Chapter Text
The sound of crunching snow echoes through the barren forest as Momo walks away from the train station. She tries to focus on the crisp crunch beneath her boots, on the harsh bite of the winter wind—anything to distract her from the empty space beside her.
The wind brushes against her empty hand as it swings limply at her side. Puffing out her cheeks in annoyance, she stomps her feet.
Throwing her head back, a pathetic groan rips from her chest. “UGHHHHHHHH!”
She kicks, sending freshly fallen snow flying.
“FUUUCCKKK! I. AM. SO—”
With each word, she kicks up more snow, carving a messy path ahead of her.
“PATHETIC!!” Ending her tantrum, she plants her feet and yells up at the sky.
Snowflakes land on her face, stinging her wind-bitten cheeks. She wipes at them with her sleeve and continues down the sidewalk toward the tunnel separating the quiet park outside the station from the rest of the bustling city.
“Get a hold of yourself, Momo. He’s only going to be gone for a week. You can survive one whole week,” she mutters, fingers brushing her lips as her mind drifts back to the goodbye kiss Okarun gave her on the platform.
She’d gone to see him off while he headed to train with Manjiro at his temple for part of winter break. Momo has always admired how Okarun pushes himself—always striving to get stronger. Not for himself, but to protect the people he loves.
He’s come a long way from the skinny guy she once dared to enter a haunted tunnel. And no matter how strong he gets, he keeps training, because they never know how powerful the next alien or yokai might be.
In the last two years, she and Okarun have faced more than their fair share of enemies. Sometimes a battle is a walk in the park. Sometimes it’s a fight to the death. But no matter the stakes, Momo knows that she, Okarun, and the ragtag group of misfits they’ve collected will face it together.
Together they defeat the villain. And then, they feast. Somehow it’s become a tradition. No one’s ever acknowledged it out loud—it just happens.
The bigger and more dangerous the battle, the more extravagant the feast. She won’t admit it, but it’s something that keeps her going during a fight: the knowledge that once they kick the alien-of-the-week’s ass, they’ll stuff their faces until they’re ready to pass out.
Of course, if anyone asks, she’ll say it’s the food that gets her through the battles.
In reality, it’s knowing that after all the blood, sweat, and tears, she gets to spend time with people who’ve become incredibly precious to her… even if they’re all fucking idiots.
And while she always enjoys the feast, her absolute favorite part is when, one by one, everyone heads out into the night—leaving only her and Okarun standing at the door. Grandma and Turbo Granny always seem to mysteriously disappear around then, too.
She and Okarun will silently go to her room, close the door, and fall into each other’s arms on top of her bed. They hold each other close, kissing softly, whispering I love you over and over—or murmuring how glad they are that the other isn’t hurt.
Just like a more dangerous battle means a bigger feast, it also means a more intense post-battle make-out session. They cling to each other, fists tangled in sweaters, pulling the other impossibly closer. Their lips move together, tongues and teeth slipping in just enough to draw gasps.
Just thinking about it makes a bright crimson blush bloom across Momo’s cheeks. She buries her face in her scarf. In her mind, she begins to count.
Three.
Six.
Nine.
Twelve.
Twelve months since she and Okarun officially started dating.
It wasn’t all nonstop make-out sessions at first. Their relationship grew slowly—emotionally and physically. Sharing private thoughts. Deep conversations. Holding hands on dates. Goodnight kisses. Making out while watching movies on her bed.
And Okarun was a complete gentleman every step of the way. Always checking if she was comfortable, always worried about doing something wrong. It made her heart squeeze every time. His kindness and consideration are some of the things she loves most about him.
It was only last night that they took the final step.
They had sex.
No. We made love, Momo corrects herself.
There wasn’t some grand reason it happened last night. No huge battle. No near-death experience. Just a regular Friday—dinner at her place, video games, then curling up on her bed to watch a movie.
It started with light kisses. Hands moving on their own. And then it just… didn’t stop. Neither of them wanted it to.
It wasn’t perfect. There were awkward moments. It wasn’t exactly how Momo had imagined it. But it was still everything she wanted—and somehow more.
After all, she gave herself to her Ken Takakura.
A shiver runs down her spine as she remembers Okarun’s hands gliding down her sides, over her plump butt, giving a quick squeeze before sliding down her thighs to cup her knees. Crouched in front of her, wearing nothing but his glasses, he looked up at her through those ridiculous long lashes.
