#these are how the items i look in my head

[caitlynsrighteye]

Hi! Can i request a caitlyn x reader? where reader is starting to get baby fever and is getting sensitive about it and doesnt want to let caitlyn know cause she dont know how cait would react if she says she wants a baby? ... Could be wholesome or smut. Or both honestly... Thanks. I literally read all the things you wrote already keep up the good work i really enjoyed them.

Baby fever with Caitlyn

G!P Caitlyn Kiramman x reader

Contains: SMUT, fluff, wlw, g!p, fem!reader, established relationship, vanilla, cowgirl, blowjob, soft baby fever and conceiving

wc: 3.2k

Masterlist

She already goes through so much. Plate is always full with duties and priorities. Sheriff of Piltover and head of the Kiramman name. Standards to live up to fully, whether it’s set by herself or by others. Leaving you early in the morning with a quick kiss to your forehead while you’re still asleep and coming home late after another long day at work.

And you. Giggling, smiling in awe as you stroll the Piltovian markets and pass by a children’s clothing store. Walking around inside to find the most adorable shoes in the shape of lions, bear onesies and tiny shirts with almost cringe-worthy quotes. You pinch the edge of one hanging on a rack with other shirts, taking a closer look at its size and how your hand covers its entire torso.

Your heart throbbed at the sight of all of these miniature clothes. Watching a couple push their toddler in a stroller, browsing toys while the small child happily holds the item they picked out. You would often be scrolling on your phone, randomly coming across pov videos, watching a baby in a onesie attempt in climbing up a seesaw to ride it.

The sound of their sweet wordless voices, the soft looking chub on their cheeks, and you could almost smell the baby breath through your screen.

The baby fever has haunted you, lingered deep in your thoughts. It even had you confused, you thought you’ve been ovulating since last month.

You sit on the couch in the living room of you and your wife’s shared home. Legs tucked up on the sofa while you lean on the arm rest, once again scrolling on your phone with an opened book left forgotten on your lap.

It was sometime in the evening, Caitlyn should be back soon. The fireplace crackling, and the flickering light glowing on your features while you dream of a life you could grow with whom you love.

You heard your front door open and heavy feet stepping inside your home. Caitlyn finds you, stupidly smiling at your phone while you continue to watch the same videos over and over again.

“What has you grinning like that, Darling?” She says. You turn your attention, finding a tired, but sly smirk tilted on her lips as she makes you way to sit next to you. You fix your position and she sits down, hip to hip, throwing an arm around your shoulder, trying to peek at your phone.

You tilt it away slightly. “Just…” you weren't sure if this was a good time to tell her, but the thoughts have been eating you alive. You gently sighed, figuring out how to break the news.

“I've been thinking a lot,” that was a start. She had leaned forward over her lap to look you in the eye with her one and only. One not covered by a dark blue eyepatch. Your fingers fidgeted, tapping the backside of your phone as you tried swallowing the uncomfortable lump in your throat.

She took your cheek in her hand, turning your head slowly but surely to meet her gaze fully. “My love, you can tell me anything,” she said with such comfort in her tone. Though tired after a long day she's still there to reassure you when you're in need. Which just makes you more sure that you want to start something with her. To share a life with her and something beautiful you both create.

You inhale deeply, exhaling the breath before you say, “What would you think about trying for a baby?” You face winces just slightly, bracing for a negative reaction.

Caitlyn doesn't say anything at first, but with her hand still on your cheek her thumb rubs it gently. Her lips pressing together, curling upwards, smiling along with her eye that squints while staring into you deeply.

You both sat together in silence. The smell of wood burning, the warmth of the fire, its glow highlighting your soft expression. Her knee touching yours, hand caressing your cheek. She huffs to herself.

“Darling, that's what you were so nervous about telling me?” the hand on your cheek reaches for a strand of your hair, tucking it behind your ear.

Your hand closest to her reaches for her thigh to fiddle with the fabric of her pants. “I just thought… with you being so busy with work and everything else, I thought it would maybe be too much. I didn’t want to be selfish,” you look around the room. “And it gets quiet around here, maybe a child of our own can fill that void, you know?”

She takes a moment before leaning in. Her soft lips meet yours in a tender kiss, slow and full of love. Noses brushing together as your lips tangle.

She breaks the kiss, eye slowly opens with a sweet smile on her lips.

“Love, in what world would that be selfish? I would love to have a child with you,” her voice so soft it’s almost a whisper. You search for any signs of uncertainty, and when she expresses nothing but genuine assurance you jump from your spot on the sofa, launching yourself into her arms. She catches you, hugs you close with her arms holding your waist tightly while your arms are around her neck.

You giggle into her shoulder. Feet swinging in pure joy. You repeatedly say ‘thank yous’ and ‘I love yous’ in her neck, giving her skin soft pecks while she leans in your touch.

You sigh in relief. Kissing up her jaw before planting a kiss on her mouth. Your palms squishing her cheeks, holding her still and close, feeling her smile within your passionate kiss.

When your lips break off from hers, her hands meet yours on her cheeks, holding them gently in her grasp, thumbs rubbing with reassurance..

“This would make you happy, dear?” She asked, wanting to make sure you were perfectly fine with this new, important idea.

You nodded excessively, tightening your grip in her hands before bringing them to your face and kissing each knuckle.

“It would make me the happiest wife in Runeterra.”

-

You and Caitlyn had planned a night together. A night Caitlyn knew not to work late. The papers in front of her laid half finished. Pen twirling in her fingers as her eye watched the clock tick with each and every passing second. Counting the minutes before it's time for her to leave.

Right when that minute hand struck 12, signaling a new hour she was up on her feet, scrambling to gather her things while attempting to put on her coat mid walk.

She could feel her heart pounding through her chest. Sweat began to form on her brow in anticipation. Kicking off her boots and climbing her way up to your shared room. The smell of lit candles led her, like a bloodhound sniffing out a trail.

When she finally reaches the bedroom door. She stares, gulping down a nervous lump. Why was she so nervous? You both have been married for well over a year now, how could this be any different?

She grabs the door knob and turns it. Pushing the door open till she’s met with the sight of you, and oh what a view you were.

Sat at the end of your shared bed, one leg over the other, leaned back on your hands that have been fidgeting with the sheets for the past couple hours. The candle lights flickered and reflected off your glistening eyes that nervously met with hers. Deep and icy blue.

Your cheeks were flushed. Imagination alone was enough to get you flustered but with your wife standing in the doorway, her single eye skimming down your chest. Breasts bound inside your pushup bra and matching panties growing damp.

It had taken Caitlyn a second to process. Process how lucky she was for winning over a beautiful wife such as yourself.

“You're absolutely stunning, my love,” she says quietly. As if speaking too loud will scare away all the love and sexual desire you both were feeling.

She stays by the door, staring, admiring, or maybe a cover up of her wobbly knees that grew weak at the sight of you, worried she'll trip and fall and ruin the moment.

So you stood up, the bed slightly creaking as it shifted. You walked slowly, enough for her to burn an image in her head of your hips swaying throughout the short distance from the bed to the door. The eye contact was on and off. A nervous glance to the side every now and then, but when you were toe to toe, you reached for her hand, gave her a slight glance with rosey cheeks and a sly, knowing smile.

She let you guide her to the bed, hands interlocked while she tailed behind you, having an amazing view of your pretty ass covered in lace panties. Halfway towards the bed you turn back around, continuing to walk backwards while your attention is on her. You stop when you feel the back of your knees hit the mattress.

You let go of her hand to ride yours over her shoulders, pushing her coat off her arms and having it fall to the floor with a slight thud. She goes to undo the buttons of her shirt but you stop her.

“Allow me,” you say softly. She’s hesitant as fist, but puts her arms down and watches your hands move along her chest. Your fingers tremble against the material. After every few buttons undone you glance up, looking if she’s still staring at your hands. Her shirt opens revealing her bra and you help shimmy off the shirt. Once her shirt is on the floor along with her jacket you lean into her, kissing her soft lips.

Caitlyn holds on to you like instinct, like her hands were made to cling to your hips. You run your hands up her stomach, passing every curve of muscle to her underboob where you push up the mounds of fat. She moans in your mouth, sticking her tongue in after you’ve given her permission to do so. Your tongues swirl together inside your mouth, your arms wrapping around her neck to bring her in closer. Hers follow up the dip of your back to your braclip, separating the clip with expertise, letting your boobs free.

You gasp from the cold, lips still in contact. You pull her closer, switching your spots and making her sit at the edge of the bed. Your hands rest on her thigh for balance, kissing her deeply till her neck is arched back. One of her hands on the bed, keeping herself up while her other is on the side of your neck, fingers curling under your ear.

You pull your lips away, taking in the heated blush you’ve painted on her cheeks. You can hear her breath, chest rising and falling as she waits for your next move. You slide off your loose bra straps, removing the clothing and giving her a knowing nod before going back in to kiss down her neck. The further down you go she leans back onto her elbows. You place gentle pecks on her skin, sucking on her defined collarbones. One of your hands leaves her thigh to lower her bra, allowing her breasts to slip from its tight fabric.

You suck on one of her hard nipples and finger the other. You hear her exhale softly under her breath, feeling her intense gaze on you. Latching your lips around her bud, sucking unhurriedly as your fingers pinch. A gentle and harsh juxtaposition. You meet her stare, observing every little twitch whenever you peck over a sensitive spot. Back onto the path of open mouthed kisses along her fit body, making sure each ab gets the attention it deserves, before met with the waistband of her work pants. Now kneeling on the floor between her legs, the everyday bulge of her show-er print twitches just slightly when your hand passes over her zipper.

Glancing back up where she gives you a consensual nod. You’re skilled in this art of pleasure, but something about today makes your knees weak underneath you. You kiss her clothed groin before undoing her pants and grabbing both sides of the waistband, pulling it down along with her undergarment till it's off her ankles and thrown somewhere on the floor next to you.

Her member was half hard, a slight leak at her tip, but floppy on her thigh.

You can help with that.

You use your hand to help guide it into your mouth that’s wet from salivation. She throws her head back and hisses as you suck on her soft length. Her cock grows harder by the second with each bob of your head.

She whimpers under the touch of your mouth that becomes more compact and tight as she hardens, your throat getting shallower as her tip grazes the back. Once she’s hard enough for you to stroke your hand along it you pull your mouth off till it's only her tip between the warmth of your lips. You jerk her with your hand while sucking on her sensitive cockhead.

“Oh.. yes baby, fuck,” she lays back, head digging into the sheets and her hips gently buck when you bottom out on her cock. Gagging when she twitches, just that centimeter of movement felt as if she went deeper. You bob up and down her cock. Fully engulfing her flesh in your warm, wet mouth. Her hand found its way into your hair, brushing anything in your face and holding it up in a makeshift ponytail. Keeping it out of the way while using you as leverage.

Her chest heaves and arches. Ball sack ready to squeeze out what is stored, but you don't let her. You pull off of her, earning a struggling sigh from your wife. Cock standing tall, twitching on edge.

She lifts her head to look in your direction. “Darling–”

“Finish inside me, baby,” she watches you stand and climb onto the bed next to her, placing a hand on her cheek and turning her head for a kiss. She lays surprised, but gives in less than a moment later. Swinging an arm around your waist.

You both kiss while she rolls you over onto your back. She gets on top of you and you gasp when you feel her erection poke your inner thighs that spread wider for her. She grinds herself on your clit to your naval, her hands on boths sides of you while yours pull her face closer, kissing her deeper.

Your hands follow the fabric of her bra around her torso to unclip it. She pulls away from you for just a second to remove her bra before coming back in to trade spit. One of her hands slips to your panty waistband, tugging it from the back to pull it off your ass then down your legs while you kick the lace off and throwing it somewhere in the room.

She breaks the kiss for you both to look down at her erection, glistening with your spit and leaking pre on your pelvis. Your drenched hole twitches in anticipation, beginning to get impatient.

With just her hips, she aims her tip to your entrance. Her swollen head meeting between your folds before accidentally slipping back up to your clit from how soaked you were.

“Shit,” she says. You both giggle, feeling like it was your awkward first time with each other all over again.

She tries again, using her hand around her shaft this time. Letting go once her cockhead had dipped inside, then she let her hips take over, slowly thrusting. You take it inch by inch till her baby maker has met your slickness.

Your back arches, adjusting around her while she kisses your breasts. Your fingernails digging into her shoulders.

“Oh fuck…” she whispered in your cleavage, kissing up to your neck where she pecks it softly. “You feel so good,” the same phrase she's mentioned almost everyday of your marriage, but today with added intimacy of creation.

You moan, feeling yourself loosen and ready for her to start thrusting. You buck your hips and whisper a “Fuck me, baby,” in her ear, your breath sending chills down her spine. She pulls her cock out halfway, then rams back in. A low-tempo pace with harsh thrusts to make sure she hits as deep as she can each time.

Her lips leave your neck to watch you look breathless. Eyes half lidded, sweat building on your forehead and your sweet moans escaping your mouth. So beautiful. You're the woman she married and hopefully soon to become pregnant with her baby. She leans in and passionately kisses you. Wanting to feel every part of you while you conceive.

Her hips snap against yours. Her sack clapping on your skin as she does her best to kiss your cervix with her tip. Hard shaft penetrating your sopping hole, walls clenching and tightening. Holding onto her length like you never want her to exit.

Your wife groans deeply, completely addicted to the feeling of your insides wrapped around her girth. Her hips keep pace, trying to increase in speed yet tires.

You push up on her chest, flipping her over so you're now straddling her cock. Quickly bouncing your ass on her lap.

In shock she groans, “Ah~ fuck, darling.” Her hands find your hips, helping you bounce harder.

“We're making this baby together, aren't we?” You say. Lifting your hips up then back down. Your ass slapping on her thighs with each bounce. You tits following your motion, bouncing in circular rotations.

You lean over her till your chest meets with hers. You kiss her eyepatch before trailing pecks to her lips that are moaning whenever you squeeze around her.

“Oh fuck, Cait–” you moan. Her tip abusing your sweetest spots, tickling your kidneys when she feels so close to your soul. She wraps her arms around you, bringing her knees to a bend and thrusting up into your cunt. Your lips still latched, tongue finding hers in her mouth, swirling around as your insides tighten.

The bed creaks underneath you, her thrusts becoming relentless. You cuss gutturally into her mouth, squeezing her hard as you gush around her. Your body is shaking uncontrollably on top of her.

She makes a few more harsh thrusts before releasing into you, keeping her cock deep inside your heat. Both of you moan together as you stay interlinked. Body combined as one, hot with intimacy and love, and hope in conceiving.

You both fall onto your sides, still stuck together as you hold each other close, not wanting to part. Her hips buck slowly and gently, making sure no cum escapes and wastes.

Breathing hard, air feeling steamy. Overheated bodies relieved by the cool sheets of the bed. Her arms hold you tight, while you hand plays with her navy hair roots on the back of her head, massaging her scalp.

“I love you,” she says softly. Her face tucked in your neck, eye closed with exhaustion. “I love you so much.”

Your lips curl into a sweet closed mouth smile that she can feel when your cheek flexes on her forehead.

“I love you too, my love,” you both lay in silence, enjoying the comfort of each other. You don't know if it worked this time, but you will try over and over again till you finally have a part of your wife growing inside of you.

Note: AHHHHH!!! Thank you for the request and thank you for your patience. I've tried getting this done all week but i was so busyy!

Hope you enjoyed and thank you for reading everyone :))))

Have a good day/night♡♡♡

[cowboybeepboop]

Delight

"Fuck, you’re so beautiful… My pretty baby."

Pairing: Robert “Bob” Reynolds x fem! Reader 

Genre: Smut

Word count: 2.5k

Summary: Pampering Bob turns into much more. 

a/n: As always, send me any requests you might have!! I love writing them, also, if anyone would like to be tagged in anymore of my Bob/Lewis Pullman fics let me know!!

For the past 14 months you've been acting as sort of Bucky's assistant, helping him to keep track of the new avengers and keep Bob company when the team goes out for missions/training. This being one of the days where just you and Bob occupy the tower.

When the rest of the team has left for training or other missions, the tower always feels a bit different. There's a certain tranquility, but there's also an underlying sense of loneliness that lingers in the air. And that's exactly how it feels today.

Bob, who spent most of the morning in his room meditating, walks downstairs to the main area, rubbing his tired eyes. He notices you sitting on the couch, and for a moment, there's a shyness in his gaze that betrays his otherwise soft-spoken nature.

"Good morning, Bob!" you greet him with a friendly yet sleepy smile. Bob gives you a small smile back, the tiredness in his eyes still evident.

"Mornin'... you’re up early," he replies in his soft, slightly timid voice. He walks over to the couch and sits down next to you. It's clear he's a little disheveled, his hair sticking up in odd directions and his clothes slightly rumpled.

"Bucky woke me up when they left," you groan, stretching your arms in front of you slightly. "He's so loud." Bob chuckles lightly, nodding his head in understanding.

"Yeah, he can be a bit... enthusiastic first thing in the morning," he says, a hint of amusement in his voice. He then looks at you, his eyes still tired but a little bit of curiosity now in them. "And how about you? Did you sleep well?" he asks, tilting his head slightly, the gesture almost making him look puppy-like.

"I could've used some more sleep but that's okay," you turn to face him, a mischievous smile on your face. "Hey Bob, I've got an idea.." Bob raises one eyebrow, a little glint of intrigue in his eyes. 

"An idea, huh?" he says, his voice still soft and somewhat timid. "What kind of idea? Should I be worried?" He gives you a half smile, clearly curious but also a bit nervous at the same time.

