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recitedemise · 5 months

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𝗠𝗮𝗻𝘆 𝗼𝗳 𝗚𝗮𝗹𝗲'𝘀 𝘃𝘂𝗹𝗻𝗲𝗿𝗮𝗯𝗶𝗹𝗶𝘁𝗲𝘀 𝘄𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝗮𝗴𝗴𝗿𝗮𝘃𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗼 𝗯𝘂𝘁 𝗱𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗹𝗼𝗽 𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗼 𝘁𝗿𝗮𝘂𝗺𝗮 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗽𝗼𝗻𝘀𝗲𝘀, 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗽𝗼𝗻𝘀𝗲𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗠𝘆𝘀𝘁𝗿𝗮 𝗮𝗰𝗰𝗲𝗽𝘁𝘀 𝗹𝗶𝘁𝘁𝗹𝗲 𝗰𝘂𝗹𝗽𝗮𝗯𝗶𝗹𝗶𝘁𝘆 𝗳𝗼𝗿. This lengthy headcanon will refer to canon dialogue from mostly Gale, sometimes others. Reader's discretion is very much advised. There will be in depth explorations into grooming, emotional abuse, heavy manipulation, and suicide.

First, let it be said that Gale, a mortal man, will always be the powerless one in his dynamic with Mystra. Of course, nearing forty years of age, he remains entirely responsible for his own actions, his own foul blunders and every hurt he'll cause, but it's important to remember who formed much of who he is: his goddess, his deity, and egregiously, his lover.

Mystra is power. Mystra is possibility. She knows what sway she holds over her Ioyal, vulnerable, and entirely mortal followers. In all ways that matter, they are but lambs she can steer and herd as she sees fit. She knows they can't deny her, and knows they'll never want to. Gale's sheer servitude and complete devotion; to the very quick of his bones, she lapped them up.

Gale: I was just... practising an incantation. Player Character: No, there's more to it than that. I know devotion when I see it. Gale: What can I say? She's—she's Mystra. I can't describe it, the need I sometimes feel to see her - to draw the filaments of fantasy into existence... Mystra is all magic. And as far as I'm concerned, she is all creation. Player Character: I didn't realize the depth of your devotion. Gale: Magic is... my life. I've been touched with the Weave for as long as I can remember. There's nothing like it.

Gale, orb in his chest, doomed to be eaten by the very thing he loves the most, still speaks so reverently of the goddess, of his lover that has left him to die. He conjures images of her memory—and she is all the while forgetting about his.

Minsc: Gale reminds me of vremyonni of my homeland. The man-mages of Rasheman. While the girl-folk go on to rule as wychlaran, Weave-touched boys were hidden away. Trained to work their craft in silence and secrecy. It is an old custom, not well-observed. In truth, I thought it born of caution after some catastrophe of wizardly men-folk of old. Now, I wonder if it was not done to hide them from Mystra, and the snares she sets for young and prideful boys, hm?

Tales of Mystra's treachery spreads far, leaving those familiar waters surrounding Gale's tower in Waterdeep. They whisper her name, afraid to utter it one time too many, suspecting, perhaps, that she'll show in their mirror like some Faerûnian Bloody Mary.

Talent rouses Mystra. She can see who uses the gift of the Weave and feel them, sampling whatever delight sings their veins as they pull from her domain. Not unlike a spider, she'll follows every tremor that strikes her as just a sliver more profound; and Gale, a prodigy, plucked the Weave's web to so garner her focus. And like some black widow scurrying, she surged down that ripple to prey on a boy. There, Gale, so impressionable, was just a mite older than twelve whole summers. He sat so stunned, beholding Mystra as she lured him into the cradle of her Astral domain. Bathed in her magic, pleasantly coddled within that glittering cosmos, Gale felt blessed in a way he'll struggle always to recount, no word, no language, fit to describe it. He felt chosen. He felt seen. And potently, to a child, he felt loved. Now, imagine a child experiencing something like that. Imagine what they'd think, how brilliant they must be when stood beside the rest. She told him he was gifted, made his heart swell not unlike a child's appetite for praise. She knew what she was doing by offering these morsels, by preying on a child's most delicate mind, and Gale, child prodigy, was already so awash in the idea that his value was in magic. Unfortunately, Gale, susceptible, had no way of squirming out of his goddess' grasp.

Reality: She's laid down the seeds to creep into his heart. When he's just old enough—seventeen's sufficient, she thinks—she stakes her claim and makes him hers.

Gale: My virtuosic talent once caught the eye of the goddess of magic herself, Mystra, who named me her chosen and her lover.

Gale is stunned when she takes him to bed the first time. (Is this really happening?) Mystra claims his mouth in a kiss, taking everything she knows he offers so willingly. Mystra, of course, is not so stunned.

Dream Visitor: An elder brain... one of the cruelest and most powerful creatures in existence, enslaved by mere mortals. Gale, tasked with Mystra's missive to sacrifice himself: This is it... I must do as Mystra commands.

Gale has worryingly low self-esteem beyond his magic. As already explored, his entire worth as a man hinged on and was built entirely off his talent as a wizard. He fought tooth and nail for any crumb of affection Mystra would offer his way, something she only gave him at all seeing his gift as a child. He wants her forgiveness. He desires it genuinely. He believes so firmly that he has wronged his goddess, buying into the idea that sacrificing himself will right his wrong. She holds such dominion over him, making him reduce his confidence in himself into a mere, trifling pittance; after all, she wasn't just his lover, but the patron deity he prays to. And regardless, Gale is a people pleaser, his initial acceptance of her missive coming as no surprise.

After all, Gale, at times, goes to incredible lengths to appease his audience. This habit, compulsion, impulse, whatever you want to call it, is a quality that was relentlessly exacerbated in his relationship with his immortal paramour. He wanted to content her, felt all he did was never enough, for as a matter of principle, he was oceans, leagues, and entire galaxies beneath her. Gale figures: well, how can a short-lived dalliance satisfy a god? He had to make her happy. Indeed, he'd done everything she'd ask. He'd bedded her how she liked, kissed her how she wanted, and of course, even said those words she'd said tasted best. She was his lover, a lover that never tended to his own needs and pleasures, and he fooled himself into thinking that's enough. He won't bend backwards for everyone, mind you, but if you're of the ones he would, he would stop at nothing to make you happy. After all, people pleasing is a way to keep oneself safe, a trauma response to sidestep discomfort, and though it achieves only a direly tentative peace, when that is all you've been fed, you will pursue it.

Gale did not want to lose Mystra; he couldn't bare the sting of it. And so, when Elminster visited him, Mystra's call for his death offered oh so callously, Gale, heartbroken, felt that part of him kick up. He couldn't endure the guilt, was so hungry for a chance to let his weighty heart breathe, even if it meant dying in the process.

At least this way, he'll finally do something right. At least this way, Mystra will forgive him, and all his friends will survive.

Gale: After I was afflicted with my condition, I locked myself in my tower for an entire year. I was inconsolable, wallowing in my self-inflicted tragedy. I'd given up on myself.

As a byproduct of people pleasing, Gale, too, is all too quick to accept all guilt. He self-deprecates, gaslights himself to a venomous degree, and twists his reality in so cruel a way as to make him the villain Mystra'd led him to believe. He self-flagellates himself, the first one in the world who will throw Gale of Waterdeep a mental punishment. Mystra's a goddess, after all, seen as utterly faultless, and twined so tightly with a being so mighty in esteem, Gale slipped into the role of the guilty often. When tied with anyone with grandeur like this, so immeasurable in their own self worth, it's important to keep in mind this: you are nothing but a prop in which to fulfill their ego. Gale was not Mystra's, not by a long shot. Rather, Gale was a tool, simply her mortal extension.

