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@ieirct
a private side-blog, dedicated to shoko ieiri. written by sena, follows back from the main blog @zeitkeist. affiliated with ategod's satoru gojo and chishiye's shuntaro chishiya.
[ i found the rooms between the violence of comets. i threw myself into anything's path. even the sky bent around me. how lonely to be something that nothing wants to kill. ]
i. rules. ii. information. iii. memes.
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1. What is your favorite trope to rp? 2. Name 3 things you admire about OCs. 3. Who are your longest rp friends? 4. What old character would you love to bring back? 5. What is a character you love, but don’t think you can write? 6. Name 3 things you love most about your muse/muses. 7. What is one overrated roleplay trend? 8. Do your friends outside the internet know your roleplay? 9. Have you ever written fanfictions? 10. Why do you write? 11. Do you welcome duplicates of your character or stay away from them? 12. Do you prefer writing main or minor canon characters? 13. Is there one trope you can’t stand? 14. What is your opinion on writing smut? 15. What is your opinion on tagging triggers? 16. Do you prefer long or short replies and why? 17. What makes you insecure about your own writing? 18. What is one thing you’d wish to see more in the rp community? 19. Who is an author that inspires you? 20. Do you need music/noise to write or do you prefer silence? 21. What time of the day is your favorite to write? 22. Are there any red roleplay flags for you that make you back off immedately? 23. Your favorite fandom to write in? 24. Have you ever left a fandom because of negativity? 25. One thing you’d like new roleplayers to know?
A PEAK AT WHAT’S INSIDE THEIR . . .
[ * ] writing prompt ) : send a number 1 - 30 to take a closer look inside this characters life. / below you will find a series of various prompts offering a look inside a characters every day life. these are meant to invoke character development & can also be altered as seen fit to better suit the character in question. bonus if you explain why it’s there!
01. pockets. 02. bag / purse. 03. car trunk. 04. car glovebox. 05. closet. 06. bedside table drawer. 07. medicine cabinet. 08. wallet. 09. “junk” drawer. 10. pantry. 11. phone home screen. 12. frequently used emojis. 13. to do list. 14. computer home screen. 15. bookcase. 16. cd collection. 17. calendar for this month. 18. “secret” hiding spot. 19. five most recent in contact list. 20. refrigerator. 21. home safe. 22. amazon shopping cart. 23. bank account. 24. first aid kit. 25. five most recent in google search history. 26. most used playlist. 27. least used playlist. 28. five most recent sent text messages 29. five most recent received text messages 30. netflix watch history.
MUSE MOODBOARD MEME.
send 🏠 for a moodboard of my muses home aesthetic.
send 🎨 for a moodboard of my muses hobbies.
send 🏝️ for a moodboard of my muses favourite travel destinations.
send 🐾 for a moodboard of my muses pets ( or favourite animal/s. )
send 🌨️ for a moodboard of my muses favourite weather.
send 🍂 for a moodboard of my muses favourite season.
send 👪 for a moodboard of my muses family dynamic.
send 🏰 for a moodboard of important locations in my muses life.
send 🖼️ for a moodboard of my muses art aesthetic.
send 🍔 for a moodboard of my muses favourite foods.
send 👗 for a moodboard of my muses fashion taste.
｡𖦹° SATORU & SHOKO, ( our muses reunite after having been apart for an extended length of time which leads to sex, clothes everywhere, barely making it to the bed or not at all. )
the first lights of the day are just barely painting over the moonless sky with their indigo shade, when he returns home. shoko awakes to the rippling shift in the tides of cursed energy around her, rather than to the sound of him entering the apartment. the wavering is so tangible, it is strong enough to pull her from the slumber, and there is only one person whose energy is strong enough to reach inside her chest and pull at all of her veins all at once, like a second hearbeat that drums within' the entirety of her. electric and sky blue hues flashing behind her eyelids, and shoko barely realizes that she's untangling herself from the sheets and is almost tripping on her way out of the bedroom in frantic search. she's not awake to know for sure that she's not dreaming, but she knows the dreams could never do him, this, justice. he's here. god, he's here, after how long, three months? nearly four? ‘ satoru? ’ she calls with a disgusting amount of hope in her voice in the hallway as she rests a hand on the cold wall to keep her balance, making her way to the entrance.
she hears him more than she sees him, a shift of the shadows near the hall stand, light ruffling, the sound of his breathing, more of a sigh- and she doesn't need to. he's there again, the back of her mind, burning brighter the sun itself, her eyes aching and finding their long awaited solace in the sight of him, right in the darkest hour of the night. it stops her breath, how much she's missed him.