He slowly spread her legs, giving her every chance to stop him.
“Can I?” he’d asked, his voice husky as his gaze flicked between her thighs.
SMACK.
Momo slaps herself, snapping back to the present. The last thing she needs is to end up moaning on a public bench.
A small gasp sounds behind her.
She turns to see two girls - a teenager and a toddler - staring at her in shock. The teenager looks younger than Momo while the toddler can’t be more than three.
The teenager quickly grabs the child’s hand and hustles her toward the tunnel.
“Big Sis, why did that lady slap herself?” the toddler asks, eyes locked on Momo.
“Just ignore her,” the teenager mutters. “She’s nuts.”
Momo sighs and lets them get some distance before following. Probably best not to slap yourself in public—even if it’s to stop yourself from thinking about what you did with your boyfriend last night.
Grinning to herself, Momo watches them enter the tunnel.
It must be her imagination but the darkness seems eager to swallow them whole. In the blink of an eye, the darkness grows fingers. Inky black tendrils stretch from the shadows as the heel of the little girl’s shoe crosses over the threshold. A glowing wall slams down over the tunnel entrance.
Static purple. Crackling. Alive.
Momo freezes. “Da fuck?!”
She bolts. Crossing her arms over her face, she barrels forward, smashing through the barrier. Electricity clings to her body like a net before snapping apart under the sheer force of her momentum.
She skids to a stop. Purple light floods her vision.
The tunnel is wrong. Every inch—floor, walls, ceiling—is coated in crackling static energy.
Something huge blocks the way forward.
It’s taller than the tunnel itself, hunched forward, shoulders scraping the ceiling. Its limbs are jagged and sharp, but its body lacks definition—just a writhing mass of black lines, like a child’s crayon drawing brought to life.
Momo’s eyes dart between its legs. The teenage and toddler are near the far end now. Walking normally. Laughing.
They don’t see it.
Before Momo can shout anything coherent, the yokai lunges. Its arm stretches. Elongates. Fingers sharpening into vicious points.
Momo throws her hand forward. Her spiritual arm snaps out in a burst of green. She focuses her chi, rotating her palm sideways, fingers pointing upward—forming a bulldozer. Plowing through it slams the two through the barrier just as the yokai’s claws crash into it with an ear-piercing shriek.
The barrier crackles. An ear-splitting yowl follows.
“Fuck yeah!” Momo whoops, pumping her fist. “I fucking knew it!”
The yokai recoils, clutching its arm. Then it turns—its attention locks onto her.
“Oh shit.” Momo snaps into a fighting stance.
Behind her, she catches sight of the two girls scrambling to their feet, dazed, confused. Relief washes over her but it doesn’t last.
The tunnel shakes as the yokai takes a step toward her.
“What?” Momo sneers, flashing her best shit-eating grin. “You wanna fight? Come on. Come at me, bro.”
The yokai throws its head back and screams. The sound rattles her teeth. Momo raises her spirit hands, forming a barrier just as it slashes wildly—
And misses.
The claw tears through empty air, nowhere near her.
“Huh?” Momo blinks. “You fucking missed, loser!” Momo taunts, sticking out her tongue and making an L on her forehead.
The ground lurches.
“FFUU—” Momo windmills her arms, losing her balance.
She goes down hard, face-first into dirt. Spitting and coughing, she notices the tunnel entrance. It’s moving.
No—
The scenery is.
It’s like someone is yanking a tapestry away from the world beyond the arch. Trees shift. Buses slide past where they should be.
“Are you serious?” Momo snarls. She fires a spirit hand through the barrier, wrapping it around the trunk of a tree outside.
The yokai slashes again.
Momo squeezes her eyes shut, bracing for pain—Nothing.
Just air brushing her back.
“What the fuck?” She snaps her eyes open. “Are you blind or something?!”
The tension on her arm spikes. Hard.
Her spirit arm slams against the side of the tunnel entrance. Colors whip past the opening, blurring together. Her spiritual hand—still gripping bark—is gone from sight.
Her arm stretches.
Longer.
Longer.
Longer.
She grits her teeth, pushing herself upright, planting her feet.
“Grandma!”
