Work Text:
Pairing: Yandere!Yuji Itadori (Modulo/Time-loop) x Captive F!Reader
Genre: Dark fiction, Psychological horror, Yandere, Time-loop AU, Tragedy
Word count: 10k (approx)
Warnings:
Dark content, non-con/dub-con implications, captivity, psychological manipulation, emotional dependency, isolation, forced caretaking, restraint, loss of autonomy, implied violence, mental deterioration, obsessive behavior, stalking, implied repeated death (time-loop), trauma, identity confusion, distressing themes.
Please DO NOT read if you're sensitive to these topics.
AN: This piece explores a darker, alternate version of Yuji Itadori where time does not move forward—but repeats. The story focuses on psychological deterioration, obsession formed through loss, and the blurred line between protection and control. If themes of captivity, manipulation, or yandere dynamics make you uncomfortable, please skip this. Reader discretion is strongly advised.
This piece was written as a commission. The core idea and dynamics were requested by the client, and I expanded on it with my own interpretation. Thank you for commissioning me<3
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Late nights had a way of stretching into something shapeless—hours dissolving into the faint glow of your laptop screen, the rest of the room swallowed in shadow. The only real light came from the cold blue glare reflecting off your tired eyes, blinking slower with each passing minute. Empty cans—three, five… you’d stopped counting—were scattered across your desk, condensation long gone, leaving behind faint rings like quiet reminders of how long you’d been sitting there.
You exhaled sharply, fingers pausing over the keyboard.
“This is ridiculous…”
The document on your screen blurred together—reports, fragmented notes, archived case files—all circling the same thing: residual data on a special-grade cursed anomaly, one that had been flagged for irregular behavior during exorcism attempts. Pattern inconsistencies. Temporal distortions. Half the previous researchers had logged their findings neatly, efficiently—none of them taking more than an hour or two.
And yet here you were. Three hours in, and still nothing concrete. Your jaw tightened.
“They expect me to pull something out of this mess?”
You leaned back slightly, running a hand through your hair before dragging your gaze back to the screen. The cursor blinked mockingly, as if waiting for you to make sense of something that refused to be understood.
Right on cue, your phone buzzed. You didn’t even check the name before answering.
“…What.”
A pause.
Then the familiar, slightly too-casual voice from the other end:
“Still working, I hope?”
You clicked your tongue softly, eyes still on the screen. “Been at it for three hours. Whatever this is, it’s not lining up with the previous reports.”
A brief hum. “Yeah, about that—we might need you on-site tomorrow.”
That made you pause.
“On-site?” you repeated flatly.
“There’s a team heading out. You’ll assist them—just provide support, fill in the gaps with your research. Nothing too complicated.”
You leaned back fully this time, staring at the ceiling for a moment, irritation settling in deeper.
“…You want me to do field support now too?”
“Well, not exactly. Just—be there. They’ll handle the rest.”
A beat of silence. Then, dry and unimpressed:
“You might want to increase my pay at this point.”
There was a short laugh on the other end. “Alright, alright—I’ll talk to the boss.”
“Till then, finish what you’re doing. And be there tomorrow.”
You let out a quiet breath, eyes drifting back to the screen. “…Yeah. Sure.”
The call ended.
For a moment, you just sat there, the room returning to its dull silence, broken only by the faint hum of your laptop.
Your gaze flickered over the mess of notes again. If only you hadn’t joined this damn agency—whatever they liked to call it. An organization that fed off cursed energy, secrets, and people who knew too much for their own good.
“Tch." You clicked your tongue, pulling yourself forward again.
—
The location wasn’t hard to find—just another dimly lit stretch of road where the streetlights flickered more than they stayed on, the air carrying that faint, metallic weight you’d learned to associate with cursed activity. Your phone was pressed to your ear as you slowed your steps, eyes scanning the area with practiced impatience.
“Yeah, I’m here,” you muttered, gaze narrowing slightly. “Where exactly are they?”
A brief pause on the other end.
“They’re waiting for you. Three of them.”
Your eyes moved again—left, right—until, just a little further ahead, you caught it. Three figures. Standing together.
You stilled for half a second, then frowned. “…Are you serious?”
A quiet hum came through the line. “Mhm. See for yourself.”
The call ended before you could say anything else.
You stood there for a moment longer, staring at them—really looking this time. The silhouettes sharpened into detail as you approached: black hair, composed stance; a girl with a sharp posture; and—
That pink hair.
Your jaw clenched, just slightly.
Tch.
For a fleeting second, something bitter curled at the back of your mind—an old memory you didn’t care to revisit. A time when you stood where they did now. When they had taken you in. Not out of kindness. But necessity. To let you live.
You exhaled quietly and closed the distance.
The dark-haired boy stood calm, unreadable. The girl turned toward you first, offering a quick once-over before speaking.
“So you’re Ms. Y/N? Nice to meet you. I’m Nobara.” She gestured casually beside her. “This is Megumi, and he—”
She paused, glancing toward the pink-haired boy just as he leaned forward with far too much energy.
“Itadori Yuji!!” he introduced himself brightly, a grin stretching across his face. “I’m really excited to have a new partner on our team!”
Your expression didn’t change much, though your eyes lingered on him for a second longer than necessary before you looked away.
“Yeah,” you replied flatly. “Let’s just get this over with.”
There wasn’t much else to say. You gave them the basics—the information you’d managed to piece together, the irregularities in the reports, the likely location of the source. They listened, more or less, before falling into step as you turned, leading the way.
The streets grew quieter the further you went.
Even their chatter—light, careless—started to fade, dissolving into the stillness that settled around the area. The closer you got, the heavier the air felt, pressing faintly against your senses.
Then you stopped.
“This is it.”
The spot matched your findings exactly. For a moment, no one spoke. Then they moved. Not you. Them.
They stepped forward, instinctively taking the lead—placing you behind without even needing to say it outright.
“Stay back.”
Megumi’s voice was calm, firm. You didn’t argue. And then—
Yuji glanced over his shoulder, that same easy, almost childish smile still there like nothing about this situation weighed on him at all.
“Leave it to us!” he said, light and confident. “We’ll be done quickly!”
—
The shift was immediate.
The moment they stepped past the boundary, the air warped—thick, suffocating, pressing down like something alive. The faint hum you’d felt earlier snapped into something sharper, louder, crawling under your skin. The space ahead twisted subtly, shadows stretching where they shouldn’t, pooling unnaturally along the cracked pavement.
Then it moved.
A low, distorted sound scraped through the silence as the curse revealed itself—something malformed, its shape flickering between solid and unstable, limbs too long, joints bending at angles that made your eyes strain just to follow. Its surface pulsed faintly, like it couldn’t decide what it wanted to be.
Yuji didn’t hesitate.
