Royal Princess Calico Critters~

the thing that gets me about about barbie is that barbie land wasn’t even purposefully a matriarchy, barbie land came about because of the way little girls were playing with their barbies, it wasn’t created by mattel it was created by the people using the toys, so the fact that the barbies ignored the ken’s and had girls night every night wasn’t because they had some bias against him, it was just an accurate depiction of how kids play with barbies. I had some ken dolls as a child and they were essential to the plot in the sense that of course my barbie has a boyfriend because that represented the world i saw around me, but also he didn’t have any purpose in my dream world because i was only interested in what the girls were doing because they represented me and how i wanted to be, I wanted girls night every night I wanted the girls to be president and austronauts and not because of some inherent feminist idea but because I was a girl and I wasn’t thinking about boys, ken was an accessory. this movie wasn’t made to change the world but it showed a different perspective than what we usually see which I thought was fun. Men don’t have to be the centre of all our stories and its not even because we hate them, sometimes we’re just not thinking about them

𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍 | 𝐊.𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐔 (𝟏)

✗ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐤𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐢 𝐤𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮 𝐱 𝐜𝐡𝐮𝐛𝐛𝐲 𝐟𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

✗ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭, 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟, 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭; 𝐬𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐧, 𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫!𝐤𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬/𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬!𝐀𝐔

✗ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟏𝟑.𝟐𝐤

✗ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐥 𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐮𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐨𝐱𝐢𝐜 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩𝐬, 𝐬𝐦𝐨/𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐫*𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐥𝐜*𝐡𝐨𝐥; 𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐬𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐱/𝐢𝐞𝐭𝐲, 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐮𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐬, 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭: 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐦𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐢𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐫𝐠/𝐚𝐬𝐦𝐬 , 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦/𝐩𝐢𝐞, 𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐭 (𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐡 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐮/𝐬𝐬𝐲), 𝐝𝐞𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐝/𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐞, 𝐜𝐡𝐨/𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠

✗ 𝐀/𝐍: !𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐲𝐞𝐭! 𝐲𝐞𝐬, 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐲 𝐧𝐭𝐡 𝐤𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐞’𝐬 𝐦𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢 𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐦. 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝 (𝐑𝐄𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐒!!!) 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐳𝐚𝐝𝐞 <𝟑

✗ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐞, 𝐲𝐞𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐲𝐞𝐭…

“Mad has pink hair”, is the first thing to leave Oikawa Tooru’s mouth when his fellow bandmate and best friend enters their practice room half an hour later than usual.

At the mention of the lead singer, your head almost brutally whips to the side and nervously searches for the sight your best friend has just pointed out. And, as you let out a shaky sigh, you try to keep your composure as best as you can but just as usual, this turns out to be a bigger struggle than you make it to be.

However, despite the intensity of Kyoutani Kentarou’s dominant and strong aura, you can't stop yourself from letting your gaze subtly roam his tall figure.

His body is covered in dark leather from head to toe, the only colored part of his appearance being his freshly dyed pastel pink hair; tons of chains casually dangling from his waistband but also adorning his tattoo covered neck. Your eyes find their way to his strong hands, the dark lines on his tanned, veiny skin sending shivers down your spine and within a second, you catch yourself thinking about the mental image of having them wrapped around your throat.

You feel yourself getting flustered at the mere thought of doing such lewd things with the lead singer, yet every single night it’s him you think of when your hand finds its way into your drenched panties, regardless of how much he intimidates you.

A soft sigh falls past your lips when his strong scent, a mixture of cigarette smoke and citrus, hits your senses in the best way possible. However, that exact scent easily pulls you back into reality.

By the time you find your way out of your arousal filled haze, you’re quick to notice two pairs of eyes boring into you from the side.

“Why don’t you just take a p- ouch, Iwa!”, Oikawa’s soft voice breaks into a whine at his best friend’s elbow hitting his stomach in a rather harsh way and for the nth time within just an hour, you’re grateful for Iwaizumi’s presence and ability to keep the pretty guitarist in his lane.

“Sorry, little one”, Hajime mumbles and rolls his eyes, his fingers pulling the little cigarette from behind his ears before he gently lays it in between his lips and lights it right after, “he’s even more talkative than usual.”

“It’s okay-”, “I’m sorry for being late, guys, traffic was a pain in the ass as usual”, Kyoutani’s deep, raspy voice easily overtones your weak attempt at voicing out your gratitude towards Iwa and you hate, yet love the effect he has on you.

You don’t even care that he blatantly interrupted or hasn’t even made the effort to at least glance at you. Just the mere thought of his presence as close to you as possible is everything you need and want.

And you’re very much aware just how pathetic you are, but at this point you can’t bring yourself to deny anything regarding Kyoutani Kentarou anymore.

After knowing him for as long as you do, you’ve finally come to accept his rather negative or neutral, both equally bad, feelings towards you.

It’s been literal years since Iwaizumi, your childhood best friend and neighbor, had introduced you to his grumpy bandmate yet nothing has changed ever since.

Kyoutani’s never even tried to like or get to know you, despite the large amount of time you spent with him and the other guys.

In the beginning you struggled a lot with his distant attitude, your brain making sure to plant the thought of his distance towards you being your weight and your general physical appearance but as the years went by, you just grew used to it. Back then, he used to startle you whenever he started talking, whereas now you just enjoy the soothing sound of his raspy voice.

You can’t remember when exactly you had developed the huge and disgusting crush on the lead singer with the buzzcut, you just know that at one point you couldn’t stop thinking about him. It didn’t take long for you to realize just how bad you had fallen for him — a guy who made it seem like talking to or just looking at you was pure torture.

Iwa was also rather quick to notice your shy glances and dreamy stares towards his tattoo clad best friend.

But he waited until you came and talked to him about it, knowing you needed the time to process your own feelings before he got indirectly involved.

To his, and probably your own surprise too, you told him to never ever mention anything when Kyoutani is around. You simply didn’t and still don’t want him to know with the sole intentions of saving your own heart. You’ve had enough guys break your heart or take advantage of you because of your bigger body, you certainly don’t want to go through another one of those heartbreaks.

Because after everything, one thing won’t ever change — Kentarou doesn’t like you.

A harsh fact you’re very much aware of, which is why you definitely don’t need him to explicitly voice it out and make you feel even worse about yourself than you already do.

And you definitely like the little fake image of him, which you’ve created in your head over the past few years way too much to let go just yet.

So, just as usual, you calmly avert your gaze to the floor and let out a soft sigh before you let yourself get back to reality.

“Don’t worry about it”, Iwaizumi replies calmly, running one of his ring clad hands through his thick hair as he approaches the pink haired lead singer, “Tadashi’s sucking off Terushima in the storage room, so we can’t get started anyway”, he casually adds, eliciting a groan of annoyance from Kyoutani, but soft giggles from you.

“I woke up horny so I didn’t last as long as usual, big boy”, Terushima, the band’s drummer and Kyoutani’s best friend, suddenly exclaims as he strolls out of the door at the very back of the practice room, followed by his freckled boyfriend, Yamaguchi Tadashi.

“We said no more blowjobs in the storage room, Teru”, Kentarou scolds the drummer, softly knocking the fake blonde’s head to the side as he comes to stand in front of him, “there are always cum stains everywhere and you never clean up after yourself, you fucking cunt.”

“Always with the swearing, I swear to God..”, Oikawa sighs and rolls his eyes as he puts his hair into a little bun before grabbing his guitar with care.

“Jokes on you, I cum in my bunny’s mouth, all the way down his pretty throat. He’s the one who likes to get messy”, Terushima shamelessly replies, his response making all of you let out growls of annoyance and slight disgust because of its lewdness.

“Yuuji!”, Tadashi finally intervenes, freckled cheeks tainted in the deepest shades of red as his boyfriend’s choice of words leaves him flustered.

“Was that TMI?”, this time he looks directly at you and without missing a beat, you nod.

“Of fucking course it was, you little piece of-”, “That’s enough, you little fuckers. Let’s just get started with practice already, we’ve got an important gig soon”, Iwaizumi is the one to take the lead; his naturally dominant aura making it way easier for him to handle two personalities as strong as theirs.

“Oh, my Goodness– yes! I just know this time we’re gonna get that producer to listen to our tracks and put us under his label and after that we’re going to get big. I can feel it in my cock”, Oikawa replies, his pretty eyes gleaming with excitement as he talks about his biggest dream.

You can’t help but smile at the way neither of the boys say anything, knowing all of them think- or hope for the exact same thing to happen. After all, they've been working towards this exact dream for literal years now.

And now that they’ve finally gotten such a good opportunity, it’s been a lot more stressful and nerve-wrecking than they had expected it to be. This isn’t the first time said producer’s going to watch the boys perform live, but this performance is going to be their last chance to show him their potential.

You don’t know what’s going on with Kyoutani but you know the other three boys are basically just piles of anxiety and nervousness after months of waiting for this day to come around.

“You’re right, Zumi”, Kyoutani sighs and takes off his heavy leather coat, exposing his toned body to your hungry eyes and without even hesitating, you let your eyes take in the sight of his black shirt basically clinging to his torso.

However, just when he’s about to keep talking, your eyes fall to his right hand and at the sudden sight of his bruised, partly even blood covered knuckles and fingers, you can’t help but let out an audible gasp.

“What?”, Terushima quickly reacts to you, his eyes roaming your face nervously before the other boys, including Kyoutani, turn their heads to look at you.

“Your uhm- your knuckles”, your voice is a mere whisper, the lead singer’s intimidating gaze making your heart pound against your rib cage, “you’re bleeding.”

Kyoutani tilts his head to the side before he lifts his right hand up, obviously not even remembering his little injury as he nods and just shrugs it off.

“What the fuck happened, Kenta?”, Iwaizumi hisses, approaching the younger one with concern-filled eyes before he comes to stand in front of him.

“It’s not a big deal”, said singer just replies, pulls himself out of his best friend’s grip and moves to grab one of the water bottles you had set on a random chair when you arrived, “I got into a fight with my...him. I’ll be okay, don’t worry.”

You gulp harshly at his words; instant memories of Kyoutani’s current situation at home flashing up in your mind and easily sending shivers of discomfort down your spine.

He doesn’t talk about it with you, of course he doesn’t. But from what Hajime and Tooru have said, you know that Kyoutani has always been struggling with his family due to several reasons.

You don’t know as much as you’d like to, but you’d rather not dig further into something, especially if the possibility of Kyoutani getting mad at you knowing about his life is potentially high.

“Bro”, Terushima lets out a deep sigh, his pierced brows furrowed in anger and a soft blush grazing the apples of his cheeks as he takes his best friend’s face into his big hands, “you have to move out. Take your mother and the girls and get the fuck out of there or else he’s going to make you kill him.”

You attentively watch the way Kyoutani’s whole body tenses up at the drummer’s words, his hands balled into tight fists and his jaw visibly clenching.

The heavy tension in the air feels suffocating; breathing properly suddenly seems like a whole challenge and with one glance at Yamaguchi, you know you’re not the only one to feel that way.

“How the fuck am I supposed to do that when he’s not letting them go, Teru? Every time I tell my mother to pack her and the girls’ fucking bags, he threatens her with some kind of shit and makes her back out of it”, Kyoutani presses through gritted teeth, the volume of his voice steadily growing the more the madness seems to take over him.

“And besides that”, he sighs, “it’s not like we have anywhere to go. Neither of you can take us in and I simply can’t get us a new apartment because I don’t have any money”, and suddenly, you feel your heartbeat picking up its pace with such intensity, you feel it thrumming in your throat.

It takes you a good minute to calm yourself down, the thoughts racing through your mind are easily sending you into a heavy bliss of anxiety and nervousness.

However, before any of the guys can say anything or you get the chance to overthink that one thought in your head, your body acts before your mind can follow.

“You could stay at my place”, you throw into the silence of the big practice room; your voice a lot steadier than you expected it to be, “my sibling just moved out and I have a spare room your mum and sisters could stay in”, you explain with your gaze falling to the floor when the fear of Kyoutani’s reaction overwhelms you.

“What? Are you serious? Don’t you dare fuck with me, Y/N”, he suddenly hisses; his brows furrowing even further and the way he comes closer to you has you gulping harshly.

It’s not even necessarily his choice of words but the general fact he’s even directly talking to you, which has your head spinning from the heaviness of your anxiety.

“Watch your language when you speak to her, Kenta”, Iwaizumi adds, quickly coming to stand next to you, knowing his other best friend has a tendency to let his emotions take over his rational thinking.

“Yes”, you say quickly, finally getting yourself to actually lift your head and meet his strong gaze, only to look away after a solid second because of the intensity of his stare, “I am either at work or campus most of the time and barely have anyone come over, so I don’t really mind having you guys there. And you don’t have to give me any money, either. My parents bought us the apartment before they passed away, so I don’t have to pay for rent anyway.”

Kyoutani listens to your every word, his eyes rapidly roaming your face as you speak before he lets out a loud sigh of relief, followed by his facial features softening in a way you’ve never experienced before.

“That’s uhm- that’s really kind. Thank you, Y/N”, he sighs and when his lips suddenly stretch into a genuine, sweet smile to the point that his dimples appear on each side of his cheeks, you can’t help but look at him in complete shock.

“Of…course”, you smile back awkwardly, pulling at your fingers and trying your best to calm your heart and mind down, “I know how it feels to live in an abusive household, so I’m always happy to help someone escape from one.”

In response to your words, silence fills the room.

And that’s when you realize that, different than usual, you actually mentioned something this significant about yourself to someone other than Iwaizumi.

You feel the anxiety crippling up your spine in the most disgusting way possible; a shaky exhale falling past your lips as your body desperately tries to calm your rushing mind down.

“Anyway”, you suddenly say, nervously scratching your neck while lifting your head to meet Kyoutani’s slightly overwhelmed gaze, “how about you tell your Mum to pack her stuff so we can pick her and the girls up and bring them to my flat? I’ll make sure to make them feel at home, I promise.”

You don’t really know why or how you managed to form all those sentences when Kyoutani Kentarou, the guy you’ve been hopelessly crushing on for years, is standing so close and is actually talking to you. However, you definitely like the warmth spreading in your chest and the pride filling your veins when you think about all those times you oh so desperately wanted to talk to him, but let your anxiety get the best of you.

But, none of that changes the fact that your heart is brutally slamming against your rib cage, thrumming in your ears with such high volume, you struggle to hear your own words properly.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this? My youngest sister is three years old and the other one just turned five, so I don’t know if you really want to deal with kids after such long days”, Kyoutani mumbles, running his tattooed hand over his freshly dyed buzz cut before he starts playing with the rings on his fingers.

You can’t help but smile at his behavior. The usually so cold and distant Mad Dog, a nickname Oikawa gave him years ago, turning into this sweet, flustered little puppy right in front of you is definitely not something you’ve expected to witness any time soon.

“I like children and they usually like me”, you smile encouragingly, “so yes, I am sure I’m okay with this. Give her a call and tell her we’ll be there after you guys finish practicing. We can grab some food on the way and maybe some snacks for the girls because I only have instant ramen noodles and two bananas in my kitchen right now”, you continue, earning a loud groan of disappointment from your best friend who loves to spend his time scolding you for your awful eating habits.

