LiorĂŠ | 19 | i write things, sometimes they even make sense | she/her | intj
master list đ˛Öźđ˘ (haikyuu, bnha, bsd, jjk, wwm)
ËËđ˘Ö´ŕťâ recent works: Between Monsters And Men ŰśŰৠCursed Vow ŰśŰৠIn His Blind Spot ŰśŰৠThe Endurance Game ŰśŰŕ§
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when you bring home a trembling stray kitten from the cold, chuuya nakahara isnât amused. between mafia meetings and the chaos of your secret relationship, the last thing he needs is a furball scratching up his coat. but as days go by, you begin to notice strange things: missing tuna cans, faint purring in the kitchen, and chuuya getting up earlier than usual.
(fluff, slice of life)
The air in the docksâ apartment smelled faintly of coffee and gunpowder - the usual combination when Chuuya Nakahara was home. Maps were spread across the table, his coat tossed on the back of a chair, hat carefully resting beside a glass of whiskey.
He looked up the moment your footsteps echoed in the hall. His instincts never failed him, and yet what entered the room made his brows furrow in a way not even an ambush could.
-What did you bring home? Another solider? - his tone was teasing, but his gaze was sharp.
You stepped inside, a small gray kitten trembling in your arms. Its fur was wet from the rain, eyes wide and frightened. You smiled softly, ignoring his gruffness.
-More like... a new kind of ally. One that wonât shoot us in our sleep. You know, we need some soft power.
Chuuya groaned.
-You canât be serious.
-Oh, Iâm completely serious. - you crouched down and let the kitten on the floor. It immediately darted under the sofa, meowing pitifully.Chuuya pinched the bridge of his nose.
-Weâre not keeping it.
-Weâll see.
That was how it began - a small, soaked creature and one very reluctant mafia executive.
The kitten, whom you had quickly named Whiskey ("Because it matches your mood,â youâd told Chuuya, to which heâd grumbled something about "ridiculous women"), had made itself at home faster than anyone expected.
At first, Chuuya avoided it entirely. Heâd roll his eyes whenever you cooed at it, or when it tried climbing onto the couch beside him.
But as days turned into weeks, little signs began to appear. A half-empty bowl of milk on the kitchen floor. Tiny paw prints near the stove. The faintest sound of purring whenever Chuuya thought no one was around. You didnât say anything. You noticed, though - you always did.
One morning, you woke earlier than usual. Dawn light spilled through the window, painting the apartment in a pale glow. The air smelled faintly of toast.
You walked quietly, barefoot on the wooden floor. The sound that reached you first wasnât the clatter of pans - it was a soft murmur.
-Yeah, thatâs it. Eat slow, dummy. Youâll choke like that.
Peeking into the kitchen, you froze.
There was Chuuya, shirt sleeves rolled up, hair slightly messy. He stood by the counter, frying eggs in one hand while using the other to hold a tiny saucer near the floor. Whiskey was there, licking at the milk with loud, happy slurps.
Chuuyaâs expression wasnât his usual scowl or sharp smirk. It was... peaceful. Soft. A smile ghosted on his lips, the kind he rarely allowed anyone to see. You leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, amusement tugging at your mouth.
-So this is what you do when Iâm not around?
Chuuya stiffened. The frying pan nearly slipped from his hand.
-Fuck... damn it, I thought you were still asleep.
-Oh, donât mind me. - you said sweetly - Iâm just admiring this touching domestic scene. You, cooking breakfast for our little criminal.
-Sheâs not our anything.
-Really? Then why is she wearing your hat like a blanket?
Chuuya looked down. The kitten had indeed dragged his hat across the floor and curled up inside it. He sighed, defeated.
-Sheâs got good taste. Thatâs all.
You laughed, stepping closer, then kissing his cheek as a good morning kiss.
-You know, for someone who swears he hates cats, youâre not very convincing.
He glanced at you from under his lashes, faint color dusting his cheeks.
-Tch. Keep this between us. Like everything else.
-Everything? - you teased - Even that little smile of yours?
-Babe... - he warned, voice low, but there was no real anger in it.
-Relax. Your secretâs safe with me.
Days passed, and the kitten became part of your rhythm. Chuuya would grumble about cat hair on his coats, but you would catch him tucking the kittenâs blanket closer before heading out on missions.
Sometimes, after long nights, you would wake to find Chuuya asleep on the couch, hat tilted over his eyes, the kitten sprawled across his chest. Youâd just stand there for a moment, heart swelling at the sight. There was something heartbreakingly gentle in the way his hand rested protectively on the small creature, as if even in sleep, he couldnât stop shielding those he cared about.
One night, while you sat together watching the rain outside, you broke the silence.
-You know... sheâs not the only stray who found a home here.
Chuuya turned to you, confusion flickering in his blue eyes.
You smiled faintly.
-I wasnât exactly in the best place when I came to the Port Mafia, remember? You gave me a chance. Thatâs worth more than you think.
He exhaled slowly, eyes softening.
-Youâre not a stray, youâre my partner. And donât you forget that.
The kitten meowed as if in agreement. You laughed quietly, leaning your head on his shoulder.
-Guess we both owe you, then.
Chuuya smiled against your hair, his voice a low murmur.
-Though... itâs kind of nice to see you like this.
Chuuya tilted his head slightly toward you.
-Like what?
-Human.
That made him chuckle, low and genuine.
-Careful, Sweetheart. Keep talking like that, and I might start acting like one.
-I wouldnât mind that.
He turned, your eyes meeting - and for a moment, the whole world seemed to pause. The kitten squirmed, breaking the tension, but the warmth lingered.
-Youâve got a soft spot. And itâs kind of beautiful.
He gave you a half-smile, the kind that made your knees weak.
-Then maybe Iâm not the only with one, huh?
You squeezed his hand.
-TouchĂŠ.
thank you for reading, if you enjoyed this story, feel free to like or reblog, it truly means a lot and helps my work reach more readers.
requests are currently open, so donât hesitate to drop an idea in my inbox.
port mafia dazai x reader ?? đđ she can be involved in the pm or not, but sheâs kinda dorky but hides it with everyone but dazaiâŚ. đŁđŁđŁđŁđŁđŁ but lowkey she dresses like a dork too who she fooling
mission: act normal (impossibble) ⢠dazai osamu
you have to fake a relationship with dazai for a mission. too bad you're awful at acting normal in social situations. luckily (or not), he's more than happy to keep you close and make it worse.
(dorky!reader, fluff, cute)
He doesnât even warn you.
-One more thing... - Dazai says lightly, adjusting his coat as if youâre about to take a casual stroll instead of infiltrate a high-end gala tied to a smuggling ring -...weâll be going as a couple.
-âŚIâm sorry?
-A couple. You and me. Try to look convincing. - he repeats, smiling like this is the least offensive thing heâs ever said.
You just stare at him. Outfit: questionable. Nerves: catastrophic. Social skills: already on life support.
-Why me? - you ask, a little too quickly.
-Because, - he tilts his head, eyes glinting, - youâre the only one who reacts honestly.
That is not comforting. The venue is too bright, too elegant, too full of people who look like they belong. You do not belong. Not in your slightly off-fitting dress that you thought looked refined (it does not), not with the way you keep overthinking where to put your hands, and definitely not with the way your brain is short-circuiting because Dazaiâs hand slides into yours. You freeze.
-Relax, he murmurs, leaning closer as you walk in - you look like youâre about to confess to a crime.
-I might... - you hiss under your breath -...if this keeps...
His thumb brushes over your knuckles. You forget how to form sentences.
-âŚhappening. - you finish weakly
He hums, amused.
-Youâre blushing. Very believable.
-I am not!
-You are.
-Iâm not!
He glances at you, smile widening just a fraction.
-Then hold my hand like you mean it.
That is a mistake. Because now youâre thinking about it. Overthinking it. Are you gripping too tight? Too loose? Is your hand sweaty? Oh god, itâs probably sweaty. You adjust your grip. Then adjust it again. Then...
-Youâre treating it like a bomb. - Dazai says.
-Shut up, Iâm not!
-You are.
-I just...thereâs a correct way to do this.
-There isnât.
-There is! Normal people donât just hold hands like this.
He stops walking. You nearly walk straight into him. Before you can recover, he turns, closing the distance in one smooth motion. His free hand comes up, resting lightly at your waist, steadying you. Too close. Way too close.
-âŚDazai, - you say, voice dropping, - what are you doing?
-Fixing your performance. - he replies.
His gaze flickers over your face: too attentive, too sharp for someone who claims not to care.
-Listen carefully, youâre not pretending to be comfortable. You are comfortable.
-I am not comfortable.
He leans in slightly, enough that anyone watching would think it intimate.
-Smile, like you enjoy this hilariously designed party. Trust me, i hate it too, but a mission is a mission.
His hand at your waist tightens, just a little. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to ground you. To show you that he is there. You force your shoulders to relax. Force your expression to soften. Your hand, still in his, stops fidgeting, even if it feels like every nerve is screaming. You look at him. Actually look. And that might be your second mistake. Because up close, Dazai is unfair. Composed in a way that feels practiced, effortless in a way that absolutely isnât. His expression shifts the moment your eyes meet his: subtle, but there. Approval.
-There, - he says quietly - was that so hard?
-Yes. - you mutter.
He laughs under his breath.
-Stay close. - he adds, as if you have a choice.
You last ten minutes. Ten whole minutes of pretending to be normal before everything starts unraveling. It begins with a conversation you definitely should not be leading.
-Yes, we-uh-travel a lot, - you say to a sharply dressed man whose name you have already forgotten - together. Frequently. In a...shared...travel way.
Dazai goes very still beside you. The man raises a brow.
-A shared⌠travel way?
You want to die.
-Yes! - you say, doubling down for no reason. - We share. Travel. Together.
There is a pause. Dazai cuts in smoothly, smiling like this is all part of the plan.
-She means we donât like being apart, - he says, tone easy, natural - work tends to pull us in different directions, so we make the most of our time.
His arm slips more firmly around your waist as he speaks. You short-circuit.
-Oh, i see. - the man says, expression shifting.
-You donât. - you blurt.
Dazaiâs fingers press lightly into your side. You shut up immediately.
-Excuse us. he says, already guiding you away before you can make things worse.
The moment youâre out of earshot, you turn to him.
-I was doing fine.
-You said "shared travel way".
-I panicked.
-You did more than panic.
You groan, dragging a hand over your face.
-I donât do this! - you mutter - Talking, blending in, pretending, this is not my thing.
-I noticed.
-Thatâs not helpful.
-No, but itâs entertaining.
You glare at him. He just looks amused.
-Youâre impossible. - you say.
-And you, - he tilts his head, studying you again, - are very bad at hiding.
-Iâm not hiding anything.
-Really?
He steps closer again, closer than necessary, closer than safe.
-You fidget when youâre nervous, you over-explain when youâre lying. And you look at me like Iâm about to ruin your life.
-I do not...
-You do.
-âŚmaybe I am. - you mutter.
Something flickers in his expression. Gone just as quickly.
-Good, that means youâre paying attention.
Before you can respond, he takes your hand again, more naturally this time, like it belongs there. And the worst part? You donât overthink it. Not as much.
-Weâre still not done, - he adds, glancing back toward the crowd. -try not to confess to anything this time.
-No promises.
He smiles. And keeps your hand in his anyway.
tysm for your request hope you like it :3
thank you for reading, if you enjoyed this story, feel free to like or reblog, it truly means a lot and helps my work reach more readers.
requests are currently open, so donât hesitate to drop an idea in my inbox.
where you play a game with nanami, and the game is called "who will cum first?".
(mdni!, smut, erotica)
The dim candlelight flickered across the silk sheets of the opulent hotel suite, casting warm shadows that danced like secrets on the walls. You reclined on the king-sized bed, your eyes locked onto Nanami with a challenge that made the air hum with anticipation. You wore nothing but a sheer black lace negligee. He stood at the foot of the bed, his muscular frame silhouetted against the city lights filtering through the curtains, his short blond hair tousled and his intense blue eyes gleaming with cocky resolve. He'd stripped down to his boxers, the fabric straining against the growing bulge of his hardening cock, a testament to the game you were about to play.
With a playful smirk, you crooked a finger, beckoning him closer, your voice a sultry whisper:
-Think you can outlast me this time, Kento? Or will my pussy have you begging for mercy again? - you shifted on the bed, parting your thighs slightly to reveal the damp lace between them, your arousal evident in the way your body responded to his gaze. He chuckled, his dry wit surfacing as he advanced, the muscles in his broad chest flexing with each step.
-Oh Baby, you know I'm built for endurance. - he replied, his voice low and teasing, laced with the flirtatious edge that always ignited your chemistry. As he knelt beside you, his hand trailed up your thigh, fingers grazing the soft skin with deliberate slowness, sending shivers of electric pleasure through you. You gasped softly, your nipples hardening beneath the lace.
Your lips met in a searing kiss, tongues entwining as the game truly began, each determined to push the other to the brink without surrendering first. Your hands roamed over his back, feeling the taut muscles ripple under your fingertips, while his palm slid higher, cupping your breast and teasing the sensitive peak with his thumb. The room filled with the sounds of quickened breaths and the rustle of fabric. You arched into him, your body craving more, yet your mind focused on maintaining control, on making him crack first.
As his fingers dipped beneath the lace to explore the slick folds of your pussy, you moaned, the direct contact igniting a fire that spread through your veins, but you countered by wrapping your hand around his throbbing cock, stroking with a rhythm designed to unravel him. Your strokes deliberate and unyielding, matching the rhythm of his probing fingers as they delved deeper into the warm, slick folds of your pussy. Each glide of his touch sent waves of electric pleasure coursing through you, the pressure building in your core like a coiled spring, yet you refused to let your composure crack. Kento's breath hitched, his muscular body tensing under your expert grip, the veins along his shaft pulsing against your palm as you worked him with skillful twists and pulls, drawing a low groan from his lips that echoed the raw desire simmering between you. The scent of arousal hung heavy in the air, a musky blend of sweat and heat that mingled with the jasmine, heightening the intimate cocoon of the room.
As the intensity mounted, he leaned in, his lips brushing against the curve of your neck, trailing hot kisses down to the swell of your breasts, where he captured a hardened nipple through the lace with his teeth, teasing it with gentle nips that made you arch and gasp. Your free hand threaded through his short blond hair, pulling him closer even as you maintained your assault on his cock, your thumb circling the sensitive tip to smear the bead of precum that had gathered there, eliciting a shudder from him. The game escalated, your movements a symphony of push and pull, with you shifting your hips to grind against his hand, the friction of his fingers inside you driving you toward the edge you were determined to resist. Kento's intense blue eyes met yours, a flicker of affection softening his gaze amidst the competition, a reminder that beneath the teasing rivalry lay a profound trust, each sensation amplified by the knowledge that you were equals in this erotic dance, pushing boundaries not just for dominance, but for the sheer thrill of exploring the depths of your desire together.
