saycheeeese

[saycheeeese]

It's been 281 days since you last saw another human being. You couldn't risk staying outdoors for long - that is, unless you want to run into a zombie. Those mutilated creatures now practically roam more than half of the world, and in only the 2 years they've been here, they've gotten way stronger. By raiding countless shops, they've enhanced their artillery and population, and the death rate drastically goes up daily.

Now, you're crouched on top of the run-down building you've been living in for the past few months, peeking over the edge, ears perked for any sort of noise. You ran out of rations a week ago, and you've managed to scrape by, occasionally coming across a god-forsaken convenience store, the lights fused and the entire area reeking of dust and wet carpet, a few canned foods edible in the midst of rotting perishables. So you finally got the courage to venture into the gloom and snag something to give you some kind of nourishment.

You almost deem the area safe when you hear the noise of rock crunching. Your breath catches in your throat and you drop to your knees, daring to look over the edge. Your eyes strain and water against the dark and pollution, trying to find -

There!

You lower yourself a bit, your knees popping, and you hiss. Three dark figures approach the street, moving stealthily. The middle one turns to the left one and whispers something, to which the left one slaps the first one's head. You cock your head. They certainly don't seem like zombies, you swiftly put two and two together. As they sidle into sight, the fluctuating, muted streetlight sluices them in a green glow.

On the left is a boy with spiky hair - really spiky - and his hair color is hard to determine in the colored light. You decide it's either a dark blue or black. He's standing straight and tall, hands in his pockets, mouth in a firm, straight line. The middle one is yet another boy with pink hair. You narrow your eyes. Pink? His eyes have some sort of markings under them, and you tense. But when you see him say something and grin, elbowing the tall boy, you conclude he might not be a zombie. Something warms in your heart to see the cold, tough circumstances haven't taken away his joy, even if it seems a bit subdued. The one on the right is a girl, thankfully. Her brown hair gleams in the ghostly light, and she bites down on her lip to stifle her smile. She also seems a bit serious, but not as much as the spiky-haired boy. In one blink of your eye, she has the pink-haired boy in a headlock. Seems like an ordinary teenage group, you nod to yourself. No danger, but I'll scout the area once they're gone.

You sigh, and lower yourself to the ground, but fate isn't on your side as your elbow hits the the rusted metal can on your left, and it crashes to the ground. You manage to grab it at the last moment, but it still created a whole lot of ruckus. You grit your teeth, heart in your throat. Their voices abruptly cease, and the echo still rings in your ears - why did this place have to be so quiet?

"Who's there?" Someone sternly says from below. You lay down on the roof, hiding every inch of your person from sight. There's a gap between the once ornate edge and the roof, seemingly a drain, and you squint through it. The tall boy signals to the others, and they stiffen, shifting closer to each other and taking up a defensive stance. The tall boy points to the roof, exactly where you were a moment ago, and the others look up there too.

"Who is there?" The tall boy asks again, his voice sharp and commanding.

You contemplate blowing your cover, but you still haven't decided if they're working for the government or some new kind of twisted thing the zombies have created. Or, maybe, you don't want to talk and explain yourself.

"Whoever is there, come out this second," the girl steps up and orders, one hand on her hip and the other clutching a dagger. Where did she get that?

"Or we're going to come up there and drag you out ourselves," the pink-haired boy says, his voice more serious than before. His bubbly expression is gone, and he's warily staring at the aforementioned spot. The three of them palm their weapons and advance toward the building. You groan, deciding it's better you show yourself. At least you know your stealth and fighting. Thank the heavens for the training you had and the zombies you beat.

Before they can react or shout, you hoist yourself to you feet, knees cracking noisily, almost glide over the edge and scale the building, feet lodging onto any kind of purchase before you reach the rusted pipe and jump onto it, shimmying down and landing on the ground with a thud. You wipe your grimy hands on your black tights, previous residues of dirt, blood and whatnot concealed by the color.

A sharp intake of breath has you sharply looking up, the three of them staring at you as if you're a zombie. You bare your teeth, spreading your feet apart and raising your hands. They might think you're in a defensive stance, but you're doing it so they can see you don't have any weapons on you. That they can see, of course.

The tall boy ignores the pink-haired boy as he says something to him and takes one step forward. "Who are you?"

"Nobody of importance," you shrug. You didn't realize months of not using your voice would turn it so raspy and hoarse, and you almost cringe as they shrink back.

"Who are you," he repeats, eyes assessing you deftly.

You repay him the courtesy, scanning them thoroughly with your eyes. "Not a zombie." Something in you wants to mess with them, act like an ass - purely because you've seen too much to act sweet and kind and like the girl you were before it all went to hell.

The pink-haired boy subtly grins. "I like her," to which the girl jabs him in the ribs.

"I don't aim to harm you or anything," you drawl, "but if you have those intentions, then please get the hell away from me."

The tall boy narrows his eyes at you. "You live here?"

"I don't have a permanent abode, but this is where I've been hiding since the past three months," you shrug. You notice the other two's shoulders relaxing. "What about you?"

"Different city," is all he says. He turns to his group. He must have something in his expression, because the others shrug, tilting their head. He sighs and turns back.

"What's your name?" You ask them, dropping the defense and placing your hands on your hips, lifting your chin.

"This is Megumi," the pink haired boy answers, pointing to the tall boy - whose hair is definitely blue. "This is Nobara, and I'm Yuuji. Who are you?"

Merely because his risk level is low, you answer, "(Y/n)."

Nobara eyes your clothes. Her eyes quickly dismiss your tights but stay on the baby blue jacket, which is now stained with grime, dust and coal. She steps to Megumi's side.

"Cute clothes," she grins.

"Th-"

"Where'd you get them?"

You're taken aback by how swiftly she took out her dagger and is now a few steps away from impaling you. Her face is serious and assessing, eyes glinting in the streetlight as her breath fans your face.

"An insignificant shop, down there," you point, "I got it just a few weeks ago."

"Liar. There are zombies infiltrating every nook and cranny - how did you get it? You're working with them, right?" The cold tip of her dagger rests on the hollow of your neck. The others tense - you wouldn't blame them, her accusation is logical.

