she/her🫠 🖤obssesed with vamps💋and cats🧛♀️🐈 🖤💗loves comics/heroes/villains, etc. (you get the idea😏) 💗🤡queer and at the brink of insanity, but that doesn't matter😘
❤︎ SYNOPSIS: it’s a high school reunion for jujutsu high, a religious school hidden deep in the woods. you don’t want to attend, but do—and don’t regret it. apparently, Kentō nanami, that little loser you had a crush on in high school, is officially…hot?
❤︎ CONTENT: non-sorcery!au, prom, non-linear story, light hurt/comfort, frenemies to lovers lowk, making out…18+, minors and ageless blogs DNI.
❤︎ XOXO, PUMA: semi-unrelated to this fic—high school!au geto is like…chad from hsm, in the sense that he says he doesn’t dance while dancing, and then fucks ryan right after. yk?
♫ NOW PLAYING: seems like old times, vaughn monroe ver.
read on ao3 | 8k words | the barbie ad | masterlist.
TO BE HONEST, you don’t even want to be here.
For you, high school was…an era. In the moment? You had a blast. Looking back? You wish someone had put you on a leash, or placed a shock collar around your neck to buzz every time you did something socially unacceptable. What the fuck were you wearing?
You didn’t have much cognizance of the world around you until college. You barreled through life like the fastest bullet train in Japan—nose-first at 320 kilometers per hour, a little too noisy and definitely too friendly. You had a hand dipped in every clique, every social pot you could find. It took some time, but you found your people—and got comfortable under stairs for lunches, went to arcades and KFC’s just before closing. That summer before college was the highlight of your life.
(Even if your ‘people’ included Satoru Gojō.)
You and Utahime send twin glares across the long limo as Satoru pops a bottle of champagne, just as the car rolls to a stop in front of the venue. He winks at the appalled look on your faces behind a pair of black rimmed Diors.
“What?” He asks, innocent, spreading his arms in a shrug, cork in one hand and bottle in the other. Then, before taking a swig, he catches your eye. “Just because you’re nervous to see Nanami, doesn’t mean you can take it out on me.”
You manage to flip Satoru off before reverie comes over you like warm water.
Ah, Kentō.
You’d be lying if you said you didn’t have a small crush on the guy back in high school. Okay, maybe more than a small crush, but like, hear me out—
He was handsome, and polite, and kind, yet always managed to put Satoru in his place in such a satisfying way. You’re sure you got on his nerves, but in your memory, he was always sweet to you. Especially about…that whole prom thing.
Your rose tinted memory sings Kentō, with bubbles and roses and a pink background. Funnily enough, he feels like the one that got away.
(Plus, you had a whole thing for emo fringes, back then—don’t even worry about it. One bad boyfriend, and you outgrew your incel-tech-nerd infatuation real quick. Though, Kentō still rings loud and true. Exceptions, for the one that got away.)
He didn’t share many classes with you. Kentō was an academic powerhouse, and you, a perfectly average student. It wasn’t until he transferred into your French II class that you got an excuse to talk to the guy. And, wow, what an excuse it was.
Not that any of it matters now. You’re sure he’s some tech CEO with a girlfriend who’s probably out of his league, possibly wants his money, and hopefully, also loves him. You wonder how much he’s changed—if he’s changed at all. He seemed like a guy who always knew who he was.
“Satoru, you’re not going in with that,” Suguru sighs, and grabs the bottle from slim fingers. Prosecco sloshes over the top against a tight grip, but eventually, Satoru lets it happen with a pout.
“You guys are no fun.”
Shōko is the first to get out. You all single file of the fancy white clown car, and Suguru double checks his phone to ensure it’s the right location. You take a deep breath, and kind of wish it wasn’t.
“O-kay,” Satoru hems, skirting in front of the group. “Everyone got their license, registration, and seat belts buckled with hands on ten and two?”
You blink. So slowly, because—
“How does he have this much energy after a full work day,” Shōko sighs, tossing her empty KFC Diet Coke into a nearby trashcan. (You had to make a pit stop, for old times sake.) “I don’t get it.”
“Allegedly? Cocaine,” you nod, and Utahime points at you with a snap and raised eyebrows, as if to say, yeah, actually.
“Let’s just go inside,” Suguru says, giving you and Shōko and gentle nudge on the shoulder, with a chuckle that betrays him. It earns him a pinch to the spleen.
You wish you had more champagne on the way—maybe downed that bottle Satoru opened before his private limo sped off, and left you with a lack of inexpensive ways home. The bar isn’t particularly quiet, and the second you step past the door, your heart is in your throat.
Like, it’s fine—it’s made of dark walls and floating plants and hexagonal shapes. Something rich, classy, and definitely not your speed. Most of the booths are full, whether it be other ex-students or retired teachers, but no…
No Kentō.
Fucking—Why are you looking?
With a sigh, you follow the rest of your group to a large half-crescent booth in the far back, where mood lighting gets dim in the corners, save for a small exposed bulb hanging above the table. Ideally, you can just camp out here for the rest of the night, and not have to talk to anyone, right?
Everyone shuffles in, just like the limo—with flat hands and flexing thighs. You end up on the edge, and feel a little too exposed for it.
“So,” Utahime bounces, resting her elbows on the table, “who are we the most excited to see tonight?”
“Oh, Yaga for sure. Gotta see if he got grumpier with age,” Satoru snorts.
Shōko looks away, into nowhere, with contemplative finger on her lips. “Y’know, I think he was only grumpy when you were around.”
Satoru gives her a knowing look over his sunglasses, and taps his temple twice. “Because he was intimidated by my mind.”
“Your mind is a hellscape,” Suguru says, scooting to stand from the opposite corner of the booth. “Anyone want anything?”
“Ooh! Aperol Spritz.”
“Mm…I dunno. What beer do they have?”
“White wine! Specifically a Sauvignon Blanc, specifically a New Zealand.”
“Okay, is there a way for them to make me a Shirley Temple, and, like…put alcohol in it? Would that be disrespectful to Shirley.”
Suguru falters with his phone in hand, and sighs.
“…Just text me.”
Everyone clamors their personalized responses, and Suguru disappears into the crowd. Thank God for group chats—everyone sends what they want to order, in their own time. (And Satoru, never, because he’s delusional, and thinks Suguru is just going to remember all that. Except, Suguru might.) Utahime eyes the fancy design on the ceiling.
“Did JJH get more money after we graduated, or is it just me? This place is nice.”
Satoru waves a dismissive hand, “Yeah, it just never went to the dorms. The year before us had prom on a yacht.”
“Wow,” Shōko laughs something bitter, and shakes her head. “They have their favorites.”
“We were a shit year,” you acquiesce. Honestly, if you were a teacher and had to put up with your class’ bullshit, you would’ve agreed to stuff them in the smelly and semi-dilapidated gym for prom, too. “Remember when we snuck out and flipped the chairs in every unlocked classroom we could find?”
“Good times,” Satoru nods, grinning, and tucks a hand behind his head. “When you guys were actually fun.”
“Or immature,” Utahime shrugs.
Satoru types something quick on his phone. Before you can write it off as something casual, something assumedly sent to Suguru, he catches your eye before it drifts, and winks. Again. You kick his shin under the table—his long ass legs were encroaching to your side, anyway.
“What are you up to?”
“Nothing,” Satoru whines in that way he does when he’s definitely up to something, like you’ve offended him, and swings his arms wide. “I’m cooking—let me cook. I’m like, Chef Gojōyardee, just le—“
“Hey guys!”
You calm your glare and redirect your attention to the person standing at the head of the table, a familiarly cropped jacket, and—oh, it’s Yū, and he looks the exact same.
“I needed extra hands,” Suguru defends, like he dredged up an old memory in the form of a human being on accident. He slides everyone’s respective orders across the table, before taking his rightful place on Satoru’s left.
Utahime is the first to react.
“Yū? Oh my God!” She moves to stand, but her thighs ram into the soft edges of the table, and with a hiss, she sits right back down. “I’m sorta trapped—in the middle, here—but, ugh, I wanna give you a hug! You look good!”
There’s a stranger standing—mm, looming—behind Yū, but you don’t recognize him. Though, you gotta admit—the cyan and tan color combo is kinda killer…and, yeah, just the color combo. Not the body wearing it, or whatever.
