The infamous galaxy ranger's favorite pastime was to mess with the IPC as much as he could — particularly when Oswaldo was involved. In his latest rodeo, Boothill ended up kidnapping a woman imprisoned by IPC. The aftermath had him wishing, if only, he had any warmth left to spare for her.
Vibes: comfort, saved by Boothill
Wordcount: 2.7k words
☘︎ You found me - Nanami Kento x f!reader
In which you ran through Shibuya after you read a letter that had been left for you by your colleague — Nanami Kento. Nanami's regret was etched in the letter, the feelings he had never materialized into words bled into the pages.
Vibes: angst, slow burn, hurt/comfort, mentor Nanami, yearning
Wordcount: 7k words
☘︎ A love like yours - Itadori Yuji x f!reader
You were convinced that men all pretended to be the best version of themselves to fool susceptible victims like yourself. You thought Itadori Yuji would be the same — oh boy were you wrong. In which Itadori Yuji shattered your misconception within seconds.
Vibes: longing/yearning, sunshine Yuji, reader has a shitty ex, learning how to love
Wordcount: 1.7k words
☘︎ The first love theory - Nanami Kento x f!reader
They said men would always remember their first love, as it turned out Nanami was not above men. The day he left the Jujutsu world, he left the love of his life behind. And every moment after, Nanami spent it longing after you.
Vibes: Second-chance romance, Nanami yearning, little angst, slow burn
Wordcount: 2.4k words
☘︎ Portrait of us - Jing Yuan x f!reader
Jing Yuan, otherwise known as the dozing general, wouldn't have imagined meeting you — someone pretending to be infatuated with him, on his casual stroll. What started out as a friendship dressed in comfort soon evolved further until the news of his marriage shook the Xianzhou fleet. Essentially, married and domestic Jing Yuan. Vibes: Found family (with Yanqing too!), fluff
Wordcount: 5.5k words
☘︎ Stay - Ushijima Wakatoshi x f!reader
In which professional volleyball player Ushijima met his neighbor and ultimately saved you from a zombie attack. With your keys dropped outside, eventually Ushijima offered for you to stay.
Vibes: Zombie AU/Apocalypse(?), Pro Athlete Ushijima, tendou mentioned, reader is slightly chaotic, fluff, Ushijima childhood mentioned.
Wordcount: 3.1k words (this was supposed to be a short drabble...)
☘︎ Lovesick Fool - Gojo Satoru x f!reader
Gojo Satoru was the epitome of grandiose, dramatic by nature. Even in love, he had primly stick with his value of grandiosity, thus when you doubted his love, he quite literally malfunctioned.
Vibes: Fluff, established relationship, rich Satoru, lovesick Satoru, simp satoru.
Wordcount: 1.4k words
☘︎ Irrefutable Equations - Phainon / Khaslana x f!reader
Moles were said to be imprint of past lovers — Phainon was convinced that all the moles in you were caused by him and that he'd find you in every lifetime. A fic in which you find one another regardless of the cycles or memories.
Vibes: Hurt/comfort, tiny angst, happy ending (I think), Flame Reaver mentioned. Lygus is a hater. Other Chrysos heirs mentioned.
Wordcount: 5.3k words
☘︎ His No.1 Defender - Oikawa Tooru x f!reader
Oikawa Tooru with all his love for attention, dreaded media day. It was a day jam-packed with flickers of camera flashes and unseemly interview questions. And just as his luck would have it, the press was having a field day dragging his name through the mud. You, as his partner, on the other hand, were more than willing to fight for his sake.
Vibes: Fluff, Girlboss!Reader, Protective!Oikawa, Iwaizumi is a third wheel, VNL Media Day, Soft ending.
Wordcount: 3.3k words
☘︎ 5 reasons why Nanami can't go to war - Nanami Kento x f!reader
You tried to convince the ever-so-logical Nanami Kento why he can't go to war. This was set before Shibuya ever happened. Reader knows he's a jujutsu sorcerer.
Vibes: Tooth-rotting fluff. Domestic Nanami. Nanami only knows princess treatment and nothing else. He adores you.
Wordcount: 1.4k words
☘︎ Itadori Yuji x f!reader (pending...)
Short drabbles:
☘︎ Megumi Fushiguro x f!reader
A short drabble in which Megumi decided that he had to marry you.
Tropes: fluff
☘︎ Nanami Kento x f!reader
Nanami knows he can treat you so much better than your current boyfriend, but he's trapped in the sweet friendship you've established.
Tropes: jealous Nanami
☘︎ Oikawa Tooru x f!reader
Falling asleep to Oikawa's chatter —in which you are in a long distance relationship with him.
Tropes: fluff
Fandoms I write for and am open to writing about (continuously expanding):
Jujutsu Kaisen, Honkai Star Rail, Haikyuu
A little note:
A/n: Hi everyone, it's Hermesays. I hope that you guys have been enjoying all of the fics I've been writing so far. I usually write based on momentum so I'm not confident to say that I can accept request but I'm extremely grateful for all of the love which you guys had given my writing ❤︎
Also, if it isn't obvious — I don't write smut. It's not like I hate it, it's a skill issue. I'm terrible at it (ᴗ_ ᴗ。)
⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ Please do not replicate, plagiarize, or feed my works to AI.
Summary: You tried to convince the ever-so-logical Nanami Kento why he can't go to war. This was set before Shibuya ever happened. Reader knows he's a jujutsu sorcerer.
Vibes: Tooth-rotting fluff. Domestic Nanami. Nanami only knows princess treatment and nothing else. He adores you.
Wordcount: 1.4k
⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆ Until I Found You - Stephen Sanchez
It was a silly shower thought really. As you stepped out of your shower in your pajamas, hair completely drenched, and the towel around your neck soaked up most of the excess liquid. Nanami Kento awaited you with another towel in hand, he wore the same matching pajama — light blue with yellow patterns of stars adorning the silk fabric. Like a habit ingrained in his bones, Nanami wrapped the extra towel around your hair and proceed to gently squeeze out the moisture from your hair, ensuring his touch was gentle enough to not damage your hair. He had read somewhere that the hair was most fragile when it was wet.
You sat yourself down by your vanity desk, Nanami followed each steps you took while his fingers slowly worked the towel to the scalp of your head. “Ken, I know 5 reasons why you can’t go to war.” Your voice lost all its mirth, a sharp and low intonation had gone to replace it instead. Nanami simply hummed along to your serious pretense, folding the damp towel before casting it aside.
“And what would the reasons be, my love?” He’s a jujutsu sorcerer, one who dealt with vicious curses on the daily. If he was being strictly logical, there was no reason he wouldn’t survive on a war zone. However, with you, rationality be damned. Nanami always longed to hear the sweet melody of your thoughts, this was simply another episode he had awaited.
“First, you can’t get your daily intake of baguettes!” Nanami picked up the dyson blowdryer he had bought you months ago simply because you had left your laptop open, and on one of the tabs, he saw this specific hairdryer. From the vanity mirror which reflected the two of you, you could see how Nanami nodded his head to your reasonings — his lips were thinning into a small smile.
“I’m being serious Ken. No one’s operating a bakery in a warzone and that means there’ll be no butter from Europe, or fancy balsamic from Italy!” You whipped your head backward momentarily to stare at your standing boyfriend, he had his fingers entangled in your hair, ensuring every strand was adequately ventilated to the dryer’s cool air.
“You’re right my love, it is quite an urgent issue.” Nanami spoke, his voice as tender as how he had treated you everyday. You never knew what princess treatment truly meant until you met him. Heck, you weren’t even dating yet when he showed up in front of your apartment door with a few tubs of ice cream and bar of chocolates — all because you sent him an overdramatic text of how your period was actively killing you, at 9PM.
“Secondly, I don’t think military uniform suits you.” With this, Nanami raised his brow. You could see the puzzled look dawned upon his feature from the mirror.
“It’s all in the color theory, Ken. And you look the hottest in a suit.” For another five minutes, you proceeded to rant about how the shade of brown that was in the uniform was not the exact shade of brown your boyfriend had typically worn. Your ever so loving boyfriend dutifully detangled pieces of your hair while ensuring the air was properly drying the roots of your hair as you went on and on.
“Oh and thirdly, you hate overtime and you can’t really clock out from war, can you?” You huffed your chest confidently. Sure, the excuses from before were too pathetic to be fully labelled as a compelling argument. However, you were sure that not even your intellectually handsome Kento could refute this one statement.
“Excellent observation, my dear. It is, unfortunately, impossible to demand for flexible hours in a warzone.” Nanami turned off the hairdryer, placing the sleek design back on the magnetic stand on your vanity. He took on a comb next, ensuring your hair was getting the luxury treatment it deserved.
You giggled sheepishly, Nanami showered you with endless praises. Of how accurately you had assessed his personality, of how you simply knew him best, and of how he just adored you. The blonde man pumped a dollop of hair oil into his palm and he smoothed the oil over the luscious strands of your hair. Nanami’s fingers often strayed to where your ears were. Your favorite sorcerer rubbed circles around the lobe of your ears, his thumb sending soft caress down your neck — every touch of his lingered, his warmth refused to ebbed away.
Nanami bent his head down and you took the opportunity to wrap your arms around his neck. Your lover positioned his right hand onto your waist and he carried you into his embrace from the chair of your vanity. It was all too easy for him, there could be a hundred you and he’d still carry each and every one altogether in his hold.
The fourth reason came to you as Nanami delicately place you down on your shared bed. “And there’s no way you could ever leave our children alone.” Your gaze fell upon the dozens of dolls and plushies which had nestled themselves rather comfortably in the king-sized bed Nanami bought.
“They’d be fatherless!” You whined, pretending to break into an all-too-dramatic sob.
Nanami on the other hand had positioned himself into the side of bed he usually resided in. The renowned 7:3 sorcerer was occupied with unfolding the blanket in which he intended to tuck you under while you had gone ahead with your usual charade.
“Or maybe they won’t if I find a new boyfriend…” Mumbling your own thoughts out, you made sure to speak in hushed tone. It was a silly intrusive thought, nothing serious enough to warrant actual reaction. Nevertheless, Nanami halted his movement. And he sharpened his eyes on you, his pupil was refracted, and the skin from which his eyes and nose met crinkled. it was the kind of look he gave to Itadori whenever the boy was out doing something outrageous — like how he had jumped over from the fifth floor of a building once.
“Our children will only be having one father in this lifetime.” Nanami fucking Kento just admitted to being the father of your plushies, no fucking way. Your mouth went agape, no amount of smart or sassy comebacks could ever prepare you for words to say whenever your beloved Kento exceeded your sky-high expectations. All you could do was nod frantically, there was no way you were ever leaving this man.
“And the fifth reason?” Nanami all laid down in his side of the bed, opened his arms for you to cocooned yourself into. As soon as his limbs were stretched, you quickly snuggled into his embrace, nuzzling your face into his chest affectionately.
“I love you too much to let you go.” Unlike the other times in which you had increased the volume of your voice to warrant a reaction from your partner, your voice this time was so subtle that Nanami could have missed it if he wasn’t holding his breath. His heart fluttered against the curve of your face, if you had placed your ear over Nanami’s chest, you would have heard the rough palpitations of his heart.
“I will genuinely bawl my eyes out if someone ever demanded you to enlist.” You additionally mumbled, all while knowing that your man was weak towards your tears. Nanami cracked into a fit of laughter, the deep resonance of his joy was akin to rivulets of deep notes coming from a trombone. Even deep in his amusement, Nanami’s happiness carried a distinct rasp quality, one you could loop and replay everyday.
“I trust you will do so, my love.” The sorcerer secured you tightly on his arm, pulling on the blanket to ensure you were sufficiently warm. Nanami planted a chaste kiss on your forehead, the man rested his chin on the crown of your head afterwards.
“I love you too, infinitely so.” Nanami loved you more than his confession could ever describe. Therefore, he didn’t need you to list down dozens of reasons for him not to go to war. A look from your face was enough for him to surrender his heart away.
A/n: Another drabble turned into short fic! Hope you guys enjoyed it 𝜗ৎ Reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated 𑣲⋆
Summary: Oikawa Tooru with all his love for attention, dreaded media day. It was a day jam-packed with flickers of camera flashes and unseemly interview questions. And just as his luck would have it, the press was having a field day dragging his name through the mud. You, as his partner, on the other hand, were more than willing to fight for his sake. (Inspired by that iconic Son Heung Min incident with the press.)
Vibes: Fluff, Girlboss!Reader, Protective!Oikawa, Iwaizumi is a third wheel, VNL Media Day, Soft ending.
Wordcount: 3.3k
⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆ Risk it all - Bruno Mars // Primadonna - MARINA
For a man who had practiced hundreds of thousands of serves in a singular day, Oikawa Tooru found media days to be the most creative form of torture which had ever been created for athletes. He and his Argentines teammates were all using their jerseys, falling into a straight queue while each camera took body shots of the players who would later stand in front of a green screen.
The Volleyball Nations League or better known as VNL was not shy from the rigorous form of media content they were milking from the players. Varying from players broadcast headshots, standard profile photos, short-form promotional videos, product placement photos and videos, and lastly formal press conference — the day was jam-packed with camera flashes, picture perfect smiles, and dealing with the press. Despite it all, Oikawa didn’t hate media days, it came with the job of being a professional athlete — in fact, he quite adore and would absolutely soak up on all sorts of attention on him.
It was tiring, a different kind of fatigue from the one which often washed up on him, one that he wasn’t sure he could ever get used to. Only this time, he had a short respite in the sweet form of you. Few rows away from the hulking amount of sports journalists and press was the VIP sections where families and partners of players were situated. You were sitting with your laptop upon your lap, typing away as if in a frenzy.
Oikawa had gone and bought tickets for you months ago, claiming that he could not bear any more days without your company, and that he had to have you here with him on one of the most important events in his life. In his words, Oikawa with all his theatrics said that he’d be as good as a single man if the one and only sun of his life would be absent. He also made it a point to mention that every other players were bringing their respective partners along.
Thus, here you were watching what seemed like hundreds of players crowding the area to their designated activities. All while juggling the development of a new menu for the bakery you had left vacant back home. You couldn’t exactly say no to the look of your boyfriend’s face, he was gleaming, face streaked with radiant joy, chest puffed in pride as he show you the printed booking of your flight — in first class nonetheless.
“Wipe that disgusting smile off your face trashykawa.” The familiar raspiness of said voice sent shivers down Oikawa’s spine, it was a sharpness which had accompanied him throughout his youth — the voice he could never mistake for anyone else's. The calling of an old friend.
“How could I not smile when the love of my life is sitting there, Iwa-chan.” Oikawa glanced to where you were seated, Iwaizumi followed the trajectory of his friend’s gaze, the sight of you captured the two men’s attention. As his closest friend, Iwaizumi was a witness to the growth of Oikawa’s relationship — starting from a small sprout of crush, to the budding sensation called love.
Your gaze momentarily fell upon the striking figure of your boyfriend. Oikawa jolted his arm upwards, feverishly waving it in a rocking motion. When you broke into a small giggle, your palm spontaneously covering how your lips cackled at your boyfriend’s silly behavior, Oikawa couldn’t help himself then. He clutched his chest — Iwaizumi stared at the setter’s grandiose action, his pupils widened from how flabbergasted he was with his friend’s antics. For Oikawa, it was as if cupid themselves had pierced him with another arrow of love. He wondered whether he was shot daily.
From afar, you nodded briefly as a way to relay your greetings to the man with spikey hair next to Oikawa. Iwaizumi reciprocated with a nod of his own before smacking Oikawa’s back with a force that intimidated professional volleyball players themselves. The crisp of that slap hurled Oikawa back to reality, his fingers attempting to rub the sting away.
“Oh, is that Oikawa-san’s girlfriend?” Just then, a stray Hinata emerged from behind of Iwaizumi. The familiar orange-haired bundle of happiness stole a peek at the woman who was now the captor of the great Oikawa’s heart.
The topic of Oikawa’s significant other was the talk of Japan's representative team members as of recently. It all started out from a Bokuto who had been starving at midnight. He intended to go out of his hotel room to get the supper he had ordered on Uber. What he saw instead jolted the sleep away from his body, The owl-like man while on his way to the receptionist table, saw Oikawa with an unfamiliar woman by his side.
Oikawa had his hands on what appeared to be the woman’s luggage, dragging it along as the two walked towards the elevator on the other tower of the hotel. Bokuto hid himself behind a decorative bonsai — which did nothing to hide his ripping figure. The man rushed to get his food before barging into his teammates hotel room one by one, spilling the scalding hot news for everyone to hear.
Iwaizumi responded rather candidly as he was aware of Oikawa’s relationship for a while now. Regardless of the tons of questions hurled at him, Iwaizumi maintained confidentiality about what he knew of Oikawa’s relationship. One, because it was not for him to share, and two, because he refused to get even more entangled with Oikawa — poor Iwaizumi was still in denial of his closeness to the Argentines setter. He had no doubt he’d play the role for life, it was a set dynamic between him and Oikawa.
“Shoyo! How have you been?” Oikawa greeted the little bundle of joy with a light hug which was reciprocated with twice the vigor.
“Great as always!”
“We’ve heard of your girlfriend.” From where Hinata had manifested himself, another two random members of the Japan National team appeared after having caught the faint smell of information. Bokuto, alongside with an extremely nosy Atsumu, were now standing on the side of Hinata, with Hinata being the centre of the chaos.
Oikawa took a step backward, the pressure exuded from the combination of a curious Bokuto and a gossip-thirsty Atsumu overwhelmed even the king of the court. His brows squinted at Iwaizumi, confusion laced his entire feature as he essentially begged for an explanation for the action of these people in front of him. Iwaizumi simply shook his head, throwing his palms up in resignation.
“W-what’s with the sudden interest.” Oikawa rubbed the back of his neck, sure he loved attention, but this time he was reluctant about sharing you to the world. He wanted to keep you all to himself. He didn’t expect his own friends to be reacting this excessively at the sight of you — oh lord, the press would have a field day.
“How’d ‘ya meet such a fine lady? Introduce me to someone too!” Atsumu chipped in, slinging his arms over Oikawa’s shoulder to prevent the man from running as they moved alongside the queue for broadcast headshots.
“Me too! I want someone as cool as your girl.” Bokuto added, his fingers pointing to you like a child pointing at a new toy from the store. Something snapped in Oikawa’s head, if there was a ball nearby, Bokuto and Atsumu would have been a goner. Oikawa would go ahead and admit that these two fools actually had a superior taste — everyone who thought of you as gorgeous had perfect vision in his eyes. Yet, their statements irked him all the same.
As Oikawa was about to drill some mannerism on how to behave around a friend’s partner to these people, the sound of hushed whispers which had no intention of being entirely discreet dawned upon him.
“Look at him interacting with our home country’s athletes after he renounced his citizenship.”
“Isn’t he ashamed of himself?”
“Stooping as low as abandoning your home country is wild.”
“He’s so shameless.”
Oikawa had heard and seen people’s opinions of him on a daily basis. When the news came out of how he had renounced his Japanese citizenship, Oikawa had gotten death threats by the second from these strangers who knew nothing of his life. In the past he had been crestfallen, wondering whether he was making the right choices with his life and career. However hearing it now, he knew it was just empty words — a statement formed from resentment and deep-rooted hatred against his persona.
“Shit Oikawa, she’s going to hear it.” Iwaizumi rubbed the temples of his forehead. Oikawa’s eyes snapped to where you were seated before Iwaizumi even finished his sentence.
As his partner for a while now, you had accompanied Oikawa through the various phases of contempt that the public had churned about him. Words that hurt him, hurt you all the same. And just as goddess of luck would have it, you were only a short distance away from the flock of press who had been throwing dirt on Oikawa incessantly.
The laptop was neatly folded, your gaze no longer occupied by the white screen. Iwaizumi on the other hand began signaling to one of the staffs for security, he mumbled about how much of a pain the situation would turn out to be. The trio of the Japan team had their eyes peeled towards your every movement.
“Is she coming over?” Hinata’s eyes sparkled, his fist clenched in excitement as he began rehearsing his greeting all over on his own. The boy had much respect for Oikawa, especially with how the great king had helped him out often. Therefore, it was only right for Hinata to show twice — no, thrice, the respect in return to Oikawa’s partner.
Bokuto, as if infected by Hinata’s eagerness, mimicked the shorter man’s mannerism. The owl-like man created circles with his fingers before placing it by his eyes, faking a telescope just like how kids normally did.
“Woah Hinata, she’s coming down.” He chirped in, excited for god knows what.
Oikawa resisted the urge to slam his head at the wall, while looking at the behavior of his soon-to-be-opponents. “Really, some things just don’t change.” The tone in Oikawa’s voice was soft, almost fragile, like he was remembering the days where the world wasn’t as heavy as it now was.
“Uh, I don’t think she’s coming our way.” Atsumu pointed out, unlike the two who had been flushed by the wave of euphoria, Atsumu still retained bits of his rationality.
“That’s true.” Hinata instantly deflated like those road-side balloons you’d see by the gas station.
You strutted boldly, back straight and shoulders levelled. Dating a professional volleyball athlete meant being towered and surrounded by people with bizarre height everyday — yet not once, did you ever let yourself feel small. It was a lesson passed down by the woman in your family, to remain steadfast and strong wherever you were. Each stride you took exuded confidence and a heavy weight of belonging.
