#sora scribbles 2023

[soranihimawari]

I Missed You

Pairing: Oikawa x (gn!) reader

Word Count: tbd

Rating: Oikawa Tooru Fluff [otf]

Warnings: none// reader in timeskip becomes a doctor specializing in aging/older athletes and completing necessary check-ups before a match.

Note: I tried to not tie any gender-specific nouns when describing reader.

How I think OIkawa & reader hug each other after not seeing each other in a long time.

[23:45]

That’s the time stamp you receive on an old friend’s text. There are only three words which the message is comprised of. When you read them aloud to yourself in the comfort of your own home, you seem to repeat them like a mantra.

‘I miss you’

Simple hope draws from this in a way that can’t be described as you stare at your screen until you ultimately lock your phone. You close your eyes for a a few minutes when your brain decides to show you a highlight reel of the activities you used to do with the sender. Learning the rules of volleyball, joining in their team jogging paths, coming to scheduled matches, accompanying him to the nurse’s office when he landed on his feet wrong, etc. He was destined to be famous, just not here at home in Japan, no. Somewhere half a world away called out to him first. Argentina was distant, far, the most you’d ever be separated and even then, the times prior were literally at the start of up schooling lives.

Unfortunately, the last memory behind the closed eyes you see is a bittersweet one: the reality your friend, confidant, (and crush) hits you. You never did want to wind up fighting with him, but for once you’d want him to fight to stay here. With you. As his best friends remind you, you’d be holding him back from his true potential ever since he started practicing with the collegiate teams up the road from where you live—this was where the initial rift began to be drawn between you two.

During lunch one day, you visit his classroom, sitting next to him explaining (or rather complaining) the trouble you were having with a particular class and one of the assignments needed to be completed prior to a content exam.

“Do you ever shut up about schoolwork, yn?”

You pause, a disappointed look heavy on your brow as those within earshot suddenly fall quiet.

“I’m sorry not all of us have a righteous path carved in front of us, Tooru,” the tonality in your voice was one of annoyance. “Some of us have to work even harder to achieve our dreams other than hoping to skip town and follow in their idol’s footsteps.”

Ever since that brief conversation, you and one Oikawa Tooru, are now practically strangers come graduation day. You hear whispers via the third year rumor mill of his accomplishments and his ultimate defeat against both Shiratorizawa and Karasuno. Matches you weren’t there to show your support for, even if Iwazumi Hajime, the ace and vice captain, had invited you because, “it would be nice for him (oikawa) to see a familiar face in the crowd.”

Glancing back at Iwazumi’s moss green eyes and stoic countenance, “and if I recall, it would be nicer if I wasn’t there because it might distract him further. There are plenty of scouts heading to those matches. I’m sure he’d catch one of their eyes.”

“And if those scouts ask him to move to another country, are you really going to be ok with not saying your goodbyes when we graduate, yn?”

You aggravatedly sigh at him, muttering an annoyed, “Yes, Iwazumi-kun, even then.”

Many months later, post Oikawa's jog in the winter while watching the Karasuno v Inarizaki match, it is now springtime. You’re holding a bouquet of flowers from your parents who pose with you for pictures around the inner school gates of Aoba Josai’s campus. Your fellow classmates and club members surround you for more photos as well. This was going to be one of the final memories you have for your high school career. You were accepted into a university specializing in biomedical engineering with a strong focus on exercise science.

This was your dream, not necessarily the same path as Iwazumi’s to become an athletic trainer, no, however you had wanted to be a doctor whose focus would help restore and maintain older athlete’s bodies even post retirement. Helping those who had maybe one or two career setbacks was something which had captivated you the more you began to focus on the life sciences of your high school careers and with the help of those teachers, they had written for you a brilliant recommendations to boost your acceptance after passing the various university exams.

[13:43]

In your office nearly a decade later from high school graduation, sits your newest patient. He comes from Argentina, like your nurses tell you, but the rumor that he had come on a friend's recommendation is what actually piques your interest. Well, to be fair, two of your friends' personal recommendation are what causes you to raise your eyebrow. The nurse on duty that day takes his vitals as normal, asks him the routine questions before giving him the proper spiel of, "sit tight and the doctor will see you in a few minutes."

Oikawa Tooru has come home for several reasons. The only one on the top of his list is coming home for an exhibition match game he was invited to by the former captain of Nekoma and now representative of the JVA. However, when word reaches Iwazumi's camp in the national team's gym, he smirks, sending a text halfway across the world. Your name is thrown into the mix of doctors who are willing to examine older, closer to retirement age, athletes. Considering this was not how he had wanted to spend his second day back in his home country, Oikawa Tooru asks to book this appointment to get an all clear before playing the V-League exhibition match Kuroo talked him into attending.

You are reading over the file of the new patient outside of the room in the hallway. You scan over the various ticks he had made on the questionnaire along with your nurse who says that his young son looks up to Oikawa-san as a professional volleyball player.

"Repeat that one more time, Sato-san," you clear your throat when Sato-san repeats what he had said earlier.

"My son is as huge fan of Oikawa-san," he points to the name at the top of the document in your hand.

Right there, next to Sato-san, the nurse's pointer finger, is the kanji of the name of a person you thought about since your high school, university, and medical school graduation days. You clear your throat, thanking Sato for his time measuring the vitals of the next patient in the room you're about to enter.

"No prob doc," is all Sato says when he walks back to the nurse station leaving you to enter the examination room where an old flame sits.

You take a deep breath prior to knocking and entering. You open the door and you see OIkawa bent over on the examination bed, reading something on his phone. His hair is cropped shorter, his shoulders are a bit broader, his skin a bit tanner, and for lack of better words, his muscles quite filled out the rest of him. He's still humming a tune you're unfamiliar with until your shoes enters his field of vision.

"Hello Tooru," your voice causes him to freeze and immediately causes his eyes to avert away from his phone. "It's been a while."

Oikawa's coffee-colored eyes study your face and the recognition hits him like a truck. Although he is dressed in a sky blue buttoned blouse and dark jeans compared to your teal scrubs and white lab coat, he stands up, arms extended to crush you in a hug. His patient file falls to the floor when you hug him back.

You hear him for the first time since that argument long ago, voice wobbly and all, "I missed you."

#haikyuu x reader #oikawa x reader #an hq: timeskip story #soft sora hours: ft oikawa tooru #🌻— flying around collecting pollen—queue #sora scribbles 2023

[scribsisnotdead]

drew a sora for my good friend LOOK!!!!!!!!

#my art #scrib’s scribbles #december 2023 #2023 postz #fanart #kingdom hearts #sora kh #riku kh #soriku #not exactly my blorbos but i had a good time drawing their hair i love drawin hair

[halfmaskshadow]

Day 9! Kind of just a doodle cluster with a common theme, and I’m pretty sure I got meow wow wrong, but I don’t care

Yozora’s a stonefish because I thought it’d be funny

Remind me to fix this at some point

#kingdom hearts #digital art #mermay #mermay 2023 #shadow scribbles :) #kh sora #kh riku #kh yozora #yozora #meow wow #only half done :/

[soranihimawari]

Good as Hell

A drabble of sorts inspired by this list:

Sunflowers by Van Gogh

SingleParent!Kita x reader

Supporting cast: Kita Hae (6years old); Miya twins

Word count: 1.7K

Rating: KSF (kita shinsuke fluff)

Warnings? Read the disclaimer below ⬇️

Disclaimer/Brief backstory:Kita’s unnamed ex has been out of the picture for about four years, abandoning the farm and leaving behind a two year old Hae on the screen porch along with papers to surrender mother/parental rights thus leaving Kita the sole guardian of his child; Miya twins agree to help their former captain out by becoming godfathers and it is also fair to imply that the rest of the notable players from Inarizaki are Hae’s precious, formed uncle squad.

It’s not everyday that the farmer’s market near the Mori-Kita farmlands would host a night market, but alas, there comes a time for firsts like this summer night. On the eve of the summer solstice, all former students of the Inarizaki sports team had been contacted especially to help one former captain put on an excellent stand for said night market. One half of the Mori-Kita farm owners, Kita Shinsuke, had an easy time setting up the night market stand after receiving a few critiques on the product being sold via his financier, Mori-kun. Regardless, the former captain enlisted the help of all his underclassmen as much as he could to have the stand market-ready by the end of July.

The prep time had been scheduled about a month before the date of the local night market, yet you happened to be off from your inner-city job in the downtown area this particular weekend. A few coworkers from the motorcycle dealership had decided to take a few days off together for team building purposes and attend the summer solstice festivities in the country-side. You had received an invitation as the newest staff member in the mechanic division, suffice to say the men and women whom you work with were using this time to not only get to you know a little better, but to also ask those personal, yet kind of awkward family questions (ex. You have a boyfriend/girlfriend? Where did you learn to ride and fix motorcycles or dirt bikes? etc.). Your calm and nonchalant demeanor caused a few rumors to spread outside of the garage. To be fair, you do your job as best as the rest of them, but when you mentioned you had lived alone for an x-amount of years, your shop buddy, Kunei-senpai, had seemed to thwart any other awkward questions. He was able to shoo away those pesky up sellers from the showfloor out of the garage when they had been very clearly harassing you for dates and the like.

Thankfully, by the end of the first two work weeks, you had been included in very many lunch breaks and even had been invited to a bar by the shop owners to gain familiarity with everyone you work with. A few nights before the night market, you receive a call from Kunei, mentioning to meet up around 6:30p.m. by the old YMCA pool center:

“Apparently, that’s where the motorcycle parking will be, see you tomorrow YLN-san!”

Flash forward after busy work week, the night of the official night market arrives. You meet up with the others at the appointed time in the parking lot where Kunei-san had mentioned. You’re walking by the official banner entrance and you all eventually branch out. You’re at the warmed yams stand when you spot a lost kid who in their heightened panic runs straight to you, panic crying no less. You pay the stand owner and you ask for a sliced version of what you ordered, attempting to soothe and calm the kid. You kneel down after paying for the second portion as you introduce yourself:

“Hello, I’m yn-san. Can you tell me your name?”

The kid sniffles and bops their head.

“I’m Hae. Kita, Hae,” they straighten up and try to formerly shake your hard.

“Say, I have some extra sliced steamed yams here, are you allergic?”

Little Hae shakes their head and you notice how fair their platinum blonde hair is along with their bronzed fox-Iike eyes. It’s like they hit the generic lottery and that kid would break a lot of hearts when they’re older. Regardless, when Hae says they aren’t allergic, you hand them the little to-go boat with a disposable fork in the steamed vegetable. You’re eating yours as you suggest that you two stick together until Hae finds their way back to their parent’s stand.

“Daddy’s got a stand here tonight,” Hae says after taking a sip of the water you provided at a soda stand.

“And how did you get lost?” You wonder.

“My goddofāzās, ´Samu & ‘Tsumu, went to help my daddy bring stuff from the truck and I saw a cat plushie I wanted, so I walked to find it,” Hae looked dejected and embarrassed when they said that.

You try not to laugh, this was serious matter after all, but you’re sure whoever Hae calls ‘daddy’ is busy scolding his friends who were left in charge of watching the kid. Honestly, on the defense of the godfathers, Hae seemed really put together for a six year old. Sure, a little shaken up, but now with a stomach filled with a vegetable snack and water, you’re sure the kid is more determined to help you help find their parent.

Along the way, a few of your coworkers saw you being friendly with little Hae. They sort of send out a text chain saying that the kid looks like the spitting image of the owner of the sponsored booth for the night market. Luckily, your phone goes off and though Hae holds your hand, you use your free hand to read and catch up with the text chain. The ambient sounds of the night market around you calms you as you observe and let Hae lead you down a row of booths they think seems familiar. You give your thanks to your coworkers as they helped narrow down the booths and probable solo guardian of your one new pint-sized friend.