“Alright then, I’ll do that really quick and – thank you, Y/N. I appreciate this a lot”, Kyoutani gives you one last smile of gratitude before he pulls his phone out of his pocket, quickly sticking a cigarette in between his lips as he exits the practice room to talk to his mother.

And as soon as the pink haired lead singer disappears, you let go of the breath you’ve been holding subconsciously.

“Damn, little one”, Oikawa suddenly says, throwing his arm over your shoulder and casually pinching your chubby cheeks with his slim, ring clad fingers, “you’re finally gonna get a chance to suck his cock just like you’ve been imagining it.”

“Oh, fuck off, Tooru”, you hiss through gritted teeth, rolling your eyes at his words before you push him away from you.

“He’s kinda right, though”, this time it’s Yamaguchi’s soft voice which gently cuts through the silence in the practice room and with your eyebrows raised in utter shock, you turn to face the freckled boy, “don’t get me wrong, I am not saying you’re gonna jump his bones now. But you’re getting to spend some more time with him alone and at some point he won’t have a choice but to talk to you, so the two of you might get closer”, he explains, his words making it even easier for your brain to create a row of fake scenarios and without replying anything, you nod softly.

“Or you just tell him you want him to father your children and boom, case solved.”

At Yuuji’s take on the situation, the whole room grows silent, yet again. Only Tadashi reacts by giving him a soft kiss on the lips before the others continue to get their instruments ready.

“I’ve told you this a couple of times but he doesn’t hate you, I promise”, Iwa continues after a beat of silence had filled the room, “especially not after this, so stop being so fucking shy about it.”

At the persistent tone of his voice, you can’t help but look at Iwaizumi with furrowed brows since he’s never been like this when it came to your not so little crush on his bandmate.

But before you can even question it in any way, the front door is being opened again and you watch the front singer walk back inside.

When Kyoutani returns, a big smile is planted on his face and literal relief gleams in his usually so cold gaze, a sight you definitely could get used to. And for the first time in years, he looks you directly in the eyes and shoots you a wink; his change in demeanor leaving you completely overwhelmed. Yet you can’t help but feel your whole body growing hotter as your head repeats the beautiful image inside of your mind until it becomes the only thing up there.

Usually, practice goes by rather slowly. You enjoy spending time with your best friends and listening to their music; the general atmosphere in the practice room calms you down in a really different way which is why you even crave these kinda evenings after long, exhausting days.

However, this time the three hours of practice seem to fly by because by the time the boys start packing up again, you struggle to remember which songs they played and what they talked about in their short smoking breaks.

You know it’s because your body is still buzzing with anxiety at the thought of Kyoutani and his family staying at your house but for some reason you also can’t stop overthinking what your best friend had told you a couple of hours ago.

Iwaizumi isn’t the type of person to just say something without there being some kind of meaning to it, not even if it’s to calm you down, so now you’ve already come to the point where you can’t seem to stop yourself from reading more into his words than usual.

“Kawa picked you up, right?”, the sudden sound of Kyoutani’s voice filling the rather quiet practice room is the one to pull you out of your thoughts and without properly processing who actually asked you that question, you start nodding.

“Alright”, he adds and pushes his freshly rolled cigarette behind his ear, “then we won’t have to go in separate cars”, Kyoutani locks his phone and pushes it into his pocket before he looks up at you and then searches for a lighter.

You’re quick to hand him the one in the little front pocket of your bag which you carry around in case Iwaizumi or Oikawa happen to have lost theirs again.

There’s a bit of an awkward silence filling the empty space of the alleyway, making it a bit harder for you to maintain your composure and despite the cold weather, you can’t help but appreciate the fresh air filling your lungs.

“Kimiko and Koharu”, Kyoutani suddenly begins and places his cigarette between his plump lips, the names obviously making him smile and you can’t help but look at him with confusion written all over your face.

“The one who just turned five is Kimiko and the three year old’s name is Koharu”, he’s quick to explain it and as you realise that he’s talking about his little sisters, you understand his genuine and soft reaction.

As you watch the way Kyoutani takes a long drag from the deadly stick, you decide not to add anything to his words just yet because it feels like he has a little bit more to tell you about the two girls you’re about to meet.

And just as you expected, he continues to talk once he starts blowing the smoke out with a soft sigh.

“To keep it short: they’re basically like ‘Kawa and Zumi”, he explains to you and this time you can’t stop your lips from stretching into a wide smile at his words.

“Now I need you to elaborate on that, please”, after finally letting yourself calm down a little you manage to make a comment and when Kyoutani chuckles softly, the tension in your muscles finally seems to disappear.

You can hear the boys’ voices from inside the practice room and for a moment you feel the urge to frown because you won’t get to be alone with Kyoutani anymore but his voice quickly pulls your attention back to him.

“They fight and argue a lot because their personalities are so different but they also can’t live without each other”, Kyoutani runs a tattooed hand over his freshly dyed pink buzzcut, his eyes roaming your face attentively as you start nodding at his words with an approving smile on your lips.

You wonder what he thinks of you. There’s a part inside of you which wants to know whether or not he thinks you’re pretty or if he likes your eyes, your smile or your voice. You want to know whether or not he finds you attractive and maybe even sexy, your brain allowing you to ignore the possibility of him not being into bigger girls at all. But it doesn’t take long for you to get back to your usual way of thinking since you’ve convinced yourself that you’re not his type long ago and he probably doesn’t even care about what you look like because you’re not worth his time.

It takes you a good moment to shake off those annoying thoughts and in just that moment, Kyoutani decides to add something else to his explanation.

“They’re good kids. They’re well behaved and don’t really cause any problems or troubles. My Mom’s tried her best to give them what they need and their scumbag of a father treats them okay. He prefers to mentally and...physically abuse me and my Mom, just gets a little louder when they cry too much but that’s it”, Kyoutani’s words are carefully chosen; he takes his time to find the right ones and doesn’t rush himself in order to avoid any misunderstandings and it doesn’t take a psychologist to understand that he’s incredibly hesitant to open up about his family issues.

You can’t and wouldn’t blame him because you’re basically the same when it comes to these difficult topics yet you struggle to hide your reaction because after all this is the very first time he’s ever told you anything about himself.

“I think they’re both gonna like you a lot, but Koharu’s going to love you. She loves spending time with pretty girls and I honestly can’t blame her for that”, is the last thing Kyoutani casually adds and you know it’s to ease the tension in the air but as soon as your brain manages to process his words, you freeze.

You barely manage to react to Terushima’s unnecessary comments as the four boys come to join you two in front of the door and if it wasn’t for Oikawa almost brutally nudging your arm with his elbow, you wouldn’t have moved another inch for God knows how long.

Kyoutani Kentarou, the guy – your crush of several years who was basically unreachable for you up until an hour ago, told you that he considers you pretty or at least sees you as a part of the “pretty girls” and you absolutely hate the way your chest starts blossoming with this very special warmth.

“What’s wrong?”, this time it’s Iwaizumi's deep voice which brings you back to reality and when you lift your head to meet the comfort of his green eyes, you can’t help but let out a loud sigh of frustration.

“Absolutely fucking nothing”, you reply and throw your backpack over one shoulder before rolling your eyes at yourself, “and that’s the fucking problem.”

“You’re stressing me the fuck out, did you know that?”, Iwa shoots back with his eyebrows furrowed in irritation before he follows you to the cars and tells you to text him once you get home only for you to pout at him like a teenager.

Thankfully the ride to pick up Kyoutani’s Mom and sisters is a lot less stressful and nerve wrecking, mostly because you’re accompanied by Terushima and Yamaguchi but you also feel a little less tense and anxious for God knows what reason.

Something about Kentarou’s body language tells you that he seems just as nervous as you and you wonder if it’s because he’s scared of their reactions or if it’s because he’s going to stay in your apartment with them.

Neither one of you has bothered to mention it, but it seems like the only plausible option the whole plan comes with so you’ve been trying your very best to prepare yourself for the upcoming time. Of course there’s also the possibility that one of the boys takes Kyoutani in but you still like to keep your hopes up high.

You’re nervously pulling at your fingers as you calmly inhale the cold air of the night in hopes of making the waiting a little more bearable.

Kyoutani’s still talking to Terushima and Yamaguchi as they finish their cigarettes only to throw them away as soon as they hear the contagious chuckles of one of the two girls currently approaching the car alongside their mother.

You try your very best to stop yourself from staring but as you watch the girls pick up their pace just to jump into their older brother’s arms, you find yourself mesmerized by the heartwarming scenario in front of you.

It’s not difficult for you to tell the girls apart despite their similar facial features. They not only share the same hair color and style but their big smiles are almost identical and as you let your eyes roam their soft faces, you spot the little dimples on each of their chubby cheeks, the little detail basically emphasizing the family resemblance even more.

It takes the girls a good minute to shift their attention away from their older brother but as soon as their eyes meet yours, you can’t help but smile.

Yet, before you can actually greet them, you notice someone in the corner of your eye and without hesitation, you turn to face Kyoutani’s mother with a polite smile.

“Good evening, Ma’am”, you begin calmly, lifting your hand before you bow slightly, “it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Y/N.”

You feel your heartbeat fastening as you try your best to stop yourself from staring at her but there’s just something that makes this incredibly difficult, yet you can’t seem to point out what it actually is.

Her dark hair is put in a bun, a few strands falling into her rather young looking face and the second your eyes meet hers, you feel a sense of comfort and safety surround you like a capsule.

“The pleasure is mine, my Love”, she replies calmly before placing her delicate hands over yours, making the warmth of her skin meet yours, “thank you so much for this. You have absolutely no idea how much we needed this. I don’t know what Tani has told you already, but it’s been really bad lately and I know this is gonna do wonders for the girls.”

Her voice is soft, slightly hoarse yet oh so comforting and as you watch her speak, you can’t help but smile at her mentioning her nickname for the lead singer.

“I’m happy to be some kind of help, really. If he told me a little sooner, I would have made this offer a long time ago since I wasn’t gonna look for a roommate anyway”, you explain thoughtfully, genuinely enjoying the way Kyoutani’s mother is still holding onto your hands oh so dearly before she lets go and pushes a dark, curly strand behind her ear.

“You’ve got such a kind heart, I can tell by the way you’re looking at me. I hope your partner knows how lucky they are”, she breaks into a soft chuckle and at the mention of a lover, you can’t help but get flustered before joining her.

“I don’t have a partner”, you add quickly and shift your gaze to the floor, “but my boys appreciate me a lot so there’s no lack of that!”

Kyoutani’s mother smiles at your words, her gentle eyes slowly shift to the tall figure of her son who’s currently trying his best to balance both of his sisters on his back.

You wonder what she’s thinking about because there obviously seems to be something that’s occupying her mind yet you don’t find it in you to ask her about it just yet.

And you don’t even get another moment with her as loud cheers start ringing in your ears before you watch the way Terushima walks up to his best friend’s Mother and pulls her into a tight hug after bowing to her.

After about an hour, you find yourself cleaning up the kitchen while Kyoutani and his family get started with unpacking their things and although it’s been quite fun with the girls, you still feel this certain kind of tension lingering in your muscles.

It’s never been just you and Kentarou for longer than five minutes and now you’ve spent the last two hours casually talking to him, his sisters and his mother.

You lose yourself in your rather nerve wrecking train of thoughts and if it wasn’t for the sound of a door opening, you would have gone even deeper.

By the heavy steps and the sounds of dangling chains, followed by the familiar scent of cigarettes and vanilla you don’t even have to lift your head and finally meet the rather calming gaze of your new flatmate.

“The girls fell asleep and my mum’s in the shower”, Kyoutani whispers, the soft expression in his usually so tense and strict features suddenly making him look a lot younger than he is and you can’t help but love this side of him.

“Did you tell her about the towels I hung up for her and the girls?”

You try your best to stay calm and composed but just feeling his strong eyes roaming your body makes you nervous and all of a sudden you regret changing into your pajamas before making sure that everyone’s asleep.

In your defense: you genuinely didn’t expect to talk to any of them before heading to sleep which is why you’re now dressed in some random shorts and a really old shirt that barely leaves anything to anyone’s imagination.

And on top of it all, a wave of anxious thoughts about your body, your big thighs, your tummy and your big arms makes this whole situation a lot more difficult than it already is.

Kyoutani obviously notices the way you’re losing yourself in your train of thoughts, which is why he doesn’t hesitate much with his response.

“Mhm, I did”, he says and finally manages to make you look up at him again, “she probably hasn’t had a hot shower in weeks so I told her to take the time she needs, I hope that’s okay.”

Right before you properly process his words, you start nodding, just to stop mid-action when you realize what he had just told you.

“Wait…what do you mean she hasn't had a hot shower in weeks?”

A beat of complete silence follows your words and that’s how you know that this is one of those rather difficult topics for him.

To your surprise, Kentarou comes to sit down at the counter, nervously playing with the many rings on his fingers as he tries to find the right words.

“Her menace of a fucking husband doesn’t have a job so they can’t always pay the water and electric bills…Most of the time my money’s only enough for the rent and some groceries, so she’s been heating up water for the girls and opt to cold water for her own showers.”, Kyou’s tone shifts from angry to sad as soon as he stops talking about his mother’s partner and if it wasn’t for the weeks you’ve spent watching him and analyzing his body language, you wouldn't have noticed the way he started pulling on his fingers to calm himself down.

“My mother used to do that for us, too”, you say before you get a chance to overthink your words and you can’t help but tense up at the thought of opening up to Kentarou, someone you know but don’t actually know.

“And of course that’s absolutely okay. I want her to feel as comfortable and safe as possible; this is their home now, too”, to shift the attention away from your little slip into your own childhood, you try to wrap it up by responding to his previous question.

“Miko and Haru already love it so much, they don’t even mind sharing a bed for now”, Kyoutani continues and lets out a soft chuckle, his big hand reaches for one of the little water bottles on the counter and you can’t help but smile when you realize that he’s slowly getting more comfortable in your presence.

“Haru asked if she could sleep in my bed but your Mother intervened”, the memory of your conversation with the three year old has you smiling even bigger before you lift your head to look at him; your heart skipping a beat the moment your gazes meet, “I wouldn’t have minded that at all, though. She’s adorable and absolutely hilarious.”

And before you could even finish your little comment, Kyoutani Kenatrou throws his head back and lets out a genuine row of laughter, his reaction easily overwhelming you since you’ve literally never heard him laugh like this before. Not even with his boys.

You subconsciously start enjoying a sound so special and dear echoing through the silence of the night and you don’t even think about forgetting it ever again.

“She’s so unnecessarily funny for a three year old”, he says and rubs his chin, his eyes so much softer and calmer ever since you’ve arrived at your apartment and you can’t deny how much you like this new version of him.

“Anyway, I should get going, now that everyone’s safe and sound”, Kyoutani gets up from the chair and reaches for his jacket, doesn’t even give you enough time to register his words.

“What?”, you blurt out and look at him with confusion gleaming in your eyes, not even realising how loud your voice is.

“Huh? What do you mean? I’m leaving to stay at Teru’s”, Kyoutani explains and looks at you, adjusting his leather jacket and barely holding back his little smile in response to your outburst.

