down greedily, "How long have I been asleep?"

"Not long I used my technique so you should be fine. You had a pretty bad concussion along with your stomach being torn open. Whoever stitched you up did a good job but that fight ruined it. ." She explains

You nod slowly and sit up.

"Oh, I have your phone, Naoya insisted you wouldn't need it when he picked you up." She says handing you a shoe box.

Sure enough, your phone sits inside and a few other items.

Nanami's cursed tool sits with what looks like half of the spotted tie he often wore.

Nanami! Naoya never mentioned him and with all the excitement at the estate, he hadn't crossed your mind.

"Shoko! Where's Nanami? He saved me from some sort of fire curse! Let me see him!" You demand trying to climb off the bed she had you on

Shoko places a warm hand on your shoulder and sits down next to you.

"Nanami died in Shibuya. Itadori saw it, he was killed by that cursed spirit Mahito." She says quietly

No...

It's alright

That couldn't possibly be your last interaction with him! Shoko was lying.

"Where's Satoru? He'll tell me the truth?" You say, angry that she'd lie

"He's still sealed. Whatever is inside Geto's body has him. Even if we were to get him back he's to remain sealed for collaborating on the Shibuya attack." Shoko says

Naoya had said something similar to you just days ago...

"I'm just saying what the higher-ups have said to all of us ok." Shoko sighs

Her face is a twisted mess of anger and sadness. Sometimes you forget how close Shoko was to Gojo, to Geto before his death last year.

"I'm sorry." You say

You're having a hard time believing all this, Nanami dead, Satoru, missing, sealed inside some box. Not to mention the aftermath of the fight with Naoya. You're pretty sure you can feel your bones creaking.

"I picked the tool up from where he died. The tie was actually wrapped around your fingers when you were brought to me." She says

He must've put it there. You swore he had the tie wrapped around his own hand like always when he pushed you out of the way.

Your tears feel like they're burning your face as you whisper your thanks for the box.

"You should get some rest at home. I healed you with my technique but your head was pretty bad, you probably won't feel the best for another couple of days." She says, "The rest of the report is there if you want it."

And then, she's gone, closing the door behind her with a soft tap.

Ijichi helps you sneak out of the school undetected. He claimed that reports were submitted to the higher-ups that Maki killed you in the Zenin massacre. That kept you safe for now but being on school grounds was still risky. If one of them came down to Shoko's lab they'd sense your cursed energy and then Yuta would be dispatched.

Your home feels empty without Satoru's loud voice and Megumi and Itadori's bickering about Human Earthworm. You spend the next few days reviewing various reports Shoko emails you. From the Culling Games from Kenjaku to Itadori's second 'death", it seems like you missed a lot.

November 11

The loud crash of a pan wakes you up. The clock on your bedside table reads 4pm, you must've fallen asleep reading again. Hushed whispers reach your ears.

Whoever the higher-ups sent to kill you, they were doing a shit job. Had Yuta lost his mind?

"Itadori! Pick it up! She hates it when we mess up the kitchen!" A voice commands

Megumi?

You immediately throw off your blankets, and any ideas of jumping out the window are gone from your mind.

You're practically tripping down the steps as you rush to the source of the noise.

"It's not my fault I swear!"

You finally reach the kitchen to see Itadori holding your favorite frying pan in one hand and rubbing the back of his neck with another. Megumi must've smacked him.

And then your eyes fall to the other person with them. Buried behind Megumi and Itadori's scrap over a pan is the girl you never thought would wake up.

"Tsumiki!" You gasp and immediately wrap your arms around her.

Her laugh warms your heart as she leans up from her wheelchair to hug back.

"What are you doing here?" You ask when you break apart

"She's part of the Culling Games. Itadori and I want to work to fix a rule that lets her leave. I brought her here since I thought she'd be safest with you." Megumi explains

"That's great but...getting involved with those games means killing others doesn't it?" You ask as you run a hand through Tsumiki's hair.

"Yes, but what other options do we have?" Itadori says

"Saving Tsumiki is our priority. Kenjaku will kill her if she doesn't participate." Megumi says

"Then you two can stay here with her. I can join them." You say, "You guys are still kids."

Sure they're extremely powerful kids. Sukunas vessel and the use of the Ten Shadows, but still kids.

"Children shouldn't have to do things like that." You say

Your words are reminding you of Nanami. He always said things like this, especially after Haibara died.

"No," Megumi says

No? Who did this kid think he was?

"Megumi, have you forgotten I'm the special grade here. Not to mention I literally have changed your bed sheets after you peed in the middle of the night." You say, "You're not in any position to tell me what to do."

Maybe you could embarrass him into staying home. Itadori lets out a snort but slaps his hand over his mouth when Megumi sends him a sharp look.

"You can't go because we'll need you later. We don't know what Kenjaku can do. If you go in there and fight you might lose, and we can't be missing any special grades. Without Gojo, we're going to need all our power as sorcerers." Megumi says

You hate that he's right. You still don't feel great after your fight with Naoya. You know it's not his technique, it's just you. Maybe it has to do with Nanami or Satoru.

"You're talking like an adult, clan leader." You smile and mockingly bow

"That's right! You're head of our family now, Megumi!" Tsumiki smiles

"I don't want it. I already told you that on the bus ride over here." Megumi scowls

"Dunno if you have a choice in that. Not that it matters though, The clans is dead. It's just us and Maki now." You say

"What?" Megumi asked

"Maki, she came to the estate and killed the Hei and the Kakuru. I haven't seen her since but I presume she's off mopping up the rest of the Zenins that weren't on Estate grounds at the time." You say

"What about your parents?" Tsumiki asks

April 2016

"Dead people are kind of gross, huh?"

"Just because he's dead doesn't mean you can make fun of him, Naoya." You say

"Why not? You hate him for engaging us. Besides any man that dies to a sickness isn't a real man." Naoya scoffs, "I don't ever plan to die like that."

"He had cancer, Naoya." You say

"So?" He asks

You roll your eyes and look over at your mother. She's spent her day greeting family members who have come to mourn your after. You haven't talked to her in years, you only knew that your father was dead thanks to Naoya.

"You are such a good-looking couple!" An older woman compliments her as she approaches.

You're not entirely sure who she is exactly. Just some nameless Zenin woman who has shriveled with time.

"Thank you." You say with a small smile.

This funeral has been unbearable so far, playing perfect fiance with Naoya has sucked your soul from your body.

"What's the long face for?"

"For fucks sake." Naoya curses as heavy arms come to rest on both your shoulders

"I mean I know it's a funeral and all but did anyone actually like the guy that died?"

The old woman scoffs and hobbles off, deterred by the one and only Satrou Gojo.

"What are you doing?" You ask

"Let go," Naoya says shoving his arm off

"Saving you love birds. Everyone hates when old relatives come up to make small talk. I know I do." He smiles

"No I mean, I left you in the car. Why are you in here?" You say, gently pushing his arm from your shoulder.

"I got bored. Plus Megumi stopped texting me back." Satrou says

"Of course he did. You're insufferable." Naoya says eyeing Satoru like he was some bug.

"Careful now, we don't want to get any blood on that nice outfit of yours." Satoru smiles

"Whatever. You have five minutes with your bitch. My dad wants to see us." Naoya says before stomping off somewhere.

"I'll kill him." Satoru smiles

"No, you won't." You say

After you successfully send Satoru back to the car, you bribed him with sex and a promise of kikufuku, you're free again. Your eyes fall to your mother again and this time she sees you. She smiles at you but you can't bring yourself to return it. There was nothing to smile about you were still trapped in an engagement a now-dead man had set up. Why did she even bother to still try with you?

"I don't care what happens to them. They're not my family." You say

"So you'll let me go? You're not going to tackle me the way you did that one time?" Megumi asks

"That was when you were eight, and wanted to wear your underwear on the outside of your pants because Satoru told you he'd take your bed away if you didn't. You almost went to the bus stop like that." You say

"Why was he even trying to take your bed away in the first place?" Itadori asked

"I didn't want to talk to him about Digimon." Megumi sighs

"Megumi, tell her why you're bringing me to her." Tsumiki says, nudging her baby brother's leg

"What? Why?" Megumi asks, his face a bit red

"It was cute." Tsumiki smiles

"Yeah, Fushiguro...tell her." Itadori cheekily says as he elbows Megumi

"Stop it, both of you." You say, "If he doesn't want to then he doesn't have to."

You smile to yourself as you listen to the way Megumi and Itadori talk to each other upstairs.

"We don't have to bring my things downstairs," Tsumiki says from the table

"Sure we do, I don't really want to have to carry you up the steps all the time." You say, "Besides, you'll get the hang of walking again soon. After all, Satrou's money pays for the best physical therapist we can find."

Tsumiki is quieter than normal but she seems happy enough to watch to prepare a simple dinner for everyone. It's a bit jarring that she hasn't made fun of Megumi yet or scolded him, but perhaps she was just happy to be out of her coma.

"Is this everything?" Megumi asks as he tosses extra clothes, blankets, and a few hair ties onto the couch.

"It looks good to me. Sit down, boys we're eating dinner." You say

"We have to get back to the school. Tengen, Yuki, and Choso will want an update." Megumi says

"You have to eat. What's Tengen going to serve? Socratic advice that makes no sense?" You ask

Megumi huffs in annoyance but sits down anyway.

"Teenagers. They're so full of attitude." You say to Itadori.

"Especially Fushiguro." Itadori laughs

"Tell me about it. He used to pout all the time when he was a kid. Always wanted things to go your way." You smile as you walk to the table

"That's Gojo's fault. He spoiled us." Megumi says

"True, he doesn't seem to have a frugal bone in his body." You say

December 2009

"Do you honestly think he'll like that?" You ask eyeing the expensive coat Gojo has just purchased.

"Tsumiki liked hers. Besides, Megumi needs a nicer one, the one he has is too small on his arms." He dismisses you

"Sure but..."

You glance down at all the many bags the white-haired man had accumulated over the past few hours. You had ended up at the mall with him after finding out how little the kids had in way of clothes and just possessions in general. You were all for Christmas shopping but Satoru was taking things pretty far.

"Alrighty...I think we went to every store." He says as the two of you step into a crowded elevator.

"You think?" You smile

"Are you mocking me?" He asks

"I'd never." You lie

You shuffle closer to him as people shift around to get out on their stop, but suddenly a sour smell fills the elevator. You look up at the sun-glass-wearing idiot to see a smirk on his face. He must've been the cause.

"Ah sorry about that everyone. She's feeling a bit gassy. Must've been the broccoli we had from Panda Express!" He announces

You're positively mortified as a man in a stylish suit shoots you a glare and steps away from you.

Gojo's cackling is so loud, you could probably hear it all the way back at the school where Nananmi was watching the kids.

"Don't you ever do that again, idiot!" You scold as your voice carries through the parking deck

"It's not my fault you let it out in an elevator of all places!" He laughs

"You're a liar!" You say, shoving his shoulder

"Careful! What if I dropped these bags? What would you tell the kids then?" He asks

"I'd tell them you're a man with a fancy credit card who can't hold his farts in when he's in public." You say

"And if I held it in? What if it builds up and explodes inside me?" He asks, totally serious

"Good, one less freak in the world." You huff

Gojo dramatically gasps and pretends to faint by leaning onto you.

"Get off! Your fat ass is crushing me! All those sweets must be adding up!"

It's not until you're back in the car that Gojo stops laughing about the elevator, even now, his giggles are breaking the silence.

"Do you actually think my ass has gotten fat?" He asks, "All the squats I've been doing must be paying off."

The nerve of this man.

Tsumiki looks so peaceful as you turn off the lights in the living room. It had been a challenge to get her out of the wheelchair but the relaxed look on her face now that she was asleep on the couch was well worth it.

You quietly tiptoe up the steps and knock on Megumi's door. There's a bit of shuffling followed by a "I can't believe you don't want to watch the Conjuring, Fushiguro." Before the door swings open.

"I just wanted to say goodnight." You say

"Goodnight!" Itadori calls from his place in Megumi's bed

"Goodnight," Megumi says

You smile at him and gently ruffle his hair.

"You're getting so tall. I wish you were little again. You were so cute!" You gush, thinking about Megumi's chubby face.

"Stop that, it's embarrassing." He says brushing his hand off your head.

You're ready to walk away and cuddle into your bed, the soft scent of Satoru's cologne on the sheets ready to lull you to sleep when Itadori speaks up.

"Have you ever seen Human Earthworm?" He asks

"Just the one we all saw at the theater a few months ago." You say

"Wanna watch the third one? Fushiguro doesn't want to but if you do then he has to, cuz' majority wins." He says

You think about it for a moment. While the movie wasn't exactly your taste, the lure of people to talk to was tempting. You weren't enjoying your solitude as much as you thought you would.

"Alright, I'll watch it with you two." You say, pretending like you had really thought it over.

"Yes!" Itadori cheers, "Fushiguro open Netflix!"

You spend the next hour melting your brain on the big bean bag Megumi has in his room. Itadori seemed overjoyed that you had outvoted him but now you were understanding why Megumi wasn't into these movies. They were just so odd!

"Hey, I think he's asleep, we can turn it off," Megumi says quietly

"Thank god." You whisper reaching for the remote, "I think I lost some brain cells."

You stand up and look down at the two teens who are in bed. Megumi is still awake and looking at you while Itadori is fast asleep, his arms wrapped around a stuffed T-Rex Satoru won in a claw machine for Megumi years ago.

"Hey Megumi..." You say

"What?" He asks

He follows your gaze to Itadori and understands exactly what you're saying with your eyes.

"We're just friends." He says quietly, looking at the sleeping pink-haired boy.

"I didn't even say anything!" You whisper

"Friends." Megumi insists, his face is dusted with a pink hue.

You don't miss the way he's avoiding your gaze, instead inspecting the blue of his duvet.

"Alright, alright. Just remember, Satoru will tease you way more than me." You say as you walk toward the door

"He's an idiot," Megumi says

"Oh trust me, I know."

You bid farewell to Megumi and Itadori early the next morning. Tsumiki is rubbing sleep from her eyes as she waves them off from the couch.

"Be safe." You say seriously

"We will! See you soon, Zenin-san!" Itadori waves as starts to walk off.

"So you know exactly where to bring her, right?" Megumi asks, "If it changes, Maki will come to tell you."

"I know, don't worry." You assure

"I'm just...trying to be cautious. I don't want anything going wrong." Megumi says

"You don't have to be. Itadori will have your back in there, and I'll be out here keeping her safe. I know that's why you brought her to me." You say, "Plus, if anything goes seriously wrong Maki can come to tell me and I'll join the game immediately."

"And if the higher-ups find out about you? They don't even know that Tsumiki is here, they think she's at Shoko's." He says

"They won't do anything. Yuta and Yuki are the only ones who would be sent out for me and he's already in the game and Yuki's with Tengen." You assure

"Okay," Megumi says

He seems a bit unsure as he turns to walk after his friend.

"Megumi, everything is going to work out." You say before quickly hugging him.

He's never been one for tons of physical affection, even when he was a kid he'd grimace at head pats or hugs. Of course, that might be because Satoru was the one who was overbearing with it.

You're a bit shocked when Megumi hugs back, normally he stiffly stands there like you've stabbed him in the stomach.

"I know. I just wish we could fast forward to everything being over." He admits

"Tell me about it." You say letting him go, "Satoru getting sealed has made everything more difficult."

Megumi nods in agreement and walks after Itadori.

"See you soon!" You call after them

You get a wide smile from Itadori and a wave from Megumi who says something to the pink-haired boy.

"He said your bathrobe is ugly!" Itadori yells

"Megumi! Get back here right now!" You yell, highly insulted.

November 16

"Are you sure you don't want me to enter with you? I don't mind." You say as you walk with Tsumiki towards the barrier

"It's alright." She says

You had spent the past week and a half with her, holed up at the house. She was rather quiet during that time but she had been sleeping for over a year, perhaps she just wasn't interested in talking your ears off like before.

"Zenin-san and I will be right outside. I'll be substituting for you." Ijichi says

"I still can't believe she chose you for that." You sigh

"I don't want you to get hurt." she says

Odd. Normally she's ready to praise you for your strength. She always found it cool that you were a special grade before she fell into her coma.

"Alright. I'll be right here though. Once you add your rule we can go get some food." You say

Tsumiki nods and sends you a small smile as the barrier swallows her up.

"Are you worried, Zenin-san?" Ijichi asks

"Yes. I'll get over it though. She's a smart girl and Megumi knows what he's doing. He's always been quite sure of himself." You say, "He reminds me of Satoru sometimes."

"I hope he doesn't turn out exactly like him," Ijichi says

"Tell me about it, the world can barely handle one as it is." You laugh

Megumi has always shined bright in your eyes. Sure, he was difficult when you first met him. Sullen, and always ready with a sharp-tongued insult to throw at you and Satoru, but he eventually mellowed out. Well, to you at least. You're sure once this Angel person frees Satoru they'll bicker again as soon as possible.

Perhaps you'll never fully understand Megumi as a person. He was level-headed at times and then at others, he could barely think straight. Even in his middle school days when you'd spend countless hours arguing with him about his bullying habits, you never got a full explanation from him on why he did what he did.

"Out little blessing"

Satoru was right. He was a blessing, even if he would be the cause of early gray hairs and stress wrinkles for you. And now, he was setting things up to keep his sister safe, putting his loved ones first, as he often did. Megumi never said it but you knew he loved his little family, his actions spoke for him.

"Spacing out?" Ijichi asks

"Just thinking about Megumi. He's grown so much." You sigh

"Well, he is 15. Teen boys tend to do that." He says

"I wasn't talking about how tall he's getting, Ijichi."

November 19

Dammit. How could you let this happen? Sukuna in Megumi. Some ancient sorceress taking over Tsumiki, getting her killed. This was all your fault. You let Megumi go into the games. You could've insisted he stay home. Maybe you could've figured out some way to separate Yoruzu from Tsumiki. Just maybe...you could've fought her, gotten Tsumiki's soul to respond...perhaps using your domain would've worked.

Everything was falling apart and you can't help but think you could've done something to stop it.