"Oh most definitely!" your grin only grows, "Stay right here, I'll be back in a second." you pat his shoulder before scurrying off to your room. Bob watches you go with a mixture of confusion and amusement in his eyes. He stays seated on the couch, his tired gaze fixed on the spot where you disappeared. Quickly you grab things you can use to pamper the man; face masks, razors, tweezers, etc. 

When you return with your supply of 'pampering' items, Bob raises both eyebrows, a hint of surprise in his expression. "What's all this for?" he asks, eyeing the items you've laid out in front of him. There's a touch of apprehension in his voice, as if he's both curious and a bit wary of what you've got planned.

"I'm gonna pamper you today," you grab the fluffy headband and slip it over his head, brushing his hair back and revealing his handsome face. "Just trust me and relax," Bob's eyes widen slightly as you slip the headband onto his head, and he looks a bit taken aback by your sudden desire to pamper him. 

"Pamper... me?" he says, the word sounding a bit foreign on his tongue. There's a mix of uncertainty and curiosity in his expression, but he trusts you enough to go along with it. "Alright..." he says softly, attempting to relax his tensed shoulders, "I'll try to relax. Just... don't go full makeover on me, okay?"

"You're too pretty for makeup, Bob," you giggle, slowly putting a mask on his face, fixing it to fit his features.  "Now we'll let this sit for the next 15 minutes," you slip one on your face to match, relaxing back into the couch as you flip through movie options on the tv.

Bob looks a bit self-conscious when you compliment his looks, a hint of a shy smile playing at the corner of his lips. He tentatively touches the mask on his face, feeling its unfamiliar coolness against his skin.

"So, what kind of movies are we looking at here?" he asks softly, his eyes darting to the Tv and then back to you.

"Lets see..." you murmur, spending all of the 15 minutes trying to find a movie with Bob. "Okay, is this one alright?" After a long and arduous browsing session, you finally settle on a movie. Bob leans back on the couch, making himself comfortable, his mask still on his face.

"Yeah, that one looks fine," he replies softly. There's a hint of excitement in his eyes, a break in his usual tired expression. 

As the movie begins to play, he looks over at you, his gaze betraying a mix of gratitude and a hint of unease. "Thanks for... this," he says, gesturing to the mask on his face.

"Thanks for letting me do it," once both of your masks are off to the side you begin to mess with his eyebrows. "This is gonna hurt a little bit," you tweeze a couple hairs earning a small hiss from Bob. 

Bob winces a bit as you start to work on his eyebrows. He's not used to physical pampering, but he can't deny the fact that it feels kinda nice.

"Okay, ow, ow, ow," he mutters softly, flinching a little with each pluck of a hair. Despite the pain, he tries to keep still, a mixture of discomfort and resignation on his face. After a few moments of tweezing, he lets out a soft sigh. "Are you almost done?"

"Just a few more minutes.." you murmur, moving to straddle him, your ass softly resting against his thighs as you continue focusing on his face. 

At first, Bob's eyes widen in surprise when you straddle his thighs, clearly not expecting the sudden proximity. A hint of pink appears on his cheeks, and he gazes up at you, his expression a mixture of flustered and confused.

"Uh... okay," he mutters softly, trying to keep his composure even as his heart rate quickens just a bit. Bob takes a deep breath and tries to focus on anything but the way your body feels on his, the close proximity making him slightly flustered.

Bob's breath hitches slightly as your hand grips his cheek, turning his face from side to side. He's clearly unused to being handled so gently, and the closeness of your face to his sends a shiver down his spine.

"Um... uh.." he stutters, words failing him as his gaze flicks from your eyes to your lips. The contact between your body and his, the way you so confidently invade his personal space, it's both unsettling and exciting to him.

"Is something wrong?" you shift slightly on his lap, looking at him concerned. Your hand gently caresses his face. Bob's heart races at your gentle touch, his pale cheeks flushing a pinkish hue. He looks up at you, the closeness of your face bringing a mixture of tension and vulnerability in his expression.

"No... nothing's wrong," he mutters softly, his tone betraying a hint of nervousness. He's clearly overwhelmed by your proximity, the feeling of your body on his lap, the way your hand gently caresses his face. His eyes dart to your lips, then back to your eyes, and he swallows hard.

As you shift on his lap, Bob's hands instinctively find their way to your waist, gently gripping it as if to steady you. His touch is tentative, almost reverent, as if he's touching something precious and fragile.

Heat pools in your stomach as Bob holds onto you, your hips mindlessly moving down on his ever so slightly before you catch yourself in the act. "Oh, uh, sorry I'm slightly restless." you try to awkwardly brush it off.

Bob doesn't miss the way your hips move down on his ever so slightly, his grip on your waist involuntarily tightening a bit in response. The action sends a jolt through his body, and he swallows hard, his gaze fixed on you.

"It's... it's alright," he mutters softly, his voice slightly huskier than usual. He tries to hide the effect your closeness has on him, but there's a hint of desire in his eyes that betrays his composure.

Bob's eyes darted to yours, searching for any signs of objection, his own eyes filled with a tentative hunger. He starts to grind his hips upward, almost sneakily at first, as if testing the waters. His erection grows with each subtle movement, pressing against you through his sweatpants. His breathing becomes shallower, his hands on your waist guiding you in a rhythm that matches his own. 

The atmosphere in the room changes, growing thick with unspoken desire.

Your head falls onto his shoulder, your breath hot against his neck, small gentle moans leaving your parted lips. “Fuck, Bob.” You quickly stand up, taking a few steadying breath as your set your stuff onto the table. 

Bob's eyes widen at your sudden decision to stand, disappointment and confusion clear on his face. "Wait, what's wrong?" he asks, his voice a mix of concern and curiosity. 

He's still a bit flustered, his cheeks flushed and his arousal clearly visible through his sweatpants, but he's more confused by your sudden change in demeanor. He reaches out to grab your wrist, his touch tentative, "What are you doing?"

“I’m just cleaning up a bit,” you slide out of your shorts and underwear, biting your lip as you move back between his legs, fumbling with the waistband of his pants. 

You take a deep breath, your eyes darkened with lust, and lean down to kiss Bob deeply. His hands move from your waist to cup your ass, pulling you closer to him. He kisses you back with a passion that surprises you, his tongue exploring your mouth eagerly. 

You feel his hands begin to slide down your thighs, urging you to straddle him once more. You oblige, settling over his lap, aligning your body with his. He pulls your shirt over your head, exposing your whole body to the chill air. 

With a grind of your hips, you feel the head of his cock nudge against your entrance, still covered by the fabric of his pants. The anticipation is agonizingly delicious. Bob's hands move to the waistband of his sweatpants, pushing them down just enough to free his erection.

You sink back down onto his lap, the tip of his cock teasing your wetness. He groans into your mouth as you take him in, inch by inch, feeling him stretch and fill you completely. Your hands grip his shoulders tightly as you adjust to the feeling of his length inside you.

With a needy whine, you rock your hips back and forth, savoring the feeling of him stretching you open. Bob's grip tightens on your ass, guiding your movements as he thrusts up to meet you, his eyes never leaving yours. 

The sound of your skin slapping against his fills the air, along with your increasingly desperate moans. You lean back, placing your hands on the couch cushions for support, and grind down on him, taking his entire length with a shuddering gasp. 

The new angle hits your g-spot, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your body. Bob's eyes glaze over as he watches your breasts bounce with each movement, and he can't help but reach up to fondle them, his thumbs brushing over your hardened nipples. 

His hips buck upwards, driving into you with a fervor that matches your own, your wetness making each stroke smoother, each thrust more urgent. With a surprising surge of strength, Bob stands up with you still impaled on his cock, his arms wrapping around your waist to support you. 

He carries you over to the nearby armchair and gently lowers you down into it, your legs draping over the sides. He positions himself in front of you, his muscular frame towering above as he takes over the pace of your lovemaking. 

Your eyes widen in a mix of awe and arousal at the display of his power, feeling utterly dominated yet cherished in his arms. You wrap your legs around his waist, urging him closer as he begins to thrust into you with a gentle yet firm force. 

Bob's movements are calculated, each one hitting the perfect spot within you, as if he's reading your body like a map of pleasure. You lean back, arching your neck, and he takes the opportunity to kiss and suck along the delicate skin, leaving a trail of love bites in his wake. 

Your nails dig into his back, leaving faint marks as you scratch him in your passion. The sensation sends a thrill through his body, spurring him on as he continues to fuck you with increasing vigor.

The sound of your moans and the wet slap of your bodies echo in the quiet room, the intensity of your connection growing with each passing second. You take one of his hands and bring it to your mouth, sucking on his fingers before tracing them down to your clit, guiding him to give it the attention it craves. 

His touch sends waves of pleasure through you, and you feel your orgasm building, threatening to overtake you at any moment. Bob's eyes never leave yours, watching every expression of ecstasy that flits across your face. He adjusts his angle slightly, and you gasp as he hits that spot again and again. 

Your breath comes in pants and gasps, your eyes glazed with lust. His own need is palpable, his body trembling with the effort to hold back. But he's determined to bring you to the edge first, to hear you scream his name in pleasure. 

As you ride the wave of your climax, you can't help but bite down on his neck, leaving your own mark on his skin. His groans of pleasure only serve to push you higher, your body clenching around him as you come. 

The sensation of your tightening pussy is too much for Bob to handle, and with a final, powerful thrust, he joins you in release, his hot cum filling you up as he spills over the edge. For a moment, the two of you stay like that, panting and trembling in the aftermath of your shared passion, before he gently pulls out and sits down beside you. 

You lean into him, your bodies sticky with sweat, and he wraps his arms around you, holding you close.  Bob's heart is racing and his breathing is ragged as he holds you close to his chest. He's completely dazed by the intensity of what just happened, the room still filled with the evidence of their passion. 

He gently brushes some sweaty strands of hair out of your face, his touch now tender and loving, a stark contrast to the heated passion of moments ago. "Fuck, you’re so beautiful… My pretty baby." he whispers, his voice a soft, reverent tone.

[mysteryshoptls]

SSR Jade Leech - Shore Celebrant Vignette

"The light I had been continuously chasing"

[Ultramarine City – Part in Plaza]

Grim: Ooh, there's a ton of souvenirs being sold over there, too.

Rook: You're right. We should go take a look.

Jade: There is a fascinating store that isn't in an easily spotted location, as well. I can point it out as we near it.

Malleus: A fascinating store? I wonder if they carry more unusual items. How exciting.

Riddle: When Jade says "fascinating," I feel a little― no, very uneasy… However, I'm also interested.

1. I'm excited!

Jade: Oh my, I had no idea you were looking forward to it that much. I am elated, of course, but now I am feeling the pressure. Jade: I do hope it will strike your fancy as well, [Yuu]-san.

2. I'm nervous…

Jade: No need to be so frightened. This is just a lovely little town with such bright and cheerful people, no? Jade: I'm sure there aren't any items there with any kind of shady origins. Most likely…

Riddle: Have you gone to that shop with Azul or Floyd?

Jade: Not at all. Those two were not interested whatsoever, and passed by the store without stopping.

Jade: And that was merely because, according to the flyer plastered on the storefront, they source their wares directly from merfolk…

Jade: Some of their available merchandise include items such as fortune-telling seaweed, or instruments and accessory cases made out of shells.

Jade: I've heard they even raise seahorses with anemones on their heads.

Jade: None of that is all that unusual for us merfolk. So that is why they had no interest in going inside.

Jade: However, I'm sure it is filled to the brim with objects land-dwellers like yourselves would have never seen before. I do hope you will enjoy it.

Rook: Oui! Just hearing about it is quickening my pulse.

Grim: Hey, do they got anything to eat, though? I wanna eat all the delish stuff they got from under the sea!

Jade: It did seem like they sold what would be considered standard fare for merfolk, so I'm sure they'll have something of the like. For example…

???: Woah, hey… Is that you, Jade-kun!?

Jade: Oh my, if it isn't you…! I'm afraid it has been some time.

Jade: Yes, I'm Jade Leech. Thank you for everything you did for me back then.

1. Do you guys know each other?

Jade: Indeed. I had previously attended a training camp for merfolk who would come to the surface world… Jade: He was one of the people working there. He had his work cut out for him while looking after us.

2. Who is this guy…?

Jade: Are you aware of the training camp specifically created for merfolk who would come to the surface world? Jade: He was one of the people working there. He took very good care of us there.

Jade: I must say, I was not expecting to run into you here at Ultramarine City… Are you on vacation?

Training School Staff: Actually, I'm working. Well, I say that, but we've got no merfolk attending our little school right now.

Training School Staff: I'm just scouting out some new places in Ultramarine City to help in our walking course.

Jade: I see. If you were to showcase many beautiful locations, there may be more interest within the merfolk community to come to land.

Training School Staff: That's right. I'm gonna come up with a plan so amazing that it'll even get you from back then excited.

Rook: "From back then"…?

Training School Staff: Ah, whoops. I gotta get back to work.

Training School Staff: I'm glad you're enjoying yourself on land, Jade-kun. Tell the other two I say hi!

Jade: Of course, I'll let them know. Goodbye.

Jade: Sorry to keep you all waiting. The shop I'd like to show you is over this way. Let's head there now.

Grim: Yeah! Let's go already!!

[Ultramarine City – Sunshine Bay Restaurant]

[everyone chats away]

Jade: Oh also, we ran into one of the staff members from the land acculturation camp during our excursion at the Part in Plaza today.

Georgina: My, my, all the way in Ultramarine City? What an unexpected coincidence.

Jade: Indeed. He said he was glad I was enjoying myself on land.

Georgina: I see… It seems the staff there did so much to take care of you while you were there.

Georgina: Even when my husband and I would need to come to land for work, neither Jade-san nor Floyd-san would want to come with us at all…

Georgina: So there were times when we thought you would return to the sea without any interest of staying on land.

Jade: I had no idea you thought that way… This is the first I've heard of this.

Rook: The staff member we met earlier did allude to a little something from your past…

Rook: It seems to me like you didn't have much interest to the surface world when you were younger, Jade-kun.

Georgina: That's true. At the very least, it looked as if he could enjoy himself plenty under the sea without coming to the surface.

Jade: Yes, that is true. I was quite content there.

Georgina: Back then, even his teachers would report that he was doing well, with no issues.

Georgina: He would constantly be praised on his classroom etiquette, grades, and the way he presented himself…

Georgina: Which is why I was surprised one when his homeroom teacher relayed to me that "Jade-kun hasn't come to school" one day.

Jade: Ah, that was in middle school, yes.

Riddle: You mean to say you were absent from school without authorization?

Jade: That wasn't the case. I had no intention of missing classes whatsoever.

Jade: However, this situation was due to an unavoidable circumstance. That's because…

Jade: I had gone missing for three days straight.

Rook/Riddle: WHAT!?

[Ultramarine City – Sunshine Bay Restaurant]

Jade: However, this situation was due to an unavoidable circumstance. That's because…

Jade: I had gone missing for three days straight.

Rook/Riddle: WHAT!?

Riddle: Well, I assume since you're here with us now that you were able to make it home safely…

Rook: I can't just let you say that you went missing and not ask anything. …Were you caught up in some sort of incident?

Jade: …It happened a few years ago.

Jade: I went missing the day after a terrible storm. I do recall that I was quite excited that morning.

Riddle: Why's that?

Jade: Oftentimes after a rain or thunderstorm, it becomes much easier to find strange and unusual items milling about.

Jade: So while I was off wandering, I had finally found something interesting. There was an object floating in the cold, dark water.

Jade: It was giving off a faint light, shining red, blue, green in a continuous rhythmic pattern…

Jade: My younger self was completely taken in by it with one look… And so I chased after the light as it drifted further and further away from me.

Rook: To see little Jade-kun chasing after a small light within the dark depths of the ocean…

Rook: Ohh, how brave he must have been. Just imagining it brings a smile to my lips and a tug on my heartstrings.

Jade: Indeed. It's hard to say just how long my sweet, innocent baby self swam for…

Jade: My tailfin was starting to feel heavier and sluggish, and just as I was about to give up on the impossible task I had set myself…

Jade: The light I had been continuously chasing had finally appeared right before me!

Riddle: Finally, the story is getting somewhere. What happened next?

Jade: I reached out my arm as far as it would go, and just I grasped that light…

Jade: The world suddenly started spinning around me.

Jade: I had gotten caught in a whirlpool.

Jade: It was a location known to be dangerous waters that we were told not to go anywhere near…

Jade: But because I was so focused on capturing that strange light, I had ended up in such a dangerous place before I had realized it.

Jade: Goodness, how terrifying it is to possess such youthful impetuousness…

Riddle: That's not the point here, now, is it?

Riddle: For you to be caught in a whirlpool up in those northern seas… I've read in textbooks that those were the primary causes of shipwrecks in that area.

Riddle: And yet despite that you were able to find your way home unharmed… It seems you somehow have the devil's luck.

Jade: Oh no, I was not completely unharmed, not at all!

Jade: I ended up in a stretch of ocean in which I could not get even a single tiny fish to come near, and for three days and three nights, I wandered with an empty stomach…

Jade: By the time I finally made my way back to more familiar waters… I was completely despaired, thinking it was all over.

Rook: Le misérable! That must have been such a frightful experience.

Jade: Yes, I still cannot forget it to this day. When I think of the look on my mother's face as she waited for me out front of our home…

Rook: Your mother's face?

Rook: Do you mean... She looked completely worn out because you had disappeared?

Georgina: Yes, indeed. I had been so, so worried… Right, Jade-san?