“Wait! She’s at where the press are.” Bokuto stated, his eyes still locked at you from the makeshift telescope he created. At the same time, Oikawa had abandoned the queues, his feet dashing, jumping through the barriers with all his might, racing to get to you.
“All he’s got is his looks.”
“Right, his life is practically set in stone with all those girls fawning over him every time.”
You debated on what to do. Their job was to write articles and interview players about the sport itself. These people were chosen to represent the Japanese media right here in a foreign country — you’d at least expect a shred of integrity from them, but no, as you leaned closer, you heard them hurled unimaginable amount of results about your boyfriend. You clenched your jaw, your forehead scrunched at the lies they had fabricated about him.
“He isn’t even that good.”
“Right, I heard back in high school, he never even made it to nationals.”
A surge of heat blazed your body, surging through the vein that pumped coursing blood underneath your skin. Not even the dozens of icy wind operated by the excessive amount of airconditioning could douse the fire that had started in you. How dare these people who was oblivious to the boy who had done nothing but chase after his dream — even at the expense of riddling his own bodies with injuries, how dare they spew nonsense about him?
You pinched your nose, the stench emitted from where those people stood was rotten to the core. “It reeks of jealousy here.” You dawdled, stretching out each syllables to be heard loud and clear. The perpeators all hitched their shoulder upwards in surprise, a sudden voice had cut their collective hatred of the Argentine Setter short. It was silly really, acting like they were the only ones who could speak and understand Japanese in such a broad space.
Following the remark, now that their attention was on you, you intended to show them a befitting performance as Oikawa’s partner. Everyone who had known of your relationship was immensely shocked that out of everyone, the two of you would end up together. Two dramatic souls, there were a lot which was bound to go wrong — except that was where they got it wrong. Oikawa’s true self was less theatrical than people had assumed. That left the theatrics to you entirely.
You fanned yourself dramatically with your palm, your wrist working extra hard to keep up with the scene you were laying out. Your nose was scrunched, the rotten smell of these people who seemed to think they were superior to your boyfriend was extremely unpleasant. “I can’t stay here any longer, I’ll get as delusional as you people.” You continued, noticing how one of them had took a step forward with their chest puffed up to face someone who was half their size.
“Look here you silly Oikawa fangirl, you’re not fucking allowed here. Who the hell are you?” Idiot number one snapped, hands already raised, yet it faltered for a moment. Idiot number one scanned his surrounding, realizing how they had garnered quite the attention. He quickly switched his stance, opting to jab his fingers at your shoulder instead. The force was intentional, strong enough to stagger your stance. The men all sneered as they saw you stumbled, it was pathetic of them, truly.
As if led by idiot number one, the other idiots quickly crowded themselves upon your figure. You let out a sigh, you had made a silly promise to stay level-headed in these kind of situations to Oikawa. Wouldn’t it be self-defense in this case though? Surely, your lover would approve of your following actions.
Bracing your right foot, you switched your centre of gravity to said foot. Before they could poke and jab on your skin for a second time, you gathered enough force from the momentum of your hip, generating a sideway kick lethal enough to knock Idiot number one backwards — oh, and it also landed exactly where you wanted it to.
Idiot number one fell down to his knees, his hands clutching the area where his private member was at. His shrill shriek resonated throughout the massive space of the stadium. As he fell, the circle of men who had attempted to intimidate you dispersed almost immediately. Some of them went to consult idiot number one, meanwhile the rest tried to conceal their involvement.
“Are you alright?” Oikawa leaped across the border which had separated the court from where the press were located. A bunch of foreign individuals clicked their camera vigorously at the close sight of a star player meanwhile the press guilty of hate speech towards the same man had their sight casted on the smooth and matte vinyl flooring.
Iwaizumi arrived a second later with a bunch of imposing men, the word security plastered all over their fully black uniform. “Revoke all of their access, they’re banned from now on.” Iwaizumi commanded, he was sure that he’d have to spend hours explaining the current incident to the higher-ups. They’d be bewildered to hear that the entire media representation for Japan was kicked out and formally banned by the NVL.
“As pristine as I could be, Tooru.” you said, attempting to leverage a joke out of the situation. Also as a way to distract Oikawa from recalling the promise you had made to him months ago.
Your boyfriend sighed, his brows relaxed and he closed his eyes. He instinctively wrapped his hand on your waist even while his vision was obscured. Oikawa pulled you closer, reducing the space between the two of you to nil. “Babe, you need to stop fighting everyone who’s spouting nonsense.” Oikawa chided, he really do appreciate it with his whole heart when you would go out of your way to speak up for him. He do, really. Nevertheless, Oikawa was a man of logic. He was afraid of you being hurt in his expense — what if the public found out about his relationship with you and chose to meddle with your life instead? He couldn’t bear to see such weight fall upon you.
“I didn’t start it this time.” You reasoned, grumbling upon the fabric of his jersey.
“Of course you wouldn’t,” Oikawa chuckled at how adorable you sound, he had seen the whole scene flashed before his eyes. Being the little dare devil you were, you hadn’t started the fight indeed, you had just provoked them into starting. And he was aware. “But if the whole world comes after me, you wouldn’t be able to fight them, right?”
It was a bit of an exaggeration from Oikawa’s side because he knew it himself that he had more loyal fans than haters. After all, his social media had always been flooded with love from all across the world. However, he was trying to prove a point — that you could just let such matter slide next time.
“Who says that? I can fight the world at any day. They need to make an appointment in advance though.”
“My dearest, you get tired after 30 minutes of walking.” With your hands now wrapped upon him, Oikawa let go of his embrace to cup your face in his hold. He squished your cheeks with his fingers, heart throbbing at the sight of your pout — the hold you had on him was simply beyond logic and sciences.
“And?”
“You’re impossible,” Oikawa laughed in resignation, you were a little giant of your own. A bundle of menace wrapped in pink bows, all for him.
“I think the sentence you’re searching for is I love you.” Your right hand rested upon Oikawa’s own gigantic palm which had occupied your cheeks. You leaned further into his touch, all while caressing his hand.
“I love you.” Iwaizumi, as happy as he could with his friend’s relationship, chose to avert his gaze the moment the incessant love confessions filled up the air.
“I love you more than life itself.” Oikawa whispered into your ear, the raspy yet domestic sound he typically reserved for you sent tingles and chills down your spine. You crushed your face into his embrace abruptly to avoid being seen in such an embarrassing state, heat scorched your cheeks — there was a smile that you couldn’t quite wipe away from your expression.
Oikawa gleefully laughed out loud at how his little menace had went from an intimidating force of nature to a puddle of shyness. He wrapped his arms around your shoulder this time, ensuring you were sufficiently tucked in his embrace. He couldn’t have another man looking at how adorable you were acting.
Back at the court, Atsumu whistled in delight. The sight before him was feeding him more dopamine than any movies or dramas ever could.
“Dude, Oikawa’s girl so cool?!” Meanwhile, Bokuto and Hinata was highly impressed by the way you dealt with those idiots who called themselves journalists.
A/n: istg everything that started from a short drabble always ended up getting way too long ദ്ദി ༎ຶ‿༎ຶ ) Hope you guys enjoyed it! Reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated 𑣲⋆
Summary: Moles were said to be imprint of past lovers — Phainon was convinced that all the moles in you were caused by him and that he'd find you in every lifetime. A fic in which you find one another regardless of the cycles or memories.
Vibes: Hurt/comfort, tiny angst, happy ending (I think), Flame Reaver mentioned. Lygus is a hater. 0ther Chrysos heirs mentioned.
Wordcount: 5.3k
⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆ Drag Path - Twenty One Pilots // The one that got away - Katy Perry
The death of the goldweaver brought yet another news of desolation to the citizens of Okhema. To Phainon — the man known as the deliverer to the masses, it was another responsibility, another wish of a dear friend, to be carried on. Amphoreus was running on borrowed time, though he’d like to grieve the loss of a mentor, there was no time to dwell. As Aglaea had often mentioned, losses are a constant on a Flame-chase journey.
And losses had been all he knew. The death of Cyrene, a dear friend of his who had hailed from the same hometown. Phainon could faintly recall how Cyrene used to build scarecrows alongside him, or how she used to foretell kids fortune with those cards of hers. Aedis Elysiae — his home and all of his friends being sunken by the black tide. The execution of Anaxagoras, a teacher he held great respect for despite the man’s eccentricity. And now Aglaea.
Phainon had to carry their death, he had to bring remnants of his friends over to the new dawn he had sworn to bring upon Amphoreus. At the very least, if their wishes came true, it would be evidence that they had once lived.
“I know you’re carrying a lot right now, but, what troubles you so that a frown was all I’ve been greeted with?” Where could he find the string that could unravel his whole thought processes? Phainon tried, he really did, but the thoughts on his mind were akin to a bundle of threads all tangled up with no ends in sight. At least for you, his partner who had remained steadfast, he’d like to chatter his thoughts away. However, even he lacked the luxury to be weak in his safest place.
Fresh off the shower, you crawled onto the sheet. The bed the two of you shared for years now sunk under the weight of your knees. It was extremely rare for Phainon to be at bed before you — between the worldbearing core of the titan or a fight against the flame reaver, Phainon had not rested nearly enough. He’d be asleep by the time you were too, and awake before you had the chance to rub the sleepiness away from your eyes. You’d know if he was there by the indent on the pillow or of the mattress, for his warmth had gone cold by the time you awoke.
He felt your fingers danced across his cheeks. It was first hesitant, sending tingling touches, before enveloping the side of his face. Phainon leaned into the tenderness, amidst the battle he had fought, the never-ending flame-chase journey he had thrown himself in — he seemed to have forgotten that demigods were also part human.
“It’s just, tomorrow’s the final day of the flame-chasing journey.” Phainon positioned his right hand on top of your palm which was embracing him. Your thumb rubbed in circles across his cheeks. Your touch had always been irresistibly soft, incessantly soothing, saccharine like a dream he wouldn’t trade for anything else. A smile momentarily returned to his feature, a single touch of yours could melt away his greatest concerns as a far away dream which was still yet to come. It was dangerous to indulge, but like a moth drawn to flame, Phainon was still half mortal.
With his eyes shut tight, Phainon let the dulling of one sense amplified the others. “What if I can’t deliver the promised tomorrow?” Your thumb halted, the pulsific rounds of circles distorted by the cold gush of wind which had now replaced your warmth. He hated it but he couldn’t bring himself to look at you. He could bear the world’s disappointment — no, he had long prepared himself for it, yet Phainon could never dare to imagine your face doused in the thickest rhythm of disappointment.
His formal title — The Deliverer, one which should have been for the history book, one which had been revered by the citizens of Amphoreus. He didn’t know when had such a divine title convoluted into a damning chain. Nevertheless of its weight, nevertheless of how said weight had been crushing upon him, the deliverer must not break, the deliverer must not succumb, the deliverer must keep hope up. For he who delivered hopes of tomorrow, must be one who believed in tomorrow.
Phainon felt the hand that had been motionless cupped his cheek, the fingers which had always been gentle, pinched on the skin of his face. His eyes were jolted awake by the force he had hardly seen his lover used on him before. In a moment of his wakefulness, Phainon’s cyan eyes interlocked with yours, the doubt that you would soon one day be disappointed in him burnt away into ashes in that moment. The way you had looked at him… Phainon could not find a word fitting enough to describe its intensity.
Your irises fluctuated, strange enough although your vision seemed to dart sideways, the centre of your eyes had remained fixated on Phainon. He saw the way your eyes wained, how the curve of your lips did not quite meet the joy you’d normally exhibit. “If the tomorrow of Amphoreus is so frail that it relies on an individual alone, I don’t think I’d ever need it.” he understood it then, you’d carry the world with him. If he was tired of the world, you’d share the heaviness in his heart.
“Quite the blasphemous statement it is, Professor Anaxa would be proud.” The lightness of his chuckle surprised himself, it was a laugh once lost to the wind of Aedis Elysiae. Phainon wrapped his arms around your waist, effectively pulling you down alongside the softness of the mattress. With a yelp, you stumbled right into his arm. The endearment of his laughter, almost boyish — reminiscence to the youth the two of you shared while you both studied all about Chrysos heir in the groove of epiphany. He had been a boy then whose worry of the future was a distance away. Now, as you peered into his face, your fingers brushing upon the fluff of his hair, the past seemed so far away. It struck you then, this could very well be the last night for the two of you.
As if in a daze, your fingers raked his features, attempting to drill your body into remembering him. You traced his brows, then the prominent bridge of his nose, following his lips which had gotten chapped, and the bones of his jaw. Phainon wouldn’t have known what was on your mind, he was no mind reader, yet he mimicked your course of action. His fingers would stop at the moles you had, sweetly caressing each one with his thumb.
“They said moles were a result of kisses imprinted from your past life lovers.” You remembered how a bunch of students had told professor Anaxa such a ridiculous theory before, the demigod of reason had not bothered to entertain such a lucid theory which held no logical validity. It was a romantic notion, to be marked with love as others were to say — however, you had blurted it out as a means to distract Phainon from the impending final battle.
Phainon raised one of his brow, eyes searing into the moles on your body — those of which he had uncovered, and the ones he may yet to discover. “I must have kissed you a lot in our previous lives then.”
You scoffed out loud, your lover’s unparalleled confidence would surely put any jesters red with embarrassment. “Bold of you to assume it was all you.” Contrary to what you had said, if the theory stood to be true, you wished the moles on your body were all a byproduct of his incessant love.
Phainon shook his head, pressing a gentle kiss to the temple of your forehead. “It would only be me, I would find you in all our past, present, and future.” It sounded like a vow, of how he’d come back to you every time, of how he’d remain triumphant. You cuddled further into his embrace, Phainon welcomed you with every fiber of his being, arms digged deeper, eliminating any spaces that stood between the two of you.
“I don’t care about the world’s tomorrow. Therefore, deliver yourself to me Khaslana. Tomorrow too, the day after tomorrow, and the many days after.” Don’t let us end. Your grip clenched upon the collar of his sleepwear, the fabric raked downwards, exposing the tattoo of the sun etched upon his skin.
He cocooned your hands in his, effectively losing the grip you had on his shirt, before lifting it upwards for him to kiss. The brief roughness of his lip met your soft skin, “I promise you.”
“But you won’t be here when I wake, will you?”
Phainon let out a weak smile, a laughter with no echo. That was sufficient for an answer. He couldn’t stay for long. The deliverer had a world to save. Despite your dismay, sleep caught onto your soul, and the night dawned a hollow dream upon your mind. As soon as he had noticed your slumber, Phainon left trails of pecks on your visible moles. From the behind of your ear, to the ones located on your collarbone, to your wrist, and more. Lastly, he yanked the blanket upwards, ensuring you were sufficiently tucked from the cold, before planting a chaste kiss on your forehead,
Phainon prayed then, If the world were to burn tomorrow, may the fire never lit where you were.
_Lies Unfolded_
Cipher’s centuries-long lie was unravelled with her death. The genuine state of Amphoreus was revealed and the public were riddled with confusion and fear arose from the citizens who had believed in the false prophecy’s eternal protection. For the survivors, it was a recurring nightmare, one which had taken before and was prepared to devour once again.
The blue sky had been a lie all these times, the land believed to be a safe haven had long been corrupted. As Cipher’s lie gradually peeled away, the black tide surged impartially, engulfing whichever and whoever had contacted the mass of darkness. Friends mutated into monsters, their flesh ripped and jagged away by the corruption. While their consciousness faintly flickered away, they had become one with the mindless black tide.
Phainon, the trailblazer and Hyacine had gone to retrieve the last titan core. There were barely any demigods left on the land. The remaining Tribios struggled to hold the panic that had been widespread among the people of Okhema, their already diminishing voice held no clarity amongst the chaos, falling silent on unheeding minds. Briefly, you had heard of the Tribios muttering amongst themselves, something about the death of the demigod of trickery. It wasn’t difficult to patch the pieces together, the demigod of trickery had actually managed to fool the whole Amphoreus.
As a Chrysos heir yourself, you aided the Tribios with their plans to evacuate the citizens. Despite the lack of titan core, or your normalcy, you wanted to be of help. Phainon was fighting his own battle for the world he loved, you couldn’t just sit still and watch his efforts withered away. If you couldn’t help them conquer the sky, you’d surely maintain the ground.
The chaos of the fall of Amphoreus swept you by your feet. You were running endlessly, shouting louder than your vocal cords had ever exhaled. “We will hold the black tide here, go meet Phainon by the fountain.” The tribios said, the sight of their back that was so small had been pillars to the city for centuries. You nodded frantically, just as the Tribios wished, you had to ensure Phainon and the rest surrendered the last coreflame safely, as a means to end the raging black tide.
By the time you had exhausted all of your strength to arrive at the Vortex of Genesis, you saw Phainon with the trailblazer. Alongside, there was Lygus standing a few steps behind. The core of the sky titan floated on top of the fountain, emitting a faint ray of light. You exhaled a breath of relief, the first breath of peace amidst the heaviness that had submerged Amphoreus today,
That single breath alerted the others of your presence. Lygus in particular, chuckled cordially, the expression he was emitting contrary to the mechanical and calculated look on his face. Lygus out of everyone, had always been an enigma, not the kind of enigma like professor Anaxa — Lygus felt dangerous. He was a schemer, one whose motive was a mystery.
“You’re here this time.” Lygus began, his words right off the bat did not make any sense. “For such an insignificant byproduct of the scepter, you twisted yourself into NeiKos496 equation rather often. It is quite a desolate sight to see everytime.” The man was talking in jitters and garbage, one that he seemed to delight himself into. For every time Lygus intended to convey a point, he always made his point extremely difficult to be understood, often resorting to big languages and complex wordings. You thought he did that to appear far more eloquent and intelligent. This time though, his wordings struck you more than odd.
Before the question could materialize from your lips, your eyes met Phainon’s. Your eyes wrinkled, condensation of tears threatened to form as you felt the heat rush to your face. “What a tragic sight.” Lygus commented, a series of darkness materialized behind him, and before you could warn anyone else, the sight of Lygus' head rolling down the floor drained the emotions on your face, leaving only paleness and terror as the rumored Flame reaver emerged from the darkness.
“So in the end, you succeeded… Executioner.” Phainon materialized Dawnmaker out of thin air, his grip on the sword tight when faced against his sworn enemy. The Executioner Phainon had mentioned was a being clad in a purplish hue of darkness, a strange resemblance to the black tide. When the Executioner inched closer to where you stood, your knees trembled, the minimal strength you had left faded into nothingness against the Executioner’s imposing presence.
You had heard of stories, how the Executioner’s had best the demigods. Of how his strength was superior to dozens of demigods all combined together. Even as the Executioner stood silently, only a step away from where you were, you couldn’t dare bring your gaze upwards. His presence was heavy, stifling, incredibly powerful. It was the kind of presence that commanded the air of the room itself.
Hence, you hadn’t expected the Executioner’s next course of action. You had braced yourself to share the same fate as Lygus, teeth all gritted. Instead, a chilling coldness sent shivers down your spine, the source of said coldness was from the Executioner’s hand which had cupped your cheek. His glacial fingers traced the pooled up tears away from your eyes, and it traveled to the back of your ears — the one known as the Flame Reaver rubbed at the mole positioned behind your ears.
Only when Phainon had charged at him did the man finally tore his touch away from you. The prickly crisp of cold lingered, you had been too afraid to see, too afraid to look upwards at the one who had taken the lives of your friends. “Wait.” Your voice was weak, drowned out by raging clashes of the metal swords.
“Phainon!” You yelled, hoping for a brief respite from the fight. If what Lygus rambled had any sense of truth in it, If there were dozens of past lives before the current one, If moles were an imprint of past lovers. You had to stop them.
Deep in the clashes, not even the yell of his name could bring him back to the present. Even so, you had to keep trying. You sucked in a breath, larger than any you had taken before. Your throat had been hoarse from all of the screaming, all of the crying, and all of the pretense to be strong against the black tide — any more scream and you’d think your vocal cord would cease its function, yet Phainon had to know. If what you hypothesized was true, it could change everything. “Khaslana!”
At the same time, Phainon had driven the tip of his blade into the Executioner’s body, penetrating the rotting flesh deeper. The Executioner had been the one to first heed your yell, with his mask crumbled away, revealing a graying image of Phainon who bleed a dark purple instead of gold like the usual demigods.
“Why not… let wrath… incinerate fate…?” The Executioner summoned his weapon into Phainon’s hold, urging the white-hair man who was bound by the fate of the deliverer to deliver the last plunge.
“Khaslana, no!” You ran, tripping on your own steps, having fallen yet still attempting to rise before the irrefutable happened.
Phainon plunged a final blow towards the Flame Reaver, as urged by it himself. A burst of purple exploded from the body of the Flame Reaver sending the trailblazer and you likewise flying away from the impact. Your body rolled into the ground with a thud, the impact was loud, few bones might have broken from the damage of the roll, however, you were still alive. As you regained your sight from the previous gush of purple, you noticed that your fingers were now semi-transparent.
“Are you guys okay?!” Phainon’s roar resounded across the room, sending ripples towards the stagnant water by the fountain. You couldn’t find your voice, even as you parted your lips, you could not speak a word. What started from your fingers slowly invaded your whole body, parts of your body glitched between invisibility and tangibility.
