"ken, are you even listening to me?" you scolded the man lightly, after finding he had planted yet another kiss to your face as you spoke, his expression was playful when he pulled away; almost childlike.
"i am. what made you think otherwise?" both corners of his lips turned upward just a tad, as though unmoving if you didn't know any better, if you hadn't spend the past few years of your life staring at your husband's handsome face, memorizing its features.
you narrowed your eyes in disbelief but spared him anyway, decided to continue away the story you'd been telling him. "and then she said..." you carried on, chattering animatedly about something you'd claimed was the craziest thing ever all the while nanami was proceeding with his initial plan; bringing both of his hands to tuck your hair behind your ears, stroking it over and over softly. never forgetting to nod a few times like letting you know that he's still listening.
"mhm, keep going, my pretty wife." he murmured, cupping your face as he stared at you adoringly before sprinkling kisses atop of it, different spots each time making sure he didn't miss even a single inch of your skin. a kiss to your eyelids each, cheeks, and when he reached your nose you couldn't help but let out a chuckle, at that nanami beamed.
"i'm starting to think you're not listening at all," you berated the man with an ear to ear grin, your attempt at scolding was failing miserably. as that too was swallowed by a prompt kiss to your lips.
"how presumptuous. i could listen and admire my wife's beauty at the same time." his hands were now on the sides of your face, his thumb rubbing your cheeks subtly. the smile he's wearing as he said that was blinding, contagious in every way.
"you're lucky you're cute." you raised an eyebrow at his apparent flirtation and sweet excuse that still made your inside fluttered despite of years of marriage.
"i am lucky," nanami concurred easily, his tone made it obvious that he was talking about a different thing. to be yours, the implicit meaning was loud inbetween the silent spaces. once more you were swarmed with a barrage of kisses, this time to the corner of your brows, your jaw, forehead.
you tried to hid yourself between the crook of his neck, feeling how it shook along with nanami's laughter. "seriously, what's gotten into you?" you mumbled into his skin, giggling slightly. your chest lightened, bursting with fondness.
you felt another gentle nudge atop of your head. "what? am i not allowed to kiss my lovely wife?"
"you can. but in moderation."
"nonsense. there is no moderation when it comes to you."
ā Ż ćąæą¾ą½²ą¾ć ź° š NANAMI KENTO might be the pettiest man alive . . .
āÆāÆć ź° 1.3k ! ź± ćš
contrary to outsider belief, your marriage to nanami worked remarkably well. too well.
a shocking revelation, considering you were āill-temperedā while nanami had the patience of a saint, allegedly . . . .
the truth of the matter was that beneath the all the composure, politeness, and that expensive wristwatch kento always wore on his wrist, your husband unfortunately was just as much of a brat as you were.
if not, worse.
the two of you held grudges over the stupidest things imaginable: once, nanami corrected your pronunciation of āespressoāĀ during breakfast. so? you didnāt kiss him goodbye before work for three whole days.
in retaliation, your coffee that he would make you each morning mysteriously happened to arrive without the three ounces of sugar you so adamantly required to āĀ ābalance out the armpit taste.ā
petty. childish. ridiculous.
yet somehow, these cold wars became the foundation of a deeply functional marriage.
ākento dear,ā you began, soft steps quietly thudding against the wooden floors as you made your way to him, who was fully dressed: soft charcoal sweater hanging off his frame, pushed up revealing his forearms, reading glasses hanging off the bridge of his nose while his sandy locs unstyled in a way you almost never got to see outside these walls.
which, unfortunately, was the problem. he was far too comfortable for the atrocities he had just committed against you whilst you slept.
ādid you touch it?ā your voice coming out suspiciously calm.
nanami doesnāt even look up from the cup of jasmine tea he was nursing. āno.ā
you only narrow your eyes as you finally end up next to him. ākento.ā
that bratty tone of yours was enough to earn you a glance now, hazel eyes tired yet sharp all the same. āi told you, no.ā
āyeah, well,ā you huff, crossing your arms, looking up at him expectantly, āwaking up feeling like i got left in a meat locker says otherwise.ā
he shuts his eyes as he takes a slow sip of his tea, setting it down with a soft clink, the steam curling between you. āinteresting,ā he begins, voice flat with quiet amusement.
āyou seem quite functional for someone who claims theyāreāā he pauses, unimpressed, before lifting his hand and giving your forehead a quick, precise knock with his knuckles, withdrawing before you can even think to catch his wrist. āāfrozen solid.ā
āugh!ā you huff, hands missing his wrist and instead clutching your forehead with an adorable frown. āiām not frozen solid, but iām going to be. i donāt know why you just canāt leave it on 72.ā
he exhales slowly through his nose, āyou know i get hot. i shouldnāt have to strip to be comfortable in my own home,ā he says flatly.
his hand lifts without much ceremony, gently replacing yours on your forehead. he briefly rubs the spot heād knocked before his fingers slip down to tug lightly at your ear, earning an immediate, indignant whine from you.
