righteous tarnished

writer, artist, and video game enjoyer. mainly lads, jjk, fromsoft/souls, destiny, and dragon age. [she/her, 21+]

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Hello, and welcome to my blog! I write fanfics - currently for Love and Deepspace and Jujutsu Kaisen. I also sometimes yap at length about Fromsoftware lore and characters, and make fanart on occasion.

Most fics are x-posted to my AO3 (lightofthedarksun).

***This is an 18+ blog, MDNI.***

Last Updated: 20/07/25

Fics Masterlist

Love and Deepspace

After Rain Comes Sunshine (Zayne x F!MC!Reader) // Tumblr // Read on AO3

Summary: Zayne invites you to join him on one of his morning runs. Unfortunately (or fortunately), the weather has other plans for the two of you. WC: ~3.7k Content tags: Fluff, Pre-relationship, Slow Burn if you squint, MC Reader, Brief description of injury.

Mise en place (Zayne x F!MC!Reader) // Tumblr // Read on AO3

Summary: You've planned every part of Zayne's homemade birthday dinner, all the way down to the last detail… but what happens when things start to go wrong? WC: ~2.1k Content tags: Fluff, Humor, Mild Suggestiveness, MC Reader.

Mornings With Him (Zayne x F!Reader) // Tumblr // Read on AO3

Summary: Mornings are always better shared. Especially with the love of your life. A collection of fluffy snapshots of mornings spent with husband!Zayne. WC: ~2.1k Content tags: Established relationship, Domestic fluff, Fluff, Romance, Mild suggestiveness

Focus and Distraction (Zayne x F!Reader) // Tumblr // Read on AO3

Summary: What do you do when you’re distracted by your partner’s arms when trying to work? Arm wrestle him, of course. WC: ~1.5k Content tags: fluff, suggestive themes, arm wrestling, thirsting over arms

A Taste of Home (Zayne x F!Reader) // Tumblr // Read on AO3

Summary: Perhaps all things did eventually have to end. This dreamlike holiday season certainly would. But for now, you could allow yourself to savor each moment, one cookie at a time. WC: ~1.7k Content tags: holiday fluff, domestic fluff, baking, humor, implied sex

Warmth (Zayne x F!Reader) // Tumblr // Read on AO3

Summary: For a man whose Evol is pure, frigid, pristine ice, Zayne is surprisingly warm. WC: ~1.7k Content tags: pure fluff, domestic fluff

Avowal (King!Sylus x F!Knight!Reader) // Tumblr // Read on AO3

Summary: King Sylus never tires of watching his most loyal knight fight. That is, until he tires of just watching and decides to test himself against your blade. WC: ~2.4k Content tags: Medieval AU, King!Sylus, F!Knight!Reader, swordfighting/sparring, sexual tension, praise, mild sub/dom themes

When Stars Align (Sylus x F!Reader) // Tumblr

Summary: Perhaps this is all it takes for love to bloom. A blind date, a chance encounter, an alignment of proverbial stars. WC: ~2.5k Content tags: blind date, fluff, humor, romance; written for the Blind Date Matchmaking collab

Yours (Knight!Caleb x F!Princess!Reader) // Tumblr // Read on AO3

Summary: Caleb is yours. He’s always been there for you. And he always will be. WC: ~3.1k Content tags: medieval AU, knight!Caleb, princess!Reader, arranged marriage, dark themes

Jujutsu Kaisen

Careless (Vampire!Geto x Vampire Hunter!Reader) // Tumblr // Read on AO3

Summary: Bounty hunting was a lucrative gig, especially when it came to creatures of the night, so you were ready to pay any price in exchange for the handsome stranger’s graciousness.Or so you thought. WC: ~3.5k Content tags: 18+, mild coercion/manipulation, vampire!Geto, vampire hunter!Reader, spicy biting and blood drinking

Sharing is Caring (Professor!Nanami x Professor!Reader) // Tumblr // Read on AO3

Summary: In which your cat warms up to Nanami Kento as your relationship blossoms, and you find yourself having to remind your feline friend of the importance of sharing. WC: 2.7k Content tags: college AU (kinda), professor!Nanami, professor!Reader, fluff, domestic fluff

Miscellaneous Writing

On Miquella and Radahn's One-Sided Vow [Elden Ring SOTE]

The Parallels Between Miquella and Lothric [Dark Souls 3/Elden Ring]

Fics tag: #espace--positif Misc. writing tag: #espace--positif yaps Random bullshit tag: #espace--positif yaps a lot My art tag: #espace--positif draws Asks tag: #espace--positif answers

I'm still fairly new to posting my writing to Tumblr, but I'm open to requests/asks if you have any! I just can't guarantee that I can write every single request, but if it's within what I'm comfortable with, I'll try my best to fulfill it.

I also love to yap about my fandoms, so feel free to interact with me about everything and anything related to Fromsoft, LADS, JJK, and D2 :)

Thank you for reading <3

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AAAAA the drifteris artbook I ordered from @haykebyr is finally here!!! it’s soooo pretty and high quality, and I love the bonus sticker and print 😭 I JUST LOVE THEM™️

I’m pointing like that dicaprio meme at every single page, it’s so cool to have all this amazing artwork in print!! tysm for making this 🫡 💜

[espace--positif]

Still one of my favourite things to ever come out of D2 🥹💜

[pmpmyread]

Pairing: Nanami Kento x f!reader Summary: In which your recent gift to Nanami has him quickly feeling himself. Contents: fluff, humor, established relationship, canon-div Word count: 4.3k

Never could you have foreseen the situation reaching such a dire level.

With both of your text messages sent to Nanami within the last half-hour going unanswered, you’d suspected that he might have succumbed to the sleep deficit he’d accrued over the previous week—his relentless schedule had been filled with one assignment after another, with the promise of finally winding down only today after a mission he was assigned in the early hours of this morning.

With this in mind, you’d made a calculated effort to be as quiet as possible, gently sliding the key he’d given you just a mere few weeks prior into his door lock, marking this as the very first time you were using it yourself.

As you quietly stepped inside, Nanami’s shoes instantly caught your attention from the corner of the genkan, their leather soles still bearing the dark sheen of melted snow. It was this, coupled with some fresh ingredients left out on the counter just by the fridge, that offered undeniable proof that he was indeed home.

Only after you’d slipped out of your shoes and tiptoed further inside did you sense that something might be amiss.

A clothes hamper haphazardly lay tipped onto its side just outside the laundry closet, whose door was left ajar. Some of Nanami’s clothing had spilled onto the ground, strewn about as if they’d been hastily discarded, leaving a trail of shirts, slacks, and socks that led all the way up to his living room couch, where were piled what could be no less than two weeks’ worth of laundry.

You carefully waded your way to the end of the hall, past the guest bathroom, past his vacant home office, until you reached his bedroom.

As soon as you crossed the threshold, you heard a rummaging noise emanating from the open closet.

“Kento?” you called out towards it.

It only took a couple of seconds for Nanami to stumble out of the confined area, looking like he’d just been dragged through a storm.

He was less than half-dressed, clad merely in his slippers, boxer briefs, and an undershirt that revealed the glint of his thin gold chain at the base of his throat. His hair was disheveled, and he bore a tired and troubled expression, with pupils darkened, brows furrowed, and the corners of his mouth tugged downwards into a tight frown.

It took you a moment to process the sight before you.

Your visibly disarrayed Nanami spoke before you could.

“Ah, welcome back,” he said, the warm affection of his greeting swiftly slipping into something grave. “Have you seen my robe?”

A few weeks prior…

To think that this all started with a pair of fancy, comfortable house slippers.

With his book in one hand and a freshly brewed cup of matcha in the other, Nanami had just settled onto your couch beside you, fully emulating a Sunday morning languor that mirrored the quiet mid-winter day outside.

You’d wrenched your gaze from your phone just in time to watch him set his mug onto the coffee table before leaning back into the plush pillows with a gentle sigh.

He now had his leg extended, outstretched and slightly lifted off the ground as he idly rotated his ankle in an absent-minded, lazy motion that caused his slipper to repeatedly slide halfway off and on with each unthinking movement.

You couldn’t help but chuckle at the amusing sight.

“You seem to be enjoying those,” you remarked.

Nanami set his book on his lap and glanced at you, lips twitching into a sheepish smile.

“Well, these are some awfully comfortable slippers.”

Even months into this budding relationship, there remained something novel about the way Grade 1 sorcerer Nanami Kento seamlessly switched into the softened, unguarded iteration of himself, something deeply endearing about recognizing the way he shed a week’s worth of job-induced tension and allowed himself to truly relax, even if for a mere few hours.

It made your heart swell with pure delight, just as much as it did back when you’d watched him lounge in this very spot the morning after he’d stayed over for the first time, no longer as a guest you were hosting in your house but as a partner with whom you were sharing a pleasant slice of home.

By now, you’d easily slipped into an alternating pattern, visiting one another whenever your weekend schedules permitted, and over time, you’d naturally stocked Nanami’s go-to toiletries and yielded him a non-negligible portion of your closet and drawer space where he’d kept several changes of the clothes, along with all the things you’d offered him to make his stays comfortable—newest among those was this very pair of luxurious slippers.

“They come in a set too, you know,” you added after a moment.

“A set?”

“Mm-hmm. It includes a silk eye mask and a matching house robe.”

Nanami let out a low, pensive hum, and you returned your attention to your phone.

“I don’t believe I’ve ever owned a robe before,” he murmured, drawing your attention to him once more.

“Wait, really?”

Nanami slowly shook his head before his gaze flickered to you. “Why, is that so surprising?”

You took a moment to truly consider his question, letting it resonate within you. “I don’t know… I just think it would really suit you. Comfort always does look good on you, Mr. Nanami.”

Nanami settled deeper into the soft cushions, a bashful blush coloring his cheeks in the kind of vulnerable display you always treasured, always felt lucky to behold.

Something softened in your chest, and it was right then and there that you zeroed in on the next addition to his gradually expanding side of your closet, unwittingly embarking on what would be an entertaining ride.

No later than the very next week, you were able to hand Nanami his gift.

With both of you having the following Monday off duty, this Sunday presented the kind of placid respite that only the middle day of a long weekend could offer. Following a lunch date at a nice bistro, followed by a fruitful trip to the local bookstore, you’d returned to his apartment together.

By now, Nanami had already slipped into what was now the second pair of comfortable slippers you’d gifted him, and stood before his full-length mirror as he fastened a wide belt into the double loops of a brand new matching house robe.

“How does it fit?” you asked from where you sat behind him on the corner of his bed, keen to confirm whether the size you’d picked out for him would provide a loose enough fit for his comfort.

With a muted swish and drag of his slippers against his hardwood floor, Nanami took the small side step that allowed him to meet your gaze through the mirror’s reflection, something not quite yet readable in his eyes. He adjusted the shawl collar that framed his neck before finally turning around to face you.

“You tell me,” he simply replied, his gaze moving over your face.

You took in the way his broad shoulders filled the width of the pale gray gown, which was composed of carefully crafted towelling and where the soft Egyptian cotton fabric no longer hung loose, molding his frame instead as it held snug along his sides and cinched at his waist by a thick, fastened belt. The robe had a wide hood and two deep front pockets just below his hips, one into which he’d slipped a hand as he brought his other hand to his hip, as if to strike a pose.

Effortlessly classy, functionally stylish, and, just as you’d envisioned, he looked damn good in it.

Your staring must have been prolonged enough to catch Nanami’s attention, which he signaled with a sudden quirk of his eyebrow and a noticeable twitch at the corners of his mouth.

“Well, it looks perfect to me,” you replied, as casually as possible, even as you felt the inklings of a buzzing, familiar warmth come over you, driving you to briefly bite the inside of your cheek.

“It certainly feels perfect,” he concurred, his voice low and warm and his nose crinkling in a way you recognized to be whenever he was absolutely self-content.

Like was totally feeling himself. With good reason.

Later that evening, you found yourself observing Nanami while he carefully arranged one of your napkins into a makeshift bib over his new robe as he sat down to have dinner.

“It’s just too comfortable to take off just yet,” Nanami said, responding to what could only be your perplexed expression. “Surely I’m allowed to indulge in this today, right?”

Your palms shot up in mock surrender at his defensiveness from an accusation you hadn’t even considered forming. “Hey, I didn’t say otherwise!”

“Good,” he returns, with an equally playful, self-satisfied smile.

Because of course he’s allowed to indulge you thought as you snickered at the sincerity counter weighing his joking tone, at the dualities of the man before you—goofiness under seriousness, indulgence under restraint, the dutiful sorcerer who wielded a blunt sword to exorcise the most vicious curses in this existence, now deep in the plushy comfort offered by a simple cotton house robe.

So for the remainder of that sweet, long weekend, Nanami indulged in his new house robe, removing it only for the scarce occasions he stepped outside, or when he was showering or sleeping.

You could forever watch him roam around with a leisurely tempo in his step as he went about his day—it was charming, adorable, sexy in the most understated ways.

You gave yourself a mental pat on the back, relishing the idea that you’d managed to offer him a small slice of comfort, not yet realizing what you’d gotten yourself into.

It wasn’t until sometime later that you hit the absolute tip of the iceberg that was Nanami’s fondness for his robe.

He wore it so often now, nearly whenever he was hanging out at home, and this quiet, late morning was no exception.

You were seated at the dinner table, busy drafting an addendum to a recent mission report of yours in a comfortable silence that was only punctuated by the sound of a wooden spoon occasionally hitting a pot.