Jade: …Back then, my mother simply smiled, saying, "You've finally come home…"

Jade: Before squeezing my whole body EXTREMELY TIGHTLY…

Jade: Her embrace was so tight that it would make even Floyd's squeezing taunts seem adorable.

Rook/Riddle: Well, that's…

Rook: It must have been a very warm embrace.

Jade: Absolutely. Every single bone in my body cracked.

Georgina: Mhmhm. I simply could not contain my joy when I saw my beloved son home safe for the first time in days.

Riddle: On top of breaking curfew without prior notification, he also hadn't come home for three days.

Riddle: If we consider those circumstances, it's only natural that he would have received such a severe punishment.

Georgina: Oh, it seems like things are a little more rigid in your household, Riddle-san.

Jade: Our family is fairly hands-off.

Jade: Not only have we never had a curfew, but neither have we been scolded for not coming home for a number of days.

Riddle: Eh? Then why did she… squeeze you, Jade?

Riddle: If there is no issue with you not coming home for a few days, then I can't imagine why you would have received that sort of punishment.

[Riddle comes to a realization as Georgina smiles]

Riddle: …Ah, my apologies. It wasn't a punishment, it was an embrace.

Georgina: Well, of course, it was because his school had contacted me.

Rook: I see. So that was all due to his disappearance not staying a family matter.

Georgina: That's right. I don't mind one bit if it inconveniences me. However, it is a completely different matter if it were to cause any other person trouble.

Georgina: I don't care how they spend their own time, but the onus is on them to take care of everything themselves.

Jade: In the end, after all that, just as was said, I was "squeezed" tightly…

Jade: Add onto the fact that I had been swimming for quite a long time, and my whole body was aching all over for the next few days. I ended up resting at home from school for the next week.

Jade: When I look back on it now, it truly was quite the blunder. I was severely laughed at by Floyd, as well.

Georgina: Which then led to the two of them into another big fight, so I had to hug the both of them then.

Georgina: The both of them were quite sulky for a little while after that, but by the time Jade-san was ready to go back to school, they'd completely made up…

Georgina: The next thing I knew, those two had gone off together somewhere. Children truly are a wonder.

Riddle: How utterly unrestrained… This sort of thing would never have come about in my home. Maybe that's why I'm so incompatible with you two.

Rook: I suppose this all comes from the fact that you value your children's independence.

Rook: It seems the upbringing of the Leech family is quite similar to my own family's.

Jade: Well now, that's fascinating to know. I would love to know more about your family as well, Rook-san.

Rook: Hehe, perhaps, if the opportunity unveils itself. By the way, Jade-kun…

Rook: In the end, what was that strange light that you had found?

Jade: Well…

[Ultramarine City – Sunshine Bay Restaurant]

Rook: In the end, what was that strange light that you had found?

Jade: Well…

Jade: It was a toy ring. It was the type that was battery-run and would light up…

Jade: Perhaps it was due to having been in the water for too long, but by the time I had come to, it had broken and stopped working.

Rook: Oh là là… What a shame.

Riddle: You wandered off during school hours, trespassed in a restricted location, and worst of all, you were absent from school without permission…

Riddle: THAT IS NOT NEARLY AS BIG OF A PENALTY AS YOU SHOULD HAVE RECEIVED FOR BREAKING SO MANY RULES!!

Jade: Is that so? What a harsh thing to say, Riddle-san.

Riddle: This falls nowhere near any levels of "harsh"! Besides, you fell into that dangerous situation merely because you weren't paying careful attention, right?

Riddle: So why is it that you couldn’t learn from what happened and try to fix your behavior?

Riddle: Even just the other day in alchemy class, you had to be stopped by the professor from mixing together a forbidden concoction.

Riddle: I truly cannot understand why you would do something you were told not to, despite having been given the proper warnings.

Jade: Perhaps it's because... it's simply human nature to want to do something especially after being told not to.

Riddle: DON'T SPLIT HAIRS! Good grief, this is why you're always…

Georgina: …...

Rook: Oh, is something the matter?

[They watch Riddle berate Jade]

Georgina: Hmhm, I'm just somewhat happy to see Jade-san with a friend who would be upfront and chide him like this.

Georgina: Thank you as well, Rook-san.

Georgina: It's not often that those around him understand him for who he is. I'm simply elated to have you look after him so kindly.

Rook: There's no need to thank me. I am just enjoying seeing how his mind works.

Georgina: Mhhm, to think he has such wonderful classmates and upperclassmen taking care of him… Jade-san is quite the lucky one.

Jade: Oh, my. Mother, you aren't trying to drag Rook-san into anything troublesome, are you?

Georgina: I was simply telling him how wonderful it was that you were able to become a student at Night Raven College.

Georgina: It seems that spending every single day like this with your fellow school mates has been quite a stimulating experience for you.

Jade: Yes, indeed.

Jade: A waylaid visitor from another world. A direbeast that was specially allowed to enroll as a student, despite his origins.

Jade: An upperclassman who is a world-renowned great mage.

Jade: A mysterious upperclassman with keen senses of observation and is quite receptable.

Jade: And finally, a hot-headed classmate who is not only at the top of our class, but also the Housewarden of Heartslabyul.

Jade: There are so many more individualistic personalities there as well that I never have the time to be bored.

Jade: There may come a day that I return to the ocean, yes…

Jade: But at the very least, I am certain that I still have a very enriching school life ahead of me, as well.

Jade: This experience will also be included among my school life memories… So, I must see tomorrow's Eternity Float be a success with everyone's help.

Jade: We will absolutely flip that boat as hard as we can, and recreate the tale.

Georgina: Well now, I am truly looking forward to tomorrow now.

Jade: Entrust it to me. I'm certain that this wedding will be one to remember.

Requested by @clove-noko.

[not4simp]

OOPSIES!

You got caught red handed smoking!

featuring - Sylus x reader, Caleb x reader

a/n - i can't do endings and english is not my first language so forgive me for any grammatical or structural mistake. Maybe I'll continue and make a version for Rafael, Zayne, and Xavier idk thoo.

Sylus

Sylus is an observant man. Every small detail, every precise moment, every specific word, does not go unnoticed. So it was quite a surprise that you have gone so long without him noticing your minor addiction. There were quite a few times where you almost thought you were done for. But hey, luck was truly on your side.

3 months ago You had invited Sylus over to your place to just relax. He had brought some food over and placed it over the kitchen counter where he came across 13 lighters splayed out. At first he thought you had taken an interest in collecting them, but upon taking a closer look it was from the same cheap brand you could find in a nearby mini market but in form of different colors. ‘sweetie what’s with all these lighters?’ he asked amused.

You paused for a moment, every time you used a lighter it somehow always ends up lost, frustrated you bought a whole bulk the other day. ‘oh I just love lighting up scented candles’ you waved it off. Sylus didn’t press further on and left it at that. That day Sylus went home but found not one single candle present in your house.

2 weeks ago Under the hot scorching sun you draped a shawl over your head trying to shield your boiling scalp from the immense heat. For the past days Sylus and you had just finished running some business errands and now had some free time to hop from one stall to another checking out what the locals had to offer. Within a few stalls Sylus had gone to purchase some refreshments leaving you some cash to look around and buy anything you wanted. You were looking through some fine jewelry when something else caught your eye.

A beautiful gold-plated ashtray adorning with intricate carvings. It was cool to the touch contrasting with the current weather and truly one of a kind. ‘An ashtray?’ Sylus appeared holding strawberry lemon soda in hand. ‘exquisite don’t you think?’ i said eyes still on the item. Sylus nodded an agreement, ‘let’s take a look at what other stores have to offer , oh and i already payed for it’ nudging his head towards the ashtray in my hand.

Present It was late at night yet the street lights illuminates the dark. Sylus and you had just drove through Linkon taking in the gorgeous city. It was cold and quiet everyone was fast asleep but you were parked in a 24 hour fast food restaurant enjoying an ice cream cone.

‘sweetie where’s the charger?’ he asked rummaging through the glove compartment. ‘oh yeah it’s in the armrest console’ you quickly replied. As Sylus reaches out to open it you had just recalled that it was where you had kept your Marlboro stash. Panic flowed through your chest ‘wait!’ you exclaimed, but it was too late and all you could do was sink into your seat.

Sylus examined the pack, opening it to find 4 sticks left 'Kitten this can’t be good for you, you just bought this 3 days ago' his voice carried out softly. I whipped my head to look at him 'how did you know when i bought this?' my brows furrowed questioning him. 'oh sweetie you can’t think I’m that oblivious' his lips curl into a smirk. 'if you knew all this time then why didn’t you tell me?' 'i thought I’d wait until you would tell me yourself besides, Mephisto is having a blast scouting for lighters to add to his collection' you gasped as a hand flew to your mouth feeling disbelief 'that was you?!' a finger pointed at him.

Caleb

Your head hung low looking aimlessly as cars passes by. A hand lays on the steel railing supporting your whole body while the other holds a cigarette between your index and middle finger.

You couldn’t comprehend why you continued this habit. Caleb is back, he’s alive, and you both have made up. So why couldn’t you put this habit behind you? Perhaps you were paranoid that he could be taken away from you any moment just like last time. Perhaps you’re worried that Caleb has changed and you couldn’t accept it, or perhaps-

You shut your eyes and took a long drag as the warmth overcomes you. The heavy bitter taste dances on your tongue as the nicotine settles in calming your nerves. You really needed to find another alternative way to soothe these thoughts. You were to caught up with your own mind when your ears perked up. It was as if someone has called your name.

Light footsteps clicked through your apartment’s living, You flipped your head towards the glass door behind you and to your suprise your favorite Fleet-space Colonel was currently peeking through your bedroom to look for you. Shit. At times like this you surely regretted giving him a spare key to your home. Quickly you dropped your cigarette onto the ground stumping on it before kicking it off your balcony.

The glass door slid and in walks Caleb with a big smile 'Hey Pipsqueak I’ve been calling out for you what’s got you so preoccupied out here?'. You shrugged and gave a nervous smile slowly inching back, afraid that the persistent tobacco scent would be noticed. 'Not happy to see me?' he chuckled grabbing your waist and pulling you into his embrace.

You noticed that he pulled away longer than normally but his hands were still placed firmly on your waist. 'name' his voice was sharp. It was the tone he carried when commanding the space-fleet. Oh surely you were fucked. 'hmm?' you cocked you head. 'Have you been-' he paused taking a scan of the small terrace. 'Have you been smoking?' brows furrow. Feeling caught red handed you didn’t bother answering him but rather threw your gaze towards the bustling streets.

A hand reaches your cheek guiding you to look at him But you’ve never, Why would you… Your gaze meets his and as the two of you locked eyes a silent understanding falls. His face softens up ‘You know you don’t need to carry all your burdens and worries alone anymore right?’ 'i knoww' you whined. 'how about you throw this away,' he said whilst reaching for my back pocket and waved the cigarette pack in front of me, 'and we’ll get dinner, my treat' he winked playfully. 'but it was expensive' i groaned frowning a bit. 'all the more reason to stop pipsqueak how about we also stop for dessert’ he squished your cheeks. ‘and snacks’ your voice muffled from the force against your cheeks. Caleb chuckled 'alright we have a deal' placing a chaste kiss on your forehead.

[grapejuice32]

florist!reader and older!rafe's first time having sex together? 🩷

florist!reader x older!rafe

warnings: oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, cockwarming, praise kink

word count: 1.7k +

It had been plaguing your mind all day, how much you wanted him. You had tried to push the thoughts out of your head, but when you sent him a picture of what you were wearing for him to reply with ‘you look so goddamn pretty, sweetheart’, you were pushed into action and closed the shop early. It would be a few hours before he finished work and you used it to your advantage, making a trip to the shops before going home, bags in hand. 

The sound of his car pulling up had you running down the stairs, careful not to slip on the tiled floor. Anxiously, you waited by the front door, arms behind your back as you swayed in your spot, unable to stand still. You watched him step into the house, pulling your lip between your teeth as you did. 

“Baby, ‘m ho-“ he cut himself off as he saw you, his breath catching in his throat. As if in a trance, he closed and locked the door behind him, his eyes trained on your figure. He drank in the sight of you as he made his way over to you, his steps unhurried as he committed every detail of this to memory. 

Your lips pulled up slightly and you glance down at yourself, clad in a nightgown that showed more that it concealed. It was shorter than your usual ones, the fabric cutting off so that it only just fell past the swell of your ass. He finally reached you, his hands instantly gripping your hips while he continued to look at you, lips parted. “Do you like it?” You mumbled, needing to hear him tell you how you looked. 

“So fucking’ pretty, sweetheart.” He drawled, tightening his hold on your hips ever so slightly. He finally pulled his eyes off of your body, meeting your wide eyes that were desperate for his praise. “You’ve made my whole week,” his eyes flickered to your lip caught between your teeth. He tutted, one of his hands leaving your hips to take cup your cheek, his thumb pulling your lip from your teeth. “Told y’not to do that, didn’t I? Gonna hurt yourself otherwise.” 

You just nodded, whispered a ‘sorry’ under your breath. “Got this for you,” you gestured to the item that barely clothed you.

“Yeah?” He hummed, “ ‘s really nice, thank you, baby.” Your tongue darted out to lick your lips before you leant up to wrap your arms around his neck, pulling his head down to press your lips to his. His hand slipped from your face, his arms moving to wind around your waist, pulling your body closer to his. A soft moan left you, the sound swallowed by his mouth on yours. He responded by pulling you closer, his hands slipping down to grip your thighs as he hoisted you up, your legs instantly wrapping around his waist. 

He broke away from the kiss as he carried you up the stairs, making quick work of taking you to the bedroom. You began to suck lightly on his neck, wanting to have as much contact with him as possible. He was gentle as he lay you on the bed, your chest rising and falling with heavy breaths as you watched him undress. The way he loosened his tie has a small whine leaving you, the sound causing a smirk to tug at his lips. When he was only in his boxers he lay beside you, leaving a trail of kisses along your collar bone to your neck as he moved to hover his body over yours, bracing his weight on his forearms place on either side of your head. 

You parted your legs to accommodate is body between them, his hips pressing down against your own. “Rafe,” you sighed as tilted your neck to give him more access to your skin. 

“Hm?” He didn’t break away, focused on leaving his mark on your skin. Instead of saying anything, you hooked your legs over his hips, pulling him down so that his bulge pressed into you. A moan came from the back of your throat as you rolled your hips up, your clit catching deliciously on his clothed cock. Rafe cursed against your skin, his breath shuddering at the contact with your barely concealed cunt. 

Rafe sat up, leaving you to whine at the loss of contact but he just shushed you as he slowly slid the nightgown off of your body. A groan came from his as he took you in, laid there in nothing but a delicate thong, a visible wet patch on the silky fabric. “You’re killin’ me, look at you,” his hands trailed up your thighs, “ ‘s this all f’me?”

You nodded, a small gasp coming from you as he pinched the inside of your thigh. “Say it,” his voice was soft, but the words were firm. 

“It’s-“ his thumb brushed over your clothed clit, he raised his brows for you to keep speaking. You swallowed thickly, your legs trying to close around his hand, but he kept them pushed apart, “All for you.”

“Yeah?” He brushed his thumb over your thinly covered clit again, putting more pressure on it this time, your hips jerking up at the contact. 

“Yeah,” you breathed. 

He hummed, taking your thighs in his hands and spreading your legs further. He lowered his head and licked a thin stripe up to your clit over your panties. Your fingers threaded through his hair, hips arching as he began to suck on your covered clit. One of his hands left your thighs to press down on your stomach, keeping you pinned to the bed while he used his tongue to put pressure on your clit again, the action causing your toes to curl. It was only when your nails began to dig into his scalp that he stopped, rolling your ruined panties down your legs and throwing them on the floor somewhere. 

He got up on his knees and reached to his nightstand drawer, a condom in his hands but you shook your head, stopping him from opening it. “D’you not want to?” He asked softly, stopping everything. 

“I do,” you assured, your eyes flicking down briefly to the large bulge in his boxers. “I wanna feel you, don’t want that.” You said as you tried to pull the condom from his hands. 

“Baby, I don’t think-“ he started, pausing as he took in your wide, glassy eyes. 

“Please?” His throat bobbed but he nodded, just whispering a small ‘okay’ before he placed the condom back on the nightstand. 

Your breathing was uneven with anticipation as he rid himself of his boxers, your breath catching in your throat at the size of him. He lined himself up with your opening, looking to you for confirmation. Slowly, he pushed just the tip of his cock into you a mewl leaving your lips as he did. “Not gonna fit, Rafey.” 

He shook his head, pushing in by another inch, “ ‘m gonna make it fit.” You pulled him down so that he was closer to you, your perked nipples brushing against his chest. Ever so slowly, he fully sheathed himself inside of you, the both of you gasping in unison at the feeling. 

He was still for a moment, letting you adjust to the size of him as he planted kisses on your cheeks. It was only when you pressed your hips up that he started to move, any thoughts of being gentle and slow flying out of his head at the warmth of your tight walls around him. His thrusts were hard, each one had the tip of his cock bumping your cervix. 

He hiked your legs up, manoeuvring you so he had you in a mating press. The deeper angle had unintelligible strings of sounds that might have been moans, pleas or his name leaving you. Your head was clouded with please as your nails dug into his back, your back arching and pressing your body impossibly closer to his. 

You clenched around him, one of his hands gripping your hips to hold you in place as he relentlessly bullied his cock into you. His grip was tight enough to leave bruises and the thought had you crying around him your nails scratching down his back as pressure built up in your stomach. 