Elsewhere, a set of twins are getting an earful from a worried and angry father:

“Hae’s the most precious person t’me and you both lost ‘em?!”

“We sent out the Bat-Signal to the team, kita,” one of the godfathers says.

“Don’t worry, Hae’ll come running back here in no time,” the other says.

“For both your sakes, I pray my kid comes back in one piece…” Kita grumbles a string of curses as he reluctantly goes back to his stand to man the register.

It takes another fifteen minutes for Hae to start recognizing some familiar booths and although they complain about how much their feet hurt, you notice how the kid’s feet had already outgrown the shoes…

“Say, Hae,” your voice calms down their excited heartbeat.

“Yeah?”

You step in front of Hae and ask if it’s ok with them for you to pick them up and the serendipitous moment Hae says yes, you’re literally almost tackled to the ground by two men who wear the same face—so you scream and push Hae’s head into your shoulder as you make a run for it and those two fools slam into each other chest first. Hae’s laughing the entire time and now your brain is hitting overdrive as you let the adrenaline sink into your bloodstream until you hear a deeper voice call out to Hae. Judging by how much Hae squirms in your arms, you presume this was their father’s voice you hear.

Slowing to a stop, you see the kanji in large font as the cashier jogs to meet you.

“Daddy!” Hae excitedly exclaims as their father who by the way, seems to have been original in terms of strong inherited genes. You put the kid down and you watch Hae run off to their father’s waiting arms. The two gentlemen from before come back defeated and after a few minutes of scolding alongside a heart to heart with not following strangers, you clear your throat.

“Technically not a stranger, “ you point to yourself. “New friend, right Hae-Chan?”

Hae nods much to their father’s dismay, although when he looks at you in your black jeans, smudged crimson striped shirt, dirty under the fingernails from motor oil from the latest tune-up in the shop, and sensible boots, he can’t help but soften the scowl on his face.

“Hae, promise me you’d stay with your godfathers this time, ok?” Hae’s father says he lets them go into the other men’s care.

It’s only apparent to you now that the gentlemen from earlier are not only the godfathers, but also twin siblings who can be heard making small bets with Hae when they depart the stand for a few minutes.

“So,” Hae’s father begins. He sheepishly gives you a small smile while stuffing his hands into his jeans pocket.

“Umm…YLN, YN,” you extend a hand for him to shake.

He shakes your hand while apologizing for his child’s behavior—

���It’s alright, really,” you chuckle. “I liked their company…”

“I think I might like yours too,” he says.

You blush a bit, nodding along while he sort of chortles over speaking his mind.

“Over coffee sometime?…would that be ok?”

He pulls a business card from the register: it has a star and small cornucopia of seasonal vegetables on it: KITA FARMS INC.

He takes a pen and scribbles down his phone number for you on the back and hands it to you.

“I’ll call you sometime,” you say, squinting at his precise penmanship. “Kita Shinsuke.”

His eyes are a softer bronze tone when you say his name for the first time. It’s like you’re a bit unsure for a moment before he says your name back to you and it seems delightfully whole; the confidence in both of you rise and you make a very bold choice.

“If it’s not too much to ask, mind if I buy a few of those blueberries? I muddle them with some soda water and ginger beer at home…”

Kita smiled warmly at this and you hand him some spare yen notes.

“Keep the change,” you say as the register opens. “The first round of coffee is on you. Oyasumi, Shinsuke.”

A light breeze follows you as you disappear into the night crowd, Hae and her godfathers return with some ice cream and other souvenirs, and all three of them have this smug and impish look on their face.

“Daddy, did you ask YN-san to marry you?”

Kita denies it defending that he’d only do it after you had coffee with him.

Yet, his friends, his faithful kouhai since high school, the twin godfathers of this sharply witted child, burst into laughter when Hae goes to call their father out: “Your face is all red…”

“…they had a sunflower tattoo,” Kita says this to himself proud he finally felt the universe deliver a much needed ´win’ especially since it’s been four years since the mother of Hae had wanted nothing to do with either of them.

And for the first time in the four years since he came home to an empty place and an abandoned two year old inside the screened porch during the early spring, Kita felt this calming wave of genuine goodness the second he saw you with Hae, running through to get to his stand. He sees you now, a few yards away, and you lock eyes with him as you make your purchase of a blown glass sunflower pendant. His phone vibrates in his pocket and he reads the text from you:

I’m free day after tomorrow, does coffee sound great then? —Hae’s new friend✌🏼

#🌻— flying around collecting pollen—queue #sora after hours #haikyuu x reader #sora scribbles 2023 #kita x reader

[soranihimawari]

Hope in an Office Crush

A short story featuring Nanami Kento

Pairing: (salaryman!)Nanami x (data entry!)reader

Word Count: 2.02K

Rating: NKF (nanami kento fluff)//

Warning: none except an ex of the reader is mentioned as being physically abusive & reader fought back; and although Haruka is a more supportive role, I might do a focus feature on her in another short for JJK…

Conversations among the lunch crowd at the facility you work in was well within its normal level, yet on the floor of your department, you’re surrounded by your fellow deskmate. Apparently, coming into work you had a weary expression. Perhaps something had happened in your home life which caused you to be a little more peeved than normal. Was it the stress of the upcoming proposal project or was it something else? Whatever it was, your friend’s willing to get to the bottom of it. Chairs side by side, hot cup noodles and a few rice balls shared between you two has their voice in your ear:

“What’s wrong? C’mon spill, you’re totally withdrawing into yourself or you’re spacing out. So, spill. Who did it?”

You sigh before bringing the can of cold coffee to your lips. You close your eyes for a moment as you formulate the words that would entreat your friend to seeing a new side of you.

“Y’know that blonde in accounting?” your voice takes on a curious tone.

Your friend glances between you and the cold can of coffee you placed back on the table and the gears in their head start turning.

“Oh my gods,” your friend elbows you in the rib. “You have a work-crush on–”

“Shh Haruka! It’s already bad enough as it is,” you are quick to silence your friend. “There are ears everywhere here and you know I don’t like to be pulled into workplace gossip.”

You lean back in your chair and fold your arms over your chest.

“Yeah, I know, but let’s be real y/n,” Haruka takes another bite of her cup of instant noodles. “You aren’t the type to have crushes on anyone since university. And this is coming from me, your roommate during those years.”

You make several attempts to change the subject of this lunch break talk, but considering your history with your now coworker and ex-university roommate, your friend invites you over to the bar a few city blocks away for a much needed dinner:

“My treat,” Haruka confidently says.

You lean forward this time, nodding in acceptance of the invitation. At the very least, you choose to hold off on any and all details as to how or why you developed a crush on the ‘anonymous blonde from accounting’ (or ABfA). 

Work stays the same for the most part after lunch; you and Haruka head back to your side of the office building in this business skyscraper. You return to your desk where a new pile of data entries needs to be completed after your pile from this morning was nearly two-thirds done. Meanwhile, Haruka types away on her side of the desk before sending you a personal message from a third party instant messaging app. You are amused at her use of guesswork as to the name of the blonde in accounting. Luckily, there are many blondes in the company, yet unluckily for you, Haruka spells out the name of your crush because he seems to be the only ‘natural’ blonde in that department. 

Haru-chan (16:36): It’s Namami, isn’t it? 

What makes you say that? There are plenty of other blondes that work here. :(16:38)y/n-san

Haru-chan (16:40): Not all of them are natural blondes, six feet tall, and looks great in a fucking suit, y/n.

You scoff and Haruka gives you a series of emojis teasing you saying how she was right the entire time, however, you whisper harshly across the cubicle divider:

“If you really want to know how or why this happened to me at dinner, I suggest you work faster, Haru-chan.”

***

Two empty pints of beer sit askew across Haruka whereas your three empty highball glasses sit neatly across from you. There are several plates stacked for your server at the side of the table nearest the aisle where you chose to sit. Haruka seems to have a bit of a wild imagination yet throughout this dinner between you two, she seems to have picked up on a few things since you both had left the office around six:

“First, you know that man doesn’t believe in working overtime, so when six o’clock comes, he is the first one out the door. Second, you are also typically the first one of us to exit our department in hopes of maybe catching the same elevator as him. Third,” Haruka leans in toward you for this one. “I noticed you went to the same bakery as he did last Tuesday when you told me you were stepping out to grab some coffee for yourself.”

“That was purely out of his recommendation aside from the killer croissants they make there,” you pout. 

The alcohol you drank made your cheeks flush a bit. Haruka, for better or worse, is a good friend, and an excellent judge of character. Then again, between the two of you, she is the one with the most ‘relationship’ experience. Sure you’ve each had your own sets of crushes, but only one of you had successful and healthy relationships, the other wasn’t so lucky.

“I can’t get out the voice of this ex of mine,” you frown when you swirl the ice in the third highball glass. “And sure, you’re here to encourage me in talking to this crush of mine, but all I can see are the signs of warning before I fall ass over tea kettle for another person.”

The cold fear and reality in your voice shook Haruka to her core because she remembers the time you desperately called her to come pick you up in a hotel in Osaka (a full day’s trip away from Tokyo). A younger version of yourself in the clothes you had packed for an anniversary weekend trip, torn a bit and the black eye on your face said enough to Haruka when she hugged you at the lobby. Your knuckles were bruised and bloodied all because you chose to fight back someone who thought loved you dearly. 

It’s why having developed this crush on a practical stranger scares you. 

“Nanami’s not your ex, y’know that, right?” Haruka’s comment comes paired with a small taut smile. 

“I know,” you reach out and pat the back of her hand. “Maybe if I see him again at work and we share an elevator, I’ll tell him his eyes remind me of Sunflowers by VanGogh.”

“You really should have taken that gallery job instead, y/n,” Haruka sighs when she leans back in her chair.

“Hah, I know, but then again, you’d have someone else show you the ropes in that office and not have them be me.”

Haruka laughs as do you before the server stops by with the final check; Haruka pays the bill a few moments later as you gather your things. You thank her for dinner outside the restaurant right before she heads into her taxi for the night. The last thing she says to you is a piece of advice:

“If you ever get stuck in the elevator with Nana-er, your crush-just ask him out.”

You make a perplexed face before shaking your head. “What makes you so sure he’d accept?”

“I don’t, but you should have a chance at happiness, right?”

Haruka’s eyes dart over your left shoulder while the street lamp out on the curb makes her eyes shine with hope before closing the door of her taxi.

***

Nearly two weeks later, you’re already clocked out and waiting in the hallway for the next elevator to come to your floor. Haruka was stuck in a presentation meeting for the remainder of her shift, so you had planned like always to walk back to your home after picking up some light groceries. Tonight you were thinking about making some toast with orange marmalade and butter. It was a small appetizer and although you did have left overs, you were also thinking of stopping by the Italian restaurant near you to place a to-go order. The elevator dings a few seconds later and as you board it, you stand side by side with another passenger. As the floors come and go, the car fills and empties a few other people at a time until finally you both remain. Your crush, for the last fifteen or twenty odd seconds studies you, you who has this dark, murky color surrounding your body, before reaching out to tap your shoulder, you flinch.

“Sorry,” you say in a soft voice. “I didn’t mean to flinch, umm…”

“Nanami, accounting,” he introduces himself, lowering his hand instead to shake yours.

“Y/N, data entry,” you shake his hand.

“LOBBY,” the robotic voice of the elevator announces. 

Both of you step out of the elevator together, he holds his suitcase, and your messenger bag is slung over your shoulder. Right before you both reach the doors of the lobby in your work building, you take a deep breath and fully embrace your friend’s advice:

“Would you like to accompany me to Toto’s Bakery? It’s near Via Napoli, an Italian restaurant I frequent.”

