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always-just-red · 3 days ago

Note

Oh I forgot to add 😭😭😭 be it fluff like jelly sylus but fluff maybe he trying to make the mc jelly too ? I’m going wild with ideas, I will be quiet

(Part 1 of ask) FINALLY finished this fic oh my goshhh I've loved it so much but writer's block was my constant companion for this one 🫠 Thanks for your patience!! Sy is jealous but I'm still pushing my 'Sylus is the softest man alive and would die before hurting MC' agenda, so I had to get a lil creative! Hope I've pulled it off idk 😭😭

Be Mine

Sylus x Reader 🩸

Summary: Sylus is getting a little tired of sharing you with the other men in your life (and he doesn't mean Luke and Kieran 🙃)

Genre: lil bit of angst, comfort and fluff

Warnings/Additional tags: gn!reader, jealousy, other LIs mentioned, brief allusion to Raf's self-harm tendencies, cheating mentioned, some intimacy & kisses-- more soft than spicy!

| Word count: 4k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

Sylus has spent centuries waiting for you, so he’s going to give you another minute.

Patience is not a virtue; it’s an old acquaintance he greets with a false smile whenever he’s forced to pass it on the street. Sometimes outside your building, whilst you’re chatting with a neighbour from the apartment above yours. Sometimes when you’re running late from a doctor’s appointment.

Patience has been cropping up a lot these days and gods, he’s sick of its face. Even now, it sits with him at this table for two as he sips at a glass that’s almost empty. There’s poetry in stalling, in savouring what’s left, especially as a waiter hovers anxiously nearby, anticipating the need for yet another refill (it would be the third).

Dregs of blood-red wine swirl with solemnity. Sylus is a patient man, a man who waits, but he doesn’t want to be. He wants the reward of it: the pot of gold at the end of that insipid rainbow. Hasn’t he waited enough?

He lifts his drink to his lips again.

“Sylus!”

They curve as he swallows the final drop.

“I’m so sorry,” you stammer, flinging yourself into the seat across from him so quickly that he’s cheated of the chance to rise and help you with your chair. “Sit back down,” you usher, because he had made a start on it, “really, Sy, I’m so, so sorry. Things at work just got crazy, and I—”

“You don’t have to explain, sweetie,” he smiles as he signals the waiter. He’ll have that refill, now, and he orders your favourite drink as you shrug off your coat and fumble with your bag, looking for something. “I’m more than familiar with the Association’s… dedication to a cause.”

You glance up with an amused smile. “We’re keeping you on your toes, huh?”

“Mmm. There is one hunter who’s proving to be a real thorn in my side.”

“You on top of that?”

“Most evenings, yes. Some mornings, too.”

You poke your tongue out at him. You’ve retrieved a compact mirror and you use it to study your dishevelled reflection. “Is everything all right at work?” he asks as you fuss over your hair.

“Yeah,” you puff. “Long story.”

“We have time.”

With a warmer smile, you stash your mirror away and sequester your bag by your feet. “You sure?” He gives you a look. “Fine,” you chuckle. “Basically, Xavier forgot to write up some reports. He’s been away on an ultra-secret, special mission or whatever—” you tap your nose conspiratorially— “which I didn’t just tell you, okay? But yeah, the reports weren’t done, and they were due tonight, so…”

Sylus raises an apathetic eyebrow. “He asked you to help?”

“Begged me, more like.”

Of course he did. The waiter arrives with your drinks and Sylus has never been gladder for a distraction. His mouth is full of pettiness, bitterness, so he drowns it with wine. You could have called. Texted. “So kitten’s been playing secretary, hmm?” he goads instead.

“That would imply kitten could keep track of time,” you pout, “so no. And speaking of playing a part—” you poke his nose— “you’re allowed to be mad at me. I should have called you. Texted. So let me have it, yeah? I feel bad enough already without you being all… perfect.”

You’re only teasing, but Sylus doesn’t feel perfect. He’s thinking about you working late with your partner, laughing at his jokes, poking him with your pen to keep him from falling asleep on his paperwork. He smirks, regardless. “What if I want you to feel bad?”

“Oh, gods,” you slump forwards, face-down on the table. “How long were you waiting?”

“Years.”

You fake cry into the tablecloth. “Don’t, Sy. Just tell me the truth. How bad was it?”

“Really, years,” he insists again, folding his arms on the table and sliding forwards, too. His chin is resting on his hands, and he blows at the top of your head. “Look.” Your face lifts so you can peer at him. He pinches his hair. “I’ve even gone grey, see?”

You sit up the tiniest bit more and your noses are almost brushing. “It looks nice,” you whisper.

“You think so?”

“Mmm. Suits you.”

Your eyes are every gem— every jewel in an illicit auction Sylus has to steal away from the rest of the world, because something that pretty just has to be his; it will find no worthier home than his hands. His devotion fills vaults. Aren’t they spilling with emeralds, rubies, sapphires, diamonds— those reckless imitations of your gaze? No-one else could deserve them, adore them like he does.

And they’ve nothing on the real thing.

Someone clears their throat and Sylus tracks the noise begrudgingly. The anxious waiter is back, clutching menus this time. You sit up fully, laughing to break the tension, and sure enough, Sylus feels less like hurling the man through the nearest window.

He’s still thinking about it though. He tells the waiter as much with a smile, and the menus are passed over with shaking hands. When Sylus says, “thank you,” it sounds like a bomb, ticking.

“Play nice,” you tut, once the waiter’s cleared the blast radius.

“Sweetie, when do I ever not play nice?”

You blink back at him disbelievingly. This should be good. “How about the time that you—?”

A familiar ringtone interrupts you, and your eyes widen in apology as you grab at your bag, rifling around for your phone. You find it— check the call and decline it— but relief is hiding, refusing to set foot on stage. Not yet, it confers to Sylus darkly, because it knows what comes next.

“Do you need to…?” he asks anyway.

“Nah, it was just Rafayel. Thanks, though.” You set the phone down. “Where was I?”

“You were about to tell me what a terribly bad man I am, sweetie.”

“Right!” you giggle. No, not yet. “So how about the time that you…” The phone rings again. You check it. Decline it. “How about the time that you—ugh!” It’s ringing again.

Sylus taps a finger on the table, impatiently patient. You can’t mute the wretched thing: the next call you miss would be a Wanderer, tearing through an orphanage or the like. It’s the reason you check, even when there’re no orphans at stake— just a pest of an artist with too much time on his hands.

Except… “Oh,” you say, glancing downwards, “it’s Zayne. I should probably—” Sylus gives a half-smile of blessing, but you weren’t waiting around for it— “hey, Zayne! I can’t talk right now, unless— Raf? What the hell? How did you get Zayne’s phone?”

You pull yours away from your ear as a string of whines come through:

“— ignore my calls, don’t even text me to ask what’s up, and then pick up his call right away? You hate me, right? Just say that you hate me, cutie.”

“I don’t hate you, Raf.” The phone is back to your ear. “I’m busy. Now seriously, how did you get— oh, hi, Zayne. Why is Raf…?” Sylus can hear a deeper voice answering your questions. “He’s at the—? Shit, is he okay? Ugh, tell him I can hear him. Tell him I know he’s not dying.”

You meet Sylus’s eyes as conflict erupts on the other end of the call. Sorry, you mouth as static filters through, interspersed with broken words and curses. The doctor’s voice prevails. “Yeah, Zayne,” you speak back to it. “I’ll call Thomas, get him to pick him up. Mmhmm? Oh!” You pinch the bridge of your nose. “I forgot, he’s at that stupid art thing. Look, maybe later, I can…”

The artist’s shrill tone is protesting.

“I know it’s my job, Raf!” you counter. “But gimme a break, please. If it was any other night, you know I’d be there. Of course I wanna be there! But I can’t—”

It’s just a slip of the tongue— words you don’t even realise you’re saying— but Sylus still feels his heart sink. He hates it. A heart is so difficult to argue with: it’s long gone before you can talk any sense into it. He stands from the table, those priceless eyes of yours pursuing him. When you tilt your head, he musters a smile, then a weak excuse: “I’m just stepping outside for a moment.”

You nod, a follow-up question on the tip of your tongue, but then there’s a voice in your ear again— two voices— and you’re you, so of course you listen.

…

Sylus waits on a bench outside the restaurant, closing his eyes as he waits for his heart to come back.

It’s only been a few minutes. He’s thinking about your eyes, your nose and lips— an inch from his— and how he should have closed that gap before it grew treacherous. Shouldn’t he be done with this? This… longing? You’re his. You’ve told him you’re his, over and over again, but he finds himself needing to hear it once more; the ghost of your voice is starting to lack persuasion.

He is yours without exception, but you? There’s always a caveat. I’m yours, Sylus. But only so long as the city is quiet. I’m yours, Sylus. Until someone else calls. The door to the restaurant opens— he can hear it— but he doesn’t open his eyes. He wants to pretend.

I’m yours, Sylus. No caveats. No exceptions.

“Sylus.”

He swallows the dread in his throat.

“I’m sorry,” you entreat softly. His eyes open, and you’re wearing your coat, holding your bag. “I have to run to the hospital— it’s this whole thing. Raf, like, passed out or something. He’s not been eating again. Zayne said when something like this keeps happening, it’s a sign that… yeah. He just… needs someone. And he hasn’t got anyone else, you know?”

“I understand.” You’re worried about your friend. That’s all it is.

Why can’t he believe that’s all it is?

You come over and sink down on the bench beside him, looping your arm through his and giving it a reassuring squeeze. Don’t you know that he’s afraid? That a selfish, spiteful part of him wants to hide you— with the rest of his treasures— away from the light, so he can love you in the dark?

There’s a sigh as you lean against him, savouring his touch like the wine one swirls in a glass when their thoughts are elsewhere. It’s gone in a mouthful; you check your watch, and he hopes it’s bitter.

“Are you okay?” you ask.

No, he would rather be sweet for you, but look at you— making him lie. “I’m okay,” he says, and it doesn’t have a drop of conviction. He’s tired of philanthropy.

…

“What are you gonna do? Come on, tell us. Tell us! What are you gonna do?”

“I don’t know, Luke. Give me a second, okay? Jeez.”

You literally just got here. Your pace is brisk and the night air still clings to you— you shed a layer of it by peeling your arms out of your coat. Luke and Kieran are close behind, keeping to your heels like terriers hoping you’ll trip with a plateful of food. They’ll take even a crumb at this point.

“You gonna fight him?” Kieran nudges, but your lips stay tight.

“Oh, you’re so gonna fight him,” Luke takes away from the silence.

You don’t know what you’re going to do. You’ve reached a decadent lounge, lavished with black and gold, and you throw your coat over the arm of a chair before starting to wrestle off your combat boots. You’ve been off work for hours, but it doesn’t feel like it. One call-to-duty after another; first the hospital, now this.

Mephisto caws in greeting from a nearby perch. “I’m not gonna fight him,” you say as your second boot drops with a clunk. “I just need to—”

“Say no more,” Luke cuts you off. “We want in.”

With a tired sigh, you gaze up at the twins at last. Kieran is readying a fist: punching his hand softly, the beak of his mask low and threatening. Beside him, Luke swings a baseball bat over his shoulder. He didn’t have it a second ago. Where did he even—?

You put your hands on your hips. “You guys got a death wish or something?”

“Yes!” they enthuse together, nodding excitedly.

You haven’t got time to ask. Your focus drifts to Sylus’s bedroom door, where music is leaking with honeylike light. You can’t count the number of times you’ve fallen over that threshold, exhausted— always slightly broken. You want to crawl into cool silk sheets and a warmer embrace, but there’s one small problem.

The text that had brought you here, anxious and out of breath:

Boss is with someone.

“What’re you thinking?”

You’re closer to the door, now, and Luke’s whisper makes you jump. You spin, twisting the bat from his fingers and pushing him back until the tip is pressed to his throat. “Get back,” you hiss, before levelling the weapon at an encroaching Kieran, “both of you.”

Luke leaps behind his brother— swinging him between you for protection. The baseball bat stays hovering, and Luke peeks over Kieran’s shoulder, swatting at it like an indignant kitten.

“Stop it,” you scold, poking back at his hand and his masked face. “Begone!”

“Yes, boss!” Kieran goes to move, but Luke is holding him in place. He’s dragged backwards: a human shield until they can both scurry around the turn of a corridor.

You smile fondly. You forget, for just a moment, that you’re alone and full of uncertainty. The song in the next room lulls, at its inevitable end, and then you can’t forget. You’re stood in silence, staring at a door you’ve never had to knock before. Another song starts up.

Whatever this is, you can handle it.

You use the baseball bat to tap against the dark wood. “Sylus?” you call.

He makes you wait. You can hear him, moving around— unmistakably taking his time— but you don’t mind. You’re running scenarios through your head. Is he in on this, too? Or…?

He opens the door and oh, he definitely is. His silk robe hangs haphazardly over his figure, one side threatening to slip from his shoulder and the belt dangerously loose at the middle. A flush is tinting his face, spreading down through his neck, past his collarbone and lower, you think, but you’re trying not to look.

“Sweetie,” he purrs in the way that tells you he’s up to no good, “what a pleasant surprise.” His eyes flit downwards. “And you’re armed, too.”

There’s a breathlessness to the observation, and your ability to breathe briefly eludes you as well. His hair is damp and unkempt, his skin warm, his gaze hot. Is this a test? It feels like a test.

“Are you alone?” you snap, because he’s clearly put some thought into whatever it is, and you’re a good sport, so you’ll play along.

“No,” he says, but then: “You know you’re always with me in spirit, kitten. Even if not in—” another downwards glance— “body.”

“Sylus.”

“Mmm?”

“I’m going to ask you one more time.” You catch his chin with your free hand, forcing his gaze back to your face. “And I want a real answer.” He swallows thickly. “Are you alone?”

His submission is fragile. He lifts his hand, wraps his fingers around your wrist like a reminder of the fact. “Careful, sweetie.” His grip tightens as his voice drops. “Think about what you’re asking.”

“I know what I’m asking.” You snatch your hand free and step closer. “Get out of my way.”

Sylus narrows his eyes, but soon relaxes. He sweeps a hand through his hair, chuckling as he obeys— moving aside to let you past. You storm through, looking over every visible inch of his room. There’s nothing to see, of course. No clothes that aren’t yours pooled over the floor. No lover wrapped up in his bedsheets.

“Just what exactly are you looking for?” he asks smugly behind you.

“Save it, Sylus.” Your pretend patience is gone. “The twins told me everything.”

So you start searching more strenuously. You make your way over to his bed, baseball bat slung over your shoulder as you check behind the far side— even stooping to peek under it. You open the wardrobe. Nothing. Use the baseball bat to push back the curtains, letting in more blood-red moonlight. Nothing. You huff in frustration.

“You know, don’t you?” Sylus says quietly.

He’s leant against the doorway, arms crossed, and you spare him a glance. “Know what?”

“That there’s no-one here.”

It sounds like defeat. “I’m taking this very seriously, actually,” you dismiss as you roll open the drawer of his bedside table, where no-one is hiding. You move on to even more absurd places: lifting flowers out of their vase to glance about inside it, peering into the horn of his vintage gramophone.

You’d hoped your antics would elicit at least a short laugh, or a scoff of amusement. There’s nothing, though, so you plonk onto the bed— defeated, yourself— and look to the man as you set your weapon down.

He looks back with an insincere smile. “How did you know?”

“That you weren’t really with someone? Because you’re you, Sylus. The key to a good prank?” Your fingers twinkle in the air beside your head. “Believability. Besides—” now a forefinger taps at your temple— “nothing gets past this.”

“Your ego?” he guesses with a smirk that is sincere, if nothing else.

“My brain, Sy.”

“Ah.”

Your ego— tsk. Your feet are dangling from the bed, playing with a slipper they’ve fished out from underneath it, and you have half a mind to launch it at him. This doesn’t feel like one of your usual games, though, and you’ve had a whole ride through the N109 Zone to figure out why.

“I really hurt you, didn’t I?” you speak like a confession, staring down at the floor so you don’t have to meet his eyes. “That’s what all this is about, right? You wanted to get back at me for dinner?”

“No, I—”

“I get it.” Your feet find the second slipper. “I do. I mean, it was a really shitty thing to do— walking out on you like that. Especially after you waited for me. You went to all that effort, and I— ah.” You’ve toed one of the slippers out of reach.

“Allow me,” comes a voice that’s suddenly close. Sylus’s figure looms over you before he’s crouching, kneeling by your feet. He still looks like a mess of sin, but he’s gentle as he retrieves the slipper for you. Removes your socks for you. Slides a slipper onto each of your cold feet. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he mutters.

You let out a sigh. “Sylus.” You’re scolding him, and he gazes up at you, his eyes garnets of adoration only you could afford. “You can tell me anything, you know.”

“I know, sweetie.”

“So why won’t you tell me how you feel?”

He sits back on his knees, his thumb drawing circles on the inside of your ankle. The ministrations are mindless, and so are his words: “How I feel is not important.”

“Of course it is!” You pull away from him. “Don’t say things like that.”

“But I thought I could tell you anything, kitten.”

It’s a nick from a blade that could do much worse; he wants you to feel how sharp it is. His smile is a warning and he’s waiting for the hunter in you to strike back, because violence is what you’re good at. What you’re both good at. It hurts, but it’s easy.

You shift forward on the bed. “Sylus… you don’t need to protect me. Not from you. Not from anything you feel. I want you to be happy, to tell me if you’re unhappy. I don’t need you to—” your fingers skirt over his chest and you falter inexplicably— “to sacrifice yourself for me.”

Sylus looks down to where you’re tracing the shape of his heart on his skin. He lets out a long, beleaguered breath, then leans closer to you, his head turning away as he settles it on your lap. Your hands find his hair instinctually, threading through it in slow, meandering motions.

“I want you to be mine,” he admits on another sigh.

He can’t see you smile, but he’ll hear it in your voice: “I am yours, Sy—”

“No— just mine.”

He won’t make it a demand. Even asking you nicely has him breathless and still, like the drawn-out pause of a finished symphony. Your hands stop moving, out of respect for the quiet. You’re remembering the times you’ve been late out of your building because you’d stumbled into Xavier in the lobby. The doctor’s appointments that always overrun, and Rafayel’s ‘emergency’ phone calls.

“Come and sit with me,” you mumble, patting the bed beside you.

When Sylus does, it’s with the same reluctance a cat surrenders a sliver of sun. Lazy and listless— still warm from the light. The bed sinks under his weight and you turn to face him. His robe’s collar has fallen further, so you hook a finger under it to draw it back up to his neck. Then you straighten the lapels, smoothing them over distractedly.

He’s watching your face, not the movements of your hands. Your cheeks feel warm. “I was speaking to Rafayel earlier, and we—”

A groan, and Sylus is no longer at your fingertips; he’s flopped down backwards on the bed, his hand over his face. You can’t help giggling— you’ve broken the big, bad boss of Onychinus, it seems. Is that all it takes? You grin as you lie down with him, settling on your side, propped up on an elbow. He doesn’t stir when you fix a few stray strands of his hair.

“We talked about boundaries,” you continue. “How I can’t be on call twenty-four seven, and how he’s going to take better care of himself, so I don’t have to be.”

Sylus has moved his hand, ever so slightly.

There’s more: “I’m gonna call in sick to work tomorrow. I made a deal with Xavier, that’s why I stayed late today. He’ll cover for me.” You shift closer. “I wanted it to be a surprise. I know I can’t always be with you, but I am always thinking of you, I promise. You’re always with me in spirit, Sy, even if not in—” you press a quick kiss to his chest— “body.”

He chuckles at the words, or maybe the touch tickled.

You grin down at him. “I’m yours. Say it.”

“I’m yours.”

“No! Ugh, just—” Smart-ass! You flick his forehead as he laughs quietly. “Not the words ‘I’m yours’, say that I’m—”

His hand is at your face, pulling you in so he can kiss you. It’s slow and it’s patient; he’s taking his time, and you won’t slip away. You can feel his smile. “You’re mine,” he murmurs when he finally withdraws. One more kiss, lighter, on the tip of your nose. “Just mine.”

