#gingerteawrites

He'd regretted it the second the sentence slipped from his lips, jolting his tired mind awake and aware to the mountain of hurt he'd just caused.

Your heart stuttering and your throat tight, you'd quickly run out of the resolve to fight before fleeing the scene of your living room.

Kento finds you curled up in your bed, your back facing the door hours later. He'd needed a moment to cool down. To recollect his energies and give his body the rest it screamed for—something that cleared his being from the tightness that had caused him to utter such careless words in the first place.

"Darling," his whisper does nothing to move you. He knows you're pretending to be asleep.

With a soft sigh, he climbs on the bed behind you and trail his fingers to your waist.

Your flinch at the contact breaks his heart, then melds it back together with the weight of the entire world. The reality of how deeply his words had hurt you.

His apology comes in a whisper, heavy with the regret that brewed in his soul. "I'm sorry, ____." He always used your name when apologizing. As if he needed to engrave his words onto your very soul. "I do not think you're clingy—you know I never would. Your love is like a soothing balm to my soul, and I deeply regret even showing an ounce of disdain towards your attention. Please, forgive me."

You don't reply immediately, that stubborn streak in you winning over.

But at least you relax into his touch. You let him pull you closer, and feel the steady beat of his heart against your back.

Trust that he grows a thousand times more careful than he already is. Measuring every word with you, knowing that he'd rather throw himself off a cliff than see that love shattered in your eyes again.

GOJO SATORU

Arguments with Satoru are a spectacle.

A whole on show of who can scream the loudest and sometimes, be the most cutting. It was an artifact of his personality, really.

The one who could never be denied anything.

The honored one.

The Strongest™

Well, that doesn't go too well when his partner can be as stubborn as him. And when said partner started to worry about his recklessness in combat (for good reason).

When you tried to remind him of his own mortality. Of his own weakness.

"I don't need you, out of all people to tell me what I can or cannot do," he's right in your face, icy eyes piercing through you with that sharp sense of superiority.

"What do you mean by that, Satoru?" you push through gritted teeth, already reeling from the reminder of your own comparative weakness.

"Don't make me hurt your feelings sweetheart," a scoff. A roll of his eyes. The haughty way in which he shakes his head.

You feel like an idiot for caring this much. For loving this idiot.

With a frustrated sigh, you're grabbing your jacked and bolting for the door.

Except he won't let you run.

That's the thing with Satoru; the second he realizes what you're about to do, his temper and his ego drop into the negatives, and he's clinging to you like a wounded animal.

"Wait, _____!" All the arrogance is gone, the icy plane what were his eyes returning to a sea rippling with desperation. "Don't leave."

"I'm getting real fucking tired of your bullshit Satoru," your voice comes out in a frustrated huff. "I get it, I'm not as strong of a sorcerer as you are, but that doesn't mean my opinion counts for nothing."

"I know, I know," he's pulling you towards him, seeking your touch with every second that passes. Reassurance that you're not leaving the space. Leaving him. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have spoken to you like that. Just—don't leave. Please."

You let him, of course you do. You allow his face to fall to the crook of your neck and his hands to trace the skin of your back. You allow your own senses to be filled by the scent of him.

And he's not going to let you go until he's made sure that you've forgiven him.

GETO SUGURU

Arguments with Suguru don't really feel like arguments at all.

His voice remains even keeled, his tone gentle regardless of what he's doing.

And that is what makes you feel genuinely insane.

"Suguru I need you to talk to me," you're getting agitated, standing over the couch where he's sat back, body relaxed over the cushions.

"I am talking to you right now, aren't I?" he looks up with raised brows, pretending to cooperate. And that makes you livid.

You take in a shaky breath, trying—but failing—to calm yourself down.

"I don't mean just speaking, Geto," you emphasize his last name, almost as if you're hoping that will convey how serious you are. "Talk to me. Tell me what's bothering you. I'm tired of feeling like I'm running against a brick wall with you."

"You're not my therapist, ____." you notice the barrier rise up behind his dark eyes, despite his honeyed tone. "I appreciate your... concern but I'm fine."

