smiley🧨

23🔥 any pronouns 🖍️ marvel, jjk, Harry potter 💯

[obsessivesmiley]

:) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :)

tell me, you’ll love me forever

:) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :)

SOLDIER, POET, KING MASTERLIST

featuring: Naoya Zen’in

:) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :)

MARVEL MASTERLIST

including: Grant Ward, Jake Lockley

[obsessivesmiley]

Soldier, Poet, King

Zen’in Naoya / Female! Reader

Plot: Upon turning 18, spoiled, arrogant, and misogynistic Zen'in Naoya picks a relic from the vault and meets a deity, split into three forms. Pledging himself to them is a small price to pay to form a bond with a god, and if he, the untouchable Zen'in heir, has to lower himself to worship them, then so be it. But the deity holds a secret that might just be his undoing.

In other words, Naoya assumes the deity he's obsessing over can't possibly be anything but a man. And he is proven so wonderfully wrong.

Warnings: mentions of blood, sort of religious references, OOC Naoya lowkey, reader is gender neutral until the big reveal but Naoya refers to them as male/male gendered terms bc he's dumb, slow burn!!! like hella slow, literal crumbs. Naoya is a misogynistic asshole, but you kinda change him.

Previous Chapter · Masterlist · Next Chapter (Coming Soon)

IMPORTANT A/N AT THE END nothing bad i promise <3

· · ─ · ⚔︎ · ─ ·✍︎· ─ ·♕· ─ · · Chapter Twelve When Words Become Law 2.2k words · · ─ · ⚔︎ · ─ ·✍︎· ─ ·♕· ─ · ·

Things between you and Naoya had gotten... weird, after that point. Well, Naoya in general was acting weird.

The next time he had come into the realm of the cursed object, you had asked him if he was feeling alright. And Naoya had worn a straight face and vehemently denied feeling bad. He said the vomiting was just an upset stomach from over-training, and his pacing was freaking out over his brother's supposed proposal. Any time you asked after that, that day or plenty later, he gave some sort of an excuse for any strange behavior he had exhibited.

Other than that, things were mostly normal. Your poet form still gave him readings and anecdotes about your past in the morning, and the soldier still trained him in the evenings like usual. The king popped in here and there to give advice and some friendly banter. But Naoya had changed how he received it.

He flinched when you would reach out to heal any of his injuries, but it wasn't in the way that one jumps when something spooks them. No, it was like your touch physically burned him, which was confusing because he wouldn't follow it up by shying away. Instead, he always seemed to lean into it subconsciously, like being close to you had become second nature, muscle memory.

In fact, he had also started initiating it - small things only, of course. When you passed him a book, his fingers would brush against yours for a moment, his eyes glued on the point of contact. When you told him his form was off, he asked you to step into his space and correct it, and his breath would hitch the slightest bit.

You were observant. You noticed. You wondered why this was. What had happened that day when he started reading the poetry and what had caused the change? You couldn't wrap your head around it, because there were so many passages in that notebook that he could relate to or be impacted by, and you couldn't decipher which it was. Little did you know it was the one you least expected.

He also refused to talk about the poetry. Any time you asked if he had finished it, which you knew he had, he gave an excuse to hold onto the notebook for longer. You figured whatever it was he had read had had such an affect that he was struggling to grapple with it, and decided that for now, he needed the book more than you did.

Outside of the realm, Naoya had been different, too, you saw. He was stricter around the clan, digging into people more for their mistakes. But it was never too cruel, never crossing a line, and ultimately always for that person's benefit. But he wasn't nice about it, either. He was dancing in the grey area between good and bad, dipping in and out with no clear pattern.

You figured, despite his absolute refusal, that it had to do with what he was really pacing about. If he wanted to blame his brother's proposal for now, you'd let it. And maybe you'd have a little fun with it, too.

"Have you ever been in love, Naoya-sama?" You innocently asked one morning a few weeks after.

Your poet form was sat across from him, casually reading over a book while Naoya entertained himself with training drills. This happened every once in awhile, when neither of you were in much of a discussion mood. But whilst reading a poem about romance and desire, you had the thought to ask.

Naoya's next step faltered, and he suddenly tripped in twenty-four frames, barely catching himself with his hands. His head snapped up to look at you, a look of confusion and a slight flush on his face. You didn't look up to meet his gaze, instead simply licking your finger and turning the next page.

"Where the hell is this coming from?!" Naoya asked as he righted himself, hands coming to rest on his hips as he scrutinized you.

You shrugged. "Just a curiosity, with your brother's marriage looming about."

"I-" Naoya blinked at you for a moment, feeling his mouth go dry. Were you figuring him out? He swallowed, trying to act normal.  "No, I can't say that I have."

You hummed, as if that answer was enough, and focused back on your book. It was silent for a long moment as Naoya stared at you, and just as he was about to resign back to his drills, you spoke again. "Not even a little crush?"

The blonde scoffed, as if such a notion was beneath him. "I'm not some school girl, you know. I don't pine."

A small smirk grew on your face at his brash attitude. "I didn't say you did."

"Tch." He looked away, his face twisted into the usual scowl. But then, in a quieter and softer voice, he asked, "Have you ever been in love?"

You finally looked up from your book, though you didn't look at him. You stared out into the empty space ahead of you, as if mulling over the answer, and Naoya felt his heart clench. What if you had? What if you'd had a lover back then, when you were sealed? Someone who held you close and soothed your pains and fought for you. Naoya didn't really know love, but he assumed that's what it was, because that's what he thought his mother would have done for him, had she been alive to do it.

Was it a princess? Some girl from a neighboring kingdom, with frilly dresses and makeup, who spent her says sitting in a garden tending to roses or something. Naoya didn't really know what princesses actually did, but he assumed it was something meaningless that kept her out of the way. Even the Lady Zen'in, the wife of the clan head, was never left anything too important to do, despite being the most important women in the clan. Though, there hadn't been one since his mother, and he felt uncomfortable thinking of her as someone they kept out of the way.

What if it was a prince? The thought crossed Naoya's mind at lightning speed, and along with it, a dash of hope. But he squandered it as fast as it came, because here he lived in modern times, where such a thing still wasn't widely accepted. There was no chance that it was accepted back then. Maybe you'd had a male concubine of sorts. Maybe everyone just thought you were really good friends. Maybe when you were sealed away, he had held the pen close to his body for comfort, just like Naoya did.

In only a matter of seconds, Naoya's surprisingly active imagination had created a whole new person and he felt that familiar sting of jealousy in his heart. For a person that didn't exist. It was silly, he knew that, but his heart had been a traitorous thing lately. He wondered if this super close, not-a-concubine, just a really close friend person saw you as a deity long before you'd ever became one. You certainly seemed like one to him now.

"No, I've never had the pleasure of falling in love." You answered simply, and Naoya felt relief drown his senses like a flash flood had entered the realm. You turned to him, a nostalgic look on your face. "But I was arranged to be married at one point."

And the relief had left as quick as it came. "Married?" Naoya squeaked out, then cleared his throat.

"Yes, married." You didn't seem at all bothered by this fact. "But when the war hit and I killed my parents, that discussion was tabled for another time. Then I was cursed, and- well, you can gather the rest."

Naoya swallowed thickly. "Was she... suitable?"

You opened your mouth to correct him, because correcting Naoya had become one of your favorite pastimes, but caught yourself at the last moment. It wouldn't make sense to inform him that it was actually a prince, so you simply closed your mouth and rethought your answer. Naoya read this as hesitation and felt his pulse skyrocket.

You thought back to what that prince had been like. "She was perfect."

Naoya felt his heart plummet into his stomach as he echoed, "Perfect?"

A simple nod that made him want to retreat the realm and curl up in a ball. But your face had lost the nostalgic look, and that made him wait. "Yes. And I think that was the issue."

"What do you mean?" He asked, brows furrowed.

"She was beautiful, polite, charming. Amazing at everything she did, and all I ever heard was how amazing we would be together."

Naoya felt like he was being forced to swallow barbs, scratching and bleeding down his throat with every word. He didn't want to hear this, but he couldn't bear to go away either.

"I could marry someone like that, pledge my heart, body, and soul to be theirs for the rest of my life." You weren't looking at him again, face pulled into one of deep thinking. "I could do it, and I'd probably be content the rest of my life." You sighed, shaking your head. "It would be easy, and that's where the problem lies."

Now Naoya was confused, because all that you just said - as painful as it was to hear - sounded rather lovely to him. "What's wrong with something easy like that?"

"There's no challenge." You replied with a shrug. "How am I supposed to improve if the one person who's always by my side doesn't push me to be greater?" Your eyes slid back to him with a knowing look. "Another one of the poems in that book, can you read it to me?"

Naoya scoffed, because of course you knew he had it sat in the folds of his kimono, but he pulled it out nonetheless. "What page?"

"Twenty-two, please."

The blonde opened the notebook, ignoring the anxious feeling that simmered underneath his skin from holding it again, and skimmed until the designated page. It was not titled, but it was a long one. He read aloud,

"This fleeting breath, this span 'twixt womb and grave, a tale of three acts writ. The prologue swift, the epilogue more so, and between them lies a void, a trackless sea of years unknown.

What shores do we encounter there? How long the voyage? Shall we, like babes, return to helplessness at journey's end? Or may we strive for heights, an ascent to brighter skies?

If change were barred to us, then we'd be voiceless to its call. For each soul here, a nascent path doth lie, a growth untrodden.

The veil that hides the morrow, the mist that shrouds what lies beyond our ken, doth beckon me with promises untold."

"Do you understand it?" You asked patiently. It wasn't a question of his ability to comprehend it, but an offer to explain if he couldn't.

Naoya shrugged, closing the book and putting it back in it's place. He had read this poem, but he hadn't stood out to him like the other had. He answered bluntly, "It's about being different by the time you die."

You let out a small laugh, a joyous sound to him. "That's the simple answer, yes." You exhaled softly, giving him a tempered look of amusement. "But it's more about how we can change and grow before our time is up. How our lives are unknown journeys and only we can commandeer them. Do we follow the path straight ahead, or do we venture for something beyond ourselves."

Naoya hummed, taking in the answer. He'd never thought about changing his path, for it had been set out for him at the start. He'd grow up, rule as clan head, and then he'd die one day. Just like all those Zen'ins before him. Since he had first learned of this, it was a comfort to him, knowing that things were always going to be that way. But now, in your presence, with the question of how this related to love sat on the tip of his tongue, it gave him a nervousness he'd never felt before.

"What does this have to do with not wanting an easy love?" He voiced the thought aloud.

"Well, love is a part of life, whether it's romantic, platonic, familial. We all give love and we all experience love in different ways, it's a given, just like birth and death are given to us." You fixed him with a conspiratorial look. "Who's to say that love can't be one of the many ways we strive for heights, an ascent to brighter skies?"

Oh.

Oh no.

You pushed and challenged Naoya to grow, that is for sure. You trained him in more ways than one; combat, literature, and how to rule properly. All Naoya had known since he met you was challenge after challenge, growth by little growth. It made perfect sense why you enraptured him in the way you did.

But what the hell did he ever offer you?

Naoya couldn't name one instance where he had challenged you to grow as a person, where he offered something of value to improve any of your numerous skills. You had always been the teacher, not him. And you'd existed long before him - what could he possibly teach you?

What Naoya didn't know was that he had had an impact on you, had already helped change you in many ways. He just hadn't yet thought to ask.

· · ─ · ⚔︎ · ─ ·✍︎· ─ ·♕· ─ · ·

an: heeyyyy….. how y'all doin'…. hahahha.

yeah its been a crazy month. to put it simply, im a new yorker in her early twenties, and so much of my time the past few weeks has been occupied by the knicks, graduations, grad parties, the world cup, friends coming home from college. it's been cray cray! but things finally mellowed out a little bit this week so i managed to update.

but if im honest, my reason for neglecting this story has been more internal. i have a solid idea of where i want to go with this, and that includes finally mixing in the canon storyline from JJK. but i am not a JJK manga reader for some reason, despite being a manga reader for several other animes. i think part of me fears that when i get to the end, i'll lose my hyperfixation on JJK and not want to write. obv i've been spoiled on several things because i am an avid tik tok user, which is how i have a clear plot for this book in my head. its just i also don't want to write that plot without knowing exactly how JJK goes in case i mess something up.

so that's largely where my pause has come from. i still have several ideas in my head to write out as chapters before then, because this is a beautiful slow burn and i intend to flesh out naoya and reader's relationship wayyyy before we get to the canon stuff haha. but a large part of my hesitation with updating this past month has been me thinking up ideas and scrapping them on repeat, because there's just so many ideas that come to mind that i can't do without spoiling myself further. i don't know if that fully makes sense but that's what i have to offer you guys.

i do sincerely apologize for my small hiatus, because you guys are some amazing, loyal readers and deserve the best. <3

if you are ever looking for something else to read in the meantime, i have an American!Reader-Insert with various JJK men x reader ongoing, called Situation Normal: All Fucked Up, or as I like to call it, SNAFU. It's got 17 chapters up right now and is a loooooong way from getting into canon, which means i've got so many future chapters stocked up there. it's supposed to be updated weekly, and if it ever isn't, there's always a double update the following week to make up for the lack of update the previous week.

i did manage some good non-canon ideas for the next few chapters, so i should be updating regularly for the next month at least!

love, :)

· · ─ · ⚔︎ · ─ ·✍︎· ─ ·♕· ─ · ·

POEM TRANSLATION:

We are born, next we live, then we die. The beginning and end are quick, but the space between is filled with the unknown.