Always. You let him pull you into an embrace, snuggling into his warmth like you’ve been wanting to from the moment you last left it. You can hear his heartbeat beneath the lullaby of his breath. “Sy?” you whisper.

“Hmm?”

“You look really hot when you’re pretending to cheat on me.”

He scoffs, but a yawn comes before his response. “Don’t get any ideas, kitten.”

Your quiet is pensive. “I have this lunch with Zayne later this week. I really should text him to find out—”

The grip around you constricts, and a voice is in your ear, soft and possessive:

“What did I just say?”

#🖋rach is actually writing #sylus x reader #sylus #love and deepspace #lads sylus #lnds sylus #l&ds sylus #qin che #sylus x mc #sylus x you #lads x reader #lads #lnds #l&ds

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godmadeaterribleerror · 15 hours ago

Text

Where Do You End Pt. 2

Main Masterlist

Read on A03! - Pt. 1 - Pt. 3

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, angst, body swap, mentions of smut, humor, horniness, very weird

Summary/Warnings: You put the plan into motion, and Sam realizes you're not Dean a little too late.

Author's Note: Supernatural characters are incapable of the just making the emotionally smart choice on the first try, but they're doing their best.

Word Count: 4.5k

Dean had half shoved the phone into your hand. His hand. Your hand was the one who shoved it into Dean’s hand, and Dean’s hand was the one that was dialing Sam while your hand drummed on the table, and your own eyes watched you with a searing intensity that only Dean was capable of.

You’re not sure what suddenly made him take this seriously, but you don’t really care. You just need this to be over.

Because the last twelve hours have been the longest of your life.

It started with your eyes wandering where they shouldn’t. Dean would shift in his chair, your body would shift with him, and when your boobs would bounce it was suddenly impossible to stop staring at them. Dean would walk away from you—to the parking lot, or through a door, or over to the bar—and your hips would do a little swaying thing that made Dean’s body tense.

Your body tense. Dean’s body that was right now your body—and only about twenty percent in your control—tense.

And he’d bend over, and your ass would stick in the air, and it was like your eyes were magnetically drawn to it.

You have a nice ass. You’ve never really seen it before, but it’s a nice ass. And nice tits, and an overall face that was better than you’d ever really given yourself credit for. You’re pretty. You have good features, a nice voice, and a great body.

This experience would be an overall ego booster, if you haven’t spent the whole time trying not to lose your mind.

Because then Dean wiggled his ass—your ass—and your jeans felt tight. Almost painful. And there was a weird throbbing feeling between your legs that was deep in your core, but it was heavier than you were used to-

You’d glanced down at your lap with a frown, worried you’d done something to fuck up Dean’s body, and almost fallen out of your chair.

You never wanted to experience an erection again. They were uncomfortable and sudden and annoyingly obvious. They made it hard to focus when you were trying to talk to Dean about the situation, and distracting when you were trying to do research.

It didn’t help how they were purely out of your control. How easily they appeared, and how impossibly they went.

And Dean was not fucking helping. He’d squirm when you touched him, and you’d get a boner. He’d use your voice to whine or mumble or just say anything at all, and you’d get a boner. At one point he kicked you and you got a boner.

You don’t know how he functions like this. You’d been a little worried that he doesn’t. That you’re getting turned on by your own shockingly attractive body for some fucked up Freudian reason, and Dean’s got nothing to do with this.

Then you’d dragged him out of the diner, and it had killed that doubt with fire and smoke. You’d never drag your own body like that. You hated it when Dean did that to you—the close proximity and overall Dean-ness of the action always made you weak and soft, molding into him when you were supposed to be pounding on his chest and calling him an asshole—and you hadn’t even really been considering it as an option to stop him going to the bathroom, but Dean’s muscles had flexed against your will, his body had stood taller without your permission, and suddenly you’d been grabbing your own arm and manhandled Dean out of the diner.

He’d been sulking the whole ride back. It was the same way you usually sulked after he did that to you, with a pout and arms folded over your chest.

His boobs—your boobs—were pushed up. You could see cleavage when you glanced to the side, and your cock twitched in your jeans to shove between those pretty fucking tits-

What the fuck was wrong with you.

It was like your body—Dean’s body—had a mind of its own. Behaving as Dean would behave, had none of this shit ever happened. Opening doors and placing that broad hand on your lower back, towering over you closer than he had any right to be and pressing you into corners until he was only just not touching you.

You really wish you’d pushed harder to make him stop doing that. If only for the sake of you now, crowding your own space and getting hard whenever Dean would squirm away from you. But you hadn’t, because when it was you in your own body, you loved it.

It was a cruel, masochistic drug you’d hooked yourself on, where Dean didn’t want you like that but he was still giving you this. You were only his friend in his mind, but he still liked you as a body. He didn’t feel anything for you the same way you felt things for him, but there was still an animalistic attraction that made him hover and smirk and tease you.

It gave you something to hang onto. It gave you something to hate about him, because you really did love everything else.

You really loved Dean. You really loved his dumb jokes, and his shit-eating grin, and how loud and annoying and adorable he could be. You loved how he loved his car, how he cared about Sam with everything he had, how he was maybe to biggest, hottest geek you’d ever met.

You really simply loved Dean.

And he didn’t love you, and you’d forced yourself to live with that because you had to. He was still your best friend. You hate him, and you’re furious with him for telling you no and then acting like nothing had changed when he’d ripped your heart out of your chest, carved his name on it, and returned it without any desire to care for how he’d mauled you in a beautiful and irreversible way, but he’s your best friend. And you love him.

And this needed to be fixed now, because you can’t keep living in such firm and solid proof that Dean’s body wants you, but there’s something revolting enough to his brain that he never ever cross that line you’ve had to restrain yourself from all day.

The first step is to call Sam, and execute the secrets plan so you can have some help that isn’t just a grumpy Dean. The second step is to hiss at Dean that he needs to leave the room before Sam picks up, because the whole point is that this a you and Sam secret, and Dean isn’t allowed to hear it.

“You can’t just cut me out of this, sweetheart,” he hisses back, narrowing your eyes. It’s cute. You’re going to fucking die. “I’ll be damned if I let you and Sammy whisper about me while I just stand in the freakin’ hall-“

“Not everything is about you, Dean.” You sneer. “And if you want this to work, wait outside.”

“But-“

“Outside.” Your voice raises slightly as you point to the door, and there’s an authoritative, commanding tone to it that makes Dean’s eyes—your eyes—widen. “Now.”

Dean scowls and shuffles outside, his low grumble about this being bullshit muffled as the door closes behind him.

You glare after him—not loving how annoyed his body is that you just let Dean walk away without picking him up and kissing his hair—and Sam picks up seconds later.

“Listen, Dean, I know you’re freaking out, but you can’t keep calling me.” Sam sounds exasperated, and you frown into the air as he continues. “This is supposed to be my week off with Eileen, and it’s hard to relax when you keep fucking calling me.”

“I-“ You shake your head slightly, glancing back to the door. “What?”

“You’ve called me seven times, Dude. Listen, it’s not going to go bad, she doesn’t hate you, and all you need to do is talk about your feelings like an adult and everything will be fine.”

“I don’t-“

“Yeah, I know.” You can hear Sam’s eye roll through the phone. “There’s nothing to talk about, she doesn’t know what she’d be getting into, you’d rather be miserable and all that shit. Look, Dean, at this point all I can tell you is to get your head out of your ass, and stop calling me.”

“Sam.” Your voice is slow, cautious, and wired with things you don’t fully understand. “What are you talking about.”

He says your name like it’s obvious, and you think the world stops spinning. “I know you didn’t wanna solo hunt with her, but-“

“Why didn’t he- Why didn’t I want to solo hunt with her?” Your voice is more frantic than Dean’s usually is. You don’t really care. “What’s wrong with her?”

“Nothing’s wrong with her, Dean, you’re just still in love with her, and kind of being a fucking dick about it.”

Sam keeps talking. Something about how Dean’s always worried about hunting with you, how he’s always worried he’s going to slip up and put you in danger, how he’s afraid you’ll catch on to his real feelings, how he believes it’s easier when Sam is there to run interference and prevent too much of Dean’s hand from being shown.

It’s all just noise, though. Because there’s no way Dean loves you. He’d said he didn’t. He’d said you were his friend and nothing more, he’d shot you down, he’d apologized and told you the feeling would fade, because it was just a crush, and it would pass.

You’d spent months forcing yourself to be okay with that. You couldn’t make him love you. It would kill you to contort and reshape yourself into someone he would want, and if you did go down that path there was a chance you’d come out the other side someone he hated.

You’d lost sleep reminding yourself that Dean loving you was not something you were owed. That you were lucky he cared about you enough to be your friend, and to let you down gently. He could’ve been cruel, and listed every reason you were vile and repulsive and had no right to be his. He could’ve told you to pack your bags and leave the bunker.

And you’d tried to move on, because you owed him that much. You’d failed, but you tried.

He’d always stopped you. At countless bars he’d stepped between you and whoever you were flirting with, telling you Sam was drunk and they had to go now, or you all had an early drive in the morning and had to go now, or you just had to go now.

Sam had never really looked that drunk.

Dean had always guided you out of the bar with a possessive hand on your lower back.

He’d rejected you, and he’d never let you get over him.

As if he-

“Sam.” Your tone is harsh and cold. You don’t care. “How long has- Have I been in love with m-“ You correct yourself again with your own name, your voice dropping another octave, and there’s a long pause over the speaker.

“Forever, dude. You told me that like, day one you were whipped. I mean- You know that. Are you-“

“I’m fine.” You snap. You’re barely breathing. “Sam, I need you to feed the cat.”

For a second, you think the call dropped and that the plan hadn’t worked. The plan needed to work. You needed to get back into your own body so you could fucking kill Dean-

“Dean, we don’t have a cat. You’re allergic-“

“Sparky. In storage room nine. He needs food.”

“Spar- I don’t- What- Did-“ Sam snaps your name, and your heart jumps into your throat. “Did she tell you something? Did you get her drunk again? Because you know she’ll kill you when she gets sober, she hates it when you do that-“

You know exactly what Sam’s trying to accuse you—accuse Dean—of. You get loose-lipped when you drink. You tell secrets and lose your filter, and you always feel horrible in the morning because they’re rarely your secrets and the lack of filter is really embarrassing.

Dean’s told you it’s adorable. That he likes drunk you, because she’s honest and takes somehow less shit than sober you. That she’s you in the rawest form, and its’s awesome.

You can’t believe you ever bought that he didn’t have any feelings for you at all.

“There’s wet food in the pantry, behind all the cabbage and carrots. Should be enough for Sparky until I get home.” You push on, narrowing your eyes at the air. “Scoop the litter box too. I think I forget.”

“You- You’ve never been in the pantry. That’s why we-“ Sam cuts himself off, and you can hear the gears spinning in his brain over the phone.

Then he says your name, and there’s an element of horror in his voice that feels pretty appropriate.

“Thank fuck.” You mutter, and take your chances to try and just say it. “Code Vermilion, Sam.”

“Code- That’s a zombie situation, are there-“

“Shit- sorry.” You chew on your tongue, trying to recall the emergency system you’d fucking designed. “Code Puce.”

“You fucking body swapped?!” There is it. Thank God. “Why didn’t you just, you know, say that-“

“I couldn’t!” You were shouting, but Sam was also shouting, so it was only fair. “I called you all day on my phone, and the moment I tried to, the call dropped! I tried to email or text you and it never sent, I tried to fucking snail mail you and the letter burst into flames! Dean short-circuited a fax machine-“

Sam groans. “Shit, you’re gonna kill me. I mean Dean, Dean’s gonna kill me. I was never supposed to tell,” Sam says your name, then cuts himself off with another groan. “Fuck, I mean you, I wasn’t supposed to tell you- God damn it-“

“Sam.” Your voice has become clipped. Short. You don’t need a reminder of the previous conversation, and this just really needs to be over. “If I email you all the details, can you start looking for fixes?”

“Yeah, sure, just-“ He pauses, his voice dropping sightly. “You think emails gonna work now?”

“We’re talking about it and the call’s not dropping.” You shrug, even though he can’t see it. “Text me any solutions you have. I’ll keep you updated on my end, and when Dean gets home, make him sleep on the floor of your room and don’t let him go to the bathroom alone. Okay?”

“Oh- Wait-“ Sam says your name, and you can hear the confusion in his voice. “What do you mean when Dean gets home-“

“I mean when Dean gets home. Bye, Sam.”

You hang up, and spend a long minute just staring at the wall.

Dean’s in love with you. Sam says Dean’s in fucking love with you, and you believe him, and you-

You can’t stay here.

This needs to be fixed, but you cannot stay here.

You open the door to the hall. And there he is. There you are, and your body—Dean’s body, the one that’s allegedly in love with you—is leaning forward to be closer to you. To Dean.

Fuck.

“Were you ever going to tell me?”

Dean frowns at you, pulling your lips down into a pouty frown. It makes your dick—Dean’s dick—twitch in his pants.

“Tell you what?”

You brace your whole body, standing a little taller. “That you love me.”

“That I-“ Dean’s eyes narrow, and you’ve never been on the receiving end on your own glare. It’s more violent than you’d imagined, and his dick is twitching again. “What the hell did Sammy say to you-“

“Don’t blame Sam.” You snap. “Answer me.”

“You didn’t ask a freakin’ question, sweetheart-“

“Yes. I did.” You lean down a little, holding Dean’s gaze. “Were you ever going to tell me you’re in love with me.”

Dean stares at you, and you think he’s going to deny it. That he’ll grunt that you’ve had this conversation before, and he doesn’t love you. That he doesn’t know what the hell you’re talking about, and whatever Sam said was a joke. Just a prank, and you need to focus on fixing this body swap instead of your feelings.

What he does is worse.

He shakes his head, refuses to meet your eyes, and pushes his words through his teeth.

“You were never supposed to know.” He mutters. “It was for your own good-“

“Shut the fuck up, Dean!” Your voice is a roar, and you make yourself flinch, but Dean doesn’t.

He’s in your body.

You never flinch when Dean shouts, because you know he’d never actually hurt you-

You’re going to start fucking crying. You probably already would have, if it didn’t feel like an effort in Dean’s body.

“You- You broke my heart.” You glare at him, your voice half between a hiss and a whisper. “You told me you’d never seen me that way, and you apologized. You said you didn’t want me. You told me the feeling would pass, and then you fucking stopped it-“ Your voice raises, and you stand a little taller. You can be shattered and furious. You can be a fucking storm of glass to break and carve into Dean the same way he did to you, because how could he do this to you. “You fucking stopped me from moving on! You cockblocked me, and you got angry whenever I’d go out without you, and you kept touching me and acting like everything was fine-“

Dean says your name slowly, and you can hear the regret in his voice, but you don’t care. This hurts, this hurts so much worse than before because you’d felt insane, you’d driven yourself mad with love for Dean and he’d just tightened the straitjacket and acted like you’d find a cure for this when he’d been actively keeping it from you-

“Why the fuck would you do this?! Do you hate me? Am I really that horrible that you can’t stand the idea of being in love with me-“

“It’s not you.” Dean snaps your name, shaking his head. “It’s- I was keeping you fucking safe-“

“Fuck off-“

“No!” His voice—your voice—is trying to mimic your own shout, and it’s not really working in his favor. “You- you don’t fucking get it, sweetheart, if I let us do that, let us be that, you’d have a target on your back, every son of a bitch in hell and heaven would use you and hurt you, just to get to me-“

“I’m not stupid! I know what the risks are just associating with Winchesters, and I don’t care.” You rub your face, and everything hurts. You feel like you’re choking on the air, and you can’t be here. “I didn’t care, Dean, I just wanted you.”

“You would’ve cared.” His voice—your voice—is bitter. Hollow. Resolved. “When you were being tortured and murdered, you would’ve cared. And I would’ve had to live with it. With the fact that I lost you-“

“You wouldn’t have lost me, Dean.” You fish the keys to the Impala out of your pocket, and toss them to him with his phone. “You never would’ve lost me, if you’d actually fucking tried.”

It would be kinder to let him get in a word, or a protest, or even a sort of apology. But everything hurts, and you really can’t fucking stay here or you’ll rip off your skin—Dean’s skin—and beat in your own skull with your hands.

Your real skull—holding Dean’s mind—with how raw and furious this pain is, or Dean’s real skull with self-inflicted pain.

And that’s why you’re past kindness. You’ve been shot and choked and stabbed and sliced to pieces, but this is the worst pain you’ve ever know. He was never supposed to hurt you. You’d always trusted that this huge lunk of a body would never hurt you.

But you hadn’t counted on Dean, and how he’d been willing to risk your of peace of mind for his misguided, self-sacrificing martyr bullshit.

You’d always tried to tell him that you didn’t want him to sacrifice for you. That him staying with you meant more than him leaving you alive, but alone.

And he’d never listened.

So now you’re walking away.

Dean will be fine. He’ll get your body safely back to the bunker, tell Sam everything that happened, and figure out how to justify this to himself.

Sam will make sure nothing happens to your body until this gets fixed. And you’ll take care of Dean’s body by yourself, far away from Kansas, hiding in a shitty little harbor town until you work this out.

Alone.

Just like Dean had wanted.

For a long week, time drags to a crawl. You hole in a motel room with a laptop, coffee and vodka—you don’t really care which on you’re drinking when your go for a glass, just as long as it’s one of them—about half of a gas station’s junk food supply, and the local library’s entire collection of books of cult, myth, and lore.

The motel is dusty and warm, and the nights are horrible and cold, but this is what you needed. You stop running into doorways and hitting your head on things, and you figure out how to sleep comfortably in his body. You learn how to go to the bathroom and barely touch or think about what you’re doing, how to not get weirded out when the same face you see in your dreams is the same one that greets you in the mirror.

And you miss him. A lot.

But your fury is stronger than the ache for him to return to your side. And there’s a slightly fucked up comfort to being trapped in his body. You can watch the hands you’ve had graphic and detailed dreams about sort through papers, and you can bite your lips and understand what that sensation would do to Dean’s body.

You never cross that line. Dean’s cock will call itself to attention at random time, and you’ll just ignore it, no matter how demanding it feels.

You’re getting really good at ignoring things.

Calls. Texts. Voicemail after voicemail from Sam and Dean. You listen to one or two, just to check—they’re fine, just angry you’ve vanished and demanding to know where you are—and delete all the rest. Sam gives up after a few days, when you respond to his email about Eurasian body swapping lore with a list of your own working theories.

You think he’s just happy to know you’re alive.

This doesn’t seem to be the case for Dean.

He doesn’t stop trying to get you to pick up the phone. His voicemails get longer and longer, and his texts come more and more frequently, and the only thing that save him from being blocked is that you still love him.

You’d meant what you said. Dean would never lose you, not really. You’re just certain that if you talk to him or see him he’ll try to explain himself, and you don’t want an explanation. You just fucking want him, and as long as he’s going to keep pretending that’s something he can’t give you, he doesn’t get to have you at all.

So you keep the door locked, keep your phone on silent, and just fucking work until you fix this.

And when you do, you don’t bother with a warning. You find the exact curse, work out the ritual for reversal, and do it.

The world blur, your head spins and Dean’s body seizes like it’s been struck by lightning, and that’s it.

You’re in the bunker library, lying on the floor as Sam hovers over you, and it’s over.

“Dean, what the-“ Sam jostles you slightly, and a little vomit shoots up your throat. After effects. “Dean-“

“Not Dean.” You mumble your own name, shoving Sam’s hands away from your face and pushing yourself upright. “I fixed it.”

“You-“ Sam shakes his head, scanning over you with a frown. “You fixed it?”

“Obviously.” You rub your temple, your head pounding and everything far too bright. “Dean’ll be in Sekiu, Washington.”