“I know,” he mumbled lovingly as if he wasn’t fucking you within an inch of your life. “Doin’ amazing f’me.” The words had you panting, your toes curling, the pressure in your core becoming unbearable. “Makin’ me feel so good,” he continued, the words bringing you closer to the edge. Rafe’s free hand slid between the two of you and he pressed down on your stomach, groaning as he felt the bulge of his cock there. “Takin’ it so well, sweetheart,” he said as he pressed down on your stomach, a cry leaving your lips as he did. “Bein’ such a good girl f’me.” 

The praise pushed you over the edge, your orgasm hitting you at full force, your thighs shaking around him. You were barely aware of what was going on until you felt Rafe trying to pull out of you, your cunt squeezing around him to keep him inside of you. “Inside,” you whispered hoarsely, “please.” He didn’t argue, didn’t have the time to as you lifted your hips to meet his, the walls of your cunt unbearably tight as you came down from your orgasm, pulling his own from him. 

He swore, thrusting himself into you again as he buried his cum inside of you, painting your walls white with it. The last thing he expected to hear from you was the breathy ‘thank you’ that fell from your lips as he pumped you full of his cum, the words filling his head with all sorts of depraved thoughts. The room was filled with heavy breathing from the two of you as you tried to catch your breath, it was only when he moved to roll off of you and pull out that you spoke, “Stay.”

He shook his head, “Gotta clean you up, sweetheart."

You whined, “Please, jus’ for a little. Wanna feel close to you.” Your words were slightly slurred, eyes half lidded. He couldn’t find it in himself to deny you, so he carefully moved the two of you, so you now lay on his chest, his cock still buried deep inside of you leaving you warm and full of him. A satisfied smile was on his face, and he couldn’t help but wonder just how much you’d let him do to you. 

reqs are open for florist reader x older!rafe

[orellazalonia]

Certified Genius, Unlicensed Moron

Summary: Exploring more of your relationship and dynamics with the rest of the Avengers, they are well-acquainted with how much whiplash and how many headaches you give them on a daily. (Bucky Barnes x Avengers!reader)

Word Count: 1.2k+

A/N: The other going on dates fic didn’t have enough unhinged questionable reader for me. And to be honest….I didn’t like it as much as the prequel. So! I wrote this to cheer me up and feed my need for dumb & genius reader. Purely self-indulgent but hopefully you like it too. Happy reading!!!

Main Masterlist | Original Fic

Being an Avenger came with certain expectations. Tactical prowess. Cool one-liners. Teamwork. A mild-to-moderate understanding of physics.

You had exactly none of that. And yet, you were thriving.

You had taken on aliens, mercenaries, HYDRA agents, and that one time, an actual raccoon with a vendetta. You once guessed the password to a SHIELD vault on the first try by inputting “boob69.” It worked. Nobody ever explained why. You were untouchable.

But nothing broke the team more than the group chat.

It had been a standard team communication channel at first: briefings, updates, emergency alerts. Then you joined and everything fell apart.

-

GROUP CHAT: “Earth’s Mightiest Dumbasses”

Tony: Meeting in the conference room at 9 A.M. sharp.

You: what’s 9 AM in frog time

Natasha: What does that mean?

You: like if a frog wears a watch is the time upside down

Tony: Please, I’m begging you to just answer the question like a normal person.

You: normal is a strong word

-

You once sent a photo of a pigeon wearing a hat with the caption “me when I infiltrate enemy lines.” No one questioned it. Mostly because they couldn’t.

After all, you’re the same person who confidently gave a TED Talk about the strategic history of medieval siege warfare mid-mission while wearing Crocs. The same person who once said, “Vibranium tastes like disappointment,” and then refused to elaborate. You somehow manage to both ace every debrief but also once asked if Wi-Fi is just helpful air soup.

Thor called you “small thunder” after you electrocuted yourself trying to microwave aluminum “as a science experiment.” You did not have lightning powers. It was just dumb luck. And you’d do it again.

-

GROUP CHAT:

Clint: who the hell labeled all the fridge items in latin?

You: idk man maybe someone wants you to be cultured

Bucky: You labeled the eggs, “Future ankle peckers, do not anger them”

You: ...and have you been attacked? no? you’re welcome.

-

Bucky still doesn't understand you. Not even a little.

And a lot of times, that haunts him.

He watches you eat hot sauce straight from the bottle like it's a health tonic, quote Shakespeare when you’re tired, and wear mismatched crocs into certain battles because "they're my war shoes." One has a tiny sword glued to it.

You once looked him dead in the eye and said, “I wasn’t born. I was assembled in a Target parking lot during a thunderstorm.”

And then walked away.

He’s been thinking about it for months.

Another time you brought him a bag of gummy worms, patted his head, and said, “For when the depression demons attack.”

Despite all your nonsense, he can’t stop looking at you like you hung the moon with glitter glue and then ate half of it because that brand “smelled like frosting.”

He had tried to pretend you’re a nuisance at first, shaking his head and sighing at some of your antics. But it’s all morphed to reluctant acceptance of the fact that he’ll have to live with so many unanswered questions. That doesn’t stop him from taking care of you though.

He brings you hot chocolate after missions. He makes sure you’re behind him when it gets dangerous. He drags you out of fountains you jump into because you wanted to know what the regals birds like about it. He even downloaded TikTok just to understand your references.

One time you disappeared in the Tower. For five hours.

He found you in the broom closet, sitting cross-legged with three Roombas, wearing a crown made of forks.

“They know secrets,” You whispered. “I’m learning their ways.”

Bucky blinked.

“…I brought you pizza.”

You gasped. “I knew the prophecy would come true.”

-

GROUP CHAT:

Steve: Can someone explain what this is?

Image attached: You in a vent near the ceiling wearing a bad ghost outfit like a cursed Halloween decoration, eating Cheez-Its.

You: surveillance

Steve: Why…

You: i wanted to know what Bucky does when I’m not looking

Bucky: They’ve been up there for 6 hours. I offered help. They hissed at me.

-

Despite it all, you were deadly in the field.

You’d spout off the periodic table in the middle of a fistfight, pull off gravity-defying stunts “because I saw it in a cartoon once,” and solve encrypted Hydra codes in 30 seconds, all while questioning if Mickey Mouse and his friends ever had to pay rent to live in the Mickey Mouse clubhouse.

Bucky, your begrudgingly loving boyfriend, no longer reacts when you do things like wear medieval armor to a stealth op for morale reasons or quote Shrek during hostage negotiations. He just quietly takes your hand and steers you away before you lick anything radioactive.

Steve once asked why you were on a mission wearing roller skates. You said, “Speed and style, Cap,” then crashed directly into a vending machine and pulled out a single uncrushed Twix with solemn reverence.

Tony called you “the human embodiment of a broken Google search.” Wanda called you “a mystery I’ve chosen not to solve.” Natasha just called you “terrifying.”

Because for every baffling thing you did, like calling her “Mom” during a sniper stakeout because “you give off stern PTA energy”, you turned around and cracked encrypted intel before Bruce finished making coffee.

Once, in a mission briefing, Rhodey asked, “Wait, wasn’t the Hindenburg caused by a gas explosion?” and you, dead serious, replied, “Who’s the Hindenburg? That sounds like a guy who collects teeth.”

Everyone went dead silent.

Sam just nodded slowly and said, “Right, okay. Yeah, cool. This is the part where I stop paying attention.”

Nobody could figure you out.

Bruce once ran 14 psychological profiles on you. None of them matched. One came back as possibly a goat in human form.

Clint swears you once explained string theory using sock puppets and a waffle. And it made sense.

-

GROUP CHAT:

Tony: I’m updating the security protocol. Everyone needs to re-register their biosignatures.

You: what if I am a security risk

Tony: You are. Absolutely. Every day. In every way.

You: then I win

Natasha: What did you win?

You: You’ll see 😈

Tony: I have forgotten what peace feels like anymore.

-

You called yourself “The Distractinator” in combat.

Enemies didn’t know what to do with you. Were you a genius? Crazy? Feral? Was that a printer you just threw at their face while quoting Pride and Prejudice?

Yes. To all of it.

And somehow, impossibly, you were everyone’s favorite. Because while you were a chaos gremlin of untold magnitude, you cared.

You noticed when Clint seemed tired and unorthodoxically left snacks in his quiver.

You taught Steve how to use TikTok but made sure to curate only dog videos and motivational frog memes.

You convinced Bucky he could wear purple and look amazing. He does now. Regularly.

You helped Tony fix a faulty AI loop by accident while trying to build “a blender that screams.”

You’re not just a part of the team. You’re the emotional support cryptid.

And no matter how many explosions you cause with your “experiments,” or how many philosophical debates you start about whether lasagna is a cake, the Avengers wouldn’t trade you for the world.

…Though Tony did try to sell you to the X-Men once.

It didn’t work.

They sent you back with a fruit basket and a strongly worded letter.

[rahuratna]

Minnie, I was right.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

FUCK.

Minnie. I am WEAK for this man.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It really didn’t have to come to this.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that’s when it first happened.

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

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

Not knowing that to you, it would become everything.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

On the counter.

Next to Nanami.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And what a sight it was.

One right hook.

Two left slashes.

Repeat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good. I think so too.”

Surely, there was no deeper significance to this.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Destiny’s Path

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was almost dizzying.

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

Your breath slightly hitched at the sight.

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

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

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

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

Those glorious veins.

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

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

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

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

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

This was decidedly a thing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Slipping.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You felt your chest tighten.

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

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

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

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

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

“Three.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did someone say massage?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And to stop yourself from slipping any further.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You closed your eyes, a contented sigh escaping your lips, and you wished nothing more than to ingrain this little haven of tranquility into your mind, for it to become the unforgettable safe place to which you could always revert.

Just as you turned your gaze to witness the sun now making its definitive ascent over the ocean, you thought you felt Nanami’s grip tighten ever so slightly in a shift so nearly imperceptible that you questioned whether it had even happened. It was a concern that quickly became secondary to your sudden awareness of the flimsy nature of the fabrics comprising his cotton t-shirt and your mesh cover-up forming the trivial barrier between his warm, well-defined arms against your cool skin, to the compromising position you now were in.

A sudden tension traveled through your body, seeking a place to nest as you fidgeted with the hem of your top, trying to return your focus to the wonderful scene unfolding ahead.

“What a perfect sunrise,” you ventured, in your best attempt to sound casual.

Nanami only offered a low hum in agreement, resonating and vibrating through your ear. And then, you felt it again: a slight upward shift of his hold, a minute increase in pressure.

This time, it was unmistakable.

Every sensation intensified tenfold in that moment. His muscular chest pressing into your back, his breath tickling your neck, the crook of his arm resting gently just below your chin, close, so dangerously close that you could lick it.

Without much thought, you brought your hands up and closed them over his biceps, at least as much as they could possibly wrap around their circumference, and slid over them, getting a good feel for the flexed muscles underneath his skin, until you landed on his elbows.

And then you pressed inwards.

Your move met no resistance, resulting in his caged arms further tightening across your chest. A sharp exhale escaped your lips as the feeling reverberated through your body, sending a shiver down your spine and straight to your core. You instinctively brought your thighs together, their friction only exacerbating the very sensation you were looking to evade. Your breath hitched, and you felt your mouth go dry.

As you tilted your head, leaning further back into Nanami, something you didn’t think could be possible, you could now distinguish the accelerating thumping sound of your heartbeat against your chest just under where his arms held you. You couldn’t imagine that he wasn’t privy to the escalating effect this all had on you.

He sat up straighter, a shift in movement that pushed his elbow right below your neck. Again, you felt it, gradual pressure—measured, steady, much like its perpetrator.

Just within biting distance, came the intrusive thought, popping into your mind like a sudden gust of wind in still air. It would be the first of many over the next few minutes, and you didn’t exactly know how much time passed as you staved off the ones that erred on the more wanton side of things, the ones that had you making a mental, logistical calculus of how much you could reasonably get away with, on this waterfront sparsely dotted by a few fellow beachgoers.

Nanami’s steady voice suddenly rumbled behind you, almost rattling you. “Quite the breathtaking sight, well worth the early wake up.”

And before you knew it, it was over. The sun was now up in earnest.

Nanami slowly loosened his grip on you, and still, you almost toppled to the side as you returned to reality, to where you were, to your packed itinerary for this final day of this short getaway, the one you’d meticulously planned and shared with Nanami with an excitement he’d reciprocated, a plan you found yourself now willing to completely discard and replace with the other, much simpler one you now had in mind.

You slowly turned to face Kento, attempting to gauge his body language, and found his eyes still fixed on the soaring sun behind you,  engaged in a slow cross-arm stretch, and you could almost see the tension release and exit through his gentle sigh. If he was perturbed at all, he showed no signs of it.

Then, with a sudden shift, he switched arms, locking eyes with you.

“Shall we get breakfast, then?” he asked, casual as ever. “That concierge did a solid job pitching that brioche French toast. I’m itching to try it now.”

And had you not known him better, you would’ve missed the near imperceptible lilt of the tone of his voice, the hints of mirth crinkling at the corner of his eyes, the echoes of a knowing smirk under his deceptively soft smile.

You would have missed these details, had you not known better, following this sunrise that would long stick with you, for all the improper reasons, and you wouldn’t have suspected that, far more likely than not, Nanami Kento knew exactly what the hell he was doing.

The evening on which your suspicions were confirmed came a few months later, on the tail end of a chaotically busy period.

The combined effects of missed dinners and hurried goodbyes, of long work shifts and scheduling conflicts, had compounded, barely affording Nanami so much as a stolen moment with you, much less the quality time he yearned for.

Arduous missions stretched late into nights, and he’d find you home long after you’d lost your battle against somnolence; on your end, you could almost hear the guilt of your failure to stay awake ring loudly in the silence of the early hours of the morning, when you’d find Nanami crashed next to you, with exhaustion spelled on his face.

Canceled lunch dates were communicated in brief text messages you’d punctuate with goofy animated GIFs, a consolation tactic Nanami would’ve otherwise found to be endearing had it not carried the very calculated mandate of allowing you to evade his enquiries about whether you’d found the time to eat your first meal of the day.

Pure intentions and poor luck, right places but wrong times, and the universe appeared to be conspiring against you.

All the while, sitting just beneath the surface, was the simmering unease, steady as a metronome whose pulses were the moments of lucidity that pulled Nanami out of the comfortable shroud of the feigned normalcy he’d allowed himself to slip into. It was the same sentiment that caused his throat to constrict after encountering those occasional close-call encounters that had him face a formidable cursed spirit, the same feeling that transfigured into a pit in his stomach whenever it was you who was out on the field, and he hadn’t heard from you in a while. The ever-present threat now carried the weight of something unprecedentedly precious, and every once in a while, he would be subjected to reminders that were as intangible as they were painful, reminders that this line of work remained incredibly dangerous, and that this could all come to a very sudden end.

The Jujutsu Tech car came to an abrupt halt, jolting Nanami out of his contemplation.

His fingers brushed the cool metal of the door handle just as he peered into the rearview mirror from the backseat, and when his eyes locked with those of the colleague he’d spent the bulk of the week with, he found a weary gaze, reflective of the relentless pace of their recent assignments.

“Thank you for waiting, Ijichi. I should only be a few minutes,” Nanami said, giving the assistant manager an appreciative nod before exiting the car and making his way towards the training field.

On the radial bridge between surrender and acceptance, Nanami often found gratitude to be his only path out of ruinous rumination.

So today, he chose to be grateful.

Grateful for having cleared his mission much earlier than expected, and for the time this afforded him to take a trip to the campus facilities, to shower and to get into a clean change of clothes, in the hopes of catching you just as your lesson ended.

Grateful for Ijichi chauffeuring him from the dorms back to the training field where he could wait for you to wrap up your lesson and for agreeing to drive you both back home, together, finally for the first time in weeks.

Grateful for the current moment that granted him this sight of you, mid-lesson as you supervised a hand-to-hand combat session for a group of students, a view he’d grown both so fond and so familiar with.

The aluminum bleachers squeaked under Nanami’s weight as he took a seat, his eyes never leaving you as you paced behind the three pairs of students engaged in their bouts, occasionally stopping either to correct a stance or to provide some feedback. The visual transported him to a similar moment that found him on this very row of seats a little over a year and a half ago, a memory as sharp and clear as if it had occurred just yesterday.

You were alone when he noticed you.

Only a few weeks removed from the day he’d traded his briefcase for his blunt sword, an inexplicable unease and sense of displacement still loomed over Nanami’s head even as he walked the once-familiar campus grounds. His quest to locate a quiet spot to enjoy a late lunch in peace and away from one particularly aggravating Gojo Satoru led him to these training field bleachers.

He’d resigned himself to a life of relative solitude from the moment he’d crossed the threshold out of his office building for the final time, intent on leaving any semblance of his paltry attempt at a civilian’s life behind. The Jujutsu world had always been less than ideal, and a return to this life had meant making certain self-evident vows to himself, one of which being that he wouldn’t drag anyone into his orbit while he was active.

Never had he imagined that he would be the one dragged into someone’s orbit. Into yours.

You’d emerged from the field house on that early fall day, just as he opened the bento box he’d packed with the previous night’s leftovers. Even from this distance, he recognized you as the Grade 2 instructor he’d been vaguely acquainted with via cursory greetings, the one he’d continuously heard Ino speak so highly of.

Nanami observed as you entered a sequence of practice drills with your cursed weapon, a long spear that you worked so fluidly, as though it were an extension of your body. Each of your moves was a masterclass in balance between power and restraint, each strike precisely measured, each swing calculated. He watched as you thrust your weapon into wide, controlled motions that sent the long drapes of your skirt twirling in the wind, dark curls whipping around your face with your movements, the autumnal afternoon sun warmed your brown skin with a soft honeyed glow. By the time his phone vibrated to signal the end of his break, Nanami glanced down, only to find his bento untouched.