Having momentarily broken free from the Flame Reaver, Phainon with all of his strength crawled to where you lay. His attempt to hold you fell to the wind, his touches could not reach you and fear overran his system for once, the hope he had carried all this time scattered like the lives he had failed to protect. “Not you too, please. I can’t lose you.” Phainon’s movement turned hysterical, his hands trying to grasp at yours, intending to hold your semi-corporeal figure before it faded away. Repeatedly, no matter how many times his touch slid away from your skin, he’d obsessively try to tether a part of you to his hold to prevent your disappearance.
Tears rushed down his cyan eyes, the wetness dampened his cheeks, with rivulets streaming down uncontrollably. “There’s no tomorrow without you, stay with me, I beg of you, to any gods or titans out there. Don’t take her away from me.”
Regardless of his plea, your body faded into dust of starlight. Phainon grappled at the dust, hoping to collect the light that was once you, into his arms. For him to hold, for him to bask in, for him to remember — that your warmth was with him until the very end.
“Haven’t you taken enough?!” Faintly, though no longer corporeal or with a form, you could hear the fury reverberating from Phainon’s scream. Next time, I’ll find you Khaslana. And that was the last of your consciousness.
_The True Final Cycle_
“My wish is to fulfill everyone else’s wishes.” In a field of wheat, you could see a boy running around, his white hair rustled alongside the sway of the wind. As you inched closer, the sight of said field seemed to be pulled away in a lengthened perspective, even as you ran or closed the distance, that scene was still out of reach. The little boy’s words reverberated, something about him fulfilling everyone’s wishes, a small chuckle accompanied his naive wishes every time.
Your vision distorted then, showing signs of decay with colorful purple and green lines blurring along the view of the field. And every time you sought your hand out, to hold the boy’s hands, to bring him along with you — you jolted awake, sweat breaking from your forehead.
“That dream again…” You murmured, chugging the cup of water resting by your bedside in a hurry. The taste of the water was cooling, and mildly refreshing from the dream that had made you sweat buckets. It was odd, truly, it wasn’t the kind of dream where you had to fight for your life, or a dream where you were chased by your biggest fear, yet your heart ached all the same.
Briefly, you glanced upon the view of Okhema from the gigantic balcony of your room. From afar the sky had been dark with clouds that had not moved for years, yet you knew better that once you got close, you’d be able to see the pixels that made up the fake sky people of Okhema lived under. There was no holy city no more, only cities made up of static electricity flowing instead of stream of water, only cities with twilight as its default — sure the black tide had completely frozen over, but so had their livelihood. Were there any differences between living and dying now?
For years, the citizens of Amphoreus had been waiting. The Chrysos heirs, those who had undertaken the titan’s core, had told them of The Deliverer. Of how in order to fully save Amphoreus from the wicked scheme of Lygus who was now sealed in the Exomyth, they must all wait for The Deliverer. Therefore, all of the citizens chose to live in decay, choosing to place a bet on The Deliverer they had yet to see.
The Deliverer. When the world came to a doom, everyone had become religious, seeking for a higher entity to wash the world anew, hoping that the figure called The Deliverer would bestow their presence as soon as possible. The title was familiar on your tongue, the words danced a tune of old times, however there were no memories to recall, all you knew was this stagnant world awaiting the end of times.
Therefore when the trailblazer appeared — when the one the heirs had called as the Deliverer made their return to Amphoreus, it wasn’t quite what you imagined. They weren't quite the same as the image conjectured in your mind. However, to them, you must have looked questionable. Your memories were equally muddled, pieces of your yesterdays had been all jumbled up. One day, you first saw The Deliverer make their appearance. And now, you were together with them in this area that looked like a massive desert.
“Did she follow us all the way here?” March whispered, if that was the case Dan Heng would have noticed from the get-go. But no, to them you materialized out of thin air, an anomaly within the anomaly they found themselves entangled in.
“I… was on my bed just now, I swear!” You fumbled around, the words escaping your lips were unbelievable and it felt like excuses but the other girl with pink hair, who for some reason, you had this inkling that you had met her before, she simply giggled. The sound of her laughter carried upon the wind, a sweet melody in the midst of chaos.
“Just like us, she’s breaking away from her own set of equations. Except, it was to find Khaslana. It truly is the romantic ending he deserved.” Cyrene stared at you for longer than what was comfortable, it was rare for her to get to meet you in the hundreds of thousands cycles. For Cyrene had always met her demise before you appeared in their lives, with an exception of the very first cycle. It was like meeting an old friend, one who used to share her prized possession, idle gossip, and finest tea with.
“Khaslana? Who’s that?”
“Follow us will you? We’re on the way to meeting him.” The band of people disregarded your confusion, they were speaking in terminologies that were hard to follow, and you were swept in the current they were flowing in. As you traveled alongside them, you saw how they met the other heirs on their way, conversing with the heirs naturally — as if they had known each other for ages. No, in fact, even the woman who called herself Cyrene spoke to you as if she had known who you were.
The moment Cyrene shot at the familiar statue, all of you were entirely transported to a world full of red and darkness. There were stairs leading up to a gigantic space. Being in this area was different, a sense of wrongness filled your body — you instinctively knew it then, this was not a place a person like you were meant to be at. Gravity was crushing you down, each step you took was heavier than the previous. You looked at the others, at the ease in which their feet climbed those stairs.
Whatever place this was, it had denied your presence. Therefore you knew, it wouldn’t take long for you to be erased from this place which you were not privy to. Albeit, as you powered beyond the stairs, a familiar face soothed away all the falsehood and sense of wrongness which shrouded your mind. Yes, every step was still equally weighted. Equally tiring, and equally chirping away at the force which tethered your life. However, your body disobey the rationality which bounded your mind.
“Khaslana.” The name Cyrene had once mentioned poured away. You didn’t know where the unfounded certainty came from — you knew him. He was the boy from your dream, the boy who had only wanted the wishes of everyone he loved to be granted.
“You… just how… you’re not supposed to be here.” The white-hair man's eyes darted on your figure, he rubbed his eyes harshly with his fingers, thinking it was a ploy of destruction to mess with his mind. But you hadn’t disappeared, you were still there right in front of his eyes. He knew it could be a mirage, a deception made to weaken his resolve. However, he found himself running towards you, arms already extended — Khaslana was always ready to be the place where you fall into. And fall you did.
The moment your skin touched, surge of electricity traversed down your spine and hundreds thousands years of memories, an uncountable amount of kisses, the reliable back of the man who had always swore to protect you, it all flowed into your mind, not intrusively — never intrusively, it was centuries worth of precious and warm memories of your beloved. The memories welcomed you like a cozy hug and a warm cup of chocolate milk, as if you’re home after years of travel.
Khaslana on the other hand squeezed your shoulders tight under the giant engulfment others would categorize as a hug. He’d brush the hair that was obscuring your face away ever so tenderly before planting a gentle peck on the crown of your head. All while you were in his embrace. As your memory returned to you in steady waves, you found your arms wrapped on his neck, Khaslana’s hand tight on your waist and into your back — a silent promise of never letting you slip from his fingers anymore.
“Words cannot begin to describe how much I’ve missed this. How much I’ve missed you. Us. Living has been an agony without you.” Khaslana’s dependable back had always been firm, like a wall that was made to protect for eternity. You knew how much of a facade that was, therefore when he trembled in your hug, when his breathing turned uneven and jagged, you knew your lover had been through hell and back.
“Thank you for being strong, thank you for carrying the world as its sun, thank you for keeping me here.” You whispered back to him, a soft lean of your head nudged against the area of his chest. “In your heart.”
“Not even destruction or death can erase memories of you.” Truth was, you were the main variable which had held Phainon together. Even as he burnt away his body to challenge the Aeon of destruction, even as he held the world of Amphoreus together to buy time for the trailblazers, there was not a single second where thoughts of you did not cross his mind. He had done it all to promise a tomorrow for you. A tomorrow where you’d be by each other's side.
“I found you this time.” You chuckled, faintly remembering the promise you had set upon yourself when you discovered the Flame Reaver’s identity.
“And I’ll find you next time.” Phainon rested his forehead on yours, a glimmer of light emitted from both of your bodies, it was similar to when you had disappeared back then in the Vortex. However, there was no fear and no regret which accompanied.
“Khaslana, may the new dawn bring you back to me.”
He nuzzled the tip of your nose together, though the senses they could feel had been overwritten by the system intending to erase their existence — Khaslana had done it enough to memorize the warmth of your touch, and the intimacy of his actions. He was prepared this time, to step forward from the today and the past he had been stuck in all this time.
“See you tomorrow.”
_As We’ve Written_
“Wait, we can’t close the book yet.” Cyrene chided the trailblazer who had held the quill for what seemed to be forever.
“We’re missing someone right.” The trailblazer agreed, just a single look from Cyrene was enough to make them understand her intention.
The two pondered for a while, their memories of Khaslana and you were of an unprecedented amount. Wherever you went, he was there, and likewise. Cyrene contemplated on writing about how Khaslana had rehearsed his confession for the million times, to the extent where Professor Anaxagoras had accidentally walked in on the shameful sight of his renowned student with a bouquet in hand.
After a while, Cyrene and the trailblazer settled on a single paragraph. One that perfectly encapsulated the nature of their two friends. Cyrene’s lips curved upwards, seemingly satisfied by the words they had written.
“Khaslana and her were always meant to find one another. Isn’t this the perfect page to end our romantic story?”
“It sure is.” With a heavy heart, the trailblazer closed the book, leaving the quill which had marked down the existence of amphoreus behind.
"Every Chrysos heirs knew of their dear Khaslana’s newly forged relationship which he had tried to keep hidden. It was as transparent as the day, Cipher noted that the boy required additional lessons in trickery. Mydei and Castorice noticed how their friend’s face had gleamed radiantly, the steps of his feet so light that the Tribios worried about how Khaslana could fly off the ground. Despite their knowledge, their curiosity was not sated. Therefore with Aglaea’s aid, they were all now hiding behind the gigantic marble pillars on the groove of epiphany. Altogether, they witnessed how Khaslana had laid upon the grass with you resting on top of him. You were sleeping soundly as accompanied by Khaslana’s racing heartbeat and beet red ears. Not noticing the presence of others, Khaslana began to chatter, singing praises of how much he found you to be precious. Quite notably, he had called you the sun which illuminated his life. And the blessing of his heart. And the one who had granted him boundless courage to coarse through the flame-chasing journey. The heirs noted that it was the happiest they had seen Khaslana yet, his face was radiant with palpable joy."
Like many said, losses are a constant on a Flame-chase journey. But even if all is lost to the wind, memory endures.
A/n: It wasn't meant to be long but enjoy this raw unedited first draft! Reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated 𑣲⋆
Summary: Gojo Satoru was the epitome of grandiose, dramatic by nature. Even in love, he had primly stick with his value of grandiosity, thus when you doubted his love, he quite literally malfunctioned.
Vibes: Fluff, established relationship, rich Satoru, lovesick Satoru, simp satoru.
Wordcount: 1.4k words
“I don’t think you love me anymore.” Gojo Satoru dropped the cone of ice cream he held on his hand, the remaining melting pudge of vanilla softserve sputtered to the ground, bits of the custard-like sweetness stained his leather shoes. Satoru glanced sideway, then downwards, ensuring he wasn’t looking only at the scalp of your head. He stared at his lover’s solemn eyes — those eyes seemed adrift, despite how your hands were firmly entangled in his left arm.
Satoru gently slipped away from your hold to pick up the fallen cone, he missed the frown that was plastered on your face for the second time today. The man with snow-white hair was bent down in the middle of the mall, mid-road, digging into his pocket for some tissue to fix the mess in front of him. Fortunately, the trash bin wasn’t far away and Gojo was swift with the clean-up. The man arrived back to your side, fingers sticky from the bunch of tissues he had used to wipe the fallen cream, yet his eyes noticed how you were mindlessly scrolling through your phone.
“Babe, can I have a wet wipe?” Satoru’s focus on you was unbreakable, he observed the way your ears had perked up upon his request, on how your fingers had momentarily halted, hanging upon the screen before furiously scrolling downwards. You on the other hand had your back upon the guardrail, true to your lover’s observation, the obsessive scrolling you were exhibiting was just a means to pass time, a means to ignore the lover you would never be able to fully shut out.
“Are you displeased by something?” Satoru questioned, he fought the urge to tuck the baby hair that was threatening to obscure your gorgeous orbs. Nevermind, his hand was still dirty from before. But gods, Satoru could never have enough of you — utterly and devastatingly lovely, and all his.
“Like I said,” you began, huffing a hefty sigh from your lover’s lack of perception, “I don’t think you love me anymore.” Your phone was now tuck inside your shoulder bag, and your arms were crossed upon your chest, eyes staring straight at your beguiled lover. The tension on the air was palpable with strangers who passed by whispering in hushed tones, connecting the dots between both of your body languages and deriving their own theories on what happened.
Satoru attempted to clear the air with a chuckle that sounded awkward even to you, almost as if the voice Gojo had to drag out from his throat came out cracked — as if he himself who had dubbed himself as the strongest was trying to feign strength. “Which bastard plant such an outrageous idea in your mind baby?” He’d kill them, genuinely. This was why he had wanted you to stop hanging out with Mei Mei and those zenin folks, clearly they weren’t a good influence.
“You’re the bastard!” You exclaimed, there’s no way this was the same Satoru who would notice whenever your breathing was a slight off from normal — yes, the Satoru you fell for was an overly protective man under the guise of a palace jester, a fool for love who would go as far as count the inhales and exhales of your breaths. “I told you that we’re here to try out those famous dubai chewy cookie, and what did you say?!”
Satoru’s face perked up, slowly the memory of the two of you visiting a bakery inside of said mall resurfaced. You had been sending him a bunch of reels of this hideous thing called dubai chewy cookie, and Satoru knew well enough now that this meant the bakery would be on one of the both of your designated date spots. Thus, as a boyfriend who was a fool for his baby, Satoru took the liberty to drive himself to the mall even before it was opened to reserve a few pieces for you. Normally, that would not have been possible, after all what bakery would allow reservation for an item especially when it was selling like hotcakes? They certainly would when faced with a Gojo Satoru who was paying ten times the price they were offering.
It all sounded perfect, there was nothing for you to hate. You had been sullen when the two of you arrived later in the afternoon and you found that the item you had been vying for was sold out and wouldn’t be going for restock for the day. Thus, when the waitress had served a dozens of said dessert to your table, you had been overjoyed, eyes flickering between the dessert and the big smirk your boyfriend had plastered upon his face. Everything was pure bliss and heaven. At least until Satoru had accidentally said the word every boyfriend should come to fear.
“My little munchkins, look at those cheeks.” Satoru playfully squeezed your cheek that was full of dubai chewy cookie, he absolutely adored you to death, a small part of him was thinking of purchasing the entire bakery at this moment. “What happened to dieting?” Your mouth stopped chewing as soon as the forbidden word spilled, the taste of the chocolate powder and crunchy kunafa coated with pistachio paste turned stale in your mouth. Afterwards, you had spent the next hour giving the minimal reaction possible to everything your boyfriend said.
All of the pieces fell in its place and Satoru’s head finally clicked with clarity. “Is it due to the diet comment?” Satoru witnessed the dilations of your pupil, how your sight was now casted on the ground instead of him — the accomplished and ever-so-rich man felt a punch land straight on his gut when you had chosen to fixate your eyes on the ground instead of himself.
“Baby, I was thoughtless. It was supposed to be a tease.” Satoru used the back of his palm, the side that was clean from cleaning up the residue of the tragic fall of his ice cream, to delicately lift your chin upwards, that way he’d be truly looking at you.
Your ear was beet red, and the redness seemed to crawl all the way down to your neck, Satoru could see how your eyes had turned glossy, much like a glass window with streaked of rain. “I know that! But what happened afterwards was worse, you didn’t notice that I was feeling down due to it. It took you hours!” Contrary to the tears attempting to brim and cloud your eyes, you kept the lid of your eyes firmly opened, refusing to yield to the droplets intending to cascade.
“I’m a thoughtless fool, but I am your fool. So, please find it in your big and wonderfully gorgeous heart to forgive me, my darling.” It would be easy to be anxious, to be full of hate or negative emotions if Gojo Satoru was like any other normal men you had dated before. Maybe it was the way he had never truly fit the word normal, or the way he had always go above and beyond for you — his words were believable because Gojo Satoru always owned up to what he said.
“My forgiveness is costly.” You mumbled, the last shred of pettiness and anger dissipated the moment Satoru opened his arms for you to fall into. He was still careful with his dirty fingers, hoping it wouldn’t stain your favorite top.
“Nothing is ever too costly to me when it comes to you, my beloved.” Gojo said, his lips kissing the top crown of your head, peppering down kisses on your hairline — one of his dozens of favorite thing he would always do to you.
“You know this mean hours of shopping.”
“My greatest pleasure surely.” Despite how many times Satoru had said that he’d always make more money than you can spend in seconds, you had always been hesitant to spend in large amounts — contrary to the big and spoiled words you’d always say. It was about time for Satoru to show you how far his love flowed and how far his wealth piled for you alone.
Satoru relaxed his cheeks into your hair, evidently squishing his face onto your height, still wishing you’d hand him those wet wipes so that he could finally held you properly in his arms but regardless, the white-hair men settled with a simple word he must have forgotten to say today.“I love you.”
The next day, Gojo Satoru’s face headlined the article. The rich Gojo heir had just bought a dozens of bakery who all specialized in dubai chewy cookie.
A/n: Hope you guys enjoyed this short one! Reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated 𑣲⋆
Summary: In which professional volleyball player Ushijima met his neighbor and ultimately saved you from a zombie attack. With your keys dropped outside, eventually Ushijima offered for you to stay.
Vibes: Zombie AU/Apocalypse(?), Pro Athlete Ushijima, tendou mentioned, reader is slightly chaotic, fluff, Ushijima childhood mentioned.
Wordcount: 3.1k words (this was supposed to be a short drabble...)
Ushijima Wakatoshi was a world-class volleyball player, known for the absolute monster of a spike which had devastated far more defenders on the opposing teams. Not only that but the notorious and unique counter-clockwise rotation of his attack due to his left-handed disposition only enhanced the man’s prestige and value as a professional opposite-hitter. Some would argue that Wakatoshi was born to be a genius of an athlete — his genes, towering tall at 192.7cm, facilitated him with a huge headstart at the world of sports. Yet, Wakatoshi’s passion didn’t start out because he wanted to be the best. He came to love volleyball through stories from his father.
He faintly remembered his childhood — how his father had first brought a volleyball and leaned it against his left hand. How the ball had rolled around the traditional wooden tiles of their house. And how the younger him would chase after the ball, steps faltering and eventually stumbling over the dampness of the recently mopped floor. His grandmother would proceed to chide his father and Wakatoshi likewise for the improper behavior they both were exhibiting.
However, the two, three, if you counted the ever so present volley ball, would always find themselves continuing their little charade elsewhere. He came to love volleyball because it was the evidence, the proof, and the trails of the bond he had shared with his father. And it lived on. Even as the divorce had been formally recognized, even when his grandmother and mother had attempted to erase his left-handed habits. He loved volleyball because it was a channel that destroyed the prejudice of imperfection imposed upon him by his mother’s side of the family. He loved how volleyball gave new meanings to his unique predisposition, how the weakness viewed by everyone else had always been his distinctive strength. Therefore, he held eternal gratitude for how his father had practically handed him the sport since he was young.
Now and then, Wakatoshi was the same as always. The discipline his father had ingrained in him was now a subconscious process in Wakatoshi’s mind. Perhaps it had started out as a small lie due to how Wakatoshi had avoided paprika — in his childhood, he often singled out the vegetables to the corner of his plate. He recalled how his father mentioned that the ace players in volleyball teams would always eat their vegetables, and that was how they gained strength to grow tall and build stamina to last the entire game. He believed his father, and for the first time, he picked up the vegetables with his chopstick, his nose scrunched up from the stench, but a younger Wakatoshi ate all the paprika served that day.
As an adult, he understood that food was a form of fuel to optimize his performance. The understanding led Wakatoshi to built his entire life routine to foster a body that could handle the apex of his full strength, a body that could keep up with the sportsmanship he aimed to exceed.
Wakatoshi had some non-negotiables. In the early crack of dawn, regardless of the season or weather, he’d always be up and running, jogging for a minimum of 10km daily. A simple but heavily calculated breakfast would follow, Wakatoshi’s plates would consist of ample protein, dietary fibre, and just the right amount of carbohydrates. He’d never forget to hydrate himself with enough water throughout the day. Wakatoshi could be sweating his entire body out during his regular muscle exercises or volley training and his second thought would forever be that he need his water, the first thought being how his performance had fared.
The routine existed both on and off season to provide consistency to his career. Wakatoshi firmly believed that his everyday effort would bear fruits in terms of uniformity. As a consequence, he rarely strayed away from the schedules of his days. Tendou used to find it easy to pinpoint Wakatoshi’s whereabout due to his unwavering loyalty towards his set of routines. Of all things which could infringe chaos upon his peaceful pattern of living, Wakatoshi never thought a zombie outbreak would be it.
Here he was, the tautness of his calf muscle went on overtime. Wakatoshi was running from a pool of zombie which had suddenly decided that the 1.9m metre hulking man would be a feast to end their incessant hunger. His grip on the plastic bag from the supermarket he had just went to for grocery tightened, Wakatoshi fought against the resistance of wind itself while he sprinted to his apartment complex. Fortunately, the supermarket had been close to the new apartment he moved into last month. As Wakatoshi arrived, he bolted to the emergency stairs, running past a few security guards who had been zombified themselves.