What happens there? How long does it last? Are we destined to end our lives the same as we began them? Or can we change into something new?

If change was impossible, then we would not be allowed to change. Every person has their own path, their own chances to grow beyond what they are.

We don't know what happens tomorrow, what awaits us, but those chances do excite me.

· · ─ · ⚔︎ · ─ ·✍︎· ─ ·♕· ─ · ·

tl: @alebrasil0101 @ladyhesperus

[obsessivesmiley]

2500 likes! wordddddd

[obsessivesmiley]

Soldier, Poet, King

Zen’in Naoya / Female! Reader

Plot: Upon turning 18, spoiled, arrogant, and misogynistic Zen'in Naoya picks a relic from the vault and meets a deity, split into three forms. Pledging himself to them is a small price to pay to form a bond with a god, and if he, the untouchable Zen'in heir, has to lower himself to worship them, then so be it. But the deity holds a secret that might just be his undoing.

In other words, Naoya assumes the deity he's obsessing over can't possibly be anything but a man. And he is proven so wonderfully wrong.

Warnings: mentions of blood, sort of religious references, OOC Naoya lowkey, reader is gender neutral until the big reveal but Naoya refers to them as male/male gendered terms bc he's dumb, slow burn!!! like hella slow, literal crumbs. Naoya is a misogynistic asshole, but you kinda change him.

Previous Chapter · Masterlist · Next Chapter

IMPORTANT A/N AT THE END

· · ─ · ⚔︎ · ─ ·✍︎· ─ ·♕· ─ · · Chapter Eleven Cracks in the Wall 2.2k words · · ─ · ⚔︎ · ─ ·✍︎· ─ ·♕· ─ · ·

For most of his life so far, Naoya had never been much of a reader. In his youth, he'd been given book after book to read for his education, of course. Required texts and scrolls that he had to complete by a deadline, purely educational things, most of which was long-since forgotten. Reading a book for pleasure, whether it was fiction or fantasy, was not something that had ever appealed to him, and so he hadn't given it a second thought.

Then you came along and gave him things to read, and it was still for the purpose of learning, giving him new perspectives, and teaching him about your life when he still thought you were a deity. But he hadn't disliked reading those, even though he came back and reported what he'd found, discussed it with you to length, just like he had in the clan study with his elders. Maybe it was because he was used to it, like all the reading he'd done for his education.

But once he had learned more about you as a person, went from your acquaintance to your friend, he found himself enjoying reading. He wouldn't say whether it was the act of reading itself or the content of the books, because those thoughts in his head were still too dangerous to put a name to, but he had enjoyed it nonetheless. Reading about your life and what the world was like back then was interesting to him.

With that said, he hesitated to read the poetry. It was silly, perhaps. He knew it must be good poetry if you were so moved by it, and that made him reluctant. Because, what? Would the great Zen'in Naoya allow himself to be similarly touched by the written whimsies of a girl? It felt like you had given him a challenge, to put aside his pride and ego, and that made his pride and ego swell with the desire to not read it.

But the itch to appease you was just as strong, that 'thank you, Naoya-sama' echoing your voice in his head. It bounced around against the edges of his skull, rattling his brain, and making his heart thump wildly. It made him want to sit and start reading at once, to devour the contents of the old raggedy notebook cover to cover. But then what?

He'd go back to the realm, and you'd ask if he liked it, and what could he possibly do then? Know he had enjoyed it and lie about it? You'd likely see through such an act in seconds and call him out for it, as you always did, and you'd be disappointed in him for it.

And what if he truly hadn't liked the poetry and told you so, would you be disappointed in a whole other sense? At the fact that you and him weren't as similar as you originally thought? He couldn't bear the thought of creating such a disconnect, and part of him wished you had never given him the book in the first place.

And the stem of that fear was a whole other can of worms that Naoya was too nervous to look into. He was starting to notice and linger on things more often; the curve of your smile when he cracked a joke, the wicked glint in your eyes when you teased him. Even the gentle huffs of air from your soldier form in the midst of training had started to gather unnecessary attention from him.

Naoya truly believed, or at least always had, that women were inferior. Silly, stupid things that needed his protection and should be silent and obedient. He knew from early on that he'd most likely be set to marry a woman one day, a contractual thing for the clan, and he had never had an issue accepting this. He liked women, that much was true, because he knew he liked what he saw when he called on a concubine to entertain him.

But he had never liked any of these women romantically. Not even really platonically, nothing beyond sexually. He didn't notice sharp smiles and tempered looks and the rise and fall of their chest while they trained, wondering how they were breathing so heavily, yet he was the one who felt like he had the air stolen from his lungs. 

Well, to be fair, the women on the estate didn't train. Maybe that's where it starts.

Naoya had been raised to admire and respect strength, willpower, and intellect, that these were the pillars upon what made a person. And every example of such a person had been a man. His father, his older brothers, his uncles and cousins. His ancestors, the clan elders, all of them, all men. If the ideal person was strong and powerful and intelligent, is that not what he would seek in a romantic partner?

To his complete and utter surprise, Naoya didn't find himself hating the idea of admiring a man in that way, but he couldn't seem to find it in him to like men sexually. That was always where the admiration stopped, and it left him with quite the confusing thoughts. It was with all of this, he wished he had someone else he could talk to about these things. For a moment, he wished he could talk to his mother, who despite all his flaws, had loved his father. 

But his mother had died in childbirth, bringing him into the world, and was not an option. There wasn't really anyone who he felt he could talk to about this sort of stuff, nor was he sure he'd even want to. It happened accidentally.

Parrying an attack from Ranta, Naoya countered with a swift kick to his legs that swept the younger Zen'in off his feet and onto his back. He panted on the ground, closing his eyes as he mentally chastised himself, then took Naoya's outstretched hand.

"You're really fast, you sure you're not using jujutsu?" He spoke, eyes narrowed at his blonde cousin.

Naoya let out a snort. "Yeah, I'm sure. You're just awfully slow, as ever."

Ranta let out a huff, but took on a combative stance again. "Alright, let's go again."

Naoya only nodded and motioned for Ranta to attack, wondering if this was how you felt when you trained him. Ranta lasted longer the next time, as he usually did, but Naoya always managed to find an exploit in his stance or actions and disable him for the moment, winning the spar. Once again, he laid on his back, heaving in breaths of air until Naoya helped him up. He stumbled a little this time, and that was when Naoya called it, knowing he was getting too tired.

"Let's take a break, start again in ten." Naoya offered, and Ranta, unable to speak, only nodded.

A servant waiting nearby hastily stepped forward, freshly pouring ice cold water into cups and handing one to each of them. Then, she silently stepped back to her corner of the training grounds, standing enough in the shadows to look entirely unimportant, just as she was trained. Like a good woman, Naoya thought to himself.

When Ranta found his voice, he asked, "Did you hear about your brother and Ishikawa-san?"

Naoya rolled his eyes at the familiar tone, knowing his cousin was indulging in public gossip. "Ranta, you know better than to yap about nonsense."

"No, no!" He laughed, waving his free hand. "It's not nonsense this time. Her and Katsuro-san have been writing each other, and I may have overheard him and your father talking about proposals."

One of his dark eyebrows quirked up at the information. "Really?" He scoffed, "No one ever thinks to tell me these things."

"Hey, I'm telling you right now, aren't I?"

Naoya's eyes slid back over to Ranta at that, expecting a sarcastic remark and smirk. But there was none, just an honest expression and no intention to tease him. And it was in that moment, he recalled how much Ranta had looked up to him in their younger years. They might both be adults now, but they had always been close in a way, sharing secrets from around the estate.

Before he could think better about it, he asked, "Have you ever liked anyone like that?"

Ranta blinked for a moment, then hummed. "I liked that girl from the Suzuki clan."

Naoya's face twisted into one of contempt. "No way. The bratty one with the smart mouth?"

But Ranta grinned, "Yeah, that's the one."

"What the hell, man?"

"What can I say? I kinda admired how she could put me in my place."

"You're crazy."

"Maybe." Ranta shook his head with a small smile on his face. "But it just made it more of a challenge, you know? I like the idea of that."

Naoya raised an eyebrow at his sweet, little cousin. "What, to... conquer her?"

"No!" Ranta laughed again, as if that thought was absurd. "No, just that I could be with someone who challenges me all the time. Keeps me on my toes, helps me learn a thing or two."

Naoya had excused himself shortly after that, suddenly feeling sick to his stomach. He retired to his chambers early and promptly emptied the contents of his stomach into his personal bathroom. He was very aware of the pen in his pocket and prayed you weren't paying him any attention today.

Then he opened the notebook of ancient poetry that was sat on the butsudan and started reading.

Naoya could tell the author of the book, the woman was all those years ago, was intelligent from just the first pages, despite how difficult it was to read. It was, like most of the old books you gave him, written in classical Japanese, which was much more complex in terms of grammar. But he was known for being quick, and that meant adapting, too.

The first piece was a beautifully written passage about the passing of time that did a great job of making him feel much younger than he was, like he was so utterly inexperienced in the grand scheme of life. And then it was followed up with a clever, rhyming thing about finding peace in the unknown that gave him an eerie sense of calm.

With every line read, Naoya could see just what you liked about it so much. The poet spoke on the pages with an eloquence and understanding that he could just tell had shaped your poet form immensely. With it came the realization that Naoya had heavily underestimated the impact of the poetry, because now all his prior thoughts about lying on whether he enjoyed it, felt inadequate. There was no way he could do such a thing now, as it would simply be an insult.

Of course, that wasn't the only line of thought of his that ended up scrambled through his reading of the notebook. Because a little more than halfway through, Naoya stumbled upon a passage, one of few in the book that were given a title. 

Emergence

Whence comes this tremor, this disquietude, that steals upon my very soul?

To find a thing, not sought, not craved, that doth possess the power to rend me limb from limb, to make a wreck of all I am.

'Tis not a change I yearned for, nor a heart's desire that spurred this fate, but simply that the capacity lay dormant.

And then unheralded, a catalyst, perchance unknowing of the tempest it would stir, did pass.

It treads its path, as ever, whilst I, by its mere fleeting touch, am utterly undone, a caterpillar forced into a chrysalis.

Naoya had slammed the notebook shut so fast that for a second he worried that he snapped the spine. But after careful inspection, the book was still in one piece, and he let out a sigh of relief. It did not do much relieving, though, because the words of the poetry were now stuck in his head. They effectively replaced your voice in his head, something he wasn't sure he was thankful for or not.

He considered taking the pen out of his pocket briefly, setting it back on the butsudan while he frantically paced his room deep in thought. But then he figured that would look even more suspicious in your eyes, and decided against it. No, you'd just have to bear witness to the physical representation of his inner turmoil for now. 

And bear witness you did. You couldn't perfectly see into the real world from your place in the cursed object, but you could sort of feel what was happening if you focused hard, gather bits and pieces of conversations drifting into the pen. Right now, all you felt was Naoya's sheer panic seeping into it, flooding your senses with your own feeling of instability. 

Was giving him the poetry too much too soon? Did you need to help him dismantle his beliefs more before giving it to him? Of course, you assumed his reaction was purely from facing the truths of his beliefs and the challenge to them.

You had no idea that Naoya was falling in love with you. 