“Oh”, you sigh softly and try your very best to find the right words but you can’t avert your gaze from his strong body; basically devouring the poor guy alive and for a moment you lose absolute track, only to be pulled back into reality by the sound of Kentarou’s voice.

“Eyes on me, pretty girl”, his words hit you like a truck and if it wasn’t for the fact that you’re seated already, you would have lost your balance, “what was that ‘oh’ about, hm?”

“I – uhm – I wasn’t expecting you to leave”, you reply and try to maintain the last bit of your composure but the longer you look into his hungry eyes, the weaker your knees become and for a moment you feel yourself fall even deeper into the haze of your arousal.

Kentarou seems to enjoy your reaction to his choice of words and you hate how every bit of your body wants to give yourself to him, when this is probably just his casual way of talking to people he feels comfortable around.

“Really? You’d be okay with me staying here?”

Without even missing a beat, you start nodding.

It feels like your body is running on autopilot because of the sudden change of the tension between you two.

“Yes”, you say with a little more confidence, “I’m sure your mother would much rather have you here with us, too.”

Of course you’re not going to tell him about how you're absolutely desperate to spend even more one-on-one time with him; not any time soon, at least.

“My mother, huh?”, Kyoutani smirks and takes his jacket off again, making your heart skip a beat.

All you can do is nod. Your throat has already dried up and you feel like you’re going to pass out from the sudden heat overwhelming your body. You try your very best to keep your reactions down, nervously playing with the hem of your shirt and avoiding his gaze like he’s going to turn you into stone if you looked at him.

“Hey, what happened with you and your little puppy boy?”, Kentarou asks, his voice is a little less amused and there seems to be a sudden shift in his expression which you can’t exactly pinpoint.

It takes you a whole minute to understand who he’s talking about and as soon as you realise, you roll your eyes in annoyance. Not because of him, but because of the “puppy boy” in question.

“We broke up”, you begin and get up to get yourself and him something to drink, but mostly to hide from his strong gaze, “everything was going well at first but then he got all weird and kept doing and saying things which made me super uncomfortable. Whenever I tried to talk to him about it, he got unnecessarily defensive instead of respecting my boundaries, so I called things off.”

You let out a loud sigh at the memory of your ex-boyfriend, just the thought of him never failing to exhaust you.

“What kind of things are we talking about?”, Kentarou replies calmly, thanking you for the cup as he watches you turn on the kettle.

“Only if you’re comfortable answering that of course”, he quickly adds and makes you smile just like that, yet again.

“At first, my weight was never a topic in our conversations”, you say and feel a wave of disappointment hit you, “but the longer we were together, the more he started mentioning it. But…not in the way you might think. He didn’t tell me to lose weight or fat shamed me, he actually did quite the opposite but in the most uncomfortable way possible.”

There’s a beat of silence once you finish your sentence, your focus falling to the way Kyoutani is playing with his rings as you wait for the water to boil.

“This is gonna be quite TMI and I actually can’t believe I’m telling you this, of all people, but I’ve got nothing to lose so why not”, you warn him and fill up his cup before you do the same with your own and then come back to sit right across from him.

A weird kind of comfort fills your chest; something you haven’t felt with anyone in quite a while and you've never expected Kyoutani to be the reason for this.

“I’ll be okay, go ahead, pretty one”, his response is cool and calm, yet pushes you to the edge of your seat and you hate how much his words affect you.

“He wasn’t the best with words – at all. However, his dirty talk was absolutely horrific”, you cringe at the memory of all those nights you had to listen to your past lover say things you would have never expected to hear from anyone with an ounce of decency, “he always included my weight and when we first started dating, i thought he was worshipping or like – appreciating me, but boy was I wrong.”

Kyoutani looks at you with furrowed brows and you can tell from his body language how he’s slowly beginning to despise someone he has met exactly once before in his life.

And for some reason, you like his reactions, but then again, you’re head over heels in love with him so that’s not surprising you in the slightest.

“Long story short, I dumped him after he kept calling me his…fat bitch while we were having sex”, you come straight to the point, not wanting to do this to yourself and Kyoutani any longer.

And once those words pass your lips, the lead singer’s jaw literally drops.

You try to play it cool to hide your embarrassment, taking a little sip from your tea and looking up at him through your lashes.

“Please, tell me he at least made you cum”, Kentarou suddenly whisper-growls, his dark eyes roaming your features attentively and taking in the way you gulp harshly in response to his intimate question.

“No”, you simply reply and shrug, “I didn’t get intimate with him that much, so he didn’t have that many chances but the ones he had, he actually missed.”

Kyoutani seems shocked, to say the least.

His eyes are focusing you as he tries to wrap his around the loser of a man you used to date.

“I’m glad you dumped his fucking ass”, is the first thing he says after his initial, wordless reaction, “you deserve so much better.”

“Yeah, I don’t know about that”, you chuckle and scratch your neck, “I think I’m gonna take a break from seeing anyone. Being a fetish or the wannabe “success” story of people is quite draining so I’ve decided to just drop it, you know?”, you explain to him, your eyes softly meeting his gaze before they drop to his mouth and you feel your body literally aching for his soft lips on your skin, something you can only ever dream of.

Kyoutani wants to say something, anything. There are so many things on his mind, yet he falls completely silent in front of you.

But how is he supposed to tell you how he’s what you deserve? How could he possibly explain to you that he’s wanted you to be with him since the very first time he’s laid his eyes on you?

He’s not even brave enough to show any kind of interest in you with his boys, his literal brothers, around. Where is he supposed to find the balls to tell you all of the things he’s thinking?

If you only knew how much he liked you, how much he wanted to be everything those guys failed to be – in every aspect possible.

“Oh, Goodness”, you suddenly say and pull Kentarou back into reality, far away from all of his thoughts and unsaid words, “it’s so late already and I’m rambling like a teenager to you, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t ever be sorry about that, Y/N”, Kyoutani suddenly says and manages to smile up at you, “I’m glad you feel comfortable enough with me to talk to me like this. And thank you for answering my question so honestly”, he continues, yet never once looks away from your face until he watches the way you get up.

He can’t help but let his gaze roam over your curves, the thick flesh of your thighs and the way your shirt is hugging every part of your body just right never fails to leave him lightheaded. A sight he’s always had to admire from afar up until today. He could be less obvious about it, but he’s had to hide it for so long already, at this point he’s just tired.

“Thank you, Kyoutani”, you say and smile at him, “I’ll go get you a blanket and a pillow so you can get comfortable on the couch. I also don’t mind sleeping here if you wanna have some privacy.” All of a sudden, you feel way more nervous than just a few minutes ago and you hate how the feeling of his eyes on your body leaves you completely lightheaded. You’re surprised you’ve even managed to form a proper sentence, let alone offer your room to him.

“The couch is perfect”, Kyoutani says and gets up, coming to stand right in front of you – a lot closer than you could have ever imagined him to be.

“I know I’ve always been quite cold to you, pretty girl”, he suddenly whispers and gently caresses your cheek with the back of his fingers, knocking every bit of air out of your lungs almost brutally, “but I actually enjoy your company a lot. My distance is just a self defense mechanism.”

His sudden explanation leaves you confused and absolutely overwhelmed but does not fail to reassure you just the way you’ve been craving it.

“I – what do you – really?” You’re stumbling over your words like a toddler, your brain just struggling to process whatever is going on and still you manage to feel hope fill the emptiness in your chest after dreaming of moments like this for so long.

“Iwaizumi told me about your worries and how you think I hate you”, Kyoutani calmly continues, reaching for your wrist before he places your hand on his own cheek, “I’ve never hated you. How could I when you’ve been nothing but kind and understanding?”

You’re…shocked.

At least, that’s the only way for you to explain the way his words leave you completely overwhelmed.

Never in a million years did you expect something like this to happen between the two of you; every single one of your daydreams is currently a lot closer to reality than you would have ever dared to imagine and you simply don’t know how to handle it.

“And I promise you, I’m not saying these things because you’re giving me and my family such an amazing opportunity. I’m telling you these things because for the first time I feel…brave enough.”

Kyoutani seems to choose his words carefully, rethinks and reassigns them as he speaks to eliminate any sort of misunderstanding.

You’ve never seen him like this; so hesitant and calm, nervous even. And although it definitely surprises you, you have absolutely no idea what to expect so all you can do is wait for what you’re about to hear next on the other side.

“Say something, Baby”, he suddenly says, his voice is a lot raspier than just a second ago and the way his hot breath fans your skin sends goosebumps over your whole body, “I don’t care what you say, just something – anything.”

“My head is – I’m – I don’t know”, you whisper and subconsciously reach for the fabric of his shirt, gripping it a little tighter than intended, but also not realising how you’ve been pulling him even closer to yourself until you look up at him with needy eyes.

“Fuck, you’re cute”, Kyou replies and closes his eyes, smiling softly before he gently nudges your nose with his, “and so fucking pretty, too. You’re driving me crazy.”

“Please, don’t do this”, you gulp harshly and wait for him to look at you before you continue, “if you’re going to b-break my heart, I can’t – I can’t take it, Kentarou”, you’re aware just how desperate you sound, but the fear of having your dreams destroyed is just too big to consider your pride right now.

“No, no, no. Baby…I’ve wanted this for so long.”

The tension between the two of you is thick and heavy, enough to almost literally cut it in half and for a short moment, you feel your breath hitching in your throat as you struggle to gasp for air.

Your thoughts are rushing through your mind at the highest speed possible, your heart basically hammering against your rib cage and your panties slowly turning into a mess with every single one of his words.

“I’ve never had towels as soft as these! Might wanna show me where you’ve got these from so I can – oh, Goodness! I’m so sorry”, Kyoutani’s mother suddenly exclaims and her sudden appearance manages to have the two of you take two big steps away from each other, leaving some much needed distance inbetween and you feel the tiniest bit of embarrassment washing over your body as you look away from the sweet woman’s face.

“I didn’t mean to walk in on you like this, pardon my manners, my sweet Y/N”, she says and looks at you with apologetic eyes, not even caring a bit about her flustered mess of a son right next to you.

“No, no, it’s okay, Ma’am”, you reply quickly and scratch the back of your neck before you reach for your phone and finally dare to look at Kyoutani, “it’s no problem.”

“You know what? I’m just gonna go back to the room and head to sleep. Goodnight, sweet loves.”, is everything she says and basically speed runs into her shared bedroom with the girls, probably more than just aware of the awkwardness she’s put you in.

“She’s always had amazing timing”, Kyoutani mumbles and rubs his forehead before he scratches the back of his head and looks up at you.

“Did you see how she literally ran away?”, you chuckle and throw your head back, finally getting rid of some of the tension in your bones, especially once Kentarou calmly joins in on your amusement.

“How about we talk about this tomorrow morning, hm? Today was a big day for everyone so I think it's best if we call it a night for now”, all of a sudden you seem a lot more confident than just a few minutes earlier and you have absolutely no idea how to feel about it.

“You’re right, yeah”, is all Kyoutani says before he gets up again and takes another sip from his tea, yet doesn’t leave right away.

“Thank you for everything, pretty girl”, he mumbles and smiles softly, his eyes attentively roaming your features, “sweet dreams.”

Maybe it’s because of the exhaustion rushing through your veins or maybe because everything that has happened in the past few minutes has felt nothing but surreal, but if it wasn’t for the feeling of actual shivers running down your back, you probably wouldn’t have registered the feeling of Kentarou’s soft lips placing the softest kiss on your forehead.

By the time you find yourself lying in the comfort of your bedsheets, your heart is still brutally slamming against your ribcage and you have absolutely no idea how you’re supposed to sleep after a day like this one.

You try your very best to think of something – anything else, but Kyoutani Kentarou and his pretty face and his strong hands and how they might feel roaming your whole body in ways you’ve been craving it oh so badly, yet you seem to lose every single time to those exact thoughts.

The responsible part of your brain is already losing every bit of its patience, since sleep does not seem to be an option at all, despite the busy day you’ve got ahead, whereas your body has been enjoying all the little shivers and rushes of excitement you’ve been dealing with the past hour.

After a while, however, you simply can’t help yourself anymore. Your brain is basically stuffed with lewd images of Kyoutani touching you just how you like it and you’re way too tired to give it another thought.

The urge to just reach for your cute little toy and make yourself cum a couple of times to shut your brain out has your fingertips tingling in the best way possible, yet the possibility of someone hearing your silent noises of pleasure easily balances it out.

“Fucking…Kyoutani”, you mumble to yourself and let out a sigh of frustration, unable to control yourself any longer.

The decision might not be your best, but it’s definitely the one you prefer over staying up all night and basically torturing yourself in another way.

At this point, the way your hand finds its way into your panties is almost mechanical. Endless nights spent by yourself, taking care of your needs and your arousal in ways no man has ever managed to do.

You’re quick to bury your face in your pillow to muffle the desperate whimper you let out as soon as your fingers find your needy clit; the little bundle of nerves already swollen and way too sensitive from how worked up you’ve been all day.

As the memories of Kyoutani’s scent and the feeling of his soft lips on your skin fill your head, you start drawing firm circles into your clit, sighing every single time the motion sends a sweet sensation through your veins as you get closer and closer to your relief.

Maybe it’s the way arousal has already clouded your brain in the best way possible or maybe it’s the fact that you’re too close to pay attention to your surroundings but the second your door slowly opens, your heart basically drops to the pit of your stomach.

“Y/N?”, Kyoutani’s soft voice fills the empty space of your room in an instant and you can’t help but whimper as you quickly pull your hand out of your drenched panties, hoping he’s not aware what you’re up to.

“Yes–”, your response comes exactly a heartbeat later and you hate how tiny your voice is.

“Can I come in?”

Kentarou seems hesitant yet determined and something in the way his pretty eyes are hooked and way darker than an hour ago has your cunt clenching like crazy.

As soon as you start nodding, Kyoutani walks past your doorstep, closing and locking the door behind him, something you should have done, before he comes to stand next to you. His eyes are roaming your body, basically devouring you alive and leaving you breathless.

Nobody has ever looked at you like this.

And the fact it’s Kyoutani kentarou, of all people, just pushes you even closer to the limits of your sanity.

“Why didn’t you ask me?”, he whispers and kneels down next to your bed to be on eye level with you, making the whole situation a tad bit less awkward and as soon as you look at him, you feel your body loosening up.

“What..are you talking about, Kyoutani?”, you try your very best to stay composed but everything is overwhelming you right now and you have absolutely no idea what to think or how to feel.

“Why did you go and touch yourself when you could have just asked me instead?”

And with this one he finally manages to leave you completely speechless.

You stare at him with big eyes and your mouth open, your cunt reacting before the rest of your body has a chance and you hate yourself for being so weak in front of him.

“I don’t know what you’re–”, “Don’t lie to me, Baby”, he’s quick to interrupt you, gets on his feet again and wordlessly asks you to sit up as he reaches for your arm, “I’ve been watching you for so long, I know exactly how your body reacts when you’re getting needy. The sound of your voice changes and then your eyes…those God damn eyes of yours are the only reason for my sleepless nights.”