You pulled back from his kiss, your breath came in hot, uneven puffs against his skin, and without a word, you shifted your weight, guiding him to roll both of you over until he was poised above you on the bed. Your legs wrapped around his waist, urging him closer, your heels digging into the small of his back as his hard length pressed against your slick entrance. The first thrust was deliberate, a slow, deep invasion that stretched your inner walls and drew a low moan from your lips - one that you amplified on purpose, letting it echo through the room like a challenge. His cock filled you completely, the heat of him pulsing inside you as he began to move, each rhythmic stroke building a fire that seared through your core, his hands cradling your face with a tenderness that belied the raw intensity. He lifted your hips slightly, angling for a deeper reach that sent shockwaves of pleasure through you. Your breasts heaved with every breath, nipples brushing against his chest, the friction igniting sparks that made you arch your back in response. You met his thrusts with calculated rolls of your hips, your moans growing louder, more seductive, as if daring him to lose control first, while his own groans rumbled against your ear. His fingers traced the curve of your waist even as his cock slid in and out with increasing urgency, your pussy clenching around him in rhythmic pulses that threatened to unravel you both.
Eager to shift the dynamic, Nanami suddenly withdrew, flipping you onto your hands and knees, his hands gripping your hips firmly as he positioned himself behind you. The new angle allowed him to drive deeper, his cock plunging into your dripping pussy with a force that made you cry out, the sound reverberating off the walls in a symphony of raw desire.
Yet, even as your whispered encouragements grew bolder, words like: "fill me deeper, make me yours", the rhythm of your bodies quickened, your hips grinding back against his forceful thrusts with a fierce determination that blurred the line between competition and craving. His hands roamed possessively over your curves, one sliding up to cup your breast, his fingers teasing the hardened nipple with a flick that drew a sharp gasp from your lips. His groans escalated, his voice husky against her ear
-You're... you're too much.... - as his hips faltered, the final thrusts driving you both to the brink.
With a shuddering exhale, he finally succumbed, his body tensing as release overtook him, hot streams pulsing into you, his cock twitching with the force of his release. You felt the warmth flood you, your own body responding with a quiver, yet the victory was laced with tenderness; you turned your head to meet his lips in a soft kiss. As you collapsed together, limbs entangled, the room seemed to hush around you, the lingering scent of passion a reminder that true endurance lay not in outlasting one another, but in embracing the beautiful chaos created side by side.
imma be fr i was really fighting with the words when writing this one
thank you for reading, if you enjoyed this story, feel free to like or reblog, it truly means a lot and helps my work reach more readers.
requests are currently open, so donât hesitate to drop an idea in my inbox.
i am LiorĂŠ, and youâve found your way into my archive, a quiet place filled with stories, late-night thoughts, and characters that refuse to stay silent.
here in masterlistš youâll find all my fanfictions, carefully catalogued across anime and video games, from soft moments to aching hearts, every piece carries a fragment of my imagination.
make yourself comfortable. stay as long as youâd like.
titles without links are coming soon so stay tuned!
âś Anime:
âHaikyuu!
played just for you ⢠iwaizumi hajime
childish passwords ⢠iwaizumi hajime
12 snapshots ⢠iwaizumi hajime š
12 snapshots ⢠iwaizumi hajime ²
sweetest girl in town ⢠iwaizumi hajime
i was all over him ⢠iwaizumi hajime
i was all over her ⢠iwaizumi hajime ⢠18+
one point away ⢠oikawa tooru
book lovers ⢠akaashi keiji
winter confession ⢠bokuto kotaro
checkmate ⢠bokuto kotaro
ignition ⢠bokuto kotaro
honey and glass ⢠konoha akinori š
honey and glass ⢠konoha akinori ²
leave with sunrise ⢠kageyama tobio
âMy Hero Academia
convex spaces ⢠overhaul
half-winged strike ⢠dabi
porsche ⢠denki kaminari
secret lover ⢠dabi
where shadows rest ⢠tokoyami fumikage
nightmare relief ⢠katsuki bakugou
âBungo Stray Dogs
divine healer ⢠chuuya nakahara
soft spot for trouble ⢠chuuya nakahara
roses at dawn ⢠dazai osamu
âJujutsu Kaisen
in his blind spot ⢠gojo satoru
where overtime finally ends ⢠nanami kento
cursed vow ⢠nanami kento
between monsters and men ⢠nanami kento
after hours ⢠nanami kento
tie ⢠nanami kento
the endurance game ⢠nanami kento ⢠18+
steaming hot ⢠nanami kento ⢠18+
soak with the devil ⢠sukuna ryomen ⢠18+
âNaruto
you were never meant to follow ⢠itachi uchiha
âś Video Games:
âWhere Winds Meet
only a blade between us ⢠yi dao
tea for the blade ⢠yi dao
dawn to dusk ⢠?
thank you for wandering through my little library.
may these stories keep you company in quiet hours.
you never meant for the dinner with nanami to feel like a date, but it does. between half-finished glasses of wine, quiet laughter, and the low hum of the city outside, heâs trying desperately to keep his composure. and youâre doing your best to make him lose it.
(fluff, mini spice)
The restaurant was almost empty when you finally looked up from your glass. The candle between you flickered, catching the reflection in Nanamiâs eyes - soft, steady, unreadable.
-Itâs late. - he said, his voice that familiar, calm baritone -You should be home.
You smiled, leaning your chin on your hand.
-Then why are you still here?
He looked away, his jaw tightening just slightly.
-Professional courtesy.
-Professional courtesy doesnât usually include wine and dessert. - you teased, swirling what was left in your glass - Or that look you keep giving me.
His fingers froze around the stem of his glass.
-What look?
-That one... - you said quietly -...the one where youâre trying not to think about what would happen if you werenât such a gentleman.
For a moment, you thought you went too far. The air between you shifted - heavier, warmer. Nanami sighed and pushed his glass away, his tie loosened just enough to expose the curve of his throat.
- I shouldnât have agreed to this.
-But you did. - you whispered.
He didnât answer. Just stared, that same patience in his gaze - the kind that burned slow. You reached across the table and brushed your fingers against his wrist. His hand didnât move.
-Kento...
The sound of his name from your lips did something to him. You saw it - the flicker in his eyes, the way his breath caught. He turned his palm over, letting your fingertips slide across his skin, and when he finally looked at you again, all restraint seemed to unravel.
-Letâs go. - he said, his voice low.
The night air outside was cool, but the silence between you wasnât. He walked beside you, close enough that your sleeve brushed his. When you reached your apartment building, you stopped under the streetlight.
-Youâre not coming in? - you asked.
-I shouldnât.
You tilted your head.
-Then donât.
But you were already unlocking the door. And when you glanced back, he was still there - still fighting the part of himself that didnât want to be.
Inside, everything felt smaller, quieter. The sound of the lock clicking behind him was almost deafening. You turned around, heart in your throat. Nanami stood by the door, still as stone. His jacket was off, his shirt sleeves rolled up, the faintest shadow of exhaustion under his eyes.
-Youâre making this difficult. - he said softly.
-Am I?
He moved before you could answer. His hand slid along your jaw, tilting your head up just enough for your breath to catch. The kiss wasnât rough. It was careful - almost reverent - but there was weight behind it, all that quiet control breaking at the seams. You tasted the wine on his lips. His other hand found your waist, pulling you closer until you could feel the slow, steady rhythm of his heartbeat through his shirt.
-Do you have any idea... - he murmured against your mouth -...how long Iâve been trying not to do this?
You smiled against his lips.
-Youâre doing a terrible job.
That earned you a quiet laugh - a low, warm sound that melted somewhere deep inside you. He kissed you again, harder this time, until your back met the wall and your fingers tangled in his hair. The scent of him was dizzying: cologne, and faint traces of smoke.
Every move he made was measured, deliberate, as if he couldnât stop being precise even now. His lips traced down your neck, slow enough to make your pulse stutter.
-Still think this isnât a date? - he whispered.
-I didnât say that. - you breathed, your voice breaking slightly when his hand slid to the small of your back.
-Good. Because I donât plan to stop pretending anymore.
He pressed another kiss just beneath your jaw, softer this time, almost tender. You could feel the conflict in him, that constant pull between restraint and want, between who he was and who he let himself be only with you. When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours. His breath was uneven, but his eyes - they were steady, golden, and filled with something that felt dangerously close to affection.
-Next time, Iâll take you somewhere earlier. Somewhere that actually serves dinner.
-Next time?
A pause. Then, with that small, rare curve of his lips:
-If you invite me again after this, Iâll consider it.
The clock on your wall ticked quietly behind you. Midnight. After hours. But neither of you moved away. Because for once, Nanami Kento wasnât thinking about the time.
thank you for reading, if you enjoyed this story, feel free to like or reblog, it truly means a lot and helps my work reach more readers.
requests are currently open, so donât hesitate to drop an idea in my inbox.
you never meant for the dinner with nanami to feel like a date, but it does. between half-finished glasses of wine, quiet laughter, and the low hum of the city outside, heâs trying desperately to keep his composure. and youâre doing your best to make him lose it.
(fluff, mini spice)
The restaurant was almost empty when you finally looked up from your glass. The candle between you flickered, catching the reflection in Nanamiâs eyes - soft, steady, unreadable.
-Itâs late. - he said, his voice that familiar, calm baritone -You should be home.
You smiled, leaning your chin on your hand.
-Then why are you still here?
He looked away, his jaw tightening just slightly.
-Professional courtesy.
-Professional courtesy doesnât usually include wine and dessert. - you teased, swirling what was left in your glass - Or that look you keep giving me.
His fingers froze around the stem of his glass.
-What look?
-That one... - you said quietly -...the one where youâre trying not to think about what would happen if you werenât such a gentleman.
For a moment, you thought you went too far. The air between you shifted - heavier, warmer. Nanami sighed and pushed his glass away, his tie loosened just enough to expose the curve of his throat.
- I shouldnât have agreed to this.
-But you did. - you whispered.
He didnât answer. Just stared, that same patience in his gaze - the kind that burned slow. You reached across the table and brushed your fingers against his wrist. His hand didnât move.
-Kento...
The sound of his name from your lips did something to him. You saw it - the flicker in his eyes, the way his breath caught. He turned his palm over, letting your fingertips slide across his skin, and when he finally looked at you again, all restraint seemed to unravel.
-Letâs go. - he said, his voice low.
The night air outside was cool, but the silence between you wasnât. He walked beside you, close enough that your sleeve brushed his. When you reached your apartment building, you stopped under the streetlight.
-Youâre not coming in? - you asked.
-I shouldnât.
You tilted your head.
-Then donât.
But you were already unlocking the door. And when you glanced back, he was still there - still fighting the part of himself that didnât want to be.
Inside, everything felt smaller, quieter. The sound of the lock clicking behind him was almost deafening. You turned around, heart in your throat. Nanami stood by the door, still as stone. His jacket was off, his shirt sleeves rolled up, the faintest shadow of exhaustion under his eyes.
-Youâre making this difficult. - he said softly.
-Am I?
He moved before you could answer. His hand slid along your jaw, tilting your head up just enough for your breath to catch. The kiss wasnât rough. It was careful - almost reverent - but there was weight behind it, all that quiet control breaking at the seams. You tasted the wine on his lips. His other hand found your waist, pulling you closer until you could feel the slow, steady rhythm of his heartbeat through his shirt.
-Do you have any idea... - he murmured against your mouth -...how long Iâve been trying not to do this?
You smiled against his lips.
-Youâre doing a terrible job.
That earned you a quiet laugh - a low, warm sound that melted somewhere deep inside you. He kissed you again, harder this time, until your back met the wall and your fingers tangled in his hair. The scent of him was dizzying: cologne, and faint traces of smoke.
Every move he made was measured, deliberate, as if he couldnât stop being precise even now. His lips traced down your neck, slow enough to make your pulse stutter.
-Still think this isnât a date? - he whispered.
-I didnât say that. - you breathed, your voice breaking slightly when his hand slid to the small of your back.
-Good. Because I donât plan to stop pretending anymore.
He pressed another kiss just beneath your jaw, softer this time, almost tender. You could feel the conflict in him, that constant pull between restraint and want, between who he was and who he let himself be only with you. When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours. His breath was uneven, but his eyes - they were steady, golden, and filled with something that felt dangerously close to affection.
-Next time, Iâll take you somewhere earlier. Somewhere that actually serves dinner.
-Next time?
A pause. Then, with that small, rare curve of his lips:
-If you invite me again after this, Iâll consider it.
The clock on your wall ticked quietly behind you. Midnight. After hours. But neither of you moved away. Because for once, Nanami Kento wasnât thinking about the time.
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you are hinata's older sister, and your life turns upside-down when his friend visits for a few days.
(romance, mentions of sh, mentions of depression, death of a parent, written from the reader's point of view)
I figured he was talking to his friends again - I could hear him laughing. I stepped into the room; he was sitting in the half-light again. I didnât even bother to remind him to turn on the lamp or to stop ruining his eyes anymore. I donât have the energy for it now. Silently, I set the plate down on his desk, careful not to disturb him. He always loved strawberries, so I thought Iâd buy the last ones left at the store. When he noticed me, he pulled the headphones off his head, his friendsâ loud laughter spilling out of them. It was rare for him to turn his attention toward me like that.
-Thank you. Thatâs exactly what I was thinking about too. - he smiled, pulling the plate closer to himself.
-Of course. You always think about strawberries and volleyball. - I shook my head, glancing over his computer wallpaper.
-Who doesnât?
-I donât know. - I sighed - Will you help with lunch later?
-Later. - he replied instantly. I think âlaterâ and âsome other timeâ always lead to things being done by someone else.
In the lower-left corner of the screen, his incoming message appeared in big letters. He used Discord often, so it didnât surprise me when another notification quickly replaced the previous one, though this one caught my attention more than it should have.
Hinata, Iâll be there in a minute!
-Who wrote that? - I asked, and I knew he understood exactly what I meant. Heâd seen the pop-up too.
-I mentioned that one of my friends is coming to visit for a little while. - he gestured awkwardly with his hands, almost knocking over a mug full of pens from the edge of the desk. That explained why heâd been so frantically tidying the guest room yesterday. Still, I didnât remember him saying anything like that. Maybe I forgot - everythingâs been more stressful lately. But if not me, then he forgot.
-I donât remember you telling me.
I lifted my gaze to the ceiling, which must have made him think I was annoyed, because he immediately went defensive.
-For Godâs sake! I told you. Not once, not twice!
-Hey, itâs okay!
-Nothing is okay! Whatâs wrong with you lately like, seriously?!
He raised his voice, which was rare for him. I didnât know what to say. I didnât want to start a fight. He knew I was afraid - terrified - when he yelled. He knew I was also scared of sudden movements and always flinched, yet he stood up quickly and started moving toward me. I backed away, holding my hands up defensively. Sometimes I knew he was lying straight to my face, but I didnât say anything. I thought it was pointless to get dragged into any kind of argument with him.
-My God, youâve been lost in this whole isolating-yourself thing for so long! Get over the fact that from now on we have to get through this alone. Thereâs no one left to help us or bring breakfast to bed anymore! - he was almost shouting at me.