“Oh, it’s okay!” Yū waves a hand with an equal amount of energy that Satoru has. Cocaine…it poisons the youth… “We can do hugs later. I just wanted to say hi, and—“
“Here, wait—have a seat,” you gesture across from you, because there’s more than enough room for him, Satoru’s just manspreading to the point where he might as well do a split. You force him into civility by kicking his foot. “C’mon, we need all the deets. What’ve you been up to?”
Satoru shifts, Suguru shifts, and Yū assumes the newly formed space with pride. The stranger steps forward, replacing Yū’s after-image with less enthusiasm. He seems awkward and unsure of himself, and raps a knuckle against the wooden table. Satoru turns to Yū once he sits down, holding a delightful smile that is absolutely terrifying. “Hello, Yū.”
“Hi!”
“And,” he swings his head to the stranger at the head of the table, the one that bites the inside of his cheek. “Hello, Nanamin.”
Um.
No. No. That statement is false. That statement is—
Not-Kentō lets out a long suffering sigh, rolling a shoulder—a very nice, big, muscled shoulder, what the fuck—
“All this time, and you still refuse to say my name correctly.”
Holy shit. Holy shit, holy shit, it is Kentō, he sounds the fucking same.
“Holy shit,” Shōko says with a squint, and you’re just happy it wasn’t you. “Nanami?”
“Hello,” he waves from the hip, with your favorite curt smile from high school. Your brain tries to super-impose the image of his younger self over his current one, but it hurts your head, so you have to stop.
“And, you remember Y/N, right?” Satoru gestures at you with an open palm and a shit eating grin. You give him the most scathing glare you can muster, because the majority of your brain cells run in circles with red blaring alarms, screaming holy shit, holy shit, holy shit—
When did Kentō Nanami get hot?
IT ALL STARTED AT THE DANCE. BARBIE, THE FAMOUS TEENAGE FASHION MODEL DOLL BY MATTEL, FELT THAT THIS WAS TO BE A SPECIAL NIGHT. AND THEN, IT HAPPENED—SHE MET KEN.
“Keeeeeeeeen!”
The full weight of your body slams into the boy in front of you, and he stumbles into the locker in front of him. Luckily, he was still twisting his combination into the lock, and steadies himself easy. Kentō scowls at you under a blond fringe.
“Get off of me.”
“Aren’t you so excited,” you wrap both arms around his neck, perfectly manicured nails curling under his nape, and Kentō doesn’t get it—at all. Doesn’t get you.
Why the fuck are you talking to him?
He manages to find the inner strength to shove you off, and redo his locker combination. You let him, leaning against the locker next to his. “We’re gonna blow Satoru and Suguru’s project out the fucking water.”
Kentō’s locker clicks open, and he sighs. “Something tells me I’ll be doing the majority of this project.”
“Hey!” You half-heartedly pout—half-hearted, because you’re also double-checking your makeup in the mirror that you put in his locker. Apparently, ‘everything of yours is so boring, Kentō, you gotta liven up the place!’ “I always do my part on group projects, thank you.”
And—Kentō doesn’t really know whether you will or not, so he supposes it’s on him for assuming, but refuses to give you the satisfaction of knowing that thought. No, instead he grabs his AP Calculus textbook with a grunt, and eyes the flaccid state of your backpack.
“How do you even have time to follow me in-between classes? Don’t you use your locker?”
“Nope!” You beam with an absolute and unadulterated joy that he thinks he’ll forever find a little off-putting. Reaching around awkwardly to pat the Jansport, you say, “I got everything I need right here.”
Kentō is almost positive there isn’t much but a laptop.
“I—” he starts to argue, before realizing there isn’t much point, you’ve attached yourself to his shadow regardless, and it’s annoying. It’s annoying, and he’s sure you have better things to do—more popular people to socialize with—but no, for some reason you’re here, in makeup a little too mature for your age and wide eyes that betray it all, and Kentō wants to ram his head into the brick wall. He doesn’t get it.
You’re not even in any of his classes except French, and yet, you pick him up and drop him off at each one with a ‘hi, Kentō!’ ‘bye, Kentō!’ And, this aforementioned Kentō feels like he’s going to implode every. Single. Time.
He doesn’t get it. He doesn’t get the bit.
“Never mind,” he exhales, closing his locker with a heavy hand. You stand up straighter to follow him down the hall, and he lets you.
AND SOMEHOW, SHE KNEW THAT SHE AND KEN WOULD BE GOING TOGETHER.
“And, you remember Y/N, right?”
“I do,” and Kentō gives you a tight lipped smile, one that you can’t fully read. God, does he, like, hate you now? You knew your memory was false. You knew you totally annoyed him in high school. You knew—
“Sit, sit!”
But, Satoru’s gesturing to the space next you—not like there is any, so Satoru quits his manspreading properly. Utahime shifts as close to him as she can tolerate, and Shōko scoots next to her, and now, you have to scoot, because if not, you look like an asshole who doesn’t want him here.
The question is: do your legs work.
You manage. You also almost drop the open purse in your lap in the process, forgetting about it in the chaos—and that would’ve been really embarrassing, if you had to duck under the table to grab the portable razor you insist on bringing everywhere. A woman’s purse is not for prying eyes.
Kentō sits next to you, all…however many pounds of him, and he smells…God. He smells. That’s all you can say—he smells, and you want to bottle that smell, and spray it on your pillows every night and maybe a sweatshirt or two. You knew this was a mistake—you knew Satoru was up to no good—and now, you want to leave, but you’re decisively stuck between Shōko and…and…
“How have you been?”
It’s the familiar voice coming out of such an unfamiliar body that sends you for a loop. When the loops done, you’re a little dizzy, but also, kind of want to go again. And then, you realize Kentō’s looking at you—asking you—and you can’t go again, because you have to lock in and function like a normal adult. Right. Right.
“Ah, good! How about you, what’ve you been up to?”
“Not much,” he admits with a shrug, resting his forearms on the table. “Basic accounting—desk job, good benefits.”
You snort. Rigid as always.
“Mm…sounds boring,” you hum, fighting that feeling when he lets a snort and a smile slip.
“It’s work,” he shrugs again, and respectfully, you couldn’t give a shit about work right now. Accounting is boring and you want to know how much he can bench press—
“You?”
Right. Conversation. Conversation.
“U-Uh,” you snap your jaw shut before he can see, but you notice Satoru cheesing in your peripheral, earning him a heel to the toes again. “I work—I mean, I write, uh, like, nonfiction, and stuff, um—how much do you bench press?”
Fuck. Fuuuuuuuck.
Champagne in the limo did not do you well.
Kentō lifts an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
“Um—! That’s not, I didn’t—”
“I don’t think that’s a question you should go around and ask people,” he says, but the corners of his lips twitch, which means you haven’t fucked up too bad, right?
“I—well, it’s for science,” you splutter, but honestly, nice fucking save. “For uh, a thing, I’m writing.”
Kentō eyes you over his shoulder, and they’re hazel—have they always been hazel? “You need to know my workout routine…for ‘a thing you’re writing.’”
You nod.
“Correct.“
“350.”
Good Lord.
SO NOW, MATTEL BRINGS YOU KEN, BARBIE’S BOYFRIEND—
“Are you guys dating?”
Kentō wants to crawl in a hole and die.
“No,” he grunts, trying to contain his irritation. This is Yū, and Yū doesn’t mean anything by it.
Lunch is Kentō’s least favorite time of the day. Which is ironic, because he loves the culinary arts—but the cafeteria is far too much of a war zone for him to enjoy anything properly. So, peanut butter and jelly sandwich it is. The war zone doesn’t prevent him from finding you in the crowd, however, sitting on a table with swinging legs. You talk with animation and wildly gesticulating hands. Suguru leans on your knees to listen, and Satoru plays with the ends of your hair until you slap him away.
“Definitely not,” Kentō mutters, picking at a corner of his sandwich. You catch his eye from across the cafeteria, through the shifting seas full of students and overbearing teachers. You pull Suguru’s hand off your lap, and start to sashay in Kentō‘s direction with a brand new smile and a pep in your step. He doesn’t get it.
