#fearless: you belong with me love story and that's when

[cartoonkati09]

You take a deep breath and you walk through the doors It's the mornin' of your very first day

[mononijikayu]

you belong with me — nanami kento.

"Hi….I’m Kento."

“Kento, huh.” you said, testing the name again like you were rolling it around in your head, trying to get the feel of it. After a moment, you nodded, satisfied.

“Yeah, that’s my name.”

“That’s a good name.” You declared it with the authority of a five-year-old who had decided someone was officially worth their time.

“Your name’s okay too... I guess,” Kento replied, his tone so nonchalant it was almost teasing.

GENRE: alternate universe - no curses au!;

WARNING/S: afab! reader, childhood friends, best friends to lovers, romance, nsfw, rated 18 and above, explicit content, kissing, making out, rough sex, fingering, p to v sex, car sex, orgasm, humor, profanity, pet names (my love, etc), possessiveness, jealousy, characters speaking in sexual innuendo, mention of sexual euphemisms, depiction of explicit sexual content, best friend! nanami kento, best friend! reader;

WORD COUNT: 14k words.

NOTE: hello everyone, this is the final fic for 2024!!! wah, there's a lot to say. first and foremost, this fic would not be possible if it wasn't for the lovely person who commissioned it from me awhile back. please give them a lot of love and a lot of thanks.

they were my first ever commission here and still it flutters my heart with joy to have worked them. they were so good to me and continues to do so, with how they want to share this fic with you too.

also, i want to thank you all for sticking with me this 2024. it was a long road and a really painful time. i wrote to escape these painful times and i got through 2024 with you guys, just enjoying stories in my head. so thank you!!! there were a lot and there are still a lot i haven't published here.

i hope we continue to be together in 2025 too. i'll continue to write for both of us, to have solace in hard times. i bow to you in all ways that i can. thank you for being good to me!!! i love you all. this is kayu signing off for 2024. please have a lovely and wonderful new year and i'll see you on january 2025 <33333

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if you want to, tip! <3

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EVEN AS A CHILD, YOU THOUGHT THAT HE BELONGED TO YOU. It was a childish little thing, you knew that much. But the moment you met Nanami Kento at the park when you were five years old, you just knew he was going to be your best friend.

And no one else could claim that from you. It wasn’t something you decided after a long debate in your head. If anything, it was instinctive, instant, like the way a flower turns toward the sun. What surprised you even more was that he didn’t seem to mind it.

That day, Nanami Kento was sitting on the swings, looking unusually serious for a kid. His little legs dangled, barely brushing the ground, and he rocked back and forth so slightly it was as if he wasn’t even moving. It was odd. 

Most kids treated the swings like they were flying machines, pumping their legs wildly, laughing as they soared. But not Kento. He just sat there, his small hands gripping the chains, his gaze fixed on the ground as though it held all the answers to the universe.

It wasn’t sadness—not exactly. He didn’t look miserable or lonely. No, it was more like he was... satisfied. Content in his little bubble of silence, where the noise of the playground seemed to slide right past him.

You, however, were not content with his quiet. What could a kid possibly have to think about so deeply? Why wasn’t he running around, chasing someone, or shouting nonsense with the other kids? How could he stomach sitting there alone for so long?

The questions buzzed in your head, but more than that, you felt a pull. You wanted to know him. You wanted him to talk to you, to share whatever thoughts were hiding behind those serious brown eyes. And if he wouldn’t come to you, well, that was fine. You’d go to him.

You had the kind of confidence that only comes from being five years old and utterly fearless. The kind of confidence that didn’t know rejection or hesitation, only the certainty that the world would say "yes" if you asked it nicely enough.

So, you marched right up to him, your pigtails bouncing with each determined step. You put on your brightest smile, the kind of smile that has always gotten adults to bend down and coo. “Aren’t you just the sweetest?”

"Hi!" you announced, planting yourself firmly in front of him like he had no choice but to acknowledge you. You told him your name, grinning at him. 

He blinked, startled out of his deep, secured thoughts to the sight of you. It took a while, but he  lifted his caramel gaze to meet yours. For a moment, he just looked at you, like he wasn’t sure if you were real. No one has ever approached him before, well not as brazenly as this. Then, finally, he answered you back. 

"Hi….I’m Kento."

“Kento, huh.” you said, testing the name again like you were rolling it around in your head, trying to get the feel of it. After a moment, you nodded, satisfied. 

“Yeah, that’s my name.”

“That’s a good name.” You declared it with the authority of a five-year-old who had decided someone was officially worth their time.

“Your name’s okay too... I guess,” Kento replied, his tone so nonchalant it was almost teasing.

“Huh? It’s pretty!” you retorted, your hands flying to your hips, a slight pout settling on your lips. “My mom thought hard about it, you know!”

“So did mine.” Kento shot back, a flicker of mischief lighting his normally serious face. Then, in a tone that was just a little too smug, he added, “It’s a good name too.”

For a second, you just stared at him, caught off guard by the slyness in his tone. Then, to your own surprise, you burst out laughing. It wasn’t just the words that got to you—it was the way he said them, so calm and deliberate, like he was throwing you a challenge wrapped in politeness.

“You’re funny, you know that?” you decided, grinning widely.

Kento raised an eyebrow at that, his lips twitching into the barest hint of a smile. “I wasn’t trying to be.”

“Well, you are.” you said firmly, as though your opinion was final. “So, Kento, what do you wanna do? We could swing, or climb the jungle gym, or—oh! We could build a sandcastle!”

He blinked, caught off guard by your rapid-fire suggestions. “I don’t know,” he said slowly, like he wasn’t used to making decisions for playtime.

You rolled your eyes and grabbed his hand without a second thought. “Then we’re doing the sandcastle! Come on, you’re gonna love it.”

He let you pull him along, his steps falling into rhythm with yours. “What if I don’t?” he asked, his voice so soft you almost missed the challenge in it.

“You will!” you said confidently, already imagining the crooked towers you’d build together. “Because I said so.”

Nanami Kento didn’t argue. Instead, he let out a quiet laugh, the sound so small you might’ve missed it if you weren’t paying attention. But you were paying attention, because something about this boy made you want to see every little detail he kept hidden in that quiet bubble of his.

From that moment, Kento Nanami became yours.

He knew that just as much as you did, even then.

And he was certain you were just as much his from then.

It wasn’t long into your days of playdates before you started staking your claim. You didn’t mean to—well, maybe you did. That really didn’t matter. What mattered was that you and Kento were having fun. Like the time some other kids approached while you and Kento were hard at work in the sandbox, trying to make your castle less crooked.

"Hey, kid!" one of them called, pointing at the little shovel in Kento’s hands. "Can I borrow that?"

"No way." you said firmly before Kento could even open his mouth. You shot the kid a look that clearly said back off. "We’re using it."

"But—"

"Nope. Sorry. It’s ours to play with." you cut them off, turning back to your castle as if the conversation was over. "Right, Kento?"

Kento hesitated for a second, glancing between you and the other kid, before quietly nodding. "Right."

The other kids' faces were filled with harsh looks at what you said. But you didn’t care. All they could do was huff and puff until they were blue in the face. You would never budge, not even if they wanted you too. 

You were a tough girl. And you always got what you wanted. And you wanted your new friend and his attention only on you. So you didn't care what you did. You’ll keep your friend, no matter what they want. 

Soon enough, they gave in and went to wander off. You can only smile. You didn’t feel the slightest bit bad. If anything, you had wished that they had left much sooner. 

You turned to Kento with a satisfied smile. "Good. They’d just mess it up anyway. It’s better if we play together, only us!"

Kento tilted his head, watching you with that quiet curiosity he always seemed to have. You seemed to be content about playing just by yourself, by his side. Not many kids seem to be content about wanting to do that at all.

"Why don’t you let other kids play with us?" he asked.

You looked at him like the answer should’ve been obvious. "Because you’re my friend. I found you first. That means you’re mine."

For a moment, he just stared at you.

Then, slowly, that tiny, barely-there smile returned.

"Okay." he said simply, like he didn’t mind one bit.

══════════════════

YEARS DRAGGED ON IN A FLASH FOR BOTH OF YOU. From that day forward, Nanami Kento was your shadow. Or maybe you were his—it often depended on who was asking and whose ego needed inflating at the moment.

But that was just how it was between the two of you. And you were content about how that goes. You knew he was just the same. Not because you went around declaring it (okay, maybe you did once or twice), but because your actions left no room for doubt.

The two of you were inseparable, and everyone knew it. In a way, both your parents were both glad and concerned about it. Glad that you both were in each other’s lives, nurturing and caring for each other. That means you both weren’t lonely, and you both were happily playing with each other day in and out of school.

But concerned that you weren’t letting each other find any other people in your lives and explore other friendships. But that hardly mattered to the two of you. Both of you didn’t budge. You didn’t need anyone else. If anything, you only need each other. You were both content with that. 

If there was a school project, Nanami Kento was your partner. No debates, no negotiation. You made sure of it every single time. It got to the point where teachers didn’t even bother asking anymore. By third grade, the class roster might as well have been printed with your name and his own written in bold under "Partners" for every project.

“Do you guys ever work with anyone else?” a classmate once dared to ask.

“Why would we?” you replied, looking genuinely puzzled. “He’s the best at making the physical parts.I don’t need anyone else.”

Kento, standing beside you, simply shrugged. “She’s good at explaining the messy, hard parts.” he said, so matter-of-factly it left no room for argument.

At lunch, it was no different. You always saved him a spot, waving him over like a VIP guest being ushered past the velvet rope. And no one dared sit with the two of you. Not after The Incident.

There was one time where a new kid made the mistake of sliding into the seat next to Nanami Kento before he got there. You didn’t even hesitate to act as quickly as you could. 

“Excuse me, new kid.” you said, your voice sugary sweet, but your eyes narrowing dangerously.

“What?” the kid asked, glancing up at you.

“That’s his seat.” You pointed toward Kento, who was still in the lunch line, entirely oblivious to the showdown brewing at the table.

“Seats are for everyone in the school.” the kid said, with all the defiance of someone who didn’t know better yet. “I can sit wherever I want.”

And that’s when you did it. You reached out and swatted their hand as they tried to open their milk carton. You glared at him, almost as cold as the North Pole. He gulped at your glare. You were terrifying for a middle schooler.

“Go. Somewhere. Else.” you said, every word punctuated with a glare that could have sent a grown man packing. “That’s HIS seat!”

The new kid was terrified and immediately scurried off, muttering something about "territorial weirdos." — that was another thing for the school to whisper about in their past time. But you didn’t care. 

By the time that he got out of the boy’s toilets, Nanami Kento got to the table, his spot was as clear as always, and you were already peeling the wrapper off the sandwich your mom made for him like nothing had happened.

“Thanks.” he said, sitting down without even asking why the kid from earlier was now eating on the other side of the cafeteria. He saw that of course. But he didn’t dare ask. “Thank your mom for me, about the sandwich.”

“You’re welcome.” you replied, sliding his sandwich over to him. You smiled as he opened his own lunch bag and started to pull out chocolate pudding in a tupperware. “Ohhhh, your mom thought of dessert!”

“Hm, I asked her.” Kento retorts back to you, smiling softly at your excitement. “Since you like chocolate pudding.”

“Thank your mama for me, okay?”

“Hm, I will.”

But of course, your protectiveness didn’t stop at lunch seats. If anything, you were protective of him to the point that it was already insane. If anyone so much as thought about teasing him, you were on them like a hawk. It didn’t matter if it was a stupid nickname or a poorly aimed joke. Nanami Kento wasn’t going to deal with any of it, not on your watch.

“Hey, Kento, why are you so quiet all the time?” one boy snickered during recess, his tone dripping with mockery.

Before Kento could even respond, you were already there, hands on your hips and glaring like you were ready to call down the wrath of the heavens. You glared at the kid as though he was meeting to face a thousand suns. 

“Maybe he’s quiet because he doesn’t waste time saying dumb things like you do.” you snapped, tilting your head and raising an eyebrow for maximum effect. “Stop being a weird waste of space and leave him alone, you freak!”

The boy tried to stammer something in response, but you didn’t wait to hear it. You didn’t care for what they said. Only for what Kento says. You rolled your eyes at the kid, as though he bored you and looked away. Soon enough, you turned back to Kento, your expression softening immediately. 

“Come on, Kento.” you said, grabbing his hand. “We’re going to the swings.”

Kento didn’t say much about that. But later, when that same boy made a malicious face at you from across the playground and had made a plan to chase you with a bottle of water to throw, Nanami Kento was the first to sense a threat against you.

He sighed heavily and without even looking up from his picture book muttered just loud enough for you to hear. “She’s faster than you, you know? She would wet your hair and make fun of you for it. So, I wouldn’t try it.”

The boy stayed far away after that.

And you could only giggle at what he said.

Nanami Kento knew you all too well.

But just as much as you were ready to fight Nanami Kento’s battles, he was ready to fight yours. And while you often took on challenges with the energy of a charging bull, Kento’s approach was quieter, deadlier—like a knife slipping between ribs before anyone even noticed it was there. He was just that type of kid, you think.

You first realized just how far Kento was willing to go for you one day when a group of older girls decided to target your ponytails. It wasn’t a big deal to you at first; you were used to the occasional teasing. But this time, something about their tone, or maybe the way they crowded around, everything about it had made your stomach twist.

“Why do you always look like you just rolled out of bed?” one of them sneered, her voice dripping with faux innocence.

Her friends burst into laughter, as if she’d just delivered the punchline of the century. You bristled, the words forming on your tongue to snap back. But before you could speak, Kento appeared, slipping between you and the girls like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Why do you care?” he asked, his tone calm, his hands tucked casually into his pockets.

It was such a simple question, but somehow it silenced the entire group. The girl blinked at him, thrown off by his directness. Kento yawned, as though he was already bored with her. She had never expected anything from him. Kento was quiet and reserved. 

He was also popular and quite a handsome young boy that people had a crush on. Even when he didn’t talk or pay any mind to any of them. You glared at this girl, as though she was the worst of them all. She’s always been trying to take Kento from you.

“Uh, excuse me?” she said, attempting to regain her composure.

“You heard me.” Kento’s gaze was steady, his expression as unreadable as ever, but there was an edge to his voice that made it clear he wasn’t messing around. “Why do you care what she looks like? Or are you just bored?”

The giggling stopped. 

“Well, I—” The girl floundered, her cheeks turning pink. 

“She looks fine to me.” Kento interrupted smoothly, tilting his head slightly as if he were assessing them. “Better than you, anyway. I mean, those pants with that shirt? What are you thinking? Does your mom even love you if she allows you to wear something like that?”

You could’ve heard a pin drop at what he had said. You look at him, blinkingly. Before finding yourself bellowing at laughter at how blunt he had worked everything. The girls gasped, their mouths falling open in perfect synchronization. One of them muttered something about “rude boys” and then, just like that, they were gone, retreating with their tails between their legs.

You stood there, stunned, as Kento turned back to you like nothing had happened. You finally straightened yourself from your laughing form. You wiped your eyes as you turned back at him. You grinned at his words. 

“Better than her?” you repeated later as the two of you walked back to class. You were trying not to laugh, but the corners of your mouth kept twitching upward.

“It’s true. You already know that.” he said simply, not bothering to look up from the book he’d already opened, as if the whole thing hadn’t even fazed him.

“Aw, you think I’m cute, don’t you?” you teased, nudging him with your elbow.

“Don’t push it.” he replied dryly, but the tiny smirk playing at the corner of his lips betrayed him.

══════════════════

BUT OF COURSE, THIS ONLY INTENSIFIED ONCE YOU BOTH GREW OLDER. Entering this new environment, in high school — one could say nothing had ever changed. If anything, it has only grown more concrete that you and Nanami Kento, no one can separate the two of you even if they tried. 

If one were to describe how you both were, it would be like being a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Inseparable. And even when people questioned it, you turned them down just as easily. Little by little, people barely questioned it anymore. 

You had long since reached the point where your friendship was so solid that it seemed like a fact of life. If anyone tried to ask about it, the answer was already clear: You two were a package deal. And while you liked it that way, not everyone seemed to get the memo.

It didn’t take long for the attention to roll in once high school started. You were used to it by now. After all, you and Kento had always been a pair of conspicuously close friends, so naturally, people were curious. 

But this was a different kind of curiosity, the kind that came with stares and whispers behind your backs. Everyone seemed to have suddenly developed a keen interest in your best friend, and you couldn’t decide if it was because of his brooding good looks or that deep, mysterious aura he carried, but maybe, probably both.

It started with the girls, as it usually did. They would hover around Kento in class, a little too eager to engage in conversations about anything—his favorite books, his thoughts on the weather, even the random things he’d written in the margins of his notes. It didn’t matter what they brought up; they were just looking for an excuse to get a reaction out of him. 

They wanted to be the one to crack the mystery that was Nanami Kento. And of course, they expected him to open up, to smile, to laugh, to do something that would confirm they were special enough to make him forget his usual quiet, studious demeanor.

But Kento, being the stoic, no-nonsense guy he was, would respond with quiet politeness, barely even registering their presence. He would tilt his head slightly when they asked questions, look at them through the edge of his glasses, and give just enough of an answer to keep things from getting awkward.

The girls would often stare at him a little longer than necessary, hoping for a second of warmth or acknowledgment. But no matter how many times they tried, all they got was that polite, impersonal smile that didn’t reach his eyes. And it wasn’t that he didn’t care; it was just that he didn’t care about them, not in the way they wanted. 

To Nanami Kento, it was all just noise. So, he’d just keep his focus on what mattered, which was probably the latest algebra problem or his ongoing internal monologue about the best way to prepare his next snack.

Even as an emo guy with that black hoodie, messy blond hair, brooding eyes that screamed ‘don’t talk to me, but if you do, be prepared for my sarcasm’—people still flocked to him. It was almost unfair, you thought. He had this combination of boy-next-door charm and detached, almost tragic mystique that girls couldn’t resist. 

He was a pretty boy, you knew that much. You’d known him long enough to appreciate the way his eyes glinted in the sunlight, how his messy hair always looked effortlessly perfect, how he somehow made a monotone voice sound like the most hypnotic thing in the room.

And it wasn’t just the girls, either. The guys were starting to notice, too. Sure, they didn’t hover the same way, but they’d get a little too chatty when Kento was around, laughing a little too hard at his dry jokes, trying just a bit too hard to be friendly.

Everyone knew he wasn’t the type to just buddy up with anyone, and that mystery only made him more desirable. So when they’d get too close, you’d notice the slight twitch of Kento’s eyebrow, the way he’d lean just a little bit further away to make it clear that he was not interested in their company.

But the one thing you didn’t doubt was this: Kento was really polite. He never outright rejected anyone, and that politeness was a plus. Sure, it drove you a little crazy when they’d swarm him like bees to honey.

But you had to admit that his politeness was a rare commodity in a world where most people had no issue turning someone down rudely or making them feel uncomfortable. Kento didn’t do that. He’d simply nod back at people and get back to whatever it was he was doing, never making a fuss about the attention.

Well, it was better than over half the school, that’s for sure. You’d seen the way people treated each other, cold and snide, brushing off others without so much as a second thought. Kento was a rare gem in that regard. He was a gentleman, even in the face of all the attention he was getting, and that made it all the more frustrating. 

It wasn’t that you didn’t want people to admire him; you just didn’t like the thought of anyone thinking they could replace you. You and Kento had this bond, a strong one, one that didn’t need words to be understood. But here was the thing—everyone else didn’t get it. And that was where the fun (and by fun, you mean sneaky sabotage) began.

After all, who else could say they knew all his little quirks? Who else had shared so many quiet lunches under that same oak tree, or been the one to force him to eat a full meal instead of staring at his book? You were his best friend, and that meant you had a certain, special claim on him, no matter how many girls wanted to make themselves part of his world.

But, like the selfless best friend you were, you’d keep that fact under wraps. No one needed to know you had a stake in him—especially when you were also the one helping him avoid the chaos of all his newfound admirers. Let them keep fighting over who could be the one to crack Kento's cold exterior; you'd be the one to keep it safe.

But that wasn’t enough. No, they wanted more. They wanted to peel back the layers, crack open that cool exterior, and find whatever hidden treasure lay beneath. And that was where you came in. That’s where you always have to come in. He was your best friend, after all.

It wasn’t that you hated the attention Kento was getting, but it was yours, wasn’t it? You didn’t want anyone to think they could just stroll up and waltz into the little bubble you and Kento had created. And you know he agreed. He doesn’t really need anyone else, he’s said that to you numerous times.

So naturally, you and Kento found creative ways to sabotage any admirer who dared to get too close. It wasn’t malicious, exactly. Well, not to you or Kento. it was more like you were just “protecting” him, and, on occasion, he did the same for you.

It started with the simple things. You'd hover near him during lunch, casually tossing your snacks at him in a way that made it obvious you didn’t want him interacting too much with anyone else. It was like a game of cat-and-mouse between the two of you. Both of you pretended you weren’t doing it, but everyone knew exactly what you were up to.

For example, when this girl from the other class named Yuki asked to sit with Kento one day during lunch time, you quickly swooped in, plopping down next to him like you were the most important thing in his world. You grinned at him and he hummed.

“Hey, Kentooooo!” you said, dropping your lunch tray in front of him. “Did you get those history notes I gave you this morning?”

Yuki opened her mouth to say something, but before she could, you continued to talk to him with a brighter grin. You nonchalantly handed your strawberry milk carton to him and he started to open it for you with the same amount of cool. 

“I was thinking of making brownies this weekend. You like chocolate, right? The ones that we used to buy at the mart? It hasn’t changed, right?” You sent her an apologetic smile. "Sorry, I know it's probably too sweet, but it’s his favorite.”

