#I need to read the manga now I’m going crazy | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 8 months ago

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:((((((((( i ran out of tags . tumblr hates to see me thrive!!!!!!!

ok niku just . read the tags first and then come back here ok 🙏🙏 i have a lot i still need to say this is so important to me . this fic changed my life .

(WARNING this got long ….. really long ….. mysteriously. i got carried away 💔 PLS don’t feel the need to respond to any of this btw i mean that sincerely i know this is kind of a Lot i just need you to know much i adored this fic <3333)

BACK TO GOJO ok so his talk w reader…… it was just so satisfying to see them finally get to tell someone about their experience. it must’ve been such a great feeling for them !!!! to get some of it off their chest :((( … and to have Gojo Fucking Satoru our safe harbour of a man there to believe them and listen to them and reassure them. he’s so mature when it comes down to it and you captured that so well…… like as much as he acts childish and teasing this is exactly how i picture him interacting w someone he doesn’t know in a situation like this!! he’s flirty and unserious but he tells you he’ll protect you and means it. (i’m so down bad it physically hurts)

sorry i’m abt to go on a tangent i think BUT I JUST 😔😔 really… REALLY love their dynamic…. how it evolves so much even though he doesn’t even know reader exists for most loops!! and to them he’s just this beautiful Something that they can’t help but look at…… ”inhumanly attractive” is a great way to put it like he’s just….. this magnetic force……….. and i feel like even before they speak to him for the first time they probably find some kind of hope in him.

AND that’s so important bc to me that’s like . the main Theme of the fic? hope. reader has to find some kind of hope to make it through shibuya and more often than not they find it in gojo!!! in just seeing a familiar handsome face, in learning how to navigate the timeline through his actions, in talking to him and finally having him on their side. their choice to trust him fully at the end just made me soooo insane. and obv the hope theme continues even after that because gojo believes in them!!! believes that they’ll be okay in the prison realm….. more on that later actually bc i Still. have a lot to talk abt 😔👉👈 i’m just wildly flipping through my notes at this point i’m sorry to throw this at u when we’ve barely interacted but in my defense this fic reached into my actual skull and started rewiring my brain so!!!! yeah.

i got completely sidetracked there but . yes!! the conversation between them when gojo gets sent back in time is. so good!!!!! so wonderfully written!!!!! i haven’t mentioned it that much yet i think but i love your writing i devoured every line…… i struggle w the flow of my own writing SO much but this just flows so incredibly well??? it was sm fun to read????? and the rhythm of the paragraphs (that sounds. Insane but i hope u know what i mean 😭😭) is so distinct!!! and ofc there are SO many banger lines in this in general…. the gore descriptions and the lines abt reader and their fixation on hope. on gojo!! ”He's a terrifying sort of beauty and you can't help but be captivated by him.” <- this is just one example but!! idk i’m just so enamored by ur writing style.

and the dialogue!!!!!!!! i cried!!!!!! it’s so consistently gojo…. him going all ”oh?” ”interesting…” but not explaining anything … the ”ding ding ding!” after making reader guess what he should just be telling them (it’s the teacher in him <33) AND AND AND these too!!!! :3

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

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

THEY JUST FEEL SO CANON that’s our gojo…… that’s exactly what he would say…… he’s so unserious and so funny and so charming 😔😔 sigh.

ANDDDDD reader telling him good luck!!!! gojo beaming and squeezing their shoulder!!!!! the lil wave!!!!! 🥺🥺 that made me smile so wide niku he’s so infuriatingly cute . it felt so genuine!!!! pls know that this gojo will probably live in my brain forever like genuinely . i’ve been brainrotting over him all week and this was the final nail in the coffin. i’ll never be free.

ok but also !!!! extremely important !!!!!!! before i get to the ending i just need to tell u . how much i loved kenjaku in this ……….. kenjaku nation (me & six others) will never forget these crumbs of content like he just feels so real!!!!! and he’s so interesting!!!!! made me realize how truly down bad i am for him bc these lines made me so fucking happy 😭😭 brain started releasing serotonin like CRAZY i’m so ashamed.

“You can come out, you know.”

”How interesting.”

"I'll be nice, though. I'll make it painless."

…….. he’s just ….. yeah. yeahhhhh. 😔😔 i’ll never be normal abt him. i think it’s SUCH an interesting detail that he always makes reader’s death painless in every single loop…. he never lies about it. that feels so in character to me too!!! he’s kinda fascinated at first and when that interest disappears he kills them. but he doesn’t make it unecessarily cruel because there’s just. no need. kenjaku is a sicko but he’s oddly polite at times and i’m just……. yeah. gonna need you to take over for gege akutami actually 🙏🙏 get in the writer’s chair!!! the fandom needs u!!!!!

wait while we’re on this topic pls just know the entire confrontation between reader and kenjaku was one of my favorite moments in the entire fic <333 not JUST because i’m a kenny stan ok……… reader’s resignation and ”I appreciate it.” made my brain spin because it’s just . kinda chilling? kinda sick? that they aren’t even really afraid of death anymore… or more like they’re just so frighteningly used to it.

AND AND ANDDDD niku your writing in this scene 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 gutted me like a fish.

Time doesn't flow in the box. He didn't lie. You die again.

i exploded btw . ackkk i wish i could explain it better i just!!! :< adore your writing. these lines made me go completely batshit they’re just so good. and the ”time doesn’t flow in the box” line … how that ties in with the ending and reader’s choice. whewww.

segway time <3333 this is the final rant i promise!!! i just need to talk about the ending bc it was so perfect and like many other things in this fic it made me insane …. have i said that already …. probably at least a couple times 😔👉👈 it’s true ok!! it’s just sooo interesting to me and obviously so wellwritten and fitting and just. thematically ties everything together so well? i was FLOORED

hhhhh i don’t know where to begin so i’ll just start w the final convo between reader and gojo :> he asks for their name !!!!!!! i cried !!!!!!!!!! calling someone by their name or knowing their name as a form of like . Closeness or Affection is one of my greatest weaknesses and i also think it’s soooo telling that GOJO wants to know Your Name. he wants to know you. to hear that from someone who seems so inhumanly beautiful and violent….. for him to kind of extend a final olive branch and attempt to connect w you :((((( it just says so much without spelling it out and i. started chewing at my desk. it’s so good!!!!!!! such a genius way to tie everything together!!!! and reader’s final words to him…

“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.

first of all!!! so so sooooo pretty. wowow. second of all THE THANK YOU ☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️ that’s also such a perfect conclusion…….. reader finally put their trust in someone and had that faith returned. and they thank him!!!! i like to think it means something to gojo too…. likeeee how often do people really thank him for what he does? how often is his hard work to protect people acknowledged and appreciated? sorry to bring gojo back into the discussion all the time sadly i AM in love w him….. 😔😔 and this fic made it worse so technically it’s your fault. kind of.

okay so my brain is kinda spinning away again so i’ll get to the final final thing!!!! for real this time!!!!! reader’s decision to be imprisoned in gojo’s stead… that’s so . genius? i’m so in awe??????? it makes so much sense from a character perspective based on what they’ve been through — after being at the mercy of time for so long, wouldn’t it be nice to be free of it? completely? it’s almost kind of chilling and just the idea of it scares me LMAO but it makes sm sense that reader would be drawn to it.

AND like i mentioned before!!! how it leads to a deeper connection between them and gojo, and how at the very end of the fic he’s the one who has faith in them. faith that they’ll be alright, of sound mind.

…… and that brings me to the final final final thing because. it’s just like the opening poem!! reader is the cat in the box. nobody can say for sure if they’re alright, not to mention alive, until the box is opened. and we don’t get to know!!! you leave us on a cliffhanger and that’s so good bc it really is like the cat in the box…. we can only wonder but it also gives us the freedom to decide for ourselves if we think they come out okay or not and i’m just………….. in love. with this fic. and the ending and the reader and gojo and you.

hopefully you’ve noticed atp but i really did go completely insane reading this 😭😭 i said it at the beginning but just to reiterate!!: for SURE one of my all time favorite gojo fics . AND loopfics in general…. thank you sm for your hard work :’3 aaaa i can’t tell u how much i admire the time you spent working on this??? your storytelling and writing and characterization skills????? i genuinely feel sooo giddy and excited and happy rn bc. i just adored this fic!!!! i’m so lucky i got to read it!!!!! :33 pls pat your gojo on the head from me and let him know i love him…. it’ll boost his ego but that’s a risk i’m willing to take 😔😔 i hope you have theeeee loveliest day or night a human being can have bc you made mine <3333333

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)

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. 3

#OHHHHHHHH MY GOD.#okokokok this is gonna be. Really Incoherent sorry in advance 🙏🙏 niku this made me…… insane. fully. someone needs to restrain me #one of my favorite gojo fics Ever??? like genuinely????? this was SUCH a pleasure to read i have sm i wanna say :((( hhhhhh #FIRST OF ALLL the higurashi poem…. what a banger <33 i LOVE how it ties in with the ending too but more on that later :33 #but it’s also so perfect bc reading this fic rlly did feel like playing a vn in the BEST way possible…. just. seeing all the tiny variation #experiencing the loops along w reader…… it was just SUCH an enjoyable experience i can’t even describe it!!!!!!!!! i’m so floored!!!!!!!!!!#like i ADORE timeloops it’s my favorite trope Ever and this fic was just . a godsend?? perfection??? the best loopfic ive read?????#I’M STILL GOING FULLY INSANE OVER IT BTW it satiated every single craving i have for timeloop content. my brain is leaking endorphins rn 😵‍#i LOVE the opening lines and the constant reusage of ”It’s the night of October 31 2018— Halloween in Shibuya”…… just so satisfying somehow #and reader’s mental state was also so thoughtfully depicted… it was so easy to insert myself into them but they’re also. rlly charming?#them latching onto gojo as the one anomaly of the timeloop…. fixating on him and his beauty (real as fuck btw)…. and searching for hope!!!#finding hope in gojo!!!! learning to trust him!!!!! :((( it feels kinda like a very twisted one-sided slowburn … and i ate it up.#i also rlly like that it’s not explicitly romantic!!! there’s enough subtext to enjoy a romance aspect but it’s not the Focus yk??#and i like that!!! the focus is on reader and the timeloop and both of those aspects are woven into gojo rlly naturally :>#ok so i’m using that as a segway. bc OFC i need to rant abt gojo fucking satoru and how much i love him and ur take on him 😔😔#every once in a while i’ll find a fic where i’m like. this author knows Gojo Satoru personally. they speak to him on the phone every night.#and this fic is ABSOLUTELY one of those like….. this gojo is Canon to me. i’m so serious abt it like that’s HIM !!!#and it just reminded me of why i love him sm bc this rlly does feel exactly like the gojo from the manga and that’s SO impressive 2 me ….#i’m in awe of u niku. i don’t even know where to begin w gojo bc i loved SO many lines and lil details u put in………. 😵‍💫😵‍💫#he’s just. soooooo charming :/// he truly is. he’s beautiful and handsome and he gives you his number every loop . w a star symbol!!!!#asks you for your phone or a pen and gets all excited writing his name… the mochi receipt…. 🥺 he’s so endearing we need to put him Down.#HE’S SO GOODDDDD I CAN’T SAY IT ENOUGH…. his convos with reader were a huge highlight for me and i loved loved LOVED #the moment he finally understands their situation. when they speak and he hears them out and he’s almost gentle. sooo reassuring.#starting to think you’re genuinely gege akutami btw like . gojo is so complex but you just. captured him perfectly???#he’s cocky and playful and teasing and a killing machine and he’s Kind. he’s playful even when you’re a stranger #and when he finally hears you out he speaks softly and says he’ll protect you :((( reader is better than me i would’ve cried LMAO #THE DIALOGUE IS SO GOOD N FEELS SO REAL ”did you fall in love with me just now?” NOOO ….. ☹️☹️☹️☹️ …. (maybe ……..)#ack. he’s the most charming man in the universe my heart was fluttering like crazy this isn’t… normal human behavior………#WAIT i almost forgot …. i too adore the jjk dub and every time gojo spoke i heard kaiji tang in my head <33 10/10 would recommend!!!#writing ✩

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irisinluv · 3 months ago

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Isekaied as the Yandere Villain!? PT 1

All I could do was stare at my reflection. This had to be a joke. I was going to wake up in my bed, right this instant.

“FUCK!”

Ok, so, pinching myself hurts. That’s fine. This is like. Some sort of lucid dream. What do they say to do if you’re lucid dreaming? Oh, that’s right, put your finger in your palm, it’ll phase through!

I resist the urge to scream as my finger meets solid flesh.

You see, I’m not in the right body. Or the right world from what I can tell. No, I’m supposed to be back home, waking up in a panic as I realize my alarm didn’t go off cuz my phone died after I stayed up way too late reading manga.

But of course, I’m not late to work, I’m in a lavish bedchamber right out of the latest webcomic I’d been reading! And by the looks of it…. I’m the crown princes crazy fiancé! As much as I love reading about the Isekai trope, I never wanted to be in one! And come on- as the Yandere Villain!? Couldn’t this at least be original? There’s hundred of stories just like “my next life as a villainess,” why couldn’t I be like… a stable hand or something? Ugh. Ok. Think!

I need to get home. Do the protagonists ever get back home in the stories I read? I pace around my room and rack my brain over every webcomic I’ve ever read, every manga I waited in line for, every anime I binged, even the unfinished manhwas! I can’t think of a single fucking one where they get home?

Well this isn’t going to stop me. I have a cat who’s going to absolutely flip if she’s not given fresh kibble in the morning. She has enough in her bowl for another 2 days but she needs it topped off ok! She’s a princess! I can’t be stuck here! Who’s going to throw her pompom toy for her if I’m not there???

What did all these have in common? What’s the barebones trope layout? Ok let’s see

1) person either died or falls asleep and wakes up in a new world…. Check

2) person is the villain!…. Check

3) to avoid the characters terrible death, person tries to change the story, ends up being new protagonist…

Ohhh… hey…. Do these Isekai characters ever just…. Play along? Even the “reincarnated as a baby” ones, they only play along till they’re old enough to try to run away or rework the political structure of the entire city. Maybe that’s it. Make it to the books natural end, and you’ll wake up where you belong. It’s like when you get part of a song stuck in your head. Play the whole song, and it’ll get out.

Ok, I’ve trained most of my adult life for this- I can totally ace this trope! I just have to stalk the crown prince, act totally in love with him, and be a bitch to the female lead. Then my finance will leave me, I’ll do some crazy dramatic act to try to kill the female lead, and then I’ll be exiled or executed, and wake up to feed my cat. How hard can it be?

Hard. It’s very hard.

Where the hell did he go!? My fiancé, the crown prince Eric, was JUST HERE. I swear! He turned that corner back there and then went down this hall… at least I think it was this hall? Ugh! This is impossible! For someone with such loud shoes and an armed escort, you’d think he’d be easier to follow! Now my feet just hurt. They don’t make these fancy shoes to run around the castle all day. They’re meant to daintily peek from beneath my many skirts as I host a tea party or some shit.

Ok. I’ve got this! I’ll just peek into each room until I find him, maybe I can get a better feel for the layout, or maybe find his office and see if he has a schedule or a day planner or something I can use to make this whole stalking thing easier.

I begin snooping, and it’s a bit of thrill to be honest! Back in my real life, I’m the kind of person to hide a wrapper deep in the trash can if I’m babysitting, sitting on the floor playing a game on my phone after the kid goes to bed rather than “making myself at home” the way the parents insisted as they showed me how to access Netflix. I’ve never been a snooper. Now…. Well. It’s totally on brand for this character! I’m not me, I’m a psycho lovesick fool! I giggle a bit at that as my fingers trail over a shelf of beautiful pottery in some sort of sitting room.

“What’s so amusing dearest?”

I practically screech as my heart leaps to my throat and I whirl around, and see the very person I’d been searching for has snuck up on ME…. That’s so unfair!

“W-what? O-oh! Nothing! I was just- uh, admiring the pottery?”

I stutter out as I try to recall how to act like a human being while simultaneously trying to stop feeling my own pulse in my ears. The idiot has the nerve to LAUGH! Full on snort and everything!

“What are you doing in this wing anyways? Weren’t you meant to be out riding today?”

Shit. I was so busy trying to figure out his schedule, I didn’t consider maybe the body I was shoved into had a schedule of her own. Ok. Play it cool- I’ve got this!

“Yes, well, I decided I wasn’t in the mood and wanted to stay in today instead.”

His brows furrow

“Oh, but you love riding? Are you feeling ill? I can fetch the royal physician for you if you-“

“No! That’s- that’s quite alright! I simply wanted a change of schedule, that is all. Um… what about you? What are your plans for the day?”

He looked a bit surprised at that, and a small smile danced on his lips.

“I was just going to the library to do some paperwork, boring stuff really, and then of course our dinner at its regular time.”

I nod like that means anything to me. Ok think, if I were crazy in love with this man, what would I say?

“Would you like some company? Reading in the library sounds really nice, maybe we could have some tea as well?”

Ok. I’m already fucking this up. He looks confused…. God damnit …. I knew I shouldn’t have skimmed over those early chapters- but the translation was shit ok!?

“Well… I’d actually love that. But are you sure? You haven’t exactly shown interest in reading, and you’ve never requested something like this before…. In fact I don’t think I can recall the last time we’ve interacted outside of dinner or a scheduled social event in… well. Ever.”

Wait…. What? Isn’t my character like goo-goo-ga-ga over him? Are you telling me she never asks to just… spend time with her lover? They only talk during dinner and parties or whatever?

“Of course, I think it’ll be relaxing! Just lead the way!”

My brain is working overtime as I smile politely at him as we reach the library and I pretend to browse for books. I’m missing something here. What is-

Oh. Shit. That’s right. I’m supposed to be really insecure and awkward about him. That’s why she stalks him- she spends all her free time obsessing over this man from the shadows, threatening the competition…. Yet chokes up when it comes to how to act natural. Her inferiority complex is what drives her entire character. And then to him, they’re just two nobles in an arranged marriage who speak on dull subjects like the weather and horse rides…. And who barely interact.

This must have been a real big shake up, she always stays out of sight, they never run into each other by chance. And she certainly never would ask to sit and read with him…. Maybe watch him do his work from a hidden keyhole somewhere, but that’s right…. She IS more of a traditional lady with her hobbies. She was raised to be the perfect noble wife, so naturally, her hobbies include things like dancing, needlepoint, and horse riding. The only studies she’s interested in are etiquette and things that noble ladies are supposed to know.

Well…. Shit. That’s so like me to already have fucked this up. But that’s ok. That’s ok- he’s going to meet the female lead and fall in love and so I just have to be the obstacle they need to overcome. Surely the details don’t matter too much…. It’s my first day in the job ok? Not everyone’s perfect!

I find a book that honestly actually sounds interesting, it’s historical, but it’s giving Hellen of Troy, the closest to a dark romance I think I’ll get from an academic personal library like this. I settle into what looks like the comfiest chair in the central area, and begin reading. The prince and I exist comfortably, the only sound being the scratch of his pen, and the occasional rustle of paper as he flips a document or I finish a page. We continue like this for several hours until he puts down his pen and clears his throat, getting my attention.

“I know it’s a long way from dinner…. But I was thinking I’d grab something light for a mid day meal and then take a walk about the gardens …. Would you care to join me?”

Honestly, some lunch and pretty royal gardens sounds like so much fun, so I agree. As we begin walking, I ponder how I can recover from all this.

You know what.. this can totally still go to plan. This is just me being the evil villain and sinking my claws into him! The female lead will appear, and I’ll reveal my true, nasty side to her! She’ll have to fight to save the prince from his marriage to me!

*insert evil laughter!*

“You’re smiling.”

“W-what?”

“A smile. It suits you. You’ve been doing that a lot today….. I like it.”

Ok and now I’m blushing. I go to reply when I suddenly find myself weightless for a moment, and then hit the ground with a hard thump.

“Ow! What the-!?”

My eyes snap up and glare at this pretty blonde girl who just rammed into me, and sent me flying

“Do you not know how to watch where you’re going!? Owww…. Ugh.”

Ok I’m sorry I’m usually a nice and understanding person but I’ve never been literally knocked over before! Who does that to a person?

Eric helps me to my feet and sends a reproachful glare toward the girl, asking me if I’m alright with most concerned look…. And the girl gasps and says,

“C-crown prince Eric! I apologize! I’d didn’t recognize you!”

She drops into a curtsy and lowers her eyes all demure and modest as if she hadn’t just bulldozed me. I send an incredulous look toward Eric…. She… didn’t see HIM? I’m the one she took out? He gives me an equally puzzled look and so I decide, you know what, fuck it. I’m this evil person in this world…. I need to act like it!

“And not recognizing his highness is an excuse for taking out the princess consort, soon to be crown princess? Are you blind or just daft?”

Oh my god I really just called someone daft! This feels like when you stay up late thinking all the witty comebacks you could’ve used against your high school bullies, except actually using them in the moment!

And Eric is being a sweetie and letting me handle this, waiting expectantly for blondie to answer me, just prompting her,

“Well?”

“Forgive me…. Princess consort…. You are right. My oversight in inexcusable. It appears neither of us were looking where we were going. I hope we can start fresh!”

I scoff- that’s it? Who does this bitch think she is? Yes, I was looking at Eric, but I was going a walking pace, who rounds a corner with so much force that you knock someone over?

Suddenly something clicks- oh shit! This is the female lead!!!! This scene happened in the story, just without the prince here. This is good, that means this is on track. Although I gotta say- I was much more on the female main characters side when reading it. Now, I just feel like she’s one of those mean girls in high school who’s not *technically* doing anything mean. Anyways- what was I supposed to say? That’s right.

“Yes…. Well. I’m sure we won’t be seeing much of each other anyways. If you’ll excuse me-“

Nailed ittttt…. Now her line?

“Well, actually…. My name is Lady Cressida, and I’ll be staying in the place for several months as my father is a foreign ambassador overseeing trade agreements with his highness the king. So I imagine we will be seeing *plenty* of each other. That goes for you too your highness! So please- forgive me, I look forward to getting to know each of you better!”

Oh that’s so cool, seeing her recite the lines from the story. But ok- I have a role to play as well. I scoff and grab Eric’s arm, pulling him behind me as I storm off, playing the part of entitled lover, stuck up and irritated at this ambassadors daughter who DARED to speak to my love.