You’re listening to every single word he says without averting your gaze from his perfect face even once and with every single word your cunt starts clenching even harder.

Of course his sudden interest is surprising to you but you can’t hide just how much you enjoy it and if it wasn’t for the way he was gently caressing your arm, you would have thought of this as a dream.

“Do you really think, I don’t notice the way you press your thighs together whenever you stare at me for a little too long, hm?”

You know he’s teasing you, you know he’s enjoying the way you’re squirming underneath his strong gaze and you know – he won’t stop any time soon, yet as soon as your brain has processed his words, you let out the softest whimper.

“Now, now, cat got your tongue, Baby?” A soft chuckle follows his words and you feel your chest warming up at the sound, easily ignoring the situation you’re in.

You just can’t seem to focus, your brain finally shutting down, only for your body to take over and you are not quite sure if you like it as much as you expected to.

“Kenta…”, you finally manage to whisper, his first name feeling foreign on your tongue as you’ve gotten so used to being as formal with him as possible.

You’re hesitant, your voice is still tiny and a lot hoarser than just a few minutes ago, yet as soon as Kyoutani throws his head back with a moan that’s way too loud for this time of the night, you finally feel yourself letting go of every worry and doubt.

“There you go, that’s my good girl”, he’s quick to praise you for basically nothing, probably more than aware just how worked up he’s getting you.

“Tell me what you want, Baby. I promise I’m gonna do whatever it is. This is all about you.”

His offer sounds dreamy; something you’ve never heard before, something you’ve only had the courage to daydream about because asking for anything in your previous relationships felt uncomfortable.

You don’t even know why. Your ex boyfriends weren’t the best nor the worst lovers and now that you think back to it, you could have easily asked for what you want but your lack of self confidence made it difficult for you to think of yourself.

“Are you sure?”, you whisper, a wave of uncertainty hitting you the moment you think about your physical appearance. You subconsciously start pulling down your oversized shirt, trying your best to hide your big thighs and arms, way too scared of Kyoutani being disgusted by the sight of you.

“Stop that”, Kenta’s voice cuts through the tension in the air like a sharp knife and you can’t help but gasp, “of course I’m sure, Baby.”

A beat of silence follows his interruption before he places two of his tattoo clad fingers underneath your chin to push your head up and finally meet your gaze.

“I’ve wanted this – you for so long and I’m not just saying this to make you feel better. You’re perfect to me and I’m determined to show you. However, I’m not gonna do anything you don’t want me to. We can just kiss, cuddle or sleep next to each other. For fuck’s sake, we can just hold hands all night if that’s what you want. I want to…give you everything those little Losers couldn’t and I’m willing to wait for as long as you want me to. Got it, pretty girl?”

His words of reassurance leave you…flabbergasted.

There’s absolutely no other word to describe the way his sweet little speech has made you feel and after years of wishing for something like this – someone like him, you can’t help but get high on the addictive feeling of being wanted and desired.

“I want you, Kenta”, you reply softly, reaching for his face and gently placing your hand on his cheek, “I need you.”

And that’s exactly what he’s been waiting for.

Without missing another beat, he pushes your blanket away, revealing your pretty legs to his hungry eyes, a soft grunt escaping his throat the moment he realises you’ve gotten rid of your shorts from earlier.

“You’re so fucking hot”, he whispers and takes in the sight of your body, “please tell me what you want me to do to you or I’m gonna lose my mind.”

Kyoutani reaches for your inner thighs, pushing his hand in between your legs and gently groping the soft flesh, kneading it and never once looking away from your face to make sure he can watch the way you melt for him even further.

“I want you to eat me out, Kenta”, this time you sound nothing but needy, something he’s wanted to hear for as long as he’s known you, “I want you to be the first one to make me cum like that.”

Kyoutani’s eyes physically perk up at your request and just when you’re about to regret what you said, he starts nodding as if it took him a good minute to process your words and yet again you find yourself surprised at his intense reaction to…you.

“Why don’t you be a good girl and sit on my face, hm? I’ve been thinking about this for God knows how long”, he confesses right after gently asking you for something you never thought you’d ever get asked in your lifetime.

Which is probably why you stare at him with big, almost fearful eyes.

“No, you’re not too big and to be honest I absolutely don’t give a fuck about it anyway, I just want you to cum all over my face”, he’s quick to reassure you yet again and this time you finally push yourself to just stop worrying and nod in response to his sweet words.

Kenta’s pretty lips stretch into the sweetest smile, deep dimples appearing on each side and you feel yourself falling for him all over again.

“I’m gonna take my shirt off, okay? If you don’t feel comfortable, you don’t have to do it, Baby, I just want to make you feel good.” As he speaks, his hands find the hem of his shirt before he pulls it over his head and finally reveals his toned, tattoo covered torso to your needy eyes.

“Please”, is the only thing you can get out before you sit up on your knees and place both of your hands flat against his strong chest, gulping harshly at the feeling of his rapid heartbeat underneath your palm.

“Open your mouth, angel”, he whispers after waiting a few seconds to give you your time, “be a good girl for me, yeah?”

You have absolutely no idea what he wants to do, your head spinning way too fast from all the arousal and adrenaline rushing through your veins, yet your body reacts to his words before you can realise it.

Kyoutani nods appreciatively as you part your soft lips and look at him with curious eyes, knocking the breath out of his lungs with just one single stare.

And as you try your best not to whimper when he pushes his hand into your panties, easily finding your cute little clit and applying just the right amount of pressure, Kyoutani puckers his lips and lets a thick drop of his spit fall onto the back of your tongue.

The feeling of his saliva slowly coating the hot muscle in your mouth has your cunt clenching even harder and you can’t help but thrust your hips into his grip even further.

“Look at how needy my little princess is”, Kyoutani teases and runs his strong fingers up and down your drenched slit, “you’ve made a mess of your panties, Baby. What a good girl you are.”

All you can do is listen and nod, your mouth still wide open, his spit sits on your tongue as your body waits for any sort of command from the lead singer in front of you.

“Swallow.”

With the word falling past his lips, Kyou wraps his hand around your throat and growls as soon as he feels the way you swallow every bit of his spit just like that.

Before you can think another thought, he pulls you into a needy kiss, pushing you even deeper into the haze of your arousal as he pushes his tongue into your mouth and gives you exactly what you’ve been craving for so, so long

You shamelessly moan into his mouth, barely able to keep up with his fast pace from how much your head is spinning yet with every single kiss you feel your body getting hotter.

“That’s my good girl. Now, if you keep doing so well for me, I’m gonna give you my cock, too. You want that, don’t you?”, Kyoutani nods along with you, his soft lips pouting slightly as he takes a step back and looks at you.

The two of you switch places, whereas you struggle to stay still from how bad your legs are already shaking as you take off your ruined panties, but as soon as Kentarou places his head on your soft pillow, you crawl back onto the bed, loving the way his hand never once stops touching any part of your body.

After taking another breath of courage, you sit yourself up and finally spread your legs over his perfect face, feeling a wave of embarrassment wash over you once you realise just how wet you are.

“Look at this perfect cunt”, but with just a few words, Kyoutani wipes away all your doubts.

"Fuck", you whimper as soon as Kenta’s hot breath meets your hot flesh, his face so incredibly close to your cunt, it you simply can’t help but whimper.

“Look at my sweet, sweet girl", he whispers and slowly collects your arousal ok his pretty fingers before he pushes them into his mouth with his powerful gaze focused on your face, “mhm..just as sweet as I thought", he adds with a little smile.

Your fingers instantly wrap around the headboard of your bed the second his digits find your sensitive clit. Kyoutani doesn't even give you the time to get used to the feeling of his fingers against your flesh as he licks a long stripe over your drenched pussy. You throw your head back almost brutally, your hips moving against his skilled tongue the second he starts thrusting the muscle inside of your sensitive hole.

Kyoutani eats you out like a man starved, loud slurping noises, deep grunts and heavy moans as well as your high pitched whines and the pathetic attempts of saying his name being the only noises to fill the silence of your room.

Your hips seem to have a life of their own as they grind against his mouth in hopes of reaching your oh so desperately needed high. You feel yourself getting closer and closer, your orgasm so close you can literally taste it on the tip of your tongue and when he decides to insert two of his strong fingers, you know you're going to stumble over the edge head first.

Your cunt starts spasming around his digits every time Kenta grunts against you. As your moans get louder, your whimpers a lot needier and the grip on the headboard tighter, you slap a hand of yours over your mouth to muffle your noises.

You look down between your legs, his beautiful eyes focused on you and just as your lids are about to flutter shut, Kyoutani lifts your hips away from his mouth, leaving you high and dry just like that.

A loud whimper leaves your lips, your heart thrumming in your throat with your cunt clenching around nothing, the sudden ache in combination with the frustration literally sending tears into your eyes.

You press your thighs together with quiet sobs, "w-why?", you ask him with your voice dripping in arousal and just as you're about to bury your face in your arm to silence yourself, Kenta grabs your waist again, and pulls you onto his naked lap, his hard erection laying flat against his toned stomach; precum already staining the tanned skin of his stomach.

“I'm sorry, Baby", Kyoutani says and caresses your sides softly, "I need to be inside of you, pretty girl", he whispers and gently moves your hips to rub your cunt against his sensitive tip.

As soon as you feel his pulsing cock against your sensitive flesh, you bury your face in his neck and try your best to muffle your high pitched moans.

It’s then that Kyoutani sits up with you in his arms before he takes your face into his big hands and finally pulls you into a needy kiss before he places a soft one on your forehead and then pushes you on the other side of your bed.

“Gotta make sure you stay quiet, Baby”, he whispers right into your ear and moving his hips in between your spread legs and gently slapping his cock against your cunt. You can tell how much he’s holding himself back from the thin layer of sweat covering his skin and his strong grip on your waist.

Your brain is so clouded by your arousal, you barely register his words, only remembering that he had said something when he suddenly pulls away and comes to sit on his knees with his pretty fingers firmly wrapped around his cock.

“You’re – big”, you whisper and stare up at him, subconsciously pushing your shirt up and groping your tits as the arousal completely overwhelms you. With anybody else, you would have never done something so lewd and brave but with Kentarou, everything just feels natural.

“I know, Baby”, he responds and teases your sopping wet hole with his leaking tip, looking up at you with flushed cheeks and needy eyes, “I haven’t been with anybody in months, I promise. Please tell me you’re on the pill.”

“Yes, yes, I am – please just fuck me already”, your words are basically slurred and rushed, not an ounce of composure left as you look at him.

Kyoutani is quick to spit on your drenched cunt, his hot saliva slowly dripping down your folds before he aligns himself up with your clenching hole, yet only pushes the tip in.

“Kenta”, you start whining way too loud, not even realising and caring even less, just wanting to feel what you’ve been dreaming about for literal years.

Kyoutani however just takes a deep breath, obviously trying his very best to calm himself down and not just ram the whole of his length inside of you because he knows how careful he has to be.

It doesn’t take him too long to regain his composure and place his big hand over your mouth after bending down to be as close to your face as possible.

“Look at, princess”, he whispers and gives you another forehead kiss, slowly pushing his cock a tad bit deeper inside of you and without even realising, your eyes roll into the back of your head, “come on, Baby, look at your boy, hm? Be good for me, look in my eyes when you take my cock.”

How could you ever deny him a request as sweet as this one?

Without missing another beat, your gaze meets his and just when you’re about to whimper from how soft the moment feels, Kyoutani thrusts his hips in just the right way, pushing almost his whole length into your sensitive cunt.

No matter how good you’ve made yourself feel before this, nothing comes even close to the feeling of his tip grazing your sensitive walls, leaving a trail of precum inside of you and pushing you closer to the edge every time he twitches in response to your body’s reactions.

A row of muffled moans and grunts fills the silence in your room and you both try to take in the overwhelming feeling of being as close as never before, something you would have never imagined to become reality, which is probably why you feel yourself growing slightly lightheaded.

“Good girl”, Kyoutani growls softly, bottoming out inside of you and letting out a guttural moan at the feeling of his tip grazing the entrance to your womb.

"Fuck, you're so fucking tight", he hisses through gritted teeth, giving you the time to adjust to his impressive size, your breaths hitching in your throat because of the amount of pleasure rushing through your veins.

“That’s my good little slut, you’re taking my cock so well, Baby. I’m so proud of you”, Kyoutani mumbles against your cheeks before he starts slowly moving his hips.

“More, Kenta, I want – ngh, fuck – need more", you whine and scratch your nails over the skin of his broad back when his movements start picking up pace.

His long and sensually slow strokes against the sensitive walls of your cunt give you a hard time focusing on anything else but him and his cock.

Kyou hums in satisfaction at your words, his thrusts even deeper than just a second prior and the way he pulls all the way out only to thrust into you with full force leaves you dizzy.

Your mouth falls open as his harsh pounding elicits loud (yet still muffled) whimpers from you with every single thrust and at this point, you’re way too far gone to realise how loud you’re being.

Kyou fucks you just how you needed it: edging you multiple times as he brings you close to your orgasm, only to pull away when you're about to let go.

Your cunt firmly clenched around his thick cock like a god damn vice, your whole body on fire with sweat dripping down your temples and your own drool coating your chin because of your inability to close your mouth.

"P-Please, Kenta", you whimper with a tiny voice the second he lifts his hand from your mouth,the taste of your orgasm coating your tongue because of how close you are.

“You've been so good for me, Baby, so fucking good. Cum for me, show me how good I can make you feel", he orders and with the words leaving his beautiful lips, you finally stumble over the edge head first.

Waves of pleasure overwhelm your whole body, your sight turning blurry for a solid second as the intensity of your orgasm has you choking on your own breath.

You feel Kyou’s hungry gazes on you as he helps you ride out your orgasm. You take a deep breath after finally calming down again, your fingers finding his cheek before you look him in the eyes. A choked out moan leaves his lips before he buries his face in the crook of your neck, his hips stuttering as you apply pressure,

"Fuck, I’m cumming", Kyoutani whispers, his voice is strained because of his heavy breathing and you can tell by his sloppy thrusts and soft whines he's about to reach his high.

“Do it, Kenta, need you to fill me up", you whisper into his open mouth, your lips connecting as you start swallowing his beautiful noises and with one last thrust, Kyou’s whole body tenses up before he cums inside of you, painting your cunt in the prettiest shades of white with the thick spurts.

Kyoutani throws his head back with a sharp inhale once he’s pulled out before his gaze shifts back between your legs and attentively observes the way his orgasm dribbles out of your tight cunt with his eyes gleaming in excitement.

You have absolutely no idea when or how you fall asleep, convinced Kyoutani has fucked you into the deepest sleep you’ve ever experienced. What you do know is the fact that Kyoutani was calmly sleeping next to you, just to wake up to him being long gone.

You try not to worry too much about it, knowing how busy he is at the moment and calming yourself down with a shower and some fresh clothes.

“Good morning, Ma’am”, you say and wave at the girls before you turn to their mother, smiling gently at her as you hope she slept through everything that had happened last night.