"Zenin-san!"

Panda.

"Ieiri-san is looking for you!" He says

You wipe at the stray tears that have accumulated in your waterline. There wasn't time to mourn. You'd bury Tsumiki later, for now, you had to focus on what was ahead.

"Are you ready?" Shoko asks, sunglasses in one hand, and a cigarette in the other.

You looked over at the one Itadori had introduced as Hana Kurusu, or well Angel as you liked to refer to her in your mind.

Just a few more minutes and he'd be back again. Satoru was coming home.

"Ready as I'll ever be."

I know, it's shorter than normal. I have to focus on my work for my college so this will have to tie everyone over for a little bit. I gotta lock-in I fear.

I will say this though:

Gojo returns in the next chapter hehe.

If you have something negative to say about this fic, don't hide as an anon in my messages. Better yet, just block me. Out of sight, out of mind. This is a message to the person/people who keep lurking and messaging me saying they don't like the fic. I'm not forcing you to read it. Just scroll away.

More to come. Comment to be tagged.

Tags:

@bakedpotato12

76 notes · View notes

starstruckkittensweets · 7 months

Text

"Promise Me" | Gojo x Reader

Fandom: Jujutsu Kaisen Pairing: Satoru Gojo x Reader Words: 2.3k

A/N: no one talk to me, this is my way of coping with the latest chapter. This week is not a fun one for us Gojo lovers. Also this scenario has probably been written a thousand times at this point (thanks a lot Gege) but here's my two cents on the matter (go figure, my first official Gojo post and he's fuckin dead)

Warnings: JJK 236 SPOILERS, mentions of fem!reader, nightmares, brief mentions of violence/gore, pet names (baby, sweets, pretty girl), very self-indulgent and I apologize for that

Nightmares are a common occurrence in your line of work; you knew that even before you agreed to take the job. Usually you can stand them when they hit. Staring into the shadows of your bedroom, wide eyes raking over every little thing inside, too scared to even move a muscle. Knowing that, once you do, the illusion will vanish. The fear will go away, bit by bit, until you feel comfortable enough to fall back asleep.

Till the next morning, when you can’t even remember what you were so afraid of.

But this time is different. Your body isn’t frozen at all; you don’t snuggle deeper into the blankets, praying that they’ll be enough to protect you from whatever creatures lurk in the night. In fact they’re suffocating—but even when you throw them off you’re still heaving like a madman. Cold sweat clamming up your skin. Hands trembling at your sides. Eyes nearly bursting from your skull when you realize the other side of the bed is empty.

Empty, empty—where is he? Where did he go?

Was your dream not actually a dream after all?

You’re shaking so hard when you force your way out of bed. Nearly toppling over your own two feet as you stumble out of the bedroom. The door’s cracked open, but there aren’t any lights on, where is he, where the fuck is he?!

Another step, round the corner, and suddenly you smack face first into something hard. A soft oof reaches your ears, and through the darkness and the veil of your tears, you can barely make out the two blue lights glowing at you from above.

“Whoa, careful! Sorry about that, almost didn’t see you there. What’re you doing up so late, baby?”

Your eyes are still blurry, no matter how many times you blink. But you can still see him, his hair messy from sleep, wearing nothing but a pair of old sweatpants. He offers a lazy smile, but it drops almost instantly when he sees the tears spilling down your burning cheeks.

“…Hey, what’s wrong?”

Maybe it’s the tender tone of his voice, the soft way he speaks those three simple words. Or maybe it’s the fact you can see his eyes dim ever so slightly, signaling he’s turned off his technique for the moment. Or maybe it’s just knowing that he’s here, still alive and breathing and in one fucking piece, that makes you lose control. (Not that you had very much to begin with, but still.)

He visibly jolts at the shrill wail that rips from your throat, his whole body rigid as you throw yourself against his chest. Tiny arms wrapped around his waist, nails digging into his muscular back. Almost as though you’re scared he’ll disappear, anchoring him to you with every bit of strength you have.

What does he do? You’re obviously in distress, but why? He’d just left to get a glass of water, he’d been gone for less than five minutes! And now you’re blubbering like a child into his bare chest, sobbing so loudly he’s surprised none of your neighbors have come banging on your door.

“Baby, come on,” he tries, but the pet name only seems to make you cry harder. He winces before taking hold of both your shoulders. He doesn’t bother trying to pry you away; no need to make you even more upset. “You gotta tell me what’s wrong. I can’t help you if I don’t know.”

Damn it, everything he’s saying is just making it worse. He hates seeing you cry like this. So tiny and frail, curling into his chest, incoherent words and noises spilling from your lips. You won’t answer him or let go of his body, no matter how many times he tries to convince you.

Does he just ride it out and let you finish? What if you pass out? Will you still remember any of this by the time you wake up tomorrow? Was it something he said earlier that made you this upset? He wracks his brain, trying to see if any of his earlier teasing struck a nerve within you. He doesn’t recall saying anything that could prompt this kind of reaction out of you…

Then again, what could? You’re his girl, his other half (as he’s quick to remind you and everyone else within earshot). Strong but soft, a capable sorcerer climbing the ranks with ease. You have an unshakeable character, sticking true to your values and morals no matter what. It’s one of the reasons why he fell in love with you in the first place. Not just anything could resort you to a crying, trembling mess in his arms.

He sucks in a deep breath and tries again. “Come on, tell me what’s wrong. I promise I’ll make it all better, I swear!”

And he’s just about to bribe you with some of the sweets he’s stashed away in the kitchen when you lift your head from his chest. Cheeks hot and tearstained, and yet you’re still so beautiful.

“S-sorry,” you barely manage to choke out. Your throat’s practically on fire, and you can already feel a monster of a headache coming on. “I…I had…”

He doesn’t say anything. He simply wipes your tears away with his thumb, waiting patiently for you to finish.

“…I had a bad dream…”

It sounds so fucking childish when you say it out loud. Should’ve just kept your mouth shut, gone back to bed once you saw he was okay. What do you expect he’ll do about it, huh? Not like he can erase your bad memories, no matter how strong he might be.

But that hole in your chest is still there, even after all that crying—

And you can’t help it anymore. You press your palms to your face, desperately trying to rid your fact of all those tears. Wanting to save at least some of your dignity before the night’s over.

A pair of warm hands close over your wrists, his touch surprisingly gentle as he pulls your hands away. Exposing your teary, blubbering face to those beautiful blue eyes. The mere thought makes you want to cry all over again.

“C’mon now, you’re too pretty to cry like that.” The corner of his mouth is quirked up in a smile, his messy hair hanging over his eyes as he tilts his head to meet your gaze. He catches another tear on his thumb, making sure to wipe it away before pressing a kiss to your cheek. “I don’t like seeing you all upset like that.”

“B-but”—oh fuck, here you go again—“you were…you were dead!”

You can still remember everything so clearly. The blood trickling from his mouth. The glazed look in those dull eyes. How fucking fast it all seemed to happen. One moment he was fine, breathing and smiling as usual, and the next he was staring up at the sky. You didn’t even hear his body drop to the ground.

So much blood, it’s not supposed to be out of your body like that, why couldn’t I save you, why couldn’t—

“I’m sorry!” you blurt out, even as he takes you in his arms and pulls you against his chest. “I wasn’t enough to save you! You were dead and I couldn’t do a damn thing about it!”

You don’t even know what you’re saying at this point, but for whatever reason, talking about this seems to help. Your chest feels a bit lighter than it did before, even if your heart’s as heavy as a stone.

“You’re not supposed to die! And I know that’s stupid of me to say, everyone dies at some point, but you always say you’re the strongest! No one can hurt you, even if they tried! So why—”

Your voice catches in your throat, tears still streaming down your face. He still holds you close, one arm around your waist, his other hand resting on the back of your head.

“…Why did you leave me? You said you’d never leave me, no matter what! But you did—and I let it happen—I’m so fucking sorry, Satoru, I just—”

You’re running out of steam, you can feel it in your bones. Too exhausted to cry anymore, probably too burnt out to even walk back to your room. But before you can even try he’s lifting your face in his hands, tracing your swollen lips with his thumb.

Smirking down at you like there’s nothing wrong in the world.

“Why are you sorry, sweets? If anything, I should be the one saying sorry. Sorry that dream version of me was such a cheap imitation.” He rolls his eyes with a scoff. “Like I’d let myself get killed like that.”

“S-Satoru, I’m serious!”

“And so am I.” And you can see it in his face—the way his eyes practically burn into yours, his mouth set in a tight line, his jaw clenched even when he forces out the words. “I said I’d never leave you, right?”

You sniffle out, “Y-yeah…”

“And I meant it. So no matter how many bad dreams you might have of me,” he curls his hands around your thighs and lifts you up effortlessly, securing your body against his chest, “just know that they’re dreams. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Slowly, he begins to carry you back to your room. Your arms find their way around his neck, fingers burying their way into his soft white hair. You’ll never get over how strong he is, how amazing he is—and how of all the people in the world, he chose to share the rest of his life with you.

Not strong enough to save himself from dying.

Your throat fills with bile at the thought, even as he settles you back down against the mattress. Back in the place where your nightmare occurred, where you saw his body and all that blood—

“Don’t leave me!”

“Baby, I wasn’t even planning on it.” Damn, this nightmare really messed with your head, huh? “I’m staying right here with you, alright?”

You won’t disappear on me again? You won’t leave me alone like you did in that dream, right?

He seems to see right through you, given the soft expressing in those dazzling blue eyes. “I promise, I won’t leave your side. Not tonight, not ever.”

It takes a few moments for the two of you to get situated in bed; Satoru ends up having to do most of the work, since your arms and legs are still trembling uncontrollably. But the second the blankets are back around you, he wraps his arms around your shoulders and pulls you into his chest. Long legs tangling with yours, his breath warm against the crown of your head.

Lips soft as they press a thousand kisses to your forehead.

“I don’t know what kind of curse you dreamt of, but if I ever came across something like it one of these days…” He leans down, lips ghosting over the shell of your ear. “…I’d win, hands down.”

“You’d better.” Your head’s pounding something fierce, every bone in your body screaming for some proper rest. And it starts to feel normal, being wrapped up in Satoru’s arms. “…Otherwise, I’d have to kick your ass.”

He lets out a laugh before nuzzling his face in the crook of your neck. His long eyelashes tickle your skin, his lips sweet and warm when they finally find your own.

“I’m sure you would. Although, I’d never let that happen; I’ll make sure to win every single fight, I swear! Don’t wanna make my pretty girl worry about me.”

But you’re always going to worry about him. It’s in your blood, comes with the territory of keeping this relationship alive. And maybe it’s stupid, maybe he is strong enough to never have to worry about himself in a fight. But there’s always going to be that part of you that wonders if he’s going to make it home tonight.

You tilt your head, eager to taste his lips again. Like your life depends on it, and the thought makes him smirk.

“Aww, can’t get enough of me, sweets?”

“…Shut up.”

But he knows he’s right. And you know he’s right. Doesn’t mean you have to say it out loud, though.

“You know I meant it, right?” Suddenly he’s holding your face again, brushing his nose against your own. His voice strangely soft as he leans in close, warm breath ghosting over your face. “’M not leaving you. Never, ever, ever!”

That gets a smile out of you. Weak and pitiful, but a smile nonetheless. At least he’s earnest. At the end of the day, he means well when it comes to you.

“I know you won’t. …So thank you.” You return his hug, sneaking your hand between your bodies and pressing it against his chest. Your throat growing tight when you feel the familiar b-bmp of his heart against your trembling palm. “Thank you for staying with me.”

There’s that tiny voice in the back of your head, urging you not to listen to such pointless promises. Knowing that deep down, neither of you can stop death when it comes knocking at your door. No matter how much power he possesses, even Satoru Gojo can’t resist death’s clutches when they finally sink their claws into him.

But there’s time for you to deal with all of that in the future. Right here, right now, he’s safe and sound in your arms. Messy white hair tickling your neck as he nibbles on the skin of your earlobe. Making you giggle as he brushes the rest of your tears away.

And thanking whatever deity may be listening above that you get to spend just one more night with him, wrapped up in his arms with his lips against your own.

#not even a manga reader i just check the leaks #and when i saw them my heart literally dropped in my chest #so i offer this ficlet as a way of coping #and praying that somehow he'll come back like he always does #started as a drabble and whoops 2k words later #jujutsu kaisen #jjk spoilers #jjk 236 #jjk 236 spoilers #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x reader #satoru gojo #jjk fics

187 notes · View notes

the-roo-too · 10 months

Text

roller coaster -> spiderwoman! hwang yeji

-it’s always a good idea to have a medic student nearby

warnings: blood; injuries; badly written fighting scene

genre: hurt/comfort

notes: because i love my wife and bet on me was a total slay

(ᕒ◺⎈◿ᓬ)

with a low grunt, her body collided with the cold wall. yeji pushed herself back quickly, trying to catch the stupid goblin off guard. he was cackling, clearly amused with her struggles.

„not so fly now, little spidey?” he jumped onto his glider, readying another couple pumpkin bombs. she jumped and swung herself to the side, crossing paths with the green goblin. she used one of her web shooters to attack the left wing. it didn’t do much, although he lost balance and jumped back to the ground. as she was readying her next attack, he ran at her, forcing her close to the wall.

“you’re getting on my nerves now…” he gritted out, although his famous sinister smile stayed etched on his face. ignoring the remark, yeji tried to come up with a quick backup plan. it was a bit risky, but she shoot her webs at the approaching glider, pulling it towards the two of them.

“burn in hell.” she gritted out before sliding down between his legs and running away. she jumped down from the roof just as the explosion happened. shooting one of her webs to hoist herself up on a balcony, she brought her hand to the earpiece between her torn mask.

“goblin went boom.” she said into the intercom. after a couple seconds chaeryeong, her ‘girl in the chair’, connected with her.

“yeah, i saw. you think he’s dead?”

she glanced up at the smoke enflures rooftop. “no. they don’t die that easily.”

she heard the small hum of the other girl. “get to headquarters safe.”

“i’ll try.”

with that, yeji lowered herself to the ground. while she technically could get to the tower in her suit, it was ripped in many pieces, making her fear if her face was visible. she jumped down to an alley and searched for her school bag she threw there at the start of the fight. inside were her casual clothes, so the hoodie she had on earlier and some jeans. she got changed quickly, hidden by the shadows of the alley. on when she put on the hoodie did she feel the burning pain in her side. hesitantly, yeji brought up her hand to her face.

“shit…”

(ᕒ◺⎈◿ᓬ)

stumbling upon the empty streets, she cursed herself for thinking getting to the tower by foot would be better. screw the ripped mask, she was barely moving with the bleeding gash on her side. it was hard to pinpoint when exactly she got it, but the goblin definitely did her a number.

yeji winced as her body collided with the harsh ground for yet another time this evening. maybe she would just sleep for a couple minutes…

(ᕒ◺⎈◿ᓬ)

her eyes fluttered open when she felt her arm being lifted. she saw mostly blurred shapes, but something that appeared to be a person stood out to her.

“d-don’t touch me…” yeji demanded weakly. the person froze for a second before sighing quietly.

“do not move miss, you’ve lost a lot of blood.” the figure said. it turned it’s head towards her but the face was unrecognisable in her state. “i’m a medicine student, please let me help…”

even if she tried to struggle, her body easily succumbed to the warm arms of her saviour. her eyes closed when the person lifted her up. a small whimper slipped from her lips when the figure touched her wounded side by accident.

“fuck, i’m sorry. i-i’ll help you miss, i promise…”

she hummed weakly. she couldn’t go with some random student, especially at night. though the person’s arms were so nice to lay in…

“it’s okay… everything’s gonna be okay…”

(ᕒ◺⎈◿ᓬ)

yeji always hated sleeping on her couch, it made her back sore. this time, she didn’t mind it at all. the couch had a nice scent to it, coffee-ish with something sweet. she almost didn’t want to open her eyes, until she remembered nothing smelled like that in the headquarters.

her eyes flew open at the sound of something ceramic hitting a wooden table. she looked to the side, wincing at the pain that immediately engulfed her.

“no no, don’t do that! i gave you some painkillers but you’re still a little drowsy..” yeji looked up, finally seeing her saviour eye to eye. she sighed in relief noticing that the face wasn’t familiar.

though that didn’t make the girl in front of her any less breathtaking. her face suddenly felt hot as she couldn’t tear her gaze away from the pretty girl.

the figure in question frowned. “you’re red, did you get a fever? i though you were good earlier…” she muttered, glancing around for what yeji could only assume was a thermometer.

“i’m good…” she was surprised at how hoarse her voice sounded. she tried to concentrate on forming her next question before she accidentally leaned on her wound, making her yelp.

“easy…” the girl helped her roll to a more comfortable position and waited, as if knowing yeji would have many questions. she picked up one of the cups that stood on the wooden table. there was steam coming from both of them and a pleasant citruish smelll. she gestured to the cups. “the other one is for you.”

“…how long was i out?” she lost connection with the tower, the rest of the team will kill her.

“a couple hours. definitely not enough for your body to rest, but i think you regained some strength.”

“and… how bad is the wound?”

the student hummed in thought. “its not fatal- because i patched it up- but i don’t think you should be moving around too much.”

she looked at the girl again. she seemed awfully calm despite bringing a potentially dangerous person to her house in the middle of the night.

“don’t.. don’t you have any questions?”

“you don’t act high or drunk, so i can assume you got into a fight willingly. i won’t question your motives, wether you tried to beat someone up for a book or a guy.”

“…could i use a phone?” yeji wasn’t expecting the girl to take out her phone, unlock it and hand it over to her.

“i’ll be making food if you need me.” she walked away to some countertop, now being away from earshot.

yeji took the device and typed in a number. the call rang for a while before the loud voice of her senior sounded through.

“good morning, park co, how may we help you?”

“jihyo?” the line went silent for a second.

“hwang? where the fuck are you?”

“i’ll send you a pin…” the older girl immediately hung up and yeji winced internally, preparing herself for the scolding she’d get at the headquarters. she sent her location to the number before deleting the contact from the student’s phone.

“um, i called a friend and she’ll come to pick me up, okay?” she yelled.