Yea, this will work, Eric will think Cressida is a genuine sweetie, and see me as being the unreasonable bitch who’s refusing to accept her apology, or apologize for not looking where I was going either. And now I’m manhandling him- totally unlady like. God I’m killing this aren’t I? Minimum wage job and demanding cat, here I come!

What I don’t see, as I lead Eric by the arm, is the cold glare he shoots towards Cressida, before smiling down at our connected hands, an unreadable look in his eyes.

Part 2

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poisonf0rest · 5 months ago

Text

𝐎𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐜*𝐦𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫’𝐬 𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈, 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈𝐈, 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈𝐈𝐈

love and deepspace: zayne x fem!reader

tags: smut, teasing, guided masturbation, fingering, first time (kinda), pwp

word count: 9.3K what the fuck

synopsis: Between being in the midst of your medical residency and being an up-and-coming author, it’s safe to say your personal life has been placed on stand-still. That is, until your editor decided that your next novel needed explicit smut scenes. That is, until your mentor and boss ends up striking a deal for you to help with “inspiration” for said novel. That is, until you fuck Zayne four times and your life changes forever. - partially inspired by manga of the same name by Nae Awaji

original ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57209872/chapters/145519015

art credit: @/kaito_aii

You’re screwed. Fucked. Utterly damned.

Groaning into your desk, you slam your head down upon piles of patient records and old case files.

You’re only halfway done with your medical residency and somewhere along the way turned your lifelong passion for writing into a successful side gig. So successful in fact, that it was single-handedly providing you with enough money to get by and complete residency.

After anonymously posting online for a decade, you signed with a publisher three years ago, on the exact same day you matched with your first choice cardiothoracic residency program here at Akso Hospital.

Needless to say, you haven't felt that magnitude of happiness in years.

You doubt you ever will again.

In the midst of your wallowing, your phone lights up: Michaela. It’s a follow-up to her previous messages, all with the same damn request.

Michaela - Boss Man

checking in on my star, how’s that manuscript going?

talked to the director again to try and plead your case but she didn’t budge :(

she said w current book trends the fans will go crazy for a few explicit spicy scenes

pluuuus she believes in your writing enough to know you’ll make it big! come on, star, you know I’m here if you need any extra help

You - Little Star

Hey Micheala

You cringe for a moment at how formal you sound, but honestly, you’re too burnt out from writer’s block to match your editor’s energy and too tired from today’s shift to push back any further.

You - Little Star

No I get it, thanks for trying though

I’m almost done with the novel, it's just those scenes that are taking a little more time

And by a “little more time,” you mean you’ve tried writing and rewriting them over a dozen times just to cringe, delete, and scream into your keyboard. Over. And over again.

It’s not that you’re clueless, you’ve read your fair share of erotica for inspiration and pleasure equally. But actually writing them yourself? That was a whole different story. Pacing, banter, and even making the right word choices without sounding like a repetitive pervert or absolute lunatic were all so much harder to do than you previously gave authors credit for.

Not to mention, you haven’t actually experienced a lot first-hand.

Beyond a few situationships in high school and undergraduate flings between pre-med classes and internships absolutely kicking your ass, you’re probably half as sexually experienced as most adults your age. And you had absolutely no intention of re-entering the dating scene with residency, until now.

With Michaela breathing down your neck about how these explicit smut scenes were a marketing goldmine and the combined stress from your jobs, it seems like you’ve been fighting a losing battle. This time, however, your main income was on the line.

You groan as another ping lights up your phone, going to silence it when you realize it’s from the hospital Slack and not your editor.

residency-CS-alerts

Dr. Zayne: Second look needed for a CMR scan. Nonurgent.

Jumping to your feet, you sprint from the office wing to get to the MRI’s before another resident can take your spot. It’s not that your program lacked opportunities- far from it as you attend the top program– but rather that this particular opportunity was rare indeed.

Doctor Zayne. Akso Hospital's respected chief cardiac surgeon, who has made groundbreaking advances to the treatment of congenital heart abnormalities in neonates. At only twenty-seven he is the youngest recipient of the Starcatcher Award. His dedication to his craft is unparalleled, as he tirelessly devotes more time to surgeries than any other doctor you know, cementing his reputation as an unwavering force in the field.

He’s also impossibly tall, extremely well built for a man who seems to spend most of his time in the hospital, and has a face sculpted like a Roman deity in marble. And gods, his voice.

Safe to say, you admire him just a little.

You’ve bumped into him a handful of times during your first two years here, but the doctor was so engrossed in his work that the occurrence was rare enough. But a chance to perform with him? To consult alongside him on a cardiovascular case?

You began to fear for your own heart’s safety as you felt it skip in your throat.

Finally reaching the MRIs, you knock once before sliding the door to the control room open with a bow. And when you stand straight again, Dr. Zayne’s steel-set eyes only glance at you before he points to the readings displayed on the computer.

“Tell me what you see.”

Your mouth is still hanging open from what was going to be a very enthusiastic self-introduction, but you cut yourself off with a cough and stumble over to the monitor. Dr. Zayne’s eyes follow you with a precision that makes your hands tremble, and you bend over slightly to scan the patient’s readings.

You’re about ready to make a diagnosis when you realize you haven’t gotten much background on the patient.

“What’s the patient’s briefing?” You look down, flinching as you see Dr. Zayne already staring at you. “If I can hear it, sir?”

He nods once. “An adolescent female with complaints of shortness of breath and coughing. She had no specific medical history, but grew up in the countryside unable to visit a proper clinic for several years while this issue persisted.”

Countryside… that could mean this was an undiagnosed issue that festered.

Clearing your throat, you begin to point to the different scans. “Firstly, there’s clearly an enlarged cardiac silhouette.” Squinting, you point at two denser mounds in CMR scans. “Here and here. There are two large cysts along the lateral and inferior walls of the LV pushing and invading the myocardial walls.”

Gods, the cysts were huge. Even if surgery was performed on her now, would she survive?

Dr. Zayne’s low voice pulls you back into the control room. “Then what is your final diagnosis?”

“I–” you stutter, shaking your head. “I would recommend surgery immediately.”

“More detail than that, please.”

A sharp inhale and you scan the readings again. “Maybe a cannulation? The cysts might be causing an SVC compression, which would explain her shortness of breath.” You dare ask. “Will she survive?”

Dr. Zayne stands up this time. “You did well. She was my patient, and underwent surgery over a week ago.” He gently pats you on the shoulder, touch warm. “Our job as surgeons is to act decisively, to learn, and to try. Not to be heroes.”

You can’t manage to say anything back as Dr. Zayne leaves the room, the door sliding shut behind him.

_______

Surprisingly, you’ve been seeing more and more of Dr. Zayne since that day.

And if that wasn’t enough, the doctor has also been actively acknowledging you, exchanging greetings and simple conversation when you pass in the halls, cafeteria, or shared cardiovascular wing of the hospital.

Not that you haven’t been putting in the effort either.

Dr. Zayne’s current apprentice is graduating from residency this year, and you have every intention of becoming their successor. Between picking up extra shifts, answering every pager call, and of course paying special attention in case Dr. Zayne specifically requests a second pair of hands, you’ve been climbing up the ranks amongst your peers.

Luckily, it seems those efforts have not been in vain.

You’ve been doing so well apparently, that Dr. Zayne wants to meet with you in the hospital’s cafe today. Interviews before officially announcing mentor-mentee pairs was not unusual, but the thought of being one-on-one with Dr. Zayne after your last case together still has your mind reeling.

Will he pull out old case files? Will he bring you to a patient and test you in real time? You have half a mind that he might pull out a custom-made test and timer. It seems on-brand enough to be a possibility.

Yet when you arrive, the cafe is completely empty, save for the staff and a familiar man in a white lab coat.

Dr. Zayne stands as soon as he sees you and beckons for you to sit, pulling the chair across from him out in the same movement. He clears his throat, a barely-there smile gracing his lips as he watches you settle down. “How have you been, doctor?”

“Good! Good.” The words rush out from you and you flinch, forcing yourself to slow down. Was the cafe always this small? “Discharged a patient today, so all good news.” Holy striped cows, if you say the word good one more time you might lose your mind.

“Well,” Dr. Zayne nods, taking a sip of something that looks like a far-too-sweet cup of coffee practically drenched in whipped cream. “That’s certainly good to hear.”

You die a little inside.

“I’ll keep things rather brief since I’ve already made my mind up.”

Was this it? Did you ruin your chance at having Linkon’s top doctor as your mentor because of your damn mouth?

Dr. Zayne reaches inside his jacket, and you swear your heart is going to beat itself out of your throat. He pulls out a simple white envelope with your name scrawled across the front, the paper crisp as he slides it across the table.

His fingers linger on the edges before he speaks. "I wanted to formally offer you the position to shadow me as my apprentice."

"I accept!"

The words fly out before you can stop them and Dr. Zayne looks stunned for a moment before laughing, a smooth and deep sound you didn't expect from him. He looked good when he smiled. Softer, content.

The ghost of the smile stays, even when Zayne speaks again. "It's not a timed offer, you don't have to agree so quickly."

You flush down to your neck, looking down at the envelope. "Right. Only, it would be an honor to learn from you, sir. I really don’t know anyone in our field who wouldn’t accept it."

Zayne hums, but his brows furrow. “You don’t have to call me sir either. Doctor Zayne is fine while we are at the hospital. Zayne is more than acceptable elsewhere, we’re not that far apart in age and I don’t wish for this to be an overly formal relationship.”

You curse your heart for fluttering, reminding yourself that he only means this in a conductive, professional way.

After a beat of silence, Zayne looks at the clock and stands, taking his sugar-filled drink with him. You never pegged him to have such a massive sweet tooth.

"I have a consultation now, but I would like to talk to you more about your residency. We should set up weekly meetings outside of work, check your calendar, and organize it later.”

You nod and thank him as he walks away, leaving you alone to open the envelope. Inside is a simple handwritten note, signed and stamped with Dr. Zayne's official signature alongside Akso Hospital’s.

A reminder that this was, in fact, not a dream.

_______

It’s barely been a month since you’ve begun officially shadowing Zayne, yet you swear it feels as though a part of you has known him forever.

Aside from his virtually frozen demeanor and tendency to make snarky quips at your habit of running your mouth, he’s been nothing but a patient mentor. Brief, direct, unrelenting, but attentive to your work and growth.

If that were all, then everything would be perfect.

If that were all, then you would be sticking perfectly to your ten-year plan: graduating early, completing residency under the top doctor in the top program, and then overtaking him as the top cardiovascular surgeon with a breakthrough of your own.

But of course, the plot has to thicken.

Sure, the first few weeks have been strictly business, but since then, your conversations with Zayne—Dr. Zayne—have morphed into more casual, more playful meetings. Your weekly check-ins have moved from the hospital cafeteria to a cozy family-run cafe in town that Zayne introduced to you. And the way you’ve begun to think of him was the most damning part of it all.

But you don’t have the time nor capacity to deal with whatever this was becoming.

Not when your novel’s deadline was in three weeks, and you still had absolutely nothing to show for it. Without this new novel’s money, you wouldn’t be able to pay for rent or food or transport, and residency sure as hell wasn’t giving you enough to survive off of alone.

This past week, you’ve gone from stressed to a thundering cloud of misery. Snapping at interns, drinking dangerously over the FDA-recommended caffeine intake, and ignoring the maelstrom your face has become.

And of course, today happens to be your weekly check-in with Zayne.

Dragging yourself to your usual booth, you watch him order at the counter and bring his drink to the table alongside a signature pair of macaroons, a slice of chocolate cake, and an eclair. He sets it all down with a huff and sits, looking over at you with an iron-cold gaze. You can smell the incoming lecture.

"You're late."

You dip your head, but your patience is running on reserve, and your reply has more bite than you’d dare use otherwise. "I'm sorry, it looks like I’ve lost track of time."

"You're never late." Zayne doesn't sound any angrier at your attitude, but it still doesn't settle the guilt bubbling in your stomach.

"I've just been really stressed. You know," you wave your hand, "wrapping up residency."

"Is that so." Zayne's gaze is sharp as he fights to maintain eye contact. It's not a question. "I've noticed. You've been distracted and irritated recently, and I can't help but wonder why. Is it really the hospital? Am I demanding too much aside from your typical resident duties?”

You shake your head, and the guilt is back. "No, of course not."

"Then I have to assume it's something else, is it not?"

"It's..." How on earth are you supposed to explain that the reason why you're a mess is because your editor is pressuring you to write a smut scene that you have no interest in, let alone sufficient experience with? And to someone you admire, your mentor, Linkon’s top surgeon, and apparently now someone your heart is deciding to blackmail you with. "I'm sorry, Dr. Zayne. It's nothing work-related, it's not your problem to fix."

Zayne raises his eyebrow, leaning back in the booth and crossing his arms. “That’s the first time you addressed me as doctor outside of hospital property in over a month. ”

You really, really, can’t do this right now, or else you might start spewing some things you’ll regret. “Really? That’s fascinating, sir.” You watch him scowl at the title you know he hates. “Still does not entitle you to my personal issues.”

“As your mentor, it becomes entitled to me when your personal issues begin affecting your performance.” He says.

You bite the inside of your cheek, forcing your anger down. "It's really not something I can talk about here, nor to you. Can we just have a regular check-in?"

"We are."

“You know what?" You stand, chair falling back with a screech. “I think I need a rain check today, sir. You know. Stress.”

"You’re not leaving until you tell me what is bothering you."

You're about to grab your bag and walk away when you're suddenly reminded of how tall Zayne is when he stands. Practically towering over you, he leans across the table, grabbing you firm enough to prevent you from slipping away, yet never harsh enough to harm you. “Please, we’re making a scene.”

You sit. Zayne follows.

Seeing just how reactive you’re being, he softens, genuine concern in his tone as he reaches an arm out. “Is it a family issue? Are you alright?”

“No. Yes.” You inhale deeply through your nose, but your mind is still reeling at a mile a minute. “No, it’s not a family issue.”

“So if it’s not about the hospital and not family, then what could possibly be causing you this much stress.” Zayne’s eyes narrow and you see his jaw tick. “Don’t tell me this foolishness is over a boy.”

“No! God,” you want to push yourself off a building. Or him. “No, it’s this fucking–” You’re rambling. You’re rambling, losing control, and you’re going to blurt it out and regret it. “It’s this smut scene!”

You’ve really outdone yourself this time.

Zayne chokes on his drink and slams the cup down, coughing as liquid comes out his nose. You flounder in panic, trying to help but he holds a hand up and turns, still coughing into his arm. You can only manage to pull out a few napkins, handing them over in a pathetic bundle.

“A…” Zayne almost seems to buffer, clearing his throat before looking back at you. “An erotica scene?”

Your face is burning. You can practically feel the heat radiating off of it in waves, and you have to remind yourself that writing is your job. A respectable, decent-paying, well-appreciated job that you do for the sake of womankind everywhere.

“I write for extra income alongside residency, and recently my editor got it into her head that we’ll sell even more with some extra spice.” You scoff, “But it’s been months of looking at a blank doc. Now the deadline is approaching and I still have nothing to show for it.”

Zayne doesn't say anything for a moment, and you have to check if he's breathing, or if the shock has killed him. Finally, he shifts back in his seat, adjusting his tie.

"That sounds like a difficult position to be in, doctor."

You look up, and Zayne has his arms crossed. It's an expression you're familiar with, one that means he's actually thinking about what you've said, but the way he says "doctor" now feels strange, almost as if the term has no place here.

"It's fine, I'll figure it out." This is also why you didn't want to tell him, as if Zayne has any place worrying about this on your behalf. “Besides, I’m as much a writer as a doctor, this is my job after all. I have to figure it out.”

“Of course. I’d expect no less." Zayne nods a little to himself, slightly dazed, and you scramble to find a way to change the subject back into something even remotely work-appropriate.

"Anyway, I've been keeping up with my rounds, and I think I've been able to handle more cases on my own recently, too."

"You have."

Zayne is quiet for a beat too long and you frown, tapping the table.

"Are you alright? I know this is a lot, I shouldn't have burdened you with it."

When Zayne faces you again, you watch as his brows furrow. "But if this is such a pressing issue…” He clears his throat, looking at a spot directly above your head. “Then, what if I helped you?”

You swear your head is spinning, his words ringing over and over and over in your mind. The only thing remotely in focus was Zayne’s face, far too close for comfort now, even across the table. Oh gods, you’re having this conversation in public, too.

"What do you mean by help, exactly?"

"If you’re in need of experience," Zayne's voice is low, but he still manages to keep eye contact, the intensity of it making you smile nervously. "Then I could offer my assistance. Better coming from someone you know and trust, yes?"

There’s no way you heard that right. Your mind blanks, but apparently your smartass mouth hasn’t.

"Are you offering to be my fuck buddy? Sex consultant? My smut guide, if you will?"

A deadpan, “I would prefer the term sexual partner.”

Even the way Zayne says it makes it sound more like a business proposal than an actual proposition, and it throws you off guard. He leans back, trying to act nonchalant. "You did mention lack of inspiration was your main issue, correct?”

“Well, yes.” That, and your lack of any novel-worthy sexual experiences.

“And you have had—“ There it is again. Not quite embarrassment, and if you weren’t so tuned in to Zayne’s resting expression, you may not have noticed it, but there is a deeper furrow between his brows as his eyes evade yours, and the slightest tint of pink on the tips of his ears. “You have been with partners before, yes?”

The stoic, pragmatic, level-headed Doctor Zayne is embarrassed asking you whether or not you’ve had sex before.

You nearly laugh.

“Yes,” an amused giggle escapes you at the absurdity of this entire conversation. “I’ve been with partners,” you mimic, slightly mocking his word choice, “but it has been a while, and I haven’t really…”

Zayne moves to take another sip of coffee. “You haven’t?”

“I’ve never come. Orgasmed.”

And he chokes. Again.

“Oh, shit, I’m so sorry!” You jump from your seat to hand him yet another pile of napkins, but this time Zayne stops you halfway there, grabbing your wrist as his coughs subside.

Neither of you speaks as he drinks water and coughs once more, his grip still iron and far colder than you imagined it would feel against your bare skin.

“My apologies,” Zayne releases you immediately, going back to staring at his coffee as his hand flexes once. Twice. “Continue.”

You can only watch him in fascination, sitting back down in your chair. The entire time he avoided eye contact, and he was definitely blushing. You almost wanted to push further, to poke and tease and test his reactions, but you knew that would end with you losing your head. Or worse, you muse, heart fluttering against your chest.

“Ah, I mean, I’ve felt pleasure before. It’s not that my previous partners were unwilling to do stuff for me, I’ve just never gotten over that little plateau.” It’s not resentment that washes over you, and not quite embarrassment either. Just a little bit of dull apathy towards the subject. And yourself. “Biologically speaking of course I know it’s possible, but there are also plenty of women who simply don’t climax during sex. I’m probably just one of them.”

Zayne, who seems to have returned to his usual stoicism, frowns at that, mouth drawn taut as though he wanted to say something.

"And if we were to engage in sexual acts," He's so clinical, even as he says something that could send anyone else running. “Perhaps that is what you need to start writing again. It would make sense. To write a compelling,” he stumbles over the word, “erotica, you’d have to experience pleasure."

The gears in your mind turn, and slowly, it begins to make a twisted sort of sense. You'd have to feel it for yourself, to be able to describe the sensation, the passion, the tension with conviction. Perhaps it really would get you closer to finishing this damn book.

But then you remember who you're talking to. Doctor Zayne. Your coworker. Worse than that, your mentor and direct superior in your field, and someone you happen to admire very much. So then why would he…?

"What do you gain from this, Zayne?"

Zayne stiffens. “I’m a doctor, it’s my duty to help my patients.”

A sly smile cracks against your lips, and you prop your chin against your palm. “I didn’t realize I was your patient now, doctor?”

His eyes snap back to yours and he straightens, his demeanor slipping back to his typical formality. "You have a bright future in front of you. This is an investment in you, and I believe this will help us both. I will draw up a contract tomorrow for us to discuss, you can meet me in my office after your shift.”

“Rather formal,” you say, but Zayne doesn’t take the bait this time.

He simply takes another sip from his coffee, and you swear you catch him smiling behind the porcelain rim. “Then perhaps I could also get a signed copy of your next book?"

You scoff, waving him off as you slouch back in your chair. "Of course, I'll throw one in the mail the day it's out."

"It's a deal then.”

He’s about to push in his chair when you lunge from yours, grabbing his sleeve as his eyes widen slightly, looking down at where your hands meet. "Thank you,” a smile. ”Zayne."

His gaze softens and he smiles a bit, nodding. "Of course, doctor."

And with a wave, he's gone.

_______

You don’t know what you expected.

Zayne seemed like the type to take his girl out to dinner first, probably somewhere obscenely expensive. He’d show up with a single rose or another simple but romantic gift so seemingly contradictory to his outward appearance. Afterward, maybe he’d take her to a show or somewhere with fancy sweets, knowing his taste. Then, after all that, he’d invite her back to his apartment or allow her to whisk him away to her place.

You’d imagine it would go something like that. But then again, the terms of your relationship are quite different then the one he’d have with this imaginary woman. So when he texts you after your shift that Tuesday asking if you’re free tonight, you’re only moderately panicked.

To make matters worse, he’s at your house five minutes early.

Two knocks, and you scramble to open the door, Zayne nearly dwarfing the door frame as he lingers outside the hallway. His trenchcoat only adds to his natural tendency to command attention, and you feel more vulnerable than usual in your sleep clothes.

“Fancy seeing you here, stranger.”

Zayne adjusts his collar. “Do you mind if I come in?”

You tap your chin, pretending to mull it over in your mind, relishing in the slight nervousness your silence instills in Zayne. “It would be rather bothersome to fuck in the hallway, I suppose…”

Zayne shakes his head at the remark, but you can see amusement dancing in his eyes. With that, you step aside, and he ducks under the doorframe to slip inside. It’s as though something irreversible- something inevitable- shifts as you watch him cross the threshold, and it doesn't get better when you close the door and lock it behind him.

You'd say he makes himself at home, but his stance is still too stiff, too awkward, even as he’s hanging his coat and slipping out of his shoes. It almost feels domestic.

