ponderingmoonlight

Dante blinks.

“I mean, yeah? Kind of need to, unless you want me stitching through your jacket and calling it fashion-forward medicine.”

“I can do it myself.”

“You are actively bleeding.”

“I’ve handled worse.”

“You got hit in the chest by a demon, not a pillow.”

“I said I can-”

“Hey.” His voice softens just a little, interrupting your train of panic.

“Let me help.”

That should be comforting. And normally, him looking at you with that soft undertone in his voice would send you straight to heaven. It is not, though. If there’s one thing you can’t take right now, it’s a Dante-joke over your flat chest. You don’t bother about hurtful comments of the past, the laughter when you put your shirt off in the dressing room, the chatter. But Dante? Fuck, that would send you straight into your grave.

Your grip tightens over your shirt.

“No.”

Dante tilts his head.

“Why not?”

There’s a pause. A stupid, humiliating pause where your brain offers up about fifteen different lies and rejects all of them immediately.

Because I don’t want you to see my chest.

You hate it. Always have. Too flat, too plain, too… nothing. Like it makes you less without even trying. And right now, injured, vulnerable, and half-exposed already, it feels unbearable.

“I just don’t want you to,” you hiss instead, voice too sharp.

Dante studies you for a second. Not pushing. Just watching.

 “Is this a ‘I don’t like doctors’ thing, or a ‘I’m about to pass out from blood loss’ thing?”

“Neither.”

“Ah. A mystery third thing.”

You glare at him, on the edge of losing yourself completely.

“Stop making it weird.”

“I’m not making it weird, you’re the one bleeding dramatically in front of me. That’s the weird part.”

You open your mouth, ready to cry at him hysterically-

And then your vision wobbles slightly.

Dante notices immediately. Of course he does. That bastard notices everything.

“Hey, eyes on me.”

You obey, unwillingly.

He lowers his voice.

“Talk to me. Why don’t you want me to help?”

You hesitate. Fuck, what are you supposed to do? There’s no way he’ll let go of this, no way to lie without him noticing instantly. You…you have no choice.

 “Because I don’t want you to see my chest, okay? It’s flat and it’s…I don’t know…embarrassing.”

Silence.

For one horrifying second, you wish a demon would reappear just to end this conversation.

Then Dante snorts.

Not cruel. Not mocking. Just… startled.

“Are you serious?” he asks.

You immediately regret your entire existence.

“Yes.”

He stares at you for another beat, then leans back like he’s trying to process the concept of this being a real concern in the middle of a demon battlefield.

“You got cracked ribs on the table and your biggest worry is your chest aesthetics?” he demands.

“I didn’t say it was rational!”

“That’s the part I’m enjoying, yeah.”

“Dante!”

He holds up his hands.

“Okay, okay. Not laughing at you. Just… you’re aware I’ve been punched by things with twelve mouths, right?”

“Yes.”

“And I still have the emotional range of a spoon about it.”

“That sounds like a you problem.”

“It is.”

He points at you lightly.

“And this? Is a you problem too. Not a ‘your body’ problem. A ‘your brain is being dramatic’ problem.”

You huff, still embarrassed, still tense. When is this convo finally over?

Dante sighs, then shifts closer. Your eyes watch him carefully, scared of that spark of humour and humiliation.

But it’s not coming. No, instead his eyes…soften.

“Look, I don’t care what your chest looks like. I care that you’re not dying in a pile of rubble.”

You blink at him.

“That’s it?” you ask.

“That’s it.”

A pause.

“Also, I’ve seen guys get emotional over less fabric than you’re wearing right now, so trust me, you’re fine.”

You groan.

“That did not help.”

“Yeah, I noticed.”

He reaches again, slower this time.

“Can I fix you up now? I promise I will look at your injury like a responsible adult and not a creep with opinions.”

You hesitate like you have a choice. But you know damn well that this is your only option except dying.

Halfheartedly, you finally nod.

“Good. Because I’m already late for my ‘not letting you bleed out’ appointment.”

You make a small, unwilling sound that might be a laugh but definitely isn’t.

Dante carefully helps you sit straighter, working with practiced ease. When he does need to adjust your shirt for access, he does it with exaggerated politeness, like he’s defusing a bomb labeled awkward emotional moment.

“No commentary. No judgment. No weird jokes.”

“…You’re already failing the joke part.”

“That one doesn’t count. It’s medical humor.”

“You don’t have a medical license.”

“I have confidence.”

“That’s worse.”

Despite everything, you feel your tension start to ease. The stitching is careful, steady. He’s annoyingly gentle for someone who spends most of his time breaking things in half.

When he’s done, he sits back on his heels.

“There. All patched up. You’re officially upgraded from ‘bleeding liability’ to ‘slightly less bleeding liability.’”

You exhale.

“Thanks.”

He pauses, then adds, quieter, “For what it’s worth… there’s nothing embarrassing about you. Chest included. If anything, I find you crazy attractive. But let’s just hope you forget that last sentence until tomorrow.”

“Did you…just say that?”

All your remaining blood shoots straight into your face, heat rising up your body instantly. He didn’t just say that, did he? Dante…finding you attractive? No, crazy attractive?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You stare at him.

“…You can’t just say things like that and then pretend it didn’t happen.”

“I can,” Dante replies immediately.

Choso Kamo

There he stands. The man you’ve learned to hate more than anything else, the man who apparently outshines you in every single aspect of life. You were the one and only, the ultimate weapon within the twisted plans of Kenjaku, no one ever compared to your strength and compassion.

Until this bastard was created.

You stare at him through the rain that falls down on you forcefully.

It clings to your lashes, blurs your vision. But not enough to hide the way he looks back at you. Calm, unwavering, as if the storm means nothing. As if you mean nothing.

Your nails dig into your palms.

“Move,” you spit, voice rough, barely audible over the downpour.

He doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t. Why would he, given the fact that he’d outclass you in a fight without really trying?

Water trickles down your face, mixing with something darker - blood, you realize too late. It runs from a cut along your cheek, down to your jaw, dripping off the edge like it’s part of the rain.

Why are you bleeding?

Oh. You were in the middle of a fight, ready to lose.

Again.

“You’re in my way,” you add sharply.

Still nothing.

Then, finally, he tilts his head slightly and studies you. Not like a hunter who investigates his prey, but like something quieter. Something that makes your skin crawl.

“You’re hurt,” he replies.

Your breath hitches for half a second - too quick for most to notice, too slow for him to miss.

“It’s nothing,” you snap immediately, straightening despite the ache spreading through your ribs.

“Don’t get soft on me now.”

A lie. And you both know it which guts you even more.

His gaze drops, just briefly, to where your hand presses against your side. Blood seeps through your fingers, warm against the cold rain, slowly but surely draining you to the core.

Silence stretches again over the both of you.

Heavy.

Uncomfortable.

Wrong.

“You should have finished it earlier,” you bark, forcing the words out.

“You had the chance.”

His eyes flick back to yours.

“I know.”

No hesitation. No excuse. That… throws you, awakens your anger even more.

“Then why didn’t you?”

The question slips out before you can stop it. For a moment, the only answer is the sound of rain hitting pavement.

Then-

“I didn’t want to.”

Your chest tightens in a way you’ve never felt before.

No. That’s not how this works. That’s not how he works. He’s supposed to be better than you. Stronger. More efficient. Less… human. He’s the optimized version of you who never gives a shit about your well-being.

And yet…You can see it in his eyes.

“You’re pathetic,” you mutter, though it lacks its usual bite.

“Hesitating like that.”

“Maybe,” he responds quietly.

Another step forward.

You tense instantly, cursed energy flickering at your fingertips, ready to strike him one last time…

But he doesn’t attack.

He stops just close enough that you can see the faint furrow in his brow. The way his expression shifts faintly, like he’s trying to understand something he shouldn’t.

“Why are you still standing?” he asks.

“What kind of question is that?”

“You’re injured. Outmatched. You could leave.”

You let out a sharp, humorless laugh.

“And let you win?”

“That’s not what I-”

“Shut up.”

Your voice cracks, frustration bleeding through. Fuck, why are you getting emotional now?

“You think I have a choice? You think I get to walk away from this?”

He goes quiet. Because he understands what you’re going through, your suffering. Of course he does.

