— I love OPM (Original Pinoy Music), and I love Tetsuro so I decided to make this blog to post my musically charged thoughts/fics
— Basically, I'm here to spread the OPM agenda
— I haven't formally written fics in years pls be nice
— I will write for other characters too, so it's not just Tetsuro.
— My fandoms include: Haikyuu, Twisted Wonderland, A3!, Spy X Family... Etc. (I really can't remember all of them dawg)
— I'll do my best to provide english TL to my songfics.
Request rules and guide:
— I'll write anything SFW, but I will not write NSFW yet.
— I'll reject requests if I want to cuz this is my blog lol.
— When making requests, you don't need to send a whole essay. Don't get me wrong, you can, but you can just send me a song and a character and I'll take care of it.
— Even if it's not OPM, or a song I don't know, I'll try to listen to it!
For the Record. A series of hospital romances featuring;
An annoying internist who keeps messing up prescriptions, a hot headed charge nurse who just wants the shift to be over, a tired hospital representative whose done with satoru's shit, a physical therapist who LOOKS like the reason you'd be in PT, a psychiatrist who probably should be a patient instead, and a paramedic who likes to show off in front of his favorite ER Nurse.
series masterlist
HI! I'm back at it again with a new fic series. I stopped posting fics because I had to LOCK IN and focus on getting into university and securing a scholarship. Luckily, things worked out and ya girl is now trying to bag a degree. I will be updating this fic from time to time, so stay tuned!! Here's a little sneak peek for the first installment
In which a certain doctor seems to be making erroneous prescriptions just to get a clarification call from his favorite pharmacist...
After taking one look at the paper the patient handed in, you immediately turn to the landline and dial in the number for the nth time. Not even bothering to look at the number at the bottom of the prescription anymore, letting muscle memory do the work.
The phone rings twice before the receiver finally picks up, and you are greeted with the same awfully chipper (and honestly agitating) voice on the other line.
req - hq characters (kuroo lol) saying 'i know, baby, i know' when babying/comforting yn. ervyabebwyrogbrw
please feel no rush/pressure for this and look after yourself :)
Ok igotchu pookie HWJSHAHAHS cuz I need it too. This one goes out to the girlies who crave academic validation 😋 (me)
Song: Mahal Kape Tayo — EJ Clarks, Tothapi
(this one is cute, it's basically "Love, let's go have some coffee" it's a very nice song comfort song and to just wind down to.)
Tags: hurt/comfort, being rejected from a school you really wanted to get into, still living with ur parents, your parents love him, fussy school systems, established relationship, fluff, lots of feels.
You sit down in front of your laptop in your room excitedly, squirming in your seat in anticipation waiting for the results of your college entrance test for your dream school. You studied really hard for those tests and made sure to maintain your GWA, and participate in extra curriculars so it'd look good in your admission application.
The portal finally loads, and you are prompted to enter your test ID to see if you were qualified for admission into your chosen programs.
Your heart sinks your eyes immediately lock onto the apology in the first line "We regret to inform you that after careful deliberation you have not met the standards set to be qualified for your chosen programs..." Something in you shattered, you did not qualify for even one program? "What...?"
You end up shutting off and closing the laptop before you have a chance to be sad about it, choosing not to process such news just yet. And the rest of the day ends up feeling like a fever dream. Just going through the motions, unwilling to accept what had just happened.
You snap out of your trance when your messages are being spammed by your boyfriend.
Tetsuro: Babe
Tetsuro: Baby
Tetsuro: Love
Tetsuro: I saw the post made by (insert university), and saw that the results just came out. How'd it go?
Tetsuro: I bet you passed for sure. Congratulations🥳
You decide not to beat around the bush and give it to him straight.
You: I didn't get in.
The chat bubble that signifies he's typing goes on and off, and finally stops for a while. Second turn into minutes, and you realize he went offline. (💀)
You wonder why he's taking so long. You lay in your bed moping, no tears yet, stuck between "I wanna break down and cry." and "I wanna do something about it."
Sure, you could send an appeal. But the thing is, the school, and programs you chose was highly competitive. What if you're met with yet another rejection?
After a while there's commotion that stirs outside your window, and you brush it off as your neighbors coming to have a chat with your parents. That is, until you hear your mother call out your name and say "Come outside! My son is here."
You sit in your bed confused, you think, Huh?? Duh, my brother lives with us what are you talking about? I see him all day everyday.
But you reluctantly get up and go see what she's talking about anyway. Upon leaving your room and exiting the house through the front door, you're surprised to see Tetsuro standing there with your parents holding a bouquet of flowers, and paper bags stuffed with goodies in one hand.
"Look *anak, he's been looking for you." Your mom chimes in mischievously, and gives you a shit eating grin, while your father only chuckles as he pats Tetsuro's back and reminds him "No funny business." before they turn around and head out to make a grocery run.
We bid my parents goodbye, then he steps forward and gives you a boyish smile, stretching his free arm out for you. "Hi... Sorry I didn't reply right away, I had to pick some stuff up."
You let out a sigh of relief and hug him "You scared me. Who does that?" He looks at you apologetically, as he wraps his arm around you. "I know, I'm really sorry. I was out to get these, — (motioning to the flowers) — and I wanted to get some extra stuff. Please let me make it up to you."
And you do. You nod into his chest, breaking away from the hug gently to lead him into the house and into the living room. "Sit down Tetsu, I'll get you somethi—" He interrupts, helping himself to our kitchen counter, placing down the flowers and paper bag. "No worries love, I got it. You've had a long day, just kick back and relax."
His words send a wave of warmth throughout your chest, finding comfort in him. You move closer to him, wrapping your arms around his waist as you whisper a small thank you into his shirt.
He smiles as he starts working on replacing the old flowers in the vase on the kitchen counter. He unwraps the new flowers, and arranges them, albeit a little messily, into the vase. You look over his shoulder, "It looks beautiful Tetsu." He smiles, giving it one last touch before setting it back to it's original spot. "I'm glad you think so." Your eyes follow his form as he goes to wash his hands before reaching into the paper bag to reveal...
"Now how does coffee and ice cream sound?" You can only giggle as he lifts up a whole tub of cookies and cream ice cream, and a jar of my favorite coffee. "That sounds like an amazing idea Tetsuro~"
He pulls a chair for me and he moves on to fix us our mugs of coffee the way we both like it. Setting my mug and a spoon down in front of me, and taking his seat beside me. "Here's your order miss~ And some ice cream, on the house." Rolling my eyes at his playful tone. "Gee thanks Tetsu..." He just chuckles and opens up the ice cream for the two of you as you dig in.
It's sweet really, how he put comfort before confronting the problem, allowing you to process what was going on. Patiently waiting for you to open up to him as to not overwhelm you.
"So... Do you want to talk about it?" There it is, the dreaded question. "About what?" "You know..." You know, and it stings really badly but you decide to play it down. "Tetsuro I'm okay. There are other universities..."
Tetsuro looks at you knowingly, but instead of speaking, he just pulls you into his embrace instead, in his embrace where you felt safe enough to be vulnerable. Through this simple action, he'd allowed you to acknowledge the squeeze in your heart when thinking about the joyous reaction of those accepted into their priority courses.
To feel your frustration, sadness, and even envy, as the weight of your own expectations crash down on you. "I worked so hard for this Tetsuro..." You sob into his chest, grasping at the fabric to anchor yourself. "All those late nights studying for the test, trying to maintain my GWA, all while participating in extra curriculars! I want nothing more than to be able to go there..." You bury yourself into his embrace, and he rubs your back.
"I know baby, I know." He pulls away to cup your cheeks, making eye contact. "I was there baby. I saw you, and I remember very clearly. There were times I had to remind you to sleep because you were up late studying." His eyes soften as he wipes your tears gently with his thumbs.
"Or to remind you to eat because you forgot about lunch while working for a project. Or walking you home because your training for contests didn't ent til 6pm and I didn't want you going home on your own that late."
"The thing is, I know for a fact that you are one of the most hardworking, — and not to mention, loveliest — students out there. So what if some automated university admission program can't see your worth then so what? Things won't always go the way we envision them, but I know you. I see you. And you are able to thrive no matter where you go."
His words were sincere. You could tell from the conviction in his eyes, and you can't help but crack a smile through your tears. "Damnit Tetsuro... I was trying to have an emotional moment just now... You sure know how to cheer me up."
Planting a chaste kiss on his lips, and leaning back into his embrace. "Thank you Tetsuro." The blush that takes over his face doesn't go unnoticed. "You're right. I'll thrive in whatever environment I'm put in. After all, it's the students that make the school. Not the other way around, right?"
"Hah~ you're absolutely correct. That's my girl. I'm always so proud of you. Now how about we finish this ice cream before it melts?" You both share a laugh, before going back to eating your ice cream. The coffee long gone cold, but the warmth he brings to your chest makes up for it.
You were so grateful to have him. Though the situation planted a bitter taste in your mouth, to be loved by him left an overpoweringly sweet aftertaste. Being loved by him is reminiscent of the warmth that meets your lips from drinking a good cup of coffee.
*anak, meaning my child
[Here's a little excerpt from the song that I really like! And the translation hehe]
Wag kang mag-alala, maupo ka lang. Pagtitimpla kita. Mahal kape tayo, ang ating paborito. Ang lasang 'di nagbabago, tamis at init ng pag-ibig ko, para sayo
Don't worry, just sit down, and I'll fix you a cup of coffee. My love, let's get some coffee, our favorite. The taste that doesn't change, the sweetness and warmth of my love for you.
HI MY LOVES I kinda went nuts on this one. HWJFKED sort of self indulgent??? Not beta-read btw. Point out whatever mistakes you see. Anw I was inspired by a post by a college applicant who got rejected by UP despite passing the UPCAT bc apparently her school wasn't well known, hence less credible, and had less graduates than public high schools. Ok bye ILY ALL
LAST SONG aperture - harry styles
CURRENTLY WATCHING courage the cowardly dog show
CURRENT OBSESSION i fear i have started thinking about the pitt again
CURRENTLY READING still the second death of locke by v.l. bovalino
CURRENTLY WORKING ON several... several things.
CURRENTLY WEARING black jumpsuit with a white tee and a green sweater!
LAST GOOGLE SEARCH the correct spelling of the word contortionist
FAVOURITE FLOWER ilies!! specifically tiger lillies
NO PRESSURE TAGS: @snoopysupe @thceseus @tsivi @skymouth @heartharrington @cueloki @clarktologist @sir-lurkslot @i-gotta-go-so-much-bigger @iminyourceiling + whoever is reading this!!
She originally tagged my main account (@iminyourceiling), but I felt this was a better fit for my writing blog, so I'm sharing it here instead.
LAST SONG Forever On Your Side (Live from Bridgestone Arena) by NEEDTOBREATHE
CURRENTLY WATCHING Severance (technically a rewatch as I wait for season 3)
CURRENT OBSESSION Cracking dead dad jokes (Father's Day is upon us and I'm about to make it everyone's problem)
CURRENTLY READING Little Women by Louisa May Alcott (I listen to the audiobook while cooking)
CURRENTLY WORKING ON A Bucky Barnes fanfic that *may* turn into a short series. We'll see where it goes.
CURRENTLY WEARING Loose-fitting black and white striped tee and green linen pants. It's my go-to look lately.
