yeonruco

Latest Posts by yeonruco

懐古 💭 : each time i push the thoughts away, you're pulling me in

thinking v hard abt matsuhana the past few days ;____________;;///

会いたい: 'cause if one day you wake up and find that you're missing me

Itadori looks like loaf of bread

ding!

. . . tsukishima kei. observant boyfriend things.

kei’s an observant person. he’s the type of person who knows there’s something wrong, even with the most subtle clues. it’s safe to say that there will never be a day where you successfully hide something from your boyfriend, not when he can read you like an open book in broad daylight.

“what’s with the sour look on your face?” he asks, though it’s quieter than he meant.

“nothing,” you reply with an uptight smile.

“you look constipated.”

“hey!”

he sighs. “how’d your volleyball tryout go?”

kei remembers a couple of nights ago when you told him that your school was holding tryouts for an upcoming sports week. he also remembers the time you told him that you used to play volleyball in middle school, and it didn’t take much to convince him that you were a decent middle blocker.

“i’m gonna die of embarrassment.”

“it didn’t go well, then,” he concluded with a slight shrug of his shoulders.

“kei, i made a fool of myself!” you whine, letting him carry your bag. “my serves were sloppy, barely making it above the net—which was set too tall, by the way—my receives were lacking, and my blocks—they’re left unspoken of.”

“what’s wrong with your blocks?” kei asks you. “they were fine when you forced me to practice with you.”

“force is a strong word,” you counter, poking his arm with emphasis.

“i simply bribed you with snacks!”

“which i paid for.”

“and lots of kisses.”

“those are already a given in this relationship, idiot.”

“stop being mean, beanpole.”

“not my problem; i grew and you didn’t.”

you nudged at his side, earning a slight and playful groan from your boyfriend. “i am not that short! whatever, let’s just not talk about my blocks.”

“mm. let’s stop by a pharmacy, too.” he says, noticing how you fiddled with your bruised fingers. those were nasty for something as simple as volleyball tryouts. if anything, he would’ve assumed that you got them from an actual match against a prestigious school like shiratorizawa.

“yeah, it hurts,” you murmur.

“that’s because you're fiddling with them; quit it,” he scolds you with a sigh. “i’m sure you did well. if you could block those volleyball idiots’ quick, you already did well.”

“you know, kei, it’s nice when you care,” you smile.

“i always care.”

“and you always carry my bag as you should.”

“i care, y/n. i think you’re the one who needs glasses if you can’t see that.”

“oh, and when you’re attentive or observant too.”

“are you even listening?”

“nope, but i love you.”

“mm.”

“say it back! please! i know you care lots about me and i’m now listening, so say it back!”

noomon © 2023. do not copy, modify, or translate my work.

🎁 v- 풍경: the day's precious glow as i gather each and every fragment of the moonlight for you.

"hi rudolph." you greeted atsumu with a laugh, poking your finger against the tip of his nose, which was tinged a light shade of red by the winter air.

"oh, shut up." atsumu retorted, though the corners of his mouth curved up into a small smile. you leaned in, gently booping his nose with your finger again, causing him to crack into a wide grin.

he pulled your hand away from his face before you could squish his nose for a third time, opting to fit it snugly in his own. "i couldn’t find my scarf." he explained with a sigh, "i swear i saw it in the closet just the other day."

"oh?" you bit the inside of your cheek, quickly clearing your throat with an innocent smile. "well, that's weird."

"i know, right?" atsumu exclaimed, waving his arms around dramatically, "it was right in front of me—"

atsumu's voice slowly trailed off and he stopped dead in his tracks, body frozen still on the sidewalk. his eyes bore straight into yours, mouth agape with incredulity as his gaze slowly trailed down your features to your neck, where a warm scarf happily resided upon.

not just any scarf.

his scarf.

you watched his eyes slowly widening in realisation, comically, even, as they darted in disbelief between the scarf hanging around your neck, to your eyes, and back.

a wave of laughter escaped from you at the look of blatant shock flashing across his face. looping your arms around his neck, you pulled him down to press a kiss onto his flushed nose, then a peck on his cheek, and another one onto his slightly chapped lips.

"hey!" atsumu grumbled against your lips, gently pushing you away with a slight frown. "you took my scarf?"

"it was cold." you explained with a sheepish smile, arms still looped loosely around his neck while his now rested on your hips. "plus your scarf smells nice."

atsumu shook his head with a defeated smile. "what am i going to do with you." he muttered under his breath.

"you could give me your scarf forever." you suggested, sweeping a few stray strands of hair away from his face.

"you wish. buy your own one."

"that's mean, 'tsumu." you chided lightheartedly.

"meaner than leaving me to freeze to death?" atsumu questioned, cocking an eyebrow at you.

"fine." you huffed, reaching up for the scarf that hung securely around your neck.

his brows furrowed together as he watched you unravel half of the scarf from your neck. before he could voice his confusion, or rather, his concern that you should keep wearing the scarf in this cold weather, you tugged him closer by the collar of his jacket, successfully wrapping the other half of the scarf around his neck.

"so we're both warm." you announced proudly, your voice slightly muffled by the scarf.

atsumu chuckled, a tender smile adorning his features. he pulled you in by the waist, effectively closing in the distance between the two of you. "it's not going to work like this." he whispered. his forehead was now pressed against yours, puffs of his warm breath mingling together with yours in the cold air.

"then what do you propose?"

he smirked, a glint of mischief sparkling in his eyes as he suddenly turned around without warning. crouching down a little, he picked you up onto his back in one swift motion, tucking your legs just above his hips. somehow, even with all that movement, his scarf still lay firmly above both of your shoulders.

"does this work?" he asked. though he had already begun to take a few strides forward.

"yeah. i guess it does." you laughed, resting your head comfortably on his shoulder.

it was at that moment that atsumu decided he didn't mind if you stole his scarf. he didn't mind it at all. as long as you were willing to share it with him.

this was beautifully painful. nanami my love, YOU DID MORE THAN ENOUGH 🫵🫵😭🏃

and if my wishes came true ⊹

pairing. nanami kento x gn!reader

content/warnings. 2.9k+ wc | fluff to angst | narration heavy! | mentions of alcohol | minimal proofread | tw death

in which: nanami’s last seven minutes of brain activity was filled with his wishes, his regrets, and you.

Legend has it that in the final minutes before one's demise, a lifetime unfolds in a rapid reel before their eyes. 

As Nanami faces his imminent end, he can attest with certainty that the scenes playing out are not just a chaotic montage. For Nanami, those final scenes are a reel of memories – vivid memories painted with the colors of you.

And in his last breaths, he swears it's a life worth watching.

[MARCH 09, 2012]

The first time Nanami laid eyes on you, it happened in the pulsating atmosphere of a nightclub he never intended to visit. From his vantage point, the allure of your presence hit him like a tidal wave.

Your aura, a blend of magnetic charm and elusive mystery, transformed the mundane night he was having into a vibrant spectacle. The way you moved through the crowd was like poetry in motion, and Nanami couldn't help but be drawn into the orbit of your enigmatic presence.

He wasn't accustomed to losing himself in a few drinks, but he swears, one look at you was enough to make the room spin.

In his conscious mind, he found himself wishing to see you again—in a much more dignified situation, perhaps. Some place where he wasn't lost in liquor, and where you wouldn't mistake his intentions for anything less than pure.

So, he sat still on his bar stool, sipping the last ounces of scotch in his glass.

“It’s rude to stare at someone.”

Yet, as fate would have it, you were suddenly seated on the stool beside his own.

“My apologies. I didn’t mean to,” he admitted.

You chuckled at his seriousness, clearly not expecting how seriously he took being pointed out. He’s the serious type, you noted.

You shrugged at his apology, swiftly turning to the bartender to order a drink. “Not having a great time?” you asked, turning to him.

Not anymore, Nanami thought. “You could say that. And, you? Do you not find yourself enjoying the night?” 

Nanami blamed the alcohol (he had a high tolerance) for his sudden chattiness. Even he was surprised by the plethora of words he was spouting.

“Maybe. You could put it that way, too.” you said, taking a sip of your drink. Nanami watched as you winced at the bitter taste. Clearly not a drinker, he noted.

“May I know why?” he asked. Again, he swears it’s the alcohol.

“It’s my friend’s engagement party,” you started, “I don’t know why but I feel left out of the conversation. I excused myself, and can you believe me they encouraged me? They said it’s about time I try.”

You turned to him, a complete stranger, if you'd forgotten. Because from the way you babbled to him, it seemed you'd forgotten he was one.

Bashful, you turned your gaze away and gulped the drink in front of you. “Sorry, I’m babbling.”

“I don’t mind,” he assured.

“How about you? Are you out with friends? Don’t you have someone at home, waiting?” Before you even realized the implication of your probing questions, you saw a subtle upward tug of this man’s lips, and oh, was he gorgeous.

“Co-workers,” he corrects you, “And no, I don’t have someone waiting at home.”

Nanami might have had a scant amount of dating history, but he wasn’t clueless about what you were implying. Being around two (loud) men who often prided themselves on their ‘charisma’ would teach you exactly how to ask someone if they were single.

It was a relief, you thought, knowing this about him. You only hoped you had done a good job of drawing out the information and expressing your relief in a better way.

Before either of you realized it, minutes slipped into hours, and the night deepened with the two of you exchanging stories and innocent details of each other’s lives.

Nanami learned that you were freshly out of college with a degree your younger self was passionate about. You were on your first corporate job, and haven’t yet found the best footing on how to keep up with the fast-moving world of adulthood— a sentiment Nanami nodded in agreement with, having once found himself lost as well.

In return, you learned that Nanami was much older than you. Not too old, but just the right amount of years ahead to know he wasn’t as corporate clueless as you are.

Later, you couldn’t recall what had prompted the deep conversation with a man you now knew as Nanami Kento. But, in your defense, he was surprisingly easy to talk to, and never once did the conversation take a suggestive turn toward a room and a bed.

“What do you want in your life?” he asked. It wasn’t invasive, given the nature of the conversation unfolding in a nightclub, a place where such discussions were said never to happen.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, laughing at your own cluelessness. “I want my family to be happy, does that count? I want them healthy, safe, and –”

“What do you want?” 

Momentarily stunned, you blinked at him. “What do you mean?”

“What do you want for yourself?” he repeats the question to you, seemingly clarifying that he was asking a question you misunderstood.

You realize what he was referring to and you will be lying not to admit that it didn’t do things to your heart. “I want the simplest things in life. I want to travel as much as I can and take as many pictures, I want to learn more, I want to laugh more, and I want to love and be loved for the rest of my life.”

It came straight from your honest thoughts. It was as candid as you can be. “Your turn. What do you want?”

“A proper date with you.”

You stilled at your seat with your glass hanging mid-air, unable to reach the rim of your lips. Turning to him, you met his gaze, finding a hopeful shimmer.

“May I take you out to somewhere less crowded, perhaps? Would Friday night do?” he continued, his voice an octave lower than before. You could only hope your face didn’t betray the shiver running down your spine.

“I’d love that, Nanami.” you replied, and to Nanami, it seemed as though his wishes had been granted by some benevolent force.

[AUGUST 01, 2014]

“Love, come here.”

Nanami's toned arm snaked around your waist, leading you away from the lively swirl of carnival lights and the enticing aroma of cotton candy to take you to his place of interest. What could be more interesting than cotton candies and popcorn?

Apparently, your boyfriend thought a wishing fountain was.

“You don't even believe in things like these,” you pointed out to him.

But he was hellbent on his purpose. He handed you a penny after kissing the side of your face, right between your temple and the apples of your cheeks. “I believe in everything you believe in,” he whispered.

“You love me that much, huh?” you playfully quipped, though your flustered cheeks betrayed the truth.