And that’s the worst part.

The rain seems heavier now, louder, like it’s trying to drown out the space between you. You take a shaky step forward, closing the distance this time. Not close enough to touch, but close enough to take in his dark eyes glowing in the street lights, his sharp facial features, the way he stands, his smell that drives you crazy. God, how much you hate that man.

How…how much you hate that man.

“I hate you,” you mutter, softer now.

More honest than you intended, with more undertone than you’d normally allow yourself. His eyes flicker from your eyes to your lips.

“…I know.”

But he doesn’t move away, doesn’t raise his guard, doesn’t look at you like something disposable.

And suddenly, that hatred feels… unstable. Like it has cracks running through it, thin but spreading.

Enemies don’t hesitate. Enemies don’t notice when you’re bleeding. Enemies don’t choose not to kill you.

Your breath trembles as you exhale.

Fuck fuck fuck.

This is bad. Very very bad. You aren’t supposed to feel this way about him. He’s your opponent, the only thing that stand between you and working with Kenjaku. You’re supposed to hate him, even to kill him now that you have the chance.

But instead, you choose to stand close enough to hear his heart hammer against his ribs, close enough to feel his warmth.

It’s wrong. It’s so wrong. Your fingers twitch at your side, cursed energy flickering weakly, uncertain like even it doesn’t know what you’re trying to do anymore.

“Next time,” you start, forcing your voice to steady, “I won’t-”

Your words cut off sharply because he moves. Not fast. Not like in battle. Not like an attack.

Slow.

Deliberate.

His hand comes up, hesitating just for a fraction of a second before it brushes against your jaw.

You freeze.

Every instinct screams at you to strike, to pull away, to do something, but your body betrays you, rooted to the spot as his thumb drags lightly through the blood on your cheek.

The touch is careful. Too careful for your position.

“…You’re losing a lot of blood,” he murmurs, voice lower now, closer than it’s ever been.

Your breath stutters.

“Why do you care?”

His thumb stills against your skin.

For a moment, he doesn’t answer. His gaze lifts from the cut on your cheek back to your eyes. This close, there’s no mistaking it.

That look...Not pity, not mercy. Something heavier. Something that makes your pulse spike for an entirely different reason.

“I don’t know,” he admits quietly.

That honesty hits harder than any blow.

You swallow, your hand instinctively coming up, grabbing his wrist. It’s meant to stop this madness.

It doesn’t.

If anything, it makes everything worse.

“You’re making a mistake,” you whisper, your grip tightening just slightly.

“You hesitate like this again, and I will kill you.”

A lie. Or maybe a promise you’re no longer sure you can keep.

His lips part like he’s about to say something, but instead, his gaze drops again.

To your mouth.

Your breath catches.

The rain feels colder all of a sudden, sharper against overheated skin.

“Then why aren’t you doing it now?” he asks, barely audible.

Your heart slams against your ribs. You should. You really should.

He’s close enough. Vulnerable in a way you’ve never seen him before.

All it would take is one move…

But your grip on his wrist shifts instead, sliding down just slightly, fingers brushing against his palm.

“…Shut up,” you breathe, but there’s no bite left in it.

He exhales softly, almost like a quiet, disbelieving laugh leaving him. Like he doesn’t understand this either. Like he’s just as caught in it as you are.

And then, his other hand finds your waist.

Not rough. Not forceful.

Just there to steady you.

Because your legs are starting to give out, whether you want to admit it or not.

Your body reacts before your mind can catch up, fingers tightening in the fabric of his robe, pulling him closer instead of pushing him away.

Your foreheads almost touch now.

“Don’t…” you start, though you’re not even sure what you’re telling him not to do.

Don’t touch you?

Don’t look at you like that?

Don’t make this worse?

His grip on your waist firms just slightly, just enough to make you lose your mind completely.

“Try not to die,” he murmurs, the words brushing against your lips.

You huff out a shaky breath, something almost like a laugh breaking through despite everything.

“Touched by your concern.”

But you don’t pull away.

Neither does he.

And for one reckless, irreversible moment…

You lean in first.

Not gentle, not soft. Messy and desperate and wrong, your lips crash against his like you’re trying to prove something - to him, to yourself, to the world that this means nothing.

That it’s just another fight.

But it isn’t.

Because he responds instantly, his hand tightening at your waist, pulling you closer as the kiss deepens. Heated, consuming and clashing in the same way your cursed energy always does.

Your grip on him turns desperate, fingers curling into fabric, into him, as if letting go would mean losing something you didn’t even know you wanted.

It steals the air from your lungs.

Blurs the line even further.

Enemy?

Opponent?

Obstacle?

None of it makes sense anymore.

Not when he tastes like rain and iron and something dangerously addictive.

Not when youdon’t want to stop. Fuck, you really don’t want this to end.

When you finally pull back, it’s only because your burning lungs force you to.

Your forehead drops against his, breath uneven.

“…This changes nothing,” you manage, though your voice is wrecked.

A weak lie and you both know it.

Because his thumb is still resting against your cheek, because you’re still holding onto him, because neither of you has moved an inch away.

“…Yeah,” he murmurs.

But he doesn’t sound convinced either.

Gojo Satoru

The classroom is empty when you slam the door shut behind you except for him.

You weren’t supposed to come back. You definitely weren’t supposed to corner him like this.

But there he is, leaning casually against the desk like he owns the place (he does), blindfold pushed up just enough to reveal those infuriatingly bright eyes.

Satoru Gojo smiles the second he sees you.

“Back for extra lessons?” he hums.

You scoff, arms crossed tightly over your chest.

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Oh?”

He tilts his head, grin widening.

“Then why’d you come all this way just to see me?”

God, you hate him. You hate the way he always turns everything into a game. The way he looks at you like he already knows how this ends.

“I told you to stay out of my way,” you snap, stepping closer.

“That mission was mine.”

“And you almost died,” he replies lightly.

“I had it handled.”

“Sure you did.”

Your jaw tightens.

Fuck, you hate that dismissive tone, like he doesn’t take you seriously. Like you’re just another student he has to babysit.

“Get out of my way next time,” you mutter, voice low.

He doesn’t move. Of course he doesn’t. After all, this is Gojo Satoru.

Instead, he straightens slightly, pushing off the desk – way too tall and way too close in seconds.

“Make me,” he murmurs.

Your breath catches.

Instead of arguing, you swing. Fast. Precise. You’ve trained for this, patiently waiting for a moment to finally punch him into his pretty face.

And just like always…

you stop inches from him.

Infinity. Fuck that.

Your hand trembles in the empty space between you, so close you can feel the heat of him but never reach.

“Still not there yet,” he replies softly.

You glare up at him.

“Take it off.”

That earns a pause. A real one.

“…What?”

“The blindfold. Infinity. All of it.”

Your voice drops, steadier now despite the storm in your chest.

“Or are you scared?”

His smile shifts. Of course you’d catch him with an invitation like that.

“Scared?” he echoes,

There’s something underneath his voice now. Interest? Challenge? You swallow hard. Whatever it is, it does sound absolutely dangerous.

“Yeah,” you push despite the urge to run away, stepping even closer, invading what little space exists between you.

“You hide behind it. Makes it easier, right? Not having to actually try.”

Silence.

For once, you’ve really hit something. His gaze lingers on you, longer than usual. Not playful. Not teasing.

Assessing.

“…Careful. You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

“Then show me.”

The words leave your mouth before you can stop them.

And for a split second, you wonder if you’ve made a mistake, if you went too far.

Because something in him shifts, the air changes. Suddenly the distance between you is gone.

His hand comes up abruptly and catches your wrist midair when you try again, this time slower, testing.

No Infinity.

Your pulse spikes.

Fuck, why does his heat feel so good?

“You wanted fair,” he murmurs, fingers tightening just enough to make your breath hitch.

“Now you’ve got it.”

You should pull away. End this madness, get out of this classroom, escape those captivating eyes.

You don’t.

Instead, your free hand grabs the front of his shirt, grounding yourself - or maybe pulling him closer. You’re not sure anymore, your mind going back and forth in spirals.

“Don’t hold back now,” you challenge, though your voice is quieter than before.

He lets out a soft laugh.

“Trust me, I’m trying not to.”

Your heart stutters.

