#it’s cemented into her being that she is

[vanteguccir]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤSLEEP PARALYSIS * CHRIS STURNIOLO

SUMMARY　::　Where Chris has another night disturbed by sleep paralysis, but Y/N is there to pull him back to reality.

FEATURING　Chris Sturniolo x reader　REQUESTED?　yes.

WARNINGS　::　sleep paralysis and night terror.

AUTHOR'S NOTE　::　that is my work, I DON'T authorize any form of plagiarism; copy, "inspiration" or translation! | english isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

Chris’s body jolted awake with a sharp inhale, the sound caught somewhere between a gasp and a shaky sniffle. His hand darted out automatically, like muscle memory, to the space beside him. It wasn’t even a thought, just an instinct to feel her there. His fingers swept across cold sheets instead.

The other side of the bed was empty.

His brows pulled together immediately, eyes still shut, but the ache behind them was there. His knuckles turned white as he curled his hands into fists and pressed them against his face, scrubbing at the soreness behind his eyes.

Eventually, he forced his lids open, confirming what he already knew. Y/N wasn’t there.

A soft exhaled huff left his lips, feeling disappointment.

The room was dimly lit - one of Y/N’s obsessive habits, keeping string lights glowing low overnight. The golden fairy lights were draped over the edge of the headboard, casting a faint halo across the bed and the hardwood floors.

Normally, Chris would find that annoying. But now? It was her. It was all her.

And he needed her.

Because the stinging behind his eyes wasn’t just from rubbing them too hard. The puffiness was still there. Residual fear tangled in the memory of what had dragged him out of sleep hours ago.

His chest gave a tight little hitch as the memory swam back uninvited.

The feeling of being locked in his own body, frozen, entirely aware of everything around him. The shadows in the corners. The weight on his chest. The inability to move. The dread crawling up his spine like insects under his skin.

He swallowed thickly.

But the worst part wasn’t the monster. It was the aloneness. That helpless panic of knowing you were awake and trapped and screaming inside with no way out.

Until her voice.

#. flashback

The clock read 3:07 AM when it started. Chris didn’t see the numbers, but somehow, he knew.

It was always at 3 AM.

The room was silent, drenched in that stillness that only happens in the dead of night.

He thought he was awake.

That’s always how it started.

His brain whispered, you’re awake. But his body? It said otherwise.

He tried to roll over, to shift closer to Y/N’s warmth, but his limbs stayed frozen, stiff and heavy like they were cemented into the mattress. His chest rose and fell in short, sharp breaths, and even that felt forced, like someone else was commanding his body.

His eyes fluttered open just barely. Just enough.

And that’s when he knew.

It wasn’t a dream.

It was the other thing.

The thing that happened once every few months and left him wrecked for days.

Sleep paralysis.

Instant dread slid through his spine like ice water.

He couldn’t move.

Couldn’t scream.

Couldn’t blink fully.

The bedroom around him looked weird. Familiar, but off. The fairy lights Y/N had left on were still glowing faintly, but they cast long, weird shadows against the walls. Everything looked taller, darker, like the corners had grown teeth.

There was a presence. He felt it before he saw it.

At first, it was in the corner, like something half-there. Then it shifted. The shadow grew arms. Legs. A body. Eyes.

It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real. But his brain didn’t care.

The figure moved slow. Closer.

Chris wanted to scream for Y/N. He tried. He swore he did, but nothing came out. His throat was tight, locked. Panic exploded in his chest like fireworks.

His heart was slamming, but his body still wouldn’t respond.

His gaze flicked helplessly toward Y/N. She was curled on her side, facing away, oblivious.

Help me. Please, help me.

He thought the words, tried to push them into the air, but all that came was silence.

The figure stood now, just at the foot of the bed. Watching him.

Chris’s eyes watered on instinct. He could feel the tears spilling slowly toward his ears, warm and slow. His lashes stuck together. His cheeks tingled. And all he could do was lay there.

His breathing turned shallow and rapid. His stomach clenched in a cold panic as the figure leaned closer. The air grew thick, like breathing through wool.

He wanted to die. Or wake up. Or anything.

Wake up.

WAKE UP.

Then, a sound.

So faint. But real.

"Chris?"

It was her.

A flicker of warmth sparked somewhere deep in his chest.

"Babe?"

She sounded sleepy. Groggy. But alert, concern already dripping on her words.

He couldn’t respond.

He begged his body.

Move. Move, move, MOVE.

But it didn’t listen.

Y/N stirred and rolled over. Her hand brushed his forearm, but she stopped immediately.

He was stiff. Breath erratic. Trembling, but completely still.

Her instincts kicked in like lightning. She sat up fast, blinking into the half-dark. Her eyes landed on him, face expressionless, body locked, lips parted just slightly like he was trying to speak but couldn’t. His eyes were wide open, lids twitching like a nightmare on replay.

"Chris." She whispered, voice already breaking. "You’re stuck, aren’t you?"

She touched his cheek. His skin was burning.

Without hesitation, she leaned down, fingers threading through his damp curls.

"Baby. It’s okay. I’m here. I’m right here."

She kissed his temple gently, slowly whispering between each one.

"Come back to me. Right now, okay? You’re safe. It’s not real."

Her thumb rubbed soft circles into the side of his jaw full of stubble.

"You’re okay. You’re okay. I’ve got you."

And it was that touch, her voice in his ear, her hand on his face, the smell of her hoodie pressed against him, that cracked the shell.

He gasped so hard it scared her, shooting upright in bed like he’d just been pulled out of drowning. His sobs came before he could even register them, big, ugly ones that he tried to swallow back but couldn't, throat feeling like being chocked.

She cradled his face instantly, sitting cross-legged and pulling him into her lap like he weighed nothing.

"I got you. I got you." She whispered again and again, like the words could build a fortress.

He buried his face in her neck, shoulders shaking, fingers bunching the back of her hoodie in tight fists like a scared kid. She swayed them gently, rocking ever so slightly, humming something soft and tuneless into his ear.

"I’m sorry." He choked eventually. "It was so bad this time. It was right there. I thought- fuck- I thought it was gonna kill me."

"Shhh." She cooed, cupping the back of his head. "No more thinking. It’s gone. You’re here. You’re with me."

Chris exhaled against her skin like he was finally letting go.

She didn’t ask questions, didn’t try to fix anything. She just held him like it was her only job in the world.

Now, the bed felt empty in every sense of the word.

Chris bit the inside of his cheek and swung his legs off the mattress, planting his feet on the floor. It was still stupid early, the house silent, but he couldn’t lie there alone any longer.

He stood up slowly, the cold air instantly wrapping around his skin, and grabbed the hoodie draped over Y/N’s side of the bed.

Hers.

It smelled like vanilla and cinnamon and something vaguely coconut. He tugged it on. Way too different than his. Didn’t care.

Chris moved to the door.

He wasn’t walking so much as he was gliding. Floating. But not in a cool way. More like his soul hadn't fully synced back into his body, and everything felt a second too slow. His limbs dragged behind the beat of his brain. He blinked slowly, eyes burning like he hadn’t actually slept - because, well, he hadn’t.

Not really.

Sleep paralysis didn’t count. That wasn’t sleep. That was survival.

The hallway outside their bedroom was bathed in faint natural light from upstairs. Chris padded quietly through it, passing the little gallery wall Y/N had insisted on hanging close to the stairs, pics of them at Disney, blurry Polaroids of their family, a goofy drawing of Chris that she’d doodled and stuck in a frame.

He’d complained, of course. But every time he walked past it, he smiled.

His - her - hoodie sleeves were stretched over his hands, his socked feet scuffed softly on the cold stairs as he moved up like a ghost into the kitchen.

Everything was too bright. Too loud. The hum of the TV turned on was a knife in his ear.

But somewhere through the noise, he heard it.

Y/N’s laugh.

Like a thread pulling him through the fog.

He didn’t register anything else. Not the smell of breakfast, not the clatter of a pan, not even Matt mid-rant about something he didn't care to understand.

No.

He was moving like a moth drawn to a light.

Her. His light.

He reached her and didn’t say a word. Just... collapsed.

"Eugh- oh!"

Y/N jerked slightly when the full weight of her boyfriend crashed into her body. He dropped his head into the curve of her neck like it was a pillow made for him and let out the heaviest exhale in the history of breathing.

"Oh hi." She said gently, instantly reading the energy. "You okay?" She whispered, already knowing the answer but needing to ask anyway.

Chris shook his head, and her arms moved automatically. Her hand lifted instinctively, burying into his mess of curls like second nature. Fingertips dug softly into his scalp in slow, practiced motions. Like she knew exactly where to press, how to scratch without irritating the skin, how to soothe without even speaking.

Chris let out another breath. This one almost sounded like a sigh of relief. Like someone had finally hit the mute button on his brain.

He didn’t even bother opening his eyes, and the chatter in the kitchen went on.

Matt was still talking, flipping pancakes and acting like Chris hadn't just entered the room looking like a dead men.

Y/N swayed them slightly side to side, a motion so subtle it could’ve been mistaken for breathing, but it wasn’t. She was rocking him.

Chris let himself melt.

There was nothing in his mind now but the smell of her vanilla body wash and the warm press of her cheek against his hoodie.

And then, he felt it.

Tap. Tap-tap. Tap. Pause. Tap-tap-tap. Tap.

His lips curled into a small smile that barely made it out.

She was doing it again.

Tapping the words on his back with her fingers, the same thing she used to do the first few months of dating when they’d lie in bed and she’d say 'Okay, guess what I’m saying', like it was a game. She’d tap the syllables on his back using some random rhythm that was loosely inspired by morse code.

And he always knew the ending.

Always.

I love you.

She always ended with that.

So Chris whispered it before she could tap the last part. His voice cracked slightly, still rasped from sleep and silence.

"I love you too." He mumbled against her shoulder, his chin still tucked in tight, jaw moving softly against her skin, stubble tickling exposed flesh.

Y/N kissed the top of his ear like it was a thank-you note, her lips lingering.

Matt was still cooking like none of this was happening.

"Anyway, I told him, Nick, if you drink the last apple cider, just say that. Don’t gaslight me into thinking I imagined it, like I don’t have eyes-"

Chris blinked his eyes open just barely and turned his head to rest his cheek against Y/N’s collarbone. The warmth from her body seeped into his, melting him even further. His arms stayed limp, wrapped loosely around her waist like his body had finally stopped bracing itself for impact.

He wasn’t going to say anything about the night before. Not yet.

Not until the shaking stopped.

Not until he stopped feeling like he was half here.

But Y/N already knew. She always knew.

I mean, she was the one who was always there when it happened. Again and again.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there when you woke up." She whispered low so Matt wouldn’t hear. Her lips brushed his ear as she spoke. "You okay now?"

He nodded faintly.

"You helped."

"Always." She added gently, fingers still in his hair.

Chris exhaled again. He was doing a lot of that. It was the only thing grounding him. Her scent. Her voice. Her hands. Her presence.

Matt slid a plate of pancakes onto the table.

"Okay, sorry to interrupt, but these pancakes are amazing. Like, Gordon Ramsay could never."

Chris didn’t even lift his head. He just let out a soft grunt that vaguely sounded like 'Nice', and let himself stay wrapped around his girlfriend like she was a life bed.

Y/N smiled and tucked a strand of his hair behind his ear.

"Wanna sit down and eat?"

He shook his head into her shoulder.

"Five more minutes."

She laughed quietly, resting her chin on top of his head.

"Take your time, sweet boy."

Matt watched the scene with a fond smile and leaned against the counter.

"You good, man?"

Chris gave the smallest thumbs-up from where his hands were buried in Y/N’s hips.

Matt nodded.

"Cool. I’ll keep the pancakes warm. You two do your dramatic comfort thing. I support it."

"Thank you, chef." Y/N said with a tiny salute.

Chris chuckled softly under his breath. It was barely there. But it was real.

Some minutes passed before slowly, Chris shifted. It was more like a lean than a step, but it was something. He peeled his chest away from hers and shuffled toward the table. His socked feet barely lifted from the floor as he dragged himself toward one of the plush chairs. His hand reached behind him, a silent gesture that made Y/N’s heart squeeze.

She caught it.

Gently, she slipped her hand into his and followed him.

She maneuvered them both down onto the soft chairs, guiding him to sit first, then tucked herself right beside him. So close their knees bumped, so close that their thighs pressed together.

She reached across the table and slid his plate over, followed by hers, sending a quiet mental thank-you to Matt for already drenching both pancakes in syrup like he knew neither of them had the brainpower to do it.

Chris picked up his fork slowly. His hand was a little shaky, nothing wild, just enough that she noticed. The metal clinked against the porcelain plate as he cut into the pancake, then lifted a bite to his mouth.

The moment the buttery sweetness hit his tongue, he let out a sigh.

"... I really thought I was gonna die." He said eventually, voice barely above a whisper, gulping the piece of pancake. "I'm not even kidding. I couldn’t move. I felt like something was sitting on my chest."

Y/N’s heart cracked in two. She turned toward him, lifting her hand to his face. Her thumb brushed over the dark skin just under his eye, so soft, so tired. She could feel the faint puffiness there.

"I know, baby." She murmured. "I know. That shit’s terrifying."

Chris didn’t answer right away. He just blinked at her, eyes glazed with something that wasn’t quite tears anymore but still nowhere near peace. He looked like he was stuck halfway between two states of being.

"I feel so dumb." He said, his voice cracking just a little on the last word.

Y/N didn’t let him finish that thought.

"Don’t even say that." She said quickly, firmly. Her hand cupped his jaw now, guiding his gaze back to hers. "You’re not dumb. You’re human. And your brain does freaky shit sometimes. Doesn’t make it less valid."

He swallowed. His throat worked slowly, like even that motion was difficult.

And then she softened again. The tension in her hand eased, her thumb stroking once more beneath his eye.

"Also." She added, tilting her head just slightly. "You cried in your sleep and still managed to look pretty. That should be illegal."

Chris huffed out a breath. It wasn’t quite a laugh, but it was close. The corners of his mouth twitched, just a little, and his cheeks flushed the faintest pink. He looked down, ducking his head, but Y/N leaned forward anyway.

"There’s my boy." She whispered, just before kissing his temple, her lips lingering on his skin for some seconds.

His hand came up to cradle her thigh, grounding himself, and she stayed close, their foreheads brushing, breaths mingling.

"I got you." She breathed.

"I know." Chris whispered back.

Eventually, they leaned back again. Chris finally took another bite of pancake, this time without hesitation. Y/N followed, watching him closely.

"Can we just... do nothing today?" He mumbled some minutes after.

She smiled softly, finishing her chewing.

"Already canceled our plans in my head."

"You’re my favorite person."

"Yeah." She whispered, closing her eyes for a moment. "You’re mine, too."

© vanteguccir

[enwoso]

lovin' red | alessia russo x child!reader x leah williamson

there is still a part four to come from weight of world but i wanted to put this little one out before it wasn’t relevant anymore:)

grumpy masterlist

the emirates was a wall of noise. the crowd was still roaring, still chanting, still very much in love with the the team, as even after a bit of a ropey season and amongst the doubt they'd finished second in the league - cementing that with a win over manchester united.

golden boot under her arm, alessia strolled with leah, her girlfriend and teammate, hands brushing. but their attention was on a small blur sprinting ahead of them.

"Y/N mind the cameras!" leah called out with a laugh. there being many reporters and media staff all with cameras you not having the best sense of direction (something you definitely got from your mum) 

but you weren't listening — you had locked eyes on your target. "AUNTIE ELLA!" you yelled, a wide grin on your face.

ella turning around a second too late as she was tackled by the flying bundle of your blonde curls and arsenal red. the manchester player staggering a bit but caught herself in time, lifting you up in a spin. "there's my favorite little russo," ella grinned.

you wrapped your arms around her neck like a koala. "you came!"

"of course i did," ella laughed slightly as she held you in her arms. "wouldn't of missed it. even if your mummy did thump us."

you blinked, playing with the collar of the blue away shirt that ella was wearing before a tiny gasp came from your lips. "did you see mummy got the shiny boot."

"i did see! a big golden shoe. it's very fancy."

"i helped," you said so proudly and matter of the factly. "i told her to score more goals and also did the lucky dances."

"oh! the lucky dances, of course," ella said, nodding gravely having seen a few from videos and england camps. "those are world famous by now."

"they are," you confirmed not really understand what the word famous meant, before narrowing your eyes slightly. "you sad you didn't win?"

ella shrugged, lips tugging up. "a little bit, but that's football innit. but i'm also proud of your mummy. and proud of you. you've been the real booster this season.”

and just then, alessia jogged up behind them, flushed from the walk, still riding the adrenaline. "thought you two might be together. you trying to kidnap my daughter again?"

"hey, little russo here is just spending time with her favourite auntie ella!" ella said innocently with a wide grin, still holding you.

"good job your her only auntie ella then," alessia teased, stepping closer. then there was a pause. something warmer passed between the two former teammates.

"you were class today, less," ella said, sincere now. "golden boot... you've made it look easy all season long."

alessia's smile softened. "thanks, tooney. never easy though you know that. but it meant a lot."

they bumped shoulders lightly, not needing much more than that — a shared history tucked into one glance. they'd always be the bestest of friends. for life.

"right," ella said, kissing your cheek. "go on, your mummy's got a stadium to conquer and i've got a shower callin' my name!"

you reached for alessia not before giving your auntie ella one last hug and getting scooped back into your mummy's arms as the two of you wandered down the pitch.

ahead, you spotted renee talking with a few teammates near the center circle. your eyes lighting up again. "mummy! quick. put me down!" you squirmed.

"you're gonna give someone whiplash," alessia muttered, but she obliged. lifting you down and before she even had a moment to blink you were darting across the grass and straight into renee.

"THANK YOU!" you shouted, throwing your arms around her.

renee staggered. "whoa—hey tiny! uh—thank you?" before the dutch coach knelt down, a little thrown. "but what for?"

you looked up seriously as if the answer was obvious. "for being cool."

renee blinked slightly confused. "i—well... thanks. i guess?"

you nodded, matter-of-fact. "you always give me fist bumps and you always say hi and you don't tell me off for running too fast."

"right," renee laughed, ruffling your hair a little. "well, you're welcome,, for all of that." behind the two of you, the arsenal girls had stopped to watch, arms crossed, grinning.

"think tiny is more popular than us at this point," caitlin whispered, a wide smile on her face as they continued to walk.

beth grinned. "oh for sure, she’s definitely got better pr."

you waved at the group like she was on a float, then spotted someone else and took off again. "CHLOE! LOLO!”

chloe turned, instantly catching on after a few more yells from you. "let me guess. another hug?”

"yes and no," you said, stopping dramatically in front of the chloe, scott chloe’s boyfriend standing nearby. "you have to stay lolo."

"stay?" chloe blinked a small chuckle from scott coming from behind. "with arsenal?"

"yes," you said, arms crossed as if you were able to control chloe’s future at the club. "i told mummy that you’re not allowed to leave."

chloe crouched down to your level, amused. "did you now?"

"i did," you replied you bottom lip wobbling slightly. "c-cause if you leave, who's gonna dance with me?"

beth snorted behind them along with a few others watching on. "she’s got your number, chloe."

chloe tilted her head thoughtfully. "that is a very strong argument."

"very very strong," you nodded. "you do the spin lifts. no one else does the spin lifts."

"true," chloe admitted. "but sometimes football changes. transfers, contracts..." you looked up at the blonde very unimpressed and slightly confused by the big words.

chloe sighed, not wanting to put a dampener on the already great day. "okay, okay. if i go, i promise i’ll fly back every weekend just to dance."

"you better." you paused, then offered her hand. "we do one now?"

chloe took it with a wink. "thought you'd never ask kiddo."

as the crowd roared and the players laughed, you and chloe spun in the middle of the emirates — like it was a stage built just for them.

a little off to the side, alessia and leah sat watching, arms around each other, boots laying next to them as they’d walked around in just socks along the turf which had carried them through the highs and heartbreaks of the season.

"look at her," alessia murmured, eyes soft as she watched you twirl with wild, fearless joy.

"she’s stolen the whole show," leah said, squeezing alessia’s waist.

"she’s picking up your attitude," alessia said, nudging leah slightly as she smirked. “and your cheek." the two of them bursting into laughter, leaning into each other, heads touching lightly.

"you’ve done it, less," leah whispered after a moment, voice quieter now. "golden boot. the perfect season. you’ve gave her something to remember forever."

alessia looked down at the trophy in her hands, then back at you, spinning and beaming under stadium lights. before she turned toward leah, eyes glowing. "so did you," alessia said. "we did it together."

leah kissed her then — soft and sure, in front of their team, their fans, and the daughter who made the whole world feel like home.

as the music faded into the hum of the crowd, you came running back over, breathless, cheeks flushed pink with joy.

"mummy! mama!" you shouted, barreling into both of them with a big squeal.

leah crouched first, scooping her up as alessia wrapped her arms around both you and leah. "you were having fun out there" alessia said, brushing your hair back from your slightly sweaty forehead.

"i know," you grinned, chest puffed out. "lolo says i’m a natural."

leah smirked. "we might have to get you an agent."

you wiggled between them, arms tight around their necks. "you both won today."

alessia blinked. "what do you mean?"

you pulled back slightly, looking serious. "you won your trophy, and mama won 'cause she's bossy. but i won 'cause i’ve got you two."

alessia melted instantly a pout forming on her lips as she could feel the tears building up in her eyes. leah went completely still for a beat — then tugged you in tighter.

"alright," leah whispered. "you’re definitely staying up late now."

"hot chocolate?" you asked, a cheeky smile on your face. "with marshmallows," alessia added.

"and a movie."

"deal."

the three of you sat there a moment longer — tangled together in the heart of the pitch, framed by confetti and floodlights and the fading hum of celebration.

three hearts, one family.

and as you looked up at the two women who were your whole world, you didn't care about trophies or titles.

you already had everything you’d ever need.

and under the hot sun of the emirates, with laughter in the air and trophies in hands, you all stood — family, and something even better: home.

[lanadelspray02]

HOLD ME ANYWAY: CHAPTER 13

paige x azzi

hey guys! enjoy. thank you to everyone showing so much love :) let me know what y'all think <3

crossposted ao3 here

masterlist here

wc: 8545

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The locker room still buzzed faintly with morning energy—sneakers squeaking on tiles, laughter echoing off the cement walls, the low hum of pre-game chatter filling the space like static. Light streamed through the high windows in pale beams, catching on rising dust and the occasional glint of athletic tape or a metal water bottle. The air carried the usual smell of eucalyptus balm and detergent, mixed with something heavier—anticipation.

Paige stood by her locker, towel slung over one shoulder, hair half-wet and curling slightly at the edges. She moved slowly, methodically—like her body was going through the motions, but her mind was pacing somewhere else. The truth was, her stomach had been twisted in anxious knots all day. Game day was always a little electric, but this one carried extra voltage.

Because her mum was coming.

And not just her mum—but her half-siblings, Lauren and Ryan. She hadn’t seen them in months. And her mum? She hadn’t seen her at a game since high school. Paige knew exactly how it would go—tight smiles, measured critiques, maybe a hug that felt more like obligation than warmth. And still, part of her wanted to get it right. To show up. To impress. To prove... something.

And then there was this—Azzi. Them. The fact that they were finally something real now. Official. She hadn’t told the whole team yet. Only Nika and KK knew, and Paige was still figuring out how to hold something so new and good without letting the whole world pick it apart.

--------------------

Azzi was finishing lacing her sneakers on the bench nearby, back slightly hunched, earbuds dangling from around her neck. Her hoodie sleeves were shoved to her elbows, curls pulled up into a messy bun. Paige watched her from the corner of her eye, a softness melting into her features that she didn’t even try to hide.

She waited until the room cleared out a bit more—Nika had wandered off in search of snacks, Caroline and Ines had gone to the training room, KK and Ice doing some random tik tok dance and the general chaos of post-practice had quieted to a low murmur. Then, moving with deliberate lightness, Paige crept up behind Azzi like a shadow slipping through light.

She let her hands slide slowly around Azzi’s waist, fingertips grazing the hem of her hoodie. “Hey.”

Azzi startled slightly but didn’t pull away. Her body relaxed almost instantly into the touch. “Paige,” she said, a smile forming without turning around. “You can’t just sneak up on people like that.”

“I absolutely can,” Paige murmured, voice brushing just behind her ear. “Especially when you look this good after practice.”

Azzi huffed out a laugh. “Sweaty and sore is apparently your thing?”

“Only when it’s you.” Paige leaned in slightly, breath warm against Azzi’s neck. “What can I say? I have impeccable taste.”

Azzi turned her head just enough to meet Paige’s eyes. “You know we’re not exactly being subtle right now.”

Paige grinned. “You saying you want me to stop?”

Azzi shook her head slowly. “I’m saying you’re lucky most of the team isn’t in here right now.”

There was a pause. Not tense—just full.

Paige’s arms didn’t move. If anything, she held Azzi tighter, grounding herself in the quiet. “So... tonight.”

Azzi looked at her. “You nervous?”

“Terrified.”

Azzi softened. “Because of the game or because of who’s going to be in the stands?”

Paige shook her head once. “Because of who’s in the stands.”

Azzi’s gaze shifted, catching the shadow behind Paige’s words. “Your mum.”

“And Lauren and Ryan,” Paige added. “They’re excited. My mum... she’s complicated. She’s always made me feel like I had to earn her approval just to exist in her version of my life.”

Azzi turned fully in Paige’s arms now, reaching up to brush a damp piece of hair away from her forehead. “You don’t have to prove anything to her.”

“I know,” Paige said. “But it doesn’t stop me from trying.”

There was another pause, quieter this time. Paige drew in a slow breath, her fingers unconsciously brushing the back of Azzi’s hoodie.

“I was thinking,” she said, voice low. “If... if you wanted to, maybe you could meet them. After the game.”

Azzi blinked. “Are you sure?”

Paige nodded, eyes steady. “You let me into your world. I want to let you into mine. I don’t want you to ever think I’m hiding you.”

Azzi smiled faintly, but her heart flipped at the softness in Paige’s voice. “Okay,” she said. “Then I’ll be there. But only if you’re sure.”

“I am,” Paige said. “Even if it goes sideways. I want you there.”

Azzi reached up and tucked another piece of hair behind Paige’s ear. “You’re braver than you think, you know that?”

“I fake it well,” Paige murmured.

Azzi leaned in and kissed her—soft, brief, grounding. When she pulled back, her thumb traced a light line along Paige’s jaw.

“You’re not faking it with me.”

Paige’s lips curved. “Good. Because you’re the only one I’m trying to impress.”

They stood there like that for a beat longer—bodies pressed together, the rest of the locker room forgotten. Outside, voices started drifting back in. Practice stragglers returning. The noise of routine starting up again.

Azzi pulled back with a soft breath, adjusting her hoodie and slinging her gym bag over her shoulder. “Come on,” she said. “If we keep standing here, Nika’s gonna come back and announce to the whole team that we’re making out behind the lockers.”

Paige smirked. “Technically not making out. Yet.”

Azzi gave her a look. “Don’t start.”

“I never stop,” Paige teased, bumping her shoulder against Azzi’s as they walked out together.

--------------------

The post-practice buzz still hung in the air, sneakers squeaking behind them as teammates trickled out of the locker room in small groups. Paige and Azzi had slipped away quietly, walking shoulder-to-shoulder down the long hallway toward the loading dock exit—away from the noise, away from the eyes.

Paige bumped her hand against Azzi’s once, a soft press of skin that said I’m here more than anything else. Azzi was still grinning—tired, a little flushed, but light in a way she hadn’t been all week.

But before they could make it to the door, two familiar voices rang out behind them.

“Well, well, well,” Caroline called, boots tapping quickly as she caught up. “Trying to sneak away like you don’t owe us details?”

Paige gave Azzi an amused look. “Should I be worried?”

Azzi rolled her eyes, but she was already smiling. “Apparently.”

“Don’t worry, Bueckers,” Ines added as she joined Caroline’s side. “We’ll return her in mostly one piece.”

Paige gave Azzi a mock salute. “Be strong,” she said dramatically before continuing down the hallway, hands in her hoodie pockets.

Azzi turned back to face her friends, knowing exactly what was coming.

“So,” Caroline said, folding her arms. “Is that post-practice glow or post-girlfriend glow?”

Azzi hesitated—just a beat—but the smile gave her away.

“She asked me last night,” she admitted softly. “It’s official.”

Caroline let out a tiny gasp. “Finally.”

Ines beamed. “I knew it. You’ve been moon-eyed for, like, well since you got here.”

“I know,” Azzi said, laughing quietly. “It’s kind of insane how fast everything’s shifted.”

“And yet,” Caroline said, stepping closer with a smile softening her voice, “you look... really happy.”

Azzi nodded, eyes warm. “I am. It’s still new, and we’re keeping it quiet for now—only KK and Nika know. So please…”

“You don’t even have to ask,” Ines said, hand to her chest. “Your secret’s safe. Until you decide otherwise.”

Caroline added, “But when you’re ready? We’re so ready to scream about it.”

Azzi laughed again, but her tone softened as she added, “You guys have really been there. With everything. I just—thank you.”

Ines reached out and squeezed her wrist gently. “You don’t have to thank us. You’ve been carrying so much alone for so long. You deserve this.”

Caroline nodded, then teased, “Also, now that it’s official, we’re demanding one cute couple photo per week.”

“No promises,” Azzi said with a smirk.

They stood there for a moment in the quiet of the hallway, just three girls with a shared history and now a secret more tender than anything they’d passed between them before.

“Alright,” Azzi finally said, glancing toward the exit. “I better catch up with her.”

Caroline gave a mock bow. “Go be gross and in love. But like... discreetly. For now. Even though you both are doing a terrible job at hiding it.”

Azzi grinned, jogging to catch up with Paige—her chest full in the best kind of way.

--------------------

The court thundered above them.

Muffled cheers pulsed through the concrete as the crowd settled into their seats, the energy rising like a storm about to break. Inside the tunnel, the team huddled in a tight semicircle, jerseys sharp, nerves sharper. Warm-ups were done. Tip-off was minutes away.

Coach had just wrapped up the final speech—something about grit and tempo, about poise when it mattered. Paige barely heard it.

Her heart was doing that thing again. That fluttering, stuttering, too-loud beat that always came when something was about to go wrong. Or right. Or both.

