Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

ok so this is just gonna be a tiny intro chapter that you can skip over !

so like the summary says the requests are open ! so please feel free to request things ! i love hearing others ideas and writing them !

this will mostly be mondo/taka , hajime/nagito , izuru/nagito , and gundham/fuyuhiko/kazuichi because my small adhd brain is fixating on them ..

that’s all! i really hope you enjoy !

chapter two : ishimondo reunion , tw for small mentions of death , 559 words

chapter three : nagito and izuru recovering after the despair, theyre in love , 259 words

chapter four : komahina hurt/comfort , possible tw for implied self harm , 1265 words

Chapter Text

All Taka could see was a blinding light before there was nothing.

He wasn’t Ishida, he was him again. Time to find a new coping mechanism I guess.

He slowly opened his eyes, a splitting pain coming from his head, the last thing he remembered was-

Oh yeah. Hifumi.

He pushed himself off the ground as fast as he could, wincing when the headache worsened from the rush. Though his vision was blurry he still did his best to make out his surroundings;

The “room” seemed endless, nothing differentiating from the walls and floors, the white of the bright room was dimmer than before but still glowy enough to make him cringe.

He stumbled forward, reaching to his side in hopes of leaning against a wall to balance himself, but there was nothing there.

Hardly standing, he sauntered through the never ending hall, hoping that there was something more than fluorescent-like lights and pain oozing from his head.

Is he dead? Is this what purgatory was? Wandering to find something that isn’t there?

He was so tired, he wanted to collapse, yet he was never the kind to give in so easily.

He wished he was a ghost instead, he wanted to see Makoto make it out alive along with the others, he wanted to be a part of that. Even if he wasn’t able to- he just wanted to watch Makoto beat despair, even if he was cheering from the sidelines.

Shaky breaths and wobbly knees stutter as he does his best to reach whatever he’s walking towards. Where is he going? What is he looking for? What-

A tall, shadowy figure stands in the distance, their back turned to Taka.

Is that… Is it really……

And for the first time since he woke up, tears began to build.

He so desperately tried to run, but all he could manage was a weak jog. Pushing himself as fast as he could towards the other person, hoping that it was him. God he just wanted to see him.

His vision becoming less clouded as he got closer and closer, and there was not doubt in his mind-

“MONDO—“

Hot tears burned his cheeks as he reached towards the other man.

He turned, and there he was, Mondo Oowada.

“Holy shit- TAKA!?” The taller man surged forward, running until the smaller of the two could tackle him.

Strong arms wrapped around Taka’s waist and he does the same in return. He shook as he hid his face in the others chest, he could feel his tears leaking into his shirt but he didn’t care. How could he? All he could possibly think about that moment was MondoMondoMondo as he gripped onto him with all the strength he could muster.

Taka looked up when he heard a muffled sob, staring into lavender eyes. He reached up and cupped his cheek, and with no hesitation, Mondo leaned into it.

Taka smiled as he swiped his thumb across the other boy's cheek, letting a mixture of a chuckle and a sob fall from his mouth. He leaned forward and placed his forehead against his.

“Never do that again. Please never leave me like that again.” Taka muttered, squeezing his eyes shut as he choked out the words. Mondo just shook his head, tightening his grip and pulling him closer.

“I won’t. I promise.”

Chapter Text

it had been years.

the scars formed years ago, metal clinging onto his neck, rashes and cuts from the chain.

it had been years since they left the warriors of hope.

izuru layed next to the sleeping, white haired boy. admiring the contours of his face, tracing his fingers along his jawline. brushing back the hair from his eyes.

a small frown crossed his face when he reached his neck, uncared for wounds leaving old pink gashes along pale skin. he traced them, he had ones that were similar. surgery after surgery from being a science experiment so many years ago.

he swiped his thumb along the marks, calloused hands against tender skin. Nagito stirred.

gently scrunching his face, then opening his eyes. gray-green bore into crimson.

a gentle sigh as he brought up his hand to meet izurus. drawing shapes into his knuckles.

“good morning, ru.” he said sleepily, a small smile greeting the black haired boy.

izuru huffed then leaned down, pressing soft kisses to the scars.

nagito let out a quiet laugh, stroking his hair.

he remembered when the cuts were fresh, metallic blood staining the collar around his neck. he remembered when izuru unlocked the chain to care for them, there wasn't much medical supply. they did with what they had.

nagito slowly came back to the island, to where he currently was. retreating from the memories with mixed emotions.

he gazed at boy, who was now resting his head on his chest. the grin on his face refusing to falter.

they were safe now.

Chapter Text

Nagito Komeada wasn’t allowed to use sharp objects. It had been a rule set in place all the way back when he and Izuru were getting to know each other. Izuru quickly learned that he was, and is, unstable. And how could he argue with the Ultimate Hope?

Nagito sat on the floor in front of an unhanged mirror, glaring at himself. Worthless.

He had gotten better since the game had ended, but bad habits aren’t easy to get rid of. What was easy was the normal, a pattern, it was easy to believe that he was unlovable, that he was the worst human being to exist.

He knows that isn’t true, he knows that Monaca and Syo were far worse than he ever will be, he knows that Junko have done more fucked up things than he can process. But looking at himself in the mirror and letting himself reminisce, he was convinced.

