fics-by-kentocalls

[fics-by-kentocalls]

Bokuto Kōtarō | always pg13, established relationship, comfort happy belated birthday lovely friend @jadedjane 🍰

Summary: A snippet of a softer morning with Bokuto. Please do not attempt Bokuto's jumping at home.

🦉: [1 Image Sent] (Menu) 🦉: Can I PLEAsE bring EVERY appetizer!! 🦉: You would have lunch for days 🦉: Thai tea here SUCKS 🦉: Canceling that from my order 🦉: Iwa is talking about taxes. 🦉: I paid mine …I think 🦉: Did you get home alright? 🦉: So if I came home with no eyebrows

  🥡

It’s the same room, the same cool tile that greets you time after time when energy escapes you. Your phone is buzzing somewhere in the dark void of your apartment. You don’t move, guilt summoning itself from the ground and restraining all your limbs. It was a close call today.  You didn’t sleep well, you skipped that morning shower, you didn’t take the detour to find another coffee shop when yours was closed.  Your eyes had slipped close for a second, a second and that was enough to send the whole day spiraling. The printer stopped working, the storage room key was lost, countless tiny moments that chipped away at your spirit. It’s probably selfish, what you’re doing now too. Turning away from the world. Not a single light turned on, not a single attempt to change your work clothes and put on soft pajamas. You don’t deserve it, your brain supplies. You don’t deserve the softness of nice clothing, a bed or light. Instantly, Kōtarō’s voice breaks through the abyss, “Hey hey hey, can you NOT be mean to my favorite person?” Is exactly what he’d say, to get you out of this funk. You could call him, you should call him. He’d run over in a heartbeat. And yet, you stifle that urge. Bargain with yourself,  it’s a mood, it’s temporary. Still, this sadness grows vines that wrap around you tight.  Everything feels heavy, even the weight of your eyelids. So you let your eyes clothes, if there’s dust mites burrowing into your hair so be it. You can’t be bothered.  Maybe enough of them will take over, claim your body as theirs and you’ll escape the conundrum of a commute, work, cooking and cleaning and adulting. 

All of it.  Later. Tomorrow. Whatever.

  🥡

🦉: [1 Image sent] (a grinning Bokuto & Hinata) 🦉: eyebrows SAFE 🦉: Speaking of 🦉: Location says you’re home 🦉: Whatcha doing?

🦉: Are you watching John Tangerine without me? 🦉: That’s OUR show 🦉: Wait, do you ALWAYS watch it without me first? 🦉: Is that how you know what happens?

🦉: Sunshine?

4 missed calls

🥡

You can’t tell how long it’s been, of you spacing out or falling asleep. Is there a difference?  Your bones don’t ache as much as you thought, the floor suddenly shifted into….soft padding?  Wait a minute, this is your comforter.  And that warmth on your back? That is the body of none other than Bokuto Kōtarō, that little wetness on your shoulder? His drool. You move to turn away but his hands sense your conscious state and pull you flat against him, turning both of you so you’re now his personal heater. “K…Kōtarō….we’re…the floor…” “But I don’t wanna …five more minutes… Sunshine don’t make me–”  a grumble and a turn, his arms tighten and he rolls again until your head smacks the non-pillowed floor. You yelp, he startles awake,a blink, then two, and his giant grin. “Good mornin–why, why the frown?”  thumbs at the pout you’ve adorned. “Where do we normally sleep, Kōtarō?” “On the bed.” he nuzzles at your neck, the scent calming the previous adrenaline down.”Why is that?” “So our backs don’t hurt.” his hands slide up and down the side of your body, oh your clever boy, trying to distract you is he?  “And are we on a bed?” “It’s NOT my fault, you looked so cute, and I thought we could have a sleepover–” “We do, every night.” “I KNOW but, wait…”  He gets up abruptly, rearranges the blankets so you’re covered, a stern, “Do not move.”  before his heavy steps pad into the kitchen. There’s the familiar sound of take out being opened and plated, your microwave beeping and Kōtarō humming along. You can picture him wiggling his butt every so slightly at the 5 second countdown.    Greasy, heavy, deliciousness fills the room as he brings over the reheated plates and spoons. “I need to wash my face–” “I did, I used the wipes, like you showed me, even did the–” he pats his face four times, “that you do after cleaning.” Sweet, your Kōtarō is so sweet.  “So this dish was the tastiest of the bunch. We should start our day with this, and then…” one would think Kōtarō is being bullish. Not pointing out the state of your being, still in work clothes, still a little sad, still a little dazed, defeat trying to pull you back down into a lull–but he’s your Kōtarō.  Treating you the same regardless of the heavy rain that pours in your heart. “Sunshine?”  Graceful athlete, moves the plates up and away as you crowd into his form, surely, his chest has more than enough room for you. Burrow in, hide yourself in his ribs, Bokuto’s arms come to close around you.  Spinning slightly, so he’s supported by the coffee table, hands rubbing up and down your back. He knows, without you saying, yesterday sucked.  And still, you’re his brave brave brave precious sun, who smiled bright, telling him to go to the reunion. That you were simply tired, nothing sleep wouldn’t cure. But nothing even comes close, does it?  To the hugs he gives.  A little too strong, the squeeze never letting up, the scent of his body wash mixed with your shampoo, the way his heart beats proudly in his chest.  This s the place you’ve gotten used to for relief, for ease, for soothing and…”I’m not hungry—” “One bite…” your Kōtarō knows tender, softens his voice in a way that melts away any protest, you take the bite.  He hums at the noise you let out, eyes going bright, another spoonful ready, raised at your lips. “You said one.” “And this is one too–”  Just like that, he makes sure you’re fed, held safe in his arms, watching the way your expression changes with each new dish. He really did bring back every appetizer and despite sleep lingering in his eyes, plated said appetizers carefully so they don’t touch.  

“H…how was the reunion?”   He could talk about caterpillars and you’d listen, watch his face shift and the tone of his voice fluctuate as he parades over the chaotic events.   Enough so that you can slip free from his arms, but not from him. Bokuto follows, of course. Like an owl flies to the moon, he flies close to your light, eager to bask in your comments. Ever so protective of him after all, what does that Kuroo get by flustering your Kōtarō huh? 

🥡

You both make quick work of the morning hygiene routine, Kōtarō insisting today is a pajama day because he hasn’t let go of the idea of a sleepover. Yes it’s the weekend and yes the weather may be nice but it doesn’t compare to the half of you. He wants to indulge, give that playful side of you reason to come out and play. Watches as you indulge in the tiny bit of skin care you have, immediately sitting on the counter, half hanging off, face right into yours, “Me too, Me too.”   

His hair always clings to water, it drips down onto the floor, so you grab a towel, he leans further down, “You’re going to hurt your neck pretty boy, don’t do that.” It’s okay if you have to stand on your tiptoes to help dry his hair.  It’s a rare treat, Kōtarō with his hair down, soft, fluffy, malleable without the gels and hairspray.  Your hand tangles a bit when you check for dryness, “We both need haircuts…” Another thing you’ve failed to do.  

A sigh escapes as Bokuto Kōtarō puts his arms around your hips and pulls you forward, oh so serious, “Why …..” pulls you into a hug, shakes both of you from side to side a little, “no being mean to my favorite person.”  

Oh, you adore Kōtarō, the one who doesn’t limit his love. Moderation? What use is it when he knows how the sun shines in your eyes? How your laugh could light the night sky?  Why should he hold back?  In the home both of you have made, in the mischief you two share?  Hands tracing infinity signs into your skin, maybe if he does this enough a spell will be cast and you’ll stay with him forever and ever. “Hmm, not using the lotion then huh?”  He lifts his head up, a pout already forming, “AKAASHI took it from me! Said his girlfriend would appreciate it more than I do!”  “How rude!” “Isn’t it!” But he’s kinda secretly happy, because now your hands are tracing lotion over his, working it into the calloused palms and his long fingers. Ever so tender, his eyes watching your face full of adoration  “You’re so nice to me.”   

“Because you’re nice to me.” 

He tries, he really really tries. Kōtarō admits it’s taken him a while to slow down, ease out of his incessant drive to do and fix and achieve. You’ve softened him up in all the right ways, helped him learn more and more about social cues. And really, it’s a testament to your teaching and his learning, that he asks, “How…are you doing?...you missed my calls.” “Better, since…you’re here.”   He’s so in love, four words and he’s left speechless, breathless. One hand of yours comes to close his mouth as you drift back to the delicious takeout.

🥡

You do talk to him, about the heaviness, he’d package it all in a luggage and ship it to hell if he could. Takes it upon himself to look up cruise tickets because that's the legal way to ship a human to Antarctica, hell on Earth for someone who hates the cold. “You cannot do that to the penguins, no one would be around my supervisor, Kōtarō.” “REALLY? Because John Tangerine can ship his enemies there? And I’m not allowed to send yours?” He huffs, crosses his arms, indignant.

“Is it because he’s mysterious?”    Why have you, and all your friends, fallen for this actor John Tangerine? He’s heard the way you coo at your phone, the way your friends go to his fanmeets.  He’s …some dude, some guy.  Handsome, sure.  Heck, Kōtarō will admit, John Tangerine has that charisma to him too but…but…”Tell ME. What’s so great about him anyways?”  What does John Tangerine have that Kōtarō doesn’t?  “Is it his hair?”

“You don’t need to be John Tangerine. I like you as you are.” Yeah but it’s John Tangerine movies you watch repeatedly. But you’re giggling and slightly blushing at a cheesy joke John is making on screen.  “Oh, this is the best part, Kōtarō, did you know John practiced this jump…”  Kōtarō does know, you only tell him every time you watch this movie. But he listens anyways, eyes glued to your face, your lips, that happy smile and nose scrunch when John lands on the taxi roof, he has it all memorized already and still it’d never be enough.  It’s probably selfish, what he’s doing right now. Rewinds the scene because you were “talking too loud…” when really, really he wants to see you make those faces again.  Because you always, unconsciously, turn to Kōtarō – cling at his arm and squeeze, like you’re both in on the biggest secret, *gasp* John is the spy! There’s  a list of chores to be done, trash to be taken out, bills to be paid, adulting creeping around the bend and Kōtarō sweeps you into his arms, “I could probably land that jump too!” “Kōtarō, no.” “Kōtarō, yes.” A giggle, moving of furniture, a badly mimicked scenario for Bokuto Kōtarō to recreate the famous John Tangerine jump.   

He does this jump, again and again, until your bellies hurt from laughing, until you fall to the floor clutching your stomachs and even he makes another attempt to jump. Because your laugh is what blocks out the rest of the world, the daunting pressure of being a professional athlete, the fact his last tweet had a glaring typo, that he really wanted you to be greedy and tell him to come home last night. But that’s okay, he’ll keep doing this until all of that doubt clears. That’s his in it for life, with you. 

In the future, when you do eventually call, he wants you to know without a doubt; he’ll drop everything and run right over.  Sure, John Tangerine can cross fences like it’s nothing and woo the ladies and is a professional spy but does John Tangerine have the most precious sunshine holding him this close?

Tracing the softest hands over his face? John Tangerine will never ever know. 

Because you? 

You are Kōtarō’s later, tomorrow, whenever, always. 

[fics-by-kentocalls]

kusakabe atsuya | fiend sfw. magical draken kusakabe, anyone? Happy happy birthday lovely @jjk-eugie. My apologies for being late. Thank you for being a wonderful part of the light in fandom.

Kusakabe had no interest in humans, long gone were the days where leading a life side by side was possible for his kind.  He’s been hunted, pushed into the shadows.  Gone was his desire for life outside his hoard of treasures and comfort. Content, resigned, to sleep peacefully until humans proved themselves worthy of his attention – but of course – there was you. Day after day, making the climb.  Day after day, removing the miscreant creatures that pretended to share his abode.   And day after day, he’s had to hear your voice, your thoughts, your claim for revenge.  When a griffin proved itself too close, too fast, too strong, he had emerged in a thick fog of black. “Do your broken bones not weep?"  You held no fear, grasped your dull blade tightly, “Fiend, yield to me.” No declaration of death, no claim on his treasure, none of those pompous airs knights have. Only eyes full of mirth, a mind desperate for revenge. “You want me to yield?” “Lend me your power…” You paused with the smoke shifted to that of a human male. Fiends can come in many forms and this one, this one has a particularly handsome one.  A face with history, hair that's deceptively soft chestnut and shoulders broad. Any other instance of seeing the Fiend, you’d think he was a Knight. “Fiend, help me take down the King.” It wouldn’t be the first, it would not be the last. Royals are so predictable, but he did find it amusing, a Princess coming herself. Where were your Knights? 

“Why should I?”   There’s nothing of interest in the human lands, not a thing worth possessing.  “What could you offer me, human?” “You are weakened, I will….I will have the healers–” “Bring the draken back to full power?  Naive aren’t we?”    He had planned to instill fear in you, spread his wings and drop you from a safe enough height, so you’d never make the climb again. That was the only reason he got so close, draped an arm around your form. What did he know you’d held a dagger made of his scales, laced with a spell to bind him to you?  Never did he expect, you, Princess, would be the one to cage his anger and tame his heart.

🐉 

“And to what do we owe the Princess’ visit?” The man who sits on top of the throne has no glory to be bellowing a laugh so loud. When he’s taken and taken and taken from all the lands without remorse.  The way his beloved advisors sit around the table, vipers concealed in human flesh.  “Were you able to slay the fiend? Have you come to claim a reward?” A round of laughters, disbelief, “The girl? Truly, what match for a Fiend?” “What luck of yours!” “Such an impossible task.”  “Sire, pity the girl–” Your small envoy hoists forward a bag, drops it at the edge of the throne's steps. The hissing stops, disgusted faces and confusion follow. You hold tightly onto the small blade in your hands, eyes unsure if the blood dripping is from your wounds or the blade. “You’ve done it then?”   He stands. “How could she!” “What such a small entourage?” “Trickery!” “Sorcery!” Your grip tenses, eyes find the quiet one, who rolls his glass of wine idly in his hand. His eyes tired, sullen, and it’s ever so subtle, how he shakes his head no. As a Princess, no matter how small your land, no matter how royal your blood, they call on you to kneel before the Ging. To drop your weapons and show proof the fiend has been defeated.  “Now, now, I promised the Princess a reward.” “Sire!” “Your Grace!” “Allow me to confirm–”  The King raises a hand, arrogance seeping through his robes, as he takes a few steps down, to circle your form. But why should the King worry? There is no man in this land to best him, no one dare take a dagger to such a daunting warrior.  He ruled with fists of fire and burned to ash all those who have rebelled.  Just you, pesky Princess, pitiful.  “And pray tell, how did you slay the fiend?” He notes your blade is barely that of common knights, wondering how you’ve convinced anyone to spare you a weapon.  The envoy with you is barely four people, even that, surprising. You? Venturing into the fiends cave? You bring justice over the darkened lands? And it’s perfect, this man so arrogant, blinded by his own success to not dare see the banished Princess as a threat.  Ignore the dirt under your nails, the dried blood on your face, the vengenous in your eyes.. Your life, once envied, turned to impoverishment.  The King’s only grace? Complete the impossible task, defeat the fiend and you can return to the castle.  The same fiend that’s haunted the lands for generations. A mystic dark smoke that erupts and consumes. Oh, one could be quick to say the King is a fiend himself but you’ve learned, the fiend at least has mercy.  This King…this foul man…has no sincerity in his bones. “Did you injure your ears, Princess? Speak!”

Your eyes turn again to those of the wearied advisor. He shakes his head no. You wait. Closer still, you need the King. Your voice shakes, not of fear, but anger. The vipers buy the emotion as weakness, poison that draws the king into orbit, he’s used the jasmin your mother had grown in the gardens to perfume his skin. He’s wearing robes your father had commissioned from seamstresses from afar.  He wears the crown that belongs on your head. Now. The fiend, his voice, clearer than water, stronger than the surging sea. In a blink, the blade in your hand darkens, your eyes turn red and the fiend’s shadow emerges at your back. Seen only to those who know the smell of drake fire and vengeance.  You watch as Hiromi's eyes widen, he stands abruptly.   The other advisors watch, as the Princess takes three steps, a sudden smoke removing the crown from where it’s perchec. The Princess spins, the darkened blade raises through the air and the dead King’s head rolls.  You stand tall, proud and your eyes roam the viper’s pit.   

Let me get them all. One by one, all those who plundered and pillaged your family castle. One by one, all those that laughed at your screams for mercy, one by one, they all roll.   The fiend makes himself known, crown in seemingly hand, as he places it at the top of your head.  “All hail, my Queen.” 

🐉

You don’t run from the horror of it, you don’t scale back your voice. You claim proudly, you’ve bested the traitor and the Palace and Kingdom now falls back under your family lineage.   And if they thought that would be enough, if they thought the fiend would be pleased with seeing you as Queen, no. The fiend wants your reign to be supreme. Where there is no turmoil, no suffering, to loss at the hands that hoard jewels for themselves.  So you let him out every now and then, let him use the bond between you two, he manifests in the flesh. Strikes fear in the heart of all that of weak principles, you rule not with an iron thumb but the draken’s fire. Kusakabe finds himself more and more invested in catching the poisonous rats.   He hasn’t heard your laugh, he only knows it from memories that seep into his dreams. He hasn’t heard you sing, only learns about it through the hallway murals. There’s a life you’ve led before the stress of it all, and he vows to bring that back. It’s purely baseless, that one would think draken’s don’t have favorites.

They do, and his favorite after eons of no one, is you.

[fics-by-kentocalls]

gojo satoru | from a dream pg13, sad(?) fluff, 2.6k summary: gojo satoru isekai’d into your satoru

It’s warm, his senses inform him. Warmer than usual for his afternoon solo nap on his luxury sofa. He twists, a heavy weight moves with him, on his chest.  Alarm doesn’t course through him, knowing his Infinity wouldn’t allow a harmful presence to get this close to him.  His hands have fallen victim to this presence, barely trapped underneath – whatever – it is. There’s a shuffling, a…humanoid shape on top of him? This person, he realizes, is snuggling closer, a cheek and nose nuzzles into his collarbones, a soft hum of “Satoru, cold.”   His fingers twitch, some part of his brain supplying blankets within reach, he pulls the  fabric around you, unclear what is happening. You  lay in dreamland, sleeping so soundly on his chest.  Not a threat, it would seem. He takes the moment to back track because what is this? What kind of illusion? It’s impossible for him to be trapped in a Domain like this?  But why would a curse want to…snuggle him? It’s odd. He can’t even sense cursed energy from you, from the immediate space, from anything really.  His hands tentatively fall to your form, fingers brushing fabric and exposed skin and you offer up even more softness. There doesn’t seem to be a talisman or spell on you, hiding your energy, keeping him plastered into this sofa. He pauses when you shuffle, pushing yourself further into him. Legs happily tangled, and even there, he notes, there’s warmth.  How does he disarm a Domain like this? There’s a ding! He tenses. As if summoned, your head pops up, eyes big, bright, meeting his baby blues with a smile, “They’re ready!”  He feels his hands clench, is it now? Whatever this sinister plan of yours is, hidden in the scent of chocolate and butter? It’s frustrating how the cold invades the space that was occupied by your form, it’s all adding up now, you’re going to do it. Use your energy and attack. He waits and waits, but it never comes. Confused as he sits up, uncharacteristically silent, the floor feels real. The sofa feels too sunken in to be false, a curse can’t create this as imitation. There’s a tv playing a show or movie, he can’t tell, soft trinkets scattering the console it’s perched on. And photos .  Homely, cozy, s…safe?  Where the hell is he? “Satoru, where’d you put the oven mit?” Using his first name, talking like you know him, what a minx of a curse you are. Drawers are being open and closed, he waits for a sinister fog to overtake him, instead the melody of your humming, as you explore the kitchen. The timer gets another ding! He stands, his body feels softer, hands going to his abs, he has them but also, insulation? His arms aren’t as defined, and what is he wearing?

An off brand tshirt and grey sweatpants? What the hell are these Cinnamoroll socks? And bangs in his eyes? His hair is soft and down?  Wasn’t he in his uniform, where’s his bandana, his eyes can’t be exposed to light like this for too long least he get a migraine–you, you’ve done something.  Pads into the kitchen cautiously, catches you removing the tray of cookies and placing them on top of the stove. “Soon as the timer goes off we can have one…although the chocolate looks so melty…” your hand reaches for one, Satoru knows it’s terribly hot and not a good idea, but what’s a curse coming up with such a domestic scene? Why with Satoru? He was at the high school right? Napping on his sofa– A gentle touch and tug at the top of his head, his eyes find you close. Too close, closer than Infinity should ever allow. His hands come to your hips, wanting to put distance between you two, instead steadying your form as you whisk away the cowlick’s in his hair,  moving long bangs away from his eyes. “There you are.” No. He’s not…there’s no reason for you to be looking at him with such soft eyes. This has to be a Domain, you have to be a curse. Why is your skin so human? Half a very warm, perfectly melted chocolate chip cookie is brought to his lips, “I won’t tell anyone.”  The gleam in your eyes a tad mischievous, a bit secretive, all too adoring. He takes a bite, too real to be fake, but what? Did you put poison in this? It’s all too real to be just a dream. Maybe his unconscious has finally caught up to him, maybe sleeping only four hours a day has backfired, maybe – “Satoru?” How do you say his name with such fondness? Like a delicacy. "You feeling okay?” "I’m…confused."  Honest, transparent, hopeful.  It’s stupid, to think a curse would be this docile and kind towards him, and yet, he doesn’t wager his skepticism as reason enough to lie to you. "Naps do that Satoru, I told you.” You’re pouting, putting your arms around his waist, pulling him in. Like a wave crashing to shore, his form greets your warmth again.  His hands around you, bodies sinking towards another, tender, natural. “It’s Saturday, we’re baking for Yuji’s recital, please tell me you charged the camcorder?” Camcorder? Aren’t smartphones enough? How old are you?  “ Kento insisted on it. You told me you kept one from your college days.” College?  “You’re gonna show me your rugby games later, remember?”  “Rugby?”  He sees you narrow your eyes, this is it, he expects the Domain to show it’s real form now, shift into darkness and danger instead, you pull his cheek. You pull his cheek. Gojo Satoru, The Strongest, getting his cheek pulled by someone…shorter than him. “Mr. Strongest Rugby Star, are you a liar Gojo Satoru?” Probably, maybe, but, why is he finding himself blushing? Grinning? “The Strongest doesn’t need to lie.” It’s playful, that eye roll and huff, the crossing of your arms. He doesn’t want to leave the feeling of your arms around him, pulls your hands back on his waist, hold him for a second closer.  So that he’s close enough to disarm your Domain, afterall. Not like he’s succumbed to whatever this Domain is? Whatever, it feels good, domestic, nice.  “Well The Strongest needs to find the camcorder so we can record our god-son Yuji in his first play.” Our? God-Son? Yuji?  Was Satoru fighting a curse with Yuji? Wasn’t he napping in his office? His brows furrow, he notes your head tilt, “Satoru? Baby are you feeling okay?”  

Your hand in his hair might certainly cure anything, wait, wait. That’s not true, you don’t even have RCT!  You don’t have cursed energy, what the hell?! Satoru snaps away, taking in the rest of the apartment. There has to be a loophole, an opening, a miss, no curse can be that human. There has to be a way out of this Domain. "Ryōiki Tenkai–” "What?” Nothing happens. Satoru looks at his fingers, he doesn’t have cursed energy either? He pulls your hands into an odd symbol, your hands lost in the cave he makes for a second before your middle finger is wrapped behind your index finger, “Say Ryōiki Tenkai.” “Satoru?....Ryōiki Tenkai?” He shakes his head, “No, with more confidence.” “Ryōiki Tenkai.”  You shake your hand a little, smiling up at him, it’s…cute. “Of course if this is already your Domain…and it depletes my cursed energy, there must be a seal I need to break…” mumbling to himself, you do that head tilt again, biting your lip, hand easily finding his cheek. “You okay Satoru?”