The clear voice slices through the chaos and the world stops. The view beyond the tunnel snaps into place. The tree is still there but the cold is gone. The ground beneath her knees feels different. Dry. Rough.
Her spirit arm is still attached—to the side of the tunnel now, vanishing sideways instead of forward. The building pressure has stopped, but the tension is still there, making her arm burn. Momo grits her teeth, sucking in a sharp breath.
“What in the ever-loving fuck…” she mutters.
“Grandma!” the voice calls again, closer. “I wanna go to the park!”
The yokai growls, low and desperate.
Momo’s head snaps toward the opposite end.
“We can’t, dear,” an old woman’s voice replies. “We need to get home to your Grandpa.”
Silhouettes appear against the barrier at the far end.
The yokai crouches. Ready to pounce.
“Oh no you don’t,” Momo snarls. She throws out her free hand. Her spirit palm expands, slamming flat against the barrier—creating a wall of green.
The little girl runs straight into it. She bounces off, stunned, falling on her butt, wailing.
“Oh my goodness!” Grandma cries. “Are you okay, sweetheart?”
The yokai shrieks in fury, slashing wildly at empty air. The tunnel spins again.
Momo hits the ground hard. The world whirls. She clings to the tree with everything she has, but her grip is slipping. Her arm keeps stretching. Burning.
Colors blur past the entrance.
Orange.
White.
Green.
Orange.
White.
Green.
“Please—stop,” Momo gasps, nausea churning.
The tunnel only spins faster.
“Fuck,” she groans, squeezing her eyes shut. “Please don’t let this be what I think it is.”
Laughter.
High and bright.
The tunnel slams to a halt. The strain on Momo’s arm is so tight she’s afraid it might snap if they go for another spin.
“Mommy! Can we get ice cream?”
The yokai growls, delighted.
“No—no, wait,” Momo pants. She pushes herself up just in time to see green trees beyond the barrier. Sunlight. Leaves overhead.
The little girl steps through the barrier right at the yokai’s feet.
“NO!” Momo screams.
She throws her hand out—Too late.
The yokai’s claws slash down—
But the girl looks up. Straight at it. She screams and drops, rolling forward between its legs. The claws snap shut on empty air.
The yokai stumbles, confused, swiveling its head wildly.
“I got you!” Momo yells. Her spirit hand loops around, wrapping the girl tight.
She yanks. Hard. The girl rockets toward her. Fast. Way too fast.
Momo braces, tightening her grip on the tree, stretching out her free arm.
Impact.
The girl slams into her chest, knocking the breath from her lungs. The force sends them both crashing backward through the barrier. The tension on her spirit arms releases, only to suddenly pull taut, pulling Momo and girl along.
The world spirals.
Round and round they go, corkscrewing through color and light, both of them screaming—
Then they’re spat out into snow.
They tumble across the ground, skidding to a stop.
Momo scrambles upright instantly, one arm out defensively, the other clutching the girl tight.
The tunnel entrance is dark; the glowing purple aura is gone. As if it was never there.
“Huh,” Momo mutters, dropping her hand. “Guess it didn’t want to play anymore.”
The girl sniffles, then shifts in Momo’s arms. She wriggles free of the tight hold, small hands still fisted in Momo’s coat for a moment before letting go.
“Daddy?” she calls softly.
Momo tightens her grip again without thinking. “Hey—”
But the girl has already taken a step back.
She turns, peering into the darkness of the tunnel, craning her neck as if expecting someone to answer.
“Daddy?” she tries again, louder this time.
There’s nothing.
No footsteps.
No voice.
Just the quiet crunch of snow beneath her shoes. The girl hesitates, then takes another small step forward, reaching back blindly until her fingers brush Momo’s sleeve.
Momo catches her hand instantly.
“Hey,” she says, gentler now. “It’s okay.”
The girl turns back toward her.
Momo freezes.
The girl’s eyes are wide and brown, warm in a way that punches the air from Momo’s lungs.
Familiar.
Her heart stutters.
Momo blinks, shaking her head.
The girl’s hair is long & black, tied back in pigtails. Her bangs cross in the middle of her forehead, forming a small, uneven point.
Momo’s hand lifts. Her fingers brush her own bangs.
Her knees give out.
She hits the ground hard, breath leaving her in a shaky gasp.
“Holy shit balls,” she whispers.