She stood near the back, half-listening, her fingers tapping against her thigh. Sweat already collected along the edge of her sports bra, but she hadn’t moved in minutes.

Azzi was beside her. Not touching, not looking—but there. That presence that made it easier to breathe.

Paige risked a glance upward toward the arena’s sideline section. The lights made it hard to see faces clearly, but she knew the seats—row G, center aisle. The ones she’d sent the tickets to out of obligation more than hope.

They were there.

Her mum, in a fitted sweater, blonde hair clipped back as always. Posture straight. Expression unreadable.

Lauren and Ryan flanked her—half siblings, half strangers. Both teens now. Taller. Older than the last time Paige had really seen them outside of awkward video calls and even more awkward holidays.

She hadn’t expected to feel this... flipped. Her stomach twisted like someone had cinched it tight.

A shoulder bumped hers—deliberate, grounding. Azzi.

Paige looked at her, just for a second. Azzi didn’t say anything. Just gave her a soft, knowing nod.

I’m here.

That was all it took.

Paige let out a slow breath, her jaw unclenching. She didn’t smile. Not yet. But her shoulders dropped half an inch. Enough.

Coach clapped his hands. “Let’s go, Huskies.”

The tunnel opened, and the team moved forward in a wave of muscle memory and adrenaline. As they lined up to run out, Paige found herself next to Azzi. They didn’t look at each other. Didn’t speak.

But just before they stepped into the light, Paige let her pinky brush Azzi’s. A whisper of contact.

Azzi glanced sideways, her face neutral to everyone else—but her eyes burned soft.

They ran onto the court.

The crowd erupted.

And the game was about to begin.

The game tipped off and immediately spun sideways.

Paige missed her first shot.

Then her second.

By the end of the first quarter, she was 0-for-5, her stat line a mess of hesitation and forced plays. Nothing fell clean. Her timing was off, her footwork just half a beat late. And it wasn’t just physical—her brain kept drifting. Every time she glanced into the stands and caught the silhouette of her mother, stone-faced in row G, her hands would tense. Her vision would narrow. The crowd’s noise would turn muddy and sharp at the same time.

The second quarter wasn’t much better. She made one bad pass, then another. Turned the ball over on a drive she normally would’ve coasted through. A timeout came and went with Coach barking something about composure and flow, but the words skidded right off Paige’s armor.

Azzi, on the other hand, was locked in. Unbothered. Efficient.

By halftime, she’d sunk six threes and was the only thing keeping the team from bleeding out. Her defense was sharp, rotations tighter than they’d been all season. She wasn’t playing angry—she was playing focused. Like something inside her had sharpened to a single point.

Paige felt it from across the court. Saw Azzi’s shoulders rise and fall with steadiness after every play. Watched the way she reset her feet, called for the switch, stuck to her player like it was clockwork.

Meanwhile, Paige was unraveling by inches.

The scoreboard read 42–36.

UConn down by six.

--------------------

Inside the locker room, the air was taut. Shoes squeaked on tiles. Ice bags slapped skin. Someone cursed under their breath.

Coach ran through adjustments like usual, but everyone knew where the real shift had to come from.

Paige sat on the bench, jersey clinging to her back, head in her hands. The door was still swinging from when Coach exited.

Azzi crossed the room without hesitation, grabbing Paige by the wrist. “Come with me.”

Paige blinked up, confused. “Wait—”

“Now.”

She pulled her into the hallway, then ducked them both into a side room—equipment storage, by the look of it. A rack of clean towels and a stack of unopened ball bags took up one wall.

The door to the equipment room clicked softly behind them.

For a second, all Paige could hear was the hum of the overhead light and the thrum of her own pulse. The space was cramped and dim—shelves lined with folded towels, stacked training gear, a mop bucket in the corner that hadn’t moved since October. But here, away from the locker room noise, away from Coach’s clipboard and the sound of shoes squeaking on tile, it felt like they could breathe.

Azzi didn’t say anything at first. She just looked at her.

Paige stood with her back against the shelving unit, arms crossed tight over her chest, jaw clenched like she was bracing for impact. Her ponytail was damp at the edges, cheeks flushed, her breath coming fast and shallow.

Azzi stepped closer. Quiet. Measured. “You okay?”

Paige let out a laugh that wasn’t a laugh. “Not really.”

Azzi didn’t flinch. “You look like you’re carrying a whole storm in your head.”

“I can’t stop thinking,” Paige admitted. “Every time I touch the ball, it’s like—she’s there. Watching. Judging.”

Azzi nodded slowly. “Your mum.”

Paige’s arms tightened across her chest. “She has this way of making me feel like I’m never enough. Like everything I do still needs to be... more.”

She looked down, voice dropping. “I hate that I care.”

Azzi took another step. “You care because you’re human. Because you want it to matter.”

Paige didn’t respond, eyes still trained on the floor.

Azzi gently reached out, fingers brushing Paige’s forearm, then her wrist, until their hands were barely linked. “Can I say something?”

Paige nodded, a little hesitant.

“You’re enough,” Azzi said, slow and certain. “Right now. Missing shots. Losing confidence. All of it. You’re still you.”

She tilted her head, catching Paige’s eyes. “And I’ve never met anyone more capable of flipping a game on its head when it counts.”

Paige’s lip tugged upward. Barely.

“But what if I can’t get out of it?” she asked. “What if I’ve already blown it?”

Azzi smirked. “Then let’s try something different.”

She stepped fully into Paige’s space now, eyes bright but steady. “Don’t play for her. Or for Coach. Or for the Scouts.”

She leaned in, lowering her voice to a whisper.

“Play for you and if not for you, play for me.”

Paige blinked. “You?”

Azzi grinned. “Your girlfriend.”

The word landed like a spark.

Paige’s whole body seemed to react—posture loosening, face softening, heartbeat settling into a rhythm she hadn’t felt since warmups. “Say it again.”

Azzi slid her hands up Paige’s sides, settling just above her hips, fingers curling into the fabric of her jersey. “Girlfriend.”

Paige’s hands found Azzi’s waist in return, her thumbs slipping under the edge of her shirt, just enough to feel skin. “That still feels illegal to hear,” she whispered.

Azzi chuckled. “Then consider me a repeat offender.”

Paige grinned—crooked, hungry. “She sounds hot.”

“She’s incredibly hot,” Azzi deadpanned. “But she has high standards, so you might want to step it up.”

They stood there like that for a moment—close enough to share breath, close enough that Paige’s nose almost brushed Azzi’s cheek. The tension between them shifted—less panic now, more heat. Flirty. Dangerous.

“I need a good luck kiss,” Paige murmured, fingers tightening on Azzi’s waist.

Azzi raised an eyebrow, amused. “Is that your new pre-game ritual?”

“Only with you.”

With a soft sigh, Azzi leaned in and brushed her lips against Paige’s. It was a slow kiss—tender, but charged. Like everything unsaid between them was humming just under the surface.

But Paige wasn’t done.

She deepened it, mouth parting slightly, tugging Azzi closer with a low sound in the back of her throat. Her tongue just barely traced Azzi’s bottom lip before Azzi pulled back with a shaky laugh, both of them breathless now.

“You’re impossible,” Azzi said, eyes fluttering open. “This is not the time to seduce me.”

“You’re the one who called me your girlfriend in a storage closet,” Paige teased.

Azzi grinned, cheeks warm. “Win the game,” she said, smoothing Paige’s jersey. “And we’ll pick up where you left off.”

“That a promise?”

Azzi leaned in, lips brushing the shell of Paige’s ear. “Win. And find out.”

Paige groaned, tilting her head back like she was in pain. “You’re cruel.”

“And you’re gonna drop twenty in the second half, because you love showing off for me.”

Paige laughed—real this time. Her chest felt lighter, steadier.

“God, I want you,” she murmured.

Azzi kissed her one more time—quicker this time. Just enough to anchor her. “Then go show me.”

Paige pulled the door open, already recharged.

This time, when she walked back toward the team, she wasn’t running from the noise.

She was chasing the win.

--------------------

The second half tipped off and Paige was a different person.

She ran the floor like a storm. Hit her first pull-up jumper, then a three. Her handles were tighter, her cuts sharper. She moved without second-guessing, fed Azzi clean assists, then called her own number again and again.

Azzi played like clockwork beside her—syncing in step, anchoring every play.

The scoreboard flipped.

Then stretched.

By the final buzzer, it wasn’t even close.

UConn 86 – Notre Dame 68.

Paige jogged off the court drenched in sweat, chest heaving, her body humming from the inside out.

She looked toward the crowd again—toward her mother, still seated, still unreadable.

But this time... she didn’t flinch.

Because just behind the bench, Azzi caught her gaze and winked.

And Paige smiled.

The hallway outside the locker room buzzed with post-game energy — players greeting families, coaches shaking hands, teammates trading sweaty towels for oversized hoodies and warmup gear. The scent of floor polish still clung faintly to the air, cut with the tang of popcorn and Gatorade.

Paige hovered just past the end of the tunnel, her jersey tucked under her warm-up hoodie, her curls still damp at the edges. Her body was loose from the win, adrenaline still humming through her blood. But her stomach twisted as she scanned the small clump of people waiting near the railing.

There they were.

Her mother stood at the edge, her posture straight, expression unreadable. Blonde hair tucked neatly behind her ears, designer bag perched on one arm like it might shield her from the chaos. Beside her stood Ryan and Lauren — both taller than Paige remembered, both in UConn gear that looked recently bought. Lauren gave a little wave when she saw her.

Paige made herself walk.

“Hi,” she said, voice soft as she approached.

Her mother stepped forward and gave her a quick hug. The kind of hug that was more of a pat. “Congrats,” she said. “Though the first half was rough.”

Paige’s shoulders twitched, just slightly. “Yeah.”

“You can’t afford halves like that, Paige,” her mum continued, eyes sharp now. “Not with WNBA scouts watching. It doesn’t matter how strong your finish is if they’ve already written you off.”

“Mum,” Ryan cut in, his voice a low warning.

Lauren rolled her eyes. “Seriously. She played amazing.”

“I’m just being honest,” her mother said coolly, like it was a service. “It’s not personal.”

But it was. It always was.

Paige swallowed the sting that crept up the back of her throat and smiled tightly at her siblings instead. “You guys made it.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Lauren said, pulling her into a proper hug.

Ryan followed, slinging an arm around her shoulder. “You totally cooked them in the second half.”

Paige finally exhaled, just a little. “Thanks.”

A few feet away, Azzi lingered near the wall. She hadn’t meant to listen. But the voices weren’t exactly hushed, and she’d caught enough — the tone, the bite. Her heart pinched. Paige didn’t deserve that, not now. Not ever.

When Paige’s eyes found hers, Azzi lifted her chin in silent question.

You want me to come over?

Paige gave the faintest nod.

She turned back to her family as Azzi approached, hand already sliding into Paige’s without hesitation.

Her mother’s eyes clocked the gesture immediately.

“Mum,” Paige said, voice more grounded now. “This is Azzi. My... girlfriend.”

There it was. Out in the open. No take-backs. Paige’s heart thudded once, loud and final.

Her mum’s mouth pressed into a neutral line. “Nice to meet you.”

Azzi extended her hand politely, composed but cautious. “You too. Paige played incredibly.”

There was a small pause, and Paige could feel her mother weighing every syllable. But she said nothing more.

Ryan, thankfully, broke the tension. “Girlfriend, huh?”

Lauren elbowed him. “Damn, Paige. You pulled Azzi Fudd? No way.”

Azzi laughed, genuinely this time. “We’re a package deal now, apparently.”

“Well, I approve,” Lauren said easily, grinning as she stepped forward to give Azzi a quick hug. “You’re way cooler than her.”

Ryan offered his fist. “Respect.”

Azzi bumped it, then glanced sideways as Paige visibly relaxed next to her.

“Thanks for coming,” Paige said, her voice now directed to all three of them — but clearly not her mother. “It meant a lot.”

Her mum gave a clipped nod. “We’ll let you get back to your team. Just… think about what I said, okay?”

Paige didn’t respond. Just turned back toward the tunnel, Azzi already moving in step beside her.

They walked in silence for a few beats, footsteps echoing on the concrete.

“You okay?” Azzi asked softly.

Paige shrugged. “I guess. It’s always like that.”

Azzi squeezed her hand, didn’t push.

As they slipped back into the warmth and noise of the locker room hallway, Paige tugged gently at Azzi’s wrist, stopping her just shy of the door.

“Thank you,” she said, voice thick with something heavier. “For being there.”

Azzi’s expression softened. “Always.”

They stood close for another breath, then stepped into the post-win chaos.

The game was over. But something bigger had just begun.

--------------------

The locker room was still buzzing, a whirl of post-game adrenaline and victory noise that hadn’t fully settled into celebration yet. Shoes squeaked against the tile, someone’s speaker kept skipping between songs, and KK was already halfway into planning the night out at Ted’s.

“Ted’s, ten o’clock. Don’t ghost me this time!” she called over the ruckus, pointing at Aaliyah like it was a dare.

Azzi laughed lightly, pulling her hoodie over her head. She reached into her locker for her bag, slinging it over one shoulder just as Paige glanced over from the other side of the room, her smile soft but tired. There was something in her expression — a flicker of thought still clinging to her like static, even as the rest of the team rode the high.

She caught Azzi’s eye and tilted her head toward the hallway.

Azzi nodded.

They slipped out without needing to say anything, the door swinging shut behind them. The corridor was quieter, cooler — a reprieve from the sweaty rush of bodies and too-loud music. Paige’s sneakers scuffed against the floor as they walked in step toward the back exit, neither of them speaking yet, like the silence was still stretching itself out.

--------------------

Outside, the air had the sharp edge of late evening, the sky already dark, the parking lot scattered with campus lights. Azzi’s car sat in its usual spot, and when they reached it, she opened the back door to toss in her bag. A crumpled drawing caught Paige’s eye — a sparkly unicorn with a purple mane and gold stars everywhere, half-folded in the cupholder.

Paige leaned in, brushing her fingers over the page with a small smile. “She really committed to the glitter, huh?”

Azzi laughed under her breath. “It’s been banned from three rooms in the house already.”

Paige carefully straightened the paper, tucking it a little neater into the holder before gently closing the door.

Azzi watched her, leaning casually against the car. “You’re kind of hot when you do that, you know.”

Paige turned, brow raised, amused. “What? Fix glitter bomb casualties?”

Azzi shrugged, arms crossed loosely. “Domestic Paige. Calm. Confident. Good with kids. Bit of a forearm flex. It’s working.”

Paige stood slowly, letting the door swing shut behind her. “So much for subtle.”

Azzi took a step closer, grinning now. “Please. You introduced me to your mum with a hand-hold and the words ‘my girlfriend.’ Pretty sure we skipped subtle.”

Paige groaned, pressing her hand to her face. “Don’t remind me.”

“No, I liked it,” Azzi said, her tone suddenly softer. “You didn’t hesitate.”

Paige dropped her hand and met her gaze. “You’ve let me into your world, Az. I didn’t want you thinking I’d hide you from mine.”

Azzi’s throat tightened, but she didn’t look away. “Even though… your mum…”

“Yeah,” Paige murmured. “Even though.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then Paige leaned in just slightly, enough that her words dropped to a murmur between them.

“So. About halftime.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “What about it?”

“You said if I won the game, we could finish what I started.”

Azzi smirked, biting her lip like she was trying not to smile. “I did say that.”

Paige stepped even closer, hands ghosting over Azzi’s waist like she was trying not to push her luck. “I’d argue I over-delivered. Pretty sure I didn’t miss a single shot that second half.”

“You were on fire,” Azzi said, letting her fingers trail up Paige’s arm, slow and light. “I might’ve gotten a little hot watching you.”

Paige’s grin turned devilish. “A little?”

Azzi leaned in until their noses brushed. “You were showing off.”

“I was motivated,” Paige whispered. “You kissed me. Told me I had to earn the rest.”

“I didn’t think you’d try to win the whole damn game.”

Paige let out a breath of a laugh. “Well... did it work?”

Azzi didn’t answer. She just kissed her — slow, deep, tasting of adrenaline and something sweeter beneath it. Her hands found Paige’s waist, pulling her in. Paige let her fingers tangle gently in Azzi’s hoodie, returning the kiss with just enough heat to make them both forget the parking lot for a second.

When they finally pulled back, their foreheads stayed pressed together.

Paige murmured, “Are you still calling for Ruby’s bedtime routine? I don’t wanna miss it.”

Azzi gave a breathless laugh. “You’re going out.”

“I can still talk to my favorite unicorn.”

“Sparklehorn’s flattered.”

“And her mum?”

Azzi tilted her head, eyes flickering with fondness. “Equally flattered.”

Paige brushed her nose along Azzi’s. “Good.”

Azzi kissed her cheek, then pulled away gently, already reaching for her keys. “Don’t get too drunk.”

“No promises,” Paige called as she stepped backward, her smile lazy and fond. “But if I do, you better answer my drunk FaceTime.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “You planning something?”

“You’ll see.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, laughing. “Bye, baby.”

“Still not over how good that sounds.”

Paige turned, hoodie sleeves pushed up, hair still damp, her whole body buzzing with the high of the game and the kiss and the girl she couldn’t stop wanting more of.

As she disappeared into the gym entrance, Azzi stood for a moment by her car, hand on the handle, grinning like she couldn’t help it.

--------------------

The night was humid and heavy with the scent of beer, sweat, and cheap perfume. The inside of Ted’s throbbed like a living, breathing thing—basslines rolling through the floorboards, bodies packed shoulder-to-shoulder, the air hot and crackling with post-win chaos. Lights pulsed like a heartbeat above the crowd.

Paige stumbled a little as she edged out from the booth, mumbling something about “needing air” to Nika, who barely noticed over the sound of Aaliyah screeching at someone to take another shot.

Her oversized white tee clung slightly to the sweat along her spine. Black cargo pants slouched low on her hips, her silver cross swinging as she pushed her way past the bar crowd. A bead of condensation slipped from her half-drunk glass and rolled down her wrist. She didn’t finish it. Didn’t want to. Her mouth tasted too bitter, her head already foggy.

The alley behind Ted’s was blessedly quiet.

Paige shoved the door open with her shoulder, blinking into the low light as the music dimmed behind her like someone had turned down the world. The air outside was cool against her flushed skin. She leaned back against the wall, the bricks rough against her spine, exhaling slowly like she’d been holding her breath inside for hours.

Her phone buzzed in her hand before she could even check it.

Incoming FaceTime: Azzi 

Her thumb barely hesitated. She answered immediately, pressing the phone up, breath hitching just a little.

Azzi’s face filled the screen — soft-lit from Ruby’s bedroom, cheeks pink and eyes already a little sleepy. Her curls were pulled back into a loose bun, and the neckline of her worn UConn tee dipped low as she shifted into frame, propped up on one elbow.

“Hey Baby,” she said, voice honeyed and low. “You drunk?”

Paige grinned, too wide and too honest. Her cheeks were flushed, eyes glassy, words just a little too slow. “Only enough to make you look even prettier than usual. That’s like… dangerous levels.”

Azzi laughed, biting her lip. “You look good too.”

Paige wobbled a bit on her feet, pressed her free hand to the wall to steady herself. “You should see me try to walk in a straight line. It’s art.”

Before Azzi could respond, a high-pitched squeal cut through the audio, and a tiny blur of motion barreled onto the screen.

“MAMA! I wanna say it!”

Azzi turned, already smiling. “Say hi, baby.”

And then Ruby was there — cheeks pink from sleep, curls wild around her face, holding Sparklehorn like a treasured relic. She squinted into the camera, face lighting up.

“PAIGEY!”

Paige’s grin softened instantly, heart lurching behind her ribs.

“Hi, Roo. Did Sparklehorn have a good day?”

Ruby nodded with intense seriousness, lifting the unicorn like a trophy. “Sparklehorn say hiiiii.”

“Hi, Sparklehorn,” Paige said, adjusting her grip on the phone. Her hand was a little shaky. “You were very brave today.”

“Okay Paigey, you say goodnight to Sparklehorn first,” Ruby instructed, face inches from the camera, eyes narrowed like this was the law.

Paige giggled — actually giggled — as she obeyed. “Goodnight, Sparklehorn. Sleep tight.”

Ruby looked satisfied. “Now me.”

“Goodnight, Roo,” Paige said, voice dipping gentle and warm, every drunken haze burned off for this one tiny moment. “Sweet dreams, baby girl.”

Ruby blinked. “I see you morrow?”

Paige’s throat caught. Just a little. She blinked quickly, like that would stop the warmth pooling behind her eyes. “I hope so.”

Azzi gave a knowing little smile, then shifted the phone to the bedside table and stood. Paige watched — phone now tilted at an angle — as Azzi bent over Ruby’s bed, tucking her in, brushing curls off her daughter’s forehead with a touch so tender it made Paige ache. Her chest clenched. Her eyes were way too wet for how drunk she was.

Azzi whispered something Paige couldn’t hear. Ruby clutched Sparklehorn closer. Then Azzi picked up the phone again and padded quietly into her room, shutting the door behind her.

She curled up in bed, blanket pulled to her chest, the light dim and soft behind her.

Still smiling, she asked, “Still there?”

Paige nodded, sliding down the brick wall until she was sitting on the concrete, knees drawn up, phone held tight in both hands. “Still here,” she murmured. Her voice had gone raspy.

They stared at each other through the screen.

“Baby I miss you,” Paige said suddenly. Raw. Blunt. True.

Azzi didn’t blink. “I miss you more.”

Paige's eyes flicked down, then back up. The alcohol made it impossible to pretend. “I wanna fall asleep next to you.”

Azzi blinked slowly. “Yeah?”

“I just…” Paige sighed, ran a hand through her hair and stared up at the starless sky. “Right now, the only thing I want is to touch you.”

There was a pause. Then a sly smile curled Azzi’s lips.

“Damn. Drunk makes you horny.”

Paige groaned, burying her face in her hands. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—well I did—but not in like a gross way.”

Azzi just laughed. Soft, real.

“I just miss being near you,” Paige admitted, looking up again. “The way you smell. The way you look at me like you actually see me.”

Azzi’s teasing faded at that.

“I know we should be taking it slow,” Paige went on, voice wobbling now, “and I want to — I want to get this right. But tonight… I don’t wanna be alone.”

And then she sniffed.

Once. Twice.

And tears spilled over before she could stop them.

“God, I’m such a fucking mess,” Paige mumbled, wiping her face, laughing wetly

Azzi stared through the screen, something shifting behind her eyes — that look Paige had started to recognise. Protective. Certain. Softened only by affection.

Then came the words: “Fuck it. Come stay with me tonight.”

Paige blinked, thrown for a second.

“You sure?” she asked, the words almost slurring, low and hopeful.

Azzi nodded once. “Yeah. I want you here.”

Something unraveled in Paige’s chest. She exhaled slowly, like she’d been waiting to be told she was wanted all night.

“I miss your face,” she said. “I miss your voice. I miss—” She caught herself. “Okay, I miss everything. Even the way you call me out for being dramatic.”

Azzi smirked. “You are dramatic.”

“And yet here you are,” Paige said, flashing a crooked smile, “inviting all this drama into your peaceful home.”

Azzi tilted her head on the pillow. “You’re worth the chaos.”

Paige just about melted. She leaned her head back against the brick wall, eyes fluttering closed. “You say things like that and then expect me to behave.”

Azzi’s laughter was low and fond. “You’ve never behaved a day in your life.”

Paige grinned. “True. But I’m on my best behavior around your kid. You should reward me.”

“Oh?” Azzi raised an eyebrow, playing along. “What kind of reward are we talking?”

Paige smirked. “Dunno. Maybe a kiss. Or three. Or a whole night tangled up in your sheets—”

Azzi cut her off with a laugh, flushing even as she tried to play it cool. “Babe.”

“What?” Paige blinked innocently. “I’m just brainstorming.”

“You’re horny brainstorming.”

“I prefer the term romantic visualising.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, cheeks pink. “You’re lucky I’m into you.”

“God,” Paige said, hand dragging through her hair again. “You have no idea how much I want to be there already.”

“Your Uber better not crash,” Azzi warned. “You’re not allowed to die before you cuddle me.”

“Cuddle,” Paige repeated. “Right. That’s what we’re calling it.”

Azzi laughed again. “You’re unbelievable.”

Paige let the words wash over her like sunlight. “You like me unbelievable.”

Azzi didn’t deny it. Her expression turned more serious—warm, not heavy. “You looked so sad earlier. I hated seeing that.”

Paige’s grin faltered, just for a second. “It’s just… sometimes I get too in my head. Especially around my mum. I get small.”

Azzi softened. “You never have to be small with me.”

Paige’s chest tightened again, not in the anxious way, but something steadier. Like safety, curling around her ribs.

“Az,” she murmured, voice going thick again. “You make me feel like I could be... more.”

Azzi smiled quietly. “That’s because you already are.”

There was a pause. A soft, breathless hush that neither of them felt the need to fill.

Then Paige looked back at her screen and grinned again, cheeky. “I’m bringing cookies.”

Azzi blinked. “For me or Ruby?”

“Technically Ruby. But I figured you’d steal at least one.”

Azzi smirked. “You know me well.”

“I’m getting there,” Paige said, and her voice went low again—almost reverent. “And I want to know everything.”

Azzi swallowed. “You will.”

They stayed like that for a few more seconds — just looking. Letting the moment stretch.

“I’m gonna hang up,” Paige whispered finally. “So I don’t ugly cry in front of you again.”

Azzi grinned. “Too late.”

“Shut up,” Paige said, smiling as she ended the call.

She stood still for a moment, phone against her chest, before stepping out into the street to meet her ride. And her girl

--------------------

"Wait—stop here.”

The Uber driver barely glanced at Paige in the rearview mirror before slowing down in front of the 24-hour convenience store. Paige, already unbuckling her seatbelt with too much enthusiasm, leaned forward like the car was a rocket ship and she was the pilot.

“I gotta get cookies. And ice cream. And something pink.”

The driver blinked. “You’ve got three minutes.”

Paige held up two fingers with dramatic flair. “Deal.”

She half-jogged inside, tipsy steps slightly uneven, stumbling through the aisles with surprising focus. She grabbed a box of mini chocolate chip cookies, paused in front of the freezer to pick out a pint of chocolate fudge ice cream, then made a beeline for the sad little bouquet rack near the door.

“Too red,” she mumbled. “Too fake. Too yellow. Ew.”

Her hand hovered over a bundle of soft purple spray roses — pale, sweet, just a little messy.

“Perfect.”

She checked out in a blur of crinkled notes and thank-yous, then burst back into the car like she’d just finished a heist.

“Mission accomplished,” she grinned, breathless. “Ruby’s gonna love me.”

The driver just shook his head and pulled back onto the road.

--------------------

By the time the car rolled up outside Azzi’s house, Paige’s buzz had shifted — softer now, threaded with nerves and the lingering ache of missing her. She stared up at the porch light for a second too long before pulling out her phone.

Paige: here

Paige: I come bearing snacks and flowers

Paige: don’t let me fall into your garden bush pls

The door creaked open within seconds.

Azzi stood there barefoot in grey sweatpants and a UConn hoodie, eyes sleepy but smile blooming the second she saw her. Her arms crossed under her chest, head tilted.

“You’re ridiculous,” she said, voice low and fond.

Paige wobbled toward her, shoving the bouquet out first like an offering. “These are for you. Cookies for Roo. Ice cream is technically for both, but I feel like you’ll end up eating most of it.”

Azzi took the flowers with a soft grin, fingers brushing Paige’s. “Thanks, drunky.”

“I’m not that drunk,” Paige said, immediately tripping on the second step.

Azzi caught her by the elbow with a laugh. “Okay. Maybe a little.”

Once inside, Azzi quietly shut the door behind them. The house was dim, the only light coming from the kitchen nightlight down the hall. Paige slipped off her Jordans with a grunt, bending down and completely losing her balance in the process.

A loud thud echoed through the foyer.

“Shhhh—” Azzi hissed, reaching down to help her, but it was too late.

From down the hallway, a door creaked open. Footsteps padded across the wood floor.

Tim appeared first, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Katie followed right behind in a long robe and slippers, blinking at the scene in front of them: Paige, flushed and red-faced, one shoe off, cookie box in one hand, the other bracing herself against the wall like it might start spinning.

“Oh,” Paige said, straightening fast and standing like she’d just been caught by a teacher. “Hi. Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Katie’s eyes flicked from the flowers to the cookies to Azzi’s expression, then back to Paige. “Everything okay?”

Azzi nodded once, firm but kind. “She was upset. I told her to come.”

Tim raised an eyebrow. “She seems... spirited.”

“She brought ice cream,” Azzi added dryly.

“Then she’s welcome,” Tim said, already turning back toward the hall. “Goodnight, girls.”

Katie lingered for a beat longer. “Get some water in her.”

“Yes, Mum,” Azzi muttered.

Paige gave them a little wave as they disappeared. “Sorry. Again. I promise I’m not normally like this.”

“You kinda are,” Azzi said, closing the front door and locking it. “Just with less alcohol.”

As soon as the hallway emptied, Paige perked back up.

“Okay,” she said, voice low and mischievous. “Now that the parentals are gone—”

She stepped forward and hooked her arms around Azzi’s waist, clearly intending to lift her.

“Nope,” Azzi said immediately, bracing herself. “Don’t you dare—”

“Come on,” Paige whined. “Let me carry you to bed like the strong, protective girlfriend I am.”

“You can barely stand.”

“Your lack of trust is honestly offensive.”

Azzi laughed and grabbed Paige’s hand instead. “Come on, drunky.”

They padded down the hall to Azzi’s room, quiet except for the creak of the floorboards and the occasional squeak of Paige’s socks on the hardwood. Azzi opened her door gently — Ruby’s unicorn night light still casting soft pink stars across the wall from her room next door.

Once inside, Paige didn’t waste time. She pulled Azzi in close the second the door clicked shut behind them, wrapping her arms around her from behind and pressing slow kisses along her neck, her jaw, her shoulder.

Azzi melted against her for a moment, hands resting over Paige’s, before gently pushing her back.

“Shhh,” she whispered. “You’re being loud.”

“I’m being loving.”

“You’re being handsy.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Azzi turned around, one eyebrow raised. “You’re literally half falling over.”

“Then help me,” Paige said, all innocent eyes and terrible balance.

