#about the 'wanting to live despite everything' thing;

[gay-dorito-dust]

Ok, it was basically a request where the batboys brought their significant other as their date to a gala for the first time, they leave for a second (to get drinks or go to the bathroom or something to that end) and when they come back the see their S/O being harassed by a group of socialite women that keep talking about how they can’t believe someone like the batboy is with such a plain little nobody. That was the gist of it. Sorry 😣

I kinda made Tim’s as bit different than requested, but I couldn’t help but see him grill an entire household and their business ventures. Then again I kinda took creative liberties with all of them.

Dick

Is the type to put on an extremely strained smile across his face as he puts his arm over your shoulders.

‘What’s wrong my love, why the saddened face?’ He asks you sweetly, intentionally ignoring the rich and powerful in front of you both.

‘Oh don’t worry yourself with…that thing dear Richard, they’re too emotional to be in a room with people they could only dream of being in the presence of. I wouldn’t get so close to it if I were you, you might catch their filth.’ One of them sneered and Dick’s jaw tensed in agitation as his eyes remained on you.

‘Do you wanna leave?’ He says in a whisper as he wipes a tear away from your cheek, lightly pinching it in hopes of seeing you smile at him.

‘Yes please, I want to go home and be with Hayley.’ You whispered back, griping his arms tightly, thankful that his body blocked out the rich people that were berating you. Dick’s face softened as he kissed the top of your head, hoping of giving you some form of comfort in your time of distress, before looking back at the rich people with a faux grin.

‘If you please excuse us, my lovely sweetheart, my beloved cutie and my forever lover wishes to leave this drab place and who am I to deny my love of her wishes, for I shall wait on them hand and for forever if it pleases them so because between you and me?’ He then leans close to them. ‘You don’t have the heart to sacrifice everything for the one you love, if you even have hearts in the first place. You posses no freedom and no personality whatsoever for anyone to love nor adore, them however?’ He points towards you as you look at him with a small smile, a smile so sweet that Dick couldn’t help but smile back.

‘They are my everything. I couldn’t think about living without them, not when they’ve don’t nothing but be kind and respectful of me and my time. I don’t deserve them but neither does this city, they’re an angel in human skin that I wish to worship as long as they’ll let me.’ You could feel your cheeks burn at his words as your smiles widened at the twinkle of love within his gorgeous eyes. Dick had a way with words unlike any other and despite being on the receiving end of them for a while now, you still find yourself becoming alight with emotions because of him.

‘So if you’ll excuse me kindly.’ Dick says as he takes your hand and walks you both out of the door where he stops to look at you with concern.

‘I am so sorry you had to deal with them, apparently money makes someone feel entitled to speaking on someone else’s relationship.’ Dick spat as he glared at the grand double doors and you touched his cheek, making him melt into your touch, kissing your palm.

‘It’s okay Dickie bird, let’s just forget this night and go home, get out of these clothes and into some comfy pyjamas and cuddle on the couch as we watch soaps.’ You say as you attempt to calm him down from his passionate outburst and declaration of love, which seems to work as Dick’s eyes twinkled with excitement.

‘Can we wear the matching pyjamas that I got us and Hayley?’ He asks and you couldn’t help but kiss his lip, finding him too adorable in this moment in time, which is something of a occurrence as you’d soon find as you reflect back on your relationship. ‘Of course my sweetie, of course we can wear matching pyjamas.’ You replied and Dick cheered as he leaned to kiss you fully on the lip, his happiness having been contagious as you smiled into the kiss.

Damian

Wishes Bruce didn’t confiscate the sword from him.

He’s the type who can silence anyone with a single fucking glare. So when he sees that you, his beloved, was being harassed by the elitist snobs.

He’s quick to step in and start berating them himself, all dignity and respect has gone out the window for these cretins don’t deserve an ounce of it as far as he was aware. ‘I don’t believe that my relationships are your concern,’ he begins, ‘you’re not kin and thus should’ve learned at an early age that not every topic of interest requires your out of touch input.’

‘Wha-‘ they tried to say but Damian was back on them with another verbal assault.

‘Also I could hear you from across the room, didn’t your parents or paid teacher teach you about volume control? or did they get paid extra to not say a thing in fear your fragile little ego gets crushed under the harsh truth?’ Damian then spits out as he feels you clinging onto his back, which only fuels his need to berate these vile people as karma.

Damian would be their karma if it was the last thing he did.

The rich people chocked on air, not knowing what to say as it was hard to do so when Damian was staring them down, wanting them to say something, anything so that he could verbally beat them down until they submit. He lives for a verbal spat but unfortunately the people whom he’s up against have never had to fight for their honour and dignity, they just paid people to shut up or have people who encourage their pathetic, self entitled behaviour.

‘Enough, don’t hurt yourself trying to think with whatever’s behind those pompous eyes of yours.’ Damian sneered as he looks to you with a soft look. ‘Let’s go my beloved, I have already informed my father of the situation and has Alfred come pick us up to take us back to the manor.’ He says softly as he takes your hand in his as you both began walking away form the group of gobsmacked rich folks, a sight to behold truly as those entitled Individuals love nothing more then the sound of their own voice.

‘Why’d you do that?’ You asked and Damian looked at you as though you grew a second head.

‘Do what? Defend your honour, is that not what a lover is meant to do?’ He says with a raised brow and you couldn’t help but feel a little silly, of course Damian would defend your honour to the death but still insecurities tend to make you forget his undying loyalty.

‘You’re right I’m sorry, I’m just being a little stupid.’ You replied as you downcast your eyes to the floor and Damian stopped to lift your head up by your chin as his emerald eyes glint with concern. ‘Do not heed their words my treasure, for they lack a love that isn’t in due to money. Ours is genuine, if there’s anyone who has to fear for our relationship it is me for I am not the easiest to deal with at times.’ Damian admits as he lets go of your chin.

‘That’s not true.’ You retorted, holding his cheek in your free hand, caressing his cheek. ‘You’re perfect the way you are! A work in progress in being even more beautiful than before and I’m happy to be by your side and watch you grow into an amazing person dami.’ You add as you kiss his cheek, making him smile softly as he rubs against your hand.

‘See, this is what I’m talking about.’ Damian says softly. ‘You are perfection, a being beyond words and I’d be a fool if I didn’t treasure you entirely.’

Jason

That’s it, you’re leaving.

Jason tried to be civil but it’s hard to be civil with out of touch, tone deaf, Botox having, plastic surgery abusing, elite snobs that couldn’t fucking lace their own shoes because their filthy money had that be someone else’s job.

He’s not fucking staying and neither are you to deal with verbal abuse by people who single handedly have run Gotham into the ground with their shady tactics, personally funding the corrupt police officers, police officers that dare spout words like ‘protect and serve’ as though they know the meaning of the fucking word.

He’s marching over to you and grabbing your hand, intertwining your fingers together as he’s walking you both out of the room, leaving the elites to talk amongst themselves as he guided you outside where thankfully no elite snob can eavesdrop on either of you.

‘Are you okay?’ He asks you as he holds your face between his hands.

‘No… I want to go home.’ You admitted, their words cutting deeper than you’d ever think imaginable.

Jason felt anger flowing through his veins but he knew that you needed him more then ever at this moment, so shouting at some elite snobs can wait for another day, you were his highest priority as he brought you into his chest and kissing your head. ‘Then we’re going home.’ He says with certainty.

‘What about Bruce?’ You asked, looking at him with tearful eyes, not wanting their relationship to fracture just as it was slowly starting to mend.

Jason shrugged, uncaring of what the old man would think, you got insulted and he wasn’t going to let it slide in the slightest. ‘Fuck Bruce, you’re what matters to me.’ Jason says as he kisses your nose, cheeks and lips softly before resting his head against yours. ‘Now let’s ditch this place and go get ourselves some burgers, how does that sound chipmunk?’

You chuckled. ‘Can we get some fries too.’

‘Of course we can, whatever my sweetheart desires.’ Jason replies as he takes your hand again, this time leading you both out of the grand building in a quest to satiate your feelings with the most greasiest of foods.

Tim

Has the most dirt on the elite in my eyes.

Every scandal, every controversy, every crime they’ve committed and gotten away with by covering it up. He has a file as thick as a book on them and he’s not afraid to use it.

And needless to say that the idea to destroy their reputation was more then tempting then ever when he sees that your being harassed. So when he confronts them on their behaviour, he gets really cryptic about how much he actually knows about these people to such an intimate level.

‘I know what you did.’ He’d say.

‘What are you on about?’ They’d ask, thinking this was all a bit to make them laugh.

‘Friday 12th, 12:55am. The incident that cost workers their lives, families whom of which you’ve failed to compensate for who are now threatening to take you to court before you dealt with them in hush money. All just so it doesn’t leak to the press that you knew what you were dealing with was highly unstable and willingly let those workers in unstable and dangerous working conditions.m Tim watches as their faces drop, preparation visible on their foreheads and he continues on, feeling you squeeze his arm.

‘Only to end up illegally selling the product to unground crime syndicates to make ends meet in due to how much money you’ve initially lost.’ Tim then says in response, watched as their faces become unsettlingly pale as they excuse themselves while exiting the room.

He’ll say or this or just say ‘they are after what they’re owed.’ And leave it at that.

Once he’s satisfied that he’s silenced them and damaged their egos, he looks to you with concerned eyes. ‘Are you okay lovely?’ He asks you as he sees just how small you’ve made yourself because of them.

‘I’m fine Tim thanks to you.’ You said as you hugged him tightly, kissing his cheek as he pats your back before rubbing it soothingly. ‘ I thought they wouldn’t shut up, or follow me whether I went just to degrade me for walking or whether else they could degrade me for.’ You add as you burrowed your head into his neck, wanting to forget this had ever happened.

‘All you need to remember is that they’re more flawed and easier to expose, you however,’ Tim kisses your temple, tightening his hold, ‘are more then they could ever comprehend and have more heart and soul then they do and I couldn’t be prouder to be your partner. Thank you for choosing me.’ He finished.

‘I’d choose you every time Tim.’ You replied.

‘Then expect me to do the same bedside there’s no one else I’d rather have them you.’ Tim promised as you stayed in this embrace for a good while before deciding to leave and watch your favourite show on his laptop for comfort.

[just-sg]

"You're kidding. That's what you're upset about?"

"Wha'd'you mean, of course it is??? How am I not supposed to freak out when I can't even remember who I am!"

"Dude... You seriously think that face is 'you'?"

"What?"

"No, hey. I'm not saying it wasn't the OG, I'm not trying to spring any secret backstory on you or anything. Just... You're you, man, as much as I'm me."

"What are you talking about??"

"This is you. And the dog that stole my lunch yesterday was you. And the crow in these photos, and the harpy form you made for Halloween, and the mice you hide as every time your mom wants to drag you to a boring function. Yes I know about that, not the point right now. Like... It's always you, man. You're not the same as you were yesterday, or last year, or when we were 5, and neither am I. My body changes less than yours, but to be alive at all is to endlessly change."

"I... But..."

"I get it. I swear, even if it's not quite the same, I do. It's scary when you can't go back. When you'll never see that house again, never talk to those friends again, when you can't go back to before you got that injury or before you learned things you never wanted to know. You have to worry about what shape your bones are and whether or not you have scales today, and I've never had to think about that. I have to worry about my body scarring and breaking down, and you can always discard anything that doesn't suit you. It's different, but it comes from the same place. Everything changes, even us, and we have so little control, and that's scary."

"Huh... I guess so. But there's still... Everyone expects your changes, you know...?"

"Right... Yeah, that's fair... You've got me and your mom and a few people who know, but it's probably not safe to tell just everyone. Still... You don't have to become exactly what you were before. Let's take it slow, okay? I'll sit with you. Maybe you'll remember once you calm down and get some momentum, but if you don't, we'll take it one step at a time. We'll work out something close enough. Push comes to shove, we'll tell everyone you got plastic surgery or something."

"Not funny-"

"Sorry, sorry. But really. We'll figure something out. It might not be easy. Change rarely is, and sometimes it uproots our whole lives, and there's nothing we can really do but figure out how to live with it. But no matter how this plays out, I don't want to hear any worries about 'who you are'. I understand if you look 'too' different, it can have consequences, and those do matter. But despite that, no matter what you look like, you're still my best friend. Got it? You'll always still be you."

Your friend, a shapeshifter (a secret you've kept since childhood) hasn't answered your texts in days, so you head to their home. Upon arriving, you find that they're in the middle of an existential crisis; they can't remember how to turn back into their original, human form.

[revelboo]

I'm soooo obsessed with 'Skin and Bones' it makes me look stupid. I daydream about it at work lmao. Honestly fantastic

For me, it’s as fun to write soft Megatron as it is to write feral TFP Megs. Mass displaced mech 18+ 🌶️

Skin and Bones Pt 9- extended cut

IDW Megatron x Reader

Servos trembling as they curl into fists, he shrugs off Soundwave’s hand on his shoulder. Knows the communications officers is concerned, but the energon splattered on his hands and chassis isn’t his. It rarely ever is.

“Leave me,” he growls, wishing he could gentle his tone. But that fury is a living thing inside his spark. Another failed coup to put down. It’s not like it’s anything new, but he’s just so tired of it and violence is the only way to keep his throne. The only thing his followers respect and he hadn’t been able to temper his blows, because betrayal always brings out the worst in him. Those memories always too close to the surface.

Drags him right back to the gladiator pits, struggling and clawing just to survive, because one wrong move will cost his life. Never being able to relax, not even during recharge. Being the strongest had placed a target on his head. Made him plenty of enemies.

And finally alone, that rage shakes him, sinking into his spark. Because everything he’s done has been for them. Fighting for freedom, to not be leashed by the aristocracy ever again. Dragging his chair away from his desk, he slings it across the room. Wants to tear the walls down around him, but it’s the sharp cry from his berth that freezes him. Chains that fury.

Spark constricting as he realizes he’d forgotten all about you. Head turning, he finds you pressed against the wall on his berth, eyes wide with fear. Seeing the real him for the first time, the angry mech who’d fought so hard just to survive, who’d grown bitter and determined. And you’re terrified.

“Little one,” he growls, voice too rough still as he approaches. The chair didn’t land anywhere near you, but he’s been so careful to not show you the worst of him, because around you he can relax. Remember that there were times before the fights that weren’t easy by any means, but were almost happy. Companionship found with the other miners, a sense of family that had been taken from him. Reaching out a hand, he doesn’t try to touch you as you flinch back, little hands curled against yourself. Afraid if he tries to touch you, it’ll send you running. And he’s afraid of what he’ll do in turn if you reject him. He’s just so tired of it all, but you give him comfort. A little spot of trusting warmth.

Eyes shiny, you look from his outstretched hand to his face. Slowly letting out a breath and coming to him to lay a warm palm on his servo. Still trusting him even if you’re scared.

“Everything okay?” You ask, looking up at him as a single tear slides down your cheek and you reach up to scrub it away. Afraid, but asking him if he’s okay and your concern aches in his spark.

Knows how dangerous it is after the brawl he’d just had. If anyone comes looking for him, if they get past their fear and come at him together? Knows he shouldn’t risk it even as he places his ped on the berth, leaning forward and mass shifting. Closing the distance between you as he shrinks and seeing your eyes widen as he carefully grips your little hand. Even like this, you’re so much smaller than he is, fragile. But as you look up at him, he’s snared by those eyes, the little flecks of color in them he’s never noticed.

“You’re little. Smaller,” you whisper with a soft, awkward laugh, eyes dropping to stare at his hand gripping yours. “Didn’t know you could do that.”

He needs to see those eyes again, his free hand reaching to cup your soft cheek and tip your face up. Feeling when you lay your palm on his hand as he slides a servo along your cheek. Accepting his touch despite the faint tremor he can still feel, those trusting eyes seeing him. The good and the bad, and not running. Venting sharply when his touch leaves a smear of energon on your cheek, marking your skin with his sins.

Because that’s what he’s always done, isn’t it? Every time he reaches out, he just ends up destroying what he’s trying to protect.

He’s frozen, those red optics fixed on his servos against your cheek as you try to calm your racing heart. That had been the other side of the coin, the vicious warlord that the Seekers had whispered about. Feared. Red optics glowing, denta bared as he’d seized his chair in energon wet hands and thrown it. That hatred twisting his face mixed with despair, cutting you so deeply, piercing the fear.

Those wet servos are touching you, dampening your skin. And he’s just staring, venting raggedly like he’s about to lose it all over again. That’s what makes you catch his hand between both of yours when he tries to snatch it away. Eyes dropping as he hesitates and you pull, turning yourself so your back is to him, his arm under yours and pinned to your body. So you can examine that big hand. “I like when you touch my cheek or play with my hair,” you begin, unsure of how to say what you need to, what he needs to hear. Playing with a servo to curl it slightly and amazed that he’s letting you. “These hands don’t scare me, they’re warm against me when I sleep. They’re strong, but they keep me safe.”

“They destroy, too,” he murmurs.

He’s so close he’s almost touching you and you feel the warmth of him when he vents and it stirs your hair. “Mine can, too.”

He huffs out what might be a bitter laugh at that, but he would think you’re too little, too fragile to do any harm. Giving in, you lean back into him. Soaking in his warmth and safety and realizing how attached to him you are. That you like that rumbling voice, like those big, gentle hands. It’s not like you’d ever deluded yourself into thinking he was safe, but he’d made you feel seen and cherished. He’d felt safe even knowing what he was and what he’s capable of.

“I’m not afraid of you.” Tugging his hand up, you press a kiss against the center of his palm. You can’t look at him, can’t risk seeing the surprise or worse, the disgust on his face. Cause to him, you’re a pet. A weird little alien he adopted as his. So you brace yourself when he turns you, those red optics searching your face.

“You should be,” he says, cupping your face in those warm hands. “I terrify myself.” And his head dips, his mouth brushing against yours.

More of a question than a kiss, a warm stroke of his lips against yours and he’s lifting his head. Going up on tiptoes as warmth spreads through you, you catch his helm and drag him back so you can mold your own mouth to his. Wanting this, him even though it’s crazy. You’re two very different species, but being held by him, drowsing to the thrum of his spark under you, it feels like coming home. And you want all of it. Want to hang on with both hands so you’re not left alone again, because after him? You might not survive that loneliness.

His glossa slides against the seam of your lips entering when you part for him. Those big hands sliding over you, dragging you closer as your feet leave the ground. His mouth moves against yours in a hungry demand and one of his arms cages you to him.

Your mouth is all heat and hunger against his, those soft hands clinging to him as if afraid he might stop. Even if he’d wanted to, he’s not sure he could now. Because you’d reached out, taken what you wanted and given him permission to do the same. No, there’s no stopping until he takes everything he can, loses himself in whatever comfort you’ll allow him. Because you? There’s no conniving or plotting in those warm eyes. Pinning you to his frame, he goes down on his knees and lays you down under him, head lifting slightly so he can find those eyes. Reassure himself that he can have this without destroying what little he has.

“Don’t go,” you whisper, face flushed as you reach for him and how can he deny you?

Slowly do he doesn’t scare you, he finds the bottom edge of your shirt and slides it up to reveal soft skin. “I’m here,” he says and you smile faintly, little hands moving to help him strip you. And only then, bare underneath him, do you avoid his optics as he surfs a palm against you, mapping you out with his servos. “Look at me.” It’s a demand and not as gentle as he’d meant, but you hesitantly meet his optics. “We’re very different.”

“I know,” you say, reaching up to skim your fingers over his chassis in barely there touches. As if not sure if you’re allowed.

Catching your wrist, he presses your palm more firmly against him. “I like those differences.” Shifting slightly, he continues his slow exploration. Finding where he can touch you to make you shiver, squirm away, or gasp. Then his servos find you, cup you and stroke that wet heat. Realizing that as different as you are, it feels like you’re made for him as he presses a servo inside you and you arch. Primus, help him as he frees his spike. Needing to be buried deep inside you even as he strokes that servo deep.

“Don’t stop,” you protest when he pulls his hand away and he laughs softly. He can’t even if you asked him to as he shifts to cover you. Little eyes widening as you feel his spike slide against you, then slowly press inside. “Oh.”

You’re so tight and wet wrapped around his spike as he sheaths himself. He can feel you clench on him before you relax and soften as he cups your cheek. Rocks himself against you with a growl, savoring the feel of you. “I love those differences,” he snarls, beginning to move against you. Hips driving urgently against yours, still wound up with that anger from earlier. Taking that frustration out on you, claiming you rougher than he intended. And you hold onto him, murmuring against his neck. Right there, please, his name, falling almost mindlessly from your lips against the mesh of his neck. Accepting him even like this when you deserve gentle and soft.

And when you cry out and tighten on him, he keeps rutting against you. Denta bared as he thrusts and chases you over that edge. Feeling you milk his spike as he buries himself deep and releases. Claiming you as his. Needing you and those soft hands that had reached out, those eyes that had seen him and not turned away. Knows he doesn’t deserve you, but wants to hold onto this as long as you’ll trust yourself to him, because you feel more like home than anywhere he’s ever been.