Keen on sharing a recipe he’d talked about at length, Nanami had taken it upon himself to prepare his twist on a risotto, a dish whose preparation doubled as a test of diligence, requiring a near-constant presence by the stove as he monitored the pot and gradually added in the stock, one careful ladle at a time.

Kento also happened to be in the middle of reading a mystery thriller novel that had him particularly hooked. It did surprise you a bit when you spotted him taking his paperback along with him to the kitchen—he usually treated his reading time with more sanctity, making it a point to separate it from any other activities.

But what truly caught your attention was what you noticed him do with it.

You’d lifted your gaze just in time to catch Nanami as he slipped his book into one of the expansive pockets of his robe before reaching for the stove and adding two ladles’ worth of broth to his pot which he then gently stirred.

You thought nothing more of this, that is, until a minute later, when you caught him fishing the book from his pocket once more, quickly thumbing his bookmark to find his page.

A moment later, he closed his book and returned it to his pocket.

By now, your mission report was long forgotten in favor of the scene unfolding before you, of Nanami Kento, whom you’ve only ever known to be a practical, efficient man, engaging in a very much less than efficient enactment of his favorite hobby, as if his main purpose was to maximize the usage of the pockets of his robe.

Surely that wasn’t what he was truly doing, you thought as you carefully observed him out of the corner of your eye.

Sure enough, it hadn’t been a fluke—he did this a few more times, each time making a point of tucking his book away into his robe pocket before resuming his cooking.

A short moment later, Kento’s eyes found yours, a quiet but undeniable thrill radiating from them.

“This story is getting wild. You must absolutely give it a read once I’m done,” he said, casual as ever, before returning to his stove.

What you brushed off at the time as one of Nanami’s amusing albeit peculiar new habits with his robe would only be the first of many others.

There are habits, and then there’s this.

Nanami has his mannerisms, many of which you’d picked up early on as you’d surreptitiously observed the man who was still only your lovely colleague who was just broaching the outer limits of your attention.

He readjusted his glasses whenever he was narrowing his focus to lock onto a target.

He often rolled up his sleeves when he was gearing up to enter combat or preparing to take on an arduous task.

When deep in thought or pondering a tough decision, his hand instinctively went to his tie, smoothing its fabric.

And now, there was a new one, one you’d been noticing over the past few days, one that you were about to put to a test.

“Nanami,” you called out to him suddenly one day, keeping your tone as neutral as possible.

You watched him freeze right where he sat on his couch, his countenance stiffening immediately as your unusual usage of his surname, well outside the formal confines of work, gradually registered.

And there it was, subtle but right on cue—Nanami’s fingers found the edge of the belt of his robe, sliding up until they found the knot and began fidgeting, adjusting something that didn’t need it.

“…Yes?” He replied after a short pause, a flicker of nervous curiosity clouding his eyes.

“I’ll be driving out to the tailor tomorrow for a few items I need adjusted. Is there anything you want to have dry-cleaned since I’ll be in the area?”

“Dry cleaned…” he began, his eyes narrowing in suspicion as he tried to decipher yours, but you expertly averted your gaze before he could probe too deeply. “No, I don’t have anything to be dry-cleaned… Is there something wrong?”

“Why would there be something wrong, Nanami?”

He let out a nervous scoff, and you watched his fingers quickly find his belt again, less fidgety this time, just settling there.

“Well, good, now I know you’re just messing with me.”

“Oh, am I?” you countered as you walked right by him, but your carefully crafted composure faltered, and the snicker you’d been suppressing escaped in an uncontrolled burst.

Nanami’s demeanor relaxed as his hand slipped from the anchor of his robe’s belt to your hip, halting your stride with a gentle yet firm pull toward his lap.

“Not so fast, we ought to discuss this…” he commanded huskily.

Yielding to his tug, you savored in the moment and in the way by which, ever since you’d discovered that this particular mannerism of Nanami’s stemmed from a mix of nervousness and hesitation, you derived great pleasure in baiting it out of him just to witness him embody it at your whim.

It was on an early, unsuspecting evening that the most blatant manifestation of Nanami’s metamorphosis occurred.

Yet another particularly busy season at work made for late nights at the Tech, making your apartment the most convenient place for you and Nanami to retreat before you’d have to do it all over again in the morning.

You were spending the evening like you’d spent most of them these days: carefully planned leftovers made for a quick dinner, leaving you with just enough time to decompress before the inexorable wave of slumber came knocking at your door.

Today had been extremely brutal, and after spending ten minutes staring at your TV screen trying to determine whether you had the emotional capacity to embark on the new story arc for the program you were actively watching, fatigue made the decision for you and you ended up sitting on your couch, blankly staring at the wall instead, slowly processing the events of the day.

Nanami’s soft steps could be heard behind you as he emerged from the kitchen area. You tilted your head up in time to catch him through your periphery.

In moments like this, you admired, almost envied, Nanami’s deep delineation between work and home. On most days, he bested you at this, consistently compartmentalizing work as work and refusing, as much as he could, to allow it to encroach on his scarce downtime.

He set down a steaming hot cup onto the coffee table just before you, and it only took a few seconds for the calming, familiar floral scent of chamomile to tickle your nostrils, its scent, along with Nanami’s presence, already doing wonders to ease your tension.

You caught Nanami’s hand before he retreated it, brushing your fingers along his palm before giving it a gentle squeeze, a gesture of your wordless gratitude.

Nanami said nothing, letting a gentle press of his lips to your forehead be his silent acknowledgment before he disappeared from your focal view.

The serene quiet that had reigned between you for some time extended for a moment before it was interrupted by the gliding sound of the sliding patio door and the gust of crisp evening spring air that swept into the living area.

“Are they really still repaving that road over there?” Nanami spoke suddenly.

“On the side street?” you asked as you brought the cup of chamomile tea to your nose, basking in its calming balm. “Yeah, that’s still going on…”

“They sure are taking their sweet time with this,” he muttered.

You couldn’t help but snicker, amused by the snide delivery of his comment.

A brief silence before Nanami’s pensive hum filled the air.

“Weren’t they here recently?” you hear him mumble again, as if to no one in particular.

“Who was?”

“The landscapers. Did they not do the shrubbery in the courtyard last week?”

Your weary mind needed a moment to shift focus, sifting through your memories to grasp what Nanami was referring to.

“Right… The landscapers were here last weekend,” you confirmed as it slowly came back to you now. “We drove by them on the way to park the car, remember? You even made a comment on how good a job they seemed to be doing. Why do yo—”

“Tch,” Nanami abruptly cut in with an unimpressed click of his tongue. “Well, I definitely take that back.”

You nearly choked mid-sip.

A glance over your shoulder wouldn’t suffice—this time, you just had to fully turn into your seat to face him in earnest, this source of unusual snark.

When your gaze found Kento, he was peering out through the sliding door leading to your balcony, his hair down from its usual style, his reading glasses on, and he was casually swirling a mug of his own herbal tea, looking relaxed as he usually did at this point of the evening.

It was only now, as it caught and absorbed the hues of orange just beginning to tint the sky, that you noticed that he had notably changed into his favorite house robe.

Something about Nanami’s allure tonight carried something different that you couldn’t quite place.

Your train of thought trailed off as you suddenly spotted him peer up, moving to the side and closer to the edge of the sliding door as if to discern something from one of the apartment windows above and adjacent to yours.

“Oh, this should be interesting. I got here just in time,” he said as he brought his cup right back up to his lips.

“In time for what?”

He nodded towards his focal point. “She’s about to start again.”

“Who is?” you asked, feeling as though you were hallucinating from tiredness and finding it increasingly difficult to grasp the thread of this conversation.

“That loud neighbor of yours, the one who’s always engaged in those loud phone conversations.”

“Kento! Don’t be a snoop!” you said in a loud, scandalized hush.

“Well, are you not the one who first told me about her all those weeks ago?” he countered, dismissing your playful outrage as he scooted closer to the door and slid it slightly more ajar, before leaning against the frame.

An incredulous laugh escaped your lips. “I’m honestly surprised you remember that.”

“Oh, I more than remember it—she’s been airing out her fraudulent boss for the last few weeks now.” He paused and turned to you, lowering his voice conspiratorially, as if sharing a well-kept secret. “Last time around, she was talking about a sting to catch him in the act. Hopefully, she provides us with an update on that…”

“Who is us? How long have you been—”

“Oh. You didn’t tell me someone finally moved into that top-floor penthouse.”

“The… what?”

Nanami paused to take a sip from his cup, shaking his head as he savored it before swallowing and continuing.

“Those curtains definitely weren’t there last week. Someone’s moved in.” Then, turning to you again, this time with the most serious expression ever, “You haven’t noticed?”

Your confusion melted away, replaced by amused bewilderment.

“Now, Kento, you know I’ve done little more than eat dinner and sleep here for the past couple of crazy weeks, when would I even have the time to notice something like this?”

Still, curiosity got the best of you, so you yielded to its draw, picked up your cup, and slowly made your way towards the window, towards Kento.

“Good point…” he started. “I do wonder what they’ve got going on, though…”

“Nanami!”

“What is it?”

“When the hell did you become this nosy, sir?” You underscored your remark with a light, teasing tap to his bicep.

When Nanami’s smile reemerged, it held something genuinely coy, as if you’d caught him in the natural act of one of the hidden sides of himself, utterly disrobed within the cocoon of comfort delimited by your presence.

There was no facade he could sustainably maintain, not that he’d want to, no sides of him he could feasibly suppress under the fissure brought on by your caring perceptiveness.

With you, it was far more reasonable to get comfortable, made all the sense in the world to lean into it.

“Ah,” Nanami said, perking up as he leaned closer into the opening once more. “She’s talking about him again. This is about to get interesting…”

“You need to close this window, it’s getting chilly in here,” trying but failing to mask your own enjoyment at all this by hiding your face behind your raised mug.

“I’m confident I can keep you warm if you come here, and we can listen in together,” he offered, his words sounding more like a question than not as he extended his free arm, beckoning you closer. “Did you know this thing is made of one hundred percent Egyptian cotton?”

“You and this house robe… What is it about it that always finds you in such rare form?”

Even as you shook your head in amazement, you couldn’t bring yourself not to take him up on his offer, and you slowly slotted yourself into his open arm. As he gently closed it around you and pressed you close, you could immediately sense the decompressing effect that had been evading you all evening starting to seep from him to you, blotting out, in real time, the vestiges of your stressful day.

Nanami drew the patio curtain, leaving only enough to match the crack in the open sliding door. “In case there are nosy neighbors…” he solemnly stated, his tone taking a cautious tenor.

“You can’t be serious, Kento,” you snickered, your tone dripping with disbelief. “Surely you realize that you are being the nosy neighbor right now?”

Present day...

A suspended moment passed between you.

“Your robe?” you asked, unable to mask the amusement overtaking your surprise at the scene before you.

Nanami must have perceived the incredulity spelled on your face. He stepped just out of the closet and straightened up, lightly clearing his throat as he visibly attempted to regain his composure.

“I looked for it everywhere,” he said in a lower tone.

“Your… robe?” you repeated slowly to confirm what was dawning on you. “You turned your place upside down searching for your house robe?”

He crossed his arms over his chest, something almost flustered settling in his allure. “Alright, go ahead, you can laugh.”

“I’m not laughing, I’m just...” you trailed off, words forever lost, buried beneath the hand covering your moth along with the sound of your own uncontrollable giggling.

Nanami allowed you the moment he now realized this situation deserved.

“Nanami Kento,” you gasped in between laughs as you took slow, trudging steps his way. “Grade 1 sorcerer. Indispensable to him are his watch to keep track of his precious time, his blade to exorcise the most tenacious of curse spirits, and at the end of the day, his fancy house robe.”

You reached into your tote bag and produced another smaller garment bag containing Nanami’s robe, carefully folded with its soft fabric tucked in on itself, with a new addition made to it. You bowed your head slightly as you handed it to him with both hands, taking on an excessively apologetic tone.

“I hope you can forgive me for borrowing this prized possession for the time it took me to have it monogrammed.”

You lift your head up in time to see the spark light up his eyes, something between relief and affection chasing away all previous signs of disquiet.

“Thank you, this is... Well, I suppose I should first tidy up…” he said, quickly turning away, but not so quick that you don’t notice the reddening of his face.

A/N: had fun writing this one lol | my JJK mlist here

[pmpmyread]

A/N: Story mlist for Syncopation, a multipart Nanami x Reader fic I'll be posting here and over on ao3 starting this week.

Title: Syncopation Pairing: Nanami Kento x f!reader Synopsis: Every Tuesday night, a certain jazz bar serves as both a temporary escape from the mundane routine of daily life and a poignant reminder of a forsaken aspiration. On those evenings, it’s just you and the music filling the space between the jagged pieces of yourself you’ve been desperately holding together, and for a while, you’re convinced that it’s enough. That is, until you cross paths with Nanami Kento, after which nothing is quite the same. Content tags: no curses AU, slow burn romance, hurt/comfort, fluff, gratuitous jazz references, some POV switching, mature themes, mdni.

Track One: In A Sentimental Mood • (coming soon)

Synopsis + Links TBA

Forthcoming releases

Track Two • Track Three • Track Four • Track Five • Track Six • Track Seven • Track Eight • Track Nine • Track Ten

[janpesart]

A cold dark night of winter. ❄️

I played Elden Ring a bit while waiting for the new WoW expansion and created a new oc, her name is Valeria!