Heâs right. Youâve been lost in self-destruction for so long that by the time you wake up, thereâs no winter left, no bare branches. For a terrifyingly long time, you counted the days, wondering when it would become easier to breathe. Instead of snow, flower petals fall now, and only the rosebush stands there silently this year, without flowers. I just stood quietly, listening to the noise in my mind, feeling transience ripple through me, a reality that can be forgotten. Thereâs a storm inside me. I donât believe in eternal life, and I donât think shooting stars grant my wishes anymore. Weâve been alone in this huge house for nearly three months now, and the butterflies that used to fly through my dreams have remained only cocoons. People come, then they go - but arenât there some who are supposed to stay with us until the end? No one stops. And maybe one day I wonât be afraid anymore either.
-Iâm sorry. - Hinata sighed, weighed down.
-I forgive you. And Iâm sorry too.
-Thank you. - he turned his back on me and dropped into his chair.
Maybe if we all forgot things sometimes, weâd be a little happier, right? I left the room, closed the door behind me, and sat down at the kitchen table. It was Momâs seat - she only ever agreed to sit in that one place at every meal. I miss her sharp little remarks about her chair and her favorite spot, followed by the familyâs warm laughter. I knew that night she left the house that something would go terribly wrong - but I didnât expect everything. I didnât expect the accident on the news, then the phone call from the district hospital. Shoyo, you didnât make things easier either. For the first month, you only came out of your room to eat or to use the bathroom. I wouldâve gladly spent that time with you, trying to process everything together, but instead, I just pour the wine. Maybe sometimes we argue and donât treat each other the way we should, but thatâs only because Iâm scared for you and I want to spend as much time with you in this life as I can. Even when we fight and Iâm really angry, youâre still the first and only thing that comes to mind when I wake up in the morning.
I heard knocking at the door. At first I thought I was imagining it, but when the sound came again, I pushed myself up from the chair and hurried over. I almost shouted âShoyo, door!â but I didnât want to disturb him, especially after our argument. I completely forgot about the message someone had sent him, and when I opened the door, I forgot what planet I was on too. I thought I might faint on the spot when I looked up at the unfamiliar boy who was much taller than me. I immediately stepped aside.
-Hi! You must be Hinata's sister. Iâve heard a lot about you. - he started, taking off his shoes.
Why did he move around the house so confidently? How could he be so sure heâd come to the right place? And who even was he?
I stood in the hallway in a daze, staring at the ridiculously tall guy. Oh, right. Youâve heard a lot about me? Funny, because I donât even know who the hell is going to be in my house for days, maybe even weeks.
I sat back down at the table, my eyes resting on the curious boy as he looked through the framed photos. I felt like I had to sit, I suddenly felt unwell. This was too much for me.
-Yes, Iâm Tubboâs sister.
-Great! Iâm Kageyama Tobio! - he held out his hand, which I shook gently. In his other hand, he was holding a picture frame with our family photo. It was the one picture we hadnât put away in the attic with the rest.
-Are your parents home? - he asked, pointing at the two adults smiling at us from the beach photo.
My throat tightened. I snatched the frame from his hand and set it back on the counter a little harder than necessary, in its original place. I couldnât believe Shoyoâs best friend didnât know that our parents would never be home again.
-Theyâre not home, and most likely they wonât be. Shoyo is in his room, the first door at the end of the hallway. Nice meeting you.
I pulled my sweater tighter around myself and left the stunned boy standing there, retreating into my own room and closing the door behind me. Yes, most likely they wonât be home. Unless, by some miracle, one of them spawns back into life, and the other flies here from the other side of the world.
I struggled a bit to fight my way to the bed. My room, already in terrible shape, had become even worse over the last three months. You couldnât see the carpet beneath the clothes, bags, and notebooks scattered across the floor. Pizza boxes were stacked in towers on the desk, along with empty energy drink cans. Torn pages from my sketchbook lay on the bed, my wardrobe half turned inside out. My mirror was shattered, leaning against the wall. I loved that mirror, it was maybe the only thing that reminded me of Dad, since heâd given it to me. But I couldnât look at myself anymore.
I practically jumped onto the bed. I didnât want to think about cleaning. Iâd always postponed it: later, some other time, tomorrow, in a minute. And now here I was, sitting on top of the mess, with even less motivation to tidy up.
Kageyama... I felt like Iâd heard about him before. Thinking back, my little brother had always referred to him as his best friend. Maybe from California? I donât know, I canât remember. He definitely has his first impression of me now, and I have a feeling it doesnât fall into the âgoodâ category. I went completely pale when he picked up the photo frame, let alone when he asked about it.
There was knocking again. I swear Iâm going to lose my mind from the sound of knocking.
-What is it?! - I got up and called out, a bit irritated.
-Uh⌠- Hinata opened the door to peek in, but since he couldnât open it properly, he shoved aside a pile of clothes.
-What do you need? - I turned to him, calmer now.
Kageyama peeked in from behind him, and I could practically hear my heart thump. He must think even better things about me, seeing how messy my room is.
-Weâre heading to the store, do you need anything?
-Iâm good, thanks.
-Hey! - the much taller boy called out, and I looked up.
-Hm? - I nodded at him, signaling for him to say it and let me live.
-My room ends up looking like this too sometimes, especially after a rough week. Would you be okay if I helped a little? Iâll be here for a while anyway⌠- he leaned against the doorframe.
I blinked a few times, not quite believing what heâd said. Everything was happening too fast: heâd arrived barely fifteen minutes ago, and already he was planning to turn my life upside down.
-Iâll think about it. Thank you. - I smiled. Maybe I shouldnât have been so harsh with him at our first meeting.
-Let me know if you need anything. - he laughed, then closed the door behind him and hurried after Shoyo, shouting âWait for me!â.
I shook my head, then picked up a pile of clothes from in front of my wardrobe and started folding them with a sigh. It was incredible how much motivation heâd given me. I think we can officially say that heâs already completely disrupted my peace just by arriving. Is this some kind of... Californian habit?
I think youâre home when there are no expectations, when you can be who you are, and the other person finds joy in you, doesnât try to change you, doesnât criticize you, but is happy with you as you are. Of course, I tried to find someone like that too, someone who didnât want to change me. I hated dating. I hated beginnings. That feeling when you donât know the other person yet and donât know how to act or what to say. Sure, âbe yourselfâ thatâs fine. But then what? When youâve been yourself for the hundredth time and still no one wants you, you start wondering if the problem is you. Thatâs why I donât let anyone get close to me anymore, because I know that sooner or later, Iâll lose them anyway. But now youâre everywhere in my head, and thereâs nowhere left to look away.
°ââ.ŕłŕż:ｼ°ââ.ŕłŕż:ｼ
-If you feel like something isnât right, tell someone. Youâre not alone. Itâs not your fault that you feel this way. And there is help. A lot of people are afraid to ask for it, but donât be scared to turn to someone. - he pointed at me, then turned back to my wardrobe and stacked the two piles of folded clothes on top of each other.
I still canât believe I agreed to let him help clean up this pigsty. I didnât expect that Iâd get to know him this much in the process and realize how much we actually have in common.
-And are there people who arenât afraid anymore? Who donât fear asking for help?
-Those who arenât afraid? - he turned toward me, picking up a few pages from the floor. - Theyâre the ones who face whatever is behind them and arenât afraid to find themselves there. - he tossed the torn papers into the bag that was already half full of trash.
-But how would you know? Youâre just a kid. - he joked.
-You are half a year younger than me, donât treat me like a child! - I laughed.
-Oh yes, my apologies, madam! - he raised his hands in mock surrender.
I rolled my eyes, sent him a smile, and proudly glanced over at my desk, which I had finally managed to completely clear.
-I think thatâs more than enough for today. - I sighed. The room was visibly cleaner. My clothes and various objects that could easily be identified as trash were no longer scattered across the floor. Well, except for one last piece of garbage still lying there: me. I guess I have to turn everything into a joke, otherwise I wonât survive this shitty reality.
-All right, weâre done for today. Tomorrow weâll finish that wardrobe and itâll be perfect. - he brushed his hair back from his forehead.
-Thank you for helping. - I pushed myself up from the floor.
-Anytime. It was fun getting to know you better. - he waved and walked out of the room. I could hear him start chatting with my brother in the kitchen. I retied my bun, then headed that way too.
-So⌠when do I get to meet your parents? Your mom probably makes amazing pancakes. - Kageyama leaned back in his chair.
The mug froze in my hand. I no longer wanted the tea. I completely shut down, I couldnât process the question, let alone the statement. Slowly, I turned around and looked at my brother standing by the counter.
-Shoyo, thereâs no way you didnât tell him⌠- I shook my head and set the mug down on the table.
-Donât overreact! - he snapped immediately.
A memory suddenly flashed through me, flooding me with a sick feeling, guilt, something like that. The point is, I couldnât breathe. I donât even know where this memory came from; it had nothing to do with the current situation. And yet my brain dragged it out of the strictly-forgotten folder.
I didnât like the rain. But you did. I often caught you sitting in the window, watching the lightning. I remember the first time I saw you like that, it scared me. You felt distant. It wasnât something we shared, yet it made you happy.
-Come with me! Letâs dance in the rain! - you jumped into my lap.
My heart pounded in my throat. I wanted to love what you loved, but I tensed up instead. I shook my head, but you didnât care. Your smile almost frightened me. How ridiculous. How childish. And then you just tore the door open and, laughing, stepped barefoot out in front of the house. You tilted your head toward the sky, spun around in circles like a little kid. You were free. Free and happy. I got confused. I started to hate - in myself and in you - everything that was different between us. Then, as time passed, you sat in the window less and less, even less when Mom died. In the evenings, youâd curl up next to me on the couch instead and watch the f1 game with me. You always watched it. You didnât even like it, but you liked spending time with me. That was when I first felt my selfishness start to burn. Maybe I could learn to love the rain just because you loved it. It was storming that day too. I jumped up and rushed to the wardrobe. Shoyo asked curiously:
-What are you doing?
-Looking for my rain boots. - I called back from the bottom of the closet.
-Why?
-Because tonight, weâre dancing in the rain all evening.
Thatâs where the memory ended. I donât remember your reply. I donât remember that day. Or maybe I just donât want to. I definitely felt like a terrible sister. I still do. Is there ever a time when I donât?
-Donât overreact?! Are you out of your damn mind? Heâs been your best friend for God knows how many years and he still doesnât know whatâs going on with our parents? - I gestured toward the boy sitting at the table, who kept darting his gaze between us. Fair enough, Iâd be confused too in his place.
-Please calm down, I wanted to tell him, I just never had the chance! - Shoyo defended himself.
-Sure.
-What if everyone calms down? - Kageyama spoke up quietly.
-Please stay out of this! - I waved him off.
Lately I feel like⌠no - more like⌠I often feel like everything is slipping through my fingers. The coffee mug in the morning. The sunset in the evening. Control over my feelings and my words. The bus into town. And of course, you. I didnât want to fight with you. That wasnât my intention, especially since I can barely say I even know you. So I went for a walk instead. A long one, over three hours, wandering into random streets. I just collected stones; thatâs all the neighbors could tell my brother when he asked about me. I painted them. Each pebble got a word, most of them about you, very few that werenât. I think the most beautiful words canât be written down, only whispered into ears, pretending youâre delivering milk instead of ice cream, just so youâll stay.
It was already cold; I should have gone home. Thatâs when I started walking, instead of running. A kilometer and a half, with two kilos of stones in my pockets. I told myself Iâd go home and stop thinking about you. I got back just before midnight. I stepped into the house with a smile. As the silence settled over the rooms after the door closed behind me, the pain pressed against my heart again. The smile faded from my face, and I felt it, this will never get easier. Sometimes I hope that when I close my eyes at night, Iâll never open them again.
°ââ.ŕłŕż:ｼ°ââ.ŕłŕż:ｼ
Thereâs something about running. Something⌠well, if you donât get it, you donât get it. Every time my foot hits the pavement, it feels like the echo of my heartbeat crashes through me, saying: Iâm here. Iâm alive. I donât jog. Jogging is for people who want to show off their newest running gear. No, I run.
The best places are the dark ones. Tunnels, like the one down by the river. Places where I canât see my shado, whether itâs chasing me or tormenting me by running ahead of me. In tunnels and dark places there are no shadows, no ghosts. Thereâs just me.
This morning was perfectly fine. Not that biting, mid-winter cold, more like the cool of early spring. The air tasted fresh, clean, not the usual gasoline-soaked smell, so I decided to run in the park. That was a mistake, because before long I wasnât alone anymore. It crept into my head, an unwelcome guest I never wanted there. I sped up until I was running at full force. But I couldnât escape it. And suddenly I was running toward the past, straight into the memory - the one I feared the most.
That morning memory was the beginning of everything. For me, at least. And it all started just over three months ago, with a jar of strawberry jam. An unopened jar of strawberry jam.
I remember every tiny detail of that day. It was a sunny late-autumn morning, unusually warm for the season. Through the kitchen window, I could still see a few pale brown leaves on the tree standing in the middle of our yard. Donât ask me what kind of tree. I have no idea, Iâm not a botanist.
I was sitting at the kitchen table with my dad, eating pancakes. Mom was making coffee; her pancakes were already on the table, starting to go cold.
-Mom, is there any jam left? - I asked.
Without a word, Mom stepped to the cupboard and took out a jar of reduced-sugar strawberry jam. She pressed her hand against the lid and tried to open it, again and again, unsuccessfully. Dad and I watched. She struggled with it for at least forty seconds, then gave up.
-Could you open this for me? - she asked my dad.
He took the jar from her, an indulgent smile on his face. He shook his head.
-So, am I finally good for something now, or what? What would you do without me?
It wasnât the first time heâd said something like that. But Iâll never forget the way Mom looked at him then: first rigid and long, intense, then almost piercing him with her gaze, and finally burning straight through him.
-If you werenât here, Iâd use the can opener.
-Maybe you wouldnât even be able to manage that. - Dad said, turning to wink at me, so he didnât see the nothing-look Mom gave him. I donât know how else to describe it. There was only nothing in her eyes. Nothing at all. Just enough nothing to make me uneasy but not enough to understand what had happened. Believe me, when people live together, when they share their lives, and one of them looks at the other like that, it means something. It means a hell of a lot.
Thatâs how far back I ran into the memory before I turned around and escaped it again. I sprinted home, focusing on nothing but not misstepping. I canât step on cracks. Not on the edge of the sidewalk. Not on discarded trash. My heart was pounding at a crazy speed when I reached our gate. It felt amazing. I looked up at the house, gulping down oxygen. I went inside and locked the door.
I relaxed when I saw Kageyama having breakfast at the table. Which meant my brother was still asleep. I hesitated for a moment because of our argument yesterday, wondering whether I should say anything. I donât want to fight again. I donât like apologizing either but sometimes you have to. Do I even need to apologize? I think Iâll let it go. Let it fly if it has wings.
-Guess what, I finally figured out what Iâd like to do.
-Well, guess what, Iâm genuinely happy for you. - he paused and took a sip of his coffee - So, what are we doing today? - he asked cheerfully.