Previous

[suguru-getos]

“i have scars in my hands from touching certain people” — cult leader! geto x monkey! F->reader

genre: fluff, angst, comfort, budding building relationships between sugu and the reader. taunting, trauma. it’s a mix of everything really. (mentions of gore & killings, mentions of locking up the reader, suguru has caged her basically but he’s very suguru-like about it :3)

the lunch was so eerie, quiet, but so unlike the geto estate’s normal day to day. suguru was sitting eating quietly at the head’s chair, to his right side was mimiko, nanako to the left, manami, miguel, larue and a few others he proudly calls family seated. the farthest from him was you. and somehow the nearest — for you sat right in front of him at the other leader chair. you’re not one to talk anyways, despite the silence being deadly.

suguru found you a few months ago, when his temper got the better off of him on an italy trip with his dearest precious angelic girls. your friends were taking a seat right behind, the dinner place otherwise secluded. maybe it was how loud you all were, or perhaps, how disrespectful your friends was when the waiter asked her to tone it down a little upon suguru’s urgency. he was here for some peace and quiet. it was liberating as is in his head to tolerate monkeys around, breathing, heart beating against their chests & living… he couldn’t help but kill everyone.

the sound of bodies trampled by something you can’t see, some screams— you were luckily in the rest room & you didn’t dare come out. suguru knew better though, he knew you were here. his eyes had lingered a little too long when you came inside this place anyway. he gets up, eyes clinging together in his usual smile, headpatting nanako. “i will check if there are others.” the girls wished their geto sama wasn’t so temperamental all the time. but whenever suguru was amongst monkeys, it seemed like the infinite, ocean-like patience he harbors fades & evaporates from within him. she sighs, watching suguru walk towards the entrance of the restroom. a few more screams… “happy birthday to me.” she scoffs, looking down.

when it came down to you, a terrified little girl leaning against the restroom corner of one of the stalls, eyes closed, ears covered, he knew he might just make an exception. maybe it was to show mimiko & nanako that he didn’t kill them all & he is working on his actions… maybe he just knew you’d have nowhere to go, all your companions & friends were dead. he purses his lips, eyes blearing hard in annoyance. "get up." you still remember the command that ran through your skin. you get up, trying not to cry at the man, big and looming, a feet taller than you, his face smeared in blood. "please don't kill me. i wouldn't say anything..." you manage to croak, voice hoarse at the panic it brings you.

"i wouldn't. shut up." he seethes, a warning pretty clear the way your shoulders slump and you quiver. you don't want to make sure you die right here.

...the rest is history, suguru took you to the room in italy, the girls just mingled with you within a few days. then, he took you to japan. you had work, you had a life, but you didn't want to say anything after you saw your friends lifeless. you hated geto suguru, but your silence was all you could possibly do.

it's been a few months to this now, eventually, you're at a stage where things have changed. your family thinks you have 'moved in' with your boyfriend, you had obviously resigned from work and on being asked to serve your notice or pay fine, suguru slapped the fine on their faces. you just exist in this estate when geto sama is on his meetings, when the girls spend time learning, when miguel and larue are on missions... sometimes you take out time out of your already free day to write. but there's nothing else to your routine except being suguru's monkey pet.

you are traversing through your thoughts, and suguru clears his throat to snap you back to reality. "y/n. you didn't answer the question asked." oh shit- "sorry- what question?" "do you like the food?" he asks, observant, and ever so keen to know things about you. you have no idea why he does that. you have known he hates humans. the only people he has tolerated is your brother and your mom. when they came to 'visit' you. he played the boyfriend bit quite well, also. "yeah, s' great." you hum, taking another disinterested bite.

"really? i didn't like the spice level, you like spices too, don't you?" he hits you with another question. manami and larue are gazing at you, they don't know what kinda mood suguru is in at the moment. there are times he just locks you up for hours because he doesn't wish to contaminate the house with monkey stench. you don't want it to be one of those days either.

"i like it." you answered, not sure what is it that he wishes to hear.

suguru has also been like a quiet cat in the last few months. he just observes you, watches you keenly, accompanies you on your walks and has attached himself to a fleeting hope that you would eventually open up to him. you haven't asked him anything about himself, or ever expressed your discomfort. you don't want to talk about the instances where you and him have almost kissed for several times. or when you seek him out with sillies like, "do you want to take a walk? do you want to go and eat ice cream? do you wanna watch a movie?" there are moments with suguru which almost feel a little too domesticated. its not all bad.

there are moments when he clutches at your wrist and you feel the burn seep through your entire body, and then you hate yourself for it. there are moments you hate him and wish for him to die when you remember it's your friend's birthday and she's no more. there are a total of good and bad and even which you can't possibly count. there are times suguru hugs you for good mornings and then there are times he doesn't want to see your face. you both are struggling to accept each other.

"last time this was made, you didn't take a bite." he raises a brow. "so i made sure they had something you liked for store." he crosses his arms. raising a brow. oh goodness.. suguru geto and his fierce memory. "i like it now." you scoffed stubbornly.

the chair slides back and your heart sinks, suguru is coming towards you. there is a layer of panic in your body language that isn't unreadable despite there having enough close moments between you two. you flinched when he takes the last footstep, standing in front of you. his hand yanking the plate away and shoving it closer to your face. "does this look like the plate full of something you love?" he's right, you have barely taken a bite or two. you swallow thick, unsure why you're being lectured like a child. "sorry... i was just busy thinking about something but, i'll finish it." you mumbled, eyes glossed up at the sudden change. maybe its him who is in a bad mood today.

"no, i said i got something else." he yanks the plate against the wall, the crockery breaking the same time as a stray tear falls down your cheek. oh he's mad. its so evident the turmoil suguru is in when he's around you. you wish he didn't have to go through the psychological torture either, but its him that needs to understand that too. "don't be mad and ruin the dinner for everyone geto." your words have a slight gnaw, a warning. you don't know where you muster the strength to say all that but... you just do.

suguru is tamed just like that, a heavy sigh followed by an eye roll. you get up, wanting to leave when you feel his hand clasp around your wrist, tight, restricting some of your blood flow.

"i said, i got some food for you y/n" he raises a brow, why are you so difficult and why can't he kill you off. he knows he has a soft corner for you, he knows he ... loves you. which is why this hurts. he hates that fate had to choose no one but a fucking monkey for him. the very kind he hates has this much control over him. he wishes so bad that the feeling goes away, but his heart is taut between needing you near him and wanting to push you away.

"please." he murmurs like an injured lion next, leaning his hand away when you hiss in pain. so frail and breakable. he's so afraid to touch you wrong even, you're like a little bunny and he's this... big bad wolf. can't even hold you up well without hurting you. always extra careful... delighted to be extra careful. your hand reacts to his hold, turning redder and slightly blue. even though you're the one that's bruised, suguru is the one that's hurting.

"don't understand how weak someone can be." he hums, holding your hand gently and glaring at the wound. he hates this so much. then, there's always you attacking with words as well.

"oh you mean these physical wounds? eh, they're no problem. you can lock me up again if you're scared of hurting me physically, geto." you remind him that these are physical wounds, that this is something unrelated to the mental wounds he's given you.

"i have scars too, little one. so many scars from touching you." he replies, he also, means the emotional scars. you are a living, breathing reminder that his hate isn't enough after all.

"eat your food." suguru ends with a hum, despite everything, he can't let you go.

[missingininaction]

alright, friends, i might say something you don't like but i think it's important. not just to defend a character, but because i think this is literally making people's experience and relationship with this game worse.

give jimmy like two seconds to exist.

by hating jimmy so much you refuse to even say his name, and judge real, living people for liking him, you are cheapening your experience by boiling down the main character to the most ~yuckiest~ moments. and, by not making a seperate space for hating on him, you are drowning out the voices of people who actually have nuanced things to say about his character. you know, the skilled writers and artists that feed the fandom? limitation is what kills fandoms, you have to know that.

is jimmy a good person? no. is he a good captain/companion/worker? Absolutely Not! he crumbles like dust under any pressure and he immediately shifts blame off of himself, he is an actively harmful individual and it's right to be upset by his actions. i literally had to stop myself from saying "man FUCK jimmy." multiple times because i didn't want to spoil how terrible he got to my friends when i showed the game to them.

but you have to understand; people are more than their actions. thats part of the entire point of the game. thats why its so abstract. you are meant to think about the nuances of their situation.

we can agree that anya was way more as a woman than what happened to her and what she did as a result of it, right? that despite her best efforts, she was a victim of circumstance, and she deserves to be understood and analyzed fully?

then why, seeing a fictional man who has done immoral things, are you so disgusted you won't even draw, write or discuss him outside of hate? what is that doing for you, to ignore literally the main character of the game because of his actions?

now, this is not to say people can't hate jimmy. i understand it! as someone who has been a victim of s/a and abuse, i understand if you hate him and are even triggered by him to the point of avoiding mention of him. (but...why are you in this fandom? ((not aggressive im genuinely asking)))

you can feel however you want about any character, my goal is not to control people. but i thought it was common knowledge to not hatepost about someone in their tag? over actual insight into his character and, you know, the main themes of the game?

jimmy is a man who has struggled his whole life. both him and curly confirm that in the game. he's unable to control his emotional outbursts, and he likely had no idea what to expect from being in fucking SPACE for over a year with people he probably didn't even know before that trip. and pony express and their corporate safety corner cutting certainly didnt help, did it?

for one reason or another, he most likely was never actually taught how to manage his emotions. that's just how it is sometimes, growing up as a man. and it would make sense if he was forced to deal with everything himself, no? he always complains, but he still says he'll handle it. because that's what he's always had to do. and this is just the start of what i could say about what made him the way that he is.

he's a victim too, not only of his own actions.

surprise surprise, people who do awful things can also be victims.

honestly, this entire situation baffles me. how are you going to avoid one of the main characters of the game, let alone the one you play as ninety percent of the time? mind you, curly is also guilty, and i am happy to see at least some people giving him space for nuance. because he is also a victim!!! why is it so impossible to see jimmy as nuanced, when literally every other character also has incredible depth to them??

you're tarnishing and spitting on the beautiful writing of this game just because one character is too icky for you to feel comfortable thinking about for too long. it's horror, you absolute morons. it's supposed to make you uncomfortable.

if you hate jimmy, i dont blame you. but please, please, make your own space for it. be kind to people who want to explore jimmy and the darker themes, and like him for what his character represents. this is a video game fandom, not a witch hunt. and please, learn some fandom etiquette while you're at it, okay? okay. thank you

also just say his name. its not a slur youre not gonna go to hell if you say jimmy. like this isn't as important but still it just feels like a microcosm of this whole thing.

[mirrorcatcreditcard]

Take I haven't seen in the fandom yet:

Luka doesn't want to be freed.

"Now, MirrorCatCreditcard," you may say, "that's nonsense. Any human would want freedom from that system."

If you're thinking I'm gonna convince you that Luka doesn't know he wants freedom yet, you're wrong. I'm here to talk about indoctrination/conditioning, grooming/emotional manipulation, my own experience with those topics, and how all of the above connects with Luka as a character. If a deep dive like this is too much for you, please tap out for your own sake.

Luka's life was planned before he even existed. There has never ever been an alternative option. There is no life for Luka as anything but what Herperu chose. Everything in his life has been planned to have him be the perfect pet human idol. That is what he must be.

Fandom, I don't think most of you actually understand this and have dissected what this means (shout-out to the Luka stans who are getting there/have guessed similar things). These words we know have alternatives and are not set in stone are Luka's "gravity makes rain fall to the earth" and "water makes things wet." They are facts so deeply ingrained within him that even if shown the contrary he remarks that the person showing them is just disillusioned.

Take his commentary on Mizi and Hyun-A in the art book. He looks down on Mizi for not being able to control any of her emotions. How does he talk about Hyun-A? He has her at 70% affection yet shows a patronizing attitude—she's the one in denial at reality.

Now, how did we get here? How is a human so "delusional" and set in the control?

He's been conditioned.

Some of you don't know what I mean by this from experience and/or research, and count yourself fortunate that you don't. I pray you never experience such things firsthand. Don't worry about ignorance. Familiar or not, I will explain.

When you are surrounded by only one truth and reality, that is the way you interpret life. If a parent tells a child "the moon goes to sleep during the day," until the child learns otherwise, that's what they believe. Now take that child-like belief and add some toxic environments to the mix. With time, any other kid would learn that the earth rotates from their peers or adults around them. But if the creatures around them all say and believe the same thing "the moon goes to sleep during the day," then that is what the child continues to believe. Years of that same thing being the only truth make that false knowledge into a fact in the person's head, and everything that supports that fact is taken as truth or on the right path to truth.

"This is kinda silly though," you guys are no doubt murmuring, "All of this is a hypothetical. Give us something that makes sense or that someone could actually see happen in our society."

I'll give you my own experience then. My parents taught me that God is real. My parents taught me that I will be damned I do not follow the commandments of the scriptures. I didn't need to worry though. As long as I was obedient to the God who loved me and wanted what was best, I would be saved despite being born an awful sinful human. I was homeschooled, only interacted with people of similar beliefs, and taught that people too different from me in ideology or with radical beliefs against my own were trying to harm me and my family. I believed the people who raised me because why would people who love me lie to me? My task was simple. I needed to obey God and love everyone, especially them. Love meant giving up my entire being and living only as servant and sacrifice. After all, being selfless to the utmost was the greatest form of love.

Let's go back to Luka. His guardian, Herperu, when questioned about any surprises while training Luka, stated not only that he was the one who endured the "tough moments" but also that "(Luka) owes his success to me, and naturally, he should be grateful." This sentiment is echoed by Luka in his interview (shown on Patreon). My god, it's giving parents with disabled kids who brag on social media about how much trouble their kid is and how much they do for them. Sickening. This shows exactly what environment Luka has lived in though.

When you are manipulated into having something as your reality, everything else is fiction and delusion.

Let's review what exactly is Luka's reality.

Heperu is the one suffering if Luka has any difficulties being obedient.

Gratitude is what Herperu is owed because he goes through so much trouble to make Luka a star.

Love/care is shown by owning another's autonomy.

Emotions and bodily reactions exist, sure, but someone should be able to control them; and if they can't, someone should control those reactions for them.

Segyein are superior and the good ones for dealing with humans. Humans must be disciplined and shaped to how an segyein wants it to act to be considered deserving of this goodness.

(Luka)'s perfection is defined by his guardian.

Luka's life is directly connected to being the perfect performer. His guardian praises his abilities with the statement that no other pet human will ever be as perfect as him yet leaves an underlying threat saying that it will be no good if a pet is not trained properly. This has probably been mentally (if not physically) beaten into Luka's mind: his greatness doesn't stop him from being able to be disposed of. The human instinct to want to live has been explained to him as Heperu's wish for him to live and that has been further distorted as a duty to live for the stage he has been placed on.

Luka believes fully that there is a debt in play here. In his interview, he mentions repaying love. He thinks the relationship between fan and idol is completely normal, encouraged, and healthy. Performance is the most important thing. Being where he is is a privilege.

There's a chain here:

Heperu indoctrinated Luka into believing what he says is all true.

The guardian manipulated him easily to do what he wanted with his body and mind.

The years have been spent constantly conditioning Luka to be the god who encapsulated fantasies for the audience.

He is continually being groomed to exist for the entertainment and enjoyment of segyein.

Circle back to my first point of this post. Luka does not want to be freed. He doesn't know what freedom actually is. He sees freedom as either foolish denials of reality (and doesn't consider that actual freedom) or as controlling the song and stage when he performs (something he learned from Hyuna). He cannot want something he cannot understand. He cannot want freedom in the sense the fandom keeps speaking about.

It's funny. From the moment Luka was revealed to be hated by the fandom, I wanted to know why. Instead of digging and finding horrific deeds, I instead found a character who portrayed my own traumas and experiences. I instantly attached and delved deeply into learning about this thirty year old singer. Why does he express himself in a certain way? Where do we first see mention of him? Who does he have emotions towards? How was he trained? What makes Luka himself? I have past essays/replies to other's theories if you're interested, but in this one I got personal and didn't sugarcoat the facts. If the fandom can't handle deep thought, we shouldn't be discussing this incredibly profound and depth-filled web series.

As always, thank you for your time, and I hope my thoughts allowed you to open your mind to new things. Mostly, I hope you enjoyed them 🫶

[mononijikayu]

forg_tful — fushiguro megumi.

“I think you must be the kindest grim reaper to ever exist.” you say suddenly, the words spilling out before you can stop them.  Your voice is soft, worn out from the day, but it carries the weight of sincerity. Megumi raises an eyebrow, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.  “Do you know any other grim reapers?” he asks, his tone laced with dry humor. You chuckle, a sound that feels lighter than it has in weeks. “No, not at all.” you admit, smiling despite yourself. “But I don’t need to. You’ve set the bar pretty high, do you know that?”

GENRE: alternate universe - grim reaper au;

WARNING/S: mythical beings and creatures, aged up megumi, heavy angst, romance, conflicted feelings, hurt/comfort, unhappy life, depression, illness, hurt, character death, mourning, loneliness, pain, humor, guilt, pining, conflicted relationship, emotional distress, grief, depiction of character death, depiction of illness, depiction of grief, depiction of complicated relationship, depiction of panic attack, depiction of loneliness, mention of grief, mention of illness, mention of loneliness, grim reaper! megumi, long suffering dying! reader;

WORD COUNT: 12k words

NOTE: when i was dabbling about what to post, i did a wheel of names and megumi won so here is another megumi fic. i was talking with @midnight-138 the other day and we got in this conversation about goblin, the kdrama. and there were grim reapers there. so i ended up writing about that here. i hope you enjoy it as much as i did!!! anyway, i love you all <3

masterlist

if you want to, tip! <3

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THERE IS A WONDER ABOUT HUMAN DESTINY. You heard a story about it then, at the orphanage. One of your carers would tell you about it often. How humans were born into this destiny in this new life after their old one.

And this life is determined by how good or bad that past life was. And that each and everyone must live a good enough life in each cycle, in order to have a good life in the next.

When you were a child, understanding this concept felt like a challenge. How could one’s destiny ever be decided just like that, by things you don’t even remember? Who gets to decide whether or not we are good?

Is good and bad easy to tell? You would ask the older kids at the orphanage this, and sometimes you caretakers. But they never seem to understand why you could not accept it as it is. 

After all, you were a child. And a child would always find that ridiculous, you think. You were a child. You haven’t done anything wrong. Not to anyone. Not about anything.

You doubt you could have done something in your past life that should warrant any punishment. You were someone people knew to be a good kid, you always have been. People looked at you warmly, ever so kindly. 

But now you can only say that you know better. You have grown up. You had seen the truth. And it was not good, it was ugly and rotten. It was a tragedy. And you hated it. You hated everything about it.

Because your past life, your past self — they might have been a terrible person. They must have been the worst of the worst. Because, if you weren’t, then what justifies that sad suffering? That painful existence you had lived up until now.

You sighed heavily, taking in the whiff of bitter antiseptic, that artificial fragrance. You like to think you’ve been cursed to live a sad life. And today was just another proof of it.

Every thought of it just lingers like a familiar shadow, whispering in the quiet moments when you’re too tired to fight back. It’s easier to believe in curses than coincidences, easier to pin your pain on something cosmic than accept a world so indifferent.

You were an orphan, after all. Not in the storybook sense where miracles come to those who wait, but in the raw, unvarnished truth of it. Alone from the start, without a name to cry out to when the nights felt endless.

There was no mother to call for warm hugs, there was no father to give you reassurances. Just that cold metal bunk bed, which creaks at night as you twist and turn and the dark moonless nights.

You were passed from one place to another, faceless in a system that churned endlessly, always one more lost child than it could handle. You kept being told that it wasn’t that because you were unlovable, that’s what they always said.

But it was just that they found out what love looks like when they look at someone else, at another child that they think fits in their family. That was just how they felt they said, that was just their truth. And it shouldn't be personal. 

You learned early on that love wasn’t guaranteed, that kindness wasn’t free, and that your worth was measured by how little trouble you caused. And just like that you grew up in that orphanage, being your own parent, being your own mother and father, your own sibling. Your own family.

When the kids at school found out, they immediately latched onto it. The teasing started small, barbs disguised as jokes, but it grew sharper, crueler. Just as the years dragged on, they had grown to be even crueler, even more vicious about being someone like you. 

Even as you started to have your own life and slowly became an adult, you found that people would never think to give you anything. You had expectations at one point that people would be more understanding. That they would give you more grace about it. 

But you would find yourself broken up over by your significant other because their mother didn’t like that you had no one in your family. Well, their mother never liked you from the beginning.

They thought you were difficult and had no manners, all because you never had a family, no parents to teach you all the things that would make a good person.

You would find yourself having friends and then getting into fights with them when you couldn’t show up for them at times, because you had to work multiple jobs to get through college.

Or how you couldn’t hang out with them because you had to take another shift for extra cash for your rent. They would say, what would be the need of you if you can’t be there?

Over time, you found yourself isolated from the world. No matter what you did, you found yourself alone. You found yourself unable to please people, unable to keep people. Unable to attain happiness or peace in this life. And over time too, you stopped expecting anyone to step in. You stopped expecting anything at all.

You’ve had a rough life—that’s what they’d call it, isn’t it? A neat little phrase to gloss over the thorny, jagged edges of this existence. It was as if that phrase could capture all of the nights spent crying into your pillow, the gnawing hunger for connection, for someone; the sense that the world moved on without ever noticing you.

And somehow, your misery can only continue.

It started with little things, barely noticeable at first—a name you couldn’t recall, a face that seemed familiar but unplaceable. Then it got worse and worse as time went by. Days lost to a haze of things you couldn’t explain, moments slipping through your fingers like water flowing downstream. 

You didn’t wanna worry about it that much in the beginning. Maybe you’ve been working too hard. You’ve taken so much work these past few weeks. And maybe you had forgotten to eat anything.

You had a sensitive stomach, after all. Maybe that’s what has been causing the fatigue and the headache. Maybe the headaches are the reason you’ve been forgetting a lot of things. Yeah, that’s what it could be.

