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stylesharrys · 6 months

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Reason to Stay [Mafiarry]

You come across a little something that Harry’s been keeping from you.

A/N: wow, it's been a hot fuckin' minute since I did mob! Harry but hey, here it is!! Next couple of weeks you guys will also be getting a new mob!Harry series, so keep your eyes peeled!! :)

Warnings: mentions of the mafia, descriptions of a gun and violence, swearing

WC: 2.8k

He knows the rules by now. Head down, shoulders high. Let them know you by a name, never by yours.

Harry thought he was slick enough to pull that over your head, too. He should’ve known better. He can’t live two separate lives, can’t keep you in the dark from the main life he lives. He can’t have you believing this fantasy forever.

But you knew, you knew since the beginning something was wrong – there was something he wasn’t telling you.

All the “security” he has to follow you when you want to go out without him, the personal driver, and the random stop-ins from three “friends” in particular. And if that wasn’t enough, the constant phone calls and change of phone numbers were enough to make anyone suspicious.

You trusted him, and never really had a reason not to. You’ve known Harry for years, as far back as you can remember. Even then, he was slightly shady, never giving much information about himself willingly.

But things are different now. You’re moved into his home, riding in his cars. Harry knows your every move, claims there are too many bad people out there, and that he could never live with himself if something happened to you and he couldn’t get to you in time.

Now, staring at the wad of cash that’s been stuffed into the hollow wood of the foot of the bed, all of your suspicions are confirmed. Not a doubt in your mind when your eyes catch glimpse of the silver barrel of a gun peeking from beneath the money.

There’s at least five grand there alone; tied together with elastic bands, and a separate wad wrapped with your hair tie.

From what you’re aware of, it’s not typical of a hotel owner to stash cash and a handgun in the foot of his bed.

You can’t help but chuckle to yourself. Harry has a safe just six feet away in the back of the closet. You know why the gun’s in the foot of the bed – easy access, just in case anything happens.

There’s an unfamiliar feeling in the pit of your stomach, and you can’t quite tell if it’s your gut telling you to run, or simply confirming that you were always right – you always knew there was something else deep down.

Harry’s not supposed to be home for another hour, you don’t know what to do with yourself in the time between.

Do you wait at the table for him when he gets home? Sitting there with the gun and cash laid out with your hands crossed? Do you put everything back and leave the top of the foot of the bed slightly out of place, so he knows that you know?

Or do you just pretend you didn’t see a damn thing?

You can’t live your life in a relationship with someone who keeps an entire lifestyle a secret from you. You can’t be engaged to a man you barely even know.

Harry can’t seriously have thought you wouldn’t find out, right? That someone somehowwouldn’t accidentally split up, or you wouldn’t start asking questions or start snooping for answers?

Because you weren’t snooping – not exactly.

An accidental knock at the foot of the bed when changing the sheets is what uncovered the truth. How pathetic. Not even a big reveal as to the secrets the man you love has been keeping.

Just your own accidental clumsiness.

But nothing is truly an accident, you believe that. Your intuition told you to lift the board and look into it, you could’ve just straightened the board back up, but you didn’t.

Curiosity always kills the cat. But you can’t be sure if there’ll be any satisfaction to bring it back.

“I don’t give a fuck if you have to pull his teeth out one by fucking one. Get the answers I want, or you’re the one to pay for Lopez’s fuck up.”

Harry raises a brow, tongue prodding at the inside of his cheek. Tommy never did have any chill when it came to hearing things he didn’t like. It shouldn’t surprise Harry anymore, not after all this time.

“I thought I told you, we’re sweet with the Solados'?”

Tommy turns around, lips pursed with rolling eyes. “So ‘cause we’re sweet with them, they get to walk all over us? I don’t think so. They work the corners, we run the shit. Keep ‘em in their place, no?”

Harry holds his hands up, a chuckle slipping from the side of his mouth and Tommy grins.

“Don’t tell me Y/N’s making you all soft now… just a few years ago, you would’ve threatened worse and cut off half their pay.”

Harry remembers exactly who he was before he met you again, remembers how reckless and money hungry he was. He barely recognizes himself as ever having been that person. Meeting you again made him realize there’s more to life than drugs and money.

“Not going soft in the slightest… though the less you say, the more your threats mean. Might wanna give it a try sometime.”

Tommy scoffs as the car pulls up to a stop outside Harry’s building.

“Kavin, I’ll need you to pick me up at 8:30 tomorrow morning, got a few bits I need to take care of.”

The driver looks up through the rearview mirror as Harry talks, and he nods his head, a timid smile on his face. “No problem, boss.”

Harry turns to Tommy.

“As for you, try to stay out of trouble ‘til morning, please?”

Tommy flips Harry off as he gets out of the car and makes his way inside. Shoulders slumped from exhaustion, Harry’s still beyond excited to get home and see you. To get straight in bed and hear all about your day while your head lays on his chest.

A smile tugs at the corners of his lips as the elevator takes him up to the penthouse. However, Harry doesn’t have to move far into the apartment before he finds you.

Expecting to see you already cozied up in bed, he’s confused to see you sat on the kitchen island in the dim lighting, body adorned in white lace and a pair of black heels.

Harry’s almost certain you’ve never looked so stunning, but he thinks that every damn time he sees you.

He can’t hold back the choke that breaks past his throat, and he can’t hide the tightening tent that begins to form in his fitted trousers. Harry grins sheepishly as he makes his way over.

“Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

You eye him, heart beating heavily in your chest. Unfolding your legs, you spread them open to allow Harry to close the space between you.

You guide his hands to your hips, a hum slipping past your lips.

“I thought seeing as we were doing surprises today, this would be a nice one for you to come home to.”

Your hands slowly cover the expanse of his chest. Feeling and groping the muscles beneath his white shirt. Harry's eyes are too focussed on the way your tits bulge from your bra to look you in the eye, but your words to cause a quirk in his brow.

“And what surprises might those be?”

He’s too in his fucking head, too into your body and the taste of your neck to notice you reach for anything, to even notice you move or shift. You’re going to be his fucking downfall.

“I don’t know,” you hum seductively, keeping your grip tight on the handle, pulling off the safety. “Maybe finding this little thing.”

Harry hears the click as the cold barrel of the gun meets his temple and his entire body stills. He pulls back slightly, eyes cautious as he meets your eyes.

You’re stoic, solid. You’re not about to break for shit.

“Where’d you get that, sweetheart?”

“You tell me, honey.”

Harry doesn’t say a word, doesn’t let his eyes leave yours.

“Did I find it behind the freezer? Or was it at the foot of the bed? Or, maybe I found this one in the tank of the toilet.”

Harry begins to realize you’ve been on what appears to be an Easter hunt today, finding all sorts of his little gems dotted around the house. But what he can’t figure out is why or how you started finding them in the first place.

“Tell me, Harry,” your free hand reaches between his thighs, cupping the bulge that sits heavy. “Why does a hotel owner have four guns hidden in his penthouse, with wads of cash stashed in the walls and floorboards, hm?”

Harry’s mouth grows dry, hands are slightly clammy. He works exceptionally under pressure and knows there’s always a way out, but with this, he isn’t so sure… Harry’s never dealt with this situation, he’s never even anticipated this would happen.

How stupid does he think you are?

“Put the gun down, and we’ll talk.”

Even though you’re the one with a gun to his head, he still speaks with such power and control. You won't budge though, and neither does the gun.

“I’ll put the gun down when you tell me the truth.”

He huffs, but you don’t give him chance to try and worm his way out of it.

“It’s drugs, isn’t it? That’s what’s always blowing up your phone, why Tommy is so secretive when he’s around me… why I can’t go anywhere or do anything without you knowing about it.”

There’s silence from Harry. In all honesty, he’s never seen you like this before and with a gun to his head, he’s not entirely sure how you’ll react if he tries to speak.

“What, did you think you could live this other life and not tell me how you really make your money? Did you seriously think I’d never find out, Harry? Do you think I’m that fucking dumb?”

“No, Y/N. I never told you to protect you! The less you know about this shit, the better. I don’t want you involved in any of it, okay? Now put the fucking gun down and we’ll talk.”

There’s desperation in his eyes but you can’t quite put your finger on what he’s desperate for. Surely he knows you’re no good with a gun, there’s no way you’d shoot him. Maybe it’s desperation that this doesn’t make you get up and leave.

Could he blame you if you did? He’s kept a whole life of his completely secret from you. Does he expect you to just stay and forget about it? Act like everything’s okay?

Nonetheless, despite your inner battle, you lower the gun and take a shaky breath as Harry slowly pinches it from your hand. He puts the safety back on and slides it across the island.

Harry’s eyes never leave yours as he takes off his jacket and rests it around your shoulders. With the chat you’re both about to have, it doesn’t sit right with him that you’re almost completely naked.

That’s when you finally break eye contact and the reality of everything starts to really sync in.

Not only has Harry been living an entire life secret from you, but he’s been living an illegal one. One with drugs and guns, and no doubt blood and pain.

As he leads you to the sofa, you begin to rake your brain for any times he’s ever come home scratched or bruised or bloody. It’s not like you fall short, either. There are a good few instances that pop back into your head.

He always claimed it was a rough night with training, or he and Tommy were fucking about and he clipped him with a black eye. You feel like a fool for ever believing a word that came out of his mouth.

As you’re staring at the coffee table you can’t help but question everything he’s ever said to you, everything he’s ever done. How did he even afford to buy a hotel? Was that with dirty money? And this apartment?

“Babe.”

“Don’t babe me, Harry. Sit down and explain right now before I walk out that door and I never come back.”

He huffs and takes a seat, reaching for your hands but you don’t let him. You won’t let him touch you, not until you know the truth. And even then, maybe not.

“Look, I’m happy to be open and honest with you. But there are some things you can’t know, some things I won’t tell you. To protect you. You have to understand this entire thing is bigger than us, bigger than me and Tommy.”

You raise your eyes to meet him, your face as stoic as you can muster but Harry can see you crumble behind your wavering exterior.

“You know me as Harry, and that’s who I am, who I always will be. But there is another part of me, another life I suppose I live separately. To keep you and my family safe. I’m not just a drug dealer, baby. I work for one of the biggest distributors in London. Tommy and I, we’re two of the most powerful men in the city. We run a gang of 13 corners, we sell big, not small. It’s a dangerous fucking business we work in Y/N, so dangerous I’m known by name never by face. To protect you, to protect my family.”

You blink, trying to take in the information he’s giving you. You figured most yourself, though hearing it come from his mouth? You’re not sure how to take it.

“I got myself in a mess when I was 17, I started working for a local dealer to make back the money I owed. That’s when I met Tommy, we were both in the same boat. After a while, we realized we were pretty good at it, and we got bigger and bigger. Made names for ourselves on the streets, but it came with a price. We lost a lot to get to where we are, Tommy lost his Mum, I lost my Uncle… I’m not prepared to lose you, too. That’s why I kept you out of it.”

Everything starts hitting you a little too hard. It’s too painful to hear Harry confess everything you've already assumed. In the six years you’ve known him, everything feels like a lie, like you don’t actually know him at all.

You’re engaged to a complete stranger. A dangerous stranger no doubt capable of murder, and you can feel your chest begin to sink.

“I can’t be here, I need to go.”

Harry shoots up as quickly as you do, hands gently on your elbows to steady you from making a hasty move.

“Darling, I know it’s a lot to take in but please, just hear me out.”

“Hear you out? Harry, you’ve lied to me for six fucking years. I got engaged to a man I don’t even know and you expect me to sit here and hear you out? This is too much, I can’t be around you right now.”

Panic sets in for Harry, his heart frantic in his chest and he doesn’t know what to do. You do know him, he’s Harry, yourHarry. Even if you can’t see that right now.

“Where are you gonna go? Stay here and I’ll leave, I don’t want you roaming the streets.”

You huff. “I’m going to pack a bag and spend the night at my Mums. You can call Kavin and have him take me if that makes you feel better. I just need to be away from you for a while. I need to think, Harry.”

He doesn’t say a word, just sits back on the sofa while you scurry to the bedroom to change and pack a bag. It feels like you’re in there forever, when really, only a few moments pass.

It takes everything in you not to collapse to the floor in the closet, chest heavy and you struggle to gasp for another breath. You refuse to break, not while you’re here anyway. You need to get out of this apartment, out of Harry’s presence, and think.

When you leave the bedroom, Harry hears and stands again, eyes glued on the overnight bag you’ve only ever packed to spend the weekend away with him.

With a deep sigh, you clear your throat.

“I just need the night to think and wrap my head around this. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Harry nods, swallowing back the lump of a cry that’s fighting its way up his throat.

“Kavin’s downstairs waiting for you.”

You make your way to the elevator, every step an effort for your tired body, and you can’t bring yourself to look back. As you step into the elevator, Harry gets a little closer so he can still see you.

“I love you, baby.” He whimpers out as the doors begin to close.

You look away, eyes closed shut.

“Goodnight, Harry.”

