Hey guys! This is a message to all my followers waiting on updates for my stories. Unfortunately I’m writing this update with not the greatest news. I’ve been in a very bad spot with my mental health and it has caused me to debate whether or not to continue with my stories. I’ve decided that they are important commitments to me, and I’d like to finish them. However, updates will be more infrequent than they have ever been, because motivation is in the gutter. This is my reminder to please take care of yourselves. Don’t let your fears or anxiety get in the way of doing what you love.
★ ₊ ˚⟡ Following a series of mistakes on Halloween, a college girl, and her group of friends, are thrown into a sequence of events that will ruin their lives forever.
𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝓲𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓼 - Eyeless Jack, Tim Wright (MH), Brian Thomas (MH), Jeffery Woods, Toby Rodgers, Helen Otis
I am unsure of the original creator of these images, if known please tell me and I will credit :)
Previously called Morosis. Please see my blog for more chapters!
The girl had been hauled to a cement prison not long after her assaliant’s initial monologue. He had thrown her into a cell that reminded her of medieval torture dungeons. She felt it was overly theatrical, especially when considering what she had witnessed along the way there.
There were far more bodies than she could have ever anticipated. Some hanging, some strewn about the ground carelessly. Most were mangled, although some she had debated whether or not they maintained a semblance of life. If they did, it was evident by their grim expressions that what little remained was as fickle as candlelight. There was one outlier amongst the carnage. A familiar pair of eyes that the girl had to ponder for an agonizing moment, where she had seen them before.
It was a woman, similarly bound like she had been to that chair when she had woken up. There was a cloth forced between her jaws, preventing any noise from escaping her bloodied lips. It was the very same nurse from the mental institution who had been managing her medicine. Those same hands that had been rubbed raw by rope had forced pills down her throat. Despite this, the girl felt a surge of pity in her chest.
The feeling remained as she sat splayed across the floor of her cell.
The ceiling, spiderwebbed with cracks, stared down at the girl tauntingly. If the walls that surrounded her were so debilitated, why had no one broken them yet?
The stone had begun to shimmer red on account of the blood spilled on its surface. She had struggled to find a spot where the rusty hue wouldn’t stare back at her, hence why she had settled on the fracture. It was the greatest entertainment she had. There was the occasional scream dispersed between the squelching of flesh; however, she tried ignore it.
A day or two ago-- at least that was her estimate, a victim of the masked man had shaken the walls with ferocity, trying to preserve his life. Despite how fruitless it was, she had pressed her hands to her head, trying to block out the volume. Whatever drug he’d pumped into her system, while it had worn off long ago, left her with a residual headache. As she hunkered down, dust had rained down upon her, which alerted her to the flaw in her prison.
Today, she had her nose pressed to her knees as she watched the particles trickle down like ashen snow. He had returned, tending to some other unfortunate prey. While he had kept his blade to himself thusfar, at least when it came to her, this did not spare her the screams. She had no idea how much time she had left, but she was sure of one thing: Jeff was not coming for her.
There was another shrill cry, followed by a crashing sound. In tandem, a piece of stone stirred within the crack. She watched with bloodshot eyes as it peeled from its maw, clattering before her feet with a dull thud. The severed chunk was jagged, and when she tilted her head, it looked rather like the tooth of a shark.
Wordlessly, she closed her palm around it.
She had grown accustomed to the scorched sound of metal against stone. The cement puzzle piece was sturdy upon inspection. The revelation had reminded her of a scene from a movie she’d once seen before, and with no other semblance of hope, she’d begun to widdle it against the bars of her cage.
She figured that if she could loosen it enough, she could break the bar loose. The stalks were widely set, tauntingly so. Just enough to tease the idea of escape, but hold it cruelly above her head. She had never been so grateful for malnutrition, as weeks of being starved had rendered her skin sallow and sunken in. If she could just sever one, she thought maybe-- just maybe, she could squeeze through.
She worked tirelessly, only stopping her efforts when she was occasionally visited by her captor. He popped in to give her small rations of food or water. She managed to eat them, knowing she needed her strength, although with a great deal of effort. She had gotten used to the stench of death. What was more troublesome was whenever her teeth bit down on her food, the texture would turn to a wet, fleshy sensation as images of the bloated corpses from before ran through her mind. It took all she had to stifle losing the contents of her stomach.
She had to be strong, she reminded herself. She couldn’t count on Jeff, and she certainly couldn’t entertain the idea of Jack. No, she was on her own. She would find a way, she had to.
She repeated this mantra as she began to see a cavern form on the base of the bar. Dust coated her hands, turning them to the pale gray of a marble statue. She wished she could say she felt as elegant a fragment of art history, but she was simply a pile of organs and skin clinging desperately to the illusion of consciousness. Who would she be when-- or if-- she got out of here? She would still have a black mark on her soul. Death would inevitably follow her. Her friends would likely still scorn her. She began to wonder why her hands still worked away, whether it would be better to stay put in this cage.
Despite everything, she wasn’t sure how or why they kept on moving.
Between the redundant scraping of stone, she picked up on the presence of a new noise. It was equally as rhythmic, but instead of a crunch, it was a steady tapping. She jolted away from the bars upon the revelation.
It was footsteps.
He lurked into view from between the slits of her cell. His sleek posture mirrored the iron, his black hair standing stark against the white mask. The cheerful blue of his jacket felt a bit ironic. It was the most color she’d seen in quite some time. She wondered why a full-fledged serial killer would wear such a recognizable color. He was certainly memorable. To her, it seemed counterproductive.
The beady eyes carved onto his mask's surface seemed like they were staring right through her. He maintained his silence for a moment, hands tucked intently behind his back. She felt like the animals behind the glass at the zoo. Upon the observation that he brought no food, the question arose as to just what he was doing there.
“Damn, would you look at you? You’re shaking like a leaf.” His voice was dashed with a jubilant edge.
The subtle tilt of his head alerted her that he was examining her. Her knuckles strained white with the grip around the severed stone, as if it would shield her from suspicion.
“And…dusty, apparently.” He snorted.
She let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. Her ragged form was an ample distraction; she was begrudgingly grateful.
In a flash of silver, he produced a switchblade. A cold lump of fear descended on her stomach, despite the bars between the pair.
He examined it carefully, allowing it to catch the light, “You must think I’m a terrible host.”
She didn’t respond; the cotton of dread in her throat was far too dense to consider speaking.
“I’ve hardly given you any attention. No wonder you’re restless. But you know, you don’t have to roll around the dust for entertainment.” He snickered.
She looked back at him placidly. The tips of her fingers had turned a dull gray, her nail beds half moons of grime. Although she couldn’t see the rest of herself, she knew the situation must be bleak. It was getting harder and harder to run her hands through her hair.
She pried her lips open, defying the congealed fear and dehydration coating her tongue, “Well, when you’re in a cage, might as well act like a dog.”
She watched his shoulders go rigid. He cocked his head like an owl, the smile-clad mask making him look inhuman. Suddenly, he burst into a fit of laughter. His hair shook, shielding her from the beady eyes.
“Oh, so you’re funny! You really are trying to make me feel guilty for leaving you alone. I’ve been missing this the whole time?” He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms.
She tried not to let the frown show on her face. It hadn't been her intention to make him laugh, and she certainly did not want to let him see how dejected she was.
In the commotion, she’d managed to tuck the rock safely behind her back.
“So what made you change your mind?” She prayed her words would dissuade him from looking a few inches down to her incriminating work.
“Feeling chatty? Alright, I’ll bite.” He continued to twirl his blade dextrously around his fingers, “I’ve been restless as of late. You’ve got me all inspired, to tell the truth. And what must a painter do with this much creative energy— well, uh…create!”
He wiggled his fingers as if he were giving an inspiring speech. She couldn’t tell if the blade he was holding had been stained with that red hue or if it was the light reflecting off his stained jacket.
“I’m a man of my word, you know, I said you would go untouched. And that was a chore, because you are a real artist’s dream. Symmetrical features, all that elegant bullshit— well, not so much anymore with all that grime, but I digress.” He vaguely shook his hand in her direction.
She felt herself wilt, inadvertently looking back to her caked hands.
“I’m not sure it’s a compliment that you want to cut my face off.” She frowned.
Maybe she’d grown so hideous that he’d lose interest in his murderous intent. Or maybe by the time Jeff got there, she’d be a husk of muscle tissue deprived of her blanket of skin.
“Want is a strong word. I’d much rather play around a bit, get creative. I’m far more concerned with your blood.” His last word rang through her brain like a haunting bell toll.
She watched him apprehensively, feeling his stare grow in intensity. She wasn’t sure what the fascination with her bleeding had been recently. Between demons and serial killers, she figured she should feel rather special. Maybe all those mosquito bites in her youth had been an omen. Somehow, not even that silly thought could lift the pit of nausea forming in her stomach.
“You know you’re a very visual person, right? So expressive. Don’t ever play poker—or bet anyway, that's my advice.” He pointed a goading finger at her dreadful state.
She swished her dry tongue around her mouth, trying to stir up any moisture. It was no use; when she spoke, her voice was reduced to a pitiful croak.
“I’ll keep that in mind.” She feigned nonchalance, trying to choke down the burning in the back of her throat.
He let out another laugh, serrated like the edges of his blade.
“You don’t have to look so terrified! If you’re worried my knife is gonna slip—“ the tool bounced from each of his fingers with practiced grace, “you’ve got those cozy bars between us. Just relax. As I said, I’m reasonable.”
She scowled at his display. The action made her wince, the edges of her lips cracking with the effort. The reason why he’d decided to humor her today was nonexistent. Certainly, that could only mean he was bored. That course of events was not an option, so she forced out the words despite the pain.
“What am I supposed to take away from this, exactly?” The venom in her tone made her stomach twist.
She thought she saw the beady, masked eyes glinting under the light.
“Don’t mind me, I’m just trying to figure you out.” He shrugged.
Her gaze pierced through the plastic barrier.
“Oh really, why’s that?”
The steady flicking of the blade between his fingers came to a stop with a cold snap. The pale sheath remained, and he ran his thumb down divots.
“I’ve just been trying to understand why you’ve got all these people interested in you. Tell me, why does an average— boring, let’s be honest, student like yourself get wrapped up in all this business?” His pale fingers gripped the metal.
Boring. Instead of offense, she could only feel longing. A tug at her chest as she reflected on the sweetness of waking up with average stress, fitting for her age. Of course, he hadn’t meant it to be endearing, but to her, the thought was blissful and cruel. A prize dangled before her, just out of reach. No, she could never return to boring, not for all the mudune activities in the world.
“Mistakes were made. I’m sure you can figure out by now that I’m pretty good at them.” She responded bitterly.
He let out what could have been a scoff, or a snort. Either way, she dreaded whatever he’d come up with next.
“You still want to play coy? At least you’re right about one thing.” He abandoned his judgmental leering to instead drop to his knees.
Suddenly, she was at eye level with the black caverns. The urge to escape their gaze was prevalent, to scramble backwards and bury her head. The longer she stared, the more she envisioned the false jawline of the mask morphing into ashen skin. The painted smile became a shark-like grin, the jagged lines beginning to fill with tar. The eyes, the everflowing voids of nothing, were boring into her, threatening to consume all that she was.
The rapid beating of her heart was the only reminder she was still here. It served as a vessel of escape, allowing her to tear away from the horrible trance. Back to the familiar sight of the dust-covered floor, although she didn’t dare raise her gaze further, lest she draw attention to the whittled chunk taken from the bar.
“Helloooo, anyone home?” A steady tapping caused her to finally look back at her captor, “You know, it’s common courtesy to at least pretend to listen when you’re in a conversation.”
She didn’t respond, instead opting to look like a petrified deer in front of an oncoming truck.
“Fine, you don’t have to tell me. It can't be anything I haven’t already inferred.” He bounced on his toes.
This finally caused her to stir. She creased her brows, the action foreign. It was the most expression she’d shown in what must have been days.
“What do you mean?” She muttered.
He left her in apprehension for a moment before leaning closer in a drawn-out fashion. His earring, which had been hidden behind his raven hair, seemed rather ironic. Such a casual accessory for such a gruesome man.
“(Y/N) (L/N), 4th year psychology student. I know everything about you. You applied to be in communications, switched your second year, because who the fuck would major in communications? You lived in student housing with Jennifer Calloway, with whom you went to high school with, Rebecca Sinclair, and Cassandra Denning. And somehow, someway, poor little Cassandra ends up brutally—and I mean brutally murdered. Like, holy fuck, even I was impressed.”
His monologue sent a bitter chill down her spine. She couldn’t say she was shocked to learn this. Stalking was never something she thought she’d become desensitized to, but he was in no way special. Although this was information he could very well have learned from the news, so it was hard to be impressed.
She looked at him with rueful eyes as he continued, “So, I’m sitting here wondering, how could someone like you, Miss ‘I Have Trouble Making Decisions,’ be capable of such morbid creativity? The feds sure think you are, I’m sure that time in the ward was really enlightening for you, huh, psych major?”
His voice dropped to a sickly tone, any semblance of snark replaced with a foreboding edge, “No, I know that couldn’t have been you. Not the girl who fought throwing up over something as simple as a body. You’re not nearly interesting enough for that. So spare me the curiosity, because I really hate mysteries—how did your friend really die?”
The girl’s body intricately laced with anxiety, limb to limb. Somehow, his disbelief was anything but comforting. There was something in the way he spoke, a subtle knowing, that sliced her to her core and left her open to his inspection. He knew she wasn’t capable of any real danger; he knew she had been run through by each layer of her terror. She desperately clung to the hope that Jack was wrong, that she wasn’t a bird hopelessly fluttering about. But the iron bars that stared back at her were the truth.
She simply stared at him with the eyes of a caged bird. Longing, hopeless, defeated.
“You ain’t biting, huh?” The disappointment in his voice sent a shudder down her spine, finalizing the actuality of her situation. She was running out of time.
He pushed himself up, pocketing his deadly trinket, “Go ahead, be cryptic. And just when I was getting excited. You'd better hope your boyfriend gets a clue here soon. It’s been a real pain trying to pin this guy down.”
Her eyes watched his movements carefully. He was sulking like an aimless teenager, trying to pretend they weren’t viscerally uncomfortable with the world. It would have been comedic without the current circumstances.
“I told you,” She pressed her teeth together in malice, “He’s not coming.”
He lolled his head back, producing an exaggerated groaning noise.
“Oh come on, we’ve been over this before. Although I really hate being wrong, I can’t help but be excited to think he won’t. If he doesn’t, oh boy, I’ll really show you how to have fun, party girl.” He hissed the last part in a slurred, suggestive manner.
She deadpanned, still clinging to some useless determination to save face, “And what would your fucked up idea of partying be?”
His shoulders instantly perked up, much like a cat tuning into nearby prey. He took a step closer, letting out a breathy chuckle.
“They call The Painter for a reason. I think we could make something really magnificent together. I can finally make you interesting. Afterall, the beautiful canvases are always my favorite.” His voice shook with maniacal fanaticism.
The haunting, rusty murals from the room of butchery entered her mind. The swirling shapes, hidden faces screaming within the ocean of red. It finally came together. It wasn’t years of grime and bloodshed; it was an intentionally crafted exhibit.
“You’re an artist?” The statement sounded more skeptical than she’d meant it to.
He waved his hand in nonchalance, thankfully not taking offense—or simply not noticing, rather, her snide undertones.
“Artist is a bold statement. You have to earn that title. There are painters, crafters, creators, but that doesn’t make you an artist. Oh, but with you, I could be. Just imagine what I could do with you.” His mask edged closer to the bars so that she could hear the shallow breathing beneath its milky shell.
She tried to keep a steady pace with her accelerating heart rate. With the way things were progressing, she’d need more time. Time she might not have before this fickle man could snap and tear her face from its perch on her head. She weaved the words carefully, garnishing the statement with wide, doe-like eyes.
“That was some of your… work? In the room I was in before, I mean?” She thought back to the twisting and cascading designs, culminating into something that reminded her of a morbid version of the Renaissance.
Before he could delve into another, presumably, endless rant, she pressed with her questioning, “How do you get it to certain shades? I mean its all blood, right? How does that work?’
He paused, once more tilting his head in that unnerving manner. His posture, which had been proud and deliberate, fell ever so slightly. He observed in quiet intrigue for a moment. Almost imperceptibly, he took a cautious step towards her.
“I age it, essentially.” His words were careful, yet full of passion, “Layers on layers of patience. Once I finish part of it, I have to wait days, sometimes weeks, for it to oxidize in the way I’d like.”
She recalled the image to the best of her ability. She had sat slightly off-center to the mural, she estimated. Fairly close to the wall, enough to see the spots where blood had been caked so heavily that it begun to crack. That was why the shapes were so hard to distinguish, she realized. What had looked like blotches of various shades of red were, in some abhorrent way, genius placement.
“Pointalism.” The word came to her from the depths of an art history book, "That's what the technique is called, right?”
The method by which he’d manipulated the blood caused it to form in small patches. If she’d stood back, she’d likely have been able to see one big picture. If it wasn’t all around despicable, she may have thought it was impressive.
He perked up even further, his entire demeanor shifting in the fraction of a second. She could feel the glee practically wafting from him. Suddenly, she didn’t feel so insignificant in her spot below him.
“That’s right.” His voice was gentle, almost awkward, “Maybe higher education isn’t a waste of money.”
She tentatively leaned closer to the bars, allowing her eyes to become pools of vulnerability, “My aunt… She loves art. She’d keep all of these books around the house, mostly for decoration. When I was little, I’d get bored and read them.”
The story was entirely true, and entirely painful. The sticky, pristine paper had stuck to her fingers in the way good quality prints should. They clicked when she turned the page. The memory filled her with the smell of fresh parchment. She tried not to let tears blur her eyes at the comforting sensation of reminiscing.
“Sheila (L/N), right?” He recalled, although this time without a speck of mocking in his tone, “I wouldn’t have expected you to be close.”
The girl internally flinched. He’d really done his homework. The thought of him knowing of her aunt was, in all aspects, horrifying. If she escaped, would he come for her in retaliation? In all of what she’d been through, she’d managed to keep her aunt out of the ordeal. She couldn’t live with the thought that the one who’d done so much to protect her could be in danger because of her foolishness.
The thought was almost enough to dissuade her from speaking further with him. However, she was breaking through. A touch more familiarity, trust, perhaps he could be more malleable. Then maybe, just maybe, she could spare her poor aunt Sheila.
“She’s all I had.” Was all she could stand to say, “I wouldn’t say I’m any expert on art or anything. I was just… observing.”
For once, it seemed he was the one at a loss for words. He stood there in an almost bashful way. His hair hung over the mask as he subtly looked down, the pieces shielding her from the beady gaze.
“When I die, I guess I’d rather be beautiful than just another body.” She said softly, suddenly.
What had been meant to appease felt suddenly very true. She wasn’t sure what would have been left of her if Jack or the Operator had gotten to her first. Piles of viscera, a husk with no soul remaining. Neither option sounded pleasant. But in death, perhaps she could be something different, something less pathetic than she was now.
He seemed to take notice of her somber tone, pressing his head against the bars.
“I will give you what you deserve.” His words seemed grave, elegantly laced with manufactured tenderness, “You will be nothing less than magnificent, I promise.”
A strange, twisted comfort crawled its way across her chest. Imagining her lifeless self decorated into a morbidly beautiful creation, it was a better alternative. If she couldn’t find her way from these bars, then at least her corpse wouldn’t be in more disgraceful hands.
Seeing his relaxed posture, she dared continue with her charade.
“Do you make your own original stuff, or do you recreate classics. Like you know, studies of the masters?” She was surprised by how close the two had become, despite the barrier.
Even more surprised that she kept it that way.
“I used to. Who would I be if I didn’t have an ounce of creativity? But I suppose, sometimes I still do. Even I get art block.” She thought she could hear a grin in his voice, “Do you have a favorite painting?”
The question took her off guard. Despite her extensive reading, she would by no means consider herself an artist. She didn’t draw, let alone paint. Although she’d garnered enough of an eye for technique. She scrunched her nose. Why was she thinking about it that hard, anyway?
“Monet’s water lilies.” She answered gently, begging internally that he wasn’t pretentious about these things.
“Beautiful.” He hummed, “Fitting.”
He savored the silence for a moment. One of his hands was draped leisurely on the bars, tapping every so often. A sudden metallic edge made her cast an eye to the way he twiddled his fingers. There was a silver ring wrapped around his thumb. It was strangely pristine, considering his work. In fact, his hands were just as elegant. The movement was hypnotic.
A strangled noise from above made them both snap to look at the spider-webbed ceiling. More dust rained down from the commotion, coating her in another sheath. She coughed, attempting to stifle the noise with her hand. It wasn’t much relief, seeing as her smudged hands only muddled her lips with more grime. She could feel his gaze on her. Embarrassment fluttered under her skin, and she wished her matted hair could make her disappear altogether.
“Ah, well, it was nice while it lasted.” He broke the silence, pulling away from his spot beside her, “How does that one song go? The wicked never rest?”
He attempted to hum it, but eventually gave up and waved off the imaginary conversation. He straightened his tarnished jacket, as if he had some extravagant event to attend within the squalor of the prison.
“We’ll talk later. Sound like a plan?” There was a finality in his voice that told her that it may not be entirely true.
“Wait—” She called.
This may very well be the last chance she had to reason with him. She pressed herself against the bars with such immense urgency that it sent a tremor across the surface. The jutting edge of the missing chunk wedged itself into her side. She didn’t dare wince, clinging to the cell in desperation.
“Wait. Are you going to leave me here for days again?” Her warped tone was garnished with the right amount of desperation.
He only half turned to look at her. His hair blocked the entire upper half of the mask, leaving only the haunting smile to look back at her.
“I told you, we’ll talk later.” He reiterated. This time, his tone was placidly cold.
“You were right, okay.” She mushed her forehead against the iron, “I’ve been bored. More than that. It’s horrible, I’m going crazy in here.”
He didn’t respond. The smile, in tandem, stared back at her.
“Couldn’t you let me out, just once? I…” She attempted to swallow back the dryness in her throat, “I want to see your paintings.”
There was a moment of agonizing silence. The only signifier he was listening was the subtle crack of his ring-clad thumb. Then, he rolled his head back, hair brushing his shoulders like a gentle breeze. His chest rumbled with a gentle chuckle.
“Oh, you’re smart. I’ll give you that.” His response was velvety smooth.
Her heart sank. She slumped down, face dragging down the metal, smearing the dirt further.
“Now that, that’s interesting.”
That was all he said before he turned away again. He gave her a casual wave before disappearing back down the hallway again. His footsteps faded with that petulant tapping, leaving her with only the dust on her hands for company.
He stayed gone for a few days, save for obligatorily feeding her. He slipped in while she was sleeping, seeing as she’d always wake up to a cold, hard tray. It wasn’t like she minded, after all; it gave her more time to whittle.
She’d gotten further now. With each stroke, the cavern grew. As she worked, it occurred to her how peculiar this behavior was. He’d always brought her rations with something snide to say. It was distressing at first, but the irritating noise of his voice reverberating through her ears was a hollow absence.
She pressed the rock further into the gap. His distance was a signifier; it had to be.
Their conversation played over and over through her head. What she had said, had it really doomed her? All his claims were certainly facetious. But that shift in tone when she’d probed about his work. It was different; it was vulnerable. That was not a lie.
She thought about the change in his demeanor. The way he casually leaned against the bars. The delicate ring around his finger, the way his earrings glinted in the low light. How they shook when he laughed.
Why was that something she couldn’t move past? Did it mean something to her— for her? And why, why did it burn when she knew he was looking at her from beyond the mask?
The thoughts wouldn’t stop. They pulsated and pressed until it consumed her entire consciousness. It was debilitating, filling her throat with a sensation she wasn’t sure she could breathe through.
And then, it stopped. She looked down.
The bar came off harmlessly in her hand. It took her a moment to regain clarity. She had to stop it from clattering to the floor and ruining her efforts.
She’d done it; it actually came off.
She stumbled to her feet, the task proving to be difficult through her shroud of dehydration. She clenched her teeth together in anticipation, gingerly pressing her shoulder through the gap. She felt the pit grow in her stomach as she realized that she was right. She’d fit.
With a deep breath, she tightened her grip on the severed bar and forced herself through the opening.
Space Dementia | Satoru Gojo & Ryomen Sukuna x FEM! Reader
【The Sixth File】
Summary: "𝑰'𝒅 𝒄𝒖𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒆 𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒚 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕. 𝑾𝒆'𝒍𝒍 𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒐𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒍𝒅 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖." Hunger. Nearly every moment of her life it plagued her. The deep void inside her that only cursed energy could fill had nearly torn her apart. Yet Satoru had always been by her side. They grew up together and found solace in each other. With a ruined head, she knew nothing of her past and eventually, she'd come to terms with it. That was until someone came along who had answers. Except that person was none other than the King of Curses.
𝑷𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: Satoru Gojo x Reader, Ryomen Sukuna x Reader, Suguru Geto (slightly)
𝗗𝗶𝘀𝗰𝗹𝗮𝗶𝗺𝗲𝗿: This story contains content regarding toxic relationships, PTSD, dissociation, and grappling with depression/anxiety. If any of these factors may be distressing to you, please proceed with caution
Link to part 1
𝐉𝐮𝐣𝐮𝐭𝐬𝐮 𝐇𝐢𝐠𝐡 𝐒𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐥, 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟕
𝐋𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: Tokyo, Japan
The woman stared unimpressed at the array of boxes and pin-up posters that surrounded Yuji Itadori’s room.
The boy had been ferried to his new slice of home by the pair after an obligatory beat down from the principal. Although she didn’t necessarily agree with Masamichi’s methods, the severity of his reality couldn’t be understated. The kid had been whisked away from a life of teenage normalcy, and she found herself riddled with a sense of sympathy for him as a result. Satoru had done his due diligence to inform her of the boy’s aptitude for physical strength, but at the root of it, he was still an unassuming child forced to be the residence of a time-transcending demon.
She knew that if it were up to her, she would have never chosen to live this life. Obeying the will of cursed energy was a prison she’d wish on no other.
Although still, the damn kid could at least have chosen better decor for his new room.
She crossed her arms as Satoru practically held the boy’s situation above his head. He taunted him with the fact that he could just allow the school to do his dirty work of fetching the remaining fingers and avoid fighting himself.
She was happy to see that, at least, Yuji seemed to have a defiant spark in him. That spirit would be what he needed to survive in this world, although she found herself hoping it wouldn’t break.
In the span of the last few hours, she had considered in intimate detail just what Ryomen Sukuna had meant in his brief exchange with her. He possessed just as much virulent malice as she would assume of an ancient curse such as himself. Although the manner in which he spoke insinuated a certain sense of resentment. Whether this was because his soul had been severed for hundreds of years or due to her being a mere woman in his presence, she was unsure. It was disquieting, to put it mildly.
Perhaps she was being paranoid, but she somehow imagined that malignant gaze cutting through her from somewhere lurking within Yuji Itadori’s soul.
“You mean that was a test?” Yuji’s baffled tone broke her out of her contemplation.
Satoru was playing his usual game, and winning, as he so often did.
He didn’t get far in his explanation of using Yuji like a radar system to find the remaining pieces of Sukuna before the woman cut him off.
She interjected by taking hold of his collar, pulling him back to allow the boy his personal space, “I think he gets the picture. Give the kid a break, for god's sake.”
Satoru scoffed, allowing her to manhandle him nevertheless.
“And here you were telling me how serious the situation was. I was just trying to stress the stakes, that’s all.” He grinned in self-assurance, causing her to practically feel his gaze from under the blindfold.
Her lower lip pouted ever so slightly, asserting just how unpressed she was. This caused his smirk to widen.
Yuji looked between the pair in consideration. As time went on, spent with his unwelcome roommate, he’d begun to discern whenever the curse was reacting to something. He’d feel a small surge of amusement, disgust, or whichever emotion the king saw befitting of a situation. Mostly, however, it was indifference. That was why he thought he was imagining it when he felt a stir within his soul as he saw that pouty expression of his female teacher.
Shaking it off, he decided to speak up, “—Are you sure he’s going to be that cooperative?”
Yuji was pessimistic about the idea, considering Sukuna’s displeasure at being sidelined by a simple guy such as himself.
Satoru lazily walked towards the door, opening it expectantly for the two behind him. Yuji eagerly followed, enthusiastic about the remainder of his tour of the school.
“Oh, I think we can come to a win-win agreement there.” Satoru mused, assured of his power as the strongest sorcerer to command Sukuna to submit to his plans.
Unbeknownst to him, there was a stirring within Yuji’s soul.
The king had been only half listening, although those disinterested eyes of his had never once left the woman in the entirety of that hour.
Yes, he thought to himself. They surely could come to an agreement.
Satoru led the group down the dormitory hall. The teachers exchanged a knowing glance when a rustling noise sounded from inside the neighboring room.
The decision of where Yuji would live was ubiquitous. The woman had been the majority mastermind behind it. She was ardent in her feelings about giving Megumi his best chance at forming an actual friendship, even with how unwitting her moody charge was.
Said temperamental boy opened his door moments later, unenthusiastically locking eyes with the group.
“You’re next door?” Was all the warm greetings he could muster for the pink-haired boy.
Yuji, however, brought enough enthusiasm for both of them.
“Fushiguro!” He beamed, “You’re all better now.”
Indeed, it seemed Megumi had discarded his bandages in favor of letting his sparse cuts and bruises air out. He was adorned in his sweats and signature furrowed brow. Much to her chagrin, he proceeded to go on a tirade about all the other possible rooms they could have chosen, opposed to the one next to his.
“This is not welcome.” He finished, crossing his arms with a melodramatic scoff.
The woman brought her hand upside his head in a gentle swat.
“Hey, be nice.” She scolded, “This is your chance to finally have friends.”
He looked outraged at her bluntness, especially in the face of said potential friend. He lifted a hand to tenderly massage his head, although not able to bring himself to talk back to her.
“Was that really necessary?" He muttered from between gritted teeth.
He gave it his best attempt to keep it between the pair, but the amused face of Yuji peeking out from behind her hair quickly stifled the illusion.
“You are being a brat.” Satoru cut in, shrugging his shoulders matter-of-factly.
“Besides,” he folded his arms lazily behind his snowy hair as he took up the front of the group, “If I have to see you eat lunch by yourself one more time, I’m going to cry in disappointment.”
With a scoff of acceptance, Megumi yielded to the fact that he couldn’t escape this new reality. He took his spot begrudgingly next to Yuji, who was already chipper about the ordeal as it was.
“Alright, tomorrow we head out as a group to pick up the final first year.” He turned with a subtle smirk, noting the complete lack of excitement from a particular raven-haired boy.
“Right,” the woman agreed, “So try to get some actual rest, okay?”
⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ ◯ ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆
Although it had sounded like the most responsible, teacher-like thing to say at the time, the words felt rather ironic to the woman.
At the current moment, she was stuck studying each tile of her ceiling panel in methodical detail. Sometimes the stars peeking through her bedroom curtains would preoccupy her, but then she’d turn right back to that array of squares in the end.
She hadn’t been sleeping well since receiving Megumi’s feverish phone call. Perhaps she’d hear that bothersome vibrating again as soon as she closed her eyes, ferrying another life-altering set of news. It felt rather pointless to her when she thought about it like that. Every other day, the school would delegate both her and Satoru to potentially life-threatening missions.
Shouldn’t this be trivial, all things considered?
A frustrated groan escaped her lips. She rubbed the base of her hands across her eyes in a drawn-out manner, as if she could wipe away the sleep deprivation.
“Feeling like an early day again, are we?” His teasing tone sliced through her mental spiral.
She barely moved her head to look at her starlight-bathed visitor. He must have slipped in while she was busy contemplating her life. Judging by how he’d already made himself comfortable with his discarded blindfold and simple sweat-set, he must have let himself in a while ago. It wasn’t as if she minded, although she was a bit perturbed by the idea that she hadn’t the slightest clue when he’d entered. It only solidified how her keen senses were dulled.
“You know I’d sleep if I could.” Her tone was more biting than she’d intended.
His hands found his pockets carelessly, “Ouch. Not in the mood for cuddling tonight, then?”
She pursed her lips instantly. His blue eyes flashed silver as a gentle chuckle escaped his lips. The noise wasn’t as enthusiastic as usual. His shoulders were still evidently tense, as seen from beneath his sheer t-shirt.
“What are you even doing here?” She huffed, propping her cumbersome head up with her hand.
He stared at her with unbothered resolve through pieces of his starlight hair. She would have normally felt bad about the amount of attitude she was dishing out, but frankly, she wasn’t in the mood for the brash Satoru right now.
He broke eye contact, settling for the night-washed window.
“I didn’t want to be alone.” He shrugged simply, “I figured you wouldn’t either.”
His words resonated in her chest, making her feel rather guilty about her previous statement. She retracted her gaze to the crumpled bedsheets below.
“I guess I don’t.” She murmured back.
She watched him fiddle with his hair out of the corner of her eye. He ran an exhausted hand down his face, sighing as he went.
“I won’t stay if you don’t want me to.” Although his words held no semblance of accusation, she could practically feel his apprehension.
Satoru frequented her apartment most nights, although these visits seemed to increase in times of crisis. Particularly, the last few evenings, he hadn’t left her alone. She had begun to speculate whether this had really been for her benefit or not.
She scanned his features. His lips were pouted into gentle indifference. Just under, however, she could see the semblance of a somber expression. With a great sigh, she rolled over, offering him a spot in her lagoon of snug blankets.
This seemed to brighten his spirits ever so slightly as he wasted no time cozying up next to her. His head fit perfectly against her neck and collarbone, a spot that was reserved exclusively for him.
Occasionally, when Megumi was younger, he would allow her to hold him gently on particularly bad nights. Although the boy was more akin to a petulant cat, he would only accept any kind of affection in small doses. Not that she judged him for that, quite the opposite, as she was much the same. She didn’t necessarily enjoy the touch of other people, but somehow that always seemed to exclude Satoru.
“I’m sorry, I just have a lot on my mind with everything going on.” She broke the silence, biting her lip guiltily.
She felt his chest rumble in a small laugh.
“Wow, it must be bad if you’re apologizing.” He could sense her frown, quickly moving on, “What, does this whole reincarnation thing have you freaked out?”
She glowered down at him, “I’m not freaked out, I’m reasonably concerned.”
This seemed to lift his spirits further. He perched his chin on her chest, scrutinizing her gaze for anything interesting.
“I just feel bad for that poor kid. He’s got a curse living in his body, especially one on that level. I don’t know how he’s handling it.” She wondered aloud.
His eyes flicked down in thought. He studied the jumbled fabric of her night shirt, a small grin taking up his features.
“He’s determined, that’s all that’s important. I talked to him before. I know he has what it takes to become a competent sorcerer.” That confident smile did manage to ease her spirits, “Although, it’s sweet you’re so worried about it.”
Just like that, she was back to being annoyed.
“How much is that going to matter? You know what awaits him.” She chewed on her lip to prevent further elaboration.
Even through his complacency, she knew he found it hard to stomach just as much as she did. Satoru cared for his students; that much was certain. How much he was shouldering, however, she was blind to.
She gave him a resolute look in hopes of deciphering his feelings.
“It’s an indefinite amount of time before that happens. Between then, all we can do is make sure he builds his strength.” He huffed, pieces of his hair blowing out of his eyes in the process, “I don’t know why you’re torturing yourself.”
She continued her task of staring him down, trying to discern any clues. His irises had turned a murky blue between his hair and the nook of her chest, blocking out any light.
She frowned, “It’s not just that. There was something about the way that curse talked to me today. It was strange.”
Somehow, he knew the topic would circle back. He had been expecting her to show some sort of reluctance about the whole debacle, although not exactly for her to bring it up unprompted.
“Eh,” he rolled his head back over with a shrug, “It must be pretty surprising to have fallen so brutally from power like that. I think I would also feel threatened by you.”
She scoffed, hardly imagining Satoru actually believed it himself.
“Really?” She cocked her head in playful skepticism, “That’s what you would think, huh?”
His smile was adamant, although in the type of way that she expected the next thing to come out of his mouth would be ridiculous.
“Yeah, except of course I would be much more humble about it. He’s got kind of a bad attitude, wouldn’t you say?” His eyes were half-lidded in taunting allure.
“Of course you would.” She begrudgingly laughed.
“Right,” He audaciously agreed, “But that’s to be expected. The world has changed since he was alive, after all.”
His casual take on the topic was much appreciated over her hurricane of thoughts. It worked to quell her worries, the aching in her chest feeling somewhat alleviated. The steady warmth of his cheek against her created an additional aide.
“It was interesting how he mostly talked to you, though.” He sat up from his cozy spot, lifting his hand to rest under his chin.
She immediately regretted it all when a sly smirk played on his lips.
“I figured that must have terrified you since you were such a wimp in school about it.” The way he spoke so casually caused her to bristle.
“I was not a wimp!” She insisted, narrowing her eyes.
She would never admit how her heart rate increased every time her thoughts wandered to the topic of the king of curses. Nor how, when she’d heard that harsh voice, something itched in the back of her brain.
“You sure cried to Suguru about it like you were.” He spoke the words with a semblance of irritation.
It was true that whenever the topic of Ryomen Sukuna arose in her school days, she had always had some kind of adverse reaction to it. She had grown adept at hiding these many factors of abnormality, although that didn’t stop her from confiding in Suguru.
“Maybe that’s why I didn’t talk to you about it!” She groaned, although only half joking.
This caused him to sit up a little straighter. He blinked down at her in confusion, the sides of his arms boxing her in beneath him.
“But you do talk to me about everything.” Although he framed it like a statement, it felt more questioning.
She thought she saw a small flash of concern between that taunting look.
“What does it matter?” She shrugged, matching his earlier indifference.
It was Satoru’s turn to look hesitant.
It was certainly true that her concerns about Sukuna would have to be cast aside, seeing as his presence was an unavoidable factor in her life. That hadn’t stopped her mind from drifting back to all the times Suguru had been the one to console her when it came to her unease.
“You know that I’m here for you, right?” Those blue eyes blazed with unwavering intensity.
His features look soft all the same, gazing down at the woman nestled between his arms with tender consideration.
The force caused her to avert her eyes. She couldn’t meet his stare on account of the creeping warmth blossoming within the apples of her cheeks.
“I do.” She asserted gently.
Energy bristled between the pair, as if there was a great pressure hammering down on her chest. It felt white hot as she watched the near imperceptible motion of his eyes flicking to her lips.
That same crawling feeling pounded in the back of her brain before she could consider any further entertainment of the moment. She broke his stare, lowering her eyes to anywhere else except his gentle features.
Just as aware of the tension, Satoru in turn broke away. Although this wasn’t enough for him to resist returning to his usual spot on her chest. From here, he could hear the accelerated beating of her heart. That simple noise was all it took to release the tension in his limbs.
He sighed softly.
“I won’t go in the morning.” He asserted, “We can leave together.”
He snuggled further into her in confirmation.
The sentiment instantly calmed her agitated senses. The clutches of her anxieties seemed unreachable with him right there. For now, she didn’t have to consider the looming threats of tomorrow. Instead, she only needed to worry about the beat of his heart against hers.
Her arms wrapping snuggly around his back was all the evidence of thanks he needed.
⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ ◯ ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆
𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟕
𝐋𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: Harajuku, Japan
As per his promise, Satoru had stayed by her side for the remainder of the night and early morning.
Typically, his schedule was riddled with meetings or missions for which his talents were deemed suitable. Some of these the woman would attend as well, although there had been a recent pattern of her being sent solely on the most elaborate ventures.
The one they had been stuck in the coming morning, she was unfortunately obligated to take part in. Even if that hadn’t been the case, she was positive Satoru would have forced her along anyway. The entire night was spent curled by her side. Sometimes he treated her as a glorified pillow, although on more fortunate occasions, he’d hold her to his chest.
He’d always been brazenly physical with her. Therefore, she hardly turned an eye when he spent entire nights pressed against her like a puzzle piece. That was why she’d found herself wondering why that particular day, she’d spent so long staring at the way he’d nestled his face within her hair. His white eyelashes had looked stark, coupled with the sun and her own locks; it was very curious to her.
She shook off the idea as he prattled on while they walked through the train station. He always procured several stares on account of his signature blindfold. She’d grown used to ignoring them, but found herself counting the looks as they walked in attempt to distract herself.
“So, this new girl is all the way from the countryside.” She tuned into Satoru’s rambling about the new student, “How are they finding these kids, anyway?”
The question was rhetorical, of course. She was fairly certain Satoru himself had aided in the discovery of this new student.
“Megumi in a group, isn’t that a thought?” He mused.
His hands moved to rest behind his head as he wistfully looked to the ceiling. She followed his gaze, finding her thoughts thinking back to the sharp-mouthed kid who stood before her all those years ago.
“Time goes by fast.” She agreed, looking at him with a nostalgic smile, “I almost feel old.”
“Nah, not me. I have that ethereally youthful glow.” His conceited tone was explicitly exclusionary.
The woman scoffed, having none of his antics, “Uh-huh. So this new kid is from the country?”
Her laugh held a spiteful edge. She sighed, relishing the thought of how quickly he might be humbled.
“I bet she’ll tear all of you apart.”
When the pair finally arrived at that destination, they found the pleasant surprise of both Yuji and Megumi waiting for them.
Yuji was fitted in his brand new uniform, while Megumi sported his usual indifferent frown. The ensemble the pink-haired boy wore was cleverly fitted with red accents that the other lacked.
She found herself smiling, knowing just who’d suggested the addition.
Yuji Itadori turned his head from his conversation with his new hallmate. He’d spent the morning getting an education on the reality of sorcerers and his new world. Much to his delight, the curse within him had decided to leave him in some strange semblance of peace— or, as much peace as the silence of an absurdly lethal being could warrant.
That sentiment didn’t last long, as when his gaze locked onto the woman, he felt an inexplicable surge of excitement within himself. The naive boy, however, chalked the emotion up to enthusiasm towards beginning his first day as an official student.
“Well, we might have been able to catch the train on time if you hadn’t been more concerned with chatting.” She crossed her arms, although being outright ignored by her counterpart.
She inspected Yuji’s uniform with intrigue. The red hood decorating his neck distinctly matched his high-top shoes.
“I like what you’ve done with the kid.” She gave her blindfolded partner a nod of acknowledgment.
She would grow to regret this by the appearance of a boastful grin.
As Yuji expressed confusion about the situation, seeing as he hadn’t actually requested his uniform to be different, Megumi elected to cut in to enlighten him.
“Be careful, Gojo has a habit of doing that kind of stuff. Both of them are nosy like that.” His cat-like eyes cut into the pair in accusation.
The woman rolled her eyes, no longer interested in how the conversation was playing out. Instead, she became aware of the subtle chill that ran down her spine.
Even though Yuji was enraptured in some nonsense about getting popcorn, she felt her attention fall on him. Even without his eyes on her, she had that itchy sensation scuttling down her arms as if she were being watched.
She attempted to ignore the feeling, instead letting her gaze shift to a peculiar scene in the distance.
There was a girl of a taller stature who seemed to have grabbed some unfortunate man by his collar. The woman squinted as she watched the display, curious if she felt like she would need to step in. Even though harassment was typical in the city, she felt like that wasn’t the case for this apparent strong willed girl. After getting past the initial shock, it was hard to ignore that she was cloaked in the Jujutsu High uniform.
The bickering boys seemed to have taken a similar interest. Yuji, who had the aforementioned popcorn clutched in his hands, looked rather ridiculous with a pair of prize glasses over his eyes. Megumi would have typically continued his mission of glaring down at the boy, but the scene was just too entertaining to look away.
The girl seemed to be pestering the man about a modelling gig, or rather, if he thought she’d be up to the task.
The woman stifled a grin. It seems her prediction may yet come to fruition.
“Wait, she’s the one we have to go and talk to?” Yuji spoke up, drearily popping a piece of popcorn in his mouth, “This is really embarrassing…”
The brightly colored prize glasses fell down his nose.
Megumi glowered at him from the corner of his eye, “Yeah, so are you.”
Satoru beckoned the girl over with a warm smile. He animatedly waved his hand, causing the woman to stuff her hands further in her pockets.
She knew as soon as the girl turned towards them exactly what the group was in for. Her brown eyes were tinged with a dash of rosy pink, although that’s just about where the warmth stopped. She was looking through all of them as if she were analyzing each section of their face for imperfections.
This continued as they escorted the new student to safely lock up her belongings for the day. Along the way, Satoru introduced the two boys and the woman with his usual enthusiasm. She placed a telltale hand on her hip when she finished the task. With a quick scan of her peers, there was a slight wrinkle on her nose.
“Nobara Kugisaki.” She held her head high, “You should be honored, boys, I’m your group's girl.”
Nobara had just finished her deduction, concluding that Yuji’s reminiscence was of a potato, and the other was a potential psychopath.
The woman has to press her lips together to refrain from reacting when Nobara sighed in disgust.
“Ugh, this is what I have to work with?” Her brown hair kissed her ears as she shook her head disapprovingly.
Yuji and Megumi exchanged glances. It wasn’t like Megumi cared for first impressions, but even he managed to be surprised by her quick dismissal.
Yuji looked at him in concern, “Wow, she took one look at us and sighed. That can’t be good.”
As they came to terms with the unfortunate outcome, Satoru decided to elaborate on their destination for the day. Sorcerers never got a day off, and that held true even for the youth. Unbeknownst to them, today was their first mission. The woman knew there would be some pushback at the idea, but held her tongue as she simply wasn’t interested in the consequences.
Satoru was pleased to inform them that they would be traveling to Tokyo for the day. Seeing as two of their students were from small towns, they figured a dose of the city was just what they needed. As expected, both Nobara and Yuji went berserk at the news. Megumi simply stood there, watching his peers make fools of themselves.
Upon revealing they’d be headed to Roppongi, this attitude only strengthened. The woman didn’t have the heart to tell them the reason for the trip was due to a nasty curse on an old building, and not the lavish shopping and food they’d been fantasizing about.
Hence why, when they stood before the decrepit thing, all they could muster was a unanimous groan. She couldn’t blame them. The place was leaking cursed energy through the windows like a vile, sticky tar. To the rest, it was a revolting sight, but the woman felt her stomach begin to growl for the first time that day.
Alas, it was for her students. She would have to accept that.
“This isn’t Roppongi!” Yuji slapped his hands to his face in a dramatic display.
Satoru simply stood there, grinning ear to ear. The woman knew she shouldn’t laugh, but that absurd look on his face always roused at least a chuckle from her. She buried her face in her hood to hide the growing smirk.
“It’s a cruel move to toy with country folk!” Nobara pointed in accusation.
She marched right up to Satoru, her glare managing to perforate his blindfold. She crossed her arms, her rage making up for the height difference easily.
“You must be a disappointing husband.” She frowned, looking at the woman sympathetically, “You should leave him while you're young. You’re way too pretty for him, anyway.”
At that, the woman couldn’t help herself from bursting out into a fit of laughter. She had to bring a hand to cover the scarlet that was coating her cheeks at a devastatingly fast pace.
“We are not married!” She quickly choked out, shaking her head violently, “Ew, uh uh, no way. He’d be a terrible husband!”
Satoru, who had been amused by the ordeal, whipped his head towards her in offense. He crossed his arms, looking down at his female counterpart with a mock frown. She could feel his looming stare, even with the cotton shield between her and his eyes.
“Oh, really, I would? What about me buying you an apartment? Was that so terrible?” He declared pointedly.
She crossed her arms right back, closing her eyes in absolution. Her cheeks still felt residually hot, even after she’d stuttered out a response. She felt as if everyone’s attention was locked on her. The staring was filling her with a sickening feeling, especially the direction of a particular pink-haired boy.
“No, it’s because you’re annoying. That’s all.” Was all she could manage.
She hardly thought that being antagonized the way he did to her was her idea of romance.
Satoru’s expression maintained that generally amused edge. It peeved her that she couldn’t tell what was going on beneath. Even still, he returned the statement with a sly smirk.
“Whatever, you’d just want me for my money, anyway.” He shrugged back.
Nobara watched the exchange, which had only made their answer all the more unconvincing. The woman was entirely avoiding eye contact with anyone, seemingly more concerned with the collar of her jacket. Although she couldn’t see her male teacher’s eyes, his chin was nearly imperceptibly turned towards his partner the whole time.
“Really? I just figured by the way you were talking that you were a married couple.” Nobara said spitefully, thinking back to the way they bickered the entire way there.
Megumi cut in with a laugh, “They sure argue like one.”
Yuji, who had been uncharacteristically quiet the entire time, stood wondering why there was a burning in his chest. He grit his teeth, clamping a hand to his uniform to try to aid the feeling. His fingers laced with the fabric. Although it seemed the only one who acknowledged his struggle was the perceptive Satoru.
As he was about to question his student, a familiar set of grimacing teeth pierced through the top of Yuji’s hand.
“You sorcerers have only gotten more pathetic. This little girl is what you’re wasting your time on?” The king of curses made his entrance with a bark of laughter, “Such weakness should not be worth the trouble.”
All eyes turned to the boy, who was now shaking hand like Sukuna was a bug that could be swatted away.
“Stop being rude. She already thinks I’m weird, and she has only known me for a few minutes!” He whined, desperately trying to wipe away the maniacal curse.
“Wow, you really are a freak.” Nobara mused, her hand still on her hip.
“See!”
“Oh, would you shut up, brat? You’re ruining what little entertainment this depressing group has.” The mouth of Sukuna shot right back.
Satoru thought the entire event was hysterical. The woman, on the other hand, was frozen in her spot. Just like the day before, his mere presence was enough to make her seize up like she was that same terrified teenager. It filled her with biting rage, causing her to bear her teeth in frustration.
This small fact was not unnoticed by the curse, who silently observed from his spot within the confines of his domain.
“Yuck, I can already tell this one is gonna be a loudmouth.” Nobara insightfully offered.
Yuji, embarrassed enough for the day, simply frowned like a wounded puppy. The woman couldn’t help but agree. She had never felt so passionately that she wished everything could just stop.
★ ₊ ˚⟡ Following a series of mistakes on Halloween, a college girl, and her group of friends, are thrown into a sequence of events that will ruin their lives forever.
𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝓲𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓼 - Eyeless Jack, Tim Wright (MH), Brian Thomas (MH), Jeffery Woods, Toby Rodgers, Helen Otis
I am unsure of the original creator of these images, if known please tell me and I will credit :)
Previously called Morosis. Please see my blog for more chapters!
𝐐𝐮𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: This chapter gets a little gross. WARNING for graphic depictions of gore. If you are sensitive to this in anyway, you might want to skip this one. Enjoy my little bats! <^_^>
The girl had become accustomed to this sunken place by now. It was much the same as where she’d been during her drunken stupor, except this time, instead of dreams, she was met with only darkness. Sometimes fuzzy color waded in, and there was an occasional dripping noise. This resulted in a steady tapping that made those blurry shapes become more defined.
Her eyes fluttered open, although the action didn’t do much good as everything was still covered in a layer of fog. The tapping began to grow more defined as her eyes struggled to make sense of the vague amalgams of color around her.
As she wriggled around to gain her bearings, she found the action not only cumbersome but altogether impossible. She was enraptured in a burning pressure that encompassed her abdomen, and she quickly became aware she was bound. Looking down to inspect the weave of rope coiled around her, she realized the truth of her surroundings.
It was as if the air itself was damp, the ordeal leaving a cool sensation of moisture on her skin. The air was thick with the sticky scent of iron, so potent it had begun to stick to her tongue. She smacked her lips, although it didn’t do much good, as they were quite possibly the only dry things in this place.
The action was sobering, clearing the pounding sensation that had been pulsating in her skull. She half expected the rhythmic dropping to be gone as she did so, but the annoying noise remained steadfast. Her grogginess made it difficult to determine the origin of the disturbance, but the figure in the corner of her vision seemed like a good start.
As she compelled her eyes to obey her, the blur revealed itself to be rather human-like.
That was all it took for her head to clear, because at that moment, she realized that that constant ticking was from the body that hung next to her. The individual's neck was splayed open, strung up by their feet so that the blood had begun to pool onto the floor below with a steady dribble.
It took her a moment to discern what she was looking at on account of the lack of facial features. The surface was so butchered that the best way to describe it was that the flesh looked much like that of an oil painting; a jumble of colors meshed together into a screaming maw of terror.
The scream that escaped her lips hardly stifled the bile that burned the back of her throat. It took everything to stop herself from heaving due to the muggy scent of viscera that clung to the air.
Her struggle yielded a laugh from a figure she couldn’t have been able to distinguish in her drugged state.
Her head shot in the direction of the noise in sheer panic.
As her eyes refocused, she was able to make out a mess of black hair from the shadowy surroundings.
A masculine figure sat draped over a chair mere feet away from her. He was donned in what most likely used to be a blue jacket, but the streaks of what had to be caked on blood created a rusty hue. Although this was far from the most concerning factor of his appearance, as his face was concealed by a similarly scarlet-coated mask. Two cat-like eyes were carved crudely on the surface in dollops of black, complemented by a swath of blood that served as a sinister mimic of a smile.
The display reminded her of something she would have seen at that party all those weeks ago, the very one she had scorned herself for running from. It made her stomach surge with a raging fear as Jane’s words replayed in her head.
“Look at who decided to wake up.” A poisonously sweet voice chimed from under the mask.
He tilted his head like an owl, the mask obscuring the movement, making it look unnatural. It unsettled her to her core.
“I’m impressed by how quickly you did, though, for the amount of shit I gave you.” He snickered, the sound reminding her of a bit of a snake, “You’re resilient, I’ll give you that.”
The girl’s limbs tightened at his words, her muscles taught with sheer rage. She wriggled around in her bindings, teeth bared.
“Where the fuck am I?” All caution was thrown to the wind as she was officially done with being passed around like a toy.
Between Jack, the Operator, and now this Saw movie freak, she was exhausted at the prospect of being beaten down one more time
He chuckled, unbothered by her harsh tone. Instead, he made a grand gesture, flaunting the rust-covered room around them.
“I’m so glad you asked. Welcome to my studio, my unwitting guest.” His voice took on a mock grandiose tone, “This is where all my greatest masterpieces are created. You should be quite honored to be here.”
A chill ran down her spine as she looked around. Even in the lowlight, she could make out that every ounce of the room was glowing with a red hue. She wouldn’t need to see it, however, to acknowledge the fact, as the smell was emanating from more than the butchered individual beside her.
She refused to succumb to the intimidation, nor play his deranged game.
“Correction, why the fuck am I here?” She narrowed her eyes, although not expecting much more of an answer.
She had found that with these types, her questions never got answered.
“Hmm, you know I’d figured you would be more patient for someone with a tranquilizer in her system, but then again, you have always been impulsive, haven’t you?” Those words caused a tremor through her insides.
The insinuation struck her deeply, her little ounce of courage becoming that much smaller. As the aforementioned drug began to wean, she realized that she recognized that syrupy voice from somewhere.
“But fine,” He continued, “Since you have no respect for the arts, I’ll lay it out plainly for you.”
He rolled his neck, his black hair feathering around his ears, revealing the glint of a silver piercing. Getting to his feet, he wrapped a hand around a chain from the light above, pulling it down.
The room subsequently illuminated, displaying a haunting sight.
The walls were, indeed, completely inundated in blood. Swirls of viscera laced its way across the cement walls, creating abstract designs of rusted blood. She could distinguish shapes in faces in the masses, although only between bouts of gagging.
However, this wasn’t nearly the worst of it. There were others strung by their feet, much like the sorry soul beside her. Each was similarly mangled, save for one man whose facial features were still intact. It wasn’t like it mattered much, however, as he was evidently long dead.
“I’ll keep the introduction brief in the interest of business.” He got to his feet, snapping on a pair of black gloves as he went, “I’m a bounty hunter, you could say.”
Her face instantly contorted into a sour expression. Her brain was already throbbing from the drugs in her system, and now she was sure it was going to pop.
“Don’t give me that ridiculous look. You’re not the one with a hit on them, so you can drop that stupid idea.” His hand deftly slipped into his pocket, revealing a flash of sleek metal.
His wrist rolled in an elegant motion, a blade flitting from within its sheath. He approached the body of the more intact man, fiddling with the blade in a dexterous fashion.
“Now, some killers have a tendency to be messy. They underutilize their tools. Whereas myself,” the knife flashed in the light menacingly, “I’m an artist. I pride myself on being precise.”
He deftly flicked his device into the corpse’s temple. Its skin was bloated with rot, the skin plump with accumulated remnants of blood. The squish that followed was sticky with coagulated fluid, resulting in an explosion of pungent odor.
She forced herself to look away, lest she be overcome by the potent nausea. She could feel the stench of decay in the damp air. It clung to her skin, suffocating her in a crawling sensation. She only dared to look up in some morbid curiosity after a subsequent peeling noise.
She was met in abject horror with the sight of the limp face of the man laced between his slender fingers.
“So I’m called when there needs to be a precise job, got it?” The skin squelched as he swung it in demonstration.
Her limbs seized up as she kept a horrified eye trained on the limp chunk of flesh. All courage was lost at the revelation of how truly, utterly deranged this individual was.
“You’re going too..” Her voice was a strained whisper.
She was cut off with a bout of laughter. He shook his head, his black hair falling over the mask in a swift motion. She looked at him ruefully as he tenderly placed the severed clump of skin on a nearby table.
“Fuck no! My god, you’re dramatic.” He shook his head as if she’d said the most ludicrous thing in the world, “No, as much as your lovely face would make a beautiful art piece, you can hold onto it, for now.”
She kept an uneasy gaze on him as he returned to his spot before her.
“Actually, you, my impatient friend, are bait.” He garnished his words with a flick of his finger, as if she were a cute little animal.
Her mouth fell open, although she instantly regretted it by how her mouth was invaded by the sticky, iron-filled taste.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” She spat, baffled.
He seemed relatively unimpressed by the whole debacle.
“Wow, are you really that naive?” He scoffed, “Did you think with the crowd you were hanging around that you wouldn’t have consequences?”
She could have laughed had she not been frozen in both terror and disgust. If only he knew just how many consequences she’d endured.
“To put it simply, there are a great deal of people who want to see a certain man you have relations with dead.” He stepped closer to her, causing her to shrink away, although to little avail considering the bindings.
“You keep saying that,” She braved a glare, “But I still can’t understand a word you are saying.”
A chuckle rumbled from behind his mask, “Does Jeffery Woods ring a bell?”
She immediately tensed at the revelation.
She thought that with everything she experienced, perhaps she’d never cross paths with Jeff again. The irony stung with a miserable sensation.
It filled her with rage. She’d hardly known the man, and the only reason she did was because he stuck by some deluded belief that he was her savior. She was compelled to the cycle of thoughts, once again, that she wished Jack would have just laid her to rest right beside Cass, where she belonged.
“Jeff…?” She muttered despondently, “How?”
He twirled the knife again, making her flinch. This seemed to amuse him further.
“Don’t ask me, I hardly knew the guy. He was kinda a prick, but a job is a job.” He spoke as if it were the most casual thing in the world, “Well, anyway, I like to do my research. He seemed very keen on sticking by your side, which is funny because it seemed to me like you already had two boyfriends. I thought he could take a hint, I mean, really, it was sad.”
She nearly choked at the accusation.
“Excuse me?” She managed to say through her tightly wound jaw.
He shrugged in nonchalance, “All I’m saying is make up your mind. Besides, he’s been a real pain to pin down, so I’ve decided to make him do the work for me.”
The sheer audacity he had to be slinging around such casual words with the vile assortment of guts strewn about was enough to make her veins pulse in anger. She felt small beneath him as he continued his tirade.
“So what, you think you’ll be able to lure him out with me?” She scoffed, “Nice try. I hardly knew him. I’m sure he’s moved on.”
It occurred to her that she shouldn’t shoot down the one idea that was keeping her alive, but the desire to throw his failure in his face was far stronger.
“I don’t think so—“ He spoke in a sing-song voice, “A pretty thing like you? He’ll come running, trust me.”
She grit her teeth, her voice hoarse, “You don’t know that.”
“Oh, but I do,” His voice deadpanned, his words drawling agonizingly slow from behind that pale mask, “I know a great deal more than you understand, (Y/N).”
The way her name flowed from his sultry tone made a tangible dread coat her skin, replacing the sticky sensation of rot with another wave of unease.
She watched in agonizing anticipation as he rose to his feet. His movements were as unnervingly precise as his blade. At the very least, at least his poisonous words were coated in truth. He was methodical in every manner of the word.
“And if I’m wrong….”
The edge of his blade swiped under her jaw in a tender motion. He traced the outline in a slow, nimble movement. The metal was cold against her skin, the blade coated in a light casing of sweat.
Up close, she could smell him, a strange aroma of blood and piney vanilla. She swallowed, her throat bobbing against the metal.
“Well, I’m sure we can figure out something to do between the two of us, right?”
Space Dementia | Satoru Gojo & Ryomen Sukuna x FEM! Reader
【The Fifth File】
Summary: "𝑰'𝒅 𝒄𝒖𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒆 𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒚 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕. 𝑾𝒆'𝒍𝒍 𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒐𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒍𝒅 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖." Hunger. Nearly every moment of her life it plagued her. The deep void inside her that only cursed energy could fill had nearly torn her apart. Yet Satoru had always been by her side. They grew up together and found solace in each other. With a ruined head, she knew nothing of her past and eventually, she'd come to terms with it. That was until someone came along who had answers. Except that person was none other than the King of Curses.
𝑷𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: Satoru Gojo x Reader, Ryomen Sukuna x Reader, Suguru Geto (slightly)
𝗗𝗶𝘀𝗰𝗹𝗮𝗶𝗺𝗲𝗿: This story contains content regarding toxic relationships, PTSD, dissociation, and grappling with depression/anxiety. If any of these factors may be distressing to you, please proceed with caution
Link to part 1
𝐚 𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭
𝐋𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: ???
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The claws of the behemoth pressed to his lips. Boredom was a concept he was completely and utterly tethered to.
At the rise of his hand, entire legions would fall to their knees. Whether it be out of respect or due to a lack of legs to stand with, he couldn’t care less for. After all, he wasn’t simply a tyrant; he was an absolute.
He had carried these ideals through most of his tirades. Occasionally, there was a sorcerer or particularly resilient fellow curse that would cause a stir of respect. That was all it was, however. Simple, fleeting respect that morphed once more to indifference when yet again they succumbed to incompetence.
In truth, the king had begun to grow tired of his domination. Not quite enough to step down from his empire of bones, but enough to turn his head when the prospect of strength emerged in some form. He believed it to be an honor when a challenger caused him to blink in their direction. That’s all it was, usually, a fleeting glance.
Until it wasn’t.
It was almost impossible to feign indifference when it came to watching her savage her way through body after body. Her brutality was reminiscent of his own, and perhaps that was why he allowed her to survive.
While a fight against her raw strength would be salivating levels of entertaining, it would be fleeting, and he would simply go right back to being bored again following his inevitable win. So he continued to reap the benefits of her violence.
The king even found himself making exceptions. He never gave, only took, and that held true now. However, loyalty was one of the few things he coveted. This earned him a group of allies he deemed worthy— although the extent to which they knew depended on how strong he deemed them.
Due to being named worthy by the power he was, his allied curses grew skeptical of the mere woman the king himself allowed to hang around. Humans of any kind were meals here, and they believed she should be no different.
One day, they stood before the king, who was slouched upon his throne of bones, as usual. There, kneeling beside his perch, was the woman herself. She sat like a dog in waiting, poised on her knees with her hands placed neatly on top.
The curses eyed her in rage, despising the way she watched them carefully from her elevated spot with those rueful eyes.
“You allow that human to look at us like that?” One spoke up.
She hardly twitched, watching them calmly as the king shifted in his seat. Normally, such an outright statement would not be tolerated, but he’d grown to savor what little entertainment he found.
“Do you question her place?” The king responded, the noise a rich hum.
It was a statement, not a threat, so the curses below him felt no immediate need to be complacent. They'd long grown tired of the human woman prancing around like she was above them, even if she’d done so at the raising of the king’s hand.
“She’s a human. Frail, and small enough to be devoured whole.” The curses grumbled amongst themselves, “She’s food.”
The king’s eyes flicked to the woman’s spot by his side from under a swath of thick eyelashes. She seemed entirely unfazed by the debacle, sitting comfortably on her knees.
“Is she now?” A laugh rumbled from the king’s throat.
His shoulders shook with the effort, his claws tapping on one of the skulls he sat upon in thought. It was marvelously put together, perfectly accommodating his numerous arms, each lazily spread.
“Allow us to get rid of that for you.” Another spoke, bowing its head in due respect.
“Hmmm.” The king hummed, never once retracting his gaze from the woman, “If that is all how you feel, then you may.”
Sensing his eyes on her, the woman shifted to look at him. Her expression, which has remained stagnant, lit up with a near imperceptible spark.
A subsequent roar of approval and the noise of teeth gnawing in anticipation was heard from below. The curses knew better than to ascend near the likes of the king, and they joined him in watching the woman with great enthusiasm.
Much to their surprise, the king didn’t have to move from his place, as she rose to her feet of her own accord. The intricate layers of her robe cascaded around her as she stood. Her movements were methodical, although there was no semblance of apprehension in her expression.
As she descended to their level, the only sign of any type of anxiety was the subtle twitching of her hands.
“I am sorry that you feel this way.” Her voice, at first, was as stable as her demeanor, “Afterall, I relate to you all.”
However, as she reached the last step, her tone took on an almost somber edge, “My hunger, it seems it will never end.”
The curses, however, did not bat an eye at her words. Instead, one leapt at her head, jaws poised to strike. At first, it saw no need to use any sort of technique. That outlook quickly changed when a hand wrapped around its throat, matching the brutal speed with which it nipped at her.
Fingers were replaced with teeth, and in a fleeting moment, the contents of its neck were splayed throughout the floor. She hunched down, animalistically tearing apart the remnants of the creature.
The king’s eyes were trained on the way she perched on her hands and knees, the tails of her robe lapping at the growing purple pool of viscous liquid.
She rose, slowly, tearing the head of the curse as she went. The remainder of the curses, who had been stunned by the display, watched as she presented them with the head of their accomplice. She swiped the trail of violet away from her lips in a lazy motion.
The curses stared at her, with her looking back with equal vigor. There seemed to be some unspoken moat formed between the defiant group and the purple-stained woman. She stepped closer, as if daring them to make a move, lest she take the liberty herself.
Outraged by the perception that a thing like her would goad them, they did just as their fallen accomplice had.
Technique or not, it didn’t matter. Her speed was guided by the hunger within, and each fell to her waiting, salivating teeth.
The king hardly moved from his position. His hand was trained under his jaw as it had been so many times before. For each sheath of blood the woman was coated in, the corners of his mouth turned up ever so slightly. All these curses, the very same who had stood by him and enacted his will, were nothing but ribbons cast across the walls of his temple. Yet all he could do was stare. Stare, enraptured by the way each was consumed by those velvet-glossed lips. For once, boredom was the very last thing on his mind.
Her massacre concluded with a final snapping of bones. Her chest heaved in greedy breaths, her form trembling with the remnants of her frenzy. Defeating such a menagerie took an exuberant amount of cursed energy. What she gained, however, caused her veins to pulse in sheer excitement. The power she’d sapped from their corpses was lighting, striking each of her nerves into a brilliant blaze. It caused a subtle flush on her features, her skin alight with the newfound potent energy.
The king noticed this as she ascended to stand before him. His eyes trailed along the red hue dusting her cheeks and exposed shoulder. Her nape was glistening with a sheer layer of sweat and lilac blood. He tilted his head for a better look, muscles rolling along his shoulder blades.
“My, what a mess you have caused.” His words fell lushly from his tongue.
The ink upon his face crinkled as he furrowed his brow into a biting smirk.
“My humblest apologies,” She fell to her knees with a simple closed eye expression, “they made their choice.”
Her robe, which was now more akin to a rich lavender than the white it had been before, splayed around her as she bowed her head. The movement was deep, causing her hair to billow around her face.
“Indeed, they did. How pathetic they proved to be. They dared to stand within these walls, only to fall so quickly.” He huffed, the serrated teeth within his mouth glinting, "Are you trying to apologize for their weakness?”
Across the time she’d spent with him, she’d grown to predict his unpredictability. A certain spark in his cursed energy, one that would cause her mouth to water, would always alert her when a threat was imminent. However, the key absence of such told her it was safe enough to lift her head again
The woman shifted her gaze through her swaths of hair to the viscera below them. Purple streaked the walls as if it were ink laced along a page. She made the key observation that, even though the bodies were shriveled, the heads of the curses remained.
“Perhaps they could still be useful.” Her line of sight cast to the mountains of bones that constructed his behemoth of a throne, “New skulls to add to your collection.”
A bassy chuckle rumbled from within his chest, “Hmm, you aren’t usually so optimistic.”
“Think of it as a thank you for the meal.” She responded simply.
He had grown used to the way his numerous hands would twitch as he awaited for her to make a mistake. He was a practical tyrant; his rules begged to be followed. Although she seldom did, and while that had once disappointed him, now it was an expectation. He realized she could never bring true dissatisfaction.
To her surprise, he rose from his throne. His silhouette, in full, domineering glory, looked down upon her kneeling form.
“You should understand by now I only mount the heads of those whom I have severed.” His words reverberated through her body.
She felt her fingers curl from where she sat in excitement. Although she knew she could never feed from him, his sheer power deepened her hunger like none had before.
“They are yours to dispose of.”
She had felt for so long as if she could never stray from his word. His direction had brought her prosperity. While he gave her so much in doing so, he had never truly given her anything like this.
A surge of shock coursed through her veins as she felt his hand grace her shoulder. A signal she took as permission to return to her feet. Although she knew she could never truly see him eye to eye, she held his gaze anyway.
His blistering eyes filled up every fiber of her being. Before, it had made her body shake involuntarily, but now, now she stood with no fear.
“You are certain?” She knew better than to question a single syllable that fell from his lips, but this was something she couldn’t help.
As he studied each and every feature of her face, he made the distinction that there was indeed not a shred of terror in her expression. It was another factor of his reign that he’d grown long disinterested in. In its place, he found respect.
“You will no longer know restraint.” He clarified, “You will have your fill, and I will have mine.”
As she held his eye, she saw something that had only been a ghost before now. Delight.
From that moment, the woman realized that never again would she spend her life on her knees. Now, she would spend it by his side.
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𝐉𝐮𝐣𝐮𝐭𝐬𝐮 𝐇𝐢𝐠𝐡 𝐒𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐥, 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟕
𝐋𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: Tokyo, Japan
The woman sat across from her dark-haired charge with an unreadable expression.
The boy had landed himself in the recovery wing again, being apathetically nursed back to health by the one and only Shoko.
Despite his precarious situation, the damage he sustained was notably sparse. The notion only sparked further suspicion in her chest. Megumi was by no means inexperienced in combat; however, his tendency to hesitate often rendered him far more injured than he currently was.
Judging from his incoherent babbling on the phone the night before, the scenario had to have been dire. Yet here he was, merely scratched and bruised, leaving Shoko easy work.
Her gaze pierced him knowingly, “Just what were you thinking?”
Her tone was a firm reprimand fitting of a mother. She hated it when she sounded like that. It made her feel older than she wanted to be, leaving her in a position that felt much like a parent grounding her child.
“It wasn’t my intention for this to happen.” The boy looked down, “Do you think I didn’t try to stop him? I warned him he could die from swallowing the thing, but he didn’t listen.”
Megumi had a knack for keeping an icy mentality. He had adapted himself to be cool, especially when it came to Satoru’s goading. But even his icy gaze could melt, as it was now, his eyes looking like a reflecting puddle.
He didn’t cry. He never did. But the shame in his expression told her enough that he didn’t need to.
“You said he followed you in?” She questioned.
He nodded somberly.
She allowed a sigh to escape her lips, rubbing her thumbs under her eyes tentatively, “He must be ridiculously stupid for a human. Stupid, but brave.”
“Yeah.” The word was a small utter on his tongue, his eyes flicking to his hands.
She watched the way his eyebrows knitted together as they so often did. He had retained a near imperceptible wrinkle between his brow from the practice. While she usually expected annoyance, she saw worry.
She sighed, wishing he’d stop looking so dejected, as it was filling her with unbridled amounts of guilt.
“Hey,” Her voice was soft yet stern, causing him to look up from his moping, “You couldn’t have known this would happen. It’s not like you can control other people’s actions.”
The woman herself wished it to be so. Especially with the menagerie of antics Satoru tended to get himself into.
Megumi went to move a hand to the fat bandage on his cheek. He pressed the fabric tenderly, his eyes pools of reminiscing.
“Where is he now?” The boy mumbled, his sentence sounding vaguely grave due to his clenched teeth.
“They have him sealed.” A chill cascaded down her spine at the explanation.
Even if she’d never met the kid, she couldn’t help but feel pity for him. Being stuck in such a confined, damp place filled her with this sickly feeling. It made her skin crawl with those invisible insects she so loathed.
“The decision has been made for him to be executed.” She hesitated to say the next part, the words bitter on her tongue.
As his face filled with an underlying look of dread, she proceeded to explain in a hasty fashion how she and Satoru had managed to convince the hire-ups to delay his sentence.
The return of Ryomen Sukuna was a great scourge on the world. It was the utmost priority of Jujutsu society to contain him. The boy provided a convenient storage device, one that she and Satoru knew they wouldn’t pass up. She found the idea of holding his life above his head disgusting, but the entire basis of the sorcerer world was, in many respects, parasitic. She knew how to operate accordingly. All the same, she couldn’t shake the fear at the back of her mind. The same irrational fear of the King of Curses she’d always harbored.
Perhaps now, it wasn’t so irrational.
Megumi listened gravely to her words. By the end, he took a moment of silent consideration before speaking up again.
“Is Gojo with him?” He asked, the tension prominent in his brow.
The corners of the woman’s lips relented to a small smile.
“Of course he is.” She let air trill from her lips in frustration as she thought about how blunt the man was likely going to be.
He was probably scaring the death out of that poor kid as they spoke.
“He’s doing his part to inform him of his options. If all goes well, he’ll be training alongside you.” She offered.
Upon seeing that Megumi still looked anything but relieved, she attempted to lift his spirits with a forced smile.
“You don’t need to worry, with both of us watching him, we will make sure that curse inside him doesn’t cause him too much trouble.” She softened her voice in hopes of alleviating some of his stress.
The boy huffed, immensely avoiding eye contact in an attempt to save face.
“I’m not worried.” He quickly clarified.
The woman was hardly convinced by his display, but didn’t press him further.
Megumi looked at his hands, examining the bandages on his knuckles intensely. He clamped his fingers into fists, the image seeming to spark a memory from behind his gaze.
“He saved my life.” His words were gentle, “I just wanted to repay the favor, that's all.”
At this, she genuinely smiled. It caused a semblance of relief in her to see Megumi having gotten attached to someone like this. She often worried about him forming connections, especially since he was always so preoccupied with training.
“That’s nice, kid.” She offered him a little smirk, “Keep that up, and you might make a friend out of it.”
He groaned, refusing to look at her smug expression, “Don’t you have some kind of work to be doing?”
She chuckled, although not wishing to give him any more of a hard time. He already had bandages haphazardly dotting his skin; she figured he needed a break.
Besides, it was true that she was supposed to be meeting up with Satoru. They had thought it best for them both to accompany the vessel of the King of Curses to his meeting with the principal of Jujutsu High, not only so she could become acquainted with him, but also because she didn’t trust Satoru not to fill his head with nonsense.
“Alright, I’ll leave you alone. You need to rest up anyway. I want you to be at your best to welcome the new students.” She gave him a pointed look, especially since this time he’d be a part of a team.
He looked guilty for a moment as he watched her prepare to make her leave. He shifted uncomfortably in the parchment-covered chair he was perched on.
“Thank you.” He said suddenly.
The woman turned to him quizzically.
He mumbled the next part, “…For keeping your word. I’m glad he’s not dead, even if it’s only for now.”
The woman felt her heart melt ever so slightly. Despite the impending dread of the situation, it was nice to see him happy.
“Since when have I not?” She reached a hand out to lovingly ruffle his hair, “And stop looking so grumpy all the time. Your face might get stuck like that.”
That managed to get a laugh out of him.
“I haven’t believed in that in years.” He retorted with the semblance of a smile.
She shrugged, “Maybe you should have. If you did, then maybe your face wouldn’t look like that.”
She left before the boy could even get a chance to fight back, smiling all the while.
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There were two things he noticed when he set his gaze on the atrocities of this new world.
One, everything as he knew it had been wiped away. In its place were oddities beyond what he could understand. He intended to unravel each curiosity with the same violent hand that attained him the power he’d been severed from.
The second was that every nook and cranny of this place was festering with weakness. Pathetic humans: women, children, all of whom he’d lavish in the massacre of.
All of these things he loathed, but what he loathed most of all was that his era of frailty had resulted in the emergence of a surplus of sorcerers.
From the moment he’d become trapped in the body of this mere boy, he’d been filled with unbridled rage. It appalled him that this child, who scantily had a speck of cursed energy, was able to hold him back by sheer willpower. It was added to the list of the many things he intended to figure out.
This boy, his vessel, had been detained by said sorcerers, most of whom were quick to cry execution.
He found this amusing, as from the moment he was awakened, they would be foolish to think something as trivial as the death of his vessel could stop his return. After all, he had a mission now: the evisceration of every sorcerer and domination of humans in life as they knew it.
The idea that sorcerers had a vice grip on this new world was abhorrent in itself. He intended to remedy this, if not only for his own pleasure, but because of who they reminded him of.
It was she who had hated them with a malice of which he’d hardly seen aside from his own, and it was she whom they had taken from him.
The very last thing he realized upon his awakening was that he was alone. Without her, his crown of bones was nothing more than a trivial object.
So from the moment he gazed upon the impossibly tall structures gleaming with artificial lights, he knew exactly what he was going to do.
He was going to burn this world in her image.
For this, however, he would have to bide his time. Collecting the lost pieces of his power would be a delicate task. If that time had to be spent within the confines of this teenager's body, then so be it.
He had already found a few forms of amusement in his limited time here. One of whom was the boy whom his vessel had risked it all to protect. He was comically pathetic at best, a waste of power in his opinion.
The other, however, was the alleged strongest sorcerer. If there was one thing he understood intimately, was the arrogance that came along with power. The blindfolded man was brimming with it, and that in itself was interesting to him.