At his grin your frown only deepens.  He’s off. Maybe he got lost in one of his documentaries about physics and space, maybe it was something he read, you’re not too sure. Your Satoru tends to go all in once his attention is turned on.  You sigh. “Mmm… I don’t buy it but we need to get going. Where’d you put Yuji’s gift?” He makes a face, “Why would Yuji need a gift?” You shake your head, “I think it was in the closet right?  You hid it when you babysat him last time.” “I don’t babysit anymore…” Perhaps he can irritate you into loosening up your Domain.  You’re an odd curse, all life-like, all human.  It’s an interesting form you’ve taken on, someone cute, someone Satoru would chicken out of talking to. He can’t involve others in the life he leads.  Is that your Domain? Showing him something he’s stuffed away into the bottom of his heart? Meanwhile you’re taking his eccentricity for a conversation later. Lack of sleep? Lack of food? Lack of light, you turn on your heels that pauses his movements, he seems to brace himself – still with that odd grin. “When was the last time you showered?” Satoru lifts his arm to smell himself, “I smell clean.”   It’s not his usual cologne or deodorant combination but it’s nice, softer.  You lean in to smell him too, “You used my perfume again.” He? Again?  No, this is the first time he’s been trapped into your Domain– he’s not your partner, boyfriend, anything–stop! He’s getting pulled further and further into this story.  Damn, you’re a tricky curse aren’t you? All that gentleness is a facade to hide the disdain and violence, “I…can…” He looks up to find you dangerously tip-toeing on top of a very, very, not made to be stood on like that office chair, you’re gonna–shit!  Falling right into his arms, a carefully wrapped gift lands on your chest. “My hero!” Don’t…don’t …he wants to tell himself, but a part of him does give into that expansion in the middle of his chest, spreading a soft hue of pink across his face. “I told you, I’m The Strongest.”   Faster than he can plan for, your lips brush his cheek, “Why thank you Mr. Strongest Satoru, can you please use this strength to pack up the cookies for Yuji? I gotta change.”  He places you back onto the floor, you turn around quickly again, he tenses a little less this time, “ You have to change too.”

“Alright, alright.”  This feels nice.  He’s not sure what the motive of your Domain is but regardless, it feels nice. Maybe if he plays along it’ll end. Whatever this…perfect life seems to be.  Your Domain is so good though, his eyes trace the photos framed on the walls. Moments of a…fake life? Between you and Satoru. A graduation, a birthday, a trip to a lake…baby Yuji? Nanami’s a dad ?   There’s even a photo of this baby Yuji with a baby Megumi and Nobara too. How intricate is this Domain? What kind of curse knows his students and Nanami? His eyes search for more photos of you, only painting a picture of a totally normal human. Not a sorcerer, not a window, not…anything Jujutsu related. And his photos too, why’s he wearing hoodies in all of these? Why’s his hair soft and down, how is he smiling so brightly?  Why the fuck is Suguru alive? “He’s coming too, he’s bringing the companion gift to go with ours. Hurry, go change.”  You again, this can’t be…this can’t be. Don’t look at him like that, don’t bring him a change of clothing, don’t. He starts walking backwards, searching, trying to source where the fuck your cursed energy is but there’s nothing for miles and miles just the sound of traffic and an ambulance. “Where the fuck am I?” “Home…Satoru?”  Your voice quiet, smaller, your eyes showing very human emotion, face riddled with concern. This can’t be real, this can’t be real. Gojo Satoru is The Strongest, he’s a sorcerer, he needs to be out exorcising curses not here in some domestic bliss watching television and baking cookies.

He’s not some physics professor.  He flinches away from your touch, your vixen softness, get away from him. “You’re not…Satoru this joke isn’t funny please stop now.” He walks backwards, and backwards, until he trips on a leftover lego car and lands with the biggest thud.  His head feels heavy, he feels your soft hands on his face again, nails accidentally scratching his chin, voice full of emotion, concern, love? Why would a curse love him? “Baby, Satoru are you okay?” Don’t call him that. Don’t make his heart feel like that. As his eyes close, “Satoru?” “Satoru? “Satoru?”

💎

Gojo Satoru wakes up in his office, the luxury sofa stiff under him.  He sits up, eyes immediately searching for any curse energy, anything reminiscent of your shape, your form, your gentle smile.  “Finally, you back to reality now?” Principal Yaga, “I don’t know what kind of joke that was, don’t do it again.” He sits awake, the air lacking any scent of joy.  “We got a lead on the cursed object…” What the hell was that? 💎

He startles awake, hands over his head, pleading, “No, no, stop coming near me!”  Tumbles through the hodge podge of blankets toppled on top of him, bangs his knee into the coffee table, knocking his lesson notes and laptop to the ground.  “I’m….I’m back…?” A ding sounds through the apartment, he hearts footsteps, knows those footsteps, blocks your path to the oven as he encases you in a koala grip hug. “Oh my god, you’re…you…” Kisses the top of your head, fighting all your protests to push away from him and get to the chocolate chip cookies, “Satoru, we are not eating burnt cookies. Move.” “No!” “Gojo Satoru off!”  He only tightens his hold. “No, no, no!” He just woke up from a terrible dream, a ridiculous no good, no happy ending, lonely dream.  He looked hot though. But when is he not hot? “Okay, okay, Gojo Satoru The Strongest, please, let me get to the cookies?” Your hands on his waist as you squeeze his hips. The Strongest? How do you know about that? He pulls you back, hands on your shoulders, leaning down,  those beautiful baby blues searching your eyes, you’re really, you right? You’re really his–”Baby, are you sure your head is okay?”  That soft hand to his cheek, that familiar scent. "I woke up from a bad dream.”  You squeeze his cheek, “Let’s talk about it okay? But the cookies..”  He narrates it, waking up in an empty office, a man, Principal Yana or something, forcing him into a car with a nervous businessman. Then a volcano head attacked him, “Like straight up, Mt. Fuji and all the fire just, fwoosh.”  His fingers make waves above the tuft of his soft platinum locks. "I called your number over and over and it didn’t work.”  That…warms your heart. “You woke up in a dream and looked for me?” He looks at you funny, like you’ve stated the sky is purple, that he stayed in the band with Suguru and they’re touring Australia right now –”Why wouldn’t I look for you?” 

Satoru, pulling you into his lap, pushes his face into the crook of your neck, “They wanted me to fight monsters and I wanted to be here with you. I had abs though.” "You still have abs, Satoru.” Your hand pulls a cookie from the plate, bringing it to his lips, “you know what I mean.” He mumbles while taking a bite. “I was like jacked. I wore this thing on my eyes but I could see everything, I could see like – like –  energy particles, shit I should’ve researched if–”  you grin. He’s falling into his usual auditory processing habit. Enthusiastic about anything physics, the universe, energy particles and atoms and just that look he gets. When he talks about his passions, the way his eyes light up, the way his mind is catching up to his speech, his whole body getting involved in the monologue, pulling you up, “Wait, I gotta right this down.” Refuses to put you down, takes you into the makeshift office and pulls out a dry erase, “They kept calling it Infinity? The force field around me, and then there was this…Ryo…bankai, thing–but babe, it doesn’t make sense, how could one human concentrate–” There he is. Your Satoru.

[fics-by-kentocalls]

toshinori yagi | sparkling

Your husband has been paying attention, whether you knew it or not. Psst @actuallysaiyan Merry Christmas. (sfw, another side installment, in the same verse as To Have & To Hold, where’s the main story? Shh.)

It’s been a long week of playing hostess. The winter season, the holiday associated as snow rushes to greet the ground is your favorite. This will be the first year you celebrate with your new husband, however. You’ve been told, by family, to reel it in. Don’t go overboard, don’t decorate extravagantly. That Toshinori Yagi is an important man, your job in this marriage is to keep him happy, make sure the contract behind the marriage is safe.

You were wed due to an arrangement between families. The youngest of your side with the head of his side—him. While technically true, this was an arranged marriage, over the many months of learning Toshinori—no, he’s Toshi now— this union is anything but obligatory.

He had asked you, “Would you accept a man like me, by your side?”

He had asked you, “Even with all the blood on my hands?”

Toshi didn’t want your acquiescence, he wanted your consent. “I will make you the happiest.”

But your darling is, off on business now. You’ll have hell freeze over before anyone declaring you as his weakness. So what, it’s the holidays, so what you’re apart. You’re his wife, you know, he’ll always come home to you.

❅

Toshinori looks down at his watch.

His breath fogs in front of him, a deep exhale. “It’s easier on both of us if you simply, comply.”

The man tied to his chair throws more profanities his way, Toshinori has had more fun twiddling his own thumbs than listening to this mundane collection of words. He’s all but ready to hand this fool over to Aizawa when the words, “And we’ll take her too, your precious wife—“

The man doesn’t comprehend what happens to his face, silenced by an iron fist. His loyal underlings tense up, mumbling under their breaths “Now why’d he have to go do that?” “Idiot deserves it” “Talkin’ about bosses’ missus like that”

❅

Toshi is late, it’s been two weeks of uncoordinated schedules, you’re asleep by the one Christmas inspired tree you put up. Toshi had insisted you place on in each room, the home (mansion) of his is big enough. A 20ft one for the entrance, a collection of trees for the gardens. But you remembered your families words, don’t over do it.

But even sleep doesn’t save you from hostess duties, being Mrs. Yagi. You’re shaken awake and taken to the private jet. A last minute party, you don’t remember where, too tired to ask details. Your personal assistant will handle it.

You need rest. In the morning, you’ll do your part. You’ll stomp out any nasty rumors that Toshi ignores you. A facial and body massage to start your day, skin soft, clean, refreshed. Dolled up to the nines, hair done, nails done, make up on point. Dresses and outfits fresh from the runway straight into your hotel room to scrutinize.

The drive is….a familiar one.

To your family home.

You feel your stomach lurch. Not expecting this, absolutely not ready, not expecting this. But anything for Toshi. Anything to show off how well taken care of you are. Except it’s not the driver who opens your door, it’s Toshinori Yagi himself. “Sorry I’m late my love.”

“You’re here.”

“I’m here.”

❅

It’s funny, your mother doesn’t even last being on her best behavior, but it takes Toshi’s stern exhale and, “My love, I forgot we have another engagement ot attend. My sincere apologies…” doesn’t even let the usual dramatics occur, whisks you into the limousine waiting.

Door isn’t even closed and he has you in his lap, head in your neck, “My sweet sunshine, you smell divine.”

❅

You spend a day going around your home town…not sure you’d call it that. It hasn’t really felt like home in years. Home now is a handsome blond man waiting for you with open arms.

He takes you out to lunch, his heart filling with warmth when you have the waiter repeat back the order exactly as you described it. “No, we don’t want spicy, please remove that. Does it come with black pepper? Please remove that as well. Yes I am sure. Repeat the order back please.”

He doesn’t remember the last time his stomach has hurt, not from food, not since you realized his one weakness. “It’s not a weakness Toshi, it’s part of who you are right?”

Oh he wants to kiss you. So he does. Over and over.

❅

It’s late when you return home, Toshi isn’t explaining why his knuckles are bruised and red, you’re rubbing your expensive lotion into his hands, soothing out the soreness. There’s nothing you can do about the old scars, but new ones? Not happening on your watch.

“This….Toshi is this…our…?”

“Home? Yes, my love.” He asks the limo to stop at the gate.

Steps outside, rounds the vehicle to open your own door, your beautifully manicured hand in his. “Mrs. Toshinori Yagi, please allow me to welcome you to Winter Wonderland.”

There are lights everywhere.

From the trees outside the gates, to the gates, covered in lights. The lawn has a scene of reindeer grazing, the beautiful soft glow of lights, ornaments adorn every tree around the outside of the home. There’s even floating lights — “How?”

“Magic.” He says, eyes focused on watching your face light up, that soft glow of white, yellow, blue, red drawing different smiles from you. Everything, Toshi decides, anything you want. He will give to you.

Inside of the home is decorated too.

None of the large chandeliers are on, there soft glow comes from the sheer amount of pine trees, christmas trees, other green sprouts. Ornamented, with beautiful bells, stars, birds, bobbles, circles, pine cones in all colors, everywhere. Even giant ornaments on the spiraling cascading stairwell.

When you pad into the main living space, “Merry Christmas my love, although I may be a few days late.”

He holds you from behind as Christmas songs start to play from the recessed speakers. “Would you do the honors of dancing with me, my darling?”

Toshinori wishes he could take a photo and have it be living — like they do in that wizard movie you like — so he can look at the expression of wonder and awe on your face over and over. This is nothing, he hasn’t even begun to celebrate Christmas with you yet. And already, already you’re thankful, grateful, speechless.

“This is all wonderful, Toshi—I…I wish I could find the right words… thank you.” How did he know, what winter means to you? That you like these songs, that you adore the lights, that even the smell of pine brings a smile to your face. He could’ve made a plate of sugar cookies with you and easily this would’ve been the best Christmas you’ve had in years. Because home now….is this, in his arms.

Eyes so sincere, he’s undeserving. He’s had lovers before, but he hasn’t loved until you. Unsuitable, inappropriate for a hear like yours — big gracious kind — to fill with love for him.

That sweet, softness, the emotion in your eyes, everything you do for him.

He knows, he knows, he knows.

And he’ll show you, over and over, that he doesn’t take this for granted. That you were willing, that you chose him. Heavens are missing an angel with the way your soft hands caress his cheek. The way your voice whispers above his lips and pulls him in for a kiss.

If Toshinori were to paint his life as a cloud, his silver lining is you. The path he has been pulled into, he never thought he’d chose it again, but if at the end of it it has you, he’ll go through all the pain over and over, to make it back to you.

After all, you’re his.

To have and to hold.

[fics-by-kentocalls]

miya osamu | simple, honest 3.5k of second chance romance, chef!osamu, written for the hq x reader secret santa event hosted by the lovely @lale-txt. and written for lale ♡ divider by the lovely @nectardaddy

The second time you fall in love with Miya Osamu. And third.

Osamu can remember the moment he fell in love and his feelings shifted. Not love at first sight, like in the movies, but there were plenty of firsts to make up for that after.

Even after all these years he can remember the exact second you had turned around in class,  something you had done many times, nothing out of the ordinary.   A last minute study group, a collection of stressed minds, Osamu’s body tired after practice, Atsumu complaining next to him, the endless drawl of equations and numbers. Useless, pointless things.

And it was your voice, eyes meeting his,  “Osamu, can I borrow a pencil?”

Not pausing to assess which twin he was, not darting your eyes up to look at his hair, none of that.

The confidence in which you knew it was him.

That moment.

Lit a flame and launched fireworks in his heart. What followed is a collection of moments he remembered with you by his side. And suddenly, that collection stopped.  Why’d it stop?

When he sees you across the street, he wonders, did he ever stop feeling that way?  Because if feelings can be turned off like that, Osamu is sure he’s broken.  Not that he’d fix it, not that he’d change the way his heart eases a bit seeing you.

And when your eyes meet his, that same confidence all those years ago, causes your hand to wave at him.

Before you even realize it, before you even register what you’re doing. Osamu had lifted his hand back, praying you take his smile is as soft, disarming. That you haven’t done anything wrong, it’s been months since you’ve last crossed paths. It’s genuine, that excitement you have to see him, and he’s pleased to see you too.

A man that blocks you from his path, Osamu’s eyes filter to the group around you.

Ages mixed, state of dress a bit formal, a work dinner, he assesses.  He feels his chest fill with pride, you’re being social. These things stress you out, but there you are. You even arrived early it seems; as more and more people join and suddenly you’re tucked into the restaurant.  That smile doesn’t fade from Osamu, delighted to know, you keep trying, challenging yourself.

✦

It can’t be him.

As much as you plead with your mind, your colleagues start up about the menu, about holiday plans. Easy banter, you’ve practice a few non-answers to reply with.  This isn’t a comfortable setting, perhaps it’s okay that you saw Osamu outside.  Your mind is more occupied with him than overthinking social interactions with people who seem to like you.

You’re seated next to a …group date?  It seems like it, the girl seated next to you gives a soft smile seems when she slides in. Maybe a bit nervous, the way she’s adjusting her bangs, checking her reflection in a handheld mirror.   Your eyes looks at her dainty nails, her pretty dress shirt, back at your own attire. And your colleagues. It seems they dressed up too and your apparel is a bit plain in comparison. 

Well, that started early. The comparison gremlin.

Drown it.

You sip a glass of water, the empty seat in front of being taken by handsome, tall—Osamu!?  You choke and the water you’re drinking exits your nose, it gets everywhere. 

It burns. 

✦

He didn’t mean to, he assumed the table reserved for his staff would take up the whole row.  So lost in thoughts of you, he hadn’t bothered to look where he was sitting. Missed his own table by one seat; had you coughing and spitting and spiraling towards something he knows you don’t want anyone to see.  “Excuse us.”

Hands on your shoulders, lifting you up, steering you steady and strong.

Ushers you into the single bathroom, harsh paper towels in his hands that dab gently at your face, “Hey, you’re okay. No one saw that.”

“Every…” a cough, “saw that.”  What a terrible liar he’s always been.

He bites his tongue, “I know, but it wasn’t that…hey, eyes on me please, keep breathing, in an out, good.”  You mimic his breathing pattern. If you close your eyes and focus on his voice, it’d feel like old times, the multiple occasions Osamu has walked you through a frenzy.  “Easy, there you are…”

He wipes at your nose, it’s embarrassing, it should be, but he doesn’t bat an eye.  “I’m okay you can…go back.”

“My staff seen my mug ‘nough.”

So not a group date. Small talk. Come on. You have it in you, say something to him, anything, get him to stop looking at you with those eyes,  “Oh.”

He grins anyways, “We hit 200k ticket this year.”

“Osamu that’s amazing.”

He shrugs, you weren’t there for 75,000 of them.

“Stop, it’s amazing and you know that.”  There he goes again, acting mature and responsible, warding off the praise for long nights and early mornings. You still remember his furrowed gaze, no one has looked at rice with such scrutiny at four in the morning. But, no.

Abort that thought.

You go to wash your hands because you’re in a bathroom.

Osamu watches, he has so many questions.

Are you sleeping better?   He still has that pillow you had ordered, you never came to grab it. Are you eating enough these days?  He has so many reels to send to you, so many recipes he wants to feed you. Are you happy?

He catches you scrunch your nose in the mirror, knows the unconscious gesture, that water must’ve gotten deep, you’re gonna get sick. Or at least, irritated nasal passages leading to congestion and given that winter has come, chances of an illness are high. But he doesn’t say anything, lets you leave the bathroom first, follows after five minutes.

His staff doesn’t ask him about you, and your colleagues look at him but don’t ask you a thing. He feels himself exhale in relief. When colleagues go outside to wait for your ride home with you. That when they return, your incident never crosses their lips. Good, this is a better work place for you. Even if they made you socialize on a Friday night.

✦

There’s a box with soup outside your door the following morning. A text message from a number your new phone hasn’t ported over but it’s hard to erase those digits from memory.

🍙: Your food has been delivered. For the best experience, we recommend eating immediately.

We? You think to yourself, curious if this is a new service Osamu has started.  You should say thanks, text him back like a normal person.  But a sneeze has you dropping your phone. After, you bargain, you’ll text him back after.

The next Saturday, it’s a box of your favorite noodles and experimental onigiri, his hand writing is as messy as ever, you give up trying to figure out what ingredient it is. The text also comes in.

🍙: Your food has been delivered. For the best experience, we recommend eating immediately. Rate our new Onigiri flavor on a scale of Delicious to Scrumptious.

That boy…

🌼: Where does delectable fall on this scale?

✦

It feels easy, texting Osamu again.  You were friends before your gaze had lingered a bit too long on his lips and turned your relationship sweeter.  You were friends before he became the person you’d turn to first person, you were friends. You were friends.

You were friends and then you were more.

You were more and then you weren’t.

And now, where does this fall?

✦

🍙: Your food has been delivered, if you like please thumbs up, comment, and subscribe. 🌼: 👍🏼

✦

🍙: Your food has been delivered, we recommend placing in the freezer asap.  Like yesterday. 🌼: There are ants everywhere Osamu.

✦

🍙: We’re running a contest for the best meal. Vote here. 🍙: If you vote for option B, I’ll name it after you. 🌼: None of these are desserts.

✦

🌼: I will need to pause my food delivery, I will be out of town this weekend. 🍙: Your food go unfulfilled, left to waste on forgotten countertops. 🌼: I’ll stop by when I get back, still open til 7? 🍙: Yup, see you then.

He wanted to say, “For you, always.” But Osamu’s happy to be allowed into your world again, even if it’s just about the meals he’s been sending or what the restaurant is up to.  He’ll take anything you feel safe giving him. Even it’s more than acquaintances and less then friends. Even if it means dancing around everything he’s been feeling.

Why did it stop?

When he scrolls up the message history he doesn’t see a clear reason. His messages became less and less frequent, then yours, and then things faded.   A plethora of good memories and Osamu can’t find where things got to the point where you not being in his life felt like a sane and rational decision.

What kind of idiot was the him months ago?  Well, he isn’t going to be that same kind of idiot now.   Despite knowing better, he risks sending another message.

🍙: Good luck on your trip, and I still remember snickerdoodle, so any time, okay? 🌼: Thanks, Osamu.

Snickerdoodle was your shared code word with Osamu for ‘everything is overwhelming please come find me.’  You’re not surprised he remembered. You were friends with Osamu before the relationship started, whether you wanted to or not, you’ve shared your ugly sides with each other, that included knowing when the other was overwhelmed. 

Osamu was always a little better at reading you than you could read him though.   Ah, whatever right? He’s always been a stand up kind of guy. This is…part of the course for being friends with him.

✦

🍙: [1 Image Sent] 🍙: Thanks again, I will protect this charm with my life. 🌼: It’s supposed to protect you, ward off the negative vibes

✦

🍙: Don’t forget an umbrella, its supposed to rain. 🌼: Thanks, Osamu.

✦

🍙: Hypothetically, if we added a dessert to our menu, what would complement our offerings. There is 1 wrong answer here. 🌼: Hypothetically 🌼: Cinnamon rolls

✦

🍙: [1 Image Sent] 🍙: Dine-in Special, if you snag this seat, the Chef will dance for you. 🌼: How’s Friday? 🍙: The Chef will use all week to practice.

✦

🍙: [Link Sent] 🍙: Is this the cinnamon roll recipe of your dreams? 🌼: It uses Stevia? Osamu, this cannot…be anybodies dream 🌼: Don’t you dare put this in my box

✦

🍙: On a scale from scrumptious to sensational, ‘never bake again’ is not a valid response. 🌼: Send me something with Stevia again and see what happens 🌼: Don’t you dare say ‘bet’

✦

🌼: Hypothetically, if I promised you a crepe, and if you were on the corner of 3rd and 8th, your arms free, would you carry a really heavy box for me? 🍙: Hypothetically 🌼: Hypothetically 🍙: Do I get to pick the flavor? 🌼: Maybe

He smiles at everyone he texts, you tell yourself as you watch him read your message.

Osamu looks up from where he was had stopped at the corner, eyes darting around, that relaxed look on his face when his eyes finally land on you? That look isn’t for everyone, that’s just for you.

Your hand going up automatically, a soft wave, the smile accompanying it makes sense.   

He doesn’t look winded at all, lifting the extra large, extra heavy, flour bags on his shoulders. “Where to?” He doesn’t look winded taking them up four flights of stairs either. 

✦

🍙: [1 Image Sent] 🍙: hey, where’s my batch? 🍙: unfair ‘samu get’s all the goods 🍙: i was ur friend first 🍙: he ate all of them

✦

🍙: ‘samu said he wants chocolate chip cookies 🌼: [1 Image Sent] 🍙: 😱 🌼: [1 Image Sent] 🍙: [1 Image Sent] 🍙: think ya broke my brother 🍙: his face is stuck like that

✦

🌼: [1 Image Sent] 🍙: Oh my god. 🌼: You have a minute to tell me which one you want. 🍙: Pistachio, no, almond. Wait, Cherry? 🍙: Any. 🍙: You pick.

And he’s only slightly baffled that you show up at Onigiri Miya, uninvited, unannounced but equally greeted with roaring cheer. Two lovely boxes in your hands, “I got all of them.”  His staff secretly rejoicing at the less intense version of their boss and additional treat, when said boss shares.

✦

This soup…does not taste right.  Scratch that, it tastes outright bad.  There’s tangy and there’s whatever this salty mishap is. There’s no text asking you to rate the delivery, you debate sending him a message first but opt to ignore it.

It’s Sunday and there’s another box of food.   This …is odd. You pull out the container, cautiously taking a bite of the interestingly shaped onigiri  and…okay, something is wrong.

🌼: The scrumpt factor is missing. 🌼: I’d like to speak to the manager.

But you get nothing, not after the usual lunch rush, not after the last dinner ticket should be filled.

