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chosok-amo · 6 days ago

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I F☆CK HATE EMO BOYS s. geto & k. choso

☆ sum. you hate emo boys, you hate how they pretend to be all dark and mysterious, you also hate how they wear nothing but black. there are two emo boys in your class and they seem to notice the hate inside your body— if they d☆ck you down sooo good, are still going to hate emo boys?

warning. college au, dōuble-penetration, manhandling, ōral ( m receiving ), fingēring, semi-public space, anāl, unprotected sēx, geto is annoying,

you hate emo boys.

you sit cross-legged on the floor of the cramped music room, arms crossed tightly over your chest as you glare daggers at the two so-called emo boys sitting on the stage with you. it’s your final project for the semester, and of course, you got stuck with them—choso and geto. you’re already mentally drained by their whole “dark and brooding” shtick, and the fact that they’re in the same art and music major only ensures you’re forced to endure it day after day.

choso is hunched over his electric guitar, strumming out a tune that sounds suspiciously similar to every other broody song he’s ever played. his face is painted with that classic distant, “nobody gets me” expression that makes you want to roll your eyes so far back they might get stuck. meanwhile, geto, who is supposed to be helping with the composition, is lounging on the stage like he owns the place, cigarette dangling from his lips, blowing smoke rings as if he’s above it all.

your patience is wearing thin.

“you know,” you say, voice laced with sarcasm, “sitting around and looking like a dark cloud doesn’t exactly count as helping.”

geto tilts his head, smirking as he blows another lazy ring of smoke, seemingly unfazed by your irritation. his long black hair falls in messy strands around his face, half-tied up in some kind of “effortlessly cool” way that, unfortunately, does suit him. but god, it’s infuriating. the urge to yank that stupid ponytail and force him to actually do something is almost unbearable.

“i am helping,” he drawls, voice dripping with boredom as he stretches out, reclining back on his elbows. “just by being here, i’m setting the mood.”

choso stifles a laugh, not even bothering to hide his amusement at your irritation. you shoot him a glare that could freeze fire, and he just shrugs, clearly used to geto’s antics. “yeah,” choso chimes in, plucking a single, somber note, “besides, nobody asked you to be here either.”

“unfortunately, the professor did,” you mutter under your breath. you’re practically boiling with annoyance, fists clenching. “and we’re supposed to be collaborating, not indulging in whatever dark poet wannabe persona you’re both putting on.”

geto smirks wider, taking another drag of his cigarette as he looks you up and down. “oh, you mean you don’t appreciate my brooding, enigmatic aura? i’m just trying to channel my inner tortured artist,” he responds with mock sincerity. “we’re not all about sunshine and rainbows like you, princess. some of us have a deeper connection to music.”

choso is still snickering as he strums out another note, the two emo boys clearly enjoying your irritation. choso meets geto’s eye with a playful look, as though they’re both in on some secret joke, but you can’t decipher the silent communication between them. he grins, clearly enjoying how easy it is to rile you up. “yeah, it’s not our fault you have the musical taste of a high school pep rally.” his comment earns a snort from geto, who chuckles under his breath.

you scoff, rolling your eyes so dramatically that it’s a miracle they don’t roll right out of your head. their mocking expressions, geto’s cigarette-smoke smile, and choso’s silent snickers grate on you, pushing every button they seem to know so well.

“oh, please,” you say, voice thick with sarcasm as you fling your pen, first at geto and then at choso. it clatters harmlessly beside them, but the message is clear. “i have a deep connection with music too, you know.” your eyes lock onto geto’s, a challenge blazing in your gaze. “just because i don’t act like i’ve lived through a hundred lifetimes of despair doesn’t mean i can’t understand depth.”

geto’s smirk doesn’t falter; if anything, it grows. he leans back, tilting his head slightly, the cigarette dangling between his fingers as he studies you with feigned curiosity. “is that so?” he drawls, looking entirely unconvinced.

you ignore him, turning to choso, who’s still grinning like he’s just heard the best joke of his life. “and by the way, my music taste is nothing like a high school pep rally. just because i don’t sit around and strum sad songs doesn’t mean i don’t know good music when i hear it.”

choso chuckles, shrugging one shoulder as he casually strums another lazy chord on his guitar. “right. suuuure, princess,” he says, the endearment clearly meant to rile you up more.

you take a breath, hands curling into fists at your sides. “if anyone here is all talk, it’s the two of you. maybe if you actually spent half as much time doing the work instead of pretending to be these misunderstood, tragic geniuses, we’d actually finish this project.”

geto and choso share another amused look, enjoying how easily they can get under your skin. geto takes another drag of his cigarette, exhaling a plume of smoke as he smirks at your fiery response. “cute speech,” he drawls, his voice dripping with condescension. “but forgive me if i don’t quite believe it. you think you understand depth just because you listen to some shallow pop songs and think they’re deep?”

choso chuckles again, clearly enjoying the spectacle, and continues to idly play his guitar with his signature smirk.

geto lets out a low chuckle, leaning forward with an exaggerated sigh. he leans back on one elbow, cigarette balanced between his fingers. “you’ve got us all figured out, don’t you? we’re just two dark, brooding souls living tragically deep, tortured lives. and you’re just… what? some bright ray of sunshine, here to bring us out of our musical abyss?”

choso chuckles again, still plucking at his guitar as he shares another amused glance with geto. “yeah, how lucky we are. our very own little guardian angel, here to save us from our emo ways,” he responds, clearly finding the situation amusing.

geto nods, taking another drag of his cigarette and blowing a perfect smoke ring into the air. he studies you intently, his gaze almost calculating as he watches for your reaction. “your enthusiasm is endearing,” he smirks, “but let’s not pretend that you’re anything more than a naive, hopelessly optimistic girl in a class full of brooding, misunderstood artists.”

you glare at geto, feeling the heat of frustration bubbling beneath your skin as his smirk widens with every word he says. the sight of him leaning back, exhaling another plume of smoke as if he owns the world and everyone in it, makes your blood boil. that condescending drawl, that cocky look—god, you hate emo boys.

without thinking, you reach down, grab his bag, and hurl it straight at him. it smacks him square in the chest, and he blinks in surprise, momentarily caught off guard as he catches it before it hits the ground.

