Can we get childhood friends Nanami and Reader where they grew up on the sea side and the reader is now a tour guide married to a canon compliant Nanami living far away which comes every once in a while to visit his hubbie. Also give the reader any cursed techinque related to the sea because #angst 😍
cerulean, foam-edged waves periodically lap up against the ecru sand. the twelve am sun hangs high over the seaside, casting a brutal incandescence over the beach front, and over your eyebrow-scrunched, perspiring face. a few feet of glinting sand over, there's a conch shell nestled three fourths of the way into the ground—uninhabited. the inner ear shaped portion of it comes off as a vulnerable pink hue, while the outside protective shell is a neutral biscuit color. the outer spiral diverges into several, small spikes, most likely meant to protect the creature from predators, or curious pursuers—like yourself.
with tiny little legs, you scurry over to the shell, the sound of your parents calling out to you transforms into hazy, indistinct background noise—practically blending into the sound of the waves crashing against the seafront. you huff tiny, exhausted breaths once you finally make your way over.
you've always been an ocean kid, constantly begging your parents to take you to the aquarium. you even have an at-home aquarium figure set, complete with a plastic leatherback sea turtle figure and a gray sperm whale model adorned with the faux marks from it's supposed battle with a colossal squid. this, however, was beauty incarnate.
you stared upon it with all the reverence that only a eight-year-old ocean enthusiast could possibly exhibit. a small whimper of awe escapes your lips at the sight. you should take this home—maybe show it off to your parents or sneakily stuff it in the duffel bag with all your guys' stuff. display it in your room like those first-place trophies you could never quite achieve.
there's a particularly large crash against the shore. the water rises against the sand, then descends back into the bigger body of liquid. it takes your prize with it.
almost immediately, tears start streaming down your face. you cry, rubbing the ball of your wrists against your puffy, reddened eyes—pushing sand into them, which only makes it worse. "m-my conk shell," you mumble, dropping to your knees like a man depraved—you are, only, you're eight years old and just lost your newly designated favorite item to the ocean.
you're on all fours now, grabbing two fistfuls of sand and crying.
"what happened?" comes a voice from above you. you glance upwards through lachrymose eyes.
is that an angel? no, it's a blond boy, probably the same age as you, looking down at you in floral patterned swim shorts.
"my mommy says that when people cry, we should try our best to uplift them." he extends a small, sandy hand out. his hair is damp and his face mostly wet, though you can see where one of his parents tried to dry him off after emerging from the water earlier. "so i'm uplifting you."
you take his hand, letting him pull you up off the sand and out of your conch-induced misery. "you have sand on your face." he giggles. he's missing a a left incisor, you note. "i know," you say faintly, trying to rub it away, but just adding to the mess already on your face.
"why were you crying?" he asks, and suddenly the whole conch escapade feels stupid.
"i saw a really pretty shell," you babble. "like ... really pretty. it was hyuuuge too!" you make a grand gesture with your hands, motioning to the sheer scale of the shell. "and then i wanted to get it, so i almost got it and then," and now tears are pricking at your eyes again. "and then the ocean took it from me."
the boy standing across from you looks thoughtful, like an eight-year old philosopher.
"well, i dunno anything about shells and fishes." he says, kicking the sand beneath his feet idly. "but i know that there's some other shells somewhere here." he grabs your hand. the feeling is slightly uncomfortable due to the wet conglomerate of sand and salt water on his sweaty palm.
and so you two easily stroll down the shore. he stops occasionally to point out different shells nestled in the sand, and when you refuse each time, he keeps walking with you, leading you, hand in hand.
"ken, pumpkin, it's time to go home!" calls a woman from afar, tanning on a beach towel. his head perks up almost immediately and you both stop in your tracks. you seem to have walked a far distance from where you started out, because there are tons of sand-printed footsteps.
he turns to face you, leans down, near to your sand-coated feet, and finds an angel wing shell. he stands back up, placing it in your open, grateful hand. "sorry we didn't find the one you want. this one's pretty too! my name's kento by the way. my mom calls me ken, though. i don't really like it." he then scurries over to who you presume to be his mom. you realize that the whole time, he never actually got your name.