“Good morning, sweetness”, she smiles back and hands you a cup of coffee, “Tani’s left already. He told me he’s going to stay at Yuuji’s tonight so we won’t have to wait for him, I thought I’d let you know.”

And as she continues with her breakfast, you feel your heart sink into your stomach in the worst way possible when you manage to process her words.

What a fucking bastard.

die french

why must we network. isn't my kindness and willingness to try to be better everyday enough?

Synopsis: Post-Shibuya Nanami x Classical Dancer Desi Reader

In the aftermath of Shibuya, an injured Nanami struggles to balance his eroding self-worth with his desire to conduct his duty as a sorcerer. He finds healing in the fragrant garden of your dance.

Genres: Romance, angst, suspense.

Content warnings: depictions of low self-esteem, dealing with trauma, erotic and sexual content.

Thanks to @tsukimefuku for reading and editing this piece that is so precious to me. 🧡💜

Please refer to the glossary for the meaning of certain terms used. 🧡

(I)

Pushpanjali: an offering

"Tha ka dhi mi, tha ka dhi mi, tha ka ... "

It is a chant that spans centuries, leaping from the high-ceilinged, airy chambers of a land and time long past, to here, and now. It winds between the gently rippling silk scarves that adorn the walls, a drumbeat like the slow collapse of ancient kingdoms under the steady tramp of cavalry.

Time seems to pass at a stagnant pace in here, in this place where your domain has taken root and unfurled, a red, red bloom in the heart and hand of a painted god.

Feet slide and strike against the worn wooden floor, precise and weighted, as you perform the basic stance before your pupils, watching faces tight with the concentration of the inexperienced.

"Tha ka dhi mi, tha ka dhi mi ... "

Your voice guides them, as does your form, an arm straightening here and a pair of knees bending further as they watch you. The twist of your lower back, the stretch of your arms in a line to some point behind you, the rejoining of your fingers in katakamukha, the arch kept between chin and the line of your shoulder, all shifting in a single fluid movement that requires no thought.

Incense snakes through the air, close to the glass double doors, the heady scent of sandalwood gathering in tendrils there, where the gentle push of the breeze cannot dissipate it. It is through this fine mist that you see him, for the first time, standing just outside the doors in the narrow passageway.

Shoko had informed you of his arrival, of course. She had warned you about his physical condition, about the nature of his grievous injuries. It wouldn't be the first time she'd made use of your services to assist in the rehabilitation of wounded sorcerers.

Your eyes meet his, through the shifting coils of fragrant smoke from the brazier, and you see, in a single, fractured moment, why he is here. He has been sent here for a form of healing, but his gaze is not soft and receptive. It is shuttered, its passion muted and closeted away, defences piled so high they might as well be weapons. He scans the dance hall with the kind of predatory clarity that long, long years of being a sorcerer would bring.

You excuse yourself and step outside, the open door allowing the scent of the incense and the soft evening air to filter out into the hallway. Behind you, the silk scarves flutter gently in the draught.

He is a tall man, poised and elegant. He wears the jacket and comfortable, warm trousers in a way that speaks of someone more accustomed to formal wear. As soon as you enter the hall, he bows with deep formality, and the mellow resonance of his voice seeps into the narrow space like honey spilled across the floorboards.

"Nanami Kento. I was referred here by - "

"Shoko. Yes. I've been expecting you."

You return his bow and introduction, aware of his scrutiny travelling the length of your spine. You can sense that he is picking you apart in his mind, fitting together the components to try to build a coherent whole.

Close-up, the severity of his burns are evident. A layer of darkened scar tissue covers the left side of his face and scalp, running down his neck and further, where your eyes cannot follow. The left eye, according to Shoko, had been unrecoverable, now shielded with a soft, surgical patch. The damage to his arm had been even worse, as it seemed he'd used it to shield himself. A fuzzy growth of pale hair had started along the scorched skin of his scalp, a sign that even now, his body was knitting itself slowly back together.

Your eyes travel over his sharp-edged countenance, and he stares back, unphased. You make a rapid mental list, a trickle of first impressions that will later build to a torrent.

Stength, and plenty of it. A deathly, well-controlled calm that permeates his living flesh, skin over smooth stone. The martial bearing and powerful arms and shoulders, even scorched as they are, speak of the force he must have presented on the battlefield.

He assesses you in return, and you tilt your head as the dim sunlight filtering into the corridor catches his eye, turning the honeyed brown of their depths to a moss-flecked river bed, steady and cool.

Beautiful.

That is your first impression of him.

(II)

Alarippu: the flowering

Recovery.

Kento has heard a dozen variations of that word by now, couched in the language of choice. 

The road to recovery. 

Recovering your mobility. 

Getting your old self back. 

A return to routine.

He is aware, by now, that any such full repair of the damage that has been done to him is a castle in the air, one he cannot summon the lightness of spirit to ascend to. Positivity had never really been his hallmark. Now, even less so.

The world had shifted around him while he was asleep, you see. Comrades had fallen. The new generation had triumphed. The very fabric of Jujutsu society had been rewoven, the dawning of a new age embroidered for all to see across the hard-won horizon.

The sacrifices he'd made were but a few of many. They'd hardly mattered, in the larger scheme of things. Many had given their lives. What had he offered up?

The ability to walk without aid, for one. Also, most of the skin on the left side of his body. Basic movements, things that had once been second nature to him, were now carefully calculated because of the pain.

The lunge of an arm through a coat sleeve when he was in a rush. The brisk pace he'd maintained to keep his body temperature up in cold weather. The sensation of a soft cashmere scarf against his cheek, or the brush of an aerated cotton shirt against his skin in summer. The cascade of hot water on tired muscles, after a long afternoon swinging diligently at cursed spirits. All muted, fuzzy, lost.

And what else?

Kento had never been soft with himself. People often thought that sentiment never clouded his cool judgment, allowing him to make objective and sensible decisions. While that was largely true, it flew wide of the mark in terms of what really pushed him, what gave him direction. It was ironic, as he'd speculated later, that his mortal enemy had been the one to identify what many of his comrades hadn't.

Mahito, in that light, youthful, jubilant voice, declaring how he'd seen Kento's soul quivering. And he was not wrong.

Kento was a man driven by a quiet, desolate desperation, a desire to fill an empty space that yawned endlessly within his soul, a black hole with an insatiable appetite. Emotion was as vital to his function as breathing. It drove him out of bed everyday, into the office, into the boardroom, into the bakery, back to jujutsu tech, into rain, snow, sun and wind, into the face of his darkest imaginings.

He watches traffic from the window of his room at the private clinic, pedestrians going about their lives, people chatting on precariously held phones, children dancing through a world of make-belief, people on lunch break. People with purpose, a certainty of their place in the world. What could he offer, in this world of colour, sound, movement and shadow, this world that threatened to leave him behind?

Kento had paid the price, and would do it again, and again, and again, in every known reality, if it meant maintaining the stability he saw outside his window.

(But if that was the case, why was the darkness inside him more ravenous than ever?)

********

Shoko comes to see him most frequently, even with her workload at the Tech. She can't really help it. Nanami is her last remaining bridge to the past, as selfish as that makes her seem. She doesn't care much, not anymore. She'll take what she can get.

A tenuous bridge, is Nanami.

Shoko is accustomed to seeing the damage that can be done to a body by the uncontrolled hatred of a curse, or the more conscious destruction of a cursed technique. She has seen it all, performed the most grotesque procedures on the corpses of those she loved. But something about seeing Nanami's injuries, seeing him like this, is more jarring than any of those horrors.

Her technique has allowed his skin to heal, the raw flesh, exposed tendon and muscle beneath now covered by the new epidermal growth she has stimulated.  The chances of oedema and infection are also minimal, considering her precautions. All that was left now was his slow physical conditioning and therapy.

(If only that were all.)

If Itadori, Kugisaki, Fushiguro and Ijichi had their way, Nanami would never know a moment of solitude. They wanted constant updates on his condition, to bring him his favourite foods, to talk, weep, mourn and rejoice with him. She allowed them to see him, every other day, but drew a firm line, citing his recovery as priority. She didn't have the heart to tell them that every gentle glance, every proud smile, every glimpse of the old Nanami they received came at a great cost.

Standing in the doorway of his room now, she could see it. Or rather, the lack of it. That vitality, that pain from which he drew his vigour, the firm lines of his back and shoulder that reminded her of an implacable bulwark against the raging of the cursed world, all absent. When he didn't think anyone was looking, that is.

Stepping into the room, she offers a slight nod as the door slides shut behind her. The change is immediate. He straightens, the corners of his eyes regaining their sharp edge, the set of his mouth firm and familiar.

"Shoko."

"Nanami. Ready to talk about physical therapy?"

She gets straight into it, knowing that he wouldn't want it any other way.

"I'd like that very much. When can I begin?"

His words are still slightly muffled, the burnt edge of his lips stiff with a new layer of scar tissue.

Nanami had never been a vain man. He had always been in possession of striking features, and had taken care of his appearance, but in a way that was more attuned to practicality; if he was neat, well-presented and unremarkable, Nanami considered this a success.

It was why he had been able to look in a mirror with such equanimity for the first time after his treatment. All she had seen was a slight tightening at the corners of his mouth, a slow nod, a brief look of exhaustion and resignation as to this new set of scars.

The loss of his left eye and the damage to the arm on the same side had been the worst of it. There, she'd done everything in her power to restore the lost tissue, but Nanami would never regain his eye, or the full range of motion with that limb. There was, however, the soft growth of new hair on his scalp, a promising sign that elsewhere, her rejuvenation of the underlying tissue layers had somewhat succeeded.

Shoko doesn't reply to his query just yet. She approaches the bed, and he sits up, unlacing the front of his hospital gown, accustomed to the routine by now. She place her palms a few inches from his skin, closing her eyes as she maps him out, bone, muscle, blood and water, the minute synapses where impulses leap in a frantic race, the steady beat of his heart.

Inhaling deeply, she steps away.

"The sooner you begin, the better. I know you've been walking a lot. That alone won't help in the long term."

There is a hint of reproach in her voice. Nanami, displaying his singularly stubborn streak, had been discovered out of bed on more than one occasion, standing by the windows, staring into space in a way that made her worried.

He gives a wry, crooked smile.

"What do you recommend?"

Shoko places the file she'd carried along carefully on his lap.

"There's a family with a specific cursed technique I've corresponded with before. Sent some of my patients to them. They specialize in therapeutics."

Nanami is watching her closely, taking note of the way she focuses on the view out the window.

"And you're sending me to them?"

"They aren't local. The main clan is located in India. Scattered at various locations in the Tamil Nadu province. One of their members moved here, some years back, to conduct research on the compatibility of their techniques with ours. It wasn't a success, for various reasons, but he stayed, with his family."

"So it's a hereditary technique?"

"In a way. It manifests with varying degrees of efficacy. I'd simply like ... for you to meet with their representative."

She returns his gaze, and when she speaks again, he understands why she has been so hesitant.

"It's not just physical therapy, Nanami. We can achieve that pretty well here. Their methods go ... deeper than that. I can mend physical wounds. They might be able to help you heal in other ways."

He doesn't agree to it immediately, looking through the list of exercises that came after the therapy recommendation letter. One eyebrow lifts slightly in a comfortingly familiar query.

"You want me to do yoga too?"

"Gojo's idea. He added it to the list before he - "

She stops abruptly, one hand finding purchase on Nanami's ankle, squeezing lightly on it where it rests beside her, under the blankets.

"Anyway. He said he wanted to make video edits of you with your ass in the air. Said it would be good to bring you down to earth a little."

Her chuckle doesn't sound hollow any longer. She can talk about her friend (yes, he was that too) without that tell-tale catch of agony in her chest. Nanami sighs before opening up the file, his good hand leafing through the printed pages.

"I suppose ... I could humour him. This once."

(III) 

Shabdam: The Word

In a month's time, with Shoko's regular treatment, Nanami is in good enough condition to leave the clinic. He still makes use of a walking stick, especially for longer distances and steeper flights of stairs. Ijichi makes sure he is permanently on call, for the occasions when Nanami simply needs to get out of the sterile halls of the clinic, the rapid intake of the world outside enough to sustain him.

Nanami has, for the most part, been following Shoko's regimen religiously, adding his own variations without her knowledge. In this way, his strength and endurance steadily build up to a point where he is ready to be discharged (with daily check-ins, of course).

Nanami keeps the file that Shoko had handed over, but every time he spies it out of the corner of his eye, he occupies himself with something else, procrastinating in a way that is wholly unlike him. Eventually, his own conscience prevents him from delaying further. He is entirely skeptical that anyone can truly help him. He has felt that way since Haibara died, but even he can admit that there's no harm in trying.

He finds the address given with little issue, and Ijichi is more than willing to take him there. The place is nondescript, no signage giving any indication of the activities that take place there. There is an wood-panelled foyer, a colonial style spiral staircase leading to the upper floors. The stairs themselves have been worn smooth by many generations of feet.

Nanami is half an hour early, anticipating some kind of registration process, or introductions, as there had been in martial arts dojos he had frequented. There is nothing of the kind. He finds himself in a corridor, flanked by two pairs of glass double doors. In one of the rooms, a wide open space with a wooden floor and a view over the city, he sees some kind of class in session.

Approaching slowly, he hears it. The rhythmic thump and shuffle of feet, the feminine voice that called out a pattern that he's never heard before, but seems familiar all the same. The glass doors give him a clear view of the room, of the five occupants (a small class, then) who were engaged in some kind of dance practice, and the instructor, up front.

He pauses, body coming to a complete and rare standstill. He watches as she moves through a repetitive step, in time with the beat she calls out, firm, musical, lilting. The grace of movement, the low centre of gravity, the rigidity of the lower body in contrast with the flow of the upper, arrests his vision.

The disciplined line of her throat turns, and she is facing the door, facing him, hands brought together in a signature pose. Long lashed eyes, observant, catching and holding his glance. For a moment, he feels the desire to back away from the door, to hurry out into the street, a return to his comfortable routine. He stands his ground, as always.

He watches as she approaches the door.

********

Once your introductions have been dispensed with, you gesture to Nanami to follow you into the smaller room you use for individual therapy. His gaze lingers on the class that continues, even in your absence.

The same silk scarves ripple gently along the walls of the room next door, orange, grey, red and green. The rug is old, but rich and plush. There are two chairs, comfortable and supportive, their orange upholstery lined with faded gold thread, and an urn on a stand nearby, on the boil in readiness to prepare chai.

You pour him a cup now, the fragrant liquid a rich, caramel brown in the small glass, eyeing his expression through the steam.

There. Immediate interest. A man with a varied palate, considering the way he accepts the tea with polite deference, but takes an appreciative sniff before sipping deeply.  The way his shoulders relax slightly afterwards has the corner of your mouth tipping up.

"So, Nanami. Shoko told me that you're here for our specific line of therapeutics."

He puts the cup down with a decisive motion.

"Yes. She told me a little about the effects of your technique."

"Did she explain what exactly it involves?"

He pauses, gaze traveling to the students in the dance hall next door who were now stretching and rounding up their practice.

"I assume it has ... something to do with that?"