· · ─ · ⚔︎ · ─ ·✍︎· ─ ·♕· ─ · ·

an: yeahhhhhhhh i know, it's been a hot minute. it has been a crazy month, that's all i can really say lmao. sorry the first chapter in awhile is short, i feel awful ;/

anyways, things get interesting this chapter as naoya starts to grapple with some inner feelings LOL also, in the chapter, the poetry is said to be written in classical japanese because that's what old ancient japanese would take the form of in this context, but because this fic is in english, i put it in early modern/elizabethan english. i will also put a regular/much simpler english translation at the end for anyone who'd like it! and yes, it is my own creation lol ive very much gotten into poetry lately hehe

ALSO, SUPER IMPORTANT: so, as the story warnings mention, there are going to be shibuya/culling game spoilers in this book and we are getting to them. however, this book does NOT really follow the plot of JJK, but it will occur parallel to it. in other words, the shibuya arc and culling game arc (mostly the second) will be taking place at the same time as this book, and you WILL hear details about both. i haven't read the manga, only seen the anime, so I myself don't even really know fully what happens past season 3, so it's not going to be anything huge, but there will be things mentioned. SOON. specifically about the first few episodes of season 3 ;)

EMERGENCE POEM TRANSLATION:

Where did this strange feeling come from, that has captured my entire soul? To come across something by chance, that has the power to change you entirely. Not because you needed to change, or wanted it, but because you were simply capable of change. And then came the catalyst, unannounced and perhaps unaware of your conflict. It goes on with it's day, and you are entirely undone nonetheless.

tl: @alebrasil0101 @ladyhesperus

[obsessivesmiley]

sorry yall that I haven’t updated soldier poet king </3 it’s finals week and I am like actually dying :)))) but after this is the summer and my updates should be much more consistent!

[v3is]

"CHAT, AM I THE 4SSHOL3?" ───── a nerdjo! series

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 ⋮ nerd! gojo satoru x fem! reader

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ⋮ Your long term boyfriend, Hayato made a disgusting post about you on Reddit. I mean, who even thinks that it’s a good idea to put your name on a Reddit username? Your Reddit obsessed best friend sent you the post and it was closure to his already shitty attitude to begin with. You didn’t give him the satisfaction of crying and yelling — You just packed and left for good (not before you changed the Netflix account password though, and Spotify). When your now ex-boyfriend went batshit crazy after your departure, your best friend suggested her older brother to look after you.

Except, all he’s good at (probably) is studying and his looks.

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 ⋮ suggestive content (near a smut, no actual description of the action bcs i can't write good smut) . real world au . gojo and reader are in their late 20s . an implied gojo being a loser . fake dating . nerdjo is a pokemon nerd . cursing . mentions of sex but no actual sex bcs ur girl don't know how to write good smut (almost sex, idk y'all, it just flowed out and idk what i'm doing) . doesn't follow the jjk plot at all . SLOW UPDATES . tba .

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 𐔌՞. .՞𐦯

OOO. CHAT, AM I THE ASSHOLE? OO1. INTRODUCING, GOJO SATORU OO2. GOJO SATORU SAYS "NO" OO3. GOJO SATORU SAYS "YES" OO4. HAYATO CRASHOUT OO5. SUSPICIOUS PURCHASES OO6. HAYATO'S GRAND ENTRANCE OO7. DESSERT BAR SHENNANIGANS OO8. MATCHING POKEMON KEYCHAINS OO9. RAIN, RAIN GO AWAY? NO, SICK, SICK GO AWAY. O1O. ONE BED, TWO PEOPLE? O11. IT'S RAINING THUNDER O12. NEW NUMBER, THIS IS SHE O13. SO, YOU'RE (NAME)? O14. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, SATORU O15. SATORU'S SPECIAL DAY O16. SHE'S A KEEPER! O17. KEPT ON DELIVERED O18. UNINVITED APPEARANCE O19. PERMISSION TO CONTINUE O2O. PLUS ONE O21. HOMA AND ISA O22. THE "GIRLFRIEND" TITLE O23. SORRY, I CAN'T COME EARLY! O24. HANG "YOU TRAITOR" OVER O25. A DAY OF SILENCE O26. RAGEBAITER, RAGEBAITED O27. JUMBLED FEELINGS (FILLER) O28. AN ADULT HUMAN J#B O29. TRUE LOVE O3O. I THOUGHT WE LIKED EACH OTHER? O31. IT'S A SIGN O32. CHAT, AM I THE ACE-HOLE? O33. HOW TO SHUT SOMEONE UP 101 O34. AS A STRANGER, I'D MIND MY OWN BUSINESS O35. EW, GOJO SENSEI COOTIES O36. EPILOGUE 1; DID YOU JUST THROW AN APPLE AT ME?

𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 𐔌՞. .՞𐦯

gojo dealing with his students after they saw your messages during class ⸝⸝ you and nerdjo open a few pokemon card packs to prove the girlfriend luck ⸝⸝ you accidentally ruined the colors of your gender reveal cake ⸝⸝ TBA

© 𝐒𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐒 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓 ✦ do not copy, modify, or upload anywhere else + do not feed my work into AI.

[obsessivesmiley]

GACHIAKUTA CH. 166 SPOILERS BELOW

Read at your own risk!

Mannnnnnn I’ve got a gachiakuta reader insert saved in my drafts on ao3 and I put so much thought into the vital instrument that reader has. Like it’s got backstory, it’s got meaning, and it all relates to the character SO well. And I even made sure it was balanced and not OP.

And now while we don’t know what vital instrument: time walk does exactly, I feel like it’s pretty self explanatory. Especially with the way Enjin said like “when people see a clock there’s a certain power that comes to mind”, and being called time walk totally points to some form of time travel.

So now I’m a little bummed bc the vital instrument I had created for my reader insert was a pocket watch that turned into a specific weapon and could rewind time back just a few seconds.

Now I’m sure the two will probably work differently, with time walk being much more powerful, I’m still sad that my (seemingly) good idea is like super similar to a freakin’ watchman series item.

Now I’m caught between sticking with it and trying to make it work, or thinking of something new. Ugh.

[obsessivesmiley]

Soldier, Poet, King

Zen’in Naoya / Female! Reader

Plot: Upon turning 18, spoiled, arrogant, and misogynistic Zen'in Naoya picks a relic from the vault and meets a deity, split into three forms. Pledging himself to them is a small price to pay to form a bond with a god, and if he, the untouchable Zen'in heir, has to lower himself to worship them, then so be it. But the deity holds a secret that might just be his undoing.

In other words, Naoya assumes the deity he's obsessing over can't possibly be anything but a man. And he is proven so wonderfully wrong.

Warnings: mentions of blood, sort of religious references, OOC Naoya lowkey, reader is gender neutral until the big reveal but Naoya refers to them as male/male gendered terms bc he's dumb, slow burn!!! like hella slow, literal crumbs. Naoya is a misogynistic asshole, but you kinda change him. eventual shibuya arc and culling game spoilers!!!

Previous Chapter · Masterlist · Next Chapter

· · ─ · ⚔︎ · ─ ·✍︎· ─ ·♕· ─ · · Chapter Ten The Space Between Words 1.9k words · · ─ · ⚔︎ · ─ ·✍︎· ─ ·♕· ─ · ·

Naoya had started researching how to break seals religiously after that moment. The first place he had gone was the Zen'in clan's personal library and records, reading every related book and tablet, every primary and secondary source, on any information. The second place had been Jujutsu High's libraries, at both the Tokyo and Kyoto branches, reading every tome with an inkling of a clue cover to cover.

Most of the information was stuff he already knew. He had received a thorough education on talismans in his young age, how they would be wrapped around objects to contain a curse, like Sukuna Ryomen's fingers. They were also occasionally used for advanced barrier techniques, or even as an intermediary for shikigami, but the issue with them was that the physical seals degraded over time. That's what you get when you use paper.

The pen that held you didn't have any visible physical talismans on it, nor could he even sense any cursed energy residuals that would show the existence of the seal. He assumed that was due to the large number of years that have passed since you were originally trapped within. This gave him the question of whether the pen had become a cursed object itself, capable of keeping you contained without any such things.

That would make this dilemma much more complicated, though. Since it had lasted so long, he assumed it would likely be special grade, which meant it couldn't be destroyed, nor did he even want to destroy it. If it came down to it, of course, he would destroy it if it meant freeing you. But he had grown rather attached to the object, despite it not really being his. 

One morning, a few months into his research, he got the urge to ask you about it.

Sitting across from your poet form, he questioned, "The pen... may I ask what the significance of it is?"

Your face grew a gentle smile beneath the fox mask. "It was a gift from a poet." A nostalgic look flashed through your eyes, the memory seeming to sit at the front of your mind now. "On my eighteenth birthday, my parents threw a banquet and invited several esteemed guests."

Naoya couldn't help the small that grew on his face just from hearing the warmth in your voice. "And the poet was one of those?"

Your smile grew larger, and you bit your lip, holding it back. "No. She was a peasant traveling through the kingdom."

The blonde's face twisted to one of surprise and confusion. "Eh?!"

The poet who gifted you the pen that he had come to treasure every day was a female and an inferior. He was struggling to wrap his head around it, half expecting you to jump up and say 'surprise!' You did no such thing, continuing with the same grace you always did.

"Yes, and she was rather... unkempt, too." You laughed at the picture in your head. "She was a merchant to make money, pushing a kart from city to city to sell her wares. At the time, all we had were dirt roads, so her clothes were filthy." Your eyes softened from humorous to something deeper. "But she wrote in her leisure, and she was amazing."

Naoya finally found his wits. His tone was disbelieving, "She?"

If you had caught his implication, you didn't acknowledge it. "Yes. I came across her by chance, sneaking out the morning of my birthday to see the market. And there she was, with her kart transformed into a stall, selling her writing."

You paused for a moment, then lifted your hand. A thin notebook seemed to manifest out of thin air, and you gripped it, opening it up in front of you. It looked ancient, from what Naoya would see; the leather cover was tattered and ripped, the pages yellow and stained. The name and title on the front were even now incomprehensible.

And yet you looked at the old thing as if it were sacred, with a gleam in your eyes that Naoya recognized instantly - because it was the way he had grown to look at you. Devotion, in it's purest and truest form, when you found yourself caring for something beyond the care you felt for yourself.

Naoya froze in his spot as the thought lingered in his head, and his focus slipped. For a brief, unguarded second, something in his chest pulled tight, not fear, not awe (he was used to that by now), but something unfamiliar and achingly warm. Because despite now knowing you weren't a deity or a god, just a regular human being, he knew in his soul that he would follow you anywhere.

The worst part of it was knowing this wasn't even a new thought, because it had always been true. It had just been unannounced and unacknowledged until now. But the feeling behind it shifted into something deeper, tilted into something dangerously close to-

Naoya sucked in a sharp breath, his posture straightening. His expression didn’t change, but something in him snapped back into place with rigid precision.

Like always, you noticed, pausing what you had been saying instantly. "Are you alright, Naoya-kun?"

He nodded habitually. "Yes. Sorry, I lost my focus for a moment." The words came out too quick and firm, and you narrowed your eyes slightly.

"That does not typically happen."

He sighed. "No, it doesn't." Before you could say more, he spoke again, "Can you repeat the last part?"

You waited a few seconds, gaze lingering on him for a moment longer than usual. Not suspicious, but seemingly entirely too aware that something had just changed within him, and it sent a shiver down his spine. But he forced himself to look back into your eyes like nothing had happened, eagerly waiting to hear your words.

Because whatever that was, what ever just happened, it didn't matter. It couldn't matter. You were human, but you were above him, beyond him, and you weren't something to fawn over. You were someone he had a mission to free, someone to learn from, someone to perfect himself for. What?

Naoya shut the thought down completely this time with no hesitation, clean and final. He willed himself to be casual, a teasing smirk forming on his face, "You gonna make me wait all day?"

You studied him for a second longer, then nodded, the faintest twitch of your lips giving way to a smirk. "I read this front to back in an hour behind a bakery. And then I went back and invited her to the banquet." You let out a laugh, "My parents weren't thrilled to hear it, but she cleaned up quite lovely for the event. And at the gifting ceremony, she gave me the pen."

The Zen'in heir blinked at you, then scoffed. "You were prince of a kingdom, turning eighteen, and she gave you a pen?"

"Yes, and it was the best gift I have ever received." Your eyes sharpened with something mischievous. "Remind me, what was your eighteenth birthday like?" His face flushed then, but before he could answer you spoke, "Heir of a clan, turning eighteen - except, you chose the pen."

Naoya huffed, crossing his arms and looking away. "That was different."

You hummed, obviously not believing, but deciding not to push. "Perhaps."

"And what happened after?" He willed himself to ask.

"She enjoyed the party and left. And I never saw her again."

Naoya's brows furrowed, eyeing the raggedy book still in your hands. "And you've kept her writing all this time?"

You nodded. "It's the best poetry I've ever laid my eyes on."

"For now. You've kinda missed out on the last couple hundred years of updates." He smirked, trying to regain an edge. "When I get you out of here, you might find something even better."

You shrugged, much to his disappointment. "That may be, but I doubt anything will speak to me the way hers did all those years ago."

