#so i was expecting gore death etc.

[perilegs]

reading dungeon meshi for the first time has been an experience bc i didn’t think the story was going to be like that. but not for the reason you think. the first dunmeshi thing i ever saw were the pages where laios eats raw lion flesh with his bare hands, and i that’s what the whole story would be like

[envy-of-the-apple]

Infinite Rewind

Gojo Satoru x reader

Synopsis: Instead of dying, you are sent 13 years in the past, but this isn't your face. "Let's cut the shit." The white-haired kid grins. "Who are you and what're you doing in Suguru's body?"

Part two: Rewound Infinitely

Word Count: 18.1k

(Warnings: slight yandere, death, murder, inaccurate Tokyo geography, blood, violence, mild gore, obsession, unhealthy relationships, child abuse/neglect, time looping(?), fem!reader) Ageless blogs that try to follow me will be blocked

First, you saw a monster. 

It was big and horrible—nasty teeth. You heard screaming. People. Running as fast as they could away from the creatures. Pain. 

And then, you saw a bright, clear sky. 

The sun was blaring down at you. It was so hot. Wasn't it December? How was the sun out at night? 

"Hey, you good?" 

A girl is looking at you. Short brown hair. A high schooler, judging by the uniform. How is she wearing all black when the weather is so hot? 

When you don't respond, her eyes squint. 

"Suguru, are you okay?" 

That's not your name; your mouth moves faster than your brain.

"I-I'm fine." That wasn't your voice. It was deeper. More masculine. What the fuck happened to your voice? 

The girl gives you another strange look but you're too busy freaking out over your new voice. Your hands are different too. A completely different skin tone, larger. 

And then you're fumbling with your pockets, clothes you know you didn't buy. The girl is calling for you again but you're too busy pulling out a fucking flip-phone and looking into the black screen, the only thing you have for a mirror. 

Purple eyes stare back. These aren't your eyes. This isn't your nose. This isn't your hair. This isn't your face. You blink. He does too. You open your mouth. So does he. You pinch your cheek. In the reflection, he winces. 

Oh, you just fucking bodysnatched someone. 

ⴵ

Ten minutes later, you conclude that your name is Geto Suguru, you are a 16-year-old boy, the year is 2006, and you attend a religious academy. 

"You're finally acting normally again." The girl-newly discovered as Ieiri- says. "No more weirdness." 

You don't blame her, considering you grabbed her by the shoulders, asking ridiculous questions like: what year is it, who am I, why am I here, who are you, am I dead, is this Hell, etc. For a teenage girl, she took your outburst well. 

"Sorry," you say and by now you've gotten used to your voice, "it must have been the stress from studying." 

She just hums, continuing to walk beside you. Though, Ieiri had a point. You were definitely calmer, and it was mostly because you figured it out. 

You were dreaming. 

You were lucid dreaming, to be more precise. Your brain was conjuring up a weird setting and you just happened to be placed in another person's body. You heard about this happening before. You were just so freaked out because this was the first time anything like this had happened to you. 

An impulsive part of you wants to tell Ieiri that this is just a dream, but you've heard weird things happen after a lucid dreamer tries to break the illusion. It's best if you just let it just play out and see where this goes. 

“Excited?” 

“Hm?” You ask. And Shoko rolls her eyes. 

“For the mission you have this evening. Special grade. Sounds scary.” She says, her sarcasm evident. 

Mission? Special grade? You don’t know what those words mean but it sounds like a school field trip. Shoko takes your hesitance as something else. 

“Ah,” she says, “so you forgot.” 

“I didn’t.” You reply on instinct. 

“I expected this from Satoru, not you. You should stop hanging out with him, he’s starting to rub off on you.”

You give a sheepish laugh, and it’s enough to quell her questions. 

She leads you into the school, all through the winding halls and through an office door. You couldn’t be more grateful, it’s not like you would have known where to go. It’s a teachers room. Two people are already inside. 

“Wait, for once, I’m early?” The boy with sunglasses asks, voice dripping with amusement. He’s leaning dangerously on a chair. You stare at him. You’ve never seen someone with white hair before. It can’t be real. 

“He forgot.” Shoko pipes up and the boy cackles. 

“That’s hilarious. I’m starting to rub off on you.” Ah, this must be Satoru. 

You give a nervous smile. “Haha, yeah.” 

The boy stops rocking in the chair. Three pairs of eyes look at you. Your uniform feels itchy.

“Gojo, stop making such a ruckus.” The man, presumably his teacher, gruffs. "You two got the briefing yesterday. Do your job and for the last time do not leave your assistant manager behind again." 

Gojo groans, and you delve into more confusion. Before you can say anything, the kid is hopping out of his seat before lazily striding out the door. Shoko and the teacher look at you expectantly. 

Oh, you were supposed to follow him. 

Not wanting to make a scene, you catch up to Gojo. He's tall, his footsteps are long and wide. But you're tall now too, so it's easy to keep up with him. This new body of yours has a lot of pros. 

"Yaga's so annoying," Gojo suddenly says, "constantly nagging us like that. It's not our fault the assistants can't keep up." 

What should you say? You clear your throat. 

"He just wants what's best for us." 

Wrong answer. 

"Where'd that come from?" He snorts. How charming. "I know you agree with me. You're just tryna' act like the nicer one, again. It's starting to get a little old." 

Is that how 16 year-olds talk? Rude, but also strangely off-putting, like he can see straight through you. Or more accurately, he can see straight through Suguru. How close are these two, anyway? 

Why did any of these questions even matter? This is a dream! You need to wake up already. 

On the campus grounds, a sleek black car waits outside for you two. Along with a miffed man in a black suit. This must be a very rich school for a field trip to have a chauffeur. Where were you two going again?

Gojo hops in the back, taking one of the window seats. You take the other. In your own body, you would've fit nicely. But Suguru's legs are long, and the spacious car feels cramped. You should've taken the passenger seat. How do tall people live like this? 

The ride is quiet. Out the corner of your eye, you catch Satoru type away on his flip phone. A moment later, yours beeps. You still have no idea how to use Suguru's phone or his password, so you ignore his message. Satoru groans. 

Quickly, you learn that Satoru has a very low attention span. When looking out the window gets boring, he bugs the chauffeur. When the chauffeur ignores him, he starts bugging you. 

"Hey heyyyy," Satoru says, "when this is all over, we should go to that new ice cream place. Like you said, we should." 

You look at him. "Uh, sure." You say. 

"And you should pay for it, 'cuz you said you owed me last time." 

Fine, whatever. "Sure thing." 

He grins. You can't see his glasses, and it makes his smile even more unnerving. This kid. 

This doesn't feel like a normal field trip at all. Why did you stop in front of some rackety house that looked as though it were about to collapse? You turn back to the only adult in the vicinity, but he's out too. He takes out a lighter and a cigarette. In front of impressionable children, too. Wonderful. 

"I'll wait out here." He says, though his tone is uncaring. "Since we're out in the country, there's no need for a veil. Do your best." 

Veil? What? Gojo's already going off again and you've already decided to be his chaperone, so you follow. You reluctantly trail behind him. Feet crunch the leaves. The house grows bleaker and bleaker. 

"Okay, I have a plan!" Gojo exclaims when he gets through the squeaky door. He's so loud, can't he be quieter? "I check upstairs and you check the ground floor and the basement. Got it?" 

Check the house? Were he and Suguru electricians in training or something? That still wouldn't explain why a grown man decided to drop off two teenagers in front of a creepy mansion. And why in God's name did Gojo want to split up?

"I-I don't think that's a good idea," you say, "shouldn't we try to stick together?" Or, better yet, leave. 

He clicks his tongue. "Ugh, you're so lame. Not like Suguru at all." 

Wait, what did he say? You're about to call out to him when he climbs up the stairs, disappearing from view. Unbelievable. 

This kid was starting to get on your nerves. Enough, you were leaving. You could have a nice dream where you met and fell in love with Zendaya, not babysitting some teenager, whilst possessing another person's body. You were going to wait outside with the man and hope your dream finally came to an end. 

Except, you couldn't go outside. The door was gone. 

It-it was right behind you, right? The entrance was right behind you. You couldn't have gotten turned around so quickly? What the hell happened? Or maybe you had gotten turned around? Considering how distracting that Gojo kid was, you might not have realized it. 

You look around the house. Looks like it'd been abandoned for a while. There's dirt on the shelves. Chairs were toppled over and left to rot. The wooden floorboards dangerously creaked beneath you. Just what had happened here? 

There's no patio door. No door leading to the outside. At the same time, you hadn't explored everything yet. Each door led to a room. The only door that didn't, led to a basement. And no, you weren't going down there. 

When you got back to where you started, you noticed something had changed. 

There was a person. Seated right at the base of the stairs? 

Gojo? Was he done with urban exploring? Maybe he knew the way out. He stands up, reaching to his full height, then higher, then higher. 

Gojo was tall, but this thing was taller. Gojo was human. This thing wasn't. 

What the fuck you can only mouth because your voice is stuck in your throat when it takes a shaky step towards you. It's a black husk of a figure, too skinny but too tall and twitching fingers. You don't know how you could've mistaken this for the kid. 

Another step. You're running, back into the house, leaping over the fallen shelves and creaky floorboards. It gives chase, and you can hear it groan behind you. It's deep and rumbly and terrifying. It just motivates you to go faster. 

It's slower than you. That's good, but it seems to realize this. You can barely celebrate your advantage before something heavy is smashed into your back, sending you toppling to the floor. You and wooden chair crash on the ground. 

It hurts. 

Everything hurts. 

Dreams aren't supposed to hurt. Because this wasn't a dream. 

This was real. You were stuck in the year 2006, stuck in another person's body, about to get mauled by a monster. 

You were going to die. 

You aren't even fighting anymore. How pathetic is that? The shock numbs your body as the thing grows closer and closer, all you can do is reach your hands up, protecting your face. 

And then the creature explodes. 

An implosion. It's skin and bones twist in a way no one should. There's a shriek, something wrong and high and inhuman before it's gone. Like it never existed in the first place. 

After all that, he's still smiling. Like the cat that just caught the mouse. 

"I guess we're not pretending anymore, are we?" Gojo asks, stretching his arms. "That's good. That game was starting to get a little boring, anyways. Now, then." 

He folds his glasses, tucking it on his uniform. Blue, his eyes are. As blue as a clear sky. 

"Let's cut the shit." The white-haired kid grins. "Who are you, and what're you doing in Suguru's body?"

ⴵ

Contrary to your belief, Gojo Satoru is a good listener. 

There's never an interruption. Not even once. Every once in a while, he nods, a hand on his chin. It's probably because he can't interrupt. You just keep going on and on. Word vomit. 

He only speaks when you pause to catch your breath. "So you are from the year 2017, and you went back in time to body-snatch someone. I had a feeling your technique had something to do with possession." 

You look at him warily. "Wait, you knew this entire time?" 

You two hadn't moved from your earlier spot. You were still sprawled on the floor, still feeling the adrenaline surge through you. Gojo had transitioned to squatting on the floor. He scratches his neck, still so casual. 

"I have good eyes. Don't worry about it." He shrugs. "Anyway, you seem pretty harmless, and as annoying as it is not having Suguru around, I doubt killing you would do any good." Why is he being so nonchalant about murder? Is this kid really sixteen?

"I think we gotta' just wait around until your technique reactivates." Gojo whistles. "2017. That's like a decade away. I wonder what happened for your technique to show up." 

You blink, trying to remember the date. 

"It was Christmas Eve..." You glance at him. "And then I was here." 

He thinks for a moment. "Yeah, I got nothing." Of course. 

He sighs, before sprawling on the dirty floor, belly up. You grimace at his antics but choose to keep your mouth shut. 

He doesn't seem very worried. At the most, he looks mildly inconvenienced. Why isn't he worried about his friend? 

When you ask him, he just snorts. 

"Sorry, but you're not that scary. Besides, I don't have to worry about Suguru. He's strong." 

Well, that's nice to know, but one other thing still bothers you. 

"You speak so casually to me," you mutter, "You know I'm older than you, right? I'm 22." 

He laughs. "22? Damn. You're old, man." 

"That isn't old!" You argue. "You have no concept of age since you're just a teenager." And why did he assume you were a man? Oh right, you were trapped in a teenage boy’s body. Of course.

"I mean, technically, I'm older than you, right?" Gojo ponders with a grin. "If you're 22 in 2017, that makes you what—11 in 2006?" 

You say nothing because you have a feeling that if you continue to argue with him, he'll just drag you down to his insanity. 

"Technique, you've said that a couple of times." You look at him. "That's what you call your 'powers', right? Does Geto have one too?" 

"Yeah," Gojo says, "but you can't use it. You have zero cursed energy. Honestly, it's at the same level as a plant. A bit lower than regular humans. It's a little impressive, actually." For one second, could he stop being so condescending? 

"What's his technique?" You ignore his comments. "Could it be related to how I got here?" 

He gives you a look over. "I doubt that, but Suguru's technique is curse manipulation. Uh, you remember that thing you saw earlier." You nod. "Yeah, he can control and absorb them." 

He sounds pretty awesome. You look at your hands. Not your hands. Geto's hands. They're paler than yours, and a lot longer. This isn't your body. Your soul can feel it. You can feel the guilt too. 

'I'd give it back if I could,' you think, 'I just don't know how.' 

Gojo's getting up. He stretches. He was lying on the ground but you can't see a speck of dirt on his uniform. 

"Okay, then. No use mopping around." He grins down at you. "Maybe Yaga can do something about you. Let's get you back to jujutsu tech." 

You blink up at him. His hand is outstretched, reaching out to you. He's still grinning that insufferable grin but his eyes have slightly melted. 

"Okay." You say, barely touching his fingertips. "Let's-" 

And then Gojo's gone. And then, you're standing. And then it's cold. 

You're wearing a coat; weren't you wearing a uniform before? There's no clear sky. It's nearly dusk. 

You were standing on the sidewalk, where people bustled all around you. You fumble through your jackets, putting out a phone. An actual iphone. You flick on the screen. 

December 24th, 2017, 7:06.

Holy shit, you were back. 

Was it because you touched Gojo? That makes no sense, but how could you explain anything else that happened so far? God. You rake a hand through your hair. Your hand. Your hair. You can't believe how much you missed yourself. It felt so good to be back. 

Your mind is spinning, you had no idea what the fuck just happened.

For now, you just wanted to turn your mind off and grab a drink. 

You know there was a bar not too far from your location. Along the way, you pass by the bustling town. There's a couple walking side by side, giggling over something you couldn't hear. Right, it's the 24th. You remember your empty bed with no one to share it with, and you cement your desire to drown yourself in alcohol today. 

Your self-pitying session is almost how you nearly miss him. His shoulder brushes past you. You're about to apologize when you hear his voice. It's familiar. 

It used to be your voice. 

It's all there. Black hair, but it's longer this time around. Of course it is, he's had years to grow it out. He's tall, he must've grown since highschool. His broad back is the only thing you see, you're almost afraid to reach out to him. 

"Suguru...?" 

He halts in his tracks. When he turns around, it's like looking into a fractured past. He looks older, no longer a youthful teenager. You should have paid more attention to his eyes, how scrutinizing they were, how condescending his fake smile was. All that you could think of was that it was actually him. 

"Do I know you?" He tilts his head. "Apologies, but my girls and I are quite busy." 

You don't notice the two young ladies beside him until Geto points them out. Teenagers, maybe just around the age when you first met him. He was a father now. 

You're so swept up by the emotions that you barely notice they've continued walking. You stumble behind, ducking behind the alleyway they went into. 

"Wait! Geto!" You call. "Please! We need to talk!" You still needed your answers. You didn't know care how desperate you came off as. 

In hindsight, you should have noticed that they looked more annoyed than worried about a stranger chasing them across the street. 

The one with the ponytail scoffs. "This one talks an awful lot. How annoying." 

Geto sighs. He leaves his daughters, finally standing in front of you. This is what you wanted, right? A chance to talk to him. 

Still, you can't help but feel wrongness within you. His smile is off. 

"Most monkeys are just that, unfortunately." You don't move. You can't. Not when he places a hand on your skull. "I suppose it'd be humane to put this one out of its misery." 

Geto Suguru crushes your skull. And then you die. 

ⴵ

Again. You died again. 

This is the second time Geto has killed you. Fuck, you should've realized. 

"Back again, Greeny?" Gojo asks. 

He and Suguru were sitting outside in the grass. Satoru's holding up a few playing cards. You look at Suguru's hands and find yourself doing the same. 

Not again. 

"What year is it?" You ask warily. "And what did you just call me?" 

Gojo grins with teeth. You remember he compared you to a plant before, didn't he? He's so clever with nicknames; someone should give him an award. 

"Welcome back to 2006!" Gojo beams. "It's only been a couple of days since you left. And why are you so grumpy? I'm the one who just lost a player." 

You weren't grumpy, you were pissed. You figured out what's been going on with you, and it's all because of the asshole you're possessing right now.

The look on his face when he killed you. Like you were nothing more than an animal. A monkey. Now, you feel a lot less guilty about possessing his body. 

At least you figured out two things. You know how your technique works. Whenever someone kills you, you are sent back in time to take over their body. But you can go back whenever you touch Gojo, or perhaps just another sorcerer. 

Secondly, you have access to Geto's memories. 

It didn't happen the first time you died. It must have been because the kill wasn't direct (from Getos curse, rather than himself), but milliseconds after Geto split your skull in two, your brain was overwhelmed by his past, his present, as well as his future. 

Geto was set to die on December 24th, 2017. At the hands of his best friend, Gojo Satoru. 

Fuck him. Let the bastard die. You didn't give a shit. 

You reach over to touch Gojo's arm, ready to leave. He pulls back with a snicker. Ugh, the brat must've figured out your technique, too. 

"Stop messing around." You tell him. "I need to go back to my timeline." 

"Sure, sure," he says as though speaking to a time traveler is just another Tuesday. "But first, finish the game with me." 

"No." You tell him before leaning out even further. He isn't moving away anymore, but you still can't reach him. Fuck, he must've activated his technique. 

Despite your annoyance, you decide to keep the future away from Gojo's ears. He doesn't need to know that he'll be the one to kill Suguru. He shouldn't. Not at his age. He's just a kid. 

"Just one game! I promise!" He pleads. "Then I'll let you go. Suguru never lets me beat him, I want an easy opponent to boost my ego." 

You roll your eyes, but you settle down, picking up the cards. You already know the rules; you have Geto's memories, after all. 

It's silent, save for Gojo's humming. When you place down your King of hearts, you ask:

"Hey, is my cursed energy different at all?" You ask.

"Not really." He squints. "Wait, it has grown a little. Aw, Greeny sprouted!" 

So, every time you die, your cursed energy increases. That, or your cursed energy, increases every time you time travel. It doesn't matter either way. Does this mean you can use Geto's technique now? It couldn't hurt to try, right? 

There's a demon-no, they're called curses you know that now- floating beside you, just a little ways away. Small. Barely fourth grade. You stick your hand out, calling out Geto's power. There's a pull, a rush of energy. 

A blue ball drops into your hand. 

"Holy shit." Gojo leans forward. "So you can use his techniques." Surprisingly, there's no wariness in his voice. Just awe. 

"Yeah." You breathe before glancing up at him. "Shouldn't you be focused on your cards?" 

He shrugs, tossing the cards away. "What cards?" 

You sigh before staring at the ball. Well, you captured the curse. All that's left to do is swallow it, right? You can do that. You open your mouth. Gojo is still staring. You scowl. 

"Look away." 

He rolls his eyes. "It's not like I haven't seen you do this before. Well, not you, the guy that you bodysnatched." 

Ass, you keep that in your head as you hold your breath. You swallow the ball down. 

Instantly, you choke. 

It's horrible. Like a rotten carcass on the highway, oozing blood and oil and pus. You start dry-heaving, suffocating, spit dribbles down your chin. Nothing comes out. You've already absorbed it. The taste of a cursed spirit no one knows. Like swallowing a rag that was used to wipe up vomit and shit. Exorcised. Ingested. Exorcised. Ingested. Exorcised. Ingested. Exorcised. Ingested. 

"Is it really that bad?" Gojo observes you. "That guy swallows them down, no problem." 

Because Suguru was used to this taste. He was used to the responsibility. The hoarding mass of distraught absorbing a curse comes with. It was a disgusting art. Something he'd perfected to mask for years. Until he couldn't take it anymore. 

Fuck, you might have lost your mind, too, if you kept having to eat this. To protect people who were happy you failed. 

You snapped out of it. Suguru's memories were affecting your own. That's probably a sign that you need to get out of here. No way would you be sympathizing with someone so monstrous. 

"Hopefully, I never do that again." You slowly recover, wiping your spit away with your hand. You lean back on your hands, exhausted. 

"Something I've always wondered." You call out to Gojo. "What did Suguru ever think about someone possessing his body." 

Gojo laughed. "Funny thing. He never knew." 

"What?" You look at him. "No gaps in his memory? Nothing?" 

"Nope," Gojo said, "he remembered what happened in the house, but he thinks he did everything. And then he said something weird." 

You perk up at that. "What did he say?" 

Gojo tilts his head. Then, he shrugs. 

"I forgot." Typical. 

You pinch your nose bridge. "So, did you tell anyone else about...this?" You gesture to yourself. 

"Wait, you're supposed to be a secret?" You look at him in alarm. "In my defense, I didn't know, but I haven't gotten the chance to tell anyone. After the mission, Suguru and I went to the arcade, and then I kinda' forgot about it." 

Well, at least Gojo's arrogance works in your favor sometimes. You can't let anyone know, especially anyone connected to the higher-ups. From Geto's memories, you know they don't like anything new. It's best to stay under their radar. 

"Good, well, from now on, we're keeping it a secret. Got it?" 

"What are you two keeping a secret?" A new voice pops up. You jump. 

You know him—at least from Geto's memories. Haibara beams at you. He looks so alive in the sunlight, smiling and with bright eyes.

He'll be dead within a year or so. 

Gojo takes advantage of your shock. "The bodysnatcher wants me to promise that I won't tell anyone that a curse-user is possessing Suguru's body." 

"What the hell? You just promised that you wouldn't tell anyone!" 

"Uh, technically, I didn't promise anything yet." Gojo retaliates. "But okay, fiiiiine. I won't tell anyone....except for Haibara." You groan. 

"What's going on?" Haibara's smile fades. "Wait, Gojo, is this not Geto? Is this person actually a curse-user!?" 

"I'm not a curse-user." You correct. "I'm not a sorcerer either, for the record." 

"You just used a curse technique to travel back in time to take over someone's body." Gojo enunciates. "Sounds like a sorcerer to me." 

"Wait, you're a time-traveler, Mr. Not-Geto?" Haibara asks and you are genuinely impressed he's able to keep up. 

"The name’s Greeny, Haibara." Gojo supplements. Haibara nods, still a bit unsure. 

"So...do we fight Greeny?" 

"It's not my name." You get ignored. 

"Nah, it's all good. Greeny's harmless. Just a weakling, don’t worry about it." Rude, but you don’t think you’d want Gojo to take you as much of a threat, not after knowing what he can do.

"Oh, okay!" Haibara instantly relaxes. The kid's really trusting, huh? 

"Okay, fine, but no one else can know, got it, Gojo?" This promise doesn't matter. It's not like you're planning on returning to the past anytime soon. As soon as you return to the present, you are leaving Tokyo and escaping the night parade of 100 demons. Fuck that. You don't want to die again. 

He waves you off. "Yeah, yeah."

He's so insufferable. You don't know who's worse: the genocidal maniac or this brat. 

"Give me your hand. I want to go home." 

Haibara looks confused. "Wait, why does Greeny need your hand?" 

"It's how the curse technique works," Gojo explains. "Greeny gets sent back in time, and then my true-love's touch sends him careening forward into the future." You frown at his comment, but he turns to you before you can say anything. 

"Which reminds me, Greeny: ever figure out how your technique works?" 

No way are you telling a kid that their best friend killed you....twice. Instead, you just shrug. 

"Haven't figured it out yet." 

Gojo stares at you. "Huh." He responds. "Well, if you ever figure it out, lemme' know." 

Sure you will. You hold up your hand. Gojo, finally holds his own up. Out of the corner of your eye, Haibara waves. And then you're back in your own body, on December 24th, 2017, 7:06 pm.

You waste no time. You push at the crowd, squeezing through the hoards of people. You need to get out. You need to leave before the death parade starts, before you're trapped in that terrifying cycle of death again. 

You need to leave. 

Exorcised. Ingested. 

No no no. Shut up. This wasn't you. This was Geto's memories. 

Exorcised. Ingested.  

You need to leave. 

Exorcised. Ingested. 

You need to survive. 

The taste of a cursed spirit no one knows. 

You stop, right there in the middle of the sidewalk. People glare, cursing as they move around you. They don't know this place will be a bloodbath in a matter of minutes. They'd all die. But you could stop it. 

If only if you hadn't accessed Geto's memories. If only if you hadn't eaten that damn curse. If only if you hadn't sympathized with a murderer. Maybe you'd have the courage to escape your future. 

But you'd felt that taste. Horrible. If you eat enough, you could go insane. If you were lonely enough, that would do it too. 

The taste of a cursed spirit no one knows. No one except for you. 

At 8:06 the screams start. The monsters come out to play their song. You close your eyes, forgive Suguru, and you die once more. 

ⴵ

For once, when you open your eyes, Gojo isn’t there with you. 

You’re still on the campus of Jujutsu tech. Suguru was just about to grab his soda from the vending machine. You finish his job. The can feels cold. It feels refreshing on your tongue. It’s a momentary distraction to the fact that you have no clue what you’re doing. 

You understand your cursed technique, but you still struggle with the application. Fuck, what did you do? You were utterly fucked. You’re playing a dangerous game. If you died- if Geto died- here, what would even happen? 

 The worst part is that you can’t even think of the hypothetical because there’s no other choice. You needed to do this. To not only save the people in Tokyo from the Night Parade, but to also save Geto Suguru. The man who has killed you three times now. 

Geto’s dissent starts to worsen at Riko Amanai’s death. If you could prevent that from happening, you could probably change history. But Geto’s true fracture begins with the curses themselves. They were rotting him from the inside.

You grimace, but you have to do it. You have to eat every single curse that Geto couldn’t swallow down himself. 

One was coming up. In less than an hour, Yaga will call you and Gojo for a mission. It’ll be a special-grade grave-type curse. Dispatching it will be simple, but Geto would be the one to exorcise it, ingesting the screams of all that the curse devoured. You needed to prepare yourself for that. 

Maybe you should save some of this soda to wash the taste off later. 

“Geto!” Someone cheers, you jump, but Haibara’s already poking his head around the wall. He grins. 

“Hey! Oh, you’re not Geto, aren’t you?” He tilts his head. “Greeny?” 

“Keep your voice down,” you whisper, “wait, you can recognize me?” 

He nods, after checking to make sure no one’s around, he says, “yeah, your eyes are different? It’s hard to explain.” He tells you. 

Huh. Interesting. 

“You’ve been gone a while.” Haibara beams. “It’s been a few weeks. I’m glad you’re back, Gojo was starting to get cranky.” 

It’s probably because he had no one to mess with. Poor him. He has all your sympathies. Ass. 

“I’m glad to return as his punching back.” You mutter. 

Haibara shyly shuffles his feet. 

“So, are you really from the future?” He asks. “Was Gojo telling the truth?” 

You nod. “Haibara, you haven’t told anyone, right?” 

“Of course not!” He instantly says. “Not a soul. Not even Nanami, and I tell him everything! Your secret’s safe with me.” 

“And Gojo, too! I know he doesn’t look very trustworthy, but me and him have kept it under wraps.” 

Reluctantly, you can’t help but agree with the kid. Gojo is annoying, but so far, he hasn’t done anything super harmful. 

“So anyway, Greeny.” He clears his throat. “Considering you’re from the future and all. Would you mind telling me what my future will be like?” 

You blink at him. He takes it as a sign to continue. “Nothing much! I just wanna know what I’ll be doing in 2017. Will I finally be a grade 1 sorcerer?” 

You think of Geto’s final memories of Haibara. A child burying another child. 

“Sorry,” you lie through your teeth, “but I didn’t know you in my future. Again, I’m not really a sorcerer.” 

Haibara nods, disappointed but still very excitable. He asks you about other things about the future, and you try to answer to the best of your ability, but you can’t shake off his dead glass eyes, staring at you from the morgue. 

“Another thing, we should have a code word.” Haibara exclaims. 

You blink. “A code word?” 

“If we ever meet in the future,” he explains, “y’know, in 'Groundhog’s day', he has to keep explaining what’s happening repeatedly? In order to prevent that, we should have a secret word between eachother so I instantly know who you are.” 

Not the same exact situation, but it sounds like exactly something a child would come up with. You indulge him anyway. 

“Okay, what did you have in mind?” 

“Well, it can’t be anything too crazy, or we might attract unwanted attention.” Haibara puts a hand on his chin in serious thought. You smile. 

“Got it! If you ever see me, just yell ‘brocolli head’ really really loudly. Then I’ll know.” Haibara chirps. 

“Wait, why broccoli head?”

“Because broccoli heads are green!” Haibara chirps happily.

You’re starting to learn it’s best not to question his logic.

You nod, very amused. “Sure thing, Haibara.”  

Someone calls out his name. He jumps before he waves to you. You watch as he joins with Nanami. They talk about something you can’t hear. Haibara laughs and you decide it would be a shame if his laugh was lost to death. 

Gojo finds you eventually. You can’t hide from him forever. You were walking into the school when he caught up with you. He’d ran there. His breath was slightly ragged. 

“Greeny, couldn’t get enough last time, huh?” You shoot him a look. 

“What are you talking about? Doesn’t matter, we need to go, the missions coming up.” 

Gojo’s smile dips ever so slightly. “How’d you know about that?” 

It’s probably not a good idea to tell the guy's best friend that you’re possessing that you’ve unlocked his memories. 

“Haibara told me.” 

“Ah,” He replies, “let’s go then.” 

The car ride is different this time around. Less tension. You aren’t as confused. Gojo is seated quietly beside you, watching the scenery go by. The assistant is too preoccupied with belting the radio to notice Gojo's words. 

“Figured it out yet?” He asks. “Your technique.” 

He's persistent about that answer, isn't he? You're sure the only reason Gojo cooperates with you is because he thinks you're inhabiting Suguru's on accident. How would he react if he knew you were doing it intentionally? It's best not to get on the strongests’ bad side. 

“Oh, not really, but I think it’s random. I can’t seem to find a set pattern. Maybe Suguru calls out to me, somehow?” 

“Maybe.” Gojo replies. His time is flat. Anxiety flips through your stomach. 

“You’re different this time around,” Gojo says. 

“Am I?” You ask. “I guess I’m just more determined today.” 

He gives you a look over. "Oh yeah? What for?" 

"The curse. I'll exorcise it, today." 

You don't know how you wanted Gojo to react to that, but you're still disappointed when he turns back to the window. 

"Do whatever, Greeny." 

In the end, you do swallow the curse. You manage to hold your gags in this time. 

It's worse than before. It makes sense. This curse was first-grade. Stronger. In terms of taste, it was like curdled blood and mold. You were so grateful for that soda. 

Gojo only watches with a tilted head. 

"You're getting better at that."

You give a weak grin. 

"Practice makes perfect," you reply, "do you think I'll get strong enough to absorb a special grade soon?" 

He doesn't like your question. You can see it in his stiff expression. 

"Maybe. Why do you want to swallow up curses, anyway? Last time you were here, you were practically begging to go back." 

His response wasn't exactly hostile but far from his usual playful attitude. You knew you'd have to confront this eventually. Despite how nonchalant he acted, it's clear Satrou doesn't enjoy watching someone prance around in his friend's body like this. If he starts to dislike you, it could rupture your entire plan. You need his cooperation, more than anything, to save Suguru. 

A little bit of the truth. Just a bit. It can't hurt, can it?

"Curses taste horrible," you say, looking at the ground. You can still taste the remnants of it, "it's the worst thing in the world. I can't even explain how wrong it feels to eat one. I thought...while I'm in his body...I could maybe help Suguru a little. I could ingest the curses in his stead, so that way, he still gets to absorb it." But it'll lessen the trauma it has on his mental state. 

You can't see how Gojo feels about that. Those glasses of his cover everything. But you know he's staring at you. The six eyes are taking you apart, observing you whole. 

"Did you know Suguru in the future?" He asks. 

"I didn't." The man that killed you. The man that will keep killing you. And you'd forgive him each time. 

Another beat of silence.

Finally, he just sighs. "You're the kind of person who'll jump in front of a truck to save a kitten, right?" 

You give a sheepish laugh.

"That isn't a compliment, by the way. You're just really reckless. And maybe stupid, Greeny." His tone isn't mean. 

"My name still isn't Greeny." You tell him. 

"Oh yeah, what's your name, then?" He's reverted back to that teasing lilt, and it almost makes you relax if you don't note the curiosity underneath. 

So far, you've been lax giving away information regarding the future, but you don't think you should continue that. What if you're too careless and the future changes in a way you didn't intend? A name, personal information, that could be way too dangerous. 

"Actually, just call me Greeny. I like that name a lot better." 

"You complained about it all the time, though?" Gojo argues. 

"It's starting to grow on me." You grin. "Grow? Get it, because you compared me to a plant and-"

"Stop stop, you really are an old man." Gojo groans. You just grin wider. Then, you grimace.

“I can still taste it.” You complain. “I’d kill for a cigarette right now.”

“I caught our assistant manager smoking a while back,” Satoru suggests. “Maybe you could go and beg him for one.”

You toss him a look. “Suguru doesn’t smoke, and I’m not giving a teenager a nicotine addiction.” You have found lighters inside Suguru’s pockets, but you have a feeling it isn’t for his own cravings.

"Hey, could you do me a favor?" 

He gives a wordless hum.

"Maybe after this, could you take Suguru out to a cafe'? I can taste the aftertaste of the curse." You shudder. "Just get him something to wash it down." 

Also, Suguru couldn't go back to his dorm after this. Suguru dissented because of his fractured relationship with everyone, not just with Satoru. You'd try to bridge the gap between him and his peers as much as you can. You go through Suguru's flip phone, asking Shoko if she wants to join the two. 

When you're done with that, you snap the phone closed. 

"Okay, I'm done here. You two have fun, okay?" You raise your hand. 

Gojo just huffs, amused. "Sure sure. By the way, someone wanted to thank you." 

You blink at that. "What?" 

He shakes his head. "Don't worry about it."

He gives you a high-five, and then you're back in 2017 in your own body. 

Temporarily. So far you figured out that you get sent back an hour before the night parade happens. 8:06. Considering you have a couple more minutes to kill before you’re killed, you reach into your pocket for that cigarette you’ve been craving. You pick the first out of the box, cherry burns just out of corner of your eye.

You notice things now. The children giggled to their parents. Old couples gingerly held hands with sweet smiles. You'd save them, but first, you need to save Suguru. 

And do really do that, you'd have to save Riko. 

Easier said than done. You could go back in time, but you can't really control when to go back in time. It's been random, but your trips are typically two days away from each other. You can work with that. 

But in order to get to Riko's death, you'd have to die...a lot. Absorbing curses made Suguru lose his mind, but how well would you fare with dying over and over again? 

"Hungry?" 

Someone looms over you. A woman. She's pretty, with short hair and bangs. In her hand, she holds a bag of chips. 

"The vending machine gave me an extra." She gives a laugh. She kind of sounds like you. "Would you like one?" 

"Oh." You take it. "Thanks." 

"Don't mention it." She trots off into the crowd. You watch her.

A stranger's act of kindness. She didn't even know what would happen to her soon. You grip the bag, it crinkles in your grasp. 

It didn't matter how well you'd fare with dying over and over again. You'd get over it. So many innocent people depended on you. You can't just abandon them like this. 

You're the kind of person who'll jump in front of a truck to save a kitten, right? It's aggravating how accurate he is, honestly. 

The screams start up again, and you forgive Suguru. 

ⴵ

It takes a few cycles to finally reach the day Amanai Riko is assassinated. Whenever you deem yourself too early, you often accompany Gojo on a mission and exorcise a special-grade curse. Your overall plan is working, bit by bit. Each time you return, Suguru's memories swarm you. Each curse he remembers as less painful. 

It's why you get worried when you get there a little too late. 

"Something wrong?" Riko asks. 