āor would you prefer i start walking around the house naked instead?ā
āwhat? iām not answering that.ā you say, turning your face slightly away from him, the words coming out clipped as you huff under your breath, āpervertā¦ā, still clearly offended at the recurring offenses.
you manage to slap his arm away. āi donāt see why you insist on wearing long sleeves and then complain youāre hot.ā you grumble. āyouāre making me hot just by looking at you.ā
he scoffs softly at that, as if the answer is obvious. āi wear it because i enjoy being properly dressed,ā he replies, smoothing an imaginary crease from his sleeve before leveling you with a look. āand physiologically speaking, itās significantly easier to warm up than it is to cool down.ā
āso, like i said,ā he murmurs, reaching for his tea again, āthe thermostat stays where it is.ā
and just like that, the war begins . . .
the rest of the day was full of quiet hostilities:
the two of you swiping the thermostat in opposite directions each time you walked by, addressing each other by first name as if you were two disgruntled coworkers trapped in an enemies to lovers arrangement rather than of spouses, nanami opening windows for ācirculationā while you wrapped yourself in blankets like a victorian child afflicted with a devastating illness, texting each other back and forth instead of verbally communicating.
YOU ā£
my hands are blue and numb. i hope your happy
KENTO ā£
*Youāre
How are you texting me then?
YOU ā£
donāt be annoying ken.
thatās not the point
clearly, neither of you were willing to concede. which only meant this was quickly becoming a battle of endurance rather than a dispute about ātemperatureā. which also meant this was not going to end soon.
or so you thought.
despite the many, many hours of domestic warfare, the two of you still end up in bed the same way you always did, backs turned dramatically beneath the blankets, the thermostat unfortunately still set at 63. which meant nanami was winning.
the cold seeped through the sheets and curled around your legs until your body instinctively tucks in on itself, shoulders hunching deeper beneath the comforter with a quiet frown hidden against your pillow. beside you, nanami remaining entirely unaffected, laid comfortably on his side with one arm tucked beneath his pillow, warmth practically radiating off of him in waves.
it was infuriating.
because no matter how committed you were to the cold war, your body had always betrayed you first when it came to your husband.
sometime somewhere in between stubbornness and sleep, you found yourself shifting toward him subconsciously, inch by inch until your forehead presses against his back, your leg slipping over his beneath the blankets in search of warmth. the soft fabric of the white shirt heād changed into earlier brushes against your skin, warm from sleep and smelling faintly of cedarwood and tea.
and god, the bastard was warm.
firm beneath your touch too, broad shoulders relaxing slightly the second you curl fully into him with a sleepy little sigh.
you knew he was awake. you could tell by his breathing, it wasnāt the same comforting slow that soothed you once the day came to an end.
for a moment, neither of you said anything, pride still clawing at your insides. then came the soft shifting of sheets before nanami turned toward you, your forehead brushing against his chest as his strong arms came to cage you in instinctively, one settling around your waist while the other tucked beneath your head. his chin rested atop your hair with a quiet exhale, pulling you into his warmth.Ā
your fingers curl weakly into the front of his shirt, face pressing deeper against his chest despite yourself. somewhere above you, nanami hums softly, entirely too aware of the fact that you were the one to cave first.
an inevitable outcome.
āinteresting,ā he murmurs into your hair, sleep roughening his voice. āwhat happened to hating me?ā
you grumble something incoherent against him.
āmm?ā he asks, entirely too pleased with himself. ācouldnāt quite hear you love.ā
your brows pinch immediately. āstill hate you.ā
his chest rumbles faintly beneath your cheek at that, amusement subtle but absolutely there. absolutely nanami.
āso, you admit defeat?ā
you tilt your head up just enough to glare at him through the dark. āi told you. donāt say anythāā
you were going to argue. save whatever was left of your pride.
except your words barely make it out before he tips your face up just enough to cut you off with a slow kiss, warm and unbearably smug beneath the blankets.
any and all insults died in your throat as butterflies began to bloom low in your stomach, your leg still hiked around his waist while his warmth slowly melted the last stubborn pieces of your pride away as your lips firmly molded against his own, a soft sigh escaping you. one of spite, obviously.
you could feel the faint curve of amusement against your lips when your annoyed little huff melts into him anyway ā the exact outcome the two of you had been stubbornly dancing around all day out of pettiness and āspite.ā
nanami pulls away from you before resting his thumb on your lower lip. āthere you are love,ā he murmurs softly against your mouth, breath mingling with yours: entirely too pleased with himself.
ā63 seems perfectly fine to me, no?ā
he only watches as your expression softens in real time before giving the faintest nod ā mentally noting the effect he had on you.
The late afternoon sun was dipping toward the horizon, painting the sky in bruises of deep purple and melted gold. On any other day, Nanami would be tracking his hours, calculating exactly how much of his life had been traded for productivity.
But today? The only thing he was calculating was how long it would take you to realize heād been staring at you for the last twenty minutes.