“you’re an asshole, suguru,” you snap, voice sharp as you stand up, glaring at both of them. “i hate you and your stupid, tortured artist act. enjoy your ‘depth’ without me.” you turn to leave, gripping your things, determined to escape this room filled with cigarette smoke and smug grins.

geto rolls his eyes, his smirk never faltering as he watches you storm toward the door, clearly amused by your outburst. with a sigh, he stands up, taking his time before following you to the door. “don’t be sooo thin-skinned, sunshine,” he drawls, reaching out to catch your hand, which is already on the doorknob.

you yank your hand back, but he’s faster, his grip firm as he gently pulls your hand away from the door. and before you even realize what’s happening, he twists the lock, the soft click filling the air.

you narrow your eyes at him, frustration flaring again as he stands behind you, his presence way too close. he still has that damn smirk, looking down at you with a mix of challenge and amusement. his hands move to rest on your upper arms, a touch that’s surprisingly gentle but keeps you in place. you tense under his grip, but he’s already nudging you backward, guiding you away from the door, back toward the center of the room where choso is still sitting, half-watching the scene unfold as he idly strums his guitar.

“you know,” geto murmurs, that hint of laughter still in his tone, “maybe you’re taking all of this a bit too personally. it’s not like we don’t appreciate your presence or anything.” he’s leaning in, close enough that his words are more of a soft murmur against your ear.

you huff, rolling your eyes. “oh, sure. you just like having me here to entertain you with my ‘shallow’ music taste, right?”

geto chuckles, his breath ghosting over your ear in a way that sends a slight shiver down your spine. but you push the feeling away, refusing to let his subtle touch affect you. “hmm, something like that,” he replies, his voice a low murmur. “and your little temper tantrums are so cute.”

you slowly turning your head over your shoulder to give him a glare that could melt steel. the audacity. you arch an eyebrow, letting out a huff. “you’re a dog, you know that, right?”

but geto’s smirk only deepens, clearly unfazed. he leans in, his lips barely grazing the shell of your ear, close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath. “woof woof,” he murmurs, his voice low and dripping with a mock sultriness that sends a shiver down your spine despite yourself. he’s so close that you can almost feel his smile in that smug tone, knowing full well the effect he’s having on you.

you clench your jaw, trying to ignore the strange flutter that rises in your chest. why did he have to turn everything into a game, a challenge that he somehow always managed to win? your fingers tighten around your things, grounding yourself as you try to shake off the flush threatening to rise to your cheeks.

“ugh, seriously?” you mutter, yanking yourself out of his grasp as you step away, putting some much-needed space between you. “can you be any more insufferable?”

geto just chuckles, taking pleasure in your reaction. he’s clearly enjoying the game of cat and mouse, loving every moment of your frustration. and as you try to step away, his hand snatches the back of your shirt, yanking you back toward him, preventing your escape. he pulls you closer with a fluid motion, bringing you within inches of his smug face.

he leans in, his voice is low and laced with that same hint of mockery. “i can actually be significantly worse. i’m just holding back, princess. you should be grateful.”

choso snickers from his spot on the stage, watching the spectacle with a knowing smirk. he’s seen this song and dance between you and geto countless times, and yet he never gets tired of it. after all, the sight of you and geto at each other’s throats is always a thrilling one.

geto takes a minu step closer, closing the distance between you two. his grip tightens on the back of your shirt, keeping you in place. “so, what are you going to do now, sunshine? keep huffing and puffing, or are you going to give in?”

you roll your eyes, crossing your arms, but there’s a faint smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “maybe i should start carrying a spray bottle for you two,” you snap back, though the playful edge in your voice betrays your amusement.

choso laughs outright, a sharp bark of laughter, while geto chuckles, a low rumble in his chest. “oh, a spray bottle? how original, princess,” geto teases, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “go ahead. i could use a good misting.” he takes another step closer, the heat of his body nearly close enough to touch yours. his grip on your shirt is still firm, but you can feel his fingers tracing small circles on the fabric, a subtle display of possessiveness.

choso chuckles as he strums out another chord on his guitar. “yeah, we’re not kittens you can just spray with water,” he remarks. “but we might respond to treats.” you roll your eyes, scoffing at choso’s words. “as if i’d give you two anything resembling a treat. you don’t do anything that deserves one,” you mutter, voice dripping with sarcasm.

geto smirks, clearly enjoying your reaction, and inches even closer, closing the already narrow space between you two. you can feel the fabric of his shirt brushing against your hands, which you’ve instinctively placed on his chest to push him back, but he doesn’t seem inclined to give you the space you need. instead, he just leans in further, his gaze unwavering and challenging as his fingers continue to lightly trace along the hem of your shirt, a subtle, infuriating reminder that he’s got you exactly where he wants you.

choso’s smirk deepens as he lifts his hand, extending his middle and ring fingers in a subtle, teasing wiggle that makes your cheeks burn instantly. “oh, i can do plenty that deserves a treat,” he murmurs, his voice carrying just the right mix of mischief and challenge, the playful gleam in his eyes only adding to his boldness.

your face flushes as you glare at him, momentarily stunned by his audacity. “pervert,” you snap, rolling your eyes in an attempt to cover up the blush creeping up your face. geto chuckles, clearly amused by your reaction, and leans even closer, his breath warm against your skin as he adds, “oh, i think we hit a nerve there, didn’t we, sunshine?”

you turn your glare back at him, trying to shake off the heat that’s already spreading across your face. “maybe if you two idiots put half as much effort into this project as you do into annoying me, we’d actually be done by now.”

geto snickers, unfazed by your insults. “oh sweetheart, where would the fun be in that?” he retorts, his voice dripping with mockery. “and honestly, annoying you might be more enjoyable than your whole music taste.”

choso chuckles from his spot on the stage, clearly enjoying the back and forth as he idly strums out a lazy chord on his guitar. “come on, admit it. you love the attention,” he teases with a knowing smirk. “how else would we keep you from fleeing the room?”

geto’s eyes glint with a devilish spark as he draws out the word, “but…” letting the silence stretch just long enough to make you tense up in anticipation. before you can even fully register his intentions, he wraps an arm around your waist, effortlessly lifting you off your feet, his strength catching you off guard. instinctively, your legs wrap around his waist to steady yourself, a surprised gasp escaping your lips.