And he took every blow meant for her... a common and terrible habit for many people in imbalanced, ego-fueled relationships.

Gale's life beyond her wasn't something that interested her. She took most of Gale's devotion, manipulated his life to be her sole mantle of attention, for Mystra is not a goddess that shares very happily.

Indeed, long before his self-imposed isolation, this jealous deity did well at keeping him isolated.

Player Character: Picture kissing him. With tenderness. Then, with passion. Gale: I... I didn't think— Narrator: You perceive quick-fire embarrassment, trepidation, and finally... elation.

And so, cheated out of love, so reduced in his value as a man and lover both, suffice to say, Gale's slow to believe he can ever be loved. That's what happens when you're with someone so cold, consistent only in their infinite lack of respect. Gale looks at fondness, and he feels—confounded, to be sure. He thinks, is this truly mine to have? He doesn't know what to do, is nearly forty in game, and despite having lived decades devoted to one relationship, he feels, at the same time, entirely out of depth. To be frank, he greets it with embarrassment, like he's been caught red handed with something not his at all. He's like a child caught rummaging with his hand in a cookie jar, all this isn't mine to enjoy, not mine to indulge in, but he thinks, startled, but god, do I want. He wars with disbelief, uncertainty, and need, and in so many ways feeling utterly starved, with just a glimmer of affection, he falls fast into love.

Scenario: (And if properly romanced, it changes his world.)

Gale: In her (Mystra's) likeness, I used to read a thousand stories. She was beauty, wisdom, elegance, power... she contained universes. But now... it is hard to see any redeeming qualities in a lover who condemned you to death. I'd much rather gaze into your eyes than hers. Yours are capable of tenderness and feeling... No god could ever compare.

He says it with sincerity. There is such wonder, such love, and such awe in his eyes. He makes the act of kissing him feel like you've just reached into the trenches to but pluck him soundly from his ruin and despair. You think, Gale Dekarios, how unloved have you been all this time?

Gale: To know you love me for the man I am, and not the magic I command… none have loved me so purely before.

The answer is: entirely.

For so long, Gale thought love was simply being chosen. He knew nothing of being favored for the quality of his character, to be cherished and accepted even in those ways he fumbles and lacks. Again, his needs were seldom met, often treated with utter indifference by Mystra herself, and to meet someone so eager to treasure him, dote on him in a way his heart, his body is somberly new to, raptures his spirit and captures his soul. He's seen for who he is. He's... loved, desired for his silly quips, his easy smiles, and his growing affections. He bares himself to them, and in turn, they cradle his heart like something entirely precious. Gale thinks this has to be dream. He says, at times, you are more than I deserve.

Scenario: (But sometimes, he hopes too strongly and loves too greatly. As it always does, then, like he's once more wanted too much, he watches something beautiful slip right through his fingers. Of course, Gale Dekarios. Of course it does.)

Player Character: I didn't know you felt so strongly, Gale. Gale: Perhaps I should have done more. Been more charming, more flattering, harder to reach... but I was only myself, and sometimes that isn't enough.

They don't love him anymore. It breaks his heart. He hurts so much, so profoundly and deeply, and he doesn't realize that he breaks their heart in turn.

Unable to ever voice his feelings with Mystra in any way that amounted to much, Gale's a tendency to wallow, expressions coming off as potentially 'guilt-tripping' and even, on occasion, passive aggressive. Firstly: Gale NEVER means to manipulate emotions, and he's no intention of twisting anyone's arm, either. Fact is, Gale, never taken seriously when he'd bared his vulnerabilities to the Mother of the Weave, can end up saying just a little too much. He feels very deeply, and for most his life, seldom had an outlet for these weeping sentiments. He sometimes lets slip raw words and oftentimes heart-wrenching expressions; all the same, it's not so pitiful as to shepherd an outcome, but rather, is a gesture taken by a man so desperate to be heard. It may feel like scheming, but the truth is far, far greyer: feeling as though he's no right to share the depth of his heart, Gale simply lets it geyser out in a way he can't cork up. In ways he doesn't realize, he's adapted to this ache, passively reacting so his feelings can at least be seen and recognized—no matter how pitifully unwhole. With someone who values so little his thoughts... well, when he slips into these moods, one can hardly feign shock.

Situation: (And if no one shows him trust and tenderness, any true care in his character or worth, Gale gets swallowed up by how wronged he was.

He thinks: Let me be a god. Let no one hurt like me anymore.)

Gale: They only want us to serve them, pray to them...and ultimately, to die for them. But what if we didn't need them? What if we wielded their power instead and helped ourselves in all the ways they refuse to? I could make that happen.

Gale is not above anger, and as stated, he is not above pettiness; however, more than that, he is not above righting himself whatever wound he was struck. Gale, if not offered much by ways of affection, understanding, is made to believe that one idea that's lived growing in his mind: Gale Dekarios is far from sufficient; he has to be more. He has to be better. Gale, in such an unkind ending for himself, sips too desperately—and perhaps greedily, too, but desperately serves as a far better word—at that idea that he needs power. And so, wresting the Crown of Karsus for himself, he spites Mystra in his own way, becoming a god he feels is leagues better than she will ever be. Damn her thoroughly. Damn her ego, her power, and her endless indifference. He will serve the people, protect them, and in ways Mystra never could, better the world.

Situation: But as a god, he loses all sense of his kindness. Humanity. All who loved him leave him, and even Tara spurns the image he's become. With power, he's gained the respect he thought he always wanted... but in turn, he lost in even greater measure all the love he's known.

Endnote: But healing, knowing to forgive himself and knowing he's deserving of care simply for being Gale Dekarios will remain, always, the best path for him.

#HEADCANON.#Oh... anyway. This. Was. A lot.#And it was a lot for me mentally and emotionally to write.#So much of this hit home.#Gale isn't perfect. He can be petty and immature—a byproduct of not being all too good at venting his frustrations when #it gets to a point. He has very bad self esteem. He is not forgiving of himself and is too forgiving of Mystra.#He endured FOR DECADES the cold indifference of a goddess he called his lover.#I know people dog on him because he's a grown man with these hurts and traumas and responses #but just because his trauma manifested in ways you don't find palatable or hot or sexy #doesn't mean they aren't scars left by trauma buddy!!!#And quite frankly that bit about God Gale sounding vindictive and angry #yeah! SOMETIMES people who have so cold and uncaring and belittling a partner #end up angry. You shoved someone into a corner and hounded them for SO LONG. Don't start crying when they rear back on you and bite #I have a deep connection with godhood Gale. But obviously a healed Gale that finds love and acceptance in himself is so much healthier.#I'm rooting for you Gale (always).#So much of this was typed up with a lot of first hand experience so... to say this was a Gale exploration #as much as a way to navigate my own trauma is an apt one.#No two tales of abuse are alike of course. Gale's experience isn't my experience. But I can sympathize a great deal.#TL;DR: This meta post means a lot to me. K. Thanks.

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science-lings · 8 days

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PLEASE elaborate on the phoenix and franziska shenanigans during the 7yg you have NO idea how much i like them

I am someone who loved the investigative portion of Bridge to the Turnabout where Franziska had to babysit Phoenix when he wasn't allowed to follow Miles and Iris. I think when he's not her rival defense attorney and is looking particularly pathetic, she is actually pretty chill around him. She is not exempt from his aura that gets young women to imprint on him and follow him around.

She is genuinely offended on his behalf when he gets disbarred because he beat Miles and Manfred and even her! why the hell would he cheat in a case against a teenager! She does not think for a second that he forged that diary page because she knows firsthand how he throws himself into things and cannot prepare an entire evil plan for shit. However, she does not know how to convey this to him so she bullies Miles into flying him and Trucy around because Miles is almost too good at being resigned to pine sadly from a distance.