You reply calmly, although every muscle in your body is locked. "I studied them. from behind a rusted-out car: one had a missing leg, one was too bloated to move fast. One was tall; top-heavy. Weak ankles. Then I moved. I cracked open a can of cheap soda and rolled it. It hissed across the pavement and two of them followed the sound. I grabbed a piece of rebar and slammed it into the cement at a slant as a tripwire. Then I whistled, and the noise brought one straight toward me. But I crouched, rolled, and let it stumble straight into the rebar. It tripped. I stomped the back of its skull before it even hit the ground.

"Then, I kicked a rock at the bloated one’s head, enough to enrage, not kill. It flailed toward me, unbalanced, arms reaching. I timed it. Sidestepped. And it crashed into a shattered window frame. The jagged glass impaled it through the chest. I used her boot to shove it deeper and bashed its skull. I climbed the awning above the door quietly, not even breathing., waiting for one to walk under. Then I dropped. My knees slammed into its back. The weight snapped its spine like dried bark. I ripped a shard of metal from the signpost and dragged it across its throat and drove it into its head." You stop to take a breath, a haunted gleam on your face.

"I remember them snarling. The last three rushed at me and I ran, baiting them toward a power pole draped in broken wire. Luck was on my side, I guess. I ducked under, but they didn't. The tallest one slammed into the live cable. Sparks snapped and two of them were lit up like birthday candles, shrieking, unaware as I decapitated them. I faced the last one, with no weapons. Just cracked knuckles. It chased me, and I went there (you point to an alley), cornered it between two dumpsters, and gruesomely beat the crap out of it. Their heads crack open easily."

Nobara backs away, a corner of her lip lifting in a smirk. "I like her."

"Thanks. I guess some violence is necessary."

"Wait - so you can fight?" Yuuji gapes at you.

" 'Course I can," you beam at him, the foreign action hurting your cheeks. It had been a while since you last smiled.

"You did all that for ... a shirt?" Megumi asks, though you notice he's not as tense as before.

You shrug. "If I'm gonna die in this world, I'm not doing it in a tank top with holes in it."

Nobara and Yuuji grinned, and Megumi raised a brow. Guess that's all the appreciation I'm getting, you wonder. Though it's a lot coming from this serious boy.

"Are you sure we can trust her?" Megumi says under his breath to Yuuji.

"I guess so, yeah," Yuuji cocks his head.

"I think so, too," Nobara offers, striding over to them.

Megumi looks at you for a moment before nodding, the tension seeping away from his shoulders. The two of them whisper something in his ear, and he sighs, glancing at you.

"Are you happy where you live?"

"Do I look like I am?" You raise a brow. "I mean, I'm alive. That's fine. But - happy? In this world?"

"You could be, if you lived with people," Yuuji supplies. "Though you sound like you were the one who created the alphabet."

"You sure you didn't hear the Big Bang?" Nobara suppresses her grin.

"Come on, it's obvious she saw the dinosaurs go extinct," Yuuji nudges her.

"Though, girl, you look like the last time you ate was at the Last Supper," Nobara appraises you.

"Guys," Megumi groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Stop it. We don't tease people who witnessed the fall of the Roman Empire." He chastises them, although his lips lift imperceptibly. It takes you a while to understand he made a joke, too.

"Ha. Ha. Very funny, coming from the people whose expiry date expired," you roll your eyes.

"She has humor!" Yuuji whoops, and Nobara hisses.

"Just because we met a human doesn't mean the zombies are gone," she snaps, and Yuuji pouts.

They glance at you and shift on their feet.

"You could ..." Megumi began, biting his cheek. "Join us, you know?"

"Yeah, if you wanted to, of course," Nobara intervened.

"You'd help us a lot, and we could give you our food and clothes - we know how to fight, too," Yuuji shrugged, excited.

You smile. This offer might change your life ...

And maybe, just maybe, you were looking for a change of events in this world you knew no longer.

★ please tell me if you want another part or a fight scene where you four encounter zombies ★

[saycheeeese]

Somewhere Safe.

You knew nothing about how you got here. You had absolutely no idea what happened after ... after it all went to hell. Your boyfriend of 5 years, the first man you ever decided to trust and give your heart to - had been cheating on your since God knows when, and you didn't give him a chance to explain himself, play the victim card or manipulate you before you dashed out of the room, the image of him with your best friend threatening to pull you under. All you know was that you abandoned the party, your hair falling out of the meticulously crafted hairstyle and bracketing your paling face in rogue strands. Your mascara had long since dried on your cheeks, makeup ruined and dress dripping wet in the cold, unforgiving rain lashing down upon you the entire way, the black lace dress filthy and drenched - but you didn't care. Not when the entire world was snatched from you, only after you were convinced it was yours. Your best friend ...

And now, as you stare up at him, your roommate, at the way his face remains impassive - maybe you were truly hysterical, or his eyes actually widened and a potent emotion shadowed them in the span of a second - you can't hold back the never-ending deluge of tears that you had pent up for too long. He crossed his arms, the muscles cording, and curled his lips.

"I'm giving you one second to offer one good reason you're dripping on my doormat right now," his crimson eyes bore into yours, pink hair ruffled in a way that suggested he'd been sleeping, the piercings on his lips glinting in the soft light. Of course he wouldn't care; you were only roommates, after all.

You sniff, wiping at your face with a quivering hand. "I ... " you search for words and fail to bring up an explanation. And, true to his word, he slams the door in your face. Your shoulders sag, and a broken sob escapes your lips.

Truth be told, you don't even know why you'd come to Sukuna's chambers. The only thing you remembered was one goal: reach someplace you know you'll be safe, cared for, and is like a second home to you ... and you eventually wound up here.

Merely six seconds pass before the door opens, your back almost turned to him. He groans.

"Come inside, woman. I cannot stand to see you look so miserable and pathetic. Miserably pathetic," he claims, and does something he'd die before doing for someone else - hold the door open and shift to the side, as if a loyal, obedient servant.

You trudge inside, a warm fire roaring in the hearth, your body almost collapsing at the relief from the harsh ice, but ... you feel detached, like you don't care whether you exist from now on. You stay rooted at the threshold for a solid minute before he actually sighs - in defeat - and you get no warning before your feet are swiped from under you. He hoists you up in his arms, bridal style, his jaw set and face cold, taking long strides to the couch and dropping you there.