🌼: Checking in, busy? 🌼: Are you okay? 🌼: Osamu?

You figure you’d go into the restaurant, remind Osamu to charge his damn phone, and walk back to the office. It should all be possible in the hour-ish window you have.  However, it’s like they were expecting you, his staff is busy with the lunch rush and instantly you’re ushered upstairs, “We finally got him to leave the kitchen but…”

“I’m fine.” The door opens, Osamu appears with a mask and unfocused eyes.  “You look terrible.”  His staff watches as you get no glare, no retort, just a mild shrug. “This is my face.” His voice sounds so congested.

Stubborn as ever. You turn to his staff, “I got this.”

He’s only wobbly because he hasn’t had water. He hasn’t had water because he forgot to fill the cup. He didn’t fill the cup because his arms felt heavy. “And you’re arms feel heavy because you’ve got a fever. Osamu you’re sick.”

“Shh, I’m not.” An ill timed sniffle, “just a cold.”

They’re the same thing but you bite your tongue,  continue chopping carrots, it’s a stew you’ve made with Osamu many times before, somehow his fridge is always stocked with exactly the right ingredients for this recipe.  “The pots in—“

Third cabinet next to the sink, the one without shelves because neither one of you got around to adding them. “Sit down.”  You threaten him with a laddle, his laughter turns into a coughing fit and your glare deepens.   That tiny voice that tells you, this is overstepping, this isn’t normal for friends, gets louder and louder as the meal progresses. 

You’ll leave once he’s fed and back in bed.

If you stay to make him supper, it’s only because Osamu had the good onions and you can’t have those going bad.

If you go back the next day, it’s only because Osamu finished everything you made, you couldn’t let your fever-ish friend cook for themselves.

If you go back the day after that, well, it’s simply to make sure Osamu doesn’t over do it.

That’s all.

✦

“Is this seat taken?”  Osamu has just put down an order when he turns to find a teenager and their friend trying to sit in your seat. He looks at his watch, you’re coming in for lunch today, stepping through the restaurant doors any minute, “Yes, it is.”  Osamu puts down an Onigiri Miya hat to keep your seat safe.

It gets harder and harder as the lunch rush picks up but he successfully glares everyone away.

“Osamu!” Your voice breaks through all the chaos, his eyes find yours. You’re walking into the restaurant, rushing past all the noise and people and finding your usual seat. He walks over holding two bowls of food that you haven’t ordered and need to be delivered to table 9.  You’re giving him an update about a colleague when you pause to take in the scene. It’s packed, and Osamu’s missing a staff member.

“Just a sec’ okay?”  He goes to drop off food, a mere thirty seconds and that darn teenager and their friend sit down at your seat. Osamu clicks his tongue, ready to remind these patrons the seat they so comfortable have sat down on, is in fact, taken.

Except it’s you, in an Onigiri Miya hat and apron, taking down their order and writing up a ticket to hand off.

You’ve done this before, in the early days, when it wasn’t as busy. You’re not the best with the hectic rush hour pace, but you’re effective. You’re helping move food along, taking down orders, refilling cups, getting utensils. Mostly, mostly that look is gone from Osamu’s face. His shoulders are relaxed, his voice is back to it’s usual tone, not rushed.

Towards the end of the rush, you’re pulled into his office, a plate of your usual on the desk as he stuffs a spoon into your mouth. Any chance you try to protest, that you need to get back to your own job, he silences with food. You hate how delicious things taste, you’d be here all the time if you could.   He goes out to make some extra boxes for you, “As thanks for today, you didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to.”

Simple, honest.

✦

“Hmm….is it a little…”

“Too sweet?”

Osamu and you nod. This is your third batch of triple berry cinnamon rolls.  There’s flour and batter and frosting everywhere. Your tiny kitchen has seen worse. (Specifically, that time MSYB decided to build gingerbread houses. They all but popped into your place the second you told them they needed royal icing to make the walls stick together.)

It feels nice.  Having Osamu in your space.

His movements compliment yours, he’s already brewed a lovely, warm, complimentary drink to ease away the sugar you’ve consumed.  “Oh, you didn’t go?”

Two entry tickets to the museum you wanted to take Osamu to, a get away to celebrate the start of your new job. You two hadn’t finalized the date and…stopped talking before you could.

He watches your eyes fall to the fridge handle, to the kitchen counter top and around the room. Lips taking a downward turn, hands fidgeting.  “I can remember the day you told me about this museum.”

Osamu takes an experimental step toward you, cautious but secure. Places his mug on the counter beside him, “You were wearing….that hoodie, the soft one with that character you like.  You were in that lottery queue for hours and scared the crap outta me—“

“I couldn’t believe I got in.” He nods, a soft smile remembering your disbelief, “You got in, told me about all the things you wanted to eat and…I remember all of that. But I don’t remember why we didn’t go.”

Your eyes meet his, you take a deep in hale, are you really going to…do this? Now?

“Osamu it…”

He shakes his head, “That’s the thing, I keep replaying the past few months over and over, and it doesn’t make sense to me. Why aren’t I in your life? Why are you not next to me?”

You open and close your mouth.  Wanting to choose your words carefully.

if you self depreciate, he’ll switch into caretaker Osamu and not really hear you. If you give into emotions, you’ll switch into a nasty version of yourself and push Osamu away.  You don’t want that.  Of all the options, you don’t want a life where he is a stranger to you.

“I don’t think…there's a big dramatic bad thing here. You were there one day and then you weren’t. I don’t know really how it happened either.”  The loneliness had come after.  When suddenly texting Osamu turned into mental gymnastics because the two swipes it takes to open the messaging app and find his name.

He’s close now, steps soft and slow, his fingers trace down your arm before settling into your hand. You intertwine the fingers, give his hand a squeeze, dare to look at his face because even now you think of him as extra special. The ease his lazy but always soft smile provides you.

“I’m really sorry…I don’t know how I let go of us…” Closer still, leaning to have his forehead touch yours, a pause from all the noise in both of your heads.  You missed him, miss him.  Having him this close just proves part of you will never get over him. Part of him will never fill that ache for you either.

“Would it be okay, if we, could try again?”

“Osamu…”

The oven timer beeps, startling you out of his orbit, his hand clings to yours before urging an oven mit onto it. This is the forth and final batch, now or never.  You let the rolls cool before plucking and plopping one onto the new bowl Osamu has waiting, two forks in hand. The frosting already remixed and he adds a fat dollop on top.

You take a bite and your eyes meet his and it’s the simplest moment.

And maybe, years later, you’ll tell him.  The second time you fell in love with him was when his face crinkled into disbelief and blossomed into the biggest grin. “We…did it? We did it!”

You watched him take another forkful, “Aww, let’s gooooo! We did it.”  He’s whipping out his phone to take photos, ready to make this everyone’s business.

All you can do, is watch this tall guy brag about your baking skills.  It doesn’t even take a few months, the third moment happens right there, Osamu leaning on the countertop, perched on his elbows as he steals more and more of the triple berry cinnamon roll, “You might not get rid of me now.”

And you let the words fill the air,  “I wouldn’t want to.”

Simple, honest.

[fics-by-kentocalls]

toshinori yagi | emerald

sfw. vague healing quirk. mafia!au (that will get written one day). mentions of: violence, feelings. reader is female & has long hair, also psst @actuallysaiyan

His first instinct is to keep his breathing steady. There’s an unfamiliar weight on his chest, not too heavy but light either. It’s warm, radiating, like a cat if he owned one. But he doesn’t.

As Toshinori Yagi opens his eyes, he first spots an unfamiliar spring green tuft of hair on his chest, it smells familiar. Like candies and apples,  then the sparkle of his diamond ring on your hand that seems to be emiting a sense of calm throughout his upper body.

Aren’t you quirkless? 

Perhaps this is Heaven and despite all his bad deeds he’s blessed with one of his many dreams of you coming true.  Gosh, why hasn’t he held you like this when he was living, why did he spend so much of his time pushing you away?

He knows why, he knows the danger his status brings.

He knows only peril awaits those that stand at his side.

His heart aches still though, if he’s here then, where are you?

It comes back to him like a rush, what Toshinori remembers is the start to a beautiful dinner spoiled and then tables being over turned, fire and guns and your face caked in something awful and red. He had held you into him, kept you from harm right?  But what is he doing here? In this dream land? He has to get up, speak to the ruler of Heavens and get back to you.

This must be a mistake, fuck. Please, he urges his body to move, to lift up. Please he has to get back to you, to that restaurant, to that chaos. He has to get you out of that hellscape, that’s his job, he promised you didn’t he? He’d never leave you alone, he’d never fail to protect you.

Fuck.

“Toshinori?” oh your sweet voice, eyes darting to the spring green hair that moves, revealing your much more paled and blanched eyes. They fill with tears anyway though, the beeping of a heart monitor, the sharpness of hospital lights, the cold air hit him all at once.

So it’s not Heaven, but still close enough since you’re really here with him.

His breathe eases, a hand to the top of your head, your deep emerald hair has faded from that earlier spring green to chartreuse. Is this why he feels peaceful, painless? Is it your hand on his heart causing this? “My…dear wife, I am here, I’m fine.”

This must be awfully uncomfortable for you, hunched over his hospital bed, but one of your hands stays firm on his heart as the other goes to touch his face, it still radiates peace and warmth and your fade fades still, into sea foam. “What…what are you doing?”

“I’m sorry, I know I’m not supposed to use it but y—you and the bullet —the doctors said it they removed it but it was still touch and go and I couldn’t…I couldn’t…risk it if you didn't wake up.”

To think you had a way out, to think you still chose to save him, why would you do such a thing? Why do you cling to such a deceptive and vile man like him? Marriage to him has brought you nothing but loneliness, pain, endangerment.  You had no say in this, he promised to keep you safe and today he has failed it. He doesn't deserve any of your warmth or affections.  Toshinori holds at your wrists, lifting your hands off, the shock evident on your face. He can always tell what you’re thinking and he’s so sorry he keeps choosing to push you away.   

He can’t keep risking your life along with his, you weren’t asked to marry him, you pushed into it.  You aren’t meant for pain and tears and it seems that’s all that’s come to you since the wedding.  That’s all he’s able to give you. (In his eyes, from his skewed view of himself and the world he's trapped you in. Had he known the depth of your kindness, the fullness of your heart, had he known....)

“I’m fine.” But you know he means to say, please don’t strain yourself.

“Go home.” Because he knows you've been here for two days fretting over him, and he won't say you need to rest.

“Have the driver take you—“

“You stubborn man!”  Your hair color returning, the energy flowing in your veins increasing, he smiles at that. So your quirk is related to your hair, so he’ll always know if you push yourself too hard, “You took a bullet for me when you could’ve just flung it away.”

He could have, but to risking miscalculating and have the bullet graze you in any way? Never. Not worth it.

“I can’t die, my wife.”

“Yes, you can, my husband.”  He can, he can if he keeps stupidly taking risks like this.  Stupidly keeps rushing into help his men, his friends, his fraction. If he keeps this strong front up twenty four seven he’s going to—

“You’re upset again, I promise I'm okay.” A soothing hand to your face, you’re conflicted, you want to push away from him, to yell at him some more but also to be in his embrace, because here in this tiny room he’s not Toshinori Yagi, he’s not part of the MHA fraction. He’s not providing protecting and shielding others from big bad men.

Your hair is darker now, a woodland fern he thinks, it’s almost back to the shade that captivated him, that stark dark emerald against your white wedding dress. He thinks this is a good sign, he hopes it is. Your face is less pale, your eyes returning to their original color too. Except, “You’re shaking.”

“I’m cold.”  And angry and frustrated and sad. What if you didn't get the chance to tell him how you really feel? What if things didn't turn out okay?  And yes, what you are wearing is meant for a romantic dinner. (For the confession you so need to make.) You wanted tonight to go so differently, it’s tumbled into such a big mess. You shiver at the low hum of the hospital AC. Suppose you could go buy a warmer attire from the hospital gift shop but that would mean leaving Toshinori and that would mean not being able to use your quirk to make sure he heals.

“Come here, let me hold you.”  It will never stop bringing you joy when he offers moments like this, when you allow yourself to feel the depth of your emotions and move closer to him.

As you crawl onto him, the too small bed, the wires, and mattress protest but Toshinori stubbornly wraps his arms around you, he has to keep you warm too, protect you from the cold. Ensnare you with affection he wants to pour over until all your tears dry.  He knows he shouldn't covet your skin against his but he does. “My stupid, dumb, lovable husband.” His beautiful, adoring, precious wife.

He ignores the last word, “I am, I know. I make you worry.”

For all the violence his hands know, for all the cruelty his arms have dished out, he holds you gentler than a flower, let’s you plant your chest on his, let’s burrow your face in the crook of his collarbones, root your arms around his neck.  He breathes deep, candies and apples and your hair returning to it’s pretty pretty pretty green.

He can tell you’re fighting sleep, can feel your body relaxing and tensing, “Rest, it’s been a long day hasn’t it?”

“It’s late Saturday," so two days have passed, "…and another eight hour surgery…you made me worry so much.”

“I’m sorry, you must be so tired, here let me-“ As he tries to shuffle you off his form and onto the bed, you protest, hold him tighter, channeling all your inner koala and hold on. “Not leaving you, not until the doctor gives the all clear.”

You forget his strength, his own power, his own quirk.

But it feels nice, being fussed over, and in the privacy of this room, in the haze of painkillers and fleeting adrenaline, he lets himself indulge in it. Keeps you on his form, holds you close. “Then you need to rest too. Promise me.”

“You’ll be here? When I wake up, you won’t go…”  Ah, he has a terrible track record of doing that right?

“Rest, I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Later, you’ll explain your quirk and why you don’t tell a soul you have it.

Later, you’ll yell at him more about needing him safe.

Later, you’ll confess the words that were so eager to slip from your tongue at dinner.

Later, right now, all you need is rest. All you need is your husband’s heartbeat.

[fics-by-kentocalls]

kusakabe atsuya | gentleman suggestive. regency!au , psst @jjk-eugie i owe you a part 2 with spice heavily inpsired by the lovely art by @jjk-eugie

Kusakabe Atsuya has little need for pride. He’s worked hard enough to establish his shipment company, is considered successful in all matters of the world that matter — to him.  You see, the ton would tell you a different version on the gentleman Kusakabe’s success.

He’s a businessman first and foremost. Practical, doesn’t use his masculine charm to strong arm anyone into a bad deal, yet commands presence as soon as he enters a room. He’s not one for small talk, couldn’t tell you how to butter anyone up.  Perhaps this too adds to his charm.

Being a man of not many words is ideal for many afterall, and frankly a  line of suitors that would exist for the gentleman Atsuya if; well… if the gentleman were friendly. Nay, that’s too vague, if the gentleman were approachable.  Not only is it impossible to get Sir Kusakabe to attend affairs of the society, it seems when he does show face; he’s akin to that of a ship adrift in a stormy sea.

His aura is….intimidating.

He stands tall, proud, strong. 

Eyes lost.

Provides society members little to gossip about and yet, somehow, has attracted the attention of a cousin of the Crown Prince.  Probably a Princess or almost a Princess from a far away land who has yet to learn that the gentleman Atusya is not someone you approach for a favor. And yet,  “Your..Lady.… you’d want me to what?”

Perhaps he heard wrong, perhaps the almost Princess is looking for a decorative item. “Good Sir, I’d like you to teach me the sport of Fencing. It seems you’re quite an expert.” The way you bat your lashes, this is, this is flirting is it not?

Why would an almost Princess approach a stern man like himself?  “Please, I do not wish to make a fool during the Autumnal play. It would ruin my chances at a proper debut.”

Debut? You’re not too young looking but then again Atsuya couldn’t care less. You’re either a fool or have more guts than most of the ton, and guts are something he can respect.

“Please Sir Kusakabe, I promise I’ll have the Crown Prince reward you handsomely, something for your travels a far…”  Oh, aren’t you a businesswoman?  As you walk around him, if his eyes linger at the sway of your hips, it’s only to assess your gait. Nothing more, if he’s to teach you, he must discern if you can maintain proper form. It has nothing to do with how beautifully intricate the lace on your dress is nor the curve of your—“A new ship?”

A few days of his time is not worth an entire ship, he sighs. It seems you may just be a splendid fool.

If he thinks of your smile, the way your eyes light up upon his affirmative nod, it means nothing. He thinks not of your pretty hair as it sways opposite your hips. Nor is he intrigued by the many tows of ribbons lining the back of your tight dress, corset isn’t is it?

All those curves are simply an illusion.

But still, his mind supplies that you are;

A beautiful, splendid, fool.

  —

  This has to work.

The Sir Kusakabe Atsuya is a perfect gentleman. Doesn’t encroach in your space despite being tasked to teach you how to move. Always asks if he can touch, always announces where he is going to touch, and yet his touch doesn’t linger, he’s clear and precise in his instruction. You’ve already adapted to his style of attack and defense, making strides. You have yet to best him in a duel, but truly, is it a duel if he’s not taking it seriously?

“You are distracted today Princess.”  Tch, that nickname.

You’ve told Sir Kusakabe as a cousin of the Crown Prince you don’t bear any real royal title. You’re simply provided the comforts and privileges. Things that you have used to your advantage many a times, whether it be indulging your hobbies or proving others wrong. Your royalty adjacent status has helped you many times. Folks consider you innocent, harmless, stupid.

You wonder if the Sir Kusakabe also considers you as such. You hope so.

It will work in your favor. Because eventually, he will loosen up. Let you wander his home without an escort, let you roam the expansive gardens and satisfy your curiosity with his esteemed weapon room. That will allow you to accomplish your real mission.

Why yes, you will be in a play and will have a sword duel in it. However, your Fathers have had you learn the art from French professors every single Friday since you were seven. You don’t need Sir Kusakabe’s help at all. What you need is to charm and disarm the man.

Sir Kusakabe is in possession of your custom Bavarian sword. An angry cousin and suddenly your precious metal was cold heartedly sold off  to the stoic, handsome man in far away lands. You had just gotten your hands on the sword by trading a very beautiful jade hilted saber. How you acquired the jade hilted saber is a story for another day.

Currently, the Bavarian blue decorated gliding blade is somewhere in Sir Kusakabe’s manor.   You’ve gather it sits somewhere in the weapon room, and with his vast collection, there is no reason he’d notice one beautiful blade go missing.

Wait, it’s not going missing, it’s returning home, back to your side.

But nothing is working, he does not respond to your flirtatious remarks nor lingering looks nor looks of distress. It angers you, forces you to hold your foil closer, tighten your stance, lunge at him with force.

When you concentrate a little too hard in the duel and knock his foil from his hands he stands stunned. Eyes discerning and expression neutral. “You’ve made progress.”

Is that the way to his heart?

Not that you need to know. You simply want...to distract the man.  That's all.

—

  Progress that is beyond potential, Atsuya notes. There’s far more grace and tactical strategy in your movement that cannot be considered beginners luck.   Had it not be for societal rules, Atsuya is sure you’d best the current champion. You’re up to something bigger perhaps; using the play as a ruse for something, or a natural genius.

Whatever, it’s likely harmless.

He discredits his growing doubt because receiving your smile across ball rooms is much more merciful than the dreaded gossip what wallflowers make about him. A womanizer, a salacious brute and his favorite — rude.  He follows society rules just fine, thank you very much. So what he doesn’t send thank you cards or get well flowers or dance at these things.

He eats when he’s supposed to, greets the hosts upon arrival and before leaving, and is gone by 7pm — a decent time!  His business is international, he spares what he can to attend these silly society functions.

“You’re glaring into Lady Fushiguro’s vase. Why?”   Sneaky, sneaky, thing you.

Walking right up to him, without an escort, dance card full of names that Sir Kusakabe has no interest in knowing. “Was I?”

He shouldn’t look at you, not the new shade of berry gracing your lips, nor that even tighter corset providing you the perfect posture and dip. And absolutely not your exposed neck, he’s used to your hair being up in a ponytail as you spare. The high necks of your sparing jacket keep you fully clothed and concealed after all.

Besides, what use is the visual knowledge of what your neck looks like to Kusakabe? It’s not like he would trace his fingers across it, not like he’d paint his lips up the column towards your ears that dangle with sparkly rocks, it’s not anything, it’s simply nothing. He’s a gentleman, your teacher. Nothing more.

  —

  The fact that Sir Kusakabe has finally started cancelling your sparring sessions last minute is perfect.  You wish he’d only let you take drink tea alone in his home instead of rushing you out back to the carriage. All you need is a good ten minutes, you’re sure your sword is in the back room, where he keeps the expensive books.

You don’t have long left on your trip to see your cousin the Crown Prince, Suguru is busy climbing a mountain to impress his Lady friend after all.  So, despite not wanting to, you take a spoon full of black pepper. Let yourself down a whole glass of water and then enter the Kusakabe manor.

He’s ready to rush you out, on premise of working, but stops as soon as he sees the reddened eyes and tears that threaten to spill. A well timed, organic, coughing fit and he has you seated in a guest room, personally taken a carriage to call a doctor over, making sure to bring one he trusts.

This is it. 

Ten minutes.

  —

  He does not attend the museum gala for any other reason than making friends with the artist. He can export these paintings and make a fortune, nothing else.

If you happen to be around and wander in front of him, it’s only natural his eyes follow that seductive swish of your hair and the shift of weight by your hips.   If you happen to be within earshot, discussing the nuance of capturing a persons soul in portraiture, it has nothing to do with his own desire to hear your voice.  It’s not his fault your voice is honey sweet.

But it is his fault for smoking in the garden, for causing that coughing fit and compelling you out from hiding. It’s his fault for not stopping you when you ask, “Does this taste good?”   And take his lit cigar and pull it to your very berry lips.   

It’s the gentlemanly thing to do, patting your back, tucking you into his side away from any potential pedestrians or your lady maids or your escorts. It’s the gentlemanly thing to do, wipe at your lips and offer you whatever candied goods he has in his pockets. It’s the gentlemanly thing to do, unwrapping the butterscotch sweet and pushing it past your lips.

The tensing of his jaw?

The extra swipe across your bottom lip?

The way his eyes bore into you?

  —

 You should put it back.

Even though your cousin stole and sold the sword from you, Sir Atsuya paid a fair price.  If you had simply told him the ordeal, as a gentleman, he would’ve sold the sword back to you, nay, he would’ve handed the thing over.  The once coveted blade now prickles at your heart because you lied to such an handsome, honorable. infuriating man.

He has to be doing it on purpose right?

Waiting for all the other men to fill up your dance card, never approaching you for a dance, leaving at 7pm on the dot.  Pray tell, why bother showing up to these balls at all?  He speaks to the host and no one else, sometimes older gentlemen but never a woman.

Perhaps, you’ve misread him?

No, no, no.

The swipe of his thumb at your lips still burns, causes your face to flush and your thoughts to wander.  All this from one, singular swipe…imagine if his hands dared to— no, no, no.

He’s a gentleman.

Honorable.

He’s likely sworn himself away from society and pursuit of a wife and yet…yet your mind supplies that doesn’t mean he’s sworn himself away from sex.

He’s a healthy, strong, broad man.

There’s no reason he doesn’t have a Lady friend….or two….or three…or….oh no, no, no.

Do not think of him without his shirt, do not think of him with loosened slacks and his head lolled back in pleasure, do not think of the sounds he makes.

Do not let your duels with him supply the grunts, and groans, and praise.

Do not.

  —

Madness, pure madness.

You’ve snuck out of your chambers and the Royal Palace, no less with the help of the Crown Prince Suguru who was also breaking curfew.  You agree to never having seen one another and part ways. It’s nice to borrow a royal carriage and driver who will keep his mouth shut.

You stop a bit away from the Kusakabe Manor, absolutely certain at this time, Sir Atsuya is likely barricading himself inside the office wing. Which leaves the weapon room open and free. You can return the sword without him ever knowing it was gone.

Only, only.

It’s not madness that drove Sir Kusakabe Atsuya to the saloon, no.  It’s simply, the need of a distraction, the need to forget how soft your lips felt under his skin and the way your eyes darted to his in no, no. He won’t let himself add labels where they should not exist.

And perhaps, it was also trouble Sir Atsuya sought, especially when scoundrels dare state that you make no Princess? That you have no grace or elegance ? The buffoons had to be dealt with, and perhaps he had drunk too much and fought too many dishonorable men, that results in him staggering about his manner.

It’s a small wound, but a wound nonetheless.