Perhaps he was compelled to take a few more late lunches following that day.

When Ino indirectly called him out on this new habit of his, it was Nanami’s ingrained inability to stray too far from candor that rendered him unable to outright deny the younger sorcerer’s cheeky hypothesis, that the true reason he’d opted to spend so many recent lunch breaks eating at those benches rather than the significantly more comfortable break room was because “the view was better out there”. Nanami understood from the moment he’d uttered his vague non-answer that it would mark the first point of exposure.

This inevitability was confirmed, a few weeks later, the cat decidedly out of the bag when Yuuji made a grand display of throwing his two thumbs up through the window just as Nanami slid into the booth seat across yours at a nearby cafe one day as he’d invited you to have tea after clearing another mission together.

“You do so well with Yuuji,” you’d said, once the teen was out of sight, dragged away by the sleeve by the young Nobara. “That boy is very lucky to have you as his teacher.”

“Well, technically I’m not a teacher,” Nanami replied in a tone that failed to convince even himself.

“You teach him things, Nanami. That’s the textbook definition of a teacher.”

A silent pause settled between you. Nanami stirred his tea absentmindedly as he watched you cut the apple strudel you’d ordered into smaller pieces.

“I’ve been thinking about joining the faculty,” he said, the words barely formed before leaving his lips.

“Oh, that’s wonderful, Nanami! I would be so thrilled!” you exclaimed. Nanami watched you quickly straighten up in an obvious attempt to dial back your expressed excitement, but he’d already witnessed you perk up, your genuine reaction stirring something deep and pleasant within him.

“We all would,” you quickly added. “Especially Gojo. You know he would immediately take credit for it.”

Nanami brought his eyes shut and rubbed his temples at the thought, “Please, I’m not even there yet. I’ve not talked to Gojo about this…” He paused again, opening his eyes to lock onto yours. “Or anyone else, for that matter.”

“Oh… So I’m getting the exclusive?” You replied in playful conspiracy. ”I feel so privileged.”

Nanami nodded quietly with a light, nervous chuckle, picking at the biscuit on his plate but not finding the will to take a bite from it.

“But in all seriousness, you should go for it. You’re a great mentor and a skilled sorcerer. The school could badly use someone like you.”

To this, he said nothing, his eyes wandering out the window in contemplation.

“However,” you ventured after a brief moment. “If you have any reservations, and you ever want to talk about them…” You trailed off, leaving the invitation suspended in the air.

Nanami’s reservations were so many, most of which he couldn’t possibly attempt to articulate even as they jockeyed for position in his mind. When he glanced back at you, he could sense you hanging onto his silence.

“You’ve done this for a while. Tell me your best piece of advice about teaching.”

He watched you gather your thoughts, pressing your lips together and narrowing your eyes like he’d seen you do countless times when a student would ask you a question and you would carefully formulate an answer.

“If you ever forget what it’s like to be a kid, get out. There’s no point in doing any of this if you can’t place yourself in their shoes, or yours, ten, fifteen years ago. As long as you remember the powerlessness and the lack of agency that comes not only with being young but with being condemned to our way of life, to seeing curses…” Nanami watched you pause to take the first bite at a piece of strudel, and as you chewed, he could almost see the rest of your thought forming through your eyes. “It’s such a burden, one no one should bear alone, least of all a child. At least, that’s how I see it.”

Before this moment, Nanami had tried repeatedly so, to qualify this magnetic draw to you, to label it. Was it the juxtaposition of the soft-spoken instructor against the fierceness you appeared to carry? Was it your nuanced condemnation of a system, all the while dedicating yourself to its people?

Perhaps it was at this moment, Nanami would ponder later, that he’d decided that this way of life was one worth living rather than simply surviving.

“Hey, you. You look familiar. Do I know you from somewhere?” the playful tone of your voice snapped Nanami, who had been too engrossed to notice your approach, back to the current moment.

Gratitude.

He rose from his seat, bringing his hands up to gently cup your face, and leaned in to brush his lips against yours in a tender kiss. You froze momentarily, caught a bit off guard; for as physically affectionate as you now were with one another, neither of you was usually the type to engage in public displays of this, particularly not on campus. Today, Nanami quietly broke this unspoken precedent.

Only the first of the several he would break later.

“We have a ride, if you’re ready to leave now,” he said after he slowly pulled away. The notes of your lip balm were of vanilla, but to him, they carried the familiar taste of a fragile slice of happiness.

“Yeah… I’m beyond ready,” you murmured, still reeling a bit at the surprise, at the intensity of the moment. “Let’s get the hell out of here before I get roped into some last-minute bullshit, like last week.”

If the lapse in Nanami’s usual propriety was displayed in that one kiss, yours would manifest in several ways before you made the short ride back to your shared apartment.

And much as he’d done on so many occasions from the training field bleachers, Nanami simply watched you.

He watched as you leaned into him in the backseat of the car, running your hand against his thigh, innocently at first, then moving dangerously close to his crotch with every caressing stroke. The self-satisfied grin that stretched your lips as you detected a hitch in his breath did not escape him.

He watched as you teased him on the elevator ride up to your apartment as you pressed your back against his front, giving him a subtle, deliberate press and grind and catching his eyes in the reflective panel, just in time to watch his gaze falter ever-so-slightly. This, too, he’d remember.

He watched you, knowing that you enjoyed all of it, that you thrilled at the mischievous pleasure it was to poke the agitated bear, and he let you have your fun, exercising a restraint he didn’t think himself capable to maintain after a long, stressful and restrictive week spent nearly entirely away from you.

But as soon as you crossed the threshold into your shared apartment, as soon as he shut the door behind him and turned around to find your hands gripping onto his tie, pulling, yanking, his face down towards yours, almost too zealously?

Nanami decided he’d watched long enough.

He pushed back into you, his hands working in concert as one brought your fists together and off their hold while the other slipped into your hair, kneading your scalp down to the base of your nape. Assertive yet tender, his touch was a study in contrasts, sending a single, tantalizing shiver down your spine, igniting into a fizzing warmth in your stomach.

Your tongues met right before his searing lips closed onto yours in a kiss that was so urgent, so fervent, dripping with an eagerness you hadn’t felt in a while. He swallowed your whimper as your back lightly hit the vestibule wall, a reaction that wrenched a low, self-satisfied growl from his chest. Nanami could feel it now, more than ever—several days’ worth of unmistakably pent-up energy coalescing into a single, white hot ache.

He was unwilling to relinquish any closeness, not even now, as you peeled off him momentarily with a small, breathless gasp, two of your quick, heaving breaths to each of his. He felt your drumming pulse on his lips as he settled into the side of your neck, his mouth just below your jawline.

His mind replayed the slightly disappointed expression he’d discerned on your face earlier this morning, which now felt like a lifetime ago, after a phone call he’d later admonish himself for taking summoned him, along with his fellow Grade 1 sorcerers, to the school for a meeting that definitely could have been an email, just as you’d brought him a cup of orange juice to pair with his toast. He heard himself groan out in frustration now, at the memory of the first breakfast you were having together in weeks being unceremoniously cut short, and he nipped at your throat, eliciting a moan from you that faded into the background of the hazy, regretful thoughts that were reinvigorating him to make up for lost time.

The late afternoon sun was mostly blocked out by the heavy living area window curtains, which had remained drawn, a testament to the hurried exits you both made earlier. Nanami’s eyes were slowly getting accustomed to the dark, just enough to catch your warm brown eyes searching his as you gently pressed your palm against his chest, blinking up slowly at him with an unreadable gaze. He sensed you shifting your left foot behind your right one and glanced down just in time to watch you slip out of your second shoe, but not before you slid your knee up the inside of his leg, pressing and rubbing against his crotch teasingly, evoking an uncontrolled hiss out of him at the unexpected contact.

“Missed me, Kento?” you crooned.

A light chuckle rumbled up through Nanami’s chest. “Maybe just a little,” he mumbled.

“Just a little? Just maybe? Come on now. We’re well into a few weeks married now. Surely you can be more honest with me,” you replied, in mock offence.

“Oh, you don’t find me honest?” he said with a scoff, something dark in his response.

Instead of pulling away from this newfound, compromising position, Nanami doubled down, firmly pressing his hips to yours, forcing your leg back down, and you found yourself now trapped between the wall and the visibly voracious man before you. 

For the brief second he brought his head down to your shoulder, with his hot breath ghosting over your neck and his lips grazing your ear, you expected him to say something, to call you out, to chastise you, but instead, his response came as a slow, deliberate roll of his hips against yours, ensuring you felt every last inch of the increasingly stiffening problem you’d helped create against your core.

You arched into him with a throaty gasp as his lips found the base of your throat once more, lightly nibbling. His hand closed on your hip, firmly gripping it in place as he leaned against the wall to summarily kick off his shoes, not unlike you just did a mere few seconds ago.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you ventured, in between the two languid grinds of his hips that pushed his thigh to settle between your legs. “Are you honest?”

The dark chuckle preceding Nanami’s reply should have served as your first warning.

“Are you?”

His fingers twisted around the hem of your shirt, and you could already tell, in the way he pulled it over your head in one swift movement, lobbing it over his shoulder with a dexterous flick of his wrist, that he would waste no time in dispensing with your clothing, that his desire to ignite this fuse burned just as brightly, perhaps even more fiercely, than your own.

You’d barely heard your top land unceremoniously on the linoleum floor before feeling his fingers reaching to do the same with your camisole, goosebumps erupting where he grazed your skin, spreading like wildfire. You pulled at his tie again, pulling him down and planting another kiss on his lips, something slower, more sensual than the first. Only when its straps slipped down your arms did you realize that he’d used the moment to unhook your bra, and you shook out of it, letting it clatter to the floor as well.

Your second attempt at undoing his tie was thwarted once more, something slightly rougher in the way he grabbed your hands and drove them back down to your sides.

“Turn around,” Nanami said, brusquely. The space was quite dark, but you didn’t need to discern the expression on his face to understand that the strained gentleness of his tone did not make this any less of a command, one you gladly obliged.

Your steadying hands met a texture, cooler and smoother than expected, meeting a bit of resistance as they glided over the surface. You felt a bit heady for the short moment it took you to reorient yourself, to realize your compromising position, to recognize the blurry outline of your own reflection in the flat, full-length mirror mounted against the vestibule wall.

You stilled and patiently waited, agitation melding with eager anticipation as your mind associated a vivid visual with the sound emanating behind you, one of the audible friction of sleeves sliding upward against bare skin, an enticing prelude of what you knew was to come.

Nanami trailed his hand along the waistband of your skirt, the one he loved so much; it looked so good on you, it was so easy to remove. He hooked his deft fingers and slowly slipped them downwards until he met the resistance of the thickest part of your thighs, pushing past before allowing gravity to complete the endeavor. Your senses heightened as he haltingly did the same with your underwear; the slickness of your arousal was untouched but felt, unseen but heard as he peeled off the final barrier covering you, the faint rustling of your underwear dropping onto the flooring marking the definitive end of his task.

Through the reflection, you’d observed Kento’s actions.

Through the reflection, he’d observed you.

Your stomach fluttered with an invigorating sensation, and you thought you could weep in restless anticipation.

“Truth framed in silver,” he said, his tone guileful, his voice growing huskier with each word as he hovered his lips just above your ear, “the mirror never lies.”

The shift in tenor of this encounter was suddenly palpable, and just as you were about to offer your best attempt at a matching response, his arm encircled you at the waist and he pulled you back towards him with a strong press of his fingertips into your hip, sending a jolt that went straight to your core. You caught it all in the reflection, a sight so deliciously distracting that you failed to notice his other hand surreptitiously sliding down between your legs.

Nanami hovered just over you, fingers lightly brushing against where you desired him the most, just long enough for you to suffer the ache of unspent need, just close enough for you to feel the pressure which had built within you and was now left hanging, and he found just enough dampness to gauge how utterly aroused you were. You bucked at the contact, barely stifling an impatient moan, eliciting another low scoff from Nanami, your second warning of the evening.

That Nanami now held the upper hand, and that you would suffer a bit for it.

For a moment, you thought about how quickly the tables had turned in this little back-and-forth. If you were going down, you thought, it wouldn’t be without a fight. Just as you had half a mind to formulate a witty, provocative comment to retain some semblance of a footing in this battle of wits, Nanami slid his middle finger into you, hooking it upward, finding, in record time, the spot he’d long since learned to reduce your body to pure need.

An unbridled, breathy moan cascaded out of your lips, ringing loudly in the charged silence, a sound almost as obscene as the lack of resistance met by his articulate finger, and as the slick sound it made. You didn’t have to look up to feel Nanami’s steady gaze on your face as he took in every last detail of your reaction.

His fingers moved with gentle insistence, picking up a controlled but unrelenting pace. His ring finger joined a short moment later, padded tips rubbing against the most sensitive parts of your walls, moving with intensity, with intent, as if it carried the express purpose of proving a salient point. The slow pleasure building at the base of your spine had you squirming, incrementally bending down, instinctively going as low as Nanami’s grasp would allow you, his arm otherwise holding you firmly in place.

“Kento…” you whimpered, squeezing your eyes shut as you fought to stay tethered to reality.

“Don’t look away.” It’s another command uttered into your ear, traveling straight between your legs, his tone carrying a slight harshness this time and you opened your eyes, meeting what you knew to be a deeply watchful gaze, even as you only barely began to make out his features through eyes that were still getting accustomed to dimly lit surroundings.

Your head dropped slightly, and your eyes returned to the reflection of his hand and of his fingers. He picked up the pace, his movements growing more dauntless, as if he was putting on a show with an air of nonchalant pride. Your eyes glued to the sight of his calloused fingers repeatedly rubbing against that one sensitive area, the one he’d learned to relentlessly exploit in moments like these, when he both wanted and needed to bring you to a quick undoing.

It was too much; the feeling of Kento’s long fingers working you, the sounds they made and how they mingled with your escalating whimpers; the occasional brush of his palm against you, the sensation of the wet line of kisses he traced from your bare shoulder to the side of your neck, his quickening breath on your exposed skin. You felt all of it, each element inching you closer towards the sweet solace of release after over a week of having to go without.

But what ultimately did it was the reflection in the mirror, the one that granted you an angle you were unused to, a visual whose details you were already committing to memory. There was just something about witnessing his fingers and the way they drove into you, twisting, seeking to unlock the deepest parts of you.

Your knack for ascribing meaning to the abstract concepts, a strength you often leaned on as a teacher, was now squarely working against you, etching indelible associations into your mind.

Like the manifestation of sheer strength earned through repetition and grit, the one Kento drew from to defeat those curses on a regular basis with dexterous swings of his arm, the same strength that now held you against him, the same strength powering his movements.

Or the precision he’d used that first time you’d watched him chop those vegetables in his kitchen, what now felt like eons ago, and how it was analogous to the way he was now driving into you with practiced precision.

Or even the rhythmic pull of the muscle against the edge of the fabric of his shirt sleeve and the way it sat snug on the curve of his forearm, adorned by the gleaming band of his watch, its cool metallic band occasionally brushing against you as he moved.

It was like that distant memory of the first time you’d been taken with the way he’d rolled up his sleeve in that infirmary, a quiet assertion of competence, of power, as he’d prepared to bring his task of filing his report to completion.

And how it was now you that Nanami Kento sought to bring to completion.

It was the last coherent thought you formed before the coil within you finally tightened beyond capacity. You were desperately chasing your imminent release, your hips rocking helplessly against his fingers, against his palm, greedily chasing that friction, and suddenly you were there, right over the edge. Words of warning sat on the tip of your tongue, not quite fully formed, but when your eyes focused on his, you saw the exact moment he read you.

“Tell me how you’ve missed this,” he said, and it was a gentler tone that carried words that appeared to be for him as much as they were for you. “Show me.”

“Fuck, I’m—,” you breathed, trying but failing to catch the thought before it escaped you.

The first part of his request would go unfulfilled; you wouldn’t get the words out, except for a light curse as you were hit with the thrilling force of your release. As for the latter part, he wouldn’t have to ask twice.

You clenched around his fingers, hard, quivering through the breathless cries that fluted up into the air as you tipped your head back into his chest, clutching the arm that was still holding on to you. Nanami gave one insistent final press into your upper wall before stilling and letting you ride out your climax, soft praises in his low voice spilling into your ear, words you could only discern once your moans subsided moments later, once you began to come back to yourself.

When you reopened your eyes, you caught, in the reflection, the intense gaze of the architect of your unraveling and found something familiarly ruthless brimming just beneath the surface.

Nanami was far from being done with you.

The realization sent another tingling between your legs, causing you to inadvertently clench around the fingers you only now registered had remained inside you. After a moment, he began to pull them out in a tantalizingly slow, drag, and you certainly didn’t miss the very deliberate brush of his hand back down against you, your slippery release aiding the downwards slide of his palm, past his wrist and just far enough to feel the ridges of his forearm which formed an unfamiliar but welcome sensation for your muscles to naturally clench around.

It crossed your mind that Kento was being premeditated in his movements, a hypothesis that was almost immediately supported once he rubbed his palm down once, twice, and a third time against your sensitive flesh before pulling away, meeting the slightest resistance as your body instinctively bucked up against his hand, and as it tried to keep a hold on it before he lifted his hand to your eye level. And when he extended the fingers of his hand, moving them slowly, presenting the sheen of your slick on them, showcasing with excruciating detail the mess you’d made on him, you understood that this man was dead set on being particularly relentless this evening.

