Mimi~

Mimi (she/her)|19| Eh im bored so i write something

[fatuismooches]

𝐦𝐮𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐮𝐦?

A collection of cute moments spent with the Segments and the original Zandik.

♡ the eight-year-old segment

♡ the eighteen-year-old segment

♡ the twenty-five-year-old segment

♡ the thirty-five-year-old segment

♡ the forty-five-year-old segment

♡ the sixty-five-year-old segment

♡ the original zandik

[writersisland]

Saying I love you without saying “I love you”

“Being around you makes every day just a little lighter.”

[fondly] “You're such an idiot.”

“Got you, always.”

“I can imagine growing old with you.”

“I could sit here and listen to you forever.”

“Let me take care of you.”

“Nothing makes me happier than being with you.”

“Of course I trust you.”

“Seeing you happy makes me happy.”

“Something about you makes me feel safe.”

“Stay for a bit?”

“Stop making me smile, dork.”

“Why didn't you tell me you were cold? Come here.”

“You mean everything to me.”

“You were in my dreams tonight.”

“You're my favorite person, just… ever.”

[szarina]

conflict of interestּ

it is every player's dream to wake up in the world of their otome game but not you, you're not the mc or the heroine of the game that was supposed to be you. in some twisted joke the universe decided for you — you get to live and survive the ruthless n109 zone where your main love interest resides.

── commissioned by @jamjyro

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִ content warnings. isekaid reader + nonmc + gun violence + depictions of disposing corpses + anxiety + coercion + blood + angst + there will be a part 2.

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִ notes. hey you all, it's been a long time since the last time I've posted. thank you very much for the patience and the support that you had given me through this difficulties of my life. i'm still adjusting and little bit struggling. once again, thank you very much for still sticking in this ghosty blog of mine.

Bang!

Shots are fired. Followed by the familiar deafening sounds of heavy machine guns rolling outside and the screech of wheels. You jolted awake that you almost roll and fall from your makeshift bed. What the hell is happening at this hour and in broad daylight? That was expected cause you live in the N109 Zone but you were still not used of the people here exchanging bullets.

But why? Why here? You want to scream in frustration as you crawled in the floor of the building you decided to be your base, a temporary home after being isekaid in a game that you play every single day. It's almost unhealthy from how you obsessed with it and then when you wanted to quit, you got thrown inside the game. What a stroke of luck. Funny. Ha-ha. The game fucking sent you to the unforgiven land of N109 Zone. How the hell can you survive when you got the survival skill of a hamster.

It was going to be fine if you possessed the body of your MC that you spent hours customizing to look like you or somewhat closer to what you look like and only to stare at a mirror and see your real life reflection cluelessly staring.

You spent the first hour agonizing on how you can survive. Thinking how nice if you have a somewhat useful Evol but you don't. You were fucked. You were clueless in where you are at first when you woke up in the middle of the road at first.

No clue in your surroundings until the gunshots came and the angry shouts. Superfucked. And that’s when you realized you were in the N109 Zone. Ultra duper superfucked. The tall buildings, moldy walls in the dark alleyways and there was some sort of shadows lurking in the walls.

It was hard for your first days. You were cold and hungry. Exhausted and clueless on where to start until you remembered Elysium. The place were information are exchanged and under the protection of Sylus.

Yeah, Sylus. Your main in the game and you didn't know what to feel. Knowing that you're not your MC and realized that MC is probably the custom avatar of the game. A far cry from your supposed MC or you. Technically you were MC when you're playing but this time you are not. You were starting to believe that you are not truly MC which is true.

Enough of that, if you want to survive you better start relying on your own and learn a few tricks to save your ass. You don't want to die in a foreign land, let alone a land in a fictional game that you're currently in.

You were about to embark in a journey when you remember you didn't have a trade. Elysium was for intelligent information, assassination and trade of arms and other illegal stuff and you don't do illegal. You can't even handle a gun or pull a pin on a grenade. Hacking? Not a plausible idea. You were only good at organizing documents in a computer.

You stopped in your tracks. Careful at your surroundings, your shoulders slump as you agonize on what trade you can offer in exchange for some lump sum of money or shelter or food or all of the above. You were good as a dead meat. You badly want to cry until a light bulb appeared in your head.

The game was basically your manual on how to survive the game or how to live in the N109 Zone. Although people like you won't survive long. It's either to rise in the ashes or drown in the murky waters.

You already finished the main story, starting from Sylus first appearance which made your heart go thump-thump and spent money that almost your whole salary in a month. You read the anecdotes, his myth. You knew everything about him. His personal life and his connection with MC and how he rules the N109 Zone. Onychinus was the top of the hierarchy here. You know how the Elysium operates so that's what you're going to do. Exchange some information about the future canon events that is yet to happen.

The problem is — it was suspicious. You can't really crash in Elysium and tell Aislinn, the bartender about it. Knowing she directly reports to Sylus and the reality that you weren't your MC — you were surely going to end up with a gun to your head. A stranger revealing secrets, it wasn't a ideal way but you really want to live and that weighs more than anything than the fear and so, standing in front of the Elysium — you entered with death’s hand at your shoulder.

For the better, it turned out good. You didn't reveal anything, someone beat you to the punch of revealing and opportunity opened up to you. Even the N109 Zone was lawless and chaotic, some gangs and organizations really didn't want to leave trace of the transactions that occurred in the hidden areas or the docks and warehouses that the deals takes place.

One of the patrons were looking for someone who can take care of that and you volunteered without a second thought. Your safety will be compromised with that line of work but they only is to keep your mouth shut and deal with the bloodied mess — you took it without hesitation. It was rare for someone to take that but you really need money to start or provide yourself with some basic needs and thus, you ended up in your current situation.

Bullets are flying everywhere and you're going to end up as a casualty if you don't move. You grabbed the classic Smith and Wesson handgun you keep even you don't know how to use it but only when the times comes you need to protect yourself. You didn't know it will come to this point.

You intentionally picked this place for your base. It was the abandoned place far from the chaos of the main zone and it wasn't really ideal for wars because it was very far and the terrain wasn't that good. Broken concrete roads and it can be really hot in the mornings. The surrounding buildings are covered with moss and the fauna was slowly taking over. It wasn't ideal for you to live in the area but it provides safety except now.

A stray bullet pierced to a glass window near you. The glass shatters as it broke and falls near your feet. Without a second thought you immediately crawl. Grabbing the small bag you keep under your bed when you need to run immediately. You grip it tightly as you stand up and bolted away from where you are. The building was still sturdy but the previous gang wars and the Chronorift Catastrophe left it to be abandoned like the other surrounding buildings.

As you descended from the stairs, you held the gun close to you. Your fingers finds the hammer of the gun and hearing the familiar click, you swallowed hardly. Tapping your varsity jacket pockets to check if you have the extra magazines in case you need to reload if you — you hope not, you have to fire in case of self defense.

God, why must you be transported in such a hostile place. You would accept to wake up in a hospital — preferably Akso Hospital and be declared as someone who had amnesia and is truly clueless of what's happening and maybe you can get a glimpse of Dr. Zayne.

You could have gone to Linkon City but you didn't have an identity with you and getting out of N109 Zone needs a special entrance and exit to be granted in order for a individual to leave. The No Hunting Zones was also a way to leave but there's a reason why it was a no hunting zone. It crawls with Wanderers and as a civilian with no Evol, there's a higher chance of you being butchered or succumb to the Flux Nexus.

You're basically a NPC in this world and that sucks more than anything. Where you isekaid here because your main was Sylus? A deepspace tunnel opened and it brought you here. You didn't want to know. It was really disheartening that you have to be here because your main was Sylus. It wasn't like you were hating him or being disappointed. You were basically thrown in a den of lions.

Somehow you managed to survive on your own by being the lackey or you like to call yourself, a cleaner for some of the powerful organizations. You have learned how to remove bloodstains without a trace. The bodies were taken care of by whoever availed your services to clean. You make sure the scene of the crime were spotless as if nothing happened and it was just the same cold and moldy warehouse or alley.

Anyways if you can't get out of this mess, you can kiss your life goodbye.

A sudden burst of adrenaline pumping in your veins made you maneuver the steep stairs and crumbly walls with such ease. Your palm sweaty as it slides in the cold railing. Your body felt like iron as you bump in the walls at every sharp turn. Not bad, self. You want to pat yourself in the back for being able to do such things at your plump stature. You feel like the main protagonist from the movie you used to watch and was it the reason you were here in the N109 Zone? You got the prowess for combat? Such tall tales and that was later proven wrong.

You were good at evading not fighting. That's what you're currently doing right now and you almost let out a breath of relief as you pushed the door in the ground floor. Stumbling in the process as your two feet became unsynchronized. A bullet flew right by and it almost sent you tumbling backwards. You badly want to cry. You're not really built for this.

It seems that your escape route hasn't been intercepted and they're far away from it. You can just run and go for it. Except when you're about to breakthrough — out of the corner in your eye — you caught the glimpse of him.

Sylus.

You can't be mistaken. It was hard to miss him. His name was spoken in whispers. In harsh words and in contempt because there's nothing more cruel than the one who rules the N109 Zone. The leader of Onychinus.

You avoided Sylus nor get involved with him. A civilian or rather a powerless human being in his world cannot survive and you cannot risk making enemies at the same time. You kept a low profile in the duration of your stay.

But to see your main love interests breathing and fighting his enemies in flesh made your chest bloom with warmth. The screen was your boundary between him and you. It was the closest you can ever have him. Pressing your fingertips in the cold screen of your phone and hope you can feel his warmth and hoped he can feel yours too.

He was so close and yet, out of your reach.

Suddenly, you were glued in the floor. Your body refusing to move despite your mind screaming for you to run off. Your legs are frozen. You cannot get involved with him. MC exists in this world andthey were destined for each other. He's waiting for her and you left that with the game's dynamics.

The sound of heavy rifles being loaded and the static ringing in the area and Sylus, there wasn't even much of a tremble or quiver in his movements. He was precise and calculated as he draws his gun. Easily replacing it with a new magazine. His dark glasses perched on his nose. He slides the rack before the sound of gunshot fills the air.

Wait, it's morning. Sylus should be asleep at this time and was only active in the night. Does this means he was overwhelmed and clearly ambushed? You run towards a nearly dilapidated beam. Assessing the situation and when you got a closer look, you notice the damp part of his dark collared shirt.

It wasn't visible but with the morning light and his movements that sways his leather jacket, you can see it. You remembered that Sylus can heal himself but he still get wounded and to get that wound — it must be deep for him to heal properly and he's currently bleeding under his clothes.

You did say you weren't going to get involved the moment you realized you weren't MC. Such matters would have sucked and in the time of care you deeply felt for him. Love will get you killed. Indifference will save you. That was the reason you survived upon being isekaid in the lawless land of N109 Zone.

Alas the moment you had fallen in love with Sylus that even the tiniest voice concern of why you shouldn't save someone just because they were in danger or rather they were the danger, it didn't matter.

Arriving at a resolution, you raised your gun. Pointing at him with a slight tremor in your arm and your palms sweaty that you might slip as you push the trigger. You can do it. You really can do it. You take a deep breath and with a exhale. You push the trigger and with a loud bang that resonated in the area — you hit your target.

He really can't say he was at his wit's end. He was Sylus. Ruler of the N109 Zone and being defeated at this foolish game of foolish people who wants him gone is a humiliation that will haunt him at his death. There's a rule among the residents of this land. It's to kill or be killed. And Sylus isn't going to get slaughtered like a lamb.

The sun's high and he was in a little pinch. His eyesight is made for the night and not in the light. He gives these men who managed to use their cards against him to corner the Onychinus leader. They were really pooling their meager resources to kill him but it wasn't enough although he can give them credits for getting a little smarter and Sylus isn't the one to back down from a fight.

He can give them a little recognition of such feat for injuring him. It was a stray bullet that found its way on his abdomen. He can heal — sure but being repeatedly injured, it stops. His shirt was soaking his blood and his enemies were closing in and then, in some twist or fate or luck or another person thirsty for his blood scrapes him by the shoulder with a bullet.

A stray bullet, maybe but whoever shot him and hitting the one who's closing him falling at the scorching road with a thud must be an amateur or was just really lucky for wounding him and maybe killing the other.

Before he can turn around to look at this one who's brave enough to take a shot, they grab his hand. Pulling them with force of urgency. They run, evading his enemies and although Sylus isn't the one back down from a fight, he knew he needed respite.

Turn after turn, him returning the rounds of bullets to his aggressors. He takes a look at this mortal who dared to save him. Navigating narrow alleyways and taking every sharp turns without pausing like you know every part of this place.

The gunshots have stopped, deciding that you successfully shaked them off. You take a look at his face. “There’s a nearby exit here. They probably don't know about the area and you will be safely get back in your own. I'll be going now. Goodbye.” You say with such firmness before running in the opposite direction without looking back.

You disappeared quickly in his sight. The black and white vision of you in your varsity jacket, boots clicking in the distance. Sylus was left with a strange feeling.

Who was this stranger who saved him and only to disappear on him?

Someone could have used this as a chance to curry favors from him. A chance to rise in the top cause the Onychinus leader never left being indebted to others and such act of saving him can bring fortune if he deemed you worthy but alas, he was only left in the abandoned street with no signs of life besides him. Reeling in the sensation of the stranger's soft hand that previously held his wrist.

No data found.

The screen of his laptop glares at him. No traces or evidence that stranger existed. He hacked every database around the world and no record are found about your identity. Are you a spy? A ghost? He knows you weren't a figment of his imagination that one morning. You were warm and you spoke to him.

You must have one cause despite being nonexistent to others or how much a person hides their identity — there will always be traces of a past of how a person lived no matter how much they try to bury it. The Onychinus searched for any activities that might have linked to you and why did you hole up in that kind of building.

He went back there. The buildings were riddled with bullets. Blood stains in the walls of what violence had occured in there. Investigating and leaving no spot untouched just to get a trace that you were there and you exist. What else could you have been doing there? Maybe you were running away from something or you just didn't like anything that relates to the ruthlessness of the place.

You were a mystery he wants to solve and any day now, you will appear. In the most of convenient or the most unwanted places but Sylus was sure that he will be meeting this stranger again.

“Boss, the scene's spotless. Kieran and I been searching for hours at that warehouse.” Luke's voice can be heard behind him as he stared at the screen. Sylus raises a brow. There's always a spot that's left untouched and he's been living in the N109 Zone for too long that after a bloody showdown, there's always dead bodies and shell casings littering on the cold floors.

Since when these bunch of nobodies started to clean up after themselves?

Well, this have been a occurrence of lately. Crime scenes are left clean. No bodies and not much left even a tiniest speck of blood. Whoever cleaning up these scenes are a professional. It's also hard to found out of whoever doing these are a group or individual but he can appreciate the cleanliness much it was a hassle for his operations. Everyone's evolving in the N109 Zone and he needs a little bit of an entertainment before the boredom catches up to him.

The district warehouse were huge. Larger than what you usually received from the organizations who avail your cleaning services. It was a mess but nothing you can't handle. Upon setting foot in the damp and cold warehouse with the scent of blood and gunpowder, you assess the mess.

Letting your OTTO fly and survey the scene. Scanning trails of blood that you have to manually clean and hidden dead bodies to be disposed of. Securing that there will be no marks or traces of DNA that will point the instigators of this conflict.

Scan completed.

Your OTTO cheerfully chirps at you and you began to slide the gloves in your hands and securing the shoe covers in your feet to avoid footprints that will link to you. You take the plastic sheet from your crate before rolling it to the moldy floors. This is where you will be putting the dead bodies and put them on the body bags you brought. Individually wrapping them up like spring rolls.

It was tasking for a individual work but doing it for months made your body stronger — strong enough to haul bodies heavier than yours. You began your work, stacking them up like building blocks and rolling them with a huff as you struggled cause why men looks like they're light and only to find out they're heavy with that kind of body. Even in death they were still dead weight.

After hauling the last body, you made your way to the blood trail with your handy cleaning tools along with a special solution. You were quick to learn for your trade of cleaning crime scenes for the organizations that pays you a lump sum of money enough to sustain you and sometimes they will throw an extra to a job well done which you always do.

You can always use the referral for your services. The quietness of the warehouse didn't bother you much. It was once a quiet night to work in and you doubt there will be anyone after such bloodied mess. You only focused on scrubbing the dried blood from the dry floor and sweep the dust to conceal the scent of your special solution. It wasn't that pungent but it didn't hurt to be extra careful. Discretion was your specialty.

The OTTO encircles the area and the humming sound coming from it was the noise you can hear while you busy yourself. Halfway through when it got too quiet and your OTTO was missing. You stopped in your tracks.

You remained crouching with a brush in your hand as you raised your head. Listening to any telltale signs or noise that you're not entirely alone in this warehouse. Perhaps the heavy footsteps or a puff of breath. Anything that may harm you but nothing and you thought that maybe your OTTO malfunctioned since it was really a old model that you managed to salvage cause you can't still manage to upgrade it.

You were about to finish anyway and so scrubbed the floor a little harshly until the blood has separated from the floor before sweeping dust all over it before you walked towards where you hear your OTTO humming.

It was behind the crates, you can see your OTTO was blinking lights and was roughened in the edges with claw marks. The sight of your half destroyed companion send shivers down your spine. It feels like you were surrounded but when you look around there was nothing. You swallowed. Your hands inside the gloves were starting to moist. The pit of your stomach feels like sinking.

Something dangerous is near and you can't really pinpoint where it is. You try to balance it out. The pros and cons of leaving for your safety but your job was still not done. You couldn't really risk losing the source of your living in the N109 Zone and besides you faced fear many times before. What's the harm of risking another?

Deciding that you really can't leave your job, you grabbed your broken OTTO and decided that it really needs a replacement and it's been long and it should rest for being your companion for a long time. Still, seeing it destroyed pains you.

Now you have to manually check that they will be no evidence that you've been here after your OTTO’s broken.

A step and sudden jolt of uneasiness strikes you again. Raising your head, you caught a glimpse of a familiar silhouette in the upper railings. The sound of flapping wings followed by a rather loud caw. Black feather slowly descending towards you and landing in your outstretched palm.

God, any minute now or seconds he will be appearing now.

Snap.

A swirl of black and red mist appears in front of you and just like that — your main love interest, leader of Onychinus and the one who rules the N109 Zone — Sylus stands before you.

Scared? Not really. You were blinking back tears because he was so close and your mind really decided to replay what he had gone through. Dying in the hands of his sorceress and not granting him death unless she allows it. Then, they found each other again. Both immortals dying in each other's arm and again, two children fighting to death and escaping to another planet and only to separate once again and he's here in front of you.

Standing tall and immaculate with the air of authority in his stature. Head held high and you can see the subtle glow of the Aether Core in his right eye. The reds of his eyes glimmer in the dim lit warehouse.

You take a step backwards, cradling your destroyed OTTO closer to you. Not daring to speak a word or look in his eyes.

“Just when I thought these fools has learned to be careful.” He muses. A faint smirk in his lips as he looks at you and the pile of dead bodies you were about to dispose behind.

“Maybe. I'm the only person here though. Cleaning out the mess.” You shrugged. Cradling your destroyed OTTO and walking towards your “cleaning van.” You gently put your companion in a crate before grabbing the brush again to continue cleaning. Wiping the sweat off in your forehead with the back of your arm.

Sylus remains silent. Following your every movement under his gaze about this person who was unintentionally ignoring him and going back to your job. Not even an ounce of fear behind those tired eyes. Were you feigning ignorance of the truth that you saved him? The leader of Onychinus and the feared man of the N109 Zone. That matter didn't seem to bother you.

“Do you know that when people save someone they expect something in return?” He began. Baiting the person in front of him for a favor. “It’s a chance for them to rise in this wasteland.”

“I’m managing.” You pragmatically answered even when your heart is beating fast cause you know secrets in this world and you really don't want to involve yourself with Sylus. You were living quietly and you badly want to get out of this world or maybe ask him to get you a identity to live in Linkon but that would raise suspicions cause why would you ask for a identity. It's either you're a criminal or someone who doesn't belong in this world.

He also didn't belong in this world but wherever MC is, he follows. A flower who still bloomed beautifully in a different soil.

His expensive cologne wafts in the air. His shoes scraping the dust in the floor. His coat swaying every movement and it's enough to intimidate you and you hope you're calm in the outside.

“Oh really.” His voice lowers into a timber and oh, it was really different from his secret times and tender moments, you want to squeal so bad if it wasn't for the implication that he's already smelling your bullshit.

“You want to go home. Why is that?” You swallowed. You cursed the goddamn Aether Core in his eye that can see the desire of someone. It's true. You've been wanting to go home since you got isekaid here.

“I’m not from here. Just a terrible luck.” You confessed under the intensity of his gaze but still withholding the secret you have. You're not easy to crack but Sylus can read you like an open book.

He hums in understanding. Not forcing you to give the details of your life cause he will be the one to know it. “I don't like the feeling of being indebted from someone below me.”

“You’re not indebted to me.” You briefly paused. Daring to steal a glance before focusing the task in your hand.

“My body choose to move that day when I could have run. I have no intention of saving you.” You say in a matter-of-factly. “I don't want to involve myself to someone powerful and if you feel indebted.” Swallowing the imaginary lump in your throat. “There is one thing you can do.”

You look at him straight in the eyes.

“Leave me alone.”

Sylus raises his eyebrows. He can't brush it off why you were so adamant not being involved with him when people got the leverage to do business or something simple as favor they rush but you — you were rushing to get out of his hair.

Leave you alone? There is really something wrong and Sylus sharp instincts knows better than to grant it. To call it quits. You were also calm and composed when facing him aside from the sudden beats of your heart that he can hear.

You didn't also run the moment he made his appearance which people usually do upon meeting him. Maybe is it because you know he can't harm you after saving him that one morning. N109 Zone wasn't really that barbaric and there's sliver of morals that are still practiced.

You can't kill someone unless they're the first to draw blood or unless it was contractual and the killing is ordered. Sylus has disposed people that betrayed him or were hindering his plans.

Besides you look amateur but Sylus isn't someone to really judge based on how you look. It was finding the value of someone and with some pressure you could be a coal turning into a pearl with the right pressure.

You didn't quite grasped how the N109 Zone works and you choose the job to clean the aftermath of every shootouts and doing the dirty work of disposing corpses. You were only surviving base on your skills and Sylus can use some of your talents.

“That would be impossible, dove.”

His eyes narrowing, clearly intrigued cause it was looking into a blank slate but is packed with so much color.

He can see how you freeze for a second. Hands trembling like you were hiding a secret and the next question confirms his suspicion.

“Who are you?” Ruby red eyes stares at you. Waiting for you to crack and this where Sylus would have normally put you in a gun point. Forcing you to reveal yourself but can you really? Will he believe you? That he was only a pixelated character in a game. A otome game that doomed you for loving him? Whereas you were supposed to be the MC, the player but when you saw your reflection you were just you.

Nothing special like the MC. Not a badass hunter. Not someone's childhood friend. Not someone's bride or a princess. Not a knight nor a queen. Not a sorceress who didn't allow her dragon to truly die and be destined together with every lifetime.

You were you. A regular human who didn't possess a extraordinary power. You were someone who was flawed. Trying to survive in a place that won't be merciful to someone weak.

“It’s none of your business.” Closing the doors of your van after hauling the dead bodies to dispose of with a loud thud. If you were somewhat decent you wouldn't have shown Sylus such hostility. You know what he's capable but being cornered by him — yeah — you should be squealing or be flustered cause it was Sylus, you were in no position because you were in a dire situation and your existence doesn't contribute to the storyline of this world, including MC and his.

You also can't really tell him you're from the other world. It might be catastrophic. You don't really want to stray from canon events and the first step is to stay away from Sylus.

You were about to open the door of your van to get away. You were an inch of pulling that handle until thin red and black mists coils around your wrist. Preventing you from moving your hand.

You look at him in disbelief. Scoffing as you try to pry the tendrils of his Evol wrapped around your wrist. “Really?” You take a step forward. “Is this how you treat people who disagrees with you!?”

Sylus remains nonchalant. Although there's a hint of amusement and curiousity behind his eyes. You weren't perturbed at all with his Evol but he can give you the benefit of the doubt. “Not really. Usually they end up dead.” His hand moves manipulating it to pull you.

“Assuring but can you let me go? I really don't want anything from you. Let just call it quits, please?” You pleaded. The sleeves of your varsity jacket crumples as you try again to get out of his grip. “I still have to finish my job.” Biting your lip anxiously as you desperately look at your van. The bodies are going to rot now before you can dispose of them.

“The twins can take care of it.”

“How can Luke—” Your eyes widens, biting your tongue at your slip up. You forgot that no one really knows what the twins names are except Sylus. They were his henchmen after all and a stranger — you was the final nail in the coffin.

“Interesting.” His lips curve into a smirk and you know what it means. “You and I are going to have a long conversation.” Giving you no room to retaliate or defend yourself. It was useless anyways, no one really escapes him and you hope that you can still get out. Alive.

The hallways were dark. The warm light of the wall sconces was the source of the light. You get the idea that Sylus is taking you to the dining room where he once eviscerated someone after a disagreement and finding the other person was trying to take both sides and Sylus does not like traitors.

You were walking behind him. His Evol long deactivated cause he knows you can't run even as you try to look around for possible escape routes and you really can't even you want too. His windows are a no-no. You don't want to plummet to your death from the top floor.

Sylus pushes the door. Inside were the sleek black marble top table with two candles lit in the candelabra. A deep red velvet chairs upholstered. Everything was Sylus's taste that you saw in his bond memories where he and MC stays. Your remember their little banters and how bossy he was.

It brings a smile to your face as you take the surroundings of the room. Luke and Kieran were probably wrecking your van. They were making you jobless in the Zone. You hoped that your van will still be returned in one piece.

“Sit.” He orders you and you complied without hesitation. Sylus can be impatient and being stubborn will probably get your neck choked. Settling in the chair, it was remarkably soft. You can't remember the last time you sat in something plush. Concrete stairs and crates in warehouses were your chair. The cold floor of the temporary base you set up covered with a old mattress was your bed.

Sylus stands behind the counter. Pulling glasses to pour a drink for himself and to you. “Let’s get started with a simple conversation.” The glass clinks as he puts on cubes of ice. “I ask you a question and you will answer me.”

“Okay.” He hears you murmur. Your posture was rigid. Legs bouncing out of nervousness in the chair. Chewing on your lips and your hands were hidden in the sleeves of your jacket like you were put in a straitjacket but he knows you were scratching your skin.

You were guilty as you look. Actions don't lie. Or maybe you were anxious. He got something to ease you up. “Here.” Nudging the glass in front of you. The amber liquid sloshing with the ice. You take it. He's probably making you loosen your tongue which is maybe going to work.

His eyes follows your movement. Bringing the glass of whiskey in your lips and your nose scrunches at the sharp aroma. He watch as you look at him before breaking eye contact and taking a swig of the drink and the reaction was immediate.

Sharp violent coughs shook your whole body. Your eyes watering as the liquid burned down your throat. You used your arm to cover your mouth while you coughed. God, what kind of humiliation the universe is putting you through and in front of Sylus.

“Who are you?” He began to question you and you glare at him. Wiping the corner of your mouth with the sleeve of your jacket. “A stranger.” Coughing up the last bits as you try to draw out the bitter taste.

You really don't want to lie but you were not in your world and you were afraid that you were going to disrupt the timeline of this story. You didn't want to be a huge spoiler or accidentally trigger a effect that will rip the balance of this world.

Sylus looks at you blankly. “What are you doing in the warehouse?”

“Trying to make a living. I can't survive here unless I do something.” Rubbing your knuckles in your eyes.

“Let’s get back to my former question. Who are you?” His voice are dripping with venom and you watch the subtle twitch of his hands and the next thing will be is he's blowing your head off.

“You want to know? I'm just some unfortunate soul who got here.” Pursing your lip in a thin line. Conflicted on how to process your emotions. You were scared, frustrated and angry. You shouldn't have saved him.

“And now you’re going to ask why I knew Luke and Kieran.” You paused for a bit. The confession is going to give you a headache. “You're a pixelated game character on my world.”

And the headache begun. He only raised his brows like you were just messing up with him. “I know how ridiculous it sounds but it's true.”

“You don't believe me? You're Sylus Qin. You're a wanted criminal in Philos and you escaped from Tartarus.” You began to explain. Legs bouncing anxiously with every tick of the clock. Sylus was practically a weapon ready to fire at any moment.

“Want to know more? You manipulated Miss Hunter to kill you when she was a sorceress and you were a dragon. You were ostracized from your own kind. You can't die unless she allows you to. You were also children too. Fighting to death in the arena with the other children and when it's down to both of you — you made the decision to escape and she did too but you two got separated.” ‎You revealed. “Is that enough?”

‎He didn't say anything else as if convinced. ‎“How did you end up here?”

‎“I don't know. I just woke up in the middle of the road.”

‎Sylus didn't press anything more. As far as he knows you're an anomaly.

‎”Can I leave now?” You asked. Thinking this interrogation is done and you really don't want to disrupt this world. Afraid that if you interfere some butterfly effect would activate and all of this world are going to be doomed. The plot was really important and every decision of the characters either make or break.

You waited for his response. Thinking of the van that are being used by the twins. You hoped that they know where to dump the bodies and your van isn't being banged up. The source of your income and means of survival rests on how they treat your van.

“I'm afraid that's not going to happen.”

“W-waa—what? Why!?” Eyes wide in disbelief. Your brows are raised and with the little shot of that alcoholic unnerved you in ways that you didn't know you can.

You look at him like you hit your head (which you already did by thunking your forehead in the top rail of your chair) and find that he's real ugly but he's not. He's hot. Infuriatingly hot. You can't count how many times you fantasize kissing Sylus and moisturize that dry lips of his.

You wanted that when he was on your screen and now, you're not, maybe a little. Get a grip! You tell to yourself but you dread about this — of not being able to leave. You're going to be in the front row and watch the world fuss about MC. The next days are going to be the start of her story with Sylus. Their first meeting.

“You're an anomaly in this world.”

Your heart drops. Of course, you're an anomaly. Sylus must have analyzed you or searched for your identity and to only find nothing.

“You know a lot about of things going around here and I can't have you running around with that kind of information.” He reasons, taking a step towards you.

“I'm basically a NPC in this world. I don't see the relevance of me being here.” You counter. Pressing your forehead in the back of the chair because you really didn't want to be involved with him.

“What if I say, I don't want to?”

“You really don't have a choice here, kitten.”

“Fuck.” You muttered, running our reasons to use. “I have a job around here. I can't have you bossing me around. I won't also ask for a compensation.” Referring to your destroyed OTTO and your van that is going to be thrashed by the twins. You can always start. You survived your first day and managed to live this long.

Sylus can see the reluctance in you. Mixed with the desperation of not wanting to get involved with him. He's a dangerous man. Money isn't really a problem for him and he can get you a nice place to live and a brand new van and the latest OTTO catered to your needs. When in reluctance, give them the assurance.

“Is cleaning up dead bodies and blood that fun?” Your eyes flickers towards him. “Not really but it keeps my stomach full and meets my basic needs. Shelter I have plenty.” Rubbing your arm in an attempt to comfort yourself. Eyes a little droopy and your lips curled into a frown.

Living in the N109 Zone with no means of being the strong was your struggle. It was life or death for you.

“I have a proposal.” When you can't convince someone, you put the stakes higher. Sylus continues as he noticed you tilt your head. Interested at the proposal he was about to make.

“You will be provided everything you need. You shall never starve or work for your food. I will give you shelter. You can hole up in one of the rooms here. I have plenty. You will have a identity you desire. A clean slate for you to start somewhere new.”

“That's preposterous for someone like you, Sylus.” Shaking your head as you try to think about what to do before looking back at him. “I can't be near you. I'm a walking spoiler.” You swallowed as if there's something stuck in your throat.

“If information is what you want of future events, I can't tell you about it. I won't disrupt the natural order of this world.” Pulling your jacket and standing up. Putting back the chair in its right place.

“The only mistake I did was to save you.”