He chuckles at the rushed way you invite him, but nonetheless, when he sees you adjust your bag, you shake your head.

“If you have prior engagements elsewhere, you don’t have to,” you sounded a bit sad, but pragmatic. You only introduced yourself to him today.

“Toto’s Bakery, huh?” he asks before walking ahead of you. “I’ve been meaning to pick up a loaf of sourdough bread this week.”

You glance up at this sharply dressed, albeit scary-looking, salaryman (whom for reasons beyond your control, you formed a crush on) who seemed to have a coy smile on his face when he motions for you to lead the way to the bakery.

#sora after hours #🌻— flying around collecting pollen—queue #🎋jjk shorts🎋 #nanami kento x reader #sora scribbles 2023

[soranihimawari]

Cinders and Phoenixes

A second piece to this

Warnings: mourning!gojo x healing!reader

Ratings: angst->comfort->fluff

At approximately 1:25am, your body goes missing. You arrive at your secret boyfriend’s door at 1:46am, seen talking to him through a window per a perimeter check. He pulls you inside to talk. You talk until he kisses you closer to 2:22am. Returning his affections, you feel yourself go numb after you notice him calmly whispering an apology as your breathing is softly, deftly going still… it’s a sleeping curse, you realize and you nod. Your eyes roll to the side and see your best friend, now understanding the situation—an incredible view into the void with a wisteria tree waving it’s flowers in the air. A glass bed waits. Last you, you feel your lover’s hand leave your body last as his friend carries you close to 3:00am and the portals close.

You are pronounced dead on arrival in a forged, legal document meant to fool immediate family, friends, and the elders in the sorcerer community. Your time is frozen around you, but you age alongside your friends until you reach your late twenties… your eyes burn and you break free from the glass… the heat is too strong. Something is very wrong, as you catch your breath. You feel we though your heart breaks a little and you realize perhaps the raven haired love is no more.

“Geto…?” His name falls out as the first you question and the wisteria flowers dance around you, the branches try to hug you by proxy of him and you nod understanding that life is not always fair.

And so, you wait for another. A young boy, probably as old as you are as you tally the sun and moon movements, with hair the color of a falling star and eyes that would make the winter scene scape jealous.

It happens suddenly, you know? One day you were eating a few blueberries after hunting a pheasant down in this lovely part of a place you can’t escape when he falls, bloodied from the sky. You wander toward him and see him dazed and a bit confused.

“S-satoru?”

His breath is knocked of him a second time. You haven’t changed much in appearance, sure your hair is longer and your clothes are a little tight here and there, but that’s what happens in this void: the people or things trapped here age, they’re materials do not.

Gasping, he says your name like a question and a relieved sensation washes over him. Helping him sit up, you dust the crushed flowers off his hair.

“Gardenias?” you ask, small smile tugging on your lips.

“Mm,” he sheepishly nods.

“They mean secret love,” you glance at the crushed blossom in your palm. “I’m so sorry.”

“We were angsty teenagers. I wasn’t going to interfere…”

“Thank you.”

You kiss his cheek before offering some blueberries.

“This is a nice part of your technique. How did you find it?”

“Thought of the first place I’d take anyone on a date, whether it’s a platonic one or not.”

“You did good, Gojo Satoru. I’m really impressed.”

He leans on your shoulder before breaking down and through his shaking shoulders and wobbly voice filled with anger and woe, he tells you everything.

And at the end of his odyssey of a tale, you cup his face and dry his tears.

“You are not to blame,” you whisper against his skin. “I saw it too, with the Eye. We couldn’t stop Geto from doing any of it. We were too young and too full of ourselves then.”

“Now I’ll help you best I can before the king of curses makes our lives a living hell,” you smile as you stand up with him.

“And now?”

Three seasons come and go in this imprisoned realm. In that time, you grow closer again to your childhood menace of a friend. He, like you, process the grief, the healing, and in so doing, come the next autumn, you sense he’s being pulled away.

“They’re calling for you to come back,” you notice he’s more translucent now than before.

“Come with me?”

Gojo Satoru is many things, clever is one of them because as the imprisoned box cracks, he steps out confidently with a person Kenjaku recognizes as a cardinal abomination.

You, you smile telling Satoru to watch the clouds a moment and tend to his students…but not before you bellow a stern, “bow to me.”

And Kenjaku obeys against his body’s will. Geto’s corpse bends lower and lower as Kenjaku tries to resist your livid loathing.

“Go possess someone else,” and the order causes all cursed spheres from the last parade to be regurgitated out of the living corpse. This torture continues for as long as it takes for you to draw out a mean looking man with six arms and glowing red eyes. He seems to be amused at how you command special grades.

“The Eye is a terrible burden on a righteous soul,” Sukuna chuckles in the distance turning his heel after muttering something about how things will only become more complicated later.

Months later, or rather, what feels like a lifetime ago, Gojo and you are back in his own apartment. You have an ID card from Jujitsu Tech, except yours says your home city: Kyoto. You are not often paired for missions, but Gojo takes you anyway to keep you busy. Why? Because he’s afraid he sees a little too much similarity between Geto’s spiral as you stand on the precipice of your own… and it’s quite terrifying.

Until one rainy afternoon, Gojo comes in soaking wet and in a moment of crisis and severe blood loss, his lips align with yours. Time freezes a moment and you feel the blood soaked fabric and the iron burns your nostrils slightly. He tells you it’s someone else’s, but you feel the bandages through his shirt and you shake your head.

“I know it’s not,” you nudge his nose with yours. Your hands unzip his jacket and he breathes sharply when he rests his head on your shoulder, his though roll to help you peel the soaked cloth of his jacket off. His bandages over his eyes push up on his forehead before you carefully slide it off when his lips find your jaw.

“Let me have this,” he begs, his voice so tired and hallow.

“Satoru,” you hum before you lazily close your eyes and give in just this once.

Surely, if this was a myth, Geto’s love for you would just be a lovely filled short season. Gojo’s emotional torment over losing so many and gaining one back is a legend spanning generations—it’s almost comical how brightly he burns himself out for the ones he cares to protect. Even more so if they are all like you. The kisses you shared at first were teasing and testing. Currently? They are viscious and horrendously passionate.

“Mmf,” he presses himself against your hold on him when you triumphantly lean into him more. He’s warm, a little too warm when you leave his kiss bruised lips alone.

“Satoru,” you warn when his hands press into the small of your back. “You have a fever.”

Your breath cools his flushed cheeks and he nods. He relents, but he does let you go.

“We can talk about this later, ok?”

You bring an open palm of his to your cheek before you press a kiss inside the palm. He nods and right before he leaves you in the entrance of the hallway, the strongest hears your voice and he turns to you in a forlorn and lovely way.

“I already lost Geto, don’t want to lose you either,” you say what his expression means. “Go get cleaned up. Your dinner is in the microwave, just heat it up if you want.”

You are in a limbo with him. Yes, he loves you, and you, your heart moves with his. Did it have to take the loss of many to come here? Surely not, but his hands wrap around you every night and you hold him together best you can, quietly cutting the demons tethers around him so he sleeps easier. His insomniac drives grow low because of your help. Gojo Satoru is always talked and spoken highly of, yet he is the most vulnerable he ever is in this sense of home with you, it spells trouble for later on.

For now, for now in the cold December morning, you wrap your arms around him. He chuckles asking what you’re doing up before six:

“I needed you, the bed was empty after…”

“After you and I got out our frustrations?”

You give him a look.

“Sweetness, that was …,” he whistles low.

“Oh, I know,” you laugh before pressing your forehead against his shoulder blades.

Silence hangs itself in the room and he continues to make another cup of tea after offering you some.

Satoru turns to you, both still half dressed, his shirt on your body, his sweatpants on his waist. He slides the mug down down a minute before lifting you up and on to the counter top.

“Is it betrayal if I kiss you?” You ask sipping your tea. He scratches his chin before kissing you lightly. Eyes, all six of them, look at your love bitten skin, your third eye does the same on him. His chest has scars to can’t even remotely fathom and when you press a finger or two on the one nearest his sternum, he stutters a breath.

“No,” he murmurs. “It’s not.”

“How many people can say they had two great loves in their lives, hmm,” sips tea with a smile. Satoru smirks too as he drinks his hot tea.

“Want to visit Suguru?” His voice is eerily calm. “His family mausoleum isn’t that far from his home town.”

You see the doubt and the embers of how this relationship morphs as it was born out of grief and needing to feel loved, so you chose to quell his fears.

“Gojo Satoru,” you place the mug back down to hold one of his hands and the other, you use to guide his face downward to look you in the eyes. “I may have loved Suguru, but I am in love with the man who’s lost so much more.”

You kiss his brow. “You can’t compare apples to oranges because to be fair, I love both equally and differently. It took me an extraneous amount of time to recover in a spiritual sense, but you? You never did…”

“But i—”

“Not done, Satoru,” you say firm in tone. “But you did your best with what life threw at you; at him; at us.”

You don’t realize you’re crying until he catches your tear drops in his finger tips. He whispers praises and hymnals is your words. Palaces built on a shaky foundation is bound to fall, yet for him and you, your healing together forges a stronger fill for the cracks. Your lips fit against his when he leans forward, understanding that this is ok too. You break for a moment and rest your forehead against his.

“It’s alright,” you reassure him. “You’re afraid?”

Gojo scoffs before cupping your hair and drawing you near, kissing your neck innocently enough. You laugh, and he does too after cheering your glasses together.

Peace, though in its swiftly fading light, christens over two silhouettes yearning for the answers to the other’s loneliness. And though sorrow drove you apart, your feet and by proxy his, led him to you. So you sing to his exhausted bones a lullaby to appease his fears and even the phantasms of his mind obey your call. Each word soothes him, every touch sends his soul to the Elysian fields where good and morally gray warriors rest. You wonder what he sees that makes him cry so beautifully, you don’t press further until you ask his consent to kiss him in more effective ways. A solar flare seeks the dark as does you to Gojo Satoru who uses this fugue state of his to fall madly, deeply, devoted to you.

“Beware the Eye of the storm: there is silence and resolve; a resiliency most revered,” Geto’s sixteen year old self reads from a shelf. His best friend, shakes his head and in his hands, a gardenia drawing he doodled earlier.

The white haired young lad looked up at his rival of a best friend and chuckled saying, “We should ask yn if that’s true or something the elders made up to scare us?”

The memory remains locked in the minds of those that were there in the library’s restricted section that afternoon. Even now when two lovers are pressed against the other in a dawning sunrise.

#🌻— flying around collecting pollen—queue #sora after hours #sora scribbles 2023 #🎋jjk🎋 #gojo x y/n #gojo x reader

[soranihimawari]

DREAM A LITTLE OF ME

A list of songs referenced can be found here:

Dogs days

Rhapsody in blue

Danny’s song

My funny Valentine

Half-breed

Doki Doki☆Morning

Word count: 3.4k

Pairing: (18-19yo) Geto Suguru x (19 yo)reader

Rating: GSF (Geto Suguru fluff)// friends -> lovers

Warnings: music tastes vary between reader & Geto; kisses->steamy make out session (half dressed reader & Geto)

Becoming one with the wild fae was a tradition passed on from parent to child. The fact that your birth was kept a secret from the mortal plane for centuries comes as a surprise one morning. You’re traveling with a satchel filled with glass crafts you plan on selling to a few mortal women. Your wings flutter over your shoulders draping across your collarbone. Clothed in nothing but a long pair of pants and tunic you continue walking along the illuminated path.

“It’s best to stay where the sunshine graces your shoulders,” wise words spoken to you from your father. He tightens the strings of a day cloak over before giving you a once over; your mother does the same as she hands you a list of items she needed you to purchase for the family apothecary shop.