Nanami leaned deeper over your shoulder, his ear pressed to your cheek, and brought his fingers to his mouth, licking them off, one by one, slowly, meticulously, his eyes fixed on yours through this once innocuous mirror, and all you could do was watch, exhale at the sight, and try not to lose the remainder of your mind at his low hums of satisfaction, at the sloppy sounds of his tongue laving over his fingers, and then down his arm over where he’d just dragged it against you.

A fucking menace.

Once he was through, Kento took half a step back, and you instinctively backed up into his steps, into him, knees feeling a bit shaky as your bare ass met his rigid hardness prominent even through the barriers provided by his pants.

The contact jolted some lucidity back into you, returning your capacity to discern further beyond the shapes reflected to you, to spot the nuances, to study the facial expressions you’d spent the last couple of years learning, a subject you could confidently teach an extensive course on from sheer memory. You could see them now, the small tells you’d picked up on throughout your relationship, evidenced in this particular furrowing of his brows, in the tightness of his jaw, in the way his shoulders were drawn taut in an attempt to contain an inordinate amount of tension. They were the ones confirming that Nanami Kento was also only hanging on by a thread, that maybe you still had a chance to recoup some of your lost ground, that perhaps you shouldn’t count yourself out just yet.

It was a notion that revitalized you.

So you bent over, leaning onto your hands on either side of the mirror’s edge, and pushed back against him, something of a long, most deliberate grind, your bare backside brushing against the fabric of his pants to which he let out an audibly sharp exhale and a small jump back from behind you.

“There you are,” you murmured playfully, releasing a self-contented giggle as you felt him twitch within the confines of his boxers.

You leaned further back, trying to reach him again, seeking to recreate that enticing friction, but Kento was more swift this time around. He caught you, pulling you up and firmly holding you flush against his chest.

“Tell me—” he started, his hot breath causing you to inadvertently buck into him, interrupting him. He steadied himself in recovery, snaking his arm around you and across your chest, returning his mouth to your ear and locking eyes with you once more before resuming. “Tell me, was it honesty from your part when you copped out, that one time I held you like this?”

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” you replied defiantly, feigning ignorance of the dire direction in which this conversation was headed.

Because you knew damn well what he was referring to. You’d known it, as soon as Nanami’s arms slid around you from this angle, squeezing the top of your chest in this particular way, the memory of that long weekend at the beach resort came rushing back to you, carrying along with it the feel of warm sand between your toes, the sound of crashing waves, the taste of salt on your lips, and the feeling of coming this close to tipping over even as you were held in place, of falling even as you sat firmly on sand, of vocalizing that one thing you’d wanted from Nanami for a while.

He nipped at your earlobe, bringing you back to attention, before continuing, “Was it honest of you to dangle that carrot, only to pull it all away?”

You scoffed at his playful audacity. “Alright, Kento. Let’s not be revisionist here, I’m not the one who pulled away.”

“Ah, so you do know what I’m talking about. Good. Because never did I think that I would be led on by my own wife,” he said in a tone tinged with mock offence.

“Led on b— Please. Don’t even start. You and I both know you weren’t going to do anything.”

He let out a short, amused chuckle at your indignation, followed by a low hum as his eyebrow shot up in a questioning arc. “Elaborate. What do you mean by “anything”?”

You felt his words pierce through your thin veneer of indifference and land deep inside you, where the truth lay.

“At the beach, Kento? In broad daylight in the early hours of the morning, in public? Yeah, that’s not you,” you retorted, feeling your air of defiance slip with every word. Uncharacteristically off your bantering game, you tried not to wince at your rather meager attempt at evading his question.

“What’s. Not. Me?” He said as he held your gaze, a brazen challenge in his tone as he shifted his arms higher, squeezing tighter with each emphasized word, visibly not falling for your prevarication.

You felt like a weary tightrope walker, precariously swaying above a silent, perceptive audience of one, faltering in this fool’s errand that was the maintenance of this delicate self-imposed balance, tired legs wobbling, begging you to put an end to this self-inflicted turmoil, to give in to gravity and to allow yourself to fall.

Through this damn mirror, you locked eyes with Nanami, finding them heavy with intent.

And suddenly, it wasn’t so dark anymore.

“You want something,” he said softly, not a question but a declaration.

Was it the spark you saw in Kento’s eyes in the moment as he’d cornered you towards the edge of the invisible cliff?

Was it that some of the pent-up tension you’d just released had taken some of your inhibitions along with it, replaced with a hazy, slightly more relaxed perception?

Or was it simply easier to peel away from the safety of timidity into the fire of candor when it was through the artificial buffer of a mirror?

Whatever it was, it had certainly emboldened you.

Here goes everything.

“Mirror never lies, right, Kento?” You’d had no intention of reprising his words when they tumbled out of your mouth in a soft whisper. “So why don’t you tell me what it was that stopped you from finishing what you started, back then at the beach?” you heard yourself say in a tone you barely recognized, tremulous with a blatant, reciprocal lust. “From finally putting me into a real headlock and—”

You cut yourself off just as you witnessed a darkening spark cross Nanami’s eyes, brief but perceptible enough to make your stomach flip. He closed on the remaining space that turned his hold into something closer to the one you’ve been seeking for so long, with the crook of his elbow nuzzling into the base of your throat, just off center, the sensation causing you to squeeze your thighs together, and your heart to pound through your chest.

“And… What else?” he whispered, matching your low volume, warm breath brushing your nape. “Complete that thought for me.”

You shook your head, a motion that was not so much to express your negation as it was to dispel the trance threatening to take over your mind. When you opened your mouth again, an uncontrolled, nervous scoff preceded your words.

“Just answer the question, Nanami.”

You reached your arms behind to hold him on either side of his legs, a blind attempt at maintaining some form of tactile control, realizing only now, how fully clothed he was, versus how you decidedly were not, as you ran your hands over the soft fabric of his trousers; it was a striking manifestation of your positions in this balance of power, in this repartee. You felt his next deep chuckle more than you heard it, but this time you could sense an undercurrent of agitation, of your man’s willpower slipping, palpable, like static before a storm.

And so, you added, “Or will you back out of this too?”

Nanami pushed slightly into you, and you brought your hands back on either side of the mirror, steadying yourself once more.

“I see,” he started. “So you don’t think I can wait you out?” he said, rocking into you in slow movements, the sensation of his rigid length all but contradicting his statement. “You know, I was just thinking about how lucky I got with today’s assignments. Two short missions, a couple of hours each, an in-and-out, really.” He paused to gently move a loose strand of hair that had fallen over your eyes aside. “My day was a cakewalk. But yours? Early morning class, back-to-back training sessions… I’d imagine you’re tired, that you just want to lie down, therefore I’ll just wait, until you inevitably—”

He cut himself off with a hiss that extended into the lowest of groans.

You felt it before you realized that you’d decidedly let the intrusive thought win; the sinking of your teeth, more nibble than bite, into that soft compressed roll of flesh, by the elbow’s bend, just on the inside of Nanami’s arm.

It was what set him into eager motion, and everything moved so quickly after that. You spotted the decisive moment in his eyes, carrying their first visible sign of reciprocal lust.

Nanami released his grip for the first time since you’d entered the apartment, a major concession to his overpowering stance, and you nearly fell forward at the sudden shift. You watched him disappear behind you, into the obscurity of the room, as he seemingly leaned down into something of a lunge. You heard the sound of a heavy drag against the floor, followed by that of objects softly tumbling onto the ground.

“What are you—” you started.

Before you knew it, Nanami caught you by the waist once more, and gently but firmly pulled you aside as he made way for what he was sliding towards the mirror, settling it between the wall and your feet. It took you a moment to discern the distinctive shape of the entryway bench that had long graced the entrance of your home, a small navy blue couch, upholstered in supple leather, stylish in appearance, dual in it’s practicality, of serving as a spot to sit while putting on the shoes that it now clearly no longer held.

You lifted your gaze towards the mirror, and found something eagerly desirous having replaced the playful front Nanami had managed to hold thus far; if you were silently telegraphing your keenness, he was responding in kind, his eyes not leaving yours as he gently nudged you forward, your feet lifting to hang over the edge of the small couch as you kneeled onto it.

He held your gaze still, and instead of perceiving his movements, you were left to rely on the sound of a sharp metallic clink resounding loudly in the silence, followed closely by the distinctive whispery rasp of his leather belt gliding against a thick fabric and punctuated with a brisk zipper sound. When he settled behind you, returning to the proximity you’d gotten accustomed to, Kento was armed with a familiar, damp hardness that you felt on the small of your back.

For as uncharted as the territory of this angle was, you both moved wordlessly, as if this was a well-practiced dance. You lowered yourself to bring your palms flat onto the bench, your hands sliding across the smooth leather. You aligned your back, lifting your hips up and spreading your knees apart, just enough to feel an aching breeze on your core.

Nanami climbed in earnest behind you, teasing his tip right against where his fingers had worked you a mere few minutes earlier, a slow, torturous, repeated motion he relished in for some long, excruciating seconds. You whimpered in lament, struggling to deploy the words of defense and mercy dancing on the edge of your tongue. Only when you began to squirm did he place his left palm on your back, holding you in place as he began to steadily press into you, inch by inch, until he filled you, deliciously so. Short, breathy moans escaped your lips with each press, and they were met with a low, restrained hum emanating from your lover, as you adjusted to the thick, welcomed intrusion, and he waited for you as you did.

After a moment, you were practically vibrating with an unabashed need for friction, something he caught on to. He pulled you at the hips, bringing your back flush onto his chest, keeping you both on your knees. You could now admit that you both loved and hated this mirror, for the newfound angle it gave you as you watched Kento’s right hand slide up from your hips, slowly, torturously caressing you along the way, kneading the fleshy skin that sat on the side of your breast, up until his arm found its gratifying destination.

This time around, there was no half-measure when Nanami hooked his arm just below your throat, constricting you with the right amount of pressure that allowed you to ample ability to breathe, but that would deny any movement beyond that, something you realized as your back arched instinctively both at the anticipation and at the actual hold. Despite having barely moved since he entered you, you could feel your pleasure mounting exponentially.

Your eyes met once more, and you realized that he’d been keenly observing you, studying your face as you went through all these motions. While his gaze was electrifying, you saw hints of the Kento you knew surfacing, burning with lust and love, always prioritizing your pleasure, your well-being. And there it was, conveyed through the simplicity of a glance, the truth that wasn’t a safer place on earth to be.

You watched the corners of his mouth twist up into a soft smile, a crinkle in his eyes which spoke equal parts of mischief and affection, forming quite the juxtaposition with the successive prompts he threw at your reflection.

“You enjoy this, don’t you. Whenever I wrap my arms around you? When I hold you like this, while I’m inside you?”

There was a newfound roughness in Nanami’s voice as he emphasized the last word with a tightening of his right arm around you, along with a deep press of his left hand fingers into your hips. You moaned and bucked your hips at the combined sensations, at the implication, the truth, the underlying desire of words said in such an even tone. You were intent on pushing him to give you what you needed, but he held firm, granting you only half of what you craved with this hold, completely denying you the motion portion of this equation you’d grown so desperate to solve.

“Tell me, honestly,” he emphasized employing the word that had become the refrain of the evening, “Let me hear you, my love.” It was quite discernible now, even in this compromising position that had you at his mercy; the thick lust in his voice, reminding you that the effect he was having on you was not so one-sided, and that he needed to hear you, just as much as he wanted to.

“Yes…Yes, I do,” you breathed, words slipping out as a ragged exhale, and you felt a sting of tears at the sudden intensity of a confession you’ve carried too long, one you somehow could only bring yourself to make in this current moment.

“Yes, you do,” Nanami repeated, his voice reduced to a low hum, but you could hear his approving smile even as he tried to conceal it, his eyes fixing you as though to speak to the deepest parts of your soul. “That’s my girl.”

You keened at his praise, your legs reflexively twitching with a forceful movement that sent the weight of your body shifting precariously off to the side. You let out a gasp, expecting to tip over before Nanami strengthened his hold and repositioned you back firmly onto him, pinning you down by keeping one arm around your chest, and the other encircling your waist. The new angle pushed him deeper still into you, eliciting a whimper from you and a whisper from him, words traveling directly into your ear.

“Let’s not fall now,” he said, in a tone that was already softer, palpably affectionate, “not yet.”

Always there to catch you.

It ruined you beautifully, in the moment, the fact that Nanami had not only mastered the art it was to rile you up, but he’d also long since known about this particular little inclination you’ve carried since forever, that he’d sat on this power, his teasing dispensed as an excruciatingly slow, intensifying burn over the last few months.

None of it mattered now, because he began to move and despite the unmistakable eagerness dripping from both of you, Nanami took his time in taking you from stillness to stride, setting off in a carefully slow but powerful pace as he drove himself into you.

And fuck, did it feel so good.

He rocked his hips into you as you rutted back against him, as much as your limited range of motion allowed you, at this foreign angle that did not take away from the familiarity of this dance. 

You squirmed as he drove into you with incredible precision, gradually picking up the tempo with each stroke, his measured gaze never leaving you, and even in the throes of escalating rapture, you discerned a strain in his expression, carrying an undercurrent of something carnal. You were panting, trying to catch your breath as he moved you against his hips effortlessly, making you feel each thick inch as his arm applied a deliciously punctual pressure against your upper chest with every thrust.

It felt both rough and tender. The visual was doing so much for you, too much, but still you fought the urge to shut your eyes for the umpteenth time to ground yourself, and Nanami caught this, attentive as ever.

“Stay with me,” he said, as he squeezed you ever so slightly to get your attention, your muscles immediately clenched around him in response, and he groaned at your reflexive reaction, renewing his intention of keeping up the pressure and on keeping you contained until he’d achieved his singular objective.

Your eyes desperately searched for a focal point, landing on themselves in the mirror’s reflection. You barely recognized the woman it presented, hair wildly disheveled, makeup sensually smeared just like as you barely distinguished your voice, with the wanton moans and the vocalized feedback aimed at the man in the reflection, as you told him how good he was making you feel, as you asked him to go harder, and as you let him know that he’d found it right there, the perfect spot, just like he always did. You’d grown more vocal, loud enough to be heard over the increasingly rhythmic slapping sound of your skin against his, and to match the volume of the words Kento was in turn, directing at you, words that only belonged to you and that bound you to him in ways that transcended what your bodies could ever achieve.

You felt yourself unraveling, your pleasure mounting as you visually took in the intimate spectacle unfolding in front of your eyes. Nanami was attuned to you like a piano string was to its tuning fork. He’d learned to find the things that made you tick and where you needed him the most. He’d practiced how to calibrate himself to the right rhythm, to the perfect angles, using your expressive reactions as his North Star. And in the same way he’d learned all this, he could always tell when you were close to climax, just as you were now.

“Let go for me, my love,” he whispered to your reflection, his voice rough with need.

The thunderstorm of pleasure had long been on the horizon, but that first cold ripping sensation of lightning always caught you by surprise. Your body pulled taut with gratification, and you came, quicker and louder than the first time, convulsing at the rapturous intensity of your orgasm, your pleasure hitting you in waves, trapped, constricted, with nowhere to go but in on itself. You tried to cling to your vague awareness of Nanami’s gentle coaxing, to his encouraging words as he nibbled at the shell of your ear and saw you to completion, his thrusts slightly relenting in tempo but not in intensity.

When you came to, it was to witness your slumped body leaning against your husband, breath still evening, and you could not help the smile gracing your lips, and the joyous delirium it manifested. His grip had loosened by now, and he was stilled, but still inside you, his chin resting on your shoulder as he watched you.

Nanami’s wonderful arms lowered to hold you at the hips again, and you gripped them, leaning on them as you tilted your face backwards and to the side, and you caught his lips in a searing kiss, one that was slower, lazier but also so dizzying, the only reminder of your predicament was the instinctual roll of your hips and the clenching that came along with it as the kiss deepened.

After what felt like long, radiant minutes, he brought you both down onto the small couch and gently broke the kiss to turn you over at the hips, lowering you onto your back in a single, swift movement. You felt his weight carefully sit atop you as he straddled you at the waist.

You peered up at Kento, at your beautiful man, a thin sliver of light slipping through a narrow gap in the window curtain ethereally bisecting his face in a golden diagonal path that illuminated his left eye, over the bridge of his nose, and gliding down the hollow of his right cheek. He was still clothed, except for his unzipped pants; still relatively composed, barring his rumpled shirt, his tousled hair, and the lipstick marks smudged on and around his lips and down the side of his jaw.

You could detect it, as clear as day, that something had switched within him. Gone was the playful, mischievous man who wanted to prove a point, who sought to get the last word, who endeavored to wring an admission out of you in the name of the little teasing game you’d both slipped into. Replacing him was a more heartfelt iteration of himself, the one you knew to be less relentless but no less restrained in his passion, and who would aim to both come and watch you come, face to face, where he could read you, like his favorite book.

Nanami sat back on his knees, looping his finger into the knot of his tie, loosening it just enough, in the way he knew you loved to watch him do. He took your hands into his and brought them to the dangling silk fabric, finally letting you complete this task, finally indulging you in yet another small fixation.

Kento looked down at you, running a finger along your deep-toned cheek, and for the first time in this encounter, he grounded himself in the moment. There had been a time, in a not-so-distant past, when he would feel almost guilty on occasions like this, whenever he’d found himself yielding to the warm, effervescent energy that surged from his chest.