“Sir Atsuya!” A ghost, a vision, a dream.

The scent of rose and amber, soft perfumed skin invading his space. He’s floating before he’s miraculously tossed into his study.  Small deft hands pulling at his cravat, then his vest jacket and opening his white red stained dress shirt. “Princess…this is but a scratch.”

“A scratch does not bleed Sir Atsuya.” You look around the room, notice bowl that can be used as a water basin. He keeps clean towels on in the second floor lavatory, and you ask his staff to boil some water and go to inspect his medicinal cabinets.

You’re too familiar with his manor, a grin on his face, commanding it as the Lady of the House.

He must still be drunk to imagine such a visual, a Princess in his home as his wife?

A very warm, very wet rag is applied to his abdomen, your hands work as quickly as possible to clean the wound, inspecting the depth, trying to discern if a doctor is needed. At his grumbling you compromise and instruct his staff to call one tomorrow morning. You clean his skin as best you can, pulling his slacks down just a tad, making it easier to bandage his skin but, “Princess, you mustn’t do this with others.”

What? “Being kind is not a crime, Sir Atsuya.”

Oh but it is, it is when it’s the form of you, on your knees, concern etched in your eyebrows, touching him so dangerously with innocence—do you, do you even realize what this looks like? Anyone other than his staff would be quick to label this as a compromising position and yet —“My Fathers taught me how to handle wounds, it game in handy when I would fall from…my horse.”

What a lie, you’ve never ridden a horse, and falling from a horse would not result in a blood wound. You had almost slipped about your fencing training, fuck. Stop, bandage this man up and go home, hide in the safety of the Royal Palace. But it’s so distracting. This… man.

Well, you know that, you’ve always known that but…it’s different. He has defined abdominal muscles, the broad chest you expected but the way it tapers into a V towards his hips is…well…concerning.   You want to touch more, you want to confirm just how different he is—

“Princess…” why does his voice sound like that, “What are you doing?” Your hand grazing and pushing softly against exposed skin.

“It’s…you’re…so different.”

 Sin after sin runs through his mind before he can finally address a proper reply, “Different?”

 “Well I don’t have these,” fuck your hand shouldn’t feel that good against his burning skin, you shouldn’t take his own rough hand to your soft, delectable belly, “See, it’s like a loaf of bread compared to your…washboard.”

It, has to be on purpose, yes?

The way you look up at him, the way you display curiosity so openly, this must be what you consider seduction or charm or whatever Princesses’ need to do to get all favors they want.

But, what possibly could you want from a gentleman like Atsuya?

And you don’t know what it is, the mood shifts, his hand leaves your belly to rest at your hip, you like the weight of it there, the grip. Why? Why does the intensity of his gaze cause your body to feel feverish? What does he do that causes embers to flame inside your chest?

“Sir Atsuya?” 

Perhaps, it’s only proper, for you to lean forward, his hand supporting your movement. It slips to your lower back and then snakes itself to the push at the nape of your neck as your lips inch closer to his.

Perhaps, a proper, honorable man would make a better effort not to compromise a Princess in secret as such.

However, as a gentleman, Sir Kusakabe Atsuya places the honor of guarding your heart above some silly notion of society. As a proper gentleman, he will not reject your advances, especially for a kiss so feathery soft and sweet.   

You haven’t done this before, and yet you want more, there’s a hunger in your eyes. And you hope, you hope he can see it, you home the grip in your hair doesn’t loosen, that his wound is truly just a scratch as he adjusts to seat himself higher, pulling you into his lap.

After all, isn’t it the gentlemanly thing to do, keep you in his arms and teach you how to kiss?

Where else would you learn such a thing?

[fics-by-kentocalls]

hiragi toma | sentimental part one, corporate!au, book lover reader, sfw. tgcf is mentioned but there are no spoilers for that book, the Water God story is made up (not referencing a real book)

The Water God has finally faced the villain. After all the peril and determination to save those close, the final scene is being devoured by your devoted eyes.

Oh, how fiercely the Water God is monologing, how much disdain the villain has for them. And your alarm had rudely gripped you back to reality. You woke up, promised yourself you'd read more after work. 

But but but-- you spent a good, solid, four hours at work editing videos to precision. So it's okay? Right! You've done your job, you're not bothering anyone as you...sit in this stairwell crying your eyes out and slowly flipping to the next page. 

Tsubakino told you to take an extra long lunch too, somehow knowing you were dying to read the final chapters. Even the twins didn't fuss when you grabbed the book and ran away instead of your own lunch kit. 

But damn, books should come with 'will rip your heart out and stomp at it until its mush' warnings. Because, because, the Water God made the ultimate sacrifice and--

"No one should be crying while reading a book." A handkerchief is gently tapping the corner of your eyes. What stared as gentle tears  now turns into a full on emotional outburst.

"The..W-Water G-od...." more sniffles and uncontrolled words are all Hiragi gets out of you for the next few minutes. 

Sighing, he takes a set on the ground in front of you, long fingers reaching out to take the book from your shaking hands. He slips in a business card as bookmark for your spot.  He looks a big uncertain.

Not not sure if he's glad a book made you cry or  worried a book made you cry.  (Do people have such soft hearts anymore?)

After you've sobered up from the storm of devastating writing your puffy eyes look up. Sharp jawline and cheek bones, the blond hair, where have you seen him?  He's wearing leather pants and given the casualness of the rest of his outfit he must be a manager or team lead of some sort... 

Oh great. 

"I'm sorry! The book--"

"Why are people writing things that make people cry?" Hiragi is pulling the book to his face, taking in the title and author.  It doesn't look like a book that would people cry. But he knows better than to judge things based on their cover. Somehow though, he doesn't like this book made someone as cute as you cry. 

"It's actually a very moving tale, the author has taken a classic myth and turned into something beautiful and special. The way you're compelled to hate the Water God in the first book but by the third you're--"

"There's more than one?"

"It's a series-- yes."

"And the first one didn't make ya' cry?" 

Oh you feel your face flush, "No, it made me a bit angry but no tears."

He hums, taking a close look at your face.  You stare back because, just, where have you seen him?

Hiragi isn't sure why you're looking so intently at him. Belatedly he realizes he's holding your book, hands it back with a soft sigh. "Don't keep reading if it's sad, alright?"

That causes a surge of protest, how can you simply not know how a story ends? You've waited a full seven months for book three to come out. "I have to know what happens, no matter what!"

That has a smile forming on his face, happy to hear the determination in your voice, "No matter what, huh?"  He leans into your space, "The story is that good?"

You don't trust yourself to speak, let out a small nod and watch as this somewhat familiar man stands up.

Oh, oh wow, he's tall. And given how you're sitting if you were look ahead you'd be staring at his --

A pat at the top of your head, "Don't read it alone then, okay?" And up he goes the flight of stairs. Leaving you with a mix of emotions.

One things clear, whoever he was, his hand was very warm.

    📚

    "Umemiya's asking to use audio from the movie Zootopia again." Seiryu sighs.  

You have your headphones in, meticulously editing away the video ad sponsoring the company's new product. The story board was super duper vague and you're wondering how this Sakura Haruka person got his idea approved. 

The Marketing team is notorious for their lack of details but this, this story board is the worst you've ever seen. The team lead, Toma H. should be fired you think.

There's a poke to your cheek and you turn to find Tsubakino holding out a boba drink.

"THANK YOU!" You say too loudly, earning a click of Uryu's tongue. "Sorry." You say sweetly, pulling your headphones off and watching Tsubakino hum over the current edits you've placed. You play the lower render version so he can give you pointers. You're not sure how exactly to execute the terrible story board the Marketing team sent over.

"Slow down the timing here, and see this info-let? Make the background a little more transparent." 

"Hey, did you hear me? Umemiya wants Zootop--" 

"The Legal team said it was impossible to get Disney sign off, so I'm not adding it in."

"It's just for an internal company meeting."

"It goes on the public facing portal too, tell Mr. Umemiya no." You turn to Tsubakino for back up, you hate being the bad guy but you know how serious copyrighting can get. Especially with evil big Disney. 

"I'll talk to Umemiya...but you'll have to go tell Hiragi the request is rejected."

"Hiragi?" Why does that name sound familiar? You're trying to palce it when Uryu 

"Toma H.- the H stands for Hiragi."

Both the twins look away after when you ask who Hiragi is and why the rejection needs to go to him. Why can't you e-mail Sugishita Kyotaro, Mr. Umemiya's executive assistant. "You rather talk to Sugishita?" You nod, Sugishita and you have debated over Murakami books, he seems intelligent and reasonable. Someone who can definitely talk some sense into Mr. Umemiya. Plus you rather talk to someone you know but Tsubakino sends you up to the Marketing department anyways.

  📚

    You don't end up walking to the Marketing department because the door was locked. Instead, you head home early and stop by the bookstore, book four is taking pre-orders and you want to confirm the delivery date. You can't remember if it's the 10th or the 11th, you want to request the day off so you can dive in. 

And while you're there why not check out the new covers for the series? It's not like you have to buy them, you can look with your eyes. Touch the cover, hold it to keep it warm, walk it to the register while you ask your question. That's all. It doesn't mean you'll take it home.

Except, except, there's a very tall, blond, sharp looking man blocking you from the table of ultimate dreams. He's glaring into Book 1 with such fever and--it's him! The manager from the stairwell incident. You don't know why you duck into the mysterious aisle but you do, and you peak out to watch him.  His eyebrows aren't furrowed but his expression looks grim, he's squinting at the book description before sighing, you hide when he walks past the aisle and see him head to the register.

(It's not like Hiragi went to the book store with the specific purpose of purchasing that book. He went to meet a client, the client cancelled and he had time to kill before heading home. The book was by a table that he happened to stumble into while looking for the restroom. It's not like he's been thinking about you and why you were crying over a book. Not that at all.)

    📚

    Hiragi doesn't understand how anyone could cry for the Water God. He's an arrogant bastard who has ideal principles grounded in nothing real. A toddler understands the concept up 'no' faster than this God -- but you shed tears for him?  He pushes his glasses up again as he settles into the book for the rest of the night. 

If he stops by the book store early in next morning, purchases both book two and three, that's because he's looking for an answer to his question. Nothing more, nothing less.  It's not like he's told himself he needs to be prepared by the time book four comes out, it's not like he told the book shop employee to let him read the book first. It's not like he has plans to warn you about any sadness in book four.

  📚

    A copy of Heaven Official's Blessing is plopped onto your desk and slides towards you, long fingers tapping at the cover. You slide of your head phones and look up to see--

  "Hiragi! What a pleasant surprise!" Tsubakino places your matcha latte next to the keyboard, ready to intervene if Hiragi is here to push for the Zootopia song.  You look between the two, "You're Toma H?"

He gives you what he hopes is a polite smile, "Read this instead, Xie Lian is a way more likable than your Water God series.  Oh, and tell me before you start book four."

And then he's off.  

"What just happened?"  You blink up at Tsubakino, whose grin does nothing to calm your beating heart.

    📚

    Xie Lian, is indeed, a very likable character. Mixed with Hua Cheng and this series is absolutely devoured by you in no time. You're eagerly reading through book two, three and  decide to skip lunch to pick up book four.  

The bouncing energy practically radiating off of you as you skip through the elevator towards the company exit. You know Hiragi told you to tell him when you're on book four but that was weeks ago, and things have happened in book three. You can't wait a full day to find the Marketing Director, he probably doesn't even remember and if he did, he'd understand wouldn't he? After all he recommended the series to you!

Except, you decide, dreadfully, to start book four that night. You barely make it through lunch before you're in the stairwell crying again trying to eat the strawberry snacks you packed. 

A familiar figure is crouching down in front of you "I thought I told you to tell me when you got to book four."

"You sa...you said this..."

A handkerchief to the side of your eyes, "I said Xie Lian is a better character, not that this series wouldn't hurt..."  And he let's you have your tangled emotional sobbing frustration, "It gets better, keep reading."

And the way your eyes beam up at him, the way your soft voice says, "Promise?"

Hiragi Toma in that moment, has never, ever, wanted anything more than to keep your trust. "Promise. You can shave my head if it's a lie."

You sniffle at that, "I don't want that. The blond is pretty." And you're reaching to touch his hair, frowning when you realize, "It feels like a broom."

His smooth, low chuckle has reality hitting you again.

What are you doing to this handsome man's hair!

You aren't even friends!

You snatch your hand back so fast.   "Finish your lunch and keep reading, it gets better."

    📚

    "A hair mask?" You are trying so hard not to look at the ground but you're in the Marketing department, which should really be renamed to the Modeling department because how are all these handsome men in ONE team.  

"As a thank you, for recommending the series to me." 

He wants to say that he made you cry and he shouldn't be thanked for that but, he looks at his team whose very suspiciously silent, "Thanks. Hey can I speak to you for a moment."

"I cannot approve the song from the Hercules movies, you guys have got to stop requesting  songs that aren't in the approved catalogue, we don't have the budget or lawyers to fight Disney."  He just chuckles, there's grumbling of his team behind you but you follow him to the stairwell.

"Thank you again for the hair mask and I'll be more careful about my team."  The way the light is coming in from the window, making his eyes glow soft and warm. To anyone else Hiragi Toma must look like an intimidating, scary man but you know, he's a really nice guy right? 

"I was wondering if you could actually help me with something."

"Anything."

He points to the headphones around your neck, "I take it you're an expert on audio?"

"I...I guess so, yes. I'm particular about headphones since it's part of my job and I can't wear things that hurt my ears for a long period of time. Not everything on the market is ergonomically designed, did you know that?  I hate how companies don't consider--" stop stop stop you're rambling, you tie it up with, "I like music, yes." Excellent. 

Not only are you a book cryer but you're a rambler.

But it doesn't seem to deter Hiragi, he remains calm and composed, "I knew it,  you're perfect."

Huh?

"Umm, I-- Ren, on my team...he also likes music and is big into headphones and his birthday is coming up and, if you had time this weekend would you help me find the perfect pair for him?"

You turn around to peak back through the doors, Sakura Haruka and a guy wearing headphones quickly shuffle away from the door window. You grin, "I can do that."

Then you frown. "This weekend?"

"Yeah, does that work for you?"

You wanted to finish book five but when you look at him, that seems like a silly reason. Beautiful, handome, kind man wants your help with finding a gift for his colleague. He probably doesn't ask many people for help from what Tsubakino has told you about him. (Mr. Keeps to himself Hiragi but somehow Mr. Umemiya adores him.) 

You're surely not going to miss the chance to get to know Hiragi right?

[fics-by-kentocalls]

nanami kento || affection summary: regency!au, Viscount Nanami headcanon type story, what happens to him after Duke Satoru was, well Duke Satoru.sfw

Viscount!Nanami who is on the main land after swearing never to return, only to melt at the incessant insistence of Lady Haibara and Lord Yu.

Viscount!Nanami who is to escort the youngest Haibara, Lady Yuna, for her debut this season. The Queen is eager to marry off Crown Prince Suguru, and surely seeing Lady Yuna next to the man arguably more handsome than the Crown Prince, would have the Queen more keen on making Yuna the Diamond of the Season.

Viscount!Nanami who will forever be rivals with the wind as it blows his hat east at the exact perfect moment, you are dismounting the giant stallion that was gifted to Yu as a wedding present. But Kento's eyes trace over your form, those are rider pants. You. A damsel. In Pants. Scandalized, why is Kento feeling scandalized, it's not as if his hands have actually trailed over your hips and dug into the vest that ends right at your waistline. Not at all. It's most certainly, the main lands fault.

Viscount!Nanami who doesn't realized you've asked a question, twice, 'Are you lost, good Sir?' No, no, no. He's not lost but his tongue seems to have momentarily forgotten his own name. This isn't Yuna, this can't be. Heavens please don't be Yuna.  Yuna has never tilted her head and looked up at Kento like that right?  

Viscount!Nanami who almost seethes at the winds harsh gust as it . knocks the helmet from your hands, you turn around and reach for it, the trousers running tight across your ample bottom as you bend down and heavens. He's going to hell.  He looks away, glaring into his own hat.  

Viscount!Nanami whose hand itches to remove the smudge of dirt carefully placed on your face. Only because it would cause a blemish and he is a gentleman he can save you from blemishes. No other reason, he would never seek to touch the warm skin, he doesn't want to know what that would feel like.

Viscount!Nanami who fails to ask your name and gets dragged into the Haibara manor by his long time friend Yu, who seems forever adorned with youth. He misses the way Yuna wraps an arm around you and whispers, "See, it'll be easy right?"

Viscount!Nanami who you imagined into a mannerless, traditionalist blond brute of a man, who has instead been nothing but perfectly tailored, polite and kind. He speaks to Lady Haibara with the utmost respect, is firm but tender with Yuna -- must like an elder brother would be. And you, when he smiles at you it's unnerving. 

Viscount!Nanami who makes you conflicted, you and the rest of the ton are well aware of his previous betrothal interest being stolen by Duke Satoru. Rumors running ragged that the Viscount is a beast! His plan to steal Duke Satoru's childhood sweetheart was rightfully bested. That the Viscount Nanami Kento is a lecherous man sending lung constricting corset dresses to his betrothed as a foreshadowing of a caged life. Ugly, nonsensical rumors that do no merit to the man you're starting to learn more about.

Really, are you really, at the behest of Yuna, going to tempt the Viscount into a compromising situation? To have his reputation ruined again? 

Viscount!Nanami who remembers you prefer green tea to black, has it specially made for you because the Haibara's are not early risers. He strolls with you through the gardens silent, comfortable. Watches the sunrise with his eyes squinted and you can't help yourself and ask, "Viscount, do you need glasses?" When he returns a soft small and asks you to keep his secret, it feels deliciously devilish.

Viscount!Nanami who stuns the ton with his imposing aura and stern expressions. The men of the lot cannot goad him into oversharing by drinking, the poor Lord Inu was taken home by carriage early.  But Kento is careful about who hovers around Yuna, moreso than Lord Yu. Heck, somehow, Kento manages who hovers around you as well.

Viscount!Nanami whose brain has been looping all the plazoo pants and short corset like vests you adorn with them. They look like slimmer dress skirts but allow you to move with such ease on the dancefloor. He does not expect your light steps or softened expression, you follow and lead the dance well.  "Why is Lady Mei staring at you like that?" He leans in and whipsers into your ear, "Which one was she again?"

Viscount!Nanami who has worked his way into your schedule. It's ridiculous! You're both visitors of the Haibara family, you'll be leaving for home at the end of the season and he back to the Americas. There's no reason to be giddy about morning tea and sunrises.  There's no reason to find joy in hushed conversations about ton members, there's no reason to want to hear his quirps and hushed laughter.

Viscount!Nanami whose eyes always seem to find you. Out in the park, the town square or even in the Haibara Manor. As you wait for Yuna to arrive in riding gear, Kento's eyes trace up your form, offer a polite nod and oh, oh your eager eyes, raking over the tight fit of Kento's trousers as he takes the stairs to the upper floor office. Heavens! 

Viscount!Nanami  that has Yuna accusing you of fancying him. As if! You've only met the man, he is attractive, polite, loyal. A brave man who traveled  all the way to be ogled and ridiculed by the ton simply to complete a favor.

"He's...easy on the eyes."

Viscount!Nanami who doesn't expect your arm to slide around his, whisking him away from the no gooder, fiance stealer Duke Gojo Satoru.  "You must know the Duke and Duchess were actually childhood friends."  Your soft voice providing him more comfort than any of Lord Haibara's letters. "So I never stood a chance."  And it's that look in your eyes when you say, "Not many of us do when the Duke has his intentions set although...I wonder if you'd find success choosing to stand elsewhere." 

Viscount!Nanami who watches with an absolutely normal and acceptable expression as you partner with names on your dance card. Round and round the room and you can feel your skin burn, it isn't until a potential suitor asks ,"Pray tell why he looks to shoot me."   Your coy sweet smile as you look at the Viscount and back to the suitor, "Oh you are mistaken, he's a traditionalist.  Would prefer the blade over pistols."

Viscount!Nanami who steals you away for morning walks, afternoon teas, and evening reading. You two can sit comfortably in silence, a conundrum to Lady Yuna, "What does one even say seated in silence?"  Everything, you want to supply an answer but Yuna is off to the next topic

Viscount!Nanami who  fills your dance card next chance, all suitors are appalled at the staunch claim. A challenge that goes unnoticed by the eye of the Queen, as she's far too preoccupied in having the Crown Prince wed. (Unaware of that Prince Suguru  is off romancing the Duke Ryomen's sister-in-law behind rose bushes.)

Viscount!Nanami who invites you a summer at his homestead. At your surprise he quickly corrects, "My apologies, I had no intention to...well that is also not true. I have never told you a lie and I rather not start now. My offer is full intentions to whisk you away." 

Viscount!Nanami who is perplexed at the token of your affection. Dozens upon dozens of roses filtering his room.  Your shocked face when you supply, "Viscount, I only asked for roses to make you smile a hundred times not....a hundred roses." 

Viscount!Nanami who looks truly dashing under the moonlight as you take a late stroll through the gardens. The Lords and Lady's of Haibara manner are no where to be found. It's a delightful moment of peace and ease. The stars seem to shine in your eyes and the Viscount has no reason to stray from your company.  

Viscount!Nanami who stops sowing vows to never return to the main land once you take him to your beloved library. He wants your eyes light up as you take him through the narrow shelves, hands gently lingering on well loved leather spines.  And when you share your favorite reading spot, a bench near the end of the lake, swears he will bring you back every fall to experience the golden light of the sun hitting your eyes.

Viscount!Nanami who finds himself helpless, happily, smiling. The prospects of seeing you for breakast, lunch,  dinner or a simple coincidental meeting in a hallway -- enough to jolt his senses to full alertness. He wonders if this is magic.

Viscount!Nanami whose name continues to fill your dance card. You forget where your agreement with Lady Yuna stands because she calls you hopeless. "You sigh if you don't see the Viscount. I wonder what this disease can be called."  You think you know the name but you dare not speak it, only the stars keep secrets afterall.

Viscount!Nanami who has never, ever, felt panic the way it crashes through him the second his eyes register your fall from the stallion. Nor has Lord Haibara Yu seen his friend run so deftly, immediately cradling you into his arms, "My Lady, my Lady, oh pray tell, are you hurt?" 

Viscount!Nanami who does. not. leave. your. side. You suffer from a fractured wrist, nothing too troublesome but the Viscount is there as soon as you are dressed for the day until your head hits the pillow.  He cares not the looks he receives for accompanying you nonstop, he's turned more into a personal bodyguard than Viscount.  Even though you doubt his attentiveness ever would, you hope he misses the way your skin flushes under his gaze.

Viscount!Nanami who is leaving, he is leaving and you do not go to say goodbye. You cannot go. You refuse. If you never say it, it'll never happen. It's illogical, it's childish. Why does your heart ache the closer he gets to his carriage. 

Viscount!Nanami who stares longingly at your window but does not move his feet. Things are done differently in the mainland. He will need to send his intentions to you in a proper letter, then your parents. Heck, the Viscount will publish in the paper his intentions to wed -- anything to ensure you are his.

Viscount!Nanami who is as stealth as a cat yet blind as a bat, stumbling into your guest room. "K...kento?"  He looks distraught, travel sick, bemoaned. "My Lady....it seems my feet can only find their way to you." 

"But you are set to sail home tomorrow Viscount, the ship will be leaving  in....oh my Kento, your ship is leaving in two hours."

"It seems unfair, truly. My heart stay here, my mind stay here, while my feet take me across the sea."

He must truly be ill, "Viscount, your heart and head are still attached to you...have you not rested this night?" A hand to his forehead from you, "are you unwell?"

"My Lady, any day apart from you leaves me sick with discontentment."  He takes your hand in his, holding it over his heart, "Please, I fear the only way to rid me from this ailment is your company."

"And this ailment afflicts you whenever we are apart?"

"I'm afraid so." 

"It seems you'd require my company indefinitely then."