“Is that so?” He hums.

Thinking of what he should do about you. “Such trivial matters don't bother me. You're not really disrupting anything and I won't ask for information.” You can see the brief flicker of light passing through his right eye where the Aether Core is placed.

“Work for me. You'll get more benefits than what you wished for.”

He watched as you hesitate. You will still have a choice with the proposal he suggested. You are free to operate around his area and maybe he'll take you as a secretary. It's unlikely you'll betray him. You're smart for your own good to betray as someone powerful like him.

It didn't take long for a few seconds for you to decide.

“Fine.”

The smirk on his face grew wider.

You gave the arrangement six months.

It shouldn't be too long or less. You wanted Sylus to make it shorter because any time soon or any day, he and MC will cross paths and even you wanted to witness their long-awaited reunion — you just can't.

Because what kind of bullshit of people telling you that you are MC in your world and to find out you were the anomaly in this world even you accepted it that you really can't be MC with the game having her life determined and the routes of the story written. MC may have your face in the game but you can never be her.

It sounds bitter but this was your reality. You're not about to witness their love when you have a life to live. A few months staying under his base is the thing you have to live through. You didn't understand why Sylus has to take you under his wing.

You did say you weren't tell him about the future happenings or any information that will about to happen. Probably he's getting bored and what's a little fun to observe a anomaly for his entertainment.

That's your sentiment but you know Sylus isn't that cruel to treat you as one. He may have his reasons and you will never know any of it.

The least you can do is stay put until there's a change of events. It's a matter of time before the story line of the game will start to happen and when MC has grown curious about the N109 Zone and Sylus.

The Onychinus base was huge. Well, huge is an understatement. It's a whole fricking building and despite that doing nothing means you're penniless. Sylus did tell you that the commodities in the building are free to use but a week after almost exploring the whole base — you found yourself restless.

You've been on the run the moment you were transported in this world. Always thinking for ways to survive. Hustling to get by and earn that money that was essential for your job and puts a food in your table. You were always on the lookout for jobs that needs your specialty. It's pay per transaction and you take pride in your work.

Abandoning your livelihood means abandoning your security. There was no discussion about it between you and Sylus even he did say you will work for him, there was really nothing about the job description and you hate to think you were freeloading to him.

So you did what you know best — accepting a clean up job. The pay was huge. The bigger the money they offer the messier and complicated it was but you didn't care. Money is money. You take the keys of the van Sylus owed you after the twins has trashed it like you expected.

You begin to drive towards your destination after picking up a new stash of cleaning supplies you have hidden in one of your hideouts.

The building wasn't that ruined when stepped out of your van. It changed by the times and the lack of maintenance made it unsuitable for moving.

You began to unload the supplies from your bag. Securing the roll of plastic wraps and duct tapes. A makeshift cart that contains all of your cleaning materials with some strong chemical that's enough to knock someone out when inhaled.

The scene that greeted you were something out of a horror film or some sci-fi you used to watch back in your world.

Bloody was the least you will used to describe the scene. It was beautiful. If you can ignore the lifeless bodies impaled with ice spikes. The paleness of the blues of ice mixes with the red. Creating a almost whimsical look like a blood red moon.

You guessed that you find anything as visceral as this normal after cleaning up places. Murder with the use of Evol wasn't unheard of, you've clean plenty of it and disposed mutilated bodies that was almost beyond recognition. You've also thrown bodies or parts of one in a single trash bag.

Time is the essence and even with the structured ice Evol, it was starting to melt and when ice are thawed — everything's going to be bloody from here and so you began to take your trusty lightsaber-esque equipment that's good for cutting through metal, bones and of course, ice. As long they're solid it gets the job done.

The smell didn't even bother you. It was like meat that you left to defrost and forgot to take it out for cooking and it starts to go bad. It's worse for you the first time but the fear of not being able to survive gets you out of that disgust.

Pressing the button of your tool, it shortly crackles — bursts and emits a bright orange glow and then you start to cut through flesh and bone.

It's good to know that you're still capable.

After that work and clean up, you were done for the day, night. You still didn't regulate your sleeping hours even with the comfortable place Sylus provided for you at the base and paired with restlessness.

Driving back to Onychinus base made you uneasy, sure you move places to places and sometimes settled for months but a month in Sylus's base didn't feels like something you can live with. You were grateful but coming back to the base is still unfamiliar territory for you.

Attachment creates dangerous conflicting feelings and having known danger and how powerful attachment can be — you ignored.

It's the reason why you keep the interaction to Sylus minimal except when it's necessary and you can't avoid him without being too obvious.

You surely can't start catching feelings for him even he's your main love interest in the real world and when he's a game character. But how about when he's real and you're near him? That you can hear his voice, can touch him and talk to him? Can you not really fall in love? And there's MC.

But it's difficult when you're in his world and living in his base where any chance you can bump into him and it happened the moment you were about to retreat in your room. The hallways were big but it connects to everything.

You were about to turn when you almost bump into Sylus. The familiar outfit that he almost dons everyday in your home screen is what he wore. "Hey." You awkwardly greeted him. Gripping the hem of your sweatshirt that reeks with the scent of blood and chemicals for cleaning.

"I thought you might have escaped.”

Liar. He knows where you are and he knows your circumstances. You can't leave him. Not yet.

“As you can see, I can't. I'm powerless.” You murmur.

There's a moment of awkward silence but it might be you until Sylus broke it.

“Care to join me for lunch, dove?”

You didn't know why Sylus started to call you dove but maybe he was referring you to one like the dove MC rescued and was put in his care temporarily in the Nightplumes card. It didn't happen yet but the cards are connected to the future events after their meeting.

You refused. “No, thank you. I'm not really—” Your stomach betrays you, growling like you haven't eaten for days. “— hungry.” You finished to say with your cheeks burning hotly from embarrassment.

Sylus chuckles and you badly want to jump out outside the window and plummet to your death.

“Do you really find me insufferable?” He asks, his eyes narrowing although there's a lilt.

“Insufferable? No. I don't find you like that or anything.” He's many things but insufferable. You mumble, concealing the expressions that might show in your face as your brain panics.

“Good. It would be a bad thing if my guest finds me intolerable.”

Turns out Sylus has already set up the table in the terrace. His chef, you meet him the second day in your stay in Sylus's base and asked you what you wanted to eat. The Onychinus leader told you that you have permission to use the kitchen or ask the chef whatever you felt like eating.

You absolutely remember the terrace it was shown in the kindle of his first myth card where he taught MC on how to improve her combat skills. Knowing the terrace part of the base is where Sylus sometimes took his meals.

If you did suddenly get back home, you have a lot of things to brag as you take your sit across "Boss-man Sylus."

It's not like everyday is an opportunity to share a table with Sylus, the most desired love interest in your world.

“How was your work today?”

“Grotesque but it's nothing that I can't handle.” You shrugged, taking your cutlery and mimicking Sylus's gesture as he began to eat.

You have quite the appetite despite the scene earlier. Your stomach has gotten thick overtime as you took that line of work.

"I assume someone has gone rouge.”

“If you would put it that way.”

He hums. Gently twirling the glass of wine and the red liquid sloshed inside of it. He takes a sip before resuming on his meal. You had done the same and the taste of wine made your taste buds burst into these tiny quantities of flavors you can taste.

Amusement glimmers in Sylus's eyes. Watching you taste something that you're not accustomed to. You told him that back in your world you have a job that covers your expenses and an extra for some indulgence.

Your indulgence was getting all his cards.

“Do you find your room comfortable?” He pries.

“Yes, thank you.” You whispered. Meeting his gaze to show how sincere you are. You missed having a real bed not the make shift beds you have to temporarily sleep with.

“You really didn't need to spend much on me. I'm not staying that long.” Reminding him of your arrangement.

Sylus chuckles. “I'm not the one to forget, dove.” Leaning on his chair and crossing his legs. “You plan to go back in your job?” His eyes narrows at you.

“Maybe. I didn't really asked you about the details when you said that I'm working for you.” You told him. Putting your fork down cause you know where this conversation is being headed.

“How about as my secretary?” He says without a beat. The way he says it was the same as he speaks in the game and you would have accepted it within a heartbeat if it wasn't for the position you are in.

“Me?” You asked, hoping you misheard it or your ears was playing tricks. “Your secretary? You don't even know me that much to be entrusted with that kind of work.”

“I don't need to know what kind of person you are.”

“I know you're not the one to make stupid decisions and I'm not going to doubt your judgement but even I am an anomaly in this world there's a chance that I will betray you.” You say, gripping the table cloth. Well, there's no betrayal that's going to happen but it was an excuse and a reason not to get closer to him.

Sylus smirks. You can see the amusement flickering all over his eyes at what you said. You were getting more interesting as the seconds pass and Sylus likes who he deemed interesting.

“People who plan to betray me don't tell me they're betraying me. You’re selling yourself short, dove.” He pauses, crossing his legs underneath the table while he waits for your response.

He can see that you were still torn and hesitating.

“Take this offer and I'll make sure it will be worthwhile for the both of us.”

Is what he said and now, you're thinking that doomsday is already ahead in the game with you interfering. You hope that Sylus stays canon with MC and the original plot still intact.

May Astra or whatever deity send you back home before you disrupt the world with your existence.

[gumsbear]

➤ night cuddles with megumi and his dog

w/c: 224.

the night was still young, both you and megumi decided to end it early.

at around 9:24pm. megumi insisted that he was exhausted from previous missions, and just waking up in general he didn't explain how he felt well, and that resulted into his face buried in your chest, clinging onto you. long arms wrapped around your waist securely, like he's afraid you'll leave.

"mm... you're so warm baby." megumi mumbles into the quiet room, before he buries his face into your neck, seeking comfort. "gumi are you okay?" you whisper softly, but with worry in your voice, threading your fingers through his soft strands, providing a comfortable rhythm with each brush, your boyfriend has been unusually distant lately, he's always been a closed off person but. now it's worrying you how closed off he is with you.

"yeah." he says simply, quietly, barely audible even in the silent room, you hear heavy footsteps pad closer to your bedroom, against the tiles you shift a bit in alert not loosening your hold on megumi one bit, if anything your grasp tightens around him. before you realize it's just kon, megumi's dog. who enters the bedroom.

megumi feels you tense, "what's wrong?" he murmurs quietly into the nape of your neck, not bothering to lift his head up to check who came into the bedroom, he always recognizes that same padding, "nothing... kon just scared me." you murmur back, in response. "how so?" he questions softly, looking genuinely confused, you poke his nose, he flinches at the gesture at first.

"well sorry i don't memorize his footsteps like you do!" you say jokingly, rolling your eyes. he stares blankly at you into the dark room, before you hear a heavy thump! weight sinking down into the soft mattress, kon laying on your legs. "what the—" you cut yourself off immediately after looking down at his dog, he's adorable curled up on the shared bed, megumi doesn't even bat an eyelash, like he's use to this on the daily.

"stop talking... im trying to sleep." megumi murmured again, into your neck, nuzzling closer into your body warmth, seeking more comfort.

he's really clingy today...

you find it cute, bringing your hand away from megumi's head for a second to pet kon, his soft black and white coat smooth against your finger tips, kon leans into the touch, falling deeper into his slumber, megumi groans at the loss of touch, "mmph..." he mumbles before he brings your hand back towards his head, prying it off of kon.

"gumi— why are you so clingy tonight." he doesn't reply, nuzzling deeper into your neck, he always goes possessive over you, or becomes randomly clingy when he's jealous.

"are you jealous of your dog getting attention!?" you say with mock anger, though there's no real heat behind your words, he rolls his eyes, you thread your fingers through his strands again. looking down at kon, he's deep in sleep not knowing whats going on around him, "idiot." megumi mumbled into your neck before his breathing evens out.

god, what're you going to do with the both of them?

[gumsbear]

like this up, or you're all getting touched.

[yellow-lampshade]

aang x lost airbender reader (legend of aang) - not full version

full version is on my blog!

—-

You’ve never had a family or a connection to anything other than that tower. It was the only thing that had any significant information on your heritage. The only family you had… you never had to hide your airbending in this place and you always felt more relaxed within its cold walls.

One day, you’re repairing a cracked section of wall. The wind keeps slipping through the stones, teasing at your focus. You’re tired.. more tired than you should be, and your hands shake as you work.

That’s when you feel it.

Someone steps onto the temple grounds.

Your heart stutters. Your thoughts scatter. Wind billows around you as you back up slowly against the wall.

A shadow followed by a person emerges from a corner near the entrance and with it a gust of wind.

It curls around your ankles, nervous and uncertain, like it’s testing the air around him. A tall man with blue arrow tattoos and massive shoulders freezes mid-step, staff tipping forward as his gray eyes widen.

Wind didn’t do that anymore. Not on its own.

“Whoa—” he mutters, face flushed with excitement.

You’re already backing away.

Hands up. Spine pressed to the stone wall of the ruined temple corridor. Your breath comes fast, shallow, like a trapped bird. You didn’t mean to bend… didn’t mean to let it slip, but the second you sensed someone, the air reacted before you could stop it.

The man in front of you is… impossible.

Bald head, blue arrow tattoo, orange-and-yellow robes that look both ancient and brand new somehow. He’s staring at you like you personally hung the moon.

“You—” he blurts, pointing. “You felt that too, right? The wind—no, wait, that was you—YOU DID THAT—”

You flinch.

“Don’t come any closer,” you say quickly, voice shaking despite your effort to sound tough.

He immediately stops. Like, immediately. Hands up. Sheepish grin.

“Oh! Right. Sorry. I forget people don’t always like being charged at by strangers.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Hi. I’m Aang.”

That name punches the air from your lungs.

Avatar Aang. The last Airbender. The kid you were warned about in hushed voices.

Your face heats. You swallow.

“I—I’m not an airbender,” you lie. The wind huffs around you, offended. Aang’s grin spreads so wide it’s ridiculous.

“Oh wow,” he laughed. “You are really bad at lying.”

You glare. “I said don’t come closer.”

“I’m not coming closer!” he says, still vibrating with excitement. “I’m just—wow. You’re real. You’re actually real. I’ve been searching everywhere for any trace of airbending and you’re just—here.”

He gestures vaguely at you, then at the entire universe.

Your anxiety spikes. “I don’t want trouble. I don’t want to be found. I don’t want—” your voice catches, “—to be taken.”

Something in his expression softens instantly.

“Oh,” he says quietly. “Hey. No. I’d never.”

You risk meeting his eyes.

He looks… earnest. Bright. Younger than you expected. And somehow unbearably kind.

“I know what it’s like,” Aang continues. “To be the last one everyone’s looking at. To feel like if you mess up, you’ll lose everything.”

Your chest aches as you watch his eyes soften.

“I’m not here to force anything,” he adds quickly—then ruins the calm by blurting, “BUT CAN I PLEASE ASK WHERE YOU LEARNED THAT BECAUSE IT WAS PERFECT FORM AND ALSO DO YOU KNOW HOW RARE THAT IS AND—”

“Stop!” you backed away again, flustered beyond belief.

He clamps his mouth shut.

“…Sorry.”

Despite yourself, a startled laugh escapes you. You slap a hand over your mouth, horrified.

Aang lights up like he just won a Pai Sho tournament.

“You smiled!” he says.

“I did not.”

“You did! That counts as progress.”

You shake your head, cheeks blazing. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I get that a lot,” he says proudly, then squints. “So… what’s your name?”

“…YN.”

Aang repeats it like it’s invaluable.

“YN,” he echoes. “I’m really glad I found you.”

You fidget, suddenly unsure where to put your hands—or your eyes.

“I’m scared,” you admit. Quietly.

“I know,” he says. “You don’t have to stop being scared.”

Then he grins again, entirely too close now.

“But you do have to get used to me being around. Because I’m not going anywhere. I can’t wait to introduce you to my friends!”

“Friends?” You feel your shoulders start to loosen. “Are there more of us?”

Aang’s eyes saddened through his ever present smile. “Well no, but these guys are like family. I hope you can be friends with them!”

The wind swirls gentler this time around your hair. Curious. Hopeful. Maybe you did have a chance at a normal life.

UPDATE!!! IN PROGRESS WORKING ON A FF TO FULLY FLESH OUT THIS STORY DONT WORRYYYY!!!

UPDATEEE - ITS DONE

[multi-fandom-imagine]

𝗜 𝗰𝗮𝗻’𝘁 𝗹𝗼𝘀𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂 || 𝗔𝗮𝗻𝗴 ||

A/n: Avatar Aang 👀, why does he look so fucking good in this state.

The old temple groaned around them, ancient stone trembling under the force of bending colliding in every direction. Dust choked the air, pillars cracked, and the mountain itself seemed to breathe with every impact. You could taste the age of the place dry, brittle, sacred and now it was being torn apart.

Aang stood at the center of it all, his body moving with precision, robes snapping around him as he redirected a blast of earth with a sweeping motion of air. He looked older now, stronger. His once soft, boyish features had sharpened into something resolute, but there was still that same heart in his eyes… that same warmth.

Until you screamed.

It wasn’t even loud. Barely more than a sharp breath forced from your lungs as a rogue earthbender’s attack caught you off guard. The ground beneath your feet shattered, and the force hurled you backward off the edge of the crumbling temple platform.

“Aang—!”

Your fingers reached for him.

He was too far and to him time seemed to slow as you begin to fall.

Aang tried, god he tried to move, wind rushing by as the world narrowed down to just you, your body falling, your expression shifting from shock to pain as you hit the lower ledge hard, the sound sickening. Then stillness.

Too still.

Something inside him broke.

When Aang landed beside you, it wasn’t gentle.

Stone cracked beneath his feet, air bursting outward in a violent ring as he dropped to his knees. His hands were already on you, frantic, shaking as they hovered over your injuries like he didn’t know where to touch without hurting you more.

“Hey!!! hey, look at me—” His voice wasn’t steady. It wasn’t even close.

Your eyes fluttered, unfocused, breath uneven.

“Aang…”

“I’m here,” he said immediately, voice cracking as he pulled you closer, cradling you against his chest like if he held you tight enough, you wouldn’t slip away. “I’ve got you. You’re okay....you’re okay—”

Blood.

There was too much blood.

Your head lolled slightly against him, your body slack in his arms.

And then...Silence.

The air shifted, suddenly.Violently.

As Aang went still.

Then his grip tightened.

When he lifted his head, his eyes were no longer gray.

They were glowing.

Pure, blinding white.

The arrow along his scalp ignited in the same ethereal light, and the wind around him screamed to life, spiraling outward with a force that made the entire temple shudder.

“No…” Katara whispered from above, already scrambling down toward you. “Aang! no, not like this—”

But he wasn’t hearing her.

He wasn’t hearing anything.

The Avatar State had taken him.

When he rose, he did so slowly, still holding you for just a moment longer before gently, so carefully it almost didn’t match the storm around him as he laid you down.

And then he turned.

The rogue benders barely had time to react.

The first wave hit them like a violent storm. Air slammed into them with hurricane force, ripping them off their feet and sending them crashing through pillars. Earth followed, the ground splitting and surging upward in jagged spikes that trapped and crushed. Fire ignited around him in a roaring ring, wild and untamed, while water from deep within the mountain tore free and lashed out like whips.

He wasn’t fighting anymore.

He was ending it.

“Aang!” Sokka shouted, barely dodging a flying chunk of debris. “He’s gonna level the whole damn mountain if we don’t stop him!”

Toph’s stance faltered for half a second, her feet pressed to the shaking ground. “He’s not just bending… he’s tearing it apart. I can feel it.”

Zuko gritted his teeth, fire already flickering at his hands as he looked toward Aang and hesitated. “…If he doesn’t stop, there won’t be anything left.”

Katara reached you first, her slashing a piece of stone with water as she then dropped to her knees, hands already glowing with healing water as she pressed them gently to your side, her breath hitching when she felt the extent of your injuries.

“Stay with me,” she murmured, voice tight. “You’re not leaving him. Not like this.”

Your eyes barely opened, your lips parting weakly as another explosion echoed above.

Aang.

Your gaze shifted, unfocused but searching.Katara followed it and understood.

“…You have to call him back,” she said softly, leaning closer. “He won’t stop unless you do.”

Above, Aang hovered now lifted by a violent cyclone of air, his body rigid, eyes blazing as he raised his arms.

The mountain answered.

Stone cracked.

The entire structure began to collapse inward.

“Aang…” Your voice was barely there, horse but it cut through everything.

The wind stuttered.

Just for a second.

“…Aang…..please."

His body froze mid-motion, the glow flickered.

“I’m… okay…”

You weren’t. Not even close. But you forced the words out anyway, your hand weakly lifting off the ground like you were reaching for him again.

“…please…this isn't you."

The light in his eyes faltered.

Cracked.

Then it started to fade as the storm collapsed instantly.

Aang dropped from the air, hitting the ground hard as the glow vanished from his eyes, leaving them wide, terrified, and painfully human again.

“No...no, no!!"

He was at your side in seconds, hands shaking as he gathered you back into his arms, pressing his forehead to yours like he needed to feel you breathe.

“I thought..” His voice broke completely. “I thought I lost you.”

You managed the faintest smile, your fingers brushing weakly against his cheek. “You’re… kinda hot… like that…”

Aang let out a shaky, broken laugh, pulling you closer like he could anchor you there forever.

“Don’t do that to me again,” he whispered, voice rough, desperate.

Katara kept healing, her hands steady now, though her eyes softened at the sight of you both.

Above you, the temple still crumbled but slower now.No longer destruction…just the aftermath.And Aang stayed exactly where he was.

Holding you.Like letting go wasn’t an option anymore.

[zukunyy]

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☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★ unfair advantage

18+ your oblivious bestfriend!Megumi doesn’t know how much of an effect he has on you

Porn WITH plot guys, slow burn I guess?, megumi is kinda dense, fluff…?, obviously aged up, reader knows dada, tension over tension, f!reader, I’m kinda bad at writing fluff but I tried okay?, oral f!receiving, piv, softdom!megumi to slightly meandom!megumi

≈8.2k w

This is one of those rare longer fics I’ve written and would like to present as a big PHAT thank you for 1k followers and all the love I’ve gotten from all of you so far!!! All of my love goes out to every single one of you!! I hope you guys enjoy this, shout out to @softpillowprincess for this glorious idea and have fun!

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It was so unfair. How can one person have such a huge effect on you without even knowing, without doing it on purpose at all?

You’ve tried to redirect your attention, remind yourself that this is your friend—classmate, even.

But it wouldn’t work. How could it though—it was Megumi you were talking about, after all.

You weren’t doing it on purpose, but the way he just did all of these small, and unfortunately, very attractive things, all without even knowing it was getting to you—was really making you lose your mind after three years of these shenanigans.

Throughout these three years, it grew harder and harder to ignore the fact that you felt utterly attracted to your best friend. It probably started at the beginning of your second year, when your rooms got moved next to each other, and you were spending a bit more time with just him.

It was convenient, and being with someone was better than being alone all the time.

At least that’s what you’d tell yourself.

You slowly started noticing just how considerate he was, how he’d always have your favourite tea ready for you, how he’d fetch a blanket for you when he noticed you were cold, the way he’d hold his hand out when you were fetching something under a table to make sure you didn’t hurt yourself. Megumi had this quiet way of making sure you were okay at all times, or just handling stuff for you.

And unfortunately, you felt a tickle in your stomach each time these things happened.

One time you were out with him, as well as Yuuji and Nobara, to get some lunch at a restaurant after a mission you were sent on. After you finished the food, you wanted to take another drink with you, so you went up to the server and asked for a soda to-go.

“Sure thing! Should I open the cap for y-?”

“No, it’s fine. I can open that.”

Your head flicked back as Megumi spoke from behind you. His arm extended over your shoulder to reach for the bottle. Then, he got a lighter out of his front pocket. Your eyes followed the movement of his hands towards the lid of the bottle, propping his blue lighter just under the rim and popping it open with one smooth move. Such a mundane thing to do. It was a silly, tiny bottle cap. But the way his wrist flicked the cap off so easily, the sound of it hitting the ground, and the fact that he even picked it up after to throw it away—yeah, you’re fucked.

Megumi didn’t even register the way you were ogling him. He simply handed you your soda, placed his hand on your back, and started walking you out of the establishment with a small frown on his face. “C’mon, let’s go. We’ll be late to Gojo’s class.”

Fuck these stupid butterflies.

Things like these kept happening all the way until third year, and soon after, you started appreciating his more than easy-to-look-at appearance as well. Whenever he’d roll up his sleeves, your eyes just had to wander all over his forearms, all the way to the tips of his slender—and, quite frankly, beautiful hands and fingers.

Even now, sitting on a bench at the training grounds in the brutal sun, watching him train with Yuuji—you can’t help admiring how beautifully he moved.

He was covered in sweat by now, his white button up already unbuttoned just a bit, black strands of hair clinging to his forehead while he continues to spar with Yuuji. You’ve basically become his shadow at this point, always tagging along everywhere he goes. No matter how boring it was to sit there and do nothing, and no matter how much the sun burned into your skin—being able to watch him get all worked up and sweaty is definitely a sight you wouldn’t want to miss.

During a small break, Megumi makes his way over to where you’re seated, chest heaving and the back of his hands wiping away some of the sweat that gathered on his forehead. “Wow, he’s really working you good, Gumi. You’re drenched in sweat.”, you note while he reaches for the water bottle next to you. The bench dips slightly as he sits down where the bottle was, letting out a long sigh. “Yeah. I’m not blessed with inhumane strength, unfortunately.”

Megumi takes a good, long sip from the water. You look over at him, watching as his throat moves while he gulps down the water. The sun was shining on his face in such an infuriatingly beautiful way, you felt your heart skip just one little beat. “Aren’t you sweating to death on this bench? Just go to my room, I’ll come once I’m done here.”, Megumi meets your gaze as he looks at you with genuine concern. “No, I’m fine here. It’s kinda fun seeing you get beat to a pulp.”

“Haha. So funny.”, he responds dryly and rolls his eyes, balling his hand into a fist and punching your arm softly. A small smirk forms on your lips, huffing out a cackle as your body sways gently from the impact.

You were sweating to death, but you’re quite willing to continue doing that if it meant you got to see him sweating as well. You watch as small droplets of sweat run down his temples and the sides of his neck, his chest rising a bit faster than usually, and hearing his soft panting through all the background noise.

Suddenly, it wasn’t purely the rays of the sun that got you heated up.

“Hey! You’re not giving up yet are you?”, Yuuji’s shrill voice snaps you back to reality, waving his hand to signal Megumi to come back. Megumi looks over to him shortly, then back at you with exhausted eyes. They scan your face, seeing all the sweat that is building on your forehead as well. His hand moves up, carefully wiping some of it off your temple, tugging a few stray strands of hair behind your ear in the process.

There he goes again. And there goes your heart racing again.

The intimacy of his hand brushing against your cheek has you burning up even more. Even after he’s done getting rid of the sweat and the few stray hairs, your skin tingles where he touched you—brushed against you.

You try to suppress the small change in your expression, try to keep the tiny shock to a minimum, but you can’t hide the faint blush creeping up your cheeks. Megumi’s head tilts to the side just a bit when he notices your red face. “You look like you’re burning up. All fun aside, you should get inside soon. Don’t need you collapsing on me.” He reaches into his pockets and hands you the keys to his room, as well as the water bottle he just drank from. “Just go. Don’t be an idiot.”

The only idiot you saw was him. How on earth could he not notice. “Alright, fine. But don’t take too long.”

“Never, you’d get bored all alone.”

“Fuck you, Gumi.”

With a dismissive wave of his hand he gets up and jogs back towards Yuuji, who was already tapping his foot impatiently.

You look at the key in your hands, sighing in disbelief. After a few seconds you get up yourself, waving goodbye to the two and make your way towards his room, sipping on Megumi’s water bottle.

Once inside, you plop yourself onto his bed. The room really isn’t that big, a singular bed, a desk, a tiny bathroom and a wardrobe is all he’s got in there. But you’ll take the comfort of his room where no sun could fry your brains away, over sweating even more outside right now.

Looking around, you realize how normal it has become for you to be in his room. Some of your things are even scattered in it. Like your favorite pair of slippers, or your laptop that is placed on his desk, right next to Megumi’s. And, of course, he kept a box of your favorite green tea close to the kettle he had.

You let your head drop down into your hands.

In some twisted way, you did feel guilty for being affected by these simple gestures. It most likely wasn’t his intention at all, he was simply looking out for you.

All he did was wipe the sweat off your face. So why can’t you stop thinking about how it felt to have his hands touch your face? Why must your heart race at the thought of him leaning in close to you? And why the hell does he not realize what he’s doing to you?

It’s absolute torture.

Your body flops onto his bed, letting out a frustrated cry.

A knock on the door rips you out of your brooding, shooting up to open up quickly. Your hands wrap around the doorhandle, metal cold against your overheated hands. One last grounding sigh, and you open the door to see Megumi standing in front of it.

His expression is as stoic as ever, white shirt now entirely drenched in sweat. His hair wasn’t as spiky anymore either, practically dripping.

“Took you long enough. Ugh, you need to shower.” The smell of him didn’t bother you at all. You actually really liked it, but that wasn’t something you needed him to know.

“I only stayed for 20 more minutes. Don’t be so dramatic.”, Megumi shoots back, shuffling past you and immediately towards his wardrobe.

Your own feet carry you towards the desk opposite of it, pulling the chair out and sitting on it, chest facing the backrest. “So? Did you…” Your sentence trails off into nothingness as soon as Megumi’s hands grab at the hem of his shirt, pulling it off over his head. His back is turned towards you, giving you the best view of his somehow really toned muscles.

Fuck, when did he get so buff?

His head turns around, a puzzled look plastered on his face. “Did I what?” It is an absolute miracle that he doesn’t seem to be fazed or weirded out by the way you were staring at him.

You pry your eyes away from his body, forcing yourself to look into his eyes. “Uhm…sorry. Did you learn anything new?”

“I guess. I think my punches are getting better.”, Megumi mumbles while turning his body towards you now.

Even worse. At this point you really can’t help your eyes wandering down towards his chest and stomach. Jesus—just when did he get so buff?

His chest was toned and his stomach had some of the most nicely defined abs you’ve seen in a while. You really wish you could extend your arm, and just feel all over him. Feel the ridges of his abs, the way his muscles would tense under your touch. You wonder just what it would feel like to hold onto his shoulders when he was—no. God, you really need to look away.

And this time—against all odds—he does notice you staring. Your eyes were lingering on him for just a second too long. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Hm? What do you mean?”

“You’re staring.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You are.” His brow cocks in suspicion, one hand resting at his hip. “Are you uncomfortable with me taking my shirt off or something?” Your eyes widen slightly, mouth agape. Of course he wouldn’t suspect your staring to be pure ogling. “N-no. I just…I was wondering when you got this…big.”

And all the suspicion in his eyes dropped just like that. “Oh, that. I guess all the training is showing, huh?” He shrugs it off, grabbing a fresh set of clothes and walks over to the door again.

You were caught staring at him red handed, yet he still doesn’t catch on. A part of you is thankful for sure, but you really wonder—with how perceptive he usually is—how the hell isn’t he seeing the most painfully obvious signs that you’re giving him? All that’s missing is drool dripping down your chin.

“I’ll go shower, don’t wanna insult you with my stench any longer.” His expression remained just as stoic as it always was. “Hurry up then, stinky.”, is all you can really come up with right now before the door shuts with a clink, and the sound of his disappearing footsteps is all that remains.

One day, he will be the death of you.

With each passing day, you felt like it was getting a lot more difficult to downplay or simply ignore that tickling in your stomach. It’s started to affect your attention span during classes, your efficiency on missions and even your sleep schedule.

And every day, your frustration just kept building.

You really wish you could just tell him how much he’s affecting you, what all of his silly little antics do to you. And you wish he’d feel the same, wish that he’d tell you that he was doing it on purpose all along, and that he makes you feel like you already belong in his space for a reason—not just simple familiarity.

When he came back from showering last time, you stayed in his room until 2am—and all you had on your mind was how much of a physical reaction you had when you saw him shirtless.