Damn him. Damn the way he does this so effortlessly. Damn that knot that tightens inside your guts.

“You’re insufferable,” you whisper.

“And you keep coming back,” he shoots back instantly.

Your grip tightens.

“That’s because someone has to put you in your place.”

“Oh?”

His eyes flick down, oh so briefly and deliberately, to your mouth.

“I’d like to see you try.”

You don’t think.

You act.

You shove him back - hard.

He lets you.

The desk behind him creaks slightly from the impact, but he doesn’t break eye contact for a second.

And now you’re the one pinning him.

Chest to chest. Breath uneven.

“You talk too much,” you mutter.

“Yeah? Then shut me up.”

That’s all it takes for your primal instincts to take over.

You grab him by the collar and kiss him.

Sharp, heated, full of everything you’ve been holding back - frustration, anger, something else you refuse to name.

For once, he doesn’t have a comeback. For once, he lets you take the lead.

But only for a second.

Because his hand slides to your waist, pulling you closer, turning it into something deeper, something that makes your head spin and your grip falter just slightly.

There’s nothing effortless about this.

Not anymore.

When you finally break apart, it’s because you have to, gasping for air and vision going blurry.

Your breathing is uneven, mind still trying to process what the hell just happened. His is barely affected - but his grin?

Completely wrecked.

“…Huh, guess you can keep up.”

You roll your eyes, even as your pulse refuses to calm down.

“Don’t get used to it.”

“Too late,” he replies easily.

His fingers are still resting at your waist. Yours are still gripping his shirt.

Neither of you moves away.

Megumi Fushiguro

This is a simple mission. In, kill the lower class curses, save the little children. Out and carry on. No complications, no big add-ons.

So why on earth are you pinned against a wall with Megumi Fushiguro standing way too close, his shikigami dissolving into shadows around you both after what definitely fights like grade 1 curse tried to shatter the both of you into pieces yet again?

Your chest rises and falls unevenly, eyes and mind unable to focus on what’s happening. The ‘easy’ mission blurring in front of you or rather…The boy you’re supposed to hate pinning you against a wall.

“Get off me,” you mutter, though there’s no real force bite it.

“I’m not on you,” he replies flatly.

You glare at him.

“You’re close enough.”

That much is true.

One more inch and your bodies would touch fully. Right now, it’s just barely avoided by his stretches out arms.

“You were about to get hit,” he adds, quieter now.

“I stopped it.”

“I didn’t ask you to.”

“You wouldn’t have had time.”

Your jaw tightens. You’ve had this discussion with him countless times before. Megumi always has to be right, always has to play the knight in shining armor. God, you’re so full of it, you hate that guy.

“I could’ve handled it.”

“Yeah? Like earlier?”

That hits worse that the curse who surprised you and slammed your body against the pavement.

Of course it does.

“You don’t trust me,” you snap.

Megumi exhales through his nose, gaze flickering away for a second before settling back on you.

“It’s not that.”

“Then what?”

Heavy silence.

Rainwater drips from his hair, sliding down the side of his face. You don’t miss the way his eyes linger. Not on your stance, not on your hands…

But on your expression. Like he’s trying to read you.

“…You’re not my enemy,” he finally says.

Your breath stutters.

“Well, I’m your classmate-“

“No, you’re not my classmate either…”

Your pulse spikes to an all-time high. This tension, the way his gaze drops…This means trouble and you know it. This doesn’t feel like hatred at all.

“That’s your problem,” you shoot back, though it comes out weaker than intended.

“You hesitate.”

“And you don’t,” he counters.

“Exactly.”

Another beat, this time far away – help arrived. Neither of you moves though.

Your back presses harder against the wall, suddenly very aware of how close he is, how warm he feels compared to the cold air, how steady his breathing is compared to yours.

“Then why don’t you leave?” he asks quietly.

You blink.

“What?”

“You have the chance,” he says, voice lower now.

“Rith here. You can just walk away.”

You open your mouth.

…and nothing comes out.

Because he’s right.

Again.

Fuck. Truth is, you don’t want to leave. Truth is, his warmth feels captivating, feels safe and sound. Truth is, you want to stand here just a little longer. Away from the darting eyes of the others, away from the mocking of jujutsu high.

Truth is, you don’t want to hate Megumi Fushiguro.

Your fingers curl slightly at your sides.

“I…”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, like he already knows.

God, that annoys you.

“You think you’ve got me all figured out, huh?” you snap, pushing lightly against his chest.

He doesn’t move.

Instead, his hand comes up, catching your wrist before you can push him again.

Your breath catches.

Not because of the movement.

Because of how gentle it is.

“Stop,” he says firmly.

Your pulse quickens.

“You’re always like this,” you mutter.

“Acting like you know better, like you can just decide what I should do.”

“That’s not what I’m doing.”

“Then what are you doing?”

For a second, he hesitates.

Megumi Fushiguro.

Hesitates.

“…Trying to understand you,” he admits.

That knocks the fight right out of you.

Your grip loosens. So does his, but he doesn’t let go completely.

The space between you shifts again. More dangerous than ever before.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you whisper.

“Like what?” he asks, genuinely.

“Like I’m… not just your classmate.”

He studies you for a long moment.

“…Are you?”

Your heart stumbles.

You should say yes.

You don’t.

Instead, your gaze drops,just for a second, to his lips.

Big mistake.

Because when you look back up he’s noticed.

Of course he has.

A faint tension settles in his shoulders, like he’s holding himself back from something he doesn’t fully understand either.

“You should move,” you murmur, though your body doesn’t follow through.

“So should you,” he replies.

Neither of you does. Your wrist is still in his hand. Your other hand slowly comes up and rests lightly against his chest. Despite the distant cries in your head, your mind pleading you to come to your senses. Despite every muscle of your being is trained on hated Megumi Fushiguro, you stay.

You can feel his heartbeat.

Steady.

Strong.

Faster than before.

“…You’re not as calm as you act,” you mutter.

“Neither are you.”

That’s all it takes.

The last bit of distance disappears when you lean in - not fully, not like a decision, more like a question.

He answers it without words.

His free hand comes up to your jaw, fingers brushing your skin, hesitant at first, like he’s giving you time to pull away.

You don’t. How could you.

So he closes the gap.

The kiss is quiet and gentle, but it burns anyway.

Not rushed, not messy like a fight, just slow and sweet, like both of you are trying to figure out what this even is while it’s already happening.

Your hand tightens against his shirt, pulling him closer despite yourself. He exhales softly against your lips, the sound almost surprised.

When you finally pull back, it’s barely an inch.

Your foreheads rest together.

“…This is a bad idea,” you whisper.

“Yeah,” he agrees.

But neither of you moves away.

Did you…really just kiss Megumi Fushiguro?

Tags:

Choso Kamo

“No. Don’t you dare touching me.”

“C’mon (y/n), we’ve been through that a 100 times already. Let me heal you-“

“I said no!”

Shoko signs while putting her hands up in defeat.

“See? She doesn’t want me to help her. Come see me any time you feel like getting stitched together again, (y/n).”

“(y/n), why don’t you just allow Shoko to-“

You storm out of the room before Yuji is able to say another word, hot tears burning in your eyes while your limbs carry you out of the room a little too fast.

You don’t deserve any of this. Their worry, their powers, their support. Not when all you did was standing on the sidelines while countless people around you died.

You don’t get far, though. Your vision blurs too badly, feet dragging against the floor as if your body is finally remembering everything it’s been holding back. The hallway feels too long, too open, too exposed. Your shoulder throbs with every step, the crusty bandage already soaked through, but the thought of hands on your skin makes thick guilt rise in your throat. And before you know it, you find your knees smacked against the cold hard ground.

“(Y/n).”

The voice stops you cold, hits you straight to the core.

It isn’t loud. It doesn’t need to be. There’s something unmistakable about it, something that vibrates straight through your spine. You turn just enough to see him standing at the end of the hall, broad frame half-shadowed, dark eyes fixed on you with unnerving focus.

Choso.

He takes one step forward and immediately freezes when you flinch.

“…I won’t touch you. Not unless you ask” he declares slowly.

Your breath comes out shaky.

“Then what do you want?”

“To help,” he answers simply.

You laugh bitterly, scrubbing at your face.

“Everyone keeps saying that.”

“Yes. But they do not listen.”