-I was thinking maybe once Shoyo wakes up we could go to the zoo, or the park, or maybe explore the city?
-Sounds perfect! - he said, placing his empty mug in the sink.
I was happy he welcomed my ideas like that. Looking back, I donât think Iâd ever felt like this before. People always tried to talk me out of things, suggest something better, or something less time-consuming.
Youâre going to climb a mountain? Why donât you just hike in the small forest nearby instead? You found a new job? Are you sure you donât want to stay at your current company? Youâre dyeing your hair? But this color suits you so well. Youâre moving away? There are so many pitfalls waiting for you.
Yes. I want to climb a mountain, because thatâs the decision I made and if I wanted the small forest, I wouldâve said so. Yes. I found a new job, and it didnât take two minutes to find it. If Iâd wanted to stay, I wouldnât have spent weeks searching. Yes. Iâm dyeing my hair, because I feel like I need change even if you canât see it from the outside. Yes. Iâm moving away, because now I also have the courage for the pitfalls.
Want to give advice? Give it when itâs asked for and when it doesnât undermine the decision. Determination is becoming rarer and rarer, yet there are still people who replace appreciation with further leading questions. Unsolicited advice that briefly fills the gray weekdays of those who stand still. They feel important when they keep asking. But these questions donât lead to new decisions, they only create more doubt.
Besides, why would we want to make decisions for someone else? Every life is full of possibility; only those who fear failure fail to see it. Another truth is that routine makes us vulnerable. Accepting the new without fear sets us free. And supporting someone without steering them with questions is more than enough love.
You donât know what you want? Maybe your first decision can be not making things harder for others where you donât have power anyway.
Youâre climbing a mountain? Okay. Do you need anything from me for that decision? You found a new job? Iâm glad you had the courage to change. Youâre dyeing your hair? Iâm sure Iâll love the new color too. Youâre moving away? Thatâs a responsible decision, and Iâm proud of you for being able to make it.
°ââ.ŕłŕż:ｼ°ââ.ŕłŕż:ｼ
Soon I was sitting at the kitchen table too, occasionally lifting my mug to my lips. The bedroom door opened, and my brother stepped out. His hair fell messily into his eyes; with a lazy wave, he dropped himself onto the couch.
-Breakfast? - I asked.
-What are the options? - he murmured, trying to tame his unruly strands with his fingers.
-Thereâs pancakes, I made them not long ago. - I stood up, leaving my coffee on the table, and carried his plate over to him.
-Thanks. - he said with a small smile.
-We were thinking we could go into the city later. - I added as I sat back down and took a sip of my coffee.
-Meh, I donât know. - you shivered.
Youâve never liked going places with lots of people. I get it, sometimes I donât like going into the city either. I thought Iâd make an exception today, but apparently not. You rarely go out anyway. Maybe weâll start small, just somewhere close. The corner store is enough for now. Stock up for a week. Survive on what fits onto a shopping list.
-Listen⌠Iâm sorry about yesterday. - he began, setting his plate down on the kitchen table. Kageyama looked up at that and put his phone aside.
-Itâs okay. I should apologize to both of you. - I shook my head, then placed my plate and mug in the sink. I made a mental note that I could do the dishes later, since we werenât going anywhere today anyway.
-I really am sorry about what happened, I didnât know. - said Kageyama.
-Itâs fine. You couldnât have known. Everythingâs okay. - I waved it off.
-Are you sure youâre okay? - he asked.
I had just opened my mouth to answer when my brother cut in. I could feel the tension rising again. I donât want this. I think I find quiet men attractive, with personalities like Kageyama's. I like that polite aura. A man who doesnât shout at me when heâs angry, who brings me calm, who eases my anxiety. I just want to feel peace and safety. I donât know anymore whether Iâm angry or just tired.
Do you know that feeling when youâre tired? No, not the kind where you get home after a long day and just want to sleep because you feel like youâll collapse. This is a different kind of tired. The kind where you wake up every morning and start all over again every morning. You donât talk about your inner battles. You fight them quietly, on your own. There may not be a lonelier feeling in the world. Youâre trying to heal from something without knowing how. I caught part of their conversation through my bedroom door.
-Donât take it personally, sheâs just sad. - Tubbo said.
-Again? - his friend questioned.
-Still.
You might not understand right away. Maybe it needs time to sink in, that I donât always talk about what I feel, but I still do, in my own way. Maybe when I talk about my mornings, what I really mean is that Iâd like to merge with something thatâs touched by light all its life. When I say Iâm afraid of storms, all I want is for you not to yell at me. And when I talk about my flowers in the garden, I want you to know that I can get hurt too. I used to love taking care of the garden, but in winter everything was barren, only naked bushes and bare trees stood in the yard. I just looked around. It was pointless; yesterday everything looked exactly the same.
Then the front door almost burst open. Kageyama, clumsily wrapping his striped scarf around his neck with one hand, started waving at me happily.
-Where are you going? - I asked, tilting my head in confusion as he held out my coat toward me. - Where are we⌠going?
-To the city! - he clapped his hands together.
I smiled faintly and slipped into my coat.
-Alright, the next bus leaves in ten minutes, so letâs hurry! - I agreed to his sudden plans surprisingly quickly, then stepped onto the frozen sidewalk with Kageyama trailing behind me.
I feel like I should be in two places at once. Here and at home by the warm fireplace with Shoyo. But if I could be in two places at once, Iâm sure Iâd have to be in a third one too.
Both on the way there and on the way back, we almost missed the bus, by just a little. We didnât go many places; we just stopped by a shop where I bought a few things, then wandered past the mall windows. Since he was especially interested in video games, he went into that one store. Iâve always liked looking at display windows. Each one is just as fake as beauty magazines. Once, it was my dream to appear on the pages of a fashion magazine. That never happened, I didnât fit the expectations. After a while, I stopped trying to fit into any beauty ideal at all. In fact, for three months now, I havenât belonged anywhere. And yet we long so deeply to belong somewhere, while owing nothing to anyone. This might sound unbelievable, but everyone feels this way.
It was getting dark when we boarded the bus, and the air grew much sharper as evening approached. Shoulders brushed together. A strangely warming, unfamiliar feeling. He falls asleep leaning against the window; we sway along together. And his face, somehow even more beautiful with the city reflected on it. Deep breaths between two gentle turns.
Sometimes I just want to blend into the streetlights. I pull my coat tighter around myself and fold inward, itâs time I learned how to love. You said this is normal. If you stop for a moment, the world doesnât slow down. But sometimes, sit for a bit. Watch the trees run past. Moonlight taps on concrete, and life invites you to feel cold. Stay here a little longer - just until it gets warm.
°ââ.ŕłŕż:ｼ°ââ.ŕłŕż:ｼ
Because of how exhausted I was last night, it had to be around one oâclock when I finally woke up. I dragged myself out of bed and headed for the bathroom. After knocking and getting no answer, I stepped inside. I pulled a face at my reflection in the mirror. I brushed my hair and washed my face. I rummaged through the cabinet for a while until my mascara ended up in my hand. Hinata usually kept things tidy, except for the bathroom cabinet. He always just tossed the toothpaste on top of whatever else was in there. I never said anything about it; I simply straightened the knocked-over perfume box, put the toothbrushes back into their mug, and placed the toothpaste beside them. When I was done, I went to look for the boys. It wasnât hard to find them, both were sitting in my brotherâs room, staring at the screen of his laptop.
-Yeah, that was really funny. - Shoyo laughed, then went back to editing his video.
-Hi! - I said softly. I didnât want to scare them by speaking up behind their backs.
-Good morning! - Kageyama smiled right away.
-Good morning? I thought you were hibernating. - my brother shook his head, then started laughing again. I sat down beside him on the bed, glancing at the edit in progress.
Kageyama was sitting on the floor; sometimes he talked with Shoyo, sometimes they burst out laughing at a joke. Every now and then he picked up his phone, or looked at me and simply let a smile slip. Those secret little glances between us drive me crazy. Itâs like trying to solve a riddle that doesnât have an answer.
After a while I went out to the kitchen and picked up the bowl of cherries from the table. Iâd bought them yesterday at the store. I was really happy they were selling fruit even at this time of year. My brother followed me not long after. I think heâd been waiting for us to be alone, because he almost immediately attacked me with his questions. I swear, Iâd only left the room five minutes ago. The moment he started walking toward me, I knew this wasnât going to end well. But okay, letâs go with the idea that thereâs no point in stressing. Somehow things have worked out so far, and they probably will after this too.
-So... what do you feel for Kageyama?
-I bought cherries. Want some? - I held out the bowl to him. His question nearly made me dizzy.
-No, seriously. Answer me. What do you feel for him?
-I think one of the cherries went a bit soft. And I dropped them before I got home. I have an idea, guess! Which hand is holding the dirty, soft cherry? The right or the left? - I tried to steer the conversation away from the stupid question I really didnât want to think about right now.
-I donât know⌠the right?
-Nope! Wrong! So now you have to eat it.
-Hell no! - he protested, pulling a face.
-There are plenty here, hold out your hand.
-Also, you still didnât answer. - he said as I filled his palm with cherries.
-And you still havenât thanked me for the cherries. - I dodged again.
-Fine, thanks. Now you answer!
-Lookâ, youâre getting an incoming call! Isnât that the girl you like?
-Really? - his face lit up, and he smiled.
-Pick up!
-I donât...
-Iâm right here, donât be a chicken!
-Okay⌠- he answered and tapped the green icon.
-Youâve got this. - I gave him a thumbs-up.
-Hi! - he said into the phone, then went quiet for a moment before speaking again.
-Weâve got cherries too, do you want some? - he said, lifting the bowl from my hands and walking out the door.
I let out a relieved sigh. I stood frozen in the middle of the kitchen for a while. Then eventually I sat down.
What do I feel for Kageyama? What is this question even? I never understood how someone could be nobody without another person. I think Iâm starting to understand now, no matter how much I resist it. Without you, I wander gray through a misplaced universe. In the end, what we had in common wasnât that we came from similar places. You too? Me too. You donât like it? Same here. You as well? So many things, so much beautifully sounding compliments, so many contrasts that are just as attractive as similarity itself.
And yet none of that decided it.
What decided it in the end was this: what fades can also be a new beginning. For you too? For me too. This is you and me. The hope that today will become another tomorrow, and that this moment will be different at the same time tomorrow. Thereâs no logic in it. But I believe that this whole illogical thing wonât be in vain. Not you, and not me.
Shoyo came back smiling, nearly knocking over a chair as he pulled off his hoodie.
-Come on, letâs hang out and unwind a bit with the others. Bring Kags too! - he urged.
I sighed, slipped my phone into my back pocket, and headed toward Shoyoâs room, then stopped in the doorway. Before speaking, my gaze lingered on the smiling boy reflected in his phone screen.
-Hey, come on! Shoyo wants his friends to meet you. He already left.
-One second and Iâm coming. - he stood up right away, still typing on his phone.
I pushed myself off the doorframe and pulled on my hoodie. I didnât particularly like hanging out with his friends, so it didnât bother me that Kageyama was still chatting with someone. After a while he changed clothes and went to the bathroom. I was grateful he wasnât rushing.
Hinata loved being with his friends, unlike me. I never really managed to join in on their topics.
I poured myself a glass of soda and drank it calmly. I started scrolling on my phone too when the boy sat down across from me. I looked up at him, lowering my phone from in front of my face.
-Are you sure they actually want to meet me? - he asked.
-Of course. - I smiled. I knew my brother's friends had never really liked me. I didnât fit into their group.
-Youâre coming too? - he asked. I could see how desperate he was.
-Yeah. Donât worry, Iâll be there. If you want to go home, Iâll come back with you. - I reassured him - Or if youâd rather, I can give you the house key and you can come back whenever you want. - I started searching my pockets.
-No. Iâll come back with you. - he said, standing up and picking up his jacket and phone.
-Ready? - I asked.
He just nodded.
-Wait... - he said -...what time is it?
I glanced at my phone.
-Half past three. Letâs hurry before Shoyo kills us.
They were sitting on the steps of an old building by a lake. I used to come here often - alone, or with Hinataâs friends. Mostly alone, I think. It was much calmer that way. I greeted the group right away and sat down among them on the steps. I didnât really find common ground with them, but I still tried to join the conversation here and there. Kageyama couldnât quite loosen up either. Two girls immediately started talking to him. I acknowledged it with a tight smile, then began chatting with one of the older girls. Iâve known her for quite a while, she and her brother are probably the only ones in the group I can truly understand, and who understand me. I wouldnât say weâre best friends, but weâre fairly close. Maybe our shared dislike of the rest of the group brought us together. Neither of us could stand the two girls still circling Kageyama, nor the blonde Shoyo adored. The others were tolerable, my opinion of them was neither positive nor negative.
We werenât cold because of the weather. We were cold because we didnât say the things that could have warmed us. There were many of us, we laughed, yet something was still missing when only the two of us remained.
The others went to the nearby store to buy things, but when they still hadnât come back after ten minutes, Kageyama and I decided theyâd probably gone to the playground. We talked about others, we talked about the present, the future, and passing away, but something was still missing. We didnât say it out loud, but secretly we both wanted to know what it was that still felt insufficient, even though we already agreed on so many things. We praised each other, lifted one another up to the sky, and about everyone else we silently knew what they did for the other. That day, you stayed with me longer. I remember you watching the sunset while evening dew settled on the blades of grass without saying hello. You murmured softly, words only I and the dragonflies in the reeds could hear clearly.
-If Iâm not here, is everyone meâand is who I am better than what I actually am?
I laughed, but you looked at me seriously and continued:
-Iâm okay when Iâm here, but if I have things to do elsewhere⌠who will I be among you then?
I think I understood you. Or maybe I didnât. Maybe we were the only ones who hadnât drunk any alcohol, yet I still could have easily asked you: "Are you drunk?".
That day, I answered even the unasked questions honestly. That was when I first gave you real answers, straight into your eyes. The stars were already out by the time we got home, still without the others. It felt like an ordinary evening, just like the next day on the terrace in front of the house. And yet we were the only two who were no longer cold.
Shoyo arrived two hours later. We were sitting on the couch, watching some comedy while talking. He didnât want to interrupt, so he quietly slipped into his room.
I was already half-asleep, resting my head on the arm of the couch, when something crossed my mind. Thatâs why I love nights. At three in the morning, you can do or say things that are simply impossible at three in the afternoon. Though maybe itâs time I stopped explaining myselfâpeople only ever hear what they want to hear, not me.
-Are you okay? - Kageyama asked, gently patting my legs resting in his lap.
-Yeah. If I lie down, Iâll feel even better.
-So in the literal sense - like in human version - youâre trying to reboot yourself?
-Exactly. - I smiled. Another completely stupid joke. But what else could I expect from you.
-Hey⌠- I whispered softly.
-What is it? - you asked right away.
I hesitated. Do I really want this? To lay everything out in front of you, everything I think, everything I feel? No. I donât have the courage. At least not yet. But the moment is so perfect, there couldnât be better timing. And what if Iâm disappointed? What if you donât feel the same?