Megumi was playing some game with Yuuji for a while, and usually you love just watching him be all serious about some silly little video game with his friend. But this time, all your eyes could focus on was the way the veins on his hands kept moving with each press of a key.

His fingers were gliding over the keyboard so effortlessly, the sheen of blue on his face from the screen made him look so stupidly sexy when he was concentrating.

Megumi didn’t notice your staring—or rather, he did, but he thought it was simply your usual way of watching him play. Because you always do, you said you enjoyed watching.

What he didn’t notice was the squeeze of your thighs every time he’d cuss under his breath, your gaze trailing off the screen and onto his hands.

God, how you wish he’d notice.

“Megumi’s got your head occupied good, huh?” The penetrating voice of Yuuji right next to your ear manages to finally pull you out of your thoughts. Without realizing it, you’ve been staring out the window for almost the entire break between your classes.

Your mind was indeed quite occupied thinking about him, the way his body looked when he last took his fucking shirt off in front of you. Not to mention when he came back from the shower, towel draped over his waist, hair all wet and clinging to his face. And to him, it was the most normal thing in the world.

But last time you checked, he never acted like this around Yuuji or Nobara.

“I- I don’t know what you’re talking about.”, you stammer, all guilty and ashamed.

“C’mooon, it’s so obvious!” Yuuji grabs a chair from another desk, pulling it towards your own and sitting on it, looking like some gossip-ready friend. “I mean, you practically live in his room. You always go wherever he goes—now that I mentioned it, why aren’t you with him right now?” You lazily gesture towards the door of the classroom. “He’s getting a drink from the vending machines.”

He nods slowly, but his eyes are scanning you for any kind of micro reaction. “Alright…don’t evade the topic though. Just date already, bro! I’m sure he’s caught on by now, you’re like almost drooling whenever you look at him.”

Your head lowers in your hands, eyes glancing over to Yuuji with pure frustration and a hint of embarrassment behind them. “Well, no. He hasn’t caught on at all. That’s like the worst p-“

The sound of familiar footsteps makes you swallow the rest of your sentence.

Megumi emerges from around the corner, eyes locked onto yours immediately. He’s carrying two drinks in his hand, the other hand shoved into the pocket of his pants.

With his usual casualness, he walks towards the two of you, grabbing a chair himself in the process and putting it right beside you.

The soda can clinks when he sets your favorite one right in front of you, hell, he even opens the can with his one hand for you before sitting down himself. “What’s gotten you two so engulfed in conversation?”

His eyes flicker between you and Yuuji, stopping at you and waiting for an answer.

Yuuji slowly gets up from the chair, a suppressed grin tugging at his lips. “I’ll uh, I’ll leave you guys to it then.”

“What a weirdo.”, Megumi mumbles under his breath as he watches Yuuji return to his own seat.

You could feel his knee touching yours when he relaxes into his chair, taking a sip of his soda. The tip of your finger traces the rim of your own can to steady your racing heart. How could it get this far already, his presence alone now making you nervous. You shift your focus on the very interesting can of soda. A few drops of dew running down the sides of it, the sound of it fizzing is very subtle.

“Thanks, Gumi. You didn’t have to. How much was it?”, you finally force yourself to blurt out, not wanting the awkward silence to stretch even longer.

He huffs out, seemingly amused by the question. “No need, I got you.” His hand comes up to ruffle through your hair—something he did quite often—twirling a few pieces of it between his fingers.

With anyone else, you knew this would be obvious flirting. But with him? Looking over at his expression and finding absolutely nothing, just a normal face, a normal look in his eye—no blush, no nothing. Not even a smirk or the hint of one. This was just him being friendly, no?

“Do I have something on my face?” His low voice pulls you out of your trance once more. Fuck, you’ve been staring again. “Hm? No, nothing.”, you quickly avert your eyes and turn your face away to hide the small blush that threatened to creep up your cheeks.

Megumi’s hand leaves your hair slowly, now resting on the table right beside yours.

In his mind, he did notice your behavior getting strange lately. He noticed the bags under your eyes got a bit deeper, you made one less teasing comment towards him than you usually would, didn’t focus on class the way you usually did. Yet, the cause of it is unexplainable to him. So he can’t just go and fix it for you without asking you this time.

“Hey.”, he almost exhaled the word, so softly and full with concern. The hand that was previously resting next to yours lifts off the table a few inches, moving to hover above yours.

You could feel the warmth radiating off his skin before his hand makes contact with yours, giving you one gentle squeeze.

Very subtly, your body jerked at the contact. Not because you didn’t want him to hold your hand—because you did want him to—but you knew that it would only be a matter of time now before maybe, his brain cells start to connect the dots.

“You’ve been a bit off lately. What is it?”

You don’t turn your head towards him fully, only letting your eyes glance over at him. You try your best to look at least a little confused at his question. “Have I? I don’t know, nothing’s up.”, you shrug and continue staring at nothing.

Megumi’s eyebrow cocks up, he can basically smell the lie that you just told him. “Don’t lie to me. You know you can tell me anything. So what’s up?”, he insists, leaning in just a bit closer.

Your eyes keep flicking back and forth between the extremely interesting droplets of water on your soda can and Megumi’s eyes. Your head is racing, trying to find something to tell him.

You settle on the first best, and also worst, excuse you could come up with. “Can we maybe…talk about this later? In private?”

Megumi’s expression softens, and he gives you a tiny nod of understanding. His hand lets go of yours, and the second the cold air hits your heated up skin again, it feels oddly lonely.

“Of course.”

For a few moments, a strangely awkward silence stretches between the two of you.

“Gonna drink your soda? Don’t let my money get wasted now.”

A small chuckle leaves you, easing some of the tension that has built up. “My bad, I’ll get right to it.”

The entirety of the next class, Megumi’s mind keeps racing with possible reasons for your recent troubles. Was it something to do with the classes, a mission that kept you in your feels, arguments with other friends? He just couldn’t find a proper explanation.

Of course, Megumi never begins to think about the fact that he might be the reason for your ‘troubles’. He also wouldn’t really think that you aren’t exactly troubled, you’re—simply put—very frustrated. Both sexually, and emotionally.

And when the time comes for you to leave the classroom and walk towards Megumi’s room—obviously—you are frustrated about the fact that you now have to come up with some stupid excuse as to why you have been acting a bit off.

The walk back is quiet, Megumi’s hands are shoved in his pockets, and his head is tilted down towards the floor, seemingly a bit lost in thought. Your own eyes stay on the ground as well, hands fidgeting with the hem of your jacket. This is probably the first time in two years that you feel nervous around him again.

Once inside his room, the door clicks shut gently after a small push of Megumi’s foot. “Want some tea?”, he asks while shuffling past you, putting his things away into their designated corner. You give him an approving hum before settling down onto his bed.

Your eyes follow his frame as he makes his way over to the kettle, your designated cup already in his hand. His hand goes to grab a bottle of water right next to it, plastic denting under his grip, the sound of it crinkling echoes through the room.

“The next mission will be a pain in the ass. Gojo’s gonna come and watch us to see how we improved.”, he rambles on, lifting the bottle and pouring some into the kettle. His thumb hovers above the button, and with a small click! it turns on, with small LED lights shining in hues of blue and red around the bottom of it.

“You can show him the mean left-right-goodnight combo you learned from Yuuji, then. He’s gotta promote you to special grade after seeing it.”, you tease, small smirk forming on your lips as your legs swing back and forth. He shoots you a playful warning glance while his hands fumble with the packet of teabags.

“He can’t even promote me at all, idiot.”

“I know that, meanie.”, you shoot back, letting yourself fall onto his bed.

Megumi lets out a frustrated little grumble, fingers still busy getting the teabag open. “Stupid fucking teabag”, he murmurs to himself.

He simply opts to rip it open, tossing the paper aside with quite the attitude and plopping the teabag into the cup. By now, the water in the tea kettle is bubbling, hot steam escaping out of the opening. A small click signals that the water is done boiling, Megumi’s hands wrap around the handle and carefully pour the hot water into your cup.

He swirls the teabag around a few times before tying it onto the handle, taking the cup into his hands and carrying it over to you.

Hearing him approach makes you sit up straight again and extend your hands to take tea off him. He halts once he’s right in front of you, leaning in to hand you the mug.“There. Careful, it’s h-“

You don’t really know how it happened, but for some reason, the cup tips over and spills a portion of the scorching hot water onto your legs. You jump at the heat, wincing in pain and face contorting. Your legs feel like they’re on fire, the hot water burning through your tights quite easily. Your hands move to brush it off you, but you decide against it last second, not wanting to burn your hands as well.

Megumi’s eyes widen as he processes what just happened. How could he let himself get so clumsy? It’s like his body moves on its own, setting the cup down onto his desk with precision this time, and hurrying over to his closet to pick out a towel. “Fuck, I’m so sorry. Stay right there.”, he grits out under his breath, returning to your side and dropping down onto his knees in front of you.

One of his hands comes to rest on your leg to brace himself, while the other carefully dabs at the spilled water.

Megumi looks up at you with pure concern in his eyes, tender and almost domestic. “Does it burn?”, his voice is a lot lower now, more serious than it was before—you didn’t really know that was possible until now. “Yeah…a bit.”, you groan while Megumi tries his best to dry up any water still on your legs.

As soon as the initial shock and pain subside, you can really take in the position you’re in right now. Suddenly, you’re intensely aware of how his hand is gripping into your skin above your knee, how the soft fabric of the towel rubs along your thigh—getting higher with each pass to make sure he really gets all the water gone.

He’s kneeling between your legs, looking up at you through his gorgeous lashes, strands of his dark hair framing his face so prettily. The afterburn of the hot water isn’t the only thing that’s heating up your skin right now.

Being able to find joy even in moments of discomfort—that surely must be your greatest strength.

Megumi guides the towel along the inside of your thigh, and you can’t help the quietest little wince you let out. His hands still against your skin immediately—under the impression that he might’ve caused you some pain—to not hurt you any further.

Mentally, he’s cussing himself out for not paying more attention. And now, he’s the reason why you’re wincing in pain. His face might not show it, but the guilt is gnawing at him already.

“Still hurts?” Megumi’s eyes find yours once again, flicking from one eye to another before scanning the rest of your face, trying so hard to see if you’re in any kind of discomfort. The eye contact is turning you into a shy teenager again, averting your eyes to hide from his intense stare.

“Look at me.”, he mutters, the hand on your knee squeezing only slightly. Heat creeps up your face at his command, slowly looking back at him.

Your breath hitches slightly at the way he’s eyeing you so intensely, like he’s staring right into your soul to find exactly what he’s looking for. He sees your eyebrows knit together, face flushed in a subtle shade of red. To him, this looks like the aftermath of way-too-hot water spilling on your legs and leaving you in quite some pain.

His eyes continue scanning you, moving on from your face, now trailing down towards the rest of your body. Your legs have a slight tremor to them and your hands are clutching at his bedsheets as well.

You nod meekly in response to his earlier question. Of course, it wasn’t hurting, nor were any of the things he observed related to the brief sting you felt at all. But you didn’t exactly want him to know that the way he rubs the towel along your legs sends heat straight to your core.

His other hand adjusts slightly, tracing along the side of your knee and settling again. Your brows furrow, trying so hard to control the small tremble that’s welling up in your legs.

Megumi doesn’t seem to realize that every single micro movement of his hands just adds to the burning between your legs, already overpowering the actual burn. You take a deep breath in, trying to steady yourself and your spiraling thoughts—but Megumi just had to look this good while taking care of your wound, kneeling in front of you and looking up at you like that.

The gentleness of his touch contrasts the intense sensitivity of your skin, feeling every little twitch of his fingers against you. He seems to be concentrating quite hard on making sure the water is all gone and soaked into the towel.

One last pass, dragging the towel from a bit too far up your thigh down to your knee, and he seems to be satisfied, checking your legs one last time. The towel is discarded beside you, now both of his bare hands making contact with your not so bare legs, moving them around a bit to be able to check if he missed anything.

Your mouth hangs open just a bit. His way of making sure you’re fine—basically spreading your legs apart to see if the water spilled further—doesn’t help the situation one bit. You feel like a pervert, thoughts running wild at the image before you.

You’re almost scared he might smell how much this is turning you on.

“I think it’s good now. Are you okay?”, Megumi huffs out while getting back onto his feet, pulling you straight out of your thoughts.

“I- I’m okay, yeah…thanks.”, you breathe out, almost caught in a state of shock. Your eyes are widened just a bit, hands still clutching at the sheets below you.

Despite standing, he’s locked in place between your legs, now looking down at you with the same concern he previously had on his face, head tilted to the side just slightly—probably still checking to see if you’re fine.

You gulp—audibly. It almost feels like you’re frozen, not sure whether to look at him or the furniture behind him. You thought it would be better once he gets up, but it really doesn’t seem like that.

The proximity is starting to get to you. Your eyes dart around the room, occasionally locking with his, chest heaving. Megumi, for some reason, refuses to step back and let your poor heart relax for one second. And before you combust, you decide to put some space between you and the reason for your little heart attack yourself.

With one quick motion, you shuffle yourself off his bed, quick steps leading you towards his door and facing it, one of the heaviest sighs you’ve ever sighed leaving you. Megumi’s eyes follow your frame, his brows furrowing in confusion. “Where are you going? It wasn’t on purp-“

“No I know, I…sorry I just- I think I’m still in…shock? So I just had to get up and, you know…breathe.”, you stammer out excuses, cussing at yourself under your breath for sounding so affected.

“I think I’m gonna go change real quick, yeah?”, you follow up, turning your head around towards him fleetingly to give him a small, reassuring smile. “You can have some of my clothes, just take whatever you need.”, Megumi points towards his wardrobe.

Wearing his clothes now too? Maybe you should decline.

“Thank you, Gumi. I won’t be long.”

Of course you don’t decline, when will you get this kind of opportunity again. With a creak, you open his wardrobe, quickly scanning it and settle for a black pair of joggers that definitely would be a bit big on you, but that’s none of your concern right now.

Once you disappear inside of his small bathroom to change, Megumi’s mind starts racing again. Did he do something wrong? Your strange behavior is getting worse by the minute, some of it explainable by the tea he accidentally poured on you. Like your flushed face, the way you tensed up each time he was wiping the water off your legs. But you’ve been like this the entire day.

In class you were avoiding his gaze, you’ve generally been quite tense around him. Megumi moves to sit down on his bed, staring blankly at the door that leads to his bathroom. He will definitely have to find out what’s going on. If he’s making any mistakes, he needs to know.

You, on the other hand, take the opportunity to finally relax your thoughts in his bathroom. A few deep breaths in and out, and you slowly move your hands towards your skirt and tights, pulling them off. They were definitely still soaked with water.

Carefully, you let your hand dip between your legs to feel just how terribly affected you are, and sure enough—your panties are completely soaked as well. “Shit…”, you mutter under your breath, quickly pulling Megumi’s joggers over your bare—and slightly red legs to hide the evidence.

The door handle slowly creeps downwards as you make your way out of his bathroom. A small look around his room made you find him seated on his bed now, hands covering his mouth and nose as he looks right at you with slightly furrowed brows. “A bit big but…will do, thanks.”, you mumble, seemingly frozen in place in front of the door.

Megumi pushes himself off his bed abruptly, walking towards you with a mission.

“Okay, seriously. What’s up with you?”

You were hoping this whole fiasco would make him forget about this conversation. You could feel your stomach drop just a little. All the relaxation you had in his bathroom disappears with just one sentence.

“Nothing, Megumi. I’m fine.”, you try to evade the conversation, not daring to look in his eyes while you lie your ass off. He clocks the lie immediately, though.

“Bullshit. Just tell me. Did I do something? It feels like you’re avoiding me.”, Megumi sounds defeated. Your stomach drops even lower now. “You didn’t do anything. I’m just- I don’t know! I’m exhausted.” What a terrible lie.

Megumi lets out a sigh, shaking his head in disbelief. “I don’t believe that. C’mon, just tell me what’s bothering you.”, his tone softens a bit, hands coming up to rest on your shoulders reassuringly.

He’s too close again, you can basically feel his breath on you, his body heat. The proximity and his constant pushing cause your coil to snap. “It’s you, okay? The way you touch me, the way you care for me, the look in your eyes- you don’t even know what it’s doing to me. I just- I can’t fucking function like this!”, you finally blurt out—desperately, and defeated yourself now.

Megumi blinks. Once, twice. And then, it finally clicks.

Finally, the blush on your face, the constant avoidance of his gaze, the tensing up and the stuttering—it all makes perfect sense. His grip on your shoulders loosens up slightly, and the silence between the two of you stretches uncomfortably.

Your eyes are locked onto the floor, heart hammering against your chest, now that you finally got it off your chest. You’re almost relieved, if it wasn’t for the pure embarrassment that settled in your stomach immediately after.

“So, that’s what’s been bothering you?”, he finally answers, voice dropping just an octave lower.

“I know, you don’t do this on purpose, and I’m sorry. But, I can’t help it, okay?” Regret settles in, right after the embarrassment. And now, you just want to leave. Your body moves on its own, trying to free yourself from his grip and escape towards your own room.

Yet, his hand props itself right beside your head, stopping you from escaping. Your eyes flick up to meet his as he’s staring right back at you. And instead of disappointment, anger or disgust, you’re met with something a lot more accepting. Is it…reciprocation?

“You think I’d let just anyone stay in my room until 2am?”, Megumi rasped, face slowly leaning in closer.

You freeze.

Your mouth opens and closes a few times, wanting to say something but not really finding the words you need.

Some sort of relieve seemed to be washing over Megumi’s face, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “And here I was, thinking you were mad at me. You could’ve just said something, you know?”, his sentence trails off as he leans in towards your neck, breath ghosting your skin before you feel his lips press a small, soft peck against it. “Could’ve done something about it a bit sooner.”

You let out a shaky breath, slight shiver running down your spine as Megumi continues to press soft kisses up and down your neck.

Your mind was still processing what he said.

The hand that wasn’t propped up against his door moves towards your waist, pulling you flush against him gently, as his soft kisses against your neck grow more needy with each one. Your own hands come up and press flat against his chest, finally touching and feeling the toned muscle underneath the fabric of his shirt. His other hand moves away from the door, tangling in your hair and adjusting the angle for better access.

“This is what’s been occupying your head?”, he mumbles against your skin, lifting his head from between your neck to face you. The feeling of his lips on your skin still lingers, your head nodding softly to serve as an answer. “Say yes, and I’ll get rid of these thoughts for you.”

“Yes.”, you huff out hurriedly.

Before you can take another breath, his lips connect with yours, and it feels like your whole world that has been crumbling, finally builds itself back up.

Megumi lets out a long, satisfied breath through his nose, one gentle kiss turning into multiple wet, and slightly clumsy ones. Both of his hands hold onto your waist now, squeezing only slightly.

Slowly, he starts pulling you backwards and towards his bed, turning the two of you around once he feels the edge of it—without breaking the kiss. His hands guide you to sit back down onto the bed, right back where you were just moments ago—only this time, doing exactly what you had on your mind for a long time.

Megumi places one last kiss on your lips, before pulling away. “Could’ve just kept these off.”, he mumbles while his fingers hook under his pants that you’re wearing, pulling them down and discarding them somewhere unknown. The tips of his fingers make contact with the skin between your collarbones, lightly pushing you backwards until your back hits his mattress.

You lift your head slightly, watching as he gets back onto his knees—exactly how he was before—while his hands find their place on top of your now bare knees once more.

He looks just as pretty as he did the first time, slowly spreading your legs apart—with intention this time around. The damp spot between your legs is hard to miss now, the tiniest smirk tugging on his lips. “How long have you been this wet for?”, his eyes lock with yours as he asks. “Ever since you started drying the water from my legs.”, you admit quietly.

Megumi huffs out—probably amused, knowing that his caring gesture is the cause of all this happening now. Not that he’s complaining. His hands stroke up and down your bare thighs, noting the tiny shiver whenever he got closer to your aching core.

His head lowers between your legs, starting off at your knee and placing open-mouthed kisses all along your leg, up until the crook between your hip and your thigh. You could feel the arousal between your legs growing with each kiss, a shaky breath leaving your lips.

You could feel his breath ghosting above your clothed cunt now, hips bucking towards his face involuntarily—your insatiable need so painfully obvious.

Megumi places one teasing kiss just above where your clit would be, before his fingers hook under the fabric of your panties, slowly sliding them off. You lift your hips to help him get them off quicker, not wanting to waste any more seconds when you were facing exactly what you’ve been craving this whole time.

“Impatient much, huh?”, Megumi notes, the tiniest chuckle leaving him.

He swallows that chuckle when he sees a string of your juices still connected to your panties, now replaced with a sigh of disbelief and arousal. He could feel himself getting harder by the second from simply seeing how turned on you are.

Your panties join the other discarded pants not long after that, hands now pressed against the inside of your thighs to push your legs apart a bit further.

“So wet, all for me?”, he breaths out, glancing up at you, just to see you nodding shyly.

His breath was now finally tickling your bare cunt—and if you shuffled just a bit more, you could have his mouth on you already. But there was no need for that. Seeing you nod gave him everything he needed, to place one sloppy kiss right onto your neglected and tortured clit, arms hooking around your thighs to pull you flush against his face.

The sound that left you was almost embarrassing, all the pent up need and frustration leaving you with a dragged out whine.

Megumi’s tongue darts out, pressing flat against you and licking up one agonizingly slow stripe from your soaked entrance towards your clit, lips closing around it and suckling on it gently.

“Feels good like that?”, he murmurs against you, the vibration of his voice just adding to the pure bliss you’re feeling by now.

A mixture between a moan and a hum is all you can really answer for now, but Megumi does understand it as agreement, continuing to lap at your pretty cunny.

Megumi wasn’t simply eating you out—no. He was making out with your cunt, just how he was with your lips—all tender and soft, growing needier as the taste settles on his tongue.

He feels the sudden urge to lick up every single drop of wetness that continues to flow out of your aching hole, his tongue occasionally pumping inside of you to get you real clean.

His hands on your thighs were rubbing slow circles against your skin the entire time.

Every small mewl and moan, every twitch of your legs around his head motivate him to lap at you with more fervor, focusing on your clit after an especially hard twitch of your hips.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging at it in order to make sure this is actually real. His tongue on you feels like pure heaven, every single flick against your clit adding to the building pressure in your abdomen.

Megumi has stopped caring about restraint and keeping his cool, slurping and groaning against your pussy—getting drunk on the addicting taste of you.

His eyes flicker up towards your face for a brief moment, taking in how pretty you look from this angle, how your brows furrow and your eyes are squeezed shut, and your mouth parted to let out the sweetest sounds of pleasure—pleasure that he’s giving to you. His hands on your thighs tighten just a bit, pulling you even closer towards him.

“gumi, feels so good- nghh”, you huff out as his tongue laps at your clit just right. Megumi nods against your cunt, humming in acknowledgment.

You could feel your orgasm so incredibly close, your chest heaving and your panting getting more excessive.

He notices your small cues, sucking just a bit harder on your clit and drawing small circles on it with his tongue.

The fingers you have tangled in his hair tighten, hips stuttering as you finally feel the coil snap inside of you, cumming against his tongue with a choked cry.

It’s blissful, and so incredibly overwhelming. You don’t remember the last time you’ve felt this relived. Your body twitches as he licks one last, slow stroke through your folds before finally pulling back, lips glistening with your arousal.

“You liked that? Was that what’s been occupying your thoughts?”, Megumi coos between your legs, slowly lifting himself up from the ground and back onto his feet.

“Liked it, but that wasn’t all…”, you reply softly, arms extending to reach out towards his chest. He leans against your touch, leaning over your body until his breath tickles your ear.

“Then tell me what else you’ve been thinking about.”, he whisper, pressing a small kiss against your temple.

Your hands start roaming his clothed chest, trying to feel the body you’ve been ogling at in the past. “Can I take your shirt off?”

Megumi doesn’t hesitate to pull it off over his head, your hands now finally making contact with his bare skin. The tips of your fingers trace the ridges of his abs, running your hands all over his chest like a greedy kitten.

“Gumi, I want you inside of me.”, you basically whimper, eyes fluttering up at him. Your hands slowly trail down his body, stopping at his pants. One last glance at him—seeing him give you a small nod—and you start fumbling with his zipper, pulling his pants and boxers down in one go.

Your eyes widen slightly as you watch his cock spring free, painfully hard and already leaking pre cum at the tip. He positions himself between your legs properly now, guiding the tip of his cock between your folds and dragging it through them. His tip glistens with all the slick he’s gathering up from your soaked cunt.

“Fuck, I don’t think you know how long I’ve been wanting to do this.”, Megumi breathes out through gritted teeth as his tip settles at your soaked entrance. “You sure?”, he asks one last time for reassurance.

Your impatient nod and wiggle or your hips makes him huff out in amusement before he slowly sinks the tip of his cock inside of your snug cunt. His eyes squeeze shut, letting out a low sigh at the feeling of your pussy hugging him so perfectly, just how he imagined.

“You’re so tight, so perfect.”, he groans, hands placed at either side of your head to support himself on top of you. The stretch of his cock finally filling your needy hole is like a missing piece to a puzzle you’ve been dying to complete. Your hands grab at his shoulders, holding on tightly as he pushing in just a bit deeper—slowly, until his pelvis is flush against yours.

Megumi still inside of you for a few seconds, savoring the way your pussy flutters around him. When your hips start moving on their own, he takes it as his cue to finally start moving.

Slow, deep strokes push his cock so nicely inside of you, you’re almost mourning the loss every time he pulls back again. And as much as you love him for being so gentle with you, you crave just a bit more friction.

“Bit faster, please.”, you blurt out between whines, fingernails digging into his shoulder just a tad bit. “Faster, huh? Alright, don’t blame me though.”

Megumi drags his cock back, until just his tip is nestled inside of you. With one harsh thrust forward, his pace almost doubles in speed—your recently sweet and pretty whines turning into choked moans with each thrust.

“Is this what it takes to get you to concentrate during missions again? During class?”, he grits out, the hands placed beside your head leaving and grabbing the back of your thighs—pushing them up against your chest.

Each thrust is sure to bump against your g-spot, the tip of his cock occasionally hitting so deep inside of you—you aren’t sure what exactly he’s hitting but it definitely feels overwhelmingly good. You feel like a folded up piece of paper, Megumi’s grip on your legs a lot harsher than before while his cock ruts in and out of your squelching cunt.

Your juices start soaking the sheets below you, the sound of his hips smacking against yours a lot louder than before.

You feel your mind going blank, forgetting what got you here in the first place. All you could focus on is the feeling of Megumi fucking you into his mattress—just how you had envisioned whenever you sat on it with him.

Megumi could feel his own release nearing, hips stuttering as he chases it. He’s been thinking about doing this for a very long time—longer than he’d like to admit. “Shit- I’m close. Gonna cum-“

“Inside, cum inside, Gumi, please.”

And finally, feeling your cunt squeeze him so nicely and hearing you beg for him to cum inside of you helps tipping him over the edge, burying himself to the hilt while thick ropes of cum coat your insides.

His hands let go of your legs—now wrapping around his waist—as his body collapses on top of yours. Your ragged breathing syncs with his, carefully lifting one of your hands up towards his head and dragging your hands through his messy, sweaty hair.

For what seems like forever, the two of you relax your racing hearts while holding each other.

“Sorry for not saying anything and acting weird.”, you finally break the silence, earning a breathless chuckle from Megumi as he rests his chin on top of your head.

“It’s fine. I could get used to this, you know?”

───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────

@all99problemsxo

[feyrinnn]

breaking ꒰no contact꒱ with ex!gojo

You and Satoru broke up for a reason, you keep reminding yourself.

But even months later and, ehm… other people later, you find yourself staring at his contact picture, typing and deleting the same message over and over again.

How are you even supposed to break no contact? Is there a good way of reaching out to your ex without coming across as desperate or delusional?

"I miss you" your fingers type.

Delete.

No way you're starting with that – even if it is the truth.

"Hope you're well" …you groan before you even finish typing that one, the little sound of each letter disappearing managing to piss you off even more.

You had heard it enough times already. A monotone soundtrack to every little memory of Satoru, both good and bad, that jumped to your mind without warning the longer you stared at his handsome picture.

It felt ridiculous to miss him that much. You had tried so hard to move on – maybe just to prove a point too. Because otherwise you’d have to admit what he knew all along.

You shouldn’t embarrass yourself like that, you decide with a long sigh, ready to lock the device.

But suddenly – three little dots appear on the screen.

satoru: just send it already i can't take it anymore

Your mouth falls open in a silent gasp, and it takes everything in you to not throw the phone across the room and hide from sheer embarrassment.

Then it pings again.

satoru: hellooo?

Fuck.

Was it too late to change your number and move to a different country?

You sigh, finally typing a message you actually send.

y/n: how long have you been watching the screen

Three dots.

satoru: like 10 minutes

You let out a silent scream, heart hammering in your chest.

This is the worst possible scenario – time to deflect.

y/n: why the hell did you have my chat open anyway

Three dots again…

satoru: princess I've been waiting for this moment for months

Your cheeks heat up with something other than embarrassment this time.

y/n: you're an idiot

You know he’d practically be able to hear your pout through that text. But then–

satoru: that guy you were dating finally fuck up?

You let out a small chuckle at his honesty. And yeah, fuck up was putting it lightly, but you didn't exactly want to get into how every man since Satoru had been a complete disappointment.

You sigh, biting the inside of your cheek to try and force back the smile that tried to form on your lips.

y/n: guess you could say that

Satoru was typing again, three dots appearing and disappearing. Maybe he was the one deleting the messages on the other side now.

You could almost picture him – that wide cheese eating grin, celebrating his prophecy coming true. You hated how right he was about the fact you wouldn't find anyone better than him.

The overly confident bastard he was.

But the message you received wasn't smug at all. If anything, it made your heart ache with that familiar comfort no one but him seemed able to give you.

satoru: did he hurt you?

You felt a tightness in your throat as you typed out a yes. It's not like you were ever in love with the guy – you hadn't really been in love with anyone since, well… since the man you were texting right now.

White haired, blue eyed, handsome Satoru Gojo, shining so bright he overshadowed everyone in his wake, including you.

But how could anyone else even compare?

satoru: are you ok?

You bite your lower lip, reading and rereading his text. Yes that guy proved to be an asshole, but what was really making your chest hurt wasn't that short lived situationship – it was how much you missed Satoru.

Missed his stupid jokes. Missed the way he'd easily pick you up and place kisses all over your face. Missed cuddling on cold nights, laughing at the dumb movie he chose, baking cookies for lunch when his adorable pout convinced you it was healthy.

What was the use of lying, anyway?

y/n: i just really miss you

There. You finally admitted the truth you had been trying to conceal for months now.

And his response came so fast you wondered how his thumbs could type so quickly.

satoru: ill be there in 10

You laugh – Satoru easily lives a half an hour away, but you fully believe him.

How did you ever think you’d get over Satoru Gojo?

(important) DO NOT MESSAGE YOUR EX – unless he is satoru gojo, of course

permatags @madamechrissy @mercipourleveninx @septembermoonchild @plaguecxlt @nanamitiddiechomper @kekeanna266 @amazedfor @dogggggggblog-kaye @literallyadarling @dawnsoblivion @chewiebee @iquitfindingausername @valberryboos @pwd54gr54 @raendarkfaerie @bbfawns @itimisu @sapph22

art by @/hanare_615

[megumiangel]

ᡣ𐭩 BF TEXTS ! except you're a bit mean... ⤷ gojo satoru x fem!reader

tw; kys jokes.

✮ megumi vers! (pt.1) (pt.2) ✮ yuuji vers! ✮ sukuna vers!

TELL ME WHO U GUYS WANT NEXT 😛 im thinking sukuna

[viaaluvs]

MEGUMI BF TEXTS

random texts with megumi fushiguro!!

character: Megumi Fushiguro x f!reader

warnings: sexual themes, cussing, AGED UP MEGUMI!

[okko-tsu]

HOUSE RULES⠀─── ⠀Your daughter's friend always heard from her that her parents are disgustingly in love. She doubts it after watching you and Sukuna interacting.