It's also important to know that she sees Phoenix being a caring father to Trucy and as someone who never really had a valid father, decided that maybe (ex) defense attorneys have rights... Even if Miles didn't get his shit together to put a ring on That Man's finger, Franziska would find herself in Phoenix's found family, it's only a matter of time.

For some reason Phoenix doesn't go to court with Edgeworth, maybe he can't stand being there while not being a lawyer, maybe he forgot he wasn't an attorney once and got kicked out for yelling out an objection, it doesn't matter, Trucy gets to be Edgeworths weirdgirl assistant and Phoenix is stuck investigating with Franziska and they are the worst people to keep each other out of trouble. We're talking about 'guy who ran across a burning bridge' and 'woman who got shot in the shoulder and still managed to get to court eventually' they are an unstoppable duo when they find something they can both get behind.

If anyone can slowly get Franziska to loosen up and learn to embrace the childhood that she lost, it would be Phoenix. I mean, this girl passed the bar at like 13 there was no way she had time to binge she-ra and check out books on drawing horses from the library. He would convince her to get a cat who hangs out in a window backpack that she can carry around during her travels because it turns out that her life is kinda lonely and she totally seems like the cat lesbian type. She is also allergic to cats so she has to get a sphinx or a devon rex or just the most gargoyle/ golbin looking creature to walk on this earth. That just seems like her vibe.

#i don't know exactly what they do but whatever it is it scares the h3ll out of edgeworth #they visit london and realize that they both have ancestors who were lawyers there and that's pretty weird #spreading my van zieks/ von karma connection agenda #I think they should get lost somewhere they shouldn't be and go on a friendship building side quest together #they visit paris and find an entrance to the catacombs and go through a whole horror movie in there #and they come out with the solution to a cold case that's been a mystery for three hundred years #what do you get when you have two dangerously reckless people and take away their impulse control? platonic frannix #they come back to edgeworths apartment where he's watching the steel samurai with Maya and they're covered in ash with no explanation #I just think we should let them loose and see what happens #ask andromeda #phoenix wright #franziska von karma #phoenix and franziska AAI3 WHEN

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diorsbrando · 1 year

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HOME IS WHERE THE HEART IS. ( a. h )

pairing ! ━━ aki hayakawa x fem! reader

cw ! ━━ minors/ageless blogs do not interact. reader is black + thick coded but you don’t have to imagine it that way. basically boyfriend!aki who is very soft for his princess we luv him for that <3 lots of fluff and like…introspective moments? suggestive themes. descriptions of smoking.

word count ! ━━ 3.7k

notes ! ━━ this is an expanded version of this ask & the art used came from this post. ive been wanting to write this for a while, but ive been putting it off bc i wanted to start/work on other things and wasn’t sure if this would even be any good. but the akirot has fermented and here we are <3 i love writing soft love scenarios (i’ve been a sucker for them lately) so this is what this is. i hope y’all enjoy ! REBLOGS ARE HEAVILY APPRECIATED!

AKI HAYAKAWA WAS A. . . PERSONAL MAN. he cherished every little thing that he was blessed with very profoundly, and held them close to his heart, where they would be safe within its hardened, cold exterior. he protects these things— these emotions, these ideas, these people—with all his might, because he knew very well, maybe even better than anyone, that tomorrow was never promised.

he values the things he’s received even on a subconscious level, where he doesn’t actively realize that’s what it is: him caring to such an uncanny extent. it was like that with the first cigarettes he ever received from himeno, it was the same regarding his friendship with denji and power—

and it was ultimately the case with you. especially with you, matter of fact.

this explains why the two of you were pressed up against each other in a yearning embrace. aki had comfortably sandwiched you in between the wall and his firm body, while just a few feet away was the front door, where his devil-like subordinates waited outside.

he was very personal about you and the relationship you shared with him, the trust and the genuine connection that tethered both your hearts and souls to one another. he didn’t even want mere glances from the likes of denji and power to taint this special thing he held so tenderly in his big, calloused hands. their teasing of aki being “so whipped” for you fell on deaf ears the moment his closed your door with his foot and his fingers came in contact with your skin.

it wasn’t exactly a lie, he supposed.

the kiss was drawn out. longing, and wistful. it was slow enough for you to savor hints of every delicacy that clung to the walls of his mouth, and he did the same to you, low sounds of pleasure threatening to escape his throat. you tasted the spearing blanket of peppermint that coated the other flurry of flavors on aki’s lips and tongue, like the stale aroma of the cigarettes he smoked an hour ago, and the tangy cocktail he drank with his meal. and you loved it.

the dark-haired male sensually swiped his tongue across your bottom lip, effectively licking off most of the lip gloss you wore. gently, he tugged on your bottom lip with his teeth, before letting the pink muscle slither in between the barrier known as your lips; you tasted the gloss that you’ve been wearing all night.

you whined into his mouth when aki tugged at your bottom lip again— a little firmer and more yearning this time—and you followed his movements, perfectly in sync with one another. you melted into his taut chest when one of the hands that held onto your waist slipped past the material of your long, fitted cardigan and found its way under your ribbed tank top. his hands felt like ice against your warm skin and caused you to shudder at his touch. his palms gently squeezed and unclenched at your fleshy sides as a way to ground you back to him.

after what felt like an eternity, the rest of the world around you completely muted, aki finally pulled away from the kiss, his forehead dipped slightly to your height and rested against yours. your breathing patterns became harmonized with each other’s after a few seconds.

this. . . moments like these were precious to aki. it was personal to him, and it was all his.

“fuck. . . . . i’ve been wanting to kiss you like that since the moment we picked you up earlier” he confessed in a breathy voice. it was almost unusual to hear your boyfriend be so forward or use expletives so casually—he was usually such a composed man— but you found his words arousing, and you bit your lip to contain the giggle that wanted to escape. perhaps it was that fruity alcoholic beverage he drank, and the four subsequent glasses he consumed afterwards that made him so. . . so—

another chaste kiss on the corner of your mouth pulled you out of your thoughts. and then another a little farther down. then a third and fourth back on your lips. you couldn’t help the loving smile that morphed onto your face, finding his affections extremely endearing.

letting your fingers ascend from his shoulders to the back of his neck, your french tipped fingers numbly scratched at the back of his head. the dull sensation on his scalp was almost relaxing, but it also made his heartbeat continuously skip several beats. if aki were a cat, he swore he would have purred.

“hmm, aren’t you too cute?” you cooed teasingly, earning you a faux irritated roll of his eyes from him. “but don’t you have to get up early for work tomorrow? you and others should get going, it’s getting late.”

your boyfriend let his eyes flutter close, inhaled deeply, and threw his hand back to exhale, a soft groan getting caught in the mix.

“yeah, i do . . . . but i’d honestly rather not go back with those two. working with them is one thing but living with them on top of it is something else entirely. they’re complete pigs, it’s disgusting. and having them in my personal space feels like hell every day.”

you chuckled airily at his childlike complaints, while allowing your other hand to shift to cup his face. “i totally understand. it can be hard, but just take it one day at a time, okay? and be patient with them.” you put extra emphasis on the word patience because you knew how aki could get if provoked enough.

the devil hunter groaned again, letting his head hang until it fully rested on your shoulder. he still wasn’t fond of denji and power being placed under his care or being in his space, but he didn’t mind you in his. matter fact, it’s something he’d grow to crave more and more as the days went by. it was unbecoming for a man like him, but he couldn’t find it within himself to care all that much.

“now go! denji and power are waiting for you,” your voice trailed off and morphed into a more sing-song tone, which aki didn’t find amusing. but still, he sucked it up and stood at his full height with a heavy sigh.