"Care to enlighten me? Because what the fuck just -"

"My ... my boyfriend cheated on me. With my - my best friend," the words burn in your throat, and it physically pains you to choke them out, and you force yourself to swallow your tears. You swear not to cry in front of him.

The atmosphere changes, and you dare to look up at him. You expect calm, collected facial features - but no, barely suppressed, feral rage contorts his features ever so slightly, his eyes dark and lips set in such a way, the area around him so daunting, that he looks like an angel of death - fitting, for the darkness and piercings and tattoos and sharp edges. He lets through no suggestion or hint that he's a ferocious beast inside, looking just as tranquil as he'd seemed before.

He eyes you warily, his gaze making you feel as if you're naked in front of him and he can see through every shield you've put up, utterly exposed. Your chattering teeth, damp clothes and ruined makeup don't support your case, and his eye twitches. Wordlessly, he pivots on his heel and turns the heater on - with the fireplace. And just like that, he simply stalks into the kitchen.

You curl into yourself, sobs racking your body, a bizarre darkness beckoning you to it, lulling you to sleep, her eyes burning.

"Wake up," someone grunts, shaking your shoulder. You jerk awake, clutching your chest, and relax at the sight of Sukuna, a - what?

A cup of steaming drink along with macarons atop a tray in his hands, he scowls at you - yet, he hopes that you notice that the scowl is a tad less bitter and extremely devoid of annoyance this time - extending the tray. You blink once, twice ... You vaguely recall confessing to him you liked macarons and could devour as much as you were offered, to which he said he would never share his macarons with you. And now, pink and purple and glittering and frosted macarons sit innocently with the scalding mug of hot chocolate - a porcelain mug with bows painted over it. You would've laughed, taunted him ...

But the emptiness in you. Your lip juts out and trembles. "You're ... sharing it with me?"

"Don't push it, brat," he grunts, folding his toned arms over his chest - very sweaty chest. The shirt he's wearing is soaked through, perspiration beaded on his adorably flushed face (from the heat or something else, you didn't want to know), and you realize ... the heat is making him uncomfortable. He's feeling immensely hot because of the various sources of warmth, yet he's not complaining or turning anything off because ... of you. You needed this, and that mattered most to him, though he'd take a dagger to his heart before ever admitting that.

He scowls, trying to keep his voice bored and insouciant. "Want me to bring you more snacks ... (y/n)?" He addresses you by your name; not brat, or woman, or sweetheart (highly awkward in this situation) - you, and your own name.

You smile sadly at him, shaking your head, and he disappears upstairs. You can hear the faint ruckus upstairs, his irate stomping on the stairs, and he appears all of a sudden, a shirt in his hands.

"Wear this. You're going to die in that," he passes you the shirt, not making eye contact, his voice slightly, subtly hoarse. "Do you want something to wear under? I mean -" He stammers, his scowl - efficiently plastered on his face - now wavering.

You nod, gripping the mug tighter, an embarrassed blush of your own staining your cheeks. And before you can scrutinize the rest of his body, he vanishes from sight. You strip off the skimpy lace dress and tug the shirt over your head, the fabric smelling faintly of burned incense and ash, weapons and iron and tangy blood, spices and herbs and charred sandalwood and a familiar cologne. You wonder who the shirt belongs to as you half-heartedly devour the spread.

He descends the stairs with a few cushions, a blanket and a balled-up fabric, and stiffly strolls over to you, handing over the pillows and the fabric. You unroll it to reveal shorts. If you weren't so heartbroken you might've noticed and made fun of him and the way he's fussing over you, but right now, you don't note anything around you as you numbly change in front of him. He groans, and turns over ever so slowly (not before he gets a good glimpse of you) and leaves the room.

When you're changed, he returns with a tissue box and a bowl of water. He kneels in front of you and gently takes your face in his hand. He dips a tissue into the water and then brings it up to your face to wipe the makeup off. His hot breath fans your face, and he cleans your face, lips, cheeks, with a surprisingly tender hand, the one under your chin tilting your face timidly.

"Eyes," he drawls. You blink at him. "Close your eyes."

You nod hastily and squeeze your eyes closed just before he dabs your eyelids gingerly, the cloth absorbing all the makeup.

"Tell me everything that happened, in detail."

And so you do. You rattle off all the details of the night, your voice cracking in places, and he forces you to drink the tea before continuing. And when you're done, he's cleaned your face and wrapped a blanket around you, now staring down at you.

He hesitates for a moment - the fearsome, no-bullshit Sukuna, hesitating to come near you - and the couch dips under his weight, sagging where he sits. His body is stiff and rigid as he wraps and arm around your waist and an arm under you, pulling you close to his chest. He eyes the shirt hanging on your frame, a traitorous heat creeping up his neck, and you soon realize ...

It's his shirt. Of course, you stupid dumbass person, you almost roll your eyes.

The scent ... It’s overwhelming at first ... too potent, too strange, and you feel scared to touch it, to wear it ... but slowly becomes something addictive. Not because it’s comforting, but because it makes you feel alive. Like holding fire in your hands and daring not to get burned.

You only remember him humming a strange tune, his voice strained and inexperienced, as he tried his best to lull you to sleep. And, strangely, you fall asleep in his arms, his fingers tentatively stroking your hair, that song on his lips, body pressed against yours, the clock hands swallowing the time away ...

"Y/n?" He asks, his voice barely more than a growled whisper.

"Hm?"

"Would you care if those ... two ... died?" He asks, carefully wording his sentence. You would die from shock if only you were not dying with exhaustion.

"No. Not at all. I don't care what happens to them, because I've decided to let them go," you murmur, nuzzling your face into his rock-hard stomach.

"Are you sure?" He leans in, his lips almost brushing your neck.

"Perfectly. It's almost as if I broke up with them," you sigh, a knot in your throat.

"Very well," you hear him say. He nods quietly to himself, before pulling back and pressing a stiff kiss to your forehead. And through the haze of sleep, your mind captures a faint memory of him carrying you up to his bedroom - bridal style, again - and lying you down on his bed, ever so gently. You almost smirk, knowing he would've thrown you if you weren't so desolate right now. He stays by your side, massaging your hair as you nod off to sleep, a slumber more comfortable and at peace than any you've had recently.