The silence stretches while you simply stare at him. That strange man everyone fails to understand, the one responsible for your survival. Choso doesn’t move closer, doesn’t crowd you. He lowers himself to sit on the floor instead, putting himself below your eye level, hands resting openly on his knees. Non-threatening, but patient.

“You are bleeding,” he states.

“I know.”

“You are in pain.”

“I said I know.”

“And you do not want to be touched,” he finishes, eyes never leaving your face.

“So I will not.”

Something in your chest twists painfully.

“Then how exactly are you planning to help me?” you snap.

Choso’s gaze softens, just a fraction.

“By staying.”

You don’t answer. You don’t tell him to leave either. To be honest, you can force yourself to do that. Not when every fiber of your being begs him to stay.

Minutes pass. Maybe longer. Your legs finally give out completely and you slide down the wall to sit opposite him, exhaustion winning over pride. The blood loss makes you lightheaded. Choso notices instantly.

“May I… speak?” he asks.

You nod weakly.

“You did not stand on the sidelines, (y/n). You survived. That is not nothing. Don’t think so low of yourself.”

Your hands curl into fists when his words hit your heart like a knife. Why…Why does he know exactly where it hurts?

“People died.”

“Yes. And you did not kill them.”

Tears spill before you can stop them, hot and humiliating. Choso doesn’t look away, doesn’t rush you. He watches you like you’re sacred.

“If you will not let Shoko heal you,” he continues, voice steady, “then let me change the bandage. I will show you my hands first. I will move slowly. And if you say stop-”

“I will,” you interrupt, voice breaking.

He inclines his head.

“I know.”

When you finally nod, barely noticeable, Choso rises carefully, movements deliberate. He kneels in front of you, placing the clean cloth and supplies on the floor between you where you can see everything.

“You always carry that stuff with you?” you comment dryly.

“Since I know you are injured and decline help, I do.”

You swallow hard, avoiding eye contact at any cost. God, that damn heart of yours, why can’t it just shut up?

“Tell me when.

Your throat tightens.

“…Now.”

His touch is nothing like you expect.

Warm. Gentle. Reverent, even. He barely brushes your skin at first, as if asking permission with every movement. When you tense, he stills immediately, eyes flicking up to your face.

“Still okay?” he asks.

You swallow hard and nod.

He works in silence after that, hands steady. When your breathing stutters, he adjusts his pace to match it. When a whimper slips out, he murmurs, “I am here,” like a vow.

By the time he’s finished, you’re shaking - not from fear this time, but from exhaustion. You never really allowed yourself to rest since that cursed day, never felt safe enough to even slumber. But truth is, you can’t do this anymore. Can’t act all tough, like your injuries don’t kill you.

Choso doesn’t move away right away.

“You may rest and I will stay.”

“For how long?” you whisper.

“As long as you need,” he answers without hesitation.

You lean forward before you can stop yourself, forehead pressing against his shoulder like in trance. He stiffens for half a second, then relaxes, one arm slowly coming up to rest around you, light as air, careful not to cage you in.

You don’t feel alone anymore.

And he stays exactly where he is, guarding you in the quiet aftermath, as if the world itself would have to go through him first.

You might regret this as soon as you wake up again, but for now, you really need to rest.

Yuji Itadori

You feel his painfully familiar presence behind you with deadly precision while your eyes are set on the spot where he stood just seconds ago.

He wasn’t supposed to be here. No, if it wasn’t for your cries, he wouldn’t have been here in the first place, darting in just in time before your life ended. And now? Now he’s forever gone. Dead. Vanished without a trace of ever existing.

“You’re next, little bird”, you hear his voice coo.

He grabs your throat, slams you against the wall.

Then his eyes meet yours.

And your violent scream jolts Yuji out of his sleep immediately.

“(y/n)? Hey, (y/n). Look at me,” he mutters while gently sitting you up.

You can’t see, can’t hear. Your heart pounds so violently against your ribcage that you feel like fainting any given minute, the pain of Mahito’s touch still clinging onto your bones.

“It was a dream, (y/n). Nothing but a dream, okay?”

His faint voice doesn’t reach your brain fully.

“You’re okay, you’re with me (y/n).”

Finally, your eyes snap towards the voice that oh so desperately tries to calm you down.

“Yuji.”

You breathe his name out like a prayer, hands now holding onto the fabric of his white shirt for dear life.  

He lets you clutch him like that, doesn’t flinch when your fingers fist tighter, knuckles whitening against his chest, like if you let go you’ll be dragged right back into that nightmare. Yuji’s arms come around you slowly, consciously, as if he’s afraid sudden movement might shatter you both. One hand settles between your shoulder blades, firm and warm, the other cradling the back of your head.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers, over and over, like a mantra he’s trying to convince himself of too.

“You’re here. You’re safe. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Your breathing comes still irregular, shallow gasps scraping your throat raw. It feels so real. Every night, you live thorough that moment again and again. Yuji notices immediately - he always does.

“Hey… hey, look at me,” he murmurs again, lowering his forehead to yours when your eyes struggle to focus.

“Okay? Just me. Just Yuji.”

He takes a slow, exaggerated breath, waiting until you mirror him. In. Out. Again. His hand rubs gentle circles into your back. Nothing like Mahito’s touch. Nothing cruel. Nothing cold. Just warmth and comfort. Just Yuji Itadori.

“That wasn’t real,” he continues quietly, voice trembling despite his best efforts.

“He’s gone. He can’t hurt you. He can’t touch you.”

Your body betrays you anyway, shaking like it doesn’t believe a word of it, like you’re still in that tunnel, standing where Nanami just died.

“I-”

Your voice cracks, dissolving into a sob you didn’t feel coming straight from your throat.

“He was right there. I could feel him.”

Yuji’s jaw tightens. Guilt flashes across his face so quickly you almost miss it. If he would have been there sooner, none of this would have happened.

“I know, I get it. I still see them too. Hear them…But you woke up. You’re here with me now.”

He shifts, tugging the blanket around your shoulders when he notices how cold you are. The room is dim, quiet, untouched by the horrors your mind keeps replaying. Yuji makes sure you notice it, that you’re safe right here..

“Tell me five things you can see,” he declares gently.

 “The… the ceiling. Your shirt. The lamp. The door…Your face.”

A faint smile curves his lips at the last one, fragile but sincere.

“Good. Four things you can feel?”

“Your arms,” you murmur.

“The bed. The blanket. My heartbeat.”

“Yeah,” he breathes, pressing his palm flat against your chest until you can feel his heart too, steady and strong beneath his skin.

“It’s still going. That means you’re still here, right?”

 “I don’t want to sleep,” you confess, barely audible.

“Every time I close my eyes-”

“Then don’t,” Yuji interrupts instantly, shaking his head.

“You don’t have to. Definitely not alone.”

He shifts again, sitting back against the headboard and guiding you with him, keeping you tucked against his chest. When you tense, he pauses. His warmth feels like a summer day mid-July, like something you didn’t know you needed to breathe.

“Is this okay?” he asks, earnest, eyes searching your face.

“I mean I can move. I can-”

You shake your head quickly, fingers tightening in his shirt once more.

“Please. Stay”

“Okay…Okay. I’m not going anywhere.”

Minutes pass. Maybe longer. Your breathing evens out little by little, exhaustion creeping back in despite your fear of falling back asleep. Yuji notices your eyelids flutter and immediately adjusts his grip, making himself a human barricade between you and the rest of the world.

“If you fall asleep again,” he murmurs, voice rough with emotion, “I’ll be right here when you wake up. I promise.”

“And if I scream?” you ask weakly.

“Then I’ll wake up. Every time,” he assures without hesitation.

You finally relax against him, cheek pressed to his chest, listening to the proof that he’s alive, that you’re alive, that Shibuya is over. Yuji stares down at you long after your breathing evens out, refusing to close his eyes.

Because if staying awake means keeping you here, keeping you safe…

Then he’ll do it. All night. Every night. As long as you need him.

Sukuna

Everything went numb. Your mind, your limbs, your thoughts. It’s like you’re nothing but an empty shell of a human being at this point, nothing but a mess. Truth is, you weren’t prepared for what happens around you. The countless deaths, Gojo getting sealed, Nanami getting killed, the kids going missing one by one.