You set your own cup down and clap your palms together.

"Well observed. It has everything to do with dance. Bharatanatyam, to be exact."

He raises an eyebrow, and you explain obligingly.

"Where I'm from, Bharatanatyam is one of many classic dance forms. The practice itself goes back centuries. My family's technique is rooted in the principles of the dance itself."

Nanami cleared his throat.

"I'm afraid ... I'm not a good dancer."

Your laughter comes easily.

"That's what they all say, in the beginning. But don't worry. You won't have to do anything strenuous, nor am I going to make you prance around in a dhoti."

"You have my thanks, I suppose."

"We will do plenty of physical conditioning, but you will also be my audience. My technique requires that you are ... receptive and open to answering the things that I ask."

Here, the easy flow of conversation stills a little, and the tea swirls gently through the motion of his dexterous fingers. He does reply, eventually, softer than before.

"I chose to come here. I think that speaks for itself. I will accept whatever your technique can do for me."

The non-committal nature of his reply does not escape you. You nod, understanding that this is the best you'll get from him, for now.

"Hmm. I think it's best that I demonstrate. That always works better than sitting here and explaining."

You stand and gesture for him to do the same, observing his movements carefully.

There. The burned side of his body has slower movements, as expected. He still displays agility and grace, despite the stiffness and pain he must feel. You approach and stand directly in front of him.

"Nanami, I'm going to lay my hand here, on your abdomen. Please tell me if this is fine."

He nods, but his body is now taut, anticipatory. This close, you can smell the surgical cleaning fluid that he must still use when changing dressings, the scent of the clinic still clinging to his clothes and hair. Beneath it, something warm, vital, pleasant. The scent of him. His hair falls over one brow, unhindered, and he impatiently pushes it back. Judging from the length, he must like it shorter than it currently is.

"Please try to relax."

Your hand presses against the firm planes of his stomach, centering around his navel. He is shockingly solid, vitality surging under your fingers. And something else. You frown, but keep your hand in place. After a few minutes, your fingers begin to move. You start to tap out a gentle rhythm against his skin, tentative, repetitive.

You keep this up for a while, eyes shut tightly, focused. When you eventually look up at him, he is watching you with close attention. You know what he sees, that he is following the currents of cursed energy that swarm around your body, fluttering and pulsing in accordance to the pattern you've been tapping out.

This part is crucial. The manner with which you approach this will determine his response, and you can feel his resistance to an invasion of this kind, how he could shut himself off from you, the giant ribcage of self-preservation sealing to the sternum, forever shielding his heart.

You step back and take your seat again, and he pauses before doing the same. He leans forward, elbows on knees, watchful. This man doesn't miss a thing.

"Your diagnosis?"

He had a lot of cheek too.

"There is no diagnosis. Not in the sense you're thinking."

"So, what was the purpose of ... that?"

"It allows me to plan my dance. For next time."

"Your dance?"

You reach for your glass, take a quick sip of the cooling liquid.

"In plain terms, my technique is called Arangetram. It's named after the dance recital performed by a bharatanatyam student after many years of perfection of their art. The recital takes place in stages, and each stage reveals more of their dedication, their skill and their unique talent."

Your palms, placed together, draw apart and Nanami's gaze falls between them.

"It's an unfolding. A gradual one. My technique enables me to read deeper into the patterns of your own energy, gently peeling apart each layer in stages, until we reach the crux of the issue. The wound to your Atman. Your true, and eternal self. With my guidance, and your cooperation, we can possibly help heal that."

As you speak, Nanami's gaze falls to his glass, the bitter dregs collecting at the base. He stands abruptly, and turns away from you, facing the window. You remain still, waiting.

When he speaks, there is something in his voice that makes you wince slightly. So much heaviness. So much despair. The weight of it must be crushing.

"That sounds ... familiar. Before I was saved by another young sorcerer, someone I helped mentor, I ran into a curse that could have ended my life for good. I'd met him before, you see, but he escaped me at that time. His technique ... wounds the soul. Our perception of ourselves."

You take in a sharp breath. What Nanami was describing was a form of cursed technique in direct opposition to your own. Nanami continues, eyes fixed on the steady stream of cars that pass by below.

"Are you telling me that you can heal that kind of damage completely?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Because damage to the soul requires accurate perception, but a callous disregard for any and all forms of life. Destruction is part of universal balance, but to actively go about it, without any consideration for what you will create, is ... inhuman."

You stand, wanting to meet his eyes when he turns to face you again.

"Healing the soul is nothing like this. Nor can it be done in the same way for every person. But Nanami, here's the question I want to ask most right now. Why, even now, are you thinking about all the victims of this curse? Why, since you've heard the nature of my technique, have you never once thought about how it could actually help you?"

This demand is what it takes for him to finally tear his gaze away from that window, mouth opening in protest, but your silencing finger is up. You're not touching his lips, not quite, but close. His warm breath ghosts over your finger.

"Dont answer that question now. Answer it tomorrow, after you watch me dance."

(IV) 

Jathiswaram: Purity of dance

He is early the next day, and you can sense that this will be a pattern. A seasoned sorcerer, through and through, gaining intel on the lie of the land. He is dressed with casual elegance once again, this time in a soft sweater and old jeans.

You guide him through a series of stretches and stances, eyes following his movements. As hard as Nanami is to read, you can tell, from the softening of the lines at the corners of his eyes that these exercises give him relief.

He is also unlike any other pupil you've ever encountered. There is something about having that keen gaze trace every line your body forms with such close attentiveness, the lithe mimicking of each pose, the easing of the stiff line of his mouth when he gets something right, and is aware of it.

It is like practicing yoga alongside a panther, one that won't harm you, but with every stray connection of the eyes, you are aware of just what it is physically capable of. It is both thrilling and strange; new.

When the first short session is over, and he seems slightly more at ease, you serve him tea once again.

"Take a few minutes. Relax. You'll wait in here until I call you into the hall next door."

"What would you have me do?"

"There will be a cushion on the floor. You're going to sit cross legged, as comfortable as you can get. Arms relaxed, hands resting on your knees. Then, you watch."

"A performance of some kind?"

"Yes. To be more specific, you're going to be inside my domain."

This was the one detail he seemed most hesitant about. You wait, in silence, giving him a chance to defer, to push back, to delay the inevitable. He doesn't do any such thing. You're beginning to understand just what kind of courage this man possesses. It takes a different kind of bravery, you're well aware, to face your own demons rather than the gnashing beasts of the cursed world.

*****

Kento does his best to let the soothing spiced heat of the tea perform its dutiful relaxation of his limbs. He sits, legs spread slightly, staring at the wall. The door to the small side room effectively cuts off any sound from the dance floor beyond. He does not know what to expect and he doesn't like it.

Finally, a soft chime sounds. His signal. Setting the glass of tea aside, he stands and makes his way into the corridor, then into the room beyond. He pauses, taking in the transformation.

The view of the city outside has been completely blocked by rich, embroidered curtains, a screen propped up all along one end of the room. Behind it, he hears soft voices speak in another language, rapid and lyrical. The experimental pat of drums and the musical clink of small cymbals indicates that a band of some kind has set up back there, in readiness with their instruments.

Following the instructions he'd received earlier, Kento pads quietly to the centre of the room, where the large, solitary cushion sits, and lowers himself onto it. It is surprisingly comfortable. When everything seems to be in position, a hush falls over the room.

The first hint of her approach is the chime of the anklets she wears, many layered, the bronze shimmer of the individual bells catching the buttery light. She wears a sari, but something about it seems tailored differently from those he'd seen before. The waist has been cinched in with a belt, the pleats of the skirt fanning out around the knees. Beneath, she wears a pair of loose-fitting pants, the shimmering material caught in at the ankles by the bells he heard earlier.

Her hair has been fixed back in a long braid, flowers framing the outline of her head. Dark kohl lines her eyes, and her hands and feet are decorated with a red stain that stands out against the ocean-coloured silk of the sari.

She approaches and crouches nimbly before him, that long-lashed gaze travelling over his form, attentive. Her voice is low pitched, as always, but now there is a new undercurrent to it. He can feel the latent energy within her, as if she has been calling to it, like some long- submerged civilization breaching the surface of the sea.

"Nanami. I'm about to start. In order for me to do so, I need you to picture something in your mind's eye for me."

He nods, slowly.

"I'm going to touch your navel the same way I did yesterday. When I do, don't fight the image your mind throws up. It is natural. It may be a good memory, or an upsetting one. Either way, just let it be. Do you understand?"

"I do."

The pressure of her hand is barely tangible through the material of his sweater, but her cursed energy slides against him with a force he can push back against. He doesn't. Even as it goes against every preservatory instinct he has, he lets her in, watches the slow dawn of soft surprise in her eyes. She has kind eyes, he is only just realising.

And then an image flashes across his mind, just as she warned. Another era of lost kindness, a boy who looked at him with eternal patience, good humour and warmth. In the instant that he sees that face, laughing, animated, lips peeled back from wide, white teeth in that trademark grin, the world shifts. The face is no longer filled with life and humour. It is cold. Pale. Lips purplish and creased, dried blood flaking from the corners.

He wants to pull away, to stop, but he cannot. This is important. This has to be done.

Her hand comes down on his abdomen, harder. Then again. She is finding a rhythm in his own cursed energy, hand mapping out the pulse, scenting his weakness, his pain, following it. Again. And again. And again. The steady pattern builds. So does her cursed energy. It fills the room, filtering into every space, until Kento feels like he is the inhabitant of a fish tank.

Blue silk fluttering, she steps back suddenly. The scent of the incense is heady, intense. Behind the screen, the unseen musicians have somehow struck up the same tempo she has been playing on his abdomen. Her expression changes, and he straightens, slowly.

The kohl-lined eyes open wide, the whites stark gains the smoky backdrop of her lids. She drops to the same stance he'd seen her adopt in the class she'd taught yesterday, knees slightly bent, thighs holding a rigid line, arms outstretched, hands slightly bent at the ends. Her entire upper torso forms an elegant line, see-sawing gently, before the arms snap back and forth, as if tugged by an elastic band.

Red-painted, flickering like four flames, her hands and feet move with rapid precision, taking her through a fluid series of steps that are timed exactly to the beat of the drums, the beat of his own cursed energy, humming and writhing. Her dark, dark eyes meet his, and he understands, now, that every movement she makes entwines their energy, tangles it further, a cat with a ball of yarn, edging the threads closer to a woven pattern.

Her hands stretch toward him, shaped in what seems to be something symbolic of a flower. They spread, and he follows the reddened unfurling of her fingers, the crash of the cymbals louder, a portent of her ability.

He sees the incorporeal lotus, the shadow of it on the screen behind her, petals rifling past each other like the pages of an endless book, and her hands are dragging something out and away from him, emptying like fragrance into the room.

This is her domain, and he shudders in sudden understanding, as memories he'd long buried, bruised and raw, come fluttering like a cloud of butterflies to the surface of his mind.

The first time he'd met Haibara, the way the bright-eyed boy had handed him a shared ice cream, that hot, hot summer's day. The way he'd followed Kento, ignoring his grumpy demeanour, pressing snacks and home-made creations (less successful) into his hands. The long days of training, the sudden and pleased widening of his eyes when Kento had let slip that he'd been improving. The muted tones of his exuberant voice when he'd spoken of his sister, of the path he'd make sure she'd never choose.

And that, right there, was that focal point of pain, the sore spot that had festered, untreated, deep in the knowledge of his soul. Haibara had known, all along, the dangers of their job. He'd known, full well, how easily his life was spent by those who did not understand the full value of such currency. He knew that his youth was a fool's game, one that may never be completed. And for all of these years, since his death, Kento had chosen to -

The loud clash of cymbals dissipates those thoughts instantly, the energy permeating the room, surrounding them both, snapping back to her still form, controlled and under her command. She is watching him closely, the tight grip he now has on his knees, the sweat beading on his brow.

She takes three steps forward, legs lifting high in the stylized movement of her dance form, and her palms come together as she bows to him. Instantly, the performer is gone, and she is back with him, no longer in command. She pads quickly over to him, kneeling and touching his leg.

"Hold on to those images for a moment. Tell me, who was that boy?"

Kento pauses, swallows thickly.

"Haibara Yu. A boy who studied at the Tech with me. We trained together."

She does not need to ask what has happened to Haibara. She has seen it, through the binding of her dance. She has seen his death. Her next question catches him off guard.

"Why is his spirit so strong inside you? You carry him with you like a briefcase to work everyday. Why is his reflection on every surface you pass? Why does he force you forward, and yet, drag you backwards too?"

Kento is still, the sweat cooling on his temples. His muscles are rigid, cording. Pain flares along his jaw, where he has been clenching it. She raises a hand, palm up.

"Don't answer me now. Take the next few days off, and think about the questions I've asked."

*******

He does consider it, as she asked him to. In fact, it's all he can dwell on. As much as it robs him of sleep, leaving him tossing and turning, blankets rumpled and damp with perspiration, he thinks that this is better than staring into formless space. This torment is preferable to the endless battle played out against the pale, sterile walls of the clinic.

How long has it been since his pain has been cut out of his chest, a fully formed, hard-edged diamond, the corners so sharp they slice through him at every touch? How long has it been since he's turned over that crystalline fragment in his hands, allowed himself to remember, to cherish, to grieve?

He understands why he could not, before this. There were missions to undertake. Work to be done. Curses to be dispatched. An endless cycle of activity to tear his mind away from such things.

And then, there had been the students. He goes over each of their names in his mind like a mantra. Yuuji. Megumi. Nobara. Maki. Panda. Inunaki. Ino. The faces of children, the minds of warriors, the scars of those who had known their worst fears and overcome them. It was his duty to protect and serve, to keep them safe, and yet ...

If he had convinced himself, so many times over, that Haibara had needed an adult like the one he had shaped himself to be, then why wasn't he needed any longer?

(V) 

Varnam: The Centerpiece

When you see him again, you can't help the smile that breaks across your face. Nanami is a tricky customer. In spite of his natural strength and charisma, you can tell that he is unaccustomed to relying on others for his emotional well-being.

And yet, here he is, standing in the hallway, expression controlled and muted as always. There is a certain tension and guarded quality to his demeanour that is lacking this time around, however. He has seen the extent of your technique. It cannot harm him any more than he harms himself. This, you are also aware of.

"Nanami. It's good to see you."

He nods, that keen eye of his taking in your expression.

"You were not expecting me to return."

It is not a question. You laugh and gesture to him to follow you into the smaller room beside the dance hall.

"I can't say what I expected. But rest assured ... I'm glad to see you here."

He dips his head in acknowledgement as he follows you through the door. You note that he's had a haircut since the last time you've seen him, the flowing blonde hair slicked back on the right side. His surgical patch has been replaced by a soft black one. His walk seems a little steadier, even if he still has to use the sturdy cane to navigate the stairs.

You pour him tea in silence, waiting for him to initiate the topic that you've asked him to consider. He takes a sip, a soft grunt of satisfaction escaping him, before he sets the glass down with that decisive motion you've come to recognise.

"Last time I was here ... you asked me about Haibara."