“if you’re so eager for us to work on this project,” he murmurs, that familiar teasing tone laced with something deeper, “then i suppose we should oblige you.”

choso watches with a smirk, setting his guitar aside and leaning back on his hands, clearly entertained. he shifts slightly as geto carries you over to him, his gaze lazily tracing the scene as though it’s all some amusing game.

before you know it, geto lays you down, your head coming to rest on choso’s thigh, his fingers instantly playing with a strand of your hair while he looks down at you with a knowing grin. geto settles between your legs, his eyes alight with mischief as he leans closer, his weight pressing against you just enough to pin you there.

your eyes widen, heart pounding as you squirm, trying to push him away and hit his shoulder. “suguru, get off!” you snap, your voice sharper than you intended, but he only chuckles, entirely unfazed.

geto’s smirk only widens, clearly enjoying your flustered attempt to escape. as you try to push him away, he effortlessly catches your wrists, pinning them above your head, his body still pressed against yours, effectively trapping you.

he leans in, his breath hot against you as he speaks, his voice a low, amused murmur. “easy, princess. we’re just working on the project, remember?” choso chuckles from above, his fingers still idly toying with your hair as he looks down at you, clearly enjoying this moment. “yeah, relax. we’re actually going to be productive for once,” he teases, a smirk on his lips.

geto’s grip tightens on your wrists as he shifts his weight, settling himself more comfortably into the space between your legs. he’s so close that you can feel the heat radiating off him, the scent of cigarettes and something more distinctly him filling your senses. he leans in closer, his lips hovering just above your ear, his voice a low murmur. “or are you finally starting to enjoy this?”

your cheeks flush a deep red, the warmth spreading down your neck as you try to keep your composure. you look away, biting your lip as you feel your heart pounding in your chest, the sound of it almost deafening in your ears. taking a steadying breath, you clear your throat, desperately trying to suppress any hint of nervousness.

“this… this is not the project,” you murmur, voice barely above a whisper, but you don’t pull away. instead, you muster up the courage to meet geto’s gaze, your eyes locking onto his with a mix of defiance and something else—something you’re not quite ready to name.

geto’s smirk deepens at your whispered protest. he leans in closer, his breath ghosting over your skin, igniting a shiver down your spine. “sure it is,” he counters, his voice a low rumble, his eyes locked onto yours. “we’re getting acquainted with each other’s… skills, let’s say. it’s an essential part of the creative process.” choso snickers from above, his fingers still moving lazily through your hair. “yeah, consider it a team-building exercise,” he adds, his voice dripping with amusement.

your gaze locks onto geto’s, the challenge in your eyes unmistakable. you tilt your head slightly, defiant and intrigued all at once, a smirk pulling at your lips. “yeah?” you murmur, voice barely above a whisper. “and just what kind of skills are we talking about?”

geto’s smirk widens, clearly delighted by your question. he leans even closer, his lips ghosting over yours, almost but not quite touching. “well,” he murmurs, his voice a tantalizing murmur that sends a shiver down your spine, “the kind of skills that… require hands-on experience.”

choso chuckles softly above you, his hand in your hair, fingers curling lightly around a strand. “you’re in good hands, don’t worry,” he teases, his tone both playful and reassuring. “we’re professionals, after all.” you roll your eyes at the both of them, your heart racing despite your best efforts to stay composed. “oh? you do?” you mutter, though the way your voice wavers slightly betrays your flustered state.

geto’s smirk turns almost devilish as he notices the slight waver in your voice, feeling your resistance beginning to crumble. he shifts his body, pressing himself even closer against you, his hands still holding your wrists captive above your head.

“oh, we do,” he affirms, a note of confidence edging into his voice. “we’ve got plenty of… relevant experience.” choso chuckles softly, his fingers continuing to toy idly with your hair. “and we’re more than happy to give you a… hands-on demonstration,” he adds, his tone teasing.

a rush of heat floods your cheeks, but you don’t dare look away, meeting geto’s gaze head-on, even with your heart pounding so fiercely that he can feel the pulse beneath his fingers. you swallow, your defiance giving way to something more vulnerable, more curious.

“like what?” you whisper, barely audible, but he catches every word. the smirk on his face shifts, deepening into something darker, a spark of satisfaction flaring in his eyes at your words, the smirk on his face turns almost predatory.

choso’s hand continues to toy idly with your hair, watching the scene unfold. a soft chuckle escapes his lips as he witnesses the undeniable tension between the two of you, clearly enjoying the show.

geto leans in even closer, his breath hot against your skin, his eyes locking onto yours as you speak. “like this.” he moves suddenly, pressing his lips against yours in a firm, possessive kiss, his grip on your wrists tightening just enough to make you gasp against his mouth.

the kiss is demanding, almost possessive, like he’s staking his claim on you at that very moment. his tongue brushes lightly over your bottom lip, a silent request for entry, but doesn’t give you a chance to respond before his tongue pushes into your mouth, claiming it.

as geto kisses you, his lips move against yours with a mixture of rough possessiveness and subtle tenderness, the contrast making your head spin. he doesn’t give you any room to pull away, his body still pinning you firmly in place, his hands still holding your wrists captive above your head. it’s dominant, overwhelming, and you find yourself melting into the kiss without even realizing it.

when he eventually breaks away for air, his eyes scan your face, taking note of your flushed cheeks and heavy breathing. he smirks, noticing the way you’ve already lost some of your resistance.

you stare up at him, wide-eyed and breathless, struggling to steady your racing heart as you feel the lingering warmth of his lips on yours. your cheeks are flushed, and the remnants of the kiss—soft, glistening traces of shared heat—cling to your lips, a tangible reminder of the closeness that had just taken place.

geto’s smirk only widens as he takes in your expression, clearly pleased with the effect he’s had on you. he shifts, letting one of his hands trail down, grazing your cheek in a teasing, feather-light touch. “what’s the matter?” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing. “cat got your tongue?”

you open your mouth to say something, anything, but the words catch in your throat, leaving you speechless. all you can do is glare at him, though the intensity is softened by the dazed look in your eyes.

geto’s smirk only deepens at your lack of response, clearly enjoying the power he has over you in that moment. he leans in closer, his hand tracing a path down your neck, his touch light and tantalizing. “tsk, tsk,” he murmurs between chuckles. “no cutting remarks? no snarky comeback?”

he leans down, his lips hovering just above your ear as he murmurs, “or are you just too distracted by my… skills?”

“n-no,” you stammer, your voice barely above a whisper, betraying the mess of emotions tumbling around inside you. your gaze flickers from geto’s amused smirk to choso’s lazy, knowing grin, and you quickly lick your lower lip, still tasting the faint remnants of geto’s kiss.

choso leans over you, a sly grin on his lips, clearly amused by how flustered you’ve become. “seems like we’ve finally managed to render her speechless,” he teases, his voice laced with amusement. you swallow, trying to regain even a fraction of your composure, but the feeling of geto’s lips lingering on yours keeps replaying in your mind, muddling every sharp retort you want to throw at him.