And you? You’re standing in the middle of it. Or to be exact, you’re lying in a puddle of blood that belongs to the sorcerer you tried to save just a few moments ago.

Your eyes stare at nothing, focus on nothing.

You don’t even register the weight of the body half-draped over you, the warmth of blood soaking into your clothes, the distant screams echoing through ruined streets. Sound exists somewhere far away, muffled, unimportant. Your chest rises and falls out of habit alone.

Live. Breathe. Blink.

You don’t. Not really. Not after the horrible things that happened just moments ago.

“…Tch.”

The voice cuts through the fog like a blade.

Annoyed, sharp. Amused in that way that makes your stomach drop even when you can’t feel anything else. Who…who on earth is this?

“Well, this is pathetic.”

A presence presses down on you, heavy enough that the air itself seems to shrink. Fingers that are too strong and too real curl into the fabric of your clothes and haul you upright with brutal ease. Your head lolls forward, eyes still not able to fixate on anything but the bloody floor.

Sukuna clicks his tongue.

“Look at me.”

You don’t. You simply can’t.

His grip tightens suddenly, painfully, forcing your chin up until your neck strains and your eyes finally focus. Blood-red irises staring straight through you, ancient and cruel and very much alive. Your heart skips a beat, muscles swiftly tingling in alert. Him, this presence…is way stronger than anything you’ve felt so far.

“There we go,” he sneers.

“Still breathing. Still warm. And yet you’re lying here like a corpse.”

You don’t respond, which irritates him. A lousy human, not responding when he talks to them directly?

His hand slams beside your head, cracking the pavement beneath you. The impact finally pulls a reaction from your body: a sharp inhale, a flinch, fingers twitching against the blood-slick ground, muscles finally fighting against his harsh grip.

“There it is,” Sukuna coos softly, almost pleased.

“You feel that? Fear. Anger. Anything is better than this hollow little nothing you’re playing at.”

Your lips part, but no sound comes out.Sukuna’s eyes narrow.

“Oh, don’t give me that look. You think you’re special for breaking? For freezing up while the world burns?”

He leans closer, voice dropping into something spiteful and somehow intimate.

“People far stronger than you screamed before they died.”

His fingers press into your chest, right over your heart - hard enough to hurt, but with not enough force to injure you.

“And yet this keeps beating.”

Your vision swims.

“They… died,” you whisper, barely audible.

“I couldn’t-”

“Yes. They did. And you didn’t.”

Silence.

“You think lying down in their blood makes you noble?” Sukuna scoffs.

“That it honors them somehow?”

His grip tightens once more before abruptly releasing you. You slump forward, gasping. Before you can collapse fully, he catches you again, this time steadying you, almost subtly adjusting his hold so you don’t fall.

“Disgusting,” he mutters.

He crouches in front of you, eyes level with yours now. His expression is sharp, but there’s something darker beneath it, something dangerous and intent.

“If you’re going to survive in this world, you don’t get to shut down. You don’t get to disappear just because it hurts.”

He reaches out again, two fingers pressing against your forehead. Cursed energy surges -violent, invasive, overwhelming.

Your breath hitches as sensation floods back into your body all at once. Pain. Cold. The ache in your muscles. The weight of grief crushing your ribs.

You choke on a sob.

“There. Much better.”

Your hands curl into fists, nails digging into your palms. Tears spill freely now, your body finally catching up to what your mind tried to escape. Sukuna straightens, looming over you.

“You’re not allowed to die yet. Not after all this effort.”

He turns away as if bored, but not before casting a final glance over his shoulder.

“Get up,” he commands.

“Or I’ll drag you.”

And somehow, through rage, through grief, through the cruel, unwanted force of his will pressing you back into existence - you do. You drag yourself out of the puddle of blood, out of the corpses.

“You’re an ass,” you mutter under your breath, knees barely able to hold your weight.

“I’ll let this slide. For once,” Sukuna replies dryly.

Tags:

You barely register the sound of Choso hitting the ground. Did Yuta tell you over and over that this might happen, that he might be forced to take down Choso in order to get through with the mission? Absolutely, in every single detail.

And yet, there you stand, your heart pounding roughly against your ribcage as Yuta takes Choso down with a single hit the second his eyes meet yours. Blood slicks the concrete beneath the man you learned to love more than everything else. Everything else fades into background noise, nothing really matters anymore. Nothing but Choso.

You’re already at his side before anyone says a word, before an ugly cry escapes your lips.

Your hands hover, hesitant, then press to his chest. His heartbeat is there, faint but steady enough to make your lungs finally draw in air. He’s alive. Damn, he’s safe and sound. Relief crashes over you so hard your knees almost give out. Of course he is. After all, he’s a blood manipulator. After all, Yuta wouldn’t dare to seriously injure the love of your life.

“We need to get going, (y/n). The others are waiting,” Yuta’s soft voice mumbles next to your ear.

“I’ll stay,” you reply quickly.

“I can stabilize him. I need to be there when he wakes up. He’s still a mess from what happened in Shibuya and even though you didn’t hit him that hard, he needs rest and a little time to catch his breath.”

Yuta hesitates, his hand still resting against your shoulder. You don’t wait for permission. You never do and he knows.

“I’ll meet the two of you later, then.”

The building you drag him into is abandoned, cold, and unforgiving. Concrete walls trap the chill and the air smells like rust and dust. You shrug off your jacket and drape it over him without thinking, hands already glowing faintly as you focus what little cursed energy you have left into keeping him alive. To be honest, the Shibuya incident took its toll und you as well, leaving you mentally and physically drained like never before.

But you have to keep going, have to pick yourself off the ground over and over again. Because you’re not only fighting for yourself anymore. Your eyes wander over the still unconscious man you fell in love with instantly, the way his facial features finally relax under the pressure of sweet nothingness. If there’s one thing that’s worth fighting for, it has to be him.

Time blurs.

You clean the blood from his face, carefully, gently, as if he might break beneath your touch. You murmur reassurances you know he can’t hear. Every few minutes you check his pulse again, just to be sure. Every time, your shoulders loosen a fraction. Your cursed energy dwindles faster than you’d like, but you keep going anyway, fully aware of the fact that Choso is way stronger than you, that he theoretically doesn’t need you to look after him.

When your hands start trembling, you steady them against your knees and continue. When your vision swims, you blink until it clears. When the cold seeps through your clothes and settles deep in your bones, you ignore it.

Choso needs you just like you need him. You have to do this for him, have to get yourself together.

By the time his fingers twitch, you’re slumped against the wall beside him, eyes half-lidded, breath shallow. You don’t notice the way your body has curled inward, trying and failing to conserve warmth.

Choso wakes in pain. Pain is familiar. Pain makes sense. Pain is something he got used to a long time ago.

What doesn’t make sense is the weakness in his body, the lingering echo of another’s cursed energy and then something softer, fading but unmistakable.

His eyes dart wide open. Yours.

He turns his head slowly, muscles protesting, and sees you. You’re too still. Your cursed energy flickers weakly beside him, thin as a dying flame. Your jacket is on him. Why…Why on earth is your jacket on him? Your hands are pale, fingers tinged blue.

Panic flares sharp and immediate. What did you do?

“…you?”

His voice cracks, unused, rough from disuse.

Your eyes flutter open at the sound, unfocused at first. Then recognition sparks, followed by a tired smile that hurts him more than any blow Yuta dealt.

“You’re awake,” you whisper.

“Good. Don’t move yet.”

He reaches for you without thinking. His fingers brush your wrist and the cold jolts through him like ice water. Too cold. You’re freezing.

“How long,” he asks slowly, dread curling in his chest, “have you been here?”

You shrug, a weak little movement.

“A while.”

A while. He knows better than believing you something like this.

Choso pulls you against him, careful despite the ache screaming through his body. His arms wrap around you instinctively, protective, sure. He shifts his blood flow deliberately, generating warmth, concentrating it around you until your shivering eases.

You gasp softly at the heat and melt into him like you’ve been waiting for permission.

“You are exhausted,” he murmurs, forehead pressing to yours.

“You should not have pushed yourself this far. I’m not a human being, after all.”

You huff out a quiet, breathless laugh.

“Someone had to make sure you didn’t die.”

The words hit harder than they should. He thinks of his brothers, of loss, of how easily people disappear.

