#like so much of his life doesn't belong to himself anyway so a lot of the puppeting is old hat

[halfbaked00q]

Im soooo weak to when Bond is like casually being used or exploited at his expense for some ostensible Greater Good except the situation doesn't HAVE to come to that, not really, and he's so inured and even numb to it that he barely pays it any mind; meanwhile, Q absolutely minds and is very indignant on his behalf and works overtime to like either try to avert or forestall the situation before it gets to the point where Bond has to dig his own claws into more of his soft underbelly to offer up on the sacrificial alter of politics of all tawdry things, or to manufacture a way in which he does the needless "needful" so as to spare Bond at least one unnecessary additional wound upon his psyche.

bonus if Bond finds out and maybe after being angry or indignant about it - I don't need you to do my job for me, Q, this is what I'm here to do - and either Q tells him/lets slip or he deduces that like, this isn't Q thinking he can't get the job done, this is Q finding him precious and worthy of protecting, and like. he's just very in awe of that and does in fact feel very safe and cherished within the cradle of his Quartermaster's regard

[bnyf]

baby you're my bunny ♡

╭﹕୨୧﹒ bunny boy x female reader

┊ warnings : yandere content and themes, unhealthy behaviors, relationship and relationship dynamic, slight body horror me thinks? slight horror, perverted yandere, non consensual touching, suggestive, uhhh that's it me thinks :3

╰﹕୨୧﹒ authoress note : so sorry if it's badly written also sorry if it ends weird :/

no survival instinct what's-so-ever. like... none.

but he was not complaining! it was just a mere observation. perhaps you were unaware of your allure, maybe you were not exposed to the cruel world yet, didn't know how sick people and creatures can be.

well for one... your little secret admirer was not one of those adorable bunnies you'd fawn over, nothing even close really. and no, he's not some cute boy with a bunny tail and some bunny ears. he's far from cute, a little scary actually.

humanoid? sure! typical bunny boy hybrid, uhhhh not really lol! he's mixed with human genetics but he's not quit. and for a bunny hybrid, he sure had a lot of predator instincts.

to put simply, he was an abnormality of mother nature. his lower half resembled a bunny whilst his torso and up is that of a man. his claws on his feet or paws or whatever are dangerously long, digging into the dirt whenever he walks, leaving behind a "too small to notice unless your looking for it" trail.

a muscular, lean build, biceps so perfect and manly hands to hold you down if you even ever think of escaping, awe how sweet of him <3

completely pale skin with small patches of equally pale fur in various spots, completely crimson, blood shot eyes and a pair of floppy bunny ears where any normal human's ears would be.

how did he even came to be? you may ask. well he was a normal boy, once upon a time. but one day, he'd gotten into a serious accident, a near death life experience. that day he could've hear the bells of heaven ringing in his ears but he wasn't ready to die, not like this... in his head he begged for more time, asking whatever god above to answer his prayers.

and yeah! his prayers where answered but, as they say, be careful what you wish for...

the moon goddess answered his prayers, but she also cursed him for it is the price he must pay to live longer.

"i grant you more time, as much time as you may need, but for as long as you roam his earth, your soul belongs to me and your purpose, is to server me," her voice rang in his ears like a bittersweet melody before he'd lose consciousness.

when he awake, he found himself in the mountains, he was a monstrosity of a man and dared not step a foot into society. he's to bare this curse and blessing till death.

he became easily bored and clueless as to what to do next, his every day life felt null and everything felt too much to bare. his eternity just began yet he dreads his mistake with every passing day.

"maybe, i should of just accepted my faith and die that day..."

with nothing and no one, he was left to wonder the mountain and serve the goddess by praying to her and tending to her shrine everyday, he's trapped to keep her energy going so she won't become a forgotten god.

(guys i made the lore up on a whim so bare with me even i'm confused right now :0)

anyways! everything drastically changed for our boy here when you and your family decided to move to the village nearby in the rural area, and live a peaceful life and just run a nice little farm hooray! hopefully, you don't get stalked and preyed on by a lonely scarily tall bunny male hybrid who looks like a utterly angelic, celestial eldritch horror, right?

all he could think about was a pretty girl had moved in next door and he just had to watch her from afar. most the villagers were very welcoming of you and your family, it was big talk because such a pretty girl had just moved in the small village and all the villagers wanted their sons or grandsons to get married.

it doesn't have much young people, mostly elders and young children and even less marriageable women. which is why you easily became popular, with everyone always gifting you things, begging you to marry into their family. they even had a town welcome celebration for you and your family!

he watched everything from afar. feeling a slight sting in his chest. jealous? already? of course he is, he wanted you all for himself. for countless nights, he just couldn't sleep at all.

he spent all his time admiring you from afar. the way he'd blush, his heart beat fastening, the gears in his head would just slow down a bit. gosh, he actually felt his heart warm so much it'd burn in his chest.

he wanted you badly.

you were his new source of entertainment, motivation and inspiration all in one and his mind was melting with how needy he started becoming.

"what the f- she's so kind and pretty..."

"i wanna hug her, wanna kiss her, feel her skin on mine, love her, fuck her."

"she can be my little bunny princess~"

"wonder what our babies would look like? i'm getting heated just thinking about it"

it didn't help much when he found out you adored bunnies and would play with them near the spring. fawning over the little fluffy creatures, hugging them and petting them. and when you held them in your arms and give smooches while rubbing your face on their fluffy fur?!?!?

that's where his obsession becomes almost to much to bare, his entire chest area felt so warm watching you treat those bunnies with so much love.

"everything about her is so perfect, i'm starting to crave her like crazy right now."

"wanna whisk her away, take her, lock her up and keep her all to myself."

his mind starts getting clouding with so many dark thoughts of you.

and so, he start pushing boundaries and going outside his comfort zone to appease his little appetite that consist of you. at night, he sneaks in to steal a closer glance at you and probably a few things so he can remember your scent properly.

the whole house was dark, the whole village asleep by the time it was midnight hour. he'd manage to get in somehow somewhere but when he did, he immediately went to your room.

finally. he could smell and touch you as much as he wanted, his mind was actually in ecstasy when he entered your room, your scent gracing his nostrils as soon as he did, and the poor touch starved male couldn't hold back on touching you various parts of your skin.

"how delightful, her skin is so smooth and her hair feels so good, she smells like flowers all over gosh so fucking perfect, i wanna devour her, drink her up, chew her, spit her out and do it all over again" with every slight movement you make and whimper scaping your soft lips, he can't help but hold back his own voice, he wanted to moan just by being around you, it felt so good.

after so long, why wouldn't it feel great?

to be around around someone for once, to feel the heat of another person's body, the sweet scent of someone else other than himself. he'd lay in bed with you, his larger self cuddling your smaller form as smells your hair, trailing his hands all over you.

he was getting ahead of himself.

it takes everything within him to not proceed and do something to you while in your sleep. his morals along with his sanity were drifting away more and more.

time flies by when you're enjoying yourself, before he knew it he had to leave before the sun raises. forcing himself he does but he also takes like 5 things from you.

"promise i'll return your belongings my love, i just need a little souvenir to help myself with."

the poor thing gets sent into an early heat after that little interaction. he's embarrassed a little but he really needs you, like he really does. and he thinks of ways of introducing himself but... he's a monster, you would run from him and be scared. and when that thought comes to mind it makes him... sad.

"if i'd die that day, i'd never meet her, never be able to see her, but now that i'm alive with the help of the moon goddess, i can't even act normal about her. it's like i'm truly doomed."

this realization was tough. it made him sick to think about. and for a while, he was just okay with sneaking in to see you, and holding your unconscious body but he wanted a lot more, and he wanted your acceptance and love. he wanted you to want him the way he wants you.

it hurt even more when he mistakenly glanced in the mirror only to see a 6 feet tall, half human half hybrid bunny with a deadly eerie looking bloody stare, stare right back at him.

the pale moonlight leaking on him, hitting his skin almost making it look silver.

"she'd surely fear me, she'd run."

he's such a beautiful tragedy. would you be able to appreciate that?

[rotagnus]

what this man thinks of you? 🐞

guys i feel like i've been doing so much romance/male-centered readings lately so i can't wait to finish this one then do some SELF related readings because you're the star of your own show.

PLEASE ask this about someone who you have a slight connection to; friends, crushes you've spoken to, etc. i don't read into strangers' feelings and i don't want any of y'all to delulu what is going on. if you'd like i can later on do a reading about eyecontactships, but this is NOT the one. all love.

take this if it resonates, leave it if it doesn't. messages may lie elsewhere. remember to take care of yourself, lovebug--never invest yourself fully in another person. your roots belong to you, never another person.

none of these are rooted in romance unless i state so.

pile 1.

you're a strong woman, in his eyes--independent and grounded, like your very presence is grace and gift. he thinks that you're unique, because you manage to be so many things at once. tender, soft, but at the same time you have this quiet power in yourself. you know how people can carry strength in many different ways? that's all you, pile 1. some of you might be powerful with words, my gentle poets, some of you may exercise and BODY TEAAA. anyways. you guys know what i mean! just had to hype you up there. many of you have a wistful resting expression, all soft and doe-eyed. most of you have brown eyes, i'm getting, and i think that this is one of your best features. your eyes may be watery, and they're definitely important. you guys may have a lot of eye contact with this man.

okay, so another thing that he thinks of you is that you bring little moments of joy into his life. you're very clever. he also probably has some degree of intuition and he knows that you have a strong tie to the universe, god, etc. you're the kind of person that has whimsy pouring out of every single fiber of your being, you speak words into the air and they fly out of your mouth like doves. he also thinks that you're a loner; even if you have a friend group in front of him, you stand out. maybe you're on the quieter side, or you're on a different level than them; you're very obviously the different one in his eyes. it's clear that while the rest of your circle may be unsure of themselves, like baby fawns, you've honed yourself out. intelligent, wise, and calming, you have a motherly energy. he thinks that this is nice, because he himself may suffer with his own maternal issues.

how likely is he to have romantic feelings for you? -?- as of now, i think that this male has a lot of decisions he has to make. he hasn't acknowledged his feelings for you or lack thereof, because he's been busy and out of his mind lately. i can't read his energy well, so i can't say whether this connection is worth waiting for or anything, but he doesn't seem to have any bad or extremely good feelings for you; yeah, he thinks you're sweet and nice, but those feelings don't go deeply as of now.

pile 2.

he thinks that you've been a bit busy lately, and he's wishing that you two talked a bit more, for those of you that talk often. he's been kind of going through mush and wishes that the clarity regarding the both of you was clearer. you and him may be similar in one way or another; have similar interests, gone through similar things, etc. OH MY GOD anyone else but you by the moldy peaches started playing, so yeah, most of you are probably friends with this person. you have this very childlike innocence in this little connection, which is so adorable. he feels as if he's getting closer and closer to you recently, even though there have been ups and downs in this situation. i want you to know that i'm proud of you; a lot of you are avoidant attachment or have such difficulty being vulnerable, but i'm hearing that you're trying. he wishes you rested more. he feels a genuine pull to you and he thinks you have a very gentle calmness to you. that you have a good heart and good intentions...although you're a little oblivious or naive.

right now he's a bit nervous surrounding you, and the rest of the things in his life--the wheel of fortune shows that he doesn't know the way that things will end, but that he's betting his damn hardest that they'll work out. for most of you, this is a new beginning. you're not terribly sure on how to navigate this, and you feel like you're being split open...hahaha that's how he feels too. what you feel right now is what he's feeling, you guys are like mirrors of each other, so i would just try to invest some energy into yourself. i'm not getting any bad feelings from him at all, and i think that he genuinely wishes the best for you. he may be a bit insecure about what he is to you, due to social differences or the way that you're very selective with what comes into your life. he likes you the way you are. 'i don't wanna change you' is a lyric i just heard. flowers may be significant!

how likely is he to have romantic feelings for you? -?- as of now, most of you just have to keep going forward with this situation. listen, take in what i've told you--you guys always want answers, but i think you have to trust your gut with this. a surprise or reveal is coming soon, but you have to stop rushing and slow down and enjoy this time period. this situation will unfold by itself, and your worrying and anxiety won't change it. you have to know that good things are coming. you deserve this. so work on your fear and your own problems, and rest assured; this will end brightly. you have room to grow so focus on that. :)

pile 3.

why do you guys have an aura of tragedy around you?!! he may have met you when either you or him or even both of you were at a rough patch in life. i don't think you're a very trusting person; you've built up walls and it's very visible. you ever meet someone and you can tell that they're careful with who they let into their circle? not rude, not cold, but simply guarded? yeah, that's you. so he can see this very clearly. you're a very introspective person, all shy smiles and soft cadence. you may be emotional, too, and he thinks that this is sweet. it's almost as if you come off a bit brash and guarded, but deep inside, you're soft and vulnerable. for some of you, he wants to protect you and take care of you, especially if you're friends right now. he feels a lot of responsibility for you. you're weak at some points, and he wants to make sure that you're doing alright, y'know? this chaste type of care.

he may be an impulsive person, but he's the type of guy who would do anything for his girl. i do think that for most of you, you guys are friends. he's probably the opposite of you, i'm getting puppy energy. imagine a baby golden retriever and a baby black cat. that's literally you guys. i think that for this situation, he mainly has concerned feelings for you. wants to make sure you're doing alright, because you're the kind of person who wouldn't ever say something if you were doing bad. he's worried. but other than this current, temporary energy, i would say that he has a very tender attachment to you. you're important to him and he thinks that although he doesn't know you fully, he knows you well enough to hope that you're able to heal from the things you don't speak about. you have a very sunny kind of beauty to your physical looks, and he thinks that's neat. polaroids may be significant.

how likely is he to have romantic feelings for you? -?- as of now, i would recommend waiting. he sees you as this very smart person, and if he's been acting a bit odd recently--not withdrawn, just a bit nervous, then there is a chance he likes you. you have him in a chokehold and he doesn't necessarily know what to do with what he's feeling, he's not attuned to his emotions as you are; but there is luck coming. i don't know if it's about him, or anything else in your love life, but later on, specifically summer, your love life will be good! i would recommend trying to grow closer to him as of now :) but this is good news!

[nerdygirlramblings]

I've got a hc in my mind.

Simon doesn't want children. At least that's what he promised himself due to his trauma, childhood etc.

And that leads to thoughts:

When he sees reader with one of Jonny's baby nieces in their arms, he is whipped. He can't imagine getting you not pregnant anymore. Like the baby fever's hitting hard af.

The twist. Since he got a vasectomy when he was like 20/25 he isn't able to get you pregnant. So, desperate and horny, Simon asks Jonny. (Noone can tell me Jonny doesn't have high fertil sperm. He's the reason why the pill is only 99% safe.)

Jonny wouldn't be Jonny if he didn't try at least. After maybe the third try, he's kind a part of their marriage now and stays after reader got pregnant.

It's up to you if you wanna do a kind of baby trapping- thing (because not everyone if comfortable with it and that's okay) or with consent

- May your sleeves never slide down and get wet when you wash your hands

Hi, anon! This was a delicious, devious ask, and I had thots. I know it's not quite what you suggested, but I hope it works anyway. (I also may have misread the hc the first time and saw John not Jonny and completely missed the niece bit too.)

cw: baby trapping, unprotected PIV, dubcon

When you and Simon started to get serious, he told you he didn't want kids. He'd learned from others that kids was a deal-breaker, so he wanted everything out in the open early.

He couldn't have been more thrilled when you said you didn't think you wanted kids either. He mentioned his vasectomy and you casually replied that if things ever changed, you could always adopt, give a kid without a home someplace to belong rather than bring an innocent life into a world that constantly felt like it was one mad ruler with a fiddle away from total collapse. He couldn't agree more.

Everything was fine. You loved Simon and he loved you. He was married to you and the job, and you kept him grounded, reminded him life wasn't a battlefield. It helped that he was close with his unit even off the field. Johnny was a staple at your place, and when they weren't deployed, the whole team did Sunday dinners at the Prices, which is where Simon first saw it. Saw you. And his entire worldview cracked.

He knew, abstractly, that Price's wife was pregnant. The belly was hard to miss. But she'd given birth during his last solo mission, and he hadn't met the baby. You though, you were one of the few people Price deemed safe enough to be around his missus and kid, and with Simon away, you'd spent a lot of time with them. You'd do the shopping for Mrs. Price or watch Baby Price while the Captain wooed his wife.

That Sunday, Simon was completely unprepared for the sight of you cradling Baby Price against your chest, rocking him so his mama could eat her meal while Price was grilling. Simon's heart lurched, and he unconsciously palmed his growing erection. Johnny, sitting next to him, noticed the movement and said, "Ain't nothing more lovely than a mum with her baby, yeah?"

Of course Johnny knew Simon didn't want kids, but he didn't know Simon was shooting blanks. And he wasn't unaffected by the sight of either you holding the kid either. He loved the idea of getting a pretty woman pregnant, her body working to grow his kid.

Simon decided in that moment he needed to get you pregnant any way he could.

Your sex life had never been vanilla, and you'd both had your share of all kinds of partners before, but you'd never had a third. Never expected Simon to ask. And you definitely never thought he'd ask for it to be Johnny. You weren't outright opposed to the idea: Johnny was charming, a flirt. You saw how he sometimes looked at Simon, the feral glint in his eyes when he talked with you one-on-one. It might be fun to see Johnny slip the leash he had on his control.

"'E's clean. An' 'e's snipped like me," Simon said. "Never wan'ed ta 'ave a baby outa wedlock. Too much Catholic guilt." You weren't on anything because with Simon you didn't have to worry about a pregnancy, so you didn't push for condoms for Johnny either. While Simon was telling you Johnny shot blanks, he told Johnny you had your tubes tied, so his swimmers could play in the pool with no consequences.

Sex with them was indescribable. The push and pull between them, the way their awareness of one another on the field translated to the bedroom meant you were constantly on a knife's edge, dangling over the precipice of "too much." But they always caught you.

Apparently you weren't the only one who enjoyed the night, as Simon requested a repeat performance several more times over the next few weeks. Johnny, who never had a steady girlfriend, had no qualms slotting himself into your and Simon's bed whenever his lieutenant asked. He'd been a constant presence at your house throughout your relationship. Having him in bed with you almost felt like a natural progression.

Two months later you found yourself dragging. Every day was a struggle to get up, and you were constantly tired. Your favorite foods didn't stay down anymore. Every time you complained, Simon looked at you. There was something in his eye that you couldn't place. Something greedy, knowing.

He finally suggested you see the doctor since you weren't getting any better. The appointment started like they always did for women of a certain age: "Are you pregnant? Or could you be pregnant?" You laughed. Pregnancy is preposterous. Your husband had a vasectomy over a decade ago, and the new lover you've had in bed is the same. There's no way you could be pregnant.

The doctor nodded as you talked and insisted on running a pregnancy test anyway. The positive result shocked you. How would you tell Simon, who never wanted kids? How could it be his? Or Johnny's?

It never occured to you your husband lied to you.

That night, Johnny's over, cooking as you're sat quietly on the couch. You knew you needed to say something, but you didn't know if it was only Simon you should tell or if Johnny needed to know too. It all came out during supper after you took two bites before rushing to the loo to vomit.

Crying, you told the men you're pregnant. "But I'm not sure how when you're both safe," you wailed.

