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shotosjupiter · 2 days ago

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aladdin!zoro is stood by the balcony of your window in the warmth of a sunset. it’s the end of a long day and the end of a few torturous weeks of not being able to see you.

he stands there, in the orange and gold of the sunlight and gazes at you in wonder while you absentmindedly fiddle with perfumes and get yourself ready for the banquet that was set to be in the palace tonight.

you, bless your heart, have no idea that he’s there and mentally he scoffs at the insecurity of the room. i mean you were royalty, shouldn’t you have a guard posted here? never mind that your room was on the fifth floor of the palace. nonetheless, he saunters over to where you’re sat by your vanity and leans down to whisper in your ear, “surprise.”

you yelp in surprise, flinching in your chair before you look at him with a gold hairbrush poised in your hand, ready to attack. he grins at your reaction and you relax at the sight of him before giving him a shove. "you scared me!"

he laughs, the sound rough and warm before he wraps an arm around your waist and tugs you close. your back is against his chest and he perches his chin on your shoulder as he stares at you in the mirror.

"not my fault you're not vigilant, your highness." the slope of his nose is right against your nape as he kisses your neck once, twice, and then thrice.

you sigh in his arms, melting slightly into his touch. "i missed you," you murmur.

"yeah?" in between he kisses he says, "i missed you more, darlin'"

zoro looks dazed and the faint jasmine oil that was laid on your skin has transferred onto him as he looks at you with pure adoration in his eyes. his hands roam around your waist, fiddling with the silk of your clothes and the gold you're dressed in. you trail a hand into his evergreen hair, a tad messy but always beautiful. "you should come to the banquet, 'ro"

he snorts a laugh before burying his face into your neck. "i'm sure that'd go so well, the king would be overjoyed to have me on the table with the other nobles."

you giggle and continue to fiddle with his hair, "maybe, maybe not, but i would be overjoyed to have my beloved with me."

zoro feels his heart thump louder when you call him your beloved. he holds you closer and presses one last kiss to your shoulder. "maybe you can still take me, or well, a part of me."

you look at him in confusion and he releases you from his arms to face you directly. he grabs something from his pocket before presenting you with it. it's a thin gold chain with a shimmering green pendant laid right in the middle.

he looks away from you, swallows his sudden nervousness, and says, "didn't steal it, i had to barter with that old hag who made the jewlery but she cut me a deal and i figured you'd like it-"

he's silenced with the way you take him into your arms. you squeeze him tightly, your thanks being sent to him without any words being said. you press a kiss to him cheek before turning around and gesture towards your bare neck. "put it on for me?"

he steps forward and gently, gentler than he's touched anyone or any thing, he clasps the necklace on. when you show him how it looks, you can see the slight reddness creeping on his ears and the way he fights down a smile. "you look beautiful, your highness."

in the distance you can hear your father calling for you, signaling it's time to present yourself to the guests. it's time for you to go. you take his hand in yours, rubbing soft circles into the rough skin before kissing his knuckles. "thank you for the gift, 'ro. i'll see you soon?" there's a note of sadness in your voice at having to leave him.

he nods and curls his fingers around yours. "of course, your highness. you'll have me whenever you want it."

you smile at him and whisper "always. i want you always." before hurriedly walking out the door.

zoro clutches his heart, sure that it was on its way to beat out of his chest. the things you do to him.

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shotosjupiter · 2 days ago

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you magnificent writer … please … more zoro smau … it is the air i breathe …

JENAKWKE PLEASE IM FLATTERED i swear i’ll post a chapter soon 🙂‍↕️ you shall be fed soon i pinky promise

#— skyward message.#MAYBE SUNDAY I THINK

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shotosjupiter · 2 days ago

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prince!scara and his devoted knight. | gn!reader x prince!scaramouche

to prove your devotion, you kiss the hand of 1 demanding and clingy prince while he grumbles about your injuries.

notes: knight x prince au, fluff, kissing (who do u think i am), worried scara, dressing your wounds (not too explicit), copious amounts of yearning, use of Kunikuzushi, not beta-read

masterlist

“Your Highness?”

You tap on the prince’s window.

Night had already fallen by the time you made your way up the palace wall and already started to weigh heavy on your movements. The cold air was already seeping into your skin the longer you spend perched on this windowsill.

You watch as his blurry form weaves through the glass, becoming more and more visible until Scaramouche reveals himself with the sound of the lock unlatching.

“There you are.” He crosses his arms, concern and wry mixing together into one breath.

Probing your legs over and into the warmth of his bed chambers, you couldn’t help but smile at his slight pout. “Training just got done. Did I wake you up?”

Based on the way his hair was still neatly in place, the sheer robe loosely covering his shoulders, and the piles of books stacked behind him, he was clearly waiting for your arrival; the crossed look he sends you only proves this further.

It was cute.

Attention gravitated towards him like those swarms of birds that love to surround his room (which he equally complains about and in the same breath, tells you to fetch food for them.) Regardless, it was clear in pages written and rumors whispered with equal respect and criticism for his status and character, many do respect him — either in fear or with awe.

It is no surprise that underneath the public eye, he prided himself on the image of a cold and arrogant heir to the throne, outspoken for his opposition to political relations and strategy, praised for his long list of achievements, and known for the confident air he surrounds himself them the moment he steps into a meeting room.

However, behind those closed doors, there was nothing but your worried prince, already popping a nerve at the prospect of you being a mere minute late to your nightly meetings. Case in point: you watch with amusement as he shakes his head; the crinkles on his clothing making way for how tense he is.