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #imagine harry styles #harry styles x you #harry styles smut #harry styles x reader #harrys styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles fic #harry styles oneshot

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ectologia · 4 days

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Tomura Shigaraki is definitely a disgusting and depraved perv when it comes to kinks and fetishes, it's a known fact. I wanna know your ideas for all the fucked up things he's into, illegal or not ^^

KINKS & FETISHES

TOMURA SHIGARAKI EDITION

CONTENT ♱ IN ALPHABETICAL ORDER, THIS IS EXTREMELY MATURE CONTENT WITH A PLETHORA OF KINKS AND FETISHES (INCLUDING NONCON), COMMON OR NOT, READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION!

ACAROPHILIA (AROUSAL FROM SCRATCHING)

Tomura loves the scratchies, we all know that. Whether he’s sad, anxious, frustrated or horny, you can always catch those blunt fingernails digging at his flesh like a dog in a flower patch. And, unsurprisingly, yours too. He likes the way you shudder as he claws down your skin, catching your nipples as he tears down your tits before watching the thin white lines raise into nasty looking red gashes. He’ll even drag his tongue over them to feel the bumps as he wanks.

ANAL TRAINING

Tomura is a disgusting and malicious man, so it should come as no surprise that one of his favourite past times is to see how wide he can stretch your ass open. He’ll make it into a game, timing you, finding different objects (safe or not) to squeeze up your butt, promising you treats and rewards if you can take having your sphincter stretched another 5 centimetres. And if you don’t think that’s a lot, trust, it is. And it’ll hurt. He’ll make sure of it.

ANONYMOUS SEX

Even evil crime bosses such as Tomura can get insecure too. On those days he’s feeling extremely low about himself, whether it be because a mission was unsuccessful or because his skin’s had a flare up and he can barely look at anyone. He’ll resort to skulking around dingy clubs and alleys. He’s not the biggest fan of glory holes, mainly because he’s scared there’ll be a dude on the other side sucking his cock. But he appreciates that he can be as weird or unattractive as he wants and still bust a fat nut into something other than his fist.

BATHROOM CONTROL

We all know Tomura is a control freak. And it just gets freakier when he starts telling you where and when you can go to the toilet. On most days, he’s tame about it. All he asks of you is that you tell him when your bladder’s full and he’ll give you permission to use his toilet. It’s only until he starts wanting to watch you shit and piss while he jerks himself off does it get a little.. worrying. He just finds it so cute when your little body does what it’s supposed to, and it’s even better when he’s the one that gets to be a bossy boots about it.

BREAST + NIPPLE TORTURE

As mentioned before, Tomura likes scratching your nipples. He’s also an avid enjoyer of slapping, pinching, twisting, stretching, biting, flicking and tickling. Really, there’s no actual explanation. He just enjoys watching you writhe in pain.

BREAST + NIPPLE WORSHIP

Equally, on the flip side. Tomura worships your tits, physically and spiritually. He finds them so beautiful, he reckons they’re his favourite part of your body. Romantic, right? He’ll kiss and hug and squish, juggling them in his palms before sucking one into his mouth while caressing the other. He’ll use them as pillows, resting his head on your chest before slipping away into a restful slumber. Probably to dream of even more titties.

CRUROPHILIA (A KINK RELATED TO LEGS)

Legs, legs, legs. Long legs, skinny legs, chubby legs, muscular legs, legs in tights, legs in thigh highs, shaved or unshaved. Tomura loves legs, he’s obsessed with them to some degree. Just the way he can do so much with them. Fold them against your chest, spread them out wide, throw them over his shoulders, or even bind them tight. He just loves legs.

BONUS

If you’re a fast runner, watch out, because Tomura will be chasing you in circles like you’re a gazelle in the savanna. He gets off to it, hardcore.

CUMSHOTS

Tomura will find any excuse to make something into a game. Give him something to aim at and he’ll be shooting semen at you like it’s an FPS. His favourite thing to spunk on is your clit, since it’s such a tiny target he feels almost accomplished when he manages to spit the creamy white liquid right on the little bud. (Before getting to lick it off)

FACE FUCKING

Who doesn’t love a nice, rough face fuck? Tomura definitely does. Tomura treats all your holes like sex toys, and your mouth is just another. He’s a hard, deep and fast fuck, using your hair like reins as he shovels his length all the way down your throat and back up again. He’s like a greyhound, once he starts he can’t stop. So what if you just threw up on his dick? He’s not done until he’s done.

FACE SITTING

Not in the way you think. He’s the one doing the sitting ‘round here darling. He’ll use it as a punishment, squatting over your face with his filthy asshole puckering and scrunching over your lips, Oh, what, you think it’s gross? Good. You better get used to the view of his hairy ass crack, baby, because you’re gonna’ be here a while.

FOOT FETISH

Perhaps the most common and well known of Shiggy’s fetishes, he’s a feet connoisseur. Manicured toes, soft soles and high heels are what he dreams of at night. Pumping his dick between a pretty girl’s smooth arches, legs bent with her steaming hot pink pussy nestled right between them? Hell yeah. He’ll alternate between worshiping your feet and having you worship his. He sucks your toes, you suck his back. It’s a 50/50 relationship.

BONUS

Though Tomura’s obsession is mainly sexual, he’ll massage your feet as an act of service purely because it’s his love language.

MACROGENITALISM

Some men like the pretty, pink pristine vulvas, the hairless ones with barely-there, tucked away labias and tiny clits you can barely get at. Some men aren’t Tomura. He wants it hairy, messy and sloppy. He wants to nestle his face between your bush and suffocate himself with the coarse hairs, he wants to gnaw and pull on your beautiful labia with his teeth and lick through every fold and crevice like he’s an explorer. He likes the women with big, gorgeous clits and fat, chunky cunts, and he won’t have anything less.

NONCON

He likes the way you scream and plead. How your guttural wails and ear piercing shrieks dull and splinter into pitiful whimpers. How your eyes mist into glassy, shiny goggles the moment he pulls the sluggish length of his manhood out and slaps it up and down on your tiny, twitchy clit. Back hunched as he places a boney finger to his lips, shushing and cooing at you as you heave through grit teeth when he splits into your folds. His big, bulbous cock head juts in and out with a slick pop as he pummels you into a shakey, traumatised little mess, pumping you full with his seed, wether you want it in your little womb or not.

PEODEIKTOPHILIA (PENIS FLASHING)

Though it sounds sinister, Tomura finds it positively hilarious. He likes to see that momentary, adorably shocked, deer-in-headlights look on your face when he drops his waistband for just a second, giving you an eyeful of his big, floppy cock and balls. Whether you’re on your own or with people, outside or inside. He’s incredibly sneaky and an all around menace. Walking past while you’re tucked into bed? He’ll wipe his clammy dick on your face along the way. Having a conversation with someone? He’ll slip his squishy pink head out of his boxers and thumb the slit with a cheeky grin. Brushing your teeth? He’ll chase you around the bathroom with his balls hanging out. Just know, he does it because he loves you. You’re his best friend.

QUIROFILIA (HAND FETISH)

Tomura likes pretty hands. Long, lithe fingers with manicured nails and soft knuckles. A stark contrast to his huge, calloused and, not to mention, destructive ones. He’ll kiss and caress the delicate appendages before demanding you wrap them around his cock, stacked atop one another as you stroke his prick up and down, foreskin clicking stickily as his balls jiggle against his thighs until he inevitably climaxes, coating your sweet fingers in the syrupy substance of his love.

SOMNOPHILIA (ENGAGING IN SEXUAL ACTIVITY WITH SOMEBODY THAT IS ASLEEP OR UNCONSCIOUS)

It can be for various reasons, the main one being you’re too tired to deal with him, so he just takes matters into his own hands. He’ll spread your pussy and eat it from the back as much as it takes until he can slip inside you nice and easy. Bouncing your unconscious self against the mattress with his dick nestled tightly inside your syrupy walls, while you stay tucked into bed all cosy and warm. See? It’s a win win situation.

WATERSPORTS

Similar to Tomura’s “bathroom control” kink, Tomura just really likes piss. Wether you’re squirting in his mouth after getting finger banged within an inch of your life, or you’re on your knees with your tongue out waiting for him to give you a hot, steamy golden shower, he really doesn’t care. As long as at least one of you are drenched in piss by the end of it.

A TOTAL OF 17 KINKS THAT I COULD THINK OF (BUT I’M SURE THERE’S MORE)

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soulrph · 2 years

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𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐋/𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐈𝐂 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒.

as requested by a very wonderful, very dear, very lovely friend! i hope you all enjoy using these as much as i enjoyed writing them! i honestly found these so nice and therapeutic to write tho like oml i cannot get over it! DO NOT ADD TO THIS LIST PLEASE!

“ oh, i knew you could do it! i’m so proud of you! “

“ i’m thinking of doing a movie/game night at my place, if you wanna join in? “

“ how many mugs of coffee have you had today?! that’s enough, now, you go take a nap before you buzz through the ceiling! “

“ i’ll send you the recipe, if you like! but, in the same breath, you should know that i really don’t mind continuing to cook this for you; it’s no trouble at all, really! “

“ are you sure there isn’t anything i can do to help you in the kitchen? “

“ come on in! take a seat! i’ll fix you up a plate, there’s more than enough to go around! “

“ why don’t you spend the night here? really, it’s no trouble to fix up the guest room, and we have plenty of spare pajamas and toiletries if that’s what’s bothering you! “

“ look, i get the whole lone wolf thing, trust me, i do. but... you do understand that there’ll always be a place here for you, don’t you? that door is always open to you, no matter what. that’s a promise. “

“ why don’t i make you a cup of tea, and you can tell me all about it? “

“ [NAME]? hey, hey, hey, what’s the matter? are you okay? what’s wrong? oh, come here... “

“ jeez, i don’t even wanna know how you got that battle wound there; sit down and let me fix it up, won’t you? “

“ hey, stranger! it’s been a minute, huh? what’ve you been up to? how have you been? hell, where have you been? “

“ now, now, don’t be silly; put that wallet away. i invited you out for dinner, so i’ll pay the bill, right? you can get the next one! “

“ hey, you didn’t order anything! don’t worry about it, huh? here, take half my sandwich; i can never finish the damn thing, anyway, you’re really doing me the favor! and there’s coffee in that flask, so help yourself to that, too! i’ve been trying to cut back, anyhow. “

“ hey, i know it’s really late, but... i didn’t know who else to call. “

“ everything’s gonna be okay, i promise. just tell me where you are, okay? and i’ll come and get you right this second. “

“ well, we have to celebrate your good news! what’s your favorite dinner? oh, and cake! we can’t have a decent celebration without cake, right? “

“ hey, hey, it’s okay, relax. i’m not about to nag you for skipping out on curfew, alright? have you eaten anything? because i saved you a plate, and it’s in the oven if you want it. “

“ now, now, none of that self-hate talk! we all have bad days, right? we all mess up sometimes and make silly mistakes. but it doesn’t matter at the end of the day; it just makes the good days all the better! “

“ guess who has an extra ticket for the concert this weekend! wanna come with me? they’re practically front row! “

“ you’re still coming over for dinner tonight, right? “

“ hey! what are your plans for the holidays? because, if you didn’t have any, i have an offer for you! or an open invitation! “

“ did you do something different with your hair? it looks amazing! “

“ oh my god, where have you been?! i was so worried about you! are you okay? did you get hurt?! “

“ we should go out tonight! come on, you can ransack my wardrobe if you like! i have a friend who’s the bouncer at that new night club, they can get us in for free! “

“ i made you some breakfast, if you’re hungry? it’s your favorite! unless you’ve got a new favorite, in which case... “

“ don’t forget to take an umbrella! “

“ let me know when you get there so i know you’re safe, okay? “

“ i watched that show you recommended last week! it was so good! can you believe that season finale, though? “

“ rough night, huh? i know that feeling. here, help yourself; the coffee is fresh, and the waffles are pretty damn good today, if i do say so myself! “

“ i knew you’d forget yours, so i brought extra. go ahead, help yourself! “

“ you’re welcome to stay for as long as you like. what’s mine is yours, okay? you don’t need to ask permission, just take whatever you want. “

“ you should get some sleep, okay? my room is just down the hall if you need anything. “

“ you don’t need to be so polite around here, you know! help yourself; i don’t bite! “

“ hey now, never apologize for feeling emotions, okay? humans are meant to feel all this stuff, no matter how good or bad the feelings are. besides; shoulders are built to be cried on! “

“ you should keep that sweater! it looks much better on you than it does on me; brings out your eyes! “

“ i never realized you could cook! the apron suits you very nicely! “

“ if you don’t have any plans this weekend, we should do something together! “

“ remember, if you want to leave early, just call me and i’ll come get you, okay? “

“ would you come on in inside out of that rain?! you’ll catch your death! “

“ don’t worry about it, okay? no apologies necessary; just breathe, everything’s good. “

“ it’s okay! no use crying over spilt milk, am i right? fetch me that mop and i’ll clean it up; you should find a clean shirt in the third drawer in my room, too! “

“ here, grab a plate; i made your favorite, and there’s more than enough for you to have seconds and take home a tonne of leftovers, too! “

“ would you mind setting the table for me while i finish up in the kitchen? “

“ you want some hot cocoa before you go to bed? i’m more than happy to have one with you; not to praise myself or anything, but my hot cocoa is the best in town! “