"I saw him. In your memories. He must have been important to you."

"I said that we studied together. We were in the same year. There was ... a mission. It was assigned wrongfully, by the higher ups. The difficulty level was ... too great for two fledgling sorcerers. We'd held our own against curses before, but this was different."

"And Haibara ... "

"He was killed. I escaped."

There it was. The words seem to exit him easily enough, because he's probably said them many times before. There is a raw quality to them, though, that cannot be disguised. He has never forgiven himself for Haibara's death. You give him a minute before resuming your questioning.

"My technique showed me that Haibara had a sister. He did not want her to become a sorcerer like you two?"

Here, Nanami's hesitance is tangible.

"No, he didn't. He knew the dangers of our work."

"And yet, in your memories, you clearly see him as someone to be protected."

"He was."

The words emerge sharper than Nanami likes, because he tries to lessen the bite of his tone as he continues.

"I believe that the younger generation of sorcerers should be protected at all costs, whenever necessary. It doesn't matter how much they've seen, how much they've experienced. What matters is that they are not robbed of responsible adult figures in their lives, who can help them cope with what comes later."

"Did anyone help you with coping? With dealing with what happened to Haibara?"

For the first time, Nanami does not meet your gaze. There is a softness to this man, that shows in the gentle, considered way he touches objects, the way his dark lashes shadow his cheeks, the way he is always thinking of someone, anyone other than himself.

"No."

His voice is charged, but quiet.

"And so, you think to play this role for the future generations?"

"I hope to. Yes."

You already know what must be done, as painful as it may be.

"Nanami, is it possible for me to meet with your students?"

******

"Nanamiiiinnnn!"

The boy with soft-hued pink hair is enthusiastic in his greeting, none of it contrived. You can see from the way his eyes light up, the way his whole body gravitates to the sorcerer standing beside you, that Nanami means the world to him. The girl with the eyepatch beside him gives a more staid greeting. There is a certain tough rakishness to her bearing that you've come to recognise as well-earned bravado.

It's Nanami you are more focused on. He introduces you to the students who greet you politely, each giving a small bow.

"How's the progress, Nanamin? You look great!"

The young sorcerer, Yuuji, truly means it. He is taking in Nanami with an air of triumph.

"It's slow, in some ways, but I'm getting there, Itadori."

You note how he still refers to them by their family names, even after everything they've been through together.

"Why don't we have lunch together?" you suggest.

Nobara immediately points at Nanami.

"Ask him. He's knows all the good places, in just about every part of the city."

And so, you find yourselves seated at a small soba place, one you haven't come across before. The food is excellent, and Yuuji and Nobara chat animatedly across the table with their senior as they plough through a selection of dishes.

It is now that you notice all of the things that Nanami doesn't.

The way Yuuji constantly keeps an eye on how much his mentor eats. The way Nobara adjusted the table when they sat down, such that Nanami could be more comfortable. The way they both scoped you out with clear protective instinct, forming their opinions of you.

Yuuji keeps up an encouraging stream of comments, complimenting Nanami on his receptiveness to treatment, on his hair, on the fact that he's been getting out more. He asks Nanami's advice on missions he'll be undertaking solo, and with others.

"So, Ino got his grade one promotion!"

"He told me."

Nanami cannot help the small smile that appears on his face. Yuuji shakes his head.

"Ha. I bet he told you before he told his mom."

Nobara snorts in agreement.

"Did you know he's picked up wearing a suit on missions now?"

"He does?"

Nanami seems surprised by this.

"Sure does. Keeps his hair shorter too. Thought I was teaming up with a Yakuza the last time we went on a mission together."

"Surely not."

"Oh, absolutely! He tried acting all cool, until I told him I'd video him and send it to you, and then he stopped with the persona real fast."

Nanami chuckles. It is a rich, warm, hearty sound, one that flickers over the table like the heat of a fireplace. You see the aching softness in Yuuji's eyes, the way Nobara grins triumphantly at having wrung that sound out of him.

And you understand, fully, like you knew you would.

These are no fledgling sorcerers. Nanami can never again offer them the kind of protection he once had. It is obvious that they value him no less for that. He is a glowing lantern of comfort, of hope to them. If he'd ever desired to play the role of responsible adult to these youngsters, then he'd exceeded every expectation and made himself indispensable, and loved.

If only he could see that.

You catch yourself watching Nanami's smile throughout the meal. It is, at times, contagious, at times shy, at other times a sarcastic tilt. He likes sandwiches, as you learn, and Nobara makes fun of the time one of Yaga's cursed dolls knocked a fresh salmon bagel out of Nanami's hand and he'd snapped and almost destroyed the garden it had escaped into.

It's only when the meal is over, and you are gathering up your purse, that you spy Nobara's eyes on you. The curve of her lips is discreet, and knowing.

*******

During the next few weeks, Nanami's physical condition slowly, but gradually improves. He does not ask when you will ensconce him in your domain again, and you do not offer. You feel that there is some fundamental hurdle he needs to overcome before this.

He still comes regularly, though. For someone who lived a regimental lifestyle like he did, you suppose it has something to do with maintaining a routine. Every other day, he is present, and sometimes, you note, he arrives almost half an hour early, watching the dance practice through the glass doors from the room across the hall.

You now leave the chai where he can help himself to it, and the cushioned mats rolled out so that he can take himself through the preliminary stretches while he waits.

The muscle atrophy, that is sometimes expected in cases of severe burns, does not present in any such way with Nanami. You can see, in the firmness of his stride, in the way he is able to balance his weight, in the slow loss of infirmity, that he has been working hard to maintain his strength and regain his physical abilities.

This is not what worries you. It's what comes after.

One month after treatment began, you see him ascend the staircase without assistance from a cane. He looks across the small distance, that bewitching hazel eye so firm, so proud, so accomplished, turning to you for acknowledgement that you cannot help the small sound of delight that escapes you. You also feel your stomach clench in anticipation.

Once in the room, you notice the small hint of amusement on his face, as you serve him from a plate of samoosas. You lift a curious brow.

"What is it?"

"You don't have to look so concerned. I won't be trying to take on any missions."

"I'm not concerned about- "

You cut yourself off, busying your hands with the tea. When you look up again, your breath catches slightly in your throat. He is watching you with what looks like tenderness, one hand still holding the plate you've absently passed to him. He speaks again, leaning back in his chair.

"There is something I haven't told you yet."

"And what's that?"

"About a dream of mine. One I've had for a very long time."

"And I presume it's a good dream?"

"In every sense. When I worked as a salaryman, I planned to save up enough money to retire. Live somewhere affordable, near the sea. Somewhere like Kuantan. I'd finally get to read all the books I'd bought and never finished. I'd live peacefully. Travel now and then."

You hum slightly, considering this dream.

"That sounds wonderful. Do you still think that this dream ... belongs to you? That it can be your reality, someday?"

"I always have. But ... I also know that such dreams come at a heavy price."

"Nanami ... I'd say that you've paid a thousand times over for such a dream."

Your heart twists at the pained knowledge in his glance. You've underestimated his astute nature.

He knows.

"I did tell you that one of the younger sorcerers saved my life, before. It was Yuuji. He found me when I was half conscious, burned, hallucinating about ... but that's beside the point. When I walked through that subway, I kept thinking the same thought, over and over again. 'Haven't I done enough?'"

The silence that descends upon the room is stifling. You clasp your hands over your knees.

"And have you?"

"I don't know, truthfully. Every time I think I have, there is something else. There will always be those who need the help of sorcerers. As long as I am able, how can I deny them that help?"

He is testing the waters, you can tell. Something about the last time he entered your domain must have triggered a curiosity in him, a desire to know just how much you could help him. You're not sure what it is, but you feel a rush of hope, a sense of a dawning breakthrough.

He spoke of a dream, and you know that Nanami never speaks idly. You pour him another glass of tea.

"I have a suggestion. Would you like to enter my domain again?"

(VI) 

Padam: Simplicity

This time, there is no pre-amble. Nanami seats himself on the cushion at the centre of the room with preternatural calm, but you sense the roil of emotions beneath. It gives you a sense of purpose, as you prepare, focusing your technique as you braid your hair and apply the red alta dye to your hands and feet and leave it to dry.

When you enter the room, you see his gaze immediately follow the movement of your hands. You crouch beside him, and something feels different.

Prior to this, Nanami was yet another patient of Shoko's, referred to your family for the kind of healing that physiologically-based cursed techniques couldn't touch. It was the reason that the study of their connection had fizzled out. Practitioners like Shoko were fully aware of the effects, but could not recommend them without a sense of hesitation.

And what was Nanami to you now?

You'd been avoiding that question. You know, full well, that helping him has become a desire birthed inside you as vital as breathing. You want to see him well, you want to see him happy, you want his laugh to echo through the corridors of Jujutsu Tech and his feet to find their way to warm sands and the gentle caress of waves. It is that simple.

(You wish it was.)

Your touch on his abdomen is charged with the weight of this knowledge, the heat that floods your veins intoxicating as he opens himself to you. You feel for the thread that hangs in the still interior of the self, the quivering vibration that changes and slides from his soul to yours.

There. It is different this time.

There is a tug of greater urgency, a rhythm that swells into a powerful current that threatens to snatch away your control.

No. You won't let it.

The reigns twist in your hand, but you pull them further into yourself, taking them, pioneering your way across the ocean of his desolation and uncertainty. You begin the steady rhythm, synchronized with the music of his soul. The drums behind you take it up. The song holds power, heady and fractious.

There will be theater in your performance tonight.

You spring away from Nanami, the connection between you thrumming with latent energy. The visions of his mind's eye flash upon yours, a series of broken images. You need more coherency. And so, you dance.

You allow your expression to mould to a frightening form, eyes wide, shadows gathering beneath them. Your palm raised, the other thumb above it, quivering.

Illumination. Let the soul reveal itself.

And it does. Nanami's form, dragging his feet, fresh, horrific burns across his torso, swimming into your vision. As you take measured steps across the floor, knees poised high, anklets chiming, his footsteps echo yours.

You turn, palms facing floorward and ceilingward, the red seeping between your fingers in the dim light reminiscent of the blood that creeps sluggishly from the raw ends of his scorched flesh. You take his pain into yourself, whirling across the floor.

And then, something startling. Yuuji appears, but not as the heroic saviour. There is a gaping hole in his chest, those bright eyes, fervent with life, now empty and soulless. He collapses with a solid thud and your steps falter.

This is not -

And then, Nobara. Your hands draw back, foot placed on the flesh of the enemy, but Nobara's face explodes in a bloom of scarlet, painting the walls with a hibiscus flare of bone, flesh and matter.

Why is he -

Nanami's face and neck are drenched in sweat, his eyes shut tightly. There are crescents forming in the fabric of his trousers, over the knees, where his fingernails dig into the flesh. The cymbals are now clashing to a faster pace, and you are drawn along, the river of his despair breaking its banks.

You see them, one by one, in-between the rush of your spinning braid, arms and the red flash of your fingers. All of them. All of the students Nanami holds so dear, lifeless, bodies broken beyond repair. A thin, bespectacled man in a dark suit, motionless on the ground, blood seeping from beneath him. Shoko, with her lackadaisical smile and lazy warmth, neck slit, dropping to her knees. Haibara Yu, his youthful face ghastly and pale, one finger raised, pointing.

There is a dreadful sound emerging from Nanami's throat, pain and loss and suffering ground between his teeth to spill into his lap, along with the dampness that rushes from beneath his single, uncovered eyelid. You fight against the overwhelming current, back towards him, the muscles of your legs screaming as his cursed energy pushes up from all around him, a defensive wall.

You're on your knees beside him now, reaching past the battering of his energy, grasping hard at his shoulders.

Come back. Come back to me.

He is twisting in your grasp, his strength all but overwhelming, even in his weakened state. You position your hands on either side of his face, gently, the tendons in your neck standing out with the effort of keeping them in place.

Come back to me.

You are vaguely aware that words are spilling from between his clenched lips, the muffled sounds slowly gaining clarity as you fix your gaze on his mouth.

"Why not me, why not me, why not me, why - "

You feel an answering dampness on your own cheeks as you draw him closer, feeling his cursed energy envelope you, binding you even closer in mind and body.

"Not you, Nanami. Not you. Because your life is not going to be spent like this. Not like this."

Through the atomic engagement of your cursed energy, you feel for the familiarity of him, and you flood his awareness with images that push away the darkness that lingers. Of Yuuji and his kind eyes and watchful care, of Nobara with her brash humour and protective glance. You force him to confront the reality of the others he's buried in his memory, of the bespectacled man scurrying around his office, of Shoko puffing out a dense, white cloud as her head tilts back against a pillar, of the other students, traipsing back in, exhausted after a mission, of a young man pulling a ski mask over a cheeky, lop-sided grin.

"They need you, Nanami Kento. They need you to be alive and well. That's all they've ever wanted."

Your voice has lowered to a whisper as your domain is finally able to manifest, unfolding in the absence of his resistance. The many-petaled flower blooms in shadow, until the shining heart of it breaches like a whale's head above the turbulent waves.

And Nanami is enfolded in your arms, head pillowed against your shoulder, as your voice draws his drowning mind inwards, a solitary lifeline.

*****

Nanami does not return for his scheduled appointment the day after, or the time after that. Two weeks go by with no sign of him. You debate calling Shoko to enquire after him, your concern growing like a viper, hatched in the pit of your stomach.

Something holds you back, however. The same idea that forces you to confront what Nanami Kento has become to you. Your technique alone is based on facing the uncomfortable truths buried deep in your soul, and your feelings for him are no exception.

You cannot, in good conscience, call Shoko when the man you have come to care for so deeply wants nothing more to do with you, or your domain. The best thing for both of you would be to remain as silent ships, passing each other on the vast ocean, as Nanami gradually finds his way to the uncertain shore of recovery.

You cannot help but wonder, though, if you did truly have some impact on him. Had it worked? Would he now make more positive changes in his life that you would simply remain unaware of, or would he ignore all the progress you had made since the first time he'd stepped through those doors? You had to make peace with the idea that you'd probably never know.

(It still leaves you breathless with hurt, remembering the tender scent of him that remains on your clothes.)

******

Nanami does return, just not in the manner you'd expected.

It is a cool spring day, a full month after the incident in the dance hall. You've just come down from your apartment on the third level, wrapping a scarf around your neck and steeling yourself to brave the chill. You hear footsteps on the stairs, and you will your heart to a regular beat as their steady pace and weight sounds familiar. You've long given up the chance of seeing him again.

And then the distinctive wing of blonde hair makes an appearance past the rickety balustrade, followed shortly by the rest of him, and something in your chest constricts, because all of your discipline and mindfulness is about to fly out the window, and -

He mounts the final stair, pausing as he takes you in, in your outdoor clothes. You are trying, failing, trying so hard not to read too much into his expression, but there ... you see it. His eye kindles; the warmth of it floods the narrow space between you two, seeping into you down to your bones. No scarf can replicate this.

He steps forward, uncertainly, face twisting slightly in pained apology.

"Am I ... I hope you're well."