Kento nodded back at you as he placed your strawberry milk carton on the side. You thanked him happily as you started to drink with happy sounds. Kento simply looked at Yuki with the politest expression he could muster and muttered back at her. 

“Sorry, I’ve got a study group with her after school. Maybe next time.”

Yuki didn’t even bother trying to argue, just nodding stiffly before retreating. You shot Kento a quick grin, but before you could say anything, he just sighed and went back to his book.

“You didn’t have to do that, you know.” he muttered under his breath. “Could have handled that myself.”

“But I have to. You know that.” you said with a grin, popping a piece of fruit into your mouth. “You’re my best friend, not hers.”

One day at lunch, as you and Kento sat under the shade of the old oak tree, munching on your usual snacks, a girl named Mia from your history class walked by. She glanced at Kento, then at you, then back at Kento, before finally stopping a few feet away.

"Hey, Kento!" she called, her voice way too sweet for your liking. “Mind if I join you guys?”

You didn’t even have to look up from your crackers. “Sure, but he doesn’t bite.” you said, not even looking at Mia. “I mean, I don’t think so...”

Kento, who had been engrossed in a textbook the size of a brick, glanced up at you before looking back at Mia. "I can sit alone, you know." he said, a little too casually, not even bothering to hide the fact that he didn’t care much for the attention.

Mia, undeterred, tried again. “Are you sure? I heard you like this band, too. Maybe we could—”

But before she could finish her sentence, you leaned forward, dropping a half-eaten cracker dramatically into your lap as if to make your point clear. 

"If you want to talk about music, you’re gonna have to take it up with me right now, okay?" you declared, giving her your best “this is my turf” look. "Kento here’s more into his book right now, not whatever band you think you have in common with him."

Kento blinked slowly, clearly trying to figure out why he was being pulled into this, but didn't argue. He just glanced at you and nodded, an expression you knew meant, I’m not getting involved in this one.

Mia looked between you and Kento, her shoulders slumping in defeat. “Okay, fine.” she muttered before turning around and walking off, her face flushed red.

"Good job, hero," Kento muttered under his breath, voice dry.

You smirked at him. "You’re welcome, sunshine."

Of course, it wasn’t like you were the only one who was possessive. Nanami Kento hated that you were constantly getting hit on. It drove him absolutely insane. Apparently, teenage boys had this ridiculous notion that your consistent rejections made you more appealing. The more you turned them down, the more determined they became, like you were some kind of prize to be won.

Nanami Kento of course, naturally, found this logic baffling—and irritating. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust you to handle yourself; he absolutely did. He hated everyone else, maybe most of all the men around him and of course — you. 

But watching those guys swarm around you, trying to impress you with their lame jokes or over-the-top compliments, made his jaw tighten and his grip on his pen just a little too firm. Oh, he hated men even more like that. And, well, Kento was never one to sit back and let something annoy him for too long. Not when it comes to you.

But of course, there are things that come as unexpected too.

Maybe it was because Nanami Kento was too perceptive.

Maybe he was just good at dissecting situations happening.

He doesn’t know how this happened, or how this came to pass.

But today would change his life for good, that was certain.

A week after one particularly bold senior cornered you after class to “ask for your number” Kento decided to return the favor—not with dramatics, of course, but with his usual understated, calm assertiveness.

You were sitting in the library, animatedly telling Kento about your latest sketch. It was a concept you were certain would win the upcoming art contest. He was actually paying attention, nodding slightly as you explained your technique, when suddenly, a guy from the senior class decided to interrupt.

“Hey, you’re the girl who draws, right?” the senior asked, leaning against the edge of the table with a grin that screamed overconfident.

You blinked, caught off guard. “Uh… yeah, that’s me.”

“Well,” he continued, practically oozing smugness, “I was thinking, maybe you’d want to collaborate on some sketches sometime. You know, we could—”

Before he could finish whatever weak line he’d rehearsed, Kento smoothly slid into the seat beside you, his broad shoulders cutting off your view of the guy. He didn’t even spare him a glance. Instead, he turned to you, his voice calm but laced with just enough edge to make his point.

“I’m pretty sure sketching is a solitary activity.” Kento said matter-of-factly. “You know, for concentration… unless, of course, you want a distraction?”

The guy blinked, clearly caught off guard by Kento’s sudden presence. “Uh, no, I—”

Kento didn’t let him finish. “You know….” he continued, still not looking at the guy. “It’s actually better if you’re alone when you’re working. Less… interruptions.” 

He then picked up your sketchbook, flipping through it with the kind of casual indifference that somehow made it clear he wasn’t going anywhere. Your jaw dropped at what he’s done.He’s silly like this sometimes, you think to yourself. 

“Kento!” you half-laughed, half-scolded, reaching for your sketchbook. “That’s my sketchbook!”

“Yeah, I know, I know.” he replied nonchalantly, not even pretending to give it back. His attention wasn’t on your sketches anymore, though. His eyes were fixed on the poor senior, who was now fidgeting uncomfortably under Kento’s unnervingly calm stare. 

“Do you mind?” Kento said coolly. “She’s busy.”

The guy stammered something unintelligible, his confidence evaporating faster than a spilled soda in the sun. “Uh… yeah, maybe another time, I guess.” he mumbled before slinking off, clearly realizing he was no match for Nanami Kento’s level of subtle intimidation.

Once the guy was gone, you turned back to Kento, crossing your arms with a mix of exasperation and amusement. You giggled to yourself for a moment. He sighed, looking at how amused you were. It was always like this with you, getting giddy when he does things like this.

“Nice one, Kento.” you said, smirking. “You do know I could have handled that, right?”

Kento raised an eyebrow, setting your sketchbook back down and leaning back in his chair like nothing had happened. You take it back from him, giving him a small thanks. He couldn’t stop looking at you. But when you looked up again, he'd already looked away.

“Sure.” he said, his lips curling into that faint, almost-smile of his. “But it looked like you were busy… talking to him.”

You rolled your eyes, swatting his arm. “What was that even about? You’re not my bodyguard, you know.”

“I wasn’t being a bodyguard.” he replied, his tone annoyingly calm. “I was just... pointing out how distracting he was being.”

“Right, right.” you said, narrowing your eyes at him. “And that had nothing to do with you hating that he interrupted us?”

Kento didn’t answer right away, but the way his eyes flickered with quiet amusement gave him away. He never likes admitting it out loud, but he feels glad. He feels glad when he makes sure you both are alone. You were all he needed after all.

“Maybe.” he finally admitted, his voice as casual as ever. “Or maybe I just wanted to look at your sketchbook.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “You’re impossible.”

“And you talk too much.” he countered, eyes shining softly against your own.

You giggled back at him, your lips smiling beautifully at him. Beautifully more than ever before. “But you like it that way, don’t you?”

Huh, what was that? He thought to himself.

Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump.

Was that his heart beating like that just now?

For a moment, he stops and looks at you. You were unaware about what happened just now. Instead, you were back on your sketching, humming to some song you were obsessed with right now. Kento swallowed hard, suddenly hyper-aware of how he was looking at you. He cleared his throat. 

“We should get going.” he said finally, his voice a little quieter than usual. “The library closes soon.”

You nodded, falling into step beside him as you always did. But as you walked, Kento couldn’t help sneaking a glance at you out of the corner of his eye. He’d always thought of himself as someone who was good at keeping his emotions in check, but now he wasn’t so sure.

Is this what it feels like? Kento wondered as he watched you walk off in front of him. 

He stops. He takes in the sight of you. You were laughing, hopping on the tiles one by one. The sun glows behind you like a beacon leading him to the direction of life. You nearly fell, making him jump forward. But you held your balance. 

And then you laughed. Laughed so beautifully that he doesn’t know what to do.  He could feel every fiber of him turning warm, warmer and redder than ever before. His heart beating out of rhythm again. 

Ah, shit. Kento once more thinks to himself. I’m screwed.

══════════════════

HE DOESN’T THINK TO SAY ANYTHING. How could he, when he’s scared about the outcome? But as the time flew by as fast as it could, he knew he can’t keep being a coward about it. He had to say something. He should do it soon.

It was going to come out anyway. College was looming on both your shoulders. And with that, a lot of uncertainty came. If he says something, at the very least there would be something certain, concrete as your friendship. 

The two of you sat cross-legged on the floor of Kento’s family home, a single bottle of sake between you. Neither of you had much experience with alcohol, but the thrill of being eighteen and toeing the line of rebellion was too tempting to resist.

Kento poured carefully into the mismatched cups you'd found in his cupboard, his movements precise, even in the low light.

"Cheers, cheers!" you yell with that bright eyed grin, raising your cup to him.

"To...?" he asked, his brow arching slightly, always wanting things to have a purpose.

"To us!" you said simply, eyes sparkling with mischief.

He hesitated, his breath catching in his chest, before clicking his cup against yours. "To us."

The first sip was sharp, burning its way down, but it wasn’t long before the alcohol began to work its magic with swift effectivity. You laughed more freely, leaning closer to him, and your words came faster, your thoughts unfiltered.

"You know, Kentooooo." you said, poking his shoulder with a pout. "You’re, like, ridiculously handsome, right?"

Kento froze mid-sip, his ears instantly turning as pink as your sweater. "W–what?"

"I mean it! You’re so... ugh…." you groaned, tossing your head back dramatically. "How am I supposed to focus when you look at me like that?"

"Like what?" he asked, his voice soft, betraying the nervous flutter in his chest.

"Like you’re trying not to smile, but your eyes are giving you away." you teased, your grin widening as you poked his cheek this time.

Nanami Kento could feel his heart pounding so loud he was sure you could hear it. Every word you spoke chipped away at his usual composure, and he could feel himself unraveling under the weight of your drunken admiration. In just this moment, you wholly outwit him. You make him come undone. Only you can have that effect on him. Only you. 

"You’re unbelievable, you know that?" he muttered, trying to look away, but you caught his chin, turning his face back to yours.

"Admit it already, won’t you?" you said, your voice lower now, but no less playful. "You like me. Maybe even a little too much."

Kento stared at you, the world blurring slightly around the edges, whether from the alcohol or the way you were looking at him, he wasn’t sure. He didn’t want to do it like this. He didn’t want to put up his hopes that you would be sober enough to know the truth. Or for you to have sober truths pouring out of your sharp grinning lips. 

"I think…" he began, his voice steady but his heart anything but.

“You think?”

"I’m falling for you. More and more. Every second."

You blinked at what had just shifted in the air, your teasing expression softening as you processed his words. Then, to his surprise, you smiled—not mischievously this time, but gently, sweetly. Full with a merry drink, you smiled.

"Good." you whispered, leaning in so close he could smell the faint sweetness of the sake on your breath. "You said really good words.”

Kento barely had time to breathe before you pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, leaving his face on fire and his heart completely, utterly yours. Kento froze, the warmth of your lips lingering on his cheek like a brand. His breath hitched as your words sank into the alcohol-drenched air between you. 

“I think I’m already there.”

He stared at you, his usually composed mind now an unsteady swirl of emotions—exhilaration, disbelief, and a flicker of hesitation. Your gaze was soft, dreamy, and undeniably sincere, but the alcohol in your system clouded everything. He said it out loud. But are you sure? How could you be, with how merry the drink is in your belly?

"You don’t mean that." he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, as though saying it too loud would shatter the fragile moment.

"I do. I do." you said, your expression serious despite the light flush of intoxication on your cheeks. You reached for his hand, holding it with a gentle firmness that made his heart stumble in its rhythm.

Kento's fingers curled instinctively around yours before he could stop himself, but his grip was careful, steady. "You're drunk. I just…you can’t say that drunk." he pointed out, his voice more tender than reprimanding.

You frowned, tilting your head like you were trying to understand him through the haze. "So? That doesn’t mean it’s not true."

He sighed, looking down at your joined hands. He wanted so desperately to believe you, to let his heart leap completely into your words, but his rational side, his ever-present voice of reason. It held him back.

"It matters. It matters to me." he said softly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles absentmindedly. "If you mean it, I need to hear it when you’re sober. When you’re sure."

"But I am sure, Kento." you insisted, leaning closer, your warmth almost overwhelming him. Your free hand reached up to brush a stray lock of hair from his forehead, and he felt the breath leave his lungs in a rush.

Kento shook his head, his smile faint but aching with restraint. "Not like this." he murmured. "You’ll wake up tomorrow and—"

"And what? Pretend this didn’t happen?" you interrupted, your brows knitting together. "Do you think I’d forget how much I lo—"

His hand shifted, gently pressing a single finger to your lips to quiet you, though it was more for his sake than yours. He wasn’t sure he could take it, hearing those words from you while your judgment was fogged.

"Stop. Please." he said, his voice barely steady. "Don’t say it now. Not tonight."

Your eyes searched hisfrustration flickering in their depths before softening. You saw the way his shoulders tensed, the way he looked at you like he was holding back an ocean of feelings.

"You're such a romantic, aren’t you?" you murmured, a teasing lilt to your voice as a lazy smile spread across your face.

He gave a quiet chuckle, his fingers brushing against your cheek now without realizing it. "Maybe." he admitted, his tone gentler than ever. "But I want this—want us—to start right. I’ll wait until you’re ready to tell me again."

You let out a small sigh but didn’t argue. Instead, you leaned into his touch, your head coming to rest on his shoulder as your eyelids grew heavy. You always liked this, taking in his warmth. You don’t think there was any other place you belonged in but his arms.

If you were being honest, you were afraid. He was right. Your words could mean something, and maybe it wouldn’t be as clear as his own. You were drunk. You were really drunk. And feels hazy in your head. It wouldn’t be fair. It wouldn’t be fair to your Kento. Not like this.

"Fine." you murmured, your words slurring slightly. "But you’d better be ready for me to say it a hundred times tomorrow. Maybe a thousand."

Kento chuckled again, the sound low and warm in his chest, as he rested his chin lightly on top of your head. "I’ll be ready." he promised, even as his own heart thudded wildly at the thought. “I’m always waiting for you. Always.”

And as you drifted off, still clutching his hand like it was the most natural thing in the world, Kento silently vowed to himself: when the time came, he’d tell you how deeply, how completely he felt for you too. He just needed to be sure you knew what it meant.

The morning after that night, you woke up on Kento's couch, the faint remnants of sake lingering in the air. Your head throbbed lightly, and your memories were fuzzy around the edges. Kento, ever thoughtful, had left a glass of water and some aspirin on the table beside you.

"Rough night?" he asked from the kitchen, his voice steady but carefully neutral as he busied himself making coffee.

You groaned, rubbing your temples. "What did I even say last night? I barely remember anything."

He hesitated, his hand tightening briefly on the handle of the coffee pot. He looked over at you, your half-asleep face free of the weight of your drunken confessions. For a moment, he considered saying something, but the words got caught in his throat.

"Nothing too embarrassing," he said instead, forcing a faint smile.

You laughed, your cheeks reddening slightly. "Good. I’d hate to think I made a fool of myself in front of you."

Kento gave a small nod, but his heart felt heavy. You didn’t remember, and he couldn’t bring himself to remind you. Not like this. So, he lets himself break apart. He doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t let you have guilt. Because if he did, how is that loving you?

So Nanami Kento buried those words, locking them away where they couldn’t touch the fragile balance between you. He told himself it was better this way. But he hopes, maybe one day — just one day. You’ll see him too. Sober with your love for him.

══════════════════

THINGS DID CHANGE A BIT WHEN YOU WENT TO COLLEGE. Of course, you both got into the same university. But there’s a rough difference between not only being in different departments, but also being in different campuses. It was a rough travel back and forth. But Nanami Kento was determined to go and visit you.

You often feel a little bad when you look back on those days. Engineering classes were no joke. Too many long hours, grueling projects, and the constant pressure to keep up left you drained most of the time.

You barely had the energy to go out, even when you wanted to. But Kento never minded. He understood in the quiet, steady way that only he could, and instead of waiting for you to have time, he made sure to visit you instead.

It didn’t matter where for him. Whether it was the bustling campus lunch hall, where the two of you would share a plate of something warm while you tried to finish an assignment, or your dorm room, which was always a little messy with textbooks and half-drunk cups of coffee.

What mattered to him wasn’t the place or even what you were doing. What mattered was just being with you.

And that thought? It never fails to make your heart skip a beat. Even now, after everything, it feels just as special as it did back then. You still held dearest to him after all this time. Ever since you were kids, you were his everything. And you were sure, more than ever now, that he was yours too. In all sense of the word.

It’s been a year and a half since that time, since you confessed to Kento. Well, technically, drunk you confessed to him. It was late, and you’d had just enough to drink to make your heart bolder than your brain. You didn’t want to say a word. And you think that Kento was just as much waiting for you to say something.

You were ready to die of embarrassment when you remembered that you had said that. But then you remembered, with just as much horror and embarrassment — he’d confessed too. With that same calm sincerity, he told you he’d felt the same way for a while.

Looking back, it was a little messy, maybe even a lot embarrassing. But it was also sweet, earnest, and so perfect for you two. And honestly? You wouldn’t change a thing. You had said something that clarified things for you.

After all, that drunken confession was the start of something that would make all the challenges of those days worth it, every late-night study session, every coffee-fueled conversation, every stolen moment in between. It wasn’t perfect, but it was yours.

You were falling for Kento more and more every day, and it was starting to feel like a problem. A big problem. How were you supposed to act normal around him when everything he did—from the way he fixed his tie to the way he said your name—made your heart do backflips?

It wasn’t fair, really. How was it possible that the same person who once laughed so hard he choked on a piece of rice during lunch was also the one making you reconsider your entire perception of love? He was your best friend, and now you couldn’t even look at him without overthinking every little thing.

And to make matters worse, he was visiting you today.

You had approximately 15 minutes to get your life together before Kento arrived, which was nowhere near enough time to deal with the tornado that was your dorm room or the emotional hurricane swirling inside you.

“Okay, okay, calm your tits.” you muttered to yourself, grabbing stray socks off the floor. “Just play it cool. It’s just Kento. You know him best. Real well. He’s been here a million times. No big deal. Totally normal.”

You shoved a pile of notebooks into your desk drawer, praying it wouldn’t jam, and quickly rearranged the pillows on your bed. By the time you heard the knock at your door, your dorm was passable, well barely. And you were mostly sure you didn’t look like a total disaster.

When you opened the door, there he was, Nanami Kento in all of his huge handsome stature, standing there with his usual calm demeanor, holding a bag of snacks. You yelped quietly as you looked at him. Your roommates must have let him inside. 

“Thought you might need these.” he said, giving you one of those small, knowing smiles that made your brain short-circuit.

You blinked at him. “Nanami Kento, are you a psychic?”

He raised an eyebrow. “No, but you texted me at 2 AM complaining about running out of your favorite chips, so I figured this might help. You still have some paperwork to do, right? And you won’t eat unless I come by to remind you. So, I got it.”

“Oh.” You tried to laugh, but it came out more like a nervous croak. “Right. Thanks. You’re, uh…you’re a hero.”

He stepped inside, his gaze sweeping over the room. “Did a tornado hit your room? It was clean last time I came by.”

“What? No!” You crossed your arms defensively. “I cleaned! Mostly.”

Kento gave you a skeptical look before setting the bag of snacks on your desk. “If this is what ‘clean’ looks like to you, remind me never to see it messy.”

You threw a pillow at him, and he caught it effortlessly, smirking. “Careful. That’s my best throw pillow. If you damage it, I’ll charge you emotional damages.”

“Noted, little miss engineer.” he replied, setting the pillow down with exaggerated care. “What’s the rate for emotional damages these days?”

“Depends. How many snacks did you bring?”

“Enough to keep you from suing me.” He tells you with a grin. “Still have some in my car, just in case you wanted more.”

The two of you laughed, and for a moment, it felt like old times. A little bit easy, comfortable, effortless. But then, as Kento sat down on the edge of your bed, something in your chest tightened. How had this annoying, perfect, infuriatingly kind man become someone you couldn’t stop thinking about? Someone you don’t think you could live without?

He looked up at you, tilting his head slightly. “What’s with the staring? Do I have something on my face?”

“What? No!” You blinked rapidly, your cheeks heating. “I was just—uh—zoning out. Engineering stuff. Very complicated. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Right, right.” he said, clearly unconvinced. “Because I’m definitely not the one who helped you with that last project.”

“Details, details, Nanami Kento. Don’t get bogged down in the details.”

He chuckled, and the sound was so warm and familiar that you almost forgot why you were freaking out in the first place. Almost. Kento takes a moment. He then looks at you as though examining you with careful abandon. Kento wanted to take in the sight of you, after not seeing you for a while.

“You’re weird today, do you know that?” he said, leaning back slightly. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, totally fine. Super fine.” You waved a hand dismissively. “Just tired, you know? Engineering. It’s a grind.”

Kento studied you for a moment, his expression softening. “You’re a terrible liar, you know that?”

Your stomach flipped, and you forced a laugh. “Who, me? No way. I’m like…a professional liar. Best in the business.”

“Uh-huh.” He hums back in retort.

He didn’t press further, but the way he looked at you. Everything about his caramel gaze was gentle, understanding, like he already knew what you weren’t saying. Everything about it, everything about him made your heart squeeze.

You sighed internally. How were you supposed to handle this? You couldn’t just blurt out, “Hey, Kento, I think I’m in love with you, and it’s driving me absolutely insane!”

But as he opened the bag of snacks and handed you your favorite, you couldn’t help but think maybe, just maybe, he already knew that you knew. And that maybe he knew that you felt deeply about him. You sighed. Maybe you’re just imagining it.

As the minutes ticked by, Kento made himself right at home in your dorm, sitting cross-legged on your bed and munching on the snacks he’d brought. Meanwhile, you had plopped into your desk chair, scrolling on your phone under the pretense of “taking a break.” 

But in reality, you were desperately trying to distract yourself from the way he looked way too good just casually existing in your space. How could he look that good even as a law major? How can he have time to make your heart feel like this?