Yet, it just never went away. Even with the lifestyle changes, even when you would cut back on work to take care of yourself and rest. Nothing had changed. In fact, the pain had only gotten worse.

And more and more, you would find yourself forgetting things more and more. At one point, you had cried so much after forgetting which street you lived on after work. 

You had felt your head spinning, your vision went on a blur and that night lamp began to burn against your eyes. Your breath labored over and over, and you had tried to get it controlled — but you couldn’t. Tears fell even more as you leaned against the lamp post. You felt like you were going to collapse.That you were going to throw up on the floor. 

It took some time for yourself to regain some control, you knew that much. You just stayed there, letting the tears fall. You still didn’t remember where you had lived. You were forgetting it all. And that frustrated you to no end. You knew then that this can’t continue happening. That this cannot continue on. 

That’s why you came here in this godforsaken place known as the hospital. You’ve always hated hospitals. It was such a terrible place. Even as a child, getting your check–ups with the other orphans terrified you. Nothing about this place spells any good. You were already with bad luck, with such a terrible destiny in this life and you didn’t want it to continue.

But you cannot control destiny, not ever.

You could only control yourself. 

And even that, you cannot have control.

Not anymore, not ever again.

The doctors confirmed it: a rare, terminal illness. Brain cancer, in its final stages. Not only was it going to kill you, it was going to take everything that made you along with it.

Your memories, no matter how horrible, your identity, no matter how empty, your self, no matter how broken. All of who you are — you'd fade away in pieces, becoming a hollow shell long before your body gave out.

You thought the universe had no more ways to hurt you. 

But you knew you were wrong, from the very beginning.

And then, on a night when the weight of it all felt unbearable, you saw him.

He wasn’t what you expected. No black cloak, no skeletal frame, no cold, lifeless eyes. The grim reaper was... human. Or at least, he looked that way. His dark colored hair fell in soft, dark strands over his forehead, his clothes unassuming—a rather plain and boring suit, even.

But there was something in his presence, a quiet intensity, that made your heart skip. His blue-green eyes, sharp and unreadable, pinned you in place, and for a moment, you forgot how to breathe.

“Who are you?” you asked, though deep down you already knew.

He studied you in silence for a moment, as though deciding whether you were worth an answer. Your eyes narrowed at him, as though trying to make sure that this isn’t just your brain making a mess of you. But he wasn’t. He was very much real. He was very much here. Finally, he spoke.

“Megumi.” he said. His voice was calm, steady, but there was something beneath it—something you couldn’t quite place. You hadn’t expected that from a grim reaper. You had expected something more rough. Something more….grim.

“Is that all?” you pressed, desperation clawing at your throat. You wanted—no, needed—to know more. Why him? Why now? Why couldn’t you just be left alone?

“That’s all you need to know about me.” he said simply.

His words were a wall you couldn’t scale. No matter how hard you tried, you knew there would be no answers, no explanations, no mercy. At least not until you were dead. You sighed, leaning against the bench.

This was it. The final countdown was coming soon. There was no escape. Yet, as the silence stretched between you, a strange feeling took root in your chest. Not comfort, not exactly. But something close. It was at least something. And for once, you weren’t alone.

You didn’t know what this grim reaper, this Megumi, was meant to be to you. What was he? Was he a guide, a witness, a judge? You didn’t know. And perhaps it was easier not to ask questions, to not know. 

But as you continued to sit there, staring at the one who would carry you to your end, a thought crossed your mind. At least he wasn’t judging you. At least he was just there, waiting. He was calm as can be, quiet and without any grievances towards you. 

Perhaps, maybe — at least he wasn’t as cruel as life has been. You began to think to yourself as you closed your eyes about one thing. Maybe if he was here, then maybe the end wouldn’t be so lonely after all. Maybe there will finally be some sense of peace at the end. 

You opened your eyes, your lips seeping into a small smile. “I look forward to meeting my end with you.”

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AS THE TIME GOES BY, HE WAS WITH YOU IN EVERYTHING. No one else around you could feel or see him the way you do. And he couldn’t go anywhere else. He was bound to you, until he could take your soul away and bring it with him. So, Megumi continued to watch over you as you continued to live your life, or at least what remains of it.

At first, his presence unnerves you. You weren’t used to this, being watched so closely almost everyday and every hour — especially with what remained of your miserable life. But slowly you found yourself getting used to him being around. And at the very least, he still gave you space when you did things that required privacy.

Otherwise, he’s always there, quiet and still, like a shadow you can’t shake. And as the days stretch into weeks, you begin to realize that he isn’t all bad. He does talk, sometimes. At least when he thinks you do something worth giving a response about.

He was truly quite reserved and serious half the time, yes, and almost cold in the way he speaks and carries himself, but there’s something beneath it. It wasn’t easy to notice at first, because it was ever so subtle. It was as if he never wanted anyone to notice that there was  something soft within that hard exterior of his.

Megumi didn’t seem to fit his job description—not at all. He was patient in a way you didn’t expect from a reaper. From what you’d gathered from folklore and stories about grim reapers, you imagined something far more ominous.

Shadows and sickles, maybe even whispers of death. But Megumi? He had a quiet presence that felt nothing like the foreboding figures you’d pictured.

When your mind betrays you, when a memory slips through your fingers like grains of sand, Megumi is there. He doesn’t judge the gaps, doesn’t rush you to remember. Instead, he catches the loose ends with an ease that seems effortless. 

Sometimes, it feels as though he’s more of a guide than a harbinger, steering you gently through the storm of forgetfulness. His voice is steady, grounding. His gaze is understanding, never invasive.

There’s a calmness to him, a patience that wraps around you like a soft cocoon. It’s disarming. You wonder how someone charged with ferrying souls could be so tender. Yet, when you look at him, you see no malice, no hint of the cold indifference you expected. Just the faintest trace of weariness in his eyes, as if he’s carried too many burdens that aren’t his own.

Sometimes, you forget who he is. And in those moments, Megumi doesn’t correct you. Instead, he lets you speak, lets you ramble, and when the memory comes back, when you remember why he’s here—he doesn’t revel in the grief.

He simply nods, a quiet acknowledgment that this, too, is part of the process. He’s not here to rush the inevitable; he’s here to make sure you don’t face it alone.

“Your nurse’s name is Alice, by the way.” Megumi says again when you struggle to introduce yourself. 

You could feel your mouth fumbling over syllables that don’t quite fit together. Your cheeks feel red at the thought, now remembering as she smiled at your direction. You waved at her. His voice is calm, steady, like he has all the time in the world to wait for you to find your footing. You blink at him, your thoughts swirling too fast to make sense of.

 “Huh?” you finally ask, the confusion thick in your tone. 

“She takes care of you in the mornings. Alice always makes sure to bring your meds with water, no ice.” he says, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world to know. “You told her once that cold water hurts your teeth, so she makes sure to bring you water without ice.

You glance down at your hands, unsure of what to say. His eyes felt warm against your own as you nodded slowly at him, trusting his words. Those details feel foreign to you, like a story you heard about someone else. But his words fit, even if you can’t remember saying them. They were warm, they felt truthful.

“Oh.” you mumble with a small smile. “Thanks.”

He looks away from you. “No problem.”

Later, in the cafeteria, you sit in front of a tray of food that feels unfamiliar. Your appetite is as absent as the clarity of your thoughts. You stare at the carton of apple juice, its horrifically bright label somehow irritating, though you can’t pinpoint why at all.

“You liked orange juice better than apple.” Megumi says, breaking the silence. He gestures toward the carton with a small nod. “That one’s your favorite. Not too sweet, not too sour.”

The simplicity of the statement hits you like a lifeline, tethering you to something concrete. You pick up the carton, turning it in your hands before setting it back down. You smiled at him again, but this time almost a mix of relief and embarrassment. You were relying on your grim reaper to remind you of everything, now more than ever.

“Thank you.” you say again, a little louder this time, just enough for him to hear.

The two of you sit in silence for a while before you decide to pull out the small notebook you’ve been keeping. Your doctor suggested it as your brain got even sicker. You needed to remember something and so this notebook, it was your place to track your thoughts before they disappear entirely. 

You scribble furiously, trying to make sense of the jumble in your head. You’re working on a sentence about feeling forgetful, but the words tangle together, your handwriting messy and uneven. You pause, staring at it. Something feels wrong. Something feels off. Your face contorts, your eyes narrow at the page.

“You missed an E.” Megumi says softly, leaning over to glance at the page. 

He doesn’t reach for the notebook, doesn’t try to take it from you. Instead, he taps the spot with his finger, just enough to draw your attention. Your eyes blinked. Sure enough, forgetful is written as forgtful. You bite your lip, heat rising to your cheeks as frustration bubbles up. 

“I—I know that, you know?” you say defensively, though the truth is you hadn’t noticed until he pointed it out.

He doesn’t laugh or tease you. “It happens, don’t worry.” he says simply, his tone free of judgment. “You caught it now. That’s what matters.”

You glance at him, expecting pity, but his stoic expression is as steady as ever, like this moment isn’t something to dwell on. You pierce your lips in a tight line. You carefully picked up your pen again, correcting the error with a shaky hand. 

“Thanks for telling me.” you mutter, embarrassed but grateful.

“You were talking about your favorite teacher, earlier.” he reminds you a little while later, after your thoughts derail mid-sentence. 

You’d been telling him about a memory. It was a rare one, where everything about it was good. It was such a warm, fuzzy one that had felt so clear in your mind just moments ago—but now it’s slipping away, leaving you grasping at straws.

You look at him, feeling lost. “I... was?”

“You were.” he confirms with a small nod, his tone encouraging. “You said they were the first people to notice how much you liked writing. You were just getting to the part about their funny laugh.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s right!” you whisper, the thread of the memory slowly weaving its way back into focus. “Right. Mr. Greene. He laughed like a seagull.”

Megumi doesn’t laugh at the description, but his lips twitch in what might be the ghost of a smile. That was a rare thing, you knew that. But you like to think that maybe, just maybe, if he tried — he would look even better when he smiled. He already has a handsome face, you knew that. But maybe, his smile, it would make it even better.

“That’s it.” he says, his voice carrying a quiet kind of approval.

It’s small, these moments of clarity he gives you, but they feel monumental in a life that’s slowly crumbling. For a moment, you feel like you’ve reclaimed a small piece of yourself, and you can’t help but glance at him, wondering how someone like him, a reaper, of all things can make you feel more alive than you have in a long time.

You can’t help but admit it but he was your first true friend.

He was your longest companion to boot, with that.

And perhaps, he will be the only constant you’ll ever have.

But maybe he already knew that and he just doesn’t tell you.

He accompanies you often, especially in the long, quiet hours spent tethered to hospital machines. The hum of monitors and the rhythmic drip of IVs become a backdrop to his steady, unobtrusive presence. At first, you think he’s only there to observe, to do whatever grim reapers are supposed to do as your life ticks away. 

But the longer he stays, the more you realize he’s keeping you company at every appointment. Keeping you from being so alone. Even if it was his job, he could wait elsewhere. But he sits beside you, in an empty chair no one dares sit at. 

And he stays, throughout each and every appointment. Appointments which barely keep you alive. It was only a matter of time before he had to deliver your soul to wherever it had to be.

You started to wonder if he’ll think about this time with you too. If he will find this moment to be something that will cross his mind once this job, you, were done and gone. 

It’s strange, this relationship you’ve fallen into. He doesn’t talk much unless prompted, not unless you forgot something or need anything. But you like to think that you could start to rely on his silence. Especially when doctors and nurses give you all those complicated jargons that you didn’t even need.

It fills the void in a way words can’t. When you’re too tired to make conversation with visitors, when there are visitors, probably motivated by guilt or necessity, your grim reaper Megumi is there. Unfailingly, he would be sitting by your bedside, his gaze steady, his presence grounding. As though he wants to give you strength to deal with it all. 

But of course, as  you already know, no one else can see him. Just you. At first, you tried explaining him to the nurses, the doctors,  or when you felt like talking about something you knew he would listen to — but the looks they gave you were enough to stop. They chalked it up to the illness, the stress, or the medications. 

But Megumi is real. You know he’s real. The way he moves, the way he seems to sense your thoughts before you speak them, the way he exists on the edges of your life without ever intruding.

The way a glint in his eyes would appear warmer than before. He was here. He was there with you. You weren’t going crazy. And he knew that too. He was the only one that knew that.

One day, in the suffocating stillness of the hospital ward, you finally ask him the question that’s been gnawing at the edges of your mind. The pale light filtering through the blinds casts long shadows on the sterile white walls.

And the quiet hum of distant monitors feels unbearably loud. You shift uncomfortably in your bed, clutching the thin blanket as if it could anchor you to something solid.

“Why are you here?” The words escape your lips before you can stop them. Your voice is quiet, hesitant, but the question feels monumental, breaking the fragile peace between you.

Megumi doesn’t look surprised. He’s seated in the chair by your bed, one leg crossed over the other, his posture as calm as always. His gaze lifts from the book he’s been reading, something he always seems to have in his hands.

Though you’ve never seen him get past the halfway mark. He seems to be carrying it as though it was a prayer book he was forced to hold at a sermon at church.

“To watch you.” he says simply, his tone neutral. There’s no elaboration, no attempt to soften the starkness of his answer. As though it was almost like his words were that of fact. You furrow your brow, confused.

“I know that….But why? Why do you keep on watching me this closely?” you press, the weight of his presence suddenly more tangible. He isn’t like the nurses or the doctors who flit in and out of the room. He doesn’t belong here—not in the way they do.

“Are you uncomfortable about it?” 

You blinked at him, your mouth agape for a moment. “N–no.”

“Okay, then. I’ll continue on doing what I want.”

You didn’t speak for a moment. You like to think that it was all you were going to get from him. So you just sighed, leaning against your hospital bed and closing your eyes. This was the most he’d ever talk to you, and perhaps the longest. That could be a win, right?

“For you.” He spoke again, as though he couldn’t handle the silence between you. 

“For me?” you echo, your voice almost a whisper. The words feel foreign, as though they belong to someone else. “What does that mean?”

He tilts his head slightly, considering your question. There’s a flicker of something in his eyes—an emotion you can’t name. Not pity, not detachment, but something softer. “Does my reason matter?”

“You have me curious now.” You whisper to him, letting out a small laugh. “What was your reason?” you ask him again.

Though deep down, you think you already know. The thought lodges itself in your chest, sharp and unwelcome. Megumi doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped loosely together. His gaze holds yours for some time, steady and unwavering. 

“I made a promise I’d like to keep.” he says finally, the words carrying a gravity that makes your breath hitch.

“What promise?”

His eyes narrowed at you, almost as though it was full of hurt. “You don’t want to know.”

The suffocating stillness of the room presses down on you, but somehow, his presence feels like a small crack of light breaking through the weight of it all. You want to ask more—how he knows, why he cares, but the words catch in your throat, tangled in the storm of your thoughts.

It’s such a brief answer, yet it lingers with you long after the words fade. There’s no pity in his voice, no judgment, just a quiet truth that settles like a blanket over your weary mind. And in some inexplicable way, that’s enough.

So, instead you nod, a small, almost imperceptible gesture. It’s not acceptance, not yet, but maybe it’s the beginning of it. And Megumi, patient as ever, doesn’t push for more. He simply stays, his quiet presence a reminder that, whatever happens, you won’t face it alone.

Over time, Megumi’s presence becomes less foreboding and more… comforting. If someone told you a grim reaper could be anything close to a friend, you would’ve laughed. But now? You’re not so sure.

He still doesn’t talk much, but the moments he does are starting to feel less like obligations and more like. Well, like he cares. His dry humor catches you off guard sometimes, a quiet chuckle slipping from his lips when you grumble about hospital food or tell him a ridiculous story from your childhood that you’re shocked you even remember.

“They let you keep a pet fish in third grade?” he asks one day, his eyebrow quirking ever so slightly.

“Let me? No, I smuggled it back to the orphanage.” you reply, puffing your chest out like it’s something to be proud of. “Named him Mr. Bubbles. He lived in a mason jar by our shared windowsill until one of the staff found him.”

Megumi gives you a sidelong glance, and for a second, you think he’s about to scold you. But instead, his lips quirk into the tiniest smile. “Mr. Bubbles, huh.” he repeats, almost to himself, and the sound of it in his voice makes your chest feel light.

He’s always a comfort in the painful days of longevity treatments. You were getting even worse, not even the precious medication was working. Megumi was the one to urge you to continue, even if they were never going to do anything for you.

After all, he was here for a reason. Nothing was going to help. And yet, he still insists that having more time is better than having little.

This time, you like to think you could agree with him. With more time, you could continue to have Megumi by your side. You could continue to have conversations with him.

You could continue to see his small ghostly smiles and find him sitting there beside you, looking through pages of that book he never reads. You could have more time living, experiencing some good in your life – a good that was waiting on death’s door. 

Sitting in the chair beside you, his legs crossed casually, as though he’s simply there for the ambiance and not because you’re hooked up to an IV that feels like it’s siphoning the life out of you. Sometimes, you fall asleep mid-session, and when you wake up, you find him sitting exactly as he was, as if not a single moment has passed for him.

“I wasn’t sleeping at all.” you insist groggily one day, blinking the drowsiness away. “How could you even know I was sleeping at all? I know, it’s my body!”

“You were drooling.” he counters flatly, gesturing toward your chin. “Look, it’s still there in the corner of your lips.”

You hurriedly swipe at your face, heat rushing to your cheeks. “I was not!”

His expression doesn’t change, but you swear there’s a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. He could be a trickster when he wants to be. He could be silly from time to time. And funny enough with that dry humor that you could cry tears as you laugh so hard at what he says.

Despite his initial stoicism, Megumi starts picking up on your quirks, learning the things that make you smile. And most days now, especially now with these horrible and miserable treatments, you looked forward to them. 

Like the time he noticed you doodling on the edge of your treatment log and, the next day, casually handed you a pack of gel pens. Your face conforms to a confused daze as you look at him and then at the gel pens in your hand. There were so many that you don’t even think you could count them.

“How the hell did you get this, Megumi?” You asked him, your eyes narrowing at him. “Why are there so many?”

“They were free.” he said, refusing to meet your eyes as you stared at the colorful bundle in awe.

“From where?” you asked, skeptical at his response to you.

“Places.” He still wasn’t looking at you.

“Megumi.” you drawled, narrowing your eyes at him.

“Do you want the pens or not?” he huffed, crossing his arms in a way that made him look surprisingly boyish. “They’re really good too. I tried them downstairs. And they’re free. What? Is the security going to look at your bag when you leave? This isn’t a mall, you know.”

You looked at him for a moment, dumbfounded at his sudden ridiculous tirade. Then slowly, your tummy rumbled as you laughed and laughed. The notion of it all was silly. Still, you were entertained by it. Megumi seemed glad that you laughed. And that you went along with all of it. 

You took the pens, of course. You put them in your bag after he handed it to you. No one checked it and for the rest of the day, you tried them and made little doodles with them on your notepad at home. And that day, for the first time in a long time, you felt genuinely happy.

As much as Megumi claims he’s only there to “watch” you as part of his job, you found that it’s obvious he’s doing more than that. He’s doing the most out of all grim reapers you like to think.

Of course, you don’t know any other grim reapers. And you doubt you’d look sane if you tried to bring it up to another dying person. But your grim reaper, at least you, was the kindest. 

As you settle into bed, the hospital room bathed in the faint glow of a bedside lamp, you glance over at Megumi. He’s sitting in his usual chair, arms folded loosely, his expression calm but watchful.

It’s become routine now. His quiet presence is a constant that you’ve come to rely on, though you’d never admit it outright.

“I think you must be the kindest grim reaper to ever exist.” you say suddenly, the words spilling out before you can stop them. 

Your voice is soft, worn out from the day, but it carries the weight of sincerity. Megumi raises an eyebrow, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. 

“Do you know any other grim reapers?” he asks, his tone laced with dry humor.

You chuckle, a sound that feels lighter than it has in weeks. “No, not at all.” you admit, smiling despite yourself. “But I don’t need to. You’ve set the bar pretty high, do you know that?”

He doesn’t respond, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—amusement, maybe, or perhaps a glimmer of gratitude he’d never put into words. His lips purse into a flat line, as he looks at you. You could tell that there’s something in his green–blue orbs that you couldn’t read. But you knew better than to ask.

“Thank you, Megumi.” you say after a moment, your voice quieter now, almost hesitant.

“For what?” he asks, his gaze steady on you.

“For being the first good thing in my life.” you say simply, your chest tightening as you force the words out. 

It feels strange to say, especially to someone like him. You know you shouldn’t be thanking the person meant to take your soul, the one who will guide you into the unknown. But it feels right. You swallow hard, looking away for a moment before meeting his eyes again. 

“I know it sounds ridiculous. Thanking a grim reaper. But I mean it. You were... the kindest thing in my destiny. And I think that’s enough to be happy about.”

Megumi doesn’t say anything right away. He doesn’t need to. The faintest nod of his head, the subtle softening of his usually stoic expression, is answer enough. The weight in your chest eases as you let your head sink into the pillow. Your eyelids grow heavy, and you fight to keep them open just a little longer. 

“Goodnight, Megumi.” you murmur, your voice trailing off as sleep begins to take hold.

“Good night.” he says softly, his voice carrying a gentleness you hadn’t expected.

As your breathing slows, becoming steady and rhythmic, Megumi stays where he is, his gaze fixed on you. And he knows. He just knows—it’s time. Your time. The moment hangs in the air, heavy and bittersweet, but he doesn’t flinch.