LAST GOOGLE SEARCH Directions to my local piercing shop
FAVORITE FLOWER Hydrangeas
NO PRESSURE TAGS: @helaintoloki @theleavesofwesteros @cueloki @tinyshyteacup
I don't have a ton of mutuals, but hopefully that will change soon. :')
tagged by @solitarycreaturewrites !!! :) thanks so much <3
LAST SONG "El Dorado" by EXO :)
CURRENTLY WATCHING Jujutsu Kaisen, recently (a few days ago) finished my second rewatch of Jojo's Bizarre Adventure, planning a Haikyuu!! rewatch, Criminal Minds
CURRENT OBSESSION Steel Ball Run. (it's getting serious, basically all my screentime on my laptop these past few days has been me reading it)
CURRENTLY READING Steel Ball Run (lol) (also some long fics downloaded to my e-reader that I read before bed (my bedtime stories) (very different fandoms))
CURRENTLY WORKING ON a matsukawa multi-chapter fic thing (taking a long time because I'm very worried about characterization), and a Loki oneshot <3
CURRENTLY WEARING a black, oversized band tee and also very colourful, patterned (strawberries, chili pepppers, blueberries, picture frames, etc) white pants (it does not go together at all but that's okay)
LAST GOOGLE SEARCH "phantom blood movie" (I didn't know one had been made back in 2007. the more you know)
FAVORITE FLOWER I like so many, but I'd say lily or tulip :)
no pressure: @absolutely-smashin-innit @namelessanon @cornytal @bitchy-bi-trash @deartetsuro @bobateababe @redr0sewrites @silly-blorbo @buunloon (and anyone else who wants to! I love to see people's answers)
Hi! Omg i was tagged by @theleavesofwesteros thank u TvT ur liek one of my fav writers. SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG, I GO SHY AND FORGOT ABOUT THIS WHAHDJAHSHAHS
LAST SONG Suave by Aquila Packing
CURRENTLY WATCHING A bunch of romance anime!! Including observation log of my fiance who calls herself a villainess, and always a catch. I'm also watching frieren, rewatching kuroko's basketball, and catching up w jjk :3
CURRENT OBSESSION STARDEW VALLEY !!!
CURRENTLY READING a crapload of fanfiction, and (unfortunately) my pharmacy textbooks and board reviewers :')
CURRENTLY WORKING ON a jjk hospital au WHQHAHSGAJA trying to break my 3 year hiatus
CURRENTLY WEARING a comfy purple midi dress that i wear to bed
LAST GOOGLE SEARCH my school's student portal to check my next semester's course offerings😭
FAVORITE FLOWER bluebells! And stargazer lilies :3
i am vry shy and i don't rly interact with ppl that much so unfortunately i wont b tagging anyone TvT
I can totally see a situation with a 5 years old princess in which she is bargaining to sleep with her parents, especially her mom.
Fire Lady: You're a big girl Izumi, it's time to be independent.
Izumi: That's unfair! Dad is bigger than me, he should be independent first!
It's a story Zuko would tell Izumi's future husband and Iroh II future father
Druk can relate to Izumi, once he was bigger than an average dog he had to learn to sleep in his own place.
don’t you ever grow up.
— adult!fire lord zuko x fire lady!reader. bedtime rules become significantly harder to enforce when both your daughter and husband are determined to ignore them. | wc: 1,3K
The silk of your nightgown hugged you as you unpinned your hair at the vanity, letting it finally fall loose. It had been a grueling week of royal meetings, and the quiet of your bedchamber was a welcome relief.
“I told the ministers that if they try to debate the festival logistics one more time, I'm letting Toph handle the seating arrangements,” you said, turning toward the canopy bed.
Zuko was already propped up on one elbow beneath the embroidered blankets, his hair half-down. He let out a rumbly laugh.
“Please don't. I don't think we can survive whatever she considers 'organized' seating…”
Sighing happily, you stepped up to the high mattress and slipped beneath the heavy blankets. You expected the familiar warmth of your husband, but as your feet slid further under the sheets, they brushed against a tiny, solid lump curled right in the center of the bed.
You jumped back.
“Spirits!”
From the deep shadows of the pillows, a little head with unruly dark tufts popped up. Izumi blinked sleepily at you, a triumphant grin breaking across her face.
“Surprise!”
She held up one of her small hands toward the other side of the bed. Without missing a beat, Zuko leaned over and gave her a high-five.
“Zuko!” you breathed, placing a hand over your racing heart as you settled back down. “What is she doing here again? We talked about this…”
“She had that nightmare about the sea pruners two nights ago,” Zuko said. He reached over, his large hand smoothing down Izumi’s messy hair. “I found her wandering the hall and just picked her up. I didn’t think—”
“But it’s the fourth night in a row,” you interrupted, looking between your husband and your daughter. You moved closer, trying to maintain a firm, motherly tone despite how small and sweet she looked. “Izumi, sweetie, you have a large and beautiful bed of your own. Big girls sleep in their own chambers. We established the bedtime rules for a reason.”
Izumi scrambled across the blankets on all fours, wedging her small frame right into your side. She wrapped her arms tightly around your neck, burying her face into your shoulder.
“But my room is too dark at night, Mama… And it’s lonely. Even the shadows look like monsters!”
You looked up at Zuko, silently pleading for backup, but his expression looked rather sympathetic.
“You know…” Zuko started, a sheepish smile touching his lips as he rubbed the back of his neck. “She actually reminds me of someone else who couldn’t handle sleeping alone.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And who would that be?”
“Druk,” Zuko admitted with a smile.
Izumi’s head popped up, her amber eyes wide with sudden curiosity as she sat back on her heels.
“Wait… Druk? But he’s a giant dragon!”
“Not when he was a hatchling,” Zuko said, moving even closer so the three of you were clustered together. “When the Sun Warriors first entrusted his egg to me, he was very tiny. And the very first week we moved into the palace, he refused to sleep in his enclosure. Every single night, I’d wake up because he had snuck into my room, scaled the bedposts, and curled up right on my chest.”
You stared at your husband, invested in the story as much as Izumi was, a smile tugging at your lips.
“You never told me that!”
“Because it was a disaster,” Zuko laughed. “He was breathing tiny sparks in his sleep. He nearly set my blankets on fire three times. I tried everything to enforce the rules…”
“Like?” Izumi tilted her head.
“Like putting him back, closing the doors… but he’d just wail at the threshold until my ears rang.”
“So how did you fix it?” She asked, completely captivated, her hands resting on Zuko's knee.
“Well, I realized he wasn’t trying to be difficult, he was just used to the warmth of the dragon nests,” Zuko explained, his eyes dropping fondly to his daughter. “So, I built him a smaller, cozier nest right beside my bed with heated fire stones wrapped in blankets. I told him he was a noble dragon, and noble dragons needed their own domain to guard. It took a few nights… but once he realized his nest was safe and that I wasn’t going anywhere, he learned to love his own space.”
Izumi looked at you, then back at Zuko, chewing thoughtfully on her bottom lip.
“Is my room my domain?” she asked in a hesitant whisper.
“The grandest one in the residential wing,” you said, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead.
Izumi let out a shaky breath. Her small shoulders slumped as she let go of the blanket, untangling herself from the sheets with slow movements. She dragged her feet across the mattress, her head hung low and her lower lip pushed out into a pout.
“Okay…” she said, as she stared at the blankets. “I’ll guard my own domain like Druk. I go back to my bed now.”
She swung her legs over the edge of the high mattress, her small silhouette looking so incredibly fragile in the dim light as she prepared to slide down.
You stared at those small feet, suspended above the floorboards, and a dizzying wave of realization hit you so fast it left you stunned.
‘She was going to jump. She wasn't asking to be carried anymore.’
The thought struck you along with the panic that meant seeing her slipping through your fingers into a big girl's world far too quickly.
Your fingers twitched against the sheets. The strict bedtime rules suddenly felt entirely meaningless… utterly hollow, honestly. And you could make an exception.
“Wait,” you said.
Izumi paused, looking back over her shoulder with hopeful eyes.
From beside you, Zuko turned his head toward you with a curious glance. “What happened?” he asked.
You leaned closer to your husband, your voice dropping to a tender murmur meant only for him.
“I don’t want her to grow up just yet, Zu…”
Turning your gaze back to your daughter, your expression melted into one of your warm smiles.
“How about one last night? You can guard our domain with us, and start fresh tomorrow. You’ve shown you’re a brave princess.”
Izumi’s face lit up.
With a joyful little gasp, she scrambled right back into the center of the bed, throwing herself happily into the space between you both.
Zuko let out a laugh, moving in to close the gap. He slid one arm beneath your neck to pull you close against his side, while his other arm wrapped securely over Izumi's back. You leaned in too, burying your face against Izumi's hair, sandwiching your daughter in a family hug.
“Too tight! I need air!” Izumi giggled, her hands pushing playfully against your shoulders as she squirmed against the tight embrace.
Laughing, you both loosened your grip enough to let her breathe. Izumi didn’t waste time and turned onto her side, rolling over to nestle herself against your chest.
“Mama? Can I—,” she yawned, “have a cuddle while Papa tells the story?” she requested lazily, as the safety of the bed took over.
“Of course, sweetheart.”
You moved to tuck yourself against Zuko’s side, resting your hand over his steady heartbeat while keeping your daughter securely in your arms still between you two.
Zuko pressed a kiss to your temple, his breath brushing your skin before he looked down at your daughter. In a soothing cadence he had mastered, he began. “Long ago, before the Caldera walls were built, there was a sleepy little turtle-duck who lived in the royal gardens, and he had a very important secret…”
note: i looooved this request!! 🥹💕lowkey gave it my own twist but i hope you like it, anon! i felt like writing something cozy to post while i work on some of the heavier emotional requests. xx
🏷️my dear taglist (based off your approval in the last whaletail island series - always open!xx): @highlady0239 @xoxocelestial @eepypupy @maee67 @keropiiko @yeonatingz
pairing ex husband!kento nanami x wife afab!reader
synopsis marriage is hard. nobody gives you a rulebook — even if they did, kento knows it wouldn't spell out every way in which he must bend and compromise with you. but when a trip that was supposed to bring you together goes wrong, you're one foot out the door, and your husband decides that it's his duty to do anything to make sure you stay.
tags non-canon no curses!au, heavy angst, crude language, relationship "breakup", mentions of divorce, light drinking, heavy yearning, arguments, use of lots of pet names (baby/doll love, girl), smut (oral f!receiving, unprotected), happy(ish) ending
word count 10.4k
author's note its not always democratic over here in eraserbreadland, but this did win that poll i ran back a couple weeks ago. i dragged my feet on this, yes, and war kinda broke out between me and the nanamies, but i kept true to my word :*
art by @/1004_xvn on x
The day Nanami married you was the day his life truly began.
It all happened so quickly — like his mid-life crisis laid eyes upon your figure, swaying in the dull gold lights of his favorite dive bar, and decided that now was the perfect time to finally swallow his pride and channel his internal, buried lover. The age gap didn't matter, nor did the stark difference in personality. He saw you, he loved you, so he married you.
Now, he's feeling the adverse effects of his decision.
It all started slowly — the first month was bliss. You were home for him every single night, dinner hot and steaming on the stove as you smiled and dished up his fill. Every night, you'd wait up for him, posed in revealing sleep clothes as he crawled in next to you. Of course, the sex was good — mindblowing, almost, and a common multi-week occurrence. Kento hasn't reached for his right hand since he laid eyes on you, and that was proof enough that he needed to have you as his own.
What those first three months didn't warn him about was when things would start to fizzle out. It started with your lack of company, blaming it on your restlessness and how you wanted to see and be with your friends after giving him all of your time. Kento agreed when you asked him to duck out so you could have a night to yourself, understanding that nurturing female friendships meant more to you than he could have imagined.