And it takes only a few strides before his hand reaches out towards yours, his eyes already examining your injuries.

“Are you hurt?” came his response after a moment, low and steady. “Don’t tell me you injured yourself again.”

“Nothing too major,” you chuckle. “Don’t worry yourself too much.”

At those words, the corners of his mouth deepened into a frown. His hand tugs yours closer, not too harsh, hardly anything that should sting—and yet, with one pull, you hiss at the surge of pain.

…

He gives you a look.

“Nothing too major,” he echoed.

You cough. “Well, it was not too major. Just scrapes here and there.”

“You are unbelievable.” You watch as his other hand wipes away the dirt off your shoulder. “…Is it part of your job to annoy me at every chance you get?”

With the way he opts to scrutinize your hand with a newfound determination, gazing at it as if it personally curses him and his lineage, you almost find it amusing how worked up he was on this.

“I would never.”

For good measure, you begin to lift his hand, leaning in to press small kisses to each knuckle. His index? Kiss. His middle? Kiss. His pinkie? Another kiss. Each one filled with devotion, each one a flavor of your loyalty. You look up while you do so, watching as his eyes peer into yours with such intensity that makes even you shiver.

“What are you—Are you trying to distract me?” he whispers.

“Is it working?”

At the sound of your laughter, Scaramouche rolls his eyes before guiding you right inside, into the safety of his room.

—

When your prince drags you down on a chair, sitting you in front of him, he begins taking out his pile of wraps, ointment, and bandages.

“Sit down and don’t say a word until I say so.” In contrast, the way his hand found your wrist and gently tugged it to his chest, you hardly found it in yourself to take offense to his comment.

Instead, you settle into the plush seat, stretching out languidly. You were ‘wounded’ and your Highness was there to be your alleged nurse. What person would pass up on this offer?

Not you, of course.

When he lays open your palm, he squints at all the nips and cracks with disbelief. “These hands…”

Without another word, you watched how he dapped the wet cloth, his face scrunching in utmost concentration. You made sure to lay still, heeding his order, far more focused on the attention he was giving you, all in the form of hushed complaints and ‘tsks’ at some particular scars.

“Your shoulders.” He mumbles, looking up at you in expectation: A command, not a request.

“Is that an invitation? How scandalous, your Highness.” You’d expected that familiar frown and eye-roll to strike his face.

But it doesn’t.

Instead, there was a pause as his eyes continued to pour into yours, subtle desperation in his irises.

“Speak.” Harsh breath fanned against your skin, and the finality of his voice gave way to the slight tremble in his tone.

“About?”

“Your training. Were you distracted or something?” From this angle, it was cute seeing his worry up close.

The chuckle that comes out of you is as natural as the way his fingertips thrum against your skin, almost as if he were studying it like he would tracing the letters in his books. “Why? Were you watching me?”

“I was. Ha, does that bother you?” The corners of his mouth finally lift into a subtle wry smile; a familiar sight that relieved you more than the gauze on your skin. “Though, it was funny seeing you fumble if I had to be honest.” He shakes his head, likely recalling the way you met the ground several times while training with your sire. “Quite a show.”

In contrast, when his delicate skin brushes against your cheek, you feel dust rubbed off by the quick wipe of his thumb, slow and drawn-out.

Feigning ignorance, you purse your lips in thought. “I don’t suppose it is right for My Highness to gawk at their knights during training.”

You watch as his throat bobbles up and down, flicking from your eyes and then stopping at your mouth. “Don’t be ridiculous,” but he stays there, fixed on your lips.

There was a certain conflict in the way he was staring right now. You’d imagine it was the same way he was looking at you when you were fighting.

Bare and vulnerable.

It comes in the form of unbridled yearning, the temptation seemingly palpable. It comes in the form of his hands twitching against your form as if they want to tug on the armor under it—To tug on it until his eager lips finally press against yours.

And yet, he doesn’t, frustratingly so. His hands simply remain there, unmoved by the growing desire fixed in the air.

“What’s wrong, Your Highness?” the query escaped your lips before you could stop it. And at the sound of your voice, he quickly breaks out of his thoughts — from your lips — and back into your gaze.

You watch as the fine robe drapes down his shoulder as he leans back, baring the skin to you and marking a look of vulnerability to down-right defiance.

“Train with me instead,” came his blunt response.

You stare; his demand is not only sudden but downright ridiculous. “Excuse me?”

“Didn’t you hear me?” he huffs, but in contrast, his next words were whispered, softer. “Train with me. You are my knight, are you not? I’m sure I could provide much of a challenge than whatever the knights provide you.” And when his hand sets out to find another damp gauze, he shook his head.

You try to recompose yourself, coughing. “Is that a command, your Highness? I’m not sure if-”

His eyebrows furrow at those words.

“Why do you keep insisting on using that name? Even in these private chambers. As your…..” He shakes his head. “Yours. I thought you knew me better than that.” There was a palpable bitterness that followed after his next sentence. “Or is it true, I’m just a stranger to you?”

He gives you a look, his attention remains riveting on your form a second too long: The way your prince is kneeling before your form and staring up at you through his lashes— the subtle desperation in his eye to that pout that rests on his face—it was terrible for your heart.

You quickly shook your head, melting under his gaze. “Of course not.”

“Then say it. My name.”

“Kunikuzushi,” The name comes out as easily as the soft look that he sends once you lean closer to him, taking his hand to your cheek and gently rubbing it. “It would be an honor to train by your side.”