Johnny spluttered. "Wha? I'm no snipped," he said. "But ye cannae be pregnant if yer tubes 'er tied, lass."

"My what?" you breathed, turning horrified eyes on your husband who had the good sense to look mildly ashamed.

Johnny looked between you, realization dawning on his face too. "Lt, wha'd ye do?"

He looked at you both and admitted, hardheadedly, "What I 'ad to."

main masterlist

[mononijikayu]

pretty woman — nanami kento.

“You don’t look like you’re here to be fixed either.” he says. “I’m not.” you admit. “Just didn’t feel like being at home. Thought I’d sit somewhere people didn’t expect anything from me. For like, two seconds.” He nods. There’s a silence that settles between you then, but it’s not awkward. It’s rare. Companionable. Like two strangers who’ve walked miles through the same kind of loneliness and just happened to stop at the same bench. After a moment, he asks you, “Are you often this forward with strangers?” You smile faintly, eyes still ahead. “Only the ones who look like they need someone to remind them they’re still here.”

Genre: Alternate Universe — Actor’s AU (AU of the AU);

Warning/s: General Rating, AFAB! Reader, Use of She/Her, Use of Female Centered Identification, Pet Names (Pretty Woman, Pretty Boy, Etc), Romance, Fluff, Humour, Love, Hurt/Comfort, Age Gap Relationship (Reader is 30s, Nanami is late 40s), Strangers to Friends, Friends to Lovers, Post–Separation/Divorce, Dating, Feeling, Light–Hearted, Slice of Life, Idiots In Love, Domestic, Teasing, Healthy Relationship, Friendships, Profanity, Soft Smut, Actor! Nanami, Comedian! Reader;

Words: 17k words.

Note: this was a commission of @nanamin-chan who wanted to see a different perspective of the actor's au!!! please thank them for this!!! this is a few years where nanami kento has become all but single and has been going through a LOT. in some ways, this deserves some happiness too after paying for his mistakes. anyway, i hope you enjoy it as much as we do!!! i love you all so much~

masterlist

if you want to, tip!

the good life ― masterlist.

HIS LIFE HAS BEEN QUITE AN ADVENTURE THESE PAST FEW YEARS. It has been a few years since his separation from his wife of nearly thirty years, veteran actor Nanami Kento drifts through life like a man half-remembered by the world he once commanded. 

The silver screen still calls his name, scripts still arrive at his door, and fans still pause with reverence when they see him but deep inside, he is unmoored.

That was the truth of it all. Time, once so precisely accounted for in neat schedules and well-worn routines, has unraveled into empty afternoons and hollow evenings.

Their separation was quiet, dignified by all standards. He expected it, if he was being honest. After he had done to her, he had expected she would have done worse. But his estranged wife was not that sort of person. She was too much of a good person. Too good a person he could never be. 

Instead, they packed up their belongings from the old home, had a settlement, and became distant and amicable friends who sometimes drink together. There were reports about it, true enough. But there were no tabloid scandals, no public fallout. They didn’t allow it. 

Just two people who had loved each other at one point, perhaps fiercely, perhaps too brutally and too horribly, until the love grew too unbearable to even have between them widened into a chasm. The paper may say that the both of them were just separated, that it's a break. 

After all, the law says they are still married. There was an agreement to not divorce just yet. He had your friendship, he has the kids. Yet, it’s not the same.

In every other way that matters, Nanami Kento is alone. His wife does not love him that way anymore. And he doesn’t blame her for that. 

Though, he still wears his ring out of habit. He still checks his phone as if expecting her to call, ask what he wants for dinner, or remind him to pick up tea on his way home.

But there is no home. Only a new elaborate high rise apartment to come home to. It was too clean, a bed too cold, and a calendar marked with dates that now mean nothing.

Kento doesn't know if he believes in second chances. He's not even sure he believes in himself anymore. At least not the way he used to, when he was young and roles came easy, when she’d sit in the front row of his plays with those warm eyes, mouthing his lines as if they were poetry written just for her. 

Now, love feels distant, like a language he once knew but can no longer speak. He wonders, sometimes bitterly, if he squandered all his good years. If he gave all of himself to a life that has already ended and left nothing behind.

He questions whether he’s worthy of being known and revered, not just admired, but truly seen. After all he had done, was he worthy of something more than that?

There are people who flirt, who reach out, who want to know the man behind the quiet melancholy. But Nanami Kento doesn’t know how to let them in. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

They were just flings to him. Little wanderings that would dry up after five months and then a new one comes along. It was rinsed and repeated.

He isn't closed off out of cruelty. He’s just... tired. Tired of starting over. Tired of hoping. Tired of the ache that comes with imagining a future he’s not sure he deserves.

Terrified of disappointing anymore, terrified of becoming someone that would hurt someone again in the way he had hurt his wife.

And so he moves through his days like a shadow of the man he once was. Still searching. Still mourning. Still wondering if, somewhere out there, love might find him again or if he’ll remain adrift, alone in a life too large for one.

Some days are easier. He’ll wake to the sound of birds on the balcony, light pressing in through the curtains like a hesitant promise. He’ll make coffee in the quiet. Always hot black espresso, no sugar, just the way he likes it. 

And for a moment, the ritual feels almost like peace. He’ll go for long walks with his scarf wrapped tight and his thoughts even tighter, passing streets lined with memories he doesn’t quite let himself feel.

The industry still calls. Directors still cast him as the wise elder, the cold father, the heartbroken lover. Many roles that now echo uncomfortably close to the truth. Sometimes, acting feels like the only time he knows what he’s supposed to do. 

On set, there are marks to hit, lines to say, someone to yell “cut” when it all becomes too much. But when the cameras stop rolling, when the lights go out, he returns to a silence that doesn't end on cue.

He doesn’t talk about the separation. Not to his co–stars, not to old friends who tiptoe around the subject, not even to himself, not really. To the world, he’s composed. Controlled.

Still the dependable Nanami Kento. But beneath the surface, he's in a slow freefall, reaching for something, anything that feels like solid ground.

Sometimes, when he catches his reflection, he hardly recognizes himself. The lines on his face have deepened, not just from age but from the weight of unspoken things. Regret lives in the corners of his eyes. He doesn't regret loving her, not ever. 

But he regrets being a bad man who couldn’t love her well. He regrets the ways they stopped talking. The missed chances. The slow, steady drift apart. The final, unceremonious goodbye that wasn't even a goodbye, just a quiet agreement to let the distance win.

He wonders if there’s a version of himself somewhere that he could be proud of. A version of himself who fought harder, who said what needed saying, who reached out instead of retreating. A man who held on. But that man isn’t here. Perhaps he never will be.

Still, there are flickers. A smile from a stranger in a bookstore. The warm brush of hands during a crowded train ride. A soft voice over the phone, a new colleague, perhaps too young, perhaps too curious.

These moments unsettle him. They remind him that he's still alive. That his heart still works, even if it's bruised. That maybe, just maybe, there’s something left to give.

But love? Love feels a far away concept to him to visualize. And he, so far from the man who once believed in it without question, can only take it one quiet, aching day at a time. That was just the sad truth of it all.

The bar is dim, quiet, and mercifully anonymous. It was the kind of place where people come to be forgotten, not found. Kento sits alone at the far end, nursing a glass of whiskey that's long since warmed in his hand. The ice has melted into thin gold, and he hasn’t taken a sip in minutes.

His phone buzzes again. Another message, probably the third tonight, from someone on set. The after party is in full swing. They want him there, say it won’t be the same without him. But Nanami Kento doesn’t even bother to check it. 

The phone stays face–down on the polished wood of the bar, the screen lighting up only to dim again. He came here instead, drawn not by desire but by habit.

The party would be all noise, all smiles too wide and eyes too sharp, people leaning too close, voices too loud. He doesn’t have it in him to pretend tonight.

The bartender offers him a silent nod of recognition. He's been here before. Not often, but enough that they know not to ask questions. He appreciates that. He appreciates that someone just lets him be, even for this moment.

He lifts the glass, finally takes a drink. It burns, but it’s a clean kind of pain. Honest. Simple. Nothing like the ache that sits in his chest, slow and stubborn. He stares into the glass like it might answer something, but it never does.

There are couples tucked into booths around the room, voices low and bodies leaning in. Young love, or new love. Or maybe both. He watches them with a strange mix of envy and detachment. Not bitterness. Just…..distance. Like watching a memory from the outside, blurry at the edges.

Once, that was him. The stolen glances. The laughter into warm shoulders. The feeling that just being near someone made the world feel warmer. It’s strange how long ago it feels, like another life. Like another man entirely.

He takes another sip. His mind drifts to the last conversation they had. It was not loud, not cruel, just final. If anything, it was exhausting.

She had looked at him across their kitchen, her hands clenched into the hem of her sweater, and said quietly, “I wish you the best, for all of your life, Kento.” 

And he, stunned into silence, had said nothing. Not a word of disagreement. Not any plea like please stay left in his mouth. Not even any sort of apology leaving once again. Nothing. It was  just silence, heavy and choking. That silence never left. And neither did he.

Now he wonders if there was still a chance buried somewhere in that moment, a small light he should’ve reached for. Another message buzzes in. Then another. He finally turns the phone over.

A string of emojis, a blurry photo from the party, someone holding up a shot glass in his honor. Come on, Nanami–san. Just one drink with us?

He doesn’t reply. Instead, he finishes the whiskey and signals for another. The bartender pours without a word. As the glass slides toward him, he catches his reflection in the mirror behind the bar.

Eyes tired. Shoulders slumped. A man trying not to feel too much, and failing. There’s a sadness there he’s stopped trying to hide. Let them see it. Let it sit.

He doesn't know if he's waiting for someone to join him or if he's just punishing himself for still wanting to be wanted. But tonight, he's not an actor. He's not a husband or a father. Not a mentor or a legend or whatever name they pin to his image.

Tonight, he's just a man with a drink and a silence he doesn’t know how to fill.  

For now, he knows that’s all he can be for himself and for the world.

And they have to deal with that until he can find his way back somewhere.

The second drink’s halfway gone when you sit down beside him. It was not too close, not with the easy familiarity of someone who knows him, just enough space to make your presence known.

No loud greeting, no recognition in your eyes. Just a quiet figure sliding onto the barstool with the kind of calm that feels almost intentional.

Nanami Kento notices without reacting. He doesn't turn to look, just flicks his gaze sideways for a moment. You're not drunk. Not looking to be.

Your hands are steady on your glass, and you’re not talking to the bartender like you’re trying to make friends. You just… exist there, beside him, in the same gentle quiet he’s clinging to.

It takes a minute before either of you speaks.

“You always look at your drink like it insulted you, pal.” you say, not facing him, voice soft, like you’re letting the words drift more than deliver them.

He blinks, not sure if you’re talking to him or just thinking aloud. But the corner of his mouth twitches. Barely. Almost. “I suppose I expect too much from it.” he replies after a beat, voice low and measured.

You hum, tipping your glass slightly. “Whiskey’s honest, at least. Can’t lie to you. Can’t fix you either. I would say mommy’s favorite.”

That lands a little too close to something in him. He snickers for a moment at your words. He glances at you, properly this time. Your face is unreadable, bright eyes fixed on the amber in your own glass like it holds some kind of answer.

“You don’t look like you’re here to be fixed either.” he says.

“I’m not.” you admit. “Just didn’t feel like being at home. Thought I’d sit somewhere people didn’t expect anything from me. For like, two seconds.”

He nods. There’s a silence that settles between you then, but it’s not awkward. It’s rare. Companionable. Like two strangers who’ve walked miles through the same kind of loneliness and just happened to stop at the same bench.

After a moment, he asks you, “Are you often this forward with strangers?”

You smile faintly, eyes still ahead. “Only the ones who look like they need someone to remind them they’re still here.”

He lets out a soft, breathy laugh. Yet it felt more of an exhale. It's the first real sound he’s made all night that doesn’t sound like it’s been swallowed first. “Maybe I do, pretty woman.” he admits.

You turn your head, finally meeting his gaze. “So… are you going to that party everyone keeps texting you about?”

His eyebrows rise just slightly. “You saw that?”

“I mean, it's too obvious from here. Your phone could lit up like a beacon if I needed to find  something in a dark alley. Couldn’t miss it.” You tilt your head, laughing slightly. “You gonna go? It’s better than this place, no?”

“No. I think I’d rather stay here, really.” Kento whispers, voice low and deliberate, like he’s testing how the words taste in his mouth. “Boring sort of people with boring desires. I don’t want that.”

You turn your head slowly, arch an eyebrow, lips already curving. “Good. Because if you’d said yes, I’d have had to dump this whiskey on your head and declare you dead to me. It would’ve been very dramatic. People would've clapped.”

He smirks. “You always make it sound like I’m missing out on a Broadway show.”

“You are. I’m not kidding.” you say, sipping. “Starring me. Written by me. Directed by—well, let’s be honest, probably also me. But you? You could've had a supporting role, pal. Maybe even a line or two.”

He leans back, glancing at the doorway like the boring people might come clawing in. They don’t. Just shadows and silence. Another moment passes. It settles between you like an old friend. 

It was familiar, a little drunk, not entirely trustworthy. And in that space, something new flickers in him. Not hope. Not yet. But maybe the trailer for hope. The teaser. The grainy preview before the real film.

He lifts his glass slightly, his voice dry enough to be a martini. “To whiskey.”

You clink yours against his, a little spark of mischief in your eyes. “To strangers.”

“And questionable decisions.”

“Oh, those are the best kind. If a decision doesn’t scare your mother and confuse your therapist, is it even worth making?”

He laughs under his breath. Just a huff of air, but it’s honest. “You know… for someone I technically just met, you make it weirdly hard to leave.”

You shrug. “That’s my charm. I weaponize charisma. It’s not even subtle.”

He studies you for a second too long. The kind of look that starts like curiosity and ends like gravity.

You raise your glass again, tipping it slightly toward him. “So? Are you staying for the next act?”

“Only if it’s got better lighting and fewer existential crises.”

You grin. “No promises.”

There's a stillness afterward. It was a breath held between one heartbeat and the next. Nanami  Kento doesn't look away from you this time.

Not out of suspicion, or curiosity, or even caution. Just… presence. Something in the way you look at him is grounding, and in his world of scripts and silence, that's rare.

You both drink. The whiskey goes down smoother now, less like punishment, more like ritual. He sets his glass down with a care that betrays his exhaustion, his thoughts.

His shoulders still carry the weight of someone who’s spent years holding himself together with quiet discipline and the kind of restraint that never made room for collapse.

He takes another sip, then eyes you over the rim of his glass. “Alright,” he says slowly, “I’ll bite.”

You look at him. “That’s a bold offer on a first drink.”

He ignores it, barely smirks. “Why’d you stay?”

You don’t answer right away. Just tilt your head, let your finger trace the rim of your glass like it’s helping you think or stall. Then: “Because I’m next.”

He sets his glass down, leans forward slightly. “Next for what? The electric chair? A bad haircut? Or are we talking something a little more metaphorical here, because I didn’t bring my dictionary.”

You flash a quick, sideways smile. “I’m next in line for boring. For safe. For that quiet little life with the quiet little house and the partner who says things like, ‘Let’s just stay in tonight,’ and means it every night.”

He winces theatrically. “Sounds terminal.”

“Exactly. You see why I had to bail.”

He leans back, eyes flicking to the empty stage across the room, then back to you. “So what, you’re staging a rebellion over a glass of whiskey?”

“No, no.” you say, sipping. “The rebellion started when I didn’t follow them out the door. This”—you gesture between the two of you, between the glasses, the space charged with something both electric and unspoken—“this is the afterparty.”

He lets that hang in the air for a beat. Then: “Hell of an afterparty. You, me, and a bartender who keeps pretending he’s not eavesdropping.”

The bartender, who is definitely eavesdropping, gives a guilty shrug. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, Hiroto. You’re still cute.” You smile, slow and crooked. “Not all revolutions start with a bang. Some start with a clink.”

Kento looks at you again, and now that flicker inside him, the maybe-hope, is growing teeth. “You seem to always talk like you’re already in the movie version of your life.”

You nod. “Because I am. Just waiting for the right co–star.”

Another pause. Long enough to make both of you aware of the tension winding quietly around your chairs. Then he says, “You really think you’re next? To be someone’s co–star in life?”

You look him square in the eye, not blinking, not flinching. “I know I am. Question is—what are you?”

He studies you for a moment, like he’s trying to decide if this is a trick or a test. Then he says, “You really don’t recognize me?”

There’s no arrogance in it. It was just a trace of disbelief. Like a guy who’s used to being pointed at in airports, not stared at across bar tables like a curiosity. He’s not used to not being recognized for something, whether it be for hate or for joy.

You squint at him, overly dramatic. “Did we go to high school together? Because unless you were the lunch lady or the janitor, I’m drawing a blank.”

He huffed a laugh, low and wry. “No. I suppose not.”

You sip your drink, then tilt your head. “Well, good. I’m allergic to men who expect applause just for showing up.”

He smirks. “So no parade for me, then.”

“Not unless you’ve got a marching band in your pocket. And even then, I hope they know jazz.”

Something shifts in his expression. It was subtle, like a muscle twitch, like he wants to say something and then thinks better of it. You soften just a little, enough for him to see it, but not enough to make it easy.

“You look like someone I could talk to, you know?” you say, simply. “That’s enough for me.”

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he turns slightly, like he’s trying to get a better angle on the moment. On you. He watches your hands, all steady, relaxed. The way you hold your glass like it’s a ritual, not a crutch.

After a beat, he says, “It’s strange. I used to think the scariest thing was being alone. But now I think… maybe it’s being surrounded by people who know your face, but not your name. Who think they know you, but only ever met your shadow.”

You don’t say anything at first. You let the words settle, breathe a little. Then you nod. “Yeah. That’s why I come here too. It’s easier to fall apart in a place where no one expects you to stay together.”

He glances at you again, and there’s something different in his caramel eyes now. It was something between admiration and recognition. Like he’s just seen the curtain drop and the real act begin.

“Were you ever in love?” he asks suddenly, like he’s tossing the question onto the table with the check—casual, but you know it’s the real reason he showed up.

You blink. “Wow. What a thing to ask a gal on a first date. What’s next, blood type? My mother’s maiden name?”

He shrugs, unapologetic. “Well, how am I supposed to get to know you if I don’t ask the good stuff?”

You lean back in your seat, smirk playing at your lips. “You let the lady say it first. It’s etiquette. Like holding the door open or pretending not to notice when she cries at Meet Me in St. Louis.”

He raises a hand, mock-defensive. “Alright, alright. Consider me chastised. Properly scolded. Proceed, oh wise one.”

You take a sip, then glance at the ceiling like the answer might be hiding in the rafters. “Yes,” you say finally. “Once.”

His eyes don’t leave you. The room gets quieter—not really, but it feels like it does. “What was it like?”

“It was soft….gentle. I don’t know how to explain it.” you say, slowly. “Like… worn cotton sheets soft. And loud. God, it was loud. Not the fighting kind of loud. The laughter kind. The slamming–the–door–because–we’re–late–to–everything kind. It ended slowly. Like a song fading out on the radio while you’re still singing the chorus.”

You pause, swirl your drink like it might play back the memory. “I still think of them sometimes, of course.” you add, voice lighter now, conversational. “But not because I want them back. Just… because they existed. And once, that meant something.”