“I would have woken, something like this cannot kill me.”

Your eyes close as you relax against his chest, fingers curling into the blood-soaked white fabric of his cloak.

“You’re awake now,” you murmur.

“That’s enough.”

It isn’t. Not to him. Not when it means he drained the rest of your already limited energy out of you.

He holds you tighter, just enough to keep the warmth steady, just enough to feel your breathing even out. He watches your face soften as sleep finally claims you, trusts that you’re safe because he is here now.

You sleep in his arms while he keeps watch, unmoving despite the pain, satisfied to exist like this for as long as he’s allowed, as long as he can just hold you for a few minutes in silence.

Tags:

Iguro Obanai

„That was way too close,“ you mumble, allowing your body to finally rest against a nearby wisteria tree.

What a hell of a night. Countless killed humans, even more beheaded demons. It wasn’t until the sun finally rose that you finally made it out of here. Or rather the arrival of a certain someone who happens to be a hashira.

“I told you over and over to never leave me side. And you? You sneak out while I sleep to go on a mission like that without a backup.”

“My crow ordered me to do so,” you insist half-heartedly.

 Because deep down, you know that the story didn’t exactly lay out like this. To be exact, you were the one begging on your knees for a challenging mission without Iguro Obanai involved in it. And maybe it was in fact his crow that wanted to entrust this mission to him alone.

Why all this madness? Because your precious boyfriend can’t accept the fact that you’re capable on your own as well. Not as a hashira, not even remotely close to being as good as him, but still skilled enough to fight on your own.

At least that’s what you thought until today.

“You could have died, (y/n)!” he blurts out so suddenly that you flinch.

Your heart drops to the floor. After all those years of loving appreciating the man in front of you, you’ve never seen him like this. Handy shaky, forehead covered in sweat, eyes wildly furrowed. Yet…There is no man living on this planet who is allowed to raise his voice at you like that. Not for doing your job, not for giving it your all.

You squeeze your fists, frustration bubbling despite how drained you are.

“I know I could’ve died, Obanai. I’m not stupid. But you never trust me to handle anything alone. You’re always breathing down my neck like I’m some helpless trainee. I know I’m not a hashira like you and I think I’ll never be one, but stop treating me like a beginner. Why this urge to follow each and every damn step I take?”

His mismatched eyes snap to yours, sharp as blades.

“Because I can’t lose you!”

His voice cracks at the end, louder than you’ve ever heard it. Kaburamaru stirs nervously around his shoulders, leaving your heart pounding roughly against your ribcage.

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. What is all of this about? This isn’t the first time he pulls you out of danger, not even the first mission you head in on your own. No, this has to be about something else…but what? He looks away first, teeth grinding under his bandages. The silence between you feels like glass ready to shatter.

Then, in the quietest, roughest whisper, Obanai mutters, “...Damn it. You ruined everything.”

Your brows knit, mind unable to follow a single word.

“Ruined what?”

He drags a shaky hand through his hair, muttering curses under his breath.

“I was supposed to propose to you tonight. After a calm mission, when you weren’t covered in blood and I wasn’t screaming at you. I had it all planned and-” he cuts himself off, shoulders trembling.

“But instead, I spent the night asking myself where the hell you are, imagining what I’d do if you never came back.”

Your lips part, eyes stinging. The way he looks at you with nothing but agony filling his eyes, how his hands tremble more and more with each word that leaves his mouth. You hate that you made him feel this way, but what caught you even more off guard…

Did…Did Obanai just say that he wanted to propose to you? Propose in the sense of asking you to marry him?

“Obanai...”

He finally faces you again, eyes fierce but wet around the edges. He rips the small box from his uniform pocket - scuffed now from the battle and him saving your ass, but still intact. He opens it with shaky fingers, revealing the ring inside.

“I don’t care if this is the wrong time or the wrong place. Marry me, (y/n). Please. I need you with me. Always.”

The world around you blurs, every ache and wound forgotten in that instant. Your hand flies to your mouth, a broken laugh slipping past your lips.

“You idiot,” you whisper, tears spilling freely now.

“You could’ve just said that instead of scaring me half to death.”

When you nod, his whole body sags in relief. You don’t even give him a chance to slide the ring on. Instead, you throw yourself into his chest, arms tight around him, feeling Kaburamaru nuzzle your cheek in approval.

“Yes,” you breathe against his neck.

“Yes, Obanai. A thousand times, yes.”

For the first time in what feels like forever, his arms wrap around you without hesitation, holding you as though letting go would mean losing you all over again.

“And don’t you dare to ever scare me like this again,” he mumbles into your hair.

“We both know I can promise you something like that…”

Akaza

The night air is cool against your skin as you haul the last bucket of water from the well. Your shoulders ache from a day’s work - market stalls in the morning, scrubbing clothes in the afternoon, cooking for your siblings in the evening. There is no room in your life for rest, no space for softness. Still, you force a small smile, knowing that at least your family is safe and warm inside.

The rope creaks as you set the bucket down. And that’s when you feel it, the shift in the air. Heavy, suffocating. Your skin prickles, eyes widen, every nerve screaming danger.

You don’t see him right away. He doesn’t make a sound. He’s simply there when you turn, standing just beyond the lantern light. His hair is bright against the darkness, his eyes glowing like twin suns trapped in a curse.

Your breath catches. A demon. Just like the ones your mother told you about in all those countless myths.

The bucket slips from your hands, water spilling into the dirt. He doesn’t move, but you can feel the violence twisted inside him like a storm about to break. His fists tighten, jaw clenching, and you know he means to end you, that this might be your last seconds alive on this planet.

Your knees almost buckle while your family’s faces flash in your mind. You think of your siblings crying when you don’t come back, the distorted face of your mother when she finds out. Who will take care of them, earn money for the next loaf of bread, who will take care of your younger siblings when you’re gone? Your mind races back and forth, tears now taking your sight almost completely. Is this is, the last few moments before you die?

 But then, nothing happens. The demon doesn’t lunge, doesn’t strike. He just stares at you, expression unreadable, chest rising and falling with slow, deliberate breaths.

The silence stretches. Then, as suddenly as he appears, he’s gone, a blur swallowed by the night. Your legs give out, and you fall beside the well, gasping for air. Who was that creature? Why did he hesitate? You never once heard a story of a demon who didn’t kill his prey, let alone didn’t even harm it.

And you see him again. He’s at the edge of the forest this time, half-hidden behind the trees, golden eyes fixed on you as you carry wood back to the house. Your heart races, but he doesn’t move closer. Doesn’t speak. Just… watches.

It becomes a pattern. Night after night, he’s there. Sometimes in the shadows of the road, sometimes crouched on a rooftop as if guarding something. Always silent. Always staring.

At first, fear coils in your stomach, but as the nights stretch on, something stranger takes its place: curiosity. Why hasn’t he killed you? Why keep returning?

One night, when your exhaustion strips away your caution.

“Why do you keep coming back?” you breathe into the silence of the night.

The demon’s lips twitch, as though he isn’t used to speaking. His voice is low, rough.

“I don’t know.”

It’s not an answer, but it’s the first thing he gives you before you start to notice more. The way he tilts his head when you laugh softly at your own clumsiness. The way his fists clench when you wince from lifting something too heavy. He looks at you not like prey, but like something fragile, something he’s afraid to touch.

You should be terrified. You should scream. You shouldn’t come here at night to begin with. Instead, you find yourself leaving the door unlatched, stepping outside when the rest of the house is asleep, just to see if he’s waiting. He always is.

You don’t even realize when you start to think of him less as a demon and more as him.

Akaza.

Tonight, though, he isn’t there. The space where he usually waits is empty and an unease settles in your chest. You shake it off, telling yourself not to be foolish and walk toward the well. The moon is high, silver light spilling across the clearing.

That’s when you hear it - the growl.

Your eyes widen in the humbling way. This doesn’t sound like Akaza, doesn’t feel like Akaza. No, this has to be something else. Or rather someone…

Before you can react, another demon drops from the treeline, its claws slicing across your arm. Pain explodes through you, hot and sharp, and you stumble back with a cry. The bucket clatters to the ground as the creature lunges again, teeth bared.