“Why-“

“Because that’s where I was-“

“I know that.” Sam snaps, giving you a glare. “Why are you telling me. You’re the one going to get him.”

You roll your eyes. “No, I’m-“

“You are.” Sam’s making a stern bitch-face. He’s about to get punched. “Because either you act like an adult and go talk to Dean, or he stays in Washington until you grow up.”

“Until I-“ You give Sam a look of pure disbelief. “He’s the one who lied to me! Why do I have to grow up-“

“Because it’s Dean. You know he wasn’t trying to hurt you-“

“But he did.” You rub your arms for comfort, and God, it’s nice to be back in your own body. You know where to pinch your own skin to keep your head right, and you can cross your legs without any discomfort, shielding your face from Sam by bowing your head and letting your hair take care of the rest. “He was just going to let me think he didn’t love me, that he didn’t care-“

“You know he cared.” Sam says, his voice still firm, but a little more gentle. “He does care. He spent the whole week trying to figure out how to fix this, and when I told him to stop calling you he told me to shove it, because he needed to work this out. He’s just-“ Sam sighs. “He’s Dean.”

“I know.” You chew on your lips, frowning at the floor. “But it’s- It wasn’t fair, Sam. It was mean. It- I don’t feel loved. I just feel like he didn’t love me- didn’t want me enough to do something about it.”

“Okay.” Sam shrugs. “Tell him that. Or just kick his ass, because he deserves it, or make out with him. I don’t care, as long you go pick up Dean, and I get my week off.”

You give him a flat look. “You just want your secret spa time-“

“Yeah, I do. Get out.”

“But-“

“You get to drive the Impala again. The keys are in your pocket.”

Your hand flies to your jeans, and they are. And Sam’s right, you do have to work this out somehow. If you leave the bunker, you’ll be abandoning the secret cat to Sam, and it’ll die within the week.

So you’re either kill Dean or-

You don’t let yourself think of the alternative. You’ve trained yourself not to.

But it doesn’t stop the spark of hope in your chest when you start Baby’s engine, take a long breath, and head out to go get Dean.

End Note: Sam I hope you have a wonderful secret spa day, you've earned it my king.

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

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okkinannah · 19 hours ago

Text

CHIHIRO - nanami kento

pairing: Kento Nanami x fem!reader

synopsis: have Adam help lol

word count: 11.7k

warnings/tags: major character death, hurt/some comfort, hurt/no comfort, angst angst angst

a/n: eep, i’ve never written anything like this so i’m PRAYING it’s good. i feel like the pacing is a little off but whatever, who gaf

march 2006 - said you won't forget my name

“Y/N!”

At the sound of your name, a grin tugged at your lips—a warmth spreading through you as two familiar figures approached. One radiated an unshakable enthusiasm that made you feel as if everything was possible, while the other exuded a quiet, measured resignation that had become comfortingly familiar. Haibara Yu waved with both hands, practically bouncing with excitement, his energy filling the space between you. Behind him, Nanami Kento walked at his customary, deliberate pace, his expression as inscrutable as ever, though you caught the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth—a silent acknowledgment that he was glad to be here too.

“I was starting to think you two were going to stand me up,” you teased, your voice light despite the undercurrent of loneliness that had marked your days. As you spoke, you adjusted your grip on your kusarigama, feeling its reassuring weight against your shoulder.

Nanami exhaled slowly, a soft roll of his eyes conveying, without words, “Of course not.” He offered no verbal retort, yet the barely perceptible upward curl of his lips betrayed his fond exasperation. Yu’s smile, meanwhile, shone so brightly it bordered on disarming— the kind of smile that made you wonder if he ever had a bad day.

“If we didn’t come, who else would keep you company, Kyoto’s one and only first-year superstar?” Yu quipped, his arm wrapping around your shoulders.

“Superstar?” you snorted, shaking your head, though his warmth was infectious, coaxing a soft, genuine laugh from you.

It was a strange, bittersweet position to occupy—being Kyoto’s only first-year sorcerer, always paired with Tokyo’s freshmen because none of you were yet allowed to take missions solo. The setup was far from perfect. You didn’t possess the influential backing of a powerful family name, nor did you have a flashy innate technique that made heads turn. All you had was decent cursed energy and the kind of combat skills you’d honed through sheer determination. And perhaps, deep down, that “just decent enough” was what made you real.

Your fingers flexed reflexively around the hilt of your weapon as you nodded toward the road leading into the village. “Come on. The auxiliary manager is waiting, and I don’t feel like getting chewed out for being late.”

Yu groaned dramatically, tossing his head back as if in mock protest, but his eyes sparkled with humor as he followed without complaint.

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

kinda strange, feelin' sorrow

The village was silent when you arrived—unnervingly so. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath, leaving the trees motionless and the air thick with an unsettling stillness. The auxiliary manager had done their job well; the evacuation was complete, the curtain had been raised. Yet, a cold knot of unease churned in your gut, warning you that this quiet was only the calm before the storm.

Then—well, shit.

The report had lied.

This wasn’t a Grade Four curse. Not even close.

Its presence pressed down on you, heavy and suffocating, making your skin tingle with an almost desperate urge to escape. The air was suddenly tainted by the acrid stench of rot and something metallic—a smell so thick it churned your stomach. Bile rose unbidden, and you had to swallow hard to keep it at bay.

You tightened your grip on your kusarigama, though your fingers betrayed you with their tremor. This was wrong. It was stronger than you’d been led to believe—Grade Two at the very least. Perhaps even worse.

Before you could fully register the shift, the curse lunged.

Instinct took over. The chain of your weapon whipped through the air as you swung, but the curse was unnervingly fast—its elongated limbs twisting in a grotesque dance to avoid your strike. It moved with an agility that defied its monstrous form, leaving you momentarily stunned.

Then it hit you.

The impact sent you sprawling across the rough ground, scraping against the dirt as you rolled desperately to evade the next attack. A sickly wet sound followed—a slithering, shifting noise that made your stomach churn in revulsion.

“Damn it,” you hissed, forcing yourself to rise even as your ankle pulsed with pain.

From the corner of your eye, you saw Nanami moving with that same precise efficiency that you relied on. His blade flashed silver in the dim light as he aimed for the curse’s arm—a clean, calculated strike meant to disable it. Even he, however, struggled to land a decisive blow.

“Watch out!” Yu’s voice rang out, sharp with urgency.

But the curse was already shifting again.

Then came the searing pain.

A burning agony wrapped around your ankle, dragging you down before you could even process the shock. The curse had you in its grasp—a slimy, sinewy limb coiling like a vice, its touch scorching as if your very existence was an affront to it. A strangled scream tore from your throat, and you clawed at the dirt, desperate for anything to hold onto.

“Hold on!” Yu’s call was barely a whisper over the roar in your ears as his hands found yours, gripping tightly and pulling you toward stability. His strength was a lifeline, but the curse’s grip only intensified, sending white-hot pain shooting up your leg. Your vision blurred, the edges darkening, until—

Nanami.

In one fluid, calculated motion, he delivered a strike that severed the cursed limb. It fell away, oozing something black and viscous, and for a moment, the relief of being freed clashed with the lingering agony.

You gasped, scrambling upright as your breaths came in ragged, uneven bursts. The curse wasn’t finished yet—it writhed, its grotesque form twitching as it prepared to lunge again.

Not this time.

With trembling fingers, you forced the words out, your voice hoarse yet resolute.

“Divine Weight.”

In that instant, a surge of cursed energy erupted from your palm, unseen but undeniable. The force crashed down upon the creature, pinning it to the ground with a sickening crack. It writhed in defiance, its twisted form contorting violently, but it was trapped—for now.

Nanami didn’t waste a moment. Stepping forward with calm, lethal precision, he raised his blade in a single, unerring arc. The Ratio Technique cut through the chaos—precise and final. The curse let out an ear-piercing shriek as it dissolved into nothingness, leaving only the echo of its agony.

Silence settled over the scene.

Your legs wobbled, the adrenaline that had propelled you now fading into exhaustion and lingering pain. You exhaled sharply, collapsing onto one knee as your injured ankle throbbed mercilessly.

Before you could gather your scattered senses, Yu was at your side. The usual lighthearted spark in his eyes had been replaced by a rare seriousness as he crouched down, studying your injury with cautious concern.

“This doesn’t look good,” he muttered, his hands hovering uncertainly near you as if he feared that any touch might worsen your pain. “Does it hurt?”

You shot him a flat look. “What do you think?”

He winced. “Right. Stupid question.”

A weak, humorless laugh escaped you despite the pain.

Nanami knelt beside you next, his gaze sharp and assessing. One glance was all it took. “Chemical burn,” he stated evenly. “We need to get it treated before it worsens.”

You nodded, swallowing hard against the discomfort. “Shoko can—” you began, but before you could finish, Nanami moved.

Without ceremony, he scooped you up. His arms were steady and unyielding as he lifted you effortlessly, carrying you away from the immediate danger.

“What the—? Hey—” you sputtered, instinctively gripping his shoulders as a flush of heat rushed to your face. “I can walk, you know.”

He didn’t dignify your protest with words. Instead, his grip tightened, securing you in a way that left no room for argument. His expression was resolute, unreadable—but beneath it lay an unspoken tenderness, a silent promise of protection.

“Don’t be reckless,” he said simply.

Those words weren’t scolding, nor were they gentle; they were immutable, as inevitable as gravity. The quiet conviction in his voice silenced any protest before it could form.

Damn him.

You shifted slightly in his arms, torn between discomfort and embarrassment. “You’re overreacting,” you muttered, turning your face away. “Shoko will fix it in five minutes.”

“Exactly,” he replied, his tone leaving no room for negotiation. “Which is why you’re not making it worse by walking.”

Yu snickered beside you. “Wow. Never seen you so docile before.”

You shot him a glare. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

His grin was wicked and unapologetic. “Oh, absolutely.”

A groan escaped you as resignation settled in. “You’re both ridiculous.”

Yu laughed again, adjusting his hold on your kusarigama with exaggerated care, as if the weapon were the most delicate treasure. “Ridiculous?” he repeated, feigning offense. “Or incredibly dependable?”

Despite the pain, a twitch of a smile betrayed your amusement.

Fine. You’d let them have this one.

Leaning your head back, you sighed. “If Shoko gives me hell for this, I’m blaming you both.”

Yu’s easy laughter rang out again, and for a brief, precious moment, you swore you saw the corner of Nanami’s lips twitch up in a smile.

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

august 2007 - i know you said before you can't cope with any more

Your breath came in sharp, uneven gasps as you raced through the hushed halls of Jujutsu High, your heartbeat a frantic drum that seemed to echo your mounting dread. The school was unnervingly quiet—as if it, too, were mourning a loss it couldn’t quite name.

Ahead, the morgue door loomed like a silent sentinel. For a heartbeat, you hesitated, unsure if you were ready to face what lay beyond. But you had no choice. You had to be strong.

Peering through the small window, you caught a glimpse of him—Geto Suguru, his third-year uniform rumpled as if he’d been slumped there for hours. His dark eyes briefly flicked toward the door at the sound of your approach before turning back to the table before him.

You didn’t see Kento. You didn’t see Yu either.

But you did see the body lying on the cold, unyielding steel slab.

A hollow ache settled in your chest, growing until it threatened to overwhelm you. You had heard the news on a mission—details delivered in sparse, clinical fragments. Two second-years were sent out; only one returned. You had fought hard to keep your mind from conjuring their faces as you processed those words. But standing here now, staring at that table, the reality was inescapable.

Steeling yourself, you nudged the door open. The creak of the hinges sliced through the suffocating silence like a desperate plea. The first thing your eyes fell upon was Nanami, slumped in a chair against the far wall, a damp cloth draped over his face. His uniform was streaked with sweat and something darker, his loosened collar a testament to the exhaustion weighing him down. He hadn’t stirred at your arrival—not even a flinch.

Yet he was alive.

A wave of relief crashed over you, raw and almost painful in its intensity. But as your gaze drifted back to the table, that relief curdled into something far more devastating.

Yu.

Joyous, dependable Yu—whose too-wide smiles and unshakeable optimism once made even the bleakest moments bearable—now lay still. Unmoving. The sight of him, so at odds with the vibrant life you remembered, made your stomach churn.

A lump rose in your throat as you swallowed hard, your fingers curling into trembling fists. The sterile, cold air and the incessant hum of the fluorescent lights above made the moment feel unbearably loud.

Suguru’s eyes tracked you silently from across the room, his expression unreadable yet heavy with resignation. In his gaze, you saw shards of your own despair—the same quiet rage and helplessness that told you none of you were safe, that this wasn’t a tragic mistake, but an inevitability.

Before you could stop yourself, your legs carried you forward. You found yourself standing over Yu’s body, your breath coming in shaky, unsteady bursts.

He looked… peaceful.

And that twisted the knife in your heart further, making you want to scream into the oppressive silence.

Your stomach twisted violently, and you bit the inside of your cheek until you tasted blood—a bitter reminder of how deeply this pain cut. Lowering your head, you pressed a trembling kiss to Yu’s cold forehead. The chill of his skin sent a shiver through you, a cruel confirmation of the finality you could neither deny nor escape. You whispered a quiet prayer, the same one your mother had taught you as a child—a prayer that now felt empty, yet it was all you had left to offer him.

Turning away with leaden legs, you forced yourself toward Nanami.

He still hadn’t moved.

As you drew closer, his hand lifted almost imperceptibly—a small, tentative reach, as if by instinct, as if hoping to anchor himself to some semblance of stability.

Without hesitation, you let your fingers slip into his. In that moment, he squeezed them—three times, a rhythm you had memorized long ago.

I’m here.

You squeezed back. I know.

His grip was firm, almost too tight, but you welcomed it. If this was the only thing holding him together now, you were willing to let him crush your hand if that was what it took.

The silence between you stretched on, thick and oppressive, punctuated only by the hum of the morgue’s lights and the slow, measured cadence of Nanami’s breathing.

Finally, your voice emerged as a barely audible whisper, laden with resignation and sorrow.

“This is going to be a shitty year.”

For a long, suspended moment, nothing more was said. Then, almost imperceptibly, the corner of Nanami’s lip twitched—not a smile, but a bitter, hollow acknowledgment of a truth both of you knew too well.

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

you told me it was war, said you'd show me what's in store

Neither of you got much sleep that night.

How could you, when grief clung to you like a second skin—heavy, suffocating, and inescapable—even in the quiet darkness? It seeped into every space between your breaths, into the way your fingers curled subconsciously into the fabric of Nanami’s borrowed shirt, desperate for something tangible, something real.

The moment you saw his face in the morgue, you’d made your decision. You couldn’t go back to Kyoto. Not now. Not when he was grieving. Not when you were drowning in sorrow.

The consequences could wait.

Now, curled up beside him in his cramped dorm, you stared blankly at the ceiling, your eyes tracing the shifting shadows on the walls. The bed was too small for two, yet neither of you minded. His warmth pressed against you, his slow, steady breathing the only anchor in a world turned unrecognizable by loss.

He had lent you one of his old band tees—a shirt worn soft by time and memories, still carrying the faint, familiar scent of him—and a pair of shorts to replace your uniform. The fabric was gentle, yet it offered little comfort against the ache in your chest.

Time had lost its meaning. You couldn’t tell how long you’d been lying there, limbs tangled together in an unspoken, desperate attempt to hold on. The sun had long vanished, leaving the room shrouded in shadows that seemed to mirror the weight in your heart. Yet neither of you stirred. In that silence, there were no empty pauses; instead, the quiet was filled with exhaustion, sorrow, and the words you both couldn’t find the strength to speak.

Then Nanami shifted ever so slightly. His hand, almost instinctively, brushed against yours before sliding up to rest gently under your chin. His touch was impossibly soft—as though he were trying to memorize every contour of you, anchoring himself in your presence to stave off his own unraveling.

Without a word, he kissed you.

It wasn’t a kiss born of desperation or urgency, but a soft, aching press of lips—a kiss so tender it stung with its gentleness. In that fleeting moment, the warmth of his embrace enveloped you, and your own grief stirred and softened in response. There was no frantic need for rescue, no urgent hunger; only the quiet, fragile desire to feel something beyond the crushing weight of loss.

And so, you didn’t pull away.

You knew you should. You knew you ought to. But before the thought could even fully form, it was swallowed by the heat of his mouth and the way his fingers curled reassuringly against your jaw—as if he feared you might slip away if he didn’t hold on tight.

“Kento,” you whispered against his lips, your voice trembling with the weight of too many unsaid words. “We shouldn’t.”

The words tumbled out, sounding more like an obligation than a plea, and even as they left your mouth, you didn’t move away. Instead, the words felt hollow, and you watched in silent dismay as you saw a flicker of sorrow pass over his face. It wasn’t anger that marred his expression—it was something deeper, something quiet and broken.

He didn’t retreat. Instead, he exhaled shakily and pressed his forehead against yours. His breath, uneven and warm, spoke of his struggle to remain whole. His grip loosened—not out of surrender, but out of a shared, silent understanding.

“Please.” His voice was hoarse, frayed at the edges—a single, vulnerable plea that shattered the fragile barrier you’d both built around your pain.

And in that moment, you unraveled.

It wasn’t a cry of desperation; it was pure, unadulterated honesty. It was the quiet admission that both of you were drowning under the weight of loss, that neither of you could possibly face this abyss alone. Every ounce of exhaustion, every shard of heartache you’d endured felt too much to bear. And so, the only thing that made any sense was to hold on—to each other.

You had always seen Nanami as the steady rock, the unyielding foundation. But now, in this dim room, he was simply a man weighed down by too much sorrow. And you? You were utterly exhausted by the relentless need to be strong.

Your resistance crumbled as you met his kiss with one of your own, slow and deliberate. Your fingers wove into his hair as he sighed softly against your lips, the moment deepening—not with urgency or passion, but with a soft, aching tenderness that was raw and real. His hand slipped to the small of your back, grounding you, tethering you to this fleeting present while everything else threatened to slip away.

It wasn’t about fixing the broken pieces or forgetting the loss. It was about finding something, however fragile, to hold on to amid the wreckage—to share the unbearable weight, if only for tonight.

And as his hands pulled you closer, his touch reverent and laden with unspoken promises, you realized—

For the first time that day, the grief didn’t feel quite as suffocating.

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

april 2010 - said, "i need to be alone now, i'm takin' a break"

You were the first person he told when he decided to leave jujutsu sorcery behind. It was a soft kind of devastation—the kind mixed with a desperate, almost unbearable relief that, for once, you wouldn’t have to send someone else you loved away in a body bag.

The conversation had come almost a week after graduation, after you had finally made the move to Tokyo. His apartment—spacious, quiet, and unerringly practical, just like him—was no longer solely his. It was yours, too.

You glanced over your shoulder as you peeled a potato, the smooth scrape of the knife against the cutting board serving as your only distraction. “You sure that’s what you want to do?” you asked, your voice carefully calm. You concentrated on the task, determined to hide the brief flicker of relief that flashed in your eyes.

Nanami nodded without breaking his focus, his gaze heavy with certainty. “You’ve seen what it’s done to the people we care about. I mean… I can’t say I blame Geto.”

Your grip on the knife tightened, the blade halting mid-motion. You avoided meeting his eyes. “I can’t say I do either,” you admitted after a moment, the truth hanging in the air. “Though… I think he’s going about it the wrong way.”

You sensed his eye roll even without turning to look at him. “That’s implied,” he replied, a note of gentle reproach in his tone.

A soft hum escaped you as you set the knife aside and wiped your hands on a dish towel. When you finally turned to face him, you took in every detail—his tired eyes, the deep lines etched by relentless burdens, the way he carried the weight of his past missions and future disasters as if they were tangible. “What would you do?” you asked quietly, letting the question linger. “You know, after quitting?”

He tilted his head slightly, as if considering a life so far removed from the life you both knew. “Maybe one of those fast-track college programs. I could work as a salaryman,” he said, half in jest, half in a search for something simpler.