Yū doesn’t hear his grumbling—definitely doesn’t hear his internal train of thought—and returns your wave right before you get caught between cheermates. You answer their questions, giggling politely, but your eyes keep drifting to Kentō’s with an impatience. He’s convinced this has be some overly elaborate prank, or some Machiavellian attempt to get him to do your homework for the rest of time.
(And, the worst part is—he would.)
Once it’s clear that you’ll be stuck for a while, Yū turns back to him. “Really? She follows you everywhere.”
“We’re doing a group project.”
It sounds like bullshit when he says it aloud. (Because, it is bullshit.)
But, either Yū is too gullible or doesn’t like to get invested in other people’s lives, because he asks no further questions. This is why they’re acquaintances. (Friends.)
“Keeeeeeen!”
Kentō jumps, because he got distracted, and didn’t have enough time to prepare, and you’re blinding. That, and you’re right there, there is absolutely no reason to yell.
“What,” he groans. A dull throb begins to form behind his eyebrows the moment you make him scoot with a shove of your hips. You drape the side of your body against his shoulder, like you do every time. And, like he does every time, “Get off of me.”
“Be my prom date.”
Kentō stiffens.
That’s when he realizes that this is a prank—that this is like those movies Yū makes him watch sometimes, where the protagonist is given a dare to win some loser. Except, this isn’t Hallmark, or Netflix, this is real life, and she does not fall for the loser because said loser is a loser. It’s a honeytrap so sweet he can taste it—and it rots his teeth and tears at the lining of his cheeks.
Nanami Kentō may be a loser, but he is not that loser.
“No.”
You plow forward, unfazed, twisting your body until the back of your head digs into his shoulder. “Awh, c’mon, why not?”
It’s too easy.
“I don’t do prom.”
—WITH A COMPLETE WARDROBE OF URGENTLY TAILORED CLOTHES OF UNMATCHED QUALITY!
“350.”
“Ooh. Nice, nice,” you nod. So cool, very cool, because you are just that—cool. Small talk sucks, and honestly, you just want to throw yourself into his side and just pick up where you two left off, but you can’t anymore, not with your newfound self-awareness. Not with those shoulders. “Um…I like your outfit.”
Kentō looks down at himself, then at your outfit, probably to compliment you the same with a frustrating politeness, but his eyes get…stuck. Either, they get stuck, or you’re just stupid now—both of which are equally valid prospects, and both of which are probably equally correct. Then, you blink, and his eyes have returned to yours like they never left.
“You look good, too.”
Which—not what you said, but you’ll take it. Take it and run, actually. Fucking sprint.
“Thank you,” you try to keep your smile curt, and ignore the way the simple compliment ignites your whole being. Kentō looks like he’s debating on saying something, massaging his lips while he watches you, and your body is wholly unsure on whether it wants to shrink or soar.
“Remember when you spilled coffee on my shirt?”
“I—” you bluster, because you aren’t exactly sure what you thought he was going to say, but definitely not that. You find yourself laughing at the memory all the same, though, “Okay, you bumped into me—”
Kentō sucks his lips in protest. “I did not, I believe my eyes were in front of me, nor was I walking—”
“That shirt was ugly, anyway,” you defend with all the petulance of a child. Kentō rolls his eyes, but smiles soft, and shifts to face you better.
“That was my favorite shirt.”
You burst into a series of giggles. He’s not far behind, with a chuckle hidden behind an arm as he places a hand to his forehead.
“Ugh, guys, I’m bored!”
Satoru’s shrill voice cuts through your laughter, through your jubilation, and you remember that you’re in a room with other people—not an empty and endless void with nothing but Nanami Kentō. How disappointing.
“Ooh! Let’s go to the arcade, I heard it’s still open?”
The arcade has your interest piqued, though. Looking at the man beside you again, you nudge him in the shoulder. (Yes, the very nice, very muscled shoulder, and wow, the feel—) “Still hate video games?”
Kentō shrugs.
“I can make exceptions.”
NOW, KEN AND BARBIE MEET FOR LUNCH AT SCHOOL, GO TO FRATERNITY PARTIES, AND JUST RELAX TOGETHER!
“Ken.“
“No.”
“Ken.”
“No.”
“Ke—“
“I’m not going to prom with you. Stop asking.”
You…You are insatiable.
Kentō was just trying to read. Kentō was just trying to read, and soak up some sun, and relax outside for once, but no, of course you fucking find him and flounce over in that stupid skirt he hates in an effort to make his life infinitely harder. He doesn’t get it.
He says no, but you keep asking. So, he keeps saying no, and you keep asking. Is there money on the line, or something?
You just whine, and take a seat in the grass beside him. It’s hot today, but with enough of a breeze that the sun is refreshing, and the majority of the students took to the Quad after class to socialize. Kentō, who didn’t want to socialize, went out of his way to find an empty field with a tree (because, Jujutsu High has a lot of those—fields and trees) and planted himself. For some reason, though, you’re sweating. And panting.
He shouldn’t ask.
“Are you…okay.”
He has to force himself to commit halfway, and it sounds more of resignation than interrogation, but you either don’t hear it, or don’t care.
“Huh? Oh, yeah,” you heave, lifting a hand from your hips to fan at your face, while the other stays braced. You swallow, and it looks painful. “I was just—y’know—running—”
You can’t get much out between pants, and eventually, you give up and double over. With a sigh, Kentō fishes in his bag to grab an unopened disposable water bottle, and shoves it in your field of vision.
You take it without question, like you’re friends or something—which, he cannot emphasize the fact that you are not—and rip the cap open, slightly jamming the seal. You take gulp after gulp, exhaling and grunting like a toddler and crushing plastic beneath your fingertips. It should be weird. It should be disgusting.
And, yet.
Kentō watches as water escapes from the haphazardly placed bottle between your lips, watches it slide to your chin and roll beneath your jawline, and he wants to lick it off. He wants…he wants—
“Thanks,” you grunt, still a little out of breath from chugging, and wipe at the bottom of your face with the back of your hand. You hold the destroyed water bottle out for him. Kentō wants to put his head in the dirt.
“…Keep it.”
THINK OF THE FUN YOU’LL HAVE TAKING BARBIE AND KEN ON DATES! DRESSING EACH ONE JUST RIGHT.
“Fuck yeah!”
The puck hits the back of the goal with a metallic clank, and the air hockey field quiets its whirr. Game over. Kentō sighs and drops his head, upper body outstretched in the position that he failed to block your absolutely amazing ricochet in.
“No more games,” he decides with a sigh, and brushes back the stray hairs that escaped his perfectly gelled part. You snort, crossing your arms and jutting out a hip of success.
“Why? Tired of losing?”
It’s a joke, but the look he gives implies his response is not.
“Yes.”
“Okay,” you let him live, and decide not to pick another game. That is—until your eye catches a claw machine, but that doesn’t even count as a game, right? Grabbing him by the forearm, you tug him left. “Ooh! Lemme win you something!”
Kentō snorts, but again, this is not a game, definitely not one he has to play. So, he indulges, and follows the finger you have pressed against the glass.
“Whad’ya want?”
He lifts an eyebrow, studying your confidence. “We should see if you can get one, first.”
You choke on his audacity, placing a hand over your heart in faux offense. With a huff and a free hand, you put a few coins into the machine. It lights up with a bubblegum pop theme song. “Fine, then—never mind. You don’t deserve it.”
He chuckles, leaning an arm against the machine. “Get me a Teddy Bear, then.”
“Which one?” You groan once you realize the absolute quantity of Teddy Bears in the thing—ugly and cute ones, pink and blue ones, ones that look less like bears and more like vaguely human shaped radishes. The majority of the prize options are Teddy Bears. There’s the option to grab a phone, but it’s somewhere in the mess of multi-colored fluff, and the picture looks to be an iPhone 13.
“I’m not picky,” he shrugs, and you bristle, but the machine is about to start, and you don’t know if there’s a timer. You let out a focused exhale and begin rattling the joystick against its frame. And, you get close—really close.
But, the tan bear’s limbs are weak and boneless and flimsy, and the second the claw hits the ceiling of the machine, the bears paw slips through the useless thing and lands in a pile. The claw resets.
You groan, and put in two more coins.