-Forget it. Itâs nothing. - I tilted my head away. I messed it up. Coward.
Sometimes you canât explain what draws you to someone. They simply take you to places no one else can. You just sit there⌠and feel that pull. Something special. Something youâve never felt before. You just exist. And you feel. Something in your heart. Someone in your heart. In your soul, in your entire being. Always. Constantly. And then you realize. This is happiness. Itâs them. I know this will end sooner or later, but please let me love a little longer. Somehow I also knew that this was the last evening Iâd see you. That day, you hugged me tighter. But still, I thought I was just imagining it. The voice deep in my mind had to be nothing but my imagination. I close my eyes, let them rest⌠and dream in scattered fragments of all kinds of unhappy, strange things.
°ââ.ŕłŕż:ｼ°ââ.ŕłŕż:ｼ
As soon as I woke up, I didnât even know where I was. I was cold, and I missed the weight that had rested on my chest last night. That morning, I truly felt like the world had become emptier.
-Where are you going so early?
-Iâm off to see the world. - he muttered, swinging his gym bag over his shoulder while dragging his suitcase behind him. He carelessly stuffed his plane ticket into his back pocket, then slipped his train ticket in beside it.
-Wait, let me come too!
-Youâre not going anywhere. Go back to sleep, itâs still early. - he waved me off, then closed the door behind him.
Half-lying on the couch, I squinted after him. And then it hit me. It sank in. As I started to wake properly, I walked over to the calendar. My eyes caught on the date circled in red: February 11. I turned around so fast I knocked the calendar off the wall; its hard cover hit the floor with a loud crack. I hurried to grab my coat, hopping from one foot to the other while yanking on my sneakers. I was stupid, an actual idiot, for not paying attention to time, for thinking we still had plenty of it.
I pulled the handle. The door didnât open. Of course youâd locked this one too. I rushed to the coat rack, searching for my keys. My nail tore as I reached into the pocket of a blue jacket. I could barely breathe, I couldnât find them. In the end I grabbed the spare key lying on the kitchen table. It was an emergency. I couldnât help it.
I slammed the front door behind me and started running. From inside the house I heard Shoyo shouting, asking what on earth was going on.
I couldnât escape, no matter how much I wanted to. Even now, Iâd go. Iâd never stop. Iâd stop thinking about them altogether. The others at least seemed to enjoy life yesterday on those broken stairs, as if they understood any of it. I wanted to stay away from them. But where could I go? Where could I go now?
I canât believe that on a freezing February morning at six a.m. Iâm running toward the train station, choking on all the things I wanted to tell you. Just a little longer. The cold air turned my face red, and Iâd probably come down with a cold later too. The days chased one another too quickly. One moment it was Monday; the next time I woke up, the calendar said Sunday. Day by day, time kept shrinking. Had my watch broken?
I turned into the station, hoping Iâd find you in the crowd. Trains usually leave on the half hour, itâs twenty-six past now; if Iâm lucky, maybe twenty-four. There was only one train on the platform. I ran straight toward it.
-What the hell are you doing here?! - you pulled down the window, already badly damaged by passengers over the years. I couldnât believe Iâd made it here from home in barely eight minutes. I couldnât breathe. Tears burned in my throat.
-I just wanted to tell you that I hope youâll be happy, and that people will love you very much, because you deserve it. You deserve everything good in life after everything youâve been through. Iâm sorry that for us itâs already too late...
-Maâam, youâre not allowed to be here. The train may depart any second. - a security guard started walking toward me. Heâd been talking to a woman complaining about her husband leaving. I ignored him. I wanted to scream at him to leave me alone. The train let out a loud thump, signaling departure.
-âŚIâm sorry I didnât realize sooner what I wanted. - I continued.
I didnât care about the guard approaching or that I could get into serious trouble for this. The train began to move, and I moved with it, speeding up to keep pace.
-For once in your life, say what you actually want! - he shouted at me, leaning almost all the way out the window. The cold wind caught his black strands and tangled them.
-Fine. Okay. I felt like I had to come because you might become truly important to me and that terrified me, because then you could hurt me⌠or maybe I just wasnât ready to love someone as much as I love you!
I stopped at the edge of the platform.
You couldnât answer. I couldnât see your reaction. You probably think Iâm insane. Youâd be right. I think so too.
Have you ever been somewhere where trains no longer run? Only the tracks remain beneath your feet, the rattling and the thought that a few days ago, there was somewhere to run to. Walking back, I thought about how we exist in parallel. I didnât want to take the bus. Iâd imagine you beside me, like that day when city lights reflected in your eyes. Today I want to remember us on foot.
Youâre always with someone else, always somewhere else. You walk in daylight; I walk at night. You are the light. I am the dark. This parallel leads to the curb where I sit now. You travel below; I above. We are together underground, yet in this reality I can never meet you again.
This could be about you too, that weâre not moving forward, something keeps pulling us back. Even if I know this is constant, the direction is still wrong. Everything whole has broken. My face blurs in the mirror. The train moves backward along the tracks. Leaves turn back into buds. Time stops where I left you. Rivers dry up and water rises in deserts. Thereâs no other solution, so I write your name backward and wait for it to make sense.
A cigarette pack lies in the weeds. The last drag burned my throat, punched holes into my lungs, paralyzed my breathing. Iâve always had the habit of sweeping problems under the rug, like drunkenly brushing away shards of a wine bottle that cut into my hands. But youâre not here anymore to put me back together.
Someone once said it hurts to forget someone. You said that. But it also hurts to wait for someone. And I think the worst pain is not knowing whether you should wait or let go. You told me that, so why did you leave me here like this, so unaware? You made it clear you were going to leave. And if thereâs one thing Iâve learned, itâs that trying to convince someone to stay when they want to go is the surest way to get your heart broken. I think waiting is still easier. Waiting for the first snow. The first kiss. The first bloom. From you to me. From the impossible to the possible. I felt stuck in a moment replayed a hundred times - still beautiful the hundred-and-first.
Fragments of our conversation from last night suddenly flashed through my mind, and dizziness washed over me. A crushing pain in my chest. Because of you. Sometimes I wonder how good I could be if I had the courage to do things the way I imagine them in my head.
Itâs slowly midnight. I still canât sleep; my thoughts wonât quiet down. Sometimes I really wish they would, especially when Iâm practically begging them to be silent, even for just one minute.
In the distance, under the streetlight, fog fills the empty street. Itâs a little cold out here, but at least I feel free. Inside, a heavy sadness locks me in, the kind you bring with you when you enter the house. A dense black fog that surrounds you, dressing everything in darkness wherever you go. Sitting on the cold stone steps, tears spill over. If you were here, weâd be free together, and maybe my thoughts would only be about you. Please, get me out of here.
Two minutes past midnight, and the black figure is here again. Itâs easy to notice, it drags it's suitcase loudly behind itself. It happens again and again, every day. I could take it as a sign. When I hear it, I know itâs time to sleep. I force myself inside, shivering - not because Iâm that cold, but because I donât feel at home. A foreign house filled with painful memories. But this time, itâs not just about you.
Maybe only if I let you go completely will you finally be fully mine. But then whatâs the point of all this? I promised myself I wouldnât cry because of you. I didnât, my pain just overflowed. Why is it that whenever Iâm about to climb out of the hole, someone appears above me with a shovel? I close my eyes and think of you. Thatâs what gives meaning to doing it all again tomorrow.
We just kept talking, and I wondered what it must have been like to be first with you. For me, you were the one worth everything, for dropping accents from words and missing buses in the darkest parts of the city. Believe me, I loved others too, just never the way I loved you. Because you can love you many times, never the same way, but in the end, forever.
The sky has no color, we can start there. And you should be here. I remember my shoes from that evening, staring at them while you joked about how calm your life would be without me. I stumble getting off the bus. Youâre looking out the window. Always the window. Never the people.
And maybe ten years from now, youâll try to call me drunk from a phone booth so old it doesnât even work anymore. And Iâll never know why, that night on the steps of the old house, you had to lie. You never loved me.
In the end, there was only one wish left: to see him one more time, just for a minute, so you could tell him, I love you.
Think of me as a foolish little girl who tripped, just so she could fall at your feet,
-I could have been your everything.
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gojo satoru has always seen everything: curses, energy, futures. but after a mission goes wrong and temporarily damages his six eyes, heâs forced to rely on someone else for the first time in years.
(romance, losing eyesight)
-Youâre awake.
Gojo Satoru had built his life around seeing. Seeing cursed energy down to its finest threads. Seeing trajectories before they fully formed. Seeing danger long before it arrived. It was how he stayed alive. It was how he stayed in control. So when the world went wrong, it felt⌠unreal. Not dark. Not empty. Just incomplete. Like someone had erased a layer of reality and forgotten to tell him. He blinked once. Then again. The room was still there: the white ceiling of the infirmary, the faint hum of machines, the sterile scent of antiseptic, but everything felt duller. Muted. His senses reached outward instinctively, searching for the familiar lattice of cursed energy that usually painted the air in brilliant detail. Nothing answered. Gojo exhaled slowly. Well. That was new.
Your voice came from his left. He turned his head toward the sound. You were standing near the bed, holding a clipboard, posture careful in the way people got around injured sorcerers. Your cursed energy was there, he could still feel it, but it was fuzzy, unfocused, like trying to see through fogged glass.
-How long have I been out? -he asked lightly, because panic had never suited him.
-A few hours. - you said. -Shoko stabilized you. The damage isnât permanent.
Gojo smiled, reflexively.
-Good. Permanent wouldâve been inconvenient.
You hesitated.
-But your Six Eyes are offline... - you continued. -...temporarily. The technique backlash interfered with your perception. Shoko says it could take days. Maybe weeks.
Gojo absorbed that in silence. Days or weeks without the one thing that defined him. Interesting. He leaned back against the pillows, folding his hands behind his head.
-So... - he said, tone easy -...guess Iâll finally get to experience life on hard mode.
You didnât laugh. They assigned you to him the same evening. Officially, it was for medical observation. Unofficially, it was because Gojo Satoru without full perception was a liability, and someone needed to make sure he didnât wander into danger out of habit. Gojo accepted it with exaggerated enthusiasm.
-Wow! - he said, throwing on his sunglasses out of muscle memory, only to realize they did absolutely nothing right now. -A personal caretaker? Iâm honored.
You crossed your arms.
-Try not to make this harder than it needs to be.
-No promises.
Despite the banter, something fundamental had shifted. Gojo could still fight. His techniques still worked. Infinity still responded to him like a loyal extension of his body. But the world no longer spoke to him in perfect clarity. He misjudged distances. He bumped into doorframes. He reached for objects that werenât quite where he thought they were. Small things. Humiliating things. You noticed. You always noticed. You started walking half a step ahead of him in hallways. You warned him about stairs before he reached them. You quietly moved obstacles out of his path without comment. You didnât make a big deal out of it. That, more than anything, unsettled him. Gojo had never been good at stillness. Without missions, without constant sensory input, his mind grew loud. He spent hours pacing his apartment, stretching against invisible limits, flicking cursed energy between his fingers just to reassure himself it was still there. You sat nearby, usually pretending to read.
-You donât have to babysit me every second. - he said one afternoon.
You didnât look up.
-Orders.
-You know I hate those.
-And yet, - you replied calmly, -you follow them when they matter.
He studied you. Most people treated him like a natural disaster given human form. They laughed too loudly at his jokes. They avoided meeting his eyes. They relied on him in battle and kept their distance afterward. You did neither. You spoke to him like he was just⌠Gojo. It was refreshing. And dangerous. The first time it really hit him was during training. He miscalculated. A simple sparring exercise, something he could usually do blindfolded...ironically. He moved on instinct, expecting the familiar feedback from his surroundings.
It didnât come. His footing slipped. His balance went. You caught him before he hit the mat. Your hands closed around his arms, grounding him in solid, undeniable reality. For a split second, Gojo froze. He wasnât used to being caught.
-Easy... - you said quietly - ...Iâve got you.
The words settled somewhere deep in his chest. He straightened slowly, brushing himself off with forced nonchalance.
-Guess Iâm a little rusty.
You met his gaze.
-Itâs okay to need help.
He opened his mouth to joke. Then closed it again.
-Yeah, guess it is.
Nights were the worst. Without the constant visual map of cursed energy, sleep came unevenly. His dreams were crowded with half-formed threats and memories he usually kept buried under motion and noise. Sometimes he woke up disoriented, heart steady but mind searching. You learned the signs. Youâd appear quietly in his doorway with a cup of tea. Youâd sit on the edge of the couch beside him, close enough that your shoulder brushed his. You never asked what he saw in his dreams. You just stayed. One evening, after a particularly long silence, he spoke.
-I donât like this. - he admitted.
You waited.
-Not seeing everything. - he continued. -Feels like I left part of myself somewhere.
-Youâre still you.
Gojo let out a small laugh.
-Careful. Thatâs dangerously optimistic.
You looked at him, expression soft.
-Even without your Six Eyes, youâre still strong. Still annoying. Still kind of impossible.
He smiled at that. But your next words landed harder.
-And youâre still human.
He didnât respond right away. No one ever framed it like that. Days passed. He adapted, the way he always did. He memorized layouts by touch and repetition. He relied more on sound. On instinct. On you. Somewhere along the way, dependence stopped feeling like weakness. It started feeling like trust.
You cooked together once, which Gojo declared a terrible idea and then proceeded to ruin half the kitchen anyway. You dragged him outside for short walks when cabin fever set in. You listened to him ramble about techniques and students and the absurdity of sorcerer bureaucracy. In return, he learned the cadence of your voice. The way you sighed when you were tired. The subtle shift in your cursed energy when something bothered you. He couldnât see everything anymore. But he was learning to notice differently.
The realization crept up on him quietly. It wasnât some dramatic epiphany. It was the way he automatically turned toward you when something startled him. The way your presence calmed the restless edge in his mind. The way he found himself smiling before he even registered why. One afternoon, sitting together on the rooftop, he finally said it.
-You know, - he murmured, staring up at a sky he could no longer fully interpret - I think Iâve been living in my own spotlight for too long.
You glanced at him.
-What does that mean?
-It means, - he said thoughtfully, - I got so used to being the strongest that I stopped noticing what was happening around me.
You were quiet. He turned toward you.
-And somehow, you ended up in my blind spot.
Your breath hitched. Gojo watched your reaction carefully, heart doing something unfamiliar in his chest.
-I donât mean invisible, - he added softly - I mean⌠important in a way I didnât know how to see.
You looked away, then back.
-GojoâŚ
He raised a hand.
-Iâm not great at this part, - he admitted - usually I just blast problems until they go away.
A small smile tugged at your lips.
-That explains a lot.
He chuckled.
-But this one doesnât feel like something I want to get rid of.
The silence stretched between you, warm and fragile. Then you reached for his hand. He let you.
His Six Eyes returned gradually. Colors sharpened. Details reassembled themselves. The world slid back into its familiar precision. On the day Shoko officially cleared him, Gojo stood in the hallway, rolling his shoulders like someone trying on an old coat.
-Welcome back. - you said.
He adjusted his sunglasses, then looked at you over the rim.