“fine.” if you squinted hard enough, it almost looked like he was pouting. “gimme a kiss first.” he mumbled with a titled head, trailing his hands up and down your waist.

your chest tightened in glee when his already deep voice grew darker, just a little heavier, that you could feel it’s weight on your waist where his hands rested; you were obsessed with his voice, especially when it was unable to conceal his obvious desire for you. happily obliging to his request, the both of you leaned in for a sweet peck, the noise of your lips softly smacking and then finally separating tugging a rare smile at aki’s lips. just as you were about to pull away, aki’s ample hands immediately grabbed the back of your neck and held it in place so you couldn’t move.

“wait, one more baby” his grumbled again, his tone thicker than before. how could you deny him when he looked at you like that and asked so nicely? so, you gave what he (and you) both wanted.

“mmm just— just one more. this is the last one, i promise.”

it was, in fact, not the last one. he’d say ‘one more’ five more times (and you’d give in every single time) before you had to literally pry him off. as you ushered him towards the door, with his hand on the doorknob, he assured you in a soft voice that he’ll come to see you the following weekend, because this week was supposedly going to be very busy for him.

“i’ll see you soon, alright? stay safe. call me if you need anything.” he planted one final, gentle kiss on your forehead. it was his own personal way of saying ‘i love you’.

maybe he’ll work up the courage to actually say those three weighty words one day. a part of him wanted that day to be sooner rather than later.

“you’re the one who needs to be careful, out here killing devils and shit everyday. but anyway, i’ll see ya later, handsome.”

your subtle compliment made aki’s body stiffen for a moment, and you were able to see his ears redden in real time as he exited your apartment.

the fond contentment that surrounded the sword-wielding hunter was snatched away from him the moment the door closed behind his heels, and the crisp, cold air embraced his figure.

denji and power immediately flooded his ears with questions, ones he didn’t care enough to answer. they were too personal for him. as far as he was concerned, they didn’t need to know what went on in his relationship. like second nature, his face returned to its naturally stoic state, and he pulled out a second cigarette and lit it as he walked away from the two devils, who were still pestering him with obscene inquiries.

in that instance, he once again left his beating heart in human form behind on the ninth story of the apartment complex.

one could assume this might have been why aki hayakawa was so frigid all the time. the warmth of your love, of your being in itself that set fire to the blood in his veins, was pulled away from his grasp, causing his skin to harden and freeze in solitude and indifference. it ultimately contributed to overall icy personality, which seemed to be more steely than usual. each time his thoughts pondered on your tasteful figure —even for a moment— or the memory of your honeyed voice kissed his mind’s ear, he would have to stifle of groan of longing and annoyance, because instead of being in your bed, cradling you in his strong grasp, he had to be out here instead: his suit stained with the blood of some repulsive devil creature, dealing with all these. . . people, he thought in vague disdain, and dreading the paperwork he’d have to fill out for makima.

the week seemed to have weights on its feet, with the way it dragged on day after day, ever so slowly. it was too slow for aki and work, as well as his eccentric roommates, were driving him up the wall.

aki’s skin grew too cold, it resembled too much like solid ice, where if you came to close in its vicinity, its frost would bite you. he had been without the warmth of his heart for too long.

this realization would soon lead the dark-haired male to sneak out of his own house in the dead of night, an unfathomable gravitational force deep within his being pulled him to the little slice of heaven in this hell he had to live in everyday: to you.

aki understood the impulsivity and recklessness of his actions and was well aware of the risks of walking around alone at night, knowing that there could be devils lurking literally anywhere. he didn’t care though; nothing else mattered when you were involved. he also knew that he really should be in bed, resting so he can be ready for another grueling day at his job tomorrow.

but he just couldn’t seem to drift off into a dreamless slumber that his body so desperately wanted. not when you lingered and danced in the forefront of his subconscious.

it was an ungodly hour, most likely past two a.m., and lucky for aki, you were awake to feel the buzz of your phone in your palms. your closed laptop laid idle on the desk next to your bed, feeling the crushing weight of an assignment you were dreading lifted off your shoulders as soon as you pressed the submit button. now, you were currently going through your ‘watch later’ compilation on youtube, slowly but surely making your way through the list.

that’s when you saw the notification from your boyfriend drop down from the top of the screen. reflexively, your heartbeat quickened, and your finger twitched as you read his rather straightforward text.

you up? if you are, come unlock the door for me

it’s a marvel how he seemed to know that you were awake at this hour. for all he knew, you could have been fast asleep, enjoying your ride to dreamland.

but you supposed that just proved how attuned your man was to you. it was frightening sometimes, like he knew you better than yourself.

and it would make sense for someone to be in tune with such an important organ more than anything else because of course, it was the one that gave them life and one wouldn’t be able to effectively survive without it.

aki’s began to drown in the sea of his own thoughts, he didn’t even realize that the door was already open, and you stood there waiting for him. your soft spoke snapped him out of the daze he was in. you couldn’t stop the faint, cheeky grin that pulled at your facial muscles the longer you stared at your lover.

if aki leaned close enough and looked hard enough, he might be able to see the hearts in your pupils. something about him coming here in the dead of night— randomly, no less — felt so adolescent. it felt like the two of you were some starstruck lovers in high school that couldn’t stay away from the other for too long. and something about the fact made your body temperature increase.

you noticed that aki’s hair wasn’t tied up in its usual top-knot style. it cascaded freely in dark waved across his face, acting as a shadowy curtain over his lashes. the onyx stud earring’s he always wore glimmered in the refraction of the singular light that hung over their heads in the hallway. his katana was slung lifelessly across his back on top of the black hoodie he wore.

aki’s face was mainly expressionless as he stared back at you, and yet, he still managed to look effortlessly beautiful.

you’d never know that thoughtful stare could prove to be too much for him sometimes. the man found himself quickly tearing his gaze from yours after a few seconds, deciding that your eggshell white painted toes and silver anklet were far more interesting. and they were, because they were so pretty looking. everything about you was so pretty.

he opened his mouth a little to say something, but then immediately closed it again, swallowing whatever thoughts he was going to share. concern briefly flickered in your brow at the minimal action. “aki? is.... everything okay?” you asked him carefully, knowing that he wasn’t the type to wear his heart on his sleeve or open about anything so easily.

he would need to warm up first to do that.

aki took several moments to reply, and in the silence, his feet took control of the rest of his body and took a step forward. then another, and then another, until he had your back up against the wall, just like the other night. your breath slightly hitched at the memory, your chests brushing against one another.

“. . . everything’s fine. those two just. . . can be so fucking loud sometimes, even when they’re sleeping. can’t stand it.” his voice was rough and full of complaints, but his hands were gentle, finding their way back home on the flesh of your waist, and used it as leverage to pull your hips against his. you could feel the heat of his crotch on yours/

“one of these days, i’m actually going to kill them in their sleep and dump their bodies on the street.” and there it was again, that dip in volume that made his voice sound more like a sensual rumble in this throat. you started to wonder if he was aware of it or not.

the flicker of his intensifying gaze from your eyes to your lips seemed to be the catalyst in the two of your moving your faces closer together. both of you were so close he could feel the air escaping from your mouth when you let out a chuckle. “so dramatic. so...you came all the way here, because they were snoring too loud?” your eyes were lidded now, teasing him with faux offense embedded in your tone as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

aki all but hummed, not caring enough to reply at the moment, because he now became too busy pressing a much-anticipated kiss on your lips. this time, it was saccharine. it was eager, bordering on desperate. but most of all, it was warm. aki sighed and groaned into your mouth, relishing in the warmth of being here with you, in your house, in your arms, thawing the cold barrier that surrounded his veins.

as the kiss grew more fervent ━ one of his hands gliding up the valley of your breast to comfortably latch onto your throat, and your hand that was clasp took root in his soft hair, giving it a little tug ━ neither he, nor you, could suppress the shudder that crawled up your spines.

the need to properly breath soon became too overwhelming, and soon enough the both of you pulled away from one other, panting softly into each other’s mouth, him resting his forehead on yours.