[fics-by-kentocalls]

endo yamato | (poison) paradise face slapping. bad decisions. descriptions of body violence, descripton of vomiting, endo's really sweet i wanted to make him craizer i'm sorry i guess sugar is the flavor of crazy i like. thanks for inspiring & letting me indulge @bjorkshire-pudding .

part 1

you're working too late and not sleeping enough. legs move like lead, the sway in your hips still hypnotic but less balanced. normally, endo would've punched tom in the dick by now but as he's a changed man; endo settles for repeatedly stabbing tom in his mind as he punctures the bald man's tires.  

that la prairie eye cream is also shit, endo knew you liked the packaging and bought it the second you he caught you staring at it. but what use is a $1,000 cream if you're still having to pack concealer on your face? you hate that shit. and the fucking coffee table that keeps grazing your knee in the morning uncoordinated rush? well, if it finds itself in a dumpster fire, endo knows nothing about it.

after all, he's enjoying the pleasant blue sky outside a random tall glass building. it's pure coincidence this is your work office, he wasn't even thinking, had no plan in mind, legs carried him all on their own to this sandwich stop, has nothing to do with the itch to see you.

he's bored and you work, it's a terrible combination. his trust fund would take care of generations of your children but alas; you want independence and he wants you happy.

endo stops mid bite when he hears you laughing. not the polite, gotta stay employed to pay bills laugh, the full belly ugly snorting laugh. his own lips twitching into a smile because of it. the only infections he'll catch come from you.  he turns to see the blessed sun that is your face and feels his heart swell. perfect, beautiful, radiant.

you're really, really laughing. god, he hasn't seen that....he hasn't seen it since....shit your birthday?   how long ago was that?

the guy in the grey suit isn't letting up, he's relaxed and saying more, you're not able to catch your breath due to the compiled waves of laughter echoing through your body. aphrodite has no right to claim herself as the goddess of beauty when you live and breathe gold.

you don't see endo, but he watches everything. the way you tilt your head at the grey suit guy, the way your eyes have a sparkle, how you bite your lip cuz you don't want to walk away but you need to go.  he remembers that tiny shuffle you do so adoringly, endo hums. leaning back into the bench, dropping his sandwich to the ground. unbothered by all the pigeons that descend.

you like grey suit, dontcha?

⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎

you don't realize how much space endo has taken up until he's not around.  another friend is getting married, another bachelorette party to be had, and you find. yourself actually getting ready in peace. 

not that endo ever stopped you from wearing what you want. hell he'd pick the sluttiest thing you own, roaring "my goddess needs to be seen."  

your smile falters a little. 

it's your first club outing since the break up. and you'd say you're a medium get drunk and dance kinda of gal, nothing you absolutely have to do, but sometimes its fun. to dance, see the face of want and play and fun on someone else's face. endo always looked magical in the neon hues, ugh.  you would feel safer if endo...no, no. don't go there. . 

don't think about him, not when you're pulling on the louboutin heels he bought you just because.  not when you're closing the angara diamond tennis bracelet he caught you staring at. not when you put on solitaire hoops that reminded him of your eyes.

your whole vanity is full of overpriced, luxury brands you can't pronounce because pretty things are for his pretty thing.  the way heat rushes to your face, remembering his voice sound like that, FUCK. stop THINKING about him. you're so wound up. and you're remembering what your friends tell you.

the only way to get over someone is to get under someone else right?  you do a once over in the mirror. you're sparkling, the dress, the skin, the glow, the smile. oh, you'll get someone under you all right.

⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎

endo is glaring daggers into the old fucks in the board room, they clearly don't need their eyes or brains. don't they KNOW what you look like right now? don't that understand he must pay homage? 

he tells his lackey he expects to see the hands of fuckers who don't know not to touch what belongs to you and ultimately him.  and groans loudly.  "debra, cut this fucking meeting short. what the fuck do you need approval for?"

it's only a 45 million dollar deal to approve stem cell research across three labs in the eastern countries. the fuck do they need endo to say? duh?

⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎

you settle on a cranberry vodka, asking for more cranberry juice because that refreshing tart flavor feels good in this overheated crowd. you don't have to scout for too long, easily beckoning over the club player.

you've seen this guy with multiple girls and gals in various clubs. you're pretty sure he's been friends with benefits with the bachelorette at some point but it's not gonna stop you from getting dick tonight. 

the club player has something, maybe it's that one sharp canine that did you in, reminded you of...no, not going there, shut that door.

simmer down, trap that need. 

the club bathroom is a new place for you, it's dirty and messy and you grimace a little as you're slammed against the wobbly door, are only hearing how hot you are over and over and its fine. focus on that. ignore how this guy didn't even place a hand behind your head to prevent any harsh impact to your skull. that he didn't check in after you made that tiny noice.

this is what a quickie is right?

rushed, aggressive,  drunk fun.

come on, focus on how hot this guy is.

let his hands touch and squeeze. it's fine, you want this, need to use him, have to use him, you're drunk enough. "so fucking hot" hands on your hips. a slight tang of disappointment when they don't grip as much as endo's would have.

a bite to your shoulder,  the player barely puts any pressure into it; not like endo when he's...ah stop...endo isn't here. stop.the bathroom is empty, the night is young enough. it's you and this guy and yet you keep hoping you'll open your eyes and catch a sea of messy wavy hair and fuck.  why are your eyes hungry for a certain toothy grin and thundery eyes?

why? you aren't guilty are you?

endo won't even know, not that it matters, not like he'd do anything about this. he's respecting your 'boundaries' right, like you wanted. understanding that you're going to date other people because the two of you are 'not together' like that anymore. not exclusive. it's a quickie, it's fine. meaningless. it shouldn't matter that endo only ever smells like you.

you let out a big exhale, hands on the guys face to get him back to kissing you, he needs to do a better job at distracting you but the player pulls your wrists down and keeps them flush against the door.  it's different, when you test your strength and resist the players hold he smirks, "let me do my thing first hot mama."  

hot what?

you haven't been called that before. 

not sure if you like it.  

not sure if you wanna hear it again.  

maybe sexy mama but hot mama?  the hottest mama you know isn't even technically a mama--

"still with me hot stuff?" doesn't he know any other adjectives? you know how good you look. this dress, the hair, a total knockout -- you're ethereal, scorching, a vixen even, and the word this guy uses is hot? you roll your eyes and the guy stiffens up.

oh fuck, you hurt his feelings. but there's no apology on your lips, why the fuck is an eye roll enough to distract him from kissing you?

"you wanna do this or not?" his voice even.

"yeah, yeah i do."  he has a dick you reason, you'll feel better after being fucked, maybe, probably. he cocks an eyebrow.

"you keep pushing my hands away when i get close to touching you." he moves away, the heat gone, the tension dissipated. is he even cute? he has nice, clean, tattoo free hands, don't you want them on you?

"so you gonna be good hot thing and taste me?"

good? when you're the entire fucking package?

and what does he mean taste him?

right away too,  when he hasn't earned a reward?  all he's done is push into your space, give you a few short kisses. nothing real with need, hands too mean too eager too abrasive. nothing about his touch is for you, even the way his hips rut against your thigh, that angle? does nothing for you. 

it isn't how endo moves. endo would never take first. not from you. pushing you into seeing stars, has you shaking and grasping and floaty. endo always waits for you to beg, waits for you to claw at his skin, look up at him with wet eyes and only then let's you take what you want from him. fuck, you could keep endo on his knees the entire night and he still wouldn't expect your lips to do what this player is asking. 

what are you doing?

this guy isn't hot enough, he hasn't garnered any benefit, you want real kisses and  dirty whispers to make you forget about the smell of the bathroom stall, maybe it's the setting. fuck the light is too bright in here. maybe turning them off would help, but is this really? the guy you want under you?  "hey, hey, easy, hot thing."

oh for fucks sake, "i'm not drunk enough for this." 

"you needa be drunk to fuck?" the player pulls off of you immediately, studying your face. "listen, i'm not a therapist but ho-"

"i swear to god you call me hot thing, hot stuff, hot mama, one more--"

"okay, okay fuck, why are you so angry?" gone, all of it, just like that. you watch his ego enter the space as he puffs up his chest, a smirk on your face. the player studies your face a bit displeased, " what i was gonna say was, i'm only gonna fuck what wants to fuck me, and you don't. i'm out." 

a laugh on your lips as you saunter back to your friends, endo is taller than that asshole anyways. 

⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎

emptying your guts into the white porcelain bowl is not how you wanted to spend your night. being rejected by the the club player had you drinking all the free shots your deep cut sparkly dress got you and now you're paying for it.

body in violent revolt against the assault of intoxication.

you're crying and puking and there are hands collecting your beautifully styled hair, keeping it tucked away and safe. a warm towel swiping at your mouth when your insides are empty. an arm around your waist hoisting you up, an up you go precious, and you're at the sink. you're made to swish mouthwash and spit, over and over until endo is satisfied you aren't going to wake up feeling gross.

he uses more clean, damp, hot towels to wipe at your body, getting the pesky body glitter off as best he can. his hands soft, warm, soothing. works lotion into your limbs, massaging the venom and spite out.

you aren't okay. and these tears? oh, someone's gonna bur for this. he'll definitely know who to return your anger and sadness to soon enough. but first, you. you wouldn't leave the club unless he came to get you right? knocked out that bouncers teeth fair and square when he put a hand to your neck. endo will get him too precious, he'll cut up the bouncers fingers in so many pieces it'll look like lentil soup when he's done. 

but you come first.  he's gotta get you clean and consoled. the smell of alcohol and sweat off your body, your hair soothed over and cared for how you like it, just how you do it at your place. needs to see you tucked into his cotton sheets, safe and sound in dreamland. he not gonna leave you like this, moody and fussy and drunk as fuck with sleep. 

"it's your fault, it's your fault."  you cry into his chest.  light punches to his chest.

irrational, that's what endo makes you feel.

"tell me," voice low and deep "tell me," hands on the side of your face, "angel. i'll undo it, i'll fix it, i'll end it. tell me." he needs to know what his fault is, needs to hear the next piece of him he'll rip out and discard.

endo would burn a thousand times over before ever seeing another tear fall from your face.

how dare he give rise to the storm brewing through your eyes?

hit him, punch him, break him. 

⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎

you're at the mall buying apology gifts for fucking up the bachelorette party. friends understanding that endo has 'done a number' on you but really, really you've done a number on yourself. 

you barely recognize the girl in the shop window. what the fuck are you doing, trying to hook up with randos? 

you don't have to look to know he's trailing along, right behind you.  of course he is. takes your momentary introspection as desire for the gucci tacchini furniture in the window and snaps his fingers to a lackey to go in and buy the sofa in your favorite color. doesn't bring up last night nor the morning. it's annoying, it pisses you off. 

you buy things you don't need and shove all the bags into his chest. he takes them with the sweet grin and follows like a lost puppy.  

drops his card before you even reach for yours. it furthers your scorn. oh, he wants to pay? you'll make him back, waltz into every high end store and rack up an insane bills, he'll crack. he'll drop this soon enough right? that song he's humming and the way he's looking at you dreamy and soft is a lie, right?

"love it when my angel spends my money. get the purple one too, know you like that color."

you're mad, you're so fucking mad.  a blazing inferno, brighter than the sun and endo basks in the light despite the heat. 

you're buying more than you make in an entire year and all he does is bat his long eyelashes at you?

doesn't he have limits? 

⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎

grey suit is a nice guy. a steady guy. a smart guy. he plays the game slow and steady, builds up a friendship, dotes on you in ways endo hadn't thought of but will surely steal. endo will study and learn how to do soft dating too. he'll learn all the things grey suit says to make you laugh like that too.

it's why endo isn't bothered when your apartment door opens and you stumble in, giggling with a goofy smile that's met with hushed kisses. grey suit has his hands on your low back, his eyes on your face. oh, endo thinks this one might do a decent job of doting on you. might even fuck you right too, hell grey suit may understand the goddess you are and that there is a right way to worship. 

endo rolls to his side on your brand new sofa, bringing his left leg over his right for balance, head leaning into right hand, he observes. watching you let yourself loosen up, body always stiff when things start to get heated, you're a little shy right? that's why deep kisses and whispered promises help you unwind. that's the best way, it gives you enough room to stop thinking, unwind, pull close, and allow yourself to take what you need. so far, grey suit might be patient enough to coax it outta you.

as endo watches, grey suit's eyes connect with his. grey suit doesn't startle, the motherfucker JUMPS. endo swears if that coward's hand actually hit your face in his alarm he's going to break each finger in half and shove it up grey suit's dick so far he'll need an ENT specialist to find them.

"that your roommate?"

endo gives him that smile.

"i'm the love of her life dickhead."

you give him a sharp look, what? he said dickhead not fucker or asshole. this is progress.

grey suit looks between you and endo, fucking shrimp. endo wouldn't hesitate to end any guy trying to get between you and him.  the only reason this is allowed is because grey suit makes you smile and laugh on your lunch hour. 

endo is confident, secure, stretches out on your sofa. you wanna use someone to pass the time? be his guest. endo can wait, confident all roads will lead to him at the end.

"i got an early meeting actually, hey, thanks for this, you're great," he looks at endo, "you are but i gotta, work. gotta make that money..." grey suit doesn't even kiss you goodbye?  what a disappointing piece of shit, that motherfucker better sleep with both eye open. you let him step into your sacred space and --

"endo yamato," you clench your fists, angry. oh, he hasn't head that in a while, he tried to stop himself from cackling he really did, but it escapes. endo cackles, moves to seated, legs crossing underneath him, back straight, the most polite posture he can muster. calls you hack by your full government name with the deepest voice.

you crowd him before you can help yourself, what's endo need personal space for when anyways? it's useless, store what you want in his lungs, really. he'll take anything as long as he can feel the heat of your skin this close.

your hand twitching with how fucking annoying endo's grin is, how vexing his eyes are, how exasperating the calmness of his being is. the gall of this guy. "return the key."

"no lock is gonna keep me from you precious."   his eyes dart to your hands. they're clenching so tight, your nails are gonna cut skin, gonna bleed. he uses his tattooed fingers to pry your fists open, stretching your hand flat and smacking it against his cheek, hard.

your glare softens in surprise. "you're mad at me right?"

his eyes dazed.

"i did something to upset you." he moves your hand against his cheek again, the mock slap makes you shiver. "gotta get that anger out, right? can't focus cuz of me, huh? " you swallow trying to break eye contact, don't get suckered into this. that sweet siren sound.

"i messed something up, angel didn't i?" another slap, the sound, the feel, the touch of your skin against his cheek is salvation he's unworthy of. he'll take any amount of force, any amount of pressure. keep your touch on him. 

you catch yourself, letting go an exhale you held captive in your lungs. stop, before you get lost in his eyes, before he unlocks this side of you, something you can't put a lid back on, something you can't unlearn. you shove at his face and feel him smile as you pull your hand away.

"i can take it."  he grabs at your hips, pulls you in, his breath hot against your stomach. takes your hand and kisses the palm. "i want it."  he guides your hand to his cheek again. 

"i deserve your anger, at the very least, don't i?" fuck, he's almost begging, looks up pleading, he deserves your warmth, your wrath. "take it out on me."

"take it out on you?" you don't recognize your voice.

he nods, smile wide. this is the first step to absolution for him, he made you cry didn't he? hit him until he sheds a hundred times the tears you did. 

"i won't make a sound. i won't move away. as hard as you want, goddess, as hard as you need." he is sorry for making you cry, so do it, use him. give in, give in, give in.

months and months and months of endo; him walking into your apartment as if it's his name on the lease and not yours. him looking at all your dates with disdain all while telling you he doesn't mind at all, go play. 

you hate you look for him when he's not around. hate all the sarcasm and snark he eats up like honey on drizzled on french toast.  hate how he can take your anger as if it's welcome rain and he's parched. resent how you notice everyone expects you to shrink and be polite but endo holds you up pride. takes all of you -- the anger, the saddens, the cursing, the frustration, like it's nothing.

he wouldn't even label it as enduring your shadow no, endo, your crazy fucking endo is always begging, grasping, crawling to that monster inside your chest to, bares his neck without asking. you hate it.

hate how he looks at you for approval; every time he's nice and not snapping at a waiter, punching a guys face, or drivint the speed limit. as if he's changed. as if he's normal.

as if you not seeing him go back to the restaurant to cause a scene means it didn't happen. that punching guys beyond recognition later doesn't change the fact people you don't know flinch when you cross the street. like you aren't aware of the payout endo's company does to keep his road rage out of the public eye. 

that he was worse before you, this is him healed, this is him contained. happy. your good, bad, ugly, worst days are the spark of his life, enchanting.  that you should let go, let him in, all of you is his. give in, give in, give in.  fuck what your friends think, fuck what your parents would say. he'll walk miles on his knees if he has to. don't be scared.

trusts you beyond with blind faith, take your fill again and again and again.

he'll prove it to you.

all you have to do is let him submit.

all you have to do is keep him.

what's he going to do with all this love that's meant for you anyway? this fidelity, it's yours. do what you want.

but you, oh. his precious goddess.

the filth before him have done a number on you haven't they? planting seeds of doubt about your worth. you don't trust his allegiance is that strong for you. that his faith is misplaced.

you'll show him.

you pull your hand back and slap hard. his whole face turns from the impact, eyes a little blown out.

that's it. that's right. he's not gonna run, he's not gonna ask you to constrict.

his angel, his saving light, his precious heart, his goddess.  

no sound, no snark, no challenge.

endo licks his lips. softly returns his head to it's initial position, balanced between on top his neck. he relaxes his shoulders down, keeps his hands soft and loose on his thighs. 

he looks up.

you're gonna take it out on him right?

ready, waiting, wanting.

use him.

[fics-by-kentocalls]

umemiya hajime | captain an idea that wouldn't leave my head. vauge military!au, sfw.

it's no secret captain umemiya trains solo into the late hours of the night. why you thought he'd not be here is beyond reason. or maybe the pain medication. you're favoring your injured knee as you steady yourself, admiring your captain as he moves so effortlessly.

he's a close combat specialist, skill second to none.  joined the cause so young it makes you embarrassed to be just two years shy from his age. he's such a decorated thirty something captain and somehow you managed to level your skills to be recruited to his team.

vice captain hiragi  had warned you, captain umemiya does not take injuries lightly, don't do something reckless. the vice captain would always let you sneak off and start training after injury early. granted, he'd stick you on desk duty for a whole month as punishment but he never stopped you from working out.

in your spacing out, umemiya notices your lingering form near an incline bench press. with 55lbs loaded. he normally, wouldn't care if subordinates train late; understands the need to work off tension, especially  after an extensive extermination job. but you? the one his eyes undeniable glue to?

"what are you doing out of bed? shouldn't you be icing that knee and resting?" his voice stern, not the usual playful tone he keeps during daylight. putting away his training blade as he approaches you, body gracefully light despite the weight of his presence.

"some light, rehabilitation?" you smile, soft and sweet. that usually works on vice captain hiragi. 

"rehabilitation, already? not sure the doc put that in your chart for another 3-4 weeks."  he watches closely, looking for any evidence of discomfort, knowing full well your left knee hasn't been the same for a few weeks. and the last extermination job had you taking a nasty fall. no amount of stretching, massage or light runs are going to aide the recovery. 

captain umemiya reviewed your charts personally, the best thing to do is rest. you gotta go slow, take a break. all things hiragi told him you hate doing.  she's restless if she's not helpful, reckless if she has something to protect. and you did protect him after all. that nasty fall was his fault. what kind of captain is he?

you stumble when attempting to sit up from the bench press. the captain's eyebrows furrow, "really shouldn't be doing any of that."

"and what about you? thought it was lights out for everyone on base, captain." stay formal, it's so easy to slip and act like you're friends. captain umemiya has that charm about him, none of the military formality seems to last.

he puts his hands up, offering a grin and "touche."

"couldn't sleep so i thought i'd get extra taining in. don't think i'll be getting any rest tonight though."

"too much paperwork again?" concern etched on your face, you don't like when the captain stresses. especially on paperwork, you've been lucky enough to catch a sight of his pretty face wearing glasses, staring into 12pt font forms with a glare so deadly, it sends shivers down your back now. 

he exhales, looking you up and down, "again, you should be in bed, solider."

"what's on your mind captain?" 

the last extermination, the fact that he wasn't fast enough, he has to travel to HQ to report on the damage. and you. he'll be gone for seven days and knows your mandatory best rest won't happen.  he doesn't trust you to actually rest, without him to supervise you're going to push back into training and risk a worse injury. 

he already feels guilty for dragging you into the fight, your platoon was supposed to keep guard of the rear, not provide additional support. but the extermination priority escalated and you were the closet solider with the strongest rank. 

the attack, you tripping and being pelted with debris....well, it isn't a sight his mind seems to let go. 

"hey...this isn't your fault, captain." you point at your knee. "it's been creaking like an old rocking chair for weeks. it was going to flare up, i was bound to trip."

"i should've moved faster. you got hit and i couldn't do anything ot prevent it. i should've seen it coming." he wears guilt like an expensive, delicate coat. too careful to place it anywhere but on his own shoulders.

you see now why vice captain hiragi told you to be careful. it wasn't for your sake really, it's for your captain that dotes on everyone in the platoon. 

"we can't control the world captain. you used you best judgement in that moment, we completed the extermination and prevented damage to the city. please, this injury is not your fault. don't put that on yourself."

you see his jaw clench, frustration and exhaustion bleeding into his face. "but it is," his voice firmer, "i know when priorities escalate to wait for reinforcement, i lost my cool and we both...as was captain, it was my responsibility to protect you."

"we worked as a great team captain. we won."

but sweet, doting captain huffs and defaults. why is he having such a hard time brushing this off? you've had worse injuries and vice captain hiragi has never looked like this...almost ... sad.

he almost returns to his normal self, that soft gaze, eyes on your knee, "won't change the fact this happened on my watch..."

"no, the fault is actually mine, captain?" voice firm, a bit annoyed, why does he look at you like that?  "i could've been faster and better aware of my surroundings. i should've taken the first yers up on practicing."

"it's not your fault, you did your best and that's all i asked for. but--"

"if you say its your fault one more time captain, i will" you look for the most menacing object you can reach for, "throw this medicine ball at you." it's an empty threat, he'd probably dodge it easily.

he laughs, finally.  but that pit at the bottom of your stomach doesn't go away. it's been there for months. the way captain umemiya's eyes look at you... you've tried to deny it but it's different. you don't know if it's your adoration of him, the way he's completed so many successful exterminations, captured back land from the invaded monsters. he's so...different.

you shouldn't think of him like that. the way his lips are probably not the softest but against your own, maybe--

"if you push yourself too hard you'll run the risk of aggravating your knee. it'll take even longer to have you back on the field, i don't want that solider."  solider. he's putting distance between you two, isn't he? yeah, you definitely shouldn't think of him like that. 

you're genuinely sad as he removes and restocks the weight plates from the bench press. it's not fair how cute you look to umemiya, so he busies himself with cleaning up, anything to avoid looking at your face. he can play off his protective nature as looking out for the team and you, professionally. that this is for your benefit. has nothing to do with the overwhelming concern that is totally normal for a captain to have. "you gotta trust me on this one, its for your own good."

and yet, you always have your eyes on him, so keen about the tension he's holding, the way you know his eyes trail back to your bandaged knee with guilt. "captain?"

his beautiful velvet sleepy blue eyes meet yours, "hmm?"

"it's really....bothering you a lot? what happened?"

umemiya nods, hesitant to share the depths of guilt and dread he's stuffed down. seeing you fall and not get up, your teary face in the emergency medic facility... if he was strong enough, fast enough, smart enough....

your still unbalanced as you walk over ot him, the need to pull him out of his spiral stronger than remembering you're not friends nad he's your captain. don't touch him, don't speak informally. 

"i don't  blame you for this. nor does the platoon, nor HQ. and you got me outta there quick, you even yelled at a charge nurse to get me pain meds and held my hand when they moved the ligaments back into place. you were by my side the whole time, even though i know you hate hospitals. which makes you the absolute best captain, okay?  so thank you, i mean it. i'd follow you into any extermination captain umemiya."

your words of gratitude and loyalty lift some of the emotional baggage, his eyes searching yours, how do you have so much compassion, care and consideration for him? why? your willingness to stand with him after he got you hurt? 

and maybe he hasn't imagined your lingering glances, maybe the way your breath hitches when he's close isn't out of fear...maybe the way your eyes dart to his lips at the most inappropriate moments aren't in his head.  

"and you'll stay by my side, even after all this?" what is he saying, he's your captain!

your smile is that big goofy one you gave him the first day he met you, infectious. as you literally move to his side, he finds himself loosening the cage around his heart "lead the way captain!"

finally, you get to see captain umemiya's  pretty pretty grin, "oh no, that contagious smile." he chuckles.

"we're all gonna get infected! evacuate the base."  playful, silly, light.