. ★·.·´¯`·.·★ .

The next day, though, he's back to being a pain in the ass, yet he still keeps an eye on you, keeping close to your side, and a wicked, wild gleam in his eyes the morning after. You'd woken up to him snoring beside you, and as if he'd sensed you awake, he'd bolted up in bed, murmured an excuse and rushed out of the house. When he came back an hour later, he'd offered you breakfast he bought on the way and vanished into the bathroom. You peeked inside to see he'd been washing off something from his hands ...

And in the afternoon, your ex and ex-best friend's corpses were found, stabbed and bloodied. You smirk, knowing who's behind it, and mentally make a note to tease Sukuna for the crack in his walls he allowed you to see.

[saycheeeese]

I was trying to sleep at 2 am and I suddenly had this idea LMAO

What if you and Inumaki (Toge) are fighting because you ate his last sushi roll and now you're saying you didn't, okay? And all of a sudden, of course with no harmful intentions :) , he says "Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire."

The rest is up to you to imagine. 😭

[saycheeeese]

AHHHHHH RAFAYEL GIRLIES HOW ARE WE FEELING 🗣🔥

Infold really gonna make us fold our fishie is too divine for our eyes to see 😭

Not complaining tho the animation is real good 😏

[saycheeeese]

Have so much in my drafts decided not to post anything 🤷🏻‍♀️

(will post as soon as I find the motivation lol)

Who do you guys wanna read next about? Toji, Sukuna, or a mix (Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Sukuna and Toji)? :)

[saycheeeese]

Learn to Love Yourself

୨୧ Though this is for my Nanami fans, this post is specifically for my readers who struggle with body images and EDs. Remember, you're beautiful just the way you are! ୨୧

Food was your enemy. Whenever you heard of an event, you immediately found other places to be. You began to withdraw from social gatherings, and slowly ceased midnight snacking.

Nobody noticed. Nobody, that is, except for your God-sent husband.

Nanami often walked in to you body-checking yourself, or weighing on the scale, or reading the nutrition labels on foods. He never said anything, just retreated out of the room, lips pursed and one more wrinkle added to his forehead.

But you did find sticky notes on the most random surfaces in the house. You try to pry open a container of green tea, and a neon green sticky note with a message "You're so beautiful" would be pasted over the nutrition value label.

This silent war went on, you avoiding food, your weight drastically falling. In a matter of months, your sunken cheekbones pierce through your skin and your eyebags turn hollow, your shoulders sharp and pointed and collarbones eerily visible. Your hairline recedes dangerously and you can count almost each of your ribs, but that's okay, isn't it? Beauty is pain and beauty is everything. Or so you thought.

One day, when Nanami had finally had enough, he strolled into the bedroom where you'd taken refuge in after fleeing the dinner table. You'd said you hadn't an appetite, and silently withdrawn, your mashed potatoes and gravy going cold on your plate, untouched, along with the apple juice. You'd sat on your bed, scrolling through your phone, bitterly looking at photos of women with perfect appearances.

"Care to tell me what is bothering you, my love?" His voice is unusually soft, as if treading over dangerous territory. He crosses the distance in three long strides, perching on the bed beside you, taking your delicate hands in his strong, warm ones.

"Hm?" You look up absentmindedly, tears burning your throat as you repeatedly think, why am I the only one who has to do effort to be pretty? "Nothing."

He scoffs. Actually scoffs. "Don't give me that attitude, love. Tell me exactly what's wrong?"

"Like I said, nothing is-"

He sighs, shoulders sagging. "My love, darling wife, are you under the impression that I have not noticed you skipping your meals? That I am blind to the way your bones are becoming ever so prominent, that I have to make more effort to hug you tightly? Please, my love, tell me what's wrong. As your husband, I swear I will not judge you."

You loose a tight breath and fiddle with your fingers. "I ... Nanami, do you think I'm ... pretty?"

Nanami looks up at you, eyes sharpening beneath his glasses. Not in anger, but focus. Concern. Attention. The kind of gaze that weighs truth and chooses words carefully. He shifts closer to you, squeezing your hands once. Then he stands slowly. Waits a few seconds. And then pivots to you, his strong frame towering over you, yet the softest expression is on his face.

"I think," he begins, "you're the most beautiful person I've ever seen."

You shift, folding your arms over your chest. "You're just saying that to make me happy."

"No," he intervenes, his voice pleading. "I don't say things I don't mean." He inhales, closing his eyes, then opens them and smiles at you. A genuine, earth-shattering smile, warmer than a summer noon and sweeter than honey. "When you smile - really smile, not that polite one, I forget how sentences work. When you’re upset, your face scrunches right here,” he brushes a knuckle under your eye, tentatively, “and I want to rewrite the whole world just to ease it."

You look down, blinking fast. His finger slips under your chin and tilts it upwards, your eyes locking on his.

“You don’t have to look like anyone else,” he continues, quietly. “You’re not a painting to be judged. You’re the home I come back to."

"But-"

"It always surprises me, looking at you. Like staring at something the heavens shouldn't have made real. And if I say I am blessed to have you, the angel, the gift from heaven, the deity I always heard of but never saw until you entered my life, then it would be an understatement. I wish you could see you the way I do; then you'd fall in love with every infinitesimal detail of yours, the way you speak, the lilt in your voice, your accent, your eyes, the swing of your arms, your little dance when you like your food, that small scrunch on your nose whenever you're thinking, your eyelids drooping if you're angry, your nervous fidgeting and biting? My love, my sweetheart, my dearest wife, the light of my life; I have so much yet so little to say about your beauty. But ..." He takes a breath.

"God, I still cannot believe what did I do to deserve you. All I know is, I am forever grateful to you for making me believe in love, cradling my heart and promising me sweet rivers in heaven and bright stars in the sky; but I was not fazed or moved by your promises - it was you that made me crazy for you, your love. When you smile at me, like there is no one else in the world, no other men you prefer, it feels as if my heart would explode. My dearest treasure, my own Goddess, can you believe how hard is it to not kiss you whenever I see you? You may think you are imperfect, but for me, you are the standard, the beauty standard, and no other woman can be like you. You... you're impossible to get tired of, to forget, to get over."