Praise the lord for the fact that he was a professional athlete. Wakatoshi easily skipped over 3 staircases in a step due to his excessively long limbs. In no time at all, he had made himself onto the 16th floor of the apartment. Wakatoshi gently turned the knob of the emergency door sideways, the sight of the 16th floor unveiled itself with a click. Blood painted over the white corridor Wakatoshi had passed by everyday, he kept his eyes steady while deriving information from the surrounding — much like how he’d do on court. There were few bodies slumped on the ground, the trails of blood suggested that the bodies had been the source of it. Wakatoshi was careful, even as he went forward, he’d check for any twitch from the bodies. If the current situation was like those apocalypse movies he had binged with Tendou, at any moment now, the bodies could undergo the transformation to be a zombie.
A shrill shriek broke the laser focus he had maintained. Wakatoshi’s head snapped towards the direction of the sound and he broke into a sprint, running all the way down the hall before making a sharp turn to the right, it was where his apartment was located too. Wakatoshi ran pass the door to his apartment, he saw the unfamiliar key that had fallen few steps away from the entrance to his cozy home, and he heard the unmistaken growl of the zombie.
He saw you then, the neighbor he had seen in passing few times now, with a fire extinguisher on your hand, desperately waving it around to stop the sole zombie from getting any closer. Wakatoshi operated on instinct, he leaped himself into the momentum of a charging bull, “Step aside!” was his only warning, he had hoped you’d listen or at least caught sight of what he was attempting to do. With the sheer power of his strength, guided by the momentum of his run, Wakatoshi slammed his shoulder to the back of the zombie. The zombie was blasted away upon contact with the man who had weighted 90kg, it bought Wakatoshi enough time to yank your wrist and pull you away.
You on the other hand, hadn’t registered what just happened. All you had wanted after an exhausting day of work was a warm shower, eating chinese takeouts, and sleeping in your cozy bed. Who would have guessed you’d be chased by a zombie all the way to the 16th floor. You had fumbled upon your keys, the panic messed with your breathing, and your fingers trembled unconsciously. For some reason, you couldn’t insert the key well and as the zombie itched closer, the key fell from your hold. The rest of the event had gone by in a blur, you had looked for any sort of weapon but all that your eyes laid on was the fire extinguisher. And a man sound broke through the sweats of keeping the zombie away from yourself. Now, you were pulled away by this stranger, mind still dazed from whatever in the dystopian had happened to the world.
Wakatoshi punched in the passcode to his door, effectively unlocking it with ease and rushing inside the safety of his home with you in his hold. The door locked itself with a beep and Wakatoshi heard a soft exhale. He immediately released the hold he had on you, a sense of worry climbed at him when he saw the redness that had marred your wrist. “Are you alright?” Wakatoshi asked, the plastic he had held so tightly fell to the ground of his floor as he inspected you for any signs of hurt.
“The world truly has gone to shit.” You cursed, Wakatoshi flinched at the sudden profanity. You dropped the fire extinguisher you had clung into, your body effective gave up, melting to the ground alongside with the item. Your back leaned upon Wakatoshi’s shoe rack, noting an unhealthy amount of sports sneakers on display.
“Thanks for earlier, I would have died then if not for you.”
“No worries, are you sure you’re alright?” Wakatoshi slipped the sneakers of his feet, squating down to place them on an empty section of the rack. He met you on eye level, a surge of relief passed through him due to your pristine condition, no signs of injury in sight. Your cursing surely meant that you were still energetic enough, still brimming with life.
“Yeah, as good as one can be.” You mumbled, fingers now raking upon the scalp of your head. You were sure that you had met this man before, but when and where were the missing pieces of puzzles your brain couldn’t fill out. “Have I… met you before?”
“My name is Ushijima Wakatoshi, we live next to each other.” He extended his palm out, and you stared at it for a while before sighing and accepting the man’s help once more. As if you weighed like a feather, the man hoisted you and himself up.
“We always rode the same lift in the morning.” You weren’t the most perceptive person to ever live on earth but you had thought that you weren’t the most dense either. For all the years you had stayed in this apartment, you had never met anyone who looked as good as him. Scratch that, you would remember a face like his! So how come, you couldn’t even find a trace of him in your memory? Had work been burning you out too much that you would even miss the existence of such a handsome treat?
Mouth agape, Wakatoshi could see that whatever he said wasn’t ringing the bell in your little mind. You knitted your lips together, pursuing them as you tried to recall whether anyone was with you on the lift every morning. The morning rush was tedious, every working adult on the apartment would crowd the lift at the exact same hour, therefore you couldn’t exactly remember everyone’s faces. You do remembered a hulking presence looming behind your back but that was it.
You evaded your gaze from the man, his hands still lingered on yours momentarily before the warmth of the touch was all that remained. Wakatoshi bent to pick up the plastic of groceries he had dropped earlier before walking further into his home. His apartment smelled like it was freshly painted, the stench of the chemical that loitered would come in whiffs. He clicked the switch located on the wall, and lights flickered altogether, illuminating the fairly humble and traditional design of his apartment. He had let the designer do as they pleased, only leaving them with the prompt of a traditional japanese ryokan as reference.
The sections of his apartment like the kitchen and the living room were separated by shoji — a grid-like divider which consisted of white screen made of plant fibers and wooden frames in brown. It was a stark to your entirely chic modern house which hosted only either black or white color furnitures. Right, speaking about your apartment next door, you dug your hands into your pocket — searching for the piece of metal you held on your hand previously.
“Fuck, my keys are outside.” You grumbled, both palms now slapped onto your face in exasperation. With the amount of bodies outside, any of them could turn into another zombie and soon there’d be a horde outside.
“You can stay here for as long as you need.” You heard Wakatoshi said, his figure no longer visible from where you stood. Beyond the turmoil brewing inside yourself, Wakatoshi made his way into the kitchen. He swiftly counted his supplies and made an estimate of how long the two of you would last — fortunately for him, he had just received a delivery from his father yesterday. If he decided to lower his intake, the supplies he had now should last quite a while.
“Appreciate the offer but with how close our balcony are, do you think I could just jump over?” Your eyes zeroed in on the balcony across from the kitchen where Wakatoshi was, slowly making your way towards sliding door of his balcony, a stark difference towards your glass door.
Wakatoshi stopped doing all of the maths he had been doing on his head. His eyes flew to scan where you were, irises contracting at how close you were to the balcony. He was pretty sure that there was at least a 4 metre distance from his balcony to yours, no way were you making that jump. Not on his watch.
“It isn’t wise, are your balcony locked?” Wakatoshi questioned, bridging the distance between the two of you just as quickly as how the ridiculous idea had popped into your head.
“It might or might not be.”
“Stay.” The man said. Any normal person would have hated how you had increased their stress level in the midst of an ongoing apocalypse — pretty sure they’d regret ever saving you as well. Luckily, or in your unfortunate case, Wakatoshi always deterred from normalcy. He said it because staying guaranteed your safety. You were after all the neighbor who had endlessly fascinated him.
You soon realized that the man who was named Ushijima Wakatoshi was akin to an old tree, firmly rooted on its ground, roots protruding to the surface from its sheer maturity. He was firm, unshakeable, and undeniably a pillar of security. You had thrown a thousand reasons of why you had to make that jump over your own balcony. It ranged from logical reasonings like having surpluses food supplies to share with him to illogical reasonings like needing your skincare and shampoo. To that absolute nonsense, Wakatoshi had handed you a box full of skincare which he had gotten as PR from brands.
“What are you? An influencer of some sort?” You scoffed, hands scrambling around the gigantic box of luxurious skincare you which could amount to your quarterly salary.
“I’m a professional volleyball player.” Wakatoshi answered, all while stirring the leftover sauce of Hayashi rice he had sitting on his fridge. Wakatoshi stirred in a clockwise motion around the pot, the normal-sized spatula he used looked all too small in his hand.
You thought male athletes all had this terrible misconception of their own importance, an inflated self-esteem and ego, as one would say. However, Wakatoshi made you dinner and even drew you a warm tub of water for shower. The man might have a staggering build but his heart was undoubtedly soft and of the nicest intention. The kind of guy who wouldn’t leave a struggling person behind — and you had seen enough apocalypse movies to know that Wakatoshi was the exact kind of guy people would take advantage of and left to die.
Fresh out of shower, Wakatoshi guided you around his simple room which consisted of a built-in wardrobe, a king-sized bed, and desks by each side of the bed. He had given you one of his comfortable pajamas to wear. The shirt alone had almost reached your knees, the length was staggering and the pants were sliding off with every step you took. You had to manually anchor the pajamas together by hand to appear appropriate, not wanting to flash your savior.
“You can take the bed. I’ll be sleeping in the couch outside if you need me.”
Your protest went unheard as Wakatoshi walked away. His strides were wide and every steps of his were quick, you gripped onto the hem of his top before he would be out of reach. He had saved you from a zombie, had given you a place to stay, fed you with amazing food, and now offered his bed for your comfort. You knew he wouldn’t take no for an answer with how steadfastly stubborn he was, therefore although reluctant, you had decided to accept his graciousness. Still, you had to let him know the words that uncomfortably tingled your throat, itching to be materialized.
“You know, I’d actually like to get to know you better under normal circumstances.”
Wakatoshi’s lips curved slightly into a thin smile. Your grip on the man went slack the moment the words escaped your lips.
“Me too.”
You didn’t know whether he was being polite with his response however you’d take it, along with the little smile which had graced his features — he should smile more, you think it looked wonderful on him. Wakatoshi murmured a goodnight as he strided out of his bedroom, leaving the room that was his to your needs.
You wouldn’t have known it but Wakatoshi had noticed your presence for a while now. It started with small gestures of kindness, how you had intentionally pressed the lift button to wait for him, how you’d feed stray cats and dogs around the area, how you’d return a parcel of his you had accidentally taken with a long apology note. And then he caught glimpse of how candid you were, how you were quick to stand your own ground and defend others like that one time in which a security guard had been blamed for simply doing their duty by a resident.
You could go as far as say that he was haunted by your presence, thoughts of running into you, finally introducing himself to you — he had thought of it as a dream far too gone. You were interesting, every layers he had seen were somewhat different but it all explicably felt like you. Undeniably kind, undeniably fiery, undeniably irresistable. Wakatoshi found himself drawn to you. He’d keep you safe for as long as you allowed him to.
He wouldn't have known it either, but you had resolute to keeping Wakatoshi away from no-good individuals who would guilt trip him into being a self-sacrificing hero.
And that was the start of your many days with Ushijima Wakatoshi.
A/n: I only wrote this bcs I was distracted... and in under 2 hours too. It's a rushed work supposed to be a drabble but, enjoy! Reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated ‹𝟹
Summary: Jing Yuan, otherwise known as the dozing general, wouldn't have imagined meeting you — someone pretending to be infatuated with him, on his casual stroll. What started out as a friendship dressed in comfort soon evolved further until the news of his marriage shook the Xianzhou fleet. Essentially, married and domestic Jing Yuan.
Vibes: Found family (+ Yanqing!), hurt/comfort, fluff
Wordcount: 5.5k
⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆ Falling like the stars - James Arthur / Sienna - The Marias
Xianzhou Luofu’s Arbiter General was a man of many names. He was called the optimistic general due to his serene and bright demeanor. At other times, he had been referred to as the divine foresight, due to his exceptional talent in utilization and analysis of military strategies. The cloud knights who had worked closely with him would occasionally address him as the dozing general — arguably the white hair man’s most prominent unofficial title, besides being the most eligible bachelor in Xianzhou Luofu.
Thus, Jing Yuan’s marriage was news that shook the whole Xianzhou’s fleet citizens awake. A majority of the unwed ladies were heartbroken that they hadn’t been the one to recite the eternal oath of marriage with the general. Whereas Jing Yuan’s direct subordinates were all ecstatic. They had seen the back of their general remain strong and steadfast centuries after centuries, it was appropriate for the general to also have somebody he could call home.
His love was rooted back to his first meeting with you — perhaps back then he hadn’t been aware that such a sliver of amusement could grow into such a vehement emotion and adornance for you. The day he met you for the very first time was a mundane day like any other. Jing Yuan had been by his desk all morning, verifying and devising preventative measures for the tranquility of Xianzhou. For every dawn that signified the start of yet a brand new day, the documents on the general’s desk always seemed to pile up taller than the day before. Halfway through the paperwork, Jing Yuan rested the quill he had signed the documents with, and rested the lid of his eyes momentarily. The knights and administrator staffs all shifted at the general’s antic — it was the start of something they had dreaded yet was prepared for everyday.
For Jing Yuan, the seat of divine foresight that was located in the exalting sanctum was a massive hall. It was massive yet there was a heaviness that made the space feel all too small. And what would be better than to enjoy a moment to stroll around nature in order to recuperate his weariness? Call it a change of view.
As he stood up, the entire room's focus shifted onto the renowned man. “General, we still have quite a few documents to review.” One of the advisors had boldly announced. It was a futile attempt to stall for Jing Yuan’s leave, after all who in Xianzhou had not heard of the infamous dozing general.
“I’ll leave that for you to review in accordance with the current protocol. As of now, there is an urgent assessment of nature I need to conduct.” The general’s subordinates simply exhaled in resignation. Despite the eloquence of his words, the sentence held a different meaning. It was Jing Yuan’s way of stating that he was off to bask in nature and feed the wild life he had grown to adore, or that it was time for a tea and a nap — both needs could be applicable simultaneously.
Jing Yuan exited the grand gate of the seat of divine foresight. A few guards stationed to guard the gate bowed at the sight of the general, Jing Yuan merely gave them a pat on their shoulder and a tiny smile. The sky was bright and particularly clear on that day, not many clouds were in sight yet the wind still managed to breeze enough comfort for the skin. It was a waste to sit and be occupied by documents all day long when the weather was such a treat. He knew just where to go — a recent favorite of his, the newly opened teahouse on Aurum Alley.
The staff of the tea house halted their movements when their gaze landed on the infamous general. In a haste, the staff led the general down to a private room which was connected to the teahouse’s very own outdoor garden. While he was on his way to the room, the sound of bickering caught his attention. Jing Yuan shortened his stride, the momentum at which his feet touched the ground was drawn out. His steps now had a linger.
He found himself fixating on the direction to which the sound came from. The intricate pattern of the traditional partition door was only partially slided, Jing Yuan took the opportunity to wander his gaze towards the source of his curiosity.
“Regardless of what my parents had said, I’ve told you from the start that I’m not interested in starting and getting into a relationship with you.” You took a few sips from the steaming cup of tea, eyelashes fluttered at the aromatic flavor and warmth that glided down your throat. The tea was delightful unlike the company you shared.
In his frequent strolls, Jing Yuan had never encountered you before. However, he recognized the man sitting across from you — the guy was a son of a reputable merchant, with a little prestige embedded in his name.
“If you could just tell me your preference, I’d try my best to accommodate myself.”
You softly exhaled, brows furrowed at the resilience of the man before you. You had told your family to stop meddling in your affair and they in return had promised that this would be the last time. Who would have predicted that they’d find a persistent guy who had ignored every rejection you had thrown at him.
Out of all the methods tested and tried, you truly didn’t want to yield to this last resort which Tingyun had advised you on. Sliding your hand over your left sleeve, you pulled out a photograph — one you had bought simply because Tingyun insisted that it was as good as an evidence to help you flee from your current admirer. She had also discounted the photograph heavily for the sake of your friendship.
“I prefer a man like the general.” You laid the image of the divine foresight out on the table filled with traditional small bites. “The general has all of the characteristics I ever desire in a man.” Call it a stereotype, nevertheless, it was true that the general infiltrated the daydreams of ladies and gentlemen alike across the Luofu fleet. According to Tingyun, everyone had a Jing-Yuan-phase before. You didn’t know what the hell that was about, but if it could bring you away from this unprecedented situation, you’d happily jump into the craze.
The man in front of you frowned, his face crestfallen for the first time. “But that’s unfair.” He wanted to say more, his mouth agape, trying to find one way in which he best the general. To no avail, the general was the epitome of picture perfect.
“Well, you did ask.”
Jing Yuan was conscious of the circulation of his pictures in the market. He was aware that a certain foxian trailed behind him on some days, a camera in her hand. In all the centuries he had lived, he however, had never been bestowed such a sight. A lady rejecting a prominent man simply because she preferred him? It was full of lies. Yet, the general’s golden hues gleamed in mirth.
You carefully stood up from the cushion, a hand on your traditional drawstring bag. When the man figured that you were about to leave, he stood up abruptly, knocking the cups of tea that sat stationarily. Water spilled across the table and you narrowed your eyes at the man.
“May this meeting be our last.” If you had stood up a second later, you would have noticed the shadow cast upon Jing Yuan’s figure which was reflected on the partition door. Meanwhile, Jing Yuan, sharp as ever, foresaw the man’s movement. The man was about to sink his claws onto your wrist the moment you took your glances off him and towards the exit.
CLACK! Jing Yuan slammed the partition door open, a courteous smile etched in his feature. As if shocked in time, the man and you were frozen altogether. The man weakly withdrew his arm to himself at the sight of the general.
“If you do not mind, may I steal the lady’s presence? I am in a terrible need for a company.” Jing Yuan held his hand out towards you. You stared at it, wondering how much the man had heard.
“Of course, g-general!” The man profusely bowed repetitively at a sharp ninety degree angle. He didn’t dare go against the general’s words. In the first place, he had never seen you or the general interact at all! He wouldn’t have known of your relationship with such a powerful individual.
You accepted Jing Yuan’s hand and you noted that it was warm. Slightly larger, yes, but also rough to the touch. Fortunately for you, Jing Yuan’s presence alone was enough to quell the man away. He stole a look at the portrait of him to which you had left on the table. “Are you not taking the picture with you?”
You chewed on the bottom of your lip, embarrassment raked up your body towards the flush of your cheek. Tingyun hadn’t mentioned that buying a picture of the general would warrant his presence.
“It is a misunderstanding, general.” Clearing your throat, you clenched at his hand tighter — a silent plea to drop the topic. Jing Yuan chuckled, the soft timbre of his voice echoed onto your ears in a ripple, as if carried by the wind themselves.
You hadn’t known him at all, and there was no way he would recognize every common citizen of no importance in the fleet. Within a while, you had assembled the pieces together. The general barged in to offer you a way out of the uncomfortable situation you were under.
“Thank you for the help, general. Although, I do have it under control.” You didn’t know whether it was the contrast between the armor he wore or the gentle nature to his silhouette, but for a while, it seemed you understood why so many maidens had fallen to a phase of infatuation with the man next to you.
“I trust you did. However, even a man like me would remain ensnared to hear such a bold confession.” Unconsciously, you squeezed his hand tighter — having realized your action a tad bit too late after you had committed the disrespect. Jing Yuan returned the deed with a light squeeze of his own, quietly leading you towards the private room reserved under his name.
The snacks he had often inquired about settled in the center of the table. He noticed the softness of your skin — in his eyes, you likely was a young lady with a sheltered upbringing, raised to be soft but lethal, compliant yet steadfast to your own standard.
“General, you’re mistaken.” He noted the redness of your cheek, the redness had diffused all the way to your ears. Something was not quite right, a tiny detail needed appropriate fixing.
“Jing Yuan.” He pronounced his name slowly, his sharp gaze locked on your lips, awaiting for his name to be tainted upon your tongue. Jing Yuan didn’t like how you had referred to him by his title all this time. Even as you vouch your admiration for him to the guy before, you had refused to call him by his name.
“Pardon?” You set your eyes on the expectant general. You had to tilt your face upwards in order to truly lock into his orbs.
You had let go of his hold, choosing to quietly settle on one of the cushions by the table. Jing Yuan hid the frown intruding his face with yet another unrecognizable smile. “I much prefer to be addressed by my name.” He settled on the opposite end of where you were sitting. Out of the sheer ridiculousness of the situation, you squinted at the general’s all too optimistic visage.
“It’s not what it seems like, Jing Yuan.” His eyelids dropped at the sprinkle of familiarity, the muscles of his face loosened. Jing Yuan leaned one arm into the table, shifting the weight of his shoulder onto said arm. He could hear you call his name all day long. There was this ease you carried yourself in, and it was contagious. It had infected him straight away, and he wasn’t sure if he’d want a cure.
“Shall we chat over tea?”
That was the day the man everyone had revered as the mighty general first became Jing Yuan to you. And it was the first of the endless tea sessions for the two of you. Sometimes, a few knights would knock on the general’s private room in the tea house, cutting the rendezvous short. Other times, the sky would lose its tinge. The vibrant orange hues melted into the color of twilight.
“Same time, next week?”
Ever so naturally, at the end of the tea party, Jing Yuan would never fail to deliver the promise of a near future. And you’d reaffirmed his promise with one of yours.
“Same time, next week.”
The Cloud knights who were often tasked to bring the general back to his office saw the way their general lips would linger on the back of your hand a second longer than what was the norm. It was no secret that the general had gotten closer to you — a sweet stranger who had coveted the general’s time and occupied his mind entirely.
Prior to knowing you, Jing Yuan had a multitude of reasons to flee from the divine foresight seat. It would either be something along the lines of performing a much needed assessment of the fleet surrounding, or to breathe in fresh air on such a fine day. Having met you, the general had grown rather brazen and complacent. To deliberately accentuate your presence in his every word, he’d always inform the nearby cloud knight of his meeting with you.