Azzi shook her head but couldn’t hide the smile. She crossed to her dresser, pulled out an oversized UConn shirt and a pair of soft sweatpants, and held them out. “Bathroom. Go change.”

Paige stared at the clothes, then at her. “I need help.”

Azzi narrowed her eyes. “Paige.”

“I’m drunk. And also stupid. And I don’t know how to do pants.”

Azzi huffed but walked over anyway. “Fine.”

She helped Paige out of her shirt first, biting her lip when Paige deliberately stretched like she was on a magazine cover.

“Stop that,” Azzi muttered.

“Stop what?” Paige asked innocently. “Existing?”

“You’re the worst.”

Next came the pants — Azzi helping her step out while Paige absolutely did not help, choosing instead to run her hands up Azzi’s thighs in the process.

“Seriously,” Azzi said, cheeks pink. “Do you want me to dress you or make out with you?”

“Both.”

Azzi stood, shaking her head as she yanked the sweatpants up over Paige’s hips. “What happened to, ‘I didn’t mean—well I did—but not in like a gross way’?”

Paige grinned. “Okay... maybe I lied.”

Azzi tried not to laugh. Failed. “Come on, drunky.”

She grabbed Paige’s hand and pulled her toward the bed. Paige flopped onto the mattress with a satisfied sigh, and Azzi climbed in after her. The moment her head hit the pillow, Paige turned, sliding an arm around Azzi’s waist and burying her face in her neck.

Azzi smiled, already relaxing into the warmth of it.

“You smell like the bar,” she mumbled.

“You smell like heaven,” Paige replied.

Azzi chuckled, pressing a kiss to her temple.

Within seconds, Paige had melted into her, leg hooked over Azzi’s, breath slowing.

Azzi closed her eyes and nestled in closer.

This—this right here—was worth every step it took to get here.

Even the drunk ones.

--------------------

The house was quiet in the way only 3 a.m. could offer — not silent, exactly, but still. The kind of stillness that pressed soft against the walls, stretched through doorways, curled into corners. A clock ticked faintly in the kitchen down the hall. The refrigerator hummed. Somewhere outside, a branch scraped lazily against the gutter.

Inside Azzi’s room, everything was warm.

The glow from the unicorn nightlight down the hall barely reached under the door, but it was enough to cast soft shadows along the edge of the bed. The covers had twisted slightly in sleep, kicked off Paige’s legs and pooled around their waists, tangled where their bodies had naturally folded toward each other.

Paige stirred first — not because she meant to, but because her body somehow always knew when it was near something it wanted to hold. Her lashes fluttered, breath slow, still thick with sleep. Her head was turned to the right, nose nearly brushing the pillow. Azzi was pressed in so close it took Paige a moment to realize where her arm ended and Azzi’s began.

Azzi had curled into her at some point, unconsciously or not — one leg thrown over Paige’s thigh, her hand balled under her own cheek, her mouth parted slightly in sleep. Her breath came in steady waves, chest rising and falling against Paige’s side. The hem of her hoodie had ridden up slightly, revealing a sliver of smooth skin at her waist. Paige could feel the warmth of her everywhere — tucked into the crook of her body like they’d been doing this for years.

Paige didn’t move.

Didn’t dare.

She just stared.

Her heart twisted, then swelled, a slow ache spreading through her ribs like warmth from a fire too close. She didn’t think she’d ever seen anything like this — Azzi, utterly at peace, body soft and slack with sleep, face angled toward her like it belonged there. Like it had always belonged there.

She couldn’t help herself.

Gently, Paige reached up and brushed a loose curl from Azzi’s forehead, tucking it behind her ear with the softest touch. Her fingertips lingered there — just for a second — tracing the shell of Azzi’s ear, then moving back to brush a knuckle down her jaw.

Azzi stirred.

A small frown flickered across her brow before her eyes cracked open, slow and bleary. She blinked once, then again, pupils adjusting in the low light. Paige held her breath as Azzi focused in on her.

“Babe?” Azzi whispered, voice raspy with sleep, like it caught somewhere in her throat.

Paige smiled, barely more than a breath. “Hey.”

Azzi shifted, lifting her head slightly. Her hand slid across Paige’s stomach, fingertips brushing the soft cotton of the shirt she’d helped her into earlier. Her brows furrowed in that way they always did when she was waking — like she was trying to figure out what dream she’d just left behind.

Paige didn’t wait for her to fully wake. “You’re beautiful,” she murmured.

Azzi’s mouth parted like she wanted to respond, but Paige was already leaning in, brushing her lips over Azzi’s with a kiss that was gentle at first — feather-light, barely pressure. Azzi hummed softly, responding without words, and then shifted closer. The second kiss was slower, deeper. A little hungrier.

Paige’s hand found the back of Azzi’s neck, fingers threading into her curls. Azzi climbed up without thinking — her body moving instinctively, half-straddling Paige’s waist now, one knee pressed into the mattress beside her hip. Their mouths moved together like gravity was in charge, not thought. Azzi’s hoodie sleeves fell past her hands as she braced herself on either side of Paige’s shoulders, her breath now quicker, lips parted.

Paige groaned softly when Azzi rolled her hips just slightly, like testing a theory. Her hands slid down to Azzi’s waist, then lower, cupping the curve of her ass as she pulled her in tighter. Azzi gasped, fingers digging into the sheets beside Paige’s head.

“We really—” Azzi breathed between kisses, “—shouldn’t be doing this.”

Paige’s laugh was low and broken. “We really shouldn’t. Not with Ruby... and your parents... right there.”

But neither of them stopped.

Azzi kissed her again, more desperately this time, tongue sliding against hers with heat and need and something deeper Paige didn’t have a name for yet. Paige’s hand slid beneath the hem of Azzi’s hoodie, fingers skimming hot skin, gripping her tighter. Her other hand slid up Azzi’s back, under the fabric, and settled between her shoulder blades.

Azzi ground down slightly, her breath catching, her lips dragging down Paige’s neck now, open-mouthed and slow. Paige arched up into her, hands greedy now, mouth whispering something unintelligible against Azzi’s shoulder.

“I wanna see you,” Paige whispered, voice wrecked with want. She tugged at the edge of the hoodie, fingertips sliding beneath it to start lifting it.

But then—

Tap tap tap.

Tiny feet. Light. Familiar.

Azzi froze. Every muscle in her body locked into place.

Paige’s eyes widened as Azzi jerked upright and rolled off her like someone had hit pause on reality. Paige sat up halfway, breath still caught somewhere in her throat, eyes wide and hazy.

“What—?” she started, but Azzi held a finger to her lips.

They listened.

The soft patter again. Then the door creaked.

And there, standing in the soft spill of hallway light, was a tiny figure in purple pajamas, one arm dragging Sparklehorn behind her, hair mussed and face still puffy with sleep.

Ruby.

She rubbed her eyes with one hand, then blinked up at the bed. Her gaze landed on Paige — now clearly visible, sitting up, flushed and tousled, half-tucked beneath the covers. Her whole face lit up like a switch had been flipped.

But then it fell.

“You didn’t tell me ‘bout sleepover,” she mumbled, eyes going shiny, lip trembling just slightly. “I wanted come too…”

Azzi, still breathless, still pink, sat up and reached her arms out. “Baby, we didn’t mean to leave you out. Come here.”

Ruby stood still for another beat, clearly torn between feeling left out and the joy of seeing Paige.

Then, finally, she toddled forward and climbed up onto the bed without hesitation, wedging herself between them like she’d done it a hundred times.

Azzi shifted to make room, pulling the blanket up. Ruby curled against Paige instinctively, head on her chest, Sparklehorn tucked under one arm.

Paige swallowed thickly, heart still racing for reasons completely different now. She glanced over at Azzi, who met her gaze with a flush and a small, helpless smile.

Paige wrapped one arm around Ruby, letting the moment settle. Azzi leaned in close, brushing a hand over her daughter’s back.

And just like that — the heat from before faded into something else. Not lesser. Just... transformed.

Softer.

Wiser.

Real.

And Paige, still aching, still stunned, let herself breathe through it.

Because in the end, maybe this was the kind of intimacy that mattered more.

Maybe this was the kind of night she wanted to remember.

[respectthepetty]

I would be sad about Akin's photos being leaked at the very beginning of Top Form's ninth episode, but the visual of both him and Jade being isolated, caged, and with a barrier between them, while Akin's side kept getting smaller was just too good for me to sit in despair.

Because even when Akin goes to make a deal with a devil, he is surrounded by greenery.

Like, yes, Akin is depressed and back to being dark believing that in order to save Jin, he'll have to distance himself from him, but there is still a tiny bit of light.

And as much as he thinks he is in this alone, Jade is in this messy prison with him.

Jin always gives Akin his color back.

Because Jin is the love of his life.

So did I think Jin would leave his man to deal with this issue all by himself? The teeny tiny emerging 🎶Blinding Light of Love🎶 tells me "no"!

So even Johnny's annoying ass wearing BLUE does not bother me nor Akin because we have bigger issues to handle, and Johnny does not present any true barriers. In this moment, he is not the enemy.

And as mad as I am at the show for whatever story it's trying to sell me about these two,

I must admit Naru's pout is cute. Johnny still gets nothing from me though.

But back to my Green Guy with his green tea trying to convince the fans he is Judy's Boy.

He is doing a good job of selling his new ship, so much so that even Akin' friends are quick to shelter his depressed black void self from any images of Jin.

But they also talk some sense into him about how when someone is in a relationship, they go through the hard times together. They share the burden. They don't go it alone!

So although I didn't know if I could actually trust this beautiful and amazing woman who has never done anything wrong in her entire life except make my heart flutter, I did trust the process.

Because there was only the tiniest barrier between her and Jin in front of the elevator.

And, of course, that barrier ended up being Akin.

But the best thing about the elevator scene, is even with Akin being the barrier between them, they are still in this enclosed space together.

It's such a good visual because just like the bars with him and Jade throughout the episode, Akin is not in this prison alone. He has people with him even if he doesn't realize.

And Judy, with her pink = 💕love💕 lighting, proves she really is a good actress because her sly responses convince the public that it was her in the photos, not Akin.

But that woman is NOT in love with Jin. She immediately drops the act once the cameras stop rolling and the biggest barrier comes up as Jin gives her back the ring.

She just isn't a gorgeous face even though her face is truly a masterpiece.

No! She is a greatly talented actress who understands the stress of trying to maintain a private relationship as a public figure, and the barriers show us that she has no intention of coming between Jin and Akin.

So the episode ends with the color-coded text telling us that Akin guessed Jin's ring size while he slept next to him THREE MONTHS AGO.

Then to cement how much Akin loves Jin, he wrote the size down on a green sticky note with a green pen.

And when he gives Jin the ring, in that peach room, Jin is magically backed by blue.

So they are finally combining and exchanging their colors!

[theballadofthesunandthestars]

After reading SOTR, it was so refreshing and heartbreaking to read from the point of view of a character who loves so openly. Haymitch bleeds love everywhere he goes; not just for the obvious people like Lenore Dove, or Sid and Ma, but for everyone.

His complete and utter adoration of Lenore Dove? How her flaws, her recklessness and impulsiveness just makes him love her all the more. How he can’t always keep up with her, but he doesn’t resent her for it, just tries his best to and loves her when he can’t understand. The contrast between Snow wanting to control Lucy Gray, even going so far as to say that he wishes she was back in the Arena so he could know where she was, and Haymitch wanting nothing more for Lenore Dove than to be free, even trying to tell Lenore Dove to move on from him when he dies in the Arena.

The way Haymitch expresses such adoration for Hattie, how he admires her hard work and hugs her when she gives him his birthday gift. How he tries to protect her during the Interviews.

Haymitch’s love for his family; how he finds them annoying sometimes, but he loves them. He ruffles Sid’s hair and takes on the role of his father, how he lets Sid drag him out on a clear night to look up at the stars. He hugs his Ma and speaks of her with admiration for her work, even as he’s just as annoyed by her work ethic.

Louella McCoy, who crushed on Haymitch for a week, and it just endeared her to him, made him fiercely protective of her. He never looked down on her for being childish, and he did everything in his power to get justice for her.

Lou Lou, whom he despised at first, only to love her anyways. He didn’t even know her real name, didn’t know anything about her except that she was from Eleven and that she was recording what they were saying, but he loved her anyways because he can’t help it. It spills out of him. He protected her and tried to make her death quick, tried to get justice for what happened to her just as much as he did Louella.

Wyatt, Maysilee, and Effie are my favorite examples of how Haymitch sees the flaws in people, but loves them anyways, embraces them even. Wyatt Callow, who he started by resenting him for his father’s gambling practices, only to grow to love Wyatt for his quick wit, then to mourn him when he was killed on the first day. Maysilee Donner who was spoiled and mean in his eyes, yet he could still see her rebellious and determined nature, her kindness for the other Tributes as she wove their tokens, and he held her hand as she died, cementing her in his mind as his sister. Effie Trinket, who despite her Capitol upbringing, despite her parroting Capitol propaganda lines, Haymitch can’t help but notice her empathy and kindness, and she becomes the only one who can seem to care for him after his Games.

Every single Tribute that he adopted as his own, his flock of doves. He never once thought about winning over any of them, choosing instead to do everything in his power to protect them. He kept the fire running and made nightlights for the young Tributes who feared the dark. He tried to play it cool when meeting with Amphert, but when Amphert hugs him, he just drops the act and hugs him right back. He stayed with Wellie and helped to feed her the best he could, reassuring her the whole time and strategizing how he was going to make her the Victor. He blamed himself for every one of their deaths.

Fuck, even the rabbits in the Arena he becomes fond of. He viewed them as allies and felt guilty when he had to use them to determine what was poisoned.

Haymitch Abernathy loves hard and fast. And that’s what Snow took; his ability to love. He trapped Haymitch into the rascal persona he had put on for the Games. The message he sent with Lenore Dove and Ma and Sid and every single Tribute who Haymitch couldn’t save, was that he would kill anyone Haymitch loved. So he drove people away from him. Forced distance between him and the District Twelve tributes. I think that didn’t even stop him from loving them too, only to watch them killed in the Arena. A yearly reminder of that message.

I hope after the revolution, Haymitch felt free to love without fear again.

[rahuratna]

Minnie, I was right.

This is, by far, one of my absolute favourite Nanami fics ever written, so much so that it took me two whole days to actually finish it because I was taking breaks to digest how marvelous each section was.

Every part of this fic was a love letter to Nanami (and his forearms, but I digress) and I feel like you single-handedly made me fall in love with his character all over again.

Right here is the deeply sensitive and observant side of him, the vulnerability even with undeniable strength, the underlying mischievous and deeply passionate man who you always manage to capture the essence of.

But before I continue with my general impressions, a more detailed look is called for. If I'm going to quote every line that was breathtakingly written, I'm going to quote half the story, so I'm going to exercise some restraint here, lol.

The opening scene and the return to this point in time in the last section was such a symbolic moment. It felt like the ring on her finger, such a small item, so precious, doubly so because of WHO had given it. It's a commitment that Nanami made, seemingly without even having to think about it at the furniture store, but the decision carries so much more weight with him. This is the culmination of events in a relationship, while simultaneously being the birth of so many new avenues for him and reader.

Yes, this is THE ode to Nanami's forearms that I've always dreamed of reading, but it's so much more than that. Through the appreciation of this aspect of him, you've fixed a lens through which we get to see all the best parts of his character.

We get to see the rule-abiding, stoic side of him at work, the canon-familiar dynamic with Ino and Gojo, but also a slow unfurling of a man. He reveals himself, layer by layer, through the way he does paperwork, the way he takes note of the reader's habits and mannerisms, the way he acknowledges his own burgeoning feelings and takes responsibility for them (as he WOULD), that slow, powerful, sweet pour of his honeyed existence into the vessel of your world. It's poetry. Pure poetry.

There's something so delightfully and earthily erotic about reader's obsession with his arms (I have never identified more strongly with a reader character, btw) but its always artfully offset by the way the complexity of her emotions surrounding it are conveyed.

It's an elaborate dance, a push and pull, dare I say, a form of courtship on its most primal level. As a male bird of paradise displays his feathers to gain the attention of the female, here Nanami, a man not given to ostentatious display at all, finds his own manner of mating call, and explores both their sexualities in a way that only strengthens and cements the bond of love and trust between them. This is truly a masterpiece of writing, and it shows in nuances like this.

The way reader is also portrayed as such a complex and subtle character is also amazing to me. She inhabits a unique sphere in his world without infringing on, or changing it. She fits into his reality, as he does in hers. There's this seamless transition between canon and what occurs in their relationship that must have taken so much craft to convey, but you truly made it look effortless.

The many little chronological incidents that you write chain into each other so well with those brushstrokes of lighter curiosity, building attraction, natural companionship, cut through with the deeper shades of lust, desire, longing and love that binds like sinew to bones.

Also, can I slow clap for the way Nanami uses his knowledge of her specific kink to draw out such an elaborate plan of seduction?? This is so HIM??? It's 100% something he would do, at least, in my head. In an almost scientific manner, he observes, hypothesizes, sets out his aim and objectives, tests them in numerous scenarios, observes her responses, notes them meticulously, and then applies them with all the precision of a Swedish-manufactured timepiece.

FUCK.

Minnie. I am WEAK for this man.

Can I also say that your prose is just stunning (always, but particularly in this piece). There were such subtle masterstrokes of allegory, metaphor and imagery throughout that I completely lost track of which were my favorites, because there were JUST TOO MANY.

I apologise for how disjointed this review is, but ALSO, there is a certain intimacy you always bring with your depiction of Nanami. He feels so real, like I could reach out and touch him, feel the fabric of his trousers under my fingers, map out the veins on his arms, smell the underlying natural scent of him, feel the warmth of his scalp where his undercut runs thinnest. It's your words that bring this almost visceral, tactile version of Nanami to life through writing, and there is something so incredibly powerful about that.

Another reader called you the "Nanami Queen" and I have to throw in my vote, because I've honestly read very, very few fics that bring him to life the way you've managed to. Nanami breathes, fights, struggles, loves, lusts, and lives through your words. He carves a firm place in the mind that can't be unseated by any other version of him, and that's a mark of raw talent, skill and power when it comes to writing.

The sex scene was utterly magnetic and breathless, a warm fog of passion, misted breath and marks in flesh. Your descriptions are so drenched in sensuality without ever resorting to or needing overt phrasing.

Like, honestly, when Nanami spreads fingers covered in her slick, when he licks it off, including the part on his arm, that BLEW the breath out of my lungs. The way you showcase the primacy of their passion while never losing the tempo of unbridled sex, while maintaining Nanami's character with such accuracy, while providing such a detailed, explicit, nuanced view of how he gives her exactly what she needs, is so incredibly depicted. I'm lost for words.

My final take away from this is that yes, this is a story about Nanami's exquisite forearms, but also a story about the slow blossoming of love between two people who express themselves in subtle ways, the building of not just a relationship, but an unshakable foundation of trust, of being another person's safe harbour and home, of the myriad small ways that love infiltrates your life before it's delicate form roots itself and grows into something vast and all-encompassing.

Nanami is a subtle man, a man who asserts his presence quietly, but with a gravitas and sense of purpose that sets him apart. He is a man who chases an elusive happiness, one he has almost resigned himself to never finding. He is a man who could love with such tenderness, humour, passion and intimacy.

You've held up a mirror to that man, literally, in the most erotic manner possible, but in doing so revealed the many facets of his character that make him so utterly devastating.

Thank you, Minnie, for this absolute masterpiece of Nanami fiction, one that will remain with me for as long as I read fanfic. I don't think I have the words to properly convey what I felt when reading this, but your writing makes me feel such raw emotion, such heightened sensations, such immersion in the fictional world, that I once again can only defer to you as someone who has the key that unlocks a specific door in my mind.

This is a Nanami fic for the hall of fame, as I predicted, and it will remain there for as long as people choose to bring him to life through fiction as special as this.

CW: mature themes, smut, MDNI Pairing: Nanami Kento x Fem!Reader Summary: It was such a soft radiance that highlighted the contours of his forearm, well-defined and solid—like someone who didn’t need to prove anything. When he picked up his pen, twirling it once in his fingers before he began tackling the preliminary portion of his report, Nanami did it effortlessly, as if all of this was nothing. Not knowing that to you, it would become everything. OR Five times you manage to stave off the urge to act upon your fascination with Nanami Kento's most alluring physical feature, and the one time you don't. Also on AO3

It really didn’t have to come to this.

It’s the first coherent thought that crosses your mind as you draw your legs up from where they slung off the sides of the low couch. You push against your feet, the cool leather a welcome relief against your heated skin as you scoot further up the smooth surface. The distinctive flick of the light switch reverberates down the hallway, and a faint glow illuminates the ceiling above you, bringing the skip-trowel texture composing it into focus. Your eyes follow where the light catches the amalgamation of ridges and valleys, as your breath finally evens down from its rapid rhythm.

The unique sound of a kitchen cupboard closing shut pulls you from your daze. The slow thud of approaching footsteps on polished hardwood follows it, resonating in the dim, quiet space. You close your eyes, take a deep breath, and you fail to stifle the soft chuckle that bubbles up within you, a laugh at your own expense as the absurdity of the situation washes over you.

Because it does dawn upon you now, the silliness of it all. All of this time, all of the mental energy poured into holding onto a secret with a declining half-life, only to have your efforts inevitably undone. 

Only now, in the clarity granted by hindsight, does your mind flit to a memory as clear as day, back to several months prior, when the catalyzing encounter of the saga that eventually led to this moment that brought you to uncover a new facet of Nanami’s desires and to confront the particularities of your own.

“I don’t know, Ino… Maybe you should hold off on the more demanding missions for a bit. Isn’t this your third injury in just as many weeks?” you asked as you offered the younger sorcerer the energy bar you’d just unwrapped for him.

“And risk missing out on some field practice? Hell no!” Ino replied indignantly. “I’m only Grade 2 on paper, you know this. This is a minor setback, no big deal!” He tapped his cast for emphasis and nearly dropped the bar he’d seemingly forgot he was holding in the process, just barely catching it with his mouth before it fell to his lap. You could only shake your head as you watched the goofy scene unfold.

The past few weeks had seen a relentless surge of curse-related activity as the Tokyo metropolitan area entered what was typically its most hectic time of year. This time around, the busy season had resulted in every active sorcerer effectively forced to work on-call as they were assigned to successive missions which, more often than not, stretched the boundaries of their capabilities. You’d witnessed it yourself, as a Grade 2 instructor assigned to quite a few field missions that increasingly erred on the higher side of your experience level.

You’d had your start as an instructor at Jujutsu Tech at the same time Ino joined, first meeting at orientation, and over time, you’d grown to know and appreciate him like a younger brother. While his tenacity was usually admirable, it also worried you at times, particularly recently. He’d been pushing himself, even going as far as volunteering for the type of missions that would result in his current predicament: sitting in one of Shoko’s examination rooms with a broken arm freshly wrapped in a cast, awaiting his next round of RCT treatment.

“Besides,” he continued, “I was assigned with Nanami-san, and when I tell you that you would’ve loved to see him in action today,” he said, his tone tinged with a not-so-subtle playful lilt that did not escape you. “He kicked some serious fucking ass out there and I bet you would’ve—”

A heavy, exasperated sigh emanated from the entrance behind you.

“Ino, your energy would be better spent focusing on recalling facts rather than on the retelling of hyperbolic stories.”

The interjection came as a distinctively calm voice, one carrying a uniquely measured cadence, and did not require you to turn around to identify who it belonged to.

You shot Ino a warning look as you both watched Nanami Kento cross the few strides that took him to the opposing side of the infirmary bed. He dropped a thin stack of papers onto the examination room counter before his eyes met yours, a smile and a wordless greeting passing between you as his head slightly dipped in a respectful bow. You responded with a nod of your own, as you tried to mentally downplay the soothing wave of warmth that washed over you.

You were still slowly being acquainted with Nanami, who had recently made his return to the school, mostly via common interactions with his protégé, much like the one you were having now. Theirs was a bond you’d watched form and grow in real-time, largely thanks to Ino’s incessant updates.

But you’d also made observations of your own, taking notice of some unique and understated traits that only further piqued your curiosity about the man dubbed the 7:3 sorcerer.

As a teacher yourself, you’d been particularly sensitive to his affinity for mentorship with students and established sorcerers alike. They were the kind of observations that made you wonder about the specifics of what had made him leave in the first place, and even more curiously, about what had compelled him to return.

There was also something just so singular about how Nanami conducted himself. His was an even-tempered presence, bearing a quiet confidence that made him such a steady and welcome counterbalance to the otherwise frenetic atmosphere at the school. It simply made him such a pleasant person to be around, and lately, it was more often than not that you’d catch yourself, as you did in this moment, stealing fleeting glances at him as he draped the tan-colored suit jacket he’d been carrying over the examination chair before taking a seat.

“Pfft. What hyperbolics?” Ino’s mouth stretched into a wide grin as he turned away from Nanami and back towards you. “You truly should have seen it! Five hefty curses cornered Nanami-san, and he had to find a way to…”

And that’s when it first happened.

You’d glanced over just in time to catch sight of Nanami using his left hand to skillfully undo the cuff of his right sleeve, folding it neatly over itself until it reached his elbow, gradually revealing the perfectly toned arm underneath. By the time he was repeating the process on his other arm, the quiet precision of his movements and the hypnotic rhythm of controlled and focused intent had you completely spellbound. 

Though innocuous in its practical purpose, the act held such an airy allure, one you thought couldn’t possibly be solely attributed to the overhead halogen lighting. It was such a soft radiance that highlighted the contours of his forearm, well-defined and solid, like someone who didn’t need to prove anything. When he picked up his pen, twirling it once in his fingers before he began tackling the preliminary portion of his report, Nanami did it effortlessly, as if all of this was nothing.

Not knowing that to you, it would become everything.

It hadn’t even registered with you yet at the time; the extent to which one too many furtive glances had been enough for a seed to take root in your heart, its insidious vines coiling around your unsuspecting mind.

“Hey, are you even listening?” Ino’s sudden, rambunctious voice, along with the lamenting intonation it carried, pulled you back to reality.

Only now did you realize that you’d decidedly relegated Ino’s voice to the background, prompting you to return your attention to him, but not before catching the fleeting upward curve of Nanami’s eyebrow along with the hint of curiosity discernible even through his near opaque lenses as he raised his head, his eyes meeting yours for the briefest of moments.

Agitation coursed through you by the time you turned to Ino, as you quickly processed the embarrassing fact that his loud comment might have exposed your moment of indiscreet inattention.

“I am listening, Ino, if only because you are speaking entirely too loudly for me to do otherwise,” you said, your words strained by the anxious tightening of your jaw. 

You thought you’d detected a light scoff emanating from Nanami, so subtle, so nearly imperceptible that you wondered if you’d imagined it. You didn’t dare look his way to confirm it.

“Fine!” huffed Ino. “Then you can read about it in my report, just like everyone else! Oh, speaking of which, Nanami-san graciously offered to fill it in for me, you know, since my good arm is out of commission! Isn’t he the best?”

Nanami cleared his throat before intervening. “Ino, I’m rather keen on leaving on time today, so please, let’s focus on this?”

You took this as your cue to exit what could only become an increasingly compromising situation for you, keen on avoiding any further embarrassing displays of distraction.

“I’ll leave you two to it. I have an assignment of my own for which I should be preparing… Ino, please do the reasonable thing for once in your life and try to get some real rest, will you?”

You trained your eyes on the exit door as you headed towards it, determined to resist the urge to get distracted again, a flimsy plan that failed as soon as you realized where you’d left your phone.

On the counter.

Next to Nanami.

You took a deep breath to steady your nerves before you made your way around the bed and quietly retrieved your device from the counter, hoping that Nanami’s focus would remain on the report he was so diligently filling—a prayer that was only half fulfilled.

“Kawasaki City?” he asked, his voice coming unexpectedly, gently, and you were grateful that his eyes did not immediately leave his report, because you simply could not prevent yours from surreptitiously glancing over to catch one final glimpse at the hand that gripped his pen, at the way the light caught the fine hairs on his forearm.

You didn’t realize how long a silent pause had elapsed until Nanami halted his scribbling and lifted his head, curious eyes peering at you over the rims of his signature goggles. You quickly made a mental migration back to his question, your distracted mind only now registering that he was inquiring about your assignment.

“Ah yes, that’s the one… The zone’s been mostly cleared now, but they’ve assigned a small squad of us to do one final sweep before sending in the cleanup crew.”

“I see,” he said, pausing briefly. “Good luck, and be careful out there.” Sparse words heavy with sincerity.

“Thank you, Nanami.” Your reply came out meeker than you’d liked, something you cringed at internally before you grabbed your phone and finally shuffled towards the exit and out of the room.

“Ino—” Nanami started, eyes still on the door, warning already well-laced within those two syllables.

“Nanami-san. All due respect,” Ino cut in, not even pretending to attempt to conceal his self-satisfied grin, “but you’ve got to let me cook. Can’t you see I’m trying to talk you up? At this point, you’re just getting the way!” His lament was carelessly loud enough to be audible from the corner you’d just turned into the hall.

But hear it you did not, as you were too preoccupied with a conundrum of your own, the one consisting both of taming the small flame that had ignited within you and of fighting off the vivid imagery along with its significantly less tame derivatives that lingered and threatened to slink into your mind. The ones that would mark the first instances of perceiving Grade 1 sorcerer Nanami Kento in a decidedly different light.

Weeks later, the shortage of level-matched sorcerers required to meet the moment of this prolonged crisis remained persistent, resulting in teams and assignments being in a perpetual state of flux. Amidst this chaotic reshuffling, you found yourself paired with Nanami on a mission for the very first time. Some part of you briefly wondered which stars must have aligned to favor these auspicious circumstances before you decided against putting a question mark where fate had placed a period.

Today’s mission found you both on this sunny early afternoon, tasked with ridding a shrine of several cursed spirits who were intent on disrupting the area during its peak season and on terrorizing its poor visitors.

It was an assignment that quickly revealed itself to be a test of endurance rather than strength; numerous hordes of low-level curses had congregated around each of the seven entrances, six of which you’d spent the better part of the morning purging of their unwelcome intruders. In a bid to optimize energy and recovery, you’d suggested that you alternate turns exorcising the swarms, a strategy that now found the two of you hiding behind each of the two opposing pillars of the gate that marked the final entrance left to clear.