He nods, eyes lowered to his glass like it might offer him a response. “That’s a good way to remember someone.”

You lift one shoulder, a little shrug. “It’s the only way I know how. That, or write an angry jazz ballad and become a legend.”

He looks up, mouth twitching. “Don’t tempt me.”

You tilt your head. “You write?”

“Only on napkins. And only after two drinks and a questionable life choice.”

“So, pretty boy….” you say, lifting your glass. “You must be very prolific.”

He clicks his drink against yours. “You have no idea.”

You grin. “Don’t worry, I’m a fan of tortured geniuses with emotional baggage. I collect them like shot glasses.”

He laughs, but it’s warm, grateful. Like someone who needed to laugh right then and didn’t know it until you gave him the line. “Maybe I’m like that too.”

“You gasped mockingly. “Oh, I’d be honored!”

He laughed once again. All the sudden, the bar grows quieter behind him. Last call hasn’t been shouted yet, but the air has that kind of weight to it. It was the kind that says stay or go, but make peace with the choice. 

And in that moment, Nanami Kento realizes something. That he’s not thinking about the texts anymore. Not about the party or the people waiting for him to show up with that practiced, polished smile. He’s thinking about how long it’s been since someone sat beside him without asking for anything.

“You don’t have to stay with me, you know.” he says after a while. Quiet. 

Almost like he’s said it a thousand times before and never really expected anyone to disagree. You don’t even flinch. Just sip your drink and glance sideways at him. You then smiled at him, almost too kindly.

“I know, I know.” you reply, like you’ve heard that line a thousand times too. “But you look like someone who could use some company that doesn’t charge by the hour.”

He snorts softly. “Therapist or escort?”

“Depends on the night. And whether you start crying or flirting first.”

He gives a tired little smile and turns his glass in his hand, the way people do when they’re stalling, like the liquid left might suddenly refill if they’re patient enough. There’s barely a sip left. There’s barely a whole sentence left in him either.

“Would you stay a little longer?” he asks, finally. 

And this time, it’s not with the polish, not with the charm. It’s not Nanami Kento, the actor man in the fancy suit. It’s Nanami Kento the man. The real one. The one under all that stoic posture. Tired. Worn. Still here. Still trying.

You look at him, not hard, just long enough to mean it and say, soft but with a spark. “Yeah. I can do that.”

“Thank you.”

Then you lean in a little, grinning. “But I expect to be compensated. I don’t sit around giving my sparkling presence away for free.”

He raises an eyebrow. “What’s the going rate for sparkling presence these days?”

“Oh, steep. Minimum one interesting story, half a tragedy, and a compliment that doesn’t mention my eyes.”

He pretends to think. “Tough crowd.”

“You’re the one who invited the crowd.”

He chuckles, and you both fall into that rare kind of silence. It wasn’t awkward, not filler. The good kind. The kind that says: I see you. You can stop pretending now.

And just like that, you both sit there, two people who don’t quite know what they are to each other yet, but know they’re something. And for tonight, that’s enough.

YOU LIVE PRETTY WELL. Nanami Kento did not expect it, you living just a few blocks away from his own apartment building. It wasn’t the grandest of all the places he’d seen. But it was suitable. It surely was expensive to live in Minato–ku. 

Well, he shouldn’t judge. He just met you tonight and became his friend. He didn’t even know what you did for a living. You could be a lawyer or even a modest living CEO.

Kento was sure he was about to get drunk. He’s thinking too much. You unlock your door with one hand, bottle of whiskey in the other, and glance over your beautiful shoulder at him.

“Welcome to my humble abode.” you say, sweeping your arm dramatically. You were playing your bit, he was sure. “Where the heating is inconsistent, the lighting is flattering, and the ghosts all mind their business.”

He steps inside, looking around like someone who’s used to hotel rooms and set trailers, not creaky floorboards and secondhand furniture that’s earned its place. “It’s charming.” he says politely, which is code for small but good enough. “Modest living, huh.”

“Don’t be fooled, really.” you say, tossing your coat on a chair. “This place is one broken appliance away from being a tax write–off.”

He gives a faint smile, the kind that suggests he’s secretly delighted but refuses to admit it. You head to the kitchen, into a more polite nook and grab two mismatched glasses. He hums as he looks around more.

“I’m beginning to think you’re a rich person just living a humble life.” He says to you. “I mean come on, how do you get a Molteni and C Doda armchair?”

“A comedian’s paycheck is hit or miss, you know.” You shouted from your kitchen. “I’m off season right now!”

“You do comedy?”

“For fun, for now.” You say to him, snickering. “I’m a full time make–up artist.”

“Oh wow, for who?” He asks you. “If there’s an NDA, I won’t tell, I promise.” 

“Tsukumo Yuki. She pays me exclusively to just do her make–up.”

“Makes sense. She’s got very rich.”

“I hope you like your whiskey neat and your company chaotic.” you call over your shoulder.

“I was at a five-hour press junket yesterday. Chaos is preferable.”

You return, hand him a glass. He clinks it against yours with the casual resignation of a man who has accepted his fate. “To poor decisions made with excellent people!” you cheered as you raised your glass.

“To late nights that sound better in stories!” he replies to you, a smile on his face. You both drink.

“So…..You’re an actor. Makes sense, you might know Yuki.” you say, settling into the couch like it’s your stage. “What’s it like? Being adored by millions, traveling the world, having your face Photoshopped onto T-shirts?”

He sits across from you, unbuttoning his jacket, the way a man does when he’s trying to pretend he’s not too impressed by the upholstery. “It’s… a lot of pretending.”

You nod. “Ah. Acting.”

“Life.”

You raise a brow. “Look at you, going full existential on my futon. Be careful, the cushions aren’t built for that kind of weight.”

He chuckles. “And you? What’s it like being the most interesting person in a room with no spotlight?”

You pretend to blush. “Flattery this early in the night? I didn’t even put on my emotionally unavailable mascara.”

“It’s a rare shade.” he deadpans.

You sip, eyeing him. “So what now? You drink my whiskey, charm me with philosophical sadness, and then disappear into the night like a Scandinavian myth?”

“Only if you promise to write a sad little poem about me after.”

“Too late. Already working on the second verse. Rhymes with ‘brooding’ and ‘unduly suited.’”

He laughs, actually laughs genuinely this time and leans back, loosening his tie. It feels like a small victory. “Why did you really ask me to go with you here?” he asks, voice lower now. “Very rare to do all of a sudden.”

You shrug. “Because you looked like you needed somewhere to just be a person. And I needed someone to split the last of the good whiskey with.”

He nods slowly. “Fair trade.”

The clock ticks somewhere behind you, the kind of clock you only remember exists when the room goes quiet. Neither of you were talking now, not because you’ve run out of things to say but because the good stuff’s already been said.

Nanami Kento was staring down at his empty glass like it might give him an answer to a question he hasn’t asked out loud. You shift, curl deeper into the couch, and let the silence stretch just enough to feel it.

“So…..” you murmur at him, drinking. “When do we get to the part where you tell me I’m too much?”

He looks up, brow creased. “Why would I do that?”

You give him a half–grin, the kind that says you’ve heard it before. “Because I am. Too fast. Too loud. Too everything.”

He leans forward, resting his forearms on his knees, eyes still locked on you. “I think…..” he says carefully. “You’re exactly enough. For once.”

Your smirk falters. Just a breath. Just a blink. And then you laugh, too quick. “Now you’re just trying to sleep with me.”

“I’m exhausted,” he says. “But not in that way.”

You tilt your head, and this time you don’t mask the weight behind your stare. “So what way are you?”

He’s quiet for a beat. Two. Then: “The kind that just wants to stay. For a minute. In something that doesn’t feel fake.”

You don’t reply. You don’t need to. The room answers for you. He sits back slowly, his knee brushing against yours. You don’t move away. Neither does he. It’s a soft collision, but it lands like a thunderclap. Something about the way it doesn’t feel accidental at all.

“I’ve had scenes like this, tension building.” he says, almost to himself. “Set lighting. Marks on the floor. Dialogue I didn’t write. And still, this feels more like a movie than any of them ever did.”

“Is this the part where you say you’re bad at real life?” you ask, voice quiet now.

“No…” he says, turning to look at you fully. “This is the part where I say I want to get better at it.”

Your breath catches just slightly. He sees it. He hasn't moved yet. You’re close now, close enough to count the lines near his eyes, the quiet furrow of his brow when he’s thinking too hard. You want to smooth it out with your thumb. You don’t.

“I think….” you say, barely louder than a whisper, finishing your drink. “This might be the moment the audience starts leaning forward in their seats.”

He smiles slowly. “You think they’re rooting for us?”

You nod once, slow. “Only if we don’t screw it up.”

And then finally, he leans in. Not fast. Not certain. Just close enough that you feel the warmth of him. Just close enough that your nose nearly brushes his. One breath shared between two people who’ve spent the whole night circling this exact spot.

His hand lifts slightly, like he’s about to reach for your face but he stops short, waiting. The space between you finally snaps. He leans in that final inch, and you meet him there like you were always going to do so.

It’s not gentle, not at first. More like the tail end of a sentence you’ve both been trying not to say all night. His mouth finds yours and it’s like flipping the switch on everything unspoken: sharp, certain, a little desperate. Like he thought he could wait and just realized he can’t.

Your glass hits the table. It was half–gracefully, half because neither of you’s got the coordination for whiskey anymore. Your hands are already in his hair, pulling him closer like you’re trying to anchor yourself to something real. And he is with you….solid, warm, here.

He makes a sound against your mouth, low in his throat, like you surprised him. Everything about your eagerness made him feel everything and anything all at once. You pull back just a fraction, breath shallow, lips still barely brushing his. 

“You kiss like someone who thought about it too much.”

“I did.” he admits, voice rough. “And now I’m trying to stop thinking.”

“Good.” you murmur. “Because I’m tired of being charming.”

“Liar.”

You smirked at him. He kisses you again. Only this time slower. It was like he wants to memorize the way you taste when you're not talking. And god, it works. It shuts you both up in the best possible way.

He shifts, crowding closer, one hand sliding to your waist, the other pressing against the small of your back like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he doesn’t hold on. Your fingers find the edge of his shirt, tug it loose from his belt. 

Not fast, just enough to feel skin. To feel him. You both break again, panting now, foreheads pressed together, like the couch, the whiskey, the city. All of it’s spinning away from this one moment.

“Are you staying the night?” you ask, breath hitching.

He gives you that half-smile—lazy, crooked, completely undone. “You gonna let me?”

“Depends,” you murmur. “You gonna kiss me like that again?”

He does. And then again. The night folds in around the two of you. Your clothes half–on, hands everywhere, mouths tangled in the kind of silence only earned by people who’ve talked their way right into each other’s arms. No spotlight. No stage. Just you and him. Finally, finally shutting up. But you don’t pull away either.

The space between you pulses like a held note in a song that hasn’t decided whether it’s a ballad or a tragedy. The city hums outside, and somewhere in your chest, something clicks into place. Not love. Not yet. But maybe, just maybe, the start of something dangerously close. At least for tonight.

Kento's lips linger on yours, the kiss deepening as he pours all his emotion into it. His hands roam your body, touching you reverently, as if committing every curve and contour to memory. You can feel the racing of his heart against your chest, the warmth of his skin seeping into yours. 

When he finally pulls back, his caramel eyes are dark with a mix of satisfaction and something softer, more tender. He rests his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the small space between you.

Almost instantly, his mouth moves into you again. He moves against you with a gentle urgency, as if he's savoring the taste of you. You respond eagerly, parting your lips to deepen the kiss. His tongue slides against yours, exploring, teasing, igniting a fire in your belly. 

His hands roam your body, caressing and squeezing, leaving trails of heat in their wake. You arch into his touch, craving more, needing to feel every inch of him. The kiss grows more passionate, more desperate, as if you're both trying to consume each other. When he finally pulls back, you're both breathless, your hearts racing in sync. 

"I could kiss you forever, my pretty woman." Kento murmurs, his forehead resting against yours. "You're addictive."

"Kiss me again." you breathe, your voice husky with desire. Kento obliges, his lips crashing against yours in a fiery kiss. His hands tangle in your hair, tilting your head back to deepen the angle.

"So demanding, aren’t you?"he murmurs against your mouth, a hint of a smile in his voice. "I like it." 

“There’s a lot of that where it came from.”

He nips at your lower lip, soothing the sting with his tongue. "Tell me what you want, pretty. I'll give you anything." 

His hand trails down your neck, over your collarbone, his touch feather-light and teasing. You shiver, arching into his caress. "You." you whisper, your eyes locked on his."I want you."

Kento's pupils dilate, his gaze darkening with lust. "Say it again, pretty." he demands, his voice low and commanding. "Tell me you want me."

"I want you." you repeat, your voice steady and sure."I want your hands on me, your mouth on me, your body inside mine." 

Kento's breath hitches, his grip on your hair tightening."Fuck, you have no idea what you do to me." he groans, his lips trailing down your neck. “You’re dangerous…..I just met you tonight and it feels like forever.” 

“I’m good at making people fall in love.”

“I know.” He bites down gently, marking you, claiming you."I'm going to take you apart, piece by piece, until you're begging for mercy."

His hands push your shirt up, exposing your skin to the cool air. He palms your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples, making them pebble beneath his touch. You gasp, your head falling back as pleasure shoots through you.

"Yes…” you hiss, hips rolling instinctively against his. “Touch me, Kento. Make me yours.”

He groans low in his throat, eyes darkening as he leans in, mouth trailing heat along your collarbone. You feel him hesitate just long enough to meet your gaze.

“You gonna take your shirt off right now?” you murmur, your voice a velvet tease as you curl your fingers into the hem of his. “Or are we doing this the awkward, tangled way?”

He laughs—breathy, wrecked—and yanks the shirt over his head without another word. You drink him in like you’ve been parched for years. All sculpted lines and quiet intensity, like someone carved a poem out of muscle and restraint.

“Good god….” you murmur, tracing your fingers down his chest. “You really are stupidly hot. Who let you get away with that?”

“No one, pretty.” he breathes, leaning in until your mouths nearly touch. “I’m on the run.”

“Okay.” you say, admiring. “Points for presentation.”

“You haven’t even seen the finale, I’m sure of that.” he says, voice low and dry, but there’s a flicker of heat behind it that makes your pulse jump.

You tug him back down to you, your laugh caught somewhere between your teeth and his lips. Clothes start to disappear like they’re being written out of the script. It was quick, purposeful, a little clumsy in the best way. 

There’s something delicious about the mess of it, the way he fumbles with your jeans and mutters a curse when the zipper sticks, the way you kick off your socks with the grace of a cat falling off a windowsill. And still he keeps pausing to touch you.

Fingers trailing along your ribs, over the dip of your waist, the inside of your wrist. Like he’s learning you in parts, not just trying to get to the ending. You pull him on top of you, and he fits like he’s always meant to be there. His hands bracket your face, thumbs brushing over your cheekbones, like he’s grounding himself before he drowns.

“You good?” Kento asks, low, voice hoarse. You nod, lifting your hips to answer the question you don’t want to say out loud yet. “I’ll continue.”

“Make me feel good.” You whispered to him, a smile on his lips.

“Oh, I plan to.”

Kento's hands grip your hips tightly, fingers digging into your flesh as he thrusts deeper. His lips trail along your neck, leaving a path of hot kisses and gentle bites. You can feel his breath, ragged and uneven, against your skin. 

The room fills with the sound of your mingled moans and the creaking of the bed frame beneath you. Sweat beads on your forehead as the pleasure builds, coiling tighter and tighter in your core. Kento's movements become more urgent, more desperate, as if he's trying to merge his body with yours completely.

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, needing to feel every inch of him. The world narrows down to this moment, to the sensation of him inside you, surrounding you, consuming you.You're lost in the rhythm, in the heat, in the feeling of being utterly and completely his.

Kento's hips snap forward, driving into you with a force that steals your breath. His hands roam your body, caressing and squeezing, leaving trails of fire in their wake. You arch into his touch, desperate for more, craving the feel of his skin against yours. 

His lips capture yours in a searing kiss, tongues dancing and tangling in a passionate duel. The taste of him, the scent of him, fills your senses, overwhelming you with desire. You can feel the tension coiling in your belly, the pleasure building to a crescendo. 

Kento's movements become erratic, his thrusts growing faster, harder, as he chases his own release. You're right there with him, teetering on the edge, ready to fall into the abyss of ecstasy. With a final, powerful thrust, you could feel yourself see stars coming against him.

"Fuck, you feel so good." Kento groans, his voice strained with pleasure. "So tight, so perfect." His hands grip your hips, pulling you flush against him as he buries himself deep inside you.

"I could stay like this forever." he murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear. You shiver at the sensation, your nails digging into his back. 

"More, more…." you pant, wrapping your legs tighter around him. 

"Give me more." Kento obliges, his thrusts becoming harder, faster, more desperate. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, mingling with your moans and his grunts of exertion. 

"Come for me, pretty." he demands, his thumb finding your clit and circling it firmly. "Let me feel you come apart around me."

His words send you hurtling towards the edge, your body tensing as the pleasure reaches its peak."Kento!"

"Yeah, that's it." Kento encourages, his voice husky and low. "Come on my cock, baby. I want to feel you squeeze me tight." 

His thumb presses harder on your clit, the sensation overwhelming as you crest the wave of your orgasm. Your body convulses, your inner walls clamping down on him as you cry out his name. Kento's movements become erratic, his thrusts growing shallow as he chases his own release.

"Fuck, I'm close." he grits out, his grip on your hips tightening. "I'm going to fill you up, make you mine."

With a final, powerful thrust, he buries himself deep inside you, his body shuddering as he finds his own climax. You can feel the warmth of his release spreading through you, marking you as his. He collapses on top of you, his face buried in the crook of your neck as he tries to catch his breath.

A little while later, you both were in the afterglow, still tangled in sheets that are definitely not high thread count, he rolls onto his back beside you, arm slung across your stomach, grounding you like a weight you never knew you needed. You glance over at him, sweaty, flushed, hair all askew, and grin.

“So. That happen in any of your movie scripts?”

“No, not at all.” he mutters, laughing as he was still catching his breath. “But I’m going to request rewrites.”

You laugh, turn into him, and press a kiss to his shoulder. “Next time, pretty boy…..” you whisper. “You’re bringing the pizza.”

He groans. “And you’re picking the music.”

“You’re in luck. My playlist’s 60% seduction, 40% crying in the shower.”

He doesn’t say anything. Just pulls you closer to him. And for once, neither of you needs to say anything clever. The silence that settles afterward is thick, but not heavy. Like the kind that follows a good set. Then laughter still echoing in the corners, lights just starting to dim. 

You lie there for a while, skin against skin, heartbeats slowly syncing up like they’re getting used to each other. Nanami’s thumb draws lazy circles on your hip. It’s the kind of touch that doesn’t ask for anything. Just says I’m here.

You glance up at him. “Are you always this talkative after sex?”

He exhales a laugh through his nose. “Only when I’m trying to impress.”

You snort. “Wow. Rolling out the big guns, huh? Silence and mild caressing? Be still my heart.”

“I’m pacing myself, pretty woman of mine.” he says, tilting his head to look at you. “You’re clearly a marathon.”

You grin. “I am a special gal. I walk fast, talk fast, and expect orgasms with flair.”