ATTEMPT #1 (#2?) — You grab a blue bastard by its neck, but its head is too heavy. It rolls right out of the claw.
ATTEMPT #2 (#3?) — You grab a pink one by its waist, but the claw is slightly off, and doesn’t make it far.
ATTEMPT #3 (#4?) — So close. So close, and then the claw does something weird, you don’t know—all you know is that it wasn’t your fault. You had that one, dammit.
“It’s fucking rigged,” is the only conclusion you can come to. Even if you haven’t touched a claw machine since early high school. You swore it was easier than this.
“No, you’re just getting impatient,” Kentō schools, and you stick your tongue out. But then, he’s moving behind you, hand encompassing yours over the joystick, and, do guys still grow after high school? You swear he wasn’t this tall at graduation.
“Put in another coin.”
Right.
You dig into your pockets with a free hand and shakily feed them into the machine. Be cool, be fine, be chill—
“Okay,” he says as the machine sings again, a song you’re officially sick of hearing, and you feel his chest rumble against your back. “The trick is to be gentle—just because you move the joystick all aggressive doesn’t mean the claw is going to move any faster.”
You’re trying to focus, really, but all you can really feel is his breath against your neck and the heat of his hand. You probably look a little silly, a little dazed and confused, but thank your lucky stars that the glass of the machine isn’t too reflective.
As the claw lowers, you prepare to press the red button in time. But then, his other hand snakes across yours, and you’re stuck. He presses it for you, and out comes a Teddy Bear in your favorite color. It drops into the dispensary bin with ease.
“That’s not fair,” you at least have the wherewithal to say something, instead of just breathing heavy with glassy eyes. Lock in, lock in. Kentō just chuckles, pulls the bear out by its waist and hands it to you. “I—Hey, this is supposed to be yours!”
“You were also supposed to win me a prize,” he reminds with a lift of his eyebrow, and the joints in your knees melt.
Not fair.
YOU’LL FIND KEN WHEREVER TOYS ARE SOLD. LOOK FOR THE SPECIAL TAG THAT TELLS YOU HE’S A GENUINE KEN!
“Hey.”
You don’t really want to talk to anyone right now, but you manage a people pleasing smile.
“Hi.”
Kentō sits next to you with his overstuffed bag, always over prepared, over packed, with spares in his locker. You usually run into situations head first, and figure it out from there. Maybe, that’s your problem. Maybe, that can be your new excuse.
“I haven’t seen you all day.”
That comment makes you laugh. It’s wet, and a little bitter, but a laugh nonetheless. Unfortunately, you seem to be the only one who thinks so.
Kentō looks weird at night. Jujutsu High is far away enough from civilization that you can see more stars than you can back home, but not all of them. That’s kind of what Kentō feels like, a little bit—distant and flickering. Fake. Like a doll.
What the fuck are you saying? You need to go to bed.
You’re not sure where the crush started. The group project, maybe? Does it matter?
“I’m serious.”
You swallow the lump in your throat, hoping it’s too dark to see dried tear tracks. “Why do you always have a backpack?”
“That has no bearing on what I just said.”
You laugh again, running a down your face. The roof’s kawara tiles hurt your back like a bitch, but it was a pain in the ass to get up here. Probably going to be a pain in the ass to get down, too.
“I think it’s a valid question,” you shrug the best you can from your lying position. Kentō reclines to meet you, hands resting by his navel.
For a moment, you two sit in silence and study the stars. You watch one blink, can’t tell if it’s moving or not, whether it’s a plane or a star. You find the Little Dipper for the twelfth time tonight, tracing Kochab to Polaris and back again. Kentō sighs, shifts. Tries to get comfortable in all the ways that you have failed, and with a huff, starts digging into his bag. It’s not until he pulls out a textbook that you realize what he’s doing.
“Ooh, smart,” you say, and start making grabby hands in his direction, because you know he has another. “Gimme.”
With a roll of his eyes, he passes you the textbook he already held, while he grabs another to make for vague pillows. You tuck it under your head, and though it’s not super comfortable, it alleviates some of the pressure from your back.
“Nice,” you give a firm nod of approval. He snorts, fights a small smile, and fails.
“That’s why I always have a backpack.”
You giggle, and watch him watch the stars.
“You’re a dork.”
“Yeah, well,” Kentō turns his head, and the small smile breaks into a grin—a little shy, but wide and unadulterated and just for you. “I’m starting to think you’re not much better.”
GET BOTH BARBIE AND KEN—
“—and then,” you take a second to bite, chew, and swallow half of your own french fry before continuing. “Yaga made us run a mile, all because Shōko couldn’t stop snickering at his botched hair cut, it was so fucked up.”
Kentō nods—although he wasn’t in your year, P.E. was the only class he failed (twice—no, he will not talk about it), and Yaga was a definitive pain. But, he finds that he couldn’t care less about Yaga, or Physical Education, or the fact that he failed twice, because his mind starts to wander. Wandering into wondering if there’s a way to put you in a glass box and watch you talk for hours, before realizing that’s probably awfully misogynistic, somehow, and definitely not a thought a normally functioning adult should have. All these years later, and he’s still severely wrapped around your finger. All these years later, and he still doesn’t get it.
You’re beautiful.
You’re beautiful, and now, you’re checking your phone for the time. Kentō checks his watch too, and—
“Ah shit,” you sigh, deflating a little. “It’s late. I got work in the morning.”
He does too, and probably shouldn’t ruin his sleep schedule more than he already has just to talk for a few more minutes. You perk up, looking around and frowning when you can’t find any familiar faces.
“…Where did everyone go?”
“Oh, they’re in there,” Kentō says with confidence, also scanning…scanning…until he remembers that Satoru is a conniving motherfucker. He severely hopes his acquaintance wouldn’t stoop that low. “Somewhere, I’m sure.”
You sigh, stretching arms above your head. Kentō watches your stomach stretch, and quickly stamps out the fire in his belly. “Ugh. Time to go people diving—we all came together.”
His mouth starts moving, against his better judgement, before he has time to evaluate. To assess.
“I could take you home.”
Fuck. Fuuuuuuuck.
“I mean,” he coughs into a fist, but no amount of damage control will undo what he just said, ”If you can’t find Shōko. I—I drove, so.”
You hum for a moment, swaying, before, “Nah, fuck ‘em. Lets Irish Goodbye those bastards!”
“…That seems like a recipe for disaster.”
“I’ll text them,” you amend with a wave over your shoulder, and quickly scoot out the booth. Kentō follows suit, but he doesn’t move fast enough, and you start grabbing at his wrists. “C’moooon!”
“I’m coming, I’m coming.”
AND SEE WHERE THE ROMANCE WILL LEAD.
“Fine.”
“W-Wait, really?”
Kentō glares. Honestly, he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. For you to laugh in his face, for you to say you got him so good and are about to get so much money, but you don’t. Isn’t this where he’s supposed to find out, in the movie? At the prom, maybe. Or, whispers from behind his back.
He doesn’t know. He just knows you make him do questionable things.
“Don’t make me repeat myself.”
You look really pretty on prom night.
Kentō has been, admittedly, very nervous, and is even more so at the bottom of the stairs. He watches you walk down, and tries his hardest to avoid fiddling with the corsage. Don’t look nervous. Don’t look nervous, don’t look nervous, don’t look—
“You nervous?” You’re smiling at him, bending over to interrupt his staring contest with the floor, and Kentō catches your eyes with a bristle.
“No,” but his voice cracks, and there’s a flush raising from his neck that says otherwise. He knows there’s a flush, because he feels fucking faint, holy shit—
“Thank you,” you beam, standing up straight before brushing off his shoulder. “You look cute, too.”
Which—not what he said, but he’ll take it. Take it and run, actually. Fucking sprint.
“Awh, look at my daughter and her date! Say cheese!”
Prom isn’t as bad as Kentō thought it’d be.
It was a little stuffy, but that was to be expected. The adults watch the dance floor like a hawk, snapping whenever kids of opposing genders get too close, and Satoru sneaks alcohol into the venue. Your parents are strict enough, so an after party is off the menu (thank God), leaving the two of you to watch Pirates of the Caribbean in the living room until someone deems it time for him to go home. You stuff microwave popcorn into your mouth with a fist, and get kernels all over your oversized shirt. Kentō snorts.