"Would you like something to drink?"

Zayne shakes his head, "Not this time."

He says it so casually, and yet the notion of a next time has you dizzy. Of course there’s a next time, you’ll need more than one night to get inspiration. It was only a natural assumption, you reason with yourself.

"You seem tense," he says, and then your back is against the wall.

Zayne leans down, hovering above you as his hand comes up to your waist. A tentative touch, and you give a small nod, feeling his arm relax, palm sliding further into the plush of your hips. He looks so good like this, in a work button-down with a thin sheen of sweat on his brow and his lips parted. Gods, and he’s not even trying- there’s genuine concern written in the way he scans your body with a deep crease between his brows. You hope he doesn’t notice how you squeeze your thighs tighter.

"It's the deadline, is all," you say, trying to brush off the question.

"Ah, of course. How inconsiderate of me. I’m supposed to be helping you and here I am making it worse.”

Zayne's voice is low and smooth. The cadence in his words, the slight drawl, is a sound that makes your heart skip a beat. It's a shame it's so easy to hide your arousal when you're this nervous.

“Well,” You smile, and his gaze flickers down to your mouth. “I suppose I can forgive you if you uphold your end of the deal.”

His stare is heavy, and it feels like the room is closing in. But you understand the man well enough to know that he wouldn’t dare move first, not until you asked for it, not when you have yet to set a precedent. So you loop your arms around his neck, forcing Zayne closer as his forearm slams against the wall to hold himself up against you.

You nip at the lobe of his ear, smiling to yourself as he shivers with each warm exhale. Zayne’s hand has yet to leave your side while he lets you grind against him, guiding your movements as you groan against his neck.

But Zayne feels you rush through the movements, a messy sort of impatience less from desire and more from routine. As though you wanted this done. As though you wanted him gone.

You feel a familiar flutter against your core as Zayne’s knee comes up against your core, but when you move to grind against his thigh, the hand at your waist stops you.

“I want to do this properly. You deserve—” he cuts himself off. Starts over. “Where would you like to do this?”

You’re about to tell him that right here is fine, not wanting Zayne to feel as though you needed any more special attention, when you realize just how serious he is. “Bedroom," you say.

Zayne hums, and the rumble reverberates throughout his chest. He offers a hand, and you take it.

And with that, you lead him to your room.

Somewhere between the span of your hallway and bed, Zayne seems to have decided how tonight will go. Despite your desperate touches, teasing up his body and luring him closer, Zayne slows his own pace, leaving burning trails traced with agonizing slowness over the curves of your body. Despite your fumbling to strip off your shirt, Zayne grabs your wrist, forcing it behind your back as his other hand teases the exposed skin of your ribs in a way that has you shivering. Despite your hushed complaints for him to just hurry up Zayne merely smiles in amusement, refusing to give you anything more as he scolds you with a click of his tongue.

Zayne refuses to rush this. He wants to savor every moment, to etch the sight of you into his mind and commit it to memory, to relive it in this life and the next.

He continues walking forward, each one forcing you to take a step back until your knees hit your bed, buckling as his form looms over you.

“The largest mistake in any relationship- sexual or not- is lack of communication.” He loosens his tie, “So if we are to do this, you have to talk to me. Tell me what you like, what you don’t.”

As he speaks, Zayne continues undressing, unbuttoning the top few buttons on his shirt before rolling up the cuffs so every glorious inch of his forearms is exposed. Your breath catches with each trailing vein, shadowed in the dim lighting up until they disappear under his sleeves.

Maybe you should write a Victorian-era piece next. Clearly, you had a thing for small swaths of exposed skin.

As if hearing your thoughts, Zayne undoes another button before his hands venture south. With a slow, deliberate motion, he unbuckles his expensive leather belt and allows it to slide through the loops of his pants. It drops to the floor, joining all the other articles of clothing as he takes a seat on the mattress, resting his hand on your bare thigh, inching closer and closer to where your sleep shorts have ridden up.

"Tell me what you like and don't like." Zayne repeats, eyes focused on yours, "And remember, you say no, and this stops."

Zayne moves painfully slow, his hands fluttering down your shoulders, breasts, hips, until he plants them behind you, caging you between his broad chest and the mattress. His hand slips under your shirt’s fabric once more, and you feel yourself tense.

You aren’t wearing anything fancy. After all, you were simply writing in bed, nearly falling off when you suddenly got Zayne’s text. Only a pair of shorts and a cami, but gods, when Zayne’s hands begin trailing up your stomach, dragging the thin fabric up with him, you really wished you put something sexier on.

He doesn't stop until his fingertips brush against the underwire of your bra, thick fingers slipping under the band as he practically tugs you toward him. "Can you take this off for me?"

"Don't know how to do it yourself?" You tease.

Before you even finish taunting him, Zayne's hand has already snuck around your back, undoing the clasp and forcing you onto your back. You can feel the heat radiating off of him.

"Now, now, we'll be here all night if we start fighting." He chastises you, tone far too smug. Zayne tugs the undone bra up, his fingers tracing the red marks it left against your skin. You tremble under his touch. "Didn't realize how sensitive you are."

His tone is even, but you can see the slight curl at the corner of his lips.

"Your hands are cold," you say, voice wavering as Zayne begins taking your shirt off as well. You try not to fidget, knowing that the way your arms are held up only emphasizes the size difference, Zayne being able to completely lift your chest against him as the other binds your wrists. You're not tiny. But next to him? It barely mattered.

"I apologize." But it feels half hearted at best, especially with the way he’s staring at your bare chest, not even bothering to take your shirt all the way off. It almost feels more embarrassing like this, cotton bunched against your collarbones under his palms.

“I’m going to touch you now, okay?”

The way he says it causes a rush of blood to your face. “I’m not some virgin that might break.” You grumble under your breath, but Zayne is as stupidly attentive as always and frowns.

“Do not mistake my care for pity.”

Something ugly aches in your chest when he looks at you like that.

Zayne’s hand comes up, large enough to encircle the entirety of your cheek as you’re enveloped in the chill of his touch. His body is nearly atop yours, each word breathed into your mouth. “Then, if you have no more snarky remarks, allow me to begin."

Zayne’s gaze drops to where he thumbs at your lips, leaning in as you watch his pupils dilate, flickering with something before he flinches away, kissing the corner of your mouth instead.

His other hand cups the curve of your breast, leaving goosebumps in its wake. You gasp, the sensation heightened by the feeling of his teeth against your collarbone, nipping marks into your skin.

It takes a moment for all his featherlight touches to register, your eyes fluttering closed as his thumb rubs your chin. You try to ignore the way he avoids your lips, refusing to get too close.

All for the better, you remind yourself.

He kisses lower, down between the valley between your breasts, hot breath the only warning you get before his tongue meets your nipple while his fingers deliver a sharp flick to the other. The contrast of the heat from his mouth to the cold of his fingertips sends you reeling as you muffle your cries into your palm.

Zayne doesn’t like that. He forces your hand from your mouth, biting your nipple as if in vengeance as you moan, the sound broken and desperate as you claw at his forearm.

Satisfied, his tongue smooths over the bright pink bite mark and swollen bud, the unpredictable pressure fogging up your every thought before he retreats with a wet pop.

Finally, Zayne moves to fully remove your shirt, but pauses when you flinch.

“Would it make you more comfortable if I undressed as well?” Zayne begins to take off his own shirt, but you lunge for him, stopping his hands as your voice escapes in a whoosh.

“No.”

His collared shirt was utterly ruined, unbuttoned just enough so you could see his flushed chest when he bent over. And now when he sat up straight the bottom rose up just a bit, exposing a stretch of his lean torso, a peak of his abs, and a dark happy trail that dipped into his tailored pants. Every once in a while, you could see his muscles flex and it sent a shameful throbbing down your core.

“You can keep it like that, it’s hot.”

Zayne doesn’t respond, but when he averts his eyes you swear you watch his lips curl into a smirk. It’s gone by the time he looks at you. Not that you have any time to dwell on it, not when Zayne closes the remaining space between you, guiding you against the pillows.

You try not to focus on how out of place he seems in your apartment, mere presence dwarfing everything else as he makes his way between you, forcing your knees apart.

Zayne leans back, his fingers trailing up your leg, edging up the fabric of your shorts up with his touch, but never daring to slip past the self-imposed barrier of the cotton. He coaxes your hips up, and you kick the shorts off in a clumsy movement, Zayne's eyes now focused between your thighs before you snap them shut as best you can around his waist.

“Let me see.”

You gape at him. “I– Doctor–”

“Relax. I can’t guide you if you don’t let me, now open.”

It’s not an order. Not quite. Zayne’s voice is effortlessly assertive, but it falls just short of being a command. You could call this off, he’s told you that much directly, and knowing Zayne if you did so everything would go right back to how it was before. A mentor and student. Coworkers. Strangers.

You force the tremors in your thighs to relax, knees dropping from Zayne’s hips to the sheets below as you move your left leg just enough to feel the inner band of your underwear stretch.

It’s a bearable amount of embarrassment and vulnerability, until you look up at Zayne again, and akin to a deer in headlights, you freeze. He watches with enough intensity for it to be clinical, a vicious sort of attentiveness that sees every twitch, every strain your body responds with, as if committing it all to memory. As if he were to devour you alive.

You think you’d let him.

Zayne reaches over, and his thick finger trails a line up your inner thigh, immediately followed by goosebumps, knuckles ghosting the inner seam of your panties.

Your body reacts before you do. Before you can even breathe, the air catches in your throat, and your legs squeeze together in a pathetic attempt to hide yourself.

Zayne pins them down immediately, gaze snapping up to you. You expect a reprimand. Maybe a warning or a punishment, and the anticipation makes your stomach twist.

Instead, his brows draw in, as if lost in thought. “You said you never came from touching yourself either?”

You can barely manage a nod.

“Hm. Then you weren’t doing it right.” He says, so bluntly that you can only blink at him. “Show me how you do it.”

Zayne sits back between your thighs, one hand still absent-mindedly caressing your knee, waiting expectantly.

And you feel the flush burn all the way up your ears and down your chest.

Oh, that was not what you expected him to say. You were prepared for him to touch you, or to guide you, but instead he asks for the complete opposite.

And, well, you could only ever try your best for him— ever the people pleaser.

It's humiliating how easily your fingers slip under the elastic band. Even more so when the pads of your fingers run down your folds, and you feel yourself clench at the mere contact, already slick and wanting. You move to tug your underwear off, but Zayne stops you, grabbing at your wrist.

"Wait," He's panting, eyes blown as he continues to stare at you, at the wet patch accumulating in the center of those damned panties. "Keep them on."

His tone is so serious a part of you wants to laugh. You're about to make a quip when he pulls your hand up, bringing your fingers to his lips and wrapping his tongue around them. The way he teases from the pad of your finger to your knuckle, sucking as he goes, has you lightheaded. Your hips stutter upwards, a pitiful sound escaping from your throat as you try to keep yourself together.

He doesn't stop. Not until your fingers are clean and your thighs have grown unbearably sticky, neglected and throbbing.

When he finally lets go, you're a gasping mess, and Zayne looks downright smug. "Now, you can continue."

The bastard.

You don't know how you manage to move, let alone bring your fingers to your entrance.

Pushing aside the cotton, your first touch is tentative, and you flush at how much easier it is with Zayne’s spit covering them. Your breath catches both from the initial stretch and the way Zayne leans in closer to see, even though the thin elastic prevents him from watching the way your cunt flutters around the new intrusion.

You shift, but your need has grown nearly uncomfortable, hips beginning to buck up as one finger quickly becomes too little, and you whine as you attempt to push in another, to push in a little deeper.

"Slower. You're going too fast."

You can't help the scowl, your tone sharper than intended. “How would you know?"

Zayne’s face is a cool mask, the corners of his lips twitching with amusement. "You did ask me for advice, did you not?" Then his voice takes on a sharper edge, demanding again. "Slow down, then you may continue."

As if you needed his permission to continue. But you do as he says, rocking your fingers in and out, pace painfully slow, mere friction sending jolts of heat throughout you.

Usually, this was the best part, the delicious and tortuous build-up that would ultimately lead to nothing. Not nearly long enough, your fingers hit just below your sweet spot, and you could feel tears of frustration prick against your eyes. Writhing, you tried to plunge further, choking out a moan again and again at the barest brushing against your sweet spot, mindlessly grinding your hips up to meet each cruel thrust of your fingers.

You cry when you finally hit that spot inside you, head falling against the pillows as you tense, about to move again when something stops your hand, ripping it away from your desperate chase.

“You–“ Zayne shakes his head, breath ragged as some combination of a frustrated exhale and moan rumbles through his chest, the sound going straight to your cunt. “You’re too impatient. Too rough.”

You try to swallow, try to hide how the sound of his moan and the rough cadence of his voice makes the muscles of your belly and thighs spasm, but Zayne doesn't miss a thing. He doesn't release your hand, not fully, but rather guides both of your digits to trace around your clit instead.

"Again," he says, “This time slower. How does it feel?”

You close your eyes, taking a deep breath as you feel his hand continue to guide yours, entire body jolting when he catches against the hood of your oversensitive clit, tapping as he lets you circle it on your own.

“Good. It feels really good.”

Zayne hums, but he already knows that. He feels it through the drenched bottoms of your panties, rubbing your poor swollen clit through them, watching as you gush again, the slick coating his palm and dripping down his wrist in sticky strands.

It takes everything within him not to withdraw his hand and lick it all. Or even better, take his mouth to you directly. Not yet. Not yet, he reminds himself. Next time.

You have to bite your lip as you feel Zayne’s hand take over your own, almost greedily pushing and pinching your clothed cunt, the fabric both a delicious friction and a damn barrier you wish was gone so you could finally feel his bare fingers on you, in you. It’s torture, every nerve on fire as Zayne continues to focus on your clit while your fingers return against your folds, teasing your entrance with a light touch before pressing in.

But it's still not enough. It's not what you need.

You look to Zayne for direction, but his expression is unreadable in the darkness. "Deeper. Keep going."

The angle isn't quite right, but you do as he says, trying and failing to muffle your sounds as you fuck yourself on your fingers, desperately chasing the feeling building up once more.

“Again. Deeper.”

It hurts. Your wrist is beginning to ache, and you’re really not sure how much longer you can keep going, crying out again when Zayne forces his hand flat against your clothed core, shoving your own fingers deeper and causing the wet fabric to rub deliciously against your clit.

You don't even have time to react before he's pulling away, his own hand rubbing the wetness on his fingers together as he watches the strands break and drip down his hand.

His tone is so nonchalant despite the way he keeps his gaze trained between your legs. As if the sight of you, flushed and gasping, with your cunt pathetically leaking and yet still demanding more, wasn't the hottest thing he'd ever seen.

“Ask,” Zayne demands, his voice deep enough that you swear you can feel it rumbling through your bones. “Ask for it.”

“Need your help, please, Zayne” you manage, voice airy and heart still racing from unintentionally edging yourself over and over again. “I want your fingers.”

It’s probably impossible to miss the way your eyes have been drawn to his hands all evening, big and corded with veins and muscle and scar tissue. Hands gentle enough to care for patients, steady enough to perform surgeries, cruel enough to tease you this mercilessly, and yet you can’t help but imagine what they’re going to feel like when he starts touching you properly.

You’ve probably thought about his hands more times than you’d like to admit.

At the hospital, at the cafe, at night in your apartment. Every inch of his body seems to haunt you like a forgotten memory your body had already grown addicted to.

The moan that rumbles out of Zayne’s chest is low and addicting. He sits back for only a moment before your hips are dragged down the bed, a yelp leaving your lips from the sheer force.

Zayne practically knocks your leg over his shoulder, and when you arch off balance, you press against something that has you inhaling sharply through your nose. Fuck, Zayne’s hard.

He shudders violently at the contact, falling onto his forearms as you roll against him once more, watching his face twist from the painful pleasure you know all too well. You feel his control slipping, both in the way his fingers tighten at your hips and the throbbing heat you feel twitch against your thigh.

And just realizing how much you’ve affected him is enough to send your eyes rolling back into your skull with a violent tremor.

You attempt to grind up against him again when Zayne roughly pins you back down. You writhe helplessly, hips pinned to the mattress as Zayne curses, adjusting himself in his slacks with a rough squeeze. “No.” A command to both himself and you, “You asked for my fingers, so that’s what you will get.”

You’re about to open your mouth to make another demand, but Zayne is one step ahead of you yet again. “That’s all you’re getting.” As if to quell your anger, he begins to thumb at your clit again, moving to take off your last remaining piece of clothing. “Next time.”

A promise he has every intention to keep.

Ironically, Zayne is handling you far more gently than you usually touch yourself, and you find yourself flexing your hips in an attempt to get him to touch you with more pressure. He ignores your endeavors, keeping his pace implacably steady and slow. But you’ve been worked up far too long, and as soon as Zayne begins fucking you with two of his much thicker fingers, you already feel the familiar tension building.

“Do you want to tell me what you’re feeling?”

“Not really,” you manage through clenched teeth.

You feel Zayne pull away and thrust your hips up into nothingness, only making yourself more sensitive when he roughly thumbs at your clit. He slams your hips back down, a cruel pinch to the oversensitive nub forcing you to arch into him as your jaw falls slack.

“That was not a question.” Zayne is still hovering above you, watching as his fingers slip against your cunt, slick with your arousal. “Use your words.”

His voice takes a dark edge every time he commands you now, and you bite your lip to not whimper at the tremor his voice sends down your skin. It’s not fair, the effect something so simple has on you. But while his demand is still ringing in your ears, Zayne curls his fingers further upwards, rubbing directly against that sweet spot inside you with frustrating ease, and you sob.

"Please,” you can’t even remember to beg. Zayne nearly abuses the spot, curling into it over and over again until you’re certain you’re drooling all over the silk of your pillow, writhing. "Please, I'm– I need more, and, ah—“

Zayne hums. "More? You're going to have to be more specific if you actually want to orgasm."

You whine, shaking your head as his eyes narrow. He’s only halfway through scolding you when his finger smacks against your clit, the sharp twinge of pain enough to make you cry. "Don't be a child. Words. Tell me what's giving you pleasure so I can help you."

"It's," a huff of air leaves you and you can barely manage to form a coherent sentence, your mind fogging over completely as Zayne continues to talk. "Hah, your voice helps.”

“My voice?”

Your eyes nearly roll back at the sound of Zayne’s chuckle. A deep, cruel thing that you now think may be all you need to come as your eyes screwed shut. “Well, if that’s the case, then I suppose I should just keep talking. Keep your eyes open.”

You obey, and Zayne simultaneously pulls your jaw towards him, forcing you face-to-face with him. “Look at me.”

You do. You do and really wish you hadn’t because the smug smile pulling at the corner of his lips and the freckles of light green you now see in his softened gray eyes might really be all you need to send yourself over the edge.

And, as if listening, Zayne forces his fingers deeper inside, the tips of his digits hitting the same spot that has your mind fogging over, vision blurring with a disorienting mix of hazy and dizzy. You can barely hold on, fingers twitching against the sheets as suddenly it becomes too much, your hands shooting up as you press desperately against Zayne’s chest.

“Wait–” You’re dizzy. The pressure is consuming you, and you’re losing control. “Please, Zayne.”

He stops immediately, pliant under your touch as he lets you push him away. Even so, his free hand comes up to meet yours, coaxing your fingers against his as he holds it up to his chest, letting you ground yourself with his heartbeat.

The rhythm is comforting.

Zayne isn’t speaking anymore, just looking, waiting for you to give him a sign. He doesn’t dare move, letting his fingers sit still, buried inside of you. You don't know if it's the dizziness lingering in your head or the fact that his fingers are insistently rubbing against a spot inside of you that sends sparks up your spine, but either way, you might be going insane.

“Keep your breathing steady, even when you’re close. Deep breaths.” In, out. In, out. Your chest rises as Zayne’s does, bare skin brushing his. “Good.”

Even as your vision clears, Zayne refuses to let go of your hand, this time pinning it beside your head as he begins to move his other hand too, thumb circling your clit as the others curl against your walls.

When you begin to shake again, his lips ghost by your neck, dangerously soft and hesitant as he kisses down from your jaw, following each whimper and moan you give to him with loyal intent, sucking gently at a spot near your jugular and collarbone.

"Ah, Zayne. I think–" your breathing hitches as Zayne presses another soft kiss against your skin.

"Are you okay?" The softness of his tone nearly breaks you, and you force yourself to ignore it. Focus on the sensations; focus on what you can use for the novel. Nothing more.

You nod.

"What else, darling? Are you close?"

Your breath hitches. The sudden pet name has you reeling, and you feel Zayne keep his steady rhythm, even through your trembling and whining, his thumb mercilessly circling against your clit in ways you swear never feel the same when you’ve done it.

"Call me that again," you cry, nearly begging.

"Come. Come for me, darling."

And you do.

Your vision blurs as you come around Zayne’s fingers, a silent scream catching in your throat. All you can manage is a broken moan as you arch into him, gripping his forearm and holding it in place. Your thighs quiver around his arm, and Zayne holds you still, coaxing you through it as wave after wave of pleasure wash over you.

The sensation is overwhelming. You're not even sure how long it lasts, the only thing grounding you is the weight of Zayne's hand laced against your own.

Slowly, he begins to withdraw his fingers, kissing your knuckles softly.

"How are you feeling?"

The room is quiet, and it feels like all the sound has been sucked out of it. Your head is fuzzy and your whole body is tingling, and all you can focus on is Zayne's soft breathing.

Good, you want to tell him. More than that, your body is still shaking from pleasure and desire, and you can’t stop looking at Zayne’s lips or remembering how hot and needy he felt grinding against your thigh. You can’t stop thinking about him, so instead you say, “Fine.”

Zayne stiffens. “Good.”

He sits up, still scanning your face for something as you watch the fabric of his shirt pull taut across his chest and stomach, and once again you are overwhelmed by the desire to run your hands down his body, to feel his skin against yours. To see more of him.

“I’m going to get you water and a towel.” He says, not moving just yet. “Do you need anything else?”

You shake your head no. Zayne nods, leaning in as his hand goes to your jaw before he pauses halfway and steps out of bed, making his way to your bathroom.