“Yes,” he responded, a declaration that needed no secrecy. Every day, in every way, Nanami intended to remind you of that love—as long as you'd let him. And he wished that would be a long, long time.

Perhaps, two years weren’t enough – no, two years was more than enough time for Nanami to realize that life was worth living with you in it.

He first realized it after the first proper date he took you. It was a lovely night in an Italian restaurant, graced with your smile that put famous paintings to shame.

You were breathtaking, a masterpiece in your own right.

From shy touches to the silence on the way home, the date after that night, and the one after. And may it be far-fetched, but in every moment you spent with him, he knew – it's you. 

It had to be you.

“Stop being mushy, mister. Here,” you handed him the penny, “How about you make a wish, then.”

“I don't know what to wish for.”

“Come on! There's got to be something you want.”

He pondered about it for a few seconds, his gaze flicking to you and back to the penny. “I might have thought of something.”

“Okay, don't tell me about it. It's bad luck. Just close your eyes, hold the penny like this,” you took his hand holding the penny and placed it inches away from his face, just below his nose, “And say it. Only in your mind, love.”

Nanami did exactly as you said. As he closed his eyes, you allowed yourself to linger on him.

What a beautiful soul, you thought. He was just so… “Mine,” you whispered.

“Yours,” he breathed as he opened his eyes, meeting your gaze with a tender softness replacing the usual stoicness. Seconds passed, and the next thing you knew, the love of your life was giving you a tender kiss. So tender, you knew it was one that would linger forever.

And in between soft kisses and whispers of sweet nothings, there you were — thinking two years with him were more than enough time to realize that Nanami Kento was the reason why it never worked out with anyone else.

That he was meant to be yours in the most perfect time, and that he made the trying and waiting time so worth it.

Because not to be oh-so-hopeless romantic, but you like to think he was it for you. 

And he is. Or at least, he wishes he is.

He threw the penny into the fountain before leaving, sealing an unspoken wish for forever.

[APRIL 11, 2016]

Yet, it seems, forever was just wishful thinking. Just a word that once echoed in the enchanting glow of a wishing fountain, now stood shattered in the harsh light of reality.

“Ken, I don't like where this is going.”

“It’s for the better,” he lies through his teeth. It was a blatant lie.

But Nanami – he resists, and stubbornly persists. It is for the better. 

“Don’t pull that shit on me,” you hissed in gritted teeth. Tears threaten to spill free, and you feel every fiber of your being pulsating with anger. 

Was it anger, truly? It’s not. How could it be, when it was Nanami who stood before you? You can never be mad at him, even when he’s hurting you.

“You said– you said you were just having problems at work, and I understood that.” a sob escaped you, “I... I gave you space, time to think. I've been supportive, have I not? It was just some problems, you said.” 

“But now, suddenly you're breaking up with me yet you can't even look me in the eye.” you continued, voice becoming more and more incomprehensible from crying, “Just tell me what problems you're having, and we'll figure it out. We'll figure it out like we always do. Just– just don't do this to me.”

Bargaining and pleading echoed in the hollows of your shared space. Yet, one look at his resigned face told a story of endings, not new beginnings. It was enough telltale that there's no figuring your way out of this. 

“I can't give you what you want.” Not when he will be bargaining with death every waking day. It's the life of a jujutsu sorcerer, it's nothing he can't change. But yet again and again, he wishes to.

“What I want?”

“The simplest things in life. I won't be able to give you that.”

“Then I'll take whatever you can give! Fuck what I want. I only want you!”

It's comforting, at least, to know he's been enough to you. But until when? 

Would you want him still when he couldn't come home because he was on missions where lives hung in precarious balance? Would you want to spend your nights pacing through the quiet of your house, your mind a tempest as he failed to return before dinner? Would you want him when he was all bloodied, half-dead, half-breathing?

“There's more to it. You're not telling me something, Kento.”

You saw through him, as you always did. Every time, he told you everything. But not this time.

He can’t just tell you about cursed spirits. He can’t just tell you about the life he lived before that fateful night in the bar. He just can’t tell you because that means your life will change.

And none of those changes aligned with the simplest things, none of them were what you truly wanted.

Being a jujutsu sorcerer– it was his choice. Choices come with prices, and Nanami loves you too much to subject you to the inevitable pain of being a sorcerer's lover.

“What are these problems, Kento? Why do you have to do this? Have I– Have I become one of your problems, too? Is that why you can't tell me?”

You asked, you pressed, and you demanded. Only to be met by silence from the blonde. Silence was always comfortable with him. But now? It sure was not.

“I’m sorry.” is what he managed to say.

 Two words spoken in a language of finality. Two words too plenty to know it’s over.

“Leave.” you fumed, tears freely streaming down your face.

With whatever was left of him, Nanami turned his back on you to leave. He would leave, do everything you wanted.

He shut his eyes tight before closing the door of your once shared abode.

It's for the better, he desperately wished himself to believe. This way, you would never be subjected to the haunting memories of grief for the rest of your life if he stayed with you, and the day would come where he couldn't come home anymore.

It's for the better, continuously and endlessly, he chanted in his head. Maybe the more he said it, the faster it would be true.

[OCTOBER 22, 2018]

What are dying memories if not intertwined with regret? Of all the memories, it had to bring forth this one.

Two years had slipped through Nanami's grasp since he chose to reenter the world of curses. Two years, and still, none of it was for the better. Losing you was never for the damn better.

Not when each day began waking up alone. And especially not when he was less than twenty meters away from you.

Who could have foreseen that staying overtime, grappling with curses in the quiet hours, would lead him to the flickering street lamp casting its dim glow on the bus stop where you waited?

Across the street, there stood you at the bus stop, a silhouette against the city’s canvas. Nanami’s gaze drank in the details— the way your hair caught the soft glow and the way it kissed the edges of your cheekbones, the subtle curve of your shoulders, and the rhythmic dance of your head in sync with the melodies streaming into your ears.

Your eyes, unaware of his silent vigil, held a vibrancy and depth that once intertwined with his own. Your eyes, they were magnetic and alive, and held stories Nanami wished he could still be a part of once more.

Have you lived the life you craved? The slow mornings you wished for, the tranquil nights of self-discovery— are they your reality now? He wishes, and he hopes, you are living the life he once thought he could give.

He can’t have that for himself for the way he chose to live, but it’s enough to know that you will.

Needless to say, you look... happy. And that's good, he wants to remember you happy.

For the first time in a while, Nanami didn’t mind working past beyond his normal work hours.

As the bus sighed to a halt, a mechanical exhale preparing for its nocturnal journey, his heart sank. He trailed your figure as you boarded, fingers twitching with a phantom ache — a desire to reach out, to rewind the clock and script a different narrative for your shared history.

But before he could do so, the bus pulled away, carrying you into the night and leaving him alone with the shadows of what could have been.

[PRESENT]

Nanami, for the most part, isn't one to regret his decisions.

This battlefield, this life — it was all worthwhile, he thought. Yet, as the cold grip of finality tightened, an unbidden thought surfaced — a flicker of regret for the one decision that echoed through the corridors of his last seven minutes of memories: letting you slip away.

Oh. You. Why is he thinking of you? Where are you? 

Where was he, in the first place? 

“You can say your last wishes, sorcerer,” a venomous, spectral voice pierced the air.

Last wishes?

Oh. That’s right. He was here, engaged in a desperate struggle. The students, are they safe? He has to get back at them. They need help.

But he can’t move. It hurts. Everything hurts.

Tired… I'm so tired. 

“I don't believe in wishes,” he managed to rasp.

More so, he no longer believed in them.

I’ve done enough, haven’t I, Y/N?

Nanami isn't one to regret his decisions, but the moment he thought of your name, he began to spend his last minutes wondering what could have been if his last wish came true.

Because if it did, it would've been you. It would be just you and him, wandering lost somewhere in Malaysia.

And he wouldn't be here. Instead, he would be coming home to you.

If wishes do come true, it would be just a life with you.

Yet, in the face of the harsh truth, wishes don’t always come true. Still, those seven minutes— the final seven minutes of memories with you— it’s enough consolation.

It was a life worth watching.

note. i love him, tenderly. he deserved the best things in life. in my mind, he's alive.

he's sooo...🧎🥹. all these ushiwaka crumbs makes me 💘💘. ty noo 🫶🫶, now i have a new addition to my delulu hours 🤜 ⌚⌚

haikyuu boys + acts of service !

feat. sakusa, tendou, bokuto, atsumu, ushijima

"'omi, i can do this on my own, you know."

"you say that while not trying to move away." kiyoomi noted, almost sounding smug in a way. your words, unfortunately held little effect, considering how you were perched on the toilet lid, cheek leaning on his palm. his other hand was sliding cleanser over your skin, suds forming on it. 

you sighed defeatedly, letting him continue his ministrations. he did your whole routine with diligence, watching you do your skincare every night probably imprinted your routine into his memory at this point. 

he loved spending moments like this with you. he could just enjoy the comfortable silence while doting on you, free excuse to run his fingertips over your skin and memorize every bit of it. they were calloused, and yet his touch was more comforting than anything else you've ever felt. 

after patting the last bits of your moisturizer into your skin, he stood up to his full height, walking over to the sink to wash his hands. he wiped his hands on a towel before sliding them over to either side of your face. he tilted your face up, pressing a chaste kiss on your lips. pulling away, he grimaced slightly at the feeling of your moisturizer now somewhat on his lips. 

you giggled, pushing yourself from where you sat, wrapping your arms around your waist and pressing more moisturizer-covered kisses over his face. his scowl deepened, though he didn't make any effort to push you away, he'd endure it, he enjoyed your affection a bit more than how he disliked the feeling of your moisturizer, he notes to himself. 

"and she pulled out screenshots! god, i've never seen someone's face go so pale so quickly." 

satori let out a dramatic gasp, stilling the hand that was carefully painting your thumb. "no way." you nodded vigorously, giggling at his reaction. 

"yeah." you confirmed. it almost felt like a teenage sleepover, what you and satori were doing right now. the both of you sat with your legs crossed, facing each other as he painted your nails with experienced swipes. 

"not surprised though. he totes had it coming!" satori comments in a sing-song tone. he dipped the brush into the bottle, wiping it on the rim before bringing it to your index finger. you could tell he was focused, his tongue peeking out ever so slightly as his eyes squinted. 

"y'know, you're doing a pretty good job.." you noted, admiring the clean coats on your nails. he giggled, pressing a kiss on your knuckles, careful to not bump into your freshly painted nails, then one to your lips.

he then leaned back and stared at you with a goofy grin, stretching his hand out to your face, wiggling his fingers. "now paint mine next!" satori chimed. you sighed, shaking your head with a grin, though picking out a bottle of dark nail polish nonetheless. 

"yeah, and then i went like wham! and the ball slammed into their side!" 

you nodded along, smiling at koutaro's enthusiasm. the constant shine in his eyes when he talked about volleyball was something you could never get tired of, his hands moving around to further express what he was talking about. 

as he rambled, his gaze trailed down to your shoes, then back to your face, then back to your shoes with comically wide eyes. you tilted your head at his actions, a confused smile resting on your face. 

"kou, what's wrong?"

"hold on, baby. just gotta—" 

he dropped to his knee, shifting around to tie your shoelaces. he fumbled for a while, untying and retying it a few times. you stood there, silently watching him tie your shoelaces with an amusing amount of focus. 

he stood up, nodding and flashing you a wide grin. "wow, what a gentleman." you mused, almost dreamily before a small chuckle left you. he laughed boisterously, "can't let the love of my life walk around with untied shoelaces. that's unsafe!" he slipped his hand into yours, continuing his ramble with a proud smile. 

you unlocked the door to your shared house with a sigh, wanting nothing more than to slip your shoes off and flop into your bed, maybe sleep for the next sixty-eight hours.

you barely had to step foot in there before atsumu greeted you, his arms wrapping around your frame as he pressed a kiss on the crown of your head. you buried your head into the crook of his neck and shoulders, your own shoulders visibly relaxing at his touch. 