He chuckles again, eyes half-lidded now, and you feel it, how easy it is to settle into this. Like the city can hum and rattle around you and you’d still find your way back here. He takes a moment to watch you as you move slightly from him and into the glow of lamp light.

“I like this.” he says suddenly, voice soft and a little surprised. “You.”

You blink. “Wow. No foreplay with that one, huh?”

“I thought we were past foreplay.”

You laugh out loud again, but there’s something quieter underneath now. Something steady. You move towards him again, letting your fingers curl against his chest and feel the slow beat beneath your palm. 

“You know this doesn’t have to mean anything, hm?” you say, not as a warning, just as fact.

He nods. “I know. But maybe it could mean something good.”

You study him for a second. He was a beautiful man, older than you to be sure, but beautiful. Almost too beautiful to even comprehend. His golden hair rumpled, skin still warm from you, that soft look in his eyes like you’ve disarmed him completely without trying.

“Don’t fall in love with me tonight, pretty boy.”

He smiles at the ceiling. “Tonight’s almost over.”

You hum. “Tomorrow’s a mess.”

“I like messes. I’m made of that. I did all of that.” he says, brushing your hair back from your face. “Yours seems like one I could sit in for a while.”

You raise a brow. “Sit in, huh? You talk dirty to everyone you sleep with?”

“No, not at all.” he says. “Just the ones who offer whiskey and existential crisis in the same evening.”

You grin, tuck your face into the crook of his neck. And you stay there. Long enough for the outside noise to fade. Long enough for the city to sleep. Long enough for whatever this is to feel real. Even if only for tonight.

HE LEFT HIS PHONE NUMBER FOR YOU TO CALL WHEN HE LEFT THAT NIGHT. He ended up scribbling it on the back of a food receipt you had in the kitchen, the ink smudged just a little from how long he’d held it before walking out your door that morning.

“Call me.” he’d said, casual as anything. “I’ll answer it as soon as possible.” 

It was like it wasn’t already something sitting heavy in his chest. Like he wasn’t about to check his phone every damn hour. But you hadn’t called. Not once.  Not yet. And it was driving him absolutely mad.

At first, he told himself it was fine. Cool, even. Maybe you were busy. Maybe you were playing it smart, letting the high of the night fade before reaching for anything real. But now, a week into filming his new project, the irritation had fully set in.

He was brooding more than usual on set. Which, for Nanami Kento, was saying something. His jaw stayed tight between takes. His timing was off. He missed cues, flubbed lines that should’ve come easy. The director called for a break and gave him that ‘Are you okay or are we going to have to name the understudy?’ look.

His co-star tried to make a joke about his method. He did not laugh. Between scenes, he scrolled through his messages like a man possessed. Nothing from you. Not even a sarcastic “Sorry, meant to call, got abducted by aliens.”

Each time his phone lit up and it wasn’t you, something inside him clenched a little tighter. Worse than the silence was the not knowing. Has it meant something to you at all? Did it meant as much to you as it did to him?

Because it sure as hell meant something to him. And no one got that close. Not since his estranged wife. Not physically, emotionally. No one had actually left a mark on him. Not since you had come and shaken his life around.

He’d replayed it all too many times: the laughter, the quiet, the heat. The way you’d curled into him like you’d belonged there. The way you hadn’t said goodbye like it was final. And still it was genuinely a badly received radio silence.

Now he was walking around like a man with an itch he couldn’t scratch and no idea if he’d imagined the whole damn thing. Someone handed him a coffee. He didn’t even taste it. Someone told him to hit his mark. He missed it by a foot.

“Hey, Kento–san?” his co-star finally said, pulling him aside between takes. “Whoever she is? Call her. Yell at her. Write a poem. I don’t care. Just get it out of your system before they start cutting you out of your own film.”

He didn’t respond back to his co–star at all. It’s horrible advice. It’s the same sort of advice that led him to be a bad husband in the first place. He just stared at his phone again. And wondered how long you were going to leave him hanging in the space between maybe and never.

Nanami Kento doesn’t believe in coincidences anymore. Well, in general, not really. Not in the way that makes people bump into each other like fate had nothing better to do. His life has always been calculated. 

Precise. Predictable, even when it hurts. But when he steps out of the quiet, borrowed van onto the main street of a town so small it barely has a name, he sees you standing there outside a tiny coffee shop, a paper cup in your hand and a scarf wrapped lazily around your neck. He suddenly freezes.

That is you. His pretty woman from the bar. The one who sat beside him when he didn’t know he needed company. The one who didn’t ask for anything, who spoke to him like he was a person, not a role. He remembers your voice. Your stillness. The way you didn’t flinch at his silence.

He stands there too long. Enough that one of the crew glances back and nudges him, murmuring, “Everything alright, Nanami–san?”

He nods slowly, distracted. “Yes. Just—” 

He doesn’t finish the sentence. Because how the hell are you here? You don’t look like you belong to this place. Not in any condescending way. Just….you’re the type of person who seemed carved for city nights, bookstore corners, low–lit bars and sharp conversations. Not this quiet countryside with its fading signs and sleepy pace.

And yet here you are. Laughing softly with the barista, hair caught in the wind, bright eyes crinkled with something like real joy. You haven’t seen him yet. And for a moment, he thinks about walking away. About letting this be a memory instead of a moment. But something stops him.

Maybe it’s that same stillness you carried before the kind that made even silence feel like something sacred. He walks across the narrow street, hands buried in his coat pockets. His steps are slow, careful, like he isn’t sure if you’re real.

When he stops in front of you, you finally look up. There's a pause. A blink. And then, it was that recognition. Your lips part, surprised but not startled. Like maybe you were wondering if he was real, too.

“Well….” you say softly, like a secret between old friends. Like you hadn’t slept together that night. You smiled. “Didn’t expect to see you again.”

“Neither did I.” he replies, almost breathless at the sight of you. “Especially not here.”

You glance around, gesturing loosely to the sleepy town behind you. “Yeah, it’s… not where you’d expect to find me.”

He nods. “No offense, but you look like someone who belongs where the sidewalks don’t roll up at 7 p.m.”

You smile, and it’s warmer than he remembers. “None taken. I still can’t believe I’m here either, honestly.”

He waits, tilting his head slightly. “So… why are you?”

You glance down at your coffee, then back at him with a small shrug. “A bit of a reset, I guess. Life got loud in the city, and I needed quiet. Yuki’s taking a break. Thought I’d try letting the countryside teach me how to be still without being lonely.”

He studies you for a moment. The words hit something in him. Something he’s been carrying but hasn’t been able to name. “You always speak like that?” he asks, almost amused.

You grin. “Like what?”

“Like you’re narrating a book no one else gets to read.”

You laugh, genuinely, and for the first time in a long while, Nanami Kento feels something loosen in his chest. “Guess I just like giving things meaning, huh?” you say. “Even if they don’t always deserve it.”

He nods once, quiet. “I think that’s why I remembered you.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You remembered me?”

“Of course.” he says, and it’s the most honest thing he’s said all month. “Some people… you don’t forget. Even if you don’t know her name. All I was calling you was pretty girl, pretty woman. I need your name, you know.”

Your smile softens, tugging at the edge of something real. “It’s [last name] [first name], by the way.”

He repeats it under his breath like he’s rehearsing a line in a play—one he wants to get just right. Like tasting a word he’s not ready to let go of.

“[First name],” he says again. Then he offers a small, almost boyish smile. “Kento. Nanami Kento.”

You blink at him, smirking. “Oh, I know. The actor. Brooding, intense, vaguely Scandinavian even though you’re not. You worked with Yuki.”

He lifts a brow. “And you’re her makeup artist, right?”

You slap a finger to your lips, mock-scandalized. “Shhh! Didn’t I say it’s an NDA? You trying to get me sued?”

“Oh dear,” he deadpans, holding his hands up in faux surrender. “My bad. Please don’t report me to the shadowy cabal of publicists.”

You narrow your eyes playfully. “They will come for you. And they’re terrifying. They wear black turtlenecks and know how to erase someone’s IMDB credits.”

“That explains my last three indie films disappearing,” he says with a perfectly straight face.

“Don’t joke,” you say, waggling your finger. “I still have trauma from accidentally contouring a producer into looking like an Easter Island statue. They moved me to background actors for a week.”

He laughs—really laughs—and it sounds like something he hasn’t done freely in a while.

You lean in a little closer. “Anyway, we’ve both outed ourselves now. Me, the paint-slinger. You, the tall handsome face that cries beautifully on screen.”

He tilts his head. “And off screen.”

“Oh, wow. Is that your next Oscar campaign slogan?”

“‘Nanami Kento: Crying Beautifully Since 2009.’”

You grin. “Sold. I’ll do your press kit for free.”

There’s a moment—just a flicker—where the humor slows, the silence stretches, and something gentler curls around the edges of the conversation. It’s in the way he looks at you. Like he’s not just watching you talk, but listening.

“I like your name.” he says, softly. “It fits you. Sharp and kind at the same time.”

You tilt your head. “Careful. You keep talking like that, I’ll have to fall in love with you.”

“Too late,” he says, taking a sip of his drink. “I already called dibs.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “God, you actors. Always stealing the last word.”

He raises his glass again. “Only when it’s worth stealing.”

He doesn’t sit down right away. Just stand there, taking you in again, the way your hands cradle the coffee cup like it holds more than just warmth. You seem quieter than you were that night at the bar but not withdrawn. More… rooted, maybe. Like the stillness you spoke of found you after all.

“Are you filming something out here?” you ask, nudging him gently back to reality.

He nods. “A small project. Director wanted something slow, intimate. Thought a town like this would feel more… honest.”

You tilt your head, smiling. “You always choose honesty when you can?”

He gives a small, dry laugh. “It’s not always an option. But I think I’ve learned to stop pretending I don’t want it.”

You gesture to the empty chair at your little table, and he hesitates, but only for a moment. Then he takes the seat across from you, folding his coat neatly, as if even now he’s still performing quiet discipline.

“I have to admit.” you said to him, crossing your arms on your chest. “This is the last thing I expected today.”

“Seeing me again?”

“No. Seeing you again here. In this nowhere town where I came to disappear.”

He meets your gaze, steady. “Are you trying to disappear?”

You pause. Then: “I think I was, at first. Now I’m just… trying to be somewhere that doesn’t expect too much of me.”

He understands that more deeply than he can say. The air between you shifts, still light, but layered now. Familiar. It’s not quite like picking up where you left off, because nothing really started that night. But it’s something. A continuation, maybe, of a quiet understanding neither of you asked for, but both recognized.

“Do you want to walk?” you ask suddenly. “This place has a whole six blocks of charm.”

He raises an eyebrow. “A tour?”

You grin. “A detour.”

Nanami Kento doesn’t usually say yes so easily, especially not to detours. But something about you, this strange, steady thread weaving back into his life without asking for permission—it makes him curious enough to get up.

As you walk, you talk about small things. The town’s single bakery with the terrible coffee but perfect melonpan. The inn you’re staying at where the owner talks to the koi fish in the pond like they’re her grandchildren. The stray cat that waits by the bookstore every morning, expecting someone to read to it.

And in return, he offers things he doesn’t tell most people. How strange it is to sleep in hotel rooms that all smell the same. How the silence on set sometimes echoes louder than the noise. How he’s tired, bone–deep tired and he’s not sure who he is when the cameras stop rolling.

You don’t interrupt. You don’t try to solve it. You just walk beside him. As if that’s enough. And somehow, it is. When the wind picks up, you both slow, turning toward the river where the water moves soft and low. He glances at you, unsure of what he’s supposed to say. If this is a moment, or just another quiet breath passing through.

But then you speak. “I’m glad it was you, you know.” 

He turns to you, eyeing you somberly. “What do you mean?”

“At the bar. That night. I didn’t go there to meet anyone. I didn’t want to be found. But… I’m glad it was you.”

Kento swallows hard, a quiet ache rising in his throat. “I’m glad it was you too.” he says, and means it more than anything he’s said in years.

The river hums low. The town breathes slowly. And for the first time in a long time, he doesn’t feel quite so lost. You lead him down a narrow path lined with crooked fences and old telephone poles, sunlight slanting through the trees like it’s got nowhere better to be. 

The wind kicks up a little dust once again, rustles the drying laundry on someone’s balcony. It’s quiet, but not empty. There’s life here. Slow, familiar life. Kento listens as you point out things like the soft bark of the old cedar tree, the old woman who sells pickled plums from a box on her porch, the bench by the train station that creaks if you sit too far to the right.

He watches you wave to people like you know them and more surprising, like they know you back. A group of kids pass by and call your name, dragging along a scooter with one busted wheel. You call out a reminder to “watch the pothole by the bridge” and one of them shouts “we know” like you’re someone who’s always been there.

“You said you came here to get away.” Kentosays quietly, almost accusingly, but not unkindly. “But… this doesn’t look like a getaway.”

You smirk, slowing your steps just enough for him to keep walking beside you. “Yeah. That’s because I lied a little.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Oh, pray tell?”

“My grandparents live here. They’re still alive. Happily.” you admit, nodding toward a pale green house with a sun–faded door and a dozen potted plants crowding the porch. “I used to come here every summer when I was a kid. It’s not glamorous, but I guess it always felt like the world slowed down when I got off the train.”

He looks at you, really looks this time. You, standing barefoot in soft sneakers, a coffee long gone cold in your hand, hair caught in the breeze and eyes full of something that feels like home.

“You seem different here.” he says, without thinking.

“Different how?”

He shrugs, eyes forward. “Lighter.”

You smile at that. “That’s what this place does to people. Even the grumpy ones.”

“You think I’m grumpy?”

“I know you’re grumpy.”

He huffs, almost a laugh. You keep walking, leading him past an old bridge with rust on the rails, and he follows, quiet, thoughtful. He watched as you started to hum a song he doesn’t recognize at all.

“Most people don’t stay here long.” you say suddenly, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. “Just travelers passing through. Photographers, artists, singers. Tired people. Very bored people.”

He hums. “Which one do you think I am?”

You tilt your head, pretending to study him. “You don’t strike me as the artsy type, actually. You’re not dramatic enough to be a writer, and you’re too well–dressed to be just a backpacker. So I’d say… tired.”

He pauses. That lands heavier than you probably meant it to. “Well that’s such a thing to say.”

“Bullseye?” you ask softly, and he doesn’t answer. Just walk a little slower.

When you turn up a narrow dirt road, he follows without asking. He’s stopped asking where you’re taking him. There’s something comforting in the way you walk ahead, like you’ve already decided it’s okay for him to be here.

“My grandma’s probably already started cooking.” you say over your shoulder. “She’ll pretend she doesn’t know who you are, even if she does. That’s her thing. Makes people feel comfortable.”

Nanami frowns slightly. “What do you mean, ‘if she does’?”

You glance back at him, confused. “I mean, she has a habit of recognizing people even when she shouldn’t. Like that guy from the noodle commercials. Or the lady who was on that old soap opera. I swear she has a sixth sense for washed–up celebrities.”

He freezes. Just briefly. You stop, noticing his hesitation. “What?”

“…Nothing.”

You squint. “Wait. Do you want people to recognize you?”

There’s a pause. A long one. He looks at you, expression unreadable. Then, with the smallest shrug: “Just your grandma, I hope. She’d give me bigger food portions.”

You laugh, loud and sudden, full of disbelief. “Oh my god. No way. I sat next to you at a bar, poured my heart out to you, and you wanted me to fuss over you like you were famous?”

“I wasn’t famous in that bar,” he says quietly. “Just tired.”

You stare at him for a moment longer. Then shake your head, smiling. “Well, okay.” you say, “You’re still coming to dinner.”

“That doesn’t bother you?”

“That you’re a little famous? That people could recognize you?” you smirked at him. “Only if it means you expect dessert.”

He looks at you like he doesn’t know what to do with that, like he’s still getting used to someone treating him like a person instead of a profile. But he follows you up the hill anyway. Toward a warm house. Toward kinako mochi and nosy grandmothers. Toward something that might just be peace.

You lead him up the hill, past fields of rice that sway lazily in the late afternoon breeze, the golden light casting everything in a soft glow. As you approach the small house with the overgrown garden and the old wooden gate, Nanami Kento feels the weight of the day’s quiet beginning to settle over him. 

He’s still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that you’re not just some random person he bumped into at a bar but someone whose life is rooted here, in this strange little town, in a way he never would've guessed.

The door creaks open before you even knock, and an elderly woman with silver-streaked hair and a bright smile appears in the doorway. She’s wearing a faded apron and holding a wooden spoon like she’s ready to defend the kitchen.

“Oh, you’re back.” she says with a soft laugh, as if this happens every day.

“Where’s grandpa?”

“He went to play mahjong with his friends.” Your grandma giggled. “It’s been a while since he played, after all. His friend just got back from Sendai!”

“This is Kento, grandma.” you say, nudging Kento forward. “He’s staying in town for a bit.”

The elderly woman studies him for a moment with sharp, discerning bright eyes that seem to see everything. Then, she nods like she’s accepted something only she understands. She turns to Kento with a smile.

“Nice to meet you, Kento.” she says, her voice warm. “I’m her grandma. But that’s enough. You’ve got good timing. Dinner’s just about ready.”

Kento manages a polite smile. “Thank you for having me.”

“Come in, come in.” She steps aside, gesturing for him to enter.

The inside of the house is cozy. Old wooden beams, shelves lined with mismatched cups and plates, the faint smell of something savory simmering in the air. It feels like the kind of home that’s been lived in for generations, the kind where every corner holds a memory.

“Sit, sit!” Grandma insists, leading him to the low table where she’s already placed a few bowls of rice and pickles. There’s a steaming pot in the center, something rich and fragrant. Nanami sits, still a bit surprised at the ease with which he’s been brought into this domestic world.

[name], as though reading his thoughts, gives him a knowing look. “Grandma’s not one for formalities. She’s always fed whoever’s around.”

Your grandma chuckles, sitting beside him. “No point in starving anyone, especially if they’re passing through. I’m sure you’ve had enough fancy meals in your life, Kento–san. This is a proper one.”

Kento laughs softly, though it’s laced with a hint of discomfort. “I don’t usually have meals like this.”

You watched him for a moment, a quiet understanding passing between you. You know that he’s not used to being this comfortable, to being treated as someone ordinary, not an actor, not someone important. Just a man who’s hungry, tired, and seeking a little peace.

“My grandma’s food is the kind that makes you forget about the rest of the world, you know?” you say lightly. “Just sit tight! This is going to blow your mind!”

And as the first bite of warm stew hits his tongue, Nanami Kento finds you’re right. The tenderness of the meat, the earthiness of the vegetables, the way everything melds together in a way that doesn’t feel rushed.

It’s the kind of food that wraps itself around you, takes you by the shoulders, and makes you feel like you’ve come home, even if you’ve never been here before. Kento had only had something such as this only once and it was his estranged wife’s cooking. But this was a different sort of special. Because you were smiling so brightly.

The silence between you all feels comfortable, unhurried. Kento isn’t used to this kind of stillness. Not the kind that doesn’t demand anything from him, not the kind that doesn’t expect him to perform or speak or be something he’s not. Here, in this humble little house, he can just exist.

Your grandma talks about her garden. About the pleasant weather. About how the local cats keep stealing her catnip and hiding it in the neighbor’s yard. There’s no rush to any of it. It was so beautiful. There was no hurry. And he liked that.