As you flicked through your social media feed, you stumbled upon a post that made your stomach twist uncomfortably. It was a picture—Kento, smiling (smiling!) with a group of classmates, apparently from earlier that day. Some of them were girls. Really pretty girls. Those really pretty preppy law girls!

Your first thought was When does Kento even smile like that? He never smiles like that around me!

Your second thought was Who’s the one leaning so close to him? Is she, like, whispering in his ear or something?

You shot a quick, subtle glance at him. He was still on your bed, completely unaware of the emotional spiral you were going through. He crunched on a chip like it was the most normal day in the world.

“Did you have fun today?” you blurted out before you could stop yourself.

Kento raised an eyebrow. “Uh…what?”

“Today. You were with…people from your department.” you said, trying to sound casual and failing miserably.

His brow furrowed toward you slightly. “I mean, yeah, I had a class project meeting. It was fine. Why?”

“Oh, no reason.” you said, voice a little too high-pitched. Fuck, you  were too obvious. You looked back at your phone, scrolling furiously to hide your face. “Just…wondering. Looked fun.”

“Wait.” Kento’s tone shifted. Suddenly you felt his gaze on you. “How do you know about that?”

Your heart dropped. “Uh, I saw it. Online. A picture. No big deal!”

There was a beat of silence before he spoke again, amusement clear in his voice. “Are you…jealous?”

“What?!” Your head whipped up so fast you almost gave yourself whiplash. “Me? Jealous? Of what? Why would I be jealous?”

Kento’s lips quivered into a rare, brat–like smirk, and you immediately knew you were in trouble. “No reason at all.” he said smoothly. “Just seems like you’re a little…interested in what I’m doing when I’m not here.”

“Interested? Pfft, no. I was just—just checking to make sure you’re not hanging out with the wrong crowd.” you stammered, flailing for a decent excuse. “You know, bad influences. Peer pressure. That sort of thing.”

“Right, I see.” he said, clearly unconvinced. “Because I’m the type to fall victim to peer pressure.”

“Well, I don’t know that part of your life right now!” you snapped, feeling your face heat up. “Maybe one of those girls was trying to…to make you join a pyramid scheme or something!”

Kento leaned back on your bed, folding his arms behind his head, clearly enjoying this far too much. “You’re terrible at hiding things, you know.”

“I’m not hiding anything!” you shot back, spinning your chair around so you didn’t have to look at him.

There was a rustle of movement, and then suddenly, he was right behind you, his hand resting lightly on the back of your chair. You could feel your ears redden at the feeling of him. You squeaked, loud enough for him to hear.

“You’re really bad at lying, too. How come you haven’t evolved at lying? It’s been years and somehow, you’re still bad at it.” he said softly, his voice just teasing enough to make your heart race.

You spun around to face him, glaring. “Okay, fine! Maybe I was a little jealous. Are you happy now?”

Kento blinked, clearly surprised by your sudden outburst. But then, to your absolute horror, he started laughing—actual, full-on laughing. He hadn’t expected for you to just come out and say it like that. You were a prideful little flower, you always have been. 

“You’re laughing at me?!” you cried, swatting at his arm.

“I’m not laughing at you, you know.” he said, still chuckling. “I just didn’t think you’d actually admit it.”

“Well, I did!” You crossed your arms, trying to look annoyed even as your face burned. “So what are you gonna do about it?”

Kento’s laughter softened into a small, fond smile, and for a moment, the teasing disappeared. He didn’t know how much he missed you until now. Somehow, the world seemed like it was in proper orbit when he’s with you like this.

“Nothing, nothing.” he said, his voice low and sincere. “Because you don’t need to be jealous. If I wanted to spend my time with anyone else, I wouldn’t be here right now.”

You stared at him, your brain short-circuiting as he straightened up and walked back to the bed like he hadn’t just casually wrecked you with one sentence. You looked away, crossing your arms as though to shield yourself from him. But he could still see the redness of your ears.

“Well….” you muttered under your breath, plopping dramatically onto your desk. “Now I’m jealous of myself.”

Kento paused mid-bite of a chip and turned to you with an amused look. “What was that?”

“Nothing!” you said quickly, sitting up straight like you hadn’t just been caught having an existential crisis.

But of course, Kento being Kento, he wasn’t about to let it slide. “No, no, go ahead.” he said, his smirk returning as he leaned back against the headboard. “Explain how you’re jealous of yourself. This, I have to hear.”

You groaned, hiding your face in your hands. “Forget I said anything. It’s dumb.”

“I doubt that at all.” he replied, his tone annoyingly smug. “But fine, I’ll drop it. For now.”

You peeked at him through your fingers, only to find him watching you with a mix of amusement and something softer, something that made your heart flip all over again. You wanted to throw a pillow at him or maybe yourself—just to get rid of the growing warmth in your chest.

Instead, you grabbed the bag of chips from the desk and walked over to him, shoving it into his hands. “Here. Eat some of the snacks and stop psychoanalyzing me.”

“I wasn’t psychoanalyzing you.” he said, popping another chip into his mouth. “But you’re making it very tempting.”

“Unbelievable, Kento.” you muttered, plopping down onto the bed beside him. “This is why I can’t stand you sometimes, you know that?”

“Uh-huh.” He glanced at you, one eyebrow raised. “So much so that you admitted to being jealous of people spending time with me. Makes perfect sense.”

You huffed, grabbing a handful of chips just to give your hands something to do. “Okay, fine, you got me. I was a little jealous. Big deal. You’re my best friend. It’s normal to feel weird about you hanging out with other people, right?”

“Is it?” he asked, his voice teasing but his eyes studying you closely.

“Yes!” you said, refusing to meet his gaze. “Because we’re close. And I don’t like sharing, okay? You’ve known that since we met!”

“Hmm, hmm.” he said thoughtfully, leaning a little closer. “So what you’re saying is, you want me all to yourself?”

You choked on your chip, coughing violently as Kento sat back, looking far too pleased with himself. “You—ugh! Don’t say things like that!”

“Why not? I’m just repeating what you said to me.” he replied innocently.

“That is not what I said!”

“Sounded like it to me.”

You glared at him, your face burning. “You’re the worst.”

“Sure, sure,” he said, smiling slightly. “But I’m your worst.”

And just like that, you were done for. Completely, utterly done for. You threw a pillow at him once again. Because what else could you do to him like that? He wasn’t wrong. Sure enough, he caught it effortlessly, laughing rather softly as he set it down beside him.

“Stop overthinking about it.” he said after a moment, his tone quieter now. “I’m here because I want to be. No one else matters, okay?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden sincerity in his voice. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” he said simply, reaching into the chip bag again like he hadn’t just made your heart implode for the second time that evening.

And you sat there, staring at him like an idiot, thinking that maybe, just maybe, falling for him wasn’t the worst thing in the world after all.

══════════════════

IT WAS ONE OF THE RARE OPPORTUNITIES WHERE YOU HAD A DAY OFF. So of course, you took the time to call Kento and ask him to hang out with you. And as usual, all he had said was that short, sure yes and nothing more.

He’d pick you up in thirty minutes, like usual. And of course, Nanami Kento was never late. If anything, he was always ten minutes early. He couldn’t have you waiting, after all.

The bar was warm and lively, filled with the hum of conversation and the clinking of glasses. You and Kento had decided to spend your day off together, and while the original plan had been something low-key like a café or a bookstore, somehow you’d ended up here, nursing a drink and trying to act normal around him. 

He’d never been here before, but he saw it from across the road and if the cafe or bookstore was closed — an afternoon at a bar wasn’t going to be a bad idea for college kids wanting to have some adventure beyond the campus walls.

Normal. Just normal. Yeah, act like you do. Well, whatever normal looks like to you now.

You could only mentally sigh as your peripheral was only stuck on him more than usual.

As if that was possible when you were utterly, hopelessly in love with the man sitting across from you.

Kento, of course, looked effortlessly composed, like he always did—leaning back in his seat, one hand resting on the table, the other holding his drink. He wasn’t a flashy guy, but there was something about the way he carried himself that made it impossible not to stare. And you were staring. Again.

“You’re staring at me again.” he said, his voice calm but with a hint of amusement.

“I am not!” you shot back, quickly taking a sip of your drink to cover up your flustered state.

“You’ve been doing it all evening.” he continued, raising an eyebrow. “Is there something on my face?”

“No, no.” you muttered, feeling the heat creep up your neck. “I was just…zoning out. Thinking about…stuff.”

“Stuff. You sure….about stuff as an excuse?” he repeated, his tone skeptical.

“Yes, stuff.” you said firmly, glaring at him. “You wouldn’t understand.”

He chuckled softly, and you were both annoyed and utterly charmed by the sound. Why did he have to be so effortlessly perfect? It wasn’t fair. You hated how good he is at being everything you love. As you tried to regain your composure, a voice interrupted your thoughts. 

“Hey there, sweetie–pie.” a man said, sliding up to your table with a confident grin. “Mind if I join you?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Uh…”

Before you could say anything else, the man pulled up a chair and sat down, clearly not waiting for permission. He leaned forward slightly, his gaze fixed on you. You felt disgusted by the way he looked at you. He wasn’t your type at all. And moreover, he’s creepy as hell.

“I couldn’t help but notice you from across the room.” he said smoothly. “You’ve got a great smile.”

“Um, thanks?” you said awkwardly, glancing at Kento.

Kento’s expression didn’t change much, but there was a subtle shift in his posture. He sat up a little straighter, his jaw tightening just slightly. Kento’s eyes were glaring hard enough that you could find those eyes were blades cutting you whole.

“So, what’s your name?” the guy asked, ignoring Kento entirely.

You opened your mouth to answer, but Kento beat you to it. 

“She’s not interested in you.” he said flatly, his voice calm but with an edge that made the guy pause.

The man glanced at Kento, raising an eyebrow. “And you are?”

“Person she’s with.” Kento replied smoothly, though his tone made it clear that he wasn’t just a friend. “Who also happens to know she’s too polite to tell you to leave, so I’ll do it for her. What else are you waiting for? Leave.”

Your heart skipped a beat. Was Kento…jealous?

The man hesitated for a moment, clearly debating whether to push back, but something about Kento’s steady gaze seemed to make him think twice. With a shrug, he stood up. He wasn’t going to get anything out of you. Lest he wants to get bitten by a tiger waiting to eat him. Well, at least he’s smart about that.

“Alright, alright. No need to get territorial.” He winked at you before walking away.

You shuddered at his wink.

Have men always been weird?

You shake it off quickly, drinking your pint.

You turned to Kento, your cheeks burning. “Territorial? Really?”

Kento shrugged, taking a sip of his drink like nothing had happened. “He was bothering you. I handled it.”

“I could’ve handled it myself, you know.” you said, crossing your arms.

“I’m sure you could’ve.” he replied, setting his glass down. “But I didn’t feel like watching you pretend to be polite to someone who clearly couldn’t take a hint.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “You’re impossible.”

“Maybe.” he said, a small smirk playing on his lips. “But at least you don’t have to deal with him anymore.”

You huffed, turning back to your drink. But as you took a sip, you couldn’t help but notice the way Kento’s gaze lingered on you, softer now, like he was trying to gauge your reaction. You drink your pint once again in some somber silence. 

“Was that really necessary?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Yes.” he said simply, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You glanced at him, your heart doing that stupid fluttering thing again. “Why?”

Kento held your gaze for a long moment before replying. “Because I don’t like the idea of anyone else thinking they can have what’s mine.”

Your brain short-circuited. “W-what?”

He didn’t elaborate, just leaned back in his chair with that same calm composure, as if he hadn’t just wrecked your entire evening with one casual sentence. You stared at him, utterly flustered and more in love than ever, wondering how on earth you were supposed to survive the rest of the night without completely losing your mind.

For the rest of the night, Kento didn’t let you out of his sight. He was subtle about it at first—the way he leaned in whenever someone walked by, his hand resting casually on the back of your chair. But as the minutes passed, it became glaringly obvious: Kento was on high alert, and every glance from a stranger only made his protective aura grow stronger.

When a group of guys walked by your table and one dared to look at you a second too long, Kento’s hand dropped from the chair to your shoulder, the weight of it warm and grounding. He didn’t even glance at the guy, his focus entirely on you, but the message was clear: Don’t even try it. Back off.

You tried to act normal, but it was impossible. Sitting beside him, close enough to feel the heat radiating off his body, you were acutely aware of every little thing about him—the way his sleeves were rolled up just enough to show his forearms, the way his voice dropped into a lower register whenever he spoke to you.

“You’re quiet again.” he said, his voice low as he leaned a fraction closer.

“I’m fine, Kento. Really.” you mumbled, staring into your drink to avoid looking at him.

“Liar.” he murmured, his tone edged with amusement. “You’ve been squirming all night.”

“I have not!” you protested, but the way your voice cracked didn’t help your case.

Kento just smirked, and that was the last straw. You stood abruptly, your chair scraping against the floor. “I’m going to the bathroom.”

“Not alone, you’re not.” he said immediately, rising from his seat with an ease that made you want to throw something.

“What, are you my bodyguard now?” you snapped, trying to ignore the way your pulse quickened at his possessive tone.

“If that’s what it takes, then yes.” he said simply, his gaze steady and unyielding.

Before you could argue, he took your hand—firm, unrelenting—and led you toward the exit.

“Kento, the bathroom’s that way.” you pointed out, trying to tug your hand free.

“We’re leaving.” he said without looking back.

“Wait, what? Why?”

“Because I’m done watching people think they can look at you like you’re up for grabs.” he said, his voice calm but with an edge that sent a shiver down your spine.

Your protests died in your throat. Nanami Kento rarely raised his voice or lost his composure, but there was something in his tone now. It was something raw and unmistakable. And every bit of it just left you speechless.

The car ride was silent, tension thick in the air. When he pulled into a quiet, empty lot, he turned off the engine and finally looked at you. His gaze was dark, intense, and it sent a jolt of electricity through you.

“Kento, what’s going on?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“You.” he said, his tone low and rough. “You’re what’s going on. Do you have any idea how hard it is to sit there and pretend I’m okay with watching other people look at you like they have a chance?”

Your breath hitched. “I… I didn’t think you—”

“Didn’t think I’d care?” he interrupted, leaning closer. “Didn’t think I’d notice? God, you drive me insane, you know that?”

“Kento…”

“You’re mine.” he said, his voice leaving no room for argument. “You’ve always been mine. You always have been since we were kids. I just didn’t want to scare you off by saying it out loud again.”

Your heart pounded so loudly you were sure he could hear it. “I— I….I know.” you admitted, your voice trembling. “But I thought you wouldn’t say it again and I just…maybe with time passing… I thought I was the only one now.”

His lips curled into a dark, almost predatory smile. “You’re not. Never. Not when I’ve marked you since we met at that playground when we were kids.”

Before you could process his words, Kento leaned in, capturing your lips with his in a kiss that was anything but gentle. It was animalistic, it was wanton. It was full of possessiveness, claiming, as if he were branding the truth into you.

You matched his intensity, your hands gripping the front of his shirt as you pulled him closer. The kiss deepened, and any hesitation you’d felt earlier melted away, replaced by a burning need that had been building for far too long.

He broke away just long enough to murmur against your lips, “Say it. Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours.” you whispered, your voice shaky but resolute.

“You belong with me.”

You looked at him with your doe like eyes. “I belong with you.”

“Good.” he growled, pulling you into his lap without hesitation. His hands gripped your waist firmly, his touch both grounding and electrifying. “Because I’m done holding back.”

Your fingers tangled in his hair, and you couldn’t stop the smile that spread across your face as you whispered, “Then don’t.”

And he didn’t.

══════════════════

YOU DIDN’T EXPECT HIM TO BE THIS HUNGRY FOR YOU. But with the way he’s going at it. Kento has been hungry for you for a very long time. Kento’s lips linger, soft and insistent, as if savoring every inch of your skin.

The warmth of his breath trails higher, leaving behind a delicate ache where his mouth was. His hands rest firmly on your thighs, fingers pressing just enough to make your breath hitch.

“You’re trembling.” he murmurs, his voice a rich baritone, teasing but laced with tenderness. He looks up, his gaze heavy with desire, his lips brushing against your inner thigh as he speaks. “Do I make you nervous?”

A shaky laugh escapes your lips, betraying your composure. “Not nervous... just—” Your words cut off as he presses another kiss, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin.

“Just what?” he asks, his tone low and deliberate, his lips curving into a smile against your skin. His hands slide upward, thumbs drawing small circles that make your heart race.

“Kento.” you breathe his name like a plea, your voice catching as he moves closer, the space between you charged with electricity.

The dim glow of the streetlamp filters through the windshield, casting golden lines across his sharp features. The intimacy of the confined space amplifies every touch, every sound between the two of you in these leather seats. The soft rustle of fabric, the quiet hum of his breathing, the slap of flesh against flesh.

“I love when you say my name like that, you know?” he says, voice dark and velvety. His mouth moves with purpose now, leaving faint marks of love on your skin, each one deliberate, each one staking his claim. “I love hearing it like that. Wanton f’r me.”

You gasp, your head falling back against the car seat, fingers threading through his hair, tugging gently. He groans at the sensation, the sound sending heat coursing through you. How has he ever been this good at getting under your skin?

“I want to hear more from you.” he murmurs against your skin, his voice a mix of command and yearning. His lips hover for a moment, teasing you with their proximity. “But only if you’re ready.”

Kento’s lips trail higher, each kiss softer yet more possessive, leaving warmth that lingers long after his mouth moves on. He pauses for a moment, his breath hot against your skin as his hands tighten slightly on your thighs, his thumbs stroking slow, deliberate circles.

“Don’t hold back your noises from me, okay?” he murmurs, his voice a sultry whisper that sends a shiver racing through you. He looks up, his golden-brown eyes locking with yours, a smirk tugging at his lips. “I want to hear you clearly.”

The command in his tone makes your pulse quicken. You bite your lip, but the sound escapes anyway, a soft, breathy whimper that only seems to spur him on. Kento’s touch made you feel as though a thousand flames were burning all at once.

“That’s better, isn’t it?” he says, his voice thick with satisfaction. His teeth graze the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, and he chuckles darkly when your hips shift involuntarily toward him.

“Kento.” you gasp, your voice trembling with both restraint and longing.

“Hm?” he hums against your skin, the vibration sending a jolt straight through you. “I told you—no holding back.” 

His hands glide upward, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh of your thighs, anchoring you in place as his mouth continues its slow, maddening journey lower and lower. You could feel your lips mutter a weak groan against him. 

The dim light of the streetlamp catches the sheen of his messy blond hair, illuminating the faint smile on his lips as he drinks in every reaction you give him. The intimacy of the moment wraps around you both, the world outside the car fading entirely.

“Kento, please.” you whisper, your voice raw with need, your fingers tightening in his hair.

He pauses, his lips hovering just above your skin, his breath ghosting over you. He takes in the sight of you, almost as though a hunter to a prey. Nanami Kento is your hunter, he always has been. And he’s been keeping this inside him for way too long. This desire, for you. Only you.

“That’s what I wanted to hear from you.” he murmurs, his tone dark and full of promise, before pressing another kiss, softer this time, but no less consuming.

Kento’s words hang in the air, thick with authority and desire, as his lips return to your skin with renewed purpose. He’s slow, methodical, as if every kiss, every graze of his teeth is a language only he can speak—and you’re utterly fluent in his meaning.

“Such sweet sounds from you, hm?” he murmurs against your thigh, the deep timbre of his voice reverberating through you. “Don’t hold them back from me. Let me hear what I do to you.”

Your breath hitches, a soft moan slipping past your lips, and the way his lips curl into a grin tells you he’s satisfied—but not done. His hands are firm but gentle as they slide further up your inner thighs, fingers brushing dangerously close to where you want him most. 

His touch sets your skin alight, the heat pooling low in your stomach as your chest rises and falls in uneven rhythm. You could feel his long fingers making their journey to that space, their cool touch melting you whole in a pleasurable moan.

“Kento.” you whisper, barely able to find your voice, your hands trembling as they clutch at the seat beneath you.

He glances up, his caramel eyes catching the faint glow of the streetlight streaming through the windshield, giving him an almost otherworldly allure. His gaze is dark, hungry, but there’s a softness there too. There was that endless reverence in the way he looks at you, as though you’re something precious.

“Yes, my love?” he asks, his voice laced with feigned innocence, though the smirk pulling at his lips betrays him. Your heart drummed at your new nickname from him. It was real. You were lovers. Doing what lovers do. “Tell me what you need. I want to hear it.”

You let out a shaky exhale, your fingers threading into the lower depths of sandy blond undercut for stability as much as desperation. Slowly, it trailed down on his neck, your touch sleuthing through him. Temptingly, almost like a wanting vixen.

“I need you… closer.” you admit, voice breaking, the vulnerability of the words making heat rise to your cheeks.

Kento hums in approval, the sound low and pleased at your words. He leans closer and his fingers echo deeper and deeper into you. Your head throws back hard against the leather’s pristine touch. He playfully moves inside. One moment in a circle. One moment a thrust. Over and over again, rinse and repeat, force and pleasure. And all you could do was surrender.

“Good girl of mine, my love.” he murmurs, his praise sending a wave of warmth coursing through you. 

That had surely made you even more wet inside. His lips press higher against your jaw, his stubble grazing your sensitive skin, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips. He continues on and on. You don’t know where he learned it. How he got so good at knowing how to take you to paradise. BUt you could hardly care. You were focused on how deep his fingers were in you. 

“You’re so beautiful like this, my love.” he continues, his voice velvet against the charged air. His hands grip your thighs tighter, pulling them apart just enough for him to settle more firmly between them. “Completely undone for me.”