You don’t really remember how much of the night goes by after that, a blur of Zayne attentively guiding you through proper aftercare and you throwing in a few quips here and there at his ceaseless worrying. Before long, he’s saying farewell, and you’re back at your computer screen, empty doc staring right back at you.

But the words never form. Not when your head is still spinning, replaying everything that happened tonight in vivid flashbacks as an overwhelming rush of mortification and desire runs down your spine.

You can’t help but feel that perhaps you just made an irreversible mistake.

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace fanfiction #love and deepspace x reader #lnd zayne #lads zayne #zayne x you #zayne x reader #zayne love and deepspace #lnds smut #l&ds smut #love and deepspace smut #lads x reader #love and deepspace zayne #poisonwrites

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belovedmusings · 1 year ago

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“I’m not going anywhere.”

+ MAJOR MANGA SPOILERS +

Explicit Smut 18+ 🚫Minors DNI🚫

Satoru survived being severed in half thanks to Yuuta’s Reversed Curse Technique and subsequently claimed victory, but you keep reliving the moment you saw him die before your eyes. You wake up beside him one night crying from a nightmare of it, and wanting to make you feel better and remind you that he’s okay and he’s not going anywhere, he lets you take him any way you need him.

Relevant tags: AFAB reader with minimal gendered language, reader insert without using “y/n”, graphic nightmare at the beginning but it’s quick, fix-it, hurt/comfort, soft and emotional sex, handjob, fingering, Satoru’s 6-inch fingers, slow sex, praises and declarations of love, lots of kissing, love bites, riding, unprotected sex, creampie, cockwarming, Satoru’s big cock :’) <3

Music recommended while reading: My Love (Sia), positions (Ariana Grande), Souvenir (Selena Gomez), Religion (Lana Del Rey)

A/N: no I’m absolutely not over wtf happened in ch 236 and yes I’m 100% crazy enough to still believe him when he said he’d win. He’ll win and I trust him. I have to or I’ll go crazy. Here’s this emotional smut to cope.

Read below cut:

He was winning. He was fine, he was smiling and now—

He’s not. He’s not moving, he’s not doing anything but he’s in half he’s in fucking half and there’s so much blood—

You scream. You scream but it sounds like it’s underwater and you can’t breathe, you can’t feel anything but despair and pain and dread and anger and disbelief and fucking devastation. Satoru is— he’s— oh god, he’s—

“Hey.”

You’re sobbing. Tears stream from your eyes but you can’t feel, you can’t see anything, you can’t hear, you can’t exist without him—

“Hey. Hey, hey, hey.”

That voice snaps you back to consciousness, a deep gasp from you following. Warm hands are on your shoulders, and you look up at the source, eyes landing upon Satoru’s concerned face. His beautiful, alive face. What? How?

“Hey,” he murmurs again softly, brows furrowed in worry as he rubs up and down your arm soothingly. “Shh, shh, shh…you’re okay. It was just a bad dream.”

A dream?

“No it wasn’t,” you shake your head, voice broken. The lump in your throat won’t go away as you continue to cry. “You were…you were gone and I—”

“I’m right here,” he cuts him firmly, squeezing your arm. “Look at me. I’m talking to you, aren’t I? I’m fine. Promise.”

Your eyes search his face, his body, and blindly you reach out, touching his clothed abdomen, feeling over it to make absolutely sure he’s not lying. When you feel nothing but solid, warm flesh underneath, even when you touch down to his thigh, you relax, sniffling. He’s completely intact. He’s okay.

You remember then what had happened after he had fallen. You’d gone into a panic, threw up, and blacked out after sobbing uncontrollably after tearing your eyes from the screen that displayed his lifeless body.

When you woke up, you were lying against a wall, Shoko watching over you, telling you that Yuuta managed to get ahold of him while Yuuji and Higuruma were fighting Sukuna. He’d used his Reversed Curse Technique to heal him, and he was up and fighting again, this time facing off with Kenjaku.

It was jarring to see him back alive, like you were seeing the resurrection of a god. But it was okay. He was even stronger than before, and along with the others, he was capable of defeating both of the threats.

His victory had restored balance once more.

He’d come off of that battlefield on his own two feet, sweaty, heavily banged up and exhausted, but he had a brilliant smile on his face that said everything is fine now, and he’d welcomed you into his arms without hesitation.

“Oh god,” you breathe out, “It was a dream. Thank god.”

He wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you in, planting a kiss on your temple.

“I told you I’d win, didn’t I?” He asks, “You gotta trust me, silly. M’ not going anywhere.”

You huff, nuzzling into his chest. “Don’t call me silly because I’m worried about you.”

He sighs softly, rubbing your back. “Fine, fine. But seriously, I’m fine. So no need to worry, okay? I’m right here, however you need me.”

He is. You can feel him in your arms, you can feel him holding you, and yet in your sleep-fogged mind, you can’t help but still retain some anxiety that you’ll wake up again and he’ll be gone for good. That you imagined all of those victories in order to cope. You need to feel more of him to confirm he’s real.

“However I need you?” You ask, drawing back to meet his eyes, gleaming in the dim lighting of the moon. He nods.

“Of course. What kind of boyfriend would I be otherwise? I’m yours to do with as you please.”

You can’t help it; his tone always brings out a special playfulness in you. “As I please? You sound so easy.”

“Easy for you,” he grins wolfishly, and you roll your eyes fondly before sobering up.

“I need more reassurance,” you tell him. “I want to feel you.”

He eyes you curiously, nodding. “Sure thing. What do you have in mind?”

You reach up to touch his face, brushing your thumb between his eyebrows to work out the furrow, then dancing it over his brow bone, then his cheekbone, and finally his lips. You pad it over the soft skin there before leaning up and kissing him, relaxing at the familiar taste of his mouth. He doesn’t hesitate to return the gesture, lips moving with yours in a combination of slow and sensual.

The hand that was resting on his jaw slowly travels down over his neck, where your thumb runs over the column gently, grazing his Adam’s apple a few times before moving on to his collarbone. You explore that spot for a few moments and then massage down his shoulder, over his pec, flattening your palm to feel the beat of his heart.

It calms you to feel that strong thump thump thump against your touch, impassioning you enough to make you deepen the kiss and slip your tongue into his protestless mouth. A soft groan sounds at the back of his throat, and that spurs you on to continue touching him, running your palm over his muscles that were once lithe, but after time spent preparing for battle while he was sealed away to occupy himself, have turned thick and solid. You ghost over the ridges of his abdomen and shiver, feeling each contour through his shirt.

It sends a wave of heat through you and your ministrations turn heavy with desire, finding the hem of his shirt, sliding your hand underneath it and massaging over the hot skin of his naked chest. He groans and guides his own hand from your waist to your ass, clad only in underwear for comfort to sleep, giving it a generous knead.

“Mmh,” you breathe into his mouth, letting him go further to grab your thigh, hooking his hand under your knee and hiking your leg up around his hip.

His tongue runs over yours dirtily as his hand slides back up to the apex of your legs, reaching around to cup your mound through the thin garment over it. His middle and ring fingers massage over that little sensitive pearl just begging to be touched, making you moan softly.

Your lust is deepening by the second and it makes you grow bolder, palm on his abdomen lowering to the front of his boxers and caressing the sizable hardness it finds there. Subconsciously you start to move your hips with his touches, kiss turning sloppy the more you pleasure each other.

The drags of his fingertips get a little too difficult when the fabric over your core gets soaked through, so he easily amends it by slipping his fingers beneath the edge of the article, touching you without any barriers.

“Satoru,” you moan louder as he teases the swollen pearl beneath his digits. He hums in his throat, and wanting to even things out, your hand dips below his boxers, wrapping around the hard and hot erection he’s been sporting since you started kissing him.

A bead of precum at his tip makes the slide a little easier and you feel him start rocking into your hand, meeting your strokes, a breathy groan sounding from him.

He wants the upperhand, of course, so he elects to push two of his lengthy fingers into your entrance, causing you to gasp, spreading your legs wider to accommodate. The man’s digits are long enough to reach your cervix without even trying and he presses pointedly against it, wriggling the tips of his fingers against that sensitive spot teasingly.

“God, Satoru,” you mewl, touching him with more purpose, circling your thumb over his tip.

“Ngh,” he groans in response, moving his hand so that he starts finger-fucking you at a pace, the wet sounds reaching your ears along with the heavy pants from the both of you. You clench around him and he speeds up, abusing that part deep inside of you just with his hand.

You love it when he fingers you but it’s not what you want right now—not truly.

You look up at him, shuddering at the look of unbridled lust pooling in his cerulean eyes. He always gets this certain wild look that gives you goosebumps.

“Satoru,” you manage breathlessly.

“Yeah?” He asks, just as winded.

“I want you inside me. I need to feel you.”

He sucks in a breath and nods, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek before pulling his fingers out of you. He rolls to lay on his back, raising his hand up to his mouth and running his long tongue over the digits coated in your essence, a deep groan sounding after. It invigorates your desire for him and hurriedly, you remove your soaked underwear, freeing him of his own boxers afterward.

He sits up for a moment to get his shirt off, tossing it off the bed and then grabbing your hips, making you straddle his thighs. His hands hook under your shirt and you raise your arms so that he can remove it, the two of you now bare as the day you were born.

He wastes no time in kissing you again, this time more desperately, using one hand to guide your hips over his large cock, the other holding it still. He slides inside as you lower yourself, girth forcing you to stretch generously.

“Fuck,” you breathe into his mouth. You’re familiar with his impressive size by now but it never ceases to light a fire with your nerve-endings, length stuffing you full even before he’s bottomed out. You shudder and push him down to lay out on the bed, following him, breaking the kiss to bury your face in the crook of his neck. His palms grip the tops of your thighs as you lay on his chest, your skin touching everywhere. He’s so warm and sturdy beneath you, you feel like you could stay like this forever, tucked into him, split open on his dick, nestled deep inside you without any effort. You breathe in and get hit with the scent of his skin, musky and sweet in a way that’s unique only to him and completely intoxicating to you.

You push your nose more greedily into the column of his neck, moaning as he starts rolling both of your hips together slowly. Like this, his abdomen provides the perfect firm muscle to grind your swollen pearl on, heightening your pleasure.

He bends his legs to provide himself with a little barrier so that when he pushes your hips down, they don’t have anywhere to go, forcing you to take his cock deeper. It prods at your cervix and forces hot chills over your body, your hands bracing on his shoulders helplessly as he does all of the work.

You inhale deeply as he grinds up into you, walls fluttering around him, eliciting a groan from his syrupy voice.

It sends a shiver through you and wanting to chase it, you flick your tongue out over his collarbone, licking along the flesh to taste him.

“Oh,” he grunts, sucking air through his teeth as you feel him twitch inside of you. Encouraged from his response, you do it again, closing your lips around the spot and sucking. A stuttered breath is pulled from him, your hold on his arms tightening.

Like this, you just feel so safe, so content. He’s all you could ever need. Sure, he’s insufferable sometimes and his personality goes overboard naturally, but he’s never too much for you. He’s serious when he needs to be and so sincere in his sweetness, in his affection—you don’t know what you’d do without him. You thank any god that might exist along with the stars that he survived, that he prevailed and that everything is fine now. Your chest swells with all of the gratitude in the world and it spills over.

“Satoru,” you breathe, feeling tears prick at your eyes, “I love you so much.”

You feel him swallow thickly as his hands rub comfortingly up and down the expanse of your back, kisses being pressed to the top of your head.

“Me too, baby,” he replies softly, voice slightly strained with the distraction of heat around his cock. “I feel the exact same way about you.”

You sigh shakily, littering sloppy, wet kisses over his neck, starting to roll your hips in time with his.

“I’m always gonna be here,” he continues between labored pants, “You…you can’t get rid of me. Mmh—you’re stuck with me for life.”

Your kisses begin to be accompanied by involuntary whimpers, the sensation of him locked inside of you along with his smooth skin rubbing against your sensitive bud starting to overwhelm you.

“I’m gonna…h-hah…love you so much you’ll be annoyed with me,” he continues, sucking air through his teeth, “oh fuck…so glad I have you. I really am.”

You sniffle, a watery smile spreading over your lips. A few tears escape your eyes but this time they’re of joy.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” you say with your entire soul.

“Nothing can keep me down for long,” he assures you, “I promise, okay? I promise.”

You nod against his neck, moaning when he speeds up, hands controlling your movements to meet him thrust for thrust.

“Sh-shit, Satoru,” you mewl, feeling your climax start to approach. His breathing gets heavier and more ragged, chest rising and falling so prominently that it jostles you on top of him, indicating that he’s just as wrecked as you are.

“Fuck, I’m close,” he exhales thinly, “Oh shit, shit, god you’re so tight…I’m gonna…”

You choke on a gasp, eyes squeezing shut. He always rambles when he’s nearing his finish, control on his words slipping, and you think it’s the hottest thing in the world.

“Ngh,” he gasps out, guiding you faster on top of him. You clench at the feeling, nearing the peak—“oh fuck, it’s gonna, it’s—a-ah, ah, fuck…”

You feel exactly when he cums, cock twitching hard as he spills against the entrance to your womb. The feeling of release pouring coupled with his incessant grinding on your mound pushes you to climax, a full body shudder taking over you as you tighten around his member.

He groans at the feeling, giving you another spurt of release, hands moving up to hug you close, pressing his cheek to your forehead.

“That was so good,” he breathes.

You nod in agreement, kissing his neck once more.

You know this is the part where you get off of him so you can clean up to get back to sleep, but you don’t want to move at all. You’re completely sated now, and the feeling of his softening cock inside of you is comforting. Undeniable proof that he’s right here with you in the form of a dull stretch in your core.

“Let’s stay like this,” you tell him, and he chuckles softly.

“It’s just that good, isn’t it?”

You snort softly, raising up to meet his eyes. “You’re such a little shit.”

His smile is lazy and mirthful. “Ah, but I’m your little shit. By law you have to deal with me forever, sorry.”

He shrugs in a way that indicates he’s not sorry at all, and your grin widens.

“I’m happy to deal with you forever.”

His beautiful face is radiant with the next smile he gives you, and when your lips meet in a soft kiss, you realize that all of the anxiety and fear that nightmare had left you with has been melted away.

Satoru is real, and he’s okay. He really isn’t going anywhere. He’s safe and warm and set to live a long and happy life by your side.

When the kiss ends you lay back down on his chest, and he takes to drawing invisible circles over your back with his fingertips, the steadiness of his breath, the sureness of his heartbeat, and his comforting scent all lulling you to a peaceful sleep with the promise of his presence tomorrow.

___

A/N: I actually miss him so much to the point where it’s debilitating. I’m literally a widow at this point I might as well put a picture of him in a fuckin locket and wear it like he sent it in his last letter to me, like Gege u bitch that was our husband

Please don’t repost my work but feel free to reblog/share. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed :)

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moonyor · 26 days ago

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SPOILERS FOR CHAPTER 107 SXF MANGA ₊⊹

RIGHT i know i’m delusional but hear me out 😭😭

so, chapter 107 ends off with us finding out that lunaluna selena is actually melinda,

which i kinda thought it would be her so woohoo

ALSO on an unrelated note, a lot of people are saying stuff which makes melinda look really sus and although it doesn’t make much sense, i feel like she probably had to do some last minute work or something— she did organise the whole event (with her group), but something probably didn’t work out so maybe she had to fill in for someone??? i’m not sure, she did mention her being sleep deprived too, so maybe it was her being tired from organising the event and having to fill in? idk though 💯

okay back to what i was saying!!! so, skipping a few things, what if melinda does end up reading both yor and anyas palms? i imagine her saying something along the lines of “oh i’ll read your palms since that’s what you came here for!” and then explaining how her readings arent very accurate, but saying that she’d try to make it as accurate as possible since, well, it’s yor and anya

anya would DEFINITELY say “ME FIRST ME FIRST” and both melinda and yor would just go along with it 😭 (we love anya guys)

OKAY now hear me out, what if, for anya, melinda describes damian as her partner or whatever??? and loid as yors??? i’ll explain further 🗣️🗣️

both our girls go to see how compatible they are with their “soulmate” right?? and possibly to see who their significant other is too, so melinda tries to be accurate and gives descriptions of damian for anya and loid for yor ⁉️⁉️

i imagine the description for damian to be hilarious, saying how he can be pretty honest wellllll….. foul-mouthed? you get my drift. anya would be like “yikes why the hell is my man like that i don’t want that pls 😭💔” and then melinda saying how he’s truly soft deep down and how he’s really just a sweetheart #tsunderedamian

ALSO: anya could possibly read melinda’s mind and find out she’s referring to damian, but i don’t see this happening as in my eyes, melinda herself would not be aware of who the person she’s describing is, but she would know how they may look and certain personality traits of theirs!!!! i’m not sure though 😅

as for loid and yor, yor would be COMPLETELY oblivious while melinda is stating the obvious, kinda like the panel of yuri describing loid, it was in chapter 12 i believe?? anyway, yuri says something like “sure, maybe he’s tall, good looking, blonde” etc etc, i see melinda basically stating how he looks and how he overworks himself 😭😭😭 loid is an absolute workaholic but yor is too dumb (i’m sorry yor not in a bad way i love you) to realize that melinda is actually basically just stating everything about loid 😿😿

yor, loid and anya then meet up again after they leave the place and loid asks what happened blah blah blah, yor THEN literally says everything melinda told her and how that’s her partner and how they’re perfect for each other

they’re so cute together i’m actually crazy about them

ANYWAYS loid either is just as clueless as yor, and somewhat jealous that there’s someone else out there that’s PERFECT for yor (although he doesn’t recognise his jealousy and quickly dismisses it) OR he’s like “hey.. that kinda sounds like me??”

obviously he doesn’t say this out loud and he just thinks this in his head, but he does go on to explain how he’s happy there’s someone out there like that for yor (and he thinks that someone is him)!!!! i feel like his ego would get slightly boosted by the fact that yors other half is him, and obviously, he doesn’t say this directly and recognise it properly but he still does act somewhat giddy 😭😭😭🩷🩷🩷

THATS IT FROM ME!!! this is my first post so i don’t think it’ll reach many people— i’m not really sure on how tumblr works lmao but i just needed to get my delusional thoughts out!!!!!

this would be cute but i’m expecting something a lot bigger than this and i don’t think there’s gonna be much romance at all, in fact i feel as if there’s gonna be a lot of action in the next few chapters and oh boy am i excited!!!!! 🔥🔥🔥

if this did happen it probably wouldn’t be like how i’ve explained it, and it’d probably be like the calm before the storm 💔😭

oh well i guess we’ll find out in a month

#loid forger #sxf anya #sxf spoilers #spy x family manga spoilers #loid x yor #loidyor #agent twilight #yor briar #i’m tweaking helo #guys but guys please what if #wait rhis is my first post HELP #damian desmond #damianya #anya forger #spy x family anya #chapter 107 #spy x family #spy x family manga #i’m so delusional please send help

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uousoupki · 1 month ago

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i love how fujimoto shows how pathetic yoru is throughout the manga - she goes from being weak, to slowly gaining her power back (which we see throughout part 2) and then she’s rendered defenceless in the ageing devils world where she seemingly can’t do anything other than wait to turn into a tree.

then she takes out her anger onto denji through violence and then after he starts crying she decided to kiss him - she’s flushed (from anger I assume) and her decision to kiss denji could be a mix of her own/Asa’s feelings towards him but also as a way to control something in this scenario where otherwise she has NO control. she no longer has her powers, she is weakened so she takes control by using denji.

the trees also previously being people who were turned into trees was also crazy - it creates such a feeling of helplessness where you can’t escape so all you can do is wait for your mind and soul to become one with nature & even despite being a devil (THE war devil - one of the four horsemen) for now there is nothing that can be done to escape (I really like this concept actually twirling my hair around my finger)

the way fujimoto illustrates the people-turned-trees is so beautiful in a way yet also horrifying. the idea of it is terrifying but the process of succumbing to nature to return to the real world is beautiful in a way im not explaining this well lmao

denji. DENJI. I’m so devastated everytime I read a new chapter I go “fujimoto won’t make Denji’s life worse this time will he??” AND HE DOES (agony)

anyway. denji crying and apologising because he believes every bad thing that happens to the people around him is HIS fault and hates that. fujimoto I need a WORD. denji deciding that he will stay in the ageing devils world and become a tree as a punishment for his actions is actually gonna make me explode I can’t do this

#yapping #csm 181 #chainsaw man #r we making it out of this one boys #sorry if shit is worded weird I’m so bad at being comprehensible

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demonsslayersstuff · 2 months ago

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Life Moved on Without You (Gojo x Gender Neutral Reader)

A/N: In honor of JJK ending I wanted to write this Drabble that had been floating around my notes for a while. Warnings: Character Death, JJK spoilers, angst. If you haven’t read the manga and don’t want to be spoiled, please don’t read this fic. It’s a bit rough, so I might edit it later. Enjoy!

First Year:

You shiver as you pull your scarf tighter across your neck as the wind whips around your body, chilling you to the core. You continue down the path, determined to make it to your destination, weather be damned. The snow crunches under your feet as you find yourself walking towards a familiar grove of trees. It’s not long before you come across his headstone. You bite your lip as you feel the onslaught of tears already starting. Has it really already been a year without him?

You take a deep breath, steading yourself before you step closer, wiping the wet snow off the cool marble stone. Once you’ve completed the task you lay a bouquet of flowers at its base, and kneel for a few minutes in silence, thinking of the right words to say to him.

“Hey…Satoru”, you start, but your voice cracks, so you take another deep breath before starting again. “It’s been a year without you, a long hard year”, you begin. “I’m trying, I really am, but it’s not easy….I still think about you everyday”, you continue. “The kids are doing well, I honestly think they’re adjusting better than I am”, you say the last part with a sad chuckle. “God, I miss you”, you murmur as tears fall down your face. You cry for a moment, letting yourself be in pain. It takes you some time before you speak again.

“I uh…I finally moved out of our apartment. Found a new one a little closer to work”, you say, staring down at the flowers you’d placed on the grave. “I’m sorry, I loved our place…but I needed to let it go for my sake and Shoko’s”, you continue. “I couldn’t keep hiding at her place”, you sigh. You reach out and trace his name inscribed on the stone, “I hope you’re having fun up there with the others”, you whisper before falling silent.

