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Happy birthday Nanami my love <3 & fuck you Tumblr for not saving my draft the first time. I dug this up from WIP Purgatory & I apologize in advance if it's bad
Kento Nanami is a workaholic.
Not by choice and not because he loves it. He does it because he feels he has to. Because if he doesn’t bear the weight, who else will? If he doesn’t stay up all night exorcising monsters no one else sees, then someone else — someone softer and kinder might suffer instead.
He’s always been that way — precise,steady, reliable. Always. Always the first to stand up so no one else has to. You know this as deeply as you know the way he folds his sleeves before cooking for you, the way his hand rests on your lower back when crossing a busy street and the way he kisses the top of your head when he thinks you’re half-asleep.
You know every line in the palm of his hands - the hands that protect and carry yet hold you like you’re something rare and breakable. Hands that deserve to rest even if he won’t let them.
But today — today is different.
Today is Kento Nanami’s birthday.
And for once, you refuse to let him wake before you. You doze with one eye open just to beat him to it. You watch him lying there in the soft glow of dawn,watching the way his lashes flutter in dreamless sleep. There’s a faint crease between his brows, even now there's some imagined worry he still can’t let go of.
You lean in and kiss it him —once, twice,three times your lips brushing his forehead, the tip of his nose, the soft corner of his lips. He stirs under you, blinking awake with a low,sleepy rumble that sounds like the start of a laugh.
“Mmh… what’s all this? I must be in heaven” he murmurs, his eyes open - hazy, bleary, and so soft.
"Happy Birthday my love! If you're in heaven I suppose that makes me an angel?”, you giggle as you brush your nose against his.
“Then I’m convinced I’m in heaven. Thank you” he lets out a warm, breathy huff - half a laugh, half a sigh.
He sighs, eyes softening into a smile only you ever get to see. You're the only one who gets to see him like this - hair tousled, eyes droopy and the remnants of sleep etched onto his face. In front of you he doesn't have to be precise, calculated or strong being himself is just enough.
“Stay. There. No moving. No work talk. Or so help me, Kento Nanami — ” you urge as you slip out of bed.
“You’ll tie me down? With my leopard print tie? Promise?” he smirks.
You stick your childishly tongue out at him and disappear into the kitchen returning with your masterpiece: a tiny, homemade bento cake, slightly crooked, pastel frosting soft and swirled, a single candle flickering.
“You made this?”
You nod shyly. He looks at it like it’s a miracle. Like you’re the miracle. When you set the cake on his lap, he eyes it like he’s trying to figure out where the cursed spirit is hiding. You tap the little blue ribbon sticking out.
“Pull it.”
He raises a brow but obeys and you watch his brows knit together as one slip after another unfurls. All perfectly laminated so it stays protected. The last ticket trembles in his fingers. His voice is so quiet, you nearly miss it:
“Malaysia?”
“Surprise! Happy birthday, Kento!”
You crawl back onto the bed, straddling his lap, cupping his face in your hands. He just stares at you — like you’ve hung the stars just for him.
“You remembered,” he says, breathless, like it’s the most unbelievable thing in the world. “I mentioned that once. Years ago.”
“You always take care of everyone else. I wanted to take care of you.” you smile, brushing your thumbs over his cheeks.
But you can feel the worry brewing because that’s who he is. The man who shoulders the world.
“How did you afford this? How much did you save? You should spend your money on yourself, not—”
“I just — I’m sorry, Kento, I didn’t think it through. You’re going to be stuck on a plane for eight hours on your birthday. I should have planned it better, booked it for tomorrow, or later in the week, or—” you babble back, anxious now, words tumbling out in a rush.
You don’t get to finish because his hands slide up, gentle and sure, cradling your cheeks as he leans in and kisses you. Slow. Certain. Precise like always. The kind of kiss that says I’m here, I’m yours, I’m not going anywhere. When he pulls back, you’re both breathing in the same soft space, your foreheads pressed together. His eyes are warm and endless.
“I’d spend forever with you if you’d let me, eight hours is nothing. A lifetime still wouldn’t be enough.”
BONUS
Five hours later, he’s got your passports in a neat folder, triple-checks the gate number, lines up hours before the counter even opens. He even apologizes to the flight attendant for your overstuffed carry-on.
“You’d camp here overnight if they let you.” you tease.
He squeezes your hand, his thumb stroking your knuckles in that grounding way that makes your heart ache. “I’d camp here a year if it meant I’d get on that plane with you.”
And when the boarding call chimes overhead — when he stands, tugging your suitcase behind him, your fingers twined with his — Kento Nanami lets himself believe that for today, at least, the world can wait. Work can wait. Worry can wait.
Because heaven, he thinks, is eight hours in the sky if you’re beside him.