A sound escapes you, part moan, part plea, and his response is immediate. There was a broken groan deep in his chest as he nuzzled against you, the vibrations of his voice making your whole body tremble and shake as  he rushed more and more, in and out, with his masterful fingers.

“That’s it. Go on, my love.” he breathes, his voice dark, dripping with satisfaction. “Just let go for me, honey. No one else is here. Just us. Just me and the way you fall apart under my touch.”

The world outside the car feels impossibly distant now. The soft flicker of the streetlamp, the faint hum of passing cars. It’s all drowned out by the thrum of your heartbeat and the way Kento’s lips, and his fingers worship every part of you they touch, in and out.

“Kento, Kento.” you gasp again, your voice a desperate whisper.

His name on your lips seems to be his motivation, pushing more and more as his fingers tighten inside of you as he shifts closer, his movements becoming more deliberate, more consuming. You could only feel your tears rush in pleasurable waterfalls on your cheek.

“Say it again, my love.” he demands softly, his lips grazing the edge of your hip. “Say my name like that again.”

And when you do, your voice trembling and raw, and broken — he lets out a sound that’s pure need, his control slipping as he loses himself in you entirely. His fingers dug deeper and deeper until they couldn’t anymore. Your slick brushing through his fingers as he repeats it over and over again.

Kento’s name spills from your lips again, breathless and aching, and he growls softly against your skin. There was a sound that sent a ripple of heat straight to your core. You cry out loudly as you come undone on his touch, so hard that you see stars. 

“You’re trembling so much, my love.” he murmurs, his voice molten and rich. “Is it because of me, hm?”

His fingers slowly exit through your crevices, slick and full of you. He looks satisfied with the mess he made of you. It doesn’t matter if you pool your pleasure on his leather seats. The sight was satisfying to look at. Because you’re his. And this was proof.

Your answer is a shaky exhale, your head falling back against the seat as your hazy gaze saw him slowly eat at the slick of your pleasure. You had just come undone from his touch and now you could feel yourself wanting more. You were wanton for more. Only he could make you feel this way.

“Words in full, my love.” he coaxes, his tone teasing but firm. “I want to hear you say it.”

“Yes, Kento.” you admit, voice breaking as you finally surrender to his command. “It’s you—only you.It’s always been you.”

And with that, he kisses you as he finds himself wanting more of you, as much as you wanted more of him. You gave him everything, and he gave you everything. You wanted to be whole, consumed by the existence of the other.

The air thickens with desire as his touch shifts from lingering to deliberate, the rhythm between you growing more urgent.  You brace yourself, your body trembling in anticipation, and then, with a careful, controlled movement, he enters you. 

A sharp inhale catches in your throat, the sensation overwhelming as he fills you completely. You gasp, every inch of him stretching you, pushing you to the edge of something deeper, something more consuming. Your body trembles in the wholeness of him. 

He began to move at a slow pace and then soon enough, with that eager speed. Your legs crossed against his back, and your arms crossed against his shoulders. You could only hold on for dear life as he pushes in and out of you in a pace that took your breath away.

Every inch of him stretches you, each motion slow yet intentional, designed to leave you breathless, wanting more. Kento’s gaze never leaves yours, intense and searching, as though he’s reading the unspoken desires written in the way your body responds. The heat between you builds steadily, a slow burn that makes your pulse quicken, your limbs aching with the need to surrender to him entirely.

Everything felt so good.

He made you feel good.

Only he could do it like this.

"Are you okay?" His voice is low, almost reverent, as he pulls back just enough to meet your gaze. 

There’s a softness in his caramel eyes, a tenderness beneath the storm of desire that mirrors the vulnerability you feel. His breath is heavy, and yet there’s a careful concern in his touch, as if he's trying to read you, to make sure you're ready for what comes next.

You nod, but words fail you, the overwhelming sensations clouding your ability to speak. Every inch of your being is attuned to him now, to the heat of his body against yours, the steady rhythm of his breathing. 

You inhale deeply, trying to steady yourself, yet all that fills your senses is him. The scent of him, the taste of his skin, the press of his chest against yours. Your slick blending against his own. It was all consuming. How you both fit together. How you were made for each other.

"More, Kento." you whisper, the word barely audible but laced with desperation. It’s not just a plea. No, you were saying it as it is. “Faster.”

You needed him. Every bit of him, every part of him. You wanted it all. The craving in your voice is clear, raw, and unfiltered. The desire that had been simmering between you both is now an undeniable force, impossible to resist.

His lips curl into a small, knowing smile, and something in his gaze shifts, darkens. Without breaking eye contact, he presses forward again, moving with an intensity that speaks of his own growing hunger. His movements are deliberate and calculated, even with the speed he was going at. 

It was as if  he was savoring every inch, every moment with you. Each stroke is measured, calculated, and yet there's an undercurrent of urgency, as though he's trying to pull you deeper into him, deeper into this shared space where only the two of you exist.

His gaze is intense, a silent communication passing between you both. It's not just about the way he moves or the way he touches you. Everything about it felt like magic. It's how he reads every subtle shift in your body, every small intake of breath, every whisper of need. 

He’s attuned to you in a way that goes beyond words, understanding the unspoken pleas you can't voice. It’s like he knows you better than you do yourself. It’s like he’s memorized every part of you. He just knew how to love you whole, completely.

You cried out as he hit that pleasure spot, in and out. The car windows were fogging up with the hot breath echoing out of your lips over and over again. You were certain that just as much, people had noticed the car shaking and rearing with activity at the stop. It was too obvious to see.

The heat between you builds steadily, a slow burn that makes your pulse race, that quickens the rhythm of your heart. You feel it in the way your body responds, how the pressure inside you grows with every shift, every stroke, until it feels like the world is narrowing down to just the two of you. You both were lost in this rhythm of connection, of craving, of surrender. This was all that there was, this universe of you, together.

Your body aches with the need to give in completely, to let him take you fully, to become lost in the feeling of him, of the shared moment. He looked at you and leaned forward, letting his lips take yours. His tongue pushes through against your own in a delicious melee of pleasure. You hummed against his lips as his thrusts got deeper, faster. More desperate. 

When he parts from you to gather air in his lungs, he slows for a bit and pulls out, earning a whine. But then in a steady shock, he pushes back in, his hands straying to your back, pulling you closer to him. It was as though he wanted you to melt and blend with his flesh. To become one. He thrusts deeper and deeper, harsher than before. You cry out against his ear. 

"Let go, my love." he murmurs, his voice a low, breathy whisper against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. "I’ve got you." 

There’s an assurance in his words, a promise that you can surrender, that he’ll be there to catch you, to guide you through whatever comes next. And with those words, everything inside you snaps. The tension, the anticipation, the desire. 

Everything unravels in a wave of release, a deep, consuming surrender. You cry out so loud that you think that you were gasping for air for the first time. Nanami Kento hit on your body with a harsh desire last time and felt his own hot pleasure flow through you with a loud roar.

Your body trembles beneath his touch as you lose yourself in him, the rhythm of his movements pulling you deeper into the moment, into the raw intensity of it all. Your grip on him tightens involuntarily, fingers digging into the hardness of his skin, anchoring yourself to the sensation of him. 

Each breath comes quicker, more erratic, as you struggle to keep up with the waves of pleasure crashing over you. Your eyes flutter closed, and a few tears escape, blurring your vision. But the tears are not from pain. They are from the overwhelming satisfaction, the complete surrender of everything you’d been holding back.

For a moment, you can’t see anything, your body entirely consumed by the sensations coursing through you. It’s like you’ve been plunged into a haze, where nothing exists but the pulse of his touch, the heat of his body against yours. You feel your senses heighten, every movement, every sound reverberating inside you, making your heart race.

And then, slowly, your sight begins to return. Everything is foggy, distorted at first, the edges of the world softened by the force of your pleasure. But as the fog clears, everything sharpens, every detail comes into focus. 

And in that moment, it feels like you’ve stepped into something infinite. The universe itself is laid bare before you, and standing at the center of it all, consumed by the same overwhelming force, is him. Everything felt like enlightenment. Life started here.

Kento’s eyes are locked onto yours, dark and intense, holding you captive with every glance, every word unspoken. His face, usually so composed, is now etched with a mixture of hunger and satisfaction, his own breath coming in ragged pulls. You are drawn to him, to the way he fills every corner of your mind, your heart, your body.

"You're... breathtaking, my love." he murmurs, his voice rough, barely audible as he moves against you, his hands cradling your face gently. "So beautiful, at this moment."

The words make your heart ache, the vulnerability in his tone striking you deeply. Your gaze never wavers from his, even as the pleasure inside you begins to coil again, threatening to pull you under once more. It’s not just his touch, not just the way he moves inside you. It’s the way he sees you, the way he makes you feel like you’re the only one who matters in the world.

"You’re mine. You always will be." you whisper, your voice trembling with the truth of it. The words come from somewhere deep, primal, raw. You don’t even know where they’ve come from, only that they’re true. 

“Am I really?” He snickers, pecking at your jaw with small peppering kisses with exhaustion.

You nodded shyly, smiling at him. "I need you... like this. Always."

Kento smiles at your confession. His grip tightens around you, his lips pressing against your forehead in a soft kiss, almost reverent. For a moment, it was like he’d fallen in love with you again for the very first time again.

"And you have me, my love." he responds, his voice low and full of promise. "All of me. Always."

[ebdanon]

Not so much repressed memories, but, as someone who grew up listening to the original versions of Taylor's albums, the rerecordings always made me feel so nostalgic. It's not a repressed memory, but I associate 1989 with playing the CD in my mother's car and the two of us screaming the lyrics to Shake It Off as she drove me to school.

see i 100% have this happen to me a lot too

[iamred-iamyellow]

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ Drivers At The Eras Tour

♥ masterlist

♥ blurbs for: lewis hamilton, george russell, oscar piastri, lando norris, and logan sargeant

♥ as always none of the pictures are mine

♥ warnings: none !!!

♥ a/n: in honor of charles, pierre, alex, and kika being at the milan show <3

ᡣ𐭩 ʟᴇᴡɪs ʜᴀᴍɪʟᴛᴏɴ - He showed up in a very tortured poets department-esque outfit that instantly turned heads. I think he's a folklore fan + knows all the lyrics to so long london because he’s seen too many edits of himself set to that track. He was able to get a picture with Taylor at the end of the concert and it absolutely broke the internet within seconds.

ᡣ𐭩 ɢᴇᴏʀɢᴇ ʀᴜssᴇʟʟ - He's secretly (not-so secretly) a Swiftie. He's a 1989 kind of guy who surprised you with the amount of songs he actually knew. George spent some time making bracelets with you a few weeks before the concert but took hours to make a single one. He also got off topic and made ones that said 'Russell' and had a 63 on them. I'm also positive he'd become a carpenter if she was Taylor's opener the night you went.

ᡣ𐭩 ᴏsᴄᴀʀ ᴘɪᴀsᴛʀɪ - He's really confused about the costumes and bracelets but he has the spirit! On the way home he keeps asking you to play songs he liked from the concert but you could barely tell what any of them were because all his lyrics were all wrong. The next day he makes you explain all the lore regarding thanK you aIMme and the reason for Taylor's Version.

ᡣ𐭩 ʟᴀɴᴅᴏ ɴᴏʀʀɪs - He surprised you with tickets to the first Paris show right after his Miami win (because he secretly wanted to attend as well). The minute you showed up about a thousand fans gave bracelets to the both of you and he wore all of them on his wrists proudly. He was enjoying the concert but got especially into it when Fearless started. I firmly believe that You Belong With Me and Love Story were his favorite songs growing up and he still knows all the lyrics.

ᡣ𐭩 ʟᴏɢᴀɴ sᴀʀɢᴇᴀɴᴛ - You absolutely made him dress as Miss Americana and the Heartbreak Prince with you, but he didn’t get the reference at all. You gave him a few friendship bracelets to give to fans when they came up to him and while exchanging gifts someone gave Logan their pink cowboy hat. He was pretty sad when you didn't get Teardrops On My Guitar as a surprise song so he made you play it on the car ride home.

[the-tortured-swifty-department]

SO HIGH SCHOOL AS AN ALBUM

For @gaveyouigaveyoui's Swiftie Sleepover Saturday prompt -> Create a setlist

I had a lot of fun making this!! I chose three songs out of each album, which you can see below. I want to make more songs into album concepts, so send me requests if you have them! <3

Debut:

Mary's Song

Our Song

I'm Only Me When I'm With You

Fearless:

Fearless

Fifteen

You Belong With Me

Speak Now:

Sparks Fly

Long Live

I Can See You

Red:

Stay Stay Stay

Holy Ground

Starlight

1989:

Blank Space

Style

New Romantics

Reputation:

...Ready For It?

End Game

King Of My Heart

Lover:

I Think He Knows

Miss Americana & The Heartbreak Prince

It’s Nice To Have A Friend

folklore:

cardigan

august

betty

evermore:

gold rush

‘tis the damn season

long story short

Midnights:

You’re On Your Own, Kid

Karma

Paris

The Tortured Poets Department:

But Daddy I Love Him

The Alchemy

So High School

[liaragaming]

Emmrich and Johanna's dynamic is just fascinating to me.

I've said before that her skull banter in the lighthouse sounds like a divorcee who's bitter at the person she admires for not turning out the way she'd wanted. And I still stand by that.

Ultimately, Joanna cares about Emmrich but she resents his compassion, which she sees as a weakness.

In Emmrich's short story, Johanna thinks it's a waste of her time and effort to travel the Necropolis just to figure out what a screaming skull (that's too weak to become a demon) is going on about. But Emmrich cares and he's going to figure it out, so she goes with him because someone has to make sure he doesn't get himself killed down there.

Johanna sees compassion as a weakness but clearly hers is Emmrich. (She wouldn't be down here for just anyone.)

By the end, they discover the man whom the skull belongs to wasn't buried with his recently diseased wife, as he and his wife had wished. Johanna scoffs at such pointless fury. Emmrich makes a comment about "enduring friendships," which Johanna also scoffs at. But the two are described as walking back "in companionable silence."

Johanna acts aloof, but there's clear love between the two of them.

Also in the story, Johanna compliments Emmrich's corpse whispering. She says he "possess[es] a grand talent" and that he's successfully honed his skills. And Emmrich beams at the compliment.

It's clear she thinks he's skilled and powerful, and she admires that.

In the boss battle with Johanna, there's a bit of banter where she says she'll make sure to bury Emmrich and his friends (or his "new lover") in the same tomb. And this could just be a dig at Emmrich's compassion, but I actually believe she means this. She wouldn't want him to be a screaming skull in the afterlife.

She thinks compassion is a weakness, but she still cares about him.

I have so many thoughts about them! More below the cut for length and my inability to organize them.

In Johanna's skull banter, she says Emmrich was always dragging her out to pointless parties (Does he care about her social life? Wants her to have more friends? Or maybe he's concerned about her well-being in general and just wants to get her out of her study?) and she complains about how everyone fawned over him (jealousy? Or a waste of his time /talents? (probably the latter)).

Emmrich says they partnered on everything as students - "papers, rituals, research..." I can only imagine how charged that must have been - how exhilarating to have someone on the same wavelength to bounce ideas off of and talk through theories. And I can't help but wonder if one or both of them was sapiosexual 'cause, oh boy, would that would complicate things.

In Emmrich's personal quest, Johanna mocks Emmrich for his fear, and Emmrich says he misses having a friend who wasn't. I imagine he saw her as fearless. And like - the tender way he says it! The admiration he has to feel for her! And he almost turns her. She softens! GAH!

Her skull banter when they find a few minor points of agreement between them - like how the end of the world must be prevented and how much they hate nobility - there's a softness that comes to their words, like two friends finding equilibrium again. Like, their relieved they don't have to argue over everything! There's still some things they can agree on. I think they miss each other! I really do!

EDIT: I forgot two very important things!

Johanna calls Emmrich "Volkarin." Even though they are friends, even though he calls her "Johanna," she always refers to him by his surname. And that seems to be a clear use of purposeful distancing on her part. I don't know how else you would explain it.

In Johanna's skull banter, it's clear she thinks Emmrich is the leader of the group and not Rook. She hears about the impending end of the world and says, "Get Volkarin on it!" She sees him as capable and powerful and worthy of status. And she can't even fathom that Emmrich would act as a peon (in her eyes). He must be the leader. Of course, he is!

[taylorsgfz]

Love Story ♡

— taylor x gf !

summary: taylor gets surprised in a way that, for a long time, she never thought she could get.

It should be just another three and a half hour show that your girlfriend would play for a stadium full of people. But you knew that wouldn't be true that day.

You had reflected about what to do and if you would actually have the guts to do that. But then you remembered that nothing could make your girlfriend happier than an extreme cliché proposal.

And then you were just waiting for your time to get to the stage during the Fearless era of the show. Taylor was now singing You Belong With Me, so you knew your moment was coming. You grabed the poster you wrote to show the public when you got in and prepared yourself for the countless looks that would be towards you.

But, in reality, the only look that you actually cared for, was from your Tay.

When Love Story started, your heart almost exploded. You were ready and with the little velvet box in your pocket.

You got up on stage, immediately raising the poster that said "PLEASE DO NOT POINT AT ME" and also holding a microphone on the other hand. The crowd was extremely confused but understood the request.

You couldn't believe what you were about to do. You couldn't believe that you would ask Taylor to marry you in front of thousands and thousands of people.

The next few minutes seemed like bare seconds. And suddenly, you were getting on your knee after dropping the poster. You took the box out of your pocket and that's when you started singing for you - possibly - future wife:

— "Marry me, Taylor, you'll never have to be alone. I love you and that's all I really know. I talked to your dad, go pick out a white dress, it's a love story, baby just say yes!"

You had tears in your eyes the whole time you were singing, which didn't stop nor helped when Taylor turned around to see you and started crying too with her hands covering her mouth. The blondie was more shocked than anyone on that huge crowd.

— Will you marry me? — you asked, while the song instrumental kept going.

— Yes, of course! — Taylor waited for you to place the ring on her finger and then pulled you into her arms.

The fans aplauded and screamed in celebration. Those that really knew Taylor, knew how important that was for her. And how happy the singer was with you.

Taylor kissed you and both of your tears mixed up during the kiss.

— Well, I just got engaged during my own show! This time, I'm the bride of Love Story! — Taylor shouted, laughing, and you stuck your face in her neck, with the biggest smile a person could have.

THANK YOU FOR READING ♡

[xlettex]

In This Life and The Next||wakatoshi ushijima The Second Lifetime

You slipped into Wakatoshi's life so effortlessly, as if you had always belonged there. Love with you was steady, certain—something he never had to question. But fate is cruel. Bound by a love that transcends lifetimes, he’s haunted by the feeling that this isn’t the first time he’s had to say goodbye. Some loves are too strong for just one lifetime. But in this one, their story is doomed to end the same way.

pairing - wakatoshi ushijima x reader genre - tragic romance rating - 13+ chapter word count - 4.6k content warning - angst, grief, loss, terminal illness, emotional distress

Authors Note: Something about wakatoshi ushijima screams writing an angst story to me.

the first lifetime <- the second lifetime -> the last lifetime

Wakatoshi never believed in fate—only in discipline, precision, and effort. Love had always seemed like an afterthought, a distant thing meant for others. Then he met you.

It wasn’t dramatic—no sparks of destiny, no grand revelation. Just an autumn afternoon, the scent of freshly brewed coffee curling through the air, and a stranger who changed everything.

He had seen you before, hovering at the café counter, your presence always accompanied by an air of curiosity. But today was different.

This was the first time he noticed the delicate silver star hanging from a thin chain around your neck. The small pendant caught the café lights, glinting like something familiar, though he had no reason to recognize it. 

Then, without hesitation, you slid into the seat across from him, arms full of books, your lopsided grin filled with something both confident and teasing

"Are you always this stoic, or did I catch you on a bad day?"

He blinked at you, momentarily caught off guard. "I’m not stoic."

You tilted your head, unconvinced. "Debatable."

And just like that, his world shifted.

You became a fixture in his life before he could even question it. Your meetings weren’t planned, yet you always found your way to him, slipping into the chair across from him as though it had been reserved for you all along. 

Some days you came armed with questions about the book he was reading, challenging his thoughts, playfully disagreeing just to watch him counter your points. Other times you brought your novels, quietly sipping your coffee beside him, content in the shared silence.

And sometimes, when you were lost in thought—your fingers would brush over the star pendent absentmindedly—he would catch himself staring, a strange unease settling deep in his chest.

He never asked you about it, but the feeling lingered.

The first time you didn’t show up, he noticed.

The café felt too quiet, the air lacking the warmth you so effortlessly carried. He told himself it didn’t matter, that you were just some passing presence in his routine, but the next day, when you reappeared and dropped into the chair across from him with an exaggerated sigh, complaining about a missed train, he felt his chest ease.

That was when he realized he had been waiting for you.

Your love grew in the spaces between conversations—shared glances over coffee cups, the way your laughter softened the edges of his world, the quiet walks taken down lamplit streets, your hands brushing together like magnets pulling toward one another. 

He never reached first, always hesitant, but you were fearless in the way you touched him—light nudges when you made fun of him, casual hand-holding as you walked, arms linked when you pulled him toward a shop window to admire something he hadn’t noticed before.

One evening, you reached for his hand without thinking, intertwining your fingers as you crossed a small bridge. The river reflected the city lights, shimmering in the dark like scattered constellations.

You were mid-sentence when you noticed his silence.

“What?” you asked, glancing up at him.

He didn’t answer right away, instead, he stared at the joined hands, the warmth of your skin pressed against his own.

You laughed softly, following his eyes. “You act like I haven’t held your hand a hundred times before.”

Maybe you had–maybe in some other life, this was just another moment in an eternity of reaching for one another.