When the white-haired man had come to fetch his vessel, he watched enthusiastically from his domain with a bemused expression. He took the news that the sorcerers wanted to destroy him in stride. Besides, this boy provided him with an excellent means to observe this modern world; he would dispose of him when he wished to.
It was as this conceited man wagged his incessantly loud tongue that he felt that hauntingly familiar presence.
The aura he sensed was practically all encompassing that even his naive vessel turned his head to figure out just where it was coming from.
Even within his domain, he felt his soul quake.
The face that stood across from his vessel was more than familiar; it was carved into the very fabric of his being. She was an impossibility, right in front of him, despite the hundreds of years that stood between them.
Half of him wondered if years of separation and acceptance had rendered this creature before him to have a face he only thought was hers. He loathed the idea of this much consideration towards another individual. He was well aware of the truth, however contradictory this imposter was.
Therefore, that was all he’d consider this complication. An imposter.
This thing before him irked him so much as she interested him. The sensation was so prevalent that it compelled him to open his mouth.
“Just what do you think you are?” The serrated maw etched itself into the cheek of one Yuji Itadori.
The woman, who had been having a ceremonious greeting with Satoru and the boy, turned a sleepy eye to the peculiarity.
Satoru had just finished enthusiastically introducing the vessel of Ryomen Sukuna to his dear friend, garnishing the whole ordeal with his usual sarcasm. Yuji was actually quite eager to meet his other teacher, but all of which was spoiled by the intrusion.
The woman blinked, a slow, agonizing blink of condescension, “Well, a teacher, I’m hoping.”
Even her voice sparked that pang of familiarity.
“How could such a pathetically frail creature have such a menacing aura, hmm?” The mouth mused, the edges of which turned into a cruel smirk.
Yuji instantly slapped a hand over his cheek, mortified by the actions of his unwanted visitor.
“Sorry!” He blinked in surprise, “He just… does that sometimes.”
Satoru, who seemed altogether unshaded by the ordeal, stepped closer to examine Yuji’s desperate attempt to stifle the King’s berates.
“What an amusing body you have now.” He commented, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.
Undeterred, the mouth protruded from Yuji’s hand. That taunting grin was ever-present, not allowing the boy’s feeble attempts to stop him.
“I wonder, though, do you have the strength to back it up?” He outright ignored the other men, examining the women’s reaction with great enthusiasm.
He watched the way her hair curved around her face as she tilted her head curiously. The action was frustratingly familiar.
“We shall see, won’t we?” She responded coolly.
Her cryptic statement filled him with an enticing anticipation. Perhaps the itching to fight her would serve as competent entertainment as he bided his time.
Satoru, in an attempt to buffer against the awkwardness of the entire ordeal, cut in.
“Yuji, I’d like you to meet (Y/N).” He animatedly patted her shoulder, “My partner in crime. Less cool, of course.”
The woman rolled her eyes, “You mean your better half.”
The King bristled within his domain. All the similarities could have been excusable, however, her namesake could not. The truth was just as detestable as the weakness that rooted itself through this new world. She was beside him again. And she, of all beings, was standing beside what she had claimed to despise the most.
Sorcerers.
Even from within the confines of his vessels, Ryomen Sukuna’s blistering soul could be felt by the sorcerers before him.
Whatever remained of her was entirely changed. Mangled into someone who only maintained the scraps of her former glory. He intended to remedy that, even if that meant bending that soft form to the very precipice of destruction.
He would remind her of her true tumultuous nature, starting with the extermination of the strongest sorcerer.
The frenzy manifested itself into venom upon his tongue, “Once I make this punk’s body my own, you’ll be the first one I kill.”
Dies Irae | Slashers x F! Reader (Dark Academia AU)
【001 - Ribbons & Neckties】
ᛪ༙ 𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 after the death of her parents, a girl discovers the true meaning of blood within the confines of a prestigious academy. (A dark academia reimagining of the slashers)
'𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐞, 𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐚, 𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐭 𝐬𝐚𝐞𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐦 𝐢𝐧 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐚' ~ Day of wrath, that dreadful day, shall heaven and earth in ashes lay
𝙒𝘼𝙍𝙉𝙄𝙉𝙂𝙎: This book contains mention of coping with grief, depression, and anxiety depicted in detail, gore, PTSD, and mental illness. Please exercise necessary caution.
Link to First Entry
ᛪ༙ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 first thing that occurred to the girl inside the hallowed halls of Haddonfield was how cramped her shoes were.
They still had that new leather smell. The kind that would inevitably scuff the floor and be left untouched due to sheer resilience. They were sturdy things, a standard Mary Jane cut base with the strappy tops. Stiff, uncomfortable, and with not a speck of room to wiggle around in. All the same, they were extravagant.
Far too polished, she reasoned, for the likes of her.
Craig, much like she had when she looked in the mirror, nearly laughed at the sight of her. The primly buttoned blazer was carved elegantly around a pressed collar, trailing down to a pleated skirt. The look was entirely more pristine than her typically favored loose attire.
Her lavish reflection was not one she could have envisioned on her own terms. The girl before her just might pass for a student bred for nobility.
There had been only one time before she had truly felt she looked the part of this world. A year before her life had been reduced to pieces of glass strewn about a desolate road, her mother had taken her to see a ballet. William’s good name afforded them private seats to a showing of Swan Lake at a renowned opera house. The ensemble the girl had chosen was similar, down to the high collar and a troublesome ribbon she’d tied around her neck. Her mother had dutifully assisted in making sure the bow looked just a pristine as the show they’d be attending that night.
It seemed she hadn’t changed, even if the skin she wore felt brand new. The girl was no good with ribbons, nor ties, as she found out. When she’d attempted to wrap the carefully ironed fabric around her neck, it wasn’t her hands she pictured. All she could see was her mother's delicate touch tidying her up before Swan Lake.
Just for today, she would go without the tie.
“That’s too bad,” Craig’s voice was a gentle prod into her stream of consciousness, “It looks like you have a roommate.”
The statement was inconsequential. Roommate or no roommate, the girl knew her masquerade would be a hard-fought battle. She understood this fact immediately after her gaze followed to where Craig’s index finger rested.
The nameplate that sat upon the door to her new slice of home was much like her stuffy shoes: polished to the point she could see her reflection on its surface. She thought her few years spent in the intricacies of this life would stifle her surprise for all things excessive. As usual, she was wrong.
Harrigan & Prescott. The names were etched in gold with firm, loopy writing.
“It’s probably because you registered late. I hope that’s okay.” She felt the telltale squeeze of Craig’s hand on her shoulder.
The girl pressed her lips into a smile. The motion got easier as the months passed. She was good at what was expected of her, always had been.
“I don’t mind, really. It might be nice to have some company.” The words came easily to her, as they always did around Craig.
This wasn’t an outright lie. This was a boarding school after all. Besides, she’d rather be spared the barrage of ghosts that tended to circle when she was alone.
“The Prescotts are a good family,” Craig remarked, patting the door with the lopsided smile that perfectly suited him, “Sidney is really nice, or so I’ve heard. I haven’t really hung out with her personally—“
The introduction of a dimpled smile and savvy brown eyes cut him off. A heart-shaped face peeked through the door, freckles crinkling on her nose as she grinned softly.
“Well, I’m happy to know there are still some good things said about me in this place.” She took up the door frame with a confident folding of her arms.
Presumably, Sidney Prescott looked the part far more than the girl assumed she did. Her blazer hung comfortably around her shoulders, garnished with an easy grin.
Craig faltered, gaining his bearings by assuming his place next to the girl with a surprised huff. He shook his shoulders, evidently trying to mask the fact he’d almost fallen right through the door.
“Sorry about that, I was just trying to show my friend here to her room.” His smile lit up so smoothly you would have never thought he’d almost taken a tumble.
“Right,” Sidney hummed, “No problem, you can just hear everything through this door here. You’d think we’d be better than that, but no. They probably saved that for Bateman or one of the other whiners.”
While Craig laughed along with her, the girl shifted uncomfortably. There had once been a time when first impressions were her strong suit, but today was not that day.
She provided a simple introduction of her name. All the while, her fingers had turned white with her grip on her suitcase.
“Harrigan, huh?” Sidney tilted her head.
The girl felt a lump in her throat at the mention. Sidney, however, took keen notice of her stiff posture. Instead, she kept that same relaxed grin on her features.
“I’m glad I’ve got you as my roommate then. Any friend of a Poole can’t be too bad.” She exchanged a nod with the brunette boy.
Craig, in turn, took this as his cue that the girl would be in good hands. Although she didn’t entirely appreciate the feeling of being passed along like a scared puppy, she was in no place to pass up potential friends. Any grab for normalcy, she would greatly take.
The girl had seen the likes of Haddonfield once before. It was behind the crumpled pages of an art history textbook, from a time when her classmates were dressed in simple jeans and t-shirts as opposed to blazers. She imagined the yawning arches lined with twisting spires could only belong to the writings of Brahm Stroker. She figured her room would, in turn, be like Dracula, devoid of light with only dust for company.
She was pleasantly surprised to see that intricately paned windows danced about the walls plentifully. The sun that filtered through adorned the room in elegant designs, framing the expanse of velvet and finery with haunting mystique.
For her, she realized, it was perfect.
“I saved some closet space for you.” Sidney interjected from her gawking at the room, “Sounds weird to say, right? But we have limited space, even here. I put aside a few drawers and space in the wardrobe.”
The girl’s eyes trailed down to the simple suitcase she’d pressed so close to her body. It was a practical thing. One of the many things she and Harrigan could agree on was the practicalities of life.
“You didn’t have to do that. I don’t need much space at all.” The girl assured with a guilty smile.
She almost felt rude for all the trouble Sidney had gone through, just to be met with a single suitcase. Excessive clutter meant memories, and memories meant ghosts. The girl swallowed at the thought.
She felt compelled to continue, “You can move your stuff back if you need to. It’s probably better off anyway.”
“Don’t worry about it. I know how it is. You accumulate things quickly, you know?” Sidney’s smile was so assuring, the girl almost felt convinced that she might be able to achieve the task after all.
Her shoulders, which had been folded together with ferocity all morning, began to relax.
“So, how do you like it here so far? I know it can be hard to get used to the idea of being away from home.” The statement was innocent enough, but caused a stir in the girl all the same.
She pressed her lips together.
“I don’t mind it. I needed a change of scenery,” was what the girl imagined was an elegant way of putting it.
Those pesky polished shoes squeaked as she danced on the balls of her feet.
“It is a little big for me, though.”
Sidney’s laugh, which the girl could become accustomed to quickly, thankfully covered the petulant noise.
“It’s too big for anyone. A bit excessive, right? I haven’t even explored all of it, and I’ve been here for three years.” She looked at the girl from between her loose chestnut bangs, “I’ve never had a roommate before. If I show you around, maybe you can walk back with me after classes so it doesn’t feel so creepy.”
Despite the teasing smile, there was no doubt in the girl's mind that she was serious.
“Sounds like a deal.” For a moment, the girl allowed a soft smile of her own to fall upon her features.
݁ᛪ༙
The girl has a simple plan to conquer the day.
It had been some time since she’d assumed the role of a new student. Before settling in their cozy spot with the Harrigans, the girl had moved twice before. Once in middle school and once in her very first year of high school. These two events left her with some important conclusions.
One, to keep things simple. After moving the entirety of her life from a suburban home to a manor, she learned that packing light was essential. It served her well now with nothing but the simple messenger back slung over her shoulder, with all of one notebook and the few required texts she was assigned. Two, that being the new addition to a series of cliques meant the ability to know how to coast. She had quite the knack for it, so this time was no different. Despite her nerves, she would coast.
Coast alongside Craig, who’d returned to ferry her off to class, and now her new acquaintance, Sidney Prescott.
That was what she had been doing for the first few hours. Her schedule seemed simple enough. The efforts of her previous three years of schooling awarded her a relatively easy senior year. Subjects such as English and governing were all that was thrust upon the needlessly pristine schedule pressed into her hands. The font-- a serif, of course, was neatly scrawled on a thick piece of paper. It was the kind that was durable and immune to the natural dents of fingerprints. She’d scrunched up her nose at the sight of it.
Sidney was the first to drop out of the odyssey of the school tour. Her list of classes led her to a different path for the day, so they said their goodbyes, promising to eat lunch with one another. Seeing as she’d made good on her deals so far, the girl was inclined to believe her.
She was left with Craig, who had sworn with a tentative smile that he would be walking her to her last class before he had to go off on his own path. Despite her polite decline, he seemed to discern the deceit instantaneously. As much as she hated to appear so, she’d rather have the help.
Along the way, the boy had nodded to a good few students. It seemed Sidney had been correct in praising the Poole name, as the looks he earned were filled with a certain manner of respect. She could tell this because when their gazes shifted to her, the corners of their lips began to curl. She knew a great deal about this curl. It was the sneer she’d seen on many before at the notion of someone such as her mother marrying a man like William Harrigan. The sort of look that was extended to her on the day William and his dearest were proclaimed dead.
She had hoped that her face would have some sort of ambiguity here, considering this place was akin to a palace. Despite this, she felt as if those loopy gold letters were carved onto her forehead instead of the ornamental plaque on her door.
She was grateful when she reached the sanctity of her classroom as much as she was disappointed to see Craig go. At least here, there were fewer eyes. He left her with his usual pat on her shoulder and twinkle in his cobalt eyes. The agreement exchanged between the girl and Sidney was now extended to him, and she was pleased to realize that she’d already procured a place to sit; therefore, fulfilling another requirement of her grand new-school checklist.
This particular classroom was notably different from her previous ones. It seemed altogether more airy with heaps of fresh sunlight spilling onto the rows of intricate desks. The girl considered herself somewhat feline in nature, quickly locating a particularly sunny seat near the window.
The trickles of heat warmed her bones. She hadn’t realized until now just how cold her hands had become. This place, she’d noticed, was unusually cold.
This testament held true when a fresh batch of her peers began to filter in. Although their gazes were just as aloof as before, many looked her over as they busied themselves in finding their seats. This came as a great relief to the girl, who finally felt it appropriate to mind her business and locate her singular notebook.
It was a simple thing with a closed binding instead of the looped ones she’d used in her previous school years. She would have kept the last few, had it not been the insistence of Harrigan to purchase a menagerie of new stationery. For this, she was thankful, however, upon seeing how orderly every other student's collection was.
As she surveyed the room of metallic ballpoint pens and leatherbound notebooks, she caught a peculiarly sharp eye.
The look belonged to a boy whose nose was pressed to the surface of his intricately woven hands. His hair was immaculately pressed, save for a few sandy pieces that fell in front of his eyes. The small barriers did nothing to save her from his needlepoint gaze.
Everyone else seemed to agree with her assessment, as the idle chatter around the room did not include him.
Not willing to back down just yet, she noticed how pristinely he was kept in comparison to those around. That wasn’t to discredit her classmates, seeing as no one here was unkept in the slightest. His was meticulous, in a way. Even leaned over his desk, his back was kept perched like a proud swan, shoulders perfectly back and head held high. It was as if he’d combed every inch of himself to make sure each part was just so. All of this she could excuse if it weren't for those eyes.
She could take no more of it, turning her attention back to her notebook, which looked significantly more mundane than it had not a minute ago. She hoped he was just the observant sort and not the kind who possessed the keen ability to see the apparent gold etched onto her forehead.
She was so intent on tuning out the world around her that she almost didn’t hear the distinct scrape of the chair on the wood next to her. She turned her head only slightly, ready to use her hair as a barrier in case of disaster.
There was another boy next to her, this one of a less paper-cut sort. His eyes were perfectly pleasant. So pleasant in fact, that she had to take a moment to determine if he was looking at her and not a mystery friend of his.
This boy had hair that was combed over in a way expected of a '60s film. His smile was grounded with hands that were placed politely on his desk, instead of dryly before his mouth.
Despite his demeanour, the girl hadn’t expected him to speak. She was greatly surprised when she saw that twinkling gaze extend to her.
“Hello, you must be new.” Such a simple statement caused her to seize up
His hand reached out to her from under his neatly buttoned sleeve. Her gaze trailed to it hesitantly. Seeing no harm, she allowed herself a small nod. Placing her hand in his own, she made the joyless discovery that his hands were, in fact, just as frigid.
“Norman,” His handshake had a loose, gentle edge. “of the Bates Family.”
The girl loathed to once again announce the Harrigan last name. It left a bitter taste on her tongue in the same way her necktie felt wrapped around her skin.
Save for the overly polite introduction, Norman reminded the girl of the hallways of her previous school. His relaxed shoulders were much like the lighthearted peers of her past. Unburdened with image, he sat loosely in his chair, grinning in stark contrast to his cold hands.
“Harrigan.” He considered, “I’ve heard of your family in passing, although not for some time. This is your first year?”
Relief washed over her. Finally, there was at least one individual in these hallways who wasn’t steeping in the fresh blood of her past.
“I transferred for my last year. My uncle figured it would be best for me here.” She clarified.
This seemed to amuse the boy in some form.
“Would you agree?”
She scrunched up her nose, having to bite back a laugh from the silly look in his eyes, “What?”
“Do you think it was best, I mean. It must have been hard to transfer during your last year.” He tilted his head as he looked at her, looking upmost interested.
His smile was inoffensive enough. She’d humor him.
“I’m not sure yet. This seems like a nice place. I’m just sure everyone has already made up their mind about me, and I just got here.” She found herself confessing.
Maybe it was said inoffensive smile, or maybe she had just grown fed up with the glares being served to her all day, that caused her spout of honesty. Either way, it appeared Norman did not mind in the slightest.
He gave her a good-humored chuckle, “Yes, that is just how it is. Everyone knows everything about everyone. They don’t know what to expect of you just yet. Pay them no mind, it’s all pretty silly, if you ask me.”
The girl’s hand assisted her in a dramatic sigh as she rested her chin on her palm.
“They have nothing to expect. I am just here to graduate.” She huffed.
She had no interest in taking over a company or being the head of some noble lineage. She could, at the bare minimum, understand the hostility that came with such burdens. That patience, however, was not present today.
“As am I,” He agreed, “But you know, I’m not sure I have made my mind up about you yet.”
She thought she spotted a flash of teasing in his eyes.
“Oh?” She was shocked to find a smirk curving onto her lips
“I think I’ll stick to sitting with you, then. Just so I have time to figure it out.” He straightened himself out with a bold, charming grin.
She found herself relaxing back in her seat. She wasn’t sure quite how it happened, but she’d managed to obtain a total of three allies thus far. Perhaps, she thought, she was not totally out of practice with the delicate art of coasting.
According to her plan, she could just wait out the rest of the period on the back of the pleasant, albeit mysterious, Norman Bates. They exchanged a few more words before the inevitable arrival of her latest teacher.
Introduction to Business Management was a relatively bleak-sounding course. The girl praised herself for selecting a spot close to the window. She knew now she’d need ample time to stare out onto the sprawling grounds of Haddonfield. Not only was it required to drown out the babblings of her professor, but also, apparently, that sharp gaze from across the room.
By the end of class, she’d been able to organize the frivolously sculpted bushes by how offensive she thought they were. This was just about as much excitement she’d garner from this class, she presumed, as she gathered her untouched belongings.
Her lunch trek would begin with finding where Craig had promised he’d meet her. Norman, seeing as she already had adequate accompaniment, excused himself. Her optimism for the day was now greatly increased. At least now all her classes weren’t equally drab.
As she slung her bag snugly back on her shoulders, she felt what had grown to be a familiar cutting gaze. Daring to turn, she found her cantankerous observer had decided to grace her with his presence.
He stared her down through a cloud of thick eyelashes. His distinguished brow only added to his intimidating stature. She felt like practically cowering in those ridiculously polished shoes.
“I haven’t seen you before.” He spoke richly, devoid of any distinguishable emotion.
The statement was a simple proclamation. To her, it felt rather like an accusation.
“You haven’t.” She assured him.
Her hand wrapped around the strap of her bag. She hoped he’d take it as an invisible cue that his presence was not appreciated.
However, the boy before her would not be moved that easily. While both he and Norman were similarly poised, this one seemed to play into what she’d expected of her peers far more than he had. His sleek form reminded her of a rapacious business leader. She could see it now: him babbling meaningless orders to a needlessly affluent business that accomplished nothing.
“I make it a point to know all members of my class.” He asserted, attempting what he thought was a smile.
“How proactive of you.” Her lips pursed as if there was a sour taste in her mouth.
He hummed, disregarding her statement as if her words were nothing but a wad of paper to be tossed away.
“Patrick Bateman.” He looked for a moment as if he would offer her his hand, but a scan of her form made him think better of it
The action made her hand curl tighter around her bag.
When he realized her face held no manner of recognition his smile lessened, “I’m sure you’ve heard of my family. Shareholders of Pierce & Pierce, Wall Street firm.”
Her frown deepened, “I can’t say that I have.”
His shoulders rolled, evidently not a fan of being the loser of whatever petty game they were playing.
“There are only a handful of new arrivals this year, two being in the senior class.” He held out his hand as if he were deducing a complex equation, “Seeing as you have an innate lack of observational skills, I suppose that makes you the Harrigan.”
She shuddered by the way his lip curled as the name passed through his plump lips.
“How perceptive of you.” She mused, her eyes flitting to the door behind him, “If you don’t mind, I would like to find my way to the dining hall. I’m wasting precious time with my lack of observational skills and all.”
She was prepared to push past the boy with force. However, the return of that cutting gaze seemed to slice right through that ambition.
“Actually, I’d like to clarify a few things for you, since you are new.” His expression, which had been painted in mock politeness, fell to a deep scowl.
“Someone like you does not belong here. I am aware that you couldn’t fathom something like manners, but the least you could do is show some respect for the rules.”
The girl flinched. She had come well prepared with the notion that the entire world knew of the Harrigan Tragedy. The title was just as frivolous as the world she’d come to despise. She thanked the press for that, because even if those were the characters printed, it was not her name.
The blades he masqueraded as eyes trailed down the exposed skin of her neck to her acutely barren collar.
“Starting with the dress code, for example.” His hand found the end of his immaculately laced tie.
Bateman seemed satisfied with his effort, leaving in his dust the slack-jawed girl.
It was foolish of her to believe that those mockingly golden letters were anything but an omen. Name tags didn’t need to be a requirement, for they were worn on sleeves here. Despite the alias not belonging to her, it was carved into her body just as much as the remnants of an Aston Martin.
No, the girl would never be a Harrigan. Nor would she ever understand things such as ribbons or neck ties.
Dies Irae | Slashers x F! Reader (Dark Academia AU)
【Prelude - Ghosts】
ᛪ༙ 𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 after the death of her parents, a girl discovers the true meaning of blood within the confines of a prestigious academy. (A dark academia reimagining of the slashers)
'𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐞, 𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐚, 𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐭 𝐬𝐚𝐞𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐦 𝐢𝐧 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐚' ~ Day of wrath, that dreadful day, shall heaven and earth in ashes lay
𝙒𝘼𝙍𝙉𝙄𝙉𝙂𝙎: This book contains mention of coping with grief, depression, and anxiety depicted in detail, gore, PTSD, and mental illness. Please exercise necessary caution.
𝐂𝐚𝐬𝐭
𝐁𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐋𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬 ݁ᛪ༙ Scream (1996)
𝐒𝐭𝐮 𝐌𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫 ᛪ༙ Scream (1996)
𝐌𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐲𝐞𝐫𝐬 ᛪ༙ Halloween (2007)
𝐍𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐁𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬 ᛪ༙ Psycho (1960)
𝐏𝐚𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐁𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐧 ᛪ༙ American Psycho (2000) - I promise not to make him entirely insufferable
𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐛𝐚𝐥 𝐋𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫 ᛪ༙ Hannibal Rising (2007) - Will be more canon to Silence of the Lambs Hannibal
𝐂𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐠 𝐏𝐨𝐨𝐥𝐞 ᛪ༙ Mr. Harrigan's Phone (2022)
𝐏𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐥 𝐃𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐥𝐚𝐬 ᛪ༙ Pearl (2022)
𝐌𝐚𝐱𝐱𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐱 ᛪ༙ MaXXine (2024)
𝐒𝐢𝐝𝐧𝐞𝐲 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐭𝐭 ᛪ༙ Scream (1996)
ᛪ༙ 𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐬 are not limited to the pages of a book. They are not defined by the shadowed junctions of hallways in an old house. They can lurk in the hallows of bones, in the corners of hearts that ache when nothing else will. They are the absence of a warmth that touched the kitchen on a foggy Sunday morning; a smile and a gentle hand tucking you in at night.
They are everything a mother should be before she was gone.
This is what occurred to the girl as she watched the rosewood rim of a casket disappear into the maw of earth. There was certainly a haunting, but not the kind that did any good. If that were the case, then there would be writing on the mirror or a figure in the darkness at night. All of these things would alert her that there was, indeed, someone by her side in the beyond. But the frigid corridors of Harrigan Manor were only that, cold. There was nothing left waiting for the girl except the ghosts lurking about her insides.
Empty, tenebrous ghosts.
There may have been a time— a time before the blur of lights and clammoring of metal, that girl had begun to feel content.
She did not come from lavish hallways. Her comfort had been the homey delights of a suburban neighborhood—a quaint beginning, not outright humble, but just enough for her. Her mother, a regal woman, even before, had given her what she needed. The girl never felt the need to know her father. Maybe it would have been nice when it came to subjects such as tires and cars, but it was nothing her headstrong mother wouldn't attend to.
That was why she was surprised when her mother came home with a smile she'd become acquainted with frequently thereafter. The kind of elated smile that showed the wisps of her teeth, one saved especially for the dizzy heat of being in love.
The object of said affections was William Harrigan. He came from a good name and equally good bones. The girl thought he was appropriate for the noblesse likes of her mother. Not everyone shared this sentiment, of course, with the whispering of a devious plot to grab for a bigger helping in life than she was afforded.
The girl couldn't understand it. All it took was one look at the newlywed Harrigans to know they were in love. A sort of love William extended to his new daughter. He took ample time to ensure she would have everything she could want. Her life, full of extravagance, was unlike what she'd had before. These things were something she took for granted, in hindsight.
William Harrigan lived up to the girl's expectations of what she thought a father should be. Particularly, the factor of tires and cars. He was nothing but excessive with his money, investing it into his pension for the James Bond films. This enthusiasm led to the coveting of his Aston Martin DB5, 1964—the very same over-the-top car from the movies. Although driving was no obligation of his, his pride in parading around his new bride and child within the silver-slicked cab couldn't be understated. Now a car with four seats made sense.
It was William Harrigan's ambition that set them down that road, and the unfortunate outcome of a particularly gnarled tree piercing through his prized vehicle. He had done what he did best: protect what he treasured most. His intentions to swerve from the rampage of a drunken driver were foiled by said tree. The branches of which stopped just short of the girl's head, perhaps the only part of the polished car left somewhat untouched.
Mere scars were all she procured. She preferred the scars to the ghosts, although in a way they were ghosts themselves.
She was told by doctors and relatives alike the same statement: she was lucky.
Obviously, she was lucky; she ruefully accepted. Lucky to have been given a life of luxury from mediocrity. Lucky to be left with the Harrigan name. Lucky to still have her head attached to her body.
But all the same, she knew in her heart she wasn't. She scorned the frivolities in life for the same reason William Harrigan loved his Aston Martin: they represented things taken for granted. It was not the amenities that she never had. She never thought she'd needed more than one parent, but now she was missing two.
So no, she was not lucky. She was lucky to have one, blessed to have two. Now she had none.
Perhaps the girl's newfound hatred for frivolities was why she was in the perfect care of John Harrigan. The estranged uncle of William was the opposite of his impassioned nephew. Despite the decanters he surrounded himself with in his equally impressive manor, John Harrigan cared for none of these things.
Thats all they were to him, things.
Unlike William, he was not a cars and tires sort. He was a man of stocks. The practice was well-suited for someone of his stature, a man whose brow was always furrowed. The lines between his eyebrows would grow deeper with every rise and fall of the market. He spent ample time illustrating these intricacies to the girl. She didn't mind it, as the mundane conversations were better than the ghosts. In fact, she began to greatly favor Harrigan. He was never one to push. Their relationship was one of mutual understanding, and that was as it should be.
Harrigan's passion for stocks is what brought about the introduction of Craig Poole. Craig, a boy similar in age to the girl, was a family friend of the peevish old man. His father, another man of stocks, had entrusted Harrigan to mentor some sense into the boy. Craig's talents, however, lie in patience. His heart was set on writing, yet he humored the teaching of Harrigan and his father alike. Perhaps it was because of these virtues that he and the girl got on so well.
Harrigan seemed to notice this, as soon enough Craig's presence became a staple in the household. At first, it was a simple conversation, mostly driven by the boy, and she was intent on listening. Then it moved to understanding. At a young age, Craig was introduced to ghosts of his own in the shape of a deceased mother. Just like that, the girl's afternoons were filled with the faithful Craig Poole. It was a friendship based on mutual smiles, however big or small.
For a while, the girl thought she might just be content again. That is, as content as one could be with the rakes of tree branches on skin that, when she looked too closely at, began to morph into shards of glass that reflected the headlights of an Aston Martin. The realization dawned on her one day, while staring at the arched windows of Harrigan Manor, that the family had a penchant for Romanesque architecture. Despite being men of cars and stocks, William and John Harrigan had the same taste in decor. A predicament, to be certain, as each similarity she spotted began to perpetuate the ghosts that swam about her head.
The girl made the emboldened decision to put a stop to such pesky reminders.
The solution fell upon her near the end of the summer of her second year at Harrigan Manor. The syrupy humidity of August marked the end of what most children would weep, but the girl welcomed avidly. The school year, her very last, to be exact.
Craig Poole was off to Haddonfield Academy. The institution was backed by Harrigan in its alleged mystique. As a boy, he had attended, followed by William, and now Craig. Along with them, so had the delegates of many high families. The subject was hardly a question to Harrigan, who was most appalled by the news that her parents had never considered her attendance.
Before she knew it, the girl was with suitcase in hand and one Craig Poole by her side. She, who would have scoffed in the face of a luxury such as boarding schools, was welcoming the future. For a school, even one with the condescension of thoroughbreds, was a place without ghosts.
At least, that was what the girl had told herself repeatedly between nights with the face of her mother pressed between the depths of her mind and pillowcase. Haddonfield was better than being plagued by spirits.
What she failed to predict, however, was that Haddonfield had more than just the aforementioned phantoms. In fact, its presence had far greater potency than the fragments of memories.
Haddonfield, the girl would begin to discover, had true hauntings. Hauntings that went deeper than mothers or Aston Martins.
Space Dementia | Satoru Gojo & Ryomen Sukuna x FEM! Reader
【The Fourth File】
Summary: "𝑰'𝒅 𝒄𝒖𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒆 𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒚 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕. 𝑾𝒆'𝒍𝒍 𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒐𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒍𝒅 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖." Hunger. Nearly every moment of her life it plagued her. The deep void inside her that only cursed energy could fill had nearly torn her apart. Yet Satoru had always been by her side. They grew up together and found solace in each other. With a ruined head, she knew nothing of her past and eventually, she'd come to terms with it. That was until someone came along who had answers. Except that person was none other than the King of Curses.
𝑷𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: Satoru Gojo x Reader, Ryomen Sukuna x Reader, Suguru Geto (slightly)
𝗗𝗶𝘀𝗰𝗹𝗮𝗶𝗺𝗲𝗿: This story contains content regarding toxic relationships, PTSD, dissociation, and grappling with depression/anxiety. If any of these factors may be distressing to you, please proceed with caution
Link to part 1
𝐉𝐮𝐣𝐮𝐭𝐬𝐮 𝐇𝐢𝐠𝐡 𝐒𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐥, 𝟐𝟎𝟎𝟓
𝐋𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: Tokyo, Japan
The beginnings of a summer sun blazed above her, the rays perforating through her patience for the day. The combination of her jacket and lack of shade created a deadly combo that resulted in a vortex of heat beneath the fabric.
Even as a wave of exhaustion caused her head to fall back against the bench she was perched on, she spurned to remove the high-collared cloak of misery.
Training had reduced her to a speck of dust. Plus, the afternoon sun had her so sluggish she felt like melting away was the best option.
She refused to let the other students discover how cumbersome training was for her. In order to keep up with her talented classmates, she had to exert levels of cursed energy that she scantily got back in full. She was assigned ample missions to ensure she refilled her supply, but it was often never enough.
Her stomach twisted uneasily, the sensation filling her body with an unpleasant tremor. The dryness coating her tongue wasn’t simply due to hydration, she knew. She was starving. Occasionally, a twisted thought would run across her mind whenever one of her particularly powerful classmates challenged her to a fight. Just what might it be like to spare one little taste?
She cut the thought off immediately. She shrank further into her spot like she was a drippy puddle of ice cream. It stirred something in her mind, something deep and awful she couldn’t understand. It was a small itch. The unscratchable kind you get on the bottom of your foot. Always incessant, never quenchable.
She was much relieved when a gentle swishing, accompanied by the tapping of feet, broke her from her ravenous spiraling.
The culprit of said fizzy-sloshing being a soda can wrapped in the lazy grip of Suguru. Her raven-haired friend shook it at her expectantly.
She trained a leisurely gaze to his face, which was done up in his signature ‘I know what’s good for you’ smile.
“You look like you need this.” His pragmatic comment was nothing more than that, a comment.
To her, however, it felt like an omen. An omen that everyone knew just how much borrowed time she was on.
Suguru and Satoru had been off on an assignment that day. It had begun to become a pattern. It was an unspoken understanding among the students that some of them would begin to get weeded out as lesser. As time went on, the best sorcerers would be deemed reliable and the others would be left to trail their shadows, starving for some of the glory. She began to realize the importance of this understanding when her two best friends were whisked away from her more frequently. Soon, she would become the unwanted shrub peeking through the concrete in summer.
It was all due to a single factor.
Her stomach rumbled, causing her to unconsciously press a hand to the surface in hopes of alleviating the noise.
“There’s no need, I’m just taking a break.” Her adamant head shaking only made the back of her throat burn more.
He tilted his head, feathery pieces of his hair shading his eyes. His coal-like irises were the kind of dark, shimmering voids that reminded her a bit of a cat. The look he had was soft, much like a feline would take on when snuggling against their chosen person.
“Training looked tough today. You seem like you need a pick-me-up.” He took a seat next to her, his presence only adding another source of warmth.
Those coal-colored pinpricks seemed to pierce right through her. She turned her head to save face, lest that kind expression cut right through her.
“Do I look that bad?” She scoffed, rolling her shoulders in hopes of creating a passageway for fresh air beneath her pseudo-cloak.
It was to little avail. The fabric was designed with combat in mind, which meant if a curse’s grubby fingers couldn’t pierce it, neither could a cool breeze.
Suguru chuckled; the gentle expression in his eyes dissuaded any assumed mockery.
“No, it’s more the others I’m worried about.” His slender finger traced the rim of the can methodically. “Did you give Mei Mei a hard time today?”
The memory of her socking a fist into the pale-haired woman was fresh, and likely would be the culprit of laughter in the friend group for quite some time. It was never the intention of the girl to cause malicious harm, but something about striking down her proud classmate caused the inkling of a smile to play on her features. Sure, Mei Mei hadn’t done anything to her, but she was one unsolicited comment on a mission away from getting another K.O.
The girl bit back a smile with little success, “I guess so. She wasn’t worth the effort I exerted, thats for sure.”
Suguru’s eyes flicked down to her, chewing her lips in frustration. It was nearly imperceptible; she was good like that, but the sight caused him to push the can towards her all the same.
“You look a little dehydrated. I’m sure it will help you feel better.” He urged, his eyelashes gently brushing his cheeks as he smiled, “Besides, it's your favorite.”
She looked between him and the carbonated beverage. Despite her smacking her lips together to cope with dryness, a stubborn pride kept her from reaching her arm out. She was tired of letting him and Satoru clean up after her.
Overexerting her cursed energy resulted in her blood sugar dropping, or at least that was how the medical staff decided to explain her dizziness spells. Sweet treats had therefore become a fast favorite of hers. Suguru knew this, of course, and that alone made her feel guilty.
A subtle crack broke her from her trance, followed by the pleasant fizz of bubbles. The touch of his hand was a cool contrast to the syrupy summer humidity. He hooked his thumb under her palm, coaxing her hand open to slip in the beverage.
That stubborn look that took up her features was well practiced, as well as commonly disarmed by his sweet smile.
She brought it to her lips, the sensation of the liquid cascading down her throat akin to a river carving through a desert. By the time she brought the can to sit comfortably between her legs, she realized she’d already drunk half of it.
“Thank you.” She mumbled, avoiding looking at the cat-eyed boy.
He leaned back patiently, being sure to make himself good and comfortable in his spot next to her.
“What’s been going on?” He asked suddenly. His gaze was cast elsewhere, leaving her some room to think, “Have you been overexerting yourself again?”
Suddenly, the depths of the can became all the more interesting. She pondered it, swirling her finger over the top in a lazy motion.
“I never mean to. It’s just been happening.” Her voice lowered, “Everything has been so fast-paced, I feel like I can’t keep up. I have to.”
Suguru watched the way she discarded her can to fidget with her zipper.
His voice was gentle, methodical. “It has been getting more competitive, you’re not wrong. But you are by no means weak, (Y/N). You can keep up with Satoru and I, that should mean something.”
She pursed her lips, clenching her fingers around the small metallic piece in annoyance, “It doesn’t feel that way. You two are always getting sent off solo. I can barely stay ahead on my own missions…”
As the words left her tongue, her stomach twirled into a tight ball. The clenching sensation sent a wave of hunger quivering down her body. Continuing took a great deal more effort. Opening her mouth might very well set off another surge.
“I just wish that—“ She winced.
Suguru placed a hand over hers. His cool skin contrasted with the thin layer of sweat that coated her, causing her to shiver. She looked up to meet his eye from between the curtain of her hair. His smile was gentle, his eyes half-lidded soothingly. With a comforting squeeze, she dared to continue.
“I wish that I could control my hunger better.” She hung her head miserably, “Some days it feels like it might consume me.”
The sentiment caused an itch at the back of her mind. A strange sensation of familiarity, perhaps a sense of deja vu, she couldn’t place.
She didn’t have time to think about it further as Suguru hummed in response.
“I understand what you mean. My technique has always been… difficult, to say the least.” He kept his hand over hers, chewing on his bottom lip.
She tilted her head, surveying his features. The thought seemed to leave a bad taste in his mouth with the way his eyebrows contorted.
“How so?” She pressed meekly.
He made a small disapproving noise. He opened his other hand to inspect his palm. As far as she could see, it was nothing but smooth milky skin.
“I’m not sure what curses taste like to you, but to me, it’s foul. It's a kind of disgusting I don't know how to describe.” He flexed his fingers shut.
His words stirred a tinge of guilt within her. She wondered if she was lucky or not that it wasn’t the case for her. Was there something wrong with her that cursed energy tasted like the most lavish sensation upon her tongue?
“Maybe if it were like that for me, I wouldn’t crave it as much. Maybe the hunger wouldn’t be so bad.” She pondered.
This didn’t seem to soothe Suguru in the slightest. She hated the way he looked at her, like she was a small animal that needed protecting.
“I wouldn’t wish that on you.” He looked down, a piece of his hair shaking loose from the small bun he wore, “I’m sure it’s very distressing for you either way, I’m sorry.”