You can hear his breath stagger as his hand rests on your skin; the echoes of the near-empty room humming out to occupy his low breaths. “Say that again.”

One devout kiss to his palm. As an apology. “Kunikuzushi.”

“Again.”

Once more, you press another one to his inner wrist. For your gratitude. “Kunikuzushi.”

“Again.”

And the last one….

You take his hand back to your cheek. “What do you want me to do, Kunikuzushi?”

At that moment, you watch as he stares intently, eyes fixed on your face and his teeth tugging his bottom lip.

There is something that shifts in the way he lays his eyes on you. Like a damp breaking—damp of all his desires—pooled in the way he looks at your form—longing to give in, longing to see it through.

You lean forward, enough to where your fingers brush against his nape, touching the soft fabric beneath it, worshiping the way he sat before you: A request. Maybe, a temptation, he would called it.

Wiith a chuckle, you press your forehead against his. “At your command, I will do it.”

(A moment of clarity before you give in to each’s desire.)

And at that moment, you watch as his resolve firms and he shuts his eyes: “Just kiss me already, knight.”

You shift until your fingers tugged his robe and his hand gripped your armor.

“As you wish, Kunikuzushi.”

One final note of reprieve emerges as your lips make contact; all the desire collapsing into a desperate squeeze of his touch. With a kiss just as reckless as your sword matching the swinging of your squire, but just as gentle as the light gauze that cleans your wounds afterward.

You chuckle as he entwines your fingers together, tenderly rubbing in rhythm: My Knight. You could hastily make out under all sensations with his lips on yours. And in turn, you reciprocated, tracing your fingers on his waist: My prince.

Followed by your laughter and his sigh, the wind hums at the two lovers behind the window.

A noise that brings hope to a prince and his devoted knight.

#— archives 🗞️#— favorites.#oh my goodness this was so intimate i’m so wow #i loved this

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shotosjupiter · 3 days ago

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like in the movies. | scaramouche x gn!reader

old fashioned movies and cuddling. what could go wrong? …apparently his unfaltering need for your attention.

notes: fluff, needy scara!! (he wants ur attention), established relationship, modern au, non-sexual intimacy, idiots in love, short&sweet

masterlist

Now, Scaramouche wouldn’t say he is clingy. Despite his better judgment— Despite the way he desperately clings onto the belief that you were the touchy-feely one in the relationship, muttering along his grievances all while snuggling closer in your arms.

He was not clingy.

Tucked into your side, he peeks over your phone with a hardened glare. His eyes stumbling upon the small smile painted on your face. As if in a trance, your attention were laser focused on watching that damn show; one that he recalls mentioning to you in a passing moment, planning the day he’ll be able to watch it with you.

But now, it is hard to say he doesn’t regret it.

It was troubling how much he didn’t want to watch that stupid flim; the characters seemingly getting on his nerves, the plot beginning to feel slow and almost unnecessary, and the itch in his fingers getting a bit unbearable to ignore. And with his lips pulled taut into a thin line, he briefly tugs your sweater.

“Hey.” Look at me. He wants to say. “…This show is god awful.”

Something. Anything to agitate you, to reclaim your attention. But it was futile as the soundtrack blasted louder than his own voice. How laughable.

A second passes before the next scene comes on. And to his disappointment, you only tug him closer, content with simply staring at that worthless piece of metal, oblivious to his growing impatience.

Yet with the way your arms wrap his waist, mindlessly padding your touch against his skin and squeezing it in reassurance, it is driving him mad with both annoyance and disbelief. If he was anymore weaker maybe he might just almost forgive you. Almost.

Which brings him to his last resort:

Without hesitation, Scaramouche gingerly sneaks his cold hands underneath your sweater, and with a snicker, he relishes as you jump at the touch.

“The hell-“ You quickly try to pull away from his abysmally chilled hands — only to fail once you catch the shit-eating grin that twitches on your boyfriend’s lips. “What was that for.”

Scaramouche only tucks himself deeper into your side, gently rubbing circles on your bare skin. “Ha..” He whispers. “..whatever do you mean?” He was being petty, of course. He thinks he certainly deserves it.

But it wasn’t long before he hears a quick ‘oh’ and the sound of a phone plopped right next to him. “I see what this is about.”

Now he has you wrapped around his finger, right where he wants you to be.

Instead, he feels your hand slowly creeping up against his waist, suddenly flipping over both of your bodies, until your face meets directly with his — effectively trapping him within your arms, and at your teasing mercy.

This is embarrassing, you are embarrassing. and yet…

“If you wanted my attention just tell me, yeah?”

“I did.” He scoffs at the knowing glint in your eyes but his composure melts as soon you place a quick peck on his forehead. Scaramouche picks up on the apologetic glance.

Flexing his fingers, his cheeks burning hot, Scaramouche mutters a low insult as you relax beside him, the irritating grin still lingering on your face.

How incredulous.

It wasn’t long before he shifts closer, tightening his hold on your back and burying his face back into your neck. He hears you chuckle, knowing you can feel the smile on his lips. Don’t say sorry idiot, I just missed you.

You both don’t say anything for a while, but with your hands threading through his hair, he finds himself finally relaxing under your hold.

You contently sigh. I missed you too.

It no longer mattered whether or not you would finish the show. That wasn’t why he wanted to watch it in the first place. He wanted you, and that was more than enough.

So maybe if you asked nicely, he would admit: he is a bit clingy. And only for you.