This was always the inevitability, but watching you now, peaceful and free from the fear that had once gripped you, he feels something akin to relief. Perhaps even a quiet sadness.

When the time comes, Megumi will be there, as he always has been. For now, though, he lets you rest, a faint sense of solace settling over the room.

══════════════════

IF HE WAS BEING HONEST, THIS MISSION WASN’T EVEN FOR HIM TO TAKE. Megumi didn’t choose this assignment at random. No, not at all. That morning began like any other in the sterile monotony of his existence. The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead, casting a pale glow on the rows of cubicles where reapers sat, reviewing their tasks for the day. 

He’d been staring at the dregs of his coffee, debating whether he had the energy to bother getting a fresh cup, when the assignments for the day appeared on the board—a mosaic of names, dates, faces.

He’d glanced up, disinterested at first. It was just another day in an endless cycle of endings. Souls came and went, and reapers like him did their jobs, guiding them to whatever came next. There was no time for attachment, no reason to linger on a single name or face.

But then he saw yours.

And everything stopped.

His coffee cup slipped from his fingers, shattering against the floor in a muted crash. For a moment, he couldn’t breathe. He blinked once, twice, as if his eyes might be playing tricks on him. But no matter how many times he looked, it was unmistakable.

It was you.

Your face stared back at him from the board, frozen in a candid snapshot. It was a face he knew better than his own, even after all this time. A face he’d never forgotten, not even through lifetimes of distance.

It had been so long since he’d last seen you. Lifetimes ago, you had been more than just a part of his world—you had been his world. The memories were fractured and blurred at the edges, but they still burned vividly enough to hurt.

He remembered your laugh, bright and unrestrained, echoing through a life that had otherwise been far too short. He remembered the way you had looked at him, your gaze full of trust, full of hope.

He remembered losing you.

And now here you are again, pulled into this cycle of life and death that neither of you could escape. But this time, you were already dying. You were going to go and suffer again, and there would be no one to save you. He couldn’t stop it last time. And now, he cannot stop it this time. It was set in stone already.

And yet, his heart breaks over and over again. You were barely more than a child, younger than either of you had been in your shared past life. You hadn’t even been given a chance to live, and yet the world had decided it was already time to take you away.

Megumi’s heart ached in a way he hadn’t thought possible anymore. He was a reaper. He wasn’t supposed to feel like this. He wasn’t supposed to feel anything. But as he stared at your photo, the weight of it all crushed him.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that you’d been taken from him once, and now it was happening all over again. This time, there would be no miracles, no last-minute reprieves. He knew that. He’d seen it a thousand times in other lives.

But he couldn’t just let you go alone.

Without thinking, he rose from his chair, his movements mechanical as he walked toward the board. Each step felt heavier than the last, his resolve hardening with every breath. When he reached your name, he stared at it for a long moment before finally speaking.

“I’ll take this one.” he said, his voice quiet but firm.

The room went silent. Assignments weren’t supposed to be chosen; they were distributed at random to avoid any emotional entanglements. Reapers were meant to be impartial. But no one questioned him. Megumi rarely spoke, rarely asked for anything. If he wanted this assignment, there had to be a reason.

As he returned to his desk, your face still fresh in his mind, he made himself a quiet promise. He couldn’t save you. The rules were clear. Your fate was already written, and nothing he did could change that.

But he could be there. He could make sure you didn’t have to face the end alone, that you wouldn’t have to feel the crushing loneliness he’d once felt when he lost you before.

Even if you didn’t remember him. Even if you didn’t know that in another life, you had been his entire world. He would carry that pain for both of you. Because this wasn’t just another assignment. It was you. And losing you again, even knowing it was inevitable, would be the cruelest fate of all.

When Megumi first appeared to you, he knew he had to keep his emotions in check. His job wasn’t to interfere, and no matter how much it hurt to see you again, he couldn’t let the truth slip. You didn’t know who he was, didn’t recognize the connection you’d once shared.

And why would you? To you, he was just a stranger. A quiet, brooding figure who had been assigned to shadow your dying days.

At first, he told himself that keeping his distance would make it easier. That if he stayed aloof, if he acted like this was just another assignment, maybe the ache in his chest wouldn’t consume him. But the moment he saw how lonely you were, trapped in a hospital bed, tethered to machines, fading faster than anyone your age should—he couldn’t help himself.

It was the little things at first. Reminding you of a nurse’s name when your memory failed. Offering a quiet presence during your treatments. Bringing you that pack of gel pens when he noticed your fingers twitching over the edges of your journal, longing to create something amidst the monotony of hospital life.

But as the days turned into weeks, Megumi found himself doing more than he should.

He started sitting closer to you, his usual stoic demeanor softening with every conversation. He started bringing you small comforts—a cup of coffee he swore he “found” a scarf on the day the hospital felt too cold, a faint smile when you told him a joke, no matter how bad it was.

“Why do you even hang around?” you asked one afternoon, your voice tinged with a mix of curiosity and weariness. 

You’d just finished another grueling medicinal session, your body too weak to sit up straight. He didn’t answer right away. For a moment, his gaze lingered on you, something unreadable in his dark blue–green eyes. Then, he shrugged.

“You’re interesting to me.” he said simply, but his voice betrayed the truth he couldn’t say.

You laughed weakly. “Interesting? I’m a walking tragedy.”

“No, never say that. Not ever again.” he said firmly, his tone surprising you. “You’re more than that. You are more than your tragedy.”

The words hung in the air, and you didn’t press further. But in that moment, something shifted between you. As time went on, you began to look forward to his visits. He wasn’t just a reaper to you anymore; he was someone who made the unbearable a little more bearable. 

Someone who listened when you needed to vent, who stayed when the nights felt too long, who reminded you that even in the shadow of death, you weren’t invisible. And Megumi… Megumi was breaking all his own rules. Rules he had set long after you, long before you again.

Every time he saw you laugh, even if it was just a fleeting chuckle, a part of him swore he’d do anything to keep that spark alive. But every time he saw you struggle; when your hands trembled too much to hold a pen, when your memories slipped further and further away—his heart ached in ways it hadn’t in centuries.

He hated this. Hated that you had to go through this. Hated that no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t change your fate. But he stayed by your side through it all. He lets himself relive it all over again, no matter the pain. No matter what comes. Because it’s you. Come what may, it’s you.

“You know, Megumi.” you said softly, your voice almost drowned out by the hum of the machines. “You’re not so bad to me.”

He raised an eyebrow, but there was a faint twitch at the corner of his lips. “Not so bad?”

You smiled, your eyes heavy with exhaustion but still warm. “Yeah. You’re like... a friend. A precious friend.”

A friend. The word stabbed at him more than it should have. Because that’s all he could ever be to you in this life. A friend. A shadow. A quiet presence watching over you as you slowly slipped away.

“You think so, huh?” He asks you, as you nodded and smiled. Silence engulfs the room. “I don’t think I’ve ever been someone’s precious friend before.”

“Then we are the same. Well, almost.” 

He blinks at your words. “What do you mean?”

“If you call me your precious friend too, then we’ll finally have it. Being a precious person, at least once.”

You’ve always been a precious person to me. Megumi thinks to himself. In every lifetime, in every you — you have always been my precious person.

And even though he would never tell you the truth, that you’d been so much more to him in another life, that losing you once had broken him and losing you again was killing him all over again, he couldn’t bring himself to pull away. 

Because this was his last chance to be with you, even if you didn’t remember him. Even if it would never be enough. Nothing with you would ever be enough, not even if you lived a thousand years. 

But, every moment is worth it, no matter how short it would be. When you love someone that much, it has to be enough. It has to be more than enough. He has to live through this immortal and wretched life, making those moments feel like they were as eternal as him. Even if he wanted more.

“Alright.” Megumi says to you as you perk up, your eyes shining. “You are a precious person to me.”

You giggled at his words. “Was it so hard to say? I am grateful that you said it at all.”

It was never hard to say. It never had been.

But now he has to live that memory over and over again.

He lets his lips echo a small warm smile as he looks at you.

“No, no it wasn’t hard at all.”

══════════════════

THE TREATMENTS HAVE STOPPED FULLY. And because of that your condition was getting worse and worse. The moments of clarity you once had were growing fewer and farther between. The pain in your body became an unwelcome constant, a weight that pulled you down even when you tried to fight against it. 

Every movement felt like dragging yourself through glass, and the fog in your mind thickened, stealing memories and thoughts before you could fully grasp them. Everything about it felt so fragile, and you were afraid of breaking it. Even if it was already broken, you were scared at seeing it break even more. You were scared and he couldn’t do much about it.

Megumi hated seeing you like this. He watched as you lay curled in your bed, tears streaming silently down your face, your breathing shaky and uneven. He hated the way your hands trembled as you gripped the blanket.

It was as if holding onto it might keep you tethered to something real. Something solid enough to bring you back to earth, to existence. To humanity. Hated the way your voice cracked when you spoke, each word laced with frustration and grief over what was slipping away from you.

“I hate this, I hate this.” you whispered one night, your voice barely audible. Your chest hitched with a quiet sob as you turned your face into the pillow, trying to muffle your cries. “I hate... not being able to think. To remember. I feel like I’m disappearing, and I can’t stop it.”

Megumi clenched his fists at his sides, his nails biting into his palms. He wanted to say something, to comfort you, but the words felt like ash in his throat. What could he say? That it would be okay? That you’d find peace? That this agony would end? None of it felt true, and none of it would matter to you at this moment.

You didn’t want peace. You wanted your life back.When you looked up at him, your eyes red  and swollen, the sight nearly broke him. You looked so weak, one couldn’t even think you were someone with such strength at one point. He hated this. He hated how miserable you’ve been, how pained you’ve been.

“I’m so tired, Megumi.” you admitted, your voice cracking as fresh tears welled in your eyes. “I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

Megumi moved closer, his steps slow and deliberate, as if he were afraid his presence might shatter you further. He sat at the edge of your bed, his usually impassive face shadowed with something raw and unguarded.

“You’re still you, you always will be.” he said quietly, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it.

You let out a bitter laugh, though it came out more like a choked sob. “How do you know that? You don’t even really know me.”

He froze for a moment, his gaze dropping to his hands. He wanted to tell you that he did know you, better than anyone ever could. That he remembered you in ways you couldn’t even begin to imagine. But he couldn’t. Not now.

Instead, he reached out, his hand hovering over yours for a moment before he let it settle gently against your trembling fingers. The touch was warm, grounding, and for a moment, the chaos inside you stilled.

“I know because I saw it. I’ve seen it all, even for a while.” he said finally. “Even when you’re hurting, even when it feels like everything is falling apart, I see you.”

His words hung in the air, fragile but steady, and something in your expression slowly softened. You leaned closer to him and he didn’t mind it at all. He pulled you even closer, letting that warmth of him become even more felt.

“It’s okay to be angry about all of this.” he continued, his voice steady now. “It’s okay to cry. You’ve been fighting so hard, for so long. You don’t have to hold it all in.”

Your tears flowed freely then, and Megumi stayed right where he was, his hand never leaving yours. He didn’t try to stop your sobs or hush your pain. He simply stayed, letting you pour out everything you’d been holding back. And for the first time in centuries, in his entire lifetime — Megumi couldn’t help but feel unequivocally  helpless.

He was a reaper, meant to guide and observe, but watching you crumble under the weight of your illness was unbearable. You didn’t deserve all of this. You shouldn’t suffer like this. You had done nothing wrong, not in your previous life and not this one. But this was still your fate. 

And he hated the unfairness of it all, the cruelty of a life that had given you so little only to take it away too soon. If he could have taken your place, he would have done it without hesitation.

But he couldn’t. He couldn’t trade a life for a life. The gods do not have mercy in that regard. Fate was fate. He cannot do much about it. And he hates it. He hates seeing you like this. 

All he could do was stay by your side, no matter how much it hurt to watch. Because you deserved that much. You deserve someone who wouldn’t leave, even in your darkest moments. And Megumi would be damned if he let you face this alone.

As the night deepened, the room fell into a heavy, fragile silence. The only sounds were the steady hum of the machines and your quiet, uneven breaths as you lay spent from crying. Megumi hadn’t moved from his spot, his hand still lightly covering yours.

Your fingers twitched against his, seeking more warmth. The motion was subtle, but he noticed. Carefully, he threaded his fingers between yours, his grip firm but not overbearing. You didn’t pull away. Instead, your grip tightened just a little, like you were holding on to him for dear life.

“Why do you stay?” you asked, your voice hoarse from the tears but tinged with something vulnerable. You didn’t meet his eyes, staring instead at the faint outline of his hand entwined with yours.

Megumi hesitated. He wasn’t good at this—at talking about feelings. He was better at quiet gestures and staying in the background. But something about the way you asked, so small and uncertain, pulled the words out of him.

“Because you shouldn’t have to go through this alone, jot ever.” he said softly, his gaze fixed on you.

You blinked at his answer, a lump forming in your throat. “But you don’t even know me, not at all, Megumi.” you repeated, weaker this time, as if you wanted to believe him but couldn’t quite bring yourself to. “How could you stay for someone like me?”

Megumi’s jaw tightened. 

You didn’t know half of it.

“I know enough.” he said finally. “I know you’re stubborn and strong, even when you feel like you’re not. I know you don’t like hospital food, but you’ll eat it anyway because you don’t want to make the nurses worry. I know you still draw on the edges of your notebooks, even when your hands shake so much that the lines go crooked.”

Your eyes widened slightly at his words and Megumi felt his heart clench at the way you were looking at him, like you were seeing him for the first time. And as though, it was the first time in a while you had known him that he truly saw you.

“I see you.” he said again, his voice barely above a whisper. “Every part of you, even the ones you think you’ve lost. They’re still there. You’re still here.”

You felt the tears welling up again, but this time, they weren’t from frustration or anger. They were something softer, quieter. You take a deep breath, to calm yourself for a moment.

And he brushes your hand against your own. He was so warm, even when your hands were cold. He warmed you enough back to life, even for just that moment. 

“You make it sound like I’m worth something.” you murmured, a bittersweet smile tugging at your lips.

“You are. You always have been.” he said instantly, the conviction in his voice startling you. “More than you know. I promise you.”

Your chest ached, not from the illness this time, but from the overwhelming mixture of emotions his words stirred in you. It was almost too much, but at the same time, you didn’t want him to stop. You didn’t want him to stop bringing you back to life. You didn’t want him to stop giving you reasons to want to live.

“Megumi.” you said quietly, finally looking up at him.

His name sounded different coming from you, like it carried more weight, more meaning than it ever had before. It was as warm as back then, when you would say his name and smile at him, like he was your world. Like he was someone you dearly loved.

“Yeah?” he asked, his voice softer now, like he was afraid of breaking the moment.

You hesitated, your dulling eyes searching for something you couldn’t quite put into words. Then, with a shaky breath, you smiled—a real smile, small but genuine.“Thank you. For all you have done for me, for all you will ever do for me. Thank you.”

Megumi’s lips couldn’t help but twitch at your words, and for the first time, he allowed himself to give you a wide smile in return. It was faint, almost imperceptible, but it was there, and it was for you, only for you. And you knew that it was only for you.

“Don’t mention it.” he said, his usual stoicism creeping back into his tone, but there was an undeniable warmth beneath it.

That night, as you finally drifted off to sleep, your hand still holding his, Megumi stayed by your side. He watched the rise and fall of your chest, each breath a reminder that you were still here, still fighting. And for the first time in what felt like forever, Megumi let himself hope.

Not for a miracle, no. He wasn’t foolish enough to believe in those anymore—but for something smaller. He hoped that in the time you had left, he could make sure you knew you weren’t just a fleeting soul, a name on a list, a face on a board. 

You were everything to him, even if you never remembered why. And as he sat there, his hand still holding yours in the quiet of the night, he thought that maybe, just maybe, he could carry that truth for both of you.

══════════════════

HE KNEW THAT HE CAN’T KEEP BUYING TIME. That’s not how it works in this line of work. The higher-ups had been patient with Megumi for as long as they could. They had watched from a distance as he ignored the rules, as he lingered at your side longer than necessary.

He had been told once, perhaps twice, that his attachment was blurring the lines of his duty. But no one had come forward to confront him, not until now.

The meeting room was cold, sterile—just like all the others. It was almost like the hospital. It even smells like it too. The flickering lights did nothing to soften the sharp voices of his superiors, their words cutting through him like a blade. Megumi has always hated this room. As much as you hate the hospitals. 

He has lived for a long time. He has been in the reaper department for so long, he doesn’t even remember when he had started. But no matter how many times he stays in it, the smell will always linger and he hates it. Just as much as he hates the higher-ups, perhaps. Yet, he knew he couldn’t admit it out loud.

“Megumi, this isn’t working any longer.” One of them had said it, their voice cutting through the stale air of the room like a blade, sharp with frustration.

The council sat in their cold, unfeeling silence, their dark robes blending into the shadows that clung to the room. The words echoed in Megumi’s ears, even as he sat still, his fists clenched tightly under the table.

“They are already dying,” the voice continued, each word hammering against him. “You know this, you always have. Fate cannot be changed. You cannot keep delaying it. You’re prolonging their suffering, and you know it. We cannot let this go on any longer.”

Megumi’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing. His blue-green eyes stayed fixed on the floor, a storm brewing behind them. He didn’t argue, didn’t defend himself, because deep down, he knew they were right. He could feel it every time he saw you. 

In this way your body grew weaker with each passing day, as if life itself was slipping through your fingers. Each breath you took was a silent battle, and every glance you gave him carried an unspoken understanding that your time was coming.

But what they didn’t understand, what they couldn’t understand, was why he couldn’t just let go. Not yet. Not when your laughter still lingered in the corners of the hospital room.

Not when you still found the strength to smile at him, even through the haze of your pain. Not when you had thanked him—thanked him—for being the kindest thing in your life. How could he take that away from you? How could he take it away from himself?

“It’s not for your benefit that they should stay alive, you know that.” another elder said, their voice low but unyielding, like a hammer falling against stone. “Do it for their sake. The sooner you do it, the sooner they can find peace. You mustn’t prolong the suffering for your wants.”

The words cut deeper than Megumi would ever admit, a blow he wasn’t prepared for. His fists tightened until his nails bit into his palms, but he kept his gaze down, unwilling to let them see the flicker of defiance in his eyes. 

He wanted to scream at them, to tell them they didn’t understand, that it wasn’t about his wants, it never had been. It was about you. About giving you every last moment, every fleeting second that you deserved, no matter how much it hurt him to watch.

But none of that mattered to them. The rules were the rules. His mission was clear: guide souls to the other side, no matter the cost, no matter the pain. He was meant to be impartial, detached, but he wasn’t. Not this time.

As the meeting adjourned, their final words hung in the air like a noose tightening around his neck. “You have to let them go, Megumi.” the elder had said, their tone devoid of sympathy. “It’s not about you. It’s about them. Do what must be done.”

When the room emptied, Megumi remained seated, his shoulders heavy with the weight of their judgment. He wanted to argue, to push back against the inevitability they demanded he enforce. But deep down, he knew he couldn’t delay forever. 

He could feel the edges of your life fraying, could see the way the light in your eyes flickered, like a candle in its final moments. And yet, even as he sat there, alone in the suffocating silence, he made a decision.

Not yet.

Because you deserve those moments, however brief they might be. You deserved the warmth of the sun on your skin, the chance to smile one more time, the chance to feel something other than pain before the end. And if he could give you that, even at the cost of his own heart, he would.

But he also knew the truth, the one he couldn’t ignore forever. Time wasn’t on your side. And when the moment came, when the inevitability could no longer be postponed, Megumi would have to let you go.

Just not today.

Not yet.

He needs more time.

When the meeting ended, Megumi didn’t move. He couldn’t. His mind was too heavy with the weight of their demands, and yet his heart felt too torn to process it. He takes a moment to compose himself before he walks out. 

As he walked out into the hallway, he wasn’t surprised to find Gojo Satoru waiting for him, leaning casually against the wall with that ever-present, cocky grin on his face. The two of them had known each other for lifetimes, especially with how Gojo was now his boss. 

Though Gojo was the opposite of Megumi in nearly every way. Where Megumi was reserved and quiet, Gojo was loud and unapologetic. He hated the elders too, he hated the rules as much as Megumi too. 

But he had never let himself be swallowed by what he feels personally as he works. And Gojo Satoru knew that too well, when he saw that look in Megumi’s face. He had not taught him well enough to separate it all. 

“Megumi, hey.” Gojo said, his voice a little more serious than usual. “Can we talk?”

Without waiting for an answer, Gojo pushed himself off the wall and fell into step beside Megumi, leading him down a quieter hall away from the bustling administrative wing. He already knew what he was going to say.

But Megumi wishes he wouldn’t say it. Because when Gojo says it, it becomes even more real. It becomes even more true. And it’s something he can’t handle. Not right now.

“I know what you’re thinking, okay?” Gojo began, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye. “And I know it’s hard.”

He’s saying it. He’s talking about it. There was nothing that would stop it from being real. Not anymore. Megumi didn’t answer, he didn’t want to. He didn’t need to.

Gojo  Satoru could always read him, could always sense what was going on under the surface, even when Megumi tried to hide it. He was always going to tell Megumi the truth, even when it was hard.

“I don’t get it, Gojo–san.” Megumi said, his voice low, rough from the strain of keeping it all in. “I know the rules. I know they have to go. But… but I can’t just let them die like this. Not again. Not this miserably.” 

He stopped in the middle of the hallway, turning to face Gojo, his face a mix of frustration and sorrow. “They’re suffering so much and miserable to boot, and I’m supposed to just… let them go? How is that even fair?”