"I sure aren't your therapist, but I am your girlfriend." You accent the word, huffing out a frustrated breath. "I get it, we haven't been together for as long as you've known Satoru, but you should know that it feels horrible seeing you open up to him and never to me."

You're trying to be the bigger person and communicate your frustrations. But the longer you're at it, the more your throat tightens and tears threaten to slip from your eyes.

Finally noticing your tears is what pulls him out of his passive gaze, and Suguru's eyes soften.

"Hey, hey, come here," he's tugging your arm gently, pulling down so you rest on his lap. "I don't ever want to hurt you, baby. I'm sorry."

Your gaze remains on the floor. "Come on, look at me," with two fingers, Suguru tilts your chin up so your eyes meet his. So you can see the sincerity behind them. "I promise I'll try to be more open with you. You're the most important person in my life, okay?"

It remains terribly difficult for the man to fully show you how much he struggles internally, but he resorts to writing you short letters. Vulnerable words left at your bedside when he feels the darkness grow within him, and that is already a big step in the right direction.

RYOMEN SUKUNA

Saying that Sukuna is proud would be an understatement.

He is haughty.

Arrogant.

Conceited, even.

This man believes that he is right, no matter what. And arguing with him is a genuine waste of time. All he does it watch you exhaust yourself, barely listening and paying attention to what you were spending all your energy emphasizing.

The only thing that gets his attention is a threat.

"If you care so little then I guess I'm wasting my time with you," there are tears in your eyes, and your chest is huffing from the breath you'd exerted making your point to him. "Good riddance, Sukuna."

"Where do you think you're going?" His tone is hard, almost as bad as his grip that catches onto your arm.

Almost as if he thought he could intimidate you into compliance—it worked on the entire world, didn't it?

"I said i'm leaving!" You try to yank your arm away, but he doesn't budge. Instead, his jaw sets with a tense tick, brows furrowing over crimson eyes.

"Don't get your panties in a twist, it's not that serio—"

His eyes widen in an incredulous expression. Did you just... slap him across the face?

It sends his brain back to factory settings. And Sukuna finally realizes that you—you who loved to play with his hair, traced his tattoos with all the gentleness in the world and called him ridiculously soft nicknames—were truly upset.

His grip loosens around you when a somber expression returns to his face, his eyes finally focusing on seeing you. The hurt in your expression, the tension in your muscles.

Sukuna knows he's messed up.

"Sorry," it's whispered. But so much more than he'd ever said to anyone. It's enough to get you to settle at least for a minute, your arm falling down to your side.

"I shouldn't have to threaten leaving for you to apologize, Sukuna," your own heartbeat returns to baseline, but you do nothing to hide the disappointment in your voice.

"That works out, I don't particularly appreciate being threatened." You're not going to get an elaborate apology—you'd never truly expected one—but you know from the way he looks at you. From the way he actually seems to listen, that you'd gotten across the stubborn prick that was Sukuna.

And the next morning, you awake to a living room filled to the brim with flowers, a single card reading.

[I'll break the limbs of whoever has the audacity to hurt you. Me included.]

FUSHIGURO TOJI

This man goes ghost on you.

Disappears at the first sign of a fight, fleeing the scene before he can ever feel the full force of your ire.

Avoidance is a trait built in his very biology. That's how he survived in the Zenin household. That is how he got away from all the things that tried to end him.

So instead of facing you, and his own ever-growing brew of emotional torment, he shuts down, refuses to speak and then leaves your shared home to blow off steam.

Needless to say, it leaves you feeling as if you didn't even deserve to be listened to. You're not even a shouter. You're not a mean person. But he doesn't allow you to get that across.

And it is after another one of his escapes that you decide you've had enough and leave him a voice message.

He's at the gas station when he finally has the balls to look at his phone, scratch ticket in one hand and his phone in the other. The urge to gamble was always the strongest when he sensed your unhappiness.

He clicks on the message, readying his mind for a barrage of insults that he knew he deserved.