The girl had heard many stories about her friend’s parents.

“You don’t understand,” she had said more than a million times, “my parents are, like, disgustingly in love. It’s embarrassing.”

She had expected something cringey. Kisses in the kitchen. Maybe matching mugs. Some middle-aged couple nonsense. Something wholesome, like in one of those old movies.

She hadn’t expected… this.

She stood awkwardly near the front door, her hands gripping the straps of her backpack. She felt slightly suffocated, as if the walls had eyes and all of them were staring at her.

A deep voice echoed through the house and she swallowed hard, glancing toward the kitchen, where her friend was calmly chewing her toast as if it were just another normal day.

“Are you blind?” Ryomen cleared his throat, one hand on his hip and the other lifting a small yogurt bottle to his mouth, his eyes fixed on his wife. “That’s not how you cut them.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” For a moment, the girl thought you were actually apologizing, but judging by the way you stabbed the poor fruit with the knife, it was easy to predict what would come next. “Next time I’ll ask for permission from the master chef before touching a knife.”

He smiled, but it wasn’t a kind smile. It was the kind that showed too many teeth. Almost mocking.

“You really should,” he replied, taking another sip of yogurt as if he were completely relaxed, as if his wife didn’t have her hand dangerously close to a knife. “Because clearly you lack the motor coordination.”

You slowly turned your body, leaning your hip against the counter and crossing your arms, your lips parting to retort. “It’s just a fruit.”

“Presentation matters.” He shrugged.

“Then cut it yourself.”

He tilted his head slightly. “Are you admitting your incompetence?”

“I’m offering you an opportunity, coward.”

“Right—“ Sukuna’s gaze shifted, his eyes landing on the visitor near the door. “Who’s that.” His expression was terrifying to the poor girl.

“My friend, dad.” The teenager took one last sip of coffee and stood up. “She’s walking to school with me.”

“You brought someone into my house without asking for my permission first?” Sukuna placed the yogurt bottle on the counter and crossed his arms.

“That ‘someone’ is her friend,” you interrupted. “And the house is ours. I allowed it. Stop making a scene.” Your voice lowered slightly, as if trying to spare the poor girl from feeling even more embarrassed and intimidated.

“But she didn’t ask permission—”

“I asked mom. She’s the one who decides, anyway,” your daughter said, placing her plate in the sink and grabbing her backpack from the chair.

He let out a low “hm” through his nose.

“Of course,” he murmured, uncrossing his arms only to rest his hands on the counter behind him, leaning his weight back with an almost irritating calmness. “You hide behind your mother’s authority.”

“Sure, sure,” the teenager rolled her eyes, already pulling her friend by the arm toward the door.

“Sweetheart,” you said, your voice softer than anything you had used in the past few minutes. “Aren’t you going to be late? Your father can give you two a ride.”

“I don’t—”

“We’re fine! Thank you so much!” the friend answered far too quickly, dragging your daughter outside.

Ryomen’s gaze returned to you. “Did you see her behavior? In my time, children who challenged their parents learned—”

“You’re too talkative today,” you replied. “And don’t complain, you’re the one who spoiled her.”

He scoffed, leaning over and hugging you from behind.

As the two girls walked side by side, the friend cleared her throat.

“Are they… okay?”

“They’re like that,” she replied. “Gross, right? Imagine listening to that flirting every single day.”

“Flirting?” she asked, confused.

[katsukiib]

Big Strong Man ɞ·˚ KB

❥ FLUFF! ♡♡

❥ IN WHICH, Katsuki has been holding his heart out for Y/N since they were kids, enduring years of uncharacteristic patience. She finally ends his waiting, with one bold kiss during their patrol night.

❥ WC : 2464

"Yuck!"

Y/N stared down at the treasure he had just presented to her: a shiny, slightly sticky beetle that he found near the bushes.

"What do you mean, yuck?" Katsuki huffed, his tiny chest puffing out. "It’s the biggest one! It’s cool! I’m giving it to you because I'm the best, and the second best deserves the best stuff!"

The golden afternoon sun shined down on the two five-year-olds as they stood in the sand, the quiet of the sandbox amplified by the tension between them.

Y/N poked at the sand with a plastic shovel, unimpressed. "It has too many legs, Katsuki. And it’s twitchy. I don't want a twitchy bug."

Katsuki shifted his weight, his fingers sparking with miniature pops. He was only five, but his ego was already ten feet tall—even if his height didn't match. "Fine! Then.. Then what do you want? If we’re gonna get married when we’re Pro Heroes, I gotta know what you like!"

Y/N paused, looking up at him through her lashes. Katsuki’s longlasting crush throughout their entire friendship was never subtle. She, however, wasn't ready to trade her sandbox independence for cooties just yet.

"Married?" Y/N giggled, shaking her head. "I don’t think so.."

"I’ll be the tallest! And the strongest!" He spoke with confidence, his face turning a shade of red that rivaled his eyes.

"Hmm, maybe." Y/N said, smoothing out a mound of sand. "But when you’re a big strong man who can carry me, then maybe I’ll consider it one day. Until then, go play with your bugs."

Katsuki stood frozen as her challenge sank into his stubborn head. Without a word, he stomped over to shove the beetle into a bush and turned on his heel.

"Just you wait, Y/N! You’re gonna be eating those words!"

He stomped off to the grassy field where his other friends were huddled. Y/N didn't pay them much mind, humming as she returned to her important task of building a princess castle—one strictly free of twitchy bugs.

Ten minutes of peace passed. She was just finishing the moat when a rhythmic chanting drifted over from the grass.

"Seven! .. Eight! .. Nine! .. Come on, Bakugo!"

Y/N looked up, squinting against the sun. In the distance, she saw a small, spiky-haired figure face-down in the grass. Katsuki was shaking, his tiny five-year-old arms locked at the elbows as he struggled to lower himself.

"Ten!" The group of boys cheered.

Katsuki collapsed into the dirt, panting heavily, but he immediately scrambled back up into a plank position. Even from across the playground, Y/N could see the furious determination on his face.

Y/N smiled, patting the top of her sandcastle. "He's so weird." She whispered, though her eyes stayed glued to his struggle for one more push-up.

The neon lights of the city flickered against the damp pavement, casting long, shimmering shadows as Y/N and Katsuki walked their assigned route.

They moved with a synchronized rhythm that didn't require words—a silent language built over many years of shared snacks, scraped knees, and grueling training sessions.

"It’s too quiet." Katsuki grumbled with his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his hero costume.

The orange glow of his gauntlets caught the light every time he shifted. "If one more civilian asks me for a selfie instead of getting robbed, I’m gonna lose it."

"A quiet night means people are safe. Isn't that the point of being a hero?"

"The point is to win." He countered. "Can't win if there's no one to fight."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, Katsuki.." Y/N teased, nudging his armored shoulder with her own.

With a sharp Tch, Katsuki leaned into her shoulder for a heartbeat before correcting himself. They’d been doing this dance since they were in diapers—Katsuki charging forward with explosive heat, and Y/N acting as the steady ground he always returned to.

The city noise began to fade into a hum as they turned onto the arched stone bridge that spanned the Musutafu canal. Usually, the water was just a dark ribbon cutting through the concrete, but tonight, it was transformed.

Y/N stopped in her tracks, her breath catching. "Look!"

Below them, hundreds of paper lanterns drifted with the current, their golden flickers reflecting off the dark water like fallen stars.

The pink lotus flowers scattered among them caught the soft glow of the neon skyline. Further upstream, a festival was winding down, its remnants finally reaching the quiet corner of their route.

Katsuki stepped up to the railing beside her. He didn't grumble about 'villains' or 'patrolling' this time. He just leaned his elbows on the cool stone, his gaze fixed on the water.

"It’s actually.. Pretty." Y/N whispered, admiring the view.

"It’s a distraction." Katsuki muttered, though his voice lacked its usual bite. He glanced sideways at her, the golden light from the water dancing in his crimson eyes. "But I guess it’s not the worst thing to look at."

Y/N leaned further over the railing, her eyes wide as she traced the path of a particularly bright lantern bobbing through a cluster of pink lotuses.

The golden light played across her features, turning her skin to honey and casting a soft, ethereal glow into her eyes. To her, the river was a masterpiece—a rare moment of tranquility in a life usually defined by training and sirens.

"It’s like the stars fell into the water." She murmured, a small, genuine smile tugging at her lips. "I could stay here all night and just watch them drift."

She was so captivated by the shimmering view that she didn't notice the shift in him beside her. Katsuki wasn't looking at the water anymore.

He had completely turned away from the 'distraction' of the festival lights, with his back against the stone railing and his arms crossed over his chest.

His crimson eyes were locked only on her.

He watched the way the wind caught a peice of her hair and how her expression softened in a way she only allowed when she felt safe.

To him, the lanterns were just paper and fire, but the girl standing next to him—the girl who had meant everything to him since they were five years old—was the only thing in the city actually worth looking at.

"Yeah.." Katsuki cleared his throat, his voice dropping into a low tone that hummed with a rare kind of sincerity. "Best view in the whole damn city."

Y/N finally blinked, pulled out of her trance by the tone in his voice. She turned her head, expecting to see him pointing out a distant skyscraper or a hero billboard.

Instead, she found him staring directly at her with a soft, focused expression.

"You're not even looking at the river, Katsuki." She teased him, well-aware of how close he was standing next to her.

"I’ve seen enough water." A steady warm smirk formed on his face. "I’m looking at what I want. Same as always."

"Oh, Katsuki.." Y/N sighed, playfully rolling her eyes as she fixed her gaze back to the view of the lights.

She felt his stare and fought the heat rising in her face.

The silence stretched between them, comfortable and thick with a history that spanned over a decade. The lanterns shimmered in her eyes, yet she only felt the heat of his presence beside her.

"Still trying to pull that 'yuck' face?" Katsuki asked suddenly, his voice teasing but hushed.

Y/N chuckled, her eyes still on a floating lotus. "I think I grew out of that. Mostly because you stopped trying to give me bugs and started giving me headaches instead."

"Hey, don't pin that all on me." Katsuki let out a low groan, his lips twitching into a ghost of a smirk. "You're a pain in the ass, all the time."

"And you like this pain in the ass?" Her eyebrow arched as she tossed him a sarcastic question.

"Damn right." He answered without a second of hesitation.

Y/N shook her head, letting out a soft, disbelieving laugh huffing through her nose. "You really never give up, do you? You’re the most stubborn person I’ve ever met."

"Had to be." He muttered, his voice surprisingly steady. "If I wasn't, I wouldn't have kept up with you."

He shifted, his shoulder brushing hers as the heat of his hero suit radiated against her arm. The playfulness started to dissolve, replaced by a heavier, grounded tension.

"I've liked this pain in the ass since we were kids fighting over the same damn swing set." He spoke to the air between them.

Y/N’s lips curled into a faint smile, the memories of their childhood blurring together in her mind like the colors in the water.

"Every time I had gotten a new move or a higher score, I’d look at you and wonder if I was finally checking off your boxes. Spent my whole life becoming that big strong man you always wanted."

He looked down at his own hands—gloved, calloused, and capable of leveled-city-block power. "I can carry you and this whole damn city on my back if I had to."

"Oh, you know I didn't mean it." She began, her voice soft but steady. "We're not five anymore. I was just a little bit of a brat. Bugs and boys were gross back then, but you—you’ve always been the strongest man I've ever known."

A low, huffed laugh escaped his throat—a genuine sound that didn't hold a drop of his usual aggression.

"A brat? Yeah, no kidding." He looked up at the stars, a small smile starting to break through. "Always did have high standards, I'll give you that."

The memory seemed to amuse him more now than it had back then. The frustration of a five-year-old boy had matured into the deep, enduring devotion of a man.

"I used to get so damn mad." He confessed. "I’d just go off and do a hundred more push-ups. Figured if a bug wouldn't work, I’d just have to become more strong."

"I don't think you were able to do a hundred push-ups at the time, Katsuki." A soft laugh escaped her.

"Yeah, yeah.. Whatever.." He glanced at her for a second, looking at her with a warmth he usually hid.

"But you’re right. We're not five anymore, and I stopped bringing you bugs a long time ago."

She looked at him, seeing the way his eyes were stuck on her—as if the rest of the world had simply faded away.

Y/N knew that look in his eyes too well—she could pinpoint exactly what he was fighting to keep to himself.

He was holding back, to respect her boundaries, refusing to rush a single thing even after waiting over ten years for her to finally meet him halfway.

He was a grown man now, but his eyes held the same desperate hope of the five-year-old boy who’d catch bugs to impress her and trained his hardest to become a 'big strong man'.

"So, what's it gonna be?" He finally spoke up. "You gonna keep me waiting until we're retired, or are you gonna let me prove it right now?" He was smug about it, expecting the regular pull back that she'd always do.

"I don't know, Katsuki.." Her voice trailed off playfully. "You talk a big game. You've got the hero rank and the flashy quirk, sure. But these bridge railings are pretty high, and I’ve had a very long day of training. I'm practically dead weight."

"Are you sure you’re even able to pick me up?" She already knew the answer he’d proven a thousand times before.

The challenge was like fuel to a fire. In one swift, fluid motion, he stepped into her space.

Before she could even blink, his arm hooked securely behind her knees and his other hand stabilized her back, hoisting her up against his chest as if she weighed nothing.

Her breath hitched as she looked at him, the lantern light fading against the heat between them. "Okay, okay!" She was breathless now, her heart racing as she realized just how close they really were. "You're definitely the big, strong hero you said you'd be."

"Damn right I am." He muttered as he adjusted his grip, pulling her just a little bit closer. "And don't you forget it."

Looking into his fierce eyes she’d known her whole life, Y/N decided right then and there—the wait was over.

"If you had known better—"

She cut off his smug comment instantly, leaning in to press her lips against his in a firm, long-awaited kiss.

It was a bold, sudden move—completely unexpected. Katsuki, the boy who was always three steps ahead, was caught off guard.

His hands instinctively tightened around her in a panicked, protective grip just to make sure he didn't drop her.

The kiss held the weight of a lifetime. When she pulled away, her cheeks were nearly burning red—the exact shade of his eyes.

Katsuki stared at her, his mouth slightly agape with his usual scowl nowhere to be found. He looked dazed, his pupils blown wide as he processed their first kiss.

Y/N smiled widely, her soft laughter breaking the tension. Watching Katsuki—usually a storm of noise and confidence—reduced to a quiet, wide-eyed statue was the ultimate win.

"Earth to Katsuki!" Her voice was light and musical. "You still in there?"

She gave his bicep a soft, grounding pat—a quiet signal to put her down now that she’d completely wrecked his composure.

Reluctantly, and still moving like he was in a trance, Katsuki let her feet touch the ground. The second she was steady, Y/N smoothed out her hero suit and turned on her heel.

"Come on, big strong man!" She called over her shoulder, her ponytail swaying as she began to stroll back into the rhythm of their patrol route. "We still have three blocks to cover. We're supposed to be looking out for villains, remember?"

His hand flew up, his fingers pressing firmly against his mouth as if he were trying to physically keep the feeling of her lips from fading.

Katsuki silently followed behind her, his face a shade of red that wouldn't go away as his mind replayed the last ten seconds on a loop.

The softness, the scent of her, the way she had finally closed the gap—it was better than what he had ever imagined.

A long, jagged breath escaped him. He buried his shaking hand in his pocket, his mind a whirlwind as he spent the rest of the patrol replaying those few seconds over and over.

He finally secured the win he had been chasing for practically his entire life.

© katsukiib ʚ♡ɞ do not steal, edit, or copy my work! ♡

[deepsummitfate-deactivated20260]

absolutely BEAUTIFUL!!! i love a good childhood friends to lovers oh my 🥹🥹🥹🥹

[lvrsatoru]

— gojo satoru┊oneshot ❀ FROM THE SUBWAY TRAIN.

SYNOPSIS ── The blue spring of their youths—and everything after it ends. Your story told from the perspective of your closest friend since childhood, Shoko Ieiri.

PAIRING. ── gojo satoru x reader

TAGS. canon jjk timeline, (or at least as accurate as possible) coming of age, sorcerer!reader, angst, fluff, slice of life, mutual pining, friends to lovers, nostalgia, hidden inventory timeline, the tokyo five plus you, emotional vulnerability, dreams and nightmares, missing scenes, domestic fluff, megumi and tsumiki / dad!gojo dynamic, we love and adore shoko ieiri on this blog

WARNINGS. ! manga spoilers ! depictions of grief & loss, canon typical violence (described but not in detail), use of cigarettes and smoking, character deaths

WORD COUNT. 13.2k

mae's note. my debut work !! thank u for all the support on 'of love & lesson plans', the first chapter will be out by tomorrow hehee but i wanted to share a project i've been working on for over a year now <3 i also PINKY PROMISE my other fics won't be this sad jsjdjskd but i love u all and i'm so sorry in advanced ... but likes and reposts are much loved mwah mwah mwah

inspired by ♪ from the subway train, vansire 𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘ ── ao3 version. playlist. header art twt/@5booosa. dividers by @cafekitsune

The air in December tastes like endings, bitter like smoke and cold enough to hurt.

Shoko stands alone beneath the harsh fluorescent glow of a streetlamp, cigarette trembling faintly between gloved fingers, the embers burning quietly, steadily, a small star of comfort in between her fingertips. Snow falls in careless spirals, catching in her hair, dusting her eyelashes, melting against her skin.

She watches her breath leave her body, a faint cloud in the chill, and thinks about how strange it is—how terribly quiet the world becomes when there’s nothing left but memory.

She swears it wasn’t always this cold.

i. november, 1989

You were both born in early November, five days apart.

Shoko first—small, silent, blue around the lips. Her mother would later tell her she hadn’t cried, not even once. She just blinked up at the ceiling, like she’d already seen too much of the world. You had come days after—red-faced and furious, shrieking like you’d already been wronged.

Balance, their clanhead called it. One to make, one to unmake.

They grew up in a quiet prefecture, tucked between the mountains, where fog collected on windows in the morning and everything smelled like pine and old rain. Their family was not a traditional jujutsu clan—not in the way the Zenins or the Gojos were—but they still had blood that remembered power, blood that ran strangely cold.

Shoko discovered her technique early—reversed cursed energy, delicate and warm, the ability to stitch together what others could only destroy. It made her quiet, made her thoughtful, made her feel too responsible for things she didn’t understand. You, on the other hand, were all forward motion and fury, manifesting offensive cursed techniques with raw instinct and terrifying precision.

You burned. Shoko cooled. A soldier and a healer.

It wasn't rivalry. It wasn't even contrast, really. It was rhythm—two halves of a heart, orbiting each other, moving through childhood in tandem. You protected her from bullies, from curses, from the dark under the bed. Shoko bandaged your scraped knees, held your hair back with her small hands when you threw up after manifesting your cursed technique for the first time, whispered questions into your shoulder late at night about whether they’d ever be normal.

Neither of you wanted normal. Not really.

So when your mothers had suggested both of you for Jujutsu Tech—you didn’t hesitate. It is the slight chill that Spring of 2005 that Shoko remembers most. Fifteen years old, uniforms they’d taken customized to their liking just a month before—Shoko, with her wide turtleneck and midi skirt. You, in a well-tailored blazer, and much to your mother’s disapproval—a short skirt.

Even after the arguments and bickering, their mothers had cried. Their fathers had barely nodded at them. The train took them away to Tokyo with petals sticking to the window, and their only belongings in duffle bags at their feet. Shoko’s hands were cold where they held yours softly.

She was afraid. You weren’t.

You had always loved the idea of being chosen, and Shoko just didn’t want to be left behind.

And maybe that’s how it all began—not with power, or fate, or bloodlines.

Two girls stepping onto a train together, one chasing strength, the other running away from a world she’d one day have to hold together with her hands.

ii. april, 2005

Jujutsu Tech was nothing like Shoko expected.

She thought it would be colder, older, more like the hospitals she’d passed on the train—tall and sterile and gray. But it was… soft. Vines curling around wooden buildings, laundry strung between windows, the hum of cicadas already testing their voices in the trees. It smelled like dirt and chalk and something faintly sweet, like sakura or summer air caught in the stairwells.

She didn’t talk much those first couple of days. Neither did Suguru Geto.

They met on their first day of class, standing awkwardly apart. Shoko was pressed against the wall, you beside her like a shield, when she noticed him—black hair long just at his shoulder, eyes unreadable, hands folded neatly behind his back like he was waiting for something more important than small talk. He caught her looking, and they didn’t smile, but something passed between them anyway. A kind of shared silence.

Then came Gojo.

She had heard of him before, of course. The honored one, the destined boy of the Gojo Clan. He arrived like a storm—messy white hair, too-tall frame stuffed into the uniform like it didn’t quite belong to him. He talked too much, laughed too loud, tripped over his own shoes, and still managed to radiate something untouchable. He was awkward, undeniably gifted, and absolutely convinced he had nothing to learn from anyone.

Shoko didn’t really like him.

You despised him worse, found him amusing. You would say he was infuriating, sure—but interesting.

“He thinks he’s better than everyone,” you whispered one night, grimacing into your pillow. “But his ears turn red every time I catch him staring.”

Shoko rolled her eyes, gave you a half smile. “He’s insufferable.”

“You're just mad that he said you would look better if you grew out your hair.” you teased.

“That's not true. I like my hair.”

“I like it too.”

“Then why does it matter to me what he thinks?”

But slowly—so slowly it almost escaped her notice—he changed. He started making jokes with them. And regrettably, Shoko would sometimes laugh at something he said. He started sitting with them at lunch. Picked up Suguru’s habit of folding napkins into strange little birds. Borrowed Shoko’s pens and returned them. Awkwardly, with both hands and a muttered thanks.

He began learning them. Their rhythms. Their silences.

It was the end of summer when it started to feel like something real.

Missions were few and far between in those first months. They trained hard, sweat and bruises under the cherry blossoms, sparring on grass that still held morning dew. Shoko hated sparring. She wasn’t built for it—not the way you were, with your reckless cursed technique and even more reckless joy.

But she tried. Because she had to. Because she wouldn’t let herself be the weak link.

And Gojo—he always held back when they fought. Even then, before he understood how to be gentle, he understood that she needed to win sometimes. Needed to prove that she could. He let her land hits, not because she needed help, but because he saw the way she looked at herself compared to the rest of them. She knew that Gojo—the freak of nature he was with those blazing blue eyes—saw her beneath her dry sarcasm and grins and tired eyes.

Suguru, on the other hand, never let her win. But he gave her pointers after. Explained why she slipped, what her stance betrayed. His feedback was quiet, clinical, never cruel. Always gave her a nod and a smile. Shoko trusted him for it.

Those were their blue springs—their youth washed in cloudless skies and laughter and rain-soaked uniforms drying on sun-warmed rocks. Those were the days of early friendships, of discovering who they were becoming.

They took the train into Tokyo for missions, packed into cars half-asleep, heads knocking against windows. You would always take the window seat, with your far too expensive mp3 player and ratty wired earbuds. You’d hum under your breath, fingers tapping a beat on your thigh. Gojo sprawled across two seats, his head inevitably ending up in someone’s lap. Suguru read novels and pretended not to notice you and Gojo’s helpless bickering.

❀

The first storm of the summer comes sudden, like most things that mattered back then. Sheets of water turning the courtyard into a lake, petals plastered to the stones.

Gojo didn’t run for cover. Of course he didn't. He stood in the middle of it all like some idiot, arms outstretched, hair plastered white against his forehead, laughing so loud it made the rain sound shy.

“You'll catch a cold,” Suguru called from the walkway, voice dry as the towel slung around his shoulders.

“Colds are a myth,” Gojo shot back, spinning in a circle, water flying from his sleeves. It wasn't rare back then for Gojo to turn off his infinity, especially for rain storms he used to practically bathe in.

Shoko watched from the step, dry under an awning with a cigarette between her fingers. Smoking was a new habit she’d picked up, in spite of the protests from her friends, in spite of the distaste and the mini interventions and scoldings you’d given her. All these years later, she can’t really remember where it started from.

You had taken the cigarette from her fingers that day and threw it in the rain, leaving her a little frustrated. Then she watched as you tried not to smile, and bolted straight into the storm after Gojo, shoes kicking up water like wings.

The both of you were soaked in seconds—shrieking, colliding, uniforms clinging like second skin. Grinning too bright for the gray sky above them.

❀

They went on their first mission as a full team in late October.

A cursed spirit in a temple in the countryside—nothing particularly dangerous, but big enough to warrant the four of them. The four of you, as it turned out, had garnered somewhat of a reputation in the Jujutsu world by this point, even though it had only been a couple months into your first year. There was Gojo, being who he was, and then there were you and Geto, two special-grade hopefuls, and then Shoko, with her reverse cursed technique. It was hard not to hear the excitement, the chatter from your seniors and teachers and higher-ups and worse, the curses, as they marveled at what potential the four of you possessed.

On their first mission together they took the train, bundled in thin jackets, feet tangled under the seats. You sat next to Gojo this time, your knees knocking occasionally as the train curved through the mountains. You two didn’t talk much, just passed a packet of rice crackers back and forth, you opening them with your teeth and Gojo laughing, soft, like he couldn’t help it.

Suguru fell asleep with his head against the window. Shoko watched the landscape blur, temples and fields dissolving into dusk.

She remembers that October day clearly — because the first time they saw a body together was on a bridge, the river swollen black beneath it, the cold gnawing at their ankles. The mission shouldn’t have had civilian casualties. It wasn’t supposed to be anything. Yet their world didn’t care about supposed to.

Shoko stood back as Suguru exorcised the curse, her hands clenching, heart banging against her ribs like it wanted out. When it was over, the corpse of the victim lay sprawled against the guardrail, mouth full of frozen air. A little girl—her hair so matted in blood Shoko couldn’t tell what color it was anymore.

Gojo tried to crack a joke, to distill the buzzing in the air—something stupid about ghosts haunting bridges—but no one laughed, not even him. You touched Shoko's arm, light as breath, and for the first time Shoko wondered if maybe they weren’t weapons at all. Maybe they were just kids with blood under their nails and no way out.

It's that night she remembers all these years later, coming home from the mission. They stayed up talking until sunrise. They lay on futons in someone’s dorm room, the windows open, moths circling the lights.

“Do you ever think,” you had asked, staring at the ceiling. “That we’re not meant to survive this?”

There's a quiet that fills the room, uncomfortable, like understanding the inevitable.

“Don't say that depressing shit,” Gojo said sharply, but his voice still held a hint of something that could’ve been mistaken for vulnerability.

“I'm serious. We're weapons. Tools. They'll use us until we break.”

“Then we don’t break,” Suguru said quietly.

“Or we break together.”  Shoko said, so softly no one answered.

That first year, they were just kids. Cursed kids, sure. But kids.

And even though Shoko knew better—even though she could already see the shape of blood and bodies and burials in the future—she let herself believe in nights like those. The four of them sprawled on the floor, laughing at someone’s expense, playing cards and cheap candy wrappers littered on the floor.

In the way Gojo looked at you when he thought no one else saw.

In the way Suguru never raised his voice, but always listened.

In the way you gave your heart like the world hadn’t hurt you yet.

In the way they all leaned on each other like scaffolding, like maybe if they held tight enough, they wouldn’t fall.

iii. june, 2006

Summer in Tokyo hit different when you were sixteen and almost certain you’d die before twenty. 

They weren’t supposed to go out—they had curfews, missions stacked like bones at the start of their second year—curses growing restless, schools asking for protection, strange whispers threading through reports about ancient prisons and shifting power balances. Still, they trained. Still, they laughed. Still, they stole naps on rooftops and dared each other to eat expired convenience store pudding.

Still, they were kids.

Gojo whined until Suguru sighed and gave in, and you had tugged Shoko by the wrist before she could protest.

The festival was a crush of lantern light and smoke, sweet batter curling through the air, fireworks cracking open the dark. You darted ahead, yukata swaying, hair pinned up with something glittering like starlight. Gojo stuck by your side, wolfing down skewers two at a time, Suguru following at a distance with his hands tucked in his sleeves, gaze flicking toward the crowd like a man always counting exits, but still roaring in laughter as Gojo almost chokes on his third kebab.

“Try this,” Gojo said, shoving a stick of candied fruit under Shoko's nose.

“I don’t want your leftovers,” she muttered, unimpressed. But after a bit of nagging she took it anyway, quietly unwrapping it and biting through the sugar shell and pretending it wasn’t good—just to spite him.

Fireworks bloomed overhead—white, then red, then a scatter of gold that turned every face strange and beautiful. For a moment, Shoko saw them like strangers: Suguru haloed in crimson, Gojo’s grin carved bright in the dark, and you tilting your head back to watch the sky like it would never fall.

The boom of the next firework swallowed her thoughts, and she let it.

❀

Shoko always thought the end would come like a firework—loud, blinding, impossible to ignore.

But it hadn’t. It came instead like fog. Slow, creeping, impossible to trace where it started.

By the time they noticed it was already over, the fog of it had already filled the room.

She thinks she can trace every lamentable moment of her life back to that August of 2006. 

Gojo, Geto, you and the star plasma vessel mission she hadn’t been a part of. When she thinks back on it, she can’t exactly understand what happened in that week to have changed the course of their entire lives. Was it before Gojo died in a bloody mess? Was it after he came back, blood-stained, eyes dark, buzzing with an energy that she acknowledged—with bated breath—had finally crossed to godhood?

Gojo was stronger. Far stronger. Six eyes sharp as knives, his cursed technique threading into infinity like it had always been waiting for him to catch up. The elders watched him now—not as a student, but as a threat. You noticed it too. Started staying closer to him, stepping between him and the higher-ups during briefings.

“They're grooming him,” you told Shoko once. “Not for leadership. For war.”

Shoko looked at you—at the calluses on your hands, the scar on your jaw you hadn’t let Shoko heal.

“They're grooming all of us.”

You didn’t deny it anymore.

❀

There are softer things that year, where Shoko can’t remember the exact moment things changed.

Only that something had slowed, gone hazy. Like the last layer of frost on a windowpane, melting so gently it almost went unnoticed.

It felt like fall had come early. The leaves on the tech’s old trees went gold and red like they’d been waiting to burn. There were still wounds to be tended to, and there were still things they couldn’t talk about from the end of that summer.

But Gojo had grown taller over the summer, like his body had finally remembered he came from giants. His hair had grown shaggier, uniform didn’t fit right anymore, and he refused to ask for a new one. Shoko watched him adjust his cuffs every morning like it was some kind of ritual, then pretend not to notice when you offered him your spare hair tie for his sleeves. He took it without meeting your eyes, and wore it like armor.

Shoko noticed the shift in the air. Maybe it was the way that you had started lingering after training, towel around your neck, laughter caught in your throat like a secret. Or the way Gojo stood straighter when you walked into a room, blinking too slow, like he hadn’t meant to look. Maybe it was how the two of you had stopped fighting in that way you used to—loud, fast, like lightning cracking open the sky—and started teasing instead. Light, easy, ridiculous. Like you didn’t know how else to be near each other.

Shoko noticed it in the quiet, in the pauses between conversations, and in the way you touched your own wrist absentmindedly whenever Gojo spoke, like grounding yourself. She noticed how Gojo—always so proud of his attention span—started forgetting what he was saying mid-sentence if you laughed too loud.

“You're obvious,” Shoko told you one evening, as you stood in front of her dorm mirror brushing your teeth. It was practically your dorm now, too.

You spat into the sink. “He’s worse.”

“You're both insufferable.”

“He’s insufferable. I'm charming.”

“He told Nanami you punched him in the throat during training.”

“I did, so what? He totally deserved it.”

“I just can’t believe he let you in the first place.” Shoko shook her head, and thought of the infinity around Gojo, the invisible barrier between him and humanity. The thing that put him closer to godliness. A smile curling at her lips despite herself, understanding the implications of Gojo turning it off around you. “And yet you still gave him your last Milkis at lunch.”

“It was strawberry-flavored.” a shrug. “I don't like strawberry.”