But, again, there’s the question that’s been hanging over his head for the past few months, one that he can’t figure out the answer to, no matter how many context clues he finds. He’s confused. He doesn’t get it.
“Hey, um,” his eyebrows bend, because how does he ask this without sounding like an absolute loser. “Was this…um…tonight…?”
“Mm, yes Kentō, speak to me with eloquence,” you giggle, building a frame around his face made of index fingers and thumbs, and he swats at it.
“I’m serious.”
You brush a few kernels off and nod, giving him time to work out his thoughts. Honestly, Kentō wishes he didn’t have time—because he knows what he wants to say, but saying it is absolutely pathetic.
He bites the bullet, regardless.
“Was this a dare?”
You snort, sitting up with a tilt to your head. “Was what a dare?”
“Like,” Kentō sighs, gesturing between the two of you, “this, prom, was it a dare.”
You squint your eyes. Not glaring, just…examining. “Wow, you think that low of me, huh.”
“That has nothing to do with that, although, yes,” he covers, and it earns him a well meaning shove to the shoulder. “But um, no. I was just wondering.”
Kentō’s not sure if the pressure in his chest has lifted or sunk. He’s not sure whether he believes you.
But, the conversation ends there. Your mom pokes a head in and says it’s time for him to go home, so he does. You graduate a few months later, and leave for college a few months after that. He never sees you again.
IT COULD LEAD TO THIS!
Is Kentō supposed to let you go, again? Is that how this night is supposed to end?
“Thanks for the ride,” you smile, and Kentō hates that he’s going to miss the image of you in his passenger seat, especially when you’ve only been in it for about fifteen minutes. Pathetic. “Tonight was fun! We should, um, hang out soon, or something.”
Kentō nods. You don’t make any movements to leave. He doesn’t make you.
Does he listen to his heart, for once, instead of his head?
“We should,” he says, and hopes that it’ll come to fruition. He has to remind himself that ’we should hang out soon’ is a formality, never a promise, rarely a want. He tries anyway, tapping a finger on the steering wheel. “Drinks, or something.”
“Yeah,” you nod, massaging lips together in a way that betrays your nerves. And Kentō, perpetually afraid of reading you wrong, feels eighteen again, and in all the worst ways.
Is he supposed to let you go—
“So, um—”
“Actually, I—”
—again?
You laugh as your words stumble over his, eyes crinkling. His chest fills with a warm feeling he didn’t realize was gone. He smiles, resting is head against the leather seat.
“What were you going to say?”
“Oh no,” you laugh it off with a wave, adjusting to get a better look at him. “It’s—it was really stupid, actually, so like—”
“Well. You’ve peaked my interest, now,” Kentō looks at you in the eyes, and your smile turns bashful.
“Uhm—no, it’s not even—it’s such a small thing, y’know—”
Greed gets the better of him, and Kentō pokes you in the side, snorting when you squeal. “Tell me.”
You groan, slamming the side of your body into the car seat, and pout. All in that order. Very dramatic.
“No, I was just,” your fingers start fiddling with the seatbelt, eyes looking anywhere but his, “I was just gonna say, like, um, I liked you a lot, in high school, y’know? I mean—you probably do know, I wasn’t subtle, especially the whole prom thing, but like, I wanted to, um—sorry, for all that? Like—“
Kentō frowns. You’re apologizing?
“You’re apologizing.”
“Uh, yeah,” you breathe laugh, and it’s shaky. “‘Cause, like—”
“Why are you apologizing.”
“Let me speak, Idiot,” you grunt, the unsteady smile melting into a solid frown. He concedes, you swallow. “I guess…I was a lot, back then. Still am, if I’m being honest, but now I have, like, a semblance of social cues to realize I was disturbing your peace. And, for that, I apologize.”
You finish the sentence with a degree of finality, like everything you stated is fact and can be found in an encyclopedia. Kentō’s internal council are losing their minds, each member for different reasons—all wholly unhelpful.
‘She liked us!’
‘Tell her!’
‘Yes, but could she still like us?’
‘We’ll make her l—‘
‘Back in the box—back in the box!’
Kentō exhales out of his nose, sharp and heavier than intended—also, with a degree of finality. Acceptance.
“I liked you, too.”
That gets you to look at him, head whipping so quick it makes your earrings quiver. Kentō remembers this part from Yū’s movies too, but a different one—where the characters either act on it now, or leave their words to rot for five more years of unnecessary longing. Maybe a lifetime. His chest shudders with another breath. He doesn’t want to let you go again.
Spit it out, Kentō.
He needs to stop picking at the gearshift.
“And, I don’t know…if those feelings have fully left, necessarily.”
Something in your eye glistens, and you clear your throat. Kentō thinks it’s a good sign—he also lacked a proper understanding of social cues in high school, and feels himself lagging in that department to this day. But, he thinks—
“Yeah, same,” you say, a little breathless, and Kentō’s pulse is confused on what to do—calm down or sky-rocket—and he feels the sudden urge to pass out. How many people did he save in his past life to get here?
Luckily, you ask for him—he doesn’t know how he would’ve managed, to be honest.
“Can I kiss you?”
He’s nodding, and you’re unbuckling your seatbelt. Then, your lips are on his, just like that. Easy.
The angle is awkward, but neither of you care. The tight coil of butterflies in his stomach bursts into something beautiful, into something uncontainable, as his hand finds your waist to confirm that, yes, you are real, and yes, this is happening. Your hands grab his cheeks and tug him closer, but you pull too quick, and his seatbelt locks.
“Fucking—stupid ass seatbelt.“ You pull away to unbuckle it for him, but it gets caught under his left arm in attempt to recoil, buckle slamming into his shoulder.
“Ow,” he groans, and threads his arm through, before leaning over the center console. You pop your neck.
“Should’ve taken it off yourself, then.”
“You didn’t let me,” he chuckles the fact, full of all the things he never lets himself feel. You smile, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. Your forehead knocks into his, and Kentō has never cared less about wasting gas in his life.
“You move slow,” you say, but it’s lacking fire and it’s quiet, like it’s just for him. Then, Kentō realizes it is just for him, and the beast in his chest rattles its cage a little harder.
With a snort, he presses his lips to yours again. You hum into the kiss and he lets the vibrations wash over him, roll into the sea, letting the wave drown him just because it can. The windows start to fog, teeth start to clash, and hands get desperate—when Kentō pulls away, you whine.
“That’s it,” he says, more to himself, more of a down boy, “I can’t—I want to take you on a date, first.”
He feels just as breathless as you look, chest heaving with kiss swollen lips. And Kentō, a man of principles, wants to break them for the first time. Wants to watch them shatter, and dance across the shards.
Especially when you mewl, and the hands in his hair drop to his chest to grab his shirt and tug.
“C’mon,” you whine, pouting and batting your lashes in a way that would’ve gotten him to do your homework, once. “That’s not fair—kissing me stupid just to leave me high and dry is not how this works.”
Kentō shudders an exhale, and the hands on your waist tighten.
“Tomorrow,” he whispers, and questions who kissed who stupid. ”Six. I’ll pick you up.”
You huff when you understand you won’t get your way. Thank God, because if you didn’t—
“Fine,” the sigh is wistful, but agreeing. “What should I wear?”
Kentō shrugs. “You look beautiful in everything.”
You gawk, and give him good natured slap to the shoulder.
“Ken! Take me on a date first—my goodness.”
AND REMEMBER: YOU CAN TELL IT‘S MATTEL—IT’S WELL!
[EXTRA]
“She’s what?”
For once, Kentō lets his frustrations at Yū slip. For once.
“I didn’t know!” The brunette defends himself over the phone, poorly, if Kentō may add. He nearly trips into a coat rack from tugging on a pair of loafers, all while cradling the phone to his ear with a shoulder. This night has just gone from bad, to horrible, to worse, and he’s still reeling from the whiplash. “‘Toru literally just texted and said ‘oh, let Ken know Y/N’s gonna be here tonight, FYI,’ literally five seconds ago! Hence my SOS!”
Fuck your SOS, Kentō wants to say, but he keeps it together. Barely.
He’s going to strangle Satoru Gojō and then himself. And make Yū watch.
