only two pictures of sakusa kiyoomi smiling exist on the internet.
the other three hundred live on your phone.
âtwenty-five.â
âis one-fourth of a hundred,â he immediately replies, looking up from the video of his last match against the adlers. the slightest smirk on his face challenges you to go on. you play this game every year: he pretends not to know or care that he has a birthday at all, and you have to remind him that despite what the tabloids say, he is, in fact, an aging human (like everyone else).
grinning, you plop down beside him on the sofa and are immediately pulled closer to his side. âitâs your birthday, doofus.â
âreally?â sakusaâs brows raise in mock surprise. âi had no idea.â
âshut up,â you laugh, giving him a light shove. naturally, he doesnât budge â but a short and quiet laugh leaves his lips. âanyway, itâs time to pick your yearly instagram tribute.â the album, appropriately titled âomi :)â opens on your phone, revealing photo after photo of sakusaâs pearly whites (on a hiking trail on mount fuji, in a hotel room in paris, in the kitchen baking browniesâŚ).
he sighs but the skin by his eyes crease ever-so-slightly. âcanât you pick for me?â though heâs never been a fan of having his face shown back to him, sakusaâs gotten used to the fact that you usually get what you want. (and that, maybe, he is kind of good-looking.)
âwhat if you donât like that photo?â
âi donât care.â
you study him skeptically. âi donât believe you. sakusa kiyoomi? mister âcan-you-make-that-black-and-whiteâ? mister âno-face-pics-on-instagramâ? mister ââ
he laughs and covers your mouth with his hand. âthatâs just my... whatâs that word you always use? aesthetic.â the grin on his face doesnât disappear even when you pry his long fingers off your face.
âi have nothing to say except that you need to choose a picture for your birthday post⌠or else iâll have the team decide for you at dinner later.â
itâs not that the rest of the msby black jackals are out to embarrass him every chance they get (though that may be the case for a certain blond setter) â itâs just that they all, with the exception of his captain, have a terrible eye for style. hinata still uses instagram filters, for godâs sake. grimacing, sakusa shifts to let you show him your album.
none of the photos pique his interest â not even the one where heâs two thousand feet above the ground in a hot air balloon (which you were almost certain heâd pick). sure, he looks good enough in most of them, but theyâre nothing post-worthy. heâs gotten four tributes with the same kinds of photos from you and he canât just let you post anything time time around.
noticing the tension on his face, you give your boyfriend a soft nudge. âwhatâs up?â
âi donât like any of these,â he admits, running a hand through his curly hair.
âhmm? why? do you not want to post this year?â
âno, of course not,â sakusa interrupts. âi really donât mind. never did. iâm⌠thinking.â the living room is silent as he thinks and you watch his expression for any clues to his thoughts. one of sakuksaâs best and worst traits is his poker face and even you still struggle to fully read through it. suddenly, he sits up and unlocks his phone, opening up his camera roll.
and in his âfavoritesâ album, he finds what heâs looking for.
âthis one," sakusa says firmly. he looks over at you and chuckles. itâs still a picture of him smiling. itâs not the best quality and heâs certain itâs a screenshot from a video that one of his teammates took months ago, but this oneâs special. this photo has you in it. youâre on a yacht in the mediterranean, kissing his unmasked cheek as the sun sets behind you and heâs grinning so widely that heâs almost unrecognizable. god, look what you did to him. heâs a mess â a smiling mess. âpost this one.â
thereâs no better mess to be.
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LOVE PERSEVERING, EP 1. âThe Plot Twistâ
pairing: nanami kento x f!reader
synopsis:Â the nanamiâs have an evening full of surprises â the most surprising of all, however, is the one that comes without explanation.
tag(s): loose (very loose) wandavision!au, humor, domestic fluff, suggestive content, profanity, can be read as a standalone! ; wc: 2.6k
love persevering m.list
âSORRY IâM LATE.â
Nanami Kento closes the front door behind him and changes out of his oxfords for house slippers. The traffic was crazy, thereâd been an accident on the 101, a Maserati collided with a Ferrari and the two drivers were hashing it out in the middle of â no, thatâs a horrible story and even worse lie. He doesnât even drive to work. He takes the Caltrain to his job in San Francisco every morning and takes it home to Sunnyvale every evening.
Shit, Nanami thinks as he tries to hide the evidence of his⌠offense. Can he cover it up with something? Maybe if he held his briefcase in front of it⌠No, thatâs so obvious. Itâs so⌠red. And big. Thereâs no way itâd stay concealed.
Itâs not that Nanami is in any way dumb or easily frazzled. No, heâs quite intelligent and levelheaded and the fact that he works as an Associate at Goldman Sachs should be proof enough. Itâs just that he strongly dislikes the thought of lying to you. Technically, he doesnât even have to make up a story to explain his tardiness. You probably donât really care that heâs â Nanami checks his watch while setting his briefcase down â an hour late home. But having a story would quell your suspicions about the true reason heâs late.
See, today his co-worker Archie was talking on and on about how he surprised his wife with a bouquet of fifty roses the other night and, well, Nanami felt inspired. Heâs not typically one for large romantic gestures, so he thought that maybe he should step up his game and at least remind you of how much he loves you the one day heâs given a sign to.
âFirst, you gotta lower her expectations, yâknow?â Archie says like heâs giving a pitch. âMake her think the conversation is gonna be far from romantic. Say something totally boring. âHey, honey, I had a great day at work today.â Somethinâ like that, yâknow? Then you just whip it right out. Bam.â
Nanami looks at the pink peonies in his hand with a small smile. Happy marriage, the flower shop attendee had said. Hearing your footsteps leading out from the second-floor bedroom, he quickly places the red bouquet behind the living room sofa before rushing back to his original place by the door. At first sight of your figure descending the stairs, Nanami starts (perhaps too exaggeratedly) loosening his tie.