"hi, 'tsum. is it alright if we have takeout tonight? work killed me." your eyes were already closed as you spoke, leaning all your weight onto him. "no need," he leaned back to admire your tired face, pressing a small kiss against your temple. "i already made us dinner." he declared proudly, a smirk resting on his face. 

"you cooked?" 

"mhm." he nodded confidently, you shot him an unconvinced look. "...and it's edible?" you asked, raising an eyebrow, your lips curling into an amused smile. 

"hey!" 

you shrugged, "just thought osamu took all the cooking genes." 

"well, we just so happened to share! can't say the same about the looks department..."

"yeah, you were seriously unlucky there." 

atsumu gasped, shooting you a look of absolute betrayal. "your kind, generous, drop dead handsome boyfriend went out of his way to cook dinner, and this is how you repay him?!" 

your shoulders shook as you laughed, and gingerly took his hands in yours, leading him to the dining table. there sat an uncharacteristically pristine plate of rice balls, his chest puffed up in pride as your eyebrows raised in mild surprise. 

you hate to admit it's romantic. especially if you ignore the five containers shoved in the depths of your fridge, filled with his failed attempts, and his messages with his twin, begging for tips on how to cook without burning the kitchen down. 

"are you almost done?" 

you offered wakatoshi a noncommittal hum. "few more edits, and i'll be finished." the sound of clicking filled the room as you mindlessly typed away at your keyboard, eyes glued to the screen. 

he nodded, then turned around, and walked out of the room. you took your attention away from what you were writing for a few seconds to glance at the empty spot where your boyfriend had been sitting. a part of you had considered getting up to find him, but alas, this paper was due in an hour. 

a few minutes later, he returned. a glass of water in one hand, and a small bowl of sliced apples in the other. he placed them on your desk before moving behind you. his hands made their way to your shoulders, carefully massaging them as if pushing too hard would cause you to shatter.

it was amusing, how his large stature contrasted his gentle touch with you. you could almost forget that this was the same man ranked among the top three aces in japan, the same man with some of the most monstrous spikes. he'd trade his force for a moment of pure gentleness and care with you. 

you leaned into his touch like it was second nature, your head touching his torso. your eyes automatically fluttered shut as a content sigh left you. the dull ache in your shoulders from being hunched over your computer for hours seemed to completely wash away from his ministrations. 

"thanks, toshi." you mumbled, moving a hand from your keyboard to his hand, giving him a small squeeze. a noise of acknowledgement left him, it was deep, rumbling from his chest as he offered you a small, but genuine smile. wakatoshi knew he wasn't the best with his words, but he hoped these small actions spoke enough about his love for you.

an irl gave me these ideas, luv u and ur big brain greyps!!!

“what’s on these?” megumi asks, holding up a box of memory cards.

cleaning day always unearthed all types of lost and forgotten items. sometimes it was clothes long forgotten in you and gojo’s closet, other times it was the kid’s old books or toys. you knew every inch of your little apartment, so most times you could identify any mystery items that came up.

“i don’t know,” you hum, plucking a card from the box to inspect it a little more closely. the only hint as to what’s actually on it seems to just be a date.

2006

…and it’s in gojo’s handwriting.

curious, you pop one into the video player and turn on the tv. the kids join you on the couch, clearly eager to entertain any distraction from your cleaning crusade.

when the screen flickers to life, a familiar courtyard comes into view.

you can’t help the gasp when haibara comes into focus…but then you see satoru standing standing across from him, arms spread out.

“who is that?” megumi asks, pointing at haibara.

you think of the bright smile of the boy still lingering in the edges of your memory and tell him, softly, “an old friend.”

“suguru!” gojo shouts, looking towards the person holding the camera. he’s all messy hair and wide smiles, exactly how you remember him in his youth. “make sure you get this one!”

geto grumbles someone about how he’s paying attention, and suddenly you remember exactly what this is.

“ah, these are from when yaga would make us record ourselves practicing cursed technique application,” you explain as a haibara lines up a shot with a pencil.

the pencil hits gojo in the face, gifting him a small cut on his cheek. “ah, shit!”

behind the camera you can hear nanami and geto laughing haibara apologizes profusely, and shoko comes over to practice her healing. you come over too, holding a cloth.

“don’t pout,” your younger self says, reaching up to wipe a thin trail of blood from his cheek. “you’ll get it next time.”

as soon you turn away, you hear geto snicker and the camera suddenly zooms in on gojo’s face.

he’s blushing.

“ugh,” you hear him groan behind the three of you, finally finished cleaning the bathroom. “are we done cleaning yet?”

“we’re taking a break!” tsumiki tells him, as megumi pops another card in.

gojo ignores megumi’s protests, stealing the spot on the couch next to you and wrapping an arm around your shoulders with a smirk. “move your feet, lose your seat.”

tsumiki, angel that she is, moves over so her brother can sit on your other side as the video starts.

this time, gojo is the one recording, holding the camera out so it’s pointed at his own smiling face. “haibara versus nanami, round one!”

you feel your boyfriend stiffen beside you, looking over to see an odd look on his face. “oh, fuck—”

“jar,” megumi says flatly.

he glares at the kid, and is about to get up when you stop him. “wait! i want to watch this!”

he slumps back, throwing an arm over his eyes as he groans dramatically. ignoring him, you watch the fight play out, which ends with haibara whining whilst in a headlock.

you hear geto’s murmured commentary off camera as nanami releases his classmate, expecting the video to zoom in on the victor.

but it drifts a little to the left, where you’re laughing with shoko on the sidelines.

“so obvious,” geto scoffs. the video wobbles for a moment before being pointed directly at the tips of satoru’s shoes, then ends abruptly.

when you glance over at satoru, he’s pulled his sunglasses over his eyes as if they can hide his pink cheeks.

the next videos are similar. memories of your past viewed through a different lens, showing you things you’d never picked up on when you were living them.

some moments you watch with an aching heart. like when suguru leans close to you and makes a joke at satoru’s expense, or when you reach up to ruffle haibara’s hair.

(moments with cherished friends proving that the grief of losing them never got any lighter as you moved forward with your life, but at some point you’d just gotten used to carrying the weight.)

but what might be most interesting is seeing yourself in satoru’s eyes.

his focus, whether he was the one holding the camera or not, always seemed to drift to you. for all the times he’d denied crushing on you in your early years, the camera proves otherwise.

the way he peeks at you shyly as you fix your hair before a fight.

the way he reaches out insticntively whenever you’re knocked backwards.

the way he smiles brightly whenever you laugh at one of his jokes.

the way your gaze would occasionally meet his, and his smile seemed to come naturally.

“okay, that’s enough for tonight,” satoru announces, shutting the tv off and shooing the children away. “go clean your rooms, you freeloaders.”

you stand, looping your arms around his neck before he can run away. smiling, you gently pull his glasses off, tossing them onto the couch.

“hey! those are gucci—”

you shut him up with a kiss, feeling the way his lips curve upwards against yours. “i love you, you know that?”

blue eyes meet yours, the pensive look he’d been wearing melting into something a little softer. something reserved for you. “you’re obsessed with me, i know.”

you simply laugh, letting him dip down to give you another kiss.

(because you’d had his heart in your pocket long before either of you had realized.)

ding!

. . . gojo satoru. to me, to you.

note. vague manga spoilers ahead. i’d love to elaborate more on this dynamic; please let me know if you want me to as well.

satoru does not remember much of his childhood.

to him, memories of forever ago are left as though they were faded film strips, too damaged to even try and make something out of them. he doesn’t dwell on that part of his life because all he could ever recall was when he’s enlightened of his fate and the omnipotent power he possesses from a very young age.

but he did, however, catch a glimpse and managed to hold on—cling to—a few of the good ones.

and those memories were mostly with you.

“someone’s lost in their train of thought.” he hears your voice approaching from behind. he merely shrugs his shoulders, relaxing against the marble railing of his estate’s balcony.

“mm. yeah, guess i am.”

you offered him a can of soda—his favorite brand and flavor—that you brought with you. satoru’s lips curled into a small smirk as he awed at the thought of you remembering despite almost two decades of not seeing each other.

“you remembered.”

“of course. why wouldn’t i?” you reply with a quick, feeble chuckle. “you always used to nag me about how you could only ever enjoy a few sodas.”

“i just have preferences,” he tells you with a slight nudge to your side. “and it just so happened to be very specific.” he glances at the can he held, and though he had his blindfold on, he could still tell that you got it right; you got it down to a t. “i knew you loved me.”

“in your dreams.”

“mhm. in my dreams, indeed.”

“oh, god. i hate you.”

“i knew you missed me.”

you rolled your eyes at his remark, glancing at his soda, then taking a gulp of your own. “still your favorite, right?”

satoru doesn’t know what you’re referring to. whether you’re asking if you’re still his favorite or the soda, though he does have a concrete answer.

“yep! you’re so thoughtful, even though you pretend to have not missed me.”

“don’t feed your little ego, ‘toru. your head’s going to keep on expanding until it’s the size of a hot air balloon.”

“hey!”

conversations breeze by like the chilly night air, creeping in and making their way known. he thinks this is the most he’s ever felt like he’s home. his childhood home, a haven where he felt safe and could truly live a life that his younger self was deprived of duty to a handful of “duties” and whatnot.

it’s like the calm before the storm. the rest—his rest—before he takes on something that he should’ve dealt with a long, long time ago. he’s not afraid, oh no.

because he is satoru, after all. the strongest.

and then the memory of someone he also held close to his heart replays, like a sudden alarm that wanted to remind him.

“are you the strongest because you’re gojo satoru? or are you gojo satoru because you’re the strongest?”

“a penny for thought?” you ask, noticing his sudden quietness.

he perks up, a bit stunned in place. “just a question,” he sighs, setting his drink aside for later. “who am i to you?”

he thinks it’s stupid because he’ll always feel that there’s a barrier that separates him from others. from you. because he’s the strongest, and that’s what it means to be the strongest, right? to feel as though you’re being distanced from everybody else.

“who you are . . . to me?” you said, tilting your head to the side. “like, how i see you?”

“yes.”

god, satoru swallows the lump in his throat, anticipation clinging to his whole body as he waits.

“oh, well . . .”

he expected a handful of answers, but none of them ever came close to yours.

“is it weird that i still feel like i’m talking to fifteen-year-old you?” you told him. “it’s like my mind’s still processing to bridge the gap of our memories together; to fill in the years we haven’t seen each other, y’know?”

“i see you as ‘toru. and to me, you are just ‘toru. that same ‘toru who i’ve been with since when we’re literally in diapers,

who kept on annoying me to wear matching pajamas when we were kids for the sleepover he begged his parents to agree to,

that same ‘toru who was spoiled to the core that he was so surprised that he went quiet when little me decided that they were over it with your incessant whining of wanting to play on the seesaw when they wanted to play on the sand box,

thee ‘toru who’s eyes almost always surprised me during the most random times, in a good way, of course.”

ah, now he remembers. those good memories, which were probably his core ones.

“you’re satoru—no, ‘toru,” you hum, thrumming your finger against the marble top. “my best friend. not the strongest sorcerer, not the wielder of the six eyes, not the teacher at jujutsu tech, but just ‘toru. my ‘toru. ”

satoru swore he’d lost his voice upon listening to your answer. and suddenly he feels as though he were a little kid again, looking at you with the utmost adoration—slight infatuation, even—as you told him through his little tears that it was normal to scrape his knee when he’s learning to ride a bike to be able to join you!