“ you did it! oh, congratulations! quick, i’m gonna fetch the sparkling cider, and then i’ll book a table somewhere fancy; we’re going to celebrate in style! “

“ oh god, you’re burning up a fever, you poor thing! here, lie down, let’s get you some water and a nice cool cloth, huh? “

“ how are you feeling? i thought you might be hungry, so i made some tea and toast. “

“ i thought i might find you out here... this must be your favorite spot, huh? it’s nice! “

“ how are you? and be real with me, now; i can tell when you’re not being honest with me. you’ve got a tell. “

“ figured you might be needing an extra blanket in this weather. you mind if i sit with you for a while? “

“ let’s go for a walk, huh? i know this place that does the best coffee you’ll ever have! “

“ i can’t believe you’ve never seen this movie before! we have to fix this immediately; you get the popcorn, i’ll order in the pizza and get the tv set up. “

“ wow... that pun was so awful, it actually became good again. nicely done! “

“ i know you have that meeting today, so i thought i’d come wish you luck. and give you my lucky socks! “

“ hey! i hope you’re hungry, i spared you some waffles and pancakes from breakfast this morning! “

“ maybe you’re not ready to talk just now. but i want you to know that, whenever you are, my door is always open to you. understand? “

“ i’m not here to say i told you so, don’t worry. i’m not that cruel. i’m just here to comfort my friend. “

“ you’re here so often, i figured it was about time you had your very own mug! “

“ do you mind if i put you down as my emergency contact? “

“ you should move in with me! i have a spare room, the rent is cheap, it’s closer to work... i mean, only if you want to, but i’m very much in favor of this! “

“ i know that things haven’t been easy for you lately, so... i was thinking, maybe we could plan a little vacation together? “

“ pull the car over, alright? you can get some sleep in the back seat, and i’ll take over the driving. “

“ woah, woah, woah... slow it down a few miles, huh? what’s going on? where’s the fire? “

“ do you want a hug? i give some really good hugs; i nearly got voted the best hug-giver in the continent, once! come on, you know you want to! “

“ hey! so i’m after having a really crappy day. you wanna get take-out and watch a movie at my place tonight? “

“ i remember you saying you didn’t like this ingredient last time, so i fixed you up something else. “

#rp meme #roleplay meme #rp prompt #roleplay prompts #roleplay prompt #sentence starters #sentence starter #found family sentence starters #dialogue prompt #dialogue prompts #writing prompt #writing prompts

5K notes · View notes

dhampling · 2 months

Text

ivory tower 18+ ASCENDED!ASTARION X AFAB!READER, 4.6K

Something deeply sordid, raw; ungodsly. There’ll be no Lathandrian blessing for your young, no gentle welcome into some family fayre on the outskirts of the city; but you want this.

woah boy! my first ascended astarion piece, so please be kind! dal is back babey! woooo! thank you to @bhaalism and @lipstickghoulie for dealing with me while writing this i love you both endlessly. wc: 4.6k cw: afab reader, female language used. breeding, mind-control, p in v, ascended astarion, public fingering, private banging, great times all round, as always if there are errors no there aren't, creampies, yippee

Baldur’s Gate doesn’t sleep. Not really.

She sometimes slows just enough to find some purchase amongst the muddle, though - tiptoes lazy through highsun in soft linens, the burgeoning swell of soap suds and sunny rosemary through wide open wooden shutters. Lingering - sweat-soaking worn leathers, the sore of the flex in the arch of your foot splayed over cobble. As if to grasp at the memory, your fingers stretch out from your side and on to the dark oak of the armrest, in a moment of sheer jubilance. Summer. The sun. Wide bright mornings. Hopeful and hot as a bated breath.

The city ambles onward this evening, no different despite the inclement weather and the din of an early darkness. Half-lidded through dark streets as rain smatters the roofs with wet, glistening something dozy under the tall oil street lamps and swirls of ever-present heavy fog. Gurgling whilst each drain fills with water and swallows deep into the sewers.

Scatters the hay, bears the slip; sings a slow drunken stutter of thunder-wind whiling at the windows into the small hours. There’s a comfort to be found in it.

The harbour bell will go on to toll for every sail weary ship coming in from the fog; the crescent caress of the Gate’s waiting arms lit low with oily dots of amber. That even this late into the night the bands of trawlers on the dock work crates and barrels into cargo holds with worn hands and ruddy cheeks. The gulls and their scattering squawks. The flapping of their fat feathered wings up into the clouds.

From where you sit in the Ivory Tower you can hardly see anything at all. Fog obscures the streets to a point, other than the light patches under the oil lanterns out on the ramparts. The window runs dripping wet with condensation. Pools under the pane.

A hideaway of sorts within the manor. Newly reclaimed by Astarion in some deal with the quivering council in order to keep him sweet. Not that he has any armies of undead in his retainer to command as yet, but they don’t need to know that. There’s time. You’re still blessedly mortal and able.

Astarion.

He should be skulking the halls somewhere below with that unnerving silent step he’s taken to using. Your cheeks grow warm, the blanket over your shoulders pulled closer into your chest as you allow your mind to run wild; the scald of bliss to your brain like that of some ironmonger’s poker, split straight to the core.

Your love. Your lover.

Amongst his many newfound desires and passions seemingly includes the impetus to redesign a centuries-old palace from scratch, and while you doubt he has the want nor willpower to take the project anywhere near to completion you’re more than happy to indulge him during this burst of creativity. A designer’s eye. Lavish yet not ostentatious, he tells you. Your own private wing of the palace, and one you’ll share together. He has no need for his own private chambers. You’re the only one he wants to be beside. You understand that at its essence, it isn’t even necessarily a want to design for creativity’s sake, it’s important to you both to have every memory of the residence’s former owner gone. Every threadbare tread of carpet, every scuff on the wall; every painting being demounted by workers downstairs and shipped to the auction house first thing in the morning. You can hear them if you still enough, heart still beating in your chest and the low chunter of layman gossip.

The version of him you knew before his ascension was so very scared. Beautiful, but wavering. You loved him of course; and you always will - it was that version of him, the one lost in the wilderness that you fell for, and gods; you fell hard - frenetic and whiny, fleeting as light snow never to settle on the forest floor. Wild-eyed.

But this Astarion - the real Astarion, as far as he is concerned - has you completely and utterly enraptured each day you wake together, the same as ever, from the second your eyes open. Wrapped in those Daerlunian-import plush linens atop your gargantuan newly-installed four poster bed. Face of marble with those cattish dark lashes and eyes of carnelian crush. Enchants every room he walks into, as he always has.

You don’t know he’s with you until a hand ghosts your shoulder, sinewy; with those deft pale fingers deep encroaching on your collarbone in his grasp.

“I didn’t hear you, lover.”

“But I heard you.’

He circles round the velvet armchair, resplendent in his home finery. Not a crease to be seen. Voice soft, yet laced with a bristling concern.

‘Why do you insist on sitting up here?”

You err for a brief moment.

“I can hear the rain on the roof, here. See some bustle when the fog clears. The city goes on.” You shake your head with a smile as he crouches beside you, nestling his head in the crook of your arm.

“But it’s cold. Dark. Come down - I can light the fire in our sitting room if you like?”

“We have so many centuries yet to see together! What sense is there in not observing the world as it is now? Keeping record of the city as we saved it?”

His head lifts and his eyes meet yours, some churlish quirk of a brow in the low light.

“An archivist, now? Is that to be your profession alongside me? Whilst you raise our young?”

“If I wish it to be, yes.”

He laughs, a gentle low hum.

“Then an archivist you’ll be - the most renowned in all the lands. We’ll make it so.’ He stands once more and takes your hands from your lap, bringing them clasped to his lips in a soft, lingering kiss.

‘I’ll begin planning on your archives - I presume you’ll want a library? Or something similar in your wing, maybe even an office. Who knows?”

Astarion looks to the room around you, the shapes covered with old canvas and the rickety floorboards underfoot. Cobwebs in the corner. There’s no grimace nor displeasure. He simply surveys as cool as still water. Objective.

“I’ll have some of the merchants relay their contacts come morning too. If you insist on expanding your territory up here then it must befit you.”

“Befit me?” You grin now. His hold on your hands remains secure.

“If you want me to say it, then I suppose I will. As many times as it takes to get it through that heavy skull of yours.’

His smile reaches his eyes as he circles back behind your chair, fingers splayed over your shoulders once more in a deep round kneading pattern.

‘There’s nothing you won’t have if you want for it. Nothing too good for you to covet, my solace; Saviour to the whole Sword Coast and every plain mite within its bounds.’

There’s a small pause as he bows to kiss the top of your head.

‘And I thank the stars every day that I can provide for you. That you saw the potential in me and lifted me higher, to such profane glory amongst the swill of common man. That my gold, my influence, and terror, and each lift of my blade is at your command and yours alone. That you stayed at my side.”

He doesn’t like to mention the gods, hence the stars. Pointedly brings the grimace back into play, occasionally even furrows with the slightest twinge of anger brewing at his brow. The gods had no role to play in your shared victories. No divine intervention saved him from two hundred years of torment, from certain death after the crash of the nautiloid along that sun-soaked span of rocky beach;-

You did. You with your strange inclination toward the weak man he once was. The shell he lived in like a hermit crab on the shore, nothing more.

On bright days, you thank him for giving you time.

Time to live, time to breathe with full lungs. Time to allow you to burn your eyes in the beating sun with a silver pot of fresh coffee and whatever ridiculous spew the papers hold between the pages today.

You know as you sit in comfortable silence that your time dwindles, and that your turning is inevitable. Your eternal wedded bliss is to be alongside him and will be as vivid in nature as all the colours of the astral plane, if he’s to be believed - and there’s no reason not to see his word as gospel. You can see each moment as crystalline as sea glass on sand. Forever with the man you love more than you’ve ever felt inclined to love anything. The bridal ceremony is but a drop in the vast ocean of your lives together.

He thanks you too. Often alongside you with eyes closed in some dozy recline, forearm hanging lazily whilst he takes the sun on his skin like a blessing. A loose linen shirt akin to the one he wore back at camp at the start of your journey together, strings wide open, a blaze of blinding flesh at the corner of your eye each time he shifts.

The veranda on a clear day. Astarion has assured you he’ll never take this from you. He’ll never take anything that you don’t willingly give him with a clear heart - and why would you give him your ability to bask in the sun, like a street cat in days-warm dust? What purpose does that serve either of you, beyond making you a less useful weapon in his prized arsenal?

At one point, all you wanted was to talk to him - and it rings true even now. The want to be the bearer of all his tales. To learn about him, to be close to him; to hear him tear the world apart with that dulcet snarl, walking alongside each other on the barren dirt trails out in the wilderness. Hop-skipping to keep up with his quiet gait. Giving him back as good as you got. The glimmer of his hair in the sunlight, the way he’d sometimes just stop.

Close his eyes. Feel the heat. The gentle burn of highsun on tender flesh. A soft inhale.

That morning out in the clearing after your first night together. Arms outstretched in a welcome to the light. It had taken a few minutes for it to click as you’d silently watched on, why his sun salutation was so fond. So open.

It’s to be a long engagement with regard to your transformation whilst the manor undergoes renovations. Reason after reason as to why now isn’t the ideal time to commit you to eternity. You know why he wants to keep a hold on your precious mortality for the time being, of course; and that keeps you from the forever embrace of his Dark Kiss. It never changes.

You’ll allow him to sire your children. You want him to. Crave it. Him.

Your very own lineage together, he whispers; frenzied by your ear as his fingers crawl the bare span of your thigh. He can breed you full like fate intended and you’ll have something - besides him - that’ll also last forever. Something of your own surpassing the death of all of your contemporaries. The Vampire Ascendant and The Saviour of Baldur’s Gate, flesh-on-flesh, skin smacking skin; his debauched groans and lewd whimpers as he buries himself inside you, your cooing breaths;-

You’ll wed normally too, for the interested eyes of the city. Some dull ceremony with the elites adorning all tables as gilded pieces might some decorative chess board, deceptive vows. Legally it makes things easier should anything befall either of you but the hassle almost makes the whole thing undesirable - gods, especially because he already treats you as some smitten newlywed might. Adores you. Follows you around the manor, stalking; like some wolf cub after its mother. Carries you to bed each evening and ploughs you senseless, until spit gathers in the corners of your wet, wanting mouth and you can’t see straight through grey-blear eyes.

He likes the idea of you taking his name by law. Melds with your own like it were meant to be, from the starter threads of whatever cosmic tapestry pulled you together, the marriage of your first name to his last, interwoven by a scholar’s hand in gold-shining delicate point.

Ancunín. The House of.

Tapestries. Large, spanning the halls. The Sarsantyr's over in Waterdeep - they’ll be able to create what you’re picturing.

A familiar gaze meets yours. It’s then that you realise you aren’t alone in your mind once more

“If you want tapestries, you only have to ask.”

“In fairness - you didn’t give me a chance to.”

He hums, tilting his head a little in the sun’s glare.