Again, something in Naoya twisted, though it lacked the warmth of his earlier thoughts. This poet had been a woman dressed in dirty rags, living independently and selling her work in a time when it was way more unacceptable than it was now. Yet, you spoke of her like she was world-changing and significant. Like you wanting nothing more than to hold one last conversation with a woman who had likely died to something pathetic like the plague hundreds of years prior.

Naoya wondered if she was the poet that created this part of you, or if she was at least the one that put you on this path. Intelligent, intellectual, beautiful-brain you, who outsmarted him constantly and saw things no one else ever had. You, your poet form, who could read him like a book at any given moment. And you placed your devotion in a girl who had betrayed tradition and was long since dead.

She was undeserving of it, clearly. But that begged the thought of who was? Surely not him, in his current state, still fighting for a space beside you, still learning what it meant to be a ruler. But if you could give your emotions so freely to someone like that, then what would stop you from doing the same for him?

It seemed those dangerous thoughts hadn't been completely snuffed out like he thought, and now they were joined by a sort of jealousy that made him feel foolish. Zen'in Naoya, heir to the clan, jealous of a long dead peasant girl, all because she had sold you words and gifted a used pen. How pathetic.

While you didn't know the depths of Naoya's thoughts, you could see how disturbed he was of this new revelation, and you had been prepared for it. He came from the most misogynistic clan in Japan, for crying out loud, you had expected this reaction, which is why you weren't surprised when it came. But now you had a chance to offer him a new perspective, and you jumped at it.

"Why don't you read it?" You offered, holding out the book to him.

Naoya looked at you with utter disbelief. "You want me to read that thing?"

"You've read all the other books I've given you."

He scoffed. "Yeah, but those were by you. I don't want to read poetry by some no-name."

You quirked a brow, pulling the disappointed look out of your arsenal that you had learned to be quite effective on him. "This is poetry by some no-name that I cherish, Naoya." The look was working, as you watched him deflate from it in real time. "Would you please give it a chance?"

He huffed, a last ditch effort to avoid it. "I don't-"

"For me?" You added. "Please?"

Naoya froze, the words making his face flush once again. He sighed harshly, snatching the book out of your open hand. "Fine. For you."

You grinned in response, a dazzling sight that suddenly made reading stupid girl poetry incredibly worth it. It was like the sun suddenly shone in the realm, and Naoya had to look away.

"Thank you, Naoya-sama."

The realm closed then, folding back in on itself and placing Naoya back in front of his butsudan. He leaned forward, placing his forehead on the cool table top, notebook clutched in his hands. It was one simple change in honorifics, a one word change in the way you referred to him, and yet it lit his entire body on fire.

Oh, he was so screwed.

· · ─ · ⚔︎ · ─ ·✍︎· ─ ·♕· ─ · ·

an: i am SO sorry for the late update guys! i was incredibly busy thursday and friday, so i intended to update yesterday. however, my dumbass fell down the stairs and had to take a trip to urgent care! my foot may be broken, its unclear, but im getting it x-rayed tomorrow so we'll find out then i guess. for now, i'm in a boot and icing it like twice an hour hahaha (shoot me).

tl: @alebrasil0101 @ladyhesperus

[obsessivesmiley]

okay yall i SWEAR i was gonna update soldier poet king todsy bc i has the time to edit it, but then i screwed it all up by falling down the frickin stairs 😭😭😭

my foot might be broken, not sure bc ofc when i went to urgent care, the person who does the X-rays happened to be out :///// so i have to go back monday

ANYWAYS! this has kept me from visiting my friend at college this weekend so i will be updating tomorrow bc I literally cannot go anywhere hahah

thank you all for bearing with me and pls wish me a speedy recovery bc the boot they gave me is giving me hella anxiety ngl i’m crashing out </3

[obsessivesmiley]

I have once again neglected to update soldier, poet, king on time and for that I am gravely sorry

[obsessivesmiley]

Soldier, Poet, King

Zen’in Naoya / Female! Reader

Plot: Upon turning 18, spoiled, arrogant, and misogynistic Zen'in Naoya picks a relic from the vault and meets a deity, split into three forms. Pledging himself to them is a small price to pay to form a bond with a god, and if he, the untouchable Zen'in heir, has to lower himself to worship them, then so be it. But the deity holds a secret that might just be his undoing.

In other words, Naoya assumes the deity he's obsessing over can't possibly be anything but a man. And he is proven so wonderfully wrong.

Warnings: mentions of blood, sort of religious references, OOC Naoya lowkey, reader is gender neutral until the big reveal but Naoya refers to them as male/male gendered terms bc he's dumb, slow burn!!! like hella slow, literal crumbs. Naoya is a misogynistic asshole, but you kinda change him. eventual shibuya arc and culling game spoilers!!!

Previous Chapter · Masterlist · Next Chapter

· · ─ · ⚔︎ · ─ ·✍︎· ─ ·♕· ─ · · Chapter Nine Inheritance of Violence 1.3k words · · ─ · ⚔︎ · ─ ·✍︎· ─ ·♕· ─ · ·

Sitting across from the poet, at the age of twenty-five, Naoya handed the recently finished book back to them. It had been the most personal thing he read yet - a journal of the king's back when they had won the war. You had been juggling ruling the kingdom, while also struggling against the curse your vengeful spirits of parents had inflicted on you.

And it was a heavy, difficult read, even coming from you. It had started coherent enough, with tales of ruling and lessons learned. But the more he read, as he witnessed time passing for you, he saw the fractures in your soul deepen. By the end, he saw what you had become - confused, debilitated, and maybe even afraid. Your writing had come to reflect that, anguish in the form of ink on paper.

It had built up so much, and then journal ended, offering no closure, no explanation for what happened after, like previous books. But Naoya had a nagging feeling that the result was the realm he sat in now. He had finished the book midday and spent the rest of the afternoon thinking about it. Now, in front of his deity, he had questions.

"What happened to you?" Naoya asked carefully, looking at the fox mask.

Your lips curled into a smile, but your eyes held a sadness that made his chest feel tight. "Over time, the curse on my soul only worsened, as you saw, and eventually, I became unfit to rule." You looked down at the cover of the journal in your hands with a distant look. "My grasp on my cursed energy, once controlled and careful, was slipping. I was a danger to myself and others."

Naoya's eyes widened at the submission. He thought back to when he had first questioned how you ended up in the relic. "Did you die?"

You hummed, averting your gaze in a display of hesitance he had never before witness from them. It made him nervous. "In a way."

His brow furrowed, confusion and something close to suspicion sinking into his features. You were hiding something from him and he didn't know how to feel about it. There was no obligation for you to share anything with him and there never had been. But you had chosen to share and indulge him in parts of yourself that no one else would ever see. He thought that had meant something to you like it had meant something to him. Why were you now holding back?

"What aren't you telling me?"

The poet form flinched at the question, as if it was a threat, and you closed your eyes. You were deep in thought for a moment and Naoya waited patiently, albeit anxiously. Finally, you sighed, meeting his gaze once more.

"Would you ever use what I've told you against me?" You asked quietly.

Naoya's eyes widened at the question, taken aback at it. His mind raced for a moment, wondering if he had ever done something to make you think that he would. Confusion, and a hint of desperation, took over his expression.

"No, I would never do that." He said firmly, and you knew he was telling the whole-hearted truth.

A pause, then you stated. "I'm not dead, Naoya." You took in a deep, shaky breath. "I've been sealed away in the fountain pen you possess for centuries."

It was silent for a moment, the air too still, as Naoya processed the meaning of your words. Then, he leaned back, as if the information was overwhelming and he needed to physically distance himself from it. The poet form did not move, giving him the time and space to think it through. They both sat like that for awhile, staring at each other wordlessly.

After a couple minutes, Naoya swallowed and pushed himself back upright. "You were dangerous, so you sealed yourself away?"

You tilted their head. "I had some help from my council, but yes. There had been an... incident, and we all agreed that it was for the best for me to be sealed away until my curse lifted." You sighed, something akin to disappointment hanging in the air. "The plan was for me to use my time in here to master channeling the cursed energy being used against me, and then use it to break the curse after being unsealed."

"What happened?" Naoya asked quietly.

"I don't know. I was only supposed to be in here a year."

Naoya's jaw dropped. You were supposed to only be trapped away in the pen for one measly year. And instead, you had been sealed for hundreds.

Then, another question formulated in his head. "How come I'm able to be in here with you?"

You smiled gently, nostalgia lingering in your gaze. "I was loved by my people. Despite being a danger to them, they empathized with me, and my seal was crafted delicately to allow visitors. Other people can come in, but I cannot go out, not on my own."

"And how were you able to leave? That time with Maki?"

Your brow furrowed. "That I'm not entirely sure. I discovered I was able to do that a few hundred years ago." You sighed, looking frustrated. "I assume it has to do with how seals decay over time, and as a result, one fraction of my soul can escape for a short time. But since the pieces are all linked, it's temporary."

Naoya hummed in response, thinking it all over. He had spent countless nights wondering how you came to exist, wondering what had happened, wondering if you were once mortal - just to discover that you had been the entire time. And he wasn't even upset to discover that you had deceived him this way, though to be fair he had never really asked.

But it made perfect sense, because he had never heard of deities and gods existing in the world, even with something like jujutsu sorcery present. Even those painted as fables and stories and folklore had turned out to just be curses.

Since the seal holding you here in this realm was so old and powerful, his clan most likely had no idea. It had probably came into their possession hundreds of years ago with no real backstory. He wondered if all those other relics in the vault were also seals, holding someone back from the world.

His eyes looked between yours. "Why has no one tried to help you before? I'm sure past Zen'ins have grabbed your pen before."

For the first time since he met you, you looked small, something from the past lingering in your gaze. A hurt given to you long ago, but still deeply felt. "Not everyone can be trusted." You spoke simply.

Naoya wanted to ask more, to know more about you and your past, about all the people who had visited before him. He had talked about being as powerful as you before, about surpassing you, but that was him thinking you were a god. You were not a god, you were human, just like him.

Years ago, that would have disappointed Naoya. He would have been dejected that the standards he was trying to reach were no longer otherworldly, that god-like power was truly unobtainable. But he had come to know Triarch, and suddenly he now saw just how possible it was to be your equal. And he wanted that. He wanted it so badly that it made his stomach turn. 

The words were tumbling out before he could think about it. "I'm going to find a way to free you." You looked shocked, but Naoya continued. "And then, you can break the curse and live your life again."

Your eyes glazed over with unshed tears, and Naoya tensed, hoping he didn't just screw everything up. But then you lifted you sleeve and gently dabbed at your eyes, before giving him a smile filled with so much admiration it made his head spin.

"Thank you, Naoya."

He offered you a small smile in return. "Don't thank me yet. I've still got to figure out how to break a thousand year old seal."

The poet chuckled. "I believe in you."

Naoya knew you meant it.

· · ─ · ⚔︎ · ─ ·✍︎· ─ ·♕· ─ · ·

an: i am once again asking for your forgiveness bc i posted this chapter on ao3 and completely forgot to cross post it here! im sorry my loves <3 :)

tl: @alebrasil0101 @ladyhesperus

[obsessivesmiley]

Soldier, Poet, King

Zen’in Naoya / Female! Reader

Plot: Upon turning 18, spoiled, arrogant, and misogynistic Zen'in Naoya picks a relic from the vault and meets a deity, split into three forms. Pledging himself to them is a small price to pay to form a bond with a god, and if he, the untouchable Zen'in heir, has to lower himself to worship them, then so be it. But the deity holds a secret that might just be his undoing.

In other words, Naoya assumes the deity he's obsessing over can't possibly be anything but a man. And he is proven so wonderfully wrong.

Warnings: mentions of blood, sort of religious references, OOC Naoya lowkey, reader is gender neutral until the big reveal but Naoya refers to them as male/male gendered terms bc he's dumb, slow burn!!! like hella slow, literal crumbs. Naoya is a misogynistic asshole, but you kinda change him. eventual shibuya arc and culling game spoilers!!!

Previous Chapter · Masterlist · Next Chapter

· · ─ · ⚔︎ · ─ ·✍︎· ─ ·♕· ─ · · Chapter Eight Devotion Written in Red 2.6k words · · ─ · ⚔︎ · ─ ·✍︎· ─ ·♕· ─ · ·

Life proceeded to go on uneventfully for the next few years.

Naoya didn't always visit Triarch's realm twice a day like he used to - getting older meant being entrusted with more clan duties, and therefore less free time. Though, he wasn't sure if it was so that he could learn, or if his father was getting lazier and passing the duties off to him.

Maybe it was even out of spite, as his father seemed to grow a childish resentment towards his son's faith in the deity. If letting his son sit in on top-secret clan meetings in the morning meant keeping him from sitting at that butsudan for an hour, then so be it. It wasn't even out of genuine hate or dislike, just the pettiness that came from realizing his son was more dedicated to that damn pen than to his own clan.