His grip on your hand tightened slightly, then his gaze drifted—to the delicate silver star resting just above your collarbone, glinting softly in the glow of the streetlights.

You always wore it.

Even now, as your fingers curled easily around his, your free hand instinctively brushed over the pendant, rolling it between your fingertips

“That necklace… you never take it off.” His voice was quieter now, contemplative.

You glanced down at it, thumb grazing over the tiny charm. “I don’t know why… but I never do.”

There was something distant in how you said it as if you weren’t entirely sure of the reason. But the way you held it—the way you needed to hold it—sent a strange ache through his chest.

“You’ve got this whole mysterious, brooding thing going for you,” you teased, nudging him playfully, lightening the air again. “But I know you have a soft side.”

He raised an eyebrow. "Do I?"

You squeezed his hand, your smile turning softer. "Yeah. I see it in the way you look at me."

Wakatoshi had never been good with words and had never known how to articulate the depth of how he felt. But at that moment, he wanted to tell you everything—that you had become his home, his anchor, the one thing that felt constant in a world that never stopped moving. Instead, he cupped your face, leaned down, and kissed you, letting the press of his lips speak the words he couldn’t.

You moved in soon after, seamlessly slipping into his life as if you had always belonged there. Your presence was everywhere—your books scattered across the shelves, your laughter filling the spaces between the walls, your scent lingering in the fabric of his sweaters when you borrowed them. You left notes on the fridge, playful reminders, and small affections scribbled in your looping handwriting.

Eat something before practice. I love you. Did you know you talk in your sleep? It’s adorable. I stole your hoodie. Again. You’ll survive.

You hummed in the kitchen as you made coffee, your soft melodies carrying through the apartment. Sometimes, he would find you curled up on the couch, one of his oversized sweaters draped over your frame, a book resting open in your lap as you waited for him to join you.

But it was the quiet moments he loved most. The ones that didn’t seem significant at the time but stayed with him long after.

Like the way you got ready in the morning—still wrapped in a blanket, still half-asleep as you leaned into his side while brushing your teeth beside him. You never said much in those moments, just murmured a sleepy “morning” before wrapping your arms around his middle. 

And maybe, just maybe, that was what love looked like to him—sleepy grumbles, warm embraces, and the quiet comfort of knowing someone was always there.

He wasn’t always good with words, but he showed love in the way he always made sure your phone was charged before bed, in the way he shifted closer in his sleep just to keep you warm, in the way he adjusted your blankets in the middle of the night without waking you.

You understood him without needing grand gestures. He didn’t need to tell you he loved you every second of the day—you already knew. Because love was in the smallest things, in the way his hand always found yours in a crowded space, in the way he memorized your coffee order. And in return, you made his world softer, warmer.

Mornings became your favorite part of the day. He was always up first, a creature of habit, but you weren’t far behind. You would shuffle into the kitchen, still heavy with sleep, your hair tousled from the night before. He started making your coffee just the way you liked it—honey instead of sugar, a little too much milk. And every morning, you would smile at him over the rim of your cup like it was the best thing you had ever tasted.

"Perfect, as always," you would say, pressing a kiss to his cheek before settling into the chair across from him.

And he would watch you, coffee in hand, memorizing the way you looked bathed in the early morning light as if he could trap time in those moments.

One evening, as you lay tangled together in bed, you murmured, “What would you do if you could live a thousand lifetimes?”

He was quiet for a moment, his fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns along your spine. Then, in a voice so steady, so certain, he answered—

“Find you.”

As if it was the simplest thing in the world.

And maybe it was.

Because love—your love—was something that had always existed. Even before this life. Even after it. And deep down, maybe he had always known that, too.

You fit into his world so seamlessly that he forgot what life had been like before you.

And yet, no matter how tightly he held onto you, no matter how deeply he loved you, it would never be enough to stop what was coming.

It started as a simple cough—harmless, fleeting. You brushed it off with a wave of your hand, laughing when he frowned.

"Just the change in weather," you assured him. "I’m fine."

But it didn’t go away.

At first, it was subtle—small moments he almost convinced himself weren’t real. The way you cleared your throat too often. The way you pressed your palm against your chest absentmindedly. The way you seemed just a little too tired after a long day, resting your head against his shoulder earlier than usual.

"You should sleep more," he murmured one night as they lay in bed, his fingers brushing through your hair.

"Maybe," you hummed in response, eyes already drifting closed.

He told himself it was nothing. That you were simply overworked. That the seasons were changing. That you would be fine.

Then the coughing fits came. Deeper. More persistent. Some were so strong they left you winded, struggling to catch your breath.

"Maybe you should see a doctor," he said one evening, watching as you rubbed a hand over your throat.

You waved him off with a smile, pressing a kiss to his cheek as if that could ease his concern.

"It’s nothing," you murmured. "Just a little run-down."

And he let himself believe you.

Until the morning he woke to the sound of your coughing—deep, wracking, painful.

The kind of cough that tore through your chest, rattling in your lungs. The kind that made the sheets tremble with your small frame.

He turned over in an instant, eyes heavy with sleep before quickly sharpening in focus.

"Baby?"

You were gripping the blankets, your body curled in on itself, your face pale. When you pulled your hand away from your mouth, his stomach clenched.

Blood.

It was just a smear of red against your palm. Small. Almost unnoticeable. But to Wakatoshi, it was enormous, the weight of it crashing into him like a tidal wave.

You stared at your hand for a long moment, as if you couldn’t quite believe it either. Your breath was uneven, eyes flicking up to meet his own.

And then, finally, you sighed.

"Okay," you whispered. "Maybe I should see a doctor."

The waiting room was sterile and cold, the kind of cold that seeped into your bones, making you feel as if you’d never be warm again. The walls were a lifeless gray, the soft hum of fluorescent lights buzzing faintly overhead.

Wakatoshi sat beside you, his fingers intertwined with yours, gripping them too tightly. He could feel the bones beneath his palm, how delicate they suddenly seemed. You had always been small compared to him, but now, you felt fragile.

You leaned into him, exhaustion clinging to you like a second skin.

Neither of them spoke.

When the doctor arrived, his words were careful, and cautious, as if they might soften the blow of what he was about to say.

"It’s advanced."

A pause.

"We’ll do everything we can."

Another pause.

"We can fight it, but…"

But.

That single word sliced through him, jagged and unrelenting.

Wakatoshi barely registered the rest, his ears ringing, his breath tight in his lungs. He only noticed the way your hand had gone still in his, how the room felt unbearably small, closing in on them with every second.

He clenched his jaw, barely suppressing the tremor in his fingers.

"We’ll fight it," he said, a promise, a plea, a desperate refusal to accept what they were being told.

You exhaled slowly, your lips curving into something that was meant to be a smile.

"Yeah," you murmured. "We will."

But you knew.

And deep down, so did he.

The days following the diagnosis felt like they were moving in slow motion.

You went through the motions of treatment, but there was something different in the way you moved. A quiet acceptance in the way you carried yourself. He hated it.

He wanted you to fight. He needed you to fight.

So he researched.

At night, after you had fallen asleep, he sat in the dim glow of his laptop screen, reading every article, every clinical trial, every treatment option that could give them hope. He called doctors, and hospitals and reached out to people he hadn’t spoken to in years, searching for something—anything—that could fix this.

"You’re not eating enough," he murmured one morning, setting a plate in front of you.

You smiled at him, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes.

"I’m just not hungry."

"You need to eat." His voice was firm, the same unwavering certainty he used on the court, in the weight room, and in every area of his life where effort equaled results.

But this wasn’t like that.

Because no matter how much effort he put in, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t fix this. You reached for his hand instead of the food.

"Toshi."

The way you said his name—soft, understanding—sent a sharp pain through his chest.

"You can’t make this go away."

His jaw tightened, his fingers twitching slightly in yours.

"I can try."

Your gaze held his for a long moment before you finally spoke, your voice barely above a whisper.

"I know you want to, but… some things just aren’t in our control."

He didn’t want to hear that, didn’t want to accept it.

You were his. And he had always believed that if he worked hard enough, pushed hard enough, he could hold onto the things that mattered.

But this was slipping from his grasp, and no amount of strength could stop it.

So he did the only thing he could.

He held you.

He held you when you were too weak to stand. He held you when you cried in frustration at your own body betraying you. He held you in the middle of the night when the pain was too much, when you clung to him, shaking, and whispered apologies into his chest as if you had any reason to be sorry.

"I hate this," you confessed one night, your voice trembling.

"I know," he whispered back, pressing his lips to your forehead.

He wanted to tell you that he would trade places with you in a second. That he would take the pain, the exhaustion, the sickness if it meant you could stay. But words felt useless, hollow. So instead, he held you tighter, as if he could tether you here just by will alone.

But he was losing you.

Day by day.

Your body grew weaker, exhaustion settling deep in your bones, the color slowly draining from your cheeks.

But still, you wore the necklace.

He noticed it more now.

The way your fingers drifted to it absently, rolling the delicate silver star between them, as if grounding yourself in something unseen.

The way you clung to it in your sleep, fingers curled around the charm as if it held a promise only you understood.

The way, even as your body betrayed you, you never once took it off.

One night, as you lay curled against his chest, he traced the chain lightly, where it rested against your collarbone.

"Why do you always wear this?" His voice was quiet, uncertain.

Your fingers found the pendant instantly as if they had always known where it was.

You smiled faintly but didn’t answer right away.

"I don’t know," you admitted softly. "It just… feels like I have to."

There was something in the way you said it—a quiet certainty in an answer that didn’t quite make sense—that sent an ache curling through his chest.

He didn’t press further.

Didn’t ask why your fingers always held it a little tighter when you thought he wasn’t looking.

Didn’t ask why, even as your body failed you, you never once thought to take it off. 

He just watched and memorized.

Memorized the way your fingers curled around the charm in your sleep rolling it absentmindedly between them– like a habit older than time itself.

Later, he would understand…

..when it was far too late.

The months stretched on, and you grew weaker. 

Your laughter became quieter, your steps slower, your touch featherlight. But still, you smiled for him.

"You’re not supposed to cry," you teased one evening, brushing your fingers against his cheek. He hadn’t even realized he was crying.

"I don’t want you to be sad," you whispered, your voice raw from the illness stealing you away.

"How could I not be?" His voice was steady, but something was breaking beneath it. "You are my whole world."

You chuckled softly. "You make it sound like I’m vanishing forever."

He said nothing because the truth was too unbearable. He wished he could stop time, and hold you a little longer. But the reality was cruel.

There were good days, and Wakatoshi clung to them like lifelines. One afternoon, you twirled in the living room, laughing as you pulled him close. 

"Dance with me."

He held you carefully, afraid you might disappear right there in his arms. And for a moment, nothing had changed. You were still here, still warm, still looking up at him with the same brightness in your eyes that had captivated him from the start.

Then there were the bad days. The laughter faded, replaced by coughing fits that tore through your small frame, your body curling inward as you struggled to breathe. Panic clawed at his chest as he held you upright, rubbing soothing circles into your back, his voice murmuring, “Breathe, baby. Breathe.”

You gasped against his chest, shaking your head, your fingers clutching onto him as though you were terrified of slipping away. By the time it passed, your body was limp, exhausted, your face pale and damp with sweat.

That night, he carried you to bed, cradling you like you were made of porcelain like you might shatter if he wasn’t careful. He lay beside you, tucking the blankets around you as if they could protect you from what was coming. His fingers brushed over your knuckles, his lips against your temple, whispering "I love you, I love you," as if saying it enough times could root you to this world.

But love wasn’t enough.

You prepared him in the only way you could—leaving notes hidden in places you knew he would find them long after you were gone.

Some were folded in his gym bag, others tucked between the pages of books on the shelves, and one—sealed inside the pocket of his coat.

I love you. You’ll be okay, even if you don’t believe it now.

He found them too soon.

Days after finding your notes, he sat beside you, the weight of them still heavy in his chest.

The hospital lighting was harsh—too bright, too sterile—casting cold shadows against the walls. It made everything feel unnatural, as if this moment wasn’t real, as if you weren’t fading before him.

The machines hummed softly, an IV drip slowly feeding into your veins. The rhythmic beep of the heart monitor was steady, a quiet reminder that time was slipping through his fingers. You reached for his hand, your grip weaker than it had ever been. He immediately laced his fingers with yours, grounding you both. 

"Read to me?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

His throat tightened, but he nodded, reaching for the book you had always loved. His voice was steady, and measured, even as his chest ached with every word.

Your eyes fluttered shut as he read, a small, tired smile gracing your lips. Your free fingers drifted to your necklace, rolling the delicate silver star between them as if anchoring yourself to something unseen.

Next time," you murmured, your voice so faint he almost missed it. "In our next life, let’s meet sooner."

His grip on your hand tightened.

"We will."

And he kept reading.

But before he could finish the next page, you shifted slightly against the pillows, your voice soft but laced with something undeniably you—that teasing familiarity, even now.

"Toshi?"

He stopped mid-sentence, eyes flicking to your face.

"Yeah?"

You smiled—weak, tired—but still so vibrant.

"Can you get me some of that terrible hospital jello?"

For a second, he almost laughed, a breath of relief slipping through his lips at the sheer normalcy of it.

"Yeah, love. I’ll be right back."

It was such a simple request. Such an ordinary moment. And he let himself believe, just for a little while longer, that there was still time. That you would still be here when he came back.

That this wasn’t the last time.

He left the book on the bedside table, stood up, and stepped out of the room. It took him only minutes to return—barely enough time for the gelatin to wobble in the flimsy cup he carried.

But as soon as he stepped inside, he knew. The untouched jello slipped from his fingers. The small plastic cup hit the ground with a muted thud, red pooling across the sterile white tile.

But he didn’t notice.

Didn’t care.

Because everything was still.

Too still.

He hesitated in the doorway, gripping the frame as if it was the only thing keeping him upright. The air felt thick, suffocating, pressing in around him with a silence that felt wrong.

He tried to push past it.

You're just asleep, he told himself. You're resting. You're still here.

But then he realized—he couldn’t hear it.

The steady beeping of the heart monitor. The quiet, rhythmic sound that had become the backdrop to every moment spent at the hospital.

It was gone.

His stomach lurched.

Your pillow was still indented, the blankets carefully tucked around you—just as he had left them. The book he had been reading to you remained untouched, its last words still hanging in the air—never to be heard, never to be finished. The cup of coffee he had made that morning sat untouched, long gone cold.

Everything was the same. And yet, everything had changed. His feet felt heavy, like wading through water, like if he walked too fast, reality would catch up with him.

His hands shook as he reached for you, heart hammering, whispering a plea before he even touched you—

Please, please, please—

"My love," he whispered, reaching for your hand.

Still warm.

But limp.

His fingers closed around yours, squeezing gently. You didn’t squeeze back. His stomach dropped. He tried again, this time a little firmer, searching for any sign of response.

Nothing.

A sharp breath punched from his chest, his throat burning as he sucked in air that refused to fill his lungs.

"Baby?"

You didn’t move. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to stay calm, to be rational, to not fall apart—not yet.

He lifted your fingers to his lips, pressing a desperate kiss against them, but they remained limp in his grasp. His free hand ghosted over your cheek, then curled under your chin, tilting your face toward him.

You looked peaceful. Your lashes rested lightly against your skin, your lips still slightly parted, as if you had only just exhaled.

A strangled sound escaped his throat.

"No."

He leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours, his body shaking as his arms wrapped around you.

"No, no—baby, come back."

But you had waited for him to leave before letting go. The realization hit like a knife to the gut, twisting deep.

You had known. You had known and hadn’t told him. Had let him walk out that door, let him believe he had more time, let him think he could return to you still breathing.

You had done this for him. You had spared him the pain of watching you die. And somehow, that only made it worse.

"Why?" His voice was hoarse, broken, barely more than a whisper. "Why didn’t you tell me?"

Why hadn’t you let him be there? Had you thought it would hurt him less? Had you thought it would make it easier?

Didn’t you know that losing you—again—would never be easy?

A sob wrenched itself free from his chest, sudden and forceful, sending his whole body lurching forward. His forehead pressed against your shoulder, his fingers digging into the fabric of your shirt, clinging to the last traces of warmth in your skin.

"I should have stayed," he choked out. "I should have known—I should have—"

His voice broke entirely, dissolving into something unrecognizable.

If he had just been here. If he had held you, whispered to you, told you one last time how much he loved you If he had stayed.

If, if, if.

But he hadn’t.

And you were gone.

He needed someone to blame.

The universe. The doctors. Fate itself.

But when the silence stretched on, swallowing him whole, there was only one name that echoed back at him.

His own.

He had left you.

And now, you had died alone.

His shoulders shook violently as he buried himself into you, gasping for air that wouldn’t come. His hands grasped at you, desperate, helpless, his body curled around yours as he could somehow keep you anchored to him if he just held on tight enough.

But you weren’t coming back. The room was unbearably still. And then he saw it.

Next to you, lying carefully atop your final note, was the silver star necklace.

The chain had been unclasped, the delicate charm placed gently on the folded paper—not discarded, not forgotten, but waiting. As if, even in your final moments, you had known.

As if you had left it for him. His hands shook as he reached for it, lifting the tiny star into his palm. You had taken it off.

For the first time.

As if you had known he would need something to hold onto. As if you had wanted him to keep this piece of you.

His breath hitched, vision blurring, as his thumb instinctively brushed over the charm, rolling it between his fingers—just as you always had.

A shudder ran through him.

The motion was familiar.

Too familiar.

It was muscle memory. A habit that had never belonged to him. And yet, his fingers knew exactly how to move.

Something inside him cracked.

A battlefield. A letter never answered. A love waiting in vain for a soldier who never came home.

The memory slammed into him like a tidal wave, rushing past the walls of time, drowning him in the weight of something he had long forgotten.

But you hadn’t forgotten. You had known. You had waited for him then, just as you had waited for him now.

And just like before, he hadn’t made it in time.

His breath came sharp and uneven as his trembling fingers unfolded the note beneath the necklace.

There were only five words.

Yours, always. In this life and the next.

Fate had stolen you from him.

Again.

In this life.

In the one before it.

In every existence, they were given.

A cruel, relentless cycle, where no matter how tightly he held on, no matter how desperately he reached for you, something always pulled you away.

It was always like this.

Loving you.

Losing you

Finding you again, just to lose you once more.

Left behind, holding onto ghosts, remembering a love that was never meant to last.

But even through the gut-wrenching grief, through the unbearable weight of regret, he knew this wasn’t the end.

Because some loves are too strong to be bound by just one existence.

And in the next life, he would find you again.

And next time—next time—he would not let you go.

[zegrasdrysdale]

[ it’s a love story ] t. zegras

pairing : Trevor Zegras x fem!reader

summary : Trevor goes with his girlfriend to Taylor Swift’s Eras Tour when it comes to LA, and he has a surprise in his pocket when “Love Story” is played

warning(s) : none

author’s note : i keep seeing tiktoks of proposals during love story and i couldn’t not write a lil fic featuring the nhl’s resident swiftie so enjoy this probably cliche filled story that i couldn’t resist writing anymore

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This show has been something she and Trevor have been looking forward to since they both sat on their respective Ticketmaster accounts for almost 24 hours in November. She basically went through war for the general admission tickets she somehow managed to get. It was worth the wait and the hundreds of dollars she spent.

She went all out for her outfit. A short pink dress that is covered in glitter with matching heels pairs well with the pink makeup look that she decided on while she was doing her makeup. Her hair is curled with pink gems scattered throughout her locks. Trevor wasn’t sure how he felt about it but the look as grown on him in the hour or so since he first saw it.

The two of them get to SoFi Stadium at two in the afternoon with multiple water bottles in hand since it’s early August in Los Angeles. She wasn’t going to get there super early but didn’t want to get there super late either.

Of course, she made a bunch of bracelets so she trades with people while waiting in line to get in. The VIPs go in early then they go in about an hour later. She runs as fast as she can to find a good spot on the floor. Trevor is right behind her.

They end up near at the point of the diamond part of the stage but about fifteen rows of people back. It’s still a good spot despite getting to the arena at two instead of six in the morning. She’s very happy with where they end up.

Trevor stands behind her with his arms wrapped around her shoulders while they wait for the show to start. Gayle opens for Taylor Swift and the set lasts about 45 minutes or so. She vibes with the music, but gets so excited when it’s between sets.

Her boyfriend kisses the top of her head and asks close to her ear, “Are you excited? Nervous? Both?”

“So so excited,” she tells him as she looks up at him. Despite the heels, she still has a disadvantage when it comes to height. Trevor is six foot, but she’s five-foot-six with two inch heels on. “Thank you for coming with me. It means a lot to me.”

Trevor smiles and says, “Wouldn’t want to be here with anyone else.” She raises her eyebrows because she knows a handful of people that he would want to come to the Eras Tour with. “Okay, you and Jamie are the only people I’d want to be here with. And maybe Cole but I’m here with you and I’m happy to be here with you.”

She spins in his arms and wraps her arms around his torso. He’s wearing a button up but only half the buttons are actually buttoned. She gets makeup on the exposed part of his chest and feels his cool chain against her cheek until she pulls back.

The clock pops up on the screen and everyone, including her, loses their minds. Trevor lets her go so she can freely dance and sing as the Lover era begins. She gets very into “The Man” since it’s her favorite off of the Lover album.

As soon as the Fearless era begins, she pulls out her phone so she can make sure to get Trevor singing “You Belong With Me” when she plays it after “Fearless”. He tries to block the camera when she puts it on him but she does end up getting Trevor singing the song. She makes a mental note to send it to Jamie and Cole after the show.

“Love Story” plays next and she records Taylor singing it while Trevor drapes his arms around her waist. She sings along to the song.

The song slows for the bridge and she sways in Trevor’s arms. He presses a kiss to her temple as the bridge transitions to the chorus for the last time. She feels him let her go as Taylor sings “Is this in my head? I don’t know what to think”.