He was already moving before the thing fully lunged—feet planting firmly as he drove forward, fist connecting with a sharp, clean impact that echoed through the space. The force sent the curse skidding back, its form rippling violently from the hit.
“Got it!” he called, voice bright despite the situation.
Megumi stepped in right after, movements precise, controlled—his shikigami manifesting in a blur of motion, lunging at the curse from the side, forcing it to stagger again. Nobara followed, nails striking with sharp accuracy, each hit deliberate, driving the curse further into a corner.
They moved like they’d done this a hundred times. Seamless. Efficient. And yet—
Something felt off.
Your eyes narrowed slightly, watching the way the curse twitched—too erratic, too reactive, like it wasn’t just responding… but waiting.
Yuji went in again, faster this time.
He drove the curse back with another solid strike, forcing it off balance—but in that split second, something shifted.
Behind him—The curse split. Not fully. Just enough.
A jagged extension of its form peeled away, silent, unnatural, curling around from behind like it had been waiting for that exact opening.
Your breath hitched.
“—Behind you—”
Too slow.
Yuji hadn’t noticed.
The thing surged forward, aiming straight for his blind spot—And your body moved before your mind caught up.
You grabbed the nearest thing within reach—a loose metal rod half-buried near the broken edge of the pavement— It felt impossibly heavy but the situation wasn't something to back away. So without thinking, you hurled it hard against the ground to the side.
The sharp, jarring clang split through the air. Not random. Calculated. Years of dealing with cursed traces, unstable reactions—you knew enough. Disrupt the focus. Break the pattern. The curse jerked.
Its movement stuttered, snapping unnaturally toward the noise instead—its trajectory shifting just enough.
Yuji turned at the last second, eyes widening slightly as the attack missed him by inches instead of landing clean.
Megumi reacted instantly, shikigami striking down the exposed extension, tearing through it before it could re-form. Nobara followed up without hesitation, driving another hit straight through the core.
The curse let out a warped, fractured sound before collapsing in on itself, dissolving into nothing.
Silence fell just as quickly as the fight had begun.
For a second, no one spoke. Then—Yuji looked back at you. Really looked this time.
“…That was so cool!!” he blurted, eyes lighting up like he’d just seen something incredible instead of almost getting taken out.
Nobara blinked, then let out a small scoff, though her gaze lingered on you a second longer than before.
“…Not bad.”
Megumi didn’t say much, but there was a slight pause in his usual calm expression—subtle, but noticeable.
You exhaled slowly, setting the tension out of your shoulders as you brushed your hands off.
“…Be careful next time,” you muttered under your breath.
The words left your mouth flat, almost automatic—but they didn’t feel light. They sat heavy in your chest, sinking deeper the moment they were spoken. You hated this part. Hated the way they sent people like this out—young, capable, sure—but still nothing more than pieces moved across a board they didn’t control.
Puppets.
You knew it. You’d known it for a long time. And yet—There was nothing in your hands to change it.
Your gaze lingered on them for a second longer. They didn’t look shaken. Not really. If anything, they looked… normal.
Yuji stretched his arms over his head like they hadn’t just fought something that could’ve taken him out moments ago, a grin already back in place.
“Man, that worked up an appetite,” he said, glancing between the others. “Let’s go eat! I’m starving now!”
Nobara scoffed lightly, brushing something off her sleeve. “You’re always starving.”
Megumi didn’t comment, but he didn’t disagree either.
You watched them—really watched them this time. The way they slipped back into something so casual, so easy, like none of it clung to them the way it did to you.
A quiet breath left you before you spoke again.
“…Let’s go.”
They paused. You shifted your weight slightly, already turning away.
“My treat.”
That got a reaction.
Nobara’s eyes narrowed just a bit, suspicion flickering across her face.
“…Wait. Seriously?”
You glanced back, expression unchanged.
“Yeah.”
She squinted harder, like she was running some kind of internal check.
“Are you sure?”
A beat.
You nodded once. That was enough.
Her entire expression shifted almost instantly.
“Well, why didn’t you say that earlier?” she said, already stepping forward. “Let’s go.”
Yuji lit up even more, if that was possible.
“Really? That’s awesome!”
Megumi just followed, quiet as ever.
---
It was… normal. Strangely normal.
The table was filled with small talk, half-arguments, casual complaints—Yuji rambling about food, Nobara cutting in with sharp remarks, Megumi occasionally grounding the conversation when it went too far off track. You didn’t say much, just enough to respond when needed, letting their voices fill the space instead.
For a while, it didn’t feel like work.
It didn’t feel like anything heavy. Just noise. Warm, easy noise.
And then—It ended.
They stood, one by one, stretching, adjusting, already preparing to head their own ways.
“Thanks for the food,” Nobara said, casual but genuine.
“Yeah, seriously,” Yuji added, flashing that same bright grin. “We should do this again!”
Megumi gave a small nod in agreement.
You hummed lightly, noncommittal.
“Yeah. Sure.”
They didn’t linger long after that. And just like that—They were gone.
---
By the time you got back to your apartment, the quiet had settled in again. Familiar. Unmoving.
You dropped your things near the table, already pulling your laptop closer, preparing yourself for the next order, the next file, the next long stretch of work that blurred into the same cycle.
Your fingers barely brushed the keyboard when your phone rang.
You frowned slightly, glancing at the screen. Unknown number.
Your brows knit together, but you picked it up anyway.
“…Hello—”
“You aren’t going tomorrow.”
The voice cut in before you could finish. Flat. Certain.
You blinked. “…Huh?”
There was a pause on your end, confusion settling in.
“Going where tomorrow?” you asked, slower this time. Because as far as you knew—
There hadn’t been any orders yet. No briefing. Nothing scheduled.
You pulled the phone away slightly, checking the screen again before bringing it back.
“Hello?” you tried again.
Silence. No response.
Your expression tightened faintly. “…Ugh. Wrong number.”
You ended the call without another thought, tossing the phone aside as you leaned back toward your laptop. And then—
A soft notification blinked onto the screen. Your eyes flicked up.
A new file. A new assignment. For tomorrow.
—
The next morning felt off before it even properly began.
You were already dressed, bag slung over your shoulder, mind half-running through the notes from last night as you reached for the door handle—
—and stopped.
It didn’t move.
You frowned slightly, twisting the knob again. Once. Twice.
“…What the—”
It didn’t budge.
Your grip tightened as you tried again, this time harder, like maybe it had just gotten stuck somehow. The metal clicked faintly under the pressure, but the door stayed firmly in place.
Locked. From the outside.
A pause.
Then your brows pulled together.
“Who the hell did this?”
You twisted it again, sharper this time, the sound echoing a little too loudly in the quiet apartment. Nothing. No give. No shift.
Your jaw clenched as you stepped back, then threw your weight against it.