A dry chuckle escaped you, and you arched a brow. “Ah, trading one soul-sucking job for another. Sounds perfect,” you replied, your tone laced with irony that belied your inner turmoil.

His expression softened into a half-hearted glare as he closed the distance between you. His hands found your hips, seeking solace in the warmth of your touch. In response, your arms naturally wrapped around his neck, your fingers grazing the nape of his neck as if to memorize every line, every curve. He leaned forward, his breath warm against your skin, and murmured, “Don’t be like that, Sweetheart.”

For a moment, the room shrank to just the two of you—the soft, deliberate kisses he placed on your neck, each one an attempt to soothe the tension, the unspoken worry that perhaps you were drifting apart. “I’m not being like anything,” you replied lightly, though the truth was more complicated. “I’m just pointing out the truth.” You sighed, leaning back just enough to meet his gaze, your eyes searching his for a spark of understanding. “Look, if it’s what you really want, then obviously I’ll support you.”

He nodded against your neck, his face burying itself in the comforting curve of your shoulder for a heartbeat longer than necessary, reluctant to let go. But when he finally pulled back, his eyes held a seriousness that silenced the room. “It is what I want,” he said firmly. Then, lowering his voice as if to share a secret, he added, “I think you should think about quitting too.”

A laugh bubbled from you, almost instinctive—a laugh that quickly faltered as you caught the earnest, almost pained look in his eyes. He wasn’t joking. In that moment, every unspoken fear and every quiet hope surged forward, leaving you to wonder if the life you envisioned together was slowly unraveling, or if perhaps this was simply a part of the journey you both had to navigate.

The silence that followed was heavy with meaning, and in that weight, you realized that sometimes, the truth was more complicated than words could ever capture.

“No.” The word slipped out before you could stop it—sharp, resolute, final. “Absolutely not.”

“Y/N,” he began, but you cut him off.

“No.” Your arms released their hold on him as you stepped back, creating space that felt more like a chasm. You couldn’t believe he would even suggest this. “I’ve worked too hard for this. Do you have any idea how hard it was to get here? To prove myself when no one else believed I could?”

His eyes darkened with concern, his voice low yet unwavering. “I know how hard it was,” he said. “I saw it, Y/N. I’ve seen you push yourself to the brink over and over again. You don’t have to keep doing that—”

“Yes, I do!” Your words burst out, raw and unfiltered. “Do you have any idea how many people are counting on me? How many lives I’ve saved? How many more I can save?”

His tone shifted then—calm, but each word cut deeper than the last. “And how many more people are you going to watch die?” he asked, his voice a measured blend of sorrow and urgency. “How many more times are you going to walk into a fight, knowing it could be your last? How long before I have to bury you, too?”

The question struck you like a blow, and you flinched as the weight of his words settled between you. “That’s not fair,” you murmured, your voice trembling as if each syllable pained you.

“It’s not fair,” he agreed softly, his eyes softening with unspoken grief. “None of this is. But I’m tired, Y/N. I’m tired of watching people we care about die. Tired of seeing you risk your life every day. I can’t—I can’t lose you too.”

For a long, heavy moment, the air was thick with silence—a space filled with your shared fears and unvoiced frustrations. You crossed your arms, turning your gaze away as if the distance might dull the sting of his words, trying to steady your racing heart.

Finally, he spoke again, his tone gentler now. “I know you’ve worked hard. And I’m proud of you. I’ve always been proud of you. But I can’t stand by and watch you destroy yourself when there’s another way.”

“And what?” you snapped bitterly, your words laden with raw pain. “You want me to give up everything I’ve worked for? Everything I’ve fought for? Just so I can… what? Sit at home and pretend the world isn’t falling apart?”

His reply was quiet but piercing. “I want you to be alive. That’s all I want.”

The conflict inside you churned, a storm of pride, duty, and love. You understood his plea—deep down, you did. Yet this wasn’t something you could simply set aside. No matter how much he wanted you to walk away from the edge, you couldn’t abandon the path you’d chosen.

“I can’t,” you whispered, voice barely audible, the words heavy with resignation. “I can’t just walk away.”

Nanami hesitated, then closed the distance between you once more. His hands, gentle and insistent, found yours. “I’m not asking you to decide right now,” he said softly, his tone a blend of pleading and patience. “Just… think about it. Please.”

Reluctantly, you nodded, letting the remnants of the argument dissolve into his touch.

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

august 2011 - how come when i rеturned, you were gonе away?

“More overtime again?” You frowned, glancing at the clock in the kitchen as a surge of frustration prickled beneath your skin. The minutes ticking by felt like they were mocking your expectations. Nanami didn’t even get the chance to answer before you continued, your words tumbling out as if a dam had burst. “But you said last week you wouldn’t take any this week. That you’d be here for our anniversary.”

On the other end of the line, he sighed—a heavy, weary sound that carried the weight of long hours and unspoken regrets. “Look, sweetheart, I know. I know I did, but things came up, and—”

“Things came up for me too, and I turned them down,” you snapped, your knuckles white as you gripped the edge of the counter. Each word was loaded with the sting of disappointment and the exhaustion of compromise. “Do you know how much trouble I’ll be in with the higher-ups because I said no? Just so I could be here? For you?”

There was a long, agonizing pause on his end—a silence that stretched and throbbed with unspoken apologies. For a moment, you allowed yourself the fragile hope that he might say he was sorry. Instead, his tone shifted to something defensive. “It’s not like I wanted this to happen. I don’t exactly have a choice—”

“You do have a choice,” you cut in, your voice rising with a blend of anger and hurt. “You always have a choice. But you’re the one who keeps choosing work over us. Over me.”

“That’s not fair,” he countered, his calm beginning to fracture. You could hear the strain in his voice as if every word was a battle against obligations he couldn’t escape. “You think I enjoy working overtime? Do you think I like spending hours away from you? This isn’t about what I want, Y/N. It’s about what has to be done.”

“What has to be done,” you repeated bitterly, shaking your head though he couldn’t see it. The words felt like a bitter mantra, each syllable deepening the ache. “You know what? Forget it. Clearly, I’m the only one who cares about today.”

“That’s not true,” he said quickly, but his words sounded hollow—a feeble attempt to bridge a growing chasm. “You know that's not true.”

“Do I?” you shot back, the anger melting into raw hurt. The question hung in the silence, laden with all the unvoiced longing for reliability and closeness. “Because it doesn’t feel like it. Not when you keep breaking your promises.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Each second seemed to stretch on, the distance between your hearts growing with every unsaid word. Finally, you exhaled slowly, leaning back against the wall as the fight drained out of you like water from a worn-out sponge. “Whatever. Happy fourth anniversary to you, too.”

Without waiting for any further reply, you ended the call and tossed your phone onto the counter, the clatter echoing the finality you felt in that moment.

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

and that's when you found me

That night, you went to bed early, slipping beneath the covers with a heaviness in your chest that no amount of tossing and turning could shake. Usually, you’d stay up waiting for him, savoring every silent moment before the day began again. But tonight, exhaustion and sorrow weighed you down too much.

In the dim quiet, you heard the bedroom door creak open, each familiar footstep a reminder of all the nights you’d clung to his presence. You kept your eyes shut, steadying your breathing as you pretended to sleep—pretended that you didn’t need him, even though every fiber of your being ached for his closeness.

“Baby,” he whispered, his voice tentative, as though he feared disturbing the fragile peace between you. When you didn’t answer, his tone shifted gently. “Y/N, don’t be like that. I know you’re awake.”

The bed dipped as he slid in behind you, his body warm and solid, a living shield against the loneliness you felt. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you close until your back rested against his steady chest. In that moment, you wanted to push him away—to hold onto your lingering frustration—but the comfort of his embrace softened the edges of your anger.

He reached up, gently moving your hair aside, and pressed soft, lingering kisses to the nape of your neck. His warm breath stirred your skin as he murmured, “Sweetheart, please. Don’t shut me out.”

Your resolve wavered as you bit your lip, the single word escaping as a quiet, almost desperate, “Ken…” It was as if that one syllable carried all the hope you had left.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice low and earnest—a raw admission that broke through the distance that had grown between you. “I’m sorry I missed today. I’m sorry I broke my promise. I don’t have an excuse, and I won’t make one. But I need you to know that I love you. I love you more than anything, and the last thing I ever want to do is hurt you.”

Hearing him, you felt the anger you’d been clinging to slip away, replaced by a fresh wave of hurt and longing. “Do you know how much this meant to me?” you whispered, voice cracking under the weight of your vulnerability. “I wanted today to be special. I wanted us to be special.”

His grip tightened, as if trying to hold onto you a little closer, a silent plea for forgiveness. “And we are,” he said softly. “You’re everything to me, Y/N. I know I don’t say it enough, and I know I don’t always show it the way I should, but it’s the truth. You’re my world. I don’t want to lose that. I don’t want to lose you.”

Slowly, you turned in his arms, coming face-to-face with the man who had always been your safe harbor. His eyes, shining with a mix of guilt and love, seemed to plead for another chance. “You can’t keep doing this, Kento,” you said, your voice trembling as you spoke not just for yourself, but for the future you both deserved. “You can’t keep putting work before us. It’s not fair—to me or to you.”

His thumb brushed gently along your cheek, a silent vow to do better. “I know,” he murmured. “I’ll do better. I promise.”

You searched his face, desperate for any sign of insincerity, but found only the man you had fallen in love with—a man flawed yet earnest in his desire to make things right. “Okay,” you finally whispered, letting the words fall between you, heavy with both resignation and hope. “But this is your last chance, Kento. I mean it.”

His forehead rested against yours, a tender act of closeness that made your heart ache all over again. “I won’t let you down again,” he said softly. “Thank you.”

The kiss that followed was slow and deliberate—a mingling of sorrow, apology, and unwavering commitment. His lips moved against yours with a tenderness that spoke of unspoken promises and fragile hopes. It wasn’t just an apology—it was a lifeline, a silent pledge that somehow, together, you could mend the broken parts.

Your hands, almost on their own, found their way to his hair, tangling in the soft strands as the kiss deepened. He pulled you closer, his touch reverent, as if afraid that any sudden movement might shatter the fragile moment.

When he finally broke the kiss, his lips brushed along your jaw and trailed down to your neck. “I love you,” he murmured against your skin, his hands tracing lazy, comforting patterns along your back—a language of tenderness that needed no translation.

“I love you too,” you whispered, barely audible, as he pressed you back against the mattress.

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

june 2014 - contemplatin', beg your pardon

Shoko flipped a page in her magazine, the soft crackle of the paper filling the quiet infirmary. Her eyebrow arched ever so slightly as she remarked in a tone that was flat yet touched with amusement, “Nanami’s coming back to sorcery? I thought he was done with all of this.”

You leaned back in your chair, cradling your tea cup between your hands. The steam curled upward, its warmth a fleeting comfort against the chill of uncertainty in your thoughts. “Supposedly,” you replied, your voice carrying both skepticism and a trace of wistfulness. “He’s talking to Gojo about it now.”

For a moment, Shoko’s gaze flickered over to you, as if searching for something behind your words, before returning to the glossy pages of her magazine. “Huh. Maybe they’ll ship him off for that thing in South Korea,” she mused, the casual curiosity in her tone belying an undercurrent of knowing amusement.

A dry but genuine laugh escaped you. “Doubtful. The only place he’s ever mentioned interest in is Malaysia. He’s made that much clear.”

Shoko tilted her head, her expression unreadable yet thoughtful. “Maybe. Maybe not. I hear they’re narrowing down who to send, though. The higher-ups are playing favorites, as usual.”

You took another slow sip of your tea, savoring its earthy bitterness as it grounded you. “Well, it won’t be Satoru,” you said with a wry grin that hinted at both admiration and exasperation. “They need their strongest here. They can’t risk him causing international incidents.”

A soft snort escaped Shoko, and her lips curved into a faint smile. “God forbid. The world isn’t ready for Gojo Satoru off-leash,” she quipped.

You rolled your eyes, settling deeper into your chair as the room’s quiet enveloped you both. “Can you imagine?” you continued, your tone half in jest, half in disbelief. “They’d probably bring him back on the first flight—hands tied, blindfold on, with a ‘return to sender’ note taped to his chest.”

Shoko laughed outright then, a sound rare and genuine that broke through the usual monotony. “He’d still call it a success somehow,” she muttered, shaking her head as if at the absurdity of it all.

After a comfortable lull, you found your eyes drifting to the ceiling, your mind awash with conflicting emotions. The idea of Nanami returning to sorcery brought a strange weight to your chest—a cocktail of relief mingled with unease, hope tangled with fear.

Breaking the silence, Shoko’s tone softened, more serious now. “And how do you feel about it?” she asked, her steady gaze fixed on you as though she could see every unspoken thought.

You met her look, the silence between you thick with understanding. “I don’t know,” you admitted softly, your fingers absently tracing the rim of your tea cup. “Part of me is glad. It’s selfish, but I hated watching him throw away that part of himself—the part that wanted to help people. But the other part of me...” You paused, exhaling slowly as if expelling the uncertainty. “I don’t want to lose him, Shoko. Not like we’ve lost everyone else.”

Her eyes softened, and she nodded slowly, as though absorbing every word. “He’s a stubborn one, though. If he’s coming back, it’s because he’s made peace with the risk. Or at least convinced himself he has.”

A faint laugh escaped you, shaking your head in both amusement and incredulity. “That’s supposed to comfort me?”

“Not really,” she replied, leaning back and lighting a cigarette with deliberate calm. The thin stream of smoke that followed seemed to carry her resigned amusement. “But it’s the truth. And hey—if he does decide to pack up for Malaysia, maybe I’ll join him. Sun, beaches, no dead bodies to autopsy? Sounds like paradise.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes again, though a small smile tugged at the corner of your mouth. “You’d get bored in a week.”

“Maybe,” she conceded with a shrug, exhaling a final, languid plume of smoke. “But it’d be a hell of a week.”

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

july 2014 - not today, not tomorrow

The meeting room felt suffocating in its rigid formality—neatly stacked paperwork, shoji screens casting delicate, transient shadows, and the heavy scent of incense mingling with an undercurrent of authority. You’d never imagined that being summoned by the higher-ups would feel so oppressive.

“You want me to go to South Korea?” you repeated, your voice a mix of incredulity and a sharp laugh that escaped before you could clamp it down. You turned your head slightly, scanning the room for any hint that this was an elaborate joke—a ploy to test your reaction, as the elders had done before. But there was no mischief in their eyes; not even the faintest twitch of a smile.

"You're serious?" The amusement in your tone evaporated, replaced by disbelief. "Wouldn't Utahime be a better fit? Or, frankly, anyone else?"

Teaching had never been your forte. Sure, you’d led missions and taken younger sorcerers under your wing when needed, but molding an entire generation? Establishing a jujutsu program from scratch in a foreign land? That was a beast of an entirely different order.

The elders exchanged measured glances before one of them cleared his throat and launched into a long-winded, condescending explanation. It quickly became apparent that this wasn’t about your skills or past achievements. It was about control, influence, and ensuring that the new program in South Korea would reflect the indelible mark of Japan’s jujutsu society.

"You come from no clan," one elder stated deliberately, his tone slow and deliberate. "You are skilled, yes, but without the backing of powerful lineage, your presence will not overshadow the program itself. We require a more neutral choice."

"Not to mention," another chimed in with clipped precision, "your adaptability has been noted. Unlike some of your... peers, you follow orders without excessive disruption."

That was an unmistakable dig at Gojo—and you felt the sting of it.

You hummed, cocking your head to the side as your mind churned with conflicting emotions. “Can I have some time to think? A week, maybe?”

The request slipped out before you could fully register why you needed it. Deep down, you already knew the answer. You weren’t going anywhere. You couldn’t leave Tokyo behind—not now, not when things were finally beginning to settle, not when you were almost certain that he was planning to propose soon. It was something overdue, as both your friends had pointed out, and, if you were honest with yourself, something you desperately longed for.

To your surprise, they didn’t argue.

"Very well," one of them said, nodding curtly. "One week."

You offered a polite bow and stepped out of the room, exhaling slowly as you made your way down the dimly lit hallway.

Still, a week was a long time.

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

when i come back around, will i know what to say?

The knife in your hand glided effortlessly through the meat, the rhythmic slice against the cutting board a steady, grounding sound. Across from you, Nanami diced onions with his usual precision, his brow slightly furrowed in quiet concentration. The domesticity of it all felt reassuring—comfortable—a life you had built together, piece by piece.

Which is why you were careful. Calculated. You chose your moment like a surgeon making an incision, acutely aware of the blade, of where to cut.

“So, I’ve been thinking…” you began.

Nanami didn’t look up, but you caught the slight quirk of his lips. “A dangerous thing,” he teased, his voice as dry as ever.

You rolled your eyes and nudged him lightly with your elbow. “Shut up, I’m serious.”

That made him pause. He set down the knife and tilted his head toward you in quiet expectation. There was something undeniably steady in the way he looked at you—patient, unwavering. You inhaled deeply, steadying yourself.

“Maybe it’s time to start talking about a wedding? I mean, we’ve been together for almost seven years. Don’t you think it’s time?”

The response was immediate.

“No.”

The word hit like a slap—sharp, absolute. You recoiled, blinking at him in disbelief. “No?”

Nanami exhaled, irritation threading through his voice. “I mean no, Y/N.”

A slow, creeping numbness settled in your chest. “So what, you just never want to get married?”

His brows furrowed further. “Why does it matter? We’ve been together for years. Isn’t that enough?”

Enough.

The word cracked something open inside you. “Maybe for you,” you said quietly, controlling the tremor in your voice, “but not for me.”

Nanami sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Marriage doesn’t change anything, Y/N. It’s just a piece of paper.”

You let out a sharp breath—a mix of scoff and bitter laughter. “It’s not just a piece of paper to me. It means something. It means commitment, security—hell, it means you actually want this for the long run.”

His jaw clenched. “And you think I don’t?”

You searched his face desperately, hoping to catch a glimmer of regret or doubt—anything that showed this conversation mattered as much to him as it did to you. But all you found was that same quiet stubbornness, that familiar wall he always raised when things got too close.

A bitter laugh slipped from your lips. “I don’t know, Ken. Every time I try to talk about the future, you shut me down like this.”

He ran a hand through his hair, frustration etched into his features. “I just don’t see the point, Y/N. We’re together, we live together—what more do you need?”

You needed to breathe. You needed to not feel as if you were standing on a ledge, waiting for him to pull you back from the edge.

“So that’s it?” you asked, voice wavering as you forced yourself to hold his gaze. “You’re fine with us just… staying like this forever?”

“Yes.”

It was simple. Final.

Your stomach twisted painfully. You pressed your lips together, inhaling sharply before speaking again. “Well… maybe I’m not.”

The words landed between you like a drawn knife, gleaming harshly under the kitchen light.

Nanami’s expression hardened. “What are you saying?”

You swallowed hard, gripping the counter as if it could anchor you. “I got an offer.” The words felt foreign on your tongue, heavy. “The higher-ups want me to help start a sorcerer program in South Korea.”

Silence.

Nanami’s eyes darkened, and his shoulders stiffened. “And?”

You lifted your chin. “I think I’m going to take it.”

His entire body shifted; tension coiled in the set of his jaw, his fingers curling into fists. “If you take that job, we’re done.”

Your breath hitched. You forced out a hollow, disbelieving laugh. “You don’t mean that.”

Nanami didn’t waver. “Yes, I do.”

Your heart pounded painfully against your ribs, raw emotion clawing up your throat. “You’re giving me an ultimatum?”

“I’m asking you to choose.”

It was the first time in seven years he had ever asked that of you. And suddenly, everything became crystal clear.

You had always been the one to compromise. The one to wait. The one to be patient. But no matter how long you waited, he was never going to give you the future you wanted.

So why the hell were you still fighting for it?