Off you went on your short journey. It doesn’t take very long for you to come across the familiar village where the mortals who have grown accustomed to your kind have their market set up for the week. The town square is abuzz with buyers and merchants showcasing their goods like fresh produce as well as other meats from the butcher’s shop. You begin to read over your mother’s list as you pass one of the various florist vendor stalls.

“One loaf of sourdough, one dozen eggs, and one small wheel of sheep’s milk cheese,” you whisper.

An upturn of your lips causes you to mutter an amused, “two more books from Master Suguru’s shop.”

Beep. Beep. Beep. WAKE UP YN. Beep. Beep. Beep.

Your groggy body slowly stirs in an attempt to silence the annoying sound of your alarm clock. You blame your knuckleheaded roommate, whom you've known for the better half of the last five years, on a night you were knocking back a few bottles of cold sake changing your old alarm to this one. Yes, it was a quite dreadful sound of hearing Geto Suguru yelling your name at you and his best friend since high school, Gojo Satoru, did the god awful ‘beeps’.

Groaning once your hand flops over toward your night table, you abruptly silence your alarm, still with your eyes closed. Your queen-sized mattress has been draped in the pale sunlight of daybreak, yet you are still wrapped quite snugly in your blanket.

The dream you had had overnight was so vivid you might have enough memory to blindly type on your phone the major key points of your ‘dream day.’ Apparently dream jumping was an inherited trait your uncle might’ve completely introduced you to when you had turned nineteen last year.

Once you relock your phone, you toss your phone halfway across the empty side of your bed. You roll over with your back on the mattress and with a slight squint you stifle a yawn.

“Mm, too early,” your words make some sense as you rub the corners of your eyes.

Making a direct guess as to what time and day it was, you sit up and begin to make your way out of the comfort of your bed. You begin your morning routine complete with a five minute meditation and sun-salutation yoga poses, you make your way to the master bathroom in your flat. As you begin to disrobe, you turn the shower head on and step into the tub. The water and steady stream from the shower ease your warmed up muscles as you contemplate about the future. Perhaps the dream was a warning one, once you had hoped to share with a certain classmate. (The flat was gifted to you from your uncle as a belated birthday and graduation present last year.) As a housewarming celebration, you invited your classmates from the tech school you had transferred into in your first year–you all were taught to enhance the unnatural gifts you were given to give humanity a fighting chance against curses. You snicker in the shower as you finish lathering up your body only to rinse away the suds leaving behind a scent of wispy citrus flowers. When you wrap the towel around upper torso, you begin to dress yourself. You wonder what, if any, your subconscious will cause you to dream once more.

Over the course of the next five or so years, you had been dispatched on missions with Geto more times than you can count on both hands; there other times Gojo (along with Shoko) would accompany the both of you. However, as this time of peace certainly came, you had picked up on the increase in your heart rate when Geto would even look your way. Perhaps the missions were meant to draw you two closer, you think as you are disrobed and the warm water from the showerhead hits your shoulders. Maybe if life would treat you with a little luck today, you could confront the man with your ramblings of, ‘do you feel like i feel when we’re together?’

Halfway across the town, a young man was walking back into his dormitory after a morning sparring session with his best friend. The only other reason why Geto Suguru woke up this early was because he too had a haunting nightmare: a curse who would take advantage of the bodies of the dead and absorb their cursed energy to be weaponized was something even he in his dream could not put asunder. Regardless from the prophetic fall from grace themed dream, Geto proceeds to the showers of his dorm floor in hopes to see you in the dining hall after mid-morning classes conclude.

Thankfully he didn’t have to wait long. You had arrived maybe ten minutes prior while he was still preparing for your outing wearing jeans and a loose button down white shirt. There, stitched in the shirt pocket was a solar eclipse for the brand. Perhaps without prying into precognitive nature too much, you would’ve never guessed how an eclipse suited the young man in front of you.

Well, Geto did text you last night asking if you could hang out today. There was a resting period between missions and Gojo had to resolve some family issues, yet when you asked about Shoko, Geto rolls his shoulders saying she picked up more shifts at the local clinic.

“…so it’s just us two,” he says as he ties his licorice hair.

He does this maneuver with such precision where you can’t tell if he’s trying to flex his muscles or that’s just how he naturally chooses to tie his hair; the white undershirt strains against his body slightly while his uniform pants remained a bit tailored to his form. His shoes though are the same colored flats as yours (also a school issued pair, but were the most comfortable footwear each of you owned).

You observe him and you sort of chuckle at the face he makes when attempting to tie his hair in a bun.

“Y’ know I could braid it for you later,” you mention this, teasing him with a weird hand gesture.

Geto scoffs.

“You just can’t leave my poor bun in peace, huh?”

“Nope!”

You teasingly smile before nudging his shoulder mentioning the old record store in the historic village will be opening up soon.

“Music heals the soul,” you repeat what your uncle said after he took you in. Considering you were a minor at the time and you moved to a larger city, your guardians thought it would be best to send you away for a little while after your first accidental curse exorcism.

Geto heard you and as you walk past an open window of the dorms, he takes a few seconds pause to admire the silhouette you created. Maybe this incessant firefly feeling in his stomach would settle by the time you both reached the town plaza where the record store was—but first, you both required some breakfast, hence you stop by a bakery for some milk bread and coffee.

The morning brings with it a strong sense of busyness: there are school children with their uniforms on running to catch the next bus, others are walking in a higher pace; some adults are talking loudly as they briskly walk past you trying to race against their work-clock; then there were the couples or families with either a pet or a young babe swaddled in a carrier going out on their morning errands.

Observing all these paths of life around you, you begin to feel a sense of unease. Leaves blow in the wind in the surrounding trees as Geto continues talking about how Gojo and Shoko want to go to the beach in the summer. You blindly agree as you try to knock out the shade making its way toward your friend’s back.

“Not today,” you mumble as you gently tap Geto’s shoulder.

“Obviously not today, yn,” he laughs. “Today is just a me and you day, right?”

He smiles at you so serenely it’s frightening. You don’t know why nor how just yet, but patience comes easy too once you enter the old record shop. It seems comprised of shining cardboard that would hide secrets in the vinyl records. There was a phonogram with an aptly labeled ‘DO NOT TOUCH’ sign on a table by the register.

The aisles were divided up first by genre, then by artist. A tradition since your first year when you discounted this shop was to choose the albums to listen to on the sample CROSBY record player toward the end of the store. You part ways with Geto right as you enter because today you are subconsciously drawn to the jazz aisle and pull the London philharmonic copy of ‘Rhapsody in Blue’, then you went to find a copy of Florence and the Machine’s album with ‘Dog Days are Over’ on it, and lastly a copy of ‘Danny’s Song’ by Loggins & Messina.

Ten minutes later, Geto approaches you with his three albums. A softer grin is plastered on his face when you are lingering near, like now. In his mind, he can recall his classmates Gojo and Shoko sort of teasing him about the glances he’d throw your way. One blissfully warm summer day, you were studying in the library, attempting to write a short essay on the history of dreams and dreamwalkers. All these books were scattered about the table and you’re furiously writing away to hardly notice Geto wandering about the library (a trick and trap set up by Gojo and followed by Shoko by lunch time). Geto hears you utter your next words under your breath, however as he wanders closer to you, he hears you clear as day:

“Sure, Gojo Satoru and Ieri Shoko get me in trouble and I have to write this damn essay to appease the principal…” your lips turn up into a mischievous smile. “O’course those two never realized I can see those curses they’re trying so hard to exorcize.”

You sit back when you hear another person collide with the bookcase, the yelp made you turn your head to lock eyes with a surprised (and yet embarrassed) Geto.

“You alright there?” you ask.

“Mm,” he was straining against the stubbed toe pain.

“...You sure? You don’t seem alright, umm…who are you again?”

Inhaling a deep breath and upon the exhale, Geto gives you a toothy grin as he approached your table.

“Geto. Geto Suguru,” he extends his hand to you.

“YLN, Yn,” you shake his hand.

Since that day, you decided to spend the rest of the afternoon speaking with one another thus forming another bond of friendship in the library of your school. Oh, and the paper you wrote (for extra credit) you received full marks. Not so bad for a dreamwalker, huh? You think to yourself as you rub the essay marks in front of Gojo’s nose. Geto chuckles as he looks between you and Gojo who teases you for being so wicked smart.

Flash forward to the present, in your hand Geto’s records remain. You find yourself smirking a bit as you hold a copy of My Funny Valentine by Chet Baker, Half-Breed from Cher, and a random a BabyMetal album. Raising a brow at the ever charming friend who just laughs when you grumble a ‘seriously?’ under your breath, you decide to give these records a listen.

A message was hidden in Geto’s choices for you: you being born into the subjugated world of dreamwalkers and sorceres made the Cher song more obvious (and when you heard the lyrics, you seemed ok with the choice since the insult was turned into a powerful statement piece); the rhythm of the Doki Doki ☆ Morning by BabyMetal made your heart beat race like you were running a marathon (you’re not one to be startled so early in the day); and when you finally hear the Chet Baker classic, you feel a tap on your shoulder. Turning around, you see Geto looking off to the side past your shoulder. He looks quite shy and sort of folding into helpless devotion toward you; it’s a weird feeling. An odd one, when your hands brush and you take the initiative of lacing your fingers together.

“Funny Valentine, huh?” You tease.

He smirks. “I didn’t think I’d be able to confess otherwise.”

“Same here.”

“Is that why you snuck in ‘Danny’s Song?’ Y/N, you should have told me sooner.”

Your features are flushed with hints of apple pink as you try to pull away only to feel Geto’s hand hold your a little more firmly. You don’t need to overthink this development either since you see the sincerity in his countenance. The feeling is mutual.

Geto pulls you closer to him only to have wrapped an arm around your waist where you naturally brought your free hand to stretch across his broader shoulders. You both, under the tutelage of Chet Baker, begin to dance slowly around the near empty aisle of the record shop.

The song ends and when you stop your dancing, you realize how this morning’s dream lacked the soundtrack of love. Geto still holds you when you lean forward to rest your forehead against his.

“Is this alright?” your voice is barely above a whisper, yet he hears you.

Geto nods and a few strands of his hair fall from his well kept bun. He lets go of your hand only to caress your jaw. Your breathing is almost as shallow and non-existent as his.

“If I have a secret, will you promise not to tell?” he inquires.

You whisper a soft, “yes.”

Soft and curious lips are pursed against yours. You don’t freeze, yet time around you does. It is quick and deliberate and filled with warmth. Geto Suguru, the voice that calls your name to wake up, kisses you like he might not see you again. When he withdraws from you, you pout though he smiles.

“Pretty yn,” his thumb smooths over your cheek again.

“Suguru,” you warn him with an annoyed pout. “There’s people watching.”

“Then I suggest we head back to your place, hmm?” He pecks your nose before removing himself from you as he heads to the exit of the shop. Chet Baker and his famous single had ended minutes ago, yet you realize another song, ‘let love in’ from the goo goo dolls begins its chorus the moment you choose to chase your dear crush outside. Geto chuckles at you before pulling you back into his arms to have you settle in front of him as he peppers kisses down every ounce of exposed skin his lips can reach. You are clutching on to his forearms for balance, giddy at his display of affection.

When you arrive back to your flat, you unlock the door with determined ease, Geto follows you from behind only to lock the deadbolt. You both remove your shoes in haste to continue exploring how far you are willing to go tonight. You extend a hand to Geto, lifting him up from the small step of the genkan and like an obedient dog, he is loyal to his companion.

The moment Geto sees your familiar couch, he sits down, his thighs turn rigid against the fabric of his pants, thus creating a perfect seat for you when you decide to straddle him.