You've stopped in the middle of the hallway, and of course, they're looking at you strangely. You know this place. Tengen's barrier is just an elevator ride away. Suguru, Riko, and Miss Kuroi were all almost there.

Fushiguro Toji has already arrived. 

In the first timeline, Geto leads the girls all the way down to Tengen's barrier. He puts his trust in Gojo. Of course, he would. They're the strongest. And in the end, Gojo does kill Toji. 

But the kill comes too late. Riko still dies, and the fracturing happens. 

You thought you'd have more time. If you had arrived a bit earlier, you could have fought with Gojo, and the chances of defeating Toji would have significantly increased. 

What do you do?

"What's the matter?" Miss Kuroi asks. She's supposed to die today, too. 

"Sorry, ladies." You smile. "But I need to go back for him." 

You don't answer their calls, running back up the hallway. The sun's bright, shimmering beautifully in the sky.

It contradicts the blood dripping all over the stone floor. 

Gojo's lifeless body is draped across the rubble. It's a horrifying sight. Eyes that were once like the sky are just this empty blue. A dead sea. He isn't breathing. You know, if you touched his wrist, you wouldn't feel a heartbeat. 

"Hate to break it to ya', but the Gojo kid's dead." Toji's right behind you. You can feel him grinning. 

You know Gojo isn't dead. At least, he won't be dead for a while, but seeing the boy who used to tease you, annoy the shit out of you, laugh at you, be so....it made you freeze. Falter. 

You were wasting time. 

"Sorceror killer." You say after a minute. You almost can't bring yourself to turn, to look at him. The man who kills Gojo. The man who could've killed Suguru, but chose not to. "You certainly live up to your name." 

Toji's grin widens. The only man in the world with zero cursed energy. It'd be awe-inspiring if it weren't so terrifying. 

It's funny. You weren't afraid of dying, not anymore. You were afraid of failing. Failing when you were so close, when victory was just a blink away. 

"The flyheads." You mention to the swarms of curses all around you. "That's really smart." It gives you an idea or two. 

You have Suguru's memories, but they aren't always concrete. You just have snippets. A general idea of what happened within a certain event. It makes sense. Humans can't remember everything. 

But regarding the memories of Suguru and Fushiguro, everything is crystal clear. It's almost like you were there when it happened. 

It also means that you know Suguru, at this current level, won't be able to defeat Fushiguro. 

But Suguru doesn't need to beat the sorcerer killer; he just needs to hold him off. 

Currently, Suguru's body contains 368 curses: 3 special grades, 24 grade ones, 33 grade twos, 103 grade threes, and 205 fourth grades. 

You release all 368 of them. 

In another timeline, these curses would look to you as something to devour. Today, these curses have a new target. 

It won't stop Fushiguro. You're not dumb enough to think that. But it should give you time. Hopefully, it'll be enough time. 

Your knees hurt when you collapse next to the corpse. Gojo's so beautiful, even when he's dead. 

"Gojo." You shake him. Nothing happens. "You need to wake up. Gojo." 

Nothing happens. You don't know what caused Gojo to become the strongest, Suguru wasn't there. For once, you are blind to the past. 

"Riko needs you. Wake up. You-you need to go and save her and Miss Kuroi." 

His body's so cold, and you know he's dead because when you touch his skin, you don't wake up in the present. You push against his body, and he falls limply right back to place. You're sure this sight will haunt you for the rest of your life. 

"Satoru." You beg. "It's Greeny. Please, please, please wake up."

 Nothing happens. 

Everything happens. 

The brightest blue you've ever seen. It's heavenly. A glow that warms and chills your skin. It takes a while for you to see again. When you do, Satoru is standing. 

Somehow, his eyes are even brighter. You don't think you're looking at a teenage boy anymore. 

You're sitting in front of God. 

"Greeny." he states, voice flat. "You're late." 

You manage to smile.

"Sorry." 

You’ve seen Satoru fight before. He’s always calm, body relaxed as he practically floats in the air. Those fights differed from Suguru’s memories—post Satoru’s awakening. There’s always this twinge of desperation. An aftertaste of bloodlust.

But seeing it for yourself is something else entirely. Even with Suguru’s heightened senses, you still can’t follow him. He’s barely a mirage. One milisecond you can see a blue flash, the next you see nothing.

It's barely a fight. Not this time around. Fushiguro is completely unmatched. There's a flash of purple. And then, it's over. 

Fushiguro is in shambles. You didn't realize he was human until he started to bleed and shatter. Parentage over labor. It's sobering, in a way. 

Satoru's mouth moves. You're too far away to hear anything. They stand there for a few more seconds until Fushiguro slumps. Then, he falls.

You wonder when you got so desensitized to death. 

Gojo stands there. You should let him compress, but the clock is ticking. You need to do one more thing before you can let Suguru go. 

"You need to go." You say when you're close to him. He doesn't acknowledge you. "Riko's about to enter Tengen's barrier." 

He looks at you right then. His eyes. They're so bright, but they're strangely lifeless. Like he can't process you, your words. 

"I can see you now," he says, "it was so foggy before, but now, you're crystal clear." 

Six eyes look at you. You don't think you're hiding behind Suguru's face anymore. 

You clear your throat. 

"Gojo." You remind him. "Riko. You need to stop her." 

He blinks back into focus, rising from his high. 

"Oh," he says after a moment, "right." 

You stop him before he can walk any further. You hold out your hand. 

"You and Suguru." 

For the first time in a while, Gojo hesitates to send you back. You wait a couple seconds longer. 

"Yeah," he finally says.

His skin still feels cold. 

ⴵ

This death is a lot more painful than the others. 

The curse that's holding you is more intelligent than its predecessors. It keeps you alive, tearing at your skin, feasting on your flesh. Blood is everywhere. You scream until it rips out your vocal cords. It's almost a mercy to just die. 

You forgive Suguru. 

ⴵ

Time skips a lot faster now. 

You stand in 2006, four months after the death of Fushiguro Toji. It takes a second for Geto's memories to kick in. What you see makes you nearly cry in relief. 

Gojo and Geto made it in time. You can still remember the tears spilling down Riko's cheeks, the smile on her face when Geto asked her if she wanted to go back. They were safe. They were home, with each other. 

You did it. You actually managed to pull it off. 

But you can't celebrate, not yet. From what you can gather from Suguru's memories, Geto defects after four years. You've just held off the eventual. 

It's nearly the middle of December. The air feels a bit chillier. You stay on that bench where Suguru once occupied. He was finishing his lunch. Usually, he'd eat with Satoru, but Satoru wasn't on campus these days. 

Right, you weren't finished with your work, yet. There was still one other issue. Suguru went on missions alone these days. Swallowing curses, letting them fester and rot in his body. It's isolating and grueling work. You might have been able to help him with the absorption, but your aide won't be enough to prevent his eventual downfall. 

You'll have to deal with his natural isolation. To do that, Suguru will have to make friends with people who aren't Satoru. 

Suguru does have friends, but he's the closest to Satoru. Considering Satoru is getting busier each passing day, Suguru needs to broaden his horizons a bit. 

It's a good thing this school is filled with such colorful characters. 

Haibara and Nanami were sitting in the back of the school. From Geto's memories, their dynamic was interesting. Haibara was definitely more outgoing than the two, but Nanami seemed to have a good head on his shoulders. They looked out for each other, in that way. 

Ah, Shoko was there, too. You haven't seen her since your first day. Her hair's grown longer. It lightly brushes her shoulders now. The cigarette in her hand burns a cherry red. 

Your reaction is rooted in Suguru's instinct than anything on your part. You reach out, taking the cigarette and stomping on the embers. 

"You shouldn't smoke in front of kids." You tell her, hoping she didn't read too much into your action.

Shoko scoffs, but to your satisfaction, she doesn't take out another one. 

"We're just one year below you." Nanami retaliates, but he looks more at ease now that the cigarette's out. 

"Did you finish lunch already, Geto?" Haibara asks kindly, then he takes a closer look. "Greeny?" 

You suck air through your teeth, giving Haibara a scathing look. Instead of looking exasperated, Nanami looks confused. 

"What's Greeny?" Nanami asks, and Haibara weakly laughs. 

"It's-uh-my new nickname for the tree that's growing over there!" He wildly points to something just behind you. "'Cuz it's so...green!"

"Of course." You note the hint of affection laced within his tone. 

"When'd you get back?" Haibara recovers with eagerness. 

"Recently." You grin. "Nice to see you again." 

"You saw him this morning," Nanami interjects, and you shrug. When he frowns, you know you pulled off a perfect Suguru impression. 

Suguru melds into the conversation perfectly. Haibara says something funny, Shoko and Suguru agree, Nanami disagrees. It's a lovely little cycle that ends when Nanami grumbles and picks himself up to go. Shoko starts to follow suit when you stop her. 

"Your hair's nice." You tell her. 

She hums, grabbing a strand to study it. You can see hints of dark circles beginning to form under her eyes. She looked livelier when you first met her. Curses have been popping up left and right since Fushiguro's death. Everyone is overworked, but Shoko looks like she's getting the brunt of it. She's one of the only people who can use RCT on others, and there aren't many healers on her level. All of the strongests share one thing in common it seems. 

"Pretty soon, it'll be longer than yours," Shoko replies. You smile in response. 

"Where are you going?" You ask. 

"Dorm," she replies, "I'm behind on paperwork." 

You had a feeling she always was. You gave a look of sympathy, but misery loves company. 

"I have some work too," You 'remember' the piles of papers lodged on Suguru's desk, "Maybe we can do it together later. The cafe right next to campus? It'll be my treat." 

She looks at Suguru. Her eyes are a pretty color. 

"Sure." She shrugs. "see you then." 

You feel your heart thump twice in your chest and decide that your work here is done. 

Haibara stares at Shoko's disappearing back. The forehead flick comes from both you and Suguru. 

"That hurt." Haibara whines. 

Good, you inwardly think. 

"Sorry." You tell him. He rubs his head, and you wonder if this is how kicking a puppy feels like. 

Luckily for you, Haibara recovers quickly. 

"You've been gone for a while." Haibara tilts his head. "What happened?" 

You can't exactly control your technique, it's more like it has a mind of its own, placing you exactly where you need to be placed. Instead of answering, you sigh, leaning against the wall. 

"Timeline gimmicks." You tell him tiredly. "It's hard to explain." He frowns, but he takes it as an answer.

"Do you know when Gojo's coming back?" You ask. "I think it's time for me to go back again." 

In previous time travels, you and Haibara tried to see if any physical contact would be enough to send you back. No matter how many times you two high-fived, shook hands, or even held hands. Nothing worked. Only Gojo Satoru could activate your technique. It must have something to do with the amount of cursed energy another person has. 

“He should be getting back later this evening.” Haibara muses. “But I’ll be happy to keep you company!”

It's nice to hear him chatter. If you'd let him, he'd go one and one. But you like hearing him talk about his sister. Apparently, she’s also a sorcerer, and his affection for her makes you smile.

"You remind me a lot of her, actually." He tells you. "Even though, y'know, you're a man." It's enough to get a laugh out of you. 

“Do you have anyone in your family who can see curses?” Haibaracasks.

“No,” you answer honestly, “at least, not that I can tell. My dad never spoke of curses or strange powers when I was growing up.”

You think he would have said something; after all, you two were too close to have secrets from each other. Your father was a single man, who took to raising you himself after your mother passed away. He often said you had her laugh.

“Maybe you’re one of a kind,” Haibara suggests.

You agree with him.

Gojo finds you before you can find him. He comes up to you with a grin and a wave.

“Hey, long time.”

His sunglasses are tilted down. You can see his eyes. They’ve lost the mania he had in his fight with Fushiguro. You’re relieved at that. You still can’t shake off that strange thing he said to you.

Wordlessly, you raise your hand. Satoru frowned.

“You wanna leave so soon? You just got here.”

“I’ve been here for hours,” you tell him, “also, you aren’t very concerned that someone is using your best friend’s body as a puppet.”

“He’s been through worse,” Satoru tells you off with a wave. Some friend.

“Let’s go to the arcade,” he suggests.

“Do that with Suguru.” You tell him. “I’m not hanging out with a high schooler.”

“Right right, my bad. I keep forgetting you’re an old man, Greeny.”

“22 is not old,” you say with exasperation, “didn’t your birthday just pass? You’re just five years away. I’ll see your attitude change, then.”

He grows quiet. You feel like you messed up somewhere.

“How did you know about my birthday?”

Fuck, you keep forgetting about keeping Suguru’s memories a secret. It takes everything within you to just relax.

“Haibara told me,” you say, “blabbermouth. You know him.”

“Oh.” Gojo replies. “Huh.”

You shuffle your feet. Distantly, you wonder what shoe size Suguru wears.

“How did your mission go?”

“Horrible,” he’s instantly back to his usual self, whiny and complaint, “and the curse was so ugly too. It was oozing goo everywhere.”

You frown. “Sounds gross. But you won, right?”

He doesn’t even answer. You secretly admire his sheer confidence. You certainly weren’t that when you were at his age.

“How’s Amanai and Miss Kuroi?” You ask.

“Safe.” He tells you. “The higher-ups weren’t really happy with us after that; pretty sure all these sudden missions are punishments.” He frowns. “But they’re fine. Miss Kuroi officially adopted her, so she’s a Kuroi now, too.”

You smiled. You already knew all that, but it’s nice to hear it.

“You saved them,” he says.

You laugh, “I didn’t do a thing.” You tell him. “You and Suguru did all the heavy lifting. I just caused some property damage.”

“You did.” He replies. “I don’t know how, but things always manage to work out whenever you’re around.”

You don’t like how he phrases that, but you don’t react.

“You think so? Maybe I’m lucky.” It’s supposed to be a joke of some kind. Neither of you laugh.

“You really don’t know us in the future?” He asks.

Maybe you should’ve asked Shoko if you could have a cigarette.

“I really didn't,” you say, “Honest, I—I have no idea what’s happening. I’m just as lost as you. Hopefully, I can figure out how to control my technique, and you won’t have to see me again.”

You never stopped feeling guilty for doing this to Suguru. Controlling him. Forcing him to laugh with his friends, make decisions based on your feelings rather than his. But you’re so close. You promise yourself that once you fix everything, you’ll never cause someone this much pain again. No matter how many times they kill you.

Satoru’s fists tighten. He looks even more upset at your response.

“That’s not what I—” He cuts himself off. You wait. Satoru says nothing more.

“You’re annoying.” He tells you in the end. It’s clean and cut, but it sounds like him. More confident, less wavery. “And stupid too.”

You can’t help but smile.

“Thank you. Am I done entertaining you now? Can I go?” He grumbles, holding up his hand.

“Yeah, sure, Greeny.”

ⴵ

You forgive Suguru.

ⴵ

Something’s wrong.

You can feel it. Something’s wrong.

You look through Geto’s memories. There’s nothing. Everything’s going as it should be. Everything looks perfect. Then, why do you feel so wrong?

Currently, Suguru was finishing excorcising a curse. You absorb it, swallowing down the remnant like it’s a pile of rusted nails but even the disgusting taste isn’t enough to wash away the feeling of dread.

The walls of the hospital was empty. The auxillary managers had already cleared everyone out by the time Suguru had walked in. Maybe it was the silence that added to your stress?

You walk out. Nothing changes. One of the managers comes up to you with a clipboard.

“The curse was exorcised.” Suguru tells them. “It wasn’t first grade, it was special grade. It was still disposed of.”

He curses, scribbling something down on his clipboard.

“The wrong information again.” He hisses to himself. “If we keep doing this, someone will die. We need more people, we’re way too stretched out.”

Those words are familiar. Hold on.

“Wait, what day is it?” You ask the frazzled-looking manager.

Offhandedly, he responds. He says the date so casually, and yet his mere words feel like a bear trap, tightening on your leg.

No. You should have had more time. Why weren’t you given more time?

Nanami and Haibara have probably already been dispatched. You go through Suguru’s phone, finding Haibara’s contact. It doesn’t go through. Nanami doesn’t pick up either.

You won’t make it in time. Even using Suguru’s curses, you won’t be able to reach them until it’s too late. Suguru’s memory of that day is muddled and dark, but Haibara’s dead corpse laying on the examination table. The pieces of him that Nanami could bring back.

You wouldn’t be fast enough.

He picks up on the second ring.

“...What’s up?”

“It’s Haibara.” You spit the words out as fast as you can. “Satoru, you need to go and get him right now, he isn’t going to make it—”

“—Greeny?” The exhaustion in Gojo’s voice is gone. You can hear something rustle behind him.

“Satoru, listen to me.” You beg. “Haibara and Nanami were just dispatched on a mission, but Yu isn’t going to survive it. It wasn’t a second-grade curse; it was a first grade. Please, you have to go and save him before it kills him.”

It’s silent. It feels like hours have passed when you know it’s just three seconds.

“We’ll talk later, Greeny.” The line clicks.

You’ve lost the trust of the strongest.

ⴵ

The future has changed when you get to campus. Haibara’s status is still alive. Barely. But he’s still there. Shoko’s currently taking care of him.

Nanami remains quiet the entire time since he returned with Haibara’s battered body. The only thing you can think of to offer comfort is to pat his shoulder. He barely even registers it. It’s more for you than for him. You’re self-soothing, taking care of something else, so you don’t have to recognize your own panic.

If Haibara dies, right here, on this day, everything can change. Everything can go back to the way it was in your original timeline. Haibara, with his sunshine, smiles, and bright eyes. His death is so important, and you can’t even think of him right now.

Gojo Satoru knows you’ve been deceiving him.

This is bad. So very bad. If he starts to suspect that you know more than you let on, he might deem you enough of a threat to kill, regardless of whether or not you’re in Suguru’s body. It’s not like that hasn’t stopped him before.

Gojo Satoru is selfless. He’s selfless enough to kill his best friend, if he thinks it will save everyone.

But if Gojo kills Geto here and now, would that really be bad?

You’d lose your path to the past, but the threat to your life would be over. Even if you did die in Suguru’s body, at least the people of Tokyo will be spared the Death Parade. You’ll still get what you want. And it will be much easier than your current plan.

Nanami shuffles behind you and you instantly snap out of it. That wasn’t you. It couldn’t have been you. That same lack of apathy when Fushiguro died in front of you.

It seems like dying over and over again caused you to lose bits of your humanity.

Shoko comes out. Nanami stands up, a tall ball of nervous energy. Shoko removes her mask. Her dark circles have grown even more prominent. She’s only 17.

“He’s still alive.” Nanami sags. “But he isn’t responsive. I’ve done all that I can.”

She looks at Nanami, and then she can’t anymore.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t,” Nanami rasps, the most emotion you’ve ever seen from him, “don’t apologize. It was my fault. I should’ve taken better care of him.”

You swallow. It wasn’t his fault, you wish you could tell him that it was yours.

You wonder what Haibara’s younger sister looked like. A spitting image of him, perhaps. Shorter. Darker hair, bigger eyes. Their smiles would look identical. What would she look like when she’s told her brother died doing the profession he forbade her from doing?

You can’t do that to her. You can’t be the reason she loses her brother the second time.

You’re not sure if a God is even out there. How could there be? What kind of entity would do something like this to you? Still, you sit on that bench, right outside the room where Haibara’s body lay, and you pray for a God.

Gojo’s footsteps stop right in front of you.

It’s hard to get the words out. For a minute, he just stands there.

“Did you exorcise it?” You finally ask.

“Yeah.”

You lift your head up to look at him. Even in his school uniform, he’s regal to look at. Like a warrior of the sun, blessed by the moon, sent to vanquish beasts and monsters.

Now, his blood-soaked sword is pointed at you.

Make it quick. You can only think. Just make it quick.

“Not here.” You say.

Nanami was still shaking. Shoko was right beside him. So you stand, you drag yourself away from Haibara’s fading presence, and Gojo follows behind.

It shouldn’t be this pretty outside. The sun is bright, and the sky is clear. There should be rain. Enough rain to drown the Earth.

“I figured out your technique a while ago, y’know.” You don’t look at him. You can’t. “Dying. Death activates your technique. Each time you die, you’re sent back 12 years in the past.”

You grip the fabric of your uniform until your knuckles turn white. Satoru’s cruel enough to continue.

“But I never got why your soul kept possessing Suguru’s body. It always felt kinda’ random. Unless he was the one who was killing you. Over and over again.”

“Gojo. Stop.” You beg.

“That’s how your CT works. Every time you’re murdered, you go back in time so you can kill them when they’re at their most emotionally vulnerable moment. It’s a pretty powerful technique, all things considered. I might not even stand a chance against it. Assisted suicide, never expected that from you of all people.

But you never do. Each time Suguru kills you, you just come back and try to save him and everyone else your hands can reach. I can’t get why you did that.”

He steps in front of you so you can see him. The God that he is.

“Let’s cut the shit, Greeny. Tell me what future is so bad you’re willing to die over and over again to prevent it.”

The worst outcome you could have ever thought of was standing right in front of you.

Satoru was demanding to know his future.

And...you couldn’t.

You’re taking in a shaky breath. It’s not enough oxygen. The sky was close to crumbling, and you still couldn’t breathe.

“There’s nothing to know.” You try. “There’s nothing, I’m fixing it—”

“—by Suguru killing you, or is this considering killing yourself, now?”

“You don’t understand.” Your voice is cracking, so high-pitched that even Suguru’s vocal cords can’t keep up. “You don’t get it. You can’t.”

“Then help me understand.” His voice is as ragged as yours, he steps closer, you step back. “Tell me why my friend would do something like this to someone.”

It clicks right then. Satoru’s anger isn’t directed at you.

No, it’s directed at Suguru.

It’s even worse than you thought.

“He—he was better than me. He was supposed to be the best out of all of us. I wanna deny it all that I can but—but I can see the proof right here in front of me. And—And I don’t—” His voice breaks too much to continue. 

You’re breaking, too. How many times have you been doing this, over and over again? All alone, with no one to support you. To comfort you.

The words are right there, threatening to bubble out. It’d be so easy to tell Satoru everything.

And maybe you would’ve, but then you looked at him.

Despite how disingenuous Satoru acted, you knew he was kind. The kindest person you’ve ever met. He’d sit there and listen, and he’d break every bone in his body to help. That’s just how he was.

Satoru was selfless, he was selfless enough to kill his best friend here and now if it meant he’d save the millions in Tokyo.

You can’t put another burden on the strongest.

You can’t do that to a kid.

“It—it isn’t him.” You manage to spit out. “He isn’t doing it on purpose. It’s not his fault.

It’s the curses. They were too much for him; they overtook his body. Suguru couldn’t control them anymore.”

He says nothing. It’s like you’ve put a spell on Gojo somehow, freezing him in place. Satoru can’t do anything but stare at the talking puppet that’s his best friend.

“He lost so many people.” You continue. “Riko, Miss Kuroi, Haibara. He couldn’t take it. It was too much. His body succumbed to the curses, and they took over Shinjuku. That’s how I keep...”

It’s okay to lie like this, you justify to yourself. Because the Suguru, you know—the one with fake smiles, beady eyes, and a broken expression—isn’t the one that Satoru knows. They’re two completely different people. Years—timelines—apart from each other. They aren’t the same.

Even then, you forgave both Sugurus a lifetime ago.

You’d get on your knees if you know that would make a difference. You’d plead and beg and cry if it would get Satoru to drop it. In the end, you can only stare at him.

“All I’m asking is that you trust me.” You whisper. “Believe that I’m making this right. Please, Satoru?”

His eyes. You can’t tell what he’s thinking. He’s gone quiet and dull. The same look he had when he fully awakened his technique. The day he became God.

But he’s not a God. God’s don’t cry.

He leans ever so closely until his head rests on your shoulder. His body shakes.

“You’ll save him, right?” He asks. Gone, is his aura of confidence and resilience. He’s nothing more than a shell. If you feel something stain Suguru’s uniform, you say nothing about it.

You smile anyway.

“I will.” You tell the truth. “I will save him.”

You think of something morbidly funny.

“I’ll die trying.”

His shoulders shake with quiet, genuine laughter, the kind that’s wet and sticks to the top of your mouth.

“That’s fucked up, Greeny.” He whispers.

You hum, reaching up to pat him on the back. It takes another minute before he gathers himself up. His eyes are shiny. Satoru blinks it away.

“Haibara will be okay.” He says with such conviction. “I’ll take care of him. I’ll take care of Suguru, too.”

He doesn’t get it, not yet. He doesn’t understand that Shoko and Satoru and Haibara and Nanami need him. He’ll get it soon, though. You managed to put Suguru on the right path.

For now, it’s all you can do. 

“I know you will.” 

He scoffs, right then. 

“You’re really annoying, you know that? Next time, don’t piss me off like that. Just tell it to me straight.” 

Rely on me. Lean on me.

“I’m sorry,” you say and you truly are, “I won’t leave you in the dark from now on. I guess I just forgot that I had a friend in 2006.” 

His eyes get a little brighter. “It’s actually 2007—” 

“Shut up.” He laughs and it sounds like him again. 

You reach out your hand and his grin fades, the tiniest bit. He mirrors you, regardless. 

This time, you hesitate.

“You should learn how to be selfish every once in a while.” You tell him. “I won’t fault you if you’re selfish. I don’t think anyone will.

He doesn’t answer that, but his touch is finally warm.

ⴵ

It hurts. It hurts so much. Blood seeps into the pavement. You can hear the curse laughing. It sounds like him.

You forgive Suguru. 

ⴵ

It’s today. 

You can feel it. You don’t even have to look at the date to know.

The catalyst for December 24th, 2017.

Suguru’s already dressed. You’re currently standing in front of a shotty mirror, watching your reflection.

He looks tired. His smile’s a bit muted. You notice a scar you hadn’t seen before. An unregistered special grade curse, Suguru’s memory gives.

He’s different from when you saw him a year ago, but there’s still a spark in his eye. You cling to that hope, as hard as you can.

You step out of the room. It isn’t Suguru’s. He’d rented accommodations with an older woman and her son for the mission. Their place smelled like home. It made your stomach turn.

She smiles when she sees you coming down stairs. She looks kind; she has the eyes of a mother. You’ll never understand how a person who raised children could do something like this to another.

“Mr. Geto.” She chirps. “I’m so glad you’re awake! Would you like anything to eat?”

“No, I’m fine.” Better get this done sooner than later. “I should be heading back now, anyways.”

Suguru had already absorbed the curse tormenting the village last night. You can feel the sticky aftertaste in your mouth. He should have left the village yesterday, but the people were insistent he stayed one last day as thanks, feeding him all they could.

Now, it’s obvious that it was a way to butter him up for today.

Her smile grows a bit nervous. She shuffles her feet a bit.

“If it isn't too much.” She starts. “The head of our village asked if you could look at something.” Her eyes darken into disgust.

You fight to keep your smile.

“Of course. Please, lead the way.”

It’s worse than you ever could have imagined.

You’ve seen this play out so many times in Suguru’s memories. He reminisces about this moment a lot. Because of that, you knew this scene too, like the back of your hand.

And yet, seeing two children huddled together on the floor. Nothing could prepare you for that.

The village head is saying something. The woman who Suguru roomed with is yelling at the scared kids, but you can’t hear any of that.

Their clothes were dirty and ripped. Their cheeks were hollow, and they looked like they hadn’t eaten for days. Himiko’s eye looks swollen.

The twins.

The first time you saw them, they stepped aside and let Geto kill you. There’s something oddly poetic about you being on the other side.

They tremble as they continue to look at you, flinch whenever that woman raises her voice. They must think Suguru’s here to kill them.

They’re too young to think like that. They’re too young to see the horrors of this world so soon.

It’s a mistake to look towards the end of their cell. Dirty water and dog food.

How could a human do this to them? How could a mother do this to them?

You feel red. It coarses through your blood, your veins, your soul. It feels like there’s lava right underneath your skin. Shuddering, tittering anger.

There’s more than enough fire to burn down an entire village.

‘Suguru,’ you think to your companion, your tormentor, ‘I think I’m starting to get it now.’

You reach for the bars of the cell. The twins shrink away.

“Ah! Mr. Geto, you musn’t get too close to them—”

“I’ll take them.”

“What?” The head of the village asks.

“The children.” You straighten yourself up. “I’ll take them off your hands.”

It’s pointless to do anything to these people. They’re delusional enough to think that they’re in the right. By torturing these children, they’re protecting their own. It’s fear. That’s all it ever was. Even without a curse, it’ll fester on and on until this village is nothing but abandoned homes. There’s no point to punish these people any further.

If you look at the adults a bit too long, you’re afraid of what you’d do, even without Suguru’s interference. Instead, you focus on Himiko and Nanako, looking into their wary gazes. Their hands are so tiny. You could protect them with your own.

When you got out of this backward village, you’d find them something to eat.

ⴵ

You go to Shoko first.

She looks surprised to see the twins. You can’t imagine why. Still, her voice is calm when she speaks to them, setting both of them up in the clinic room. Since you got them into the car, Nanako and Himiko seemed to calm down. Himiko even told you the name of her doll.

A little while later, Yaga comes for a visit. He’s the principal now. Usually, his voice is filled with gruff, but he’s oddly gentle when he speaks to them. Nanako cracks a shy smile.

You can’t escape the ‘we’ll talk later’ look he gives you. Inwardly, you sympathize with Suguru. But a harsh lecture is better than being branded a murderer.

He hasn’t come by, yet. With the twins aided for, you decide to go find him yourself.

Walking through campus feels a little nostalgic. The grounds of the infamous jujutsu technical college are a bright green. It’s summer again. You’ve met so many colorful characters since your time here. You’ve only seen snippets, mere seconds of their lives, and yet it feels like an entire lifetime.

He’s sitting on a bench when you finally see him, nursing a drink. He doesn’t acknowledge you. You have to roll your eyes at his childish behavior, plopping down beside him.

“Hey.” You say first.

“Heard you adopted two kids,” Satoru says, “Never thought Suguru would be a teen mom, but here we are.”

You laugh, light and breathless. The sky is so pretty today.

“I don’t think he’d have it any other way, personally.” You respond.

He reminisces on your words.

“This happened before too?” He asked.

It did. It was a lot less of a happy ending, however.

“Yeah,” you say regardless, “he took good care of them last time. He’ll do the same in this timeline too. I’m sure of it.”

And this time, he’d have help. Shoko, Satoru, his teachers. They’d all be there for him. Suguru’s memories haven’t changed yet, but you know the future you step into will be a different one.

“In any case, I’m glad I got to see jujutsu tech one last time. It’s a beautiful campus.”

“You act like you’re leaving,” Satoru says, uncaring. “You’ll just come back again next month. Or next year.”

You play with your fingers.

“I...won’t be doing that from now on.”

He pauses. Then, he looks at you.

“What?”

You can’t gauge his reaction, but he doesn’t look happy. You find this a bit hard to swallow.

“I fixed the future.” You smile at him. “I finally did it. Suguru won’t break. Himiko and Nanako won’t lose their father. You won’t lose a friend, anymore. There’s no reason for me to keep coming back. You’re all free.”

You phrased the last part as a joke, but Satoru isn’t laughing.

“Wait, you’re leaving? You’re...leaving leaving.”

You nod. “I can’t believe it either.” You still can’t believe you accomplished everything you set out to do. A task that seemed so impossible, now you’re standing on the other side of it.

It wasn’t truly over. Not really, but you were able to get Suguru through the worst of it. Now, you were sure Satoru and Shoko would take up your mantel, pushing Suguru through the finish line. Just like he’ll do to them.

Satoru’s quiet.

“You seem happy.” He notes.

“Well, I did just save everyone, I think I deserve to feel a little good about myself.”

For a moment, you want to ask if it’ll be okay to visit everyone in the future. To see how Shoko and Suguru and Satoru are doing as adults. You stop yourself. Of course, they wouldn’t want to see you. You needed to stop being so greedy.

This, was more than enough.

“Will you at least tell me your name?” Satoru asks.

“You know I can’t do that.” You tell him with a smile.

“Right right.” He laughs, it sounds hollow. “Time travel, bullshit. Makes sense.”

“I’ll miss you.” You tell him.

He straightens himself up.

“I’ll miss you too, old man.” He responds. “You were a lotta’ fun to mess with.”

For once, you aren’t offended by the old man’, comment. If anything, it feels somber.

“Can I ask for some advice?” He suddenly asks. “Y’know what they say, ask the old and wise or whatever.” Okay, now he was starting to push it.

“What is it?”

It’s his turn to shuffle with his fingers.

“What would you do if...there’s something you really want, but no matter how fast you run, you just can’t catch up to it?”

You glance at him. He looks earnest. Did something like that even exist for Satoru?

“Something I can’t catch up to?” You ponder out loud. “I guess I’d have to make a big enough ruckus to where it has no choice but to look back.”

He frowns. “That makes no sense. You’re growing senile.”

You laugh. You’ll miss this brat.

You wish you could stay more. You wish you could ask about Haibara, and Shoko, and Nanami, but the clock is ticking.

Suguru’s getting impatient.

“Bye, Satoru.” You reach out your hand.

He scrutinizes it, before clasping it within his own.

“Yeah, Greeny.”

Within a blink, you’re back again in the middle of Shinjuku. December 24th, 7:06 pm.

It’s the same as always. People bustle around you. Children’s laughter. Everything always repeats itself, but you don’t think you can ever get sick of it. You’ll savor this peace for as long as you can.

You reach into your pocket, flicking out a lighter and the first cigarette of the box. You don’t know why you always chose this one. Despite outmaneuvering time itself, perhaps it’s within human nature to follow what’s written stone.

You’ve relived this hour so many times that you can list everything that happens. Down to the exact minute. 7:08- a little girl wearing a red dress walks by. 7:09- a lady with short hair catches your eyes and smiles. 7:14-an old man and woman bicker with each other as they pass you by. 7:21- A little dog sniffs the bench you sit on. 7:34- Two schoolchildren run past you, babbling. 7:45- five construction workers grumble out their grievances. 7:58- a businessman talks loudly on the phone.

You wait. You sit on a bench and wait until 8:06.

Five seconds after 8:06. Twenty seconds after 8:06.

The clock clicks to 8:07.

You were expecting to feel something else. Celebration. Elation. You half-expected to cause a scene and jump for joy right there in the streets of Shinjuku.

None of that comes. There’s just a feeling of relief. A weight presses you down, and you slump in your seat.

It was over.

It was finally over.

How long do you stay like that? Hours? Days? When you feel like you can finally breathe again, it’s only 8:12. Time travel warped your sense of time.

You stand up, stretch, feel your bones crack and pop. In the second timeline, you wanted to get a drink to drown your misery of nearly getting killed by a curse and being alone on December 24th. It felt like a lifetime ago when being single was the worst of your problems.

Honestly, you’d stay celibate for the rest of your life if it meant you wouldn’t have to go through that ever again.

Tomorrow, you’ll decompress and devolve into hysteria over what happened.

Next week, you’ll check yourself into therapy.

Today, you decide to go home and sleep for a couple hundred years.

You must look like a zombie with the way you wobble down the street. Physically, your body is perfectly fine. You’ve suffered no bruises or cuts. Even the numerous times you’ve been killed leaves nothing on your skin.

Mentally, you’re in shambles. The indomitable human spirit within you is snuffed out.

The stairs to your flat is your last enemy that you must vanquish before you can reunite with your adoring bed. You cling onto the railing with dazed eyes. You don’t see the curse until you’re right before it.

Distantly, you wonder how often you’ve passed a curse and didn’t even realize it. It’s almost instinct to reach out with your hand, intent on absorbing it.

Nothing happens. You remember you aren’t Suguru anymore.

It’s a grotesque-looking thing. No eyes, too many hands, a gaping mouth. It turns and looks at you.

Strange. Its’ smile mirrors the one in the abandoned house.

Adrenaline. You feel it coarse through your veins, meld into your bones, explode in your skin. You’re stumbling back, nearly tripping down the steps in your haste to get away.

It screeches. Loud and clear and angry and you can almost feel its teeth chomp on your leg, ripping your muscles and skin to mere tatters.

You’ve died before. You’ve been skinned alive before. You’ve been eaten before. Yet, it all amounts to nothing compared to the fear you feel at the thought of the curse catching you.

It can’t have been nothing more than a third grade. If you were taller, larger, special-grade, you could have killed it immediately. But you weren’t, not anymore, you were at the same level as a plant. Useless. Helpless.

A dead man stumbling, tripping, running.