Then, you got too comfortable doing that same thing — ducking out once he was already in bed without notice, leaving him to wake up in the middle of the night with the left side of the bed lonely and cold.
Tonight, though, was the first night that you weren't home at all when he returned from work. As he pulled into his parking space, he felt the shift of abnormality almost immediately, warning his body to calm its racing heart as he turned the ignition, grabbed his briefcase, and stepped out onto the pavement.
All the lights are off, the wind is steady, and his footsteps echo against his polished soles as he walks the path to his front door.
Just as he thought, and much to his dismay, the door is locked, and you're not waiting for him when he steps inside. Still, like the hopeful idiot he thinks he is, Kento calls out into the space, "I'm home, my love,"
Silence bites him back like a whip to the spine, jolting him back to life after a stressful day crunching numbers behind the blue light of his company computer. His case falls at his side in a dull, lifeless thump, echoing through the empty space like an insult to his sanity. He scans the dark room, planting an open palm to the wall as he toes off his dress shoes. He sighs around the mundane action, wishing it were you at his feet, looking up at him with those sweet eyes, begging to take his shoes off so you can properly welcome him home.
Instead, he pads into the kitchen, flicking on the lights, hoping for a sign that you're home and waiting for him. It's cruel — a long day leading into an even longer, unforgiving night seemingly without you at his side.
A note sits on the marble countertop, lit by the bright overhead lights, drawing attention. Kento sighs as he approaches, already up to his ears in annoyance and slight disappointment, though he'd never explicitly tell you as much. To him, this is still a new… arrangement. Sure, after the wedding, you two sat and spoke tirelessly about what you both need in a relationship, but you're still young, in your twenties, so Kento gave you grace.
But now it seems like he's offered too much as he squints at the note, his free hand bunched in a fist at his side.
Hi, sorry i missed you, love i hope your day wasn't too stressful and i'm sorry i couldn't greet you. in fact, you just missed me
i portioned out some leftovers for you in the refrigerator, all you have to do is just warm it up in the oven.
don't worry about me, i'm safe, just visiting a friend going through a shitty breakup. she needs me, so i hope you can understand. i shouldn't be back too late and would love to make it up to you when i get home if you're still awake. see u soon.
Kento can't be mad…
Scratch that — he's pissed.
He takes the note, bunching it in a solid, crumpled ball in his fist and tossing it towards the sink, rolling his eyes and dropping his head. His slicked blonde locks fall from their jelled hold, and all he truly wants to do is call you, but he understands your distance. He can't understand why you're so quick to rush to a friend's aid when he's here, lonely, aching for you in ways he's far too modest to explain.
Kento plants both open palms on the countertop, sighing heavily through his nose and letting his head fall. He stays like that for a moment, still trying to calm the racing of his heart, unable to swallow down the bone-deep disappointment and exhaustion he feels. Kento catches himself suppressing a… whine, eyes screwed shut as he tries to distract his pounding head from your sweet memory.
He's not hungry for leftovers; Kento is hungry for you. He wants to devour the way your back looks, hunched over his stove, and not the aftertaste of melded flavors all joined together by the cool prison of the refrigerator.
"She must think I'm a fool," Kento whispers to himself, looking up to snatch the crumpled note in his grip and toss it into the garbage as he leaves the kitchen. He doesn't think he's above leftovers, but he's definitely above letting you tiptoe and avoid his presence when he needs you now, more than ever.
You come back home well after midnight, silently pulling open the front door and wincing at the creak in the hinges. Kento's shoes are tossed by the door, neatly sitting side by side where you'd usually pick them up and place them on the shoe-shelf. His work bag hangs lazily, where you'd usually unpack the scattered papers, straighten, and place them in his home office.
He doesn't have to tell you that he's disappointed; you can smell it in the air, and the lack of the sweet, wafting smell of the dinner you left for him.
With a silent sigh, you shrug off your light jacket and step into your home, flicking on some lights in passing. You move to the kitchen, rubbing the exhaustion from your eyes to check and see if he ate your prepared meal, only to find it sitting untouched on the third shelf in the refrigerator. That, in itself, is enough of a sign to know what you're doomed to walk into when you retreat to the bedroom. Still, it doesn't scare you, Kento isn't a scary man when he's upset — just a bit… elusive, hard to grasp, and avoidant.
You love every season of his mood, but you find yourself lingering in the hallway, heart racing as you try to balance the scales in your mind. He could be asleep, or he could be waiting for you with his glasses perched low, a book on his propped knee with the light of the bedside lamp playing on his brow. Perhaps he'd crack a cynical joke to bring the atmosphere down and welcome you into his space, but more likely than not, he'd be asleep, back to the door, avoiding you until his alarm rings at the crack of daylight.
You take your chances with a steady breath, wrapping your hand around the slim doorknob and slowly turning it. The bedroom is dark — no lamplight giving you a welcome sign to his presence. In a way, you're grateful for it, but in the same breath, you're devastated that he couldn't wait up for you. You noticed the absence of the letter you'd left, a good sign in and of itself, but a sorry one, because you didn't know where he'd put it or if he'd shrugged it off in annoyance.
The letters aren't a new key to your relationship. They're something that you two carried on throughout dating — just small little notes that he didn't want to translate via text or call. You'd drop off dinner at his place with a sweet note, and he'd return your dishware with a similar note, crooning his love and appreciation for you. At the bar where you met, he slipped you his number and name on a ripped-off work letter, wordlessly slipping out through the front door as you unfolded your destiny in front of the bartender. You would text him, and the endearments would go unresponded to until he saw you next, making sure he slipped his daily letter close to you when you weren't looking. He was… shy, now he's distant when he's nervous or tired.
You close the bedroom door slowly behind you, careful not to disturb the rest he needs so he can endlessly provide for you and your non-working lifestyle. Still, the tiny click of the lock makes him stir, his shadowy frame shifting onto its side, holding his fluffed pillow close like it's your body. It makes you smile just a touch, and you so badly want to wake him and fall into his arms, but you hold back.
Bypassing the bed, you shrug off into the en-suite to change out of your clothes and shower off, hoping the soft stream of water would be enough to gently lull him out of his rest so he can dote on you.
It only takes twenty minutes, then the bathroom is full of steam and the familiarity of your perfumed body wash. You slip out the door, wet, warm footprints leaving a disappearing path on the wood as you pad over to the bed. Kento shifts again, and when you get close enough, you can see the whites of his eyes against the darkness of the moonlight. It startles you in a way that makes you smile as you climb into bed, waiting on your knees as he blinks up at you.
Wordlessly, you reach for him, combing a hand through his night-drenched locks. "I'm sorry I woke you."
"I'm sorry you weren't here when I got home."
Your heart falls, a small frown settling over your face. You keep your hand in his hair, your thumb rubbing across his soft forehead, collecting the oils in his skin to melt with yours. "I'm sorry."
Kento doesn't respond. He turns to his side, blocking you out with his back to you as you settle in, shellshocked at his distance.
It's not like this is the first time you weren't able to greet him after a long day, but this time feels so utterly different. He shrugs you off, and it feels like your world is ending — your heart is in your ass, racing like a million hares running a marathon atop your lovebed.
"Me, too."
After that night, nothing was really the same.
Kento pedaled back, and he did so, hard. His distance created distance with you, feeling like you have to walk on tiptoes around him in fear of getting under his skin again. A week has come and gone — no intimacy, just casual "I love you's" before work and "Sleep well's" before bed. You're making a better effort to check off his invisible checklists, making sure you're home whenever he needs you, and letting friendships fall by the wayside in favor of saving your marriage, which already seemed to be fraying around the edges.
Kento tries dates — taking you out in dresses and heels on the weekend and parading you around the city like you're more of a prize rather than his wife. Still, you put on a face and let him hold you however he needs to, if it means saving everything you built together.
You try to crack jokes against a pale mood, if only to see how his cheeks pinch up in a slight smirk, and he does, but it's not enough.
"Maybe we should take a vacation." You elect, holding his huge, strong fingers between each of yours, kissing the veins over the back as he drives you home from dinner. "Just you and I, somewhere lonely."
"What makes you propose that?" His tone is even — not accusatory, but soft and questionable. His free hand circles the wheel expertly, a small detail you always catch yourself lingering on. It's like Kento wants you to admit your distance, just like you want him to admit his. Neither of you can place it, so it sits heavily in your chests, festering until you both blow.
"I want more time with you. Just you."
"Have I been working too much?" He starts, again— not accusatory, but almost too gentle for the conversation you two are having. Kento has a bad habit of facing every question with further questions, leaving you buzzing around like a bee trying to find a place to land. "I hope you would just tell me rather than reaching for escapism."
"I'm not trying to escape, I'm trying to be closer to you." You let his hand fall towards your chest. Kento glances over at your painted face, streaked with passing city lights, and nods.
"I'll see what I can do about my work schedule. You know it's quite difficult for me to take time off."
"You know… just yes or no would be enough."
Kento doesn't answer — he doesn't pick at useless conversations. If you want him to reapproach his answer, so he shall. "I will see what I can do."
It's not good enough, but it'll do. You nod, letting his hand rest in your lap, petting over his knuckles with your polished thumb.
Halfway through the drive home, Kento opens his mouth. "I'll take you wherever you want to go. Just choose."
"What made you change your mind?"
"I can tell you're not too happy with me for some reason." He leaves it at that, taking a few idling seconds as he pulls back into your home lot, parking his bone-white foreign car in the driveway and letting the ignition hum.
You don't answer. Shifting in your seat, you nod slowly, peeking at his side profile against the dark background of the night.
"It's my fault?" You decide after a moment of pondering how to speak. Kento turns to you, unblinking, sitting up as he pulls off his seatbelt. "That I'm not too happy with you?"
"I didn't say that." He offers, and it's deft and short, making you suck in your cheeks to fight the dull, stabbing taste he leaves in your mouth. He stares at you for a moment, and you stare right back, blinking and nodding silently.
Then, it takes an act of courage — one of God and self-preservation when he leans over the console and reaches for your chin in his hand. You don't react at first, lips rolled under your teeth as he shifts closer, closing the distance so he can kiss you back into his good graces.
"How about we both stop talking for a bit." He mumbles in the heat of the moment, stroking your cheek as he leans in and kisses you the right way for the first time in forever. It starts slow — just his lips on yours. Then his tongue peeks out, licking over your bottom lip before pushing into your mouth. You sit with a slack jaw, reaching over to dig your fingers in his strong thigh over the console.
Kento is better at kissing than speaking, or he prefers the lack of words and the movement of lips. You could talk him into circles if he's not careful, and that gets tedious when all he wants to do is sit and watch you exist. Kisses tend to do you in when you're upset and screaming — when your mouth is dry, and your soul is on fire. This time, you're mellow as you give in, hoping this opens a space for intimacy that you both have been too nervous to give.
He pulls away after a few moments of breathlessness, letting his lips linger against yours like he's trying to suck the lifeblood from your kissed lips.
"I'll do anything you want me to." He whispers, stroking your cheek as you will your breath back down into normalcy. Kento has a bad habit of spiking your blood and leaving you to simmer with it, but this time feels different. He's thorough — incredibly, heartbreakingly so. "We'll do whatever we have to do to make this work."
"It's not…" You start, tongue-in-cheek, as he holds your face. "Not working." You don't know exactly what you're trying to say, but you say it anyway. Kento nods as if you're speaking a language he knows. "We just need some time to work on communication… especially."