And when the meal winds down, you quickly rise, reaching for the plates. Kento stands, too, moving to help, but you shake your head gently at him. You signal him to just keep sitting down and rest.

“Just sit. You’re our guest.” you say, smiling as you start gathering the dishes. “I’m sure My grandma wants to ask you all sorts of questions.”

Your grandma grins knowingly, hands resting on the table. “Oh, I do. But first… tell me, Kento–san, do you like tea?”

He chuckles. “I do.”

“That’s good.” she says, standing up with surprising energy. “Then you’re in for a treat.”

As she prepares the tea, you go on and sit next to Kento. She was tenderly watching him as if she’s still trying to piece together this strange meeting. It was interesting. She had never seen you be like this before. Or bring any one to meet her, let alone a man.

There’s an almost hesitant energy between you now, something that speaks of both curiosity and something more subtle. Something like... connection. Neither of you expected this, but here it is, unfolding in the quiet corners of this small town, in the middle of nowhere.

“You don’t seem like someone who needs to hide.” you say softly, after a while.

Kento hand stills on his cup. “I don’t, really. I just… forget sometimes what it feels like to be seen without expectation.”

You meet his eyes, the soft vulnerability of his words hanging between you. “My grandma doesn’t expect much, you know.” you say, eyes softening. “That’s why this place works. It doesn’t ask for anything more than you’re willing to give.”

He nods slowly, understanding your words. The words settle in him, a truth that feels simpler than anything he’s allowed himself to admit. His life was so fast paced and everyone expected so much of him. And he doesn’t like that. 

In some ways, this is what he would have wanted with his estranged wife. He would have wanted this life with her. Yet he knew that was over now. It was never going to happen. But as he sat here, he knew that there was another door that opened to him. He knew that when he looked at you.

“You’re right.” he says quietly.

And for the first time in what feels like years, Nanami Kento feels like he’s exactly where he’s supposed to be. The evening stretches on, the light outside fading into a rich indigo, the stars barely visible against the soft glow of a lantern that hangs by the door. The small house feels like it’s wrapped in quiet, a rare kind of peace that Nanami hasn’t known in a long time.

You and your grandma settle back into your seats after the meal, the last of the tea steeping as the conversation shifts into more comfortable territory. Your vibrant grandma is telling stories out loud now, so energetically. 

The small, almost absurd anecdotes from her youth, her sharp memory lighting up with details that surprise even you. She talks about her childhood, how she used to race the boys to the river, how her first job was at a noodle stand on the corner that doesn’t exist anymore.

Kento just listens, entranced. He can’t remember the last time he sat in a room where nothing was expected of him. No script, no camera, no need to perform. Just stories and the kind of laughter that comes with familiarity, the kind that makes you feel like you’ve always belonged in a place.

At some point, your grandmother gets up to fetch a blanket, and you find yourself left alone with Nanami Kento, the air now full of the quiet hum of cicadas outside and the gentle rustle of the wind. 

It’s rare for him to be alone like this with anyone. He’s been alone for so long, even surrounded by people. But with you, he was sure he felt something different. Something lighter, something more like a safe space.

He looks over at you, his gaze soft, a little guarded, but there’s an openness there, like he’s not sure how to read you, but he’s willing to try. 

“Do you come here often?” he asks, the question almost too simple. “To visit your grandmother?”

You smile, settling back into your chair. “When I need to. It’s the only place I can feel like myself, you know?”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, letting your words sink in. He’s not sure what to say next, not sure if he’s ready to voice the quiet questions that have been lingering since that first night at the bar.

Instead, he simply says, “I can see why. It feels… real.”

“Yeah,” you agree softly. “It’s real. Not a lot of places left like this.”

Kento’s fond gaze shifts to the window, the faintest reflection of the moon catching in the glass. He thinks about everything. His life, his career, the years spent chasing something he thought he needed to prove. The constant cycle of applause, of recognition, of being seen but never truly seen.

“You know…..” he says after a moment, his voice quieter than before. “I think I forgot what it felt like to just be... without anything attached to it. To be seen without the need for approval or validation.”

You glance over at him, studying the quiet vulnerability in his expression. “You’re not the only one there.” you say softly. “I think we all forget sometimes. The world pushes us so hard, and we get so used to moving with it that we forget how to stop.”

Kento chuckles lightly, but it’s not an easy laugh. “I don’t even know who I’d be if I stopped.”

“Well, I think it’s just part of that.” you say, standing up to stretch. “Maybe that’s the part you need to find. Who you are when you’re just... Kento.”

He watches you for a beat, then nods slowly, as if he’s finally allowing himself to consider the idea. The simplicity of it all. Just being just Kento, no pretense, no expectations.

Everything about it appealed to him. You move toward the window and look out at the garden, where the last of the fireflies are blinking faintly in the warm night air. 

"I don't know how long you'll be here." you say quietly to him. "But I hope this place helps you find that person."

“I think it already has, if I’m being honest.” he says, and it feels like the truth. He looks at you, and only you. “In ways I didn’t expect.”

You turn back to face him, eyes steady. “Then let it. Let it help. Let it remind you that you don’t always have to be someone else.”

He stands then, slowly, as if the weight of his body is a bit less now, a bit more grounded. “I’d like that.” he says simply.

Your grandma comes back into the room with a blanket, her tired hands resting on her hips. “I’m glad to see you two getting along. I’m sure we’ll be hearing more stories before long.”

Kento smiles, a little more open now. “I’m sure.”

You pull the blanket over your grandmother’s lap, and she pats the empty space beside her. Nanami Kento hesitates but then sits down, the comfortable silence settling back in as the night continues to stretch on. The sound of the wind outside is almost like a lullaby, gentle and soothing.

And for the first time in ages, Kento feels like he’s in a place where he doesn’t need to rush, and doesn't need to be anyone other than who he is at this moment. Maybe that’s all he needs right now. Maybe it’s enough.

HE’S A REGULAR IN THE SPECIAL FAMILY GATHERINGS. The new family winter house in Tokyo was warm, creaky, and filled with the scent of coffee and cinnamon.

Snow layered the trees outside like something out of a painting, and inside—well, inside was a whole different kind of storm.

“Okay, okay.....” Gojo said, dramatically flopping down onto the couch beside Keiko, who gave him a look halfway between amusement and exhausted affection. “So remind me again….do I count as stepdad or fun uncle with unresolved boundary issues?”

“You count as mom’s midlife crisis, Satoru–san.” Kenshin said flatly, not looking up from his book.

Kento snorted into his tea. That’s his son, alright. “Well, those words are honest.”

“You count as her worst life trauma, Dad. I don’t think you should be saying anything.”

“Noted, son.”

“Uh, correction.” Satoru raised his hand. “I am the ongoing, extremely charismatic, painfully handsome midlife crisis. There’s a difference.”

Nanami Kento rolled his caramel eyes from his armchair by the fire, adjusting the blanket that had been thrown over his legs by force. (Nanami Keiko insisted on cozy traditions that suited her tastes and he cannot deny his daughter anything.)

“You’re both ridiculous, aren’t you?” Keiko said, tossing a marshmallow at Satoru, who caught it in his mouth like an overgrown Labrador.

Kento glanced toward his ex–wife, who sat cross-legged on the floor by the coffee table, nursing her own mug. “Why did we ever let him in the house?”

“Because he brought wine, and not just any, the good one.” she said to him, as if it was a matter of fact. “It's Marchesi Antonori, Kento. I’m not letting that go to waste.”

“I always bring wine for you, baby.” Satoru said, smiling as he kissed her cheeks, watching her smile against Satoru’s touch. “And good gossip, that everyone enjoys. Don’t act like I haven’t upgraded this family’s drama with better lighting and better cheekbones.”

“You say that this isn’t a setup for a soap opera, you know?” Kenshin muttered. “I mean, maybe Reality TV. I’m sure everyone’s going to enjoy it.”

Keiko leaned into her dad’s side. “A very slow, awkward menage à trois on TV? We’ll make bank! Maybe better than my work at the hospital.”

Kento let out a long sigh. “Please don’t say ‘menage à trois’ in front of your mother and I, sweetie.”

“You’re the one vacationing with your ex–wife and her boyfriend, Dad. We’re past pretending this is normal.” Keiko argued at her dad. “Plus, this is how I’m coping with it. It has to be funny or it’ll be trauma!”

“She has a point there, Kento–kun.” Satoru said as he made a comical face, raising his glass. “To co–parenting with complex emotional boundaries and excellent skincare routines.”

Nanami Kento didn’t laugh, but his mouth twitched. He looked down into his cup like it might hold a different answer this time, then looked up and said, almost offhandedly: “I’m seeing someone. Well, at least I think I am.”

The room went still for a second.

“You’re kidding?” His son says, eyes widened. “Dad, are you serious?”

Keiko looked like her world was rocked. “Beyond five months?”

“I met her seven months ago.”

“Holy shit?” Gojo Satoru huffs, almost like he’s surprised. “This is just…..

“I just don’t know….” his ex blinked, tilting her head. “Wait, are you serious or is this one of your deadpan setups that ends with a philosophical burn?”

“No setup, really.” Kento said. “She’s… well. Complicated. Smart. Funny in a way that sneaks up on you. The kind of person who finishes your sentences and then rewrites them to be punchier. Really witty.”

Satoru wiggled his eyebrows. “So you’re saying she finally made you interesting?”

Kento shot him a dry look. “She has a real talent for pulling the rug out from under people. Emotionally and, on at least one occasion, literally.”

“She sounds really cool, Dad!” Keiko said, grinning. “Can we meet her?”

Kenshin didn’t look up. “Does she like chaos?”

Kento took a sip of his tea. “She lives in it. And somehow makes it feel like home.”

There was a beat of silence before Satoru said, “Okay, see, that’s borderline poetic. You’re in trouble.”

Kento allowed himself a small smile. “I might be.”

His ex–wife raised her cup toward him. “Well then. Here’s to your chaos.”

Satoru added, grinning wide. “And here’s to us, still not a ménage à trois, but definitely an award–winning sitcom.”

“Limited series.” Keiko corrected.

“With a strong fanbase.” Kenshin added.

Kento just shook his head and looked out the window, hiding his smile in the rim of his cup. Satoru leaned back, arms behind his head like he owned the place. Which, of course, he didn’t. But no one ever told him that because he wouldn’t believe it anyway.

“Okay, back to the subject. I’m too nosy for my own good.” Satoru said. “What’s her name? Is she famous? Is she dangerous? Does she do her eyeliner in one perfect stroke without blinking?”

“She’s not famous.” Kento said, voice mild. “She’s worse. She’s normal. She’s a make–up artist by trade and a comedian by enjoyment.”

Kenshin looked up at that. “You brought a normal person into this gene pool of emotionally complicated circus animals?”

“She’s not normal.” Keiko said. “He said she was complicated. Big difference. Normal gets scared and leaves. Complicated brings snacks. And she’s a comedian slash make–up artist. She’s very complicated.”

His ex–wife turned toward him, curious now. “How’d you meet her?”

He looked into the fire for a long second, then said, “A bar visit. She was enjoying there. I wasn’t planning on doing anything else. She made me want to. And—”

Satoru mimed wiping a tear, cutting him off. “I swear to god, you’re one poetic monologue away from stealing my brand.”

“She probably thinks I’m too serious.” Kento muttered, sighing.

“Then she’s got taste.” Satoru said brightly.

Keiko grinned. “Is this the same woman who left you looking like a teenager who’d just discovered jazz and heartbreak the last time you came home to visit us?”

“I told you not to read my journal notes.” Kento grumbled at his daughter.

“You left them on the kitchen table under a mug that said 'World's Okayest Dad.'” Kenshin said. “You wanted us to find them.”

His ex-wife gave him that look, the one that peeled you back like a clementine, soft and amused and just slightly sharp. “So?” she asked, casually sipping her tea. “Why haven’t we met her?”

Kento didn’t answer her right away. He sighed as he shifted in his chair, the firelight catching the quiet tension in his shoulders. The massive room, previously loud with banter, went suddenly still as it held its breath.

“I don’t know if there’s anything to introduce right now. I mean, even her. It’s just….I don’t know how to define it yet.” he said finally, voice low but even. “We’ve been… sleeping together.”

Gojo Satoru raised his brows so high they practically hit his hairline. “Sleeping together as in sleeping together? Or metaphorically, like 'emotionally naked while watching sad French films’ kind of thing?”

Kento gave him a look as he sighed, exasperated. “Sleeping together. Literally. Repeatedly. As friends.”

Keiko blinked. “Wait. Friends who…..what?”

“It’s not like that.” Kento said quickly. “Or no, it is like that. I’m….not sure. I haven’t done this in years.”

Kenshin sighed, rubbed his head. “Okay, explain, dad.”

“I mean……We talk. We laugh. We cook sometimes, or she steals my takeout. She edits my texts because apparently, I sound like I’m drafting a cease–and–desist. Then we end up in bed again and we….do things. And then she talks to me and then she….she leaves.”

“I have to say that’s hot.” Satoru muttered, already pouring himself another drink. “I mean, vaguely tragic, but also, still very very hot.”

His ex–wife shakes her head at her partner’s words. She looked at her ex–husband, leaned forward. “And you’re okay with this?”

Kento paused. “I thought I was, I mean, I was sure I was. I’ve done this so many times with other women, for years and years now.” he admitted. “I told myself it was enough. We had an understanding. No expectations. Just… moments.”

Kenshin, who’d been silent up to that point, closed his book slowly. “So what changed, Dad?”

Nanami stared into his tea like it might tell him. “I started wanting in–betweens…..The mornings after. The dumb little texts during the day. I started missing her even when she was still there. That’s when I realized I wasn’t being a good friend anymore. I was pretending not to care because I was scared she’d run if I admitted I did.”

A beat passes. Kento sighs heavily. “She’s not the kind of person you ask to stay.” he said. “She’s the kind you quietly hope chooses to.”

“Sounds familiar, huh” his ex–wife said gently, with a half–smile. Those words hit him hard, painfully even. Kento purses his lips into a flat line. “Well, maybe you could choose better this time, don’t you think?”

Keiko nudged his arm. “You know you can talk to her, right? Like, use words. You’re supposed to be good with those.”

“Yeah, I did the same thing.” Satoru added, grinning. “Start with ‘I like you’ and maybe not with ‘what are we?’ unless you want to spontaneously combust.”

Kento chuckled, despite himself. “You’re all very helpful.”

Satoru raised his glass. “We’re a walking disaster, Kento. But we’re your disaster.”

His ex–wife clinked mugs with him. “Now call her. Or text her. Or send a raven, whatever suits your aesthetic, Kento. Just….don’t let this one slip away.”

Nanami Kento looked down at his phone. Then, slowly, he reached for it. His thumb hovered over your name in his contacts. It’s the one saved with no emojis, no unnecessary punctuation, just your first name. Stark. Honest. Maybe a little terrifying.

Satoru leaned over like an older sibling with zero respect for personal space. Even when the younger of the two. It was funny, but it was how he was with Kento. “Do it already, man. Text her something casual. Like ‘hey’ but brooding. ‘Hey...’ with a heavy pause.”

“Thank you, Satoru, that’s extremely helpful.” Kento said dryly.

“Do you want it to be helpful or emotionally reckless? Because I can do either, but not both.”

“Can we not peer–pressure Dad into confessing his feelings like this is an after–school special?” Keiko muttered from the couch, half-buried under a blanket and her own secondhand embarrassment.

“I’m not confessing, at least….not yet.” Kento said. “I’m just… acknowledging.”

His ex–wife smiled. “Mm. That’s what people say right before they confess.”

Kento sighed like a man about to walk into traffic with his eyes open. Then, after a brief, silent moment, he typed: “Hey….Answer this when you get back…...Actually, are you home right now?”

Satoru’s eyes narrowed as the message peered at the screen. “That’s it? That’s the big opener?”

“It’s a text, not a marriage proposal.”

“Yeah, but come on. Add a winky face or a little something. Give it flair. Give it a mystery.”

Kento locked his screen and dropped the phone onto the coffee table. “If she answers, she answers. If she doesn’t… I’ll wait.”

His ex–wife tilted her head, watching him like a painting she’d seen before, but with new light falling on it now. “You really like her, don’t you?” she asked.

Kento didn’t look away from the fire. “She makes me feel like I haven’t missed my chance yet, to be a better…person.” he said quietly. “Like maybe there’s still time to choose something more than that grief of everything I’ve failed.”

The room fell into that rare kind of silence, where no one needed to say anything clever, because the truth had already landed. And then, like the universe had a flare for timing, his phone buzzed. He didn’t jump. Didn’t snatch it like Gojo Satoru probably would have. He picked it up slowly. Read it once. Then again.

Your reply: “I’ve got whiskey, terrible TV, and your sweater still on my couch. You coming over or what?”

A rare, reluctant smile curled at the edge of his lips.

Keiko noticed first. “She texted back, didn’t she?”

Kento didn’t say anything. He just stood, walked to the hall to grab his coat, and murmured over his shoulder— “Don’t wait up.”

Satoru let out a dramatic gasp. “My god, he’s in love.”

“About damn time, don’t you think?” his ex–wife whispered into her tea, grinning. “He’s waited long enough. I’ve forgiven him already, no?”

“Baby, you forgive too easily.”

“Hm, and you don’t?”

“Oh no, I hold grudges until I die.”

She laughed. “You’re ridiculous.”

HE SHOULD HAVE BROUGHT A WARMER COAT. The snow outside hadn’t let up. It spun softly in the air like ash, delicate and slow, and Nanami Kento drove through it with one hand on the wheel, the other resting absently near the passenger seat like muscle memory. It was like he was used to reaching for someone who wasn’t there. Yet.

Your neighborhood was quiet when he pulled up, the kind of stillness that held breath. He could see the faint glow from your window, warm and familiar and messy in that lived–in a way that made his chest ache a little. He felt the chill brim through his bones as he walked towards your door.

He knocked. Once. Then again, softer. The door opened. You were barefoot, wearing that oversized sweater he’d left behind a week ago. The sleeves are too long, collar wide enough to fall off one shoulder. You didn’t say anything. Just raised an eyebrow, one hand braced against the frame.

“Well?” you asked. “Did you bring snacks, or is this strictly a regret and emotional unraveling kind of visit?”

He exhaled a breath that might’ve been a laugh. “I thought we already unraveled, pretty woman of mine. Far too much.”

“You’d be surprised how many layers a person can have.”

You stepped aside to let him in. The door clicked shut behind him with a kind of finality that didn’t feel ominous. It felt earned. The apartment smelled like popcorn and your perfume. A mindless old movie murmured from the TV. Two glasses waited on the table. You were prepared for his arrival.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come, but….I prepared anyway.” you said, not quite looking at him as you curled back onto the couch.

He shrugged out of his coat, folded it over the back of a chair. “I wasn’t sure I’d be invited.”

You didn’t smile, but your mouth quirked in that way it always did before you said something too sharp or too honest. “We’re not really good at normal, are we?”

“No, not at all.” he said, sitting beside you, knees brushing. “But we’re excellent at being messy, together.”

You handed him a glass. He took it. Neither of you toasted. Instead, you looked at him, eyes softer than your voice. He looked at the glass for a moment and then to you. He takes a sip of the drink.