It was your turn to take on this next wave of curses, and by now, the searing soreness of strained muscles you’d rarely ever asked so much of had become difficult to ignore. Using the tip of the spear that comprised your cursed tool, you steadied yourself on shaky legs that you could almost hear screaming in protest, as you remained determined to conceal any sign of struggle and to see this final stretch through.

“Are you alright?” You heard Nanami call out from the opposing pillar, his tone edged with genuine concern.

God, this is embarrassing, you thought to yourself and could only nod at him, refusing to speak just yet for fear of betraying the shakiness in your voice, avoiding eye contact lest any evidence of your growing weariness become apparent.

Target focus, target focus, you repeated to yourself, like a mantra, as you steadied your trembling hands, turning your attention towards the horde of curses approaching on the horizon. If you could just manage to reach that first target, land that first blow, and chain it to activate your technique, the rest of the combat sequence would fall into place.

“Stay put, I’ve got this,” Nanami said as he suddenly left his post, crossing the distance between himself and the oncoming swarm in a few long strides before you could process, let alone protest what was happening.

You leaned onto your spear, repositioning yourself to face the sorcerer, just in time to watch him tighten his wrapped tie around his right hand and to witness the surge of cursed energy as it lit up his fist before he landed a decisive blow onto the first curse, staggering it and knocking it into the line of curses who’d blindly followed close behind. You watched as Nanami landed rapid, precise 7:3 blows with swift, successive slashes of his blade, only now realizing that this was your first earnest look at him in the heat of the battle.

And what a sight it was.

One right hook.

Two left slashes.

Repeat.

He set out with a slow rhythm, a cadenced dance of contained destruction and speedy precision. There was a controlled fury in his movements, a certain juxtaposition of sheer strength and disciplined composure, ridges of forearm muscles moving rhythmically as he landed one incisive blow after the other. As the density of the oncoming horde increased, so did Nanami’s tempo, so much so that for a brief moment, your fatigued eyes struggled to track his rapid movements.

The 7:3 sorcerer had decidedly entered a state of flow, seemingly unfazed by the volume of curses that threw themselves at him in a last-ditch effort to hold down the last fort of their invasion, forming the linchpin separating them from their assured demise.

Finally, it came down to the final three curses, far more imposing in stature than the previous, their presence heavy with the weight of their power, the apparent leaders of this enterprise.

All this appeared to be inconsequential to the indefatigable Nanami Kento, who unleashed a single, forceful blow that tore through all three curses at once, chopping them down right at their weak spot, thus putting an end to their onslaught, once and for all.

A tingling warmth flowed through you, easing some of the tension in your aching muscles, and you thought that maybe it was something beyond mere tiredness that accounted for this particular tremor traveling down your legs.

You trudged over to where Nanami stood, finding him still visibly recovering as he brought the back of his hand up to wipe his forehead, displacing the loose strands of his neatly disheveled hair. The sleeves of his cerulean shirt were pulled back, revealing a toned arm dotted with small beads of sweat, and accented by his signature watch, which gleamed as it caught the midday sunlight.

It suddenly occurred to you that you must have been staring when you caught a glint from Nanami's glasses as he shifted, and you watched as he scrutinized you, appearing to conduct a subtle but thorough assessment of his own.

“How are you holding up?” he asked, a light strain accompanying his words, his chest slightly heaving from exertion as he still caught his breath.

I should be the one asking you that, is what you wanted to reply.

“I’m completely fine… What about you?” you asked instead, attempting to ground yourself by counting the patterned spots adorning his tie, now only loosely coiled around his hand.

“Good,” his reply came laced with relief, as though a weight was lifted off his shoulders, and you felt his eyes linger on you for a brief moment before he followed up, “I’m fine as well.”

You found yourself nervously shifting your weight from foot to foot, each fidgety movement pushing the sharpened point of your spear to dig deeper into the cool grass as you hesitated in your next words.

“Thank you for taking on that last wave,” you said, still taking a trivial mental tally of black spots on yellow fabric. “You sure made light work of clearing them.”

A quiet twinge of self-consciousness rippled through you as soon as you uttered the words, and you winced internally as you silently hoped that they didn’t fall as flat with him as they sounded to you. You lifted your gaze, catching his for the brief moment it took him to turn his back to you, and you told yourself that you were imagining the faint flush that appeared to creep up his neck, just above his collar. You convinced yourself that the way he’d pressed his lips into a thin line was not a smile, nor even a suppressed iteration of one.

“It’s not a problem,” Nanami said over his shoulder. You watched curiously as he walked back the few steps that separated him from the spot where the discombobulated remains of the final three curses still lay. He knelt down to pick up what appeared to be an object dropped by one of the large curses, before he began to make his way back to you, his gaze still not quite returning to you. 

“The truth is,” he continued, “I wouldn’t have been able to conserve this much energy had you not handled the previous waves as effectively as you did.”

Surely, these were but the polite words of a Grade 1 sorcerer towards his Grade 2 colleague. 

Surely, it was the nebulous product of a tired and overactive imagination, and not an undercurrent of timidity you were detecting in his voice. 

And surely, you’d tell yourself later, as you’d replay this interaction in your mind, it was the adrenaline propelling you in the moment, driving your unusual urge to keep a conversation going.

“Still, Nanami…” you chirped, feigning a confidence you did not yet feel you had, “At the risk of employing Ino’s terms, you did sort of hard carry me at the end there…”

This earned you a small scoff from the stoic sorcerer, a tiny but remarkable crack in his otherwise guarded demeanor, a pleasant surprise.

“Absolutely not,” he said before finally meeting your gaze from beyond his tinted lenses. “It was a team effort, and we made a good team.”

“Eh, I don’t know…” you replied, averting your gaze with a non-committal hum.

“You don’t know if we make a good team?”

You threw a glance his way, and this time, the tiny amused lift of his lips was unmistakable.

“No, yeah, I think we do,” you replied as nonchalantly as you possibly could.

“Good. I think so too.”

Surely, there was no deeper significance to this.

Regardless, he’d completely disarmed you of the remnants of your unperturbed veneer, and you found yourself mirroring his smile, not that you could even help it if you’d wanted to, not after he punctuated his statement with such a natural utterance of your name.

As you fought the urge to break the connection of his gaze and to hide from the unexpected vulnerability it was drawing from you, you steadied yourself by bringing your second hand to the worn wood of your spear, its familiar texture a slight comfort against the nervous tremor in your grip, further digging and it into the soft dirt surface of the ground. It crossed your mind that at this rate, you just might find the planet’s core before this conversation ended.

Nanami held up the object he’d just picked up, revealing it to be a small wooden placard.

“We should return this where it belongs,” he said, thankfully moving on from the suspended moment. “I believe I recall which gate had its signage missing.”

As you descended the shrine’s sloping grounds, the crunch of the gravel path underfoot sounded a soothing rhythm to an easier, more natural conversation as you recapped the mission’s events thus far. Nanami’s memory proved to be correct, so you both stopped before a small gate by an off-beat path right by the third main entrance, one which notably had a bare signpost.

You watched intently, captured by the quiet precision of his movements as he meticulously reattached the placard to the side of the gate, and you couldn’t help but marvel at the duality demonstrated within the time span of a single mission; the handiwork of hands that were dispensing righteous destruction a few minutes ago, now engaged in an authentic act of restoration.

Nanami backed up after having completed this endeavor, and only then were you able to make out the aged inscription on the wooden placard:

Destiny’s Path

Much like at the moment you were assigned to this mission, with this partner, your mind flitted to the notion of fate’s inescapable decree.

Several months separated you from that first joint mission, and you and Nanami now found yourselves engaged in an exercise that was as experimental and intimate as your blooming relationship.

“Alright, so the cabbage into eight wedges first and then cut each of those in half, the sweet potato and carrots cut into one-inch chunks, and then for the okra, you can just sever the stems.” You instructed, as you carefully placed a kitchen knife into his hand, handle first.

“Yes, chef,” he replied solemnly, a mirthful smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

It was his spirited refrain, one he’d now delivered for the third time this evening, earning him yet another snicker from you. Though it was his kitchen you were occupying, he’d gladly adopted the role of sous-chef for the night.

A comfortable silence hung in the air for a moment, and the reality of the situation settled. A Friday evening in Nanami’s apartment, the rich aroma of onions and bell peppers melding with sautéed beef in a pan wafting through the kitchen along with a tomato and cayenne broth simmering in a stockpot. It comprised the beginning of a savory West African peanut stew recipe you’d committed to share with him some weeks ago, a promise Nanami was now holding you to via a rather impromptu dinner night. An array of emotions swirled and commingled within you; a blend of nervousness and elation, of novelty and familiarity. 

There was no label, none that you knew of at least, for the melding of your identities through a cultural dish whose preparation you knew like the back of your hand, and yet felt like you were learning for the first time all over again. You’ve tried to articulate the simplicity with which Nanami welcomed you into his space, to put into words the inexplicable but deeply satisfying sense of belonging that he instilled within you through acts like this one.

Underlying all this was a certain permissiveness to allow yourselves to drop the formalities imposed by the limitations of the workplace, of getting a glimpse into the reserved sorcerer in a rare, relaxed form, into undiscovered shades in his voice, and into an utterly understated playfulness that you were quick find both endlessly surprising and positively delightful. It truly was a nameless sentiment, something of a catalytic blur, a steady whisper in the background of shared breaths and of casual touches.

It was almost dizzying.

But not as dizzying as watching Nanami pull back the sleeves of the black polo shirt he’d changed into in two swift movements, leaving you no time to prepare nor to brace yourself against being unexpectedly faced with his exposed forearms.

Your breath slightly hitched at the sight.

In theory, your simmering broth, along with the meticulous process of sautéing your beef chunks with the bell peppers and onions you’d just added to your pan, should have sufficed to keep your attention.

In practice, the steady and rhythmic sound of Nanami’s knife striking wood only underscored what you could only imagine being an unmatched display of dexterity and an effortless masterclass in precision as he worked right beside you, each audible cut drawing you, enticing you to take a peek.

Just checking on his progress was how you’d shamelessly rationalize it in your mind.

So here you were, inconspicuously shifting your gaze over to his cutting board and, just as expected, your eyes fell upon a riveting sight. You caught the edge of your lower lip, observing Nanami’s slender, nimble fingers as he guided the knife over the firm yet yielding raw sweet potato, which, in turn, offered a slight resistance at each slicing movement, causing the muscles in his forearm to flex and his veins to ripple beneath his skin like tiny, pulsing rivers.

Those glorious veins.

How much time had elapsed as you watched, mesmerized by the way they disappeared and reemerged under the surface of his skin? What stopped you, really, from grabbing his arm right then and there, from tracing the constellation of every single vein that ran down from his fingers to the taut skin above his wrist, right down to where the fabric of his rolled-up sleeve bunched up on his forearm? All you’d know for sure was that after a while, Nanami paused mid-slice and glanced at you.

“I’m not doing this wrong, am I?” he asked, in a tone carrying an undercurrent of genuine concern.

“What? Yes. Ah, no. I mean, you’re doing great, don’t stop.”

It was a stammered reply, delivered almost too quickly, definitely too loudly. You turned back to your task at hand, the stove’s once comforting warmth now only serving to intensify the heat crawling up your neck and rising towards your flustered face.

You felt Nanami’s gaze linger on you for a bit before he resumed, his movements now slightly slower and carrying a renewed diligence. For a moment, you felt small a pang of guilt at the thought of having potentially planted a seed of doubt in his mind as a result of your shameless ogling, a sentiment that quickly faded away after he cut the last of the sweet potato, slightly shifting his angle, granting you an even clearer, more direct view of his effort as he took on slicing the carrots. Those offered less resistance, so when he started once again, it was in a brisker rhythm, each motion, each accompanying sound a note in the sinewy symphony of movement before you, capturing your full attention. There was no denying it now.

This was decidedly a thing.

Nanami finally threw a sidelong glance in your direction, and this time, you were sure that he’d caught you red-handed; you couldn’t even pretend to be subtle anymore, and you fully expected him to finally call you out on your staring when your eyes met and he spoke again.

“So is it wood then?” he said, a statement more than a question, breaking neither his gaze nor his rhythm as he continued to chop the vegetables.

His seemingly random question juxtaposed with his casual demeanor had completely thrown you for a loop. For the few seconds you tried to decipher it, your mind was in a bit of a whirlwind, and you briefly thought that perhaps it had finally happened, that you’d finally lost your mind, that you were far enough gone that you were now hallucinating and hearing nonsense.

“I’m sorry… Wood?” you asked, completely puzzled.

“Your secret ingredient for this dish? I’m assuming that’s what that’s about,” he said as he gestured his head towards the stove, bringing your attention to the wooden spoon you’d distractedly long since let slip out of your fingers and fall into the stockpot, nearly fully submerged in the broth.

“Ha. Very funny,” you said, trying and failing to suppress a snicker at just how ridiculous this situation, and the circumstances that led to it, were. “You should be minding your carrots, sir.”

You reached for the tip of the spoon that was still accessible and carefully tried to pinch it at an angle that would spare your fingers from being burned on the edge of the red-hot pot.

“Yes, chef,” Nanami’s voice broke the tense silence just as you were about to retrieve the spoon, and something about the comedic delayed timing of his response sent you over the edge as you let the chortle you didn’t realize you’d been desperately holding escape your lips, along with a sudden movement that only served to push the distressed spoon to slide deeper into the pot.

“Damn it, look at what you’ve done!” you cried out, your giggles betraying your attempt to mask your amusement.

Nanami chuckled as he reached his arm over, muscles flexing with the extension, coming to the rescue just in time to grab the tip of the spoon’s handle by the last few millimetres that remained safe. Just as he expertly brought the spoon into the adjoining sink for rinsing, a sharp exhale escaped him, transfiguring into an earnest burst of laughter, rich and unrestrained.

“I’m glad my troubles, which you caused, by the way, amuse you so much.” You brought a hand to your face, partly to cover what was now decidedly a shared laughter between you two, partly to conceal the embarrassment you felt about what your indiscretion had brought you.

“Thanks,” you said sheepishly when he handed you the now clean spoon, before adding with caution, “I know you want to, don’t say it again.”

“You’re welcome,” he replied with a smirk and a rising intonation as he resumed cutting the vegetables, an anticipated implication that he would defy your request.

You told yourself that there would be ample time later, for entertaining the colorful thoughts that permeated as a low hum in the background of your mind for the remainder of that evening, as you stole more subtle glances at him throughout the rest of your dinner prep, as you later chatted away over a successfully prepared meal. That you’d admonish yourself later tonight, for engaging in the all too tempting mental exercise of imagining other uses for Nanami’s arms, and for relishing in the creative results this yielded.

Slipping.

The threadbare mask you’d painstakingly managed to keep up thus far was now slipping.

The closing weeks of the first term of the new school year found you firmly ensconced in what was now a deepening romantic relationship with Nanami. By now, you’d long since stowed it neatly at the back of your mind; the notion that each passing day only inched you closer to that future, inevitable moment when you would be pushed to confront whatever consequences would come out of the sweet release of disclosure.

An inflection point would precede all this, however — a pivotal moment you would only pinpoint in retrospect, arriving on a late July afternoon marked by a suffocating heatwave.

The beads of sweat were finally beginning to cool on your forehead as the minutes ticked by. The small fan Nanami had placed on the coffee table before you a few minutes prior served as a scant but much-appreciated last defence against the thick, humid air, which had long since frizzed the edges of your once-sleek, silk-pressed hair.

About half an hour had passed since you’d both languidly stumbled into this unused office, desperately seeking refuge within what was seemingly the sole room in this building benefitting from a window that did not directly face the scorching midday sun, an oasis in a school building whose air conditioning had fallen to the whims of Murphy’s Law and had ceased to function during the city’s warmest week on record.

Nanami sat at the desk toiling away at some mission report while you were slumped on the adjacent couch, tackling a lesson plan, each of you battling on different fronts of the same war against the heavy, humid air.

The usually lively post-lunchtime coworking session you’d both been looking forward to had thus taken a sluggish tenor as you tried to focus on each of your tasks while holding onto the last bit of sanity amidst these terrible conditions that were anything but workable.

You’d swapped the hot tea you’d normally share at this time with a much less optimal cold drink that wound up being more ice than coffee, and instead of the usual buzz of conversation often consisting of Nanami delivering his scathing commentary on the latest episode of the new baking reality show you’d both been watching in tandem, a quiet stillness descended on you, only intermittently interrupted either by a sigh, the clacking sound of his keyboard, or the scribbling sound of your pen gliding across your tablet.

Out the cracked window, the cheerful chatter of some students who had gathered outside around some cold refreshments could be heard, and you wished you could emulate a fraction of their eager energy.

Only once the pen you’d been holding flew out of your hand, bouncing past your feet and rolling down somewhere under the couch, did you realize that you’d been absentmindedly tapping it against your knee in your fidgety distraction, its unceremonious clattering sound pulling you out of your contemplation.

You bent down and lazily padded the area just underneath the couch, first with your foot, then with your fingers, but they came up empty, finding only the ridged hardwood floor.

“Ah, shit,” you muttered under your breath. Now was not the time for this.

A very irrational reevaluation of the merits of completing a lesson plan in time for said lesson began to creep into your thoughts, and just as you began to contemplate abandoning ship for the day, Nanami calmly rose from his seat and made his way towards you, having observed the entire debacle out of the corner of his eye.

“This damn pen…” you bemoaned as you padded the same area over and over again, as though it would magically materialize after the umpteenth pass.

“I’ll get it,” Nanami said coolly as he crouched by you, right in the cramped space separating the coffee table from the couch that seated you.

You lifted your head, and it was in this newfound proximity that you took in just how much his tone contrasted with his demeanor, and how affected he was by these sweltering conditions.

It was evidenced in the way his disheveled hair clung onto his sweaty forehead, his tie off and draped over his shoulders, in the way the first two buttons of his shirt were undone, exposing his gleaming collarbone and in the haphazard manner by which his sleeves were pushed back to his elbows, wrinkled and uneven. It had you wondering whether it was just you or if this heat wave somehow managed to melt away a certain poise Nanami usually carried, giving him a rugged, slightly more cavalier allure that even you found to be rather novel.

It crossed your mind that perhaps it was a different kind of heat, one that had little to do with the weather that held dominion over these wandering thoughts.

Nanami brought his knuckles to the floor, extending his legs behind him and holding his body straight and taut as he flexed his arms, lowering himself in a controlled movement before dipping his head to glance underneath the couch. He reached one hand just by your right foot, while expertly hovering his chest just a couple of inches above the floor. The subtle bulging of his muscles beneath his shirt as they tensed certainly did not escape you.

Your eyes flicked first to the pen Nanami was now handing you, then back to his face, where you found a nearly imperceptible air of contentment and the beginnings of an amused smile. A silent testament, you thought, to his successful little expedition.

“Lifesaver,” you said, returning his smile. “My students get to have a class tomorrow, thanks to you.” Your attempt at feigning a relaxed demeanor held, until, that is, your fingers brushed against his as you took the pen, and you tried to suppress the involuntary hitch in your breath at the contact.

Get it together, girl, you thought to yourself, as you watched Nanami bring his hand to the floor, still without a word, expecting him to return to his seat.

Instead, with a measured exhale, Nanami lowered himself back towards the ground.

“I can feel it, you know…” When he finally spoke, it was barely audible over the buzzing fan, addressing the floor more than you.

“Hmm?” you said as you cautiously glanced down towards him.

“The tension.” He concluded his sentence, his voice even, low in tone yet loud in the relative silence. He held the position, his body a straight line from shoulders to toes, arms at a near-perfect right angle. His eyes kept straight ahead, and you could’ve sworn that it was only once your eyes traced over his arms, sparse hairs smoothened by the glistening sweat, that he finally extended them, raising himself in a smooth movement with a light grunt as he exhaled.

You felt your chest tighten.

“What tension?” you asked, unsure why you were murmuring, fairly sure that you should be bracing to hear whatever he had to say next.

“One,” he let out, his voice a low rumble, tilting his head up and peering at you through the blonde strands of hair that now fell over his eyes, holding your gaze just long enough for it to be noticeable, before his arms bent again, exerting muscles that revealed a striking pattern stretched over clearly defined veins. He lowered himself once more and pushed back up, a swift movement this time.

“Two,” he spoke again as he lowered himself into what was now clearly yet another push-up.

Amid this unbearable heat and out of seemingly nowhere, Nanami Kento had broken into some damn push ups.

“The tension. In my neck, through my shoulders, down to my lower back. That chair is stiff, less than ergonomic. And sitting in it all day…” he trailed off, his eyes lingering on you before he counted again.

“Three.”

Despite the now unmistakable smirk stretching Nanami’s lips, his tone was deceptively even, holding a rough rasp devoid of any strain, and it went straight to your core, trickling as a tingle down between your legs as your throat suddenly went tight and dry.

“Sitting in it all day…” he started again, picking up where he left off. “Something about the stretch of this exercise brings me so much relief.”

Nanami returned his focus to the space on the floor, right between his palms, allowing you the opportunity to keenly observe him. By now, he’d slipped into a fluid rhythm, each push upwards, each descent executed with control. His breathing was audibly rhythmic, quick exhales as he pumped his arms taut, muscles shifting as they flexed. He made the whole thing look so effortless, so damn hot.

You mentally clung to the justification that you were truly defenceless with your eyes here, on Nanami, on his flexing arms but your mind decidedly elsewhere, faced with your traitorous mind and the trips your it took down memory lane, back to other occasions during which you’d witnessed Nanami engaged in a similar exercise in a much different context, echoes from moments of shared passion past. You tried to defend yourself; it wasn’t your fault if, suddenly, momentarily, it became the most rational idea in the world to join him on this office floor and to slide yourself just under him. That if you were quiet enough, perhaps you could avoid being heard over the whirring sound of this fan, fluting up in the air and traveling out the ajar door and window, and—

That train of thought sent a jolting awareness of your surroundings, of your location, surging you back to reason.

“Sixteen,” you heard Nanami’s voice reemerging to the forefront of your mind.

You straightened your spine, pushing the capped end of your pen into your thigh in a misplaced attempt to maintain what little grip you had remaining on yourself and to find your footing, refusing to concede defeat to this dangerous game he had instigated.

“Nanami-san,” you started, the formal addition of the honorific to his surname eliciting a light chuckle that settled into further reinvigoration as he rose again, his muscles scrumptiously straining with push-up number God-knows-what as he picked up the pace. “I don’t know if the heat finally got to your head, or if this is your very roundabout way of asking for a massage or what, but you are doing entirely too much and I should—”

“Did someone say massage?”

A familiar, boisterous voice rang in the tense silence, causing you to jump in your seat and prompting Nanami to snap his head up towards the door. “I heard—Woah, you two are living good in here! Why are you gatekeeping the cool room?”

“Gojo, have you ever heard of knocking?” Nanami said, his tone finding a level of acerbity that was even further pronounced than the one he typically addressed him with.

“So mean to your favorite senpai, Nanamin… Besides, door’s wide open, and you don't seem to be busy working, so it’s fair game, right?” He looked to you for a confirmation you were still far too shaken to give, even if you’d wanted to humor him.

Gojo appeared to be the least affected by the heat wave out of everyone. He’d maintained his usual energetic demeanor, which he displayed now by shamelessly waltzing into the office like he personally owned it. “Oh, hey… Where the hell did you find a fan?”

Nanami let out an audible sigh that sounded more like a groan, rising from what would be his final push-up for now into a kneeling position before getting back on his feet. For what felt like the first time in forever, you could finally feel yourself breathe again, Gojo’s interruption having managed to defuse the dangerously charged energy that almost had you willing to risk it all. Only when the heat made a resurgence to the forefront of your mind did you realize just how dangerously dulled your senses had been rendered.

“Nanamiiiin, I’m so good at massages. Relax and let me give you one…” Gojo said as he extended his arms forward and wiggled them towards a defenceless Nanami.

“Absolutely not,” Nanami said firmly, backing up towards where you were still seated on the couch, only cornering himself and you in the process.

You scooted aside on the two-seater, grabbing your tablet in one hand and gently pulling on Nanami’s arm with the other, enacting your spontaneous plan for a quick escape.

“Come on, Nanamin,” you crooned, using the sobriquet Gojo relentlessly employed. “You were just complaining about the tension, right? Gojo barely seems to feel the heat, and he’s far stronger than me. I’m sure he’ll do a better job than I could ever dream.”

A few swift movements and you’d maneuvered up from the sofa, and stood behind the desk, decidedly flipping the positions you and Nanami had taken for the afternoon.

“She is so right!” Gojo explained, only further reinvigorated by your endorsement. “Sit back, Nanami! It will be my honor to take care of my bestie!”

You kept your gaze on Nanami as he fixed you through narrowed eyes that telegraphed the quiet wrath he had for you for this transgression, for the ultimate act of betrayal it was to inflict Gojo Satoru upon him, a man for with virtually no concept of personal space, on an unbearably humid day like today, no less.

Under different circumstances, you would feel a tiny twinge of guilt for pulling a gambit like this; alas, Nanami had chosen his game, and you’d chosen yours in turn, one that just so happened to involve the exploitation of the godsend that was a classic and chaotic Gojo-induced distraction. So instead, you snickered in your corner as you watched the white-haired menace slide himself behind Nanami and unnecessarily wrap his arms around his chest, eliciting a visceral swat of a hand, along with a cautionary “Don’t” from his visibly irritated counterpart.

You caught Kento’s eye and met his challenging look with a smirk not unlike the one plastered on his face not two minutes ago, when he’d subtly yet relentlessly teased you.

Would there be hell to be paid later? Probably. But for now, you could at least slip away while the two former schoolmates bickered. Now you thought that perhaps joining the students in partaking in refreshments wouldn’t be such a bad idea. You could use a chance to cool off.

And to stop yourself from slipping any further.

If your so-called mask had been hanging on by a thread, it was not in a single moment, but gradually, over the months which followed, that it completely chipped away, much like driftwood being nudged away from the shore by the lapping of gentle waves. 

As you and Kento spent more time together, you both grew more comfortable around one another, becoming more honest and comfortable, and gradually uncovering each other’s strengths and flaws, preferences and aversions, virtues and vices with an acceptance that felt natural and easy.

Your bond had strengthened by now, having long since crossed the line delineating work from life partners, and you were now bound by a promise to make the ultimate promise to one another.

In between these deeper, candid moments, smaller revelations emerged: the subtle ticks and habits, the unintentional mannerisms and underlying drives, the little unspoken details that were concomitant with a blossoming courtship. Suffice it to say that you’d inevitably shared your predilection for Kento’s arms in many ways, some less subtle than others.

On one such occasion, it had slipped out a confession concealed in a question, one day as you were having breakfast together. After some light prodding from your part, Nanami finally relented and gave you an answer other than “everything” when you’d playfully asked him what his favorite feature of yours was; “fingerprints of joy” was the exact term he’d used as a simple yet touching description of your dimples whenever you’d smile, an answer that made you seriously consider tempering your response once he’d inevitably flip the question back to you.

Tried as you might, you ended up being significantly less civil than he was, “my favorite necklace” being one of the bolder terms you’d not-so-facetiously employed, contrasting the softer, playful drag of your finger over his bicep.

The comfortable rapport that had settled between you was not one you took for granted; it was one of the few wherein you could simply be yourself and not have it be “too much”; it was the same intimacy that unveiled the tormenting tease beneath Kento’s surface. And there was an inimitable joy derived from appreciating the man that you loved, warm fuzzies associated with making him blush, or smile, or laugh, whenever you flipped the usual script and when it was you who placed him in the crosshairs of your playful provocation, for once.

By now, you were reasonably convinced that the storm had sufficiently passed, and you figured you could breathe easier, relieved that the passage of time, along with a normalized exposure to Nanami Kento, had successfully dulled the more ardent manifestations of your fixation with your favorite physical trait of his.

What you certainly did not expect was for what you would only later understand to be a dormant force to re-surge with a furious vengeance in the early hours of the morning during a quick weekend getaway.

It was a trip you’d secretly planned in a relatively short time, fueled largely by an experience you’d had one evening just a few days prior, when your fiancé had returned home exhausted after a tough mission closing out a gruelling multi-week assignment.

Though you weren’t unused to the physically and emotionally taxing nature of your duties, you’d hated what you’d seen that night, in the culmination of weeks of relentless work with no break. Reserved as he was, Nanami was not infallible. You’d grown to know him very well by now, more than anyone else; you’d immediately detected the telltale signs of exhaustion, made apparent in his tone, devoid of its usual edge, and in the weariness etched on his face, and perhaps more evidently, in the way that he’d completely crashed as soon as he’d dragged himself out of the quick shower he’d barely managed to stay awake to take. He was burning out, long overdue for a break.

That night, you stayed up in the early hours of the morning, concocting your plan.

You’d worked through most of the night to pull as many strings as a Grade 2 sorcerer ostensibly could, drafting messages aimed to cash in on the decent amount of goodwill you’d garnered amongst your colleagues over the past few years. Ultimately, however, what truly helped you bring this endeavor over the finish line was leveraging your connection to one of the owners of a top-of-the-line, nearly always sold-out kikufuku shop, in conjunction with what was now a burgeoning friendship with Gojo. Although, in retrospect, you suspected that the fellow teacher would have settled for having any involvement with a plan of keeping a secret from Nanami as being adequate compensation. 

By the time you’d clocked out on the following day, you’d managed the impressive feat of securing some overlapping time off for Nanami and yourself, and of successfully planning a short couple’s getaway.

A few days later, the fruits of your labor surfaced in the form of a considerably more tranquil version of Nanami.

Today was already the final day of what now felt like too short of a trip, and having opted to sleep in on the two mornings prior, you’d both made it a point to wake up early in order to catch today’s sunrise over the beach. With the consequences of a very late night still weighing heavily on your eyelids, you’d both emerged from a gruelling battle against sleepiness, just barely victorious.

It was just before five in the morning when you were groggily strolling the sandy beach situated just behind the resort you were staying at.

An inconspicuous glance at Nanami disclosed his relaxed posture and his softened facial features, a stark departure from the overstressed man who’d slumped into your shared home a few days ago. Your heart warmed now, as you observed him in this relatively rare form, dressed in a relaxed t-shirt and khaki shorts, arms moving in a loose, subtle swing as he walked carrying his sandals in one hand and a beach blanket in the other, how his hair was ethereally tousled by the whispering late summer ocean breeze.