For so long, choosing happiness while being ensconced in this particular field of work felt nothing short of selfish, foolish, and delusional. But somewhere along the lines, Nanami had become an inadvertent student of yours, and what he’d learned was that there was a deeply repressed side of him, silently yearning for a sliver of the joy he’d worked so hard convincing himself he didn’t need.

Teacher to many, even to him in some ways; you’d been the one who’d forced him to confront the fact that the line delineating blind selflessness from being a coping mechanism was as thin as it was blurry. There was a certain pattern of behaviors, one that saw Nanami conceal survival in virtue, that you’d called him out on quite a few occasions. 

A late-night phone call in your early days together that had you both up way past your usual bedtimes. 

A lunch date while picking up the emotional pieces after a tough mission. 

An argument the two of you had, after you’d called him out just as he was about to slip into what he could now retrospectively admit to be this self-preserving cocoon of self-sacrifice, call-outs he knew deep down to be true, to be well-intentioned in their objective of saving him from himself, and for which, after some self-reflection, he loved their messenger all the more.

But sometimes, Nanami’s appetite for what had long eluded him surfaced in a simpler form, like the one of a man and his lover, happy to be reunited after several days of work getting in the damn way.

And now, Nanami chose happiness. 

Now, he’d allow himself to have this one thing.

“Hey, handsome…” you started, pulling him back to the present as you brought a finger up to his cheek and lightly poked at it, “You good?”

The corners of his lips twisted into a tired smile, and his response first came as a gentle, reverent kiss on your forehead. Then your temple. The outer corner of your eye. The top of your cheek. He spoke in between each of these, over a week’s worth of tension, of stress and frustration defused into sincere words.

“So many… fucking... assignments... I… I’m sorry,” he said solemnly, and the vulnerability in his tone was audibly palpable to you. His words suddenly reminded you of the way this had all started, about the yearning and eagerness you had for one another after a dreadful few days of going without.

“I know... Not your fault,” you said quietly.

“I’m here now… Not leaving…” he continued, as his lips moved down to your jaw, to the pulse on your neck.

“You’re here, Kento,” you whispered, words that you hoped could reassure him as much as they did you.

Nanami rose slightly onto his knees, positioning himself between your legs. You felt him pause briefly, right at the edge of entering you once more. With a shuddering sigh, he slipped back into you with silky swiftness. You moaned at this first thrust, as he pushed firmly into you, holding himself in the deepest part of your core for a moment before moving again. This time, Nanami was less verbal, more focused; you were less pent up, more present, more sensitive to the way he poured his feelings into you, pure passion conveyed through his movements.

You knew of this demeanor well, of this determination set in his eyes; the express intention of keeping himself just on the edge, of delaying, of denying himself the solace of release until he could wring one more orgasm out of you, and directly watch you fall apart for him.

Always so considerate. Always so stubborn. Could he not give in for just this once?

“So good, Kento,” you managed to get out, shifting the rest of your energy towards a mission of your own, of coaxing him to finally let go and to finally finish inside you. You writhed up to meet him halfway, desperate to have him bury into you, clamping down around him every time he pulled out of you, feeling your determination and pleasure mounting in tandem.

Your eyes met and Nanami must have detected your intentions because he shut him closed, eyebrows knitting in concentration as he sat back onto his knees and pulled you by the hips, maneuvering you closer to him with one hand and reaching to palm your breast with the other, doubling down on his own objective of bringing you to your release.

You waited until he moved to switch his attention to your other breast before you grabbed his hand, brushing it up against your throat, and you felt Kento’s fingers hover over its column just as your mind did over the idea of settling them there; an intrusive thought you would have allowed yourself to verbalize, had you not embarked on a different mission of your own. Instead, you enlaced your fingers with Kento’s and pulled his arm, brushing it against your lips, nibbling over his wrist, over his forearm, eyes still on him as you watched him barely withhold a hiss at the contact, visibly hanging on to his composure by a thread.

And for the second time that evening, you closed a soft bite over his arm.

Kento’s eyes snapped open and locked onto yours with a searing intensity that made your breath catch, and you found, etched into the depths of his gaze, a silent yet familiar narrative of unraveling, one you could cite chapter and verse.

You watched as his initial shock bled into amusement, a reaction attesting not to a fluke but to an affinity, a path newly discovered, a new door unlocked. You felt yourself teetering dangerously on the edge of your own release, thighs quivering as your mind registered Nanami’s peculiar reaction to his arm under your teeth.

“That’s not fair. You can’t do this,” he said with a breathy chuckle.

“Then stop me,” you whispered back, your tone laced with provocation as your lips nibbled over his arm, your teeth just barely grazing him.

Nanami was still watching you, still resolved to maintain his composure, but you could feel it in the way his pace picked up, his thrusts now slightly more erratic, slightly less precise. You knew he was close, as sure as you knew what it would take to tip him over.

You bit down again, a bit more forcefully this time, and he let out a guttural groan in response, as he watched you through half-lidded eyes, desperately using what remained of his will to keep his eyes on yours, as he always did.

“Please, please fill me, Kento,” you moaned, your play at speaking to his depths, your final attempt at coaxing him to come with you, wiggling your hips as they came up against his, throwing everything at the wall, anything to take him with you as you spasmed with the eagerness of your pleasure and barrelled towards your release.

“Fuck,” Nanami cursed with a hiss, as he yanked his arm away from you and pinned both your hands on either side of your head, his fingers interlacing yours as he leaned his head down to your level, shifting all of his weight to his hips, sinking deeper into you. The dam was finally breaking, his rhythm faltering recklessly, his hips a stuttering pace, finding a tempo that smoothed into the pure, mutual longing you’ve had to keep at bay for over a week. You felt the bench slide and shift under his forceful thrusts. 

And when Nanami choked your name against your lips, it was with a reverence that eclipsed any other form of praise he could muster.

You vaguely heard yourself begging him greedily, praising him deliriously, thanking him sincerely until you cut yourself off with your own long, unabashed moan just as you tipped over the edge. You wrapped your legs around Kento’s waist, bringing the balls of your feet to the small of his back and arching deeply into him, clenching onto him as you quaked through another rippling climax.

And now, you felt it. Now, the paragon of self-control that Nanami Kento was would finally yield to the limits of his restraint.

Nanami held you down in place in a firm hold, and huffed out a short scoff followed by a low grunt. He gave a brisk, fluid double thrust before he spent himself into you, his release coming as hard and long as the groan that ripped through his lips as he pressed and held his hips to yours. A shiver of pleasure shook you, your hips bucking into his instinctively as you felt each pulsing tremor of his release sputtering deep inside you. You opened your eyes to catch a quick glimpse of his face inches from yours, his eyes glazed over, his smile soft, satisfied, spent. You felt a blooming sensation in your heart as you witnessed Kento arrive at the destination he so deserved. This right here, you thought, was your antidote to everything.

It always was a deliciously nebulous feeling, and this time was no exception; you’d tried it countless times before, to temporally orient yourself within the first minutes that followed Kento taking you to orbit and back like this, always finding yourself unable to know how long you’d stayed in place like you did now, with his full weight on your body, still deep inside you. How long did it take for your fingertips to make the full journey spanning the small of his back to the nape of his neck, stroking feather-light touches that glided slick with sweat, until they found his undercut, right where his hair clipped close and where his scalp was the warmest to touch? You both lay there for a moment, as your breaths slowed, basking in the aftermath of a most sincere act of love.

Lost in a hazy fog, you’d nearly forgotten where you were until the metallic clang of your ring hitting the bench leg as your hand hug off to the side jolted you back to reality. You absentmindedly ran your hands along the leathery texture, only for the time it would take for your thoughts to flit back to a blurry memory that clung to the edges of your mind.

Several months prior, one of your nightly strolls together finds you and Kento in a boutique furniture store. You’re seated on the plush leather entryway bench that caught your eye as soon as you entered the shop.

“Look. This thing is comfortable as they come, doubles as a shoe rack, good quality, and it’s on sale? I’d say it’s a solid buy,“ you say.

Nanami hums softly, in contemplation. “This isn’t just you wanting it for yourself, is it?”

“This is for your apartment, Nanami.”

“It is, but with the amount of time you’ve been spending there…”

“Oh, so I’m overstaying my welcome now? Is that what I’m hearing?”

“Don’t do this. You already know you’d be over more often if you’d let me have it my way.”

“Well, any more and I would be living there.”

“Perhaps you should be,” he says, his tone devoid of jest.

You pause at the implication of his words. “Is this your not-so-subtle way of soft launching cohabitation, Kento?”

“And if it is?”

You turn on your half of the small couch, rotating your body towards him, and you find him fixing you, serious as ever. You narrow your eyes at him. “Really? Despite what has to happen first?”

“Specifically because of what has to happen first.”

It’s a commitment he makes so easily, as if it is the most natural thing to say, in the middle of a random furniture shop after an impromptu leisurely weeknight walk and some froyo.

You brought your hand back up in the air, your contemplation bringing you to fix your wedding ring on your finger, as you lay your back on this small cushioned bench, which you now recognize to be quite the symbolizer of a new beginning, even tonight, in a twisted, unusual way.

“Are you alright, darling?” Nanami’s voice reached the foreground in your distant haziness.

Silly, idle thoughts converted into your response before you could stop them.

“We just made another use for it…”

“Hmm?” he mumbled against your ear, where his lips still rested. “Another use for what?”

“This little bench of ours. Doubles as a shoe rack, triples as…” You trailed off, letting the suggestive connotation hang in the air.

“A good investment,” he concluded after a short moment with a light, almost timid chuckle, as if he hadn’t yanked the piece of furniture himself, just minutes ago, as if he hadn’t just boldly taken you on it.

You mirrored his amusement as you reveled in your amazement at the diametrically opposed dualities of this man. Because now it was the more tempered version of your Kento resurfacing, the one who left a gentle trail of kisses that were as wet and hot as the fluid spilling off the sides of your thighs as he slowly slipped out of you, and shifted off of you. Nanami brought his lips to yours in a play to swallow the inevitable whimper he knew you’d emit, your usual protest at this kind of friction and its resulting loss of contact.

“Stay here…” he instructed softly, as he peeled himself off the bench.

And this is how you found yourself lying on your back, staring at the suddenly mesmerizing portion of the vestibule ceiling you’d never had the opportunity to pay particular attention to. Your eyes were here, tracing its unfamiliar pattern, but mentally you were tracing another line, the one which took you from that fateful first encounter at the infirmary, what feels like forever ago now, to the present moment that had you catching your breath and chuckling to yourself in both disbelief and contentment.

In retrospect, this fixation with his arms was so silly. In the grand scheme of things, it was so small. It always was the small things with Nanami. Like the way he tends to keep his footsteps light, like he was doing now, as he crossed the distance to the master bathroom, and flicked the lights on along the way. Or the gentleness of his movements as he reemerged in your field of view for the time it took to help you sit up and handed you a glass of water before disappearing as he crouched down beside you, bringing a warm damp cloth to clean you up, soothingly stroking his fingers along your shoulder as he did so.

You finally turned to meet his gaze, your mind still in a haze, and you watched as he moved swiftly, wordlessly sliding his two arms underneath you to lift you up, carrying you bridal style.

It’s the small things, but also everything else.

Because it wasn’t a small thing, that all of the dangers in the world lay outside this door, outside this room, the fact that right now, wrapped in these wonderful arms of his, is where you felt the safest.

It was no small thing that all of your worries, all of your troubles, all of your insecurities, could be cast aside in his presence, granting you a kind of freedom that was so difficult to hold on to while around others, the one to unapologetically be yourself.

It’s not a small thing, that even now, as you let your hand travel up the firm planes of Nanami’s pecs, up to his defined collarbone, over the beautiful curve of his shoulder and down his sculpted bicep, that not even this warmth and strength came close to accurately representing the full sense of safety you felt with him.

It was a safety that went far beyond the physical; for as cautious as you’d always been around shedding your inhibitions, for as nervous you were about opening yet another layer of yourself, to confidently accept yourself and to allow yourself to be accepted, there wasn’t a single person on this planet that you could trust more.

It made you wonder if you would ever be equipped to justly convey such a precious feeling.

You pressed your cheek against Kento’s chest, listening to his breathing and his heartbeat as he maneuvered across the apartment towards the master bathroom.

“You enjoyed that a little too much,” you said, finally breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between you.

“What part? You’ll have to be more specific,” he playfully replied as he glanced down at you.

“You love tormenting me.”

“Tormenting you? Need I remind you that it was, in fact, you who started this?”

“No, you started it, with that kiss at the school. Never had you do that before.”

“Oh, am I not allowed to miss my wife?”

“Ah, so you did miss me. Finally, he’s honest.”

Nanami gently eased you down on the bathroom floor, right next to the bathtub, which was still filling up, and just in front of the mirror, through which your eyes met.

“It’s not my fault we seem to need a mirror to be candid with one another,” he said with a smirk.

He wrapped his arms around you once more, hugging you from behind. They were relatively small, but in the bright overhead ceiling light, they were prominent; you brought your fingers up them, to the small bite marks on his forearm.

“Tread lightly, Kento,” you started in a reciprocal tone, “This is a two-player game now.”

Nanami knew this well, and for this, too, he would be grateful.

A/N: You made it! Thank you for reading! <3

[itsa-bea]

March x sick!Reader

Description: when you're suddenly put out of commission by a(open ended) sickness, March decides to take that news as you slacking off and faking it. Only, when he sees you, his actions instantly betray his first impression.

Warnings: not proof read and might be faster passed near the end(I'm so tiredd..)

Notes: tagging cause I was told to :)) @cozydelaney

It was just another day. You had fed your animals, watered your crops, checked the request board, and even managed to finish Elsie's request for berries.

It was just another day.. So why were you suddenly opening your eyes in Valen's clinic..?

The sound of murmurs where heard from the other side of curtain. You could only barely manage to make the voices out to be Olric and Valen, but despite that, you still couldn't decipher what either was saying.

Things started going by in flashes. Valen talking to you.. Olric giving you a thumbs up... And then you were alone.... You were confused, but could also somehow understand that you should probably just stay in the medical bed and rest..

But you had so much to do. What if you didn't manage to put your animals back away tonight? Plus you had some request items in your bag that just needed to be handed over to the respective villagers-

Suddenly Valen walked in from out side, heading towards the counter only to turn to you in slight surprise.

"Ah- You're awake. Good." Valen said, now walking to your side as she began to explain what happened.

"You passed out outside the general store. I've subscribed you some medication, but also highly recommend getting a lot of rest this week." She said, flipping through a clip board she had just picked up from beside you.

Valen kept talking to you for a while. Answering any questions you had about your situation, how you got there, and more details on what needed to be done so you could get back to helping the town a lot faster.

You were very grateful that Mistria had a doctor like Valen. She was kind, took the time to explain things, and she didn't treat you like you were completely stupid. But right now, the thing that you were by far the most thankful about her for, was that she kept everything confidential.

Because barely a second after Valen had answered your last question was when the town's grumpy blacksmith decided to barge into the clinic. The door being swung open took you so off guard that you let out a brief yelp of a gasp, only for you to sigh out in reluctant understanding when you realised it was March standing in the door frame.

Valen was quick to stand, walk briskly forward, and close the privacy curtains around your bed before promptly asking March what he needed.

After a strangely long pause, March finally spoke on his reason for entering the clinic. "I'm here to check on the Farmer." He said, making your face heat up in a strange mix of endearment and slight anger. Why could he admit that, but never thank you to you face-

"If they're too sick to do my request I need to know." He said, adding it on a fair bit too quickly to sound casual.

You desperately wanted him to leave or for Valen to turn him away from getting to see you. March seemed more volatile then usual, and you didn't feel like being sick and vulnerable in front of the one guy in town that was adamant about hating your guts.

"I see." Valen said, a silence falling on the room for a moment before Valen spoke again. "You can't see them right now. I need to finish my consultation. But you are welcome to wait outside and I'll call you back in later." She said, and you were so grateful that Valen essentially said 'no', because you highly doubted March would wait outside for you both to be done.

But alas, once both you and Valen had covered all the bases, she went outside to check if March was still there.. Only for her to return with a very annoyed looking Blacksmith.

You were filled with dread the moment you heard March and Valen talking once back inside the clinic. The fact that March had stayed outside was a complete twist, and the moment Valen had opened the curtain you managed out a weak smile at the two of them.

"Hey March." You said, and March's face looked like he had seen a ghost.

You have no clue what March was seeing from your state, but you were quite sure it was a fair bit exaggerated. He stumbled back slightly as Valen walked closer to you, asking you a question you yourself would've stumbled from if you were standing.

"Are you okay with March walking you back? Remember, you're only to put your animals away, take your medication, and go straight to resting." She said, eyeing you as you sort of just sat there in shock. March seemed to be under the same affect, not so much as fumbled backward again, but his frown definitely gave him away that he wasn't made aware that he might be walking you back to your farm.

"Uh- Okay.." You said after a few more beats of silence passed. And before you knew it, you were being helped up onto your much weaker feeling legs by Valen before being handed over and held steady by March - who frankly acted like he had just had a piece of glass thrown at him to carry.

You both bumbled about awkwardly, neither of you wanting you to fall or lose your balance, but also not being very comfortable being led and leading.

It took some time, but eventually the river and bridge leading to your farm to came into view. It was right then when you finally questioned why March was still half cradling you, not that you minded it too much.. But at this point you definitely felt you could walk on your own.

"I can head back on my own from here." You let out, trying your best to sound reassuring and confident instead of all flustered like you still sort of were.

"No. Valen said I'd walk you to your farm.." March retorted, trailing off a bit near the end as you looked up at him in disbelief just as he looked away.