“I am off to enjoy tea with my dearest companion.” Who else would he refer to with such endearment if it weren’t you? Sure, the cloud knights may falter in terms of strength when compared with the general’s mighty force. But they weren’t blind. They could see how all encompassing the general’s thoughts of you was.
“Please return by 4, sir.” Behind the general’s back, his subordinates were already placing bets on just how long until the two finally got together.
True to their expectations, the tea o’clock that had started out spontaneously, eventually evolved into so much more. The progression started small but of significance. Initially, Jing Yuan and you would sit across one another, separated by the tiny table that felt too vast for its size. In the following weeks, Jing Yuan slowly transitioned where he sat, he’d pull the cushion over to sit adjacent to where you were, occupying half of the right angle on the table. And now, he’d always be right next to you, shoulders brushing upon one another, close enough that the sound of each other’s breath could fool for the pulse of each other’s heart.
What came after was the slip of endearments out of his tongue. Jing Yuan was deep in his nap, the fluff of his hair rested on your lap. With how often the meeting between the two of you had been, you started bringing over business proposals you were in charge of to the space you shared. You hadn’t meant to grumble that loudly, however the issues with shipment were impacting your family’s business greatly.
Jing Yuan rustled in his sleep, cuddling further into your lap before he fluttered open an eyelid. “What’s the matter, love?” You malfunctioned for the entire day. It wasn’t so much about the word itself, it was the gravity in which Jing Yuan expressed the word. His voice hoarse after the nap, an octave lower than the usual volume he spoke in — even so, the tenderness velveted in that single word was undeniable. As if he truly believed that the word love was encapsulated in the form of you.
You thought it’d be a one-time thing. That it was a fumble in his speech. Albeit, the endearment hadn’t ceased. In fact, it proliferated — so much that one day, you had accidentally used one on Jing Yuan as well.
“Yuan? I’m sorry for being terribly late, the roads around my house was blocked, and hear me out, love. Every road I went into was blocked, I had to reroute dozens of times to get here!” You exclaimed, plopping down the traditional drawstring bag to which Jing Yuan had gotten you on the wooden floor.
“My dear, would you repeat it for me to hear once more? The wind seemed to have stolen the melodies of your voice.” You looked at the man in front of you, despite spending an hour by himself, he had appeared radiant with joy. The curves of his lips were testament to the spirits of glee that had taken over his feature. The man wasn’t simply smiling with his lips, his eyes were that of a half crescent moon, the crease on the edge apparent with the rise of his cheeks.
Oh… the realization struck while you retraced back on your own words. For the remainder of the day, Jing Yuan tried his best to bait you into saying the words of endearment again. He successfully extracted another two from you that day.
Ever so naturally, the degree of your relationship with the infamous general escalated by the day. The thought of dating hadn’t even crossed Jing Yuan’s mind, he knew what the both of you had, was one for eternity. Without your knowledge, he had gotten your family’s approval and had a custom ring made of the finest jewels for you. The proposal itself wasn’t loud, it was the kind of proposal that involved more sincerity and intimacy — exactly how Jing Yuan was like.
Jing Yuan knelt down, not in the conventional way in which proposals were done. Both of his knees kissed the cold lamination of the woods, he delivered soft kisses before holding your right hand to his forehead. Jing Yuan glanced upwards, the confusion palpable in your irises.
“For all the years graced upon me, I had seen seasons pass. I had witnessed the end and birth of eras. I’ve come to know the joy of having companions in the battlefield — companions you would call family. And I have come to learn the despair of having lost it all. The passage of time may be cruel to us. However, regardless of what the future entails. I could not imagine a future where you were not there. Therefore, please do me the honor of being yours eternally.” Jing Yuan pulled out the ring he had hidden and you would have thought that today was a feverdream, until you pinched yourself on your side and the pain bit back harder than expected.
Vehemently, you nodded. Words couldn’t seem to formulate in your mind, instead you cried — tears of happiness, as others had often coined it for. Jing Yuan slipped the ring onto your finger, his strong arms already on the side of your waist, picking you up in ease and spinning you around.
Once the aftermath had briefly settled, you were now deep in his embrace. The two of you settled comfortably, with Jing Yuan resting his back on the wall of the room.
“I kind of want to be yours, like right now.” You said, it was a blurt of the moment, the rush that had run and exploded in your veins.
“The wedding will be in a few months my love, can’t you bear any longer?”
“No can do.” Jing Yuan chuckled, that impatience of yours was another quality of you that he had adored.
“Shall we register our marriage then?”
The two of you eloped that day. Your family in disbelief with how impatient you were, and also at how lenient Jing Yuan was with your demand. Despite being formally married, there were still traditional ceremonies to follow through. Both of you abided by the rest of the processes dutifully. Jing Yuan’s elopement was kept a secret with the news of the fairy tale like wedding only being officiated on the day of the wedding reception itself.
── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──
Having lasted for fifty years now, the general’s marriage was the envy of many men. Jing Yuan had heard of his subordinates' household stories, how they were scolded by their wives numerous times and how often they had fought due to menial issues. When questioned whether the general faced these ordinary issues as well, Jing Yuan simply tilted his head sideways — as if he found it hard to believe.
According to Jing Yuan, his everyday life as a married man was sweet and decadent. He had never had fights which escalated to an outrageous confrontation. Most of the time, it would be his wife expressing worry about the mission he was sent to — and that would be the extent of their crisis. Although lately, Jing Yuan had noticed something amiss from you.
While Jing Yuan had been more than content with the peace of your daily life together, there was a single factor you had dwelled upon more as of late. You wanted to expand your little family. The two of you had gotten approval to have a child from the ruling commission. Although you hadn’t been successful.
The arrival of the doctor’s letters was the final nail to the coffin. You slumped down next to the couch, hands gripped on the piece of paper, crumpling it so tight you wished the words would dissipate into falsehood. As soon as he stepped into the house he shared with the love of his life, Jing Yuan knew something was ajar. He called your name but the only sound that responded was the echo of his own.
Jing Yuan dropped the newest tea leaves he had picked up especially for you. Frantic thoughts ran into his mind as he flicked the button of lights on, his eyes searched for your figure. There you were, all slumped up, your back against the armrest of the couch, your hair covered the entirety of your face, and Jing Yuan could see the way you had both palms covering your face.
He dropped down onto his knees, hesitantly wrapping his hands on your wrist, pulling one arm at a time to unveil the state of your face. Jing Yuan softly collected your hair, tucking each strand to the side. Tears were rimmed on the edges of your eyes, the skin on your face had gotten sticky from the incessant tears, and your lips had gotten puffy, He hadn’t question why you were in such a distress, instead Jing Yuan rubbed away the tears threatening to fall yet again with his thumb, delicately tracing over your skin. He noted that your nose was red and filled with snot.
Jing Yuan turned away, intending to bring the box of tissue situated by the table to your side. You clung into the tassel he had always worn by his side. “I c-can’t give you a child, Yuan.” Jing Yuan looked at you, your lips trembled and you gasped for air, all while the tears flowed down your neck.
“All this time, it was me.” Your body heaved for air, breathing had become a struggle when snots formed on your nose and your body refused to accept the news that was now your reality. The sound of your wail for a child that would never come to be was the mighty general’s breaking point.
“Don’t say that.” You hadn’t heard him, the sound of your cries had drowned every sound that came after. But you could feel him, the way his fingers had steadfastly captured the rivulets that had streamed down your face.
“Don’t make it sound like you are the problem.”
“I am, Yuan. This is all me.” Jing Yuan cradled you into his hold, your arms — as a form of habit, wrapped against his neck and your face cuddled into the snug of his comfort.
“I married you for nothing else but love. Everything I had always wished for was for your health and happiness. With or without a child, I love you all the same.” He didn’t need anything else as long as you were by his side, and if it hadn’t been clear enough to you, Jing Yuan deemed it as his fault. He should have loved you loud and clear.
“You won’t ever be a father.”
“Being your husband has been the greatest grace in my life.” Gently, he sent soothing strokes down your hair. After such a ferocious cry, he expected you’d find such a touch pleasant for the pounding on your mind.
“I wanted a child who resembled you.” A child who would be a mix of you and him, you had dreamed of it before.
“I know.”
“We’d brave through this together.” Jing Yuan kissed the corner of your corner of your eyes that was burnt from the tears, the soreness of the ache made you drowsy.
He cradled you in his arm, noticing that your movement had gone slack and a steady rhythm now moved your chest. You had fallen asleep, surely you must have been tired from all the tears and grief you had gone to spill. Was that why you had been odd lately? You must have some degree of suspicion in regard to your fertility issue and the doctor’s letter was the storm the apex which resulted your distress.
Jing Yuan carried your body into the master bedroom you both shared. After he had laid and tucked you underneath the blanket, he pressed a kiss down your forehead.
“You have me, for eternity.”
Time continued to flow. Sometimes, it felt as if it were going too fast. And on some days, time felt especially slow. Yet time has always been a constant force of nature. Your desire for a little family hadn’t gone with time, there were still days where you’d cry in Jing Yuan’s arms. But there were better days, days where everything was okay as long as he was there with you. The same applied to Jing Yuan. A part of you was apologetic for letting him shoulder your burden alongside with Luofu, however Jing Yuan had smiled it off. “There will never be me, or you. Only us.”
── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──
On a day where Jing Yuan was dispatched to yet another battle, the sky was crying. Jing Yuan flinched, the sight after a battle had never been pleasant, not even when you had lived as long as he had. A cry broke the dread that was impending on him, Jing Yuan’s vision snapped to the source of the sound. Hidden under the deceased body of a soldier was a baby boy. He didn’t know what had gotten over him then, but Jing Yuan decided to bring the boy back to his home. War and battles had always been filled with the loss of another comrade in expense of victory, this was the only time he ever truly returned with a life gained.
The sight of your beloved, with streaks of blood on his armor and his hands wrapped upon the tiny bundle in a blanket, was unexpected.
“I found him on the battlefield, and it’s just- could I-” Jing Yuan hadn’t brought the little boy to play family with you, he had developed a unique bond with the sole survivor of the battlefield. In a way, the little baby reminded him of himself — of how he had been the only survivor from the the high-cloud quintet.
“Together. We’ll raise him together.” You embraced the two jewels of your life, ensuring that you were cautious enough with the baby who would later be called Yanqing. That night, you had drafted your husband a warm bath while he ran to the nearest store to pick up items a baby would require.
You rocked the little body to sleep while feeding the boy formulated milk through a sippy cup Jing Yuan had bought. Motherhood was a distant dream of yours in the past, but now that you were faced with a child, you were anxious at every detail. Had the ratio of formulated milk powder to water been right? Was the water too warm? The thoughts diminished as Jing Yuan stepped into your shared bedroom, fatigue laced the silhouette of his features.
Jing Yuan melted into your touch almost immediately. His face was buried on the crook of your neck, and you patted his back, noticing that his hair was still slightly damp from the shower. To be the general was to be a flawless figure, revered for strength. You allowed him to be weak.
── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──
With Yanqing’s appearance, time passed by swiftly like the breeze of one season onto another. You took on Tingyun’s hobby, snapping pictures of your little family every time you could. The walls of your home that had been bare once, were filled with portraits you had hung up. You remembered Yanqing’s first step, how his little body had wobbled left and right before falling into a cushion Jing Yuan had set up. The little boy had picked up a toy sword as soon as he could run around, he’d always be chasing after Jing Yuan with his toy sword.
“Ma, am I allowed to get an actual sword now?” You froze. In the years you had raised the little boy, you had always ensured that he called you by your name — after all, you didn’t want to lie to him.
“What do Yuan have to say about it?” Surely, you must have heard wrong. That it was a slip of his tongue.
“That I should ask you, ma.” Yanqing replied, he was aware of what he had called you. For a while now, he had been wanting to call you his mother. He learnt from a book that a mother was someone who would raise children with love — would that not be you?
Emotions choked on your throat and you could simply nod vehemently at the boy’s request. But that hadn’t been the end of it. During one fine day, you had stayed at Aurum Alley later than you’d like due to the expansion of the family business you inherited. As you swung the door of your house open, Yanqing and Jing Yuan stood there with a huge smile on their faces and a giant bouquet on their hands.
“Happy Mother's day!” Yanqing exclaimed, the smile on his face quickly fell the moment he saw droplets of liquid trickled down your face. You’d remember that day for the rest of your life — Yanqing had panicked so hard that he ran around the house looking for a cloth to wipe your tears with, and Jing Yuan had led you into the house, fingers entangled with one another.
Once every other day, you’d sit on the patio while Jing Yuan trained Yanqing. Jing Yuan would saunter over to steal a place in your lap.
“Yanqing’s developing your habits, my dear. The boy is impatient and highly ambitious.” Jing Yuan said with a sigh, although the hint of adoration was palpable.
You ruffled your husband’s hair, fingers tenderly massaging his scalp — just how he liked it. “I’d say, he’s more like you, the two of you smile the same.”
“He’s ours, isn’t he?”
“Our miracle baby.” You confirmed. Once dusk had begun to engulf the golden sky, Jing Yuan would carry an exhausted Yanqing home — the boy had fallen asleep after the intense training, and you’d walk right next to them, Jing Yuan’s fingers always entangled in yours.
── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──
Even after years had passed, your family remained the same. Ever so loving, ever so precious. Jing Yuan was still known as the dozing general. Today, in particular, was such a blissful day, clouds had mostly halted the scorching ray. While on one of his casual escapes, he saw you sleeping against the trunk of a tree — guards were stationed a distance away to not perturb your sleep.
As the dozing general, he couldn’t miss such a perfect opportunity to laze. He sat himself next to you, beckoning your head to rest on his shoulder, and his would rest on top of your head. Sleep came to him in an instant, you were his home after all.
Yanqing caught sight of his parents not long after, both serene in their sleep, both tired from carrying the world on their shoulders. He was on his way to train, but just today, a short rest would do him good. Yanqing positioned himself to your left, leaning into your shoulder. Sleep came to him as easy as it did with Jing Yuan.
CLICK! CLICK! Hiding amidst the bushes was Tingyun and her camera. She had captured the family’s intimate moment — the citizens of Luofu would surely feast to see such a domestic sight! As she was about to flee, Jing Yuan cleared his throat, his eyes were still shut tight.
“How much would it be to own the exclusive rights to my family’s portrait?”
Tingyun smirked, she could imagined the sound of credits cashing into her bank. “Well, if it isn’t the generous general. How much would you be willing to offer?”
A/n: It ended up being longer than I thought. Hope you guys enjoyed it! Reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated ᥫ᭡
Oikawa Tooru x f!reader
A short drabble: Falling asleep to Oikawa's chatter — in which you are in a long distance relationship with him.
Oikawa Tooru hated long distance relationships, he swore off them for the longest time in his life. At least until he stumbled upon you during the 2021 Tokyo Olympics. You were next to Iwaizumi, a tiny pool of people circled around the two of you. You had your brows furrowed, fingers pointing vehemently at a printed poster — your voice rose ever so slightly.
He grew curious, the trajectory of his eyes would follow you whenever he was off from the court. “Her? She’s a marketing staff for the Olympics.” Iwaizumi flipped through the pages of his handbook. Despite having the answers served, Oikawa wasn’t sated by the lack of information. For a week, he had bothered Iwaizumi, loitering around the proximity of his friend to annoy Iwaizumi into setting him up with you.
Iwaizumi did, and the rest was history. Oikawa’s showmanship of love was as flamboyant as himself. He had reserved the best restaurant with unparalleled views that stretched over the sky of Tokyo. There were flower bouquets delivered to your apartment weekly. But, ultimately, you fell for how humane he was, imperfectly perfect — you had told him.
You fell for the Oikawa who would race through the rain to buy you an umbrella. The Oikawa who was generous with his head pats for kids. The Oikawa who despite his strength, always felt inadequate and dispensable. The Oikawa who would never let you feel inferior or small despite feeling that way himself.
A month was all it took for the two of you to stumble into a relationship. Nothing could prepare Oikawa for the nightmare that long distance relationships would bring. There was a strict 12 hours difference between the two of you and while initially the love between the two of you had scorched the challenges away, life was a dynamic force.
“Right! And the players from the opposite team just came up to me. And babe, I thought I was gone for good but —” Normally, you’d love to hear your boyfriend’s incessant yap but work today had run late and you had returned to your apartment at 9 pm. You had skipped dinner and went for a quick shower before plunging into your fuzzy mattress.
At 11 pm now, your eyes were fighting against the light emitted by your laptop. Your boyfriend’s voice bleared incoherently and the lids of your eyes grew heavy.
“—it was insane! I should have taken a video for you to see. The view was breathtaking, couldn't hold a candle to you though.” Oikawa sighed, no matter what wonders of the world were in front of his eyes, he would always think of you. That it’d be nice to have you enjoy the view with him.
Come to think of it, he hadn’t heard your voice in a while — he had been too engrossed in the tales he wanted to share. Oikawa looked at the screen on his phone, you were snuggled up on a giant bear Oikawa had bought for you. The rhythmical oscillations of your chest was an evident sign that you had fallen asleep. Oikawa’s lips curved into a solemn smile, the edges of his eyes relaxed at how peaceful you were.
“Sleep tight, my princess. Sorry for keeping you up.”
The next day had fortunately been the weekend. You had fallen deep into a slumber to which your alarm couldn’t even wake you from. What had awoken you was the ringing of your apartment’s doorbell. Sluggishly, you dragged yourself out of bed and into the front door. As you turned the knob over, the door to your apartment was flung open and you saw something on the floor. It was a plastic of steaming hot meals with a sticky note embedded on the side.
Don’t make a habit of skipping dinner, princess.
Love, Tooru.
A/n: Enjoy! Reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated ᢉ𐭩
Summary: They said men would always remember their first love, as it turned out Nanami was not above men. The day he left the Jujutsu world, he left the love of his life behind. And every moment after, Nanami spent it longing after you.
Vibes: Slow burn, second-chance romance, little angst (a smidget, really).
Wordcount: 2.4k words
⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆ About you - The 1975
They said that to be a man’s first love was to be an existence that haunt them for the rest of their life. Nanami Kento had heard of it in a passing, something he had heard Gojo’s students discuss haphazardly. As it turned out, the first love theory that had been popularized on the internet — it was not an actual phenomena or happenings that had been verified by science. However, it did have a modest amount of credibility in the form of written acknowledgements from a majority of the men.
If Nanami was to be questioned whether he was just like any common man who was hungover over their first love, he’d heave out a long sigh. For the current Nanami, emotions were highly complex and highly exhausting — putting a catchy sentence to label the intricate feelings he had resting upon his chest was an act of oversimplification. One that he couldn’t fathom to do. Not even after 8 long years had gone by.
His first love had been a tale as old as time. All the way back to when he was still a student at Jujutsu High. Strangely, he remembered every single detail of you vividly. It was as if he had never left, as if he was still there stuck in the time he would consider his happiest. His best friend had been alive then, and you had been there too right by his side.
For a man who prided himself as being intellectual and rational, the love he had felt for you bypassed all that he had known of himself. But love hadn’t come for him like a storm that manifested out of nowhere and sweep him off his feet. No, the love he had for you slowly filled his veins — each interaction, each smile, each touch, flowed into the vein that breathed him life. His recognition of the feeling began when he started to act beyond himself, when he started making exceptions, only for you.
“Ken, it’s your day off. Are you sure you that you want to tag along?” Nanami bent over, quickly slipping into his shoes and tying the laces. He was tired, for a few months now, he had been juggling mission left and right. It was his first day off after a while — he would have loved to sleep in for a little while and visit a new bakery which recently opened few blocks away. But what use were those joy if you were not there?
“Yes. you’ve asked me thrice now.” Having secured his shoes, Nanami slung his katana over his shoulder. He rose up without realizing that you had been nearby and looking downwards where he was. The sudden movement of his brought both of your faces closer to one another, a tingle of heat flushed over his ear.
“It’s just… you’ve been worn out lately.” Sweet and such a dear — Nanami knew he was fucked the moment he saw the pout of your face. You were like a dream come true to him, he hadn’t realized the adjective intoxicating could be used to define someone.
“We just have to complete the mission quicker. And afterwards, we can watch that movie you’ve been raving about all week.” He didn’t miss a beat, not when you had squealed and wrapped your arms around his neck. Or when you had buried your face in his neck, and he awkwardly pat your back while he absorbed that familiar scent of yours.
With every recall of his blissful life in the past, that memory always seemed insistent on resurfacing. The day he had left Jujutsu, and you along the way. Losing Haibara — his closest friend, had been the nail in coffin. It had redefined the way Nanami viewed Jujutsu sorcerers, and for a while, he wasn’t sure whether to follow through with his career as one. When Nanami barely survived and had to drag the body of his best friend from the tragedy that had occured, you were there — face streaked with tears.
He had been numb, exhausted from the fight and from the feel of Haibara’s cold body. Haibara had never been silent much in his life, and Nanami dreaded discovering the weight of Haibara’s silence in such way. “Thank you for bringing him back.” You had tried to sound as calm as you could, but the tremor in your voice said otherwise. The tears and sullen look on your face had betrayed you as well. “Thank you for coming back safely, Ken.” That line broke him.
Nanami didn’t want a future where he’d have to grieve his days away. He didn’t want a future where he’d be treated as disposable. He didn’t want a future where he would always have to fear for the safety of his and his loved ones.