"infect us all, hiragi deserves needs the positivity." 

you mock salute, "aye aye captain!" moving a bit too quickly and off balance. like umemiya  isn't going to point out how uneven your hips are, your gait is far more telling of the pain that your face tries to hide.  "get to bed."

"i will later, captain, promise."

"am i gonna have to throw you over my shoulder and haul your cute butt into bed?" what is he saying, why is he being so friendly.

you roll your eyes at him. HIM, your captain. oh you don't believe him do you? he starts to walk toward you. "could always carry you bridal style, make sure everyone see's me do it too. make a lesson for the whole platoon"

"i can walk back to the room just fine, captain." you are NOT blushing. maybe, it's the late hour, maybe it's all the feelings he's been hiding for weeks.

"oh i know," he's walking closer, "but i'd be doing you a disservice by not properly escorting you back to your room right? what kind of captain would i be then?"

"you don't have to carry me...holding my hand is enough." that. oh, isn't that a bit too...initiate? too close? he didn't expect you to suggest something so innocent and somehow more personal. 

ah, crap, you messed it up didn't you? the playful banter, you're not the best at reading things and your own feelings for captain umemiya have never been hidden well according to your platoon member suo. shit, you always do this, going one step too far ahead. captain umemiya is a sweet guy, talented, friendly, playful. h-

you both speak at the same time 

"sorry, i didn't--"

"sorry that...made me nervous."  he's scratching the back of his head, the tips of his ears dusty red.

huh? THE captain umemiya hajime  being nervous to hold your hand? you tilt your head in confusion. but he's...held in such high regard. shaken so many hands, held so many peoples hands... he takes out monsters for a living and somehow is nervous to...hold you hand? your brain does not understand how that is even mildly scary to him. 

umemiya watches your face, gosh you're so easy to read. he's always liked that about you. despite being a highly lauded military situation, you don't hide your confusion. "yeah, i know, the great captain umemiya hajime can exterminate a whole 20ft beast by himself but holding a cute girl's hand? scary."

what cute girl? what's he talking about? "you need, practice? i can help you practice. then you'll be ready to hold that cute girls hand." you reply so earnestly. if you can help him in anyway, you're going to do it. 

his eyes widen at your offer,  did you not catch the hint that the cute girl is you?  do you not realize, you're the only girl in the room? "you wanna practice, hand-holding?"  his tone is half bemused.

you hold your hand out, wiggling the fingers, "take it, practiceee, my hands are extra soft." what are you doing, what are you doing, be still your beating heart because clearly you've lost your god damn mind.

your hand is small as fuck compared to his, umemiya eyes the outstretched hand with consideration. he's actually going to do this, with you?  

he's held so many hands in his life, and yet none jolt through him like this. like you're plugged into a 14V battery. 

"see, nothing to be nervous about." you give his hand a light squeeze. "that cute girl is gonna be so swooning over you in no time captain!"

you're the cute girl stupid, he wants to say. totally convinced lieutenant tsubaki was right, he's going to have to spell out his feelings in a letter, email, text and phone call for you to understand. he's doesn't inject himself training plans or doctors appointments for everyone.

he's suddenly aware of the calloused palm and fingertips from years of handling assault rifles, and electric blades. your skin feels so delicate, smooth, unharmed. the way your fingers intertwine with his look pretty. 

"feels nice, yeah?"

"i guess." he squeezes. "your hands are way softer than i thought they'd be."

"of course, tsubaki told me to take care of them now, otherwise they'll be like kaji."

umemiya chuckles at that, knows exactly what you're talking about "yeah, his are as rough as sandpaper, aren't they?"

"they are captain, they are. despite all my attempts to get him to use lotion too. he rather suffer with dry hands." 

"you tired to get him to use lotin? i admire your spirit." so you are entirely reckless like hiragi told him. kaji is someone most avoid and approach with extreme caution.

"well once i knew how dry they were," you move a hand to your cheek, "gosh i can still feel his hand, it was like getting hit with a sharp rock, i thought my skin would bleed. but once i knew, i had to intervene." 

his frown is instant, his brain is stuck on the fact that at some point, kaji's hand has made contact with your face. and it was not friendly.  "your hands are kinda rough too..."

you pull his hand up, examining the rough rigids with your own delicate fingers. you keep your nails neat and short, it seems umemiya does too. you're tracing each of his fingers when he barely whispers,  "yeah...occupational hazard and all..." 

you smile up at him, "i can bring you my favorite hand cream. it shouldn't be too hard to heal these", you still trace your fingers softly over the palm of his hand, "definitely not as bad as kaji"

umemiya's heart is running a marathon, he's trying to stop the shivers running down his spine. you're looking so tenderly at his hand, in such awe and care. he should end this, he's your captain, you report up to him. and yet, he doesn't want your touch to stop. 

"yeah? think it's possible for this old things?"

"not old captain"

"fine, well seasoned," you click your tongue at that, he corrects himself with a, "aged like fine wine."

"not even seasoned."

"what? am i still in the pinnacle of my youth?"

"maybe."

"okay, then what's that make you? a toddler?"

"hey!" you push his hand back. 

"just an observation. you look like you're barely able to walk." 

you're feeling playful, "oh and somehow i was recruited by the great captain umemiya hajime for his super duepr elite extermination team. a job many have applied for an failed."

"well i know you'd be competent and reliable. maybe i have a soft spot for toddlers."

he's making you pout with that, you should be happy he's back to that normal, playful side. but you don't like being teased, you don't like how much his laughter makes your heart dance.

"what? don't like being called a toddler? how about little one or baby girl then?"

he..what? oh, maybe he doesn't know. he started his military career pretty young and all, you've never heard about him dating before you joined either, it's only natural you help and correct your captain.  "that's a team of endearment captain, call that cute girl whose hand you wanna hold that."

god you're so frustrating. umemiya could convince platoom member sugishita and sakura to form a beach vollyball duo before he gets who the cute girl is through your head. 

"i'm just teasing."

"oh, were you baby boy?" there! ha! you...you just called your CAPTAIN baby boy. abort abort abort. clearly the pain medication is on overdrive (it's not you forgot to take it) and your feelings of him are not being contained.

he chokes on air, what .....he uses your laugh as a cover while he tries to reclaim his composure, despite his own cheeks burning.

it is amusing to see him flustered.  he's almost boyish now in a way you haven't gotten to see before. it makes you want to steal this moment, keep it all for yourself.  all because of a teeny tiny baby boy remark.  oh god, is he going to say you acted out in subordination and force you on desk duty? 

but it's funny right, it was a joke right? 

you can, joke with your captain?

he runs a hand through his hair, messing up his bangs. "you're enjoying this a bit too much aren't you."

"its a rare sight, you can't blame me if i want it all for myself." can you STOP talking.

the fuck are you trying to give him a heart attack for? you can't say things like that so readily. you wanna be the only one to see him like this? flustered and embarrassed and... "well consider yourself lucky."

"oh, i am so blessed." stop, right now, you need to stop talking.

he laughs, two can play this game. he takes a step closer, bodies nearly touching, brings your hand to his chest, placing it over his heart. the thin material of his shirt does little to hide the rapid beating underneath. "feel that?"

is that...you push against his chest, is that normal? oh my god he looks red in the face too, "...captain are you...are you okay do you need water?" you know he's known to overexert himself. holy crap is he in pain?

"hmm...i think its something serious." oh shit, and you missed all the signs! you gasp in alarm, eyes looking up at him with worry he knows he was someone good and kind in his past life. to have you care for him so easily. 

he leans in close, whispering "i think you make me a little nervous."

"me?"

umemiya nods, eyes on you, bringing his free hand to rest at your him, touch firm, careful. when did he get so close? you can feel the wall behind you scrapping your elbows, when did you back into this?

"you make oh so nervous cute girl."

"captain umemiya..." his name rolls off your tongue like silk. he claims the distance between you two, body pressing against yours, one moving to wrap around your wasit, breath warm against your ear "call me hajime."

anyone can walk in. anyone can see this and..."captain umemiya hajime."

he shakes his head, "no, just my name."

the look he has is so intense, "captain hajime"

he shivers at the sound of his name dripping from your lips, voice honey sweet and soft.  "yeah, like that. just drop the captain, say it again." 

you're blushing, your captain! your crush! the one you've admired for years, here, like this, burning desire in his eyes, for you. it can't be, can it?

ever observant, umemiya picks up the nervousness, one of his hands wanders up to your cheek, gently caressing it with his thumb, "just a name, nothing to be nervous about."  

god, you're the cutest fucking thing. doe-eyed and blush cascading down your cheeks and neck. his eyes meet yours with "say it. my name."

umemiya inhales so sharply,  he's leaning so close to you, waiting, eager, "hajime"

trapped, happily, between the wall and his broad frame, he leans his forehead against yours, eyes closed. "again" he whispers, voice thick with need.

you swallow hard and whisper "hajime."

he leans forward, captures your lips in his, urgent, commanding, needy.

surprise hits you because if this is dream, never let it end. you've wanted him so bad and this, please let this be real. a tiny whimper before his demanding lips pull you back to this moment, back to him.  you relax into the kiss. it has him moving your against your mouth with even more intensity. has he always been this passionate about you?

umemiya presses into you harder, pushing you further against the wall, hands roaming over your body, hungry. and you're equally starved for him, pulling him in, crowding into his space. 

a hand in his messy hair, you swear he's growling, fuck, more more more. umemiya, caught in the moment, moves one hand around the back of your thigh and lifts -- you flinch and let out a gasp of pain. 

FUCK, that's your left leg right? 

umemiya breaks the kiss, "sorry, are you okay, did i make it worse?"

this man is too beautiful and you need to breathe, you push at him with no effort, he loosens his grip and moves back. "i couldn't... tell..."

"i'm so sorry, i got carried away. i didn't mean to hurt--"

"hurt for just a second, nothing...nothing serious." with smile you're dispelling all his worry, all his tension. the late hour catching up with both of you now. 

reality settling back, the fire gone. you're in the training room, door wide open.  "let me walk you back, yeah?"

he's scratching the back of his neck, doesn't want this to end but, shit, he's unsure. his position, his presence, what if it's all in his head, but your hand on his face, thumb on his lips and eyes looking up at him like that

"you'll hold my hand?" but you make no motion to move away from him, pull him back into you, lips finding his again.

yeah, it's not in his head.

[fics-by-kentocalls]

endo yamato | slipping under this is all @bjorkshire-pudding's fault. was i supposed to stay absolutely normal after he pulls the pose below? nfsw. mdni. use of precious/angel/goddess. toxic ex (but he brings you down to light him on fire). would you like more from this? i have so much more to write.

you know he's there, you don't even bother looking now.  

the guy in front of you is the exact opposite of endo. your date has an  slicked back hair with a nice smile. he's speaking politely, ever the gentleman.  

if you had never, ever, met endo, you could give your date undivided attention. you could smile at his jokes, receive his compliments, feel the fire in your belly when he touches your hand softly,  but no. all you sense is the gloom and doom aura of endo as he sips, feigning innocence, on a melon soda.

you wait but endo does nothing,  sips the drink, eyes on you. 

he's stopped being loud and obnoxious. doesn't barge in when your date says something corny or touches your hand or scoots closer to you.  nope, all that is gone and replaced with this. drilling holes into the back of your dates head as he sits tucked away, hidden from view. eerily silent.

he does still text you tho. points out that this guy didn't let you order another pastry after you didn't like your original choice. and that this guy walks on the inside of the street like some careful kitten when you're the one that's worth diamonds. 

but that's okay, cuz if the date makes you feel happy and can fuck you better than endo,  he's fine with it. take your momentary pleasures, endo wants you to be happy after. he only ever wants you to be happy. he can tolerate you having playmates.  

he can accept you like being social, and that means you meet new people. he accepts you like to doll up and bat your eyelashes, it's game for you now isn't it? the way you ensnare everyone in your charm, your perfume lulling the undeserving, twisting them to your beck and call.

well, why this fucker isn't on his knees is beyond infuriating. 

endo clicks his tongue, clenches his teeth at how much your current date talks about himself. has the pig even asked about your day? bet he hasn't even complimented your jacket and earrings. did little piggy even on notice the color on your nails or the tiny rhinestones on them this time? 

why the fuck does he think talking to you about finances is more important? fuck an apartment on wall street when you're the goddamn whole view.   right there, in front of him. 

endo wonders if you're going to take pity on this blind pig. your date's tall, maybe he's packin', maybe he can take care of you like that.  since you won't use endo anymore. won't let endo be good for you like that.  fucking fuck the pig still talking about his portfolio?

what use is a portfolio if it's not full of sketches of your face? 

endo watches with a glare. you deserve the moon and stars and sky. you deserve a parade of praise and kisses and hugs and fuck fuck fuck, where are you going?

endo stands and follows, outside you give him the shortest glare, that lil annoyed look he understands as 'don't follow me.' 

he stops his right there. watches you get further and further out of reach. makes a call to one of his guys, "yeah just watch, report back to me. yeah every thing that happens. no not every five, every minute. you like your fingers? report every. minute. got it?"

you don't bother to look at endo when you're back in your apartment, he's sprawled all over on the floor, a bag of your favorite chips and soda sit at the coffee table behind him. he's munching on the same brand, watching your comfort show.  there's a smirk on his face but he doesn't make comment about the absence of the pig.

he knew that date was a disaster,  the guy tried to shake your hand instead of a hug or kiss? he said time spent with you was tialics just alright? who fuck would say that to a goddess?

you don't sleep well, endo knows it's because you're so wound up. use him, take what you need from him, he says it every hour of every day but nooo. that's not on the cards anymore because endo and you have "boundaries" because it's  "over" and you're  "not together."  

that he tripping your best friend at her wedding for what he considered was looking at you wrong was the final straw.  if he's honest, maybe he should've waited after she walked down the wedding asile to trip her but whatever, bitch had it coming.

she made your life hell under the disguise of bride of honor duties and endo knows scum when he sees it. you? the precious light of his life, you see the good in everyone.

you only saw the good in him too. 

and he believed in it, cherished it, harnessed it. made himself better because of it.  endo's changed, he doesn't smoke at least two days before he's gonna be at your place. no fights, no dirty shoes, clothes or hair. he is clean, soft, face well moisturized, pearly whites ready, lips buttery smooth --ready for your kisses, for your skin. he maintains himself for you.

he knows you notice, he's felt your hand on his face in the early morning when he feigns sleep when you're not rushing out of the door and accidentally stubbing your toe or hitting your elbow and he get's to hear the melody of your fuck fuck fuck. 

mornings like this, were you needy and the control slips. you allow yourself an indulgence, you're gonna blame the sleepy haze. that you weren't fully awake, it's his fault for crashing at your place unannounced anyways.  

entirely unnecessary, all endo needs to know, all he latches onto is that you dream of him. 

doing this with you.

so he behaves. the way the sunlight drips into your tiny apartment, he knows you're already running late. you're crawling roughly top of him,  less careful, less scared of waking him up. 

push your sweet and soft lips into his neck, curl a hand into his hair and pull. ohhh you're so mad at him. the delicious pain in his neck as you suck and bite, the slow undulation of your hips against his. 

still still still.

he has to stay so fucking still.

the second you know he's up, you're going to disappear. like trying to grab sand, if he grips, if he helps, tries to make the pressure better, you'll fade away. with no pleasure, no relief. all that energy, all that stress, all those pent up feelings dragging you down, snuffing out your laughter.

endo can't have that.

so he's extra still, let's you rub against him however you need, listens to you huff and moan and whine. you're trying to keep your mouth busy on his skin, biting, licking, teasing. you don't have to, you don't need to do this all on your own.

if only if only if only, hands itching, tongue heavy, its been weeks upon weeks, you're finally so close to him. you changed your shampoo. you wore the caramel perfume didn't you? it's scent even mixed with your skin.

and he's been so good this month, hasn't punched any of your dates, waiters or annoying people. hasn't even invaded your personal space.  hasn't held your hand, wrapped an arm around you shoulder or hugged you. hasn't stolen a kiss from you in days. 

fuck. your date had held you close in the movie theater hadn't he?  promised you a good time later and then what? settled for a goodbye handshake?  did that fucker even think to kiss you? did he even walk you back home? and now it's clicking.

your date made you feel unwanted didn't he?  that fucking pig.

why the hell is endo thinking of your date when you're the one moaning endo's name in an unsatisfied tone?

oh, his goddess, his princess, his queen. it's not enough, huh?  you've never enjoyed playing solo.  you keep moving against him, but it's barely building up isn't it? you need endo's hands on you, he knows. you want endo to do the work, don't you? he'd build it up so good for you too, doesn't he always? 

there's anger now, a shift in your tone and his eyes are open. why are you angry, what happened, he was here all night, protecting you from the world, why are you upset?

and it gets worse.

you pull away from, his hands weren't even on you for a full minute and you pull away, sitting, half straddling him. 

oh precious doll.

you're so tired. you didn't get the relief you needed, huh? stayed up all night, no wonder you're so frustrated.  let him take care of it, let him tend to you. and it's that hushed whimper, that shaky exhale, and his name on your lips. the quivering of the bottom of you lip, shame filling you with what you're gonna ask of him.

"endo..."  he won't let you, nu uh. just blame him after, that you were asking him to leve you alone, that you wanted him gone. it's fine, push all that on to him, it doesn't matter. as long as he can keep you happy, satisfied.

"i got you, i know, i know." and he's maneuvering you so smoothly. you move like water,  bending into whatever position he wants. fuck, you really need him. 

"that asshole was a let down right?" you don't want to know why he kisses you all tender and purposeful.  you don't want to know why he grips you enough to bruise. why do you like it? you look away, fuck. 

you broke up with him. 

your hands don't need to be pulling him in, your mouth doesn't need to crash into his, fuck he tastes like your toothpaste, smells like your skincare.

greed gets the better of both of you, messy, rushed, handsy. you feel him hard against you, that last bit of decency snuffed out, he's going to let you take what you want anyways, why stop at messy kisses and petting?  as he rolls his hips just right, your hand flies to his cock squeezes.   finger fumbling for the button of his jeans and endo, fucking endo-- pulls your hand away, kisses your palm, the knuckles, the finger tips.

"don't worry about that" inhales your protest away, kissing deep and hard, his tattooed hand in your hair, pulling you forward, relentless. he went a whole month without this. the softness of your lips, the wet drags of your tongue, the hunger you can't hide. the sounds you make, fuck.

his hand trails down, leaving goosebumps as evidence of his touch. the texture of his calluses hand sinful, he's so determined.  he's going to make you feel good.

he isn't a smartass about your wetness, isn't teasing and coy. moves his fingers deftly, has a crescendo to build before the sinster alarm clock drags you away from him.  he moves with finesee, knows your body so well, can tell the ache was unbearable. you're so wet for him. you needed him.

a taste a taste a taste, he wants a lick but stops himself, he'll have his fill after,  has to take care of you first,  encourages your sounds, nips at your lips when you try to hide them. he's not asking for much here, he's making you feel so good, isn't he? 

he gets to relive his favorite memory the second you grip his hair  harder and pull, the way your legs twitch, the drip of his name, the stuttering of your breath, the tightness around his fingers, the pulsing.  perfect perfect perfect. a goddess incarnate.

his goddess. 

yeah yeah yeah, you want a break.  you need to clear your head. this isn't healthy. you're so serious. 

but what is devotion without penance? 

[fics-by-kentocalls]

togame jo | telegraph sfw. established relationship. the soft aftermath of togame saving you from punks. alternatively i learned a word from a fighting reference and this fic was born. i'm really nervous posting this, i really like togame so i hope i do his character justice.

at the final round of the boxing match you look away, not sure how jo can watch the violence.   you're peaking at jo's face. frowning when you see he's got a cut on his chin, how'd you miss that?

you should clean it. he catches and kisses the hand that reaches for the scratch, slightly surprised to see your eyes already on him, you look back at the tv screen.

"he's going to lose huh?" the fighter in blue shorts is doing bad. 

"yeah, he's gonna lose. a fighter who telegraphs their moves is bound to lose. makes them predictable."

"telegraph?" your eyes fall back to his, he smiles at your question. you're always so curious about things he's into. it makes him oddly happy.

"telegraphing in boxing is when a fighter makes it blatantly obvious what they're going to do. rookie mistake." you try to keep your eyes on his, but the way he's speaking, the way his lips are flush and full. you catch yourself staring and look away. a smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. 

"so you're always thinking when you're fighting?"  he hums, wanting to look at your pretty face. your eyes find his when he doesn't answer.  "trying to not telegraph?"

"that's right, a good fighter always needs to be thinkin' too. can't just reply on instinct. gotta look for openings, feint, dodge. can't let them know," your eyes fall to his lips again, you haven't noticed his arms are locking you in place. "what you're about to do, otherwise you're screwed."

you frown at that. there's so much danger in his world. and you... you got him caught in another mess. no wonder the rival goons were laughing, you were probably too easy to predict. "and i let them read me, you got hurt."

"don't worry about it. it's just a scratch." his nose brushes against your own, "i've had worse." his eyes on your lips.

"sorry jo...if i called earlier when they were at the cafe..." and he's shushing you with a gentle kiss, unhurried, unrushed. you didn't know he could kiss like this, he's lips are so soft.

your eyes still linger on his lips after the kiss. you feel so much for him, too much for him. "you need chapstick." you offer, looking away. he chuckles, "sure i do." you're such a cute liar, he's been using the vaseline balm you gave him diligently.

an alarm sounds on your broken phone, you rush towards it. grabbing the pain pills, jo knows he won't win and holds out a hand, "did you eat?"

uhh, choji wanted to give the goons an early surprise, and then he had some duties downtown and did he eat after? 

"togame jo." you huff "you can't take meds on an empty stomach." he protests, trying to capture your lips against his again, he claims he's big and strong and doesn't need to eat. you huff and shush and get out of his grasp. a clear testament to the amount of main he must clearly be in. 

there should be bread and some toast. something easy and simple.  you're all but prepared but the damn strawberry jar is shut so tight. you groan and grip and twist but damnit.  there's a cut on your hand your dominant hand that you ignored, its annoying and red, and your non dominant hand is clearly useless. 

"oh? can't open it yourself, need a big strong guy huh?"  you would roll your eyes at him but when he takes the jar from your hands his eyes catch the cut.  his body freezes.

not only your cheek but your hand too? those assholes, if had been a little faster-- "jo, i'm hungry please." you interrupt, refusing to let both of you relieve the park incident.  the lid opens so easily in his hands, it looks comically small.  but he doesn't return it.

"you're hurt, i got this babe." you mean to say, it's not that bad, but when you look at the cut, it is kinda gross. you should wash it.  jo has already spread way too much jam across two slices of toast when he's lifting you onto the counter, examining the scratch. eyes serious.  "i'll clean it, don't worry." 

"let me."  and with the most tender hands, he runs. washcloth over the cut, grabs a hodge podge of supplies and dresses the wound with so much are. you're not surprised he knows how to do this, just surprised he doesn't do this for himself. eyes taking in his concentration, you don't even notice when he's done. when did he cage you in? when has his face gotten so close.

his jaw goes tight, there is a bruise forming on your cheek. fuck. he's gone soft hasn't he? that's the only reason anyone would dare think you're touchable.

"i'm sorry jo. i...i don't like you being hurt because of me. " your hand finds his cheek, you try to offer a short kiss but he's not having it. pulling away, this is his fault.  he won't let this happen again.

he places the toast next to you, feeling himself shut down. his voice cold "eat."  it's all his fault. they should've immobilized the gang members in the morning, he should've let choji--

he knocks into the couch with his injured leg, a rough grunt escapes and you're already zipping to him. "hey, i got you." he doesn't need you to support him, it's not that bad, just painful. nothing new to him. but you? it shouldn't happen to you.

the look of worry on your face too, he caused that. "togame jo." you pull his face down to yours, both hands firm, "don't you dare." you can see he's falling into hold habits, taking the burden of everything on his shoulders again,  "the idiots fucked around and found out right? they're not going to bother me or you again."

you convince him to eat, get him to eat medicine and watch the rest of the match. overly concerned jo is going to shut you out, he's tried before. lasted a full two days before he found himself back at your side. 

the medicine has him nodding off, you're so quick to notice. he can't hide from you can he? "bed,  jo, your back is gonna hurt if you fall asleep here."

"alright, alright," jo mutters, "lead the way babe. don't expect me to be a good patient."