“i don’t—” you start, desperately trying to sound defiant, but the slight quiver in your voice gives you away. “i don’t...” the words come out weaker than you intended, and even you can feel the doubt behind them.

you hate emo boys, right?

choso chuckles, clearly amused at your feeble attempt to hold onto your usual defiant attitude. he continues to toy with your hair, his fingers gently twirling strands around them as he leans back against the stage.

geto, on the other hand, takes your attempt as a challenge, his smirk widening into a sly grin. he tightens his grip on your wrists, pinning you even more firmly against his body. “oh, really?” he murmurs, his voice dripping with mockery. “you don’t what, princess?”

you frown, finally managing to push geto back just enough to sit up, shaking your wrists free from his hold. “you’re so damn annoying,” you mutter, trying to sound resolute, though your heart is still racing, and your cheeks are still warm.

but before you can even think of standing, choso’s hand wraps around your wrist, tugging you backward with a gentle yet firm pull. you lose your balance, falling back into his lap, your back pressing against his chest as his arms settle around you, keeping you securely in place.

“now, now,” he whispers, his voice low and smooth, right next to your ear, “we haven’t finished with the hands-on learning session.” his fingers trace slow, lazy circles on your arm, and you can feel the rumble of his chuckle against your back.

geto watches with a pleased smirk, his eyes glinting with amusement as he leans back, clearly entertained by the shift in control. “see, princess? you keep acting all tough, but you’re right where we want you,” he teases, folding his arms and tilting his head as he watches you, enjoying every flustered reaction.

your face burns, but despite the urge to throw out a sharp comeback, your mind goes blank with the feeling of choso’s closeness, his steady presence both soothing and entirely overwhelming.

your breath catches as choso’s arm slides around your waist, pulling you even closer against his chest. his touch is gentle yet firm, grounding you in place, and there’s no escaping the warmth of his body pressed against yours. when his chin settles on your shoulder, you can feel the soft scrape of his stubble against your skin, a contrast to the smoothness of his voice as he whispers.

“you keep resisting,” he murmurs, his voice teasing and warm against your ear, “but maybe that’s because we haven’t given you a proper, hands-on demonstration yet.”

his other hand glides over yours, fingers lacing together as he leans in, his breath tickling the sensitive skin along your jawline before running his fingers over your clothed breast, feeling the lace material over your shirt. geto, watching your reaction with that same devilish smirk, steps in closer, his presence filling any space left, his gaze sharp and intense.

with you pinned between the two of them, there’s no escaping their touch or their relentless teasing. choso’s hand, so maddeningly close to bare skin, moves confidently over your shirt, while geto leans in even closer, his smirk growing wider as he takes in the flushed look on your face.

he reaches up, lazily trailing his fingers down your cheek, his touch sending tingles down your spine. “or maybe,” he murmurs, “you’re just not ready to admit how much you’re enjoying this.”

“shut up,“ you mumble, squirming uncomfortably under their combined gazes. your cheeks burn hotter than ever, and it’s hard to focus on anything other than the sensation of choso’s fingers dancing dangerously close and geto’s intoxicating proximity.

you try to pull away, to put some distance between yourself and the two men who seem intent on breaking down your walls, but choso only tighten his hold, making escape nearly impossible. “let me go,” you demand, your voice shaky, but whether from anger or arousal, you’re not sure.

“what fun would that be?” geto retorts, crossing his arms over his chest. his smirk doesn’t falter, and if anything, it grows more pronounced as he watches you struggle in vain against choso’s grip.

choso, meanwhile, seems content to let geto handle most of the verbal sparring, focusing instead on the task at hand. his fingers continue their tortuous path over the fabric of your shirt, tracing the outline of your breasts through the thin material. his touch is light, teasing, but the effect is undeniable.

the room may be empty, but it feels like the walls are closing in, the heat between the three of you nearly palpable. you swallow hard, struggling to maintain your composure as choso’s fingers brush tantalizingly close to your nipples. you bite your lip, a soft whimper escaping your throat as geto’s smirk deepens.

“we should do our project instead... instead of this,” you stammer, trying to muster some semblance of defiance, even though your body betrays you with each passing second. your heart pounds in your chest, your breaths coming quicker as the tension in the room rises.

geto scoffs, rolling his eyes at your suggestion. “who said anything about stopping?” he drawls, shifting slightly in his seat to give himself a better view of your predicament. his dark eyes sparkle with mischief, and his grin widens even further, revealing his white teeth.

choso chuckles softly, leaning in until his lips brush against your ear. “this is a part of our project, no?” he purrs, his hot breath tickling your sensitive skin. his fingers finally dip beneath your shirt, finding your hardened nipple through your bra and pinching it gently, eliciting a gasp from you.

geto watches, his smirking eyes never leaving yours as choso continues his torment, his own hands moving freely now that you’re effectively trapped between them. with nowhere else to turn, you grit your teeth and glare at geto, even as choso’s fingers continue their wicked exploration. “i swear,” you seethe, “if you don’t stop—”

“and what would you do?” geto interrupts, raising an eyebrow in challenge. he leans in closer, his smirk turning into a full-blown grin as he gets a whiff of your scent. “because i’m not seeing much resistance here.”

before you can come up with a retort, choso’s hand snakes its way around your waist, his thumb brushing against your belly button. he leans in, his breath warm against your ear. “relax, princess,” he coos, his voice dropping to a low purr. “it’s just sex.”

you wince as choso’s thumb brushes against your exposed flesh, a shudder running through your body at his words. you clench your fists, biting your lip to keep from moaning aloud. “t-that’s not true!” you protest weakly, though your body tells a different story. your cheeks flush darker, your heart pounding wildly in your chest as the heat between the three of you intensifies. god, you hate emo boys so much!

geto barks out a laugh at your weak protests, shaking his head in amusement. “oh please, spare us the indignation act. we all know you’re loving every second of this.” choso hums in agreement, his fingers trailing lower, dipping teasingly below the waistband of your skirt. “your body is far more honest than your mouth,” he murmurs, nipping lightly at your earlobe.

geto shifts closer, one hand coming up to cup your jaw, forcing you to meet his heated gaze. “why fight it? we both know where this is heading. might as well enjoy the ride, hmm?” his thumb brushes across your bottom lip, a clear invitation. behind you, choso presses closer, the evidence of his arousal evident against your backside as his hands roam your curves possessively.

geto merely laughs, shaking his head in disbelief. “denial isn’t a very attractive trait, love,” he teases, reaching out to run a finger along your arm. the sensation sends sparks shooting up your skin, and you can’t help but flinch.

choso grins devilishly, taking advantage of your reaction. he slips his hand lower, his fingers tracing the curve of your hip before dipping beneath the hem of your skirt. his touch is feather-light, teasing, yet filled with promise. his hand slides lower to tease the edge of your panties. his fingers ghost along the delicate fabric, making you jump in surprise. “so tense,” he murmurs, his tone dripping with false sympathy. “let us help you relax. this is a part of the project, we promise. gonna show you how to used your fingers for guitar.”