The dark waves fell around his eyes, framing his face as he brought a thumb to trace the side of her palm. Her hand found her way to his, absentmindedly.
“How do you manage it?” She asked suddenly, leaning a bit closer to him.
He looked into her eyes for a moment, his gaze momentarily flitting to their interlocked hands. It took him a moment to answer, as if he was taking great care in crafting an answer.
“I usually try to remember who I’m doing all of this for.” He broke the tension by finally looking away, “Why I need to be a sorcerer, I mean.”
She looked at him for a long moment, “Need to?”
He simply maintained his polite smile, even when she blinked her eyes curiously. Through that poise, however, something was brewing under his gaze.
“Non-sorcerers were born without a choice,” He paused, clicking his tongue as she spoke slowly, “It’s our responsibility to do what they can’t. The strong have to protect the weak; it’s the natural order of things.”
The confident look in his eye almost made her agree with him. The girl had always known one thing for certain: she didn’t care all that deeply about what happened to non-sorcerers. That was not to say she found amusement in needless suffering; she generally tried to avoid that. More so, she didn’t feel a single warm feeling towards protecting them. It was yet another factor that added a card to her growing deck of guilt. Without her energy-lacking parallels, she would have no curses to feed on. In a twisted way, she thanked them for it.
“I’m not sure I’ve figured out that ‘something’ yet.” She responded, her lips pulling to a grimace.
Suguru gave her an ever-selfless smile, “Well then, I will always be here while you do.”
She softened under his gaze, her eyes lowering to hide beneath the shade of her eyelashes. The heat surrounding her had been forgotten, replaced by a comforting sensation. It was the first time all day she’d been without the plague of anxious thoughts.
“But please,” Suguru gave her hand another tight squeeze, “Try to tell me when you feel bad like this again? I want to do what I can to help you.”
Her hair, which she never bothered to style away from her face, hid her bashful expression. At least, she hoped it did.
“You don’t need to worry about me…”
She didn’t have time to figure out if he’d heard her mumble or not. An annoyed huff from a distance seemed to shatter the bubble around them.
The girl looked past her slightly peeved friend to spot the unmistakable tuft of white hair behind him. Neither of them needed to turn to recognize his voice, with the latter keeping his stare on the girl, lips pulled into a straight line.
“Damn, have the two of you seen what a mess Mei Mei is? Ya lose a few hours to a mission, and you miss a bitch being knocked down.” The sunglasses-clad sorcerer brought his arms to relax behind his head as he approached his friends.
A small flush found the girl's cheeks at the revelation of just how much attention she’d brought to herself today. It was not an accomplishment to get Satoru to notice something, of course, but usually when he did, he was quick to make it known to all.
She lifted the remnants of her soda to her mouth in hopes of hiding her sheepish expression. She wasn’t even drinking, although that fact mattered little to Satoru.
“That was your doing, am I right?” He leaned down to her level, lifting his sunglasses to reveal his usual taunting eyes, “No one has an arm quite like you. At least when I’m not around.”
She faltered under his stare, looking to Suguru for help, but the boy seemed to be equally amused by the predicament. So much for changing the subject, she ruefully thought.
“It’s not that bad. She’s always been good at walking things off.” The girl shrugged.
She did feel a bit bad about the bruise she’d inevitably left. However, heat with pent-up rage never mixed well. Certainly not while being effectively pressure-cooked.
A satisfied smirk replaced his taunting gaze. He allowed her some room, straightening out again. It didn’t help much as he was always remarkably tall.
“You’ve really gotta stop holding back when it counts.” He sounded almost disappointed as he let his sunglasses fall comfortably back on his nose, “At least her pride took a beating while you were at it.”
Suguru chuckled at the white-haired boy’s words, leaning back further into the bench.
“Here I thought Utahime was your least favorite, Satoru.” An easy grin fell upon his features.
Satoru huffed, blowing a few snowy tufts away from his face with dramatic flair, “Way to ruin a good mood. At least Mei Mei has a brain behind those squinty eyes. Utahime’s only real technique is knowing how to complain.”
At this, the girl nearly choked on her drink. Even in her efforts to fight the burning sensation in the back of her throat, she didn’t miss Satoru’s satisfied expression.
She suddenly felt less terrible about her own endeavors, seeing as the tall boy was in an especially pettish mood today. She’d make a point to pester him about his mission later.
“Speaking of ruining a good thing, do you have room to talk? Suguru and I were having a nice conversation before, y’know.” She brought a hand to wipe the syrupy liquid from her lips.
Satoru watched the way the plush, rosy skin curved around her fingers.
“Should I really be listening to your taste?” He got closer to her, hands on his knees like he was speaking to a child, “Look at what you’re drinking.”
There was a scoff from next to her, “Lighten up, I got it for her after training.”
She gave Suguru a thankful nod before turning victoriously back to the critical blue stare across from her. It crossed her mind that sticking her tongue out at him might be a touch too juvenile for the moment, but she still fought the urge anyway.
“I’m sure you did work up a sweat, between the sun and our classmates.” She could sense the eye roll from behind his glasses.
Despite the gesture, his voice did soften at the mention.
Satoru watched her intently from under his frosted lashes. From here she couldn’t see his gaze trickle to the can pressed between her legs. Her thighs caused small indents on the side with the pressure. She didn’t have time to protest against the frightfully quick swipe. He twirled her beverage quickly through his fingers.
“Eh, grape ramune, as I thought.” He inspected the can, clicking his tongue in disapproval.
She crossed her arms, turning her nose from him in playful contempt.
“It’s my favorite!” Her protest, however, was only met with a laugh.
“I know,” He looked down at her with a mischievous glint in his eye. The tinge of annoyance he’d begun to conversation with was gone; instead now fully enraptured in her growing anger, “That’s why I’m disappointed.”
This seemed to be the final straw, with the girl launching to her feet at a speed that would have been astounding had it been another group.
“Just give it back then!” Despite her natural speed, her attempt to recapture her drink was stifled by the boy’s unwavering reaction time.
Suguru once again looked disenchanted by the situation. He cast a lazy gaze to his friends, not bothering to remove himself from his spot.
“Satoru, that’s enough.” He sighed, tapping his foot impatiently, “Shouldn’t you have better ways to vent your frustrations by now?”
The girl had no time to be appreciative of the defense, as she was preoccupied by trying to win back her treat. Satoru looked delighted in keeping it away from her. It never failed to surprise him how he had to exert actual effort to hold her back.
“But look how much fun we’re having!” He held it just out of her reach.
There was a subsequent groan from the girl.
“I’m not having fun—“ Another swipe at her drink caused her blue-eyed friend to send the purple liquid cascading right onto her prized jacket.
Thankfully, the risk of a stain was minimal, seeing as it was a deep black. The cool drink even provided a surprisingly pleasant chill from the heat. It set her off anyway. With a gasp, the girl resorted to pursuing him in protest.
The chase was surprisingly mild for two sorcerers. His run was carefree, simple, with the girl casually following in tow.
After a while of this continuing on, Suguru grew bored of watching this game play out. With a huff, he got to his feet, walking over to his friends with infinitely more grace than they could manage at the current moment.
“That’s enough, you two.” The statement seemed to have become a staple in the friendship.
His reasoning fell on deaf ears as the girl resorted to a surprise lunge to retrieve her precious drink. Satoru allowed the girl to crash into him. Her hands were splayed onto his chest for support, but to no avail as the pair went tumbling to the ground below them.
The can clunked meaninglessly to the ground, although it didn’t seem to matter. They were both enraptured in a fit of laughter, the girl’s head falling onto Satoru’s chest with the effort.
Suguru, wondering what it was all for by then, stood watching with his arms over his chest. He couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle at the predicament. It wasn’t often Satoru was knocked from his feet. There was a select number of people he’d allow to get away with it, anyway.
The girl, managing to suppress her giggles, pried her head from its cozy spot. She caught Satoru’s eye in the process, the motion causing his laughter to die down in turn. They were caught in an odd exchange, staring intently at each other. The girl’s hands remained planted on his chest, and he made no move to change that. He simply watched her through the swaths of his hair with a wrapt expression.
The sight caused Suguru to falter momentarily. His words seemed to catch in his throat, for some distant, inexplicable reason. He built his resolve again quickly, the only remnants the imperceptible clenching of his knuckles.
“Come on, get up. You two are going to make us look ridiculous if anyone sees this.” The pair looked up to see the disapproving eyes of Suguru, looking a bit like a parent with the way his lips curled.
They quickly got up, especially after they realized what they looked like sitting pathetically on the concrete. The girl dusted herself off, taking care to press any wrinkles from the fabric of her jacket.
“Ridiculous or not, he deserved to be knocked down.” She sent a taunting gaze in Satoru’s direction.
Suguru allowed a small smile again, assuming the spot next to her momentarily. He looked her over, silently wondering how she hadn’t at least scraped her palms foolishly.
“He always does.” He mused, looking at the other boy who was inspecting his glasses intently.
He slipped them back onto his slender features, his expression twisting back to his usual smirk. He squeezed his way between his friends, with each looking equally as indifferent.
“C’mon, that was fun. You can’t even deny it.” He slung his arms around the pair.
He ruffled the girl’s hair, ruining what little the humidity had left untouched. She smiled anyway, letting out a begrudging laugh.
“Yeah, smacking you down usually does make me feel better.”
The other two followed suit, each beginning to sling playful insults at each other as they headed back towards the main campus.
As she laughed, the girl realized a crucial absence. Her hunger was gone.
After looking between the two boys, it occurred to her that perhaps this was her something
⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ ◯ ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆
𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟕
𝐋𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: Tokyo, Japan
The moon greeted the woman as she stirred from her slumber. The sticky flavor of grape soda clung to her tongue, and she brought a hand to her lips. Of course, it was impossible. She hadn’t enjoyed such a treat since her youth.
The lingering taste caused a sting of tears in her eyes. She clenched her teeth together to keep them at bay. The feeling was hard to place. Perhaps she’d had another dream she couldn’t remember. She wished they’d stop, because even without the memory, they always left the sensation of Suguru somewhere in her subconscious.
Every so often, she knew her dreams took a turn, because she’d wake up with a different feeling. A strange dread. She hated those the most.
Usually, she’d find the presence of Satoru right about now. He tended to be petulant in his sleep, but let her curl up against him regardless. But tonight, her bedsheets were empty.
Satoru had been out since early the previous morning, and he hadn’t returned. It wasn’t abnormal for him, so she spent no time worrying about it, instead looking to pry herself from the white fabric.
She hated the sensation of them twisting around her waist, all of a sudden feeling quite claustrophobic. She tossed them off, the remnants falling to the ground carelessly. She could afford to be messy. She chose not to sleep with a comforter. It was often suffocating to her, even when she was freezing. The feeling of something wrapped around her was never comfortable. It always filled her with that horrible crawling sensation of invisible legs hurrying about her skin.
After some time of staring off into the void of stars, she figured she wasn’t going to be heading back to bed anytime soon. Deciding getting up to be the best idea, she went to head towards the kitchen. She was on a mission to make tea, as she often did to fight her post-nightmare stupor. Perhaps it would wash the taste of grape from her tongue.
The carpet fibers curled around her clammy skin as she shuffled towards the door. As she fumbled for the handle, her attention was grabbed by a light out of the corner of her eye.
She turned lazily to see the phone flashing on her dresser. She debated leaving the mystery caller as a worry for the morning, but then again, who would be calling her at such an hour?
Upon further inspection, her eyes widened in shock upon seeing Megumi’s name. At such an early hour, she figured no call would contain any semblance of good news. Especially after she realized his mission had been earlier that day.
Her finger hit the answer button before she could ponder it further.
“Megumi?” She asked hesitantly, trying not to make it sound like she’d woken up in such a state.
“(Y/N).” His voice lagged through the receiver.
With the amount of static relaying from his end, she could only assume he was on the move.
“Kid, it’s 2 am, is everything okay?” She rubbed her eyes nervously, attempting to wake herself up enough to understand what was going on.
“I need your help. Something… happened.” He sounded as if he was trying to make up his mind about something.
She let out a sigh, leaning her weight on the door in an attempt to aid her groggy state.
“Did something go wrong on your mission? Shouldn’t you be done with it by now?” She wondered, considering she’d been the one to send him off that morning.
She heard the vague sound of him cursing on the other end, "Remember how I told you that cursed object was missing from the school?”
She hummed through her end.
“It got into the hands of one of the students.” He breathed, taking a moment to collect his thoughts.
Her stomach began to drop as he began to spin the tale of how he’d trailed the aforementioned boy. A mere child with a lack of cursed energy had managed to keep up with him, the pair apparently taking on a plethora of curses to retrieve the object. Dealing with such high-level curses, it was no wonder the boy sounded anxious.
The last part seemed hard for him, his usual monotone voice dropping, “He ate it, (Y/N).”
He hand gripped her phone tighter, “What?”
There seemed to be some sort of commotion on Megumi’s end. He was sharing some sort of inaudible conversation in the background. Whatever was exchanged only seemed to add to the boy’s tension, with him sending another string of curses through the speaker.
“I know how bad it sounds, but he doesn’t deserve this.” She’d never heard him sound so adamant before: “I know the rules, but you have to convince the board not to execute him.”
The woman made a noise of confusion. A mere human couldn’t consume a cursed object and live, let alone a sorcerer. She wasn’t sure to the extent the object Megumi went after, she’d been too caught up in her own work recently.
“Hang on,” she pinched her nose, “You’re saying the curse incarnated, and he’s alive?”
There was a subsequent huff? “I don’t have time to explain. I already talked with Gojo; he took him to the higher-ups. You need to make him understand.”
Combined with her exhaustion and lack of comprehension, the entire conversation was making her head hurt. Although for Megumi, she’d always be willing to deal with the frustration.
“Megumi, I don’t know how I’m supposed to vouch for this kid when I don’t understand the extent to what happened.” She tried to make her voice sound gentle.
“Please, (Y/N).” He sounded weak.
She felt a pang in her chest at his dejected tone. Megumi had always been fairly reserved. He’d never been deeply connected to his classmates thus far, so seeing him put his neck on the line for a practical stranger meant a great deal. Despite everything, she knew she couldn’t let him down.
“I’ll see what I can do.” She let out an exasperated sigh.
“Thank you,” He stopped short, “I need to go. A lot is going on right now.”
He was to the point, hanging up the phone almost immediately. That was usually how conversations with him went, but something about this time was more urgent. The higher-ups evidently needed to interview him as well.
She couldn’t believe that while she was lounging around, so much was going on. It stuck out as bizarre, after all, she thought of herself as a fairly important figure at the school. Especially when Satoru was absent, and he had been missing all day. She couldn’t help but wonder, why was today an exception? Why had Megumi been the only one to call?
That didn’t matter now, however. She figured she’d need all the time she could get to decipher enough to be able to futile Megumi’s request. She began to get herself together: a change of clothes and figuring out what to do with her copious amounts of hair.
She spent ample time attempting to piece together a plan. It would be incredibly haphazard to haul herself back to campus and show up before the board at such an hour, but she couldn’t think of another way.
As she finished wrangling herself together, she heard the telltale click of her front door. She wasted no time scurrying out the door, adjusting her hoodie as she went.
Backlit by the light of the moon was Satoru, peculiarly wielding armfuls of shopping bags. It would have been a comedic image, had it not been for the grimace on his lips. He still wore his blindfold, but she could sense his somber expression from where she stood.
“Look at you, aren’t you an early riser today?” He pasted a grin on his lips.
Even with the display, the falsities peeked through.
“Satoru.” She stormed over to him, “What the hell is going on. Where’s Megumi?”
He let out a sigh, allowing his bags to fall gently onto her coffee table in a careless motion.
“The kid called you, huh?” He chuckled in a deep, coarse manner. He threaded his fingers through his hair, “Of course he did. I figured as much. Sometimes, I wonder if he trusts me anymore.”
He didn’t sound as offended as he implied. Either way, he didn’t answer any of her questions.
She stood determinedly before him, already tired of his vagueness, “So some human kid consumed that cursed object he was after, right? And he survived?”
Satoru’s shoulders tensed. He put his hands into his pockets, a gruff hum trilling from his throat.
“That is the issue at hand. The curse incarnated and everything, what a mess.” He puffed air from his lips, “I’ve never seen Megumi so riled up. The kid cares too much for his own good.”
She nodded along, giving him a concerned glance, “He did seem upset. He wants me to make sure they don’t execute that kid.”
She caught the way his hands tensed into a tight ball. His shoulders and back were bolted up right as if he had a bar running along his spine. At that point, she wondered why he attempted to maintain a cool posture.
Satoru shook his head, “How much did he tell you?”
The woman slumped her shoulders in frustration. The entire situation was far to cryptic for her liking. She was trying to be patient with him, but her exhaustion was getting the best of her.
“Practically nothing. How am I supposed to help if I don’t know what’s going on?” A groan escaped her pouting lips, “No one called me or anything. If this is such a big deal, I feel like I should have a right to know about it.”
Satoru brought a hand to hook under his blindfold. He tugged at the fabric absentmindedly.
The woman, letting out a small sigh, lifted her hands behind to fiddle with the back. His shoulders relaxed ever so slightly as she slipped it off his face.
“Satoru, please tell me what’s wrong?” She prodded gently, folding it up neatly on her palm.
His eyes were dusted in silver from the moon outside, turning the vibrant blue into a sea foam-washed hue. The corners of his lips were turned down. It was such a rare vulnerability in his eye that she almost had to savor such a look while it lasted. She always ached when he stared at her with that melancholic gaze.
“The world changed today, (Y/N). That cursed object was one of the 20 fingers of Ryomen Sukuna.” He looked as if it took a great deal of effort to coax the words from his tongue.
In that moment, every nerve in her body began to crawl.
Ryomen Sukuna. The King of Curses.
It was a name she did everything possible not to familiarize herself with. All young sorcerers held an obligation to know about him. He was somewhat of a legend whispered to the youth as a means to frighten them into submission, more than it was the cautionary tale he started as. The woman tried to convince herself that history in general was a sore subject for her. A petty dislike, since after all, she did not know her own.
She would never admit to anyone, especially not to the proud-headed Satoru, the true reason. Inexplicably, the subject completely and utterly terrified her. Something about such an overwhelming power struck her to her core.
“You mean…” She breathed.
Satoru placed his hands on her shoulder in a firm motion. She did her best not to betray her unease, locking eyes with him warily.
He nodded, confirming the grim reality. His fingers ghosted along the contour of her scars hidden beneath her sweater.
She breathed through her nose in an attempt to calm her heartbeat. Her daze, combined with the news, made it feel as if her brain was trying to pound its way out of her skull.
“Damnit, kid…” Her words were more shaken than she’d hoped, “So what are we going to do then?”
Her gaze snapped away from his, unable to take the intensity any further. A frustrated sigh puffed from his lips, his head tilting back lazily. From there, she could see the true extent of his eye bags. He was exhausted.
“Tomorrow morning, I am going to stand before the board and testify for him.” The response was low, drawn out.
She gave him a pointed look, “I’m coming with you.”
He attempted what he thought was a gentle smile. To her, however, she could see the wariness.
“You don’t need to get yourself involved with this. I can handle it.” His fingers curled around her shoulders subtly.
Her gaze sharpened with stubborn grit, “I promised Megumi I’d help him. Besides, we’re the ones who have to deal with the fallout anyway, might as well go into it together, right?”
He stared at her for a moment. There was something behind his eyes that she couldn’t quite place, and it was pulling her in at a devastating pace.
He scrunched his nose, breaking away, “Getting up early really has you motivated, huh?”
She frowned in surprise, all previous tension dissolved by the ridiculous look on his face. The woman knew she shouldn’t allow him to get away with it, but all she could manage was a gentle smack upside his head.
He brought a hand to fix the mess she’d created on his head. He pouted like a child, rubbing his head for extra effect.
“Ow, alright, I get it.” For the first time that night, he presented her his ever-present grin, “We’re being super serious right now.”
She huffed, “Give it a rest. You were just whining five minutes ago. Why can’t you just be direct for once?”
He stepped a bit closer to her, leaning down to her level with a taunting gaze. She watched his tongue click to the roof of his mouth from where she stood in a slow, deliberate way.
“You want me to be direct, huh?” He chuckled mockingly, “I don’t know, I think I’m pretty honest myself.”
She looked anything but impressed. The tip of her fingers found his nose in a playful swat.
“Don’t you dare try and change the subject again. I’m still mad at you.” She sighed, “We have big things to worry about, Satoru.”
He relented, giving her space with his hands up in defeat. His hair shook over his eyes, blocking her from their lethal gaze.
“I figured you would be. That’s why I came prepared,” He grabbed for one of the bags he’d strung along with a sheepish smile.
She quirked an eyebrow as his hand disappeared into its contents. In a swift motion, his wrist flicked up to reveal a familiar can.
He pressed the soda into the hands of the bewildered woman. She thumbed over the boisterous font, her lips parting in shock.
Grape ramune.
“How did you know?” The look on her face was filled with far less of the childlike excitement he’d expected from her.
“I thought you’d go get one yourself if I didn’t. Might as well save you the energy you always complain about.” He crossed his arms, tilting his head as he watched her twirl it about her hands.
Somehow, he always knew what she needed. As much as she loathed it, the sentiment did appease her frustrations. Beneath the playful banter, they were both aware of the gravity of the situation. For her now, however, she trusted he would do what was right for them. He always had.
Even as silence fell upon them for the rest of the morning, she kept that faith in her heart. Together, perhaps, they may find a way in this impossible ordeal.
Space Dementia | Satoru Gojo & Ryomen Sukuna x FEM! Reader
【The Third File】
Summary: "𝑰'𝒅 𝒄𝒖𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒆 𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒚 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕. 𝑾𝒆'𝒍𝒍 𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒐𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒍𝒅 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖." Hunger. Nearly every moment of her life it plagued her. The deep void inside her that only cursed energy could fill had nearly torn her apart. Yet Satoru had always been by her side. They grew up together and found solace in each other. With a ruined head, she knew nothing of her past and eventually, she'd come to terms with it. That was until someone came along who had answers. Except that person was none other than the King of Curses.
𝑷𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: Satoru Gojo x Reader, Ryomen Sukuna x Reader, Suguru Geto (slightly)
𝗗𝗶𝘀𝗰𝗹𝗮𝗶𝗺𝗲𝗿: This story contains content regarding toxic relationships, PTSD, dissociation, and grappling with depression/anxiety. If any of these factors may be distressing to you, please proceed with caution
Link to part 1
𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐢𝐭𝐲, 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟕
𝐋𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: Tokyo, Japan
Her knuckles began to turn white as she watched the creature crumble under her touch.
It reminded her of a raisin with its crudely wrinkled skin. The sight used to cause a stir of joy in her. An unexplained sense of comfort, but it had grown redundant long ago. Especially when it seemed the higher-ups always sent her on the messiest missions. If there was ever a particularly bulky curse, whether in size or number, she knew she’d see her name on the mission file.
She knew it was going to be especially grizzly if she saw both her own and Satoru’s names listed. Those days were always her favorites.
However, today was not one she’d spend with Satoru. It seemed that recently, both of them had their separate missions. Either one would be traveling or on the other on the trail of some new fantastic threat.
This particular mission was less than riveting. Tedious was a better adjective.
For every curse she drained, another seemed to pop out of nowhere. It felt a bit like opening a nesting doll; this surprise was just less sweet.
Usually, she’d be excited about this many potential meals, but her recent missions had left her exhausted. Patience was not one of her virtues.
The sound of a clean-cut blade slicing broke her out of her trance.
Turning a lazy gaze, she saw the open jaws of a curse, whose hungry maw was stopped short of clamping down on her.
A notoriously bandaged blade stuck out of its head. A careful hand was clasped around the spotted handle, belonging to a particularly well-kept man.
The body let out a pathetic crunch as he removed the blade with practiced grace. Behind his tinted glasses, she knew she’d see a disappointed gaze.
“Don’t let your guard down yet.” He gently scolded, “We aren’t done here.”
Kento Nanami was always a stickler, but perhaps thats why they got on so well on missions. He liked to keep it tidy when it came to disposing of curses.
Her, however…
“Of course not.” She wiped her mouth, leaving a purple smudge across her lips, “These things never end. Even I am starting to get nauseous.”
Nanami sighed, barely turning to slice his blade into a particularly ambitious curse that had tried to sneak up behind him.
The cut was a perfect, effortless line. The creature died with a small squeak.
He leaned down, his tight blue shirt flexing over his muscles as he went to pick up its frail body. He held it out to her, its head lolling pathetically.
“Here. If you can stomach another one.” His face remained stoic, despite the apologetic tone.
She considered his offer, looking between him and the creature. She popped her lips before relenting.
“Why not? Who knows when I’ll need the energy?” She reached out and placed a hand idly onto its mangled body.
Nanami’s lip curled down as he watched it turn to near ashes in his grip. He wriggled his fingers back and forth, making a small sound of acknowledgment.
“I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to that.” He commented.
She shrugged, pulling back to assess the amount of purple sludge that had coated her jacket.
Suguru had always said they tasted horrible, beyond any kind of foul flavor imaginable. That was something she always felt terrible for, because to her, it was ecstasy.
She tried to stifle the thought as it came. She wasn’t going to go through the cycle of thinking of him right now.
Although it seemed like she wouldn’t need to, as she saw Nanami’s back stiffen in attention out of the corner of her eye.
“Did you hear that?” He asked, his grip tightening around his wrapped blade.
She didn’t need to hear it, however, as soon she felt a deep rumble that resonated throughout her body. On que, her mouth began to water, a sign of a massive amount of cursed energy.
She nodded quickly, although neither of them looked particularly urgent.
“And just as it was almost time for me to clock out…” Nanami sighed.
The woman nodded in agreement, flexing her arms above her head, “Alright,” she cleared her throat, “Let's get this over with.”
As soon as the words left her mouth, the bulbous head of a curse pierced through the earth beneath them. Its sallow skin contracted in a gangly manner reminiscent of a centipede. The thing was considerably larger than the rest, hulking over them with furious eyes.
It clamped its jaws in the direction of the pair, causing them to both dodge to the side.
“It must be some kind of brood mother,” Nanami noted as he avoided the strike of one of its numerous arms. “All the little ones were nearly identical. If I had to guess, this is the culprit for all of them.”
The woman huffed, “They always make us clean up the biggest messes, don’t they?”
Nanami sliced into one of its arms, violet liquid shooting out all around them.
The creature howled in protest. From the clean stump he’d left behind, another limb began to form like a wriggling lump of clay.
“It appears so,” He hummed in disappointment, “It’s got some kind of regeneration ability. We will likely need to cut it down all at once.”
That seemed to make logical sense. After all, it had sprouted numerous copies of itself that had been tormenting the locals in the area for months. That was how Jujutsu High had caught wind of it, and why the pair was spending their weekend on the job instead of getting much-needed rest.
“Alright, what are we waiting for?” She was suddenly glad he’d offered her that last curse.
She looked to the blonde, and he nodded curtly. Aside from herself and Satoru, he was one of the fastest sorcerers on the force. It was one of the many ways they worked harmoniously together.
The space the woman had occupied was gone in a mere second. The only sign she was moving was a series of small blurs that swiped across the great expanse of the creature. There was a subsequent array of violent snapping.
The moment her feet touched the ground again, she let a small smile weave itself across her features.
Quickly ensuing, a perfectly symmetrical line etched itself down the center of the creature. As it peeled down the middle, she saw the edge of Nanami’s blade peek through the curtain of flesh.
As the two halves of the body thumped to the floor, she saw him pull away with a satisfied expression.
“Right on time.” He acknowledged, looking to the watch on his wrist.
⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ ◯ ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆
The woman’s reflection stared back at her, lowlighted by the subtle glow of streetlamps from the outside. The overhead light in her room often remained untouched. She preferred the coziness of multiple light sources over one overwhelming one. It was usually easier on her head, especially after a day like this.
Her stomach prodding her, as it usually did, was noticeably more prevalent than it had been this morning. Even with the amount of cursed energy she consumed, it was still not enough. Over the past year, it had gotten noticeably more urgent, and she couldn’t put a finger on why. As much as she loathed to admit it, Nanami had been right to suggest she consume more than she’d initially thought to. Although she thought that if perhaps she didn’t acknowledge it, it might not seem as noticeable.
She let out a sigh as she scanned her body in the vanity before her. Her prized jacket was hung haphazardly on the chair behind her. She had gotten it tailored since she was a student to naturally accommodate herself, but the fabric was still the same as it had always been.
Satoru frequently pressed her about how tasteless of a choice it was, but then again, Satoru had something to say about everything.
She pulled her gaze back to herself, her eyes meticulously looking over each scar that decorated her skin like a mosaic. Scars were supposed to hold stories, so she was told. This was not a luxury she was afforded. Occasionally, if she focused incredibly hard, she could recall something coarse and uncomfortable, like an itchy sweater after a long winter day. Sometimes it turned into something deeper, an overwhelming sensation crawling over her skin that made her feel the need to scratch desperately for any sense of relief.
She squeezed her eyes shut to block out the memory. Taking a slow breath, she managed to peek back at her reflection, focusing her attention on tracing the contour of the scarred tissue. They were in peculiar patterns, unlike a typical laceration or burn mark she’d seen on others. Her finger danced over them, a dot-to-dot design with the occasional swatch of deep scratches.
It was a daily curiosity for her. She had had them for as long as she could remember. Then again, all she could remember was Satoru, his blue eyes, and the darkness before them. It was for this very reason that she never felt truly at home anywhere, and when she did, it was always with him there. She’d never been any good at feeling connected to others, but she figured with how much he was around her, maybe some of that natural charm would rub off on her eventually.
For all these reasons, he’d insisted on sticking around even when she didn’t want him to. When she decided it was finally time to move off campus after they’d graduated, he was right by her side, needlessly flashing his credit card to find her a decent place to live. She saw it as just as much a kind gesture as it was exhausting.
That was why she didn’t flinch, even when she heard the sound of rustling from her kitchen.
She groaned and turned away from her vanity with a haughty expression. She wondered what he could possibly be doing to have made that much noise entering her home. Surely the strongest sorcerer could also practice manners so as not to wake everyone in a ten-mile radius. He was always good at disappointing her.
She got to her feet, bracing to yell out the door of her bedroom, even if it was just down the hall from the kitchen.
“What are you doing out there?” Her demand was only met with a snickering from the other room, “You could at least try to be quiet. I’m trying to wind down.”
She huffed, turning back towards her vanity. Although a flash of snowy white hair peeking around the corner quickly stifled her plan of maintaining her peace.
“Miss me?” He looked far too pleased with himself as she let out an angry gasp.
Being the strongest awarded him the luxuries of inhuman speed. speed he often used to torment her. He looked down at her tauntingly through the feathery pieces of his hair. He’d discarded his blindfold by now, his brilliant eyes full of amusement.
It only then occurred to her that she was, in fact, still shirtless. She promptly sat up, making a flurry of indignant noises as she held her jacket over herself feebly.
“Seriously, Satoru?” She seethed through her teeth, “What the hell are you doing?”
Some of the time, she could say his laugh was a comforting sound. However, this variation he saved especially for his relentless teasing.
“What’s the problem? I’ve seen you shirtless plenty of times. You’re so dramatic.” He leaned against the door frame lazily.
She felt hot under his gaze, her skin blazing. All thoughts of missing him were forgotten. Instead, he was met with an icy glare.
“That doesn’t matter!” She chewed her lip angrily, “This is still my apartment.”
He offered her another crude smirk, tilting his head to the side, tauntingly. That was the final straw, her jacket flying towards his face.
Despite the movement being nearly undetectable to the naked eye, the piece of fabric bounced harmlessly over him. It cruised right over his infinity, his grin ever-present.
“You’re the worst.” She sighed, crossing her arms in defeat.
He skulked towards her, giving her a good-humored chuckle.
“Am I?” He strolled over to her bed, planting himself comfortably on the edge of it, “I did pay for this place for you. I’m not that mean, right?”
She clicked her tongue, a telltale sign it would be wise for him to keep his mouth shut.
Seeing as her arms crossed over her chest was her only shield from the chilled air around them, he decided to take pity on her. His eyes flicked to one of her t-shirts she’d thrown on her comforter. It had likely not moved for some time, knowing her habits.
“Cover 'em up.” He retorted, throwing the ball of fabric onto her unsuspecting chest.
She looked at him incredulously before pulling the shirt over her head.
Even through the shield of cotton, she could still feel her skin burning. Although it wasn’t entirely his fault. In fact, Satoru was one— if not the only person in the world she trusted to see her like that. Her skin. Sometimes, even she didn’t want to look at her mauled flesh.
She wrapped her arms around herself as she took a seat next to him. He was close enough for his arm to fit snuggly against hers.
“You never answered my question.” His voice broke the silence.
She flicked an annoyed gaze at him. His hair fell in pieces over his eyes. From here, she could see the subtle tiredness in his features.
“What question?” She scrunched up her nose, wondering why he was suddenly being serious.
“Did you miss me?” A small grin broke through, instantly giving him away.
Her long sigh was accompanied by another laugh, courtesy of her obnoxious friend. She considered giving him what he wanted, whether or not it was worth the trouble.
“You’re so clingy, you know that?” Her lips pressed into a line as he leaned in closer, following her words, “It’s exhausting.”
He let out a small grumble, filling her with a sense of pride.
“Can you blame me? Everyone falls apart without me around.” He was quick to maintain his signature grin, “I bet Jujutsu High was a mess while I was gone, am I right?”
She didn’t dare turn, feeling his icy gaze pierce her. The worst part about the debacle was that he wasn’t wrong. Even if they wouldn’t admit it, the hire-ups were always on edge when the strongest sorcerer wasn’t present. She could even feel the unrest in their students.
“You can say that again. Today’s mission had Kento and me chasing our tails.” She rubbed her hands over her face in frustration.
Satoru kept his eyes trained on her. Unbenedmost to her, his expression softened at the display.
Seeing as he had nothing to quip back with, she continued, “There was this ward curse that spawned hundreds of tiny ones. We had already exercised most of them by the time we even found the cause.”
“You’re tired.” It was a statement, not a question.
She knew the words went deeper than just the events of the day. As he looked through her, she hoped— prayed even- that he couldn’t tell how much worse it had gotten.
She met his eye, doing her best not to allow her expression to give her away.
“Was that not clear?” She shot back, although her sarcasm was faltering.
There was a subsequent pressure on her shoulder, his face nestling in the crook of her neck. Her back stiffened instantly, although the cool prod of his finger against her neck began to ease her tension.
“This is what I’m talking about.” He began to trace one of her scars peeking from her collar absentmindedly, “They can’t even stay organized without me.”
She let out a huff of annoyance, although she allowed him to continue his quest of drawing shapes onto her skin.
“At least someone missed me,” He continued, “I’m sure you did have a lot to deal with. I am the student's favorite, after all.”
At this, she couldn't help but let out a curt chuckle. If there were one thing she’d never find tiring, even if the school board slammed her with work, it was caring for her students. She was only ever really good at combat, so she took pride in sharing that skill.
“Oh, really? Well, I know for a fact Maki was anything but sad while you were gone. I actually think her attitude was gone for once.” She retorted, allowing a relaxed smirk to play upon her features.
To her surprise, the fluff of snowy hair on her shoulder didn’t have anything to say to that. Instead, he considered her silently. He lifted his finger in intervals, the cool sensation of his skin dotting over the patterns etched into her flesh.
She shivered absentmindedly, and she swore she could feel his smile.
“Yeah, yeah,” He sighed, finally, “Well, if you feel like it’s a competition—“
She snorted, “You’re the one who always tries to make it one.”
He suddenly shot up, his face appearing before hers in a fraction of a second. She simply blinked at him, and he unceremoniously shoved her further back onto the bed. She let out a noise of surprise, but before she could respond, he slumped his head into her chest lazily.
“Damn, could you let me finish for once? What I was trying to tell you was that you shouldn’t feel that bad. Megumi is always so sad when you’re the one who's gone. At least you’re his favorite.” Despite his proud tone, there was a soft edge to his words.
Her eyes darted down to him. His hair flopped over his eyes, obscuring most of his features from her vision. His cheek was pressed nonchalantly on the fabric of her shirt.
“Yeah, at least I am.” She said knowingly.
He let out a forlorn sigh, adjusting himself until he was satisfied on the bed.
“He’s really grown up now, isn’t he?” His voice still held a tinge of taunting; it seemed even Megumi wasn’t safe from Satoru’s attitude.
“He’s starting to go on solo missions now and everything.” He chuckled, “They have him going after a special grade cursed object, I hear, am I right?”
She hummed in agreement, “He is.”
A small smile found her as she thought about it. Talking of Megumi never failed to lift her spirits. She saw herself as somewhat of an older sister to him. She deigned to call herself motherly, as the term made her feel akin to a grandmother in a shawl. Besides, she was far too young for that.
“He’s been really serious about it too, so try not to give him too much shit, okay?” She nudged the boy on her stomach.
He groaned playfully, as if it was too much to be asked to be nice to their surrogate child.
“Fine, but you’d think he could handle it by now.” He relented.
She frowned and flicked the side of his head in a juvenile manner. He looked up at her and scrunched up his nose in annoyance, causing her to bite back a laugh.
His eyes flicked down as her teeth grazed her bottom lip, “That was uncalled for.”
She swatted another piece of his hair, “You breaking in here all the time is uncalled for.”
He shrugged, giving her a devious little smile.
She continued to mess with his hair, fingers interweaving through the strands. He looked up at her with his blue eyes, and she swore she could see a sense of uncertainty behind them.
“Does that mean you won’t let me stay tonight?” His tone was playful, but behind it, there was something almost desperate.
She frowned, “Well, you’ve already made yourself comfortable, haven’t you?”
He grinned sheepishly and stretched out over her. Most of her legs and stomach were crushed in the process, the whole thing being reminiscent of a cat.
“Yeah, I’m too lazy to get up.” He declared.
She groaned, her head thinking placidly against the headboard, “Fine.”
With that, he made a small victorious noise before collapsing his head back to its cozy position on her chest.
Space Dementia | Satoru Gojo & Ryomen Sukuna x FEM! Reader
【The Second File】
Summary: "𝑰'𝒅 𝒄𝒖𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒆 𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒚 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕. 𝑾𝒆'𝒍𝒍 𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒐𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒍𝒅 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖." Hunger. Nearly every moment of her life it plagued her. The deep void inside her that only cursed energy could fill had nearly torn her apart. Yet Satoru had always been by her side. They grew up together and found solace in each other. With a ruined head, she knew nothing of her past and eventually, she'd come to terms with it. That was until someone came along who had answers. Except that person was none other than the King of Curses.
𝑷𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: Satoru Gojo x Reader, Ryomen Sukuna x Reader, Suguru Geto (slightly)
𝗗𝗶𝘀𝗰𝗹𝗮𝗶𝗺𝗲𝗿: This story contains content regarding toxic relationships, PTSD, dissociation, and grappling with depression/anxiety. If any of these factors may be distressing to you, please proceed with caution
Link to part 1
𝐂𝐚𝐬𝐞 #: 000736
‘(𝐘/𝐍)’ - No provided surname
𝐂𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬: Special Grade
𝐓𝐞𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐢𝐪𝐮𝐞: ‘Absorption‘
Anomaly displays the ability to absorb raw cursed energy upon physical contact. Prolonged exposure to her technique can fully drain an entity, although the time needed varies from case to case. Anomaly has described a constant ‘hunger’ on several occasions. Severity has varied depending on the incident. A potential cause for this ‘hunger’ may be due to the anomaly's inability to produce her own cursed energy. Low levels of energy present have resulted in dire consequences, such as critically low oxygen levels, low BPM, as well as potential side effects of jaundice (advised to avoid further study in this category). Anomaly has reported additional symptoms of brain fog and amnesia. MRI scans have revealed signs of damage to the medial temporal lobe, specifically in the hippocampal region. Further testing is ill-advised; anomaly has shown signs of resistance.
⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ ◯ ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆
𝐉𝐮𝐣𝐮𝐭𝐬𝐮 𝐇𝐢𝐠𝐡 𝐒𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐥, 𝟐𝟎𝟎𝟔
𝐋𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: Tokyo, Japan
The serene chirp of crickets graced her ear as she watched her feet patter against the gravel. It was a familiar crunch, one that caused her shoulders to relax with each step.
The iconic torii gates yawned above the group as they walked. The girl lifted a hand to her brow as she surveyed the scene, blocking the sun from blinding her.
As Suguru came to a stop, they all followed, clinging to his unofficial leadership. He, in turn, looked around, seeming satisfied by the progress they had made.
“Very good work, everyone.” his melodic voice seemed to ease the tension.
There was a subsequent sigh from Riko, the girl following suit in taking a breather from the hike.
“We’re now inside Jujutsu High’s barrier.”
It was as if a dark cloud had been lifted with those words. There was a subsequent array of relieved noises, with each member allowing themselves room to recover. Kuroi began to fuss over Riko, offering her a small white cloth to wipe the sweat from her brow. Her loving smile filled the girl with warmth. She hadn’t expected herself to grow so fond of the pair.
Satoru didn’t seem to match their enthusiasm. The girl found herself turning to him. He stood stock still, his glasses shielding his gaze from view. She didn’t need to see his expression to notice the stiffness in his back. She took an unintentional step toward him, causing him to look over to her quizzically.
“Satoru?” Her voice was hardly audible, a chide that made his frown soften
Suguru took notice of this and stepped up behind her. He placed a tentative hand on her shoulder.
“You both worked hard this time.” He praised, and she turned to see his signature de-escalating smile.
She couldn’t help but match it.
Satoru removed his sunglasses with a subtle flick of his wrist. The glint of the lens under the sun nearly distracted from the subtle flash of his eyes. The vibrant hue softened to a dull blue, akin to that of a stone.
He’d released his technique, she noted.
“I never wanna get stuck babysitting some kid again.” He grumbled, although she noticed the way he looked away as he said it.
The girl turned to look at Riko, knowing she’d inevitably have something to retort with. Instead of harsh words, she was met with a metallic slashing noise, one you’d expect from removing a knife from a cutlery block. She turned her gaze in horror.
The sun flashed against the blade protruding from Satoru’s stomach.
The girl felt her body grow cold. Everything stiffened in an instant, her gaze hollowing. The boy looked down, matching her expression.
Following the handle of the blade was a toned man, his feathery black hair obscuring his face from view. He was of a broad stature, his black shirt and mundane sweatpants creating an unassumingly powerful figure.
How could someone like that have pierced a blade through Satoru Gojo of all people, she wondered— and how, just how had he gotten through the barrier?
The wet sound of Satoru’s blood dripping into the dirt below broke the silence.
“Have we met before?” He turned back to greet the man with an audacious smirk.
“Yeah, but don’t worry about it.” The man looked up, revealing a sharp face with a jagged scar carved along his lip, “I’m terrible at remembering guys' names too.”
That sentence set off a trigger of events.
The three sorcerers sprang into action. Suguru lifted a hand, a surge of cursed energy preceding it. A sizable curse burst from the blaze of turquoise like a blistering comet. The worm-like creature soared into the air, its circular jaws bared.
The girl followed suit. In an instant, she flashed from Suguru’s side to behind Satoru. He didn’t need to shake his assailant off before the girl had dug her fingers into the fabric of his shirt.
As she touched him, she realized she hadn’t noticed a key detail. In the commotion, she hadn’t recognized the lack of cursed energy. The man before her was entirely void of it and entirely immune to her greedy appetite.
She bared her teeth and launched him into the sky behind her with an effortless swing. His expression was mildly impressed as he soared into the open maw of Suguru’s curse. The girl watched as the creature tumbled to the ground, no longer being puppeted by Suguru. The raven-haired boy ran to Satoru’s side promptly, and she trailed behind him soon after.
Satoru met them with a guilty smile, explaining how he’d braced himself with cursed energy to prevent the blade from striking his vitals. She didn’t have time to be impressed as he was already shrugging them off.
“Seriously, I’m fine.” He held out a hand to them, as if it were physical evidence of his condition.
He wasted no time in casting his gaze to Riko and Kuroi, who were still reeling from the attack. Kuroi brought a hand behind the young girl’s back as Satoru quickly began to direct them.
“Go, all of you, make sure you take her to Tengen. I’ll handle this guy.” He turned to stretch, prepping himself for the battle ahead.
“Satoru—” Suguru went to retaliate.
He didn’t have time to finish, as the girl stepped determinedly behind the overconfident boy.
“No, I’m not letting you do this alone.” She asserted, planting her feet in the ground for extra effect.
She watched him grit his teeth from her side perspective, evidently weighing his options.
“Why can’t you ever listen?” His voice was weaker than she expected it to be.
He turned to see her stubborn face, and his apprehension caved ever so slightly. Although it seemed there was no time for him to consider, as there was a rustling from within the cursed spirit.
“Fine.” His jaw tightened, and he turned to the other three, “Go.”
Suguru gave the pair one last look. His gaze lingered on the girl for a moment longer before he snapped away to observe the shaken Riko and Kuroi.
“Just be careful,” He relented weakly, “Follow me!”
He beckoned them after him. Kuroi nodded, guiding Riko with a gentle tug of her hand. As the girl watched them disappear, she was faced with the dread of the threat before them. She stepped next to Satoru, bracing herself.
The white flesh of the fallen curse was painted in purple lines. There was a defeating squelch as it burst open, revealing the haunted form of the man, barely touched. The girl began to salivate as the violet droplets rained down upon them. Quickly, she realized, however, her hunger was not just for the mangled creature before them, but for the strange worm wrapped around the man’s abdomen. It was a bit like an odd scarf with a crudely squished face. It was the only thing about him that radiated cursed energy.
The girl pondered the mystery as the man scolded himself for his lapse of control. Satoru seemed pleased with this information, flaunting the fact that the bounty that had been placed on Riko— the very reason their mission was relevant in the first place, was taken down.
However, that seemed to be a critical error.
“If I hadn’t set that time limit on the bounty, then chances are you wouldn’t have released your technique until the very end.” The man rested his blade on his shoulders tauntingly.
The girl parted her lips in shock. He had been intentionally wearing down Satoru, and it had been detrimentally effective. She knew her friend was slower because of it, and that was the very reason she insisted on staying. However, he wasn’t the only one who was exhausted. Her gnawing stomach could attest to that.
“Is that so?” Satoru seethed.
He lifted a hand, preparing his technique. A swarm of rocks clamped around the man, entrapping him in a stone prison. The complication hardly slowed him, as he momentarily sliced through it, propelling himself onto a nearby stone ledge. He reached a sly hand to feed his previous weapon to the worm.
The girl clenched her teeth, turning to find Satoru looking at her just as dumbfounded. They happened upon the same revelation. A heavenly pact. It was the only explanation for how fast their attacker was.
The man pulled out a subsequent blade from the mouth of his glorified accessory, this one stubbier, yet no less deadly than the last. He leapt from his perch, ricocheting off the trees around them. His movement was barely a flurry, although both sorcerers kept a gaze trained on him.
The girl, tired of this game, launched herself up to join him. Her speed was on par, enough to keep up with him. She jumped animalistically from each slab of foliage, slashing at him as she went. Each time was fruitless, as he dexterously spun through the air.
His blade managed to nick her shoulder, the sensation burning more than she expected it to. However, this mere move was enough for her to slice her fingers through his skin. She charged the very tip with her cursed technique, turning them into needlike appendages. They left a thin trail of blood, and the man responded by looping a hand around the scruff of her jacket.
The duel was cut short as he smirked down at the girl below him. He paid her back the previous courtesy of throwing him by sending her soaring towards her white-haired friend.
Satoru, who had been carefully observing the ordeal, wasted no time in waving a hand into the air, causing a swirl of wind to cushion her fall. He then projected that energy towards the man, who was dashing toward him in a flash. The earth below them was dismantled, sending a flurry of earth to barricade the man from his sweeping attack.
The man gazed at him in shock as Satoru locked eyes with him. His irises glinted in the signature blue of his technique, causing the man to shoot backwards. The force was incredible, sending him blasting through entire walls of buildings. The man, however, met the challenge with great enthusiasm. Each crash did anything but stifle him; instead, he began to dash around the rubble. His movement was deliberate, resulting in the dust wafting from the debris to become more dispersed.
Satoru helped the girl to her feet in a quick movement, and the two proceeded to trudge through the sandy fog. The man was near impossible to detect. Typically, the group would rely on the girl’s extreme prowess in detecting cursed energy. Satoru had even given her the loving nickname of ‘blood-hound,’ but this peculiar individual possessed no cursed energy whatsoever.
Despite that, she wasn’t going to let that stop her. She took a deep breath, searching for the essence of the curse he had wrapped around his body. Suddenly, she felt a tug deep within her gut, the same one that compelled her to devour. That’s when she knew she had it. It was a mere sliver, but she found him.
“He’s in the forest.” She declared, looking at the boy desperately.
He seemed to understand what she was implying, even without saying it.
“You want to go after him alone? Of all the stupid ideas you’ve ever had, (Y/N).” His berate was cut off by her exasperated noise.
“You need to cover me, in case he goes after—“
“Amani.” He finished her sentence, casting a knowing look to the ground below his shoes.
He nodded curtly, signaling her to leave. Without another word, she was gone from his side. Her form was a mere blur as she followed the scent like the mutt he’d so often compared her to. As she took off through the trees, she heard a cacophony of sounds behind her. The telltale shattering of stone and blinding flash of turquoise told her all she needed to know
Satoru had her back.
His hands guided his blue technique, tearing down all of the buildings around him, ensuring the man had nowhere to hide.
As the girl burst into the treeline, she nearly had to stop to maintain her trail of the cursed energy. It was faint now, so dim that she was sure he’d caught onto her tactic. She paused for a moment, trying to discern just what direction he’d taken to. Then she realized it.
Up.
He descended upon her, blade poised for her head. She dashed to the side, watching the sliver pierce the ground where she once stood. A chuckle rumbled from his throat. She watched his black t-shirt flex over his shoulder, the slash marks where she’d grazed him revealing pure muscle.
“You’re fast.” His voice was a low grumble, “I’m almost impressed. I’ve hardly met a sorcerer who could track me like that.”
She didn’t care to respond; instead, she prepared a charged attack straight for his head. He ducked to the side, arching his blade to meet her in turn. There was a deafening crack, sending both rebounding away.
She was grimly aware of how well he could match her speed. An annoying obstacle to be sure, but she took the challenge in stride. She knew she’d have to catch him off guard; it was the only way to combat his raw power.
She projected herself into the sky, using another tree for momentum. She blinked behind him, fist bared to strike again. He went to greet her with a delighted grin, but as he flashed his blade, she was gone. Instead, she was beside him, in the same position as before. He met the surprise with the same amount of excitement, his movement following her once more.
Her attack was in circular intervals, each dash nearly imperceptible. Every time he countered her attack, he showed no sign of tiring. However, her fists had no intent of striking. Instead, as he went to block her again, her hand wrapped around the grotesquely pulsing surface of the worm draped around him. As soon as its flesh entered her grip, she felt a cathartic sensation wash over her. The pleasure of having her hunger quenched was hardly matched. The creature simultaneously began to writhe under her grip.
The man’s face fell, his eyes contorting into an appalled expression. His hand met her wrist, pausing to look at the primal expression in her eyes. It caused something to stir within him, a certain lingering sensation of a distant memory, perhaps. He ripped her grip away before she could do any real damage to his peculiar familiar. In a hasty motion, he tossed her away again.
She soared through the trees, having to brace herself with cursed energy so she wouldn't crack her head open as she smacked into a tree. She groaned as she hit the ground, fingers lacing into the earth angrily. She sat up with an offended growl, enraged that he’d interrupted her meal.
However, her anger was cut short by the realization she’d lost him. The sliver of cursed energy was gone. Her thoughts immediately shot to Satoru, and she was off in an instant. She was out of the forest in moments, watching her friend turn to his head in tandem. His tension eased upon realizing it was her, although his guard was anything but lifted. However, he didn’t have time to question her, as his gaze shifted to something behind her.
Suddenly, she became aware of the looming presence of cursed energy. This time it was greater, accompanied by a buzzing sound. As she fell into place next to Satoru, she turned to see the hurricane of cursed fly spirits rushing them.
“Fly heads?” Satoru wondered aloud, “What happened in there?”
She stood parallel to him, the pair taking on a defensive stance.
“I tried to absorb that weird curse he’s got with him. He took off after. It must be some kind of source of power for him.” She informed with a grimace.
“He must have been keeping them in there,” He gestured to the spirits around them, “He’s using them to hide.”
The pair looked around despondently. The girl tried to reach for his presence again, but the annoying buzz around her prevented her from even a semblance of a trail. She clenched her fists, looking to Satoru for answers.
He raised his hand in response, fluttering his eyes shut in exasperation. There was a silent understanding. He needed to use blue again. Just as he was about to, however, his brilliant gaze shot open. The girl saw his rising panic. The revelation fell on them all at once.
He wasn’t after them. He was after Riko.
They both turned to dash into action, but just as they did, a presence materialized behind them. The girl turned to meet his cold gaze. His movement was quick enough that not even she could stop the sequence of events.
She watched in horror as he held a new blade in his hand, one with a cursed energy output that made the others seem obsolete. A blade that pierced through Satoru’s infinity, all the way to his chest. This time, there wasn’t any room for preparation. There was a sharp noise as it curved up through his neck. In a swift motion, the man carved the blade down his body, leaving a gaping crevice of mawed flesh.
The girl was frozen in sheer terror as she watched her friend reach out a feeble hand to stop him. The man couldn't care less for the attempt, instead knocking him from his feet, and bringing the weapon down on his skull for good measure. There was a surge of crimson, followed by a soft thud.
There, in the ruins below, lay the body of Satoru Gojo. The man stared down with a neutral expression at his work. The girl was similarly frozen. It wasn’t until she heard the rustling of him standing up that she realized she was covered head to toe in the blood of her friend.
There was a scream of agony, yet the man hadn’t touched the girl. Instead, she fell to her knees at the side of the frosty-haired boy. Streaks of blood were interwoven with the pristine strands, framing the hollow, lifeless look in his eyes. She brought her hands to his face, cupping it desperately, as if that would make him get up.
If her heart was beating, she couldn’t feel it. Her entire body was overcome with an overwhelming sensation, one that not even her hunger could match. It couldn’t be him. Not Satoru. She felt as if she knew nothing in life, nothing but him. He was all she’d ever known, all that ever was there. How could it be him? Even still, her abject horror prevented the tears from spilling from her eyes.
The man watched the display, not making a single move towards her. The flies buzzed around them without a care for the carnage below. Presently, one came down to perch on Satoru’s unresponsive form.
The sight filled her with rage. In an instant, the creature was between her fingers, being sapped into nothing but a purple smear on her palm. Slowly, she got to her feet. The man watched, his expression furrowing in interest. The sight was so peculiar to him. What she had done to that spirit was unlike anything he’d seen before.
“I’m still trying to figure out what you are.” His voice broke through her consciousness.
She turned to look at him in a methodical movement. His blade was poised confidently on his shoulders as he sized her up. Her lips slowly turned to a frown. She vanished from view in a mere moment. Promptly, she crashed into the man with incredible force, her body blazing with cursed energy. His eyes widened as she snapped at him like a beast. He thrust his blade forward, forcing it between her hungry jaws like she was a dog that needed to be muzzled.
She pushed him away in a fleeting moment, turning her attention back to rushing him. All thought of strategy was long gone. All she could focus on was the unbridled rage within her. The two engaged in a deadly dance. Each time, her movements grew sloppy. In the flurry of blows, he watched as she systematically destroyed each of the fly spirits around them. He took great interest in the way she sapped them of life, his mind swirling with the possibilities.
His confusion caused a momentary lapse of focus. She took the window to slash into his abdomen with a feral motion. The force would have been enough to rip his insides out, which only attested to his sheer resilience, as he stumbled back, merely surprised.
He staggered, looking curiously down at the trail of blood from his stomach. He let out an impressed hum, although that was all he’d get out as she was upon him again. Without missing a beat, he raised his weapon. She had been right to assume the blade's lethality, as it possessed a strange ability that shredded through her protective technique. He drove its edge into her shoulder, although his clean cut was stopped short by her scrambling backwards.
The pain was enough to cause her to release any grasp of control she had left. She stumbled to her knees, her hand reaching to grab her wound and letting out a scream of anguish.
He watched as she crumbled down, and through the dust, that’s when he saw it.
His slash had been enough to cut through the collar of her jacket. The tear went down just above her shoulder, but it was ample space to reveal the array of scars she had running down her neck. Scars in a pattern that sent shivers down his spine.
It couldn’t be, he thought it himself. It just wouldn’t be possible.
His grip on his blade slackened as he regarded her defeated form. Although his guard was unrelenting as he approached her.
“Impossible.” He mused out loud.
She looked at him in a mix of rage and confusion as he kneeled in front of her. He surveyed her pained expression, watching the way she froze as he investigated the patterns of her scars. It was as if the simple action caused her just as much agony as the laceration on her shoulder.
“You don’t even know what you are, do you?” Despite the statement, his tone wasn’t taunting.
It was almost pitiful.
He shook his head, looking down at the younger girl with a conflicted expression. It didn’t seem long for him to make up his mind, however. Unceremoniously, he drove the weapon into her stomach and proceeded to her legs in a subsequent motion. Although she wailed, the wounds were not as fatal as those of her friend.
“I didn’t cut you badly enough to kill you,” He declared as if it were a mercy.
She collapsed to the ground in a mess of both mental and physical agony. Despite his speaking, she barely registered his words.
She had failed Satoru. How could she?
He stared down at her pathetic form, letting out a frustrated grumble.
“It would be a little cruel of me to end your life before you’ve even figured out that everyone around you is lying. Don’t you think?” He mused.
She didn’t meet his gaze; instead, her eyes were fixed on the cold form of Satoru. He moved his foot to turn her head to look up at him, smearing her blood a bit. He let out a small noise of disgust before he turned to walk away.
“Sorry, it’s not personal,” was all she heard him say before she heard the crunch of footsteps.
From the corner of her eye, she saw his blurry form fading away in the distance, headed straight for the heart of Jujutsu High.
Space Dementia | Satoru Gojo & Ryomen Sukuna x FEM! Reader
【The First File】
Summary: "𝑰'𝒅 𝒄𝒖𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒆 𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒚 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕. 𝑾𝒆'𝒍𝒍 𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒐𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒍𝒅 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖." Hunger. Nearly every moment of her life it plagued her. The deep void inside her that only cursed energy could fill had nearly torn her apart. Yet Satoru had always been by her side. They grew up together and found solace in each other. With a ruined head, she knew nothing of her past and eventually, she'd come to terms with it. That was until someone came along who had answers. Except that person was none other than the King of Curses.
𝑷𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: Satoru Gojo x Reader, Ryomen Sukuna x Reader, Suguru Geto (slightly)
𝗗𝗶𝘀𝗰𝗹𝗮𝗶𝗺𝗲𝗿: This story contains content regarding toxic relationships, PTSD, dissociation, and grappling with depression/anxiety. If any of these factors may be distressing to you, please proceed with caution.
𝐚 𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭
𝐋𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: ???
⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ ◯ ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆
Snapping. It was a sound she had become accustomed to. The snapping of bones under fingers, the snapping of skin under teeth.
The purple sheath that coated her hands was too familiar. Although it seemed through all these familiarities, one reigned supreme. Hunger. She despised how she craved the sensation of sucking out a life force. The compulsion made her feel inhuman.
Perhaps that’s why she found herself in the dirt, picking over the last shreds of another curse’s body. She had dared to turn a hand to her own kind. As inhuman as they proclaimed her, the betrayal of being thrown aside by the only individuals she’d found comfort in was still a gaping wound.
She loathed the feeling. Loathed the disgrace. Loathed the way that she craved the cursed essence of even her fellow sorcerer. Her teeth knew no master, not even herself.
Promptly, a sharp noise pulled her from her meal of violet flesh. Her head snapped to the side animalistically in response. She rose at the sound of chattering teeth, puppeted by her gnawing hunger.
The beast emerged from the leaves that surrounded her. She had felt like a dog, writhing around in the dirt over her meal. But now, she was no mutt, but a predator being threatened by an unfortunate rival.
The curse leapt at her. The poor creature lacked the intelligence to discern her haunched form from her fellow sorcerer. Her hand met its throat before it could even reach out to defend itself.
Her teeth found flesh, and soon enough, her hand was filled with nothing but ashes of what the creature had been before. Her stomach swirled with contempt because just as soon as satisfaction had come, she was starving all over again.
Soon, she was on the tail of another saliva-inducing scent. The cycle began to repeat, her fingers tearing through curse after curse, and her sniffing after another eagerly.
The purple blood that stained her hands was never-ending. To a well-trained eye, this string of curses would look much like a trail of bread crumbs luring a bird to a trap. But she was far too occupied with the euphoria from her meals to notice such an idea. Not even as the curses began to swarm her, descending upon her in waves of fury. She cared not for their power, nor aptitude. She fell them all, and each time, did it with a sadistic expression of ecstasy.
She continued to lavish in the carnage until all she became was the hunger inside her. That was until all fell quiet.
Although the following silence was not merely because of her rampage, but because of the presence that preceded her.
An overwhelming aura of sheer energy overcame her, a level of cursed power she’d never sensed before. It was enough to make her mouth coat with a thick layer of saliva.
She did not need to sniff this one out, as it was soon upon her. The form loomed over her, so large she had to crane her neck up from her spot on the ground.
It didn’t matter whether she was already down or if his presence compelled her to do so, but she ended up on her knees nonetheless.
Everything about him was imposing. If not his sheer size, then his numerous, vindictive eyes framed by sharp features, or the gaping maw carved into his abdomen.
Her form felt frail below him, when with all the energy she’d gluttonously sapped.
He observed her a moment before his lips opened, the movement filling her with a deep dread.
“What a pathetic creature you are, writhing in the dirt.”
The berating words meant nothing to her, as it was a truth she was familiar with. She cast her gaze to her hands that were braided amongst the earth below her.
“So much power, wasted on a form like that.” He continued, his voice growing louder, as he leaned closer, alerting her.
She remained silent, earning a deep— almost pitious chuckle.
“It’s almost urking, what a waste of time you are. So easy to crush.” The sneer was evident in his tone.
She expected the behemoth before her would do just that. Crush her like the insect she was. Perhaps this was always how it was meant to be. He would finish what the sorcerers couldn’t do, and at least it would be by his hand, not theirs.
“But perhaps..”
Instead, she heard a shifting above her. A familiar tingle ran through her; she sensed the presence of another curse.
She looked up eagerly, causing another chuckle to erupt from deep in his throat.
In front of her was a peculiar sight. One of his many hands was clasped around the throat of another unfortunate curse. She realized, with much confusion, that he was presenting it to her.
“You can be shaped.”
⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ ◯ ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆
𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡, 𝟐𝟎𝟎𝟔
𝐋𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: Okinawa, Japan
The girl shifted in her spot on the towel, but her mission to find an angle where the sun’s harsh rays couldn’t brush her skin proved fruitless.
The ocean sparkled under its blaze, creating a serene background to the gentle tossing of the waves. Even in this place, unrest still swam through the air.
She pursed her lips as a storm of sand was tossed in her direction. The culprits laughed as they ran past her, a white haired boy chasing a younger, female blue-haired counterpart.
Despite her scrunching up her nose, which was something she often did when it came to his behavior, she couldn’t be entirely upset. At least one of them was having fun.
She turned her attention back to the pair sitting next to her. Her raven-haired accomplice spoke coolly to the women next to him about something or other regarding their mission. She stopped tuning in a while ago— her brain was practically mush as it was, so she’d resigned to stick to resting while she could.
That plan was soon interrupted by the sensation of a gentle brush on her shoulder. The raven-haired boy imperceptibly leaned against her, his dark eyes glancing at her from the corner of his vision.
“Yeah, yeah. I’m listening, Suguru.” She muttered, shifting again for good measure.
He seemed to notice her discomfort under the sun and moved back ever so slightly, offering her more space in the shade behind them.
“You still haven’t eaten.” His voice was low— a gentle prod.
She looked back towards the ocean, the sunglasses that their blue-eyed equivalent had lent her protecting her eyes from the harsh beams.
“There are fewer sorcerers in Okinawa, not as many curses around to need them.” She pointed out, resting her weight on her palms perched neatly behind her.
She silently scolded him for bringing it up. The mere thought of cursed energy was enough to make her drool absentmindedly. Although both of the boys were generally understanding of her affliction, they always made sure she had her fill between missions.
Although the way the apology danced across his soft gaze from under his lashes made her forget about her frustrations.
“My offer still stands to lend you one of my curses.” He paused at her unimpressed expression, “I could always spare a low-level one.”
She sighed, wanting to shake off his worry as soon as possible, “You don’t have to do that. I haven’t been exerting much energy since before we caught our flight, anyway. If I just conserve until we get to Tokyo, I’ll be fine.”
The woman beside them, Kuroi, cut in with a surprised look on her face.
“You came here by plane? Were you okay? Were you attacked?” She asked, her gentle voice faltering.
Suguru’s eyes lingered on the girl a moment longer, leaving her with the silent warning that this conversation wasn’t over. He turned back to Kuroi, presenting her with that smile that could defuse any situation, no matter the severity.
Despite the precautions the group took getting here, despite the light-hearted smiles her friends wore, she knew how worn down they all were. She didn’t need to be reminded of the gnawing in her stomach, so she turned her attention back to the pair goofing off in the water.
It seemed the white-haired boy had found some kind of sea creature and was excitedly showing the younger girl. He wore a ridiculous expression. The girl felt a chuckle erupt from within her belly. Satoru always could make her laugh.
Much to her dismay, the pair came running over, both giggling profusely. The younger girl, Riko, hadn’t looked this optimistic the whole trip. That in itself seemed to make the discomfort worth it.
Although the girl’s wholesome outlook didn’t last long, as Riko soon tilted her head curiously in the girl’s direction.
“Are you sure you don’t want to wear a bathing suit? I mean, you’ve gotta be hot in that jacket.” She pointed to the less-than-flattering long-sleeved jumper the girl always wore.
The girl pursed her lips again; it was starting to become a regular thing, it seemed.
“I just prefer to stay out of the sun.” She responded simply, her hands curling around the towel below her.
This wasn’t entirely a lie. Prolonged sun exposure was exhausting, and she generally tried to avoid it, especially when her body was operating with this level of cursed energy.
Satoru chimed in with a laugh he saved especially for when he wanted to annoy her. He put his hands on his knees so he was eye level with his grumpy friend.
His eyes, which mirrored the shade of the ocean behind him, flicked to her hand. Her fingers caught the rim of her zipper. She fiddled with it uncomfortably, and his smile lessened for a moment.
“Don’t mind her, she just gets like this when she’s hungry. Besides, we don’t want to draw too much attention to ourselves. She’d be way too distracting.” He gave her a wink, knowing that last part would set her off.
She opened her mouth to retort, but found she had nothing better to get him back with. Although she couldn’t deny that his words did calm her anxieties ever so slightly.
Riko proceeded to laugh as Satoru looked quite proud of himself. Suguru promptly made a sound of disappointment at their antics, getting to his feet.
“That’s enough, you two, we should probably get going anyway.” He looked to Kuroi, who nodded in approval.
The girl’s eyes snapped to the now devastated Riko. Satoru seemed to notice this too, although he kept a cool expression as he turned back to the serious boy.
“Suguru, let’s head back tomorrow morning instead.” He retorted with that same easy grin.
This seemed to ease Riko’s spirit for now. Kuroi dismissed herself with a polite noise, going to assist her now sand-covered charge.
Suguru’s lips pulled into a frown as he turned back to the smug boy.
Sensing an argument was imminent, the girl begrudgingly pried herself from the towel. It seemed her brief relaxation would be only that.
“We can’t.” He said in his notorious pragmatic tone.
“Come on, the weather is holding steady.” Satoru pointed up to the shimmering sun.
It was true that the weather never seemed to care how dire a situation was. Even in the most dire of times, it seemed the sun would wink down at the girl in the same taunting way it always did.
She turned to see Riko animatedly telling Kuroi about the wonders of the beach around them. It occurred to her how novel everything must seem in such a limited amount of time. The corners of her lips lifted for a moment.
She turned back to the boys, giving Suguru her best nonchalant look.
“He’s not wrong, and like I said, there are hardly any curse users in Okinawa.” Her words only caused his concerned frown to deepen.
Satoru made a victorious sound as he slung his arm lazily around the girl’s shoulders, “Exactly!”
He leaned over her shoulder, and she could practically feel his taunting grin next to her ear. He lifted a finger to flick the circular frames that sat comfortably on her features.
“By the way, when am I gonna get these back?”
At this, she immediately shrugged him off. He watched her gleefully as she adjusted her high-collared jacket in annoyance. She snatched the blue-tinted glasses off her face, folding them up neatly before shoving them over to him for extra effect.
“A lot of good they did me— I didn’t even get to take my nap because of how loud you were.” She grumbled, earning another laugh from him.
This was followed by a small huff from Suguru. Something shifted in his gaze as he scanned his bickering friends.
“Let’s be a little more serious, both of you.” He leaned in closer to the pair, eyeing them knowingly.
The girl shifted, running her hands over her arms. She hated it when he looked right through her.
“Satoru, you haven’t released your technique since yesterday, have you?” He turned his gaze to the girl, “And you haven’t consumed a curse since then. Neither of you has slept. How long can you keep this up? Are you sure we don’t need to go back to Jujutsu High?”
She subtly looked over to Satoru, who seemed frozen by his words. The speech caused somewhat of a stir of guilt within her, but she was far more concerned by that look than anything else. Not much could shake Satoru Gojo, and here he was, gambling it all for such a young girl. For a moment, that thought seemed to silence the void in her stomach.
Although whatever falter Satoru may have had was long gone, as he responded with a casual scoff.
“It’s not a problem. Besides, we can always sick (Y/N) on ‘em’ if it gets too bad.” He gave her shoulder a small shake for emphasis.
She huffed, feeling a bit like a dog at that point.
“We’ve gotten through worse than this. Besides, we have each other, don’t we?”
This seemed to placate Suguru, as he finally returned the smile. Satoru promptly clapped him on the shoulder enthusiastically.
The girl watched them interact, finally allowing a small smile of her own. Seeing the two of them looking so light-hearted for once caused a stir within her. A small itch in the back of her mind that filled her with warmth. The sensation was similar to recalling something from childhood, an old fragment that could be awakened only from a certain smell or texture. Yet she knew it was a worthless rabbit hole to go down; all that was ever present was darkness beyond her memories of them.
So all she could do was smile and push the feeling away.
★ ₊ ˚⟡ Following a series of mistakes on Halloween, a college girl, and her group of friends, are thrown into a sequence of events that will ruin their lives forever.
𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝓲𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓼 - Eyeless Jack, Tim Wright (MH), Brian Thomas (MH), Jeffery Woods, Toby Rodgers, Helen Otis
I am unsure of the original creator of these images, if known please tell me and I will credit :)
Previously called Morosis. Please see my blog for more chapters!
𝐐𝐮𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: This chapter is a UNIT. Please be prepared for a heavy reading. I wanted to include a lot, as this is the calm before the storm. Sorry if there are a few more mistakes in this one. Enjoy my little bats!
Time had begun to blur together. Except now, dissociation was no longer the ruling factor. Instead, conversations with Toby consumed most of her hours.
It was a patient friendship, one without strings. Talking no longer seemed like a means to an end. Sometimes they would discuss what it was like for them outside those concrete walls. Other times, they would confide in each other about the numerous endeavors they had to endure as the doctors tried their best to remedy their allegedly ‘troubled minds.’
Granted, it had only been a few days, but the girl felt like it was infinite. It was to the point where even her skin had begun to look less gray. Sure, trapped in a place like this, she couldn’t perform traditional self-care. However, this remedy was doing infinitely more than she thought she could ever achieve on her own. She had even been sleeping better.
Except for currently, where she found herself twisting her bed sheets through her fingers anxiously. It felt ridiculous that she was this afraid of having her blood taken. She had never been a fan of needles, but who was? She could tolerate them, but something about knowing her blood was being taken from her surfaced too many memories.
Cass’s body, the demon’s claws tearing into her, his teeth on her neck.
This cycle was tormenting her.
She grit her teeth together, arching her neck as she looked up at the ceiling. Her skin was covered in a thin layer of sweat. Anxiety shot down her legs and arms in burning intervals. She felt as if she had to suck in greedy breaths to prevent herself from asphyxiating.
Between the sound of her labored breathing, she heard a peculiar noise. It sounded like a gentle scraping, so soft she had to turn her head to check if it was really there.
She sat up slowly, letting her eyes adjust to the darkness. It had to be during the early hours of the morning if she had to estimate. This place tended to turn time into a fluid void, but without access to a clock of any kind most of the time, she made do. In fact, her mind had been so accustomed to the lack of stimulation by now that she felt like her other senses had been heightened as well.
That was why she noticed Toby’s disrupted form with little difficulty, even from across the room. He was curled uncomfortably in his thin bed sheets. Peculiarly, his hand was poised next to his lips. Suddenly, she realized the noise was not scratching, but the grit of his teeth over the bandages wrapped around his skin.
Upon closer inspection, she realized he was still asleep. The motion was almost surely habit, and she realized with a sinking feeling, it was likely why the bandages were there in the first place. The thought made her stomach twist uneasily. She reasoned she should just go back to sleep and try to block out the sound. It was inoffensive enough, but when he started writing around in discomfort, she realized it may be time to step in.
She sat there for a moment, weighing her options. She had no idea how he’d react, but she would feel even worse if she let him suffer. Especially after what he’d done for her in recent times.
She swallowed thickly and peeled her cool sheets from her skin. She flinched as her feet hit the icy floor, the scratchy socks the institution provided her doing nothing against the discomfort. She shuffled over, careful for any potential noise, in case she’d startle him.
As she got closer, she saw his eyebrows knit together in phantom pain. His soft features looked pained up close, and she noticed how quick his breathing had become.
She stood there awkwardly for a moment. She was unsure how to go about waking him up, not only to prevent freaking him out, but especially considering how situational their relationship was.
She hovered her hand above his arm, the tension preventing her from reaching out. She’d have to try another tactic for now.
“Toby?” She whispered.
Seeing no response, she bit her lip in consideration.
“Toby.” The attempts were getting pathetic.
She silently cursed herself, regretting getting up and pondering whether it would be better to just go back to sleep— or try to, at least. As she was about to take the cowardly route, he flinched against something that was inevitably happening in his dreams. The action caused him to bite down on his hand with such force that she saw the bandages strain.
Without thinking, her hand gently found his hair. She stroked his head gently, trying to coax him awake. Her lips muttered his name again, and only then did she see the slits of his irises illuminate from the moonlight through the window.
His eyes shot open, his breathing turning to a labored, choking motion. His panic was met with another stroke from the girl’s thumb. Only then did he notice her presence above him.
“It’s okay.” She assured him, her voice a gentle tide, “You’re awake now. It’s over.”
With each syllable, she saw the rising and falling of his chest begin to slow. He looked up at her with a peculiar expression. If it weren't for the shadows contouring his face, she’d see the scant blush dusting his cheeks. From her perspective, he looked like a petrified deer.
With a sudden realization, she tore her hand away in sheer embarrassment.
“I’m so sorry—” She began, looking around for some other explanation, rather than her own ineptitude to read a situation.
“I shouldn’t have done that,” she began to ramble, “I just saw you were clearly uncomfortable, so I thought that maybe if I woke you up— but I have no idea if you’re even comfortable with touching or anything.”
He promptly shut her up by groggily lifting his body. His face lit up with the haunting glow of the moon behind him. The barred windows left vertical shadows in his wake, making it all the harder for her to tell what he was thinking.
“It’s fine.” He began, looking down, clearly debating whether or not to speak his mind, “My mom used to do that for me, so I really didn’t mind.”
She looked at him curiously, still reeling from her poor judgment.
It seemed he had finally noticed the way his bandages were now frayed. The edges were torn in uneven divots that mirrored the pattern of teeth.
“She used to rub my head to get me to sleep, usually when my anxiety was bad.” He explained.
The embarrassment was washed away with a blossom of wholesome warmth in her chest. She took this as an invitation to sit on the edge of his bed. It was foreign territory. Before now, it was like there was an unconscious line drawn down the center of their shared cell.
“You were chewing on your hands while you slept,” She informed hesitantly, even though she was sure he’d realized, “I thought it would be best to wake you up.”
He nodded, his eyebrows mirroring her concern. He futilely tried to wrap the torn gauze back around the frail skin. Despite his desperation, it didn’t seem he had made much of a dent.
“It’s a bad habit I’ve had for a while now. It’s been better…sort of. I used to do it all the time, now it’s just while I sleep. That's why the nurses wrap them. Bad memories, I guess.” His voice was so soft she had to lean in to hear him.
She bit her lip, trying to discern what would and wouldn’t be appropriate to ask. He hadn’t strayed from being blunt in the past. It begged the question of his boundaries.
“I’m sorry, they must be very distressing.” Her words were practiced, methodical.
It was all she had to lean on now, with so much uncertainty in consolation.
“Do you ever remember them, or are they an in-the-moment sort of thing?” She asked, unsure.
He twiddled his thumbs in debate, “It’s hard not to. They are more like memories, just twisted versions of them. If that makes any sense.”
She saw the faint outline of his eyes squeezing shut across from her. His nose crinkled, like the dream sequence was playing again through his mind. She looked away, out of some unspoken privacy.
“You don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to.” She sighed in defeat, “I just wanted to check up on you. You’ve done the same for me.”
She figured that should be her cue to head back to her side of the room, but as she turned away from him, a disturbance of bed sheets quickly stopped her. Peeking back at him, she saw those wide puppy eyes staring at her, silently begging. His scar flexed with the gentle pout of his lip. She realized she’d never been this close to Toby before, because if she had, she would have seen the flickers of pearly white teeth through pinpricks of flesh.
“No,” He urged, “I think I need to.”
He hesitated, but his eyes shimmered in confidence, “I don’t think I will be able to again if it's not you. You’ll understand.”
The last part was nearly inaudible, to the point where she wasn’t sure if she heard him right. That didn’t matter, however. It wouldn’t change her opinion on the decision to stay. She nodded, compelling him to continue.
“You said before you’d seen me on the news, right?” He waited for her hum of recognition, “What do you remember from that?”