You’d had this big speech prepared, but ultimately floundered. Being here was harder than you wanted to admit. Just as you turn to leave, you feel a something cold and wet land on your cheek. You look up and watch as huge white snowflakes begin to fall gracefully from the sky. You smile and lift your face up towards the falling snow somehow knowing this was his way of saying hello.

The Fifth Year:

You sigh as you unfold the blanket in front of his headstone. Today was an unusually warm December 24, something that today of all days you were grateful for.

You plop down on the blanket, before reaching into your bag, grabbing two cups and your thermos. You quietly pour the hot drink into the cups as the wind blows through the leafless trees. You place one at the base of his headstone before clicking it with your own glass. “I know how much you loved my homemade hot chocolate”, you murmur before taking a large sip from your cup.

“It’s crazy how quickly life goes on”, you say staring at the last dregs of the hot chocolate in your cup. “The kids continue to grow up much too fast, they’re no longer students”, you continue. “Megumi and Nobara have been sent on a mission abroad, but they send their love. Yuji is quickly following you in your footsteps. He is a teacher now, with the same damn antics as you”, you chuckle. “As for me, I’m still the same love. I’m finding the little joys in life again, though I still miss you”, you say, whispering the last part.

You sit as his grave for a long time, watching as the sun moves across the cloudless sky. Once you see the blue hue beginning to turn into shades of golds and purples you begin to pack up your stuff. You lean down and softly touch your lips to his name whispering, “Merry Christmas, Satoru”, before you walk away.

The Fifteenth Year:

As with many things, grief comes and goes in many different waves. Unlike the past few years, this year hit you incredibly hard.

You stand in front of his grave, dressed in all black as tears stream endlessly down your face. You didn’t want to accept the reality that now you had lived longer in the world without Satoru Gojo than you had with him in it. “I don’t remember what you smell like”, you say honestly, continuing to stare at his name. “I kept your jacket, but your scent is long gone”, you continue before falling silent.

You feel a reassuring squeeze on your shoulder and look over to see Yuji giving you a sad smile. “It’s ok”, he tells you softly, before leaning down to place the flowers he had brought with him. You didn’t have much in you today, you were too angry at the world. How was it fair that you had to live so long without him? You reach out and touch the weathered stone briefly before turning around, walking away without saying your usual goodbyes.

Yuji sighs as he watches you leave. “Don’t worry Sensei, I’ll keep an eye on them”, he mumbles before hurrying away. Moving to quickly catch up with you, determined to follow through with his promise.

The Thirtieth Year:

Your hips ached as you leaned down to wipe away the old leaves and dirt that had befallen on the now aged headstone. “Sorry I haven’t come in a while love, I’ve been so incredibly busy”, you say as you tuck your hands back into your coat pocket, the cold stinging your fingers.

“There’s another six eyes and limitless user now. Though I’m a bit too old to be teaching anyone anymore, since I was married to you, the new board asked me to oversee their training”, you continue. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep them humble”, you quip, willing yourself to remember the sound of his laugh, another thing time has slowly taken away from you.

“I find myself wondering what you would have looked like if you were here today, would your face be wrinkled like mine? Would your back ache too?”, you question aloud. “You didn’t even make it to thirty…at least you’ll be eternally beautiful to me”, you sigh. “I miss you, always have, always will”, you whisper.

The Forty-Fifth Year:

The three of them stand there, huddle together as snow falls silently from the sky. “They’re finally together”, the woman says somberly, yet at the same time feeling a sense of happiness. They continue to stand there looking at the two headstones, one old and weathered, one brand new, striking compared to the other.

“I just hope they found each other again. Can you believe they lived over forty years without him and never…remarried or anything”, the taller man muses. “They loved him”, the other man replies quietly. “They told me there was no body else”, he continues before falling silent. “Alright it’s getting a bit too cold for me, let’s head back ”, the woman says before turning around to walk away, one of the men joining her. The taller man remains there for a moment, his pink hair now replaced with natural grays. “Goodbye…I’ll see you both again one day”, he whispers before joining his friends as the snow picks up, blanketing everything in its wake.

Bonus:

You awaken to see a familiar pair of blue eyes that you hadn’t seen in so long. “Satoru”, you mumble, slightly confused. “Did you miss me sweets?”, he laughs as you reach out to hesitantly poke his face. “This dream feels so weird”, you tell him. You watch as a sad smile befalls his youthful face. “It’s not a dream love”, he tells you gently.

The reality of his words ring through your ears and you realize what had come to pass. “Does this mean I can finally be with you?”, you ask him, voice cracking slightly. “Yes”, he tells you. You cry as you launch yourself into his arms, “God I missed you so much Satoru”, you say, deeply breathing in his scent you had so desperately missed. “I missed you too love. I was here waiting patiently for you”, he replies, cupping your face in his hands. “I don’t want to be separated from you ever again”, you say staring up into his stunning blue eyes. “Never again”, he whispers before he leans down to kiss you, a warmth spreading through your body, you were finally at peace.

#jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru #jjk fic #jjk angst #jjk drabbles #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n

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spinningwebsandtales · 1 year ago

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Imagine Gojo Convincing You To Sneak Out Of The Dorms

Gojo Satoru X FemReader

Rating: G

Warnings: Breaking the rules with Gojo, fluff

Word Count: 1.2k

Part 2: here

(A/N:) I don’t know about y’all but I am LOVING the new season of Jujutsu Kaisen! I read the manga and keep up with all the chapters coming out but this was what I was most excited to see come to life. The arc that delves into the past is my top favorite and I love seeing student Gojo. So be prepared for some more Gojo fics and I even have a couple Toji fics lined up as well. If Gojo didn’t exist in the JJK universe I think I’d be a Toji fangirl through and through. Anyway I had to write this and sorry for my absence here lately hopefully that’ll make up for it! Until next time happy reading! ~Countess

You should have been asleep hours ago, but for some reason all you could do was lay in bed and look at the ceiling. The alarm clock at your bedside glowing in the darkness, reminding you of every minute that went by that you needed to get some sleep. Your frustrations grew when the time turned one in the morning and still sleep evaded you. You finally set up, the blankets bunching at your waist before reaching for the lamp at your bedside. You couldn’t even turn the switch when tapping came from your dorm window. You jumped, squeaking in surprise. With a trembling hand you turned on the lamp to spy a head of silvery white hair behind the glass. Gojo waved wildly, grinning like the cat that got the cream as he spotted you, wide awake. His ever present sunglasses reflecting the lamplight when you got up and walked to the window. He backed up giving you enough room to open it and peek your head out.

“What are you doing,” you seethed as you wanted to shout but had to stick with whispering angrily. “You scared me half to death!”

“Can’t sleep,” he asked while moving his body back and forth. It reminded you of rice moving in the wind. You snorted at the thought, as Gojo was slim and tall like rice. He cocked his head but you waved his curiosity away.

“No and now I really won’t be able to with my adrenaline going crazy thanks to you.”

“Let’s sneak out.”

Of course you should have known not to expect an apology from Gojo Satoru. You believed that he would burst into flames if he said ‘I’m sorry’. It wasn’t the powerful sorcerer in training’s style. But you found yourself drawn to him anyway as deep down despite his cocky attitude and devil may care attitude he was a good person. He would make a great teacher if he didn’t get kicked out from his incessant shenanigans first. You couldn’t believe the principal hadn’t gotten rid of him yet. Though you were sure it’s because Satoru was from the Gojo clan with a sprinkle of their teacher protecting him.

“No,” you answered your patience running short. “I’m sick of getting in trouble because of you.”

“We’ll be extra careful,” Gojo replied. “Those other times were just flukes.”

“And I’m sure leaving me alone to take the brunt of the blame was just a fluke too,” you retorted. “I’m not taking the fall for you anymore Satoru Gojo.”

You were about to shut the window in his face when he snagged the frame with his hand. His blue eyes staring straight through you as his sunglasses had slipped down his nose. You sucked in a breath as he grinned.

“We both know you ratted me out every time,” Gojo replied. You tried to pull the window close but his grip was firm and wouldn’t budge.

“I still got in trouble,” you said. There was no reason in lying to him as Gojo knew everything that happened in the school. And you weren’t ashamed at throwing him under the bus. It helped take your punishment down a notch. So if it helped you out and got the reason behind your bad behavior punished further, so be it. Gojo would do the same thing in the situation, if he actually cared about getting into trouble.

“C’mon,” he purred, “let’s go to the beach. You can’t sleep anyway.”

The beach did sound fun and despite yourself you felt your willpower beginning to flounder at every word and every glance in those heavenly blue eyes.

“Why don’t you go bother Geto,” you groaned. He chuckled before giving you a quick peck on the cheek. It stunned you but you didn’t let Gojo see how much the affection effected you. Climbing out of the window you stood beside your partner in crime within seconds. Your lamp still glowing on your bedside and the window ajar, you gently closed it back but not latching it. If you couldn’t get back into your room and you would have to bunk with Satoru and he wouldn’t let you sleep at all if you ever grew tired.

The city was asleep as you both rarely came across another person on the sidewalk you traversed. The ones you did run into turned out to be drunk office workers on their way home from drinking with their coworkers. Gojo would make fun of their stumbling gates as they passed by, which had you giggling into your hand. The air had a chill and you shivered at the icy breeze that passed through your night clothes. Despite acting like he didn’t care majority of the time about others unless ordered to, Gojo stepped closer every time pulling you into his side. His body though tall and lanky was well built and you blushed at the feeling of his toned form pressed against you. You only shoved him away after you warmed up and couldn’t take your burning cheeks anymore.

When you began to hear the waves lapping at the sandy shore did you take off running. Gojo quickly caught up and you both raced to the water. Of course he won and you wound up having to catch your breath halfway there. He teased you kicking at the water while all you could do was glare in his direction, which only made the young sorcerer laugh harder at your plight. Before you could finish regaining your strength, Gojo dashed across the sand again scooping you up and then running back to the water. You were sure he was going to throw you into the salty waves, but surprisingly he set you down gently in the sand. The lights of ships in the distance filled the night and the dock lights illuminated the golden sand. You breathed in deeply, filling your senses with fresh air. Though you knew if the principle found out you both had snuck out...again... you would be in horrible trouble you were glad you both snuck out. Your body wouldn’t allow you to sleep anyway and the atmosphere that surrounded the beach always soothed you no matter what.

Gojo was quiet for the longest time letting you soak in the calming surroundings in peace. When you sighed and your shoulders drooped, he silently took your hand. You glanced up at the young man that was just a little older than you, his blue eyes glancing down at you. An unfamiliar light glimmered, but you couldn’t bring yourself to question it. You were about to say something when an enraged voice called from the docks. Both your names echoed across the water and your blood froze. Foiled again and it didn’t take long for Gojo to revert back to normal Gojo, except this time when he took off running you were in tow. Your feet churned up sand and you could barely keep up, but as the adrenaline surged you found yourself laughing in amusement. Gojo laughed with you as you both ran to make your escape. The thought of going back never crossed your mind as you lost yourself enjoying the escape that Gojo talked you into. You gripped his hand tighter and willed yourself to run faster, keeping up with his longer legs while the teachers tried their best to keep up. You were glad that you weren’t able to sleep as you would have missed this with him.

#Gojo Satoru X Reader #Satoru Gojo X Reader #Satoru Gojo #Jujutsu Kaisen #Gojo Satoru Imagine #Jujutsu Kaisen Imagine #Imagine #Not My Gif #My Writing

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yuseirra · 2 months ago

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Ch 161~

Can't draw so much during the week..!

More commentary about 161..

I'm actually convinced Fatal and Mephisto should be Kamiki's song?? I think some things hint of it.

and that he DOES really care about Aqua.

and that he does have to do with Sarutahiko, Amenouzume's husband(although this part is a speculation)

More stuff in the read more:

(first written in another language and chatGPT helped me translate it... I can't write things like this twice ;v; it's a great world here. so convenient~)

Honestly, it's frustrating and a bit agonizing; what is this even about? The plot is stressful, but...

Still, being able to focus like this... I guess it’s a good thing to find a work that hooks you and makes you think deeply in some way.

LOL, it also means I’m living a life where I have enough time to care about a manga, even though I’m currently in a pretty tough spot.

This manga, whether it's in a good or bad direction, seems to be driving me crazy in its own way.

If I’m disappointed, I can always go read something else, (I even got permission from someone to draw a Persona fanfic fanart, but I’ve been too hooked on this manga to do it.. that fanfic was so good.. I need to do it sooner or later..).

But I was so confident about my analyses. Like, really... I’m usually good at picking up on these kinds of things? This manga is great at psychological portrayal, and it was amusing to analyze that, There are just too many things sticking out for me, and things feel uneasy.

It’s not about the pairing... It just keeps bothering me... Am I really missing the mark on this? I’m usually good at sensing these things...

Without the movie arc, this development would be fine, but that arc is sandwiched in there, and I interpreted the character based on that too...

Honestly, every time I listen to the songs, I get this strong feeling like, "This isn’t Aqua." The kind of emotions in these songs, it's not him that's singing them. It's the dad. I immediately posted about it when I first heard it in July. As soon as I heard it, I thought, "This is it," and got a gut feeling.

I really want to feel that emotion again.

Even if Kamiki does turn out to be a serial killer, I still think these songs could describe his inner state.

I think we’ll get some explanation in the next five chapters or so, even if it takes a bit longer.

Also, the expression Kamiki makes when Aqua stabs him is so genuine. Until that moment, he had been smiling, but...

If that expression was because he suddenly felt threatened with his life, it’s a bit pathetic. But... I don’t think that’s the case. What I really pay attention to are the emotional flow and expressions.

When Aqua says he wants to watch Ruby perform, the smile on Kamiki’s face... it’s soft. That’s... definitely a look of affection. It’s not like, “Oh, I've won him over!” or, “Yes, I’ve convinced him!” I interpreted it as Kamiki having paternal love, and there was a scene that backed up that idea earlier. I’m sure he really likes Aqua.

That’s not a bad expression. It’s more like, "Yeah, you wish to see Ruby, don't you. Go ahead, watch her. Keep living" (Which makes me wonder, is he really planning to harm Ruby? If he harms her, maybe he plans to do it after the Dome performance? But even that doesn’t make sense. Does that mean Aqua would have to come back to stab him AGAIN after that takes place?? Does it really add up to his logic for telling him to go watch her?)

Aqua says Kamiki will destroy Ruby’s future, but...

How exactly is he going to do that? Hasn't this guy literally done nothing? If they're talking about the Dome performance, at least that should go off without a hitch, right? So at least until then, Ruby would be safe?? So, Kamiki isn't planning to harm Ruby now at least, right? Even with that weird.. logic that he proposes (I hope he's lying about that tbh)

Then when Aqua smiles and says something like, "Haha, but I’ll just kill you and die with you," while pointing the knife at him again...

Kamiki’s expression at that moment really stands out, and it’s not like a twisted look of being frustrated about things not going his way. It’s not anger or annoyance he's feeling. It’s the same shocked and despairing expression we saw in chapters 146 and 153.

Aqua seems to have no clue what kind of person his father really is, huh? He can’t read him at all.

Honestly, from the way Kamiki speaks, I get the impression that he’s actually quite kind. He’s not saying anything too wrong.

Remember the scene where Ruby gets angry because people were talking carelessly about Ai’s death? Kamiki probably knows about that too. I think Aqua and Ai, and Ruby and Kamiki, are quite alike in nature. Kamiki might’ve felt a lot of grief over Ai at that time. I do believe he loved Ai.

The phrase, "People don’t want the truth," is pretty painful, especially if you think about Ai. That’s why Ai lived telling lies. Isn't Kamiki thinking about what's happened to her, then? By bringing that up? He should have felt it, loving/watching a person like her and what unfolded.. Ai died because of the truth that she had kids with him. Ugly fans like Ryosuke and Nino couldn't take her being less than perfect. Wouldn't this have hurt Kamiki too? The fact that they loved each other(At least Ai did genuinely, we know that) was unwanted. People could not accept that, and that's one of the reasons why they had to break up.

From the way Kamiki talks, it feels like he genuinely doesn’t want his son or daughter to go through that kind of pain.

I think Kamiki has a pretty good nature. When you look at how he speaks, it’s gentle, and he seems to genuinely care about Aqua and knows a lot about him. Maybe he’s been watching over him from afar for a long time? He probably even knows who his son has feelings for.

It really feels like Kamiki is trying to persuade him: "I’m fine with dying. But you, you have so many reasons to live, right? Shouldn’t you return to the people you care about?"

And, the way Kamiki reacts after Aqua stabs him also shows it. He’s visibly agitated afterward. His expression noticeably shifts to panic and darkness.

Wait... stop it, don’t do this! That’s what he says.

The way he’s talking to Aqua in that moment.

It’s not like, “How dare you?” but more like, “Aqua, please don’t do this.”

It really seems like he doesn’t want Aqua to die.

He’s really shocked by it.

From his expressions, he seems more shocked by Aqua getting stabbed than by his own fall, like he didn’t even know how to react properly. He's being grabbed onto but he isn't looking at the hands that are grabbing him, his line of sight is on Aqua there

The final expression he makes can seem really pathetic, but...

Oh man, I think that’s the truth of that situation.

And it makes sense because Ai dreamed of raising her kids with this guy. I think he could’ve been a really great father who adored his kids... at least until the point they separated. He was just really young back then.

Doesn’t this guy really love his kids? Even without the movie arc, there have been hints of his concern for them.

I’m not trying to interpret him kindly just because I particularly like or find this character attractive.

If he’s a serial killer psychopath, then yeah, he should die here. When I first got spoiled, my reaction was completely merciless. "Well, he should die if he's like that," I said. But...

I don’t think that’s the case. It really seems like he cares about Aqua.

Oh, and Kamiki’s soul being noble in the past is mentioned, right?

So, he was a good person before?

Well, I guess I wasn’t totally off in reading his character? LOL.

Does that mean he could be a fallen god?(could be a stretch, but there IS a lyric in fatal about fallenness!!!)

Sarutahiko is often described as a "noble" and "just" god, so it’s quite possible that Kamiki’s true nature is based on Sarutahiko, the husband of Ame-no-Uzume = Ai.

That couple was very affectionate, and according to the Aratate Shrine description, they even go as far as blessing marital relationships. Those gods really love each other. In that case, Ai being so fond and loving of Hikaru also makes sense. It could explain why she asked her kids to save him...

So, can't “Fatal” be his song? Maybe he’s fallen from grace?

The lyrics in "Fatal" say things like, "What should I use to fill in what’s missing?" Could that be about human lives? But did he really kill people? How can you save someone after that? That’s why I don’t think he went that far.

"Without you, I cannot live anymore"

“I would sacrifice anything for you”

This isn’t Aqua. This is Kamiki.

Would Aqua do that much for Ai? He shouldn’t be so blind.

When I listened to "Fatal," I immediately thought of "Mephisto" because the two songs are so similar in context.

They’re sung by the same narrator, aren’t they? That made it clear what Kamiki’s purpose was, which is why I started drawing so much about him and Ai after that.

He keeps saying he’ll give up his life and that he wants to see Ai again. This isn’t Aqua! These feelings are different from what Aqua has.

At first, I thought because Ruby = Amaterasu, with Tsukuyomi having shown up, and Aqua perhaps having relations to Susanoo (he’s falling into the sea this time, right? LOL) I wondered if Ai and her boyfriend’s story was based on the major myth of Izanagi and Izanami, since they’re so well-known.

That myth is famous for how the husband tries to save his wife after she dies, though he fails in the end.

The storyline is similar to Mephisto’s, so I thought, "Could this be it?"

And then I realized Sarutahiko and Ame-no-Uzume's lores also fit really well. Ai thinking Kamiki was like a jewel when they first met is similar to how Ame-no-Uzume saw Sarutahiko shining when they first met. Sarutahiko guiding Ame-no-Uzume is similar to how Hikaru taught Ai how to act. They even had descendants that have a title that means "maiden who's good at dancing" The two also fell for each other at first sight. The shrine the characters visit in the story is supposedly where those two met and married. If they REALLY are those gods in essence, It feels like something went wrong with the wish because one or both of them became twisted.

Anyway, I think Kamiki was originally noble but fell from grace, and it’s likely that Ai’s death was the catalyst.

But I’m not sure if he really went as far as killing people.

What is Tsukuyomi even talking about? I’ve read it several times, and I still don’t fully understand.

I really hope she's wrong because… killing others to make Ai’s name carry more weight? That doesn’t make any sense. What does “the weight of her name” supposed to mean?? I don't think that's something that should be taken just at face value, I feel like there's more behind this idea.

What kind of logic is that? And on top of that, I can’t understand why Ai’s life would become more valuable if Kamiki dies. It just doesn’t follow.

Why would he even say that?

He must be really confident... Does he think he’s someone greater than Ai?

Even so, how does it connect?

I read two books today, because I started wondering if my reading comprehension has dropped. Thankfully, I’m still able to read books just fine. It’s not like I can’t read, you know? I’ve taken media literacy classes and pride myself on not having terrible reading comprehension.

I tried to make sense of what exactly the heck this may mean, and I think.. if it were to mean something like, “I’ll offer my life as a sacrifice to Ai,” I’d at least get that. That kind of logic, in a way, has some practical meaning.

Kamiki talked about sacrifices? tributes? offerings? in chapter 147. I really remember certain scenes clearly because I’ve gone over them carefully. In that case, if Kamiki dies, then the weight or value of his life would transfer to Ai, and that would “help” her, right?

If the story is going in that direction,

when I look at “Mephisto” and “Fatal,” I can see that by doing this, Kamiki would have a chance to either save Ai or get closer to her. At least that makes some sense.

But is it really right for Ai to ask someone to save Kamiki, who killed others? As soon as the idea of it came up, I knew something was up.

Because of what Ai's wanted, I think it’s possible that Kamiki didn’t actually go that far. In the songs, they talk about gathering light and offering something, but they don’t say anything about killing people… Kamiki said he’d sacrifice his own life. People around him may have died, but…

Kamiki’s true personality doesn’t seem like the type to do that… And looking at his actions when Aqua was stabbed??

He hasn’t shown any direct actions yet, so I still don’t know how far he’d actually go.