geto chuckles darkly, his eyes glinting with wicked amusement. “that’s right, princess. we’re just giving you a private lesson,” he purrs, his voice low and seductive. “all part of the creative process.” he leans in closer, his breath hot against your neck as he whispers, “but i think we can teach you something far more... practical.”

choso hums in agreement, his fingers still teasing along the edge of your panties. “indeed. music theory is important, but sometimes...” his hand suddenly cups your mound, applying firm pressure. “...hands-on experience is necessary for real growth.”

geto smirks, his hand sliding up to tangle in your hair. “what do you say, love? ready to expand your horizons and learn a new instrument?” his other hand trails down your side, fingertips grazing the side of your breast.

whimpers and squirms, you inhale sharply as choso’s hand boldly cups your most intimate area, his touch sending jolts of unwanted pleasure through your body. your hips jerking involuntarily into his touch. a needy whimper escapes your lips before you can stop it, your resolve crumbling under their relentless assault. geto’s fingers in your hair and teasing caress along your breast make it hard to think straight.

“i... i don’t...” you stammer, but your body betrays your true desires. your thighs tremble, pressing together as if seeking friction, and your nipples strain against the confines of your bra, begging for attention. “that— that’s not,” you protest weakly, even as your body betrays you, arching slightly into their touches. your face burns with humiliation and shameful arousal. “expand your horizon, my ass.”

geto’s fingers in your hair send tingles down your spine, and when he grazes the side of your breast, you can’t suppress the shudder that runs through you. “fuck,” you breathe, hating how weak you sound.

despite your feeble objections, you make no real effort to push them away or escape their groping hands. the heat building between your thighs grows harder to ignore with each passing second. geto grins wickedly, clearly reveling in your flustered state and half-hearted resistance.

choso chuckles darkly, his fingers continuing their maddening exploration. he hooks a finger in the side of your panties, tugging them down just slightly. “see? nothing to worry about. just sit back and enjoy the music,” he murmurs, his hot breath fanning across your neck.

geto leans in, his lips barely brushing against your ear. “unless you’d prefer to take the lead? show us what those talented fingers of yours can really do?” he suggests, his tone laced with challenge and desire.

choso grins wickedly, his fingers slipping beneath the fabric of your panties to stroke your slick folds. “my my, someone’s already so wet,” he purrs, his voice a low rumble in your ear. “and here i thought you were resisting.” geto chuckles darkly, his hand tightening slightly in your hair. “resistance is futile, princess. your body knows what it wants, even if your mind is playing catch-up.”

he leans in, his tongue darting out to trace the shell of your ear before he nibbles on the lobe. “what was that about expanding your horizons again, princess?” he taunts, his other hand boldly cupping your breast, kneading the soft flesh. “seems to me like you’re already getting a crash course in advanced techniques.”

he leans in, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, swallowing any further protests. his tongue delves into your mouth, claiming you thoroughly as choso’s fingers begin to circle your clit with maddeningly light touches.

you moan into the kiss, your lips parting willingly as geto plunders your mouth. your tongue tangles with his, the taste of him both foreign and intoxicating. you find yourself kissing him back with growing fervor, your reservations melting away under the onslaught of sensation.

choso’s fingers work magic on your sensitive bud, circling and teasing until your hips are bucking shamelessly against his hand, chasing more of that delicious friction. wetness coats his digits as he easily glides through your slick folds, stroking along your entrance.

“ahh... fuck...” you gasp as geto breaks the kiss, leaving you panting and dizzy with need. your head falls back against choso’s shoulder, exposing the column of your throat.

geto smirks against your lips, clearly relishing your wanton response. “that’s it, princess. let go,” he encourages huskily, his hand sliding down to join choso’s between your thighs. together, they work in tandem, geto’s fingers joining choso’s to tease and explore your most intimate places.

“feel that?” choso murmurs, his fingers curling inside you, stroking along your inner walls. “this is just like playing a string instrument. you have to be precise, know exactly where to touch...” he demonstrates by finding that special spot deep inside, rubbing firmly. at the same time, geto’s thumb finds your clit, circling the sensitive nub in tight, fast circles.

“mmm, and you’ve got to vary your rhythm,” geto adds, his voice a sinful purr.

behind you, choso takes advantage of your exposed throat, pressing open-mouthed kisses along the sensitive skin. his fingers never cease their ministrations, now two digits sinking knuckle-deep inside your tight heat. he curls them just so, rubbing against that same special spot within you. “how about that, baby?” he murmurs, his voice a sinful rasp against your ear. “this is called the g-spot. it’s the key to creating the most beautiful melodies.”

a loud, shameless moan tears from your throat as choso hits that perfect spot inside you, his fingers curling just right. your back arches, pressing your breasts more fully into geto’s palm as he kneads the soft mounds.

“oh god— thaaat’s— shit!” you keen, your hips rolling shamelessly against their skilled hands. the dual stimulation of choso’s fingers pumping in and out of your dripping cunt and geto’s thumb circling your clit has you seeing stars. your inner muscles flutter and clench around the invading digits, trying to draw them deeper.

geto chuckles darkly, the vibrations rumbling through his chest pressed against your side. “listen to those pretty sounds you’re making,” he purrs, pinching and rolling your nipple between his fingers. “like a symphony of pleasure.”

“indeed,” choso agrees, his own voice thick with lust. “she’s quite the instrument.” he increases the pace of his thrusts, fingers pistoning in and out of your soaked pussy with increasing urgency. “let’s see how high she can sing.”

geto redoubles his efforts as well, his thumb working overtime on your throbbing clit while he tweaks and teases your nipples. “come on, baby girl,” he coaxes, his breath hot against your ear. “give us that sweet release. let the music move you.”

the dual assault proves too much, your climax cresting like a tidal wave. a strangled cry rips from your throat as your body seizes up, back bowing as ecstasy crashes over you. choso and geto continue to work you through it, coaxing out every last tremor and spasm.

your entire world narrows to the intense sensations coursing through your body as you come undone. waves of pleasure radiate outward from your core, leaving you quivering and gasping for air. “ahh! oh fuuuck...” you wail, your voice raw and desperate as your orgasm rips through you. your inner walls clench rhythmically around choso’s plunging fingers, milking them for all they’re worth.

choso grins wickedly, his fingers picking up speed, plunging in and out of your sopping wet cunt. “that’s it, baby. let me hear that sweet music,” he growls, his thumb coming up to rub tight circles on your clit.