I got the idea for this piece while taking my dog out. It was cold, the sky was dark blue and everything was covered in thick untouched snow, which was glittering. It was a beautiful sight!

[ivyjinna]

Anor Londo Knightess undertaker!

[moonlessoul]

Realized i never posted these on here but I am not making separate posts so this is what u get 🫶 (kinda wanna redo nanami n higuruma hmmm)

[pmpmyread]

CW: mature themes, smut, mdni Title: undefined Characters: Geto Suguru x f!reader Summary: In which an arrangement you’ve entered with Suguru on a restlessly vulnerable night unwinds from sobering clarity into the safety of possibility, back to a past that once treacherously glimmered with a future that the present has yet to define. OR The anatomy of an ongoing situationship with Geto Suguru. Content tags: canon divergent AU, sorcerer!reader, romance, hurt/comfort, light angst, colleagues to fwb to dotdotdot. WC: 9.4k  A/N: started from the bottom a stylistic writing exercise, now we're here. Also on ao3

With two rattling hums echoing beneath a distinctive chime, Suguru’s phone buzzes against the wooden bar counter.

You’re still the one who texts first.

Once upon a time, there came a certain simplicity with this convenience, one which has long since been supplanted by the complex melding of deliberate detachment, of unforeseen attachment, and a plethora of complex sentiments in between.

But with the way your last conversation concluded, Suguru is simply relieved that you’ve reached out at all.

Yours is a notification that utterly derails his train of thought, and the half-formed words of a sentence he will never complete fade into the air as your words on his screen effortlessly conquer his attention.

Even without claiming it for what it is, Geto Suguru isn’t so deluded as to ignore the glaring chasm between his initial expectations for your arrangement and the reality of what you’ve become to him.

He’s well aware that this widening gap hasn’t slipped past Gojo Satoru, though nothing hardly ever does, especially not in the current moment. Out of his peripheral vision, Suguru detects it immediately—the way Gojo curiously peers over his shades to get a better view of his friend’s fingers fluttering over his keys as he eagerly types away. It’s all the more reason for him to reply as promptly as possible to your concisely phrased summon with his even briefer response before decisively shutting his flip phone, quickly straightening his posture, and cracking a nonchalant smile.

And when Satoru inevitably inquires, as he watches his best friend hastily polish the rest of his drink, visibly gearing up to leave, Suguru doubles down on his posturing by claiming that yes, things remain very much casual between the two of you.

He doesn’t need to witness the air of doubt that clouds Gojo's bright blue eyes into something wary to confirm what he already knows to be undeniable—that he’s gotten considerably worse at convincingly repeating this refrain of a phrase, at squeezing it out from his constricted chest, and at letting it slip through his lips like he actually means it.

But right now, as he exits the bar and heads your way with a renewed sense of resolve, Suguru tries to emulate a self-assurance that hasn’t quite taken root yet, fueled by the conviction that what he has to say to you tonight, for better or for worse, will liberate him from this self-imposed compulsion of disingenuously portraying his true sentiments for you.

“We’re kind of on borrowed time, aren’t we?”

When you and Suguru last saw each other, it was in your kitchen, bathed under the bright, midmorning sun—that, in and of itself, spoke volumes of the unusual circumstances this presented.

For what felt like a long, drawn-out moment, he’d stood opposite you, where you were leaning against the counter. His eyes mapped over the patterned floor tiles, lingering on the intricate details he’d previously missed in the dozens of times he’d hastily passed by them whenever he’d cross the distance between your apartment door and your bedroom.

The unnerving silence that reigned in the wake of his blurted comment rested in the small space between you, replacing what once carried the words he’d once uttered so assuredly, words which he now almost wished he could take back.

Suguru’s entangled thoughts had just led to yet another line crossed, much like they often did as of late, as the wax wings of his heart brushed against the warmth at the source of yours, a bit more deliberately with each passing day.

“This was nice, Suguru,” you finally responded, a non-answer to his indirect question, delivered in a tone of cautious calculation that had long replaced the sincerity that you’d also allowed to slip from you in your shared moment of imprudence.

When you finally lifted your gaze to his, you found Suguru keenly observing you through narrowed eyes. The lips from which he’d just recklessly verbalized his muddled feelings, lips which were even more recklessly occupied not half a day prior when you’d cajoled him to put them where you’d craved him the most, now hovered over the rim of his cup as he pretended to sip on a tea that he’d clearly already finished many moments ago; before he tried to leave the first time, before he saw a certain glint in your eyes that granted him the last bit of audacity to imply something he’d spent the better part of the last few months denying.

Despite serving its purpose in curtailing what would undoubtedly be a long, messy conversation, your response remained evasive in its nature.

You knew this.

So did he.

And so, Suguru still stubbornly held on for the few more seconds it took for him to study you, to recommit to memory an expression he’d now grown familiar with, one characterized by tightened brows and lips that parted ever so slightly before pressing together again, one that he knew you to often make whenever you were trying to arrange your face into something that didn’t convey that you had a lot more to say. 

At this sight, he wanted nothing more than to rebut, to refute, to rebel against the idea that this less-than-candid moment in particular could fall under anything defined as “nice”.

But at this perilous point in time, correcting course required honesty.

And honesty, still to that day, carried far too much of a risk.

So instead, Suguru placed his saucer down and softly acquiesced.

“It was nice,” he echoed, despite himself, pulling into his signature, foxlike smile that rendered his eyes narrowed beyond the capacity to discern whether the sentiment had reached them.

You didn’t see him to your door like you usually did, but then again, nothing that transpired that morning had any semblance of what had settled between you two as usual. Though slightly dismayed, Suguru didn’t blame you or take any kind of offence at this. How could he? He wouldn’t dare, not after making an unfair allusion to the future like this, after months of actively dodging each of your discreet attempts at doing the same.

Borrowed time.

In retrospect, there were far better ways for him to phrase this, Suguru reflected as he stepped foot outside, where the crisp winter air immediately filled his lungs and cut through the fog of his mind. There were, undoubtedly, more succinct, no less subtle means to signal that beneath his doubt of the sustainability of your arrangement lay not a desire to dissolve it, but a genuine openness to deepen your relationship.

But for now, he’d have to settle with this—walking off with the quiet memory of your expression, which both betrayed and confirmed the complicated feelings that were now firmly ensconced between you. He’d take this as your placeholder response for now, and hold on to the hope that perhaps one day, you would be the first to yield to your own stormy thoughts and utter the words that he couldn’t bring himself to say without blatantly breaking the pact you'd both made all those months ago.

And besides, it’s not like Suguru hadn’t just made a mental calculation of his own, one whose conclusion amounted to deciding that the pain of playing pretend would be far more bearable than that of forfeiting the privilege of playing at all.

“Hey,” Suguru murmured, prompting you to languidly raise your cheek from his sweat-slicked chest and setting your chin right where it still rose and fell in the aftermath of his exertion. “Is there something bothering you?”

There are many lessons to be learned from a precaution that backfires, from witnessing firsthand as an ostensibly firm safeguard flips onto itself, spelling its architect’s downfall instead.

Suguru had initially ascribed his imprudence to stress.

It hadn’t been a single incident, but a series of concessions cloaked in quiet habits that had insidiously piled over one another, forming the erosive elements that claimed minute amounts of his resolve at a time.

There had been a lot going on lately—an unprecedented level of curse-related activity was causing endless disruptions throughout the country, resulting in countless missions, continuous interventions, and, for Suguru, the most cursed spirits he’d ever absorbed in the shortest amount of time. The toll all this was taking on his body and on his psyche was only compounded by the pressures of his additional duties at Jujutsu Tech, as he and Gojo increasingly took on additional pedagogical responsibilities to help train the generations of sorcerers that would follow in their footsteps.

It must be the stress, Suguru had thought to himself this evening as he lay in your bed, next to you. The same stress that carried a tension that had both you and him increasingly seeking one another as safe outlets.

It was the only explanation to which he could reasonably attribute the first self-inflicted chinks in his armor, his best way of justifying how disarmingly comfortable he’d become around you and just how willing he’d become to initiate the deep, late-night conversations you’d tend to have as you both transitioned from the haze of lust into the fog of sleep. This nebulous notion of stress remained Suguru’s simplest excuse for the moments you shared in that liminal time when the room held you both without judgment, moments that made it easier for thoughts to transfigure into the words that flowed freely and bypassed even the most careful of filters you’d otherwise place between each other.

And tonight, as his eyes searched where yours were traced by the soft light and shadows cast from your bedside lamp, Suguru felt compelled to get to the bottom of something that had now been bugging him for over twenty-four hours.

You slowly shook your head in response to his question as you idly brought a finger up to trace over his sharply defined clavicle.

“Tell me,” he insisted, his two gentle words carrying a firm undertone.

“Tell you what?” you mumbled, as you rested your head back down, conveniently facing away from him.

“Tell me that there truly isn’t anything bothering you. I need to hear you say it.”

You closed your eyes, feeling yourself succumbing to the attractive pull of slumber.

“It can wait, Suguru…” you murmured into the crook of his arm.

Even as you snuggled against him, Suguru could recognize this now—your bid to bridge the certain emotional distance you’d taken with physical closeness. He brought a hand to your cheek and gently stroked it, patiently coaxing you to lift your head and to peer up through your half-lidded eyes to meet his persistent gaze.

“No, it can’t. You’re upset. Since yesterday, and seemingly at me.”

The short silence preceding the wry laugh that bubbled up in your chest lasted only a couple of seconds, but it was enough to vindicate his assumption.

“I’d say our activities this evening could easily discredit your assumption,” you replied.

“Just as easily as you could’ve denied my assumption, which you haven’t,” he said, his tone dropping into something of wistful frustration. “Come on now. Talk to me.”

This time, your longer, indicting pause stretched into a proper moment, after which you gently pushed yourself away and back onto your pillow to have your eyes level with Suguru’s as he turned onto his side to face you in earnest. Almost instinctively, you reached for the sweat-dampened coil of dark hair that clung to his forehead, your fingers tracing its length as you tucked it behind his ear, eliciting a shiver he couldn’t suppress.

“It’s just…” you slowly started, your breath warm and feathery as it fanned over his face, “It’s getting difficult for me to deny a lot of things these days.”

Suguru couldn’t stop the sharp intake of breath as a nervous tightness gripped his throat. It would be a lie to say that he hadn’t anticipated something like this, that he hadn’t spent a non-negligible amount of time, especially as of late, wondering not if but when one of you would inevitably break the wall of denial, and have its facade shatter into tiny pieces.

And though he’d held off for so long, it wasn’t for lack of yearning to take that momentous first step himself.

You lightly placed an open palm on his chest, and Suguru would’ve worried about you being able to discern the intensity with which his heart hammered against his ribcage were he not more concerned about your own disquiet, palpable in your hesitation and in the unusual way you avoided his gaze.

“After you left my office at lunch yesterday,” you continued, “there were a couple of assistant managers waiting to see me, just outside the door. Two young women, one of them visiting from the Kyoto school.”

“I noticed them,” Suguru interjected, his gaze briefly unfocusing as his attention snagged onto the memory.

“Well, they noticed you, too,” you said pointedly. “Along with the way you referred to me by my first name, among other things.”

A scoff escaped his lips. “They should know better than to eavesdrop.”

“Right, but that’s not the point.”

“So what is the point?”

“They asked me questions, Suguru. About the nature of our relationship,” you spoke as you began absentmindedly drumming your fingers over his chest, still avoiding his gaze. “And honestly, I don’t fully hold it against them… I suppose that after the number of missions we’d worked together as a team, they felt comfortable enough to make typical workplace gossip comments like this. Anyway, the one from the sister school also remarked how that was the third time she’d seen you bringing me lunch in the ten days she’s been on assignment here.”

At this, Suguru let out a low, pensive hum before speaking again.

“So, how did you react?” he asked quietly.

“Well, I mostly played it off. I did pull rank and scolded them a bit, of course. Told them it was inappropriate to speculate about colleagues like this. I emphasized that’s just what we are… colleagues.”

“So you didn’t outright deny it?”

“There wasn’t a specific thing to deny.”

It was now his turn to pause at your words and at the veiled double meaning they wielded.

“Suguru, we’ve been doing a decent job keeping this,” you paused, pulling your hand from his chest to point a finger between you two, “under wraps. That is, at least, if we pretend that you didn’t run and tell Gojo.”

“I told you I didn’t tell him, he found out on his own—there’s a difference, one that I’m pretty sure isn’t the case with you and Shoko,” he retorted in half-jest.

In the absence of a rebuttal, you closed your hand into a fist and let it drop on the mattress between you.

“Alright, alright,” you conceded in playful surrender. “My point being, your unexpected visits to my office with costly treats and an overly familiar use of my name don’t exactly beget discretion.”

“You don’t usually seem to mind my familiar use of your name,” he said darkly, his arm slipping under the covers, snaking around your waist to pull you closer to him.

“Suguru…” you warned, though not very convincingly, even as you grabbed his wrist to hold his movements as you locked eyes with him. “Look, you get it, right? The boundaries, especially at work…”

Suguru watched as you averted and lowered your gaze down towards his chest, fixing it as if it were the most fascinating thing in the world right now.

“Maybe we make it a rule,” you quietly concluded.