Gojo’s expression softened, the usual smugness gone, replaced by something much more genuine. He took a step closer, his hands in his pockets as he regarded Megumi with quiet understanding. He takes a deep sigh.

“I know it’s not easy, kid.” Gojo said, his voice lower now, almost tender. “But this isn’t about what you want. You’re not their savior, Megumi. You’re their guide. You can’t heal them, that’s not part of the job description. It never was. You can’t protect them from everything.”

The words stung, sharper than Megumi expected. 

But it was the truth, the unavoidable truth.

This was a job, even if it meant the world to him.

It cannot be more than a job, not even like this.

“I know you care about them. Hell, you’re probably more attached than anyone in this damn place,” Gojo continued, the hint of a wry smile tugging at his lips. “But your job is to make them transition to something peaceful. To comfort them. Not to prolong their suffering because you’re too scared to let them go.”

Megumi looked away, his blue–green eyes burning with the weight of his own guilt. He could feel them water ever so slowly as he thinks about you, about everything you suffered — in all your lives. And now, when you suffered the most. He bit his lower lip. How could he just let it all go?

“I can’t just stand by and watch them die, Gojo–san.” he whispered, his voice shaking slightly, betraying the deep ache inside him. “Not like this. Not when I… when I care about them this much. Not when….Not when I love them so much.”

Gojo Satoru’s gaze softened further, taking a moment to sigh at him. He’d known Megumi for so long. He’s a good kid, he’s always been the best of everyone here, if he was being honest. But even now, he was still so human. And perhaps that is his weakness. He cannot be a reaper, and be human too. He cannot have both.

“I know, kid. I know.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “But this is the hardest part. You have to be strong for them now. It’s time. And you have to do your job. You have to help them let go. That’s the only way they’ll be able to be free from the pain, okay? If you do your job. They’ll be free. And it can be, if anything, the greatest act of love.”

Megumi wanted to argue, wanted to lash out and scream that it wasn’t fair, that this wasn’t right. But something in Gojo’s cerulean eyes made him stop. Gojo Satoru wasn’t just talking about the rules; he was talking about them. About the person Megumi had come to love more than anything in this world, someone who was ever so dear to him in each and every lifetime. 

He was right. He can’t do anything about death or about fate. And he was right — death was the greatest mercy, instead of suffering. This could be the greatest act of love, as it had always been in each lifetime. To be there for you, to hold your hand and whisper all the love he has in your ear as you go. To set you free.

The truth was hard to swallow, but the reality was clearer than ever. Your suffering wasn’t going to end unless he let you go. And if he truly cared about you, he would have to find the strength to be the one to guide you to peace. With a deep breath, Megumi nodded, the weight of his decision settling in.

“I’ll do it, Gojo–san.” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “I’ll make sure they’re at peace.”

Gojo gave him a small, approving nod. “You’re doing the right thing.”

Megumi knew it would be one of the hardest things he’d ever do. But as he turned back down to earth, to the hall toward where you were waiting, his heart heavy with the knowledge of what was to come, he also knew it was the only way to truly set you free. 

He just hoped that, somehow, you would understand. And that you would forgive him. That you would smile warmly back at him once again, when you meet him again in your next life. That you could love him again, if you can.

══════════════════

HE BRACED HIMSELF FOR WHAT COMES NEXT. Megumi stood outside your hospital room, his heart heavy in his chest. The hallway was unnervingly quiet, the soft beep of monitors and the occasional shuffle of nurses’ footsteps the only sounds that kept him tethered to reality. 

He had never been so sure of something—so certain that this moment had arrived. It was time. He swallowed hard, fighting the lump in his throat, before pushing the door open and stepping inside. Having done it once didn’t make it any easier. If anything, it made it harder. He’d have to relive this moment over and over again, like all the other times.

But he had no other choice. If you were to die, he’d rather it be him holding you. He would rather it be him you hurt, leave a scar only he could see. Megumi would rather that he would be the one to comfort you one last time, to tell you that he’s got you. That everything will be alright. Because you were together. Because he was the one taking you away.

You were there, propped up against the pillows, looking so small under the white sheets. Your face was pale, your features drawn and tired, but when you saw him, your expression softened, and a faint smile tugged at the corners of your lips.

"You're here again, hm?" you said, your voice hoarse but warm.

Megumi stood frozen for a moment, the sight of you sending a wave of emotions crashing over him. You looked so fragile, so close to the edge, and yet here you were, smiling at him like nothing was wrong. Like you hadn’t been battling this slow, painful decline for so long.

He forced his lips into a small, bittersweet smile. "Of course I’m here."

You sat up a little straighter in your bed, your eyes trying to focus on him. There was a faint sense of confusion in them, as if the fog in your mind was thicker than usual today. You reached out, your hand trembling slightly as you sought his, and Megumi moved closer, carefully taking your hand in his.

"I didn’t know if you'd come today, you know." you murmured, your voice barely a whisper. “For the last time.”

Megumi felt the weight of your words press against his chest. You couldn’t remember everything, not anymore, but you remembered him. And somehow, that was a mercy. A small one, but a mercy nonetheless. He hated it, but it was all he had. It was all there was left.

"I’m always here when you need me, always." he said quietly, his voice unsteady despite the calm he tried to project. "You know that, right?"

You nodded slowly, as though trying to make sense of everything that was slipping through your fingers. The memory of his voice, the sensation of his presence, the feel of his hand in yours—it was enough to pull you back from the brink.

"I... I don’t remember... a lot." you confessed, your voice faltering, as though you were apologizing for something you couldn’t control. "But... I remember you."

Megumi’s heart squeezed at that, and he fought the urge to crumble. Don’t show weakness now, he told himself. Not with them. Not when they need you the most. Don’t falter. Love them, love them even if it hurts. 

“I’ll always be here.” he repeated softly, gently squeezing your hand. “You’ve always been important to me. You always will be.”

You tried to smile again, though it was faint, and the effort seemed to take everything out of you. "I wish I could remember everything... all the good stuff we did together. There was a lot, wasn’t it? Even before…..I’m sorry if I don’t remember it all. But I can remember you right now, Megumi. I hope that’s enough. I hope…I hope that’s alright."

He felt his eyes sting, but he held it back, keeping his gaze steady on yours. "That’s enough. That’s more than enough."

Your grip tightened a little on his hand, your eyes slowly drifting over his face, as if committing his features to memory, trying to remember every detail of him before the fog came back.

 "It’s always so funny to me." you whispered, a soft laugh escaping your lips despite the heaviness in the air. "You don’t look like a grim reaper."

Megumi chuckled quietly, the sound devoid of any real humor. "I get that a lot."

The silence stretched between you both, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It felt almost peaceful, like the calm before the storm. You leaned back against the pillows, but you didn’t let go of his hand.There were so many things he wanted to say to you. 

So many words that were caught in his throat, threatening to spill over. But now—now there was no time for them. No time for the confessions, for the truth he’d never dared to speak. He simply stayed there, sitting at your side, holding your hand, because that was all he could do.

When you spoke again, it was quieter, slower. "I don’t want to forget you, not ever, not now." you said, your voice so fragile, so raw. "But I know I will. I already am."

Megumi shook his head, his thumb brushing lightly across the back of your hand, as though to comfort you, even though the words he wanted to say wouldn’t come. He couldn't promise you anything, couldn't tell you that this would all be okay, because it wouldn’t be.

“I’ll never forget you.” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ll remember for the both of us. Even when you aren’t here anymore.”

“Then….will you let me fall in love with you again, if I were to be reborn?” You asked him, tears in your eyes pouring down your cheeks. “Will you let me, Megumi?”

His breath hitches shakily. His lips wobbled into a small watery smile. “Of course, I will. You can love me as many times as you want. I’ll let you do it. Over and over again.”

You choked into a giggle. “Then….Then, I’m glad. I’m forgetful, after all. It’s good, you’ll remind me next time.”

He couldn’t help but laugh at that. Even at the end, you were taking care of him. You were making sure he wasn’t sad. You looked at him, really looked at him, and for a brief moment, the confusion in your eyes faded. 

The fog cleared, just a little, and you smiled. It was a small, soft smile, but it was there, and it was for him. All for him. As it always has been. You take a moment, a breath. He waits patiently for what you want to say.

“I wish…..” you whispered, your voice trailing off as your eyes fluttered closed, exhaustion finally taking over.

Megumi’s chest tightened as he waited.  

But the words never came out of your lips. 

As you slipped into a quiet sleep, your breath steady and calm, Megumi stayed by your side, his hand still holding yours. He knew it wasn’t enough to stop what was coming. But for now, he will hold on. He will cherish the warmth that remains. 

It was the last time. The last time he would see you, the last time he would hear your voice, the last time he would get to make you feel comforted before you let go. And somehow, it was enough. Because you remembered him. And that was all that mattered now.

“I love you.” He whispers to you as he closes his eyes, letting the tears flow. “Goodbye.”

[i2rizz]

Daddy’s Little Girl

Fandom: Blue lock

Characters: Dad!Sae x Mom!Reader

He might slightlyy be out of character but cmon wont he love his little child?

------------‐---------------------------------------

Sae was never one to show much softness. As a star athlete, he had always been known for his confidence, his cocky smirk, and his unshakable focus on his career. But one thing about Sae that only a few people knew was that underneath all the bravado, he had a deep love for his family, and that love took on an entirely different shape when it came to his daughter.

It was a rare Sunday morning, and Sae was at home. Normally, he’d be out on the field or doing something related to his career, but today he had promised you—his wife—that he would spend the day with your little girl, Mia. She was just shy of two, with a wild mop of dark hair, sparkling eyes, and an energy that never seemed to run out.

“Papa! Papa!” Mia’s little voice rang through the house as she padded toward the living room, her tiny hands clutching a stuffed animal to her chest.

Sae, who had been lazily lounging on the couch, shifted slightly and glanced over. His expression softened the second he saw her. Despite being the most competitive and intense player on the field, there was something about seeing his daughter that made him forget about everything else.

“Hey, princess,” Sae said, his voice dropping an octave, the usual cocky edge replaced by something more tender.

Mia squealed and ran toward him, her little feet stumbling as she got closer. “Daddy!” she said, her arms wide, ready to climb up into his lap. Sae didn’t hesitate. He opened his arms, and Mia scrambled up, snuggling into him with the kind of trust that only a child could have.

You stood at the door, watching the scene with a smile. It always made your heart swell seeing Sae like this, soft and completely in love with your daughter.

“Morning,” you said, walking in with a mug of coffee. “How’s my favorite girl and her daddy?”

Sae gave you a small smirk, his hand gently ruffling Mia’s hair. “We’re just fine, aren’t we, Mia?” he said, looking down at her.

Mia nodded solemnly, hugging her stuffed animal even tighter. “Papa,” she said, her voice a little quieter. “I want to go outside. Please.”

Sae raised an eyebrow but didn’t miss a beat. He stood up, cradling Mia against his chest as if she were as light as a feather. “Alright, let’s go outside, princess,” he said, his tone commanding but filled with warmth. “Let’s show Mommy just how fast I can run.”

You laughed, watching the two of them. There was no denying it—Sae was a natural dad, even if it didn’t fit the image most people had of him.

Outside, the sun was shining brightly, and the air was warm. You watched from the porch as Sae jogged a few steps away from Mia, who was standing still, her tiny hands clenched into fists as she stared up at him.

“Come on, Mia! You can do it! Run to Papa!” Sae called, his voice much softer than it was on the field, but no less full of encouragement.

Mia’s eyes sparkled as she glanced at you, then back at Sae. Without missing a beat, she took off toward him, her small legs carrying her as fast as they could. Sae knelt down just in time to catch her when she got close, lifting her up into the air with a delighted laugh.

You could hear her giggle as he spun her around. “You did it! You ran so fast, Mia!” Sae praised her, and you could hear the genuine pride in his voice.

It was moments like this that reminded you just how much Sae loved being a father. His intensity on the field was matched only by the care he showed at home, especially when it came to Mia.

After a few minutes of playing outside, Sae set Mia down and handed her a small soccer ball.

“Let’s see what you’ve got, Mia,” he teased, tossing the ball to her.

She grinned widely and kicked it with all the force her tiny legs could muster. Sae clapped in approval, giving you a look that made you roll your eyes.

“You’re teaching her to play already?” you asked with a chuckle.

“What?” Sae said, feigning innocence. “She has potential. I’m just showing her the ropes early.”

You shook your head, but you couldn’t help but smile. Sae might have been a little overzealous when it came to his career, but with Mia, he was a doting father. It wasn’t lost on you how much he loved being her dad, and you were certain that, even with his complicated, sometimes difficult personality, Mia was his soft spot.

As the day wound down, Sae was lying on the couch, exhausted from chasing Mia around and playing her favorite games. Mia was snuggled up against him, already asleep in his arms. Her head rested on his chest, her small breaths even and calm.

Sae looked down at her, his expression unreadable at first. Then, his gaze softened. You could tell he was thinking about how lucky he was, how much he loved this little family, and how he’d never give it up for anything.

“You’re a good dad, you know that?” you said, sitting down beside him.

Sae glanced at you, his face only slightly flushed from the afternoon’s excitement. “Yeah, I know,” he said, a small grin tugging at his lips. “I’m a girl dad. Can’t go around letting my little princess down.”

You smiled, resting your head on his shoulder. “She’s lucky to have you.”

Sae’s arm slipped around your shoulders as he gently kissed your forehead. “We’re lucky to have her,” he murmured.

And in that moment, with Mia nestled in his arms, you knew that this was everything Sae had ever wanted—even if he hadn’t always known it. He might be a professional soccer player, always chasing greatness, but when it came to his family, Sae was everything you could have hoped for—a loving, protective, and completely devoted girl dad.

------------‐---------------------------------------

This is wholesome

[boneytree]

...........I don't want to see words like 'monster', 'abomination' and what not, associated to Sephiroth anymore. Sephiroth is not an abomination, President Shinra is. It's not Sephiroth who didn't deserve to come into existence, it's President Shinra who should not have been born at all. He and Hojo are the ones who are wrong in every conceivable way, everything about them is wrong. Sephiroth's birth was not a mistake, he was born right, pure, beautiful on the outside as well as inside. He had every right to live a healthy, happy life till old age but the old men at Shinra stole that chance from him. He absolutely didn't deserve to go through all the pain and hardship he went through.

The day he became the embodiment of death and destruction was the day he lost a war against himself, the war that he had to fight since his very conception. A war against his genetic nature, brainwashing and his own doubts. Despite the betrayal, horror and the extraterrestrial calamity that was etched into every single cell of his body, he took after nothing from his alien parent besides peculiar physical features. Then he suffered utter objectification and abuse by the company who literally owned him, but he survived everything. He fought off everything and kept his human core intact, core which had warmth and love in it. He was really something special for doing that for so long. It's almost like his destiny had to go an mile to break him. And when he did break, he shattered like a sensitive glass menagerie, its fragility being the reason it broke so badly into million small pieces and can't be mended.

It wasn't Jenova that corrupted him, he was a fine young man despite what was in his DNA. It was the depravity of those Shinra executives which made Sephiroth into what he is. Shinra Inc. turned a person like Sephiroth into a ghoul. Yes that's what I see in post-Nibelheim Sephiroth, a ghoul. He's not Sephiroth. He's a mere existence which hangs between life and death. Would that man ever know peace or rest? I don't know, but one thing I know for sure is that President Shinra and Hojo should not have been granted such an easy end after everything they put Sephiroth through.

“Obedient Soldier”

[A phrase uttered by Sephiroth in Scene 07-06. As this line indicates, Sephiroth in BC (Before Crisis) was regularly obedient to orders, such as defending the Mako canon and protecting Hojo. Therefore, Shinra valued the worth of Sephiroth's loyalty and treated him like a hero.]

-Keyword Collection, CC Complete Guide, p. 285

“Until then, I will be an obedient soldier of Shinra…”

He uses the term “従順な“ which is described above. He willfully submits himself to Shinra’s authority regularly in spite of inner turmoil and reluctance much of the time.

I see more of this with every update in The First Soldier. Sephiroth calls it his only job. You would say then “Yes, and he is paid for it and treated like a hero! That is why he obeys!”

First. Where is this interest in money? And who is to say he receives it? He was raised and trained by Shinra from his boyhood days. His lack of interest in money is said clearly.

Angeal might have partially misjudged him for it too in chapter one of episode 2 when Bachman asked Sephiroth’s opinion on the situation in Robio:

Sephiroth: “Search for the missing troops. Don’t interfere with the filming. Anything else is not my job.”

Angeal: “You’re a stingy guy.”

Sephiroth: “What?”

Angeal: ”There’s no harm in experiencing things. Don’t just consider profit gain and loss.”

Sephiroth: “That’s not the reason.”

Angeal: “Then tell me what it is.”

Sephiroth: “….”

(Japanese translation) (*Note about the nuance here at the bottom of the post!)

There is another reason Sephiroth focuses so narrowly on his job but he does not want to state it. He does not want to explain why he focuses on nothing else. Why?

His disinterest in money itself was more obviously stated in episode one:

Matt: “We'll have to talk about the distribution of the reward money… fortunately, he (Sephiroth) doesn't seem to care about money.”

Money is not the reason for Sephiroth’s loyalty to Shinra then. You might then say it’s because they treated him as a hero! Like as it was said in the Guide, they valued his loyalty and dealt with him as a hero. But where is it stated that Sephiroth wants that either? No, it is the opposite.

Sephiroth: ”I don’t want to be a hero. I want to live a normal life…”

Glenn: “What did you say?”

Sephiroth: “Nothing. It’s never going to happen.”

But Sephiroth! Since you are a hero, Shinra must spoil you and treat you well? They must give you so much! Is that why you stay with that defeated resignation?

Perhaps you have authority and respect within the military! The fandom has always called him the General….

Ignore that you see the cameras he hates, the false propaganda he knows about, his low sense of self-worth, how he sees himself as a cyborg killer that does not deserve friends. He never experienced the sensation of joy and fun with others until he met Glenn’s team. Ignore that he was trained to be afraid and heartless. Forget that he has memories of Hojo’s pain and training.

And authority?

“Very sorry. We cannot follow orders from others outside of the normal chain of command.”

These are just infantrymen.

Sephiroth’s ability to refuse orders in Crisis Core was also an unofficial privilege that existed under Lazard’s generous command. If it were Heidegger, no privilege like that would have existed and Sephiroth would have had to kill Genesis and Angeal in Banora. Lazard, a man already disloyal to Shinra, had to be in command for that point in Crisis Core to exist.

“Also, there may or may not be a right to veto orders...It seems to be just unofficial though..”

-Kunsel to Zack, CC DMW flashback

Angeal Hewley is also made team leader over “Shinra’s hero” in episode 2 of The First Soldier. Years later Angeal still gives orders to Sephiroth that the hero follows. Sephiroth’s authority inside Shinra is not like a general or even a captain.

Not that then. Perhaps you are living a lavish lifestyle, hero?

….ah, but do I even need to explain why this one is nonsense when this boy was isolated and brought up by Hojo?

”Mom? Why are you in my bedroom?”

-Sephiroth, chapter one, The First Soldier Episode 2, Japanese.

A lab cell near to where Aerith and Ifalna were held as prisoners?

“I’ve never had many opportunities to interact with people.”

-Sephiroth, chapter five, The First Soldier Episode 1, Japanese.

He would not have in the environment Hojo gave him.

“I am a SOLDIER that was raised to stand on the battlefield. SOLDIERs are worthless unless they are strong in body and mind.”

-Sephiroth, chapter five, The First Soldier Episode 1, Japanese.

“You and I grew up in different worlds. The day we understand each other will never come.”

-Sephiroth to Angeal, chapter one, The First Soldier Episode 2, Japanese.

Hojo is who raised him like this! In isolation and cruelty!

“I am the only one who can speak to Professor Hojo freely at any time, who researches the limits of our SOLDIER abilities…”

-Sephiroth to Angeal, chapter one, The First Soldier Episode 2, Japanese.

Did that Halloween event not show us the deeper horror beneath these other horrors? And who they were connected to?

Hojo: “Endure the pain, Sephiroth. You’re not at your limit yet. The more you endure, the more of your hidden strength will awaken.”

Glenn: Hey! Hang in there!

Sephiroth: “I’m sorry. I was suddenly in a lot of pain, but I’m alright now.”

Glenn: “Don’t be so strong!! Rest! Rest! Don’t push yourself so hard just because you’re the team leader!! Just relax!

Sephiroth: “….I’ve never heard anything like that before. It’s just the reverse of what the professor said…”

(Japanese translation)

Who would have ingrained such deep loyalty into the world’s strongest SOLDIER so well other than his father Hojo? Sephiroth does not speak of leaving Shinra until he is close to 25 years. He was shaken when Elfe questioned why he fought and if it was for any reason. He responds to a command from his friend Genesis on immediate instinct.

He is conditioned. That is why he was an obedient soldier to Shinra and why he stayed with them even when he hated his life. He was afraid. Of them and of Hojo!

The First Soldier will only keep showing this. Sephiroth’s friends were his chain to mental stability. When they left and died, he became vulnerable again and Nibelheim was timed just right. How much grief and anger must he have felt learning about how deep the use of his body and mind had gone? Enough to hate Shinra and soon everything.

Shinra is run by greedy pigs who have their dogs and sheep. They have their SOLDIER recruits, their Turks, their Deepground prisoners, their clueless employees. You will find that among these pawns, there are many who try to leave or question the power keeping them in check and that is because Shinra was not so careful enough to condition and lie to them.

They were careful with Sephiroth though because disloyalty from him would be so dangerous. The story shows this well enough.