It’s not that I don’t believe Tsukuyomi’s words entirely,

but I don’t think the conclusion is going to be something like, “Ai should’ve never met Kamiki.”

Every time we see Kamiki’s actual actions, there’s this strange gentleness to him, and that’s what’s confusing me.

The more I look closely, the weirder it feels, and something about it just bothers me. If Kamiki were truly just a completely crazy villain, I’d think, “Oh, so that’s who he is,” and I wouldn’t deny it.

But each time, I start thinking that maybe Ai didn’t meet someone so strange after all? Ai liked him that much, so on that front, it makes sense to me. I want to believe that’s the right conclusion. I mean, doesn’t what he says sound kind? Isn’t he gentle?

No, but seriously, when Kamiki listened to Aqua’s reasons for wanting to live, I thought his expression was warm. It didn’t seem like some calculated expression like “according to plan” like Light Yagami. It felt more like a fond, affectionate expression. I draw too, you know. I pay a lot of attention to expressions. This character often makes expressions that really stand out.

It’s like he’s genuinely trying to convince Aqua not to do anything reckless. Maybe I’m being soft on Kamiki because he’s Ai’s boyfriend? But actually, it’s not like that?

I mean, I’m the type who’s like, “Anyone who did something bad to Ai should die!!” It’s because he’s a character. If this were a real person, I wouldn’t so casually tell someone to go die or say such strong things.

But… he seems like a good person.

+It’s a small thing, but why did Kamiki drop his phone while talking about Ruby? Ppft If you drop it from that height, it’d probably crack. Was he trying to look cool? (It’s an Apple phone, huh.) Is he a bit clumsy? Well... since it looks like him and Aqua are about to fall into the sea, maybe it was a blessing he did so. The phone might be saved after all. If he manages to climb out of there, he could contact someone with that phone.

#oshi no ko #oshi no ko spoilers #oshi no theories #hikaru kamiki #hikaai #aqua hoshino #ai hoshino #spollers #wow I write so much about this comic #I'm so surprised I have so much to say about this too...#I was never this chatty?????#maybe I was but NOT THIS MUCH #doodle

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dekusleftsock · 1 year ago

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I thought everyone was exaggerating when people kept bringing up the whole “bakugou says he’s Kacchan bc of kaminari” thing, but they actually believe that… what?

WHAT

Literally how do you guys function

AND THEY CALL ME DELULU???????

It’s such a stretch too. Like “oh yeah he said Kacchan no Bakugou in this movie” ITS NOT EVEN IN THE MANGA HELLO???

The whole reason Kaminari calls Katsuki Kacchan is because he’s making fun of him. It’s poking fun at the fact that Katsuki can’t say anything or get mad at Kaminari because then it would raise the question, “Well why can Midoriya say it?”

He literally side eyes him every time he does it but ultimately doesn’t react because he can’t. He can’t if he wants to keep up the act that he is uninterested in what Izuku represents, who he is.

SO WHY, IN THE EVER LOVING FUCK, WOULD IT BE KAMINARI?

WHO is present in this battle?

WHO is the person that made eye contact with him the second he woke up?

WHO is the one that grabbed his hand immediately upon Katsuki flinging himself towards them??

I don’t think THEY even believe it either, I think it’s just some way to cope and explain away the fact that this moment is inherently romantic.

Because I don’t think he’s making fun of the name Kacchan, I think he’s wearing it proudly. I don’t think it’s a joke at all. It’s a joke in the disbelieving way—the way you act when you’ve made an enormous accomplishment or won some prize, and you just can’t help but act absolutely insane at the fact. Because it’s funny that you’re here, in this situation. It’s hilarious in that disbelieving way.

Because he’s laughing at the truth, he’s been laughing at nothing this ENTIRE CHAPTER.

“Ouch! Haha! I’m so fast!”

“I can’t even stop! Ha! Ouch!”

Note: (I’m not using the official translations because for some reason they lack the maniacal crazed laughter and I’m confused as to why?? I even checked with pikahlua and they specified that there was laughing so…. I’m confused.)

What’s even weirder about this is the fact that afo also says (in pikahlua’s translations) “just who is this brat?!” Instead of “what is wrong with him” which implies less crazed bakugou ness imo. Confused as to why, again.

Because this can’t be happening.

Now, I know it could very well be him teasing afo and calling him dumb, saying basically “you’re too young/old to even know how to pronounce my name, use Kacchan instead like the child you are.” Especially since in the context of names like Katsuki’s, he has that tsu sound that can be hard for children to pronounce. (I’m not 100% on this but I’m pretty sure that the u sound is also meant to be silent since it’s a double consonant. So Katsuki’s name is technically pronounced “Ka-ts-ki”)

BUT IDK I THINK HES JUST FUCKED AND A LITTLE CRAZY RN!

That maniacal laughter at the fact that he’s in pain, the disbelief that he may even surpass Izuku, to me it’s holding a double meaning. The meaning that afo is dumb and needs to be treated like the child he is, and the meaning behind the fact that it’s a name Izuku owns for him. That’s his.

It can be both.

It’s not fucking Kaminari. It was never Kaminari. Even if you don’t read it as the second definition it’s still not about Kaminari.

But it’s also undeniable that it has to do with Izuku some way some how.

I also believe that the western side of the fandom is making an extra big deal out of this because, to us, we don’t really have a proper understanding of what a nickname like Kacchan means in its cultural context.

We can TRY to understand, comparing it to endings with ie or y given to children, and then sometimes going with that nickname into adulthood, but it still has its own distinct cultural context. Because a name like “Gracie” over “Grace” does to an extent sound childish, but I have a feeling that -chan has its own childish feeling. There’s a reason none of Katsuki’s other friends in middle school call him Kacchan, and there’s a reason Kaminari decides to make fun of him for the name in the first place.

I just think it’s important to use our thinking brains before we start yapping about things we don’t quite understand yet :)

Like it’s so unbelievably important to understand that horikoshi won’t tell you what’s happening in his story and why, he’ll show you instead BECAUSE HES A GOOD FUCKING WRITER

If it was about Kaminari, he would have specified, but he didn’t. He showed you that Kacchan is Izuku’s nickname for Katsuki, and he showed you that Katsuki cared more about Izuku than he let on for a long time. Just like he showed you that Izuku pushes down his emotions, showed you that Izuku struggles with projection and anger, showed you that Ochako was the one with this crush and not Izuku, and showed you that the feelings he had about Katsuki were deeper than anyone had realized.

He showed you parallels, he specified the important parallels that you absolutely had to see as a viewer (ex toga and ochako), just as he showed you the ones that were more subtle but still there (ex toga and deku). He showed you the pieces, and that doesn’t make his character’s underdeveloped or unspecified, that’s just how writing fucking works. “Good writing” DOESNT MEAN that you have to be pulled along through your baby steps with your hand held, the fact that you don’t get it is on you. Reading comprehension is a learned skill that has to be practiced over and over again, and that is not the writers job. The writer is only supposed to deliver you their story, and however you decide to misconstrue that story is, and hear me out friends, on you.

So I’m sorry if I’m tired of hearing arguments like “toga is a predator and Horikoshi wrote her to be horny”… she’s supposed to represent love. I’m sorry if the representation he made of love was uncomfortable for you, but maybe that’s the point? Because she’s an outcast? Because she’s supposed to be hard to empathize with, but that we have to empathize in the first place?

Arguments like “Katsuki was referencing a joke about Kaminari bc Kaminari said this in this movie” is just about the largest fucking reach I’ve ever seen. And I know, I know that when bkdk eventually get their implied or canonical ending that people are going to be mad. They’ll blame shippers for pressuring him, or they’ll say he’s a bad writer, or they’ll send him homophobic slurs because “how dare the character I see myself in be gay”. And I’m done with the stupidity and lack of common god damn sense.

So if you are going to be upset by the fact that you’re going to be proven wrong, then I again say, it’s on you.

#bkdk #midoriya izuku #mha deku #bkdk brainrot #bakudeku #bakugou katsuki #bnha deku #mha analysis #deku midoriya #Katsuki You’re safe for now you won’t be hit like Izuku will #but you used to make me want to Detroit smash you into a wall 24/7 #ily….#anyway the girls can do no wrong that’s why they aren’t getting hit :) Toga and Ochako are too good for you Izuku #THEYRE MY WIVES #MINE #anyway this took more of a fandom focus than I thought it would #it’s just like. wow. yeah.#i mean… I learned how to analyze the media I liked better over the past three or so years I’ve been lurking in this fandom #there’s nothing wrong with not getting it #but REFUSING TO? holy shit man. that’s. wow.#yeah.. I don’t like you if you refuse to read or think in other pov’s #because reading othe pov’s can genuinely be eye opening in so many ways #I STILL read izu//ocha analysis #I’m interested in how the mindset works #and to me it seems as though they analyze and consume it by reading it at its most base level #‘ochako likes deku and toga is going to show her that she can love him freely’ type of thing #and it ignores a lot of coded dialogue and the Japanese nuance within what is said #yk. unless it has to do with ‘Kacchan no Bakugou’.#ugh #they don’t even know that he’s saying it like ‘Kacchan of the bakugou clan’ bc hes making it some grand announcement and old timey

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equiz923 · 5 months ago

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Please don’t crucify me for this, but I really do not like how dunmeshi ended. Spoilers for the ending of the manga under the cut (obv this is all my opinion but if you have a diff one and you wanna chat im v open to that)

Ending things is hard, ending great stories is even harder but I just finished rereading the manga in full and it makes it so apparent how rushed the ending feels.

With Laios specifically, him running a kingdom Does Not make sense. It feels too storybook ending. ESPECIALLY with what the winged lion showed him during his dream- the idyllic world where he runs a monster kingdom but figures it all out. I thought that this was kind of clear with how dream falin had to shoo him away from his actual duties to make the idea more palatable. It was a clear manipulation by the winged lion to try make it something Laios would actively want to do, an appeal to his greater sense of morality to try convince him that he was the good guy, especially because we all know he just deep down wanted to be a super epic monster.

With this in mind, the manga actually ending with him running the kingdom is insane. We as an audience have already found out and understood that he actually does not want to do that shit, and that there is no way that the kingdom would prosper under him. I personally really don’t like the way that the winged lion’s curse is pretty much thrown in as a joke on the final page, because the idea is really really interesting from a character perspective. From what we know of Laios, would he not clearly break at some point and try to chase after the monsters? Go insane? Both? Also him always being hungry is such a genuinely cool idea that gets another throwaway line, that has such interesting character implications. It is fine to add that as a footnote at the end, but it’s not treated with the gravity it should have.

Another character I think really got rushed toward the end is Marcille. Her character resolution of after the banquet being okay with Falin’s death is crazy. Her calling her time with the winged lion a tantrum is insane. Her extending of others life may be something that she now sees the consequences of, but there is not payoff for that realisation. We do not see it happen, it apparently occurs offscreen.

There’s a lotta other little things that feel off to me but those are my two main examples. I found in reading it again there were times that the story didn’t show or explain things properly (Kabru in magic handcuffs is something I only found out about when he broke them, I genuinely cannot find where itsumi found that doll of Yadd). You can make the argument that’s a reading comprehension error on my end, that’s fine but there were enough small things that I don’t think I’m the only one that missed small half panel cues. Chekov’s gun only works if you let the audience actually see and note the gun.

Again, please don’t take this as a hate rant, I genuinely love dunmeshi. It’s a really good story. But the best stories are the ones that need to be critiqued. The basic happy ending just does not fit at all, to the point that it feels completely wrong.

Idk, hi if you actually read this whole thing, you’re a legend. Please tell me your opinions id love to hear them

#dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #dunmeshi #dungeon meshi spoilers #HUGE ENDING SPOILERS #I needed to get this out I felt like I was going insane #like Laios would as king #dude that shit would crumble to dust in a week #that would be a funny ending as well Why didn’t they do that??!??!??!!!??#absolutely illegible media criticism is my middle name

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satorusplayplace · 2 years ago

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he’s back…

SPOILERS FOR JJK MANGA (221 especially!)

☆ pairing: gojo satoru x fem!reader

☆ content warning(s): JJK SPOILERS CH 221, gojo is unsealed, angst to fluff, reader is so whipped for gojo, gojo is whipped too, lovesick! gojo, i don’t know if it was still 19 days that gojo was sealed…, gojo goes crazy!!, a little altering of the new chapter…! UNEDITED and a little rushed sorry!

☆ summary: 19 days of sleeping alone, 19 days without her one and only lover, 19 days of not being able to kiss him goodnight, 19 days of pain, 19 days of not being able to say “i love you toru.” one more time, 19 days of not seeing that white hair and those adorable puppy eyes.

☆ A/N: i’m honestly like so happy that gojo is unsealed because i’ve been WAITING for this moment. like i’m just so happy bru. missed my pookie :[. lowk should write gojo w an adhd girlfriend fr. this is probs super self indulgent too.

☆ please check my pinned post for request info on the link saying rules! requests are open! characters i write for are also there :) check it out!

it’s been 19 days since gojo satoru has been sealed. his girlfriend, who was going to be his fiancée, is stuck at their shared home. she was hidden from the jujutsu world. gojo didn’t want anyone trying to attack his future wife. the woman of his dreams, the woman who knows how to understand him. shoko, the other best friend of gojo satoru, took it upon herself to see you, as nanami passed away…

“y/n?” she yells out when knocking on your door. you just woke up twenty minutes ago when you get to the door, shoko saw how you looked.

your hair was a mess, though still was being washed yet no effort put into it. your eyes were puffy and you had terrible eye bags. shoko just hugged you and you broke down in her arms.

“shoko, it’s only been 19 days and yet i still am like this, i thought i’d be better than this. i knew it would happen one day yet why am i a mess?” you knew that it was a little stupid of you to be such a mess when it’s been only 19 days he was gone but you and satoru have been together for 5 years. yet, him being away and not knowing when he was coming back was scary. sure, he went on overseas missions for three months before, but you had contact with him, you can call and text him and still say “i love you toru” yet now you can’t.

“y/n, it’s okay. he will be unsealed. we have a plan in check. we are starting the process now, i just needed to see you and let you know what’s happening. i’ll have yuuji come to protect you right now, you’re not going to be safe alone forever.” shoko says, she gives you one last hug before yuuji appears behind her.

“y/n.” he says and just hugs you. you hugged him back while tears fell down. he didn’t smile at all, gojo being sealed took away this precious boy’s smile. you cupped yuuji’s cheeks. “i’m sorry yuuji. i’m so sorry. you deserve much better my love.” yuuji just hugged you tighter. you waved bye to shoko and closed the door. yuuji was still clinging onto you as you tried to walk to the couch.

“i’m sorry y/n. i wasn’t strong enough.” you looked at the boy, he was getting anxious and couldn’t read your expression. “yuuji, you’re strong. you’re just a kid hon, i can’t blame you. i blame the cursed world we live in, especially because now you’re a jujutsu sorcerer. yuuji, you deserved better than this world. i promise you.” yuuji and you both hugged and you told him to watch a show on the TV, while you made food.

as you were finishing up, yuuji and you both felt a little earthquake though yuuji knew it wasn’t an earthquake but gojo being unsealed.

yuuji just stayed with you and when you served him, he was happy. though, he thought about how you were feeling since your fiancé was sealed in a box without any communication for almost three weeks straight.

you just smiled at him while you waited for the pans to cool down. you served yourself as well and ate right next to your fiancé’s student. you messed with yuuji’s hair and said, “you know, you need to smile more yuuji. i love being around. you’re such a kind boy. i hope you grow old and have a family, live life as well as you can.” yuuji looked at you and then finally smiled, “yeah. i’ll try to promise you that.”

you smiled at him when all of a sudden, your front door was opening… yuuji got in front of you but when the door was fully open, you ran towards the man full speed.

“s-satoru? you’re back? y-you’re here?” you had tears coming out of your eyes. he smirked, “i didn’t know i was walking in on my girlfriend cheating on me with my student!” he grabbed his chest acting like it hurt. you hit his arm and immediately hugged him.

“yuuji, were you protecting my pretty girl for me?” he asked teasingly. yuuji nods and then you let go of your boyfriend. gojo hugs yuuji and whispers something in his ear. yuuji just looked back at you and smiled.

“you know, we’ve missed you satoru. the strongest man alive is back and yet i didn’t get my kiss. 19 days without you satoru gojo. 19 days with your kiss, your voice, your stupid little kid of a personality, your touch. do you know how insane i’m going right now? you’re so lucky i know how to control myself.” you say to him and yuuji waves goodbye while leaving and closing the door. gojo just stares back at you and looks at you, “oh baby, i know. i was stuck in that box and my mind went insane. felt like years i was waiting. couldn’t even sleep it off.”

you went to kiss him and he pulled you in. this kiss wasn’t lust, it was just pure love, saying all kinds of things, “be safe”, “i love you so much”, “i missed you”, “stay with me”, “don’t leave”, and it was just gojo knowing he had to make you his more officially. he slyly puts the ring that was still in his pocket onto your left hand. “mine.” he says after pulling away from you and you looked down to see the ring.

“i don’t care. we’re getting married even if it’s a quiet one. we are marrying each other.” he says that so seriously and quietly. you wonder how he feels.

“let’s go to bed.” you say and he follows behind you. you stopped caring for the dishes in the sink as soon as you saw your beloved boyfriend. when you both laid down on the bed, you couldn’t help but move closer to him until his arms were wrapped around you and you just nuzzled into his chest.

“i love you ‘toru.”

“i love you more pretty.”

#jjk spoilers #jjk #gojo satoru #angst #fluff #gojo unsealed #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo boyfriend #gojo jjk #gojo satoru jjk #jujutsu kaisen #yuuji itadori #megumi fushiguro #ryomen sukuna #sukuna #jujutsu kaisen spoilers #romance #anime

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makeste · 1 year ago

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BnHA Chapter 403: (But Just That One Part, Because I'm Not Caught Up)

Previously on BnHA: Truly no idea, but it kind of looks like Katsuki is riding some sort of spaceship, and everyone has gotten really, really sparkly. I see you all have been busy these past 22 months. Great job, keep it up.

Today on BnHA: “So it’s come to my attention that a truly shocking number of you are only reading this manga for a single character.” – Horikoshi Kouhei, October 2023.

so. where to start, lol

I guess I should open with an apology, because I am about to make a fairly selfish decision! what I am about to do, is post a reaction to Bakugou’s Return To The Manga. however, because I’m not caught up, I’m going to be reading this one scene completely out of context without knowing anything about what is going on. which means that I’m going to be missing out on god knows how many nuances and details, which means this reaction post will be short on those things as well. so basically I’m prioritizing my own personal gratification as a fan here even though it is 100% going to affect the quality of my reaction blog, and for that I genuinely am sorry. eventually I will finish catching up, and when that happens I will post a proper reaction with all the trimmings. that’s just how it is for now though

anyway so with that said, basically what I’ve done now is I have gone to the scanlation website, and clicked on chapter 403, and then scrolled down through most of the chapter while sort of half-looking away from my screen with my eyes squinted so that everything is mostly blurry, until I finally reached the big double-page spread with you-know-who doing his thing. namely, standing around on this giant glowy cereal bowl from the future, which appears to be either hovering up in the air, or slowly crashing onto the ground

and this right here, is exactly what I was rambling on about a moment ago. you guys I really am sorry to be doing this, because even I can tell this should be solemn and sincere moment of awe and excitement and relief. but because I completely lack any context whatsoever for wtf is happening, most of the dramatic impact is lost on me, and to tell the truth right now this page is a hell of a lot funnier than it has any right to be

like, so Deku. this boy is crying all the tears. I recklessly scrolled back up one page to see why, and it appears the answer is Because All Might Is About To Fucking Die (which, !??!?), so that’s actually VERY fucked up, and I’m sure I will have PAGES AND PAGES OF WORDS to say about all of that once I finally catch up properly. that is very traumatic and emotional and I will probably cry a lot about it

BUT, that being said, I just need you guys to know that without that context, Deku standing here with his giant head all >:O in the foreground, while Kacchan appears out of nowhere glowing with the power of a thousand suns and standing on top of this giant floating Smash Bros level that Nezu maybe probably built with his nine million dollars, is one of the wildest fucking things I’ve seen in my life. I feel like an accidental time traveler. you know when a character has one of those crazy prophetic dreams showing them chaotic glimpses of the future, and they’re just standing there all “???” because they have absolutely no clue what the fuck is going on? that is what it’s like right now

heh but there he is

“did you miss me, Izuku. back by popular demand after being on IR for 14 goddamn months. rebuilt better and stronger than ever thanks to the heroic spaghetti man wrapped tightly around my heart keeping me alive. just BnHA things. just a flesh wound. by the way, it’s me, Kacchan, just in case you didn’t recognize me on account of my still being really far away and completely covered by smoke, and also you thinking I was dead. here let me give you a close up to make this easier”

“fuck yeah. it really is me, btw. just in case you still couldn’t tell on account of me also being like 100x prettier than you remembered. guess it’s just that blindingly handsome character development”

also, “the end of an era” um hello, yes, what?? just what exactly have I missed here with all this All Might stuff?? because apparently All Might just prior to this was in some sort of mortal danger, is what I’ve been hearing, because everyone keeps posting excitedly about Kacchan showing up in the nick of time to save him? which incidentally makes my heart so incredibly fucking warm omg. it’s what both of them need AND deserve

why is everything so goddamn sparkly right now. this is like a Sailor Moon battle over here

love that look of instant recognition and shock and overpowering relief in Deku’s eyes though. also has he really been fighting in this cracked out OFA-overflowing mode this entire time?? he looks just like he did on the cover of volume 37. I still haven’t seen his actual canon reaction to the “death”, and I haven’t been keeping tabs on his fight with AFO??/Tomura?? at all, but I’m glad it looks to have been as emotional as I could have hoped

aw fuck yeah

his precious card. I’m now almost as invested in the saga of the All Might card as I am in all the rest of this. it’s all beat to hell, but somehow still made it through in the end. just like him

oh. my. g

protect them.

protect them all.

so is the reason this fight is so sparkly just because of OFA symbolism, then?? or is there something else happening here?? goddammit, okay, I‘m gonna very carefully scroll back to the beginning of the chapter, because I’m 100% positive there is some sort of deeply meaningful symbolic thing going on here and I’ll be damned if I miss out on it, spoilers or no

-- oh my goD??!