Beneath this rare timidity of yours that he’d grown to adore over the last few months lay a kind but unprecedented firmness in your current demeanor, one that now utterly tugged at Suguru’s chest. Throughout this several months’ long affair, not once had either of you explicitly brought up your shared rules, because not once had it even come close to being called for.

That is, until now.

It must be the stress.

But Suguru knew it deep down—that sometime over the last couple of weeks, the internal shift whose inception overlapped that of your arrangement had transformed into something much more tectonic in nature.

He knew that he was a far cry from what he could now recognize to be the rather arrogant internal logic that held dominion over his mind at the beginning of all this, one that had camouflaged itself under the guise of precaution and that had underpinned the rationale behind relinquishing the onus of setting the rules of engagement, leading him to decide that throwing you the lead on this arrangement would be the best way to reduce harm on both ends of this bargain.

And yet here he was—now confronted by these very boundaries he’d once been eager to agree to and to abide by, now feeling diametrically different about them.

“I do get it,” he finally said, just as your gaze rose to meet his. “I’ll be more mindful of that, more careful. I’m sorry.”

“Okay. Thank you. Sorry, I really did plan to tell you about this in the morning…”

“Don’t apologize. I’m glad we talked now. We can always do this, yeah?”

You nodded, your fingers finally uncurling from his wrist, gently redirecting his hand back onto the trajectory it was making to your waist.

And there it was—something about the relief he caught in your expression before your eyes fluttered shut as you snuggled back towards him, something about the peace you seemed to be making with this now, with all of this always, even as a wild storm swirled within Suguru poked at a new, instigating force within him, one he was unable to shake.

“So, discretion is the real issue here, is it?” he said, yielding to impulse as the words tumbled out of his mouth before he could rein them in.

“What?” you mumbled, only half-awake and already drifting, lids too heavy to open.

He drew nearer, his hand slowly descending until it rested on your hip, giving it a gentle squeeze to draw your attention. Sure enough, your eyes flitted open in time to catch a newfound yet distinctive fervor as it ignited his eyes with a sparkle. You felt the full weight of his words as he whispered them.

“If I came by your office while no one is around, would you still stop me?”

You blinked up at his half-lit features, taking note of the way they softened as a smile crinkled the corners of his eyes and mouth.

“It depends...” you murmured, returning his lighthearted tease, “Would you still be bringing me my favorite snacks?”

“Always…” he replied as he unceremoniously pushed aside the soft duvet he’d gently draped over you just a few short minutes ago, baring you to him once more. “But I’d also come to enjoy mine,” he added, a darker note settling in his tone.

Suguru’s hand slid down slowly, his palm softly hovering down your inner thigh, lingering but no less intentional, closing in dangerously over where the evidence of your previous release still remained, still warm, still glistening in the soft, dim light.

When he looked up again, he found you still fixing him—eyes narrowed, lips slightly parted, your breath quickening in time with your heartbeat. Time seemed to have halted as you awaited his next move with utmost anticipation.

“Would you tell me to lock the door?” Suguru murmured as he reached his arm over you, leaning onto it as he moved to shimmy himself down the mattress, stopping only to kneel between your legs. “Or would you leave it to fate and see if your two colleagues happen to walk in on us?”

Instinctively, you parted your legs in silent invitation—Suguru slid his hands under your thighs, parting them further. A familiar warmth bloomed from your heart, up your neck and across your face, and as your chest rose and fell in the rapid rhythm of your shallow breathing, you watched Geto Suguru’s face become the center of your field of view for the quick moment it took him to lower himself close enough that you could feel his warm breath on your warmer entrance, with the loose locks of his hair tickling your inner thighs.

“Would you be as worked up, as utterly wet as you are now?” He brought a thumb down to your folds, dancing around your folds without diving inside.

“Suguru…” his name broke on a whimper as your eyes flew open and your hips bucked. You were definitely wide awake now, wired by a sharp thrill that shot through your body like an overloaded circuit.

“Would you tell them the truth then? If they asked about the nature of our relationship?” he murmured mischievously, his voice barely above a whisper, his breath sending tingles that reached the very tips of your nerves. “Would you tell me?”

Silly, stupid stress.

Before your mind could process that incisive latter part of what was quickly devolving into a precarious line of questioning, Suguru flattened his tongue against your core, giving it a long, languid stroke up the path that spanned your entrance to your sensitive core.

A cascade of whimpers fell out of your lips, your hands desperately clutching the bedcover as a vigorous, pleasurable shudder ran through your body.

“Would you let me seat you on the corner of the same desk you use to fill in mission reports and allow me to spell out your name, your first name, with my tongue?” he continued, unrelenting, in a tone that was ardent and intense and wild.

He licked into you once more, deeply and deliberately, decisively working you into a frenzy.

Your attempt at your reply came out as a shuddering moan as you squirmed beneath him. Suguru groaned against you in response to your sounds, melodic to his ear and to the way your muscles rhythmically clenched tighter around his tongue with every one of his movements.

And at your wordless pleas, at your incoherent words that tried and failed to curtail some nameless sentiment you were unable to voice, Suguru only felt more emboldened.

Then, he abruptly stopped.

Tilting his head upwards, he ensured that his next words would reach you with ultimate clarity, his breath ghosting over your sensitive skin.

“Will you remember this for the next time I walk by you at work and find you busy?”

“Y-Yes…” you whimpered as you writhed under the renewed swirling of his tongue.

He pulled back once more.

“Will you think about this, about what we could be doing, if you weren’t always in the middle of something or some other thing?”

“Please…” you whimpered once more, your impatience climbing with his delaying. 

“Tell me what you want,” he rasped, his voice sounding desperate even to his ears.

“Suguru…” you lamented with equal parts lust and warning.

“Tell me what you truly want,” he insisted, any semblance of diligent decorum having long left him.

You propped yourself up on your elbows, your gaze shifting downwards to meet his, and with a soft tug on the hair atop his head, you gently drew his attention to you.

“Suguru,” you panted, “stop talking. Please stop teasing. Stop—”

He leaned back in, aiming straight for your throbbing nub and suckling at it, immediately cutting you off mid-sentence.

And you fell back.

Back to your head on your pillow, back to your mind spinning, to your body moving at his whim, arching and squirming under his spellbinding touch.

You cried out just as he got relentless with it, dextrously applying the exact amount of pressure, flicking at the exact right places to elicit the specific reaction he was seeking from you. Your hips bucked under the tension that coiled your body into an uncontrollable, writhing mess as you babbled words that would never get the chance to form coherently. After a while, Suguru pressed his hands firmly down on your hips, dimpling your skin as he pinned them in place.

He pulled back again, and this time you earnestly whined in protest. Suguru lightly chuckled, prompting you to glance down at him. His gaze locked with yours, and he spoke before you could, his voice low and deep.

“You tend to talk around what you want by telling me what you don’t,” he murmured. “Good thing I can read between your pretty lines, then, right? Good thing I know not to stop doing this.”

He returned to give a slow, mean roll of his tongue over your most sensitive area with renewed hunger.

A raw sound emanated from your lips, at the intensity of his touch, at the veracity of his words—it was something between a ragged gasp and a pleading cry, and if you weren’t feeling such powerful, disarming pleasure from all this, you might have had half a mind to wonder if it wasn’t now Suguru who was somehow slightly upset.

Settling into a relentless rhythm, Geto Suguru, man of his word, did not, in fact, stop. Not the first time, nor even right after the second time he made you come all over his tongue like this, causing you to break apart with a vigor that nearly had you blacking out. It was now his name familiarly rolling off your tongue like an enraptured chant echoing in the otherwise quiet darkness.

Suguru didn’t stop, only pressing his hands firmly on you to keep you restrained, condemning you to ride out the full force of your devastating, toe-curling releases, leaving little room for your hips to move anywhere beyond your desperate small rolls.

His groans grew more strangled. His mouth, all lips and tongue, kept busy, mostly for you but partly for his sake as well, as he directed the remaining focus he could muster to keep himself from uttering the reckless, unspoken wish upon which this entire endeavor rested.

Because if Suguru couldn’t come by your office as often and as publicly as he’d wanted, if he could no longer see you as frequently as he’d craved your comforting presence in this chaotic mess of a Jujutsu world, he’d at least make sure he could indelibly mark both of your minds with memorable moments to which you could escape whenever the restrictions you’d both imposed upon yourselves in a world that was already rife with them felt too cruel.

Had that conversation about discretion occurred about eight weeks prior, it would have undoubtedly played out differently.

“You’re late,” you panted when Suguru’s lips finally peeled from yours, finally granting you what felt like your first, real, deep breath since he’d walked in.

He’d knocked on your apartment door nearly three hours past the time you’d agreed upon, appearing remarkably dejected in his disposition, beyond anything you could recognize as being his usual post-mission demeanor.

Immediately, you’d sensed a stark departure in what you’d learned to be his essence. Even in the throes of lust, Suguru usually was a deeply diligent lover—he took things slowly, patiently as ever, despite himself, with even his most urgent, most passionate movements carrying an undertone of quiet control.

But this was not that.

You could pinpoint the exact moment when any remnants of restraint he might have carried that evening snapped, like a fault line suddenly giving way. 

After a brief moment, Suguru had crossed into your doorway, inching his way closer to you as he’d lifted his hand and let gentle fingers trail down your cheek and along the column of your neck before settling over your pulse and lingering there, as though to confirm that it truly was you standing there before him, in the living, breathing flesh. His eyes were restless, carrying a disquieting intensity, dulled only by his deep and sleepless under-eye hollows.

The first brush of his lips had opened with a deceptive gentleness, starting right where his fingers had fluttered over your pulse and quickly working their way up your neck, over your jaw, all the way up to your temple. By the time he pressed his forehead to yours and your lips met, Suguru was biting on your lower lip with a deep groan, his cool hand already trailing beneath your shirt and sprawling the warm base of your spine as he pressed you flush against him in a way that caused a roiling heat to roll up from your core.

You’d ceded under his bruising mouth, which made quick work of coaxing yours open, of granting his tongue access to yours, claiming it with the righteousness of a displaced river current reclaiming its course. It was without preamble and with ardent haste that he’d deftly kicked his shoes off and maneuvered you both towards your living room couch, only breaking contact as he lightly pushed you down to have you tumble back onto your pillowy cushions before he followed suit, straddling you at your sides.

“Maybe you forgot I have an early start tomorrow,” you now spoke again, half statement, half question, a bit more breathlessly as one of his hands began fidgeting with your waistband while the other found its way underneath your shirt again, cupping your breast and enjoying the full weight of it.

He disappeared off to the side of your neck, mumbling words that were as incoherent as the solution they sought to convey:

“Just call out…”

“I can’t do that. You know I can’t. I have a remote, multi-day assignment. I told you this.”

“Right, right,” Suguru said, his mind decidedly distracted, already elsewhere as he moved his fingers to your waistband, urgent, fervent, rushing to make up for lost time.

You placed your hands on his shoulders, your grip both tender and resolute as you pushed him backwards.

Immediately, he halted his movements and pulled away.

“Are you alright?” he asked, a sudden, lucid worry now discernible in his eyes.

“Are you? Your mission ran super late, and you seem a bit more… perturbed than usual…”

You averted your gaze as you glanced down to where your right hand gripped his left shoulder, and you trailed it down to his chest, where you absentmindedly began rubbing a nebulously circular pattern, your bid to soothe the invisible mental ailment from which he seemed to be suffering, and to coax any form of response from the emotionally guarded man.

“You can talk to me, you know…” you murmured, your plea landing as a soft sound against his chest.

Your left hand glided once more over the expanse of his broad shoulder, bound for his cheek, and you just barely met his unreadable gaze before Suguru swiftly pressed you against him and wreathed his arms around you, squeezing his thighs around your waist.

The world abruptly tilted.

Before you knew it, you found your positions flipped, with your face now towering over Suguru's as he gently repositioned your legs astride him, now bringing you to straddle him, granting you a semblance of control. If gravity did the bulk work of pushing you down against him, Suguru completed this endeavor by pressing his hand down on your back, inching you closer and closer until your nose nuzzled against his.

“You have that early mission tomorrow morning,” he all but whispered, his hot breath mingling with yours.

“I do…”

“You do. Two entire weeks, right? Fourteen long days…” he added, bringing his hand under your shirt, under your brassiere, finding, in record time, your hardened nipple before eagerly kneading it with his thumb. “Away from home? Away from this?” he emphasized by lightly pinching at it.

You threw your head back, your reply only coming through as a breathless gasp as a mix of shock and pleasure coursed through you.

“And you really want to waste our precious evening with some talking?” Suguru’s other hand slid up your back and snaked around your neck, applying pressure to which you found yourself easily yielding despite yourself, lowering your face down to a point where your lips began tingling with impatient anticipation.

“It’s not a waste…” you whispered, struggling but trying to remain some form of coherence, “It’s for your—”

Suguru’s fingers suddenly tickled at the exposed flesh near your armpit, and his unexpectedly deliberate touch drew out a startled, airy laugh from you, which had you inadvertently squirming against his hard, unyielding length trapped between you. Your giggle transfigured into a whimper under his relentless teasing, setting off a chain of uncontrollable reactions, a volatile cascade of the sentiments and emotions that swirled within you.