He was lost in thought, chest rising and falling in deep, intentional breaths, and you hoped that he too, was taking in the salty scent of the ocean, that he too, could anchor himself in the serenity of the moment as the sound of the waves set a gentle rhythm to your sleepy steps, that he could ground himself in the soft feeling of warm sand yielding under his bare feet. And if this moment could serve as a modicum of respite, as a sliver of an escapist refuge both now and in the inevitable future moments when they would be called for, then you would consider your mission as being accomplished.

You halted your march just as the sky began to blush with hues of golden orange, towards which you turned, and Nanami followed suit, setting down the blanket he’d brought for you to sit on. You hadn’t made it too far from the resort, just enough to escape the early morning crowd; only a few other fellow beachgoers were sparsely spread out on the semi-secluded section of the beach. You settled onto the left end of the blanket, expecting him to join beside you, only to feel the unanticipated pressure of his body behind you instead.

Nanami carefully repositioned himself, gently snaking one arm around your waist and the other around your shoulders, pulling you toward him and enclosing you in a tender hug from behind. You mentally traced his movements by the way his warm breath moved from fanning the top of your head, over the back of your neck, and onto the side of your cheek, as he punctuated his journey with a soft kiss just below your jawline before his head settled on the right side of yours.

You closed your eyes, a contented sigh escaping your lips, and you wished nothing more than to ingrain this little haven of tranquility into your mind, for it to become the unforgettable safe place to which you could always revert.

Just as you turned your gaze to witness the sun now making its definitive ascent over the ocean, you thought you felt Nanami’s grip tighten ever so slightly in a shift so nearly imperceptible that you questioned whether it had even happened. It was a concern that quickly became secondary to your sudden awareness of the flimsy nature of the fabrics comprising his cotton t-shirt and your mesh cover-up forming the trivial barrier between his warm, well-defined arms against your cool skin, to the compromising position you now were in.

A sudden tension traveled through your body, seeking a place to nest as you fidgeted with the hem of your top, trying to return your focus to the wonderful scene unfolding ahead.

“What a perfect sunrise,” you ventured, in your best attempt to sound casual.

Nanami only offered a low hum in agreement, resonating and vibrating through your ear. And then, you felt it again: a slight upward shift of his hold, a minute increase in pressure.

This time, it was unmistakable.

Every sensation intensified tenfold in that moment. His muscular chest pressing into your back, his breath tickling your neck, the crook of his arm resting gently just below your chin, close, so dangerously close that you could lick it.

Without much thought, you brought your hands up and closed them over his biceps, at least as much as they could possibly wrap around their circumference, and slid over them, getting a good feel for the flexed muscles underneath his skin, until you landed on his elbows.

And then you pressed inwards.

Your move met no resistance, resulting in his caged arms further tightening across your chest. A sharp exhale escaped your lips as the feeling reverberated through your body, sending a shiver down your spine and straight to your core. You instinctively brought your thighs together, their friction only exacerbating the very sensation you were looking to evade. Your breath hitched, and you felt your mouth go dry.

As you tilted your head, leaning further back into Nanami, something you didn’t think could be possible, you could now distinguish the accelerating thumping sound of your heartbeat against your chest just under where his arms held you. You couldn’t imagine that he wasn’t privy to the escalating effect this all had on you.

He sat up straighter, a shift in movement that pushed his elbow right below your neck. Again, you felt it, gradual pressure—measured, steady, much like its perpetrator.

Just within biting distance, came the intrusive thought, popping into your mind like a sudden gust of wind in still air. It would be the first of many over the next few minutes, and you didn’t exactly know how much time passed as you staved off the ones that erred on the more wanton side of things, the ones that had you making a mental, logistical calculus of how much you could reasonably get away with, on this waterfront sparsely dotted by a few fellow beachgoers.

Nanami’s steady voice suddenly rumbled behind you, almost rattling you. “Quite the breathtaking sight, well worth the early wake up.”

And before you knew it, it was over. The sun was now up in earnest.

Nanami slowly loosened his grip on you, and still, you almost toppled to the side as you returned to reality, to where you were, to your packed itinerary for this final day of this short getaway, the one you’d meticulously planned and shared with Nanami with an excitement he’d reciprocated, a plan you found yourself now willing to completely discard and replace with the other, much simpler one you now had in mind.

You slowly turned to face Kento, attempting to gauge his body language, and found his eyes still fixed on the soaring sun behind you,  engaged in a slow cross-arm stretch, and you could almost see the tension release and exit through his gentle sigh. If he was perturbed at all, he showed no signs of it.

Then, with a sudden shift, he switched arms, locking eyes with you.

“Shall we get breakfast, then?” he asked, casual as ever. “That concierge did a solid job pitching that brioche French toast. I’m itching to try it now.”

And had you not known him better, you would’ve missed the near imperceptible lilt of the tone of his voice, the hints of mirth crinkling at the corner of his eyes, the echoes of a knowing smirk under his deceptively soft smile.

You would have missed these details, had you not known better, following this sunrise that would long stick with you, for all the improper reasons, and you wouldn’t have suspected that, far more likely than not, Nanami Kento knew exactly what the hell he was doing.

The evening on which your suspicions were confirmed came a few months later, on the tail end of a chaotically busy period.

The combined effects of missed dinners and hurried goodbyes, of long work shifts and scheduling conflicts, had compounded, barely affording Nanami so much as a stolen moment with you, much less the quality time he yearned for.

Arduous missions stretched late into nights, and he’d find you home long after you’d lost your battle against somnolence; on your end, you could almost hear the guilt of your failure to stay awake ring loudly in the silence of the early hours of the morning, when you’d find Nanami crashed next to you, with exhaustion spelled on his face.

Canceled lunch dates were communicated in brief text messages you’d punctuate with goofy animated GIFs, a consolation tactic Nanami would’ve otherwise found to be endearing had it not carried the very calculated mandate of allowing you to evade his enquiries about whether you’d found the time to eat your first meal of the day.

Pure intentions and poor luck, right places but wrong times, and the universe appeared to be conspiring against you.

All the while, sitting just beneath the surface, was the simmering unease, steady as a metronome whose pulses were the moments of lucidity that pulled Nanami out of the comfortable shroud of the feigned normalcy he’d allowed himself to slip into. It was the same sentiment that caused his throat to constrict after encountering those occasional close-call encounters that had him face a formidable cursed spirit, the same feeling that transfigured into a pit in his stomach whenever it was you who was out on the field, and he hadn’t heard from you in a while. The ever-present threat now carried the weight of something unprecedentedly precious, and every once in a while, he would be subjected to reminders that were as intangible as they were painful, reminders that this line of work remained incredibly dangerous, and that this could all come to a very sudden end.

The Jujutsu Tech car came to an abrupt halt, jolting Nanami out of his contemplation.

His fingers brushed the cool metal of the door handle just as he peered into the rearview mirror from the backseat, and when his eyes locked with those of the colleague he’d spent the bulk of the week with, he found a weary gaze, reflective of the relentless pace of their recent assignments.

“Thank you for waiting, Ijichi. I should only be a few minutes,” Nanami said, giving the assistant manager an appreciative nod before exiting the car and making his way towards the training field.

On the radial bridge between surrender and acceptance, Nanami often found gratitude to be his only path out of ruinous rumination.

So today, he chose to be grateful.

Grateful for having cleared his mission much earlier than expected, and for the time this afforded him to take a trip to the campus facilities, to shower and to get into a clean change of clothes, in the hopes of catching you just as your lesson ended.

Grateful for Ijichi chauffeuring him from the dorms back to the training field where he could wait for you to wrap up your lesson and for agreeing to drive you both back home, together, finally for the first time in weeks.

Grateful for the current moment that granted him this sight of you, mid-lesson as you supervised a hand-to-hand combat session for a group of students, a view he’d grown both so fond and so familiar with.

The aluminum bleachers squeaked under Nanami’s weight as he took a seat, his eyes never leaving you as you paced behind the three pairs of students engaged in their bouts, occasionally stopping either to correct a stance or to provide some feedback. The visual transported him to a similar moment that found him on this very row of seats a little over a year and a half ago, a memory as sharp and clear as if it had occurred just yesterday.

You were alone when he noticed you.

Only a few weeks removed from the day he’d traded his briefcase for his blunt sword, an inexplicable unease and sense of displacement still loomed over Nanami’s head even as he walked the once-familiar campus grounds. His quest to locate a quiet spot to enjoy a late lunch in peace and away from one particularly aggravating Gojo Satoru led him to these training field bleachers.

He’d resigned himself to a life of relative solitude from the moment he’d crossed the threshold out of his office building for the final time, intent on leaving any semblance of his paltry attempt at a civilian’s life behind. The Jujutsu world had always been less than ideal, and a return to this life had meant making certain self-evident vows to himself, one of which being that he wouldn’t drag anyone into his orbit while he was active.

Never had he imagined that he would be the one dragged into someone’s orbit. Into yours.

You’d emerged from the field house on that early fall day, just as he opened the bento box he’d packed with the previous night’s leftovers. Even from this distance, he recognized you as the Grade 2 instructor he’d been vaguely acquainted with via cursory greetings, the one he’d continuously heard Ino speak so highly of.

Nanami observed as you entered a sequence of practice drills with your cursed weapon, a long spear that you worked so fluidly, as though it were an extension of your body. Each of your moves was a masterclass in balance between power and restraint, each strike precisely measured, each swing calculated. He watched as you thrust your weapon into wide, controlled motions that sent the long drapes of your skirt twirling in the wind, dark curls whipping around your face with your movements, the autumnal afternoon sun warmed your brown skin with a soft honeyed glow. By the time his phone vibrated to signal the end of his break, Nanami glanced down, only to find his bento untouched.

Perhaps he was compelled to take a few more late lunches following that day.

When Ino indirectly called him out on this new habit of his, it was Nanami’s ingrained inability to stray too far from candor that rendered him unable to outright deny the younger sorcerer’s cheeky hypothesis, that the true reason he’d opted to spend so many recent lunch breaks eating at those benches rather than the significantly more comfortable break room was because “the view was better out there”. Nanami understood from the moment he’d uttered his vague non-answer that it would mark the first point of exposure.

This inevitability was confirmed, a few weeks later, the cat decidedly out of the bag when Yuuji made a grand display of throwing his two thumbs up through the window just as Nanami slid into the booth seat across yours at a nearby cafe one day as he’d invited you to have tea after clearing another mission together.

“You do so well with Yuuji,” you’d said, once the teen was out of sight, dragged away by the sleeve by the young Nobara. “That boy is very lucky to have you as his teacher.”

“Well, technically I’m not a teacher,” Nanami replied in a tone that failed to convince even himself.

“You teach him things, Nanami. That’s the textbook definition of a teacher.”

A silent pause settled between you. Nanami stirred his tea absentmindedly as he watched you cut the apple strudel you’d ordered into smaller pieces.

“I’ve been thinking about joining the faculty,” he said, the words barely formed before leaving his lips.

“Oh, that’s wonderful, Nanami! I would be so thrilled!” you exclaimed. Nanami watched you quickly straighten up in an obvious attempt to dial back your expressed excitement, but he’d already witnessed you perk up, your genuine reaction stirring something deep and pleasant within him.

“We all would,” you quickly added. “Especially Gojo. You know he would immediately take credit for it.”

Nanami brought his eyes shut and rubbed his temples at the thought, “Please, I’m not even there yet. I’ve not talked to Gojo about this…” He paused again, opening his eyes to lock onto yours. “Or anyone else, for that matter.”

“Oh… So I’m getting the exclusive?” You replied in playful conspiracy. ”I feel so privileged.”

Nanami nodded quietly with a light, nervous chuckle, picking at the biscuit on his plate but not finding the will to take a bite from it.

“But in all seriousness, you should go for it. You’re a great mentor and a skilled sorcerer. The school could badly use someone like you.”

To this, he said nothing, his eyes wandering out the window in contemplation.

“However,” you ventured after a brief moment. “If you have any reservations, and you ever want to talk about them…” You trailed off, leaving the invitation suspended in the air.

Nanami’s reservations were so many, most of which he couldn’t possibly attempt to articulate even as they jockeyed for position in his mind. When he glanced back at you, he could sense you hanging onto his silence.

“You’ve done this for a while. Tell me your best piece of advice about teaching.”

He watched you gather your thoughts, pressing your lips together and narrowing your eyes like he’d seen you do countless times when a student would ask you a question and you would carefully formulate an answer.

“If you ever forget what it’s like to be a kid, get out. There’s no point in doing any of this if you can’t place yourself in their shoes, or yours, ten, fifteen years ago. As long as you remember the powerlessness and the lack of agency that comes not only with being young but with being condemned to our way of life, to seeing curses…” Nanami watched you pause to take the first bite at a piece of strudel, and as you chewed, he could almost see the rest of your thought forming through your eyes. “It’s such a burden, one no one should bear alone, least of all a child. At least, that’s how I see it.”

Before this moment, Nanami had tried repeatedly so, to qualify this magnetic draw to you, to label it. Was it the juxtaposition of the soft-spoken instructor against the fierceness you appeared to carry? Was it your nuanced condemnation of a system, all the while dedicating yourself to its people?

Perhaps it was at this moment, Nanami would ponder later, that he’d decided that this way of life was one worth living rather than simply surviving.

“Hey, you. You look familiar. Do I know you from somewhere?” the playful tone of your voice snapped Nanami, who had been too engrossed to notice your approach, back to the current moment.

Gratitude.

He rose from his seat, bringing his hands up to gently cup your face, and leaned in to brush his lips against yours in a tender kiss. You froze momentarily, caught a bit off guard; for as physically affectionate as you now were with one another, neither of you was usually the type to engage in public displays of this, particularly not on campus. Today, Nanami quietly broke this unspoken precedent.

Only the first of the several he would break later.

“We have a ride, if you’re ready to leave now,” he said after he slowly pulled away. The notes of your lip balm were of vanilla, but to him, they carried the familiar taste of a fragile slice of happiness.

“Yeah… I’m beyond ready,” you murmured, still reeling a bit at the surprise, at the intensity of the moment. “Let’s get the hell out of here before I get roped into some last-minute bullshit, like last week.”

If the lapse in Nanami’s usual propriety was displayed in that one kiss, yours would manifest in several ways before you made the short ride back to your shared apartment.

And much as he’d done on so many occasions from the training field bleachers, Nanami simply watched you.

He watched as you leaned into him in the backseat of the car, running your hand against his thigh, innocently at first, then moving dangerously close to his crotch with every caressing stroke. The self-satisfied grin that stretched your lips as you detected a hitch in his breath did not escape him.

He watched as you teased him on the elevator ride up to your apartment as you pressed your back against his front, giving him a subtle, deliberate press and grind and catching his eyes in the reflective panel, just in time to watch his gaze falter ever-so-slightly. This, too, he’d remember.

He watched you, knowing that you enjoyed all of it, that you thrilled at the mischievous pleasure it was to poke the agitated bear, and he let you have your fun, exercising a restraint he didn’t think himself capable to maintain after a long, stressful and restrictive week spent nearly entirely away from you.

But as soon as you crossed the threshold into your shared apartment, as soon as he shut the door behind him and turned around to find your hands gripping onto his tie, pulling, yanking, his face down towards yours, almost too zealously?

Nanami decided he’d watched long enough.

He pushed back into you, his hands working in concert as one brought your fists together and off their hold while the other slipped into your hair, kneading your scalp down to the base of your nape. Assertive yet tender, his touch was a study in contrasts, sending a single, tantalizing shiver down your spine, igniting into a fizzing warmth in your stomach.

Your tongues met right before his searing lips closed onto yours in a kiss that was so urgent, so fervent, dripping with an eagerness you hadn’t felt in a while. He swallowed your whimper as your back lightly hit the vestibule wall, a reaction that wrenched a low, self-satisfied growl from his chest. Nanami could feel it now, more than ever—several days’ worth of unmistakably pent-up energy coalescing into a single, white hot ache.

He was unwilling to relinquish any closeness, not even now, as you peeled off him momentarily with a small, breathless gasp, two of your quick, heaving breaths to each of his. He felt your drumming pulse on his lips as he settled into the side of your neck, his mouth just below your jawline.

His mind replayed the slightly disappointed expression he’d discerned on your face earlier this morning, which now felt like a lifetime ago, after a phone call he’d later admonish himself for taking summoned him, along with his fellow Grade 1 sorcerers, to the school for a meeting that definitely could have been an email, just as you’d brought him a cup of orange juice to pair with his toast. He heard himself groan out in frustration now, at the memory of the first breakfast you were having together in weeks being unceremoniously cut short, and he nipped at your throat, eliciting a moan from you that faded into the background of the hazy, regretful thoughts that were reinvigorating him to make up for lost time.

The late afternoon sun was mostly blocked out by the heavy living area window curtains, which had remained drawn, a testament to the hurried exits you both made earlier. Nanami’s eyes were slowly getting accustomed to the dark, just enough to catch your warm brown eyes searching his as you gently pressed your palm against his chest, blinking up slowly at him with an unreadable gaze. He sensed you shifting your left foot behind your right one and glanced down just in time to watch you slip out of your second shoe, but not before you slid your knee up the inside of his leg, pressing and rubbing against his crotch teasingly, evoking an uncontrolled hiss out of him at the unexpected contact.

“Missed me, Kento?” you crooned.

A light chuckle rumbled up through Nanami’s chest. “Maybe just a little,” he mumbled.

“Just a little? Just maybe? Come on now. We’re well into a few weeks married now. Surely you can be more honest with me,” you replied, in mock offence.

“Oh, you don’t find me honest?” he said with a scoff, something dark in his response.

Instead of pulling away from this newfound, compromising position, Nanami doubled down, firmly pressing his hips to yours, forcing your leg back down, and you found yourself now trapped between the wall and the visibly voracious man before you. 

For the brief second he brought his head down to your shoulder, with his hot breath ghosting over your neck and his lips grazing your ear, you expected him to say something, to call you out, to chastise you, but instead, his response came as a slow, deliberate roll of his hips against yours, ensuring you felt every last inch of the increasingly stiffening problem you’d helped create against your core.

You arched into him with a throaty gasp as his lips found the base of your throat once more, lightly nibbling. His hand closed on your hip, firmly gripping it in place as he leaned against the wall to summarily kick off his shoes, not unlike you just did a mere few seconds ago.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you ventured, in between the two languid grinds of his hips that pushed his thigh to settle between your legs. “Are you honest?”

The dark chuckle preceding Nanami’s reply should have served as your first warning.

“Are you?”

His fingers twisted around the hem of your shirt, and you could already tell, in the way he pulled it over your head in one swift movement, lobbing it over his shoulder with a dexterous flick of his wrist, that he would waste no time in dispensing with your clothing, that his desire to ignite this fuse burned just as brightly, perhaps even more fiercely, than your own.

You’d barely heard your top land unceremoniously on the linoleum floor before feeling his fingers reaching to do the same with your camisole, goosebumps erupting where he grazed your skin, spreading like wildfire. You pulled at his tie again, pulling him down and planting another kiss on his lips, something slower, more sensual than the first. Only when its straps slipped down your arms did you realize that he’d used the moment to unhook your bra, and you shook out of it, letting it clatter to the floor as well.

Your second attempt at undoing his tie was thwarted once more, something slightly rougher in the way he grabbed your hands and drove them back down to your sides.

“Turn around,” Nanami said, brusquely. The space was quite dark, but you didn’t need to discern the expression on his face to understand that the strained gentleness of his tone did not make this any less of a command, one you gladly obliged.

Your steadying hands met a texture, cooler and smoother than expected, meeting a bit of resistance as they glided over the surface. You felt a bit heady for the short moment it took you to reorient yourself, to realize your compromising position, to recognize the blurry outline of your own reflection in the flat, full-length mirror mounted against the vestibule wall.

You stilled and patiently waited, agitation melding with eager anticipation as your mind associated a vivid visual with the sound emanating behind you, one of the audible friction of sleeves sliding upward against bare skin, an enticing prelude of what you knew was to come.

Nanami trailed his hand along the waistband of your skirt, the one he loved so much; it looked so good on you, it was so easy to remove. He hooked his deft fingers and slowly slipped them downwards until he met the resistance of the thickest part of your thighs, pushing past before allowing gravity to complete the endeavor. Your senses heightened as he haltingly did the same with your underwear; the slickness of your arousal was untouched but felt, unseen but heard as he peeled off the final barrier covering you, the faint rustling of your underwear dropping onto the flooring marking the definitive end of his task.

Through the reflection, you’d observed Kento’s actions.

Through the reflection, he’d observed you.

Your stomach fluttered with an invigorating sensation, and you thought you could weep in restless anticipation.

“Truth framed in silver,” he said, his tone guileful, his voice growing huskier with each word as he hovered his lips just above your ear, “the mirror never lies.”

The shift in tenor of this encounter was suddenly palpable, and just as you were about to offer your best attempt at a matching response, his arm encircled you at the waist and he pulled you back towards him with a strong press of his fingertips into your hip, sending a jolt that went straight to your core. You caught it all in the reflection, a sight so deliciously distracting that you failed to notice his other hand surreptitiously sliding down between your legs.

Nanami hovered just over you, fingers lightly brushing against where you desired him the most, just long enough for you to suffer the ache of unspent need, just close enough for you to feel the pressure which had built within you and was now left hanging, and he found just enough dampness to gauge how utterly aroused you were. You bucked at the contact, barely stifling an impatient moan, eliciting another low scoff from Nanami, your second warning of the evening.

That Nanami now held the upper hand, and that you would suffer a bit for it.

For a moment, you thought about how quickly the tables had turned in this little back-and-forth. If you were going down, you thought, it wouldn’t be without a fight. Just as you had half a mind to formulate a witty, provocative comment to retain some semblance of a footing in this battle of wits, Nanami slid his middle finger into you, hooking it upward, finding, in record time, the spot he’d long since learned to reduce your body to pure need.

An unbridled, breathy moan cascaded out of your lips, ringing loudly in the charged silence, a sound almost as obscene as the lack of resistance met by his articulate finger, and as the slick sound it made. You didn’t have to look up to feel Nanami’s steady gaze on your face as he took in every last detail of your reaction.

His fingers moved with gentle insistence, picking up a controlled but unrelenting pace. His ring finger joined a short moment later, padded tips rubbing against the most sensitive parts of your walls, moving with intensity, with intent, as if it carried the express purpose of proving a salient point. The slow pleasure building at the base of your spine had you squirming, incrementally bending down, instinctively going as low as Nanami’s grasp would allow you, his arm otherwise holding you firmly in place.

“Kento…” you whimpered, squeezing your eyes shut as you fought to stay tethered to reality.

“Don’t look away.” It’s another command uttered into your ear, traveling straight between your legs, his tone carrying a slight harshness this time and you opened your eyes, meeting what you knew to be a deeply watchful gaze, even as you only barely began to make out his features through eyes that were still getting accustomed to dimly lit surroundings.

Your head dropped slightly, and your eyes returned to the reflection of his hand and of his fingers. He picked up the pace, his movements growing more dauntless, as if he was putting on a show with an air of nonchalant pride. Your eyes glued to the sight of his calloused fingers repeatedly rubbing against that one sensitive area, the one he’d learned to relentlessly exploit in moments like these, when he both wanted and needed to bring you to a quick undoing.

It was too much; the feeling of Kento’s long fingers working you, the sounds they made and how they mingled with your escalating whimpers; the occasional brush of his palm against you, the sensation of the wet line of kisses he traced from your bare shoulder to the side of your neck, his quickening breath on your exposed skin. You felt all of it, each element inching you closer towards the sweet solace of release after over a week of having to go without.

But what ultimately did it was the reflection in the mirror, the one that granted you an angle you were unused to, a visual whose details you were already committing to memory. There was just something about witnessing his fingers and the way they drove into you, twisting, seeking to unlock the deepest parts of you.

Your knack for ascribing meaning to the abstract concepts, a strength you often leaned on as a teacher, was now squarely working against you, etching indelible associations into your mind.

Like the manifestation of sheer strength earned through repetition and grit, the one Kento drew from to defeat those curses on a regular basis with dexterous swings of his arm, the same strength that now held you against him, the same strength powering his movements.

Or the precision he’d used that first time you’d watched him chop those vegetables in his kitchen, what now felt like eons ago, and how it was analogous to the way he was now driving into you with practiced precision.

Or even the rhythmic pull of the muscle against the edge of the fabric of his shirt sleeve and the way it sat snug on the curve of his forearm, adorned by the gleaming band of his watch, its cool metallic band occasionally brushing against you as he moved.

It was like that distant memory of the first time you’d been taken with the way he’d rolled up his sleeve in that infirmary, a quiet assertion of competence, of power, as he’d prepared to bring his task of filing his report to completion.

And how it was now you that Nanami Kento sought to bring to completion.

It was the last coherent thought you formed before the coil within you finally tightened beyond capacity. You were desperately chasing your imminent release, your hips rocking helplessly against his fingers, against his palm, greedily chasing that friction, and suddenly you were there, right over the edge. Words of warning sat on the tip of your tongue, not quite fully formed, but when your eyes focused on his, you saw the exact moment he read you.

“Tell me how you’ve missed this,” he said, and it was a gentler tone that carried words that appeared to be for him as much as they were for you. “Show me.”

“Fuck, I’m—,” you breathed, trying but failing to catch the thought before it escaped you.

The first part of his request would go unfulfilled; you wouldn’t get the words out, except for a light curse as you were hit with the thrilling force of your release. As for the latter part, he wouldn’t have to ask twice.

You clenched around his fingers, hard, quivering through the breathless cries that fluted up into the air as you tipped your head back into his chest, clutching the arm that was still holding on to you. Nanami gave one insistent final press into your upper wall before stilling and letting you ride out your climax, soft praises in his low voice spilling into your ear, words you could only discern once your moans subsided moments later, once you began to come back to yourself.

When you reopened your eyes, you caught, in the reflection, the intense gaze of the architect of your unraveling and found something familiarly ruthless brimming just beneath the surface.

Nanami was far from being done with you.

The realization sent another tingling between your legs, causing you to inadvertently clench around the fingers you only now registered had remained inside you. After a moment, he began to pull them out in a tantalizingly slow, drag, and you certainly didn’t miss the very deliberate brush of his hand back down against you, your slippery release aiding the downwards slide of his palm, past his wrist and just far enough to feel the ridges of his forearm which formed an unfamiliar but welcome sensation for your muscles to naturally clench around.

It crossed your mind that Kento was being premeditated in his movements, a hypothesis that was almost immediately supported once he rubbed his palm down once, twice, and a third time against your sensitive flesh before pulling away, meeting the slightest resistance as your body instinctively bucked up against his hand, and as it tried to keep a hold on it before he lifted his hand to your eye level. And when he extended the fingers of his hand, moving them slowly, presenting the sheen of your slick on them, showcasing with excruciating detail the mess you’d made on him, you understood that this man was dead set on being particularly relentless this evening.

Nanami leaned deeper over your shoulder, his ear pressed to your cheek, and brought his fingers to his mouth, licking them off, one by one, slowly, meticulously, his eyes fixed on yours through this once innocuous mirror, and all you could do was watch, exhale at the sight, and try not to lose the remainder of your mind at his low hums of satisfaction, at the sloppy sounds of his tongue laving over his fingers, and then down his arm over where he’d just dragged it against you.

A fucking menace.

Once he was through, Kento took half a step back, and you instinctively backed up into his steps, into him, knees feeling a bit shaky as your bare ass met his rigid hardness prominent even through the barriers provided by his pants.

The contact jolted some lucidity back into you, returning your capacity to discern further beyond the shapes reflected to you, to spot the nuances, to study the facial expressions you’d spent the last couple of years learning, a subject you could confidently teach an extensive course on from sheer memory. You could see them now, the small tells you’d picked up on throughout your relationship, evidenced in this particular furrowing of his brows, in the tightness of his jaw, in the way his shoulders were drawn taut in an attempt to contain an inordinate amount of tension. They were the ones confirming that Nanami Kento was also only hanging on by a thread, that maybe you still had a chance to recoup some of your lost ground, that perhaps you shouldn’t count yourself out just yet.

It was a notion that revitalized you.

So you bent over, leaning onto your hands on either side of the mirror’s edge, and pushed back against him, something of a long, most deliberate grind, your bare backside brushing against the fabric of his pants to which he let out an audibly sharp exhale and a small jump back from behind you.

“There you are,” you murmured playfully, releasing a self-contented giggle as you felt him twitch within the confines of his boxers.

You leaned further back, trying to reach him again, seeking to recreate that enticing friction, but Kento was more swift this time around. He caught you, pulling you up and firmly holding you flush against his chest.

“Tell me—” he started, his hot breath causing you to inadvertently buck into him, interrupting him. He steadied himself in recovery, snaking his arm around you and across your chest, returning his mouth to your ear and locking eyes with you once more before resuming. “Tell me, was it honesty from your part when you copped out, that one time I held you like this?”

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” you replied defiantly, feigning ignorance of the dire direction in which this conversation was headed.

Because you knew damn well what he was referring to. You’d known it, as soon as Nanami’s arms slid around you from this angle, squeezing the top of your chest in this particular way, the memory of that long weekend at the beach resort came rushing back to you, carrying along with it the feel of warm sand between your toes, the sound of crashing waves, the taste of salt on your lips, and the feeling of coming this close to tipping over even as you were held in place, of falling even as you sat firmly on sand, of vocalizing that one thing you’d wanted from Nanami for a while.

He nipped at your earlobe, bringing you back to attention, before continuing, “Was it honest of you to dangle that carrot, only to pull it all away?”

You scoffed at his playful audacity. “Alright, Kento. Let’s not be revisionist here, I’m not the one who pulled away.”

“Ah, so you do know what I’m talking about. Good. Because never did I think that I would be led on by my own wife,” he said in a tone tinged with mock offence.

“Led on b— Please. Don’t even start. You and I both know you weren’t going to do anything.”

He let out a short, amused chuckle at your indignation, followed by a low hum as his eyebrow shot up in a questioning arc. “Elaborate. What do you mean by “anything”?”

You felt his words pierce through your thin veneer of indifference and land deep inside you, where the truth lay.

“At the beach, Kento? In broad daylight in the early hours of the morning, in public? Yeah, that’s not you,” you retorted, feeling your air of defiance slip with every word. Uncharacteristically off your bantering game, you tried not to wince at your rather meager attempt at evading his question.