“yeah...” he spoke slowly, trying to remember the question before the two of you kissed; his head was still fuzzy from the sheer euphoria of it all. “they’re....too loud. anyway, let’s go to bed, baby. ‘m tired.”

with one final peck on your lips, he slipped out of your loose grasp and padded his way to your room, with you following after him. you plopped on your bed and got comfortable as you watched your boyfriend maneuver back and forth between your room and bathroom as if he lived here. it felt very...domestic and you had to bite back the grin that wanted to pull at your lips and contain your giddiness.

as you connected your phone to its charger and set it on the nightstand, aki’s taller frame climbed into bed next to you. his clothing was reduced to his boxers and t-shirt, presumably wearing it under the hoodie he arrived in. instinctively, your bodies were pulled towards each other underneath the blankets: your head against the crook of aki’s neck and one hand on his chest, while his lanky, muscled arm was draped across your back, his palms rubbing miscellaneous patterns along your sides and thigh.

“you mind if i smoke a little before we sleep?” he broke the silence that filled your bedroom, remembering to be courteous whenever he came over.

you hummed sleepily, not realizing your own exhaustion as soon as you snuggled up against your boyfriend. “mmm, g‘head, baby. just open the window when you do....don’t want the smell to linger.”

it was amusing to aki that while gave him permission to get up satisfy his smoker habit, you still you nuzzled yourself against him, holding him close like he was your own personal teddy bear. chuckling softly, he slithered out of your grasp and out of the comfort of your bed to grab the pack of smokes and his lighter that were in his hoodie pocket.

remembering that you kept an ashtray in one of the drawers━ just for him; his heart pounded at the thought━ he placed it on the nightstand, and like second nature, pulled a pale white cigarette from its container with his teeth. with a few flicks of his black lighter ━one, two, three ━ the orange flame he’d come to be very well acquainted with sprang out from its plastic cage and kissed the end of his cigarette. wispy, white tendrils of smoke escaped from the end of the cigarette and idly floated into the atmosphere. inhaling and exhaling, as if he were breathing regularly, aki rested his back against the headrest of the bed, and blew out the toxic fumes, letting excesses of smoke lazily dribble past his lips.

the man’s dark, cerulean eyes drowsily shifted from the blank ceiling to your now sleeping form next to him. he took comfort in the way your body gently rose and fell, and the way your facial muscles relaxed into complete bliss, not having a care in the world.

the veiny hand that wasn’t holding the cigarette came to gently stroke the apple of your cheeks, then shifted so he could stroke your soft lips with the pad of his thumb. even in your sleep, you sensed his touch and leaned into his rugged palm. his chest ached and stomach churned watching you do that and God you were just so cute. so pretty and so soft and all his. every time he saw you, he liked the sound of that more and more.

this moment, it was comparable to a husband and wife sharing a bed. the thought made his cheeks and neck burn, almost causing him to choke on the smoke he was inhaling. aki wished all his days could end like this. he wished every day could begin and end like this, until the end of time.

after a few more minutes, aki snuffed out the cigarette on the ash tray next to him, got up to brush his teeth and gargle mouthwash for a second time this evening, and climbed into bed with finality. pulling your figure into his once more. his now warm hand glided up and down the canvas of your spine, and both of your legs became entangled with each other.

this particular thing, his relationship with you, was very personal to aki hayakawa, indeed. he cherished it admittedly more than his own job and he wanted to show you, as well as tell you, how much you meant to him everyday for the rest of his life.

that’s probably why he placed one last tender kiss on your forehead before letting slumber take over, and against your skin he mumbled something that had been weighing heavy on his chest and his mind for longer than he realized.

“i... i love you, princess. sweet dreams.”

aki closed his eyes before he realized your own eye that had peeled open at his thick, sleepy voice, suppressing a dreamy smile at his love confession.

あ tagging ! ━━ @yamaguchism @cyancherub @444yeager @n-agiz @fushisslut @aaphroditeeeee @heartsfrommars @saintblk @h34rt4u @deathskid @nekoriots @hellavile @aitsuki @bunnyyamor @dejwrites @yooniluvbot444 @loyenne @satotokii @enishis @eiflawriting @obitohno @monirei @sanjithesimp @cosmicdoechii @nobodytbh @simeonswhore @sirenh4ll . . . . want to be added my taglist for more works? click here <3

#sailewhoremoon #sosa’s filez 💭#i hope yall noticed all the allusions to aki being cold / the reader 'warming him up' bc shes his heart in human form #and how that connects to his personality━#ahem anyway #aki 🖤#chainsaw man #csm fics #csm x reader #chainsaw man x black fem reader #csm x black reader #black fem reader #aki hayakawa x fem reader #thank GOD i got this fic out ive been wanting to publish this all week #fluff🥰#!mdni #do y’all think my writing is like…bad or not well rounded #idek it’s just a thought

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waterfallofspace · 7 months

Text

A Matter Of Belief

A birthday gift for @ezynse! <333 Sooo, I'm a few days late 😭😭 but hopefully you still enjoy this~ (and maaaybe the fact it's a two part thing makes up for that..?~)

Summary: When N/anami attempts to lie about a cold, he succeeds. But when he isn't lying, well, considering what happened last time? They're not so quick to believe him. So, he finds himself having to prove his honesty.

Word Count: 4.3k (Part One: 1.9k - The Lies We Tell~ ) (Part Two: 2.4k - ~Come Back To Bite Us)

Characters: N/anami, G/ojo, M/egumi and I/tadori. (hints at N/anago, but can be read platonic or romantic, readers choice~)

(Warning, features vague notions of past contagion and light mess implications. Nothing outright stated, but be warned!)

The Lies We Tell~

A shrewd whistle pulls Nanami from his thoughts, head lifting from the safety of his cupped hands. Waiting to meet his eyes is a familiar, and deeply unwanted, sight.

“Woah, you look rough,” Gojo hums, sucking air through his teeth with a sound not unlike a rusty gate pulling against its hinges. Hm; apparently metaphors are easier when you’re a little out of it. Or maybe it’s just Gojo that pulls that side of people out into the open. However against their will it may be.

Clearing his throat, Nanami braces himself for the sounds that may escape in lieu of human speech. “Id’s-” A pause, cough, and tight inhale. “It’s not all that. I’m alright. Though, less so with you interrupting my work. I have a lot to complete before the day is up.”

“Working? Is that what we’re calling ‘half-asleep in our hands’ nowadays?” Gojo retorts, a smirk creeping from his flashing teeth up to his blindfold. There’s no doubt his eyes are shining, taking in every pathetic inch of Nanami’s current state. Effortlessly infuriating, as always.

Letting a sigh replace the urge to cough, Nanami turns his focus back to the laptop. A clear signal, leave me alone. Observant as Gojo is, there’s no doubt the signals were seen and understood.

“Whatcha workin’ on?”

Then pointedly ignored.

“Even if I explained it, you wouldn’t have any idea what it was.”

Gojo lets out a huff, falling into the chair next to Nanami’s with a performative groan. Dramatic as ever, and certainly getting awfully comfortable. With a sigh, Nanami pinches the bridge of his nose, giving Gojo a light glare as he feels unease start to take root.

His growing headache protests this action, a flash of heat through his temples nearly bringing a wince. Each blink serves to bring a moment of relief, quickly dispelled as the fluorescent lighting brings another wave of pain.

Yet, despite the agony, pain can be endured silently without much fuss. No, his rising unease belongs to an entirely different sort of sensation. One that won’t go so easily overlooked.