there isn't much talking to be done. they both move faster than the strike of a lightning and the next thing she knows is all their limbs are entangled, the scent of @ategod and his cologne burning down her throat better than all her favorite drugs ever could, restless hands tugging at hems of shirts, diving into soft strands of hair to cradle the back of heads, soft sighs spilling between them with no distinguished source. she only notices that her back has hit the wall already when satoru pulls beneath the back of her thighs, when she digs the heel of his foot to his hip. ‘ you're late, ’ she huffs out, one arm wrapping around the expanse of his shoulderblades. never let it be said shoko ever kept quiet to her grievances. ‘ is this your apology? ’
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｡𖦹° SATORU & SHOKO, ( plotted starter. )
the stench of the cigarette smoke and the alcohol sticking to her skin with sweat feels disgusting. usually it washes off her nose with the sour familiarity of nicotine and whiskey, but the intensity of it after the hours she's spent at the club is disturbing even by her standards. violet and purple still flashing behind her eyelids, the taste of that crimson haired girl's chapstick still clinging in the back of her throat, flavor of cherry not entirely unpleasant yet not as dulling as she'd wish tonight. she had a breathtaking smile, and if it was another day maybe she could let the rhythm carry them and enjoy the weight of supple flesh atop her thighs, maybe let her hands wander. but that wasn't what she wanted. when she closed her eyes, she wanted to be able to have hands large and rough as satoru's on her waist. tall and unyielding, she wanted. veins where she'd trace her fingertips. a sharp curve of a jaw where she'd nudge her nose against. swing herself on his lap somewhere as secluded as it could get in an unseeing and unnoticing club, hush the whimpers with a palm over his mouth, and get to work. she'd attempted doing that but it failed, also, and that's why she's more irritated than usual when she gets a key into the door of her- their apartment. sometimes it worked, the sick game of pretending and ignoring that she wanted her best friend in ways so unraveling her gums itched with it, her blood boiled with it, her throat closed with it. you're sick, she reminded herself now and then, but still, when her eyes landed on someone that shared even the faintest of similarity to satoru, she didn't stop herself from following his lead. but sometimes it didn't. sometimes it left her high and dry, reminding her that as well as she could fantasize she'd never know what his throat tasted like, how he'd sound if she were to press a few careful buttons here and there, that kind of intimacy nothing more than reaching for stars that are right there and are also a million years away. it infuriated her, how much desire she could choke on for years without it ever dissolving.
she only realizes that satoru is awake when she enters the living room with the hopes of throwing herself to the couch there, she doesn't have the energy to take a shower and she can't go to bed in this awful state and take all that dirt to bed with her. but couch is occupied, turns out. she blinks, trying to understand if she's home earlier than she thought, looking at the hour at the corner of the tv. it's still two in the morning. ‘ hey there, ’ she greets @ategod, dragging herself to plop next to him, exhausted. ‘ couldn't sleep? ’
EMOTIONAL/PLOT DRIVEN INTIMACY PROMPTS
[ 1 ] for our muses to be in the midst of foreplay/building up to sex but one stops the other to make some kind of confession.
[ 2 ] for sender to wake up receiver after having a nightmare and initiate sex as comfort.
[ 3 ] for receiver to wake up sender after having a nightmare and initiate sex as comfort.
[ 4 ] our muses have just made up after a fight and begin to get intimate, trying to rebuild trust.
[ 5 ] one muse has just gone through a break up and goes to the other for comfort which leads to sex.
[ 6 ] sender had a bad date and receiver shows up at their door to cheer them up. they get a little tipsy and start making out.
[ 7 ] receiver had a bad date and sender shows up at their door to cheer them up. they get a little tipsy and start making out.
[ 8 ] our muses reunite after having been apart for an extended length of time which leads to sex, clothes everywhere, barely making it to the bed or not at all.
[ 9 ] sender is upset, receiver tries to confront them but rather than talk about it, sender initiates sex.
[ 10 ] receiver is upset, sender tries to confront them but rather than talk about it, receiver initiates sex.
[ 11 ] our muses try to break up only to end up having emotional/heated sex.
[ 12 ] sender confesses to having a crush on receiver which leads to receiver initiating sex.
[ 13 ] receiver confesses to having a crush on sender which leads to sender initiating sex.
[ 14 ] our muses lose power during a storm and have sex to keep warm or out of boredom.
[ 15 ] our muses are not together but sender confesses to receiver how lonely they are which spurs on receiver to initiate sex for comfort.
[ 16 ] our muses are not together but receiver confesses to sender how lonely they are which spurs on sender to initiate sex for comfort.