Shoko didn’t say anything else. Didn’t point out the way you lingered when Gojo wasn’t around, or how your voice got quieter when you talked about him. Didn’t say that she’d seen Gojo staring out windows when he thought no one was watching, fingers tapping the rhythm of your laugh on his thigh.

There was something sacred about their closeness. Something fragile and half-formed, still soft at the edges. Shoko didn’t want to break it by naming it too soon.

She just watched. Just remembered.

Suguru was the only one who never commented.

He saw it too—of course he did—but he never overtly teased, only gave a knowing smile quietly to Gojo who would glare back, but never really poked at the obvious tension between the two. Maybe because he understood it, or maybe because he was the kind of person who noticed things and let them be.

He grew quieter that fall, but not in a way that worried her yet. It was more like he was watching, gathering. She felt like something was shifting behind his eyes, too slow and too early to name yet. He still joked with Gojo, still helped Haibara with his footwork, still spent long evenings reading next to Shoko in the common room without saying a word.

But he didn’t smile as easily. And sometimes, when he thought no one was looking, he would close his eyes like the world was too loud.

Shoko didn’t ask. She didn’t know how.

Maybe she should have.

❀

It's late November and the mission went fine.

They exorcised the spirit, cleansed the space, burned the remains. But it was what happened after that stuck.

They stayed overnight in a small inn at the base of the mountain, just two rooms—boys in one, girls in the other. The floors were tatami, and the air smelled like cedar and sulfur from the hot springs nearby. it should’ve been peaceful.

But Shoko couldn’t sleep.

You lay on your side, back to Shoko, eyes open in the dark. She listened to the wind outside, the drip of water from a leaky faucet, the quiet hum of something that felt like change.

And then, sometime past midnight, you slipped out of bed.

Shoko didn’t move, just watched the shadow cross the room, slide the door open, and vanish into the hallway.

It wasn't long before Gojo left too.

You weren’t subtle. Maybe you didn’t want to be.

Shoko waited a full minute before getting up. Her feet were cold on the floor. She didn’t know what she expected—to interrupt them, to tease them. She heard echoes in the hallway, but couldn’t make out a word. Just the shuffling of feet, and the wind blowing against the door.

But when she found the two of you — you weren’t touching.

You were standing in the snow-dusted garden outside the inn, facing each other, breathing visible in the cold. Your arms were folded tight across your chest. Gojo's hands were shoved deep into his coat pockets.

You weren’t saying anything, but she felt this air around you two. In your distance, in the heavy breathing and puffs of smoke between your lips, like you had run out of words to say.

Now, you were just looking.

And maybe that was worse. More intimate, somehow.

Shoko didn’t move. She stayed hidden by the shadows, her breath caught somewhere in her throat.

Then you reached forward.

Your hands touching Gojo’s cheek, just barely.

He flinched.

Not away. Not exactly. Just — startled. Like he hadn’t expected you to be real.

Shoko could see it then—how scared he was. Not of you, but of what it meant to want something in a world like theirs.

“You don’t have to say anything,” you said quietly.

Gojo looked at you. “I should.”

“You never say anything you don’t mean.”

“I don’t know how to mean this.”

A pause. Your breath hitched.

“Just don’t look away.”

He didn’t.

And she watched as you leaned in, closing your eyes for your first kiss. How his lashes had brushed against your cheek as he let you pull him in, his hand finding its way to gently hold your waist. 

Shoko had left after that — witnessing a moment so intimate she felt shivers just watching it, intruding in it. Or maybe it was the cold that got her. But, she waited to sleep until you went back inside. Waited until you crawled into bed beside her again, colder than before, but smiling softly into the dark.

Neither of you said a word.

Shoko stared at the ceiling and tried not to think about how everything had already started to change.

❀

The next few weeks felt warmer, somehow. Like something had opened in their group that wasn’t there before. Not just between Gojo and you—but all of them.

They trained harder. Laughed more. She wanted to believe they were healing the cracks from that August, that the feeling of finality sinking into her wasn’t real.

Even Suguru seemed lighter again. He stopped frowning at the radio when the news came on. Started humming again while he read. He taught Haibara about a complicated binding technique in the training yard one afternoon and let out a laugh when their junior tried it himself. There was a moment—a brief, impossible moment—where Shoko almost believed in forever.

They sat on the school rooftop one evening, all four of them, sky streaked violet and pink and gold. Someone had brought a speaker, and someone else had brought a bottles of various soda. Music played low. She noticed that you had rested your head on Gojo's shoulder, and he didn’t move, just leaned into it like gravity.

Suguru was telling a story about a curse he saw shaped like a crab. Shoko laughed. The wind was cool and sweet. The world didn’t feel like it was ending yet.

“You ever think we’ll get out of this?” Suguru asked, voice low, cigarette between his lip.

“Out of what?” you asked.

“This. Jujutsu. Destruction and death and chaos—whatever it is.”

Gojo stared at the sky. “No.”

“Maybe,” Shoko took the cigarette from Geto’s lips, and took a puff. “but not whole.”

They sat in silence for a long time after that.

The sun set, and Shoko watched the light disappear behind Gojo’s glasses, behind your smile, behind the quiet curve of Suguru's mouth.

It felt like a beginning.

But all she could think about was how beautiful things always seemed, right before they broke.

iv. march, 2007

It’s cruel to her, how the missions only seemed to get worse after that.

Higher-ranked, more volatile, more death. More nights in strange towns with blood on their hands. They started seeing each other less and less. After last August, in the aftermath of Riko Amani’s death, Gojo had been assigned onto more missions alone—acknowledged for the first time in finality as the strongest. Started carrying all the mission files himself, memorizing them down to the street corners. Shoko started collecting more tools, more supplies, more sutures for the clinic at the tech, where she stayed more often than not now. She stopped wearing earrings because they got in the way of her face mask. You had learned how to kill without hesitation.

And she swore Suguru never complained about the missions he went on alone. But now he flinched when they passed playgrounds. Tensed when civilians asked for help. The curses he swallowed grew sharper, crueler. nastier, he had once told her late one night, the word leaving his tongue like he had coughed up bile.

“Don't let them suffer,” he said once, without blinking. “Fast is better.”

Shoko nodded.

She didn’t ask what he meant.

❀

The last mission they took together was in the early spring of 2007, before the start of their third year. 

A cult in Hiraizumi—dark rituals, civilian disappearances, cursed users hiding behind holy symbols and incense. They traveled light, only the four of them. It felt like the early days again, for a moment—suitcases and jokes and Gojo making dumb puns as they checked into a cheap ryokan.

But the mission itself was ugly.

Children locked in closets. Blood on the temple floors. Curses formed from fear and starvation, clinging to walls like rot.

Suguru lost control halfway through.

Not of his technique. Not of his mind. But of his restraint.

He killed too quickly. Didn’t wait for surrender, and didn’t leave the last cursed user breathing long enough to answer questions.

Gojo grabbed him by the collar after.

“What the hell was that?”

“They were killing kids.”

“They were running away.”

“And they would’ve kept going.” 

Gojo's hand tightened. his voice dropped. “We follow orders.”

“Do we?”

Suguru's eyes burned—hotter than Shoko had ever seen. “Whose orders, Satoru?”

Shoko watched you step between them. A hand on Gojo's chest. Your voice low. “Not here.”

Gojo dropped his hand, and Suguru had turned and walked away, scoffing.

The two of them didn’t speak again the rest of the trip.

❀

Haibara died not long after.

He had been bright—sun-bright, laughter-bright, too-young-to-fall-bright. He said “good morning” like it mattered. He addressed them all formally even when they told him to stop. He sparred with you like he was dancing, ate lunch with his mouth full, had dreams about being a sorcerer who saved people and meant it.

The mission was supposed to be simple.

Shoko remembers the call. A cursed womb, grade 3, nothing extraordinary. She remembers you saying, “they’re strong. Nanami'll be with him. they’ll be fine.”

They weren’t.

What came back wasn’t a body, not really. It was a mess of limbs and red and something too silent to be the Haibara she had known.

Nanami carried him. Wouldn’t let go, even as his uniform soaked a darker shade from the blood.

Shoko stitched Haibara's body together with shaking hands—not to save him. Just so his mother could recognize his face.

You threw up in the courtyard after the funeral. Gojo didn’t speak. Suguru didn’t cry.

Grief had finally split the group like glass under pressure—fracture lines running between them, invisible until the light hit just right.

Gojo got louder. More obnoxious, more ridiculous. He made jokes during meetings, fell asleep in class, tripped over his own feet just to make you laugh.

And you did laugh. Loud and real and reckless. But there was something sharp underneath it. A glint in your voice. A kind of defiance.

Suguru got even quieter.

Not the peaceful kind of quiet, the kind that meant calm or ease.

This was the kind that clung to him. That narrowed his eyes when he passed civilians on the street. That curled his lip when they reported to elders who hadn’t lifted a hand in battle in years. That made him look at Haibara’s photo like it was a question that would never be answered.

Shoko felt it most at night.

Suguru used to accidentally fall asleep reading in the common room, head tilted back, glasses slipping. Now, he sat up long after everyone else had gone to bed, staring at nothing, fingers curled like he was still gripping a weapon.

She said something once. Tried to, at least.

“Are you okay?” she asked quietly, as they stood in the hall one night. She can’t recall why, or where, but she remembers this moment because there has never been a part of her that hadn’t wished she had pushed back harder.

Suguru looked at her.

His smile was soft, fake. “Yeah.”

By then she knew he was gone.

❀

A couple weeks later, in the midst of an August heatwave — Suguru Geto disappears.

He left a note on the dorm kitchen table and a photo of the four of them.

Just one sentence: I can't do this anymore.

The rest was silence.

Shoko found it first. She read it twice, then sat down at the table and stared at the handwriting until you walked in and asked where everyone was.

Gojo didn’t say anything after meeting with Yaga. Didn’t come out of his room for the rest of the morning.

Though it’s the last time she sees Suguru, she understands this is it.

She had heard, just a little after reading his final note, what he’d done. A town massacred, burned to the ground and cursed residuals that couldn’t have been anyone’s but the man next to her — his own mother and father killed by their only son’s hands. 

Yet here he was, lighting her cigarette for her and laughing. At least she could pretend for a moment that this didn’t have to be over.

She gives Gojo a call and waits with Suguru for his best friend to arrive and she wonders if Gojo could change the outcome of this. If Gojo Satoru could save Suguru Geto from himself. But another glance up at him, long hair disheveled, the purpled skin under his eyes deeper than she’s ever seen, and the emptiness behind his smile, that she realizes she doesn’t know the man next to her. Not anymore. Maybe not at all.

So he waves goodbye, and she nods and lets the smoke cloud her lungs.

And she never spoke to him again.

❀

That winter, the sky felt heavier. The air full of ghosts.

You stopped wearing bright colors. Started sleeping in your uniform, like you expected to be called into battle at any second. Gojo trained until his hands bled, and didn’t let Shoko bandage them.

“What if he’s right?” he asked her once. His voice barely audible. “What if we’re just killing things to delay the inevitable?”

Shoko didn’t answer, because she didn’t know. (Because something in her still wanted to believe.)

But by the end of that year she had found herself alone more often.

In the morgue. On the roof. In the silence between patrols. She smoked less, not because she wanted to live longer. Just because it didn’t feel worth the taste anymore.

You had stopped talking about the future.

Gojo stopped calling himself the strongest.

They were eighteen then. Too young to have seen so much. Too old to unsee any of it.

v. 2008

The years felt blurry after.

Like the sky after a firework show, after the beauty of it wears and you are left with the remains. Of the sky billowed in smoke, and the ground covered in ash. Shoko remembers the firework show during the summer festival in their second year, how she had watched the lights change your faces. How when she thinks of Suguru, she remembers him back then, hair in a half bun, wearing a yukata, his profile cast under the red glow of fireworks.

Mission after mission. Report after report. Half-empty dorm rooms. Birthdays that passed unnoticed. Names that became numbers. More curses. More blood. Fewer friends.

By then she had stopped smoking entirely, not because she wanted to live. But because you had always hated the smell.

And for a long time after Suguru left, Shoko couldn’t sleep without dreaming of the morgue.

The lights were always too bright. The steel trays too cold. Her gloves slick with blood that would never dry. In the dream, you always walked in first—whole, alive, laughing. And Shoko would reach for you. Call your name. But you would just smile, step onto the autopsy table, and lie down.

“You're early,” Shoko would whisper.

“I know.” you would say.

Then the door would swing open, and Suguru would walk in next. But his face would be hollowed out, eyes dark like tunnels. He'd sit beside your body, light a cigarette, and say nothing at all.

Shoko always woke up with her hands clenched tight around the sheets, fingers aching.

❀

Gojo never talked about Suguru.

Not once.

Not even on that day all those years ago when he came back from the confrontation in Shinjuku with blood in his nails and grief in his eyes.

He got stronger. Faster. Untouchable.

The elders stopped looking at him like a student and started looking at him like their greatest tool. He didn’t flinch, just started smiling bigger, make louder jokes, wore sunglasses indoors, and flirted and teased and deflected.

Shoko could see it, thought. In the slump of his shoulders, or the way his laugh caught wrong in his throat.

He was grieving like a dam breaking. Slowly and inevitably.

But never where anyone could see.

You stayed close to him after that. Stopped being fire and became gravity. Quiet and steady. The only thing that could bring him back when he started spinning too fast. You were the one who waited outside meetings. The one who kicked open his door and pulled him out of bed on the days he refused to get up, muttering, “If you don’t move, I'll set your curtains on fire.”

He always moved. Shoko thinks that it’s less because he believed in your vague threats, and more because he just believed in you.

Shoko watched it all from the edge.

The way you stopped waiting for him to say how he felt. The way you just stood there—open, unwavering—until he stopped running.

The two of you never made it official. Not with labels. Not with grand declarations or anything, But Gojo started showing up late to meetings because he walked you home.

Shoko didn’t know if it was healing, but for a while, it was peace.

vi. april, 2009

Around this time, the Fushiguro’s arrived.

Megumi. Six years old. Too serious. Too quiet. walked around everyone like he was ready to hit, or be hit. His older sister, Tsumiki. Not older by much, just eight years old, but she was sunshine, warm and motherly beyond her years. Shoko saw that you took to her instantly, buying her hair clips and braiding her hair — showing her how to throw a punch if she ever needed to.

Gojo brought them to the school with a box of takeout and a stubborn glint in his eye. "Don't say anything weird,” he told you and shook. “He already thinks I’m an idiot.”

“He's not wrong,” you smiled, and Gojo pouted at you.

Shoko bent down to meet the boy’s eyes, unsure of what to say. “Hmm. What’s something you like?”

He shrugged, and gave her an unimpressed look. “I like dogs.”

“Me too,” she said. “They’re honest.”

That night, they all sat in the common room eating cold noodles. Gojo told a story about a cursed tanuki that stole his left shoe. Megumi didn’t laugh, but he leaned into his sister when she did. Shoko watched as he leaned by Gojo's side as the lights went out.

You and Gojo had opened your arms and made space for the two of them.

Or maybe you had filled in the spaces left behind.

❀

Gojo cooked more, and wasn't great on his first try, surprisingly. Shoko had to supervise so he didn’t poison anyone, and you would’ve eaten anything Gojo cooked, regardless.

Shoko watched as the four of them fell into something like a rhythm. Not a family. Not quite.

But something softer than she had become used to.

The kids brought color back to the halls when they came to visit. Laughter that didn’t feel borrowed. It wasn't like before—but nothing ever was.

Gojo had bought an apartment for Megumi and Tsumiki, and the two of you stopped by almost everyday that year. You and Gojo made bento boxes. You went on grocery runs. You argued over what show to watch on Saturday nights. When Shoko would come over, Tsumiki would beg to paint Shoko’s nails, and once she had given in with her nails painted badly in rainbow and glitter, and you and Gojo had made fun of her for weeks when Shoko didn’t wipe it off.

You stopped wearing your uniform outside missions. Started wearing sweaters with loose sleeves, earrings again, mismatched socks.

You started reading books and magazines and things that weren’t just mission reports. Bought a plant for their windowsill. Put post-it notes on the fridge.

Shoko found one once that said, “Satoru, if you forget to buy me dorayaki again, I swear to God.”

He forgot anyway, but he came back late that night with flowers.

Shoko watched from the couch as you opened the door, just to see you blinking down at the bouquet like it had grown a second head.

“They didn’t have dorayaki,” he said, sheepish. “But they had these.”

You didn’t speak—just grabbed the collar of his coat and stepped into the apartment hallway with him, shutting the door without looking.

Shoko looked away, and gave them the evening. She hung out with the kids, because they were cooler, and let them sleep on the couch watching movies.

It’s after they had fallen asleep, and you and Gojo were nowhere to be seen, that she sat on the balcony and watched the city lights flicker, listening to the hum of traffic into the night.

For the first time in months, she felt… full.

Not happy. Not yet healed.

But full, like maybe all her pieces had stopped rattling.

Just for now.

❀

She still worked long hours, because the clinic never slept.

New students. New injuries. New names she tried not to memorize.

She stitched and cut and stabilized and cleaned. Practiced her technique until it no longer felt like a gift but a reflex.

She stopped praying, though she had never been good at it anyway.

But every time a body came in, not yet cold, not yet gone, she held her breath.

Please, not them.

❀

They didn’t talk about the past. At least not often.

But sometimes, when you had already fallen asleep and the wind whistled through the hallways, Gojo would sit next to her on the balcony and say things in a tone older than his twenty years.

“He liked soba more than ramen. I never knew that.”

And Shoko would nod.

“He read faster than anyone,” she’d add. “even me.”

“He believed in this more than we did.”

“Yeah.”

Then silence.

Then the night.

Then the world turning, regardless.

❀

Shoko isn’t sure what time it is now, but it feels like a bit past midnight. In here, it’s just the two of you on the couch with the weight of exhaustion like a second blanket. The balcony door is half-open, and the September chill is blowing in softly. There’s a glass of wine balanced precariously on the edge of the coffee table, that she keeps forgetting to drink, and you’ve got your legs tucked underneath you, hair damp from a shower, wearing one of those shirts that’s probably his — though neither of you ever acknowledges it out loud.

Shoko tips her head against the back of the couch, eyes tracing the ceiling like it’ll tell her the future, and mutters, “I feel so old.”

You laugh, soft, incredulous. “We’re twenty-one.”

“Exactly. And yet my back feels like I’m fifty.” You give her a side glance, smiling.

“My back feels perfectly fine, granny.”

“That’s because you have two little minions who give you back massages whenever you ask. And they can’t say no because you house and feed them.”

You nudge her knee with your own, half-amused, half-affectionate. “They’d starve if it wasn’t for us.”

“They’d at least learn how to cook instant ramen properly,” she fires back, though her tone is fond. She knows it as well as you do—how Megumi sometimes falls asleep at the kitchen table with his homework still out, how Tsumiki always insists on washing the dishes even when her fingers are pruned from her bath. How the apartment has begun to feel not just like a place to sleep, but like the kind of home you were never supposed to have.

It makes her chest ache.

She glances at you again, more carefully this time. “You’re happy, right?”

You blink at her, then tilt your head like you don’t quite understand the weight of the question. “Happy?”

“You know what I mean.” Shoko shrugs, too casual. “With all this — and with him.”

There it is. Not accusatory, just curious, like she’s been holding this thought in her mouth for months, letting it turn over until it smoothed into something she could say without breaking it.

You’re quiet for a moment, your gaze lowering to the glass of wine you still haven’t touched. “It’s not simple.”

“Nothing ever is with him.” She huffs a small laugh, but she doesn’t look away from you.

“Sometimes,” you admit, your voice softer, “it feels like we’re still kids, sneaking out after curfew, daring each other to jump rooftops. And then sometimes I look at him and I feel like—” You break off, shaking your head as though it’s too fragile to name.

“Like what?”

You exhale slowly. “Like he already belongs to the world, and I’m just borrowing him for a while.”

That hits Shoko harder than she expects. She shifts on the couch, watching the way your fingers worry at the hem of your sleeve. There’s something unguarded in the way you say it, something that makes her throat tighten.

Shoko leans her head against the couch cushion, her glass dangling loosely from her fingers. “You talk like he’s a library book or something. Checked out, due back in three weeks.”

You laugh, though it’s small and tired. “Maybe that’s all love really is. Borrowing someone for as long as they’ll let you keep them.”

“Morbid.”

“Honest.” You glance at her, and your smile is crooked, fond. “You know him. He’s… a hurricane in human form. Everyone wants a piece of him, and half the time I feel like I’m just holding on, hoping he doesn’t blow past me.”

Shoko hums, noncommittal, but her eyes are sharp. “And yet you’ve been holding on for who knows how long. Most people can’t even last five minutes with him in a room.”

“Don’t remind me,” you mutter, though your lips curve. “He still leaves his socks everywhere. Still eats candy for breakfast if I don’t stop him. And he—” You pause, and the softness of your voice betrays you. “He still looks at me the same way he did when we were sixteen. Like he can’t believe I’m real.”

Shoko conceals her smile, and masks it with a sip of wine. “He’d be an idiot not to.”

“I think about it sometimes,” you admit. “If we hadn’t met so young. If we hadn’t been thrown together in that pressure cooker of a school — would it have still been him? Would he have still found me?”

Shoko stretches her legs out, her gaze slipping toward the ceiling. “I think he was always going to be yours, you know. Some things just… fix themselves in place before you even notice.”

You fall quiet, staring at the wine in your glass, watching the way the light fractures against it. When you speak again, it’s hushed. “I’m scared, Shoko. I– I think I’m scared of losing him. Of the day the world asks for more than he can give, and I have to watch him walk toward it anyway.”

Shoko doesn’t answer right away. She looks at you — really looks — the girl who grew up at her side, who always chose kindness even when it cost you. You, who Gojo has loved since he was growing into his height, awkward and half-feral with grief and brilliance. You, who still look at him like he’s worth the trouble.

Finally, she says, “You know, when we were teenagers, I used to wonder if you’d grow tired of him. If one day you’d realize it was too much.”

You blink at her, startled. “And now?”

Shoko shrugs, her expression softening. “Now I think — if anyone was ever built to love him, it was you. Stubborn, patient, stupidly brave. He’s impossible, but you’ve always made the impossible look easy.”

Your laugh catches in your throat, trembling somewhere between joy and sorrow. “Don’t make me cry, Shoko.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” She lifts her glass in a lazy toast. “To you and him. To sixteen and twenty-one, and however long you can keep borrowing each other.”

You tap your glass gently against hers, the sound ringing low and warm. “To growing older.”

Shoko watches the way your face lights up at the thought, and takes a long sip from her glass. She tries for levity, though it comes out a little rough. “Well, if he breaks your heart, I get to kill him. That’s the rule.”

You laugh—really laugh this time, the kind that crinkles your eyes and warms the air between you. “You’d have to fight him first.”

“Please,” she scoffs. “He’s all bark. I’d win.”

“You’re funny, Shoko.” You smile a little sleepily, and lean your head against her shoulder, the way you used to when you were girls hiding from the elders in the back hallways of the clan compound. She doesn’t move, just lets you settle there, the weight of you a reminder that some things never change.

There’s a long stretch of silence, broken only by the city hum outside. Then, almost shyly, Shoko says, “Well, I hope he loves growing old with you as much as I loved growing up with you.”

You still against her, then let out a breath that sounds dangerously close to a sob. She doesn’t look at you, doesn’t push. That’s never been your language. Instead, she reaches for her wine, takes another sip, and adds, almost casually, “And if he doesn’t, then screw him. You’ll still have me.”

You laugh again, watery this time, and lean closer. “Always.”

❀

In the mornings, she drank coffee alone.

In the evenings, she liked to come to your apartment to the sound of laughter, and nonsense on the TV. To the smell of your cooking, which had gotten better than Gojo’s after a couple months. To Tsumiki and her hands that grabbed Shoko’s wrists and led her to the dining table. To Megumi, who Gojo tried so hard to make smile at his awful jokes.

Sometimes, she let herself believe it could last.

Sometimes, she let herself want more.

That was enough.

vii. 1997

When they were seven, you and Shoko built a grave for a bird.

They’d found it after a storm — a small thing, all bones and feathers, collapsed in the mud beneath a persimmon tree in the compound’s garden. You crouched beside it, poked it with a stick. “Is it sleeping?”

“No,” shoko said. “It's dead.”

“How do you know?”

“Its chest isn’t moving.”

“How do you know?”

Shoko didn’t answer. Just knelt down, tiny hands damp with soil, and began to dig.

They buried it beneath a square stone, lined the edges with pebbles. You picked wildflowers and bundled it with twine from the kitchen. Shoko pressed her fingers to the earth and whispered something she didn’t really understand — a wish, maybe, or a prayer.

They sat there until the wind died down, until your mother called them in, until the sky turned the color of ash.

“We should’ve saved it,” you whispered, wiping your nose with your sleeve.

Shoko didn’t say it, but she knew it then: sometimes you’re too late.

❀

january, 2014

The call comes at 2:19 in the afternoon, a higher-up’s voice, clipped and formal.

“She’s been recovered. We’re bringing you the body now.”

The world doesn’t spin, it just stills. Though Shoko sits at her desk for a long time after, the phone silent in her lap, her hands empty.

Shoko doesn’t ask whose, because there’s only one person left.

She's already standing.

Her coat’s already on.

Her tea’s gone cold. The light in the infirmary has gone muddled and slanted, painting long shadows over everything like a warning.

Her hands move automatically. Clipboard.Pen. Gloves.

The air starts to feel static.

The mission was supposed to be easy. “A clean-up.” A second sweep.She repeats, and repeats. Yet how many other times has she thought this?

You weren’t supposed to go alone, but someone backed out last minute, and you were never one to wait around.

Grade one curse. Warehouse District.

Shoko remembers the briefing because she was in the room. Because you had smiled — tilted your head, chewing gum, loose-limbed and tired. “I’ll be home quick.”

❀

Shoko gets a morbid sense of déjà vu when she sees you laid out on the table, covered with a sheet pulled too high. 

But when she sees the body, it doesn’t feel like you.

Not you. Born five days apart. The soldier to her healer. Balance, the clanheads had once called them. One to make and unmake.

Not the same girl who used to share her shampoo, or talk in her sleep. Not the girl who burned bright and reckless and kissed Gojo Satoru like it was the only truth left in the world.

The word balance keeps running through her head as she stares at your face. So still.

No, it wasn’t you. This body is cold, and broken in ways Shoko doesn’t have the words for.

Her gloves are on. Her cursed energy thrums at her fingertips.

But it’s all useless.

The wounds are clean. Carved into you like declarations. Chest collapsed, Ribs fractured inward. Shoko's already cataloging the report in her head. Trachea crushed. Internal hemorrhaging. Cursed lacerations across the sternum.

Then she moves.

Like a surgeon. like a healer with something to prove, even if there’s no one left to prove it to.

She doesn’t try to bring you back. Not really. She's seen too many bodies to believe in resurrection.

She stitches muscle back together like it’ll matter. Seals split skin. Brushes blood from your scalp. A ritual, maybe. or penance. And as she runs her fingers through the ends of your hair, she thinks of being five years old when you had taught her how to braid it.

When she feels her vision blur she whispers, “don’t be stupid,” just like you used to.

Her voice doesn’t tremble until the end.

Too late, she thinks, and she sees a dead bird cupped in your small hands. Wildflowers wrapped in twine.

Too late, too late, too late.

She writes the report with mechanical precision.

Her handwriting doesn’t shake.

She signs it, and place it on top of the clipboard.

Then folds your arms across your chest, straightens your uniform collar, uses a towel to wipe a smudge from your chin, and the drawer of the morgue clicks shut with a hollow finality.

And she finally lets herself cry.

Just once.

Quietly.

Like a confession.

❀

Shoko takes the train without really knowing why she’s chosen this route over the school car. After she explained what she was doing, Ijichi had told her he could drive her with a solemn look in his eyes, always so insistent. She had declined, so now she sits by the window, forehead pressed to the cold glass, the tunnel lights strobing against her reflection until her own face starts to look like a stranger’s.

She's still in her work clothes, still smells faintly of antiseptic and smoke, and the folder in her lap feels heavier than it should. She keeps one hand pressed flat to its cover like she’s holding a wound closed.

People filter in and out of the train at each stop, their chatter muted, just faint shapes moving through her periphery.

She doesn’t meet anyone’s eyes. The only thing she lets herself look at is the glass, and the snow on the other side of it—each flake blurring against the motion of the city, small and perfect and already gone.

Yaga had told her, after, that Satoru wasn’t told yet, but she wonders if he already knows. If some part of him—whatever raw, uncanny instinct makes him the strongest—registered it the moment your heart stopped. Maybe he felt it like an earthquake deep in his bones, the sudden, wrong absence in the air. Maybe he was sitting on their couch, turning toward the door without knowing why.

Her mind drifts, unspooling memory:

Summer afternoons, the four of them sitting on the roof with drinks to cool the sweat on them. Your hair tangled from the wind. Gojo leaning back on his palms, his sunglasses pushed to the top of his head so she could clearly see the way his gaze snagged on you like he didn’t even notice he was staring. The quiet shift over months from banter to something slower, gentler, like they’d started speaking a language that Shoko didn’t know but could still recognize in the spaces between words.

A late night after a mission, all of them exhausted, half asleep in the common room. Shoko had woken to see them leaning together on the couch, your head on his shoulder, his hand resting loosely on yours. The kind of touch that wasn’t accidental.

There had been other moments—quieter, private ones she hadn’t meant to see—that told her this was the thing that had changed him. He'd always been brilliant, unbearable, untouchable. but with you, his edges softened. He laughed differently. He listened.

Now she wonders how much of that she’s about to take from him in a single sentence.

The train slows into her stop, brakes screeching. She rises, folder in hand. She doesn’t know why she carries the hardcopy—maybe it makes it feel more real, more final, more like evidence of something she already failed to prevent.

She had stopped by a gas station and bought a pack of cigarettes and a small black lighter for the first time in almost six years. There’s now a cigarette clamped between her teeth, though she hasn’t lit it.

Snow is falling.

It catches in her hair, her sleeves, her lashes.

When she reaches their apartment building, she stops at the bottom of the stairs and thinks about turning around. But she doesn’t. She climbs each step like she’s approaching a grave.

The light’s on under the door.

She raises her hand.

And knocks.

❀

The door opens almost immediately.

And for a second — just one, flickering, incandescent second — Shoko sees the look on his face.

Gojo Satoru opens the door like he expects you to be behind it. Not Shoko. Not grief incarnate. But you. The woman he loves. The only thing in the world that could quiet his mind and hold his entire future in her palms.

He opens the door like someone in love. Like someone relieved. Like someone who still dares to hope.

And then he sees Shoko.

And everything stops.

His face doesn’t fall.

It freezes.

She watches the hope die in his expression. It doesn’t vanish — it dies. Like something physically collapsing inside of him. A structure caving in, silently, under its own weight.

His shoulders lock, and she watches his jaw tense. He doesn’t move aside to let her in, doesn’t say a word.

Just stares.

He looks at her like he had known this would be how it ended all along, but still — still, deep down, some piece of him had been holding on. Had left the light on. Had made her side of the bed. Had waited.

Shoko clears her throat.

The words don’t want to come.

"I’m sorry—she’s gone.”

That's all it takes.

Gojo doesn’t flinch.

But she sees it in the way his hand clenches around the edge of the door. The way his breath leaves him — sharp, shallow, wrong. The way he looks past her, like he’s trying to reframe the hallway, the scene, the moment.

Like maybe he can rewind it.

Undo it.

See you behind her, scolding her for delivering bad news so bluntly.

But Shoko is alone, and the silence is loud.

He steps back, and turns.

Walks into the apartment like everything inside was knocked over.

Shoko follows and shuts the door behind her.

The apartment is dim. Bathed in soft warm light. The heater hums gently in the corner, and there are two mugs on the table, one empty and one half-drunk. Your sweater is still hanging over the back of the couch, sleeves inside out. Your boots are by the door. The windows are covered by sheer white curtains, but the shade of blue that appears just after sunset peeks through, framing the room the same color as melancholy.