“Nana-mi, how long are you gonna be working on this?” Gojo cuts in with a whine. “I’m so bored. Why don’t we play a game instead!”

“I’m busy.”

“Oh come on, we both know you can multitask like a pro!”

Nanami sighs, allowing a single finger to brush the source of his growing agitation. “Is it ‘name all the things you like about Gojo Satoru’? Again?”

“We have a winner!” Gojo smirks, clapping his hands together above his head. The noise echoes through the quiet office. Thanks to a meeting, to which an invitation was respectfully declined, the office is graciously empty. Then again, if it wasn’t, maybe Gojo wouldn’t be here at all.

“It seems to be the only game you’re aware of. Or at least the only one you have any interesting in particihhhpating in.” Nanami swallows hard as his breath catches on its own.

Each inhale from here on out is a gamble. One wrong move and the dam bursts. Best course of action is to keep the breathing shallow, wait for an opportunity, and hope to keep it quiet-

“So you’re sick, huh?”

“hH’EDngXTchh!”

The question breaks Nanami’s concentration, fingers barely reaching his nose in time to catch the sneeze. In an effort to relieve the pressure in his throat, he lets out a slight cough before the next itch takes its turn to pile on.

“hieHh- nXGtCHhh! Pardon me.”

“That can’t feel good,” Gojo offers with a wince, gesturing to Nanami’s throat. Admittedly, it does not. Still, not ready to admit defeat, Nanami tightens his mouth into a grimace. One Gojo seems to pull out of him often.

“I’m not unwell, it is simply an… hiH’gehDNTchh!” Hands fly up to catch this one, Nanami leaving one hovering just under his chin as he finishes. “-immune system overreaction. Pardon.”

“You can’t just say it like a normal person?”

“It’s an allergic reaction.”

“S-ee? Was that so hard?” Comes the teasing reply, Gojo managing to wink with his voice alone. Letting his fingers brush against his nose, Nanami disguises the action by sliding his glasses up it.

“I’m fully capable of so called ‘normal’ conversations. I just prefer to choose a more sophisticated approach. Something you’d- eh’deNGTchh! Pardon. Something you’d know nothing about.”

Gojo’s reply sounds muffled, something about ‘words hurting’ starting to fade away as Nanami gasps.

Fingers pinch his nose, giving the freedom to release an itchy hiss from his teeth. Feeling the flare of his own nostrils under his grip, another gasp gets caught in his throat. If he didn’t know better, he’d say it was an allergy. This cold’s damn expressive.

“Nanami?”

Even if he wanted to reply, the option was entirely off the table. His entire face seems to buzz, nose practically quivering. Still, wishing to maintain decorum, or at least pride, Nanami takes another measured inhale.

“hHIuh-!”

This can be held back.

“hhieh… hih-!”

At least long enough for Gojo to lose interest and leave him alo-

“eHNgdtch– hiHh’eyIESHHh-iuh!”

The first gets squished against his fingers, but the second breaks his hold, barely managing to be caught against his sleeve. The violent nature leaves his throat raw, sinuses starting to ache as a light drip threatens to bring forth another burst.

“See,” Gojo interrupts, seemingly oblivious to the struggles as Nanami tries to clear his throat. “-that didn’t sound like an allergy sneeze.”

There’s a silence as Nanami pinches his nose, feigning an all too real headache. Even a single word is out of the question, there’s no way his voice won’t hold the congestion. Silence for this long though… Gojo will piece together that there’s more than one kind of irritation working its way through Nanami.

“Whad’s thad subosed… hehh–” Nanami replies at last, deciding to take the lack of consonants over the lack of words entirely. The intensity of the tickle as each word buzzes through his throat, however, was not accounted for.

“Jeez!” Gojo laughs, chair nearly tipping over. “I can barely understand you!”

“hIH’ESHHH-iuh!” Nanami answers with a groan, attempting to tack on some words at the end. “Pardod be. Thad’s dot by probleb.”

“Better blow your dose, Dadabi.” Comes the retort, Gojo pinching his nose with a dramatic flair, once more seeming to wink without the use of his eyes.

Nanami scoffs, the action triggering a heavy cough. His arm raises on instinct, chair squeaking as he manages to aim away from the blindfolded annoyance to his right. Face still buried in the warm fabric, his hand reaching blindly for the handkerchief. It’s seen its fair share of use this week.

Alright, so maybe it’s not exactly allergies, but the overreaction part wasn’t inaccurate. And should Gojo catch on that this is a cold, overreaction will be exactly what follows. He’ll be impossible to get rid of, and the word will spread like wildfire.

Nanami grimaces against his arm, fingers finally reaching their target as his thoughts continue to wander. He has things to do, none of which include people fussing over him and interrupting his work.

Not bothering to open his eyes, Nanami brings the cloth to his face and lets out a long blow, feeling the congestion shift enough to allow air through his sinuses once more. Once he’s satisfied with the action, he lets the handkerchief fall back to the desk.

Gojo’s remained uncharacteristically quiet through the whole ordeal, and stays that way as Nanami attempts a light sniffle to test the waters. He quickly realizes his mistake, breath wavering as he pulls the tissues to his nose.

“hHEDtieZSHhh! eH’GhZshhoo! hh’eDGSHh’iuh-!”

The sounds are heavy, congestion lining each breath as he attempts to stall the onslaught at three– “hH’EMPFFfshh-!” a light moan escaping as he’s unsuccessful. The tissues manage to catch most of the attack, only the last breaking its way into his arm.

A heat suddenly floods his mind, all symptoms forgotten as Nanami feels a light panic enter his chest. The tissues… that he didn’t grab…? Is he feverish after all- the only fabric he’d acquired was the handkerchief, yet glancing down, what remains of tissues are clearly in his hands.

Laughter brings him back to the room. He looks up to find Gojo laughing, nearly hysterically, as he gestures to the box on the desk next to him. A coworker had brought them in last week. Along with something else Nanami is not as grateful to have obtained.

“You- you should have- seen your face!” Gojo manages through the near mocking levels of gasping, blindfold starting to darken in colour around his eyes.

Nanami can’t help the humour that coats his annoyance. Crying from laughter…? A bit over the top, even for Gojo.

With a final chuckle, Gojo settles back down, lowering his voice back to its average pitch. “You looked like you needed them.”

“Ah. It seems I did. Pardon me again.”

It’s all the admission Nanami’s willing to allow, but it seems more than enough for Gojo to run with. He pauses, lifting the corner of his blindfold to meet Nanami’s gaze directly. “You sure you’re alright?”

“I’m certain. One of my coworkers simply got a new scent that… didn’t agree with me...” It’s a lie, something Nanami is none too fond of, especially at such detail. However… it’s not entirely untrue. There was such an incident– it just happened weeks ago.

Gojo tilts his head, gesturing to continue.

“A gift from her American boyfriend. Seems they use much stronger scents across the sea.”

This elicits a solemn nod, Gojo pursing his lips. “I’ve experienced a few of those. Powerful stuff.”

“Indeed.”

“Interesting that I’m not getting set off though–” Gojo adds, taking a deep sniff. The crisp sound seems almost like a taunt, Nanami feeling his own sinuses protest the action. He curses himself, then Gojo’s overly-sensitive nose, before settling on a light shrug.

“Probably got cleared out of the air by now. We do have a filtration system in the office– heh’dEHTChh-ue! Pardon me.” Gojo passes another tissue as Nanami attempts to finish the thought. “Though it seems it’s still lingering in my sinuses.”

Pausing for another blow and letting a few coughs escape under the guise of allergic irritation, Nanami sighs. “Now, if there’s nothing else?”

Standing from the chair, Gojo sighs performatively, letting out a vague chuckle. “You’re so boring, Nanami.”