“I’ll send for them. The Sarsantyr's, yes? Have them pack up all their little-’

He pulls a face and lifts his hands in some kind of puzzled shake.

‘Sewing bits? Textiles? I’ll send carriages. They can come and stay in the lower rooms. Create the masterpiece you envision.” Astarion sniggers a little at the thought of putting them in the old dormitory while you remain lost in thought.

“Okay. Check them through first though, yes?

The real event - the wedding - will give you total ecstasy beyond your wildest preconception, you know this. Unfettered and euphoric. Books and books on the topic stacked clumsily beside your bed, reds and greens; the turning of a vampire bride in leather bound prose. You know what to expect in florid detail. You know to trust your lover, that the rabid creature you’ll become is only a temporary mental state precursing an eternity alongside him.

And yet, you wonder about the children. They’ll be here by then. However many he decides is enough, naturally; assumedly under the care of some hired help whilst you engage in your thoroughly bastardised pastiche of a wedding ceremony. You laugh now. He’s still in your head, mulling over your thoughts as soon as you can think them.

Will you miss them? Will they be your last thought before you pass away; Astarion unable to complete this ritual alone as he was unable to before? Will your death lead to his, leaving your dhampir offspring to ravage Baldur’s Gate unsupported by the windfall of knowing parents? There’s still no hesitation, though. You will bear his young. You want to. The consequences either way are vast and long-lasting, and you’d rather be at his side than facing his ire-

“Love, what are these thoughts? What on earth is going on in that very pretty head of yours today?” His voice is a low drawl, pitying yet laced with affection. He sits straight in his chair whilst a hand lazily searches for yours atop the sun-warmed table; beyond the scope of the ramparts wall the low meander of city life continues on.

“Mulling things over.”

“You don’t need to do that, pet. Come now.’ He beckons you onto his lap and wraps his arms around your middle, hand searching for the soft pillow of your chest as your ass backs up to his abdomen.

‘You want me to make it better?”

You nod gently, the sun catching your eye in a particularly bright beam and making you squint.

“Please.”

“Poor thing. It’s okay.” As he coos; one hand finds the curve of soft flesh at your chest, holding the weight of your breast firmly as he starts lightly thumbing at the nipple through your nightshirt.

“There, now. Good girl.” Your head falls back onto his shoulder, a deep sigh as he lulls you into a new state of calm astride him. Birds sing overhead whilst you nuzzle his neck.

“I will miss this warm flesh of yours, you know. Terribly so.’ His other hand moves to your nightskirt, gently hitching the material bit-by-bit up your thighs until you sit exposed to the air. Nobody can see you from here - the faceless crowd little but colourful dots below; Astarion giving a small tense laugh as he feels your pulse quicken against him.

He toys with your skirt, edging ever nearer your exposed cunt; and your eyes flutter closed.

‘But the greater purpose… I just can’t let it go. Us. Our lives together. I sincerely doubt you want to wither away to age; to lose your extraordinary beauty-’

A gentle groan as he feels your warmth.

‘Do you, my most precious flower?”

“Of- Of course I don’t. I want to be with you, as we are; forever.”

“Then we’re going to need to make a concerted start on the only thing setting us back, are we not?” His fingers gently tap on the crux of your pubic bone, threateningly close to your clit. You feel the familiar seep of your slit leaking onto the bunched skirt fabric and you think of honey. Some kind of sweet glaze.

“Yes.”

As you sink further into him his fingers move down just a little to meet your clit; and in response to your delighted sighs he very lightly begins to stroke either side of the engorged flesh. There’s no urgency to his movement nor his demeanour; just a treacle-thick teasing grin as he turns his head to kiss your blazing cheek.

“Good.”

There’s something borderline celestial about the gentle way he touches you, coaxing more of your slick from you with every gentle jerk. He deftly motions ‘come hither’ with a soaking middle finger dipping lightly at your hole then brings your arousal up to wetten your clit once more.

“You want this, don’t you?” A finger slips down to your cunt, this time slipping and nestling deep inside as you feel yourself writhe on him. One arm scrambles around the back of his neck to support yourself while he begins to curl at your spongy spot, and the anchor of your arousal shifts free.

“I’ve been rifling through that glorious mind of yours these past few days and I see you now. You want comfort. To comfort. To seek shelter in those warm lights on the horizon, to know you aren’t alone in the late hours.”

You nod furiously, wincing, desperate to feel him deeper. Thicker. You need more, your fox-eyed paramour giving only the barest minimum he can do to watch you squirm.

“You, with my babe in arm;- oh the image alone does things to you, doesn’t it?”

It’s as if he’s creating the visions in your head as he speaks them, bringing them to the forefront of your mind in hushed coos and silent gasps. As if by magic, the only thing on your mind is a primal need for him to fuck you full. Nothing else, no mind for coffee nor completed manor renovations.

You will be round. You will brim with life before he turns you, and you’ll take to his seed the minute he offers it to you. You’ll accommodate him like no other across Toril could hope to. You wonder if he has the power to decide how many, as he adds another finger to your unbridled torment. If he could choose to speed the process up with a celebration of twins, triplets. An heir and two spares. Maybe he’d wait instead until the first was born, just to ensure the viability of his bloodline. A test.

He’s doing this; you become starkly aware as he withdraws his fingers, spiderwebs of glistening drool clinging to your inner thigh as he brings them between his lips and suckles. He’s giving you these ideas of grandeur because he can. Because you are his. Because you wouldn’t want to belong to anyone else, to be tied to any other notion of whatever a fulfilling life is, if it weren’t one shared wholly by him. With him.

“Let me take you inside, sweet one. Let’s take care of you properly, shall we? Curb this fever, hm?”

Please, you think. Please take this burning hole in my womb and make it full with you. Extinguish the flame with your unholy spend and give me children. Give me oud and orchids and a life of warmth, however long we both may live.

“Use your words, my love. Tell me you want this.”

“I want this. Please.”

On the bed you now lie, the room cool and dark; balcony doors open wide with light-billowing curtains. Sweat consumes you as your thoughts run wild, the smell of your arousal, clammy hands and deep breaths in the low light. Astarion approaches like something from a dream, shirtless now; smirk plastered cheek-to-cheek as he leans over your trembling form with confidence - your lust-addled fingers reaching for his steady form like a ship to harbour.

“You want to feel it, little dove? Feel how you set me alight?”

He pries your wrist from him with gentle urgency, taking your hand under his and skating both downwards; down the plane of his tight torso, slowing to a stop just above his pelvis.

“Tell me - do you want to feel it?”

A small smirk plays at the corner of your lips, but he doesn’t seem to notice - watching the way your hand twitches under his.

“Hm?”

His groan is guttural. Thick. He doesn’t even try to mask it, eyes wide as his hand shifts yours just a little further down and over the blistering burn of his heavy cock through loose linen trousers. A hazy sigh as he moans a small whimper at your touch.

“Please, Astarion. I beg you.”

It’s like his fingers are enchanted, the way they reduce you to this sodden mess. Unable to think unless guided delicately by his superior whim.

“I need to bury myself inside you fully for this to take. I need your full attention, submission; your devotion to our lives together. Do I make myself clear?”

He’s giving you one final chance to withdraw. Your head clears for one sweet moment and you can do little else but stare at his bulge with heavy lids and your mouth agape.

“Crystal. I ache for you. Please, give this to me.”

You lift to meet him in a soft kiss, jaw slackened and cunt ablaze. Nothing else matters, no complications, nor possibilities of horribly mangled spawn from your womb as a result of your copulation. This scalding stupor that sends you insane won’t go away until he quenches it with his seed.

Your response has satisfied him, if the way he stands sharpish and unties his trouser laces is anything to go by. The glassy head of his cock stands purple at his stomach, leaking wild at the slit and red-hot as your hand reaches blindly for him in your hunger.

He gently taps you away and back down onto the sheets.

“Magic?” You hear yourself mumble, still amazed at how surely swollen he must feel with how sore he looks. Has to be.

“Just me.”

There’s a tenderness in his eyes as he crawls back over you, legs instinctively parting and lifting at the knee to accommodate him. Something that compels him to hold your face in the hand that isn’t supporting his weight and just look at you, fondly; for what feels like an age.

Then he shifts once more to angle himself, decidedly spending no more time on preparation. The heat of his cock against your slit is unlike anything you’ve ever known, dizzying yet pleasurable; hard and yet still yielding, and as he thrusts a shallow dip into your core you swear you see angels overhead. Yes, you’re ready. You’ve never been more ready for anything than you are for the sheer ecstasy you know he’s about to give you, and he’s going to give you it in droves. Seismic tremors as he shifts a little and you adjust to him once again.

He nods. He hears you.

Then, he snaps once more; and he’s lost.

Each glub of his cock meeting your spill as he ruts into you; the way you feel it running downward in long dribbles, with each and every mindless hump of his hips eking more honey from your cunt in spades.

You hear the sounds of your shared carnal pleasure and it makes you clench around him in some kind of self-perpetuating cycle. Groans and whimpers and moans and hisses and the frequent egregious slaps to your thighs whilst he chases his high.

He’s perfect like this. Halo of curls above you, voice silken as he calls you every pet name under the sun, his, always. Your legs ache already from being wound so tightly, interlocked around him, and you think of the prespill inside you already. How each fangy showman’s smile means he’s twitching at your cervix and leaking molten gold inside you with every thrust.

It’s not until he nuzzles down to your neck that you remember to offer it, potentially for the last time on this mortal coil.

“Are you asking?”

“Well, you didn’t offer.”

The immediate pang is one of violent nausea, subsiding quickly into a wooze coating the bottom of your stomach in black tar as he fucks upward. Unease. There’s something in his spit, you assume. Something that makes the gaping wounds a little more bearable, a little less raw as he kitten-licks the flesh between swallows. Ice courses your veins with adrenaline as it always does.

Astarion chokes down his first sip with an eager cough. The burgeoning panic wracking your limbs turns into a numbed haze as your lover feasts, big neat gulps whilst he clutches at your ribcage with fingers splayed deep and cock buried to the hilt, like a man starved. His hair tickles at your jaw, the smell of something herbal. Slightly lemony.

He splutters that he’s close and you feel yourself nearing your peak too.

There’s a profane desecration in what he’s doing, painting your walls in an attempt to get you pregnant. Something deeply sordid, raw; ungodsly. There’ll be no Lathandrian blessing for your young, no gentle welcome into some family fayre on the outskirts of the city. No villages to raise them, no cards nor flowers from friends or family; but you want this.

You want him to taint you in his particular shade of crimson, visibly; so the realms know who made The Saviour of Baldur’s Gate come to heel. The man who compelled her through sheer love alone and to whom she gave everything. The indomitable force for whom you’ll die, only to resurrect forever as his.

Visions of your turning don’t scare you - all lightning and thunder, the cries of your dhamplings in some nursery down the towering halls of your palatial wing; and yet you’ll be safe in his caress. He wouldn’t let a single thing happen to you. He won’t.

And as he cums; he calls your name.

Some rhythmic prayer over and over again; and with each kick of his cock he loses some of his bedroom charm and hurtles back to earth, humbly enraptured. More candid. His weary muscles tighten as yours threaten your own release around him.

“Cum for me, now. Milk me.” in a heavy whisper whilst he strokes the soft flesh of your cheek; and you do. You cum harder than you can remember ever before. Each wave of sheer pleasure some blackout tidal wave as you writhe, staccato in his arms.

If you die during the ceremony, you’ll die happy. Should the younglings bite their way through your womb, it won’t matter.

You’re loved. He loves you, in soft kisses and gentle arms carried all the way to the waiting washtub. In the way he sponges your aching shoulders and brings a washcloth to your dazed face.

Baldur’s Gate doesn’t sleep, not really.

But tonight it will, in the patient, visceral bliss of calm before a summer storm.