He drops his forehead, letting it rest against your clammy, wind-whipped skin. Pressed forehead to forehead in this incredible, silent heat, Kento makes an internal promise to you and himself that he doesn't intend to break for the rest of his life. "I know it's me—
"Stop, I'm not implying that you blame yourself."
He shakes his head before you can finish your thought. "I can't live without you."
"Kento, sto—
"I married you for a reason, and I know I have no purpose anymore outside of pleasing you — making sure you're satisfied."
"I am." You rush, sitting back to give yourself more space to breathe. Kento drops his hand from your cheek, and you reach up to cradle his sharp, stubbled chin. In the darkness, you can't see much in his twisted expression, but you can make out the slight crip in his voice — cutting his throat every time he tries to make good with his words. "All marriages have problems. Who are we to be the exception?"
"That doesn't make me feel any lighter, love."
"Then, let me tell you — vacation or not, we're still going to be the same."
"You're so wise beyond your years."
"Is that not why you love me?" Your lightness makes him crack a smile, and for the first time in the ten minutes you two have been idling, progress peeks out from the ether. He feels it, so do you, and it feels like a chance. As you reach to run your fingers through his combed-back hair, he leans into the affection like a starved toddler, and you conclude that you never want to let him go — through the good and ugly, you promised yourself to him, and that's the most important part keeping you two tied at the waist.
Then, the day comes. It's a particularly sunny Sunday, giving the space an air of ease and happiness as you zip up the last of your and your husband's luggage. It's a day off for him, and instead of helping you pack for a trip he's funding, he's in the sitting room with a book on his knee, feeling the sun's rays burn his corduroy-covered legs.
You're exhausted with it — insane and melancholic as you sort through your wardrobes, picking and choosing a week's worth of clothes so he has options. Sure, it's mundane, but it's what he needs from you, so you comply.
You have to kneel over the final suitcase to actually secure it, and it winds you. Still, you hop back and pull it upwards, face hot and flustered.
"Kento," You call as you step outside of the bedroom door, hands on your hips as you pad barefoot. "I just finished packing up the last one."
He's sitting in the enclave, a foot propped up on his lap as he thumbs a page in a nonfiction book aged well before your time. The words are scrawled in English, and he studies with a furrowed brow — it almost hurts to interrupt him.
"Did you hear me calling you?"
"About the suitcases? Yes." He mumbles, sitting up in his chair, but not closing his book. He couldn't be bothered to reach for a bookmark, hoping this interaction would be short above all. Kento tries to usher you over, waving towards you with a bent finger. "Darling, I'm sorry, I actually just got a call while you were away that they need me to pull some extra time at work, I don't—
"Wait, what?" You shake your head, cutting him off.
"Just for tonight, but we can switch our train to an early one tomorrow morning, we'll leave for Kyoto then." He sits back, retracting his initiation for touch as he leans back over his book.
"N-no, we have to go tonight, we have reservations for dinner and a whole tour planned out."
"Then, we'll fly tomorrow morning."
"You're completely missing the point, Ken, really—
"I don't know what arguing about this will solve." He clears his throat, pushing his glasses over his nose as he flips a page. He's purposefully shrugging you off, treating you like a nuisance when all he wants is his alone time. "You are not getting on that train tonight, verdict dealt."
"Oh, you are such an asshole." You scoff, rolling your eyes so hard that it hurts. "That work excuse? It's bullshit."
He doesn't respond, merely raising his brows at the sudden profanity you're shooting his way when you're usually so polite. He just… flips a page and lets you fester like an open, infected wound next to him. Kento knows just how to work you up, and it's the ignorance. It's you standing there with your heart on your shoulder, gutted that you can't spend a long-planned romantic evening with the man you're destined to spend the rest of your life with.
"Then, I'm getting on that train. I'm going alone."
"Don't be ridiculous." He shrugs you off like the leftovers he so despises, treating you like a yapping pet. "I have just a few hours before I have to go back to work, so we can go out for dinner."
"Or we can get on the fucking train that you paid for — that we planned!" You raise your voice to a slight yell, pointing out towards the door like it'd remind him of where you're destined to go. "You're a liar — all of those things you promised…"
"Would you like to call my boss yourself? Talk him out of his decision?" He can't even look at you, and that's what kills you. Whatever is in that foreign book about space travel has to be more interesting than the person he married. "Be my guest."
"I want you to actually put in some effort. We planned this for two weeks, and you promised."
"We're done talking. What's done is done."
"Yeah, you say that because you know you're in the wrong.
Then, it comes — the ignorance. He clears his throat again and flips to his next page, bouncing his right foot up and down like he's mocking you. You scoff again, unsure of where to stand or what to do. You have two options lying over you — missing your entire night in a different city, or sleeping next to the man who just raised your blood so hot that you're still due to explode.
"I'm going." You whisper after a solid three minutes of silence, once more for good measure. "I'm going alone, and I don't want you there at all. Pick up all the overtime you need this week; I'll be in Kyoto."
Now, Kento wants to respond. He sits up swiftly, polished brows knit together like he doesn't actually believe you. When he goes to speak, you've already stormed off, ready to take the one suitcase you just packed and leave for the week you were promised, not the six days he wants.
Kento calls your name from his corner, standing up and leaving his book face down in his heat so he can chase after you. "Don't be ridiculous, I paid for the trip!"
"Verdict dealt, Kento."
"You don't get to override my verdicts like that."
"Just stop talking. I'm done listening."
"You're going to leave me… for a week?" It dawns on him that he hasn't been that far from you since before he knew your name. It's painful to think about, something that makes his throat burn. "One whole week? Just like that?"
"We planned this trip together." You grunt, pulling the handle on your suitcase up as he crowds you in the bedroom. "It's not 'just like that', I gave you a chance."
"Wait," He stops you with a hold on your arm, so close that you can make out the veins in his eyes. "Please don't go."
"It hurts, doesn't it?" You whisper, and it's not a question — your tone flat as a plate before you snatch your arm away. "Move. Let me go."
"The train we booked doesn't leave for another hour and a half."
"I don't care." You decide on a whim, shouldering past him through the entryway, dragging the suitcase behind that's half your height and made for him to lug around in your stead. "I need some time alone."
"A-are you serious? Babe—
"Kento, stop."
"I won't do it." He starts, reaching back out for you before you walk out of arm's reach. "Hey, I told you I'll call out, I don't care anymore about demerits or overtime, I just want you."
You scoff, eyes sore from how hard you've been rolling them. You knew this would turn into that — baseless promises and excuses that he's not even thinking about before he speaks them. "A little too late, don't you think?"
"If you would just give me a chance—
"I give you so many that I'm chanceless, now." You shrug, mirroring his big emotions with pure indifference when you're usually the emotional one in this marriage. Kento stands in the doorway to your bedroom, completely shell-shocked, hands suspended in midair where he tried to reach for you. "I'm done talking." You remind him, disappearing into the hallway and leaving him to swallow the dust.
Kento knows he has to follow you, ready to patch up his wrongs, but something inside of him makes it hard to move. So, he listens to you leave, glasses stuck between his fingers, limp at his side as his arm finally drops.
Distantly, somehow removed from it all, he finally takes a step forward several minutes after he hears the door slam. Kento manages a small, "Babe?" Then sighs, rolling his head back to stare into the wood-paneled ceiling.
To him, it feels like he just can't win.
Kento goes through the night without you. He doesn't beg or touch himself in your image — he sits with it in the spot you left him in. By his window, a book propped on the knee you used to shimmy over when your body was so hot and real at his side. Now, he feels some kind of emptiness.
It's not like before he met you; it's different. The shallow, dull taste of loneliness tastes sour this time, like it's his fault and not just lax timing. He had a world of possibilities in his hands and let it all slip with a split-second bad decision. He's never turned down big projects at work — he honors the career he built before he met you, but now he thinks he honors you more. The runaround he's juggling in his head is devastating; he can't focus on his book.
Gazing out of his second-floor windows to this quiet, residential part of the city, he ponders where you are and how you're doing. He's counted down the seconds, knowing you arrived in Kyoto nearly ten hours ago with no word. No call, or even a text, and he thinks that's what hurts the most.
Sure, he could pick up the phone and will you home till his voice is hoarse with it, but you've never acted out like this before. For the first time in your three months of marriage, he's seen your walls completely go up. It's not something you could laugh or shrug off; it was pure betrayal. He chose a job — a check over you and all the energy you put into him, and whether he believed it or not, it was the first true, real crack in your relationship. Not the avoidance, pleas for peace and space, and demands for perfection; it was this and his brainless response afterward.
Still, Kento can't grasp it. He needs you home.
His book stays open on the same page as the hours tick by. He sits, crossing and uncrossing his knees, then his legs — anything to keep his body moving as he gazes out of his window, down the desolate, lonely road that only sees foot traffic when you and he walk hand-in-hand to and from the market on his days off. If he squints, he can almost see your shadows among the flimsy tree-shade, then he blinks and realizes just how far he's gone after less than a day without you.
As the sun sets over the spot he's watched all day, Kento realizes that he hasn't really moved. His phone is in another room, likely alight with calls and messages from his supervisor, promising punishment for him not keeping up on the promise of overtime. Kento thinks he cares, but when he stands up, knees cracking with a sigh, he realizes that there's just absolutely nothing on his mind but you.
The house feels suffocatingly empty as he moves around it, keeping a steadying hand as he ventures into the kitchen for the first time all day. Against the marble, he places an open palm, letting the coolness shock his soul back to life as he lifts his hanging head.
His heart beats faster as he drags to the refrigerator, but not for food — he stumbles about the soulless expanse of his home on a mission, digging for one thing that could remind him that you're still real, even though you feel worlds away. When you two first married, he kept every single handwritten note for himself, hanging some of them in his office, and others folded in the center console in his car. When moments get hard, he reaches for you, so it's only natural that he'd rummage through the miscellaneous drawer for anything with your penmanship. It feels like cruel fate when he stumbles upon the tiny crumpled page he swore he had done away with those days ago.
You, on the other hand, have been worse.
Your husband still lingers close behind, caught in the afterglow of everything you do, but you haven't spoken to him in twenty-four hours — the longest you've ever gone without him.
Usually, you'd think you'd be at your wits' end — clawing at your skin to feel needed and close to him, but you're stagnant. You've spent the day out in the city, enjoying a meager, solo breakfast and a relaxing massage, where you closed your eyes and saw your favorite head of blonde hair so close that you could run your fingers through it in your dreams. You miss him, of course, you do, but you don't miss the submission that comes with loving him so wholly and close to your mind. Being around him turns you into someone built for him, and not for yourself, though he never asks you to change; it just comes second nature, and you're not sure you're able to change.
As demeaning as it sounds, you let him become your strength, and now you're weak and boneless without him, free in a city that doesn't know who you are.
You book a reservation for dinner that night, and it's under his name. You didn't stutter or correct yourself when the hostess asked for a name; you just gave it, then froze when you realized how pathetic it felt to be without him like this. You two are both too stubborn to reach out first, but it didn't stop you from keeping your phone and his number close. Hopefully, you think, Kento will finally see your side and admit defeat.
But you eat dinner alone with your phone as your date, dodging the gleam of couples that saunter through the door in your stead. Dining alone isn't new for you, but it's not the norm, and you just almost reach for that contact.