[ 17 ] sender pausing in the middle of sex to say "you're so beautiful/handsome"
[ 18 ] sender pausing in the middle of sex to say "i love you"
[ 19 ] sender pausing in the middle of sex to say "i missed you"
[ 20 ] for our muses to hold each other after sex, naked and warm and unwilling to detangle just yet.
a few sentences:
❝ i just want to feel something good. ❞
❝ i missed you so much. i just need you close to me right now. ❞
❝ let me show you how much i love you. ❞
❝ let me show you just how much i need you. ❞
❝ it doesn't have to mean anything, i'd just like some company tonight... ❞
❝ can i stay over tonight? i don't want to sleep alone right now. ❞
❝ i like the way you make me feel. i want to feel that way right now. i need to be with you. ❞
❝ no better way of getting over someone than getting under someone else, hey? ❞
❝ hey look you're not 'using' me if i'm the one offering. don't you think i get lonely too? ❞
❝ i miss the feeling of you inside me. ❞
❝ i miss being inside you. i miss feeling like we're the only two people in existence. ❞
❝ god all i did was think about you earlier and i got...excited. ❞
❝ i don't want to miss you anymore. please just kiss me. ❞
❝ will you just hold me for a little while? ❞
❝ this doesn't mean i'm not still mad at you— ❞
❝ i'm not sure if i forgive you yet, but i miss you. and i'm tired of missing you so... ❞
❝ i'm not sure how to ask this but—i've had a shit night. and you always used to make me feel good. ❞
❝ just come here. let me take care of you. ❞
❝ just relax. i'll do all the work. ❞
good evening to everybody in this sunday evening. my shoko fact for you is that she nearly always dominates or tops because she finds that to be the less vulnerable <3 she mostly prefers one night stands and doesn't really kiss because intimacy of that all is too on her nerves but she'll let herself switch to a more submissive position if she by some miracle manages to end up in a proper relationship. might even kiss. who knows
｡𖦹° CHISHIYA & SHOKO, ( [ WAIT ]: realizing the receiver is about to leave the room, the sender hastily reaches out and catches their wrist, preventing them from continuing their departure. )
what an expensive gamble it was to play, and what a glorious failure it had been. she shouldn't be disappointed, she knows. when has shuntaro has ever looked something in the eye and gave more than a blank, uninterested look? when has he ever humored her sullen questions, in all the dawns they have stood side by side in the balcony of the quiet hospital, her asking if any of it made sense anymore and him replying with a reminder that it was nothing more than a job? it had been bearable, back then. it was how their demeanor shifted to fit each other's mould, her black coffee always piping hot and ready on her desk and her lunch box always filled more than usual with extra cutlery, her pen shining bright with the initials S.I. at the front pocket of his coat, his handwriting much neater than hers at the margins of her textbooks. what a comfort it had been, to finally share a kind of silence that felt rich and not awkward nor forced. it was the first time she found such unexpected comfort in someone's quiet company. it was the first time her bones felt warm where they sat.
but nothing has been the same since the accident. the explosion that left them both in the beds they were not used to resting in, sharing awkward laughs that this is an unpeculiar feeling, to be at the receiving end of the iv and the monitor. and that awkwardness had never quite went away. her dreams grew darker, with memories of someone else, of a different life she is so certain she hadn't lived. and they kept getting bolder, kept getting more demanding with the day. it was a hotel, first. then a football stadium. dozens, countless people losing that fragile battle against death right in front of her in situations she's never expected. shoko is no stranger to tragedy, nor has an easily-flinching character, but she woke in cold sweat down her spine each night. and it wasn't even the worst part of it. the worst part that chishiya was there. with a grey hoodie, with an undecipherable gaze. an armchair with blood all over it, her hands digging into his shoulder for a wound she seems so sure to know what to do about. tired, exhausted, seeking support from each other where they could find none.
and maybe it was why he's pulled awy from her, maybe he felt the lingering glance of her where she had flashbacks of someone else's memories in the hospital. maybe it was why their study hangouts became rarer, their lunchs have grown apart. it was devastating, to feel the loss of someone that was somehow so vital to her in ways she could not explain. resentment brews like raindrops in a lake, and when it reaches a breaking point in the dawn of another morning in the hospital, shoko doesn't hold back her, ‘ am i going insane? ’ a plea and a confession both at once. ‘ i keep having bizarre, weird dreams, every night. somewhere away from here, and i'm there, and you're there- and i can't make sense of it. ’ she's never heard this kind of desperation in her voice before, and it is harrowing. oh, how undoing it was, to lose someone who spoke the dead language of something that has been demolished with nothing but lingering, residual feelings that only ever happened deep in slumber.