-Funny thing... - he replied ...-I donât think I want things to go back to exactly how they were.
You tilted your head. He stepped closer.
-When you lose something, you figure out what actually matters.
He reached for your hand again, this time without hesitation.
-And apparently, you matter.
You smiled. And for once, Gojo Satoru didnât feel the need to see everything at once. Some things were better discovered slowly. In the quiet spaces. In his blind spot.
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left alone together in the quiet gym one evening, long-suppressed feelings finally surface.
(friends (?) to lovers, she/her)
Still, the truth was that I spent most of my time under Iwaizumi Hajimeâs spell. While I joked easily with the others, he only ever nodded or gave short answers. I didnât understand why he treated me this way, but I couldnât let go of the thought.
By the second day of training camp, the air was already thick with excitement and exhaustion. The team practiced relentlessly, and I did my best to keep up: towels, water, ice packs, whatever they asked for. And despite everything, the time spent with the boys and the managers, the late-night conversations and endless laughter, always recharged me.
He was the heart and soul of the team, strong and decisive, but whenever he looked at me - if he looked at me at all- his eyes were cold, almost distant. Maybe he didnât like me. Maybe I tried too hard to please him. Or maybe I simply didnât matter to him. We had always been friends, close enough to joke, to share quiet moments during practice breaks, to rely on each other when things got tough. But Iwaizumi had always kept a careful distance, drawing invisible lines he never crossed. Maybe because he didnât care, maybe because he cared too much. Maybe he was afraid of blurring boundaries, afraid of ruining what we already had, if we even had anything.
One evening, after the boys had gone to shower, I stayed behind in the gym. I cleaned up, straightened things out, as if putting order to the chaos might ease the emotional turmoil Iwaizumi stirred inside me. Moonlight filtered faintly through the windows, and for a moment, the world felt peaceful.
The soft bounce of a volleyball made me realize I wasnât alone. I turned, and there he was, a ball in his hand, his face half-hidden in the shadows.
-Why do you always stay so late? -he asked, absently turning the ball in his palms.
-Itâs my job. -I replied, trying to hide the flutter his closeness caused -Besides, someone has to clean up.
-The guys could do that too. - he said dryly, stepping closer.
My heart skipped a beat as he approached. All the tension of the past months, all the longing and uncertainty rose to the surface at once.
-Why do you treat me like this? - the words spilled out before I could stop myself -Iâm the sweetest girl in town, so why are you so mean?
He stopped. His eyes locked onto mine, surprise flickering across his face before he dropped the ball and stepped even closer.
-Iâm not being cold, - he said quietly -you mean a lot to me.
My breath caught.
-Then why donât you show it? -I asked, my voice trembling, though I didnât step back.
Slowly, Iwaizumi reached out, his fingers brushing along my cheek. His touch was hesitant, as if he were still deciding whether this was the right thing to do. He couldnât misunderstand, after all, the team teased him at least ten times a day about pairing us up.
-Because I was afraid Iâd ruin it. -he admitted.
There was so much uncertainty in his words that my chest tightened. I gently touched his hand where it rested on my face and drew him closer. It felt like something inside finally clicked into place. The air between us shifted.
-You canât ruin anything.
I donât know who moved first, but the next moment his lips were on mine. The kiss started cautiously, as if he feared I might pull away, but when my hands slid up to his shoulders, he finally let go. His lips were warm and insistent, carrying every feeling heâd been holding back. The silence of the gym only made the moment feel deeper, more intense. His hand slipped to my waist, gently pulling me closer, as if he never wanted to let me go.
-I shouldâve done this much sooner. -he murmured when we finally paused for air.
-Itâs not too late. -I smiled, leaning in to kiss him again. He smiled back, his first smile meant just for me and in that moment, I knew every effort had been worth it.
That night, beneath the moonlight, there was no more distance or doubt. There was only us, and the feelings that had finally been set free. And I - the sweetest girl in town- had finally received what Iâd been longing for all along.
yeah, so a Lana Del Rey song inspired this
requests are currently open, so donât hesitate to drop an idea in my inbox.
thank you for reading, if you enjoyed this story, feel free to like or reblog, it truly means a lot and helps my work reach more readers.
you never meant for the dinner with nanami to feel like a date, but it does. between half-finished glasses of wine, quiet laughter, and the low hum of the city outside, heâs trying desperately to keep his composure. and youâre doing your best to make him lose it.
(fluff, mini spice)
The restaurant was almost empty when you finally looked up from your glass. The candle between you flickered, catching the reflection in Nanamiâs eyes - soft, steady, unreadable.
-Itâs late. - he said, his voice that familiar, calm baritone -You should be home.
You smiled, leaning your chin on your hand.
-Then why are you still here?
He looked away, his jaw tightening just slightly.
-Professional courtesy.
-Professional courtesy doesnât usually include wine and dessert. - you teased, swirling what was left in your glass - Or that look you keep giving me.
His fingers froze around the stem of his glass.
-What look?
-That one... - you said quietly -...the one where youâre trying not to think about what would happen if you werenât such a gentleman.
For a moment, you thought you went too far. The air between you shifted - heavier, warmer. Nanami sighed and pushed his glass away, his tie loosened just enough to expose the curve of his throat.
- I shouldnât have agreed to this.
-But you did. - you whispered.
He didnât answer. Just stared, that same patience in his gaze - the kind that burned slow. You reached across the table and brushed your fingers against his wrist. His hand didnât move.
-Kento...
The sound of his name from your lips did something to him. You saw it - the flicker in his eyes, the way his breath caught. He turned his palm over, letting your fingertips slide across his skin, and when he finally looked at you again, all restraint seemed to unravel.
-Letâs go. - he said, his voice low.
The night air outside was cool, but the silence between you wasnât. He walked beside you, close enough that your sleeve brushed his. When you reached your apartment building, you stopped under the streetlight.
-Youâre not coming in? - you asked.
-I shouldnât.
You tilted your head.
-Then donât.
But you were already unlocking the door. And when you glanced back, he was still there - still fighting the part of himself that didnât want to be.
Inside, everything felt smaller, quieter. The sound of the lock clicking behind him was almost deafening. You turned around, heart in your throat. Nanami stood by the door, still as stone. His jacket was off, his shirt sleeves rolled up, the faintest shadow of exhaustion under his eyes.
-Youâre making this difficult. - he said softly.
-Am I?
He moved before you could answer. His hand slid along your jaw, tilting your head up just enough for your breath to catch. The kiss wasnât rough. It was careful - almost reverent - but there was weight behind it, all that quiet control breaking at the seams. You tasted the wine on his lips. His other hand found your waist, pulling you closer until you could feel the slow, steady rhythm of his heartbeat through his shirt.
-Do you have any idea... - he murmured against your mouth -...how long Iâve been trying not to do this?
You smiled against his lips.
-Youâre doing a terrible job.
That earned you a quiet laugh - a low, warm sound that melted somewhere deep inside you. He kissed you again, harder this time, until your back met the wall and your fingers tangled in his hair. The scent of him was dizzying: cologne, and faint traces of smoke.
Every move he made was measured, deliberate, as if he couldnât stop being precise even now. His lips traced down your neck, slow enough to make your pulse stutter.
-Still think this isnât a date? - he whispered.
-I didnât say that. - you breathed, your voice breaking slightly when his hand slid to the small of your back.
-Good. Because I donât plan to stop pretending anymore.
He pressed another kiss just beneath your jaw, softer this time, almost tender. You could feel the conflict in him, that constant pull between restraint and want, between who he was and who he let himself be only with you. When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours. His breath was uneven, but his eyes - they were steady, golden, and filled with something that felt dangerously close to affection.
-Next time, Iâll take you somewhere earlier. Somewhere that actually serves dinner.
-Next time?
A pause. Then, with that small, rare curve of his lips:
-If you invite me again after this, Iâll consider it.
The clock on your wall ticked quietly behind you. Midnight. After hours. But neither of you moved away. Because for once, Nanami Kento wasnât thinking about the time.
thank you for reading, if you enjoyed this story, feel free to like or reblog, it truly means a lot and helps my work reach more readers.
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when mahito is glad his submissive wife is supportive of his ideas to kill a man, but the wife is secretly leading an ambush against him when she recognizes the name of the target - her first love she thought was dead.
The mansion always smelled like smoke. Not the kind that rises from a cigarette, but the kind that clings to blood and burns away the air you breathe. Mahito had a habit of walking through the house barefoot, humming tunelessly as he talked about death like it was a bedtime story. Youâd long since learned to nod at the right moments, to pour his tea when he raised his voice, to smile when he spoke of a world made beautiful through pain. But that night, something in his tone made your heart seize.
-Theyâve sent him again. - Mahito said, tossing his head back with a grin too wide to be human - The ex-salaryman. Nanami Kento.
Your fingers froze around the porcelain cup. The liquid rippled. He laughed.
-Oh, donât look so scared, my love. Heâs not coming for you. Heâs coming for me. Isnât that romantic? A man trying to be a hero.
You forced your lips into something that could be mistaken for amusement.
-And what will you do?
Mahito tilted his head, his mismatched eyes glinting.
-What I always do. Break him apart. See what makes him human. Then maybe make something better out of the pieces.
He turned, his hand brushing your cheek with the intimacy of a blade.
-Youâre trembling. - he said softly - Donât worry, he had no use in killing you.
You smiled because youâd been trained to. Because if you didnât, heâd notice your pulse stuttering, your breath catching, your mind spinning around a name you hadnât allowed yourself to think in years.
Nanami Kento.
You didnât sleep that night. You couldnât. You sat on the edge of the bed Mahito never truly shared with you, hands clasped tight, trying to remember the way Nanami used to smile: quiet, tired, but real. The way heâd slide his glasses down to the bridge of his nose and say your name like it meant something worth fighting for.
And when dawn bled into the curtains, you made your decision.
You found Nanami three nights later, in the back of an abandoned subway station. The air was thick with cursed energy.
He looked older, sharper. But his eyes - gods, his eyes - still had that weary warmth that made the world seem gentler, even when it wasnât. He didnât move when you stepped into the light. Didnât speak. Just looked at you with the faintest disbelief, as if you were a ghost conjured by exhaustion.
You wanted to run to him, but your body didnât obey. Youâd dreamed of this too many times, of seeing him again, of explaining, of asking for forgiveness, and every dream had ended in smoke.
-I... - you started, and then your throat closed.
Nanami stepped forward, slow, deliberate, until he was close enough that you could see the faint cut on his cheek, the loosened tie at his neck, the way his hands trembled even as he kept them at his sides.
-I thought you were dead. - he said quietly - I searched for months. And then there were reports⌠- his jaw tensed -...they said Mahito had taken someone. I didnât want to believe it.
You swallowed hard.
-He didnât take me. He destroyed me.
Nanamiâs expression fractured, a flicker of anger, sorrow, disbelief. Without thinking, you reached up and touched his sleeve. The moment your fingers brushed the fabric, all the restraint fell apart. He caught you before you fell into him completely, his arms wrapping around you with a force that felt almost desperate. You didnât cry at first - youâd forgotten how to - but when his hand came up to the back of your head, when you felt the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your ear, everything youâd held inside cracked open. You clutched at him like something fragile, like if you let go, youâd vanish again.
-I didnât have a choice. - you whispered - he⌠he kept me alive because I could manipulate energy. Because he thought I was useful. But he doesnât know what I can really do. And now he wants you dead.
He still didnât pull away.
-Then tell me what you know. Weâll stop him together.
You looked up at him through tears you hadnât even realized were falling.
-Together...? - you repeated softly, like the word itself was a prayer.
For the first time in years, you felt something real move through you: hope, sharp and terrifying in its purity. And when Nanami cupped your face, his thumb brushing away the tears, you saw it mirrored in his eyes, the same mixture of grief and relief, disbelief and promise.
-Youâre risking your life telling me this and coming here.
-I already lost my life the day I said "I do".
Nanamiâs lips twitched, not quite a smile, not quite grief.
-Then letâs make sure you get it back.
The plan was simple, in theory. You would feed Mahito false information, draw him into an ambush, and Nanami would finish what he started years ago. But every step closer to that moment felt like walking barefoot over glass, every heartbeat a reminder that Mahito felt your emotions, that he could sense deceit the way others sense cold. And still, you met Nanami in secret. In hidden corners of cursed battlefields, in the shadows of ruined temples, in whispers and touches you werenât supposed to crave.
-You shouldnât come here. - you told him one night, though your body leaned toward his warmth - If he finds out...
-He wonât. - Nanami said, his voice rougher than usual - Youâve kept yourself alive this long.
You almost laughed.
-Iâm not sure Iâve been alive at all.
He caught your chin gently, his thumb brushing over your jaw.
-Then let me remind you what it feels like.
And gods, he did. His kiss wasnât desperate - Nanami never was - but there was a depth to it that left you shaking, a promise carved into your bones. He tasted like the silence between breaths, the kind of peace youâd forgotten existed. His hands didnât roam; they anchored. They told you, without words, that you were more than Mahitoâs puppet. That you were still human. When he pulled away, his forehead rested against yours.
-Weâll end this. You and I.
The day of the ambush arrived wrapped in thunder. Mahito was in a good mood, humming, laughing, swirling his cursed energy like smoke.
-Nanamiâs near. - he said with a grin, as if reading your thoughts - I can feel his disgust from here. You know, he used to bore me. So serious. So fragile. But lately, heâs been interesting.
You forced a smile.
-You think so?
-I know so. Iâll kill him slowly. You can watch, if youâd like. Consider it an anniversary gift.
Your hands shook behind your back, hidden beneath the folds of your robe. But your cursed energy pulsed steady, focused. You had one job: stall him long enough for Nanami to strike. So you nodded sweetly.
-Iâd love that.
Mahito smirked and stepped into the open courtyard, exactly where Nanami was waiting.
It happened fast.
Nanamiâs cursed tool sliced through the air like lightning, his face set in that calm, efficient mask that had once terrified curses and comforted you. Mahito laughed, his body shifting, reforming, fracturing. The air split with the clash of their energy, gold against blue, control against chaos.
You stayed in the shadows, chanting under your breath, weaving cursed threads to hold Mahitoâs fragments together, trapping him. He never realized it wasnât Nanamiâs power binding him - it was yours.
-Why... why canât I... - Mahito hissed, struggling as the bindings tightened. His eyes darted toward you, confusion flickering into rage.
-Because you never looked at me long enough to see what I was. - you said quietly, stepping forward - Not your pet. Not your toy. Not yours.
His voice broke into a snarl.
-You...traitor...
You could still remember the day you married him. The ceremony had been quiet, perfunctory. Youâd worn white because heâd told you to, and your hands had shaken so badly that heâd laughed, pressing his thumb against your wrist to still it, not kindly, just possessively.
"I like when you tremble, it reminds me youâre alive.â
You hadnât been alive since that moment. Youâd just existed, a puppet dressed as a wife, a ghost learning to smile. And yet now, standing in the storm of his fury, you realized something you never had before. You werenât trembling anymore. You met his eyes, and there was no fear left in you. Only exhaustion and something sharper, cleaner.