Ironically, Naoya's dedication to his clan had only grown over the years as he started to view everyone in it differently. He was still an arrogant prick with misogynistic tendencies, but he never laid an unjust hand on Maki, or anyone for that matter, again. Though, he did beat up his cousins when he caught them messing with the servants and maids. While he still strongly believed that women were below him, it had changed from viewing them as nuisances in his way, to weak things that required his protection.

Naoya was determined to be a good heir, to prove that he would be a great leader one day. He looked out for everyone in a subtle way, his acts of service and duty disguised as things he had to do, because no one could do them better. Carrying a laundry basket for a housemaid with the excuse she was too slow, correcting Ranta's combat stance because he couldn't let his cousin look dumb around him. It was little things he did that showed he cared, in some weird twisted way that was purely Zen'in Naoya.

And Triarch saw all of it, their fountain pen of a relic always resting in his pocket whenever he left his chambers. The object was a silent comfort to him, joining him in meetings, on missions, wherever he went. His excuse when the deity had asked once was that he didn't trust the snakes in his clan, that it was always safer with him.

Regardless of whether he had to skip the morning meeting in the realm or not, Naoya was always there in the evening, ready for training. Your poet form always greeted him kindly, asking about his day and commenting on any new offerings he had left them. The soldier form trained him, a steady and sure presence, always offering corrections and suggestions. The king form never showed unless Naoya asked a question neither the poet or soldier were equipped for, and even then, the interaction was fleeting.

It was confusing to Naoya. All three forms were the same person, and yet he had the inkling that the king didn't like him. Which didn't make sense, because they all shared the same mind, the same heart. They were three fragments of the same soul.

Regardless, every instance where he faced the king, you gave him with a cool indifference that always lingered just short of cruel. He had asked the poet about it once, and it was simply said that the king was the most emotional of the three. You didn't elaborate on this, and Naoya could feel the quiet message in your words that told him not to push.

He managed to get a good idea of what you meant one day, a month shy of his twenty-third birthday. Naoya had recently been promoted to the status of a grade one sorcerer and was sent on his first mission to take down a semi-grade one curse. It was ranked below his skill, so he expected it to be no problem, and he went alone. He preferred it that way.

After lowering the veil and entering the abandoned municipal building, Naoya had found the curse rather quickly. It was a grotesque thing, with swollen limbs and a ribcage that opened vertically like a mouth, but he noted it as nothing exceptional.

It's jaw unhinged wider when it saw him, letting out a screech that made his brow twitch in irritation, but he didn't bother speaking. Naoya's cursed energy expanded as he used his technique to descend upon the curse. He hit it with a punch square to its face (because real men didn't use weapons) and the blow was devastating, effectively splitting the curse into two.

However, to his surprise, it adapted, and used it's positive cursed energy to turn it's two halves into two separate beings. Naoya clicked his tongue in annoyance and adjusted, footwork clean, cursed energy sharp. He carved through the two manifestations like he had the first time, and it was now split into four smaller curses.

The blonde couldn't help but smirk to himself as he was surrounded by the four sludgy creatures. They couldn't keep splitting themselves smaller forever, eventually they'd just be too split-up to exist. So, that's what he did, racing around at incredible speeds and pummeling the curse's split forms over and over again. He delivered a punch to a sixteenth of the original curse and it exploded in a gush of blood, telling him that he found the limit.

Eventually, the last three pieces merged back together in an attempt to regain strength and defend against Naoya. He watched the curse with boredom, ready to get this over with and pluck those wildflowers he had seen outside. They'd look great on the shrine in his room.

The curse moved to lunge, and Naoya got ready to counter-attack and finish the fight, when suddenly it paused. It stopped charging and tilted it's slimy head at him, watching him for a moment. He raised an eyebrow, a little morbidly curious at the behavior, rare for a curse of it's grade.

Then, the curse... laughed?

Naoya blinked in surprise. Usually only special grade curses were capable of a level of intelligence that allowed them to speak, maybe the occasional grade one. But this thing was weak, or maybe Naoya was just way stronger than those hags on the council thought. He should push for another promotion, he considered in his head.

With it's large mouth, the curse managed to form a single word, though it came out strangled. The curse clearly didn't have much experience talking and was new to the sensation, it's voice sounding like barbed wire in it's throat.

"Devoted," The curse rasped. Naoya paused mid-step, taken by surprise. The curse's malformed head tilted, large mouth twisting into a smile. "You reek of something higher."

The pen in the sorcerer's pocket suddenly felt heavy as the curse's mocking tone wrapped around him. His brown eyes narrowed. This curse, this week, disgusting thing, just insulted him and his faith in his deity, insulted you.

Then the cursed suddenly lunged, taking him by surprise, and still recoiling from the sudden emotion swirling in his gut, Naoya miscalculated. A talon on the end of one of it's bloated limbs tore across his side, cutting through the fabric of his kimono and creating a gash that was shallow but wide. He retaliated instantly, severing the limb and beating the curse to a pulp.

Standing back up straight, Naoya's breathing remained steady as he pressed a hand to his side. It was warm and bleeding, and he scoffed in annoyance. It was a sign that he had allowed himself to get distracted, and his brothers were going to mock him for it later, but that wasn't what was on his mind.

Devoted, the curse had said.

Naoya looked down at the spreading red stain of his clothes, then reached his clean hand into his pocket. The pen was still resting there against his thigh, intact and safe, and he exhaled a deep breath. Pulling it out, he held it at waist level, where his other hand still held his wound.

"Ridiculous," He muttered.

He told himself not to think about it, not to think about Triarch, but the thought kept racing through his mind. He had let himself get distracted and then injured. He had been careless, reckless, and he scolded himself, because what if it had been worse? What if he had died here to something so mediocre and never received another well done, Naoya. The thought was sharp, unwanted, and infuriating.

He tucked the pen back in its spot and unwrapped his kimono to leave him in his dress shirt, using the discarded fabric to wipe at the blood dripping down his torso before it could reach the treasure in his pocket. And then he went home.

Later that night, after his torso had been treated by the medics on the estate and wrapped in gauze, he sat at the butsudan. The realm opened for him after a few minutes of focus, the familiar, almost cozy darkness enveloping him. He opened his eyes, finding himself kneeling in front of the throne like usual.

The poet form was already seated across from him, a curious look on your face as you took in his appearance. He was sat rigid, the wound on his ribs leaving a dull ache on his skin. You watched him for a moment before speaking.

"You are injured," You said.

Naoya looked away as he rolled his shoulder dismissively. "It's minor."

"You got distracted," You pointed out, and he huffed, expecting a lecture.

"It won't happen again," He responded automatically, wanting to skip the metaphors tonight.

Your lips curved behind the fox mask, catching his indignant tone. "What makes you so sure?"

Naoya almost answered automatically, ready to spout some nonsense about strategy and efficiency. But the thoughts that had plagued him since the curse spoke flooded his mind and he hesitated, the silence stretching between them.

"I won't be undone by something beneath me," He said, eyes meeting theirs strong and unwavering.

Your gaze softened a fraction. "That sounds like pride."

"So what?"

"It's not. It's something else." You noted, and Naoya was not discrete in the way he tensed, breath catching at your observance. You always had a way of seeing right through him, of catching every micro-expression and the slightest twitch of a muscle. You looked endeared for a moment, adding gently, "You are not subtle."

Naoya hated that tone you used, not condescending or sharp, just perceptive. At the same time, he appreciated it. No one else spoke to him as real as you did, and it had a strange way of tearing down his walls in your presence.

"If I am to stand beside you," He spoke carefully, "I cannot afford mediocrity."

The air seemed to shift in the realm, not from the Triarch's curse technique, but from a tension that formed from his words. It wasn't a shout or declaration, just a simple statement, said so casually that the deity was - a rarity in itself - taken aback. Naoya wasn't saying he wanted to be worthy, or that he didn't want to disappoint you again, or even admitting that your opinion mattered more than it should. He was openly acknowledging his devotion.

With a blink of his eyes, the poet form had disappeared and the king was in front of him. Not sitting on the throne, or standing over him, but kneeling across from him, at an equal level.

"You ended the curse quickly," You mumbled quietly, showing a softness Naoya had never seen from this form. "You chose discipline over indulgence."

"Yes."

Your eyes narrowed a fraction. "You preserved yourself."

He could feel the intensity of your eyes on him, making him feel small, but he still couldn't see your face, shrouded in the same shadows. Naoya swallowed the lump in his throat, settling his eyes on your mouth as it spoke words he listened for like prayers.

The king caught that flicker of his gaze, your voice coming out quieter. "You preserved yourself... for me."

The words landed softly, but Naoya stiffened. He glanced away, then back to your mouth. "I preserved myself because I'm valuable."

A small smile grew on your lips. You didn't contradict him. Instead, you moved closer, enough so that knees brushed as you leaned forward, setting a hand over where his wound sat. Naoya tensed as his breath hitched, but he didn't move away. Your cursed energy brushed against him, warmth seeping past his clothes and the bandages, effectively stitching the flesh back together seamlessly.

"Devotion," You said, so quietly it almost seemed solely for yourself, "is not submission. It is alignment."

The wound had healed fully, but you didn't pull your hand away, letting it stay resting there on his side. Naoya willed his breath to come out steady. He grew up a Zen'in heir; he wasn't used to being touched without the intention of inflicting pain. He didn't know how to feel about it.

"The same way you align yourself toward growth," You continued thoughtfully, "toward your values, toward your family." Your fingers pressed lightly against his side, nails scratching against the fabric. "You guard the pen even in battle, you know," You added softly.

Naoya's eyes widened slightly at the observation, mostly because it was something he hadn't even noticed. When he fought curses and curse users, he was subconsciously shifting his stance to protect the side where the pen rested in his pocket. It was an instinctive thing and Naoya's pride warred within him.

"I protect what's mine," He spoke firm.

"And what am I?" You whispered, the question both gentle and dangerous.

Naoya spoke before he could think of filtering his answer. "You are the standard."

Silence followed, heavy and honest. The king's expression changed, not quite a smile, but something equally raw. "You are devoted."

He bristled lightly. "I haven't bowed to you in years."

"I never asked you to."

Another brief pause as Naoya considered this. It was true - he had read it in that scroll from the clan's archives all those years ago, always bow to the king. The words of an ancestor before him who clearly never understood his deity the way he did.

Naoya whispered, "And you never will."

"Correct."

And that was precisely what stood as the basis for his devotion. There was no obligation to worship you, no forcing him through fear - just a constant, open choice. A seed placed in his hand to do whatever he wanted with it, whether that was crush it in his palm to dust or plant it in the ground and help it grow.

You pulled your hand away, folding it in your lap, and Naoya straightened slightly, as if remembering himself. "I will surpass you."

You only smiled earnestly. "I know."

The king disappeared shortly after, the soldier arriving in place to start the usual training session of the evening. A new feeling had settled over Naoya's chest as they fought, and it lingered long after he left the realm that night.

He understood the poet's words now; the king was different from the other two, much more emotionally charged. He wondered if it came from being the piece of their soul that felt the pressure of expectations and tradition, the one who had murdered their own parents for the greater good of the kingdom. They were all equal pieces, but at the same time, he knew the deity had been born the king, the heir - the poet and soldier had come after.

They were all of equal power, but the king carried more weight on their shoulders.

· · ─ · ⚔︎ · ─ ·✍︎· ─ ·♕· ─ · ·

an: yeahhhh i know its friday, i'm a day late. lowkey woke up hella depressed yesterday and then the events fo the day were just THROWN at me and then i didn't remember to post until i was drunk w my bestie soooo yeah sorry gang

tl: @alebrasil0101 @ladyhesperus

[obsessivesmiley]

Hi!! I was browsing your Marvel Masterlist, and none of the Jake Lockley ones are linked properly? Like it says, no posts found🫣

hello!!

i am SO sorry for the late response!! i saw this on my phone while i was away visiting friends and planned to fix the masterlist right when i got back. and then life happened and i got busy and carried away and forgot. BUT i went through and it should be fixed now! :)

beware, my jake lockley fics are all from four years ago, so they are not as good as my current writing hahah (kill me). they're not horrific by no means, just that was a time where rereading and editing was unseen of in my head. it just always makes me cringe to look back on my old works!

thank you for bringing this to my attention though, and i hope you enjoy <3

[obsessivesmiley]

the masterlist for soldier poster king won’t be updated to show chapter seven until probably Sunday bc i lowkey detest using the tumblr mobile app for writing and editing and I’m not home to use my computer til then lol sorry gang

[obsessivesmiley]

Soldier, Poet, King

Zen’in Naoya / Female! Reader

Plot: Upon turning 18, spoiled, arrogant, and misogynistic Zen'in Naoya picks a relic from the vault and meets a deity, split into three forms. Pledging himself to them is a small price to pay to form a bond with a god, and if he, the untouchable Zen'in heir, has to lower himself to worship them, then so be it. But the deity holds a secret that might just be his undoing.