she looks at @chishiye, aghast. ‘ and i'm sorry. i'm sorry that i'm being weird, and i'm sorry that we lost something we can't get back, but you're icing me out and it fucking hurts, chishiya. ’ it is so shocking, how she almost says taro, like that is what her mouth is used to. she stares and he looks back at her, until she thinks she can't take the sheer embarrassment and shame of it a moment longer, she just gives up with her shoulder sinking, gaze heavy lidded with exhaustion as she moves to get back inside the building, walking past him - or would have walked past him, if it wasn't for his fingers wrapping around her wrist before she can even get to the glass door. she looks down, where he's holding her arm, then looks back up at him, breath held hostage in her lungs.
he knew he’d find her here. contrary to popular belief, he does pay attention; he looks at her enough to notice how the dark lines beneath her eyes never seem to let up, how she always seems to be carrying some sort of weariness in her aching bones. how she rubs at her eyes, how she always seems to excuse herself for a smoke break whenever she gets the chance. that’s not an issue. the issue is her colleagues don’t know how to keep their voices down when they’re around him and they don’t know how to keep some thoughts unspoken— not even yaga, although he doesn’t really count. he’s infinitely kinder, always speaks out of concern. never demeaning. ( clearly, he has a favorite. ) they always talk about how she never seems to leave that damn room, even when she isn’t getting paid. and sure enough, that seems to be true.
the door is unlocked. he’s as quiet as a mouse when he steps inside, thankful that he had worn quieter footwear before showing up to the facility at the crack of dawn. @ieirct’s hunched in a chair, resting her forehead against the table. must’ve fallen asleep there, pulling another all-nighter. satoru’s even quieter when he pulls out the swivel chair next to her, setting down the bag he got from a nearby cafe. a hand finds her shoulder, gentle. ❝ yo, shōko, ❞ he draws out her name and shakes her, lightly, hoping he doesn’t startle. ❝ rise and shine. you’ve gotta be uncomfortable like that. ❞
｡𖦹°‧ when she dreams, she dreams of the wind in her hair. the salted, humid air clinging to chestnut strands when she's on the ferry, going from nowhere to nowhere. the passenger seat of a lone car in a highway, her hand sticking out of the rolled down window, fighting against a losing yet satisfying race against the force that feels so tangible when it slips through her stretched fingers. the sudden rush of a whirlwind the formula car leaves behind in its dust when she's watching from the sidelines. she's never imagined that she'd be sitting in that seat - it had never really been in her interest, to be a driver. it was not in the cloth she was sewn from, not in her stitches, not in her blood. she chased a different kind of rush. a different kind of hit of dopamine, shuddering down from the nape of her neck down to her toes in jolts of electricity.
when she is shaken awake, she almost jumps with the loss of the car engine roar, of the wind in her hair, of the rhythmic beeping sound.
she blinks awake, deeply confused for a mere moment as her brain fails to register the reality of her situation until it starts returning to her in bits. she was in r&d room, with her latest simulation of a new design on deflectors she's been working on. it was a long shot, but if she could manage to get a better navigation and control over the airflow from the front tires she could get them maybe one tenth of a second. and how drastic that change would be. she could get them from p8 to p6 solely with that implementation.
she only stops thinking about the deflectors when she blinks again, and realizes satoru is staring at her with his big, curious eyes with a most of the time deeply unsettling gaze. ‘ what are you doing here? ’ that almost comes out like an interrogation, half slurring her words with drowsiness, eyes aching as she tries to rub the stinging feeling out of them and fails. still, she can see enough to see the time on her computer. 05.32. she looks back at him, half in disbelief. ‘ it's the ass crack of dawn, satoru, did you have nothing better to do? ’ but then, her gaze trails over to the bag he's brought, and she is unabashed in the way she reaches for it, prying it open with her greedy hands, nearly sticking her head inside to see what's in there. the scent of a freshly brewed coffee makes her groan, dipping her head to take it out almost immediately. ‘ nevermind. did i ever tell you that you're my favorite driver, ever? ’
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hello. if you care.
he hasn’t processed it yet— not really. the adrenaline is still hot in his veins and his pulse is still roaring in his ears, ringing from the ninety-something minutes he spent listening to engine drones and rally cries. he feels so alive, body twitching with energy, jittery from nerves and endorphins, a high better than anything drugs or substance could supply. he won. he won. holy shit, he won. first place. a trophy. the entire team celebrating. he turns around and there’s the brightest look he had ever seen on shōko, a well deserved payoff for all the countless nights she spent holed away, analyzing and reanalyzing and improving mechanisms until it finally paid off. the press can wait and so can the afterparty. satoru doesn’t care. his poor manager may fret over it, but everyone’s used to him showing up late anyway. he needs to be whisked away from the lights that hurt his eyes, from the media and their endless questions. he needs to be with her.