#— archives 🗞️#stop i love when the reader is the more forward one #so cute

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shotosjupiter · 3 days ago

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noooo don't be sad ur too sexy ahaha <3

do you see the hole in my heart teddy. i blame you.

#— skyward message.#— theo.#SEXINESS BE DAMNED!!!!!

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shotosjupiter · 3 days ago

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“do you have a mistress?”

his fork clatters against his bowl in surprise, gaze snapping to your form immediately. outwardly, you’re relaxed despite the string of words you’ve just uttered, deft fingers picking at your food aimlessly. and yet,

you still seem troubled. there’s a slight furrow to your otherwise seemingly relaxed brow.

“of course not,” he mutters, eyes narrowed with a wary frown. “who told you that? who do i need to—”

“never mind who told me, just answer the question.”

he doesn’t like this. doesn’t like how you avoid his gaze, how blank neutrality sits on your features like stone. the glow of the overhead light paints soft colors of orange and red against faint apprehension. waiting, patiently.

“i would never,” his answer is slow, heart sinking when you only nod silently. “look at me. you know i wouldn’t. i work too much to even–”

satoru pauses when you lift your head to stare at him silently. eyes rimmed red, it’s clear the unbothered tone to your voice was practiced, smoothed over with time. his chest tightens unexpectedly.

“honey,” he tries once again. your lips press into a thin line. “why would i lie to you? you know i would never. the office has me up to my neck in papers and clients—you know how the higher ups get during this time of year. they're even lucky i don’t mind working overtime with kento.”

he digs back into his food with a tired sigh. “he’s a great guy, don’t get me wrong. but the hours are atrocious and we still have to plan that end of year trip for the boys—you know, the one i told you about a few weeks ago. oh, and yuuji and yuuta send their hellos. they’ve been asking about you, and—”

“why would they be asking about me?”

your plate is still untouched. satoru looks up again, now confused. “i don’t understand. should i not mention you at work?”

“i didn’t say that.” your voice is quiet, almost pensive. “i didn’t know i meant that much to you, is all.”

he puts his fork and knife down, finally, to look at you. really look at you. the bags under your eyes, your slumped posture, the air of sadness hanging around dejected shoulders. his heart aches at the sudden realization.

“he doesn’t talk about you in the office.”

this time, when your gazes meet again, yours brim with unshed tears. the fork clatters on to your plate when it slips out of your hand, but you don’t even notice. your bottom lip trembles. it trembles and your hands move to cover your face in shame and his legs kick his chair back before his brain can register his own body moving.

“please don’t cry,” he murmurs softly against your hair, his arms wrapped tight around your shoulders. “he's not worth your tears. nobody is.”

your shoulders shake with the effort of keeping your emotions in check. it shouldn’t make him this angry—his wife, too, was unfaithful—but your dejection tugs at his heart strings the more. he doesn’t talk about you in the office. such a mundane experience yet so foreign to you. why wouldn’t love come up at his place of work, even if briefly?

the ambient lighting glints off the wedding rings on both of your fingers. if he was a weaker man, he would sink further into the fantasy and pretend his faithfulness was yours to keep from the moment he laid eyes on you. that it’s no longer his wife’s face he sees in his dreams, he’d confess, but your smile, your laugh, your tenderness.

but you would never do that to your husband. you still loved him, despite his blatant lies and shameless sneaking around with the wife of the man you leaned on. the bitter taste of jealousy sours his mouth. if he were just as shameless, he’d—

he’d—

but you’d never allow it. even the hug you accept from him makes his skin burn, heart leaping with unbridled want. you’d never let him in past this strange duet formed in the pits of infidelity bestowed upon you by your respective partners. this… game. toeing the line. because at the end of the day, an apartment still separated his growing affections. the ring on your fingers, the reminder.

slowly but surely, your body slips out of his hold. expected. the rush of cold air doesn’t sting any less. your smile is thin and flat when you thank him for comforting you. he just stares back.

what i would do, he thinks solemnly as his gaze drops to your nervous fiddling. twisting the wedding band over and over again to the tune of his selfishly beating heart. what i would do.

the clock chimes midnight.

#— archives 🗞️#hi this made me sad teddy #do i get reparations for this #i need to eat gojo alive rn he’s so nom ILL BE UR EVERYTHINGGGG IDC

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shotosjupiter · 3 days ago

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just finished the will of the many and literally what the fuck. i’m in tears

#— jupiter speaks!#first of all one of the best fantasy books i’ve read in a minute #but also oh my fod?#i’m in tears #and i need the sequel like yesterday

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shotosjupiter · 3 days ago

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⸺ roronoa zoro

(none of these works are mine !)

[ f ] fluff [ s ] smut [ a ] angst [ sm! ] social media!au

[ f ] ୨୧ tiny mishap ୨୧ in which your very protective boyfriend interrogates you about a certain wound you have (by @daegall)

[ f ] ୨୧ wake him up ୨୧ you're tasked with waking up zoro for dinner, but it's hard to make him budge. (by @sleepymarimo)

[ f ] ୨୧ insomnia ୨୧ you find yourself unable to sleep, and all of your friends are determined to help. unfortunately, nothing seems to work...until you find yourself in the lap of a certain swordsman. (by @froggiewrites)

[ f ] ୨୧ afternoon naps and flower crowns ୨୧ how zoro would react when his s/o secretly puts a flower crown on his head while he is sleeping? (by @punkrottenlibrary)

[ f ] ୨୧ a little crazy ୨୧ (by @pholla-jm)