"Listen, Toji, I know that this is all difficult for you. And I try to be understanding—I try so hard," you choked on your words, and he could imagine the tears slipping from your lash line. "But I'm tired of this. And if you don't think I am deserving enough for you to even listen to what I have to say, then maybe this is not going to work out. I already tucked Meg and Miki in. Shiu offered to let me stay at his tonight—"

He's not even letting the message finish before he is bolting, letting the scratch ticket fall to the ground with his $20 win.

You've barely settled into the spare apartment before a series of knocks thunder at the door, and you almost aren't surprised to see it burst open.

"How did you—"

"Don't worry about that, doll," he's crossing the threshold of the small living room in an instant, reaching for you. "Ya should be home, not here in this stupid place—I swear I'm gonna kill that idiot."

"Don't go threatening Shiu, he was kind enough to offer me help,'' you're already on the defensive.

"Ya don't need help from nobody but me," his hands land on your shoulder, firm but not rough.

You tsk, brows furrowing in annoyance. "You'd have to stick around to hear me ask first, Toji," there was anger hidden behind your honeyed eyes. You never looked at him that way.

“I ain’t runnin’ anymore.” He swallows hard. “I can’t keep doin’ that to ya. I need ya here. So if you’re angry, be angry. Yell at me. Hell, claw my eyes out if ya gotta. I’ll still be right here. Just… come home. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

And that is probably the most vulnerable it gets with Toji Fushiguro.

KAMO CHOSO

Choso cannot physically handle you being upset at him.

It's like a visceral reaction you elicit from the man. The second he sense a shift in your mood, you are hit with a barrage of apologies. But never letting arguments happen is a problem on its own, which you try bringing up.

"Choso I know you hate fighting with me, but we need to have these difficult conversations." In a second, his fingers interlock with yours and he brings your hand to his lips.

"I'm sorry pretty," there it is, he's already apologizing.

"I appreciate you apologizing but that doesn't negate my point," he looks like a kicked puppy, his brows falling in a way that makes your heart hurt, but you need to keep going. "I'm sure there are things that I do that make you upset sometimes. I need you to tell me when that happens."

"But I don't want to hurt your feelings. I can deal with it myself." Choso was selfless to a fault. And you have to be as obvious as one could be to change his stubborn mind sometimes.

"What would you say if I did something that hurt Yuuji?" He tenses immediately, a frown coming over his features.

"You'd never do that." His answer is immediate.

"But if I did," you venture slowly, "You'd do something about it, right?" He nods slowly, expression guarded. "I want it to be the same if anything happens involving just us. Otherwise we'll only grow to resent each other."'

There is still a pout on his lips. His brows are still furrowed and his fingers securely around yours. But he breaths and "okay," and you know you've finally made your point.

He'll definitely need some TLC after this conversation, so be kind to him. But he grows from the conversation, and now lets the both of you vent before he barrages you with apologies.

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These are all so different lol. Lmk what you think!

Zayne gives an exasperated grunt, lowering the glasses onto his nosebridge and sharpening the image of you lounging on the bed. He lifts a knee to lean onto it, brows knitting in displeasure.

"My memory has been that bad, huh?" he sounds so defeated that you feel bad, sitting up and inching closer to him.

"It's normal, Zayne, we're getting older. I'm literally the most forgetful person ever." Your tone is wrapped in a light-hearted joke, and you manage to draw a smile from him. "Plus, you never forget the important stuff, so that's all that matters."

You feel the mattress dip from his weight as he leans in, supporting his body on his hands while his eyes bore into yours.

You notice the worry lines along his forehead. The way decades of wearing glasses have created an indent where his eyes meet his nose.

But you also notice the softness in his features. The way time seemed to have brought relief to this tired soul. Reassurance to a being so used to fearing. Your presence after all this years had done it. After hard fought years, the ever-looming shadow of death finally seemed to dissipate from your lives.

"Even when I'm senile," his breath mingles with yours and his lips brush your cheek in a way that made you giggle, before he pulls back so that you can see the sincerity shining through his gaze. "I'll never forget that you're the best thing to ever happen to me."

A sound of surprise escapes his lips when you yank him close to press your lips against his, only emboldened when he leans into your skin and lets out a soft sigh.