At the night of his graduation, he had asked you out on a walk. “Just like old times,” he had said. The two of you settled on a bench which provided the view of a footbridge and a lake that seemed to shimmer against the night reflection. “I won’t be a sorcerer.” Nanami didn’t mince back his words, he didn’t cushion them either.
“What do you mean, Ken?” He couldn’t bring himself to look at your face, and so he shut his eyes tight. A fragment of his imagination envisioned the palpable confusion that must be etched onto your feature.
“I’m quitting Jujutsu for a chance to live a normal life.” It was funny. Nanami had rehearsed the entire conversation a few times before actually committing to talking it out with you. No amount of practice could ever compare with the churning feeling swirling in his heart. He might as well as rip it open.
When you hadn’t responded, Nanami took the chance to elaborate the rationale behind his decision. His eyes now opened, but drifting along the ripples by the lake. Beneath all the truths he had told you, there was one he didn’t have enough courage to conjure. Come with me. He had wanted you to leave everything you had believed to be with him, to start anew. It was entirely selfish of him to desire not only your present but your future.
“What about me?”
“What about us?” The sudden rise of your voice had startled him. Sure, you had yelled before — mostly at Gojo’s antics. But Nanami had never been at the receiving end of your ire. No, he couldn’t call this complex emotion as ire, it was disappointment. And hurt. He had hurt you.
“Our lives converge here. It wouldn’t be fair for either of us to settle for something we wouldn’t want.” He wasn’t simply giving up his current life, he was giving up his chances to be with you. Nanami knew that you were a sorcerer to the core, you were the kind of light Haibara was. Two irrevocably kind and genuine souls who would dedicate their whole lives to protecting citizens from curses. He couldn’t just steal away your dream, or let his desire for normalcy be gone before it had started.
You looked at him — for the longest time he hadn’t been well even if he had tried to reassure you that it was not the case. Losing Haibara had taken a toll on him. Alas, the man in front of you had been different. You didn’t quite know how to place it into words but Nanami seemed at peace. “If that is what you wish.” You resigned easily, you didn’t want to lose him. You could tell that he had pondered it over a few times, and you trusted that Nanami knew what was best for himself.
Albeit, not having Nanami next to you anymore would be a foreign sight. “Can we please stay in contact?” You didn’t think you could ever get used to it.
Nanami shook his head. “Not even if I beg?” A thin smile cracked into his face. And you couldn’t help it then, the tears you were trying to hold on to broke free. It ran down your face, streamlining the curves of your cheeks.
“I love you.” It was precisely because Nanami loved you too much. He knew he wouldn’t be able to stay away from the Jujutsu world if he had remained in contact would you. He’d always be worried if he knew you were on a mission. Heck, he’d dive right into the whole exorcism again if he heard even the slightest hint of distress from you. He had to let go.
For the very last time, Nanami wrapped his arms around you. He felt his shirt dampened from the tears you shed. Nanami littered soft kisses on the top of your head and you fought the soft feeling of comfort that he was disillusioning you with. “You’re cruel, Ken.”
You wished tomorrow wouldn’t come. You wished time would stop and that the two of you could stay here forever. But time was cruel, and for every meeting, there would be a farewell that follow.
True to his words, that was the last time the two of them had seen one another. Once graduation was over, Nanami packed his bags and left the dorm that had been his home for a pivotal part of his life. He threw himself into working as the average salaryman. For four years, he had been slaved by the capitalist system that ran the human world. The gratification for a normal life that he had desperately wanted wasn’t what he had quite imagined. And the past four years had been painful without you.
He found you everywhere. On the road he used to pass by, on the bakery the two of you used to visit, on your favorite convenience store's ice cream, on the sequel of your favorite movie, on your favorite kinds of flowers, on your favorite plushies. Every time his finger hovered over the call button of your contact, Nanami would toss his phone away. He chose this life. A life without you.
On another normal day in a bakery, Nanami had exorcised a small curse on a whim. Perhaps it was when Nanami saw the instant lightness in the victim’s expression, and the way they had thanked him even if they hadn’t know that a curse was the cause — it triggered the memory he had once buried deep in the back of his mind. A memory of when he was aspiring to be a sorcerer for the sake of a better world. He decided his return to the Jujutsu world at that moment.
Nanami thought you should be the first to know. Even if 4 years had passed. After years, he had finally allowed himself to dial the number that had been haunting his dreams. He clenched his face in anticipation as soon as the number was dialed. Unfortunately, there was no ring. He tried again, over and over, but none of his calls had made it.
Following the weeks after his return, he had accustomed himself to fighting curses. It was strange how his body had just reassumed his old habits easily, as if he never left. Out of everyone else, Gojo Satoru had noticed the way Nanami would stare at the mission logs on both the bulletin board and Ijichi’s desktop computer. Nanami’s gaze would always linger a few seconds longer.
“Her name won’t be there.” Gojo didn’t have to use his six eyes to know what Nanami was looking for. There was only one person who could truly bring him down to the state of desperation.
Nanami feigned ignorance. He’d rather dig his own grave than let Gojo dig his for him. “She transferred to the kyoto branch few years back.” Oh. That was why he hadn’t run into you not even once, not even when he was patrolling all over Tokyo.
And now, a total of 8 years had passed. He wondered how had you changed, or whether you had think of him half as often as he did about you.
Thus, when Yuji had practically dragged Nanami to the kyoto sister-goodwill event, Nanami let himself be dragged voluntarily. You had never appeared before during these events, he’d know, he had always kept track. However, Nanami wanted to take a chance at fate. For all of those prayers he had wished upon to the gods above to realigned the two of yours estranged path.
“Nanamin, do you remember your first love?” Yuji had questioned, the sight of the Kyoto students starting to re-emerged from afar. Nanami sighed, remembering was a word to shallow to describe the longing he had for you.
“I do, Itadori.” His eyes fell onto the familiar silhouette that had appeared together with the students from Kyoto. No matter the years that had passed, Nanami could tell it was you. Yuji glanced at Nanami to inquire more information about the man’s first love but he found himself tracing Nanami’s gaze instead. It landed on you, to be precisely, Nanami couldn’t look anywhere else. Yuji connected the dot instantly. It was the softness in the way his mentor had looked, Yuji knew you were special to Nanami. His eyes couldn’t lie — couldn’t hide the affection and longing overflowing from them either.
Yuji having caught on to what was going on, started bothering the Kyoto students so that they’d leave your side. It was so naturally done, Nanami made a mental note to buy a few meals for the younger man he had grown fond of. Before he could properly settled on a line to say, you were already in front of him. Nanami was caught off guard, you were gorgeous back then but currently, you had grown ethereal. Unreal. Beguilling. Words that settled underneath his tongue were completely blown away.
“You came back.” You started, the man in front of you undoubtedly was the man you still love even after years had distanced the two of you.
“I missed you.” Nanami answered, he didn’t miss the way your irises had widened at his confession. He didn’t need any more prayers answered, he was grateful that the universe had granted him this once chance to rectify himself.
“I think about you all the time.” Raw longing colored Nanami’s words, pouring the stagnant truth that had been awaiting for all these years to light.
“Me too.”
A/n: Hope you guys enjoyed it! Reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated ᥫ᭡.
Synopsis: You were convinced that men all pretended to be the best version of themselves to fool susceptible victims like yourself. You thought Itadori Yuji would be the same — oh boy were you wrong. In which Itadori Yuji shattered your misconception within seconds.
Vibes: Slow burn, Itadori is a yearner, everyone notice his yearning except you.
Wordcount: 1.7k~ words
⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆ POV - Ariana Grande // Teach me how to love - Galdive
Itadori Yuji was an emblem of prestige. A pivotal role that ended Sukuna’s reign over chaos in the jujutsu world. You could even go as far as to say the man was a legendary figure. Being two years under him, all of your peers revered Yuji — aspiring to be half as strong as the legend himself. Yuji wasn’t simply strong, you had never heard of a single negative rumor about him. He was the kind of guy who’d help elderly cross the road, the kind of guy who’d rescue and feed stray animals. You didn’t buy it. Skepticism filled your guts the moment you heard any of your fellow female sorcerers swoon over how unreal Yuji was. He was a man by the end of the day. They’d always disappoint.
An image of your ex flashed over your mind. He was the kind of person who was picture perfect with amazing grades, good looks, gentleman mannerism and an irrefutable sense of justice. Except, that had been a charade. It was a method to lure impressionable women, like you, who had fallen for the obvious trap. All it took was a few months of pretense and a lot of sweet talking.
All that sugar felt burnt, you shuddered at the unwanted recall of your ex polished sonnets. The chill of the rain amplified the intruding bitterness of your past relationship’s end. It was on a night like this when your ex had openly admitted to cheating on you and to make matters worse, he had taken your umbrella with him, leaving you stuck on a bus stop in the middle of a downpour.
“Here, you can use mine.” Well, your ex certainly hadn’t said that. You stared at the scarred hand which held the umbrella out. Your gaze followed the person’s hand, to their arms, neck, and you halted the moment you saw the stranger’s face. Spiky salmon-colored hair and those brown irises. It was Itadori Yuji in the flesh.
You lightly pushed the umbrella away. “I’m fine, the rain isn’t that bad.” A huge gush of wind sent a couple brochures flying, and lightning striked, followed by a flash of thunder that had been closer than you’d like.
Yuji raised one of his brow, clearly no part of the rain seemed inconsequential. “It’s raining cats and dogs out here.” Yuji stated the obvious, fighting a laugh at the irony of your statement. It was as if your very statement was denied by mother nature herself.
“And what about you?” You hadn’t seen any spare umbrellas by his side.
Yuji twisted his torso halfway, showing off the red hood that was adeptly layered underneath his uniform. “I have this hood right here, and I’m insanely quick.”
“You’d brave the rain?”
“Straight ahead, all the way back to the dorm.” He grinned, the sharp canine of his teeth peeked over. Yuji was exactly like the rumors that floated around him and despite your initial suspicion of his character, you hadn’t sensed any shred of pretense from the person in front of you.
“I’m going back to the dorm as well.” You took the umbrella from his hand, a soft smile etched its way onto your feature. “Can't we just share?”
You ended up clinging onto his arm the entire walk back. There were a few times where you had accidentally sunken or trip into potholes filled with rainwater — Yuji had been swift enough to form a grip on your wrist, saving you from the embarrassment of diving right into puddles of flood. He also had a talent for initiating conversations, it wasn’t about the topics of the conversation, Yuji was just an earnest and genuine soul. Thus every conversation felt meaningful because he was giving his hundred percent and heart in it.
That had been the start of the unique constitution called friendship between Itadori Yuji and you. You went from never seeing him to seeing a glimpse of Yuji everywhere you go now. He hadn’t been like your ex who’d pretend to not recognize who you were. No, Yuji always sauntered over to where you stood. He’d ask how was your day, whether you had eaten, or what was your plan for the day.
“Lend me your hand.” You hadn’t questioned Yuji’s antics, you lifted your hand palm side up. His large yet warm hand obscured your vision and you felt him drop a bunch of small-sized items onto your palm. He withdrew his hand then, fingers brushed upon the stray strand of hair that had covered your pretty face.
You smiled once you saw what rested on your hand. It was from an expensive chocolatier — a place you had just mentioned in passing to him. “Yuji… you didn’t have to.”
“But, I’d like to. I like seeing you happy.” Yuji said, gently patting the crown of your head. It was the way in which he spoke with such conviction and clarity. You had never been showered with such a genuine form of affection. Yuji stayed for a bit longer, he had to watch you eat your first bite of the chocolate. His phone chimed uncontrollably, and Yuji’s face paled the moment he realized he had spent half an hour in the hallway with you, “Gotta go, Nobara would genuinely kill me if I was late.”
On days where Yuji wasn’t dispatched on missions, he’d make sure to walk you to your classes. You hadn’t even sent your timetable to him, you had mentioned it only once yet Yuji seemed to retain the information permanently on his head. Yuji would already be downstairs, waiting for you with a cup of smoothie in hand. He noticed that you were the type to skip breakfast, and he decided to bring breakfast to you on days he could.
“Yuji, you spoiled me rotten.”
“As you deserved.”
Your peers noticed the proximity in which Itadori Yuji and you had been dabbling in. There were eyes of suspicion following every public interaction that you and Yuji had.
“Are you sure that you’re not dating the Itadori Yuji?” A classmate of yours questioned, you could have sworn everyone’s head turn to where you were — it was the buzzling topic as of late, everyone wanted in on the latest gossip.
“We’re just friends.”
“Friends don’t walk you everywhere.”
“He’s a sweetheart.” You flipped over the pages which explained the history of Jujutsu. Your attention wasn't on the inked words.
“Friends don’t shower you with gifts and presents every single day.”
“Yuji has a big heart.” You didn’t want to overthink it. Yuji had the soul of an angel, he surely treat everyone equally.
“Friends don’t look at you that way!”
That caught you completely off guard, you slammed the book close. “In what way?”
“I don’t know, like you’re his entire world?”
The following week after, your self-consciousness against Yuji’s every action skyrocketed. And so did the feeling of being undeserving. He was too good. It made you feel terrible really, you had constantly been at the receiving end of Yuji’s generosity. The current situation was a stark difference from how you were with your ex. A part of that reality frightened you. What if you were acting like how your ex had acted to you, towards Yuji?
Your fear peaked when you heard those words come out of Yuji’s mouth. You had sneaked into his dorm and was tucked in his bed. Yuji had noticed how fidgety you had been around him lately, you had never been this way before.
“Was I moving too fast?” Yuji questioned. He had adored you for a while now, long before the umbrella the two of you shared. You were an assistant at one of the missions he was assigned to, he respected how polite and lovely you had been when dealing with victims of the curses. His curiosity began to grow from then on. And then he got the chance to talk with you, and gods, Yuji didn’t know how he had survived this long without knowing you.
“Huh?” You knew Yuji liked you as a friend, but you were oblivious to the broader rationale of his every action.
Yuji sat down on the bed, his weight dipped on the mattress lightly. “I guess it wasn’t clear enough.”
“I love you y/n.” Yuji confessed, his throat felt heavy and thick. He was supposed to wait it out but patience had never been his forte. Better yet, when it came to you, there was no rationality to chain him down.
“Yuji…”
“You don’t have to give me an answer ever if it troubles you. But I’d like it if we could stay the way we are.” Even at times like these, Yuji would always put your comfort and wellbeing as his utmost priority. It frightened you when relationships and love were not equal. Someone would always take more, and someone would always be left with less. You had known from experience.
“There’s no way we can stay as we are.”
He hadn’t meant to be this transparent but if there was one thing Yuji could not do, it was to hide his feelings. The moment your words were registered in his brain, Yuji had his face casted down — he looked like a puppy that had been kicked out from a misdeed, the sight was not one that you enjoyed.
“I want to learn how to love like you do, Yuji.” You wanted to be with him. You wanted to show him love like how he had done for you. Above all, he was Yuji, not your ex or some pretentious guys trying to be nice for the sake of merit.
Overwhelmed with joy, Yuji bounced on his mattress. His body moved before he could think, arms already wrapped upon you. Yuji engulfed you in a warmness that could last for a lifetime. You caressed his cheek and leaned forward, lips tenderly touching his. Albeit the suddenness, Yuji welcomed it all — he’d welcome every part of you.
A/n: Yuji seemed like a certified loverboy. Hope you guys enjoyed this piece! Reblogs, comments, and likes are highly appreciated ᥫ᭡
Synopsis: In which you ran through Shibuya after you read a letter that had been left for you by your colleague — Nanami Kento. Nanami's regret was etched in the letter, the feelings he had never materialized into words bled into the pages.
Vibes: Angst, slow burn, reader deals with inferiority complex at times, hurt/comfort. Both reader and Nanami take their time to know one another.
Wordcount: 7k
⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆ Drag Path - Twenty One Pilots
The coffee on the window had stilled, vapor of heat no longer rising. Your grip on the pen tightened, facing the window of your apartment which had been swallowed by the night. While other sorcerers had been dispatched to Shibuya, you were here in the comfort of your apartment. Shoko had reasoned that while most sorcerers were needed in Shibuya, the other existing cases needed tending as well.
Her answer had said it all. Someone was keeping you out of the battle on purpose. If you were to take a rough guess, that someone probably took on the form of a blonde man in a suit. You grabbed the cup of coffee by the handle and took sips of it — all too sweet, Nanami would have coughed at the intruding sweetness.
It took you back to when you had just started working alongside the man. As a goodwill, you had brought him coffee while you were getting yours from the cafe by the street. He didn’t look like he’d enjoy sugar in his drinks so you went with americano, the classic.
“Mr. Nanami, I brought you coffee. I’ll be leaving it here.” You placed the coffee by the empty edge of his desk, careful not to piss off the intimidating-looking man early in the morning. It had been a few months since the awakening of your power and the higher-ups had placed you right under Nanami’s jurisdiction. You had heard stories of him — of how he fled the jujutsu world right after his graduation and returned years later, and of how everyone had avoided falling under his strict mentorship.
But stories were typically fictional, made for the enjoyment of the listeners. Nanami looked up from where he was sitting, his hazel eyes briefly halted at the cup of coffee before returning to yours. “I appreciate it but you didn’t have to. It’s not under your job scope.” Nanami curtly said, pushing the frame of his glasses upwards his middle finger.
“I do it because I want to, Mr. Nanami.” Before Nanami, you had been placed under other sorcerers' care. None of it had gone well. Unlike candidates who grew up under the Jujutsu system and trained their whole life to battle curses, you knew nothing. You had been thrown into the jujutsu world and your power manifested as an act of desperation to survive. They didn’t have to say it out loud, you heard the whispers that had travelled from the cracks of doors. The hushed voices had always delivered the greatest clarity.
“It’s either that she’s not trying hard enough or she’s just not enough.”
“It was a mistake to have her here.”
A week after, you’d be moved to another sorcerer and the cycle repeated itself. Eventually, you learnt to smile the jarring reality away. Life at work was terribly demotivating, but life away from work felt equally hollow. Your other siblings were shining, one was a doctor and the other was a pilot for a prestigious airline — and you were the middle child stuck among high-achieving individuals. Having recently graduated from an art college, you found yourself lost in navigating the adult worlds.
“You’re not a child anymore, how long do we still have to care for you?” Your father's sharp remark reverberated in your mind. You hadn’t remembered much from that day — you only remembered holding back tears, counting down seconds before you could get back home to the crappy apartment you had rented. On that day, it felt like the world had a personal vendetta against you. A curse appeared — the mutilated figures of a waggling lump of mess chased after you when you had accidentally stared at it for a second too long. Truth to be told, you thought you had lost your mind and that your father’s words only drove you to madness further.
The universe was out to get you that day. You were a terrible runner, the curse wrapped an extension of itself on your ankle and you fell flat on the sidewalk. Sure, life was already shit but to be killed by a lump of mess before proving everyone wrong was the most disgraceful death that you could ever imagine. You refused to back down, hands fisted upon the ground, trying to crawl away from the curse hold on you. The rest had gone by a blur, some kind of light and warmness enveloped your consciousness and by the time you had opened your eyes, you were hauled by an on-duty sorcerer to the headquarters.
At least in work there was a clear purpose in sight — to get strong and exorcise curses to ensure citizens safety. But in your personal life, there was no way you could tell your family that you were a sorcerer, they’d start to think that you were schizophrenic. And so you decided that the healthiest way you could ever interact with your family was with monthly bank transfers. You lied about being recruited to a prestigious multinational corporation, and they didn’t question a single thing.
Meanwhile a tiny ugly gnawing presence loomed in your heart — you wondered whether your time in the Jujutsu world would be limited as well. After all, your previous week-long mentors all believed that you were hopeless. Except for Nanami, you had been with him for two months now, the longest record ever held in your book. Despite the rumors that shrouded his existence, the man was indeed honest to a fault and strict but he had never given up on you. Sure, he’d tell you that you were terrible at translating theories into practical application but the word impossible had never left his mouth.
“You need to work on channeling your curse energy more. You’re not used to it, hence, you’re having difficulties with everything else.” It was as good as a compliment to you — heck no, Nanami had essentially validated the very essence of your struggle. He made it sound like it’s okay to be terrible and that learning is a process. There were a lot of times where you had compared yourself with other sorcerers’ students and you felt as if you were embarrassing Nanami.
During one of the days where the sun’s heat had been radiant enough to scorch anyone daring to look straight at it. Nanami and you had been going over multiple missions involving low-grade curses. “Good work today!” You complimented the man, it was part awe and part respect as he had handled the brunt of the work. Although he did a majority of the task, he managed to leave a handful of curses for you to handle — that alone differentiated him from the rest of the sorcerers who had assumed the role of your mentors.
“Good work to you too. I trust you can handle the report, yes?” Nanami’s fingers fiddled with the crooked tie on his suit, attempting to fixate it back to a perfect symmetry. One of the curses had attempted to sink their claws onto him. Alas, the curse could only yank at his tie before they were struck down.
“Leave it to me sir.” You raised your right hand sharply, palm flat and the tip of your fingers were positioned on the edge of your brows. It was a terrible attempt to mimic a soldier, in fact, your voice didn’t hold the weight that soldiers commonly had. Nanami simply shook his head lightly at your antic — you could have sworn he found it amusing. The two of you were about to part ways, with you going back to write up reports and him clocking out. It was then that Nanami’s words had struck you for life.
“The majority of sorcerers come from traditional families and clans, hence they have early exposure to curse energy and are privileged to early training. We all have different starting points but what does it matter if we all made it to the end line?”