he needs a shower— god, he almost feels disgusting from the champagne and the sweat clinging to his eyebrow— and okay, sure, maybe this would be better back in their hotel or literally anywhere with less people walking the halls, but he’s got no room to complain, not when she’s here with him like this. not when she’s tugging at his shirt collar, pulling him down, bending him to her will, as if she would ever need to compel him in the first place. still, he meets her there, leaning to meet her height, his heart skyrocketing from the proximity and the warmth of her breath on his face. their noses brushing together, so close that satoru wonders if she can feel his heart beat against his ribcage. they could stay like this forever, basking in their great euphoria and the first of many wins for this new, insignificant team— but time will not bend for them, and he’s alright with that. he indulges in the moment. takes his victories where he can.
satoru laughs, small and giddy. he surges forward. doesn’t hesitate when she tells him to shut up and kiss her.
it’s feverish. overwhelming. suffocating in the best way. he ignores the dull burn in his lungs and kisses her with a tender sort of vigor, the kind that makes him think they’d both break if he applied another feather of force. hands find her waist, palms grasping at her sides and slipping beneath the hem of her shirt, but trail no further. mouth wanders to the curve of her jaw, peppering there, trailing to her throat. his teeth ghost against her skin, but he doesn’t bite, doesn’t even know if she’d want him to. he presses closer, testing the waters, almost hesitant in the way he slots his knee between her legs and rolls against her.
｡𖦹°‧ he looks so, so heavenly with the dim yellow leds of the mirror behind him, she thinks it must be sin for someone to look like he was hand crafted by god himself. shoko is certain that if it took seven days to create the earth like that old book said, six of it must have been spent on satoru. that laughter that rumbles through is throat drips down her mouth like warm honey when he finally leans in to kiss her, the taste dizzying. the fervor of it is so, so undoing, the calculated waltz of toeing the line of something neither of them could come back from. he should have been outside, with the press that had been looking for him, with the rest of the team, with his devoted fans. instead he is here, with her, in a bathroom rarely anyone comes knocking on, with the rush of victory still pounding against her ribs for her to feel when he presses just close enough. it had been inevitable, she knows. she knew it right when he asked her months ago, lazily, with that devilish grin he had: ' i have some questions on the aerodynamics of the new front wing design, actually. would you like to explain to me over dinner this week? ' he was so not subtle, so not sleek, but he didn't need to. she knew the answer was going to be yes for all the wrong reasons.
and those wrong reasons are peppering open mouthed on her jugular now, so she thinks, maybe they weren't as awful as she imagined them to be. in her imagination, satoru's hands at the curve of her waist, his warm palms stroking warm skin, his exhale against the column of her throat was damning. it felt like a rush of anxiety, thoughts she couldn't clear her head from, poisoning her day and night like a fucking plague. it was inappropriate. it was unrealistic. he was finding her challenge endearing but his interest was going to die out sooner or later and he was going to actually start looking at the surely better prospects that would not be as awkward as her with this.
but he hadn't. he kept looking at her. he kept looking at her until she had no choice but to turn her head and look back at him, too.
‘ satoru, ’ she breathes, the tips of her fingers pressing lightly against his scalp with the unbearable pressure, her free arm slithering around his neck, around his shoulders, holding him and holding onto him and wanting him to hold her all at the same second as the enormity of her desire swallows her whole. there is so much she could want and so much she thinks he could have, her mouth waters at the mere thought of it, this generosity unknown and unfamiliar. he is not something she could digest so easily, and despite knowing this she thinks she would be happy knowing she tried if she were to die from it.
but then, his leg slots itself between her thighs and she forgets every thought she's ever had, mind blanking as a soft groan escapes her, tensing and shuddering with the pressure he applies with such precision she is seeing stars with a jolt that travels up her spine, undercurrent of electricity running through her like a live wire. ‘ oh, ’ she gasps, surprised and confused but more than any of that, wanting, like she couldn't believe this was happening, like she couldn't believe he was happening. he rolls against her and she gives way to him without even thinking about it, letting her left knee hike up his thigh to rest on it, not tall enough to reach his hip but she doesn't need to. it gives all the space they'd need for shoko's head to fall back against the tile, eyes flutter shut, jaw falling slack for a sound that won't come out, drunk on him.