Another recent development; Zayne turns into absolute putty in your hands whenever you grace his body with your touch. Guess that years and years of being the tough doctor only did so much to hide the real softness of his soul, especially when it came to you.

SYLUS

Growing old with Sylus means watching him become the grumpy old man he's always hidden inside. His graying is barely noticeable at first, especially with an already snowy tuft of hair. But the strands whiten even more; half a shade lighter, and he does not fail to complain about it.

"Ugh, I need to dye it at this point," he threads a hand through his hair, grunting as he inches closer to the mirror.

He'd call up Luke or Kieran to run the errand for box dye, but the boys had grown into men who now pulled the reigns at Onychinus, especially when Sylus couldn't be bothered to be the big boss man.

"It's barely noticeable," you grunt as you make your way into the bathroom, wrapping your arms around his torso.

Him spending less time with Onychinus meant more time with you, something that had birthed as many fights as it had moments of tenderness. You leaned in to listen to his heartbeat, the comfort of his presence simmered deep in your bones.

"Plus, you look sexier like this," you bring your chin up to rest on his shoulder, having to stand up on your tippy toes so you can see your reflection next to his. "Like a silver fox."

He scoffs, but the breath is filled with amusement. A lightness that seemed to grow everyday. As if time was managing to scrub away lifetimes of anguish and harship.

"What, so you think the old man is sexy now?" He raises a brow, referencing your countless jabs at his age. He spins in your hold to face you, wrapping his own arms around your waist.

"What can I say?" you tilt your head up at him, a smile gracing your lips. "I've always had a thing for dilfs."

He bursts into a peal of laughter, deep and soft and oh so sweet as it reverberates through your chest. His chin dips until his lips are but a mere inch from yours.

"You better enjoy this, then." And his lips meet yours in a languid kiss. Unrushed and unperturbed. Knowing that you had as long as you wanted to savor this moment together. The rest of your lives, actually.

CALEB

"Damn, my back," Caleb groans, slowly emerging from the tangle of sheets that was your shared bed, and managing to wake you up in the same breath.

"Huh?" your voice is still scratchy from the sleep, and you wipe at your eyes, as if that will help you hear your lover's complaint any better.

"I think I pulled something while I was asleep," he is now nursing the small of his back, groaning again as he turns towards you.

You stifle a chuckle, managing to partly chase the sleep away from your eyes, letting them rake over the skin of his naked torso and then to his face.

"What? My pain amuses you?" he tries to sound offended, but Caleb cannot hide the smile from his voice. Not with how soft you looked immersed in the cloud of soft sheet.

You shake your head, reaching your hand towards his. "We're getting old, so I guess pulling something in your sleep is normal now."

Way better than the other ways we've been hurt before.

The thought hangs heavy in the air, an echo of the past you two shared. Hunter and soldier, both weapons wielded with no concern for your bodies. How things had changed, that the biggest threat to your well-being was a memory foam mattress.

"I don't love the idea that you think I'm old," his brows pinch, his lips curling into a small frown that draws a laugh from you.

"I said we, idiot. We're getting old." You fully sitting up, yanking on his hand in a teasing gesture.

"Well now that you say that," he leans in closer, that same mischievous glint that he's had since infancy shining particularly bright in the warm haze of sunrise. "I see those wrinkles starting to form on your face." His finger presses at the center of your forehead. "Righhhhht here! That's what you get for frowning all the time."

"Shut up," you swat his hand away with an eyeroll, and he uses the momentum to swing you around into his hold. A loud, surprised giggle erupts from your chest, which he soon mirrors.

"Careful, grandpa Caleb, you might pull something else." His arms squeeze tighter around you in retaliation, fingers slipping under your nightgown to the spots where you are the most ticklish.

"I don't mind pulling every muscle if that means hearing you laugh like this." He whispers in a breath of tenderness, leaning in to kiss your shoulder before his fingers move against your skin and sending the both of you into a peal of laughter.