Three days later and hours away, sunken into his sofa and heavy with dark liquor, Kento wants to reach for you. His clothes feel two sizes too small, and his spirit feels like it's doomed to explode now that the alcohol has touched it. Through the haze, he wonders… craving some hint of you in the chaos of his mind. It's been as long without even a call or text from you, let alone a courtesy message letting him know you're safe in Kyoto, and not unconscious on the side of a road.
His mind ventures there like it's a normal thing, now. He grieves you if you've died, and misses you like you're only a few miles away from work. Kento didn't know your loss would feel so monumental, but his life is falling apart, and there's nothing more he can do but call you home.
On day four, Kento caves.
It was another sleepless night — one of him staring out of the night-drenched window, sweating and uncomfortable as he tried to imagine your body behind him. He gave up right as dawn began to break, dark purple bags under his eyes as he sat out of bed and stared out the window. His hair is unbrushed — beard five days old and long enough to feel stubbled and uncharacteristic.
He doesn't walk into the bathroom to deal with himself, nor does he even have the strength to get out of bed anymore. Kento lifts his sleep-laden head and rushes for his phone, half-dead and dimmed over the picture of you posed as his lockscreen. His hands shake so badly that he has to stop himself from calling you for a moment, just so he can calm himself down.
So, he calls you, but you don't answer.
Then, he calls again… and again… and, once more.
Every single time, he gets the same cheery, robotic playback that makes him want to crawl out of his skin: This caller is not available.
Kento doesn't leave a message; he doesn't even let the script play all the way through. He hangs up his phone after the fifth try and tosses it back on his bedside, before turning and falling back into bed. He stares at your side of the bed as the sight of it being empty physically pains him. Kento doesn't make a noise as he reaches up to caress the soft pillowcase, pulling it closer to his face so he can inhale the stale scent of you.
Then, day seven comes, and Kento feels like a shell of himself. He doesn't know how to win you back, or if it's even possible at this point. He's given some piece of himself to his solitude, finally going back to work after day five, when he was too far gone on excuses and the slim few opportunities he had at time off. It's a blessing that he didn't get fired, but Kento knows how much he's needed there, seemingly more than you need him. That is the only thing that brings him back to reality when everything feels so unstable — suspended in space.
He's at work when you come home, just like you suspected — as you had perfectly planned out. If you're lucky, he'll give you a solid three hours to pack your things and go, leaving him with the Kyoto-stamped stack of divorce papers for him to sign and send off once he's made his peace.
You're expecting this all to be an easy process — Kento seems just as removed as you are, especially after the fact that you haven't heard from him in the week you've been away. He had kept all the shared cards and accounts open for you, showing you that respect, if anything, but he was silent, and all you needed was a call. If it were anything that'd save your marriage, it'd be a plea for closeness.
You come home suitcase-first, pushing them through the silent doorway with a sort of full-body exhaustion only travel, and no sleep can bring on. The whole exchange is quick — you park your luggage in the entryway, toe off your shoes, and dig in your bag for the secured envelope.
On the countertop where you cooked all of his meals — served an indifferent face that would always crack into a smile when you stepped into his gaze, you slid the promise of divorce over. The entire train ride back, you wondered if you had made the right choice by signing on those dotted lines, but you truly weighed it. Whether or not Kento signs it, you'd be comfortable.
Heartbroken if it ended, but less suffocated — more real. more you.
You slide the envelope on the counter, but just as you step off to run for the hills and wait by the phone, the front door unlocks.
You stand there, red-handed, in the kitchen as Kento walks back inside. He stops as soon as he sees your luggage in the door, heart stilling as he thinks of a million useful things to say in the moment.
Right now, he doesn't know where you are, but he's paralyzed, eyes wide and jarred. "L-love?"
You laugh, equally as stunned at your shitty luck. The sound of his meek voice cuts through the shock like a knife, and you're freed from your weakness before it can really take hold. It was your idea to bring the papers, so it's up to you to give them, and not drop them and run like a coward — you owe him more than that for his love.
"Kento, can you meet me in the kitchen?"
To him, that doesn't sound good. It sounds like his mother calling for him to be scolded when he was a child. Little Kento would always walk in with his tail tucked between his legs, and big Kento hasn't changed a bit. He peels off his shoes, case, and blazer, hot and beading at the brow at the pressure of your presence.
"I missed you so much, baby doll—
Kento starts the second he rounds the corner and sees you. His body lightens up from the shy tuck your voice pressed him in, and he just… wants to be close to you. He instinctively walks close enough to wrap your hoodie-covered body in a hug before he sees it next to you.
"Kento, look—
"What is that?" He starts, redirecting his attention to the counter so he can slide the item in his hands. You lean over the opposite side, bottom lip caught between your teeth as you watch him examine the wordless front. Still, as respectful as he always is, he asks, "Is it for me?"
"Yeah, open it." You make it sound like a birthday gift, with your tiny and hoarse voice.
So, he does. You're both silent, breathing against the hum of the refrigerator and the occasional rush of breeze against the paper-thin windows. The text is sprawling and professional when he glances at the title, but it doesn't really register until he stumbles upon your full name placed dominantly above him.
"You don't have to sign it… today."
"Divorce?" Kento flicks his gaze over to you, unintentionally giving off some sinister sort of air that breeds when he has more to say. "Is this really what we've come to?"
"It's not you, it's me."
"Oh, here we go—
"And I realized when I was alone, that this is not what I want. I love you—
"Don't do this to us—
"I love you so much, I do, but I love me, and I can realize that I'm never really happy anymore. In love, yes, but not… happy and fulfilled."
So, Kento starts firing off blanks, "What do you need me to do? We can move to Kyoto. Did you like it over there?"
"This isn't about Ky—
"W-what about… Baby, we can take a long trip somewhere like you wanted from the beginning, just don't do this."
"I'm sorry." You reply, tears threatening to start burning in your eyes as you watch him drop his elbows on the counter and let his face fall into stretched palms. "I really am sorry. Look, you don't have to sign them today, okay?" You chew on your words, repeating the only thing that comes to mind as you slowly start to inch over to him on the other side of the counter.
"I know I'm just springing this on you, but I just couldn't sleep at night."
"Did I make you that unhappy that it could warrant a divorce?" He mumbles into his hands, voice broken in a way you haven't heard, really, ever. It stops you in your tracks, heart pounding as he sits up quickly, crowding you before you have the opportunity to close the space.
Kento reaches for your hands, taking you all at once as he finally touches you again. Huge palms splayed out over your wrists, you step back in shock, taking a sharp breath that you don't swallow down. "Ken—
"Therapy, classes — maybe a little communication." He spits out like he's angry, nose-to-nose with you and so kissably close, but mentally as far away as he could possibly be. "What have I done? Why can't we work through this?"
"Because I'm tired—
"I'm going to need a little more than that."
"You treat your job like a wife, already. You don't have it in you to juggle both me and it." You give him some chewed version of the truth, only a half-thought, you were navigating around while you spent your 'vacation' in a legal office.
Kento can't argue. "Don't do this to me."
"I'm doing it to me, too!" You're close to your breaking point, letting your emotions bubble over. If he says one more thing to you but 'okay', you're doomed to a pile of tears on your kitchen floor.
Then, Kento reaches for something that you never thought he'd ever do for you — he drops to his knees at your feet. "Please, don't go."
"Oh, my— Get up."
"Baby, love," He whines like a boy, dropping his forehead into your pelvis, digging into you like he wants in. "Please, we can do better — I'll do better."
"Please." You plead right back, staring at the ceiling to stop the tears from rolling down your face. Failing miserably, you sniffle and step back off balance, shaking your head as he continues.
"I know you don't think so, but when you left, you took all of me with you." He begs, thick fingers turning into fists in the fabric of your pants. You shake your head again, feeling him right in your chest, pulling your heart from its connectors. "What do you— What do you want, do I need to scream for you?"
"Ken—
His grip tightens, bordering on the cusp of fabric burn as he pulls you as close as possible. You stumble into him, needing to steady yourself on the counter with a hand as he lays it all on the line. You've never heard him speak above an enthusiastic height, so it cuts you to the core when you hear him yell, "Please, baby! Please, please…"
"Ken— all of this isn't going to change my mind." You power through your emotions for just a moment, pushing him back so you can catch your breath without him begging into your core. "Even before I left, I was thinking about it."
He shakes his head, not stopping as he yearns, "Let me try again, baby, please. Just one more time."
"I've made my choice." You decide in a weak voice, trying once more, the final time you push him away. "Stand up, we can be mature about this."
"It's not about being mature, it's about getting you to stay." He looks up at you, hazel eyes wide and pleading. It takes all of your willpower not to give in, running your fingers through his hair and welcoming him back. "I'll do anything, absolutely anything."
It seems like his definition of 'anything' was the one thing you needed. His body is so completely devoted to you, gentle and strong as he helps you step out of your pants and rest back against the counter, still kneeling in front of you. He guides your knee over his shoulder, unbuttoning the first three buttons on his work shirt so he can stay decent as he flows his devotion back into you.
"I don't really know what you aim to fix with this," You start, just to make it sound like you weren't as easy as you were letting on. After serving him the papers, you had every mind to run for the hills and only see him on occasion — surely you weren't expecting to be back in this position with his fingers in your panties, pulling them down so he can get impossibly close to you.
Before your week of being away, it had been equally as long since he touched you, and vice versa. Neither of you commented on it, though the change was drastic and uncomfortable. Now, Kento has every mind to make it up to you — tears in his eyes that he refuses to let spill over as he scoots in close to you, gathering the cotton of your shirt against your lower stomach so he has ample space to go down on you and spell his devotion out in ways that his own words can't.
He doesn't speak as he guides your hips forward, looking into your eyes as you breathe expectantly, heat already rising up your throat as he takes this moment as his own. You don't have to ask him more than once to make you feel like a woman; you just have to silently beg for him to make you feel real. Now, you won't beg. You'll stare down at him as he parts his lips and dips down, shoulders hunched so he can press his lips against the softness of your exposed thighs, barely ghosting past your core like he's teasing you when he knows he has everything to lose.
Before he touches you there, you reach down to slip your fingers in his hair, silently urging him forward, desperate for even a whisper of his tongue against your heat, burning so hot that you're starting to drip and stain your skin. He smells it before you can voice your need and takes that as fuel to dive in, tongue peeking out of his mouth as he fists the skin on your hips, licking a straight, confident line down from your hole, all the way up to your clit, eyes stuck open to gauge your reaction before he squeezes his shut and repeats.
You're not giving him much — just scrunching up your face when the harshness of his tongue pokes and prods at your clit. He flattens it out, tracing delicate circles into your flesh before diving back in, collecting your dripping slick onto his tongue and closing his lips around you suck the concentrated moisture back into his mouth. It makes your eye twitch, back arching against the back of the counter, where it uncomfortably digs into your rear. Steadying yourself on open palms splayed against the cool surface, you push your hips forward into his being, asking for more touch without using your words.
Kento gives himself willingly and without constraints, jaw working like he's chewing you alive, when he's really working his tongue into overdrive, spinning out of control as he laps at your cunt, reaching up to keep you spread apart so he can claim every single inch of your sex as his. It's always been his, even since you were born — he's told himself that every other man that got a chance with you was just warm-up for the real thing, and he was not going to let that construct slip away just because you don't know what you want.
He eats you out, and you're a mess about halfway through, head thrown back, spilled moans dripping down your chin, mixed with drool. Still, you refuse to speak or to say his name, much more stubborn than he is, right now, even with an aching jaw and shot demeanor. Kento's face is red with the effort, his grip tightening over your thighs when you clench them together, too overcome to realize how you're trapping him.