[ f, a ] ୨୧ lips on every cross ୨୧ zoro has never thought himself a holy man. but he'd kiss every cross if it meant finding his way back to you. (by @revasserium)

[ f ] ୨୧ get some sleep ୨୧ you just can't get to sleep thanks to a terrible rainstorm terrorizing the ship. luckily, your tossing and turning inspired nami with an idea: just go sleep with the swordsman. (by @mydearlybeloathed)

[ f, a ] ୨୧ once upon a dream ୨୧ long ago, you were cursed to one day sleep for an eternity—unless you’re presented with true love. you thought destiny couldn’t find you on the high seas, but when you're sorely mistaken, it's up to a certain swordsman to get his act together and rescue you from eternal sleep. (by @/mydearlybeloathed)

[ f ] ୨୧ matchmakers! ୨୧ you're a vice captain of an ally crew and your crewmates want to set you up with zoro so badly! the strawhats are doing the same thing, pushing their swordsman to take the leap. (by @/sleepymarimo)

[ f ] ୨୧ seeing zoro after the 2 years timeskip ୨୧ (by @arixella)

[ f ] ୨୧ knight ୨୧ as a princess, you constantly have a bounty on your head, which means you are almost always under attack whenever the crew docks on an island. so, after zoro saves you from being kidnapped again, you both have a heart to heart... which ends in a little confession. (by @zorosangell)

[ f ] ୨୧ pick me up ୨୧ zoro never paid your jokes or pickup lines any mind. that is, until something happens that makes you stop. ( by @togenabi)

[ s ] ୨୧ bewbs ୨୧ boobs blurbs ( by @kyluff)

[ f ] ୨୧ you around kids ୨୧ (by @inseobts)

[ f ] ୨୧ no title ୨୧ (by @lvmimisvmim)

୨୧ busted! secret relationship ୨୧ what if the two of you are in a secret relationship and suddenly everyone start to realize something is going on? (by @/inseobts)

[ f ] ୨୧ stone cold feelings ୨୧ boa hancock’s love-love beam turns everyone to stone, except you and zoro (and luffy). and so boa makes her mission to understand why zoro didn't turn to stone and shamelessly flirts with him (or at least she pretends to)… (by @/inseobts)

୨୧ no title ୨୧ they catch you playing with your boobs (by @zorosgirlfriend)

୨୧ hey princess pt1 ୨୧ you find freedom, love, and a true family among pirates—only to risk everything, even your life, to protect them from the chains of your past. (by @/inseobts)

[ f ] ୨୧ i'm your husband ୨୧ (by @/inseobts)

[ sm! ] ୨୧ down the all, chp 1 ୨୧ when your cat suddenly disappears from your apartment, you go crazy trying to find him. only to find your beloved cat, kuro, in the arms of your hot neighbor, roronoa zoro. trying to get your cat and the heart of your neighbor proves to be a difficult mission to say the least. (by @shotosjupiter)

[ f, a ] ୨୧ for you ୨୧ you take a life-threatening blow for Zoro in battle and he is marred with guilt. (by @clare-875)

[ s ] ୨୧ beyond the blade ୨୧ (by @2b4st4r)

୨୧ being the boatswain ୨୧ without a major, eye catching skill, you attempt to make up for it by doing everything for everyone all at once--the crew only notices when it all comes crashing down. (by @/mydearlybeloathed)

[ f ] ୨୧ sake ୨୧ your friends-with-benefits relationship with zoro becomes complicated when he gets monstrously drunk and begins to confess his deepest, darkest feelings about you. (by @/zorosangell)

[ f ] ୨୧ in plain sight ୨୧ when the straw hats start speculating about zoro's mysterious girlfriend, you and he decide to let the rumours run wild—until the truth comes out most unexpectedly. (by @annievrse)

#— reblogs!#AHHHHH im so honored to be a part of this list :’)

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shotosjupiter · 4 days ago

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no it’s okay i’m okay guys don’t worry it’s totally-

wave goodbye ⋆｡⋆❀˖°

༄ pairing: k. nanami x f!reader

༄ synopsis: you visit kento’s favorite place to live in the pockets he has left behind and to say goodbye.

༄ warnings: wc: 3k+. little a bit of everything: angst, fluff, and smut (very soft), canon (in the sense that nanami dies), staggering flashbacks (the same day but different years), mentions of death, sadness, heartbreak, quiet ending.

༄ a/n: for the lovely @lily-bisque’s (ily) summer collab!!! my chest caved in a little while writing this.

July 5th, 2017

Postcard from Kuantan, Malaysia

To my love,

The sea is loud, but she is constant. The ridges of the waves speak to me in a way that drags the salt from the water into my hands. It’s where I know I’ll always find you. You’ll find me in the tides.

I wish you were here. But, I see you in the glitter on the early morning sand and the waves that follow me as I walk along the shore.

Your Kento.

July 5th, 2019

The postcard feels heavy in your hands. The sun bleached edges bite into your palm, familiar now. Like it’s trying to cling to you as hard as you’re clinging to him.

You’re not sure if you want to dip your toes in yet… not when it feels like you’ll be stepping into his ghost.

It feels unnatural. To be in his favorite place without him. You ignored the heavy feeling in your chest when you got on the plane to get here — sitting in the middle of two strangers. Kento’s thigh not the one to press into yours. His hand not weaving into yours when the turbulence became too much to handle.