"March, I can walk. It's not too far from here and my legs feel much better now-" You started out, only for March to speak up against you in defiance. "No. I'm not having you pass out when there's no one around to carry you back to Valen. If you can walk on your own, then fine. But I'm still walking you the whole way." He said, steadily letting go of your shoulder and upper arm before simply walking the rest of the way beside you.

This new behaviour from March was strange, and only got exceedingly stranger when you got to your farm.

First you went to put your animals away, only for March to near speed walk past you and get all your animals inside in record time(while also making you question if you'd need to get new bells for your barn and coop now..).

It left you standing by the crops in front of your house in absolute gobsmack, only for March to walk back up to you. "Okay, what's next?" He asked, leaving you near speechless as you quietly mentioned just needing to take your meds now and rest.

And that's exactly what you were forced to do, thanks to this strange new version of March.

"You swallowed them?" March asked from your kitchen as you sat on you couch with now only half a glass of water left. "Yeah." You called back, still dumbstruck about the fact March was armament he was cooking you dinner.

He was back to being snappy and much more March-like now, but that only happened after you tried to politely hint that he can leave and go back home. Instead, he was straight to raiding your fridge, getting you a glass of water, and handing you the correct dosage of your new meds.

Then he asked you what you wanted for dinner, and got straight into making it.

By the time he was done with the meal and you were about to take your first mouth full of food, you suddenly questioned where his plate was when you turned to see him leaving. "Bye then. See you tomorrow." Was all you heard before he shut the door and left you sitting there in utter confusion.

It was only once you had done the dishes and were now in bed when you finally realised what March had said. 'See you tomorrow'.... What? ......No.. Surely not.... Right?

But sure enough, March showed up at your door the next day, asking for your watering can before tending the fields..

And then he fed, pat, and let all the animals, out...

And then he made you breakfast..!

You didn't dare bring up this strange new behaviour, at least not that day, because sure enough, that whole next week of you being sick was filled with March showing up at your door.

"I've done your animals and crops, now have you damn meds!" March said, not fully shouting, but definitely loosing his temper.

You were at the point of hating the sensation of needing to swallow pills in order to get better. Why couldn't your dragon bestie just give you magic to cure being sick??

"I don't want to!!" You argued back, wanting nothing more than to be better already.

"I'll get you ice cream if you swallow the damn thing before I'm back from watering your crops." March said, getting up from your bed and heading outside to do said watering.

After the third day of showing up, March made it very clear that he was going to be helping you out, but you were still a bit confused as to why. Reluctantly swallowing your meds with water, you thought back on the March that always made a dig at you. It wasn't as if March had stopped making off handed comments, but they were much tamer, and he was always searching your face to see if he pushed it too far.

You didn't really miss that March, but you were also scared that this March would only be around when you were sick.. And you were really growing to enjoy this side he was showing.

He was still rough around the edges, but he would put so much care, effort, and strangely enough, understanding into the things he'd help you out with.

It was mostly just your farms manual labour tasks, but he'd also always cook you something. Not to mention, he'd always check if you'd had your meds, and after the day you almost forgot to take them, he started showing up first thing to make sure you had them on time.

Finally, the conflicting day arrived that you were given the all clear that you could get back to helping everyone out and doing your farm work again. And instead of your fears coming to fruition, they were trampled that moment March ruffled your hair and gave you a look of absolute pride.

[swetblom]

hiii ♡♡ could you write something for os!brian?? i'd be happy with absolutely anything, i just want more content with my boyy

hi sweetheart! of course. this is x angel! reader cause she’s like default to me lol!

brian’s gone. you wake up to an empty bed, the sheets still holding the lingering warmth of his body. the apartment is quiet, the kind of heavy silence that feels wrong — like the world’s been paused and you’re the only one left moving. but then you see it.

on the kitchen counter, resting against your favorite coffee mug, is a small, velvet box wrapped in a red satin bow. your heart skips, and a smile blooms as you reach for it, fingertips brushing the silken ribbon. there’s a note tucked beneath it, folded with care.

with all my devotion, my angel — your admirer.

you bite your lip, chest tightening. you know it’s brian. you always know. he’s the only one who calls you angel with that mix of reverence and hunger, like he’s tasting the word every time he says it. but he never signs his name. only ever “your admirer”. like he’s something sacred and secret, something you shouldn’t name aloud.

inside the box is a delicate silver bracelet, a tiny red bow charm hanging from the chain. you touch it softly, feeling the cool metal against your skin. you’re wearing his gift long before the coffee finishes brewing, the chain resting snug against your rest, the bow winking at you with each reach of an item.

brian comes back late that night. you’re curled up on the couch, drowsy but waiting. the door clicks open, and he steps inside, bringing the scent of rain and the dark, smoky air of the city with him. “hey, angel,” he murmurs, voice a low rasp as he shrugs off his coat. you rise to greet him, and he catches you by the waist, holding you close.

“missed you,” you say against his jaw, your arms winding around his neck. his skin smells of copper as his rough hands settle on your hips, pressing, kneading. “i know.” his thumbs slide beneath the hem of your sleep shirt, brushing the bare skin of your waist. “i left you something.”

“i saw.” you pull back to show him the bracelet, moving your arm from around his neck for the charm to gleam in the light. “it’s beautiful.” brian’s eyes drop to the chain, and for a moment, they soften. he reaches for your hand and places a light kiss to your wrist to almost set his a silent pledge to you in stone. his jaw flexes, something dark and wild sparking beneath the surface. “you like it?”

you nod, tracing his cheekbone with your thumb and he doesn’t hesitate to lean in a bit. “i love it.” his hands tighten, fingers digging in just enough to make you gasp. “good. that’s what i want.” you blink up at him, the world narrowing down to the press of his hips, the look in his eyes. “what’s wrong?” he shakes his head, but his smile is thin, taut.

it’s later that week when you hear the news: a woman found dead in her apartment, bludgeoned to death, wrists tied behind her back with red satin ribbons. there’s a dark, nasty knot in your stomach, something cold and slippery twisting as you watch the news report. the reporter describes the woman as a waitress, late twenties, last seen leaving after her shift with a man but they couldn’t get a good look at him.

you frown. the photo with the woman inside of it, next to the report, looks all too familiar. “do you know her?” you ask brian as he watches the screen, his jaw working. he’s sitting on the couch, staring straight ahead, eyes dark and unfocused. “no,” he says, but his thumb strokes the inside of your wrist, slow and possessive. “why?”

“she looks like…” you swallow, the taste of metal on your tongue. “she looks like that waitress from the night we went out last week.” the one who battled her eye lashes and made it a mission to touch his hand, laughing too loudly at things he didn’t say. you hadn’t thought much of it at the time. you were too busy liking how he asked you to sit on his side of the booth with him and feeling his rough hands squeeze your thigh underneath the table the whole night, his fingers flexing each time she looked his way.

now, though… now, you can’t shake the feeling that you’re missing something. brian’s thumb presses harder, his grip firm, grounding. “you’re imagining things, angel.” you nod, leaning into his warmth. you’re being paranoid. you settle the feeling with a fidget of your bracelet, charm twisting behind your fingers.

[yvesssssssss]

Hii thanks for doing my blind date request it was amazing!

Another idea I had was how would sakamoto characters celebrate their S/O birthday? I feel like gaku would have a crazy experience planned for them while someone like shishiba or uzuki would have a quiet dinner with candles and roses maybe but your choice! If it's not too much bother could rion please be included as one of the characters🙏 thank you love everything you post!

How the sakamoto days men celebrate their s/o's bday

Hii sweetie!! Thank you for the kind words^^ i hope you like it!!

Gaku

Gaku doesn’t really get how birthdays work, but he tries—really tries. You wake up to loud banging and him shouting, “DON’T COME OUT YET!” followed by the smell of something burning. He’s attempted to bake you a cake… using a blowtorch. The kitchen’s a war zone, but the lopsided cake says “YAY YOU EXIST” in shaky icing, and he beams at you like a proud kid.

Then, without warning: “Wanna fight?”

He means it affectionately. His idea of a good time is sparring (with padded gloves this time), taking you to a rundown arcade, and treating you to street food. It’s chaotic, rough around the edges, but full of genuine effort—his version of showing he cares. He even gives you a little trinket from one of his old missions, saying, “It reminded me of you. Tough, but cool.”

Uzuki kei

Uzuki doesn’t celebrate birthdays in the traditional sense—he sees them as points of vulnerability. But for you, he makes a quiet exception. He doesn’t throw a party or take you out. Instead, he books a private room at a quiet teahouse, where you sit by the window and watch the rain with fragrant tea and delicate sweets.

His gift? A personalized item that suggests he’s been watching you closely—too closely. A rare first edition of a book you mentioned once in passing, or a pendant engraved with your name in his handwriting. He doesn’t say "Happy Birthday." He says,

“I wanted today to feel… peaceful. You deserve at least that.”

There's something beautiful but unsettling about how carefully he constructs the night—like he’s preserving it, just in case he loses you.

Rion akao

Rion is the kind of person who wakes you up by jumping on the bed, singing her own off-key version of "Happy Birthday." She plans too much—a full itinerary of spontaneous plans that somehow end up working. You’re dragged to a retro diner, a batting cage, and a surprise group dinner with everyone you love.

She's a whirlwind—loud, funny, loving—but somewhere near the end of the night, when it's just the two of you, she gets serious.

“You know, you’re my favorite person. Ever. I mean that.”

Her gift is personal and emotional: a photo album, a hoodie she swiped from you and embroidered with something dumb and sweet, or a letter sealed in a Hello Kitty envelope (that she threatens you not to cry over).

Even after all the noise, she ends the day by holding your hand quietly and whispering,

“Thanks for being born. 'Cause I don’t know what I’d do if you weren’t.”

Shishiba

Shishiba acts like your birthday is just another day. He’s gruff, says, “Don’t expect anything,” and even pretends to forget in the morning. But when night falls, you return home to find the lights dimmed… and the living room softly lit by candles. There’s a quiet jazz playlist in the background, your favorite takeout (because he knows he’d mess up cooking), and a modest bouquet of deep red roses resting on the table.

When you look at him—stoic as ever, arms crossed—he avoids eye contact.

“It’s not a big deal. I just figured… you like this sappy stuff, right?”

He’s a man of few words, but his actions scream care. The knife he gives you as a gift is custom-made, etched with something small but meaningful—maybe your initials or an inside joke. He doesn’t say, “I love you,” but when he sits close, brushing your hand with his, you feel it in the silence between you.

Later, as you’re resting your head on his shoulder, he murmurs:

“You bein’ here... makes the whole job thing suck less. Just thought you should know. Happy birthday.”

[that-sudsy]

SUDSY NOTES: This story is dedicated to Mbe, who could use a little cheering up right now. I hope Gaz can bring a smile to your face during this gloomy moment. (Since I promised myself to make you one bud. And I don't know who your fav character was so I tried to guess...I tried to tag you but it didn't work...) And to anyone else feeling under the weather, may our favourite Kyle "Gaz" Garrick lift your spirits!

If you have any requests or know someone else who needs a bit of cheering up from their favourite characters from cod or other Fandom, feel free to leave me a message in my ask box.

Dosage of Care

You and Kyle "Gaz" Garrick had been best mates for as long as you could remember. It all started with a simple competition: who could get back to base first. But as missions grew tougher, you both found yourselves spending more time in the medic bay than on the battlefield, getting patched up after each escapade. The awkwardness of undressing in front of each other faded away, especially since Kyle seemed to have a knack for getting himself into scrapes.

You nearly had a heart attack when you heard he fell off a helicopter. When he finally returned, you hugged him tightly, then playfully slapped his arm.

"Don’t you ever do that again, Kyle! I was worried sick!"

You were always there, waiting for him to return to base, and today was no different.

~**Present Day**~

Kyle stepped off the helicopter as Nikolai switched off the engine. Instead of their usual cool poses, they emerged with groans and aching muscles. Kyle sighed heavily as Soap slid the door open and hopped out.

They all went their separate ways—Simon needed to clean his uniform after a rather unfortunate encounter with a sewer, Soap needed a patch-up after getting shot, and Price had a mission report to file. Kyle, however, headed straight for the medic bay, not because he was injured (a rare occurrence), but to find you.

He peeked inside, only to find you absent. Your partner was on duty.

“She isn’t here, Garrick. She’s off duty,” the medic said.

“What do you mean, off duty?” Kyle replied, his thick English accent laced with concern. “It’s a Saturday! She works weekends!”

The medic nodded. “Aye, but she wasn’t feeling well. She’s in her quarters.”

Kyle thanked her and made his way to your quarters. Before he could knock, he heard you cough and sniffle. He knocked gently and opened the door. “Love?” he called, only to find you curled up under the covers with a small pout.

“Oh dear, you look absolutely dreadful,” he said, approaching you as he removed his gloves and took a seat on the edge of the bed.

“I feel terrible, Kyle... How was—ACHOO!—your mission?” you asked, despite your weak and tired state.

“It was alright, nothing special, but that doesn’t matter. What matters is you getting well. Let me take care of you,” he said, his voice softening.

“No, you’ll get sick too,” you protested weakly.

“I don’t mind, as long as I get to look after you. You always take care of me,” he whispered sweetly. “Now, let’s get you some soup and meds.” He placed a gentle kiss on top of your head. “Stay put, alright?”

Kyle stood up and left your quarters. A few moments later, he returned with an impressive stack of goodies that nearly obscured his view: comforters, pillows, meds, food, snacks, plushies, and a small portable DVD player.

“Where on earth did you get all this?” you asked, astonished.

Kyle grinned as he dumped the items onto the bed. “With a little help from Simon and Johnny, of course!” He placed the food on your study table. “I got you your favourite: soup from the Mess Hall, chips just in case, and your favourite action and rom-com films,” he said, patting the containers.

“I’m not really hungry, Kyle,” you said.

“But you’ve got to eat something, love,” he insisted, sitting beside you and lifting your chin with a finger. “It’ll help you heal faster. The soup has baby corn in it!”

You couldn’t help but smile. “Alright, just a little bowl.”

Kyle nodded enthusiastically and prepared a small bowl for you, all while playing your favourite movie on the mini DVD player. Little did you know, he kept refilling the bowl until you’d polished off the entire serving.

He stayed close, ready to fetch anything you needed, even insisting on guiding you to the bathroom whenever you had to go. Kyle didn’t mind one bit.

When the movie ended and it was time for bed, he tucked you in snugly. You looked up at him and asked, “Why are you doing all this, Kyle?”

He met your gaze, his expression softening. “Because you take care of me when I need someone most. Right now, you’re the one who needs caring, so I’m here for you,” he said, his voice low and sincere.

Your stomach fluttered at his words. “I wish I could kiss you, but I don’t want to pass the bug to you,” you sniffled.

Kyle chuckled. “It’s alright, maybe after,” he said, planting a kiss on your forehead, then on the tip of your nose, and to your surprise, on your lips. You went wide-eyed and exclaimed, “Hey! No!”

“I thought you wanted it,” he grinned, mischief dancing in his eyes.

“What if you get sick?” you protested.

“Nah, I can handle it. I’ve survived falling off a helicopter; a flu won’t take me down,” he said confidently, flashing that charming smile of his.

*After a week, you were fully recovered.*

But then, just as you were settling back into your routine, you heard a dramatic groan from the other room.

“ACHOO! I’M DYING!” Kyle exclaimed, throwing himself onto the couch with exaggerated flair.

You rushed in, a smirk on your face. “Oh, come on, Kyle! You’re not dying; you just have a cold!”

He looked up at you with puppy-dog eyes. “But I need my nurse! What if I can’t make it through the night?”

You rolled your eyes, trying to suppress a laugh. “Alright, alright, I’ll take care of you, but you owe me a kiss for every bowl of soup I make you.”

“Deal!” he said, grinning from ear to ear, his spirits lifting at the thought of your care.

Could never understood the entitlement of some people. For example, entitled to other works or blog–

My low self-esteem ass could neverrrr, I don't think i'm even entitled to my own blog. I've been treating it like our blog instead of my blog

..well, i am a socialist, uh-

Which is why i currate my blog for people 💀💀💀 coz ik some oomf need tw for certain stuff.. so i always make sure to add in the hashtags at least #cw: vomit or smtn like that.. and more in pinned post

[sysig]

Let’s Geckin’ Gooooooo! (Patreon)

[crewofthegoldrush]

a dragon a pigeon natalie dormer and pikachu get some freakin sleep

she/her for all*

[omtai]

i really wonder what makes customer think that when you put on a polo shirt with the store’s logo that that makes you all-knowing and all-powerful. I am being paid ten bucks to be nice to you. Give me a break

[maranull]

trying to get into the dlc with my caster/ice-bonk build and i. am. struggling. mohg isn't even that hard of a boss, cause at the first phase he literally just gives you full cast-a-tiny-moon time with he's playing latin math and in the second he generally lets you ran away so you can cast comets at his face

i even resorted to the tryhard flask setup and i still mess up the spells and flasks at points. also. i keep getting locked in animations and i can't fucking move. game. pls. let. me. roll-cancel.

I AM STRUGGLING

how do pure casters keep track of everything, i'm in awe of y'all

[plexippusangel]

About to hand weave this man a potion carrying pouch in his character colors. I was already thinking about it. And then was like no. It's too early. I'll just give him a bit of the yarn my pouch is woven out of that I hypothetically would use as one of the components as a favor to wear for the tournament. I will be normal. So normal.

AND THEN HE GAVE ME A HANDMADE POTION CARRYING POUCH IN HIS BLUE THIS MAN MATCHED MY FREAK AND I TEMPORARILY SCALED BACK

gonna stay at 100% freak going forward