“thanks,” he says with a chuckle. “didn’t know i needed to hear all of that until now.”

“don’t mention it, ‘toru,” you nod. “ah, now that sounded sappy. ew! bleh, thought i left all of that behind.”

“heh, i like it when you’re a sap,” he mused.

“of course you do. but we have a lot to catch up on, so you better not die out there, mr. sorcerer.”

he smiles at that. “yeah. i’ll keep that in mind.”

“you still have those big, blue eyes you always used to get out of trouble?”

“knew you missed my eyes, too.”

“do not. you sure they’re not neon green now?”

“ha. ha. funny.” for a moment, he takes his time to remove his blindfold, his hand shaking a little as he does so. he doesn’t know why he’s so nervous.

“look.”

satoru notices the way you paused, examining how his features have matured over the years, and yet he’s still the satoru you knew. your ‘toru, as you said so yourself.

“eh. put the blindfold back on.”

“y/n!”

“i’m just saying,” you laugh a little. “your eyes haven’t changed; still as ethereal as ever.” you slid your half-empty soda next to his, signaling that you wanted him to finish yours. he’s known this for so long.

“let’s catch up again when you’re free, ok? i already gave you my number, right?”

he glances at the can, seeing the number—your number—written against the glossy layer. “yeah, do you want me to walk you home?” he offers, soft and warm.

you shook your head. “some other time, ‘toru.”

he nods in understanding as he watches you leave. as you fade alongside the background, slowly yet surely, satoru’s memories of his childhood are rekindled, outdoing his dim ones.

he’s glad that you’re home.

noomon © 2023. do not copy, modify, or translate my work.

ding!

. . . fushiguro megumi + gojo satoru. too young to be singing the blues.

note. used the recent chapter 230 leaks as reference + spoilers for the manga franchise ahead.

“how is he?”

“he’s well . . he’s still recovering, and hasn’t woken up yet.”

your eyes vaguely gloss over as you take in megumi’s state. his body lay unconscious on the hospital bed, showing not much sign of progress. the slow, rhythmic beeping of the medical equipment that aided his recovery reverberated around the room—and it rang in your ears like an endless gong. you were afraid of what could happen to his vital signs the moment you tended to your other patients.

satoru nods, softly closing the door. his usually beaming, carefree mood is dampened to nothing but a worried, exhausted feeling that eats him away bit by bit. you’ve never seen him be this genuine with his emotions after the major events that took place, but could you really blame him? the kid got lost being a vessel for the king of curses and had to endure his formidable power, almost losing his own life and what’s left of his soul in the process.

“could you open the blinds a bit?” you asked quietly, studying the nurses’ recent reports on megumi’s condition. “megs always scolds me when i rarely let the light in our house.” a bitter sigh escaped your lips as you remembered the memory. “the kid thinks i’m turning into a vampire when he sees me all cooped up in my office.”

satoru chuckles at that, and he does as he’s requested. “i remember.”

. . .

“do you think he’ll wake up?”

a deafening pause followed. neither of you two—or any other medical professional out there in the big, wide world—could really provide a definite answer. but still, someone had to ask what the other thought. to navigate through a raging sea of thoughts and feelings that could drown someone, communication had not always been your forte in the relationship, but now that the storm’s been calmed—even for the briefest of moments—you and satoru wanted to be honest with each other.

cut the bullshit; disregard the thought of not wanting to burden one another.

“i don’t know,” you answer truthfully, and your voice wavers as you do so. “but i won’t ever lose hope that one day he’ll be awake, asking me what i’ll be making for breakfast because i know he wants something specific for that day. . . just like he used to.”

“mm, yeah,” he agrees, observing you take a seat on the opposite side of megumi’s bed, opposite of satoru. “he’s a tough kid,” he says, his hand fiddling with the cold metal bar. “he got that from you, y’know?”

you roll your eyes at his comment. “really? and he got his hardheadedness from you.” you murmur, glancing at megumi who’s still unresponsive. “he could get a bit reckless with his missions, too. guess who he got that from.”

“hey!” satoru pouts slightly, but it’s all to lighten the situation. “well, you know. . . megumi’s keen on his surroundings and often— what’s the word? he picks things up easily.”

“really, you two being reckless would cause me to age thirty times faster.”

“come on, that’s not true.”

“it is.”

“if that’s the case, how old are you now, then?”

“physically, i’m twenty-nine. mentally, i think i’m in my late sixties.”

“wow, ok. you’re an elderly person now,” he cheekily smiled. “does that mean we’ll see you in the priority lanes at fast food establishments?”

you gave him a glare. “whatever, gojo satoru.”

“ooh, using my full name? i think i made the old-timer mad.”

“shut up!” you chuckled.

“i should turn down the ac,” satoru says, arranging a new bouquet of megumi’s favorite flowers on the displayed vase. “yuuji and the others visited earlier this afternoon, and it’s safe to say that they’re still hoping for your fast recovery.”

no response.

he quietly sighed, turning down the air conditioner’s thermostat just a bit. “you hate it when the room’s too cold, right? you always wanted to stay in whenever winter got too cold for your liking.”

once again, he’s met with just the occasional beeping of megumi’s medical equipment.

it’s been a year and a half, and there’s still not much news.

“you’re early, ‘toru.” satoru looks at you as you enter the room.

and the first thing he greets you with is, “you look like shit.” not even a simple, “hey” or “have you eaten?” really, he had to greet you with that?

you contemplate whether you should smack him with the wooden clipboard you’re holding. and so you did, smacking it against his side playfully. satoru, ever the dramatic lover, whines as he soothes the area you hit.

“hello to you, too.”

“hmph.” he crosses his arms over his chest. “can you believe this, megumi? they’re being mean to me again. it just slipped, ok? i think you’re a very hardworking doctor, and your job is very admirable. love you.”

“don’t act all lovey-dovey with me,” you told him, sitting next to megumi’s bed. “you still haven’t washed the dishes.”

“i did!”

“whatever you say.”

satoru slumps on the spot on the opposite side of you. “have you finished your rounds?”

“yeah,” you answer, leaning your head on the cold side rail. “i think i’m going to get a quick shut-eye before i take on another shift.”

“really, you need to get some sleep. stop taking on more work than your body and mind can handle,” he frowned. “why don’t we go home and come back tomorrow?”

“no, no.” you yawn. “i . . .”

there was a pause, and satoru thought you had already fallen asleep.

“i want to be here when he wakes up. megumi might wake up and become worried that he’s all alone, no? or he might panic— i . . . don’t want to go home, satoru.”

because home is where satoru and megumi is.

he nods, deciding not to go against it. “alright, i’ll stay here with you, then.”

“mm. don’t you have work tomorrow?”

“don’t worry, i’ll handle it.” satoru stood up, draping his trenchcoat over your figure and giving you a reassuring side hug as he knelt beside you. “get some sleep, yeah?” he murmurs, placing a kiss on your shoulder. “we’ll be here when megumi wakes up. promise.”

the room is dimly lit by the moonlight that filters through the windows, illuminating softly against megumi’s skin. he stirs awake and blinks slowly through his half-asleep daze. he felt exhausted, and could barely move his head or his hands. uncomfortable with how lethargic he was and the environment he was in, he became worried.

what happened?

where was he?

was everyone okay?

was he okay?

at the feeling of a warm hand on either of his, his eyes glanced over to see who they belonged to.

yours and satoru’s, over megumi’s undoubtedly cold ones.

you had your head on the vacant portion of the bed, and satoru leaned on the side rail, both of you sleeping peacefully. safe and unharmed.

and it’s almost surprising how quickly he felt reassured. a feeble attempt at smiling is made, and megumi relaxes—he’s safe; he’s fine, because he had the two people who cared most about him by his side in his frailest moment. megumi thinks that he’s reverted back to his seven-year-old state, where he feels absolutely embarrassed to even tell you or satoru that he’s had an awful dream.

nevertheless, he’s content with this.

he’s home, after all.

noomon © 2023. do not copy, modify, or translate my work.

ding!

. . . miya atsumu. winning in carnival games and in love.

if anything, atsumu was fairly lucky when it came to carnival games.

games based on chance and pure luck are the ones he hates with every fiber of his being because miya atsumu was not that lucky when it came to winning said games. he’d rather take his chance on winning things that use strength, mobility, reflexes, and coordination. after all, those were his strengths, and in life, there’s a saying to play to your strengths.

just like what he is doing right now.

“hol’ on, ‘m goin’ to try and win that plushie. why? ‘cuz it reminds me of ya! why else?”

he had told you earlier, but what you didn’t expect was him almost clearing out the stands of their prizes because of how good he was at it. from catching magnetic sticks that dropped to test out one’s reflexes to him having to hold onto a bar for a certain amount of time, you best believe that he put those hours he spent at the gym for volleyball training to good use.

“go, tsumu!”

and really, your cheers that mirrored when he scored a point in his volleyball match fueled his determination to win.

he smiles in your direction, then looks back at the board with balloons taped onto it. atsumu takes a deep breath, then throws the darts he was given at the boards, making it look too easy to simply hit the targets. the small crowd that gathered around the booth cheered him as well, which fed your boyfriend’s ego well and would last him a week’s worth of oozing charm.

“where to next?” he asks, carrying paper bags upon paper bags filled with stuffed toys.

there were plenty more prizes that you two left by the security guards’ storage room near the entrance, which you would pick up on your way out so you wouldn’t have to carry lots of baggage.

“i think we should take it easy on winning these prizes, ‘tsumu,” you told him softly, motioning toward the bags he carried. “where are we even going to put all of these? we can keep some of them, but not all of them, y’know?”

atsumu nods, thinking to himself. as you two wandered from booth to booth, your attention turned to a child who was whispering to her mother about the plushies atsumu held. without much hesitance on your part, you dragged your boyfriend toward the child and her mother, offering to give her a stuffed animal.

“f– for me?” she asks quietly, looking at you as you crouched to level with her.

“of course! you see that prince beside me holding the paper bags? he won these plushies because he’s so strong!” you answered. “he’s glad to give these away to princesses like you.” you glanced at her dress, seeing that she wore something similar to a princess gown. “isn’t that right, ‘tsumu?”

“oh— yeah, totally,” he agreed with a slight blush on his cheeks. the gears in his head are still trying to process your compliments.

“wah, thank you!” she said to the both of you, and not too long after, she and her mother bid goodbyes.

you sighed, linking your arm with atsumu’s as you watched the little girl happily hug her stuffed animal.

“should we give the rest of those away?”

“i’m down with whatever ya want to do with ‘em,” he tells you. “i did win ‘em for you, after all ‘cuz i’m very strong, right?”

“oh, you,” you rolled your eyes at him, continuing your walk to give away a few of the prizes he had won. “wait, you have something in your hair; hold on.” you got the fallen leaf that fell on his hair, smiling. “there we go.”

atsumu blinked at you, then grinned cheekily. “yer goin’ to make this strong prince fall in love with ya even more.”

“hm, what if that’s my plan all along?” you chuckle, tugging at him once more. “let’s go, we still have a lot of prizes to give away.”

he may not be lucky when it comes to claw machines, chance and luck-based games, and whatnot, but it doesn’t matter to him that much now when he’s winning in most carnival games and especially in love.

note. @miaumooo, for you! i combined two of the prompt entries you sent in.

noomon © 2023. do not copy, modify, or translate my work.

ding!