Even as the mood shifted and as you both laughed and loosened up like this, Suguru’s prevarication was not lost on you—not now, in fact, not since you both began seeing each other like this. And though it shouldn’t have been surprising you anymore, it certainly didn’t dismay you any less, this clear indication that no matter how many times you’d engage in this most intimate physical dance that never failed to satisfy both of your immediate needs, that you still remained at arm’s length, blocked off from the deeper, more vulnerable side of Geto Suguru that you yearned to discover and soothe the most.

Alas, with the exceptions of scarce slips that were few and far between, Suguru was otherwise always surgically prudent with the degree to which he opened up to you, and deep down, you understood that he didn’t owe you more than he gave you.

After all, he wasn’t yours.

The truth of this pinched at your chest in moments like the one you were having now, as Suguru tenderly ran a finger down your cheek while his other hand moved to grant equal attention to your other breast.

“I’ll miss this,” you ventured, earnest words escaping your lips, traveling directly into his mouth, and you hoped that their sincerity could reach his heart.

“I’ll miss it more. I’ll miss you,” he murmured before adding, “Will you kiss me?”

Always so polite, so deferential, so frustratingly in control.

A control you couldn’t wait to have him relinquish.

Your fingers tangled with the silky hair at his nape as they curled around him and you diminished the distance between your lips and Suguru’s down to mere millimetres, your tongue deceptively darting out to trace the outline of his top, then bottom lip, before you opted to move your mouth down to the side of his neck to suckle over his delicate skin.

Suguru let out a soft groan of your name, all the while craning his head back and tilting it to the side, granting you better access to his neck.

“You left so many hickeys the other day… I’m starting to run out of ways to conceal them,” he said in a darkly robed tone that was as nebulous as his implication.

A warning? A challenge?

You channeled your boundless, pent-up energy into embracing the latter interpretation.

The fine line delineating illusion from delusion can be defined by how badly one wants something to be true.

Geto Suguru wasn’t yours.

But maybe like this, as you nipped at him and as you blinked back the frustration prickling at your eyes, as you sparsely bit into his skin and as you left marks that would long outlast the quiet sounds that he only allowed himself to make around you and that would leave undeniable proof that this encounter was very much real even if its abstraction wasn’t, then maybe, just maybe, you could pretend, if only for this moment, that he was.

You were both a lot braver towards the beginning of all this.

There was a time when your connection with Suguru was still fortified by a particular boldness born out of the novelty and clarity of the terms of engagement you’d agreed upon. It was largely these very rules that allowed for the easy, welcome distractions that had become the evenings you spent together.

Things were much simpler back then, back when steady discipline had yet to slither into misty desire, back when you were both still tentatively testing the waters, and when you could each operate under the assumption that the rules were seemingly working.

It was on one evening, as the setting sun filtered through your sheer bedroom curtains on the fourth time you'd met up like this, that you’d finally settled on said rules, on the boundaries for this new, undefined bond.

Settling, in this context, was more like Suguru deferring to you for establishing the ground rules as easily as he yielded to each of them. You’d tentatively suggested a few loose terms that he cordially echoed—they boiled down to no expectations about the future, no lingering on the past, and no pressure on the present.

The rest came down to logistics. You offered that evenings would likely work better, and he agreed. Suguru proposed that your schedule be the one you’d both worked around, arguing that his was busy yet much more flexible, and just like that, you found yourself virtually agreeing to hold the keys to any initiation.

Throughout this exchange, you’d both danced right up to the line of the terms of exit, both refraining from touching it. Even if you’d had any kind of interest in crossing that line, which would never be the case, you wouldn’t even know how to begin to approach it, so it was quite easy to make the mental decision that if Suguru didn’t bring it up, you certainly wouldn’t be the one to do it either.

A comfortable silence eased its way between you after that discussion. You both lay on your bed, side by side with your arms touching, gazing up where the vibrant orange hues of the sunset painted shifting patterns on your bedroom ceiling. It was only after a few minutes of peaceful contemplation that you felt a strange refluent tide of doubt surging within you, blurring the more concretized lines you’d both just drawn in the sand.

This marked the first of many occasions that would have you questioning the necessity of your own rules. You were too dazed to realize it yet—that the emotional enigma that was Geto Suguru would open a Pandora’s box of conundrums of your own. That some of your most strongly held beliefs, steeped in the same reason and logic that shaped you into the stable, skillful Grade 1 sorcerer you were, along with much of the emotional resilience you’d once thought to have perfected, would begin crumbling like aged infrastructure weakened by years of neglect.

Suguru’s hand suddenly came into your view, breaking your reverie, and it took you a moment to realize that he was playfully offering up his extended pinky finger as an invitation to symbolically seal your pact.

He must have sensed your confusion, because a soft chuckle rumbled from his chest, piercing the quiet stillness before he spoke.

“You won’t ever have to kick me out, I promise,” he said in a disarmingly lighthearted tone.

Slowly but surely, you brought your finger up to meet his, sealing your covenant with a slow and deliberate shake.

“What if I ask you to stay?” you asked, your own caveat sounding more like an appeal as you glanced towards him for the first time since this conversation started.

“Then I will. Until you do kick me out,” he replied, so simple, so playful, so casual. 

His eyes remained fixed on the ceiling, but even from your limited perspective, you could discern a wistful shimmering within them.

Your next words tumbled out unexpectedly, surprising even yourself.

“And how will I know if you’re the one who wants to stay?” you queried in a murmur that seemed to resound too loudly in the evening’s silence.

Suguru’s eyes met yours for the first time in this exchange, and you found, in the way they speculatively took you in, an alluring magnetism that caused your stomach to fizz. A heated tension began crackling to life, with comfort giving way to a nearly electric charge in the air.

You loosened your grip on his finger, and he grasped your hand into his before you could fully retreat it, pulling you towards him instead.

Suguru might have willingly thrown you the lead of this relationship’s tempo, but to you, he was inherent to its melody. The terms of your association weren’t his, weren’t exactly yours; they were just there—established not out of necessity but under the unspoken pretext of protecting a sentiment which you yourself had asserted so valiantly a mere few weeks prior, the one Suguru agreed to, the one that allowed for the inception of all this.

It was all underpinned by the ostensible notion that neither of you, in your current state, was suited for a deeper relationship.

But what if protection slipped into prevention, blocking something real from igniting, culling a bud before it ever had a chance to bloom?

There were no rules that could possibly inoculate you from that kind of regret.

“Don’t think so hard, beautiful. Relax for me.” Suguru’s soothing voice broke through the mist of your reverie, reassuring words punctuated with a delicate kiss on your forehead following the signature soft purr of your name.

That was his first command of the night, the one you’d find the most difficult to adhere to.

You still weren’t fully relaxed yet, moments later, when he had a dextrous finger gently sliding up and into you, rubbing against the sensitive area where you desired him the most. You could tell that Suguru noticed this, as you watched him tilt his head and narrow his eyes at you in deep focus and begin moving with renewed intent, as if trying to calibrate himself to something he could not find.

You were only slightly less tense when he used your mouth with his fingers, and you progressively took his digits between your lips in the slow, rhythmic thrusts that he gave them to you, mimicking the repeated, sensual motion he would enact moments later with the full hardness of him, pushing into you patiently, until your hips were flush against his, basking in the small, rewarding moans you directed his way.

And it truly wasn’t until you were both perilously hanging over the cusp of your respective precipices, until you allowed yourself to break, to unabashedly lean into the unrivalled urge to vocalize the intense emotions running through your mind, steamy declarations that came straight from your soul, words that were mirrored right back at you with a passion that ignited several small, untameable fires in your veins—only then did you feel years of deeply encrusted, unnamed tension finally unwinding, one unrelenting wave at a time.

With his strong grip on your hips and a soothing voice in your ear, Suguru enabled you as you encouraged him, and you empowered each another to cross the only finish line that mattered, unapologetic in your words, hand in literal hand, fingers pressed into knuckles, hips maintaining a synchronized yet agonizing pace.

In your unraveling, you squeezed your eyes shut as you felt yourself cede to the hope that surely something as beautifully intense as this could only stick, that only longevity could follow an emotional rawness of this caliber. It is with this sentiment that you finally found yourself relaxing and giving in to the relief that glimmered into a sparkle in the far back of your mind.

Suguru leaned down to press his forehead to yours, raggedly breathing his next words into your parted mouth.

“Hey, look at me?” he asked, with a pleading tone that carried a rough strain to it.

Your eyes fluttered open and met his gaze, dazed but dazzling with intensity as they peered up at him with unfocused eyes. Whatever Suguru found in your expression made his body respond instantly—his jaw clenching, his usually placid pupils blown fully wide as a groan tore out from his chest. You could tell he was holding onto his very last bit of restraint for dear life by how utterly strained he looked, and by the way his hips bucked a little as he spoke again.

“Now come for me,” he rasped.

His second command of the evening, a misted whisper that melted on your tongue and sounded more like a plea than an order, was very much impossible not to obey.

Your climax ricocheted through you in white-hot pulses, your body jolting under the force of his thrusts, and a cascade of incoherent words escaped your lips as you answered each of his praises with your own. Stroke by intentional stroke, Suguru slowly drew out your release, purposely feeding it back into you, pushing deeper and deeper as his voice fractured on strangled groans.

“Suguru… Don’t…” you helplessly panted out, throwing your head back, chest heaving.

Somewhere between pleasure and surrender, you found a small, dormant spirit roaring back to life. You sought to harness it, even as you descended into broken, pleasured gasps, but not so far gone to fail to notice Suguru’s eyebrows knit, concern chasing confusion across his features as he leaned down towards you, stilling himself right where he held himself deep within you.

“Are you—”

“Don’t stop, Suguru. And don’t pull out this time, okay?” you breathlessly pleaded in between deliberate giggles.

It was now your turn to witness your effect on him, to turn the tables on him, and you smugly observed how your words hit him instantly, manifesting in the way he buried himself deeper than he’d ever thought possible, as his hips moved of their own accord, jerking forward with little control as they chased the sweet solace of his own release. This sight of his undoing made you spasm around him, with your thighs tightening their trembling squeeze around his waist. His long hair, now completely slipped from its bun, spilled over his shoulders and shrouded you both, forming the boundaries of your own little refuge at the very far edge of anything real.

What was undeniably real was the couple of stiff, brisk strokes with which he spilled himself into you in a vigorous shudder, with an intense groan tearing through his chest as you whimpered through the sneaking crest of your second release of the night.

Some radiant moments later, your mind was still finding its way down from your high when Suguru’s arm reached over you.

“So… Will you stay?” you asked, your tone playful, still slightly trembling from exertion, yet sound in its candor.

A charged moment passed as Suguru retrieved one of the two water bottles from your bedside table and uncapped it before gently bringing it to your lips. He gazed down on you intently, into your eyes as they peered up at him through dampened lashes and over your throat as it bobbed with each gulp of water.

“Yes,” he simply, tenderly replied as he brought the bottle to his lips, keeping his eyes on yours as he took his turn to finish what you’d left before slipping back under the sheets, effortlessly finding his spot beside you once more as if he’d always belonged.

Some of the words you’d wantonly repeated over and over were now echoing through your mind, palpably manifesting as phantom sensations in your throat, like a spell cast back upon yourself. You inadvertently let out a deep sigh before covering your face with your hands in embarrassment.

“What’s wrong?” Suguru asked, his tone tinged with worry.

“Nothing. I’m fine… Just went a little…” you mumbled as you peeked through your fingers and blinked up at your ceiling, tracing your eyes over the ridges, hoping to settle your heart. “I said a lot, out loud, just now…”

He didn’t respond right away, allowing your remark to hang in the indicting air. Unbeknownst to you, his amusement was already curving the edges of his lips.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he chuckled lightly as he spoke. “I’ve said quite a lot myself.”

“Yeah, actually, you really did, Suguru,” you murmured, nervously giggling into your hands before reaching out to poke at his cheek, eliciting a snicker from him.

“It doesn’t have to mean—” he cut himself mid-sentence, turning towards you but looking somewhere past your eyes. “It doesn’t mean anything. We get lost in the moment, that’s all. So please, don’t worry about it.”

“Oh, no, I’m not worried at all…” you trailed off, your mind still a mess, still struggling to verbalize the full idea of your thought.

“Good,” he added, snaking his arm around your waist and pulling you slightly closer to him as he nuzzled himself into your neck, his gaze still evading yours. “Don’t be. We’re good.”

Your positions were still so different back then, in what you were hoping would stick, in what he’d expected to pass.

“You’re good, right?” he asked again, his voice hoarse with something ambiguous.

“I am if you are, Suguru…” you replied with a severely abridged verbalization of the thoughts running through your mind. You’d exposed enough of yourself tonight, you thought, as you resigned yourself to leaving things as is for now, rather than risk breaking one of your own rules within a mere couple of hours of establishing it.

“Yeah, I’m good. We’re good,” he echoed.

There really was no indicator then, no way for you to discern this attempt at convincing himself of his own words yet.

So instead, in a brief instant, you weren’t so relaxed anymore.

If the inception of all this was as hazy and indistinct as what followed, it felt more akin to unformed possibility rather than entangled disorientation.

A rare, two-person assignment saw you paired with the prolific Geto Suguru on an early February weekend. The combination of his unique technique, paired with your not-so-unique but somewhat rare ability to apply RCT to others, had bound you on a critical mission.

In theory, this should have been the most memorable part of the assignment—for an ambitious Grade 1 sorcerer to get a front seat to witness one of the strongest Special Grade sorcerers live in action.

And yet, somehow, it was everything that came after that job that ended up mattering the most.