Now, the deep lavender sky envelopes the warming peach and gold hues flowing in. The horizon stretches on forever. You stare long enough to start hoping it’ll give him back. It stares back — probably wondering where he is too.

This was the place where he came to breathe. You returned just to remember the sound of it. But the ocean — loud, aggressive — doesn’t let you mourn quietly.

It remembers him too.

You swear, for a second, you hear him.

“It always sounds angrier before it calms.”

You look over your shoulder, just to be sure. The waves knock in a humid breeze, one that tangles your hair. One, that if the stretch of sand wasn’t empty, but had your Kento walking towards you — his feet would have sunk deeper into the sand, the pages of the book he brought to study the animals he’ll see, would have flutter.

But he isn’t walking towards you. The salt isn’t clinging to his sun kissed hair. It’s just, your sandals, and the tide crawling closer.

You press the postcard closer to your chest, right where it aches the most. The paper’s warm from the sun, but you tell yourself it’s kept the warmth from his hands when he first picked it out for you. You wish it really was his hand on your chest. His breath on your neck when he’ll lean down and ask if you wanted to get breakfast before the stalls ran out of roti canai. Instead, the waves crash another humid breeze towards you.

Your body still remembers how to love him. It keeps reaching — for his hand, for his laugh, for the sound of him breathing next to you.

But there’s nothing to catch. Only wind.

You inhale, sharp. It smells like sandy seashells and sunscreen and fruit. Like him. Like then. You blink against the sting in your eyes. You want to blame it on the salt. But that isn’t fair.

Your heart aches for the sea.

Maybe it misses him too.

July 5th, 2018

You’re straggling behind — Kento leisurely walking along the shore. His footprints clear, the tide trying and failing to wash them away. The crystal clear water pools in his footprints, letting you walk in his steps.

The water is a quiet kind of blue today. It folds over itself, staying near Ken’s feet a little longer than necessary — rolling with a hush, retreating with a wistful sigh.

The sand is pale and warm, packed firmly from where the waves have kissed it. You smile at the sensation when the sand becomes sugary and crumbly when you’re closer to the dunes. Your feet are still stepping into Kento’s path. The path you know you’ll follow for the rest of your life.

The air is thick with salt, the salt that you know will cling to Kento’s lashes and you’ll be even more memorized when he looks down and blinks at you. The smell of sunscreen and rambutan settles sweet and sticky into your hair — you even consider skipping shampoo tonight. The smell of Kento’s favorite place wrapping you up and being presented to him later tonight.

You’re not talking to each other. The sounds of the waves crash towards you, pulling you both into the blues of the unknown. The sand gently shifts gently under your feet. Birds you don’t recognize call out overhead (Ken knows them, you saw the book about animals in Malaysia snuggled near his socks in his suitcase). The early morning bustle of beach goers setting up camp. It’s calming. But, hearing Ken’s breathing is louder than anything. Words aren’t needed — you know he’s here and vice versa. He hears your toes imprinting into the prints he’s left behind.

You squint at Kento’s bare back, your heart squeezing with it. You want the sun to hold him like you plan to — forever and ever.

And then, he turns around. Facing you.

Golden in the sunlight.

Shoulders relaxed. Head tilted like he’s listening to the water speak. The smallest hint of a smile, the real one that you’re lucky to know. You could feel it, your heart leaping when his lips quirk. You’ve had this thought before — that you’d know this smile, even from miles away.

At times you think his mother created him in a lab, grabbing inspiration from Greek sculptors.

“You okay?” He calls out to you, and then you realize you stopped walking. A line of his footprints slowly filling up with water — tiny little puddles gasping with your love and the sea’s love for your golden boy.

“Perfect,” you whisper. You can’t help but smile back at him. A bird caws in back of you, it sounds closer than the others. It’s pretty. You could see the gears in his brain start to turn, the bird book coming in handy.

“Well, come over.” He waves his arm and like a snake charmer to a cobra, you follow along. The sand pushing on your heels as you lightly jog to be near your love.

“Look at what I found.” As you approach, you see a line of seashells — not just scattered, but arranged deliberately. Like little offerings from the sea, pulled in just for him. You’re just happy to be involved.

Your arms are brushing each other — sweaty and salty. The sun is now shining on you both, and you wonder if Kento feels the warmth as softly as you. The heat isn’t beating on you, no fear of sunburned skin and aloe kisses happening. But, it’s easy and tender — like his fingers running along your spine when he wakes you up in the morning.

You look up at him, ignoring the pile of seashells that he’s so intrigued by. Sweat drips from his temple and you realize — the sun is yours and the sea is his.

“Let’s see who could find the prettiest one.”

He crouches down, skilled fingers lightly brushing sand off the variety of colors flashing in front of you. Hues of pink, blues, and beige weave around his digits, a content humming coming from him and ringing in your ear.

You kneel beside him, watching the way the sun glints off the water droplets still clinging to the shells — like they haven’t quite let go of the ocean. Like they’re not ready to be taken.

Then you spot it — the blue one that looks like it’s curling into itself. You immediately reach for it, your fingers brushing his. A shell so blue, it matches the button up he wears everyday for work.

“It reminds me of you.” You hum and he chuckles. You lean into his shoulder a bit. The shell rolling in your palm — you want to squeeze it so that the salt and the tales of the waves it rode in lives in you forever.

“So I have to find one that reminds me of you.” His voice is gentle, his lips brushing on your hairline is even gentler.

He jumps up — sudden and determined. You hold in the giggle that wants to escape. Watching as he starts to lightly jog across the beach, following the line of shells laid out in front of him.