The streets were quiet. You supposed that meant there’d be fewer casualties. But it didn’t make you feel any better. And even if there were people around, no one would have been able to help you.

Your brain isn’t working as clearly. Fear is the only thing that guides you. You’re reduced to a rat scampering through a maze. Sooner or later, that rodent reaches a dead end.

The alleyway was blocked off. You felt the rough brick wall scrape your hands and even the feeling of your raw skin couldn’t assuage your heart pumping in your throat. When you whirled your head back, it was right there, and you knew you were dead.

Again.

It might kill you, if it’s feeling generous. It might cut your legs off and watch you bleed, if its feeling kind. It might eat you, if it’s a decent curse.

It shouldn’t be happening. You fixed it. You were supposed to have fixed everything. But clearly you didn't. There must have been some piece of the puzzle that you forgot. You need to go back. You need to fix things, but why do you need to why can't he just leave you alone—

You don’t see what happens. One moment, the curse is there. The next it isn’t.

“Those things are so annoying.” The newcomer complains.

No, not new. You know him.

You blink. He grins. It’s kind. A toothy smile that warms.

“You alright?” He asks in sympathy. “Curses are pretty scary, aren’t they? Are you hurt?”

It’s him. You weren’t in 2006. You were in the present, here and now, and he was here with you.

He actually made it.

“Ma’am?” He asks.

It wasn’t intentional. You just blurted it out, the promise you made to him. It was a decade for him. Mere hours for you.

“Um, broccoli head...?” And then you instantly regret it.

Haibara Yu takes a minute, eyes squinting like you just grew a new head.

Then, he gasps.

“Greeny?”

ⴵ

A few minutes later, you’re seated at a restaurant. Haibara has not shut up.

“—I—I can’t believe it? It’s actually you! I thought I’d never see you again ‘cuz Gojo said you weren’t gonna be around anymore, and—and then suddenly you pop up outta’ nowhere—not that I’m complaining— but—”

“—Haibara.” You interrupt. “Please, slow down.”

He stops himself, right when the server comes with drinks. He shoots the waiter a smile, and then he’s back on you.

“Sorry.” He scratches the back of his neck. “I—I got a little excited. And nervous. It’s just...well, I didn’t expect you to be a girl.”

That might have been your fault. Both Haibara and Gojo kept referring to you as a man, so you decided to roll with it. Earlier, you would have justified it by insisting the less they know about you, the better. Now, you just think you were being petty.

“So, how you’ve been? A whole decade...” You murmur to yourself.

“Fine! But what about you?” Haibara asks, concern etched into his eyes. “Where’d you go?”

Wow, he was actually worried for you. Despite being in Suguru’s body, you didn’t really feel like part of the group Shoko, Gojo, Nanami, and Haibara were part of. You felt like an outsider, being somewhere you didn’t belong. It's because you were an outsider. Nevertheless, it’s nice to know one person missed you.

“This might be a little hard to believe, but I just came back to 2017 two hours ago.”

Haibara gapes.

“Wait, so to you, that whole thing happened, today?” You nod. He leans back in his chair.

“Holy fuck.” You laugh at his awe.

“Thanks for saving me, by the way.” You change the topic. “From the curse.”

He waves it off. “I was just paying my debt. From what you did for me all those years ago.”

Ah, Gojo must have told him. Oddly enough, Haibara doesn't seem all that perturbed that he shouldn’t exist currently. At the same time, it feels just like Haibara.

He’s different from when he was younger. Taller. The baby fat is gone. His face is more built, just like the rest of his body. His eyes are less round, but they haven’t lost the spark. A few scars here and there, but he’s all in one piece.

You weren’t able to see what he looked like as an adult from Suguru’s memories, he’d never grown up. But now, you can see it for yourself. You can see the active change you made in his life, to his life.

“Haibara—”

“Yu—” He says seriously. “My friends call me Yu.”

A smile twitches on your lips.

“Tell me about everyone.” You scoot your chair closer. “You, Suguru. How is everyone doing?”

He perks up at that, clearly delighted to be talking.

“Great! Everyone’s doing great! You should totally come visit the school, sometime. They’d love to see you. Uh, even if they don’t technically know you, but I’m sure they’ll love to meet you!” He rambles, and it’s nice to know he hasn’t changed from his younger self.

“Let’s see, Kento’s teaching the first years. I teach the second years—”

“—You’re a teacher?”

He nods. “We all are! Except for Shoko, but she has her own thing going on. Anyway, Mimiko and Nanako have become second-grade semi-sorcerors. Isn’t that incredible? I’m just a first grade semi-sorceror, and at their young ages too! But Suguru wasn’t surprised, he kept saying his girls were prodigies. Oh! You probably want to know about Suguru too, right?”

You nod. Even if you hadn’t done anything, you don’t think that would have stopped his enthusiasm.

“He’s a teacher too! At least, for right now. Yaga’s been wanting to retire, and there have been talks of Suguru becoming the next principal. Principal Geto has a ring to it, right? Oh, and Shoko is currently planning the wedding. You’ll definitely be invited, of course! She said I could bring a plus-one. Oh, and—”

It goes on like that for hours, you think. Not that you mind. You listen to Yu babble on and on about his friends, his students. He talks about Nanami’s recent baking addiction, Shoko’s new office cat, Suguru’s favorite tea pot. It’s a never-ending surge of information.

Eventually, you catch on to the fact that he’s deliberately leaving someone out.

"Yu?" You interrupt him while he's talking about the prank the fourth year pulled on Nanami. "What about Satoru? What's he up to?" 

Maybe you were overthinking things. Haibara likes to talk; perhaps he forgot to exclude someone else's story in his rants. But then, he grimaces. For the first time in this entire conversation, Haibara is reluctant to talk. 

"Satoru is..." He winces, and your hands turn into fists. 

No. No. You were supposed to save everyone. Why hadn't you saved everyone? 

A warm hand grips your own. You'd been shaking. 

Yu gives a soft smile, and you remember he's no longer younger than you. 

"He's not dead." He assures you, but his smile fades. He straightens himself up, and his hand pulls away. 

"Satoru defected from Jujutsu tech. We don't know where he is." 

What? You must have misheard him wrong. Satoru wouldn't do that. That's not like him. This is some sick joke.

But there's no teasing grin on Haibara. His face is grave. You hate it more than anything. 

"It happened when he was a fourth year. No one really knows what happened. Suguru refuses to say anything about it, but I think he's just as confused as the rest of us. It came outta nowhere." 

Yeah, it definitely came out of nowhere. It's so random. Why would Satoru do that? The last time you saw him, he was so happy. He was smiling; he teased you. What happened? It made no sense. 

"So, you haven't seen him for nine years?" You ask. "Not even a glimpse?" 

Yu shakes his head. "Nothing but his residuals. That's how we know he's still alive." 

Nothing computes in your brain. None of it made any sense. You saved Suguru. That was supposed to make everyone happy, including Satoru. Why would he turn around and do this? Defecting made no sense.

"We've actually been tasked to execute him. Since he’s been branded a curse user, all four of us. " Yu laughs with no humor. "Isn't that insane? I don't think any one of us could even fathom doing that, even if it were possible." 

It wasn't possible. Gojo was the strongest. Nothing could go toe to toe with him. Once he put his mind to something, no one could stop him.

But maybe you could. 

You're shutting that idea down immediately. You were done. You were done with dying and time-travel and strange powers. You wanted it all to be over. It'd be so easy to thank Haibara for the nice meal, to go home and sleep this entire day off. Satoru dug his own grave, he can go lay in it. You weren't responsible for someone else's actions. You wouldn’t. You can’t do that another time.

You're the kind of person who'll jump in front of a truck to save a kitten, right?

You hate that brat so much. 

You close your eyes. Take in a breath. Then, you open them. 

"Haibara?" You ask. "Did Gojo tell you how my technique worked?" 

He shakes his head. You grimace because convincing him might take a while.

"Okay, well, I'll need you to do a tiny favor for me."

ⴵ

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Oh, you're back already?" Satoru says casually, turning back to gaze at you. "I just left today. How did you convince Haibara to snap your neck? That guy cries after killing a mosquito.”

You’d caught him just as he was leaving campus. Yu’s body was less athletic than Suguru’s. Your breath was slightly ragged, pulled down by minor exhaustion.

It doesn’t weigh down your frustration for Gojo Satoru. The biggest pain in your ass you’ve ever met.

“Shut up.” You snap. “Just answer the question.”

“We haven’t seen each other for a year and that’s how you react?” Satoru ignores you. “That’s mean, Greeny. How ‘bout we discuss my treason over steak. Haibara can pay.”

“Satoru.” You beg, “Why are you doing this? What’s the point? Why is everyone happy with their life except for you?”

That seems to get him. His posture stiffens ever so slightly. You can see him work his jaw. He finally drops his act.

“You didn’t have to come back, y’know.” He murmurs quietly. “You could’ve just stayed in the future. Like you said, Greeny, everyone’s happy with their life. 4 outta’ five. That’s a passing grade.”

For once, you wish you could possess him. You wished you could open his brain and peer into his memories until he finally made sense.

“I could never leave you behind like that.” You say the truth just as quietly. “I’ll die a thousand more deaths than do that.”

He smiles. It looks genuine as it looks painful.

“Yeah, I know. I know you, Greeny. Always gotta’ play hero.” He gives a bitter laugh. “That’s why I defected.”

You stare at him. He’s a fourth-year now, even taller than before. You aren’t equal to him anymore in this body, now you’re starting to think you never were.

“Satoru.” You start because what he’s saying can’t be the truth. Your heart broke and broke. “Did—did you leave—did you leave everyone for a decade just so I’d come back? Why would you do that to yourself?”

He doesn’t say anything. Then, he steps forward, just a bit.

“It’s your fault,” Satoru says like it’s instinct to blame you for his actions, “this was your idea.”

What’s he talking about? And then memories of the two of you sitting on that bench just outside of campus.

What would you do if...there’s something you really want, but no matter how fast you run, you just can’t catch up to it? So that’s what he meant. You were an idiot.

“That’s not fair, Satoru,” you say regardless, “I—I never—I couldn’t expect you’d do this.”

“What choice did I fucking have, Greeny?” There’s rapid steps and he’s in front of you, desperate and wild. “You—you just left me here. You left me alone and I couldn’t even look for you because I know nothing about you. Your face, your eyes, your hair, not even your fucking name! How’s that fair?”

It’s true. It’s all true. As much as you tried to claim you tried to make everyone happy, you only focused on Suguru. And Suguru’s happiness enlisted space from the strongest. In a different timeline, things would be different between them. A button he never left behind. Words Satoru never said. That timeline held too much pain and suffering, so you scrubbed it from history. In this rendition, everything was changed. Suguru had Shoko. Yu had Kento. Who did Satoru have?

You saved Suguru in this timeline. But to save him, you neglected Satoru.

Satoru must have known. He must have known you intentionally distanced Suguru from him, but he allowed it anyway. Satoru’s selfless like that. Too giving. Too Godlike.

But he’s selfish too. Purposefully demeaning himself so he could get one more glimpse of you, uncaring if you went through hell for his sake. Too taking. Too human.

Once, you told him that if he was selfish, just once, you wouldn’t fault him. What a liar you are.

You forgive Satoru.

“I’m sorry.” Haibara’s voice is like your own. You step closer. His infinity lets you in. “I’m sorry Satoru. I didn’t mean to leave you alone.”

It’s hard to wrap him in a hug. The brat’s too big. He sinks into your touch like a tiger, filled with dangerous claws, retracted just for your sake. He shakes the tiniest bit; even now, he’s keeping himself as a pinnacle. If you hear a sniffle or two, you don’t comment on it.

It’s why your heart breaks to tell him the truth.

“I can’t give you my name.” You whisper in his ear. He pulls back. He doesn’t look at you.

“Yeah, I know. I know. time-travel bullshit—”

“For now.” You add. “I can’t do that for now.”

Three pairs of eyes look at you. You’re not hiding behind Haibara anymore. You’re not trying to.

“December 24th, 2017. 8:06. Tokyo Skytree.” You look at him. “Can you wait until then?”

For you, it’d only be an hour. For Satoru, it’d be a decade.

You expect him to reject it, to yell at you. You decide if he wants to be selfish; you’d let him.

“If you don’t show up, I’ll turn evil.” You laugh. His grin widens and he’s back again. “I’m serious. I’ll take over the world. I’ll throw the biggest temper tantrum ever.”

“You’re such a brat.” There’s no hostility in your tone. “I will. I promise.”

‘I’ll save you,’ You promise in your head because he’s too prideful to hear it.

“Is it still possible for you to go back?” You ask, the wariness present again. “The higher ups haven’t taken any action against you, right?”

He shakes his head.

“I think Yaga might yell at me, but other than that.” He shrugs. “They’ll decide it’s teen rebellion and sweep it under the rug.”

You laugh again. Satoru shoots you a toothy grin.

When you reach out a hand, Satoru mirrors you. He clasps your hand in his. For once, you wonder how they’ll feel on your own.

“See ya’ later, Greeny.”

A blink. Satoru’s gone. Your hand is empty, and you’re standing in the streets of Shinjuku once again.

ⴵ

December 24th, 2017. 8:06, at the top of the Tokyo Skytree.

Why did you decide on that date and time for all the places? You were so fucking stupid. You needed to stop being so poetic.

It’s already 7:12 when you’re desperately waving down a taxi. The driver looks disinterested when you blubber out the location. When he tells you it’ll cost extra because Sumida City isn’t part of his route, you’re more than happy to fork over the money.

It’s already 7:35 when you stumble through the interiors of Tokyo Skytree town. It’s crowded. Fuck, it’s December 24th, of course people would be out and about.

At 7:44, you finally reach the observational building. And then you hit upon a snag.

It’s closed.

Renovations, the sign reads, accompanied by an irritatingly cute drawing of a cat, please come visit us next week.

Would this excuse be enough to satisfy Satoru? You’re only human. Surely he’d understand if you couldn’t make it because the entire building was shut down.

Or wait. Was this Satoru’s doing?

You look up at the tower. Lights were still on and flickering. No crowds. No people. No prying eyes.

Let it be known that you’ve never trespassed before, until you met Gojo Satoru.

With a guilty conscious, you step over the line. You justify it by convincing yourself you were saving the world because you know Satoru wasn’t joking a decade ago.

The elevators still worked. Thank God. Yet another hint he’s paving the way for you. You made the location, but it feels like you’re a mouse stuck in a human-designed maze. Even though you set up the game, he’s still managed to rig it.

You land on the first deck at 7:52. At 7:56, you reach the second observational deck.

It’s empty. You’ve never seen the skytree so empty before. Not a single soul is here except for you. Your footsteps echo across the floor. Were you early?

Out the corner of your eye, there’s a post-it note stuck on the window. A hand-drawn arrow. Up ahead, there’s another one.

You follow the next, and then the next. All the time you don’t know how to feel about him doing all of this just for an encounter. Something bubbles in your stomach. You’re pushing it down.

You follow the post-its until there’s one placed right on top of a door.

Authorized personnel only. Why does this brat continue to test you?

But it’s already 8:03; you’re far too deep to complain.

A service elevator greets you. If you press the button, it’ll take you all the way up to the broadcast equipment, the top of the Tokyo Skytree.

It’s different from the past two elevator rides. The service elevator isn’t all that polished. The wheels squeak a little too dangerously at times. It’s slower, too.

That’s bad, because now you’re starting to think.

That familiar feeling boils within your stomach, again. You’re anxious. It’s strange to say, but meeting Satoru through Suguru, meeting Satoru through Yu, it felt like you had a protective shell around yourself. You were free from his judgement, only invoking curiosity.

If you show yourself to him, how would he react? What would he say? Would he get angry that you made him wait a decade for such a blunder? Even worse, what if he doesn’t get angry?

What if—what if he’s disappointed by you?

Cold feet. It freezes your toes. You want to go back. You want the elevator to go back down, you want to go home and hide away.

But you promised Satoru. He deserves answers.

Pathetic answers are better than no answers at all.

Instead of your soul being protected by a sorcerer's body, it’s protected by your own. You’d steel yourself for whatever comes next. You could melt after.

It’s windy up here. That’s the first thing you notice. Icy wind cuts at your face and your eyes squint so they don’t dry out so quickly. It’s colder, too; your jacket is nice protection, but nothing helps your vulnerable hands.

But the view. Oh, what a view.

The sea of twinkling lights shines from the city. The sun has set, leaving Tokyo to do nothing but shine. She’s gorgeous like she’s picked the stars from the sky, burying them within her own soul. You could stay there forever, if she let you.

It’s 8:09. Satoru was late.

Or maybe he just wasn’t planning to show up.

You lean away from the railing. It’s just like him to make huge gestures and at the last moment, ditch everything. The balloon in your lungs deflates ever so slightly.

And then, you can feel hands.

Around your shoulders, caging you in. Large and warm despite the icy air. You know these hands. They’re familiar, even a decade later. His chest presses up against your back. His face settles in the crook of your neck.

His laugh tickles your ear, and you aren’t so cold anymore.

“Caught ya, Greeny.”

(“Did something happen to you, back there in the house?”

"Hm?" Suguru asked.

They were wading through long grass and overgrown weeds. Satoru glances at his friend. Suguru looks fine. His cursed energy has gone back to normal. That's probably good.

"You were just acting weird," Satoru said, "I mean you fell on your ass in front of a curse. Embarrassing."

Suguru huffed, a red hue across his cheeks. "Shut up, don't remind me."

'So he remembered,' Satoru thinks, 'didn't expect that.'

They're almost to the car when Suguru speaks again.

"Actually, I did feel a little strange," he says, "I felt like I wasn't really all there. There was this voice, guiding me along."

"Really?" Satoru shivers. "That sounds creepy."

So the entity within Suguru was a bad thing after all. He should try to get rid of it if it ever comes back. It might take a complex spell or something-

"Not really." Suguru said. "It's hard to explain, but it felt....nice."

"Nice?" Satoru echoes.

"Yeah."

And then it's quiet again.)

Part two: Rewound Infinitely

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

The Invisible String Theory

PAIRING: König x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: You didn't expect the man who gave you his coat to be the same one to bust down the door where you and the other women slept - sniper hood scaring everyone within an inch of their life. You didn't expect him to become so important to you, either. (Based on König's in-game backstory).

WORDCOUNT: 9.2k

WARNINGS: Human trafficking, mentions of unwanted touching, trauma, blood, gore, guns, bullets, protective!König, soft!König, nightmares, mentions of bullying, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

'DATE: 25, NOVEMBER, 2021

LOCATION: BERLIN, GERMANY

TIME OF EVENT: 0230

MISSION REPORT: PENDING….'

You don’t remember much from the day that could be called out of the ordinary. Ever since you’d been moved here with the other girls, everything was predictable down to the time the men would come over, to the point where the screams had to be muffled by pillows. 

Never in your life did you think you’d be part of the nearly fifty million people stuck in this situation, and neither did you think you’d be the one in one hundred who got out. But before you can think about November twenty-fifth and those pale gray eyes, you have to go back to the beginning. To Al-Qatala. 

You hadn’t been with this cell initially—you’d been moved around and bartered off more times than you could count; the initial founder of your predicament was long gone at this point. North and South America, Europe, Africa, Asia, and Oceania…you’d been practically everywhere and on every continent barring the obvious last. In Europe, you couldn’t name the countries, but you knew this for a fact: you’d never been to Germany before. 

They had you with five other women in a large SUV in the beginning, this international ring of human traffickers. You had watched from the window, face blank and eyes unblinking, at the men who met near the docks. They had brought you in through Hamburg, first—not only the largest seaport in Germany but the third largest in Europe; you think you read that on a flier at some point. One of those flimsy ones that you find in gas stations with bright lettering to attract the tourists with their interesting facts. 

You wished you were only a tourist. 

You’d watched the men shake hands, and that was when you knew your fate, as well as that of the five other women, was sealed. You were going to all be here for a long time. 

This Al-Qatala cell was ruthless, but you supposed with being around terrorists, ruthlessness was better than being executed. 

For days you’d be exploited with the false promises of moments of freedom, breaks, food, and water. For some of the women it was drugs or money, but when your stomach was empty and your eyes blurring from lack of sleep, even addictions seemed to pale for brief hours. But above it all was the threat of death at every corner. These men would kill you. 

It was only a matter of time unless you could give them what they wanted. 

You yourself had developed a system, and it was probably the only reason you were still alive. Pick one of the handlers, gain his favor, and pray that he treats you specially while you keep up the act of a mindless, weak, woman. 

Ivon was the man’s name this time around. Born and raised here in Berlin before the clutches of his fanatical ideations brought him to Al-Qatala. You hated him.

Hated his touch—hated his scent and how he talked; every bit of him was corrupted like a black dog at a crossroads, always leading people down the wrong path. Your only saving grace was that he was stupid. The other girls called you Cat—said you managed to nuzzle up to someone and soon after got them to give you what you wanted. Everything you wanted except freedom, that was.

You didn’t deny that Ivon did give you privileges, but that was the point. About a week into your stay in Berlin, he allowed you to go into public with him. Arm-candy.

A doll. 

The townhouse you’d been stuck in had disappeared into a spec behind the rearview mirror, the chilled air from outside making you shiver at the lack of heat and the thin shawl you’d been thrown. No jacket. 

The care of your health only extended to how well you were able to work—at the moment you were relatively healthy despite the bulge of bruises and constantly shell-shocked look behind your eyes.

But the trip—the trip. You supposed that was when it had fully started, and you didn’t even realize it before you saw those gray eyes again. 

“Come,” Ivon orders, holding tightly to your arm and dragging you along from the corner shop without making a scene. Your hands loosely brush the wrack of clothes, fabric soft under your fingertips as it sways. 

Fixing your shawl, you try to burrow your neck into it, gaining what little heat is available to you. It was cold out—you were shivering. People send looks, eyes tight as they shift up and down your form, but no one ever says anything. To be this bold, this cell had to have been at this for a long, long time. The realization didn’t make you feel any better. 

That was when you first saw him. 

You were standing outside a coffee shop, quivering like a newly hatched butterfly, Ivon making a call only a few feet away with fast motions of his arms. It was hard not to make a run for it right then and there; hard not to take those few seconds of open air and dash away—start screaming and yelling until the authorities came. 

It would save yourself, but what about the others? They wouldn’t be so fortunate, you’d be sentencing them to death. None of this was simple—it needed to be thought out. Two games of chess being played at the same time.

The irony of it was that König had been off-duty that day. It had been a shot in the dark. 

“Are you alright?” A thick Austrian accent makes you flinch as it appears beside your right ear, grating.

Your eyes snap to the side, moving one foot back as you blink wildly up at the blue-gray orbs that would become a staple. You liked to call it as everyone else did—the invisible string theory. A theory that stated that the universe connected people who were destined to meet one day. Through thick or thin waters, it was inevitable. He was inevitable. 

“Yes,” you say quickly, holding your hands tightly around you. The man ahead of you was tall, almost startlingly so, with muscles more bulky than a boulder and his buzz-cut head open to the chilled breeze. He wore a surgical mask over his lower visage, his hoodie under the thick material of a canvas jacket. “Yes,” you say again, hearing Ivon’s voice behind you still on the phone. “I’m fine, thank you.”

Gray eyes furrow slightly, gaze darting over your head. 

“Are you…sure, Ma’am?” 

“Thank you for your concern,” you fake laugh, eyes pained, backing up farther. That invisible string snaps into place, pulling tight at only those few simple words. 

His stature made you slightly nervous—large, intimidating; those hands could do quite the damage if given the chance. Your eyes had hit and bounced off the identity discs at his chest with little thought, too preoccupied to notice the fact that he was in the Service.

König’s eyes had narrowed softly, dark brows minutely moving in.

Ivon hangs up his phone. 

“Can I help you?” He asks, coming up and sliding a hand around your waist. The man had stared at him for a long minute, and you had felt Ivon tense slowly at the unblinking eye contact. 

This stranger had commented in German a long string of frim words, hands going to his jacket and grabbing at the arms—he slips out of it while still uttering. 

Before you can react, the large coat swallows you whole and you snatch at the heat that’s still inside instinctually, now only realizing how much you were shivering. Your body sags into the weight of the fabric, the scent of sweat and coffee. 

You don’t even pay attention to the growing tones, shocked. People look over to the two fast words being tossed.

Yet it could only last so long. 

Ivon’s hand latches onto the side of your arm, beginning to drag you back and away from this kind stranger like a lap dog while throwing curses behind him. Gray eyes meet yours as old shoes skid and stumble. 

König had taken a firm step towards you that day, his body tense and his hands clenched at his side—ready to do anything on a moment's notice should you ask for it. But all you do is stare, jaw loose, and the given coat still on your shoulders. You just couldn’t understand why he would do that. 

The stranger gets swallowed by the crowd, and just like that, he’s gone. 

That was all it had been; a moment—a few mere seconds in the large plot that was this almost impossible tale. You were glad it had been him, or else the events of the future could have been very different. 

Of course, they hadn’t let you keep the jacket, but the memory was enough to warm you for days even as old pains faded and new ones took their place. 

But those gray eyes would help you in the future, like a guardian; a protector in your dreams as you watched the snow fall from the sliver of outside light in your room with the others. Your mattress was on the floor like the rest, thin blankets and clouds of cold breath wafting up from sleeping forms. 

This was the time it happened, and you’d just woken up to find the curtains shifting as one of the women near it moved in her sleep. Shadows slip past, the light interrupted as it shifts over your tired face with broken fractures. 

You were always kept on the ground floor. 

'CLEARANCE: APPROVED 

TRANSLATING MISSION REPORT ‘RED FREEDOM’…

STAND BY…

Operation Red Freedom took place on November twenty-fifth, 2021, at approximately 0230 in the neighborhood of [REDACTED], at the residence of [REDACTED], Berlin, Germany. A squad of ten highly trained [REDACTED] personnel covertly entered the residence in two teams of five. Fireteam One advanced from the back entrance while Fireteam Two entered the residence from the balcony at the top floor, accessed via ladder.

Squad Leader [REDACTED], part of Fireteam One, set foot in the residence of [REDACTED] at approximately 0238 and began sweeping the ground floor as Fireteam Two cleared three of twelve known individuals belonging to the terrorist organization, Al-Qatala, on the top floor….'

You shift and shiver, your body trying to warm itself as the world blurs at the sides of your vision. Fingers twitch as your hand goes to wrap your waist, curled into the fetal position, creaking emanates from above you. Blinking softly, you frown and take a quivering breath, head nuzzling the thin mattress. 

“Cold,” you say, the following low exhale of air out of your lips only making it all worse as everything seems to drop another degree. The darkness didn’t help either, only that one line of light trying desperately to fill the room like a bucket descending into a dry well. 

You’re only clothed in the dirty and tattered remains of a large shirt, your legs feeling like they don’t hold any blood in them as they quiver without your knowledge—shaking the blanket above you. A few of the girls had said it would be okay to share, but everyone was afraid of the lock on the door clicking open and the men coming back in and seeing them. In the end, you could only look after yourself.

A thump makes you startle, drooping eyes snapping back open as you gasp. 

Head shifting, you blink rapidly upward to the ceiling, confused as to whether that had been a part of a failing mind or if you’d really just heard a muffled bump upstairs. Brows furrowing, you lightly sit up, hands still around yourself and legs limply outward; spine hunched. 

Your fingers had lost feeling, just as your nose had gone numb, but moving helped a little. Your hands dig into your flesh and your ears twitch at every creak in the wood—every pass of silent feet that suddenly becomes all the clearer as the sheen of fatigue slowly leaves your brain. 

Walking? Small pains move along your body like needles, poking and prodding, but you ignore them as easily as you do the vile hands that had touched you. Survival had forced you into a constant state of self-preservation—pain couldn’t bother you, because if you stopped, you wouldn’t get back going again. 

Your head tilts so you can side-eye the door to the room, sleeping forms all around shifting, singular groaning of tired lungs. But there’s something inside of you that stiffens like a prey animal, and you don’t know why. Inside of your sockets, your eyes hone in, bones stiff and your chest stilling as the grain becomes the most interesting thing to you beyond breathing. 

There was someone….out there. 

Watching, the sides of your vision shadow over to focus harder, your muscles tight. Your mind goes to the thumps from upstairs, the moving feet that sounded far more careful and deliberate than the ones your jailors took care to walk with. 

Inside your ribs, your heart patters a bit faster, adrenal glands sending a certain flight or flight through the few veins you hold that aren’t chilled over.

Something was happening. Something wasn’t right.

Only when you move to shake the shoulder of one of the women sleeping beside you does it happen. 

A yell. 

A scream. 

The girls in the room all startle awake, sounds of concern and shock entering the air that you mirror; faces snapping to the ceiling and the door. The townhouse erupts into gunfire and the sound of slamming wood—a warzone that only is separated from all of you by the thin material of the four walls.

You feel yourself being grabbed and held in fear in the dark, as your open face holds the expression of a rabbit in an open field, looking along the long, hidden grass. 

The sounds persist, loud German shouts going up over the house and echoing with heated fever. This continues for minutes, added in with the sound of doors breaking off hinges, bouncing off the ground, and shaking the foundation so hard that you can feel it reverberate. The women go silent. Stone-still. 

But the gunfire—so much gunfire. The constant pop of assault weapons and a pound of multiple booted feet. 

What was going on? You can't make sense of it, so you only freeze and listen; trying to understand the longer the fight goes on, heart hammering; mouth slack-jawed. And then it’s like it never happened.

Silence. 

You share quick looks with the others, all gripping one another and heads angled to the door. The heavy feet start back up again, coming closer. Your mind slashes to the window across the room, but it’s hard to think beyond the sudden body that shakes the door that leads directly to you all—the women scream, some standing up and racing to the glass with the same idea as you. 

'…Squad Leader [REDACTED], and both Fireteams successfully eliminated all targets inside of the [REDACTED] residence, leaving the room occupied by known hostages last to prevent casualties and/or the usage of bargaining chips. Squad Leader [REDACTED] made contact with hostages at approximately 0244 after the final sweep of the townhouse had been completed and all personnel accounted for.

Local authorities had been contacted by neighbors due to noise but were dismissed.' 

The door busts off its hinges and the room devolves into panicked yells and hurled bits of mattress material. Loud pleas and curses stuck like gums to teeth as they were forced out in fear and bone-crushing terror. You remember pushing back into the wall, many others doing the same, as a beast of a man enters the room with his face covered with a loose fabric hood of some sort. 

Large—brutish. Like a demon walking with the color of black printed over his entire body; gear hangs from a combat vest, hands holding an assault rifle as a sidearm is strapped to his bulging thigh. Forearms the side of your head stays near his chest, and in order to not hit his head on the doorframe, the individual has to bend slightly. Over that hood, the lenses and head-gear of a night-vision rig sit heavily before it’s moved back with a firm hand that is nearly double the size of yours.

A monster.

Your entire being is tight with quivering tension, eyes blinking away tears at the smell of blood that rolls in from the hallway. The women at the window duck down, hands to their heads as if expecting a bullet to carve its way between their skulls. 

“Cat,” one of the ladies behind you mutters, voice quivering. You shush her on bitten lips and move her farther behind you. 

“Don’t speak,” you mutter. “Don’t move.”

You don’t know what you expect, but nothing about this is correct. 

The man raises his hands, the rifle slapping his chest as it hangs from a strap. He speaks in German, and the heavy and fast noise of it makes your already addled head spin. No one answers beyond the slide of their own feet over the hardwood floors.

“Ich heiße König,” his head swivels from one to another, “Sprichst du Deutsch? Irgendjemand?”

You stare blankly, panting. 

After a moment, and a slow step forward from the stranger, he speaks again, though this time, it’s in English. 

“My name is König.” His voice is familiar to you, and you blink in confusion quickly, hidden near the back of the shaking bodies. “I am with the German Military, yes? We have conducted a raid on this residence.” 

Military? Raid? 

“...I am not here to hurt you.” He nears one of the women, beginning to bend down slowly. She squeaks, balking back—making him tense and halt. It didn't matter what he said, König was the epitome of a man who was intimidating on body alone; the gear wasn’t helping. Neither was the hood. 

A soldier appears in the doorway, calling out to him in his native language as you flinch at the noise. 

König calls back calmly, trying to keep an air of gentle strength around him.

The second soldier comes inside, dressed similarly despite the lack of fabric over his visage which instantly puts many at ease again. He clears his throat as König steps back, gargantuan hands coming up to rest at his vest collar as his legs shift. He seems a bit put off at the fearful stares from everyone, rolling his shoulders for a moment as he turns his head to look out of the doorway. 

Your eyes don’t move from him, though. A nagging feeling in the back of your skull. 

“We have to leave this place,” the second soldier tells you all, kneeling and resting a hand over his knee. “We’ll get you medical attention. Food. Water. There’s no need to suffer here any longer, hm? We can see to it that all of you will get the best care that can be provided.” A pause. “We can get you back home.” 

That certainly got the attention that was needed. 

Meek questions started falling out, then louder ones before pandemonium was roused in that tiny room pushed to the very back of the townhouse. Home. It was a word that had almost lost all meaning but was still that constant shining light in the back of everyone’s mind. 

Home.

Did you even have one of those left? 

As the rest of your fellows all got to their feet, taking you with them, you had to think over that fact as the soldier guided them gently out of the room to join the others waiting—trying to answer their questions and get them away from the gore before they saw it. 

You stayed behind, feet shifting over the floor and your lips thin. As the silence settles in, you hold yourself a bit tighter and glance at the mattress all mashed together and stained—those thin blankets as you shiver. 

“Are you alright?” Your head snaps over. 

You’d forgotten about König.

He still stands there, still and with his hands at his collar; he clears his throat softly, speaking up from his low utterance. “Please…do not be afraid.”

“I’m not afraid,” you say tinily, your voice cracking in the lie. 

You can’t see his eyes—not with the shadow from his hood or his head rig, but you can see the way his skull lightly tilts to the side, trying to see you better in the low light. 

“That is good,” he answers, not convinced. “I’m glad. I did not wish to scare anyone.” He moves back and motions with a hand to the door from where they hang. “Please. It is best not to linger, yes?”  

“Do I…” you hesitate, shivering. “Do I know you from somewhere?” 

König’s face isn’t visible, but you can still sense the feeling of confusion leaking out of him. The man takes a small step closer, and you gaze up at him until his eyes are visible. 

Blue-gray. 

You stare, mouth parting in shock.

König blinks twice, quickly making a noise in the back of his throat at the sight of your eyes gazing into his—the same woman outside of the coffee shop from days ago.

That little invisible string pulls you closer, small millimeter by small millimeter. 

“You?” You both say it at the same time, laced with surprise and shock. 

It’s a long moment of gazing into each other, a battered body and another more strong than an ox. All fear of the man dissipates. 

“You gave me your jacket,” you whisper, still torn up about it. 

König’s hood shifts as he glances back to the door, German speech over the radio strapped to his chest which he takes in and processes in the back of his skull. But he always looks back at you, eyes crinkled with concern and perhaps even a bit of misplaced guilt. 

A protective knife sides into his side.

“Come.” The man reaches out a hand, hovering it over your arm. You stare at the gloved limb for a moment before softly moving towards it with your breath caught in your throat, hesitant. König’s fingers delicately slide over the flesh, not closing around it until he feels your muscles loosen. “...Let’s get you warmer, Schatz, yes?” 

You blink.

“It’s cold here,” you mutter, letting him guide you along, his gray orbs always keeping you in the side of his vision. 

“Yes,” he agrees, nodding. “Very cold. Have you been to Germany during the winter before?”

Your head slightly shakes, bare feet padding along next to the pair of great boots—you lean closer unconsciously to the promise of warmth. König guides you away from the seeping blood on the floor and protects your eyes from the view of the bodies across the room with his own as a guard dog would. 

“No.” He notices your leaning and brings you nearer to him, letting you use him as a brace. The man knows the effects of shock, and you wear it as plainly as any other. “I’ve never been here before.” 

König hums and his free hand goes up to press into the radio, muttering in his native tongue. He releases the connection and asks as he blinks at you, “Do you require any immediate medical attention?” 

Again, you shake your head. 

“Where are the others?” You sink further into him, being guided to the front door, open to the soft snowfall and a chilled wind as your shoulder hunch. 