He smiles up at you as you adjust yourself and with a shuddering breath, he waits for you to settle down before the urge to kiss you senseless is lost to him. Your arms rests against either side of his head and with a look of finality, you pick up from where you left off on the sidewalk. How tantalizing slow are you when you initiate this kiss again; Geto doesn’t know where to place his hands other than your waist, yet he loses himself in the way you pry open his mouth with the muscle of your tongue. You taste his teeth when he makes this muddled groan; you don’t mean to make him fall further into the depths of his emotions for you, yet you do so effortlessly.

Geto learns quickly to reciprocate your emotions when he lets his hands travel higher to massage your scalp; he slightly tugs on your hair and the unabashed moan you let escape your lips gave him enough time to say, “you like that, huh?”

“Mm,” your eyes contain within them dilated pupils. You’re addicted to this state of being with him.

“So am I.”

Geto drops his hands from your hair the moment he lunges upward and forward to capture your lips again; this kiss is volatile and loud and messy. So messy, you untie his hair only to tangle it between your fingers the instant Geto leaves your lips only to kiss down your jawline, past your pulse point, nearly ripping the collar off of your shirt to leave a bite mark below your ear.

“Take this off for me,” he instructs, hands fiddling with your shirt.

“You first,” you challenge, biting his jugular in teasing fashion.

He snarls from the pain, yet when you soothe the ache left behind, he notices his shirt is already completely undone.

“My yn is so clever,” he says the moment he shimmies off his shirt to toss it aside.

You feel his white hot hands caress your lower back, the fabric caught against his pinching fingers. Your left hand presses against his pectoral for balance and stability a moment; you inhale slowly and exhale even slower when you notice his eyes flutter shut in front of you. There is a coolness to your touch he finds satisfying, yet his hands never truly leave your exposed hips nor lower back. Leaning back a bit, you let him remove your shirt as well, up and over your head. He sits back admiring your form only to spread his legs a little wider to accommodate your straddle position.

“Like what you see?” you tilt your head to one side.

“C’mere,” Geto impulsively beckons you forward only to have you settle above his hips the moment his back rests comfortably on the couch seats.

You’re still atop him, surprised by this development. His hair is spread wildly around his shoulders and in the height of this impassioned minute, you hyperfixate on a scar near his clavicle.

“What happened here?” you are curious with a hard pressed line on your lips.

“Ah, that,” Geto sort of chortles when your cool fingertips trace over the scar lithely. “That came from a mission before we met.”

You bent down to press a reassuring kiss there, the kind that would soothe a child, one that makes Geto move to have you lay there on top of him for a short while. He tells you stories of his missions with Gojo and sometimes Shoko is there too.

This is the Geto you know, the kind classmate who, despite the odds, is a fiercely proud defender and willing to help people regardless of monetary status. You stay comfortably wrapped in his embrace, talking about your adventure in dreamworlds. Your dream from this morning was forgotten up until you mentioned the name of the shopkeeper.

Geto gives you a surprised look. His onyx colored eyes blink at you while he caresses your exposed shoulder.

“You dream of me?”

“Of a previous life,” you reply. “I wouldn’t know if this Suguru from slumberland would woo a person like me.”

He chuckles at that.

“But this one,” his free hand holds your cheek firmly so your eyes reflect each other. “This one will always remember the friend who made me a fool.”

A swift pressed kiss before you nodded off to sleep side by side on your couch. Whispered words of lyrics from the day are swirling around both his and your consciousness until the evening breaks.

Perhaps being a dreamwalker and a sorcerer does have its perks, yet no one would have been prepared for the sorcerer to lose his wits when the days of dreaming ended.

#sora after hours #🎋jjk.shorts🎋 #🎋jjk things: Geto Suguru x reader🎋 #sora scribbles 2023

[soranihimawari]

Winters breath

A Kita Shinsuke x reader drabble

Word count: 600+?

Pairing: kitaaaaa! x reader

Warnings: fluff confession

You were a vision, according to your old friend, Kita Shinsuke. You were visiting home for a much needed vacation from coordinating all the intramural matches for the local schools ranging from middle school to high school and even some colleges. The deadline was approaching and lo and behold you bosses had tasked you with at the very least coordinating the opening season match of your shared alma mater before your vacation truly began. Regardless of talking your friend’s ear off in the car trip back to the house you grew up in, Kita softly laughs at the way your brows furrow and relax when you’re overly exchanging how dreadful Mo-kun is as the ‘office snitch.’

“…I almost slapped him for asking me out. Again,” you sighed. “I’m sorry I rambled on for too long, huh.”

“It’s ok,” he says with a sweet smile. “I’m just glad you stopped by to say hi. You’re a very busy person, y/n.”

You both were seated on the front porch of his farmhouse which had been the main scene for a few teenage shenanigans while still in high school. A medium sized coffee table complete the furnishings for said patio; cups of cold tea remain on their saucers now. One of the many shenanigans happened shortly after the spring carnival where your class had a silent auction for a ‘date night.’

Apparently the rumor around the student body the was how a first year Suna or was it second year Aran mentioned how they didn’t want to ask any member of the student body until they kissed their first love. The moment either Miya twin heard of this, they consistently tried to get you alone with their friends. Considering you were in a few classes along with Aran and an art elective with Suna, the volleyball team seemed to have their eyes suspiciously on you. Well, more like in the sense that whenever your name is brought up, Kita had to quell his teammates’ annoyance at the twins’ teasing. Granted, Kita, bless him, was a little peeved at the time. The only one who knew of their diligent admiration from afar was perhaps Gin. Gin who saw how flustered Kita became whenever you had swung by during morning practice with sweet cream sandwiches amongst other snacks. Or when you stopped to deliver some calculus handouts to both Aran and Kita right before midterms in your third year caused a bit of a ruckus since Aran noticed how Kita’s eyes lingered on you speaking with a member of the management team that brisk fall afternoon.

However, presently, the thought of you with someone else made Kita blurt out a rushed, “go on a date with me.”

You were busy glancing at the blossoming hibiscus tree whose branches swayed in the wind; you had heard what your dear friend said, but you decide to play coy instead. You curl a fist under your chin and tilt your head to the side to have a better look at his features. You see his stern expression grow softer the more you stare at him.

“Ehh?” Your voice is a mix of both surprise and confusion.

He’s leaning back in his chair shyly covering his flushed cheekbones, an amused expression reflects through his bronzed eyes. For a second there, you think you see the sparks of the fabled western idea of fireworks, he must have felt it too. You feel your own cheeks flush with embarrassment because even you can fall victim of the revered, “Captain Kita stare.” Though you are feeling a bit bold and initially had aimed to tease the company you keep, you glance back at your dear friend who for whatever reason made you feel a bit unsteady.

“Oh don’t look at me like that Kita Shinsuke.”

Kita shrugs. “Like what?”

Golden brown eyes reflect a warmth and strength you didn’t know existed; supposing his dating history, given taking care of the fields to the east of the house, would be small, it seems to you that his tactful nature when talking to you had fallen a bit… well, flat. Then again, you wonder to yourself, when was the last time he had even thought to date anyone? Let alone bring anyone to bed? From what your text chain conversation with Aran, Suna, the twins, and sometimes Gin pokes in every once in a while, Kita never really brought any significant other around. Yet, if any of them mention you, according ‘Samu, Kita would literally spend hours bugging them about more details about your life post college graduation (are you ok? taking care of yourself in the ‘big city’? pack you extra onigiri which kita not so anonymously pays for, etc).

Your curiosity has led you here. Back to the farm of your youth with the man determined to love you the best way he knew how. Who cares if he had been waiting a little over a decade for the right time, sans your friend circle who could’ve interrupted you two at any point. It’s such a quiet, earnest request from you to him. Bleach locks with ebony tips blow gently in the wind as you notice he will not budge from staring so sweetly back at you.

You needed to break eye contact for a moment, so you glance down at his boots compared to your business kitten heels: you jump to the logical solution, you’re determined to test the waters of whatever may come from this, so you chose to speak your mind when you bring your eyes to look at him like you haven’t noticed his matured features before:

“Like you’ve been in love with me forever and now you’re coming to terms with—?!”

Kita silences your rambling fear in such an austere way: his lips align with yours in the most subtle of moves. Perhaps if you’d have been more careful, you’d notice he was staring at your lips the entire time you were speaking. He holds your hand when he breaks this quiet confession, a bold smirk on his boyish face.

You’re too stunned to speak by this development; your cheeks are flushed with a fever you can’t sweat out as you try to suppress your beaming grin with your free hand. The other is currently being held (and kept warm) by the man across from you. You feel him exhale over your brow before pecking you there. He chuckles a bit when you lean back a bit in your chair.

“So, about that date…?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

You lean forward and as he turns his face, you kiss his lips again. Here is where you both feel your heart stutter for you feel yourselves topple over in compassionate way. Though you break this kiss first, you smirk at him. Kita shakes his head slightly as he says your name so deftly you almost miss it. You’re too enamored by the sudden electricity passed from you to him; it’s in the reflection of his eyes when you realize perhaps Kita one day will truly answer your question.

#🌻— flying around collecting pollen—queue #sora after hours #haikyuu x reader #sora scribbles 2023 #kita shinsuke imagine #kita x reader

[soranihimawari]

Between Flowers and Gemstones

An Akaashi x reader story

Word count: 1.2K

Pairing: uni!Akaashi x uni!reader

Rating: AKF (Akaashi Keiji Fluff)

Warnings: none? Just Akaashi not recognizing his feelings for yn until he does…

There are many eyes on a set of two university students in the building square. With March graduations around the corner, and with White Day being within the same week, you are a bit confused by this gathering. It’s not everyday a scholarship athlete asks an honors student out.

What on earth possessed one Akaashi Keiji to do this for his crush must have been born out of the three hour conversation with Bokuto asking for advice on how to confess. In hindsight, maybe he should have waited to express his emotions when you weren’t slightly stressed out from a course you typically excelled in…

So here you both were, glancing at the wrinkling plastic Akaashi held out to you. Though you couldn’t tell, he was nervous beyond every sense of the word. He didn’t even have anything prepared to say to you.

“You got me flowers?” you reach out to accept the bouquet. Breaking into a small smile, you look between the shy athlete and the bouquet.

“You seemed a bit stressed,” he tells you. “Thought you could use some cheering up.”

“…Thank you,” you hug the bouquet, a slight blush on both of your faces. “They’re perfect.”

As the students start to disburse, you take a step toward Akaashi.

“Is this you making your move, Keiji?” you teasingly inquire.

He inhales and exhales, brushing his hands over his bangs.

“It depends.”

You raise your brow. “On?”

Akaashi swallows the bundle of anxiousness in his throat before he chooses to hug you and whisper in your ear: “whether or not you’ll let me pick you up tonight at your dorm?”

You are stunned into a brief silence before your free hand pats his back.

“I’d love it if you did. You remember how to get there, right?”

“We shared two math courses last semester, I think I ought to remember where my tutor lived, heh.”

You shake your head as you release each other from this few minutes long embrace. Of all the people in your core major for the arts & sciences you weren’t expecting Akaashi Keiji, of all people, to confess as smoothly as he did. You choose to bid him goodbye since he never really specified a time, you tap his shoulder, telling him to give you an hour to get ready.

Akaashi nods, a genuinely warm smile at you.

“It’s a date then,” he says.

You find yourself in front of a mirror of your drawer. You’re wearing a simple black button down collared shirt and navy skinny jeans; picking up your hair and tying it in a loose bun, you deem yourself ready to head out. Your slip on shoes were in the makeshift shoe rack by the door when you heard a slight lighter rapping.