. . . ushijima wakatoshi. if you ever forget that you love me.

note. timeskip content + spoilers for the manga franchise ahead. inspired by a song that my lovely @yeonruco recommended, it's if you ever forget that you love me by isak danielson!

arguments with your husband were a rare occurrence.

but the chances of it not happening were not guaranteed when you sealed in your simple, intimate vows; this does not mean that you two didn’t make the effort and time to talk things through whenever exhaustion and workload made the retaliations blunt and evidently heated.

your husband, wakatoshi, was a patient man.

his patience could reach for miles and back, but there were just days when he felt so exhausted from volleyball practice that his attitude could come off as cold and blunt. you’ll be able to tell that he was not in the mood to argue further with you when he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, as he’ll then suggest that he’ll be sleeping on the guest bedroom—sleeping much earlier than he would on a normal day.

usually, your arguments simmer down after a day or two. though this one went on for literal weeks.

stubbornness clung onto the both of you, which was rare, not wanting to admit that they were in the wrong, even though both were to blame and could be considered to be in the wrong in this argument.

conversations were kept to a minimum, and still, you two ate dinner together, a silent oath to yourselves and reassurance that no matter how much you two ignored one another throughout the day, you still loved each other.

of course, wakatoshi is the first to apologize, since this whole petty argument started because he wasn’t in the mood to entertain your silly question when you asked him so nicely and even told him beforehand as his day just began at that time.

when you entered the bathroom and glanced at the mirror to carry out your usual routine, what was once a squeaky-clean mirror now had a little note on the bottom right corner.

good morning. you look stunning, as always. :) i made your favorite breakfast. we’ll talk about our argument when i get home later, ok? i love you, now and forever.

now and forever is what he always told you, and wakatoshi says it, whether it’s written neatly with a whiteboard marker or spoken with that soothing voice of his, you know he means it through and through. no questions are asked. nothing to argue about there because when he says now and forever, he means it with everything he could ever offer.

a smile made its way to your lips as you read this.

at the kitchen table, a plentiful variety of your favorite was indeed, made, along with a note that was written on a sticky note. curious, you took your time to read through the simple message your husband had left you.

have a wonderful breakfast, love. i already ate before i went to practice, and i didn’t want to wake you up so we could have breakfast together because you came home exhausted last night.

the end of his note is sealed with a small heart, and your day is instantly brighter than the days before.

wakatoshi snuggles closer to you, considering that the argument has been resolved. he’s missed this and he couldn’t wait to bask in your attention, and make up for the time lost over some petty argument. to him, time is gold.

“love, about your question.”

“hm?”

“your question before our argument.”

“oh? what of it?”

“while i do love you, waxing my legs before an important friendly match is not ideal.”

“what? why not?”

“y/n, love. that hurts,” he replies, basing his answer on experience.

“it was one time,” you huff. “and i’ve gotten better at it now!”

safe to say that you two went to bed with lots of laughter after that.

noomon © 2023. do not copy, modify, or translate my work.

halloo! just here to stop by and say that i luv your fics especially the ones ft. my bbs; ushiwaka and nanamin ♡!! your angst fics always tug my heartstrings and the ironic thing is that i'll still let you bring me to tears cuz that's how much i love uuu. thank u for also checking out my themes from my mbs blog :)). you're always appreciated! <3 keep up the beautiful entries in your lovely blog! (⁠ʃ⁠ƪ⁠＾⁠3⁠＾⁠）

- nanamin's bakerist 🍞🥖

ding!

yeon, yewonroo, yeonru, ieownru, yeonnie ໒꒰ྀི ∩ ⸝⸝ ∩ ꒱ྀིა stop! those words coming from one of my favorites in the whole entire milky way? i’m soft, and very happy ☆૮꒰ˊᗜˋ* ꒱ა i’ll always dedicate most of my kento and wakatoshi fics to you because you’re just so amazing, huhu. thank you for providing such awesome layouts + moodboards because 80% of my blog theme all came from you! <33 i love you too, yeonnie (nanamin’s one and only baker of his favorite pastries, mwah)! ໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა

JJK BOYS + WHAT WOULD YOU DO IF I DIED?

[includes] gojo satoru // ryomen sukuna // fushiguro megumi [warning] ment. of implied suic1de (megumi’s part) [notes] i feel like i gave realistic answers?? i did gojo too serious LMAFO

— GOJO SATORU

“‘toru, what would you do if i died?”

your plethora of questions started from boredom, having nothing to do on a humid wednesday afternoon so you decided to randomly interrogate your boyfriend. tiny questions about his favorite color or dessert evolved into meaningful ones that had him quiet for ages, gathering his thoughts to give you a truthful answer. though this one, he didn’t hesitate much answering.

“my place in the jujutsu world wouldn’t let me grieve for long, so i’d probably be forced back to work. but.. i’ll never be the same. i’ll do my job, but the life in me would go.”

you really didn’t know how to react other than stare at him silently, watching the sincerity in his eyes before smiling and lightly shaking your head. “well”—bringing himself up from his position on the couch, he slides down to accompany you on the floor, dragging the blanket down with him for the two of you to share—“you don’t need to worry about that. i’m the strongest after all.”

— RYOMEN SUKUNA

you could see that slowly, your lover was getting irritated by your questions. maybe it wasn’t the best idea to settle down and ask dozens of the most random things that pop up in your head while your boyfriend works, but you knew when to or not tease him and right now seemed like it was an okay time.

“sukuna, what’s your go-to line to say?”

“prepare to die.”

“fair enough. what’s your favorite time of the day?”

“when you’re asleep.”

“hey!” you fake offense at his snapback, maneuvering your way so that your head was on his lap and both of your hands were wrapped around his bicep, squishing the muscle. “sukuna, what if… i died?”

“what type of question is that.”

“just answer it,” you grumble at his nonchalant attitude, not once looking up from whatever paper he was writing.

“you can’t die, i won’t allow it.”

“never mind that! answer the question: what would you do if i died?”

“i would make sure that person or curse will never see the light of day again. i’ll take the roughest form of revenge and give them a slow, painful death.”

maybe you struck a nerve, because when he looked down at you in his lap, you couldn’t really depict the look in his eyes. “like i said, i’ll never allow it.”

“the universe doesn’t need your permission. what if i died in my sleep?”

he ruffled your hair in response, stretching his back before putting his focus on his papers once more. “i don’t like thinking about stuff like this.” and that was his attempt of showing his feelings. you know it’s hard for him to express, and you got the message he was trying to send, so you decided to not push any further, smiling to yourself silly for the rest of the day.

— FUSHIGURO MEGUMI

it was late. way too late to be snuggled next to your boyfriend, your hair tousled from the jump you had to make to sneak in. at this point you would’ve left, but tonight was different. moonlight dripped from the open window, adding an extra layer to the intimate moment you both were having, spilling out your darkest secrets to each other in the confinement of his little dorm room. you fell into comfortable silence, providing solace with touch rather than words.

“megumi, what would you do if i died?”

the thought popped in your head like any other, and you were pretty much unfiltered with your boyfriend so you didn’t hesitate to ask. he studied you for a few seconds, letting your question sink in before saying, “guess i’ll go down with you.”

you blinked. “what. don’t say that!” ogling at him in disbelief, he simply stares back before lacing your hands together underneath the sheets. “my life would be nothing without you.” he mutters.

“we’re sixteen, i think after a few months you’ll move on—”

“you dont have any idea. ive been best friends with you my whole life and your lover for six months. my heart cant take another loss.” he was talking about yuji on the last part, you realized. you were quiet once more, drinking in every curve and bump of his face as if you were trying to engrave it in your mind. “well then, you’re now stuck with me for a looong time.” you grinned.

and he grinned back, “i wouldn’t have it any other way.”

@ httpmiriko 2021 - all rights reserved.

Away from Home ft. Wakatoshi Ushijima

an angst scenario in which ushijima notices his partner is homesick.

920 words, angst scenario, gn! reader

Warnings: homesick reader

Wakatoshi knew.

He always knows. 

Sometimes it’s easy for you to forget how observant Ushijima truly is because he’s always silent about it. Most of his observations go unsaid. Like how he noticed the way you always hum to yourself when you’re in a good mood or the way your hair feels the softest the day after it’s been washed. He sees and makes note of almost everything going on around him. 

And most of the time he’s content with keeping his observations to himself. But not this time.

Ushijima began to worry about your wellbeing when he noticed small changes in your daily habitual actions. 

It was the slightest quiver in your bottom lip and the way you leaned into him, subconsciously looking for support, as your parents spoke to you over the phone detailing upcoming house renovations and updates on the state of your favorite lilac bushes that were currently blossoming.

It was the small sigh you let out after hanging up the phone and the way your shoulders were tense as you lay your head on his shoulder and sit in comfortable silence after the interaction on the phone.

It was the way your gaze lingered on the photos your mom sent showing the hummingbird feeders, and the way you passed the phone to him to give him a chance to see.

He had taken note of all of these things, but it was today that he finally knew what was the cause of your behaviors. 

It was the forced smile that didn’t quite meet your eyes when your parents asked you how you were doing during your call with them today that gave it away.

You were homesick.

But "homesick" don't seem to describe the extent of your feelings, he thought to himself. 

It was when you rose from your spot next to him after the call to go sit on the balcony that he became aware of the depth of your hidden feelings.

Earlier that month, you dragged your favorite chair out onto the balcony and would spend hours on end sitting out there. It was so that you could "feel the sky" you had told him when he'd asked why you had been spending so much time out there. Sometimes, you'd be out on the balcony, sketching the cityscape, and you'd show him the work when you'd completed them. But what he didn’t know was that in addition to the drawings he'd see, you’d also spend hours sketching your homeland from memory in attempt to regain connection to your home.

But he still knew you were longing for the fresh open air and the endless sky that you had grown up with even in your attempts to hide it from him. You couldn't escape the longing you felt for the place and people you loved so much.

Ushijima knew that you weren’t truly happy with him in the city, even though you loved him and would give anything for him. He thought about everything you’d done to ensure that he was able to follow his passion, from making him special lunches that worked within his diet, to spending endless nights sleeping alone when he was away. 

And, when reflecting on all he'd observed throughout the years of what you had done for him, Ushijima was overcome with an intense feeling of gratefulness. But at the same time, he felt a pull at his heart. He recognized the feeling as deep sadness. What if you had given up the life you truly wanted. For him. 

He feared that the most: that he couldn’t give you the life that you truly deserved and longed for. 

With him you could never be completely happy.

He knew he had to talk to you about it, so he waited for you to come back inside. It was not too long when you returned from the balcony.

“Darling,” he called out to you softly.

As he laid eyes on you, he noted that your face hid the sadness it once held. Your normal resting expression had returned. Not a trace of longing remained, he noted.

“What is it, Toshi?”

All of a sudden, all words left him, and he felt at a complete loss for expression of speech. He didn’t know how to raise the subject to you.

Should he begin to extend the immense gratitude he felt towards you? No. Surely you would suspect that he knew something was wrong. Should he just be honest and tell you that he knew you weren’t happy?

Seeing you standing there in front of him, he thought he couldn’t possibly.

And with that, he made his decision to let it go, like he had done many times before with other things. 

”Oh, I was just wondering what we’re having for dinner.”

You blinked, and he held his breath. Then, to both his relief and dismay, you smiled at him in your usual manner and began to list off the options for your evening meal as you move to sit beside him.

Little did you know, your words were falling on unwilling ears as Ushijima was too distracted by the encounter to be paying attention to you.

Weighing his decision to keep quiet, he thought that maybe it was better for you if you didn’t know that he knew what you were feeling.

At least that’s what he told himself to justify keeping quiet about the fact that he was noticing the lightness leaving your eyes, slowly, slightly, one day at a time.

haha maybe college changed me because I never thought I would be capable of writing angst. Sorry, I'm a little out of practice with writing fics, but I hope you liked it, but if angst isn't your cup of tea, don't worry, more fluff will be coming soon :)

Feel free to reblog if you liked it! :)

p.s. I missed you all and writing so much! if you're reading this, thank you for sticking around, and being patient with me when I took my massive hiatus as I adjusted to college life. <3

ding!