｡𖦹° SATORU & SHOKO, ( sneaking off to a public bathroom to make out. + i’m sorry, you’re a little freak and i love it. )
victory a dribble of nectar at the roof of her mouth, thick hair finally released from the confines of its tight bun still damp from the champaigne blasted all over the podium above them. and there he stood, the man of the hour, the man of the month, the man of the year. with his jumpsuit lowered to his his waist, sleeves tied in front of, face still flushed from the heat of the car, yet that drunken gaze of hard earned success a glossy curtain fallen on the sky blue eyes. the dizzying roar of applauds and the chaotic, frenzied celebration of the team was something she enjoyed partaking in, but this year it feels different. a heart full of pride is not the only thing she feels when she looks up at the podium with the snow kissed man's name an erosion in her mouth, bulldozing through entire forests in her ribs where it makes flowers grow through the cracks. he is smiling, and he is spraying the others with the thousand dollar bottle in his hand, with the ceramic cup propped up on the podium. first place. winner of the istanbul grand prix, which has never been an accomplishment to their team in their history. which has never been an accomplishment of shoko, to be the residing technical director of a win like this.
apart from the endless nights spent on designing and redesigning parts, of replays, of strategies, of lines they kept blurring and unblurring, of steps taken and not taken, satoru gojo has also given her something she never really thought she could touch. she told him what she wanted, drunken, nights and nights ago. that she wanted to rise on tiptoes and reach for the stars, and to know that she'd be able to touch them. and here he was, with the knowing grin that she asked what she asked for, and he plucked them right from the sky and handed them to her on a silver platter.
waiting game is pointless and her patience is wearing thin to a point that she cannot see reason as her back hits the cold, maroon tile of the paddock bathroom. she cannot see why it is such a horrible awful delirious idea to blindly reach behind and find the lock to twist it twice, to use the free hand she has to grasp the champion's collar and tug him down & down & down to her, until he gives way. hardships and biases of years overcame with ambition and a will of steel, only to be splayed underneath satoru's pretty feet to be crumbled if it meant she could finally know what his mouth tasted like, if his hands would be warm around her waist, if his skin would give way to a rosy hue if she were to sink teeth into the column of his throat. so many what ifs, not enough solid, tangible material to rewind after the night is over. they should change that, she thinks.
‘ you talk too much, ’ she murmurs with her nose nudging @ategod's when he teases so very rightfully. i'm sorry, you're a little freak and i love it. the fact that he loves anything about her is dizzying. what a word to use, and what a laugh to chuckle out. if she could bottle this, him, she'd never be sober a day in her life again. so she does what she does, her fingers dive into his hair from the nape of his neck, and the distance suddenly narrows down to centimeters. ‘ shut up and kiss me. ’
@ieirct: linger. taking the receiver’s hand, the sender lifts it to their lips, and gently kisses their knuckles, lingering for a moment before withdrawing.
it is a weekend where neither of them have to wake up early. for once, he doesn’t have to drag himself out of bed at four a.m ad gather his things for the long commute to campus or whatever trip he has to take out of town. and for once, he doesn’t wake up to her phone ringing to life, giving her news of yet another corpse or injury she needs to attend to, thank god. no, none of that. for once, they get to stay in bed and feel the autumn sun rise upon them, rays of light finding their way through blinds that just can’t keep it out, no matter how much he adjusts them.
he’s tired. so damn tired. doesn’t even seem to realize how much the long days weigh on him until he’s finally given a chance to rest. his body is heavy and weak, and she is so warm; satoru curls closer to her, instinctively, embracing any second of comfort he can get before they have to get up and go about their day. he’s half-asleep, doesn’t have the strength to open his eyes lest the world blind his senses, but he can still feel her. see her, too. she’s awake, shifting around on the bed, rolling towards him, getting closer in kind and— shōko’s staring at him. he knows the weight of her gaze from anywhere, adores having it on him. there’s something different there. a different sort of tenderness. warmth. a foreign reverence possesses her when her hand brushes along his forearm, gentle in the way she takes his hand, moving carefully when she presses a kiss to his knuckles. soft and lingering. strange and sweet. it brings him to life. he can’t help the smile that bleeds into his features.
satoru opens his eyes, meeting her gaze, meeting the sunlight. shōko recedes. typical. still, he finds it in himself to laugh. ❝ g’morning, ❞ he mutters, pulling the covers over his shoulder, conserving the warmth. ❝ what’s got you all sentimental? ❞
｡𖦹°‧ early october dawn warms weary bones and shoko, curled around tall and lanky limbs she never thought she would find home in, believes in the sun. it is not often, she gets to rest her sore thighs, cramping fingers, and heavy head. never gets to enjoy her much splurged on orthopedic pillow. her comfortable, medium soft, spacious mattress. the tall and lanky limbs that it sinks around, that entangle with hers, her very own source of heat in the awaiting cruel winter. most of the time, she has to slither her way out of the mess of biceps and chins and hips and calves, always looking for more reasons to stay and always failing to find one good enough to turn a blind eye to her duties. most of the time, suguru catches her by the wrist or the waist or the leg and with the same precision a starfish embeds itself around its unsuspecting prey, buries her right back, where he murmurs sleepily where she belongs.