He hadn’t hesitated or tripped on his own words. Nanami simply said what he believed. He wasn’t one for flatteries or lies. When… just when had he discerned the smothering purple of inadequacy that had been creeping up on your existence? You wanted to deny him, to tell him that he was imagining things, that you weren’t that pathetic. Lips parted, yet no sound came out. You closed your mouth immediately, gulping down the grim truths that were at the tip of your tongue. Silence stretched out longer than you’d like, the noise from the car and trucks no longer registered.
Whereas Nanami on the other hand thought it was necessary for you to know that realistically there was bound to be massive gaps between you and your peers. However, it didn’t mean that your potential was decided then and there. He had seen how you’d be running around the track field by the time dawn settled into the sky, he had seen how you’d read piles of books to master curse energy, he had seen how you choose to work overtime on paperworks — simply because you believed it was the one thing you do best. It was necessary for him to remind you that you shouldn’t be imposing goals upon others and chase after someone’s shadow, others weren’t your benchmark.
“But what if I can’t make it to the end?” Your eyes bored into him, the words you were always scared to say slipped out. Failing had always frightened you — it was devastating to know that no matter the ounce of effort was put, results were never guaranteed. Sure, you’d think of it sometimes, but you were too afraid to vocalize the fear into existence. If I said it out loud, it’d come true.
“The future is indefinite, things may or may not work out. But the hours and effort you put in would never betray you. If you can’t make it to the end, I’ll be there next to you.”
Rivulets of tears condensed in the corner of your eyes, the salty droplets glided down the skin of your cheeks — all while Nanami held your gaze. That was all you had ever wanted to hear. To think that Nanami, not your parents, not your siblings, but Nanami — had been the one to see you for who you truly were. The tall blonde tugged into his pocket, attempting to find tissue or any piece of fabric to ease your cascading tears. To his dismay, he had none, and it would be un-gentlemanly for him to leave you out in the open with your sorrows.
Nanami didn’t think much, he couldn’t, especially not with you bawling your eyes out. The silent sob bothered him more than he’d admit. He loosened his tie, removing in a haste. His feet brought the distance between the two of you to a breath away. Nanami folded the fabric of his tie into two, “If you’d excuse me.” He said, although he was unsure whether you were listening. Nanami held a hand on the back of your head while he dabbed on the tie gently on the corner of your eyes.
Amidst the daze, you recalled apologizing for being a bother while the tears refused to yield, continuously streaming down your face. Nanami hadn’t said anything, he remained by your side the entire time, dutifully wiping the warm driblets away. You didn’t realize, but that day, he went on overtime.
“The coffee’s sweet, is that your preference?” You whipped your head, clearly confused as you had paid for an americano.
Carefully, you lifted the lid from the coffee on your hand. The acrid and charred scent of the coffee bean hit you instantly, “This one must have been yours.” You placed the cup of coffee on the exact corner you had placed earlier before attempting to demand for your coffee back. Nanami had your coffee in his hand, his features undoubtedly frozen from the rush of sugar he hadn’t expected.
“Do you have a penchant for sweetness?” Nanami questioned, withdrawing your cup further into himself as he awaited for your answer.
“I do, I love sweets.” You answered. After your outburst of tears, Nanami had been a little different. It wasn’t as if he changed overnight or developed a new set of personalities. It was a difference so subtle you wouldn’t have noticed it the first time, but you’d like to think that he had let you in as a friend or a comrade. You’d take either.
“Can I have it back please.”
“All yours.” Nanami handed the drink over, the two of your fingers brushed over for a millisecond yet the warmth stayed even after the coffee had gotten cold.
Nanami Kento was still very much himself. He clocked in at 10am and clocked out at 6pm every work day without fail. It was another lesson he had passed on to you, to always keep a good work-life balance. He was a man of conviction. There were a few times where another team had come over to Nanami’s office to request for additional assistance in their mission. They’d groan when they saw Nanami all neat and packed up. Regardless, they still attempted to shoot their shot at requesting the first grade sorcerer’s help.
“It is beyond my working hours.” would be his default reply to every request which exceeded office hours.
Knowing his distaste towards overtime all too well, you hadn’t told Kento of your first solo mission — which was exorcising a low-level curse that had taken residence on an arcade’s claw machine, of all places. Apparently the curse had drawn people in by monopolizing their gambling desire, the report mentioned 2 missing high schoolers.
Easy enough, it was to go in, save the day and do more paperwork. That should be the extent of the night. Needless to say, you got pretty fucked over. It had nothing to do with you being weak, it was just a stark incompatibility — your curse energy was useless against a monster that didn’t inflict physical wounds. As a result, your body was moving under the curse’s whim and you were stuck on an endless cycle of spending money in one of the claw machines at the arcade.
You had to get the curse to hit you. For the next hour, you cast out the most ridiculous insults at the curse, hoping they’d get ticked off and smack you across the wall. Unfortunately, the curse you were dealing with had more patience than you expected.
“Don’t you have real friends to play arcade with or something? Kidnapping people doesn’t equate to friendship, you know.” That seemed to do it. In a moment, you were swung across the room. The curse blasted a surge of curse energy, piercing through your abdomen. You coughed out blood, it hurt so much but victory was pretty much in sight now.
The cursed energy on your body enveloped the targeted areas, flowing into the wound and it felt as if a cocoon wrapped itself against the wounds you had received. With a flick of your wrist, the curse was sent flying the same way it had done to you. Another flick, and the curse found large gapping holes drilled onto its body. The curse slowly disintegrated into ashes, only having figured out what your curse technique was all about the moment death knocked on its door. The wound in your body had healed as if it was never there, your curse technique was unique — it was the act of transferring wounds and injuries. You could then amplify the injuries or wounds you received and afflicted the enemies with said attack. For now it had been limited to your own wounds and injuries however the higher ups had mentioned that in the future, it could evolve if nurtured properly.
You could still feel the pain for a while afterwards, it was a reasonable drawback. Exiting the arcade, your steps were staggered as you dragged the two missing persons who had been rendered unconscious. Leaning into a vending machine, your next instruction was to wait for the clean up crew to arrive and sort the mess, and then back to headquarters to sort the paperwork out. Whipping your phone out, you thought you’d scroll around social media for a bit as you waited. What greeted you was a dozen messages and missed calls from Nanami.
Ichiji said you are on a mission, why am I not aware of this mission?
Are you still on the mission?
It’s late now, have you gone back home?
y/n.
[7 Missed Calls from Nanami Kento]
Your fingers began typing, you didn’t know where to start. It was a jumbled up effort to connect your incoherent sentences with one another, thus you kept typing and deleting every sentence you had drafted. Right, you should start by apologizing for keeping him in the dark — that was a way to start.
No way in hell's name had you expected to meet Nanami Kento hours after his shift had ended. But there he was, in flesh, yelling your name.
Nanami wore a basic black button up and navy trouser, not in the damn suit he always wore to work. “Uh.. I was just about to write back” You stammered, looking like a criminal that had been caught during the act. Nanami wasted no time looking you up and down. He noted that there were tears in your clothes and beside your dishevelled appearance, there was no apparent wound. Nanami knew instinctively that you had activated your cursed technique, which meant that you were injured. “We should let Shoko check you tomorrow.” Nanami mumbled under his breath.
“It’s like 10pm now, you’re not supposed to be here.” You blurted out, painfully understanding Nanami’s disdain for overtime.
He raised his brows, staring at your feature, as if you were the strange one here who wasn’t making much sense. “Am I not your mentor?”
“Nanami, you are! It’s just… isn’t this considered overtime?”
“Was that why I wasn’t informed of this mission?” You silently nodded, which was returned with a heaved sigh from the tall blonde himself. He rubbed at his temple, the muscles on his jaw were taut as he attempted to compose himself.
“You did a great job today. Next time, I’d prefer to hear any kind of news from you yourself instead of Ijichi.” Who would have known that Nanami had lost all sense of reasoning the moment Ijichi let it slip that you were on a solo mission — he thought it was one terrible joke that Ijichi had mustered up but that man was too shrivelled up to even muster an ounce of humor. He was proud truly, to see y/n grow rapidly but no one was truly invincible in the world of jujutsu.
“Yes sir.” Just in time, the clean up crews arrived on time and you turned against your heel, about to bid farewell from the current site.
Nanami’s presence loomed finitely, “Are you going back to rest?”
“I have to work on the report.” You answered the man, the two of you were walking side by side. Nanami was conspicuously tall, he towered over your height easily.
“Let’s do it together, it’ll be more efficient.”
Nanami Kento went on overtime during your first solo mission. You’d remember that day for the rest of your life. Nanami had gone back to the headquarter to help you write up half of the report. Halfway through, your stomach had growled from hunger, it was due to the darn curse keeping you trapped for hours. The lights on the headquarters were primarily closed, you remember how Nanami had held your hand and guided you over the dark corridors and into the pantry. That night, you also learnt that Nanami was a freak for precision. It was to the extent where he’d measure the boiling water you’d need for instant noodles down to the last milliliter.
Every work day with Nanami turned into a layer of habits and inside jokes. You’d bring him coffee and he’d bring you pastries — especially after you affirmed your love for sweets. For every silence that beat against the two of you, you’d somehow broken it down by asking silly questions. “Nanami, do you measure the amount of water you drink everyday?”
“Precisely 2.5 litre.” The old Nanami wouldn’t have entertained your antics, however you knew the Nanami sitting in front of you currently and he knew you as well. It had been a year since you were placed under him and you could have never imagined the two of you would develop such a comfortable bond and trust over one another.
“Why’d you leave jujutsu before?”
Nanami split a chopstick open and handed it to you. The wind gently blew, sending stray leaves flying their way in the park. “What kind of answers would you like?”
“The truth please.” You blew on the steaming hot dumplings that Nanami had bought for you. Having completed yet another mission, you both stumbled upon an empty park and on an impromptu, you had convinced Nanami to have lunch there.
“When I was in Jujutsu High, I was on a fasttrack to be a sorcerer. I hadn’t thought much of the consequences that this occupation came with.” Nanami started, staring down at the sandwich he had gotten from a bakery nearby.
“I knew being a sorcerer came with risk. I was young then, didn’t considered it properly. Losing my close friend is the reality call which allows me to question and rethink the future I want for myself.” You had abandoned the dumplings you were vying for, placing it on the side of the bench you were sitting at. Instead, you placed your hand on top of Nanami’s — a silent reassurance, projecting what he had always done for you.
Nanami enveloped your hand in his instead, his calloused fingers rubbed swirls around the back of your hand. “I think I was processing my grief differently back then. It was easier to hate the occupation that took my friend away. I convinced myself that being a sorcerer would mean baseless sacrifices and began to desire a normal life.”
“And you returned because?” You leaned your head onto Nanami’s shoulder, the volume of your voice soft. Over the months, Nanami and you had settled into an alarmingly comfortable routine where neither of you shy away from physical touches involving the other.
“Because I’d rather slave away for a greater good than simple monetary values. Sometimes, we have to distance ourselves from what we were passionate about in order to learn how to rekindle that spark.” Nanami leaned back into you as well. He offered the first bite of his sandwich to you, in which you graciously accepted.
Your eyes jolted open at the taste of the sandwich, nodding and clapping like seals before urging Nanami to test it out. “I’m glad you came back.” You said, after every bite had been successfully digested.
“I’m glad I met you.” You continued. Nanami agreed, no truer words had ever been said.
His presence became an irrefutable piece in your life, so did yours. Nanami had been there with a giant bouquet of flowers the moment you received a notice for promotion. You had worked your way up second grade and he had spent every second reassuring you that it was a well-deserved promotion. You had no leeway to doubt yourself whenever Nanami was present.
“Nanamin, you haven’t introduced me to the lady here?” And then you met Yuji Itadori. The boy was pure sunshine packaged and dusted in the form of a human. Nanami was extremely fond of him, you knew him well enough to recognize the familiar resignation in his sigh — it was tired yet tender. The two words that described Nanami perfectly.
“Itadori, she has worked with me for a while now.” Yuji brought your hand over to his before furiously shaking it, a huge grin etched on his face.
“Is she your girlfriend, Nanamin?” Nanami almost spat out the coffee he had just gulped. Any more of Yuji’s questions and he swore he’d get indigestion.
You were quick on your feet unlike the obviously flustered Nanami. “We’re partners!’
As an assist, you nudged Nanami’s side with your elbow. “Right, Ken?” Nanami had ignored your attempt at damage control. He disliked the connotations of simply being friends with you, but he was afraid of being in a relationship in this line of job. He was afraid he’d be gone one day and that you’d go through the same kind of grief he once went through.
Yuji stared at you, and stared back at Nanami. He was utterly unconvinced of the relationship between the two adults in front of him but he’d play it off. “Suuure, you are.” Yuji drawled, a faint smile found his feature — he was glad that as it turned out, his favorite teacher had someone to depend on.
The three settled into a comfortable routine, they’d either have lunch or dinner together. You’d cook dinner at your apartment with the help of Nanami, and Yuji would be all geared up, ready for the dishes. And now the two people you had treasured were now in Shibuya, fighting for their lives. You stared at the letter Shoko had handed to you, a little something from Nanami, she had said. You were told not to open the letter until tomorrow but you could hardly wait, with the nerves eating you inside out.
To the partner I cherish most,
Time seems to flow briskly when I find myself with you. It had been two years since I had the privilege of meeting you. I have come to a realization that no quantifiable amount of time will ever be enough when it comes to being with you. Thus, it pains me greatly to know that a mere two years will be all that I have of you.
The handwriting was undoubtedly Nanami’s. The content of the letter wasn’t one you’d imagine. Instead of hoping for the future, Nanami wrote as if he had surrendered into fate. You grabbed the keys to your apartment and slipped on the first shoe you saw on the doorway. Your hands were trembling, struggling to piece the key precisely into the whole. “Fuck!” you cursed, the key slid from your hold and into the ground. You bent forward to pick it up, panic rising up the bile on your stomach.
“Calm down, he’d be okay.” You whispered to yourself, hoping the false pretense you had deluded yourself in would somehow stop the quivering. Once unlocked, you sprinted down the stairs, skipping over a few dozens of staircases at once — the lift would take too long. Any public transport wouldn’t be viable to go to Shibuya currently, so you took the bike you usually used to commute to work. You couldn’t think, your feet were just peddling with enough grit and force to race through time.
If I could compile all of my regrets, all of the things I wished I would have said to you, the actions I wished I would have taken — perhaps only then, can I move away from cowardice. Only then, could the voices of truth finally resounded. Forgive me truly for writing this on a piece of letter. In the end, I wasn’t brave enough to covet the feelings I held for you in reality. How could I profess if all that awaited was misery? It’d hurt less to grieve the loss of a friend than a lover. Above all, it would pain me greatly to have another man comfort you in their embrace. Call it the selfishness of a man who has nothing left to lose.
Nanami wasn’t the only one with regrets, you were made of them. If he had been a coward, then you both would have been a pair of cowards. Both too afraid to lose, both too afraid to move, and both on the brink of losing it all.
Fortunately, Shibuya had been a close journey from your apartment. The moment you bypassed the barrier that had been erected, the putrid stench of death and cries of the people invaded your eardrums. Buildings were burning, citizens deformed, sorcerers fatally injured — the sight was horrid, a small part of you felt immense guilt. You had been sitting comfortably in your apartment, unaware of the hell that was breaking loose. And you wanted to help everyone, truly, but to tend to damage of this scale would take days if not weeks. It was selfish but you had to find Nanami.
You cut through the crowd, shouting for his name. Your mind raced continuously, although you didn’t want to, the ugly parts in your head envisioned Nanami long gone — that you wouldn’t be able to tell him the words you had wanted to say since forever. “Y/n, why are you here?” You heard Shoko’s voice, and sprinted to the tent where the casualties had resided.
You grabbed Shoko by her shoulder the moment you saw her, the amount of force exerted by your grip surprised Shoko herself. “Is Kento here?” Shoko shook her head, the sight of her friend being so unsettled was something she had never seen before.
“Ijichi would know, he’s inside.”
You didn’t waste any time, marching straight ahead to the makeshift bed which Shoko had kindly pointed out. Ijichi looked terrible but his state tells you a lot about the state Nanami was dealing with.
“Where’s Kento at?”
“H-he’s in the subway, down the BF5 platform. B-but the communication has been cut, and it’s d-dangerous there. I failed them.” Ijichi sobbed, his blood had seeped into the makeshift bed, indicating a severe bleeding — even while so, he was suffocating from the failure that would surely haunt him for life.
“You did all that you could, thank you Ijichi.” You nodded at him, Shoko already by the other side of the bed, ready to heal the poor guy. Time was a luxury, after you had the exact coordinates confirmed, you left for where Nanami was supposed to be. You could never get used to the state Shibuya was in, the once bustling section of the city was more akin to barren of despair. Everything was crimson red, it was all too cruel.
Even if time was not by our side, I thanked the universe everyday for connecting our lives together. Do you recall the day you cried on the streets after our mission? I wasn’t adept with words that could deliver comfort, I didn’t have tissues back then — I had to use my tie to wipe away your tears. If I were to think back, that’d be the moment I ‘fell’ for you. It wasn’t a crash out of nowhere, the love I had was an accumulation of the mundane everyday that we spent together. From every visit to local bakeries, to every coffee you had gotten for me, to nights where for once we’d be honest about ourselves. It was all that we had, all that we weren’t, and all that we could have, that constitutes this feeling of love, in which I have for you.
It was hard to navigate Shibuya’s subway, but Ijichi’s coordinates were precise enough. And you’d be thankful for all that he had done once this was all over. You found them quick enough, but always a tad bit too late. Nanami, Maki, and Naobito were all at a brink of exhaustion. In the years you had been a sorcerer, this was a sight you had never seen before. The three of them stood in the ruined subway corridor, you felt it then, a silent yet impending surge of cursed energy coming from where they were.
“Get down!!” You yelled. Nanami would have sworn that he was hearing things, you shouldn’t be here. But even if it was a dream, he’d listen to you any time. The trio docked, following your warning, that was when a gush of fire erupted and unveiled Jogo.
“Still too late.” Jogo murmured, the speed at which he moved was hard for the exhausted trio to keep up with. You ran, heart palpitating faster with each step closer. Jogo walked past Nanami, a hand onto his torso — you watched it all happen, all too quickly, fire engulfed Nanami. “That’s one.” You were completely ignored by Jogo but it was fine, it worked out in your favor. You dropped to your knees by the time Nanami was within arms reach, his condition was terrible and you didn’t even know where to start.
“No. It’ll hurt.” Nanami’s scorched hand grabbed on your palm tight, refusing any sort of help as he knew it would only hurt you in the process. Even in the face of danger, Nanami had always thought of your cursed technique as a double-edged sword. As much as possible, he wouldn’t want you to use it recklessly — even if his life was at stake. He’d rather die than let you be in pain.
“I’ll take just enough, so please, let’s share it okay.” You didn’t want to hear Nanami’s protest any longer. Your curse energy enveloped Nanami’s wound and you clenched your teeth, bracing for the tenfold of impact that would hit you any moment now. Nanami, even in pain, was an angel, he tightened the hold he held on your hand, as if to make his presence known even when the pain would hit you, “I’ve got you.” Nanami said, his voice weaker than ever. You could cry at this moment.
Nanami’s pain was immeasurable. You had shrieked, body bent and convulsing as each wave of hurt was delivered with increasing intensity. Tears began to flow irrationally, and Jogo who was about to prey on Maki and Naobito had diverted their attention to you instead. Even amidst the pain, you could feel it, there was no way you could win a fight against Jogo. But you had to somehow try. Even if Nanami and you were doomed to die now, you’d at least be together.
Jogo was going after you, he had deemed the anomaly in front of him of a higher priority than the 2 crippled and weak sorcerers by the side. And you were too loud, he had no qualms about watching doomed lovers but you in particular rubbed him off the wrong way. You flicked your wrist then. Immediately, Jogo felt a sense of discomfort boiling inside his body. From his inside, a fire, much akin to his, was eating away at his life force.
You flicked your wrist again, this time a gaping hole tore open the middle of Jogo’s body. He vomited, finally understanding that the whole thing was your doing. He clicked his tongue, you were the worst opponent he could ever ask for — unlike the other sorcerers you weren’t worn out. It was then that he felt a dawning pressure, a cursed energy so great unlike others — Lord Sukuna’s awakening was close.
“Consider yourself lucky.” Jogo left without another word. As much as he’d want to continue the charade, his priority list had been rearranged.
Your body gave out, and you momentarily collapsed on top of Nanami. You had lied to him, saying you’d take in just enough. No, you had to take the brunt of the entire burn or else Nanami would never make it. Fortunately, there was a person to release it — thus that mean you only bottled the pain for a while, even if that was the case, the pain was still real and you felt it wrecked your body.
Blood trickled down your nose, Nanami stared, horrified at the sight he had seen. It wasn’t a mere nosebleed, you had blood gushing out of your eyes either.
“Are you with me?!” Nanami called out, feeling her body which had laid on top of his hadn’t moved in a while now. Most of his pain had subsided, no doubt your doing. You had overexerted yourself to save him. He had to get you to safety, Nanami wrapped his arms on you and stood up, he nodded to where Maki and Naobito were situated. They smiled back at him weakly, understanding the distress that had contorted the man’s features.
“I didn’t write that letter so that you’d be here.” Nanami began to speak, he had you on his back, your arms weakly dangled on his neck.