“What’s. Not. Me?” He said as he held your gaze, a brazen challenge in his tone as he shifted his arms higher, squeezing tighter with each emphasized word, visibly not falling for your prevarication.

You felt like a weary tightrope walker, precariously swaying above a silent, perceptive audience of one, faltering in this fool’s errand that was the maintenance of this delicate self-imposed balance, tired legs wobbling, begging you to put an end to this self-inflicted turmoil, to give in to gravity and to allow yourself to fall.

Through this damn mirror, you locked eyes with Nanami, finding them heavy with intent.

And suddenly, it wasn’t so dark anymore.

“You want something,” he said softly, not a question but a declaration.

Was it the spark you saw in Kento’s eyes in the moment as he’d cornered you towards the edge of the invisible cliff?

Was it that some of the pent-up tension you’d just released had taken some of your inhibitions along with it, replaced with a hazy, slightly more relaxed perception?

Or was it simply easier to peel away from the safety of timidity into the fire of candor when it was through the artificial buffer of a mirror?

Whatever it was, it had certainly emboldened you.

Here goes everything.

“Mirror never lies, right, Kento?” You’d had no intention of reprising his words when they tumbled out of your mouth in a soft whisper. “So why don’t you tell me what it was that stopped you from finishing what you started, back then at the beach?” you heard yourself say in a tone you barely recognized, tremulous with a blatant, reciprocal lust. “From finally putting me into a real headlock and—”

You cut yourself off just as you witnessed a darkening spark cross Nanami’s eyes, brief but perceptible enough to make your stomach flip. He closed on the remaining space that turned his hold into something closer to the one you’ve been seeking for so long, with the crook of his elbow nuzzling into the base of your throat, just off center, the sensation causing you to squeeze your thighs together, and your heart to pound through your chest.

“And… What else?” he whispered, matching your low volume, warm breath brushing your nape. “Complete that thought for me.”

You shook your head, a motion that was not so much to express your negation as it was to dispel the trance threatening to take over your mind. When you opened your mouth again, an uncontrolled, nervous scoff preceded your words.

“Just answer the question, Nanami.”

You reached your arms behind to hold him on either side of his legs, a blind attempt at maintaining some form of tactile control, realizing only now, how fully clothed he was, versus how you decidedly were not, as you ran your hands over the soft fabric of his trousers; it was a striking manifestation of your positions in this balance of power, in this repartee. You felt his next deep chuckle more than you heard it, but this time you could sense an undercurrent of agitation, of your man’s willpower slipping, palpable, like static before a storm.

And so, you added, “Or will you back out of this too?”

Nanami pushed slightly into you, and you brought your hands back on either side of the mirror, steadying yourself once more.

“I see,” he started. “So you don’t think I can wait you out?” he said, rocking into you in slow movements, the sensation of his rigid length all but contradicting his statement. “You know, I was just thinking about how lucky I got with today’s assignments. Two short missions, a couple of hours each, an in-and-out, really.” He paused to gently move a loose strand of hair that had fallen over your eyes aside. “My day was a cakewalk. But yours? Early morning class, back-to-back training sessions… I’d imagine you’re tired, that you just want to lie down, therefore I’ll just wait, until you inevitably—”

He cut himself off with a hiss that extended into the lowest of groans.

You felt it before you realized that you’d decidedly let the intrusive thought win; the sinking of your teeth, more nibble than bite, into that soft compressed roll of flesh, by the elbow’s bend, just on the inside of Nanami’s arm.

It was what set him into eager motion, and everything moved so quickly after that. You spotted the decisive moment in his eyes, carrying their first visible sign of reciprocal lust.

Nanami released his grip for the first time since you’d entered the apartment, a major concession to his overpowering stance, and you nearly fell forward at the sudden shift. You watched him disappear behind you, into the obscurity of the room, as he seemingly leaned down into something of a lunge. You heard the sound of a heavy drag against the floor, followed by that of objects softly tumbling onto the ground.

“What are you—” you started.

Before you knew it, Nanami caught you by the waist once more, and gently but firmly pulled you aside as he made way for what he was sliding towards the mirror, settling it between the wall and your feet. It took you a moment to discern the distinctive shape of the entryway bench that had long graced the entrance of your home, a small navy blue couch, upholstered in supple leather, stylish in appearance, dual in it’s practicality, of serving as a spot to sit while putting on the shoes that it now clearly no longer held.

You lifted your gaze towards the mirror, and found something eagerly desirous having replaced the playful front Nanami had managed to hold thus far; if you were silently telegraphing your keenness, he was responding in kind, his eyes not leaving yours as he gently nudged you forward, your feet lifting to hang over the edge of the small couch as you kneeled onto it.

He held your gaze still, and instead of perceiving his movements, you were left to rely on the sound of a sharp metallic clink resounding loudly in the silence, followed closely by the distinctive whispery rasp of his leather belt gliding against a thick fabric and punctuated with a brisk zipper sound. When he settled behind you, returning to the proximity you’d gotten accustomed to, Kento was armed with a familiar, damp hardness that you felt on the small of your back.

For as uncharted as the territory of this angle was, you both moved wordlessly, as if this was a well-practiced dance. You lowered yourself to bring your palms flat onto the bench, your hands sliding across the smooth leather. You aligned your back, lifting your hips up and spreading your knees apart, just enough to feel an aching breeze on your core.

Nanami climbed in earnest behind you, teasing his tip right against where his fingers had worked you a mere few minutes earlier, a slow, torturous, repeated motion he relished in for some long, excruciating seconds. You whimpered in lament, struggling to deploy the words of defense and mercy dancing on the edge of your tongue. Only when you began to squirm did he place his left palm on your back, holding you in place as he began to steadily press into you, inch by inch, until he filled you, deliciously so. Short, breathy moans escaped your lips with each press, and they were met with a low, restrained hum emanating from your lover, as you adjusted to the thick, welcomed intrusion, and he waited for you as you did.

After a moment, you were practically vibrating with an unabashed need for friction, something he caught on to. He pulled you at the hips, bringing your back flush onto his chest, keeping you both on your knees. You could now admit that you both loved and hated this mirror, for the newfound angle it gave you as you watched Kento’s right hand slide up from your hips, slowly, torturously caressing you along the way, kneading the fleshy skin that sat on the side of your breast, up until his arm found its gratifying destination.

This time around, there was no half-measure when Nanami hooked his arm just below your throat, constricting you with the right amount of pressure that allowed you to ample ability to breathe, but that would deny any movement beyond that, something you realized as your back arched instinctively both at the anticipation and at the actual hold. Despite having barely moved since he entered you, you could feel your pleasure mounting exponentially.

Your eyes met once more, and you realized that he’d been keenly observing you, studying your face as you went through all these motions. While his gaze was electrifying, you saw hints of the Kento you knew surfacing, burning with lust and love, always prioritizing your pleasure, your well-being. And there it was, conveyed through the simplicity of a glance, the truth that wasn’t a safer place on earth to be.

You watched the corners of his mouth twist up into a soft smile, a crinkle in his eyes which spoke equal parts of mischief and affection, forming quite the juxtaposition with the successive prompts he threw at your reflection.

“You enjoy this, don’t you. Whenever I wrap my arms around you? When I hold you like this, while I’m inside you?”

There was a newfound roughness in Nanami’s voice as he emphasized the last word with a tightening of his right arm around you, along with a deep press of his left hand fingers into your hips. You moaned and bucked your hips at the combined sensations, at the implication, the truth, the underlying desire of words said in such an even tone. You were intent on pushing him to give you what you needed, but he held firm, granting you only half of what you craved with this hold, completely denying you the motion portion of this equation you’d grown so desperate to solve.

“Tell me, honestly,” he emphasized employing the word that had become the refrain of the evening, “Let me hear you, my love.” It was quite discernible now, even in this compromising position that had you at his mercy; the thick lust in his voice, reminding you that the effect he was having on you was not so one-sided, and that he needed to hear you, just as much as he wanted to.

“Yes…Yes, I do,” you breathed, words slipping out as a ragged exhale, and you felt a sting of tears at the sudden intensity of a confession you’ve carried too long, one you somehow could only bring yourself to make in this current moment.

“Yes, you do,” Nanami repeated, his voice reduced to a low hum, but you could hear his approving smile even as he tried to conceal it, his eyes fixing you as though to speak to the deepest parts of your soul. “That’s my girl.”

You keened at his praise, your legs reflexively twitching with a forceful movement that sent the weight of your body shifting precariously off to the side. You let out a gasp, expecting to tip over before Nanami strengthened his hold and repositioned you back firmly onto him, pinning you down by keeping one arm around your chest, and the other encircling your waist. The new angle pushed him deeper still into you, eliciting a whimper from you and a whisper from him, words traveling directly into your ear.

“Let’s not fall now,” he said, in a tone that was already softer, palpably affectionate, “not yet.”

Always there to catch you.

It ruined you beautifully, in the moment, the fact that Nanami had not only mastered the art it was to rile you up, but he’d also long since known about this particular little inclination you’ve carried since forever, that he’d sat on this power, his teasing dispensed as an excruciatingly slow, intensifying burn over the last few months.

None of it mattered now, because he began to move and despite the unmistakable eagerness dripping from both of you, Nanami took his time in taking you from stillness to stride, setting off in a carefully slow but powerful pace as he drove himself into you.

And fuck, did it feel so good.

He rocked his hips into you as you rutted back against him, as much as your limited range of motion allowed you, at this foreign angle that did not take away from the familiarity of this dance. 

You squirmed as he drove into you with incredible precision, gradually picking up the tempo with each stroke, his measured gaze never leaving you, and even in the throes of escalating rapture, you discerned a strain in his expression, carrying an undercurrent of something carnal. You were panting, trying to catch your breath as he moved you against his hips effortlessly, making you feel each thick inch as his arm applied a deliciously punctual pressure against your upper chest with every thrust.

It felt both rough and tender. The visual was doing so much for you, too much, but still you fought the urge to shut your eyes for the umpteenth time to ground yourself, and Nanami caught this, attentive as ever.

“Stay with me,” he said, as he squeezed you ever so slightly to get your attention, your muscles immediately clenched around him in response, and he groaned at your reflexive reaction, renewing his intention of keeping up the pressure and on keeping you contained until he’d achieved his singular objective.

Your eyes desperately searched for a focal point, landing on themselves in the mirror’s reflection. You barely recognized the woman it presented, hair wildly disheveled, makeup sensually smeared just like as you barely distinguished your voice, with the wanton moans and the vocalized feedback aimed at the man in the reflection, as you told him how good he was making you feel, as you asked him to go harder, and as you let him know that he’d found it right there, the perfect spot, just like he always did. You’d grown more vocal, loud enough to be heard over the increasingly rhythmic slapping sound of your skin against his, and to match the volume of the words Kento was in turn, directing at you, words that only belonged to you and that bound you to him in ways that transcended what your bodies could ever achieve.

You felt yourself unraveling, your pleasure mounting as you visually took in the intimate spectacle unfolding in front of your eyes. Nanami was attuned to you like a piano string was to its tuning fork. He’d learned to find the things that made you tick and where you needed him the most. He’d practiced how to calibrate himself to the right rhythm, to the perfect angles, using your expressive reactions as his North Star. And in the same way he’d learned all this, he could always tell when you were close to climax, just as you were now.

“Let go for me, my love,” he whispered to your reflection, his voice rough with need.

The thunderstorm of pleasure had long been on the horizon, but that first cold ripping sensation of lightning always caught you by surprise. Your body pulled taut with gratification, and you came, quicker and louder than the first time, convulsing at the rapturous intensity of your orgasm, your pleasure hitting you in waves, trapped, constricted, with nowhere to go but in on itself. You tried to cling to your vague awareness of Nanami’s gentle coaxing, to his encouraging words as he nibbled at the shell of your ear and saw you to completion, his thrusts slightly relenting in tempo but not in intensity.

When you came to, it was to witness your slumped body leaning against your husband, breath still evening, and you could not help the smile gracing your lips, and the joyous delirium it manifested. His grip had loosened by now, and he was stilled, but still inside you, his chin resting on your shoulder as he watched you.

Nanami’s wonderful arms lowered to hold you at the hips again, and you gripped them, leaning on them as you tilted your face backwards and to the side, and you caught his lips in a searing kiss, one that was slower, lazier but also so dizzying, the only reminder of your predicament was the instinctual roll of your hips and the clenching that came along with it as the kiss deepened.

After what felt like long, radiant minutes, he brought you both down onto the small couch and gently broke the kiss to turn you over at the hips, lowering you onto your back in a single, swift movement. You felt his weight carefully sit atop you as he straddled you at the waist.

You peered up at Kento, at your beautiful man, a thin sliver of light slipping through a narrow gap in the window curtain ethereally bisecting his face in a golden diagonal path that illuminated his left eye, over the bridge of his nose, and gliding down the hollow of his right cheek. He was still clothed, except for his unzipped pants; still relatively composed, barring his rumpled shirt, his tousled hair, and the lipstick marks smudged on and around his lips and down the side of his jaw.

You could detect it, as clear as day, that something had switched within him. Gone was the playful, mischievous man who wanted to prove a point, who sought to get the last word, who endeavored to wring an admission out of you in the name of the little teasing game you’d both slipped into. Replacing him was a more heartfelt iteration of himself, the one you knew to be less relentless but no less restrained in his passion, and who would aim to both come and watch you come, face to face, where he could read you, like his favorite book.

Nanami sat back on his knees, looping his finger into the knot of his tie, loosening it just enough, in the way he knew you loved to watch him do. He took your hands into his and brought them to the dangling silk fabric, finally letting you complete this task, finally indulging you in yet another small fixation.

Kento looked down at you, running a finger along your deep-toned cheek, and for the first time in this encounter, he grounded himself in the moment. There had been a time, in a not-so-distant past, when he would feel almost guilty on occasions like this, whenever he’d found himself yielding to the warm, effervescent energy that surged from his chest.

For so long, choosing happiness while being ensconced in this particular field of work felt nothing short of selfish, foolish, and delusional. But somewhere along the lines, Nanami had become an inadvertent student of yours, and what he’d learned was that there was a deeply repressed side of him, silently yearning for a sliver of the joy he’d worked so hard convincing himself he didn’t need.

Teacher to many, even to him in some ways; you’d been the one who’d forced him to confront the fact that the line delineating blind selflessness from being a coping mechanism was as thin as it was blurry. There was a certain pattern of behaviors, one that saw Nanami conceal survival in virtue, that you’d called him out on quite a few occasions. 

A late-night phone call in your early days together that had you both up way past your usual bedtimes. 

A lunch date while picking up the emotional pieces after a tough mission. 

An argument the two of you had, after you’d called him out just as he was about to slip into what he could now retrospectively admit to be this self-preserving cocoon of self-sacrifice, call-outs he knew deep down to be true, to be well-intentioned in their objective of saving him from himself, and for which, after some self-reflection, he loved their messenger all the more.

But sometimes, Nanami’s appetite for what had long eluded him surfaced in a simpler form, like the one of a man and his lover, happy to be reunited after several days of work getting in the damn way.

And now, Nanami chose happiness. 

Now, he’d allow himself to have this one thing.

“Hey, handsome…” you started, pulling him back to the present as you brought a finger up to his cheek and lightly poked at it, “You good?”

The corners of his lips twisted into a tired smile, and his response first came as a gentle, reverent kiss on your forehead. Then your temple. The outer corner of your eye. The top of your cheek. He spoke in between each of these, over a week’s worth of tension, of stress and frustration defused into sincere words.

“So many… fucking... assignments... I… I’m sorry,” he said solemnly, and the vulnerability in his tone was audibly palpable to you. His words suddenly reminded you of the way this had all started, about the yearning and eagerness you had for one another after a dreadful few days of going without.

“I know... Not your fault,” you said quietly.

“I’m here now… Not leaving…” he continued, as his lips moved down to your jaw, to the pulse on your neck.

“You’re here, Kento,” you whispered, words that you hoped could reassure him as much as they did you.

Nanami rose slightly onto his knees, positioning himself between your legs. You felt him pause briefly, right at the edge of entering you once more. With a shuddering sigh, he slipped back into you with silky swiftness. You moaned at this first thrust, as he pushed firmly into you, holding himself in the deepest part of your core for a moment before moving again. This time, Nanami was less verbal, more focused; you were less pent up, more present, more sensitive to the way he poured his feelings into you, pure passion conveyed through his movements.

You knew of this demeanor well, of this determination set in his eyes; the express intention of keeping himself just on the edge, of delaying, of denying himself the solace of release until he could wring one more orgasm out of you, and directly watch you fall apart for him.

Always so considerate. Always so stubborn. Could he not give in for just this once?

“So good, Kento,” you managed to get out, shifting the rest of your energy towards a mission of your own, of coaxing him to finally let go and to finally finish inside you. You writhed up to meet him halfway, desperate to have him bury into you, clamping down around him every time he pulled out of you, feeling your determination and pleasure mounting in tandem.

Your eyes met and Nanami must have detected your intentions because he shut him closed, eyebrows knitting in concentration as he sat back onto his knees and pulled you by the hips, maneuvering you closer to him with one hand and reaching to palm your breast with the other, doubling down on his own objective of bringing you to your release.

You waited until he moved to switch his attention to your other breast before you grabbed his hand, brushing it up against your throat, and you felt Kento’s fingers hover over its column just as your mind did over the idea of settling them there; an intrusive thought you would have allowed yourself to verbalize, had you not embarked on a different mission of your own. Instead, you enlaced your fingers with Kento’s and pulled his arm, brushing it against your lips, nibbling over his wrist, over his forearm, eyes still on him as you watched him barely withhold a hiss at the contact, visibly hanging on to his composure by a thread.

And for the second time that evening, you closed a soft bite over his arm.

Kento’s eyes snapped open and locked onto yours with a searing intensity that made your breath catch, and you found, etched into the depths of his gaze, a silent yet familiar narrative of unraveling, one you could cite chapter and verse.

You watched as his initial shock bled into amusement, a reaction attesting not to a fluke but to an affinity, a path newly discovered, a new door unlocked. You felt yourself teetering dangerously on the edge of your own release, thighs quivering as your mind registered Nanami’s peculiar reaction to his arm under your teeth.

“That’s not fair. You can’t do this,” he said with a breathy chuckle.

“Then stop me,” you whispered back, your tone laced with provocation as your lips nibbled over his arm, your teeth just barely grazing him.

Nanami was still watching you, still resolved to maintain his composure, but you could feel it in the way his pace picked up, his thrusts now slightly more erratic, slightly less precise. You knew he was close, as sure as you knew what it would take to tip him over.

You bit down again, a bit more forcefully this time, and he let out a guttural groan in response, as he watched you through half-lidded eyes, desperately using what remained of his will to keep his eyes on yours, as he always did.

“Please, please fill me, Kento,” you moaned, your play at speaking to his depths, your final attempt at coaxing him to come with you, wiggling your hips as they came up against his, throwing everything at the wall, anything to take him with you as you spasmed with the eagerness of your pleasure and barrelled towards your release.

“Fuck,” Nanami cursed with a hiss, as he yanked his arm away from you and pinned both your hands on either side of your head, his fingers interlacing yours as he leaned his head down to your level, shifting all of his weight to his hips, sinking deeper into you. The dam was finally breaking, his rhythm faltering recklessly, his hips a stuttering pace, finding a tempo that smoothed into the pure, mutual longing you’ve had to keep at bay for over a week. You felt the bench slide and shift under his forceful thrusts. 

And when Nanami choked your name against your lips, it was with a reverence that eclipsed any other form of praise he could muster.

You vaguely heard yourself begging him greedily, praising him deliriously, thanking him sincerely until you cut yourself off with your own long, unabashed moan just as you tipped over the edge. You wrapped your legs around Kento’s waist, bringing the balls of your feet to the small of his back and arching deeply into him, clenching onto him as you quaked through another rippling climax.

And now, you felt it. Now, the paragon of self-control that Nanami Kento was would finally yield to the limits of his restraint.

Nanami held you down in place in a firm hold, and huffed out a short scoff followed by a low grunt. He gave a brisk, fluid double thrust before he spent himself into you, his release coming as hard and long as the groan that ripped through his lips as he pressed and held his hips to yours. A shiver of pleasure shook you, your hips bucking into his instinctively as you felt each pulsing tremor of his release sputtering deep inside you. You opened your eyes to catch a quick glimpse of his face inches from yours, his eyes glazed over, his smile soft, satisfied, spent. You felt a blooming sensation in your heart as you witnessed Kento arrive at the destination he so deserved. This right here, you thought, was your antidote to everything.

It always was a deliciously nebulous feeling, and this time was no exception; you’d tried it countless times before, to temporally orient yourself within the first minutes that followed Kento taking you to orbit and back like this, always finding yourself unable to know how long you’d stayed in place like you did now, with his full weight on your body, still deep inside you. How long did it take for your fingertips to make the full journey spanning the small of his back to the nape of his neck, stroking feather-light touches that glided slick with sweat, until they found his undercut, right where his hair clipped close and where his scalp was the warmest to touch? You both lay there for a moment, as your breaths slowed, basking in the aftermath of a most sincere act of love.

Lost in a hazy fog, you’d nearly forgotten where you were until the metallic clang of your ring hitting the bench leg as your hand hug off to the side jolted you back to reality. You absentmindedly ran your hands along the leathery texture, only for the time it would take for your thoughts to flit back to a blurry memory that clung to the edges of your mind.

Several months prior, one of your nightly strolls together finds you and Kento in a boutique furniture store. You’re seated on the plush leather entryway bench that caught your eye as soon as you entered the shop.

“Look. This thing is comfortable as they come, doubles as a shoe rack, good quality, and it’s on sale? I’d say it’s a solid buy,“ you say.

Nanami hums softly, in contemplation. “This isn’t just you wanting it for yourself, is it?”

“This is for your apartment, Nanami.”

“It is, but with the amount of time you’ve been spending there…”

“Oh, so I’m overstaying my welcome now? Is that what I’m hearing?”

“Don’t do this. You already know you’d be over more often if you’d let me have it my way.”

“Well, any more and I would be living there.”

“Perhaps you should be,” he says, his tone devoid of jest.

You pause at the implication of his words. “Is this your not-so-subtle way of soft launching cohabitation, Kento?”

“And if it is?”

You turn on your half of the small couch, rotating your body towards him, and you find him fixing you, serious as ever. You narrow your eyes at him. “Really? Despite what has to happen first?”

“Specifically because of what has to happen first.”

It’s a commitment he makes so easily, as if it is the most natural thing to say, in the middle of a random furniture shop after an impromptu leisurely weeknight walk and some froyo.

You brought your hand back up in the air, your contemplation bringing you to fix your wedding ring on your finger, as you lay your back on this small cushioned bench, which you now recognize to be quite the symbolizer of a new beginning, even tonight, in a twisted, unusual way.

“Are you alright, darling?” Nanami’s voice reached the foreground in your distant haziness.

Silly, idle thoughts converted into your response before you could stop them.

“We just made another use for it…”

“Hmm?” he mumbled against your ear, where his lips still rested. “Another use for what?”

“This little bench of ours. Doubles as a shoe rack, triples as…” You trailed off, letting the suggestive connotation hang in the air.

“A good investment,” he concluded after a short moment with a light, almost timid chuckle, as if he hadn’t yanked the piece of furniture himself, just minutes ago, as if he hadn’t just boldly taken you on it.

You mirrored his amusement as you reveled in your amazement at the diametrically opposed dualities of this man. Because now it was the more tempered version of your Kento resurfacing, the one who left a gentle trail of kisses that were as wet and hot as the fluid spilling off the sides of your thighs as he slowly slipped out of you, and shifted off of you. Nanami brought his lips to yours in a play to swallow the inevitable whimper he knew you’d emit, your usual protest at this kind of friction and its resulting loss of contact.

“Stay here…” he instructed softly, as he peeled himself off the bench.

And this is how you found yourself lying on your back, staring at the suddenly mesmerizing portion of the vestibule ceiling you’d never had the opportunity to pay particular attention to. Your eyes were here, tracing its unfamiliar pattern, but mentally you were tracing another line, the one which took you from that fateful first encounter at the infirmary, what feels like forever ago now, to the present moment that had you catching your breath and chuckling to yourself in both disbelief and contentment.

In retrospect, this fixation with his arms was so silly. In the grand scheme of things, it was so small. It always was the small things with Nanami. Like the way he tends to keep his footsteps light, like he was doing now, as he crossed the distance to the master bathroom, and flicked the lights on along the way. Or the gentleness of his movements as he reemerged in your field of view for the time it took to help you sit up and handed you a glass of water before disappearing as he crouched down beside you, bringing a warm damp cloth to clean you up, soothingly stroking his fingers along your shoulder as he did so.

You finally turned to meet his gaze, your mind still in a haze, and you watched as he moved swiftly, wordlessly sliding his two arms underneath you to lift you up, carrying you bridal style.

It’s the small things, but also everything else.

Because it wasn’t a small thing, that all of the dangers in the world lay outside this door, outside this room, the fact that right now, wrapped in these wonderful arms of his, is where you felt the safest.

It was no small thing that all of your worries, all of your troubles, all of your insecurities, could be cast aside in his presence, granting you a kind of freedom that was so difficult to hold on to while around others, the one to unapologetically be yourself.

It’s not a small thing, that even now, as you let your hand travel up the firm planes of Nanami’s pecs, up to his defined collarbone, over the beautiful curve of his shoulder and down his sculpted bicep, that not even this warmth and strength came close to accurately representing the full sense of safety you felt with him.

It was a safety that went far beyond the physical; for as cautious as you’d always been around shedding your inhibitions, for as nervous you were about opening yet another layer of yourself, to confidently accept yourself and to allow yourself to be accepted, there wasn’t a single person on this planet that you could trust more.

It made you wonder if you would ever be equipped to justly convey such a precious feeling.

You pressed your cheek against Kento’s chest, listening to his breathing and his heartbeat as he maneuvered across the apartment towards the master bathroom.

“You enjoyed that a little too much,” you said, finally breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between you.

“What part? You’ll have to be more specific,” he playfully replied as he glanced down at you.

“You love tormenting me.”

“Tormenting you? Need I remind you that it was, in fact, you who started this?”

“No, you started it, with that kiss at the school. Never had you do that before.”

“Oh, am I not allowed to miss my wife?”

“Ah, so you did miss me. Finally, he’s honest.”

Nanami gently eased you down on the bathroom floor, right next to the bathtub, which was still filling up, and just in front of the mirror, through which your eyes met.

“It’s not my fault we seem to need a mirror to be candid with one another,” he said with a smirk.

He wrapped his arms around you once more, hugging you from behind. They were relatively small, but in the bright overhead ceiling light, they were prominent; you brought your fingers up them, to the small bite marks on his forearm.

“Tread lightly, Kento,” you started in a reciprocal tone, “This is a two-player game now.”

Nanami knew this well, and for this, too, he would be grateful.

A/N: You made it! Thank you for reading! <3

[seokminfilm]

heaven knows — joshua hong

PAIRING 𐂴 joshua hong x reader

TAGS & WARNINGS 𐂴 non-idol au, seminary student joshua, hurt/comfort (??), secret relationship, mentions of church, joshua is the pastor's son, mutual pining, physical touching (ex: hugging, holding hands), pet names (joshua calls reader baby), they are not slick your honor everyone knows they're in love

SUMMARY 𐂴 heaven knows how badly you wanted the world to know that you were joshua hong's.

LYR'S SIDENOTES 𐂴 my sweet sweet kae (@kyeomviiee) had made a post on wanting a secret relationship-trope joshua fic and ofc i had to give her what she wanted 🤷 this fic is gonna be close to me for a lot of reasons (one of the main reasons being the fic is set in a church setting), so i hope you guys love it as much as i loved writing it!

NOW PLAYING 𐂴 pioneers (for king & country, courtney, moriah) & headliner (seventeen)

WORD COUNT 994 𐂴 FOR @kstrucknet

dating joshua hong came with its own adventure.

you and him had started out as childhood friends, joshua three years older than you. the two of you grew up in church together, going to his house every sunday afternoon to eat dinner with his family. the two of you had done everything from sharing clothes to sleeping in the same room; you had even seen him naked once.

your respective families trusted the two of you together so much that they let you sleep in the same bedroom and watch each other change, and it was normal to you—the relationship you had with joshua was normal, in your eyes.

that was, until it wasn't. you and joshua had grown up to be teens, and had fallen in love in the process.

the whole congregation saw how you looked at joshua, noticing how you giggled with your friends in the front row as joshua strummed his acoustic guitar while leading the church in a few songs. they noticed how you always went to sit with him at community picnics, and how often you complimented his polo shirts and khaki pants every sunday.

and they saw how joshua always made sure to give you his jackets when you were shivering during his father's sermons. they saw how his ears would turn red when he'd see you prancing around with your friend group during youth nights on wednesdays.

all of this to say, you and joshua were destined to be together from the start.

the only problem was that you couldn't truly be together.

since you and he had been friends for so long, everyone had cemented it in their minds that you would never become anything more than friends.

both of your parents had strong rules when it came to dating, and joshua was in seminary, training to be the youth pastor. he was a busy man, and so were you—you had your own projects and goals you were supposed to be achieving.

that didn't stop you from saying yes to him when he asked you to be his girlfriend one wednesday night after he drove you home. from then on, you were joshua's, and he was yours.

"you did amazing as always," your voice is soft, shy as you up to meet joshua on stage. church had just ended, and he was packing up his guitar, smiling at you as his eyes crinkled in the prettiest way.

you quickly glance behind you, checking the rows of chairs behind you; they're all empty, meaning almost everyone has left by now.

now, it was just you and joshua.

"aww, thank you—," joshua wanted to say 'baby' at the end of that sentence, but bit his tongue: you had noticed how joshua winced slightly when he caught himself using the pet name.

chuckling softly, you find yourself staring at joshua's hands, taking note of how they curl around the neck of his guitar and flex as it's placed in the case.

"you think your parents are gonna let you take me home again?" you ask shyly, face heating up at the memories of last time.

joshua had the job of taking you home after sunday night's service, but the two of you stopped for ice cream and stargazing on the way back, almost two hours late from the time you originally gave to your parents. your parents weren't mad, but they did ask lots of questions.

how you were supposed to explain that the two of you quickly finished your ice cream cones before promptly having a kissing session in joshua's back seat?

that's just it—you would never explain.