Your fingers dug into the counter, nails biting into the wood as your voice came out quieter, raw and steady. “Fine.”

A pause.

Then, softer—emptier—“Then I guess it’s over.”

Silence.

Nanami didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

So you did the only thing left to do.

You turned, grabbed your coat, and walked out the door.

And just like that, seven years collapsed into nothing.

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

august 2014 - i don't, i don't know why i called

You hadn’t heard from Nanami since before you left Tokyo for South Korea. He hadn’t even joined your friends in seeing you off at the airport.

Maybe that should have been enough of a sign to move on.

But distance does strange things to grief. It softens the edges, blurs the hurt, and leaves behind a persistent ache—a void that no amount of fleeting companionship can quite fill. The Korean sorcerers were good people; you got along with them, went out drinking with them, even let one take you to bed when loneliness crept in. And yet, despite the transient distractions, a deep, unyielding loneliness still settled in your bones.

Perhaps that’s why, when his name lit up your phone, you didn’t hesitate to answer.

You pressed it to your ear, clearing your throat to keep your voice steady. “Y/N speaking.”

A sharp exhale on the other end—relief, raw and unguarded—followed by his voice, tentative yet familiar.

“Hey.” There was a pause, as if he wasn’t sure if you’d remain on the line. “I just—I wanted to see how it was over there.”

You swallowed, fingers tightening around the phone. “Oh, you know, it’s alright. It’s going fine.”

“That’s good.” Another pause, then, softer, almost fragile: “I miss you.”

Those three words pressed into your ribs, stealing the breath from your throat. You turned toward the window, watching the moon hang heavy in the sky, its silvery glow mingling with your bittersweet memories. You couldn’t say why hearing him say it hurt so much—why it cut deeper than any wound—but it did.

And still, you answered, “I miss you too.”

Silence. That delicate pause which carries both promise and peril.

Then, a plea escapes—a soft, trembling whisper wrapped in quiet desperation.

"Then come home, baby."

Your eyes flutter shut, weighed down by a tide of memories and unspoken fears. It would have been so easy to say yes—to gather your scattered hopes, pack your bags, and board the next flight back into a life that once felt like home. But you weren’t that person anymore.

Your voice, gentle yet resolute, cut through the quiet. "I have a job to do."

A heavy sigh resonates on the other end, filled with resignation and longing. You realize he expected this—a call meant not only to connect but to hear those words spoken aloud, to grasp a piece of what once was.

"I know," he murmurs. "I just thought I'd try."

Your lips part, words caught somewhere in your heart, before you turn back to the window. Outside, the moon hung in the sky, its silver glow a constant reminder of distance and connection all at once.

"Do you see the moon tonight?" you ask, your voice barely more than a fragile thread in the stillness.

There’s a pause—a moment stretching out like a heartbeat. Then comes his quiet reply, as if pulled from a dream: "Yeah, I do."

A sad smile tugs at your lips, bittersweet as it flickers with both hope and resignation. "It's nice, isn't it? So far apart, yet we're both gazing at the same light."

For a long, suspended moment, he remains silent. And then, his voice returns—so soft you almost wonder if you imagined it at all.

"Yeah... it is."

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

february 2016 - open up the door, can you open up the door?

Even after all this time, you hadn’t left Korea.

You could have. Your work had been done for nearly a year—your contract fulfilled, your purpose here long since served. And yet, you stayed.

Maybe it was because you weren’t ready to face Nanami. Maybe it was because there was nothing left for you in Japan.

Maybe it was both.

But despite the miles between you, you had never really let him go.

The phone calls, the texts—they should have stopped a long time ago. You should have drawn a line, allowed the wounds to close, forced yourself to let him become nothing more than a fading memory.

But you didn’t. Neither of you did. You couldn’t.

Not when the sound of his voice still felt like home. Not when his presence—even through a screen—still steadied something deep inside you.

Your phone buzzed on the nightstand, shattering the quiet. You reached for it instinctively, a well-practiced motion. The screen lit up, displaying the name you had never stopped waiting for.

A message. A picture.

The moon, full and bright against the Tokyo skyline.

Thinking of you, Sweetheart.

Your breath caught, warmth blooming in your chest before you could even stop it.

You crossed the room and pulled back the curtain, revealing the same moon glowing softly over Seoul. It was strange—how something so far away could feel so close.

Lifting your phone, you snapped a photo and began typing your response.

Same moon :)

You hesitated for just a second before adding two more words.

Miss you.

After setting the phone down, you exhaled slowly, trying to steady yourself.

Somewhere, across the sea, Nanami was looking at the same sky. And maybe, just maybe, he was waiting for your message just as much as you had been waiting for his.

This ritual between you—these quiet acknowledgments of longing, of loneliness—had crept in without either of you planning it. You didn’t know when or how it began, but it had become something unspoken, something neither of you was willing to let go.

A minute passed. Then another.

Then your screen lit up again.

Wish you were here.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, your heart pulled in two directions at once. Then, before you could stop yourself—

Been thinking about coming back soon.

The moment the words sent, doubt clawed at the edges of your mind. Did you really mean it? Or was it just another way of saying, “I miss you,” without admitting just how much?

Three little dots appeared—then vanished, then reappeared.

Then—

Yeah?

You swallowed, unease settling in your stomach. You had meant it when you typed it. But seeing it there, staring back at you, made it real. Made going back real.

And yet—

Yeah.

This time, his response came almost instantly.

Let me know when. I’ll be there.

A shaky breath left you, uncertainty pressing in on every side. But beneath it all—the weight of what those words truly meant—a smile slowly spread across your face.

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

april 2016 - but there's a part of me that recognizes you

Finding him in the crowded airport felt like something inside you finally gave way—a dam breaking, releasing a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding until it shattered into sobs.

In that instant, when your eyes met his, the world around you blurred into insignificance. Time and space collapsed, and you moved before you could even think, as if every month spent apart was converging in a single, overwhelming moment.

Then, finally—finally—your hands cupped his face, and his lips found yours.

The kiss was desperate, almost frantic, a silent plea to make up for every second lost. Warm, salty tears streamed down your cheeks, yet he kissed through them, each gentle press of his lips swallowing the tremor of your breath and every whispered “baby” that escaped you, before kissing you again, again, as if trying to mend the distance between your hearts.

When he pulled away, it was only to trace the wet paths of your tears with his lips, each soft kiss an attempt to soothe the lingering sadness.

And when he finally allowed himself to truly look at you—really look—he saw the subtle changes that time had wrought.

Your hair was a little shorter. Not drastically so, but just enough for him to notice.

Your eyes, though heavy with fatigue, held a softness now—a quiet lightness that spoke of hope and healing.

That transformation—this vulnerable, tender beauty—was everything Nanami had ever wished for you.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, his hand cradling the back of your head as he kissed you once more, this time slowly, reverently—as if you were fragile porcelain, something precious and irreplaceable that might shatter if handled too roughly.

“I missed you,” he whispered, and in that simple confession, all the pain of separation and the promise of reunion mingled into one timeless moment.

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

december 2016 - do you feel it too?

You frowned, your brows knitting in a silent question. “I thought we agreed—no gifts.”

Nanami’s lips twitched into a sheepish smile, the kind that softened even his sturdiest features. “We did.”

And yet, without another word, he placed the small velvet box on your lap.

In that instant, your heart skipped a beat.

You weren’t naïve—you knew precisely what that box meant. Your fingers hovered over it, hesitating as the weight of unspoken expectations pressed down on you, even though the box itself was astonishingly light.

You lifted your gaze to search his eyes, hoping for reassurance, for a spark of confirmation.

He simply nodded. “Just open it.”

So you did.

The moment you lifted the lid, everything changed. Nanami moved in one smooth motion, sinking gracefully onto one knee before you. His warm hands, firm yet tender, clasped yours as if anchoring you to a reality you desperately needed to hold onto.

And then, as clarity crashed over you, it all became undeniable.

Your breath caught, halting in your throat. “No,” you whispered, as though voicing the truth might shatter the delicate illusion. “You’re not—”

But Nanami’s steady gaze never wavered. “I am.” His voice, deep and resolute, vibrated with quiet certainty. “I want to marry you. I do, I really do.”

In that moment, you wondered if your time apart had softened the walls he once built so immovably around his heart—or if perhaps he had always yearned for this, only realizing it when the thought of losing you became unbearable.

You swallowed hard, your vision blurring as a shaky breath escaped you.

And then, despite every hurt, every year of separation, despite the lingering heartbreak—you found yourself nodding.

“Okay,” you murmured, barely audible, just as he leaned in and brushed his lips against yours—gentle, reverent, and filled with unspoken promises.

His breath, warm and steady, caressed your skin as he whispered, “Yeah?”

A quiet laugh, soft and almost disbelieving, escaped you. “Yeah.”

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

december 2017 - wringing my hands in my lap

You hated this. More than anything.

Being separated from Nanami, fighting on opposite ends of Japan, gnawed at you in a way you couldn't escape. Every moment you spent in Kyoto, you thought of Tokyo—of him.

But you couldn’t be there.

Kyoto had once been your home, your sanctuary, and when the call for help rang through these old streets, you couldn’t turn your back on it. The sorcerers here needed you—someone who knew this city, its corners and alleyways, its shadows. They needed the strength you could bring, even if it meant being torn from the person you needed most.

You swallowed the ache in your chest and forced yourself to focus. “Move. Now,” you barked, your voice steady but not without a weight behind it as you ushered Zen’in Mai and Miwa Kasumi down the ruined street. The once-familiar cityscape had become a battlefield—buildings shattered, blood and curses thick in the air like a toxic fog.

Then the air shifted, the familiar pressure of a curse closing in on you.

You didn’t have time to process before it crashed through the alleyway, tearing the world around you apart. In an instant, you were separated, your pulse spiking as you searched for Miwa, your heart sinking when you saw the chaos engulf her.

“Kasumi!” you shouted, but she was already gone, swallowed by the debris and the nightmare that was this cursed world. Your chest tightened, but you didn’t hesitate. You couldn’t.

Mai was still by your side, gun drawn, her eyes sharp as she assessed the situation. You could see the fight in her—the same fire that burned in you. But the reality was, there were bigger battles to fight, and you couldn’t afford to let pride cloud your judgment.

You were stronger than this.

“Go,” you said, your voice firm, cutting through the tension. “Find Miwa. Get to the others.”

Mai’s brow furrowed, confusion and frustration flaring. “What? I can fight—”

“You’re needed elsewhere,” you cut her off, already stepping forward, the curse closing in like a looming shadow. “Don’t waste time.”

The pause stretched long enough for you to feel the weight of her stare, the unspoken challenge hanging between you. But you saw it in her eyes—a flicker of understanding, and then a reluctant nod before she turned, disappearing into the smoke and wreckage.

Leaving you alone.

Your breath left you in a harsh exhale, your body coiling in anticipation as you squared off with the curse. You knew it would be brutal—knew the blood would spill, the pain would be sharp. But in this moment, it wasn’t just about the fight. It wasn’t even about surviving. It was about something deeper. Something you couldn’t ignore.

You hated being separated. Hated the feeling of being worlds apart from him, from Nanami. The fear of knowing you couldn’t protect his back, not this time. But there was something else in that too—a stark, aching realization that if you couldn’t be with him, then you had to survive. You had to make it back to him.

So you gripped your weapon, eyes narrowing as the curse twisted in front of you.

You would make it back.

With one last deep breath, you lunged.

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

and they tell me it's all been a trap

Waking up in the infirmary was disorienting. The sterile, quiet space felt like it belonged to someone else, a place that smelled faintly of antiseptic, its air heavy with the residue of too many battles lost and won. You could taste the bitterness of it in your mouth, lingering and sharp.

The dull ache in your chest grounded you—reminding you of the curse. Its putrid breath, how it had clawed its way into your lungs, leaving your throat raw, like fire was licking at the inside of your skin. Flashes of the fight flickered through your mind, quick and fragmented, each memory a jagged shard of something terrifying you couldn’t fully grasp. You couldn’t remember the details, just the feeling—the sensation of being overwhelmed.

But then, you saw him.

Nanami.

He was slumped in a chair far too small for his broad frame, his head tilted back at an awkward angle. His hair fell in unruly strands across his forehead, the lines of his face drawn in deep, fatigued tension. Even in sleep, he carried the weight of it—of everything. The weight of the fight, the weight of watching you nearly slip away.

“Kento,” you whispered, voice hoarse, cracking in places. The sound was so soft, almost drowned by the hollow silence of the room. The effort pulled a sharp, searing pain down your throat. You couldn't stop the coughing fit that followed, harsh and desperate.

He was awake in an instant. His eyes shot open, sharp and frantic, as if your pain had sliced through his sleep and left him wide-eyed. His large hand wrapped around yours with a kind of urgency, a desperation you hadn’t seen in him before.

The relief in his gaze almost knocked the breath from your chest. As if seeing you awake had yanked him from a nightmare—one where you weren’t here anymore, one where you didn’t survive.

He leaned forward, his hand coming to your forehead, brushing against your skin with the gentleness of a touch meant to reassure both of you. His lips, warm and tender, pressed softly to your forehead. He lingered there, his breath steadying against you, like he needed this as much as you needed him.

“How are you, my love?” His voice was low, rough in a way that reflected more than just concern. It was the weight of someone who’d watched, helpless, as you fought to stay alive. The endearment slipped from him effortlessly, but there was a tremor in the words—an ache beneath them, the way he clung to the sound of your name like it was a lifeline.

You managed a shallow laugh, a rough and brittle sound that scraped through your chest. It didn’t feel like much, but it was something. “I’ve been better.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, forming a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. It was wry, worn thin with exhaustion. His thumb brushed over your hand, slow, soothing. It was a quiet gesture, but it held all the care he didn’t know how to put into words.

“You scared me,” he said, and there was something raw in his tone that made your heart ache. He wasn’t just talking about the physical danger, not just the fight. It was everything—how he’d feared losing you, how helpless he had felt.

“I’m still here,” you murmured, the words tasting bittersweet. You forced your gaze to meet his, trying to convey the strength you still had left, the stubbornness that refused to be erased. “Still stubborn, still kicking.”

His lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes flickering with something unreadable, before softening. A deep breath he’d been holding in exhaled with a quiet huff. “Just... try not to give me a heart attack next time.”

You chuckled weakly, letting your body relax into the steady rhythm of his presence. “Can’t make any promises,” you whispered.

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

october 2018 - and you don't know if you'll make it back. i said, "no, don't say that.”

“Well, this can’t be good,” you muttered, your gaze fixed on the oppressive veil stretching over Shibuya. The sky, once a vast expanse, now felt strangled—an unnatural pall hanging heavy in the air, pulsing with an energy that seemed on the verge of snapping. The world itself seemed to hold its breath.

Beside you, Nanami stood rigid, his posture unyielding, eyes narrowed with the weight of something darker than fatigue. His jaw clenched, the muscles at his temples flexing. His fingers twitched at his sides—claws threatening to dig into flesh, the tension in his body not yet breaking but already too familiar.

Fushiguro Megumi and Ino Takuma flanked your group, their faces drawn, their bodies taut and on alert. The silence between all of you was thick with unspoken understanding—this wasn’t just another mission.

“This level of a barrier…” Megumi’s voice cut through the stillness, his tone low and level. But even with the calmness of his words, you could feel the edge beneath them, the recognition of something beyond the usual threat. “It’s coordinated.”

“Which means this wasn’t just a random attack,” Takuma added, his voice tighter than usual. “They planned this.”

Planned. The word sank deep in your gut, heavy and cold. This wasn’t chaos, wasn’t the unpredictable eruption of violence you’d faced countless times before. This was deliberate, precise, and far more dangerous.

Then your phone buzzed. Shoko.

You glanced down at the screen, reading the message, the words sinking into your chest like stones. Your heart skipped—then stuttered.

“I need to go,” you said, your voice tight, betraying none of the unease swirling in your gut. “Shoko’s requesting backup.”

Nanami’s eyes flicked to you immediately, darkened with something unreadable, something raw. His face, usually a mask of calm, shifted for just a moment as his gaze swept over you. “Where?”

“She’s at the designated triage point. But if they’re calling for me, it means something’s wrong.”

Silence. Only for a heartbeat, but in that space, a thousand unspoken words passed between you.

Nanami exhaled slowly, like he was trying to release the tension in his chest, but it didn’t fully leave. His fingers found yours, steady but firm. The touch anchored you, grounding you in the moment, in him, for just a fleeting second longer.

“I love you,” he whispered, the words both a promise and a plea, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that lingered with more unsaid than spoken—too quick, too fleeting, like he was afraid to hold on to you too long, afraid that doing so would make it harder to let go.

You melted against him, your hand finding his chest, your fingers pressing into the fabric of his shirt. His heartbeat, steady, but faster now, echoed beneath your palm, reminding you that nothing was certain, that nothing would ever be.

“I love you too,” you whispered, the words barely a breath, but they were all you had to give him. You wanted to keep him safe, keep him in this moment, but you couldn’t.

He rested his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours for just a second. The softness of the moment, the quiet exchange between you, made the world feel smaller, more fragile.

“Stay safe,” he murmured, his voice low, a little rough.

“You too,” you replied, your voice catching on the knot in your throat.

You pulled away first, unwilling to, but needing to. If you stayed too long, you wouldn’t leave. You couldn’t afford that. Not with what was coming.

You stepped back, a small distance, just enough to breathe without feeling his presence burning against you. You let your gaze linger on him for a beat longer, tracing the lines of his face, memorizing the set of his jaw, the curve of his lips, the way his brow furrowed just slightly in concern.

“I’ll see you soon,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, but it carried the weight of everything you couldn’t say.

You wanted to believe it. You had to believe it.

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

june 2019 - did you take my love away from me?

The months after Shibuya were hard—harder than you ever could have imagined. Losing Nanami felt like your world had been upended, like the ground beneath you had crumbled away, leaving nothing but an endless, aching void. But not being able to say goodbye? That was unbearable. The silence where he should have been, the absence that echoed louder than any words ever could—it tore at you, thread by painful thread.

You had been helping Shoko keep count of the sorcerers who returned. Your hands were steady, but your heart was anything but. It pounded, frantic, desperate, hoping beyond reason that Nanami’s name wouldn’t be absent. That somehow, against the odds, he would walk through that door and take you in his arms again.

One by one, they trickled in. Battered. Broken. Alive.

And Nanami wasn’t among them.

You remember Yuji finding you first. His face, stricken and haunted, told you everything before his words ever could. You didn’t need to hear them. The air around you thickened, suffocating. The world tilted, and then everything became unbearably still.

You didn’t remember much after that. Just the sick, choking sensation in your chest. Your lungs seemed to forget their purpose as you collapsed, your knees hitting the cold floor like it was miles away, impossibly far. The sound that tore from your throat was raw. So ugly. You didn’t recognize it as your own, but it was all that came out. Something primal, desperate, the kind of scream you never knew you had inside of you.

You didn’t even feel Shoko sedating you.

The days that followed blurred together in a haze of numbness and pain. You couldn’t tell where the grief ended and the anger began. You heard whispers—whispers about Satoru’s imprisonment, about Yaga’s sentencing, about Yuji’s execution being expedited. Each piece of information felt like another knife, twisting deeper.

You stormed into meetings, fueled by rage, screaming until your throat bled. The higher-ups didn’t care. They never did. All you earned for your outbursts was a target on your back—an investigation, a charge of abandoning a mission, a punishment you couldn’t bring yourself to remember.

You didn’t care to remember.

All you cared about was running.

Running to the only place that felt familiar anymore—the home you had shared with Nanami. The place where his presence still lingered in the air, where the scent of him remained in the sheets. You grabbed what mattered—his glasses, a few clothes, the wedding rings you never got to wear. You clutched them like they were all that remained of the life you had dreamed of.

And then you left Japan.

For where? Malaysia.

It had been his dream, once. To retire there, to escape, to build something new together. Now, you stood alone on the quiet beach, watching the waves gently lap at the shore, as the first light of dawn stretched across the horizon.