“So, tell me, Nanami Kento. Is this situation about friends making poor decisions together, or are we headed for dangerous territory?”

He looked at you like he was memorizing something important—something fleeting. “I don’t know…..and that’s perplexed me for a while.” he said. “But I want to find out. With you, if possible.”

You stared at him for a long moment. Then you reached for his hand, laced your fingers through his without ceremony. “Well….” you said, voice light but sure. “That’s a good answer. You should buckle up, pretty boy. You’re in my territory now.”

He didn’t answer. But his fingers tightened slightly. He puts down the glass and leans closer to you. It was like he could breathe again. For the first time in weeks, everything felt like it was exactly where it was supposed to be.

The quiet between you wasn’t uncomfortable. If anything, it was comfortable. It was layered. It was like the kind of silence that follows a good piece of music, where no one wants to speak in case it breaks the spell. Where lovers slowly danced to the tenderness of each other’s arms.

Nanami Kento sat there for a long beat, your fingers warm in his. He hadn’t realized how tightly he’d been wound the past for all this time. Not until you leaned your head lightly against his shoulder like it was the most obvious place for it to be. Like you’d done it a thousand times before.

You didn’t ask him what took him so long. You didn’t press for more. That was the thing with you. When it really mattered, you always knew when to stay quiet. Eventually, you broke it anyway. Because you were you. 

And because you were you, you had given him a chance to feel like the world was going to be alright. You gave him a moment to believe that he was just a human being, not a monster. He was a terrible person and he atoned for it — he still does. But he deserves more than that too. Sinners cannot be morose in misery forever.

“So. You told your ex-wife about us?”

He blinked. “How do you—”

“Gojo Satoru texted me a winking GIF of a champagne bottle popping and the words ‘you devil 😏’ a while ago.” You snickered at him. “He found out my number, it seems.”

Kento groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “Of course he did.”

You grinned. “Honestly, I’m flattered. Feels very film noir meets gossip column.”

He tilted his head to look at you, his expression unreadable but softer around the edges. “I didn’t mean to… make it a thing. I just… mentioned you.”

“Mm. And how much of the ‘us’ did you mention?”

He hesitated, then, because you asked, he answered honestly. “I told them we’ve been sleeping together. That it wasn’t just once. That it never felt like ‘just friends’ to me.”

Your smile faded, but not in a bad way. It merely deepened, grounded itself. “And what did they say?”

“Well, my daughter Keiko called me a coward. My son Kenshin didn’t look up from his book as he chastised me. My ex–wife gave me that look she always does when she knows I’m thinking too much and doing too little. And Gojo Satoru… well.”

“He sent the champagne GIF.”

“And started to advise me on how to text you, let me tell you about that.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “God help us all if Gojo Satoru starts producing romantic gestures.”

“I don’t know….it captured my wife’s attention, so…..”

“Well, one time’s a charm!”

Kento laughed for a moment. When he had calmed down, he looked down at your joined hands. He turned his palm slightly, just enough to skim his thumb along your skin. “They said I seemed happier when I talked about you.”

“Were you?”

He met your eyes. “I am.”

You didn’t say anything for a second. Then you shifted, swung a leg over to straddle his lap in one fluid, quiet motion. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, your mouth inches from his. The air changed between you. It was warmer, charged, full of that breathless not–quite–yet.

“You didn’t bring flowers for me.” you whispered.

“I brought honesty, pretty girl.” he said. 

“And your very thin coat.”

“And my very thin coat.” Kento starts laughing again.

You couldn’t help but lean in and just kiss him. He was too beautiful. How could you not? Kento recovered from the shock and started kissing you back with just as much passion in his heart as you did. 

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t a clash of longing and impulse. It was deeper. Familiar. Like a conversation you’d both been having in fragments, finally spoken out loud. And when you pulled back, barely, he rested his forehead on yours.

“I don’t know where this is going. But I’m excited.” He whispered.

You smiled. “Good. Because if you tried to define this with a genre, I’d have to throw you out.”

He chuckled, the sound low, private. “What would you call it then?”

“Something between slow burn and absolute chaos.”

“That sounds about right.” You nudge your nose against his, voice warm with the kind of mischief that had always been your sharpest weapon. “I wouldn’t trade it for the world.”

“Neither would I.”

“But if you keep this up ….showing up in sweaters and being honest and ruinously kissable, I’m going to start talking about you in all my acts.”

He raised an eyebrow, still close enough that your lips brushed as you spoke. “Is that a threat or a promise?”

“Oh, it’s both, pretty boy.” you said, smirking. “You’ll be immortalized forever as that guy—the emotionally complex, devastatingly hot, slow-blinking brooder who drinks tea and ruins my comedic timing because I’m too busy thinking about his hands.”

He gave a quiet, amused huff. “And here I thought I’d be the brooding muse type.”

“Oh no.” you teased. “You’re gonna be the punchline. Full bit. A ten–minute tight set on how my life derailed because some overachieving man with cheekbones and literary trauma made me feel feelings.”

He tilted his head, studying you like you were something between a challenge and a blessing. “Then I hope you tell the whole room.”

You blinked, slightly thrown. “What?”

He smiled—not wide, but true, unmistakable. “I hope you talk about me. Joke about me. Make fun of how I fold my socks or how I never eat the last bite. I hope you roast me so well they quote it online.”

You stared, mock–offended. “You want me to destroy your dignity in front of strangers?”

“I want you.” he said simply to you. “And you happen to be at your best when you’re telling stories that make people laugh. If that means I’m the butt of your jokes, so be it. I’m used to that, after all.”

You paused for half a second. “Even if I tell you a bit about apologizing to the lamp when you bumped into it?”

His laugh came quick and honest, his head tipping back for just a second. “I was half–asleep. After back to back schedules.”

You grinned. “I’m putting that in the act.”

“Fine. But then I get the right to heckle.”

“Oh really?”

He leaned in close, lips brushing the corner of your mouth. “Only during the parts where you make yourself sound like you didn’t fall first.”

You felt that one all the way down. You felt your cheeks turn red at his words, entirely flustered. Your fingers slid through his hair, slow and affectionate, grounding the moment in something a little deeper.

“Well, pretty boy….” you whispered to him warmly. “Looks like we’ve got a pretty solid two–person show.”

Nanami Kento smiled into your kiss this time.

And neither of you needed to rehearse a single word.

You just enjoyed each other’s warmth under the falling snow.

epilogue

It was a beautiful Sunday morning. The kind of bright, blindingly domestic Sunday that made you suspicious something had to go wrong. But instead, everything went right. Suspiciously right. Nanami Kento, your boyfriend, had warned you about everything, of course.

“They’re a lot, pretty girl.” he’d said, tugging at his collar like it might hide him from the memory. “They’ll ask questions. My daughter is terrifyingly witful. My son is unamused by everything. And my ex-wife is……” He paused. “Too intelligent and efficient. You already are aware of Gojo Satoru, so the warning is already there.”

“So basically, a reality TV show.” you replied, adjusting your eyeliner in the mirror. “Honestly, they’re a crowd that would love me at a stand-up show.”

Now, standing in the doorway of their family vacation home again, this time not as the whispered–about as the woman, not as the mysterious friend but as you. You took a breath and stepped in.

“Hi, hi.” you said, a hand raised like you were greeting a rowdy class. “I brought pastries and absolutely no emotional stability.”

Keiko blinked at you from across the room. Then she grinned. “I like her already, Dad.”

Kenshin looked up from his tablet, assessed you silently, and finally said, “You’re the one who said Dad folds his socks like origami.”

You smiled. “I did. And I stand by it.”

Their beautiful mother appeared from the kitchen, holding a tray of coffee. She looked at you the way women who’ve lived a lot of life look at other women. She was curious, assessing, and not unkind. If anything, she looked at you kindly and friendly.

“You must be the famous friend my ex–husband was crashing out about.” she said to you, smiling as she took your hand. “Thank you for coming!”

“I’ve been upgraded, finally. Took him long enough!” you replied with a smile, squeezing her hand too. “To ‘person who might have a toothbrush here now.’”

She barked out a laugh. “Well, he finally did something right!”

“Oh, I do not know how you deal with his sock choices.”

“Finally, someone who understands!” She cheered.

Nanami Kento, standing off to the side, looked like a man trying not to smile and failing miserably. His ears had gone a little pink as you two started chatting like you were long life friends, sharing secrets and. As the afternoon unfolded, something strange happened.

Keiko happily and quickly dragged you into a game of charades, where she purposefully gave you the most obscure clues because “you’re quick on your feet, you can handle it.” — and she was right!

Kenshin, who claimed not to laugh at anything, nearly choked on his cider when you got the impression of Kento reacting to a surprise birthday party (“mild confusion and deep disappointment, performed entirely with the eyebrows”).

Even his amazing ex–wife, who was already in love with you as her new best friend, ended up sitting beside you on the porch swing later that evening, sipping tea and saying, “He’s happier. I hadn’t seen that in a long time.”

You looked at her. “He makes it really easy. There’s still a lot of struggle, but with him, it’s easy.”

“You make it just as easy for him.” She nodded, watching her children through the window, talking with their dad and Gojo Satoru. “Just don’t make it temporary. I know he’s rough around the sides and he will make you mad, guaranteed. But he’s the kind of man who doesn’t love lightly.”

“I don’t joke lightly either.” you replied, smiling at you. “So we’re even.”

“Then I’m glad.” She whispered at you, smiling back. “We’re both finally happy and fulfilled. That’s good.”

Inside, Nanami Kento was watching you through the glass, his hand half–raised in a wave he hadn’t even realized he was giving. You winked back at him. Later, after the goodbyes were drawn out and warm and no one pretended they hadn’t enjoyed themselves, Kento took your hand as you both walked to the car.

“Well?” he asked, voice low.

“They love me, I think.” you said smugly. “Actually, no. Obviously. It’s obviously.”

He laughed under his breath. “Yes. Obviously.”

“And for the record, pretty boy….” you added, looking at him sideways. “I love them too. Not that I’ll say that to their faces. I have a reputation to maintain.”

Kento stopped walking. Turned to you. His hand slid from yours to your cheek, thumb brushing lightly over your skin. “I know, pretty woman.” he said. “But I also know you mean it.”

And that was it with both of you. No fanfare. No punchline. Just the truth. And you, leaning into it. Finally, completely, it was like the best setup of your life. You were always going to be invited to family dinners from now on.

[arminsumi]

Hi! I hope ur having a good time. Sorry, for the phrasing, English is not my first language hehe (｡>\\<) btw i really like ur writing! u keep them in character and also ur amazing at writing fluff ♡(੭´͈ ᐜ `͈)੭ can I please ask for a gojo fluff where he realizes reader always wanted to have a small boyfriend to like call him baby boy to sit on her lap and spoil him and stuff and then gojo goes apeshit like trying to sit on her with his long ass limbs trying to be a babyboy idk hehehe anyways tysm

"I'm your baby boy, right?"

GOJO さとる + fem!reader

Satoru thinks he's smaller than he actually is, and tries curl up on you like a cat.

Note : hey hey! srry i took so long to write this omggg it got lost in my drafts. but!! it's such a sweet idea thank u for sending it in!! big beefy satoru trying to make himself ur small boy is a thought that gave me life 💗😖 and thank u so much for ur kind words it means a lot!!

Satoru tries to curl up on you as if he's a little cat.

But he's not.

Ah, but he really thinks he is sometimes.

And he wants to be a little cat to you, not a big burly man or a strong intimidating menace but just a small, soft, delicate thing to be held and touched and pampered with love and care.

It makes you laugh, as you listen to him grunting and struggling to position himself on your lap and get those long limbs in order — it's one of the funniest sights; a big boy trying to box himself up like he's not 6'3 with broad-shoulders 'n thick arms 'n long spider-like legs.

"Do you think you're a cat or something?"

"Yes." he grins dumbly, balancing precariously on you as you sit. Then he sees your smile and slips off. "—oopsfuck!" he falls, gets up, acts it off, then tries again.

In bed, he wiggles down the sheets so his head is level with your chest. He wraps his arms around your middle, arches his back, and encases you between his legs. He clings to your body on his side like that, and snuggles his cheek on your chest as if it's his rightful pillow, the place where he belongs.

"Play with my hair, please?" he mumbles with pouty lips.

He smiles to himself when you fulfil his request.

Feeling both your warmth and your fingers stroking lovingly through his hair makes him drowsy. And when he's drowsy, he mumbles mental notes like "we need to buy orange juice tomorrow..." as he falls asleep.

His grip slackens as he falls asleep. In the middle of the night, he'll wake up and look at you with that puffy pouty sleepy face of his and stare for a moment, appreciating you, before tightening his embrace on your body and returning to slumber.

When he wakes up the next morning with you, he makes the same request; "Play with my hair." but with a raspy voice.

While you do so, he groaningly complains about having had nightmares all night.

"I keep dreamin' about saving the world 'n failing... but it's fine. I wake up and you're right here. So nothin' to worry about. Doesn't matter if I fail if I still have you."

He's so happy to be getting spoiled and pampered by you while curling his body up as small as possible. Happy that he has someone he doesn't have to be big and strong around. Someone who he can be a baby boy around.

Sometimes he's resting on your chest in the mornings in silence, when suddenly he rears his head up and asks "I'm your baby boy, right? Say it, please."

"Mhm. You're my baby boy, Satoru. Don't worry."

"Mm yay." he smiles to himself and resumes resting on you, his white hair tickling under your chin. "Say it again, please. Just keep saying it."

So you do, you say it repeatedly and it sounds like a soft lullaby to him. He falls back asleep with his ear pressed to your heartbeat, and feels a safe warmness in his chest.

"Oh." he startles out of his shallow sleep, "We need to buy orange juice, don't we?"

© arminsumi

I do not permit the copying/reposting/translation/plagiarism of my works. Do not steal what I've worked hard to create.

This is fictional work.

[ghoulfuckersincorporated]

Prewar!Cooper Howard has a breeding kink because he loves being a dad. He and Barb married and started trying for kids later in life than most folks around them, so much of the sex they had, especially early on, was focused on getting Barb pregnant. If he'd had his way, they would have had a whole litter of children, but hey, sometimes life doesn't work out the way you want. Still, there's the fun of trying, and there was a lot of trying. After the divorce, he's shocked when he meets someone else, and even more shocked when he feels those same urges with you. He's been trained to try and knock one in basically every time, he jokes.

At least, that's what he tells himself.

He's also incredibly possessive, and it drives him wild to think about getting to see you all swollen and filled out with his child. Particularly with you being younger that him; the ugly part of his brain is barking at him to stake a more permanent claim on you every time a guy your age so much as looks your way. Personally, he thinks he's too old to have more kids, but between his secret urges, your forgetfulness when it comes to your pill, and your twin high sex drives, well...sometimes accidents happen.

He'd be over the moon, once he knew you were happy as well (he would also worry about the news potentially being hurtful to Barb, but that'd be an issue for tomorrow). Showing you off in public, knowing that other people see how gorgeous you are and know you fully belong to him, it really gets him going, and you certainly take notice of how amorous he is when you're out together (combined with how vigorously he fucks you when you get home). Thinks you're insanely sexy pregnant and likes to watch you ride him with a big belly. You'd both better be a lot more careful about your contraception after the first baby if you don't want another, because getting to see you that way only makes his kink worse.

The Ghoul has a breeding kink because he's incredibly possessive. It's been literal centuries since he's come across anything in this world that he cares for enough to want to claim it, and you're officially claimed. He wants everyone, including you, to know that you belong to him and only him. Other ghouls can smell him on you much more strongly if he cums inside you, and he enjoys the way filling you full scratches his most primal itch. It's just an added benefit that he's almost positive he can't actually get you pregnant, but...there are records of ghouls reproducing with other ghouls. Haven't stranger things happened?

The little thrill he gets at the idea is just nature trying to take over.

At least, that's what he tells himself.

You'd be hard-up to get him to admit it, but he wants you to need him. He wants an excuse to baby you and pamper you and force you to let him do things for you without the vulnerability of admitting that he wants to do those things for you anyway because he's deeply in love with you.

You complain that your feet hurt during your journey for the day? He'll carry you everywhere you want to go from now until the end of time, if that's what you want. Stomach and appetite troubles? Name whatever you want, he'll find it for you, no matter how many caps he has to pay. Tired? "Of course you're tired, sweetheart. Let's stop for today. Here, sit down. Do you need some water? Eat this, you need some calories. Let me rub your legs and feet for you." It is endless and sort of surreal for you to adjust to.

Speaking of journeys, I think he also secretly wants to settle down a bit. He does already after he meets and falls for you, seeing how much the constant trekking back and forth across the irradiated desert takes out of you, and he definitely would want to do so expeditiously if you were pregnant. It's not like secure places don't exist in this world. He can keep you, and anyone else who may come along, safe just fine.

He'd be afraid to fuck you if you were pregnant, worried that he'll hurt you or make you sick or make something bad happen with the pregnancy. But if you reassure him, maybe beg a little, he'll do his best to make sure your urges are satisfied. Sit on his face and let him slide his tongue through your insanely sensitive folds, lie back and let him fuck you with those agile fingers while he jerks himself off. You'll miss being properly penetrated, badly, but you won't go without.

He wants an excuse to be even more protective of you than usual. Give him a reason to literally pluck men's eyes out for daring to so much as look at you, a reason to never let you out of his sight ever again. If you thought he was ready to commit violence to keep you safe before, you haven't seen anything yet.

I can't imagine it would be easy to have a big family in the Wasteland, but reminding him how much he loves being a dad would certainly have the thought on his mind.

[dark-lord-of-awesomeness]

I should work on the next Cat Stan Short! (makes this instead)

Anyway.

Bill doesn't know how long he's in the theraprism. Seconds blend into minutes into hours into days into weeks into years into centuries into millennia on and on until time becomes a blur and feelings fade away with memories. Voices he once knew are hazier then the faces they belonged to, and those faces are smudges with sounds instead of names.

Who was that human he was so obsessed with again? There was one, but perhaps the other....?

Whatever. It doesn't matter anymore.

Not the smudges or sounds or voices. Not time or who he was or where he wanted to go.

It took millennia upon millennia to the edge of time and back, but he's ready.

He's going to be reborn.

A different time.

A different place.

As someone new.

Free from everything he was or did.

A fresh start.

With a final bow, Bill Cipher closes his eye one last time-

-And Stanford Filbrick Pines opens his.

The person Stanford used to be is a distant thought in the back of his mind. Like a dream he can't quite remember. He doesn't pay it too much attention, because he's got much more important things to worry about.

Like his freakish hands, the scorn of his peers, the coldness of the hospital, and the fact he can't tear all of it to pieces and burn it to the ground. Whoever he used to be, as distant and smudged as they were, used to wield powers beyond his wildest dreams.

Leaving him with nothing but the desire to see the playground burn to the ground, and nothing to show for it but his brother poking him in the forehead and laughing at his pouty expression.

His brother.

Thats the one part in his new life he knows he lucked out on. As terrifying and haunting as the dreams of who he was are, there's one solid fact that stands out and burns across his heart whenever he tries to sneak a peek. That person, as dead and dust as they are, was alone. They didn't have anyone truly on their side, and they kept burning and burning and tearing things apart to fill that empty void inside of them.