-Traitor? - you echoed softly, almost pitying - Maybe. But at least I finally chose who to betray.
Because deep down, beneath the blood and the terror, you felt something uncoiling inside your chest, like a rusted lock breaking open. For years youâd told yourself survival was enough. That if you obeyed, if you stayed quiet, if you let him use you, maybe one day heâd lose interest. But youâd been wrong. Survival without freedom was just another kind of death. And now, as the world burned around you, you finally understood that there was no sin in destroying the cage that had kept you breathing. Maybe Mahito would call it betrayal. Maybe Nanami would call it courage. But to you, it was something simpler. It was rebirth.
Nanamiâs blade cut him off.
When the light faded, there was silence. Just the sound of rain beginning to fall, washing the blood into the dirt. You sank to your knees, trembling. Nanami caught you before you hit the ground.
-Itâs over. - he said softly.
You wanted to believe him. You really did. But as the rain soaked through your clothes, you could still feel Mahitoâs laughter in your bones: fading, but not gone.
-Not yet. - you whispered -But soon.
Nanamiâs hand brushed your cheek, tilting your face toward his.
-Then weâll face whatever comes next. Together.
For the first time in years, you didnât flinch. You let him pull you close, your head against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat anchoring you to the world.
Weeks later, in a quiet apartment above Tokyoâs restless streets, you woke to sunlight and the smell of coffee. Nanami sat at the table, tie slightly undone, reading the morning paper as if curses were a thing of the past.
-Morning. - he said, without looking up.
You padded across the room, curling your fingers into his sleeve.
-You still wear ties on your days off?
-Itâs a habit.
-Maybe one day Iâll make you break it.
He set the paper down, looked up at you with that same small, quiet smile that used to haunt your dreams.
-Maybe one day Iâll let you.
And when he kissed you this time, it wasnât stolen or defiant. It was simply home.
thank you for reading, if you enjoyed this story, feel free to like or reblog, it truly means a lot and helps my work reach more readers.
requests are currently open, so donât hesitate to drop an idea in my inbox.
you never meant for the dinner with nanami to feel like a date, but it does. between half-finished glasses of wine, quiet laughter, and the low hum of the city outside, heâs trying desperately to keep his composure. and youâre doing your best to make him lose it.
(fluff, mini spice)
The restaurant was almost empty when you finally looked up from your glass. The candle between you flickered, catching the reflection in Nanamiâs eyes - soft, steady, unreadable.
-Itâs late. - he said, his voice that familiar, calm baritone -You should be home.
You smiled, leaning your chin on your hand.
-Then why are you still here?
He looked away, his jaw tightening just slightly.
-Professional courtesy.
-Professional courtesy doesnât usually include wine and dessert. - you teased, swirling what was left in your glass - Or that look you keep giving me.
His fingers froze around the stem of his glass.
-What look?
-That one... - you said quietly -...the one where youâre trying not to think about what would happen if you werenât such a gentleman.
For a moment, you thought you went too far. The air between you shifted - heavier, warmer. Nanami sighed and pushed his glass away, his tie loosened just enough to expose the curve of his throat.
- I shouldnât have agreed to this.
-But you did. - you whispered.
He didnât answer. Just stared, that same patience in his gaze - the kind that burned slow. You reached across the table and brushed your fingers against his wrist. His hand didnât move.
-Kento...
The sound of his name from your lips did something to him. You saw it - the flicker in his eyes, the way his breath caught. He turned his palm over, letting your fingertips slide across his skin, and when he finally looked at you again, all restraint seemed to unravel.
-Letâs go. - he said, his voice low.
The night air outside was cool, but the silence between you wasnât. He walked beside you, close enough that your sleeve brushed his. When you reached your apartment building, you stopped under the streetlight.
-Youâre not coming in? - you asked.
-I shouldnât.
You tilted your head.
-Then donât.
But you were already unlocking the door. And when you glanced back, he was still there - still fighting the part of himself that didnât want to be.
Inside, everything felt smaller, quieter. The sound of the lock clicking behind him was almost deafening. You turned around, heart in your throat. Nanami stood by the door, still as stone. His jacket was off, his shirt sleeves rolled up, the faintest shadow of exhaustion under his eyes.
-Youâre making this difficult. - he said softly.
-Am I?
He moved before you could answer. His hand slid along your jaw, tilting your head up just enough for your breath to catch. The kiss wasnât rough. It was careful - almost reverent - but there was weight behind it, all that quiet control breaking at the seams. You tasted the wine on his lips. His other hand found your waist, pulling you closer until you could feel the slow, steady rhythm of his heartbeat through his shirt.
-Do you have any idea... - he murmured against your mouth -...how long Iâve been trying not to do this?
You smiled against his lips.
-Youâre doing a terrible job.
That earned you a quiet laugh - a low, warm sound that melted somewhere deep inside you. He kissed you again, harder this time, until your back met the wall and your fingers tangled in his hair. The scent of him was dizzying: cologne, and faint traces of smoke.
Every move he made was measured, deliberate, as if he couldnât stop being precise even now. His lips traced down your neck, slow enough to make your pulse stutter.
-Still think this isnât a date? - he whispered.
-I didnât say that. - you breathed, your voice breaking slightly when his hand slid to the small of your back.
-Good. Because I donât plan to stop pretending anymore.
He pressed another kiss just beneath your jaw, softer this time, almost tender. You could feel the conflict in him, that constant pull between restraint and want, between who he was and who he let himself be only with you. When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours. His breath was uneven, but his eyes - they were steady, golden, and filled with something that felt dangerously close to affection.
-Next time, Iâll take you somewhere earlier. Somewhere that actually serves dinner.
-Next time?
A pause. Then, with that small, rare curve of his lips:
-If you invite me again after this, Iâll consider it.
The clock on your wall ticked quietly behind you. Midnight. After hours. But neither of you moved away. Because for once, Nanami Kento wasnât thinking about the time.
thank you for reading, if you enjoyed this story, feel free to like or reblog, it truly means a lot and helps my work reach more readers.
requests are currently open, so donât hesitate to drop an idea in my inbox.
deep beneath yokohama, in the port mafiaâs cold concrete halls, a healer tends to wounds that never seem to stop bleeding, especially those belonging to chuuya nakahara.
(flirting, bleeding, treating injuries)
It was always cold in the Port Mafiaâs underground. The walls were lined with thick concrete, the air stale and metallic, and the tired yellow lamps hanging from the ceiling barely lit more than they had to. The silence was only ever broken by the clang of a tray or the sharp sting of alcohol as you sterilized another needle. Youâd long grown used to it: the blood, the screams, the men in black coats stumbling in with fresh wounds. But there was one person who never fit into your routine.
-Again� - you muttered when the heavy steel door swung open and Chuuya Nakahara stumbled in. Instantly recognizable: the tilted hat, the confident smirk, even when he was bleeding. The sleeve of his coat was soaked red.
-Miss me? - he asked easily, as if he were late for dinner rather than walking in with a bullet in his shoulder.
-If I missed you, it would mean Iâm having a very boring day. - you shot back, scanning him for the source of the bleeding. - Sit down before you pass out, Don Juan.
Chuuya laughed and dropped onto the metal table.
-Iâm not the fainting type.
-No, youâre the type who collects bullet holes like souvenirs.
You peeled off his coat and found the wound. Deep, but not deadly. His blood was still hot against your palm as you hovered your hand over it. Golden light shimmered faintly around your fingers, as your healing power flowed through. Chuuya watched. He always did. Not just your hands, but the way a strand of hair fell into your face, or how your brow furrowed when you focused.
-This is always beautiful, you know? - he murmured, lighting a cigarette. - The way your hands glow... you look like an angel.
-Angels donât swear as much as I do.
-Then maybe youâre a demon who learned to heal.
-Exactly.
Silence settled again. The lamp above flickered. You focused on the wound until the skin began to knit itself shut, blood drying to dark crimson. When you finally pulled your hand away, warmth still buzzed in your fingertips.
-All done. Next time don't come back, or Iâm billing you for blood loss.
-Donât take away my excuse to visit.
-The other doctors too scary for you?
-They donât smile at me.
-I donât smile at you either.
-You are now.
You wanted to retort, but when his gaze locked with yours, your words faltered. His eyes - deep reddish brown, smoldering like embers - were steady, not teasing. There was no arrogance there this time, only quiet attention. You turned away quickly, fussing with a sterilized cloth.
-Smokingâs not allowed down here.
-Seriously? The Port Mafiaâs medic quoting rules at me?
-Just trying to save your lungs, since Iâm already busy saving the rest of you.
-Too late for that. - he said softly. And for a moment, the cocky tone slipped. Beneath it, something tired flickered, the kind of weariness that only someone like him could carry.
-How many times is this now, Chuuya? Like in this month?
-Second. Maybe third. I stopped counting. -he shrugged.
-Your body hasnât.
-Doesnât matter, as long as you can fix me.
You almost laughed, but stopped yourself. -One day, I might not make it in time.
He looked up sharply, and this time his voice was low.
-Then Iâll find you on the other side and scold you for letting me die.
-Even in hell, youâd be trouble.
-At least weâd be there together.
Your heart skipped. And you hated that it did. The light from your palms faded, leaving only the dull glow of his cigarette. When you handed him his coat, his fingers brushed yours, intentionally.
-Thank you, doc.
-Go home and rest, for once.
'No promises. But if I get hurt again⌠- his eyes glinted with that familiar mischief. -âŚIâm still coming to you. You donât sew me up boringly like the others do.
-I just hope one day youâll be worth the trouble.
-With you? Always worth it.
He left with a smirk and the soft click of the steel door. The air still smelled of smoke,hus perfume and disinfectant, a scent that was almost comforting now. You stood alone in the dim light and a quiet smile touched your lips. Youâre insane, Chuuya Nakahara, but somehow, you always come back.
thank you for reading if you enjoyed this story, feel free to like or reblog, it truly means a lot and helps my work reach more readers.
requests are currently open, so donât hesitate to drop an idea in my inbox.
when you bring home a trembling stray kitten from the cold, chuuya nakahara isnât amused. between mafia meetings and the chaos of your secret relationship, the last thing he needs is a furball scratching up his coat. but as days go by, you begin to notice strange things: missing tuna cans, faint purring in the kitchen, and chuuya getting up earlier than usual.
(fluff, slice of life)
The air in the docksâ apartment smelled faintly of coffee and gunpowder - the usual combination when Chuuya Nakahara was home. Maps were spread across the table, his coat tossed on the back of a chair, hat carefully resting beside a glass of whiskey.
He looked up the moment your footsteps echoed in the hall. His instincts never failed him, and yet what entered the room made his brows furrow in a way not even an ambush could.
-What did you bring home? Another solider? - his tone was teasing, but his gaze was sharp.
You stepped inside, a small gray kitten trembling in your arms. Its fur was wet from the rain, eyes wide and frightened. You smiled softly, ignoring his gruffness.
-More like... a new kind of ally. One that wonât shoot us in our sleep. You know, we need some soft power.
Chuuya groaned.
-You canât be serious.
-Oh, Iâm completely serious. - you crouched down and let the kitten on the floor. It immediately darted under the sofa, meowing pitifully.Chuuya pinched the bridge of his nose.
-Weâre not keeping it.
-Weâll see.
That was how it began - a small, soaked creature and one very reluctant mafia executive.
The kitten, whom you had quickly named Whiskey ("Because it matches your mood,â youâd told Chuuya, to which heâd grumbled something about "ridiculous women"), had made itself at home faster than anyone expected.
At first, Chuuya avoided it entirely. Heâd roll his eyes whenever you cooed at it, or when it tried climbing onto the couch beside him.
But as days turned into weeks, little signs began to appear. A half-empty bowl of milk on the kitchen floor. Tiny paw prints near the stove. The faintest sound of purring whenever Chuuya thought no one was around. You didnât say anything. You noticed, though - you always did.
One morning, you woke earlier than usual. Dawn light spilled through the window, painting the apartment in a pale glow. The air smelled faintly of toast.
You walked quietly, barefoot on the wooden floor. The sound that reached you first wasnât the clatter of pans - it was a soft murmur.
-Yeah, thatâs it. Eat slow, dummy. Youâll choke like that.
Peeking into the kitchen, you froze.
There was Chuuya, shirt sleeves rolled up, hair slightly messy. He stood by the counter, frying eggs in one hand while using the other to hold a tiny saucer near the floor. Whiskey was there, licking at the milk with loud, happy slurps.
Chuuyaâs expression wasnât his usual scowl or sharp smirk. It was... peaceful. Soft. A smile ghosted on his lips, the kind he rarely allowed anyone to see. You leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, amusement tugging at your mouth.
-So this is what you do when Iâm not around?
Chuuya stiffened. The frying pan nearly slipped from his hand.
-Fuck... damn it, I thought you were still asleep.
-Oh, donât mind me. - you said sweetly - Iâm just admiring this touching domestic scene. You, cooking breakfast for our little criminal.
-Sheâs not our anything.
-Really? Then why is she wearing your hat like a blanket?
Chuuya looked down. The kitten had indeed dragged his hat across the floor and curled up inside it. He sighed, defeated.
-Sheâs got good taste. Thatâs all.
You laughed, stepping closer, then kissing his cheek as a good morning kiss.
-You know, for someone who swears he hates cats, youâre not very convincing.
He glanced at you from under his lashes, faint color dusting his cheeks.
-Tch. Keep this between us. Like everything else.
-Everything? - you teased - Even that little smile of yours?
-Babe... - he warned, voice low, but there was no real anger in it.
-Relax. Your secretâs safe with me.
Days passed, and the kitten became part of your rhythm. Chuuya would grumble about cat hair on his coats, but you would catch him tucking the kittenâs blanket closer before heading out on missions.
Sometimes, after long nights, you would wake to find Chuuya asleep on the couch, hat tilted over his eyes, the kitten sprawled across his chest. Youâd just stand there for a moment, heart swelling at the sight. There was something heartbreakingly gentle in the way his hand rested protectively on the small creature, as if even in sleep, he couldnât stop shielding those he cared about.
One night, while you sat together watching the rain outside, you broke the silence.
-You know... sheâs not the only stray who found a home here.
Chuuya turned to you, confusion flickering in his blue eyes.
You smiled faintly.
-I wasnât exactly in the best place when I came to the Port Mafia, remember? You gave me a chance. Thatâs worth more than you think.
He exhaled slowly, eyes softening.
-Youâre not a stray, youâre my partner. And donât you forget that.
The kitten meowed as if in agreement. You laughed quietly, leaning your head on his shoulder.
-Guess we both owe you, then.
Chuuya smiled against your hair, his voice a low murmur.
-Though... itâs kind of nice to see you like this.
Chuuya tilted his head slightly toward you.
-Like what?
-Human.
That made him chuckle, low and genuine.
-Careful, Sweetheart. Keep talking like that, and I might start acting like one.
-I wouldnât mind that.
He turned, your eyes meeting - and for a moment, the whole world seemed to pause. The kitten squirmed, breaking the tension, but the warmth lingered.