“And yet you wasted nearly twenty minutes of your precious time with me.”

“Megumi’s off on a mission with Okkotsu,” Gojo laments, before pausing. A hint of sincerity leaks into his tone as the next words come out barely audible above the hum of the office. “Was feelin’ kinda quiet at school.”

Nanami sighs again, certain he’s gained more oxygen in the last twenty minutes than he’s gotten in weeks from sheer amount of sighs. Gesturing towards the chair, he feels his headache protesting the action. He’s gonna regret this.

Dropping back into it with a grin, Gojo gives a light and airy “th-ank you!” which Nanami pointedly ignores.

“Stay quiet, I have to finish these forms.”

“You’re the best Nanami!”

“eH’TSSCHh– ESSChh’iuh! And not a word about that.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Comes the airy reply, Gojo sliding the box of tissues closer. Fighting the urge to sigh again, a little overdone at this point, Nanami grabs a handful.

It’s gonna be a long afternoon.

~Come Back To Bite Us.

“nGxt– eNKxt! ah’kNXt! Oh, pardon me.”

“Go home.”

“Megumi, that was rude!” Gojo chimes in, infinity still up as he angles his hips towards the source of his chastation, “We don’t speak like that to our elders,” before turning on his heel to face Nanami. “-but the kid’s right. Go home.”

Releasing his nose, Nanami doesn’t miss the glare Megumi casts at him. Regardless, the itch wins out, and he sniffles lightly, clearing his throat before speaking. “I just got here. And besides, it was Itadori that called me in, not you two.”

Nanami had been resting at home, mindlessly filling in some crosswords when he’d received what could only be described as a frantic text from Itadori. Something about ‘trouble, burning, and Nanamin’. Followed by, in all caps, ‘COME QUICK’, and a string of white boxes that Nanami elected to ignore.

“Whatever.” Megumi’s voice cuts through Nanami’s thoughts, eyes drifting up to meet the icy glare being shot in his direction. “But I’m going back to my room. I sure as hell don’t want whatever you got.”

Nanami blinks, pushing his glasses up with a sigh. “I’m not sick.”

The irritated glare is almost comical, Megumi’s mouth tightening as he gestures to Gojo. “Last time you ‘weren’t sick’, this idiot showed up with a cold that he proceeded to share with all of us.” A light heat appears on the accused’s cheeks as Megumi continues, “We were all sick within a matter of days. I’m not taking any chances.”

“Hey,” Gojo whines, crossing his arms with a huff. “That wasn’t my fault! I tried to call out, but someone had to keep an eye on you kids.”

“Not a kid.”

Gojo grins, dropping his infinity to poke at Megumi’s cheek as he sings, “Not a child, still a kid!” before retreating with a yelp as Megumi knocks his hand away.

“That’s no-”

“Look,” Nanami cuts in, rolling his eyes as Gojo pokes a not-so-subtle tongue in Megumi’s direction. “Just tell me where Itadori’s room is, and I’ll find him myself.”

“Not a chance. He’s almost as bad as Gojo when it comes to spreading illness.”

Pouting at the accusation, Gojo rolls his head back to confront Megumi, some complaint or denial sprouting on his tongue–

“hnNGxt! agHKnt! eNGkt!”

–until Nanami cuts their bickering off once more, a ‘pardon’ getting lost behind the fist pressed against his nose. The increasing congestion leaves Nanami’s hand against his face, a sniffle loosening it more audibly than he’d desire.

Standing from the couch, Gojo grabs a tissue with much too over-the-top of a flourish, yelping as Megumi slaps his hand again. Instead, Megumi places the box in Nanami’s reach, with another pointed glare and scoff.

Unwarranted, seeing as, “I’b do-” A pause, deep sniffle, grimace forming as it does nothing to alleviate the ever growing tickle. Still, it allows enough clarity to continue with, “I’m not sick.”

“Real convincing,” comes Megumi’s retort, Nanami ducking to the tissue box just in time to catch the next burst.

“hHENCH-shha!”

It escapes before he can suppress it, a heat starting to form at the tips of his ears. Normally stifling isn’t a problem, not unless he’s been at it for awhile, or it’s a particularly nasty itch. Neither of those should be the case in this situation. Much to Nanami’s chagrin, this was simply a failure on his part to contain it.

“You sound entirely healthy.”

“Megumi, what an attitude!” Gojo says, sarcastic displeasure dripping from each word as Megumi sucks in a breath. Turning on his heel, he spins around to face Gojo with a look that could kill. Guessing by who it’s aimed at, Megumi wishes it would.

“You clung to my side like a parasite for nearly two weeks.”

“I was dy-ing! You refused to comfort me in my time of need and suffering–”

Letting their argument fade into the background, Nanami pauses to take stock of the situation. Despite previous denials being entirely for show, this time he’s really not sick. Everything has felt fine all day, no symptoms to speak of. Even now, there’s still no rawness of the throat, or heaviness in the lungs, it’s only his nose having a reaction.

No– actually, the itch starts in his nose, but it’s spreading. Beginning to crawl up his throat, it’s burying itself in his ears, clinging to the backs of his eyes. This is most certainly an allergy, but to what..?

It first began when he entered Jujutsu High, so it has to be something here. It’s the middle of autumn, so unlikely there’d be any specific flowers floating around, not that those tend to set him off anyways. And if it was a heavy perfume, Gojo would certainly be reacting too.

Nanami gives the room a scan, eyes finally resting on a bottle of cleaning supplies sitting on the counter. The brand isn’t familiar, it’s not the one they use at the office, or one he’s picked up himself before. It has some sort of apple design on the label, though it doesn’t appear to be scented. Judging by the level of liquid, and the dampness of the cloth to its left, it’s been recently used.

“--and then you made Okkotsu miss his assignment, which meant me and Toge had to take it, despite him still being unwell.”

Tuning back in to catch Megumi’s closing argument, Nanami interjects before Gojo has a chance to form his defense. “Not sick, just an immune system overreaction. Likely to that cleaning spray. N-now… eh’kNCHhaa! Pardon me. Now, Itadori’s room? He claimed it was urgent.”

Gojo crinkles his nose, glancing from Nanami to the spray and back, before chuckling. “What, is that American made too?”

Judging by the strangled noise from Megumi, he understood the reference and found it unfortunately amusing. Apparently not many details of their encounters are kept private. Though, seeing as it’s Gojo Satoru in question, that was to be expected.

Nanami sighs, tongue pressed to the roof of his mouth as the itch spreads deeper. Exchanging it for a pinch at the bridge of his nose so he can speak, he turns to face the most likely to allow him access.

“Gojo, I don’t have tihh… time for this. I need to find Itadori.”

“Not a chance,” Megumi calls again, arms still crossed over his chest.

“Staying in this room is j-just… just gonna… hHiuh-!” Nanami pauses, tongue pressed harder against his teeth as he fights back the overwhelming desire to give in to the tickle. Finally with a heavy sigh, he releases the pressure. “Just going to make the reaction worse.”

Rolling his eyes, Megumi places a hand on the doorframe, firmly blocking the entrance. “Sorry, not buying it.”

A sigh sounds from the couch where Gojo has found himself lounging again, eyes rolling as he makes a pointless gesture. “Just let the man through. He’s probably telling the truth anyways, what’s the point in keeping up the lie if we’re still denying him access?”

“hH’ENchHsha! Pardon.”

“Not planning on betting with three weeks of misery over probably telling the truth.”

Gojo leans his head back to meet Megumi’s icy gaze, beginning yet another argument as Nanami feels his head begin to pound. Megumi’s an alright kid on his own, but put him in a conversation with Gojo, and it’s nearly infuriating.