Out of all of their abused pawns and attack dogs, Sephiroth was the one chosen to be exploited in front of the world and decorated in hero’s ribbons to cover up the scars. He was lied to about the depth of his abuse and given false hope in his two dear friends. He was trying to claw his way to the light and find himself so that he could be a real hero and protect others but there was no hope for such things. His cage was gilded and when he became aware of it, that boy’s heart was filled with sadness and then anger and then hatred.

His life was DESTROYED by Shinra from the start. His loyalty was sown into him mostly by Hojo. This new episode of The First Soldier has brought this truth further to the light and I do not think it was will stop.

Thank you to those who helped me with this post in DMs!

Notes:

*Angeal’s words in chapter one of FS Episode 2 about Sephiroth’s “stinginess” do have a nuance that I do not want to ignore. He can be talking about money gain/loss but also a whole mindset! His words are broadly referring to a narrow-minded and “Scrooge-ish” view of things where there is not much room for anything outside of Sephiroth’s thin focus. That thin focus is Sephiroth’s assignment and the gain of completing it, which could include profit from Angeal’s perspective and would be a reason to complete a mission if we remember his scene with his parents where that is a discussion. The point is to say that Angeal is not only talking about money, but for this post I focused on that aspect of it because of Sephiroth’s response against the entire assumption and his formerly mentioned lack of interest in money.

[lale-txt]

i knew Soft Launch reached the right audience when the comments about the wlw dating being deeply relatable piled up lmao

[lisbeth-kk]

Sherlock fandom.

Lacking Data

Collecting data and seeking insight in everything significant to his work, has always been Sherlock’s highest priority. And he’s been quite successful in his endeavours too. But when it came to personal matters regarding himself and romanticism, he declared defeat. Which he didn’t bother to linger on. Until one day, when he met a man, most people thought of as ordinary, even boring.

Sherlock encountered Mike Stamford one of the last days of January. When Mike asked how he’d been, Sherlock told him he was searching for someone.

“Dead or alive?” Mike asked with a grin.

Sherlock rolled his eyes exasperated.

“I could use a flatmate. Preferably a living one,” he retorted dryly. “But…”

He trailed off, and Mike prompted him to complete the sentence.

“As you know, I’m no easy man to be around. I can’t think of anyone wanting to share quarters with me.”

“Oh, don’t say that, Sherlock. I’m sure there’s someone out there that match your criteria,” the doctor assured him.

Sherlock just scoffed and turned back to the microscope.

***

The experiment proved to be fruitless, so he sent Molly to get him coffee. When the door opened, far too soon for it to be her, Sherlock startled. He was not prepared to see Mike again, but what made the detective almost lose it, was the man Mike brought with him.

Ex-military. Doctor. Psychosomatic limp. Deployed somewhere warm.

Slowly, Sherlock approached Mike’s old friend from medical school, John Watson.

His face was open, trusting. He didn’t hesitate when Sherlock said he needed a phone, which he really didn’t.

“Here. Take mine.”

“Afghanistan or Iraq?”

Sherlock didn’t need to seek insight. All of it was clear as day to him. Served on a silver plate. The phone told him the rest of the story. 

Granted, he’d been wrong about Harry, which John told him about the day after.

“There’s always something,” Sherlock muttered under his breath.

John just looked puzzled, but mostly awestruck. Not one word of mockery, distaste, or anger. Just: Amazing. Extraordinary. Brilliant.

When Sherlock told him what people normally said when he deduced them to shreds, John frowned and clenched his fist, the one not holding his cane.

It seemed like he was ready to punch the people who told Sherlock to piss off.

“Where have you been all my life?” he wanted to ask the remarkable man, but Sherlock was too afraid, so he stayed aloof, playing the sociopath he claimed to be.

***

Despite Angelo’s rather boisterous appearance, Sherlock always felt a calmness fall over him when he was around the man. He wanted to show John off to his Italian friend, and simultaneously letting John see a different side of Sherlock. It was a risk to let his guard down, but if his calculations were correct, the outcome would be glorious.

So, instead of biting John’s head off when he subtlety asked about Sherlock’s romantic preferences, he answered truthfully.

“Yes, John. I am unattached. Just like you.”

Sherlock couldn’t take his eyes off John’s tongue. It wet his lips continuously during the meal, and Sherlock wanted to taste it. The lack of data of how it would feel to kiss John and to be invaded by that rosy piece of flesh, almost drove the great detective mad. 

***

The chase through the city had never been so intoxicating and thrilling. John was right behind him, his cane safely taken care of by Angelo.

“Welcome to London.”

The American passenger in the taxi couldn’t believe the politeness of the British police, and Sherlock felt dizzy just listening to John’s incredulous laughter at the insane encounter.

They were breathless and giddy when they locked the black door of 221 Baker Street behind them.

“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever done!”

“And you invaded Afghanistan.”

A knock on the door. Sherlock gestured for John to open.

“It’s for you.”

John’s astounded look when he returned with his cane, brought by Angelo, made Sherlock’s stomach do a somersault.

“How?” John said and shook his head in disbelief.

He leant the cane on the wall and approached Sherlock carefully. When he stood toe-to-toe with him, John took a hold of Sherlock’s upper arms.

“You,” he said softly. “Do you even know what you’ve done to me, for me? How am I ever going to repay you, thanking you for letting the sun into my life again? For making me want to live.”

Sherlock just stared down at John, unable to grasp what he meant. He’d done nothing out of the ordinary. Well, to be fair, the idea of visiting Angelo’s had been a whim. Not at all planned beforehand. He was a bit perplexed that something impulsive could make such an impact. 

When Sherlock asked about that, after their fifteenth kiss, John told him he was wrong.

“It wasn’t dinner, Sherlock. I’ve been in that situation lots of times. It was the chase that made me feel alive and useful. Not that dinner wasn’t lovely, because it absolutely was, but it seems that running after you is one of those things I’m suddenly addicted to. Just as that sinful mouth of yours.”

And with that, their sixteenth kiss was a fact.

------------------------------------------------------------

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[just-a-ghost00]

Their energy towards you now

This reading is meant for romantic connections that are currently in a separation, whether you have been in a relationship or not. When I talk about separation, I mean that you and this person are having minimal to no contact, whether they live near you or far from you. If you do interact, it is not in a romantic context. This separation can be on a mutual accord or happened progressively over time.

Group 1

6 of cups

What caught my attention about this card was the hourglass. It was beautifully drawn and surrounded by the water spilling from the cups. It gave me the impression of someone wishing strongly that their feelings toward the other could turn back time. But this is something that is not one sided, because the two rows of cups were spilling water that is interconnecting around the object. They are being nostalgic about the times spent together and the memories you shared. And they may be feeling like you are too, which both comforts and saddens them. I got a feeling like this person is wondering : if we’re both regretting what happened and missing each other, why are things still the same?

Ace of cups

On this card, a cup is sheltering a flower in blooming. Out of that flower is rising a water droplet that kinda looked like a pearl. Not only does this person like you but they are cultivating those feelings. They nurture them, water them, like they would a flower. Those feelings are precious to them because they were shared. Despite everything that happened, they still love you as if it were the first day. They don’t want them to disappear. Because if they do, then you will fade into their memory. I feel like this person is sometimes crying over your absence at night. They feel like the situation is out of their hands but they hope that, if they keep loving you, if their love is strong enough, you’ll come back around.

4 of wands

The wands are kinda placed like a fence and at their feet lie two halves of a pomegranate as well as a maple leaf. It made me feel like this person still wishes to protect the foundation that you had built with them, whether this took the form of a friendship, a partnership or more. After all this time, they still perceive you as their one. As the person they wish to build a future with. They still think of this being a possibility. They still wish to work toward that goal. Not only that but they also want to support you more than anything and be by your side. I feel like this person wants to protect you from the world and keep you to themselves.

High Priestess

A woman is having her back on the quarter of a moon. Around her lays a snake. When nighttime comes specifically, this person is filled with desire for you and intentions of transforming this connection. Most of these person’s feelings and thoughts may be subconscious or repressed. Even if they’re aware of the attraction they have for you, this person doesn’t wish you to know. This is something they want to keep to themselves for now. A part of them is afraid you wouldn’t understand them. Another just wants to lay low and observe what your reactions are, to gain knowledge and heal.

3 of wands

What you may also not suspect is that this person wishes to close the distance and come to you. They may be planning a travel near your home or a way to get into contact with you again, reignite the flame. This person wishes for this separation to end and pick up where you left the connection in hopes that something good will come out of it. For those of you that live at a distance from one another, I’m getting the impression you may have felt it coming but were not sure of your intuition. You may hear about it soon, either through someone else or in an indirect way. For instance, this person may post on their social media about one thing but their post will make you feel like something is brewing.

Group 2

Page of cups

This person has developped feelings for you but they may still be thinking about the past or afraid that their past will have an influence on your connection, which may be one of the reasons why you are in separation at the moment. They feel emotionally linked to you and wish to come towards you. However, something is holding them back. They may be afraid that the past will repeat itself or that you may not understand them, share the same point of view about the connection. They however still care about you and feel positively towards you.

10 of wands

They have a lot on their plate. A lot of worries about what the future holds, about whether a reconciliation is possible. They may also be busy with a lot of other responsibilities, which may burden them and interfere in how they feel towards you. I feel like this person is tired of being played with and bearing the weight of their feelings. Though they like you a lot, the fact that they cannot express their emotions freely is taking a toll on them. This person is also tired of being held back by their past trauma, of having to fight to feel loved and cared for. They may be feeling like they've given more than they should have and may be waiting for you to make a move, if you wish for the connection to progress.

Black Numen

Despite their feelings, this person kinda has lost hope about your connection working out. The fact that nothing is happening in the 3D and that they don't see the changes they hoped for may be adding to their disappointment and sadness. Again, I get a feeling that a lot of other things are happening to this person and it really tires them out. They may be in a phase of doubt where they are not sure whether how they feel towards you is enough to keep the connection alive. They may also doubt your intentions towards them and feel like you tricked them. Overall, I just get the feeling that they just wish to be at peace with this connection, whether it's with or without you. They want to be freed of this feeling of confusion and waiting for things to unfold.

The Sun

In another context, this card may have been a positive one but I feel like here this card is showing that this person is slowly retreating their energy and focus from the connection and trying to move one without you. The character one the card is walking towards the left. This person is determined to get back to a state of hapiness, even if that means cutting ties with you, because they feel like this has been going on for too long and isn't going anywhere. They feel like there ain't nothing much they can do about it so they might as well focus on themselves, like they used to before they met you. I feel like they don't hold any grudges or resentment towards you. They are grateful for your shared experience but they are in an energy of prioritizing themselves.

Queen of cups

This person intends to nurture themselves and love themselves first, however they still care about you and appreciate you. They have decided that they will leave the outcome of this connection up to fate and in the meantime, they will fill their own cup and learn to become one with themselves. I get the message that even if you're apart and even if it turns out you won't be together, this person will always hold a place for you in their heart because your connection is special and precious to them. They will always think of you fondly and speak about you with a warmth in their voice because what you have shared is unforgettable in their eyes. Deep down, they will still keep the hope that you can be united again, but they will no longer chase after it. Should you want to come back, they will leave the door open.

Group 3

Hermit

During your separation, this person has thought a lot about you, the connection, what they wanted out of it, what they felt like they could bring to the table. They've really pondered about the meaning of your encounter, the importance you had to them and the lessons they could learn from this experience. And it feels like they have had an epiphany. They realized a lot of things that they may have repressed in the past and really came to terms with it. I get a message of someone looking at the sky and the stars, wondering what the other is up to, whether they are thinking about the connection as well. I feel like this person never lost hope of coming back to you and the whole time, they were only thinking of you and the future.

White Numen

While in separation, they hoped that you would come rushing to them. But realizing that you didn't, they started to question their methods and their feelings. And they understood that if they wanted to see a change, they had to make a difference. They had to create the reality they wanted to see and be the author of their own story. This person understood that, yes of course you had your role to play, but they also had their own script to follow to ensure the play would get its happy ending. Basically, they learned that it takes two to tango and that for a relationship to work out, both parties need to be walking in the same direction and find a common ground they can build on. This person is creatively inspired and the puzzle pieces are starting to assemble in their mind's eye. They now know where they stand and where they want to go.

Ace of cups

Their feelings for you have been renewed. As you were no longer in contact, they realized the value of your affection, how good you were to them. They found out that they missed you dearly and that they took you for granted. Now, they want to give your connection another chance. They wish to reconcile and reciprocate your feelings. They want to get into contact with you again and put an end to the separation. They may be thinking of ways to reach out to you without you freaking out or rejecting them right away. They are hopeful.

Chariot reversed

Though they want to come back to you, they feel a little scared to do so. They don't just want to mindlessly rush into this, without thinking of the consequences and without being sure of your position as well. They just don't want to be disappointed. Another thing I am picking up on is that this person is being delayed. Things and people are trying to get in the way of your reunion right now. Part of it is related to this person's fear of rejection. But not just that. For some, I am getting that this person planned to travel towards you but their trip got delayed or canceled for some reason. Think of traffic disturbances, a flight being cancelled because of a natural disaster, them having to postpone their travel because of financial issues or family matters. Their work could also be a factor in this situation. Their boss could have refused their request to get some time off of work for example.

10 of pentacles

Even if obstacles are stending in the way of your connection, this person is determined to put in the work to see it prosper over time. They are aware that it may be difficult and take a lot of time to flourish, but they are confident that it has the potential to grow into something valuable, that will last. This person feels lucky that they have you and the connection. They see the value in what you share and they intend to protect it and guard it against anyone or anything that would try to keep you apart. This person may be envisioning a partnership with you, whether that is on a professional level, on a friendship level, a familial level or romantic level. They want you to be a part of their legacy and their inner circle. And if they have to start from scratch to ensure that, they will without any hesitation, because they know it is worth it.

[sk3tch404]

Yandere Weeping Clown Thoughts!!

CW: Nothing too bad, just your usual creeper, manipulation, and analysis(?) on his character. Tbh hes so yandere coded that everything blurs together atp (and I'm using "yandere coded" sort of loosely bc that makes me sound like a yandere enabler or smth, which like, lol no but in fiction yeah funne). Called him Joker bc it was easier to use/remember than Weepy, and also bc they called them that in all the lore drop so 🤷‍♀️

A/n: Just saw the new Hullabaloo lore drop and IDV has taken me back into its clutches. He is so yandere material 🫶 Proof read enough to go "that's postable."

Joker is quite sensitive to his darlings perception of him. He always tries to do the right thing, tries to please you so that when you smile at him, that strangely unfamiliar warmth spreads through his chest. A smile tugging on the corners of his mouth, stringing his lips up as if he were a puppet. And a puppet of your design he shall be if you wished it so.

Joker is definitely a worshipping sort of yandere. He'll do most of anything for his darling if it made them just a teeny bit closer. Any progress is better than no progress. Even if it means visiting you in the dead of night to "check on you," or often "bumping into you" in places that you frequent at the manor. He'll stop bothering you if you reject his advances, but he'll come back around sooner or later. Joker doesn't want you to hate him, but he also doesn't want to be away from you! Although you may say some hurtful things like, "It's making me uncomfortable, sorry," or, "Can you leave me alone for a while," he knows deep down that if he teeters around the boundaries you set for long enough, he can wiggle his way through and to your heart. At least, that's what he hopes.

Despite his subservient nature to his darling, Joker isn't so obedient around others. He has his more introverted traits for sure, but his sensitivity to anger is fragile, especially when it comes to you. Joker doesn't have many qualms about taking a stand for you or himself if it came to it. He wants to be your protector, so he isn't very afraid to say something if he feels the need to. It can become quite the scene if the other party doesn't back down, making either you or someone else the mediator of the debacle. It's exhausting to have to manage your persistent follower, but it's better to handle a situation rather than let it spiral out of control, leaving the consequences of his mental break to you.

With his fragility also comes his keen eye for any chances to take advantage of a situation. Joker isn't very intimidating physically or feared for being calculating, but he is usually dismissed, and that makes for perfect cover if he plays his cards right. Framing people for his crimes can be a walk in the park depending on the situation, and manipulating those weaker than him isn't something he wholeheartedly takes pride in, but if it's for you, if it's for you, the singular most important person and one he adores most in his rotten life, then he's happy to oblige. If it wins you over in the end, then that's all that matters, right?

Joker will try to convince his darling to stay by his side and will get more desperate depending on the circumstances. He's not a kidnapper type, more of an idealist. Not to confuse that with delusional though. Joker knows full well how you probably feel about your strained relationship, but if he doesn't try now, he'll never get to be with you, and that's unacceptable. He wants to live a romantic and sweet life with you day in and day out, so he'd hate to see you miserable and locked up. If he can't love you the way he wants to, then what would be the point?

Even with that, Joker isn't above guilt tripping or petty manipulation tactics like that. He really can be unpredictable at times and can become very dangerous if his darling constantly shows no interest. Although he is a romantic idealist in his mind with you, he's also the type to slip into the "if I can't have you, no one can" mentality. He might just end up hurting his darling, but it won't be anything too drastic by the time it happens. Joker would feel terrible, terrified, and utterly disgusted with himself after seeing your petrified state. He'd drop to his knees and attempt to mutter consoling words, somewhat even begging for your forgiveness.

"Y- Y/n, no, oh no, no... Y/n, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, please. Don't cry, I didn't mean to. I truly am sorry. I had just- I wasn't thinking straight. I would never hurt you. If only you hadn't done this, then... No, just come back to me Y/n."

He is still quite demanding even while apologizing, which would make your fear even greater. Joker doesn't want to force his darling's hand, but if it really came down to it, he'd give his darling a grade A verbally manipulative beat down. He'll use anything and everything against you so that all else but him looks ugly in that moment. Sure being at the receiving end of his unstable anger was horrifying, but be honest with yourself, were it not for him who has saved you countless times in both matches and inside the manor, you would be long dead by now. Anything is on the table, anything just so you will come back to him once more. He has little to no guilt in it, just the fear that he will seriously break if you're still in a right state of mind. So, in turn, he'll unfortunately have to break you first.

[nausicaamusiclover20]

I had this fantasy all day and I couldn't help but write it down

Paring: !ProfessorxStudent!reader

Word count: 8k

Warnings: Explicit Content, Mature Themes,Sexual Content, mature language, Age Gap (15-year difference) Power Imbalance, Adult Themes

Playing with fire

The university had become my second home, and I loved every minute of it. The quiet spaces for studying, the hustle of students on the move, and the occasional moments of clarity when everything just clicked. It was all thrilling—except for one thing: Professor James Hetfield,the Professor, who despite the 15-year difference, I was attracted to.

He was a constant presence. Not just in the classroom, but in my thoughts. Every class, every interaction with him felt charged. He never showed favoritism, not even toward the brilliant students like me, but I couldn’t help the way his cold blue eyes always seemed to find me, to watch me. Every lecture, every question he posed, there was something about the way he looked at me—intense, almost as if he could see through the mask I wore.

The lectures were always intense, filled with complex material that many of the students struggled to understand. But for me, it was all too easy. I was always ahead of the curve, always absorbing the material faster than most. Yet, the more I proved myself, the more I felt his gaze upon me, even if he never admitted it. And somehow, it made everything even more exciting.

When the day of the final exam arrived, the weight of it felt suffocating. It wasn’t just the usual pressure of exams—it was the pressure of having to live up to the quiet challenge I had set for myself. There was something about impressing Professor Hetfield that made every question feel like a test of my worth, something that wasn’t just about getting the answers right but about making him acknowledge me in a way he had never acknowledged anyone else.

The room was filled with students, the air thick with the sounds of papers shuffling and anxious whispers. But I felt calm. Focused. As I looked around the room, I saw them all sweating, struggling over the hardest questions. But my mind was clear—methodical. I answered each question with ease, my pen flying across the page as if the answers were written in my blood. It was exhilarating to feel so confident, so ahead of the game.

It didn’t take long for me to finish. I was the first one done, though I didn’t want to leave yet. The tension between Professor Hetfield and I was like a live wire, and I wasn’t ready to break that connection just yet.

I stood, glancing briefly around the room. The other students were still scribbling away, oblivious to the fact that I was already finished. Without hesitation, I walked up to the front of the room and placed my paper gently on his desk.

Professor Hetfield was seated, marking papers with his usual cool, detached demeanor. His blue eyes flickered up to meet mine for a split second before returning to the paper in front of him. I took a seat in the front row, my hands resting on my lap, trying to keep my composure. As I sat, I felt the anticipation building in my chest. Did I make a mistake? I thought to myself. I couldn’t remember the last time I had doubted myself, but in that moment, uncertainty crept in.

What if I had missed something? What if he saw something wrong in my answers, something I had overlooked? His sharp eyes could spot even the smallest mistake, and that thought gnawed at me. I watched as he methodically went through the other papers, his eyes scanning each answer with cold precision. But when he reached my paper, he paused.

My stomach clenched.

His gaze lingered on my exam, studying it with the same cold attention he always gave everything. I couldn’t read him. Did I mess up? Was there something he had spotted in my work that I hadn’t seen? His pen stopped moving for a moment, then continued with a quick, decisive motion. I felt the silence stretching between us, my pulse quickening.

Professor Hetfield finally placed the pen down, his gaze rising to meet mine. I sat up straighter, trying to read him, but his face was unreadable.

“You finished already?” His voice was the usual low, gravelly tone, but there was something different about it today—something softer, almost impressive. “You didn’t take long.”

I swallowed, trying to maintain a cool facade. “No, I didn’t,” I replied, not trusting my voice to sound steady. He must have seen something wrong, I thought. It’s too quiet.