#my writing #astarion #astarion x reader #astarion ancunin #baldurs gate astarion #ascended astarion #ascended astarion x reader #astarion x female reader #astarion baldurs gate #astarion bg3 #bg3

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bobbin-buckley · 4 months

Text

Wednesday Addams Headcanons

Wednesday Addams x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Fluff and Smut (aged up!!)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

SFW

-When you both met Wednesday hated you she only disliked you because you were better than her at lots of things

-She didn’t actually really hate you she was just mad because she actually loved you

-All she would do is ignore you when she discovered these feelings. Enid told her that she should put on her big girl pants and ask you out

-Wednesday was always blaming you for this feeling, it wasn’t partially your fault I mean you’re so goddamn pretty

-She finally accepted this feeling and asked you out on a coffee date at WeatherVane. It went nicer than Wednesday expected, you exchanged numbers (you had to help her), gave her a kiss on the cheek and planned another date

-Sooner or later you asked Wednesday to be your girlfriend and how you really liked her

“The feeling’s mutual” she’d say

-After not even a few months of dating Wednesday was pretty protective of you

-If a guy were to flirt with you she’d give them a death glare causing them to flee

-You didn’t mind the Over-Protective-Wednesday-Addams it was honestly sweet that she cared for you so much, even if she wouldn’t show it physically

-Wednesday wasn’t much for physical touch, she was rather more for words. Eventually she adjusted to some touching like pinky holding, hugs, kisses on your knuckles, a kiss on her cheek or forehead

-some physical touch is always behind doors, Wednesday hates pda. The closes thing to pda you’ll get is her pinky holding under a table. It’s quite cute infact

-Wednesday was never for pet names but she’ll call you “Cara Mia” “Mi Amor” “Mon Tresor” “mea vita” in Spanish, French or Latin

-Enid tended to tease Wednesday about you, how she was so head over heels for you without even realizing it

-You guys eventually get a room if your own together

-Fencing matches, watching/listening to her play cello, hearing her type on her type writer, going to the raven with her, investigating together, she offers to grave dig with you and you actually enjoy it

-You’ll give her ideas for her writing and sometimes she’ll write them in

NSFW (Everyone is Aged up)

-More dom for sure, if you’d fight her over it she wouldn’t be slow thats for sure

-Honestly most times you guys have sex she prefers it vanilla, unless she’s feeling kinky and mad then roughness will come in

-Sex at night, never usually during the day because she’s worried Thornhill or Enid will walk in

-She’s moderately quiet there’ll be groans and whimpers from her, while as you…she wants to hear you scream but in the environment you’re in it won’t work out

-Enid almost walking in on you guys

-She’d definitely do knife play and pain play, she won’t be crazy about it like actually stab you. She doesn’t wanna hurt you too much. (So she’s still soft even during intimate)

-probably owns a strap, a black strap ina box under her bed (uses it once in a while)

-Will throw thing out of the room and will lock him in a drawer if he ever attempts to spy

-She really tries to pleasure you, she’s never done nor thought about having sex with someone (obviously this is aged up)

-She loves pleasuring you, even if she likes to make you hold your orgasm or pulls away before you cum but other than that she likes to please you well

-I’d say she is the type to do queening (face sitting) she loves having you sit on her face, like actually sit she likes the thrill of not being able to breath while tongue fucking you

-She is soft during sex, making sure your okay if she does something different or if she accidentally hurts you

“This okay?”

“Okay…I’m going to put it in Amor”

“Shit, are you alright?” “Wednesday Addams apologizing? No way” “shut up…but seriously”

-Whenever you’re top (rare) she wants you to be rough with her she loves pain. You are always unsure about it but she claims she’s fine

-Aftercare is a meh for her. She’ll make you a bath but you’re kinda on your own from there (depending on how you feel) like if she went rough and you’re super tired and can’t walk she’ll help you to the bathroom but otherwise ur good

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Where are my little gays at?

Sorry for a late upload I’ve been going through something and I broke up with my gf so it’s been hard for me to find motivation but I’m alive! I think?

Anyways, I’m starting something for Tara rn I think you guys will like it cause I love it

But have a good day/night! 😃

#wednesday addams #wednesday addams x reader #enid sinclair #wednesday x enid #wednesday series #jenna ortega x fem!reader #jenna ortega

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just-jordie-things · 4 months

Text

california - nanami kento

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ 10k follower event special! ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

word count: 10k warnings: swearing, jjkverse trauma summary: nanami kento left jujutsu society behind years ago. (y/n) spent that time moving on, thinking she'd never see him again. then she stumbles across a letter that suggests otherwise... more info: slowburn friends to seperation to lovers, reader is annoyingly angsty being seperated from nanami tbh but who wouldn't be ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

[ i shouldn’t have done it but i read it in your letter // you said to a friend that you wished you were doing better // i wanted to reach out but i never said a thing ]

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

On her good days, (y/n) didn’t think about her time as a student at Jujutsu Tech. She was able to complete her assignments, help train a few of Gojo’s students, and complete her paperwork at a decent time, all before leaving for the day at a semi-decent time.

On her good nights she’d have a glass of wine after a simple dinner, take her time with her skincare routine before bed, and fall into a dreamless sleep, until her alarm inevitably woke her up to start it all over again.

A good day came once in a blue moon- and after a google search one night after a couple extra glasses of wine, she thinks a good day might rival the frequency of a blue moon.

Every task of every day seemed to go by in a hazy blur, and if you were to sit down and ask her how her day was, she’d struggle to answer the specifics of the question.

“Fine,” She shrugs back at Ieiri Shoko when she asks her one afternoon. “Yours?”

“You don’t look fine,” Shoko dodges the redirected question with her candid response. “You look like you haven’t slept in ages”

She’s not wrong, and (y/n) knows she doesn’t look great. Getting an average of four hours of sleep each night, on top of having a highly physically demanding job, the body could only handle so much. The bags under her eyes had bags, and since losing her only tube of chapstick, she hadn’t found the time to stop into the convenience store and pick up another one.

“That’s why you’re the doctor” (y/n) mumbled back.

She hadn’t sought out Shoko’s company, but she was the only one of her colleagues that she didn’t actively push away. Even if the smoke from her cigarette made her the tiniest nauseous after quitting the habit years ago. She was different from the others. Not overbearing, and never too chatty. If she was held at gunpoint and forced to answer, (y/n) would tell you that Shoko was the closest thing to a friend that she had.

Only at gunpoint, though.

“You ever thought about cashing in some vacation time?” Shoko muses.

She finally turns away from the burnt out sorcerer, leaning back against the outside wall of the infirmary and puffing on her cigarette. (y/n) had stepped out for some fresh air- which really meant a break from Gojo pestering her while she did her reports- and just so happened to run into the old… friend.

“Nowhere I want to go” She answered lamely. Shoko fights the urge to roll her eyes.

“Well some downtime would do you good. Like a staycation, you know?”

“Don’t think it’s in the cards, Sho,” (y/n) sighed, pushing off the wall and turning to head inside. “Besides. There’ll still be curses roaming around, won’t there?” She asks, glancing back at her, only to find the woman frowning.

One thing about Shoko? She didn’t express much. Since their school days, she’d mastered holding a neutral face, never quite letting anyone know what she was thinking. Maybe it was just the way she coped with everything.

“There’ll always be curses” Shoko replies before (y/n) could disappear back inside.

She catches her just as she’s stepping over the threshold, freezing up when she speaks because even with how badly she wants to be done with the conversation, she can’t bring herself to shut Shoko out. Not completely, anyways. And not literally.

So she sighs, and doesn’t glance back at her when she forces more words out from between her teeth.

“Then I guess I’ll always be busy”

Shoko doesn’t say anything else before the door’s sliding shut and (y/n’s) gone.

It was the longest conversation they’d had in months. If you could even call it a conversation.

They used to talk all the time, sneaking out to smoke or crashing in each other’s rooms with a stash of magazines and R-rated movies. They used to be actual friends. But that was a lifetime ago and as far as (y/n) was concerned, completely unattainable now.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

“Can’t tonight, got big plans with Shoko,” (y/n) says, popping a piece of strawberry taffy in her mouth. She’d stolen it from Satoru’s stash just a few hours ago, keeping it safely hidden in her pocket until he was no longer around to catch her savoring it. “Yaga gave me an assignment first thing in the morning, but we could hang out after?”

Nanami Kento knows that the candy she was rolling over her tongue didn’t belong to her, and he knows he’ll probably have to lie to his obnoxious upperclassman once the idiot notices a piece has gone missing. He’s not above lying, but he certainly doesn’t enjoy it. Especially to the face of the strongest sorcerer. But when (y/n) produces another parchment wrapped piece from her pocket and passes it off to him, he takes it for the price of that lie.

“Tomorrow works,” Nanami agrees softly, peeling away the wrapper of the green sweet. “We should probably study for the upcoming exam-”

“Sweet! Taffy!”

Another voice interrupts the conversation, and it’s no surprise to see Haibara Yu bounding up to the two of them. With stars in his eyes and a face splitting grin, neither (y/n) nor Nanami could be annoyed with him for butting in between them with an outstretched hand.

“Sorry, Yu,” (y/n) frowns, holding up the empty wrapper from her piece between her index and middle fingers. “Fresh out”

Just as Yu turns to his other friend, Nanami’s already popped the key lime flavored piece into his mouth. The bright grin on Yu’s face falls into a dramatic frown.

“It’s Gojo’s anyways, go ask him for a piece” Nanami says gruffly, raising his eyebrows in a pointed stare, silently telling his colleague to take the hint and leave them be.

Yu’s obvious in the way he opens his mouth and nods along. He thinks he’s being smooth when he stammers out an excuse about ‘having to be, uh, somewhere’ before scampering off and giggling into his hand.

“Great, he’s totally gonna tattle on me now” (y/n) groans, but something about the idea of a confrontation with Gojo Satoru himself makes her smirk with excitement.

Nanami recognizes the look and as stupid as it would be to go toe to toe with the Six Eyes user over a few pieces of taffy, his lips twitch in amusement seeing the mischievous look on her face.

“He won’t,” He assures her. “I’ll just pick some up for him next time I’m in town”

“No no,” (y/n) shakes her head, smiling softly at him for the gesture. “No need. I’ll just snatch more next time,”

Nanami knows he should be gently prompting her not to steal from their fellow classmates, but he knows that lecturing her will get him nowhere, and he’s not in the interest of making her lose whatever deluded interest in him she’d already taken up.

Deluded, indeed. Kento has no clue what it was about him that (y/n) had grown so attached to since his enrollment at Jujutsu Tech, but for some reason unknown to him, she sought out his companionship, time and time again. She often asked to be training partners, and then studying partners, and overtime it morphed into real friendship. Although he had a habit of suggesting boring activities when she offered him her free time- like right now.

“And we’re not studying. That’s not fun. I want to do something fun” (y/n) half-scolds him playfully for the ridiculous idea he always came up with. It was almost routine at this point.

After his terrible idea, she’d come up with a wildly outlandish one.

“Let’s sneak into a hotel and pretend we’re guests so we can use the pool!”

To which Kento promptly turned down with a bewildered look on his face.

“Absolutely not”

And then they could find a compromise between the two, which was always the normal, reasonable option.

“Hang out in the shopping district and not buy anything?”

It was like clockwork.

With the plan agreed upon, conversation would move on to something else as they’d slowly wander back to the dormitories. Nanami knew it wasn’t fair to stall when she had plans with Shoko for the night, but she wasn’t exactly rushing the two of them either. And maybe he was a little deluded himself, thinking maybe she wanted to talk to him for a while longer, just like he did.

By the time they reach the girls’ building, they’re stopped out front, and she’s still going on with a story about the last curse she exorcized and how ugly it was. It had him laughing, more so than that day Gojo got his ass handed to him by Yaga during training, and the deeply buried selfish part of him hoped she’d keep standing there and talking to him all night.

“So blue, hairless, sticky globs aren’t your type I take it?” He half jokes as she goes on dramatically about the nasty curse that was the cause of her new record for longest shower.

It’s only a joke, believe him, Kento didn’t know the first thing about flirting. As far as he was concerned, no one had ever flirted with him before, and he was pretty certain he’d also never partaken in the act. But there’s a look that flashes across (y/n’s) features that he’s never seen before, something between amusement and what he thinks could be calculation. Her head tilts at a small angle as a slow smile creeps over her face.

“No, no. I’m only into the gloomy, blonde, unattainable types,” She tells him boldly.

For a moment he thinks she’s joking back at him, but realization strikes him and all the blood drains out of his face, before rushing back up and heating up his entire neck and face. (y/n) must notice, because she giggles, and finally turns towards the dorms.

“Shoko’s gonna come snatch me any minute if I keep her waiting like this, so I better go,”

She’s talking again before he can think of anything to say- or come up with any thought at all, really. But if it makes things awkward, she doesn’t show it. In fact, the grin she’s wearing could rival Haibara’s.

“But I’ll see you tomorrow?”

And Kento could only manage a shaky nod of his head as he watched her go. He barely even waves back at her when she bids him a good night.

Once inside, (y/n) bolts to Shoko’s room with a bright red face and a girlish eagerness to tell her all about the little interaction.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

On her worst nights, she lays awake on top of her covers, staring at the same peculiar spot on her ceiling that she swears she’ll wipe off in the morning, and more often than not, it takes multiple hours before she falls asleep.

And the sleep is not relaxing. Her muscles remain tense, hands in fists and knees clutched tight to her chest. She’s lucky if it’s dreamless. Otherwise, she’s plagued with the memories of every mistake of her past. The worst of all of it, is the image of Haibara Yu’s lifeless body in the infirmary. He’s half covered by one of the shitty, stiff white sheets, and no matter how long she waits with bated breath, he never wakes up.

By the end of the nightmare, Yu’s always dead, and Kento always leaves.

It doesn’t matter if things play out differently than they had in the real memory. It doesn’t matter if she lets him walk away, or if she begs kicking and screaming for him to stay. The ending stays the same.

He leaves, and he never comes back.

Some nights he tells her that it’s her own fault, that she wasn’t there to change things. Some nights he doesn’t even say a word. (y/n) doesn’t know which is the lesser of two evils, because sometimes, just sometimes, it’s such a comfort to hear his voice again that she could forgive him for the nasty things the image of him would spit at her.

Even when she’d jolt awake with limbs that ache and tears staining her pillowcase, she almost wishes she could go back into the nightmare, just to see him again for a few minutes longer.