Together, you’d traveled a fair distance from the city’s center to access this particularly remote mission site. It was situated in a mountainous area almost six hours away, in a location which all but assured that by the time you’d wrapped up the assignment, you would have missed the last train of the day, whose station was in itself miles away.

A ski resort would therefore serve as your assigned accommodation for the night—its convenient location, along with the promise of a warm meal and even warmer tea available even long after the rest of the small village would have otherwise shuttered its operations for the day, had made it the perfect spot.

If your shared admiration for the unique view the dining area offered on the sprawling, snowy landscape marked the first crack in the ice that walled your strictly professional persona from something more personal, then it was the conversation that ensued, and that eventually outpaced the hour you’d reserved to debrief over your shared meal that provided the warmth that melted the remnants of that invisible structure.

There were, as well, other sources of warmth.

Despite your year of seniority over him, you’d always held some admiration for Geto, always were intrigued by the more guarded member of the prominent, strongest duo of Special Grade sorcerers, always held a bit of sympathy for a man whose technique consisted of absorbing the very abhorrent curses that had become the bane of this existence.

And so, when the conversation finally reached its natural lull after you’d answered small talk inquiries that came mostly from him, you found yourself comfortable enough to flip the script and ask Geto about himself.

One more drink turned into another, and another hour went by, during which it became abundantly clear to you that while Geto Suguru might have been superficially known to many, he was likely only truly known by very few.

Warmth, in its inherent nature, always flows towards cold.

And it was a truly cold and familiarly lonely world of a Jujutsu sorcerer that you found mirrored in the few glimpses that Geto had let slip out throughout your exchange.

You seized the moment of what you could only imagine being a rare opportunity by cautiously guiding the conversation, taking small interludes into topics that were always just one degree removed from the previous one, until you stumbled into themes of loss, of solitude, of love.

“And as nice as it would be, I just can’t imagine getting into any serious relationship right now,” you’d blurted out at some point, long since disarmed of the usual reservedness that would have otherwise curtailed this confession.

Geto shook his head, the movement causing the fringe from the side of his face to rest across his forehead.

“Me neither,” he said with a wistful smile, which you returned in this quiet exchange between you, a silent promise not to ask more of one of the many vulnerable moments you’d have tonight.

There was no way at the time to know just how long the essence of this moment would stretch out, no way to recognize the strange pit in your stomach that persisted long after you’d each tucked in to your respective, adjacent rooms for sleep, having already stayed up long past any reasonable kind of bedtime for the early train ride you had to catch in just a few short hours.

Your mission had been nothing short of arduous, exhaustion having seeped its way into your bones in a way that even your RCT could not immediately remedy, and yet here you were, wired as ever, unable to sleep a wink, your mind staunchly resisting any of your conscious efforts to settle it by constantly, consistently bouncing back to the candid words you’d exchanged with the man resting just on the other side of your wall.

You reached over for your phone before realizing it, scrolling past a backlog of messages, mostly from colleagues informally inquiring about your mission. 

Those could wait until morning. Your recipient of interest sat somewhere beneath the day’s worth of notifications.

Just as you would in every subsequent instance, you texted Suguru first:

“Can’t sleep.” 

You punctuated your text with an emoji, the one with the grinning face and a drop of sweat, and immediately hit send before you could think to talk yourself out of it, taken by a momentary bullishness for the weight you were putting towards this reckless urge.

It was a short-lived moment, one that only took the time of shutting your flip phone closed before being overtaken by a near-instant regret at your own indiscretion. 

Your phone suddenly felt scorching hot now, as you trembled at the intrusive impulse to head outside and toss it over the edge of the icy overpass you’d taken to and from the resort earlier on what had now become the previous day. It was a memory that now felt like forever ago, back to a time when you weren’t yet so delusional as to send a text message to Geto Suguru a little after two in the morning, one that left little room for interpretation, especially within the context and aftermath in which it was formulated and sent. Perhaps if you got up now, you thought, you could manage to follow through with destroying your phone before Geto could—

Your spiralling train of thought was halted with your phone vibrating in your clammy hands. You flipped your phone open to be met with his reply:

“Me neither.”

Now you’ve done it, you thought to yourself, as your heart hammered in your chest. There was no undoing this.

And then your phone vibrated once more.

Over on his end, the thought briefly crossed Suguru’s mind, like a flash of foreboding lucidity in the darkness of this charged night, that perhaps one day he would be condemned to confess this moment to you, to admit to all of it, against better judgment, perhaps on a quiet evening sometime in the future, when he’d meet with you after an epihanic evening at some bar or something. 

Perhaps then, he’d reveal that although you’d been the one to take it this far with your text message, that from the very moment he clicked at his phone, typing the message that would set this liaison in active motion, his desire always was to take it even further with you, and that it was something far more inexplicably profound than a fleeting libidinal interest that pushed him to convey his proposition:

“Sounds like we could both use the company.”

A/N: Thanks for reading! 🩵 | JJK Masterlist

[pmpmyread]

Nanami Kento Fanfic Compilation - 2025

The year is 2075—I'm 80+, and still writing Nanami Kento fanfics 😂. 50 years prior, I wrote these about our favorite Jujutsu sorcerer. 🩵

Nanami Kento x f!reader Fanfics

Reverse Psychology | Read on Tumblr or AO3

Pairing: Nanami Kento x fem!Reader Summary: "It’s just way too tight, Kento. I really don’t think you’ll fit.” You deliberately punctuate your statement with a lilt of your voice, one that implies far more than your words convey, a shift that does not go unnoticed by Nanami. It’s what finally earns you the view you’re fishing for. Content tags: Suggestive fluff, mature themes. WC: 3.4k

Endurance Theory | Read on Tumblr or AO3

Pairing: Nanami Kento x f!reader Summary: In which Nanami Kento takes a not-so-subtle interest in the many effects of your new workout routine, and you endeavor to feed his curiosity. Content tags: Fluff and Smut WC: 15.9k

Shared Burdens | Read on Tumblr or AO3

Pairing: post-Shibuya!Nanami Kento x f!reader Summary: In which you and Nanami find some much-needed solace in apple picking, and seek to lighten each other’s burdens. Content tags: fluff, post-Shibuya AU. WC: 1.9k

Sinewy Symphony | Read on Tumblr or AO3

Pairing: Nanami Kento x f!reader Summary: Five times you manage to stave off the urge to act upon your fascination with Nanami Kento's most alluring physical feature, and the one time you don't. Content tags: Fluff and Smut WC: 21.5k

Flattery Fluster | Read on Tumblr

Pairing: Nanami Kento x f!reader Summary: In which you compliment Nanami for the first time. Content tags: early relationship fluff WC: 614

Bento Box Banter | Read on Tumblr or AO3

Pairing: Nanami Kento x f!reader Summary: One early Sunday morning, Nanami embarks on an investigative mission seeking the answer to one question, only to be left with another. Content tags: Fluff and humor, sequel to Bento Box Blunder, but can also be read independently! Written for Nanami Week 2025. WC: 4.7k

Temperature Check | Read on Tumblr or AO3

Pairing: Nanami Kento x f!reader Summary: Ten months into matrimony, a domestic dilemma doubles as a temperature check between you and Kento. Content tags: Fluff and humor, suggestive themes WC: 5.9k

Going the Distance | Read on Tumblr or AO3

Pairing: Nanami Kento x f!reader Summary: One Sunday evening, as a weak network threatens the connection you're both craving, the impacts of the long-distance situation you currently have with Nanami take a spicy turn. Content tags: Suggestive fluff, mature themes. WC: 2.6k

Loudly Lowkey | Read on Tumblr

Pairing: Nanami Kento x f!reader Summary: If to be loved is to be seen, then Nanami loves you very dearly. Content tags: early relationship fluff WC: 930

an exercise in expression | Read on Tumblr

Pairing: Nanami Kento x f!reader Summary: What does it feel like to be loved by Nanami? Content tags: contemplative fluff WC: 665

Distant Blues | Read on Tumblr

Pairing: Nanami Kento x f!reader Summary: In which Nanami cherishes your presence and misses you in advance. Content tags: contemplative fluff WC: 1k

Sugarcoated Secrets | Read on Tumblr

Pairing: Nanami Kento x f!reader Summary: Nanami is acting awfully suspicious. You endeavor to get to the bottom of this. Content tags: Fluffy humor, a gift fic for my friend Lu! WC: 4.2k

Tethered | Read on Tumblr or AO3

Characters: Nanami Kento centric (x non-sorcerer!reader) Summary: It starts on his sixteenth birthday—in the years that follow, Nanami slowly grows to accept the recurring appearances of a particular spirit as being synonymous with marking some of his trips around the sun, bringing some sharp thorns from his past to persistently prick into his present. Content tags: Hurt/Comfort, Canon Divergence (post-Shibuya), Written for Nanami Week 2025. WC: 10k

Silver Linings | Read on Tumblr

Characters: Nanami Kento, Ino Takuma (Gen fic) Summary: Ino makes a surprising discovery and immediately knows who to call. Content tags: Fluff, Nanami & Ino's friendship and cute mentor-mentee dynamic. WC: 1k

You can also find last year's Nanami writing compilation below:

Post by @pmpmyread · 6 images

💬 2  🔁 7  ❤️ 118 · Nanami Kento Masterlist - 2024 · Every piece I wrote this year pertaining to our beloved 7:3 sorcerer. Nanami x f!reader

Thanks for reading! 🩵

[pmpmyread]

Destiny 2: Renegades Trailer, The Drifter edition~ Source: Renegades Developer Livestream (BUNGIE, 11/25/25)

[pmpmyread]

A/N: This lil fic is dedicated to the lovely @ayyy-pee !! To Lexi: Thank you for your cherished friendship, sincere support, and the space you've graciously extended to me when I could use it the most. I appreciate you so much!💚 Wishing you HAPPY BIRTHDAY, and another fantastic journey around the sun! 🥳

Pairing: Shinazugawa Sanemi x f!reader Summary: In which you get incredibly busy with work, and Sanemi is having none of it. Content Tags: canon divergence, fluff, humor, softie Sanemi. WC: 3.4k

It was through a series of unanticipated events that you accidentally became important at work. 

Until a few months ago, you’d largely kept to yourself, slowly making the climb through various Demon Slayer Corps support roles over the years. But then, everything changed at once: a summarily dismissed team lead, your near-immediate promotion to his position, and a new long-term assignment to support a new training initiative put in place by the Hashira.

It hadn’t taken you long to realize why your predecessor had to go—as you took on your new duties, the mess he’d left behind for you to clean quickly made itself evident. All this, added to the pressures of inheriting a new team of your former peers and of holding a leadership role for the first time, made for quite busy and stressful times.

A few months into this, you were getting the hang of it. Your superiors were happy, your fellow team leads assured you that you were killing it, and your team, though all stretched pretty thin due to a generalized lack of support staff, expressed their satisfaction with being under your leadership.

And then, there was Shinazugawa Sanemi. 

The Hashira were conducting a huge recruitment effort spanning several weeks with the goal of helping build well-trained reserves as a preventative measure for the next big crisis they would inevitably have to tackle.

As part of the Corps support ops, your team was responsible for coordinating all activities tied to this initiative, and for ensuring the safety and optimal conditions for all apprentices. Each week welcomed a new batch, and each Hashira was assigned an ops team like yours.

And your team was assigned to the Wind Hashira.

Your encounter with Sanemi early this afternoon, after a hectic morning that had sent you flailing in more directions than you could follow, wasn’t dissimilar to your first ever encounter with him.

Lunch time found you sitting at your usual rock formation, resting your feet for the first time since you started work in the early hours, feeling like you were breathing for the first time since.

You closed your eyes, trying to settle your mind for the short minutes you would have at your disposal before having to go back into the fray.

“Where have you been?” came a voice from behind you, one whose rough but familiar tone and distinct dialect brought an upward tug to the corners of your mouth.

How you’d missed this song and dance.

“I thought I wasn’t supposed to be here at all,” you answered, keeping your eyes closed. “Isn’t that what you told me the first time you stalked me all the way out here, Shinazugawa-san?”

“Please. That didn’t stop you from venturing outside the compound several dozen times after that,” he retorted, this time his voice emanating from somewhere in front of you, and to which he added, “What changed?”

You peeked at Sanemi through one eye, and there he appeared—arms crossed over his chest, in the defying stance that typified him, and even through your bleary vision, you could discern the undercurrent of restless concern that superseded his air of nonchalance.

It was disarmingly endearing.

“I knew the day would come when I could have you admit that you did, in fact, stalk me here that one time,” you replied, light and playful.

“I did not stalk you!” he decried indignantly.

“Did too.”

“You’re changing the topic! Since you’ve skipped out on your lunch break for over a week, tell me at least that you weren’t foolish enough to skip eating too.”

Sanemi’s tone was terse but distinct from the way he’d bark at his poor students during his drills, or even from the way you’d overheard him snip at Tomioka while the other Hashira were visiting the headquarters for their weeklong meeting a few days prior. This particular sternness was devoid of anger or frustration and was instead laced with concerned insistence.

“I didn’t think you’d be so invested in how I choose to spend my lunch breaks,” you said pointedly, mirroring his crossed arms.

You felt a sharp pang of guilt as soon as the dismissive words flew out of your mouth, even before you detected the sincere discontent in his violet irises.

With a deep sigh, you dropped your playful facade. 