Exacerbated, Nanami lets a groan pass through his teeth, before walking over to the counter. Hearing footsteps, Megumi raises his head, ready to prevent an intrusion, before pausing. Quizzically, he casts a glance at Gojo, who merely shrugs.

“What are you-”

“You don’t believe me? Fair enough, I guess I’ve earned that,” Nanami begins, internally cursing himself for this half-assed plan. “Still, I intend to see Itadori before I’m off the clock, so here’s your proof.”

With that, he takes the bottle and sprays it against the cloth, before bringing it to his nose. The effect is immediate, Nanami feeling his hands grip the cloth tighter against his rapidly flaring nostrils on instinct. A rush of ticklish irritation spreads deep into his sinuses, his eyes watering as his skin takes on a rosy flush.

“hH’ENCHha– YEASHH’ahh! hH’NkGt-sha! aH’GngKThah! hH’DESHHh’ue!”

Megumi and Gojo seem frozen, eyes glued to the scene playing out in front of them. Shock’s written plainly across their faces as Nanami ducks closer to the ground with each body-wrenching sneeze. All three of them locked in place.

Gojo’s the first to break the spell, rising from the couch as Nanami– “hH’eNChsha!” continues to sneeze against the cloth. Each desperate inhale bringing another round of heavy, chemically tainted, scent.

“enCHshHAa-! egZSHHshaa-! P-pardon– ek’eNCHSh-uew!”

“Jeez Nanami,” Gojo offers, a wince scraping from his throat. Reaching over, he pulls the cloth away from Nanami’s twitching nose. “You’re gonna smother yourself.”

“eHNChshah!”

“Point proven, now try taking a clean breath instead, yeah?”

The near whine Nanami releases as the rush of fresh air invades his sinuses is almost pitiful, eyes overflowing with allergic misery. Megumi finally takes this moment to react, grabbing the tissue box and bringing it over.

Still barely able to pry his eyes open, Nanami only catches a second of the offering, but he’d wager the look Megumi’s wearing is a sheepish one. More than likely laced with some feigned annoyance to cover genuine concern. That kid was always a little too good at feeling sympathy for those around him. Seems Gojo managed to instill a few good traits along with all the bad.

“Here,” Megumi huffs, actions confirming the suspicions as he presses a handful of tissues into Nanami’s frantically waving hands.

“eh’mFFSSCHhh! ah’enCSHMFff! hiEHh– mMFFSHHhh!”

There’s a vague murmur of concern from Gojo, his infinity breaking as his skin touches Nanami’s back, hand gently running across the violently shaking shoulders. “You gonna live?”

“I- hHEZDCSHah! Pardon me. I told you I wasn’t… w-wasn’t… hH’ENCZSHhaa! Wasn’t sick. Now can- ah’yeISSHHh-uew! Pardod be-”

“Breathe Kento,” Gojo mutters, casting Megumi a calculated look as he shifts awkwardly, offering another round of tissues.

Accepting them with a heady sniffle, Nanami attempts to finish his sentence, “Dow cad I see Idadori?” grimacing at how heavy the words fall out. Pausing to blow, he accepts another round of tissues as the sensation prompts another round of heady sneezes, followed by a second blow.

The congestion lining his sinuses seems to be more swelling than anything else, but the blows at least clears his voice enough to regain some consonants. “There’s still an hour left in the work day, and I’d like to see him before it ends.”

Megumi winces, attempting to cover it with a shrug as he gestures towards the door he’d been previously blocking. “Last room on the left, end of the hall. He’d be there if he’s waiting for you. Otherwise you could check the kitchen, I think he was in there earlier.”

Before Nanami can take a step, Gojo lets an arm rest on his shoulder, leaning over with a smug grin. “The kitchen was just cleaned-”

“eH’NCZSHha! Excuse me.”

“-How about you go get Itadori, and I’ll bring Nanami outside for some fresh air.”

Megumi nods, walking off at a pace that, to anyone else, could almost be construed as hurried. Once he’s out of range, Gojo turns back to Nanami, concern etched across his sharp features.

“You know, you could have just pushed past him,” he muses, grabbing another handful of tissues as Nanami’s nose twitches needily, his eyes fluttering shut. “Megumi’s all talk, he wouldn’t have actually stopped you.”

“eNCHHff! ah’mMFFShhh-uew! Pardon me.”

With another harsh blow, and a sigh, Nanami accepts Gojo’s waiting shoulder, beginning the nearly six feet journey to outside. With his eyes still watering and swollen, he’s relying almost solely on Gojo to get them safely to the door.

“I know,” he begins, taking advantage of the illusion of privacy that the darkness brings. “But I couldn’t exactly blame him. I did lie before.”

Gojo laughs, joyous and full-bodied, the action shaking them both as Nanami wrenches to the side with another– “hHENCHHshha!” that nearly topples them.

When he can finally get a breath in, Gojo places his hand against the wall, studying the duo. Turning to Nanami, he offers a “Was it worth it?”

“Provigg by poidt?”

“I meant lying. Before.”

Nanami takes a sharp breath. Once, twice, eyes blearily staring up at the sky, before a deep exhale trips out, a groan on it’s heels.

“Lost it?”

“Mm. I didn’t mean to, you know.”

“To lose the sneeze?” Gojo chuckles, helping Nanami down the steps. “I didn’t figure you did-”

Nanami cuts him off, tone softer than he’d ever admit to as he begins again. “To get you guys sick. I wasn’t planning on having you stick around, I just…”

There’s a pause, the silence seeming to linger heavily in the air. It’s not cold enough to see your breath, but the chill still leaves Nanami rubbing his arms. No comment is spoken when Gojo leans in closer, nor when Nanami lets his head rest on his shoulder.

Finally a sheepish laugh cuts through the atmosphere, Nanami glancing up to meet Gojo’s genuine smile. “Can’t turn away a person in need? Guess that one’s on me as much as it is you.”

With a light cough, Nanami spins away from his position against Gojo’s shoulder, ducking towards the ground for another, “hh’RRSHHhaa! hk’EYIESHhhaa! Pardod be, agaid."

“See! Those sound like allergies.”

Nanami turns back to Gojo, raising an eyebrow incredulously. “You’re sayigg by sdeezes soud differedt whed I’b sick?”

A smirk meets the question, Gojo’s eyes glistening with mischief. “I’ll record them sometime. Show you what I mean.”

“If you ever-”

He’s interrupted by Itadori calling out, the words lost in the distance. Glancing up from behind his tissue barrier, Nanami catches sight of the frantic waving. Megumi’s leaning against the doorframe behind him, attempting to feign indifference. As their eyes catch, Nanami offers a slight nod, Megumi’s posture notably relaxing.

“Nanamin!” Itadori calls, rushing over to them with a giant smile. One that feels deeply inappropriate for this level of exhaustion.

Still, Nanami attempts to react with one of his own as Itadori continues rambling on. “Oh wow, you look rough! I mean, Megumi warned me, but I didn’t know it would be this bad.”

As the words continue flowing out in an almost endless stream, Gojo leans over, voice at a volume only they can hear. “Payback time.”

He then leans back, calling out to Itadori, “Yeah, he’s real banged up, right? Oh, hey Itadori! You remember that thing Okkotsu taught you?”

Nanami raises an eyebrow, sending Gojo a suspicious glance before a deep sigh breaks forth at Itadori’s enthusiastic response.

“Oh right! Bless you! It’s an English custom for when someone sneezes, right Sensei?”

“hhENCHH’shaa-!”

“Bless you, Nanamin!”

It’s gonna be a long hour.

#waterfallwrites #happy birthday ez!! im sorry this took so loonnnngggg!~#hopefully you enjoy it thoughhh!! i wanted to give both allergies AND a cold #but with a lil spinnn~ to connect the two #n/anami k/ento #g/ojo s/atoru #j/jk

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