through the haze of bliss, you dimly register geto’s triumphant grin against your cheek, his praise and encouragement spurring you onward. even as the aftershocks slowly ebb, choso and geto keep you suspended on that razor’s edge, prolonging your pleasure until you’re a boneless, spent mess in their arms. when the final tremors subside, you collapse against choso, panting heavily.

choso holds you close, his strong arms cradling your trembling form as you struggle to catch your breath. “exquisite,” he murmurs, his voice filled with satisfaction. “a true masterpiece.”

geto, in front of you, watching you with a predatory gleam in his eyes. “not bad for a beginner lesson,” he remarks, his gaze roving over your flushed, disheveled state. he leans in, pressing a tender kiss to your temple. “but we’re far from finished. there are still so many notes left to play, so many melodies yet to compose.” his hand trails down your spine, tracing the curve of your lower back before settling on your hip.

choso chuckles, his fingers still buried inside you, gently stirring your sensitive insides. “let’s see how well our little protégée handles some more...advanced techniques.” he leans in, biting and sucking at your neck, determined to leave marks of possession. his free hand slides down to grip your hip, holding you steady.

without warning, geto captures your lips in a filthy kiss, all teeth and tongue, swallowing your desperate moans. behind you, choso scissors his fingers, stretching you wider, preparing you for something bigger. “brace yourself, princess,” geto growls against your mouth, his tongue delving deep to claim yours in a ruthless kiss. his other hand snakes around to cup your breast once again, squeezing the soft flesh roughly as he bites down on your bottom lip.

choso continues to work his fingers in and out of your stretched opening, scissoring and curling to hit all the right spots. “ready for the next piece?” he asks, his voice a low, seductive purr. “we’re going to add some strings to really make her sing.”

your mind reels from the overwhelming sensations, struggling to process the torrent of pleasure coursing through your veins. the feeling of being stretched and filled by choso’s fingers is almost unbearable, your body acutely aware of every subtle shift and movement.

geto pulls back from the kiss, his chest heaving with desire. “that’s right, let’s give her a full orchestra,” he agrees, his eyes blazing with hunger. “i’m thinking a nice, thick violin for her ass...”

when geto claims your mouth in a brutal kiss, you melt into it, surrendering to the dominant passion he exudes. his hand on your breast sends jolts of electricity straight to your core, making you ache for more.

you whimper against his lips, lost in the haze of lust. the thought of geto taking you from behind, filling you with his thick cock, has you squirming in anticipation. as if reading your mind, choso withdraws his fingers with a lewd pop, leaving you empty and wanting. he smirks down at you, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

they help you stand, with a shared look of carnal intent, both men begin shedding their clothing, revealing lean, muscular bodies honed from years of intense training. their cocks spring free, hard and proud, already leaking precum in anticipation.

geto lean closer, his eyes locked on yours as he slowly peels away his shirt, exposing his chiseled chest and abs. “time to put that ass of yours to good use, princess,” he purrs, his cock bobbing with each step.

choso follows suit, stripping off his garments with deliberate slowness, his gaze never leaving your body. “we’re going to fill you up so completely, you won’t know where one of us ends and the other begins,” he promises, his voice dripping with sensual promise. together, they guide you to the couch across the music room before peeling the clothes and skirt off your body.

on the couch, geto grips your hips firmly, guiding you onto his lap so you straddle him facing forward. your bare cunt hovers inches above his rigid cock, the head nudging your slick entrance. choso steps closer, his erection jutting out proudly from his groin, the tip glistening with pre-cum.

“let’s hear that beautiful song again,” choso purrs, reaching down to run his fingers through your folds, coating them in your arousal. he lifts your leg, placing your foot on the armrest beside geto, further exposing your sex to him.

geto’s eyes darken with primal needs as he notches the head of his dick at your entrance. “time to ride this melody, my sweet,” he rasps, his hands gripping your thighs as he starts to push upward, sinking into your heat inch by delicious inch.

a shuddering gasp escapes your lips as geto’s thick cock slowly impales you, stretching your inner walls to accommodate his impressive size. the sensation of being filled so deeply is intoxicating, your body instinctively clenching around him.

“oh shiiit! —fuck!” you manage to stammer, your head falling back on his shoulder in ecstasy as geto bottoms out inside you. the pressure is exquisite, bordering on pain, but you crave more.

choso watches intently, his own cock twitching with anticipation. “look at her take it so beautifully,” he comments, his voice laced with awe and desire. “such a perfect fit.” geto begins to thrust and you start to rock your hips, setting a slow, sensual rhythm.

choso’s cockhead brushes against your lips insistently, smearing them with his musky essence. “open wide, princess,” he coaxes, his voice husky with need. “let’s synchronize our movements and create a truly symphonic experience.” without waiting for any response, he takes advantage of your open mouth, sliding his thick length past your lips. “that’s it, wrap those pretty lips around my cock,” he encourages, one hand tangling in your hair to guide your movements. “let’s see how well you multitask.”

behind you, geto’s thrusts pick up pace, his hips snapping against your ass as he hilts himself fully inside you with each powerful stroke. the dual stimulation of his thick shaft dragging along your inner walls and choso’s hardness prodding your mouth has you dizzy with lust.

“fuuuck, she feels incredible,” geto groans, one hand sliding up your torso to palm your breast roughly. he pinches and rolls your nipple between his fingers, sending sparks of pleasure-pain zinging through your nerves.

overwhelmed by the dual assault on your senses, you moan wantonly around choso’s cock, the vibrations adding an extra layer of sensation. your tongue swirls around his thick shaft as you bob your head, taking him deeper into your throat with each pass.

geto’s relentless thrusts are hitting that special spot inside you dead-on, stoking the fire building in your core. the combination of his cock pounding your g-spot and choso’s member filling your mouth has you teetering on the brink of a mind-blowing orgasm.

your nails dig into choso’s thighs as you grind back against him, meeting geto’s thrusts with equal fervor. the obscene slap of skin on skin echoes through the room, mingling with your muffled moans and the creaking of the couch beneath you.

choso grunts in pleasure as your throat constricts around him, your enthusiasm evident in the way you take him so eagerly. “that’s it, just like that,” he praises breathlessly, his grip on your hair tightening as he starts to shallowly fuck your face. “such an obedient little instrument, playing our tune perfectly.”

behind you, geto’s thrusts become erratic, his control slipping as he chases his release. one hand moves from your breast to your clit, rubbing tight circles over the sensitive bundle of nerves.