"You ask if you’re beautiful like it’s a simple thing, like your beauty could ever be contained in a single word. If you were a sunset, people would bleed their fingers climbing cliffs just to watch you from a better angle, snapping pictures until their batteries died and their eyes still wouldn’t be full. If you were a painting, artists would curse their own hands, envy the God who sculpted you, and burn their brushes because nothing they create could ever compare, because you're the kind of stunning that makes artists want to pause, stare at you with their mouths open for an eternity and they still wouldn't want to go, still wouldn't be able to paint you, forever be envious that God made someone like you, and they cannot create an artwork close to capturing your beauty. If you were a poem, libraries would go silent when your name was whispered, and every stanza would be memorized like scripture. The stars would rearrange themselves to mimic the curve of your smile, and flowers would grow in your footsteps just to say they bloomed near you. Birds would forget how to sing when you spoke, and time itself would stutter just to catch another glimpse of you. You are not beautiful. You are beyond it. You are the ache in every artist’s chest, the line every poet dies trying to write. So no, don’t ask me if you’re beautiful. Ask me if the ocean envies your depth, or if the heavens pause to marvel when you pass. Ask me if I still remember how to breathe when you look at me like that … and the answer will always be no. And if you believe you are not the alluring siren I fell in love with, whom I devoted my life to, then let me prove it to you."

Nanami gently releases your chin, dropping his finger to your collarbone. He wipes away every tear rolling down your cheek, then kisses each side softly, cradling your face with a tenderness reserved only for you. His nimble fingers make quick work of your blouse's buttons, then, with one look at you, he slowly slips it off your shoulders.

You inhale sharply, ashamed that he is seeing your imperfections, the bones and curves, but all you can find in his eyes is affection so potent it steals the breath from your chest. He trails his fingers down your torso before gently undressing your skirt, then drops to his knees.

He raises his head, looking at you with a reverence found in a person kneeling in front of their deity. He cups a warm hand around the back of your thigh, then brushes his lip against your leg. A gasp crawls out of your burning throat, embarrassment flushing your face; but in Nanami's eyes, you're perfect, the embodiment of perfection.

He worships your body, slowly, gradually, leaving a trail of kisses along your leg, burning fire in their wake. He pauses. "I love everything about you. Your long legs, no matter how thick or thin they are, as long as they're yours (he chuckles, hot breath fanning your thigh). I wish you could see yourself the way I do, the way I'm doing now. I want you to remember me, remember this, whenever you look at yourself. The next time you look at yourself in the mirror, maybe you'll recall this memory of me, the words I said."

He resumes his ascent, rising on his knees, placing kisses across your abdomen as he holds you tight, like he fears you might disappear if he doesn't hold you close. The entire way, until he reached your neck, he kept saying words of affirmation, encouragement, devotion, telling you how pretty you are, what a hold you have on him, and when he teasingly - yet gently - clamps his teeth down on your fluttering pulse, he lowers you on the bed, lips on yours, devouring you dotingly, before pulling away.

"Stay there, my love; I'm coming back." With that, he exits, hands in his pockets. You bolt up on the bed, throwing a silk robe over your figure, frantically searching for a mirror - when you find it, you rise on your knees and glance at your reflection: hair cascading down to just above your waist, face gaunt and limned with pale moonlight and the scant luminescence of the single light bulb on, your body flawed and warped in your eyes. The door knob squeaks, and you plump down on the bed, the air whooshing out of the pillows.

Nanami flashes you a smile before rounding the bed and sitting beside you. He extends a plate towards you, and your heart plummets. He can evidently see the terror on your face, because in one swift move, he turns you around and holds you in his arms. The plate of chocolate-covered strawberries sits innocently in front of you.

"You once told me, you loved chocolate covered strawberries, right?" He softly says, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. You gulp. "You said you could eat them all day. Now, I know what is up with you. Food is not your enemy." He says a bit sternly, before grinning. "So, to help you fix your relationship with eating, I made these for you myself. Don't worry, I cook real good. I ... hope this whets your appetite, even if it surfaces trepidation about the fact you'll "gain weight". These are healthy, have low calories, aren't cheesy or fried, but who cares, right? Life is short, eat what you want. I chose this dish because it's easy to start your recovery with a simple snack like this. Please, eat. Y/n, can you eat this for me?" He looks at you with puppy eyes for the first time since you've seen this no-bullshit man, which makes you choke a strained laugh.

With trembling fingers, you pick up a strawberry. So much chocolate, so much sugar... But Nanami wraps a hand around yours, grounding you, and stills. He waits, waits for you to give a signal, so that he knows he's not forcing you to eat. You nod, words vanishing, and he guides your hand to your mouth. You nibble the strawberry, taking the smallest bite, and he beams at you, the most genuine, blinding smile, like he is so proud, so happy. You give him a close-lipped smile, and he picks up a strawberry himself. He looks at you, then takes a small bite. Eating with you.

"You know, the more you eat, the more I get to eat," he winks at you, bringing out a faint color in your cheeks. You understood what he meant, and he smirks back at you before picking up another drizzled fruit.

In half an hour, you've eaten three strawberries, Nanami's eyes wet with tears, like a proud father. You laugh out loud at that, and he nuzzles his face into your neck. You realize he's keeping you busy and distracted so you can't burn the food off, or throw it up, take in some medicines. You instinctively shoot a hand to your stomach, biting your lip in worry, but he shakes his head. "Do you think you could love me if I wasn't slim and thin?"

Nanami looks at the glasses in his hands, as if mulling over his answer. "I loved you then, and I love you now, but if this keeps on, will there be you left to love?"

You sigh, and Nanami places a kiss on your forehead. "You look so cute when you're eating. Come back to me, y/n. Please. I miss you."

You nod. "I - I'll try. I'll try for you, my love. Just, stay with me."

"I will stay with you every step of the journey, every second, and if you ever feel scared, just know there is a man who is happy you're alive. I don't care how you look. I married you for your heart, for who you are. Just some fat or muscle couldn't make me change my mind." He scoffs. "I have an idea. How about we do movie night tonight?" He glances at you, asking for affirmation, and after months and months of avoiding him, you finally decide it's time. Time to love yourself, love him, and spend a life full of joy, not constant anxiety and body-checking.