“Just outside,” König glances at the bodies across the room—the ones he’d riddled with bullets that still twitch even as the minutes draw longer. Gray eyes going from one to another, the house is heavy with the weight of dead men. Twelve in total and all getting colder just like the temperature outside. König didn’t feel bad about it, and when he’d finally busted open that door to find you and the women, he was satisfied with the blood on his hands. If hell were to be his home, he would walk there with a golden-fanged smile. 

But now wasn’t the time for that. 

“I will bring you to them,” the soldier speaks, snow blowing in from the entrance. “Slowly, now, Schatz, watch the steps. Allow me to help.”

You stop at the doorway, bringing a hand to your mouth to cover a haggard cough as König makes his way down the first concrete step ahead of you—large armored vehicles had pulled up from a ways away. The women huddle around one another, the rest of the soldiers sticking by them and opening the doors to the vehicles as the night gets only more cold and stormy.  

Gray eyes flicker for a moment down to your lack of proper protection, fingers twitching and tapping at his thigh as König remembers your expression the day he’d first met you. 

“Do you want me to carry you?” He says slowly, cautious in his approach. The man wasn’t stupid—he wouldn’t touch you unless you explicitly stated it was alright for him to do so. “I will be gentle, I promise. I do not wish for your feet to freeze, I...” He pauses as you blink, staring into his soul. “I…will not touch you if you do not tell me to do it. You have my word.” 

You continue to stand there for a moment, face unreadable before your head slowly turns to the vehicles in the street. 

The neighborhood was so normal it still caused you to wonder how no one had spoken up and seen something. Rows of connected houses now with their lights on—faces peeking from the windows like little children on Christmas morning; trying to get glimpses of Santa and the man’s reindeer. 

Finally, your gaze moves back to the hooded visage of König, able to see it better under the moonlight and the glare of falling snowflakes—a few of those frozen pieces sitting in the folds of the fabric.

“The hood scared them,” you utter about the others. König stiffens a bit, blinking at you but not looking away. “They’re used to people trying to hide their faces, but yours…with how large you are…”

“I understand.” König doesn't tear away his eyes. “...Did I scare you, Schatz?”

You don’t know why, but for what seems like the first time in years, the question makes you giggle. The beast of a man goes still with his feet on the ground, usually jittery and moving body captivated by the sound as it echoes over the night’s air—the puff of your breath as it moves around his hood; rustling it like leaves on a tree. 

Eyes widening only a sliver more, König’s breath is in his throat.

It was like listening to a bird’s song.

“Maybe only a little,” you whisper to him. “But it’s okay. I’m scared of most things.” 

He licks his lips, but you’re unable to see the slight quirk of them afterward. 

“Then I will make it up to you, yes?” He holds out a hand. “Let me? The car is warm and your friends are waiting for you. My men say they ask about your health.”

You softly nod, the shadow of the house trying to drag you back into it—its blackened arms reaching and latching onto old scars. When your hand connects with König's, the man takes his time putting one foot back to a step and scooping you up from behind your knees. With a tiny grunt, you settle at his chest, calming your heartbeat with the fact that you know he won’t hurt you. 

“I’ve got you,” he says. 

In his arms, your bare legs hang in the air, hand wrapping his neck, and with a slightly nervous look to you as your body hovers. König watches for a moment, hesitating before he begins walking to the same vehicle the other woman had been moved into out of the snowfall. 

“Can you tell me your name,” he asks to distract you from his hold, to get you more comfortable with him as his boots crunch through the packed powder on the ground—making sure to watch his step so as to not jostle you. 

“Everyone calls me Cat.” Gray eyes blink your way, visible skin painted black. König’s head tilts. You can’t help but find it endearing.

“Katze?” He hums, and you can imagine his lips moving slightly upwards from the innocent tone of his voice as if taken by the strange moniker. “That is…interesting.” 

You huff tinily, shivering again as your body moves to curl a little more. 

The soldier quickly reassures you. “Nearly there.” 

The vehicle is in front of you, and a nearby man opens the door for König as he carries you over. Nodding in thanks, the large individual eases you into one of the seats as the blast of warm air makes you sag—the other woman in there mulls closer, grabbing onto you and laughing through tears. 

Looking back at them, you smile and feel yourself get a bit teary-eyed as everything starts to slowly come into focus. 

Glancing outward, you stare at the snow that hits the dark hood of König, sticking and hanging off until the tiny white dots melt from the heat of his body. With his legs shifting he moves back a step and nods to you, eyes moving to stare at the ground for a moment. 

“We will take you to base. From there you will all be given dorms and fresh apparel to—”

“Thank you, König,” you interrupted him. He stares, lips parted with the half-tones of cut-off speech. “And please extend my thanks to your men as well.” 

“...Of course, Katze.” König stands straighter, always twitching fingers moving to the car door as engines start with a grinding roar. He nods again, the loose fabric swaying as the lenses of his rig stay firm at the movement. “There is no need to thank us. Relax. Sleep, if you wish to do it. The ride will be long.” The man’s gray eyes linger for a moment on your own, studying the bumps and small marks on your face. His hand tightens over the door as your gaze is stuck with his own; warmth blooming in his chest. He was glad he had found you. 

König slips out a soft, “There are blankets under the seats,” before he closes the door with a firm thump of metal. 

You can’t help but smile. 

'…Hostages were taken back to [REDACTED] and received minor medical attention on site. Housed in [REDACTED] and were admitted for needed treatments/medications - all details/names listed in File 3 Section 6 for future reference. DNA was placed into databases. 

Next of kin were informed of their family members’ position and/or state of being via phone call to the corresponding government official that then traveled through the appropriate channels once identified.'

You sit as a nurse hands you heating pads for your hands, which you take with a small thanks and clenched tightly, sucking every ounce of warmth from them to stop the shaking. Your body was heavy with the weight of new clothes and heated blankets, the room utterly normal in a way you’d not known for years. A corner table with books and a chess board—a connected bathroom stocked with amenities you may need; even a rug on the tile floor. You don’t know why that was shocking to you, but even the simplest thing was awe-inspiring. Your eyes had even slipped over a tiny nightlight near the door. 

It nearly made you cry. 

Your nurse moves back a bit, smiling down at you kindly. 

“Is there anything else you might need, Dear?” Her accent is prominent, though not as much as König’s had been. She waits for your answer diligently as the pitcher of water and a similar glass sit on your nightstand. 

“No,” you say, shaking your head. Your socked feet rub together like a grasshopper. “I think that’s all.” Your eyelids blink. “But…” you stop.

“What is it?” The lady asks gently, hands slack at her sides.

“The man—König,” you pause. “Is he here?” 

Blinking at you, the nurse tilts her head to the side in curiosity. “Not currently, no. At least, not in this specific building. He and his men are being debriefed across base. They will be there for a long while.” At your blank look, her brows slightly move up in accommodating comfort. “Would…you like me to tell him something for you?” 

Playing with the heating pads in your hands, your face gains a slightly embarrassed sheen. You liked the thought of being near König, truthfully. No one had made you feel safe like he did—him and his selfless action of a large coat given with no intention of getting anything in return. 

“Just,” you breathe softly. “Just that I’m sorry for losing his coat, and that I hope it wasn’t expensive.”

The nurse stares, very much confused but not about to question you. Her feet shift over the floor, and a light nod is sent your way. 

“Of course. I’ll tell him.” She motions to the bed with a hand and explains that whenever you wished to sleep, you were free to use the bed—and the TV was open to you as well, though you might not be able to understand the local stations. With that, she exited the room. 

Left alone, your head moves around the room slowly, taking it all in once more as the small bandages under your clothes pull at your flesh. The tears start slipping down your cheeks with no warning. 

Wrist coming up to your eyes, the limb presses in tightly, water staining the flesh as it dribbles down, and your lip quivers like a worm below it. You don’t know why you’re crying now and not when König had gotten you out of that townhouse. Why now, when there wasn’t anything prompting you to do so? 

But something was prompting you—the knowledge that you would never be going back to anyone who would mistreat you again. You had your own room. Good food. All the water that your stomach could drink down. A nightlight that pushes back the darkness even if you’re so used to living in it. 

Through your soft sniffles, chuckles move out, filling the space with a warm echo. You pull the blankets closer to you and collapse backward onto the mattress, smiling widely at the ceiling. 

That little invisible string dances as your heart pulls at it. 

—

König’s leg lightly jumps from under his table, signing off his name at the bottom of a report before he stands and rubs a hand over the top of his un-hooded head. He grabs the paper and slips it into a manila folder, hands pale with deep scars running the length of them like fissures in the earth. Deftly taking the item, he walks out of his office and begins moving down the length of the building, fingers tapping over the yellowish material with a small connection of flesh and thick envelope. 

Tap-tap, tappity-tap. 

His fingers were always fidgeting—moving, tensing, twitching. It was one of the reasons they never let him become a recon sniper; the more obvious being the blatant size of his body. Both of which had been the cause of much teasing throughout his childhood. 

But König’s mind was on something other than the report in his hands, and it was starting to become a very strong distraction. You. The women. Al-Qatala. 

He was angry he hadn’t acted outside of that coffee shop—angry he hadn't noticed the signs right in front of him even if he had been powerless to stop it then. The soldier’s jaw clenched, the strong muscles of his jaw roving. 

“Verdammt,” he hisses under his breath, glaring at the tile. “Should have done something.”

König gets to his commanding officer’s office and knocks, only staying long enough to hand him the folder with his finished report and leave once more. His mind wouldn’t stay silent tonight. There’s no doubt that he won’t be able to sleep unless he reassures himself that you and the others are okay. 

The man’s head shifts back to the email he had gotten from your assigned nurse, whom he’d taken it upon himself to know the name of when he carried you into the base’s hospital—Eva. 

‘...She says she wants to apologize for losing your coat…”

König’s heart had twisted at that—that was what you were concerned about? He had to tell you that it was alright, or else he would never know peace. Perhaps even ask how you’ve been treated so far, just to make sure that everything was comfortable for you. 

The man’s eyelids move slightly downward in thought, a pull at his heart to walk outside. He passes a few other soldiers in the hallway, nodding to them with a tiny greeting but unwilling to stop and talk. In only fatigues, König exits the main doors quickly, lightly moving into a jog as his body shivers at the sudden chill touching his arms under the black compression shirt. Under him the snow has grown deeper, the large lights illuminating the almost greenish reflections of the winter landscape of open roads and large buildings. 

Curfew was long past—this had to be quick. 

Just a check-in, König tells himself as he nears the hospital, his breath puffing in the air. Then I can wipe my hands of it. 

He slows as he nears the doors, huffing a breath as he pushes on the barrier, opening it with a squawk of hinges and metal. Entering, the front desk staff looked up at him in surprise, muttering his name in question.

“Katze?” He responds, pushing a hand over his head and feeling the melting snowflakes. His cheeks are a light shade of exposure-red, and inquisitive eyes shift over the two individuals slowly. “What room?”

The pair share a glance and tell him in the same breath. Room ten. 

It’s no sooner after that König finds himself there, hand hovering over the handle as the hallway clock ticks beside his right ear. His gray eyes blink at the door, feet shuffling from under him before he clears his throat under his breath, glancing away for a second in hesitation. 

Was this appropriate?

König didn’t have an answer, but the pull in his chest was tight and firm—he just needed to see you. A glimpse, nothing more. He raises his fist and raps his knuckles over the wood delicately, three tiny knocks that hit his ears like bullets from a gun; the bullets he’s put into pathetic Al-Qatala bodies and watched burst like sacks of fluid. 

He waits, hands going to grasp at his shirt collar, pushing out a low breath to calm himself. 

After a long moment, his foot taps the floor, blinking. Again he knocks—a bit louder. 

“She is sleeping, you evolutionsbremse,” he utters, accent low and grating. “Leave her alone.” But even if you are, his nerves peek their head over the brimstone wall of his brain. 

With his fingers caressing the handle, slowly moved to clutch it fully, swallowing the metal in his grip. König takes a deep breath into his lungs, letting it fill them up. Again, he tells himself, just a check-in. 

He twists the doorknob and sets his forearm on the wood, pushing the barrier open. 

König moves so that his body makes no noise, even with how large it is as he angles the side of his head through the opening. He finds a large mound of blankets atop the bed—stacked and layered so heavily that he has to blink in surprise at how you can breathe under them; because you were under them. 

Gray eyes make out the small sliver of skin peaking out from the side of the bed—fingers—and the top of your forehead near the pillows formed around your skull. Unconsciously, a soft smile works its way over König’s lips until he finds himself chuckling.

“Niedlich,” he mutters, scars over his face shifting as he speaks. 

Sighing lowly, König pulls back his head, beginning to close the door once more.

“König…?” Your tiny voice makes him halt like he had in the townhouse. 

Eyes wide and lips parted at being caught, the door remains open, only a sliver visible to your vision as your furrowed brows are stuck at the barrier. A red sheen moves across the soldier’s face in a slow sweep of embarrassment that goes bone deep.

With a lick of his lips, König re-opens the door slightly.

“I did not mean to wake you, Katze.” He finds your eyes and nods to you. “I apologize. Go back to sleep—you must be tired.” 

 “Wait,” you utter, moving your head fully out from under the blankets. König pauses, eyes staring as his other hand comes up to itch at the back of his neck. 

“What is it,” the man asks, opening the door fully and moving inside. “Do you need anything?” 

The question had hit you in your thin slumber, interrupted only partially by the opening of your door to the familiar pull of gray eyes and a strong build. A buzz-cut head. You take a slow breath to wake yourself up more, watching him from your bed. “...Did you know that I would be in that house?”

König tilts his head at the question, sighing slightly and glancing at the clock inside of the room on your nightstand. He frowns. 

“No,” he explains gently, coming closer. “No, I did not. I do not get told such things—only where to shoot and where not to.” The man tries a small smile, kneeling on one leg down by the bed and staring into your sleepy eyes. “But I am glad I found you again, yes? You had me worried.”

“You were worried?” You can’t quite grasp it.

���Ja,” he nods. “Your eyes—they have stuck with me, Schatz, you understand?” 

Your eyebrows pull up your face, blinking in shock. 

“...Yours, too,” you confess. König’s heart flutters, listening until your lips have fallen still. “They’re very nice, König.”

He goes sheepish, lips flicking up into a smile and his eyes daring away for a moment. “You can thank my mother for them, then.” He chuckles. “I have stolen the family's eyes, I was told.”

You chuckle with him, hand coming to rub at your cheek. A silence falls between the two of you.

“I don’t sleep well,” you tell him in the relative darkness, light from the hallway and your night light illuminating the dips and bone structure of his face. “I was awake when you opened the door.” 

He nods after a moment. “Ja.” A pause. “I don’t either…Nightmares?” 

You watch him before nodding tinily. 

“Ah,” he mutters. “They are not pleasant, I’m sorry that they have been plaguing you. Do you…” König wonders if he should leave—this was far more than he had anticipated. “Do you wish for me to stay?” 

 Why had he said that?

The string between the two of you tightens evermore, gaining another thread just as it would for the years to come until it became as unbreakable as steel.

“I don’t want to be a nuisance,” you begin but are quickly interrupted with a shake of a square head and a huff of a sharp nose.

“You are not. Do not call yourself such.” His accent deepens with emotion, eyes narrowing as the dark brows on his face pull in. “If you want me to stay, I will stay. Wake you if you become shaky, yes? Keep the bad dreams at bay.”

“But what about you?” Your voice moves around the room as König stands and goes to the table in the back, shifting one of the chairs so that it’s angled your way. You shift so you can watch him sit back, grunting as his legs move out in front of him, opening so he can be more comfortable. He needed a bigger chair, but he wasn’t going to complain about it. 

“I’m not tired, Schatz.” A lie. His muscles are heavy, and he longs for his bed in the barracks. He pushes out, “Please, go back to sleep. I’ll watch over you.”

You stare for a long while, studying him and how he fidgets in his seat of choice. A small laugh meets the man’s ears as he crosses his arms over his chest. König pauses, blinking over in confusion. His lips move upwards slowly. 

“What are you laughing at, then, hm?” 

“You look like you’re about to break it,” you mutter, head nuzzling the pillow under you as fatigue claws its way under your skin. 

König huffs, fingers twitching over the meat of his biceps as he slouches. He nods jokingly. “Perhaps,” he shrugs, the window behind him letting a slight tinge of cold air in from outside. “It would not be the first, I’m afraid, though it would be quite the embarrassment to do it in front of you, Katze.” He smirks. “But I’ll say, hitting my head on door frames hurts more than letting my arsch kiss the ground.” 

You laugh under your heap, your body jerking to the movement of your lungs. 

“I bet,” you say, fingers grasping one of your blankets and pulling it closer. “It’s a funny image.”

“You can laugh all you want,” König jokes, eyes soft as they gaze at you. “It does not bother me.” 

Your sweet sounds of amusement waft out from under the crack in the door, where a small group of curious nurses mull and listen with glances to one another. A doctor moves past the hallway where they stand, and all scatter on quick feet. 

'…Signed,

[REDACTED]

SUBMITTED: 0517, 25, November 2021

END OF MISSION REPORT ‘RED FREEDOM’

RETURNING TO SELECTION MENU…

STAND BY…'

It’s only after most of the other women leave—sent home to awaiting families or loved ones—that you know your time is coming to a close here in Berlin, Germany. While you’re excited to put this behind you, you can’t help but feel a bit…lost. 

There’s something that keeps you here, on this base, until you’re the last out of all of them, waiting. And then you’re given the green light to go—go home—and suddenly you have a backpack full of necessities and you’re closing the door to your room with the little nightlight’s plastic body pushing against your spine. Yet, you stand in the hallway for a long minute, fingers interlocked. 

You take a long, deep, breath. 

Over the weeks of recovery, König had been a constant companion when he wasn’t needed. He had eased you back into a comfortable state, letting you somewhat lose the black-and-white view you had gained of the world. But there was only so much he could do, even if his soft eyes were still stuck in your dreams—the good ones, of course. 

You needed to go home, and, today, the C-17 was whirring on the tarmac, waiting for you to be transported to a military base far from here where you would be processed and, ultimately, let go. 

Let go. It was jarring to think about, all of that freedom. What would you do with it? Right now, you don’t have the faintest clue. It was the best feeling you can remember having.

Smiling, you take one last look at the room behind you and walk on. 

At the entrance, you say a heartfelt ‘thank you’ to the nurses and doctors in broken German, shaking their hands as Eva kisses your forehead and whispers how happy she is to have had you here for such little time—you know what she means and you chuckle with her at the double-edged sword. 

König waits by the door, holding it open with…you blink at the item in his hands as well as his sudden appearance. Canvas fabric. A coat.

The coat. 

“I had to have it processed,” he says, smiling as you gape at him. “Very long process. It was found in the closet in the townhouse.” 

“Then why are you handing it to me,” you ask, tilting your head and walking closer. 

“I gave it to you, did I not?” The man hums, head tilting as he motions with it again. “It’s a good coat, Katze. Winters get cold.” Gray eyes crinkle gently. “I would hate for you to shiver, wherever it is that you end up, yes?”

You shake your head, cheeks hot. But your hands don’t hesitate to grasp the item, König’s hold on it remains fast, though, and you blink at him as you both keep it gently clasped like it’s worth its weight in gold. 

König stares at you, the door still kept open behind him. He opens and closes his mouth for a moment as you tilt your head. 

“Keep it safe for me,” is what he ends with, but his expression tells you he’s not talking about the coat. 

It makes your arms tingle—your heart skips a beat. 

“I’ll be sure it never gets lost,” you smile warmly, eyes malleable as the make of their color glints. There is a connection to this man that transcends words, and it is tied to you just as heavily as it is to him; unexplainable, incomprehensible, non-describable. 

Enigmatic. 

König’s reverential face is soft with care. 

“Good,” he mutters, unable to look away. “Very good.”

Clearing his throat, his grays dart to the floor, shifting his feet to move backward. He pushes open the door wider for you, and you hold your backpack in one hand as you shift past him and slip into his coat. 

It was exactly how you remembered it, and you sank into the fabric with a thankful sigh and a fluttering of your lashes. You shift the bag back over your shoulders, letting the straps fall into the bulk of the extra material. 

The snow wasn’t falling today, and the ground was shoveled of any white powder too. On the air, you can hear the whir of the C-17. 

König comes up beside you, a hand hovering over the small of your back as he guides you along. For the most part, the walk to the tarmac is silent with the weight of the future. You had no phone. No socials. You didn’t even know if you wanted any, to be honest. Your mind had convinced you that a good bout of soul-searching was exactly what you needed. And you had to do that alone. 

Your lips are thin as your legs take you closer to the plane, König’s scent stuck into the stitches of the coat and covered your senses. 

At the ramp, he stops as your feet take you onto the metal. Closing your eyes for a moment, you turn and lock gazes with him—gray hiding away what other, more human, emotions to be found. It was a slate of carefully crafted acceptance, and your own followed soon after. 

It had to be this. The string wouldn’t break, no, but it had to be stretched to such a point to come back stronger.

“Thank—”

“Don’t,” he says, not blinking, looking up at you. 

You smile. “What do you want me to say, then?” 

“You don’t have to say anything to me.” You hadn't known it then, but the both of you had truly thought that this would be the last of your meetings. It produced a pulse in both of your hearts that would never be told aloud. “....Live well,” König utters. “Heal, Mein Schatz.” 

The soldier wasn't one to give his chances to hope. 

Your eyes follow as he backs up, moving away as you stare. In his head, König pleads with you to stop and give him a reprieve from the hypnosis of your gaze, the addictive movement of your head as it tilts to the side. 

Live well. 

You send him a smile, a delicate thing, and then you back up a step and turn, disappearing into the darkness. 

The string follows, and it continues to do so even as your hands slip into your pockets hours later, bumping into the small form of a black flip phone. The note hidden inside of it. 

 ‘For whenever you find what you’re looking for.’

'REQUEST FOR ADMINISTRATIVE DISCHARGE

REQUESTED BY: [REDACTED]

ENTERED: DECEMBER 15, 2021

TIME: 1422

OPEN FILE?...

REQUEST CANCELED….

RETURNING TO FILE SELECT MENU…

FILE SELECTED….

TRANSLATING…

STAND BY…

REQUEST OF HONORABLE ADMINISTRATIVE DISCHARGE OF [REDACTED] APPROVED ON JANUARY 2, 2022

OPEN FILE?...

REQUEST CANCELED…

SYSTEM SHUTTING DOWN'

You sit in a coffee shop in Berlin, Germany, by the window. It wasn’t just any coffee shop, but you try not to think about all of that. It was all in the past—three years, now. You like to think you’d learned something in that time.

“Danke schön,” you say to the woman who brings you your drink, nodding kindly. You take a small sip, humming and winking at her teasingly. “Perfekt.” 

She chuckles, wiping her hands on her apron. “Möchten Sie noch etwas anderes dazu?”

“Nein, nein,” you shake your head, waving a hand that soft bumps the flip phone on the table. “Danke.” 

The lady walks away, and you take another sip of the hot beverage, never put off by the heat. 

It was winter again, and your eyes followed the flakes as they fell from a cloudy sky, finding the beauty in it easily as you sat inside. The scarf around your neck is loose—your gifted coat open. You smile to yourself and hum, watching people walk past outside, thinking about their lives and how they live them. 

A large form travels out from a shop across the street, a plastic bag in his loose grip. He was not small, no, this man was a beast of height and strength alike. The loping, canid-like, walk was accented by the twitch of his fingers over his quarry. 

Your wide eyes stay stuck to him for a long moment as he moves to the crosswalk, people shifting out of his way as he ignores them. Familiarity strikes like lighting—a buzz down your spine that leaves you straightening.

After a long moment, a breathless laugh sneaks out of you.

There were just some things that people were never meant to understand.

Your hand places your cup back on the table, picking up the old flip phone and pushing it open. Your thumb runs the keypad, moving to the only contact that had ever been entered into the device. 

Pressing, you move it to your ear as you watch with a soft expression, heart pattering. 

Across the way, the man tenses, hand patting his leg before the other hand moves inside his pocket and shifts the item out. People walk away, moving to the other side of the crosswalk as he stares at the contact. 

A minute passes, and all the while you hold your breath.

He presses and moves the phone to his ear, staying as still as stone. As still as a man afraid his hood might scare a group of terrified women. 

His voice graces your ear.

“...Katze?” You beam, trapped in the warmth of the coat around your shoulders.

“How do you feel about coffee, König?” 

Blue-gray eyes had never been more beautiful than when they snapped up to meet yours.

TAGS:

@sheviro-blog, @ivebeentrashsince2001, @mrshesh, @berryjuicyy, @romantic-homicide, @kmi-02, @neelehksttr, @littlemisstrouble, @copperchromewriting, @coelhho-brannco, @pumpkinwitchcrusade, @fictional-men-have-my-heart, @sleepyqueerenergy, @cumikering, @everything-was-dark, @marmie-noir, @anna-banana27, @iamcautiouslyoptimistic, @irenelunarsworld, @rvjaa, @sarcanti, @aeneanc, @not-so-closeted-lesbian, @mutuallimbenclosure, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @gildedpoenies, @glitterypirateduck, @aldis-nuts, @writeforfandoms, @kohsk3nico, @peteymcskeet, @caramlizedtomatoes, @yoursweetobsession, @quesowakanda, @chthonian-spectre, @so-no-feint, @ray-rook, @extracrunchymilk, @doggydale, @frazie99, @develised, @1-800-no-users-left, @nuncubus, @aldis-nuts, @clear-your-mind-and-dream, @noonanaz, @cosmicpro, @stinkaton, @waves-against-a-cliff, @idocarealot

[wwooyology]

The Murder House | Masterlist & Intro ⏃

↳ this is inspired by an ask from the lovely @addictedtohobi

「parings」 : enha x fem!reader

「synopsis」 : it was halloween season once again, and your brother begged you and your friends to go to this new hit escape room that just came into town; the only problem? you hated going to them almost as much as you hated waking up early in the morning. however, being the good friend and sister you were you went with them. you expected cheesy props, dumb riddles and questions, and a rigged room, so you couldn't get out even if you got the right answers. what you weren't expecting was being drugged and waking up in a room with a dead body and separated from all of your friends.

「genre」 : horror/thriller, gore, angst, psychological thriller, mystery

「warnings」 : MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!, heavy gore, blood, murder, mentions of suicide, cussing, death, manipulation, mentions of being drugged, toxic behavior, reader is speculated to be an 03' liner, trauma bonding, other specific warnings on individual parts.

𝒄𝒂𝒕𝒄𝒉 𝒎𝒆 𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒌 𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆

「taglist」 : CLOSED

↳ a/n: I have decided to make this into a short series because I just know trying to write one long fic won't suffice, so I am making it into separate parts! I am super excited to see what you guys think so far and to hear all of your theories. don't forget to read the intro at the bottom!! I will be figuring out release dates for all of the parts at a later time, but they will all be subject to change depending on multiple factors! also, if you were on the taglist located on the wip post, then you are still on there, so don't worry! with that being said you will only be added to the taglist if you are 18+ and your age is visible on your page. if you don't meet either of those criteria, you will be ignored.

「start」 : May 8th, 2024 「end」 : June 20th, 2024

「synopsis」 : after waking up trapped in a room with a dead body, you are saved by none other than heeseung, but you're still left with questions. why were you and your friends trapped there, and who is behind it all? though it would seem that you won't be getting your answers very easily and definitely not without a few losses. 「word count」 : 10.2k 「warnings」 : blood, dead body, cussing, mentions of murder, mind games, drugging, mentions of mental health disorders (anxiety, panic attacks, etc...), jungwon is kinda reckless, lmk if I missed anything! 「release date」 : read here

「synopsis」 : with everyone's lives on the line will luck be on your side? except it seems like whoever trapped you here doesn't plan on letting any of you leave that easy... suspicion is rising and trust is starting to falter, but can you save everyone and bust whoever put you and your friends through this hell? or will you have to watch all of your friends die? 「word count」 : 11.3k 「warnings」 : cussing, spiders/bugs, water, blood, mentions of betrayal, arguments, mentions of claustrophobia & arachnophobia/entomophobia, mentions of spider venom, life or death situations, more mind games, mental health disorders (anxiety, panic attacks, breakdowns, etc...), (some tags will be hidden as to not spoil the story!) 「release date」 : read here

「synopsis」 : everything seems to be going downhill at a rapid pace and nothing is going right and you've already suffered the loss of two friends, but the mastermind behind this doesn't seem to be satisfied just yet. another test is thrown your way but things are starting to become more clear and you're realizing that the culprit has been with you the whole time... but will you be able to stop him and escape this hell house with your lives intact? 「word count」 : 10.5k 「warnings」 : cussing, even more 'games', blood, violence, gore, gun goes pew pew, poisoning, betrayal, gaslighting, familial issues, mentions of abuse (mental & physical), knife goes stabby, threats, death, obsessive/stalker-ish behavior, mental health disorders, even more betrayal, traumatic events, police, pls lmk if I missed anything! 「release date」 : read here

「synopsis」 : it's been a few weeks since you managed to escape from the murder house, but it's not quite over yet. your brother's trial was right around the corner and everything is brought back to the table. after he's found guilty and sent to prison you are determined to find out some answers, though you aren't sure if you'll like what he has to say.... 「word count」 : 6.2k 「warnings」 : cussing, petnames (my love, love...), kissing, court trial, sister complex, familial issues, mentions of abuse (mental & physical), obsessive behavior, threats, mentions of death, gaslighting, lmk if I missed anything! 「release date」 : read here

“Come on, y/n. We never get the chance to do this!” Riki whined as he draped his taller frame over your back, causing you to slouch forward. You let out an annoyed huff, letting your hands fall to your lap. Your phone slid from your fingers as you tilted your head to look back at your brother.

“Riki, how many times have I told you that I hate going to things like that?” You pushed back against him, causing the boy to fall dramatically back on the couch. Rolling your eyes, you grabbed your discarded phone off the ground, Riki watching you with a pout.

“You watch too many horror movies,” he grumbled, remembering all the nights you would watch horror movies only to have some new-found fear afterward, even if it was something completely unnecessary.

You dropped your phone once more before glaring up at your brother, “ya know, there is always some truth to them.”

“y/n, please. They are just movies. Complete fiction. Ghosts aren’t real.” Riki rolled his eyes, picking at the loose strings of the couch cushion. 

“Even rumors stem from some kind of truth, Riki.” You huffed out, but it didn’t seem like your brother would stop pestering you until you finally gave in. So after hours of continuously asking and begging, you finally gave in to him, telling him that you would ask your friends only if he brought his own.

And he agreed.

When that dreadful night finally came, you were stuck in a car with all of your friends. The crisp October air was cold on your skin, but the heating in the vehicle that Jay had turned on was enough to leave you comfortable. Jake had some random playlist filling the speakers jamming out in the passenger seat while Jungwon, Sunghoon, and Heeseung were crammed into the far back of the SUV, all three on the brink of passing out from how long the drive was.

“I thought you said this place was in town, Riki.” You grumbled, flexing your jaw, trying to ease the discomfort from having it placed on your hand as you stared mindlessly out the car window. However, now that it was fully dark outside, there wasn’t much to look at, seeing that there were no streetlights.

“I mean, the address said it was in town; how was I supposed to know it was in the ass crack of it?” Riki sassed as he scrolled through his phone, looking at whatever was posted on social media.

“Language, dude.” Jay scolded the boy, his eyes staring at him through the rearview mirror.

“Korean, what else?”

Pursing your lips, you reached over and landed a smack on the back of his head, resulting in him letting out a groan as his head fell forward.

“What was that for?!” Riki exclaimed, rubbing the back of his head as he looked over at you with wide eyes.

“Don’t be such a smart ass.” You scolded him, and Riki grumbled before showing Sunoo something on his phone. 

Shaking your head, you lean forward, resting your arms on the back of Jay’s seat, “How much longer do we have to go?”

Jay quickly glanced at you from the rearview mirror, much like he did Riki, before glancing down at the GPS on his dash.

"It's saying we have about ten or so minutes left until we get there." He told you before putting his eyes back on the road. 

It was then that you started to notice just how desolate the surrounding area was. If this was such a hit attraction, why weren't any other cars around? Or any kind of sign of life. It was starting to give you the creeps. However, you just reminded yourself that you were doing this for your brother and that it was probably just your imagination playing tricks on you. So you just tried to relax, sitting back in your seat once more, eyes staring out at the blackness of the trees.

That feeling of unease only grew more once Jay pulled into the driveway, and you noticed that there wasn’t a single car in sight. You pulled your seatbelt off slowly, eyes searching everywhere, trying to find anything to settle this unnerving feeling that was twisting in your gut. As you opened the door, welcoming the chilling air outside, goosebumps littered your skin.

“Come on, y/n, get out. My legs are cramping!” Riki complained, pushing on your shoulder and urging you to leave the vehicle.

With a shaky sigh, you slowly let your foot fall to the ground, your knees feeling like jelly. Jay stepped out of the car, pocketing the keys before looking over at you. His eyebrows scrunched together, taking in the uneasy expression on your face.

“Hey, y/n, are you okay?” he asked, softly taking your arm and pulling you away from the open door so everyone else could pile out. 

“Yeah, it’s just…” You trailed on as your eyes caught sight of the small sign that was hammered into the ground.

The Murder House

You could have sworn that you felt your heart stop. What kind of douchebag names their escape room that? As if the air around you wasn’t suffocating enough, seeing that only made it feel like you were fighting for your breath.

“Sunoo, you’re in the back on the way home.” Heeseung groans as he stretches out, his joints groaning in protest. Sunoo just gave the older male the side eye before moving to stand on the other side of Jake, who had just gotten out of the car.

“Riki, I thought you said this was a hit attraction.” You looked over at your brother, who was inspecting the area much like you were until his eyes landed on you. “Why is there no one here?”

“Calm your tits, sis. I’m sure we just came on a night that no one else wanted to?” He rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, that just means we won’t get stuck with some randos.” Heeseung shrugged, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket.

"Come on, y'know, we didn't come all this way just to chicken out," Jungwon grumbled, tossing his hair with his fingers.

You curled your lips inward, knowing that they were right and that you were just thinking too much about the situation. Crossing your arms over your chest, you nodded your head in silent agreement. Jay wrapped his arm around your shoulder, giving you a gentle squeeze, ignoring the prying eyes that were on the two of you.

“Don’t let it get to you too much, okay? We’ll just get it over with, and if anything, we just let the timer go out.” He whispered softly in your ear, and the warmth of his breath eased your mind slightly. 

“You’re right, I’m just overthinking.” You gave him a small smile before following after him and the others.

“God damn, Riki, why did we have to walk all the way up here?” Sunghoon huffed as all of you reached the steps of the porch.

You couldn’t help but laugh, knowing he was right because that was a pretty lengthy walk uphill. All of the guys nodded in agreement before Jake walked further up the step, trying to see if you were able to get in. He then noticed a welcome sign hanging from the door, with a small basket underneath holding a piece of paper.

“It looks like we got some instructions, boys and girls,” Jake exclaimed with a broad smile, turning with the paper held high.

You looked at him uneasily as he unfolded it with a flourish and started reading it out loud so everyone could hear.

‘You will have two hours to uncover the grand mystery and escape the murder house. You will find clues and puzzles, but be careful, for everything isn’t as it seems… Good luck!’

A shiver ran down your spine as he finished reading. You weren't sure whether it was the chilling breeze that swept through or the cryptic words of the note. However, you did know that it wasn't just your mind messing with you; there was something deeply wrong with this place.

“Hey guys, this seems really weird. Maybe we should just go.” You voiced your concern, earning yourself a collection of groans from the guys.

“Oh, come on, y/n. Stop being such a negative Nancy and have some fun for once in your life.” Jake rolled his eyes, his hands falling to his side.

Your jaw clenched shut, and a glare adorned your features before you leaned forward, snatching the paper out of his hands.

“You’re such an asshole, Jake.” The words tumbled out quietly as you reread the same message that Jake had just read aloud, trying to see if there was anything else that he had missed.

“Yeah, yeah.” The brunette rolled his eyes before going on to complain about how thirsty he was and how he was sure that they would have drinks for sale or something inside. Then, without another word, he opened the door despite the multiple protests from you and a few others. 

“Jake, you can’t just walk in like you own the place!” You exclaim, hands slapping against your thighs as he disappears around the corner.

Letting out a huff, you step past the threshold, trying to shake off the eerie feeling that started to settle into your bones before going in the direction you saw Jake go, everyone trailing after you.