"you will be the perfect patient." you squeeze his hand, leading him through the familiar space. jo can't help but queeze your hand back, a bit harder than he would usually do.  

"oh, perfect hmm?" you catch something in his emerald eyes, and ignore it. happy he's being cooperative. you pause when he starts to climb into bed, pulling him back.

"you can't wear outside clothes to bed jo."

"yes, we can."

we? oh, "it's okay if i spend the night?" you weren't expecting anything, truly only concerned about getting your big tough guy to bed. "i wouldn't have it any other way doll."

"well i'm not wearing outside clothes to bed, that's gross." you scrunch your face and it has him rolling his eyes, hiding the smile cascading his features. "you serious babe? no outside clothes at all? i barely touched anything"

"guess ill go home" you make to loosen your hand from his but he's standing, a little wobbly due to the injury on his leg, "fine, fine. you can borrow somethin' of mine, but don't go spraying it with your perfume or something, got it?" oh he absolutely wants his oversized hoodie to smell like you.

"something soft please." you wait, taking in his room, the sheets are actually clean ones. they're in your favorite color, there's a photo frame with you and him on his bedside table. the room looks suspiciously clean, are you going to find empty bottles under the bed?

"i gotcha, i gotcha" he rummages through his closet, pulling out the softest hoodie he owns, "this good babe?"

your tiny yay has his heart summersaulting and he rummages for his own set of 'inside' clothes. both of you have changed by the time your eyes connect again, "huh, looks good on ya," his eyes linger on your exposed skin before flicking back up to your face, you don't like that grin.

"sleep time jo. no funny business." your waving a finger at him, "i'm only staying to make sure you get rest."

"no funny business huh?" he's in your space too quick, it always catches you off guard how quickly he can move. "can't even get a goodnight kiss?"

this guy, "you already got one, jo." you move to push him to the bed. you can tell the medicine will kick in soon, he takes you with him. he acts offended, "one isn't enough, i need more."

your hand cards through his hair, you think about it. you'd like it, of course you would. but jo doesn't stop at one.  he starts to pull out the big guns, pouting, pulling you so that you're straddling him now, the hoodie exposing more skin.

"come on, don't make me beg." hands tracing up your sides.

a blush on your skin, "i don't know jo, i like that idea." if you play with the nape of his neck, will he fall asleep? his eyes are growing heavier. but you underestimate his persistence. "you really gonna make me beg for a kiss, ain't ya?"

you make to pull away, he's a lot more alert than you thought, but his hands on your hips are firm, keeping you in place. you can barely move an inch. "nu uh, where you trying to go? this is a serious conversation." his voice is anything but serious.

"i need to brush my teeth, silly."  he sighs. 

"you don't have to do that, don't make me wait for a kiss while you brush your teeth." god his eyes are something else, pulling you in, you feel yourself leaning closer. 

"you," you sigh, feeling his breath on your lips, "you should brush yours too." he chuckles at that, pulls away.  "fine, fine, but you better make the wait worth it."

the mouth on this guy.

your injury isn't as bad as jo's you realize with how slowly he's moving, he takes his sweet time brushing his teeth and finishing up his night time routine. by the time he walks out of the bathroom, his expectant smirk softens to find you already asleep.

figures he'll get an extra reward for being good and waiting all night for one kiss. shakes his head at his own thoughts and slips slowly next to you, careful to pull you close but not onto his hurt leg.

automatically you're snuggling into him, your expression softening in your sleep. he wraps a big arm around you, pulling you snug. you're not leaving his chest until he gets twenty good morning kisses. closing his eyes to the soft sound of your breathin he feels his body finally relax.

your whispering in your sleep, he makes out a "you're stuck with me jo,for..ever."  

he's so happy you can't see the fat smile on his face. you're so adorable, too cute. he needs to tuck you away from the world forever. "i don't mind being stuck with you babe." he knows you won't remember this conversation, risks a bit more, "forever sounds pretty damn good to me."

"'s a long time." oh? are you not sleepy? his hand runs through your hair, touch gentle, affectionate. trying not to let the bandages catch knots in your locks. "yeah, it's a long time. get used to me being around every second."

"feels nice." you burrow deeper into his chest, trying to meld yourself into his personal weighted blanket. his hand continues to run through your hair, it feels so soft. he hums in satisfaction, "you like this, huh? i'll do it every night."

"such a good boy." and you're exhaling deeply, he feels the exhaustion leave your body, muscles growing heavy. his own eyes heavy. 

good boy huh? maybe he likes you saying it, would he admit that? nah. "i'm not a dog you know."

"i dunno...you're good to me. the best. boy. good boy." you switch sides to lay your head on your forgotten bruised check, a hiss and wince and jo's hand grips your head firm, placing you back onto your uninjured size.

"watch it babe, keep calling me good boy and see what happens." his voice low and rumbly.  that confuses you, shifting your head to look at his eyes as much has his hand allows. you're so sleepy, his hand is so big and warm and comforting. 

"wha's that even mean?" you barely register his mischievous smile, he leans in, voice barely a whisper. "keep calling me good and i'll have to show you proof won't i?"

"silly." you poke at his lips, he nips at your fingers, "sleep."

you're on the verge of sleep, words becoming less sensical and more incoherent. did you ask him to howl?  "yeah yeah, go to bed babe." he lets you shuffle on him, adjusting into a comfy position on your sides. hand in his hair but barely moving. he's pepping small kisses to your temple. 

"i like you."

he feels his chest go warm, "i like you too babe." and your hand falls from his neck and you're out. pulled into slumber. he watches with such affection, "more than you ever know."

jo spends the night holding you, arms protective, a shield against outside troubles. he lets himself sleep, lets his dreams fill of you and your smiles and nagging. smiles into the way you hold him close, in his dreams and on his bed.

[fics-by-kentocalls]

laios touden | seven modern!au, established relationship. swf. you're doing your nails and laios is being laios. please get this man out of my head. (pet name : baby)

he stops in his footsteps as he realizes he's been incessantly speaking on the topic of why a highspeed rail would enable real solutions to transit problems without your usual hum or uh huh. you are the most patient listener and he feels tremendously alone in the hallway.

where have you drifted off to?

laios finds himself poking his head through every available doorway. kitchen? spotless, he gets lost in reimagined the meal held hours prior before being reminded, once again, he isn't close to you.

the bathroom is empty, smells vaguely of a grape handwash (purple you claim) he's come to associate with you.

he pads, room to room, so laser focused on finding your bright beaming smile he almost crashes into you, sitting on the ground, concentrating.

nail clippings lay a napkin, he's careful not to accidentally kick it as he ensnares you in a hug. legs caging your form as he stuffs his nose into your collarbone. "careful" you huff, nail paint bottle and brush barely escaping your skin. "baby, ten minutes please."

he groans, squeezes you tighter. mumbling nothings into your neck, his nose tickling, a giggle escapes. "not a baby."

"ooh, okay, my big strong baby." he pulls back to quip about nicknames and what how would you feel about being called his baby. his. baby. he catches himself blushing. oh, he gets it now.

you turn back to your task at hand. painting the delicate color on your finger tips slowly. going slowly means you'll stay inside your nail lines and won't need to shower to wash off the excess nail paint. laios, precious thing, continues to make himself known. "whatcha doing?"

"being fancy." a smile on your lips, laios tries to hold the nail paint bottle for you, ever so ready to help. "nu uh, i still need this." he pouts, arms encasing your waist, making your task infinitely harder.

he watches the gentle strokes of the brush as it lays a pretty color on your nails. admittingly, he hasn't considered the effort it takes, how delicately your hands move. laios wonders if you'd let him paint one, he thinks he would do a good job. but you're too efficient and quick. poking at his hand to hand him the bottle, "can you put this back in the rack please?"

you have a small collection of nail paints, all organized in a neat tray. laios eyes the open spot for the bottle before asking, "can you paint mine too?"

the palm of your hand feels cold as you attempt a comforting gesture, turning as much as you can, fingers still wide, trying to keep them protected from accidental touch. "of course, i just need to dry these a bit more." your lips form an o and you blow so gently, hand moving in opposite direction of your lips and laios feels hot all over.

you're murmuring about this being the time you won't bite your nails. the color is pretty, isn't it? you'll be good and not get nervous and chew on it. but laios is is still looping how close you are, how tenderly you're treating your hands, his hands. how careful your body is draped over him.

you're pouting as you examine his hands. he's not careful, you've known this, but his hands are pretty. strong, calloused in odd places. your touch is so tender, laios feels his ears burn at the close examination. your thumb runs over each of his nails, feeling for a jagged edge, filer ready in your other hand.

he watches your face with a soft smile, you're being so attentive. he twitches not expecting the coolness of the nail pain, you coo at him, aslk "too cold, baby?" in a manner too sweet, trails after the hand that was on his cheek. and you're back to finish his other fingers.

explaining he has to sit still for ten minutes. he only chuckles in response, he can sit like, with you so close, forever. you undermine how content he feels right now. you bring a hand up to inspect the color, blowing lightly at the wet color.

"you have such nice nail beds." you sigh, voice soft and dreamy. laios is wants to kiss you so badly, you wouldn't be upset right? he doesn't need his hands to kiss you. he shuffles closer but a hand to his chest stops him. "be good for me, sit still."

he's frowning. what's a kiss? but you lean in close, so close and all do that voice he's so weak to, honey laced and serious "laios? be good yeah? sit still."

right right right, he can be good. he can be absolutely good. the best. the bestest damn good ever! sits up straighter, determined, you giggle and shuffle out of the cocoon of his body. surprised how easily he gave in.

his eyes rake over you. he's going to kiss you so hard after these ten minutes. he waves his hands in the hair, blows on them to dry faster. gosh! he feels so helpless as he sits on the ground, hands up as if he's done something wrong, robbed a bank or pushed a child but when he's the victim here! how dare you leave without kissing him, steal all the warmth!

he tries to count the seconds in his head, converts them to minutes and is all but near five hundred and fifty five seconds before he hears a clash from the kitchen. oh no, oh no did he leave the jam jar on the top shelf again? you know better than to tip-toe to grab at it. he's on his feet and moving, breath held tight when he's greeted with a "laios touden!"

he forgets how to speak, you look so pretty. standing in the green kitchen, wooden spatula in one hand, the other on your hip, brows furrowed at the tall man. oh, you're mad-mad at him, and it's probably his fault he's sure, but all of your attention is on him, finally.

greedily he gets closer, stupidly he reaches out as you swat a hand away. the spatula points to the right, perfectly timed meow and your fingers look so pretty gripping that spatula. laios will kiss each one happily--

"we aren't allowed to take another one in." the black cat now brushes against laios leg, supporting the blond as he pulls you close to him. your resolve to stay mad faltering. "my baby," he emphasis, lips getting pouty "winter was waiting for me on a train boxset. it was a sign from the universe, i couldn't say no."

but you can, after you escape the warmth of his hold, why is he so tall and strong. his hold is firm and resolute, "no, no, no i'm not listening this time. we already have three, laios!"

"you know how i feel about odd numbers." you do, of course you do.

"and you prefer prime numbers, three is good laios. including us that's five inhabitants, another perfect prime number. winter would make six. it's an even number but not a prime number. we already have the per- " the black cat brushes against you, you look down at the beautiful abyss of darkness "no."

you jump at another clash, laios' arms instantly tighten around you but he doesn't seem perplexed. he's trying to distract you with kisses and warm touches. that noise? that came from the bathroom this time didn't it?

your eyes scan the room, melon, cantaloupe and honey look back at you with lazy ease. only winter seems adamant about staying near you and invading your space, meowing, begging for pets and kisses.

if that accounts for all the cats you can see…laios starts to pepper you with kisses. "baby, my baby, listen, you know what my favorite number is? and what's also prime? seven is--" a tortoise cat zips into the kitchen and immediacy back out to the bathroom.

is it bad he finds the way you yell his full name kinda hot?

[fics-by-kentocalls]

nanami kento | tummyaches singleparents!au, sfw. discussion of grief/mention of loss. reader is referred to as momma/tiny momma (in comparison to the sky)

"nobara, honey pleaseeeee" you sit on the ground as your daughter dramatically flops away from your spoon. she's facing the wall now and still making snow angels with her tiny arms, blankets wrinkling in protest. she's too stinking cute, a smile is on your lips and you try again. "this is really yummy magic soup, it'll help you feel better." you make noises that get her to slowly turn and peak at you, crawling closer she looks at the bowl, you bring it up mixing the liquid so the spices make a tiny galaxy. "it's not red." what?

"it's…the soup you like honey, the butternut squash one. the yellow one.” "his papa gave him magical red soup." huh? “whose papa?” “yuji.” she starts to cocoon herself in blankets. “it has to be red. like tomatoes.” "you don't like tomatoes. no red, remember? honey?” she is silent for many minutes, you prompt,”nobara…no icky red right?” "need it momma. tomato soup." her voice cracks towards the end, she emerges from her blanket burrito with fresh hot tears streaming down her face. you put the bowl aside to cradle her. she's still warm, you eye the clock. too early to take her temperature and still no food in her little belly. you don't know what to do. this isn't something reading books or watching movies can prepare you for. nobara falls asleep in your arms, you kiss her tiny forehead and settle her back into bed as gently as possible. she’s full of medicine, water and mucus. you hate it so so so much. your bright buzzing brilliant child is sniffling and meak due to a tummy ache and fever. back to the kitchen and what can be used to conjure up a red-tomato-like soup? you can't remember the last time you bought tomatoes. nobara hates everything round and red. which means all tomato, the big ones, little ones, green ones because they become red, all of them. as long as you've known her, which is her whole life, she's disliked them. you look at the photo of you and your best friend, with a tiny two day old nobara tucked into your arms. its crazy how much of your friend you see in the tiny girl. you stare at the ceiling, "i know you're watching me so can you use your angel powers to help me make tomato soup without tomatoes please?"

♡

"so she's missing another day?" you try not to curse at the most judgmental school administration staff you've ever dealt with. no books to prepare you for that either. "yes, she is still feverish and unwell." more judgey things, a mention of not letting her be out like yuji and an abrupt end to the conversation. yuji. the kid in nobara's class, the one she deems her rival. you haven't had a chance to meet the kid, another thing you try not to feel guilt over. your best friend would've known all her friends and classates. would’ve made the best mother, instead nobara has you, her fumbling godparent that can't get her fever to break. you keep her hydrated, help her change and turn on her favorite ninja show. she's lying on top of you, cheek plastered into your shoulder. you're sure she's drooling but she's finally comfortable, took her medicine, ate the not red soup. no tummyache. small win. "it's going to be me." she says in a sleepy haze. "i fight everyone." "yes honey, you're the strongest and bravest." you don't remember this character. they must've added a new ninja. "yuji jumps higher than me tho. that's ok." she sits up, eyes super serious, "i'm going to beat him." "you're going to jump so high." moving some bangs from her face, she doesn't feel too warm, you have three more minutes before needing to check her temperature again. "to the moon!" oh gosh, her little voice is stuffy but she has energy again, you've missed her bouncing around your tiny apartment. it didn't feel ready for a child but it’s the perfect size to keep an eye on her at all times, to have her sweet voice echoing off all the walls. "to the moon!" she continues to roar. you grab the napkin and help her blow her nose into it. "to sky momma!" her head rests back onto your chest, her slow breathing as she giggles at the tv. you try not to let the tears that well up fall from your eyes. god, you miss her momma too. nobara would feel double the love, been so much more spoiled. but this is healthy, as the thearpist said. that nobara acknowledge the loss in tiny ways. that you encourage her remembering. she knew enough to miss her mother, doesn’t need to fully understand why she was gone. now she understands her ‘sky momma' is an angel and away. that all the blue in the sky is her much her momma loves her, that all the stars are gifts she has waiting for her. that she’s always there, giving her the biggest hug. and that you are her ‘tiny momma,’ you don’t fill the sky because you need to stay small and near her. you are human sized and sky momma is, well, the sky. everywhere. you felt so guilty when she called you that, tiny momma or momma. it should've been you in the car. you should've gone out during the snowstorm. you should've held onto her like you did baby nobara. you should’ve went out to get the milk and medicine. if only you had— "momma, tiny momma? "yes honeybunny?" "i'm not a bunny silly." her giggles make a tear slip. "are you sad?” you shake your head, plaster the best smile you can, she leans in and whispers “tell sky momma. she will fix it. she’s angel. she has powers.” “is that what you do?” nobara nods and her face is back on the ninja tv show. you look up, lost in thought. you may not have angel powers, but you’re going to give your absolute best to her precious babygirl. your precious babygirl.

♡

the doorbell to your apartment rings early next evening. nobara is busy coloring and singing along to a theme song. you stop putting away groceries and whip around to the entrance, there’s no body in the peephole. nobara is good but she hasn’t been near your phone to order magic food delivery. you live in a mostly safe apartment, still opt to wait a few minutes before you hear the doorbell ring again but there is no BODY there. a ghost? a malfunction? ugh. the landlord is never going to get this fixed and you’ll be pressed if nobara doesn’t get her rest, the girl is finally well enough to go to school. when you open the door your legs are met with a brute force. you look down and see pink hair on a small form. “oh, hello nobara’s momma.” a toothy grin from a child you’ve never seen before. you stand utterly confused, there’s no guardian in the hallway either. “hello?” he hands you a folder but half the content slips out. he looks very shy, doesn’t say more than, “oops…sorry.” big eyes trying to peep around your legs and into the apartment. you bend down to his eye level and help gather the papers. “it’s okay, i drop things too.” your eye catches a headline and notice a paper for mr. geto’s class, “did you bring these for nobara?” your voice is sweet, it’s easy to be nice to this little pink haired child. his eyes go big before he blushes as nods, “nanamin said i could!” he jumps, suddenly made aware that he’s standing at your door alone. he looks left, looks right, looks up and down, does a whole spin around and focuses back on you, his eyes wide and he’s starting to get teary eyed. “i lost nanamin!” “that’s…that’s okay sweetie we can find him.” but there’s no one in the hallway. “do you want to come inside? we can call his number.” you know for a fact mr. geto has drilled it into his class to learn their guardian’s phone numbers. its how nobara understands how to unlock your phone. that and you should change your passcode from her birthday to something more secretive— “yuji! that’s my momma!” nobara clings to your arm, frowning at the boy who is near shaking. you would reprimand nobara but she has a coughing fit and now you’re letting her invade your personal space, her tiny hand clinging to your arm, smushing her face into your neck. she’s warm again. you put a hand on her back and rub gently, the coughs are still bad. the pediatrician said it would be better by now. yuji stares and looks so close to crying. his lip is wobbly. and your lips frowns, you hate hate hate seeing little kids cry. you pat his head, and he instantly melts into your touch. “i want papa!” he wails. and two just feed off of each other. it’s a round of dramatic gasps and sobs. you are not meant for this. your arms can barely handle getting an entire crate of water up the apartment stairs and you have two tiny humans digging their hands and knees and bodies against you for comfort and warmth. you don’t squat enough to lift them off the ground. so you sit, half inside your apartment door with two highly emotional and dramatic children. you must stay calm, you must stay calm. you are the adult. you are the blueprint. you can teach them how to regulate their emotions. you breathe slowly and deeply. “you know what? let’s eat some pizza bites. so when nanamin comes he can eat with us.” yuji perks up at that. “nanamin likes pizza!” you give him a smile. nobara is still coughing, saying she feels icky. yuji says he will tell nanamin to bring red soup and explains how his papa added magic to make it taste delicious. he’s animated, lively. takes a proper seat at the tiny dinning table after asking to wash his hands. he notices the lack of plates on the table .

“can i help you set the table? i can carry plates! but not forks or knives.” he has such nice manners. this nanamin is absolutely a wonderful guardian. you nod, hand him plates one by one as you set a clingy nobara on the kitchen counter. she’s being fussy but cooperating, takes her medicine like a big girl and whispers she wants nuggets instead of pizza. pizza has tomatoes afterall. you nod at her, she starts to brag about her coloring book. you let the two sit at the table and talk about her extra deluxe packet of crayons while popping in pizza bites and nuggets into the oven.

wait, are you supposed to defrost them first? yuji and nobara are talking about the color red and how awful/cool it is. yuji is adamant about tomatoes being a magical food and nobara is doing her level best to not barf. she’s on her best behavior despite her tummyache, it warms your heart. you reread the instructions for the frozen food. provide the kids with juice and start sneaking in greens, they woudln’t notice a salad if it has yellow corn in it right? you do have some green-ish tomatoes from the grocery store run, yuji likes tomatoes, maybe you can get nobara to eat some green things if yuji is here. for a rival nobara is treating yuji like a friend, helping him with utensils and napkins. they go back to talking about the ninja cartoon and you zone out, just for a bit. carefully plating the food and grabbing not-red sauces for the kiddos when you realize it’s gone silent. panic sets in. there’s a beeping sound. it’s not the oven or your phone or your watch or the smoke alarm. it’s not in your head either, right? you place the pizza bites and nuggets onto the kids plate, warn them to not touch as they’re too hot and, god the beeping is still there. you look around in confusion. “momma yuji is beeping.” you turn to nobara in confusion. “what?” she points at yuji, “he is beeping.” yuji is shocked himself. starts to pat at his clothing when you notice the tiny watch he’s wearing is lighting up. you hear a man yelling in the hallway. you grab a red crayon out of surprise, the voice sounds scary. you smile and ask the kids to stay seated. you peak into the hallway to notice an absolute unit of a man walking towards your door. he looks so menacing. muscles tight, jawline constricted, fists clenched, eyes cold. he looks like a business executive ready to throw a office chair threw a window. corporate villian scares you, frozen to the spot. crayon ready, you’re not letting this guy hurt anyone. yuji is yelling, “NANAMIN!” and tries to rush past you, trips before he can reach your legs, and thank sky angel for gifting you with insane ‘parental’ reflexes, you stop his fall by grabbing his hoodie. “you’re okay buddy, i got you.” yuji smiles bright, points at the tall man, “my nanamin, hi papa!” he— what? his…his nanamin is the jacked corporate villain ? “yuji, kiddo. you can’t run off like that.” his voice is as deep as you expected, but gentle. yuji is talking a mile a minute and his nanamin somehow understands all of it. eyes fall to you and nobara who clings to your leg. “i’m really sorry about this. i didn’t mean to scare you. i thought yuji was—“ you smile. “i would’ve done the same. you’re mr. nanamin then?”

yuji answers for him, “he’s papamin! papa nanamin. he’s super strong.” “my momma can break a window! she’s super strong too.” nobara steps in front of you, bragging about how you can hold anything heavy. her and yuji have a ridiculous ‘nu uh’ momwnr before a coughing fit hits nobara, instantly you’re crouching down and rubbing her back.

“okay, okay baby. let’s eat and get ready for bed soon yeah? yuji,”— wait you should address his papa, “umm, i made food for yuji too if…if that’s okay. he was all shaky and crying when he thought he lost you…i..i didn’t kidnap him, promise.” nanamin is watching you, yuji insisting he will eat the salad too with pleading eyes, plus he really wants to show papamin something. the tall corporate not villian nods. it ends up with the large man comically seated at a tiny dinning table and two little children forcing him to pick which deluxe crayon is the best color. you hand nanamin a plate and it feels nice. easy. it’s enjoyable to see another adult interact with their child the way you do with nobara.

maybe you can do the parent thing afterall. kento nanami, you learn, is a gentleman and offers to do dishes while you finish putting away your forgotten grocery. the theme song of the ninja show is blaring through your tv and you hear a, “papa! they’re going to catch the bad guy!” and you know better than to stop yuji from seeing this magical moment, it’s all anyone is going to talk about at lunch tomorrow. “our sofa is big enough, you can stay until the end of the epsiode, i don’t mind.” he gives you a curt nod and oh, he’s really handsome. you wonder if this is the volunteer all the moms talk about in the PTA newsletter. “thank you.” you do not check him out as he walks over to the sofa, opting to sit on the ground as nobara and yuji are standing on the sofa, jumping excitedly. nanami does not have nice legs and butt. he absolutely never misses leg day. “momma they’re not going to catch him!” nobara shouts, convinced you have magical powers and can bend this cartoon plot to your will. “papa, you have to help them!” yuji adds on. you watch with a full heart how nanami speaks softly to nobara and yuji, asks them to help him summon his magic powers and has them in full giggle fits when he does help the ninja cartoon hero’s catch the bad guys. the kiddos are roaming around the living room singing the ending song while nanami looks over the folder of homework yuji brought. “this is a months worth of ice cream. ah, gotta come up with a better bribe.” you sigh, immediately moving to action when both nobara and yuji attempt to fly off your dining room table. yuji thanks you for food and surprises you by adding an apology for getting nobara sick and you do not accept that. “germs happen yuji, we can’t always control them. but i know you did your best to not get anyone sick.” nanami chimes in, “yeah buddy, you washed your hands, sneezed into a tissue, even ate your veggies. it’s not your fault.” he looks so happy and gives you a hug before nobara pushes him off, clingy and territorial. you give nanami a small smile and lock his smile back away deep in your heart. you absolutely do not blush when you hear “great job!” from the other side of the door. “oh no! tiny momma, your face is red!” “oh no, i think i need ice cream!” as you get nobara ready for bed and look over the folder with her missed homework. mr. geto is such a serious teacher and part of you appreciates it. part of you loathes having to figure out how to bribe nobara to sit still enough to focus through all these sheets. there is a tiny post it that says, legoland makes for a very good homework bribe — n, with his number on it. your heart does not skip a beat.