Akaashi, on the other hand, had texted his best friend that the flowers had worked! He didn’t think you’d fall for such a gesture, but he was glad he was wrong! Bokuto, though he was on an abroad trip for a game at the moment, had given his old partner a thumbs up reply. Akaashi also had extended his thanks to one of the Bokuto sisters because the flower arrangement suggestion came from one of them. Regardless, Akaashi was quite content with how his confession for a date worked in his favor. Although now, as he stands in front of your door, he takes a deep breath before he knocks.

You unlock the deadbolt and standing there in a similar outfit was Akaashi, although he did wear a white collared shirt instead, his pants seemed to be made of a poly fiber between cotton and polyester blend. He looked sharp ever since he had his hair tapered a bit since third year at Fukurodani, however his hair nowadays seems to have grown a bit longer. You whispered a hushed, “hello,” before inviting him inside.

You mention over your shoulder you had needed a final walk through to make sure everything that had needed to remain plugged and at home was done then you’d be on your way.

Standing in your kitchenette though was Akaashi. He nodded politely while watching you flutter about until he spots where you placed the flowers: in front of an old photo of you and your grandparents. You’ve gotten to know each other over the course of last semester, so when he sees the photo, he is reminded that your parents were busy individuals who put work first, however their children grew with their grandparents filling the parental roles. You were close to both of them before they passed sometime before you went to university, so seeing the bouquet there was an indication you wanted to go closer to him.

“Perhaps that may be true,” he says casually to himself.

You claim that you are ready a couple minutes later and with an elated smile and pep in your step, you show Akaashi out as you lock your door behind you both. He holds your hand as you walk off campus and stands behind you on the train. He doesn’t tell you where you’re headed, but you do talk about how kind he’s being considering you two had an argument on Valentine’s Day when he wouldn’t take your chocolates seriously… only for you to call him out for insulting how you genuinely felt made him reevaluate how he felt about you. However, when you arrive at a nightly fundraiser in the Museum of Natural History, you seem speechless.

“My old kouhai helped organize this and asked if I had wanted to come,” Akaashi says when he extends his arm to you. You loop your arm around his and walk with him to the entrance where said kouhai would be and there you are introduced to one Tsukishima Kei, a ‘fossil historian’ according to his badge. You smile and listen along as they speak briefly about their time on the court even though they faced each other one summer for training, their friendship lasted years since graduation, regardless, you look around and see posh couples charming others with champagne flutes, marveling how they hope their own donations are enough to satisfy the reconstruction on the west side of the building.

A few minutes later, you and Akaashi are about to steal a moment to yourselves as you walk past some mythical jewels once thought to be the cousin of the blue diamonds half way across the world. Looking into the pieces encased in glass, you tell him you weren’t expecting a date like this. He laughs saying he couldn’t believe Tsukki remembered to spare him two tickets.

“These really are beautiful,” you say, nodding at the gems.

Akaashi who looms behind you with a soft smile, leans forward and whispers, “they seem made for someone like you.”

And though he gives you enough space to back away and turn around, you find your lips mere moments from swiping over his. He doesn’t flinch like you thought he would, he lets it happen because even if he didn’t take you here, he had been meaning to see what the big deal was about kissing someone he likes. So, when your face does miss his lips entirely, he holds your wrist to pull you behind a pillar and lets you try again.

In the dimly lit display room of marvelous wonders of the gem world, two lovers make their hearts known to the others underneath a lightning opal sky.

#🌻— flying around collecting pollen—queue #sora after hours #haikyuu x reader #university!au: akaashi x reader #sora scribbles 2023

[soranihimawari]

Stick Together

A story about a hat, a tailor, and a jailbird

The first BSD fic I wrote & it is centered around Chūya Nakahara

Word count: 3.6K

Pairing: (port mafia!) Chūya x (tailor-gifted) reader

Rating: CNF (Chūya Nakahara Fluff)// strangers->lovers

Warnings: mentions of poverty, growing up around drug users (none used by principal characters) , reader and Chūya do fight, mentions of Dazai

Sitting in a jail cell is not how one Chūya Nakahara thought he’d be spending his afternoon, yet here he was. A recon mission for the Port Mafia had gone awry after a client of the Armed Detective Agency had their cover blown by his fellow cohorts. Unfortunately when the battle had settled and cleared away via the local authorities, only a high ranking member of said mafia was apprehended.

Though the use of one phone call to his boss and another to a trusted lawyer, Chūya paces his holding cell now, hoping to change out of the dreadful ensemble jumper he had forcibly been told to wear (his signature top hat would only be returned to him after being released). Thankfully, his gloves that kept his power intact were allowed to be kept on his person.

The hat, though a stylish and signature wardrobe piece, had a tale uniquely its own. Perhaps if Chūya ever bothered to listen to his dear ol’friend Dazai more often, Chūya would have taken better care of it.

Once, when you were five, a teenage boy stopped by the city slums. Your parents were nowhere to be found, probably getting their fix on some gifted-approved uppers. The teenage boy arched his eyebrow at your direction as you unashamedly brought little straw dolls to life. You were a little puppeteer and you even chased the pigeons away with said talent. Magic was never lost in the eyes of a child, at least that was what the boy was thinking. He knelt down and beckoned you to come closer. Surely, you knew not to trust strangers, but with his charming grin and alluring smile, you couldn’t help approaching the older-young man.

“I’m Dazai.”

He extends a bandaged arm and hand to you.

“YN, mister dazai.”

You enthusiastically shake his hand. He chuckles at your eagerness to make a new friend—you stay out with him exploring the slums, making straw and paper-debris dolls, he fills your head with stories about the city he’s heading to for work. With the lights of the sunset reflecting upon your face, you notice a small black hat a few paces away. You run to grab it and give it to Dazai. Your smile is infectious for one who seems to have gotten lost in the wastelands.

Sometimes, you wonder what ever happened to the teenager with playful jokes and charming grin; other times, he wonders if you ever made it out of the slums. Your name never appeared in the obituaries over the course of the years—post wartime, post formation of the Port Mafia, and Armed Detective Agency. Imagine the surprised look on an older Dazai when he spots you chatting with his old apprentice, Chūya, in a tailor’s shop.

Dazai notices the hat Chūya is wearing, surely you’d know whose hat that was. He enters the building undetected wondering how this will play out:

“That’s not your hat sir,” you are stubborn in your tone. Chūya looks offended as he scoffs.

“Oh, and pray tell,” Chūya squinted and read your hand embroidered name on your worker’s apron. “YN, who’s hat is it?”

“An old friend of mine! I-I-I haven’t seen him in a while,” you now your head in defeats. A quivering pout forms on your lips and you muster up your resolve to explain how you were a child of the slums, the teenage boy you befriended, the hat, and that one blissful afternoon you were able to be yourself.

At this admission, Chūya removes his hat and scratches his auburn head.

“And this guy…did he have a name?”

“Dazai-san. Do you know what happened to him?”

Chūya glances up to see the person in question hiding behind a coat rack; Dazai blinks back in a code only Chūya deciphers as, ‘tell them I’m ok. I made it out of the slums at that point in my life just fine.’

You fiddle with the ties on your left when Chūya released a resigned sigh.

“He made it out of the slums just fine,” he relays the message through gritted teeth as his former boss and mentor leaves through the alternative side door entrance of the shop. Your eyes widen when this intriguing man not much older than yourself allows you to hold the hat.

“Y’know he was supposed to come find me?” you fiddle with the brim. “I was five years old, making dolls that could move on their own with paper scraps…”

You glance down at the hat with misting eyes.

“He never came back, did he?” Chūya inquires. He didn’t want to take too much longer since he was supposed to be at the drop location (for his current next mission) in under an hour and fifteen minutes.

“No,” you hand him back the hat with a short lived sniffle. You sort of let out this soft laugh. “Dazai was unique, to say the least. He did have enough gall to encourage me and…”

A few dolls made of excess yarn and thread held up several push pin needles thus freezing the port mafia man in place.

Of course this was a sting trap. Why couldn’t Chūya see through this? Or wait…

“You-you think I killed him?” He nearly doubled over in laughter when he locked his eyes with your stone cold ones.

Your anger and shortened fuse cause a few of the dolls to deliberately take a fighting stance. Your hand came into contact and thus you struck the Chūya Nakahara, upper rank in the Port Mafia, across the cheek with a slap. Your hand was calloused and roughened from years of living in the slums, only to be discovered for your needlework by an embroiderer who let you inherit the tailoring shop after her retirement. Chūya was caught so off guard by the physicality of your slap he nearly lost control of his gravity gift for a moment there.

“No,” your voice is icy and there is a fist of yours that nearly collides with his other cheek. “I just think Mister Dazai wouldn’t let such an idiotic member of the port mafia wear the hat I gave him.”

Chūya grabs your wrist and forcibly twists your arm behind your back as he stands behind you, urging you to calm yourself.

“Sweetheart,” his tone changed from that of a thief to a serial murderer. Your blood doesn’t run cold at this nickname, rather your brain and your heart chose to follow two very different paths: the first is telling you to at least elbow him in the ribs and give him some sassy remark; the second chooses with every inconceivable thump of blood in and around your body, decides the next words to fall out of your mouth.

“Yes darling?” your arm is rigid in his bruising hold.

Chūya’s suit jacket grazes your lower arm close to the wrist behind your back as he straightens up with you in front of him. He inhales the scent of freshly rained lavender from your clothing, from your hair, you excite his need to flirt with you longer with the way it twists and turns into a lowered braid, now draped over the opposite end of your back.

“Dazai would have mentioned you to me if you were so important to him back then, wouldn’t you ag-ack!”

You stomp on his foot, causing his hold to loosen enough for you to lunge forward and have your small army of threaded men ready their push-pin needle weapons at the largest threat you might face: a gravity manipulating monster.

Chūya hears you hurl insults at him in a language he thought he had forgotten: it’s a lost and dead dialect of those who grew up in the slums. Broken Japenese mixed with a few French words and hyphenated with English terminologies made him reassess the situation at hand. All he had wanted to do today at this tailor’s shop was ask for a new pair of pants that went well with his winter’s coat. Instead, he finds you, a loss last connection to his former mafia ‘big brother’ at the cost of not revealing the understanding fact Dazai had been keeping some tabs on you since you had parted ways all those years ago.

Dazai is a man of many talents and connections, such a feat would be possible even if you were never to be found again. After all, since the president of the Armed Detective Agency had been recruited as part of the team which busted the trap house your junkie parents had overdosed in, Dazai had been put in charge specifically looking into those next of kin whose loved one had since died during the siege. Apparently, your photo when you were five had been shuffled in with the rest. The president nodded when he had finished wrapping up the report with the authorities, however considering one member of his team had been thinking about how well a young orphan was doing in the streets, it is fair to say Dazai had been keeping track of you.

When you were done calling him every name under the sun, Chūya stood back and dusted off his suit. It wasn’t as wrinkled as he had thought, yet on the sign of good faith, the thread-men army you had created had slowly begun to unravel.Your frustrated tears had subsided thus leaving Chūya staring at you with his mouth slightly agape. His hat was still on the table from where he left it and his brilliant eyes shine with curiosity.

“YLN?”

The blood in your face drains a bit when you stumble backwards.

“I haven’t been known by that name for quite some time,” you breathe a little easier. “How did you know my family name?”

Chūya wants to tell you the truth, the whole part about his life prior to Dazai up until the mad lad left the group; he wants to tell you about how a few years after the trap house bust, he probably saw you trying to sell your wares in a flea market at night in another town. Sure you donned what the shelter would have given you, yet you made it your own (and no one would think twice about the embroidered flower branches covering a year’s long seam rip). Akutagawa and his faction were watching for any signs of the were-tiger in said night market, yet luckily for those who had gone on ahead, no one seemed to have taken note of your little kerchiefs. All but one, if Chūya were to be completely transparent with you. You dry your own tears, just like you did that first day when no one chose to buy any of your goods, yet now as you look on at the redhead, you hold your wrist. Dark splotches of light red and purple begin forming an imprint of his hand; feeling of guilt is not a foreign concept to Chūya, yet you allow him to approach you.