Once. Twice.
The dull thud of impact vibrated through the wood—but the door didn’t even flinch. An annoyed huff slipped past your lips.
“Great.”
Your gaze flicked toward the window.
For a second, you actually considered it—stepping closer, glancing down at the distance below. The height wasn’t just inconvenient. It was stupid.
“…Yeah, jump and die. Great plan.”
You stepped back immediately, clicking your tongue under your breath. Something wasn’t right. That thought came quieter. Sharper.
Did somebody find out?
Your hand moved faster this time, grabbing your phone as you dialed the subhead. The line rang once. Twice.
No answer.
“…Pick up.” You pulled the phone away slightly, staring at the screen before trying again. Still nothing.
A breath left you, slower now.
He was probably already out. Already on-site. Which meant—They’d call. They’d definitely call. To ask where you were. Why you were late.
They weren’t just going to replace you, were they?
The thought lingered longer than it should’ve. Your grip tightened slightly around the phone—
—and then—
A soft click.
Your head snapped toward the door. It shifted. Slowly. The lock slid open on its own.
You stared at it. “…What?”
For a second, you didn’t move. Just watched it, like it might do something else. Then you stepped forward, pulling it open quickly.
The hallway outside was empty. No footsteps. No one nearby. Nothing.
Your frown deepened. “…Probably got stuck.”
You didn’t wait to think about it longer. Grabbing your things properly this time, you stepped out, pulling the door shut behind you in a rush.
---
You barely made it past the building when your phone rang.
This time—It was him.
You picked up immediately.
“Yeah—I’ll be there in a few minutes—”
A pause.
“…Where?”
You slowed mid-step.
“…What?”
“For what?” he added, confusion clear in his voice.
You blinked.
“The mission. The one you told me about last night,” you said, slower now. “I’m heading there—”
Another pause. Then:
“…I don’t think so.”
Your steps came to a stop.
“I think you’re stressed out,” he continued casually. “Maybe take a day off.”
“......" You stared ahead, unmoving.
“…Are you sure you’re not planning to bring in a newbie?”
Silence for a second. Then a light scoff.
“Oh, what? No, of course not. You know I’d never do that. Our relationship isn’t like that~”
You physically cringed.
“Okay, I’m hanging up.” You cut the call before he could say anything else. A long sigh slipped out as you lowered your phone.
Last night. You definitely got that call. You knew you did.
“…He’s lying.”
The words came quieter this time. Then another thought slipped in—That unknown number.
Your brows pressed together as you rubbed your temple lightly.
“Ugh… my headaches are getting worse…”
You turned back, steps slower now, already heading toward your apartment again. Your thumb moved across the screen, scrolling through your call logs from the night before—
—and then—
You walked straight into someone. The impact wasn’t hard, but enough to break your focus.
“…Sorry,” you muttered automatically, barely looking up.
Just enough to catch a glimpse—A hoodie. Pulled low. Face mostly hidden.
You didn’t think much of it. Didn’t stop. Didn’t question it. You just walked past. Scrolling again. Like nothing happened.
—
By the time evening settled in, the sky had already dimmed into that dull, bluish grey that made everything feel heavier than it should. You hadn’t even properly sat down when the message came through—short, direct, leaving no room to argue.
A new order.
Location: Shinjuku district—an inner lane flagged for unusual cursed activity.
You clicked your tongue under your breath, already grabbing your things again.
“Seriously…?”
No time to question it. You were already moving.
---
The streets were busier than usual, people weaving past each other, headlights cutting through the growing dark as you made your way toward the main road. Your pace was steady, mind half-focused on the route, half on the lingering irritation from the morning.
And then—
“Hey!”
You stopped. Your head turned slightly at the familiar voice. There they were.
Yuji Itadori and the others.
Yuji was the first to step forward, raising a hand in greeting like running into you here was the most natural thing in the world.
“Y/N!” he called, that same easy grin already in place. “Didn’t expect to see you here!”
Nobara stood beside him, arms crossed loosely, while Megumi lingered a step behind, quiet as always.
You gave a small, polite smile—just enough to acknowledge them—before your gaze dropped to your watch.
You were getting late.
“…Yeah,” you murmured, shifting slightly. “Didn’t expect to run into you either.”
You glanced back up briefly. “Where are you guys heading right now?”
Nobara answered first, casual. “We just got out of the theatre. Heading back to the dorm.”
Yuji nodded quickly, already jumping in. “The movie was amazing,” he added, animated. “Seriously, you should’ve seen it—it was—”
He stopped himself halfway, grin still lingering before tilting his head slightly. “But what about you?”
You paused. Just for a second. Your mind flickered—should you tell them?
It was just a mission. Not like you were dealing drugs. Still—You didn’t give everything.
“…Shinjuku side,” you said instead, keeping it vague. “Got called in.”
There was a brief pause.
Nobara hummed lightly. “Ah… okay.”
And then—
Yuji spoke again.
“Oh!”
You glanced at him.
“That road’s under construction,” he said, tone oddly certain. “You shouldn’t go that way.”
Your brows pulled together slightly.
“…Are you serious?”
He nodded immediately. “Yeah. One route’s completely blocked, and the other one’s packed with traffic. You won’t make it in time—especially now.”
You stared at him for a moment. Thinking.
Something about that didn’t sit right.
“…I’ll see,” you said finally, tone neutral.
A small pause..Then, lightly:
“You guys get home safe.”
You didn’t wait for a reply..Turning, you continued forward, your pace picking up again almost instantly.
Because of course you weren’t buying it. They’d just come out of a movie. How would he know the road conditions that specifically?
And if you missed an order—You let out a quiet breath. You couldn’t afford that.
---
Behind you—
Nobara frowned slightly, watching your figure disappear into the crowd before glancing sideways.
“…Why did you say that?” she asked, brows furrowing. “Do you even know if that’s true?”
Yuji blinked.
“Uh…”
He paused, scratching the back of his head lightly.
“…I don’t know.”
There was a beat of silence. Then—
“You’re such an idiot,” Nobara muttered, already turning away.
Megumi didn’t say anything, but his gaze lingered for a moment longer than usual.
Yuji didn’t respond. Not immediately. His hand dropped slowly from the back of his neck as he looked back—Past the direction you’d gone.
At something else. At someone following you from behind.
—
The road ahead only got worse the further you went.
You tried to flag down a cab, stepping closer to the edge of the street as one slowed near you—but the driver barely rolled his window down before shaking his head.
“Not going that way,” he said quickly. “Road’s under work. And ahead? Full traffic. You won’t get through.”
You paused. For a second, you just stood there.
Yuji’s words echoed faintly in your mind.
Your brows knit together.
“…So he was right?”
A quiet click of your tongue followed.
“Whatever…”
But now—What were you supposed to do?