“sure!”

(ᕒ◺⎈◿ᓬ)

“…when you said a friend would pick you up, i wasn’t expecting a limousine…” the girl uttered out making yeji snicker lightly. she was leaning partially on the student for support as both of then waited for the ‘friend’ to arrive.

a black limousine parked in front of them, out getting park jihyo, the ceo of park co, and her right hand woman, yoo jeongyeon. both girls glanced firstly st yeji, the older one looking worried while the ceo had a stone cold expression. jihyo then turned to the girl and took out a stack of bills.

“thank you for taking care of my friend, we apologise for the inconvenience.” she muttered, forcing the money into her hands.

“no, it was no problem-!” jeongyeon took yeji by the shoulder to help her inside the car. the wounded girl turned around for a split second and quickly slipped a piece of paper on top of the stack.

“call me.” she whispered softly and the doors closed behind her. the limousine drove away, leaving the poor (rich actually) student confused.

(ᕒ◺⎈◿ᓬ)

#spiderwoman #spiderwoman yeji #hwang yeji #yeji #yeji x reader #hwang yeji x reader #itzy #itzy x reader #lia #chaeryeong #ryujin #yuna

179 notes · View notes

blubushie · 1 year

Note

good morning blu!!! you know a whole lot about everything so do you have any mistakes that people make in medicine in like media and stuff??? -leafanon

G'day leafanon, and yes I do!

WARNING: DISCUSSION OF GORE AND MEDICAL GORE INBOUND. ALSO INCLUDES PICTURES OF BLOOD IN SYRINGES.

DEAR AUTHORS/ARTISTS/ANIMATORS

GUNSHOT WOUNDS (GSW) ARE NOT INSTANT KILLS. No, not even if you're shot in the chest. Unless that round completely obliterates the spinal cord (unlikely as it's very small and hard to hit) your victim is going to stay alive and conscious anywhere from half a minute (direct shot to the heart) to an hour or longer (shallow wound to the lung). KNOW YOUR ANATOMY AND DO RESEARCH ON GSWs TO THAT ANATOMY. KNOW WHAT THAT ROUND PENETRATES, WATCH VIDEOS ON HOW MUCH DAMAGE THAT ROUND DOES TO BALLISTIC DUMMIES, AND HOW PENETRATION AFFECTS THE BODY.

YOUR CHARACTER WILL NOT SHRUG OFF A GUTSHOT. Gutshots absolutely suck and are fatal when left untreated. A shot to the pelvis will buckle you--you will not take a shot to the pelvis and stay standing. A gutshot will usually kill within 12 hours, but sometimes it may take days depending on what was hit, where, and how deeply the bullet penetrated. Also on that note, A GUTSHOT FUCKING HURTS AND IS ARGUABLY THE WORST POSSIBLE WAY TO DIE BY BULLET. If it rips through your stomach you're going to die within a few hours as your stomach acid will gradually eat through your internal organs and burn them. It'll feel like a fire from the inside-out. This, coupled with heightened emotions due to adrenaline, will break even the most stoic character. If the bullet pierces the intestine the wound like leak faeces into your abdominal cavity. You will know this has happened by the smell alone.

Also on that note: WHILE A GUTSHOT WILL KILL YOU, A GUTSTAB PROBABLY WON'T. Knives move a lot slower than bullets and have much less kinetic energy on impact. When you're stabbed in the stomach with a knife it's actually pretty rare for the blade to perforate your bowels, as usually the bowels will move aside as the knife passes through. The most dangerous part of a gutstab is removing the knife, the subsequent bleeding, and the risk of infection by foreign bacteria entering the wound (either from the knife itself or just entering the open wound from the surrounding environment).

WHEN SOMEONE IS SHOT IN THE HEAD THEY DO NOT JUST DROP. They fall and extend their limbs, arch their neck back, go slack-jawed, tip their toes down, and they will start twitching. Depending on where they were shot, they may exhibit decorticate posturing indicative of brain damage (even though they're most definitely dead once the bullet pierces their skull). The bottom posture with the wrists curled is most common. If someone was running when they were shot, they will fall and their legs will continue kicking for a few seconds before their body exhibits decorticate posturing. They will release this ungodly sigh that will haunt any character who's never heard that sound before.

Also on that note: YOU CAN STOP INVOLUNTARY MUSCLE SPASMS BY HITTING THE CORRECT PART OF THE BRAIN. Make a T-shape from the outside of your left eye socket to your right, and then down the bridge of your nose to your upper lip. That's the T-zone, which is what police and military snipers aim for in hostage situations. A headshot causes involuntary muscle spasms and when your target has a firearm or knife on someone, that could mean they hurt the hostage by a simple twitch of their arm or trigger finger. A shot to the T-zone causes flaccid paralysis as a result of taking out the medulla oblongata, an organ what connects the brain to the spinal cord, and renders the body completely paralysed. The target will drop and will not experience spasms or decorticate posturing. Snipers call this an apricot, named for the shape of the medulla, and IT IS AN INCREDIBLY DIFFICULT SHOT TO MAKE. I can shoot kangaroos at 1200yd but I've never gotten an apricot.

A DEFIBRILLATOR WILL NOT RESTART A STOPPED HEART. Nothing but a fuckton of epinephrine, a fuckton more chest compressions, and a metric fuckton of luck will restart a stopped heart. Defibrillators are for correcting or preventing an arrhythmia, which is an abnormal heartbeat (too slow, too fact, skipping beats, etc). IT WILL NOT RESTART A HEART IN ASYSTOLE. In fact, defibrillators work by actually forcibly stopped the heart so that when it resumes beating, it does so on a normal rhythm.

DO NOT MOVE WITH AN ARROW WOUND. You have a razor blade on a stick in your body and the more you move, the more you're ripping yourself apart. Your character is not going to be walking around with ten arrows in them as that amount of pain is crippling, not unless they have a constant IV supply of Enough Morphine To Kill An Elephant.

DO NOT HAVE YOUR CHARACTER REMOVE A KNIFE UNLESS THEY'RE PREPARED FOR MASSIVE BLEEDING. When you're stabbed, the muscles clamp down around the knife and the blade acts as a "plug" that seals the wound shut. Stab wounds with the weapon intact will often have very little if any bleeding. THAT WILL CHANGE ONCE YOU PULL OUT THE WEAPON.

FOR ARTISTS AND ANIMATORS: RECOGNISE WHAT KIND OF BLOOD YOUR CHARACTER IS SHEDDING. Superficial blood from a flesh wound is dark. After a few minutes, blood starts coagulating and turning a dark maroon colour. YOU WILL NOT SEE BRIGHT RED BLOOD IN THE ENVIRONMENT UNLESS SOMEONE IS ACTIVELY BLEEDING. If your character has been shot in the heart, lung, or artery, THEY WILL BLEED ARTERIAL BLOOD. Arterial blood is bright red due to being freshly-oxygenated to the point that it almost appears pink. The two syringes on the right have deoxygenated venous blood that was travelling back to the heart when it was drawn. The three syringes on the right have freshly-oxygenated arterial blood.

IF YOUR CHARACTER HAS BEEN SHOT/STABBED IN THE CHEST AND THE OTHER CHARACTERS DON'T KNOW WHAT WAS HIT, CHECK THE BULLET WOUND. LUNG SHOTS WILL BUBBLE.

THINGS VOID THEIR BOWELS WHEN THEY DIE. You'll know when something's dead by the smell.

CRUSHING INJURIES TO THE EXTREMITIES CAN KILL. When someone is pinned under rubble by a limb, that limb can form blood clots. Once the person is freed, those clots can loosen and then travel through the arteries until it clogs one (arterial thrombosis). The primary concern in victims of crush injuries after they're freed is strokes. The second killer is traumatic rhabdomyolysis, or muscle breakdown. This releases toxic muscle components into the circulatory system that can poison the body. This poisoning is called crush syndrome.

A MODERN ECG DOES NOT "BEEEEEEP" WHEN A HEART GOES INTO ASYSTOLE (FLATLINE. IT WILL ANNOUNCE. ECGs made before 2000 typically had a continuous beep to announce a disconnect from the heart (either the patient is in asystole or the ECG's lead detached from the skin or the machine itself). ECGs made after 2005 will say something along the lines of "check patient/no pulse detected" on repeat. If your scene occurs somewhere between 2000 and 2005 when announcing ECGs were being implemented then what you choose is your discretion.

STOP HAVING YOUR CHARACTER CAUTERISE WOUNDS THAT DON'T NEED IT. Cauterisation is a last-ditch, life-or-death treatment. It burns the wound (obviously) and leaves you incredibly prone to infection in that wound. IT IS NOT A TREATMENT TO BE TAKEN LIGHTLY. I know that having some badass Rambo type dump gunpowder into a wound and light it up with a match is really cool but it's a terrible idea and does far more damage than what it's supposed to fix.

Most of you are probably already aware of this but IT IS LITERALLY IMPOSSIBLE TO SUCK VENOM OUT OF A BITE. It's injected and immediately disperses into the tissue around it. You can't suck venom out of a bite wound. If you want to help a snakebite victim, keep the bite wound below the heart so that gravity helps with keeping the venom localised to the wound. Apply a cool compress. Get a marker and make a ring around the bite mark so you can track inflammation and redness. Every hour after the bite, apply another ring along the edge of the redness. Get the victim to the hospital ASAP. Also, it's antivenin, not antivenom. Professionals say antivenin.

If I think of anything else I'll add it later.

As always, if you have questions or something feel free to send me an ask!

#blu whos #bushman #writing tips #art tips #code blu

239 notes · View notes

mommieswithmuscles · 5 months

Text

Dom!Ellie x Sub!Abby

Free Palestine, don't support Neil

No minors and No men

Collaboration with @tojisboy

CW: Abby- Big clit, FUPA, roast beef labia, shy, combative, fussy, insecure, self shame, loss of vaginal virginity

Ellie- Cringe, breeding strap, sweetheart, tender

General- Breeding kink, angst, being hungry is foreplay but it's not a food kink fic, Ellie is WLF but Abby still bit her fingers off

Title: Yummy

"Els I'm hungry, did you get rations like I asked?" Abby drops her gear inside the door, kicking it shut behind her as she grabs clean clothes to shower.

"They're at the Mess Hall to stay warm. I'll go get them." Ellie stands in the bathroom door as Abby climbs into the shower. "How did your patrol go?"

"Was fine. Lot of dead, lot of injuries. Got a decent haul, though, so can't complain much." Abby runs her fingers through the wavy hair, recently unbraided so she could wash her hair. "Like what you see?" She asks nervously.

"You could say that." Ellie watches as the soap cascades down her back. "If it's not enough, can I eat that pretty pussy of yours, too?" Abby fumbles with her soap bar.

"I- You- ELLIE GO!" Abby shouts, face beet red and ears burning.

"Fine, fine! Be that way!" As Ellie leaves, she thinks about her exposure to Abby's pussy.

Usually Abby topped. Ellie thought it was because she was a stone top, or didn't like vaginal stimulation, but Abby pushes her away when she tries to pry. Ellie never sees her without underwear, and she respects that privacy. Even watching her wash her hair, her eyes don't dare travel down. That's something she couldn't bring herself to do. If Abby wanted her to see, she would get to look.

Ellie hurries back with their meals, the hot treys stinging her hands. She plops them on the table when she gets to the room, sitting in her seat and watching Abby meander over with her hair in a towel. "Thank you El," Abby whispers.

"You're welcome baby." As they eat, Ellie keeps making eyes. Abby notices and meets them, but doesn't offer any sort of go ahead to advance.

"Are you still hungry?" Abby's voice is quiet as she takes the dishes to the sink.

"A bit, but I can hold out." Ellie doesn't want to pressure her. Abby crosses an arm over her chest, rubbing at her bicep. It's a habit she does when she's scared. Ellie notices immediately. "Abs, what is it?" She stands, but doesn't move towards Abby.

"We've been dating for- uh- well over a year. And we've had a lot of sex. And I trust you, so much." Abby stops talking, knuckles white as bruises bloom under her fingertips.

"Dollface?" Ellie asks cautiously.

"I think- I want to be- I want-" She huffs in annoyance before growling, ripping her hand from her arm and hitting her fist on the counter. "Fuck! Why is this so hard!"

"What's hard? I'm listening baby. I'm here." Ellie stands so her posture is more open and vulnerable, hoping Abby will feel more able to open up. Abby pushes herself up to sit on the counter, head in her hands as she takes deep breaths.

"I'm ashamed of my body. That's it. I'm ashamed and I want to share it with you, but I hate it. I hate the fat that snuck up over my perfect V line and abs. I hate how I have to wear only boxers because my pussy lips eat women's underwear and make me feel awful wearing them. Like I'm not allowed to wear them. And my stupid clit doesn't help with that in the slightest. It rubs against everything I wear. I want cute underwear, I want lounge pants, I want to be able to have sex with you and let you return everything. I hate the feeling I get when you look at me like I'm the world, saying stupid shit on how I buttered your bread, or- or-" Abby didn't notice Ellie coming towards her until she nearly smacked her, hands and arms throwing themselves as she blurts her insecurities out loud. Secrets she won't even share with her journal.

"You're perfect, Abigail." Ellie steps between Abby's legs, watching as the large hands lower themselves and wrap around the edge of the counter. "I love your FUPA. It's so cute, and it's so soft and smooth. I wouldn't ever hate you for your body. If you want to wear cute undies, wear them! I would give my left hand to see you- No, my right hand. I would give my right hand to see you comfortable in clothes you want to wear. And I would give my life," Ellie cups her face, Abby almost winces at the void where she took two of the fingers she loves so much, "to have you see you the way I see you."

"This is stupid. You're stupid, I'm stupid, all of this is stupid." Abby growls to herself, palms pushing into her eye sockets as her fingers grip the towel.

"What made you break down like this?" Ellie drops her hands to Abby's thighs, rubbing softly.

"Your stupid comments! You don't- You don't get how much I want you. How long I've wanted to give myself to you in that way. But I can't."

"You could if you wanted to. I love you for who you are, not your body. Remember when you thought your boobs were too small, so I held you, and we slowly worked my hands to your boobs as we breathed together? Your vag isn't any different to me. It's a part of you. I love it. I love you."

"Els-" Abby sighs, wrapping herself around Ellie. "Can we try?"

"Are you ok to try right now?" Ellie runs her fingertips up and down her spine, Abby relaxes into her.

"Not right now, no, but- I don't know, later, I guess."

"Ok dollface. Anything you need, I'll take care of it. You're the one getting taken care of today, ok?"

Ellie grabs the dinner rations, skipping to their room before putting a tie over the doorknob so Manny doesn't come in.

"If you don't want to at any point, we don't have to." Ellie sits in front of Abby in the bed, burritos in her hand as Abby sits unclothed except her underwear.

"I know. Thank you," Abby's voice is soft as Ellie tucks into her side.

"You're welcome baby."

"A-Ar-Are you still hungry, Els?"

"Just a bit." Ellie discards the wrappers.

"I uh, there's a-" Abby clears her throat, fumbling with the band of her boxers.

"You hiding a sandwich from me?" Ellie teasingly scolds. Abby nods. "What kind?"

"Roast be-beef." Ellie puts her hands over Abby's as the boxers eventually make their way down to her knees, then eventually off her ankles.

"Could use some cheese. Care if I have a bite?" Abby nods. "Words."

"Yes-Yeah, go ahead." Ellie lays on her stomach to inspect. One hand curls around her eye to make a telescope, the other hand holds Abby's.

"This here looks to be the finest crafted roast beef. Bread beautifully toasted. And I'll be," Ellie takes a deep breath of the fresh musk, "there's cheese after all!" When she sits back up, Abby pushes her back into the bed, her hand taking up the surface of Ellie's face to push her.

"Fuck I hate you."

"Is it helping though?" Ellie sits up again, voice gentle and concerned.

"Yeah, it helps. Thank you." Ellie strips to her underwear. Abby welcomes her into her arms.

"You're always welcome my love." One of Ellie's thighs slips between her legs. "Do you need to stop?"

"Keep talking?"

"You're so pretty Abs. Thank you for showing me your body. I appreciate your trust and vulnerability. You're beautiful. My beautiful girl." Ellie kisses her, Abby kisses back with passion.

It's past sundown when Abby finally finds the courage to go further. Her lips and neck are kiss bitten and spit slick, Ellie's fairing none better. Her bra and boxers got tossed into the pile of clothes minutes before.

"El, Els, please-"

"You sure?" Ellie looks down at Abby, admiring her halo of hair. "We don't have to-"

"I want to, please." Abby kisses her again.

"Ok baby. Do you want just my hands and mouth, or my hands, or there's the dildo you like?"

"Start with you, then if I'm still ok, you can fuck me?"

"You'll let me breed you?" Ellie's eyes light up as she shimmies down Abby's body.

"Fuck yes, yes you can breed me."

"As you wish." Ellie kisses the lips, makes out with them before sliding her tongue in.

Abby holds Ellie's head as Ellie's fingers toy with the clit. She jerks it and rubs it the way Abby would the tip of the dildo when teasing Ellie. Abby lets out a pornographic moan at the feeling of her callouses enhancing all her pleasure. "FUCK! FUCK EL- FUCK!" Her thighs snap around Ellie's head and shoulders as Ellie's hand on her clits fumbles with and finds each uniquely sensitive spot. Abby cums down her face, Ellie gulps all of it up. She puts two fingers in Abby's cunt to slowly pull her out of her orgasm.

"You ok my love?" Ellie's wet fingers find themselves on Abby's stomach, petting the small bit of fat, pressing her lips to it as Abby releases her slowly.

"Mhm. Feel good. Thank you." Abby's eyes are watery, pleasure and love filling her senses.

"Do you want to take the strap? If not that's ok, too."

"Wanna try." Abby grabs the water bottle beside the bed, taking a drink before offering it to Ellie.

"I'm ok baby, rest up." Ellie kisses her forehead, tugging the strap onto her hips. She fills the tube with the fake cum before settling back on the bed between Abby's thighs.