1. BABY ALL MIGHT WHAAAAAAT

IS THAT HIS MOM???? OH MY GOD DID WE GET ALL MIGHT BACKSTORY. oh my god. oh god. no actually don’t tell me, ahhhh I cannot fucking wait to read this properly, holy shit

so did something wind up happening to Mighty Mom later on then?? feels like it must have, since he wound up getting so attached to Nana? man I don’t want to think about any of that stuff after seeing this panel though :( just, damn it, why is this man’s whole entire life so goddamn fucking tragic

“the one thing I’ve done most is looking back to the path I took” my god I cannot wait to read this. only two short pages and I’m already buried miles deep into my All Might feels. came here for the triumphant Kacchan return and now I’m sitting here tearing up about All Might, god damn you Horikoshi YOU’VE STILL GOT IT. and I am STILL A SUCKER FOR ALL OF IT

anyway, so now back we go to the last couple of pages with this additional context, aaaaand...

...and apparently I’m now full-on crying about All Might! (: well how about that. turns out when you read the manual and follow the instructions properly this series still works exactly as advertised. don’t mind me I’m just sitting here sobbing because everything is exactly what I wanted and I apparently don’t know how to deal with that!!

THEIR FEELINGS BECOME WHAT?!?!?!

EVERYTHING IS EXACTLY WHAT I WANTED AND I’M GONNA BE A MESS ABOUT IT FROM NOW UNTIL THE END OF TIME BECAUSE LIFE IS GRAND!!

ARE ALL OF THESE WATERY SPARKLES LIKE. DEKU’S FUCKING TEARS LMAO OR WHAT. HOW IS KACCHAN IN THE SPLASH ZONE. HOW ARE HIS TEARS HOLDING UP THE SPACESHIP. I DON’T UNDERSTAND A GODDAMN THING BUT THIS IS NOW OFFICIALLY A SHOUJOU MANGA, I DON’T MAKE THE RULES

the urge to ruffle baby Deku and baby Kacchan’s hair is so goddamn powerful you don’t understand. this is PRIMAL. they are SO happy and SO good and perfect. I’m gonna fucking die

there’s not even any dialogue. what the fuck are they even gonna say. their expressions say it all and more. also they are being kind to me because they know I’m not caught up so they don’t want to spoil me any further, thank you my sons

lastly, I guess, because I don’t really have anything else to add now that my brain has fully turned to sappy mush: so uh. I truly have not the slightest clue how or why, but. does Kacchan have OFA though. and why is the answer, “yes he definitely does.” ???

like, I don’t understand it, but I confess that by now I have spoiled myself on the last few pages of chapter 362 for reasons (those reasons being “I finally gave in and looked at them on purpose, because I’d already seen most of them out of context here and there, and my willpower is only so strong”), and so I know that this boy was talking to vestige!Might, and as far as I’m aware that is 100% not possible unless he has some sort of connection to OFA in some way so yeah

and now here he on this last page being all Profoundly Connected with Deku while they gaze into each other’s eyes, and I can’t help but notice that said eyes are all explodey and they look a LOT like Deku’s actually. and on top of that we have all of this All Might symbolism that I’m still crying about, so like? ???

anyway so I’m not going crazy here right? like this is definitely a thing? for whatever reason?? unless you guys know something here that I don’t. in which case I actually am asking to be spoiled fully just this once, because at this point I just need to know one way or the other and I don’t care lol

anyway so that concludes my thoughts I guess! so now my absurdly ambitious goal is to speed read the manga this next week and hopefully at least catch up to Kacchan’s “death”, so that I can better understand what’s happening when I inevitably wind up spoiling myself for chapter 404 as well. the plan right now is to still type up my liveblog notes as I go, but to not worry about posting or editing anything in between chapters. so I’ll have a big backlog of chapter recaps which I’ll eventually get to uploading whenever I can, but in the meantime I can participate more in the fandom side of things. since I really want to share all of my endgame theories and so forth, but in order to do that I really need to find out just what the fuck is actually going on lol, so yeah

#bnha 403 #bakugou katsuki #midoriya izuku #all might #bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #makeste reads bnha #I see your bakugou katsuki: rising #and raise you one bakugou katsuki: risen #he comes back to us now at the turn of the tide

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stem-sister-scuffle · 8 months ago

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STEM SISTER SCUFFLE: ROUND 3 MASHUP 2

Ms. Frizzle (The Magic School Bus) vs Winry Rockbell (Full Metal Alchemist)

Ms. Frizzle is a Science Teacher!

Winry Rockbell is an Automail Mechanic!

Why you should vote for each contestant:

Ms. Frizzle:

"*gestures at entire magic school bus series*"

"Embodies the true spirit of scientific discovery: barely-contained chaos."

"She is very knowledgeable about a wide variety of sciences, and uses that knowledge to further the educations of many people. Teachers deserve the world; they do so much for so little in return. (shout out to Mrs. Goates)"

"She loves science and loves teaching kids about science. I love her. Idk I saw she only had one submission and that made me sad so now im here submitting her"

"She is an icon and has cool earrings"

"SHE'S SO COOL!!! She's so smart and so fun and genuinely just an icon. ALSO she has a little lizard on her shoulder. I saw an ask abt the submissions for Ms. Frizzle and the sender was the only person who submitted her.. I couldn't let this go. ALSO one of my professors irl called herself the irl Frizzle and she's a doctor of biology so make of that what you will"

Winry Rockbell:

"The best automail mechanic in the whole of Amestris: need I say more? She’s also the only person who can really get Edward Elric to listen / scare him"

"She's super smart and is crazy about mechanics, but she's also so kind and compassionate! She helped deliver a baby, she cares really deeply for her friends and family! She truly rocks!"

"i’m a biomedical engineer so she is the best women in stem"

"she’s extremely skilled and dedicated to her craft, her work is very high quality (she’s also the personal mechanic for one of the protagonists) and she has a dedication to improving the lives of the people around her in any way she can (and she has so much autism swag about automail, it’s a joy to watch). i love her your honour"

"She's so good and so fun and she's trying her best. She makes sure the prosthetics work and they're super plot important!!!!!"

"She can build and repair robot limbs AND attach them to human nerves"

"She’s only 15 and is repairing magic-infused heavy machinery for fun"

"Spunky, kind, and smart as hell... one of the shounen manga girls of all time."

"At age fifteen she could build a whole metal arm in 3 days (pulling all nighters)! She geeks out over the work of other prosthetics engineers and earned herself an apprenticeship where the shop's costumers began to prefer her after only a few months! She's kind but takes no shit and narratively symbolizes the goodness of humanity. also she read medical textbooks as a kid (her parents were both doctors) and was able to apply that knowledge for successful impromptu midwifery years later!"

"She is practically a child engineering Genius! Designs and makes prosthetics. She takes her work very seriously and geeks out over other people's designs. She is such a beautifully written strong female character that holds her own in a fandom full of amazing strong female characters and a great role model. She's Hella cute"

"She is considered a prodigy in her field, and is known as the “Automail Otaku” because of her unending interest of any machines and tools in the building and repairing of automail. She is incredibly smart, sincere, and passionate. She works hard for what she wants, is full of optimism despite what she has suffered, and is very loyal to her friends."

"built a fully functioning prosthetic arm for her friend when she was TWELVE basically by herself and has been his regular mechanic since. also heavily dabbles in the medical side as well as the mechanical side (for example: she successfully delivered a baby single-handedly at fifteen having only ever read about the subject before). she is so skrunkly she’s an icon a legend and she is the moment"

"Listen any girl who can master mechanical engineering, electrical engineering, and biology in order to build prosthetic limbs by the age of 12 is Impressive. She’s the one that got me onto an engineering career path I’m very biased"

#stem sister scuffle #round 3 #the magic school bus #ms frizzle #fullmetal alchemist #fma brotherhood #fma #fma winry #winry rockbell

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queenkeesi · 3 months ago

Text

Sy-on Boy and the Teenage Anya Incident

—

It was a sunny day at Eden Academy, but the usual carefree atmosphere was clouded by the anxious energy in a small alcove where third graders Damian Desmond, Emile Elman, and Ewen Egeburg were huddled together.

“Bossman, are you sure about this?” Emile asked, his face scrunched up with worry.

While it wasn’t unusual for the three friends to concoct wild schemes, thanks to the ridiculous amount of resources at their disposal—being the children of obscenely wealthy parents—this time, it seemed like they might have taken things a bit too far.

“Yeah, Boss, this seems… kinda crazy,” Ewen added, his pompadour bobbing as he nervously adjusted it.

“Will you two just shut up?!” Damian snapped, frustration clear in his voice. He held up the items he’d painstakingly gathered—a rusty key, a quail’s egg, and a blue marble. “It’s gonna work, alright?”

“Uh, but what if you like… get old but not taller?” Ewen asked, scratching his head.

“Or worse,” Emile shuddered dramatically, “what if you turn into an old man?!”

“Stop being such morons!” Damian hissed, his eyes narrowing. “I’m not going to turn into an old man! I’ve got the circle, I’ve got the spell, I’ve got everything under control!”

Damian was fuming inside. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t outshine his older brother, Demetrius. Demetrius had just been awarded another honor for being the top student in the ninth grade. It was like the universe was rigged against Damian, and he was fed up. Six years ahead—what a joke. So, Damian had decided to close that gap, using a spell from an old book he’d “borrowed” from the Desmond estate library. Today was the day he’d make everything right.

“Now, I just need to stand here and read the passage,” Damian declared, his voice tinged with the kind of determination only a kid with a grudge could muster.

The chalk circle on the ground was a crooked mess, with lines smudged and uneven from where one of them had accidentally stepped. It was the kind of circle that only a group of overconfident third graders could draw—something they thought looked cool, even though it was totally lopsided.

Before Damian could start, a high-pitched voice pierced the air. “Beckyyyyyy!”

Anya Forger’s voice rang out as she bolted across the grass, her little legs pumping furiously as she chased after Becky Blackbell, who was clutching a photo of Anya’s father, Loid, like it was the crown jewels. “Oh my god, Anya, this new photo of Loid! I must keep it!” Becky squealed, too busy swooning over the picture to watch where she was going.

“But you have so many already! And he’s married!” Anya yelled back, their voices growing louder as they closed in.

“Oof!” Becky smacked right into Emile and Ewen, sending them both stumbling backward.

“Hey, watch it!” Emile yelped, juggling the marble like it was about to explode.

“Seriously, Becky! You almost messed up the circle!” Ewen groaned, looking at the chalk lines, now even more crooked thanks to Becky.

“What circle?” Becky asked, staring down at the haphazard chalk drawing. “What kind of dumb stuff are you guys up to?”

Just then, Damian finished reading the passage, his voice rising with excitement. He looked up just in time to see Anya charging toward him like a mini bulldozer. “Sy-on boy!” she shouted, crashing into him with enough force to knock him out of the circle and flat on his back. The next thing they knew, thick pink smoke billowed from the circle, swirling around them all in a chaotic cloud.

As the smoke slowly cleared, the four kids stood frozen, their eyes wide with shock. The figure emerging from the mist wasn’t the eight-year-old Anya they knew—it was a stunning fifteen-year-old version of her. It was like something out of a shoujo manga, complete with glitter, a pink glow, and rose petals fluttering around her. Her short, playful pink bob had grown into long, flowing waves, framing her face with a soft, ethereal beauty. She had high cheekbones, delicate features, and eyes that seemed to hold a depth far beyond her years. The girl who used to eat dog food and play with bugs had transformed into a young lady of grace and poise, standing tall and confident in an Imperial Scholar’s cloak that shimmered in the sunlight.

Damian’s jaw practically hit the ground. Anya was taller—way taller—than he was now. He had to crane his neck just to look up at her. She’s… taller than me?! The thought alone sent his usual bravado into a tailspin of confusion and panic. The girl who used to wear mismatched socks and make goofy faces was now… stunning. Everything about her radiated an effortless charm that left Damian feeling oddly exposed and vulnerable.

Anya blinked her now clearer, more mature eyes as she took in her surroundings. “Where am I?” she asked, her voice smooth and confident, startling the boys with its new, rich tone. Even her voice had changed—it wasn’t the high-pitched, eager sound of a child but a melodic, calm voice that seemed to command attention without even trying.

Her gaze landed on Damian first, and her eyes widened in recognition. “W-what? Damian? Emile? Ewen? Becky?!”

Becky, ever the dramatic one, was the first to react. “Anya? Is that you? You’re all grown up!”

Damian was still speechless, his brain struggling to keep up with what was happening. He felt a strange, unfamiliar sensation in his chest—something that made him feel flustered in a way he wasn’t used to. She’s got an Imperial Scholar’s cloak on… is she even real? And why did the height difference make everything feel so much weirder?

“Yeah, it’s me,” Anya said, her voice laced with uncertainty. “Why are all of you so young? One minute I was just outside with…” Her eyes met Damian’s, and she hesitated, “And now you’re like, seven?”

“Hey! I’m not seven!” Damian snapped, finally finding his voice. “I’m eight, thankyouverymuch! And I was supposed to age up, not you!”

“S-Syon boy…” Anya muttered, her eyes wide as she stared at him. He mistook her shock for something else and was about to tell her off when she suddenly squealed with delight.

“Oh my god, you’re so small and cute!!” Without warning, Anya grabbed him and pulled him into a tight hug, squeezing him so hard he could barely breathe. Damian’s face turned an even deeper shade of red as he struggled in her grasp, completely overwhelmed by the sudden physical contact—and the fact that she was now taller and holding him like he was the little one.

When Anya finally let go, Damian was left sputtering, his heart racing as Emile and Ewen rushed over to check on him.

“Are you okay, Bossman?” Emile asked, barely able to hide a grin.

“Y-yeah, I’m fine!” Damian snapped, his voice cracking as he tried to regain his composure. “Just… get off me next time, Stubby Legs!”

Meanwhile, Becky was circling Anya in awe. “Oh my god, Anya, you look amazing! You’re like, a woman now! Your hair! Your outfit! And you’re an Imperial Scholar! Does your cloak have diamonds sewn in?!”

Anya blushed and looked down shyly. “Oh, no, no. But you did alter it, though, Becky.”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Becky interrupted, her eyes wide with realization. “So you’re from the future! That means you can tell us about ourselves! Do I have a boyfriend? Do I have a lot of guys who like me? Am I still stylish? Do I still look pretty?”

Anya couldn’t help but smile at Becky’s enthusiasm. “Yes, yes, yes, yes, and yes,” she answered, watching as Becky squealed and spun around in a giddy circle. Even Anya’s smile was different now—more serene and composed, a reflection of the confidence she’d gained over the years. She wasn’t the clumsy girl who tripped over her own feet but someone who had clearly come into her own, with an air of sophistication that made her seem almost otherworldly.

“What about me? Do I have a girlfriend?” Ewen asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.

“Yes,” Anya chuckled, making Ewen’s face light up with excitement.

“Oh, oh, me next! Do I have a girlfriend?” Emile asked eagerly.

“No…” Anya replied, watching Emile’s face fall slightly before she added with a playful grin, “But only because you haven’t asked anyone yet!”

Emile’s mood instantly lifted, and he beamed at her. “Awesome! So I just gotta ask someone out. Cool!”

“What about Lord Dami—” Ewen began, but Damian, now boiling with frustration, shoved him aside.

“I don’t care about that stuff!” Damian growled, his frustration boiling over as he desperately tried to regain control of the situation. “But what I don’t get is how you’re still at Eden! If you’re really this old, shouldn’t you have been expelled or something by now?” He glanced over at Emile and Ewen, his voice rising, almost pleading for backup.

But Emile just shrugged. “I dunno, Boss. She seems like she’s got it together.”

“Yeah,” Ewen added, nodding nervously. “She’s got the Eden high school uniform on, plus the Imperial Scholar cloak. She’s probably super smart or something.”

Damian’s irritation spiked as he stared at them in disbelief, his face flushing with frustration. How can they be so gullible? he thought, feeling his composure slip away. It’s like they’ve never even thought about what high school is really like!

Anya chuckled softly, her eyes twinkling with a mix of amusement and empathy as she saw Damian’s mounting frustration. “I guess we all change then,” she said, her tone gentle but with a playful edge.

“Hmph! I doubt I’d socialize with the likes of you by then, Forger,” Damian shot back, crossing his arms and stomping his foot like a child on the brink of a meltdown. “It’s only because they make us do kiddy stuff that we have to deal with each other now.” ‘That’ll show her’, he thought, his heart racing.

“Oh, no, all five of us are friends,” Anya said casually, the remark so offhanded and confident that it felt like a punch to Damian’s gut, causing him to stumble back as if her words had physically knocked him over.

Becky gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. “But you and I are still best friends, right?” Her eyes glittered with excitement, already picturing teenage girl shopping trips and sleepovers.

Anya nodded, smiling warmly. “Of course! We just got back from a girls’ holiday in St. Tropezinne.”

Becky started hyperventilating. “Oh my god, really?!”

By this point, Damian had picked himself up, his annoyance turning into a full-blown temper tantrum. “Look, none of us care about your girls’ holiday!”

Ewen and Emile, always eager to chime in, muttered in unison, “We would’ve liked to hear about the food… maybe what the weather was like… if there were other girls…”

“WILL YOU TWO SHUT UP?!” Damian exploded, his face red as he spun back to Anya, pointing at her accusingly. “Y-you!”

Anya stared at him, surprised, her calm, demure expression only making Damian’s heart pound harder, like the Anya from their time always did when she gave him any attention.

“If you’re really from the future, tell me… am I an Imperial Scholar?” he demanded, the question bursting out of him with desperate intensity. He had to know—he HAD to.

Anya’s smile softened, warm and reassuring, which only made Damian’s nerves fray even more. “Of course you are, Damian.”

For a brief moment, relief washed over Damian, filling his chest with a sense of triumph. ‘He was going to be an Imperial Scholar!’

But then Becky, always the one to stir the pot, leaned in, smirking mischievously. “Yeah, but how many Tonitrus Bolts does he have?” she asked, her tone light, clearly intending it as a joke to tease Damian.

Anya paused, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “Four, I think… maybe five… but I’m pretty sure it’s four.”

The words hung in the air like a bomb waiting to explode.

Emile and Ewen gasped dramatically, their eyes wide with terror. “FOUR TONITRUS BOLTS?!” they shrieked in unison, their voices trembling. “LORD DAMIAN?!”

Anya immediately cringed, realizing she had said too much.

Damian’s face drained of color, his earlier relief shattering as the implications hit him like a ton of bricks. His hands balled into fists, his body trembling with the effort to hold back the storm of emotions swirling inside him. “YOU LIAR!” he screamed, his voice cracking with the raw intensity of a little boy on the verge of a meltdown. “I DON’T HAVE BOLTS! HOW DARE YOU SAY THAT! YOU’RE JUST A BIG UGGO WITCH!”

“What is going on here?” a stern voice cut through the chaos. Demetrius Desmond stepped onto the patch of grass where they were gathered. Even at fifteen, he was still as gaunt and serious as ever, his hair slicked back in its usual style, his presence immediately commanding attention and silencing the group.

“Why are you screaming at…” Demetrius began, taking a step back in surprise. “This young lady?” He had expected to see the small Forger kid—someone Damian still shouldn’t be yelling at but always was—but a teenage girl? It was clearly inappropriate.

“Oh, Demetrius…” Anya said, recognizing him immediately. She straightened up and stepped toward him, her height now nearly matching his. The difference in their statures only made Damian feel smaller and more out of place.

“Do I know you…?” Demetrius asked, his usually impassive face showing a rare hint of surprise as he took in Anya’s appearance. She didn’t look like any student he knew, yet there she was, wearing the Eden high school uniform and an Imperial Scholar’s cloak.

“No, well, sort of. I’m Anya…” she began, her voice steady and confident, which only deepened the strange, unsettling feeling in Damian’s gut. Wait! He had started this!

“I took the book of spells and tried to use it to make myself your age!!!” Damian interrupted, his voice high-pitched and strained, as he tried to regain some semblance of control over the situation. This was his idea, after all!

Demetrius sighed, a rare crack in his usual composure as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “I knew you took that book. Jeeves called me—you’ve disappointed him, you know.”

“Yeah…” Damian flushed, having been found out. “I took it, and it was supposed to make me older, but this idiot got in the way!” Damian snapped, his voice cracking as he pointed accusingly at Anya, trying to deflect the blame.

“Wait, wait, so you’re seriously Anya Forger?” Demetrius asked, his sharp eyes narrowing as he studied her closely. A subtle shift in his expression hinted at something more—a faint blush dusted his usually pale cheeks as he added, almost to himself, “I suppose Mother was right…”

Damian’s eyes narrowed, instantly on edge. “Mother was right about what?!”

But before he could demand further explanation, both Anya and Demetrius raised their hands in unison, silencing him in a way that was both infuriating and strangely coordinated.

“Yeah… that’s me,” Anya confirmed, her voice thoughtful as she pieced it together. “I think the spell somehow… pulled me from my own time, where I’m fifteen, to here and now. It must have affected me instead of just aging Damian, which I’m guessing was his intention…” She glanced at Damian before turning back to Demetrius, who nodded as he absorbed the explanation.

The other Eden students stood quietly, unnerved by Anya’s sudden maturity and the calm, almost adult-like demeanor she now exhibited. It was impressive, but it was also deeply unsettling.

“My biggest concern,” Anya continued, “is that the eight-year-old me has switched places with me. Logically, she’s where I last was, which, if my memory serves, was walking home from school. Not the worst place, but definitely not the best.”

Demetrius nodded in agreement, his usually impassive expression softening slightly with concern. “Yeah, this isn’t a great situation, is it?”

Becky gasped, her eyes wide with worry. “Oh no, Anya! I mean, little Anya! Will she be okay?”

The boys exchanged guilty looks, Emile and Ewen both feeling a pang of responsibility as they glanced up at the older Anya and Demetrius.

Damian clenched his fists, trying desperately to mask the worry gnawing at him. He couldn’t help but hope that Anya—stupid and annoying as she was—would be okay. But the tension in his chest only grew as he watched her.

Anya noticed their concern and smiled warmly, attempting to reassure them. “I think she’ll be fine, actually. I was with my boyfriend, so she’s probably with him now. He’ll definitely take care of her.”