Shoko wants to scream.

Instead, she places the folder on the table.

Neither of them look at it.

She taps the folder once, not to push him, but to make its presence undeniable.

“Are you going to read it?”

His back is still to her. She can see the angle of his spine through the thin cotton of his shirt, every muscle tight, like he’s bracing for impact.

With no hesitation, “No.”

Shoko expected that answer, but she still feels something drop in her chest.

“You sure? It’s not… it’s not just medical jargon. I kept it clean. No gore.”

He turns his head just enough for her to see one sharp eye over his shoulder.

“You want me to read the autopsy for the love of my life?”

She pauses, feeling herself hold her breath.

“I want you to know what happened,” she says, voice level. “Exactly what happened. Without the stories you’ll tell yourself later.”

He scoffs—a sound halfway between disbelief and exhaustion—and shakes his head.

“The story I want is that you’re lying.”

Silence.

He pushes away from the counter, crosses to the table. His height makes the space between them smaller without him even trying. He puts a hand on the folder like he might open it—thumb brushing the edge, fingers curling.

And then he just… freezes.

Shoko watches him, and for the first time she sees it—not the usual walls, the sarcasm, the easy dismissal. This is different. This is a man standing at the edge of a cliff, staring down, knowing there’s nothing but rocks and cold water below.

“I can't,” he says finally, and it’s not defiance. It's quiet. almost gentle.

“Why?”

he swallows, eyes still on the folder.

“Because the second I read it, it’s over. She's gone in ink. In numbers. In your handwriting.” he glances up at her, and there’s no shield in his expression now. “If I don't read it, she’s just… late coming home.”

Shoko's throat tightens.

For a moment, she wants to tell him she understands. That she’s done the same—taken certain pages out because the words make her feel sick. But she doesn’t. She just nods, takes the folder back, tucks it under her arm again.

He exhales like he’s been holding his breath the whole time.

He’s not moving.

Not breathing, maybe.

His hand rests on the counter like it’s the only thing keeping him upright and she watches his shoulders shake.

Once.

Then still again.

His face is unreadable.

But his eyes — god, his eyes.

Shoko has known him for more than a decade, has seen him bloodied and laughing and blind with pain and victory. But she has never seen him like this.

Not even after Suguru.

Not even after Toji.

This isn’t rage.

This isn’t despair.

This is something else.

Something jagged. Something bottomless.

He looks at her like she’s the executioner. Like she didn’t just bring the news — but she made it true. But maybe, in some way, he’s right to feel that way.

“You’re sure that she’s—?” he asks, voice quiet. She could’ve mistaken his tone for desperation.

Shoko nods.

That's when it happens.

He laughs.

Short, ugly, and bitter.

An instinct, like flinching.

He runs a hand through his hair. Leans back against the counter.

The quiet settles like dust.

Shoko sits down on the couch. something crackles beneath her — one of your notebooks. She picks it up, flips it open without thinking.

The last page is filled with sketches. a little cartoon version of Gojo, grinning, speech bubble saying “have you seen my honey?”

Her throat tightens.

She doesn’t speak.

“I thought I had more time,” he says. Shoko doesn’t have it in her to speak.

“I wanted to take her to Okinawa again. Not for a mission this time. Just because.”

He closes his eyes.

“She never got to see it in winter. She would’ve liked the cold.”

And she stays the night on their couch. Like old times, except there is no wine and no laughter and your warmth isn’t beside her. Shoko never really registered that she’ll never see you again. Even now, it feels like you’ll call her at any moment and ask her if she wants a drink.

But that first night without you, she doesn’t think she could really fall asleep.

And he doesn’t really cry.

But in the morning, he makes coffee with hands that won’t stop shaking.

She drinks hers cold, and so does he. But she watches him press your mug to his lips and set it down again, like it burned him.

❀

august, 2014

Gojo is twenty four, and he’s older than he was meant to be. More tired than he lets on, and somehow still waiting for something that already ended.

Sometimes, when it’s late, and the city is loud, and the stars don’t show themselves—Shoko catches him leaning against the doorway of his apartment balcony, looking at the buildings and cars and passerbys like he’s trying to remember the shape of your face.

And that, she thinks, is love.

Not flowers.

Not vows.

Not even the waiting.

But the remembering.

The carrying.

The way his world stopped. The way he never quite leaves the doorway, just in case you might still come home to him.

viii. 2015

Grief, when it lingers long enough, becomes routine.

Shoko wakes the same way every morning: early, cold. the city a dull hum outside her window. The kettle clicks on. She measures out coffee. Drinks it black, because that’s how you liked it, and then cooks konnyaku because you hated it.

The irony keeps her company.

The mornings are always quiet now. The kind of quiet that settles into your bones and stays.

And Nanami leaves the Jujutsu world around that time.

Quietly. Respectfully. Without fuss.

He came to her clinic on a Tuesday, knocked once, sat down across from her, and said, "I'm leaving.”

She didn’t ask why, because she felt like she already knew.

He was twenty three and already looked like he’d seen the end of the world twice.

“You'll be good,” she said softly. “Too good for this place.”

Nanami looked away. “I just want to live like a person.”

She envied him for thinking it was still possible.

Before he left, he placed a small paper-wrapped gift on her desk.

Inside was a lighter, clean, silver, unused.

She held it in her palm for a long time that night.

But she didn’t smoke.

Not yet.

❀

She sees Gojo more often these days.

Not because they talk more, and not because they seek each other out. Just because there’s no one else left.

They don’t need to make plans anymore. They just end up in the same places. The clinic. The faculty room. The convenience store on that street with the broken traffic light.

Sometimes he brings her canned coffee. Never says anything when he hands it to her.

She drinks it anyway.

It’s the only thing he offers that she can still take.

And he laughs a little more now, but it’s not the same.

When he does, it’s wrong. Jagged. Like something trying to escape from under his skin. It reminds her that he’s still grieving, even when he tells her “he’s over it.”

The students adore him. Still think he’s invincible, and think the blindfolds and wit and charm are who he really is.

 But Shoko knows better.

❀

december, 2017

Suguru's death didn’t come like she expected, though to her, Suguru Geto had died the August they were seventeen.

From the outside, he went out in flame and fury.

But then again, it feels like he went out quietly. Gently. By Gojo’s own hands.

Because, in the end, that was the only way it could’ve happened.

Not in hatred or vengeance, but in recognition of what they’d been. Of what they’d lost. Of the thin line between who you are and who you become when the world stops making sense.

“It was quick,” Gojo told her afterward, his voice steady, eyes blown wide with something far beyond pain.

Shoko believed him. Not because she trusted the words, but because she trusted the silence between them.

❀

She thinks of Suguru now more than she admits.

Remembers how he used to hum under his breath while taking notes. How he’d hand her highlighters during meetings without looking. How he used to let them braid his hair on missions just to make them smile.

Remembers the way he stood the last time she saw him, on the night of the cursed parade—back straight, curses curling around him like smoke, eyes tired in a way that made her want to scream. 

He broke long before he died.

Shoko knows this.

She also knows he would’ve been a wonderful teacher.

If the world had been kinder, and if someone had stopped to tell him that softness wasn’t weakness. That wanting to save people didn’t make him naïve.

That watching them die wasn’t his fault.

❀

Gojo comes to dinner sometimes.

Not often or predictably. Sometimes he just knocks, steps inside, doesn’t take his shoes off properly, and drops onto her couch like he owns the place.

She used to yell at him for that, but now she just lets him.

He eats whatever she makes. Doesn’t complain, even when it’s instant ramen or cold rice or nothing at all.

They don’t talk much during those nights.

But sometimes, he falls asleep.

And sometimes, she covers him with the old blanket you used to use when you were over — just because. Just to remember what it felt like to care for someone who was still breathing.

There's one night that she remembers, after a long day of treating a couple injured sorcerers in the midst of a mission, that she finds him already waiting.

In the kitchen, cutting vegetables.

“What are you doing?” she asks, flatly.

“Trying to give you a break,” he says.

“By mutilating my carrots?”

“They fought back.”

She puffs a breath from her nose and smiles.

It’s the closest she’s come to laughing in days.

He makes curry. It's too spicy. The rice is slightly undercooked — but it’s not half bad.

She eats every bite, and doesn’t thank him for showing up.

They’re not close, not in the way people imagine. They don’t tell each other secrets. They don’t hug. They don’t reminisce out loud. Their bond lies in the memory of what it meant to be sixteen and still whole. Of how it felt watching the strongest boy in the room slowly learn how to be gentle. Of seeing him break and build and break again.

Of surviving the wreckage together.

He keeps her from vanishing. She keeps him from shattering.

They exist near each other.

Orbiting.

Keeping each other tethered.

❀

Shoko's the only one who doesn’t have a grave.

Not really.

Haibara's is now marked in a clean Kyoto cemetery. Suguru's ashes were never recovered, but there’s a stone for him outside his old temple. You have a simple plaque under the oak tree they used to study beneath.

Shoko visits them all, but she doesn’t linger.

Because it’s not the places that hold them.

It’s the way she still turns her head when someone says “Geto” in a briefing. It’s the way she keeps chopsticks in her drawer for four, not one. It's the way she wakes from a dream, disoriented and reaching for an image of herself, of when her hair was cut to her chin and she is surrounded by people who were once her home — before she remembers that no one’s coming.

Though, there's a new photo on her desk now.

Four teenagers. Uniforms on and grins wide.

Gojo has his eyes closed. Suguru is pretending to look annoyed. You’re flipping off the camera. Shoko is mid-laugh, mouth open, eyes crinkled.

She doesn’t remember who took it.

Doesn’t remember what they were laughing at.

But she leaves it there.

Next to the medical files and the pills and the list of new students.

It’s a reminder — not of who they were, but that they were. That at one point in time, the four of them had existed together. That at some point, that was all that mattered.

ix. december 24, 2018

The first snow falls unceremoniously. No warning and no wind to carry it.

Just flakes, slow and fat, drifting sideways over the rooftops of Shinjuku like ash from something that’s already burned.

Shoko watches it from the roof.

She doesn’t move.

Not yet.

It's the holidays, and she hates this time of year. There’s too much pretending, too many bright windows, too many mouths grinning like the world hasn’t ended five times already.

This year, the snow comes early.

And with it—him.

She thinks the city is strange under snow. Not soft. Not pretty. Just muffled, hollowed out. Sirens echo longer. Footsteps vanish quicker. The skyline dissolves behind a white veil, lights blurring like bruises.

She walks through it alone. Past vending machines glazed in frost and power lines sagging beneath the weight. There are paper lanterns swaying over shuttered storefronts, their glow smudged and dim.

Her boots crunch the snow like something brittle and alive. She isn’t wearing gloves. She likes the cold biting at her skin. It feels honest.

She finds him in the square.

Tall. Unmovable. Eyes like winter distilled into glass.

He's facing Sukuna, and there’s no backup. No panic. No speeches or horns sounding in the dark. Just two gods standing where no man should be.

She doesn’t call his name or break the silence. Only stands at the edge of it all, smoke slipping from her mouth, her eyes dry as bone.

He knows she’s there.

He doesn’t turn.

But he tilts his chin, barely, like a gesture carved out of stone.

And she understands, like she did all those years ago in August, when Suguru Geto had lit her cigarette. When he smiled and waved and she had turned away, for the last time.

That this is the end.

Not just of him. Not just of this fight.

But of everything that tethered them to a time when living felt possible.

Springtime in Jujutsu Tech. Sunlight tangled in white hair. You, singing too loudly, Suguru sighing like the world rested in his lungs. Sandos split in half. Train cars rattling at dusk. Leaves falling as soft as promises they never kept.

All of it.

Ending here.

Under a sky in a city stripped down to bone.

He burns too bright, even now. Bends space like a god, cuts air like a blade, shoulders the infinite and makes it look like art. And still—Sukuna is cruel. patient. inevitable.

Shoko watches as it begins: sharp, merciless, a brilliance that blinds and dies just as quickly.

She sees him hold and hold and hold—until he doesn’t.

He doesn’t scream.

He just folds.

Quietly.

Finally.

And the moment he hits the ground, the world doesn’t shatter.

But something in her does.

Everything slows.

The air thickens. Her breath fogs in front of her. Her hands are shaking, not from fear, but because she’s remembering. Nostalgia has always had its way of killing her, of creeping up on her and leaving her feeling sick. There is nothing left to reminisce now, as the last remaining part of her youth lies split in half in the show.

❀

The lab smells like steel and antiseptic, like every failure she’s ever catalogued. Fluorescent lights hum above her, sickly and bright, making her want to tear them out of the ceiling. She doesn’t. She just sets the instruments in place, lines up scalpels with the precision of someone who cannot afford to think.

Yuta lies unconscious on the table, his chest rising shallow, his pulse steady under her fingers. Now, she moves over to the drawer, where she placed Satoru’s body after stitching it back together. When she pulls back the sheets, she touches his hair once, brushes it off his forehead the way she remembers you used to when he was too stubborn to sleep.

Now she stands over him, and for the first time in years, her hands shake.

Not from inexperience. Not from fear of failure.

But from knowing that if she succeeds, it won’t really be him. And if she fails, she will have killed the last piece of her friend’s legacy with her own two hands.

Her cursed technique hums, steady, inexorable. Flesh unravels, rewrites. Neurons glimmer under her touch like constellations in a dark sky. She threads them carefully, patient as a weaver, until she feels something spark. Until she feels him.

Not Yuta, not exactly.

But not Satoru either.

Something between.

A gasp, sharp and wet, tears through the air. fingers twitch. The body arches against restraints she swore she wouldn’t use, but had to.

And then—eyes.

Too blue. Too familiar.

Her knees nearly buckle.

Because for an instant it feels like the dorms again and being a teenager. Then for an instant, she is twenty two again, and she watches Gojo lean down to talk to Tsumiki and Megumi, to give them reassurance, to protect their youth.

But then the boy blinks, coughs, chokes on his first words, staring at his hands. and Yuta is suddenly speaking to her, from Satoru Gojo’s lips.

And it’s not him.

It’s not him.

She forces her hands steady, swallows down the tremor in her throat. “Well, it worked.” She says, clinical, detached. Like she didn’t just carve open time and stitch it into something monstrous.

The snow keeps falling outside.

❀

Later, they ask her what happened. after transferring Yuta back to his own body, after dismantling Satoru, pieces lying on a table in her clinic — while Yuta walks, unscathed.

She gives them the facts. stripped bare, like bone. No softness. No poetry.

“Gojo fought. He fell. He's dead.”

Nothing more, because she refuses to let them dress it in glory, refuses to let them write a hymn where there was only silence.

He was tired.

He died.

And there’s nothing beautiful about that.

❀

She cremates him herself. In the same furnace that once took you. Her gloves are soaked by the end of it, dark and slick, but she doesn’t take them off. Doesn’t cry either. Not this time.

x. 青春

Tokyo feels different after. Like the city is holding its breath, waiting for something that will never come.

That evening, she stops beneath a streetlamp outside the school. Cigarette trembling faintly between gloved fingers. Snow catching in her hair, turning her into something ghostlike. Embers glow like memories in the dark.

For the first time in forever, she speaks. Not to anyone. Just to the cold, to the shadows that linger in her bones.

“You win.” she whispers.

The lamp above her flickers once, then dies.

And Shoko stands alone in the dark. Utterly. Finally. Completely.

Yet that night, she finds herself dreaming in color that she thought had left her vision over a decade ago now.

Dreams not of blood. Not of battle, or of bodies in a morgue, or the harsh December air.

But of summer. The old apartment bathed in sunlight. Then, you’re next to her, seated cross-legged, fingers deftly braiding Tsumiki’s hair. Gojo at the table, laughing, trying to pry the cap off a bottle of soda with his teeth while Suguru shakes his head, pretending not to smile at him. Somewhere on your balcony, Haibara’s voice rings out, bright with Nanami’s deeper murmur tucked inside it.

Shoko feels a weight in her hands, and forces herself to look down for just a moment just to see that she is holding a camera. She lifts it. Frames them in her viewfinder — her whole heart in one room. Click.

A still life. A stolen moment that no one else notices.

They’re too busy being alive.

(終わり) END.

When August comes, I don’t count the days Transitory views from the subway train How strange, when life unfolds this way In the drift less zone, sky’s prone to stay off-gray Clouds are omens too, fading at the rate That most pleasant memories do

mae's note. first chapter of "of love & lesson plans" out tomorrow, and i pinky promise it won't be this sad </3 likes + reposts are appreciated, thank you soso much for reading

[cocoaxia]

★ — bros before hoes !

summary: in which you prank the lads boys by calling them bro.

ft. xavier, zayne, rafayel, sylus & caleb

notes: suggestive (sylus and caleb LOL), xavier is kinda giving puppy, zayne is concerned, rafayel wants to kill himself again, sylus is #notamused, caleb is a minor crashout, explicit mentions of fem!reader in sylus's, brief reference to this smau that i did for sylus's hehe, that's it (i think)

p.s. THIS IS BASED ON ANOTHER REQUEST thank u @chrub3yes i hope u enjoy especially hehe

a/n: this one could've been better maybe idk i found it hard the more i got into it bc i was like...i've called all my partners bro and it's so natural LOL but hopefully this is even like 3% accurate maybe...ty for reading (- -)(_ _)

© cocoaxia

[mononijikayu]

i only want to be with you — nanami kento.

“Senpai.” Nanami Kento looks at you. “What?” “I only want to be with you, senpai.” you smiled at him, warmly. “I hope you allow me to be.” He seemed stunned by your words. He looks away from you, but you quickly notice that his ears turned to a shade of pink, as much as the back of his neck. You wanted to say something but he beat you to it. “Do what you want.”

GENRE: alternate universe - canon divergence;

WARNING/S: r-16, semi-sfw, romance, angst, love at first sight, slow burn, falling in love, strangers to friends, friends to lovers, mutual pining, confessions, emotional intimacy, emotional growth, physical intimacy, domestic, late night feelings, slice of life, yearning, tender moments, grief, character death, loss of a loved one, emotional turmoil, trauma, explicit content, description of death, jujutsu sorcerer! reader, jujutsu sorcerer! nanami;

WORD COUNT: 12k words.

NOTE: this was supposed to be 5k words but it spiralled,,,,,again. anyway, i was planning to post this tomorrow, but i decided not even a sprained foot would stop me. i just moved my stuff around and put my computer by my bed. im good, im good. no broken bone. dont worry about me too much. im more concerned im not gonna be able to get enough diamonds for lads than my foot. anyway, i hope you enjoy this, everyone!!! happy lunar new year, happy chinese new year!!! i love you all, see you on the last one <3

main masterlist

if you want to, tip! <3

buono san valentino, 2026;

THE FIRST TIME YOU SEE NANAMI KENTO FOR THE FIRST TIME, YOU IMMEDIATELY DECIDE ON TWO THINGS.  One: he is the most painfully serious person you have ever laid eyes on. Two: you are absolutely, irreversibly doomed, because you were certain you had fallen in love with him at first sight..

You are standing in front of the traditional wooden buildings of Tokyo Jujutsu High, clutching a suitcase that is far too big for a single semester and carrying confidence that is far too small for a sorcerer in training. 

The massive wooden gates loom behind you, full of their ancient dignity, casting shadows upon your smaller figure as if judging your life choices already. The tiled roofs curve elegantly against the sky. The wind stirs the trees lining the path, scattering a few leaves across the gravel.

“So this is it, huh?” you mutter to yourself, adjusting your grip on the handle. Your voice sounds smaller than you intended. “Mama said uncle Masamichi would pick me up…..But where is he?”

Footsteps crunch behind you.

You turn around.

You blinked.

“Are you the other first year?”

The boy approaching you looks like sunshine in human form. His brown hair is slightly messy, his smile open and bright, and his boundless energy so warm it almost startles you, almost like how one is startled by the sun when you step into it first thing in the morning. 

You gasped as you felt him move closer to you. He’s already leaning a little too close into your personal space, as if introductions are best conducted at a distance of six inches. You felt the rush of anxiety and pressure on your body for a second.

“I’m Haibara Yu!” he says enthusiastically, thrusting his hand forward with the confidence of someone who has never once worried about making friends.

You blink, then quickly shake his hand. “Oh—hi. Yes. I mean—I think so?”

“And just behind him—”

You notice the second presence.

You felt frozen in time for a moment.

The figure was tall, blond, stoic even.

Impeccably straight posture.

Wearing his uniform like it personally offended him. He doesn’t step forward immediately. He simply stands there, composed and unreadable, hands in his pockets, gaze steady and assessing. If Haibara is sunlight, this boy is cool, polished marble. Perhaps even the moon.

“Nanami Kento.” he says evenly. Not a smile. Not even the faintest twitch of one. “First year.”

Your heart does something violent in your chest. It is not graceful. It is not subtle. It slams hard enough that you briefly wonder if either of them can hear it echoing in your ribs. You could feel your mouth open, but nothing would come out. He merely stared at you. 

“I—I’m the other first year, ye….yes.” you blurt out finally, immediately hating how flustered you sound. “Well, uh, I….I enrolled first, I think? Tho….though, I don’t think that matters right now. Oh, uh I’m rambling aren’t I?”

Haibara Yu shakes his head, smiling still. “It’s okay! You’re just nervous, no? It’s probably hard to meet people too. So, don’t worry about it.”

Nanami Kento blinks once. Slowly. “You’re younger than us, aren’t you?” he states flatly. “That’s what the data sheet says.”

There is no judgment in his tone. Just a fact. Clinical, precise fact. You seemed stunned by this. “By…..By one year, I suppose.” you reply defensively, lifting your chin a fraction. “But Uncle Masamichi said that it would be fine since I skipped grades!”

Haibara gasps dramatically, as though you’ve just revealed a shocking twist. “A kouhai! Nanami, we have a kouhai!”

Nanami exhales, the sound long-suffering already. “She’s in our class. That doesn’t make her your underclassman just because she was born late.”

“But she’s younger!” 

“That is not how academic classification works.”

You glance between them, unsure whether to laugh or retreat. The contrast is absurd to you. One of them was endlessly bursting with enthusiasm, the other carved from composure and logic. Yet they seemed to be the same person. You just couldn’t explain it. But it just works, somehow. Your mouth moves before your brain can intercept it.

“Can I call you senpai?”

Silence.

The two of them look at you.

Haibara beams instantly. “Yes!”

Nanami Kento pauses. His caramel brown eyes shift to you with a steady, unreadable, faintly disapproving look. Yet you can tell that he’s not entirely resistant to the idea as he looked at you, who is still blinking, with your doe-like eyes beaming back at him.

“…If you must.”

There is something about the reluctant permission that makes warmth bloom in your chest. You grin. It’s small at first, then wider, because you cannot help it. Because the way he says it to you with that dignified and measured way, still being tender enough to accept, it almost feels like a tiny victory you did not earn but are thrilled to claim anyway.

You like to think about it now that you are older. But you could not help thinking that this was the exact moment you fell for him. You felt that way not because he’s handsome, though he undeniably is. And certainly not because he’s tall, though he very much is. You don’t even think it’s because he rescued you from the awkward silence that might have swallowed you whole, though you are grateful for that. 

It’s because of the way he looks at you. Nanami Kento was not dismissive. He wasn’t indulgent nor patronizing. He was merely serious at knowing you. Perhaps not in the way you were used to, but certainly in a way that made you feel like it was honest.

As if you are something to be evaluated carefully. As if your presence here requires thought, consideration, judgment, even. But certainly not rejection. He does not scoff at your fumbling introduction. He does not wave you off as some younger, nervous addition to their class.

He assesses you.

And then he lets you stand there.

As you are.

And somehow, that seriousness makes your pulse race more than any smile ever could. You have known him for less than a minute. And already, you are absolutely, irreversibly doomed to want to know more of him.

Haibara claps his hands together. “Well! Since we’re all first years, that means we should stick together, right?”

Nanami adjusts the strap of his bag on his shoulder. “That is generally how class structures function.”

You blink at him. “Do you always talk like that?”

“Yes.”

Haibara laughs. “He does! It’s kind of amazing.”

“It is not meant to be amazing, though….” Nanami replies flatly.

You tilt your head, studying him openly now. He notices. Of course he notices. “…Is there something on my face?” he asks.

“No.”

“Then why are you staring?”

You smile, unashamed. “I’m evaluating you seriously.”

Haibara wheezes. “You two are funny!”

Nanami’s eyes narrow just slightly. “That is unnecessary.”

“You did it first.”

“I was assessing our team composition.”

“Oh? And what’s the verdict, Senpai?”

Haibara gasps again. “She said it!”

Nanami exhales through his nose. “I said you may call me that if you must. There is no need to emphasize it.”

“So you don’t deny being my senpai?”

“I do not deny factual hierarchies.”

“That’s a yes, then!” you say triumphantly.

Haibara throws an arm around your shoulders like you’ve just won a contest. “I like her already.”

Nanami steps forward, and Haibara immediately drops his arm.  “We should head inside. I don’t think we’re meant to stay here.” Nanami says. “Loitering at the entrance serves no purpose.”

You blink. “But my uncle—”

“We might find him inside.” Nanami rebuffs your words. “I think it’s also safer, because of the barrier.”

Haibara seemingly agreed. “I supposed so.”

“Yes, sir!” you reply automatically.

He pauses mid-step. “…I am not a military superior.”

“You kind of sound like one.”

Haibara grins. “He does!”

Nanami looks faintly betrayed. “I do not.”

You pick up your oversized suitcase, nearly tipping sideways with it. Nanami watches the struggle for approximately two seconds before he reaches over and takes the handle from you. You freeze.

“I can carry it, senpai.” you protest weakly.

“You are leaning at a twenty-degree angle with it.” he replies. “It is inefficient.”

“That’s not—”

He starts walking toward the buildings without waiting for your counterargument. Haibara leans close with a wider grin on his face. and whispers, “He’s like this with everything. Just accept it.”

“I can certainly hear you both well enough, you know.” Nanami says without turning around.

You grin helplessly and hurry after them. The gravel crunches under your shoes as you walk through the gates of Tokyo Jujutsu High, the weight in your chest somehow lighter and heavier all at once.

“Nanami–senpai!” you call.

He stops again, just slightly turning his head. “Yes?”

“If I fall behind, will you assess me again?”

A beat passes between the two of you, as you stand close in the distance. “…If you fall behind, I will wait.”

Your breath catches at his words. Haibara Yu beams between the two of you like he’s watching his favorite drama unfold in real time. You smile, softer now. “Then I’ll try not to.”

Nanami Kento gives a small nod and resumes walking. You follow him up the path, heart racing in a way that has nothing to do with curses, or training, or the unknown future waiting behind those wooden doors.

You have been here for less than ten minutes.

And already, you think, that you’re in trouble.

Really in deep sort of trouble.  The worst kind. 

The kind that feels suspiciously like destiny.

The kind that you don’t want to let go of.

BEING INTRODUCED TO THE LIFE OF A FIRST YEAR SOUNDED SO SIMPLE. As words often come and go, it is easy, painfully easy, to say you have pride in being a high school student. To say it the way other teenagers do.

It was easy to claim it lightly, almost lazily, as something universal. A shared experience. A harmless badge. You attend classes. You have classmates. You wear a uniform. You complain about homework. You exist within the same educational system as thousands of other students across the country.

On paper, it sounds ordinary.

Comfortingly so.

That’s what you tell your non-sorcerer father.

But you know your mother knows otherwise.

You could say it at a family gathering and watch relatives nod in approval. You could say it to a stranger and they would picture crowded classrooms, exams, gossip during lunch breaks, awkward crushes.

You could pretend that is your life.

But after the past few months, you know better.

You know so much more now.

It is not simple to say you are a normal high schooler. The phrase feels like something that should slide neatly into place, a label printed clearly and stuck to your chest. A technicality. A line in a roster.

First Year.

Students.

Teenagers.

In reality, you are none of those things in the way people mean them. You are a jujutsu sorcerer. And that truth does not sit neatly anywhere in the realm of a normal world, a normal life offered to a young soul like you.

It feels like being dropped into a storm and told to keep up. Again and again and again, you pick yourself up even at the worst moments of your life, lest you want to die an extremely early death. There is no gradual adjustment. No easing into it. Just wind in your lungs, pressure in your chest, and the constant demand to move faster.

You learn quickly that being a jujutsu sorcerer is not about aesthetics. Certainly not about the crisp uniform or the quiet prestige of attending Tokyo Jujutsu High. It is not dramatic exorcisms framed heroically against sunsets. It is not applause. It is not recognition. It’s survival.

It is everything you hated about physical education class in middle school. Running until your lungs burn. Training until all of your muscles tremble. Exercising until your legs threaten to give out, becoming soft and shaky like jello.

Again.

And again.

And again.

There is no “I forgot my gym clothes” excuse here at all. No sitting out on the sidelines because you feel tired. Tired is the default state. Tired is the baseline expectation, wounded is the most common expectancy. Death is the most truthful reality.

But even that, running, training, conditioning, would be manageable if that were all. They tell you about cursed energy control. They tell you about how to reinforce your cursed techniques. They tell you how to identify a grade level, how to prioritize survival, and how to work in a team.

What they do not tell you, at least not in words that carry weight, is what it feels like afterward.

They do not tell you about the bleeding. Not just the dramatic wounds, either. Nor just the clean slice of a curse’s claw across your skin. There’s no details about that. Instead, you’re forced to think you can walk it off and be back in the field like normal.

They do not tell you about the bruises blooming under your uniform from impacts you barely registered in the moment. The scraped knuckles. The split lip. The sting of disinfectant on skin that already feels too raw.

They do not tell you how often you will wake up sore in places you did not know could ache. They do not tell you about nearly dying. Nothing about the strange clarity that comes when something monstrous lunges at you and your body understands, with terrifying certainty, that you are fragile.

They don’t talk about how your bones can break.

Or when you get beaten hard enough, your heart can stop.

That you are fifteen and still entirely capable of disappearing.

They do not tell you about the way time stretches in those moments, about how a second can feel like a lifetime, how you can think of home, of classmates, of things you have not yet done, all before impact.

They do not tell you about the trauma that accumulates quietly. Not just over years. Over weeks. Sometimes over a single day. The image of a curse’s distorted face lingering when you close your eyes, even when you sleep. 

You could remember all the details too much. The echo of someone screaming. The metallic scent of blood that seems to cling to the back of your throat long after you have washed your hands. They do not tell you how you will start to measure time differently.

Not in semesters.

Not in exams.

But the missions survived.

In the amount of injuries endured.

In teammates who made it back.

And the most difficult part, the part that weighs heavier than the physical exhaustion is pretending that all of it is normal. Sitting in a classroom afterward, listening to a lecture from your teacher about cursed energy theory, about classical literature with your window. As if you were not fighting for your life the previous evening.

Eating lunch like it is just another day. Laughing. Teasing. Calling someone “senpai” and playing a game of shogi with them as if your heart had not nearly stopped hours earlier, as if you hadn’t nearly just died the other day.

You learn to fold the fear neatly and tuck it away. You learn to nod when instructors ask if you are fine. You learn to say, “I’m okay” even when your hands are still trembling, even when the cuts of glass bitter it up with its piercing echoes, as your blood flows bitterly.

Because that is what a sorcerer does.

You keep up.

You endure.

You step back into the storm.

And you pretend, convincingly enough, that this is just high school.

Your first mission this week is in an abandoned convenience store at the edge of the city. The fluorescent sign outside flickers faintly even though the power should have been cut years ago. The windows are grimy, the automatic doors stuck halfway open like a mouth frozen mid-scream.

“A second grade, though it seems to be a low-grade type.” Haibara says brightly as the three of you duck under the metal shutter. “It would be easy.”

It is not easy. It never was. The air inside feels thick, metallic. Shelves are overturned. Expired snacks rot on the floor. Something skitters in the back aisle, too heavy to be a rat. You swallow the blood that pours out of your mouth.

Nanami adjusts his hold on his weapon with deliberate calm. “Stay alert. Confined spaces reduce mobility.”

“Yes, Nanami-senpai.” you reply automatically.