Only the crowd around her begins to scream and turn their recording phones toward her as “He knelt to the ground and pulled out a ring, and said” is sung. She turns around to find Trevor Zegras on one knee with a box in his hand.

In the box is a diamond ring.

Her hands fly to her mouth as Trevor sings along with Taylor on stage. She immediately begins to nod her head yes to accept the proposal as tears that she didn’t know were in her eyes roll down her cheeks.

Trevor stands up and takes the ring out of the box. He slides it into her left ring finger before she flings her arms around Trevor’s neck. He leans down and presses a deep but quick kiss to her lips. She cups his jaw as she kisses him back.

“I can’t believe you proposed to me during ‘Love Story’,” she comments without pulling back too far. “God, you’re such a romantic.”

He smiles. “You know you were thinking about it when we got tickets,” he replies. “I went out and got the ring the week after you secured the tickets. If I was ever going to propose to you, it was going to be at the Eras Tour.”

She leans up to press one more peck to his lips before she looks at the ring on her hand. It’s simple but it has enough sparkle to it. She never wanted a large diamond on her ring whenever she got engaged and Trevor knew it.

The rest of the show feels like an intense fever dream. It is probably the best day of her life. Well, it’s probably tied with Trevor getting drafted in 2019 but still. It’s one of the most important days of her life.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

yourusername

liked by jamie.drysdale, trevorzegras and 76,892 others

yourusername baby i said ‘yes’ 💍🤍

view all 1,989 comments

colecaufield THIS IS WHY I DIDNT GET INVITED ISNT IT

fan1 lmaooo cole

jamie.drysdale jesus cole

yourusername sorry coley

fan2 TREVOR IS ENGAGED ??? HOLY FUCK

fan3 he’s all grown up 😩

jackhughes the FUCK ???

yourusername hi jack

jamie.drysdale my favorite people. congratulations !! (it’s abt time @ trevor)

yourusername love you jimmy 🫶🏼

trevorzegras thanks for keeping my secret bud

trevorzegras you’re my entire heart. forever 🤍

yourusername and ever 🤍

_quinnhughes congrats !!

anaheimducks Congratulations to the future Mr. and Mrs. Zegras !! 🧡

fan4 mrs. zegras is insane

fan5 alexa play that should be me by justin beiber

fan6 LMAOO 💀💀

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‘Aperture’

Summary: A professional footballer with a playboy reputation finds his world reframed when he meets a talented photographer who captures the light and depth he’s never seen in himself. As their friendship develops, he finds himself illuminated by her presence—a stark contrast to the shallow spotlight he’s used to, but her guarded heart keeps her from fully trusting his intentions. Their friendship develops, like film in a darkroom, shifting into something far more intimate. But when their connection begins to blur the lines between friendship and something more, he realizes she’s the light he’s been chasing without knowing it and fights to prove he’s ready for something real. Yet, their love hangs in the balance—will the film of their story overexpose and fade, or will it develop into something vivid and timeless. Sometimes, love is about adjusting the focus, letting in the right light, and trusting the process.

Chapter Index:

Fashion Index: For all Y/N's looks! No more bad links!

Warnings: This series is 18+ MDNI [ smut, drinking - not sure what else really… if i miss anything please lmk!]

Note: Thank you for reading! Please be sure to like, comment, or message me what you think of the series!

Chapter 2- 'Winnings' | 'Aperture'

word count - 11.3k

The Ibiza sun hung golden in the sky, its reflection dancing across the rippling cerulean water as you followed Trent’s lead down a dock lined with luxury boats, the scent of salt thick in the air. Seagulls cawed in the distance, the occasional wave lapped against the wooden planks beneath your feet, and yet, somehow, the only thing you could focus on was him. Trent, clad in an effortlessly casual linen shirt—unbuttoned just enough to tease the smooth, golden stretch of his chest—turned back to you with that infuriatingly smug smirk. His sunglasses were pushed up on his head into his curls, the morning sun making his brown skin glow, and as he lifted his hand in invitation, you folded your arms and narrowed your eyes.

“You’re kidding, correct?” You laughed, glancing past him at the yacht floating in front of you like it belonged in a GQ spread. This wasn’t just food. 

“Was my morning plan,” he said, as if that justified everything. “The lads were too hungover, and I thought—who better to join me?” He took a long, confident step onto the ramp, barely even looking where he was going, completely fearless. Unbothered. You, on the other hand, were highly bothered.

“Literally… anyone else,” you replied, deadpan, crossing your arms tighter. “You don’t even know me.” Trent tilted his head, a faux expression of impatience playing on his face, like this back and forth was exhausting him.

“I’m trying to,” he said smoothly, extending his hand toward you. You stared at it. Not surprisingly, it was pretty like the rest of him. Soft and moisturized, pretty but strong, manly and far too tempting. You knew exactly what you were walking into. Knew this was a setup. Knew his mates' bailing was convenient. Knew this was just another move in his game, another step toward the outcome he really wanted—the one he almost got last night at the club. And yet… When you placed your hand in his, your whole body lit up in a way you couldn’t tell it not to. 

His grip was strong, warm, steady—wrapping around yours in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. You weren’t even thinking about your Alaïa bag, which was dangerously close to tipping into the water, because in truth, if you fell in, it wouldn’t matter. You’d go with it. You’d dive to the depths for that bag. And still—somehow—you knew, instinctively, that he wouldn’t let that happen. Because for the first time in a long time… You felt safe even as you willingly stepped into his temptation. The realization startled you, hitting you so suddenly that you almost stumbled as he guided you up the ramp and onto the deck of the yacht. But then—just as quickly as it came—the feeling disappeared. Because Trent let go.

And just like that, you crashed back down to earth. This was not about keeping you afloat. He was not some sturdy foundation to lean on. No—he was like this yacht. A passing ship. Glamorous, impressive, but fleeting. He was trying to prove a point. Trying to see if he could still get what he wanted. You turned to him, immediately on high alert, crossing your arms again as he watched you with an almost amused expression—like he could feel your inner battle.

“You’re so full of shit,” you muttered, but it lacked bite. Because he was still standing there, still looking at you with those unfair eyes, still making you feel things you should not be feeling. Trent just smirked again, clearly enjoying himself far too much.

“You say that a lot to someone you say you don’t know,” he murmured, stepping just a fraction closer, his voice dropping slightly. Your breath caught in your throat. Because fuck, he smelled good. That mix of sandalwood, clean linen, and something distinctly him and memorable that made you want to lean in instead of step away. But you wouldn’t. You couldn’t. So instead, you rolled your eyes and walked past him, pretending your heart wasn’t slamming against your ribs.You weren’t playing hard to get, it wasn’t that. You weren’t sure what you were doing, why you agreed to this. It felt like he was spinning hoops around you and you stood frozen, it was too many games all at once and you couldn't’ keep up, but you sure as hell would try. 

“Are we actually going anywhere,” you called over your shoulder, “or did you just bring me here to watch you admire yourself in the reflection, pretty boy?” You decided maybe knocking him down a peg would help you find your footing both in the game and on the boat. Trent let out a boy-ish laugh behind you. It was a jab but he’d also take the compliment. 

“Nah, we’re going somewhere,” he said, his voice carrying just a little too much promise. And for some reason… You weren’t sure if that excited or terrified you.

-

The deck of the yacht stretched wide and open beneath the Ibizan sun, the sea shimmering like crushed sapphires around you. A gentle breeze lifted the scent of salt and citrus into the air, lazily rustling the edge of your knit sweater as you reclined in your seat, the slow, rhythmic rock of the boat coaxing away the last remnants of your hangover. Across from you, Trent sat with effortless sprawl—one arm slung over the back of his chair, the other lazily picking at the fruit on your plate, his golden skin kissed by both the sun and the gods, glistening in a way that made it increasingly difficult to hold your ground. Unfair. You’d been in a conversation for a bit about this. About why you were here. And his responses had been nothing but sweet innocent replies. Safe, almost as if there was no game at all.  But you didn’t trust that. Not with someone like him. Still, this breakfast was far from cheesy and that made you all the more on edge.

“This is meant with no shade, I just don’t think we’re a good fit, that’s all,” you said, spearing a cube of cantaloupe with your fork, willing yourself to sound casual. “You don’t have to do all this.” You explained. Trent didn’t even blink. Instead, he casually reached over, plucked a piece of watermelon from your plate like it belonged to him, and popped it into his mouth. His bicep flexed as he stretched, the veins in his forearm standing out in sharp definition, they looked delicious, even more so than breakfast you two were having. The effortlessness at which he made your stomach flip, was pissing you off, he was attractive even when he was stealing your food. You hated how good he looked. Hated how even stealing your food was something that made your stomach tighten in frustration and—fuck—maybe something else. Hated how the juice of the watermelon on his lip had you wanting to lick it off. 

“Why not?” he asked, chewing like he hadn’t just knocked the wind out of you with his sheer existence. You exhaled, shaking your head. All of this inner turmoil though? It was just that. Inner, hidden behind your Miu Miu sunnies [ref index], inside of you was swirling in chaos but on the outside, you were poised, not even a waiver in your voice. Trent was adamant but he was grasping at straws. Last night, his plan of hook, ignore, and tease didn’t work, in fact in ended up with him getting off to the sheer thought of you in the shower and this morning's cheeky schoolboy act didn’t seem to land either and yet, you were still here. He could feel the tension between you two. It was palpable but he began to wonder if you felt it at all or if he was alone sitting on this yacht, sweating under the heat of the sun and the pressure of trying to impress a woman that looked like a dream and felt like a mirage he couldn’t lay a hand on.

“You’re just interested because there’s a chase,” you said, watching as he unabashedly went in for another piece of fruit, shoving his worries down, covering them with tarmac so thickly made of confidence even he’d believed they were gone. You swatted his fork away with your own before he could grab it, making him laugh in amused defeat. “But I’m not something I think I want you to catch.” Trent tilted his head slightly, eyes scanning your face with interest, like he was studying a puzzle. You’d just met but it felt like there was something here, you both knew it. Something that merited this conversation. You were trying to convince yourself that you didn’t want it because you felt like he was in it for bad reasons whereas he knew something was there and he was hoping he could hit it and quit it and get real emotions out of his system.  You sighed, feeling the weight of the conversation despite knowing it shouldn’t be this deep—you barely knew each other. But that was the problem, wasn’t it? It felt like there was something here. You both knew it. And that was dangerous. “You have a game plan,” you said simply, offering him a small, knowing smile. His brows furrowed, lips parting slightly in protest.

“Nah, I don’t.” He leaned forward, bracing his forearms against the table as he studied you, voice warm, casual. His gaze dipping to your cleavage unapologetically and back up. “I’m just enjoying this… right here.” The twinkle in his eye, that teasing charm, made you hesitate for a split second. You wanted to believe it. Maybe in another life, you would have. But you knew better.

“You’re enjoying the game,” you corrected with a smirk, eyes narrowing. “And you have an ideal outcome in your mind right now, don’t lie…” You looked at him and he exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking his head slightly, but there was no denying the flicker of amusement behind his eyes—the little glint of mischief that told you yes, he did. He had an outcome in mind and you did too but you couldn’t go there, that would hurt far too much. Waking up beside him only to watch his strong back walk out of the room, only to be seen on match of the day come autumn.  And you hated how pretty he looked at that moment. How that laugh, warm and unguarded, sent an unwanted flurry of butterflies through your stomach. It was breaking you down and you had no defense against him. Still, you smirked seeing the mischief behind that very twinkle he used to charm the front desk to get your room number. His eyes weren’t lit up with what you thought though. Well they were, but not with mal intent, because the lens Trent viewed you through at the minute was one of pure admiration. He thought you looked soft yet sexy and gently yet stern and he liked all of it. He liked the way the sun seemed to fall differently on you. A lot more than he understood. Your mouth worked faster than your brain when you spoke next, throwing out the first thing that popped into your head. “Your mind hasn’t thought about bending me over that railing?” you quipped, aiming for something cheeky, an out-of-pocket guess about why, exactly, he brought you here of all places. The moment the words left your mouth, his brows lifted, and his lips curled into the most infuriatingly smug smirk you’d ever seen.

“Well, yours has though, evidently…” he shot back smoothly, voice thick with satisfaction. Your breath hitched.‘Here she is,’ he thought to himself. Heat rushed to your cheeks, betrayal burning through your veins as an involuntary, flustered giggle slipped past your lips. Trent went completely still for a second. His heart clenched at the sound because seeing you, shy, with flushed cheeks followed by hearing that soft little laugh? He wasn’t prepared for it. He wasn’t prepared for the way it felt. But you were already shaking your head, collecting yourself, trying to recover.

“No…” you tried to deny, raising your finger towards him but your smile gave you away. “No. Hold on .I just understand you.” He raised a brow, intrigued because at the minute he didn’t recognize who this person sitting across from you was; this man had failed to bed a girl from the club, stayed up all night fixated on one, gone to a hotel and begged to be let upstairs and organized to eat breakfast all with a girl he’d only spoken a couple sentences to. But if he was honest with himself there were more than a few sentences said through the looks you shared. There were volumes that terrified him and it scared him that you might know that but he’d pretend for now.

“Do you?” He asked you as the dimples indented further in his cheeks and your heart. You leaned back in your chair, giving him a knowing look. 

“Yeah. A bit obvious, isn’t it?” You looked at him attempting to find a bit of cheek despite feeling like you were in a freefall. He waited patiently preparing to be read like a book, he could see it in your eyes that you knew. “You live in this very niche space of being like every single other boy your age, but you just get a little extra grace,” you mused. “A protective veneer over your life that lets you get away with it all.” Trent scoffed, shaking his head with a quiet chuckle, but he didn’t deny it. Because you weren’t wrong. And not for the first time, he wasn’t sure if he liked that you could see right through him. But he couldn’t stop the way it was feeling that you could see through it all. That you had noticed the film that made his life a little glossier than others and that it was just that, merely a shiny gloss. The air between you crackled with tension, thick and intoxicating, the sea breeze doing nothing to cool the heat building between you. The sun was high, casting golden light over Trent’s skin, making him look even more like trouble—delicious, undeniable trouble. The rhythmic sway of the yacht beneath you was nothing compared to the unsteady ground you suddenly felt like you were on. He exhaled, taking your bait. His eyes flickering up to you. 

“Alright, so I’ve thought about you like that,” he admitted smoothly, the words leaving his lips with an unbearable calm, as if he were merely stating a fact. His laugh softened as he held his hands up in faux innocence, but the cheeky smirk stretching his lips? That was anything but innocent. It was sharp, suggestive—designed to provoke. The second the words registered, your stomach twisted.

“Really?” You asked aloud. It fell out so quickly—too soft, too revealing. You practically wanted to shove it back in your mouth the second you heard it. Trent, of course, caught it instantly, his smirk twitching wider, his eyes burning with amusement. Maybe you weren’t as immune as you were leading on. He leaned in slightly, his gaze locked onto yours with a devastating mix of mischief and something else—something darker, heavier. You were both trying to navigate this in the ways you knew how but it was uncharted territory, they were pointless, useless maps.

“Hey, you got a very pretty smile…” he murmured, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “Wouldn’t hate seeing more of it.” Your lips parted slightly, stunned by how seamlessly he slipped from filthy implication to casual charm. It was so quick, so effortless, that it was almost impossible to believe it was genuine. Your eyes narrowed, suspicion creeping in. He could have complimented anything—your legs, your lips, your ass. But he picked something safe, something sweet. A ruse. It had to be. “You’re very funny,” he added, watching your face, waiting for your reaction.

“And that makes you want to bend me over a railing?” you fired back instantly, raising a brow. If he wanted to play, you could rally. Trent’s dimples deepened again, a boyish giggle escaping him before he could stop it. Fuck. That sound—it sent something twisting deep in your stomach. He liked this. In fact, he liked you. A lot.

“That was your vision, not mine,” he teased, raising his hand in mock accusation. You laughed despite yourself, shaking your head, but then—like a switch flipping—the air shifted. It was like someone had vacuumed all the oxygen off the deck. Trent leaned in, his voice dropping, his eyes locked onto yours, dark and molten. “But yeah…” His smirk faded, replaced with something far more dangerous. “I have thought about you bent over for me.” Your breath hitched. His fingers grazed the tabletop as he inched closer, his voice a whisper that seemed to wrap around your spine, setting fire to every nerve ending. “That ass wouldn’t be a bad view,” he continued, his eyes flicking down, then back up, slow and deliberate. “Grip that waist… watch you arch your back for me… turn your head, face me while I fuck you slow…” Your entire body ignited. “Watch those eyes shut… those lips pout…” His gaze flickered to your mouth, his own lips parting slightly as if he was picturing it right now, as if he needed to see it. “Be a good girl for me.” He whispered. Your breathing was uneven, your heart pounding so hard you swore he could hear it. His lips were inches from yours—too close, too tempting. Your own mouth parted slightly, as if on instinct, as if your body had already decided it wanted to meet him halfway, to close the distance, to erase the space between you. Tear your clothes off. Let him do everything he was describing. But then— A loud bell from another boat rang through the air, snapping reality back into focus. Your brain screamed at you, reminding you that this was Trent, the same boy as last night, that this was a game to him, that you weren’t supposed to be affected like this.

“Alright, alright,” you exhaled, turning your head away from him, breaking the spell, rolling your eyes for good measure as if you weren’t seconds away from losing yourself. Trent giggled. Soft. Amused. And it was alarmingly innocent given what he’d just been whispering to you across your breakfast.

“What?” he asked, feigning cluelessness, as if he hadn’t just described bending you over in vivid, devastating detail you desperately wanted to experience. 

“You’re very cheeky, Trent Alexander-Arnold,” you murmured, shaking your head, fighting the small smile threatening to form. Your eyes fluttered shut briefly, willing yourself to steady the pounding of your heart. And Trent—he was torn. Completely, helplessly torn. Between his two heads. And for the first time in his life, he genuinely didn’t know which one to listen to.

-

The afternoon sun stretched over the dock, casting long, flickering reflections onto the water’s surface as you and Trent made your way off of the yacht. The Mediterranean breeze was softer now, lazier, swirling the scent of salt and suncream around you.

“Well, thank you for coming to eat with me,” Trent mused, effortlessly slipping his hand into yours again to help you off, his fingers curling around yours with that same instinctual confidence. He acted like he was simply guiding you back onto solid ground, like it was nothing at all. But the second his skin touched yours, it wasn’t nothing. It was a slow, simmering burn. A low, humming electricity that sparked through both of you, making your breath hitch ever so slightly. You knew he felt it too—his fingers flexed against yours, holding on for a fraction longer than necessary before he let go. You took a steadying breath, glancing at him. 

“It would’ve been rude to decline.” A teasing smile played on your lips, but there was sincerity in your voice. “You also were in my room so I didn’t have a choice.” You told him eliciting a sweet laugh from Trent, a cross between embarrassment in his actions and pride that he achieved getting you here. “Thank you though. You’re full of it, but… I had a nice time.” His eyes flickered over your face, something unreadable flashing behind them before you turned away, stepping ahead of him down the dock. You needed space—space from the way his presence was making your head spin, from the heat still lingering where his hand had been, from the way your body reacted to him like he was something dangerous and irresistible all at once. Trent exhaled sharply, tilting his head back with a silent groan, eyes trailing down your figure as you walked ahead of him. You had just had him confessing to thinking about how he would’ve fucked you on the yacht, and now you were walking away like you were unphased. Meanwhile, he was an utter fucking mess. He’d had to adjust his shorts four times before you got back to shore. You caught his theatrics in the shimmering reflection of the water as he picked up his stride to match yours. But it didn’t make you feel the way it should’ve. It wasn’t an ick. Instead, it was terribly cute. You smiled to yourself as you felt him closing in before he was close behind you again, effortlessly sliding back into step like he belonged there.

“You lost a wager, by the way.” Your voice was light, but there was something weighted underneath it. You threw it over your shoulder turning back to him ever so slightly without stopping, knowing full well he’d take the bait. His eyes locked on yours in an instant and your stomach flipped. Trent’s smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, his eyes flicking to yours, and God, he was pretty.

“The thing about a wager…” he mused, his voice that velvety smoothness that made your stomach flip. “Someone needs to bet something on the outcome of an event.” He reminded you of the obvious definition. 

“Well, you did bet something.” You slowed your steps slightly, glancing at him. His eyes were locked onto you now, watching, waiting. You let the pause stretch just long enough to make him remember it, want it. “You bet if you kissed me—” Your sentence paused as you watched his smile grow, stretching into something devastatingly boyish, and that was the moment you realized— You had walked into a trap. A perfectly laid, expertly executed trap, and he hadn’t even set it. You had armed it yourself and stepped into it willingly. But instead of feeling cornered, instead of feeling like he was pressing you into another game—something else settled into your chest. Hurt. Like a cold splash of reality washing over the warmth of the afternoon. Like the sharp sting of remembering that you weren’t special—just another conquest. Was the yacht a standing reservation? Were there other girls before you who had sat in that same chair, watched him flex his arm while stealing their food, had flirted, had laughed, had been made to feel something? You swallowed.

“If I kissed you…” Trent’s voice was softer now. At first, there was that familiar hunger in his eyes, but then—hesitation. It was a rare moment of vulnerability, a break in his unwavering confidence. “You’d want more.” His words lingered between you, but this time, they didn’t carry the same cocky weight they had in the club. And he saw it. Saw the shift in you, the way you suddenly looked at him like you weren’t entirely sure if you wanted to keep playing. “Hey, it was dumb. I’m sorry.” His voice was quieter now, apologetic, but it wasn’t enough to bring you back down. He knew it, and it unsettled him. Like he had offended you in a way he couldn’t take back. A beat of silence. Then, in a desperate attempt to smooth it over, to salvage whatever this was, he tried, “You wanna hang for a bit?” He asked. There was something almost hopeful in the way he said it. And for a second, you almost did. But then you caught yourself.