And now, tucked in beside Nanami on the couch, watching a newly-released movie, you can see the path to recovery glimmering. And he is there, every step with you.

[saycheeeese]

"Focus on me." - the top (Part 2)

"I remember you said these creatures would neither shit in my bed, nor sit in my bed," Sukuna folds his arms, brows bunched together. He came home five minutes ago, ambushed at the threshold by your hugs and kisses. The kittens trailing at your feet, he vehemently kissed you back, dropping his suitcase and squeezing your waist, until the calico one dared to paw at his feet. His mouth on yours all the while, he growled and kicked the kitten away.

You gasped and pulled back. "Kuna!"

"What?" He tilted his head and looked you in the eye, running a hand through his hair and picking up his suitcase.

"Why did you do that?"

He shrugged, closing the door and ambling into the corridor.

Five minutes later, you're sitting at the bed, legs crossed and his head in your lap. He never admitted it, but he often liked being near you, and sometimes, he waited the entire day just to doze off in your lap. But of course he never said that. He valued his dignity.

"Want to tell me why you've locked them out of this room?"

He doesn't deign a reply, instead, gripping your thighs tighter and burrowing his face deeper into your lap. You pull your fingers out of his hair, halting your massaging session. He groans petulantly.

"I should just open the door, then," you mumble, pulling out from under him. He bolts up, eyes narrowed and hair ruffled. He doesn't reach for you, although he leans against the headboard.

"You do not want to let them in," he states matter-of-factly.

"Why?" You're off the bed, a few steps away from the door.

"Because I said so," his reply is cold.

"Have I ever listened to you?"

"Fair point. But if you let those ... pets in, I will not hesitate to shred their fur off."

"Why? What did they do to you?" You stare at him, unnerved.

"If you ask that question once more, you won't be able to use those lips or hips for roughly about two weeks now. Want to make it three?"

You stammer, scowling at the insouciant mask he's flashing at you.

"It won't be the first time you ruin me, so the threat isn't big."

"I wasn't giving you an option," he grunts.

"Whatever. I demand a reason for not letting them in."

He looks away, jaw clenched, fingers fisted. And that's when you see it ...

His hands are scarred with claw marks all the way to the elbow. Amidst tattoos of swirling ink and your name, red welts mar his perfect skin. He tracks your gaze and immediately covers his arms.

You laugh out loud. "They scratched you?" He glares at you.

"So you're mad at them because ... they scarred you?"

"I will not tolerate me being an object of your humiliation."

"No! I mean, they ... look good on you," you grin sheepishly. "Makes you look more ... hot."

"We are talking about cat scratches here, not war scars."

"Still, a man does not hide his scars. He wears it like his pride."

"Cat scratches," he reminds you again, now getting up and disappearing from the bathroom.

It doesn't stray from your notice that he dons an array of sleeveless shirts for the next week, shamelessly flexing his muscles (and scars)in front of you. Should you have confessed he looked good with those scratches?

You don't care, as long as it means more of Sukuna's skin displayed for you.

. ★·.·´¯`·.·★ .

You're kneeling on the floor, shredding pieces of expensive meat for the kittens, a wide grin stretched across your face. Your cheeks ache from smiling, but you can't help it when the little felines execute silly cartwheels, fights and squealing operas in front of you. It's been just a week since they arrived, yet Sukuna still hasn't warmed up to them. Let's be honest, will he ever?

A shadow soundlessly approaches you from behind and looms over you, the kittens hissing and darting under you. You heave a heavy sigh.

"What's wrong, Kuna?"

"Does there have to be something wrong? Why does everybody assume there is something off whenever I appear?"

You open your mouth to intervene -

"Can't believe my own wife doesn't trust me."

You swiftly pivot, narrowing your eyes at him. His hair is disheveled, shirt open at the top, collarbones and muscles peeking through. His eyes are red-rimmed and jaw tight, face otherwise perfect ... and impassive.

"What's up your ass today?

"I'm the one usually asking you this question," he cocks a brow, stuffing his hands in his pockets. He spares the kittens a hateful glance.

"Why - Why do you loathe them?" You finally ask him. "Is it because they managed to land a scratch on you?"

He scoffs. "I do not worry around such trivial matters."

A moment of silence passes between you two. One minute, two, three... The white cat peeks out from under you and you beam at it, petting its hair in a way similar to when you ruffle Sukuna's.

"Isn't that such a lovely little baby?" You coo at it, kissing it aggressively. A disgruntled groan issues from your side. You crane your neck to spot Sukuna studying you and the cat in disdain.

"You - You have never looked at me with a smile like that."

You eyes threaten to fall out of their sockets. Did ... did he just ... Is he jealous of a cat?

"I have," you gawk at him. "I always look at you like that, but you never notice."

"Woman, I notice everything about you. The little smirks, the shrugs, the way you stand with the left foot to the side, your right arm swinging farther then the left whenever you walk. The hitch in your snores, the little wrinkles between your eyebrows when you don't like something, the little sounds you make when I'm in you, the way your face lights up near these ... gremlins. Not saying anything and being aloof doesn't mean I don't notice." Or care.

You try your best not to appear moved or flustered by that. "Alright, alright, but trust me, I do look at you with love in my eyes."

He scoffs. "But you have never kissed me with such fervor."

Okay, is the world ending or what? Because it isn't like him to care. Of course not.

"I'll prove you wrong later."

"When?"

"Tonight."

He wraps an arm around your waist to pull you up. "I disagree. Prove it to me now," he says impatiently.

"But - wait! I'm feeding them, they're-"

"For the love of God, y/n, focus on me!" He bursts, anger, desperation and desire oozing from his cadence. "You give those creatures so much attention. Why don't you give me some of that?"

He just called you by your name. He's jealous. He - he wants attention. Your brain can not compute this change of events; all you know is you've got to act unfazed.

You shift in his arms, cradling his cheek. "Alright. You have my mind, my focus, my attention, my heart and my time."

"If you give those things more time or attention than me, they're going straight to the bin." And just like that, he's back.

"Mhm," you nod. The kittens can have your full love when Sukuna's at work. The rest of your time?

You can't deny that whenever this cold-hearted, quiet, calculating, harsh and irate man, your man, trusts you with a crack in his imposing, impenetrable walls, he's just a love-driven, attention-seeking fool for you. And it's adorable. (Though you can count on your fingers the times he's showed this much emotion. Spoiler alert: Only 1.)