He does not look at you, but you see the faintest flicker of acknowledgment in his eyes. The curse reveals itself without ceremony. It’s long limbs dragging across the ceiling, fingers hooked and twitching, a face stretched too wide.

Haibara Yu moves first, charging in with bright determination. You follow. You try to. Your foot catches on a fallen metal shelf. It happens in less than a second. Your balance tips forward. Your cursed energy falters. The curse lunges.

A clawed hand slices through the air exactly where your face had been,  but you are yanked backward, fabric tightening against your throat. Nanami Kento has you by the collar, grip firm and unyielding. The force of the pull sends you stumbling into his chest instead of into the curse’s reach.

The claw tears through empty space.

“Watch your footing, will you?” he says sharply.

There is no panic in his voice. Only reprimand.

Your pulse is roaring in your ears.

“Sorry, Nanami-senpai.” you breathe. “I just…I must have been exhausted. My senses—”

He stiffens. “Then focus, will you!? How will you rest, if you’re dead?”

You watch as his shoulders go rigid, his grip lingering a fraction longer than necessary before releasing you. You don’t know why that makes you smile. You should be shaken. You should be embarrassed. Instead, your heart is doing that violent, erratic thing again.

The fight continues as you gather your shit together. You force yourself to steady your stance. No hesitation. No tripping. You move when you need to move. Strike when you need to strike. Damn the blood, damn the wound. Shoko-senpai will help you out.

This time, when the curse lunges, you are ready. Between the three of you, it falls. Silence settles heavily in the wrecked store. You exhale, choking on the blood you had been keeping in. But you try to be calm.  

Only then do your hands start shaking. You take a breath before you go to a corner where they wouldn’t see you and spit it out. Wiping your lips, you take a moment to gather yourself. You’ll be fine. You have to be. That’s how it’s supposed to be.

After the mission, you sit on the concrete steps outside the store. The evening air feels too cool against sweat-damp skin. Your uniform is torn at the sleeve. There’s a shallow cut on your cheek you hadn’t noticed until now.

Haibara stretches his arms above his head like you’ve just finished a sports match. “See? Told you. Easy.”

You stare at him. “I almost died.”

“But you didn’t!” he says cheerfully. “That’s something to cheer about!”

Nanami Kento steps out a moment later. He walks over without a word and hands you a bottle of tea from the vending machine. It’s cold from a vending machine nearby. He does not look at you when he speaks.

“You hesitated.”

The words land heavier than the curse’s claws. “I know.” you admit quietly. “Sorry about that.”

He finally glances at you. His gaze is steady. Direct. “Don’t lose focus again.” he says. “Hesitation gets you killed.”

There is no cruelty in it. Just the truth. You nod. Your fingers tighten around the bottle. “But you didn’t hesitate, senpai.” you say after a moment. “You saved me.”

He looks away again, as if the acknowledgment is inconvenient. “…That was logical for me to do, wasn't it?” he replies. “Losing a teammate is inefficient.”

You hum thoughtfully and tilt your head at him. “You’re nice to me, senpai. You’ve always been.”

He looks genuinely offended. “I am not.”

Haibara bursts into laughter from the other side. “He kind of is!”

“I am not.” Nanami repeats, more firmly. “Cut that out, will you?”

You grin at him, ignoring the way your cheek stings when you do. “You grabbed me pretty fast for someone who isn’t nice, Senpai.”

His jaw tightens. “That was a basic situational response.”

“Mm-hm.”

“Do not read into it.”

“Too late.”

Haibara Yu watches the exchange like it’s the best entertainment he’s had all week. He drinks his tea as he thinks about his fascination with your dynamic. He’s certain that the two of you will only get closer.

Nanami Kento exhales slowly, as though you are already testing his patience in ways curses never could.

“Next time…..” he says, turning slightly toward you. “You move before I have to.”

You hold his gaze. “I will. Don’t worry about it.”

Something shifts there.

Approval, maybe.

It’s small. Almost imperceptible. 

But it’s enough. Your hands have stopped shaking. Your heart hasn’t. You look at him more closely, with eyes that try to see the wholeness of him, at the straight posture, the carefully composed expression, the way he pretends not to care while standing just close enough to step in if needed.

You grin again, softer this time.

You are so doomed.

You like him too much.

“Senpai.”

Nanami Kento looks at you. “What?”

“I only want to be with you, senpai.” you smiled at him, warmly. “I hope you allow me to be.”

He seemed stunned by your words. He looks away from you, but you quickly notice that his ears turned to a shade of pink, as much as the back of his neck. You wanted to say something but he beat you to it.

“Do what you want.”

You blinked at his words.

You laughed then and there.

“Then, I’ll be with you!”

IT STARTS OUT SMALL. But everything starts somewhere. Not with violins swelling in the background. Not with a dramatic confession shouted into the night. And certainly not with sudden clarity under fireworks or in the aftermath of nearly dying, though you have had enough of those moments to qualify.

No, many of those classic romances start from scratch. It starts quietly, even though you were loud about your admiration and affections, it’s another thing to have it be mutual. But you weren’t betting much on that, if you were being honest. In some ways, you were just content  about being with him, as much as possible.

In the spaces no one pays attention to. In the ordinary hours tucked between lectures and life-threatening missions. You were just content to have the time of day with him, whether it was reading, whether it was training. It was more than enough.

It begins in classrooms at Tokyo Jujutsu High, when the afternoon light slants lazily across wooden desks and most students would already be packing up to leave. Your study sessions with Nanami Kento stretch longer than necessary.

Longer than required.

Longer than reasonable.

Entirely to your liking.

You pout about it half the time anyway. “This is excessive, isn’t it, senpai?” you complain one evening, chin on the desk, watching him flip through your notes. “We’ve been here for two long hours already.”

“You misapplied reinforcement theory three times today.” he replies evenly.

“That was one time.”

“It was three.”

You squint at him. “You counted?”

“Yes.”

“Why are you like this?”

“Competence requires consistency.”

You groan dramatically, slumping farther into your chair. “Haibara-senpai never makes me review like this.”

From the other side of the room, Haibara lifts his head briefly from where he had been pretending to study. “I gave up, kouhaiiii~” he says cheerfully. “Nanami’s scarier about academics than curses.”

“I am not scary…...” Nanami says flatly. He looks at you for reinforcement. “Aren’t….I?”

Haibara gives you a look that very clearly says, See?

You stick your tongue out at Nanami Kento when he turns back to his notes. He notices. He always notices. But he only sighs and continues explaining. And unfortunately for you, you like listening to his voice.

During missions, the three of you go everywhere together. Whether it's to the train stations. Or the office buildings. Maybe even abandoned lots or residential neighborhoods where the air feels wrong the moment you step into it.

Just as in your free time, you move as a unit when it is time to go and exercise cursed spirits. Haibara charges forward with bright determination. Nanami calculates with his cleave. And you adapt, trying to reinforce with your spear.

But afterward, after the curses are exorcised and reports are filed and the tension slowly drains from your shoulders, something shifts for the three of you. Walking back from the station in the evening becomes routine, especially on days like these where it was pretty good to eat sob as a reward.

Haibara will suddenly clap his hands together. “Oh! I promised I’d see my sister off before I leave again!”

“You did not mention that earlier.” Nanami replies to him.

“I forgot!” Haibara insists, already jogging ahead. He waves over his shoulder. “You guys catch up! I’ll be right there!”

He is never right there.

You watch him disappear into the crowd with narrowed eyes. “He’s doing that on purpose.”

“I know he is.” Nanami says.

“You’re not stopping him.”

“No.”

There’s no accusation in your voice. Just curiosity. He adjusts his bag strap. “It is unnecessary to interfere. He doesn’t see his sister half the time already. Might as well loiter about and look around while we wait.”

“That’s so nice of you.” You smile faintly.

“That’s productive, to be honest.”

“You just can’t take a compliment, can’t you, senpai?”

He looks at you feeling a faint hint of heat on his cheek. “Just shut it.”

You laughed. “You blushing, senpai?”

“N–No.”

The two of you walk together, side by side.  The station lights flicker overhead. The city hums around you. Your footsteps fall into sync without either of you trying. That’s when it becomes noticeable to you, the rhythm.

He lectures.

You tease.

Then you laugh.

He blushes.

“You’re overextending your right side during close combat.” he says as you wait at a crosswalk. “I noticed it earlier.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“You’re biased.”

“On what grounds would I be biased?”

“You enjoy criticizing me.”

“That is not enjoyment. That is a correction.”

You grin. “Sure, Nanami-senpai.”

He exhales softly. “You rely too much on improvisation.”

“And you rely too much on rules.”

“Rules exist to prevent failure.”

“Sometimes failure makes you better.”

“Sometimes failure kills you.”

You fall quiet at that. Then you nudge his arm lightly with your elbow. “You worry too much.”

“I do not.”

“You do.”

“I assess risk.”

“Same thing.”

He glances down at you briefly, eyes steady. “It is not.”

And yet, he slows slightly when you lag behind. He positions himself subtly between you and the road when cars pass too close. He notices when your steps drag after a difficult mission. He does not comment on it.

He simply adjusts his pace. It becomes natural. So natural that neither of you question it. He explains cursed technique mechanics with clinical patience. You interrupt him with deliberately ridiculous hypotheticals.

“If cursed energy is emotional residue, then does that mean if I get embarrassed enough I become stronger?”

“That is not how it works.”

“What if I try?”

“Do not.”

You laugh bubbly once again. 

He shakes his head, his cheeks red.

The two of you turn quiet at the moment.

And somewhere between the teasing and the lectures, between the missions and the late-night study sessions, something takes root. It is not loud. It does not demand attention. It grows in glances held a second too long.

It grows in the way he hands you his notes without being asked. It grows in the way you save the seat beside you automatically. It grows in the way Haibara Yu somehow keeps “forgetting” things at increasingly convenient times.

You never sit down and say, oh, this is what’s happening. You never define it. You don’t try to. It wouldn’t be fair to him. It wouldn’t be fair to you. Not in a world where you both are sorcerers, where you both have the possibility of dying fast.

You wouldn’t want to curse the other like this.

So, you just keep walking beside him.

Step for step, smiling beside him.

As if it has always been that way.

THE THREE OF YOU SPENT SOME TIME JUST DOING NOTHING. The past few days were a stark contrast to the day to day you experience as sorcerers. Yet it was a welcomed change of pace, for it was the kind of nothing that felt truly and happily earned.

Haibara cheered with joy.

Nanami nodded at the news.

You had nearly cried from relief.

There were still a few days left before summer vacation would scatter you in different directions, and your uncle, Yaga-sensei, after a long look at the three of you that felt suspiciously like pride, decided you deserved a pause.

“Cool your heads, you three.” he said. “No missions unless absolutely necessary.”

You blinked. “Just like that, uncle?”

“You three got your stuff done.” Yaga Masamichi sighed. “Besides…..I heard Haibara needs to catch up on tests. I have no doubt Nanami’s the one who’s going to tutor him.”

“Ehhhhhh, that’s not fair, sensei!” Haibara Yu pouts, raising his hand. “Why am I being singled out?”

“Because you got all the literature characters wrong.” Nanami Kento points out to him calmly. “Just study already.”

“Ehhhh, Nanami, don’t step on me when I’m down already!”

“Not really my fault you ended up going through that.”

You giggled. “They’re on with their banter again.”

For once, you took this opportunity to focus on relaxation. You focused on trying to build good habits, for example, trying to sleep without your phone clutched in your hand. It didn’t work for a while, but after struggling around the bed wide eyed, it slowly became more and more acceptable to your body.

It was such an interesting situation, to wake up with the sunlight on your face, feeling a bit more relaxed and well rested than before. You woke up well and good, without someone screaming about a curse manifestation, or how you need to do more training. 

Instead, you embraced this slow change in your pace, even when it was such a short brief interlude. You lingered in bed. You stretched. You let yourself feel like a normal high schooler for the first time in a long time.

Yet everything about it felt almost wrong.

You took the time to get to know your neighbors in the dormitory. Well, one neighbor. Being one of the only girls your age meant your world was small by default. The boys occupied most of the space, loud and careless in a way that was almost comforting. The girls’ side of the dorm, though, felt quieter. A little bit more secluded and narrower. Like a hallway that ended too soon.

Ieri Shoko was the only one you found yourself gravitating toward naturally. She was a second-year. Calm in a way that felt older than seventeen. Detached  from the world around her in her own aloof enjoyment, but she was never unkind.

The first time she entered your room, she did not knock at all. Instead, she pushed the door open with her foot, holding a stack of medical notes in one hand and a cigarette between her fingers, still dressed in her pajamas.

“You’re the first year, aren’t you? I feel like I don’t see you often.” she said, scanning you once, clinically. 

Stunned, you tried to respond to her. “I-I…uh, I got the chance to get a break this time, senpai.”

“Hm, seems so.” she says to you with a nod. “You look like you need sleep.”

That was your first, true introduction to her.

Now, weeks later, she sits cross-legged on your bed like she owns it, back resting against the wall. Her anatomy textbook is open in her lap, but she is only half-reading it. A cigarette balances lazily between her fingers, smoke curling toward your ceiling.

You are sprawled on your stomach beside her, chin propped on your hands, talking about nothing in particular. “I’m getting at least six hours now, I think.”

“You look less dead. Congratulations.” she comments one afternoon, taking a slow drag. “Gojo can’t seem to sleep more than four, so you’re doing well enough.”

You blink at her. “Thank you?”

“It’s a compliment.”

“I figured. I just wasn’t sure.”

She hums in acknowledgment, smoke slipping past her lips as she exhales toward the open window. You watch the cigarette for a moment before asking, hesitantly, “Senpai…are you allowed to smoke?”

“No.” she answers immediately. Then she grins with a small, unapologetic smile. “I just don’t care. Do you want to try?”

Your eyes widen. “N-no, thanks.”

She shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

There is no pressure in her tone. Just amusement. She stubs the cigarette out in a small tin she definitely should not have in the dorms, then reaches into the pocket of her jacket. You raised a brow at her.

“Well…..” she says, pulling out a slightly melted chocolate bar, “I still have this. Do you want to eat it and get to know each other more, kouhai-chan?”

You hesitate only for a second before nodding. “Yes.”

She breaks the chocolate cleanly in half and hands you the bigger piece without comment. You notice. “You don’t talk much, do you?” she observes, watching you take a bite.

“I do…well, at least I think so.” you protest lightly. “Maybe not like Gojo-senpai.”

“That’s good. One of him is enough.”

You laugh, surprised. She studies you for a moment, eyes sharper now. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with your classmates this break, huh?” she says casually. “That’s good. It builds relationships.”

“Did you also have something like this, senpai?”

“Sort of, but not a lot, when we’re a team.” Shoko thinks to herself, taking a bite of her chocolate. “But not too much these days, since I’ve been focusing on other lessons.”

“Though, you seem to enjoy being their friend, senpai.”

Shoko smiles at you. “Well, they’re my friends, after all. How about you? Do you enjoy it?”

“We’re a team that cares for each other.”

“Mmm.” 

You narrow your eyes slightly. “What does that mean?”

“It means, I noticed something.” she replies, leaning back against the wall again. “You smile differently when you talk about them.”

Heat creeps into your face. “Senpai.”

“I’m in the business of healing and medicating people. Observation is part of the job.”

“You’re not even looking at patients.”

“You’re technically my junior. Close enough.”

You huff, breaking off another piece of chocolate. “We just get along well.”

“Especially Nanami Kento?”

You nearly choke, blush forming on your cheeks. “S-senpai!”

She pats your back once, lazily. “Relax. I’m not judging you. He’s cute.”

“I’m not—” You pause, trying to salvage the situation. “…It’s not like that.”

“Mm.”

“That ‘mm’ is very judgmental.”

“It’s neutral.”

“It’s not.”

She smiles faintly, softer this time. “Listen.” she says, tone shifting just slightly. “This place is small. Your circle will be smaller. That’s not a bad thing.”

You glance at her. “Just make sure….” she continues, smiling fondly, almost nostalgic. “That the people in that circle are good to you. And that you’re good to them.”

You swallow. “I am.” you say quietly.

“I know.” she replies.

There’s a pause. The room feels warmer now. But not from the summer air, but from something steadier. Something grounding. You turned to her, with a curious look. “Senpai?” you ask after a moment.

“Hmm?”

“Why did you start smoking?”

She tilts her head toward the ceiling, considering. “Because I can heal other people.” she says eventually. “But not everything.”

You don’t know what to say to that. So instead, you hold out the last piece of chocolate toward her. She looks at it, then at you. She looked intrigued. “You’re giving me the last one?”

“You gave me the bigger half.”

She snorts softly. “You noticed.”

“I notice things too.”

She accepts the chocolate. “Good.” she says, nudging your shoulder lightly with hers. “Then you’ll survive here just fine.”

Outside, somewhere down the other building’s hallway, you can hear distant laughter. Those familiar voices echoing against the dorm walls. You could feel warmth radiate from your chest. It was your team. You looked out and saw a sight to behold.

Haibara’s laugh is unmistakable. It was bright, unrestrained, spilling over itself. You can practically picture him already. His arms slung dramatically around Nanami’s shoulders, leaning his full weight against him.

“Haibara, you’re heavy.” Nanami’s voice follows, strained but controlled, groaning irritably. “Stop clinging to me.”

“I’m not clinging at all, Nanami!” Haibara protests loudly. “I’m expressing friendship.”

“You are impeding my ability to walk.”

“That’s because you walk like an old man.”

There’s a scuffling sound. A muffled thud. More laughter. Your head turns instinctively toward the door, the corners of your mouth lifting before you can stop it. Shoko notices. Of course she does.

She watches the way your entire posture shifts, how the fatigue melts from your shoulders, how your eyes brighten at the sound of them. Something knowing crosses her expression. You were just like her, once. Maybe even now.

“Go on, kouhai-chan.” she says, already reopening her textbook as if dismissing you. “Before they start a disaster without you.”

You slide off the bed, smoothing your skirt out of habit. At the door, you pause. “Shoko-senpai?”

She glances up at you through half-lidded eyes. “Hm?”

“Thank you.”

She waves you off, cigarette already between her fingers again, the tip glowing faintly as she inhales. “Don’t die, kouhai-chan,” she says lightly. “I’d still want to share chocolate with you too.”

You smile, warmth blooming in your chest. “I won’t.”

You step into the hallway. The noise is louder out here. Haibara Yu has, in fact, wrapped both arms around Nanami Kento’s torso from behind, swaying them side to side like they are in some ridiculous dance. More laughter erupted from Haibara.

“Let go.” Nanami says flatly.

“Admit you missed me.”

“I saw you twenty minutes ago, failing a test, mind you.”

“That’s long enough.” Haibara says, laughing still. “Come on, Nanami. Let me have some comfort in friendship after that awful ordeal!”

You lean against the wall for a second, just watching them. Nanami’s long hair is slightly crooked as Haibara’s hand keeps rubbing against it. Haibara’s grin is blinding as he continues to talk his friend into playing around with him. They are bickering, but there is no real irritation in it. It was just familiarity. Almost like home. Haibara spots you first.

“There she is!” he exclaims, immediately releasing Nanami to wave both arms in your direction. “Our missing member! Our leading lady!”

Nanami Kento straightens his uniform at once, adjusting figure as if that will somehow erase the previous thirty seconds. When he’s finally felt like he looks presentable, he clears his throat and nods at you. You could feel your chest beating.

“You’re done with Shoko-senpai?” Haibara asks, jogging toward you.

“Mm-hmm.”

“Did she give you life advice? She always gives life advice.”

“She offered me a cigarette.”

Haibara gasps dramatically. “You didn’t.”

“No.”

“Good! Your lungs are important. We need you alive.”

Nanami steps closer, more measured. “You should not stand in the hallway, the two of you.” he says. “It’s disruptive.”

“You were just being disruptive.” you reply.

“That was Haibara.”

Haibara throws an arm around your shoulders this time. “Traitor.”

You laugh, steadying yourself against him. Nanami watches the interaction, something soft flickering across his expression before he masks it. Yet the feeling doesn’t leave him. It doesn’t ever leave him. Not when you laugh again at something Haibara said. It was almost like a tender symphony in the stormy seas, leading him to harbor. 

“You finished your assignments?” he asks you.

“Yes.”

“Properly?”

“Yes.”

Haibara leans in conspiratorially. “He double-checked your citations.”

“I did not.” Nanami says.

“You did.”

A faint flush creeps up Nanami’s neck. “It was efficient to ensure accuracy.”

You tilt your head, smiling. “Thank you, Nanami.”

He pauses at the way you say his name. There were no honorifics anymore. Instead, it was just quiet and certain, tender-hearted and warm even. It made his heart skip a beat. “…You’re welcome.” he replies after a moment.

Haibara’s eyes dart between the two of you, far too perceptive. “Ohhh, I see.” he hums.

“What?” you and Nanami say at the same time.

“Nothing. Nothing at all.” Haibara sings. “I just love friendship.”

Nanami exhales sharply. “You are insufferable.”

“And yet…..” Haibara beams, punching Nanami’s arm playfully. “You’d miss me if I disappeared, won’t you?”

A pause.

Nanami answers honestly. “Yes.”

Haibara freezes, then grins even wider. “See? Emotional growth!”

You watch them, heart full in a way that feels almost too big for your chest. The dorm hallway is narrow. The lighting is dim. The air smells faintly of detergent and summer heat. It is ordinary. It is everything. You couldn’t ask for more.

Haibara nudges you. “We were going to raid the vending machine. Come with us.”

“You’re always raiding something, aren’t you?” you say.

“That’s because I’m brave.”

“You’re hungry.”

“That too.”

Nanami adjusts his sleeves again, but he doesn’t object when you fall into step beside them. Haibara walks between you at first, still talking animatedly about symbolism and how he will conquer it before summer ends. 

But gradually, without comment, he drifts ahead, animated hands moving as he continues his story to the air. And somehow, you end up beside Nanami Kento. Close enough that you could hear the other’s breath. 

As you both walked through the pathway, you could feel the way your hands brush together as you walk. You tried to pull away, but he did not. That made you feel redder than ever before. Yet you too do not pull away.

“Shoko-senpai said something interesting to me.” you murmur.

“What was that?”

“That I smile differently when I talk about you two.”

He is quiet for a second. “…Do you?”

You glance at him. “I think so.”

The hallway lights flicker softly overhead. “…Good.” he says, almost too quietly to hear.

Haibara turns around mid-step, walking backward now. “Hurry up!” he calls. “Before someone steals the good drinks!”

Nanami sighs. “That is not how vending machines work.”

“It is in my heart.”

You laugh again. And as the three of you disappear down the hallway together. Your shoulders are nearly touching, voices overlapping. You think that maybe this is what surviving looks like, no….this is what living looks like. 

Laughter echoing in dorm corridors. 

Chocolate shared on messy beds. 

Cigarette smoke curling toward open windows. 

Warm hands brushing yours when no one is looking.

For now, it is enough.

IT WAS A GOOD FEELING ALL AROUND. The three of you finally get assigned a mission. It wasn’t high-grade or particularly dangerous. From the mission notes, you were told that it was just a low-level curse reported near an abandoned warehouse. But it was enough to get your blood pumping and your hearts aligned in that familiar rhythm of teamwork.

Before heading out, you all agreed to keep a small tradition you had quietly formed over the months and that was eating something good together. Haibara Yu was already bouncing around like a hyperactive child, insisting he would “handle snacks” and disappeared down the street with a mischievous grin.

You and Nanami stayed behind, sitting on the curb steps outside the dorm while the last rays of the afternoon sun kissed the city rooftops. His curse tool’s briefcase was resting beside him, he takes a moment to yawn as he fixes his uniform collar.

“You really insist on this tradition, don’t you?” he asked, eyes following the flicker of leaves in the wind.

“It’s important to keep morale, you know?” you replied lightly, tugging at your sleeve. “Besides, it’s nice to eat something that isn’t rationed energy bars or school cafeteria mystery meat.”

He gave a small, almost imperceptible smile. “Efficient use of energy intake is important.”

“Mm, yes, but morale. And also, look at Haibara-senpai. He’s practically bouncing off the walls already.”

Nanami’s caramel gaze shifted toward the street where Haibara had disappeared. “I don’t understand why he needs to eat five different types of pastries before a mission.”

“Because he’s dramatic.” you said, nudging his shoulder lightly. “And we love him that way.”

The touch was small, accidental almost, but his eyes lingered on your hand for a fraction longer than necessary. Silence settled then, soft and heavy in a way that felt different from the mission briefings or study sessions. It was quiet in the right way, almost like a space that belonged to just the two of you.

You shifted closer on the step, feeling the warmth of his shoulder near yours. “You always think so much about efficiency. Sometimes it doesn’t work out.” you murmured.

“That is because efficiency prevents unnecessary loss, and you know it.” he said evenly. Then, after a pause, softer. A blush appears on his face. “You…make inefficiency feel manageable, though.”

Your heart stuttered. The words were precise but carried a weight that made your chest flutter. “I—what does that even mean?” you asked, your voice quieter than usual.

“It means….” he said, turning slightly toward you, meeting your gaze. He cleared his throat. “It means that sometimes, being with you feels…right. Even if it doesn’t follow any logical pattern.”

“Senpai–”

“Don’t call me that.” he says to you, shaking his head. “Nor my last name….it…it seems distant for…for what we have, don’t you think?”

“Then what—”

“Kento.” he whispers to you softly. “Call me by my name.”

You blinked. That soundless, fleeting laugh escaped you, a breath of disbelief and fondness. You purse your lips, but still feel the way your heart is beating at the fear of what this feeling would feel like and how you’ll feel about it.

“Kento…” you began, then froze. “Ke…Kento….is this…Is this good?”

He nodded at you, his gaze being more tender than ever before. A small arch appears at the edge of his lips. “Yeah, it’s good.”

Your heart only skips in its beats even more intensely now. “Then….I…..”

Kento nodded at you encouragingly. “Yes, what is it?”

“I…you can call me [name]. Only people who… you know—like each other—call each other that.”

There was a pause. Then, very deliberately, he leaned just a little closer. “Then it’s settled then….I’ll call you like that too….[name].”

Your cheeks heated instantly, and your fingers twisted nervously in your lap. “…Okay.”

A faint, almost shy smile crossed his face, something that belonged to you in that moment. And for the first time, the rigid lines of his posture softened entirely. “Good then.” he murmured. “Good….”

“You—are really testing me, aren’t you?” you teased, though your voice was breathless and still unsettled, as you felt the adrenaline of being accepted by someone that likes you. “This is….a lot.”

He shook his head, though his lips curved faintly. “I am testing nothing. This is…how people who care a lot for each other speak.”

Your pulse thrummed in your ears. “…Then Kento, I—like that. And I’ll call you that. Always.”

His hand hovered near yours, then slowly rested lightly against your knee. He does not do it possessively and not commandingly either. You let his hand stay there, feeling your cheeks turn redder and warm.

But before long, Haibara Yu returned.

Nanami Kento pulled away his hand. 

But then again, the warmth stayed there.

And the thing that you couldn’t say out loud.

You wanted more from him.

THE MISSION STARTED ALMOST LIKE YOUR REGULAR ROUTINE. There was a low-grade curse, an abandoned warehouse, or some other destroyed place that had clearly seen better days, and the plan had always been simple for the three of you, like it always was.

It was a quick sweep from the three of you, a few cautious steps, maybe a laugh or two at Haibara’s theatrics, and then back home. But somehow, the universe had other plans. None of you knew it yet but you would soon.

Haibara Yu was bouncing ahead of the two of you, practically vibrating with excitement, as he always does. It makes everything settle into a good energetic pattern, which makes you giggle and makes Nanami Kento settle his energy for offensive attacks after him.

Every step seemed to hum with energy, his own weapon slung theatrically over his shoulder as he narrated his own “epic conquest” embellishing every move with a dramatic flair that made your chest tighten with both amusement and concern. 

You and Kento followed at a measured pace, cleave and javelin thrust, letting Haibara lead, trusting him to keep the mood light, as he always did.  At first, everything went smoothly. The air smelled of dust and rust, sunlight barely filtering through broken windows. You moved through the aisles, sweeping cursed energy over debris, a rhythmic routine that felt almost comforting. 

Haibara spun his weapon with a flourish, narrating attacks on enemies that weren’t there yet, and you found yourself laughing quietly, letting the tension slip for just a moment. Then came the sound that made your blood freeze. It was a low, guttural growl that reverberated through the warehouse.

The curse.

It wasn’t what you expected. The file had said low-grade. This thing…it was anything but what was described on the mission file. Towering, limbs ending in claws that gleamed with a lethal sharpness, muscles coiled like springs, eyes burning with malice. It was far too massive, far too monstrous, and far too alive in a way that made the air itself feel heavy, its cursed energy all over the place.

“Haibara—watch out!” you shouted, your voice cracking, the words barely cutting through the sudden roar of the thing.

He moved, fast, impossibly fast but not fast enough. The claw slammed into him with a force that made the ground tremble, a sickening wet, tearing sound echoing off the walls. You froze, stomach lurching, eyes wide in disbelief. 

Time seemed to slow all around you. The world shrank to that moment, that horrifying impact, the way Haibara’s body crumpled under the weight of the attack. He didn’t scream. There wasn’t time to do any of that. There was only the sound. It was far too sharp that you think you’ll remember it for years. It was unthinkable, final even.

And then he fell.

The air hung heavy with silence, broken only by the faint drip of something dark onto the concrete floor. Kento and you exchanged a glance, both frozen in endless shock, both knowing instinctively that this was not just a mission gone wrong. It was a turning point. You had underestimated this curse. You had underestimated this day.

And now, with Haibara Yu remaining unmoving, forever lying still, his eyes opened. You could feel nausea threaten to push out of your throat. You wanted to scream, you wanted to rage. But you remained frozen and horrified.

The routine was gone, replaced by something far darker, far more dangerous than any of you could have imagined. Kento’s hand shot out first, grabbing your arm, pulling you back as he unleashed cursed energy, precise and lethal. 

“We finish it first!” he barked, voice taut with control. “Then we see him!”

You could barely move, barely breathe, staring at the ruined figure that had once been your senpai, Haibara Yu. You could not stop looking. You could not stop thinking that this was all that was left of someone so alive, so beautifully alive. Death was all that was left of him, broken and battered death.

“Haibara-senpai…” you whispered, your voice breaking, trembling as if it could shatter at any moment. Your stomach twisted violently, bile rising, tears streaming down in hot, relentless rivulets. You could barely form words through the sobs that racked your chest. “K-Kento…there’s…nothing…”

Kento’s jaw was set so tight it looked like it might snap; his whole body was taut, coiled like a spring ready to explode. His hand didn’t falter, gripping his weapon as if sheer willpower alone could carry him through. 

Yet when his caramel eyes flickered to Haibara Yu’s fallen form, they shook. It was just slightly, just enough to betray the storm inside. His lips pressed into a thin line. “Focus. We have to end this!” 

His voice was calm, deliberate, a lifeline of order in the chaos. But you could see it in him. Every tense muscle in his shoulders, the rigid line around his eyes, the way he forced himself to breathe. The calmness was only skin-deep. Beneath it, he was fighting the same panic, the same helplessness gnawing at you.

You nodded mechanically, panic twisting into a raw, bitter rage. Every fiber of your being screamed for vengeance, for justice for Haibara. Together, you and Kento attacked the curse with a brutal, relentless fury. 

Energy flared from your strikes in destructive arcs, each blow tearing into its monstrous body with precision. Limbs were gutted, bones shattered, cursed energy sparking against its hideous form. You could feel the vibrations of each hit travel through your arms and shoulders, a maddening mix of adrenaline and grief.

But still it did not die.

Pain tore through you. Cuts and gashes covered your arms and legs, and blood slicked the floor beneath you, hot and sticky. Kento’s breathing was ragged, his body dripping with crimson, yet he did not relent. You pressed on, the two of you a storm of fury and despair, refusing to let the curse survive even as it seemed endless and indestructible.

When it became clear you could not defeat it here, that the fight would claim you too if you stayed, retreat became inevitable. Shakily, you began to gather what remained of Haibara, your hands slick with blood and trembling from both grief and exertion. 