You were lying on a massive beach towel, a trashy paperback novel propped up in your hands, completely oblivious to how the fading sunlight caught the salt spray on your skin.
Nanami sat in the shadow of a canvas umbrella, a glass of iced espresso sweating in his hand. He had actually consented to rolling his linen trousers up to his shins and abandoning his shoes, which, for him, was practically the equivalent of running wild and naked through the streets.
"If you squint any harder at that page, my love, you're going to give yourself a headache," Nanamiās deep, gravelly voice cut through the sound of the crashing waves.
You blinked, lowering the book to look at him over the rims of your sunglasses. "I'm at a very dramatic turning point, Kento. Don't interrupt the literature."
A rare, faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. He leaned back on one elbow, his button-down shirt unbuttoned just enough at the collar to expose the sharp line of his collarbone. Without his usual strict corporate armor, he looked dangerously relaxed.
"Literature?" he echoed, his tone dripping with fond amusement. "I peeked at the cover earlier. It features a shirtless pirate. I highly doubt the plot is whatās holding your attention."
"It's a historical romance," you corrected, sitting up and crossing your legs. "And for your information, the pirate has an incredibly complex backstory."
"Iām sure he does." Nanami reached out, his large, warm hand finding your ankle. His thumb began to trace slow, deliberate circles against your skin, his touch send a sudden spark of heat straight up your spine. "Though Iād appreciate it if you didn't look at fictional men with quite that much intensity. Itās bad for my ego."
You laughed, leaning forward and resting your chin on your hands. "Oh, please. As if anything could dent your confidence. Besides, he doesn't look half as good in a tailored suit as you do."
"Good to know I still hold the advantage," he murmured. His gaze darkened just a fraction, shifting from your eyes down to the line of your collarbone, then lower, taking in the swimsuit you'd picked out specifically to see this exact look on his face.
Nanami was a man of immense control it was his defining trait. But vacation Nanami? Vacation Nanami had a lot less red tape to cut through.
He tugged gently on your ankle, pulling you an inch or two closer across the towel. "Come here."
"Why? Are you going to help me reapply sunscreen?" you teased, shifting closer until you were hovering just over his lap. "Because I think I missed a spot. Or three."
Nanamiās hand slid from your ankle, up the curve of your calf, pausing at the back of your knee. His fingers were slightly calloused, a heavy, grounding weight that made your breath hitch.
"Is that so?" he asked, his voice dropping an octave, slipping into that smooth, quiet register he used when he wanted your undivided attention. "Youāve been teasing me since we left the hotel, sweetheart. I've been very patient."
"You have," you agreed, tilting your head. "Itās actually a little impressive. I thought you'd have cracked by noon."
"I am a professional," he said, though his eyes were fixed entirely on your lips now. He reached up with his free hand, his long fingers gently catching your chin to tilt your face up. "But I am currently off the clock. Which means my overtime rates apply."
"And what exactly are your overtime rates, Mr. Nanami?"
He leaned in, his breath warm against your lips, stopping just a hair's breadth away. He wasn't giving in just yet. He wanted you to ache for it as much as he did.
"Total compliance," he whispered, his thumb brushing over your lower lip. "And your complete attention. No books. No distractions."
"Deal," you breathed, closing the distance to press your lips to his.
The kiss tasted of salt and the bitter edge of his espresso, but as Nanamiās hand wrapped around the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair, the restraint heād been holding onto all day began to fray. He pulled you flush against his chest, a low rumble vibrating in his throat as he deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding past your lips with a possessive, heavy demand that left you completely breathless.
When he finally pulled back, just an inch, his forehead rested against yours. His usual perfectly parted hair was slightly disheveled from the ocean breeze, and his eyes were dark with a quiet, simmering heat.
"The sun is almost down," Nanami murmured against your skin, his hands smoothing down your waist, his grip firm and lingering. "Let's go back to the room."
You smiled, your heart hammering against your ribs. "Tired of the beach already?"
Nanami leaned down to bite gently at the column of your neck, making you gasp, before he kissed the sensitive spot right behind your ear.
"I've decided," he whispered, his voice sending a shiver straight down your arms, "that Iād rather look at you without the swimsuit. Inside. Where there is a lock on the door."
the fact that FEMALE FRIENDSHIP is what loosened Mel up...Mel's braid came undone at the hands of a friend, she let loose thanks to the invitation of a friend, she was able to be free in the company of a friend--
Victoria Javadi who went to college at 13, Trinity Santos who was in an accelerated program, Dennis Whitaker who was the first in his family to go to college, and Mel King who is the sole guardian of her sister.
Pittlings vs unbelievable responsibilities and high expectations oh im crying
The fact that, after that blow up, Whitaker still went out of his way to defend Langdon in this conversation, when the only other person he did that for was Trinity, is really meaningful
you know what is so funny about this picture? Both of these bitches are going THROUGH IT one of them is actively suicidal and the other has a scalpel in her pocket. and yet they stay silly.
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