Terror seizes you. This is it. This is how it ends. This is what you get for walking around at night carelessly. Even though Akaza turned out to be the most charming and charismatic man you ever met, this certainly doesn’t apply to every demon. Akaza…What will he say when he finds out? Will he be sad, will he cry? You didn’t have the chance to tell him how you feel, though. Your life really ends without this one person you adore most knowing that you love him.

A roar splits the night, forces you out of your melancholy.

Akaza slams into the other demon with a force that shakes the earth. His fists move in blurs of violence, each strike shattering bone, splitting flesh. He is merciless, terrifying in his wrath, until the other demon lies broken and silent, nothing more than a stain on the dirt.

You sit against a nearby tree, trembling, blood dripping down your sleeve. When Akaza turns, his chest heaving, his eyes widen at the sight of you. For the first time since you’ve known him, he looks shaken.

“I was supposed to kill you,” he mutters hoarsely, kneeling in front of you.

His hands hover near your shoulders, shaking, but he doesn’t touch – not with his hands.

“That night I found you… I was going to tear you apart.”

Your breath shudders, the sting of your wound sharp with every movement.

“Then why didn’t you?”

His gaze drops, fists digging into the dirt.

“Because you looked at me like I wasn’t a monster. And I… I couldn’t take that away.”

Something inside you breaks at the rawness in his voice. You should push him away, you should fear him, but instead, your heart aches with every fiber for this man.

He swallows hard, lowering himself fully to his knees, as though in surrender.

“I can’t give you sunlight. I can’t give you a peaceful life. All I have is me, my fists, my strength, my cursed existence. But if you’ll let me, I will use all of it to protect you. To keep you breathing, no matter what stands in our way.”

His voice cracks, desperation bleeding through. His eyes meet yours, burning with something that terrifies and moves you all at once.

“Be mine. Even if it’s only in the dark. Even if the world tears us apart. Choose me.”

Your vision blurs - from tears, from blood loss, you can’t tell. Every instinct says you should refuse. That nothing good can come from binding yourself to a demon. But when you look at him, kneeling with his forehead nearly to the ground, trembling like he’s afraid you’ll vanish, you can’t say no. You don’t want to say no.

Your hand rises before you realize it, trembling as it brushes against his cheek. His skin is cool, but he leans into your touch as if it’s the first warmth he’s felt in centuries.

“Yes,” you whisper.

“I’ll be yours.”

Akaza freezes. Then, slowly, his expression softens; fragile, disbelieving. A smile ghosts across his lips, faint and trembling. He bows his head against your forehead, his body shaking.

“I won’t let anything touch you,” he breathes.

“Not the night. No demon. Nothing.”

You close your eyes, letting yourself believe it, even if the world never will.

Because somehow, against all reason, you’ve chosen him. And in the shadows, he has chosen you as well.

Shinazugawa Sanemi

The ground drops from under your feet. One moment you’re shoulder to shoulder with the others, charging into Muzan’s domain, and the next, the floor twists, walls shift, and the infinity castle swallows you whole.

You land hard, rolling across polished wood, breath tearing from your chest. The lanterns hanging in the endless halls burn with a sickly glow, and the silence presses in like a weight. You’re alone.

“Shit,” you mutter, pushing to your feet.

Your blade is steady in your grip, though your pulse races in your throat. Alone or not, you won’t sit here like prey. You pick a direction and start moving, wary but determined.

The walls creak, sliding apart - and a demon lunges. You don’t think. You never do. You dash forward instead of back, reckless as hell, ducking under its claws to slash across its chest. It shrieks, staggering, but another swing catches your sleeve, ripping fabric and grazing your skin. Fuck, that definitely didn’t go as planned.

“Dumbass!” a familiar voice roars.

Sanemi crashes in from the side, his blade slicing through the demon before it can reach you again. Blood sprays, burning against the wood. He doesn’t even watch it crumble, he’s already whirling on you, eyes blazing, making you forget that you were worried about him a few seconds ago.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he snarls, grabbing your wrist and yanking you out of the collapsing wall.

“Charging straight into its gut? Are you trying to die?”

You wrench your arm free, glaring right back.

“What the fuck do you think I was supposed to do? Sit there and let it eat me?”

“Use your damn head for once! You could’ve dodged!”

 His voice is sharp enough to cut glass, his chest heaving with fury.

“Oh, forgive me for not performing like the great wind hashira!” you snap.

“You know, I was a little busy keeping my throat intact.”

His nostrils flare. For a second you think he might actually explode, but instead he drags a hand over his face, muttering a curse.

“Unbelievable. I get dumped in this hellhole, and instead of finding Muzan, the first thing I see is you, throwing yourself into death’s mouth.”

“And yet, here I am,” you shoot back, crossing your arms even as your heart still pounds from the fight.

“Still alive. Thanks for the vote of confidence, though.”

He steps closer, eyes narrowing, and you refuse to back away. The castle groans around you, walls shifting again, but you and Sanemi are locked in your own battlefield.

“You drive me insane,” he bites out, voice rough.

“Always so damn reckless. Always running your mouth.”

“Funny, I was about to say the same thing about you.”

The silence that follows is electric. His jaw works, his fists clenched at his sides. Then, suddenly, his expression twists - fury, frustration, something rawer bleeding through.

“Marry me, damn it.”

The words slam into the air between you, catch you off guard so roughly that you almost trip over your own feet.

You blink. Once. Twice. Still not a single hint that this is a joke.

“What?”

His face is flushed, veins in his neck straining.

“You heard me. Marry me. I’m sick of watching you nearly get yourself killed, sick of worrying if you’re gonna make it back. If I’m gonna go crazy every damn time you pull some stunt, I’d rather do it knowing you’re mine.”

His voice cracks slightly on the last word, but his eyes burn, unflinching.

Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out at first. The infinity castle hums around you, walls shifting, and still, his words hang heavier than the building itself. He…Wants to marry you? None other than Sanemi Shinazugawa, the man you fell for a long time ago but never dared to say out loud? The man who insisted on hating you until one fateful night, he couldn’t hold himself together anymore and kissed you out of no where? Marriage never seemed to be an option for the both of you, was never something you allowed to get into your head. Especially not like this.

Finally, you find your voice.

“That’s… that’s your proposal? In the middle of this fucking mess?”

He scowls.

“You got a problem with that?”

“A big one!”

You gesture wildly with your sword.

“You can’t just bark ‘marry me, damn it’ after chewing me out like some deranged guard dog!”

His scowl deepens, but his ears are red now, his boldness fraying at the edges.

“I don’t… I don’t know how else to say it, alright? I love you, you pain in the ass. And if we make it out of this alive, I want-” He swallows hard, the words sticking to his tongue.

“I want you with me. For good.”

Your sass falters, something hot and tight blooming in your chest. His confession is as graceless as it is raw, but that’s Sanemi, all rough edges, no polish, heart bleeding through the cracks whether he likes it or not.

You stare at him, then snort.

“You’re a nutcase, you know that? Scolding me one second, proposing the next.”

He bristles.

“So what’s your answer?”

You let him stew for a beat, just to watch the way his eye twitch oh so annoyed. Then you smirk, sliding your blade back into its sheath.

“Fine. Yes. I’ll marry you, you stubborn, hot-headed bastard.”

Relief floods his face so quickly you almost laugh. He tries to mask it with another scowl, but his shoulders sag, tension bleeding out of him.

“Good,” he mutters, voice low but firm.

“About time.”

The castle groans again, a door sliding open to reveal another endless hallway. You sigh, drawing your blade once more.

“Guess this means we better survive long enough to make it official.”

Sanemi steps ahead of you, sword gleaming in the eerie light and glances back with a smirk that’s half feral, half something softer.

“Damn right we will. You’re stuck with me now.”

You roll your eyes, but your heart races for an entirely different reason as you fall into step beside him. The infinity castle can shift and scream all it wants; nothing could drown out the fire in his voice when he said marry me.

And nothing will keep you from saying yes again once this nightmare is over.

Uzui Tengen

The first thing you notice is the quiet. No clash of blades, no shrieks of demons, no groaning of broken bones. Just the hush of summer air rolling over the grass. You sit with your knees pulled to your chest, head tilted to the sky.

There was a time when you couldn’t bear to look up, too many nights replaying fire and blood behind your eyelids, too many shadows that reminded you of the war you barely survived. The scars are still there, inside and out. They may never leave.