Stanford doesnt need to do that, because he has Stanley. Stanley, his twin brother, who stuck with him through thick and thin, stood up for him when the shame of his hands became to much (Even now, even here, he was always a freak), was his loyal partner in crime and the person he could count on to soothe the raging flames that hungered and cried for him to launch himself at Crampelter and tear his face off.

Stanley doesn't have a person who he was, not like Stanford. (he'd asked once, long ago, about the memories that whispered in his mind. Stanley had just given him an odd look, then told him to get more sleep). He was normal, with regular hands, regular brains, and an understanding of people Stanford knows he used to have (or thought he had) but now lacks.

He lacks a lot of things in his new life, but that's fine. This is a fresh start.

And Stanley was the worlds gift to him. Finally, someone who'd never leave his side. His own person, who's loyalty would never waver, who'd never scheme against him, who is his in every sense of the word.

(That piece of who he was screams and cackles and cries at this. It is the best outcome. It is the worst outcome. It is exactly as it should be).

But there is one thing that bothers him about his brother. One piece that tickles the back of his mind whenever they run and play and cause chaos across this tiny pathetic town they called home.

Stanley did not have memories of who he was, but the person he was right now was.. oddly familiar. Whenever they roam the beach and find something washed ashore in the distance, Stanley's first words are always "I wonder if its a dead body!" Whenever they find rats, twisted and dead along the pier, either from poison or some other means, he always shouts "this is the greatest thing i've ever seen!" When the bullies get too much, and Stanford shoves his hands somewhere no one can see them, Stanley throws his arm around Stanfords shoulders and always says "Someday we'll show them, we'll leave this town in the dust and they'll all be sorry."

Which wouldn't be strange, but as they grow and grow and get older and Stanford learns how to hear the whispers of Before, he finds that Stanley's words echo and harmonize with the voice of Who He Was more and more, until they almost seem to speak together more than apart. Whoever Stanford used to be, Stanley is them in miniature. Stanley's smaller, of course, and less grand and powerful, but there's a thread there that Stanford can't ignore. Something inside him screams that there's a connection, and he just doesnt know how to find it.

It pokes at his thoughts more and more as they get older, go to high school, and Stanley keeps being the echo chamber and shadow of Stanfords previous self. Stanford has grown far beyond that part of him, is different in ways they couldn't hope to achieve, has found new passions in showing off with his mind instead of his might. None of these small minded humans have even a fraction of the knowledge he was born with or devoured growing up. None of them understand the music of the universe or how to twist physics. Stanfords powers are gone, but his mind is still here, and he uses it to excel more and more, dragging Stanley with him as he reaches higher and higher.

Stanley is his brother after all, his eternal companion. If Stanfords going towards the top, then Stanley will too. Even if every day Stanford gets more and more frustrated with his inability to apply himself. He knows his brother can excel if he wants to (maybe not as well as Stanford, but better than he currently is) and doesnt understand why he doesnt.

But its fine. Stanford's going places, and Stanley will follow.

And then its their final year, once high school is done he'll go to college, get a degree, then become world famous. Stanley will be by his side, cheering him on as the embers of what he was finally fade in the light of his soon to be fame.

And then its the science fair.

Then West Coast Tech.

Then the presentation.

And Stanford's fury reignites those embers into an inferno, and he is so full of rage the gaping void that he'd spent seventeen years filling bursts open.

Betrayal.

From the one who was his.

Its terrible in its familiarity.

He watches from the window as the person who was supposed to be his partner, who was supposed to be by his side and help put the terrible specter that screeched in the back of his mind to rest, gets tossed out. Tries to figure out what his purpose was, if all he was going to do was push Stanford to be his best self, then pull the rug out from beneath him and leave him floundering.

Why even have a twin, if all he was going to do was make Stanford feel worse than before. How could he, who in another life reigned terror the likes his current one couldn't comprehend, get saddled with some tiny speck of a human who selfishly-

and then he sees it.

As Pa slams the door, and Stanley tightens his fists, there is a spark.

Blue flames, dancing across his fingers as his brother looks up at Stanford in the window. For the first time in their lives Stanley is facing dire consequences for his actions. For the first time in his life, Stanley is shaken to the core as he looks up at Stanford, face full of desperation. For the first time in their lives, Stanley might lose Stanford forever.

And suddenly the connection that has been poking at the back of Stanfords mind his entire life blazes.

He was powerful, once, an eternity ago. More powerful than anything here or anywhere could imagine. The reasons and whys and hows escape him, but he knows power like that can't be destroyed. Stanford didn't have a drop of it, so it must have gone somewhere.

Into another vessel, the unexpected child, when every doctor swore up and down Ma was only going to have one. A funny story to tell relatives, another reason to distrust hospitals, an odd thing, that every test showed one babe, and then there were two.

Unless whatever process turned who they were into Stanford couldn't handle what he was bringing with him. Unless the excess, the raw power and the personality imprinted on it, was given a hastily made last minute form. Unless they were split in two, so that they'd never be alone again.

Not just his partner.

Not just his twin.

Not just his human, to drag and keep and be his.

His literal other half, who held all of their power and not a thought on how to use it.

A part of him wants to shove the curtain closed. To turn his back on the part of himself that couldn't handle his success. To go on and grow up and finally be his own separate person. To maybe watch from afar as the power he knows is hungrily sitting inside of his brother explode and tear the world asunder.

It would be.... hilarious, to watch Stanley fall apart and not understand why.

But not as hilarious if he accidentally incinerated Stanford, the only one who could help him manage their flames.

And whatever else was bubbling deep inside Stanley's soul.

Stanford raises his hand, watches the tentative smile spread across Stanley's face, and bursts into action. He is furious, but more than that he's curios.

and hungry.

What else can Stanley do, what else carried over to their new lives. He pokes and prods at the pieces of who they were, watches hazy visions of fire, of Sight, of bending the rules of the universe until they broke, even as he flings things into bags and chucks them out of the window down below.

How much is there still, and how much can Stanley use before their meager human vessels fall apart.

Not that Stanford would let that happen.

Stanley owes him after all, and he's going to make sure Stanley pays up until their both standing on top of the world.

Together.

[changbinsboobs]

How is Skz's personal hygiene like?

So for all of them im seeing the have a pretty good hygiene and are very clean and take good care of themselves. More details follow:

Chan - he is overall a clean person, not only in his personal hygiene but also in his home environment and his way of doing things he gives of...i wouldn't say clean freak vibes, but its definitely noticeable to others how he's very particular about things cleanliness.

Lee know - im hearing he likes being naked😂 its natural and healthy to be in a humans natural form. Love that guy😂 so yeah he enjoys spending time in his natural form, like how he came on earth - and he can do that best in the shower of course or while sleeping. Im also seeing him finding a lot of peace and quite in the shower and i think those are the more mindful times of day for him. He can think well and decompress in the shower so, if not for anything else then at least for that reason he does spend a good amount of time tending to his hygiene.

Changbin - for him im seeing that he's always hot so he probably sweats a lot? Like under the armpits or in the crotch area...mike in places where sweat can start smelling quicker than lets say back sweat or face or chest sweat. Im also seeing stomach/gut stuff? Hot/spicy food? Nerves? Something like this. So im leaning towards thinking that he may have some issues with body odor? Maybe he smells faster than the other guys? Or he has a specific or a stronger scent? (Ik Koreans don't have stinky sweat, they can still stink tho) (not saying he's stinky, just wanted to clarify). Maybe he often has smelly breath cuz of certain food or something? Idk. So yeah i think he may be overly conscious of that and does his best to keep himself clean and fresh...especially to come across well to others. The thing i can't pick up on here is if that complex is just in his head, like someone told him once or twice that he has to shower or that he has to brush his teeth cuz he's stinky or whatever and he took it to heart and went with it now having a conplex. Or if that people indeed find him smelly. And IF they still find him smelly despite him putting effort in being clean and fresh?

Hyunjin - He loves water!!! And im seeing him absolutely living showers. A bit like lee know i think for him taking a shower could often be the highlight of his day. Also, just to be clear i don't just mean showers when i say hygiene, there other stuff like teeth brushing, changing undies, changing clothes, having fresh smelling laundry, brushing hair, cleaning urself correctly after u use the toilet, hand washing all that stuff. For some reason tho showers have been more in focus so yeah. Anyways back to hyunjin, he loves showers and...thats not so much the topic of the reading but i think he also lives making love in the shower...👀just putting that out there very quickly. I think he takes many showers, like i can see him taking multiples a day. Now contrary to changbin i don't see him being hot all the time, nor being nervous - but i see him sweating A LOT!!! Overall im seeing him being very...liquid(?)😂 idk how to put that into words but like his body does...secrete(?) lots of fluid. So i guess he should shower more often anyways, but that doesn't bother him at all. Also i think he does take quite long in the shower & im seeing him playing scenarios in his head, fantasizing about his crushes, winning arguments, putting someone in his place just having full blown conversations and letting all the sass out in there. I think showering is truly an experience for him😂 love that for my guy.

Han - he keeps himself pretty clean too, im seeing him have a healthy routines and habits concerning personal hygiene i think his parents taught him very well when he was young so thats second nature to him and is just something that belongs to his every day life he doesn't think mich else of it.

Felix - i think he has to get reminded sometimes. Don't get me wrong i think he is clean, he doesn't smell - but that's not so much because he takes such exzellent care of his hygiene but because he's just really lucky and doesn't stink quickly and still looks good even if he skips a shower or two. I wouldn't say that's cuz of laziness or neglect, i think he can get carried away with other stuff at times and maybe struggle to structure his day or time and may forget some basic hygiene needs every once in a while like going out without brushing his teeth, or using the toilet and not washing his hands...something like that. But again he's really lucky and i bet most people don't even notice until he says something cuz he just remembered or whatever.

Seungmin - ehm...im not seeing that much about his personal hygiene but rather im seeing he's someone to judge others for theirs(?). Or maybe judge is too strong of a word, but like, calls others put. If someone lacks a bit somewhere like not doing skin care, not fixing their hair, not brushing teeth immediately after eating he calls you out, provably publically, and kind if pressures you into doing whatever u haven't done.

I.N - he thinks personal hygiene is very important and diligently takes care of himself. This is something he has to think about consciously, contrary to han for example for whom its just second nature - i.n put conscious thought and care into it. Im also seeing him following social and trend rules religiously altogether and likes to comply with those and fit in and be...obedient(?) and good(?).

[mimimui]

bllk boys as your not-so bf

includes: isagi, bachira, chigiri, nagi, reo, rin

tags: use of profanity, use of 'babe', one-sided(?), angst if you squint hard enough, discord in nagi's

a/n: inspired by my not-so bf (we don't talk anymore) :b srsly idk if that guy actually liked me or not but anyway .. enjoy !

even if he's at soccer training, he answers all your texts right away. you've seen him reply, or rather, not reply, to his other friends whenever he was with you. it feels as if isagi gives you special treatment, but in reality, you barely talk in real life. he pays you no mind when you pass by him, as if you were strangers. sure, he can act like that all he wants, but he can't forget all the late night talks you had.

you've shared secrets, fears, ambitions, and questions with each other. you've exchanged greetings, selfies, and "i love you"s, yet he's able to act as if you're nothing more to him. you look at him and there's a familiar pang in your heart, one you've experienced many times before.

how much longer is he going to hide his true feelings for you? does he have feelings at all?

the morning of the sleepover your friend hosted, you and bachira lie down comfortably on the bed, clicking through your friends' instagram stories. you're on his chest and his head is on your shoulder, him being the one clicking through while you hold your phone. he occassionally makes comments about them, saying things like "that was funny" or "ooh that one's pretty, introduce me sometime?"

you frown at his comment, but he doesn't see it. you two are always so close, holding hands and whatnot. you're always mistaken as a couple, but bachira denies it quicker than you do, which is a sign you should probably take. when you all go home, your friend sends you a picture they took of you and bachira on the bed and teases you.

your heart wrenches as you tell them "we're just friends."

you share a lot of your things with chigiri, and he does the same. you always find him asking to borrow your hairbrush, if he can take a bite of your food, use your phone, and more than you can remember. can you recall when you let him use your shirt after training? yeah, that was the only thing of yours he never gave back. why would he even keep that shirt?

on his way home, his teammates asked him if the shirt belonged to his significant other. he pauses for a moment, but then ultimately denies even having one. you get a bit irritated at times, and he has to snap you out of your thoughts at the cafe you two frequent. here you are, once again sharing a drink with one straw. yes, one.

from all the indirect kisses you've shared, you should actually just kiss at this point.

you and nagi play video games together everyday. you're always seen duoing together, so a lot of people mistake you two for a couple. after soccer training, nagi's quick to turn on his computer and ask you to play games with him. fps, rpg, horror... you've played so many games together you've lost count.

in vc, he hears you groan and he stifles a laugh. you complain the player that killed you is cheating as you click through the players to spectate nagi. when you're about to mention the flank, he says something that makes your heart pound. maybe you're imagining it, or maybe it's because of a shitty headset, but did he just call you 'babe'?

you shake your head, brushing it off. you probably just heard wrong.

reo connected his online payment to your food apps, so you don't have to pay for your orders. you refused at first, but as your face recognition detects his face, your phone was now his domain. he tells you to order food whenever you want, and not to tell him when you do, he doesn't mind.

but as you see him carrying an extra lunchbox with food he made himself, you wonder who he's going to give it to. you're not bothered, of course, it was just a cooked lunch. made by reo. personally. you mentally slap yourself for thinking about it so much. are you even allowed to be jealous of the lunchbox's recipient? you're just reo's friend, and you already have access to his online wallet, so what's the problem?

yeah... what's the problem?

he's annoyingly good at minesweeper. rin effortlessly completed the board, while you're still stuck deciding between the bottom or top tile. he acts nonchalant about his umpteenth win that day, but you know he wants to brag about it to you so bad.

you sigh in defeat, asking him for another rematch, which he gladly agrees to. and, just like all other times, he completes his board first. this time, instead of laughing at you for being slow, he takes your device and completes the board for you. he complains you take too long, and that he gets impatient when his love isn't done with the game.

wait. his what?

thanks for reading (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

[bl-inded]

Chosen, but unwanted

We have gotten enough glimpses into Faifa's childhood and trauma that need to be unpacked to understand why he behaves the way he does. And I hate to connect everything back to his mother, but it really explains why he feels so lonely despite being constantly surrounded by people.

She took him outside his home, away from his brothers and father who he loved a lot to a house with a stranger. He had the burden of being the one that was chosen, especially because he knew how much Yotha wanted that love instead. So, he bore it and did the best he could to earn that love- be worthy of that choice (not that that's something a child ever has to do! But Fa probably felt that burden nonetheless. He was a guest in his mom's new life, so he was polite and an easy child.)

Instead, not only does she make him feel like a visitor in what should have been his new home, but his mom sends him back to his dad the minute her new family gets bigger.

They are his family, but Newton, Yotha and their father have an established dynamic now that he probably feels like a cog in their well-oiled system. I can only imagine how lonely he felt after he moved back, still making sure he was not a bother in their lives.

He learnt it anyway. He learnt how to be a happy and useful part of everyone's life so he doesn't have to be alone. But all he wants to do is belong- which is a very different longing.

But he sacrificed so much of himself to feel worthy of choices he never got to make only to then realise that Faifa was the son his mother chose, but not the one she wanted.

And now that her relationship with the rest of them is more or less fixed...

He is the only one left behind. Again. No closure, no place he belongs, no purpose as the bridge, no person who can see all the pain he's borne for such a long time, and no one who is angry for him the way he is for everyone else.

Then in comes crashing into his unassuming life this cutie.

Now that he has Wine in his life, I'm thinking about what all of this would mean to his feelings- not just about Wine, but about being in love.

Wine doesn't need a caretaker, and that is all Faifa offers to everyone.

And Wine sees through his bullshit soooo quickly. Wine cares about Fa's well-being. He sees the sacrificial idiot and calls him out on the self-destructive behaviour.

But he is heartbroken- and Fa offers to "fix it"

Meaning Wine has someone else that he used to like/date. Fa is either going to help him get over it or help him get back together with this person. Knowing they are going to end up together doesn't take away the trauma. Fai has been chosen before, but he has never belonged.

So even if Wine and Faifa end up together, is Faifa the one he chose but not the one he wanted? Would Fai think that Wine would be happier with his ex?

How much of a barrier to his own acceptance will that be? I feel like Fai is convinced he could never be anyone's first choice and Wine will have to work extra hard to make sure that Faifa doesn't feel like he is discardable, or a means to an end, or like he is only valuable to Wine if he is "useful".

I want him to experience the kind of love where he doesn't feel the need to constantly justify receiving it.

[gold-pavilion]

Belonging and humanity (some more Ivan thoughts)

There's a big difference between knowing for a fact that you're a human being and getting to FEEL part of humankind. That's a thing that I feel Ivan sorely lacked. Some of his issues can definitely be traced back to it.

There's three things we know for certain about Ivan's early childhood nowadays, so let me start from those:

There were other humans around him in the slums, at least other children (for now it doesn't seem there were adults around, or none who would approach or care for the children).

However, we also know Ivan did not learn social behavior properly; for example, how or when to smile.

Going by the lonely tone of the song Nowhere and its emphasis on having no one, plus the previous point, we can infer there was no meaningful social contact with any people he knew/saw.

Ivan has been described as someone who is always learning to survive and his time in the slums must've been the same, after all; it's most likely that the other kids were competition to him (for food or other resources), threats or simply strangers with whom connections were never made.

That's to say, there were humans around Ivan but no "human community".

And that's the thing: take someone who went through a critical developmental stage with no one to care for or be cared by, learn social behavior with or practice the emotional exercises of understanding and empathy - ask that someone what "being a part of humankind" feels like, and what can he even make of it? It must not mean much more than categorizing a species, no feeling involved. And anyway, what difference does it make if there's anything else to say or not?

It's not like those are easy questions. None of the ALNST cast, with all their limitations, would be able to respond comprehensively.

But it changes things, the differences are there.

There are things that Till knows, from having a mother, learning from her and being enriched emotionally by their interaction, that I don't think he could describe but certainly has within him. Or Hyuna, who had a brother to feel that family bond and sense of community with, learning all sorts of positive social skills and having a heart full of room for empathy as she always looked out for the little Other Person next to her.

Beyond knowing their species, they know what it MEANS to be the rare and amazing human creature from these experiences of connecting, teaching, being taught, holding things in common, giving and receiving love. On an instinctual level they accessed what it feels like to be "part of humankind", which is so cool about them!!

Then you have cases like Mizi being too trusting of aliens because she was raised to feel community with one, Sua being mostly withdrawn because she didn't have a lot of warmth and community around her, Luka who was deprived of everything and then clung too hard to his first proper bond...

And Ivan, with his empty circumstances. There are a million things Ivan didn't learn and doesn't KNOW he lacked.

Of course that with his background he'd end up 1: being defensive by nature, having selfish tendencies, trouble processing emotion and socially weird habits and 2: feeling like a twisted being because of it, which is such a core aspect of his character. A human with less humanity but no idea why or how.

He adapted himself a lot once adopted, of course, and caught up an even bigger lot in his time in Anakt Garden. But I don't think he ever understood why he was "more twisted than others" and honestly, his intelligence and observance doesn't do him any favors on that front; on the contrary, I think it made him more aware of the gaps between him and other people.

And I really have to wonder if his experiences around the segyein are all that different, emotionally speaking.