After using the bathroom, Abby was ready. She looked into Ellie's eyes, held her hands, and went slow. Abby's jaw clenched when the tip went in. Ellie stopped so she could adjust. "You ok?" She rubs her hand over the now dry fat at the base of Abby's abdomen.

"I'm ok El. Start slow? Please?"

"Yeah baby, of course. Couldn't dream of it any other way." Rocking back and forth, Ellie takes a good while before she's bottomed out. Abby's beneath her panting, gasping, clamping and fluttering around the intrusion. They stay tummy to tummy until Abby starts slow grinds. Ellie kisses her as she starts slow thrusts.

It begins with Abby's low gasps and mewls filling Ellie's ears. She keeps it slow, steady, continuing to ask how she's feeling and what she needs. Abby barely responds more than breathy "Ellie"s and "Need you, please".

Ellie jogs her hips at a moderate pace, just enough Abby's fingernails leave angry marks and her thighs closing around her has to make her hips work harder.

"Els! El! Cum- I'm-! Please!" Ellie uses her thumb to aggressively play with Abby's clit.

She waits for Abby to come down before pulling out and spilling the fake cum down Abby's clit, slit, and ass.

"Would you look at that," Ellie gasps in pure wonder. Abby's unfocused eyes look up at her, chest heaving as she tries to regather herself. "Your sandwich looks so damn appetizing with mayo." Abby throws a pillow in Ellie's face.

#no men allowed #no minors allowed #abby anderson #abby the last of us #abby tlou #abby smut #abby tlou2 #abby the last of us 2 #ellie x abby #abby x ellie #ellie williams #ellie the last of us #ellie tlou #ellie tlou2 #ellie the last of us 2 #ellie smut

62 notes · View notes

thereticx · 11 months

Text

𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖻𝗈𝗒'𝗌 𝗍𝗈𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝗅𝗎𝖾𝗌

𑑛Pairing: Megumi Fushiguro x Reader

𑑛Summary: Happiness is a beautiful feeling that tingles within your body and makes you feel complete. That certain happiness comes from your boyfriend himself. So what happens when that certain happiness is stripped away from you? What happens when your boyfriend is beside you one second and gone the next?

𑑛Warnings: slight manga spoilers but nothing too specific, angst with happy ending, fluffy make out session

Author's Note: This one shot made me realise how much I love Megumi ♡

𓂅 song that I listened while writing this

✎ . .Your boyfriend was the perfect example of a caring and selfless person. He was, actually, the most beautiful human you ever laid eyes upon.

Megumi was indeed a blessing in your life. His tough exterior compressed to nothing but pure weakness when he was around you. This boy's vulnerability made you love him even more. He was a human in search of a bit of warmth in the twisted world he lives in.

And you gladly offered him that. Every day you made sure to pour all your love into the deepest kisses you could ever give him. Your lips meeting his soft ones, while he offered you his whole being. His hair would feel smooth between your fingers just like his skin.

How beautiful that was.

"You're everything to me.Truly" Megumi whispered on your lips, sinking deeper into the sheets. You laid on top of him, disappointed with the hoodie that stood between you and him. You had no shame.

Instead of giving into your sinful thoughts, you wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him. Your tongue licked at his bottom lip to let you in and he did without hesitation.

He tasted too sweet.

"I love you,Megs" That nickname was the one you picked during your six month relationship. Judging by how his breath hitched whenever you called him by it, Megumi loved it. He loved you.

The comfort of his presence was overwhelming. You wanted to abandon this school, this city and run far away with him. You wanted him safe.

Cuddling into your boyfriend's body, with his hand on top of your hair guiding you further into the kiss that soon turned sloppy. His heart threatened to jump from his chest and offer herself to you. Not like he didn't like the idea.

Your pretty sounds pushed Megumi to act more bluntly. He slowly trailed the tips of his fingers under your shirt, massaging the heated skin underneath.

Your tongue interlocked with his, unprepared to hear the low moan that escaped his throat "Don't ever leave me, Y/N please..don't you dare"

A big smile appeared on your face as you broke the kiss just for a second "I won't in a million years" Megumi's hold on you got tighter, almost squeezing you. Poor boy couldn't help it.

"I love you too much..please" Even though you had your eyes closed you knew he tried to hold back his tears. The moment would be ruined if he allowed them to fall.

He loves you…

After all this time. He still does. Just like the first day.

A lot had happened after your heartwarming moment. The curse occupied his body and ripped Megumi away from your arms.

His sister was dead. He killed her. With his bare hands but those weren't truly his were they? He could never do that.

But she was still dead and he was still trapped. The only thing that kept him sane was the memory of you. The love that burns deep inside him.

Save me please… I want you to save me..

It was a long and painful task but you did.

Megumi's shaken up expression broke your heart into thousands of pieces. The sixteen year old that went through hell and back with his heart and mind intact.

You engulfed him in your arms so tightly he couldn't breathe properly. The warm tears slipped down your faces like nothing. Then, you kissed him so so hard to make up for all the time you were apart.

Megumi whimpered, body shaking, losing control of his feelings. He was nothing but a teenager in love "I missed you so much"

You nodded, tears clouding your line of sight "I know baby I missed you too but we're together now" His hair was a mess, sticking to his forehead and cheeks.

He smashed his lips on yours once again not planning to let go.

Not now, not ever..

"I love you"

#fanfic #x reader #anime #one shot #angst #fluff #megumi x reader #megumi angst #jujutsu kaisen megumi #megumi fic #megumi fushiguro #megumi fushiguro x reader #megumi fushiguro x you #jjk x y/n #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk angst #jjk imagines #jjk fluff

206 notes · View notes

daechwitatamic · 1 year

Text

X. So I Follow || KNJ

(banner by @itaeewon)

Title: My Feet to Follow, and My Heart to Hold (Masterpost)

Rating: NSFW - minors dni

Genre: college!au, roomie!au, angst, s2l, the absolute slowest of burns

Pairing: Namjoon x female reader, unrequited Taehyung x reader

Beta'd by @/kookstempo, @/casuallyimagining, and @/toikiii - thank you endlessly!

Summary: You know a lot about the many types of love thanks to Kim Taehyung. You love him as the only person you see as “family”, you love him as your very best friend, and you love him as the beautiful, funny man he’s become. But when a twist of fate during your senior year has you rooming with his good friend Kim Namjoon, you just might find that you have plenty left to learn about love.

Lesson One: there are such things as a right way and a wrong way to love and to be loved.

In light of the incident with Taehyung, you prepare to spend Christmas alone.

Section Warnings: language, arguing/fighting (just some shoving), angst!, but also fluff in this one wow, bar scenes and recreational drinking

WC: 7.8k

The world is mine: blue hill, still silver lake, Broad field, bright flower, and the long white road A gateless garden, and an open path: My feet to follow, and my heart to hold. - Journey | Edna St. Vincent Millay

You watch it cross his face as Taehyung decides to make you prove it, but you don’t have enough time to react before he’s doing the thing you’d day-dreamed of time after time after time - before you knew Namjoon. He’s closing the gap between you, his hand curling in the fabric of your jacket, his lips finding yours, searching for something that three months ago he probably would have found.

You shove Taehyung in the chest with both hands, and he stumbles away from you.

“You fucking asshole,” you growl. “What the fuck is the matter with you?”

“You said we’re the same as we’ve always been?” he spits back. “You’re a fucking liar.”

You’re so blindingly angry, suddenly, that you can barely think, can barely match up words to make a sentence. “Fuck you,” you manage, the words feeling like they’re torn from your chest, leaving a bloody, gaping wound in their place. “I can’t fucking believe you.”

His brows furrow; for a minute, he looks genuinely lost. Then, something hard replaces the look. “You’re that serious about him? Already?”

You’re ready to answer this affirmatively, but he presses on. “You’ve never dated anyone, never even got to a second date. Now you’re seeing this guy for, what, a few weeks, and I’m nothing to you? Just like that?”

Something changes inside of you; you go from boiling angry to pure ice in only seconds. The silence pulses and then flatlines between you, as dead as your friendship. All you can do is stare at him, the seething rage knitting itself into something metallic instead.

“I waited for you,” you tell him, deathly calm, like you’re explaining a math problem. At your sides, your hands are shaking. “I waited for you for years. I cannot - I do not have words for how deeply unfair it is for you to show up now and try to ruin this for me.” You spit the words, clipping your consonants hard.

Neither of you has ever said it out loud. But it’s out now. No take-backs.

He stares at you, chest heaving, eyes wide. There’s no going back to how things were, now. That option is well and truly buried, nails in the coffin.

“Goodbye, Taehyung,” you force yourself to say, and you turn and take the steps at a clip, letting the door shut behind you, leaving him out in the cold for good.

You stop on the staircase, nearly at your floor, and slump against the bannister. What are you going to say to Namjoon? Hey, by the way, the guy you knew I had feelings for just kissed me. Maybe not quite like that. But you definitely have to tell him.

Honestly though, you don’t feel like you have the bandwidth for that conversation right now. You feel like… you feel like you’re grieving.

You need the space and time to mourn, to accept that you’ve walked away from something that you’ve lived in comfortably for years. To accept that you’ll never have back the friendship you once had - even if you and Taehyung manage to land somewhere okay when this is all over, the truth is things will never again be how they were between you. It just isn’t possible.

You don’t want to cry over Taehyung in front of Namjoon. He’s already given you so much grace, so much understanding and patience. This… this would be too much. At least until you can calm down, get your head right, talk about it rationally. So, when you enter the apartment and find his door closed, you leave him be. You head for your own bedroom, shutting and locking the door behind you.

–

Namjoon feels tortured and trapped in his room; he paces, he tries doing sit-ups, he takes a shower just to hold his breath under the spray of hot water.

None of it helps.

Finally, like a dog with its tail between its legs, he flops on his bed in defeat and picks up his phone.

[11:24 PM] Namjoon: you guys wanna say i told you so now, or later

[11:24 PM] Hobi: uh oh

[11:25 PM] Yoongi: what happened

Namjoon sighs, rubs a hand over his face. He doesn’t want to tell them. But he can’t shoulder this alone, he knows himself well enough to know it.

[11:27 PM] Namjoon: just caught her kissing him

[11:28 PM] Namjoon: literally right in front of the apartment

He closes his eyes, resting his phone on his chest. He can feel it buzz with the reactions rolling in, but he feels like he can’t make himself look at them.

Something niggles in the back of his mind, stirs in the pit of his stomach.

Something about how your hands had been balled into fists at your sides.

[11:29 PM] Hobi: what the fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck

[11:30 PM] Yoongi: dude i’m sorry

[11:31 PM] Hobi: bro that’s a dick move by taehyung

[11:31 PM] Hobi: like thats legitimately not okay he owes you a huge apology

[11:32 PM] Hobi: if i were you i’d go to his place and talk to him. like right now.

[11:34 PM] Yoongi: forget talking to taehyung, that can wait

[11:35 PM] Yoongi: have you talked to HER yet??

[11:37 PM] Hobi: wow double question mark. Mr Min is serious

[11:37 PM] Yoongi: shut up hoseok

[11:39 PM] Namjoon: i dont think i can even look at her right now tbh

[11:39 PM] Namjoon: let alone talk…

[11:42 PM] Namjoon: wtf would i even say to her?

[11:45 PM] Namjoon: ‘was it everything you ever hoped for?’

[11:45 PM] Namjoon: fuck

He sets his phone on the mattress beside him and closes his eyes. Stupid… stupid… stupid… It echoes through his head, harmonizing nicely with Hobi and Yoongi’s voices telling him he gives people - women - too much faith, lets them take advantage of him.

But you’d told him you were in this.

You’d told him you wanted to be with him, not Taehyung.

You��d told him this thing between you was real, and that it deserves to be.

He’s told you he trusts you. Did that change? Was he wrong to?

Or are things not adding up?

He picks up his phone again.

[11:52 PM] Hobi: might be nice to have some answers

[11:53 PM] Yoongi: that’s true… we all know this wouldn’t be the first time taehyung has shown his ass…

Namjoon considers this silently. He starts to get up, then stills. This repeats twice more, before he finally throws himself out of bed and leaves his room before his nerves can fail. He crosses the living room to find your bedroom door shut – rare, these days. He knocks, calls your name quietly. When you don’t answer, he tries the doorknob.

It’s locked.

“Hey,” he calls. “Let me in.”

You don’t answer.

He knows it’s not the same, not what’s happening now, but he’s picturing you on the day you’d gone silent, laying in bed, facing the wall, unmoving, unblinking. His chest clenches with the need to make sure you’re okay, despite what he’d seen, despite the conclusions he’d drawn.

He leans his forehead against the cool wood of the door. “Baby,” he says, voice so hushed it’s practically a whisper. “Please, open the door and talk to me.”

He waits a long moment, one hand against the door, and then the doorknob clicks. As soon as he can see your face through the crack, it’s clear you’ve been crying.

His brain starts running possibilities as fast as a bullet-train. You’re crying because you know you did something wrong, and you feel guilty. You’re crying because you’re conflicted about who you want, and it’s hurting. You’re crying because you’ve decided to be with Taehyung after all, and you know you have to let Namjoon down. You’re crying because…

“What happened?” he manages to ask, feeling like there’s glass in his throat as he tugs the words out of his stomach.

He resists the urge to reach out and touch your face, wipe a stray tear away.

You take a deep breath, avert your eyes. Then you seem to steel yourself and say very clearly, “Taehyung just kissed me.”

Then, you rush ahead, the rest of the words tumbling out of you so fast that Namjoon almost misses some of it. “But I pushed him away – I called him an asshole, I told him he missed his chance.”

You take another breath, eyes filling with fresh tears. You still haven’t looked up at Namjoon. “I’m sorry,” you finish in a whisper.

Namjoon doesn’t remember moving, doesn’t decide to move, but his arms are suddenly around you as you bury your face in his shirt, shoulders still trembling a little under his hands.

He’s so overcome with relief that it almost makes him go boneless – relief that he hadn’t been wrong to trust you, relief that you’d chosen him after all.

But as he holds you, as he feels your shaking slowly ebb away, he remembers the times you’d called Taehyung family, the stories you’d told of having no one else. In that moment, he truly feels your sorrow down into his own bones.

“You have me,” he thinks, then realizes he’s said it out loud. You shift in his arms to look up at him, eyes big and red-rimmed. He gives you a little squeeze, struggles to wade through how protective he feels with you. “I know that maybe it’s not the same… but for as long as you want me there,” he promises, “you have me.”

Tuesday December 11th

You lay in Namjoon’s embrace, chest to chest, his strong arms locked behind your back. You’re not sure how long you’ve been encased like this, one leg tucked between his, listening to his heart beating next to your ear. Long enough for the sweat to cool.

You shiver a little, and Namjoon runs a hand reverently down your arm, chasing away goosebumps with the warmth of his palm. Behind him, you can hear your phone vibrate on your nightstand.

Again.

You try to pretend you don’t hear it. You try to distract Namjoon by reaching up to kiss his jaw sweetly. He looks down at you, eyes narrowed, seeing right through your bullshit.

“Is that him again?”

“I don’t know,” you say innocently. “I haven’t looked at it.”

But you both know it is.

He’s been calling - and texting - since you left him on the sidewalk two nights ago. You’d turned your phone off on Sunday night, as soon as you’d cottoned on that he wasn’t going to give up. When you’d gotten brave enough to turn it on Monday morning, it was to three voicemails, unending missed calls, and a series of texts that blurred before you as you teared up over their desperation.

[12:18 AM] Tae Bear 🧸: please pick up

[12:31 AM] Tae Bear 🧸: pick up the phone [12:32 AM] Tae Bear 🧸: talk to me

[2:52 AM] Tae Bear 🧸: i’m so sorry [2:52 AM] Tae Bear 🧸: i’m such an asshole [2:52 AM] Tae Bear 🧸: fuck i’m so so sorry

[3:22 AM] Tae Bear 🧸: please talk to me [3:23 AM] Tae Bear 🧸: you’re probably sleeping so i’m gonna stop [3:24 AM] Tae Bear 🧸: but if you decide you want to talk please call me

[9:04 AM] Tae Bear 🧸: good morning [9:05 AM] Tae Bear 🧸: can we talk today?

You hadn’t answered any of it, and he’d continued Monday afternoon.

[4:46 PM] Tae Bear 🧸: please, talk to me so i can apologize for real [4:52 PM] Tae Bear 🧸: you’ve never not talked to me for this long before [4:54 PM] Tae Bear 🧸: even that time i backed into Lin’s car and let her blame you… [4:54 PM] Tae Bear 🧸: did i fuck everything up that badly?

Yes, you want to tell him. But you don’t have the heart. It’s hard enough, takes enough of your self-control, to resist answering. To resist telling him it’s okay.

It isn’t. You know it isn’t.

As the texts roll in through Monday night and Tuesday morning, you feel like Namjoon’s steadying gaze on you, or his hand solid in yours, is the only thing that keeps you from skittering back into safe, familiar old habits. And to his credit, he barely leaves you alone while you’re both home. He stays in your space, quiet and calm, watching you carefully, searching for signs that you might need more from him.

The phone buzzes again, insistent - a phone call.

You sigh in Namjoon’s arms. “Maybe I should answer him,” you muse. “If for nothing else, then to tell him to knock it off.”

Namjoon rolls to pick up your phone and places it, still buzzing, in your hands. “It’s your decision,” he says carefully.

You watch Taehyung’s name, with the stupid emoji after it, scroll across the top of your screen. You don’t pick up.

“I don’t think I’m ready,” you admit. “I don’t even know what I’d tell him. I have nothing to say.”

“Then don’t,” Namjoon advises gently. “Turn it off for a while. Let’s get something to eat.”

“Yeah,” you say absently, pressing your finger to the power button. “You’re right.” You watch, feeling utterly hollow, as your screen goes black.

Thursday December 13th

It’s hard for Namjoon to watch, honestly, though he does his best to bite his tongue and just support you. But you float through the apartment like a ghost, and he can’t help but feel guilt over the fact that you chose to be haunted for his sake.

You’re staring at your phone, which - despite being powered off - is sitting by your elbow. Like, even though you pressed the power button yourself, you're waiting for the next call.