He and Satoru never spoke in high school—at all, actually. But, they attended the same college, and once Satoru realized that he knew a ‘baby freshman’ on campus, he insisted on taking Kentō under his wing. (Read: harassment.) They, unfortunately, had enough time to get to know each other. Enough time for Kentō to drunkenly spill his guts (a lapse in judgement—a severe lapse in judgment, Kentō cannot begin to elaborate how severe) about a particular head cheerleader from their high school. Once Satoru gave him that fucking smile and said ‘oh,’ Kentō knew he was fucked.
He just thought Satoru forgot, or assumed Kentō moved on like a healthy adult—which, he did, he has, he just…misses you, sometimes, and hasn’t been with anybody in any regard—because, five years later? That’s too much.
Kentō ends up knocking over the coat rack anyway, trying to find a second shoe.
Fuck. He’s fucked. He’s still wearing his suit from work, too tired and lacking proper time to change—he’s leaving now, why did Yū call him now?—and probably looks like shit after a full work week. Kentō wasn’t even supposed to attend this stupid reunion, but Yū begged, and one does not simply say no to Yū Haibara without feeling like the worst person on the planet.
He fails to weasel his foot in the second loafer, so he just stomps it on, with no integrity for the shoe, because fuck it at this point. Yū seems to be able to hear it from the other side of the line.
“Okay, Kentō, let's take a deep breath—"
Do not tell him to take a deep breath.
But, because Kentō is a good acquaintance (friend), he listens, and takes a deep breath, and corrects the coat rack to grab the suit jacket that fell, along with every other coat he owns.
“Whatever. I’m on my way.”
He slings the jacket over his shoulder and shoves the front door open, walking into the cool night air. Yū chirps from the phone.
kento’s freshly clean linen trousers were rolled up to his calves, just enough for the warm waves to not soak them. he had his feet buried under the crystalline water which opened under him, the morning rays of sunshine reflecting on it.
the beach was quiet at that time in the morning, saving for the gentle sound of waves hitting the sand or the few tropical birds chirping between the palm trees. life was slow, just like any other day.
nanami was bent over with his right hand underneath the water’s surface, the other clutching some colorful seashells against his white tank top. his fingers fumbled between the white grains of sand in search of more of them.
you had complained a few days ago how your bracelet had gotten ruined because of the water’s salt, so he wanted to make you one who would last. before you could wake up, preferably.
just as intended, you stepped out the open front door of your wooden house and yawned gently.
it was probably late in the morning, not the usual hour another woman like you would wake up. no work, no runs to catch the earliest train, no sounds of cars stuck in traffic, no people’s voices echoing in your head all day.
just quiet.
just a secluded beach, the waves, the sun and your husband.
you immediately spotted him not so far from the seashore, bent down with his hand in the water. the sunlight hit his blonde hair, making them shine from the distance.
a soft smile curved on your lips at the sight.
as you were watching him, he suddenly raised his head and noticed your presence. you were standing on the wooden porch, your head leaned against the column just before the stairs which led to the sand. you were only wearing your white cover-up which only reached the middle of your thighs, your hair still ruffled from sleep and your eyes barely opened.
he couldn’t see you perfectly from there, but he could already tell you looked mesmerizing. just like any other day.
“good morning” he said, loud enough for his voice to reach you. you responded with a lazy wave while the soft wind blew your hair on the side.
kento leaned down again, diving his hand back into the water. as soon as he felt another shell, he took it out.
oh, finally.
he had been searching for a pink seashell all morning, growing more frustrated with every white one he picked. he thought it would have been impossible, but somehow, fortune seemed to be on his side that day.
smiling softly, he walked out of the water.
“how did you sleep?” he asked, as he came closer. you, who hadn’t moved from your previous position, looked at him and widened your smile “good”
he walked up the steps, just enough to reach for your forehead and move a few strands of hair from it. leaning closer, he placed his lips against your skin in a gentle kiss.
“have you had breakfast?” you asked, voice low and almost inaudible. “no, not yet” he responded, planting another kiss on your cheekbone.
“we still have some biscuits left in the pantry” you rubbed your eye.
“sounds good”
for a few seconds it was only you, him and the sound of the waves.
“look what i found” he reached for his pocket and took out the pink seashell. it was surprisingly big compared to the other ones, so he probably wouldn’t have used it for the bracelet.
it didn’t matter, it was special anyway.
he placed the shell on the curve of your belly, and your hand instinctively moved to hold it gently.
you had just reached the fourth month of your pregnancy and after discovering that you were having a little girl, your life had become even better. kento was probably even happier than you; he had been fantasizing about this new chapter of his life the moment he found out you were pregnant.
“she could use this as a toy, or paint on it” he continued, his other hand coming to touch your swollen belly “i just need to clean it first”
you looked at him, noticing how his pupils had dilated slightly. the gentle wind was blowing his middle part while his gaze lifted too and locked into yours.
in that moment, you were nothing but beautiful into his eyes.
“i love you” your sweet voice echoed in his head, making his heart beat a little bit faster despite being used to hearing it every day.
this was the life he was promised.
this was the life he had once hoped might be his.
“nanamin!”
yuji’s voice echoed between the walls of shibuya station. he looked terrified, but kento couldn’t really see him from there.
nor did he have the energy to.
he had run away after managing to fight that one grade curse. it was pointless, though, he had failed to save you.
you weren’t strong enough to fight it too, and just before kento had knew it, your head had gotten slashed in half by the curse.
he heard you screaming his name before that could happen, he saw the tears spilling down your cheeks. he watched it roll down, he watched your ragdoll body fall limp on the ground. he watched his whole life crumble down in tiny pieces in front of him.
he hadn’t been able to do anything in that moment, he just stared with wide eyes until the silence became suffocating. he had failed to protect your innocence from this fucked-up world.
and now there he was, standing in front of one of his students, about to get killed by mahito.
he felt weak, ashamed of himself.
“itadori,” he breathed, his muscles finally loosening after hours of fighting “you take it from here”
with that, his vision went blank.
and for a split moment, he heard your laughter again.
a/n: lets ignore the fact that i haven’t been posting since march okayy??
don’t read this post if beautiful boy by john lennon isn’t blasting in your ears
idea: Seras befriends a eldritch horror (reader) cosplaying as a human and somehow matches Alucard's freak XDD
Uhghhhff took me longer than I wanted but I hope it was worth it :).
Word count; 1,139
Pronouns for reader switch from "It" to "you" roughly halfway through the text.
It wasn't surprising that sometimes the people who worked with the Hellsing organization made rather strange friends or allies, and in a weird way, Sir Integra and her loyal vampiric dog had already bet that Seras would make one. All her power and slowly accumulating wisdom wouldn't take away how overly friendly she is at times, both a strength and a liability depending on the situation. What they didn't expect was that her friend was a bit stranger than they thought—no stray werewolf, vampire that decided to assist rather than destroy, no sentient kelpie, or a devious leprechaun. No, something more out of this world that leaked into their earth through different means, licking and gnawing at the sanity of the people around it, disguising itself as something familiar, warm, and friendly, but knowledge and ancient vampiric instinct are hard to fool. So the moment this ‘person’ was being recommended by Seras to work here, Alucard already knew something was off while the instincts of Seras were still wrestling with the new presence.
He didn't have to meet it to sense it. It's scent was already woven into his fledgling's cold skin, deep, old, and older than he was; it reeked of ozone, burned wood, and rust. The power of it somehow was practically anchored in her without her full knowledge. He should have been enraged at the thought that something like this was so close to her, but he wasn't. Somthing deep inside of him told Alucard that the Draculina would be fine.
Instead, he felt a rush of excitement to face something so powerful,it practically crashed his nervous system like lightning. Teeth itching to take a bite and taste the flesh and blood on his tongue, to feel its skin rip, he wondered if it could heal too.
Of course, the polite eagerness to support the idea hadn't gone unnoticed by Integra. Her suspicion rose within the second she saw the little tug at the dead man's lips when h had a whiff of the smell, barely hiding a hungry smile.
What came after was a long and exhausting conversation. The bureaucrat didn't want to rush it. She knew from the looks her dog was giving that it would be dangerous, perhaps even uncontrollable, yet the chance to study it and have it under her thumb was a temptation she couldn't say no to. Another unstoppable force on her side, the question is, how can she tame such a beast?