You couldn’t call your boss and say this. It would sound like nothing more than an excuse.
Your grip tightened slightly around your phone before you stepped away from the main road, moving toward a quieter side near the edge of the traffic.
“…Maybe I’ll call the sub-coordinator.”
You unlocked your phone, already scrolling through your contacts, thumb hovering over the number—
—and then—
You felt it.
Someone standing too close. Right beside you.
Your shoulders tensed almost immediately. You didn’t look up. But you could feel it. A presence. Heavy. Still. Watching.
Your gaze dropped instinctively toward your screen, and without thinking, you angled the phone slightly away, trying to block the view as your thumb moved again—
Just before you could press call—A shoulder slammed into yours.
Your grip loosened. The phone slipped. Clattered against the ground. You frowned instantly, turning sharply.
“Hey—”
The words cut off. Your eyes landed on him.
A hoodie. Pulled low. Face mostly hidden. Something about it—Familiar.
Your brows drew together slightly.
‘Have I seen this before…?’
A flicker of memory—This morning?
No… Maybe.
Your thoughts tangled for a second—Then shifted.
What if he’s a spy?
Your stomach dropped slightly.
‘Is he following me?’
No. Not is. He is.
Did they find out? Did they send him?
Or—
…Is he just a creep?
Your throat went dry. You didn’t say anything. Didn’t confront him. Because something told you—
Talking might make it worse. So instead—You broke eye contact first. Quickly.
Kneeling down to grab your phone, fingers brushing against the cold surface—
And then—
A sound. Right behind you. A breath. Deep. Unsteady. Shuddering. His.
“Hahh…”
Your body reacted before your mind did. You grabbed your phone and stood up immediately, not looking back this time.
Your steps picked up. Fast. Then faster.
Crossing through the traffic, slipping between moving vehicles, ignoring the sharp honks and distant shouts—
Your mind screamed one thing. Run.
Don’t stop. Don’t look back. Just—
Run.
Your breathing turned uneven, shorter with each step, chest tightening as your feet carried you further down the street, away from wherever that was—
Only glancing back when you absolutely had to.
Nothing. No one.
A shaky breath left you.
“…Good…”
You slowed just slightly, hands moving quickly as you checked your phone—screen intact, no cracks, still working.
Your fingers moved again, scrolling through your contacts in a rush.
You needed to call someone. Explain. Get out of here. Because—
You didn’t even recognize this place anymore.
Most of the shops were closed now. Shutters down. Lights off. The street felt… wrong. Too empty. Too quiet.
“Shit…”
And then—
A hand clamped over your mouth from behind.
Your body jerked.
A cloth—pressed tightly against your face. Sharp. Overpowering.
You didn’t even get the chance to react. Your breath hitched once—
Twice—
Then your legs gave out.Everything went limp. Your vision blurred—
Darkened—
And your mind went blank.
—
Tick. Tock.
Tick. Tock.
The slow, hollow sound of the wall clock echoed through the room, each second dragging heavier than the last.
Your eyes felt tight. Heavy. Like they didn’t belong to you.
You forced them open anyway—lashes fluttering weakly before your vision slowly cleared.
Your ceiling. Your room. Your apartment.
You frowned faintly, breath uneven as you pushed yourself up, confusion settling in before anything else.
“…What…?”
Your gaze shifted around, scanning every corner like something should be out of place—
And then—Movement.
Your body reacted instantly.
You shot backward, spine hitting the bedpost with a sharp thud, breath catching in your throat as your eyes locked onto the figure stepping further inside.
Him. The same man.
The hoodie still shadowing his face, features hidden just enough to make your chest tighten.
Your fingers curled into the bedsheet.
“Who are you…?” your voice came out tighter than you intended. “What do you want from me…?”
Silence.
You waited. For an answer. For anything.
But he didn’t respond. Not immediately. Instead, he moved.
His hand reached for the chair near the corner of the room, dragging it across the floor with a soft scrape before placing it beside the bed.
Not facing you directly. Turned.
So he could sit the other way—arms resting over the backrest, posture relaxed in a way that didn’t match the situation at all.
Like he belonged there. Like this was normal.
Your breath hitched slightly as he finally sat down, settling into the position as if he had all the time in the world.
Then—He spoke.
“Why won’t you listen…?”
A pause.
“…At all?”
Your body stilled. The tone—Calm. Too calm.
Something about it felt wrong in a way you couldn’t explain.
You swallowed, forcing yourself to stay steady despite the way your pulse had started to spike.
He didn’t look normal. Not to you. And that alone—Was enough to scare you.
Because what if—
He wasn’t right in the head?
What if he hurt you?
You forced your voice to come out slower this time, controlled.
“I… don’t understand,” you said carefully. “I think we should—talk calmly first—”
“We are talking right now.”
He cut you off. Sharp. Not loud. But firm enough to shut you up instantly. Your lips parted slightly—
Then closed.
He didn’t move from his position, arms still resting over the back of the chair, gaze fixed on you from beneath the shadow of his hood.
“I didn’t tie you up,” he continued, voice steady. “You can still move your body and run your mouth.”
A pause. Then—
“Yet you’re looking at me like I’m the bad guy.”
Your fingers tightened slightly against the fabric beneath you.
“Is that how you repay someone’s kindness?”
Silence. Heavy. Suffocating.
Not a single word left your mouth this time. Because now—You were sure. He wasn’t okay. And you—
Were in serious trouble.
Your eyes stayed locked on him, every instinct screaming at you to do something—anything—but your body refused to cooperate. Slowly, almost cautiously, your hand slipped beneath the bedsheet, fingers searching blindly along the mattress.
Your phone.
It had to be somewhere—You felt around the edge. The pillow. The side.
Nothing. Your breathing grew uneven.
Where was it?
“Looking for this?”
Your hand froze. Your head snapped up. There—between his fingers—your phone. Dangling carelessly, held by just two fingers like it meant nothing.
Your eyes widened. The screen—Cracked. Shattered along the edges. You were sure—it wasn’t like that before.
“That’s mine,” you snapped, the words coming out sharper now. “Give it back.”
He shook his head. Slowly. Firmly.
“It’s dangerous.”
A pause.
“For you.”
Your brows pulled together in confusion.
“You won’t use it anymore.”
“What?” The word slipped out, disbelief clear in your voice.
You shifted, trying to get off the bed—
“Stop.”
You stilled. Like something had snapped tight inside you. Your movement halted mid-action, and before you could even process it, your body lowered itself back down onto the bed. Your breath hitched.
What…?
You couldn’t understand. And that terrified you more. He stood up. Slow. Unhurried. Each step toward you is deliberate, measured. Your chest tightened as he reached into his pocket—And pulled out a small knife.
Your heart slammed against your ribs.