geto leans in close, his teeth grazing the shell of your ear as he pants hotly against your skin. “listen to those slutty sounds you’re making,” he growls, punctuating his words with a particularly hard thrust that has your vision whiting out momentarily. “you are doing a good, sunshine, pretty sure we will get an A+ for this project.”

the dual stimulation proves too much to bear. with a keening cry muffled by choso’s cock, “gonna cum. . . hng! cum—”, your body trembles and quakes as the coil of tension in your lower belly winds tighter and tighter, poised to snap at any moment. geto’s skilled fingers on your clit combined with his relentless thrusts prove too much to bear.

with a strangled cry, your orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave. your inner muscles clamp down on geto’s pistoning shaft, rippling along his length as you come undone. the force of your climax has you seeing stars for the second time, your entire being consumed by white-hot ecstasy.

choso groans deeply, the vibrations rumbling through his chest as he feels your throat flutter around him. “fuck yes, milk my cock just like that,” he demands, his hips stuttering as he nears his own peak.

as your body convulses in the throes of your intense orgasm, geto hilts himself deep inside you as your walls spasm around him, grinding against your cervix as he rides out your intense orgasm. “shiiit—” he snarls, his voice strained with the effort of holding back his own release.

choso buries himself to the hilt in your throat, his cock pulsing as he reaches his breaking point. with a guttural moan, he starts to unload, thick ropes of cum shooting directly down your gullet. “swallow every drop, princess,” he commands breathlessly, his hips rocking shallowly as he empties himself in your mouth.

geto continues to grind against you, drawing out your climax as long as possible. once choso pulls out, they switch position with now you sit on choso’s lap while geto kneeling on the couch behind you, ass slight in the air and back arched towards choso. “now, now, your ass need an instrument too, no?” he remarks, the tip of his cock kissing the puckered lips of your ass.

choso smirks at geto’s suggestion, his eyes gleaming with mischief and lust. “mm, i like the way you think,” he purrs, reaching around to spread your ass cheeks wider, exposing your tight rosebud to geto’s hungry gaze. “let’s give our little muse here a full symphony, shall we?”

he leans in, trailing hot kisses along your neck and shoulder as his hands roam your curves possessively. “just relax, baby,” choso murmurs against your skin, nipping lightly. “we’ll make you feel things you’ve never felt before.”

geto positions himself behind you, his hands gripping your hips possessively. the blunt head of his cock pressing insistently against your virgin hole, coated in your mixed fluids. he spits crudely into his palm, using it to slick up his shaft before rubbing the spit-slicked tip around your rim teasingly. “relax, sunshine,“ he murmurs, his thumb massaging small circles on the soft skin of your hips. “let me in nice and easy.”

with a gentle but persistent pressure, geto starts to sink into your tight heat, his girth stretching you deliciously. choso bucks up slightly, his still-harden cock sliding between your cunt as if seeking friction.

“fuck, you’re so tight,” geto groans low in his throat as he slowly sinks deeper into your tight heat, savoring the exquisite sensation of your velvety walls enveloping him inch by delicious inch. “holy shit, you’re like a vice around my cock,” he grunts, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips as he hilts himself fully inside you with a final, powerful thrust.

choso watches the erotic sight with hooded eyes, his own arousal growing as he feels geto’s cock slide against his through the thin barrier of your pussy wall. he rocks up against you, creating delicious friction. “goddamn, i can feel every twitch of your greedy little holes," he purrs, his voice rough with desire.

a sharp gasp escapes your lips as you feel geto’s thick length slowly sink into your virgin hole, stretching you in ways you never thought possible. the initial burn quickly gives way to intense, toe-curling pleasure as your body adjusts to the new intrusion.

“oh god, oh fuck,” you moan brokenly, your head falling back against choso’s shoulder as he peppers your neck with hot kisses and bites. your hands scrabble for purchase on his muscular arms, nails digging into the firm flesh.

the dual sensation of choso’s hard cock rubbing against your sensitive walls and geto’s thick shaft buried deep in your ass is almost too much to handle. every movement sends shockwaves of ecstasy rippling through your oversensitized body.

geto sets a steady rhythm, his hips snapping against yours as he fucks into your tight heat with increasing intensity. the lewd squelch of lube and your natural lubrication fills the room, mixing with your wanton moans and the creak of the couch beneath you.

choso takes advantage of your distracted state, his hands moving to roughly palm your breasts, tweaking and rolling your nipples between his fingers. he captures your lips in a searing kiss, swallowing your cries of pleasure as he grinds up against you harder.

“that’s it, take it just like that,” geto growls, one hand took a fistful of your hair as he pounds into you from behind while the other pushing the hard wall, looking for a balance. the added stimulation has your walls clamping down on both their cocks like a silken fist.

lost in a haze of overwhelming pleasure, your body moves on pure instinct, rocking back to meet geto’s powerful thrusts while grinding down onto choso’s hardness. incoherent moans and pleas spill from your lips, swallowed by choso’s demanding kisses, arms wrapped around his neck.

the intense dual stimulation has your mind short-circuiting, all thoughts dissolving into a sea of blissful sensation. your inner walls ripple and squeeze around the two hard shafts stretching you so deliciously, as if trying to pull them even deeper.

“just— fucking gooood!” you manage to gasp out between kisses, too far gone to care how desperate you sound. “want... want to feel you everywhere...“ your hands clutch at choso’s shoulders, nails raking down his sweat-slicked skin.

choso breaks the kiss, panting heavily as he gazes down at you with dark, lust-filled eyes. “look at you, so beautiful when you’re fucked silly, completely lost in pleasure,” he rasps, his voice dripping with seduction. “keep taking what you need, baby girl.” he rolls his hips, grinding his cock against your clit with deliberate intent, sending jolts of electricity through your overstimulated nerves.

geto increases his pace, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing through the room as he slams into your ass with abandon. the couch creaks ominously under the force of his thrusts, but neither of them seems to care about the potential damage.

the combination of geto’s brutal pace and choso’s calculated stimulation pushes you closer and closer to the edge, your senses overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of the pleasure coursing through your veins.

“fuck, your ass was made for my cock,” geto grunts, his grip on your hip tightening. “so damn tight and perfect.” he leans in close, his hot breath fanning across your ear as he whispers filthy promises. “i’m going to fill you up so good, sunshine.”

geto’s words send a shiver down your spine, your entire body tensing as the coil of pleasure within you winds tighter and tighter. choso senses your impending climax, his hands roaming your curves with renewed urgency as he kneads and squeezes, coaxing you higher.