"That's more like it, woman," he grunts, striding into the bedroom, kicking the door closed and dropping you on the bed - gently. "You've played with your kittens. Now I'll play with mine."

He gives you no more time to protest or speak before straddling you.

[~ PLEASE DO NOT REBLOG WITHOUT CREDITING ! THANK YOU ~]

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[saycheeeese]

"Focus on me." - the top (Part 1)

"I cannot believe I am stuck with babysitting a ten-year-old in the body of a (your age) year old woman," Sukuna groans crossly as he sets your shopping bags on the table. You silently note out of the corner of your eye that even in this state of "fury", he takes extra care not to smash any item of yours, gingerly putting them on the table. Not to forget he carried all six of your bags all the way home. Such a gentleman.

"At least I'm not a 1000 year old in the body of a 17 year old," you mutter, shrugging off your coat.

"Care to say that again?"

"No, thank you."

"I heard that, woman."

"Well, then, at least I don't have a 1000 year old in me," you shoot back at him, slipping off your shoes.

"You will, tonight. And then, I am going to punish you and teach you what it means to disobey me."

You gape at him, an unbidden heat creeping up your neck.

"Why did you ignore me when we were at the stall?"

You glance at him, trying to figure out his mood. He's leaning against the wall, arms folded and legs crossed at the ankles, pinning you with a glare. Though something about his expression doesn't seem ... serious.

"I was looking at the cats," you explain. A sparkle surfaces in your eye. "They were sooo cute, I wanted one."

His brows bunch together. "A ... cat?"

"Mhm," you nod fervently. "I want one."

"No."

"Please?" You sprint to him, clasping his hands and bringing them to your cheeks. Surprisingly, he doesn't pull back, although he scowls at you.

"No. I already have an animal to take care of at home."

Your shoulders sag. "Pretty please? Can I have a cat? I swear it's not gonna disturb you."

"I can't see why you love cats so much," he grunts, looking away.

"I promise it won't shit in your bed, nor sit in your bed," you flutter your lashes at him. He narrows his eyes.

"It better not, because I only want one kitty in my bed. The others will be personally strangled by me," he states.

You sigh. "You worded that decently."

"You want me to use the other word?"

"Gosh ... Okay, buy me a cat, and I will listen to everything you say."

"As if," he rolls his eyes. "Even if I tell you to leave the house and not talk to me?"

"That depends," you raise your brows.

"Then it's a no," he frees his hands and stuffs them in his pocket and casually strolls into the bedroom. You bite your lip in exasperation.

. ★·.·´¯`·.·★ .

Blinding sunlight wrenches your eyes open late in the morning. You feel something soft tread on your face, making you sneeze. You bolt up in the bed, a gasp catching in your throat...

Three kittens squirm around you, one black, one white, and the other a calico. They mewl at you with closed eyes, tiny legs trembling. They trip over the sheets and tumble into your lap, crawling over each other. A sticky note is attached to the back of the black one:

"I expect a reward. For the record, I am naming these gremlins."

[~ PLEASE DO NOT REBLOG WITHOUT CREDITING ! THANK YOU ~]

{★ comments and likes would be appreciated ★}

[saycheeeese]

Happy Anniversary, Sweetheart

Welcome, or welcome back! Though every day is a fine day, let's make this spectacular with a Reader x Nanami fanfic :) Thanks for stopping by, I love you!

“How does this look?” You ask this question for the seventh time in an hour. Nanami, God bless, gives no sign of irritation. “I told you, my love, you always look ravishing in any dress,” he softly offers from his perch on the stool. He glances at his watch and his brows bunch together. “Though I really wish to check how quickly this dress can be ripped off. I hope it doesn’t take too long, seeing you in that dress.” He smirks before schooling his features into an insouciant façade. A hot flush spreads across your cheeks as you rush to the dressing room, stripping off the wine-lace bodycon dress. A hazy memory of Nanami tearing off your dress in the dead of the night slips into your mind… “Though I suggest we leave before noon. You see, I’m quite busy. It pains me to leave you alone, to not spend my entire life with you, but a man must supply for his bride. If you’re ready, shall we?” He extends an arm to you. His golden hair catches the illumination from the numerous bulbs suspended from the ceiling. You dragged him here to assist you in your shopping, namely, approving and judging your outfits. Safe to say, it’s been over three hours and you’ve only selected a few garments. You sigh, eyeing the sundress that snagged your attention ever since you stepped foot in the mall. A gentle shade of midnight blue, off-the-shoulder-straps, its low sweetheart neckline plunging from the bodice to the apex of the navel and the embroidered hem brushing the mannequin’s ankles appeared more resplendent than any dress you tried on. The only problem? It was expensive. Not that it was any problem for Nanami, though. He was always spending money in ridiculous amounts, though all costly expenditures and purchases were for you. You are currently wearing the diamond encrusted earrings he gifted you earlier this week. It was only that you found it … demanding to ask him of such a big favor. You plaster a smile on your face which instantaneously morphs into a genuine grin at the sight of him. His gilded hair is slicked back in that precise manner of his, glasses and all. Your eyes travel down to the blue knitted sweater he’s sporting. You recall buying it for him, eliciting a laugh in response. “You bought me this?” He’d asked, eyes twinkling. You’d nodded sheepishly. “I knitted it for you. I thought … I thought you’d like it,” you’d murmured. His eyes shot to yours. “I do not recall ever implying or saying that I do not like it.”