"I am. You look ... "

He is finally clad in the form most natural to him, a tan business suit, dark blue shirt beneath, a speckled tie cast to one side by the wind. His hair has grown drastically in the time he's been absent, one half of his scalp covered by a short growth of luxuriant white. He wears a dark glove over his left hand, presumably protecting the sensitive burnt skin there.

He is walking, completely without aid, only a slight stiffness betraying the original severity of his injury. All the elegance, strength and beauty you saw in him at first glance, now magnified beyond your comprehension, because something else is different.

His soul, the Atman that had struggled like a wounded tiger, frantic and torn, beating against its constraints, is not whole. Not just yet. It is, however, expanding beyond the borders of his body, exuding that confidence and grace you knew were such a vital part of his being. This is Nanami, the shackles of his mind trailing with uncertainty behind him as his gaze seeks yours.

You take a breath, but he holds up a hand.

"Please, let me speak first."

Seeing your slow nod, he seems slightly relieved.

"I apologise sincerely for not coming sooner. I felt that ... I needed to make progress on my own, to come to terms with what you'd shown me, before I came here once again. Above all I was ... "

Those rich, mellow tones of his drop to the range of the barely audible.

"Above all, I was ashamed. Of how obtuse I'd been. Of all the things I'd missed. I had to make that right somehow, to work harder to show the people who care about me that I can learn. That I can change. That I can ... think of myself and prioritize my well-being."

You are vaguely aware that you've drawn closer, a hapless moth, fluttering closer to a consuming flame.

"And are you at such a point now? You can really think of yourself?"

He huffs a soft laugh, eye traveling slowly, softly over your hair, your face, your lips.

"Yes. Yes, I think I can. If you choose to forgive me, maybe I can accompany you on your walk now?"

******

It is not the only time he walks with you. Nanami starts to visit again, regularly, but not just for yoga and exercises. Many of his visits are social, calling on you with a small gift of some edible treat or other that he'd discovered.

He tells you that he has started working at the Tech again, but in a purely advisory capacity, holding special seminars for younger sorcerers on the dynamics of co-operative missions, prioritizing the safety of oneself and teammates, strategy and appropriate preparation before missions.

He watches each young face that peers earnestly at him from the audience and feels a sense of peace, that he is doing all that he can to help them survive the harsh world that awaits. He is also liaising with various counseling services, trying to build a solid foundation for sorcerers who require emotional and psychological support.

You listen to each of his endeavours with delight, especially when he asks if you are willing to be part of this new co-ordinated team, bringing your area of specialty to the table.

Other times, you sit on the balcony with him, watching the ebb and flow of humanity in the city below, your bubble of tranquility untouched. These times are the most precious to you, because that is when Nanami's shoulders ease, when the lines at the corners his eyes deepen with merriment, when he tells you stories of places he's visited, people he's come across, anecdotes from his days as a salaryman and the latest exploits of the students.

There are times when he leans in close, when your breath halts at the verdant, warm, masculine scent of him. There are times when you pass him a steaming glass and your fingers brush the ends of his, and you notice that he always takes off his glove when he sits with you. Sometimes you stand, side by side on the balcony, your upper arm pressed slightly against his, revelling in the sweet, solid proximity of him.

It is one one of those occasions that you turn to him, to point out a new store that has opened not far away, and you see that he is watching you. There is no shame in his glance, only a gentle wonder that weaves a golden bridge between the both of you. Your voice is soft, reverent.

"What is it?"

"I'm remembering the first time I saw you dance."

"Oh?"

"You were teaching a class, as I recall. I remember standing by the door, watching, and some time later, your eyes were on me. And I realized that I couldn't remember anything that had happened in between."

He reaches for you, the glove absent, and you lean into his touch without hesitation. His fingers are light, so light, as they trace across your temple, your cheek, the corner of your lips.

"And ... during our second session, when you held me, I knew that I couldn't continue like this. That you were using the strength of your soul to heal mine, and that if I didn't do my best to understand what you had shown me, then all your effort would have been for nothing. I couldn't accept that."

Your forehead finds purchase against his, a natural movement that echoes the press of your palm against the substantiality of his chest.

"And now?"

"Now ... I can walk beside you in the sun."

The taste of his mouth is a nectar you've never known you've craved. It is heady, a fiery joining of soft and rough, the edges of the scar tissue tracing along your lips like the light drag of a fingernail.

You open your arms to him once more, and this time, he stays.

(VII)

Thillana: Revivification

After learning the soul, learning the body is as natural as breathing. You were hesitant about touching him, wondering how much he'd allow after his injuries. You needn't have worried much on that account. As much as he makes your heart flutter and sing with his praises, with his eager, gentle touches, with the growing harshness of his lips against yours, all that he seems concerned with is how to use his body best to bring pleasure to yours.

You have seen the barest desolation of his soul, and its healing, and the damage to his body means as little to both of you as the muted rush of traffic outside your small apartment.

His urgency is sweetened by the clumsy tug and pull on zips and fastenings, on the shedding of clothes, the soft exhales, painting skin with warm moisture in between the frantic pace of your lips and his.

His hands are so large, spanning your ribcage as you lead him to your bed, circling and finding purchase on the dip of your waist. His body is a moving furnace that warms you as you stumble and clutch at each other, the ripple of muscle like an unseen beast beneath the waves as your palms explore his shoulders, arms, torso, hips.

Kento's skin is a map of hidden treasures, the smooth, tawny, gold- flecked expanse of chest meeting the ridges of scar tissue halfway across. The new growth of white hair on his scalp is downy soft between your fingers, in contrast to the silky texture on the right. His powerful thighs slide between yours, the forward thrust of his hips spreading you open to receive his weight.

He is not forceful, and yet, takes the reigns of your intimate dance almost as if by instinct. He pauses above you, propped on his hands, chest heaving slightly as he takes you in, his amber-shot gaze misty with adoration and lust. You reach up,  tracing the firm line of his nose, the sharpness of his jaw, the sinew of his neck. Every new angle you spy reveals more, that elusive, predatory beauty that never fails to enchant you.

His head dips, the blonde strands falling forward softly against your skin as he kisses a line of fire down your torso, quickening your breathing as his tongue flickers against your flesh. He holds you down, pressing you firmly into the mattress as he worships each breast, lapping, suckling, savouring.

He moves further down, and your sharp breathing devolves into whispered pleas and whimpers as he nudges your inner thigh softly with his nose. So deliriously slow, so decisive, as in every action he takes, he devours his way to the apex of your thighs, sliding his hands underneath you as you lift your hips and present yourself further to him.

The feast he has been waiting for lies open beneath his gently probing fingers, their honey smearing over his lips as he tastes you, eye snapping up as a breathy moan escapes your lips. He laps at you with heady abandon, that smoky, devoted gaze never leaving the contortions of your face as he brings you to each hard-won peak, drifting you back down to a mellow lake of blinding pleasure.

Your fingers slide and catch on his shoulders, anchoring yourself as blood thunders in your ears, and a rising storm, electric and charged with fresh potency, builds at every ultra-sensitive point of contact. He is your passionate guide, leading you to a shining horizon, familiar and yet fraught with the overwhelming knowledge that he is the one who pulls you over the edge of the thundering waterfall.

You are submerged, the shake of your limbs and the hoarse cry of your voice reaching up from beneath the surface your senses have yet to emerge from. When they do, you glance down at him, past your heaving chest, at the blaze that roars within him as he beholds you splayed out, breathless; an offering.

He takes it.

The slow crawl of his skin, sliding against your damp flesh, the brief touch of his mouth at the hollow of your throat, the brush of his nose against yours. He takes your lips in a soft request for entry, groans into your mouth as you trace the ridges of his spine. 

Kento is almost too much for you, the burning vitality that steals your breath, the fullness of your arms as they embrace all of him. The air rushes out of your lungs as the hardened press of his length breaches you, fills you to overflowing.

He holds you close, so close, as if he could meld your bodies as you had once done with your cursed energy, ragged puffs of air escaping his lips to collect like clouds in the evening sky of your hair. His movements are slow, dragging tears from the corners of your eyes, drunk and blissful moans cocooned within the slowly rotating vessel of your lovemaking.

You are at sea with him, around him, washing over his starving self and nourishing his spirit with every slick press of your bodies together, every arch of your back, every trace of his scarred skin, every gentle touch of your lips to his brow, cheek, mouth. He is now taking as well as giving, rolling his hips hard into the widening harbour of your thighs, soft grunt and pants deepening in their urgency.

The unfolding within you is different, completely out of your control. A wild, reckless dance, the rhythm ever-changing, golden threads running like molten metal between the undulations of your bodies. The flower of your combined desire unfurls, petal by petal, each dropping to the floor as new layers of delight and abandon are reached.

The bed creaks beneath the weighted push of his thrusts, his hands flying to your cheeks as your cries grow louder, louder, raspy and choked. This is the true face of passion, the complete submission to the will of your lover, the way you take all that he gifts you with and reciprocate with the finest nectar that slides from the deepest parts of you, soaking the sheets beneath you.

It is here, it is here in the glazed film of his eye beneath dusky lashes, the sweat between his body and yours, the heat that stretches on and on to an infinity within your knowing and snaps-

Washing over his ears in your sharp scream of release, in the wanton covering of his mouth with yours, the ecstasy of a thousand fluttering birds within the cage of your ribs. This time, the gentle ripple of your tide pulls him forward over the edge, his deep groan of guttural satisfaction reverberating through your whole body as his hips stutter and still their frantic pace.

You lie with him, afterwards, limbs entangled, aware only of the shift of his nose against your collarbone, the tightening of his arms around you, the way you wrap yourself around his form, as if to shield him, just for a moment, from the world he has been born into.

Kento. 

Brightness, shadow, mellow and hard-edged, the loveliness of everything in-between. 

Yours.

How can you ever call it anything other than love?

(VII) 

Mangalam: Gratitude

To be in Kento's presence is to discover a thousand tiny precious shards, hidden in the silken folds of your changing life, piecing them together to form a diamond of unparalleled value.

He is quiet, stubborn, brave, resilient, mischievous and agile of mind. He challenges your thoughts on the jujutsu world, brings summer to your heart and draws you into the sunshine of his embrace. The fractured nature of his soul is not one that can be undone, but weeds (hardy and weathered) have grown through the cracks and your own flowerbed finds a home there, gently blossoming.

You are reminded of every richness he has brought into your life on one summer night, in the aftermath of a taxing mission for some of the students, when he meets them for supper and a discussion of what had occurred.

This time, Megumi is also present, and he reminds you a little of Kento as he watches Yuuji's animated re-enactment of the battle, rolling his eyes at obvious embellishments, adding a solemn word now and then. Kento leans forward on his elbows, listening attentively, as always.

When Yuuji is finished, Kento sits back, contemplatively sipping his coffee.

"What you've described is certainly concerning. I'd take this information up with the research committee as soon as you've filed your report. They may want to know details like that."

Yuuji nodded fervently.

"Already on it. I've been looking it up and there was a similar surge in cursed energy in Okinawa a few years ago. Pretty much leveled a small village. I'm not taking any chances with this one. I've texted Ijichi about sealing technique specialists and requested a team to map out energy signatures in the surrounding area. Anything I may have missed?"

You take note of the small smile that graces Kento's face, the pride that spills out along its sharply defined edges.

"No. You've done well, Yuuji. It's exactly what I would have done under those circumstances."

"Oh?"

Yuuji's surprised expression quickly morphs to something else, a deepening realization that silences him and brings a tight, tender quality to the set of his mouth.

Kento has called him by his first name.

********

On the slow stroll back to your home, you link your arm with his. The night sky is flecked with faint stars, unusual to see in the normally smog-laden sky over the city. You speak into the comfortable silence.

"Yuuji handled that well."

"He's a born leader. I've always thought so. He has the confidence and drive to be the strongest, not just in technique. Not to mention the magnitude of what he's already accomplished."

He pauses, one finger idly tracing over his eyepatch.

"I noticed it on our first mission together. He was not just a young sorcerer, going through the motions, trying to survive. He genuinely felt for the victims of the curse. It ... reminded me of Haibara, a little."

He gives your hand a small reassuring pat.

"Not that I've ever confused the two. They're fundamentally different. But Yuuji ... Yuuji had a light inside of him. He made me take note. He made me see him, and his spirit."

Your fingers entwine with his, tugging his hand up to your lips.

"Your spirit is quite marvellous too, you know."

He eyes you sideways, slyly.

"It is?"

"Of course."

"Would you like to elaborate?"

"Fishing for compliments, are we?"

"From your lovely tongue, always."

Your laughter echoes in the silent street, stretching out along the sidewalk, shimmering in the puddles that had formed after the rain.

"You are beautiful, Nanami Kento, and you're- "

You never finish that sentence, as his hands draw you closer, his lips finding yours in the glow of the street lamp. In that moment, you can think of nothing else apart from the man who strides with quiet confidence beside you, on every conceivable path to an unknown future.

He is a red-painted center, kindling in the palm of your hand, the tiger that inhabits the secret garden of your heart, the flame in a gilded brazier that never goes out. 

************

sometimes babygirl is a 28 year old man and that's okay :3 🎀

Omg I love your writing so much!! Thanks for all the Yelena content😔‼️ Can i request hc of goth Yelena (who maybe wears Demonias😳) with a fem reader who’s really soft and basically the exact opposite? Thank you!!🥰

✨Of course! Of course! Thank you so much for requesting this! This is sadly pretty short as I’ve used a lot of my creativity on the Valentine’s Day special I’m writing!✨

♥️Goth! Yelena with a Soft! S/O♥️

✨Warnings: None!✨

♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️

•Let’s get one thing straight, Yelena never saw herself getting with someone so soft! But, you were absolutely adorable and her little goth heart couldn’t help but flutter once she laid eyes on you!

• She ended up asking you out in her last year of highscool; she was a year older than you and you found her extremely intimidating. I mean come on! This 6’7, short haired, demonia wearing girl had asked YOU— someone who was extremely small and usually found comfort in wearing soft pastel sweaters and cute little butterfly clips in their hair, out!

•Of course you said yes. I mean; Yelena was smoking hot, intimidating or not! And, you wanted to give this beauty a chance!

•Let me just say; you regrets absolutely nothing! Yelena was so soft with you! She treated you like an absolute goddess!

•Of course over the years of dating, both of you had gotten so many weird looks and exchanges at the fact that someone so soft was dating someone so gothic!

•For your one year anniversary, Yelena bought you these really cute pastel converse shoes that had little butterflies designed on them! You ended up getting her these really HUGE platform boots for her! They had spikes on them and everything. She wore them every single day!

•Yelena’s all-time favorite outfit she’s seen you in by far was this really adorable pinky bunny jacket, which you wore over a white tank top and a light pink skirt! She found you absolutely adorable and called you her litte; “Bunny” for the next month!

•She loves seeing you show her all of your new accessories and clips you had gotten at any of the stores at the malls.

•In turn, she will always show you her cool bracelets and chokers she would get.

•Overall, Yelena LOVES you. She loves your style, she loves how soft you are! Opposites atttact, they really do!

my brutalist son just killed my rococo son with his gray concrete alphabet blocks