♡

[fics-by-kentocalls]

geto suguru | licentious minors do not interact. nsfw. pretty/baby is used. this is all spice because it's suguru.

he trails a fingernail down the curve of your spine and the only reaction it gets him, is a small huff of air. you’re absolutely resolute in proving him wrong huh?

yet the smile never leaves his face, you’ll give in soon.

you can feel your core shake, you’ve mentally trading strength for stamina and move onto your elbows, body barely separated from the mattress. another shiver as you feel suguru’s fingertips trace over the top of your core, pulling away and spreading sweet nectar across your thighs. he’s so mean when he’s competitive.

but you’re not giving in.

no matter how much his warm hands squeeze and prod. you have to stay focused, deep exhales, no! keep your eyes open, don’t close them. don’t relegate more power to your sense of touch.

his using is nimble thumbs to apply pressure around your core, you like that. you have always liked the gentle, firm pressure, body reacting like it normally does, rewarding him with more wet encouragement but he doesn’t push anything in. doesn’t increase his strength and massage with intent.

goes feather light, again, brushes over your opening, again. making you grow messy and wetter. you open your mouth and claw at the sheets underneath you.

once again, trading strength for stamina, you let your body fall into the softness underneath, letting gravity and the bed support your nearly tired limbs. clawing at the sheets, teeth bitting to keep your lips sealed. you’re not gonna call his name, not going to break.

body arching up, needy, provocative. keep that up and you’ll break him first — suguru notes, his own hands greedy, grippy, groping.

how long has he been at this? it needs to end soon, the ache in him gnawing with full desperation. and he can’t touch himself, not yet, he’d give in too quickly and you’re just about on the edge.

you can feel how hot and sweaty your body when he hovers his own against you, hands caging you in and your body is like live wire, ready to betray your brain for another one of his touches, fuck, don’t give in yet.

“doing alright pretty thing? you got so quiet.” he’s cooing, hiding his own torment. body throbbing to be on you, feel you, hear you.

you don’t trust your words, surely his name will escape like a hushed prayer, so all he gets is an aggressive and rushed thumbs up. has him chuckling but it drops his hips closer and the sinful curve in your spine makes skin to skin contact.

you’re so heated, warm, wet, inviting. his hand moves to your hip and moves you closer. you roll up and back, on your sides now.

keep breathing, don’t close your eyes. don’t focus on the sound of his voice or the tiny growls hidden as laughs. you’re getting to him, his hands evidence of the internal discord. did he really really think you’d yield so easily?

you know how to be nimble, angling your feet to push more of your body into him and oh that earns you a bite on your shoulder, he nips and licks and molds his body around yours.

suguru needs to change his plan of action, has to take a gamble, the faster you give in the quicker he can take and both of you will be rewarded, it’s the end justifying the means. but really, there is no better feel than the palm of his hand dragging down your belly and towards your heat. his deft fingers come in contact with your clit. you twitch instantly and he smirks into the crook of your neck.

he’ll be nice, he’ll be oh so good soon. give in, give in, give in.

he uses his hand to cup the entirety of your sex, pushes up and firm, feels more of honey slip past his fingers and he wants. he wants he wants he wants, just give the fuck in.

and yeah, you’re shaking, body running an alarm through you at promised pleasure, but suguru was the one who called you needy right? said you’d make a huge mess five minutes and last ten minutes?

and you’re unrelenting.

just tiny gasps and barely there whimpers.

perhaps he’s been spoiled, is filled with the need to pull one moan from you.

he’s going to lose this, fingers tracing your soaked lips faster and faster. your hands clenched so tight, eyes shut, don’t think about the sounds he’s making, don’t feel his breathe on your skin. only focus on making him break first.

and so you will your hips to drag forward, away from his body. the relief his brief but enough. suguru is uncompromising has you pulled right back into him, holding his own determination in contention. who is this for again? what are you two working toward? no no no, you’re the opposing party in this right? he needs to work against your pleasure?

wait, that doesn’t make sense.

why would he need to do that?

“you’re being so good, so wet.” his thumb almost pushes in, he almost slips because right, you didn’t say his name. you’re the stubborn one here. all he needs is for you to say please and it’s over, case closed, he’ll give you the sweetest release. “would feel so good, i’d fill you up so nice, yeah?”

oh you’re not giving up now, he’s getting needy, spiraling towards seeking reaffirmation and you’re just gonna need to keep breathing. if you give him nothing, he’ll give you everything.

and your silence? that won’t do. you’re gonna bruise your lips, that’s why he snakes an arm around your neck and kisses you desperate. would never let you hurt yourself, kisses you with force, tongue desperate to hide. fuck, he needs you.

not yet, not yet, he’s got one final plea, one last chance. lifts one of your legs just slightly, slots his throbbing member between your thighs. “you can keep this nice and warm, yeah? good…you’re being so…, fuck, squeeze just like that yeah.”

and this is new, but it brings you back, his kissing you sloppy, hips canting, not full thrusts yet. but that’s what your thighs are for right, push him over the edge. squeeze harder, force those moans out of him. and he starts thrusting, the sounds making you blush.

you’re so wet and the skin on skin with his voice full of lust. “that’s right, that’s right, so good for me, so good for me.”

the way your hand grasps at his around your neck is deliberate, if he’s going to play dirty so are you. using the leverage you have, you stretch your body tight and long against his and that’s it, that’s it, he’s falling unprovoked. “need you, baby—pretty thing, please, need you.”

yes, yes, yes.

still pushing into him, still squeezing tight, you’re driving him insane. he has to hear you, needs to hear you, fuck the soft sucking sounds when his cock brushes past your cunt. his grip is unforgiving. he’s trying to stop himself, trying to ignore how good you feel, you’re so strong and so soft.

if give you time to move a hand unprovoked, greedily grabbing at his length, a firm hold and you put a little strength into the squeeze. you moan in tandem, he’s thrusting into your hand, keep a firm grip. it’s so messy and wet, hold on. he’s falling apart.

suguru needs to hear it, has to hear it. all else is lost, driven purely by the promise of a ‘please’ and his name falling from your lips. driven past hunger, consumed with lust suguru pulls away. your eyes open when you feel his arms cage your face. “please, pretty baby, my good girl, please.” give in.

and he’s so handsome, dark locks falling forward, eyes never leaving your face. lips bruised and cheeks tinted red, your hands feel so cool against his face. your smile soft and eyes so full of affection, want. you bring him close, kiss very softly. too chaste for what you’ve been doing, too soft for what he wants you to do.

dark violet pupils dilated and dialed in.

you push your thumb at his lips, he sucks it in happily, hopelessly. his need is near impossible to deal with on his own. you can feel how he is leaking, drooling desperate on top of you. “please, baby please.”

he’s trailing after your hand when you pull away, more sucking and bruising around your lips. please against your jawline and neck and he’s finally calling your name, rutting his hips against yours, fuck it’s over now, give in.

you can feel yourself dripping down your own folds and thighs. his kissing your name onto the top of your chest, voice heavy, his hips pulling up, his cock twitches against nothing. “need you, yeah? you need me too?”

yeah, you do. so you bend your legs, making his access easier. leaving yourself open, wet, welcoming for him.

only him. “i do, suguru, please?”

he kisses with fervor, haunting, taking, leaving you breathless. as he sinks in slow, the last semblance of control before he’s finally where he belongs, where you need him to be. “good girl, so fucking hot..” and its a mess of praise and depraved promises.

“you win, baby you win, now let me hear you please?” and it slips so easily from your lips his name, the grip on his hair is criminally painful. and he takes it, because it’s you.

“so good, so good to me suguru, yes.”

and if he's going to lose to someone, it's only fair it's the person who calls his name as if it's dripped in honey and gold; you

[fics-by-kentocalls]

gojo satoru | supernatural sfw. alien!satoru fluff anyone?

alien!satoru who steps out of a beam of light and the first sight he’s ever seen on this planet is you. you and a companion, he thinks, are frozen solid. you’ve bend the companions wrist in an odd manner and it seems funny for a greeting — but satoru is here it learn. so he walks over, places a hand on your shoulder and mimics the look on your face, opens his mouth to introduce himself. (you’re scared, frozen. the asshole has been following you since you left the bagel shop, got loud and handsy. you’re proud of yourself for not freezing up and removing his hand from your body with force but then a fucking beam of light appeared and now a gorgeous blue eyed man is looking at you with a crazed face. and speaks gibberish)

alien!satoru who quickly absorbs all your memories, lessons, education, senses, perceptions all of it the second his hand lands on your shoulder. he realizes he was speaking his home language and you —humans, here speak words differently. but before he can correct himself, he realizes the person with you is not your companion and has been a bother to you all morning. he turns his eyes to the asshole and places a heavy hand on his shoulder, “never, ever bother my friend again.” the asshole runs off, satoru shudders at all the memories he’s indirectly inherited. are human beings so weak they don’t protect their minds? he turns to you again, “hello, my name is satoru.” (you blink at satoru, not sure if you’re hallucinating him or not.)

alien!satoru who quickly explains his mission, he’s here to learn everything about your planet, calls it something in gibberish and the smile you give him is polite. its the one you give to solicitors and he frowns. he’s not a solicitor, he’s basically a consultant! he’s here to understand what your species is doing on this side of the galaxy. satoru is committed to collecting all the information possible. (“thank you, satoru. i need to go to work now. umm, take care?” satoru nods, pauses, looks around himself and at the empty crosswalk, “what am I supposed to take care of?”)

alien!satoru who sits on a bench and watches humans walk to and fro. some walk quickly and hurriedly, and some walk slowly. they all come in various shapes and sizes, speak in different ways and he wants to absorb all their memories and information. how are there so many humans? what makes them so different? he ends up walking around and introduces himself to many people. some don’t want to shake his hand, some don’t want to let go of his hand. all of them have a unique story that floods his brain as soon as his skin makes contact. but satoru finds himself looking for you in their memories

alien!satoru who is so …famished? he doesn’t need to eat for years on his home planet, had enough snacks on his ship but right now is oh so on his very last energy stores. he’s hunched over and walking, legs moving to the path you usually take to work and he hopes and prays to find you again. you told him to ‘take care’ and it meant to ‘take care of himself’ and he has found he does not know how to do that here. you are probably a ‘take care’ expert.

alien!satoru who stands out wherever he walks with his long frame and pristine white hair, other worldly blue eyes. he sits near a kofee? cart and sighs. his body is leaking something strange and it makes no sense. he has not done anything strenuous, he can feel his heart beating in his ear and this is no good. the planet felt cooler in the day and no amount of adjusting his breathing is regulating the heat he feels from the dang sun. he rubs at his eyes and no amount of scratching is getting them to dim and shift. he can’t modify himself here? (you spot a very unforgettable mop of hair outside your office window. he’s dressed in a full black outfit and you note how hot it is outside and the guy hasn’t moved into the share. sighing, and praying that you’re not losing your mind, you head out.)

alien!satoru who feels something cool touch his cheek, turns into the sweet relief from the heat, barely opens his eyes and its you! its you! he sits up instantly, wants to do what other humans do to greet each other - pull you into a hug! but he realizes unwanted physical affection is not welcome. he does not want to make you uncomfortable. you open a plastic tube with clear liquid. “you seem to be breathing okay here so this shouldn’t be poisonous.” he scoffs, “i’m the strongest in my cadet class, i can handle any liquid.” but when it cool fluid cascades down his throat he’d happily let himself drown in it. he finishes the entire thing in go. the relief is appreciated even though its fleeting. (you hand him a bunch of napkins and when he looks confused you dab at his forehead and space. he probably should get some electrolytes into his system, before you can finish the thought, you hear his stomach grumble too.)

alien!satoru who follows your orders and stays super, duper close to you when entering your work cafeteria. he’s both amazed and unimpressed with the food selections and payment process. he asks why you sit in the chair and not on the table, the chair is uncomfortable and the table is wider and cooler. he easily accepts ‘social conditioning’ as a response and pokes at the arrangement of items on his plate. he’s selected mostly fruits, the bright colors compelling him, but you know that’s not filling and leave to secure more carbs, protein and fats. (you watch his curiosity with a smile on your face. if he is an alien, he seems to be nice and harmless.)

alien!satoru who states he will sit outside now that he’s regenerated energy and you watch him walk out into the roaring sun and immediately squirm and close his eyes. you’re pulling sunglasses form your pocket and asking satoru to bend down towards you so you can place the contraption on his face. he grins wide and proclaims you the bestest of his human friends. he begins to tell you about his adventures of walking around the city and touching (shaking hands he clarified) everyone who would listen to him. he has zero sense of self preservation you realize. you make him go into the mens bathroom and wash his hands with soap twice and dry them. he spends twenty minutes confused by all the contraptions in the bathroom.)

alien!satoru who access your memories to find your office and gets very friendly coworkers of yours to badge him to your floor. youre talking to a black rectangle when he waves and sits down across from you. he knows you’re on a communicator device and sits patiently, eyes roaming your office. (he tries to sit patiently but gets bored. walks around to where you have binders and binders all related to insurance policies, insurance billing codes and the wonderful exclusions binders. he seems to be glancing over everything quickly.)

alien!satoru who is so very, deeply concerned at how breakable you are. “you can fracture a foot in multiple places? you should never walk. i will bring my warping tool!” but you only hold a finger to your lips and shush him. the rectangle is still speaking to you and satoru inhales all of the information in binders. he has to commit everything to memory, this planet is so very weak! the humans are too brittle. even a sneeze can cause a back to spasm and over stretch. what the hell is a sneeze? satoru searches your memories and realizes that sneezes are unstoppable, once your brain registers the need to it must happen. how is satoru going to protect you from that? (the alien has gone from boredom to intense concern and sadness. you want to talk to him but you’re in the middle of a workers compensation claims trail and the damn lawyer is messing up the approved claim body parts. you are not paying for someone’s knee injury from highschool volleyball, you will pay for the injury to their hand because of a shitty manager and printer.)

alien!satoru who finds the lights still too bright, is relieved when you’re done speaking to the rectangle and turn the lights off. “you could be hurt from so many things, things you can’t even see! you could die!” (well that…that is a very strange concern the alien has.) “…toru that’s…that’s the risk of living here as a human.” he frowns, “my name is satoru, sa-to-ru. toru is currently investigating neptune.” he doubly frowns as he recalls neptune being your favorite planet when you were shorter. “are you… you really came from out there?” your hand is waving at the ceiling and satoru knows you have better eyesight than that. “i came from…” more gibberish. (you figure that’s his original alien language and well, grat, if you’re not losing your mind you’ve somehow befriended? an alien?)

alien!satoru who doesn’t like the fact he can’t regulate or modify his body freely. he’s constrained by elements and wants to study them. when he asks you about this you bring up a topic called chemistry and physics and he needs to meet with professors who teach this now. but he stands too quickly, feels himself dizzy, his eyesight getting fuzzy and your cool hands are there, steadying him. your voice is a whisper, asking him to ‘take it easy’ but satoru hasn’t taken anything yet. why can’t you speak more clearly? and why are you leaving him again? he isn’t done talking. (you tell him you’ll bring him more water and something to change into. your company has some tshirts as swag that satoru should most definitely change into.)

alien!satoru who looks very young and old all at the same time. he has never felt the need for social contact but not being around you is stifling. it hurts in part of his chest and general well being. he doesn’t feel good. maybe the clear fluid was poisonous. “satoru?” you’re back, you’re back! he makes to stand and somehow you move quicker than him, he feels his legs getting heavy. “change into these, i brought more snacks and water. you’re probably overheated. it’s summer right now, the sun is dangerous.” oh, it makes perfect sense. he starts to undress when you quickly gasp and shuffle to turn around. close the blinds in your office so others can’t see and what’s the need for privacy? everyone looks the same under their garments afterall. (oh my god. he is either a really good actor or an actual alien. what are you going to do? is homeland security going to come after you for harboring an extraterrestrial being? even if they’re nice and handsome and simply want to learn about earth?)

alien!satoru who feels so much better in a tshirt and oversized shorts. the colors are not pleasing but he can feel his lungs breathe freely. you mentioning needing to do more work and prepare for a meeting and satoru promises to behave and only ask questions if they are of dire importance. (he doesn’t like your cellphone, says it’s radiating bad waves. he is really curious about the binders and book, why isn’t data downloaded into your brain directly? he asks very politely and you don’t have the heart to tell him to stop, something about his eyes they’re earnest and pretty.)

alien!satoru who promise to guard your office but when he see’s someone from your memories, debra? stalk into the break room he knows he must defend your lunch tiffin. it’s debra who keeps stealing them afterall. he catches her in the act and she shuffles away with just a glare. satoru feels proud, feels useful. he also spots your main nemesis, the printer! gives it a very fine talking to and it beeps in submission.

when he returns to your office he realizes he didn’t knock and that’s part of proper socialization. you knock before entering anyone’s office, so he turns around but is greeted with a …coworker. he searches your memories and this guy is? adam? “who are you?” satoru hates his voice, won’t shake his hand ever. doesn’t want this man’s memories or stories at all. “who are you?” satoru replies. the man ignores his question, nods at your desk and says your name in such a ugly way. satoru should defend your honor here too. he could break adams foot in many places.

alien!satoru who frowns greatly at your “this is satoru! the overseas consultant!” you’re rushing to get between adam and satoru but satoru does not need defending, heck satoru is ready to be on the offense. adam entered your office, without knocking! but the man now smiles but it’s not kind, “oh, satoru welcome! we hope you enjoy your stay here” lies lies lies, adam is not pleased to receive satoru. adam extends his hand and well, satoru could break that in multiple places. you laugh, a fake laugh and now satoru is frowning at you, “he doesn’t shake hands adam, did you need something?” and satoru zones out the rest of the conversation. its clear you don’t like adam but you’re being ‘nice’ to him. it feels off. satoru closes his eyes and reviews your memories of adam and it’s super duper obvious that adam deserves the most terrible sneeze that results in never ending back pain!

alien!satoru who is all but growling by the time adam leaves and you have to physically stop him from following adam out. when he starts yelling about last years holiday part and adam’s unprofessional conduct you slap a hand over his mouth and mush him into the wall. (it’s a very kabe-don! moment you realize but satoru is not calming down.) satoru does his best to breathe, there’s a uniqueness to how your hand smells and it still feels soft on his face. this close satoru is aware of your touch, your body pressed close to him and oh—maybe humans are different underneath the garments. his hands twitch, he wants to pull you closer? the little pressure he has of your body against him feels nice. anchoring. what if he were to feel the full weight of your body on his? he’s made awfully aware of the fact your lips are a different shade than the rest of your face and what would the sensation of feeling those be like? “ahem—“ fucking debra. you pull away from him quickly and move faster than a gazelle. (satoru has never seen one, nor have you but he assumes the expression is correct.) you slam the door in debras face.

alien!satoru who is satiated with his own communication device once you connect it to wifi. he hears you sigh and knows that is mostly not a good thing. “adam will not fire you, you have 359 open cases and 120 maintenance cases. plus you’re the only one who shiu and toji work with.” (why does he know that? you locked your computer before you left the office but even then he shouldn’t know who shiu is. your conference call was with toji today. “you can read my mind?” satoru scoffs, “download. your mind wasn’t guarded. and neither is this website!” wait—what? “satoru that’s not, you cannot download a website from an ipad into your brain.” )

alien!satoru who diligently follows you out of the office, sticks close to you as he crosses the street, he tries to introduce himself to people, especially the ones that come up to him first but you’re quick to warn them off and shoo them free. this beautiful alien knows everything that you’ve ever experienced, learned or thought. “this is definitely turning into a cinnamon bun kind of day.” before satoru can question you on how you can manipulate material he smells the most divine smell of a bakery. “hot kento lives here!” satoru gasps and you’re immediately in his space again, pulling him close and shushing him. he likes it. you being close, not you shushing him. “we’re going to keep that a secret, yes?” satoru loves secrets! no one makes those with him back home. he nods eagerly and sees hot kento for himself. the glorious bakery man of your literal dreams. but satoru is confused, what is hot about him?

alien!satoru who is very pleased to shake hot kento’s hand and learn exactly what an outstanding citizen he is. it’s not like the hands he’s shaken today, the way those minds describe you is awful. the way kento perceives you is respectful, calls you earnest exhausted cinnamon bun and vanilla oatmilk latte. satoru thinks these words are wonderful and after having tested them the most delicious compliments! he whispers really close to your ear as you head out of the bakery, “i understand why hot kento is hot.”

alien!satoru who has experienced your living spaces multiple times in his mind but nothing prepares him for the sensory overload. the physicality of being in a space that smells like you, is filled with trinkets you adore and foods you love and soft things is a lot. too much. he sits down from standing. “satoru?” his name on your lips secures his breathing, “you doing okay?” he nods. “of course.” you disappear further away from him, he doesn’t like it, wants to reach out but its all too much. the lights get turned off and you’re coming back, a different outfit and more clothing, “these will fit, they are a softer material. let me show you the layout.” there is no need. satoru knows the exact layout, the exact rules you have for yourself. he will abide by them. is diligent in wiping and picking up after himself. deposits his used garments in the laundry basket and sits on your sofa.

“where are you going to sleep satoru? do you have a ship?”

“i don’t need to sleep not for another year.” he yawns and sinks himself deeper into your couch. glasses removed reveal all the fatigue in his eyes.

“well, on earth, when the sun goes down and the moon comes up, sleep happens. your body is adjusting to this rhythm, so you will need sleep.”

sleep is restorative and would make satoru extremely vulnerable. his ship isn’t going to be back until next year, where is he supposed to rest? “can i stay here?”

alien!satoru who refuses to sleep on the sofa, you find him under your dinning room table, lying on the very hard floor. claims its the hard surface is good for human backs and you have to coach him away from the dust. you promise he can sleep there after you map and clean but satoru reminds you, he’s the strongest. dust cannot defeat him. (and how you bite your tongue because he’s not strong here, not on earth. he doesn’t even realize whatever magical powers he had at home are gone. and oh my god, you’re really going to help him, aren’t you?)

alien!satoru who sleeps for five hours, brain processing all the new memories and experiences and information but keeps looping the moment you were close to him. your eyes are expressive, it’s novel. back home the cadets are trained from a young age to be neutral but curious. a friendly poker face to bid good will but never ever a mirror or the truth. this is satoru’s last chance to promote into a true cataloger, he wants to explore as many planet as possible and meet as many species. earth feels kind, inviting. you are kind and inviting. soft and lovely.

alien!satoru who wakes you up at 6am on the dot, a box of cinnamon buns shoved into your face, “hot kento said yes! i have a job! i can shake peoples hand easily now! i can pay you rent too, but at the end of the month.” satoru will not abandon his mission due to lack of resources, the technology he brought with him doesn’t work, not all his manipulations materialize on earth nor do his requests for assistance work but he can. as much as he’d like to stick next to you he realizes, eventually, he will hurt debra or adam when they make you upset near him. he won’t let you get fired. so he can keep busy in a safe and positive environment, around food so he will be well fed and where the sun cannot harm him. “why is your hair out of place?”

alien!satoru who learns that you do not wake up at 6am on a weekend. he remembers the rules, you like to warm up to the morning, allow yourself thoughtless time of sitting in bed before energizing for the day. it’s not fun to have you at an arms length and not engage. he is patient though, and it’s absolutely worth it when you greet him with a “good morning!” and he is listing your smile as the #1 best thing about earth.