It was peaceful. Serene.

But it wasn’t enough.

Because for just a moment, you thought you saw him.

A flash of blonde hair, a laugh that made your heart stutter—too familiar, too real. Your breath caught. Your heart clenched so tightly that you could feel the pulse of it, frantic and reckless in your chest.

And then, just as quickly, it was gone.

A stranger. A ghost.

The grief washed over you again, relentless and suffocating. It pressed against your ribs, making it feel as though you might shatter, might collapse under the weight of it all.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you closed your eyes. Exhaled. And you let the waves swallow the sound of your grief, knowing that no matter how far you ran, it would always find you again.

divider from: @cafekitsune

mdni banner from: @adornedwithlight

#jjk x reader #nanami kento x you #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento #jjk kento #jujutsu nanami #jjk nanami #nanami x reader

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vilevenom · 2 days ago

Text

Hahaha, I meant to write some fic for Valentine's Day. Instead I wrote werehog smut, inspired by the bunny suit Shadow trend on twitter. Whoops. I genuinely didn't think the first time I wrote werehog!Sonic it'd be smut, but here we are

Terrifying, Beautiful

Fandom: Sonic the Hedgehog (no specific media)

Pairing: Sonic/Shadow

Summary: It had been a long night at the club for Shadow, and all he'd really wanted to do was go home, peel off the ridiculous outfit that Rouge had forced on him and go to bed. NOTES: This is a random AU with no real world building attached. It would be safe to consider Shadow something akin to a stripper, though. As well, Shadow uses male pronouns, but has female genitalia. Deal with it.

WARNINGS: Explicit sexual acts. Characters are depicted as ADULTS

P.S - If you want a full list of tags, I’ll be posting this on AO3 shortly

A slow sigh left Shadow as he double checked the lock to the back door of the club, before stashing his keys in his jacket pocket and starting his tired shuffle home. It had been a long night at the club, with Rouge insisting all of the servers and dancers wear ridiculous body suits and bunny ears in honor of the upcoming holiday. Something about fostering a festive mood in the club, to help loosen their clients wallets. And it had certainly worked, though perhaps a bit too well, in Shadow's opinion. The fishnets Rouge had shoved into his arms at the start of the night now had several holes in them due to overly grabby fingers, and one of the fake rabbit ears that had been standing straight and tall at the beginning of the night was now broken and bent at an odd angle from a rather drunk client who'd tried to treat them like pigtails during a lap dance. All in all, Shadow was more than happy that Rouge promised him that it would be a one time thing, especially given that his preferred style didn't include high heels, which were currently killing his feet.

"Never again," he grumbled to himself as he tugged the zipper of his jacket up higher around his throat to try and keep out the brisk chill of the night. A brief twenty minute walk, and he'd finally be able to strip out of his uncharacteristic outfit and relax in front of the tv with some ramen. He puffed out a cloud of air into the cold night while glancing up at the sky, a brief hint of a smile on his face as he caught sight of the gleaming full moon over head. "At least it's a nice night," he muttered absently, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he wandered down the street.

Five more minutes and he'd be home; just a quick jaunt down a back alleyway, and one block up, then he could finally put this whole night behind him. His ear twitched as he began to walk down the alley, freezing as something large and looming blocked out most of the light from the street he'd just turned off of. He swallowed thickly, quickly running inventory in his mind as to what he currently had on him for possible defense. The keys in his pocket, which he quickly slipped between his fingers, a small knife in the inside pocket of his coat that he always carried with him, and the high heels on his feet. Not the best roster of weapons, but at least it was something.

He turned with a growl, snarl on his face, fully expecting a run of the mill mugger, who he'd had to deal with a good handful of times on his late night walk home over the years. Typically once he fought back, most of them ran with their tails between their legs, and he figured this situation would be no different. What he he had not been expecting was the hulking figure of what appeared to be a werewolf standing in the entrance to the alleyway, its great muzzle leaking steam as it puffed great billows of breath into the air, causing his hackles to rise under his jacket as he took a swift step back.

"Wh-what-" he began, only to take another startled step back as the beast began to stalk forward, its large eyes glinting in the bright moonlight as it tilted its head this way and that, taking him in. Shadow squeezed the keys in his hand, suddenly very much wishing he'd swapped the stupid high heels on his feet for his usual boots before he'd decided to head home, but he'd been tired and reasoned that it was a relatively short walk home. Hindsight, really, was 20/20. He barred his teeth as he stood his ground, quills bristling into sharp points as the beast sniffed at the air near him. "What are you?"

"Mmmm," the beast rumbled, ignoring Shadow's question, its voice deep and gravely, "found a little bunny out so late, all by itself."

"I'm not a rabbit," Shadow snarled, sliding one foot back to take a defensive stance, "I'm a hedgehog."

"Bunny," the beast repeated, sounding amused, reaching a hand out and making Shadow flinch. Surprisingly, the creature did little more than run a claw over the fake ears still perched atop Shadow's head, it's maw curling in what looked to be a grin.

"Those aren't real," Shadow growled, jerking his head back out of the creature's reach, "What do you want?"

The wolf cocked its head, watching Shadow for a moment, before it took a deep breath, it's hefty tail giving a slow wag as it scented the air around them. "Little bunny, all by himself," it cooed, posture shifting so it was on all fours, it's knuckles pressing into the ground, obviously preparing to pounce, "Smells so good."

Shadow's eyes widened as the beast crouched, barely allowing a split second to pass before he was turning on his heel and bolting down the alleyway as fast as he could, given the hinderance of the shoes on his feet. He shouted as the wolf barreled after him, a paw nearly as wide as Shadow's entire torso hitting his back and forcing him to the ground, his keys going flying from his hand as he landed on his front, splayed beneath the creature. "Get off me!" he screamed, thrashing his arms and legs to little avail as the creature bared its weight down on him, crushing the air from his lungs.

"Shhh, little bunny," the wolf cooed, leaning down to nudge its oversized muzzle against the side of Shadow's head, "So loud."

"Because you're," Shadow managed to gasp out, bristling his quills once again, pleased as the wolf lifted its paw with a yelp, alerting Shadow that it had been pierced, "crushing me." He quickly scrambled to get back to his feet once he was free, only to shout as the same paw that had been holding him down wrapped around his torso and picked him up. He struggled in the hold, slamming his fists against the oversized fingers that held him, to no real effect.

"No, bunny," the wolf whimpered, brushing its free hand over Shadow's quills and wincing as they stayed sharp at attention, "Stop, please." The wolf whined as Shadow kicked out his legs, one of his heels going flying down the alley.

"Why would I stop?!" Shadow snapped incredulously, chest heaving as he finally let himself dangle in the wolf's hold, though he dug his claws into the creatures hand, earning a whimper from the beast. "You're going to try to eat me or something, aren't you? I will not make an easy meal for you."

"No," the wolf whined again, finally sitting on its haunches as it brought Shadow in close, rubbing the side of its face against Shadows, much to the hedgehogs confusion. Was it…scenting him? "Wouldn't hurt bunny," it grumbled out, turning its head to gently lap at Shadow's ear.

"Then," Shadow flinched away from its hot, oversized tongue, retracting his claws from the creatures hand for the time being, "What do you want?"

"Bunny," the wolf rumbled out, laving its tongue over Shadow's forehead, earning a surprised yelp of disgust from the hedgehog. It was then that Shadow finally noticed, as the wolf brought him in closer as it began to groom him, the red head of its cock poking out from the wolfs pouch, and the heady scent of pheromones permeating the air around them. Did this beast wanted to mate with him?!

"No," Shadows squirming renewed, his other shoe slipping off his foot and clattering the the street below, "no, no, no!" He gasped as the wolf gave him a little squeeze, whining as it drew Shadow away from its slobbering maw.

"Bunny…?"

"You are not fucking me," Shadow snarled out, claws digging into the wolfs hand once more, a nasty, satisfied smirk on his face at the way the wolf's ears pressed against its head and it let out a mournful whimper at the pain.

"Please, bunny," the wolf whined, shifting to stand at its full height and pressing Shadow against the alley wall, "Please."

Shadow grunted as his quills were flattened against brick, another defense down the drain as the creatures paw pinned him in place. The only thing he had left, besides his claws, was the knife in his coat pocket, but there as no way for him to get to it. But that wouldn't stop him from continuing to struggle in the beasts hold, kicking his feet out and scratching at the hand holding him. He gasped as he was pressed more firmly into the brick, his ribs feeling as though they may just break if any more pressure was applied to him. He stopped his struggling to try and get air back into his lungs, thankful as the wolf let up a bit, its low whines echoing down the alley.

"Sorry, bunny," the wolf murmured, nudging Shadow's jaw with its cold nose, "But, please. No more hurting."

"Wh-why should I?" Shadow managed to gasp out, still trying to get air back into his lungs as he tipped his head back to glare at the wolf, finally seeing it in the light of the full moon overhead as it shifted out of the shadows. His eyes widened in shock at the familiar blue of its fur, and the glistening green eyes that stared down at him, so very familiar. They were reminiscent of his favorite client at the club; a somewhat shy blue hedgehog, who'd originally been dragged to the club by his friends some months ago for a bachelor party. He'd seemed like an easy mark for Shadow, constantly averting his gaze from the dancers with a flush on his face and an uneasy titter of a laugh. He'd melted under Shadow as he'd been given a lap dance, looking very much like he might just spontaneously combust as Shadow straddled his lap. He'd tipped heavily, as Shadow thought he would, and he'd thought that would be the only time he'd see the nervous hedgehog.

But then he'd kept coming back, much to Shadow's surprise. Never more than once a week, and not even every week, but Shadow couldn't help but to begin considering him a regular customer. He'd never ask for any other dancer or server, always sitting himself in Shadow's section, and never getting handsy. He'd tip heavily and compliment the dark hedgehog in every conceivable, sweet way that had more than once made even the world weary Shadow blush. As a matter of fact, the dark hedgehog often found himself lighting up whenever his new favorite client walked into the club, knowing it would be a good night. His sweet bluebell always tipped him enough that he didn't need to worry about working any other part of the club or dealing with grabby assholes, and frequently they'd just find themselves chatting the night away without a lap dance even being a thought in their heads.

"…Sonic?"

The wolf whimpered, ducking its head, practically looking shame faced even as its tail thumped against the ground. "Bunny," he rumbled, brushing his free hand over Shadow's quills, the fake ears dangerously close to falling off his head with the motion, "Sorry. Didn't mean…Shouldn't have come here."

"Hey, hey," Shadow found himself lowering his voice into a gentle coo, reaching out to pet at Sonic's snout, "Why didn't you tell me?"

"…How?" Sonic snorted, relaxing his hold further on Shadow, using only enough pressure to keep the hedgehog held up against the wall.

"Fair point," Shadow muttered, clicking his tongue, even as his gaze wandered back down to Sonic's pouch, where his cock had since slid further out. He sucked in a breath, biting at his lip as he quickly looked back up at the shame faced wolf. "Are you…do you experience ruts? Is that why…?" He'd been told horror stories about wolf Mobians in rut, and had to deal with one or two assholes being a little too aggressive with him over the years, thinking their putrid pheromones would work on the hedgehog in the enclosed space of the club. He could only assume that whatever was afflicting Sonic had to be similar.

"Sorry," Sonic grumbled out again, one claw picking at Shadow's fishnets, leaving more holes, "You smell so good."

Shadow swallowed thickly as he chewed on his lip, his thigh twitching as Sonic's claw delicately ran through his fur. This was a conundrum, for sure. He had a feeling that if he tried to get away, Sonic's instincts would probably kick in and he'd just get chased down again. Not an ideal situation, especially given the bruises he was fairly certain he could already feel blossoming around his rib cage. No, he reasoned with himself, the easiest way to get out of this situation would likely be…to let Sonic have his way.

"Sonic," Shadow murmured, pulling the wolfs attention from where he'd started to lave his tongue over Shadow's shoulder, wide green eyes staring down at him as hot puffs of the beasts breath wafted in his face. He cleared his throat, before sucking in a deep breath, letting the musky scent of Sonic's pheromones fill his abused lungs. He repeated the action a few more times, the wolf watching him curiously, his tail slowly swaying from side to side as he tilted his head. Finally, Shadow could feel his head begin to spin from the excess oxygen, while his nether region began to react to the hormones he was sucking in. "Ah," he breathed, clenching his thighs together briefly, before lifting one leg to plant his foot against the wall, spreading his thighs and canting his hips up, "Is this what you want?"

Sonic blinked as Shadow shifted in his grasp, his tongue lolling out of his mouth as he realized what was happening. His tail began to wag back and forth excitedly as he sniffed at the air, before he shoved his snout into the junction of Shadow's neck and shoulder, taking a deep breath and letting out a low rumble of a growl.

"It…It's okay. Just do what you need, okay?" Shadow murmured into blue fur, pressing his face into the side of Sonic's face as he lifted his hands to pet at the wolf's neck. "I'm all yours, bluebell."

At that Sonic whined, tilting his head to gently nip at the underside of Shadow's jaw, as a claw caught the bottom of Shadow's jacket and ripped through the zipper. He growled happily as he lapped at the newly exposed white chest fluff that spilled from the top of Shadow's body suit, ignoring the indignant squawk from the other about his now ruined coat. "Smell so good," Sonic rumbled against Shadow's chest, shifting his grasp on Shadow, grasping his thighs in both of his meaty paws to hold him up against the wall. He growled at the choked off gasp the dark hedgehog let out at the way the new position spread his legs, huffing as he pressed his snout into Shadow's stomach. "Going to eat you," the wolf hummed out, ignoring the way Shadow squirmed in his hold, dark fingers digging into blue quills.

"Don't you fucking dare-AH!" Shadow yanked at Sonic's head, eyes wide as the wolf's tongue pressed against the crotch of his body suit, a low string of babbles escaping him instead of his planned cursing as Sonic lapped at him through the cloth. "Nnnn, fuck," he grunted, tensing as the wolf's tongue finally slid under the hem near his groin, pulling the suit taught in a rather uncomfortable way. "Sonic, that's not-" he grumbled, reaching down to tug at the bottom of the body suit, only to yank his hand back quickly as his fingers encountered teeth. "What're you-?!" He yelped as Sonic tilted his head, sharp canines catching on the cheap material of the suit, before clamping down and tearing it apart. "Fuck! Fuck, fuck," he gasped, clutching at the wolf's head desperately as the beast took the opportunity to shove his snout against Shadow's newly exposed groin.

"Smell so good," Sonic repeated, lifting Shadow higher against the wall so he no longer had to crouch awkwardly in the alley. He flashed the dark hedgehog a wolfy grin, before using the claw of his thumb to further rip into Shadow's fishnets, successfully leaving the dark hedgehog completely naked from his waist to his upper thighs. "Can't wait to taste you," he purred, taking obvious amusement from the dazed way Shadow was staring at him.

With that, Sonic dipped his head, pressing his cold nose to Shadow's navel, earning a surprised gasp and a twitch, before dragging his hot tongue along the dark hedgehog's abdomen, and down to explore his slit. Shadow let out a low, whining moan as the beast teased his tongue over his slit, before dipping in to explore the dark hedgehogs heat. He pulled his head back after a moment, obvious confusion on his face as he licked his chops. "What?" Shadow grumbled with a scowl, reaching up to tug the stupid fake rabbit ears off his head and toss them away, "Expecting a dick?"

Sonic tilted his head this way and that, before another wolfish grin spread over his muzzle. "This is better," he growled out, laving his tongue over Shadow's crotch once more, "Gonna stuff you full of pups."

"Wh-what?!" Shadow gasped, crying out as Sonic's tongue suddenly plunged into his pussy without any preamble, the dark hedgehog doubling over the wolf's head and clinging for dear life as the hot appendage ravaged his cunt. "Shit, shit! Sonic! Slow down!" he cried out, yanking at blue quills to no avail. He could feel the rapid build of an orgasm twisting in his gut, while tears gathered in his eyes. He couldn't help the scream that ripped out of him as his walls clenched and fluttered around Sonic's abusive tongue, slick gushing over the wolf's snout as he came violently and without warning. "Shit," he gasped, tugging at the beast's ears as he continued to tongue fuck Shadow through his orgasm, a low whine building in his chest as his legs began to tremble in the wolf's hold. "Please," he whined, shuddering as the wolf didn't let up, drinking Shadow down like his slick was pure ambrosia.

His second orgasm built more slowly, Sonic growling into his cunt as his tongue rolled and wriggled inside Shadow, pulling out with a wet squelch periodically to tease over his clit, only to thrust back inside when Shadow began to openly sob into his fur from overstimulation. When he came again, Sonic lapped at his pussy like it was a sweet, melting ice cream cone, licking his chops as Shadow shook apart in his hold, his muzzle soaked with tears and drool. "S-sonic," he whimpered as the wolf nuzzled into his shoulder, yelping as sharp fangs nipped at him.

"Knew you'd taste so good," Sonic purred, "Gonna take my knot well, too."

"Knot?!" Shadow hiccupped, only to scramble to hold onto Sonic as the wolf pulled him away from the wall. He heaved air into his lungs as he was manhandled like a doll, clutching at the wolf's beefy paws as the beast lowered him so the tip of his monstrous cock kissed his spit slick and sensitive entrance. "Sonic, please," he whimpered, tilting his head to look pleadingly up at the wolf, only to find his eyes unfocused and hazy, staring down where the head of his dick was threatening to split Shadow in two, "I can't."

Sonic didn't seem to hear him as he began to press the head of his dick into Shadow, panting heavily as he eased the hedgehog in his hold down, like he was nothing more than a flesh light. "You can," he finally panted out after a beat, growling as the head finally popped inside Shadow, grinning at the cry that ripped from the dark hedgehog as he paused his movements. "See? Good bunny," he cooed, snorting quietly as Shadow let his head fall back, going limp in Sonic's hold with a whine as the wolf began to slide his cock into him again. Shadow could do little more than make abortive little noises of protest and try to relax as the wolf filled him, while the idle thought crossed his fuzzy mind, was this what it felt like to be a sex doll?

Finally, Sonic settled inside him, his knot ominously pressed against Shadow's entrance, while the hedgehog's stomach distended from the sheer girth pressed against his guts. The wolf snuffled at Shadow's chest as he gave the hedgehog time to adjust, gently licking at the other's jaw and jostling him slightly in his hands. "Bunny…?" he cooed, pressing his cold nose to the side of Shadow's face, his tail thumping happily when the hedgehog finally lifted his hands to pet at Sonic's ears with a quiet groan. "Good bunny," Sonic cooed, straightening up as Shadow grunted at him in protest.

"M'not a rabbit," Shadow slurred, idly dragging his hand over his stomach and wincing as he pressed against the bulge of Sonic's dick there, "Fuck, you're so big…"

"Feel good?" Sonic rumbled, tilting his head as he shifted his hold on Shadow, one hand gently cupping his shoulders and head, while the other stayed wrapped around his hips.

Shadow huffed out a breath and took a moment to close his eyes and assess how he felt, pleased to find that despite the stretch, he didn't really feel any pain. "Yeah," he finally sighed out, eyes opening to fix his hazy gaze on the wolf, "Feels good."

"Good," Sonic purred, before a low growl filled the alley, his teeth flashing dangerously in the moonlight, "Gonna fill you with pups now."

"W-wait!" Shadow gasped, only to choke on an inhale as Sonic slid his thick cock out to the head, only to slam back inside without much preamble. He scrambled to grab at Sonic's hands, holding on for dear life as the beast began to truly treat him like a sex toy, fucking him in earnest, while the syrupy pleasure of his previous orgasms making the harsh pummeling of his cunt feel so much better than it surely had any right to. He swore he could feel every time the head of Sonic's dick bullied its way into his womb, making his head spin with the implication of what would happen when the beast finally came. When he was finally knotted.