"of course they will! look, I apologized profusely the first time, and plus—" joshua shrugs, sealing up his guitar case as he takes your hand discreetly, pressing you against him to come closer to you as he whispers, "i want to drive you home tonight, baby."

giggling, you nod, daring to reach up and cup joshua's plush cheek as you whisper, "i want you to take me home."

after a few minutes of comfortable silence, joshua closes up the rest of the equipment, the two of you are out of the church's locked doors, piling into joshua's car as he lets his head hit the back of the seat.

a weight looks lifted off of his shoulders, and he looks at you, smiling at the soft expression on your face as he speaks. "something is on your mind, isn't it? wanna talk about it?"

silently looking out of the window into the sunny sunday sky, you sigh, buckling yourself in as you stare down at your sandals.

"i don't know, i just...i'm so tired of hiding our relationship, shua." you breathe out, finally getting to use the nickname you had made for intimate moments like this. joshua instantly softened at your words, eyes pinned to you as you study his soft features and glowing face.

"i want everyone to know that i'm yours and you're mine. i know you're trying to please your parents, and you should be doing that because they're your parents, but...." you trail off, letting joshua pick up the pieces of your thoughts as you fall silent.

"heaven knows how badly i want to choose you out loud, just as you want to choose me. i want everyone to know, baby," joshua sighs, and you can hear the stress in his voice as he frowns at you slightly.

"just..give me time, okay? i'm going to make this right, i promise." the tone in joshua's voice is firm, warmly spreading through your body as you nod. your worry seems to dissolve into thin air with his statement, and you leave the church's parking lot with a clean consciousness.

with joshua's large hand on your thigh, the windows rolled down, and music that feels like summertime surrounding your body, the world seems to get a little clearer, and heaven knows you're thankful for it.

[perfectsunlight]

[38] WE

warnings: none

the house was quiet in the way that only a place untouched by time could be. sunlight stretched through the window in faded ribbons, catching on the fine dust that hovered in the air, untouched by movement. ivory had slept too long—long enough for the day to start slipping toward evening, long enough for the weight in her bones to feel less like exhaustion and more like avoidance.

when she finally shuffled into the kitchen, there was already a cup of coffee waiting. not steaming, but still warm, the heat dull against her palms when she curled her fingers around the ceramic. across the counter, the woman who had placed it there lingered, watching without watching, her hand resting idly against the marble like she had been waiting for something that never arrived.

for a while, neither spoke.

the silence between them wasn’t new. it was built from old bricks, cemented by the things they had never figured out how to say. the younger girl took a sip of the coffee. it was made just the way she liked it. 

that alone made her stomach twist.

her mother exhaled slowly, shifting her weight. “you can stay as long as you need.” the words settled between them, heavier than they should have been.

jane’s slender fingers tightened reflexively around the mug, as if it could be the only source of grounding in that fragile moment. “that’s not how this works.” 

“i don’t care how it works.” jennie replied without hesitation. there was a brief pause before she continued again, tucking a strand of her own loose hair out of her eyes. “you don’t have to rush into anything.”

a bitter scoff pressed against the back of ivory’s teeth, but she swallowed it down. the thought of staying here—of being cocooned in this familiar, yet unfamiliar space, waiting for the storm outside to pass—felt too much like pressing pause on a life that wasn’t waiting for her to catch up.

she slowly set the cup down with a quiet clink. “and then what?” each word is slow and deliberate, as if she was expecting some sort of catch, or perhaps a way to never face the reality that loomed so large outside these four walls.

“then we figure it out.”

the ‘we’ caught her off guard.

there had been no ‘we’ for years. only phone calls that rang too long, missed moments softened by expensive gifts, letters never sent. a life built in separate rooms, separate countries, separate realities.

and yet, here they were, pretending there was something salvageable between them.

ivory’s gentle gaze dropped to her hands, tracing the rim of her cup with the pad of her thumb. “you think that’s possible?” she whispered, the implication evident without any more explanation.

her mother hesitated. just for a mere second. but it was enough.

the truth settled in the space between them, quiet and suffocating.

maybe neither of them knew how to be a mother and daughter. maybe they never even truly had.

the clock on the wall ticked forward, measuring the silence between them in steady, indifferent beats. the weight of it pressed against ivory’s ribs, a quiet suffocation she had learned to live with. it had always been like this between them—words clipped before they could be said, emotions restrained, careful.

her mother’s hands twitched where they rested against the counter, fingers curling ever so slightly before she stilled them again. she looked the same as always—poised, untouchable, beautiful in the way that had made her a legend long before ivory ever knew what it meant to belong to her. but in the soft glow of the afternoon, there was something weary in her eyes. something fragile beneath the surface, like glass just before it cracks.

ivory swallowed, the taste of coffee bitter on her tongue. “i don’t know if i want to figure it out.” the words left her mouth before she had the chance to stop them, and the moment they were out in the open, she wished she could take them back.

something flickered across her mother’s face—hurt, maybe. but it was gone before she could be sure.

“i know,” was all she said. and somehow, that was worse.

the ache curled itself deeper into ivory’s chest. she had expected an argument, a sharp retort, something to grasp onto. but instead, there was only quiet acceptance. the kind that made her feel like she was slipping further away, like there was nothing tethering them together except the undeniable fact of what they once were.

she looked away, eyes drifting to the floor, then to the window where the sun had begun its slow descent. she had spent years imagining what it would be like to stand in front of her mother like this, with nothing between them except everything they had never said.

it didn’t feel like closure. it just felt hollow.

her mother sighed, soft and almost imperceptible. “you can still stay.”

ivory hesitated. “for how long?”

“for as long as you need.”

the words should have been comforting, but instead, they sat heavy in her chest. she didn’t know what she needed. didn’t know if this was a bridge being built or if they were just two people standing at the edge of something that had already collapsed.

she ran her fingers along the rim of her cup again, the warmth fading, leaving only the ghost of heat behind.

“okay,” she said finally, barely above a whisper.

her mother didn’t smile. she didn’t reach across the counter, didn’t try to make it something it wasn’t. she only nodded, as if that single syllable was the most they could manage.

and maybe it was.

the clock on the wall ticked forward, measuring the silence between them in steady, indifferent beats. the weight of it pressed against ivory’s ribs, a quiet suffocation she had learned to live with. it had always been like this between them—words clipped before they could be said, emotions restrained, careful.

across the counter, her mother’s fingers twitched before stilling against the marble, a hesitation so small it would have been easy to miss. but ivory didn’t miss it. she never had. she had spent a lifetime attuned to the subtleties of the woman in front of her; the way her jaw tensed when she was thinking too hard, the way her hands curled when she wanted to reach out but didn’t know how.

for all her mother’s poise, for all the ways the world saw her as untouchable, it was in moments like these that she felt painfully human.

“i don’t know if i want to figure it out.” the words left ivory’s mouth before she had the chance to stop them, and the moment they were out in the open, she wished she could take them back.

something flickered across her mother’s face. hurt, maybe. but it was gone before the younger girl could be sure.

“i know,” was all she said. and somehow, that was worse. there was no fight, no sharp retort, no insistence that they try. just quiet acceptance. the kind that made her feel like she was slipping further away, like there was nothing tethering them together except the undeniable fact of what they once were.

ivory looked away, cat-like eyes drifting to the floor, then to the window where the sun had begun its slow descent. she had spent years imagining what it would be like to stand in front of her mother like this, with nothing between them except everything they had never said.

it didn’t feel like closure. it just felt hollow.

her mother sighed, soft and almost imperceptible to someone who wouldn’t be sitting this close to her. 

“you can still stay.”

ivory hesitated. “for how long?”

“for as long as you need.”

the words should have been comforting, but instead, they sat heavy in her chest. she didn’t know what she needed. didn’t know if this was a bridge being built or if they were just two people standing at the edge of something that had already collapsed.

and yet, she wasn’t blind to the struggle on the other end of it. it had taken her far too long to realize that this wasn’t easy for her mother either. 

she thought of the quiet sacrifices—the ones she had been too young to understand, the ones she had willfully ignored. the endless flights back and forth, the phone calls left to ring not because of carelessness but because of exhaustion. the way her mother had tried, in the only ways she knew how, with gifts wrapped in ribbons and words spoken through other people because directness had never been their strength.

she had always been waiting for a version of her mother who knew exactly what to do, how to love her in all the ways she needed. but what if that version never existed? what if, just like her, she had been figuring it out as she went, doing her best even when it was never enough?

ivory ran her fingers along the rim of her cup again, the warmth fading, leaving only the ghost of heat behind.

“okay,” she said finally, barely above a whisper. her mother didn’t smile. she didn’t reach across the counter, didn’t try to make it something it wasn’t. she only nodded, as if that single syllable was the most they could manage.

and maybe it was.

when ivory made her way back to her room, it smelled faintly of lavender. it wasn’t the scent of a new space but of one carefully curated, pieced together from the fragments of a past she had long since left behind.

kuma’s nails clicked softly against the hardwood as he followed her inside, his round, aged eyes looking up at her with quiet expectancy. he had always been a patient little thing, even when she was a child tugging him into her arms, chattering away about whatever nonsense had filled her head that day.

she knelt down, letting her fingers sink into his thick, graying fur. “hey, old man,” she murmured, scratching gently behind his ears the way he liked. he let out a small huff of approval, leaning into her touch.

ivory reached for the small bag of snacks she had found on the bedside table (clearly left for her, like so many other things in this room) and took out a tiny piece of jerky, holding it between her fingers. kuma sniffed it once before taking it delicately, chewing with slow, deliberate motions.

ivory exhaled, letting herself settle into the quiet. it was easier like this. just her and kuma, no words, no expectations.

her gaze flickered across the room, taking in the details. the furniture was new, but the essence of it wasn’t. the softest sheets, the pillows stacked just the way she used to like them. a shelf lined with books she barely remembered reading but knew had once been her favorites.

and then, there were the boxes.

she hadn’t noticed them at first, tucked carefully into the corner as if they had been waiting for her to rediscover them. a strange feeling curled in her chest as she reached for the first one, peeling back the lid.

inside, ribbons. bows in soft pastels, some slightly frayed at the edges from years of use. she picked one up—light pink, satin, still neatly tied. she used to wear them all the time. her grandmother used to fix them in her hair before school, gentle fingers smoothing down flyaways.

she swallowed the lump in her throat and set it aside, moving on to the next box.

this one was heavier. she opened it to find stacks of old photographs, some in envelopes, others loose. the kind taken with a disposable camera, the colors slightly faded, the edges curled.

she pulled out the first one and let out a quiet breath.

her finger covered half the frame, but she could still make out the image—her mother, seated in a makeup chair, a stylist working on her eyeliner. the date on the back was barely legible, but it must have been years ago.

she shuffled through more. a shot of her mother, asleep on the couch in jieun’s home, one arm curled under her head. another of kuma, much younger, standing in a bathtub with a guilty-looking jennie beside him, hands stained with traces of blue and yellow paint. ivory barely remembered that day, but suddenly, it came back in flashes—how she had wanted to make kuma “prettier,” how her mother had sighed but laughed through it, gently scrubbing the paint out of his fur.

the photos were endless snapshots of a life she had long since convinced herself was too distant to reach for. her fingers trembled slightly as she picked up another one, the glossy print curling at the edges. it was blurry, the kind of shot taken in haste, but she could still make out the scene—a much younger ivory clearly running off with a much younger kuma in her arms.

she barely remembered that day, but the warmth of it seeped into her bones like something familiar.

another photo was one of her mother outside of a performance venue, bundled in a thick coat, one arm slung around jieun’s shoulder as they both smiled at the camera. ivory recognized the building, the soft glow of streetlights casting shadows against the pavement. it was a rare night that she had been there too, clinging to her mother’s sleeve. she mostly remembered being half-asleep in the back of a black van waiting for the idol to finish her rehearsals.

she swallowed, reaching for the next item, but this time, it wasn’t a photo.

a tiny bracelet, tucked carefully at the bottom of the box. the elastic was stretched, but the small white beads were still intact, spelling out her name in block letters.

ivory traced her fingers over them, the ghost of a memory flickering to life. she had worn this every day in elementary school, a gift from her mother after one of her first big performances. she had lost it once—cried for hours thinking it was gone forever—only for her mother to find it in the backseat of the car, slipping it onto her wrist before bedtime with a soft, “it’s okay. i’ll always keep track of you.”

her throat tightened.

her gaze fell to another item, nestled between the photos. a silk scarf, delicate and impossibly soft beneath her fingertips. she recognized it instantly—the chanel pattern, the muted golds and blues.

paris. fashion week. she had been too young to go, still in school, but her mother had called her late at night, voice tired but excited.

“i’ll bring something back for you.”

she had thought it would be a keychain, a souvenir from an airport shop. instead, jennie had pulled her aside after returning home, slipping the scarf into her hands with a conspiratorial smile.

“don’t tell anyone, okay? this was part of my outfit.”

ivory had worn it everywhere around the house. around her neck, draped over her hair, even tied it around her wrist a few times before eventually tucking it away somewhere. she had completely forgotten about it. 

and yet, her mother hadn’t.

she exhaled shakily, setting the scarf down. kuma shifted beside her, pressing his small, warm body against her leg. she reached out instinctively, running a hand over his fur, grounding herself.

her mother had kept everything.

not just the big things. not just the glossy, polished memories that made their way onto magazine pages. but the small, quiet pieces of their life together—the bracelet, the scarf, the photos ivory had taken with clumsy fingers, even the ones where her finger blocked half the frame.

the ones that no one else would care about.

the ones that mattered.

a lump formed in her throat, impossible to swallow down.

kuma let out a soft huff, resting his head against her knee. she looked down at him, brushing her fingers over his graying fur.

“she never really let go, huh?”

the little dog sighed in response, curling closer. ivory sat there, surrounded by pieces of her past, letting the weight of it settle over her like a blanket. and for the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel quite so confused.

since she’d be staying here for a while, ivory decided to walk around and explore her mother’s home. the house felt different when she wandered through it—not foreign, but not quite familiar either. ivory had spent years here in pieces, never long enough to claim it as home, but never distant enough to forget some of its layout.

she moved through the hallways with quiet steps, brushing her fingers over the walls, the faint hum of memories whispering beneath her touch. most of the doors were open, revealing rooms with carefully curated furniture, minimalist but warm. her mother’s taste had always been expensive but never cold.

she hesitated at one door, slightly ajar.

jennie’s office.

pushing it open, she stepped inside, her breath catching for a moment.

it was a space that could belong to no one else.

awards gleamed from polished shelves—golden statues, crystal plaques, framed certifications. blackpink albums were lined up neatly, each era immortalized in glossy covers. magazines, stacked and arranged, bore her mother’s face in various phases of her career. some covers were young, fresh-faced, from her early years; others carried the weight of experience, eyes sharper, presence even stronger.

ivory had seen these before, on coffee tables, on billboards, in passing. but here, in this room, they felt different. personal.

she let her gaze drift lower, toward the desk. packages, unopened, sat neatly near the foot of it. but one thing in particular made her pause.

a black-and-white album, familiar in every way.

her chest tightened immediately.

fearless.

lesserafim’s debut album, her own group’s first album. an ep technically, but they sold like albums. but this specific one sitting in front of her very own eyes wasn’t just any regular copy.

this was a signed one.

and the album wasn’t just signed by her. it was signed by all of them.

ivory recognized the way the metallic ink layered over the glossy black-and-white cover, the way sakura’s looping signature sat just above kazuha’s neat scrawl, how yunjin’s writing curved beside eunchae and chaewon’s. and how her own signature was right in the middle, elegant and simple.

this wasn’t a random purchase. this version wasn’t even for sale. because this was a fan sign edition.

her brows furrowed as she carefully picked it up, running her thumb along the edge of the plastic. the thought of jennie waiting in line at a fan event, sitting across from her, was almost laughable. that definitely didn’t happen. 

but that only made the question worse; how did she get this?

she gently flipped it over, checking for anything unusual, but there was nothing beyond the standard album. no note, no sign of how it ended up here.

ivory’s stomach twisted. her mother had done this on purpose. she didn’t just buy an album online—she had gone out of her way to get this, knowing exactly how limited it was.

there was only one explanation.

she must have sent someone. a manager, an assistant—someone who had gone in her place, sat in front of lesserafim, and handed over the album to be signed by each and every single member.

and yet, her mother had never mentioned it. never brought it up in casual conversation, never let it slip during their rare phone calls.

she had just simply kept it for herself.

ivory exhaled sharply, sinking onto the edge of the desk. her mother wasn’t the type to make grand declarations, she never had been. but this? this was something she had never expected to find. and then she heard it.

“what are you doing?”

ivory startled, her grip tightening on the album as jennie’s voice cut through the quiet. it wasn’t sharp, but it wasn’t exactly soft either—just careful, measured. the kind of tone that left no room for misinterpretation.

she turned her head slowly, finding her mother standing in the doorway, one hand still resting on the frame. jennie’s gaze flickered from ivory to the album in her hands, her expression unreadable, but not surprised.

like she had known this moment was inevitable.

for a second, neither of them spoke.

ivory’s fingers hovered over the album’s cover, her mind racing through the implications of it all. “you had this.” the words came out quieter than she intended, but there was something pointed underneath.

jennie didn’t immediately respond. her lips parted as if she had something to say, something she had thought about before—but then, she hesitated. just enough for the silence to stretch.

ivory didn’t know what answer she was expecting.

an explanation? a reason? maybe even an admission that she had cared, in her own strange, distant way.

jennie exhaled, tilting her head slightly, her expression caught between embarrassment and something else—something closer to pride.

“i did.”

the words were simple, but the way her arms crossed, the way her gaze flickered from ivory’s hands to the shelf behind her, said more than she probably intended.

ivory studied her carefully, her fingers grazing over the smooth cover of the album. “why didn’t you tell me?”

jennie let out a soft, almost nervous chuckle, running a hand through her hair. “what was i supposed to say? ‘hey, i sent someone to a fansign so i could get my daughter’s album signed like some overgrown fangirl?’” she shook her head, pressing her lips together as if the thought alone made her cringe. “i figured you’d just make fun of me.”

ivory blinked in surprise. the idea of her mother, none other than jennie kim, going out of her way to get a signed album, then hiding it away because she was embarrassed? it didn’t fit with the image she had built of her over the years.

“you actually sent someone to a fansign for me?” ivory’s voice wavered somewhere between disbelief and something warmer, something more fragile. her mother scoffed, looking away like she couldn’t believe she was admitting to this. 

“of course, i did. you think i wouldn’t?” she said as nonchalantly as she could. but then, softer, she spoke to add to her previous statement. “you’re my kid.”

something in ivory’s chest ached.

it was such a small thing, barely more than a murmur, but it landed heavy—like a stone dropped into water, sending ripples through everything she had been trying so hard to keep still.

she glanced back down at the album in her hands, suddenly unable to meet her mother’s gaze. 

you’re my kid.

all this time, she had thought the distance between them was insurmountable, a canyon too wide to cross. but now, holding the proof of this, she wasn’t so sure.

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CLOSED.

[stargirlygirl]

you smell like fish

fisherman!bakugou x siren!fem!reader

⭑.ᐟ part four: transformation

summary: katsuki gets held up in a meeting, so you venture outside the bathtub for food (things don't go as planned)

contains: mild gore, unintentional suicide attempt (it'll make sense once you read it but obvs avoid if this is triggering for you), hurt/comfort, swearing, reader has legs, 2.9k words

The next few months flew by. Every day, Katsuki would bring you something to eat after he came home from work in the early afternoon, and at night. He would stay by your side, talking with you and teasing you mostly.

He discovered that you were as curious about him as he was about you. The way your mind worked enraptured him. You were so clever and cute. A week since he gave you that Rubik’s Cube, you could solve it within 10 minutes, despite how much he mixed it up. So, the blonde started bringing you newspapers and cheap books he found at the thrift. And one by one, he watched you devour them all (with your eyes, of course).

Today was supposed to be a day like any other. But Katsuki’s been held up at work for the past few hours, gritting his teeth and grunting as his manager reviews the fishing team’s recovery from the massive storm all those months ago.

The one that brought you into his life.

He swears that if that glasses-wearing dweeb utters another word he might lose it.

“Bakugou, what do you think of the recent catches? I’ve noticed that we aren’t bringing in as much of our specialty crab as pre-storm,” Tenya says in that monotone drawl. The blonde’s hand twitches, and his frown gets that much deeper.

He grunts, “Who cares? They probably took as much of a hit as we did.” Kirishima shoots Bakugou a concerned look as the blonde folds his arms across his chest, his foot tapping rapidly on the cement.

The redhead laughs nervously as he scratches his neck, “What he means is that he does care, but we should focus on other catches right now. There’s been an abundance of snapper to the north, ‘specially around dawn. Maybe we should start fishing there more frequently.”

“Good point, Kirishima,” Tenya affirms as he scribbles that down on his notepad.

The meeting continues until everyone’s legs begin cramping and Tenya calls it quits for the day. He reminds everyone to keep up their positive attitude and motivational spirit for the chance to be this year’s ‘Employee of the Year’. Such a title comes with a nice bonus, and any other year, Bakugou would have been roaring and ready to compete with his colleagues to catch way more fish than them. But this year, he can’t seem to care. Not when he’s got such a pretty girl to go home to, even if you might be going home soon.

In the past few days, you’ve been able to move around with ease. The only marker of your wound is a long scar across your scales.

Naturally, you’ll bring it up. Returning to the ocean. And Katsuki just prays that tonight isn’t that night.

…˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚…

As your blonde was stuck in his dry, never-ending team meeting, you were getting hungry.

You groan to yourself, “What’s taking him so long?” Your voice sounds muffled thanks to the earplugs Katsuki gave you after seeing your discomfort from the bathroom’s acoustics. You resign to waiting it out, but as the clock ticks and your tummy roars, you just can’t help yourself.

You know that you shouldn’t be doing this. All of these months spent recovering, and now you’re going to risk it all for a legend you’ve heard. One where sirens can walk amongst humans when out of water. Your sisters used to speak of it all the time, claiming they had seen it when one of you got too close to a man and went missing.

You had always chalked it up to death, but they teased you for being so morbid and having no belief in romance. To clarify, it’s not that you don’t believe in love.

Trust me, you do.

But, you can’t fathom love driving a siren to give up her tail. In what world could love make her do that? Make her go from the strong sea seductress she is to some other human girl who’s constantly plagued by men. No. Thank. You. Eating them was enough of a chore.

You shove thoughts of a certain blonde, a certainly LATE blonde, out of your mind as you reminisce. Now was not the time to be feeling all of those butterflies in your tummy. You grip the edge of the bathtub and push yourself up. Swinging your tail over the edge, you sit on the side. Your throat is already going dry, gills flapping wildly in an attempt to breathe. You clench your eyes shut and grit your teeth, if you could just get past this part—

You choke on the air, reflexively clutching at your throat, which makes you lose your balance. Your hands catch you as you fall forward onto the dirty starfish tiles. You wheeze, spots filling your already blurry vision as you try to claw yourself back into the bathtub.

This was a bad idea, you internally scream at yourself. A really bad idea. You can’t even hold yourself up anymore, the lack of oxygen affecting your brain. Your cheek presses against the freshly wet tiles, and your long nails dig into your palms.

You cry out as this searing pain settles in your lungs and spreads like wildfire across your skin. You’re burning up, the cold floor doing nothing to ease your sudden anguish. Even with your earplugs in, you hear the sick crunch of your tail bones.

And by God, do you feel it. Your screams intermingle with the transformation taking place. The bones crack and reform, creating something you’ve never had before. Scales retract beneath your skin, and the webbing between your fingers disappears.

Tears stream down your cheeks as you thrash around, your once long, silky tail turning into a pair of legs. Even your fin-like ears change into human ears, the earplugs slipping out. Your head pounds as the echoing cracks and wails flood your senses at full volume.

In minutes, you are no longer the stunning creature you were before. No, you lie on the bathroom floor, panting like a dog in summer despite looking human now. You can’t even move for the next little while as the last little bones snap and correct themselves. Your entire body aches like it did when Katsuki first brought you here.

Katsuki… Your chest pangs as you yearn for him. If he were here right now, he wouldn’t have let you go through this alone. He probably would have chained you to the bathtub so you couldn’t have acted on such a foolish whim. If he were here right now, he would have held you tight in his meaty arms, right?

You choke out a sob, whispering “Sorry” over and over as if you can forgive yourself for what you’ve done.

But there’s no time to dwell on it right now, especially not if it’s reversible. The thought that your transformation isn’t, that you might remain this way forever, threatens to bind you to the floor in a shuddering, hysterical mess. However, you push those thoughts and emotions back. Slowly, you roll onto your tummy and push up onto your knees. They ache like a 60-year-old’s. Would you look like one, too?

You grab the bathtub’s edge and pull yourself up, coming to stand on two very shaky legs. So shaky that the moment you let go of the tub, you collapse onto the tiles. Luckily, you land on your palms again.

You breathe out, “Let’s-let’s just rest f-for sec.” Unfortunately, your voice grates your ears as much as it always did despite your transformation. You focus on your breathing, in and out through the nose (which you’ve never done before) until you’re ready to move again.

This time, you try something different. Instead of standing (because you’re clearly not there yet), you move one hand and knee forward at the same time, crawling toward the bathroom door. You get up on your knees to open it, twisting the brass knob like you’ve seen Katsuki do numerous times.

Beyond the door lies an oasis unlike any other. Hazy wooden floors and cosy blankets swirling with old photos framed on the walls. Your jaw slackens as you stare at the world before you. It’s so… dull. Nothing compared to your home, with its vibrancy and myriad of creatures. But you must admit, the clearer it becomes as you crawl down the hallway, the more charming it seems; a quiet kind of comfort.

Your now red knees are grateful for the mercy the living room rug provides. Using your reserved strength, you tug yourself up on the couch and snuggle beneath the heavy wool-knit blanket thrown over the back. You quickly notice just how dang cold it is out here. Never before have you disliked the cold. You’re used to it, calling the midnight zone your home since forever. But now, it bites and gnaws at your delicate skin in all the wrong ways. Like you’re the prey and it’s the predator, trying to get its fill.

You sit in silence for who knows how long. Your initial plan had been to gain legs and find where Katsuki kept your food. But as step one had taken everything out of you, step two was off the cards.

Finally, you hear your blonde’s familiar stomps up to the door. He barrels into it in a flurry of winter layers and keys. You perk up, staring at his blurry figure as he grumbles to himself about being kept back. Oblivious to your presence, he throws his scarf at you before hanging his thick jacket on the coat stand.

You whine, “Heyy!” as you tussle with the accessory. It’s splattered with octopus blood and reeks of fish. As you set it down on your lap, a wide-eyed Katsuki stares at you.

He yells, “WHAT THE FUCK, WOMAN?!”

You wince at his volume, instinctively covering your ears and averting your eyes as he stalks over to you, shouting, “WHAT’RE YOU DOIN’ OUT ‘ERE?!”

He snatches the scarf from you, continuing, “WHY AREN’T YA IN THE TUB?!” His deep voice reverberates in all of your cells.

You swear it clangs with the particles in the air as he huffs, “Answer me?!” You gaze up at him, looming over you. The frown on his face makes you think that maybe you should have just waited it out in the bathtub. Maybe then you wouldn’t be both ravenous and human.

You whisper, “Surprise.”

“SURPRISE?!” He chucks his scarf on the nearby armchair before kneeling. His face is much closer now, and he stares at you, trying to search for all the answers in your bright, puffy eyes.

“Surprise? That’s all you have to fuckin’ say to me?! Surprise? What—” He gazes off to the side, inhaling deeply.

Upon facing you again, he continues more gently, “What happened while I was gone?” It’s your turn to avoid his eyes. How do you say that now you have two legs? Now, you look human? All because you pushed your biology to that point out of your hunger. He scrutinises you, picking apart the redness ringing your eyes.

He grumbles, “Have you been cryin’?” You shake your head vigorously and keep your lips sealed tight. If you were to open them, you’re certain they would tremble.

Your heart is still thick with emotions, which begin to spill over as Katsuki mutters softly, “Hey, you can talk to me, yea? Always.” You sniffle, your lips quivering as you meet his gaze. He looks even fuzzier than usual as fresh tears cloud your vision.

He sighs, “Come on, fishsticks. Was it the yellin’? God—” He stands up and plops down next to you, almost squishing half of you as he pulls you onto his lap. You yelp in surprise as the rough fabric of his jeans drags across your smooth legs.

“Yer such a sensitive thing, aren’t cha?” He grumbles, one hand wrapping around your shoulders while the other hikes the blanket up to your chin. To your sharp nose, he smells like he’s been marinating in a barrel of fish.

You murmur shakily, “Y-you re-really stink.”

He rolls his eyes and scoffs, “’Course I fuckin’ do.” You curl into his warm chest and rest your head against his collarbone. His neck is hair’s breadth away, his pulse pumping rhythmically. It makes your tummy growl.

He chuckles, rocking you gently on his knee, “Someone’s hungry. Is that why you ventured out ‘ere? For a bite.” You nuzzle into the crook of his neck, sighing as his sticky sweat smears across your forehead.

You choke out against his flesh, “K-keep teasing me an-and I’ll t-take a bite.” He guffaws at you, the warm sound vibrating in his chest and resonating in your heart.

Wiping fake tears away, he croaks out, “Sure ya will!”

Katsuki holds you until the sun is swallowed by the horizon. He keeps you steady in the ocean of your emotional pain. You babble into his warmth about what your transformation felt like and your fears about not being able to turn back. He listens to you, offering you what little comforting words he can as he squeezes you tighter and keeps the cosy blanket from pooling in your lap. Once you calm down, he coaxes you off his lap.

That night, he brings you two of your favourite fish, still flapping around (just the way you like them). As always, his eyes widen as you bite the flailing head off, half-torn, goopy eyes sliding down its jagged ridges. The blonde can’t help but admire how beautiful you are, even as you wipe the fish’s blood from your mouth and pull its bones from your teeth.

And when you miss a little spot on your lower lip, he can’t stop himself from wiping it off with his thumb. At the tender contact of his rough skin against your delicate lip, you sigh. You’re used to men fawning over you; that is your default angle for hunting them. But this feels different. Kind, intimate, even. You shake your head faintly, your half-dried locks falling over your shoulders. They sprawl on the blanket curled beneath your armpits.