XAVIER

"Xavi, I don't think we should go any deeper," you're basically panting, trying, but failing to mask your exhaustion with every step you took. Getting older was doing a number on you, especially since Xavier was the one hauling your heavy camping equipment on his back and seemed unaffected by the trek.

"But the best spot to see the sky is at the heart of the forest," he's focused on his goal, azure eyes fixed straight on the path ahead. "The alignment of the planets in our solar system only happens every 20 years."

Try as you may, your legs eventually start giving out, forcing you to stop as you lean onto one of the tall trees to catch your breath. That is when Xavier finally pauses, eyes rounding with concern when they land on your figure.

"_____," he's by your side in an instant, holding your jaw oh so tenderly. "Are you okay? Did I push you too hard? I'm so sorry, starlight." guilt seeps into his voice even faster than you can get the words out, so you resort to a vigorous head shake.

"I just need a breather," you lean into his touch. "How you manage to still have so much energy should be studied. Tell us, Xavier, what is this fountain of youth you've been hiding?"

His worry eases only a fraction when he hears your joke, his hand slipping from his jaw to your shoulder, eyes tracing the silvery strands now woven into your hair; like the trail of a shooting star, the brilliance of a white supergiant.

The overwhelming urge to kiss you comes over him, and he does nothing to resist, leaning in to brush his lips against yours. You make a little noise of surprise, but melt into him nonetheless. When he pulls away his eyes carry a new luster, one that only compares to the brightness of his smile.

"You're beautiful," he whispers close to your skin, and the giddiness that spreads through you rivals that of a swooning teen.

"All of a sudden?" grinning ear to ear, you have magically regained the strength to stand on your own two feet. But Xavier does not pull back. His body follows yours, a steading hand resting along your arm.

"I felt the need to say it," he breathes. "Standing beneath the stars like this, I can't help but feel grateful for a life spent with you."

Affection squeezes at your heart, and you twine your fingers with his. "You're beautiful too, Xavier." You feel the softness of his body against yours; a metamorphosis from decades spent in training into the freedom of civilian life. "But really, how do you still manage to have this much stamina?"

He chuckles, adjusting the strap of the huge backpack on his shoulders before he spins around to keep leading you to your destination. "I told you to check out those workout classes in the park."

"With the grandmas??" you raise a brow, recalling the congregation of retirees who met at your local park every morning and evening to stretch and exercise.

"Look at who is speaking," his jab earns him a shove from you, but your giggles echo into the forest and to the skies beyond.

RAFAYEL

"Raf we're running late!" You stalk into the bedroom, already annoyed because the exhibition had opened a whole hour ago and your lover was still getting ready.

If anything, time had made the man even more fussy about appearances. Rows and rows of skincare lined your sink, a walk-in closet even bigger than the last one filled with the finest fabrics.

I have to be even more fabulous now, he'd often say, offering an admonishing tut-tut everytime you tried to complain.

"You mean fashionably late, cutie." You find him running his hands through his hair, trying to get the strands to perch at the perfect angle.

"No, I mean late, late." You drop onto the bed, your own gown draping your body at an experimental angle, almost a little too risque for your tastes. But he'd convinced you it went perfectly with his own outfit, and you had to admit, Rafayel had good taste. "The earlier we go, the earlier we can come back. You know I want to be in bed by 9."

"9???" His fingers pause in indignation, swiveling around to face you. "What are you, a fossil?"

"A girl gotta sleep, okay?" You lean upwards, a soft pout gracing your lips. "And it doesn't help that you snore and keep me up at night."

"Me??" His gasp is most indignant. "Snore??"

You rise with a smirk, eager to take the opportunity to tease him back. "Like a tractor. So hurry up so I can get my beauty sleep."

"You're lucky you're sexy." He closes the distance, wrapping an arm around your waist to caress the velvety fabric of your dress, running his fingers up towards your waist in a motion that causes a shiver to run up your spine.

"Please," you roll your eyes. "You don't need to flatter me."

"Flatter," you are pulled flush against his chest. "I don't need to flatter, ____." His lips find the shell of your ear. "If you want me to prove that I mean my words, I can do just that." The whisper sents a jolt through you, but you are quick to jump out of his hold.