-Youâve got a soft spot. And itâs kind of beautiful.
He gave you a half-smile, the kind that made your knees weak.
-Then maybe Iâm not the only with one, huh?
You squeezed his hand.
-TouchĂŠ.
thank you for reading, if you enjoyed this story, feel free to like or reblog, it truly means a lot and helps my work reach more readers.
requests are currently open, so donât hesitate to drop an idea in my inbox.
when mahito is glad his submissive wife is supportive of his ideas to kill a man, but the wife is secretly leading an ambush against him when she recognizes the name of the target - her first love she thought was dead.
The mansion always smelled like smoke. Not the kind that rises from a cigarette, but the kind that clings to blood and burns away the air you breathe. Mahito had a habit of walking through the house barefoot, humming tunelessly as he talked about death like it was a bedtime story. Youâd long since learned to nod at the right moments, to pour his tea when he raised his voice, to smile when he spoke of a world made beautiful through pain. But that night, something in his tone made your heart seize.
-Theyâve sent him again. - Mahito said, tossing his head back with a grin too wide to be human - The ex-salaryman. Nanami Kento.
Your fingers froze around the porcelain cup. The liquid rippled. He laughed.
-Oh, donât look so scared, my love. Heâs not coming for you. Heâs coming for me. Isnât that romantic? A man trying to be a hero.
You forced your lips into something that could be mistaken for amusement.
-And what will you do?
Mahito tilted his head, his mismatched eyes glinting.
-What I always do. Break him apart. See what makes him human. Then maybe make something better out of the pieces.
He turned, his hand brushing your cheek with the intimacy of a blade.
-Youâre trembling. - he said softly - Donât worry, he had no use in killing you.
You smiled because youâd been trained to. Because if you didnât, heâd notice your pulse stuttering, your breath catching, your mind spinning around a name you hadnât allowed yourself to think in years.
Nanami Kento.
You didnât sleep that night. You couldnât. You sat on the edge of the bed Mahito never truly shared with you, hands clasped tight, trying to remember the way Nanami used to smile: quiet, tired, but real. The way heâd slide his glasses down to the bridge of his nose and say your name like it meant something worth fighting for.
And when dawn bled into the curtains, you made your decision.
You found Nanami three nights later, in the back of an abandoned subway station. The air was thick with cursed energy.
He looked older, sharper. But his eyes - gods, his eyes - still had that weary warmth that made the world seem gentler, even when it wasnât. He didnât move when you stepped into the light. Didnât speak. Just looked at you with the faintest disbelief, as if you were a ghost conjured by exhaustion.
You wanted to run to him, but your body didnât obey. Youâd dreamed of this too many times, of seeing him again, of explaining, of asking for forgiveness, and every dream had ended in smoke.
-I... - you started, and then your throat closed.
Nanami stepped forward, slow, deliberate, until he was close enough that you could see the faint cut on his cheek, the loosened tie at his neck, the way his hands trembled even as he kept them at his sides.
-I thought you were dead. - he said quietly - I searched for months. And then there were reports⌠- his jaw tensed -...they said Mahito had taken someone. I didnât want to believe it.
You swallowed hard.
-He didnât take me. He destroyed me.
Nanamiâs expression fractured, a flicker of anger, sorrow, disbelief. Without thinking, you reached up and touched his sleeve. The moment your fingers brushed the fabric, all the restraint fell apart. He caught you before you fell into him completely, his arms wrapping around you with a force that felt almost desperate. You didnât cry at first - youâd forgotten how to - but when his hand came up to the back of your head, when you felt the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your ear, everything youâd held inside cracked open. You clutched at him like something fragile, like if you let go, youâd vanish again.
-I didnât have a choice. - you whispered - he⌠he kept me alive because I could manipulate energy. Because he thought I was useful. But he doesnât know what I can really do. And now he wants you dead.
He still didnât pull away.
-Then tell me what you know. Weâll stop him together.
You looked up at him through tears you hadnât even realized were falling.
-Together...? - you repeated softly, like the word itself was a prayer.
For the first time in years, you felt something real move through you: hope, sharp and terrifying in its purity. And when Nanami cupped your face, his thumb brushing away the tears, you saw it mirrored in his eyes, the same mixture of grief and relief, disbelief and promise.
-Youâre risking your life telling me this and coming here.
-I already lost my life the day I said "I do".
Nanamiâs lips twitched, not quite a smile, not quite grief.
-Then letâs make sure you get it back.
The plan was simple, in theory. You would feed Mahito false information, draw him into an ambush, and Nanami would finish what he started years ago. But every step closer to that moment felt like walking barefoot over glass, every heartbeat a reminder that Mahito felt your emotions, that he could sense deceit the way others sense cold. And still, you met Nanami in secret. In hidden corners of cursed battlefields, in the shadows of ruined temples, in whispers and touches you werenât supposed to crave.
-You shouldnât come here. - you told him one night, though your body leaned toward his warmth - If he finds out...
-He wonât. - Nanami said, his voice rougher than usual - Youâve kept yourself alive this long.
You almost laughed.
-Iâm not sure Iâve been alive at all.
He caught your chin gently, his thumb brushing over your jaw.
-Then let me remind you what it feels like.
And gods, he did. His kiss wasnât desperate - Nanami never was - but there was a depth to it that left you shaking, a promise carved into your bones. He tasted like the silence between breaths, the kind of peace youâd forgotten existed. His hands didnât roam; they anchored. They told you, without words, that you were more than Mahitoâs puppet. That you were still human. When he pulled away, his forehead rested against yours.
-Weâll end this. You and I.
The day of the ambush arrived wrapped in thunder. Mahito was in a good mood, humming, laughing, swirling his cursed energy like smoke.
-Nanamiâs near. - he said with a grin, as if reading your thoughts - I can feel his disgust from here. You know, he used to bore me. So serious. So fragile. But lately, heâs been interesting.
You forced a smile.
-You think so?
-I know so. Iâll kill him slowly. You can watch, if youâd like. Consider it an anniversary gift.
Your hands shook behind your back, hidden beneath the folds of your robe. But your cursed energy pulsed steady, focused. You had one job: stall him long enough for Nanami to strike. So you nodded sweetly.
-Iâd love that.
Mahito smirked and stepped into the open courtyard, exactly where Nanami was waiting.
It happened fast.
Nanamiâs cursed tool sliced through the air like lightning, his face set in that calm, efficient mask that had once terrified curses and comforted you. Mahito laughed, his body shifting, reforming, fracturing. The air split with the clash of their energy, gold against blue, control against chaos.
You stayed in the shadows, chanting under your breath, weaving cursed threads to hold Mahitoâs fragments together, trapping him. He never realized it wasnât Nanamiâs power binding him - it was yours.
-Why... why canât I... - Mahito hissed, struggling as the bindings tightened. His eyes darted toward you, confusion flickering into rage.
-Because you never looked at me long enough to see what I was. - you said quietly, stepping forward - Not your pet. Not your toy. Not yours.
His voice broke into a snarl.
-You...traitor...
You could still remember the day you married him. The ceremony had been quiet, perfunctory. Youâd worn white because heâd told you to, and your hands had shaken so badly that heâd laughed, pressing his thumb against your wrist to still it, not kindly, just possessively.
"I like when you tremble, it reminds me youâre alive.â
You hadnât been alive since that moment. Youâd just existed, a puppet dressed as a wife, a ghost learning to smile. And yet now, standing in the storm of his fury, you realized something you never had before. You werenât trembling anymore. You met his eyes, and there was no fear left in you. Only exhaustion and something sharper, cleaner.
-Traitor? - you echoed softly, almost pitying - Maybe. But at least I finally chose who to betray.
Because deep down, beneath the blood and the terror, you felt something uncoiling inside your chest, like a rusted lock breaking open. For years youâd told yourself survival was enough. That if you obeyed, if you stayed quiet, if you let him use you, maybe one day heâd lose interest. But youâd been wrong. Survival without freedom was just another kind of death. And now, as the world burned around you, you finally understood that there was no sin in destroying the cage that had kept you breathing. Maybe Mahito would call it betrayal. Maybe Nanami would call it courage. But to you, it was something simpler. It was rebirth.
Nanamiâs blade cut him off.
When the light faded, there was silence. Just the sound of rain beginning to fall, washing the blood into the dirt. You sank to your knees, trembling. Nanami caught you before you hit the ground.
-Itâs over. - he said softly.
You wanted to believe him. You really did. But as the rain soaked through your clothes, you could still feel Mahitoâs laughter in your bones: fading, but not gone.
-Not yet. - you whispered -But soon.
Nanamiâs hand brushed your cheek, tilting your face toward his.
-Then weâll face whatever comes next. Together.
For the first time in years, you didnât flinch. You let him pull you close, your head against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat anchoring you to the world.
Weeks later, in a quiet apartment above Tokyoâs restless streets, you woke to sunlight and the smell of coffee. Nanami sat at the table, tie slightly undone, reading the morning paper as if curses were a thing of the past.
-Morning. - he said, without looking up.
You padded across the room, curling your fingers into his sleeve.
-You still wear ties on your days off?
-Itâs a habit.
-Maybe one day Iâll make you break it.
He set the paper down, looked up at you with that same small, quiet smile that used to haunt your dreams.
-Maybe one day Iâll let you.
And when he kissed you this time, it wasnât stolen or defiant. It was simply home.
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where you play a game with nanami, and the game is called "who will cum first?".
(mdni!, smut, erotica)
The dim candlelight flickered across the silk sheets of the opulent hotel suite, casting warm shadows that danced like secrets on the walls. You reclined on the king-sized bed, your eyes locked onto Nanami with a challenge that made the air hum with anticipation. You wore nothing but a sheer black lace negligee. He stood at the foot of the bed, his muscular frame silhouetted against the city lights filtering through the curtains, his short blond hair tousled and his intense blue eyes gleaming with cocky resolve. He'd stripped down to his boxers, the fabric straining against the growing bulge of his hardening cock, a testament to the game you were about to play.
With a playful smirk, you crooked a finger, beckoning him closer, your voice a sultry whisper:
-Think you can outlast me this time, Kento? Or will my pussy have you begging for mercy again? - you shifted on the bed, parting your thighs slightly to reveal the damp lace between them, your arousal evident in the way your body responded to his gaze. He chuckled, his dry wit surfacing as he advanced, the muscles in his broad chest flexing with each step.
-Oh Baby, you know I'm built for endurance. - he replied, his voice low and teasing, laced with the flirtatious edge that always ignited your chemistry. As he knelt beside you, his hand trailed up your thigh, fingers grazing the soft skin with deliberate slowness, sending shivers of electric pleasure through you. You gasped softly, your nipples hardening beneath the lace.
Your lips met in a searing kiss, tongues entwining as the game truly began, each determined to push the other to the brink without surrendering first. Your hands roamed over his back, feeling the taut muscles ripple under your fingertips, while his palm slid higher, cupping your breast and teasing the sensitive peak with his thumb. The room filled with the sounds of quickened breaths and the rustle of fabric. You arched into him, your body craving more, yet your mind focused on maintaining control, on making him crack first.
As his fingers dipped beneath the lace to explore the slick folds of your pussy, you moaned, the direct contact igniting a fire that spread through your veins, but you countered by wrapping your hand around his throbbing cock, stroking with a rhythm designed to unravel him. Your strokes deliberate and unyielding, matching the rhythm of his probing fingers as they delved deeper into the warm, slick folds of your pussy. Each glide of his touch sent waves of electric pleasure coursing through you, the pressure building in your core like a coiled spring, yet you refused to let your composure crack. Kento's breath hitched, his muscular body tensing under your expert grip, the veins along his shaft pulsing against your palm as you worked him with skillful twists and pulls, drawing a low groan from his lips that echoed the raw desire simmering between you. The scent of arousal hung heavy in the air, a musky blend of sweat and heat that mingled with the jasmine, heightening the intimate cocoon of the room.
As the intensity mounted, he leaned in, his lips brushing against the curve of your neck, trailing hot kisses down to the swell of your breasts, where he captured a hardened nipple through the lace with his teeth, teasing it with gentle nips that made you arch and gasp. Your free hand threaded through his short blond hair, pulling him closer even as you maintained your assault on his cock, your thumb circling the sensitive tip to smear the bead of precum that had gathered there, eliciting a shudder from him. The game escalated, your movements a symphony of push and pull, with you shifting your hips to grind against his hand, the friction of his fingers inside you driving you toward the edge you were determined to resist. Kento's intense blue eyes met yours, a flicker of affection softening his gaze amidst the competition, a reminder that beneath the teasing rivalry lay a profound trust, each sensation amplified by the knowledge that you were equals in this erotic dance, pushing boundaries not just for dominance, but for the sheer thrill of exploring the depths of your desire together.
You pulled back from his kiss, your breath came in hot, uneven puffs against his skin, and without a word, you shifted your weight, guiding him to roll both of you over until he was poised above you on the bed. Your legs wrapped around his waist, urging him closer, your heels digging into the small of his back as his hard length pressed against your slick entrance. The first thrust was deliberate, a slow, deep invasion that stretched your inner walls and drew a low moan from your lips - one that you amplified on purpose, letting it echo through the room like a challenge. His cock filled you completely, the heat of him pulsing inside you as he began to move, each rhythmic stroke building a fire that seared through your core, his hands cradling your face with a tenderness that belied the raw intensity. He lifted your hips slightly, angling for a deeper reach that sent shockwaves of pleasure through you. Your breasts heaved with every breath, nipples brushing against his chest, the friction igniting sparks that made you arch your back in response. You met his thrusts with calculated rolls of your hips, your moans growing louder, more seductive, as if daring him to lose control first, while his own groans rumbled against your ear. His fingers traced the curve of your waist even as his cock slid in and out with increasing urgency, your pussy clenching around him in rhythmic pulses that threatened to unravel you both.
Eager to shift the dynamic, Nanami suddenly withdrew, flipping you onto your hands and knees, his hands gripping your hips firmly as he positioned himself behind you. The new angle allowed him to drive deeper, his cock plunging into your dripping pussy with a force that made you cry out, the sound reverberating off the walls in a symphony of raw desire.
Yet, even as your whispered encouragements grew bolder, words like: "fill me deeper, make me yours", the rhythm of your bodies quickened, your hips grinding back against his forceful thrusts with a fierce determination that blurred the line between competition and craving. His hands roamed possessively over your curves, one sliding up to cup your breast, his fingers teasing the hardened nipple with a flick that drew a sharp gasp from your lips. His groans escalated, his voice husky against her ear
-You're... you're too much.... - as his hips faltered, the final thrusts driving you both to the brink.
With a shuddering exhale, he finally succumbed, his body tensing as release overtook him, hot streams pulsing into you, his cock twitching with the force of his release. You felt the warmth flood you, your own body responding with a quiver, yet the victory was laced with tenderness; you turned your head to meet his lips in a soft kiss. As you collapsed together, limbs entangled, the room seemed to hush around you, the lingering scent of passion a reminder that true endurance lay not in outlasting one another, but in embracing the beautiful chaos created side by side.
imma be fr i was really fighting with the words when writing this one
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