After clearing your plates, Katsuki suggests you get ready for bed. Bed? He explains how humans sleep, earning an onslaught of curious questions from you on what it’s like. He prompts you to try it, taking your hands in his as he pulls you up to standing with him.

The blanket falls to your feet, and the blonde groans. He knew you wouldn’t be covered, but this?

Now this was torture.

So soft and curvy, it’s criminal to look this good. You catch his chin in your grip, falling into him due to your weak legs. He wraps his arms around you, pressing your bodies together. You tilt his face down to yours, keeping his eyes on yours and not on your body. You’d like to believe he’s interested in you beyond it, even if that’s all a lie and what he really wants is a shot with you.

You say nervously, “I, um, can’t walk.” He nods and grabs your wrist, plucking your hand off his slight stubble. Leaning down, he threads his arm under your knees and around your back. He whisks you away to what he calls the ‘guest room’. It’s fitted with a bed in the centre, which he carefully sets you down on. It dips beneath your weight, cradling you almost like the ocean does. But it’s so solid. He instructs you to stay there while he grabs you some clothes.

You sigh, “Is that really necessary?”

He grumbles, “Yes. Now stay ‘ere.” You roll your eyes but obey his orders, not in a position to defy them. He takes longer than expected, so you lie back on the bed and feel it mould to you. It makes you giggle, and soon enough, you’re lying in the middle on your tummy, pushing on the thick quilt with your palms and watching it bounce back in awe.

The door thuds, and he grunts, “Oi, come ‘ere.” You roll over, chuckling and eating your hair as you sit up. He waits for you to brush it back before showing you each article of clothing one by one.

“This,” he says, holding up some odd-looking shorts, “is a pair of trunks. Don’t worry, they’re clean. I just don’t own any, uh, ladies' underwear.” You blink at him dumbly, his explanation flying over your head. He demonstrates how to put them on and sets them aside before moving on to the next piece.

“This is a shirt. You’ve seen me wearing these lots of times, yea? And these,” he holds up what you recognise as—

“Pants!”

“Yes, pants. These are sweatpants,” he sighs. “Good. Good job, fishfreak. Now, let’s get you into them.” It takes almost 20 minutes for Katsuki to get you dressed. You kept resisting him, continually fussing with the trunks because they didn’t fit properly. Eventually, you got them to sit just right before he tugged the t-shirt over your head and reefed the sweatpants up.

Then, he made you brush your teeth before tucking you into bed.

He grumbles, “Night,” before flicking off the overhead light. You sigh and wiggle in the bed, trying to get comfy.

Staring at the opaque curtains obscuring the view of the sea, you squint to make out the shoreline as the moonlight catches on the sheer fabric. It soothes you, seeing your home so close. Yet your chest aches from how far away it is. The sound of the tide crashing lulls you into a dreamless sleep.

masterlist

images are not mine

a/n: just warning y'all in advance that chapter 6 is dead dove do not eat so if y'all don't like that... but otherwise, prepare yourselves. i'm talking lowk cannibalism (i mean she's a siren in human form, so technically not), attempted suicide, straight up gore + animal cruelty (no animals harmed in the making ofc).

taglist - @ettesxythia, @sins-over-tragedy, @windyremedy, @beabamboo, @holobean, @lilac-heartz, @mp3nai, @v3n7s, @napbatata, @yannvi, @ilovemushroomss, @dienamiight, @cielito--lindo, @bakunianadecorazon, @waddafaknik, @chibiduck, @dragonictales

[jesterkoops]

I was re-reading this super long, 2-parter analysis of Chikhai Bardo and while I wouldn't go as far as OP in saying Mark and Gemma's was never true love (more on this later), or that it was all based on looks, I think it's a really good breakdown of the way I also perceived that episode and the reason why I'm so puzzled it seemed to have people suddenly romanticise their relationship and put it above everything and anything, forgetting 2 seasons of storytelling in its favour.

Putting this under a cut because it got way longer than I anticipated.

I think one reason why people are so touchy about any criticism or MarkGemma is that they embody the quintessential average heterosexual relationship and marriage. The relationship dynamic that more than any other is held as sacred in our society. To the point that I don't think people even pay attention to what is being shown because the moment you say "these two people are married and here is the montage of their story" they automatically project all those conditioned preconceived beliefs about what the relationship must be by virtue of being a marriage.

Never mind the statistics on divorce demonstrating that marriage doesn't automatically = some grand epic love. There is a reason half of relationships/marriages don't last and that is because they are often just build upon the motions of meet -> attraction -> date -> relationship -> marriage -> children (maybe), and don't withstand the impact with reality once it does hit. May the reality be life's hardships or discovering sides of the other person that the person smothered or downplayed in order to please and appeal to the partner during earlier stages in the relationship.

Which is exactly what we see in this episode. Like OP said, there's never any grand moment that makes you go "yes! these two are so made for each other!". It's all bland stuff that could be applied to any generic straight marriage out there. Granted, I don't think that you need one grand moment to cement a relationship as true love. I think this can be built upon small, every-day gestures, and by enduring difficulties and working through them together. I would go as far as to say that it isn't true that to tell a good story you necessarily need those epic romances; that there can be a good story in an everyday romance too. Everyday love, everyday pain, everyday struggles, can be compelling. To paraphrase what Dan said about what he likes about Markgemma, choosing to stick together when things get tough can make for a good story.

But that is kind of the point: sticking together is very different from growing together, or working things out together. Many people choose to 'stick together' and live unfulfilled marriages for the rest of their lives. And that is where their relationship was headed in this episode: Mark and Gemma weren't working through anything together. They were sticking together on paper while drifting apart on an emotional and human level.

One thing in particular that I find very off-putting about their dynamic is how as soon as things get difficult, Gemma is the one pining for attention and love from a distracted and uninterested Mark. Yes, she calls him out once about being an asshole, but for the most part she is just there waiting for his crumbs, and having to remind him to show her the affection she is showing him.

Having said that, and here is where I disagree with OP, I don't think Mark and Helly's is real love and Mark and Gemma's isn't. I think they both are real love, just different kinds of real love.

I think Mark and Helly's is the one that is build to last from the get go, simply because it is based on something that is just part of who they are as people that makes them not just compatible in terms of what they have in common (like their morbid sense of humour), but in terms of how their personality traits fit with the other like pieces of a puzzle and fill in the gaps the other is lacking: Mark is avoidant, but Helly is incredibly confrontational and doesn't let him get away with ignoring problems. She is IN HIS FACE like a dog with a bone whenever something is troubling them. And Helly is impulsive and destructive in that impulsiveness, but Mark is protective and knows how and when to throw water on that fire. He pays attention and is IN HER FACE whenever she tries to burn shit to the ground. What one needs to thrive is what the other is naturally inclined to provide.

Mark and Gemma's is the kind that isn't built to last from the get go, because its foundations are not based on nature, they're based on nurture - in this case the nurturing of society and the steps the average relationships goes through, with all the expectations that go with it. They are not innately made for each other, they have to work at it. It's the kind of love that can only last if both parties put an awful lot of work into it, because they don't complement each other in a way that comes natural to them. So, in a sense, this ordeal with Lumon might very well be the kick in the butt Mark and Gemma needed to sort their shit out. That it might make Mark realise what he had and took for granted, and truly make a change. It might make Gemma realise that she needs to hit him with a chair across the head when he acts like an asshole.

BUT.. and here comes the biggest but of all..

Mark created a version of himself that does not remember Gemma, never loved her, and now not only desperately loves someone else, not only is that someone the consciousness of the heir to the company that kept her in a basement for two years, but he has that "built do last" relationship with her. A relationship that is going through massive ordeals and is only growing stronger as a result. So now Mark might want to make all the changes in the world to be a better husband to Gemma, but not only he needs to put all the awful lot of work I mentioned above, but he needs to do it against the pull of THAT kind of relationship.

That is why I think the odds for their relationship aren't great. Not because they don't love each other, but because I don't know that it's a love that can withstand what's coming at them. Especially when it was already struggling to start with.

[joelmillerswife9]

You Can Be the Boss

Here is my first debut of my Marcus Acacius miniseries, You Can Be the Boss! As always, I hope you like it.

Summary: The reader works in the dominating world of M.A.D. Co., and Marcus is immediately drawn to her. He wants to let her in but fears how she'll react when she discovers what her boss is like behind closed doors.

Chapter 1 Warnings: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT 18+!! NO SMUT, ANGST, FEMALE READER, TALK OF BEING HANDCUFFED, KINKS, TALK OF DRINKING, SOME LANGUAGE

Chapter 1: Are You Ready?  

Reapplying your dark red Matte lipstick in the office bathroom, you’re once again reciting your presentation in the oval shaped mirror. You’ve been practicing your marketing presentation for weeks and thrive for everything to be absolutely perfect. From the slideshow to your choice of high heeled shoes,  everything must be flawless. Not because this is the most important moment of your career working at M.A.D. Co., but knowing that HE will be there front and center. Your boss, Mr. Acacius. The man with those gorgeous almond shaped brown eyes that could seduce a nun.  The man whose sultry voice coats your body with butterflies and your mind with naughty thoughts. The man who makes every woman's head turn the minute he walks out of the elevator and into the lion’s den of feral lassies. Every woman in the office desired Mr. Acacius, including you. But unlike the few ladies you worked with, you were too timid to flirt with such a powerful man. Sure, you wore nice dresses and skirts around the office in hopes of getting one glance from him. You attended holiday parties and happy hour after a long day at the office, and he was always there. You’d make small talk and crack jokes with each other, but you never initiated anything beyond that. Not because you were a prude (you were far from that), but mostly because you wouldn’t be able to control yourself. You reflect back to your first encounter with him. You were clinging onto anything your hands could find to stop yourself from leaping over the desk... 

7 years ago:

 You, being fresh out of college, were waiting to take on the dominating world of marketing. No more bartending at the local dive bar in your small town, the city life was finally calling for you. You remember the overwhelming feeling of walking to your first job interview that Wednesday morning. You focused on the clacking of your heels on the cement pavement as you tried to drown out the overwhelming sounds of the city. Cars honking, pedestrians yelling, it was all too much for you being a small town girl. Two blocks later, you finally located the jet black skyscraper with the name M.A.D. Co piercing down at you. How could a building seem so intimidating? Taking in a deep breath, you pulled the heavy door open. Sitting at the front desk was a sweet older gentleman, you told him you had an interview with Mr. Acacius. He instructed you on finding his office and you made your way to the elevator tapping the button numbered 12. While waiting, you opened your folder, checking for the 20th time that you had your resume, transcripts, recommendations and portfolio. DING sounded the elevator and the doors slowly opened. Making a left turn out of the door, your eyes were still fixed on your folder. And that’s when your life changed forever.  A strong force collided into you, making the papers go flying out of your folder. 

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry” you gasped, not having time to look up to see who almost killed you.  You immediately knelt down collecting all of your documents, and a much larger figure crouched down next to you. 

“No no, I’m sorry I was looking at my phone and not watching where I was going” a powerful voice responded. 

Panic ran through your veins as you collected your materials. Well, this was one way to ruin your chances at landing a job. You reached for your resume that was  laying on the marble floor, and right at the same time a muscular hand connected with yours. You finally looked up. The most breathtaking brown eyes stared right back at you. Your lips parted at the sight of this exquisite older gentleman. You were hypnotized by his strong features: a set of plump lips, a striking nose, sun kissed skin perfectly dabbled with freckles,  and lucious salt and pepper curls with a beard to match. He was much older than you, possibly late 40’s. The man was astonishing; paintings and priceless art plastered around the most notorious museums didn't hold a candle to him. 

“I..umm… thank you” you stuttered. You’re not sure if you were thanking him for helping you or running into you. 

The mystery man smirked and said, “You’re welcome”.

You both turned to face the piece of paper that still had your hands locked on one another. He quickly removed his hand from yours. His warmth still lingered on your skin. You grabbed your resume and pulled yourselves up. 

“Well, this was one way to make a first impression,” you chuckled. 

“First day?” the man questioned. 

“I have an interview with a Mr. Acacius at 10:30, which I’m now probably late for.” 

“Well, I can walk with you to his office, if you don’t mind” 

Maybe your luck has started to turn. “Sounds good to me” 

You walked side by side with the man, who surprisingly  started asking questions about yourself. Where are you from? How’d  you end up in marketing? What are your hobbies and interests? You go back and forth with the small talk until you stopped in front of a glassdoor with the company name, logo  and a name, “Marcus Acacius” engraved. The gentleman opened the door and you walked inside the orderly office. You sat at one of the chairs and placed your purse on the floor next to the chair leg. Immediately opening the folder, you collected your documents in your hands. Baffled at the sight, the good looking gentleman sat at the desk sporting the most mischievous grin. You purse your lips and feel flushed. HE is Mr. Acacius. You don’t know whether to scream for joy or run out of the office, but you played it cool.

The nervous laugh escaped you and your hands shielded your face, “Of course this is how I meet my potential boss”

Mr. Acacius laughed as his hand stroked his chin, “Well, I have to say this is the most amusing interview I’ve encountered so you’re off to a good start. And again, I’m sorry if I startled you” 

He tried to make you feel comfortable, you appreciated that.

Politely responding, “Thank you, and I promise to look where I’m going, next time” Next time?? As if you’re going to land this job! 

“Luckily, I got to know a little bit about you on our walk. May I see your portfolio?” 

“Absolutely! I’ve also brought my transcripts in case you needed them” You handed Marcus your portfolio and a copy of your grades. 

He leaned in to grab the documents from you. You didn’t know it but the slightest scent of your perfume set him alight. He observed your transcript first. He was impressed by your high GPA from Georgetown. 

“Magna Cum Laude… impressive” he nodded. His praise made you blush. He moved to your portfolio and was even more intrigued by your amazing talent. Not only were you smart, but you were talented… committed…. attractive. It would be nice to see a strong independent woman be a part of the company.

“God.. what’s he thinking?” you thought to yourself, fidgeting with the hem of your sheath polka dot dress. You saw it hiked up a little above your knee and you quickly pulled it down.  Marcus watched you from the corner of his eye, he wished you didn’t fix the dress.  He stretched his arm out with your documents and you reached for them, placing everything back into your folder. Your eyes meet him as he leans back into his chair. 

“So, when can we have you back to sign your contract?” he questioned. 

You can’t believe you landed the job! Your face beamed with joy and you told him any day works for you. He scheduled you to come back the following week where you would sign your contract and receive your office key and login information. You felt like all of your hard work had finally paid off. Marcus reached his hand out to you and your palms connected. He’s so used to shaking hands with men, it was refreshing to touch something delicate and soft. 

“Thank you so much” 

Marcus nodded and walked you out of his office and towards the elevator. He addressed the time and day for you to come back and you thanked him again. The elevator opened and you glided inside. Before the door closed, you said farewell and gave one last look at eachother. You let out a deep exhale and fell into the wall. You felt so overwhelmed with excitement; not only did you have a career but you get to see those gorgeous brown eyes five days out of the week. Your world is dancing. 

After the elevator closed, Marcus strutted back to his office. He sat himself in his chair and his face fell into his hands, “Jesus Christ” he mumbled. He’s only known you for one hour and you had him wrapped around your finger. How could a woman so timid and polite have such an incredible aura that could make him fall to his knees? Marcus didn’t know what you’d done to him, but one thing for certain is he couldn't wait to see you again. 

That night, as Marcus laid in his red satin sheets, a million questions about you were going through his mind. What’s her favorite movie? What does she wear to bed? Does she like dogs or cats? Is she a dom or submissive? Does she prefer leather or lace? Could she handle a man like me? 

“What the hell is wrong with you? She’s only 22!” he argued with himself. You were too young, too innocent to know what kind of man he was behind closed doors. But that didn’t stop him from fantasizing about how you’d look handcuffed to his bedpost. Marcus would never know it, but you too were thinking the same thoughts while laying in bed at your new apartment. Moving boxes scampered along the small space as you laid in the warm sheets. You couldn’t stop thinking about how his eyes pierced  into yours or how his muscles flexed through his navy blue suit jacket…

Present time: You observe yourself in the mirror watching your eye contact and posture as the words flow from your mouth. “Don’t look down…. Shoulders back….. Take your time…” the little voice in your head whispers as you recite your speech word for word. 

You do a quick flip of your hair, making sure your lavish curls fall perfectly. Smoothing out your white satin blouse, you go back and forth rolling the sleeves up and down wondering which way looks better. You decide on rolling them up, it makes you look less tense. You even go a little beyond and undo another blouse button; the tiniest bit of cleavage peeking. Adjusting your black leather pencil skirt, you do one last twirl in the mirror. You don’t want to sound conceited, but you look at yourself with a sense of pride, confidence, and dare you say..sex appeal. You’ve grown so much in the last few years working for Marcus, and the fact that he’s let you take on such a vital project is an honor. 

You stare at your reflection in the mirror and whisper, “You are smart… you are confident… you deserve this”

You exit the bathroom and make your way to the conference room. Luckily, nobody is in there just yet, so you take the opportunity to set up. Turning the projector on and organizing your materials, you hear the glass door pull open. Leslie, your work bestie pops in. “Good luck, girly!” She shouts giving a thumbs up. You blow her a kiss and shout thank you. You go back to setting everything up for the next ten minutes.

As time ticks closer to 10:30, colleagues start scampering into the conference room. You smile and greet the gentlemen walking in. Most of the main employees are men, and you feel a sense of domination knowing that you’re in control of everything this time. You admire the strong, independent woman you’ve grown to become. And then, there he is strutting along the hallway like he owns the world. Marcus grins in your direction as his strong hand grips the glass door handle. You nod and a soft smirk curve along your lips, but inside, you’re going bonkers at the sight of him in his gray suit. Don Draper.. Christian Grey..James Bond.. they have nothing on Marcus Acacius. 

“Good morning, Mr. Acacius” 

Marcus holds his hand out to you and your palms kiss. His skin is warm and rough along your soft hand. His thumb glides along yours. 

“We’ve been over this, you know you can call me Marcus,” he says casually. 

You smile and look down at the carpet, “That wouldn’t be too ladylike of me now would it?”

He smiles, “You ready” 

“As I’ll ever be” 

One last glide traces along your skin before he frees your hand. Everyone is seated around the room and all eyes are on you. Seven years ago, you would’ve been an emotional wreck being in such a predicament. But you’re not that timid little girl anymore, you believe in yourself. Eyeing all the men around you, including Marcus, you dominate the room. Overall, the pitch goes great! Actually, phenomenal. You pace yourself, you don’t break eye contact, you make sure to move around the space, and they neve take their eyes off of you. Colleagues nod their heads, glance at each other with impressed expressions, and everytime your eyes wandered at Marcus, he gleamed with satisfaction. He was beyond pleased with how you represented the company. After finishing, everyone stood up to applaud and praise you. You smiled and thanked everyone hoping that your cheeks weren’t rosy. Two managers in black suits started conversing with Marcus as he headed out of the room. Once everyone was gone, you let out a giant sigh of relief. It was finally over, and everything worked out perfectly.

You took your time leaving the conference room; collecting your laptop and all of your materials. The glassdoor of the conference room whipped open and there was Leslie and the new girl, whose name you can’t remember, barging in smiling. 

“I’M SO PROUD OF YOU!” Leslie shouts bringing you in for a bear hug. You hold her tight giggling all of your excitement out. 

“You should hear all of them out there. They can’t stop talking about you, saying how phenomenal you did and how hot it was seeing a woman take charge” 

 “Ohh stop it” you joke. You wonder if Marcus was one of those men to comment. 

“We need to celebrate! Everyone is going to O’Malley’s Pub for happy hour. Come with us!” 

“Uhhh, it’s been a long day Leslie, I think I’ll pass this time” 

“Ohh come on! You deserve to go out” She pleads. 

You laugh and tell her definitely next time. She digresses and again tells you what a great job you did. You make your way out of the conference room and strut back to your desk. You feel unstoppable. Your space overlooks Marcus, and you spy to see if he’s there. Marcus is still talking to one of the managers; he looks bored out of his mind. When you get to your desk, you gasp. Waiting for you is an iced caramel macchiato and a cinnamon roll from your favorite coffee shop downstairs. The order is so precise that you think only Leslie could have done this. You smile at the surprise and see an M.A.D. card sitting next to your coffee. You bring it closer to you:

You were exceptional at the meeting. Enjoy your treat .

           -M.A. 

 P.S. That might be my favorite outfit, so far. 

You can feel your heartbeat vibrating into your ear drums; you feel faint reading the handwriting. Not only was the surprise from Marcus, but you realize how observant he is of you. You’ve never had talks about coffee preferences or your favorite sweet treat. Marcus knew from watching you day in and day out. You turn back in his direction, this time his eyes are glued on you. You grin from afar and lift your coffee cup in a cheers motion. He nods and goes back to typing on his computer. 

5pm: The office life is quiet. One after the other people start to call it quits, but not you. You’re already getting a head start on your next project. Eyes and mind focused on the glowing screen, you don’t know that Marcus is in front of you. 

“Anyone there” he says moving his hand up and down across your eyes. 

You look up and your breath hitches, “Sorry, I’m in the zone” 

The computer screen reflects off of your eyes making them look like diamonds. For a minute, Marcus is lost in them. 

“Well, we are all going to O’Malley’s down the block. Would… you like to go? 

You smile and massage your neck, “It’s been a long day” 

Marcus nods, “I understand. But, if you change your mind… don’t be shy” 

A warm feeling blossoms in your tummy. He’s sending an invite and you say no?! Marcus throws his suit jacket over his shoulder and you watch him strut out of the office. He’s so gorgeous you think. By 5:30, you decide to call it quits. You switch your computer off and tuck in your keyboard. Fiddling with your keys, your mind fixates on a decision. You did an excellent job on your presentation and deserve to celebrate a little. You figure one drink won’t kill you; it beats going home ordering take out and watching Cruel Intentions for the millionth time. 

“What the hell?” You say to yourself. You grab for your purse and exit towards the elevator. Your heels clack along the marble lobby floor and a breeze lifts your spirits when you walk out into the city. You walk along Main Street, the chaotic city sounds are like music to your ears now.

“Just one drink” You say over and over to yourself. You walk along the sidewalk until you see O'Malley's Pub glowing in big red letters. You feel a sense of nervousness when you open the wooden door. Inside you are hit with the smell of whiskey and cigarettes, it makes your stomach churn. You glance and try to maneuver around the crowd. Luckily, you see Leslie and she immediately locks eyes on you. 

“Well, look who decided to show up!” she announces. Everyone's head turns. Cheers and whistles ring around the bar as if a celebrity walked through the door. But once Marcus sees you, his brown eyes widen. He blinks to make sure it’s actually you. Your eyes meet his and the loud music and howls drown out. It’s just you and him. He smiles as you make your way in his direction. Butterflies in your tummy, your heart beating like a rabbit, you open your mouth,

“Hello” You say. 

“Hi” Marcus greets. 

You turn your head observing the busy bar and shout, “Are you having a good time” 

He comes closer to your ear and says, “I am, now that the main attraction is here” 

…. 

Tagging my Pookies: @baronessvonglitter @whocaresstillthelouvre @littledes1re @pascalispunkczechia @jazzy11scorpio @millersdoll @tateypots @mani-pedro @fairylights-throughthemist @joeldarling @deaneatspie @whoaitspascal87 @kyloispunk @heavens-whore

[substantial-exposure]

My OCs name is Tulip!

Her full name is Tulip Rosé Caulfield. (Although if you asked her she'd say her middle name is Chaos).

I had a short stint of flower themed names for OCs for a while. The other most memorably being Rose Neary. But Tulips first name is a reference to Tulip Olsen from the Infinity Train series! I have no idea why I thought to use that name, the characters are absolutely nothing alike. It was kind of a placeholder name at first but it stuck and I couldn't bring myself to change it.

Her last name, Caulfield is a pretty easy to guess reference to the Catcher in the Rye. I think Holden and Tulip are similar in the way that they're both very cynical and socially aware characters! The name was also a place holder up until it cemented itself in my own pocket DC comics universe! 'Janice Caulfield' was a once referenced character in Fox's Gotham Tv show. Thus that became the family name!

She has a variety of nicknames, the most memorable being "T, Flowers, and Kakach"

There's more but I can't remember!

And thank you so much for the tag Care 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

OC Tag Game: Name Lore!!

Rules:

1.) Gush about your OC(s)’ name(s). How did you choose it? Why did you choose it? Does it have a special meaning? Did you have other names for the OC during the brainstorming stage, before you settled on the chosen one? Tell us anything else you want about your OC’s name!

2.) Tag your friends!!

[deaneyrs]

dany refers to herself as a queen even when she isn’t sitting on the iron throne (which is all the time) because that is the role she sees herself in regarding every aspect of her life now.

[bet-on-me-13]

Danny commits to the Bit a bit too hard...

So! For the first few weeks after his accident, whenever Danny would try to help the people of Amity Park, he would be treated as a Villain.

No matter if he had just defeated the Big Bad of the Week or saved a Cat from a tree, everybody in town only saw him as a Monster or Villain to he feared and hunted down. Danny was really getting sick of trying to get them on his side, until Sam made a suggestion.

"Why not just...play into it?" She said, barely looking up from painting her nails.

It was just an offhand suggestion, but it stuck with Danny. Why shouldn't he lean into it? The people of Amity Park already saw Ghosts as Evil, and they already assumed he was in cahoots with the Ghosts attacking the town. Why shouldn't he just...play into it?

So he does just that.

From that day on, whenever Phantom was spotted he would dramatically monologue about his Evil Plans, or claim that another Rogues attack on the City was his own act of terror.

Box Ghost destroys the towns Warehouses? It was on his orders.

Ember mind controls masses of Teenagers? All part of his Plans somehow.

Every Adult in Town is kidnapped by Young Blood? Danny gave them over to a friend as a Gift.

He crafts an identity for himself as the most Vile and Horrible Ghost that has ever attacked the City, using his own infamy to cement his legend even more firmly. The town only sees a Monsterous Villain, who has eveded capture near effortlessly for months on end, who constantly attacks their City and gets away with it.

Of course he still needs an excuse for how his plans keep getting stopped, and he gets it when his girlfriend Valerie becomes the Red Huntress. Before that, he just claimed infighting or the Fentons getting lucky, but Valerie becoming the Town's Hero meant he had a plausible excuse for how he kept getting "Foiled".

Val was suspicious, because she was not as involved as Phantom painted her to be, but in the end she had no proof of him faking his defeats. And she couldn't come up with any explanations for why he would do that in the first place. I mean, who would fake being a Supervillain? It had to he something else.

This did come back to bite him a while later, when the Justice League decided that enough was enough, and dispatched Justice League Dark to recruit Red Huntress and help Deal with him.

Coincidentally, that was the same day Pariah Dark attacked the Mortal Realm and sucked Amity Park into the Ghost Zone.

And honestly? Danny had spent over a Year proclaiming himself as a Villain who commanded Ghosts to attack the Human Realm, and he had heard about the Right of Conquest being Absolute in the Ghost Zone, so why not make it official? Why not overthrow the Ghost King, become the Ghost King, and cement his identity as a Villain while also forbidding Ghosts from entering the Human Realm without his permission?

He may have gotten a bit carried away and forgotten that the Villain thing was a disguise...but hey! He was still preventing Ghost Attacks! ...mostly. That's got to count for something right?

He may have let the Bit run a bit too far...

...

Check the tags for more context!

[chryseis]

I know she's divisive, but Jaina Proudmoore is truly The Most Character of all time. She had sexist magic rules changed in her early teens. Her boyfriend broke up with her twice and the second time was because she wouldn't commit genocide with him. She built a city of refugees when she was like 25. She was exiled from her home country for helping kill her own father so that he wouldn't commit genocide. She loves to make sarcastic jokes and is the living embodiment of 'not to worry i have a permit' 'this just says i can do what i want'. She and one of her best friends hated each other half the time until he died. She once tried to kill her other best friend. People were upset with her for being angry and traumatized when the city she built was annihilated. She fucked a dragon. She almost committed genocide and her allies were more angry about the fact that she once gave some money to her adoptive nephew's friend. She's switched back and forth between political sides three different times. Her mother nearly executed her for treason. She was handed the leadership of her home country that she hadn't lived in since she was a young child. She now spends all her free time with her work husband from like 25 years ago even though he has a wife and two kids. Who is doing it like her

[miscreantahead]

I feel like the extremely obvious point of all of that was to paint Lilith as a being who has a fundamental misunderstanding of the resilience of humanity.

I think the issue lies more in fans not understanding that the intention was to cement that Lilith does not have the same values as Arthur nor any remote understanding as to why he has them, and for some reason are choosing to believe that her perspective was somehow a reflection of the author's, rather than a character choice that is unique to her.

There's a reason Lilith ends up being entirely ineffectual as a character and dies after having little influence, and I DO have my gripes about that after all of her build-up, but the point isn't that she's right about anything she's saying, it's that this eldritch being with little understanding of humanity has no clue what the fuck she's talking about or whats best for people she's experiencing misplaced empathy for, and that's why Arthur can't be swayed by her remotely in the end.

She's a prop for lost hope, a voice for detrimental nihilism and all of the reasons to give in rather than to keep going. You're challenging the theme of the podcast by highlighting the antagonist's perspective as if it's supposed to be the takeaway.

I love that Arthur gets an entire arc with several side characters dying for the express purpose of instilling in him the lesson of "always hope, always fight, even in the face of defeat" (which is, you know, the whole concept of season 2 reheated but ok) and this series is supposed to be "hope horror", but all not-Arthur characters get put in the meat grinder (included John, metaphorically speaking).

Alya gets mercy killed by the narrative for being a "husk of a woman" because of the most ableist explanation possible, after apparently a lifetime of misery (I was gonna mention her also suffering SA, but the line about her being "subject to the carnal desire of men" was removed from the original Patreon release after people rightfully complained, so yay, I guess, one point for team "how about we stop using SA as an edgy backstory for women").

She could have died of poisoning, or a broken leg infection or whatever, but nope. She didn't even get to fight for any of that. She got the special Women of Malevolent treatment.

I've literally seen with my own eyeballs ppl on Tumblr agreeing with Lilith's perspective regarding killing her being a mercy, which doesn't surprise me much, considering Arthur's answer to that is "justify [killing her] however you want".

I've also seen a ton of people loving Alya and how she brought more interesting disability rep in the show and finally a woman character with a role who could speak for herself.

But yeah, it's a series about ✨hope✨