In other words, Naoya assumes the deity he's obsessing over can't possibly be anything but a man. And he is proven so wonderfully wrong.

Warnings: mentions of blood, sort of religious references, OOC Naoya lowkey, reader is gender neutral until the big reveal but Naoya refers to them as male/male gendered terms bc he's dumb, slow burn!!! like hella slow, literal crumbs. Naoya is a misogynistic asshole, but you kinda change him. eventual shibuya arc and culling game spoilers!!!

Previous Chapter · Masterlist · Next Chapter

· · ─ · ⚔︎ · ─ ·✍︎· ─ ·♕· ─ · · Chapter Seven To Be Read Is to Be Judged 1.2k words · · ─ · ⚔︎ · ─ ·✍︎· ─ ·♕· ─ · ·

The ground of the realm was covered in fractures again, from where Naoya had been thrown across it. Like usual, the soldier had been relentless, attacking him with the same precision and expertise they always wielded and correcting him as needed. And like usual, he took hit after hit, taking every experience and learning from it. Except today, he hadn't stayed down for nearly as long as he used to, instead springing back up and already moving to attack or defend.

The soldier stood across from him, armor gleaming in the still light as you held the combative stance. You cursed energy pressed outward without effort as it usually did; suffocating, vast, and divine.

“Again,” You commanded, hand beckoning him forward.

Naoya exhaled slowly, steadying himself, before moving. His energy didn't flare and give him away, and he didn't rush head first into an offense position. Those had been his mistakes for weeks, things you kept drilling into him over and over again. He was finally curbing that prideful habit of being too headstrong (in battle, at least).

Instead, Naoya waited for the incoming attack and when you moved forward, he stepped sideways, the movement small but measured. The soldier advanced again with a precise, punishing strike meant to overwhelm his guard. Naoya vanished with his projection sorcery, but instead of back, he went forward. He slipped inside their range instead of away from it, cursed energy compressing rather than exploding. It was tight, focused, and controlled.

Your gauntleted fist grazed his shoulder - Naoya having made that deliberate adjustment mid-strike - but he had already rotated, already recalculated. His fist darted out and struck, hitting not your head or chest, but at the joint of the armor at your shoulder where energy condensed to sustain structure. A weak point he just exploited, cursed energy balled as his knuckles hit the intended target

The impact rang through the realm like a struck bell and the armor cracked with a single defining sound. Not shattered, nothing extraordinary looking, but a crack about two inches long, and silence fell over you both.

Naoya’s breath hitched, held tight within his lungs. He did not smirk or boast, nor did his eyes betray any such pride. He simply watched and waited for the next attack, and the realm seemed to hold its breath with him.

Instead of advancing, your soldier form stepped back, holding up your arm and surveying the newly acquired damage to the armor, right at the top of your bicep. You regarded it, then looked up and regarded him. "You anticipated the reinforcement," You observed.

Naoya nodded, "Yes."

"You altered your output mid-motion."

"Yes."

"You did not chase the opening."

"No."

There was a pause and the air in the realm seemed to shift, the stillness enveloping them like a cold blanket - comforting, but sending a chill down Naoya's spine. The soldier did not disappear and give way to the poet this time, but something in your posture softened, imperceptibly. The blonde felt it, the tiniest shift, and it mattered more than the crack.

He swallowed, then forced his voice steady, though he didn't raise his eyes to the slit in your helmet. "Well?" He asked that same question again, though this time it wasn't a demand to know where he stood. Instead, it sounded nervous, bordering on unsure, as he directed his gaze sideways.

The deity stepped closer, not towering or crushing, just close. Your hand lifted, hovering near the place your strike had landed on his shoulder in the earlier of your training sessions - where bruises usually bloomed by now. They were absent tonight, leaving his fair skin unblemished; a testament of Naoya's progress.

"You corrected yourself without instruction." Naoya's chest tightened as you continued, "You were patient, and observed instead of reacting."

Naoya didn't realize how tense he was until you stepped fully into his space, placing your hand on his shoulder. It wasn't to push him back or reposition his stance, just to rest there. The contact was steady, solid, and warm through your gauntleted hand and his kimono.

"Well done, Naoya."

Not less inefficient, there was no analysis or critique to his stance or attacks. Well done. The words did not echo through the realm, they settled on him heavy and real. Naoya's breath stuttered just slightly, the simple praise rippled through his being, making him inexplicably and ecstatically content.

As the heir of the Zen'in clan, he had been praised before, more times than he could count. By instructors who could recognize power when they saw it, and Hei members who showered him in compliments because they wanted his favor. Even by his father, in rare measured nods of approval and spaces lacking criticism.

This felt much different than all of that. This was not obligation, nor the result of perceived hierarchy - this was something he had truly earned. He was conflicted by how much that fact mattered to him, and something sharp and unfamiliar lodged beneath his ribs. You had a habit of making him feel that way, of making him question his entire being, and he didn't know how to feel about it. 

Regardless, his hand moved before he could think about it too hard, catching your wrist where it rested on his shoulder. Not to remove it, just to hold it there gently as his fingers trembled.

"You’re not lowering your standards?" He asked quietly, tentative. It was a silent request for reassurance that he truly deserved this acknowledgement.

"No."

"Good."

"You are closer," You said softly as your eyes held his. "Not to surpassing me, but to standing beside me."

Beside. Not beneath, not chasing, not hopelessly reaching upwards for something he couldn't possibly obtain. No, this was talk of equal ground, of being your equal. His goal at the start had been beating you, at being better, but after all this now, he couldn't help the contentedness that rose in him for a flickering second. 

The words hit harder than any strike and the air completely left Naoya's lungs. A faint curve of something reminiscent of a smile traced the deity's lips. Naoya's grip on their wrist tightened unconsciously, shoving that contentedness to the back of his mind. 

"I will surpass you," He said, but the usual edge of pride wasn't there. There was no defiance or ego, only a silent promise.

"I know," You replied simply, effectively rendering him speechless. You said it without any mockery or doubt in your tone, just a resounding certainty that made his knees feel weak.

For the first time since he began training in this realm, Naoya did not feel like he was clawing upward toward something untouchable, but rising to meet an entirely possible challenge. He had felt like the moon chasing the sun across a sky that would never let them meet. Now it feels like an eclipse - proof that even the most distant things can align. He felt seen and that terrified him far more than being thrown to the ground ever had. And yet, it also excited him in a way, because it was here with you.

Carefully, slowly, Naoya pulled the hand from his shoulder and raised it to his lips, placing a quick, gentle kiss to the cool metal of the deity's gauntleted knuckles. It wasn't necessarily romantic or performative, but it was intimate, a silent show of his growing devotion to the deity.

His deity.

· · ─ · ⚔︎ · ─ ·✍︎· ─ ·♕· ─ · ·

tl: @alebrasil0101

[yanderejustforyou]

Find Her

Geto X Gojo X Reader 🔗 Inescapable Fate vs Free Will ⚖️ Control vs Vulnerability Soulmate AU Words - 6,100

The atmosphere in the private high-rise lounge of the Tokyo Jujutsu Technical College was thick with the scent of expensive incense and the low, buzzing hum of Satoru’s Infinity.

Suguru doesn’t look up when Satoru walks in. He already knows it’s him.

“You’re late,” Suguru says, voice even, eyes still on the city stretched out below.

Satoru scoffs, dropping onto the couch like he owns the room.

“I’m never late. Everyone else is just early.” Suguru turns slightly, just enough to glance at him.

“You kept me waiting.”

Satoru grins.

“Yeah?” he says lazily. “Did you miss me?” Suguru doesn’t smile.

But his gaze lingers.

“You’re irritating,” he replies.

“Mm,” Satoru hums, stretching his arms behind his head. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Silence settles, but it’s not empty. It never is with them. Suguru finally moves, crossing the room with slow, deliberate steps. He stops in front of Satoru,Too close for anyone else.

Exactly right for them. “Your control is slipping,” Suguru says quietly.

Satoru’s grin sharpens.

“Is it?”

Suguru’s eyes flick briefly toward the faint distortion in the air, the subtle warping of space where Infinity hums just a little louder than necessary. “You’re restless.”

Satoru tilts his head.

“Maybe I’m bored.” Suguru’s gaze drops to Satoru’s wrist, the ink there is dark.

Permanent.

Unmistakable.

Geto Suguru. His own wrist burns faintly in response.

Not pain.

Recognition.

“You don’t get bored,” Suguru says.

Satoru’s expression flickers, just slightly.

Enough for Suguru to notice. “Everything else does,” Satoru corrects.

Suguru reaches out.

His fingers wrap around Satoru’s wrist without hesitation.

Without permission.

He never needs it. The moment skin meets skin that same sharp, electric pulse.

Familiar.

Grounding.

Satoru exhales slowly.

“…There it is.” Suguru’s grip tightens just a fraction.

“You’re drifting again.” Satoru looks up at him through lowered lashes, something unreadable settling behind his usual arrogance.

“And you’re pulling me back?” he asks. Suguru doesn’t let go.

“Someone has to,” he says. Satoru laughs softly, but there’s no real humor in it.

“Careful,” he murmurs. “Sounds like you need me.”

Suguru finally meets his gaze fully.

Steady.

Unwavering.

“I do.” The words land heavier than anything else in the room.

Satoru stills.

Just for a second. Then his grin returns, but slower this time. Sharper.

“Good,” he says. Suguru releases his wrist and  the absence lingers.

Like a missing weight. “They’ll start noticing,” Suguru says after a moment. Satoru leans forward slightly.

“Let them.”

“You’re not subtle.” 

“I’m not trying to be. Youn know troubles my middle name”

A pause. Suguru studies him.

Then—

“What did you do this time?”

Satoru’s smile widens.

Too pleased. “Nothing,” he says.

Suguru raises a brow.

“…Yet.”

Suguru exhales quietly, turning away again.

“You’re going to make a mess.” Satoru stands this time.

Steps closer. “I always do.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Satoru adds. “You’ll clean it up anyway.” Suguru glances back over his shoulder.

A small, knowing smile.

“Of course I will.”

Because that’s how it works.

Not balance.

Not equality.

A closed circuit.

One pulls.

One steadies.

Satoru and Suguru were a closed circuit. They had been since the day their skin first brushed in a crowded hallway during their first year the sharp, electric sting on their wrists followed by the black ink of each other's names blooming like a brand. Gojo Satoru on Suguru’s right wrist; Geto Suguru on Satoru’s left. It was a divine decree. They were the strongest, and they belonged to each other.

Until the Tuesday that tasted like copper and betrayal.

Suguru was mid-sentence, reaching for a porcelain teapot, when a sensation like a hot needle dragged across the underside of his left wrist. He hissed, the teapot shattering against the low table.

"Suguru?" Satoru was on his feet instantly, his blindfold pushed up, his Six Eyes scanning the room for a threat that wasn't there. "What happened? An attack?"

Suguru didn't answer. He was staring at his left wrist. Directly opposite the soulmate mark he shared with Satoru, a new line of script was rising through the skin. It wasn't the clean, bold ink of Satoru’s name. This was jagged, weeping a faint, translucent gold the sign of a Second Link. A rarity. A glitch in the universe.

Your name was etching itself into his marrow.

"I didn't touch anyone," Suguru whispered, his face going ghostly pale. "Satoru, I haven't left the room in four hours. I haven't... I don't even know who this is."

The cruelty of a Second Link was the "Passive Contact." Most soulmates required a touch to activate the mark, but for someone as powerful as the Twin Stars of Jujutsu, the universe sometimes skipped the formalities. Somewhere on campus, you had walked past a door he was behind or on a mission. You had breathed the same air. And the tether had snapped shut.

Satoru leaned over, his fingers gripping Suguru’s arm with a strength that would have crushed a normal man. He stared at your name. His jaw tightened, the air in the room beginning to vibrate with the sheer pressure of his Cursed Energy.

"A third," Satoru breathed, his voice devoid of its usual playfulness. It was hollow, dark, and predatory. "Someone thinks they can wedge themselves between us, Suguru."

"I don't even remember seeing them," Suguru said, his thumb brushing over your name. As he touched it, a wave of your emotions flooded him—loneliness, a quiet hunger for coffee, the slight chill of the hallway. It was nauseatingly intimate. "But I can feel them now. They’re... soft."