You walked into the foyer with a groan as you saw the older male chugging down a water bottle, some of it trickling down his chin before catching on his shirt. Your eyes then trail over to a tray that sat in the center of the table, six other bottles neatly placed inside.

“Jake, you can’t just take shit that’s not yours!” You scolded him, which only caused him to stop drinking, a gasp leaving his lips as he pulled the bottle away.

Riki then walked past you, looking down at the table and seeing some kind of note. Taking it, he held it up so everyone could see.

Free refreshments!

“The host probably just sat them out for people to take.” Riki shrugged, setting the paper back down on the table before grabbing a bottle for himself. 

Your stomach turned as you watched him unscrew the cap, “we can’t just trust drinks that are given to us by some random strangers.”

Heeseung then moves past you, his arm brushing yours, before grabbing one of the bottles. He inspected it for a few seconds before meeting your gaze.

"It's still sealed; there's no way someone tampered with it," he explained before twisting the cap open and swallowing a few drinks.

“Weren’t you the one complaining about being thirsty in the car?” Riki raised an eyebrow at you, and you just rolled your eyes.

“Yeah, but-” “But what, just drink the water, it’s not like you’re gonna die.” Riki quipped, causing your jaw to tighten. You knew he was right; you had been complaining about not bringing an extra drink for the road, but you weren’t quite sure if you were thirsty enough to drink some random water given out by a stranger. However, the dry feeling in your throat was telling you otherwise, so with some hesitation, you took the bottle Jay was handing you before twisting the cap off and bringing it to your lips; the liquid instantly quenched your dying thirst. 

After everyone got a much-needed drink, they all needed you all gathered around the coffee table. You, Heeseung, and Jay were on the long couch while Sunoo, Niki, and Jake cramped on the loveseat, leaving the armchair for Sunghoon, Jungwon perched on the armrest. 

“So… when does this game start?” Sunoo asked, leaning forward so his arms rested on his knees. Looking around, you couldn’t help but notice that the room was neatly decorated and clean, yet there was no sign of anyone being there.

Heeseung then leaned forward to grab something sitting on the table, catching everyone’s attention. He flipped it around, trying to find any indication of what it was, but nothing was written on the outside, so he opened the flap and pulled out the papers inside.

“It’s more instructions,” he explains as he starts to read them aloud. It says that as soon as the… the… sorry, I just feel really lightheaded.” He mumbles, shaking his head while squeezing his eyes shut, trying to stabilize his vision.

"Hee man, are you good?" Jay asked, putting a hand on the older male's shoulder, and Heeseung just nodded.

“Yeah, I just…” Heeseung’s words slurred as he started to sway, his eyes drooping. 

Panic started to set in your chest as you noticed that Heeseung looked like he was on the brink of passing out. Just then, Jungwon slumped to the side, falling right into Sunghoon’s lap, causing him to start calling out the boy’s name.

You quickly stood to your feet to check on him, but you fell back into your seat just as soon as you stood, your vision swimming. However, as you looked around, you noticed that all of the boys were either slumped over or on the brink of passing out. 

Worry then etched itself into your bones when your hazy vision landed on your brother's motionless form. You opened your mouth to call out for him and tried to get your body to move, but it wouldn't respond, and no words left your lips. Then everything seemed to fade, and your body grew weaker and weaker until you fell to the side, your head resting against Jay's back before everything went black.

Your body shot up with a gasp, and your ears rang so loud you could have thought it was coming from some kind of speaker. However, as it started to die down to a dull shrill, you realized that it was just you.

Looking around, you felt a chill run down your spine. You couldn’t see a thing. The room was shrouded in darkness, with not a single light in sight. Panic then started to set in as the earlier events started to play in your head. 

Where was your brother? Or your friends? What caused you all to black out?

So many questions started filling your brain, some overlapping others as you fumbled to get to your feet. You blinked multiple times, trying to fully stabilize your vision and to see in the darkness.

A scream escaped from your lips as you tripped over something, landing in some kind of liquid. Your heartbeat roared in your ears as you hurriedly tried to get to your feet, the ringing in your ears growing louder.

Scrambling to your feet, you reach out in front of you, trying to find the wall, and as soon as you do, you start searching for the light switch. With shaky hands, you felt around the wall until you felt the switch. Letting out a relieved sigh, you flipped it, allowing the room to flood with light.

You looked up with a smile before remembering that your hands were still covered in whatever you had fallen into. Your gaze then fell down to your hands, only for the smile to be wiped away and your eyes to go wide.

Blood. Your palms were covered in blood.

Your stomach turns the urge to throw up very strong; dread then fills your veins as you slowly turn around. A high-pitched scream leaves your lips as your eyes are set upon the body of a man, blood pooling all around him.

Fear clouded your brain as you quickly turned back around to open the door. Rushing over to the wooden door, you wrapped your hands around the knob, hoping that it would turn. But it didn’t.

The door was locked, and you were trapped.

@wwooyology | Do not steal, plagiarise, translate, or repost any of my work

𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴀ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀꜱ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ꜰɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴛᴀᴋᴇɴ ꜱᴇʀɪᴏᴜꜱʟʏ.

[daryltwdixon]

✦ complete ✧ in progress ✭ smut

✦ The Ruins of Us ✦The Promise of Us ✧ The Heart of Us✭

✦ Dominion ✭

One shots

Red Dress ✭

Sucker

The One on the Bike✭

Picture You✭

Worship✭

The Shower ✭

Inexperienced Daryl ✭

daryl kisses you in his truck

Daryl Returns

Teach You ✭ pt II ✭ pt III ✭

Feral ✭

Mini Masterlists

Kinktober ✭

Phoebe Bridgers Inspired

Requests

Angel ✭

✧ Twisted Grace

jealousy, jealousy ✭

28F | East Coast US | Virgo

I tend to post / reblog explicit writings, so please do not follow or interact if you are a minor. However, I cannot control individual choices, and it is ultimately the responsibility of the reader to determine what content is appropriate for them.

Everything is also on Ao3

if you see me interacting from my main blog,  @plzlou it’s because this is a side blog! There are some features that side blogs don’t have, so I’ll need to switch to my main account for certain actions, especially when it comes to liking posts & following. 

I post about The Walking Dead. Please expect when you read for there to be canon-type violence (aka walker deaths, gore, smaller character deaths, etc). I will leave warnings for anything outside of the usual realm of the show like s/a, major character deaths, extreme gore. Please read with caution if that is not something you can handle!

All moodboards & banners are made by me. Photos taken from Pinterest.

And lastly, thank you so much for your love & support!! It means so much to me 

[bonefall]

Clan Culture Illustrations

So I've been mentioning this in passing, and I think now is a good time to start collecting info from people who are interested!

I'm seeking artists who want to draw stuff for my Clan Culture series.

I often write very large guides for things like tools, ecology, medicine and treatments, etc, which then get held up by the fact that they're big blocks of text without any fun pictures. I usually collaborate with friends and family, but I could put out more quicker if I had some artists on standby.

If you're an artist who would be interested in illustrating, here's the details;

Everything I make on this blog is tailored towards WC fans, but free for anyone to use and reference for their xenofiction worldbuilding projects. You do not have to be intimately familiar with the Warrior Cats books. This offer's open to anyone above 18.

Fans of Better Bones are preferred, because Clan Culture and BB often intersect. I might ask for help with some BB stuff at some point, too. (for example i have a guide on types of StarClan spirits that needs illustration)

To re-iterate, please only inquire if you're 18+

Price range is 20 - 50 USD and turnaround time can be up to 6 months if you just keep me updated. (I am sorry that I can't offer a higher price for these, but this is coming from my own pocket. In return, this is meant to be low pressure)

Half payment upfront, the rest after completion.

I will never "assign" you a surprise mystery topic (unless you ask for that I guess?), I'll either present you with a list of posts that need illustration (yes this means you get to read stuff early), OR float some ideas that play to your strengths and interests. (for example: if I'm approached by Spider-Enjoyer-9000 who's willing to draw a ridiculous number of spiders, I will draft, write, and research a Clanmew Expansion in the style of Deer and Co or Moths and Butterflies.)

Either way, there's usually a lot of creative freedom here unless I need a specific technical drawing, which I will discuss with you and provide references for. (As an example, if we were talking about a post on declawing, I might ask for you to illustrate the muscles within the paw.)

The nature of Clan Culture means you will probably be asked to draw plants, food, objects, and/or scenery

Still interested?

I'm hoping to make a personal "list" of people I can call on, so send me your commissions info or details in a DM, an ask, a reply to this post, or anything else you'd like. Tell me about stuff you like drawing, topics you're interested in, if you can draw backgrounds, etc

Also, please tell include in that message if you're comfortable with illustrating these particular sensitive topics. These are opt-in only;

Medical Gore (Woundcare, stitching, blood, vomit, urine, parasites and bug bites, etc.)

Reproductive Care (Abortion, birth, pyometria, inducing lactation, possible revamp of the HRT guide including simple surgeries, etc)

Hunting and Butchery (Humane killing of prey, skinning, disembowelment, cutting meat, making sausage and blood pudding, etc)

Funerals and Animal Death (Sad kitties, dead battle cats, scavengers and grave desecration, tombs and burial rituals, concealing decay, etc.)

The end art will always stay tasteful, but I might need to give you references in the form of real images or tutorials that might be upsetting if you're sensitive to these topics-- so it's important to me that I consider those four things "opt-in."

I have plenty of other posts that need illustration, it's just a huge plus if you're able to do these too.

(You should also mention any other specific triggers or phobias you have, so I don't unwittingly come at you with something else upsetting)

"I still have questions!"

Putting a big list of answers beneath the cut;

"Would everything have to be colored?"

Nope, as long as there's pictures to break up the text, you can do sketches, black and white, flat colors, only put color in the header, etc. We'll discuss expectations with the post in front of us, and then agree on price.

I have ONE requirement; it's gotta look good on Tumblr darkmode. Because I use Dark Reader.

"Do you have a Discord?"

I do, I just try to be exclusive with who I give it to! When we're discussing details, we'll probably move over there if you'd like. This is a reason why I only want to work with 18+ artists, I'm not always SFW on main.

"Can we do an entry together about (specific topic)?"

Probably yes, so feel free to ask! The worst that will happen is that I say no, or maybe later. For example, I've got a post on Sweetness Tolerance reserved for my partner (they like to draw sweets), so I would say no if you asked.

Just keep in mind that researching, outlining, and writing is unpaid labor I'm doing completely for free. I have posts mostly done that just need art, and topics I've done some research on. Please only ask for special collaborations from scratch if you're serious 🙏

"Does it have to be digital?"

You'd have to have a WILD idea for me to say yes to anything non-digital, but I am a queer of whimsy. If you can whimsify me with an idea, hell yeah.

"Will I be compensated if you need any changes?"

Yes. If I spring anything on you after the details we agree on, I will first ask you, then ask how much that change would cost, and then compensate you for it.

As fair warning though, I am trying to stay within a budget and writing the posts themselves is unpaid work I do (plus occasional helping hands during research stages, I consulted a friend who is an irl wetlands expert for ShadowClan's environment). I can't pay more than what we agree on.

"Can I link my info in the post?"

Yes. "Guest Artist" is going to be named in the opening paragraphs, along with any fundraiser, shop info, carrd, etc, you want there.

"Boosty?"

Yea I got Boosty. Paypal, too.

"I have some other question about pricing"

Feel free to ask, but my hard budget is 20$ - 50$ US. Please only inquire if you're willing to charge within that range.

"What if I'd do it free or I want to do this anonymously?"

I'll donate to a charity of your choice and link to it in the post. If you have no charity preference, I will link to RAINN, Anera, or The Trevor Project.

(Naturally this comes with an anti-ghoul caveat or two. If you try to get me to donate to something like Autism Speaks I will rotate every bone in your body by 45 degrees.)

"I like checklists, can you give me a checklist of info you want in a DM?"

Sure!

Your info; socials, carrd, shop, etc

General interests and strengths. Stuff you'd love to work on, or have insight to. If you like fishing or drawing bugs, I want to know that. If you particularly want to practice flowers, tell me. Be as detailed as you want so I can pair you with a relevant subject!

Your examples

General asking price (or charity)

Which, if any, of the four Opt-In Subjects you're opting in for.

Anything else I should know (triggers, phobias, things you dislike drawing, if schooling or disability means you need a particularly long turnaround time, etc)

[kittyscupcakeandbunny]

Made by me

The Masterlist

CRAZY OVER YOU

[HYBRID AU]

[FINISHED]✅

Side Characters: Namjoon/doctor, Seokjin/doctor, Taehyung/Hybrid Tiger, Jungkook/Bunny Hybrid, Hoseok/assistant.

Warnings: Smut, mentions of blood, sharp objects, rut, beast behavior.

Genre: Fantasy, hybrids au, smut.

SUMMARY》 Yoongi is a black mamba hybrid one of rarest species of hybrids, who’s about to be put down due to his lack of interest in living. But everything changes after the new medical assistance (y/n) takes a liking to him. Meeting after meeting he realise his feelings for her are not the only thing growing.

INTRO - In the books they say

ONE - Love at first bite

TWO - Bath me with your love

THREE - Hungry for your love I

FOUR - The truth untold II

FIVE - Bitter taste, Jealousy and bites

SIX - Take Me Home

SEVEN - The last bite

SET ME FREE

[MAFIA AU]

On Going

Side Characters: Min Yoongi as Agust D/Mafia boss, Jung Hoseok as Jack/Concierge, Namjoon/Police detective, Jungkook/Police detective, Park Jimin/thief and gang leader, Taehyung/Mafia member FBI Mole, Paradise owner. Jin/unknown, Busan/Mafia boss.

Warnings: This story contains nsfw content (descriptive blood, gore, etc.) as well as sexual content. Mentions may include violence, consumption of alcohol, explicit sexual interactions, sharp objects, knife play, description of injuries, themes of major horror and also explores obsessive behaviors and codependency, robbery, killing, guns, torturing, fire, toxic yandere men, violence, possessive behaviour, unhealthy relationships.

SUMMARY: You made it. Now a police intern as you always promised to your father before he died, you were more than happy to finally be able to help people like he did. But the law was not what you expected to be like. You did not know how lonely it would be for a young woman to grow her career in this kingdom. Having to take care of your 18 year old brother wasn't easy too and things just got a lot worse when you've met Agust D. The king of the mafia Min. He sure knew how to make a life turn into a hell hole.

INTRO

ONE - Red Chopsticks

TWO - I’ll find you in a dark Paradise

THREE - A deal with the devil

FOUR - Welcome to my world

FIVE - Good girl gone bad COMING SOON

SIX - Dance with the devil COMING SOON

FINAL DESTINATION - LILITH COMING SOON

BREATH OF FIRE

[HYBRID GODS AU]

On Going

Side characters: Park Jimin/White fox hybrid.

Warnings: Mentions of blood, death, violence, sharp objects, suggestive words, smut, alcohol, killing.

Genre: Fantasy, romance, strangers to lovers, R +18.

SUMMARY: Did you know a fox only mates once in their life? For almost 400 years Min Yoongi never mated before, all theses years of emptiness and loneliness. He had tried so many times to end with his own hands. Until one night a hint of sweet and fire blows towards his nose, the smell was something he never felt before. And blood. Running for your life you felt hopeless in front of a lake, two man following you behind. Their disgusting smiles and eyes savoring your female body, you knew what they would do but you'd rather die. It all started with fire.

INTRO - Run little girl

ONE - Wood, cinnamon and honey.

TWO - Please wash away this blood on my skin

THREE - A taste of honey and dreams

FOUR - A Rise From The Shadows (coming soon)

…

FINAL BREATH (coming soon)

BUNNY BUNS

[HYBRID AU]

COMING SOON

Side Characters: Yoongi/black cat hybrid, Hoseok/human, Taehyung/golden hybrid.

Warnings: Smut, violence, mentions of blood. And finally some fluff.

SUMMARY: Jungkook needed to hide. He was on the run. And what better place for a bunny hybrid to hide then a Bunny coffee shop? How could he resist? You smelled sweet and looked nice. All it took was one smile of yours and a bunny bread and he was on all fours for you.

INTRO - Bunny on the run

ONE - Bunnies don’t like water (coming out soon)

TWO - Carrot Cake 🥕: Bunny in the kitchen (coming soon)

THREE - Muscle Bunny to the rescue (coming soon)

FOUR - Bunny Fever (coming soon)

THE LAST BUN (Coming soon)

ONE SHOTS

Coming soon

YOONGI

My Best Friends Crush

Characters: Min Yoongi/music theory Teacher, Jung Hoseok/dance teacher, Jungkook/art and design student, Jimin/danc student, reader/art student.

Genre: strangers to lovers, forbidden love?

Warnings: mentions of explicit language, sexual references(smutty material), consumption of alcohol, age difference.

Summary: “my whole life I always hated rules and protocols, growing to fin comfort on art as I could express myself unapologetically and freely. But there was one rule I made with myself; never fall in love with your friend crush.

With my rebellious nature, it was bound to be broken but I just never meet someone who would take that seriously.”

HOSEOK

JIMIN

JUNGKOOK

JIN

NAMJOON

TAEHYUNG

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Chapter 4

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Typical TWD violence and gore, canonical character death, sexual themes/situations, masturbation

A/N: The series will heavily follow the timeline and events of the show but there will be additional non-canonical events/injuries/etc.

Moodboard by @dannyo000 💙

You sat quietly in the passenger seat of Daryl’s truck after the caravan had stopped for a problem with the RV. There had been introductions after you had gathered your bearings during the last stop, and your trauma-addled brain was working overtime to retain the information. 

Along with the RV’s issues, the group was currently saying goodbye to one of their own. It seemed too intimate an affair for you to include yourself, an outsider. The man had been bitten. It was your understanding they were all headed for the CDC in Atlanta, desperate for a cure before the sickness could take him. 

But the fever had won, as it always did.  

You watched as the frail man was carefully moved to the base of a tree, but then averted your gaze as they bid him farewell. They were all affected, heads down as they returned—one by one—to their vehicles. They intended to leave him, per his own wishes. You weren’t sure if that was a choice you could make were you the one in his predicament. It was both admirable and ludicrous. 

Daryl returned to the truck, remaining quiet as he climbed behind the wheel. He hadn’t spoken a word to you, which left you with a tight feeling inside your chest that you couldn’t—wouldn’t—name. You wondered if you were only there because of the possibility that his baby was growing inside of you. It hadn’t been mentioned. 

I told ya she’s good.

He hadn’t given the group any information. They knew your name per your own admission, which alone was enough to twist the archer’s face into a scowl. You were a dirty little secret. You had placed your remaining fragments of hope in Daryl after losing everything and he was treating you like he’d left a few loose bills on a dresser after fucking you in a sleazy motel. 

You scrutinized him from the corner of your eye; the way he was tapping the tip of each finger against the steering wheel as he drove. His other arm was resting on the door, the window down, while he rubbed his thumb across his bottom lip. The broken skin on the sides of the digit suggested that it was indeed a habit he turned to in times of stress. He was consciously trying not to indulge. 

You cleared your throat, keeping your eyes on the back of the vehicle in front of you. “I’m sorry about your friend.” You dared a glance at the same time he gave you a once over. 

“Weren’t no friend’a mine.”

Lie. You could clearly see he was affected. It was borderline offensive that he’d even try to deny it. “Right. Well, I’m sorry anyway.” The uncomfortable silence stretched on, leaving you with vivid images of your encounters with the redneck. Even after you had told him you might be pregnant, there hadn’t been this thick tension in the air between the two of you. “Thank you.” He looked at you again, barely moving his hand away from his mouth. “For saving me.”

He hummed, this time parting his lips to nip at the irritated skin of his thumb. You wanted so badly to reach over and guide his hand away, but you knew that was a bad idea. 

“Ya take one’a them tests?”

Ah, there it was. Your back slid down the seat while you nervously twisted the hem of your flannel around your index finger. “Uh, no. I lost them when I ran from the camp.” He shot you a look so quickly you thought he might have given himself whiplash. 

“Y’fuckin’ serious?”

You nodded, expecting an outburst, but you still flinched when his fist came down on the doorframe, keeping it clenched when he brought it back to his mouth. “It was an accident. I wasn’t exactly thinking of them when I was wrestling a geek for my bag. Lost most of my clothes and my canteen, too.”

He let out a condescending humph from behind his hand. “Ya sure it’s even mine?”

Now it was your turn to pin him down with a look of your own. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Means exactly what I said.”

You felt the sting of tears behind your eyes, along with the urge to throttle him right where he sat, regardless of the fact that he was driving. “Well, there was that other hunter I’d meet at dawn and then the one that would wait patiently until you got your rocks off first.”

“Ya think your funny?”

“I’m not trying to be funny, asshole. If there’s a baby, unfortunately, it’s yours.” His piercing gaze met your narrowed eyes, only holding for a moment before he had to look back at the road. “Can you pull over?”

“Gonna puke again?”

“No.” You snapped, angling your body toward the door. “I want to get out.”

“Why?”

“Because being trapped in such a small space with you is going to make me puke. Now, pull over.” 

To his credit, he did slow down. “Nah.” He pressed the gas and easily caught up with the car in front of him. 

“Don’t worry, Daryl. I won’t tell anyone your secret.” You hissed the word with such venom that you swore you could taste the remnants of it on the tip of your tongue. 

“Settle down. Ain’t lettin’ ya out so ya can get your fool self killed.” 

You threw yourself back against the seat with more force than necessary, crossing your arms. You wondered if you suddenly began to pray that god or whoever was listening might possibly just see fit to bestow upon you the monthly occurrence that most women deem as a curse. 

This was the reason the time between you in those woods was so limited. No feelings involved. Little to no social information exchanged. You liked the Daryl that made it priority to worship your body and fuck you senseless, his only words being filthy encouragement that would catapult you to and over the edge. Even when he accompanied you to the pharmacy, his presence wasn’t a negative contribution to the journey. You had actually felt oddly—comfortable. 

But the Daryl that you were currently trapped inside a beat up old pickup truck with had spoken all of seven sentences and you wanted to shoot him in the groin. You couldn’t imagine having a child with that man. Didn’t want to imagine it. If only your baser instincts hadn’t been so prominent over common sense when you saw him in the woods that third time. 

You could vomit now when you thought back on that specific meeting. You quite literally propositioned him while stalking toward him and simultaneously ripping off your shirt. He had looked so confused at first but caught up quickly. He was deep inside you while you straddled his lap less than five minutes later. Why hadn’t you at least had the brain power to tempt him just enough and send him to get condoms first? Nope. You jumped straight on his dick like a horny teenager. 

“For the love of fucks sake.” You pinched the bridge of your nose, ashamed at how recalling the carnal moments spent with the man across the bench seat from you had heat pooling at the apex of your thighs. You shifted, crossing your legs and pressing one down on the other, the tough inseam of your jeans rubbing just right over your clit to send a jolt of pleasure all the way down to your toes. You only barely stifled a moan. 

A quick glance found Daryl still watching the road, lighting up a cigarette. Yet another thing you didn’t know about him. You shifted your hips while casting quick, discrete glances. He was seemingly oblivious. Biting your bottom lip, you turned your face toward the window and continued the careful side to side of your hips, very slowly but very steadily working toward what would undoubtedly be a quick and not totally satisfying orgasm. Still, it was better than the alternatives of either sliding your hand into your panties or asking the man beside you to slide his hand into your panties. 

You noticed your breaths quickening and inhaled deeply through your nose to try and calm both that and your heartrate. The hot coil burning in your lower belly was tightening, pulses of pleasure bleeding out to culminate at the swollen bud that your jeans were stimulating. You were so close, almost there—

Daryl cleared his throat, flicking his smoke out the window and unintentionally bringing a sudden halt to any progress you had made toward release. You openly glared at him. 

“What?” He huffed, sneering at your obvious resentment. 

“You’re an asshole.”

It was near dusk when the caravan finally pulled up to the CDC. There had been stops to siphon fuel, take bathroom breaks, and go over plans and strategies. You had remained inside the cab of the truck, not trusted enough to be privy on their plans. You couldn’t really fault them. Even if they had included you, nothing they had said could have prepared you for the devastation outside the government building. 

“We’re really going out there?” You asked, feeling nauseated at the thought of seeing the bodies up close. 

“Yep.” Daryl replied casually, already outside the truck. He was holding his crossbow as well as a shotgun and was looking at you expectantly. “C’mon. Get the lead out, woman.” 

Puffing out your cheeks in a forced exhale, you opened the truck door. The stench of death and rot was even worse when you stepped out onto the pavement. Flies and maggots were in abundance, feasting on the fallen littering the ground. You gagged behind your hand, ushered forward by a surprisingly gentle hand from the redneck. 

“Can’t stop here.”

When you caught up with the group, the one called Shane was directing everyone like a traffic cop, trying to keep fear and panic to a minimum. “All right, everybody. Keep moving. Go on. Stay quiet. Let's go. Okay, keep moving. Stay together.”

Rick joined in, urging everyone forward while Jacqui and Shane tried to keep the group quiet. You were at the rear of the main cluster of people with Daryl following closely behind you. You could hear the commotion before you saw Shane pounding on the shutters that were keeping the entrance blocked. 

“Walkers!” Daryl called out, firing a shot that made you flinch. 

“Walkers?” You blurted before realizing exactly what he meant. “Oh fuck!” You had no weapon, absolutely no method of defending yourself. Before you could protest, Daryl had reached back with one arm and pushed you behind himself. You didn’t have time to think too hard on it before he was yelling. 

“Ya led us into a graveyard!” 

Your hands had fisted into the back of his shirt, subsequently allowing him to guide you where he needed you without sacrificing his focus. 

“He made a call!” Shane sounded from somewhere behind you. 

Daryl growled harshly, the sound vibrating your hands against his back. “It was the wrong damn call!” He shouted. The commotion continued, blame and orders being thrown about in shouts and pleas you ignored in favor of burying your face between Daryl’s shoulder blades. You had survived; lost your entire family and stayed alive only to die with a handful of strangers and a man you almost wished you had made more of an effort to get to know. Amidst the crying children, the screaming women, you could clearly hear and focus on Rick’s desperate declaration:

“You’re killing us! You’re killing us! You’re killing us!”

“Daryl.” You sobbed before you could stop yourself. 

Then, something unexpected but no less of a miracle. 

The shutters began to open, dousing you all in a most blessed light. 

[hidtired]

Unfortunate Timing [Part 3]

(Daryl Dixon x Reader) Masterlist

Description: You found out your pregnant early into your relationship with Daryl Dixon. To make matters worse? The apocalypse happens a few days later! (not fully canon)

5.4k words

Warnings (Pregnancy, gore, sexually themes, violence, fluff, walking dead stuff, ect.)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 etc.

It was clear Daryl was near a breaking point. With the unsafe camp and your near death experience mixed with his missing brother you couldn't blame him. You knew he didn't have a healthy way of processing emotions. So he was on a war path this morning. You knew the only way he dealt with big emotions was through angry. He of course never directed it at you. In fact while you had laid next to him in the morning he was proud that you handled yourself. He was contemplating most of the time staring off to the top of the tent. You thought he was still stressing himself in that already anxious head of his. But after he told you he was proud you saw that maybe he was just enjoying the fact you were in his arms and not dead.

It was when you all decided to go to the CDC and you were sitting in Daryl's truck that you said something that made him feel the true weight of his responsibility. "I'll follow you." He looked over to you before turning his attention to the caravan in front of him. He was confused but you went on, "Any choice and decision. I'll stand with you unquestioned, my life and are child's is under your protection." His heart slowly dropped into the pit of his stomach.

Worry and a sense of responsibility he's never had before felt crushing. But another feeling he didn't expect sat within him. To be wanted and trusted in such a way burned his heart into a fire. He was determined. He was already willing to give his life for you and his... his kid. It was something he didn't question. You inhaled deeply before speaking again,

"Don't you dare think that gives you permission to go and die on me... I can't do this without you."

He slowly slid one of his hands off the wheel and into your own. He brushed his thumb back and forth, "As long as m' still breathin' so will you." You smiled at the implication, moving your other hand to rest on the hand he had on you. He wants to stay alive to make sure you'll both be ok. You nodded in thought, "Then you agree that your life also rests under my protection?" He turned to you with a lifted brow, his face giving a 'really' expression. He didn't like the thought of you risking your life for him but, he guess he understands you don't like the fact he would do the same. Being cared for was something he never got, until you. He watched as your hand move to rest on your stomach. Now that is something both of you would protect together. He bites his lip knowing you started this conversation to make him realize this wasn’t all on him. His eyes move to the road watching the RV roll to a stop.

The honking sound telling them the RV must have died just like Dale said it would. It had but also Jim just couldn’t take it anymore. You’ve never been around someone who’s been bitten before. So to see how it was killing him was gut wrenching. He seemed at peace with it. Sitting in the wind under a tree. You and quickly stated a ‘rest as well’ before excusing your way back to Daryl’s truck. You were bound to get emotional over it and didn’t want to be a wreck in front of everyone. You had reached the door of the truck, tears streaming down your face. Something felt like this would be something that often happened… losing people.

You manage to pull yourself together before Daryl got back to the truck. The ride on the road made you drift asleep. You were in a weird position crumpled into the door with an arm thrown over your head. Daryl found it funny but not before questioning how you could possibly find it comfortable. He knows you are always tired nowadays and he worry's its due to a lack of nutrition. But he lets you sleep only waking you a few miles away from the CDC. You stretch from your odd position. A crack releasing from your neck with a sigh of relief. You rub your eyes looking around. Daryl almost spoke quietly close to a whisper, “We are close, wanted ta’ make sure you were fully awake in case we have to run.”

You hum still stretching a hand moving to your breast. They have been irritating you recently. One of the many wonders of pregnancy. Daryl had caught you with a displeased look on your face. He gave you a questioning look with a smirk, “They look bigger…” You look to him with shock and then back down. He childishly snickered as you swatted at him. You tilt your head while still looking down, “Are they really?” He gave a mischievous smirk causing you to roll your eyes. You had not thought that maybe you would have to get a bigger bra. Not that you could just go buy one anymore. The playful mood in the car would soon turn sour at the arrival of the CDC. Empty, bodys lay scattered and not a soul to be seen.

Standing at the closed doors hoping for the safety it once thought it provided. It almost seemed fleeting until Rick noticed a camera move. Daryl was hearing none of it. He was mad at the decision made and him going alone with it. Your safety now compromised because he didn’t make the right call. Even just after your admission to trusting him he felt like a dumbass. He pulled you to him and felt one of your arms pull around him. The grip you held onto him telling him of your fear. Just before he could try and pull you away to safety, back to the truck, a bright light came pouring out of the newly open door.

One lone man sat in the whole building. You thought it was strange and somewhat eerie. But he did offer assistance so he couldn’t be that bad. A few of the group ran back to collect some things. Daryl gave you that look of, ‘please don’t’ so you understood he would get your things. The price of entry was a blood test. This doctor wanting to make sure none were infected. Which was fair but god did you not like getting blood drawn. Shots you are fine with but having your blood taking from your body disgusted you for some odd reason. Blood itself was not the issue. The thought of having your blood taken still rolled into your mind, a thing that made your heart race. You went after Daryl but he stood next to you waiting for you to finish. The man you now know as Dr Jenner started the process. You caught his eyes flick to your stomach.

He seemed to maybe suspect something but you were at that stage in pregnancy where someone might not speak on it, just in case you weren’t pregnant they didn’t want to call you fat. When he placed the needle in your arm you quickly moved your eyes anywhere else. Heart racing with discomfort. Your eyes focusing on Daryl which he didn’t like the plain fear he could see on your face. You seemed to ease out after it was over, but trying to stand your vision spin. Daryl managed to keep your balance for you. It wasn’t until Jacqui almost collapsed that the doctor learned that you all were a little undernourished. So now here you all are going down an elevator at the promise of food.

It was cramped going down farther than you thought. Daryl getting you out of your thoughts by pressing you back into him. I’m sure he saw your body rigid. But he didn’t really, he moved you into him subconsciously. Eyein the new person trying to determine whether he was a threat or not. The gun slung around him not really helping in his case, “Doctors always packing heat like that?” His awkward response eased him no less. You however at the mention of spaghetti threw caution to the wind. Following the group in a small hallway Daryl right behind you. He saw your happy bouncing at the promise of a carb filled meal. Most of your complaints to him in your pregnancy was the cravings driving you mad. Saying something along the lines of ‘when undead situation is handled your getting me any food I ask for no matter the time!’ Another thing to get you excited was the doctor mention a hot shower.

You smiled at him giddily practically dragging him off to a room. He dropped both of there bags by the door and just watched you be happy. You popped in the bathroom while struggling to kick off your pants in a hurry. Daryl chuckled, ‘Slow down would ya, thought you wanted to eat.’ He could hear you ruffle with your clothes still. Your voice echoed in the bathroom out to where he sat himself down, “There still time while their making it!” He leaned back smiling to himself at your antics. The light through the door got dimmer causing him to look up. You stood in your underwear and bra, hands behind your back trying to unclip it. You gave him a look he hasn’t seen for a while, “Well you just going to sit there or join me?”

He was stunned for a second. He leaned forward looking dumbfounded for some reason. You tilted your head to the side slowly turning back to start the shower. He was stood now hesitating for a second before slowly approaching, maybe it was the fact you both haven’t done anything for a while, mostly due to lack of privacy and him always off around the camp. Perhaps the stress still swarming around him from this place. Despite that he wasn't going to give up this opportunity so he walked into the bathroom and closed the door behind himself. He saw you finally manage to get free of all your clothes. He started to unbutton his shirt when he saw you looking in the mirror at your belly. The first you are probably seeing it in a reflection. Your eyes swirling with thought but soon landed on him with a smile.

You then elected yourself to help him with getting his closes off because he was to slow. You replaced his hands with yours and started undoing the remaining buttons. He smiled down at you, "I don't know, last time we showered together we broke your curtain." He got you to laugh at the memory and you gave your own snarky remark, "Well, if you slip this time try not to take me down with you again." He cringed remembering how he landed with you on top of him. Merle had made a comment about the huge bruise he had on is back, how 'you must have gotten your ass kicked!’ He just ignored him not wanting to say he fell while having shower sex. Releasing the thought he then realized you said 'again'. As be pushed his shirt off while you started on his jeans he gave you a smirk you yourself hadn't seen in a while, "Again huh?"

You smile bashfully back to him, "I'm a hormonal mess, and I can't say that you having been looking extra hot as of late." He scoffed thinking you were kidding. But then you looked up at him seriously causing him to mumble and small... "oh." He smiled raising his hand to move your hair off your shoulder. He pushed it away from your face while you undid the clasp to his jeans. Your hair was noticeably longer since the beginning of this shit show. Finally freeing him of his clothes you bounced back over to the shower. He rolls his eyes and follows you knowing you ran to be under the water before him.

He watched as water ran down you and it sparked a sudden calm from him. To see you doing something that used to be so normal felt crushing. He walks up behind you wrapping his arm around your waist. He knows he hasn’t been exactly himself lately but here he is holding the soon to be mother of his child. He just hopes that you know that even if he has never said it out loud, he loves you. You knew it perfectly well while enjoying the warm water of the shower and him leaning into you. You had thought maybe you both would take this chance to clean yourselves in a shower for the first time in months but his hands were telling you something else.

He was leant forward kissing you down your neck. Causing you to sigh and lean back tilting your head to the side. His hands moving across your body causing you to giggle. You turned around looping your arms around his neck and seeing him smirking down at you. Months of not having a proper shower only to not use the time for one to actually clean yourself. Instead it was spent with a man seemingly remembering how much he wanted to touch you. Back at the camp he was unwilling to throw you around to teach you self defense. It wasn’t until you were pushed back to the wall of the shower in a flurry of harsh kisses did he seem to freeze. He was a gentle lover but could have times where he got excited and went a little rougher then normal. Which you never had any complaints with but in this moment of pause he was a little unwilling to do what he would have. For example again, your shower curtain. Ya not really a great thing for when your prego.

He was pleased with himself by the end of there shower. Like all the bruting was because he was sexually frustrated. Maybe you should have made an effort sooner if you knew he would be walking away with such a pep in his step. Granted you remember why you haven’t done much because if you thought you were tired before, then you were sure to look like you were in a daze. Maybe that look another factor to Daryl walking around so prideful. You would be lying if you haven’t been wanting to jump him for the last month. So maybe you were a little sedated. You wrap your hair up into a towel after getting everything but pants on. You sat there thinking while just holding them about to go on. Lost in space at something Daryl grunted into your ear a few moments ago. The thought sparking a nice warm fuzzy feeling.