“I have to go meet my friends,” you lied smoothly, shifting your weight on your feet, feigning casual disinterest. You hadn’t checked your phone since stepping onto the yacht. For all you knew, your friends were still passed out at the hotel, blissfully unaware of the push and pull that had unraveled between you and Trent. Trent’s jaw tightened slightly.

“You sure?” He smirked, attempting to pull you back into that easy playfulness, back into the flirtation, back into him. But you didn’t bite. And that was the moment he realized— Not only was he losing, but for the first time�� He wasn’t even sure if he knew what winning looked like. This wasn’t the game he thought it would be. This wasn’t just about getting you in bed. And that terrified him more than anything. He felt like he fucked up and at something he hadn’t even planned. A drunk ploy he planted before all this. Before, and he hated to say it, even in his mind, feelings arose. 

The afternoon sun hung low over the Ibiza marina, casting golden ripples over the lapping waves, as if the sea itself was eavesdropping on your goodbye. The air was thick with salt and something heavier—something unspoken. It pressed against your skin, settling in your lungs like an ache you weren’t ready to name.

“T…” The pet name slipped from your lips, soft and unguarded, and Trent felt it like a punch straight to the gut. How did you do that? How did you dismantle him with something so small? You had done it last night too—the wink that had been both vicious and delicious, the kind of fleeting moment that branded itself onto his memory like a scar. You were addicting and yet fatal. “This was fun, really,” you said, your voice careful, like you were setting down something fragile. “I get it, but I don’t think that’s what we are. I’m sorry.” It was the right thing to say, wasn’t it? The logical thing. And yet, the moment the words left your mouth, your chest tightened, because somehow it felt wrong. Like you were ruining something important. And it wasn’t the stupid game you thought you were in. Like you were cutting off air to something before it had the chance to breathe. Then for the first time, you reached for him. Your fingers brushed his arm, and Trent stiffened, his whole body lighting up as if you’d just set him on fire. A simple touch shouldn’t feel like that, not to people like him.

“How do you know what we are?” His voice was quieter when he finally spoke. His gaze searched yours, dark and unreadable. “You just met me.” He said earnestly. And when your eyes flicked up to his face, you were surprised to find there was no teasing smirk. He was serious. Deadly serious. Your stomach twisted.

“I can tell,” you murmured. “You said it on the boat.” His brows twitched, the smallest flicker of amusement flashing through his otherwise hardened expression. 

“It’s was a yacht.” That damn silky smirk returned—unintentional, effortless. Just him. And even now, even as you were trying to do the right thing, you couldn’t help but sigh at just how devastatingly beautiful he was.

“On the yacht,” you corrected yourself, softer now. His eyes never left yours, waiting. “You have an end game,” you said finally, willing yourself to believe it. “And I’m just not interested in that.” A blatant, fucking lie. Trent let the silence stretch, his expression unreadable. His head tilted slightly as his lips parted, and when he finally spoke, it was so quiet it nearly killed you.

“You’re not?” Trent asked you, his gaze narrowing on yours, his heart breaking in real time. Your breath stilled. His voice wasn’t cocky anymore. His eyes weren’t playful. His eyes began to pool into lethal puppy dog ones. They were locked onto yours with an intensity that had your pulse thrumming like a war drum. Waiting. Begging. Searching for the truth in you. And fuck, you hated how easy it was for him to see that it all was a lie, every word. Your lips parted, but you hesitated. He had a sliver of hope. 

“No…” You could barely get the word out. It was barely a whisper, shaky and uncertain. Trent inhaled sharply, his jaw tensing. But he knew he wasn’t out for the count yet.

“You don’t sound so sure.” He smirked and let his eyes cast down at the very reason he was so sure that you did want him. His gaze dropped—to your hand. You hadn’t even realized what you had done. Your fingers had slid from his forearm, down curling around his wrist, delicate and small against his skin. And then, as if someone had flipped a switch, you let go. The loss of your touch was immediate and brutal. Like stepping off a ledge. Like a gut punch neither of you had braced for.

“I don’t think you’re good for me,” you admitted, voice barely above a breath. You weren’t sure why you thought that other than assumptions you’d made. Still, it hurt to even say it because you weren’t convinced by your own words. Your eyes met his, pleading. Begging him to be strong here, to agree with you. To put whatever this was—this dangerous thing, dangerously deeper than you two were acting it was —to an end before it became too real. Trent exhaled through his nose, his lips pressing into a thin line. Then, in a voice so soft it sent chills down your spine.

“C’mon, let me see more of you.” he whispered, not just objecting to your silent plea but rejecting it. There was no playfulness in his tone. No teasing smirk. Just something raw. Something aching. Your head shook before you could even process it, your body rejecting the thought. You moved to step back, but Trent caught your wrist, his grip firm but not forceful. Slowly, his fingers slid over yours, guiding your palm into his until you let him hold it.

The world around you didn’t stop moving—the marina was still alive, boats bobbing gently in the waves, the distant sound of music and laughter spilling from nearby decks—but it felt like it had. Like the two of you were trapped in a pressure cooker of everything unsaid, everything you were too scared to admit. You swallowed, voice barely above the chaos of your own heartbeat. 

“I’ll see you.” You didn’t mean for it to sound so final. Trent’s chest deflated, his fingers loosening around yours before he finally let you slip away. And there you both stood. Two wounded soldiers from a war neither of you had signed up for. With feelings neither of you had anticipated. You tried for a sympathetic smile, but he didn’t even try to return it. He just stood there, eyes dark and unreadable, jaw clenched. Pissed. Not at you. At himself. At the circumstances.

Your words hung between you, fragile yet weighted, as if they could alter the course of something neither of you fully understood yet. You turned away before you could talk yourself into something reckless, into something you knew you weren’t ready for—but that didn’t mean you didn’t want it. The ground beneath your feet felt unsteady from the way your body was betraying you. Your mind was screaming at you to go, but everything else—the warmth still lingering on your wrist where he had held you, the echo of his voice in your head, the way his eyes had looked at you like you were it—was screaming stay.

And Trent? He was rooted in place, watching you go, jaw locked, chest rising and falling unevenly like he was trying to breathe through something he didn’t quite know how to name. You knew he was looking. You could feel it, his gaze a slow burn against your skin, trailing over your bare waist where the wind had lifted your sweater, the hem of your shorts where they rode up ever so slightly with each step, the curve of your as just peaking out.. Which he appreciated, your ass looked great but he wasn’t sure if the sight of it was drawing him closer or further away from himself. And you? it was supposed to make you feel powerful, make you feel in control, but instead, it made your stomach flip violently, because deep down, you knew it wasn’t just lust in his stare. He knew it too. There was a connection there, a chemistry that scared the shit out of both of you. It was more. And, you weren’t ready for more and he wasn’t either. You rolled your eyes with a sad giggle as you risked one last glance over your shoulder, biting your lip, trying to keep yourself from saying something that would make this harder than it already was. But Trent? He wasn’t going to let you go that easily. 

“If you ever want to collect your winnings on that wager…” His voice was smooth, teasing, but there was something underneath it. A quiet invitation. A desperate attempt at holding onto whatever was slipping through his fingers. And then he smiled. That smile. The one that had made your knees weak since you first saw it. The one that could level you in an instant. The one that, despite reality, made your heart stutter against your ribs sending you straight into a fantasy. And there on Marina Ibiza Trent lodged one last attempt and this time he hit you with an arrow straight through your heart. You looked down for a moment, exhaling sharply, half-expecting to see if you were bleeding from it. Because fuck, it felt near fatal, a kill shot, with precision only Trent Alexander-Arnold could execute. You swallowed hard, forcing your head back up, forcing yourself to meet his gaze one last time. And then, because you didn’t know what else to do, because you needed him to hear what you weren’t saying, you gave him the only thing you could.

“I’ll see you.” You wished it into the world. Like a promise. Like a prayer. Like an apology for the way you had let this play out. For letting this be bigger than it needed to be. And as you turned, disappearing into the buzz of the marina, you swore you could still feel him standing there, watching. Waiting.

-

The following day, a villa was bathed in summer light, filled with hungover English boys, the Ibizan sun beginning its slow descent, casting long, lazy shadows over the pristine pool deck. The air smelled of salt and sunscreen, mingling with the faint scent of charred meat from a long-finished lunch. It was the picture of relaxation—loungers occupied by sun kissed bodies, drinks sweating in the heat, the distant hum of music filtering from someone’s speaker. But Trent? Trent was a storm brewing in the middle of it all. He’d gone to dinner with the lads last night but turned in early, watched a movie he’d already seen three times only to forget the whole thing. He sat stiffly on the edge of a sun-warmed lounger, elbows on his knees, gaze unfocused behind his sunglasses, a half-melted drink sweating in his grip. His fingers flexed around the condensation-slick glass like it had personally wronged him. Everyone could feel it. The tension clung to him like the humidity, oppressive and inescapable, infecting the group who had been otherwise basking in the ease of their holiday. Trent could be a drama queen but even so, his friends and brother’s didn’t understand where the moodiness was coming from today. 

“Mate, what’s the deal?” Kieren’s voice cut through the air, thick with suspicion. He peered over at Trent from his reclined position, one hand lazily gripping a bottle of beer, the other shielding his eyes from the glare.

“Nothing, bro…” Trent shot back, way too fast, way too sharp. Kieren blinked. Alright then.

“Lad, Jesus…” Marcel muttered, shooting his older brother a look over his own drink. “You gotta relax, we’re on holiday. Have a drink, text a bird or something.” And that was it. That was the sentence that sent something inside Trent snapping. Because it hit him like a gut punch—he didn’t even have your number. He’d spent a whole night thinking about you, a whole morning with you, had practically had his hands on you, could still feel the ghost of your touch on his skin… and yet, you’d walked away. And he’d let you.  And what was worse? He cared… still. 

“Nah, fuck off.” His voice came out harsher than intended, and Marcel’s brows knit together in confusion, his grip tightening around his glass. Trent exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face like it might wipe away whatever this was. “I’m gonna go shower.” He stood abruptly, his movements sharp, impatient. “Do we have plans tonight?” he asked with speed, looking at the rest of the boys impatiently. The group hesitated, exchanging wary glances, feeling out the landmines in Trent’s mood.

“Uh… roughly,” his friend Leon answered cautiously. “Dinner and then deciding where to go after.” Trent nodded once, barely looking at them as his gaze flicked down to his untouched drink. He grabbed it aggressively, downing a large gulp, swallowing like the burn might put out whatever fire had ignited inside of him.

“Well, maybe we should think of a plan, yeah?” He said, voice tight. The air grew awkward, despite the warm breeze and the gentle lapping of water in the pool. Kieren’s eyes darted toward Marcel, lips parted slightly in something between confusion and amusement. Trent was notoriously a drama queen, they all knew that, so this would pass, no use in jokes, but there was a light reception to the moodiness. 

“Erm… alright,” Marcel replied slowly, watching his brother like he was some sort of unpredictable animal, despite knowing him far too well. “I think I heard that girl Foster talking about some place that’s supposed to be a good time.” Trent barely heard the rest of the sentence. Because the name Foster—those two fucking syllable—hit him like a brick to the chest. He knew that name. His brain lagged for a moment, sifting through hazy memories before it clicked. He’d never officially met her, but he knew she was friends with Campbell.  And he knew Campbell was with you. He’d seen Foster and Campbell together the other night in passing, the night he met you and now, just like that, the thread connected. If Foster was going there, then that meant you might be going too. 

“Yeah, sound. Let’s do that then,” Trent said feigning nonchalance before he downed the rest of his drink as he set his glass down with unnecessary force, the ice clinking violently against the glass. He turned on his heel before anyone could analyze the shift in his expression, disappearing into the villa. The moment he was gone, the tension broke like a spell. Kieren exhaled a low chuckle, shaking his head.

“What the fuck is that lad on about?” He looked at the other boys. Marcel smirked, glancing around at the group. 

“Dunno.” Leon murmured trying to hold back a laugh by taking a sip of his drink. 

“Okay, so… anyone actually have Foster’s number?” He chuckled and a chorus of laughter erupted, the boys all reaching for their phones, sinking back into their loungers, drinks in hand, easy and carefree. But inside the villa? Inside, Trent was a fucking wreck. Because this wasn’t just about a game anymore. And he had no idea what the hell to do about it. Why the hell did he care so much? 

-

London had been a canvas, and you had painted it with light and shadow, capturing moments in silvers and hues only your eye could translate. You had met Campbell there at university and became fast friends. Two girls in a city of endless movement, both searching for something—exposure, expression, perhaps a touch of destiny.

When you first met back then, she was a whisper of influence, a name on the cusp of becoming something bigger. And you? You were unseen behind the lens, the architect of angles, the sculptor of light. What began as casual portraits between lectures and late-night city strolls turned into something more—something that reshaped both of your trajectories. Her social media following exploded half way through school. Her following grew, and with it, so did yours. And in large part she accredited the sky rocketing of her career to you, always. She always said that behind every glossy campaign, every perfectly imperfect candid, was your eye, your instinct, your photography and art direction.

You had studied photography in a formal sense—earned a degree, doing digital and analogue, dissecting the mechanics of exposure and composition—but the truth was, your education had begun long before, and your love for it stemmed beyond classrooms. Your family's legacy was built in film canisters and meticulously framed archives. It was something that came naturally to you, something you excelled in, something you inherited. Your family’s heirlooms were letters from Cartier Bresson tucked away like relics. Leica cameras passed down like sacred texts. There was something in your blood, something inherited, an unteachable knowing of when to press the shutter and when to wait, when to let a moment breathe before capturing it forever.

When you and Campbell began to work together and harder, it spiraled fast. London had given you the stage, a hotbed for fashion… and football. And that’s where you found your sweet spot. 

Your first major solo break had been with Sports World Magazine, a foot in the door that swung wide open. Soon, your name was being passed around with quiet reverence. Brands sought you, influencers wanted your vision, companies were paying for you, and the footballers—well, they looked at you like something if they could get to you, it was as if they could add it to the Honours section on their wikipedias. From campaign shoots to something as simple as well-lit fit pics, you had carved out a niche, a space where fashion and football intertwined, and you stood at the center, capturing it all. You were the best kept secret to them, an exclusive if they could find a way to get you to do it, and when you arrived to shoot, your appearance was even more jaw dropping then the final edited files you had an agency email to them, with the only accreditation to your work being your business instagram handle and website. You were an enigma, unreachable yet coveted. 

But even in a city brimming with opportunity, home remained an abstract concept. And when Campbell decided to return north, back to her home city in Manchester, something in you shifted. Maybe it was the ever-present restlessness in your bones, the desire for a place that could anchor you amidst the whirlwind. Maybe it was just instinct, maybe it was just wanting to be with your best friend. And so, you let the north of England become your tether. 

Now, Ibiza was a different kind of escape—a gilded retreat where sun-drenched afternoons bled into moonlit indulgence. Today, your camera was in hand, lens fixed on Campbell, who moved effortlessly against a backdrop of cerulean waves and sleek yachts, modeling for the swimwear brand she had built from summer dreams and a lucrative following. She had an exclusive drop coming out soon, and only your eye would do it justice. But this wasn’t a work trip in the traditional sense. It was more of a shoot when the mood strikes, drink when the sun dips kind of affair. Brand paid dinners and an airline flying you all there in exchange for a few posts and photos. Easy. A blurred line between duty and pleasure, between art and indulgence; working with your best friends. And as the shutter clicked, the sea breeze tangled in your hair, and the taste of salt clung to your lips, you felt it— A moment. A fragment of something fleeting, something beautiful, something worth capturing.

-

You weren’t exactly as frustrated as Trent but you definitely weren’t fairing well. You’d gone out with the girls, had a laugh, but did a double take every time you thought you might’ve seen him. And seeping alone last night felt like a mistake. Like you’d messed something up, and missed out. Today the sun was ruthless, beating down in thick waves that shimmered off the sand, clinging to your skin like a second layer. The air smelled of suncream, warm bodies moving lazily under the weight of summer. Campbell posed effortlessly in front of you, the ocean stretching behind her, the horizon blurred by the midday heat. You adjusted your camera, the familiar weight grounding you, but there was a restlessness in your fingers, an urgency that had nothing to do with the shoot. Then—a ping. A disruption. Foster’s phone screen lit up where she stood, reflector in hand, angling the light just right onto Campbell. At least, she had been, before she glanced down and let it drop to her side. The sudden shift in light made Campbell groan, made you huff in frustration. Maybe you were on edge.

“Hold on!” Foster grinned, her eyes glinting as she read the name on her screen. Leon. The excitement in her voice was instant, infectious.  They didn’t know each other all that well but well enough to have each other's number. “A boy just asked me where we’re going tonight.”  The possibility there was any connection between Campbell’s texts with Trent no one knew about, Foster’s mystery man, and your morning date yesterday you hadn’t shared with anyone didn’t exist to any of you. 

“Ooooh, go on, Foxy!” Campbell cooed, a teasing lilt in her voice as she used the nickname that never failed to make you giggle.

“Where are we going tonight?” you mused, lowering the camera slightly, feeling the heat press heavier on your shoulders. “I need to, like…” You trailed off, struggling to name the feeling, the coiling thing in your chest. “Release,” you landed on finally, the word slipping out like an exhale. 

“Good. Because we’re going to Nikki and so is he.” Foster’s thumbs flew over her screen, another text coming through before she looked up, triumphant. The name sent a buzz through the group instantly. Nikki Beach. A favorite and a temple of indulgence, where the champagne flowed as freely as the ocean, where the beautiful and the reckless collided under the Ibizan sun.

“Oh my god, I forgot we had that booked!” Delaney yelped from where she sat behind you in the sand. A slow grin stretched across your face as relief rushed in, cooling the heat that had settled in your chest. 

“Thank god. I’m not joking. I need to clear my head.”  You explained to the girls. You needed to drown out the memory of dark eyes narrowing in disappointment, of a voice low and insistent against your skin. You needed loud music, cool drinks, the kind of night that left no room for thoughts of him. You didn’t catch it but Campbell’s eyes narrowed on you curiously. “Okay, okay,” you exhaled, shifting back into work mode. “We need a few more frames, one more roll of film, and then we need to get back. I have to look…” You hesitated, aware of how fast you were speaking, of how much you needed this night to wipe out the feeling still lingering on your skin.

“Sexy?” Delaney quipped, the grin evident in her voice. You shrugged, lips quirking, and before you could stop them—

“Oh my god! Just say you need to get fucked tonight,” Foster teased, her laugh sharp and wicked. Your jaw dropped in exaggerated shock, rolling your eyes as the laughter bubbled around you, the kind of laughter that belonged to best friends, to girls wrapped up in each other’s energy, in the freedom of youth and summer.

“Maybe she will,” Campbell smirked, something knowing in her tone, something you didn’t quite catch. But the truth was, no matter how much you wanted to let the night carry you away, to dance until your body was weightless, to let someone’s hands erase the memory of his— You weren’t sure anything could.

–

The night was alive before it even began. You felt it in the air, thick with perfume and promise, in the warmth of Ibiza’s breath against your skin, kissed golden by the sun and shimmering with oil. You were draped in white, a Mother of All mini dress, [ref index] the kind of dress designed to ruin men, with cutouts wicked enough to make the devil himself turn away. Every step you took was laced with purpose, your pink Louboutin heels clicking against the smooth stone as you and Campbell strolled into Nikki Beach, hands clasped, a silent oath to indulgence. Ahead of you, Delaney and Foster glided through the entrance, already buzzing from dinner’s cocktails, laughter sweet and sticky like sangria. The bass from the club throbbed beneath your feet, the distant hum of the waves competing with the music, the night slipping into something sinful. Campbell’s fingers tightened around yours, pulling you closer into her body. 

“So, are you going to pretend like you didn’t disappear yesterday?” She whispered in your ear not wanting the other girls to overhear and call you out, but she could’ve yelled and it would’ve been hard to hear her. You blinked at her, the lights above flashing like heat lightning, the question slicing through your haze of tequila and defiance. 

“What?” You asked earnestly. Her eyes narrowed knowingly. 

“Y/N, come on. I gave you a grace period. You ghosted the group chat for hours. And he asked for the hotel name…” That made you pause. You hadn’t even considered how Trent had found you. You’d just accepted it, like the sky was blue, like the sea met the shore. But now—now that Campbell had laid it out so plainly—why had he done that? But before your mind could wander too far, a stray strobe light flickered in your face, blinding, erasing the thought. You let it slip away, like so many other things you weren’t ready to face.

“If you’re asking if he charmed his way up to the room, yes.” Your lips curved into something unreadable. “If you’re asking if he charmed his way into my bed… no.” Campbell tilted her head, eyes flickering with something between amusement and concern. You smiled at her sympathetically. She was just being a good friend but you wanted to forget that he succeeded at one thing and failed at the other. 

“Y/N…”  She whispered your name, pleadingly, attempting to drag you back to talk to you more. She knew you didn’t trust people often, but knew just as well you also liked a party as much as the next person, and another person who liked a party just as much as you did was Trent. And it was clear to Campbell that something had happened far beyond some silly potential party hook up if you weren’t talking about it. She was a good friend, your best friend in fact, but you didn’t want good tonight. You wanted reckless. You wanted the kind of night that smothered overthinking, that buried lingering touches and dark-eyed glances beneath champagne bubbles and basslines.

“C’mon, let’s have a fun night…” you murmured, and she saw it in your eyes—the plea, the edge of something bruised. That you were a little rattled by Trent but you wanted to move forward and now wasn’t the time So she nodded, stepping into you, pulling you into an embrace as you stumbled into the open-air club together. And it was decadence.