On the nights you can’t go back to sleep, she finds herself pulling up the contacts list in her phone and staring at his number. It might not even be his number anymore, he very well could have changed it in the last ten years. But it’s a phone number with his name attached nonetheless. She’s never called it, never texted it, even in her worst states, blackout drunk or breaking down on the bathroom floor in the middle of the night, she’s never made the mistake of reaching out to him.

They had a silent agreement after all. To never reach out again. To completely remove themselves from each other’s lives. To become total strangers. At least, (y/n) was sure that was what happened between them. No other explanation ever presented itself, and again, it wasn’t like she could ask. Gojo liked to say people just drift apart, sometimes. She thinks he’s a liar, and maybe a bit of a coward, but she’s never said it to his face. Drifting apart happens over time, she thinks. Drifting apart feels natural, even if it hurts a little bit. Normal people drift apart after life gets in the way, with work, or maybe kids, or some other roadblock that comes about with life.

Sorcerers didn’t drift apart. Or maybe it was that they couldn’t drift apart. There would always be something that kept them tied together, even if running around somewhere far from one another, it was like they’d always be interconnected. The society of jujutsu sorcerers was so small, it should be impossible to drift apart.

There were only two ways to escape it.

The obvious and most frequent cause was death. It was hardly talked about, and perhaps there was a written code never to address the mortality rate of jujutsu sorcerers, but the numbers didn’t lie. This life was not for the weak, and certainly not for those who feared what was on the other side of life.

Haibara Yu fell victim to it before he got the chance to graduate, and she kept it to herself, but (y/n) believed his passing to be the beginning of the end. As much as she hated him for dying, she could forgive him for drifting apart, as Gojo coined it. She’d forgiven him a long time ago, while knelt over his grave with near-frostbitten hands pressed into the marble stone marking it. She’d forgiven him between choked out sobs, before pleading for his forgiveness in return.

Death was a sweet, cruel escape from the lives sorcerers lived. Sweet to those it claimed, releasing them from the horrors they faced in their everyday lives in the name of doing something for the greater good. Cruel to the people left behind to mourn them, counting down the days that pass until the same fate would claim them as well.

But perhaps (y/n) was a pessimist in her natural state, always finding the worst in every situation. She knew this about herself. The problem lied in the fact that pessimism was just too easy to explain away everything wrong with the world.

Because if everything wrong in the world had a larger, more complex reasoning than that of it’s simply bad because that’s the way the world works, then how could the work of any amount of people be enough to fix it?

Then there was the other cause for drifting apart. And perhaps this reason is why Gojo deflected with his choice of wording, because it was defecting. Which is what Geto Suguru did when he renounced jujutsu sorcerery, after slaughtering an entire village of people and then his parents.

If death was sparsely spoken of, defecting was taboo. The difference being no one wanted to speak of the treacherous act and those who committed it. Geto Suguru wasn’t the only one in the history of jujutsu to turn his back on sorcerers and become a Curse User, but he was certainly the most recent, and the acts he committed had been crueler than what was seen by those in the past.

So much so that when her mind drifted off to him, (y/n) found herself straightening up and finding any other topic for her brain to hyperfocus on. It felt wrong to even conjure up the image of his face in the privacy of her own mind. Sometimes the paranoia wrecked her so much she feared Gojo’s Six Eyes would catch her in the act of reminiscing on a past where everyone was still around, still happy, still alive. Now on the rare occasion she lets herself think of those times, there’s a black blur where Geto once was, leaving Gojo and his idiotic grin alone, even in the back of her mind.

Even right now, with her mind drifting off while Gojo had been speaking to her, her posture suddenly stiffens and she’s sitting straight up in her chair, tuning back into whatever he was rambling on about.

It wasn’t often she found herself in Gojo’s office, much less speaking with him, but he’d requested a one-on-one with her and even if she’d declined it, he would’ve tracked her down. Her actually showing up was a courtesy only to herself.

The surprise on Gojo’s half-covered face when she actually appeared at his door wasn’t hidden at all. In another life, she would’ve teased him for the way his jaw dropped open. In this life, she’d stood silently and motionlessly at his door, as if her stillness would’ve let her go undetected, even with his Six Eyes.

At first the meeting consisted of talk about a Special Grade curse popping up around Kyoto that the other school’s resources hadn’t been able to exorcize. It actually seemed like an important talk for a good fifteen minutes. But at some point Gojo had derailed and when she tuned herself back in, he was going on about a bakery in the shopping district.

Her brows furrow, giving herself away in that she hadn’t been listening for a good few minutes, but Gojo continues on with a story about bread.

“Sorry to interrupt,” She interrupts unapologetically, “But what does this have to do with the Special Grade?”

There’s a flicker of confusion on Gojo’s face, but then he grins and laughs too loud. He adjusts himself in his seat, which he’d been leaning across improperly but in a way that was just so him.

“My bad!” He says through his cackles, and next thing she knows, he’s rummaging through the doors of his desk- which looked like it cost more than her monthly rent. He’s muttering a string of disgruntled curses as he digs through a few drawers, pulling some papers out, only to drop them on the desktop and going back to his search.

(y/n) already knows that whatever he’s looking for, he won’t find in that desk. Her eyes wander the pile accumulating in front of him. From file folders to loose pieces of notebook paper to envelopes and what she thinks might be bills, there’s not a chance any of it is useful to their current conversation. Or perhaps useful at all, Gojo had always been notorious for doing his reports late- if at all- and she had a feeling everything in front of her now was just junk.

“Gojo?” She calls softly when he switches to the column of drawers on the other side of the desk, only to continue his messy search. He doesn’t respond, too lost in the disorganization of it all, so she calls his name again, a little more firmly this time.

He jolts upwards, staring at her with his undivided attention from behind the black fabric of his blindfold. (y/n) impatiently raises a brow at him. It takes a real effort to not start tapping her finger against the desk in a display of her growing irritation.

“What is it you’re looking for?” She shakes her head, wondering why she even has to ask.

“The reports from the Kyoto school!” He claims, “I could’ve sworn I put them back in here after I- aha!”

The sudden change in demeanor when he hollers and snaps his fingers makes her flinch, just a little bit, but enough for Gojo to mumble an apology as he rounds the desk. (y/n) stands, expecting to follow him out of the room, but he waves at her dismissively in order to keep her put.

“I left them in my classroom!” He shouts as he makes his way to the door.

(y/n’s) brows furrow, and her mouth drops open to scold him for keeping such documents in a public place, but before she could, he’s admitting something worse.

“I was showing my students earlier as an example piece!” He says it like he’s proud, but the way (y/n) looks at him, you’d think he just admitted to running over her cat. “Be right back!”

She lets out a huff when he’s finally gone, whether it's from deepening annoyance or relief to have a break, she’s not sure. But she turns back to the desk as she waits, only to be met with the mess he’d made.

With a glance to the clock on the wall, she realizes that in the thirty minutes of this meeting, only half of it was spent discussing a work-related matter. The other half was… well fifteen minutes of her life she just won’t get back, she supposed.

It might have been overstepping, but she figures organizing the piles left on Gojo’s desk was a better use of her time than the last few minutes had proven. So with another sigh she gets to sorting.

It’s a lot of piles she creates, but at least there’s a reason for the mess, and at least she stacks everything neatly. The tallest stack is the random pieces of notebook paper- some are grocery lists, some are doodles, and some are notes that actually seem important, like recollections from assignments that he’d need to add to his backed up reports. The other piles are separated into files of previous reports, assorted envelopes, and then a stack of miscellaneous pages she couldn’t make heads or tails of. Either way, Gojo would be obligated to feel some appreciation for her work here.

She works in silence and mindlessly, barely giving even the strangest of papers a second glance once she determines the proper placement for it. But then she comes across an envelope-enclosed letter.

It’s been opened, which isn’t the oddest thing about it. What makes it stand out is how neatly the flap was detached, not a single tear in the rest of the envelope. Unlike the other letters, which were tucked away in shredded envelopes. They’d likely been ripped open by impatient fingers. This one was in perfect condition.

Curiously, she flips it over in her hand, but the only thing written across the front of it is Gojo’s name, in neat, straight handwriting. There’s no addresses, and no stamp. This letter was hand delivered.

With a single glance to the open door of the office behind her to ensure that Gojo wasn’t returning at that very moment, she lets her curiosity get the better of her. She’s not sure who she assumes this letter is from, or what it’s contents are, but the mystery of it has her opening the flap and plucking out the folded paper inside.

Even the folds are neatly creased, folding up the single page into a rectangle that fits perfectly inside of the envelope. Whoever the letter was from clearly had an eye for the organized, unlike the recipient of said letter.

With great care she opens it up, holding the page between her fingers gently, afraid that a grip too tight could fold the page and soil it’s perfect condition.

Her eyes scan over the words quickly.

Gojo Satoru,

If you’re reading this, I suppose I mustered up the courage to actually deliver this to you. I’m sure that was no easy feat. I will try to keep this concise, as I’ve thought about writing this to you many, many times. Now that I’m actually doing it, I hope I can follow through.

(y/n) touches her fingers to lips as if to suppress the small gasp that escapes her. Could this have been from Geto Suguru? The thought makes a chill run down her spine, but against her better judgment, she keeps on reading.

Straight to the point. Life as a salary man is no better than life as a sorcerer may have proven to be. I’m making more money, I’m told I should feel joy in my successes, and I am successful, but there is no joy. I fear that without doing something for the good of the world, I won’t feel joy at all.

I fear I’ve made a grave mistake.

No, this couldn’t have been from Geto, right? With her deductions from the next few lines, (y/n) was growing confused at the point of view of the writer.

But who else was close enough to Gojo to write him a letter? Utahime? But it seemed as though the writer was a man. She chewed on her lip as she continued scanning over the words.

When I left Jujutsu Tech, I truly intended to never come back. I believed that in a world full of curses, and shit, that there was nothing anyone could do to make it a better place. For as long as sorcerers and non-sorcerers exist, their counterpart will always be curses. After Haibara, I believed my existence made no difference in jujutsu society, therefore leaving me no place in it.

I was wrong.

With wide eyes, the hand remaining on the page began to tremble, shaking the thin paper in the slightest and making it a bit more difficult to read. The gears began to fall into place, and (y/n) had a sneaking suspicion that this letter wasn’t from Geto Suguru at all.

More than that, I foolishly miss the things that once were. I miss feeling like I’m making a difference in the world, even if it’s minimal. I miss helping people. I even miss using my Cursed Technique.

And admittedly, I miss (y/n).

This time when she gasps, (y/n) presses her entire hand against her open mouth. It does little to stifle the noise.

I wish I could say that leaving was the right path for me, that I’m doing much better than I really am, but it would all be lies. I’m worse off than I’ve ever felt in my life. Turning my back on sorcery, and on (y/n), was a choice I’ll regret for the rest of my life.

The last time we spoke, you asked me to come back. You told me if I ever wanted to, that you’d make the arrangements. I’m sure you remember that I promptly told you to fuck off. I apologize. You were only trying to help, and for once, you were right.

I suppose this is me saying that I want to return.

Whatever means necessary, if I have to relocate to Kyoto, or start the process completely over, I’ll understand. I only ask two things. One, is for you to pull whatever strings you have in order to make it happen. I owe it to myself, to jujutsu society, and I owe it to (y/n).

The second ask is for you not to mention this to her until the decision is final. If I’m unable to return, no matter the reason, I don’t want her to know of the arrangement. I simply can’t have her thinking I’ve abandoned her a second time. I would rather she remember me as a deserter than a coward, as dreadful as that is.

I’d appreciate your discretion, and your aid. You have my number if you have any questions.

Finally, and slowest of all, her eyes drift to the signature neatly slanted at the bottom of the page. Her heart had previously been racing in her chest as she read the entire page in record time, but it suddenly plummets deep into her gut as her suspicions are confirmed.

Nanami Kento.

Her thoughts are so jumbled that all she can do is glance across the letter as if she would catch something new, as if she hadn’t already taken it all in, in it’s entirety, likely committing most of it to memory on her first read.

After Haibara…

… I was wrong…

… I miss (y/n)...

… lies… worse off… regret…

I appreciate your discretion…

“Ah, you found that, huh?”

When she turns to Gojo Satoru, who was standing in the doorway with a folder in his hands for an unknown amount of time, (y/n) doesn’t feel any shame in going through his things and reading a private letter that was very clearly not meant for her eyes. All she can do is stare at him, the evidence of her crime still in her hand.

She doesn’t say a word. She doesn’t move. Her hard gaze sets on him and it’s enough for him to know she’s demanding an explanation.

“He really didn’t want you reading that, y’know,” Gojo closes the door behind him this time, crossing the room and tossing the found folder on top of the freshly organized stacks of paper on his desk.

Emotions bubble up inside of her that she can barely get straight. She thinks she catches the tail end of desperation, which quickly morphs into rage, and then it burns into something completely unrecognizable.

“Too late now, though, huh?”

He has the nerve to grin, like he was amused by the entire thing. If her entire body wasn’t frozen stiff, she might’ve grabbed him by the collar and demanded a proper explanation from him. She might’ve threatened him if she had to.

Instead, all that comes out is,

“How long did you keep this from me?”