His wedding band leaves an indent in your thighs, eyes flicking open and up as he breathes out a soft groan against your clit. The vibrations send tingles down your spine, and they're so hot that you reach down to push him away, afraid of finishing right now, like this. This isn't how it usually goes — Kento riles you up just enough to get you excited, then finishes you off in the bedroom, buried inside of you, planked over your body like he was afraid you'd run away.
"It's okay, give it to me."
"N-not like this." You rasp for the first time since he started on you, voice wrecked and feeling like razors cutting the walls of your throat. "We have to do it r-right."
"There is no right way to make love to you." He tries, replacing his tongue with his fingers — running two of them sensually, slowly through your wet, cleaned-out folds. "As long as we're both satisfied."
Your breath catches as he focuses on your G-spot, crooking his thumb just right, so gently that his effort pushes you closer to your breaking point. "This…" You stop, thighs instinctively closing as he backs up, hand still huge and strong between your thighs. "This is your issue, not everything needs a rebuttal."
"So, you just want to feel right all the time?"
"Maybe, yeah!"
"Okay, shh— Shh…" He cuts you off the second things start slipping out of his hands again. Kento licks over his you-flavored lips, then stands up, sliding his hand from between your thighs, back to the thickness of your hips. "Fine. I said I'd do anything you want."
So, you take him to the bedroom, already shedding the rest of your clothes while he takes stock. Kento doesn't bother turning the lights on — letting the cruel, harsh bite of dusk run over the room to highlight this sensual moment. You crawl on the bed in a position he doesn't usually prefer you in — hands and knees, arms outstretched, and chest kissing the mattress as he slugs over to the bedside.
You can see from the tent, in his plaid dress pants, that he needs you, but Kento is so nervous about saying something wrong and losing you forever. So, he walks on his tiptoes, not spending too much time readying himself like you already have.
You watch as he unbuttons the rest of his shirt— eyes running over the strong, rippling expanse of his chest, the airbrushed nipples, and flecked skin. He hesitates before situating behind you, just out of eyeshot, ready to detach and give you what you need.
Without thinking, he mutters, "This position is demeaning—
"Then demean me,"
If you were any more on his side, Kento would reprimand you to hell and back, but he abstains for a moment, swallowing down the weight of your words that came so easily. He shakes his head, propping one knee on the bed, running a hand against the familiar swell of your ass.
He's trying to take a moment to calm down, but it's hard when his heart is beating out of his chest. All of his breaths are measured, and his emotional regulation is shot. Kento fishes his erection out of his designer briefs, sloppily licking over two of his fingers so he can spread the soft promise of his arousal into the flushed tip of his penis.
"I promised, I'll love you right, anyway you need it."
You reply wordlessly into the sheets, pushing your ass back into his strong, safe grip. The reason for this position isn't as shallow as he thinks it is — it's so you don't have to face him, and in turn, face your disgusting shame.
Because divorce papers or not, you've let egos get in the way of your intimacy for far too long, and you both deserve each other right now. You wouldn't swallow it down and settle with icy eye contact in missionary, and Kento wouldn't feel like a toy propped under you as you rode him.
You can feel the effort he's showing with this compromise, even though it's jarring when you feel his thick tip — hot, aching for you, drag across your entrance. He doesn't press inside of you just yet, letting you shiver and shake your hips to ready yourself, letting him know you're willing and waiting without uttering a word.
Kento speaks, but it's so fleeting that you can't hang onto it. "Will you talk to me, baby?"
You shake your head, buried in the sheets, after a few seconds of his words filling the space. It doesn't feel awkward or weighty; it just feels like the wordless environment you needed right now. Nothing he can say to you would say more than what he chooses to do with you, right here, propped up damn near like his sex doll, just waiting.
Twenty more seconds ring by — you're counting. "Kento—
As soon as your voice hits, he drags his hips forward, using his thumb to guide his length inside of you, shutting you up with the tiniest whisper of friction. You make a face, eyebrows scrunching up as you lift your head from the sheets, feeling him so deep inside of you already, and you're sure he's not even halfway in. It's this new position — all the pressure going straight to your tummy as he guides your hips back with every inch.
He doesn't speak again until he's fully seated inside of you, and you let your head back down on the bed. Breathing heavily through the nose and out through the mouth, you try to get used to this position you two have never, ever done before. He feels about two sizes bigger, and you swear it's not the dry spell faced beforehand that makes it that much harder to take. It's the emotion — you're huge and swollen with it.
"Arch," He whispers, dragging a hand from the swell of your hips to the small of your back. His palm presses over your bare skin, forcing you into an even deeper arch than you knew you could possibly do. Kento shivers, the new position making you clamp down on his length. That's the first true moan he gets out of you, and he doesn't even have to really fuck you for it to break loose.
But when he does, you're a moaning mess.
He knew it'd come to this — you're not so vague, and completely under-touched for what you're used to. Every time he pulls out, he does so fully, then guides his cock back inside of you, giving all of him in one slick stroke, then repeating until tears fall from your eyes. You're taken and limp, fists pulling at the sheets as he keeps your hips pinned, a single knee on the mattress as he fucks you so hard that he's starting to sweat with it.
Kento gives it to you like he knows he has something to lose. His chest is rising and falling like he's due to pass out, hair darkening and sticking to his forehead as he pulls and fists at the flesh of your ass, doing anything to keep this pace even if it means bruising you through the next week. It's a fleeting thought when he takes a hand away, slowing down in his fucks just enough to slide it between the two of you. He slips two fingers between your folds, finding and rolling your clit between his fingers, so he can take a second to slow down and catch his sanity.
You cry, back arching, then bowing so deeply that Kento steps back, needing to keep you pinned with better balance on his foot. For some reason, he doesn't catch it when you cum — and it's right there, eerily silent and deadly as his hard fingers toy at your pleasure button like you're just a doll, destined to come undone with whatever he has to give.
"I-i'm don—
You can't finish, because Kento takes the moment of weakness, when you're still jelly in the sheets, to carefully flip you over, still buried inside of you as he guides you up the bed. You blink your eyes open to him, tall and broad, blocking the harsh sunlight so you can admire his nakedness. The hair that starts soft around his belly button is dark, unlike the hair on his head, and without thinking, still in a daze, you reach out to touch him as he climbs over you.
"Need to see you… So I can finish…" He mutters out his excuses as he pins you into his favorite, missionary, guiding your left leg over his hip as he leans in close. "My beautiful wife," Kento whispers, choppy and quiet, as he leans in to kiss you for the first time in a week. Halfway to heaven and certainly not in a space to pull away, you part your lips and almost smile into the kiss, mouth dry and welcoming as his tongue slides in. You kiss back lazily, humming and panting into his open mouth as his hips squeeze and pump in and out of you, slowly, not heated and passionate like it just was. "Stay with me… my love."
You take that for what it is right now, struggling to keep your eyes peeled and focused on him, because you're so overwhelmed and overtaken. You shake your eyes, eyes hazy and dodging his as he stares right back into your soul. Your thighs tremble as he fucks you through his height, but still conscious, needing you to say something to bring him back down.
"I'm t-trying."
Kento lets you sleep next to him that night, tucked up under his arm, but he can't sleep. In fact, he's drained like he just worked for twelve hours straight, when he had only worked for half the day, then came home to make love to you. You hadn't said much after everything was said and done, but Kento took that as a good sign. You're usually exhausted after sex, limp-bodied, and too tired to even step out of bed to shower. It feels good to see how one thing hasn't changed.
Still, it doesn't warrant him to sleep. He's awake with the thought that you were still due to divorce him come morning, and the mental strain is exhausting. He spent the rest of his mental energy fighting that, then the rest of his physical energy pouring it back into you. He's just as jellified as you, but something inside of him brings his body to its feet.
You don't budge as he steps out of bed, just cozying back into his heat as you get comfortable with his loss. He makes sure your eyes don't open before sliding out of the door, heart racing like he's nervous to just exist around you, now. It's a new feeling when it comes to you — he's afraid of faltering, pedaling back over all of his thoughts and words that are about you.
He walks into the kitchen where you two left the notated file of his demise — open to the first page and blissfully forgotten about as the darkness of night swallows the dark, inked letters. Kento approaches it like he approaches everything evil, with no hesitancy, folding it closed and marching it to his home office, where he sits back in his chair and shoves it off into the bottom drawer of his desk.
In that tiny moment of reflection, Kento takes a second to stare out of his office window — a different window he yearned for you in, and let reality crash over him for a bit. He ponders the idea of feeling a bit… shallow, like just the thought of being without you gutted him like a fish. He doesn't expect to ever feel the same with you, and you with him, but you're sure that you'll always stay, especially because, now, Kento knows exactly what to do to make you stay.
Kento doesn't sleep again that night; he calls his boss the next morning, standing outside in his slippers with a dark coffee you made him in his hands, and says a select few things:
"In accordance with our written agreement, after I got this promotion, we agreed that my overtime would never see five hours a week, correct?" He chooses his words like an artist chooses their shade, pacing the front stoop so he can stay busy. "And I understand that, but given how this isn't my department, I was only doing you a favor."
Cutting through that mental, professional haze, Kento stills when he sees you float to the front window, holding out a traditional breakfast plate in his direction. Knowing better, but still caught up in the moment, he holds up a finger to you, then turns and finishes his conversation.
"There's nothing more to say about it — enough overtime. I've made my demands, and I feel I am being much more graceful than I should be, given my position."
Staring at him through the hazed-over window, dewey with the morning heat, you catch his eyes just before he lowers them again. Feeling his shame through the pane, you lower the plate to your waist and try to plant a smile on your face, letting him know everything he needs to hear, right now.
"Come on,"
a/n: how i feel after understanding that she only gave him the divorce papers so that he'd make a conscious effort to change for her, and it wasn't actually the sex, but the effort he made to change for her above all that made her stay at the end
Synopsis: Jason’s siblings are so smart they’re dumb. They’ve been trying to get the inside scoop on Jason and his relationship but fail every time.
A/n: I know this trope is overdone but I wanted to do my version of it, so HUSH. Feel free to read the fake case I created lol, Enjoy!
It was a rare day today. You had Jason all to yourself. No off-grid missions, no patrol, no spending his time cooped up in his warehouse investigating a gang. Just you, Jason, and a soft rainy day.
A thunderstorm was supposed to roll through soon, and you hadn't bought any supplies yet, so that prompted you and Jason to make a quick trip to the grocery store.
“M'kay, babe, you ready?” you asked, slinging your purse over your arm. “I wanna beat the storm.”
Jason emerged from the hallway, yanking a hoodie over his head. “Yes, boss. Gimme a second, geez.”
You rolled your eyes. He only called you that when you were getting on his nerves.
“Also, we're taking my car. It's way too much rain for your bike.”
• At the manor •
“Okay he’s on the move!” Dick clapped his hands together watching a red dot slowly cross the screen. He’s gathered his siblings for what the likes to call operation expose girlfriend. Everyone knows Jason has a girlfriend, it’s not a secret— well much of a secret. They haven't met you yet but, some still think you’re not real, but dick is determined to prove you’re real.
“Why are we doing this again? Didn’t your last operation fail?” Damian asked leaning on the door frame with his arms crossed. Dick waved off his little brother pointing back at the projection screen.
“Anyways…looks like he’s headed to the local grocery story if we beat him there we can catch him walking in. Steph your the employee handing out samples, Cass—“
“Never said I was helping, I’m here to watch you fail.” She chuckled as she leaned against a wall.