‘M’ baby is the one you got in yeah. M’ girl with my baby~’

Daryl watched you sit there with one pant leg in while you stared at a spot in the carpet with your mouth slightly open. Thoughts clear as day, “You done drooling over there? Or you want’n to see if foods done?” Your mouth snapped closed as you took a moment to process what he had just said. Then you proceeded to jump into your pants while jumping to the door. To think he had made you forget about the food inflated his ego he got going. He followed you taking the towel out of your hair and opening the door while you shuffled forward looking down to clasp your pant button.

This was not only a big meal but big morale boost. Stepping into the kitchen to take a seat at the table you waste no time digging into the spaghetti before you. A blessing for a craving you’ve had. One point alcohol was being passed around the doctor took clear notice of you not drinking any or being offered any. You were too busy trying to convince Daryl to just drink already. All those times at the bar he always used the excuse of having to drive home. So you’ve never seen him drunk because and I quote, “I’m a mean drunk… don’t wanna do that to ya.” But you incurred him to let loose because this was probably the only time he would be able to for a long time,

“Come on hun! Drink because I can’t!”

He had definitely eased since the shower so he finally caved and excepted this opportunity. He still didn’t want to get to drunk but he wouldn’t mind being a little tipsy. The fun antics going on in the room was swiftly crushed by Shane. You sat uncomfortably as Shane pushed Dr. Jenner for answers, “So when are you gonna tell us what the Hell happened here, Doc?” His random aggressive outburst caused the room to fill with awkward silence. Rick cutting in saying what everyone else thought, “Come on man, not now.” Shane snapped to Rick, “It’s why we’re here right! This was your call. I want to know why we came here to just one man, why?” Shane’s words to Rick sending red flags in your mind. Then the depressing story of what happened at the CDC dragged the once happy mood back to reality. Felt by all if Glenn stating, “Your such a mood killer dude.’ to Shane didn’t say it all.

It was eased back into a happier state with a pouting Shane in his corner of shame. You payed no mind to it anymore. Daryl was acting more like himself while getting himself and Glenn drunk. Daryl was having to much fun getting Glenn to drink that he himself had way more then he was wanting. It was fun to watch him stumble while he tried to stand. Your laughing getting his attention causing him to point a finger at you, “I don’t wanna hear it from you “miss tipsy”.” The nickname making you giggle. After a while he leaned over the back of your chair as you talked to Dale. He didn’t even put his arms around you just laid them out over your shoulders. He wanted to go, a nonverbal action you have learned he did. So you excused yourself wishing everyone a goodnight. Daryl had an arm over your shoulder while you walked down the hall. “You drunk off your ass?” He sighed leaning into you more, “More than I would have liked to be.” He sure walked like he was.

“Let’s get ready for bed then.”

The room you had claimed had a small couch and cot. Daryl had already started to wrestle with his shirt before you had the door open. Now shirtless he sat down and leaned back slumped. You snicker to yourself while going to take your damp hair up out of your face. He sat there watching you before saying, “Your so pretty.” He was still slumped with his head tilted to the side looking at you. You walked over to him and he held is hands out for you to come sit on his lap. But you grabbed his hands and looked down at him, “Come lay down with me.” You pulled at his arms before he got up and trapped you against him. He shuffled back until flopping on the bed with you. You were lying on your side with him behind you. His hands moving under your shirt onto your baby belly. He curled into you from behind tucking his head down into your neck. You heard him mumbling but couldn’t understand him. But you caught a bit of it to put in context.

“-lucky. I made my pretty girl a mama.”

You smile at his drunk rambling. Reaching to his hands to your stomach and lightly drifting your nails up and down his arms. So much for being a ‘mean drunk’. Then he started on another tangent but this time lifting his face for you to hear him “An I only thought love was something that you would either kill for or die for. But for you? I’d live for. You’re something to live for.” His hands move across your stomach and he whispered, “You both.” Your heart raced at this, you would classify that as a confession. He has never said verbally ‘I love you’ but this in so many words was just that. He damn near was about to make you cry. But instead you shuffled back into him feeling that he was so relaxed he might have fallen asleep already in your silence. That didn’t stop you from whispering back to him.

“I’ll live for you too.”

That morning started with a hungover and grumpy Daryl. You were also grumpy. Daryl had thrown up earlier that morning and that got you to throw up. Now your stomach felt like a loop of acid reflux. You elected to stay in bed because you also were experiencing vertigo, so maybe Daryl wasn’t the only reason you threw up. You may have gone to make sure he was ok but the spinning feeling and noises he was making set you off. Daryl was off to the kitchen to get you a plate of breakfast. When he came back to the room he laughed telling you how fucked up Glenn looked, “He is swearing off alcohol, so may have over did it with him.” You smile at him while you sit in bed eating the food he brought back.

He then paused before he started biting his nails, “Hope I didn’t cause you trouble while drunk…” You chuckle shaking your head still chewing. Swallowing you looked up to where he now leaned on the wall, “Oh please, ‘mean drunk’ my ass! You were just being a sweetie!” Now you were teasing him about it, “After all I’m so pretty remember?” He looked relieved but also grunted before move for the door, “Doc gonna show us something. I’ll tell you about it when I get back.” You hummed in agreement going back to eating. Sitting up you felt like you were on a boat, so dealing with whatever Jenner was going to nerd out about wasn’t worth getting up for. Before Daryl went out the door he called out from behind him, “Be right back, ‘pretty girl’.”

Now even 20 minutes later did Daryl walk back in with a broken look. He sat down on the bed near you and stared at the wall. You would wait for him to gather his thoughts. Something bad happened, or he learned something he didn’t want to either way it didn’t look good. He moved to sit with you on the bed against the wall. He slowly put a hand on your stomach, “Everything’s gone.” You link your fingers with his and lean onto his shoulder. He went on, “It’s lookin like these dead assholes aren’t going anywhere.” You clench your teeth at the thought. You understood what he was saying. If the world was to ever be fixed, it wouldn’t happen in a long time. So your fantasy of a hospital could be kissed goodbye. You had a foolish hope that eased the fear for your child… and yourself. Childbirth before technology had a high fatality rate, for mom and baby.

So your brain was on overdrive after the rug was pulled out from you. Daryl had leant his head on top of yours which got a small sniff out of you. His arm now going to pull you into his side. You struggled with not bursting into tears while asking him something, “We’ll be ok, right?” He turned to you wiping away a tear that slipped out, “We got this.” He explained to you more what he found out. Like the scan of how the infection killed the host then took over the body. Relieving a fear that these people were conscious while doing this. They weren’t people so that made it easier to justify killing them. You both sat there talking until the air flow seemed to still. Daryl perked up feeling uneasy. Then people started to gather into the halls also noticing the lack of air flow.

Daryl had stood behind you in the door way but when Dr. Jenner walked by ignoring peoples questions, Daryl pushed past you slinging words his way in worry now. You followed behind the growing group of worried people. Stepping into a very open panel room with a red clock on the wall. The group stood in the middle when Jenner finally started to explain, “The system is dropping all the nonessential uses of power. It’s designed to keep the computers running to the last possible second. That started as we approached the half-hour mark. Right on schedule.” You look over to the clock that was counting down.

A wave of uneasiness fell over you. You move closer to Daryl while he started yelling to the Doctor, “Air seems pretty ‘essential’ to me!” He took notice of your closer proximity and how you looked around cautiously. Jenner pauses at the steps that lead up to the work stations in the big room. Everyone has followed and is grouped around. Everyone turned to Jenner for answers. "It was the French." Andrea clicked her tounge at him, "What?" Jenner sighed sitting down in a chair at a computer, "They were the last ones to hold out as far as I know. While our people were bolting out the doors and committing suicide in the hallways, they stayed in the labs till the end. They thought they were close to a solution." Jacqui now voicing her confusion, "What happened?" Jenner turned to her, "The same thing that’s happening here. No power grid. Ran out of juice. The world runs on fossil fuel.  I mean, how stupid is that?" Shane was about to start but was cut off by Rick, "To Hell with it, Shane. I don’t even care. Lori, grab our things. Everybody, get your stuff. We’re getting out of here now!" But before anyone could move a alarm started. Carl said with a nervous tone, "What is that?" A voice spoke through the speakers,

‘30 minutes to decontamination.’

You were now grabbing Daryl's arm in fear causing Daryl to speak up, "Doc what's going on here!" Jenner scans his badge and enters code into a security pad. Rick yelled turning to everyone, "Get your stuff and lets go! Go!" Then the doors all started to closed. Glenn yelled in anger, "No. Did he just lock us in!? He locked us in!" The kids started to cry in panic to there moms. Daryl makes a run at Jenner, "You son of a bitch!" Rick grab Daryl while yelling for Shane to help him. You sat there in shock with a hand over your mouth. Daryl continued to yell while being restrained, "You locked us in here!" T-Dog now joining in to stop Daryl, "No, stop! Don’t!" When Daryl was pushed back he made his was back to you and pulled you into him at the sight of your eyes becoming glassy. Rick now spoke to Jenner, "Open the doors." Jenner sat there calm, "There’s no point. Everything topside is locked down. The emergency exits are sealed." Dale now taking the chance to speak, "Then just open the damn things." Jenner just shook his head.

You saw Rick stare at the clock that was now 28 minutes. You watched as he slowly turned to Jenner, "What happens after 28 minutes...?" Jenner sat up straighter, “In the event of a catastrophic power failure... in a terrorist attack, for example... H.I.T.s are deployed to prevent any organisms from getting out.” Rick shuffled from foot to foot in concern, “H.I.T.s?” Jenner sighed putting his hands on his hips, “Vi define.” A robotic voice of a women filled the room through speakers, “H.I.T.s - high-impulse thermobaric fuel-air explosives consists of a two-stage aerosol ignition that produces a blast wave of significantly greater power and duration than any other known explosive except nuclear. The vacuum-pressure effect ignites the oxygen between 5,000 and 6,000 degrees and is used when the greatest loss of life and damage to structures is desired.”

Everyone was stunned. Jenner speaking immediately after Vi, “It sets the air on fire. No pain. An end to sorrow, grief... Regret. Everything.” He said it like this somehow made everything better?! You felt Daryl squeeze you and you held him back. This crazy prick was going to kill you all! You felt the deep vibration in Daryl's chest as he roughly spoke, "Open the door." T-dog used the axe he had to start hitting the door, Daryl went to try and open the door to. Jenner just look defeated, "You should’ve left well enough alone it would have been so much easier." Lori now spoke up while holding her panicked son, "Easier for who." You felt that sinking feeling again. Jenner's voice fading out in the back at you felt blood rush your ears. 'All of you. You know what’s out there. A short brutal life and an agonizing death.' Memories of your aunt killed, being near the edge of the water and almost getting killed by two walkers. You moved your hand to your stomach. You had just talked to Daryl about the future. Asking if now in the changed world could you be enough for this child. Sound of Daryl's voice bring you back from thought, "BUT YOUR HEAD ANI'T!"

He was pulled back before being able to hit Dr. Jenner with the axe in his hand. Jenner once again not fazed and he turned to you, "What do you not get by everything is GONE! There is no world for that baby of yours." Daryl again tried to get to him but was held back by four people. You looked down with tears in your eyes, but also anger burned in you. Taking two steps closer to him you quickly punched him in the face. Everyone gasped in surprise but you continued by grabbing him by his lab coat collar. "That is not your choice to make for me!" Rick had gently grabbed you by the shoulder pushing you back. Rick now with hands on his hips spoke calmly to Jenner, "She's right. You’re lying about no hope. If that were true, you’d have bolted with the rest or taken the easy way out. You didn’t. You chose the hard path. Why?" He huffed, "It doesn't matter."

"It does matter. It always matters. You stayed when others ran. Why?"

Jenner looked down in thought, "Not because I wanted to. I made a promise." He looks back up and points to the screen, "To her. My wife." Lori glanced to the screen, "Test subject 19 was your wife?" Jenner slowly nods, "She begged me to keep going as long as I could. How could I say no?" Something felt like it was shifting. The clock was now ticking closer to its end. You had pushed everyone off Daryl while Rick spoke. You replaced everyone's hands on him by wrapping your arms around his middle, leaning into his chest. "I told you topside’s locked down. I can’t open those." Jenner walks back to the security pad and unlocks the door. Daryl went straight to action grabbing your hand and pushing you to the exit, "Move it! Move it!" You heard others feet behind you. Making your way down the hall you swiftly grabbed all your bags. In the lobby there was another problem of getting out again. T-dog and Daryl tried breaking the window with axes but it was bullet proof. Some how Carol had a grenade she found off Rick. Taking cover the window exploded, finally freeing you of this ticking time bomb.

Everyone rushed out killing the walkers who took interest in the noise. You made it to Daryl's truck with Daryl opening the door for you while jumping in himself. He leaned over you seconds later a wave of heat rushed over you. The explosion was loud and shook the truck. Once Daryl rose off you, you looked up to the now demolished building. You and Daryl then looking back to each other, tears filled your eyes while staring into his. You sobbed in relief, adrenalin slowly leaving your body causing you to shake. Daryl moved to hold you while breathing a sigh of relief himself, "See? We're ok." You sniffle while Daryl start moving to drive away from this walker magnet of a building.

This was now officially the end of the world.

Part 4

Feedback welcome and requests open! (Next chapter is so much angst mahaha)

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[miley1442111]

pride-part one. (a.hotchner, s.reid)

a/n: i imagined a fem reader but as per usual, imagine what you like :)

summary: both of them love you, but you will be there for you?

pairing: potential aaron hotchner x gideonreader, potential spencer reid x gideonreader

warnings: general criminal minds topics, gore and brief descriptions of harm, fighting, mentions of child abuse, mutual pining, heavy topics, angst, death, illusions to smut, etc.

Aaron Hotchner prided himself on three things, his career, his son (though he did not pride himself on his parenting, only Haley’s), and his patience. 

Two of those things were on the line the second you joined the BAU. You had joined the BAU 7 months ago. When Strauss had told him he was getting a new profiler, and that this profiler would be a licensed psychiatrist and former Agent Gideon’s daughter, he was ecstatic, prepared for your insight and helpful ideas. When you walked into his office on that fateful morning, his excitement was crushed and replaced with an overwhelming sense of desire and disgust with his own feelings. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Spencer Reid believed he couldn’t be loved. He had been rejected and shut down by everyone. Jj, being the most recent. He saw Gideon as a surrogate father, so he was interested to see what his daughter was like. He had not expected you. Your wit and intelligence actually matched his, your beauty truthfully made his mind blank, and your kindness pulled him in further. He was utterly fucked. 

Both of them were. 

——————————-------------------------------------------------------

“Dr. Gideon!” Spencer sped over to you the second you opened the door to the bullpen. “Y/n,” he smiled and you smiled back. 

“Morning Doctor,” you had never stopped using his title within the walls of the FBI building. You only called him by his name outside of work, which was rare considering you rarely went on nights out, choosing to stay home with a book instead. Something Spencer would prefer, but he always agreed to the nights out, in hopes that you’d choose to tag along. 

“How are you?” He asked, trying to create conversation. 

“I’m fine thanks, how are you? How was the festival this weekend? Sorry I couldn’t go.” He knew shouldn’t have allowed his heart to swell at you remembering his weekend plans, considering you also had an eidetic memory and the fact that you had bought him the ticket to go with you, but had to cancel in the end due to a family emergency. Yet his heart swelled all the same. 

“It was amazing, I finally had time to brush up on my-“ Spencer had begun a ramble, but Aaron’s voice rang through the bullpen, calling your name. You politely excused yourself and promised Spencer you’d be right back to hear all about the French film festival he had attended that weekend. 

You walked into Aaron’s office, a pleasant smile on your face. “You called, sir?”

“We have a case,” he gritted out. “It’s bad.”

“To be honest sir, I assume nothing less,” you admitted, but also knew there must have been more to this. “Was that all sir?”

“Is Dr. Reid distracting you from work?” Aaron asked and you were taken aback. 

“No sir, sorry. We’re just friends and he was filling me in about a film festival we were supposed to go to this weekend. I had a family emergency and had to cancel on him. I’ll get straight back to work, sorry again sir,” you answered truthfully, he dismissed you and closed the door behind you as you left.

His hands flew into his hair. He was jealous. He was jealous of Spencer. He was jealous that you and Spencer had plans and he hadn’t even heard you say his own name. You always called him sir. To say it didn’t go straight to his dick would be a lie, but it had gotten better since you’d joined the Bureau. He wanted you. He felt like he needed you. Though you were significantly younger than him and way out of his league in his eyes, he still wanted you. And he wanted you badly. But somehow, for once in his life, Spencer  had the upper hand. You and him had shared interests, you both spoke many languages, you were both equally intelligent (technically you had a higher IQ, at 188), and you were similar ages. Everyone on the team had literal bets on how long it would take you to get together, and he agreed with the logic. You were perfect for each other. You were essentially the same person, evenly matched, evenly blended. Yet it didn’t stop him from wanting you. He felt like nothing could.

You walked back to your desk, starting your work once again. Spencer snuck up behind you and started talking about the festival. You listened, offering small comments and nods in between his sentences as you worked on the reports for the last case. 

“Sorry guys,” Jj’s voice quieted the entire bullpen. “Another case.” 

You all walked into the conference room, Aaron already in there with Jj. Pictures of disfigured and bloodied people lined the screen and you grimaced, then recognised someone. You sat down as your stomach sank. It surely couldn’t be her, right?

“One of the victims, her name was Maisie-” You let out a whimper at the name of your sister. All eyes were on yours and you were out of the room before anyone could question you. You ran out of the conference room, over to your desk to grab your phone. You dialled your mothers number. No answer. 

You dialled your sister's number. No answer.  

You dialled your brother’s number. No fucking answer. 

You finally dialled your father’s number as Penelope and Emily stood in front of you, a worried expression on both their faces. 

“Hello?”

“Dad? Dad!” You left out a breath of relief. “What’s going on?”

“Kid, I’m so sorry-” He sighed. “Maisie and your mom, they’re gone.” 

Your heart stopped. You stopped breathing. You could only think about the last thing you’d said to your sister before you went no-contact. Your memories drowned out the pleas from your father and friends to calm down and know that it wasn’t your fault.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“You’re being dramatic!” Maisie yelled, her head in her hands. 

“You don’t have to understand my decision, you just have to respect it,” you sighed, your bags packed at your feet. “I love you-”

“You don’t do this to someone you love!” Your sister screamed in your face, getting too close for comfort, in your opinion. 

“I love you Maisie. I really hope you get the help you need, but I refuse to be your punching bag anymore. Physically and emotionally. Goodbye.”

You had started to walk out the door when your mother spoke up, the first time in a year. 

“You’re not my daughter anymore. My daughter would never leave her family. You’re just like your poor-excuse of a father.”

“You’re not my sister anymore,’ your sister added. 

“Then I guess we don’t know each other then,” and with that, you left. And you never turned back. 

Leaving them broke you, but staying there would’ve killed you. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Y/n!” Derek’s voice brought you back to life, your father’s voice still speaking to you over the phone.  “Take a breath!” 

You had been hyperventilating for the past minute, everyone on the team was terrified. You were always the quiet and collected one. You always knew what to do. You were calm. You were logical.

Now, you were scared. You were mourning. You were grief-stricken. 

You hung up on your father, sitting in your desk chair. “It’s my mother and sister, they’re the victims.”

Your voice was calmer than you felt, which made you sick to your stomach. The faces of the entire team all dropped. Spencer moved to be closer to you, to comfort you, but he was stopped by Derek, it wasn’t the time to think about himself. It was time to think about you, and this case. Aaron shared a look with Jj. The killer was targeting your family. The killer was targeting you. 

Your phone rang again, your brother’s number popped up on your screen. You answered without hesitation and brought it to your ear. 

“Hey,” he sighed. He knew. 

“Hey.”

“You know?” He asked. 

“Yeah. Did you tell the kids yet?” you asked, referencing his children. “And Sophie?”

“Sophie got the call. I was at w-work. The kids don’t know. I’m so sorry Y/n.”

“I’m sorry too. I’ll be there soon-”

“Y/N,” he sighed. “I-in mom’s will, she finalised it a few months ago, she said you weren’t allowed at her funeral. I’m s-so sorry.” 

Your heart broke again. “It’s fine,” you blinked back the tears. “I’m fine. My teams are investigating-”

“I’ll see you soon Y/n.” 

He hung up. The office was silent. 

“Who was that?” Penelope asked softly, a hand in yours. 

“My brother. I need to go home,” You wiped your eyes. “I need to get my bag and we need to be in the air within the hour.” 

The team nodded and suddenly, everything was loud again. Life hadn't halted. The wind blew outside, the birds sang in the trees, the phones in the office didn't stop ringing, the sounds of keyboards hadn’t been silenced. 

That was just you. 

Only you. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Touching down in your hometown of 'Fighertown USA', San Diego felt surreal. Your brother, Michael, met you at the airstrip with his wife, Sophie and three children, Ryan, Freddie, and Georgia. They all ran up to hug you, red-rimmed eyes and deflated frames gave their grief away and made you forget about your own. You departed from the team to help with funeral preparations and to identify their bodies. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

The team hadn’t stopped thinking about you, especially not Spencer or Aaron. Aaron was terrified for you, everyone was. Spencer wished he had been able to read the brief on the plane, wished he could’ve told you what danger you were in. You were what the unSub wanted. 

“Hotch I really think someone should go check on her, they’re all in danger-” Spencer tried to argue with him but he held a hand up to stop him.

“I’ve already sent police to the house and Derek and I will be staying there tonight,” Aaron was being selfish, he knew that. Keeping Spencer from you was childish and petty and he knew it. He knew it. But he also knew the only way he’d even be able to convince himself that you were alright is if he was with you. It was a miracle he had even let you go to leave with your family at the airstrip, he didn’t want to. The entire plane ride you’d been holding his hand, in his arms, or napping on his lap. He was grateful that you trusted him. He felt special, sue him.

“You and Derek? Can I come to check on her too-” Spencer tried. He wanted to keep a level-head, he truly tried, but he couldn’t. Not when Aaron dismissed him and walked off, getting ready to leave. Spencer caught up with him outside. “Hotch! Can I just come to check on her-”

“There’s going to be a lot of people around her, you don’t need to be one more,” he sighed. 

“And you won’t be?” he shot back, halting Aaron’s footsteps as Derek turned to him. “I actually know her. I spend time with her outside of the office,” was it a lie? No. But truthfully, it had only happened once, and it was only by chance. You went to the same cinema as him, and it turned out you both had tickets to the same film. You sat together, then got lunch. It was nice. He thought about it constantly.

“Spencer,” Aaron’s voice was a warning. “Do not do this right now.”

“Why not?” 

“Kid, drop it,” Derek sighed. “I’ll bring you to see her tomorrow. Now go work on the geological profile.” 

Derek and Aaron ducked into the SUV, leaving Spencer alone outside the station. He sighed and decided that he would be the one to bring the unSub in. He wanted you safe. That’s all he cared about. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

When Derek and Aaron reached your family home, they were amazed to see the amount of people there. Jason invited them in and explained the situation. He and your mother had divorced and he had left. Your sister had been abusive throughout your childhood, teenage years, and young adulthood. You didn’t tell him until you’d left. Aaron felt sick. You had been abused as a child. A terrible thought made its way into his head, maybe you did have something in common.

[gojoidyll]

Infinity

Yandere ! Gojo Satoru x Female ! Reader

Part 10 | what is yours, is mine

Warnings | blood, gore, death, yandere satoru, yandere sukuna, etc.

Notes | this fic will be using she/her pronouns for y/n. Also this is a reincarnation fic, so Gojo's name will not be "Satoru" in this part. And please let me know if you want to be in a taglist for this series !! ^-^

Summary | And I'd choose you; in a hundred lifetimes, in a hundred worlds, in any version of reality, I'd find you and I'd choose you.

Infinity Masterlist

GOJO SAYAMI had a problem.

A problem that decided to pop up when he least expected it to.

And that problem was a grotesque monster named Ryomen Sukuna.

The first time he met Sukuna, he had married y/n, and apparently the damned man turned into a curse not long after her death. Then, as Sayu, he hadn't the chance to meet Sukuna as he had killed y/n rather quickly in that life and then was executed shortly after.

And now, as Sayami, he was wondering what he should do.

Despite being the next head in the clan, he wasn't gifted with the six eyes, in this life. Such a gift was so rare that not all of his lives were able to receive them. In other words, he wouldn't be able to fight the curse known as Ryomen Sukuna.

At least, not in this life.

Don't get Sayami wrong though, he wasn't going to kill himself or y/n to start over in hopes of getting the six eyes in the next life.

Now, even though he wasn't particularly gifted in this life, there were two things he did have. His intellect and y/n. It wasn't easy oursmarting and making the people as his stepping stones, and it definitely wasn't easy getting y/n either.

But, either way, he was finally in a good spot in his life, and he wasn't about to let the newly renowned King of Curses, Ryomen Sukuna, ruin it.

Not now. Not ever.

"So what should I do ..."

[...]

"You're quite the fool."

"Am I now? Even after I came to meet you?"

"You took y/n away from me!"

"You're still mad about that? That was two reincarnations ago, you need to learn to let things go," Gojo taunted as he stood before Sukuna's throne.

In all of Sayami's thinking, he didn't once imagine a scenario where he would actually come and greet the King of Curses himself. He was in uncharted territory. If Sukuna wanted, he could kill Gojo right here, right now.

But Sukuna wasn't like that. (Ok, he was, but Sayami was sure he would be interested in what Sayami had to offer.)

"Mad? I'm fucking livid, you took the one person I ever cared about away from me. All because you're a selfish prick who couldn't go one life without her."

Sayami saw his opportunity and took it.

"Which brings me to this ... let's make a deal, Sukuna."

The curse paused, his towering figure standing from his throne and descending the marble steps, scattered bones being crushed underfoot as he walked.

"A deal?"

Gojo looked up as Sukuna looked down at him, his eyes calculating.

"Yes, a deal. It's as you said. I'm a selfish man who can't go a single life without y/n. You see, I don't understand why she and I keep reincarnating - who knows, I probably cursed the both of us at some point. In each life I knew her, she was never mine, so the deal I want to offer you is simple... let me have her in this life and then she's all yours in the next."

"All mine."

"Of course, though, you are a curse now, so I don't know how easy it'll be for you to woo her in that regard, but I guess that'll be for you to figure out."

[...]

"I do."

To say how overjoyed Gojo Sayami was as he said those two little words would be an understatement.

Sukuna accepted the deal.

Nothing could ruin this moment.

"And do you, Y/n L/n, take Sayami Gojo as your lawfully wedded husband."

Her eyes seemed to shine as she looked at him. Her hands grasped his own, her head tilted up.

"I-"

And in a moment that happiness seemed to shatter.

It all happened too fast for Sayami. His head seemed to be spinning as he fell to his knees. His hands immediately shaking as he looked down to look at the severed arms that he was holding.

"I decided to back out on our little deal, Gojo Sayami. I think I would much rather prefer killing you and taking y/n for myself in each life that you both live."

He looked to his right. The room was a bloody mess as curses went on a rampage on his and y/n's family. Their screams were loud and clear. Blood-curdling.

"So why did you kill her?"

He couldn't bring himself to look at her dead body, cut to ribbons.

"Why? Because you tainted her. I didn't want a woman that was in love with you. Much like how you didn't want a woman who was in love with me."

Sukuna came to stand before him. His four eyes always looking down at him, "I look forward to meeting you in the next life. Let's see who gets to y/n first, yeah?"

Sukuna didn't let him reply as he severed Gojo's head in one broad stroke of his sword. The metal slicing through easily.

It was time to start again.

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[halcyone-of-the-sea]

To Be Alive In Summer

PAIRING: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: Betrayal had never been in your cards, and you definitely didn't see yourself being the one responsible for the act. When having to go undercover, first comes the problem of staging your death.

WORDCOUNT: 8.3k

WARNINGS: Angst, betrayal, intense gore, violence, death, allusions to intimacy, weapons, vulgar language, recovery, torture, happy ending, etc.

A/N: The final request is finished, hope you enjoy it @l-inkage! Onto the AUs next.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You didn’t want to do it, but in this job, comfort was always an option and never a guarantee. It needed to be done. And that meant sacrifices had to be made to the dark altar of your contract with One-Four-One.

But this one just might break you in the process. 

“Are you sure that,” you pause and think over the instructions that Price had just given you—straight from the top of the line. “Are you sure that this is the best way, Sir?” 

The man’s lips are flat, eyes narrowed, he doesn’t like this either—especially if you don’t. John’s a Captain, he tallies out orders and expects people to listen without hesitation; doesn’t express his worry about their safety because that isn’t what this is about at the end of the day. It’s about keeping the good people outside of bases like these alive and breathing.

And right now that hinged on you being dead.

“Berto needs mercenaries,” Price grunts, “and any record of you needs to be wiped before we send you in.”

Vito Berto—head of a crime family that had been picking up traction in recent years, so much so that One-Four-One had to be put on it for covert reconnaissance before any more people ended up dead.

You would be sent in under the cover of an experienced mercenary; one among the ranks that Berto would need for a hostile takeover planned in three months on the Palace of Westminster in London. The House of Parliament. 

Vito was one cocky son of a bitch if he expected no one to get word of this.

Your job was to uncover the exact date, time, and the mission plan before getting out as quickly as possible. In order to do that, the soldier holding your name needed to be dead so nothing could be traced back to you, your task force, or your loved ones. 

And people needed to believe it.

“Can’t the records just be forged, Sir?” You ask, the meeting room dark and pulsing with the cold air from the vents. “What about Gaz and Soap?” Your throat closes for a moment and you speak slightly lower. “Simon?”

Price sighs and crosses his arms, fixing the stance of his feet.

“They’ll deal with it.” Inside of your pockets, your hands twitch. 

He won't. Not inwardly.  

“I…” your jaw clenched. 

Your relationship with Ghost was…strange. You’d both had your fun, of course, and you had a casual air about that sort of thing—it had happened, but nothing more could ever come of it. There was a modicum of soft care with you two; an acknowledgment of partnership in the field and out of it. 

You didn’t have to explain to people that Ghost was closer to you than others. You’d seen his face; that says enough. 

“It needs to look real,” Price explains, tilting his head down to you. “Not only for Laswell's state of mind but yours. I won’t be putting you in without giving you the best chance.” 

“You can’t tell them?”

“Negative. Security measure.” You frown, biting at your lip.

John closes his eyes and shakes his head. A second later a hand is set on your shoulder and the man leans in slightly to reassure you like a relative. You look up into your Captain’s gruff face, seeing the small amount of care he levels into his cerulean irises for you. 

He squeezes your flesh, watching hard.

“We need you for this, Trick.” The nickname was exactly why you were the only one who could do this. 

You were the first choice. No one was better at undercover work.

“How long would I be gone, Price?” Shifting out of the hold, you cross your arms and level him with a dead stare. “How long do they have to live with this lie?”

John grunts. “Less than three months, yeah? But all of it’s up to how long it takes to gather intel. Full black.” 

“Exfil point?” 

“Town five miles from Berto’s estate. Cafe with a red door near the bookstore. Woman inside’ll be your handler.” You turn away to glare at the far wall, hesitant even when you know you shouldn't be. This was your job. 

Brown eyes keep flashing behind your eyes—a skeletal mask that stares with stained glistening blood, blood you yourself feel reflected on your own visage. A shared damning of two people who would never see those great halls of the afterlife. Neither of you are good.

Simon had to understand. 

The Captain sees the shift in your expression.

“You in?” He asks you with a blank look. 

You take a deep breath, chest heavy and heart hurting. “I don’t like it,” your voice is low, monotone. “But, yeah, Sir, I’m in.”

“Good,” the man nods, hooking his thumbs into his belt. “It’ll happen in three days. Be ready.”

You watch him walk out of the room, patting you on the shoulder one last time before the door shuts behind him with a click of finality that pierces your lungs. You clear your throat and swallow down saliva, turning your face away as if ashamed. 

It’s the quiet that gets to you in that moment—the encompassing nothingness. So often you would have moments like these with Simon. Just sitting; not taking. But this silence was so different. 

This was betrayal. 

After you steady the slight tremor in your hands, you scoff and shake your head backing up a step before leaving the room; turning off the lights. 

You walk down the long hallway, feet heavy as your mind runs, and overhead the lights buzz like flies. Eyes stuck to the floor, your shoulders are hunched in with thought and your lids half-closed in a display of obvious inner turmoil. 

The shadow that waits for you, leaning against the wall, you walk past entirely—missing it and not hearing the confused call of your name behind you because of it.

“Trick!” Your hand comes up to itch at your chin, fingers pushing into your flesh. The aggressive Manchester accent slides off of you until large fingers curl into the back collar of your vest rig. 

You breathe in sharply, blinking in surprise as your feet get pulled back a step or two, pace halting as Ghost curls around your body, staring down at you. His brows are narrowed, that mask still on and the bottom fabric twisted in the obvious downward press of his lips.

“Bloody hell is wrong with you, then?” 

Sighing, you scowl and shake him off of you, moving back to allow yourself some air. Did he really have to show up now? Why was he even here, you had to ask yourself. Was he…waiting for you?

“Nothing,” you don’t look at him, speaking low. “Distracted, is all.” 

Ghost crosses his arms slowly, his brows flinching briefly as he makes a sound in the back of his throat. “Meeting go well?” 

“Fine.” He can tell something’s wrong; you know he can—he’s the best at interrogations for a reason. Ghost knows when someone is lying to him. 

You glance at his chest before you begin to open your mouth. 

What could telling him hurt? Just a hint. He’d get it—I know he would. Berto had the nickname ‘The Tanner,’ given to him by his men. When he found out anyone had double-crossed him, he’d take a large breaking knife and separate the thin layers of skin from his victims. Intel suggests he keeps them awake for all of it, stopping when they pass out only to start again when they wake back up. 

If there was any leak in this base…any at all…you wouldn’t be coming back. 

You wouldn’t be coming back to him. 

Simon’s thighs shift.

“Talk to me.” He always speaks like he doesn’t care about the answer, but you’d be a fool this far into your… relationship? To believe that he didn’t. You’d seen Simon panic over your injured body before—it told you enough. 

The easy moments and the side-eyed looks when he thought you didn’t notice or weren’t doing the same to him. 

Your fingers twitch, forcing a smirk that didn’t convince even you. Your heart was telling you to explain it to him, but your brain was firmly set behind iron doors; tongue held back by iron tongs. 

“Personal matters, Simon. Nothing you need to worry about, Big Guy.” He doesn’t look away from your eyes. Brows set in a line and that mask jeering at you; almost mocking. 

The Lieutenant doesn’t answer and your heart is visible from under your gear.

“J-just,” you stutter, face getting hot as you look away. “It’s not that I don’t want to tell you, it’s…” 

Trailing off, you rub at the back of your head in a self-soothing motion. 

Simon blinks slowly and you hear a large chest-rattling sigh. He shrugs in that way only he can—a fast jerk of shoulders that looks more like he’s trying to push off a bug than simply trying to move past what you’re saying to him. 

“Doesn’t make a difference,” it does. “Garrick and MacTavish are waitin’ down at the firing range. Best get down there ‘fore one comes looking like a kicked dog.” You can still feel him digging into you. Knives and the suspicion in his tone. 

You don’t want to do this to him. Not after all that you’ve gone through together. 

“Right.” Your feet are moving before he is, planted into the floor and pushing off through the small pinches of electricity in the nerves. Pushing out a hard laugh, you try to send him a light smile. “Did you tell them to be ready to get their arses beat?” 

Simon looks down at you as he walks beside your form in large steps; arms swinging. “Haven’t seen ‘em yet. Waiting for you.” 

If it were possible to shrivel up from guilt, you’d be nothing but bones.

“O-oh,” you huff, but it sounds like all of the air has been expelled from your lungs. “You didn’t have to do that, y’know.”

Simon grunts, accent grating as he stares ahead. “Wanted to.” 

“Good. That’s nice.” You feel like screaming. “Thank you.”

It’s nearly instantaneous how fast his eyes go dark with concern. “You sure that head of yours is on straight, Trick?”