“Wait—no—what are you—” your voice trembled now, panic breaking through as you tried to pull back, hands lifting instinctively. “What are you trying to do—?”
You squeezed your eyes shut, bracing—For pain. For something worse. But instead—A sharp rip. Fabric. Your eyes snapped open. Your breath caught. Your clothes—Torn.
Panic surged instantly, your hands moving to cover yourself, body twisting as you tried to pull away, discomfort and fear crashing over you all at once.
“Stop—!”
“You’ll hurt yourself if you move like that.” His voice cut through, calm. Steady. Like none of this was wrong.
“Then stop!” you shot back, breath shaking. “I don’t understand why you’re doing this—! You’re—”
Your voice cracked. “…You’re crazy… pervert!”
Silence. His hand stilled for a moment. Just a moment. Then, suddenly—Something pressed against your mouth. You jerked. Tape. He sealed it over your lips before you could react.
Your muffled protests broke against it instantly, breath coming faster as you tried to pull away, shake him off—But he didn’t stop. Didn’t hesitate. Instead—He reached for something else. Bandages.
Your movements faltered in confusion as he began wrapping them around your arm. Tight. Careful. Then your shoulder. Across your chest. Your stomach. Lower. Your thighs. Layer after layer, precise, methodical—Like he was treating wounds that didn’t exist.
There wasn’t a single bruise. Not one. And yet—He continued. Unbothered. Unseeing.
As if your state—your exposed skin, your struggle, your muffled sounds—meant nothing at all.
You couldn’t understand. None of it made sense.
Your protests weakened, turning into strained sounds behind the tape as your strength drained under the weight of it all—fear, confusion, the sheer wrongness of the situation. And when he was done—
He didn’t stop there. He pulled the blanket over you. Carefully. Tucking it around you from all sides. Secure. Like you were something fragile. Like you needed to be kept in place. Your body barely responded anymore. Too overwhelmed. Too exhausted. He reached out then—And patted your head.
Once. Twice.
His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, unreadable beneath the shadow of his hood. Then he stood. Turned. And walked out of the room.
—
The moment the door clicked shut, you moved.
The blanket felt suffocating now—the way it had been tucked in so tightly, the way the bandages around your arms restricted even the smallest movement. You squirmed beneath it, shifting your shoulders, forcing your body to twist until the fabric finally loosened enough for you to push it off.
A sharp breath left you. Your arms—Too tight.
The bandages dug into your skin, making it difficult to even lift them properly. Every movement felt restricted, heavy, like your own body wasn’t responding the way it should.
“…Damn it…”
You struggled anyway. Pushing yourself up slowly, unsteadily, before bringing your hands to your face—fingers fumbling against the tape over your mouth. It took a moment, but you managed to peel it off, wincing slightly at the sting.
A shaky breath followed. You didn’t waste time. You moved toward the door. Quick. Uneven. Your hand reached for the handle—Twisted. Locked. Of course.
A frustrated sound slipped out of you as your head dropped slightly. “…Seriously…?”
You turned back, pacing once, twice—only for your eyes to land on the desk. Your laptop—Gone.
Your jaw tightened. “He didn’t miss a thing…”
Before you could think further—A soft click. The door opened. You froze. Your head snapped toward it. And there he was. Standing in the doorway. For a second, neither of you moved. Then you did. Just slightly.
Your voice came out uneven, forced. “I—I was just… looking for water…” The excuse felt weak the moment it left your mouth. Even you knew it.
He didn’t respond. Didn’t react. Instead—His gaze shifted. Past you. Toward the nightstand beside the bed. Your eyes followed instinctively. And—There it was. A full glass of water. Untouched.
Your stomach dropped. “…I.” You looked back at him slowly. Realization settling in, heavy and cold. You’d messed up. Badly.
Your steps faltered as you instinctively backed away, uncertainty creeping in as you watched him. The way he was looking at you now—Different.
Your explanation meant nothing. It didn’t even reach him. He stepped forward. Slow. Measured. And this time—He didn’t stop.
Before you could react properly, your wrists were caught—firm, unyielding—as something tightened around them.
You tensed. “Wait—”
Too late. Your legs were restrained next. Your breath quickened, panic rising again as you struggled slightly, trying to pull away—And then you saw it. The tape. In his hand. Your chest tightened.
“No—wait—!” You shook your head quickly, words rushing out. “I need to use the washroom—please—just—” Your voice cracked slightly, desperation slipping through. “I need to go—”
He paused. Just for a moment. The tape stilled in his hand. Then—He set it aside. Relief barely had time to settle before—You were lifted.
Your breath caught sharply as your body was suddenly off the ground, his arms steady, unmoving as he carried you like it was nothing.
“Wha—what are you doing?” you snapped, startled, trying to shift despite the restraints. “I said I need to use the washroom—untie me—”
“I’m taking you.” His voice was calm. Flat. Like it was obvious.
You stilled slightly. “…What?”
He didn’t look at you. Didn’t hesitate. “Otherwise,” he added quietly, “you’ll jump out of that window and hurt yourself.”
“......." Your brows pulled together in confusion. “…Huh? What nonsense—” You struggled instantly. “Put me down—!”
Your voice rose, sharp, desperate, your body twisting in his hold despite how tightly he had you secured. You tried to push against him, shoulders straining, legs shifting uselessly against the restraint. “Let me go!”
You sucked in a breath and yelled again, louder this time—voice cracking under the strain. “Put me down!”
But even as the sound left you—You knew. No one was going to hear it. No one ever did. Not from up here. Your chest tightened as the realization hit harder than before.
Your choice. This apartment. This height. This isolation. You’d wanted distance. Privacy. Silence. And now—You regretted every single part of it.
“…Damn it—” Your voice broke slightly, your movements growing more frantic as panic clawed its way up your throat. “You—”
His grip tightened. Not painfully. But firm enough to stop your movements from going any further.
Your body stilled just slightly under the pressure as he adjusted his hold, securing you closer before continuing forward without a word.
Step. Step. Straight toward the washroom.
Your breath hitched. “…No—wait—”
Too late. The door swung open with a sharp sound as he kicked it lightly, pushing it aside without breaking his pace. Your eyes widened instantly, heat rushing to your face as the reality of it settled in.
He wasn’t joking. He wasn’t hesitating. He was—Serious. A sharp, disbelieving breath left you.
“…Wait…no—,” you muttered, voice shaking, discomfort and fear mixing together. “What is wrong with you—”
“Stop calling me names.” His voice cut in. Calm. Steady. Almost… tired.
“I’m just trying to help you.”
He'd say before making you face the toilet while still holding you, his arm like an iron band around your waist, unyielding as he maneuvers you forward with that same deliberate calm. The cool porcelain edge presses against your thighs, a stark reminder of the vulnerability he's forcing upon you, and your heart races in wild protest.