Seras.
It took a laughably short time to notice that this being had no fucking idea how anything worked once it was in the giant building. Through all these seeing eyes that strethed itself on it's skin and shadow, somehow something as simple as a coffee machine confused it. It was a simple thing, too simple for that brain, or better said, it was like trying to rewire a mind that worked in riddles and complex hymns of a bygone era. You had to teach it that not everything whispered in old tongues. The life and rules it used to have dancing around it didn’t exist here, not fully that is; they were so vastly different that it was hard to grasp at first how straightforward things here were, relearning everything and anything through the friendly hands of the Draculina.
The sight of you fumbling around like a quiet idiot made Sir Integra halt her plans for you. Was it really worth it? How much time do you need to aculmolate yourself?
Putting so much time and effort into you while you seemed to struggle with the handling of a gun was more than a little frustraiting and for some reasone you refused to use your powers, for now.
"Patience."
Was all that swam in her head after another night of discussion with Alucard. His deep voice still murmured somewhere in the shadows as he kept his eyes on you. How eager he was to see you, the real you and not this fleshy suit you made; he could see in those deep and empty eyes of yours how aggravaiting it was moving around with stumpy legs instead of what you were used to.
Sometimes, he taunted you just to see how you would react, but he never really got anything besides the wind stilling and the air tasting like rotten meat as your pupils practically drilled holes in him. Sometimes the man still gets shudders from the feelings you gave him just from standing there like a statue, your expression off, movements too smooth, like there were no bones inside you,how everything around you warped just a bit.
Was it obsession?
Perhaps.
But he didn't care when he was still waiting for you to open yourself like a grotesque flower made out of muscle, tendons, and teeth that might just crush reality itself.
But right now he has to wait, watching silently as you train with Seras, and learn not to fall on your ass while climbing because your body is still a bit too unstable, the tissues wiggling like maggots under your fingertips when you forget to concentrate on your form.
Oh, each time he saw that squirming skin, he salivated , imagining what monster might hide underneath it. His obsession only got worse when he got a glimpse of your power, the very fabric of reality breaking when one of those rogue ghouls annoyed you too much, bodies shattering, bending and put together again, reassembling puzzle pieces that don’t match as their pained screams echoed in the cold, dark sky. The moon hid that night underneath thick stormy clouds, not wanting to witness the horror you create by just breathing a bit too hard in that meat suit. Everything felt like lighting was about to hit the earth, your annoyance mixing in with nature itself as your dead eyes stared at the ghouls that let out pained groans, muscles continuing to tear apart inch by inch by an unseen force.
And you could smell it, the excitement on Alucard's very being, claws begging to feel your flesh, the vampire's body dissolving slightly into dark shadows with too many eyes once he was done with his own kill, and in a way, it felt familiar. A whisper of home beckoning you to come closer. You both didn’t say a word that night, just watched each other with intensity that would make anyone piss themselves out of fear as your bodies twisted around in unnatural ways that almost resembled a dance of hunger and curiosity. A gross mockery of anything earthly and living, but for you both it was an invitation.
Since that night it seemed like his withering shadows were firmly clinging to your body, which every now and then opened itself for him, allowing the undead man to have a taste of the otherworldly.
By accident Levi find's the perfect way to get closer to you
contains: I continue to share my hc that Erwin loves a good gossip session, this time in a new setting. Levi willing to accept ridiculous things if it means he gets to be around you longer. His thoughts in bold. Just fun and whimsy. SFW
wc: 1.5k
Levi’s steps were barely heard throughout the quiet, empty hallways. As part of his usual night routine, he had been looking for you.
Not for any reason in particular. He simply enjoyed having you be the last person he speaks with before he retreats for the night; something about it made it less difficult to sit in the stiff wooden chair in his quarters and lull himself into a solid four to five hours of sleep, maybe it was the fact that it made it easier to picture you were there with him, because your voice was still fresh in his memory.
But for a couple weeks now—six weeks to be exact. Yes, he was counting—there would always be a least one or two nights out of the week where he wouldn’t be able to find you anywhere, not the mess hall, nor the stables, you weren’t out on a walk, not stargazing in the main building’s attic, and whoever was on guard duty that night always swore not having seen you leave base at such late hours.
He never questioned you about it. He barely had it in him to keep you around for long enough to speak about things outside of work, and the fruitful days he was able to talk to you like a normal human being never lasted enough for his liking. He still needed to think of ways to get closer to you without ruining it by being, well, himself.
Usually he’d give up after exhausting his options on where you could be and go test the bounds of his imagination to find something soothing that’d help him close his eyes long enough to let sleep take over. But tonight, that plan wasn’t working as well as it tends to do. He felt restless, exhausted, yet he lacked any actual desire to be stuck in his room until the sun rose and come out the next day pretending he got any rest.
That’s how he found himself here, knocking on Erwin’s quarters after not finding him in his office. If he could count on someone whose company he didn’t mind after such a long day to still be awake at this hour, it’d be the commander.
He heard some rustling behind the door after his knocking, first quiet murmurs and then someone being shushed, followed by a soft laugh that felt all too familiar. But that can’t be, right? He’s just insane because of his lack of sleep.
"Who is it?" Came Erwin’s gravely voice from the still locked room, an eerie quiet falling after as if the voices he heard prior had been locked away.
“Levi.”
He waited, impatiently. The sound of more murmuring starting again, unnerving him to no end. Then came the small, quick sound of the lock being turned before the door screeched open. He was first met with Erwin, the usual immaculate look of his uniform long gone by now, parading instead the relaxed sight of only his slacks and his white button up shirt, the top button undone.
"Come in. Is there anyone else around still?” Erwin moved out of the way to give space for the shorter man to step into the room.
“No.” Levi didn’t have time to feel through his suspicion over the question, he was too busy trying to remember which arm tingles when you’re having a heart attack, because he’s immediately met with the sight of you laying under the covers of the commander’s bed. Maybe this is it, maybe he should head off outside the walls without gear and let nature run its course on him.
He considered turning back and doing just that, if it wasn’t for the way you were smiling at him as if this was the most natural encounter in the world, and if it wasn’t for…
"Leviiii!" That.
“Shhhh, wait until the door is closed.” You scolded Hange without moving away from your place under the covers.
"Right, sorry. I got excited."
Erwin chuckled at his visible confusion, patting him on the shoulder to gesture towards the chairs next to the bed, "Take a seat, we're chatting."
“We’re handling important business.” Both you and Hange interjected in equally serious tones, making each other laugh. You had practiced.
Alright, so this definitely wasn’t what he originally thought. Levi took a seat across from Erwin, a small coffee table placed between them with a teapot and three empty cups, a small pile of papers, and a pen.
“Alright, Hange won this round. What’s her prize?” You sat up slightly, enough to face everyone in the room, the top of your shirt showing you were very much still dressed unlike he was imagining. Thank God.
Hange hummed in thought, sinking back into her seat of choice, the ledge of the fully open window behind her. It was both good and terrible that Erwin’s quarters were at the top floor, good because no one could see her from the dark empty grounds outside, but one wrong excited move and she could count on at least three broken bones from the fall, at best.
"You guys let me do that experiment where I said I'd need at least half a pint of your blood?"
“Forget it.”
"No way."
"Well that's what I want, and that's what I'm getting! Thank you for that by the way, Levi." Hange grinned, mind already half out of the conversation and into how she was going to get you and Erwin to draw up blood.
“How did I help?” Levi wondered if maybe he had fallen asleep and this was some half-assed nightmare his mind had come up with.
“We bet on who would find our secret gossip cult first. Erwin and I said Miche.” You explained while getting up to serve yourself a new cup of tea.
Levi’s gaze was stuck on you, feeling more relaxed than he had been all night now that he was in your presence. “Secret gossip cult?”
"They used my office to divulge any new happenings around the scouts, or anyone for that matter." Erwin explained, setting back against his chair while going through the stack of papers he had in front of him.
"But Erwin said we were distracting him so we stopped." Hange added, joining along to refill her cup before walking back to the window.
“And then he hated being out of the loop, so we started meeting here when he finishes work ‘early’” You added air quotes to the last word, it was well past midnight now. “Which only happens once a week, if that.”