You’d looked at him then, at his earnest expression. “You’re gonna keep it?” “Keep it? I am going to wear it proudly every single day until its fibers break apart, and then I am going to weave it into a sweater for our little one.” “Alright, that’s exaggeration,” you’d chuckled, though a warm sensation coiled in your gut. “Exaggeration?” He’d pinned you with an incredulous look. “Sweetheart, you will now regret ever saying that when I wear this to bed. And yes, I am going to be wearing this when you’re screaming my name.” He’d pulled the sweater up to his neck. Your mouth hung open whereas he appeared as unfazed as any man reciting the grocery list. “Let me try this on. You said you made it?” “Yes, I liked it, so I decided to … make one for you.” “If you like it, I like it.” “I mean, I do know that I’m blessed with good looks, but never has a woman ever gone into a trance staring at me,” his dry voice brings you back to the present. “I wasn’t – Let’s go,” you scoff, hooking your arm with his. He slips it out of your grasp and adjusts it to wrap around your waist, tucking you in against his side like a protective mother-hen. “I believe my darling wife got everything she wanted?” He squints at you through the glaring sun. “Mhm,” you blatantly lie. Vivid images of the sundress flash across your mind, but you shake your head sharply. He gives you a certain look before unlocking the car. “I will drop you off at the house, then I’ll head over to my office. We’ll stop at the café first,” he informs you as he started the engine. You sit in the seat beside him. “Why?” “I left an order there for some drinks. You looked like you needed one, and I specifically requested for a frothy, cream sundae.” He pauses, then glances at you. “Is that alright for you, my love?” You lean forward and place a kiss on his cheek. “It’s more than wonderful,” you beam as he tries to conceal his faint blush.

. ★·.·´¯`·.·★ .

Moonlight sluices the walls in muted white as you sit by the table in candlelight, a wine bottle and two champagne glasses set atop it. You huff in frustration. Nanami was supposed to arrive two hours ago. Where was he? It seemed weeks since you left that dress shop, though you only visited it today. The clock chimed ten raucously, and you frown. Was it possible … Could he have forgotten? You check your phone again. Your message, delivered and read three hours ago. Get home quick. Waiting. He hadn’t bothered with a reply, but then again, it wasn’t your Nanami who ignored your messages. It was the man who worked off his ass at his office, arriving late at home with an apologetic kiss. The sandwich you prepared for him, heaps of garlic butter, slices camembert cheese, ham, and lettuce inside a fresh, spongy baguette, has been sitting in the oven for fear of growing cold. The sautéed vegetable salad drizzled in garlic oil sits on the table, silently reminding you of your first date, when he admitted he liked foods fried in garlic oil. You put your head on the table and close your eyes. Just for a minute, you tell yourself. He will come soon, and then we’ll …

“What’s this?” Someone ruffles your hair gingerly, your eyes snapping open. When had you fallen asleep? “Hm?” You blink in the dim light, eyes adjusting gradually. You groggily stare at the figure in front of you... There he was, in a tan blazer over his usual blue dress shirt. “You were waiting for me,” he says matter-of-factly. “I – uh – well, yes, I was,” you shrug, hastily standing up. He dismisses you with a wave of his hand. “There is no need to fret with me. However, I want you to do me a favor,” he slides into the chair opposite you, handing over a plastic-wrapped bag. “I want you to wear it.” “Wear it?” You blink at him. “Like, right now?” “I do not remember giving you a deadline of tomorrow, my love. Now, hurry.” You sidle into the bedroom, tentatively peeling back the layers.

Midnight blue pools into your hand in layers of silk, chiffon and tulle, glittering sophisticatedly. A sob escapes your lip. He saw you and understood what you couldn’t say, you thought. Nanami bought the dress for you. You swiftly adjust the lapels and cuffs, the straps sliding off your shoulders, the décolletage displayed in a scandalous view he no doubt knew of. The shimmering hem kisses your ankles gently as you step outside, hair let down. Nanami immediately looks up at the sound of footfalls, and his eyes widen imperceptibly. He leans forward on the table, cheeks a pale pink in the candlelight. “Come here,” he whispered. His already no-bullshit, rough voice had grown even hoarse, dropping an octave. You shake your head. Whenever he went feral like this, it meant no walking for you for the next two days. He was the perfect embodiment of gentleman in the streets, freak in the sheets. No one could imagine formal, no-bullshit Nanami could be so wild in bed. “Eat … eat your meal first,” you stutter. “You must be hungry.” “That is what I am precisely doing, sweetheart,” he breathes. “Devouring my meal.” The chair scrapes against the floor as he strides towards you. One, two, three steps, and he's towering over you. He looks down at you for a second before picking you up in his arms, a small squeal escaping your lips. You nuzzle your face in the hollow of his neck, breathing in his scent. “Happy anniversary, my darling wife,” he whispers into your ear, educing from you a grin accompanied by a shiver. “You remembered,” you sigh contentedly as his lean frame carries you to the bedroom. He timidly lowers you on the bed, hovering above you with a lazy grin. “How could I forget the best day of my life, when I willfully tethered my soul to an angel, when I got to share my name with the woman who brightened my dreams? If I ever forget this day, it means I am no longer alive, for as long as I have oxygen in my lungs, my heart will simultaneously beat your name.” “I … I love you,” your eyes burn with emotion. “And I, you,” he nods solemnly. “And, you look heavenly. Alluring, like a siren. Stunning, like the stars. But most of all, delicious. Like mine.”

Pressed above you, hands tangled in your hair and roaming across your body, he whispers in your ear, a challenge: “Let’s see how fast I can take this dress off.”

[~ PLEASE DO NOT REBLOG WITHOUT CREDITING ! THANK YOU ~]

{★ comments and likes would be appreciated ★}

[saycheeeese]

Finding Myself

☾ More than finding myself, I want to find my people. I want to find a place where I can be me, just me. No filters, no pretend. So, before my hands are stained with ink and my tea is void of warmth, let me give you a piece of myself. ☽

✦ I always thought introductions are hard; turns out, they're difficult only when you're surrounded by strangers. With hopes of reaching out to people who understand, my fingers fly across the keyboard. It's never been this easy as an introvert. ✴︎

୨୧ You can call me anything, because I find names restricting. Why set for a specific string of words when you can be addressed they way you want? My name begins with "L", and the rest is up to you.

( She/her )

Chaos is beauty, and you can't change my mind. Doesn't matter if we're unorganized. A child of April, warm suns and flowers, and the sign of Taurus.

I like art, and when I say art, I mean every font and style: reading, writing, sketching, painting, doodling, crafting ... Here, I will post my writings, some arts, and everything in between.

Some addictions I've picked up recently are Jujutsu Kaisen, EPIC the Musical and Love and Deepspace, so be prepared to read some fanfics about any character. ୨୧

♡ ✿ Thank you for reading through! Rigging this sentence to give anyone who reads this good luck for the day ♡ ✿