You push open the doors outside and wonder if you even have the ability to answer him; out of everyone, you can’t lie to Simon.

“No,” your lips admit quietly, self-degrading in its own right. 

A hand grabs you by the wrist and before you can slip out, you’re being pulled back into the building and pushed into a side room. 

“Hey!” You shout, eyes flashing as the door is shut behind you. You’re released and the light is immediately turned on. “Simon, what the hell are you doing?” 

“Enough,” he levels, and your arms are clasped so you’re facing his chest, looking up into his serious and hard gaze. “Fuckin’ speak to me.” 

You’re surprised at how insistent he is about this. 

“I’m not telling you anything,” you speak through stutters and he growls in his throat. His hands are like motel lava even under his gloves and above your skin—burning like a brand.

“What happened in that meeting room, Trick?”

“It’s classified,” you say, harder than intended, spitting the words with a hint of desperation. If not for your own safety, then for his, but you know that if he keeps asking then you’ll tell him the truth. 

They were going to stage your death, and they won’t be making it pretty. 

“Fuck classified,” he leans in closer, curling over you. “You’re acting like someone’s bloody taking you hostage.”

“Simon! It’s not—”

“Cut the bullshit!” You growl and try to shove away from him, struggling with glaring eyes that go sharp with the onset of tears. “Somethings got you worried and I wanna know what it is.”

Simon wasn’t the greatest at articulation, but neither were you. 

You knew he was trying to tell you he was concerned. The man was holding you tight, but not hurting you; his face close and his shoulders wide. Along your face his eyes were darting, as if he could peel back your skin and make you explain what Price had told you. 

The Captain had given the Lieutenant a look as he’d seen him waiting for you but had said nothing. That alone had tipped Ghost off to something being wrong. 

But you weren’t having it.

Yanking out of Simon’s hands, you shake your head and put on your worst glare—meeting muddy brown and huffing. 

“Mind your own business, Riley. It’s for your own good.” The man blinks in mute shock, fingers in the air twitching before they fall to his sides.

You speed-walk out of the room before he can speak, lips slightly parted at your strange behavior. 

For his own good? What in the hell did that mean? 

Simon’s jaw clenches, a grunt in his chest as he aggressively rolls his wrist. He turns to follow after. The both of you don’t talk for the rest of the day.

—

Your body shakes along with the helo as it takes off, carrying you away from the scene of gunfire down below. In your earpiece, you hear the loud calls and yelling from your friends. Gaz is calling out to Price to give him permission to move up; the Captain too busy grappling Soap to the ground. 

Ghost is taking cover behind a wall, but he’s not quiet. 

“Trick’s in the damn building!” 

No, I’m not, you want to flick on the line and tell him. Over the three days before this operation you'd barely spoken—in fact, you’d been avoiding all of them fervently by the mass amount of guilt in your stomach. 

In the nights, you hadn’t even slept, and now you’re sure it’ll take even longer too.

Their forms become tinier, and you grasp the roof’s handle as the helo rises farther and farther. 

“Price!” Simon barks. “We have to get her—”

“There’s no time!” John responds, grunting and forcing Johnny down as he spits curses and tries to call your name over the comms. You flinch violently, looking away for a moment. “We’re surrounded!”

“I can get through!” Bullets wiz through the comms, and you can nearly imagine you are down there—trapped in the house down the way after being shot and injured by hosties. But you’d never been in that house. Never been alone down the way for recon. 

You’d been at the second exfil point. Price knew it. Laswell knew it. 

But Simon had not. 

“Negative, Ghost! Keep where you are, we can get to her later. We need to—” The building you were supposed to be in explodes in a fiery wreck; a great bloom cloud going into the air as the helo shakes from the after-blast. 

You have to turn your face away, shielding your eyes. The pilot calls to see if you’re alright, but you don’t answer. All you can hear is the screams.

“Trick!”

“Simon, get back into bloody cover!” 

“Fucking Hell! Trick, answer me!” It gets too much—the bareness of his panic for you. The panting breath; the running stomp of feet.

You rip the connection from the radio on your vest and place a hand over your mouth, breathing as if you had really been in an inferno like a piece of fodder. 

Simon had already been through so much in his life, and doing this to him as well as the task force was the definition of betrayal of the loyalty you’d cultivated.

Of the love.

Because you did love him—even if you’d never say it to each other. If he found out about what you did, which he would eventually, in one way or another, he’d hate you for the rest of his life. So perhaps you were mourning, as you stare below as the helicopter takes you higher and higher up. Farther away from him. You were mourning what you had, because you knew it would never be the same. 

Simon Riley would never trust you again, and all you had to blame was yourself. 

The tiny tears dribble out of you and fall all the way down to the ground, where the man still screams for you to answer him; John barks orders with a sheen of panic in his eyes from the bare-bones ferality of the Lieutenant. Brown eyes blazed and cities burned in his pupils. 

John had underestimated the bond that the two of you shared. 

And he just might pay the price for it.

—

Getting through selection was far easier than getting through SAS training, Vito Berto seemed to only want mercenaries that had the faintest hint of the ability to hold a smuggled weapon. It made sense because if the people he was planning to send in were well-trained, it would be easier to trace to him—ability equaled a higher level of intelligence. Planning. Resources. 

To fit in, you made sure to miss a few of your shots, even if it made your instinctual perfectionism rise. John would have torn you a new one if you’d missed this many during your selection all those years back. Probably would have asked how a Muppet like you had gotten this far with shite aim like that.

But Berto ate it up like Sunday dinner. Gave you the nickname Cross, actually. Like the crosshair of a scope.

It was safe to say you despised him. 

But the days grew longer and the nights short with all of your running around. You’d found out that your Captain’s timeline was incorrect—the attack wasn’t in three months, it was in two. And while Berto was cocky, he wasn’t reckless. 

He somehow knew there was a breach in the ranks; you could see it by how he looked over the squads in the underground bunker, all of you hidden under rock and stone like prisoners. The man would sneer, eyes filtering back and forth from the perch. 

Sometimes you had to stop yourself from simply taking the shot presented in front of you and deal with the consequences afterward.

Price had been clear: all of the people gathered here needed to be taken care of quickly and quietly—if you snapped, the rest would disappear like roaches. Alive and biding time.

During those two months, the thoughts of Simon wouldn’t leave you. 

Moments that seeped in behind closed eyelids after you’d slunk back into bed, the USBs full of vital intel stashed into the lining of your uniform in a small hidden pocket. His twitching smile and those deep scars along his face; the ones that would never go away. 

In those moments you wondered what it would be like if you had told him how much you cared for his quiet company or his dark humor. The way he would level a hand on the small of your back off duty at the bars as a way to silently shield you from the stares from patrons. 

You’d never be able to tell him now. 

Vito “The Tanner” Berto knew of a leak, and when you came back to the bunker after sending out the multiple USB sticks, the physical files, and the first-hand accounts of what was going on—eager for just a little more to make this betrayal worth it…he was waiting. 

You could only fight off so many others, no matter how subpar the training on their part, before sheer mass overtook ability. Like a house of cards with a bowling ball, you were shoved to the ground surrounded by multiple dead bodies of those you’d taken down with you—writhing and hissing as if a feral animal. 

Restraints were leveled with your wrists; your head pulled back so your nose faced the ceiling. You only stopped struggling when the chilled barrel of a pistol was set under your chin.

Breath stilling, it was hard to understand how, even then, all that was in the front of your mind was Simon. Simon and his brown eyes. Simon and his screams when that building went up in fire and smoke.

“Trick!”

You could still hear the exact pitch and rhythm like it was yesterday.

“Cross,” Berto mutters, gun heavy as it digs into your flesh. Men pant and grapple to keep you back as you sneer and jerk your arms. “I should have known it would be you.” 

“Well,” you growl, teeth bared, “obviously you didn’t.”

A slow smirk runs on his lips. 

“No, but I’ll have to rectify this. I can’t have you getting in the way.” You can only hope that the intel gets out before the end of the second month—if not, then all of this was for nothing. 

Why couldn’t you have left when you had the chance?

“Fucking Hell! Trick, answer me!”

He was why. 

Simon—the source of all of your problems and the only person who could fix them besides yourself. It’s a sick joke really. 

Vito grabs your chin and you huff out a swift breath, heart skipping beats as he burrows his digits tightly into your skin; hard enough to leave marks. He sighs and clicks his tongue and you have to keep back a whimper as his nails create crescents along your jaw. 

“You won’t tell me anything, will you, then?”

“Negative,” you spit, heated. 

He scoffs. “Of course.” 

Berto throws your head back as you try to snap out and bite at his hand, rabid, but the man’s already gone and the mercenaries behind you yank you back like a dog on a leash. Your knees slide along the floor and you rage trying to turn around before the others are forced to shove your face into the ground. There is a distinctive snapping in your nose bridge as the concrete comes up to meet you; the tears come instinctually after—unable to be stopped as you yell in pain. 

Blood floods your nostrils and mouth, making you cough as Vito’s voice echoes in your ringing ears. 

“Let me get my knives.” 

—

They had you chained in some damp back room, the corners riddled with mold spores and the air heavy with condensation. You were tied to the ceiling—feet dangling uselessly below you and the tips of your boots dragging across the floor with a quiet scrape and a creak of metal. 

Above you, on the hook, the chains were tied so ruthlessly that you’d lost circulation to your arms entirely, nothing but an electric buzzing far inside of your bones. Akin to the static of a TV screen in between connections. Your clothes had been shredded by blades—long sections of your flesh underneath, cut away. 

Blood stains most, if not all, of the floor. It drips from your nose; it falls like rain to pool at your feet in rippling crimson. 

Simon had been your partner during required interrogation training and he was far better at it than you. The man could go for hours through the mental strain that was leveled out by other soldiers on him; stoic and silent. It was the way his eyes would blank that told you he could live through far worse—that he already had. You’d had your fair share as well, but never before had you felt as hopeless as this. 

There was a slim chance that anyone would come for you here. Laswell and Price would carry the guilt of it, but you didn’t want them to. 

The blood slips over your lips, and the taste of copper makes you gag; spitting out saliva from your lips. 

It was half your choice, after all. 

You try to slip into a happy memory as the lights fade in and out, the footsteps and mutterings outside the door of little interest anymore.

ironic, that the man with the mask of a dead person brought you comfort when so little could. 

You never got to tell him how much you loved him. A thin smile comes across your lips. 

“Shouldn’t be out here this late,” the man utters as you lay out in the field, arms and legs splayed and twitching when the long grass brushes against them. “Past curfew.”

“Like you aren't out here with me?” You raise an eyebrow, looking up at the stars now that the large base lights have been dimmed. The air is cold, and the breeze makes you shudder through a chill. But you don’t wipe that smile from your lips. “Bit hypocritical, Simon.”

You hear a low grunt. 

“Out ‘ere because you weren’t answering your damn door.” A shadow slips to your side, and the man settles down with a huff on his lips. Simon retired his combat mask for a simple balaclava instead, and he sighed long as he settled his arm on the bent form of his right leg. 

You blink over at him, raising a brow. 

“Looking for me, Ghosty?” 

“Bloody hell, Trick.” You chuckle, shifting your arms to rest on your chest as you look back at the stars far above. 

“Oh, it’s alright, Big Guy.” The man shakes his head. “I won’t tell anyone you’re going soft for me.” 

“I’m not.”

“You definitely are.”

“Trick, I’m tellin’ you to—”

“Shh!” You wave a hand in his direction, silencing him and making him blink at you in deep annoyance and confusion. Ghost’s eyes were narrowed, the black of his face paint gone and smelling like standard issue body wash. 

He must have gotten out of the shower and come to see if you were still awake before making his way outside when you never answered the door. Funny how he knew where you would be.

“Fucking what, then?” He growls, shoulders wide.

You place a finger to your ear, shifting so you’re sitting up on one elbow and facing Simon. On your face, a wide smile lingers, but on his, the dark brows narrow with knowledge of a deceitful event incoming. “Listen.” 

A silence falls, Simon’s ears twitching for something in the long grass or across the field. Nothing. Nothing but the breeze and the way your face glowed as you watched him, eyes glinting with amusement. 

After a long minute or two, he looks at you with utter bewilderment. You lean in closer, poking a finger into his bicep.

“Can you hear it, Simon?” You’re one of the few he lets call him that, though never in public.

He glares. “No.”

You flutter your digits in the air, giggles trapped in your mouth. A whisper hits the Lieutenant’s ears. “Silence.”

“Bugger off,” he hisses as you reel back and belt out laughter, holding your sides and lightly curling into yourself. “You’re worse than Johnny. Jesus.”

“Aww, c’mon!” You let your laughter die down to chuckles, sanctity of night broken, but not so between the two individuals who look at each other with brimming affection none will name. 

“You’re the one that came to find me, remember?” Your tease makes Ghost roll his eyes, looking away across the open area with its wave-like grasses.

“You’re right, then, I did,” Simon grunts, his hand coming up to rub his neck. “Mistake on my part.”

“Jerk,” a soft slap is leveled to his arm and he chuckles deeply. “But you can’t fool me, Ghosty. I know you’ll always come lookin’ for me—I’m too important to you to lose.”

“Keep kiddin’ yourself, Trickster.” He doesn’t say how he would agree with the statement, it was true after all. “I won’t be dragged into your bloody messes.”

He wouldn’t leave you behind to drown in them, even if it was as simple as you sneaking out of your bunk to watch the stars. 

You’d both known each other too long for that.

You smile over at him as he sighs before slipping off his mask, itching at his stubble with hard fingers. The air settles. No comment about it entering in on the see-through waves—there didn’t need to be one. 

“Mhm,” you hum, beaming. “You keep thinking that, Big Guy.”

“Trick!” Your memory shifts, and you sit up immediately. You’d thought you’d just heard…

Eyes dart out over the field, jumping back and forth rapidly. You look to the side, but Simon is gone entirely.

“Simon?” Heart beating, you stand fully up and turn in a fast circle, confusion and fear infecting your mind.

“Trick!” Pain sparks in your body, and you hiss and grab at your clothes. You blink so fast that you half-believe the world is ending.

“S-Simon?!” What was happening? What was hurting so bad? Where did Simon go?

“Trick, fucking wake up!”

Your eyes snap open and you instantaneously feel the burning pain inside of your ribs. 

The ground is underneath you, hard and wet from your own blood as you yowl and cough, air entering your lungs in quick bursts. 

Hands encase your cheeks, shaking your head—keeping you present. 

A skeletal mask littered with droplets of human fluid stares down at you, and behind it, panicked brown eyes slash through your psyche in the small moment between agony and confusion. 

Simon?

“Holy hell.” It’s that same Manchester accent. The same scrape of vocal cords. “Alright, Sweetheart. Keep those eyes open—keep ‘em on me, yeah?” 

What was going on? You try to open your mouth to say something but all of it is lead. Were your ribs broken? How? And why was Simon’s bottom covering pushed up to his nose; his lips stained with blood? 

The man frantically goes to press into his radio.

“This is Bravo 0-7,” he breathes, and you whimper as your throat gets clogged with congealed saliva and blood. You cough violently, gagging, and Ghost quickly turns you on your side to help you expel it. His hand is hard on your shoulder. 

“I say again, this is Bravo 0-7!” Those browns never leave you, shocked and serious. “Price, I’ve got ‘er. It’s not good; had to revive but I don’t know how long she’s got.”

Revive? You’re spacing in and out, limp, and trying to breathe. 

Simon tears open his medical pouch and begins wrapping tourniquets—packing the wounds with gauze until you can get proper medical treatment on the helo back to base. 

“Bloody…” he trails, Price barking an order over the connection to bring you out; the firefight was moving to the East to give him an opening to sneak back out. “C’mon, Trick.”

Everything swims; you want to go back to that field—those stars. 

Simon was here? Truly? The thought was hard to understand in your state. 

“S-Sim—” Your voice gurgles, and you can’t feel your legs. You had to tell him. Tell him the good and the bad; all of it.

“Don’t talk,” he growls, moving you as your body seizes in a state of static shock. “I’m getting you out of ‘ere.” You’re lifted up in one grand movement, Simon grunting as he shifts you carefully into a bridal hold. “Then you’re going to explain this to me when you’re squared. Won’t take no for an answer.” 

You could feel the anger sizzling off of him even half-conscious. The mixing emotions that convulsed into a mess of adrenaline and desperation. Forcing your eyes to stay open, you blink up at him as he glances down at you at the same time, just before he exits the door he had broken down. 

The visible skin of his lips and chin tighten; going down with the twitch of with a serious frown. Something flutters behind his eyes as he stares before glancing away and clearing his throat. 

“Eyes on me, Trickster. Don’t you dare close ‘em.” You grimace as he begins jogging, heavy boots echoing along the empty corridor as the sounds of gunfire and pandemonium sound off from the other side of the bunker. 

It was hard to push back the black at the sides of your vision; already it was seeping back in. Ghost holds you tight, unwilling to even let you slip an inch from his grip as the lights above swirl, brightening and dimming. 

“Oi!” You’re jostled, and you snap back to it, tensing as your wounds flex and pull. Simon glares. “What’d I just say?”

Your weakly poisoned grimace makes his lips twitch up. 

“Good.” 

There’s the sudden flick of a safety being clicked off, and the Lieutenant halts in a jerking of feet and a ruffle of canvas.

“I’ve heard about a Ghost making his rounds, hm?” Berto stands at the end of the hall, pistol held in front of him. “I saw an apparition disappearing to find one of its own. No worries. She’ll be a ghost, too, soon enough. Perhaps I’ll have to put you both to rest together.” 

The voice makes you go panicked, remembering the tear of flesh and the sharp blades slicing your skin away, chunks that peeled, and the long stripes of flexible tendons. Your lungs fight for breath, your head weakly slapping into Simon’s neck after an attempt to move your body. Limbs shake and battle nerves; the fabric of your brain.

Your blood stains the man’s gear all the way down the front. It’s dripping to the floor, down his arms and off his elbows. You’re bathing him in it—a full-body baptism of betrayal. 

“Berto,” Ghost says, accent casual despite the gun leveled at him. The name is drawn out. “Apologies, but I’m taking back what’s mine.” He tilts his head. “Scratch that, I’m not apologizing for getting back on a Bastard like you, eh? Pity I can’t hang you up like a hog, I’m proper good with a blade too, but as you can see, I’m on a crunch.” 

Vito’s face goes confused, skin scrunching. “What—”

The bang of a bullet being discharged echoes down the way. The clatter of a great expulsion of air from lungs. Stumbling. Gargles. 

The slam of a body to the ground. 

Smoke spreads up from under the clutch of your knees, where Ghost holds the abyssal body of an M19 forward, his finger lightly on the trigger before he shifts it back in well-practiced discipline. 

“Slag,” he spits. 

Simon hikes you farther into him, lending over his available body heat as you shiver. He presses his face into the top of your head, sighing in relief before starting his pace again. The man’s lips brush your flesh as your lids flutter. 

“Still with me?” You whine into his neck, fingers twitching. “I know it hurts, Love. I know. Easy with it.” 

It didn’t just hurt, it burned. Buried like the nine layers of Hell. 

He keeps whispering to you, slinking around corners and stepping into shadows. By the time he makes it outside with you, the chill of the air on the bottom of his face he didn’t even bother to re-cover, you’re tapering on the edge of oblivion again. 

Teetering like a porcelain doll on the end of the high shelf. 

“Bravo 0-6, leaving the bunker now, I need that MedEvac prepped and ready to go,” Simon speaks quickly, not wasting a single instant. 

John’s voice wafts through. “Copy, 0-7. Helo is comin’ in, be ready it’s going to get hot!” 

“Affirm. Keep it frosty down ‘ere.” There’s a low chuckle and the swift wizz of bullets. 

“Get our Trickster back in one piece, Ghost.” Simon hears the buzzing of helicopter blades in the night, a slick form descending from the dark clouds not moments later. He turns away from the flurry of air, walking hurriedly backward so the air doesn’t aggravate you. 

“Trick,” Ghost calls to you above the noise, hearing the hurried feet of medics coming out to take you from him. Your face is scrunched and you burrow into him. “I’m handing you over!” 

You try to open your eyes enough to convey your unease at that. You have to tell him. You have to explain why you had to do it. The guilt is eating you; gnawing with red teeth and gripping with devil’s claws. You have to explain that you love him even if he hates you now. 

Medics grapple you away, and you are in pain, lips peeling back to gasp sharply, thrashing. 

No!

“Fuck,” Ghost growls, pulling you away from the men as they ask him what in the bloody hell he’s doing. He doesn’t even know—all he knows is that he’s pissed at you for what you did, but never in a million years did that mean he wanted to see you in pain. 

Simon can’t lie, when he was told you were alive, the universe had held its breath. A miracle. A ruse. But alive. Alive and trapped. 

“Stop it!” He yells, caging you into him. “I’m here! I’m right here, Trickster!” 

You’re already too gone for it, not recognizing the metal of the helo as you’re settled on your back, the loud slam of the door. Fingers pull and prob as you hiss and snap, suffocating. 

Ghost holds down your shoulders, his eyes right above yours—but you’re not looking. The helo takes off

“Bloody hell,” Simon yells. “Look at me!” 

You don’t know what compels you to do so, but your eyes open just the slightest bit wider. Brown melts into your pupils, taking you in and reminding you of chilled summer nights. Simon. You pant but stop struggling. 

The medics jump into action, ripping away the remains of your shirt and pants so they can get to the wounds; assess the damage done. 

“That’s it,” Simon sighs long, swallowing. “That’s a girl. There we go, Sunshine.” 

You blink, face peeled as everything swirls far more aggressively this time. 

“Listen to me, Trick. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere, you understand. You said I’d always find you, yeah?” Hands grab your cheeks. “Well, I fucking did, eh? I found you. We’re gonna fix you up, Sweetheart. It’ll all be gone by morning.” You stutter down a breath, ragged throat stretching.

“Let ‘em fix you up—”

“I love you.” 

It all fades to black, but all you remember is the sweep of horror that spreads behind the man’s eyes.

—

“You went back,” Price’s arms are crossed, and he stares at you as your fingers play with the sheets of the hospital bed. “Why?”

You sigh and rub at your face.

“Trick.”

“I felt like I needed to,” you give away, twitching your fingers out in an expression of nonchalantness. “I felt…” Your voice trailed off into a growl. “Bad.”

“Feelings aren’t a part of this, Trickster, you bloody know that,” John hisses, leaning his head closer as you glare silently. “If you’d left when you could, none of this would have fucking happened.” 

“I feel bad, Price!” You break, snapping. “I fucking know! But I-I thought if I just got a bit more intel, then this would have been worth it.” Taking a deep breath you shake your head and rub at your face, all of the bandages and stitches pulling tight. “It’s eating at me. I can’t…I can’t just act like what I lied about can be forgotten.” 

You shrug as the man listens silently, monitors beeping and the small buzz of the overhead lights. 

“Soap barely looks at me—Gaz gave me that fucking pity smile and it makes me want to scream.”

“They’ll get over it.” The Captain repeats what he said months prior firmly. “They know the Op was top priority, they’ll grow up and be back to fucking around in days.”

You scoff, muttering in a dejected tone. “He won’t.”

John is still, fixing his feet from under him as he rolls his nose and looks away slowly. 

Simon hadn’t come to visit once in the time you’d been here in the ward—four days. That fact alone makes you restless. You don’t remember what you said to him, if you said anything. But you knew that he wasn’t going to be going out of his way to be near you anymore. 

You’d taken a grenade to the relationship you’d built. Toy building blocks are scattered. 

“Simon’s…Simon,” Price ends on. You groan and itch at the IV in your hand. “He cares about you more than anyone, yeah? He just needs time. Wasn’t himself after the set-up.”

“I’ve been told,” Gaz had informed you about the Lieutenant's self-isolation after your ‘death’. The snappy orders—deathly glares. He’d gone back to the ruthless man he was in the field and instead of being directed at his enemies, it was directed at them.

Kyle explained how he’d argued with Price about how he could have gotten to you, before abruptly falling silent and stalking away as if a flip had been switched. Snake eyes and clenched fists. 

They’d heard him in the gym late at night, reaming on the punching bags. They didn’t think he slept more than three hours per day if the red lines in his eyes were anything to go by.

And then they were told that you were alive but captured, and he’d gotten worse.

You’d nearly started sobbing when the Sergeant had told you all of that.

“I betrayed his trust, Price,” you level. “I…I never wanted to do that to him. Ever. Not Simon.”

A shadow passes by the door just as the Captain grunts. “That’s the job.”

“That’s not the job I signed up for when I got into this. We don’t lie to our own.”

“‘We get dirty, the world—’” You cut him off.

“Yeah, yeah, ‘stays clean’.” Your eyes level with his. “I can do the dirty work, John, you know that. Infiltration and undercover work is what I’m good at.” The man nods slightly. “But if you ask me to betray One-Four-One’s trust again, I’m out.”

Blue eyes blink in shock, but you don’t let him speak.

“Find someone else to get fake blown up in a building. I can’t get his fucking screams out of my head.” John watches you silently, eyes narrowed. 

You meet that gaze head-on, not backing down from this.

The Captain shakes his head a minute later. “Bloody made for each other,” he mutters under his breath, grunting. Another shadow slips past going the opposite direction, probably a nurse.

Without another word John turns and exits the room, tossing a hand behind his head casually in a way to say goodbye.

You huff and roll your eyes, heat on your cheeks. 

The day wains, and you let the nurses come in to do their checkups and replace the IV. As the curtains are pulled back into place, supper sits heavy in your stomach. 

You wanted to see Simon. 

You knew it wouldn’t go well, and wouldn’t be the goody-goody outcome you prayed for…but you felt wrong without apologizing in person. It went against your morals, and already those were incredibly skewed. Maybe he’d yell, or even ignore you as if you weren’t there.

Simon wasn’t above not speaking to people he didn’t like.

You had to try.

When all was dark, you shuffled out of the hospital bed and fought the weakness of your legs. Shaking like a leaf, you walked around with only your tied gown, unapologetic of the slit down the back showing flashes of your bra and underwear. 

It wouldn’t be anything the Lieutenant hadn’t seen before.

Walking through the silence, you sigh and stand outside of his door; dread in your heart and seeping from the pulled stitches of your wounds. Your bare feet on the tile make you shiver. 

Lifting up a fist, you hesitate. 

Your hand hovers over the wood, sliding forward before you pull it back to you. Closing your eyes tight, you clench your jaw once and take a deep breath.

Knock-knock-knock. Knock-knock.

The sequence was your call sign. If you knocked like that, he would know it was you—whereas Simon's own was just a single slam of the side of his fist.

The only real problem now was that he wasn’t answering.

You stare dumbly at the barrier, blinking like a fool. It takes you longer than you’d like to admit to understand the realization that he wasn’t ignoring you—he just wasn’t in his room. 

Taking a step back, you rub the back of your neck in exasperation and hurry to the nearest exit.

“Of course,” you breathe. You know exactly where he is at a time like this.

The field holds a standing shadow, a ghost of issued fatigues with a thick jacket against the chill that leaves you shivering. Simon stares out over the training grounds with his hands in his pockets, balaclava pulled all the way down to hide him from you. 

You come to a slow halt behind him and stare. 

It’s not long before the man gunts, turning his head back from over his shoulder to look at you blankly. He knew you were there.

The eye contact stays for a long, long while—until you’re hypnotized in the shades of brown and amber and the large build that seems to broaden because of your appearance.

“I’m here to apologize.” You say it breathlessly. “I’m not asking you to hear me out, but I have to let you know I regret doing it. Price said that it was time-sensitive and I—”

Stopping yourself, you look away. It sounded too much like an excuse, you hissed to yourself. At the end of the day, it was still your acceptance that pushed the pawn forward. 

“I’m sorry, Simon,” you breathe. “I betrayed your trust.”

His eyes are piercing you, but you still can’t look at him. The man slightly turns your way. His voice was monotone and grunting out like a dog.

“You think I couldn’t handle it?” Your heart starts, and you’re shaking your head instantly.

“No.” You explain quickly—honestly. “It’s that…I didn’t want you to.” 

You hear his lips take in a quiet breath. Simon rolls his shoulders before looking away from you. Nothing could have prepared you for what came next.

“You said you loved me.” Your body freezes, jaw going slack as your face drops. You don’t speak, mute as if the air in your lungs has been stolen.

You had done…what?

All of your tricks couldn’t get you out of this one.

“I,” you force a fake laugh, hands beginning to shake. “I, what? No, I’m sure that’s not what I said. A-are you sure it wasn’t, like, an ‘I appreciate you’ or maybe a…a,” your voice catches. “A whole ‘I’m fond of you’ sort of thing…? Hm?”

Simon takes a step forward and you take one back. This was worse than torture, you decided. The pain in your pulling stitches and re-set nose was welcome here.

“Trick,” Ghost utters, and you stare hard at his neck, humming. “Stop talking.”

“Copy,” you whisper quickly, shoulders falling. 

He’s so close you can feel his body heat melting into you, and you want nothing more than to touch him. Simon’s hand comes up to your chin, and he angles it up as you stop breathing, lips parted.

“I heard you in the med ward talkin’ to Price. Was outside the door the ‘ole time.” The shadow. 

He tilts your head to the side to stare at the medical tape over the slashes in your skin. The scars won’t bother you—you had plenty of others to show as well. But Simon was…studying you. Assessing. 

His eyes blink slowly with those long pale lashes, and they slide up to you as he leans in close to your ear. Still, you stand comatose.

“You put me through a fucking heap ‘o hurt, Love.” You stare over his shoulder, not speaking, not moving. 

Simon leans back and lets go of your chin, brushing a finger over your nose and the puffy skin there.

“Never do that again.” It’s final, how he says it. But the layers of depth are plain to hear. Simon speaks low and even—gaze trapping yours like a curse. 

You know he won’t talk about the things you’ve heard. The aggression or the late-night gym trips. You’ve known him for years, and know his brain like the back of your hand.

Shivering, you nod once, content with not answering verbally to break the sanctity of the moment. Seeing Simon like this made you ease your fears. You clear your throat to push back the stuffiness.

“Thought you held grudges, Big Guy?” Nearly not heard, you mutter and pick at where the IV needle is supposed to be. 

A hand catches yours and stops you from making it bleed.

“Do,” Ghost grumbles, turning your hand over and moving his face closer until you feel his breath. “Just not with my Bird.” 

His balaclava is suddenly up to his nose, and those lips that had been covered in your blood previously situated themselves perfectly to yours. 

You gasp, arm outstretched beside you in shock. 

You’d kissed him before, but this felt different. More intimate. Simon’s arms slip around your waist, and you retaliate by locking your shaking arms behind his back, feeling the gentle passes of his lips. 

Mouth to mouth, you breathe each other in as if grasping for the other’s soul in desperation. A desperation that tells you how much the beast of a man around you was terrified of your death and the body he had to carry into the helo—of the lengths he would go to stave death from touching your tender flesh. 

No, only he was allowed to do that, and he was a reaper in his own right.

A small death that infected you at every breath puffing into your mouth, every whine and whimper he could draw like water to swallow down as ambrosia. Nectar of the Gods, and it was right there in his arms. Back. Alive. 

To be alive in the summer field of this old military base was to accept that death, and into it, hope that the few moments you had together truly made a difference. 

Simon would hold you there—and when that was done, wrap you in his jacket and carry your battered body back inside; watching your swollen lips and the wide eyes as they gaze back at him. 

Because he could hate you all he wanted for this, for the lies, for the way you made him care…but the both of you would still be alive to do so.

He guessed that was all that mattered.

TAGS:

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[perpetual-fandom-brainrot]

Shadow (Dark Link x Reader x Link)

Summary: The reader accidentally stumbles into Dink's boss room while scouting ahead for monsters.

MASTERLIST Warnings: 18+ themes such as gore, graphic descriptions of death and fatal injury, emotional/psychological manipulation, etc. coming up. Reader actually dies and is revived. This story is not suitable for small children and easily disturbed individuals.

The temple is completely silent aside from the moves of yourself and your best friend, Link. At first he'd warned you to stay in the safety of Kakariko, but lost that argument when you'd held your own in a sparring match.

Now, the two of you gaze upon the expanse of the room you'd emerged from. Lots of water, as expected, fills the area. You notice a plethora of hookshot points, platforms, and tectites. None of them see you or Link as you swim past them to a hallway entrance. You find that it leads to an underwater passage.

In fact, most hallways do, you realize as you trail Link throughout the temple. Most of that trailing is spent picking off monsters Link can't get to, helping point out puzzle solutions, and quickly stealing Navi's attention if her timing is inopportune. Conversation between Link and yourself is scarce, both a strategic decision and a comfortable one, especially for you. Too many other things might come up right now, things that will cause more problems than will be solved if you choose silence. So you do, especially underwater, where magic is your lifeline. Both you and Link have fully stocked up on bottles of magic for this reason.

That magic almost goes to waste when a sing-song voice calls Link's name. You resist a gasp as your attention is drawn to the literal princess who produced it. How in Hylia's name is she here? You suppose, as the sacred house to the water medallion, it's technically still part of the Zora domain, but you distinctly remember hearing how all of Hyrule's royalty is dead, hiding, or otherwise decommissioned. Perhaps Ruto is safe here? When you look to Link's face to read his expression, he looks shocked and semi-afraid.

"It's me! Your fiancée! Ruto! I never forgot our vows from seven years ago." The princess' words horrify the hero and leave you nearly choking again. Fiancée? Vows? Seven years? She's not serious, is she? "You were so mean to keep me waiting," definitely serious, "but this moment can't be for love. My domain, I know you saw it's completely frozen! A man named Sheik freed me from the ice. The others haven't woken, so I need your help to save them! As my future husband it's your duty!" Ruto, finally ready to drop the marriage topic, proceeds to explain the temple's three water control points, and even leads you to one of them. She's gone by the time you and Link reach the top, most likely continuing ahead without you.

Link reads over the symbols on the wall, muttering to himself the whole time you're inspecting this tiny room. A soothing song comes from that ocarina of his mere moments later. The water level lowers, much to your intrigue. Magic must be part of the architecture here, you think. Instead of vocalizing your curiosity about the subject, you wordlessly follow Link into the next room and help pick off the monsters you find, grabbing the map out of the chest that appears. After examining it, you decide to head back for the bottom floor. The string of rooms brimming with monsters and puzzles begins with that simple jump down. A puzzle, a new room, some monsters, a key. This process repeats twice to get you to the second water control point, which also has to be activated through song.

This one raises the water, although not as high as it was earlier, allowing you and Link to enter a newly revealed passage. It leads deeper into the temple, where the new area leads to a puzzle, more monsters, and another key.

"Is this what every temple is like?" You ask, fingers tapping against your weapon's grip point.

"Yep." Link grunts as he stores the key in his satchel. "There's usually more foes than this," he adds. Your chest swells and tightens at the same time, your eyes going wide with a harsh realization. He could die here. You could both die here. What if one of you gets fatally injured in the midst of a difficult battle? It would be a choice between saving the other person or trying to fight off the monsters quick enough to still have time to do so. What if you ran out of healing items?

"We should split up soon," you find yourself blurting, partially for good reason and partially for the selfishness of not wanting to potentially see Link die.

"Why?" He asks firmly. He was difficult to persuade when it came to your accompaniment, you hope this might be easier.

"We have no idea what to expect in here! Monsters, items, locked doors, sure we know that. Not what kind of monsters, or how many, or where any of those item chests might be. Plus, if you run out of supplies before we split up, I'd be able to smash a jar here and there to bring you back more."

At your words, the same reluctance from Kakariko this morning crosses his face. You know Navi can identify new monsters for him, but you also latch onto the glimmer of consideration adorning his eyes at your offer to pick some off and scavenge for extra items.

"Fine," he finally says, hesitance mostly gone. Warmth blooms in you at his trust that you can handle yourself on that level. This isn't something any random Hylian can handle. You keep that thought in the front of your mind as Link dives back in the direction you came from. You follow soon after.

The third and final water control point sits above a room containing a water geyser puzzle. You draw your bow to shoot the crystal once you and Link both stand on it, raising you to the door leading to the control point. With the water only partially filling the temple, the point you've entered appears to be a vantage point over the temple's main area. It becomes level with everything else when Link brings the water up, and on you go to the next locked door.