Giddily, you jump up too. The shell is still in your hand, the light waves are still filling his footprints, and his chuckle is still swimming in the air. You follow him.

The sea chased him. So did you.

July 5th, 2019

It’s quiet — and not the quietness that used to follow him. His quiet was still and calm, waiting to be popped by your invasive questions and his hearty chuckle. Or even by the gallops of the beach just outside, it was always waiting. Always patient, and loving.

This quiet is lonely. It’s eerie almost — as if it is just cloaking itself over what you and Kento have built in this little bungalow. It knows it isn’t welcomed, it shouldn’t be here. But, like your grief and his wavering quiet — it doesn’t know where to go.

You fully step into the bungalow, the palm tree right by the door sending you a little wave as you brave this home that once was filled with salty kisses and Kento’s calm sigh, alone.

You don’t realize the tears are falling until you’re inside.

Your eyes skirt around the familiarity of the place, despite the most important piece missing. You see the blue seashell you picked up last year — the one the color of his work shirt. A shirt you have tucked in your suitcase for when you just want to feel him draped over your shoulders.

Your knees buckle at the simpleness of the seashell. The sunlight warms the dust that’s settled on it. It’s still beautiful. It’s still him.

Your fingers reach for it, fast and unsteady. You silently pray that you don’t drop it. You don’t know how you’ll react to a piece of him shattered at your feet.

The curves grove along your palm the way the postcard did earlier. It feels smaller now, more lived in. And the fact that this little remnant of life has the audacity to keep moving without him causes your chest to heave in.

And you let yourself cry.

You let yourself imagine his fingers combing through your hair, his sunscreen penetrating the air with such force you’ll stop crying just to make sure he rubbed it in correctly.

While the tears flow out violently and unending, your feet graze the floorboards — every inch of this place memorized in your DNA. Your body knows where to go, what to walk around. It’s only missing his hand in yours.

Red rimmed eyes and the sluggish, aching feeling of crying creaks in your shoulder blades as you walk to the bedroom window. The shell is still craved into your palm, you crack the window open.

You let the world in. The breeze, briny and humid. The faraway call of someone selling food on the street. The scent of rice and palm sugar wafts in like a ghost. The distant rhythm of children laughing down the beach. The sea doesn’t crash here — not yet. It hushes. It lulls.

From the corner of your teary eyes, you realize something waves for your attention. And there, hanging as if he just placed it there a minute before is his tie. Your free hand immediately reaches for it.

That stupid patterned one you use to tease him about. The same one you helped him knot because he could never get the length quite right. You grab it slowly, as if he might be around the corner to question your motives. The fabric is stiff, sun-worn, but you can still imagine it looped around his neck. You can almost feel him though the threads of the funny patterns.

You press it into your face. Inhaling. It doesn’t smell like him anymore — not that you expected it too. But still your chest caves. Your body jerks slightly, waiting to feel his arms wrap around you.

But the tie doesn’t hold him. It should. It always did.

You pull it back for a moment, almost dropping it. Your nose running, searching for his scent.

Your memory does the work anyway. You taste him in the back of your throat.

You can’t move, so you stay there with pieces of your love in your hands. The tears are the only thing that could move out of you.

Not because you’re alone.

But because the air still feels like him.

And you know he would’ve had his head out the window, letting the sea speak to him. Their secret conversations were nothing more than his slight, slow breath, and his listening.

Letting the sea carry all the words neither of you could say.

July 5th, 2018

The lights are dimmed, the curtain losing its fight with the salty breeze tangling in — allowing just the lightest kiss of moonlight to flitter throughout the room. The air smells like pockets of the sea and skin, the ocean breeze wrapping around the room like a cloth.

You hear the moon dictating the tides as they whisper along the shore — allowing for your moans and Kento’s grunts to dance around the room without a care. All of the sounds create a melody that’s steady and heartfelt. One that will live in your heart and the breeze that the palm tree would feel tomorrow.

His breath is hot against your neck, but his touch is soft and reverent. His heart is beating against your palm from where your hand is plastered to his back. He moves as if he’s trying to keep you tucked in the bed, in this bungalow, with the beach leading his hips into yours.

You’re staring at him from below, his blonde salty hair tickling your nose. Legs are tangled together, skin sticky from heat and love. One of his hands is buried under your head, cradling you as if you’re delicate. His other hand traces your ribs, the dip of your waist, the beauty mark he loves on your stomach. Over and over. You think he’s memorizing you for a moment when you won’t be here. As if he doesn’t know who you are or what you are to him.

“Kento,” you whisper along with the salty breeze. You feel his heart stutter on your palm. A welcoming feeling. You almost want to grab on to it, keep it engraved on your skin for years to come.

He sinks into you deeper — bottoming out in you with a low, broken groan. Your own moan follows, accompanied with a shiver down your spine. He holds still there, buried in your warmth like it’s sacred. His hazel eyes boring into yours. Unsaid words floating between your bodies and floating out the cracked window to join the palm trees.

Then he begins to move again — slow, deliberate rolls of his hips that grind him deeper into you. He drags soft, needy sounds out of you with every thrust. His hand presses into your lower belly like he’s grounding you to the earth, to him.

“I love you,” he breathes, lips brushing your cheek. “I love you even more you’re here with me.”

He kisses the curve of your shoulder, his hair tickling you even more. You could almost see the particles of sand that didn’t wash out in the shower twinkle in his hair. His rhythm doesn’t change, it’s still slow… it’s still him. He takes his time, stretching you out so that you could feel him whole.