The reserved daybed was already waiting for you, the kind of luxury that came as second nature in your world now. Champagne—pre-ordered, courtesy of a brand that had sent Campbell a dress. And then, inexplicably, the real treasure that made your eyes light up: four bottles of Don Julio 1942. Glasses already lined up you’d ignore, limes sliced, a ceramic pot of Sal de Ibiza Flor de Sal. You lifted a brow, exchanging looks with the girls.

“Genuinely no idea, but they said it’s definitely for us!” Foster announced with a grin, reading the unspoken question on your face. A shrug. A moment of hesitation. But no one was complaining. Not even you.

“Well,” you exhaled, fingers curling around the dark bottle’s neck. “It’s going to be one hell of a night now.” You giggled. Delaney grabbed another, laughter bubbling over. 

“You get a bottle! You get a bottle! You get a bottle!” she quipped, mimicking the infamous Oprah meme as she distributed the remaining tequila bottles to Foster and Campbell, a bottle per girl, a night destined for chaos and that’s exactly what you wanted. You placed a pinch of salt from the pot on the webbing between your thumb and forefinger and licked the salt off your hand, and as the other girls followed suit before you placed the bottle to your lips.  You let yourself be swept up in it—the weight of the bottle in your palm, the scrape of salt against your tongue, the smooth, slow burn of liquor as you tipped it straight to your lips. And as you took a shot straight from the bottle that’s when you saw him.

Out of the corner of your eye, a presence that cracked through the night, unmistakable even in the haze of strobes and smoke. Trent. Suddenly the generous tequila made perfect sense. Of course. He was seated, watching, half-lit by gold and blue, the glint of a chain around his neck catching the light as he observed you with an unreadable expression.

Something inside you sparked seeing him, igniting, tequila gasoline rushing to meet it and you couldn’t stop it. You lowered the bottle from your lips, the burn still fresh on your tongue, but your reaction wasn’t to wince at the liquor. It was to play. It was like an immediate hit of liquid courage. So you leaned forward, the weight of your gaze locked on his, deliberate and slow. You reached for a lime, bringing it to your lips, your lips wrapping around the citrus, biting down just enough, sensually sucking it. Your tongue flicked against the tartness as you pulled away, letting the juice linger on your lips until you licked over them sexily, letting him watch the whole show.

And Trent—oh, Trent—he took the bait, his lips twitching, his jaw tightening, something dark settling behind his eyes. This was not the plan tonight, he was not the plan but even just the eye contact felt so fucking good and he was still on the other side of the beach club. The tequila was warm in your veins. The bass was thrumming in your ribs. And he was ever present in your mind.

-

Trent watched you with the kind of hunger that was more than desire—it was dangerous. A slow-burning need that curled in his chest, one he knew better than to indulge, but tonight, restraint wasn’t in his vocabulary. His fingers tightened around the heavy crystal tumbler, the añejo swirling like liquid gold, mirroring the color of his own gaze. Smooth. Intoxicating. And right now, filled with longing that burned deeper than the liquor sliding down his throat.  He craved being close enough to touch, but the shimmering pool between your sections of the club felt like an ocean. A cruel, deliberate distance. He wanted to close it. He didn’t want to be Trent Alexander-Arnold. He wanted to be Don Julio. He wanted to be the tequila you caressed with your lips, the bottle you gripped with that teasing little hold, wanted to feel himself slip down your throat as you swallowed the fire. You had him in a trance, mesmerized. But a sharp clap on his shoulder broke the spell.

“Trentski, who’s got you drooling?” Kieran’s voice was all mischief, dragging Trent back to the present, but not enough to shake his fixation. Marcel, catching the shift in energy, leaned in, following the trail of Trent’s gaze. And there you were—moonlit and magnetic, reclined on the daybed, body stretched in effortless elegance, with a slight arch to your back, creating a shape that had Trent locked in. Strobe lights licked over your exposed skin, turning you into something celestial. You were laughing with your friends, head tipped back, fingers brushing your hair behind your shoulder before you grabbed the bottle again, bringing it back to your lips like a lover. Marcel let out a low whistle, eyebrows raised in admiration and understanding

“Oof wow merited.” Kieren exhaled a puff of air in admiration. Trent barely heard them, his mind looping back to yesterday.

“I took her to breakfast,” he muttered, words heavy with meaning. The reaction was instant—both boys snapped their attention from you to him, eyes sharp with curiosity and confusion. 

“What?! You slept with her?” Marcel’s question carried more disbelief than judgment. Kieran just waited, wide-eyed, for the answer, impatient, eager. They’d been with him for days so they were a little confused when he might’ve snuck off to do such a thing. Trent’s jaw tightened, his grip flexing around the glass. 

“Nah,” he admitted, before his lips curled into something sharper, more certain.Trent’s eyes narrowed in on you like a target. Maybe it was being surrounded by other boys but his weakness to you hardened into the person he was before he met you desperately trying to cling to that. “I’m gonna though.” It was a bold claim, one that should have tasted like every other conquest, but it didn’t. It sat heavier, like something unspoken lay beneath it, like his body was saying one thing but his heart was playing a different game entirely. He didn’t even look at them. Didn’t care for their reaction. His focus was trained solely on you—on the way the tequila in your bottle, the bottle he gave you, was draining, the way your cheeky glances acknowledged him but never indulged, the way you carried yourself as though the whole damn club was orbiting around you. 

He wanted to call it a game. Wanted to believe he could play it. After all, precision was his craft—every pass calculated, every cross designed for the perfect assist. That’s what this was supposed to be. And he was going to set this up just the same, lethal execution and game winning. Every word and touch to be precise, delivered with weight and purpose just like the perfect assist. 

But as the minutes slipped by, you stood, looking even better beneath the club lights, he realized there was no one on the receiving end of this assist. You weren’t moving toward him. You were an anomaly, a masterpiece of contradictions—untouchable yet inviting, intoxicating yet in control. And while he talked a good game to his friend and brother, it was clear you were not a game to win. His usual tactics weren’t going to work. And, in a strange new sensation he kept feeling, he liked that they didn’t work on you. So, for the first time in longer than he cared to admit, he made a choice. A deviation from the script. He was going to chase. 

And as if fate itself was offering him an opening, you bent over to grab your purse, and Trent felt all the blood in him rush somewhere south and every ounce of restraint left in him snap.

“Fucking hell.” He murmured to himself, imagining all the ways he wanted to touch that body across the pool. His fingers twitched against his knee, his body coiling tight. He didn’t just want a night—he wanted you. 

“Hmm?” Marcel turned to him not hearing what he said. Trent’s brow furrowed and waved him off. When you stood, your eyes found his. You told the girls you were popping to the loo but you also wanted to see where his eyes were. And there were exactly where you wanted them, on you. Maybe he was deviating from his normal approach but that didn’t mean his personality, charm and cheek were going anywhere.  His lips curved into something dangerous. Slowly, he tilted his head, nodding toward the dimly lit hallway leading to the toilets. A silent invitation, a command wrapped in a challenge. For a half second, you just stared, unreadable, unreadable, unreadable—until the tequila, the heat in your belly, and the way that fucking smirk of his made your stomach tighten all conspired against you. Your lips curled, a soft roll of your eyes before you gave in. Trent’s smirk deepened. He winked. And then he stood.

-

You hesitated, letting him go first. You needed to see if he meant it, if this was real, if he would wait. And he did. The corridor stretched before you, bathed in the dim glow of ornate lanterns casting golden halos against the walls. The music thumped faintly in the background, muted by distance, but your pulse pounded louder. The air here was warmer, thicker, laced with anticipation. Maybe it was the tequila, maybe it was the way Trent stood there, back against the wall, waiting—for you. Your heels clicked softly against the polished floor as you approached, but the sound barely registered over the thrumming heat coursing through your body. The low light kissed the sharp edges of his jawline, the smooth curves of his full lips, and the deliberate way he pushed off the wall as you neared. His smirk landed first, hot and knowing. Trouble.

“You look too good tonight to be that far away from me.” His voice dripped in confidence, in control, but there was something else—something deeper. Your breath hitched. The temperature had climbed ten degrees, but the burn wasn’t from the liquor. A part of you wanted to roll your eyes and ask ‘then why wasn’t he bold enough to come over to you’, and yet a part of you preferred this. That he didn’t try to charm your friends in an effort to get to you. Instead, he got you alone. And once again, you found yourself terrified not of him, but of yourself and yet equal parts excited. 

“Still trying?” you teased, mirroring his smirk, leaning a shoulder against the wall near the restroom doors to steady yourself, to keep from sinking into the gravitational pull of him. His eyes gleamed under the amber glow. 

“Still trying…” His tongue darted out to wet his lips, his smirk tilting playfully. “No other girls tonight.” The mention of your initial rejection at the club made your stomach flip. You bit your lip, letting your lashes flutter shut for a second, fighting back a giggle. Damn tequila, loosening your restraint.

“Until I say no…” you mused, raising a brow, daring him. Trent chuckled lowly, stepping in just an inch closer, enough for the heat of him to lick at your skin. 

“Ah, see, you saying no already?” His voice was velvet and smoke, smug because he knew. He knew you had followed him down this hallway. He hadn’t needed to touch you, hadn’t needed to call your name. Just a flick of his head and you were here. “You came though.” He raised his brows knowingly. You shook your head, trying—trying—to ground yourself. 

“Just came to say thanks for the tequila,” you countered sweetly, though the smile on your lips betrayed you. It was beaming, flirty, cheeky, and yet all at the same time testing and taunting saying ‘try something, I dare you.’ His eyes narrowed, scanning yours, reading between the lines of your words. But before he could reply, his gaze flicked past you, when two girls stumbled into the hall, giggling as they drunkenly pushed into one of the open doors before disappearing as fast as they appeared. You turned to look over your shoulder, a momentary opening, then, in that moment where your focus lapsed, you felt him. A hand, low, ghosting over your waist. A single, effortless touch that sent a wildfire through your bloodstream. You exhaled sharply. His fingers flexed slightly, pressing just enough to feel the curve of you beneath them. A hand, low on your waist. Light at first, just a whisper of heat. But it sent a shockwave through your body, a dizzying, pulse-quickening spark that made your breath hitch. You turned your face back to face him slowly and as you did, his grip tightened, slipping lower—over your hip, around to the small of your back, settling just above the swell of your ass. Your lips parted instinctively. As your skin burned.

“C’mon…” His voice dropped, a sultry rasp, barely above a whisper, but it slithered down your spine like sin. “At least play with me a little, baby.” His voice dropped, a voice wrapped in honey, thick with something unspoken, something dark and aching. You actively left him the other day because of the idea of a game but now you wanted to play and he saw it in your eyes and he felt it in your body too.

Your body betrayed you. You shifted, arching, pressing into his touch instead of pulling away. His smirk deepened. He knew. The smug glint in his eyes told you he noticed. He always noticed when someone wanted him. And he was right, you did. And then—he moved. He had you like your king was in check in a game of chess. Both hands firm on your hips, and in swift sexy movements, he turned you gently, pressing you back against the wall—not rough, no. He wasn’t forcing anything. He was coaxing. Using nothing but the weight of his body, the slow drag of his breath against your skin, the burn of his touch, to make you melt, a silent claim that left your breath uneven. Deliberate.

“I don’t want to play with you…” You whispered, the words rolling off your tongue like a lie wrapped in silk followed by a cheeky smile. His eyes narrowed and hummed, a low, knowing sound, his breath fanning over your lips.  It was a purr that sent shivers through your body and a pulse to your core.  His eyes dragged over you— flickering to your lips, to the rise and fall of your chest, then lower, tracing the exposed skin between the cut-outs of your dress like a man savoring every inch before indulging. He didn’t miss the way your thighs squeezed together as if your body was trying to temper the growing ache. It was in that moment, when you couldn’t use words to get out of this. Your body was saying yes blatantly under his gaze, so you caved and reached for him. Your fingers curled around his jaw, thumb brushing over the sharp edge of his cheekbone. His skin was warm, taut beneath your touch, his breathing slow but deep. Your lips parted. And just as you went to close the space, to pull him in, ready to close the final sliver of space between you, he moved—rolling effortlessly to your side. Confusion flashed for a split second before realization hit. His hands stayed on you, guiding you as he pressed his back against the door beside you pushing it inwards. It swung open with ease, and before you could process, he was pulling you in after him, the dimly lit bathroom swallowing you both whole.  It wasn't a forceful pull. It was firm but gentle enough to give you the option to pull away if you didn’t want to follow, but you didn’t want that. You let him take you in.

•

Thank you for reading! Welcome to my new fic 'Aperture' I really hope you enjoy this chapter and look forward to what's ahead!

Please like, comment, or message what you think!!!

Next part - Chapter 3 - See You

📷 🪩 💄 🤍 🎞️ 🎱🍸 💷

[desperate-gay]

Hey could you maybe write something about a Love story proposal??? You could write it for Leah,Steph or Frida Maanum. Reader and player are at the eras tour and reader gets a proposal

I really need a story like that cause love story proposals are all over my Tik tok

Baby Just Say Yes

Steph Catley x fem!reader

summary: 7 is going to be your lucky number til death does you part

“Stephy hurry we’re gonna be late!” You yell out to the Australian while adjusting the sash that hangs its way over your body.

You and Steph decided to dress as Miss Americana & The Heartbreak Prince, her wearing a crown and a button-up with little broken hearts drawn on her skin as you wear a tiara and a dress with the iconic sash around you.

Steph surprised you with eras tickets on your anniversary knowing just how much you love Taylor Swift. You were ecstatic and still are now, pinching yourself to make sure you’re not dreaming. You’ve won many trophies but seeing your favorite singer and celebrity in concert is surreal, especially because of the harsh demand for her tickets.

“Okay, I’m ready.”

You turn around and see her pink button-up shirt with a white crop top under it. You reach out, grabbing both sides of her collar, and pull her in, her hands resting on your hips as you both stare at each other with loving smiles. Pulling her in by her shirt, you press your lips to her soft ones for an affectionate kiss. Neither of you wanting to pull away, the kiss lasts longer than expected, making the time fly past the both of you.

“We really need to go.” You whisper against her but she just hums and leans right back in, letting you melt right back into her. “No, no no no no. We’ve gotta go or it’s going to be even more of a pain getting in.” You finally move away so you’re not tempted to get pulled in again.

Your hand grabs hers, dragging her groaning figure out the door much to her dismay, and begin to make your way over to the car. Double checking you have everything, you go to open your door but quickly get pushed aside by the girl.

“There you go, my love.” She opens the car door chivalrously as if she didn’t just shove you completely to do it. You shake your head with laughter, accepting her hand to help you sit down.

“Ever the gentlewoman.”

—

“Have you ever thought just maybe, you belong with me!” You and Steph sing to each other, hips swaying with the beat of the song, enjoying every minute of the concert so far.

Lover has already passed so now it’s Fearless, one of your absolute favorite eras. Distracted by having such a good time, you haven’t noticed the slight change in Steph’s demeanor, her being more tense than usual.

The box sitting in her pocket makes her thoughts swirl and her hands sweat. You’re the love of her life and she’s sure of it, but what if you suddenly feel like she’s not yours? You have constantly assured her that there is no one else for you than her, but maybe you’ve changed your mind suddenly. What if you don’t want to marry her?

Multiple different outcomes run through her head but seeing you smile at her, singing Love Story, all those negative thoughts disappear.

The big verse starts to approach as she reaches into her pocket to pull out the velvet box, getting down on one knee while you’re distracted singing along and looking at the platform. You turn over to sing the verse to her but when you do, there isn’t anyone. Quickly moving your head, you see your girlfriend with a ring out and a bright grin on her face. Your hand slaps onto your mouth and you kneel down next to the Australian, tears slipping down your cheeks.

Over the loud music, Steph makes a little speech, “Fearless is your favorite era and I thought there was no better way to do this than right now. I have seen the multiple proposals you’ve saved on TikTok, so I wanted to make ours one of them. Sure there are thousands of people in this stadium with us but it feels like it’s just me and you. So what do you say, marry me, Juliet?”

You quickly nod your head and extend your hand for the girl to slip the ring on. Steph hugs you while pulling you both up to stand and sway to the music. The crowd around you cheers in celebration, some most likely recording the interaction which will soon be put across the internet, seeing that two famous footballers just got engaged at one of the most selling tours ever.

Steph steps back, digging something out of her other pocket, causing your face to scrunch up in confusion. She grabs your sash and opens a red marker, crossing out the Miss and changing it to Mrs.

“Now it makes sense.” She shrugs, putting the marker away and bringing you in for a loving kiss.

The rest of the concert is filled with you two dancing, singing, kissing, and embracing each other in the moment. A few hours ago you were excited about going to a concert and now you’re even more excited to marry the love of your life. 13 is Taylor’s lucky number, 7 is yours.

[yourgoldennotebook]

@taylortruther broke my brain a little with hoax analysis, and it got me thinking of how sweet nothing reminds me a lot of lavender haze in that both of those songs, in retrospect, reframe drastic switches in originally stated plans/intentions and romanticise it.

taylor’s always sung about a desire for marriage: from mary’s song (debut), “take me back to the time when we walked down the aisle / our whole town came and our mamas cried / you said, ‘i do,’ and i did too” to love story (fearless), “he knelt to the ground and pulled out a ring, and said / ‘marry me, juliet, you’ll never have to be alone, i love you and that’s all i really know / i talked to your dad, go pick out a white dress / it’s a love story, baby, just say ‘yes’” to speak now the whole damn song to starlight (red), “we could get married, have ten kids and teach ’em how to dream” to how you get the girl (1989), “i want you for worse or for better” to lover’s (title song) bridge’s mimicry of wedding vows to paper rings’ thesis to it’s nice to have a friend (lover), “church bells ring, carry me home / rice on the ground, looks like snow”. only to drop midnights with lavender haze as the first single, the start to the album; an album that bargains a LOT with her discography (and herself). and that doesn’t make lavender haze a lie, necessarily... but it does make it an immensely thought-provoking narrative to switch to.

sweet nothing’s not that different! it was all over fearless (2008) from that initial, youthful romanticism of fearless (title song), “you know i wanna ask you to dance right there / in the middle of the parking lot”, to the spectacular dramatism of love story’s entire genesis/lyric-story, to the cheeky flamboyance of hey stephen and you belong with me. she’s known that she wants fireworks & grand gestures. actions & proof! she missed “screamin’ and fightin’ and kissin’ in the rain” and being “so in love that you act insane”. she herself loves in huge ways, and to cite examples for that would be to quote most of her discography. and she cares about the showing up – that’s why she wrote the moment i knew (red). and that narrative started to morph a little when she met joe; she said as much in miss americana, “i was falling in love with someone who had a wonderfully normal, balanced life. we decided together we wanted our relationship to be private. i was happy. but i wasn’t happy in the way i was trained to be happy. it was happiness without anyone else’s input.” their new beginnings weren’t secret to her, they were sacred. and then she sang, “we still worship this love / even if it’s a false god” and called their love “faithless” in hoax. she took over the role of being the fire to keep his brittle heart warm. she took ownership of being “the liquor in [their] cocktails”. she took the dreaminess & fated-soulmateism of invisible strong (folklore) and made it mastermind (midnights) — which everyone joked about at that time, but now hurts to think about.

there is a pipeline from “all that you ever wanted from me was... nothing” to “and i’m fadin’, thinkin’ 'do something, babe, risk something, babe, say something / 'lose something, babe, risk something / choose something, babe, i got nothing' / 'to believe, unless you’re choosing me” that makes my tummy hurt. how long could they be a sad song? (hoax. the sad song is hoax.)

[lovelyladyabsinthewrites]

Bat Boys with Bat Babies HC

Warnings: polyamorous mates, nothing else really, batboys being mushy with the bat triplets, ft amren & mor, i know i have two more requests to get done from last month but the bat boys are my comfort mates rn

honestly you hardly get any time with your babies besides breast feeding. the bat boys were smitten and abducted your babies from their cots

already wrapped around the triplets' little fingers

Rhysand loves toting his pack of children wherever he went. two would be on his shoulders while he held one in his arms

in both velaris and the hewn city, everyone calls Rian the crown prince despite Dagen technically the first born. (as babies no one is for sure of who belonged to which father but as they get older it's easy to tell. rian has the prettiest eyes; dagen has whisps of shadows on his wings that make them look fluffly, and baila had the general's rambunctiousness)

also as a toddler, baila made it a habit to greet everyone by headbutting their shins like a goat 😂

you nor your mates or the rest of the inner circle care about paternity. in your mixed family it didn't matter.

though succession would be something to talk about when the kids got older

cassian is definitely the fun dad. rough houses with all three bat babies.

azriel plays shadow tag and hide & seek with them. his shadows make for good alarms at night as they monitor the nursery while you caught up on much needed sleep

bat babies LOVE mor. amren kinda scares dagen and rian but not baila.

"this one is fearless" amren would comment then add with a smirk "i like it."

an even bigger bed is required for all seven of you to properly snuggle

when the babies start to experiment with their wings and flap them rhysand damn near cries. its a big step for illyrian babies when they begin to utilize their wings and strengthen them. (rian like rhysand can summon his wings at will)

az tells them stories using his shadows to make images for them (when their eyes start to track, they're mesmerized)

while there are no favorites, baila is more spoiled than her brothers. she was the only female afterall and the most charming. baila had cass' personality with your appearance. cass jokes that she'll be ruling the court of nightmares in no time lol

however, she's the one who likes to stay by your side the most. complete mommy's girl and it breaks her daddys' hearts 😂. always cries when they try to take her away from you.

kids like napping in rhys' office. often times dagen is curled up against his chest as he goes through paperwork. rian and baila in the cot that he moved to his office.

when they learn how to walk, they follow rhys everywhere (or try to)

pls send me more bat boy hc. they give me life