Slowly, he spreads your legs apart with his free hand, fingers gripping your inner thigh to pry them open wider, exposing you in the harsh fluorescent light of the washroom.
You struggle instinctively, muscles tensing as you try to clamp your knees together, a desperate bid to reclaim some shred of dignity amid the rising panic.
But he anticipates it, his hold tightening just enough to halt your movement without bruising—yet. "You'll get hurt," he murmurs, voice low and matter-of-fact, as if this is all perfectly reasonable, his breath ghosting over your neck in a way that sends an unwelcome shiver down your spine.
Before you can twist away, the glint of the knife catches your eye again, that same cold blade from before flashing as he brings it to the thin fabric of your panties. With precise, unhurried slices, he cuts them open, the material falling away in tatters to leave you bare and trembling.
Shame floods your face in a burning wave, cheeks scorching with embarrassment that seeps into your chest, making it hard to breathe. The exposure feels like a violation deeper than skin, your most private self laid out under his gaze, and a choked sound escapes your throat. "No... noo..." you whimper, voice cracking with humiliation.
But he doesn't relent, his hands firm on your thighs, holding you spread open like a specimen under examination. He leans in closer, lips brushing the shell of your ear, his whisper a dark command that vibrates through you. "Let it out... now."
You shudder violently at the warmth of his breath against your skin, goosebumps prickling across your arms and down your back, even as a traitorous clench tightens in your core, the pressure building unbearably from the tension he's orchestrated.
The need to release wars with your mortification, but his unblinking presence breaks you—warm gushes spill out in humiliating streams, emptying yourself into the toilet with a sound that echoes too loudly in the confined space. Tears of utter humiliation prick at the corners of your eyes, spilling over as hot trails down your cheeks; you feel so helpless, reduced to this base act under his control, body betraying you in ways that twist your stomach into knots.
But it isn't done yet. Even after you're finished, the last drops falling with a final, defeated trickle, he doesn't move, doesn't grant you the mercy of pulling away. Instead, he reaches for the flush handle with casual efficiency, the rush of water swirling away the evidence of your shame like it was nothing.
His hands return to you then, one sliding between your legs to clean you up with surprising gentleness—fingers parting your folds, wiping away the remnants with a damp cloth he grabs from the sink, the touch intimate and invasive all at once.
You tense as his caress lingers, those same fingers tracing the slick lips of your pussy, exploring with a feather-light pressure that makes your breath hitch. His thumb finds your clit unerringly, pressing down in slow, deliberate circles that send jolts of unwanted pleasure sparking through your nerves.
"Eep—stop," you gasp, protesting weakly, hips jerking in a futile attempt to escape the building heat, but your voice lacks conviction, drowned out by the flush of arousal mixing with the lingering embarrassment.
He ignores your plea, thumb working your clit with insistent rubs, coaxing your body to respond despite the turmoil in your mind. The pressure builds, slickness gathering anew under his touch, your core throbbing with a shameful need that makes you bite your lip to stifle a moan.
Before you can gather your thoughts, he guides you backward, easing you down onto the closed toilet seat with your legs still splayed wide, knees hooked over his arms to keep you exposed and immobile.
Kneeling between your thighs, he doesn't hesitate—his mouth descends on your pussy like he's starved for it, tongue flattening against your folds in a broad lick that has you arching off the seat with a sharp cry.
"No—please…!" you manage, hands flying to his hair in a half-hearted push, but he captures your wrists with one hand, pinning them to your sides as his lips seal around your clit, sucking with a wet, rhythmic pull that draws a broken sob from your throat.
The humiliation burns hotter now, mingled with the illicit sparks of pleasure his tongue ignites—flicking over your swollen nub before delving lower, thrusting into your entrance to lap at your gathering wetness. His free hand grips your hip, thumb digging in to hold you steady as you squirm, the cool tile floor a stark contrast to the heat blooming in your core.
Every swirl and suck builds the tension unbearably, your protests dissolving into whimpers, body clenching around the intrusion of his tongue as it mimics a deeper penetration, tasting you thoroughly, relentlessly.
His stubble scraping your sensitive skin, the obscene slurps of his mouth filling the air, the way he hums against you, vibrations sending tremors up your spine. You feel exposed, broken open, yet your hips betray you, rocking subtly into his face as the coil tightens, pleasure coiling despite the fear.
He doesn't stop, doesn't speak, just devours you with focused intensity, tongue plunging deeper, lips tugging at your clit until the world narrows to the pulsing ache between your legs, pushing you toward a shattering release you both dread and crave.
—
He didn’t go all the way… well…
Instead, after a brief pause, he turned—carrying you back out just as quietly as he had entered—and set you down on the bed again. The mattress dipped beneath your weight, the familiar space somehow feeling completely foreign now.
You stared at him, breathing uneven.
His attention shifted to your restraints instead.
He adjusted them—tightening where needed, checking each knot, each wrap, making sure there was no space for error. Your wrists. Your ankles. Secured. Properly this time.
No room to move. No room to try again. And then—
The blanket. Pulled over you once more. Tucked in from the sides. Like before.
And since then—
It continued for months…
The same thing. Over. And over. And over again.
He fed you, bathed you.
Avoiding discomfort where he could, adjusting the water, making sure everything was done properly—never rushing, never hesitating.
He cleaned you.
Took care of everything you couldn’t. Everything you didn’t want him to. Even the things that made your chest tighten with humiliation—
He did those too.
Without pause. Without shame.
Shaving. Changing your pads during menstruation. Handling things you would never let anyone else touch.
Things that should’ve been private. Things that weren’t his.
At first—
You resisted.
Your voice strained from yelling, your body sore from trying to pull against restraints that never gave.You called him everything you could think of.
But slowly—
It stopped.
Not all at once. Not willingly. Just… Fading.
Because it didn’t matter.
And what shocked you the most—
Wasn’t even him.
It was everything else.
No one came. No calls. No knocks. No one asking. No one checking.
Did nobody notice you were gone? Didn’t it matter? Not even enough to come to your apartment?
Still—
You held onto something.
A small, fragile hope.
They’ll come.
Today.
Or tomorrow.
They’ll realize. They’ll find you. They’ll take you out of here.
So you waited.
Letting him do what he did. Not fighting anymore. Not because you accepted it—
But because you didn’t have the strength left to resist. And yet—
Even as your body adjusted—
Your mind didn’t. Because you still didn’t understand.
Not him. Not this. Not why.
Who was he? What did he want? What was the purpose of all this?
The questions never stopped.
You could feel it. Something inside you—Slipping.
You were going insane.
“Give up.”
Your thoughts snapped at the sound of his voice. You blinked slowly, gaze unfocused for a second before it settled—on him.
He was sitting right in front of you on the bed. Close. Too close.