“come on, princess,” choso coaxes, his voice a low, sultry purr. “give us what we want. let go and soak us with your sweet cream.” he nibbles at your earlobe, his teeth grazing the delicate skin before soothing the sting with his tongue. geto’s thrusts become erratic, his control slipping as he chases his own release. “shit, shit, shiiit, i’m close,” he warns, his voice strained with effort.

overwhelmed by the relentless assault on your senses, you teeter precariously on the brink of orgasm, every nerve ending alight with electrifying pleasure. geto’s guttural warnings only heighten your anticipation, knowing that his impending climax will trigger your own.

“please,” you whimper, your voice barely audible over the ragged sounds of your own panting. “want to come... need to...” choso’s skilled touch and the tantalizing drag of his cock against your sensitive clit prove to be the final push, sending you hurtling over the edge into ecstasy. your inner walls clamp down like your life depends around both cocks, milking them for all they’re worth as wave after wave of intense pleasure crashes through you.

geto lets out a hoarse roar as your tight ass squeezes him mercilessly, your spasming walls trigger his own release. his own climax barreling down on him like a freight train. with a few more powerful thrusts, he buries himself to the hilt and stills, his cock pulsating as he unleashes a torrent of hot seed deep inside you, he floods your ass with jet after jet of hot cum. “oh, shit— fuck, naughty girl,” he bellows, his hips jerking erratically as he empties himself deep inside you.

choso follows suit moments later, his own orgasm ripping through him with the force of a tidal wave. “’m coming!” he snarls, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he grinds against you with desperate urgency. his cock twitches and spurts, painting your insides with his scorching seed.

the three of you collapse together in a tangle of sweaty limbs and heaving chests, the aftermath of your shared climax leaving you boneless and sated.

as the aftershocks of your orgasms fade, geto carefully pulls out of your ass, a small amount of cum leaking out and trailing down your thigh. he smirks down at you, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “well, that was a hell of a private lesson,” he says, giving your plump rear a gentle pat before rising to his feet.

choso, still nestled against you, lazily strokes your side, his touch warm and comforting. “we’ve definitely got a special grade now,” he muses, a note of possessiveness creeping into his tone. geto chuckles, moving to sit beside you both on the couch. “definitely,” he reaches out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear with a tender gesture that belies his earlier roughness.

after everything, reality hits you. you’ve always sworn up and down that you hate emo boys, yet here you are, caught in an intimate moment with the two of them. now, you’re on the other side of the music room, hurriedly putting your clothes back on, feeling a mix of frustration and embarrassment. you refuse to meet their eyes, sulking as you keep your back to them, still stealing a glare over your shoulder every now and then.

geto and choso just exchange an amused look, clearly unbothered by your attempt to distance yourself. they’re still lazily getting dressed, each of them watching you with a smirk, fully aware of the effect they’ve had on you.

geto smirks deepen as he continues watches you from across the room, clearly amused by the icy glares you’re shooting his way. he leans casually sits on the couch armrest— arms crossed, the smug look on his face telling you he’s entirely unbothered by your attempt to ignore them. beside him, choso chuckles, running a hand through his hair as he pulls his shirt back on, clearly sharing in the satisfaction of riling you up.

“oh, come on, princess,” geto drawls, his voice dripping with amusement. “don’t act like you didn’t enjoy every second of it.”

choso grins, tilting his head as he watches you adjust your shirt, still refusing to look at them. “yeah, don’t be such a sore loser,” he teases, his tone light but with that familiar hint of mischief. “you’re the one who kept us in check, remember? it’s not our fault you had fun.”

you shoot them both a final glare, cheeks still hot as you mutter, “i hate emo boys,” as if trying to convince yourself more than them. but they can see through it, both of them chuckling at your attempt to regain control.

geto and choso exchange another amused glance, knowing all too well that your muttered remark was more for your own benefit than theirs. they’re amused by your stubbornness, your desperate attempts to cling to control, even after they’ve seen the flushed look in your eyes, the way your body responds to their touch.

choso tugs his shirt fully on, his eyes roving over you as he takes in your disheveled state. “sure, princess,” he teases, his voice dripping with irony. “we totally believe you.”

geto pushes himself off the armrest, sauntering closer to you with a slow, confident swagger. he comes to a stop in front of you, his smirk widening as he looks down at you in mock sympathy. “oh, you poor thing. you must be so flustered and confused.”

he reaches out, lightly tracing a finger along the edge of your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. “it’s okay,” he murmurs, his voice soft but mocking. “it’s normal to have conflicting emotions.”

you slap his hand away, a scowl firmly set on your face. “fuck off,” you snap, voice dripping with annoyance. geto just chuckles, clearly unphased, his smirk only widening as he steps back with that same infuriating calm.

“such hostility,” he teases, mockingly clutching his chest as if wounded. “and here i thought we were bonding.” you roll your eyes and turn your back to him, muttering under your breath about how annoying he is. meanwhile, choso, still lounging nearby, watches with a grin, clearly amused by the banter.

geto’s smirk only grows wider at your scowl and sharp retort. he steps back, arms raised in a gesture of mock surrender, though his eyes are still filled with that same mocking glee. “oh, princess, you really are so spirited.”

he glances over to choso, who’s still watching with undisguised amusement. “you really do know how to pick ‘em,” he mutters, chuckling. choso grins, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “yep,” he agrees. “she’s definitely a handful. but that’s part of the fun, isn’t it?”

you gasp in mock offense, turning to face geto fully. your backhand thumps against his chest, a playful but firm push, and your eyes narrow with feigned indignation. “pick me? what am i, a stray?” you ask, your voice teasing, lips curled into a pout as you look up at him with exaggerated shock.

geto simply rolls his eyes at your dramatic response, unfazed. he bends down, grabbing his bag from the floor with a lazy motion, effortlessly slinging it over one shoulder. his eyes gleam with amusement as he drapes his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close, his body warmth pressing against yours. “let’s go get you some ice cream,” he says, his voice smooth, dripping with playful sarcasm. his smirk only deepens as he adds, “maybe it’ll cool those anger issues of yours.”

you feel the weight of his arm around you, the proximity of his body stirring something familiar in you, but you don't let it show. choso, who’s been silently watching this little exchange with his usual mischievous grin, lets out a low chuckle. “yeah, ice cream’s on him for calling you a stray,” he teases, his voice light and playful as he steps up beside you, giving you a wink that makes your stomach flip.

as you start walking, you feel the tension of the earlier moments dissipate, replaced by the lighthearted banter between the three of you. despite your irritation, there’s a sense of warmth that settles in, and you can’t help but feel an odd mix of affection and frustration toward the two of them.

maybe, these emo boys aren’t as terrible as you thought.

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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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