You’re hugging yourself, insulting yourself for almost attacking a customer in your store, one who knew of the teenage boy who took you far away from the location where your guardians were too busy trying to find their escape in lethal doses.

For once, Chūya doesn’t say anything brash. There is a stillness he brings when he sees how fast you can calm yourself, and yet when he glances at your arm, he chooses to show a bit of mercy. All this for a hat, huh? His inner thoughts scoff at him. Ever so curious, Chūya takes a short step of faith toward you.

“YLN?” he asks in such a voice laced with a false sense of sweetness.

“Go away,” you’re stern and deliberate in your dismissal.

If looks could kill, Chūya would be dead on the ground at that very moment. Your eyes are growing colder every second that ticks by. Chūya himself might have just shot you because you immediately begin to tune him out even as the words of apologies flutter about and out of his mouth hoping to reach your ears.

And yet, three days later, you don’t listen. Not even when you’re told about the news when you clock in to the seamstress office that morning. From what your co-workers had told you, there was a raid on a Port Mafia safehouse not too far from here. Apparently a deal with the Armed Detective Agency might have turned sour with the arrival of another organization threatening the life of the Gifted.

“...thank goodness none of us are Gifted,” an older co-worker says as she pours herself a cup of coffee.

“Yeah. I think we’d lose so many customers, don’t you think so, yn-san?” the other seamstress that morning chides on.

You fix yourself a cup of coffee as well humming along, not willing to expose yourself as one of those they say with a disdain in their tone. Honestly, with those three days, now four, without hearing back from the intolerable redhead, you wonder if he was swept up and caught in the whole affair.

So Chūya sits in his cell’s bunk bed, waiting for a lawyer or another grunt worker to come bust him out of jail. He wants to ensure the hat, his hat, can be returned to you in one piece for repairs. Chūya’s thoughts drift every now and then back to you; did your bruises heal? He still wishes to apologize to you, for angering you, for annoying the crap out of you, hell, for even calling you ‘sweetheart.’ Chūya’d run through the entire city if it meant you could be his, and he wonders now if leaving the life of a mobster behind is a path open to him.

“People with likened minds, who share sorrows, or tales of hardships, will gravitate toward the other,” Chūya whispers this to the nothingness of the cold concrete walls of the cell.

Tonight he will play nice with the guards, tomorrow, he’ll stop by the tailor’s shop hoping against all odds you’d join him for tea.

A sudden crash and surprised shouts of the guards outside the highly defended unit for the Gifted can be heard about thirty feet away. There is gunfire and even more shouts as the sirens blare.

Turns out, Chūya doesn’t have to wait for long at all. If there is one thing you’d learn about Chūya and his subordinates in the Port Mafia is that they are loyal to the elders for as long as they are willing to obey. Under Akutagawa’s orders, Chūya was supposed to be freed one way or the other and the current Boss would clear up any misunderstandings calling it a ‘peaceful protest’ gone awry on local news that late evening.

Currently, Chūya rides in the back of a taxi, finally changed out of the tragic sham of a jumpsuit, with his faithful hat in tow. Forty city blocks are cleared in a matter of minutes as the getaway cab had it’s driver and passenger breaking the speed limit within normal parameters so as to not disturb the citizens (best they can). Yet, the driver is a familiar face and though Chūya claims he never wanted his help, Dazai just smiles away in the rearview mirror.

“Make up with my old-new friend,” Dazai has a serious expression on his face. “YN-san hasn’t been dealing well with the new regulations for the GIfted and might have been found out tonight.”

A bandaged hand throws back a smartphone with the article of business listings with gifted employee members both known and unregistered ones. The tailor’s shop is listed there within the first column, in the middle of said list, and Chūya swallows nervously. His hat is upon his head when Dazai pushes the brakes too hard. Chūya doesn’t say a word until he opens and slams the door shut behind him yelling a word of thanks over his shoulders as he runs the rest of the way.

It is nearly eleven at night when you’re about to exit the store when you hear a pounding on the front glass. All those early hens had decided to leave early once their latest projects were done, so it was just you who had left the cashiering duties until the end of the night. The lock for the safe had already been bolted, your apron had been hung up almost immediately after the last customer left for the night, so imagine your surprise when you see what, or rather, who, was making such a ruckus.

You roll your eyes, not ready to deal with this jerk on the other side of the glass. Suffice to say, until he types out a message on his smartphone and holds it up to the window:

‘Open up. I think my hat needs a repair…Please?’

You read as promptly as you can before unlocking the front. Chūya passes through with ease and he hides in the corner of the shop away from the searchlights of helicopters and other law enforcement vehicles flashing their sirens down the quiet streets. He waits for a fifth police car to ride past before reaching over to where you stood, holding on to your hand with his gloved one. He holds it as firmly as you hold on to him, a worried brow raised at him. You know what you want to ask, however, you acknowledge there will be time to explain everything from the top when the coast is clear. With his free hand he makes a sign to stay as silent as possible to move within the shadows of your shop, guiding you back to the offices where the soft glow of the desk lamp lit the back office.

“You got any alcohol?” Chūya inquires as he motions for you to have a seat.

“No, only coffee,” you shrug your shoulders before running a hand nervously through your hair.

“Bah, I don’t drink the stuff, but I suppose you might enjoy it,” Chūya says, leaning on your desk.

You glance up from his shoes to his face, you notice he might not be as tall as you recall from a few days ago, yet he is strikingly, robustly, handsome. Sure, a few patrons of the store did have their preset preferences, but now, in the late evening, amidst the glow of the lamp, does one Chūya Nakahara tell you about his life both before, during, and after meeting Dazai.You sit back and listen, fixing yourself another cup of coffee as he comes clean about every little detail he could think of about Dazai’s time within the Mafia family.

“...and that’s why I stopped here earlier last weekend…”

“Because you had a mission in the next town over?”

“No,well, not really.”

Chūya hands you a note in Dazai’s script instructing the red head to keep an eye on a person who looks like the composite sketch the note is written on. The sketch must have been made by one of those with a gift for sketching or one of the many who can recall with photographic memory the countenance of a person with only a few descriptors to go by.

“Uncanny, ain’t it?” Chūya chuckles when he sees your lips turn slightly upward.

“There is something written on the bottom, right?” you ask, seeing a few light pen parks on the bottom left of the page. Rounding the corner by the desk your company leans against, you take a final sip of your beverage before joining him on the side there. Chūya still holds the sketch in his hand.

You and Chūya are in close proximity to each other, so much so your lips graze his jaw when you read the inscription to him.

“Stick together.”

Chūya turns to you suddenly, not realizing how close you truly were because though he felt your lips graze his jaw, he was not expecting his own to become pressed to the top of yours so suddenly. It takes a half a minute to realize what had transpired, yet you don’t push him away, much to his surprise. Rather, you pursue his lips again the moment you feel his free hand turn your chin more toward his face. He wishes to heal some wounds of your past over and over again the longer you let him linger there.

“Is your arm ok?” he deftly asks, placing the paper on your desk so as to trace over the yellowing marks covered by your shirt sleeve.

“Mmhm,” you nod against his forehead. “I think it’ll heal faster if you kiss it.”

“Hah,” Chūya pecks the corner of your mouth, sneakily raises your injured arm to his shoulder. “Are you flirting with me dear?”

You shake your head, defending your innocence. “I wasn’t the one who leaned in first. Heh.”

Rolling his eyes, Chūya smirks before peppering your arm where he had his hand been wrapped, clearly smitten by the sudden attention he was given. You tried to hide behind your blush, yet he genuinely smiles when he pauses, curling his forefinger to trace your cheekbone.

“You’re much more beautiful than I thought,” he confides in you.

You’re still a few inches shorter than he is, but nonetheless you relish in delight, thus causing a small number of thread people to be created on a whim. Purple satin ribbons with a star design are soon being fabricated as a secondary option to the tarnished yellowing one on the hat at the furthest corner of the table.

“And you’re not as lethal when you’re docile like this,” you let him kiss your knuckles before you shy away.

Chūya presses his forehead against your own, taking a deep breath leaving your hand against his shoulder. Closing his eyes, he exhales.

“Stick together,” you say to each other like a secret.

Sirens and search parties can be dealt with in the morning, for now, you enjoy this slice of paradise for as long both of you can.

#🌻— flying around collecting pollen—queue #sora after hours #sora scribbles 2023 #🔎bungou stray dogs: chūya x reader🔍

[soranihimawari]

A Curse is Cast

A Gojo Satoru x (f!) reader

companion piece to Hope in an Office Crush

Word Count: 3.0k

Pairing: Gojo x reader

Rating: GSA (angsty and sad undertones, but no one truly dies); kind of hopeful ending

Warnings: someone falls into a coma & eventually wakes up; the nanami & reader from HiaOC hatch a plan to have their friends fall “in like” with the other…

Pinterest Link for image below

Pls tag me if you know the og artist! Thanks!

Poem: Have a Coke with You, Frank O’Hara

You were getting ready for another early dinner date with your newly about a month old boyfriend from accounting. You’re currently on the phone with your best friend who is freaking out on her end because you had decided to set your friend up with someone who was close to your own boyfriend once upon a time. You tell your best friend that there is nothing to worry about and through a coffee run earlier this week, you sat her down with your new beau and for whatever reason, your friend was skeptical about the existence of this fabled ‘pretty eyed playboy.’

You’re putting the finishing touch on a simple glam look as you hear her exclaim:

“You set me up?!”

“You were being skeptical about him and when Nanami talked to his friend last time, he mentioned a blind date would be best…I gotta go. Good luck Friday night though!”

You hang up as you smile when a familiar chime goes off from your phone:

Meet me in the lobby, starshine.--Nanami, K (19:44)

***

[FRIDAY, XX/XX; 18:09||Rose Roof Restaurant, Tokyo]

Your friend does her research on both restaurant and even tried to bully you and Nanami about finding the name of this friend on the blind date. At this point, on another side of the city, a six foot, platinum blonde is dressed business casual, in a flower shop. His eyes are covered behind his darkened polarized eyeglasses as he floats between two bouquets.

“Your significant other’s best friend? You set me up with her?”

Walking to the counter, he pays for a small bouquet of gardenias.

“Listen Gojo, there is a lot of evils in the world, the least we could is give these two is a sense of knowing what it feels like to be loved and to an extent safe,” Nanami withdraws a cigarette and as he lights it, he observes you turning in your sleep. A warm smile on his face as the blonde notices the peaceful look you have while you shuffle in his sheets.

“You’re in love,” this sunglass wearer teases his friend as he steps into the next available taxi.

The man on the other line inhales and exhales as he extinguishes his cigarette.

“And may YN’s love protect me,” the wind blows from his dwelling as his blonde streaks tickle his face. He wishes his friend good luck on his upcoming date.

Several minutes later, your best friend waits in the lobby of the restaurant. After many over-thought-out outfits, you help Haru choose formal capris and loose fitting blouse with low heeled wedge boots in case of inclement weather.

Gojo Satoru, in all his years alive, has never been starstruck by a stranger’s modest appearance. The plastic which the bouquet is wrapped in, crinkles a bit as a set of nervous energy leaves his fingertips.

She walks by him twice before he works up the confidence to say her name and she pauses, not believing her luck. The first thing she notices is his playful smile, then his slight tremble when he offers the bouquet.

“These are gorgeous,” whiffs the violets and flashes a smile to him. “Thank you…”

Gojo clears his throat before extending his arm to her: “Shall we Haru-san?”