“But we always seem to find one another, don’t we?” He chuckled, the aftertaste astringent when he realized you hadn’t been responding to a word he said. Had you even read his letter to the end — knowing you, you’d probably bolted out of your apartment the moment you read the first sentence.
I love you. Even if I could never hear you say these words, I’d be content with you knowing that my heart passionately longs for you. Every heartbeat, every pump of joy this body had known, was ignited by you truly. I love you so much that it hurts, this wasn’t the ending of us that I had in mind. As I now envision Malaysia, I see you there.
Nanami had to get to Shoko as soon as possible. He was out of the station within moments, a part of him forced himself to continue with his speeches, even if you weren’t responding, even if your body started feeling a little too cold for his liking. He made it out of the station but they were still a distance away from Shoko’s tent.
“Stay awake please.” Nanami pleaded, allocating every ounce of energy he had left to make it to Shoko’s in time. He felt it then, a small twitch on your pink — he exhaled a sigh of relief that he hadn’t realized he had been holding.
The relentless sprint didn’t take long for a trained man like Nanami, he was running on pure adrenaline. Simply, on the drive and desire to keep you safe. Nanami could see Shoko’s tent before long, he needed to hold on just a little longer, for the both of you.
“We’ll be okay, You’ll be okay.” Nanami whispered reassurances, even if he knew your consciousness was fading — it was an act to comfort himself, it was an act to remain hopeful. He couldn’t just lose hope when he was already right in front of the tent.
“Shoko!” He yelled out, falling onto his knees, the rush dissipated into an overbearing emptiness. Just then, his vision clouded, and he wasn’t sure if he was delivering the words he needed to. He heard Ijichi’s panicked voice. He saw a glimpse of Shoko’s hair. And then he felt your hand tighten the hold on his neck before darkness engulfed him.
Save her please.
Nanami’s whole letter
To the partner I cherish most,
Time seemed to flow briskly when I find myself with you. It had been two years since I had the privilege of meeting you. I have come to a realization that no quantifiable amount of time will ever be enough when it comes to being with you. Thus, it pains me greatly to know that a mere two years will be all that I have of you.
If I could compile all of my regrets, all of the things I wished I would have said to you, the actions I wished I would have taken — perhaps only then, can I move away from cowardice. Only then, could the voices of truth finally resounded. Forgive me truly for writing this on a piece of letter. In the end, I wasn’t brave enough to covet the feelings I held for you in reality. How could I profess if all that awaited was misery? It’d hurt less to grieve the loss of a friend than a lover. Above all, it would pain me greatly to have another man comfort you in their embrace. Call it the selfishness of a man who has nothing left to lose.
Even if time was not by our side, I thanked the universe everyday for connecting our lives together. Do you recall the day you cried on the streets after our mission? I wasn’t adept with words that could deliver comfort, I didn’t have tissues back then — I had to use my tie to wipe away your tears. If I were to think back, that’d be the moment I ‘fell’ for you. It wasn’t a crash out of nowhere, the love I had was an accumulation of the mundane everyday that we spent together. From every visit to local bakeries, to every coffee you had gotten for me, to nights where for once we’d be honest about ourselves. It was all that we had, all that we weren’t, and all that we could have, that constitutes this feeling of love, in which I have for you.
I love you. Even if I could never hear you say these words, I’d be content with you knowing that my heart passionately longs for you. Every heartbeat, every pump of joy this body had known, was ignited by you truly. I love you so much that it hurts, this wasn’t the ending of us that I had in mind. As I now envision Malaysia, I see you there.
You have to eat well. I trust that you’d find a healthier method to cope with grief. You’re strong, so much more than you ever credit yourself for. It has been my life’s greatest joy to be able to spend these years and watch over your growth. Fulfill a wish of mine, will you, my love? Stay strong for the days ahead. Be healthy and take care of Yuji.
If there was a life after this, I’d find you. No matter how long it takes. I love you, I wished I could have said it enough.
Yours forever,
Kento.
It wasn't written but they both survived.
A/n: I wanted to make it short but it ended up being longer than I thought. Hope everyone enjoyed it! Reblogs, comments, and likes are highly appreciated 𓏲ּ𝄢
Nanami Kento x f!reader
A short drabble: Nanami knows he can treat you so much better than your current boyfriend, but he's trapped in the sweet friendship you've established.
⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆ Homewrecker - Sombr
“Do you think Nolan would like it?” you questioned as you did a little twirl. The laces layer of your dress fabric fluttered alongside the momentum of your sway.
Meanwhile, Nanami had sunken deep into the bean bag situated opposite of her vanity table. He’d seen it all — how you had grumbled over the crooked line of your eyeliner or how you frustratingly threw a bunch of clothes on your bed, attempting to find the perfect fit. Why were you trying so hard for that scumbag?
“He’d be a fool if he doesn’t.” Nolan didn’t deserve a single cell on her body. That man-child had a fogged vision — Nolan wouldn’t be able to appreciate what was in front of him even if he tried. But Nanami could. Even if he was just a friend, there was no part of you that he hadn’t revered.
You frowned, lips curled upwards and brows furrowed. Your hands tried to pull at the bottom of the dress you were wearing. For the next few minutes, you paced back and forth in front of the mirror, assessing your attire from every vantage point of view. As if resigning, you heaved a heavy sigh before shifting through your closet for another piece of dress.
Nanami noticed. Of course he would. The book on his lap was just a facade, the man’s gaze had been fixated on you from the start. “What are you worried about, gorgeous?” Sweet nicknames poured out of him so easily for you. You couldn’t have known but in his mind, every evocation of beauty that he perceived was reserved for you. Words of endearment like sweetheart, darling, sunshine — for him, it all materialized in the form of you.
“Nolan told me a few times now to be mindful of what I wear.” You liked your current dress too, otherwise, you wouldn’t look as if someone had just stolen the last cheesecake on your fridge. He stood up swiftly, already a step away from you. You averted your gaze from the impending stare. The contrast between both of your height always seemed to surprise you.
Tenderly, his fingers brushed against your chin and lifted your forlorn gaze to meet his. Nanami was careful not to ruin the make up you had layered oh-so-carefully. “Maybe Nolan should be mindful of what he says.”
With his free hand, Nanami traced the contour of your lips — erasing the stray smudge to which you'd freak out over if you had noticed. “Ethereal as always.”
Heat crept up your neck, Nanami always had a way with words and you can never seemed to get used to it. You tried to shift your focus onto the ceiling instead of staring straight into those eyes that you could just drown into. It was futile really, you had already dived into the sea long ago despite being a terrible swimmer.
Ugly fits of jealousy scorched his flesh. Nanami knew he’d treat you better than that boy ever could. Countless times, he had imagined ruining the sweet friendship he had with you. The timing had never worked out for him and his patience was running on thin ice.
Fuck Nolan, truly.
A/n: Sorry to all the Nolans out there but I don't think I can ever get enough of Nanami. Hope you guys enjoyed it! Reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃
Megumi Fushiguro x f!reader
A short drabble in which Megumi decided that he had to marry you.
“Dating or dating?” Yuji asked, the corner of his eyes zeroed in on his friend who had recently gotten into a relationship. He'd never thought anyone would put up with Megumi's grumpiness.
Next to him, Nobara munched on the caramel popcorn they had bought with Gojo's credit card. “I’d say soon to be married with how inseparable they’ve been.”
“Guys, we’re still here.” you chipped in, nuzzling your nose further into Megumi's hoodie. He returned your affection by stroking your arms gently. At times when Megumi noticed that you had gotten way too engrossed at those 10-minute soap dramas on youtube, he’d give you a small pinch on the side. Just enough to jolt you back to reality. This would earn him a tiny pout or a you'd huff — your arms folded to feign anger. Not that he minded either, it'd end with thousands of kisses anyway.
“Do you think he’s jealous that she’s paying more attention to the TV?” Megumi wondered why he stuck with his friends. They were quite the nosy bunch and while he had been grateful for their presence, it was time for the gratuity to run out. Without warning, he threw the pillow closest to him at Yuji. The pillow landed flat at Yuji's face yet the boy gleamed in delight.
“Positively jealous.” Yuji and Nobara traded thumbs up and Megumi let out another groan. It was going to be one hell of a night. All cuddled up in his embrace, you chuckled at their antics. The sound of your laughter soothed all the tension out of Megumi's joints, it was then that he realized he had to marry you. Or maybe it was those idiots, silently implanting ideas in his head — either way, he couldn’t find a better place to be than by your side.
A/n: I feel like this works for every sunshine x grumpy ship but I can only think of Megumi for some reason. Hope you guys enjoyed it! Reblogs, comments, and likes are really appreciated ᥫ᭡.
Summary: The infamous galaxy ranger's favorite pastime was to mess with the IPC as much as he could — particularly when Oswaldo was involved. In his latest rodeo, Boothill ended up kidnapping a woman imprisoned by IPC. The aftermath had him wishing if only he had any warmth left to spare for her.
Word count: 2.7k words
As a wanted man, Boothill spent his days entirely mundane. Sunlight pierced through the gaps between the curtains, light spilling all over the bed that was entirely too small for a man of his stature. Alas, Boothill’s eyes twitched open, the light all too potent for sleep to lull him back. He groaned, his metal attachments warm from the casual heat of the sun. The man stretched out lightly, it was a habit he had kept even after his body underwent the transformation. Boothill felt it then, "today would be a fudging good day" — he could tell by the ease and fluidity of his limbs. It felt like he was whole and not a machine.
Despite how much he thrived in chaos, Boothill had non-negotiables in the morning. He’d wipe himself with a damp towel, ensuring that water did not seep into certain parts of his automation. A cup of coffee was also compulsory. As of late, he had been attempting to recreate Himeko’s infamous coffee. The coffee he had made so far tasted modest — far from the potent taste it ought to be. Shirtless, his fingers wrapped around the jar sitting on top of the nightstand. Boothill unwinded the jar, revealing oil lubricant for the cyborg part of him. He took a few dollops of the oil, smearing it thin into the cold metal he now called skin. The man who had been known for his spontaneous nature was surprisingly delicate in applying the oil. In particular, he massaged swirls on the areas around his joint meticulously. Boothill rinsed the cup of coffee, placing it next to the rack of piled up dishes before getting dressed.
The cowboy slipped his jacket and hat on as he strutted out of his temporary house. For a renowned criminal as himself, Boothill went on with his days without disguise. He ran errands for the elderly, helping a few of them carry loads that could easily tower over their figure.
Afterwards, children would clamor over him in admiration. The children would roped Boothill into one of their little games. Role-playing as cowboys had been a recent crowd pleaser. “Well sugars, I’m a cowboy, I don’t need to pretend like you little shirts.” He had told them once, or maybe thrice now. Kids around this part of the town seemed to practice selective retention of information.
When dusk started to gloss over the sky, it was a curtain call for the kids to scramble back home and bid their games farewell. “Tomorrow, I’ll make you my underling!” One of the kids exclaimed, his mother dragging him back home by his ear while profusely bowing down to Boothill apologetically.
“Holy baby! Give it yer best shot.” Boothill yelled back, waving his hand back and forth to the kid. You thought he’d have a couple of seconds for a breather, but as the kids walked home with their parents, a couple of the older uncles came over. They asked whether Boothill would be free to join their little fishing club. “Would love to folks but duties call for tonight.”
“Good luck on that! We’d be fishing by the lake all week long around this time, come over when you’re free.”
“Betcha!” The cowboy strutted away, his feet carrying a light rhythm. See, like how he had predicted, it had been a fabulous day. There was just one thing missing though. Boothill called it dessert — a dessert to wrap up the whole day apparently. If those uncles knew they had been wishing Boothill good luck in blowing up IPC’s building, would they have retracted their words of blessings? Highly likely. No take-backs on luck though.
An apple a day was rumored to improve health in the long run. Being a cyborg, Boothill didn’t quite need an apple. Instead, he substituted the apple in the best way that he knew how to. With a sprinkle of chaos, and a few frag grenades. Frankly speaking, grenades were the same size as an apple. They both fit in his palm just right. Glee and jolts of adrenaline rushed in his vein, ebbing and flowing. Imagining Oswaldo’s fuming face energized Boothill to take his charade a step further.
In the middle of his man-made chaos, Boothill evaded a few guards, advancing into the branch headquarter of IPC with ease. He saw her then. A woman yanked by the hair, the guards were pulling at you with little remorse. At some point, your feet had attempted to claw onto the cold ceramics to stop the momentum at which they were dragging you on. That would have hurt a lot — Boothill had always grown his hair, he’d know. In the past, his adoptive daughter had tangled his hair up with a bunch of glue. He remembered the pain of untangling the mess.
“Make sure she stays alive, Sir Oswaldo’s order.” One of the shorter guards chided the burly-looking guard who had been dragging you by the hair. The guard shrugged, his grip on the your hair loosen. You fell back helplessly to the ground, your knees rattled against the ceramic floor. Boothill was in no way a saint, but he couldn’t just stand still when women and children were harmed.
A thought crossed his fantastic mind. Boothill was your daily IPC-Especially-Oswaldo’s-Section wrecker. What was another crime compared to the stack he had been accumulating so far? The galaxy ranger didn’t need to think far. If Oswaldo was ever involved, Boothill made it his goal to ensure the guy would suffer. Thus, the cowboy’s plan to kidnap the unknown woman began to spring into action.
“Watch out babies!” Boothill’s flamboyant entrance caught the attention of the whole guards in the area. The guards scrambled to get a hold of their weapons that were mounted on their back. A distinguished round shaped item rolled out of boothill’s side to them, “You might go ka-boom.” The IPC guards abandoned all thoughts of fighting back and scuttled away in a hurry as the ‘grenade’ rolled slowly in circles. Boothill turned to the woman while the IPC guards sprinted away from impending fear.
“Find cover!” The IPC guards yelled on top of one another, rendering most of their voices incoherent. A sense of dread and unease clouded their minds. Red lights flickered uncontrollably from the grenade which exacerbated the panic.
“Now’s our chance, young lady.” Boothill extended his hand at you who had been abandoned. He noted that your eyes were rimmed red, likely from tears. And that there were circular bruises around your ankle.
“Who are you?” You questioned, her hand fumbling around the thin fabric of dress — prisoner’s wear, from Boothill’s observation.
“A certain cowboy to save the day.” Boothill replied, he gave you his signature grin with a small thumbs up on the side. “Now if you’d let me.” Boothill pulled you into his arm and then over his shoulder, carrying you with the grace of a sack of potatoes.
The ‘grenade’ continuously beeped and the guards were praying for themselves, sending prayers to their loved ones. Their eyes were shut tight, anticipating a blast that could rupture the whole building down. Yet it never came. A gust of smoke quickly filled the space instead, one of the guards dared himself to look.
“It’s a smokescreen! The galaxy ranger had us all fooled!”
Boothill could hear them from afar, it was worth the trouble to procure different kinds of ‘grenade’ to confuse his enemies. However, the one thing about IPC was that they multiply like those swarms on Herta’s space station. Despite having detonated a few areas, fooled lots of guards, and fought some more of them, there were still a bunch ready for him.
His robotic arms wrapped tighter on the sack of potatoes (totally living being) that he had slumped down his shoulder. “Hang on tight young lady, it’ll be a wild ride.”
The pair had to work out quite a bit of a sweat to find their sweet escape from the IPC lair. Boothill had a firm grip on you who were by his shoulder. The chaos of your escape was muffled by nausea and your urge to puke. You tried to hold it down, pushing the urge away until you deemed it was safe to whine, complain, and to rest. On the other hand, Boothill found you to be the most docile passenger princess. You may not have remembered but she had acted as Boothill’s rear view, allowing him to gain another vantage point before enemies strike.
“Ha! Finally out of the fudgin’ shirtholes!” The cowboy had left one huge explosion to keep the IPC guards entertained. For the remaining persistent guards, Boothill ran in circles to shake off the ones that had followed them out. It didn’t take long at all before he made his grand escape. Yet another miss for Oswaldo’s squadron.
With the moon peaking over the cloud, and a small breeze brushing against his cheeks, it surely was the perfect time of peace. Boothill thought of going back home to unwind. He’d wipe the grim and dirt away from his body. Perhaps even screw his arm tight as well. It all sounded like music to his ear, except something felt amiss.
There was an uncomfortable gnawing at his mind, he attempted to knock his head with his left hand. It was then that he felt a certain weight pressing on top of his shoulder. Right, he had kidnapped this woman out of spite for IPC. How could he have forgotten when you were right on his shoulder all this whole time? Silly him.
“Yer okay back there?” Boothill nudged your side with his index finger, hoping you had not died out of an accident. If you did, the IPC would have yet another field day, blaming all the issues onto him.
“The comfiest I had been.” You weakly drawled, the words you had said were betrayed by your delivery. Boothill was sure that you’d make one terrible actress.
Fortunately, the walk to Boothill’s temporary residence was quick. He kicked the door to his entrance. The door swung open fiercely due to his sheer strength. Boothill settled you on the couch opposite of where his bed was. The kidnapping was simple, except Boothill didn’t know what to do afterwards.
“I’m sorry, they were all after you because of me.” You had your face casted down, brows knitted tight, and your lips were paler than he'd like.
Boothill shuffled over the cabinets and found a couple bottles of water he had yet to touch. The cowboy tossed it over to you without looking back. The bottle of water landed perfectly on your lap. Your mind shuffled between being impressed by his aim or being confused by the random kindness he had shown you. For every act of gratuity, there had to be a price to pay. As you currently were, you had nothing to give him after all the trouble you had brought upon.
“That’s adorbs really, but they were after me sweetheart.” Not many people had bounties higher than Boothill, he’d be aware of you if you were of universal-level threat. It’d be a different story if you were a secret member of the stellaron hunter that he wasn’t aware of.
“Unless yer bounty exceeds a billion.” He quickly added, not wanting to embarrass himself.
“Your bounty is over a billion?” Your eyes were wide open. Sure, you weren't exactly an innocent soul either but this man before you was a full-fledged criminal? “He couldn’t even curse properly!” The voice in your head thought out loud. You just found it to be all too unbelievable.
“One and only, Boothill at your service.” Boothill mimicked the sophisticated bows that he had seen Argenti do dozens of times whenever he was with the ladies. His limbs weren’t as fluid as Argenti’s but it seemed that you were entertained. He would have missed it if he had blinked. Thank the aeons he didn’t. It was faint but the corners of your lips had risen slightly.
“My name’s ...”
“And what crime landed you on IPC’s five star prison resort young lady? Surely not, the crime of beauty, that’d be lit as fudge.” Boothill sat on the other edge of the couch keeping a fair share of distance on the tiny two-seater couch. He was trying not to overwhelm poor you. A majority of his acquaintances had told him that he seemed too intimidating or too much. The cyborg body didn’t help either, it only further accentuated his daunting presence.
You chuckled, the voice coming out rather dry and hoarse. As if your throat had been dried up for a few days now. Strangely, Boothill found it to be all the more endearing.
“The IPC hired me to persuade citizens to sign off their lands to them for reconstruction purposes. I disobeyed them and leaked vital information to the citizens instead. It caused quite the rage and also came with a hefty price.” You trailed your fingers at the bruise on your skin, particularly the ones on the ankle of her feet. It was caused by a chain that was secured all too tightly. In their words, it was to remind you of your own position if you continued to rebel.
“You’ve got more balls than the IPC themselves!” He wasn’t one to hand out empty praises. For one, he knew that standing up to IPC was equivalent to being hunted down like you are less than a livestock. The woman in front of him knew of the consequences and did it for the good that it’d bring.
“You think so?”
“I knew so. Fudge, you did fantastic.” Your shoulder quaked, and your eyes started to moistened over the cowboy’s strange speech. On the other hand, Boothill was unsure whether to lend his shoulder for you to cry on or dump a package of tissue on you instead. It had been years since he had to do any form of comforting, decades even, if he had to count properly.
However, it seemed that his worries were unfounded when you sweetly asked for him to hold you. You had no ulterior motives, you just needed something to ground you down — you were scared of being alone, having to go through the shit IPC demanded of you, being jailed and deprived of nutrients for days.
It wasn’t a cry to be intimate. It was a survivor’s way of bonding, of understanding and relearning what safe was supposed to mean. Boothill obliged, he opened his arms and waited for you to sink into the embrace. Only when you had clung and hugged his body, did he finally wrapped his arm around you.
Boothill wasn’t one for hugs. No, his current body composition had not been able to accommodate for such feelings anymore. He thought it was pointless, his body was made to fight, to avenge his home planet. Most of all, it was due to the lack of warmth. If he could not give or take in warmth, how could his hug be of any comfort?
Of all times, he wished his engine would go on overtime now. If his engine combusted, would the burn of his machinations served as an engulfing embrace? He wished the iron plates on his body would warm up just enough to shed warmth over the long winter you had been trapped in. But it couldn’t, and that too was okay. Boothill’s hands may have been cold, but it was those exact hands that had reached out to you. Even if he was devoid of warmth, even if he was tethering between being human or a machine. It was the cold that had eased your hurt. It was the cold that stayed amidst the waging war of emotions inside your heart. And it was the cold that reminded you that you'd be okay. That you're still alive.
“I’ve got you.” Maybe tomorrow when Boothill had been awoken by yet another blinding ray of the sunlight, he’d be slightly warm enough to your touch. Until then, this would be enough.
A/n: Thank you so much for reading, I hope you guys enjoy it! Reblogs, likes, and comments are appreciated ♡