“You should do something for yourself tonight,” he hears himself suggest. Problem-solving mode again, like he just can’t help himself. But maybe it’ll be for the better. “Like a bubble bath or something. Why don’t you go run one? I’ll pour you some wine.”

The look you give him nearly knocks his knees out - you turn to him with a look of pure adoration, disbelieving wonder. You look at him like he’s too good to be true.

It breaks his heart. It breaks his heart that a simple act of kindness feels so large to you - because no one, not your family, or fucking Kim Taehyung, or any of your other friends, had ever done it for you.

“You should leave your phone out here,” he suggests. “Bring a book.”

You give him a different sort of look, then, one that says don’t tell me what to do.

“I’m just saying!” He smiles innocently. “It’ll ruin your inner peace if you turn it on.”

“Inner peace,” you grumble at him, but you head into your bathroom, your phone face down on the breakfast bar. A minute later, Namjoon hears the bathtub water running.

He brings you in a glass of wine as promised, also carrying in the poetry book you’d bought him at the antique shop a few days ago.

“Don’t get this wet,” he warns jokingly. You smile up at him, most of you hidden beneath an aggressive amount of bubbles.

“I won’t,” you promise. “I have a tray.”

Namjoon backtracks to the kitchen, recorking the wine and wiping down the counter. He’s humming absently, lost in thought about what he’d been writing, when he hears footsteps stop outside the front door.

His intuition kicks in with a quick slap of adrenaline. He opens the front door roughly and immediately shoulders Taehyung backwards into the hallway, closing the door behind him and crossing his arms, physically putting himself between Taehyung and you.

Taehyung gapes at him, eyes wide, mouth dropped in indignation. Then, his pride catches up, and his eyes narrow. “What are you, her bodyguard?” he asks sourly. “Did she tell you not to let me in?”

“No,” Namjoon admits, willing himself to stay logical, not to let his temper take over. “But I want to talk to you.”

“I just bet you do,” Taehyung mutters.

Namjoon breathes in for four, holds it for four, lets it out for six. He’s known Taehyung for years, sees him as a nuisance of a little brother in a lot of ways, has a lot of affection for him. But watching you hurt, and hurt, and hurt - it isn’t going to continue.

“I’m sorry you found out about us the way you did,” Namjoon says, hoping that beginning with his own apology will help soften the rest of the conversation. “I didn’t mean for that to happen. I wasn’t trying to be… it would have been better for her to talk to you about it on her own terms. I didn’t mean to take that away from her. Or you.”

“I really don’t want to talk about this with you,” Taehyung says, voice low and dangerous. “I want to talk to her. Move.”

“You need to back off,” Namjoon says carefully. “You’re breaking her fucking heart, bro. Give her some time.”

Taehyung laughs in his face, the sound ugly and echoing in the empty hallway. “Fuck you,” he says. “If it’s breaking her heart to stay away from me, doesn’t that tell you something? She wants to talk to me, she misses me. Move.”

Namjoon shakes his head, clings to reason, tries desperately to make Taehyung see reason, too. “Try to understand,” he begs. “You’re messing with her head. Do you even want her? If she came out here now and said she wanted to be with you, would you even know what to do with that?”

Taehyung’s eyes narrow even further, if possible. “What are you talking about?” he asks, the question like a hiss between his teeth. “You’re pissing me off, Namjoon. She and I need to talk - get out of the way.”

Namjoon’s temper flares. “Taehyung,” he says, just one of many times in their friendship he’s felt like he had to talk sense into the younger man. “You don’t love her, so let her go.”

Taehyung freezes, then raises his chin, face flat and impassive. “Who says I don’t love her?” he asks, bone-chillingly cold.

Namjoon breaks eye contact, takes another steadying breath. “Feeling like she’s yours,” he says quietly, like he’s trying to explain, “doesn’t make it love.”

Taehyung makes a disbelieving tch noise, but Namjoon pushes on.

“Feeling like you have a claim on her doesn’t mean you love her. And you know what? Even if it did, even if we agreed that you love her… this is not the right way. She deserves to be loved the right way, and this isn’t it. And if you don’t want to lose her completely, then you need to wrap your head around that.”

Taehyung is spared having to respond to this. Behind Namjoon, you’ve been listening from the doorway. You step into view, your face flushed from the warm bath and the glass of wine, flushed from what you’ve overheard.

Immediately, Taehyung moves closer, trying to dart past Namjoon to reach you, saying your name like a prayer.

“Please, let’s talk,” he begs, the words all a rush.

Namjoon keeps his body between you, but glances over his shoulder at you. Taehyung’s intended dig about being your bodyguard doesn’t feel too off, right now. “Do you want me to make him leave?” he asks, feeling so worked up he thinks he could probably carry Taehyung out of here by the back of his neck if given the okay.

“No,” you say, your voice tiny. Namjoon tongues his cheek, but steps aside. Taehyung shoots him a cutting, victorious look, but then you speak again, your voice still so little. “But… will you stay?” You creep into the hallway, looking entirely unsure, and Namjoon welcomes it happily when you press against his side, one of your hands resting over his diaphragm, the other curling into the material of his shirt over his back.

“Taehyung,” you whisper, and Namjoon’s heart breaks again at the look of betrayal and hurt that you level at your best friend. “What are you doing?”

“I –”

“Taehyung,” you say again, so broken, and it stops him in his tracks. “You don’t love me. You never did. So what the hell is happening here?”

He looks back at you, a look of absolute devastation crossing his face. For a second, Namjoon feels bad for him - just for a second. “Please, let’s talk by ourselves,” Taehyung begs.

You shake your head. “After the shit you pulled last time? Absolutely not.”

“I’m sorry,” he blurts. “I shouldn’t have - I know I shouldn’t have - it’s just -

“What?” you snap, suddenly pissed all over again.

“I can’t lose you,” he says plainly.

You look at the ground, then - inexplicably - up at Namjoon. Like you’re deciding something. Like you’re calculating. Then, you look back at Taehyung, your body language changing as you stand up straight again. When you speak, your voice is firm and even.

You grounded me.

“I don’t want that either,” you say, finally. “But I’m not going to be with you - not like that. And let’s both be honest - you don’t actually want that, either. You only went there because you thought someone else was winning. And frankly? I refuse to play. So you know what, Taehyung? When you can grow up and figure out what you actually want, you can call me to talk about it - not until then.”

You disentangle yourself from Namjoon and stalk back inside. Namjoon pauses. Taehyung is staring at the ground, unblinking.

“You’re my friend, too,” Namjoon says quietly, feeling like he can’t even look Taehyung in the face right now. “I hope we can figure that out, too, when you’re ready.”

Taehyung’s response is his middle finger over his shoulder as he stalks down the hallway towards the stairs.

Friday December 22nd

Through cobbled streets in tiny towns Through suffocating crowds on city sidewalks Down dirt lanes and past silent, towering silos

I follow you

Through pathless forests, over tripping roots Beneath canopies of black and green Over fallen trees whose rings tell of being felled

I follow you

To mountains bathed in sunlight’s glory Up slopes that want to pull me down To views of winding rivers - strips of ribbon below

I follow you

To ocean waves that crash and scream Tantruming relentlessly against packed sand shores The line of the horizon ebbing with the moonrise

I follow you

My feet are meant to follow yours My heart is meant to follow yours The world is mine, but I want only yours

So I follow

I follow you

–

You close the notebook before you can scratch anything out. That one needs to marinate a little. It’s not like you to forgo a rhyme scheme, and you’re not sure how you feel about the flow.

You haven’t heard from Taehyung in almost two weeks. But you haven’t reached out, either.

When you hear Namjoon come through the front door, you slide your notebook back into your backpack, leaving no incriminating evidence.

“Hey,” he says, stopping by your side and giving your shoulders some affectionate squeezes. “What are you up to?”

“Was writing,” you tell him. “Sort of.”

He laughs at sort of. “What a mood,” he says with a smile. Then, he drops himself in the stool next to yours at the breakfast bar, drumming his knuckles where your notebook had been just moments before.

You know that tic - he’s anxious.

“What is it?” you ask, instantly worried. “Did something happen?”

You’re imagining all sorts of scenarios - Taehyung confronted him, Elyse texted again, he failed an assignment, he’s breaking up with you -

“Nothing bad,” he assures you, stopping the spiral in its place. “I just had something to ask you. I guess I’m nervous. I know I shouldn’t be.”

“Oh,” you say. “Okay. Well - what is it?”

He glances at you shyly, and you feel your heart swell with affection.

“What are your Christmas plans?” he asks.

Whatever you were expecting, it wasn’t this.

“Oh,” you say again, deflating. “I was… just staying here, I think.”

The I think is a lie. Your plan was absolutely to stay, alone, in the apartment. You had no intention of going home for the holidays. It would mean over an hour in the car each way with Taehyung, whom you haven’t spoken to in ten whole days. Plus, Lin is working. Normally you’d go to Taehyung’s house and let his parents try to pretend you weren’t imposing, but that’s not an option this year either.

Honestly, the idea of your first Christmas without them - Taehyung’s mom and dad - is kind of depressing. You’d sent a gift in the mail, but it won’t be the same.

Namjoon raps his knuckles again. “Um,” he says, so uncertainly that it makes you smile a little bit, “how would you feel about coming home with me? To my parents’?”

You’re stunned into silence. “I - Do - Would your parents be okay with that? It’s not too last minute?”

“They’d be thrilled,” Namjoon tells you seriously. “They thought I’d never get ov- I mean, they’d be happy to meet you.”

You smile to yourself at his slip. “When were you going to leave?”

“I’m taking the train in the morning. Plenty of time to pack.”

“I need to do laundry,” you muse out loud, already in planning mode.

“So, you’ll come with me?” he clarifies.

“Yeah,” you say slowly, still mentally writing a to-do list. “If you’re sure I’m not imposing… they have to feed me and everything. You’re sure it’s okay?”

He laughs, kisses the top of your head. “I promise,” he says.

Later, as you and Namjoon sit side by side on the couch, folding laundry together, your phone buzzes on the coffee table.

Your heart leaps, hoping it will be Taehyung, caving just in time for the holidays, wanting to talk it out before Christmas Day.

It’s Lin.

Your heart sinks, your throat gets tight. You push the hurt and disappointment aside and avoid Namjoon’s knowing gaze as you open the text.

[6:22 PM] Lin: i just ran into taes family

[6:22 PM] Lin: they said hes coming home tonight

[6:23 PM] Lin: will you be here tonight? We didn’t talk about it

You purse your lips.

[6:25 PM] You: sorry, i should have called you. I know you’re working so i wasn’t planning on coming home

[6:26 PM] Lin: oh. Are you going to be alone?

You type the start of an answer - “no, staying with my -” and pause, looking over at Namjoon.

“Joon?” you ask, and he looks at you, surprised. “I don’t know - I mean - Should I say we’re -?”

He leans to read over your shoulder, smiling when he sees “with my -” and your cursor waiting patiently for you to finish the thought. Your what? Friend? Roommate?

You glance up at him, feeling your face flush. “Do I say boyfriend?” you finally ask in a whisper.

His smile almost splits his face. “Is that what I should tell my mom?” he counters, his own phone in his hand.

You grin at him. “I will if you will,” you tease.

His smile turns cocky. “At the same time, then?”

[6:31 PM] You: no, staying with my boyfriend’s family

[6:34 PM] Lin: your WHAT?????????

Namjoon brings his phone to his ear, still smiling at you. When someone picks up, he says, “Eomma? Listen, I know it’s last minute - my girlfriend will be alone for the holidays, would it be okay if she came home with me instead?”

On the other end of the line there’s a series of unintelligible shrieks, and Namjoon’s playful smile only grows. “Yah, I know, I know, I’m sorry!” he laughs. “You’ll meet her! I know! I’m sorry!”

You giggle quietly.

“No, no, Eomma, you don’t need a gift for her, just send us home with leftovers, that’s more than enough,” he says, eyes widening. “It’s last-minute for her, too, no one knew about this ahead of time. It’s okay. No, the guest room is perfect. Eomma, the guest room is fine. Let me talk to - Dad, hi.”

Giving him a reassuring pat on the knee, you stand, taking the folded laundry with you.

–

You’re essentially packed, your suitcase closed but still unzipped on top of your bed when Namjoon sticks his head in the door, that playful, up-to-no-good smirk on his face.

“What?” you ask him, smiling. It’s contagious, you can’t help it.

“Yoongi and Hoseok want to know if my girlfriend will come get a beer with us tonight,” he says, his smile growing sideways.

You laugh. “News travels fast.”

He gives a sheepish chuckle. “I tell those two everything. I can’t function without them.”

You eye him suspiciously. “Is this going to be an interrogation?”

He considers this. “Probably,” he admits. “But I’ll keep them in check. They’re just… protective. Especially after the Elyse debacle.”

You sigh. “You’re asking me to handle the best friend interrogation and meeting your parents all in the span of twelve hours, you realize that, right?”

Namjoon’s face falls a little. “You’re right,” he says. “Sorry. It’s okay - I’ll go by myself tonight -.”

“No, I want to go,” you say quickly, holding up a hand to stop his backpedaling. “I’m just saying. I think you owe me some cookies or something.”

His smile returns, tentative. “Let’s start with I’ll buy your beer tonight,” he jokes.

“Deal,” you tell him, but when you find yourself on a sticky barstool in a mostly dark hole-in-the-wall, a pitcher deep with the three guys, you’re wishing you’d demanded cookies after all.

Hoseok gets up to get a second pitcher, and Yoongi leans forward on his elbows, eyeing you carefully.

Here we go, you think. Namjoon shoots you an apologetic look and you shrug him off.

“So, it’s official now, huh?” Yoongi asks, voice a touch too casual.

“Apparently,” you say dryly, eyes on Namjoon. He’s kicking at Yoongi under the table, as subtle as an elephant.

Hoseok returns, carefully placing the new pitcher of beer on the center of the table. Namjoon reaches desperately for a refill.

Yoongi tilts his head to the side, eyes still on you, calculating. “You don’t want to be with Taehyung?”

“Hyung!” Namjoon protests, spluttering over his beer. Beside him, Hoseok frowns and murmurs Yoongi’s name reprimandingly.

You will yourself to stay calm, not to get defensive. “I don’t,” you say evenly. You hope the truth of it will be enough.

“You did though,” Yoongi points out.

“Hyung!” Namjoon barks a second time, starting to actually look pissed now.

But it’s a fair point. And Namjoon has never once through this whole thing asked you to explain yourself, has never asked you to defend or examine the way your feelings have changed since he met you in August.

So maybe he deserves to hear this answer, you think.

“Yeah,” you say, because it’s true. Yoongi’s entire demeanor changes with this admission - like he’d expected you to lie, or deflect. Like he’s ready to take you way more seriously now that he knows you’re willing to be honest.

You rub your hands down the tops of your thighs, trying to dispel the sweat collecting on your palms. “I guess I learned…” you say, thinking as you speak slowly, “I know that Taehyung loves me, but… I didn’t have anything to compare it to, before. I had never felt anything for or… received love from anyone else. I had nothing to put his… fragmented version of loving me into perspective.”

“Yah, you writing people are so well-spoken,” Hoseok sighs over his beer. Namjoon glares daggers at him.

Yoongi presses forward. “But now?”

You give Namjoon a tiny smile across the table. “Honestly… now I’m not sure how I could have ever been so wrong,” you say to him, not to Yoongi. You know he needs to know.

Saturday December 23rd

“Explain to me why I’m nervous,” you complain, your foot bouncing as the countryside rolls past the train’s window outside.

Namjoon smiles at you indulgently, and then places a large hand over your knee to quell the bouncing. “You’ll be fine.”

“I’m scared out of my mind.”

“So what you’re saying is, this is a bad time to tell you that my parents hated Elyse?”

Your blood runs cold. “They what? You’re fucking with me, right?”

He grimaces. “Unfortunately, no. I mean, they were never rude to her. They just… never warmed up. Each time we’d fight and get back together, my mom… well, she made sure I knew how she felt about it.”

“Great,” you say dourly, eyeing the window.

He gives your knee a squeeze. “You’ll be fine. Just be yourself.”

You’re a jumble of nerves for the rest of the ride.

When the train slows to a stop in Namjoon’s hometown, he leads you by the hand down the steps and out into the cold.

“That’s my dad’s car,” he says, pointing to a dark green sedan. “You ready?”

“No,” you joke, but you follow him towards the car, hoisting your duffle bag higher on your shoulder as you go.

Namjoon’s father exits the vehicle and comes around to hug his son; it hurts to watch, for some reason. Something inside you aches at it.

When he turns his attention to you, you greet him respectfully, and then Namjoon helps move your duffle bag into the car.

The drive to the house from the train station is quick - if it weren’t December and carrying luggage it would be walkable. Inside, Namjoon hugs his mother as well, towering over her. You greet her formally, and she gives you a tight-lipped smile, welcoming you to their home.

“Thank you for letting me join Namjoon here for Christmas,” you say, glancing sideways at him for reassurance. “I know it was last-minute.”

“No one should be alone for Christmas,” she tells you, her voice soft and even, and Namjoon squeezes your arm affectionately. “May I show you the guest room?”

You follow them both through the house and to a small room with a narrow single bed, a nightstand, and a small chest of drawers. In the corner, in a beam of morning sunlight, is a tall, leafy plant. This makes you smile; it feels like Namjoon’s touch.

“How long are you staying?” Mrs. Kim directs this question at her son, and you turn to look at him as you place your duffle bag on the end of the bed.

Namjoon hums, considering. “I’m not sure yet,” he tells her, leaning comfortably against the doorframe. “We’d planned for the 27th, but I was looking at the weather forecast while we were on the train and there’s a storm coming through. We might have to try and get back before that, so maybe the 26th. We can play it by ear.”

She shakes her head, swats playfully at his elbow. “You know I’m no good at spontaneous decisions,” she chides.

“We’ll keep an eye on the weather and figure out the plan,” he soothes.

She turns back to you, casting a playfully sour look at Namjoon over her shoulder as she does. “If you want to use the drawers for your clothes, you can,” she tells you. “The bathroom is straight across.”