The atmosphere in the High-Rise suite didn’t just change; it curdled.

Satoru had been watching the gold script etch itself into Suguru’s left wrist with a detached, clinical fascination, a predator watching a new rival enter the territory. But then, the air in the room didn't just vibrate; it shattered. 

Satoru let out a strangled, jagged sound, his right hand flying to his own left wrist, clutching it so hard the skin turned deathly white.

"Satoru?" Suguru’s voice was sharp, his own pain forgotten as he reached out.

Satoru didn’t answer. He ripped his hand away, baring his skin. There, directly parallel to the heavy black ink of Geto Suguru, a new name was burning its way into his flesh. It wasn't gold. For Satoru, the "Limitless" sorcerer, the mark was a violent, electric violet. It thrummed with a frequency that bypassed his Infinity, sinking straight into his nervous system.

Your name. Identical to the one on Suguru but on his right wrist.

The silence that followed was louder than an explosion. They stood in the center of the room, two gods suddenly tethered to a ghost. The "Closed Circuit" had been breached. The perfect binary of their existence had been forced into a trinity, and the sheer need that flooded them was instantaneous and total.

"It’s the same," Satoru whispered, his voice cracking, his Six Eyes dilated until the blue was almost swallowed by black. "Suguru, it’s the same name. They’re ours."

He wasn't just talking about a soulmate. He was talking about a missing piece of a weapon. As the marks finalized, a psychic bridge snapped open. They felt your heartbeat. Something they never even knew was missing.

For Gojo and Geto, the strongest who lived in a world of their own making, the "hole" was the isolation of their own ascension. They had spent years viewing the world from a height where no one else could breathe, mistaking the cold of the summit for a natural state of being. They were two halves of a whole who believed their circle was closed, their stillness absolute.

Then, your name appeared—a third ink-stain on the skin of their wrists, a rhythmic, phantom pulse under their own.

For Gojo, it is the sudden, violent shattering of the "Infinity" he keeps between himself and the world. He has spent his life seeing everything with his Six Eyes but feeling very little. To suddenly feel a third heart beating against his own ribs, someone who isn't Geto, someone he hasn't even fully met, who he doesn’t remember is like the first time he ever felt the bite of a blade. It is a resonance that bypasses his technique entirely. He realizes that for all his godhood, he has been a ghost haunting his own life, waiting for a frequency he didn’t know he was tuned to.

For Geto, it is an even more terrifying revelation. He is a man who swallowed the rot of the world to protect it, thinking his burden was shared only by Satoru. To feel the steady, unknowing pulse of a soulmate is to realize that the room he thought was full of only duty and blood actually had a door he never tried to open. It is the "ancient desire" finally being named: the need not just to be understood by a peer, but to be anchored by a third point, turning their fragile line into a stable foundation.

They look at their wrists, then at each other, and the realization is starving: they have been the strongest duo in history, yet they were both dying of a thirst they only just recognized.

The pain wasn't a pinch. For you, it was an absolute, white-hot evisceration of your senses.

You were tucked away in the back of the library, the quietest corner of Jujutsu High, when your right wrist suddenly felt like it had been dipped in molten lead. A scream died in your throat, stifled by the sudden, overwhelming pressure of two distinct, warring energies slamming into your soul. You clutched your arm, gasping for air as the skin bubbled and wept, the ink forcing its way up from the bone.

When the smoke cleared from your vision, you stared down at your skin in pure, unadulterated horror.

Gojo Satoru. Geto Suguru.

The names were etched in a shimmering, violent violet and a deep, pulsing gold. They sat side-by-side, occupying your skin with a terrifying arrogance. You weren't just a soulmate; you were a bridge. A third point in a triangle that was never meant to have one.

The Instinct to Hide was immediate. 

You didn't feel chosen. You felt scared.

Everyone knew what they were. The Twin Stars. The pinnacle of the sorcery world. They were gods walking among mortals, and you? You were a Grade 4 anomaly, a "Shield" whose only talent was making yourself small and invisible. Your technique, Iron seclusion, allowed you to wrap a force field around your physical form so dense that even Cursed Energy struggled to permeate it. Coupled with your abnormal regenerative healing, you were the perfect survivor, but you were never meant to be a prize.

"No," you whispered, the word trembling in the stagnant library air. "Not them. Anyone but them."

You knew their reputations. Satoru was a void that consumed everything he touched; Suguru was a shadow that swallowed the world whole. To be tied to them wasn't a romance, it was an invitation to be erased.

The memory of your mother’s voice usually feels like a silk ribbon smooth, cooling, and easy to hold. But now, with the names Satoru and Suguru searing into your pulse, her words feel like a cruel irony, a fairy tale told to a child who was never meant to see the monster under the bed.

"A soulmate isn't just a partner, sweetheart," she had said, her fingers tracing the blank, expectant skin of your wrist while you were small. "They are the anchor to your storm. The world is loud and frightening for people like us, but when that name appears, the noise stops. It’s like finally finding the North Star after being lost at sea."

You remember the way she looked at your father a quiet, Grade 3 sorcerer with a softness that made the harshness of their profession disappear.

"It’s unconditional," she whispered, her eyes bright with a certainty you now find terrifying. "They won't just see your strength; they will cherish your shadows. They are the only ones who will truly let you thrive because they are the only ones who will truly know you. It is the greatest blessing the heavens can grant a sorcerer: to never truly be alone again."

In the suffocating silence of the library, you look at the violet and gold script. Her "North Star" was a gentle light; yours are two supernovas that threaten to incinerate everything you are. To your mother, a soulmate was a sanctuary. To you, looking at the names of the two most powerful, volatile men in existence, it feels like a sentence.

The First Pulse

Suddenly, a jolt of pure, manic need surged through your wrist. It wasn't your own. It was a projection a jagged, starving hunger that felt like a cold hand reaching through your chest.

They knew.

The psychic bridge had snapped open the moment the ink dried. They were feeling your heartbeat, your fear, the very scent of the old paper surrounding you. You could feel them, too two massive, celestial bodies suddenly pivoting in your direction, their intent so heavy it felt like the gravity in the library had doubled.

You scrambled to your feet, your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird. You had to go. You had to bury yourself so deep in your own technique that even the Six Eyes couldn't find the shimmer of your soul.

You wrap your fingers around your wrist, activating Iron Seclusion. The barrier snaps into place, a cold, dense weight that mimics the "stillness" you've lived in for years. You try to drown out the sudden, rhythmic double-thrum of their hearts against your own, desperate to believe that if you hide well enough, even the "blessing" of heaven won't be able to find you.

You pushed your Cursed Energy to its limit, pulling the invisible veil of your shield tight against your skin. Usually, your shield was a defensive bubble, but now you collapsed it inward, using it to mask your heat, your scent, and your energy signature. You became a black hole in the sensory world, a static-filled void.

You sprinted for the back exit, avoiding the main halls where the high-ranking students loitered. You didn't have classes with them, you were beneath their notice, a support-track student who spent her days healing minor bruises and reinforcing training barriers. You belonged in the background. You needed to stay in the background.

The library didn't just go quiet, it went dead.

For Satoru and Suguru, the sensation was like being plunged into an abyss. One second, the psychic bridge was a roaring torrent of your fear, your heat, and the frantic rhythm of your heart. It was the most intoxicating thing they had ever felt, a divine frequency that harmonized their own clashing powers.

And then, it was gone.

No heartbeat. No scent. No emotional residue. Even the violet and gold marks on their wrists, which had been glowing with a feverish light, suddenly turned a dull, matte grey. They didn't disappear, the ink was still there, but the life was gone.

"Satoru?" Suguru’s voice was a ragged whisper. He was clutching his left wrist, his breath coming in shallow, panicked hitches. "I can't... I can't feel them."

Satoru was standing in the middle of the hallway, his Six Eyes darting frantically, scanning every atom of the air. 

His Infinity was flickering, reacting to the sudden, violent spike in his blood pressure. "They didn't die," he spat, his voice trembling with a mix of fury and genuine terror. "People don't just die and leave no soul residue. They vanished. They’re still here, Suguru. Somewhere in this building... but they’re gone."

In the basement levels, you were curled into a ball behind a stack of rusted training equipment, your hands clamped over your mouth.

Your ability wasn't just a shield anymore; it was a sarcophagus. You had collapsed the force field so tightly against your skin that it was effectively acting as a second dermis, a layer of "non-existence" that blocked every signal your body produced. No heat signatures for Gojo’s Six Eyes. No cursed energy leaks for Geto’s spirits to track.

But the cost was agonizing.

To keep the Shell up 24/7 meant your Cursed Energy was constantly recycling, a closed loop that left you feeling cold, lightheaded, and perpetually exhausted. Your abnormal healing was the only thing keeping your organs from failing under the pressure of the constant reinforcement.

You just had to make it to graduation.

The campus of Tokyo Jujutsu High had become a graveyard of nerves. Without the stabilizing influence of their soulmate bond, Gojo and Geto hadn't just become restless—they had become volatile. 

The training grounds felt like a pressure cooker on the verge of exploding. The air was thick with Satoru’s unrefined Cursed Energy, snapping like static electricity against the stone. You pressed your back against the cold wood of the pagoda, your iron seclusion vibrating so hard it made your collarbone ache. You were a ghost, a glitch, a nothingness—but seeing them like this, seeing the "protectors" of the school unravel into something so fundamentally cruel, made the papers in your hand feel like a death warrant.

Satoru didn’t look like the untouchable god of Jujutsu High anymore. He looked like a man starving in a room full of plastic fruit. He grabbed the younger student by the collar, hoisting him up until the boy’s toes barely grazed the dirt.

"Think harder," Satoru hissed, his voice low and jagged. "The library. That Tuesday. Who ran? Who left in a hurry? I don't care if they were a Grade 1 or a window washer—who moved like they were terrified of being seen?"

"N-nobody, Gojo-senpai!" the boy stammered, tears tracking through the dust on his cheeks. "It was just the usual crowd... I didn't see anyone run. It was quiet. It was just quiet!"

Satoru’s grip tightened, his knuckles white. "Impossible. Someone walked past us. Someone took the air out of the room and then just... vanished." He dropped the boy, spinning around to face Geto, his movements twitchy and erratic. "Suguru, he’s useless. They're all useless. How can someone be so close I can feel their pulse under my skin one second, and then be absolutely invisible the next?"

Geto didn't offer a comforting word. He didn't even look at Satoru. He was staring at the palm of his left hand, tracing the grey, lifeless name of yours that sat like a scar on his wrist. The refined elegance he usually carried replaced by a cold, predatory stillness.

"Maybe they didn't run," Geto murmured, his voice sounding like a blade sliding over silk. He stepped toward the trembling student, his shadow stretching out like a many-limbed monster. "Maybe they're still here. Watching us. Hiding in plain sight while we rot."

He knelt beside the boy, his hand reaching out to brush a stray tear from the kid's face with a tenderness that was far more terrifying than Satoru’s rage. "Tell me, Kohai... have you noticed anyone lately who seems a bit too quiet? Someone who doesn't talk, doesn't eat, just... exists in the corners?"

"I... I don't know everyone's names, Geto-san," the boy whispered, trembling. "Please, I just want to go to my dorm."

Geto’s expression didn't change, but the air around him darkened. "Go then. But if you remember a face even a blur in the hallway you come to us first. Because if Satoru loses his patience before I find them... there won't be a dorm left for you to return to."

You didn't wait to see the boy scramble away. You turned and moved, a silent shadow within the shadows. Every step felt like walking through deep water; iron seclusion was draining you, pulling from your very life force to keep your presence at zero.

"They're looking for a ghost," you breathed, your lips barely moving behind the veil of your technique. You looked down at your wrist, where the names burned like brands under the heavy bandages. "They can't find what isn't there."

The encounter happens in the open air, where there is nowhere to hide and the sky feels too wide. You are crossing the training grounds, sticking to the shadows of the eaves, when the 

resonance hits so hard it physically staggers you. It’s like a tether snapping taut, pulling your chest toward the center of the courtyard.

They are standing there, the "Twin Stars," looking uncharacteristically frayed. Gojo has his blindfold shoved up, his Six Eyes scanning the air with a frantic, electrified energy. Geto has his hand clamped over his right wrist, his knuckles white, his usual composure replaced by a raw, searching hunger.

You keep your head down, clutching your books to your chest, and try to scuttle past like a ghost. You wrap Iron Seclusion around yourself so tightly it feels like wearing a lead suit, desperate to dampen the "scream" of your soul.

"Hey. You."

Gojo’s voice isn't breezy this time. It’s a command. He’s in front of you in a blink, the space between you warping as he forces the world to bring you closer.