“Because I bought you that bowl of nasi lemak?” You whisper against his lips. The hand that was pressing on your stomach is dipping in between your legs, you arch your back at the invasion. His hips are still slowly kissing yours in a pace that’s matching the sound of the waves rolling in.

He chuckles against your lips — warm and wet. “Maybe.”

His hips roll forward, even slower this time — dragging his length along your gummy walls. The only response you could give him at the moment is clenching your walls around his creamy shaft. And an airy breath, not from urgency, but from how deeply you feel him.

“Where else would I be, if not by your side?” You ask. Your voice is soft, even you had trouble hearing yourself. The vibrations of your chest as you spoke let you know you said it out loud.

Your hand that’s been grasping at the thumping of his heart runs along his back, stopping at his shoulder to give it a squeeze before crawling its way to tangle into his blonde hair. His hair is damp, curling at the ends and you can’t help but fall in love again.

He stares down at you, his brows relaxed. His eyes are shining so brightly, you have to remind yourself you shut the lamp off before you guys became tangled in bed. Plump lips parted just slightly, you catch his tongue running over his bottom lip.

“We could just stay,” his tone is dreamy and you can’t help but just nod along. “Let the sea age us.”

His index finger has found your clit, tracing lazy circles that echo who he is — slow, certain, and achingly tender.

The sea sighs, creeping through the windows, entering your lungs and his. And with it, so do you.

July 5th, 2019

The quiet from the bungalow follows you and the moon to your spot on the sand.

The postcard is still in your hand, the shell that is the color of Kento’s button up shirt is snug in your pocket. His tie looped around your fingers lazily, soft in the wind. You don’t remember doing that. Your hand just knew to drag it along.

“I wish you were here,” you whisper, but your voice breaks halfway. The words come out watery and achy. Like you’re in physical pain. You feel like you are.

A wave replies, gently brushing your feet.

You scurry your feet closer to you. It feels cruel and wrong to be kissed by the sea. It feels too much like him.

A chilled breeze weaves through the palm trees. Dragging along good night kisses from lovers in the bungalows behind you. Kisses filled with promises of seeing each other in the morning. The kisses you miss the most.

Out of heartbreaking anger, you roughly grab onto the postcard — holding it a little tighter. Your thumb running along the ink smeared words acting as if you don’t know how he crosses his ts.

“You’ll find me in the tides.”

You shove it to your chest, ignoring the slight pang of physical pain. Not when the grief is growing from under your ribs and pressing your heart out of your chest.

You’re not ready. You weren’t ready for him to go. You doubt you would ever be ready for that to be true.

The moon brings the tide closer to you. The usual warm water feels cold tonight. The waves are soft, so soft. You just have to sit there and wonder if he is controlling the waves — having them match his kisses. Maybe he thinks this is making it easier.

But, the burn in your throat and the crack in your shoulders as you try to push them down from your ears tells you it’s time. You know that you have too. He would want you to.

If you don’t let go now, it will keep breaking you in newer and sharper ways everyday. Like how those heavy waves erode rocks on cliffs. The crash and pull created something the rocks weren’t planning on becoming.

The shell is burrowing itself into your pocket, or maybe it’s your hand trying to keep it there.

A wave rushes towards you, this one heavy and dark.

You drop the postcard first. Your eyes closed, like it’ll hurt any less. It didn’t. Your fingers grasps at air as it rushes out of your clammy hands.

You feel the pain in your chest coming out as full body sobs. Your shoulders shaking, leaving that knowing soreness that is going to riddle your body in the morning.

Another roll of a wave, and your fingers grasp the shell. The sound it makes when it hits the water is too soft. Like it doesn’t understand what it meant to you. It doesn’t understand who it is.

The tie wraps around your fingers, a gentle tug to be kept in your hand. Your stomach caves in. All you could do is allow your toes to get wet while you hold on to it, bringing it closer to your nose. Still looking for his scent.

You feel your body curl into itself, like the shell you just left go of. Your whole body aches. Your teeth are clenched together. You want to scream — at him, at the sea, at everyone involved. You want him back. You want the sea to rewind time, so that it can get him back too.

You don’t think you can let go. You want to laugh at the pattern one more time. You want to loop it around his neck, tugging on it softly to lead him down so that his lips meet yours.

But, another wave comes and you think your mind is playing tricks on you.

It sounds just like him. His laugh, his voice, the way he used to say your name when he was tired.

You let the tie sway out of your hand.

Eyes still closed and spilling out hot tears, you stay sitting in the cold wet sand. Your knees curled into your body.

Even with your eyes wet and shut, you know the moon is bright, you see glimmer of it whenever you move your head. The sky is calm.

The sea is endless and forgiving. The waves have stopped lapping at your feet, staying nearby quietly. You’re grateful for the companion.

He’s gone. He has been gone for months now.

But, he’ll be in the sea. In the tides, waiting for your toes to curl in the wet sand. For your fingers to graze over seashells that match his eyes. For the salt that would cling to your hair, dropping on his pillow — since you can’t sleep on your side anymore.

For now, he’s floating in the groves of his favorite place. For now, he’s everywhere where he's meant to be.

In the sea. In your heart.

happy belated birthday kento bean <3 you deserved better (sorry i can’t write that way).

dividers: @bernardsbendystraws

#— archives 🗞️#SOBS #hi this was lovely n beautiful n i’m cry #my sweet princess nanami pleek come back

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