“Got it,” you say, trying to sound breezy and cheerful. “Thank you again for taking me in. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.”

She nods at you, smiling. “I’ll let you get settled in,” she says, and brushes past Namjoon on her way back down the narrow hallway.

His gaze on you is suddenly heavy.

“What?” you ask.

He opens his mouth to speak, then looks over his shoulder, seems to think better of it. “Want to go for a walk?” he asks instead. “I have a place I’d kind of like to show you.”

Everything inside you that’s been held tight like a breath melts into something soft. “Okay,” you tell him, reaching for your coat, which is shoved under your duffle bag on the bed. “Let’s go.”

As you pass back through the kitchen, Mr. Kim is seated at the table, buried in an open newspaper. A cup of coffee sits, untouched, near his elbow. Mrs. Kim stands on a step-stool, searching a high cabinet for something, muttering under her breath.

“We’re going to walk down to the pond,” Namjoon says. His father lowers the newspaper and smiles at him a little absently. “Gotta show off the geese.”

He steps out the kitchen door that leads to a sloping backyard and you follow. Once you’re halfway across the yard he reaches back for your hand, not turning to watch you take it.

“Geese, huh?” you ask.

He turns to grin at you. “It’s my favorite place. Come on, keep up.”

“We don’t all have long legs like yours!” you protest. At the end of the property, there’s a small space between two hedges, the grass in the gap long worn away by frequent foot-traffic, only dirt remaining. He leads you through the gap and down the rest of the hill, where you can see the ink-dark water of a still pond waiting below.

When you arrive at the water’s edge, you notice that there is - as promised - an entire flock of geese, as well as a large swan.

“I heard swans can be nasty,” you say, a little apprehensive.

Namjoon puts his arm around you, looking out over the water. “Ah, that’s Clarence. He won’t mess with you. The geese might, though, especially when their babies are around.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Clarence? You named the swan?”

He laughs, the sound low and melodic, warm and welcoming. “He’s been around for a few years. We have an understanding.”

This startles a giggle out of you, and Namjoon looks down at you, smiling.

“I love having you here,” he admits fondly. “This is my favorite place - I’d come here to think, to read, to write. Sometimes, to clear my head.”

“You like to go outside when you’ve got shit going on,” you agree.

“There’s a Welsh saying,” he says seriously, “that means to kind of get your head on straight, to sort your thoughts out. But when you translate the words literally, they say to return to my trees. That always spoke to me.”

“Wow,” you say lightly, running the words through your mind again. “To return to my trees. I like that.”

He stands quietly next to you for a minute, both of you watching Clarence and his geese friends cross the pond at a snail’s pace.

“You know what I like about you?” he finally says, as a small breeze picks up enough to rustle his hair, to blow yours around your face. “I can say shit like that to you and you take me seriously. I’ve never had anybody like that in my life before - not even with my friends.”

You get it - you never really had that, either. You smile up at him. “I like pretty words.”

His smile goes crooked for a second. “I like pretty words and pretty girls.” He gives you a squeeze.

“What a line!” you laugh, but you can feel your face flushing. “Did you look that one up on the internet?”

He laughs too. “I was inspired, what can I say?”

You lapse into comfortable silence again, watching the edge of the dark water lap at the muddy shore. “Can I say something?” you ask after a minute, and Namjoon looks down at you, surprised.

“Yeah,” he says. “Of course.”

You think for a second about what you want to say - the points you want to hit, how you want to word it.

“I just wanted to make sure you knew,” you start slowly, “that I see and appreciate how patient you’ve been. How understanding.”

Namjoon’s eyes go wide and he actually leans away from you a little, like he wants to look at you better. “What?” he asks hollowly.

“Seriously,” you insist. “When it comes to everything between us, you’ve been in a shitty position from day one. You never held it against me, never got mad, never made me feel like I wasn’t… worth wanting. You never demanded anything of me - not an explanation, not an answer. You just… stayed by my side and let me figure it out. And I… it’s not lost on me that that’s extremely fucking rare. That’s all.”

Namjoon’s chin is jutting a little, his jaw clenched. He keeps his eyes on the pond and clears his throat. When he speaks, his voice is a little rough.

“Well, uh,” he says, then coughs to clear his throat. “Thanks for saying that. It’s all really… not that big of a deal.”

You lean against him, and he squeezes your shoulder.

“It is,” you whisper. “I know you don’t recognize it… but, it really is.”

–

Back inside, you somehow find yourself in a situation where you are way out of your depth: alone in the kitchen with Mrs. Kim.

Namjoon told you he’d be right back and went to - you assume - talk to his dad in the other room, and here you are.

You don’t know what to say. You don’t know how to talk to mothers. You don’t know how kitchens work.

Mrs. Kim saves you from yourself by placing a large, yellow onion in your hand. “Will you chop this while I start the –”

You don’t even hear the end of the question over the panicked rush of white noise in your ears. You hold the onion like it might explode in your hand.

Her back is to you as she pulls out a cutting board from a lower cabinet. When she turns and sees you standing there like you’re holding a grenade, she freezes.

“You certainly don’t have to if you don’t want to –” she backtracks quickly.

“The thing is,” you say, face flushing, “I don’t… exactly… know how.”

The sigh of disappointment she lets out is almost comical. You cringe, feeling terrible, when she says, “Aish, no wonder my son likes you - you two are just the same.”

This makes you laugh out loud, and the tension breaks just like that. With a playfully chastising look, she takes the onion back from you, placing it on the cutting board. Then she cuts it in half and shows you how you’re meant to slice it before passing you the knife.

She watches carefully as you slowly and clumsily try to mirror her movements with the blade. And even though you’re slow and clumsy, she still smiles at you and says, “Very good.”

“I never really had the chance to learn,” you try to explain, your eyes on what you’re doing. “My, um, my parents passed away when I was really young. And my grandmother… she didn’t ask me to help, she didn’t try to teach me. I think because… she wanted to let me be just a kid in as many ways as I still could. But, yknow. Now I’m an adult who can’t cook.”

You’re not sure what reaction you expect from her, but all she does is hum quietly, an affirming, understanding listening noise, and lean just a little closer over your shoulder to watch the knife.

You’re about to say something else - anything, just to move on from the moment - when she speaks.

“His last girlfriend was a genius in the kitchen.” She cocks her head to the side sharply, almost as if flicking away an annoying bug. “But she certainly had her failings outside of it.”

Elyse. You’re suddenly picturing her here, at this counter, making her way effortlessly around the kitchen.

Mrs. Kim moves beside you, turning the sink on and grabbing a colander to wash some more vegetables. You keep working slowly on the onion, keeping your eyes on your fingers.

She looks sideways at you as she rinses whatever she’s holding. “All I’m saying is, sometimes change is good. And it’s never too late to learn,” she tells you.

Change. Like Namjoon letting go of his past. Like you letting go of yours.

“He told me you and Mr. Kim didn’t like her,” you admit, pushing the onion to the side and setting down the knife, ready for new instructions.

Mrs. Kim shakes her head, exasperated. “What did he say that to you for? No wonder you’re nervous. For such a smart boy, he just has no sense.”

You smile and hurry to defend him. “I think he just wanted me to be prepared.”

“Prepared for what?” she grouses. “We liked her fine until she broke his heart. We’ll like you that long, too.”

“I don’t think I ever could,” you say quietly.

Next to you, she softens. She touches your hand for just a second in a gesture that feels somehow like gratitude, and then removes it to plop whatever she just washed onto your cutting board.

“Chop,” she instructs. She watches, reaching over once to adjust your hold on the knife, then nodding in satisfaction when you carry on correctly. Her eyes on your hands, she asks, “So your grandmother raised you? Where did you grow up?”

You tell her - about your hometown, about your Grandmother’s strict upbringing and how it led into Lin’s barely-there parenting. She listens as she works, eventually moving over to the stove and starting the base of the sauce while you finish peeling and chopping the pile she’s left for you to handle.

“So, your aunt is working for Christmas?” she asks, stirring as you gently add the onion to the sauce when prompted.

“Yes, and she works nights and sleeps days,” you explain. “So I decided to just stay home.”

“You wouldn’t have seen her at all?” she asks, no bite or judgment to the question. Just asking. “Even Christmas Eve, or the day after?”

You think about this. In all honesty, you would have been home and awake with Lin for at least some of break. But you two didn’t really spend time together, never had. Plus it would have meant asking Taehyung for a ride, since he brought you to campus back in late August, and he isn’t currently speaking to you.

“Maybe in passing,” you say, which isn’t entirely true. But suddenly, you feel weirdly guilty - like you’ve done something wrong to Lin by leaving her alone for the holiday.

“That’s a shame,” she says. “Here, come stir this.”

As you finish the meal together, she asks you more questions - mostly about school and your major. It’s nice - calming. You feel like this is a place you could get used to.

“I think it’s good for him to have found another writer,” she muses. “Sometimes our Namjoon just has his head in the clouds. It’ll be nice for him to have someone who… understands.”

“Yeah,” you say, continuing to stir, as directed. “That’s nice for me, too.”

<- Prev || Next ->

what are we thinking?! am i in less trouble or more compared to last chapter? lol

246 notes · View notes

jazztag · 4 months

Text

A Cure for Solitude

From prompt #47 Tropes: Zombie whumpee, medic caretaker, whump, hurt/confort TW: Blood, mild body horror, bite scars, needles.

He doesn't remember how he got here. To be precise, he doesn't remember anything at all. At some point, he woke up from what felt like a long slumber, and now he finds himself standing motionlessly here.

The first thing he feels isn't fear to have forgotten. Nor curiosity for who he might have been. No, the first thing he feels is hunger. And God, it hurts.

So he starts walking with a purpose. And then he starts noticing other things, much less minor but quite important as well. His left leg lumps, feels limp, and hurts. Oh, every inch of his skin hurts, actually. He grows frustrated with every step he manages to make. He stumbles and loses his balance, and falls hard on the ground. He spays his knees and hands, but when he looks at them closely, he can't seem to see blood on them. There's only pale, white, even purple-toned skin that feels like ice.

He's so cold. And hungry. And suddenly, a delicious smell. Something that grows stronger and makes his mouth drool. And he steps up again and starts dragging his damaged feet towards that appetizing thing that seems to lure him.

The streets are empty. He finds himself entering a yellow and blue building, getting closer and closer to the scent of meat. He is completely alone inside what seems like a department store. And at the end of a corridor, he finally finds what he was hungrily looking for: a piece of red meat scattered on the floor.

And he practically launches himself towards it.

He devours the flesh hungrily, even licking the blood that has leaked from the piece. The hunger calms itself inside him, and finally, contentment seems to flourish inside his entrails.

But before he can get a breath out of it, he feels something fall on him. He finds himself on the floor again and fights to get free from what appears to be a net. It claws at his sensible skin, and it draws purple marks on it. He tries to escape from under it, but stops when he hears a new voice:

"Putting up a little fight, huh? You'll do"

He freezes on the spot. And then his tired gaze makes out a figure, coming out of the shadows. His first instinct is to call for help, but when he tries to, only a low growl escapes his lips.

The figure, a tall man, approaches him. The stranger pins him to the ground with one knee, putting his full weight on him. Then he grabs at one of his arms and lifts it free from the net. Scared, he now sees how the strange man takes a syringe out of one of his pokets and sticks it to his pale forearm.

He feels a strange sensation. It seems like something has been spread inside him. He panics and starts struggling again. And without a second thought, he bites the strange man on his hand, the one holding him down.

The strange man yelps and steps up, getting far from him. He massages his left hand, which now has a visible bite mark. A trail of blood draws from it, but the tall man doesn't look very bothered. He looks back, a growl of disgust in his face.

"This won't work on me," says the stranger; then, like talking to himself this time, he adds, "I'll find a cure. I will."

And before he can even make out any of his features, still laying on the floor and scared, the tall man disappears again into the shadows.

He eventually gets out of the trap. His arm is burning up. He no longer feels cold or hungry. He is now in a lot of pain, radiating from where that needle has been stuck.

And he tries to call for help again. And again, words don't seem to escape his mouth; only growls.

"H-he… Hel…" he manages to say between moans of pain.

He still hasn't figured it out, but he is, indeed, dead.

#promptfactory #originalcharacter #my ocs #prompt #whump #whump prompt #whump scenario #whumpee x caretaker #zombie whumpee #zombie x human #medic caretaker #zombie #whump writing #writing snippet #medical whump #acureforsolitude

45 notes · View notes

undiscovered-horizon · 7 months

Text

"A hammer and an anvil" - Hvitserk x Reader

SUMMARY: You're the daughter of a foreign jarl who hasn't chosen sides in the war of young Lothbroks. Neither can you. The consequences would be far-reaching and dire. However, your will is not as strong as your father's and should Hvitserk ask, you know the guilt will not stop you from being by his side. The question is: will he?

WORDCOUNT: ~ 1k

People call that arrangement by different names: between the Devil and the deep sea, between a hammer and an anvil or between a rock and a hard place. No matter where the point actually is, Hvitserk is there. And it shows.

Has he made the right choice siding with Ivar? Was the choice ever his to make? What if Ivar, desiring your father's great army, whispered a few sweet words into your beloved's ear?

You're watching him stare at the ceiling in your hut. For the first time since you've met him, Hvitserk's eyes are vacant. Normally shining with mischief and his merry persona, now they're empty. Dead. He starts to feel like somebody else.

Hvitserk's fingers are slowly dragging against your skin, painting patterns with no rhythm or merit. Truthfully, he seems to be oblivious to his little habit.

Examining his profile, you can see your shield in the corner of your eye. The green paint on it is supposed to symbolise vitality and greed but now, considering the consequence of the days to come, it's the colour of grief and fear. Behind the shield is hidden your sword, freshly sharpened. Hvitserk was eager to do it for you and at first, you thought it was just him doing something for you like he always does, but now, watching his chest rise and fall in ragged breaths, you're beginning to think he just wanted to have something to do. Some way to occupy his busy mind.

The inside of your home is warm - the countless furs and burning fire. Despite that, your body feels cold as though the dread residing in the pit of your stomach is already pulling you towards your grave. Whether literal or figurative, you're not quite sure.

"Can you promise me something?" you whisper. The sound of your voice is quiet enough to almost be drowned out by the cracking firewood.

But Hvitserk heard you. He listened. Like he always does.

He tilts his head to look at you. Your noses are maybe an inch apart. His lips are curved into a smile but the sad, blank look in his eyes has stayed; his freight is arrogant enough to make itself at home inside his mind.

"Anything you want, love," Hvitserk whispers back. His breath is warm on your cold cheeks. It smells slightly sour like dry wine.

"Do not ask me to join the battle. Do not ask me to fight your brothers." You swallow your tears. The love you hold for him would not only make you defy your father but carelessly start a chain of horrid events that not even Kattegat's Seer could completely envision. Knowing your own weakness, you have to trust that maybe Hvitserk can save you from yourself. "Because I would." A bitter scoff escapes your throat. "Gods know I would do terrible things if you asked me to."

Hvitserk appears unmoved by your confession. His smile grows unnoticeably wider as his palm rests on the side of your face. A stray tear, slowly rolling down your cheek, is swept away by a gentle brush of his thumb.

"But I won't." His tone is decisive. "I don't have to heart to do so."

Instead of staring at the wooden ceiling, Hvitserk is now watching your face. The same strangely vacant and yet intense look haunts his eyes. Something akin to determination shows in his expression as though the answer to his plight is written on your face in a language he can almost decipher. If he stays up all night, looking at you, maybe by the first light of dawn, he will know exactly what he's supposed to do.

"Tell me you'll come back," you interrupt the silence once again.

Both of you know he can't say it with certainty. Nevertheless, lovers tend to believe they can somehow enchant reality.

"Of course I will," Hvitserk says with conviction. He almost makes you believe there is no other option. "Dying in battle and seeing my father in Valhalla is something I'm dreaming of but if living means I get to see you one more time, I will cling to life like a man gone mad."

Although you know his poetics through and through, they never fail to make your heart flutter. Judging by Hvitserk's stubbornness in saying them, he knows the effect he has on you and enjoys it greatly. His usual humour and charming demeanour fool you for a moment that nothing of great importance is about to happen. It's just another night like many you've had with him and are going to have.

"You speak in such a beautiful way, I often wonder if your words are honest."

His hand moves from the side of your face to cradle the nape of your neck. Hvitserk pulls you in gently and kisses you in an equally tender manner. His lips linger against yours, it's almost sentimental.

"They sound beautiful only because they are honest," he tells you. This time his kiss is more intense. "How else am I supposed to speak to a beautiful woman if not with beautiful words?"

Your giggling breaks the kiss. For a moment, you swear you could hear his low chuckle; for a moment, the world was just right.

Hvitserk's eyes aren't blank anymore. Now, there's a turmoil of happiness and sadness inside them. If a kiss is what brought him back to life then maybe he wasn't simply being charming when he compared you to a goddess countless times.

A playful smile creeps onto your face. Gently, you drag your fingers against his chest. Hvitserk inhales sharply.

"Well, I've heard beautiful women also like crude, dirty words."

"Do they?" he asks with faux surprise. Hvitserk pushes you on your back and puts his weight on top of you. His warm hand is brushing against your bare thigh. "Tell me more," he murmurs against the soft skin of your neck.

#vikings #vikings imagine #vikings x reader #vikings x you #hvitserk x you #hvitserk x reader #hvitserk lothbrok #hvitserk ragnarsson #vikings fanfiction #viking fic #history vikings #vikings tv series #vikings series #vikings hvitserk #hvitserk fanfic #hvitserk imagine

146 notes · View notes

spectre-writes · 3 months

Text

Been a hot minute since I've written anything, so have the start of something I want to get back to (basically a 'what if Wolfwood and Meryl found Vash right after s1 end' idea).

Vash was dead. Wolfwood didn’t realise at first, because the body they found was still breathing.

There, crumpled in the center of the crater, bloodied and singed, nothing but the desolate grey of sand soft rubble in all directions, yet his chest rose and fell and when Wolfwood pressed his hand to it he could feel the weak flutter of a heartbeat beneath his shaking palm.