He looked at me for a moment longer, his eyes piercing through the calm surface of my thoughts. Was he really going to say anything?

I started to second-guess myself, wondering if he was silently critiquing every little thing in my paper. The questions were challenging, after all. But no, I told myself. I nailed it.

“Impressive,” he finally said, his voice clipped. But there was something else in it—a faint admiration buried beneath his usual coolness. “You’ve done well.”

I couldn’t help the small breath that escaped my lips. Was that... a compliment?

His blue eyes lingered on me for a moment longer than usual, a quiet intensity simmering beneath the surface. “Perfect,” he added, almost as an afterthought. His gaze softened, but just barely. “Good work, Miss Y/N.”

I felt a strange warmth spread through me. I had expected more formality, more distance, but there was something about the way he said those words that felt different, more personal. I tried to keep my composure, but my heart was beating harder now.

As the class began to file out, I remained seated for a moment, my fingers lightly brushing over the edges of my papers as I adjusted them, feeling a slight tremor in my hands. I wasn’t sure if I was still processing his words or the intensity of the moment. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to leave, or if I wanted him to say something more—anything, really.

But he didn’t. His attention moved back to the papers on his desk, the cold, professional mask returning. But I knew what had just passed between us. The tension still hung in the air, thick and undeniable. I could almost taste it. I shifted in my seat, feeling the weight of the silence pressing against me.

The room had emptied, leaving just the two of us in this quiet space. My mind raced, trying to make sense of everything. Was he still aware of me? Even as his gaze never fully met mine again, there was something about the way he’d looked at me that made me feel as if we were still connected, even in that silence.

As I stood, I moved to adjust my backpack over my shoulder, trying to regain some normalcy. My fingers fumbled slightly as I pulled it on, my thoughts still tangled. I could feel his eyes on me once more, even though he wasn’t directly looking. It was as if he was aware of my every movement.

Just as I reached the door, I heard his voice—low, commanding, sending a jolt through me.

“You did a good job, Miss Y/N,” he said, his voice a smooth draw. “Always impeccable.”

The words struck me like a spark in the quiet room, and my breath caught. I froze for a moment, feeling the weight of his praise and the underlying intensity behind it. My cheeks flushed a deep crimson, warmth flooding my face as I quickly turned my head, trying to mask the sudden rush of heat.

“Thank you,” I said, my voice softer than usual, betraying the sudden rush of emotions swirling inside me.

Without another word, I stepped out into the hall, my pulse pounding in my ears. The game had changed. And as much as I tried to tell myself it was just another day, I knew deep down that something had shifted between us.

I had to admit, the thought had been nagging at me for days. Was I just another student to him? Did he really see me only as that? Or was there something more behind the way he kept glancing at me in class, his eyes lingering a fraction longer than they should have? It was maddening to think about, and I couldn’t stop the curiosity from eating away at me.

The game was fun—no doubt about it—but I needed answers.

So I decided to test it again. This time, I was going to make sure the Professor couldn’t ignore me, and if he did, then that would prove everything I needed to know.

The idea had been swirling in my head for days now, gnawing at me. I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something more between him  and me. He was always so composed, always so in control, but when our eyes met, there was something there. Something I couldn’t explain. 

As I settled into my seat, I tried to act casual, pulling out my notebook and pretending to be absorbed in my notes, but my heart was pounding. I could feel his presence at the front of the room, but I kept my eyes trained on the page, waiting for the inevitable.

The room began to fill up as other students entered, taking their seats. He stood at the front, greeting a few students, his voice low and steady as always. But my mind was elsewhere—on him. I couldn’t help but glance up occasionally, but I didn’t want to make it too obvious.

Class began, and he fell into his usual rhythm. His voice was calm, steady, and clear, filling the room with his authoritative presence. I let my mind wander, knowing the moment I had been waiting for would come soon enough.

I noticed his eyes sweeping over the room as he began his lecture, but they didn’t land on me right away. Instead, they passed over my usual seat, scanning the rows of students. For a moment, I wondered if he’d even noticed the change, but I stayed still, pretending to pay attention to the lecture.

Minutes passed, and still, his gaze didn’t linger on me. I almost started to second-guess myself. Maybe he hadn’t noticed. Maybe it wasn’t as obvious as I thought.

But then—

I caught a subtle shift in his movements. His eyes flicked back to the room, scanning again. They moved from one student to the next, and then—It was like a switch had been flipped. His gaze landed on me.

It wasn’t immediate. At first, I thought I imagined it, but then his eyes stayed fixed on me, no longer scanning the room in a casual manner. For a moment, I could see the slight hesitation in his expression, like he was piecing something together. His eyes narrowed slightly as if searching for the right words, trying to figure out why I wasn’t where I usually sat. I felt a thrill of excitement surge through me. He had noticed. It took him a while, but he had noticed.

I didn’t move, pretending to be absorbed in my notes, my heart racing in my chest. My breath caught, and I couldn’t help but glance up again. This time, our eyes met—his deep, piercing blue eyes locking onto mine.

I saw something in them that hadn’t been there before—a flicker of recognition, of something more than just the usual professor-pupil dynamic. It was brief, but it was enough. He quickly broke the gaze, his expression stiffening as if he were trying to regain his usual composure.

But I knew. I knew he saw me now. 

My mind raced, but I kept my expression neutral. I didn’t want to give away that I knew exactly what had just happened. The rest of the lecture passed in a blur, but I couldn’t stop thinking about that moment—the way his gaze had lingered on me, the way his eyes had found me in the back of the room.

 Finally, the bell rang, signaling the end of the class. The students began filing out, and I stood slowly, packing my things. I kept my movements deliberate, as though I had all the time in the world, but my pulse was racing. I glanced around the room to see if anyone else noticed, but most students were too busy gathering their things and heading toward the door.

I walked out with the others, trying to keep my face neutral, but a smirk tugged at the corner of my lips. As I made my way down the hall, the satisfaction of what had just happened settled over me.  Professor Hetfield had noticed me—really noticed me. The way his gaze had locked onto mine, the brief hesitation in his usual calm demeanor—it was all the confirmation I needed.

I smirked to myself as I walked down the hallway, knowing that the game had changed. He had watched me, and now he knew. I had made my point. 

As the students filed out, I made my way over to Professor Hammett, who was talking to a couple of people by the door. He was always easy to talk to, and today, I had the perfect excuse to strike up a conversation.

“Hey, Professor Hammett!” I said, casually walking up.

“Y/N!” he greeted, his usual easy grin spreading across his face. “What’s up? You’re looking way too cheerful for someone who just survived a lecture with Hetfield.”

I laughed, adjusting my bag. “Oh, you know, I’m just doing great in class. But I was thinking about that old horror flick I watched last night—The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. I love how gritty and real it feels.”

His eyes lit up at the mention of the movie. “Ah, classic! That whole atmosphere, the suspense… It’s one of those films that gets under your skin. How about The Shining? Now that one’s pure psychological horror.”

I smiled, getting into the conversation. “For sure. It’s all about that tension, right? You don’t need to see the monster to feel the terror. It’s all in the build-up.”

He leaned in with a mischievous glint in his eye. “You know what? We should have a movie marathon. Old-school stuff. What do you think?”

“I’d be down for that,” I replied, enjoying the easy banter. But as we were talking, I caught the glint of familiar cold blue eyes across the hall—Professor Hetfield. He was standing with a few students, but his gaze was locked on me. I quickly turned back to Professor Hammett, but the tension in the air was undeniable.

As I continued the conversation with him, I noticed the professor step closer, his usual reserved demeanor barely concealing the sharp focus in his eyes. He greeted Kirk briefly, then turned his attention to me.

“Afternoon,  Miss Y/N,” he said, his voice low and almost a little too casual. But there was something there—something in the way his eyes lingered on me just a little too long.

“Good afternoon, Professor Hetfield,” I replied, trying to keep my tone light, but inside, my heart was racing. I couldn’t help but feel the shift in the air between us. It was like the silent tension from the horror movies we’d just discussed—unspoken, but thick.

Kirk smiled and stepped back slightly. “I’ll leave you two to chat. Catch you later, Y/N.”

“See you, Professor” I said, my smile still in place, but I could feel the subtle power shift now that it was just Professor Hetfield and me. As Kirk walked off, he moved a little closer, his eyes never leaving mine.

“I see you’ve been talking to Kirk,” he said, his tone still polite, but there was an edge to it now. The subtle jealousy was unmistakable. I could practically feel the heat radiating off him as he gave a small nod in Kirk’s direction.

I raised an eyebrow, leaning in a little closer. “Just talking about old horror movies, the classics.” I gave him a small, teasing smile. “What’s your take on them, Professor? Or are you too serious for something like that?”

He stared at me for a moment, then gave a tight smile. “I think I’m more interested in your take on them, Miss Y/N. You seem to have a particular passion for these films. Maybe you can give me some recommendations.”

I couldn’t help but smirk. “Oh, I’ve got plenty. You’re missing out on some of the best stuff. I’ll make you a list,” I said, my voice light but purposeful. The more I pushed him, the more I saw the barely-contained frustration in his eyes. Before I could say anything more, Professor Hetfield quickly glanced away, as if pulling himself back from the moment. He cleared his throat. “Good job in class today. Your answers were...  always impeccable.” His voice dropped slightly, as though he was forcing the words out.

I gave him a sly smile, my cheeks burning slightly from the attention. “Thanks, Professor. I’ll be sure to give you more to think about next time.”

As I turned to leave, I couldn’t help but feel the smirk forming on my lips. I’d pushed just the right buttons today, and I could see the jealousy simmering beneath his usually cold exterior.

As I walked out of the hallway, I could feel his eyes still on me, even though he didn’t say a word. It was like a scene from one of those horror movies we’d joked about—where the tension builds and you’re not sure when the next jump scare will come, but you know it’s coming.

I had him now. Professor Hetfield was interested, even if he wouldn’t admit it.

It had been days since I’d started playing my little games with Professor Hetfield. Each class had felt like a silent war, a dance of glances, subtle challenges, and unspoken words. I could feel his eyes on me more and more, could see the tension building every time I answered a question or made a move in his class. It was almost like a game of cat and mouse, and I was enjoying every second of it.

Today was no different. I was the last to leave the lecture hall, as usual. I liked to take my time, let everyone else rush out. There was something intoxicating about the way Professor Hetfield always seemed to watch me leave, his eyes following me as I gathered my things. And today, I was determined to make him feel something more.

I slung my bag over my shoulder slowly, savoring the quiet of the empty classroom. I had done it again—made him want more, made him chase me without him even realizing it. I thought I’d done enough to leave the class without another glance back, but today felt different.

Just as my hand touched the doorknob, I heard his voice. Low, controlled, but unmistakably commanding.

“Miss Y/N.”

I froze, my heart skipping a beat. I turned slowly to face him. He was standing by his desk, his gaze fixed on me. There was a new intensity in his eyes—a flicker of something deeper, something darker that hadn’t been there before.

“Leaving so soon?” he asked, his voice casual, but there was an edge to it now, a hint of something more.

I gave him a playful smile, leaning back slightly against the door. “Just thought I’d take my time, Professor. You know, savor the moment.”

His lips twitched at the corner, a small smirk playing on his face as he walked slowly toward me. “Savor the moment? Interesting choice of words.”

I raised an eyebrow, crossing my arms over my chest. “Why? Does that make you uncomfortable, Professor?” I could see the flicker of challenge in his eyes, but he didn’t back down. Instead, he stepped closer, his presence overwhelming.

“No,” he said quietly, his voice lowering, “but it makes me curious.”

The air between us thickened. Every step he took felt like it brought him closer to something dangerous—something that neither of us had fully acknowledged until now. I could feel the electricity crackling in the room, like we were standing on the edge of something we couldn’t control.

I took a step back, my heart racing. “I should go,” I said softly, trying to maintain control, even as the desire building between us felt undeniable.

But as I reached for the door, he moved quickly, his hand slamming against it, stopping me from leaving.

I froze, caught off guard by the force of his movement. My breath caught in my throat as I looked up at him, his blue eyes locking with mine. He was so close now, the heat of his body radiating against mine.

“Not yet,” he said, his voice low and commanding.

My heart pounded in my chest. The space between us was electric, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still. His hand stayed on the door, his other hand slowly lifting to brush a lock of hair behind my ear. His touch sent a shiver down my spine, and I could barely breathe under the weight of his gaze.

“You like playing with me, don’t you?” His voice was almost a growl now, the words wrapped in dark intent. “You like making me chase you, testing me, seeing how far I’ll go.”

I swallowed hard, trying to steady my breath, but I couldn’t deny the heat that rushed through me. This was the moment—the moment. “Maybe,” I whispered, my lips almost brushing against his as I spoke. “Maybe I do.”

His smirk deepened, and in that instant, he closed the distance between us. His lips crashed against mine, fierce and hungry, as if he couldn’t hold back anymore. The kiss was everything I had imagined—passionate, urgent, full of unspoken desire. His hands moved to my waist, pulling me closer, the heat of his body making me melt against him.

I responded in kind, my hands threading through his hair, pulling him even closer. The kiss deepened, and I could feel his desire growing, matching my own. The world outside the room ceased to exist. All that mattered was the tension between us—the need that had been building for days, now finally unleashed.

His hands moved to the small of my back, pushing me against the door as he kissed me deeper. I could feel his breath against my neck, his lips trailing down to the sensitive spot just below my ear. I gasped as his hand slid down, dangerously close to where I wanted him, but just as quickly, he pulled away, his eyes dark with lust.

“You’ve been playing with fire, Miss Y/N,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. “And now… it’s my turn.” I think,” he said, his voice soft but filled with purpose, “that I should remind you who’s in charge here.”

I looked up at him, my chest rising and falling with every breath. My heart was racing, but I couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at my lips. “I’ve been waiting for this,” I whispered.

His gaze darkened, and without another word, he pulled me toward him again, this time more forcefully, as his lips descended on mine once more. The kiss was all heat and urgency, the taste of him intoxicating as his hands roamed over my body, taking control in a way that made me feel both exhilarated and completely powerless.

I responded, parting my lips slightly, inviting him in. The kiss deepened, his lips moving against mine with a tenderness that belied the intensity of the connection between us. My body seemed to melt against him, every inch of me craving the touch I had been teasing him with for so long.

His hands found their way to my waist, pulling me closer, and for a brief moment, I thought he might push me further. But he didn’t. Instead, he gently guided me toward his desk, the action so smooth, so deliberate, I couldn’t help but follow.

He stopped just before the edge of the desk, his eyes locking onto mine. “Sit,” he said, his voice soft but commanding.

I obeyed without hesitation, sitting on the edge of the desk, my heart pounding in my chest as I waited for what would come next. The anticipation was almost too much to bear.

He stepped back, taking in the sight of me sitting there, the tension thick in the air. “You’ve been teasing me,” he said again, his voice softer this time, but no less intense. “But you want more, don’t ya?”

I nodded, unable to find the words. My body felt like it was on fire, every nerve alive with need.

“You’re so needy for me, Miss Y/N,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with desire. “And I think you know exactly how far you’re willing to go.”

The weight of his words hung in the air, but before I could respond, he was back in front of me, his lips capturing mine once again. The kiss was hungry now, desperate, like we were both starved for this connection. There was no turning back. He first unbuttoned my shirt a bit, playing with them a bit, but surprisingly he ripped my shirt leaving me with only my bra. I smirked at his action, and with confidence, I started removing my bra, slowly looking at him, with a smirk. My fingers hesitated for just a second as I reached for the straps of my bra, but I knew he was watching, and somehow, that made me move slower, more deliberately.

As I pulled the fabric down my shoulders, I felt his eyes trace the curve of my skin. I could see the shift in his posture—how his breath seemed to catch, how his chest rose and fell a little faster. His eyes never left me, and I could feel the weight of his stare like a touch, lingering on my exposed skin. When the bra finally slipped down, I couldn’t help but notice how his gaze followed every inch, lingering on my breasts with such intensity that it made me feel completely exposed.

His jaw tightened, and I saw his hand flex at his side, as if he was fighting the urge to move. He didn’t look away. In fact, it was almost like he was drinking me in, like he couldn’t get enough of what he was seeing. There was hunger in his eyes—raw, powerful—and yet, there was something else too, something almost reverent, like he was seeing me in a way no one else ever had.

His breath was shallow, quick, and I noticed how his body shifted, how he leaned in just slightly, drawn to me without even realizing it. I could tell he wanted to reach out, to close the distance between us, but he stayed still, rooted in place, just watching. His eyes flicked back to mine for a moment, and the heat between us seemed to grow, thick and heavy, leaving no room for anything but this moment.

I let the bra drop fully, and still, his gaze never wavered. I felt a flush spread across my skin, not from shyness, but from the raw intensity of how he was looking at me. He was hungry for me, but it wasn’t just physical. It felt deeper, like he was searching for something in me, something more than just the surface.

At that moment, I realized I wasn’t just undressing for him. I was giving him all of me, and he was taking it in, slowly, carefully, like he was afraid if he blinked, it would all disappear.

“You really love teasing, don’t you, darling?” His voice was low, almost a growl, like he was savoring the words, letting them linger between us. His gaze never left mine, intense and predatory, but there was something playful in the way he spoke, as if he enjoyed watching me revel in the power of the moment.

 met his gaze, a smirk tugging at the corners of my lips. His words hung in the air, heavy with that unmistakable edge of desire. “Yes,” I said softly, my voice breathless but confident. “I love it.” I let the words linger between us, daring him to respond, daring him to make the next move.

His eyes darkened, and the moment stretched taut between us, the space narrowing. Before I could even register the shift in his posture, his hand was on me—his touch firm, almost possessive as he reached for my breast, his fingers brushing the sensitive skin. I gasped, my body instinctively tilting toward him, but he guided me with ease, his touch a mixture of control and dominance.

“You’ve had your little games,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with intent. “Now it’s my turn to have fun.” His thumb stroked the curve of my breast, sending a shiver down my spine. “You’ve teased me enough, darling. But now…” He leaned in, his breath hot against my ear, his grip tightening slightly. “Now, it’s my turn to see just how much you can handle.”

His hand didn’t stop, didn’t falter. The intensity of his gaze pinned me in place, even as my breath hitched and my knees felt weak. Without a word, he guided me back until I felt the cool edge of the desk against me. His touch was deliberate, firm but not rushed, as though he wanted to savor every reaction he could draw from me.

“Lie back,” he murmured, his voice deep and commanding, the kind of tone that sent a shiver through me and left no room for hesitation. I obeyed, lowering myself onto the desk, the smooth surface pressing against my back as he loomed over me.

His hands moved down, exploring every inch of me, his fingertips brushing over my exposed skin with an unhurried precision that made me feel like I was unraveling under his touch. When he reached the hem of my skirt, his eyes flicked up to meet mine, a wicked smirk tugging at his lips.

“You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?” he said, his tone teasing but heavy with desire. He slid the fabric higher, baring my thighs inch by inch, watching as goosebumps rose on my skin. His fingers lingered just at the edge of my panties, tracing the line where the fabric met my skin, a maddeningly light touch that made my pulse race.

“You like to tease, but look at you now,” he murmured, his voice low, almost a growl. His thumb brushed over me through the thin fabric, his movements slow, deliberate. I couldn’t stop the soft gasp that escaped my lips, and his smirk deepened.

“Already so wet,” he said softly, almost to himself, his fingers pressing just enough to make me squirm. “Tell me, darling, was this all part of your little game? Or is this just how much you want me?”

The way he looked at me, the way his hands moved, made my mind spin. I couldn’t find the words to respond, couldn’t do anything but feel as he kept teasing me, his touch igniting every nerve in my body. He was in complete control now, and I could only hold onto the edge of the desk, letting myself get lost in the way he looked at me like I was his to claim.

His fingers toyed with the edge of my panties, his touch maddeningly light as though he was savoring how much I squirmed under him. I managed a smirk, though my breath was already unsteady.

“You’re good at this,” I murmured, the tease in my voice thin but still there. “But what about you, Professor?” My words dripped with mock innocence, daring him. “You should’ve seen the way you were looking at me earlier.”

His eyes darkened, his jaw tightening for just a moment as if I’d struck a nerve. The smirk that spread across his lips after was slow, deliberate, dangerous.

“You have no idea,” he said, the words making me shiver. “How many times I’ve dreamed of this—of having you like this, spread out, completely mine to touch, to taste…” His hand slid lower, his fingers grazing the soft fabric that clung to me. “To fuck you senseless,” he finished, his tone rough with restraint, his breath hot against my skin.

“Don’t you have rules about this?” I asked, my voice low and teasing, a smirk tugging at the corners of my lips. “Making out with your student?”

He paused for a fraction of a second, his eyes locking onto mine. The intensity in his gaze made my stomach flip, and then he leaned in close, his lips brushing my ear as he whispered, his voice rough and full of heat.

“I’d break every rule for you, darling,” he said, his breath hot against my skin. “Every single one.”

His hands moved with purpose then, slipping beneath the waistband of my panties, hooking the fabric, and pulling it down slowly. The deliberate way he did it—like he wanted me to feel every second of it—made my pulse race.

“Lift,” he said, his tone low and commanding, and I obeyed without a second thought, letting him slide them down and away. The cool air against my bare skin made me shiver, but his warm hands were already there, settling on my thighs, pushing them apart with a quiet authority that sent heat rushing through me.

“Open up for me,” he murmured, his voice soft but firm, his eyes dark with intent. The way he looked at me, like I was something he’d waited too long to touch, made me tremble. 