His smile falters, but he doesn’t quite frown. Just regards her with a neutral expression as he keeps calm. She hates that he had to be put through something so traumatic that he was forced to learn to keep his cool. In another life, she would’ve gotten all the information out of him that she’d need just from his initial reaction. Now, she has to dig and prod at him until he unwraps every layer and tears down every wall he’s created to protect himself.

What she doesn’t know, is the most twisted part is he’s thinking the same thing about her.

“Couple weeks”

“Weeks!?” She doesn’t mean to yell, her voice raises against her will, but she doesn’t apologize for the lack of professionalism.

“If you recall, you weren’t exactly supposed to be in the loop-”

“That’s bullshit, Satoru!” This time, she has every intent to yell, before she slams the page down on the desk with enough force to have a small breeze ruining the stacks of pages.

Neither one of them comment on it, but the way Gojo’s eyes slide slowly from the new mess she created before going back to her, speaks volumes. She ignores it.

“How could you keep this from me?”

“(y/n)-” Gojo barely has the time to let out a sigh before she’s shouting at him again.

“I deserved to know about this!” She’s jamming her finger into the letter hard enough that it hurts when she hits the oak desk underneath but she pays the throbbing no mind. “When did this happen? When is he coming back?”

“It’s… it’s still sort of up in the air,” He says quickly, as if he were unable to keep himself from indulging her in some of the details. “But it’s not solid yet, and you never heard a thing-!”

“Satoru,” (y/n) touches her fingers to her forehead as she sighs. “He’s clearly not doing well, what’s going on? How long have you been talking with him?”

He’s told her too much already, and he knows that if Nanami were to find out that (y/n) got her hands on this letter, he’d probably be throttled. If (y/n) didn’t beat him to it, that is.

“We’ve been talking for a while…” Gojo sighs, dropping himself into his chair and doing his best to avoid the bewildered and hurt expression that she’s currently wearing as she glares at him. “Look (y/n) it’s not like I was hiding this to upset you, alright? Nothing was set in stone and if it didn’t work out I didn’t… I just didn’t want to see anyone get hurt”

She scoffs, her head shaking at him in disbelief. Gojo frowns.

“You should take some time to sit with this,” He suggests, before reaching across the desk to push the letter towards her again. “You can take it, if you want”

Scoffing again, she snatches up the page. Her brows furrow as she tries to make him aware of just how disgusted she is by this entire ordeal, but the way her lips wobble and her eyes begin to fill with tears gives her away.

However she’d never break in front of Gojo Satoru, so without a word she turns her heel and storms out of the office, making sure to slam the door shut behind her.

Her hands tremble so much that the page quivers in her hold, creating the only sound in the barren corridor. Her movements halt when she realizes she’s alone in this space, and finally, a small broken gasp escapes her throat.

Willing herself not to cry, she tilts her head back and squeezes her eyes shut tight. It seemed that the emotions she’d suppressed and buried all those years ago were finally bursting at the seams to be let out. All of the anger, the loss, the disappointment- it clawed its way out of the hole in her chest and made it’s way up her throat.

With only a hard swallow and the strong will to keep herself from breaking down right here, she pushed it all back down.

She’s not sure what compelled her to pull her phone out of her pocket and hurriedly tap until she’s scrolling through her contacts list. But it’s as if her hands are working on muscle memory alone as she stops her scrolling under N and is clicking on Nanami Kento’s name as if it were normal to reach out to him.

Once his contact information sits before her, however, she freezes on the spot, thumb hovering over the screen. All that’s there is a phone number and an old school email she’d never removed from the page. He doesn’t even have a photo, as she’d added his number to her contacts before smartphones gave you the option to add a contact picture.

What, was she supposed to call him now? After all this time? Her thoughts grew bitter as she stared at the screen. He never reached out to her, not once, not after promising he would.

And yet, Gojo Satoru had kept in contact with him?

Her phone is locked and back in her pocket in two seconds before she’s marching herself out of the building and heading towards anywhere that she’d consider far enough away from the Special Grade Sorcerer.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

The day Nanami returns is hectic. His arrival isn’t the only thing to blame, in fact, (y/n) could have almost forgotten about it completely. Almost.

She’d been sent off on back to back assignments, nasty curses popping up one after another and with the shortage of Jujutsu Sorcerers, she couldn’t exactly turn it down.

Even once they’d been exorcized- which wasn’t an easy feat- she’d returned to campus only to find Gojo had unsurprisingly abandoned his students for long enough that she’d stepped in and helped guide their training exercises. They were good students, and for the most part were able to take care of themselves, but every once in a while Panda would goof off a bit too much and once he and Inumaki were distracted, Maki was bound to get looped in as well. Other than that, she had no complaints about subbing in for their teacher.

And once it was all said and done and she could finally go home and start her unofficial routine, she was reminded of the reason she’d been so on edge today to begin with.

Nanami Kento stood at the grand main entrance of Jujutsu Tech. Alongside Gojo Satoru and Principal Yaga, but their presence registered a few seconds later.

Tunnel vision took over against her will, blurring away the other bodies, and then the entire surrounding area, until there was only Nanami Kento in her sights. If it weren’t for him, and knowing that it was simply the effect he had, she might’ve thought that the long day was getting on top of her and she was passing out.

He looked so different and yet exactly the same.

He’d clearly grown into himself. His hair was styled differently, no longer hanging over his forehead in that gloomy teenager way. He seemed a bit taller, a bit broader, and simultaneously just as handsome as she remembered, and even more so.

It was hard to tell how long she’d been standing there, frozen in place, but when she’s finally caught, it feels like it’s been hours.

It’s Nanami who sees her first- although she’s convinced deep down that Gojo knew she’d been there all along- and the look on her face makes her stomach twist with an unpleasant emotion.

He doesn’t react right away, as if he doesn’t recognize her, but just as quickly as the thought crosses her mind, his expression morphs. His eyes widen, and his jaw opens, but he doesn’t call out to her. Instead they both stand in place, a good ten feet apart, staring at each other as if for the first time.

More hours pass. It isn’t until Gojo turns towards her with the widest shit eating grin she’s ever seen that she’s broken from her daze. He waves her over, and she thinks he said something, but her feet are carrying her towards the group before she could actually listen to what he was saying.

Her eyes don’t leave Kento for even a second. Not a single stray to acknowledge her colleague or principal, there was nothing that could pull her attention away.

It takes a deep breath before she could actually find her voice.

“Welcome back, Nanami”

It comes out quieter than she intended, soft enough her voice almost fails her completely.

There’s the smallest of smiles on her face, genuine, but the confusion is still there in the way the corner of her lips twitch with discomfort.

It’s painfully silent between the group of four, she wishes someone would just say something, because she still can’t tear her eyes away from Nanami and the longer they stand there like that the more she worries she’ll combust.

Nanami doesn’t appear to have the same level of discomfort as her. He seems completely unphased as he stands among them. With his hands tucked casually into his pockets, and his expression unwavering in it’s neutral position.

As (y/n) begins to take notice of just how unmoved he is by standing here now- after everything, after he fucking left her here, after the letter- her discomfort grows into utter displeasure. With the silence that had settled between them since her approach, it was terribly obvious. Her nose twitched, her hands curled into stiff-knuckled fists at her sides, and her posture was so pin-straight it must’ve hurt, seeing as she didn’t usually stand so square.

“Just in time (y/n), we were just discussing Nanamin’s little welcome back party,” Gojo speaks up and finally (y/n) tears her fiery gaze away from the man that could hardly stand to avoid it. “You should come by. Tomorrow night after work,”

The look on her face doesn’t change even once she’s turned her attention towards Gojo, and he winces a bit the longer her eyes bore into him, but he continues on anyway.

“Everyone will be there, Shoko, Ijichi, even Utahime’s coming by,”

He makes it hard to find an excuse to say no, but (y/n) chalks that up to his personality. Since she’d found that letter a couple of weeks ago, he’d taken it upon himself to pester her and over-involve himself in her day-to-day. This wasn’t unlike him, she just hadn’t seen the behavior in quite some time.

“I’ll send you the address and you can come by, hm?” He’s nodding at her in confirmation before she can come up with a decent reason why she can’t go. Her teeth are sinking into her cheek as she gives him a small nod of her head.

“Yeah. Sure” Her words are as sharp and strained as she appears while speaking them. She gives a tight lipped smile to the three of them, and is walking away before she could get herself roped into anything else.

Her fists curl and uncurl at her sides as she briskly makes her way off the campus. It takes an effort not to break into a sprint.

Which is odd, because with the way her heart is reacting, she wanted nothing more than to turn back around and run towards him. Instead, with ragged breathing and misty eyes, she couldn’t get herself away fast enough.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Feeling yourself shut down was an odd sensation. She always thought that if something traumatic happened to her, she’d leave her body for an unknown amount of time while her mind works to process the heavy emotions.

Instead, it was like a weight was being set on her shoulders. Slowly pushing- and she knew it would crush her, she knew that soon this weight would be too much to carry, and she feared what would happen when it finally crushed her.

It feels as if there’s a giant pair of invisible hands holding her in place, keeping her frozen in the morgue. Another fear settled in the pit of her stomach- that those hands would hold her here forever.

Her eyes feel dry, despite all of the tears today. She forces herself to blink a few times every time they start to feel dry again. The long periods of staring without blinking was starting to go from irritating to painful.

“(y/n),”

Kento’s voice is a shock to her system, making her tense up before relaxing as she glances back at him, where he’s sat against the furthest edge of the room. She’d almost forgotten he’d been there too. Her heart breaks for the thousandth time that day seeing him press his face into a damp cloth.

“I can’t take this anymore”

She completely turns around then, although it hurts to turn her back on Haibara, she couldn’t bear to let Kento feel like he was alone in this moment.

The dryness in her eyes starts to go away as her tear ducts begin to swell.

“Kento…?”

Her voice cracks, and her throat tightens up on her so fast that the rest of her question dies on her tongue. She’s left standing there with nothing to say, nothing to offer. That is, besides her presence and this trauma they shared.

He drops the rag, revealing sunken eyes paired with dark semicircles, frown lines already prominent at the corners of his mouth. He looks how she feels- utterly wrecked.

When he looks at her, the numbness in her limbs is replaced with an icy chill. The invisible claws on her body tighten and lock in place. Even if she knew the right thing to do, the right way to comfort him, she can’t move a muscle.

It feels like ages before he sighs, and finally explains himself.

“I’m leaving,”

For his voice barely rising above a whisper, the simple words are loud and clear. And even though the numbness settles over her rigid body again, (y/n) assumes her face must have betrayed her as she stares back at him, because he suddenly looks startled as he watches her react to the news. Kento pauses, and clears his throat before he speaks up again.

“I… I have to,” He breathes out, an admission he’d not yet shared. All the higher ups needed to know was that he was dropping out and would be joining the workforce. They didn’t exactly care about the details. “I… I can’t take this anymore. I’m not…”

The words die before he ever really considers admitting the full truth to her. (y/n) was a strong and endlessly talented sorcerer. How could he admit to her that he just didn’t have what it took to be as strong as her? This past week had felt like test after test of his will, and at the end of it, Nanami decided to quit while he was down for the count. He couldn’t bear another loss- after Haibara, after Geto- it seemed it was only a matter of time before he witnessed the death of everyone he’d ever cared about.

He doesn’t voice any of this. Instead, he just shakes his head at her before he stands.

“I’ve already packed my things, and let the higher ups know”

(y/n’s) mouth opens and closes a few times, small gasps of disbelief coming in between her bouts of silence, but it takes a few tries before any words could come out.

“L-leaving?” For as quickly as her mind is running with this news, her words struggle to catch up. Her brows furrow as she struggles to find the right thing to say amongst the mess of thoughts in her head.

“I have a few interviews lined up,” His hand rubs the back of his neck and he has to turn himself away from her as he continues. It’s cowardly, and he knows that, but he wanted this all to come from him. Only him. “I’m not cut out to be a Jujutsu Sorcerer. Not… not like this”

She wants to tell him that’s not true, that he’s a fantastic sorcerer. Even if it means screaming at him in order for him to truly understand just how firmly she believed he belonged here.

Maybe the state of shock she was in was too great to properly articulate her thoughts. Or maybe she didn’t want to put more pressure on his choice by fighting for him to stay.

Either way, she doesn’t say a word.

Her mouth shuts and the tears in her eyes cling to her lashes with every blink. All she does is stare at him, and hope he’ll say something that will give her a sense of comfort with his bad news. A silver lining, a bright side.

Instead, Nanami Kento makes her a promise.

“It’s not like I’m just… disappearing,”

He glances back at her with great uncertainty. He’s never seen her cry before today, and he thinks it would break him completely if he was the cause of more tears.

“You know?”

His voice is a mumble, but he knows she hears him. He knows because her lips wobble as she tries to keep them from frowning, and eventually she presses them into a tight line.

“Anytime you want…”

He trails off, because he’s never done this before, and he’s not exactly sure what he’s supposed to say to convince her that if she ever needed anything he was a phone call away. Ironically, these are words he’s been trying to tell her since the day they met, but even now his throat gets that tight and scratchy feeling, and he chokes on them for the umpteenth time. His fingers flex outward, straining and trembling as he tenses the muscles in his hand to it’s fullest extent before he shoves it into his pocket and bites down on his cheek.