. . . nanami kento. in another universe.

note. happy birthday, kento! for my lovely, @yeonruco

birthday cakes were fun to make.

it was sweet, simple in its own way, and carried its own share of sentiment to both the birthday celebrant and the baker themself.

one of kento’s favorite mundane things to do on his days off was bake. he may not be the best at it, sure, but he has you right next to him as you read the instructions in your recipe book aloud. days like these are what he treasures most—a day where he can do things at his own pace, and though he usually does this even on his work days, he prefers these moments because he gets to spend them with you.

“you have, uh, a little something there, love,” you chuckle, wiping away the excess powdered sugar that got on his cheek with a clean cloth. “there we go!” you happily beam, “still as handsome as ever, eh?”

kento blinks at you, honestly stunned. after years of being married to you, his lovely spouse, he still found himself a bit flustered by the little mannerisms you do for him. he can’t even deny that it made his heart do little backflips—even cartwheels by the gesture, not that he’ll ever do so.

“oh, thank you,” he replies, offering you a soft kiss on the cheek in return.

“mm, happy birthday, kento!” you cheer. “you’re on year closer to becoming an old grandpa.” you glance at the cake and frosting you had prepared on the table, then back at your husband. “shall we get to decorating your cake?”

he can’t help but chuckle quietly at that. kento’s thumb softly caresses your cheek, completely disregarding your last sentence. he leans in closer, his face inches away from yours.

“but i’ll be an old grandpa alongside you, right? we’ll grow old together.” he says this, and it’s not a question, rather a statement.

he’d grow old with you until he’s all wrinkled and have gray hair.

you smile. “of course we’ll grow old together!” you reply, placing a soft kiss on his lips.

“really, happy birthday, love!”

you were met with an unwelcome silence. you must’ve been recalling things again because it’s been five years since your husband unfortunately passed away during his line of work.

a careful, melancholy sigh escaped your lips as you sat on his grave. his headstone newly polished since you had just visited a few days ago, and you didn’t even know if you were missing your dear kento because only his possessions are buried in his grave. were you technically just mourning his belongings? or did his memory become what your heart yearns to properly mourn instead of his absent physical body?

you didn’t dwell on the thought too much.

“happy birthday, love.” your voice is quiet and defeated. “i made your favorite cake.”

smiling sadly to yourself, you took a bite of your portion of the delicious cake, not before offering him the first slice, of course.

kento always loved it when he had the first slice or piece of something you baked. it made him feel as though he was the most important critic and fan of your masterpiece.

in another universe, kento is helping you bake his favorite pastries, just after baking his own birthday cake after many unsuccessful attempts.

noomon © 2023. do not copy, modify, or translate my work.

ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — MIYA ATSUMU x FEM READER

Being hot at the grocery store should be illegal.

wc — 800

tags — grocery store meet cute, set in the same universe as the way to the heart is through the stomach

“There is an attractive man on the other side of the grocery aisle,” you hiss at Kiyoko. Your roommate had dragged you out for a grocery run, but as the person who forced you out of the comfort of your home, she could stand to be a little nicer to you. 

Instead, she raises an eyebrow; her face conveying utter disdain, confusion, and slight pity at all once. It’s a little impressive, honestly. 

She peeks between the cracks in the shelves. Looks at you. Looks at the man. Looks at you again. She makes a motion that could be what are you waiting for or let the grandma pass so she can get her multivitamins. 

Sometimes it’s complicated when it comes to Kiyoko. She’s not great at talking without words. It’s because she’s spoiled. Must be nice to have a boyfriend who loves you so fully you don’t have to try to be understood, you think with a hint of jealousy. 

Then, she pushes you towards the other aisle in a gesture that’s unmistakable. 

“Kiyoko!” You’re appalled. “You’re not making me go over there. I’m wearing my pajamas!” 

Your pajamas are grey sweats with multiple suspicious stains from ketchup or blood or some other substance. You’re not sure. That’s why it’s suspicious. 

“Okay? He looks worse,” she says. Notably, she doesn’t tell you that you look fine. 

She probably thinks that’s reassuring. It’s not. 

The fact that he’s also in his pajamas and still looks hot is infuriating. 

And very sexy. 

Terribly so. 

“Just go talk to him,” she says. “You know if you don’t you’ll be thinking about him for days, anyway.” 

“I will not!” 

“Excuse me,” says the hot stranger, who in the time that you spent arguing with Kiyoko, has suddenly moved behind you. “Do ya mind?” 

He’s gesturing at the package of cereal behind you. 

You freeze. How did he move so quietly? And had he heard the conversation between you two? 

“Hello?” He waves his hand in your face - a little rudely. That deducts one point from his overall hotness score. You scramble away, giving him access to the shelf. 

“This is my favorite brand,” he says conversationally, “but my brother got a girlfriend lately, and every time she comes to our apartment she eats all of mine. I’ve told her not to like six million times! And he’s a chef! Why are ya even eatin’ processed junk if ya can get yer professional chef of a boyfriend to make ya whatever ya want? He’s so whipped, I swear.” 

“Aren’t- aren’t you also eating processed junk, then?” You say with trepidation.

He brushes you off with a “No, that’s different.” 

He’s…a little weird. Who just talks to a stranger like that? You have to admit that confidence is attractive - even if you’re not sure if it’s confidence or narcissism as he continues. 

“So, like. Are ya going to ask me out or what?” 

You choke on your own spit. He had overheard. There would be no better time for one of these shelves to fall on you and crush you instantly.

“Woah!” Says the hot stranger, who still hasn’t told you his name before commanding you to ask him out. “Ya okay?” 

He slaps your back as you wheeze for breath - hard. Is he an athlete in his spare time? How does anyone have that kind of arm strength? 

“I-“ You shut your mouth because actually, you don’t know what to say. How do you respond to that? 

“Come on,” says Mr. Bad Bleach Job. “I heard ya and yer little friend talking about me all the way down the aisle. I know you want in on this sexy ass.” 

He’s ridiculous. Are you - are you into that? You’re seriously reevaluating your mental health even as you say, almost to your own surprise, “Can I take you on a date?” 

He wrinkles his nose. “I dunno. Can ya make it a little more romantic?” 

“Why don’t you ask me out if you’re going to be so demanding?” You challenge. 

“Sure,” he says easily. “Wanna go out? We can get fancy sushi for fun and eat McDonald’s after cause that’s real food.” 

Even you can’t tell if the noise that escapes you is a laugh or a sigh. What have you gotten yourself into? 

“Whatever,” you say, handing him your phone. “I think mine was better.” 

“They both kind of sucked. 5/10 for execution, -2 for sheer cringe, -3 for awkwardness.” 

“Kiyoko, read the room.”

nanami kento carries band aids in his wallet in case they are ever needed (unbeknownst to you) and one day, when you’re grocery shopping, he sees you walk with the slightest limp.

“whats wrong?”

you’ve stopped to pick out some tomatoes. “what do you mean?”

“you’re limping,” he says, hands on the shopping cart. “are you hurt?”

“oh. i’ve got a blister,” you respond nonchalantly, drop a fat tomato into a plastic bag. “but i really like these shoes and i forgot to put a band aid on.”

he kneels, much to your surprise, takes out his wallet and out of the leather, a band aid. he takes your foot out of your shoe, peels down your sock and unwraps the band aid.

he applies it with ease, returns your foot into your shoe gently, stands to his full height.

you’ve got stars in your eyes.

“next time, pick some comfortable shoes, sweetheart.” he plants a kiss on your lips, pushes the cart over to the avocados.

“god, i think i love you, kento.”

a light smile quirks his lips upward, his tired eyes gleam. “i think i love you too.”

👑Happy Birthday Nanamin 👑

Happy birthday, Nanamin! 🥖👔 07/03 !

five times you fell in love with ushijima wakatoshi.

masterlist | sorry this is really long. I just love him sm <3

01. that one day when he walked you home and stayed for dinner. your mother had told ushijima she had never found the neighborhood safe, so he made it a point to walk you back everyday after his practices.

you came upon a startling realization during this time. ushijima was definitely raised like a gentleman. he would never let you walk on the outer side of the sidewalk. anytime you were on the outer side, he'd take a step back and go around you. always.

“thank you for dropping me home, wakatoshi,” you told him. it was a routine for you to say this and for him to reply that you shouldn't thank him for this.

“i am thankful though. especially for you not letting me walk on the outer side,” you explain and ushijima feels like he's been caught off guard. he did do it unintentionally most of the time, yes, but he makes sure of it when he's with you. its also partly because you sometimes get so carried away telling him about your day, he worries you might accidentally stumble on the street and he can't have that.

“you read me well,” he admits, a chuckle escaping his lips.

“well it's because i'm just happy to be graced by the presence of the ace of shiratorizawa,” you joke.

“you think too highly of me, you know that?”

“i don't see why I shouldn't,” you retort. “do you want to come in for dinner?”

you assume he's going to refuse since he has to be home in an hour to study and do his homework. and you know better than anyone that he doesn't take a single day off, no matter what. be it hail, sleet, snow or a tornado, ushijima would never rest.

he takes a minute to think till he replies, “yeah sure.”

you mask your shock well, you open the door and let him in. and you can already feel the butterflies in your stomach. maybe you don't view him as a friend, but something more.

02. when you told him he was boring. it wasn't intentional, no. ushijima is fun but just not without planning out the fun? so when you tell him that you're gonna go out in the rain, he's definitely hesitant to join. you don't force him to join you which he's grateful for.

but when he sees the smile on your face, as raindrops trickle down, he thinks to hell with it. you're awestruck when he does join in, his eyes taped shut, as he lets himself feel each raindrop falling on his skin.

“toshi” you call out, only for his eyes to meet yours, slowly adjusting to the light. you laugh and he thinks he's never heard a better sound.

“i’ve never done this before.t I wouldn't have, if it wasn't for you,” he admits, letting his rigid body go lose.

“don’t go all soft on me big guy,” you retort, a grin on your face.

“i can't help it.”

and you can't help falling in love with him either.

03. when you spent an afternoon in his childhood bedroom. ushijima’s mother had invited the two of you for dinner, telling you to take a look at wakatoshi’s old room.

volleyball and manga posters were lined on the side of his wall, with some of his trophies and pictures with his best friend tendou.

“can’t believe i’m lucky enough to be here,” you joke, a playful smile tugging on your lips.

“can’t believe i’m lucky enough to bring you here,” he responds, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“although I think I should be jealous because from the looks of this bedroom, it feels like you've been dating tendou,” you pointed at the wide array of pictures of the two.

ushijima throws his head back in laughter, “i kept our pictures hidden from mom,” he replies. you knew his mother was a little critical of his choices as a teenager. “wait–” he opened his cupboard and started rummaging through the drawers only to pull out a shoebox.

“this has all of our pictures,” he hands the box to you. you open it, only to find ushijima saving up not only pictures, but movie tickets, little letters you wrote for him, the bracelets you made, the cute doodles you drew on his notebook perfectly cut off alongside birthday cards and a childhood photo that you gave him.

“i never knew you saved all of this stuff,” you whispered. you never took ushijima for the sentimental type, especially not the one to save what you referred to as your ‘romantic garbage.’

“of course I would,” he shrugs. “it might be garbage to you but it meant the world to me and it still does. I save stuff till this day,” he admits.

this man really does catch you off guard, doesn't he?

04. when you were having a difficult time. while he's a world renowned player that definitely has more than enough on his mind given the upcoming championship, all of that becomes irrelevant when he catches you with tears sliding down your face after coming home back early from his practice.