"So good, bunny," Sonic growled out, pulling Shadow in close so the hedgehog was pressed to his chest, his thrusts becoming short, powerful jerks of his hips as he nuzzled into the hedgehog's shoulder, "Gonna knot you good." Shadow moved his grip to the fur on Sonic's chest, burying his face there as overstimulated tears wet the beasts fur, a cacophony of nonsensical sounds and moans falling from Shadow's lips and bouncing off the brick walls surrounding them. "Can't wait to see you round with pups," the wolf added, dragging his tongue over Shadow's shoulder, before his fangs delicately pressed against the flesh there.

"S-sonic?" Shadow hiccupped, turning his head just enough to catch the glint of fangs in his peripheral vision, his body going tense as the wolf's jaw enclosed his shoulder. He yelped as Sonic thrust into him, the nervous tension in his body making it harder for the wolf to press inside.

"Calm," the wolf murmured, drawing his teeth away from Shadow's shoulder, giving a short apologetic lick, "Won't bite."

Shadow let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, only to gasp as Sonic pressed him down as he thrust up, his knot threatening to push inside. He turned his face to bury it in the wolf's fur once more, shaking in anticipation for the beast to finally ravage his poor pussy with his monster of a knot. He didn't really regret allowing the wolf to take him; he couldn't think of another time he'd felt so thoroughly wanted and pleasured. And he adored Sonic, truly, having even contemplated asking the blue hedgehog out on a proper date one of the next times he came into the club. He also knew this wolfish version of Sonic kept babbling about 'stuffing him full of pups', but he couldn't help but worry, somewhere in the back of his mind, what it would mean if the beast actually managed to do just that. He groaned and clenched his eyes shut as the knot threatened to breach him again, the wolf whining over his head.

"Relax, bunny," Sonic cooed, rubbing his fingers through Shadow's quills soothingly as he bucked his hips into the hedgehog, "Gonna knot you. Don't want it to hurt."

At that Shadow melted, still clinging to the wolf's chest for dear life, but he took a deep breath and forced himself to relax, moaning at the easier slide of Sonic's cock in his pussy.

"Good bunny," Sonic hummed, taking a moment to lean Shadow back in his hold again, allowing for a few long, languid thrusts into the hedgehog, causing Shadow to choke on air as sparks of pleasure danced up his spine and a fresh wave of slick dribbled onto the concrete below. "See? So good," Sonic crooned, before pulling the hedgehog back in to his chest and pressing Shadow down on his length. "Gonna knot you now," he growled into Shadow's ear, which was the only warning the dark hedgehog got before he was being shoved down hard, and the beasts knot was forced inside. He buried his scream in Sonic's chest while the wolf growled and clutched him tight to his chest, his knot throbbing as he emptied himself into the hedgehog's womb, while another unexpected orgasm caused the dark hedgehog's limbs to turn to jelly in the wolf's hold, thick strands of slick dripping from his overstretched hole.

"Sonic," Shadow whimpered, throat raw and eyes blurry from tears, his head swimming as his stomach bloated with the wolf's cum.

"Mmm, such a good bunny," Sonic cooed, petting at Shadow's quills and nuzzling at his face, "So good."

Shadow could barely form a coherent thought as Sonic snuggled him against his chest, though he did dimly wonder just how long he would be stuck like this, given that the chill of the night was finally starting to get to him, now that his jacket and clothes were in tatters. It was his last thought as he drifted off in the wolf's hold, twitching every so often as Sonic's knot periodically pulsed a fresh little wave of cum into him.

When Shadow awoke it was with a start, sitting up in a rush as his brain screamed at him the fact that he'd fallen asleep in a werewolf's arms in the middle of an alleyway. He gasped for air as he looked around, faltering as he found himself sat in a rather cushy, comfortable bed, surrounded by soft pillows and blankets. This was not his apartment, though it was certainly not the worst place he'd found himself waking up. He grunted as he moved to get up properly, only to fall back against the pillows as his hips throbbed painfully. He puffed out a breath as he ran a hand over his aching hips, before trailing it across his stomach, which was not quite as flat as it had been when he'd started his walk home last night. He dared not think of the implications of that. He sighed as he sat up again, more carefully this time, while taking in the rest of his surroundings. A lush looking room with a large bed and an entire wall of windows, though it was a mess, with clothes and shoes scattered everywhere, and a desk pushed into the corner covered in note books and scraps of paper.

It was then that he noticed the body laying next to him. A familiar head of blue quills poked out from the rumpled blankets, while a quiet snore echoed in the sizable room, causing a soft smile to play across Shadows lips. Sonic had obviously brought him home last night, which made Shadow's heart do an odd little summersault in his chest. He let out a breath as he settled back down into the blankets, rolling to face the other hedgehog, only to freeze as Sonic's face screwed up in his sleep at the jostling of the bedding. He held his breath as Sonic grumbled something inaudible, a quiet squeak of a sound leaving the dark hedgehog as he felt a hand brush over his side under the blankets. Perhaps he should have been expecting it, given how grabby and affectionate Sonic had been the night before, but it still surprised him as the blue hedgehog pulled him close in his sleep, tucking Shadows head under his chin, before settling back down. A low purr began to reverberate in Sonic's chest as he settled back down, which was tentatively joined by Shadows deeper rumble a moment later as the dark hedgehog let the calm pull of sleep wash back over him.

A very serious chat was going to need to be had once Sonic woke up, but for now, Shadow was more than happy to simply bask in the other's warmth.

#sonic the hedgehog #shadow the hedgehog #sonic the werehog #sonadow #shadonic #sonic fanfiction #werehog sonic #things that i wrote

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shorthaltsjester · 6 months ago

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just constantly thinking about percy telling vex that he’d like to think they’re all better than they think they are (except her brother, of course) . constantly thinking about when vex tells percy he’s a good man and he gets awkward and flustered and returns that she’s a good woman and when she gets as awkward and flustered he goes “see. it’s not very nice is it.” percy shouting to ripley that he forgives her and vex carves forgive into the wood of her bow. vex tells percy to take off his mask and percy comes across vex in tears and scrubbing at her armour. god. the campaign starts and percy is making arrows as flirting and getting kisses in return and the campaign ends and exhausted and knowing it won’t be a want that will be fulfilled percy admits he never wants to make another weapon and vex equally exhausted affirms that he’ll never Have to. and god . god . opposites attract is great or whatever but the deliciousness of dynamics where the characters hold up a mirror to one another where they get to shed the burden of self and see someone Like Them as someone good or capable of being better and Falling In Love. and that love being a pathway to them coming to grips with their own image and their own capacity to be better. and that the fact that the person they fall for being someone so Familiar means that they see through each other’s shit. that percy sees that vex has fallen into the trap of Nobility tricking people into thinking that makes them inherently better and giving her the only whitestone title someone has to earn beyond selection or marriage or birth. that vex sees percy forgive ripley and discusses the importance of that choice but reminds him that it’s just as important that he forgive himself.

#idk what’s in the air man maybe s3 of tlovm but in general i have been in a perc’ahlia Mood lately they r my lifeblood #i’m just always a big fan of mirror characters that ar simultaneously like spider-man pointing meme but also different enough that #they can each look at each other and be like Well Yes Obviously THEY are deserving of love/worth care/a good person/etc.#BUT IM. much too different in a different circumstance that it couldn’t possibly be true of me #it’s also just. stupid cute to me that part of percy and vex’s flirting and falling for each other was the mutually admitted and expressed #‘i think you’re a wonderful person and I Know you disagree and you think I’m a wonderful person and I Disagree’#vex’ahlia #percy de rolo #percy + vex #perc’ahlia #i’m just gonna start calling it manifesting when i tag perc’ahlia things as #tlovm spoilers #glintshore my eyes are upon yee .#critical role #cr1

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luck-of-the-drawings · 10 months ago

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"I think this is the most inhuman; and human, that I've ever felt.." MUCH CAN HAPPEN IN A YEAR. IN FIVE YEARS. A DECADE. imagine how much can happen in a century. just ONE (1). How will you grow? what phases do you find? even in 5 years, you will find patterns.

#jrwi fanart #jrwi show #jrwi suckening #jrwi suckening spoilers #jrwi the suckening #arthur bennett #HEY SO THE REALLY FUNNY THING THAT THE CHARACTER DID THAT SEEMED RLY SILLY N GOOFY IN THE MOMENT?#LIKE THE WHIPLASH BETWEEN SERIOUS N SILLY ALMOST PISSED YOU OFF? WHAT IF I FOUND A WAY TO MAKE YOU SAD ABOUT IT #this was meant to be a scribble that would be a bigger part of a bigger page.might leave it on that page.#but still. bc o that i nearly posted it onto my wacky side blog.BUT NAYY I SPENT TOO MUCH TIME N ENERGY N YOU GOTTA SEE IT #ARTHUR BENNETT DRIVES ME CRAZY. I FEEL LIKE ITS ODD FOR HIM TO BE SO TECHNOLOGICALLY OUT OF TOUCH #WHERE HAS HE BEEN. HAS HE BEEN IN WAR? IS THAT WHERE MAGNUS CAME FROM? WHERE WAS HE WHEN HE WAS WITH EDWARDS CREW?#ARTHURRR I HAVE QUESTIONS ARTTHUUURR!! HEY CAN I ALSO ASK; WHAT THE FUCK HAVE YOU BECOME #DO YOU THINK HE HAD ANY IDEA HE WOULD VEER CLOSER AND CLOSER TO THE MONSTER HE DESPISES. ALL BC HE DESERVES IT. OR WATEVER #HE FASCINATES ME SO MUCH. TO LOOK AT THE STONE COLD STOIC FOOL FROM THE START OF THE SHOW #AND TO FIND OUT THAT HE USED TO BE A BAD BOY.. A DELINQUENT... A LIL PRANKSTER.... MY GODDD THATS ADORABLE #I WOULD LOVE TO KNOW MORE.... BUT I DOUBT THE LAST EPISODE IS GONNA ANSWER THOSE QUESTIONS..i love arthur bennett so much....#AS FOR THE ART!! i mostly used the fire alpaca watercolor brush. tbh im not a brush guy. anti aliased default pen tends to be my main game #but LATELY IM SQQQUIRMIN OUT OF AN ARTBLOCK so expirimenting like this is helping #DONT LOOK TOO HARD AT IT!! im still proud tho. colors are fun :3 im also very proud of the backgrounds #I LOVE THE CARTOON THING where the background looks all fancy n painted but the characters are solid colors #what else can i ramble abt. OH YEAH. i looked up the bikes to make sure they were time accurate tehehehe. 1913 to 2012.#almost a century apart!! isnt that neat? ALSO FUUUCK CAN I JUST MAKE A QUICK CONFESSION. DOWN HERE IN MY TAGS.#only the strongest can read my tags anwyay. SO I REALIZED WHY I LOVE ARTHUR SO MUCH. TIME IS A FLAT CIRCLE #while arthur is a Stoic and Cool vampire w a knack for being playful/silly; who alsos been alive fora century thus witnessing HORRORs #THERE HAPPENS TO BE A ROBOT FROM A BAND W A TITANIUM ALLOY SPINAL COLLUMN #WHOS A Stoic and Cool ROBOT w a knack for being playful/silly; who alsos been alive fora century thus witnessing HORRORS #the fuckkkiiinnngggnn The Spine from steam powered giraffe. WHATEVER. i cant escape from my heart. i guess.#i think The Spine and Arthur could be friends. Arthur saw the band perform back when they were the Steam Man Band #EDIT: WOOPS I DIDNT REALIZE THIS WOULD END UP IN THE SPG TAG. HI GUYS DIDNT KNOW U WERE STILL ALIVE SORREE 4 THE CROSS CONTAMINATION

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piko-rose · 6 months ago

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My Personal Headcanon On Why Amy's Love For Sonic Died Down Lately (and their dynamic)

When they were younger, Amy's love for Sonic was pretty extreme, and Sonic was, understandable, uncomfortable for the most part. He knows she means well, but that girl needs to calm down.

She can fight, but sometimes her hammer could only stun her enemies for a while. (It took her a long time to get rid of that robot that has been chasing her around Station Square.) She wasn't fully independent yet, even if she fought on her own a couple of times.

She often follows Sonic and his friends around. She is part of the team, but she was not a strong as she is now at the time yet.

She admires Sonic. A LOT. And Sonic knows that. Obviously, he could only run away from something like that, since he is NOT ready for that kind of thing, and whether Amy takes the hint or stop, she still loves him.

...BUT, I think things were slightly starting to change between her and Sonic after Lost World.

Remember this line?

You remember that? Okay, okay. Here's another totally unrelated question:

Before the events of Lost World, when was the last time Amy said "I love you" to Sonic out loud?

...YEP. 😈 (Unless I'm missing something, let me know lmao)

As more games and adventures come out, the characters get slightly older, and Amy is 12 to 13 now, and she is most certainly at that age where her body starts to change, but especially on how she views Sonic.

She knows she loves Sonic, but it was this moment during her change where she actually wanted to admit that she loves him.

I believe that Amy was all about sharing her affection to him not through confessions, but through obvious hints. Sonic totally got it, and there was no need to confess. Sonic knows she loves her.

...But she never said it. And she almost did, but she never did again for a while.

I think this was the moment in her life where, oh, God, she actually loves Sonic. SHE LOVES HIM, WHAT.

And she was looking back at all the times she had with Sonic that she can now see were unpleasant to Sonic (At least that's what she thinks) and that's probably why she isn't so expressive about her love to him than how she used to back then.

She wasn't sure what to do with this realization, and sets aside it for a while, and nearly stayed as her casual, peppy self... until the Eggman War happened.

During the 6 months of being with the Resistance, fighting Eggman's army all day and all night, all she can think of was Sonic.

She dreams that he still with not just her, but with her friends. She just wanted to see Sonic again, she just wants to be with her hero again.

But I'd like to think that she was also thinking about how she used to treat Sonic back when they were younger, how Sonic would almost always run away from her whenever she asks him out, or always look so uncomfortable whenever she gets so close to him.

Cringing at those memories big time, she wanted to change and hopefully when Sonic is okay and comes back, she can be better for him.

...Or will he still find her uncomfortable regardless? Would he even be happy to see her at all if he did survive?

But, hold on! She can't just give up her love for Sonic! He made her who she is today! A peppy, nature-loving, hammer-swinging, confident, brave... loud-mouth... annoying... Sonic obsessed... weak... pathetic... lonely little girl.

If she gives up on Sonic, it'll be like she gave up on the one hedgehog who saved her life. If she didn't she'll still be the same ol' Amy.

I also like to think she had parents a long while before she met Sonic, and was even expecting a little sister, but a robot invasion happened from where she was and attacked her parents and instead of trying to save them, after getting hurt, she ran away, hoping that they'll come back okay. But they never did.

She was all alone, and needed someone, a friend, a new family, someone who will hold her hand, anyone, to be there for her. But she was ignored by lots, and at that point, she's better off by herself, but still longed for company.

Eventually though, her tarot cards told her her future hero, and there might be hope after all. She encountered Sonic, held onto the belief of the cards tight, and the rest is history.

So, with that headcanon in mind, not only did Amy loose her parents that she didn't save because of her cowardliness (she was only so little at the time that happened) and also Sonic, who she thought will be her only hope, but now gone.

She doesn't even care if he did come back, he'd probably hate her now after everything she did to him, always talking about their "future wedding" or forcing him to go to Twinkle Park.

For the last few months of the war, it was nothing but Amy mentally beating herself up for either refusing to change or moving on, and they are both not fine choices.

She loves Sonic, but he does not love her, and she finally, finally realized it. And it's probably for the best if no body loved her at all.

But of course Sonic did survive and all of her worries wash away in an instant, she's just not expressive about her love for Sonic AT ALL now, since she's still worried about it but rather not mention it to Sonic because it doesn't matter.

If Sonic doesn't love her, then her feelings don't matter to him, and according to Amy herself, that is okay.

But also, I'd like to think that Sonic was thinking about his friends a lot up in the Death Egg for the past months, sometimes it's Tails (worried for his safety), sometimes it's Shadow (because he's wondering why he would join Eggman.) At some point, for a few days, Amy was in his mind the longest, and he felt bad about how he thought he was rude and pushy to her.

He wondered if she's not thinking about it too much, and if she is, will she give up on him? Yeah, he doesn't feel the same and still not looking for a relationship, but it's so strange but interesting how anyone could ever like someone like Sonic the Hedgehog. Amy was never afraid to show that, and she probably might be now.

He couldn't help but feel guilty. They were kids when she was like this, but he was so... arrogant at the time too. Not a lot happened at the time yet. He'd always have trouble expressing how much he value his friends, until he shattered the Paradox Prism. (I'd like to think Prime took place before Forces. It makes sense.)

She is such a sweet girl, and he probably made her believe that he didn't care for her. Just because he doesn't feel the same, that doesn't mean he hates her at all.

He wished he never ran away from Amy... Worrying for his little bro and wishing to be a good person for Amy was when Sonic cried in the Death Egg for the first and only time.

Frontiers, in my opinion, is kind of confirming their dynamic now. Sonic is a lot more sincere and kinder to Amy and she is not all hyperactive and lovey to Sonic. There is probably a real reason for this now.

They are both hiding their feelings from them, and they are both unaware of this. Amy, hiding her mental issues from Sonic, and Sonic, hiding his guilt away from Amy.

None of those things are important now. Sonic is with Amy and Amy is with Sonic. They are here with each other. They can be finally be better for each other now.

They don't care if they'll ever be something more when they get older. None of that matters anymore. They are here with each other. They can be finally be better for each other now.

Maybe someday they'll both talk about it, but for now, the present is important. They care about each other too much to think about it right now.

It's the kind of love that is unbreakable. It doesn't even have to be romantic. It's just love. Love is important for everyone, in any form. It's something Sonic and his friends need. And especially Sonic and Amy.

Amy Rose is the living embodiment of love, and without her, a lot would go downhill for Sonic and co. Heck, if it weren't for her, Shadow wouldn't have never remembered Maria's promise, which lead him to save the world with Sonic, before he temporarily disappeared from their lives for a while.

She is always there to lend a helping hand for anybody, even bad guys like Metal Sonic, and despite what she had been through, both in Forces and headcanon wise, she still fights back, even without her hammer.

She will pick you back up on your feet, reminding you that you are important and that you are loved, and that you should never give up. It's pretty much the words of encouragement she herself needed also...

She is still the happy, hyper, butt-kicking hedgehog we all know and love, but she still need someone to pick her back up on her feet after so long. Thankfully, she has her friends and her blue hero. The hero who made her who she is today.

I think Amy has no idea how important she thought she is, but Sonic does. Sonic knows fully well how important she is to a lot of people. It's about time he returns the favor to her. It's his turn to remind her how much a lot of people love her.

How much he loves her.

And I feel like The Murder of Sonic the Hedgehog was the moment where their dynamic really shined, but also the starting point of their relationship not only healing, but also the next chapter of what's to come for them.

Everyone, friends old and new, gathered around for a special birthday. A birthday for the confident, unshakable, and radiant Amy Rose.

It was such a special moment in Amy's life. After years of chasing and following the people she look up to, she is part of the team, but most importantly, she is part of the family.

She is fully realized as someone more than just a fangirl, but someone strong, courageous, creative, kind and a big inspiration for others.

I feel like this moment here...

-is where Amy is eternally grateful to call her friends her family. A family she thought she'll never have again. She's not alone anymore, and as long as they're by her side, she'll never will be again.

Her chasing days are over. She's finally caught up to them. She's finally home.

And it's all thanks to Sonic.

If it weren't for him, she'd probably be alone forever. Her past moments with Sonic might be embarrassing to look back on for a while, but they are good memories regardless, because they involve him.

Sonic saved her life in more ways than one, and despite everything, he's grateful to have her too.

He cares about her. He really does... And in her eyes, that all she needed to know. As long as Sonic loves her in his own way, she'll be happy.

Amy hasn't given up on Sonic. As long as Amy always supports him, he'll be happy.