Nanami Kento appeared, calm but commanding, lifting Haibara onto his back with precise care. You continued to cover him, moving alongside Nanami, desperately holding off any remnants of the curse, your own wounds bleeding freely, your energy nearly spent.

Every step was agony. Every heartbeat is a reminder of what you had lost. The warehouse seemed to echo with the memory of his laughter, his energy, the way he had once danced ahead of you with uncontainable excitement. And now…nothing.

Nothing was left.

Only blood trails on the floor.

Only tears were pouring.

It wasn’t even morning before Haibara Yu lay in the infirmary of Jujutsu High, pale and broken. No longer breathing like life needed him. No longer what the sunshine he had been. It was hard to look yet you looked. You couldn't dare look away. Not now.

You sat near the edge of his bed, shoulders hunched, hands fidgeting in your lap. Words escaped you. Anything you wanted to say felt meaningless, swallowed by the emptiness that had settled in your chest.

Nanami Kento sat across the room, one leg crossed over the other, his hands clasped loosely in his lap. The stoicism he normally carried was fraying at the edges. Geto Suguru leaned against the wall nearby, arms folded, watching silently for a moment before speaking.

“Damn it.” Kento muttered, voice low, almost to himself, though you knew it was aimed at the circumstances, not anyone in the room.

Geto Suguru tilted his head, his expression calm but not indifferent. “The belief in a guardian deity, it would seem.” he said slowly, like he was parsing through some invisible logic.

You blinked, unsure what he meant, and didn’t say anything. The words hung in the air. “That was actually a deity of the land.” Geto continued, his tone almost clinical.

Kento’s jaw tightened. “A Grade case.” he said flatly, frustration edging his voice. "When they told us it would be a small grade curse. Damn it!"

You fidgeted, unsure what to do with your hands. You wanted to speak, to apologize, to scream in anger at the unfairness of it all, but you couldn’t. You just sat there, silent, watching, feeling small.

Geto finally turned his gaze toward you, voice softer now. “Nanami, [last name], you can take a rest. Gojo's on the case.”

Kento gave a short nod, though his eyes were covered by the towel. “Might as well have him take care of all the missions.” he muttered, a bitter laugh escaping. “Let him deal with all of it.”

The room fell into silence again. You wanted to protest, to argue, to say that you weren’t done, that you weren’t useless. But the words caught in your throat. All you could do was watch Haibara, still and fragile, and let the others speak around you.

And somehow, that felt worse than the fight itself.

The infirmary doors closed behind you with a hollow click, leaving you in the stark, silent hallway. The fluorescent lights overhead did nothing to warm the emptiness gnawing at your chest. You could still feel the echo of Haibara’s body on the bed, the way he hadn’t screamed, hadn’t had a chance to fight back.

Kento walked beside you, silent, hands buried in his coat pockets, jaw tight. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. “It should have been an easy mission…..” you finally whispered, voice trembling. “Just small grade cursed spirit. Nothing…nothing like this should have happened.”

Kento’s shoulders sagged, just slightly, the weight of the world pressing down on him. “I…I should have done more, shouldn’t I?” he muttered, almost to himself. His hands twitched, fingers clenching and unclenching. “I should have protected him. I—”

“No, no.” you cut in, stepping closer, tears spilling down your face. “No, Kento…..it’s not just you. I…I feel like it’s my fault too. I couldn’t—couldn’t stop it, couldn’t—” Your voice broke entirely. “I couldn’t save him!”

Kento turned to you then, caramel eyes glistening in devastation, and for the first time, the composed, measured man you knew seemed to crumble. His lips pressed into a thin line before he finally let the tension go, and tears slid down his face. 

“I failed him.” he whispered. “I failed him, and there’s nothing I can do to fix it. I—”

You couldn’t hold back any longer. You stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him, holding him tightly, letting him lean on you as if you could somehow bear the weight together. His hands went to your back, trembling, clutching as if holding on to life itself.

“It’s not just you, okay?” you murmured into his coat, your own tears soaking through. “It’s not your fault. None of this is your fault, Nanami Kento. We did everything we could. He…he fought, and we fought. That’s all we can do.”

Kento’s shoulders shook against you, quiet sobs wracking his body. “But I should have… I should have been faster, smarter…stronger. I should have—”

“I know.” you said softly, pressing your forehead against his. “I feel the same. But blaming yourself won’t bring him back. It won’t heal him. You have to let me carry this with you, at least a little. We don’t have to do this alone.”

He clung to you, letting the grief spill out, the armor cracking, revealing the man underneath. “I…I don’t know how to stop feeling like this,” he admitted, voice breaking.

“You don’t have to.” you said gently. “Not yet. Just…let it out. Let yourself feel. We’ll get through this…together.”

For a long time, you stayed like that, holding each other in the cold hallway, letting the tears fall, letting the anger, guilt, and despair wash over you. And somehow, in that broken, raw moment, you both felt a little less alone.

YOU COULDN’T HELP IT AND NEITHER COULD HE. But it was all you truly had at the time was each other and you were not willing to let go. It had become a routine neither of you admitted out loud, yet you said nothing about it, even when you wanted to. You needed this. You needed comfort more.

You’d arrive at Kento’s dorm room some nights, even when the patrols would ask you to go back to your dorms. You held your bag heavy with textbooks and your heart heavier with the memory of Haibara in these dorm’s halls.

He’d be sitting at his desk, sleeves rolled up, scribbling notes or reviewing mission reports, and the sight of him, being so calm, so collected. It had made your chest ache in a way you couldn’t name. He looked like he hadn’t slept much, just like you.

“You’re here again.” he’d murmur, not looking up. His voice was quiet, but warm, familiar.

“Couldn’t sleep.” you’d say simply, shrugging off your bag.

And that was it. No judgment, no questions. He would gesture toward the futon, and you’d curl up, half-hiding your face against the pillow, heart pounding. Sometimes, he’d drape a blanket over you without a word, and the small gesture made your throat tighten.

Other nights, it was your dorm. Kento would sit in the corner, legs crossed, quietly reading, while you made tea or flipped through your own books. You’d steal glances at him when he wasn’t looking, noticing the way his hair fell into his eyes, the way his fingers tapped lightly on the table when he was thinking. 

Every small motion felt intimate, like you were seeing him in ways no one else did. It wasn’t all quiet moments, though. Grief is a multitude of spectrums, after all. There were times when grief and frustration boiled over, and the two of you would argue about small things, like who should handle what mission or whether to take risks in training. 

But the arguments never lasted long. They were followed by awkward silences, then tentative touches that become the things that ground you each and every day. A hand brushing your shoulder, a stray finger finding yours across the desk, a shared sigh in the middle of the night.

Yaga Masamichi, of course, noticed. He didn’t scold often, but he had a sharp eye for these things. “You two can’t keep doing this.” he said one afternoon, catching both of you mid-study in Kento’s dorm. “The patrols have too many notes on your disobedience.”

“Oh, you’re here, sensei.” you muttered slowly under your breath.

His arms were crossed, eyebrows raised, the faintest twitch of exasperation on his face. “You’re relying on each other too much. It’s not healthy.”

You flushed, Kento’s jaw tightening. “We’re fine.” he said quietly, but Yaga didn’t look convinced.

“I know why you’re doing it.” Yaga continued, his tone softer now. “I understand wanting someone nearby after what happened. But…balance is important. Don’t lose yourselves to this codependency.”

He left it at that, a reprimand tempered by understanding. The two of you let out breaths you hadn’t realized you were holding, and in the quiet that followed, Kento reached over, letting his fingers rest lightly against yours. You didn’t pull away.

Nights were the hardest. You would lie side by side on the futon, arms occasionally brushing, shoulders touching, the warmth of him next to you a fragile shield against the darkness you both carried. You never spoke of your growing feelings to him. Not at this time.

It just wasn’t right. You could not push the risk of ruining the delicate balance between comfort and something deeper was too great. But every night, your heart ached a little more, a quiet longing that whispered when you weren’t looking at him.

During study sessions, he would hand you tea without a word, or slide a blanket over your shoulders when your hands shook from exhaustion. Little gestures, small touches, that sent your heart into quiet overdrive. You fell for him piece by piece, silently, secretly, while he remained a calm presence you could lean on.

And through it all, you clung to him. It was not just for comfort, but because being near him made the world feel a little less empty. You both needed it. You both understood it. And even as you fell deeper in love, you stayed silent.

You let the nights, the touches, the shared silences speak for the things neither of you dared to voice. Because some bonds weren’t about words. Some bonds were survival. Some bonds, like yours, were quietly becoming your everything in a time where your hearts and souls were truly lost in this misery.

The rain drummed softly against the window, a muted rhythm that matched the pounding of your heart. You and Kento were lying side by side on the futon, the room dim except for the soft glow of a desk lamp. He was reading, or at least pretending to, but you knew better. His caramel eyes kept flicking toward you, subtle and careful.

You reached out, almost without thinking, letting your hand brush against his. He didn’t move away. He never did. Instead, his fingers twitched just slightly, and your chest tightened at the small acknowledgment.

“I can’t stop thinking about him.” you whispered, voice barely audible over the rain. Haibara. The thought of him, broken and fragile, made the ache inside you flare anew. “It feels like…like it’s my fault every single day.”

Kento shifted slightly, letting his arm fall closer, almost wrapping around your shoulders. “I feel the same.” he murmured quietly, the words heavy, weighted. “I keep thinking…I should have done more. I should have—” 

His voice broke, just barely, and for a second, he looked younger than you’d ever seen him, vulnerable in a way he never allowed himself to be around others. You swallowed hard, your own throat tight, and moved closer, letting your head rest tentatively against his shoulder. 

“You didn’t fail.” you said softly. “Neither of us did. We did everything we could.”

He was silent for a long moment, the rain filling the space between your words. Then he whispered, “I can’t imagine facing it alone. I…I don’t want to.”

And just like that, all your defenses cracked. You clung to him, fully, letting the warmth of him anchor you, the familiar steady weight of his body against yours. “You’re not alone, Kento.” you said, voice trembling. “I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

He let out a shaky breath, pressing a hand lightly against yours on his chest. “Thank you.” he murmured. “I… I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Me neither.” you whispered under your breath, only loud enough for him to hear. “Kento….”

“Yes?”

“I only want to be with you.” you look at him, finding his eyes on your own. “No matter what happens, what you choose.”

You see him smile, both so tenderly, so lovingly, and yet so devastated, so pained. “Okay. Stay with me, then.”

Your heart ached so badly it felt like it might burst, but still, you didn’t speak the words you longed to say. You didn’t tell him that you loved him, not that night nor the night after that. Not even after every touch, every shared silence, every night curled up beside him had tied your heart to his in a way you could never untangle.

Instead, you simply continued to hold him tighter, letting the words go unspoken, letting the quiet intimacy speak for everything your lips could not. The night stretched on, rain tapping against the window, the two of you clinging to each other like life itself depended on it.

Your voice trembled. “I…I love you.”

“Hm?” he murmured, eyes half-closed, still pressed against you.

“I love you.” you repeated, louder this time, letting the words hang between you. “More than I can describe.”

For a long moment, he just looked at you. The feeling of surprise, that tenderness and softness that comes with the butterflies. There was something unreadable in his gaze. Then his hand brushed your cheek, warm and steady.

“I…love you too.” he whispered, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to your forehead.

You tightened your arms around him, letting the quiet intimacy speak for everything your lips had only just dared to say. The rain tapped softly against the window, but inside, for the first time, your hearts were in sync. 

You were content.

As was he.

You felt relief.

epilogue 

The ceremony was brief, but that’s what happens when there’s only two people who are going to graduate. The diplomas handed out, speeches given (far too long, if you were being honest), and the banners of Jujutsu High fluttering lazily in the spring breeze.

Everyone else had already drifted away, heading toward futures lined with missions, research, or further training. All that remained was the two of you, the only graduates of your batch.

But you and Kento had stayed behind, lingering near the edge of the courtyard, the distant chatter fading until it was just the two of you and the wind. He hadn’t said much, not like he usually did. 

Normally, Kento had a comment for everything, a carefully measured quip, a playful echo, a sarcastic snark. But today he was quiet, thoughtful.

The weight of his decision hung in the air between you, as much as there was that grief that Haibara wasn’t there to graduate with the two of you, like you all imagined.

He wasn’t going to continue as a sorcerer, he had made this decision a while, even told everyone else. He was leaving life behind, walking away from the battles, the curses, the endless risks. And you could see the relief and the uncertainty fighting behind his calm exterior.

You had wanted to say something earlier, but the words had lodged stubbornly in your throat. There was no proper way to tell someone who had been your anchor through so much that you…that you wanted to follow him. Perhaps not in the grand, heroic sense, but just in your own quiet, small way.

Finally, you gathered the courage to speak. The sky above was a pale gray, clouds drifting like soft brushstrokes across the horizon. Your heart hammered, every beat louder than the last, and your palms were slick with sweat from nerves.

“Hey, Kento.”

“…What is it?” His voice was calm, distant, absentminded even, eyes tracing the clouds as if he didn’t fully hear you yet.

You took a shaky breath, cheeks heating, words threatening to spill before you could catch them. “I…I wanna go to college with you, if that’s alright. Or wherever you plan to go.”

He chuckled softly, a sound that tugged at something deep inside you. “Hah. Why are you wanting that now?”

“Because…so I can keep making pastries for you.”

He snorted, shaking his head lightly. “…That’s not a reason to plan your future around someone. You’re thinking about dedicating a lot of time to that.”

“I know. I’m not saying it is.”

He raised a brow. “Then…what are you saying?”

You took a step closer, feeling the breeze ruffle your hair, letting your courage finally bloom. “I’m saying…I like waking up early when it’s for you. I don’t mind burning my fingers if you smile after.”

“…You’re reckless, aren’t you?” he said, a low chuckle escaping, though the weight in his gaze lingered.

“Only with you.” you whispered, faster than you intended. “I…if you, if you would allow me.”

And then, finally, he looked at you. Truly looked at you, with the wholeness of all that you had been through, and grew to be despite of. Yet, there was that unyielding beauty, that warmth that makes his heart skip a beat.

Nanami Kento let that steady, unreadable gaze soften the more he stared at you, and you felt your chest tighten as you swallowed the lump forming in your throat. “You don’t even know what you’re asking for.” he said, voice calm but heavy, warning and tender at once.

“Maybe not.” you admitted, your words trembling. “But I know who I’m asking.”

The wind carried your confession into the clouds, and for a brief moment, the world seemed to pause. For a long moment, he just looked at you, warm caramel eyes unreadable. You held your breath, every nerve alive, heart hammering against your ribs.

Then he let out a short laugh, one that was light, teasing, but held a trace of warmth. “You’re ridiculous.” he said softly. “Seriously, you plan your whole future around pastries…and me.”

You blinked, cheeks burning hotter. “I…I’m not saying it's for a good reason. I just—”

He cut you off with a shake of his head, smiling faintly now. “I know. You’re trying to be honest. That’s…actually kind of cute, in a terrifying, reckless way.”

You let out a shaky laugh, the tension in your chest loosening just slightly. “I’m reckless with you.” you whispered, almost to yourself. “Only for you.”

His expression softened, eyes meeting yours fully now, and there was a warmth there you’d never seen before. “I…think I like that.” he admitted quietly.

You felt your chest tighten. The words you’d wanted to hear, and the ones you’d been afraid to say yourself, were floating between you in the spring air. You dared a small step closer, letting the space shrink, letting the moment stretch just a little longer.

He didn’t move away. Instead, he tilted his head, gaze gentle. “You’re…serious about this, aren’t you?”

“I am.” you said, voice low, steadying yourself. “I don’t know what the future will hold. I just…I want to be with you while we figure it out. If you’ll let me.”

For a second, he was silent. Then, slowly, deliberately, he reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face. His fingers lingered at your cheek, warm and steady, and your heart lurched at the intimacy of it.

“You don’t need to tell me you like me every day.” he said quietly. “I can see it in the little things. The way you…care. The way you fight for things, for people.”

Your chest ached, but it was a good ache, a hopeful ache. “And I’ll keep caring. For you. For us.”

He let out a soft sigh, half exasperated, half relieved, and finally, he smiled fully. That smile you had  come to love, despite everything that smile had gone through, the one that had always kept you tethered, even in the darkest moments….it all washed over you, warm and steady.

“You’re crazy.” he murmured, almost to himself. “But…I guess I like crazy.”

You laughed softly at his words, the sound shaking with nerves and relief, and in the quiet space of the courtyard, under the drifting clouds, you reached for him.

His tender hand found yours naturally, calloused fingers intertwining, and the weight of unspoken words fell away, leaving only the small, steady truth.

You were together.

And that was enough.

[saigej]

ʙʟᴇᴇᴅɪɴɢ ꜱᴛᴀʀ💫🪽

After the happenings at the end of season 2, I think we all wanna hug our favorite Morningstar. So... here's my take. Enjoy~

(fun fact, this is my first time ever writing angst... or something like this so... yeah :3)

Also, reader is Luci's lover in this take.

After the threat of Vox’s weapon of mass destruction, the Hazbin Hotel’s crew go back into the hotel to treat their injuries. Emily goes back home to Heaven with Abel to inform Sera of the development between Heaven and Hell.

You, who stayed behind to prepare everything just in case  - first aid kit, food, change of clothes - quickly jump into action once you hear their voices, signaling their arrival back home.

After seeing VoxTek's broadcast, you knew that the crew would need everything. 

Everything.

Once inside, you hurry them to the lounge and check on them, asking them what they needed. But even as you move from person to person, something is missing. No, someone. 

You do a quick headcount.

Alastor was, as expected, nowhere to be seen, likely entertaining himself somewhere in the hotel or something, but that wasn’t the issue.

A certain blonde king was missing.

Instantly, you worry and excuse yourself from the group. “I’m just gonna take care of something guys.”

‘The supplies would be enough to hold them over, surely.’

You grab another first aid kit and run to Lucifer’s room.

-

Lucifer staggers into his room moments earlier, barely making it to his bed before he collapses onto it. Blood seeped into the sheets as he peeled off his coat with trembling fingers.

Before he can even catch his breath, you burst through the door, “Lucifer!”

Startled, his wings spring up from behind him like a reflex. Lucifer tries to sit up straighter. Least to say he fails miserably as he lets out a wince.

“(Y-Y/N),” he wheezed, forcing a laugh, “You know, heh… knocking exists, right?”

You ignore the joke and rush to his side, placing the first aid kit on the table and leaning over him with frantic eyes.

“I noticed you weren’t down there with the others. You’re bleeding everywhere.” 

Without hesitation, you reach for his shirt and gently peel it off.

Lucifer’s eyes widened, “Woah, darling, at least buy me a drink first.”

You didn’t react. Not even a twitch.

Instead, you focus on checking his injuries.

His torso was covered in jagged punctures. Sets of small holes that look like they were caused by charging prongs. Fint scorch marks where repeated shocks had hit him.

His body flinched involuntarily, as though expecting another surge of electricity.

“Luci…” You reach forward but stop your hand short for fear of hurting him more, “Oh my stars…”

Lucifer chuckles weakly, “Well, I suppose I am your star. Your Morningstar.”

You don’t laugh, “Lucifer. This is bad. Why didn’t you say anything?”

‘It was my fault to begin with.’ he almost said, but the words died in his throat.

Instead, he forces a smirk and flexes his wings, “Oh darling, no need to fuss over me.”

You only stare at him deadpan.

Seeing you see past his facade, he looks away, wings drooped and folding back into him

“I knew Box’s contraption couldn’t kill me,” He muttered.

The excuse only made your blood boil.

“That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t care that you got hurt!” You huff pulling disinfectant, cotton and bandages from the kit.

“King of Hell or not, you should have been down there. Getting treated.” You start putting disinfectant on a cotton ball. “Why did you head back here? Alone no less? What if I hadn’t noticed you were missing?”

“I could have treated my injuries just fine.”

You shoot him a glare, “As if I would believe that.” 

You hold up a cotton ball, “Now hold still, this is going to sting.”

Lucifer lets out a soft snort, but his voice wavers, “(Y/N), I’ve survived Heaven, marriage and fatherhood. Hell, I've even survived electrocution. I can handle a little stinging.”

“Hold still anyway,” You say as you start cleaning his wounds.

Lucifer watches you closely as you work on treating his injuries, letting out a soft hiss every now and then when you get to a particularly painful one.

He isn’t used to this.

He felt… seen.

He had spent centuries giving support. Supporting Lilith while ruling Hell. Supporting Charlie with her dream.

Now, being cared for felt foreign. Too intimate. Too… real.

‘She is just being nice.’ He thinks.

‘It’s nothing more than that.’

A sharp sting pulls him back from his thoughts.

“Sorry,” you murmur, blowing gently on the deepest wound, “This one’s a particularly bad one.”

Lucifer exhales shakily, half in pain, half in… something else. 

There is a short pause before he suddenly asks, “Do you pity me?”

Your hand freezes mid-motion, eyebrows drawing in confusion.

“...What?”

Lucifer’s eyes flick up, towards you. Guarded, tired, almost defensive.

“You heard me.”

Your voice rises in a mixture of disbelief and frustration, “Yeah, I heard you, but what the hell do you mean by that, Luci?”

He turns his gaze away from you, shaking his head, “Forget it.”

“No,” Your hand gently brushes against his cheek, guiding him back to look at you, “Lucifer, why would you think I am doing this because I pity you?”

He swallowed, silence stretching.

“Lucifer,” You whisper, “I don’t pity you.”

He tenses face crumpling sightly, “Then what is all this?”

You don’t hesitate, “This is me loving you.”

Lucifer’s breath catches. His eyes widen, then soften glowing like glass catching candlelight.

“Loving me.” He repeats, as if this is the first time you’ve ever told him those words.

“You say that so easily.”

“It’s easy because it’s true.”

He stares at you, his eyes darting between yours like he is trying to find the trick, the lie, the price. Instead, he sees his own reflection in your eyes. He sees fear. 

His fear.

“Why do you even love me?” He whispers.

“Lucifer… How could I not?”

“How could you not not?” He lets out a sad, broken laugh, “I’m the serpent, the angel who caused the suffering of all men. I can’t do anything right.”

His head hangs and his voice shakes, “Not with Lilith, not with Eve and the apple. I couldn’t even help my daughter when she needed me!”

His breathing grows uneven, pain, panic and guilt mixing.

“I even got trapped by Vox and got used as a damned battery for some weapon of mass destruction that destroyed HALF of the Pentagram!”

His whole body trembles as if reliving the pain from what he experienced. He gestures to himself with shaky hands, broken and bleeding.

“I’m the King of Hell, the Morningstar. I should be stronger than this! I should be better than this. But I can’t. All I ever do is disappoint the people I love!”

You drop the bandages and immediately cup his face in both hands.

He stiffens, but doesn’t pull away.

“Lucifer. Look at me.”

He tries.

“You think I love you because you’re perfect?”

He opened his mouth, “I’m not-”

“No,” You cut in, “I love you because you’re you. Because you care so deeply it hurts. Because you keep fighting and you keep showing up even when you feel like you’re failing. Even when you’re unsure of what to do, you are still here.”

You brush your thumb along the glowing scratch along his jaw.

“You are not the serpent. You are a man who made a mistake. A man who tried to bring something good to Heaven and paid the price. A man who raised a daughter to believe in hope and wonder when you stopped believing in yourself.”

His breath hitches and his eyes flicker with something raw. Something vulnerable.

“You loved Lilith. You tried to do something good for Eve. And everyday you try for Charlie. And what happened with Vox?”

You shake your head firmly, “That is not a proof of weakness. You were tricked. You were tortured. But you are still here.”

Your voice softens.

“You’re not a failure. And you’re not unlovable. Not to me. Not ever.”

Lucifer’s composure shatters, tears spill freelyl from his eyes and soft sobs and whimpers escape his lips.

“Why… why would you choose someone like me?”

You smile gently and wipe away his tears, “Because you’re worth choosing.”

That was it.

Lucifer breaks. 

His head falls on your shoulder, his own trembles with every sob, every whimper and every shaky breath he takes.

“I don’t… I don’t know what to do… I don’t know what to say.”

You smile softly, arms wrapping around him in a firm embrace, “You don’t have to do anything.”

“Just let yourself be loved.”

-

Lucifer sits quietly as you secure the last bandage around his ribs. The tension on his shoulders had eased, but you can still see that he is tired.

You put away the medical supplies and get ready to leave, but before you could stand, his hand reaches out and wraps around your wrist.

“Don’t go.” He says softly.

You smile and squeeze his hand, “I wasn’t planning on it, love.”

You sit beside him on his bed, as he shifts to make room for you which causes him to wince as the bandages pull a bit on his injuries.

“Careful, you’re still injured. I am not sitting through round two.”

He places his palm on his chest and gasps dramatically, “You would abandon your poor wounded angel?”

You chuckle softly, shaking your head at his antics, moving a bit closer. “Drama king.”

Lucifer’s dramatic expression melts into a small, genuine smile. “Thank you.”

You blink, “For what?”

“For everything.” His voice drops into something quiet. 

Your smile softens.

He hesitates, looking between you and the bed, “Would it be…” He clears his throat. “I dunno, weird if I… wanted to cuddle?”

You gasp dramatically, “The King of Hell wants to cuddle?”

“Oh shut up. You know what, nevermind, just-”

“Lucifer.” You cut him off gently. “Of course we can.”

Before he can back out due to embarrassment, you slide your arms around him, careful of the bandages.

He melts into your embrace almost instantly, resting his forehead against your shoulder.

“Please…” He whispers, “Don’t let me go.”

You hold him tighter, one hand reaching up and running through his hair.

“Never.” You whisper back.

[hazbitten]

sunny side up! | lucifer oneshot

includes: lucifer morningstar x gn!reader

summary: someone took it upon themselves to make breakfast in bed for their favorite certain someone… minus the fact that they cannot cook.

warnings: tooth aching fluff <3 , not proofread

authors note: don’t let this flop. he’s one of the only characters i can write semi accurately. 😕

“oh sweethearttttt!” lucifer sang out in a long, theatrical trill — the kind of sound only he could make, half opera and half cartoon jingle — loud enough to echo down the hall and straight into your skull.

you stirred in your sleep, blinking up groggily. “huhhh..?” you mumbled, your voice mushy from dreaming.

the king froze mid-spin, arms thrown out in a flourish he was clearly very proud of. he blinked once. twice. then gasped softly as if remembering he’d just committed a capital crime. “ah! sorry, sorry, darling,” he whispered, suddenly bashful in the way only he ever was — somehow both shy and dramatic at the same time. “didn’t mean to wake you! well — maybe a little! but not like that! not… startled-awake-wake you! more like… more like… gently-summon-you-from-slumber-with-my-angelic-charm.”

he fidgeted for half a second, then his eyes widened. “oh! right! right right right—!”

with the enthusiasm of a man who had just remembered he’d left a bomb in another room, lucifer darted toward the bed, practically skipping. he presented a tray with a flourish that would make a stage magician weep.

“duckling,” he said, voice dropping dramatically, “light of my life… apple of my eye… love of my existence… baby.”

each pet name came with an exaggerated hand gesture, as if he were casting spells with every word.

he set the tray in your lap with a proud little wiggle of his shoulders.

“i…”

a pause.

a pause long enough that he clearly thought it was adding suspense.

“I MADE PANCAKES!” he announced, exploding into sound like confetti cannons going off in his throat.

you blinked down at the tray. the pancakes were… definitely shaped. shapes of some kind. shapes of questionable intent. shapes you were pretty sure no cookbook had ever printed.

lucifer leaned in eagerly, hands clasped behind his back like a schoolboy showing off macaroni art.

“oh!—that’s you,” he pointed, “that’s me, that’s charlie, that’s vagaroni, and that’s mr beakleigh from the rubber duck clucks musical special!”

he squealed. legitimately squealed. like a delighted child, but somehow also like a flamingo trying to take flight while doing jazz hands.

“isn’t he handsome?” lucifer babbled, poking the incredibly lopsided pancake version of mr beakleigh. “i mean, look at that beak! look at that silhouette! iconic. truly iconic. the embodiment of avian theatre.”

you tried not to laugh. you really did.

“a bit burnt,” lucifer admitted, pursing his lips and tapping one of the darker edges. “well. maybe more than a bit. but! but! they’re just… crispy! artisanal! rustic! chef’s kiss!” he made an actual kissy sound toward the plate. “i mean, who doesn’t like things a little hard?”

you raised an eyebrow at him. he paused.

lucifer’s grin turned sly in a way that was absolutely intentional and absolutely not subtle.

“i mean—” he started.

“i definitely like you hard,” you said with a slow smirk, beating him to it.

lucifer let out a squeaky sound somewhere between choking, laughing, and a single honk of a trumpet being stepped on.

he covered his face dramatically. “ohhhhh! scandalous! first thing in the morning? before breakfast? before my show-stopping, heart-stopping, earth-shattering culinary creation?!” he gasped. “have mercy!”

you poked his side lightly. “make me.”

he flopped onto the bed beside you, arms splayed out. “sweetheart, if you keep talking like that i’m going to combust. spontaneously. dramatically. like a phoenix made of glitter and poor impulse control.”

you snorted. “wouldn’t be the first time.”

“rude but accurate,” he said, pointing at you as if awarding you a point on a scoreboard.

he shifted closer, resting his chin on your shoulder to admire the pancakes once more, expression softening beneath the theatrics.

“i worked very hard on those, you know,” he murmured. “i even followed the recipe. well… some of it. most of it. the important parts of it.”

“like what?” you asked.

“the part that says ‘pancakes,’ obviously.” he sniffed. “the rest was… interpretive.”

you leaned your head against his. “they look perfect.”

lucifer let out a breath — the kind that sounded like someone exhaling relief and affection all at once. his eyes softened, his smile no longer wild and clownish, but warm, real. tender.

“i wanted to surprise you,” he admitted quietly, swinging his legs up so he could sit beside you properly. “you’ve been working so hard. worrying so much. i thought… breakfast in bed might make you smile.”

you glanced at him. he wasn’t looking at the pancakes anymore — he was looking at you, eyes bright, waiting, hopeful in a way he rarely let himself be.

“lucifer,” you whispered.

“yes, duckling?”

“i love it.”

his whole body lit up like someone plugged him into a socket. “REALLY?!” he chirped, nearly bouncing off the mattress. “you love it?! you love ME?! i mean the pancakes!—well, me too, yes, obviously, but the pancakes? you really like them?”

you laughed so hard you had to set the tray aside. lucifer immediately darted forward to steady it, muttering, “careful! careful! that’s priceless art! you can’t just—just jostle masterpiece-level breakfast foods!”

and when you leaned over to kiss his cheek, lucifer melted. like a popsicle dropped on a hot sidewalk. like butter left on a stovetop. like a cartoon character with hearts in his eyes.

his ears turned pink — which he would deny with his dying breath — and he ducked his head so you wouldn’t see the shy smile he tried (and failed) to hide.

“thank you for breakfast,” you whispered.

lucifer cleared his throat dramatically, puffed his chest out, and proclaimed, “ANYTHING for my beloved! breakfast! brunch! lunch! dinner! late-night snacks! midnight emotional support pastries!”

he leaned in close until his nose brushed your cheek. “i’d make you pancakes shaped like every soul in hell if it made you happy.”

you giggled. “even alastor?”

lucifer recoiled. “okay let’s not get crazy.”

you shoved him playfully, and he slung an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side as you leaned against him, warm and sleepy and loved.

“eat them,” he said, nudging the tray back toward you. “they’re atrocious. they taste terrible. they are a disaster of biblical proportions. but i made them with love.”

“with love and… what’s this?” you poked a blackened edge. “charcoal?”

“seasoning!” lucifer corrected firmly. “emotional seasoning.”

you laughed again, and lucifer practically glowed under the sound.

“i love you,” you murmured against his shoulder.

he kissed your forehead, soft and earnest, his voice losing the theatrics for just a moment.

“i love you more, duckling. now eat my awful pancakes before i start crying.”