“t–toshi, you're home?” you whisper, quickly trying to wipe the tears of your face. but you've never been a good liar and ushijima can read you with his eyes closed.

“what’s wrong, love?” he asks, immediately cupping your face with his hands, wiping your tears. “is everything okay?”

the dam breaks and he just pulls you into his chest, letting you cry your heart out. he shushes any apologies you cry out. why were you so adamant on thinking that you were a burden to him? burdens are pushed on people against their will and he sure as hell isn't here against his.

and you think, how lucky you are to have wakatoshi around.

05. when you find him drenched from the rain. ushijima was returning from his latest championship and you had already warned him of the thunderstorm ready to rain down on Tokyo. you find him and his suitcase looking as if they've crossed a tsunami on the way to the apartment.

“toshi,” you quickly rush to find a towel to wrap around him. “what happened?” you ask. “did the cab not drop you directly here?”

he smiles sheepishly admitting that he had asked the cab to drop him off fifteen minutes away. when you ask why, he pulls out the flowers and cupcakes he brought from your favorite bakery.

“and I also brought your favorite manga,” he smiles. “i just missed you so much these two months.”

you feel tears well up in your eyes as you hug him, “i missed you too,” you whisper, buried in the crook of his neck. you pull away, “go change quickly now, we can't have our star player being sick. dinner is almost done.”

“i love you, darling,” he says before heading inside.

and just as you thought you couldn't fall in love with ushijima wakatoshi anymore, he manages to prove you wrong.

ding!

. . . tsukishima kei. sweeter when i’m with you.

“did you even use a recipe—“

“yes, tsukishima. i did.” you answer.

continuing to apply frosting to your freshly baked cupcakes, you did your best to ignore the man in front of you. culinary class was fun, especially if your class was tasked with making a simple dessert for a graded activity. however, it was not that fun when you have a snarky middle blocker who always had a way to get through your nerves—watching you work throughout the process of creating such a sweet dessert.

even your sweet desserts would turn salty whenever he was around.

kei hums, amused by your response. “did you now?” he replies with that all-knowing smirk plastered on his stupidly good-looking face. “and what happened to calling me by my first name?”

“i changed my mind, that’s all.” you shrug, and he has the audacity to be the one frowning in this conversation. “it’s better to keep things professional, tsukishima. wouldn’t you agree?”

he huffs. “whatever,” he murmurs, propping his elbows on the counter, his head resting on his palm as he gazes up at you—just . . . admiring how you skillfully worked with the fluffy strawberry frosting—not that he’d ever admit it out loud, no way.

with the silence that followed, he quickly grew bored. “can i have some?” kei asks, eyes darting toward the strawberries you had cut specifically in the shape of little hearts for decorations.

“i don’t know, can you? what’s the magic word?”

“fuck you.”

“that’s not the magic word,” you coyly said to him. “i guess i’ll just give these extra strawberries to the volleyball team,” the thought wasn’t a bad one either, “maybe even have hinata or kageyama try these cupcakes i made once it’s graded.”

“no,” he says, slightly glaring at you.

now, it’s your turn to be amused. “no? did i hear that correctly, tsukishima?”

“it’s kei to you,” he corrects, softly this time. his expression was no longer stern, but this time, rather, it was one of slight annoyance and even pouting. “and . . . can i please have the extra strawberries?” he tries again, and for the first time in all the time you’ve known him, he looks at you with this soft, endearing look—as if he were some sort of kicked puppy by the street, begging to be adopted.

“see? it doesn’t kill you to be nicer to me,” you say, feeding him a strawberry or two—which he didn’t mind.

from the other stations, your classmates watched with either surprised or puzzled expressions after they’d witnessed your interaction with kei. even your teacher couldn’t help but ask, “are those two. . . ?” to which your classmates couldn’t answer either.

kei is definitely sweeter when he’s with you.

noomon © 2023. do not copy, modify, or translate my work.

ding!

. . . fushiguro megumi. sinking into an abyss of despair, time and fate sure are cruel.

note. spoilers ahead.

megumi understands that he, himself, is human as well. and just like any other human being that roamed the earth, he is one to make mistakes; mistakes that would then teach him a lesson he'd either utilize to make up for his shortcomings or disregard the moral lesson he’s supposed to take and continue on with his life.

he knows, megumi knows, that he’s made so many mistakes in his lifetime, but he’s always had the right people to look after him.

satoru was there, and as much as megumi wouldn’t want to admit it, his teacher was a pretty good figure that helped shape the young jujutsu sorcerer into who he is today. though he may be a bit childish, he was a good man through and through; both a mentor and a sort of paternal figure in megumi’s life.

you were there too. a true parental figure to megumi in tandem with satoru. he often thought about how you’re constantly doting on him, treating him as though he were a little toddler who could barely stand on his own two feet, and how you coddled him most of the time—reminding him of how reckless he could sometimes be when it came to his assignments.

he acted a little annoyed when you did this, but looking back at it now, he begs the gods out there to hear his pleas—to bring back time or to even change the fate set upon him.

he loathed this with every fiber of his soul.

being a mere vessel for the king of curses made him shiver and almost want to lose what was left of his reasonable wit.

he loathed how he couldn’t do anything as sukuna held you by your throat, his grip on you so tight that your body went limp against his hand.

“f– fuckin’ hell,” you wheeze with a chuckle.

the curse coos at this; he’s enjoying this. enjoying how you’re physically being tormented by him, all while megumi’s consciousness is being tormented emotionally.

it’s like killing two birds with one stone, and he finds absolute delight in what he’s doing.

megumi’s breath is caught in his throat the moment he sees your battered body get launched into the air, then get pummeled down to the pavement with great strength.

the absolute agony in your cry shatters his heart into a million pieces. in the consciousness in which he’s trapped, megumi could only watch in horror as your life flashed before his eyes.

he remembers the times you always checked up on him, taught him how to improve his cursed technique, and even taught him how to ride a bike when he was still little.

it hurts to even remember them now when he didn’t pay much attention to them before.

you lay there, unmoving, your eyes half-lidded and dull. you’re gone. and he couldn’t do anything but watch as your life cuts off within a quarter of a second.

sinking into an abyss of despair, what’s left of megumi’s soul fades into a hollow void of space. time and fate sure are cruel, not only to him but to you as well.

one of megumi’s most regretful mistakes he’s made in his lifetime was, perhaps, taking you for granted.

noomon © 2023. do not copy, modify, or translate my work.

ding!

. . . ushijima wakatoshi. not one for the romance books.

“you hold feelings for me?”

he’s a bit taken aback by the confession that wakatoshi just couldn’t help but blink for a few seconds, unsure of what to do with this information. dealing with an out-of-the-blue confession before volleyball practice was not on his agenda for today—so what should he do?

there you stood in front of him, fidgeting with your fingers as you couldn’t even meet his gaze, an apprehensive smile on your lips. you’re nervous and unsure of your timing, he assumes. your body language seemed a bit stiff as well and he could tell by this that you weren’t really planning on confessing your feelings to him now.

maybe it was just a sudden change of plans on your end.

but you finally said it; you finally confessed.

“you— you don’t have to reciprocate!” you quickly add, not wanting to force him into anything that makes him uncomfortable or something that he never even considered. “i just,” you took in a short breath, “i just wanted to say it.”

wakatoshi thinks over his words carefully. you’re his classmate and his friend; he doesn’t want to leave you heartbroken, but he’s conflicted about what to say.

it certainly isn’t just turning down someone who confessed to him—he’ll admit that it happened quite often, seeing as how he was well-known all across miyagi—it’s you. he’s going to reject your advances, and the thought made him frown ever so slightly.

“i’m sorry,” he replies, his tone smooth and laced with his familiar stoicism, though if you listen closely, you’ll hear that he really is apologetic. “i can’t say that i feel the same way.”

you waved your hands frantically to reassure him. “no, no! it’s alright, really.” you straighten your composure, a bit sheepish, even awkward, about the situation you conducted with your confession.

he nods, bidding you his goodbyes as he heads to the gym for his afternoon club activity.

you’re left to yourself in the back of your school building, absolutely defeated. you sigh, crouching down, your hands in your head. your thoughts are running a thousand miles per millisecond.

you made a fool of yourself.

you made your friendship with wakatoshi awkward.

you definitely want the ground to swallow you whole right now.

but on the bright side, you confessed. you got the feeling off your chest, and that counts for something, right?

though the scene that just happened was not one for the romance books. you slightly blame the romance shows and media you’ve been hooked on, but what else could you do?

wakatoshi does not feel the same way.

noomon © 2023. do not copy, modify, or translate my work.

Just finished watching jujutsu kaisen… Lets just say i’m a huge simp now for this dude

"What about you, 'Tsumu?" Ginjima asks. "What do you want for your birthday?"

"Ya mean ya don't think I'd ask fer some stupidly expensive rare high-end food, too?" the blonde replies with a wry smile as their friends laugh and Osamu rolls his eyes with playful offense.

When the laughter tapers off Atsumu says "If I could have anything in the world?...Get whatever I ask fer?..." He lets out a half-chuckle with a crooked smile and admits "I'd take the love of my life."

"Like on a date?" Ginjima asks, pleasantly surprised by the earnest answer.

"Na." Atsumu shakes his head with a cheeky grin. "Like in marriage. Like fer the rest'a ma life."

There are a few people who 'aww' in response, maybe even ask a few questions but you don't hear them or Atsumu's response, suddenly very interested in the contents of your own cup. It doesn't help that Osamu's steely gaze is scrutinizing you from across the room while all the attention is on his brother.

You slip out of the room the first chance you get.

It's not a small birthday party the twins have thrown so there's plenty of people casually filling the living room and kitchen, spilling out into the backyard where there's a fire. Ojiro and a few other guys from the team are sitting around it, talking. There's a myriad of other people from school including some mutual friends but the twins are the main reason you're here and they're unfortunately social. It means you've spent most of the party drifting along the periphery; your presence here was a condition of his parents' permission for the twins to have friends over without supervision.

You smile to yourself fondly remembering Atsumu's loud protest and insult that his parents trusted you more than their own flesh-and-blood to which they responded of course they did; you had much more common sense than a real Miya.

"Ya look like yer havin' a good time."

You don't need to see to know it's Osamu but you turn to give him a look and he chuckles.

"Okay..." He turns a palm toward you. "Maybe not."

"I'm fine." You offer a smile and ask "are you having fun?"

He shrugs. "Eh. Ya know this was mostly 'Tsumu's idea."

With narrowed eyes you retort "you can deny it all you want but you like the attention, too, 'Samu. You're just not as dramatic about it."

"That's fair," he agrees with a smirk. His gaze follows yours, sweeping over the people in the kitchen and the backyard. "Still...not such a bad time."

You give a non-committal shrug.

After a moment of quiet Osamu asks "...ya heard his answer, right?"

"Yeah," you snicker. "And?"

"Well...do ya believe me now?"

You meet his stormy eyes with a roll of your own. "No, 'Samu. All he said was he'd want to marry whoever he loves. He didn't actually say who that was."

"Ya really don't believe me," Osamu says to himself in disappointment with a shake of his head and sighs, exasperated. He falls quiet for a moment as Ojiro and the group around the fire burst into laughter and then perks up with a sudden light in his eyes. "Fine."

Your eyes narrow defensively, recognizing that look.

"Then how about this," the gray twin squarely faces you, "ask him what he wants fer his birthday" --he holds up a hand to quickly cut off your counter-- "on his own. Ask him when it's just tha two of ya an' nobody else. I promise ya he's in love with ya--"

"He's not," you argue, pushing his hand away but he just plows on.