Maybe sometime in the future, they can talk about their problems, but that's a story for another time. At this point, they need to. Right now, they are happy. They are okay.

They are here for each other. They are finally better for each other now.

"You guys won't ever leave me, right?"

"Wouldn't dream of it."

#piko rambles #sonic the hedgehog #amy rose #Meant to be platonic but I don't care if you tag as ship lol #I've been meaning to post something like this for the longest time now but never really got into posting it-#-because you guys REALLY hate seeing these two together for some reason.#Well not for SOME reason. There are valid reasons why you don't ship them. Everyone has valid reason why they don't ship this or that.#But sometimes those reasons can just sound so petty to me. Like the reason why is because Amy is a stalker or Sonic hates her which is FALS #Also those age gap arguments are understandable but so goddamn annoying sometimes. Maybe when they hit their late teens or early twenties-#then they can be together if they want to. Besides a good percentage of Sonic ships are better off if they waited til they're old enough im #I love them regardless of whether they're just friends or an awkward older cringe fail couple lmao #But them being just friends and hiding away all their emotions towards each other just to keep them safe and happy with them- 😭😭😭#Son/adow is my favorite ship of all time and sonamy is my favorite childhood ship/platonic ship because they both have one thing in common.#ANGST 😀#I've been thinking about Sonic and Amy's dynamic as of late and MAN-#Mixed with some personal headcanons of mine and their dynamic as of late just makes me so emotional.#Sonic and Amy have gotten so close now and it's so sweet but so heartbreaking at the same time when you think about it.#I'm so happy they are getting along better and being there for each other but there is so much to dissect here. So much to think about.#I might be a little silly but Amy losing her parents and being alone for so long and being the reason why she's always hanging onto Sonic-#-explains SOOOOOOOOO much about her. At least that's my headcanon for WHY that is.#Amy with abandonment issues speaks to me on a personal level. I'm always afraid of being forgotten or left behind by my family.#I sometimes feel like I'm not good enough no matter how hard I try. I do not blame Amy. I relate to her a lot. It's one of the many reasons #-why Amy is my favorite character besides Sonic and Shadow.#She fights hard to prove she's a valuable member of the team and hates getting left behind but despite all that she wasn't afraid to-#-express herself and her love for people. But after the Eggman War there was some changes that made her less expressive about her love.#Yeah she still loves Sonic but she doesn't admit it because none of that matters anymore and she thought that not being loved by Sonic #-is better than being loved since she nearly wasted her life loving someone who she thought has constantly bothered. 🥲#But I think after TMoStH I think she'll be less afraid of being expressive about it. She and Sonic are just so caring for each other 😭#I love these two way too much that when I think about them for too long I'll start SOBBING 😭😭 I'M EVEN SOBBING RIGHT NOW LMAO

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hulloitsdani · 5 months ago

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@moe-broey THANK YOU!!! AND IM GLAD THE RUFFLES ARE APPRECIATED!!!🎉🎉🎉

But seriously this is the highest compliment, because this is actively what I’m trying to do when it comes to how I draw Kiran! I really want to convey how unabashedly charming this silly little tactician is. It helps explain how they keep the order intact on a social level and also why this keeps happening:

In retrospect, Alfonse never really stood a chance, did he?

Anyway I won’t lie, I did all this for the Loki bit. Please imagine that she’s just off screen for all these outfits hitting that exact pose.

#Unironically had a very fun time drawing this set of characters all next to eachother #They all look so different from each other!!! Which is the main task I give myself in regards to a lot of the feh women #More body types let’s goooooooooo #ALSO. LOOK ME IN THE EYES. CAN YOU SEE WHAT IM COOKING WITH FJORM’S CRUSH ON KIRAN? CAN YOU SEE THE PIPELINE FROM THAT TO LESBIAN AWAKENING #Look if Intelligence Systems won’t let Fjorm go than I’m going to start cooking with giving her a more long term arc #Maybe she hasn’t told her brother she’s dying. Maybe she’s living with the dread that she gave up her life in order to stop Surtr #It was a worthwhile trade at the time but now she found reasons to keep going too little too late. People she wants to be there for.#And she’s learning more about herself and what makes her happy. She won’t have a lot of time to pursue those things but she has to anyway #Like oughhhhh Fjorm I can write so many dialogue scenes with you #I am also cooking with Seidr but that has drawings attached to it so I will not go off about her here #feh #fire emblem heroes #fire emblem #feh loki #fe loki #feh nott #fe nott #feh seiðr #fe seiðr #feh fjorm #fe fjorm #feh kiran #fe kiran #feh summoner #fe summoner #kiran #feh seidr #FE seidr #art tag

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freetobeafcknriot · 2 months ago

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started having thoughts for an AU thingie with pjo-like elements where the gladers are [supposedly] children of pagan deities who wckd observed to be a potential key to a cure due to their generation being of divine origin and now i can't stop plotting, pls send help.

#or indulge me *wink wink* IDK all i can say is that one moment i was reading minewt fanfics and the next i was staring at a wall #i started making a list to figure out each character's godly parent (the ones who are demigods that is) so it might be too late #but i don't know whether to try and write it into a fic or dumping the whole idea in bullet points on here. thoughts??#tmr #the maze runner #tmr thomas #tmr minho #tmr newt #tmr fandom #i can't possibly tag all the characters but it includes them all!!#shut up fran.#minewt #<- because it would be one of the ships!

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gothsuguru · 8 months ago

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once i get back into the groove of things i’m gonna pick up some hobbies 🙏🏼

#legit need to get back into writing but sighhhhhhhh idk how #i also wanna learn art!!!!! i even started a photo refs board on pinterest/am gonna make an art refs board too #i’ve just been seeing so much amazing art lately and am SO inspired #momoshouu changed my life w goth!suguru & phorigami changed my life w amano style!suguru… like WHEW #the goth!suguru & yoshitaka amano-inspired art of suguru & also kale’s suguru & user owwllly & wacuoms suguru is so inspiring #makes me LEGIT want to learn art so i can draw sugu & all my fav characters how my brain sees them #i should stay consistent and actually learn the basics though omg 😭#if anyone has any tips they’d be v welcome <333 both for writing AND art tbh 😭#also need to start hitting the gym/daily walks omg it’s so hot here now but i realized i need the sun 😭 vitamin D here i come :3 #FIRST AND FOREMOST I NEED TO RB EVERYTHING I’VE BEEN TAGGED IN/I’VE READ!!!!!#i read all the fics idk why my brain won’t let me write the tags 😭 my brain has gotten too tired lately same w my hands KDJDJDJDJD #but :| i need to do it actually and not put it off bc the writing is truly AMAZING and ASTOUNDING #i just want my tags to express how much i enjoyed everything too 😭#but anyways :3 JIN IS COMING BACK IN A WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEK #i wonder how festa is gonna look like :o #but everyone who gets to meet and hug jin… That Should Have Been Me #personal

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silusvesuius · 9 months ago

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unleashing the same hellscape i did on my notes app here it's my nelvas thinking dump i wrote just for fun and to keep track of what i view them as up 2 this point. Might change my mind on it later on it has a lot of things written in brackets for no reason . it's like ~2500 words long which isn't much but i think i said everything i've had in my mind for now read it for fun if you like to have fun leik me :) And talvas :) And nelothxP

retyping what i said in the tags of those last text posts and rearranging those thoughts a bit: in my train of thought that's been going steady since early 2024 i'm almost certain that neloth might see talvas as the epitome of being morally Clean (before that changes because of neloth's influence over him) and generally pure as a person. pure not used in the Pervert way; neloth is just a veeery big fan of talvas having absolutely no backbone and being very docile when it comes to him. which is r expected traits 4 someone if they find themselves under neloth's thumb as an apprentice, but it being written that he isn't at all catty and defiant to his face is cute. all talvas manages to do is shit talk neloth to others and pray neloth doesn't find out he meant the things he said but also can’t help feeling bad about it, even though neloth doesn't and wouldn't care, if he found out. neloth is happy with being an obnoxious & disgusting person. truly.. him growing obsessed with talvas' docile and innocent nature doesn't necessarily have to add up to him wanting to Taint or Ruin him (and if it happens ((it does)) it's not done on purpose, neloth can't hold that much control and power of his actions in that specific department). he encounters difficulties when he realizes he actually wants that Elven Twink.. it's too far gone to fix anything after he's tampered with talvas' patience and stability, and even then he can't be honest with talvas about anything, because he still wants to hold a great deal of power over him (neloth essentials for survival).

Might be the type to just want talvas to magically(haha) think it's okay that his wizard master desires him and expect that energy right back without talvas actually acknowledging it because it'd make neloth feel insanely cringy and embarrassed.. humiliated.. EVEN. but that's just in a deep deep dark corner of his mind, he isn't stupid. when trying to gain 'access' to his apprentice ("*His* apprentice" is also kinda funny way of viewing his mind too. just cause talvas is working as an apprentice under him neloth probably already feels a concerning sense of ownership over him that makes him feel very good) he can't even make the signs of interest be apparent to talvas because he's insanely inept at being Soft and honest for obvious reasons. he can tell what possibly could make talvas warm up to him even after he treats him like shit for eons but there's no way he's bringing himself to do it (change is embarrassing, especially in their formal dynamic, and especially at his age). so it's a half-assed attempt (actually he's trying his hardest🙄) to try and make talvas be (at least) less afraid of him. not that talvas has any other place that we know of that he "Belongs" to, he just sticks with neloth regardless of anything. neloth watching him as he sleeps ensues . Guys what do i do to make my apprentice let me hit because all of the eye contact i do with him while gripping his arm or petting his knee isn't helping.

if we were to go back to how that spark is ignited in neloth swamp of a heart, brain… idk, it has to be when he realizes talvas' capability of forgiveness and 'Sucking it up' instead of lashing out at neloth after .. anything, but perhaps physical abuse in particular. neloth a 100% has absolutely no problem putting his hands on anyone, especially someone he sees so often, such as talvas. not that talvas really annoys him (his clear and voiced obedience pleases neloth as anyone can tell), but he just doesn't see it as too much of a big deal. the physical mistreatment that happens once in a blue moon isn't intense enough to scare off talvas for sure anyways. neloth is a bitch so all he can so is smack him at the back of the head (talvas finds it very normal) and slap him if he's feeling festive (something talvas finds kinda extreme but not that it happens often. he sometimes feels like he deserves it, or that neloth is warranted to do as he pleases. he tosses around it being justified or pitying himself, though). May be possible that neloth would realize he Like Likes talvas once he slaps him, mayhaps, for the first time, but talvas' immediate reaction to being treated like that is just sadness mixed with feeling shame for tearing up/crying in front of someone he respects *bishoujo sparkles sfx*. talvas is a delicate soul so he can't hold warranted emotions like that for long, and even tho it's expected of him to be making eye contact w/ neloth in a setting like that, he wouldn't be able 2 bring himself to do it because looking at neloth would make him wanna burst out in tears like a weeeee baby. Booo hooo.. talvas is the 19th century (4th era) damsel that runs out of the ball in tears after no young cavalier invited her to dance. watch this bleed into the most awkward and silent week of neloth's entire life because talvas doesn't even really feel like speaking to him or looking at him, but neloth doesn't wanna brute force the usual respectful etiquette out of him cus he thinks that's just gonna make talvas hurl himself down on some rough rocks at the seashore. Good thing talvas is very spineless and forgiving (especially in relation to neloth… i mean.. who r YOU to not forgive him) so that might just last a day or two. the hurt always stays tho. neloth this is why talvas doesn't wanna smash you.. you might've made some conclusions about what elven twink you like but talvas is just even more scared of you now. was your Pervert awakening worth it. and even if we do backflips and jump thru the point where everything is too far gone for either of them to go back, dude is still too afraid to make out with his apprentice. Deserve. but why though because talvas wouldn't refuse. for what reason? we may never know

^^^ this makes me feel like i love seeing characters i reaaaalllly love (elenwen and talvas in this case) as enigmas in situations where they're confronted with something so ""Intimate"". elenwen's stance on this is final tho cause she's a grown ass woman and there's no way you could reshape her brain. ulfric left her mind plane in SHAMBLES. talvas has more right (in the literal sense) to be erratic or inconsistent with his actions. maybe he likes to be desired. Also i strongly believe that talvas has probably never been in love (for any reason rly but it's mostly him not having actual time for it + not seeing it as something that is important to him at that point in his life)… i want neloth to be his first experience with Love so that it ruin his view on it forever. can't get myself to say he'd be in love with neloth at any point though. From his standpoint it really should feel empowering and 'nice' that neloth wants him in many ways (ew).. cause that's a man with status.. power.. ability to do anything rly . talvas is in no condition to be playing mind games with him or anything tho so don't get that idea. he's not strong enough of a person to be Tricking anyone or to be Playing with anyone's feelings. neloth would be immune to that, too. neloth can just kinda tell talvas is too good and … UNTAINTED. talvas wants to see the best in everyone. too bad he genuinely detests you, neloth.. so: he doesn't actually love neloth but wouldn't be happy to see his tombstone either. SO (PART TWO): if you time it right he wouldn't be against getting Freakkkkyyyy with you okay?but no promises

even if @ some point talvas develops indistinct feelings towards neloth cause of neloth's own incessant weird-mild advances it wouldn't have to mean he just likes old men permanently now. actually it kinda does. i can sorta feel it rearranging his braincells and making him unable to normally interact with people in his age range. he probably already had a hard time talking to others in hopes of developing a friendship just cause he's timid but after neloth's nonstop abuse and Accidental romance mind games he morphs into a whole new type of guy. it's hard to notice at first but he'd probably just start to leech off of neloth's prissy and unbearable personality in a natural course of things + neloth is the only person he sees and talks to on the regular pretty much. < this can just be reworded as just the cycle of abuse and whatnot. if he notices an opening in the abilities and Smarts of another person, especially someone his age/younger, he will automatically see them as umm…stupid. and also insult your abilities to your face if he snaps. he strikes me as the type to be afraid to say what he really thinks (another consequence of being glued to neloth all the time when all talvas does is act like he totally respects anything he says) and gets scared if anything slips out his mouth but is proud in letting the "Truth" be known because he already figured out you're a lesser being than him. he's just cloning neloth's verbal abuse braincells though he would never put his hands on someone. his desire to be mean and see himself as superior stems from neloth always disparaging him obviously.. talvas 4 that reason is very self conscious of his abilities and doesn't rly think he's all that useful or talented. his self doubt then would play into how he doesn't know when to believe what others are saying to and about him.. i wanna imagine that talvas is very oblivious to neloth's weirdo status just cause he partly doesn't even want that thought to cross his mind. i bet everyone but him sees it and finds it gross😕 but nobody in the vicinity is strong enough to tell neloth that he should be ashamed LMFAO. if you would try and even hint to talvas that it's happening he'd never take you seriously and just get mad. he's protective of neloth's image more than neloth himself is; not that people knowing neloth has abnormal sodomistic inclinations toward his apprentice would make his public image worse than it already is (everyone already thinks he's weird so it's not shocking at all) but talvas still wouldn't wanna hear it cause he thinks it's just false. maybe he's just ashamed that he's being brought into the whole thing. also because he doesn't wanna face the reality EJI23JRIO32KJ Well talvas when neloth makes an actual move on you don't say that we didn't warn you.. we're all waiting till neloth's status as an obvious apprentice-pervert becomes obvious to you

even if he's willingly ignorant of the fact he still thinks of the 'accusations' a lot when he feels like it. and unknowingly begins feeling even more uncomfortable in neloth's presence. heart starts beating faster and everything. neloth could come up to him meters away and talvas would still cover his mouth in realization and be like "i knew it… the DB told me but i didn't wanna believe it …..😦 so you really do like young men … and you're in love with me ..😨" *Neloth wakes up from this fever dream drenched in sweat* < neloth doesn't want (obvi) talvas to react that way at any point because he himself would just get scared so they'd just be staring at each other wide eyed. but talvas jumping into his advances isn't what he wants either (that'll also scare him). neloth is still relying on talvas' politeness to let him do as he pleases. but it is impossible for talvas to let it slide without questioning anything regardless so🤷‍♀️ take your few Ls and move on. neloth just wants talvas to sit on his lap. wants to spoonfeed him soup. he's so romantic. he also wants to(sniper on rooftop blows my head to bits). neloth is actually a pretty touchy feely person when he's feeling Frisky (=deranged about talvas). I'm certain his favorite part of talvas' body is his legs. talvas has beautiful young man skipping leg day legs. so nothing special at all but neloth wants to touch them lol.. let your master wizard squeeze your calves and he might just be occupied enough like a kid playing with a fidget toy to not abuse you verbally for 3 seconds. as i said befoar neloth is unpleasant with his touch because he doesn't know how to be soft + doesn't even want it to necessarily feel very 'rewarding' as to not pamper talvas. petting talvas kinda turns into a nervous habit for himself and an instrument of some sort of Reassurance 4 talvas when he wants him to know he’s not mad, for example. non-vebal confirmation. talvas still finds it weird but thinks it’s a charm point too. neloth wouldn't even be against touching him familiarly in front of others but only in a "older male figure" ways ex. touching his knee or putting his hand at the back of his neck (talvas sees it as some sort of disciplinary tactic though). physical touch that matches neloth's age and is enough for it to be seen as not necessarily romantic / overtly weird.

there'ssssss no saving talvas after such a powerful person gets his hands on him. any will to leave would leave HIM either out of fear or out of attachment and neloth wouldn't just let him go (Alive at least) since he knows the things he knows. if talvas were to escape i'm a Truther of him not feeling in place and wanting to go back cause it's the stability that he's used to. but tbh if he encounters neloth on accident anywhere he's gonna start running. I was drinking tea while writing this and started choking on it i just nearly died writing this are youhappy. anyways, nelvas is a never-ending abusive relationship that doesn’t even have High highs, all it has is low lows. neloth always mistreats talvas for any reason but is never genuinely kind from the heart or out of remorse. .. hmm……yeah. I forgot to type this back out from my posts tags > talvas might just start viewing neloth as fuck crazy and demented after he Finally notices at least one molecular sign of gay attention from him . like ‘Oh wow Master Neloth obviously doesn’t get any female attention or anything cus he’s a sick fuck why does he have to search for it from me Can varona take the hit for me 🥺 *sees her dead body being dragged by the DB* hmm i guess not well i’ll figure something out i guess’ (he doesn’t) also the dialogue talvas has with varona after he steals neloth’s book trying to conjure some bs up will always be so cute to me he’s so defensive and afraid of neloth finding out. Him trying to decipher neloth’s handwriting is cute TOO ik their 19th century love letters to each other would go crazy and make sense to anyone but each other but i’m not gonna talk about 19th century girl talvas x neloth rn it’s too much . what ever. i think i’m done thank you i should just go back to drawing them as grecian pottery red figures or smthj Fun stats for you 4 getting to the end: times the word ‘abuse’ is used: 6

#text #i've been putting more meaning(?) into the nelvas-es i've been drawing lately so i wanted to see how it would reflect in words #the fact that dis will show up in tags will haunt me a little bit but if i add asteriks it will be incomprehensible LOL #i hope this isn't too hard to understand when reading bc i know i have an easier time reading stuff like this instead of 'snobby' writing -#- bc i like knowing how the thoughts were brewing as they were written down.#but it may not be the case for all people.#what do U think of it.#i think what i;ve always liked the most in being able to talk w/ people Online is getting to know their thoughts on the same thing #more than anything else #i literally sucked and spit out all of the skajrim lore factors out of their relationship pretty much (not that it had much in the first -#- place) so it's just a reading on a possible scenario with the characters i was given #i mean characters i put in the soup pot decorating the middle of my brain #this is december-may 2024 facts for now #just so i remember #abuse //#< OKAY #log #< is gonna be my tag for this type of thing if i end up saying more because i already started torturing my notes app with what i think of -#- civil war characters #tumblr is pussy so it made me reformat the paragraph breaks i made. they don't rly matter anyway but still

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