He leaned in, his lips brushing the sensitive skin of my inner thigh, his breath warm, every touch deliberate and unhurried. I gripped the edge of the desk, barely able to breathe as he moved closer, the tension in the air thick enough to drown in.

“You teased me long enough,” he murmured against my skin, his voice a low, gravelly promise. “Now, let me take care of you the way I’ve dreamed of.”

His hands tightened on my thighs, spreading them wider as he leaned in, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that sent a shiver down my spine. The weight of his gaze alone made me feel exposed, vulnerable—but in a way that only made me crave more. His touch was slow, deliberate, like he was savoring every moment, every reaction I gave him.

I tried to steady my breath, but it was impossible when every second of his tongue left me more breathless. His lips brushed over my skin, soft and teasing, but I couldn’t stop the way my body responded—how I arched toward him instinctively, needing more.

“Relax,” he murmured, his voice low and smooth, with a hint of command. “Let me make you feel good.”

The tension in my body built with every deliberate stroke of his tongue on my clit,  every soft press of his lips. I could feel my pulse racing, the heat spreading through me, getting more intense with every move he made. The way he took his time, exploring, licking, making sure I felt every inch of his attention, was driving me crazy. I couldn’t help the quiet moans that escaped my lips, each one only fueling his need to tease me further.

I could feel the pressure building, growing tighter and tighter inside me, until it was almost unbearable. His movements were steady, perfect, and it was clear he was enjoying the way I was coming undone beneath his touch. My body trembled with anticipation, and I couldn’t hold it back anymore.

“Professor… professor… I’m c-coming,” I gasped, my voice shaky as the words tumbled out before I could even stop them.

The moment I spoke, he pulled back slightly, his lips still brushing against me as he glanced up at me, his expression filled with a wicked, knowing smile.

“Call me James, babe,” he murmured, his voice rough and possessive. There was a playful edge in his tone, but underneath it was an unmistakable authority that sent another wave of heat rushing through me.

He didn’t stop, didn’t slow down—he kept moving with that same steady rhythm, drawing me closer to the edge again. The way he moved, the way he touched me, left me no choice but to surrender to the pleasure.

“James...” I gasped, the sound of his name falling from my lips like a plea, a release. It pushed me over the edge, and I couldn’t help but let go, the pleasure crashing through me in waves as I fell apart beneath his touch.

I could hardly catch my breath as the waves of pleasure slowly ebbed away, my chest heaving with each shallow inhale. Slowly, I sat up, trying to regain some sense of control, my body still trembling slightly from the release he’d given me.

But he wasn’t done. I felt his hand gently, yet firmly, guide me back, pushing me to lay across the desk.

“Did you think I was done, Y/n?” His voice was low, confident, full of quiet authority as he loomed above me, his eyes dark with intent. “I told you... now it’s my turn to play.”

His hands moved with purpose, his fingers undoing his shirt. I watched as he pulled it off, revealing his toned chest, each muscle defined and impossibly perfect in the soft light. The sight of him, so composed yet hungry for me, stirred something deep inside.

He unzipped his trousers, the sound of the zipper sharp in the otherwise quiet room. As he stepped closer, his gaze never left mine, steady and filled with something that made my heart race even faster.

“I know you want it, babe,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with unspoken promise. “You don’t know how long I’ve dreamed of this... to make you scream my name while I fuck your little pussy. I can feel it... the way you’ve been craving me, just like I’ve been craving you.”

I could feel the tension building again between us, the heat in the room growing almost unbearable. His hands moved firmly to my shoulders, guiding me back until I was lying flat across the desk, my heart racing with both anticipation and uncertainty. The shift in position made everything feel more intimate, more real, and I could feel my body instinctively surrendering to him.

His touch was possessive now, his hands gentle but unyielding, pressing me firmly against the desk. My breath hitched as he loomed over me, his presence a weight I couldn’t escape. Every movement he made was deliberate, as though he was savoring each second, each shift of power.

“You’re not going anywhere, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with an unmistakable edge of command. His tone was both soothing and thrilling, the way he said my name sending a rush of heat through my body. The way he used it—like he was taking control—made my pulse quicken.

It felt as though every inch of my body was attuned to him, and I couldn’t help but let go of the resistance, letting myself sink into the moment, into the connection we shared.

His hands slid gently under my ass, lifting me as he positioned himself between my legs, his presence commanding. I could feel the weight of his touch as he leaned down, his lips brushing lightly over the inside of my thighs. The kiss was slow, deliberate, each movement sending a pulse of warmth through my body.

“You’re mine now, Y/N,” he murmured, his breath hot against my skin, sending shivers through me. “I’m going to make you feel things you’ve never felt before.”

He leaned in, starting moving slowly but sending shivers down my spine. Each thrust  was deliberate, slow—almost too slow for the need I felt building within me. My body wanted more, needed more, but he was taking his time, letting every moment stretch out, making me ache with wanting.

I could feel him shift slightly, his hands gently gripping my hips, pulling me closer, but still, he didn’t move any faster. The anticipation was maddening, and I couldn’t hold back the soft whimper that escaped my lips.

“Please,” I breathed, barely able to control myself. “Faster, please.”

His eyes locked onto mine as he paused, the intensity in his gaze making my heart race. There was a moment where I could feel his control slipping, but he only smiled slightly, the hint of a challenge in his eyes.

“You’re such a desperate girl, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, almost like a growl. There was a teasing edge to his words, but they only added to the heat building inside me. His tone, though commanding, held something more—a knowing that made me shiver in response.

The pace had quickened, and every movement he made sent waves of heat through me. His hands were gripping my hips, holding me in place as he thrust harder, faster. My breath was coming in ragged gasps, my chest rising and falling with each moment. I could feel every inch of him, the way his body moved with control and purpose, making every nerve in my body come alive.

I could feel his gaze on me, intense and dark with desire, as he continued to move with a rhythm that was both steady and relentless. “You wanted this, didn’t you?” he whispered, his hands sliding up to my ribs, his fingers curling slightly as he held me tighter, his thumb brushing over my skin.

“Yes,” I gasped, the word slipping out before I could stop it. I was already lost in the sensation, my mind spinning with the intensity of everything—his touch, his voice, the way he made me feel like I was the only thing that mattered in that moment.

Without missing a beat, he increased the pace again, and I couldn’t help but gasp, the sensation overwhelming. His movements were smooth, confident, his body pressing me down into the desk as I gripped the edges, my fingers digging into the cool surface. Every thrust sent shockwaves through me, the intensity building until I could feel my body starting to tremble with the pressure.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his lips brushing against my ear, the sound of his voice sending a shiver through me. His words were a promise, something deeper, something real. “You feel so good, Y/N.”

I couldn’t speak, couldn’t form a coherent thought. I was lost in the feeling of him, the way his body moved with mine, the way everything seemed to align as if we were both caught in the same moment, the same rhythm. The connection was undeniable, each touch, each thrust, drawing me closer to the edge.

My breaths were shallow now, the pressure building more and more. I could feel myself starting to tremble, my legs tightening around him, desperate for release. “James,” I breathed, my voice barely above a whisper, but he heard it, responding without hesitation.

“What did you say, darling? I didn’t hear you” He said, looking at me with a smirk on his face. “Jame-” I tried to say but only a moan came. “I don't hear you babe” and he thrusted harder now and I felt dizzy for a second. “I told you I want you to scream my name, but I don’t listen nothing” “James, fuck me harder!” I cried, I don’t even know how my voice came. He looked at me with a smirk.

His hands moved down to my thighs, gripping them firmly, and he shifted, adjusting his position just enough to make the sensation even more intense. My body arched, a soft gasp escaping me as the new angle took over, the pressure building in all the right ways.

It was almost too much, but I couldn’t stop it, couldn’t pull away. I wanted this, needed this, and as the rhythm of his movements quickened again, I could feel my own body responding, chasing that overwhelming release.

" James... I'm close," I breathed, my voice shaky, barely a whisper. Every part of me was on fire, the heat inside me almost unbearable, but I couldn't stop it. I was caught between control and the overwhelming need to give in to what he was offering.

"Cum for me, Y/N, come all over my cock such a good girl you are" he whispered, his voice low and filled with a quiet intensity. The sound of his words sent a shiver down my spine, like a signal that it was okay to give in, to let the pressure that had been building inside me finally break free.

 I finally let go. The sensation hit me all at once, a wave of heat and release that took over, making my entire body tremble. I couldn’t stop the soft, breathless moans that slipped from me, each one an echo of the intensity coursing through me.

"I need just a bit more," he whispered, his voice strained. His hands gripped my hips tighter as he pulled me closer, urging me to meet his rhythm.

The pace quickened, the sounds of his breathing growing louder. His movements became more erratic, his grip on me tightening, his face a mix of focus and something deeper.

"Y/N..." he muttered, his breath catching. His body shuddered against mine, the tension finally snapping as he released a soft exhale, the rapid rise and fall of his chest matching the frantic rhythm of the moment.

For a few moments, we both stayed still, breathing heavily, connected in the quiet aftermath.

He gently guided me to sit, but I remained on the edge of the desk, my legs draped around his waist, as he stood just in front of me. His arms wrapped around me, pulling me close, his chest pressing against mine as we both caught our breath. I could feel the warmth of his body, the steady beat of his heart beneath my cheek. We both smiled, a moment of quiet intimacy between us.

"Wow," I murmured, my voice still breathless. "That was intense."

He chuckled softly, his grip tightening slightly as if reassuring me. "I’m glad you liked it," he whispered, his voice thick with something I couldn’t quite place. A playful glint danced in his eyes, but there was also something deeper, an intensity that lingered.

I looked up at him, my fingers tracing lightly over his shirt, my lips teasing the words I could feel bubbling up inside. "What if I wanted to play again?" I said, my voice soft but daring, the words laced with challenge.

He smirked, holding me a little tighter as if pulling me further into him. "If you play with me again, there will be consequences," he said, his tone playful yet firm.

I met his gaze, leaning in just slightly, my lips brushing near his ear. "Then I’ll gladly play again," I whispered, my voice a breath against his skin.

He chuckled softly, but then his expression shifted. He pulled back just enough to look me in the eyes, a serious edge creeping into his voice. "I forgot to mention something," he said. His hand moved to the back of my neck, his touch gentle but firm. "If I hear you talking the way you did earlier, with Professor Hammett, I’ll make you pay for it."

My heart skipped a beat at his words. I looked up at him, my lips curling into a teasing smile. "Are you jealous, Professor?" I asked, my voice light, but there was a part of me that wanted to know just how he’d react.

His grip on me tightened, just enough to send a shiver through me, but his smile didn’t waver. "Yeah," he admitted, his voice rough but with a hint of warmth. "And maybe, just maybe, I’ll make you regret making me feel that way."

A playful laugh escaped me, but there was a softness in my chest, a warmth I couldn’t quite explain. Without another word, he leaned down, pressing his lips gently to mine and I wrapped my arms around his neck. It was slow at first, a tender kiss that deepened as we both surrendered to the quiet pull between us. When we finally broke away, his forehead rested against mine, our breaths coming in unison.

"I’ve wanted to do that for so long," he whispered, his voice thick with something more than just desire.

I smiled softly, running my fingers along the edge of his shirt, a quiet thrill coursing through me. "I think we both have a lot more to explore, don’t we?"

He chuckled, pulling me closer once more, his arms holding me as if to keep me from ever slipping away. "Definitely."

[sorry-not-feeling-it-right-now]

Rethinking about the roles of Smitten and Skeptic and I think I understand why these two had never met each other one on one

(Again, very messy ramble, so be warned)

(You’re welcome to add more onto this in the tags)

It’s because of how their core selves, the reason how they were created, were complete opposites of each other, that there is no way for them to meet each other naturally

Opportunist and Hunted were able to meet naturally because of how they’re both survival tactics (socially and physically)

Stubborn and Broken are our reactions towards challenges (rivalry and submission)

Cold and Paranoid are reactions towards pain

And Contrarian and Cheated are reactions on the whole “nothing ever matters so might as well have fun!!!! :DDD” vs “everything matters and we’re fu@king getting through it out of spite” mindset

Smitten and Skeptic’s whole thing was about blind devotion and skepticism, both of them are reactions towards a person and/or a situation

One doesn’t think at all aside from the Princess,which leads to oversimplification, while the other overthinks which leads to overcomplicating things

One lives in fantasy land while the other grounds himself in reality, seeking the truth

In separating them, we see how similar they are with the twin routes despite them never meeting—their hyper focus on their goals, their inflexibility, etc etc

It’s impossible to be blindly believing in something when you’re skeptic about it, and impossible to be skeptic if you are truly believing and devoted to something. These two ideals just cancels each other out

That’s why Skeptic sucks in The Cage, because he’s overthinking a situation that really isn’t as complicated as he think it is

That’s why Smitten becomes so dangerous once you’ve slain the Princess, because he would want to live in a fantasy where you and the Princess would live happily ever after together, where the two of you are destined star-crossed lovers who were separated by “the evil narrator”

And the funny thing is, the truth is that you and the Princess are two halves of a whole separated by the narrator, which not only satisfies Smitten’s wish of a romantic tale of lovers separated, but it also satisfies Skeptic with those answers

So a meeting between them would either have them getting along, complete chaos and arguments, or just somewhere in between like the other voices are

Skeptic would definitely question Smitten’s impossible ideal of a Happily Ever After, while Smitten would just tell Skeptic not to overthink stuff and focus on the Princess

Maybe Skeptic would hear Smitten out that the Princess might be important and put focus on questioning her(or just her in general)

I feel like if there’s a route with the two of them together they may or may not drive each other insane with their hyper focus on different things, or they would both end up with a solution where the both of them are happy

It’s hard to tell

[xaverie]

Important tags To Me:

@cherryhastoomuchfreetime

#i also love evan but i do think he has a tendancy to think in extremes #even when his heart is absolutely in the right place#and thinking in such extremes can sometimes obscure nuanced understanding of his friends #honestly i feel like that element of his personality is what drew him and K together #they both are kind of like that lol #and i say this with love and adoration for all 4 of them

I agree and I think it's the fact that he thinks in extremes that leads to stuff like his interaction with the Qohlye. Because he's obviously like 'If you're not with me, you're against me,' with no in between. And if the Qohlye is not doing or saying exactly what Evan wants, then he must not be with him, despite the rest of the team clearly saying that he is.

@kingoftealeafs

#yeah! This is the core of the tension with K too like #people always blame K for imposing their world view onto Evan and YEAH he DOES do that but so does Evan!!!!!!

True, and I think the frustrating thing for me is that. K got... punished for doing this and Erika admits K was wrong in AP. Evan keeps getting rewarded for doing this, and Brennan doubles down on why Evan is right.

This is why I don't really like doing meta for actual plays/improv and will probably keep my mouth shut on analysis from now on. There's no writing/re-writing/editing process, so it's hard for me to tell whether Brennan thinks Evan is justified, or he's just saying why Evan thinks he is justified, or which are strategic/player moves.

@selkiesongss

#which is that evan's worldview is fundamentally at odds with those of his friends #to poorly reference D&G - evan views reality and identity as arborescent concepts #he understands reality as comprised of truths and falsehoods with little room for ambiguity #he understands identity as a concept that grows from a single unifying truth; a foundational principle upon which a person is constructed #sam and jammer's notions of reality are slightly murkier but they generally operate under a rhizomatic framework #with regard to identity - they understand themselves as existing in multiple simultaneous states #'whitney jammer' is whitney & jammer & sandwich man all at once!#'samantha butler' is sam & sam black & sam britain simultaneously! #and on top of that- they're the wizards that evan knows them to be #sam and jammer understand identity as a quilt; the various parts of themselves may take up more or less of their life #but ultimately form a contiguous whole stitched with the same underlying thread#and evan cannot understand this line of thinking #his entire life has been shaped by magic. it has changed who he is at his core. magic is who he is- everything else comes after #playing a role other than 'wizard' would be to lie about who he perceives himself to be #like you said OP- he wants so desperately to be understood but he can't understand his friends beyond who they are to him #i think part of that comes from a difference in what his friends want and what he wants #jammer's motive is teamwork - he wants to support those around him. sam's motive is community - she wants to facilitate connection #evan's motive is belonging - he wants to feel wanted. #while sam and jammer are moving towards the future/the people they want to be #evan is moving towards the treehouse he told jammer about on weugan #he doesn't believe he fits into their lives so he tries to impose who he thinks they are onto them; wizards just like him #if they're all wizards then their lives will slot together neatly. if they're not - he doesn't know how to be something they keep #i want to talk more about how this makes evan really combative when it comes to his friends' leading mundane lives but alas- the tag limit.

Oh baby I LOVE meeting philosophers in the wild 😍🤩🥰

Yeah- this- beautiful, no notes. Except I wish you had added it to the post so I could reblog it!!

So. I love Evan Kelmp. And - imagine that I'm trying to choose my words carefully here.

I've been getting annoyed with him over the last three episodes. Because. I don't like how he tends to impose his beliefs. About what is correct and should happen. On the other characters. And our Black characters, specifically. Which. Was really put on clear display by his interaction with The Qohlye.

Evan seeks to be understood. But I don't think he has.. put in the required effort to reach that same level of understanding with his friends, or in general. Perhaps because they haven't said things in the exact way that he needs to hear them. But he behaves as though he does understand, even though I personally think. That there are things he's missing.

The treehouse conversation. Lots of people seem to get and relate to Evan's side of the convo, which is fantastic! But not as deep an understanding of Jammer's side. Evan decides that the correct thing is for Jammer to come out not hide his magical experiences. He jumps to a few conclusions about the reason - first that maybe Jammer was ashamed, then that he wasn't confident it would go well.

Instead of asking for clarification about what "They need me to be Whitney, you guys need me to be Jammer" means, he had made up his mind. Evan likes that Jammer is magic because that is the way in which Evan feels most connected to Jammer, thus everyone should admire Jammer for his magical abilities the way Evan does. And if Jammer hasn't allowed for that it's some kind of rebuke of Evan, of magic, and of Jammer's own self. Therefore the only correct thing is to merge these identities, but really just be the Jammer that Evan knows.

And I'm not saying Evan is wrong here. But in the same way he's missing the fact that Jammer did try to expose his magic in S2E1, but he couldn't prove it because magic is fucking broken. He's also missing how naturally we, as Black people, fall into code switching. Not just historically as a method of survival, but for practical reasons, privacy reasons, or just to keep our peace. To treat that unilaterally as the same thing as a kind of toxic compartmentalization, or hiding the true self (all of them are true selves), was. Kinda. Sad to me.

Not to take away from Jammer's triumphant success on Galamanis or the freedom represented by growing wings, because this is what he chose and I love that he made those choices. But it also represents potentially giving up fitting into his mundane life and dream career, something he had fought so so hard to keep thus far, and destroying 'Whitney'. This, more than anything before it, might be a fundamental shift in identity.

The same way it made me a little bit sad that Evan had assumed Jammer didn't mean "family" literally, when I immediately recognized that of course he did. There has never been a point in American history where part of being Black and being family hasn't meant - we may have to be apart, but as soon I'm ready (as soon as we're safe), I'm coming back for you, no matter what. It is THE very first promise, the foundational truth, or the only thread of hope that tied so many Black families together through all these generations.

So while everyone recognizes what a sweet moment it was, I also hope people feel the gravity and the history behind "I dream of making that space for you." And the weight of how many people must have said that before him. And what a profound act of love it's always been because sometimes that's all we have.

When Evan tells Sam, "I think you are the most powerful wizard," she instantly replies, "I hope not." Evan's response to this was essentially - who were are is true whether we want it to be or not. Which, to be fair, is both consistent with what he expressed to Jammer and with his own experience. What it leaves out is that our hopes are also who we are. And that maybe the same way he mistook her love toward him for general gregariousness, he is still misunderstanding her a little.

While he deferred to Sam on the matter of whether they should pursue the Qohlye or not, I think it was still Evan's (or Brennan's) idea that not only must all four of them be chosen, but that The Qohlye must be the best choice for Sam.

When the Qohlye says 'I think you're only here because you're convinced you need to be the same as your friends,' is he wrong? When he asks why she needs to be chosen by his magic specifically, she can't answer on her own. When Sam was given the choice between Power and Understanding she immediately chose understanding because of COURSE she did. (She instantly replies, "I hope not." I hope not. My heart breaks.)

And yet. Evan insists that she's given the power anyway. Because that's what fits neatly into what he already believes is correct and should happen. He believes in winning and rewards. He believes she deserves that power and that they need it. So even though I know he does this out of love, he doesn't even consider for a moment that he might be wrong.

Because Sam does get the power, she does thank him, and again not to diminish Sam's accomplishment - once again Evan gets what he wants and is proven right.

Except.

When The Qohlye doesn't give him the answers he wants in the exact form that he demands them. Evan decides that this is a crime for which The Qohlye deserves to die. The Qohlye, who helped return him to life. Who has a strong connection to his friends. (Who chose to be Black, which meant so much to Jammer that he cried.) Who asked each of his friends, in turn, if they thought The Qohlye meant what Evan thought he meant. Who demonstrated that he is not (and cannot be) obfuscating something that is apparently obvious to everyone else.

Evan refuses to accept that yes, The Qohlye can give him information, but cannot understand it for him. And Evan is not ready to Understand because Evan keeps choosing Power. Understanding takes work, even (or especially) when it doesn't come naturally to you. And answers will not always come in a clear and concise way. And this makes him so angry that he wants The Qohlye dead.

While Evan always presents his beliefs and demands as logical and rational, his reaction to The Qohlye's refusal to engage on his terms was simply entitled and immature.