“I was swamped, Sanemi. The workload has been insane. I’m just trying to stay afloat while still making sure my team is okay, but some days… Some days it’s a lot. I had to skip out on lunch all of last week due to the Hashira meeting, which was such an ordeal to coordinate. I either snuck food while running between meetings or I waited until the evening when things were more sane.”

Sanemi slowly approached you, and you instinctively shuffled to the side to allow him the room to sit next to you.

Song and dance.

It always did amuse you, the way this oddly shaped rock in the middle of a clearing right outside the Ubuyashiki compound somehow seemed to have been tailor made for the exact kind of secluded escape you sought to break up your busy days. It was exactly what had drawn you to your clandestine visits, the ones that Sanemi seemed resigned to allow you, so long as he accompanied you, under the guise of safety.

It amused you indeed, the way this stone seemed to have naturally carved into what made the perfect surface to seat two people.

“We’re not even in an active battle,” Sanemi finally mumbled, pulling you out of your contemplation.

“No, we aren’t, thankfully,” you replied.

“And yet the workload is this bad? When will it relent?”

“Seeing as we’re still reeling from the administrative mess caused by the previous crisis, it seems like it will be like this for a while.”

A contemplative silence settled between you once more, interrupted only by the light cracking of your bento box opening as you took out your packed onigiri.

“This isn’t sustainable and should be addressed. We should recruit more people for the ops teams.”

“You Hashira are good at your mandate, perhaps too good. The proportion of demon slayers graduating from the preliminary training has nearly doubled this year, while recruitment has remained more or less the same. More aspirants are graduating into active-duty slayers. Good news for the reserves we’re looking to build, but less so for those of us working in administrative roles,” you said wistfully.

“I’ll fail some apprentices on purpose, then. That should even up the numbers.”

The juxtaposition of the seriousness of his tone and the absurdity of his suggestion caused you to burst into laughter.

“I don’t think that would be advisable for the greater good, Sanemi.”

“I couldn’t care less about the greater good right now.”

“Sanemi…” you said in warning.

“You administratives need more people to share this burden.”

“Surely not to the point of sabotage? That would only cause more work for people like me, you realize that, right?”

You took a bite out of your onigiri and glanced over at Sanemi, at the tension he was carrying in his shoulders, at the hardening of the glare you’d seen momentarily soften as he’d made his way to sit next to you mere minutes ago.

 “You know, you can just say you missed me,” you said as you playfully elbowed him in the ribs.

He scoffed, but you could detect his cheeks progressively tinting, his shoulders relaxing a bit, his sneer softening into a gentler pout.

“I appreciate your concern, Sanemi.” You’d barely leaned towards him when immediately, like a reach drawn by gravity, he brought his left hand to your head, holding you there against his shoulder. “We’re both here now, let’s not talk about work right now.”

Sanemi held you as you worked your way through the rest of your rice ball, bringing him up to speed on the light gossip you’d been exposed to over the last few weeks.

He painstakingly allowed himself to give himself partly to the moment, to relish in how he too had missed this song and dance, while the other part of his mind restlessly wrestled with a problem he’d been pondering for several days now.

Later that week, a memo came across your desk—a scouting assignment with the objective of assessing the adequacy of a specific area of the external training grounds for a new group of specialized trainees who were scheduled to arrive in the coming week.

Usually, these requests came unassigned, and you had full discretion to delegate to one of your team members, but this one was specifically addressed to you, which was odd in itself. Even stranger, the field that should usually be filled with the pre-assigned slayer who would accompany the ops member while outside the compound appeared to have been deliberately left blank. 

This annoyed you a bit.

What had already been a busy morning that had long since spilled squarely over your lunch break which you’d still yet to take was now transfiguring into a derailed afternoon, dashing your plans to use your relatively calm afternoon to catch up on the plethora of tasks awaiting your attention.

But it’s not like you had a choice.

About half an hour later, you walked toward the gate delineating the Ubuyashiki residence. You recognized his silhouette topped by his signature silver head of hair as soon as you spotted them in the distance. Sanemi appeared to be having quite a lively discussion with another man, whom you recognized to be one of the support ops slayers.

As quickly as you made your way towards them, Sanemi already all but shooed off the poor guy.

“San—” you started before catching yourself. “Shinazugawa-san… What are you doing here?”

“Scouting assignment,” he said tersely.

“Right, that’s what I’m here for. What are you—”

“I’m accompanying you.”

“Really?” you narrowed your eyes as you studied his expression, seeking any indication that would prove the contrary. “I somehow have a hard time believing you were the one assigned to this.”

“Well, you better believe it because I am.”

You scoffed in disbelief. “And was this effective before or after you scared away that poor slayer?” 

Sanemi unsheathed his sword in a sudden movement with one hand, before turning his back to you and pushing the gate to the compound open.

“Where are you going?”

“It will be quicker if I do the scouting myself. I don’t have time for this!”

“What the hell? You’re the one who—Wait!” you called as you quickly moved to cross the distance to catch up to him. 

“You are a menace, Shinazugawa,” you said, speaking lowly even after having put some safe distance between yourselves and the compound.

“Why do you have your sword out? It’s not like we’re venturing too far from the compo—”

A sudden, violent gust of wind swept up behind you, in a loud swish.

“You haven’t kept up with the reports? Some demons have gotten bolder recently, inching closer and even encroaching on these very outskirts,” he paused, throwing a sidelong glance your way. “So stay close to me.”

Your retort was swallowed by your own hesitation, never making it off your tongue. Though any area outside the estate was always technically deemed unsafe, the idea of demons making this close was quite concerning, eliciting a more acute anxiety to settle within you than usual. It also sounded like an update that should have made it to you sooner.

But now you thought you understood what was putting Sanemi on edge. 

“Demons coming this close… How have I not heard anything about this?” you started again. Your comment was driven partly by genuine curiosity, partly as a means to make idle conversation and ease the eerie quiet. “Preliminary scouting information always goes through our team, and I—” 

Another zipping sound emanated from behind you, seemingly even closer than the sensation you felt a few moments ago.

“Let’s move!” Sanemi shouted.

Before you had the chance to react, he grabbed your hand and began to run, taking a sharp turn away from the sound and movement pursuing you, going deeper into the woodlands. 

“Shit!” It was all you could muster as you broke into a sprint.

You realized now that Sanemi was pulling you towards a familiar beaten dirt path. It was the one you’d taken countless times, you thought, as your mind flitted back to your rebellious curiosity that pushed you to wander beyond the compound’s gates, even when you knew you had no business doing so. You quickly revisited the memory of the sentiment of dread that shook through you when you’d heard something sneak up behind you, followed by that odd feeling of relief when you’d realized it was Sanemi who’d followed you there. It had been a nameless reaction you’d first felt at the time, a sentiment you’d tried and failed to label even throughout what would later become very regular lunch time encounters you ended up having in the many weeks that followed.

And despite the current chaos, with your hand in his, it felt exactly the same way you were feeling now.

It was all happening so quickly that you had much difficulty assessing the magnitude of the threat looming over you. Through your peripheral vision, you could see Sanemi swinging his sword with his free hand, but you couldn’t peek long enough to discern his specific target. Perhaps it was for the best, you thought as you gazed up at Sanemi’s face just as he glanced back at you.

And that’s when you spotted it.

A devilish grin.

“What are—” your words cut off as you felt whatever had been chasing you getting dangerously close, so much so that you could feel it increase from a graze, to a tickle to something akin to a blanket enveloping you.

And yet, oddly enough, it didn’t seem to cause harm.

Sanemi abruptly stopped in his steps and turned around, sending you crashing into his torso. His face was suddenly close, too close, his breath brushing against your cheeks, his instruction spilling out of his smirking mouth.

“Close your eyes,” he said, low enough to sound almost ominous, yet loudly enough to be heard over the loud whooshing sounds flooding your ears. 

“Close my—why?”

“Just do it, trust me!” His tone was urgent, but it contrasted with the mischievous sparkle in his eyes.

You did as you were told and closed your eyes.

And the world tilted.

You felt it once more, more palpable this time around—that strange enveloping sensation that felt more akin to benevolence than to danger, less of a cyclone and more of a gentle breeze.

The whooshing sound subsided, reduced to a low, soothing hum. Now you felt a hazy, pulsing red light of sunrays shining down against your closed eyes. You felt your heart rate stabilize as the vestiges of your fight-or-flight response to the imminent danger dissipated. 

You felt like you were floating.

“Sanemi, what—” you called out.

“Don’t open them yet,” his tone was abrupt but not unkind.

For the first time in months, you felt the satisfying ease of your muscles as they relaxed.

Your back, in particular, felt like it was being massaged, as if gravity was correcting itself, and offering its smooth press into your more affected areas. It had taken you close to a week before you’d more or less accustomed to the rigid futons in the temporary quarters you were sleeping in during this weeklong assignment. This didn’t compare—this right here felt like you were resting on clouds.

You were progressively beginning to let go of your surroundings, of your predicament, of the whiplash caused by abrupt switching from a strenuous pursuit to the most relaxed state you’d been in months.

Each breath you took brought you closer to a calmer state, to a lowered guard, and to a more placid version of the sensation you’d felt when Sanemi had taken his hand into yours, the same you felt whenever you quickly shuffled about the training quarters, frantically running between your day-to-day tasks as you worked assiduously to live up to your title, often under Sanemi’s lingering gaze. 

How many times did you realize that he’d interrupted whatever he was doing to observe you? It was easier not to count, easier for you to pretend not to notice. For a long time, it had been easier for you not to acknowledge the complicated growing feelings that were creeping between two colleagues who were slowly but surely teetering over the line delineating friendship and something more. 

But now, this sensation, the one that you knew to be identical to the one when Shinazugawa Sanemi first followed you into this very area under the guise of a rule he never did actually enforce for you, was undeniable.

“Okay,” came his voice, in an uncharacteristically smooth tone that he seemed to reserve only for you. “You can open them now.”

The bright sun was the first to deliver on its luminous promise it had made from behind your eyelids, followed closely by a clear sky that seemed bluer than you remembered when you’d left the compound. 

You felt elevated, so you reached your arms below you, expecting to land on a surface of some sort, but they only ended up swinging low in the air.

When you brought your hands to your back, you felt small, similarly shaped pieces of soft texture that seemed to compose the light, mattress-like structure propping you up, and you pulled at one, which easily detached. You brought it up to your face, recognizing it to be a tulip petal. You looked to your right to orient yourself, finding yourself parallel to the rock formation you’d sat at so many times.

And where Sanemi was sitting now, observing you.

So you were floating.

“What is all this?” you said in a shaky breath.

“The wind is being weird.”

“The wind?” you repeated, disbelief clinging to your words. “What about the threat? Aren’t there demons lurking around?”

“Oh, I just had to make it believable.”

“You did this? Make what believable?”

“Whatever was going to get your heart pumping. Now you can’t deny that you need to relax.” 

“Sanemi…” you warned. “Whatever this is, we have a scouting assignment...”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“It was marked urgent, I won’t have time to—”

“There isn’t any assignment... I issued that request.” 

“How did you bypass the—”

You cut off as you started feeling yourself moving, and your instinct was to grip at something, but your hands found nothing other than themselves, and all you could do was brace yourself as the light, controlled wind that was keeping you afloat now transfigured into a current that oscillated left and right, maneuvering you much like a hammock would. 

“You need to stop the interrogation and quit thinking about work for a few moments,” Sanemi said softly as he inched to the edge to get closer to you. “Think you can do that?” 

There was a chain reaction of interlinked thoughts crossing your mind, as you pieced together the lengths to which Sanemi had gone to manufacture this moment, taking in the careful intention he’d likely carried from your conversation earlier that week or perhaps ever prior to that, leading all the way down to this carefully curated and calculated gesture, and to utilizing his technique in a way you could never imagine being possible.

The attention to detail, to the pains you’d vented about, to the petals from your favorite flower, right down to the plausible cover story to buy you time away from your desk. It was incredibly touching. 

“This is so sweet, Sanemi,” you finally said. “I don’t love that you put me through an emotional roller coaster to get here…”

“I had to rile you up and disorient you so you’d accept this.”

“Or you could’ve just asked…”

“Would you have really unchained yourself from that desk if I did that? 

To this, you had no retort.

“Besides, it’s not me… It’s just the wind…”

“Okay, sure. The wind is being very kind to me, and I appreciate it.”

Sanemi laid down on the rock, and on his back, in a way that put him right next to you as the wind kept rocking you back and forth. 

For the first time in months, you felt yourself relax. 

[plutorichh]

Maybe you don’t realize how far you’ve come because you keep raising the bar

[pmpmyread]

Silver Linings

Nanami Kento, Ino Takuma, and their cute mentor-mentee dynamic.

Nanami promptly presses the bright green icon as soon as he reads the contact name displayed on his phone’s screen, silencing its insistent vibration before bringing it up to his ear.

“Ino-kun?” he answers cautiously after a half moment’s pause, his tone edged with a thin but audible strain of concern. 

“Nanami-san, it’s Ino!” resonates the young sorcerer’s lively but agitated voice.

“Yes, I know who—” A subtle puff of air escapes through Nanami’s nose. “Is everything all right?”

“A bit shaken, but I’ll be fine,” Ino replies with a nervous chuckle.

This prompts a certain innate alertness within Nanami, and his posture shifts, causing him to sit up with a newfound rigidity. 

“Has something happened? Are you hurt?”