Dick rolled his eyes, “Fine” he said through gritted teeth “duke can you be parking lot watch out?”
Duke gave him a cartoonish salute, “yes sir!”
“Damian—“
“Nope.”
Dick grunted visibly fed up with his siblings, “Tim check—“
“Already on it.” Those words brought a smile to Dicks face.
“Perfect. Lets go!”
• Grocery store •
You walked down the grocery store aisle, leaning against the cart as you searched for those crunchy granola bars you loved so much.
“J, baby, can you get that box down for me, please?” He nodded.
A moment later, he placed the green box in the cart, and the two of you continued down the aisle.
“Hey, babe, m'gonna go look for some stuff on my list. I'll be back.”
“M'kay.”
He pressed a kiss to your temple before disappearing down the aisle. You hummed and continued on your way. Wandering into another aisle, you pulled your phone from your pocket to check the rest of your grocery list.
“Alright Pasta, Coffee creamer, and Apple Snaps?” You whispered the list to yourself making sure you weren’t forgetting everything. You silently questioned the Apple Snaps thought, that weird cereal Jason swore tasted exactly the same as the discontinued version from 2008.
You shrugged it off continuing down the aisle. You were so focused on the list that you didn’t notice someone turning the corner.
You hit a relatively hard surface.
“Oh!” A carton of pasta fell hitting the ground.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” a familiar male voice said. You looked up curious. A tall dark-haired man immediately crouched down to help gather the fallen boxes. Where have you seen him?
“No, no, that’s my fault,” you said you chuckled, “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”
“Nah, definitely mine.” He flashed you a bright smile while stacking the boxes back into your arms.
You tilted your and blinked. He looked oddly familiar like… really familiar. You could’ve sworn you seen him before, but you just couldn’t put your finger on it.
“There we go.” He handed you the last box. “Again, sorry about that.”
You shook your head dismissing him “no, no It’s okay.”
He gave you another sweet smile, “Have a good day.”
“You too!” The man waved and disappeared down the aisle. Weird...You shrugged it off and continued shopping.
Meanwhile…
A few aisles over Jason stood frozen in place. His eye began twitching, he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Because standing behind a display of canned beans was Dick Grayson.
Not even trying to hide. Just standing there in cartoonishly big sunglasses indoors. All while holding a newspaper upside down. What an idiot Jason thought, for a man who can solve the most unsolvable crimes within days he’s standing there looking like a goofball.
Jason slowly lowered the box of cereal in his hands.
“Dick.” Dick immediately turned away letting the newspaper fall.
Jason stared… Dick stared back.
“…”
“…”
Then Dick made a ‘smart’ choice and sprinted.
“What the hell—” Jason abandoned the cart and chased after his simple minded brother.
“DICK!” Unfortunately, the second he rounded the corner, Dick was gone, where? He didn’t know. Instead, he found Steph wearing a grocery store apron. A grocery store apron from a completely different grocery chain…
Jason sighed rolling his eyes, it was slowly starting to click why they were here. She was holding a tray of cheese cubes. “Would you like to try a sample, sir?” she asked in a terrible fake accent.
Jason pointed. “You. What are you doing here?”
She shrugged “I don’t know what you mean sir, I work here.”
Jason huffed running his hands down his face “Steph stop playing games, I can see the ear com in your ear”
It was a beat of silence.
“Oh.” Then she threw the tray at him and ran in the same direction Dick disappeared.
“What is WRONG with all of you?” He screamed earning a few glances from shoppers passing by. Across the store, Dick was panting as he ducked behind a display.
“Target spotted me.” He spoke into his comms looking around for said target.
“Obviously,” Tim’s voice crackled through the comms. “You’re the worst spy in human history.”
Dick scrunched his face offended by his brothers jab “I’m not the one sitting in the security room eating popcorn.”
“I’m multitasking.”
“Doubtful.” He scoffed.
While all of this chaos was going down in a local grocery store, Duke stood outside in the parking lot pretending to wash a perfectly clean car. Cass was documenting everything for future blackmail. Damian sat on a bench near the entrance reading a book…actually reading. Because unlike everyone else, he’d openly admitted this mission was stupid.
Jason knew if he found one he’d find them all, he wondered around following clues and found Tim hiding inside a break room with his laptop.
“Tim.” Jason called clearly unamused.
Tim looked up from his laptop with a guilty grin “…Hey bud.”
“Leave.”
Tim pretended to give his demand some thought, “how ‘bout no.”
“I said leave you moron.”
He stood up closing his laptop and approached the taller boy “You can’t prove I’m here because of you.”
Jason’s cold stone expression didn’t waver “You are wearing a headset.”
Tim slowly removed the headset flashing Jason an embarrassed grin. “Im just gonna…go” he pushed his way around Jason who refused to move out of the door way.
Jason watched him retreat down the aisle the rest of his siblings disappeared to. He shook his head pinching the bridge of his nose. “What fuckin’ idiots man.”
By the time you reunited with him twenty minutes later, you were done shopping. He returned to you looking exhausted. You glanced at the overflowing cart then up at him.
You were concerned but nervous to ask “Everything okay?”
“No.”
You glances around awkwardly not sure what to say “…Should I ask?”
“please don't.”
You shrugged not putting the matter any further “fine with me.”
You continued down to the register in silence wondering how a grocery store visit could wear someone down so quickly.
Jason sighed giving in. “They’re here.”
You blinked confused by what he meant, “who’s they? Are you in trouble Jason? Should we leave?” you began to slightly panic. You knew he partook in some...not so legal activities, but a grocery store out of all things?!
He shook his head waving his hands “NO. no no, it’s nothing bad— well nothing life threatening at least. It’s just…my siblings are here. They followed us”
“Oh.” A beat passed, then it clicked. “Ohhhh.”
“Yeah.”
You couldn’t help but laugh, Jason groaned annoyed you found this amusing.
“Please don’t encourage them.”
You shook your head “I’m trying not to I swear.” You tried to stifle your laugh but failed. Jason couldn’t help himself but join you. His siblings knows how to make his blood boil but seeing you smile will always gets him to smile, no matter what.
•••
Rain hammered against the windshield during the drive home. The storm was arriving in full force. Streetlights reflected off wet pavement while Jason drove one-handed, the other holding your hand.
By the time you made it inside your shared apartment, both of you were damp despite your best efforts.
You carried in two grocery bags while Jason hauled the rest. The kitchen quickly filled with food items scattered across the counters as you did your best to put everything away neatly.
As you put the groceries away you thought about what Jason said at the store.
“babe?”
“Hm?”
You held up a box of pasta as the memory replayed, “I think I bumped into your brother today.”
Jason paused nervous what you’ll say next. “Which one?”
“The really attractive one.”
Jason narrowed his eyes causing you to chuckle.
“kidding geez. The dark-haired one, tan skin, little shorter than you, nice teeth.”
He rolled his eyes “Dick.”
You snapped your fingers as it clicked “Yeah him! we bumped into each other and he helped me.”
“He was actually really nice.” You finished as you put the box of pasta away.
Jason snorted. “He probably didn’t realize who you were.”
“Wait, really?” You always thought everyone knew what you looked like they just haven’t officially met you yet.
“Really.” He confirmed.
That made you laugh harder. “So I accidentally met your brother?” You shook your head amused by this whole thing.
Jason leaned against the counter. “You’re not bothered by all this?”
You paused holding a box of cereal in your hands, you thought for second. They did stalk you today, but they were harmless and their attempt failed.
“Nah, they seem funny.” You just shrugged resuming organizing the groceries
Jason stared at you for a moment, a genuine smile tugged at his lips. Watching you move around the kitchen. He had found someone who isn’t put off by his weird, chaotic family. Then his expression softened.
“Hey doll?”
“Hm?”
He hesitated like he was in deep thought which immediately got your attention.
Jason was never one to hesitate, he was your brain when you two were together. You ask him something he’d immediately answer, don’t know where to eat? He does. Don't know what to watch? he'll choose. Just wanna turn your brain on airplane mode after a long day? he'll hold your hand and guide you wherever he goes.
He never hesitated unless something mattered.
“You ready to meet them?”
You blinked taken aback by his question. “The family?”
“Yeah.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. A nervous tick of his you picked up on.
“You’ve met Alfred. You’ve met Bruce...ya'ready for the rest?” He let out a nervous chuckle. “the others…” he continued. “That’s different.”
You understood what he meant. Meeting the siblings meant something, the love he has for his family runs deep. No matter how much he tries to play it down, you meeting them meant something. He damn near almost shit himself when he introduced you to Bruce.
You stepped closer and reached for his hand, his fingers immediately intertwined with yours.
You smiled looking up at him. You knew the reason he hasn’t introduced you to them yet. They can be overwhelming, even if it’s out of love they do not know what personal space is.
He just wanted to enjoy the quiet with you a little longer and you didn’t mind that. Especially after today.
“I’m ready when you are my love.”
For a moment, the rain was the only sound in the apartment, its rough pitter-patter mimicking the rhythm of his heartbeat. Then Jason squeezed your hand and brought it to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.
"God, you are gonna kill me one day."
You giggled. "Down that bad?"
"Worse."
You grinned, satisfied with his answer. "Good."
"You say that now, 'til I'm outside your window with a boombox after an argument."
The laugh you shared felt endless, filling the apartment with warmth. When it finally faded, soft thunder rolled outside, and Jason pulled you against his chest. Wrapping you in his big warm arms.
"I absolutely love you. So much that sometimes I think it's dangerous."
You wrapped your arms around his torso, burying yourself impossibly deeper into him.
"I love you too, Jason. So, so much. Nothing could change that."
For a while neither of you said anything else.
There was no rush. No expectations waiting on the other side of the conversation. Just the steady rain against the windows, Jason's heartbeat beneath your ear, and the quiet certainty that you'd still be here whenever he was ready.
Together in your own little world, exactly where you wanted to be.
virgin!nanami is hesitant the first time you go down on him, because as he's nearing his (blinding, earth-shattering) orgasm, you aren't pulling off. ☆
he's played the scene a million times in his head before; late at night as he palmed his cock through his boxers and tried to will his mind away from such lewd thoughts of you. in every fantasy he's had of you knelt before him like you are now, you serve him with your mouth until he's close, and then pull off to stroke him through his orgasm.
but your lips are still wrapped around him. his ragged breath, the gentle buck of his hips up into your mouth... is it not enough to tell you he's about to unravel?
kento has to lick his lips to try and save his dry mouth before he speaks, though it comes out as a broken moan anyways. "sweetheart, i'm... so close."
you hum around his cock, send a vibration up his spine that has his eyes rolling back. you hollow out your cheeks and increase your pace, desperate for a taste.
it's too much — he's never felt so boneless. nanami's right on the edge of the strongest orgasm he's ever had when he gently tugs back on your hair. "stop. stop."
you pull away instantly, wiping your spit-sheened lips dry and watching him with wide eyes. "are you okay? too much?"
kento is breathless, his cresting orgasm quickly fading out of reach. "you didn't pull away. i was going to... finish."
"well, yeah. you cumming is kind of the whole point."
he blinks. "i... not in your mouth. i respect you, and i don't want you to sacrifice your comfort for me."
you can't help but grin at the serious look that paints his face. you lean down and press a kiss to his knee, and then higher up on his thigh, and another just above the patch of hair that bases his leaky cock.