but there is no suguru this morning, to lots of shame. he is traveling outside the city for a seminar, a philosophy panel school is organizing, and that leaves the two of them with an array of children sleeping soundly in their much decorated, much messy rooms. to lots of shame, because he sure would enjoy having the sun rose on his skin where shoko's kiss leave an invisible stamp. he sure would enjoy the sight of satoru's tousled hair splattered like snow on the pillow, the steady rise and fall of his chest.
shoko watches him as long as a person could watch another, with reverence, with silence. the graceful slope of his nose. the elegant curve of his cheekbones. the tiny sun freckles that he has gotten that summer due to spending too much time under the sun, enjoying the days to their fullest with the children. his long, pale lashes. his parted mouth, the column of his throat, the kiss of sun on his toned shoulders. he is so, so exhausted, she knows. it is no easy feat, to maintain the clan's expectations, to maintain college work, and to maintain four children on top of that, but somehow, but by some miracle, he does it. and just when shoko thinks he surely must be tired of it, he surely must get overwhelmed every now and then, he rises the next morning with the sun, and does it again. there are lots of reasons to love satoru for, but among them, this is her favorite.
solely for that, she leans in, lets her carefully trimmed nails trace the sleeping veins on his forearm up to his wrist, trace his knuckles. his good hands. the hands he writes her notes to find when she gets home, in her lunch boxes. the hands that braid the girls' hair in the living room, them all sitting cross legged and doe eyed in front of him, all singing along to whatever music tsumiki is enjoying at the moment. what a luxury it is, to have someone that makes letting the rest of the world fall away so easily just to be able to stay in this bliss for a little longer. her mouth adores his knuckles, each one counted, as her thumb idly rubs the heel of his palm.
but then, he opens his eyes, and she is leaving with nothing more than the warmth of her lips in the crime scene.
‘ morning, ’ she murmurs with the same hoarseness, rolling to lay on her stomach, face tilted towards satoru, extending her arms and her legs for a lazy stretch. ‘ hm? ’ she feigns oblivion when he teases so clearly, with a laugh that melts between her ribs. she replies to that with a yawn, letting it drag on as much as it can before she is shuddering boneless again. ‘ i haven't done anything, ’ she lies so blatantly, and can't help the tiny curl of her mouth upwards, closing her eyes when they both know the truth. ‘ you were dreaming. ’
GOOD LUCK. DON'T DO ANYTHING STUPID. his own words manifesting misfortune, damned as soon as the game revealed itself to be spades. his weakest suit — unable to manipulate or coerce the physical attributes of other players or those they were playing against, bound by his body's limits no matter how sharp his mind. chishiya is quick on his feet but a bullet is quicker, the amusement park's hiding places dwindling the closer the survivors got to the exit, a misjudgement on his part ripping agony through his shoulder as a mascot zeroed in on his location.
it's sheer luck that propels him to safety, the distraction of another player's cry enough for chishiya to clear the game through a haze of pain, unaware of anyone or anything else other than the immediate urgency of his injury. shock shakes his hands as — once granted freedom — he removes his hoodie and shirt, sweat beading his brow as he fumbles to check for an exit wound ; finding one brings momentary relief, gore-slicked fingertips using his t-shirt as makeshift packing material to curb blood loss before re-zipping up his hoodie. the night is balmy, still warm enough that the metal bannister he leans on heavily to traverse the stairs downwards feels like it's burning his palms. a small mercy for trauma such as his that leeches at his body temperature — perhaps he could make it back to the beach after all.
time is a record skip : one moment he's willing the spotlights that dance in the sky to draw closer, their unwavering beacon taunting at sanctuary — the next, shoko's voice greets his ears, her sharp-edged concern sounding like music in that moment. ❛ 'taro ? ❜ he's lucid enough to repeat, the meaning settling pillow-soft on his tongue, ❛ that's new. ❜ what willpower had driven him uncompromisingly forward now seemed to ebb, eyes blinking slowly as if recognising the capable hands his weight had unconsciously leant into, little choice other than to trust she wouldn't let others exploit his weakness. ❛ it was a spades game, ❜ words that fray at the edges are given as explanation, chishiya trying his best to fight against the static building up and beckoning inside his head, ❛ gunshot. my mistake. ❜ chin gestures unsteadily at where red blossoms on white, ❛ it went all the way through. might need a transfusion. ❜
｡𖦹°‧ with a sleeve soaked crimson, still the first thing he marvels at is what she calls him, and sickly enough- she has a reason to ignore his rightful prodding. they have more important things to focus on at hand, do they not? spades game. gunshot. before she can ask if he knows about the bullet's position, he informs that it has exited. two holes. chishiya seems to be able to tolerate walking and talking most probably due to adrenaline, so the bullet has managed to avoid arteries. ( he's alive, he's alive, he's alive. ) it slips her mind to answer further, brain already working out the closest route to her suite as she takes the lead of dragging him alongside her inside the building, heading to the elevator. a few glances linger on them, but since wounded players returning after games is not an unfamiliar sight, they settle for letting it be a momentary distraction before moving along with their path.