One hand gently moving through your hair, combing it with slow, practiced strokes like this was just another part of the routine.
“Nobody’s going to come,” he continued, voice quiet. Certain. “Just give up.”
The words landed heavier than anything he had said before. Not loud. Not cruel. Just—True. Too true.
Your chest tightened painfully, something fragile inside you cracking under the weight of it. Your lips moved instinctively beneath the tape, muffled sounds pushing out as if trying to deny it—to reject it—but no words could form.
You turned your head away. Slowly. Breaking his touch. His hand stilled mid-motion. Silence followed.
“…Oi…” His voice came softer this time. Calling.
You didn’t respond. Didn’t look back.
“This way.”
Your gaze stayed fixed somewhere else—anywhere but him.
“…Look.”
Still—No.
Another stretch of silence. Until—
His patience snapped.
A sudden grip caught your chin—sharp, unyielding fingers digging in as he forced your face back toward him.
Your breath hitched.
Pain flared instantly along your jaw as your eyes widened, finally meeting his—
And this time—
There was nothing calm about him. Nothing gentle.
His expression had twisted into something raw. Unstable. Something that didn’t belong to the version of him you had seen until now.
“You want to die?”
His voice wasn’t steady anymore. It came out rough. Feral.
“Is that it?” he went on, grip tightening just enough to make you wince. “You just want to die, huh?”
Your muffled sounds broke against the tape, body tensing instinctively as your hands tried to move—useless against the restraints.
He didn’t let go. Didn’t even loosen his hold.
“No matter what I do…” he continued, breath uneven now, words spilling faster—sharper— “you just keep heading toward it. You just keep getting killed—”
Your eyes flickered. Confusion. Fear. You didn’t understand. But he—
“Just…” He let out a broken breath, something strained slipping through.
“Hah… fine… fine.” His grip shifted slightly—but didn’t leave.
“Then die.”
The words dropped suddenly.
Your body went still. Your pulse thundered in your ears. And then—
“…In my hands.”
You thought this would be the end—maybe him snapping your neck in one brutal twist, the world fading to black in a merciful instant. Death would come swift, erasing the terror that had gripped you since the restraints bit into your wrists and ankles, the tape sealing your screams behind your teeth. But he wasn't done with violence of that sort. No, his madness twisted into something far more invasive, something you never saw coming in the haze of your fear.
His hands, rough and unyielding, yanked at your clothes with feral urgency, tearing the fabric away from your lower body in jagged strips. The cool air hit your exposed skin, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from him as he positioned himself between your spread thighs, the ropes holding your legs apart like an offering to his rage.
You thrashed—or tried to—your body jerking against the bindings that dug deeper into your flesh, but it was futile. The tape muffled your desperate pleas into pathetic whimpers, high-pitched and broken, swallowed by the adhesive clinging to your lips.
He freed his cock with one hand, the thick length springing out hard and veined, already leaking at the tip from whatever deranged lust fueled him. He gripped your hip, fingers bruising the soft skin there. “I'm killing you,” he growled, voice cracking with unhinged fervor, the words a twisted mantra as he lined himself up against your entrance. “From the inside... yeah, that's it. Isn't that what you wanted?”
Without warning, he thrust forward, slamming his cock deep into your dry pussy in one savage motion. The burn was immediate, a searing stretch that tore a silent scream from your throat, vibrating uselessly against the tape. Pain lanced through you, your walls clenching involuntarily around the intrusion, but he didn't stop—didn't care. He pulled back only to drive in harder, hips snapping against yours with punishing force, the restraints creaking under the assault.
“Feel that?” he rasped, breath hot and ragged against your face as he leaned over you, one hand pinning your shoulder down while the other clawed at your thigh, spreading you wider. “I'm ripping you open... killing every fucking part of you that keeps fighting. You wanted death? Take it—take my cock destroying you from the inside out.” His pace was brutal, relentless, each plunge burying him to the hilt, the head of his shaft battering your cervix with every brutal entry. Wet sounds mixed with the slap of skin on skin as your body betrayed you, slickness easing the friction despite the agony, your muffled cries turning to choked sobs.
He didn't kiss you, didn't caress— this was possession, pure and violent. His free hand roamed, squeezing your breast hard enough to bruise, pinching the nipple. “Scream for me,” he demanded, though he knew you couldn't, his laughter jagged and broken as he fucked into you deeper, faster. “Can't even beg? Good... just die quietly while I fill you up. Pump you full until there's nothing left but my cum leaking out of your ruined hole. That's your end, isn't it? Dying on my dick like the worthless thing you are.”
The assault dragged on, his unhinged ramblings filling the air—promises of eternal torment, whispers of how he'd make sure you felt every inch of your 'death' until you broke completely. Your body shook with the force of him, muscles straining against the ropes, but escape was a dream. Pain blurred into a numb haze, fear coiling tighter in your chest as he chased his release, grunting like an animal. Finally, with a guttural roar, he buried himself deep one last time, cock pulsing as he came, hot spurts flooding your insides, marking you in his madness.
But he wasn't finished. Not by a long shot. His cock, still thick and semi-hard inside you, twitched back to life almost immediately, fueled by the madness that gripped him like a vice. He pulled out slowly, deliberately, watching with a twisted grin as a thick glob of his cum oozed from your abused pussy, mixing with the faint slickness your body had unwillingly produced. The sight seemed to ignite something deeper in him, his breath hitching as he grabbed your chin, forcing your tear-streaked face to meet his gaze.
"Not enough," he snarled, his voice a guttural rasp, fingers digging into your jaw until you winced. "Gonna make sure you feel it all the way through." He shifted his hips, slamming back into you without mercy, the wet squelch of your cum-filled pussy echoing in the dim room. Your body jolted with the force, ropes cutting into your wrists as you arched involuntarily, a fresh wave of pain ripping through your core. He fucked you harder this time, hips pistoning like a machine, each thrust dragging his cock along your walls, stretching you wider, forcing more of his seed to slosh inside you.
You couldn't fight it—couldn't even scream properly. The tape muffled your cries into wet, garbled gurgles, drool bubbling out as your mouth hung slack, exhaustion and agony blending into a haze. His hands roamed your body possessively, one clamping down on your throat just enough to make your vision spot, the other yanking at your nipple, twisting until stars burst behind your eyelids. "Look at you," he panted, leaning close, his sweat dripping onto your chest. "Leaking my cum already... pussy's too greedy, huh? Sucking me in like it wants to be ruined forever.”
The assault blurred into an endless rhythm, his cock pounding relentlessly, battering your cervix with brutal precision. Your pussy burned, the friction turning raw, but he didn't relent—grunting with each plunge, his balls slapping against your ass as he drove deeper. Cum and your reluctant arousal leaked out around his shaft, trickling down your thighs, soaking the sheets beneath you. Your body betrayed you further, muscles spasming in unwanted response, clenching around him as overstimulation built, but there was no pleasure, only a drowning wave of violation that left you shaking.