And Malaysia — his faraway dream — is sweet. But it can’t hold a candle to waking up to your kisses, to your warmth, to the home you’ve built inside his tired, bruised heart.
the rain’s been tapping at the windows all morning — soft and steady, like a lullaby. there’s a blanket over both your legs and a steaming mug on the table, faintly sweet with honey and lemon.
semi's leaning forward with both hands braced on either side of the jenga tower, studying it like it holds all the secrets of the universe.
“don’t overthink it,” you murmur, smiling into your tea.
“you say that like you didn’t spend five whole minutes deciding on your last piece,” he shoots back, but there’s no bite to it. just that quiet fondness he always gets when he’s with you like this — socks mismatched, hair a little messy, sleeves pushed up past his elbows.
the heater clicks in the corner. the blocks creak under his fingers.
“this one,” he says, more to himself than to you. carefully, so carefully, he slides a middle piece out and places it on top with a soft exhale.
you clap, dramatic. “genius. unmatched. worthy opponent.”
he grins and flops back beside you, shoulder warm against yours. “you’re just saying that because i made the tea.”
“i’m saying that because it's true,” you correct, nudging him. “the tea was a bonus.”
he hums, leaning his head against yours as the rain hums on. “then i guess i’ll keep making it.”
029. sunlight, sweetness, and skin — tanaka ryunosuke.
wc: 0.3k
cw: gn!reader. lightly implied chubby reader. in-love tanaka
a/n: i tried my best to make it as compliant to the request as possible :3 i hope i did it justice. i hope you enjoy! requested by @ditzystarz <3
you’re sitting on the porch steps with a glass of iced tea sweating in your hand and your legs stretched out in the sun. it’s warm. you’re warm. you’re wearing the shorts you almost didn’t, and the tank top you almost swapped for something safer. but the sun feels too nice to hide from today.
tanaka’s leaning against the railing, sipping from your glass like he didn’t say “nah, i’m good” when you offered him one of his own. he’s looking at you — not in that heavy, drawn-out way that makes you want to fold into yourself, but in the way he always does. easy. open. like you’re something he likes looking at.
“what?”
he grins. “nothin’. you just look good.”
you raise an eyebrow. “you say that when i’m in pajamas too.”
“yeah,” he says, without missing a beat. “because you look good in those too.”
you snort. “you’re ridiculous.”
“not my fault you’re hot,” he shrugs, sitting down and nudging your knee with his. “should’ve thought of that before dating me.”
you roll your eyes, but the words sit warm and steady in your chest. it’s not the first time he’s said something like this. it probably won’t be the last. but it settles in your chest differently today. lighter. more believable. not because you’ve changed, but because maybe it’s okay not to.
he passes you your glass back and taps his fingers twice against your thigh before pulling his hand away. casual. fond.
“wanna go get ice cream?” he asks.
you nod. and this time, when you stand, you don’t tug at the hem of your tank top.
taglist (open. ask to be added <3): @tangerinelovr @oligbia @megapteraurelia@iwantfoodpleasebuymefood @dira333 @kcandyliciouss@carm1lla@beee1221249qq@x3nafix @bambi-lia
Bewitched -- Chapter Three
Tohru Oikawa X Koshi Sugawara --- Chapter List
˳ ˳ . ⋅ ॱ ˙ ॱ ⋅ . I take requests! Visit my profile to submit!˳ ˳ . ⋅ ॱ ˙ ॱ ⋅ .
Days come and go, and every afternoon Koshi and Tohru continue to find themselves at the theater at the same time, coming off opposite trains, always greeting each other with polite nods and kind smiles. Sometimes Tohru makes a comment, Koshi always responds back with something snappy.
But while the routine settled, Tohru did not. He continued to feel restless, almost frustrated. He didn’t understand these people, he didn’t fit in with them. He was an outsider.
Koshi had been around this theater before, he somehow knew the people. He fit in with them. It didn’t take long for Tohru to realize these were people who had gone to middle school with Koshi, people Koshi knew growing up. They laughed with Koshi, invited Koshi to sit with them, and welcomed Koshi into their spaces. Tohru was on the outskirts for the first time in his life, he wasn’t in on the jokes, wasn’t a part of the circle.
He knew what he was- he was ‘the rich kid’. He went to a private school with high standards. His family, while small, carried a weight in their name. He knew what people said about students at Seijoh. He knew that other schools in Miyagi tended to look at them with rolled eyes and side glares.
And to some extent, it was deserved. Some of the kids are real assholes, total snobs. Tohru really thought he wasn’t like that though. He thought that he was different, he never thought less of other people from less elite schools. He didn’t have time to look down on others when he was too busy trying to figure out his own inner turmoils.