Meryl had cried a lot at the sight of him. He didn’t know if they were tears of relief or sorrow, wasn’t sure if it mattered either way. Wolfwood had kept his shades down to hide his own eyes and let her sob into his shirt, awkwardly patting her back, just the two of them huddled over the unconscious form of a man who had tumbled from the stratosphere like a fallen angel, like a dying star - the image of it burned into his retinas with the vibrance of the fluorescent lights that waited in his restless dreams.

It had been a long time since he’d had to comfort someone.

He’d said things like, “It’s okay.”

Little empty promises, the sort people fed orphans. But at the time, Wolfwood had kind of believed it too. Thought that if they were all still breathing, still here, that the rest would follow, that they could make it, that things would be alright if they just kept moving. They had Vash. As impossible as it seemed, he’d survived.

Not everyone had been so lucky.

It was a long walk back out of the ruins of July - past the ashen wastes that had once been packed with the thriving, squalling mass of human life - footsteps muffled, the silence a suffocating shadow. Meryl didn’t speak. Wolfwood didn’t either.

To call it a graveyard would be wrong - a graveyard had bodies, had markers, offerings - here it was simply empty, like God himself had reached down and carved a great welt from the earth.

The thought that he was carrying the catalyst of that destruction in his arms was one he tried to side-step. It was hard, with the weight of a hundred thousand invisible eyes bearing down on him - the prickle of his skin, the pressure in his ears - but he had been taught well.

Wolfwood walked. One foot in front of the other, focused only on the motion, the necessity.

Life was easier when you reduced it to simple tasks, and that was what he did. Left the crater behind. Found a car. Drove them as far as he could.

They camped out in the open desert that first night, and Wolfwood kept watch even when Meryl tried to relieve him. He knew he would find no peace in sleep, preferred the ache of exhaustion to whatever phantoms would greet him there. He didn’t think Meryl slept. He didn’t ask.

Vash rested, though it was an uneasy slumber. They’d patched his wounds as best they could - the bullet holes, the fractures, the blistered skin where it met superheated metal. The soles of his boots had melded with the underside of his feet and picking all that melted plastic off was something he chose to postpone. What mattered was that he would live, Wolfwood was sure of that… but his stillness unnerved him.

Vash had always been a whirlwind of movement from the moment they’d met, all flailing limbs and exaggerated gestures juxtaposed with the snap quick elegance of combat… even when he dozed in the backseat of the jeep he was prone to the odd twitch or mumble. Now he was inert, an eerie stillness he had only seen once, in the aftermath of the sandsteamer, and hated all the while. It screamed wrong, wrong, wrong in the echochamber of his own mind. Reminded him of corpses he had no name for, or the soulless statues men prayed to. Form with no substance. Empty.

He wanted the vivid blue of ageless eyes to pin him in place and peel back the rough layers of his own skin, so he could behold the ugly thing that twisted inside him - call it guilt, or shame, or love, or anger, or anything he could tame. And then what? Repent? Revile?

Maybe he didn’t want that at all.

Maybe he just wanted a cigarette.

#trigun #trigun stampede #vash the stampede #nicholas d. wolfwood #meryl stryfe #fic excerpt #wip

37 notes · View notes

black-dhalias · 2 years

Text

All Ten Toes -Avatar-

Tsu’tey X F!Reader (8K Words) Warning: death, descriptions of war, angsty, violence

While sitting in the hangar, your body pressed against the metal as you lean onto the truck. Even as you watch the soldiers, as you see the war brew around you—the sheer beauty of Pandora shines through. You can see the towering trees that just brush the sky.

Arms crossed over your chest, you spot him rolling up—Jake Sully, another Avatar pilot and veteran... Just like you. You uncross your arms and walk in his general direction, lips curling upwards under the mask.

"Sully?" He nods, and you nod in the direction of the base entrance to which he falls in line beside you. "Y/L/N. Just wanted to meet the fellow not scientist joining the Avatar program."

He smiles under the mask, which tells you everything you need to know. "Navy?" You roll your eyes, side-eyeing him.

"Semper fi." His eyes widen, but he sees it—just in the way you carry yourself now. You're not just a soldier, but a marine—like him. Reaching the door, you code you both in and gesture him inside.

"Appreciate the welcome. So what's the mission?" You raise a brow, pointing him int eh direction of the briefing.

"Don't die, hot wheels. Briefings down the hall, just through that door."

So when you and Sully approach the Colonel, side by side, you have a feeling it has more to do with your shared background. With the fact that you are both ex-military with a knack of taking risks, and paying for it in the end. Trudy points over at the helo, your heart pounds louder and then fades off.

"I'm putting you both on door guns." Trudy was your roommate, she kept your secret and you kept her sane—not a lot of women running around that aren't scientists. You nod, well at least your time in the service keeps you from being too bored around here; it keeps you useful.

"This low gravity'll make you soft." An uneasiness grows in the pit of your stomach, and you like to listen to that feeling—because its usually right, and he's always put you on edge. "You get soft. Pandora will shit you out dead with no warning." As he sits up, you shift, tucking your hands behind your back. Wrist in your palm.

"I pulled your records. Corporal." Eyes on Sully, then you. "First Lieutenant." Your lip twitches, you haven't heard that in a while—can't remember the last time someone called you by rank. He doesn't linger on you for long though, turning back to Sully. But all you hear is the dull ringing in your ear, feel your body detaching until you hear your name over the ringing.

"Several tours Lieutenant. A couple badass career moves, medically retired at the peak of your career because a lunatic blew your leg off." Its a quote from one of the articles written about you, about the four that were in that bathroom. You wish none of them knew, that he didn't know, but its in the file—clear as day.

"The Avatar Program is a bad joke. Bunch of limp dick science majors." He points at you and while your urge is to step back, you don't—stuck at attention. The weight of your leg becoming more apparent, but its in your head just like the burning sensation. "We're going to talk about the fact that seasoned marine wasn't in your resume."

You feel Sully watching you, but ignore it—keeping up with the colonel. "However, it does present an opportunity both timely and unique." He shouts, but your blood has run cold and chest tight. "A couple of marines in an Avatar body. That's a potent mix. Gives me goosebumps. Such marines could provide the intel I need, right on the ground. Right in the hostiles camp." You never thought twice then, driven only by orders—mind resorting to all it remembers and knows.

"Look Sully. Y/L/N." You swallow. "I want you to learn these savages from the inside. I want you to gain their trust." Easier said than done. "I need to know how to force their cooperation, or hammer them hard if they won't."

"Are we still with Augustine?" Orders, that's how you both run.

"On paper. Yeah, you walk like one of her science pukes, you quack like one, but you report to me." Your posture stiffens, the doubts still flood in even if you know that you're going to listen. You preferred when it was a secret.

"Can you do that for me?" Sully affirms first. Eyes on you, nod. May god forgive you... because you're not sure you will.

To see ten fingers and ten toes, all at once—it is something you never thought you would see again. Even on the overlook, the fact that you have both legs is more overwhelming than the view.

"I never thought I would have two legs again." You break the long silence, the weight of training has become easier given time and you appreciate the breaks he began to give you.

"What does that mean?" To him, he's only ever known you as this—something that is a force of nature like you were on Earth. But on Pandora, you don't feel like a force of nature anymore. You never even mentioned it to him before now because it never crossed your mind.

"Back on Earth, when I was still a warrior—" You recall Sully's first lie to the Na'vi, that you were warriors of the jarhead clan. "A man was so against women warriors in my clan, he set off an explosion in a room for women. Killed three others, injured me beyond repair." You pause, trusting the words and trusting him not to repeat them. So when you finally get the courage to look at him, he is not showing you pity. He almost looks admiring, but that's just a trick of your mind. "When I woke up, I didn't know what had happened to me... I was so scared and went to walk out of the room." You've never spoken about it, not even to Trudy. "When I hit the ground. My whole life was gone. My career. My friends. My leg. Took months of rehab and therapy, got a prosthetic. Signed up to come out here." On Pandora, at least you were somebody. Worth something.

"Then you have always been brave." You smile and he miles back, your heart rate quickens. You like when he smiles on those rare occasions.

"Come with me." He declares, standing and holding out his hand, and you trust him without a second thought. The ringing always dulls around, so much so that you know he won't lead you astray.

In the helo, you feel alive—Pandora is alive around you. A living, breathing thing. You think about what Sully said when you asked him not to say anything to the others about your military experience. "You can't run from who you are, Lieutenant." Echoes upon echoes of memories, even as Trudy grilled you nightly for information about the Colonel you shake your head. Because the memories were coming back to fast, the ringing getting too loud.

Yet you can't shake the feeling that it feels good Jake knows, and that its not just you going behind their backs. Grace looks back at you before looking forward to Trudy, her voice going over the head sets. "You sure you want a plant scientist to be on a gun?" Its taunting, but lighthearted—to which Sully responds by giving you a look. Trudy laughs, oh you'll hear about this later tonight when you get back to base.

"Oh I think she's got this." Grace raises a brow at Jake's comment before returning to what she was doing.

Now here's the truth, you would say it was marine comradery that got you stranded in the middle of the jungle. Soaking wet, surrounded by darkness. You want to defend yourself, but the truth is you're as much of an idiot as Sully and you weren't going to let him be an idiot on his own.

"So how do they think you lost your leg?" You laugh coldly, he gets you stranded in the middle of Pandora without any defenses and he's asking you personal questions. Your hands squeezing the water from your clothes.

"Car accident." But you placate him anyways with an answer hoping it'll shut him up for a while.

"Are you ashamed?" Nope, hasn't crossed the line yet, but the ringing grows louder in the back of your head.

"Maybe I was tired of being some trigger happy jarhead?"

"Its more than that."

"Why does it have to be more than that?"

"Because you lost your leg, and your instinct is to get on the first flight to Pandora."

Following, hand in hand with Tsu'tey, he guides you towards the top of home tree—the greenery thick as the branches flatten out enough to walk out onto. "You must learn one more thing." Just one more? Even as your feet find the grooves naturally, instincts guiding your every step—you no longer have to look for where they go.

"There has to be more." When he looks at you, something has changed—but it doesn't make sense. Did you mistake pity for admiration? Does he feel sorry for you?

"You are almost ready." One of the people, but now your stomach is doing backflips because you have betrayed him. Betrayed the people. So the ringing grows louder until he tightens his hand, and you center—the ringing dulls.

"Just watch." Tsu'tey taught you that sometimes it pays to watch and listen, and all the military training—all the 'go go go' mentality does is drive you into the ground. Sometimes the world needs to be still.

You stumble into the people, wrists bound together as some reach out to run their fingers along your limbs—this is the closest you've ever been to a native and its the closest you'll ever be. Because you'll be dead soon enough. Glaring at Sully, you never should have ran after him—should have let him die out there or get caught on his own.

But your oath means something, and so do your friends so here you are because those things mean something to you. Like you said, you won't let him be stupid on his own. Now you're both just a couple of stupids. Two people stuck in front of the leaders of the Na'vi. A chief. His wife. Their daughter. And the betrothed. They all hate humans, and they hate the Avatars—the dream walkers. Demons.

This is a fitting end for you though—the colonel wanted trust and that wasn't ever going to happen. For you or Sully.

Watching Tsu'tey from the branch, you leap for joy and cheer him on before he lands. In front of you is a Banshee and a grinning Tsu'tey, the funny thing is you don't remember him ever smiling at you like that before. Maybe he has and you never had a chance to notice. Never could see what it meant. Not that you think it meant anything at all.

Tsu'tey waves you forward, but you are not able to bring yourself to walk forward—which causes a crease to form in his brow. To smooth that crease, you step forward and watch it flatten out. Fear builds, but so does curiosity until its nose is in your palm. The banshee does not flinch or run for, it remains grounded even as Tsu'tey steps off.

"This is Ikran. With Tsaheylu, we are one." That is the word you would use to describe them. The look Tsu'tey shares with them, but what you don't see as you run your fingers along the back of its head. That is how he looks at you.

"I don't like Jake Sully... But you are different." He tolerates you is the difference, Sully is intolerable even to his friends. Even as he guides your hand, his fingers ghosted atop yours. "To be one with Tsaheylu, requires more than what he has. It requires spirit." So even as the Banshee's wings beat and your heart speeds up, you did not expect to see the flashes of your life on Earth.

You see your family, the reason you joined the marines in the first place. Being sworn in.

There is a whooosh of harsh winds against your cheek, Tsu'tey closer than you remember as the ringing begins. You see your best friend, the world overcrowding and resources running thin. You see the first time you were shipped out. The ringing is louder as you see yourself entering the bathroom—it's all in slow motion. The drift is beginning to close in on you, and blur the memory with Tsu'tey. The explosion. The smell of burned skin.

Your body has gone limp, you can't hear Tsu'tey, but you can see him. It is so bright. You hear your name far off, caught in the drift. Deeper and deeper, as it all goes brighter. The light that slants in from the top of the tree, cutting into frame and overwhelming your sight. The last thing you see is Pandora. Oh Pandora... You don't feel him shaking you, or hear him yelling. None of it because you are being pulled out of the chamber — unconscious.

You lean against the tree, huffing a little as glance up at Tsu'tey, both irritated and amazed at how hard he seems to be pushing you. Day after day, and it doesn't get any easier with time. He pushes and pushes, and he keeps pushing until you physically cannot move another step. Yet when he drops down from the trees, eyeing you harshly— you straighten up and stare him down. You want to believe you can handle him, even if it means pretending like your mind is not stretched to its very limit as you look at him.

Becoming one with the people, as the tribe elder said, has become next to impossible with Tsu'tey as your guide. He has made no secret that he wants you to fail, to barely be able to get up the next day—let alone be here. "You did good." It's as if something breaks mechanically as you skip a step, body adjusting as your mind processes his words. Hardly a compliment after the day you had, but coming from him, you beam a little. He thinks you did a good job.

"I did my best." And he smiles. Odd, a returned gesture of kindness. You quirk your head, but don't mention it in fear of it never happening again. You had always shown such interest in him, curiosity of the things he knows about Pandora, but he barely glanced your way. Barely seemed to notice you hit the ground over and over again, the mud that was caked into your body as you wiped it away. But he did. In his own, a silent judgement—kind of way.

At first, his disinterest was defeating and it made you want to quit, but that defeat quickly turned into motivation. Instead of drifting off in thought every time he critiqued, you would power through and push yourself further than before—you suddenly had a lot to prove to Tsu'tey.

You feel yourself being ripped away from your Avatar, your mind splintering and you realize Grace is hovering over you with—hate. She seems hateful and angry. But so are you.

"Are you kidding me? Are you serious right now?!" You can hardly breathe as you fling the tech off your frame and swing your leg over the edge.

"When were you going to tell me?" You glare, grabbing the prosthetic that's leaned against the chamber.

"Grace you just pulled me out of there mid-link. What if-"

"You work for the Colonel now?" Shit. You adjust the prosthetic and swallow down the bile, she doesn't care about you. Just about her science.

"Grace listen-"

"No you listen! You report to me, my science and my program! I can take this shit from Sully-"

"Ma'am... with all due respect, I report to you and him. That's my job. My expectation because he's the one that signs my check, and makes sure I get my benefits."

"You're starting to sound more like a soldier than a scientist, Y/N." It is her sneer that does it for you, that pushes you over the edge and sends you into thought. You can hardly breath as you tuck your hands behind your back, wrist into palm.

"Maybe I am."

"Get out of my lab..."

"With all due respect Grace, make me." You may lack one less limb than her, but you take her and half this department before they got you down. "I have every right to be here, I worked just as hard and did just as much."

"Pack your shit, we're leaving. All of us." You don't break eye contact, watching as she lights a cigarette and turns her back to you. A part of you wishes you had hit her, just once. One good hit, but you watch her begin packing and then go to your room.

You have to prevent yourself from jumping across the helo when Grace comments about how it explains why they always gave you the gun. Its because you were trained, military—and you weren't someone she has control over and so she moved you all. Everyone to shacks in the middle of nowhere.

She kept you under wraps though and out of the chambers, careful to keep you from reaching out to anyone. It was like a cruel punishment, and all it did was tether you to the crutch. Not caring enough to put on the prosthetic in such a small space with every intention of sitting most of the day.

But every night you hear about his life, his journey to becoming one with the people—for days. You had half hoped Tsu'tey would ask about you, but he didn't—he was harsher on Sully, protective when Sully tried to bring you up.

You had tried to listen to Grace with interest, leaned back almost completely in your chair as she continues to lecture you about lying. Detailing every lie you ever told, forgetting that you really do have a degree in biology. You just never applied it in a science context until you were on Pandora. She even touches im how its dumb to lie about something so stupid when you are friends. So even as Norm sits next to you, having dealt with Grace for about half as long as you when it comes to her judgement.

"Honestly Y/N, you should have just said something. But instead you let yourself be micromanaged by a couple G.I. Joes." You lean forward, chin on your hand that rests on your thigh.

"So what?" You pause, "I was just supposed to admit to being a soldier and hope you didn't judge me so quick?"

"I wouldn't-"

"Like with Jake? Honestly Grace, its plenty important to you that your science project remains yours."

"Well I mean of course its important, we don't need another-"

"Another what? Trigger happy moron? When have I ever been that?"

The conversation ends there, and back to being grounded and ignored. Graces specialty around here. She had Sully, that was her in with the clan... You weren't important to that.

Grace throws something in front of you, papers—you half expect them to be resignation papers. She likes trying to force your hand into leaving, the betrayal still fresh in her mind.

"Don't make me regret this." Its approval to make her your boss, she signs your check...You nod, pulling yourself to your feet—using the crutch, you head the link chamber.

Your throat tight as you settle into the gel, leaning back and letting the tech settle over your body. Melding to you as you shut your eyes and head into the dark. Hopefully you aren't dead yet.

At first, there is a block that keeps you from fully coming too and then the darkness shifts. You feel your fingers and toes, all ten toes. You open your eyes and find yourself in a large room, the familiar hammocks beneath you. Then you see the healers, who see you awake and push you back into the hammock.

"Stay." They whisper, you nod, but as soon as they turn the corner—who climb out of the hammock and feel the wood beneath your feet. The stiffness in every muscle unmistakable to the point that you think about listening, but why would you?