Cryptic statement aside, she did her best to think back to that brief moment in her lecture from months ago. Was it months? She wondered if this place might have really rotted her brain. Perhaps it hadn’t truly been a matter of weeks since she was here. Maybe it was longer, or shorter.
That didn’t matter now; she pressed on. The memory was faint, but she couldn’t mistake those golden retriever eyes she knew well now from the picture on the screen that night.
“Yeah, he literally killed his dad. I feel bad for the guy.”
The words echoed across her mind.
“You killed…” She trailed off, unsure of her bravery to finish the sentence.
He was the one who asked; it was almost silly. It wasn’t like she’d judge, so why did she think it would set him off?
He nodded grimly, although the words didn’t cause the familiar expression of regret to flash across his features, like she’d expected. Just cold acceptance.
“I won’t lie and say he didn’t deserve it, because he did. He hurt my mom, he hurt me—” He swallowed, “It got worse after Lyra died. He acted like it was my fault, but I wasn’t the one driving that car.”
His words were quickened by the end. It was almost as if he didn’t speak right then; they’d escape him.
His fingers clenched over the paper-like bedding, his voice quieting to a near inaudible volume, “But his guilt doesn’t matter, because it wasn’t me.”
Her eyes fluttered in confusion. She was sure the truth was convoluted, but to what degree she was unsure.
“Someone else killed your dad?” She repeated, her voice quivering.
He unwrapped a piece of the gauze absentmindedly. She gave her wrapt attention to him tossing it lazily from finger to finger, afraid to meet his eye.
“Not exactly,” a subtle shiver interrupted his train of thought, his hands rolling in the same manner as usual, “There was something else. Something that rotted my brain. It saw my weakness, it saw my insecurity—”
He heaved an unsure breath. The twitches became worse now, but even his discomfort couldn’t mask what she saw below. Fear. Fear in a place where she usually saw indifference. She had never witnessed the boy take up such a grim expression.
“It was evil.” He spoke the words like they would choke him, “It took the evil in me and made it all I could think of. Evil that needed to be stopped at the source.”
Her thoughts flickered through the possibilities. The words he spoke were so familiar, words she’d heard repeated to her from Tim and Brian alike. She was left pondering, what had Toby confessed to her?
He took a feverish look out the window, like his mere words had brought his nightmares to life. Whatever he saw— or didn’t see, she presumed, seemed to satisfy him.
He continued in a hushed manner, “Whatever it was compelled me to do it. Those weren’t my hands that put that hatchet through his head.”
It?
The girl realized how his story might have come off now, especially to the doctors. To her, however, she’d seen enough ghouls and demons to avoid such a luxury. The blissful ignorance without the supernatural. Where monsters stayed on the gritty TV screens in popcorn-greased nights, and the only shadows that moved were ones out of the corners of her eyes.
“So this… thing, does it still show up? I mean, do you still see it?” Her question felt dry on her tongue.
Maybe he was lucky, she hoped for his sake.
He looked bewildered at this, staring at her like she was a fuzzy dot in his vision. It was like her words were foreign to him, impossibilities.
“Only in my sleep.” He said finally, with a hint of surprise in his tone, “Sometimes I still worry I’ll look outside and it will be waiting for me, like it did at home. But it’s just gone, like it can’t reach me here.”
He got quiet again, leaning his head against the wall behind him, “I don’t know if that scares me more.”
She sat there, equally as silent, letting his words marinate. She had significantly fewer questions than she should, and that undoubtedly piqued his interest. It served as a reminder, one she didn’t prefer to dwell on: why hadn't Jack visited her since that night?
Toby was the one to break the silence, “Maybe it also thinks I deserve to be here. Maybe that’s why it stays away.”
The girl snapped out of her thoughts, turning back to him with her eyes wide.
“What?” Her eyes were pools of recognition.
He scoffed, suddenly, rolling her shoulders as he did. Another tremor caused him to gently hit his head against the wall behind him with a patter.
“I always assumed I had that evil in me all along. What if it just brought it to the surface?” His bottom lip trembled, “Between my dad and school, it must be true.”
The girl shook her head, scooting closer to him so he could see her face clearly. Her expression was well practiced, and her tone was chosen carefully. Toby couldn’t help but hang onto every word she said.
“You should try not to think that way, Toby. You don’t know if thats true. It’s not good to speculate.” She encouraged him.
He chewed on his lip compulsively. She could see the yearning behind those furrowed brows. He wanted to believe her, at least.
“But I do—they hated me in school.” He looked away, ashamed, “I have tourettes. It made it impossible to make friends, just because I couldn’t control my own body. That didn’t make me dangerous, but… I don’t know, I think at some point I started to believe them.”
The girl nodded as she considered the information. She figured it was something along those lines, his compulsions. She’d study the disorder briefly, but that truth made little difference to her. It made her sick to think people would feel the opposite. Sick, but not surprised.
She gave him a meaningful look, as if she were pleading with him to listen, “Going through what you have is not easy. You’ve had to grieve and accept so many things. You’re allowed to feel conflicted or even angry about everything, it’s completely valid. Those are your feelings, and you are entitled to them. No one can tell you you’re crazy for having them.”
She sighed and turned to look out the window, “I think you’re brave for having faced all of it. I could use some of that bravery right now.”
She could feel his gaze on her. She was worried that if she met his eye, she’d start to cry all over again. She knew she shouldn’t cry right now, because he was the one confiding in her, but she couldn’t help it. The topic sliced right through her core.
“Thank you for saying that, (Y/N).” He finally broke the silence.
She turned to see his glassy eyes.
“I’m not sure if I can, but I want to believe you, because it’s you. Of all people, I think you’d be right.” His voice was trembling.
She bit back the smile that naturally wanted to sprout as a result of his words, “Well, you should, I know a thing or two about what you’re going through. Besides, I didn’t have the best time in school either.”
It was his turn to laugh, and she looked at him, bewildered. She grinned along with him. Somehow her somber statement seemed rather silly now.
“I find that hard to believe. How did you have a hard time?” He paused, trying to cover the light blush he’d procured by clearing his throat, “You seem like someone who everyone would want to be friends with.”
This resulted in her breaking out into a full laugh. The statement filled her chest with a rare warmth. It felt good to laugh like this again. It was a feeling of home, one she’d left behind since that dream the demon and forced down her throat.
They stayed like that for a while. Playfully laughing and joking, like they were just two friends hanging out, not two unfortunate individuals locked in a mental institute.
Eventually, the conversation had begun to wind down, a sleepy cloud beginning to fall over the pair. She let her gaze wander the room, lazily catching Toby’s eye. There was a shimmer behind them, the essence making her look down. She felt a certain warm tinge in her cheeks, although the feeling was almost foreign.
The weight of his stare began to become far too cumbersome, and she resorted to clearing her throat to distract from the feeling. Besides, something had been running through her mind. The way he spoke about the creature before, the familiarity of the deal was incessantly scratching the back of her mind.
She found herself opening her mouth, “Toby?”
He broke his trance, shaking his head. His loose brown locks feathered over his face as he did. He crinkled his nose as the strands tickled his skin.
“Hm?” He hummed, messing with his hair in mild annoyance.
She clicked her tongue, almost afraid to ask the question, “That… thing you were talking about, what did it look like?”
He stiffened, his hair entirely forgotten. His hands rolled again, fingers clenching tightly against their bindings. His words seemed to catch in his throat, causing him to swallow in a thick, trembling motion.
“At first I thought it was a tree,” He started slowly, “I would see something in the forest outside my house, but then I began to realize what I thought were branches were arms. It started appearing every time I would close my eyes. That impossibly tall figure. But I think the worst part was… it had no face.”
Those last four words caused all the warmth to drain from her fingertips. His face, in turn, twisted into a mix of horror when he saw the recognition in her eyes.
“Toby.” She whispered, “I’ve seen it too.”
~
When security came to escort her in the morning, the girl had to stumble feverishly back to her bed to save face. Her skin was clammy and cold, the kind you could only produce after a sleepless night.
She’d spent it curled up with Toby. She lay in a small ball near his feet, cradling her knees to her chest. Somehow, next to him was the only place she’d felt safe after the revelation.
She found herself playing Tim’s words through her mind throughout those insomniac hours. That the ‘Operator,’ as he called it, was like a virus.
She’d informed Toby as much, of course, including all the gory details of the truth of why she was there. Not only their shared faceless tormentor, but the eyeless nightmare that haunted her wake and sleep. She began to wonder why, only now, had she encountered this twisted world since meeting him. Was it due to chance, or was that virus a beacon that called all manner of ill-intended things towards her and her friends?
The girl pondered this thought further as she was forced into another pristinely white room. It was what you’d expect of a doctor’s office, except more drab and sterile than usual. This was on account of the lack of sugary sweet advertisements listing how help is around the corner, just as long as you spend hundreds of dollars more for a new medication or procedure.
No, all this one had was a parchment-laden chair and dusty desk, plus sink combination.
The door clinked shut, followed by a subsequent lock, as she was informed she had to wait for her doctor to arrive. She found it strange they’d leave her there, considering she was a mental patient, as it could be a concern that she’d have ill intent towards herself. Then she realized that this room was so bland and disaster-proof that there was genuinely nothing she could try, even if she was unfortunate enough to want to.
She began to kick her legs as they dangled off the chair. It reminded her of when she was a kid, taken to the doctor or dentist by her aunt. That wasn’t often, though, as her aunt was more of a natural remedies sort.
She didn’t get long to reminisce as there was a gentle knock at the door— a crude effort, as she knew she wasn’t entitled to privacy here. This was subsequently followed by the entrance of a sleek figure.
He reminded her of a cat with his angular eyes, sharp and observant, as he stepped into the room. Framing this inquisitive gaze was neat black hair, meticulously pressed together so it would hang just so. He was frighteningly poised in a way that made her stomach churn, which could be for various reasons. His imposing height, his contempt stare, or the fact that he was devastatingly handsome.
She swallowed as he looked down at her with an expression that could only be described as disdainful. He held a pen that gently tapped against the surface of his clipboard with a delicate flick of his wrist.
He spoke deliberately with a smoky drawl, “(Y/N) (L/N).”
It wasn’t a question, but she found herself nodding anyway.
“I apologize for the wait,” He wasted no time in beginning to sterilize his hands, even though he’d hardly been there for two minutes, “You’re normal doctor isn’t in this week, as you’ve likely been informed. I am taking his place, for the time being. I’m Dr. Reed.”
She surveyed his movements. They were graceful in such a practiced, uncanny way.
“I hope you are not disappointed.” The appearance of an absent smile graced his features, snapping her out of her trance.
Normally, she tried not to associate with the doctors, but something about his presence compelled her to respond.
“I don’t have any attachment to any of the doctors here,” she informed coolly, “You don’t have to worry. I won’t make a fuss.”
Her words stirred a chuckle from him. Although velvety and full of bass, it seemed half complete. Perhaps he was forcing himself to be cordial with her. Maybe he was the type to look down on patients like her, she reasoned.
“I was curious, since you’re here for a blood test today. Usually, patients put up some sort of fight. I suppose they are afraid of needles.” A smile spread across his lips; this time it seemed sly, as if he were enjoying a private joke.
She pursed her lips as she watched him work. She’d had few blood tests in her life, but it surprised her when he pulled a small bag from the pocket of his jacket. It was thin and contained the equipment required: a small vial, a tourniquet, and a butterfly needle, as expected. Once she thought about it, however, it made some sort of sense as the room she was in was prodigiously empty.
“Most people are.” She couldn’t prevent the semblance of bite in her tone.
This caused his grin to widen.
Those cat-like eyes sliced through her from under a fog of long eyelashes, “Are you?”
She tried her best to hold his stare; that way, it might make her response all the more convincing. Despite the twist in her stomach and limbs progressively icing over.
“No.”
His eyes flicked down to the small tremble of her lip. He didn’t question her on it, however, simply refocusing his attention on preparing his station. The corners of his mouth imperceptibly turned up further.
He cleared his thoughts, looking back to his clipboard for a moment, before refacing the girl.
“I see you’ve filtered through quite a few medications recently. Before we begin, I wanted to ask you if you’ve noticed any worrying symptoms?” His voice took on a smooth professional sense.
“Dizziness, nausea, shortness of breath, fainting,” the sound of him snapping a glove against his wrist startled her, “hallucinations?”
The last part caused her to pause. It made sense; she was prescribed anti-psychotics, of course, he’d ask about whether or not she was seeing things. However, something about the way he said it sent a shiver down her spine.
“All of those things,” she admitted, averting her gaze, “except hallucinations.”
A small hum trilled from deep in his throat. He tapped his foot once or twice. The firm leather of his shoes thunked against the cold tile with a hollow noise.
“Really? Well, that won’t do.” Despite his oddly chipper tone, it didn’t seem taunting.
He finished putting on his other glove with another clean snap. He smiled that same facetious grin again.
“Shall we get started then?” He didn’t wait for a response, simply holding his hand out to her expectantly, “Whichever arm you see fit, please.”
The request was syrupy, yet somehow urgent all at the same time. She watched his gaze grow progressively more impatient as she slowly extended her right arm.
His fingers wrapped around her wrist in a swift, encompassing motion. She immediately became aware of each time the cold surface of the latex pressing against her skin.
“Lift up your sleeve, please.”
She obeyed begrudgingly to his cold request. He surveyed her arm for a second, and she burned under his studious gaze. He took ample time to poke and prod at her skin, coaxing the vein to the surface. He seemed more enraptured in this act alone than he ever had speaking to her.
As soon as the tourniquet wrapped around her arm, she quickly whipped her head away to look at absolutely anything else. The subtle burning pinch on the tender inside of her elbow sent a tingling down her body.
“It helps if you look away,” the comically late evidence left his mouth in a cool laugh, “And to talk about something else.”
She clicked her tongue in distaste, “I can’t think of anything I want to talk about.”
Despite the brush off, he let out a noise of thought. She rolled her eyes, half disappointed he couldn’t see her contempt.
“Has anyone come to visit you while you’ve been here?” The question was simple, but caused her to freeze up anyway.
She shook her head, sure the message would be clear even from the angle.
“Are you allowed visitors?” His probing question was garnished with a sweet, hollow tone.
Even if she was, she highly doubted Jen or Becca would have the strength to see her here. She didn't know if they even knew where she was. Maybe they had been watching the news, maybe they hadn’t. If they had, she trusted Jen had the sense to keep them away.
“I don’t think so.” She didn’t know why she opened her mouth a second time, “It doesn’t matter, no one would come anyway.”
In a surge of bravery, she dared to sneak a look at him. She did her best to ignore the twisting red tube that was sapping away at her sticky life force. There was a mental sigh of relief as she realized he was deeply enraptured in his task. His swaths of black hair guarded her from his piercing gaze.
He hummed, “Really? I would have thought otherwise. You seem like the kind of person to have a lot of friends.”
She couldn’t help but let out a humorless laugh. She looked back at one of the barren walls. It was better than waiting in apprehension for him to inevitably see the pain in her eyes. Even if he didn’t mean it as offensive in any way, how could he have known?
“People keep saying that.” She responded, dejectedly.
He seemed satisfied by her response, as he kept to himself for the next few moments.
She didn’t realize she’d been dissociating until she felt the small pinch in her lower arm, and the slick sensation of the needle being pried from her skin.
“There, all done!” He chimed as if she were a little kid who had just finished her first check-up, “You did very well.”
She looked back at him hesitantly to see that he was holding up the vial of her blood viciously. She gulped as he began to swish it around like it was a fine wine that needed to be aired.
He watched the way the sanguine liquid sloshed against its container, leaving a faint irony residue on the sides.
“Do you happen to know your blood type?” The question came out of left field.
She looked up at him in confusion. It wasn’t incredibly off topic, although it was so off-handed that she had to take a moment to register the request.
“I don’t think so.” She furrowed her brows.
He promptly sat up, letting the rolly chair assume its place next to the desk to collect dust once more. He looked akin to a swan with the grace his coat twirled.
“Well then, I’ll have to get back to you on that.” He gave her a small smirk as he tucked the vile into his pocket.
The way he said it left some sort of implication she wasn't sure of. She didn’t know why he’d bother; she didn’t care. Nor did she particularly want to meet him again.
“It was a pleasure, Miss (L/N).” His words went back to their previous stiffness.
She simply nodded at him, watching in bewilderment at how quickly he left. She continued to sit there, dumbfounded by the peculiar doctor as she waited for her escort of security.
~
She wasn’t in much of a mood for talking for the rest of the day. Between the creepily handsome doctor and the news that both she and Toby had been hunted by the same entity, she had enough going on.
She updated Toby on her strange experience, but as she expected, he’d never interacted with a Dr. Reed. He must be from another hospital or institute, not that it mattered to her. She wouldn’t let it get in the way of her rumination.
The end of her day came swiftly. She wasn’t sure how long she’d lie in bed, this time her own, before her eyes had fallen shut.
She truly became aware of her slumber when she saw a figure staring out the window. A figure that would be entirely impossible without her having shut her eyes.
The familiar gray hoodie with brown hair peeking out surveyed the moon outside the bars.
Her body seized up at the sight, as if his mere presence had conditioned her to fear. She didn’t want to give him that control. Even more so, she didn’t want to alert him that she had woken up. Perhaps he’d settle to ominously watch her sleep.
She tried to close her eyes again, but the cruel, low rumble that resonated from the back of his throat alerted her that she was no longer safe.
“There’s no need to pretend; it’s rude not to acknowledge a guest.” His reprimand sounded from right beside her.
This causes her to bolt up immediately, scurrying across her bed to put as much distance between the pair.
“That’s better!” He took up the previous spot she’d occupied on the side of her bed.
Even without eyes, she could feel his horrific gaze. That beautifully poisonous smile filled her with dread. She shivered as she remembered the feeling of his teeth grazing her shoulder.
“How has your vacation been, darling?” He tapped his fingers expectantly on the bed sheets.
Seeing as he was getting no reply, he continued, “I apologize profusely for not visiting you. I figured you needed a time-out, as a lesson. After all, you believe so passionately in this ‘therapy,’ I thought you’d like it here?”
She clenched her teeth. She knew he was just trying to get a rise out of her, but he was so immensely talented at it.
“You knew I’d get trapped here?” She seethed, her hands balling around the fabric.
“You underestimate my ability to plan ahead,” his grin widened impossibly, evidently taking great joy in her suffering, “What, are you not happy here?”
Her body had been driven to a sickly state by both isolation and the pills she’d received. Therapy was not what she’d call it here, more interrogation without a semblance of warmth.
“Why are you here? Just to taunt me?” She didn’t know she bothered asking.
He hummed in delight, examining his claws as he did. The moonlight highlighted the serrated tips, a haunting demonstration.
He sighed in mock disappointment, “You always assume the worst of me. I did make sure that slender creature didn't cause you any harm, mind you, even though I went through a great deal of trouble to do so.”
He watched her reaction carefully, “I could have always led it to your friends, but I refrained. Is that really so terrible of me?”
She sat up straighter at this. Had the Operator closed in on them? Was her absence the reason they would be hunted?
“What did you do?” She asked, scolding herself for the desperation in her tone.
She thought she’d be better at dealing with him by now.
He hummed, leaning his weight back on the bed in nonchalance. She watched warily as his teeth flashed in the light.
“Hmm, well, I’m not sure you deserve to know. You have got to thank me for my efforts thus far. If I had any sort of sense, I’d stop giving you privileges.” He spoke slowly, each syllable filled with a deliberate venom.
“Has something happened to them?” She asked anyway.
He let out a small ‘tsk tsk,’ shaking his head like she was a child being scolded.
“You never learn, darling, you’re going to have to work for it.” He said sweetly, shaking his finger.
Her head swirled with intrusive visions of Jen and Becca’s bodies, covered in the same gore as Cass had been. Mangled beyond recognition, and it would be her fault.
“Jack, please.” She spoke through her teeth, trying to push the thoughts from her brain.
The sound of his laughter shook her core. Instantly, his presence seemed all the more imposing. She looked up to see that he was looming over her, his expression filled with a twisted delight. It caused dread to seep into her limbs, as something in his expression had shifted from its usual taunting indifference.
“Oh, I like the begging.” His voice was low and syrupy, “Go on. You know what you need to do.”
She flinched back at his words. Anger began to burn her chest. She felt small below him, and the very last thing she ever wanted to do was give him the satisfaction of her giving in to him. He’d stripped away what little was left of dignity. She couldn’t give in. Yet, Jen and Becca’s faces stuck out to her. She was tired of feeling selfish. So with a deep breath, she turned to face the eyeless abomination.
“Thank you.” The hiss was nearly inaudible.
The smile that carved across his face was pure ecstasy. Her heart sank as she saw it, but it was far too late to give up now.
“For…?” He pressed in a sing-songy voice.
She bit her lip. Hard.
“For saving my life,” The click of his tongue compelled her to continue, “Multiple times.”
Immediately, the tension melted away, and he allowed her an acceptable amount of space to breathe. This didn’t alleviate the guilt in her chest, however. She had groveled at the foot of a beast that had stolen her friend's life. She was despicable.
“Oh, you are so good.” He sighed wistfully, “Now was that so hard? Very well, here is your reward.”
She didn’t have time to flinch away as he pressed a clawed finger to her head. Her body convulsed on contact, throwing her brain into an array of visions that made her head pulse with an intense burning sensation.
“As you’ve seen, a demon of my class cannot freely roam on the mortal plane. You broke that barrier the night you and your precious little friends summoned me, however, only temporarily. So I had to take the liberty of granting myself a way to help my poor bird.” His voice danced across her subconscious.
She saw a vision of herself, head hung, lolled peculiarly. It was as if her limbs were being moved not of their own accord, as they wriggled in a slow, jerking motion. As this version of her lifted its head, she felt her chest cramp with anxiety. Her eyes, they were pitch black.
“I crawled into your skin,” His voice brushed her ear in a freezing sensation, “And I took you to a place where you wouldn’t be bothered by the spindly creature. Of course, your little human law enforcement did the rest of the work for me.”
She felt bile creep up her throat. He’d been occupying her body. Her sense of self, the one thing she’d been promised to be hers forever, had been taken from her.
“Of course, I led it away from your friends. They were not harmed by it that night, although I can’t speak for recently.” He continued cryptically.
Suddenly, she was back in the cold cell, face to face with him again. Her sheer outrage was met by that signature smile. He looked rather proud of himself.
“What do you mean, thats it?” She gasped, realizing her trial run of information was about to expire.
He couldn't just drop he’d possessed her and not provide any deeper information about the whereabouts or safety of her friends. Not when she had been trapped here this long, and it was his doing, of all things.
“Come now, you can’t expect me to keep track of everything those two do. I have my own agenda, and you, dear, should too.” He said curtly.
The irony burned her. Agency was an illusion she’d been offered in her conversations with Toby. The brief idea that everything would be okay again. This ideal was fleeting, and she’d never realized it more than under his gaze.
He continued his rant, standing up in a swift motion, “I didn’t come here just to catch up. You see, birds don’t do well in cages. The longer you stay here, the more dangerous things become.”
His warning meant very little to her, as it was already something she understood. However, as he turned coldly to look out the window, she began to second-guess that idea.
“You think that rotting away and relying on that mousy boy for company is a real solution?” He scoffed.
She felt a swirl of contempt as she brought Toby into it. What did he have to do with anything? She didn’t know, but she didn’t appreciate her only semblance of comfort being slandered.
“You have the opportunity to take initiative right in front of you,” He turned to look at her, eyes narrowing dangerously, “I can help you get out.”
It was a tempting prospect, too tempting, as his surgery words always were. However, she knew by now she didn’t have the power to do anything to help Jen or Becca. What could allowing him, the very thing that harmed them, do to help the situation?
“No,” Her lip quivered, “I am never giving anything to you again. This is the last time you see any indulgence from me.”
As the words left her mouth, a shooting pain began to drive through her skull. The vision of Jack before her began to blur, like she was watching a TV channel with a shoddy connection.
Jack’s lips curled down. It occurred to her, she’d never seen him use such an expression. He looked annoyed, perhaps even concerned.
“So be it,” his voice warbled like he was underwater, “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
At his last syllable, the girl shot away.
Her senses were immediately invaded by pulsing red lights and an ear-splitting noise. As she adjusted to her rude awakening, she realized it was a siren.
Toby appeared by her side, fingers gripping her arm with ruthless force.
“(Y/N)!” He could barely hear his gentle voice over the all-encompassing noise.
She grabbed onto him in turn, allowing him to pull her from bed. Her knees buckled in exhaustion.
“What’s happening?” She shouted back, holding onto him for dear life.
She looked around frantically, wondering when the security officials or doctors— anyone would show up.
“I think there’s been a security breach.” He yelled, pointing behind her, “The door is open.”
Both of them turned to see it was indeed true. The heavy metal door was now pasted open. A siren's song.
As they met each other's eyes, a silent agreement was exchanged. The girl had seen so many absurd occurrences in the past months that she knew better not to squander a blessing. She had also learned all too well that risks were all she could take these days.
Soon, the pair were navigating the strobing hallways. It seemed with every blare of the obnoxious alarm that her head would erupt in pain. It was taking everything she could to stay with Toby.
He was thankfully navigating the pair, checking for guards with each corner they rounded. They had to be getting closer to the door, she reasoned.
Toby, as he had before, turned to look around the corner. His hand was held out in a pause to stop her from continuing. He tried to mumble something to her that she didn’t hear. He must have been watching something, because his attention was deeply invested in whatever was out of sight.
All she could do was listen to him. Presently, she brought her hands to guard her ears from the noise. But as she lifted them to protect her poor cranial region, she felt a burning sensation in her neck.
Not a burning, she realized, but a familiar prick she’s recognized from earlier that day. It was a needle.
~
Listen to the official Miss Murder playlist here! It includes (mostly) all the songs I name the chapters after.
★ ₊ ˚⟡ Following a series of mistakes on Halloween, a college girl, and her group of friends, are thrown into a sequence of events that will ruin their lives forever.
𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝓲𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓼 - Eyeless Jack, Tim Wright (MH), Brian Thomas (MH), Jeffery Woods, Toby Rodgers, Helen Otis
I am unsure of the original creator of these images, if known please tell me and I will credit :)
Previously called Morosis. Please see my blog for more chapters!
𝐐𝐮𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: Hello little bats! Thank you for your patience on this update. Sometimes you get an ADHD mind block, and thats how it has to be. Please take some Toby fluff as an apology!
The girl didn’t need to turn her head to feel the hazel gaze burning through her skin. The shaggy-haired boy sat haunched in his respective bed, observing her silently. She was used to the staring by now. Studious eyes of licensed professionals and officers alike had been ridiculing her for days. Therefore, it was easy to keep her own stare trained at the dull white of their shared cell.
Movies of insane asylums played through her mind as she pondered her situation. Girl Interrupted used to be one of her favorite movies, but she was no Winona Ryder. This was her truth now. She was deemed a maniacal criminal by the law, and that was a generous estimate. She was owed a trial, but where the evidence stood, she didn’t like her chances. With a heavy heart, she’d accepted that she would take the fall for everything. She hoped Jen and Becca would forgive her, at least.
Tired of thinking about the subject, she decided to familiarize herself with her new accommodations. Seeing as there wasn’t much to look at, she allowed herself a glance at her peculiar roommate.
Much to her appreciation, he kept his eyes trained on the white sheets below him, fingers laced into the fabric. His hair fell over his eyes, lightly obscuring that peculiar scar. The glossy sheen insinuated it had only recently healed. She assumed from the intricate divots of the flesh that it was deep, almost as if a chunk of his skin was torn out. She couldn’t help her thoughts from devolving back to her first meeting with Jeff and the lacerations his lips bore. The thought made her stomach swirl in unease.
A subtle tilt of the boy’s head alerted her that he had noticed her watching him. She snapped her head back to stare ahead in a desperate act to save face. Although she knew she had failed upon hearing the faint noise of him clearing his throat.
“You don’t have to worry.” His voice was a quiet rasp, as if he hadn’t spoken in some time, “I’m not going to try to hurt you.”
She turned imperceptibly toward him, the response balling up in her throat. This was the first time she felt like she was truly hearing someone’s words in days.
“I didn’t think you were going to.” She spoke simply, softly.
She saw the boy’s head tilt curiously out of her peripheral vision. She imagined he looked a bit like an owl.
“I’m not sure what you’ve heard about me— but I’m not crazy.” He urged.
As he spoke, she noticed a small stutter. As she was off in her own world, she hadn’t picked up his occasional twitch or mutter. The way he rolled his hands every now and then—involuntarily, she assumed. It wasn’t like any of that mattered, although an interesting note. She paid it no mind and instead offered him the lightest of smiles.
She examined his face a bit closer. The way his hair fell around his puppy-like eyes still caused an itch of familiarity in her brain. She couldn’t place it.
“I’m not sure I’ve heard anything… so you don’t have to worry.” She said slowly, “And for what it’s worth, I’m not crazy either.”
He noted her words, his fingers brushing over his bandaged palms for a moment. She watched his scar stretch over his cheeks somewhat uncomfortably. It seemed that she wasn’t the only one in turmoil.
“I wouldn’t care if you were.” He stated bluntly.
His face contorted, as if trying to make up his mind about something. She sat patiently, not expecting him to say more.
“I'm sure my face has been all over the news,” She was surprised when he continued, “You must be the only person in the world who doesn’t have their mind made up about me.”
At the revelation, she felt a jolt in her mind. She thought back to that day in her evening lecture, one of her last days on campus. The face of a boy was plastered across the glowing screen of her classmate's computer. What was the name? She grit her teeth as she tried to recall the words she’d overheard.
“Tobias Rodgers.” She spoke his name without realizing
He flinched in recognition of the title, his fingers curling around the bandages. His hand itched towards his mouth momentarily, before he forced it back down. The motion was so faint it was almost imperceptible.
“Right.” He muttered, his hands rolling in the same jerking motion.
Picking up on his tension, she softened her voice instantly.
“Hey, it’s not just you. I had to stop watching the news anyway, ever since my name started showing up in it.” She brought her legs to her chest, “I’m sure I covered up your story, I wouldn’t worry. The press doesn’t stick to one thing for long.”
He was silent for a moment, save for a small sound of amusement. She allowed herself to sneak another glance at him from behind her hair. His features appeared a lot more relaxed now.
“That’s why you’re in here with me then.” He noted with a humorous edge.
She rolled her shoulders in agreement, “Maybe they think we’ll balance each other out… that we deserve it, or something?”
He chuckled wryly, a gentle strangled noise, “I wouldn’t do that to someone who didn’t deserve it. Like I said, you don’t need to worry.”
She considered his words with a soft hum. She wasn’t afraid of him, that much was certain. She was sure that whatever truths there were to his situation came with vices, however.
“I’m sure it’s more complicated than they can understand,” She assured, “You can’t really know the whole of a situation if you’re not that person, I guess.”
She wasn’t going to pry into his reason for being here; she made up her mind. She figured it didn’t matter.
She met his gaze from in between pieces of her hair. His brown eyes were stormy with deep underlying bruises. Despite this, they shimmered in appreciation.
“You’re right,” He nodded, “Things are more complicated than what they can see…”
He trailed off, contemplating something out the barred window. She followed his gaze, appreciating the distraction from reminiscing.
“Sometimes I wish it could be different.” He spoke up suddenly, although it was so quiet she wasn’t even sure he’d said anything.
Her gaze snapped back to her hands. Sometimes she wished she could cry more, but there was nothing there when she called.
“Yeah…” She swallowed, “Me too.”
After another moment of silence, he clicked his tongue, clearly debating asking something.
“Did you do it?” The words sliced through the tension, “What the doctors think, I mean.”
He peeked up at her from his haunched form in his bed, although hesitantly. She held his gaze, imagining her expression would do the talking for her.
“Did you?” She managed to answer, not sure of the truth of her situation herself.
He flinched at the question, "Complicated.”
The small mutter painted a picture with colors that were oh-so-similar to her own canvas.
She nodded in agreement, “Exactly.”
She wished she could deny the accusations against her. But were they really so far off now? The truth was becoming jumbled in her mind with each stroke she’d let the demon lay upon her head.
However, she couldn’t deny the solace the brief words she’d spoken with the strange boy had given her. The understanding they had made the cell feel all the less bleak.
“Well, since I know your name… I guess you should know mine.” She sighed, “I’m (Y/N).”
He rolled his hands once more, and promptly, a soft smile inched its way onto his face.
“Alright,” He nodded hesitantly, “In that case, call me Toby.”
~
The girl stared blankly at the nurse before her. The news of a diagnosis should have been a pleasant surprise; after all, she hadn’t expected the doctors to find anything wrong with her. It should have been good for her case. Perhaps she wouldn’t be found entirely guilty if she were taken to trial for the murder of Cass and Harrison.
But thats not what she saw. All she could see was another horde of pills being passed her way, another dosage of narcotics she didn't need running through her system. She was in no way psychotic as they claimed her to be. For that to be true, the demon she saw lurking between wake and dreams would need to be all in her head. There was a multitude of evidence that went against that idea, even though sometimes she wished Jack were truly a figment of her imagination.
“You will be starting your new dosage on Monday.” The nurse’s expression remained flat as she scanned the document in front of her.
The girl’s mouth felt dry at the thought. She learned from the last few weeks that retorting would be pointless. It wasn’t like a professional would believe a supposedly deluded patient. So she sat there, waiting for another dish of bad news.
“Although we are going to need to take some blood at some point before then, just to make sure your system will be compatible.”
There it was.
The girl simply nodded, the motion cumbersome. She didn’t know if it was her mental health or the slurry of medicine they had been forcing down her throat that was making her feel so lethargic, but she figured it could be either at that rate.
The nurse proceeded to begin her quest of listing all the things that could possibly go wrong with her new prescription, most of which the girl had been accustomed to tuning out. She instead found herself preening at her reflection in the glass door next to them.
The sight was anything but flattering. Her complexion had grown sallow, accentuated by the purple bruises lining her eyes. She couldn’t believe she had once complained about discoloration. At this point, the crevasse under her eyes looked more akin to Jack than her once bubbly self.
“—I’ll get you in to run those tests Sunday afternoon, since your usual doctor is out.” She caught the tail end of the nurse’s speech.
She watched as the nurse's pristine red nails stacked her files, signalling she could finally leave this saline-scented prison. At that, her usual escort of security came to round her up, leaving her to marinate on the revelation. Not only were more drugs being thrust upon her, but she’d have to give up her blood for it. Somehow, she thought her fear of needles would be obsolete with all the recent happenings, but that was hardly the case.
She only felt sicker as they hauled her through the metal door, barely acknowledging her before she was shut up again. Her haunched form was regarded by Toby, who was curled neatly on his bed.
He eyed the debilitated women curiously. Her skin looked even grayer—if that was possible. She reached toward the wall for support as she made her way to her bed.
“They got you taking more stuff, huh?” He noted, leaning toward her with an apologetic smile.
Over the past weeks, he’d been there to witness all the grisly side effects of the medications that had no business coursing through her system. Everything from dizziness spells to nausea to such an extreme that she couldn’t pry herself from bed, he’d been there to support her through. He wasn’t particularly chatty; he had his own array of problems after all, but he offered her all the comfort he could, nonetheless.
She nodded, leaning on her bed, feeling as if she lay down, she’d throw up what little was left in her stomach.
“What do they have you on this time?” He rolled his hands he spoke,
She looked at him pitifully. Toby had been a great deal more talkative since she’d first gotten there.
“Anti-psychotics of some kind. They told me I need to do a blood test or something.” She explained her palid expression feebly.
His expression turned stormy at her words. In the time they had been locked up together, neither of them had elaborated on their reasons for being there. But sometimes he got this look in his eye that told her he was thinking about something far off.
“Do you need them?” His question was simple, yet made her laugh bitterly all the same.
She ran a cold hand through her stringy hair. By now, the dye had begun to grow out, which only made her feel more unkempt.
“No, but since when do we need anything here?” She chuckled dryly, “I’m more worried about them sticking needles in me.”
He brightened up at this. She didn’t know if she should be offended by the small laugh that escaped his cracked lips.
“You’re afraid of needles?” He gently prodded.
His head tilted to the side, only adding to the list of reasons she compared him to a puppy in her head. From his golden retriever eyes to his inquisitive nature, she didn’t know how she could have possibly been wary of him. However, the room that surrounded them served as a reminder that she shouldn’t give up all of her apprehension.
“Blood, actually.” She felt stupid saying it out loud.
This time, he audibly laughed. Despite this, his face held no mocking behind it. To her surprise, his expression looked almost endearing.
“Seriously? They think you killed someone, and you’re afraid of blood?” He shivered a bit and proceeded to lean closer to her curiously.
She narrowed her eyes, although not necessarily annoyed.
“How do you know they think that?” She propped her arms on the bed behind her to stabilize herself.
He recoiled a bit, evidently not trying to antagonize her. She felt a bit bad for the tone she’d taken on.
“Well, you’re in here with me, right?” He admitted softly.
She studied the floor beneath her, thinking over the implications. Even if Toby had killed someone, the company she traditionally kept hadn’t done much differently. It seemed her situation hadn’t changed as much as she thought it had.
After a moment, she spoke up again, “I didn’t use to be afraid of blood.”
She saw him perk up curiously out of her peripheral vision.
“It’s been a recent thing. Ever since—” She felt her palms coat with sweat as the memory of Cass’s organs spread throughout her sheets that the demon had projected into her mind.
Toby waited for her to gather her thoughts patiently. He studied the girl’s face intricately. The way her eyebrows furrowed, her far-off look. Her sickly complexion complemented her fearful expression, causing a touch of sympathy to swirl in his stomach.
“I’ve just been having bad dreams, I guess.” She said, finally.
The gentle sound of him rustling in his bed cut through the silence. She heard him sigh, still refusing to look up from the floor.
“I get them too.” His voice was more grave than she expected it to be.
Unease crept along her spine as she thought back to the memory of Jack. The entire debacle only made the sensation of bile crawling up her throat strengthen. Cold drops of sweat gathered on her brow and she dug her fingers into the sheets behind her to cope.
“Do you think…” She started, avoiding eye contact in the interest of not embarrassing herself, “Do you think you could distract me? I really don’t want to spend the rest of the night dry heaving.”
He made a small noise of surprise, blinking a few times for good measure. It had been a very long time since anyone had asked—well, anything of him really.
“What do you want me to do?” He sputtered.
She let out a small sigh, feeling entirely stupid. She knew she should have just kept it to herself, as usual.
“I don’t know… just talk to me?” She hated how pathetic the statement was.
“Okay, um…” He trailed off as he tried to think of conversation topics, “What are your friends like?”
In the brief discussions the pair had shared, she’d mentioned Becca, Cass, and Jen a few times, although never in explicit detail. Merely thinking of them made her heart clench, but she was used to the regret by now. It was still better than the threat of throwing up, so she decided to humor him.
“Where do I even start? They are somehow the best and craziest people I’ve ever met.” She sighed, trying to gather a semblance of something coherent, “Well… I’ve known Jen since high school. She and I met freshman year in our algebra class. I had just moved to a new town, and she had a backpack for a band I liked. I was a really edgy kid who needed friends, so we bonded over that.”
The girl cringed at the memory of her teenage self getting so excited over a mere shared interest. Jen could never get her to shut up about it, and never could since.
She was surprised to look up and see Toby listening attentively. Despite the embarrassment of reliving her childhood, his wide, curious eyes prevented her from stopping the train of reminiscing.