You jump, dropping a notebook. "G-Gojo-senpai! Geto-senpai! I’m so sorry, was I in the way?" You scramble to pick up your things, keeping your marked wrist pressed firmly against your stomach.

"Did you see anyone else come through here?" Geto asks, his voice tight. He’s looking right at you, but he’s looking through you, searching for a "strong" sorcerer, someone who could possibly match the violent power he feels thrumming in his own veins. "Someone... significant?"

"Significant?" You blink, widening your eyes in a mask of dull, Grade 4 confusion. "I—I didn't see anyone. Just the usual cursed spirits near the gate. Is everything okay? You both look... a bit pale."

Gojo leans down, his face inches from yours. He’s trying to read your flow of Cursed Energy, but Iron Seclusion makes you look like a flat, grey stone in a river of light. "My head is ringing," he mutters, more to Geto than to you. "The frequency is right here, Suguru. It’s deafening."

"Maybe it's the heat?" you suggest, your voice small and trembling with perfectly faked intimidation. "The sun is really bright today. I get migraines sometimes too. Should I go get Shoko-san for you?"

Geto sighs, a sound of pure frustration, and rubs his temples. To him, you are just a flickering candle, and he is looking for a second sun. "No. Just go back to class."

"Yes, senpai! Sorry to bother you!"

You bow low and practically bolt, your heart hammering a frantic SOS that you know they can feel, even if they haven't realized yet that the "insignificant" girl is the one holding the other end of the chain.

The Department Head’s office is stifling, smelling of old paper and incense, but to you, it feels like an interrogation room. You keep your right hand buried in the pocket of your blazer, your thumb obsessively rubbing the spot where Satoru and Suguru are etched into your skin.

The Department Head a gray-haired, bureaucratic sorcerer who cared more for quotas than souls—had looked at your transfer papers with a bored flick of his wrist. 

"A transfer?" The official doesn't even look up from the papers. He sounds bored, which is exactly what you want. "To the Kyoto branch? "

“yes," you say, your voice a practiced, dull monotone. "My technique, Iron Seclusion... it’s not suited for the front lines. I’m just a Grade 4. I think I’d be more useful with the logistics team there."

The man sighs, finally marking a thick red line through a document. "The higher-ups don't like moving pieces mid-semester. If you want out of the active rotation, you have to fulfill the minimum requirement for the quarter. Three more missions. Complete them, and I’ll sign the papers."

A surge of pure, unadulterated relief washes over you. You almost want to thank him. 

Three missions. That was it. That was the price of your life.

As you walk out into the hallway, your heart is light for the first time since the names appeared. You’ve done the math. The school is a machine of logic and hierarchy. They would never pair a Grade 4 anomaly with the Special Grade duo. It would be a waste of their time and a death sentence for yours. To the school, you are a pebble; to them, they are the mountain. There is no reason for your orbits to ever cross again.

You check your phone. The notification for your first mission has already arrived.

Location: An abandoned textile factory in the outskirts of Saitama.

Grade: 4 (Low-level fly-heads and lingering shadows).

Assigned Sorcerer: [Name].

You are alone.

A small, giddy laugh bubbles up in your chest. No Gojo. No Geto. Just you, your "useless" shield, and a few weak curses. You can do this. You’ll be invisible, just like you’ve always been. You’ll finish these three jobs, get your transfer, and disappear into a cubicle in Kyoto where the violet and gold on your wrist can stay buried under long sleeves forever.

As you walked back to your dorm to pack your tactical gear for the first solo mission, you looked at the grey, silent marks on your wrist. For the first time, they didn't look like shackles; they looked like a bad dream you were finally waking up from.

"Just three," you whispered, your thumb tracing the edge of the bandage. "They won't even notice I'm gone until the bus crosses the prefectural line."

The mission was a joke. Three minor curses, a few sweeps of your Iron Seclusion to crush them against the concrete, and you were done in thirty minutes flat. You practically floated back to the dorms. One down. Two more, and you’d be a ghost in Kyoto, safe from the two suns that threatened to burn your world down.

The "best feeling ever" was a dangerous drug. You were so buzzed on your own relief that you didn't notice the resonance in your chest smoothing out into a low, contented huma purr that wasn't yours, but theirs.

You stepped into the common room, intent on grabbing a soda and vanishing, when you saw him.

Suguru Geto was draped over a sofa, a book open in his lap, but he wasn't reading. He was people-watching, his dark eyes tracking every student that walked by with a clinical, almost desperate intensity. He looked like a man trying to solve a puzzle with half the pieces missing.

You stiffened, your "Shield" snapping into place instinctively. You kept your head down, your gait deliberate and heavy, trying to look as "Grade 4" as possible. You steered a wide, awkward arc around the couch, heading for the vending machine.

Don’t look. Don’t breathe. Just stay invisible.

"You're back early."

The voice was like silk sliding over a blade. You froze, your hand halfway to the coin slot. You didn't turn around. Maybe he was talking to someone else.

"The girl with the barrier technique," Geto continued, his voice tilting upward with a hint of genuine curiosity. "I don't think I caught your name the other day."

You slowly turned, your face a mask of wide-eyed, stuttering surprise. "O-Oh! Me? I’m... nobody, really. Just finishing a low-level sweep. I didn't think a Special Grade like you would notice someone like me, Geto-senpai."

Geto closed his book, leaning forward. His right hand—the one with your name—was resting on his knee, his fingers twitching in time with your frantic pulse. He looked at you, really looked at you, and for a second, the "ancient desire" flared in his eyes.

"You're very... contained," he mused, his gaze drifting to your covered wrist. "Most sorcerers leak cursed energy like a sieve. But you? You're like a vault. It’s quiet around you. Almost too quiet."

He stood up, the height difference immediately making the room feel smaller. He took a step toward you, his expression softening into something dangerously observant. "Tell me—did you feel anything strange out there? A change in rhythm? A... pulling sensation?"

You forced a self-deprecating, nervous laugh, the kind that made you look small and slightly pathetic. "Oh, Geto-senpai, I’m actually really embarrassed about it. My Iron Seclusion is... well, it’s a bit of a defect. It’s so thick it basically smothers my own senses. I couldn't feel a 'pull' if it hit me with a truck. I’m basically sensory-deprived whenever I use it."

Geto’s expression flickered—a flash of pity, perhaps, or just the disappointment of another dead end. He sighed, the tension in his shoulders dropping. "I see. A defensive trade-off. That must be frustrating."

"It’s why I’m better suited for paperwork," you chirped, bowing quickly and scurrying away before he could ask anything else. You didn't stop running until you were behind your locked dorm door, clutching your wrist as if the names might leap off your skin.

The next week was blissfully quiet. You stayed under the radar, wore oversized hoodies, and successfully avoided the 'Twin Stars' by memorizing their training schedules. You were a ghost. A phantom. You were winning.

Then, the ping of a new mission notification hit your phone.

Location: Subterranean transit tunnels, Shinjuku.

Grade: 2 (Multiple sightings of high-output territorial curses).

Assigned Sorcerers: [You] & Kento Nanami.

Your heart did a strange little flip. Nanami. He was a Grade 1, stoic, professional, and most importantly not a soulmate. He wasn't one of the 'strongest' who moved like a whirlwind; he was a man who clocked in, did his job with surgical precision, and went home.

"Two out of three," you whispered to the empty room, a giddy smile breaking across your face.

Being paired with Nanami was the ultimate safety net. He was too disciplined to care about your personal life or your 'flow' of energy. He would expect you to put up your shield, stay out of the way, and let him handle the heavy lifting. To him, you would just be a tool, a 'Shield' to protect the perimeter while he worked the (7:3) ratio.

As you packed your gear, you felt a surge of triumphant joy. You were so close to the exit. You were almost to Kyoto. You were almost free.

You didn't realize that your sudden burst of happiness sent a sharp, intoxicating thrum through the bond. Somewhere in the school, Satoru Gojo tilted his head, a blindfolded grin spreading across his face as he felt a wave of "victory" that wasn't his own.

(Let me just say this while your ability blocks most things, a soulmate's bond is strong so without meaning some strong emotions can still filter through to your partners.)

The subterranean transit tunnels were a labyrinth of damp concrete and oppressive shadows. Nanami moved with his usual mechanical efficiency, his blunt blade finding the 7:3 ratio with every strike. You stayed back, your Iron Seclusion acting as a silent, invisible perimeter that kept the smaller, crawling curses from flanking him.

But the report was wrong. This wasn't a Grade 2 nest; it was a breeding ground for a Special Grade fetus that had begun to distort the very space of the tunnels.

A massive, multi-limbed curse surged from the ceiling, its sheer weight slamming into your barrier with the force of a falling skyscraper. The impact vibrated through your bones, the pressure so intense that for one flickering, agonizing second, your concentration snapped.

Iron Seclusion dropped.

It was only for a minute—maybe even less—as you scrambled back, gasping, and forced the barrier to knit itself back together. You felt exposed, naked, like a nerve ending stripped of its skin. You quickly reinforced the shield, the dense, cold energy snapping back into place, burying your presence once more.

It’s fine, you told yourself, your heart hammering against your ribs. I was only "visible" for a second. We’re deep underground. They’re miles away at the school.

You didn't realize that to a Six Eyes user, a second of your unfiltered soul is like a flare gun going off in a pitch-black room.

Up on the surface, in the middle of a bustling Shinjuku street, Satoru stopped mid-sentence. His blindfold didn't hide the way his head snapped toward the subway entrance, his breath hitching as if he’d just been punched. The "ghost" frequency he’d been chasing had finally, violently, become a signal.

Across town, in the quiet of a temple, Suguru dropped his tea. The phantom pulse on his wrist hadn't just thrummed; it had screamed. For that one minute, the hollow space in his chest had been filled with a terrifying, beautiful warmth—and then, just as quickly, it vanished back into the "stillness."

They both moved instantly, driven by a starving instinct they still didn't understand.

Down in the tunnels, Nanami finished off the curse and adjusted his tie, his expression unreadable behind his goggles. "That was a significant lapse," he said, his voice a calm, dry reprimand. "Are you injured?"

"No," you lied, your voice trembling as you clutched your wrist. "Just... lost my footing. I'm fine, Nanami-san. Let's just finish this. Please."

The subway air was thick with the smell of blood and damp concrete as you emerged, ducking your head and letting Nanami lead the way. You kept your jacket sleeves pulled low, your fingers white-knuckled around your wrists. You felt like a radio tower that had briefly broadcasted a signal to the entire world, and now you were desperately trying to cut the power.

Across the city, in a secluded corner of the Tokyo Jujutsu High courtyard, the two strongest sorcerers met. The air around them was electrified, distorted by the sheer output of their frustration.

Satoru was pacing, his blindfold discarded, his Six Eyes glowing with a manic, crystalline light. He looked like a live wire, sparking at the slightest touch. "It was right there, Suguru. For sixty seconds, it wasn't just a hum. It was a scream. It was loud."

Geto was leaning against a stone pillar, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his knuckles bruised from where he’d punched a training dummy into splinters. He wasn't smiling. The "gentle" philosopher was gone, replaced by a man who looked starved.

"I felt it too," Geto said, his voice a low, dangerous vibration. "It wasn't a curse, and it wasn't a mistake. It was a soul. Our soul." He looked down at the gold-etched name on his wrist, his thumb tracing the letters with a possessive, aching intensity. "And then it just… went dark. Like someone slammed a door in our faces."

Satoru stopped pacing, turning to face his best friend. The realization hit them both at the same time, a cold, sharp clarity.

"They’re hiding," Satoru breathed, a dark, incredulous laugh bubbling in his throat. "Someone out there belongs to us—the two strongest people on the planet and their first instinct is to bury their presence so deep even I can't track it."

"They don't want to be found," Geto added, his eyes narrowing. The thought didn't just hurt; it offended him. He had spent his life protecting the weak, swallowing rot for a world that didn't love him back, and now the one person meant to be his "anchor" was treating him like a threat. "They’re using a barrier. A dense one. That flicker in the tunnels… they slipped. They lost control for a minute, and now they’ve bolted the door again."

Satoru’s grin turned into something predatory, something ancient. "Let them hide. They can't keep a seal like that up forever. Every time their heart jumps, I feel it. Every time they're scared, I know. We’re going to find our 'Shield,' Suguru. And when we do, I’m going to make sure they never feel the need to close that door again."

They stood there in the fading light, two gods who had finally found a reason to hunt. They weren't looking for a partner anymore; they were looking for a fugitive.

[lmhavingaboibee]

Reblog to claim your medal if you were always a Yuta fan even before the switch up

To all my people out there, who loved Yuta ever since JJK 0 and stood tall despite his slander.

In Yuta Okkotsu we trust.