“So you three meet here once a week to speak about others.” Levi questioned the room, eyes briefly drifting to his other colleagues before turning back to you, tight lipped smile coming out when you handed him a cup as well.
"We also talk about other things." Erwin remarked, ever so sheepish about his particular fondness for gossiping.
“Like today, we’re weighing on the pros and cons of helping Erwin get laid.” You laughed when the commander sent a glare your way, settling back down on your spot in the bed.
The captain snickered, barely. But it counted. “About time.” He murmured as he took a sip of his tea, still watching you. How hypocritical of him to say.
Hange’s overly excited tone snapped him out of his thoughts. "And it's my turn now. I had a list prepared."
—
Levi mentally cursed himself before knocking on the door in threes like Hange told him. Was he really going to do this.
"Captain's here." Erwin announced while letting him in, locking the door behind them.
“Told you he’d come back!” You whisper-yelled, clapping your hands in excitement. Yes, yes he was.
“I have to ask.” He said as he walked in, gesturing to your regular seat of choice. This time you were fully sat up, yet still had the sheets wrapped around you like a cocoon. It was cute.
“Oh, Hange likes opening all the windows and I get cold.”
Hange nodded, this time sitting on the bench below the window. "I run hot."
“You wanna join?” You asked, tapping the space next to you.
God, yes. “I’m good.” Levi took the same chair as last time, a fourth tea cup now added to the items on the table, and set next to his seat already. “What are you on today?”
“Thank you for asking, Captain. I bring forth fresh news. Anna and Thomas have something going on.”
To everyone’s surprise, it was Levi the first to respond. “I thought Anna was in a relationship with someone from a separate squad.” His tone was disinterested and stoic as usual, yet he couldn’t help but crack the smallest of smiles at how utterly excited you looked at his participation, smiling brightly at him. Maybe this won’t be so dreadful.
"Yes, wasn't it that young man from Trost? Arthur, I think." Erwin chimed in, pushing his reading glasses higher on his nose.
“Well I heard it from good source. I was walking by the stables earlier and she was speaking with Martha, and you know how Martha’s voice carries—"
"Someone should speak with her about that." Look who's talking.
"I brought it up during a training, I believe she cried after."
"You were definitely the wrong person for that talk, Levi."
"Why? I can be nice."
You start off by sleeping through your alarm — your husband already gone for his job and unable to make sure you wake up on time. Then, in your hurry to get out of the door after throwing on your clothes and haphazardly brushing your teeth and hair, you spill hot coffee all over your hand. Expletives leave your lips in a flurry, already frustrated with the day despite not being awake for more than forty minutes at this point.
Work doesn’t fair much better.
Too many people need things and projects get dumped on your lap that you’re forced to grin and bare if you don’t want to wind up in your boss’s office for the third time in the same month. Nobody helps except for ‘helping’ toss more work at you.
You realize around lunchtime that you forgot to pack anything and you really don’t have the funds to buy anything as payday is still days away. You sit through your lunch break, staring off into the abyss of your thoughts as your stomach gurgles unhappily.
By the end of the day, you’re near tears. You want to break down and cry — maybe even scream and punch something on top of it — but you need to keep it together until you get home. The last thing you need is to get in a wreck because you’re an emotional mess and with the way your luck is going, that’s very much a possibility.
You drive home in silence because you’re busy wallowing in self-pity and frustration and you just don’t want the extra noise right now. Is it a little pathetic to be so wound up about the day? Yeah, probably. There’s people that have it worse but your feelings are valid, damnit. If you want to throw a pity party, that’s exactly what you’re going to do.
The door to your home slams shut behind you and you drop your bag to the floor with little care. You kick your heels off in the general direction of where you and your husband keep your shoes but you pause when you see how tidy his are placed away compared to yours. The guilt of him having to straighten things up because you’ve had a shitty day — really, it’s been a hard week and today was the last straw — eats at you. So you carefully place your shoes where they belong just as the man in question rounds the corner.
“Honey?” He calls with a furrow in his brow, obviously sensing something was wrong. Nanami had always been good at that. Though the door slamming might’ve been his first clue. “Are you alright?”
You shake your head. Words feel too exhausting and the weight of your day is pressing on your shoulders. Speaking feels like a chore.
Thankfully, you’ve married a saint and he hums in understanding. He steps closer to you, those hazel eyes of his filled with concern. “Bad day?”
You nod.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
There’s a moment of hesitation before you finally sigh. “Not right now,” you murmur quietly, somewhat regretfully. You know your husband wants to help and he would if you’d let him, but you simply don’t have the energy at the moment.
“That’s alright,” Nanami assures you, taking another step closer to you. He approaches slowly, giving you plenty of time to back away if you needed space. The fact that you’re not has him closing the distance and tenderly placing his hands over yours. “You don’t have to talk right now. There’s no rush.”
He speaks so softly, filled with so much love and care that it has tears springing to your eyes. He notices and within moments, you’re pulled into a firm hug.
The floodgates open.
You cry quietly into his dark button up, grabbing at the back of it as you pull him closer. You feel him kiss the top of your head, whispering reassurances as he gently sways the two of you back and forth.
You stay like that for a while and he doesn’t pull away until your tears have slowed. He wipes them away, leaning down slightly to kiss your cheeks.
“Why don’t we go get you cleaned up and then I’ll work on something for dinner?” Nanami offers but you shake your head.
“You don’t have to—“
“I want to, sweetheart,” he cuts you off before you can talk him out of it. “You’re my wife. I love you to pieces and I want to take care of you. Please let me.”
You almost start bawling again at that but you keep it together this time. “…okay,” you reluctantly agree.
Seeing Nanami smile so warmly at your response makes it worth it.
He scoops you up into his arms and carries you into the bathroom. He takes his time undressing you with deliberate care as though you’re something precious. Which you are — at least to him. And maybe that’s all that matters.
He sheds his clothes and tugs you into the shower. He doesn’t make any moves on you tonight, instead massaging shampoo into your scalp and washing the day off of your body. He’s gentle with each movement, occasionally pressing a kiss against your forehead or your shoulder or your temple.
By the end of it, you’re feeling slightly better. You at least feel clean anyways.
Nanami dries you off and dresses you in one of his shirts and clean underwear and being surrounded by the scent of him relaxes another part of you. He makes something simple for dinner — a warm and tasty meal that he coaxes you to eat after you initially refuse.
Once all is said and done, he takes you to bed and wraps you up in his arms. You finally melt into him, kissing his jaw and peppering additional kisses over his cheekbones. The rosy hue that dusts his cheeks is enough to make your lips curl faintly at the edges.
“Do you feel any better?” He asks as he slides his fingers through your hair.
“Mhm,” you hum honestly. The weight of the day felt far less imposing in the arms of your lover. As long as you were with him, everything was okay. The man was your safe haven and he always made everything better. “I don’t deserve you.”
“Nonsense,” he chides with a huff, brushing his lips over yours in a tender kiss. “You deserve far more than me. If I could give you the moon and the sun and the stars, I would.”
“I know,” you chuckle quietly in the silence of your shared bedroom. “But I don’t need any of that as long as I have you.”
The sharp lines of his features soften as he smiles. “Well then, I suppose I can give you that.”
You snuggle up into his chest once he turns off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness. You knew you’d probably talk to him about your day tomorrow but right now? Right now you just wanted to exist in his arms.
Your eyes soon grow heavy with exhaustion and contentment, his warmth bleeding into yours and the sound of his heartbeat like a soothing balm to your soul. Before you fall asleep, you manage a soft whisper to your beloved husband.
“I love you, Kento.”
“I love you too, sweetheart. Sleep well.”
The room drifts into silence, filled only by the gentle sounds of your breathing as you both fall asleep. Maybe today was a bad day. Maybe tomorrow will be the same. But you know one thing: your husband will always be there to pull you out and bring you right back into his arms where you belong.
🌴 🌴 🌴 🌴 🌴 🌴 🌴 🌴 🌴 🌴 🌴 🌴 🌴 🌴
a/n: possibly a little self-indulgent lol. But really, who doesn’t need a Nanami x reader comfort fic in their lives? We could all use a hug and some tlc from that man.
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