“We did everything together, we even went to the same college. Most people say you grow apart from your childhood friends, but not us.” The girl grumbled, “We'd better not anyway, that girl got me addicted to nicotine. She owes me that at least.”
The soft sound of his laughing caused her to crack the smallest of smiles.
“Anyway, we met Becca and Cass in our first year of university. Originally, Jen and I were roommates, but we ended up living with them second year. See, I met Becca in biology, and she was definitely one of the weirdest people I’d met on there, and thats saying something if you’ve ever been on a college campus.” The girl was talking animatedly now, even finding herself laughing a bit, “In the best way possible, though, I’ve never met someone more passionate about her interests. She’d go collect bones in the woods in her free time. She once found this stray tooth, but we never did find out what it was, so naturally she tied it to a piece of string and wore it as a necklace.”
She felt her chest cramp again at the memory. The very same tooth Becca had sacrificed to Jack. The girl couldn’t help but wonder if somehow, some way, if she had never found that small piece of carcass, that they would have never performed that stupid ritual.
She tried to cover up her wilting expression by clearing her throat, “Sorry, I’m rambling now. I can stop now, if you want.”
“No—” He responded a little too quickly, “Uh, no, I mean you were the one who suggested it. I.. I really don’t mind.
She scanned him suspiciously. Yet there he was, sitting earnestly, like he was hanging onto every word she said. It made her chest fill with a certain warmth, appreciating finally feeling like someone was truly listening to her.
“Seriously, I feel bad. What about you?” She questioned, silently begging that she didn’t have to keep hearing the sound of her voice drone on.
She couldn’t stand how sad she sounded talking about her memories one more minute.
“What about me?” He was shocked she’d dared to bring him into this.
As far as he understood, this was not a part of the description of a ‘distraction.’
“Yeah, what were your friends like... Or family maybe?” She took to playing with the frayed ends of her hair.
Toby swallowed hard. Faintly, she saw the scar tissue around his mouth poke out a bit, as if he was nervously chewing on his tongue.
“My friends? I didn't really have—” He cut himself off by clearing his throat and quickly diverting attention to his bandaged hands.
They rolled again, and she realized he was doing it slightly more frequently now.
“Uh, I wasn’t super close with my family. I guess my mom more so than my dad.” He paused before continuing, his expression souring, “I was definitely closest to my sister, though. She was probably my best friend.”
The girl sensed his unease and her voice took on that understanding she saved especially for circumstances like this. She let her lips curl up into a gentle smile.
“What was she like?” She asked curiously.
Toby was silent for a moment. Underneath his glassy eyes she saw the semblance of a fond expression.
“The best.” He let out a small sigh, “Lyra was always more social then I was. She could make friends so easily…”
He trailed off again, finding the right words, “She and I would go off into the woods all the time. I guess it was one of the only places I’ve ever felt truly comfortable. We’d explore new places, when we could find them, at least. She was pretty crafty too, always making things out of stuff we’d find.”
When he talked about her, the girl could of sworn he looked just a bit more centered then he had before. Not somewhere far away, but right there sitting across from her.
“She sounds awesome.” She laughed, “I guess her and Becca would have gotten along, huh?”
At this, Toby let out the most genuine laugh she’d heard from him. It was a gentle noise, befitting of the meek boy before her.
“Totally.” He agreed, “Actually, I think she would have really liked you.”
The girl didn’t understand why, but the statement somehow filled her with a great pride. Coming from him, she figured it was a very high compliment.
“Why’s that?” She wondered aloud.
Toby paused. Even though he knew the question was coming, it still made him stop short. Behind all that shaggy hair, he almost looked embarrassed.
“Uh.. you’re easy to talk to.” He peeked up at her from the curtain he’d created behind his brown locks.
The smile fell naturally on the girl’s features, “Thank you, Toby. Really. I think I needed to hear that.”
With the way she’d left things with Becca and Jen, the statement was gratifying. For a moment she thought that she perhaps she wasn’t all that bad at communication. Maybe she’d been too hard on herself.
But one look around stifled that reassurance.
Just as quickly as it came, the laughter died out and she was back to staring at her clammy hands. She couldn’t help her brain from thinking about their worried faces. As far as Becca and Jen knew, the girl was dead. Killed and dismembered by the demon, leaving them to pick up the scraps she left behind. Her last sliver of hope that was by being here, she was giving them a chance.
Toby took note of this, although he allowed her a moment of silence. She figured that when she stopped feeling like she’d spill her guts, she would leave him be for the rest of the night and take up her routine of silently staring at the ceiling.
That plan, however, quickly failed. She couldn’t help herself from continuing on.
“I miss them.” She knew she couldn’t speak above a whisper at the risk of spilling tears, “I miss them so much.”
Toby watched the way her hands clenched her sheets at full force. This was the first emotion she’d truly shown through these few weeks. He was used to unpredictability in what roommates he had or the various interactions he’d had with other patients. But this, he had no idea how to proceed with.
“You haven’t been to trial yet,” He started, unsure, “You may see them again. Not everything is decided yet.”
She wished that were true. She wished she could voice the intricacies of the situation. The cold, hard truth is that she might never be free of Jack. The truth that Cass was gone.
“I wouldn’t be able to see them all again.” It took everything not to break into sobs.
She thought she had nothing left in her to cry, so why was this still happening?
“From what I understand, I’m sure they’d forgive you.” He offered with a bitter smile.
At those words, she bit her lip as hard as she could. All that force, however, couldn’t stop the guilt from clawing at her insides. The same movie that had been running through her mind for days began to play again.
“How could they forgive me after I left them?” She managed to speak through her clenched teeth, “How could anyone forgive me, forgive any of us, when we let this happen to Cass?”
He didn’t say a word, instead watching the girl wither into a small ball perched on her bed. She was sure he was curious, but even so, he didn’t push her. She sucked in a long breath. Even though she knew this truth all along, it still stung every time she delved into it.
“She’s dead because of us.” She muttered just loud enough for him to hear.
Her confession hung in the air, souring the mood with a sense of impending doom. Something twisted within her, like that sentence had called out to something. Something that was coming for her.
After a moment, Toby spoke up again, “Did you kill her?”
It wasn’t an accusation; simply a question. Somehow, the way he said it didn’t make her feel like she was under a microscope, like she had when the investigators asked her the very same thing.
Perhaps that was why she felt comfortable telling the truth.
“No. But that doesn’t matter, because I—we all, are responsible.” She met his eye through her fog of tears.
For the first time since she’d admitted that to anyone who was outside the situation, she saw genuine understanding. He gave her a determined look, his eyes soft pools framed by the gentle stream of moonlight trickling in from the window behind him.
“I believe you.”
Those simple words made her finally let the tears loose. She sobbed for a while, until she was sure it had been too long for her to have been doing so. At some point through the hurricane of emotion, she managed to utter a pitiful ounce of gratitude.
𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You and Gale had never gotten along. You, a chaotic sorcerer, and he, a proud wizard, had never meshed well. He found your Wild Magic a liability and was never shy about showing it. However, with the coming battles against the Cult of the Absolute, you are forced to confront the reality that you may not be as prepared as you thought, and who better to console you than the one you hate most?
Enemies to lovers (or enemies to tolerant, more like), hurt/comfort, Gale being a sorcerer hater
Gale of Waterdeep, the ex-chosen of Mystra; he went by many names. But your personal favorite was a thorn in your side.
Ever since the moment you willed him from the depths of that portal, he had been nothing but a nuisance. From the lectures to the condescending glances, the pair of you had built a relationship based only on the withering threads of tolerance.
Tolerance, yes, thats all you could offer him. He couldn’t say the same for you. He found a problem with everything you did. Especially the way you cast spells—or rather the way the spells cast you, seeing as the wild magic that coursed through your veins had more plans for you than you had for it.
He found a way to worm the fact that he was a wizard into every conversation. A ‘well-studied, pinnacle of pure excellence’ was what you’d imagine him saying while preening at the duplicate he occasionally made of himself.
It seemed that all it took for him to turn his nose up at you was the fact that you were a sorcerer. At this point, you were ok with that. You were well aware you could do nothing about it, and as much as you hated to admit it, he had his uses. Having another magic user around was begrudgingly helpful. Especially since everything around you was growing more dangerous with every night you lay your worm-ridden head on your pillow.
A well-aimed fire bolt was always useful, just like the one he’d used earlier that week to singe a group of unfortunate goblins who’d been standing near a horde of fire wine.
This was the only reason you kept him around (not to mention the fact that he’d incinerated them just as an arrow was about to be fired at your skull). However, you’d never admit that to yourself.
It was an unfortunate truth you were faced with as the words you’d shared with Lae’zel moments ago rang fresh in your mind.
You and your companions had crafted a simple plan, one that would garner the help of the Druid Halsin in looking for a cure for your affliction. It involved killing the leaders of the nearby goblin camp, which, especially in your current state, would be no easy task. That was exactly what Lae’zel had discussed with you. The tragic fact that you would need another spell caster to fulfill the details of the battle strategy she and you had scraped together.
For this unfortunate reason, you found yourself trudging over to a particularly frivolous tent. The object of your loathing was nestled inside the extravagant purple silk, undoubtedly curled up with a book. That’s how you imagined all wizards, to tell the truth, pondering a text with utmost focus.
You were hardly disappointed upon seeing your theory proven right. To make it all the better, he held a quill in one hand as he leafed through the pages. He had been annotating. It was almost annoying how predictable he was.
His brown eyes flicked up from their place on the page, the irises glinting in the dim candlelight. His lips subtly pulled down at the revelation that it was you. You’d grown so used to it that you hardly noticed the difference anymore.
“Come to grace me with your presence, I see.” The fancy words were laced with a bite he saved especially for you.
He set his quill down, although it wasn’t like he expected you to stay long. Your conversations had gotten shorter and shorter as time went on.
“If you’ve come to demonstrate any more of your spells, I’m going to have to ask you to refrain. Enough of us have been turned into cats for the day, I’m sure you agree.” He offered you an incredulous smile.
You scoffed.
It had only been one time you’d done it; surely he couldn’t be that stuck on the subject. You’d turned yourself into various creatures and objects in your lifetime. He should hardly be complaining about mere minutes of being a feline.
“I know we don’t see eye to eye on my methods—“ You were cut off by a curt laugh.
“Method is a generous label.” He noted with a humorous edge.
It was unbelievable how quickly he made you want to smack him. You’d given him more than enough chances by now, surely he could hear you out?
“Would you just let me talk for one second?” You sighed, shooting him a glare that even Astarion would be proud of.
He considered your request with an equally annoyed expression.
“Fine, what’s on your mind?” He slammed his book shut with a delicate flick of his wrist.
You took a small breath as you prepared yourself for his inevitable unsolicited feedback. You talked to goblins all day, for the gods' sake, surely he could be more palatable company.
Yet he always seemed to prove you wrong.
“I need you to travel with us tomorrow. If we are to have the best chance at taking on the goblin camp, we are going to need all the help we can get.” You managed to keep an even tone.
You could practically feel the waves of pride rolling off him.
You were coming to him for help. If there was one thing that every wizard craved, it was a little old-fashioned ego fluffing, and you had provided him with a generous gourmet helping.
“Well, we can agree on that, at least,” he smiled victoriously, “I would be more than happy to pick up the spell slack. To do that, however, I will be needing my rest.”
His eyes flicked to the exit of his tent expectantly. While normally you would have gladly retired to your bedroll, you could never allow him such a victory.
“My plan has nothing to do with a lack of faith in my own competency, I’ll have you know.” You began, your lips pursing together in a desperate act to save face.
Gale, however, looked less than convinced. The wisps of a smug look behind his typical placid grin only fueled your fire more.
“This mission requires utmost precision. Only a fool goes into battle without a strategy. And you, unfortunately, are a part of that strategy. Although it would go a lot smoother if you were a team player.” You adorned your words with an accusatory finger in his direction.
His face instantly fell, “A bit ignorant to say I’m not a team player, especially considering I go out of my way to tolerate your disastrous grasp on the weave. Which, I may say, is growing harder to entertain.”
His eyes narrowed into dark slits of disdain.
You felt your body congeal in frustration. A hurricane of emotion fluttered inside your chest; the last of your patience for his belittlement had long evaporated. A familiar spark of energy crackled within you, as it often did when you were upset.
“Everything I do is in the interest of the party! We would have never gotten this far if we hadn’t worked together.” You defended, feeling your cheeks warm in exasperation.
“Bold of you to call us a party when you’ve polymorphed us all.” He muttered, not entirely realizing he’d let it slip.
Although you hardly noticed his semblance of regret.
At the rate your chest was burning, you were bristling with energy. You were sick with the way he’d treated you, especially since you’d been the one to allow him to consume your hard-earned magical objects. You’d be the first to admit you weren’t nearly as skilled at combat as the rest of your companions, but feeling the consequences of your incompetence was beginning to weigh on you.
“Well, maybe if you landed a spell once in a while, we could get things done a lot faster. That way I wouldn’t have to do everything.” You crossed your arms incredulously.
Gale’s lips formed a thin line, a swarm of thoughts pulsing behind his gaze. He was well aware he’d taken it a touch too far, but your presence caused a certain itch inside him that always compelled him to open his mouth. It was one of the many things he despised about you—but then again, he couldn’t deny the surge of pleasure that filled him whenever he saw that signature furrow of your nose.
Still, he was ever a practical wizard.
“Well, seeing where this conversation is going, I think the best course of action would be for us to part ways for the night.” He declared with his greatest attempt at an even tone.
You scoffed, which happened so much at this point that it was starting to cause a tickle in your throat.
You hated it when he tried to flaunt that pragmatic nature of his. You wanted to say that it was all an act, but that would be giving him too much credit.
He really was just that boring.
“Oh no, don’t pretend like you’re all mature now. Save that behavior for tomorrow because you’ve already made your point tonight.” You seethed, hating the hurt your voice betrayed.
There was only one thing worse than Gale’s wizardly ego, and that was him knowing he had any semblance of an effect on you.
“Don’t act like you’re above all this.” He was beyond stopping the venom from returning to his tone, “An argument takes two parties to be effective. You aren’t exactly helping in making things even a bit civil.”
Another surge of energy sparked in your chest as you felt the scrutiny of his stare. Your cheeks instantly heated with a deep flush, your nose scrunching in the way he ever so enjoyed.
“Then I’m done acting.” You groaned in defeat.
You didn’t give him time to retort as you stormed out of his tent. Since you couldn’t seem to get it together, you would have to step away.
As much as you hated it, the reality of the fey wilds coursing through your veins was how it constantly wanted to burst to life. Your emotions only fueled it more.
As much as you wanted to unleash it on Gale, however, you needed all the allies you could get if you were to survive. Besides, it was never your wish to affect others with your magic in a way you didn’t intend.
While most casters could speak their weave to life with the eloquent words on their tongue, your magic spoke for you without your consent.
In times like these, you recalled the harrowing memories of disasters that manifested before your fingertips. At first, it was an amusing quirk—something your tutors had praised as a large capacity for powerful spell-work. Although that quickly disappeared when all you could muster was inconvenience after inconvenience
Perhaps if you were someone more like Wyll, with a level head, you could have the opportunity for good. A leader, even. Sure, that was the role you were thrust into, but a leader requires a certain level of decisiveness you could never promise.
You found yourself outside of camp with your fingers pressed to your face, an occurrence that was becoming too frequent with your bouts of emotion.
The trees used to calm you, especially on the first few days of the tadpole debacle, but tonight, it was hopeless.
Bursts of rapid breaths heaved through your fingers, a fruitless effort to quell the tightening feeling consuming your body. Your mind sifted through the various solutions you could reason in that moment.
How could you control your fate without being able to know what would burst from your palms? Perhaps if you could get a better hold on your emotions, you may stand a chance.
Your anxieties would have to wait.
You took a deep breath and stared into the expanse of leaves and branches before you. You turned your attention to the increasing thump of your heart. You imagined that each breath would swell your chest and constrict your heart to stop the rapid beating. As you did so, you extended your arm, instantly feeling the wild magic pawing at your palms as if begging to escape. Although with each breath, the flurry would begin to slow to a dim throb. You could now, at the very least, attempt your practice.
You would start with a simple cantrip, surely that couldn’t cause much issue.
You twiddled your fingers and uttered the phrase, “Maior et Fortior.”
As promised, your body swirled with flakes of golden weave. Blade Ward was an easy cantrip, and cantrips were never responsible for surges of your wild magic. It came as no surprise that it had gone according to plan.
You felt more confident now, easily moving through more spells. You had just enough mana left for various levels of casting, so you reasoned it best to continue to prepare in any way you could.
After a while of this, you were faced with your final challenge. Many sorcerers would hesitate to call it a challenge, but a Fireball for you was an almost certain guarantee of disaster.
For whatever reason, fire spells seemed particularly aggravating to your Wild Magic affliction. Perhaps it was because of your fragile line of patience or because you were naturally inclined towards destruction, but either way, it always posed a problem.
You raised your hand back, tendrils of flame beginning to lap at your fingers as you prepared the spell.
“Ardē.” The command trilled from the back of your throat.
A blaze of scorching embers blasted forth from the words like a dog freed from a leash. The brilliant inferno soared over the forest as if it were a blistering comet from The Tears above. You watched as it harmlessly planted itself into the lake ahead, just as you planned; the flames feeding into the water with a dying cough.
As you watched the light fade away, you felt your taut muscles release. It felt silly to have built up the spell that way you had. You felt like you often made issues to be a far greater beast in your mind than they truly were, and that was all this had been.
Nothing had gone wrong. You felt a sense of pride swell inside you.
That was until you felt the festering surge of wild magic spark from skin. Inside its mouth of chaos lay a fate that would soon be revealed.
The magic curled around your feet, and from the ground emerged a translucent maw that engulfed you. You watched hopelessly as you were surrounded by an iridescent shield. Presently, you pressed your fingers to it, trying to discern what mess you’d created this time.
You appeared to be in some kind of orb, and it was holding fast.
At first, you tried to burst it by smacking it fruitlessly with your staff. Then you figured to try a spell of some kind, but as you opened your mouth to speak, you found that no words came out. So even as you tried to scream and pound your hands on the surface, not a lick of sound was produced.
No hope of getting yourself out, no hope of alerting your allies.
All at once, you felt your emotions crash down on you. How could you let this happen? You’d come to terms with the fact that your magic was unpredictable long ago. Except that was back when you had the comforts of home, with a bed to go back to instead of a sack of fabric on the forest floor.
Now, your magic was all you had to stand between you and a goblin's arrow. You knew the truth: without your magic, you were a liability.
You went from pounding against the orb to slumped into such a miserable pile of distress that you might as well be a lemure oozing in the hells. This cycle of thoughts played out in your head over and over with no discernible signs of stopping. That was until the sound of your labored breaths was replaced by the echo of a voice.
You thought anything was better in comparison to the symphony in your head, except the owner of the sound was everything but what you associated with comfort.
You looked up from your tight bundle of emotions to behold none other than Gale gazing down upon you. His face was sheathed in a milky fog through the shell of the orb. You felt a bit like an animal on display as he tapped a finger to the surface.
You almost winced as he repeated your name, sounding like he was underwater.
“Just what in the hells happened to you?” He asked, although he seemed to think better of his words after he spoke them.
He shook his head, knowing you couldn’t respond—or at least if you tried, he wasn’t very good at reading lips. He hissed a breath through his teeth and turned back to you.
“Now you know you’re going to have to be the one to get yourself out of there, so just listen to me?” He spoke with the same dictation expected of a teacher in front of a lecture.
You instantly frowned at the notion. You weren’t accepting help from Gale. You’d never live it down.
He seemed to take note of your apprehension and returned his foggy gaze to the floor. You could see he was debating something through the curtain of his feathery hair.
“I know we did not end our previous conversation on the best of terms, and I am sorry if that is the reason you are upset. But I need you to follow my instructions.” He paused, his tone a bit more defeated now, “I feel it is partially my fault that you are in this position, if that should be the case.”
You felt your body go rigid as each soft syllable fell from his tongue. Had Gale just apologized? Not only that, he was taking accountability. The subject seemed so foreign to you that you barely registered his words.
Despite this, you found yourself rising to your feet, hands pressed against the crest of the orb to meet him. You gave him a curt nod, and you watched his face morph into a satisfied expression.
“Right then, I need you to take some slow breaths for me.” He instructed, and upon seeing your compliance, continued, “Just like that. Now focus on the weave inside you. I want you to picture that chaos like tides in a stormy sea. That’s all it is, just a simple storm. Now imagine those waters calming, slowing down to gentle waves.”
His voice was strangely hypnotic as you followed his every word. The metaphor was uncanny, as you truly felt like there was a storm constantly brewing in your chest. Each spell you cast was like a vessel for it, channeling into destruction when it burst from your fingertips.
Each breath you took soothed the tides, turning the twisting waves into a gentle flow, warming your insides. You felt the tension instantly released from your limbs, and as you sighed in relief, the orb around you dissipated.
Its absence left you and Gale standing there with only the moonlight for company. You couldn’t meet his eye, casting your gaze to the forest floor. All previous peace was replaced with lingering shame.
Perhaps Gale spoke to fill the silence, or perhaps he was just that nosy, but he began to prattle on with useless questions anyway.
“Might I ask what you were doing out here, by yourself, might I add?”
You scoffed. Did he not have the slightest ounce of faith in you that he doubted your ability to wander on your own?
“Spare me the lecture, Gale.” You snapped, looking off at the lake in the distance.
Upon realizing he was giving you space to think, you felt comfortable continuing.
“I was training, if you must know.” You admitted quietly.
You already regretted opening up by the way his eyebrows furrowed. It may be a misunderstood judgment, but you could have sworn you saw pity in his eyes. Somehow, that was worse.
“Don’t look at me like that.” You said incredulously, “You don’t know what it’s like to feel that you can’t even control your own magic.”
Your chest filled with a deep pool of shame at the confession, “I was simply trying to do damage control, so don’t you dare mock me.”
Instead of the instant retort you expected, Gale simply stared at you. His soft brown eyes shimmered under the moonlight as he considered your words. You were frozen under his gaze, waiting in horrible anticipation of his next berate.
“You’re right. I shouldn’t mock you.” He said finally.
You looked back up at him, unable to contain your expression from furrowing in confusion.
“There was a time I, too, didn’t have a grasp over my magic.”
Your lips turned down at the notion. The last thing you wanted to hear about was the glory of wizardly study.
“I’m not in the mood to hear you preach your textbooks—“ You were cut off by an annoyed sigh.
“I mean, I was like you. There was plenty-a-time where I summoned a disaster without trying, or spontaneously sprouted fur, for that matter.” He relented.
This, however, caused you to pause. Gale was never good at relating to others. You couldn’t tell if this was an intervention or empathy.
“It’s a bit hard to imagine the studious Gale of Waterdeep to have ever experienced trouble with spell casting of all things.” You said in an almost accusatory tone.
“Well, I am serious. I’ll have you know I’ve summoned quite a few beasts in my time.” Against all odds, Gale smiled.
You studied his expression for any further traces of mockery.
“Really?”
He gave a good-humored chuckle, “On one occasion, I summoned a magma mephit. Quite the nice fellow, I might add.”
You laughed softly. The vision of Gale having a pleasant conversation with a mephit was comedic. It filled your chest up with a welcome warmth.
“Sadly, none of the mephits I’ve summoned have been up for conversation. Mostly I just get singed.” You offered him a smile back.
Gale laughed along with you, shaking his head. His brown hair fell around his face in a sweeping motion.
“Well, my point remains. I understand what it’s like to feel out of control when it comes to magic. Sometimes the weave is unpredictable if you slacken your hold.” He spoke uncharacteristically softly.
You felt the cramp of shame in your chest unclench. The wild magic in your heart seemed to calm, and because of Gale, of all people.
“I only wish it were less uncertain. We can’t afford any accidents tomorrow. I cannot allow our downfall to be because of me.” Your voice nearly cracked, betraying more weakness than you were comfortable with.
Gale paused for a moment. His eyes seemed to swirl in contemplation, the light dancing off his pupils with a subtle glint.
“If you will allow me, I may be able to assist in that regard.” He hesitated, garnering your reaction, “With your mild magic, that is.”
You considered it, clenching your jaw at the thought. Something within his gaze made you reconsider your initial rejection.
You nodded slowly.
The corners of Gale’s lips turned up subtly. He couldn’t help the excitement coursing through him. After all, he was a teacher at heart.
“How are you feeling? No magical surges brewing?” He wiggled his fingers as he gestured towards you.
You considered the thought, although it seemed that the fae wilds were dormant for the time being.
“No.” You muttered.
He straightened out, “Well then, you recall what I had you do before, yes? That is an excellent method for holding it back. But say you want a little power behind your spells, a little kick if you will.”
You sighed, “And why would I want to let loose the tides of chaos?”
He grimaced, a signal for you to be patient, “An extra bit of power could do wonders against a horde of goblins running at your face.
“I’m listening.”
“A wise decision,” He continued.
“Focus back on the tides within yourself. That surge is always reachable. Luck for you, the weave is inherently a part of you as a sorcerer.” He spoke with a tinge of envy, “When you take a deep breath, you want to let out the air slowly, yes? It’s much the same, except you want to let out only a small portion of the tides as you do. That way, when you cast your spell, there is a far lesser chance that there will be any consequences.”
You looked down at your hands uncertainly. You had only just begun to get a grasp on your wild magic, how could you trust yourself to purposefully let it out?
“I’m not sure about this. It’s too big of a risk to be trying so soon, not with what’s at stake tomorrow.” You gave him a defeated look.
“Please, trust me.” He urged, “Or at the very least, trust yourself.”
His words caused your stomach to twirl uncertainly. You wanted to be able to trust yourself—your magic, but it had been far outside your control for so long that the feeling was unnatural. However, your survival was on the line. And as much as you loathed it, you did trust the expertise of the wizard before you.
“Fine.” You agreed suddenly, “But stand back, I wouldn’t want you to get accidentally singed, or worse.”
He tossed up his hands in defeat and took a few steps away.
You looked back at your hands, wiggling your fingers nervously. You didn’t have much mana remaining now. A low-level spell would have to do.
You closed your eyes and did as Gale instructed. You harnessed the weave inside yourself, the wild magic tossing and turning like an uncertain sleeper. You allowed it a small gateway as you prepared the evocation.
“Ardē.” Your tongue clicked to the roof of your mouth as you willed the magic to life.
The flames burst from your hands in a dazzling cone. Its potency for damage was far greater than a non-wild spell, that was certain. This was proven by the blaze lapping at the branches of the foliage all around you. The flame was mild enough as not to cause a disaster, but they still crackled with great enthusiasm.
“There, and with no fur in sight on either of us.” He teased.
You looked around in amazement, turning back to Gale to see him smiling at you, proudly. Embers flaked off the trees around you, dappling you both in flickers of warm light. The golden hues reflected in his eyes as he gazed at you.
It was an odd sight, but not an unwelcome one.
You smiled back.
“I feel the need to apologize.” He began slowly, “I believe I haven’t been fair to you. You have been considerate of me, with the orb business and all.”
You watched him shuffle uncomfortably in the low light. From the way he swallowed, he was not particularly eager to open up.
Despite this, you found it endearing.
“It would be ignorant of me to say I never did the same. I could have been kinder, and for that I am sorry.” You spoke softly, matching the intensity of his gaze.
Gale considered your words, his lips turning up imperceptibly. He stood quietly for a moment, the embers beginning to die out around you.
“I am wondering if we could start over?” He finally relented.
Your gaze flicked down to see that he had extended his hand. This time, you found yourself laughing eagerly.
“That will do, Gale of Waterdeep.” You spoke through your grin.
You placed your hand in his gently. His skin was cold against your fire-licked palm. The warmth seemed to pulse against him, causing you both to shiver.
“I think we have a deal.”
For the first time since you’d met, you and Gale finally agreed on something. So you stood in the dimming firelight, soaking up the feeling, hands pressed together.
★ ₊ ˚⟡ Following a series of mistakes on Halloween, a college girl, and her group of friends, are thrown into a sequence of events that will ruin their lives forever.
𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝓲𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓼 - Eyeless Jack, Tim Wright (MH), Brian Thomas (MH), Jeffery Woods, Toby Rodgers, Helen Otis
I am unsure of the original creator of these images, if known please tell me and I will credit :)
Previously called Morosis. Please see my blog for more chapters!
The void engulfed the girl in the shifting tides often brought about by alcohol. Except this time, something lurked amongst the darkness.
She could recall faint flickers of trees here and there, but all would eventually cut to black. Inside these increments, she'd see the faces of Becca and Jen glaring at her. Their expressions were foggy as if she was eyeing them through a fuzzy mirror.
She knew she had to wake up, as every inch of her body was on fire with the danger that surrounded her. Finally, a sharp, yet gentle touch, pulled her thoughts from the depths.
When she opened her eyes, she braced herself for any potential light. To her dismay, the darkness still surrounded her.
As her stomach dropped, however, she had the realization that the form before her was no shadow, but rather two familiar voids staring back at her.
"Is the little bird finally waking up?" His voice was like a ripple in a pool of water.
She squinted her eyes as she tried to discern where she was through the fog. However, this didn't last long as pinpricks of cold talons pressed against her skin. The sensation instantly wiped away the confusion.
The eyeless abomination stared down at her with that same grin that was burned into her corneas. The light of the moon lined his form in a silver rim as he stared down at her.
The girl gasped and instinctively lurched back. Even if she weren't intoxicated, his hold would have been enough to keep her pressed against him.
"I must say, you have quite the knack for getting yourself into trouble, darling." He shifted her to his lap so that her hazy eyes could see the stars. "If I hadn't come around when I did, your brain would be static right now."
The girl's thoughts instantly shifted to the crackling figure of the Operator. Had it been lurking all along? How could she have been such a fool? Why did she run?
One thought stuck in her mind, she hoped her friends hadn't followed her.
"I'd expect a thank you," he continued and leaned closer to her pallid features, "but I don't think a word is escaping those pretty lips of yours in your current state."
The proclamation seemed to slice right through her and filled her with a sense of sobriety. It may have been sheer pettiness in the face of his goading rather than actual confidence, but she sneered nonetheless.
"I have nothing to say to you." She spat, her voice barely escaping her dry lips.
The demon only seemed to be more delighted at her words, his ever-present grin widening. It had been a long time since she'd addressed him personally, and he certainly missed her voice.
"Oh, you are just precious. Is that any way to talk to someone who just saved your life? Your list of favors I'm owed is growing, it seems." He looked at her with a sense of disturbed adoration.
As the moon glinted off his shark-like teeth, she wondered just how many were torn apart by the mouth that spoke such sickly sweet words.
That fact mattered little as she narrowed her eyes at him, the nerves pulling so taught they threatened to pop from her face.
"I owe nothing to you. You took everything from me—" Her voice broke at the sheer strain, "I hate you."
If her statement bothered him, he didn't show it in the slightest. The holes were his eyes should be glistened in a thin sheath of silver as he regarded her in mild amusement.
"Oh, don't be so dramatic. You made a wish, I made it come true. You summoned me, I gave you what you were owed." He said in mild boredom.
She couldn't fathom a response to this. He was a demon, she couldn't expect him to see reason. That part was clear. Yet the way the ghost of Cass's face lingered in the back of her mind always took away such rationality.
A subtle shiver ran across her body as she was overwhelmed with emotion. She wanted to say so much at once, but every word manifested into more tears welling up in her eyes. Although the demon didn't seem to notice—or care, rather, as he kept staring down at her indifferently.
"You're a monster." She couldn't manage to say it above a whisper.
She felt like a coward for not being able to voice her pain like she should. She still feared the wrath of his talons, even with everything he'd done. Maybe Becca was right after all.
The demon watched with an unreadable expression as tears began to pour down her cheeks. He leaned in attentively and reached out a charcoal-tinted claw to lift one off her skin. He held it up and examined how it caught the moonlight, looking like a small pearl.
"I've been called far worse by fouler creatures than you." He said finally, "Those words are practically a compliment coming from a mouth like yours."
The girl's lips parted in surprise at the statement. His pretty words stirred a jumble of contempt and curiosity within her. A beast like him must be ancient. She was left wondering what he stood to gain from such gentleness, especially when he was free to tear her apart any time he wished.
As he went to continue, he brought her glistening teardrop to the rim of his lips, his eerie black tongue swiping it from his claw with a deliberate slowness.
"I've gone by many names throughout time. Although if you wish to address me, perhaps you'd be partial to something more familiar to a human." He cast his gaze back to her, smiling once more, "Call me Jack."
The information only served to further perplex her. Jack? Now, she didn't know much about demons other than from fiction, but what she had gathered in that time all pointed back to one main theme: demons usually didn't give out their names. Although this very clearly was no demonic label, it confused her all the same. A name felt intimate, and she certainly had no mutual interest in sharing such familiarity.
"Jack? Why?" She couldn't help but ask.
His expression shifted as she spoke, as if he was reminiscing on something. The corners of his lips pulled down in the way someone might when considering a complicated task. He returned his hand to the side of her face and looped a finger around a lock of her hair. She shivered at the action, growing further unsettled by his insistence on being so physical.
"That was the name of this vessel." He said simply, idly fiddling with her hair.
She furrowed her eyebrows and tilted her head to inspect him further. He looked mildly surprised when she managed to prop herself up, despite her vision spinning as she did so. She thought back to the illustration on the page of the book Becca had brought to the forest that night. Although the affair was hazy, she recalled that the entity depicted had more similarities to an eldritch horror of old fiction than the humanoid being before her. Although the thought only left her with more questions. Especially the notion of the two gaping holes in his face.
"You were human once?" She muttered, gaze lingering on his sharp yet disturbingly pleasing features.
His taunting smile was promptly restored by the question. He chuckled and began to brush his fingers through her hair, making her shrink back at the sight of his fangs being in such proximity to her face.
"Such a curious little thing." He mused, "No, but he is a part of me now. So I am entitled to the alias, I believe."
Not only did that answer nothing, but she was growing annoyed by the way he made her feel like a small animal. The alcohol coursing through her system had rendered her judgment useless, although that seemed obsolete as she knew that even sober, she would have been trapped. Perhaps if she could draw more information from him, it could lead her closer to figuring out a way to rid them of him forever.
Before she could question him further, he seemed insistent on continuing to torment her. He hummed, reveling in how her attention was currently so wrapped up in him.
"Since you seem to be keen on asking questions, perhaps you could answer some of mine?" He didn't leave room for her to respond; instead, his grip on her strengthened.
"Why are you so insistent on refusing to listen to me?"
She winced as his claws began to dig into her skin, although not nearly enough to do any sort of damage. His smile took on a certain dangerous edge, and she realized there wouldn't be any entertainment of her interrogation tactic.
"Why the hell would I listen to you?" She asked, her voice cracking, "You took everything from me. You destroyed my life and left me to live through it."
Rage boiled inside her, and she strained against his grip in protest. She was met with a sharp pain in her cheek as his claw pierced her skin. The pain was a reminder that this was no alcohol induced dream. She couldn't be that upset; in the end, she reasoned she deserved this. A sick punishment for putting her friends through everything.
"Do you know how frustrating it is to have spared your life only for you to try throwing it away at every inconvenience?" He halted his grip, just as blood threatened to spill from the pressure.
"Perhaps I should let that faceless abomination have you; that would seem to align better with your current interests."
She gasped in pain, although the burning pinprick couldn't hold a candle to the weight upon her chest. All at once, her emotions came pouring out.
She realized now that everything had been perfect before, and she'd never once valued it. Stress from school, arguments with her aunt—hell, even social trouble, all of these were problems she should have been blessed to have. They were the problems of a normal girl who was painfully ungrateful for her life. A life she willed away to a demon. The truth was staring back at her through two cavernous eyes: she really was just a small bird trapped in a cage of her own making.
"I don't care anymore." She managed to mumble, "I don't fucking care! All I'm fucking good for is running. Maybe if you left me in the dirt, I'd finally get what I deserve."
He was eerily silent as she sniffed through her tears. She absent-mindedly dug her fingers into his arm, matching his vice grip. She shook against him, his form looking akin to blurred ink on a page through her tear-filled eyes.
She continued in a voice barely above a whisper, "They were right to call me selfish. They trusted me to help them, and I constantly leave them behind. They went through all that effort just for me to run away."
A cold laugh emitted from somewhere deep in her throat. It was comical how no matter what she did, she only made things worse.
"You'd be doing me a favor." She concluded, her head falling back into his lap with a pathetic thud.
Her outburst was met with momentary silence. As she heaved in heavy breaths, his lips pressed into an impassive frown. He studied her with those dark sockets for a moment before his grip suddenly released.
To her surprise, his voice took on an unexpectedly soft edge, "Do you know what attracted me to you?"
He paused at her baffled quietness.
"It was that despite everything, you maintained that stubborn courage. It took far longer than expected to whittle you down enough for me to entertain showing myself to you. Fear makes for a delicious meal. But that resolve of yours made you far better entertainment." He began to gently stroke the side of her face as he spoke.
He ran a tender touch over the angry red marks he'd left not moments before. She felt her chest twist in further guilt at his words.
Where had her courage gone now?
"So this tantrum of yours isn't your truth." He continued, "Rather, the truth of that poison you humans so greedily put through your system."
As much as she'd loathe to admit it, Jeff had been right when he'd told her not to drink. She hoped that it could do what it always did best, numb her. What a fool she'd been to believe that. All she could do now was feel.
"But it is true." She couldn't bear to look at him any longer as the tears rushed down her face.
Her fingers tore into his arm with the same ambition he'd had not so long ago. He didn't so much as flinch, simply maintaining the soft stroking motion, thumbing through pieces of her hair.
"I can't do this anymore." The noise was faint, like it was at the cusp of a whistle.
The words seemed like a death sentence to her. As if the previous denial had willed it to silence. She was overwhelmed with guilt for having spoken such vulnerably to him of all people. Her entire position filled her with such immense disgust that bile began to writhe in the back of her throat. No matter how much she wished it were false, no one else was around. So she did the only thing she could manage to do at the moment: continue to sob into his lap.
Her pained whines were continually met with more gentle attention. Each soft chide was an homage to the irony of the situation. She knew a creature like him had no capacity for empathy, and the fact only made the fear cut deeper into her heart.
They stayed like that for a while, until her cries seemed to grow distant in her mind. She couldn't distinguish the sounds of her own agony from the idle noises of the forest around them.
She felt his lips fan against the tip of her ear long before she registered his words, "It's alright, little bird. You have not been spent just yet. Now is not your time."
His words sliced through the fog. She could hardly distinguish whether she was awake or asleep through the twilight of her brain.
"I am going to help you one more time."
That message, however, did not fall on deaf ears. It stood out like a blaring siren. The truth sank in with a harrowing burst of dread. It wasn't a promise, it was a warning.
-
The whispers continued long after her consciousness faded. She couldn't be sure when his touch left her side, as she'd see increments of him between dreams.
Somewhere within it all, she found herself staring into a warm abyss. The feeling was like a blanket she'd once had in childhood. For a moment, she was warm, and when she opened her eyes, the contentment was only confirmed.
The living room of her apartment was filled with a gentle glow. Fairy lights framed the walls. The little stars dappled the walls like snowflakes, courtesy of the girl's insistence on aesthetics. Jen and Becca were draped on the couch, laughing with each other about something or other. Their hands were clasped around fizzy drinks, likely mixed by Jen, who had an affinity for the practice.