"kento nanami," you look up at him, pressing a feather-light kiss to his tip. "if i don't find out what you taste like when you 'finish' in the next few minutes, i might die. i think about it all the time, you know? touch myself wondering if you'd cum down my throat or make me hold it in my mouth a little. savour you, or whatever."
he blushes pink at the thought. your words are enough to relight the fire licking at his groin. he watches you for a moment; tries to discern whether or not you're only saying what might please him, but ultimately nods.
you don't throat him immediately, though. instead, you duck your head down and press a few messy kisses to his balls. his hips twitch upwards at the contact, his breath hitching in his lungs. you smile, dart your tongue out to lick at the source of his hesitation.
"god, that's dirty," he groans. "you like this?"
"i like you," you hum, mouthing at his balls with spit-covered lips. you're making a mess of him, though that only gives you an excuse to suggest showering together later. "like your balls too."
"i... shit, i see that."
he's so sensitive, knitting his brows together as you suck and lick and kiss his balls with a feverish sort of worship you didn't know you had in you. his cock rests against your face, throbbing as it hardens even more. he could cum like this.
but you aren't quite done with him.
when you pull back to take his cock back into your warm mouth, all the way down to the base, kento swears he must've been a saint in his previous life to deserve such pleasures in this one. you trace the vein that tracks the underside of his length with your tongue, and then hollow your cheeks out to suck.
he cums all too-quick and with a loud and uncharacteristically whiney moan that makes you wonder how he'd sound tied up and begging. it feels almost wasteful to take his load anywhere other than deep inside of you, but you're sure you'll have plenty of opportunities for that in the near future.
he tastes good. salty. you want to keep sucking, see if you can milk him for more, but he's already overstimulated and panicking a little at the sensation he's feeling. although you think he likes it, you know it'll be too much for his first time. you pull off, careful to spill as little of his release as possible, and sit back on your heels.
and kento is a mess. his lips part as he watches yours pull into a greedy smile. he's eager to watch you spit it out, perhaps just to see the visual reminder that he came in your mouth. but you meet his eyes, let him sit on your tongue a moment longer, and then swallow.
oh. he wonders how he'll ever lead a normal life again after a sight like that. his mouth is dry, cock still wet with your spit, heart beating out of his chest...
still, he manages to stop you when you move to get up and start on his aftercare. "wait."
baby voice is defo a thing in a relationship with bakugou. like he loves talking back to you when you talk to him in a baby voice. when you’re asking him to do something or saying you’re tired or that you don’t want to cook in this slightly annoying whiny voice and he lovessssss it. he thinks it’s cute, rubbing his nose against yours, kiss on the cheek and does anything you want. though he’s defo the type of guy that if he hears anyone else doing it he’s utterly disgusted. screws up his face and grimaces. curses them out. but you it’s pure heart eyes.
“i don’t wanna go back out…. im so tired.” grabby hands at him to cuddle you, pouty voice.
he rolls his eyes but leans into it all. big gruff man completely wrapped around your finger.
“‘t’s the post office across the road, right?”
you nod, “yeahhhh. do you think you can get my parcel?”
“course i will. it’s gonna be my last time though. you can’t be orderin’ shit if you don’t wanna collect it.”
but it all goes in one ear and out the other as you wrap your arms around his neck.
“thank you baby.”
he’s warm all over.
also when you do it to compliment him or mid conversation and he ends up doing a big grin .
“you’re so pretty. love your cute nose and long eyelashes.” you say sweetly, head in your lap and he’s looking up at you enamoured.
✩꒱ you know what he said to me? he was like, you’re so mean! — ft. eijirou kirishima .ᐟ
🏁 ꒰ ✩ suggestive ⋆ mdni ⋆ pro hero eijirou kirishima & fem!reader. mean bf kiri and sweet gf reader. protectiveness, possessiveness, sleazy kirishima, subtle dollification, established relationship. -> sometimes your boyfriend likes to make you cry, only to kiss it better in dirty ways later on.
me too me tooo … it really tickles me !!!!! like eijirou with a sweet baby gf who cries so much all of the time. even better if you weren’t like that before you met him, you were sweet but not a pushover except he’s made it so easy to break you down these days, you’re always a few seconds from being on the verge of tears.
it’s like a test to him, to see if eijirou has you well trained enough to always come back to him now matter how far he’s pushed you to your limits.
“you didn’t have to do that.” you snap harshly even though your throat twitches tight as you turn the words over on your tongue. they land with very little bite, lost to the ambience of the city’s night life and the clickclack of your expensive heels against concrete pavement.
kirishima walks a few paces behind, leisurely, but his hazy ruby gaze tracks your movements — he’d never allow you to stray too far from home.
“do what, baby?”
that’s what makes you stop. his careless ease and the sound of a smirk stitching together his voice. eijirou kirishima is amazing at playing pretend — he lets tension roll off of his back as though it were nothing, as if he hadn’t nearly broken several fingers and severed a few nerves of your coworkers hand just for talking to you at the company dinner mere moments ago. your spine straightens but the edges and the lines of the world before you start to blur and smear as though someone has spilled water on your ink. tears bleed through your paper cheeks — where he’d be able to see how distraught you were just by holding you up to the light.
“he’s my coworker, eijirou. he was just being polite.” you sniff, not daring to look up nor force yourself to be level with his eyes. you rummage through your little purse for the car keys you’d sworn you had stashed beside your gloss earlier — because it distracts you from the sweltering heat of the man towering over you. “he’s nice.”
eijirou smiles, dangling silver keys and riot themed key chains before you. they glint tauntingly under the street lamp.
“am i not nice enough to you? is that why you let him get so close?” he teases you further.
denying him would be a lie. eijirou takes care of you, the point where your only concern, really, is breathing. there are groceries stocked in your fridge every weekend thanks to his dime, you get your dream clothes and dress pretty and the pro hero takes you for dinner at least three times a week. to say you live in luxury would be an understatement, every step you take is cushioned by comfort and at first… you loved it. you were pampered a little too much to notice the signs, the slick and grimy version of your boyfriend hiding deep within.
nowadays you grimace when he brings you flowers and cringe when he kisses the back of your hand at a steak dinner — but you’d never leave him, you’re caught like an insect in a treacly web or an ant who’s drowned in sugar water.
“you’re being awful right now, eiji.” you cross your arms instead — keep your honesty close to your chest. you give an inch and eijirou runs a mile because he lives for the way you can’t help but blubber when he makes you mad. it seems that his expression, all pearly white teeth and bright eyes, bleeds into his cheeks and his skin there folds with smile lines. you mirror his opposite — lip drawn into a pout.
the red head circles you, coming to stand before you. his smart leather shoes become a muddled blur alongside the stone grey pavement and atoll, his red is vibrant. like he’s supposed to be the only thing you focus on. “i am, aren’t i?” comes his patronising coo, the sound settling in your chest. “poor baby, i’m just so mean to you and i’m such a bad guy.”
“stop it.” you simper like a child, going on to deny the cotton words he puts in your mouth. “i — gosh — i never even said that.”
god, you feel like a child. being scolded for a lie you never told and he relishes in the way you shrink down to feel smaller than you are next to him. his sweet, sweet girl who takes being picked on like a champ.
kirishima bends to your height, head tilted to the side as he regards you with a blameless expression. “are you crying? you know, you’re real pretty when you cry.” the world would never believe you if you told on him. that their manly hero who strikes with red is no better than a high school bully.
he twirls the hem of your pale pink dress — a romantic sight to passers by. a sneering jab to you. a threat that sends a thrilling shiver down the segments of your spine that hardly helps you to stand tall. “c’mere.” kirishima mocks your pout — puckering up. “can i kiss you?”
you nod more with bambi eyes glossed over with angel’s tears. the hero stands high and mighty then, rough palms melding to the curves of your hips so that he can better drag you into him. they provide warming comfort where his eyes are cold and cruel — bemused by the silent snivels you weakly attempt to swallow down.
irregardless you’re magnetised to eijirou — standing on your tippy toes, craning your neck, lips pressed to his like you’ve sealed them with a promise. his thick, hot tongue swipe over the seam in an attempt to pry you open because you’re a flower. something precious and winds towards him and blooms just for him. he tastes like whatever sweet cocktail had happened to pass him by at the dinner table — syrup and sugar coated lies and love held underneath his tongue. he’s mean to you, yes, but oh does he adore you.
he kisses you like he owns you, right there amongst twinkling city lights and strangers passing by. you think you’ll learn to live with that, being his property, belonging to someone with enough power to protect. he’ll push and poke you but never away. always within reach, always so that he can lead you home.
you mewl in frustration when kirishima lets your lips go — following a filthy smack.
red riot laughs. “you told me to stop.”
“didn’t mean it.” you’re honest.
“you never do.” his grip steadily traverses your back, two hands enough to map out the entire expanse. “wanna take you home. be all over you. will you let me?”
…
he doesn’t take kind to your silence. “words, sweet thing. talk to me.”
“yes, you can take me home. i-i’d like that.” nodding again like a dumb little thing, you link your arms behind kirishima’s head — fingers finding purchase in his ruby mane. you bring him back to you.
eijirou pats your cheek. just once, not enough to be considered a slap. “and what else?”
“‘m talkin’ eijirou, i am!” you huff, close to stomping your feet. the tantrum brews like a tropical storm just off the coast — warm, with rain cloud tears that bring a sense of humidity in the form of arousal. kirishima gives you a pointed look and then: “i’m sorry for calling you mean.” you say in defeat, batting your eyelashes apologetically.
once more, he smiles — fond this time. “that’s right baby girl,” then he chuckles, growling at the little nip you give to his bottom lip. “when we get home, i want you on your stomach. ass in the air. no touchin’. i’ll show you how mean i can really be.”
end ! likes are appreciated, but just liking doesn’t do much on tumblr! to support and motivate myself and other writers, reply, reblog and comment if you'd like to see more!! — asks are open to thirsts and thoughts! join my taglist ! love you!
୨୧ — Imagine Nanami cradling his newborn daughter tenderly. His blonde locks that were once neatly slicked back now messily frame his face- serving as playthings for tiny, curious hands. The infant giggles, gripping and curling her fingers, attempting to grab at her father's hair with pure delight. Nanami's heart swelled, a genuine smile appearing across his face.
"Ya know... Fatherhood really suits you, you know that?" You murmured, resting your head against his arm.
Nanami looked down at you, his eyes- always so tired from the cruelties of the world and working far too much, were now soft with affection, "I never thought I would have a life like this... I always felt it was far out of my reach..."
"Kento..."
He brought his daughter up to his face, his lips pressing a kiss to her forehead. His voice was a low whisper, yet you still managed to hear his words, "I love you. Both of you. More than anything in the world."
You could see it, not only in his smile, but his eyes as well... they held some fear. Afraid of the life he led, afraid of it coming to take the family he had so lovingly built away from him. Nanami had seen much in his time as a sorcerer. The loss of people dear to him- their deaths never failing to haunt him... He was scared... Scared of leaving you both behind, scared of the what-ifs...
"Kento, you worry far too much. I promise we'll be here, right by your side. Always and forever, okay? You're always going to awaken to me in your strong arms." You give his bicep a soft squeeze, "no way anyone could get past these bad boys."
A low chuckle rumbled in his throat, holding his baby girl in one arm, he used the one you squeezed to bring you into a loving embrace, drawing you even closer to his body. Drawing you closer into his world, a world he once thought would be forever in solitude. This was all a simple moment, but Nanami felt the full weight of this newfound joy- the joy of being a father and a loving husband to you. No could've prepared him for this profound privilege.
You were his home. And for the first time, he allowed himself to relax and trust in your words... that everything would be alright...