“Nah! Well, I did get a bit banged up earlier, but they were all minor scratches—virtually all healed now, though! I was out late on a mission tonight, or I guess I should technically say last night—”

“Ino…” Nanami starts with another sigh, one that now speaks both of weariness and relief, as he takes Ino’s rambling as a sign that he isn’t in imminent danger. “Try to focus, please?”

“Right, sorry! So yes, I was on a mission, but that’s over, and I’m home now. But I just got out of the shower, and you’ll never guess what I discovered!”

Nanami’s mind draws a blank as he briefly wonders whether he’s missing context or if he’s just not following the perplexing flow of this haphazard conversation, a sentiment that only intensifies with each passing second that further extends the suspended silence beyond what could ostensibly be deemed comfortable.

“So, will you—” Nanami starts just as Ino also finally speaks.

“A gray hair! Can you believe it?” Ino exclaims at the same time.

Nanami brings his phone down to peer at his screen, squinting at it for a moment because what he does have trouble believing is the fact that this is a real call he is having right now. 

“It’s really more bright silver than anything,” Ino continued excitedly. “It’s a long one too, so I guess it’s been on here for a while? But you know how it’s been, I’ve had my mask on more often than not lately, what with these back-to-back missions. In any case, I guess I can now join you in the selective ‘older but wiser’ club, right?”

“Ino-kun. Sometimes I don’t think you realize how close we are in age.”

Ino’s hearty laugh reverberates through the line. “Okay, fair, but I do get points for wisdom, though, right?”

“Or stress,” replies Nanami, ever the pragmatic. “Ino, how many weeks have you been on call over the last month?”

“How many… Ah, well… Only a handful…” Ino stumbles upon his words, trying but failing to dodge Nanami’s sudden line of questioning, making himself a direct target of his perceptive mentor’s callout.

“Ino, we’ve talked about this…” 

“I know, I know...” he concedes, and Nanami can picture the signature neck rub he tends to do whenever he gets bashful or diffident. “But I also seriously want to be up for that Grade 1 promotion next cycle. And as it stands… I’ve still got a long way to go...” By now, Ino's tone has taken on a slower, more solemn tenor. 

“So…” he adds hesitantly, “Please trust me when I say that these frequent, smaller assignments really help me stay sharp in between the larger missions.” 

Nanami takes a moment to absorb the sincere vocalization of what he knows to be heavy thoughts—he doesn’t take being entrusted with the emotional weight of a colleague’s, of a friend’s words for granted. His mind briefly flits to his own youthful ambitions, the ones that drove a version of himself that was only a mere few years older than Ino, characterized by that unnamed drive that compelled him to want more out of a life he’d previously resigned to settle for, and to the idea that one might even call this a form of wisdom.

“I understand, Ino-kun. I’m merely reminding you to take things in moderation. The work will always be there, but you also need to take care of yourself. Please don’t overwork yourself.”

“I won’t, I won’t!” Ino acknowledged. “I only take on what I can handle, I promise. But, Nanami-san… Sometimes you scold me like you don't realize how close we are in age.”

Nanami sharply inhales and pinches the bridge of his nose, his silent acquiescence to Ino deftly wielding his words back against him.

“Ino-kun, you do realize it’s currently 3:24 in the morning, right?”

“Oh, right! Ah, it is pretty late. Apologies for bothering you with this. I suppose this could have waited until morning...”

And it is this display of authentic affability unique to Takuma Ino that finally earns him a sincere chuckle from Nanami Kento, who can only shake his head at his colleague’s antics at this point. 

“Get some rest, Ino. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

As he hangs up the phone, a wave of regret washes over Ino as the weight of his hasty transgression settles over him.

But when he peers at himself in the bathroom mirror before which he’s still standing, and picks at the one grey hair by his left temple that shines like a bright beacon among a sea of auburn, it is a warm, hopeful feeling that captures him, along with a renewed sentiment of hope that perhaps he has been taking earnest steps towards his ultimate goal of becoming a Grade 1 sorcerer that could one day be on par with the great 7:3 sorcerer.

A/N: I love these two sm!! 😆🩵 | Masterlist

[imadoctornotanescalator]

DS9 Textposts pt 9-???

[eiramew]

@futurwarcult Outfits designs, based on indian, nepali and tibetan fashion (the fwc's origin being Lhasa, Tibet), mixing up tradition, science and mysticism

[pmpmyread]

Carving Out The Light

The Drifter x Eris Morn, FOTL-themed fluff, post-Season of the Witch.

A/N: My tardy lil entry for Day 31 (Free day) of the #Destinytober event graciously hosted by @d2artevents!

“Hey, don’t get greedy now, little brother!” Drifter’s boisterous voice echoed from the entrance to his small nook in the Tower’s annex.

Seizing the brief moment of respite afforded to her by the trick-or-treaters’ interruption, Eris pulled her serrated knife from her pumpkin and set it down before bringing her left hand to rub her right wrist, soothing it from the sore tension that was beginning to form.

Her eyes wandered around the Drifter’s de facto headquarters. For all the time she’d spent here over the last few years and for how well she’d familiarized herself with all of its nooks and crannies, it somehow felt so different now. It was a sensation akin to a faint, lingering hum, one she couldn’t seem to name, grasp, or shake off, even still, months out of her stint into Hive godhood.

The walls seemed closer, but not suffocating, more like she was finally allowed to take up the space she needed.

The overhead lights felt brighter, but not harsher, casting shadows that no longer whispered of an impending doom, but only served as proof that light needed somewhere to fall.

The air felt more lightweight, less oppressive, as if she was slowly learning to breathe in a new way. 

“Hey now, Kell of Light, the night’s still young,” said Drifter, his tone carrying something of a jovial chastisement. 

Eris turned to find him crouched down to level with the two young trick-or-treaters, whom she could now identify to be a child seemingly dressed as Mithrax, and a young Eliksni dressed as a Titan. She couldn’t help the snicker that escaped her lips as she watched Drifter struggle with one of the things he usually did best: brokering a deal.   

“I’ve got about a hundred more of you to account for, give or take. Just… Divvy that loot up with your friend, won’t you?” 

Some things haven’t changed, Eris thought as she amusedly followed the rest of the exchange.

“Yeesh. These kids are something,” Drifter exclaimed a couple of minutes later as he retook his seat opposite Eris, at the two large crates he’d transformed into a makeshift workstation.

To this, Eris did not immediately respond, fixing him instead with a knowing smile.

Drifter raised his gaze from his own project to meet Eris’. 

“What?” he asked suspiciously. “I don’t have something on my face, do I?”

“No. Not unless you count that glint you’ve had in your eyes since this morning,” she responded before picking her knife back up.

“Oh, so a man can’t get into the spirit of the Festival of the Lost?” he asked, his attempt at an indignation demeanor betrayed by his buoyant grin.

“No, I just find that you’ve adopted a lot of the traditions around here for someone who was only to be here in passing.”

“Oho, this again?” Drifter retorted as he ran a cloth over his finished work. “You know, Moondust, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you wanted to get rid of me, with how often you like to bring this up.”

“Fret not, Germaine. I’ve still got some use for you,” she replied.

“That’s a relief. Is it the cooking?”

Eris stopped in her tracks, spinning her knife idly in her hands as she pretended to ponder his question. 

“No.”

“No?”

“That is what I said…”

“Oh, so you don’t care for my cooking. Noted,” he replied with mock offense. 

“That is not what I said,” replied Eris as she resumed the finishing touches she was bringing to her carving, trying, with difficulty, not to entertain Drifter’s snickers. 

The sound of bickering kids emanated from the neighboring corner, towards Ada-1’s base of operations. 

“Damn,” Drifter started, flicking on a match. Its tiny flame illuminated his face as he momentarily held it up to his eye level before lighting his small candle. “We’re gonna have to wrap this up quickly before visitors start flowing in. No guarantees that we’ll have a moment to finish this tonight after that.”

Eris nodded. “I’m nearly done with my lantern.” 

“Good, good. So then… The back rubs?” he casually added, as he carefully lowered the candle through the top of his decorated pumpkin. 

“Pardon?” she questioned, brow furrowed, visibly confused about this non sequitur.

“It’s got to be my elite back rubs that have you hovering around me still, yeah?”

“Hovering around you?” she asked, her eyebrow now fully arched.

“Hover around, keep me around… Same difference!” he exclaimed, all too tickled to be messing with her.

“Tread lightly, Germaine. I’m quite literally armed with a knife,” Eris shot back, the steel of the blade reflecting the light as she juggled it skillfully.

“Sounds like you could use a back rub,” Drifter replied, leaning forward in a mock conspiratorial tone. 

Eris sighed softly, reaching for the matchbox to light her own candle. 

“It all sort of grew on me, you know...” A serious note entered Drifter’s voice, his tone deepening as he spoke.

Eris lifted her gaze to meet his eyes, finding him focused on closing the top of his lantern. After a moment of suspended silence, she opened her mouth to respond, and just as she did, Drifter spoke again.

“The traditions around here are like those variety candy packs these days—a mixed bag. Some old, some new. Hell, we have Eliksni living among us now. A whole lot of things I never thought I’d live to see came to pass.”

Standing up in order to place her candle in her newly completed lantern, Eris let out a contemplative hum.

“Hmm. Like engaging in the pre-Golden Age era custom that is carving jack-o’-lanterns, with a retired Hive God?” she asked, her inquiry delivered with a subtle tone of amusement.

“Like I said—it’s all grown on me,” he replied with a wink.

Drifter rotated his lantern to have its adorned side face Eris, who drew a sharp breath as soon as she saw it.

Cleanly carved on his pumpkin were three perfectly round eyes, and right below it, the very realistic outlines of two closed lips, tilted up at both corners and into a tight smile. It was the kind of carving that departed from the usual exaggerations befitting a classic jack-o’-lantern, the kind, Eris found, that earned a designation that was nothing short of a work of art. 

Drifter’s unusual silence signalled his desire for Eris’s genuine reaction, unmarred by any silly preamble he might have formulated.

Eris let out a deep, genuine laugh, her head thrown slightly back and tilting to the side.

“Germaine…”

“What?” He, too, was now engaged in a more nervous rendition of her laugh.

“I was hoping there was something you weren’t good at,” Eris said, crossing her arms as she shook her head in disbelief.

The Drifter let out a sigh of relief.

“What, you wanted my lantern to look bad? Sorry to disappoint.”

“You’ve managed to portray me… At peace.”

“I just stayed faithful to the reference,” he said, gently gesturing towards her face.

“It’s impressive,” she replied. Her gaze pointed towards the Drifter’s lantern, but her eyes were distant. “I quite like it.”

“So… You think I’m good at everything?”

“You’re not only good but great at annoying me.”

“Right, right. Don’t keep me waiting now. Let’s see yours!”

Eris hesitated for a second before bringing her gloved hands to either side of her lantern, slowly turning it to face him. The candle flickered with her movements, sending a new source of light dancing in Drifter’s eyes. For a moment, she thought the candle had suddenly become brighter. 

“Oh, Moondust… This…”

“It’s the teapot. From—”

“I know what this is,” Drifter brought a pointed finger to the pumpkin, tapping it with emphasis. 

“Of course I do… You think I don’t remember this thing?” he said with a laugh that was syrup-thick with an old feeling.

Eris closed her eyes, not unlike she did several times during this session, as she took herself back to that seemingly endless night in Europa, when she, along with The Drifter and Elsie Bray, had first arrived at their humble outpost. After rummaging through the meager rations left behind by its previous inhabitants, Drifter had fished out an old, loose-leaf green tea can, along with a bright red teapot, with the vestiges of what ostensibly looked like the markings of a Clovis Bray logo. 

Until this day, Eris wondered how the appealing prospect of having her first proper cup of tea in weeks had manifested on her face, but however it did, Drifter had caught it immediately. That teapot carried many a frigid night, served as the conduit for many a deep conversation that brought two fire-forged souls closer together—comfort in the midst of chaos.

“I remember that wonky eyesore. Can’t say it didn’t serve us well back in the day though…”

“It’s more than that. While I was one with the Hive, I would sometimes fall into a trance, particularly in the first hours. I found that focusing on a focal point helped me ward off the disruptive whispers of pure power.”

She closed her eyes once more, reenacting what she’d done countless times as a god of vengeance. 

“That teapot came to mind one day. I found in its bright carmine color, its comical imperfections, and, perhaps more importantly, in the memories it carried, a grounding force. I greatly credit it for keeping me grounded, and out of the worst of harm’s way.”

“You still have it, don’t you?” Drifter’s quiet voice interrupted her daydreaming, bringing her to open her eyes once more. “Last time I saw that thing, it was well on its last legs. That abomination hanging off of it can barely be called a handle anymore.” 

She nodded, then fixed him for a moment with a regaled smile. “Yes, I still keep it around.”

“Hey… What’s that—”

“Trick or treat!” 

Drifter was cut off by the sound of two young girls coming from the entrance. 

“I’ll cover them while you tidy up,” Eris said, pushing away from the table, not giving Drifter a chance to object, enjoying the simple pleasure of a final say.

[pmpmyread]

Last year, I wrote a Vampire!Nanami story. This time around, I'm trying my hand at a Nanami x succubus!reader piece. It's a bit of a departure from my usual style, so I am, admittedly, a bit nervous about pulling off the vision I have in my mind LOL. That said, I also am, at the very least, having a lot of fun with it! It will likely be post-Halloween by the time I get around to publishing this, but I'll share a lil snippet in the meantime.