I mean, of course objectively they have to be, but… his adopted life was a matter of observing his new environment, feeling like an absolute stranger because he's another species, but learning and adapting as quickly as possible in order to make himself a desirable pet that would be kept around. His experience being sent to Anakt and put in a human group was, again, feeling like a stranger because he's different to others of his own species, but learning and adapting as quickly as possible, eventually making himself an "acceptable", charming, absolutely cagey but near-perfect man. He succeeded both times.

He never did get rid of that awareness of being "twisted", though. After all, he also didn't unlearn all his survival patterns or fix the weak spots in his emotional development. As much as he progressed, the sense of not quite belonging and the faint relationship with his own humanity stayed. (With one big exception, but I'll leave that thought for the end of this ramble.)

In a way, I feel like this is exactly what made him so successful in segyein society as far as he lived. So adaptable that beyond being a good pet, he could also be trusted with and hold down an actual job, decent (faked or not, still good) relationships with segyein and, if he had any chance of survival, probably the capacity to live in their society with moderate perks.

Being an adaptable stranger who belonged nowhere in the first place… I think it's what made him more willing, more capable and more okay with mixing with the segyein like that, paired with his intelligence to pull it off.

No human pride to sacrifice. Not much humanity in the first place.

Except for the one noteworthy exception that shifted Ivan's growth: his relationship with Till.

Not only did Till embody things that Ivan lacked, which fascinated him from the start, but through his bond with him Ivan developed a lot of those traits and sensitivities that constitute peak humanity. It's a bit of the "love will make you human" trope, but on god does it apply. Ivan learned to care, to feel and to love, at times selfishly, at times messily. Buth he got pretty good at it; so much that love made him selfless and sacrificial in the end. He became a little more human for the object of his feelings. It didn't't erase all his struggles or fix his issues at large, but it was a lot. Of course he'd die thanking Till.

Anyway, that's all I wanted to get off my chest!

Humanity is a tough theme with Ivan, so I hope my thoughts about it were an interesting read.

The usual disclaimer: I've talked about 1 aspect of Ivan in this post, which does not mean this is all there is to his character or that I aim to invalidate other aspects. Just rotating this one in my head.

[homosexualgirlandbags]

Thoughts and prayers for me in these trying times. I don't want a baby but my body carves for children to work in the mines apparently.

Anyways, trans Ghost is something I like a lot. Not much is known about him, and almost everything in his life is redacted or extremely vague. Johnny learns this and gets fucking curious, almost desperate to learn something about Simon that isn't already in the files. He doesn't care what it was, he just needed the knowledge of something that isn't in his files yknow.

And out of nowhere, they began seeing each other, in a weird way. At this point, Johnny's curiosity is more than satisfied. He knows about his lieutenant preferences, of how Simon likes to spend his weekends at a shitty bar that has his actual legal name hung on the wall. (He was the only one who won in an arm wrestle against the bar owner you see. He's also fucking proud of it too, bringing the 141 there every time he could and see them question about the name on the wall). Hell, Johnny even knows that his lieutenant has 2 hot pink crop tops in his closet, and a mini skirt that seems to belong to one of Simon's ex.

So he most definitely wasn't expecting to find a picture of a girl in Simon's wallet, dated sometime when he was in his 20's, in the exact crop top and mini skirt along with a brown little purse. He pauses, hard, tiredness from fucking leaving his body as he connects the dots. His brain might have just short-circuited a little before he turns to Simon, who just seems far too amused.

"Wot? Never seen a girl with such immaculate dick game?"

Johnny might just kill the man for the shit eating grin on his face if it wasn't for the fact that he could feel himself getting hard again. Because he's a fucking nasty, flithy dog.

[sukunastoy]

NSFW ABCs (A-M) (Heian Era Ryoumen Sukuna)

An anon asked for this, and I'm not certain WHICH Sukuna they're hoping for, but I'll start with Heian Era True Form Sukuna! <3

CW/TW: Its true form Sukuna, thats the warning. Masterlist (N-Z Here!)

A = Aftercare (what they're like after sex) Bold of you to assume that Sukuna is going to stick around after he's done making you go dumb from his dick(s). But if he did stick around, he's pushing you away from him (out of his bed, off of his throne), so he can have the space to himself. You can sleep on the floor where pets belong. No cuddles, no pillow talk, (maybe some degrading praise.) You're lucky if he even offers a rag to clean yourself up with. Cause lets be honest, he's going to make a mess out of you.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner's) Definitely for him, its his chest. His big pecs (beefy man tiddies) are definitely something he's proud of. He either isn't wearing a top, or has it opened/rolled down. For his fuck toy, he loves your neck. Loves kissing it, biting it, licking it, squeezing it. Loves to mark your skin with his teeth, so you know who you belong to. And he enjoys leaving bruises where he's gripped so harshly.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically) For one, prepare for the most cum you've ever had or will ever have in your life from this guy. If you're giving him oral, you will be required to take every last drop, can't let any of the King's seed be wasted. Swallow it up like a good pet. He loves to stuff you full of his cum in other places too, and he'll hold your legs and hips up in a way that nothing can spill out of you. (Consider it a form of the King's blessings. Don't waste it.) He's not going to cum onto your body, because he wants to be inside of you when he reaches his climax and wants to see your face when he fills your insides with his unforgiving amount.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs) This man is pretty openly dirty, I mean, he's the King of Curses, who is going to say anything about one of his kinks? But, a secret in general, he really enjoys back/shoulder massages, doesn't even have to get sexual, it just feels amazing to him to work the knots out of his large muscles. Since he's so large anyway, you could walk on his back or even use your knees to massage in certain areas if your hands aren't strong enough. It's the only time you notice he's truly relaxed and not terrifying.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they're doing?) Forget everything you thought you knew about sex, because he's about to show you what you've been missing out on. Through taking advantage of villagers, receiving sacrifices/offerings in the form of humans for his pleasure, bringing maids/servants into his chambers because he's simply bored... he's had quite a lot of practice to perfect his skill. Though he generally takes care of his own pleasures, he's keen to what others enjoy, even if they deny it. And if you aren't even aware of something you might like, he'll gladly introduce it to you and get you addicted to it. (Loves to see your eyes roll to the back of your head when he's found the thing that makes you lose all control of yourself.)

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying) He will keep you pinned in the mating press, so he can fill you as much as possible, and to hit every sweet and sensitive part of your insides without mercy. Watching you hopelessly struggle beneath him as he's taking you in a very primal way, it really gets him off. (Plus his tummy mouth is in a wonderful position to provide extra unbearable pleasure.)

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.) He's definitely serious in the moment. When the king is ready to fuck you, you better be prepared. He won't be in the mood for playing around or being silly.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.) Since it's the heian era, there aren't exactly many reasons to stay well groomed, nor is it probably practiced at all. You're going to get an au natural bush that definitely matches the drapes. Don't worry, his dick(s) are so large, they're not going to get lost in it.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect) He's not romantic. You're there simply to be used by him. He enjoys watching you struggle and cry from how rough he is. You could be asleep, in the middle of a task or even eating, and he's going to take what he wants, when he wants it. The only reason he offers the slightest prep and foreplay is so he can push inside of you easier.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon) Sukuna isn't the type to jack off. That's what his fuck toys are for. If he's feeling particularly lazy, you'll use your body as a fleshlight and bounce on him while he lounges back. He's either enjoying a fine drink or smoking his kiseru while watching you work.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks) He's definitely into BDSM. In fact, the more terror you appear to be in, the hornier this man gets. He's going to hurt you, no doubt about it. You're going to get bit, choked, tied up and even whipped because he loves to hear you cry out in pain. Don't worry, even if he gets out of control and nearly takes your life, he can heal you right up so he can continue to enjoy himself with your body.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do) In his throne, or on his bed. When Sukuna wants everyone to see how he treats his toy, he's going to be forcing you to ride his dick(s) while he's lounging in his throne. He might even hold conversation with some of his servants or village subordinates, but you're going to be falling apart as he uses his arms to keep moving you. When he wants you all for himself, he'll take you to his room and own your body again and again on his bed. A perfect place to tie you up if he wants. It's also easier for when he wants to go to sleep after, he's already in bed. All he has to do is push you out of it when he's finished with you.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going) Anything can get this man going. If you've angered him or appear scared by him, he's going to take advantage of you in a sinister way. If you accidentally bend over in his presence, he's going to keep you bent over while he proceeds to fuck your brains out. When he goes to lay waste to villages, you're his prize when he returns. A personal little gift to himself after ending innocent lives.

|| Hope you enjoyed! Comments and reblogs are much appreciated! ||

[soupbabe]

Marrying La Squadra Headcanons

Anon asked: What would married life with la squadrons look like?❤️

Hihi!! Thank you for requesting, I had a lot of fun with these 😅😅 though I'll admit I lingered on the wedding back stories a bit too much lol

Formaggio

- Formaggio never in his life thought he'd be married, he always dreamed of living a bachelor lifestyle

- But y'know...sometimes couples get drunk on special anniversary trips and impulsively get married at a cheap, tourist trap chapel in Vegas

- Formaggio would've loved the stereotypical Elvis impersonator officiamt

- The morning after would've been a bit hectic on his end, but Formaggio is a man who can commit

- He's been thinking about taking the proper steps to marry you anyways, as long as you were fine with the night prior there's no harm done!

- The marriage is a secret for a while, to the team it's as if nothing changed. Your new husband was just as clingy and doting as ever

- I think if weddings are an important part of your culture and something you'd really want to do-over, I think Formaggio isn't opposed to something more formal and traditional

- Though I think he'll always prefer to tell people the story of the shotgun wedding in Vegas, definitely makes him feel cooler

Illuso

- I think Illuso is similar to Formaggio, he never thought to be "tied down" to anyone, but meeting you absolutely changed his mind

- One word to describe Illuso: Bridezilla. He wanted everything to be perfect for the wedding, he might've been the most strict during this era

- I'm sure you had to talk Illuso out of having the wedding in the mirror world because he could control everything. Though after the wedding, he started to come down to his normal self

- The clingiest and softest you've ever seen him was during the honeymoon

- Illuso wouldn't stop calling you his husband/wife/spouse, he wouldn't stop referring to himself with your last name

- Being married you was something he didn't know he needed

- Illuso wears his ring like a badge of honor, he enjoys seeing the silver band that decorates your finger that tells everyone that you belong to him

- Every time he wakes up and you both have to leave for work, he makes sure to kiss your ring before he says goodbye

Prosciutto

- To no one's surprise, Prosciutto easily adjusted to the idea of marriage and the married life

- He can be tender and affectionate, of course he wasn't scared of spending the rest of his life with you.

- Prosciutto would prefer something small, only wanting close family to attend

- Absolutely he would be open to having separate or fusion weddings if you come from a different background. He'd have a lot of enjoyment sharing your traditions with you

- There's so much more confidence within the relationship, Prosciutto smiles when you brag about your husband. A smirk graces his lips when he can hold you by the waist and introduce you as his spouse

- It's very natural for Prosciutto to fall into a house husband role, he loves unwinding in the kitchen and cooking dinners for you

- Even in the honeymoon, he'd scoff at restaurant food and insist he could provide you with something better

- He's an ideal husband if you want to get pampered and recreate the classy romance you see in the movies.

Pesci

- Getting married to you was the scariest and the happiest moment of his life

- Pesci stumbled through the novel that was his vows, when he was able to kiss you he couldn't help himself and pulled you in with anxious excitement

- Even when he proposed, Prosciutto slapped his face and told him to man up before he pulled out the ring

- Like his brother, he prefers something smaller. He wants the moment to be intimate, private

- He cried so much ever since you two married

- Half the honeymoon was spent hugging him and reassuring him that yes, you two really are married, and yes, you really do love him that much

- Marriage or not, he's still just as shy and flustered since you met him. Doesn't matter how tough he tries to act

Melone

- Melone never really thought about marriage before, but it's a welcomed surprise

- I just know that when he got to kiss you during the ceremony, it made everyone instantly uncomfortable/j. He does not care about what others think, he just likes to show you how much he loves

- He absolutely uses the title of husband to his advantage, especially for silly things like pda.

- The honeymoon phase never actually ended for him

- As you two are further in the marriage, the more Melone starts to think about kids

- No secret he's good with them, Babyface has given him more than enough practice

- But having an actual, human baby? Oh it has him all giddy and anxious

- For the first time, you actually see him take a situation seriously. Whether you're giving birth or having a baby through alternative means, he doesn't want to have kids unless you know you're ready too

Ghiaccio

- I don't think marriage ever crossed Ghiaccio's mind growing up. Meeting and falling in love with you opened up so many doors

- It definitely scared him, if you weren't on the other end of the aisle waiting for him, he would've become a runaway groom

- Ghiaccio would so go off and rant about how nothing much has changed ever since you two got married. To him it's just "some name change and extra paper work"

- He'd say that he doesn't feel any different, but that's so far from the truth

- Tease him by calling him your husband, call him by your last name, and watch how his face turns pink and he tries to hide a smile

- It takes the longest for Ghiaccio to settle into married life. I'm not sure it fully registered to him how long you and him have been together

- He never thought he would be loved the way you love him. No matter how hard he pushed people away, you stayed and warmed his heart <33

- That being said never joke about divorce it'd freak him out. He'd cry.

Risotto Nero

- The married life with Risotto is special, as it brings out a completely different side of the capo

- May be an unpopular opinion, but Risotto is right up there with Illuso when it comes to being a Bridezilla

- All he cares about is adhering to your plans. He'll go above and beyond for research to make sure you won't get scammed

- Like yeah. He may have threatened the florist behind your back, but like. What was he supposed to do? The florist was the one trying to pass off rhododendrons as hydrangeas.

- But once the wedding is over, he's exhausted and looking forward to the honeymoon

- Solidifying the marriage made Risotto fully let down his walls around you. He smiles more, he's more physically affectionate, he lets you know that he belongs to you too.

- While you two try to keep chores and tasks equal, swapping out who does what, it's hard to deny that Risotto loves it when it's your job to cook

- He thinks it's adorable when you tie an apron around your waist, roll up your sleeves and get to work.

[angelcent]

ABOUT A GIRL・❥・S. GOJO

from an old ask: how do we feel about tattoist!gojo?! and your first tattoo being done by him. contains. tattoo artist gojo, tattoo virgin reader, grungepunk!gojo, fluff

lıllılı.ıllı.ılılıı — about a girl / nirvana

✧˚ · . tattoist!gojo is constantly recommended by people because he's known for several things: his pure attention to detail, his versatility in tattoo styles, how light his hand is, and how comfortable he makes his clients feel. he can be a little overwhelming and intimidating, though.

✧˚ · . unlike suguru who can be a bit pretentious and internally judgmental about his clients choices, tattoist!gojo really doesn't care as long as it's not something too offensive.

✧˚ · . his studio is decorated with an assortment of movie & concert prints, as well as pictures he's taken with suguru and shoko or their other friends. at the front desk is his ugly clay coffee mug that megumi made for him as a child that he now uses to store pens. it has a lot of personality and makes you feel at ease when you walk through the doors and fill out your paper work.

✧˚ · . when you first meet satoru, he doesn't take much notice of you because he doesn't want you to feel leered at; it's a common occurance for male tattooists to make others uncomfortable; and you're trusting him with such a vulnerable process, so satoru keeps his distance. keeps it professional.

✧˚ · . as it's your first time, he gives you a rundown of the entire process and is honest—blunt—about the pain you'll experience, but also reassures you that you'll be okay. "anyway, don't give that much though," he grins, absently twirling his pen. as if he hadn't just almost frightened you out of the door. "I'll take good care of you, hm? leave it to me." and he says it with such self assured confidence, that it completely eases your nerves.

✧˚ · . tattoist!gojo texts you a checklist in order to prepare for your appointment—what clothing is best, possible snacks to bring (water is provided), an on-call friend in case you want to be picked up, and oddly, what music you like?

✧˚ · . whatever is your music type is, you walk into his space on the day of your first session with it softly playing inside the shop. tattoist!gojo is talkative; walking you through his entire sanitation process and the tools he'll be using. unbeknownst to you, satoru is observant in his daily life and in his profession. he quickly caught the way your shoulders were drawn up with nerves, how you wiped the palm of your hand over your thigh. and the more you hear him talk, the more relaxed your body language becomes. it's why he does it.

✧˚ · . tattoist!gojo in an old washed out band shirt again. it's what he always wears, and most belong to suguru. his best friend has given up on his clothes being stolen after so many years.

✧˚ · . tattoist!gojo just as talkative when he's finally putting ink on your skin, and it surprisingly keeps your mind off the pain. sometimes you tune him out, but the rumble of his attractive voice keeps you grounded. satoru will talk about anything and everything. he tells you about his first tattoo—three eyes behind his ears on each side. six in total. and how he got them done at this small punk show when he was sixteen and egged on by his best friend.

✧˚ · . tattoist!gojo has ink all over his visible skin— arms, neck, you even catch a peek of more inked skin below the collar of his t-shirt when he leans down. what's cute is all the small doodles in the empty spaces between the bigger pieces, and he tells you how he did most of them himself whenever he's bored. some are done by friends, like a small happy face near his knuckle from haibara.

✧˚ · . as much as he tries to keep this professional though, satoru slowly becomes attracted to you over the course of your session. he rarely hits it off with someone so well, and he finds himself listening intently to every piece of information you give him about yourself.

✧˚ · . he can be a bit of an asshole sometimes, but you either call him out on it or bite back. he loves that.

✧˚ · . tattoist!gojo is great at calling to check up on your healing, giving you reminders on how to maintain it until the next session. he can't help but want to hear your voice, so he calls instead of texting or emailing like he usually does. you don't know any better, though. works in his favor.

✧˚ · . on your last session, tattoist!gojo is filled with the pride that never gets old at seeing the piece almost finished. what was once a mere idea is now brought to life and forever inked on your pretty skin. and you seem excited about it as well.

"see, not so bad now, was it?" he hums, wiping at the final touches. he doesn't bother to fight back the smirk. "told you I'm the best." "hm, you're alright. I guess." you tease, chuckling when he immediately looks up at you looking like a kicked puppy. "I'm kidding. thank you, satoru. really. I'm already thinking of what to get next, actually." if he were a dog, his ears would be perked up. tail wagging. he almost wants to barf.

"yeah? you sure you're not just saying that cause you'll miss seeing me?" he jokes, but deep down he's hoping you'll want him to remain as your future artist. even if that's the only way he'll keep seeing you, he'll take it. he's enjoyed far too much the way you make him feel wanted. "maybe I am." you murmur. swallowing your pride, you let the words spill out of your mouth. "but what if I wanted to see you sooner? you said I should go to your friends show this weekend. it'll be my first time, so it'd help to have you there." as soon as the words come out of your mouth, you're already regretting being so bold. satoru is just a friendly guy, he obviously just wanted his friend to get support and probably says that to everyone. so you backtrack immediately. "b-but if you can't or don't want to it's okay! sorry I just—" "'course I want to, buttercup. heh, I said I'll take good care of you, remember?" he laughs a little too loudly, quickly looking down at your finished piece. he wipes at the clean skin, pretending like he's working but he's just hiding his reddened cheeks. he hopes the crack in his voice was only audible to him. doesn't want you to see what a loser he is and how much you affect him.