she would have been called a traitor for this, she knows, as she helps chishiya sit down in the armchair at the corner of her sun-soaked room, digging through her closet to bring out necessary items she's manage to thrift and stole since the games began, since she came here. a traitor indeed, a doctor with invaluable skills, hiding them all to save herself from an awful leash on her neck, laying it all out on the bed for an old.... friend, but even that doesn't sound right in her head. there wasn't a word she could use to describe what he meant to her. what was she going to risk her neck for, if not for him?
gauze, bandage, alcohol, scissors, tweezers. ‘ you know how this goes, ’ she says, her voice hiding how unsure she actually feels as she sits at the arm of the chair with alcohol, gauze and tweezers in her hand. it is funny, how the simplest acts of emergency care seems to feel like she's a first year student all over again, now that her patient is someone she is terrified of losing. ‘ i need to sterilize as best as i can, then fill it up with gauze, then bandage it. we have to see how severe the bleeding is to see how necessary stitches will be. take your hoodie off and let me see. ’ she tells him, with nothing but sheer will in her voice. ‘ you are not dying today. ’
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｡𖦹° CHISHIYA & SHOKO, ( good luck. don’t do anything stupid. )
what a funny last thing it was, to hear from someone that failed to return. seconds bleeding into minutes, minutes into hours, and even amidst the charred palms from her own game and another set of clothes she had to throw in the trash due to the amount of blood and smoke on them, a corner in her mind kept drifting back to the menace of a man that walked this nightmare the same nonchalance he walked the corridors of the hospital they both resented so. maybe it was an occupation defection they both shared, overriding their empathy to the existential horror of facing the absence of the people they had seen just that morning. death, for a cardiovascular surgeon and a neurosurgeon, was something they washed their hands off before lunch and announced right after it with the taste of dessert still lingering in the roof of their mouths. it was the cycle of life. there was nothing to be feared and resistance was futile. they could die today, or tomorrow, or fifty years later: their actions would delay the inevitable if they were lucky, and with this insight came a kind of coldblooded approach others lacked.
at least she thought it did, but her blood was anything but cold as he failed to return.
the track of time was lost on her as she sat near the entrance of their shelter-made-prison, the beach loud with its hedonistic partying at the face of certain doom. no one knew her well enough to ask why she was waiting, and as her patience wore thin, she was glad for it. she didn't know if she could handle hearing herself admit something as stupid as waiting for someone that would never be coming back. that she'd never watch the crowd from afar with. that she'd share lunch, breakfast, and coffee with. that she could tolerate being with. it hadn't occured to her, just how much she needed the solace chishiya's presence brought, and how terrifying it was to lose it so abruptly. somehow, his collected demeanor and calm-headed approach has been something she longed for, the only place of quiet she could find in this chaos. how the world went quiet, in their shared silence.
he couldn't be gone, could he?
‘ stupid, ’ she whispers to herself, and is jarred at how utterly livid she sounds, how much frustration lays in the undercurrent. but she can't help it, the only emotion she can recognize and knows how to expand is this incomprehensible anger. ‘ so fucking stupid, did you really die? just like that? what am i supposed to do now? ’ what am i supposed to do without you, is what she doesn't say, not even when she's muttering to herself, the nose of her shoe kicking sand at each break.
that is until the shadows in the night sky tremble with the change of the angle of light, and the familiar white set of hair and clothes appear in her vision by the entrance, staggering. her stomach drops, and her heart drops alongside it as she closes the distance with haste, even if her expression does not falter, no matter how she is able to hear her own heartbeat in her ears and nothing else. ‘ you're late, taro. ’ is what she says instead with the same frustration, hands reaching over to check the blood stains on @chishiye 's hoodie without much hesitation, her terror still not alleviated properly. but her voice is faltering, no matter how much she tries to keep it to herself. ‘ you're supposed to be the smartest here. if it takes you this long to get through one game, we're all fucked. ’
｡𖦹° GOJO SATORU & IEIRI SHOKO, cold love , rainbow kitten surprise. ( @ategod & @ieirct )