"And make us even more late? Absolutely not."

"You're no fun." He pouts softly, finally following you to the car.

There is truly no need to worry about appearances, especially not when all of Linkon thinks you're the most gorgeous couple that the world has ever seen. Especially not when in Rafayel's eyes, the passage of time only makes you even dearer to his heart—you, the pearl that he has searched for throughout entire lifetimes.

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I wrote this one purely fueled by vibes and a sleepy mind.

Kento wouldn't say it outright, but he was the one who was afraid.

Afraid that this life you were both bringing into the world would be revolted by him. By the scars that not only stained his skin, but his very soul.

It would be normal, wouldn't it? For a little soul, so pure in the face of all the the world's evils to naturally be averse to one so deeply entrenched in it.

It wasn't like others did not find him abominable already.

Like a creature you couldn't look at for too long, lest your own being be tainted by its filth. Little kids ran and screamed. Adults pretended not to startle at the sight of him. And even other sorcerers—those who were supposed to understand the depth of his sacrifice—looked at him like something that needed to be pitied.

With every day drawing closer to you bringing your little girl into this world, the weight of fear grew and grew, until it broke through Nanami's words.

Crushed his shoulders with such weight that he had no other recourse but to let it slip. Let you, his one and only—the only one who looked at him like was still human—share in on this burden.

"Ken," your voice is but a whisper, a hand immediately covering his.

"It would be objectively terrifying," he rushes straight into justifying his thoughts, gaze avoidant. "Meeting someone who is... deformed. I don't imagine a baby would be very amused by—"

"—Ken." Your voice cuts through his ramblings, a sobering recall that calls his gaze to yours.

And there he sees it.

The way your deep eyes gloss over with tears; sparkly beads that shone with such intense heartbreak he felt the echoes against his own chest.

Regret immediately sinks into the pit of his belly.

You take in a shaky breath, intertwining your fingers where they rest above your belly.

"Nanami Kento," you breathe, a little steadier this time. "You will be the most amazing father that our child could ever dream of having. You will be the most caring, most patient and consistent person she will every get the chance to experience."

You feel the way the man trembles against you. An open window into his soul. A frayed canvas threatening to shatter. But you needed to let him know that you'd be there regardless.

To pick up the pieces. To help him mend his soul back together, welded in molten gold, more perfect than any original conception.

"I know you're tired," you can't suppress the tears anymore, letting them fall in beads across the expanse of your cheeks. He pulls you closer immediately. "God, you must be so tired," you murmur, brushing the pad of your fingers under his eyes, soft and worried like you're tracing shadows off of his skin.

He feels them over the soft and vibrant skin, as well as the its burnt counterpart.

"But rest assured that if she is anything like you are, she will love you with complete adoration," you chuckle, bringing your joint fingers back to your skin. Almost on cue, the baby kicks against the both of you. A stamp of approval that makes Nanami's heart flutter with hope.

The air sweetened with the dulcet aroma of tenderness.

"Even when she realizes how ugly I am?" His thumb runs over your knuckles, his lips losing themselves in the cloud of your hair to kiss your forehead. A silent thank you for your presence.

For the love that kept him human.

"Especially after she realizes how much virtue your heart holds. When she learns from you what it means to care."

Nanami gives a long exhale, a breath he didn't fully know he was holding.

A breath that holds a quiet sob when he feels your baby—tiny, wrinkled and screaming from the terror that is birth into this world—wrap all her fingers around his much larger pinky, immediately settling into dreamy calm.

From the bed, your heavy-lidded eyes settle on both of their forms. Your hair stuck to your skin from all the sweat, and every muscle in your being screaming in pain.

But the joy that stole at your heart pierced through it all. Radiated into the room when Kento took your hand and brought it to his lips.

"Thank you," he whispered against it, holding the entire world's worth of gratitude in the mundane words.

And in them too, an indelible promise.

To eternal devotion. To give his very heart every single day, in spite of the fear that maimed his soul.

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When I tell you I almost cried thinking about this idea... This man just deserves to be happy.