First step. You've got this. Second step, you see a figure turn the corner and stumble back- "Tsu'tey."

"You're not welcome here, demon." It feels as though everything, every fiber of being has drained away from you—leaving only a shell. You half wonder if he realizes how cruel he looks, how much hate he conveys with those eyes—you're tired of people looking at you with hate.

"Are we back to this?" You ask lips pressed into a thin line, it may be a different body, but it is still you and the same mannerisms.

"You walk in a false body."

"You knew this." You sneer, walking towards him until you are just in front of him. While your tone is angry, your eyes are sad. "I never made that a secret."

Even as the hardness melts away from him, when he reaches out to touch your cheek and push hair away from your face. "You-" He pauses, not trusting himself to speak before he puffs out all the air in his lungs. "You worried me."

"I didn't want to."

You didn't know this, and you wouldn't unless someone had the guts to go around Tsu'tey, but he spent most of his days with your still form. The healers had spread the rumor quickly of his interest, but they had grown accustomed to seeing you with him. Assumed it was by the chiefs orders alone, but it was also because he found comfort in your presence. You never expected anything more of him and he appreciated the gentle kindness that your words often held.

Pinned to the ground, you struggle against the binds until the arrows and spears lock your muscles in place. Even with hands grabbing at you, pulling the braid taunt and tender, all you can think about is Tsu'teys' word to describe you: 'demons'. You shouldn't take it personally, you've never met him in your life and know that the Na'vi hate you.

Approaching Home Tree though, you fall under the spell of Pandora once more and the world shifts for a second. Beautiful. Unlike your science buddies, you never had the chance to see this in person—the friendship with the Na'vi long over.

"We have tried to teach sky people, but you cannot fill a cup that is already full."

"Trust me, our cups are plenty empty ma'am." Oh Sully, you poor idiot— you think, trying your best to not squirm under Tsu'teys glare. "Just ask Dr Augustine, we're not scientists."

"Then what are you?"

"We are Marines..." You speak up, going along with Sully and hoping your not dead in the next hour.

"Warriors... From the jarhead clan." Tsu'tey swears and you worry that you might be walking a thin line... He seems the most hostile, less willing to listen and bend.

"The chief says we're the first warrior dream walkers. That they must learn from us." You repeat as Sully nods to acknowledge as you wait.

("Tsu'tey you will teach the woman dream walker:") That does not receive a favorable response from him, one that makes you think Sully might be the only one to live between the two of you.

"Learn well Jake Sully. Y/N Y/L/N. Then we will see if your insanity can be cured." Yup, you're still going to die.

Once asleep, you begin to come to— hearing voices calling you and all you can manage is a laugh as you sit up straight. Holy shit... Now no one can say anything, because you're there. Inside the village.

Even when you wake again, you feel that jittery feeling until you hear him.

("Wake up demon.") What a way to wake up, to know he thinks so highly of you:

("You do not have to he so rude Tsu'tey. I'm very capable of understanding you.") He humphs.

("I do not care if you understand me. Go home demon.")

("You would hate that wouldn't you?") If his glaring eyes could push you out of the hammock now, you'd be falling to your death right about now.

Yet that wasn't the first time that you were torn from a link, but it certainly would be the last. You stand beside Tsu'tey knowing full well what is about to happen, Grace standing in the crowd. ("Tsu'tey will lead the war party!") There is a roar as he throws his bow into the air, you half imagine him to die if he proceeds. You know he will. As Jake enters, you feel it beginning to shift and it changes Tsu'teys expression.

"You mated with this woman!?" Fuck. You attempt to get closer, but are incapable of getting closer as people stop you. Starting with Neytiri's mother.

Tsu'tey paces, you see the shake in his chest and the tremor in his voice as he pulls his knife. You plead with him without saying a word to stop, but he doesn't. Yet once blood is drawn, you rush to Tsu'tey. He shakes you off, wiping away the blood.

Grace drops. Your eyes widen. Jake drops and Tsu'tey pulls his knife, and Neytiri protects his body. You look at Tsu'tey, feeling the shift again. Your breath catches, he meets your eye— to far to catch you, and too far to do anything yet watch your knees break. "Tsu'tey I-" Then you drop.

Waking from that moment, the panic still bursts through as your chamber is forced open. "Rise and shine, marine." Then you feel a fist hit your cheek, it'll bruise nicely— as you go unconscious. You're definitely getting tired of this.

They keep the cuffs on you, sitting you in the chair as you sneer at Colonel. You hadn't stopped with the ring of threats, your cheek still burning from the initial hit.

"We can talk them out." You assert, swearing up and down as your jaw tightens.

Parker turns towards you, pointing. "You're not going anywhere." You slump into your chair, but he nods in Sully's direction.

Tsu'tey watches Jake, the image of you dropping still stuck in his brain. He sees Grace, but he does not see you. Even as they tie Jake, the words slip out. "Where is Y/N?"

"You have to go! Y/Ns life depends on it!"

You sit in silence, in an isolated room until your chest begins to hurt. They took your prosthetic, took everything from you—chest completely solidified and throbbing. You feel the hard throb of your heart, you were supposed to be a protector of The People. Yet here you are, stuck in a place you don't want to be—in a room on your own. Waiting for the inevitable.

They let Norm sit in, but you weren't allowed— because you were one of them. You hear the shouts before you see them being forced into the same room, you don't ask because you know— you dont want to know anything.

Not a sound. You didnt speak because you couldn't, you were supposed to be there for Tsu'tey.

You half expected to never wake up again when the bullet hit you, the blood blended so well with the burnt red color of your t-shirt. You wanted it to just be a wine stain, to disappear and fade off to become just a stain. Yet it didn't. Instead, you felt a dizzy spell begin to fall over your frame and send you tumbling to the helo floor just after Grace.

Fuck, you think leaning onto the cold metal—the whirring sending you off to sleep.

You feel the burning sensation of your hands cupping the wound until you no longer have the strength; however, just as you are beginning to slip too deep. The world becoming too fuzzy to hold onto, Sully is shouting out for help—is he? You think so, its not him shouting—or anyone... Its what you wish they were doing, but instead you are laying in silence. Wondering what will take you first, blood loss or the shock of it all.

Tsu'tey listens to Sully, "I will fly with you." Sully nods, knowing full well what comes next as his eyes grow more serious. Which worries Tsu'tey.... "Where is Y/N?" He asks, it is almost as if he knows—as if he feels you fading in and out, even in your human form.

Sully's eyes shift to the ground, he can't lose two people in one day and he's afraid of what happens if you die. Of what Tsu'tey will do... Because the warrior may be hardheaded, but he cares about you in his own way. Whatever way that might be.

You lean into the pillow: is death supposed to feel this painless? Supposed to brush into your mind and numb the edges, to make it easier to stomach when you're able to watch it walk towards you. Inch by inch, step by step—the door opens and you force yourself to look up.

You're not ready to let go yet, "Hey Y/L/N... How ya feeling?" You try your best to smile, but to Norm, it is the saddest attempt he's seen out of you and Grace. "Look there—" You half expect it to be Pandora, or the Banshee Norm said Sully now rides... You expect Neytiri, not Tsu'tey.

He is watching you curiously, trying to see you in this form and he does... In your eyes and nose, the way your cheek is built and structure of your face. He sees a lot of you. He sees a lot of blood too. More than he has seen from a human.

"He insisted..." You half laugh, but choke on the lack of air—that bullet did a lot more damage than you expected it to have done.

"That's just a nice way of saying he made you." Even through the window he can hear he soft lulls of your breathing, and the dulcet of your voice. That too is very similar to the way you knows you. This is you.

"Glad you're still making jokes..." He whispers, taking out on of the masks that you are not so fond of, but know you need. "C'mon we got a party to go to."

Norm lifts your head and slips on the mask, watching your expression as it tightens—missing the pang of guilt that shows on Tsu'teys' face. Even as he lifts you, he tries not to jostle you too much. Trying his best to keep you grounded with him, hushing your small cries and soothing the sharp intakes of air. Norm's always been kind like that.

Yet once outside the hatch, Tsu'tey is standing next you—he's taller than you remember.... The Na'vi are taller, you curse yourself for forgetting such a simple fact. Something you should be aware of and remember, but everything seems out of touch now.

He tilts his head as he reaches out to brush his fingers against your cheek, feeling the soft flesh not jagged and bone like as he imagined aliens to look. Finally, you are able to bring yourself to look at him—really see him with your own eyes, you've always seen him. Tsu'tey had tried to rationalize everything he felt for you, wanting to find a reason to hate you. To hate your people. And he does hate them, just not you. He could never hate you.

"You're beautiful, even now." He whispers, reaching under Norm's arms and taking you into his with ease. You lean into him, maybe being close with him will make all the pain go away.

You half imagine Pandora to lose its beauty as the world becomes fuzzy, but it does not lose its beauty—the night life on Pandora is greater than any night on Earth. The wondrous colors and blends of glowing plants, the sounds of the forest humming to the song of the people.

Where you used to hear ringing, all you see is mouths moving—watching as the world fades out. "Be strong dewdrop." He whispers, such a name that would have made you laugh at any other point. Just not now as you struggle to grasp onto life. Why is it you can hear him?

Maybe that's just what you imagine he would say as you watch his lips move, as your body rests beneath the tendrils of the Mother Tree. You breath in and let your eyes close— this is it?

One last chance to relive it all, right on the border of life and death. Barely hanging onto the threads, pieces of who you are. Your mother and father stand before you smiling, even after the gunshots. Your sister smiling, even after she disappeared in the crowded Earth. Your best friend smiling as you walked into the women's restroom, just before it was blown to nothing. Your doctor smiling at you, just before he told you that your leg was beyond repair and somewhere in the disposal rooms. The bomber smiling as he admits on tape to killing your three closest friends, and how his one regret was not killing you too. Your therapist smiling when they say you've made progress even though you can't think about the past without your ear ringing. The scientist smiling, just as they take your resume to send you off to Pandora. Sully smiling when he hears your a Marine. Norm smiling when you speak to him in the Native tongue. Grace smiling when you stand up for the science, for the team, and for the Na'vi.

Tsu'tey just smiling at you.

You open your eyes... No burning, and no pain—just silence as you finally look around. You as the tendrils break away from you, as you look at your hand and then your toes. All ten toes.

You should be dead, but instead you are here. Ready to fight.

Tsu'tey let's his hand drag across your arm, down to the palm as he uses his other to touch your hair. It shouldn't feel different, you know this body— but it feels very different. Real. You don't feel like a ghost living in a shell, you feel every fiber of yourself.

"This suits you." Short sentences, but you half smile as you chuckle. Using your palm, you guide his hand to the place between your neck and jaw, leaning into the touch.

"I have not changed."

"You have... You're more you than you've ever been."

Nothing in all of your entire life could prepare you for this moment, to the five feet distance between you and your adversary. No amount of warning or preparation, or anything in between, could have given you enough courage to face this head on. Well, that's a lie-- he gave you the courage to see the world differently. To see all the world's in the universe differently because you're not afraid to admit you came to Pandora as a soldier-- a strategist, who knew Pandora inside and out, which gave you the opportunity to pilot an Avatar.

Your heart pounds viciously in your chest, threatening to burst through your ribs and rupture at any second. You have experienced war on Earth, been at the center of the devastation, but this feels different. You feel as though you have something to fight for right here, right now-- Pandora feels like your home.

Perhaps there is an important distinction to make, you are from Earth-- that is where your family is, but this planet feels more like home than Earth ever did. Maybe that has less to do with the planet itself, and more to do with the person you associate with Pandora. Never did you expect to be here, but it happened and now you worry that this beautiful world will be destroyed. Obliterated by the selfishness and greed of your kind, and it breaks your heart. On Earth, you were a strategist at the Pentagon having dedicated your life to service at the age of 17-- you knew nothing other than follow orders. Now you feel independent of orders, you feel as though both loyalty and duty has shifted to Pandora, and Tsu'tey. Even the thought of him gives you some form of comfort and strength.

That was the biggest shock, to find that you had a heart still and it had the capability of beating in time with another's. Mostly for the fact that you haven't been in love in over a decade because look how well it turned out the first time-- you became the good soldier, the one who followed orders and kept her head down as not to draw attention. You'd say it worked out pretty well for you because you were never hurt like that again. But now, you have opened back up and in turn, you feel whole again. You feel as though you have finally cut away those layers of scar tissue.

Following Tsu'teys' lead in the mountains and struggle less than the others because you're used to the challenges he gives. The truth is, he only looks back to look for you—and once you meet his eye, he faces forward once more and continues the journey. You trust your hands and body to know the way, and trust him to never lead you in the wrong direction. Just as you reach the top, he takes your hand and pulls you the last bit with a smile on his lips. It fades quick though, his expression hardening with a scorn.

("You will go last.")

Even as you watch Sully succeed, your nerves build and mount; you hesitate to move from your place at the edge of the falls. Hidden by the shadows of the cliffs edge. Even as you watch others succeed, you are still nervous.

("Tsu'tey.") He watches you before nodding in the direction of the Ikran, under his eye you do not feel as judge as you thought you would.

("Do not hesitate. The Ikran will know and so will you.") Through the falls, through the mist that touches your cheeks and sends a cold chill through you. You feel has hand wrap around your arm and pull you back towards him, the shadows of the cliffs casting a harsh shadow on his features. But on you, the light slants through the stone and cuts through you. You meet his eye, trying to read his expression as your heart pounds deep in your chest. You've never been able to read through the mask that he wears with everyone else, its always too much for you. ("Good luck Y/N.") He leans down to kiss your temple, his lips linger there and you go absolutely still. Completely silent. So when he lets you go, hands lingering on your shoulder you can just listen. ("You are the strongest one out here.") He is soft in private, most as impossible and hardheaded as others see him.

"Stronger than me." This is why he wanted you to go last.

Your first flight on your Ikran should have been the moment that stuck out when you think back. But its not. Instead it is the fact that Tsu'tey had finally let his guard down completely, finally seemed to trust you.

When the dust cleared that day, the silence of those lost was deafening—everyone wanted to celebrate in the beginning as the long war was over. Things could finally calm into peace, but there was work to be done.

Days went by, the rest of your race went home— days turned into weeks, and Jake joined you in the new body. You were what remained of the Avatar program, strong enough to live in both bodies and strong enough to choose the one that kept them with them. Soon enough, you no longer felt fear every time you walked with Tsu'tey. No longer felt the judgement that was mostly in your head.

You sit beside Tsu'tey, legs intertwined as you face each other in the trees. His entire demeanor has changed from when you first met him, he hates you less. His fingers are curious as they trace your limbs, he had imagined this a thousand times over—thought it was impossible to love you as much as he does.

"Now you must choose a man." Your eyes widen at the assertion, his body close, but far as his words put distance.

"Must? Sounds boring."

For a second, he hesitates, but he continues—still he traces your skin, feeling every finger and dimple in your hand. "A mate is important. Necessary. You have to choose."

"But what if they don't choose me?"

"Only an idiot would do that."

"Are you an idiot, Tsu'tey?" You ask, trying to will him to hear you as he often did to you. Trying to make him understand without ever saying a word.

It starts small, his lips on yours which surpasses all feelings and all logic. You are not left wondering about what's to come or what he feels, even as he separates. Caressing your cheeks and skin, willing you to hear him without a word and you do.

Tsu'tey kneels before you, shifting both your bodies so that you are chest to chest— you can feel both his breathing and his heart as you let your hands run down his chest and torso.

As he brings his braid to the front, he reaches around your shoulder to yours. You feel every caress of skin and brief, fleeting touch. You try to feel more whole, but there isn't a piece missing anymore.

Nothing to fill because you are already whole.

Flowers of luminescence crowd the clearing as you let Tsu'tey embrace your hand until you are close. His body in a short sway as he smiles, others say that they only ever see him smile when he is with you.

("I'll swim and sail through savage seas... with never a fear of drowning. And gladly ride through the waves of life.") You start with quiet dulcets, your voice soothes every part of Tsu'tey and it grounds him to Pandora.

("If you would marry me... No scorching sun or freezing rain. Will stop me on my journey. If you will promise me your heart. And love me for eternity.") He smiles, joining into your dance and following your lead as you guide him with your hands.

("What are you doing?") You hush him.

("My dearest one. My darling dear. Your mighty words astound me. But no need for mighty deeds. When I feel your arms around me.") You geek him become more willing to move with you, twirling as Pandora comes alive beneath your feet.

("But we are already mated?") Still you hush him.

("But I would bring you rings of gold. Id even sing you poetry. And I would keep you from all harm. If you would stay beside me. I have no use fir rings of gold. I care not for your poetry. I only want your hand to hold. I only want you near me.") By now, he is into the movements and leading the dance. Even as Pandora comes alive around you. All is well.

("To love and kiss, to sweetly hold. For the dancing and the dreaming. Through all of life's sorrows and delights. I'll keep your laugh inside me. I'll swim and sail on savage seas...") As your voice slows, so does the movements.

("With never a fear if drowning. I'd gladly ride the waves of life. So you will marry me...") He leans down to press your foreheads together with the softest smile, with the gentle hands. Warrior or not, you've never had him be less than gentle with you. Even as the world caves in, as all the world fell apart and things shifted into something new and different. You were always the thing he coveted... protected...

For a second, all of Pandora is still... Not a sound. Only the glow to remind you of the truth, that you are alive and in one of the most beautiful places.

("What does that even mean?") He whispers and all you could do is smile. How could he say something so perfect, to male you laugh and smile? Yet he could listen to it all day, listen to you just speak a sound. It is his greatest pleasure, that and seeing you move through the trees.

Knowing he taught you to climb and move, but you showed him how to move forward. How to let go. How to keep loving, and how to love more.

So this is probably the happiest ending I've ever written, cause who doesn't love a feel good story. This is also eight thousand words long… so a lot of time and thought went into this.

#imagines #imagine #requests are open #fandom request #imagine requests #love #avatar #pandora #Tsu’tey x reader #Jake sully imagine #Spotify #8000 words

1K notes · View notes