"and this here is a portuguese man o' war." you say to the small crowd, voice smooth and composed as you gesture to the diagram of the iridescent creature. "despite their names, they actually are found in the atlantic, one small child raises her hand, a curious glint in her eye. "yes?" you answer her.
"is it a type of jellyfish? i love jellyfish!"
you chuckle at her genuine enthusiasm, though you shake your head horizontally, signaling that she's wrong. "actually, they're siphonophores, meaning they're made up of many, much smaller organisms that work together. isn't that nice?"
"even cooler!" she says. you chuckle again, and go down the line of each animal, explaining it carefully, mentioning if they show up or not at the resort beach that the guests are staying at.
you move to the outside area of the resort, where the sun shines beautifully over the clear, blue water. there are small, periodic sections of the rock beneath your feet that dip into little pools over water.
"now you may notice the small sections of water beneath you. these are called tide pools—little spaces where aquatic and semi-aquatic animals usually reside in whenever the tide is high. currently it's low, but if we were to stay here for a few hours, we'd find little hermit crabs and octopi beneath our feet."
that earns a few "oohs" and "aahs" from the small group.
by the end of the day, you're exhausted and sweaty—having toured at least 5 groups of people all day in the hot sun. the young girl's question earlier was a breather. probably the most introspective compared to the adults' questions from the earlier groups. one had asked if they could feed the crabs, and another had asked if they could keep one as a pet? adults sometimes were worse than kids.
you're sitting on your couch, drinking a cold cup of iced guava juice you purchased from a local store, and finally getting to relax. you perk up when you hear the door click, signaling that it's unlocking.
after a moment, when it does unlock, nanami stands there. his beige suit jacket is draped over his forearm, which is perpendicular to the rest of his arm. his blue button down is opened with two buttons unbuttoned, and his hair is slightly dampened with sweat.
you pad over to him, taking his blazer from him and hanging it on the wall nearby. "you good? you're like, drenched in sweat, baby." you say, watching him sit on the couch next to your spot. posture still perfect, looking like a greek god in in far too hot weather.
"i have a week long recess between missions, so i decided i'd visit." his expression melts as he takes you in. properly this time. his hands are resting on his thighs politely, as if in a guests house. "come here. don't just stand there." he says, smiling slightly and patting his thigh.
when you inevitably land in his lap, he presses a soft kiss to your temple from behind. "there we go." he mutters against your ear. "i guess these are the only times we can both truly relax, huh?" he says, lightly teasing you as his hand steadies you on your waist.
you chuckle. "isn't me sitting on you only going to make us hotter?"
part three: abyss ( angst )
nanami's been dead for about three years now.
nanami has been dead for about three years now.
it hasn't gotten easier. you still preemptively make cold brew for him and leave it in the fridge for when he might visit, just to tearily pour it down the drain when he inevitably never shows. you still check your phone from time to time in case of any "how are you holding up?" texts, or ones like "i'm visiting, be prepared."
you constantly wonder if you'll forget what his low chuckle sounds like against your back, or his absentminded humming when he's walking around the house. what if the sensory feeling of his arms wrapped around you, or his lips on your forehead when he's apologizing for having been away for so long.
he never got to come here and settle down long term with you. the most domestic your relationship got was infrequent nights spent having dinner together before he was inevitably whisked away by another mission.
it's been three years and it hasn't gotten easier.
a/n: the reason i named part two "man o' war" is because nanami is reader's man o' war in the sense that he's always at war with curses but idk if that makes any sense or if u can get that just from that title and chapter
a/n 2: i was unable to incorporate a cursed technique that had to do with the sea so i'm really sorry about that 😭
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