You instantly shoot down two waiting keese on the wall behind the door, returning it to your gear when no more show up. Link yanks you back as you attempt to step further into the room. You're preparing to be annoyed, but immediately take notice of how the room is built. You would have fallen clean off the area you now stand on and landed on a platform about 10 feet below you. That platform leads to more platforms, one of which sits on the same wall and four others slowly fall down a waterfall's current. You groan when you notice the hookshot platforms. Link laughs softly beside you.

"The hookshot is uncomfortable!" You whine in defense, while a much worse feeling creeps up your spine. How many rooms has it been since you last encountered a monster? "Tell you what, I have to get used to it anyway. Let me scout ahead now! I'll tell you all about the next puzzles when I come back," you hastily promise before snatching the hookshot from Link. You cross the room before you can back down and before he can protest. The next room, another hookshot puzzle which contains a crystal, almost makes you want to rip your hair out. You don't, instead keeping a cool head as you pass through the room, alternating between bow and hookshot to activate the crystal and cross gaps between the platforms.

You're about to celebrate when you see one last hookshot point, but your face goes pale when you notice spikes directly underneath it and a slime creature bigger than you waiting on the other side. With sword drawn, you hook onto the ceiling, immediately doing a downwards spin-slash to finish it off when you drop to the floor. The next door is not locked.

The room it leads to is not inhabited. Instead of monsters, puzzles, or chests, you're greeted by a peaceful scene. An endless expanse of calm, shallow water expanded on all sides. The only disruptions are the door you came from, the door leading forward, and a small sand mound with a leafless tree sitting between them. You take a step forward and find that the water reflects your face perfectly. You feel oddly safe to take another step despite no visual of solid ground. Your feet sink slightly, but nothing more. You walk, then pause when you notice the door ahead has bars on it. The room is empty, isn't it? You turn around in a panic, trying to spot anywhere a monster could hide. In the water maybe? You take a second look at the surface, only to see a lack of your reflection. The pit of your stomach sinks. This room, and whatever is going on, is fueled by magic. This thing didn't need to hide from you, it could hide itself.

"You're not the hero," a voice sneers, sounding as though the room itself is speaking. That tone, that slight rasp anyone else would miss, it sounds just like-

A hand suddenly covers your mouth, your body being pulled backwards against another. Your instincts call on your weapons, but your assailant grips your wrist with superior strength. A sob begins building in your throat. This is a foe, one who is clearly prepared for Link and not some Hylian girl. You're dead. You'll never get to run around the village again. You'll never get to train with a sword again. You'll never get to tell Link-

"That's right, you'll never get to tell Mr. Hero-boy that you loOove him~" the voice purrs against your ear, his its tone cruel and mocking in a level whisper. Your lungs freeze when you process the words' true meaning. this thing knows your deepest secret and deepest fear. Worst of all, its voice sounds almost like Link's with the exceptions of a heavier rasp, being slightly deeper, and a permanent sadistic venom lacing every word he it spoke.

"I'm so touched you know who I am," it continues. Your body is jerked in a 180-degree spin and shoved to the ground, leaving you sprawled out and disoriented. You're still reeling from being winded like that when you notice a blade at your throat and freeze. A familiar blade, only darkly colored rather than the hauntingly beautiful silver you're used to. You slowly bring your gaze upwards, eyes meeting Link's face when you fully meet the monster's. It's Link?

"I am not that foolish child of the light," it says with a snort, still sounding calm and deadly whilst amused. "No, I am the stronger and more courageous warrior he could not bring himself to be. That Link, that hero that you love so much, he will never be what you think he is. He will never be what I am. I will pry what is rightfully mine from his sinking corpse." The last sentence is a growl full of venom and jealousy that has you trembling. Something tells you this monster really does stand a chance against the mighty hero of time. You would be mad, you should be mad, but his blade still sat against your neck. You don't dare to move or speak as you try to form a plan.

"Tell you what, here's a plan:" Link's evil copy presses his blade against your throat more, "I kill you, possess your corpse, and force hero boy to choose between letting it kill him or mangling it in order to stop me!" The monster says it like it's trying to suggest a fun new game you haven't heard of before. His eyes are wide with a sadistic kind of glee, one that enjoys seeing you so terrified, meanwhile something in you stirs. At first it's slight, something you bite back, but you can't just let him talk about Link like that.

"Don't even-" Evil Link begins, slashing his blade, but you roll away in time to get slashed on the shoulder instead. It isn't too deep of a wound, but you need to make quick work of this foe or else you'll lose your edge. Springing up, you jump backwards before drawing your sword and shield. The monster charges at you with a cry not unlike your Link's. You try not to think about it as you raise your shield to parry the incoming slash. With the opening it creates you manage a minor slice on his its shoulder. It isn't the monster's sword shoulder, but if it causes any struggle it's worth it.

As you take the second to acknowledge your handiwork, you find your own wrist being slashed at. You get a mild cut, hand starting to shake as you force yourself to support your sword. You back away in even steps, Link's dark version matching your pace. He It suddenly sinks back into the floor below when you're about to reach the other door again. Your reflection not returning keeps you on guard. As you survey the room for the monster, its words pop back into your head. It talked about Link like he's nothing! You internally seethe. Clinking behind you gathers your alert and you turn around just in time to brace your shield against his blade. It bounces backwards harshly enough to dent your shield and send the monster stumbling into the wall behind him. You step forward and slash at him again, inflicting a gash on his arm that's severe but not deadly. He drops his sword and shield, one arm now too hurt and one arm holding the gash. He only grits his teeth at you and glares before disappearing again.

You smile victoriously and saunter back to the door leading forward. I never could've gotten a hit on the real Link, you think as you reach for the bars over the door-

Wait, what? Your heart speeds up immediately as you retreat from the door. That's impo-

You feel warmth travel down your abdomen, a very heavy warmth that makes you instantly sleepy. You yawn and reach down to try to pull it over you like a blanket, hands wrapping around something. Your hazed mind doesn't realize the object is sharp as you weakly tug on it, becoming frustrated when you have no success pulling it up. You tear up, but a soothing feeling settles in your throat when you try to cry rather than choking. Slowly, you find yourself falling asleep as your vision fades out.

You wake up what feels like hours later, to Navi's concerned voice and a fairy missing from your inventory. Exhaustion is still burrowed into your bones and unconsciousness keeps a desperate grip on the corners of your mind.

"Y/n! Y/n! Thank Hylia! What in her name happened here?!" The fairy's voice is fast, full of panic. You open your mouth to speak, but as the memories fade back you can't even begin to process it. Saying it proves impossible when you burst into tears, resisting the urge to scream when your body instinctively tries to choke.

"I- I'll get Link! Stay here!" You reach to try to stop Navi when she flies towards you, but you're too fatigued and a sharp pain in your abdomen stops you. You lose the ability to keep your cries silent. It hurts so badly, you don't even want to breathe because even that causes pain. You swear you can feel it in your organs, even. The little blue-winged fairy carefully, silently, sifts through your belongings and extracts the hookshot before she leaves the room. You curl up in the water, which no longer bears your reflection in the absence of the shadow being, and lift your armor slowly to peek at the wound.

Despite having a fairy's healing applied, the wound is horrendous, and looking at the surrounding skin has you in hysterics. Inflamed, red, with a bubbling rash and several tender bruises already visible. Not to mention the stab wound sitting in the center, looking somewhat scabbed over but still obviously new. You try not to think too hard about it, or about anything except Link, as you slip into the simplicity of the morning's memories for comfort.

"Link! Link!" You call excitedly as you jog towards the Death Mountain gate to greet the currently blue-clad hero. You notice he's brandishing a different sword than the famous Blade of Evil's Bane. "New tunic and a new blade in the same day? Awesome!" You cheer, skipping next to Link, who stays quiet beside you. "Where're you headed now?"

"Water temple," Link grunts. When he notices the spark in your eye, visible concern replaces his typically stoic expression.

"Do you need extra eyes?" You ask eagerly. "An extra blade to back you up?" Link turns to you and grabs your shoulders. You know what he's about to say when he opens his mouth.

"Y/n, it is my job to save Hyrule. Not yours. I'll be back before you know it. You're safest in Kakariko," he says in a firm yet comforting tone. A cheeky grin spreads across your face as you form a plan.

"Let me spar you! How about that? If I can't defend myself against you, I'll stay here!" You announce. Link sighs with a defeated look as you celebrate and prepare your gear.

The door opening and Link's alarmed exclamations bring you back to your unfortunate reality. You open your mouth to try to explain, but break all over again when he gently moves to shush you. You can't help but flinch away from his hand. He looks confused, hurt for a moment, before he notices a fairy missing from your healing items. Potion is immediately poured into your mouth, your eyes tracking the seams on the leather covering his hands. You physically relax as the calm warmth of healing comes over you, a much different and more blissful warmth than the one you remember from earlier. You drift back to sleep, barely registering a pair of arms lifting you as you fade away.

You wake in the middle of Kakariko. It's the middle of the night and it's foggy. Everyone is inside for the night. The village is dead silent. The moon and stars are absent, yet a gentle light is barely visible through the fog. It's beautiful, and red. You think it may be a torch at first, other villagers you can't see, but the light seems to shrink as you approach. Curiosity fills you, urging you forward. More characteristics about the light become distinct the closer you get. The source splits into two separate ones when you're what seems to be a few feet away. Their shape becomes perfectly circular.

Your blood goes cold. You freeze in place when you see Link. The evil one, the one made of darkness. The one who had... encountered you in the temple. A smirk crawls up his face as he yanks you towards him and pivots. You feel the edge of the abandoned well dig into your back. You don't have time to process how his eyes aren't red, how his hair turned white, how his skin turned grey. How he looks more human now. He completely fills your personal space, his body pressed wholly against yours as he tips you backwards over the edge of the well, lips poking your ear.

"Welcome home, y/n~" he whispers before shoving you over the well's rim. A scream rips from your throat as you fall into infinite darkness, Kakariko village, your home, getting smaller and smaller. You flail, you cry, you helplessly try to grab for anything that will get you out of this. The air feels like it's moving too fast for you to breathe.

"Help! Help!" You scream out desperately as your heart twists and your stomach flips inside out. Your hands finally grip something you can't see, and you squeeze as hard as you can, not caring when you feel tingling in your knuckles. You pray to Hylia for safety as you clench your eyes shut.

You wake in Kakariko, in your bed, in Link's arms. You tense, prepared to scramble away from him, and burst into tears when you process that this is your Link. Your hero, your best friend, your crush, not the monster that-

You choke at the thought. Link gently brings you into a full embrace, one you desperately want to find comfort in, but all you can think about is how many times that's happened to him.

"D- Does it a- always hurt?" You choke. Link lets out an audible breath and holds you closer.

When he departs for the temple again, you want to beg him to stay. You want to cry to him and tell him everything eating at your brain. Instead, you insist he at least takes your remaining healing items. Two fairies and five potions. You made him pledge to give the bottles back when they were empty, those things took years to gather. All you can do now is wait and hope he makes it back safe and sound.

Read the next chapter here

[sorceresssundries]

The Serpent

Pairing: Gale x Female Tav (Durge) - SFW

Word Count: 1.8k

Summary: A Macbeth inspired one-shot. Tav, now free from Bhaal's control, urges Gale to abandon his devotion to Mystra to forge a new path alongside her. Inspired by Act 1, Scene 5 and Act 1, Scene 7

A/N - Not going to lie, nervous about this one! Macbeth is, in my opinion, one of the greatest texts ever written. Obviously, this is inspired by and not a direct interpretation - however there are a number of lines/references to the play, as well as the obvious overlapping of themes - Ambition, devotion, temptation, the supernatural... etc Please leave a comment or reblog if you enjoyed it! I'd really love to hear your thoughts about this one!

Tav had died. 

Gale had watched it happen. He had been roused from his charmed unconsciousness just in time to witness the cruelty of Bhaal in all its vengeful savagery. Tav’s strong, supple body had contorted and snapped with crunches that echoed through the gore-stained, cavernous temple. He watched, mouth agape and eyes wide, as she had denied her birthright and been drained of her father’s blood. Bhaal’s retaliation, the scream of Tav's death, slipped between his ribs and twisted the life from his devoted heart. The world slowed, darkened, and quieted as she lay in the stillness of her god's rage - small and broken. Gone.

The scent of dank and decay staining the very air of Bhaal’s temple clotted in his throat as he lost all breath. Canker and gore settled under his fingernails as he gripped the stone altar with such fervour his fingers threatened to snap. The light from his world had been extinguished. 

And then...

She came back. Like it was nothing. Like the reigniting of a snuffed-out candle still pouring smoke. Withers reclaimed her from the afterlife, and she was… glorious...different. New. She was full of hot fury and cold vengeance, the two forces pressing together to hiss its way from between her bared teeth as she rose again.

She had stepped towards him, ignoring all others, her foot crushing down upon the skull of her slain sister, splitting it into unrecognisable shrapnel. She did not even blink. Her blood-soaked hands cupped his face. Her eyes, once familiar and warm, looked as though they had opened for the first time. 

The two lovers found themselves alone in a dingy temple chamber, the room cold and bare, where Tav had dragged him for a private reunion. It was the longest they had been apart since their meeting, and they both ran their hands over each other, searching with damp eyes for any injury, desperately needing to touch after days apart. They had thought each other dead.

Gale didn’t know how long it had been since Orin had taken him, but it felt like an age. Tav kissed him furiously with blood on her lips, and her taste was iron and fire. Eventually, she pulled away to search his face once more.

"Are you alright? Did she hurt you?" Her sharp voice was barely a whisper.

"I thought he had taken you from me," he said, pulling her back against him. "For a moment there I..."

He remembered the look on her face when Bhaal’s edict was laid before her, the way her eyes flickered and jaw tightened the way he had seen so many times before. The hard, set expression of a person once again thrown against the relentless tide of another exhausting decision. Despite her previous promises that she would deny her heritage, he didn’t know which way she would be swept.

How easy it would have been for her to accept the offer of a God. She could have been unstoppable, the weapon of the dread lord himself. And yet, she had cast his gift aside and paid the ultimate price. She was free. His brave, fearsome warrior was her own, and he loved her twice over.

Her wide, frantic eyes darted between his. Her pupils were small, as though filled with too much light.

"I am sick of being the puppet of another."

Even the way she spoke sounded different. He had expected that if she turned from Bhaal’s influence and became her own person, that person would be soft and forgiving. There was no gentleness in her at this moment, only fury and determination. For what though, he wasn’t sure.

"Tav, you must rest," he murmured as her shaking, stained hands pushed against his robes, her lips meeting every inch of skin she was unveiling.

"How intoxicating it is, to be free. To know that not even a God can claim me."

"Hush, love."

"You could join me in this feeling. We could share in it. You could cast aside your God as I have mine."

His hands froze at her waist. She was drunk on battle and blood. Her words rattled inside his head, but he tried to push them down and pay them no mind. He must be clear, he must be focused, and he must be the pillar of strength for her to lean on.

"Let us rest back at camp. We can’t speak like this, not now."

"Why? You fear your mistress will hear your heretic lover’s siren song of blasphemy? The only god in this place is murder. Her weave may still dance across your fingertips, but I assure you there is none of her presence here. You are without her, as it should be."

She disentangled herself from his grasp and began pacing in front of him, a recently unleashed animal - suddenly wild and hungry.

“They dare to bend us upon their altars, so let us snap. Screw your courage to the sticking place, Gale. What are you afraid of?”

Gale had fallen in love with Tav in spite of the bloodthirsty shadow that skulked behind her, stealing her light and darkening her dreams. He had always thought that part of her was severable, but what if it wasn’t? He had thought light would filter into the gaps Bhaal left behind and soften her sharp, blood-laced blades. But she wielded them still, with such focus she may as well be forged of steel herself. 

Maybe… this had been her all along, and he was shocked at how much it did not alter his feelings. He loved her then, just as he loved her now. There was a slice of sickly guilt as he considered what that said about him, but it was soon stitched up and forgotten in the wake of relief that she was still so full of life.

He loved her, she was alive, and she had snapped the shackles which bound her

Was she right? Could... perhaps... he dare to do the same?

It would be a lie to pretend he had not thought of it, that he had not lain awake night after night with the thrum and pulse of bruise-purple malice waiting within him like impatient thunder. His bitterness made the wound glow, the tendrils carved into his frail, mortal flesh coiled and squeezed the softness from his heart. It beat like a war drum as he recalled the written words of Karsus. He had pulled the forbidden knowledge from the pages of his annals and gorged himself on it, tasted and savoured each promise it held. Transcendence. Freedom. Immortality. 

A vision had slinked into his thoughts when sleep eventually found him, clear and seductive. Him, with skin of divine silver, crackling with jolts of unconfined magic. The mark of the orb still burned into his almighty form - a reminder of what he had endured, a mocking gesture to the one who had thought it would be his undoing. The crown of Karsus rested atop his head, where it belonged.

He was the embodiment of a God with the scarred, yielding heart of a mortal. Had he not earned it? Had he not served and worshipped and waited. Even in his confinement, in the pit of his solitude, he had prayed. He had begged. He swore then he would never inflict that torture of silence upon anyone who loved him so, he could be so much more merciful.

The decision lay before him like a dagger.

“Mystra… is everything I have known. She is the magic I wield, and the weave I master. She honoured me.. Loved me…”

His voice sounded small as it echoed back to him from cold, hallowed walls. 

“And abandoned you! For what? Wanting more? Loving her too fully? Devoting yourself too intently? You risked your life to bring her that restless monster which has sunk its claws into you, and she has left you to rot with it. Are these the Gods we are destined to serve? Cruel and unforgiving? We could be better, we could be more.” 

She was wringing her hands together. Her small thumbs massaging into palms calloused from the tight gripping of swords, rubbing against the blood which sat there. Orin’s blood. Bhaal’s blood. Her blood. Over and over she rubbed her hands, as though trying to remove the bloodstains from her skin. Her eyes never left his.

“You were the one who told me of the Annals of Karsus. You came to me, coveting it's dark potential. You begged me to hand it over, and I did. I saw ambition greater than even its author in that moment. I sensed your dark plot as you were spinning it and now you would relinquish that ambition and let it slip through your fingers like bone-dust?” She cradled his face between her sore hands once more, to make his uncertain eyes meet hers. “What has changed, that makes you break this enterprise to me?”

“I.. What if we fail?”

“How can we fail? I told you that I would not let darkness consume me, that I would be greater than the urge which pulsed through my blood and clouded my mind, and look at what I have done. I gazed into the eyes of my father, the one who whetted the blade of my ambition, and I cut my own bonds with it. I am severed, an undone thing. I slaughtered my blood-kin, tore her monstrous form apart till she was naught but sinew and bones. And I would do it again. I would dash her brains out over and over, upon each and every wall of every temple in every city if that is what it took to fulfil my oath to you”

She smiled, with what remained of her softness. “Untwist your knotted stomach and detangle your nerves and we’ll not fail. We were made for this.”

He closed his eyes in focus. The vision swirled again behind his shut lids. Silver skin, crackling magic, a re-forged crown…

She held his hands in hers and kissed them, softly, reverently. The blood on them smeared across his pale fingers. 

“You said you knew how to reforge the crown. So, do it. Claim it. Take it for your own and grant us an everlasting future, away from the shackles of those who would dare to bind us.”

He moved to push strands of gore-matted hair away from her face, so he could see her eyes. Look at her fully as he made his decision, as he grasped the dagger before him. 

“And what of Karsus? Of his folly? Is that not a lesson to be learned?” He said, his voice stronger now. “What do I have that would cause me to succeed where he failed?”

Her smile was wide - so wide it split open a wound at her lip, dripping blood down her chin. 

“Me.”

[katieaki]

So, you’re interested in jumping into Pony Express but aren’t sure where to start/feel daunted by the undertaking/are freaked out about missing lore & context? Pony Express is intended to be a completely standalone work with no knowledge of my prior work necessary for enjoyment, but it has been rolling for quite a while now! Here’s some info to help you orient yourself! 💫 I recommend looking at this guide on desktop as the mobile version collapses the bullet points in a strange way.

✨ Here’s the absolute most basic summary:

Lou Primrose (30 years old, 5'0", illiterate, hardworking, 3x rodeo champion) is a rider for the Pony Express, the Wasteland's mail service. Lou has agreed to transport an unusual package from the middle of the Wasteland to the nearly uninhabited coast: a glamorous redhead named Holliday Bell. A case of mistaken identity sees Lou brutalized and disabled by religious assassin from the church of Johnny Knives (god of death) Reckoning "Artie" Tehachapi, who attempts to atone for her wrongdoing by serving Lou until she's healed. Together (for better or worse) the three of them head toward the ocean through unknown and dangerous territory.

This work is erotic in nature 🔞 with some violence and survival-type gore.

✨ If you’re totally new here, you might have some questions. Here’s a super quick primer under the cut!

What’s up with The Wasteland?

The Wasteland is a post-apocalyptic, non-dystopian society in the former American southwest. It has been several generations since the civilization Before (that’s us, or maybe like... our grandparents) was decimated. Nobody is particularly interested in the whys or hows of the collapse, though it seems that environmental disaster & earthquakes were the main factor.

It’s a series of towns, shrines, convents, and monasteries. Quite a lot of it is in repurposed buildings from Before (imagine Route 66-style gas stations, diners, and motels, all heavily repaired) and some of it is kind of ramshackle old-west-y new builds.

God of Death, religious assassins, churches– what’s up with all that? I’m afraid, sounds lore-y.

Wasteland society is heavily structured around the two churches of the gods of life & sorrow (The Listening Lady) and death & justice (Johnny Knives), who are married, immortal, and absolutely real. They live apart from the mortals, but they do live in the Wasteland with them. The Listening Lady’s church is responsible for basically every aspect of Wasteland life. Listening Church shrines and convents are also the Wasteland’s official or de facto orphanages, pantries, farms, hospitals, therapists, inns, textile mills, wedding venues, and basically everything else you need to keep a society functioning. Listening Church acolytes may have a huge variety of occupations, from the extremely down-to-earth (midwifery and laundry etc) to the real Weird and Churchy (doing rituals and divination etc). Many of them take a vow of silence in honor of The Listening Lady. The church of Johnny Knives is much smaller and much more specialized. Knife Church disciples are assassins whose sacred duty is to kill those who need killing, as judged by god. 

You don’t really need to get INTO this, though. What you need to know is: Listening Church acolytes are generally warm and kind and in caregiver- or artisan-type roles. Knife Church disciples are peacekeepers & generally a little scary, but are also working toward the public good– kind, but not necessarily nice.

I know the concept of gods and disciples invokes the image of like, robes and shit, but that is NOT how it is! Listening Church acolytes tend toward chiffon and midcentury-lingerie-as-outwear looks and/or country western workwear, depending. Knife Church disciples nearly invariably have sort of a greaser/biker/leather daddy thing going on. They all talk about the gods like they’re their parents and their bosses, which they are. I think it’s kind of more normal than you might be expecting. 

So there’s like, magic?

According to the Wastelanders, yes. You don’t need to worry too much about any of that. Just let them do their things.

And everyone is in a church?

Almost everyone interacts with Listening Church in some way, very few interact with Knife Church in any way, but most people in the Wasteland are ‘civilians’ (that is to say, not working for either church).

And they’re all lesbians? How do they have babies??

They’re not ALL lesbians, but basically all our POV characters are & it’s a very lesbian-heavy society. There are many ways that two women may have children, including biological. You got this, I know you do. 

And everyone is blue?

Yeah, but it doesn’t really come up.

Why?

Because I liked drawing them with the sky blue posca paint marker when I began this body of work.

Ok. What’s up with Lou?

Louetta “Lou” Primrose is a rider for the Pony Express– she’s a Wasteland mailman. Her job is basically her whole life. She’s been working since she was ten years old, working for the Pony Express since she was 14. After receiving a romantic rejection from Venus, the dance hall girl she’s in love with, Lou agrees to take a strange red-headed woman, Holliday Bell, to the (allegedly) uninhabited coast, where Holliday’s wife is (allegedly) waiting for her.

Lou is dedicated, practical, and hard-working, but also hot-headed, frequently mean, a little self-conscious, and ‘a rambling man,’ never in one place for long. She’s markedly not religious among other Wastelanders (so is a great pov character for you if you’re new to al this!). Her greatest achievement has been winning the main event at the Wasteland’s biggest horse games three years in a row, unseating the previous champion. Nobody else really cares that much.

What’s up with Holliday?

Holliday Bell is an elegant and mysterious woman who showed up to Lou’s post office with stamps pinned to her blouse, claiming she’d mailed herself there from a town hundreds of miles away. She is asking Lou, who works at the most westerly post office in Wasteland, to finish the delivery by bringing her way out to the coast where she claims her wife, a pearl diver, is waiting for her. 

Holliday is strange. From the beginning, Lou feels put off by her personality, which is both abrasive and seemingly rehearsed. She can be unspeakably cutting and is obviously hiding a big secret. 

What’s up with Artie?

Reckoning “RT” “Artie” Tehachapi is the Knife Church disciple who, after a series of lies and miscommunications spanning several parties across the Wasteland, is sent to apprehend Lou, who she thinks has kidnapped Holliday. She breaks Lou’s wrist and dislocates her shoulder in their first altercation before she learns that Lou is an innocent party in all of this. Deeply ashamed of her actions, she vows to serve Lou until they make it back to civilization.

Artie is upbeat and optimistic, especially for Knife Church, but her guilt at her transgressions against Lou & eagerness to make up for them have left her in a kind of anxiety spiral.  She’s the only one who has any real survival skills and continually works herself to the last drop, and then works herself a few drops more. When her big, horrible, deep, dark secret is revealed, her mental state continues to deteriorate.

What’s up with Venus? We haven’t seen her in a while?/Who’s the one-armed smokeshow?

Venus is Lou’s love interest, the girl she left behind in Hereafter. We haven’t seen her in a while because she, wisely, stayed there while Lou went off on her extremely inadvisable mission.

Venus of the Wastes is a dime-a-dance girl/saloon girl/sex worker who lives in Hereafter. She is Lou’s friend and Lou is both in love with her and her best client. Just before Lou left to deliver Holliday, she admitted to Venus that she was in love with her. Venus is, at least, very fond of Lou.

✨ Ok, but this is a lot! Where do I start??

If you’re looking to hop in on the story in progress, I’ve made summaries of part 1 , part 2 , and part 3 as we have gone on. I’ll update this with part 4 when we finish it. 

If you’re a completionist, the links above have epub & pdf files of the full text of each part. Here’s where part 4 begins, until we finish that part and I post it all together. You can find the rest of part 4 by scrolling backwards through the collection. I will also attach pdfs & epubs of all the full text to this post on my patreon!

If you’re a completionist completionist & you want it ALL, here’s everything and the chronological order in which they occur in-universe. Again, Pony Express is meant to be able to stand on its own two feet without any of the rest of this, but it might be fun for you to read the rest. The first three here are kind of a series, but Tears Can’t Put Out This Flame and Bloodied on Arrival could both be read independently. Care and Keeping probably needs those two to support it, unless you’re happy just jumping in and figuring stuff out via context. It’s Artie’s backstory, but it’s not necessary for you to read to make Pony Express make sense. It’ll just give you a little more dramatic irony etc. 

Tears Can’t Put Out This Flame  - a novella about Hero Sasaki, a novice acolyte at the Church of the Listening Lady (god of life & sorrow) who has been tasked with delivering a package to an anchorite from her church. Frances is a disgraced assassin from The Church of Johnny Knives (god of justice & death) who has been tasked with escorting her. Through trials of the road, emergency first aid, prayer, ritual (blood and otherwise), a little sex, and a lot of tears, they find love exactly where they should've expected it in the first place.

Bloodied on Arrival - a novel about Nuisance (and Hero), a road-weary assassin from The Church of Johnny Knives (god of justice & death) who finds herself and her new cat taking refuge at a companionship shrine run by a beautiful older widow, Hero, of the Church of the Listening Lady (god of life and sorrow). The two can't deny their immediate connection and aim for a rewarding one-night stand, but things don't go as planned.

Care and Keeping - a work in progress novel(?) about Hero and Nuisance and their new adopted feral child, Artie, a little girl who has known nothing but abuse, pain, and starvation who believes it’s her sacred mission to join Knife Church. Nuisance agrees to train her to join the church in a bid to keep her from it for as long as possible. This is a kind of coming-of-age story for Artie and a becoming parents story for Hero & Nuisance.

Pony Express - A work in progress novel about Lou (also featuring Artie) - see synopsis at beginning of post.

The novel/las are available for purchase on my Patreon for $5 or for pay-what-you-want $5+ on Gumroad. If you find you can’t afford that, but want to read it, please let me know! DM me wherever or email me at missluckycatknives (at) gmail (dot) com I’m happy to make my work accessible to you. All Pony Express and Care and Keeping are free as I work on them. 

[itsgrimeytime]

The Nurse (Part Four) || Rick Grimes (TWD)

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four

Taglist: @strnqer @1985bitch @curlycarley @imaginemyfavoritefics @t-uroboros @crazytxgradstudent @addisonnie @whos6claire @taylvvrr @quicksilversg1rl @catt-leya @1tsk1tty @pascalshearts @hopefulatrocity @xoyouronlyamorrxo @fuseburner @idkseraphine @all-for-kpop @carlgrimeskisser @emo-potato-virgil

Summary: Before all this, you were a nurse. A nurse who had patients, one of which was a man in a coma. A sheriff, you think, it was all kinda fuzzy now. When it all went sideways, you set up what you could for the man - but had to leave. You'd always wondered where he'd ended up; until in your search of shelter, you run into a familiar face.

TWS: Blood, gore, mentions of death, gun violence (just violence in general), swearing, angst, angsty!Rick, hallucinations, and all things typical of TWD.

[[A/N: Thank you all so much for the outpour of support :))), I hope I can do right by you guys and this story. I kind of have a plan, but we'll see where it goes. Thanks for reading, and enjoy! This one is based loosely off Rick's hallucinations of Lori, etc. A short update for the girlies (gn). Expect some slowburn soon :)]]

"Y/N?" Beth spoke as you shifted around -Judith tied tight to your chest in a makeshift carrier (out of sheets for a few of the extra cells) so you could still do the rounds. She was under your care until further notice because of a cough she'd seemed to gather from someone.

"Beth, hey," you answered, relaxing slightly at the unrushed tone of her voice -you'd been waiting for the emergency to come. The one where your hands would shake and your breath would quicken, but you'd still remember exactly what to do.

It was a relaxing feeling, your body knowing better than your head -the stress of a life on your hands would make them shake, but your brain wouldn't stop the function.

Then, you looked at her.

"Beth? What's wrong?"

She frowned, biting at her bottom lip and you could see the shine of tears in her eyes, "Daryl saw Rick standing aimlessly in the yard. He said he was crying-"

"Okay, okay," you spoke, placing your hands on her shoulders, "-calm down. Did he seem lucid?"

"I don't- I don't know," she stuttered out, her tone shaky and just... scared, "-Daryl said he was getting too close to the fence. I mean, he can't be-"

"Alright," you took a deep breath, hoping to get her to match it, "-let's get you and Judith to Maggie, okay? And I'll go check on Rick."

Your steps were quick with a purpose, and it felt distantly like your life before. Instead of concrete and barbed wire fences, it was white hallways and the squeak of tennis shoes. It was nostalgic, almost, but it was short-lived.

"Maggie," you spoke, hushed, "-can you keep an eye on these two? I've got to-"

"I know," she answered, hugging Judith to her chest - eyes a bit fallen and a shine of fear as bright as you'd seen it. Your eyes flickered to behind her, where the big blue eyes you'd found familiar looked at you - Carl.

You nodded with your lips sealed, knowing Rick would've rather this be private. No one wanted their issues so plastered as his were. With a sensitive structure as the apocalypse could only create, seeing their leader in this state could only do harm.

Your steps echoed through the halls along the concrete as you made your way to the courtyard - which was still fenced in, but if you got too close...

Your feet sped up.

Daryl was along the outskirts of the fence, and probably the least composed you'd ever seen him, hands messing through his hair and fidgeting along his clothes.

"He's just-" his voice faltered, just slightly, "-just starin'."

Sure enough, Rick was in the courtyard -eyes distant as he faced away from you to, into an empty corner. He looked purposeful, though; his stance curved forward as his head hung ever so slightly -like it was resting against something but there was thin air in front of him.

"No," you spoke, focusing on the hum you could hear, "-he's speaking too. Whispers."

"Whose he talkin' too?"

You started at the man, his open defeat, vulnerability, and the gentle whisper of his tone. He could trust them, or at least he had once. Just then, in the way the sun landed across the field, his wedding band glimmered.

"I think I know."

Daryl didn't say anything else as you stepped forward into the area, slow and precise. You carefully stepped among the grass -just to avoid startling him. It could only worsen what he'd been experiencing or what you assumed he was.

"Rick?" You questioned, so soft it was almost a whisper. The man didn't move an inch, head still tilted forward, and eyes trained ahead of himself. He stood a fair bit away from any oncoming walkers, so the danger wasn't immense. You could take this as slow as you needed.

"Rick?" You hummed again, gentle and barely a tone above the first one.

You were close enough to hear him now, his tone was quiet, but you could hear it -a desperate plea, "I'm sorry."

"Rick..." you whispered, as close as you felt he'd be comfortable with at the moment, "Rick, can you hear me?"

He didn't move toward you or move his head at the sound, yet he responded -tone just a hair above a whisper, gravelly and distraught, "Yes."

"Okay, good," you spoke in response, "-who are you talking to, Rick?"

You had an idea, but confirming it could only help. Assessing the situation calmly was the main key to talking someone down in any sort of situation -other than comfort and making sure no one was getting hurt.

"Lori," he spoke, not necessarily in response, but more so pleading, "-god, Lori, I'm so sorry. I couldn't- I didn't protect you and Carl."

He was gulping through air, breaths becoming shallower and the tears falling faster. Now, was the time to intervene, as the walkers stirred against the fences -thrashing and hopeless.

"Rick," you spoke, tone calm and settled, "-what's going on with Lori?"

"I just," he spoke, so quick after your question, you weren't sure it was an answer, "I just wanted to apologize. I could've-"

"Rick," you hummed, "-just breathe. Lori's not..."

"I know," he spoke, gravelly and direct. His tone was cold, and you felt a sort of unsettled chill down your spine, "-I know, she's not..."

He faltered off, eyes more lucid now -the fog you'd once seen not quite there now, but not exactly looking at you. His hands fidgeting at his sides, and his eyes stayed focused on the ground below him.

You didn't want to overstay or cross a boundary, so you stayed put. There was still an intimacy there, as you watched Rick curl into himself -hands moving at his eyes as if to wipe away tears that weren't there yet.

"Has Carl..." he started up, the whispery drawl low and almost... desperate, "-did he see me like this?"

"No," you answered, soft and reassured.

He laughed, a little bitterly, as he placed his head in his hands. His posture sinking, and his breaths becoming deeper -you stayed still, "Good."

You hummed, and your brain was distant with its constant worries, you felt your heart speak for a moment, "Rick?"

He spoke then, soft and quiet, barely a word. You took this as a notion to continue.

"I'm sorry. No one... no one deserves to have that pain. Especially you and Carl. You're-" you faltered, losing your words, "It's not your fault."

Rick stayed still, the hollow hum of his breaths being the only thing that really gave you the clue he was breathing. And you didn't even really know if he was listening, but you decided to take a chance on it.

"It'll be easier," you spoke, voice a little unsteady, "-eventually. I... I know."

He stayed quiet there, for a few more moments. The only noise was the distant wails of walkers, and the buzzing of some bugs around you. As you pushed on your heart, letting it seap through just to give someone comfort. You'd lost a lot, and you didn't think you'd ever talk about it. Not now, at least.

In your urge to comfort him, you'd joined him in the grass -almost unintentionally, you navigated to him. It was natural to you, comforting someone in a tough situation. Soft words, well wishes, hopeful promises.

Then, as your heart clenched in your chest and your eyes fogged up in just... grief, your hand was suddenly warmer than it had once been. Your eyes flicked to your hand in alarm, dispelling what had come on just before and-

There it was, he was holding your hand.

The gesture was innocent, really, a rock between the two of you -a sort of solidarity. The blades of grass under your fingertips just as grounding, but this was personal. An acknowledgement that despite not knowing each other that well... there was support there between the two of you.

With the shakiness of an inhaling breath, you murmured -just as low as the buzzing of the bugs, "Thank you."

Rick didn't respond, and he didn't really need to then. You understood enough.