The girl's chest filled with the joy of familiarity, and she eagerly rounded the corner. The fibers of the carpet felt just as rough as she remembered, but it was perfect all the same. As she walked up to the group, she noticed the other two people laughing amongst themselves.
Tim and Brian sat across from her friends, looking equally as content. The girl had grown accustomed to seeing Tim's eyebrows downturned with worry lines. Now, the only thing that graced his soft features was an unlikely smile. Brian, in turn, laughed at something Becca inevitably said.
They looked good like that. Slowly, a smile found its way onto the girl's face.
Jen turned to her, her arm brushing over the side of the couch, "Where have you been? We missed you."
Her tone was carefree in the way typical of her. The energy was infectious, it seemed, as Becca turned to greet the girl soon after.
"I was kinda hoping you'd come home late so I could have the rest of the spritz to myself." Becca chimed in, her eyes sparking mischievously.
The girl stifled a laugh, "You'd be destroyed. It's a good thing I showed up."
Where had she gone anyway? She couldn't remember now. It didn't matter in the end, she figured.
Brian laughed at the girl's words, chiming in with an easy grin, "We bet that she'd be on the floor by the end of the night. It's a shame, really."
"The night's still young," Tim added, letting a plume of smoke flow from his lips.
The girl didn't know how she hadn't noticed the smell of cigarettes before. It had been a staple of their home, surely, with Tim around.
"Thanks, asshole. Didn't we tell you to stop smoking inside?" Becca laughed sarcastically.
That was more like it.
"Yeah, but I'm comfortable." He responded simply.
The prospect sounded lovely, and the girl found herself hurrying over to the boy's side of the couch. She leered down at the pair, giving Brian's leg a small kick.
"Move over, I want to get in on this." She demanded.
"You just want us for our drugs," Brian said with a mock pout, but scooted over nonetheless.
She felt the presence of both men envelop her as she sat down. Almost instantly, she felt her heart flutter. Why did she miss that scent so much? Surely it hadn't been that long.
"Guilty." She responded, beckoning to Tim to pass her the cigarette like a child asking for a phone.
He extended his arm, holding the stick out in offering. Instead of reaching for it, she leaned in, wrapping her lips around the end. His thumb brushed her chin as she took a drag.
Once satisfied, she leaned back into Brian, smoke trailing from her lips as she went.
"Thanks."
Brian shook his head, chuckling at her antics. His arm looped over the back of the couch, ghosting over her shoulders.
"What's been up with you, huh? Where's my favorite girl been at?" He asked, smiling at her in that same charming way he always did.
Becca made a small gagging noise, earning a laugh from Jen. The girl narrowed her eyes as her friend glowered over at her.
"You're a terrible influence." She shook her head, "Whore."
The girl instantly whipped her head to Becca. It was evident she already had too much to drink. Even Jen seemed more rambunctious than usual, rocking back in her seat with an anxious chuckle.
"Oh, you're in trouble," Jen commented, eyeing the way the girl and Becca were playfully sizing each other up.
The group began squabbling in a way that was typical of them. As they carried on, the girl began to question why she still felt that tinge of anxiety in her stomach. She was with her friends, and everything seemed content as usual. It was perfect.
Too perfect.
As she continued to laugh at whatever Becca was saying, she realized something was missing. But what was it? It was something she couldn't quite put her finger on, like the answer to a test question when you need it most.
When she pondered it further, the answer came from a small whisper in the back of her head.
A small pounding noise.
As she thought about it, she realized it was a faint knocking.
"Is someone at the door?" She asked, looking between her friends.
Although none of them seemed to acknowledge it. They all kept talking amongst themselves. Not even Tim appeared to notice, despite his observant nature, simply listening to the group with the cigarette propped between his lips. She pressed again, but when it seemed no one was budging, she sighed. Did they seriously think she'd get the door because they were too lazy to?
She groaned as she got up, seeing as their gaslighting continued. Although as she went to go for the door, she realized the knocking wasn't coming from the front.
It was from her room.
She stared at the entrance a moment, frozen in place. It was cracked, although the small sliver of darkness betrayed no answers to the mystery. She felt like she should have known by now not to fall for something like that, but that feeling persisted in her stomach. Whatever she was missing, surely must have been in there.
The knocking only got louder as she approached. She swallowed as she wrapped her hand around the door knob. A surge of anxiety shot up her arm as soon as her fingers brushed the surface. She was an adult, for God's sake, she could surely go into a dark room. With a deep breath, she opened the door.
The realization sunk in as she beheld the sight before her. This wasn't her room. It was never her room.
It was Cass's.
She was displayed on the bed in the same manner in which the group found her that day. Her organs intertwined with the stained sheets like paint being swirled together on an easel. This time, however, she wasn't fully gone. Her chest rose and fell with a labored wheeze. With each breath, more was exposed from behind the fleshy curtain.
The girl felt a burning sensation rise from her throat. She gripped the side of the door, and her mouth opened to scream. Although nothing came out. It simply resulted in a pathetic, silent wheeze.
"You've forgotten me." Cass's voice was such a jumble of fluid that it was almost impossible to decipher what she was saying.
The girl shook her head in response. A single strain of words played through in her head. No, no, no.
She couldn't have. How could she? How had she forgotten?
Cass leaned forward in a struggling motion. The girl couldn't bear to look down, but the liquid surge of organs thumping against fabric told her all she needed to know.
"You left me behind." Her voice was bolder now.
The door had somehow shut behind the girl, to which she quickly became aware of as her back hit the wood. She profusely shook her head as Cass began to chant.
Her words became twisted. The tone began to fracture as she continued to speak. It changed octaves like a song on a distant radio station.
Suddenly, Becca and Jen's voices broke simultaneously through, "You left all of us."
The girl's voice finally shattered through her strained silence. She cried out, tears prickling in the corners of her eyes.
"I didn't want to." She sputtered, although the noise was feeble and pitiful, "I'm sorry."
She wanted to close her eyes to the abomination before her, but they were pasted open by a phantom force. Her eyes began to burn as she watched the face of her friend start to melt. The skin twisted and folded like tissue paper, until it was something entirely new. Entirely familiar.
It was her.
A bead of red appeared on the forehead of the beast that wore her face, quickly forming into a round, gushing wound. It looked something like a bullet hole, although all was becoming blurry through the sheath of tears in her eyes.
Presently, a warm sensation wrapped around her waist. A gentle embrace suddenly enveloped her. The cold pinpricks in her side were a cruel revelation of the truth.
"I can make it all go away, little bird," Jack spoke.
His breath ghosted across her neck. The tingling was garnished by the gentle graze of his teeth across her fragile skin.
"Give in to me, and all will be right again."
Her mind began to brew into a deep storm as all the stimulation cumulated. The knocking, his touch, the sight of her own corpse, began to pound in her skull. It was driving her mad, and she silently screamed into the void.
The knocking soon turned into pounding, and she continued to cry out into it. The sounds blurred together into one, burning into her body with an all-consuming force.
It ceased as soon as she opened her eyes, although her screaming persisted. She began to writhe around, barely acknowledging the soft sensation of cotton below her hands.
She could still feel the burning crawling up and down her body, the individual tickling feeling like the legs of small insects. The knocking, she realized, was not in her head, as it climaxed into an unmistakable crashing noise.
She tried to whip her head around to scan her surroundings, but it proved impossible by the introduction of an overwhelming beacon. She squinted her eyes, although it was impossible to distinguish anything around her. She gripped the sheets under her hands, sitting up with ragged breaths.
What the hell was going on? Where was she?
The answer seemed obsolete, however, as the light lowered to reveal silhouettes of a group of people. Her stomach twisted in horror. Not people, she realized.
The police.
-
Even as the girl stared out at the fluorescent bathed desert of the federal government, she still couldn't feel present in her body. The lights and the screaming had eventually blurred together until the only sobering thing left was the feeling of cold metal around her wrists.
The police had found the girl in a desolate motel. She had no idea how she got there, nor how many miles away from the party she was. That didn't matter to her, however, nor did any of the officers who sat across from her. At first, she'd been afraid that her life was over, seeing as there wasn't a clear way out of any of this. Although the more she pondered it, she realized this was the best outcome. At least her,e blame could fall on her and not those she had tried so hard to protect.
She had been questioned by multiple officers. None of them could get a lick of information out of her, however. At first, she'd been despondent, insisting she couldn't remember how she got to the motel and blabbering something or other about Jack. She knew the look they stared back at her with. They thought she was deranged, and perhaps they were right. She kept thinking she was going to wake up again in a new hell, but every time, only concrete stared back at her.
In the end, it turned out to be a blessing in disguise. The police deemed her unfit for questioning, let alone the idea of a trial in her current state. Instead, she was sentenced to be institutionalized for a proper mental health evaluation.
That brought her back to where she was now: being dragged down the hallways of a state-mandated psychiatric hospital by an indifferent-looking officer. She was cooperative, but she couldn't help but feel hollow inside. How could this happen to her? She studied the human brain, she was supposed to be outside these walls, not in them.
Shame pooled in her chest as she was stopped outside an ominous-looking door. It was a simple, ugly metal thing, but it felt like a tombstone to her all the same. Despite all of this, she couldn't deny that this fate was for the best. Perhaps in time, Jen and Becca could stop running and return to a normal life once all of this was pinned on her.
As she was guided inside, her eyes instantly darted to a figure across the room. She recalled the doctors telling her that due to a shortage of proper housing and care, they had limited rooms. She was well aware of the mental health crisis, but she hoped they were exaggerating to some degree that she might have a roommate.
She barely acknowledged the words of the officer behind her as she turned to look out the only window in the room. She figured it was going to be a frequent hobby of hers. Finally, she'd put all that practice dissociating in class to work.
She didn't stir until she heard the door shut behind her. Only then did her eyes cast to her new, hopefully silent, partner in delusion. Instantly, she felt her mind stir in recognition. She felt like she had seen him before, although she didn't know where.
He was a thin yet relatively lanky boy, even from his spot crouched in his bed. His hair was a mess of brown waves, hiding his tired, brown puppy-like eyes. Most notable, however, were his bandaged hands and a scar that ran across the side of his mouth. It looked freshly healed from the glossy pink hue.
She stood stock still, feeling her head clear for the first time in days. This was her new reality, and all she could hope was that things could be better this time. She couldn't tell what the way he was looking at her curiously meant for her future, but she found herself stuck on one pesky thought: this wasn't over.
★ ₊ ˚⟡ Following a series of mistakes on Halloween, a college girl, and her group of friends, are thrown into a sequence of events that will ruin their lives forever.
𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝓲𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓼 - Eyeless Jack, Tim Wright (MH), Brian Thomas (MH), Jeffery Woods, Toby Rodgers, Helen Otis
I am unsure of the original creator of these images, if known, please tell me and I will credit :)
Previously called Morosis. Please see my blog for more chapters!
The girl watched as her hair fell into the sink like ribbons from a Christmas gift. A haircut should be trivial, but the pieces seemed to stare up at her as if she'd lost a friend all over again.
She cast her gaze back up to her reflection in the mirror of the gas station bathroom the group had been slumming at. She was no professional, but she felt like her new bob suited her at the very least. Her hair feathered just below her ears and brushed her chin gently. She had even bleached it a few shades lighter to add the perfect touch. However, no matter how good it turned out, the person in the mirror was still foreign to her.
It had been a few days since the revelation Becca, Jen, and herself were wanted criminals. Tim and Brian had done everything they could to help them lay low, even with Jeff sticking close by the girl like a guard dog. She hadn't asked him to be there, although she'd never admit he made her feel slightly safer from her accomplices. All three women had made an effort to alter their appearances. At least now they didn't look exactly like their pictures on the evening news. Despite this, the girl still felt like she was constantly watched by a leering gaze. She secretly prayed it was law enforcement over the Operator or even worse, the demon.
She hoped with every bone in her body she'd never befall his eyeless gaze again.
The girl was shaken from her trance by the noise of the door squeaking open. Jen peeked in from the small slit, Becca lurking behind her. Both seemed equally shocked at how different the girl looked, stopping to scan her over.
Jen had traditionally kept her hair a bleach blonde. Occasionally, her dark roots would peek through. Now her hair was even darker than its natural color and she had even cut herself new bangs. Similarly, Becca had gone lighter and given herself a new style. She had begrudgingly discarded her eyebrow piercing as if that would do much more.
Jen surveyed the girl, the ghost of a smile appearing on her features, "This is a good look for you."
The girl met her gaze gratefully, the distraction from her thoughts was much appreciated. She messed with her newly cut bangs, smiling softly.
Becca pushed her way around Jen to get a better look at the girl. Her expression was unreadable, although the girl could sense trouble stirring.
"I gotta say, you pull off blonde way better than me. I'm almost jealous." Becca mused, crossing her arms as she took in her friend.
The girl laughed softly, "I know you're a brunette girly, but I think you look good. Don't give me so much credit."
The small talk felt almost strange amongst the group. The girl didn't know how long it had been since they'd discussed something normal.
Becca scoffed and joined the girl in front of the mirror. She stared deeply into her reflection, her jaw beginning to clench.
"God, I hate this." She said through her teeth.
Jen stood next to her, placing a hand on her shoulder, "It's not that bad. You'll get used to it."
Becca blinked in annoyance, eyeing her sharply.
"I'm not talking about my hair. I mean this whole fucking ordeal. I mean come on, are we sure this is better than taking responsibility?" Her tone was laced with a long brewing annoyance.
"I know it's hard Becs, this is the scariest thing any of us have ever done." The girl reassured, "We're in this for you."
"Right," Jen agreed, "This isn't our fault."
This seemed to be the final straw as Becca jerked her shoulder away from Jen. She backed away, her eyes wild with a sea of anger and hurt.
"Can you stop saying that? I'm fucking sick of it. We can't keep acting like this wasn't all because of us, because of me. Cass is dead due to my actions. Then we just run away like we are above consequences? I deserve to be locked up, I shouldn't get to have a normal life again." Her voice cracked under the sheer rage.
A pang shot through the girl's chest like a twisting dagger. How could Becca still blame herself? She out of all of them should understand that going to prison would solve nothing. The demon would still be loose on the world and they would likely be slaughtered by him in the end. At least now they could actively search for a way to be rid of him for good.
"This is our consequence! We brought the demon here so it's our responsibility to stop him. We can't let more people suffer Cass's fate, you know that." The girl challenged.
Becca stared through the girl as if seeing her for the first time. Her fists tightened, knuckles turning a milky white. Her gaze swirled with confliction, yet she couldn't stop the words from pouring from her mouth.
"Please, we don't even know if we can stop that psychotic bitch. What have we done so far? Get caught up with a bunch of insane strangers?" Becca pushed, her gaze hardening.
Jen pressed her lips together, although not entirely disregarding her words.
"None of us knew this would happen." She offered.
Becca laughed cynically, "We don't seem to know a lot nowadays, huh? Speaking of which, I feel like you two don't even want to talk to me."
She cast an accusatory look at the girl, "And you keep on fucking disappearing! You're leaving us alone with these assholes, and for what?"
The girl cut her off swiftly with a hardened gaze, "That's not fair. I've been doing everything for you."
"Not fair? Don't talk to me about fairness. It's not like we don't notice how comfortable you are with them. You are so willing to be all close with Tim even though he tried fucking kill you! Oh and let's not even talk about you letting that pale creep hang around after he's been stalking you." Becca stepped closer, on the cusp of shouting.
The girl was stunned at her outburst. She opened her mouth to retort but nothing came out. Her body felt like it was frozen as hundreds of thoughts rushed into her mind. Were her sacrifices truly selfless? She hadn't meant to cast aside her friend's feelings but what else was she supposed to do? They were in the face of countless dangers, navigation wasn't as simple as they made it out to be.
Thankfully, Jen stepped in front of the girl, shielding her from Becca's gaze.
"That's enough. We are all going through a lot right now. We can't turn on each other." Jen's words were firm, but her voice wavered.
The girl took in a deep breath, trying to ignore the whirlpool that seemed to swirl through her insides. She had to push past the confusion, she couldn't let herself crack now.
"Tensions are running high right now, clearly. I think we need a breather before we have to leave." The girl managed to say in an even tone.
Becca nodded slowly, letting her freshly bleached locks fall over her face. She bit her lip, trying to keep more from spilling out.
Jen wrapped her arms around Becca's shoulders and the girl took this as her cue to leave. She knew that if she remained there, she would break down in tears.
She couldn't let them see her cry. They were the ones who needed to feel right now.
She pushed past the door, emerging out into the fluorescent-bathed gas station. She surveyed the shelves in an attempt to distract herself from the hurricane inside her chest.
She hated when she was like this, one thought after the other causing tremors throughout her body. She was better than this, she could handle her emotions. A quick step outside would fix her she reasoned. It had to.
As she stormed through the aisles, she caught Brian's eye from across the room. He went to smile at her but quickly thought better of it upon seeing her face. He approached her tentatively, his expression brimming with concern.
"You' ok?" He offered, "You look a little heated."
"I'm fine. Things are just confusing right now." She insisted, fighting to keep an indifferent look.
He nodded, knowing better than to press the subject. It wasn't his business to pry.
"Well, we have to get out of here soon anyway. If we're going to catch that guy who can help you out, we gotta' get to this party before it gets too late." He attempted to appease her with a subject change.
The party. The 'guy' Tim and Brian had talked about would apparently make an appearance at some lowlife party. The group knew it wouldn't be the safest scene, but the crowd that threw them was the only kind that could help them.
Despite social interaction not being her greatest strength at the moment, she felt more at ease at the prospect of alcohol.
The girl nodded, "Give us like 10 minutes. We need to get it together before we get out of here."
Brian seemed satisfied with her answer and gave her a small grin.
"Alright," He relented, "I'll get you a few snacks for the road. Might cheer you up."
She did her best to smile back before turning to make her way outside. It would be hard to truly forgive him, but it made it hard to stay angry with him when he was so gentle to her. In fact, it was infuriating.
The cold air hit her face and she revealed at the icy pins that pricked her skin. It was a welcome rush to contrast her pounding head. The fluttery feeling Brian constantly gave her only made her feel guiltier. It proved Becca right. She wished nothing more in that moment that her life could be simple and that she could live in a world where her three best friends were still together. A world where they could all tease her about having a crush. She didn't get to have a crush, she got to deal with grief and the looming presence of her own demise.
As she fought back tears, a presence appeared at her side. She didn't have to turn her head to know it was Jeff, who had been attentively waiting outside for the group to finish their pitstop.
"Before you ask, we won't be that much longer." She sniffed, hoping her hair would block her watery eyes.
He thankfully didn't question her. Instead, he simply stood next to her looking out into the trees.
"You look different." He stated as if it wasn't obvious.
She looked over at him questioningly. The dimly lit night only made his dark eyes seem all the more foreboding. He seemed to notice, his scars shifting across his cheeks as he grinned.
"It's not a bad different." He added, causing her to sigh.
"If you are trying to compliment me, you are doing a bad job." She huffed, crossing her arms.
He chuckled, eyeing her intently, "Alright fine, you look good. Does that make you feel better? It seems like things got pretty rough in there."
She shot him a glare, taken aback by his bluntness. He had somehow mastered being a dickhead and supportive all at once.
"Running from the police isn't easy. I'm sure you'd know a thing or two about that." She confessed, looking back to her shoes.
He rolled his shoulders, carefully considering her words. He'd been doing this for a while, he had forgotten what it had felt like to be afraid anymore. Although looking at her now made something stir within himself.
"You don't know the half of it." His tone seemed softer than it was before.
She almost thought he looked guilty for a moment. Almost.
He continued to look off into the distance, allowing her a moment to breathe. As he inspected the horizon, he let out a small sigh.
"Look," he turned to her promptly, "I don't think going to this party is the best idea."
She was taken aback by his words. She knew he didn't particularly enjoy Tim or Brian's presence, but thus far he had supported her to some degree.
"Why? You said yourself you thought this may be worth a shot if we want to keep our freedom." She questioned.
"I just don't think you're in the right mind to be going to a place like that right now. I mean the last time you went to a party, I had to drag you off the side of the road." He pointed out with an unimpressed look.
She scoffed, blinking her eyes in disbelief. Was he worried?
"Well I don't have much of a choice, now do I?" The girl shot back.
Jeff huffed, furrowing his eyebrows together. She was truly the most stubborn person he'd ever met.
"I meant more like don't start drinking or anything like that. You have no idea what you're dealing with." He said finally.
Her expression softened as his words marinated. He was making some sense, at least. Although alcohol was the one thing she was looking forward to at the moment.
"You're funny." She sighed, shaking her head.
Jeff didn't get the chance to respond as a familiar presence slinked around the corner. Tim, who had been smoking around the side of the building, stepped into view. He dropped his cigarette, putting it out with his foot.
As he did, he took an ample amount of time taking in the girl. She instinctively went to mess with a strand of her hair. He considered her, something shifting behind his eyes. His eyes held a soft longing, but only for a moment. His expression instantly hardened and he regarded her with a nod.
"We need to get a move on if we are going to get anything done." He eyed Jeff suspiciously, "Like now."
Jeff grimaced and the girl turned away from him with an exasperated sigh.
"Fine, I'll go grab everyone else." She complied.
As Tim and Jeff continued to glare each other down, she only felt the pit in her stomach worsen. This was going to be one hell of a night.
~
As the girl stared into the crowd of flashing colors, she couldn't help but feel like she had come full circle.
The party was about as much as she'd expected it to be. Everything about the place was seedy. A house in the middle of the woods brimming with people and each one had a peculiar look about them. A decent portion of them wore masks. Others, much like Jeff, had mysterious facial scars. Not that she was judging, she'd seen too much in the past few months to care.
Tim and Brian had disappeared into the house not long after they arrived. Jeff, for whatever reason, had insisted he would stay outside. He was so adamant about it that the girl began to question his motives. He had of course tried to get her to stay out there with him but he was officially in the way of her having a good time. So she went in anyway, which brought her back to where she was now.
She stared down the bottom of another empty shot glass like she was looking into a bullet chamber. It was just her and the drink table, which was surrounded by a few questionable individuals. They didn't seem to care, even at the rate she was putting down alcohol. Jen and Becca had vanished from her side about 4 shots in, but at that rate, she had stopped counting.
The synthetic beat thrummed in her ears and she winced. She couldn't tell if it was the music or her constant stream of intrusive thoughts that was causing her head to hurt. The muggy feeling of sweat in the air and the sight of red-solo cups used to be enticing. Now it was just a reminder of where it all began, Harrison's party. It had technically been Halloween when they summoned the demon, sure, but if she hadn't been at Harrison's that night she would never be suspected of his murder. Then maybe she would have done anything else rather than going out into those woods.
She took another shot at the mere thought. The memories of those trees had haunted her more than she'd cared to admit. Over the past few weeks, she dreaded the cycle her thoughts would flit between. The forest, then the teeth of the demon, and most horrifying of all, Cass's body.
She fumbled for another, hoping the sickening sting of vodka would drown out the memories of her friend's innards. Tears threatened to spill from her eyes as she practically licked the bottom of the glass. She looked down at it angrily as if it were the cup's fault she was out of alcohol. As she did so, frightening images flashed across her vision.
Blood. Cass's blood. Her hands were covered in it.
The glass slipped from her grasp, promptly shattering on the floor. The girl heaved in frantic breaths and examined her hands, disregarding the fallen pieces entirely. The red sheath was gone without a trace and she sighed in relief.
She had way too much to drink, she understood that much. Despite that obvious notion, she couldn't help but feel reluctant to stop.
She lolled her head around to examine her mess. The glass glimmered under the strobing party lights and she had to squint her eyes to see them. As she did so, she noticed the group of people next to her staring her down.
Despite the unsavory crowd, they seemed to eye her like she was crazy. One of them turned to whisper in another's ear and the girl took that as her cue to leave.
What was the one thing Tim had said not to do? Draw attention to herself?
She began to hobble away, although she quickly became aware that the room was spinning. She had to grip the wall and pull herself along. It took a great deal of effort but after a while, she had finally made it to a clearing.
She had found herself in a small hallway with a few people lingering around the outskirts. She held onto the corner as she surveyed them. At the end of the hall, there was a woman with blonde hair on her knees sobbing. Another in a black cocktail dress stood over her, doing her best to comfort her.
Upon squinting her eyes the girl realized that the inconsolable one was Becca. Her foggy brain became slightly clearer at the revelation. The severity of the situation finally began to sink in.
She was able to stand up a little straighter now and began to maneuver her way over to her friend.
"Becca?" She was taken aback by how slurred her words sounded.
Becca's haunched form twitched in recognition and she looked up from her hands.
"(Y/N)..?" She sniffed, glancing at her with glassy eyes.
Her face was completely flushed. She was absolutely shitfaced.
The woman, who was standing next to her, breathed a sigh of relief. The girl lazily turned towards her and was instantly taken aback. The woman was slender, adorned with a black jacket over her dress and most peculiarly of all, a porcelain mask. Her black hair lightly obscured the eyes, which were a sharp black.
The girl nearly fell back at the sight of her. That mask was too much like Tim's and the eyes reminded her of someone she never wanted to think about again.
"So you're the (Y/N) she's been going on about?" The woman's voice was soft and melodic, "She's been crying here for about 10 minutes."
The girl blinked in confusion, her muddled mind trying to grasp her words. She looked down at Becca, who seemed equally bewildered by her surroundings.
The girl cleared her throat, trying to put on a facade of sobriety.
"Yeah, yeah, that's me. What happened to her?" She practically choked on her words.
The woman leaned against the wall, surveying the inebriated pair. Her bangs parted around the mask in such a way that the girl feel like she was staring right through her.
"I found her wandering around yelling for you and someone named Jen. She's been mumbling under her breath for a while now, she's definitely had too much to drink." She stated, gesturing to Becca who let out another sob.
Guilt pooled in the girl's stomach at the sight. If she hadn't been so caught up with herself she could have helped Becca, or better yet, stopped them all from getting separated. Her selfishness clawed through her mind, making quick work of her alcoholic stupor.
"Jen is another friend of ours. We came here.." She paused, having enough self-control to stop herself from admitting too much, "with a group. We all got split up."
The woman nodded, "You don't seem so well yourself."
The girl simply shrugged, causing her to let out a chuckle. The woman crossed her arms, giving the girl a once-over.
"You seem like you're new to these things, right?" She hesitated, "You don't exactly look like you run with this crowd."
The girl pressed her nails to her palms. She'd hoped she would have stood out less, considering the fact this was not somewhere good things happened. She suspected that the party was simply a cover for something, and she didn't want to know what.
"It's true. We came with some friends, they had some business here" The girl admitted, trying to ignore the lump in her throat.
The woman hummed, considering her story.
"I'd get out of here as soon as you can, this isn't the kind of place you want to hang out in. You don't want to stick around too late, trust me." Her voice took on a stern tone.
The girl swallowed dryly. She had no idea where Jen was, let alone Tim or Brian. She wasn't exactly in good enough condition to find them either.
"I don't know where my friends went. We don't plan on staying for long." She chose her words carefully, not knowing what would set the woman off.
"Look, I'll help you find them. You look like you need it." She sighed, straightening herself out.
The girl was taken aback, not sure whether to trust her or not. However, considering the wall was her biggest supporter right now, she wasn't in a position to discard the offer.
She nodded slowly, her words feeling heavy on her tongue, "That would be great."
The woman hummed, seemingly noticing the girl's apprehension. She adjusted herself, trying to appear less threatening.
"I'm Jane, by the way." She pointed an unusually pale finger to her face, "Sorry about the mask. It's just a personal thing."
The girl couldn't help but laugh, feeling her apprehension slip away by the second.
"Trust me, I don't judge. This is normal compared to what I've seen recently." She allowed a small grin to take up her expression.
'Jane' in turn softened at her words. She laughed with the girl, the smile evident in her voice.
"It's the same with everyone in here if you couldn't tell." She mused, "Don't worry, I won't ask your story. It's probably better that way."
The girl's face gave way to a smile, "I appreciate that."
She turned to look at Becca, who was still crumpled on the floor. It appeared she had lost consciousness and the girl frantically dropped down to her side. She patted her face softly, trying to wake her up.
"Come on Becca, stay with me!" She urged, now moving to shake her shoulders.
Jane joined her, kneeling beside her. She examined Becca's state and turned to the girl warily.
"We need to get this girl some water, she's in desperate need." Her tone held a tinge of amusement.
Becca groaned in response and the girl looked at Jane pleadingly. She was in no place to get her friend off the floor, she would soon join her. That much Jane could pick up on and with a sigh, she wrapped her arm around Becca's shoulder. She effortlessly lifted her, one arm slung over her back.
The girl had to take a moment of astonishment, as Jane was not that much taller than she was. She remained on her knees, looking up at Jane like an idiot.
"Oh hun," Jane chuckled, looking between her and Becca's head on her shoulder, "You are so out of it."
Only then did the girl notice she was still on the floor and scrambled to her feet. All she could do was stare at Jane in embarrassment.
"Okay, I will take your friend here to get some water. Why don't you head into the bathroom and splash some water on your face? You are super flushed." The girl could feel her gaze through the mask.
She nodded slowly and Jane used her other hand to point down the hall.
"Once you're done, come meet me at the drink table. It's just down the way you came, I'm sure you can remember."
The girl wasn't sure what happened in the next few moments, but she somehow winded up in the bathroom staring at the mirror. Water dripped down her face and she was able to see a little clearer now. The hum of the music from outside the door still bothered her, but it was much more tolerable now. Jane was right, she had to get it together. She needed to get her priorities in order.
Get Becca, find Jen, get the guys, and get the fuck out of there. It was simple, she could accomplish that at least.
She pushed open the door with a newfound sense of purpose. The room was still hazy but the cold water provided a semblance of clarity. She followed Jane's directions and turned the corner from the hall she had been in. As she wormed her way through another crowd of people, she spotted a familiar face leaning against the wall.
The blonde fluff of Brian's hair was unmistakable, even in the dim lighting.
All at once the girl felt a rush of emotion. His posture framed his body in such a way that she almost fell over. A sense of comfort washed over her and in her drunken mind, he was her savior. All previous wrongdoings discarded, she practically ran into his arms.
"Brian!" She let out a desperate call.
He turned to see her stumbling over to him and couldn't help a bright smile overtaking his features.
"There's my girl!" He seemed shocked when she crashed into him.
He caught her shoulders to stop her from falling. She inadvertently pressed her hands to his chest to steady herself.
"Woah," He held her still, "Damn girl, you are fucked up. Where have you been? I've been lookin' all over for ya."
She ignored his question and let out a dramatic sigh, "I can't find Jen and Becca isn't able to walk. She's such a lightweight, she's destroyed."
Her voice sounded more weepy than she had meant it to. Brian's eyes flashed in amusement as he scanned her over. She looked like a sad puppy, causing his smile to widen.
"Ah, don't worry. I just saw her with Becca. Some nice lady got her some water. Jen told me to come look for you, actually. Tim and I got everything taken care of, we are about ready to get out of here." He reassured her.
She melted, leaning most of her weight on him. Her friends were safe, and that was enough for her storming mind. Brian seemed confused, although he held her up all the same. She felt her limbs getting weaker by the second as all previous energy melted away in her relaxed state.
"Should you even be drinking this much? Don't you only have one kidney?" He spoke up, chuckling softly.
His words were like an anchor falling into an ocean with all her troublesome thoughts returning. The demon had permanently mauled her, but at least he'd made good on his word. It had caused her no trouble. Under the circumstances, she should be dead by now, but there she stood.
"It's probably fine. I've been drinking a shit ton of energy drinks for weeks and it hasn't killed me yet. Probably some weird demon magic." She shrugged her shoulders idly.
He laughed softly, not bothering to argue any further. However, he couldn't deny that he was concerned for her. Her gaze seemed like it was far off, even for being inebriated. She gripped onto him frantically, as if she were afraid he'd let her go.
"You' doing ok?" His voice was gentle, although his brows were furrowed.
She flinched at the question as she knew she wouldn't be able to hold back. She bit her lip in an attempt to stop the flood that would soon spill from her mouth.
"I just have a lot on my mind." She began, settling into his arms.
He didn't push the subject, allowing her time to stare off into the distance. The beat of the music hummed in the back of her mind as she thought things over. Jeff had been right about one thing, she should have never had anything to drink. All she could think about was the blood she'd imagined, the images flashing through her mind like a PowerPoint presentation. The feeling of his gentle touch was the only thing between her and the intrusive thoughts, so she gave in to it.
She clenched her teeth together as she felt tears prickle in her eyes. She leaned her chin on his chest lazily, trying to avoid eye contact. A light blush dusted his cheeks immediately and he had to remind himself it was just the alcohol talking. Blinking them away seemed futile and the tears soon poured down her cheeks.
"Hey, hey, it's gonna be ok." He stroked her back awkwardly, "What's going on?"
She could barely speak through how tight her jaw was wound. Her gaze remained plastered on his shirt.
She thought back to the time they had spent together and how he had been the only person to make her laugh. Despite it being such a short period, she'd grown attached to both him and Tim. She knew Tim had tried to kill her, although it wasn't his fault; but all of that was meaningless now. She was going to die either way, she knew it.
"I wish things were different." She mumbled, her voice cracking.
His heart nearly broke as she looked up at him with those sad eyes.
"I wish that I could have met you in some other way and that we could have just been normal friends. I wish I was back home right now, preparing for midterms like every other student." She laughed grimly, "God, you know I never thought I'd see a day I'd rather be at school."
He managed a soft smile in an attempt to cheer her up. His hand moved to pat her shoulder gently.
"Hah, believe me, I would have much preferred to meet you under different circumstances."
He laughed to himself, looking into the distance wistfully.
"If we had met in a college, that would have been a blast. I would have taken you out to some normal parties, not this shady bullshit." He gestured around them, "I would bet money you are a blast to party with."
She chuckled, looking down, "More or less. You'd probably have to carry me out."
His grin widened, "And I would do it. Although, getting this wasted here wasn't the best move. Even if I'm here with you."
He gave her a meaningful look and she sighed. She felt her cheeks heat up in embarrassment, realizing how crazy she'd been acting.
He noticed this, his expression softening.
"Hey, don't worry about it. I think you needed a break." He gave her a wink.
She started to laugh, the giggles progressively getting worse. Break or not, this hadn't been her smartest move. However, this was the best she'd felt all night. She couldn't help herself from imagining the pair of them at a party in her college town. She thought about him bringing her a drink and them talking and dancing without a care in the world. The laughter quickly turned to tears, although this time, they were happy ones.
"Thank you, Brian." She looked back at him with watery eyes.
He laughed with her, lifting a hand to ruffle her hair. He stared at her with a soft gaze as he touseled the strands.
"Don't worry about it. I think you needed to talk."
His hand remained in its place, gently cupping her head. She quickly became aware of how close they were, her body tenderly intertwined with his. Each place they were connected was alight with encroaching heat and she began to notice the way his thumb stroked her scalp. His blue eyes stared deeply into hers. They were an ocean that contrasted her hurricane of thoughts, and she leaned in closer for a better look.
The faint purple and blue lights framed his face, and she began to admire each small feature. He gazed at her as if she were the only thing that mattered at that moment. She barely had time to realize what she was doing as she kissed him softly.
The feel of his velvety lips was intoxicating and she was struck with a sudden bravery. She deepened the kiss, pressing herself further into him. His back hit the wall with a soft thud as he momentarily allowed himself to become lost in her.
This was short-lived, however, as he finally registered what was happening. He pulled away from her, still gripping her shoulders. She looked at him in confusion, her expression almost hurt.
"We can't do this." He said firmly, although his eyes still held a tinge of longing.
Her lip trembled slightly, "Why not?"
She hated how wounded she sounded. His thumb brushed her shoulder reassuringly.
"Because, (Y/N), you're drunk. You don't know what you are doing." He explained with a sigh.
She despised how sound his logic was. She knew this was bad. She knew it was awful she felt this way about him, but she couldn't help herself. If the alcohol had done one thing, it had made her feel incredibly honest.
"But this is what I want." The crack in her voice only emphasized this.
He stared at her for a moment, his eyes flashing with confliction.
"Believe me, I want it too." He reiterated gently, "But this isn't right."
She continued to look at him, her expression crestfallen. His care for her only made it worse. He shifted his hands to her arms and leaned in closer again.
"Maybe another time when you're sober, okay?"
To her surprise, he planted his lips on her cheek. She shivered under his touch, the action causing her chest to ache. She wished he wasn't so kind. She nodded slowly, understanding it was for the best.
The peace was short-lived because right as she did so an angry voice shattered the silence.
"What the hell are you doing?"
The girl whipped around to find Jeff standing at the end of the hallway with a furious expression on his face. She instantly stepped away from Brian, startled by his sudden appearance.
He stormed over to her, staring at her accusingly, "Are you fucking serious right now? I came in here to make sure you weren't dead and you are drunk off your ass throwing yourself at this guy?"
She was stunned by this, as he had been determined to wait outside. Of course of all times, he had to find her then. She couldn't understand why he insisted on sticking with her.
"Don't give me that, I don't need you to protect me. I can handle myself." She shot back, glaring daggers at him.
Brian stepped up behind her, placing a hand on her shoulder, "She's an adult, she can make her own decisions. The way you follow her around is fucking creepy."
This set him off as Jeff instantly swatted Brian's hand off of her. His lips were turned down into a scowl, making his scars stretch menacingly.
"Get your hands off her, she doesn't know what's going on right now." He asserted with malice.
The girl scoffed, standing between them as best she could.
"He wasn't doing anything!" She defended, her eyes boring into his.
"Yeah, it sure didn't look like it." Jeff shot back.
He kept his eye trained on Brian, who was glaring in return. They began to argue, and each word that poured from their mouths swirled through her mind. Their shouting forms reminded her of Becca's harsh words from earlier. The way she looked at her with such an accusatory expression mirrored the way they fought now.
She didn't need anyone to defend her. She didn't deserve to be defended. Perhaps if she stood by her friends, the situation wouldn't have gotten this deep. The guilt tore through her veins like a raging beast and she felt her heart beat faster.
Cass, Becca, Jen.
They were the ones who she should have protected. She was smart, she was a fucking psychology student for that matter. How could she not handle this pressure? Their faces danced through her consciousness until she could stand it no longer.
She started to run.
She ran through the crowds of people until she had surfaced into fresh air again. She continued on, even when the branches of trees began to surround her like a landscape from a painting. The forest should have been a warning sign, she should know better than to dash head-first into what was waiting out there. But she didn't care anymore.
She ran until her legs had become sand falling through an hourglass. She fell to her knees, the trees staring down at her as if they were a crowd of leering onlookers. The alcohol that coursed through her body had finally taken its toll and her eyes were growing heavy. Despite this, her mind was flashing in alarm. She was alone in the woods. She couldn't lose her strength now.
However, it was too late. Her body crashed into the dirt, sending stray pieces of snow cascading around her. The moon above began to flicker in and out like a dying flame. Time had become fluid and she couldn't be sure how long she had before she was out for good.
As she was about to lose herself, she saw something approaching in the distance. The figure flashed in and out of her gaze. Perhaps it wasn't even there. Yet as they stared down at her, the ice in her veins confirmed it.
A sickening voice was heard through the fog of her mind, "Oh my little bird, what have you gotten yourself into?"