But you’re alive. Somehow, so is he. Despite all odds, the two of you made it out of the entertainment district arc back then.

“Oi.” Tengen’s voice cuts through the silence, brash as ever.

“You trying to ignore me, huh? That’s unflamboyant behavior.”

You turn and there he is. He still stands tall, broad shoulders casting a long shadow over the grass. But the empty sleeve where his hand used to be and the patch over his eye are impossible to ignore. His smile is wide, loud, everything he wants the world to see. But you’ve learned how much effort it takes him to keep it there.

“You’re late,” you tease, though your voice softens at the edges.

He grins, crouching down until he’s at your level.

“Late? Perish the thought. A man of my caliber is never late. I arrive precisely when it’s time to make the world gasp in awe.”

You raise a brow.

“And what exactly am I supposed to gasp at tonight?”

His grin sharpens.

“Glad you asked.”

He snaps his fingers, and as if on command, the night sky cracks open with light.

The first firework bursts into a bloom of color, red and gold spilling across the darkness. Another follows, then another - glittering trails, starbursts, showers of sparks raining down like meteors. The entire field shimmers in their glow.

Your breath catches, eyes sparkling in every imaginable color.

“Tengen…”

He leans back on one knee, watching your face rather than the spectacle.

“You told me once you wanted to see fireworks. Said you’d never gotten the chance.”

His voice is still loud, flamboyant, but there’s a rawness underneath it you don’t get to hear quite often.

“So I figured, why not make your first time unforgettable?”

You blink rapidly, torn between laughing and crying as the sky blooms again and again.

“You really… you did all this for me?”

“Of course I did.”

His grin wavers, just for a second.

“After all the hell we went through… after how close I came to not walking away at all…”

He exhales sharply, rubbing the back of his neck with his remaining hand.

“Truth is, I’ve been terrified. Not of dying, I made my peace with that a long time ago. But of leaving you behind. Of not saying what I should’ve said.”

The fireworks thunder overhead, bathing him in crimson light. His voice drops, barely audible over the bursts.

“You’ve seen me at my weakest. I lost an eye. I lost a hand. And you… You carried more than your share of pain too. You’ve fought, you’ve suffered, and yet here you are. Still shining. Still here. And every damn day, I thank whatever gods are listening that you are.”

Your throat tightens.

“Tengen…”

He takes a breath and moves closer, until the heat of his presence pushes away the night chill. His hand trembles as it cups your face, not from weakness but from something far rarer in him.

Fear.

“I’m not the perfect man,” he admits, voice breaking.

“Hell, I’m not even half the man I used to be. But if you’ll let me… if you’ll have me… I’ll spend every flamboyant second of the life I’ve got left making sure you feel brighter than these fireworks.”

And then he drops to one knee fully, bowing his head before you in a gesture you’ve never seen him make. His shoulders shake as he lifts his gaze and you realize he’s fighting tears.

“Marry me. Not because I can dazzle the world. Not because I can still fight or brag or stand tall. Marry me because when I’m with you, I don’t feel broken. I feel whole.”

The fireworks roar above, a brilliant cascade of light, but you hardly see them anymore. All you see is him - this ridiculous, flamboyant, larger-than-life man, stripped bare in the only way he knows how.

Tears spill down your cheeks before you can stop them. You laugh shakily, pressing your hands to his face.

“You’re such an idiot,” you whisper, voice cracking.

“You think I care about an eye? A hand? You could lose everything and I’d still say yes.”

For once, Tengen is speechless. His breath hitches, his wide smile faltering into something softer, rawer.

“Yes. I’ll marry you.”

The grin comes back then, blinding and messy, streaked with the tears he can’t quite hold back. He rises up, pulling you into his chest, spinning you once with reckless joy. The world blurs - sparks above, warmth around, his laughter loud and cracked in your ear.

“You hear that, universe?” he shouts to the sky.

“She said yes! Yes!”

You bury your face against him, laughing and crying at once.

“You’re going to wake the whole world!”

“Let them wake! Let them all see how damn lucky I am!”

He sets you down only to cup your face again, kissing you with the force of a man who refuses to do anything halfway. The fireworks thunder one last time, a grand finale exploding into the night.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, his voice dropping into a whisper.

“You’re my light. Always have been. Always will be.”

The sky goes dark, smoke drifting from the last firework, but it doesn’t matter. Your world is already burning bright - flamboyant, fiery, and forever his.

Hashibira Inosuke

The forest is alive with sound. Cicadas buzz around you in a mess of cries, leaves rustling, the snap of branches under your feet. You’re panting, heart pounding, but you don’t dare stop. Not when Inosuke is somewhere behind you, crashing through the undergrowth like a wild boar.

“Stop running, you coward!” he thunders, voice echoing through the trees.

You duck behind a boulder, pressing a hand to your mouth to smother your laugh. Only Inosuke would call you a coward after he’s the one who challenged you to a chase through the mountains at midnight.

“First one caught has to marry the other!” he’d declared, standing bare-chested under the moon with all the seriousness of a war general.

You’d raised a brow, even though your heart almost flew out of your chest.

“That’s… that’s not how marriage proposals work.”

“Shut up! That’s how it works now!” he barked.

Then he lunged, and you’d barely had time to sprint before he was hot on your heels.

Now, crouched behind the rock, you grin despite yourself. Only Inosuke would think to propose by turning it into a hunt. Only Inosuke would make it feel… oddly fitting. The two of you share each other’s companies for quite some time now. After the horrors you’ve witnessed inside the infinity castle, you weren’t able to spend a single night without him anymore. For some reason, this boy makes you feel safer than anything else. Just the thought of spending the rest of your life with him…

A sudden crash to your right. He’s close. You bolt again, weaving between trees, your laughter spilling free this time.

“You think you can escape me? I’m the king of the mountain!” Inosuke hollers, and then he’s vaulting over a log, landing beside you in a spray of dirt.

You squeal, deviating left, but his hand shoots out and catches your wrist. He yanks you around, momentum pulling you both down onto the mossy ground. You land in a heap, him half sprawled over you, his boar mask twisted from the fall.

“Got you!” he crows triumphantly, chest heaving.

“You’re mine now!”

You glare up at him, breathless and flushed.

“That’s not-! You can’t just…Inosuke!”

He rips the boar mask off, eyes blazing with wild joy.

“I can! I caught you fair and square! That means you have to marry me!”

“You’re unbelievable,” you huff, shoving at his shoulder.

“What if I don’t want to marry a maniac who tackles people in the dirt?”

His grin falters, confusion flashing in his eyes.

“You don’t want to?”

The question is so raw, so startlingly vulnerable, that your heart stutters. For all his bluster, for all his wild declarations, Inosuke still doesn’t really understand how fragile human connections can be. To him, everything is straightforward: win a fight, claim a victory, hold onto it forever.

You soften, brushing a leaf from his hair.

“Idiot. Of course I do. But maybe you could’ve asked me instead of chasing me through the woods like prey.”

He blinks, processing. Then his grin bursts back, brighter than the moon overhead.

“So that’s a yes?”

You laugh, unable to help yourself.

“Yes. It’s a yes.”

Inosuke throws his head back and whoops, the sound loud enough to scare birds from the trees.

“Ha! I knew it! I knew you couldn’t resist the strongest, most amazing, most fearless-”

“…most insane,” you interrupt, smirking.

“- most flamboyant fighter!” he finishes, ignoring you.

He leaps to his feet, dragging you up with him in one strong pull.

“We’ll be the strongest pair ever! No one will beat us! Not demons, not humans, not anything!”

You shake your head, still laughing as he puffs out his chest like he’s announcing to the world. But then his hand slips into yours, clumsy, uncalculated. You blink, looking down at your joined hands, then back up at him.

His grin softens just slightly, enough for you to glimpse the boy beneath the wild mask.

“I mean it,” he mutters, quieter now, though his voice still vibrates with conviction.

“You’re mine. And I’m yours. Forever.”

Something hot twists in your chest. You squeeze his hand, smiling back.

 “Forever.”

He beams, then immediately yanks you against him in a crushing hug that nearly knocks the wind from your lungs.

“Good! Then it’s settled!”

The forest rings with his triumphant laughter, your softer giggles tangled in it.

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