The mention of her boyfriend felt like a punch to Damian’s gut, making his fists clench even tighter. Boyfriend? The word echoed in his mind, making the sting of jealousy and frustration almost unbearable.

Becky, ever the curious one, couldn’t resist. “You have a boyfriend?! What’s he like?” she squealed.

A faint blush spread across Anya’s cheeks as her hand moved to fiddle with the chain of her Imperial Scholar’s cloak, her fingers brushing over the elegant design as she thought about him. “Well, he goes to Eden with us and he’s an Imperial Scholar too,” she said softly, clearly lost in the memory.

Damian’s breathing quickened, his frustration boiling over. “How is any of this possible? There’s no way you have a boyfriend, and no way you’re an Imperial Scholar!” he shouted, his voice cracking with disbelief and rising panic.

The others fell silent, the air thick with tension. They all knew that Anya had actually earned more Stella Stars than any of them in the present, yet the idea that she could have surpassed them so much, even in the future, was overwhelming.

Anya didn’t rise to Damian’s taunts. Instead, she simply patted his head, her expression affectionate and almost maternal. “Aw, little Sy-on boy,” she teased, her tone gentle, making Damian hiss in annoyance, his temper flaring.

Demetrius sighed, looking at Damian with a tired expression. “We’ve been over this so many times, Damian. Anyone can become an Imperial Scholar for a great number of reasons.” His little brother’s obsession with it was starting to wear thin.

“Yeah, Bossman! She’s got medals pinned to her cloak too! Look, a tennis one!” Emile pointed out, trying to lighten the mood.

“Ooh, a nebula one! What’s this one for?” Ewen asked eagerly, their voices overly enthusiastic as they admired Anya’s achievements.

Anya sweatdropped, feeling a bit overwhelmed by the kids’ eager, expectant faces all focused on her. “Oh, that’s just from the astronomy club…” she said with a nervous laugh, then quickly shook her head to refocus on the situation. “Demetrius, I know this is all really strange, and I get that you don’t really know me or enjoy working with others, but I really need your help. In the future, we’re more acquainted, and I promise I won’t be a bother.”

“We are? Interesting…” Demetrius pondered. “Very well then, I suppose we can’t just leave little Anya in the future. We should head to my dorm then and leave the kids.”

“What? We can’t help?” Damian’s frustration reached a breaking point. His eyes began to well up with tears he was barely holding back, his face turning red as his emotions spiraled out of control. Not only was Anya older now and benefiting from his plan, but Demetrius, who never solved problems with him, was willing to work with her. His fists clenched tighter, his nails digging into his palms as he fought to keep the tears from falling. ’Why does everyone believe this?! Why does everyone think she’s so amazing?!’ His voice cracked as he tried to speak and he felt the burning sensation behind his eyes intensify as he struggled to keep his composure.

Anya noticed the telltale signs of Damian’s emotional turmoil, and her heart softened. She bent down to his level, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Damian, it’s not that you wouldn’t be helpful,” she said softly, her tone full of understanding. “It’s just that it’ll be easier for Demetrius to help right now since we’re older… I know it’s frustrating, but it doesn’t mean you’re not important.”

Her words were meant to reassure him, but the tension in Damian’s chest only grew tighter. He bit his lip hard, trying to force back the tears, but his voice still trembled when he spoke. “B-but I did this!” he insisted, his voice barely above a whisper, thick with emotion. “I was supposed to be the one who got older! Not you! I—I—” He choked on his words, his eyes brimming with tears that refused to be contained.

Seeing Damian so close to breaking down, Anya’s heart ached. Without a second thought, she pulled him into a gentle hug, wrapping her arms around his tense shoulders. “It’s okay, Damian,” she whispered soothingly. “I know it’s hard, but you’re not alone in this. We’ll figure it out together.”

Damian stiffened in her embrace, desperately trying to hold on to the last shreds of his dignity. He didn’t want to cry—especially not in front of Anya, who seemed so much older and more composed now—but the warmth of her hug and the kindness in her voice made it almost impossible to keep the tears at bay.

Becky, unable to contain her admiration, tried to lift the mood. “Oh my god, she’s so cool!!”

“Wow, yeah, she is cool…” Emile murmured, while Ewen nodded in agreement.

Damian, still reeling from the whirlwind of emotions, could only manage a small nod in response, his fists slowly unclenching as he blinked rapidly, trying to clear the tears from his eyes before they could spill over. The overwhelming mix of embarrassment, anger, and jealousy left him feeling utterly defeated, but he fought to keep himself together, refusing to let his emotions fully show.

“Okay, yeah, let’s just all go,” Demetrius stated, giving in to the plan as the group made their way toward his dormitory, each of them still processing the bizarre events that had unfolded.

---

As they walked through the high school section of the campus, Damian and his friends felt increasingly out of place. The buildings seemed to loom larger, the older students looked impossibly mature, and everything about the high school section felt intimidating. But Anya and Demetrius, both moving with the ease of those who belonged, were completely at home.

Everywhere they went, people stopped and stared at Anya. No one except the kids and Demetrius knew she was actually the eight-year-old Anya Forger; to everyone else, she was a mysterious new girl who had suddenly appeared, radiating confidence and grace. Whispers followed them down the hallways as students speculated about who she might be.

“Looks like everyone notices Anya!” Becky said as she nudged Damian, “bet you don’t think she’s such a stupid uggo now do you?”

Damian rolled his eyes, “No people are staring cause they think she’s weird.”

Emile and Ewen, always eager to join in on the gossip, chimed in with wide grins. “I dunno, Bossman,” Ewen said with a snicker, “maybe they think she’s Demetrius’s girlfriend.”

Damian’s teeth clenched involuntarily at the suggestion. A strange, unfamiliar wave of jealousy surged through him. But he quickly shook it off, refusing to entertain the ridiculous idea. ‘There’s no way’, he told himself, though the thought still nagged at him.

Becky, not one to let things go, turned her attention to Anya with exaggerated curiosity. “So, Anya, is your boyfriend rich? Handsome? Tall?”

Anya’s expression softened, a small smile playing on her lips. “Yes, he’s all of those things, but…” Her cheeks flushed a delicate pink, and she added softly, “Most importantly, he’s kind. We’ve been through a lot together.”

Becky let out a dreamy sigh, clasping her hands together. “That’s so romantic! I want a boyfriend like that! Is he older?”

“No,” Anya replied, a hint of amusement in her voice. “He’s in our class.”

Damian felt his irritation spike, an unpleasant heat rising in his chest. ’What classmate?’ he wondered, his mind racing. ‘And why do I even care?’ But care he did, much to his annoyance. He tried to push the thoughts away, but they clung to him like stubborn cobwebs.

Before he could dwell on it any longer, a guy from the football team swaggered over, clearly interested in Anya. “Hey there, you new around here?” he asked with a confident grin, his eyes raking over Anya in a way that made Damian’s blood boil.

Before Anya could respond, Demetrius stepped in smoothly, his tone icy and commanding. “Move along.” Despite his slight build and typically aloof demeanor, there was something about Demetrius’s presence—the way he carried himself with that quiet, unyielding confidence that came with being a Desmond—that made people think twice about crossing him.

The football player hesitated, then slinked away, clearly not wanting to challenge the Desmond name. Damian felt a brief surge of satisfaction at seeing the guy retreat, but it was quickly replaced by a gnawing worry. ‘At least she won’t be stuck with that guy,’ he thought with relief. But then a more unsettling idea crept into his mind, one that made his stomach twist. ’But what if she ends up liking Demetrius?’

As they continued walking, Damian’s mind wouldn’t let go of the troubling thought. He imagined Anya and Demetrius together, laughing, studying, walking down the halls… His heart pounded harder, and not in a good way.

A group of girls nearby began whispering loudly, their voices carrying over to the group. “Who’s she? Is she a transfer student? Is she… Desmond’s girlfriend?”

“I don’t know, but she looks really cool though… But why are those kids following them?”

Damian’s hands clenched into fists, his fingers digging into his scalp as he struggled with the idea. MDesmond’s girlfriend?’The words echoed in his mind, almost too much to bear. He could feel an ill sensation rising in his throat, as if the mere suggestion was enough to make him sick.

“Bossman, you okay?” Emile asked, noticing Damian’s obvious distress.

“Yeah, you’re looking a little green,” Ewen added, peering at Damian with concern. Then, as if a lightbulb went off in his head, Ewen added, “Well, to be honest, Anya isn’t exactly Desmond material, right? But Demetrius is kind of… scary.”

Emile nodded in agreement. “Yeah, he’s always so calm, but you just know he’s thinking ten steps ahead. And remember when he just stared down that rugby player without even blinking? Creepy, right?”

Damian’s mind conjured up a horrifying shoujo manga-style image of a wedding between Anya and Demetrius—Anya in a flowing white dress, Demetrius in a sharp suit, the two of them smiling at each other with hearts in their eyes. The thought made Damian’s stomach turn. He could almost hear the nauseatingly sweet background music that would accompany such a scene.

Becky, always ready to poke the bear, snickered as she glanced at Damian. “Maybe he wants this Anya to stay so she and Demetrius can be together she can be his big sister-in-law! ” she teased, her voice full of mock innocence.

Damian shot her a withering look, his face pale and his heart pounding. Ice ran through his veins as he glared at Becky, knowing she was just trying to get a rise out of him, but he couldn’t shake the unsettling feeling gnawing at him. He said nothing, his thoughts too jumbled to respond. ’Why is this bothering me so much?‘ he thought, the question circling in his mind like a storm he couldn’t control.

As they finally reached Demetrius’s dorm, Damian kept his gaze firmly ahead, trying to bury the irrational jealousy and confusion swirling inside him. But the image of Anya with Demetrius lingered, refusing to let him rest.

Finally, they arrived at Demetrius’s dorm. Damian let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, glad to be off the increasingly unsettling campus. The tension hung in the air, especially for Damian, who couldn’t shake the turmoil churning inside him.

“Right, you three,” Demetrius gestured at the boys, “explain what you did.”

The boys took a deep breath and began to explain the process, as best as eight-year-olds could. Both Demetrius and Anya listened intently, which felt strange to Damian—Demetrius rarely paid attention to him, and now, combined with older, composed Anya, it was unsettling.

As Demetrius flipped through the pages of the spellbook, the conversation naturally paused. Becky sidled up to Anya, still fascinated by the entire situation. “So, Anya… when you get back to your time, will you tell your boyfriend about all of this? I bet he’d be super jealous if he knew Damian was helping you.”

Anya’s smile turned a bit mischievous. “Oh, I think he’d find it pretty funny, if I’m honest.”

Becky oohed, her curiosity piqued. “Nice! Yeah, I bet your boyfriend doesn’t get fazed by other guys at all.”

Anya laughed. “He definitely gets fazed sometimes, but with stuff like that, we can work it out.”

Becky gasped dramatically, looking like she’d just discovered a new life goal. “You’re so mature and cool, Anya! I love it! Am I as cool as you?”

Damian rolled his eyes, clearly fed up with the whole conversation. “Neither of you are cool!”

Anya stared at Damian for a moment, her expression thoughtful as she studied him. Damian’s face flushed red under her intense gaze, her big green eyes making him squirm. She was definitely Anya. “W-what do you want?!” he snapped, stomping his foot in frustration, trying to break the tension.

But she didn’t look away. “Sy-on boy… let’s go outside for a moment.”

Damian huffed, crossing his arms defensively. “Fine, whatever,” he grumbled, dragging his feet as he followed Anya out of the dorm room. She closed the door behind them, and he stood there, glaring at her.

“I can’t help but ask… why did you do this? Why did you want to be older?” she asked, her voice gentle but curious.

“That’s none of your business!” he spat, his bratty tone cutting through the air.

Anya didn’t flinch. Instead, she placed a hand on his shoulder, her touch soft. “I’m just trying to help, Damian. Please, tell me.” She smiled at him, and Damian felt that same uncomfortable squirming sensation he got when little Anya looked at him with tears in her eyes.

“I-I-I wanted to be older like Demetrius! If I was older, I could get as many Stella Stars as him—maybe even more!” He refused to admit the deeper truth—that he wanted to be more like Demetrius so his father might finally be impressed and spend more time with him.

“I see. Well, that took a lot of courage to admit,” Anya said, her voice calm and reassuring. She placed her other hand on his other shoulder and bent down so her face was close to his. “But don’t you think that even if it had worked, it wouldn’t have solved anything? You’d just be older, and you’d have lost all the time you could’ve spent with your friends.”

Damian’s heart pounded like crazy, and if she wasn’t holding him still, he would’ve bolted. This was like his usual Anya fluster times a million. “B-b-but…” He tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t come out.

Anya sighed and stepped back, giving him some space. “Can you just try to accept that you’re good enough?” she asked, tilting her head to the side with a soft smile.

Damian’s face felt like it was on fire, and he couldn’t bring himself to say anything.

“For me?” Anya added sweetly.

“F-fine! But you’re still a big uggo with stubby legs! And I bet your boyfriend smells!” Damian blurted out, his bratty tone flaring up as a defense.

Anya chuckled, unable to resist ruffling his hair again. “Aw, little Sy-on boy…”

“Hey!” Becky called from the door, peeking out. “I think Demetrius has found something!”

Anya and Damian quickly returned inside.

Demetrius looked up from the spellbook. “I think this is it,” he said, pointing to a passage. “But we’ll need the same items you used originally to cast it. Do you still have them?”

Damian nodded, pulling out the rusted key, quail’s egg, and blue marble. “Yeah, I’ve got everything. Let’s just get this over with.”

Anya looked at the items and then at Damian, her expression softening. “Thank you, Damian. For everything.”

Damian felt his cheeks heat up again. The normal Anya never said his first name like that. “Whatever.”

“Just real quick…” Anya walked over to Demetrius. “I’m guessing there’s a memory removal spell?”

Demetrius nodded. “There is, yeah. I’ll use it on the kids.”

Anya nodded, relieved that he immediately understood.

Becky’s eyes widened. “What?! No! You can’t make us forget you—you’re so cool!”

Emile, Ewen, and even Damian reacted a little, clearly not thrilled with the idea.

Anya knelt down to their level, her voice warm and gentle. “Aw, guys, it’ll be fine. I’ve probably revealed too much, and I don’t want any of your futures to change.”

She hugged each one of them warmly, saving Damian for last. As she hugged him, Damian stiffened, not hugging her back. She whispered something sweet in his ear: “I think you’re good enough, and little Anya does too, we don’t want you to be like Demetrius”

Damian’s breath hitched, a mix of emotions swirling inside him. She knew. How did she know? He felt his jealousy melt away, if only for a moment.

Anya then turned back to Demetrius. “Thank you for your help,” she said, her tone sincere.

Demetrius looked at her thoughtfully before asking point-blank, “Anya… your boyfriend… he’s…”

“Yes,” Anya replied, smiling endearingly.

Demetrius nodded, processing the confirmation.

With that, Demetrius began the ritual, carefully following the instructions in the spellbook. The room filled with a soft glow as the spell took effect, and soon, the pink smoke returned, enveloping Anya once more.

When the smoke cleared, Anya was back to her eight-year-old self, sitting on the floor and looking dazed. She yawned and rubbed her eyes, blinking at her surroundings.

“Anya!” Becky exclaimed, rushing over to her. “You’re back!”

Anya blinked, her big, innocent eyes wide as she looked around. “What happened? Who woke me up?”

Damian let out a sigh of relief, glad to see that Anya was okay, though he couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of loss.

“What was it like?” Becky asked, her curiosity bubbling over.

“What was what like?” Anya asked, tilting her head, which made the kids collectively facepalm.

“The future! That’s where you went!! Did you see us?” Emile asked, his voice filled with excitement.

Anya just blinked, her expression blank. “No, I think I was sleeping.”

“Are you serious?” Ewen groaned, throwing his hands up in exasperation.

As the others complained, Anya stared at Damian, trying to piece together her memories. There was something fuzzy and warm in her thoughts when she tried to remember if she had been somewhere else. Damian’s face seemed to float into her mind.

Damian noticed her staring and immediately turned beet red, his bratty instincts kicking in. “W-what, uggo?! Stop looking at me like that!”

Anya blinked again, her thoughts swirling. “Maybe… I think I saw…” She paused, trying to grasp the fleeting memory of Damian’s face in her mind. “No, I don’t remember.” She shrugged, letting it go, though the feeling lingered.

“Can all of you sit in a circle?” Demetrius suddenly interrupted, his voice flat and uninterested, as if he was bored with the whole ordeal.

“No!” Becky protested, crossing her arms defiantly. “I don’t want to forget older Anya!”

Demetrius gave them all a stern, emotionless look, and they reluctantly gave in, shuffling into a circle. As he performed the memory removal spell, it was almost like magic—because it was—the kids suddenly forgot everything, blinking in confusion as they looked around, wondering why they were sitting there.

“I’m hungry,” Anya mumbled, rubbing her eyes sleepily. “I want peanuts.”

Damian, feeling oddly lighter and more relaxed, snorted. “You’re always hungry for something dumb like peanuts.”

Anya frowned, her confusion deepening. “Why are you so mean to me?”

Damian blushed, quickly looking away to hide his embarrassment. “Shut up, stupid. Let’s just get out of here,” he grumbled, stomping out of the room. The others followed, leaving Anya and the others to wonder why he was acting so strange.

—

Epilogue - The Future

The sun was beginning to set, casting a warm, golden glow over the city as Anya and Damian strolled down the quiet street, laughing about something trivial and enjoying the calm after a long day at Eden Academy. They had just finished studying for their upcoming exams, but the conversation had long since shifted to lighter topics—jokes about their classmates, teasing each other, and the occasional playful argument.

Anya, now fifteen and every bit as confident and spirited as she had been back in her earlier years, nudged Damian playfully. “You know, you still make that grumpy face whenever someone mentions Demetrius,” she teased, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

Damian rolled his eyes, though there was a fond smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Yeah, well, old habits die hard,” he retorted, but his tone was light, and there was no real edge to his words. Being with Anya had softened his once hard lines—at least around her.

They continued walking, their hands brushing occasionally, the comfort of their relationship evident in every little interaction. Damian glanced at Anya, marveling at how much had changed since they were kids. He never would have imagined back then that they’d end up like this—together, and happy.

But just as the thought crossed his mind, Anya suddenly stumbled, her grip on his arm tightening for a moment before she swayed, her eyes fluttering shut.

“Anya?” Damian’s voice was filled with concern as he caught her, easing her down onto a nearby bench. His heart pounded in his chest, a surge of panic rising as he watched her seemingly lose consciousness.

And then, with a soft “poof,” Anya’s body shrank before his eyes, her teenage form dissolving into the familiar figure of an eight-year-old girl. She was now back in her original Eden Academy elementary school uniform, looking just as she had years ago—innocent, sweet, and utterly adorable.

For a moment, Damian just stared, his breath caught in his throat. He was overwhelmed by a rush of emotions he hadn’t felt in years. Anya, small and childlike again, was undeniably cute—so cute that it almost made him want to scoop her up and never let go. But then he remembered who he was, and what had just happened.

He had to hold it together.

Gently, he cradled Anya in his arms, feeling her head nestle against his shoulder as she drifted into a deep sleep, seemingly unaware of the transformation that had just occurred. Damian’s heart squeezed as he held her close, his protective instincts kicking in full force. She was so small, so vulnerable… and so not supposed to be eight years old right now.

His mind raced back to the odd conversation he’d had with Demetrius when he’d turned fifteen. At the time, it had seemed so out of the blue—Demetrius, with his usual cryptic demeanor, had pulled him aside and told him, “There’s a chance Anya might… revert, someday. If it happens, don’t panic. Just call me.”

Damian had brushed it off back then, finding it weird and typical of his brother’s strange way of speaking. But now, holding a tiny, sleeping Anya in his arms, the memory came rushing back with a cold clarity.

He needed to call Demetrius. Now.

Spotting a small convenience store nearby, Damian adjusted Anya in his arms and made his way inside. The bell above the door chimed softly as he entered, and the shopkeeper, an elderly woman with a kind face, looked up from the counter.

“Well, aren’t you just the cutest young father,” she said with a warm smile, her eyes twinkling as she noticed the sleeping girl in his arms.

Damian’s cheeks flushed a deep red at the comment. He quickly shook his head, ready to correct her, but the words got caught in his throat. Instead, he found himself inwardly admitting that the idea of having mini Anyas with his Anya someday wasn’t so bad. It was a thought that made his heart flutter—a future he hadn’t dared to imagine before now.

But he quickly refocused, pushing the thought aside. He had more pressing concerns at the moment.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” Damian managed to say, his voice a little tight. “Could I use your pay phone?”

“Of course, dear,” the shopkeeper said, gesturing to the old-fashioned pay phone in the corner of the store. “It’s right over there.”

“Thank you,” Damian replied, carrying Anya over to the phone. He carefully balanced her in one arm and fished a few coins out of his pocket with the other, slipping them into the slot before dialing Demetrius’s number. The phone rang once, twice, and then his brother’s calm, measured voice answered on the other end.

“Damian,” Demetrius said, his tone indicating that he already knew why Damian was calling. “It’s happening, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Damian replied, his voice a little more strained than he would have liked. He glanced down at Anya, still fast asleep in his arms. “She just… poofed back into a kid. What do I do?”

“Bring her to the estate,” Demetrius instructed, his voice steady. “I’ll explain everything when you get here. And Damian… try to stay calm.”

Damian nodded, even though his brother couldn’t see him. “Yeah… sure,” he muttered, hanging up the phone. He took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts as he looked down at the little girl in his arms—the girl who had somehow stolen his heart, even if she was eight years old again.

Despite the situation, a small, fond smile tugged at his lips. “You’re lucky you’re so cute, you know that?” he whispered, more to himself than to her.

With that, he adjusted his grip on her and left the store, giving a quick nod of thanks to the shopkeeper as he headed toward the Desmond estate. His heart was filled with both concern and an odd sense of nostalgia. Whatever this was, whatever had caused this strange turn of events, he’d figure it out—with Demetrius’s help, of course. But for now, all that mattered was getting Anya somewhere safe.

#damian desmond #damianya #spy x family #anya forger #damianyaweek2024

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