The host at the doorway to the restaurant calls for the Gojo party and the pair enters.

They did say, “love looks not with the eyes, but the mind,” and here two closed off from love people crack the window to let the other settle in the sun a bit. .

Over dinner, Gojo entertains your friend with international travel stories and your friend, secretly as bookish as you, seems to be able to quote Shakespeare; your friend texts you an update right before dessert arrives. This date goes as pleasantly as one may think, smith the dreadful eyes of several creatures invisible to those around him, begin to whisper just how pretty the ‘strongest sorcerer’s date’ would be with their organs ripped out of them…so, Gojo just smiles as your friend tells him about the time they almost drowned in rip current on a day with no rip current warnings near their grandparents’ beach side residence.

“I was nine,” their voice says so casually. “I hit my head against some coral stone. Luckily there were no starving sharks nearby.”

“Luckily indeed,” Gojo says as he reaches across the table and a quiet, “May I?”

Across from him, your friend simply nods when he tilts her face up and to the side with his fingertips and there above her brow and close to the hairline is a scar of a clawmark. The coral wasn’t a coral after all…a warning at best is what Gojo thinks this story is. Perhaps there is more to your friend than either you or Nanami might know, but for now, considering they can’t see the mayhem about to surround you, Gojo decides to banish them all with a flick of his wrist.

The flowers rest on the table as a lemon tart with blueberries is delivered.

“So, Satoru, on a scale from one to ten,” spoon in hand, the first bite is taken. “How likely is it that you'd ask me out again?”

He has this pondering look on his face, before he clears his throat and answers with a clearer mind as he helps in eating the dessert.

It’s not until the bill is paid for and your friend is escorted by him back to the lobby where he kisses her burning blushed cheek:

“Morikami Gardens is holding a tea party,” his voice is low in a whisper before he gives her the day and time to meet. Gojo grazes his thumb over the moon lit cheek of his date contemplating whether or not this feeling in his chest is excitement or foreboding. He has lost the one person so precious to him, will he be able to handle that grief again?

“A tea party?”

The flowers in her hand sway in the wind.

“I’d love to go…Never been to the gardens at night.”

Hailing a cab, your friend looks over her shoulder at the handsome, not so much a stranger after this one date, “Pleasure to to have met your acquaintance, Gojo Satoru.”

“Such a formal goodbye, Haruka,” he pouts a bit as he ushers her into the taxi.

Although she smiles up at him, Gojo was not prepared to see such a cheeky glimmer in her eyes.

“Pick me up early and I’ll give you a better hello at my door,” she winks at him before the driver pulls away and back into the busy night streets of Tokyo.

The once labeled strongest feels his knees go weak at that.

***

Nearly a month later, you visit your friend and find her in a darkened state. She doesn’t know why the guy she went on a date with would be leaving the country the same week and not tell her anything. You tell her to sit on the couch with your help and you’ll make some coffee for the two of you.

Surely there had to be a reason, work maybe? Is all you seem to think as you trap the send button to Nanami who’s heading out for some light groceries. He calls you instead and as you finish putting the rest of the pot into your friend’s mug, Nanami tells you the truth.

“YN, don’t let her know just yet, but Gojo’s been severely injured on the job: he’s got these nasty looking injuries…”

“What?!” You whisper yell into the receiver.

Nanami pinches the better of his nose as he sighs right before he makes a call for his better judgment and informs you he’s at the hospital right now too (getting stitched up after another fight with a different curse this time).

You drink your coffee as calmly as you can and you tell him to stay where he is—

“I’m coming to get you, stay there.”

You hand your friend her mug of coffee and she asks you if everything in your paradise is alright.

“No, it’s not, but before I elaborate, Haruka, go take a shower and change into something comfortable: we’re going to Ropongi General.”

“The historic hospital? Why?” She inquired.

“I’ll explain when you’re out, just please,” you don’t mean to sound so parental, but she does listen to you.

Twenty-five minutes later, on the drive there, with you behind the wheel, you inform your friend of her date’s sudden ‘disappearance’.

“…you’re kidding.”

You focus on the road ahead silently shaking your head.

Scoffing, “You’re serious? A-and the same people attacked Nanami? But he’s one of the strongest people we know.”

Aggravated, you shift gears as you go uphill to the building with the flickering green and red lights. The red indicates where the parking garage is and the green is for the entrance. You rush first to the Emergency Entrance and are greeted by a rather portly nurse who tries to get you to sign in, but you, instead, cause a raucous bellowing out Nanami's name.

Haruka, thankfully arrives and takes the sign in sheet and signs both your names.

Nanami eventually pokes his stitched head out behind a curtain and he sees you being kindly dragged back to the nurses station so your visitors' badges can be printed.

Calmly, you bare your teeth at the nurse who hands you and your best friend the temporary sticker badges you peel and stick on your clothes, revealing how your bite is most definitely worse than the words you’re about to hurl at your blonde boyfriend from accounting.

“Curtain 13,” the nurse calls out from behind the station.

You growl a thank you and stomp off.

“Sorry about her…she usually has a decent personality,” your friend says as she follows behind.

Inside, Haruka sits in the corner where the extra chair is and you sternly look at the stitches on your boyfriend’s face.

“What’s gotten into you lately?” Your cup his face when he won’t look at you. His face goes from cold to warm when you speak to him. He’s half undressed as you noticed the bruises that had begun to form on his side.

“Bruised ribs?” you whisper and he winces as he nods.

“Y’know on the phone I thought you were here to see your friend,” you continue. “Haruka is here to see him too.”

She rises from her seat, looking dejected yet an odd sense of hope shines in this fluorescent lit room.

“Suite 111, ICU,” Nanami said.

Your friend nods and leaves you two alone.

“She may not want to hear it, but I do. Nanami, what happened?”

Nanami rests his head on your shoulder and although you’re quite smaller than he is, he just breathes, ragged, and slow. How much of the truth about the sorcerer world does he want to let you in on? How many more fights does he have left in him if the whispers the curses said to him are true: Kenjaku is looking for a fight and if it means threatening those close to the small community that is left, then you’re directly going to be in the line of fire…and so is Haruka, so Nanami leads with a bit of truth.

“Gojo’s family is a bit out of touch: they’re old Japanese money rich. Satoru’s name is synonymous with playboy antics and little responsibility—his job, his ‘real’ job involves being in dangerous conditions 99% of the time.”

“…and this is the one time he’s been injured this badly?”

Nanami’s silence is all the answer you need.

“A month, yn, he’d been medically comatose for a month,” Nanami’s voice is serious and strained. He’s had lost one too many friends in the past, it’s why his social circle typically included you, your best friend, and occasionally the menace that was his ‘Senpai’ in high school.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You pull the chair around to sit and rest your hands against his knees.

“Because I didn’t want them to follow you,” his answer makes sense.

You nod and let him know you’re glad he’s alright.

Elsewhere, your two closest friends are in another room entirely. The sound of a machine helping the once proud Gojo Satoru breathe becomes ambient background noise. Haruka reads the bracelet on his wrist. The admittance date on it reads the Thursday before your affixed garden date.

His vitals register above his head; you finally see the reasons being his long sleeved preference. Scars, keloid ones at that too, from either previous fights with dangerous people or attempts to end it all, litter his arms in every angle. Someone wanted him dead, but the patient hangs on like the quite charming stubborn man he is.

“You can come closer,” a nurse says in a gentle voice.

Footsteps lighter than begin to propel her forward, closer to the bed. The nurse continues to change the wires of the various IV drips he is on.

“Talk to him, who knows? It might be what he needs, isn’t that right Mr Gojo?”

You chuckle at her loving demeanor for an older nurse who seems like she was his mother.

“The violets you gave me finally entered away…,” she begins to say. He’s in really bad shape, the nurse notices how his head is bandaged down and around his eyes. The nurse carries on and right before she leaves, she looks at the two of them.

“…Tragedies and miracles happen everyday…”

The nurse closes the door of the suite to grant them privacy.

“Excuse me?” Haruka turns around to just hear the door close. The whirring of the machines draws her attention back to where his chest rises and falls.

Upon hearing the door click, your friend whispers against his peach-fuzz cheek. She chuckles at the haphazard beard he grows in his unconscious state before inhaling a nervous breath.

“You were supposed to pick me up for the garden tea party about a month ago…now I see why you weren’t able to come,” Haruka isn’t an emotional person really.

She isn’t known to be soft and delicate; quite the opposite really. Loud, rambunctious, funny, those were all a cover to hide the anxious wreck within.

“Normally, no one would be upset going to hospitals to visit those who were knew, but with the increase in tsunamis and the occasional landslide, Haruka doesn’t fair all too well with hospitals overall,” you confess to Nanami when he pulls you up to sit next to him. “She lost so much before we met in college, I think seeing Gojo will either be cathartic or traumatic for her.”

You exhale a deep breath, after he kisses your forehead, yet in the ICU unit, Haruka attempts to calm herself as she peers over Gojo’s bed. She reaches over to hold his hand.

“You’re still warm,” she laughs a bit. “I thought you stood me up you know, but never, never in my wildest imagination would it be because you’re in a coma. If you ever wake up, I’d give you one chance to tell me the truth, ok?…”

There are a million thoughts that go through one’s mind when in a hospital: some are positive and aligning to the living and healing; others are negative, full of grief and despair through the trials of keeping the people alive. Alas, here in the ICU of the notoriously historical Roppongi Hospital, one powerful sorcerer’s willingness to walk back to the world of the living makes him croak out a dry, “ok.”

Haruka, for all intents and purposes, should have screamed for help or at the very least pushed the call nurse button, but she didn't. She looks at the hand holding hers now and breathes a sigh of relief. Friend or not, this was not the way anyone ought to be spending a second, yet highly recommended improperly timed, date and she lets him know that head on.

Several minutes later, nurses and doctor on duty visit the room and do their own tests, conducting a series of “which IV we keep and which we can discard” conversations. Haruka steps outside for a bit of a breather and slides down to the floor with the wall of the hospital as her support. Her hands shake as she texts you about her once blind date waking up within the hour. You tell your boyfriend of the development and help him into his clothes after the discharge papers are signed.

Several glasses of water later, you’re back in the room, Gojo sits up with a relaxed smile on his unwrapped face; the scratches by his eyes are just that, scratches. His eyes are still that brilliant, lightest shade of iced sapphires when he looks at Haruka who just stands at the foot of his bed.

“For what it’s worth,” Gojo scratches his cheek with his free hand. “Hearing you scold me is refreshing.”

He beckons her forth and she obeys, choosing to sit on his right side.

“I suppose you’d want to hear how I got in this bed, injured and all,” he says.

Haruka, for whatever it’s worth, shakes her head to decline.

“Later, Satoru,” and his cheerful demeanor lessens until she walks up to him and pushes his hair back a bit to place a kiss above his brow. “Tell me when I come back after I get something to eat.”

As she glances at him, she notices the flushed color of his cheeks before waving a swift ‘bye for now’ when she steps out the doorway.

However, with her presence gone, Gojo’s mind replays a voice he hasn’t heard in a very long time: “I cursed you a little at the end too.”

#🌻— flying around collecting pollen—queue #sora after hours #sora scribbles 2023 #🎋jjk. gojo x reader🎋

[halfmaskshadow]

A Sora and Floyd for Mermay! With the prompt I couldn’t resist!

I think Floyd would find Sora absolutely fascinating :)

(almost) all colors were taken from refs! This also applies to Kairi and Namine, but those were from the fish they were based off of

#kh sora #twst floyd #floyd leech #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland #kingdom hearts #mermay #mermay 2023 #digital art #shadow scribbles :) #tw scars #scars