"He is. An' I'll prove it to ya." Osamu levels you with complete sincerity. "Catch him on his own an' ask him again, just the two'a ya, an' he's gonna say tha same thing. He's gonna say it when it really counts, when no one else is lookin' and it's gonna mean somethin' else. An' if on some small odd chance that I'm wrong--which I know I'm not--I'll make bring ya lunch everyday fer the rest of tha year."

You abruptly straighten, eyes wide. "That's like six months of bento."

"If I'm wrong," he smugly replies and crosses his arms. "Which I know I'm not."

Your eyes narrow mouth watering at the tantalizing possibility of so much delicious food and you strongly consider the bet. Because there's no way he could be right.

There's no way that Miya Atsumu, the school's golden boy and nationally recognized setter to whom no one else exists unless they're on the court, the person you've pined over for an unbearably long time

could like you back.

You've seen the number of chocolates and gifts and confessions he's accepted over the years and it's exactly

zero.

"You're on," you answer with your own smug grin. Because zero are exactly the chances that Osamu's right.

Osamu's brow flicks up. "That's it? Ya don't wanna know what I want if I'm right?"

You shrug, crossing your own arms in a mocker of his confidence. "Doesn't matter. Because you're not gonna win."

Osamu leans in, dropping his voice to lay-out your wager with cunningly narrowed eyes.

It's not until the end of the party that you find him.

He's upstairs, having sneaked out to his parent's private balcony where he leans on the railing quietly sipping from a cup and watching the party in shadow.

"'Tsumu?" you quietly ask as a way to announce your arrival. "You okay?"

He turns to face you still leaning on the railing. "Yeah. You?"

You shrug. "I'm fine." You glance down--most of the people are outside now--and ask "you don't want to be with everyone?"

He mimics your shrug. "Just needed ta catch ma breath."

You join him at the railing with a nod feeling an awkward flip of your stomach.

"Somethin' ya needed?" he asks.

"I just wanted to check on you...make sure you were okay," you admit in truth. Your hands idly tap the railing as you try to figure out how to broach the subject. "I didn't get you anything for your birthday."

He waves it off. "I don't need anythin'. Yer the reason we got ta have a party. That's more than enough."

"I guess..." You scrunch your face, heart start to beat a little harder in your chest. Despite your conviction that Osamu's wrong you're having trouble rising to the challenge. "Okay...so if you could have something else for your birthday..."

Atsumu tilts his head, dark brows furrowing as he scrutinizes your discomfort but he doesn't say anything.

"If..." You hesitate, battling the increasing pound of your pulse. "If you could have anything in the world..." You force yourself to meet his golden gaze. "What would you want?"

The setter goes very still. Almost defensively.

"Starting spot on a division-one team. Starting spot in the Olympics. Hell, a gold medal in the Olympics," you offer in his silence. "A billion dollars, a mansion, a yacht, the ability to fly."

He doesn't answer.

"What would you wish for?"

You assume he's just tired of being asked so

why is it so hard to look at him again?

"I'd want..." His voice is low. Tense.

Feeling the foundation of your world shifting you bring your gaze back to him and feel a tidal wave of emotion roll through your body.

"...ta marry ya."

"If I'm right," Osamu's voice echoes in your mind, "ya hafta confess."

Fuck.

Your stomach drops and your head spins as you gulp.

"Okay."

Atsumu is still for another second before he drops his cup and somehow shouts while gasping "HAAAAA?!" He reels back, looking as stunned as you feel.

You pull away, taken aback by his shock.

"WHADDYA MEAN OKAY?!" He starts flailing his arms. "YA CAN'T JUST SAY THAT! YER GONNA GIVE ME A HEART ATTACK!"

"You're the one who started it!" you shout back.

"NO! YER THE ONE WHO CORNERED ME UP HERE WITH YER CUTE...LITTLE...EVERYTHING" --he gestures at you as if you've instigated something nefarious-- "I'M JUST TRYIN'A CATCH MA BREATH AFTER ALREADY ADMITTIN' THAT IN FRONT'A YA ONCE DOWNSTAIRS!"

"Why are you still yelling?!" you shout defensively, still leaning back.

"BECAUSE I FEEL LIKE MY CHEST IS ABOUT TA EXPLODE!" He takes a couple heaving breaths, eyes wide and feverish.

"Are you okay?" you hesitantly ask and he braces himself on the railing, ignoring the fact that the entire party in the yard below is silent and watching.

"Just...just tryin' ta figure out what just happened."

"I think...I agreed to marry you?"

His head whips around. "Ya...Ya really mean it?"

"Yeah..." You shift uncomfortably. "I mean...I don't think we should run out right now but yeah. I'm...I'm in love with you, 'Tsumu. So when we're older and actually ready I'd like to marry y--"

The words are cut off by his lips. Pressed tightly against yours with a hand on your waist and the other cupping your cheek he kisses you like he's trying to receive the words directly from your mouth.

Someone below whistles.

Someone else shouts "get a room!"

"Preferably not our parents'," adds Osamu.

There's a round of laughter but neither of you break the kiss and everyone diverts their attention when it's clear they're all intruding on a now-private moment.

Atsumu's lips take and give as if every passing moment they spend pressed against yours only makes him want you more. He chases after them, stealing a few more seconds, as you pull back and smile.

"We should get back to the party, 'Tsumu."

"But it's ma birthday," he pouts childlishly and tries to kiss you again.

You chuckle and reply "yes and I promised that I'd take care of your birthday party."

Atsumu smirks.

"What?" you ask narrowing your eyes in suspicion.

"I just realized that yer not gonna be ma parents' favorite anymore."

"Oh yeah?" You mirror his smirk. "How so?"

"'Cause. Yer gonna marry me. An' that's gonna make ya a real Miya." He grins victoriously.

"Or I could just not take your last name and remain their favorite," you point out. He gapes until you throw your arms over his shoulders and give him a grin. "Although I'd rather be your favorite so I guess it's worth it."

He grins with you. "'Course it is an' 'course ya are."

"Good." You give him another kiss and step back, quickly adding "besides, changing my last name won't make me as unreliable as you!"

Atsumu gasps, scandalized, as you run away cackling. "Calling your future husband unreliable!!?" He runs after you, shouting "and on his birthday?!"

Atsumu’s irritated.

The kind of irritated that makes him look like he's constantly smelling something foul.

Osamu snickers. “Yer face is gonna stay like that ya scrub.”

“Shaddup.” He grabs his bento and stomps away from the usual lunch spot, away from his friends,

Away from his dumb brother.

He's not even sure he's hungry anymore he's so irritated, and that makes him even more irritated. He knows exactly why he's irritated, too, not that it helps.

It's all because some doe-eyed simp batted her fake eyelashes at 'Samu this morning and asked him to be the subject of a portrait assignment.

Geez, Atsumu was right there!

And then, after the stupid scrub says yes and that frilly little turd skips away, 'Samu turns to him and says

‘Guess that settles it. I've got the better face.’

He’s charging around the school, not sure he's looking for any place in particular…it's just a way to burn through some frustration.

“Whoa, who boiled your bean curd today.”

He stops and whips around ready to bite the head off—

You.

Atsumu gulps; he recognizes you from class but doesn't actually know your name and the last thing he wants to do is berate some innocent and be hung out to dry by Kita because this whole school’s a cesspool of gossip—

“Seriously, Atsumu. You okay?”

He blinks, still grumpy but nods. “Just mah stupid brother.”

“You…wanna talk about it?” you offer unsurely and gesture to the spot on the bench next to you.

“Really?” When you nod reassuringly, he screws up his face. “Why? Ya just tryin’a use me ta get ta someone else on the team?”

“What? No.” You look disgusted and…a little disappointed. “Do people really do that to you?”

Atsumu shrugs, stiffly sitting down with you. “I dunno. Just seems like everyone prefers my brother.”

“All the time? Or did something specific happen?”

Atsumu admits “kinda both.” He tells you how his brother loves to get under his skin and then their friends get it on it, too.

He tells you about the incident this morning.

“You're upset because she asked your brother over you?” When he nods you think for a moment, then offer “I’ll draw you.”

“Ha?!” he gapes.

You nod nonchalantly. “Yeah, I'm in that class...I have that portrait assignment, too."

“And ya don’t have someone yer already drawin’?”

“No.” You lament “I've been dreading it. The last thing I want to do is go up to someone and ask ‘hey can I draw you?’." You cringe. "Gross.”

“What about yer friends er somethin’?”

You give him a flat smirk. “do you want someone to draw you or not?”

He splutters “hu-gchw-we-well yeah but only if ya want ta!” He pouts and crosses his arms. “I don’t want yer pity.” His petulance cracks as you laugh.

For the first time in a long time someone's laughing because of him... Not at him.

“I promise it’s not like that, Atsumu." You smile so genuinely his irritation dissolves. "Really, you're doing me a huge favor."

"Really?" He likes the look of relief in your eyes when you nod, that he was the one who made that happen.

Three weeks later the portraits are put on display. Atsumu's excited to see your final piece. You haven't shown him yet but he had so much fun hanging out with you; he's never felt so seen or appreciated, been so relaxed or so autonomously at ease,

Until his brother makes a comment.

"I dunno, I think ya made it all up." 'Samu smirks. "There's only one Miya among those portraits and it's the better looking twin."

You're not in class today; not answering his texts so he goes to look on his own and sure enough,

His face isn't there.

Where the fuck is the picture you drew?!

He's more than irritated now...

His mood is downright foul.

He avoids interacting with anyone and everyone until he can get to practice and then his irritation doesn't dissipate on the court and it's just building and building turning into error after error--

"Atsumu, someone's here to see you."

He doesn't dare snap at his captain, simply turns and freezes when he sees you at the side of the court.

His anger fades to a grumpy simmer.

"I got your texts," you say with a smile and light flush to your cheeks. "Sorry I didn't respond, I was busy."

"That why yer in such a pissy mood today, 'Tsumu?" Osamu comments from the bench but before Atsumu can react, you beat him to it.

"Excuse me, I'm talking to Atsumu right now."

Everyone stops and looks. Eyebrows raise, and more than a few jaws drop.

With an irritated exhale you turn back to Atsumu and clear your expression. "As I was saying... I'm sorry I didn't respond or tell you ahead of time...I wanted it to be a surprise."

Atsumu's throat is tight as you hand him something that's definitely not a drawing. "What's this?" he sourly mumbles.

Ignoring the snarky murmurs of his team you tap it and explain "it's a letter of acceptance for an art show."

He can hear the joy in your voice and when his gaze shifts up your smile rivals the sun.

"Your portrait is a centerpiece."

“atsumu, when i die —”

“no, stop, don’t say that. ‘ya aren’t going to die.” he interrupted you before you could even finish, his gaze burning.

“of course i won’t, i’m immortal!” you joked. and to this, he flashed a small smile.

“but, hypothetically, if i do die, i want you to make my coffin look cute. maybe LED lights? yeah, and —” you were cut off with your rambling by a kiss to your lips. the two of you savoring the fleeting moment, gripping onto his shirt as you felt yourself weaken from his touch.

“yes, angel, i’ll do that okay? now stop yappin’ about ‘ya dying. ‘ya aren’t goin’ to die. i — i won’t even let ‘ya.” he said with so much determination that you couldn’t help but believe him.

your eyes feel heavy. “‘tsumu?”

“hm?” he looks at you, shimmering eyes.

“i’m tired, i wanna go to sleep.”

“oh — okay, sure — i, i love ‘ya, goodnight. let’s talk again tomorrow, m’kay?” he asked, the hope in his voice felt quite cruel to even exist.

“of course, i love you.”

the beeping from the monitor went to a deafening halt. atsumu felt like he was suffocating, the air in his lungs evaporating. you — the air that filled his lungs, the air he breathes, ceased. the shimmer in his eyes turned into tears.

you two never really did get to properly talk again tomorrow, or the day after that, or ever again.