I helped Teruteru murrder someone. I helped Teruteru murder our friend.

Olive eyes bore into the complexion in the mirror, was that even him? Black binder that’d been on for too long, checkered gray and white boxers, ribs and collar bones poking out just enough to be considered unhealthy, fragile white hair that he had the hopes of his roots one day converting back to its original color. Light scars covering his neck, reminding him of the person he used to be. When he got the treatment he deserved.

He was so easy to hate.

He didn’t even realize he was crying until he reached up to touch his face, metal palm swiping the tears off his cheek.

He hated his arm the most.

It was a sign that he was batshit crazy. A sign of the things he had done when he was so lost in despair. He wondered if Fuyuhiko felt the same about his eye.

Nagito huffed as he reached down to run a hand across his flattened chest, he hated this too. He hated that no matter how much he tried he wasn’t what he was. He thought it was funny almost, as if it was a curse from the beginning, as if it was a warning.

He only liked his voice, it was deep, it was scratchy, it sounded like his.

He wondered if that was his good and bad luck taking place, being born like this but having a deep enough voice to pass.

He wanted to laugh, scream, and sob. He wanted to shatter the mirror before him and let the shards do the rest, he wanted to break something, he wanted it to hurt.

He wanted this frustration to be taken away but he wasn’t allowed near sharp things.

He no longer had scissors in his cottage, no knives, not even a handheld pencil sharpener. Because they were easy to take apart.

He wanted the treatment he deserved, he wanted someone to agree with him. He wanted someone to confirm his beliefs, that he was lowly, that he was a hellspawn. That he was nothing more than an amalgamation of his trauma and fortune, nothing more than his chaotic luck cycle.

He didn’t hear the door open, nor the small gasp coming from someone's mouth, he was curled up, hugging his legs, resting his head on his arms. He didn’t have the energy to look up when someone gently placed a blanket around his shoulders. He didn’t have to look up to know who it was.

Hajime sat on the floor next to him, not saying a word, but Nagito could feel his eyes on him.

He sluggishly lifted his head, puffy red eyes and flushed, tear stained cheeks facing worried green eyes. He let himself gaze at the other, admiring his features.

Hajime had spring-green like eyes, he had light freckles scattered across the bridge of his nose, his permanent skepticism had melted away into careful concern.

Nagito wanted to kiss every freckle, he wanted to cup his jaw and press their foreheads together, he wanted the simple warmth that always seemed to radiate off Hajime to infect him. He wanted nothing more than to hear that he loves him.

But he didn’t deserve that, did he?

At that thought, Nagito’s stare fell back to the floor, feeling his shoulders begin to shake once again. He tightly pressed his eyes closed, scrunching his face in an attempt to stop himself from crying again, yet hot tears fell from his eyes and dripped off his face and onto the floor.

He could feel Hajime’s burning gaze, it almost stung. Hajime didn’t say a word before pulling him close, holding him against his chest, resting his head on his.

Nagito’s tear still fell through the shock as he shakily reached for Hajime’s back, clinging to the back of his shirt as if his life depended on it.

Hajime, being blunt and some-what harsh, was surprisingly gentle in situations like these. He let his mind slow down, cynical words not as prevalent in his mind as he held the other boy close.

When the panicked sobbing had calmed down a bit, Hajime cupped Nagito’s face and had him look at him, swiping his thumb across tear-stained cheeks. “What happened?”

Nagito didn’t know how to answer that, everything was wrong yet at the same time nothing was- there were no words to describe what was going on inside his head- none that he knew of at least. He shuddered as he gave a poor excuse for a shrug.

Hajime just nods, drawing circles onto his bare, lower back. The touch burned, it was almost addicting. Nagito wanted to stay with the comforting touch as long as he lived, he wanted it to be the last thing he ever felt. Nagito wanted to be in the hands of his lovers forever, Hajime and Izuru both.

He felt himself relaxing into the embrace at these thoughts, sinking into the warmth that only they seemed to have.

Hajime smiled into his shoulder when he did, glad to be of any help, he took this as an invitation to squirm and place one arm under Nagito’s legs and the other his back lifting him off the ground.

The white haired boy didn’t have the energy to be startled, just lazily wrapping his arms around Hajime’s neck. He was exhausted, drained and dehydrated from sobbing. Before he knew it he was being placed down on the soft bed.

Hajime let him take a moment, looking down at the taller boy. His gaze came to an end when he heard the other mutter in a shaky tone, “Can you lay down with me? I’d like to hug some more if that’s alright.”

And with that Hajime laid next to him, pushing the blankets over the two of them, and tugging the other boy closer with one arm. He traced the contours of the taller boy's face with his other hand, running his finger-tips along his jawline and cheekbones, swiping away any stray tears.

The brown haired boy couldn’t help but stare, eyes boring into the others, before leaning up and pressing a kiss to his forehead.

Nagito couldn’t help but let out a tiny laugh at that, before wrapping his arms around Hajime’s waist, his mechanical arm was cold against warm skin, exposed by his shirt lifting up, though cold, it was invited.

They both leaned into the touch, closing their eyes.

“Try to get some rest, Clover. I love you.”

Nagito just smiled and nodded, he let his mind wander before falling into sleep.

He really was the luckiest man alive.