“I promise, alright?”

(y/n) swallows the lump in her throat, seeming to understand what the parts he’d failed to say. She was always better at reading between the lines than he was, but today especially, Kento feels like he’s failing her.

The feeling is so disgusting in his gut- hot, and churning in his insides- that he has to close his eyes to keep himself from looking at her again.

“Okay,” Is all (y/n) can manage to say at first. It’s quiet, her voice strained and raw and harsh to his ears despite her whisper. “You too, Ken” She adds after a few beats pass.

He hopes she knows she means it, that she promises it too.

If he does, he doesn’t indicate so.

That’s the last time she sees him before he leaves Jujutsu Tech, and it’s the last time they’ve spoken.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Social events weren’t (y/n’s) comfort zone. Maybe once, when she was younger, she would have been eager for such a party. All of her friends, the people who she loved most in this world, her makeshift family, in one place seemed so enticing at one time.

Now, it feels like a karmic punishment.

The way her stomach twists into knots despite only nursing her second drink, the way her skin pricks with anxious goosebumps anytime someone wanders too close to her and appears as though they wanted to catch up, it all starts to feel too much. It makes her sweat, and before she knows it she’s checking the time on her phone every five minutes. Then soon, every two.

Don’t get her wrong- she tried. She really did try. She hung around while Gojo and Utahime were fighting over a game of darts, and even though she didn’t partake she was there when the new kid, Takuma, ordered a round of shots for the group, she even sat and listened to as Nanami talked about his time as a salaryman. She wanted to appear as present as possible, even though she was far from her own mind.

It was just too hard, wasn’t it? To sit there and pretend like there was something to celebrate, that his return was the greatest news of the year. All it did was resurface ugly, buried feelings, and that mixed with just a couple of drinks created a pit in her stomach that only grew as the night went on.

Like an emotional black hole that would suck her up from the inside out.

Nanami had spoken about how the workforce wasn’t right for him, that it was full of selfish assholes who lacked basic human compassion, that it took and took and took and never provided a sense of fulfillment. The longer he spoke about the toxic environment, the more (y/n) felt the weight of it all on her shoulders.

Nothing had changed.

With a lame excuse mumbled to Shoko beside her, she swallowed down the last of her drink and left the table. Shoko wasn’t even given the chance to say anything- or ask her to repeat whatever she’d just missed- before (y/n) was walking right out of the bar.

Tokyo was cold this time of year, the light breeze enough to nip at any exposed skin, instantly making her nose and cheeks red.

It’s not pleasant, but it’s welcomed. Even with her arms wrapped around herself to preserve her fading body heat, the cool air felt good sucked in between her teeth as she began a breathing exercise that she hadn’t done since she was young and afraid of the career path she was on.

Not as afraid as she would be taking up a normal job in the city, working amongst vultures and hyenas and vile men that made high grade curses look a little more innocent, but, still.

She’s too lost in her focus to hear the pub door opening and shutting behind her, so when someone speaks, she looks surprised as she turns towards them.

“Hey,”

It’s quiet, but enough to draw her back to the chilly reality. Nanami Kento stands there with one hand in the pocket of his coat, the other extended towards her. He’d brought her coat out to her.

“You left that inside. Too cold to walk home without it, yeah?”

He’d spoken quite a bit tonight- or at least, a lot for him- and yet this was the most he’d actually spoken to her. It makes her stomach twist in that way that was once pleasant, but tonight? She thinks it might make her sick.

“I wasn’t going home”

She takes the coat, shrugging her arms into the sleeves and wrapping the front around herself as snug as she can get it. It’s not as much of a relief from the cold as she’d hoped.

“Looked like it”

His words aren’t sharp, they’re not accusatory, they don’t hold a hint of malice. But she almost wishes they had, because the defeated way he says it feels worse.

Her eyes shoot towards his, and for a split second, he thinks this is the moment she snaps. This is the part where she calls him out, for all the terrible things he’d done to her. He braces himself, flinching just a bit as he holds his breath and waits for what he deserved to be handed to him.

(y/n) sighs. Her shoulders slump downwards and a frown takes over her lips shortly after. The disappointment in her gaze is more brutal than anything she could have screamed at him. He wishes she would just scream at him.

“You should go back. Gojo will freak if you ditch your own party, you know”

She turns away from him again because she has to. She’s not brave enough to hold his persistent stare.

“I don’t want to”

“Well I don’t want you to-” She stops herself before those emotions could force themselves out. With a sharp inhale, she clamps her mouth shut and shakes her head, waits for the heat in her throat to be bearable enough to talk through. “Just… just go back inside, Nanami” She sighs out the non-threatening demand, hoping he’d turn around without another word and disappear.

Hearing her call him by his surname felt like a knife to the back. Not that it wasn’t what he deserved, he understood why she called him that, and he didn’t exactly expect to hear her call him Kento, or Ken in that sweet voice she used to- always delighted to see him, always smiling when his name would fall from her lips before her entire face would light up. Hearing Nanami followed by her eyes darting to look at anything but his was like a punishment.

“I don’t want to do that” He repeats himself, and she wants to be upset with him for how calmly he speaks, because he makes it seem so easy, while she’s standing there like a ticking bomb trying desperately to slow down time.

“It’s freezing” She tries to argue.

“I don’t mind the cold”

“I’m not great company right now”

“I’ve never thought that”

With the mental timer still ticking, she spins on her heel, her brows furrowed as she regards him with a pitiful sort of glare. All of the sadness she’d been trying to shield with anger was on full display.

“You left me,”

It finally comes out in the heat of the moment, and as soon as the words are spoken she wishes she could take them back- she’d do anything to pack them back up in the box of ugly emotions and bury it somewhere new where no one could ever find it- but it’s too late now. They hang in the air between them like a taunt over her head.

“You promised that you weren’t disappearing,” Her voice cracks and the strain of her voice gives away the tears in her eyes but even in her humiliation she can’t stop herself. For a moment, she’s completely out of her body, looking down at herself as she shoves a finger into his chest and begins to properly cry. “And then you did”

The words are barely audible, spoken through such a shaky whimper that any other person in the world wouldn’t have been able to understand her. But Nanami Kento knew exactly what she was saying. He’d heard her say this all before, almost every night during the nightmares that plagued his sleep.

“(y/n)-”

He doesn’t get the chance to say anything, because her dam had already been broken, and there was nothing she could do to stop the rush of all the pent up emotions now. All the energy they’d drained out of her all these years came flooding out, and it was bound to take him out with her.

“And then you wrote ‘toru that fucking letter,”

She doesn’t have the ability to yell anymore, but even the whispered confession is enough to shut him up. His eyes go wide, and his mouth opens but he has nothing to say. If she read that letter, then there was nothing for him to say. She already knew everything he’d been hoping to keep from her.

Which, thinking about it now, it was foolish of him to believe keeping her in the dark so they could start fresh would ever be the outcome of all of this. He should’ve known Gojo would dangle that letter in front of her like an enticing piece of gossip rather than the deep felt note it really was. He winced and stared down at his feet for a moment as he recalled everything he’d said with the confidence of privacy.

“What was I supposed to make of that?” (y/n) whispers, and it doesn’t sound rhetorical, with the way she stares at him with those wide, teary eyes, but she’s speaking again before he can even come up with a response. “I know you didn’t want me to see it and- and honestly a part of me wishes I hadn’t, maybe this would b-be easier, but…” She sniffles as she begins to stammer, her head shaking again in the hopes it would make her words more clear and concise. “But I did see it and it’s not easy it’s- it’s really hard”

He’s not sure what compels him to be so bold, but when she uncrosses her arms to aggressively rub the tears off of her cheeks, Kento reaches out and takes her wrist before she could defensively cross her arms again. Her eyes go wide from the surprisingly gentle action, but she doesn’t try to pull away.

“It is hard. It’s my fault that it’s hard,” He tells her softly.

Seeing the tears still swelling in her pretty eyes makes his throat start to close up, and he can’t help but be reminded of the last day he’d seen her. He’d been the cause of her tears then, too.

“I’m sorry, (y/n). I didn’t mean to hurt you, I just… I was young, and what I thought was right was so foolish-”

“A complete idiot” She mumbles weakly. He nods back at her in agreement.

“I know,” He murmurs, and the warmth that the softness of his voice ignites in her chest is bound to spread through her and weaken her knees soon enough. “I meant it all, though. What I wrote. I missed purpose. I missed… you,”

I missed you too sits on her tongue like lead.

“I should’ve written to you directly, I know that now, and if I could take it back I would but… when I wrote that letter, I still wasn’t sure if I’d…” He trails off, his eyes glancing around as he tries to find the right thing to say, which might have been useless, seeing as he’d been saying all the wrong things for most of his life. “I didn’t know if I’d be strong enough to come back. Strong enough for you. I… (y/n), I left because I wasn’t strong enough to stay. I didn’t… I couldn’t put you through that again”

It’s messy, and it takes a moment for her to process it all, but slowly, it all clicks into place and she finally starts to understand what his motivations were in all of this.

“Kento…” She sighs, and it’s not quite like old times, but it does ignite an old spark in him that makes the corner of his mouth quirk upwards for just a brief moment. “I didn’t need you to be any stronger than you already were,”

Her fingers tremble as she slides her arm out of his hold, only to ghost the pads of her fingers over his palm. Even after the years spent away from jujutsu sorcery, the palms of his hands still bore the rough calluses of a man wielding a weapon. Her eyes darted towards his hand as she made contact with it, eyeing the way he offered his open palm to her, but made no move to take her hand. He waited.

“I didn’t need you to be anything,” She murmured, glancing up at him then. Her hand hovered over his still, but the pounding of her heart still caused it to shake. “I just wanted you safe. If that meant leaving then- then fine, but not knowing how you were, if you were okay, if you were happy, I… I hated that”

She had her other hand wrapped around his heartstrings, he was sure, because the tugging on them was relentless and painful. Kento had to clear his throat before a choked gasp could come out of it.

The urge to apologize over and over, until I’m sorry are the only words he knows how to say, until his throat is bloody and raw, strikes him so hard he almost actually does.

“(y/n),”

Her name is murmured so softly his lips barely moved, breathed out so gently it was stolen and silenced by a sharp gust of wind that cuts between them. Finally, her hand falls into his, as if the weight was too much for her to hold anymore. Her fingers clasp around his palm as if muscle memory took over as soon as they touched, as if seven years apart meant nothing at all when it came to them.

“I’m not asking you to forgive me,” His eyes flicker in between hers, and he can’t stop his free hand from reaching out, hesitating only a moment before the cool pads of his fingers brush away the tears still stuck to her cheek. “But… I don’t want to lose you again. I left because I couldn’t stand to lose you and I… I did anyway, didn’t I?”

It’s like the final thread keeping her heart afloat is snapped, and it shatters as it crashes in her stomach. Something escapes her upon that impact, something between a gasp and a sob, and it has Kento pressing his entire hand against her face, cupping her cheek and hoping he could provide even an ounce of the comfort she deserved. This was all because of him, after all. A knot forms between his brows and she frowns deeply as he takes in all of the hurt she’s feeling, taking responsibility for every second of it.

“No,” She breathes out, her head barely shaking with the protest. “I loved you, Ken,” She confesses, and she’s not sure if it relieves a weight on her chest or makes it worse, but she runs with it.

There was nothing left to lose, they’d made enough mistakes already, one more couldn’t hurt, right?

“I- I still love you, I’ll always love you,” She starts to stammer but there’s not a single pause in her voice. “Whether you stay or leave, that doesn’t just go away”

The pad of his thumb presses a little harder into her cheekbone, and he moves in closer, staring at her intently as he takes in everything she said, basking in it, in all of it’s melancholy and sweetness, in the relief of after all these years, finally knowing how she feels. Finally knowing that he’d never imagined things, that his feelings were reciprocated.

“I loved you, too,” He murmurs, and with the hand that’s still holding hers, he squeezes, maybe tighter than he should have, but he needed to make sure this wasn’t another cruel nightmare that he’d wake up from any second now. He lets a beat pass just to be sure. “I still love you, too” He repeats.

She sniffles, gasps quietly, and then the smallest of smiles begins to stretch across her lips.

When she leans forward, he brushes his lips over the crown of her head before he presses his forehead into hers. His eyes fall shut and he keeps his hold on her secure. It was still freezing out, the cold had settled in all of his limbs by now, but he needed to be with her here just a little bit longer.

“You don’t know how much I missed you, Ken” She mumbles, the tip of her cold nose brushing into his as she pressed a little bit closer.

He chuckles, and it’s not a humored laugh, more bittersweet and regretful, but it warms her heart just to hear it anyways. When he whispers back to her it’s so sweet that she melts away completely. Her shattered heart is welded back together solely through the power of Nanami Kento’s gentle presence and even gentler words.

“I think I have a pretty good idea, sweetheart”

[ cause this is crazy love // i’ll catch you on the flip side ]

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

xoxo ~ jordie

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