He laughed, low and unhinged, as he felt you tighten. "Yeah, that's it—cum on the cock that's ending you..." His pace quickened, hips grinding against your clit with every thrust, forcing a shattered orgasm from your depths despite the horror. Your walls fluttered weakly, milking him as more drool spilled from your taped mouth, your eyes rolling back, body convulsing in the restraints. He chased his own release again, roaring as he flooded you once more, hot jets painting your insides white, overflowing to drip in messy rivulets from your gaping entrance.
But still, he kept going. Pulling out only to flip you roughly—ropes twisting painfully as he maneuvered your limp form onto your stomach, ass up, face pressed into the mattress. He mounted you from behind, cock sliding back into your sloppy, stretched pussy with ease, the lewd sounds obscene in the silence broken only by his feral mutters. “Gonna fuck you until you can't even twitch.” He rutted into you like an animal, hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave welts, pulling you back onto his length with every savage snap.
Time lost meaning in the haze of pain and exhaustion. Your muffled whimpers faded to weak, wet breaths, drool soaking the tape and pooling on the bed as your jaw went slack. Your pussy throbbed, swollen and raw, gaping open each time he withdrew, cum bubbling out in thick strands that coated your inner thighs. He came a third time, groaning as he emptied himself, but even then, his thrusts slowed but didn't stop—shallow, grinding motions that kept you filled, kept the violation alive.
In the midst of the restless movements, as his body shifted against yours in the aftermath of exhaustion, his hoodie slipped over one shoulder, the fabric bunching and sliding down to reveal the familiar tousle of pinkish hair and the sharp, shadowed lines of his face.
Yuji...?
The name formed in your mind, a desperate whisper that died unspoken in your throat, trapped behind the tape that sealed your lips, your eyes widening in horrified recognition amid the haze of pain and violation. He froze then, his rhythm halting abruptly, the feral haze in his eyes flickering with something unreadable—shock, perhaps, or the dawning weight of what he'd done.
His hands, slick with sweat and your mingled fluids, loosened their iron grip on your thighs, fingers uncurling one by one until they slipped away entirely, leaving red imprints blooming on your skin. Your legs, trembling and spent, fell limply to the sides, splaying open on the soaked sheets, your gaping pussy still leaking his cum in slow, obscene dribbles as the air hit the raw, exposed flesh.
Why…?
The question left you in a fragile breath, trembling, confused—like you were asking something you had no right to understand. And maybe you didn’t. Maybe you truly didn’t know anything. Because to you, he had only ever been… him. Someone you got to know over time—not deeply, not intimately—but enough to recognize. Enough to trust, in your own distant way. It had never been romantic from your side, never something you entertained—but to him, it had always been different.
You were his ideal type in the simplest, most honest sense he understood—not in some shallow way, but because you were steady, composed… a cool person in a world that kept breaking apart. And in that world—in the one you never fully saw—he had already lost everything. He had watched people die, one after another, those close to him, those he tried to protect, all slipping through his fingers no matter how hard he held on. And when it became too much, when the weight of it all threatened to crush him—he came to you. Not because you asked him to, not because you knew—but because you were there. You always were.
You listened, calmed him down, let him exist without questioning the cracks in him. And then… you died too. Just like them. Just like everyone else. A tragic, meaningless end—no different from the rest. And he stood there, watching again, powerless again, as you disappeared right in front of him. Even after everything ended… even after he won… there was nothing left for him. No peace. No happiness. No one. Just silence and loss echoing endlessly. Maybe that was why he was given another chance—or maybe he forced it, clinging to something that refused to let go.
Time didn’t move forward for him—it folded, broke, dragged him back to the beginning. Back to relive it. Back to fix it. Back to you. Your first mission—you remember it, don’t you? That moment when you grabbed the metal rod and threw it just in time to save him. You thought it was instinct. Luck. Something you just managed to do. But it wasn’t. It was him. The one in front of you now—the one who had already lived through it all. He placed it there, laced with his cursed energy, making it heavier than it should’ve been—unnatural in your hands—because it didn’t belong to you. It was his interference. His first attempt.
And even then… the younger him knew. Not fully, not clearly—but enough to feel it, enough to move along with it, to unknowingly become part of something already broken. Every mission after that, every decision, every path you took—he was there. Watching. Intervening. Trying to change the outcome. Trying to save you. And yet… no matter what he did, no matter how much he altered, shifted, interfered—every single time, you died. Different ways. Different moments. But the same ending. As if it was fixed. As if the world itself refused to let you live.
In the previous loops, he had tried—tried in ways that broke him piece by piece. He had told you everything, or at least as much as he could without losing you faster than he already was. He had stood in front of you, just like this, voice unsteady but desperate, explaining things that sounded impossible even to his own ears—time folding in on itself, deaths repeating, you slipping away from him no matter what he did. He wanted you to understand. Needed you to believe him. Because back then… he was still clinging to you, still holding onto the hope that if you stayed, if you understood, then maybe something—anything—would change. But you didn’t.
Not the way he wanted. Not the way he needed. You looked at him with suspicion, with guarded eyes, with that distance that cut deeper than rejection ever could. To you, he wasn’t someone to trust—he was a threat. A spy. A creep who knew too much, who appeared where he shouldn’t, who spoke like he’d already lived through things that hadn’t even happened yet. And it killed him. Not all at once—but slowly, cruelly. Every time you stepped back. Every time your voice hardened. Every time you chose caution over him. And even when he thought—finally—that you had begun to understand, when your tone softened, when your eyes didn’t immediately reject him, when you stayed instead of walking away… it had all been a lie.
A careful act. You were pretending. Pretending to believe him, pretending to trust him—only to get closer, only to catch him, only to confirm what you already thought he was. And that moment—when he realized it—when your plan unfolded not into understanding, but into confrontation, into resistance, into yet another situation spiraling out of control… it ended the same way it always did. With your death. Another variation. Another failure. And something in him snapped for good that time. Because he was done. Done trying to explain. Done trying to be understood. Done believing that you would ever choose him over your own doubt.
In every loop, in every version of you—you lied. Maybe not intentionally at first. Maybe not cruelly. But it didn’t matter anymore. It always led to the same end. So now—now that you had seen him, now that the cycle had already begun to twist again—he knew how this would go. He could already feel it slipping toward another outcome. Maybe worse than the last. Maybe slower. Maybe more painful. But still the same. And this time… he wouldn’t let it happen again. Not the way it always did. Not by the hands of something else. If you were going to die—if the world refused to let you live no matter what he did—
Then it would be him killing you.
ig: crazykinkiwi