But at the same time, it was exhausting to be pegged as one thing and not seen as a whole human. It was like, for some of these people, they saw his uniform and lost interest in getting to know him. They don’t care that while it’s an elite school with a big cost for entry, it also has a high academic standard, competitive athletics and difficult courses. He had to work hard to get admitted before his parents could sign the check.
It was a particularly mild afternoon for mid March, not too hot and not too cold, the kind of day Tohru prefers. He can’t help but notice the fact that Koshi isn’t outside the theatre. They almost always crossed paths, almost always found each other outside. Neither were sure if it was coincidental or not, but chose to believe it was.
Puzzled but ultimately playing it off as indifference, Tohru goes inside the theater and is greeted with the faint sounds of some classical waltz he couldn’t quite place plays over the sound system. The sounds of chatter and giggles fill the spaces the music can’t quite fill.
The sight of it stops him and he can’t play down the small smile that finds his lips. Actors from the show dancing together, Koshi waltzing with one of the older women who was playing an aunt or a mother- Tohru couldn’t remember now.
He looked beautiful- which was incredibly confusing to Tohru. There was a glow to Koshi, a warmer energy around him that almost pulled Tohru in like a magnet. It beckoned him closer, but equally created such a fear that he couldn’t quite place.
He didn’t know what this feeling was, and he couldn’t quite place it. He hadn’t felt this way since he started getting good at playing with Iwaizumi. So that’s what it was, right? A friendship with admiration?
But at the same time, there was something greater there. Something that felt warmer inside of Tohru, something that made Tohru feel like he was both walking on air and drowning below the surface of a raging sea. It was complicated, complex deep in him.
And yet, no matter how terrifying this new feeling was, Tohru couldn’t look away. The gray-haired boy in front of him was softer now, his espresso colored eyes looked warmer, his smile big. When he laughed, it made Tohru feel like something was stirring inside him. He didn’t know his cheeks were turning pink, he thought the warmth spreading through his body was from the heat outside.
“Oikawa-kun!”
The mellow tenor of Koshi’s voice pulled Tohru from the short lived trance he had entered not long before, pulling his eyes to meet his.
“Suga-kun, you’re dancing with two left feet,” Tohru laughs a little, walking closer.
Tohru can’t help the way any sarcastic remark falls from his mouth, it's his nature. What he will never get used to is how Koshi manages to give it right back to him every time.
“Then come show me how it’s done, if you’re so sure.”
Tohru blinked for a moment, his match met. Someone put him in a position he isn’t sure what to do in, one he feels a little vulnerable in. But he can’t back down- Tohru Oikawa never backs down.
He playfully rolls his eyes and walks to Koshi, one hand finding his waist and one finding Koshi’s hand in a raised waltzing position. He couldn’t help the way he kept his touches light, almost feather-like, as if keeping the touch faint it wouldn’t be more than two teenage boys making fun of eachother.
And that’s what it was, right? Or, that’s what Tohru thought when he started to waltz with Koshi. Both of them laughed awkwardly, feet fumbling as either weren’t sure who was leading and who was following.
“You’re not much better,” Koshi said playfully, as if he was so unbothered that he was dancing with another boy, like this wasn’t unfamiliar to him. It bothered Tohru, not because he cares who Koshi dances with, but because it was once again a thing Koshi had that Tohru didn’t- comfortability.
“I don’t normally dance with boys,” Tohru said with some smugness that hit Koshi in a weird way. He didn’t show it, Tohru is none the wiser.
“It’s not that much difference, I'm only a little taller than most girls our age anyway.”
What Tohru knew is this did feel different. He had danced with girls, never a waltz, but he had. And he probably was stumbling in the same teenage way as he is now- feet never quite placed on the beat, steps being intermixed too closely.
But this was different. He was nervous- but not a nervousness he knew. It wasn’t the nervousness he gets before a test or the kind he gets at when the match is getting too close for his comfort. This was a nervousness he had only felt a seldom few times in his life, like when he asked Iwazumi to always be his partner in volleyball or like when he had to work on a project with that one pretty girl in middle school- but even now, this feeling felt stronger.
When the song ended, Koshi pulled away laughing, dropping his hands from Oikawa like it wasn’t something vulnerable, something intimate to him. Tohru blinked, and laughed awkwardly with him. But it wasn’t funny, it was terrifying.
“We should probably stop dickin’ around before Santo-san fires us,” Koshi says with that familiar, friendly smile. He turns to head up stairs to the dressing rooms.
“Yea, we should-” Tohru said back, his confidence weavering. He follows Koshi blindly, mind racing.
This work can also be found on AO3, updating on the same schedule.
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I'm looking for someone who can help me beta-read this work as I go, so if ur interested, pls let me know (Shout out @pomigranit / @deardaichi for beta reading this chapter)