âKen.â
Oh. Oh, this doesnât sound too good. Pausing his movements, Nanami assesses the damage. Your arms are crossed over your chest and your head is slightly cocked to the side, and youâre shooting him an expectant look. To be frank, you look a little pissed. Youâre not even smiling. This definitely isnât too great.
âHoney,â he starts, flashing you a conciliatory smile.
âDid you know that we were supposed to leave for our reservation an hour ago?â you interrupt.
Reservation? It doesnât ring a bell.
Oh, is that why⌠fuck.
Taking your husbandâs silence as evidence that heâd forgotten, you let out a sigh and walk up to his frozen frame, stopping when youâre right under his nose. âDid you?â
Nanami looks up at the ceiling as he tries to recall anything about reservations, but his mind turns blank. Actually, he thinks as he furrows his brows, he canât even remember what he did yesterday.
âNo,â he admits truthfully, looking into your eyes. âSweetheart, Iâm really sorry but I donât remember at all. Listen, I ââ
And then, you laugh.
âI was just messinâ with you, babe.â Still giggling, you pull him in for a hug. âThe reservationâs not today.â
Nanami blinks as his arms wrap around you. Thereâs no reservation. âYouâre ridiculous,â he chuckles. âI genuinely thought that Iâd done something wrong.â
âNo, definitely not. Youâre wonderful.â Lifting your heels off the floor, you capture Nanamiâs lips in a short kiss. He eagerly responds, pulling you closer into his firm body. This is, without a doubt, Nanamiâs favorite part about coming home. You. Always there, at the end of the day, with your sunny little grin and sweet, adoring eyes. A little piece of paradise.
âYou are so much trouble,â he murmurs as you pull apart. You hum at that, unable to disagree.
âWe do, however, have a reservation at eight tomorrow.â
He frowns. âI genuinely donât remember making plans for that, darling, Iâm sorry.â Nanami glances down at your face and notices your surprised expression.
âMe neither. I was hoping youâd be able to tell me something about that.â
Well, thatâs odd. Itâs not often that either of you forgets anything, let alone something as easily remembered as a dinner reservation. Itâs utterly peculiar that you would both happen to forget about the same thing. Todayâs turning out a lot stranger than heâd ever expected. âHowâd you find out?â
You pull your phone out of your back pocket and show him the email confirmation.
Dear Mr and Mrs. Nanami,
Thank you for making a reservation with us at Gary Danko. As a reminder, your reservation is for two people at 8:00 PM this Friday.
If you have any questions concerning your reservation, please feel free to contact us. We look forward to serving you!
Thank you,
The Gary Danko Team
âThis is⌠strange,â Nanami notes, studying the little screen.
âVery,â you agree.
âShould we cancel?â
âShould we?â
âI ââ Â Nanamiâs stomach grumbles, putting a pause on your conversation.
With a chuckle, you slide your phone back into your pocket. âNever mind. We can talk about it during dinner,â you say, helping your husband out of his suit jacket. As the blazer comes off, you affectionately rub a few circles on his back, feeling his posture relax under your touch. Honestly, he works too hard. You always tell him this but he really should take a few days off and drive down to the beach â maybe with you, if heâd like â and forget about the world for a while. God knows he could use the rest.
Nanami hums in approval. âYou go on first.â He kisses your forehead before gesturing at the briefcase on the floor. âI should put this away.â
The moment you disappear into the dining room, Nanami moves his briefcase onto the coffee table and brings the bouquet of pink peonies out from their place behind the sofa, this time holding them behind his back. A reservation neither of us remembers, he suddenly thinks as he strolls quietly towards the dining room. Truly odd. Tucking the thought away in his mind (thereâs always time to figure out mysteries like these), Nanami calls out, âActually, honey, thereâs a reason why I came home late today.â
âI was just about to ask. What was it?â Youâre almost done setting the table when Nanami walks through the archway with a bouquet of flowers almost as broad as his shoulders.
âHoly shit.â
He laughs, filling the room with its bell-like sound. âFor the lady.â
Shaking your head in disbelief, you walk over and take the bouquet from his arms, cradling it like a baby. Each petal is fresh and alive and so vibrantly pink. Itâs obvious that a lot of care went into this bouquet, and it only touches you further that your husband went to such lengths to guarantee youâd only get the best flowers possible. âThank you, darling. Whatâs the special occasion?â
âNo occasion,â Nanami says, shrugging. âJust that I love you. And I wanted to remind you that, even on days where nothing happens and it feels like weâre just going through the motions ââ he takes your free hand and hunches over to kiss the ring on your fourth finger ââ knowing I get to share every day with you gives me joy to look forward to.â
Happy marriage. Itâs true and thatâs all there is to say about it.
Youâre unable to form words. Nanami Kento, the subtle, quiet lover, being loud with affection for once. An indescribable warmth spreads all throughout your body. âKenâŚâ Tears prick at your eyes as you set the bouquet down on the table and rush into his arms, peppering his face with kisses. âI love you,â you murmur in his ear. âI love you, I love you, I love you. I love you. Thank you.â
Nanami grins, cradling your face in his large palms. âI should do this more often,â he says, letting out a breathy chuckle when you nod instantly. âIâm sorry. Iâll work on â â You cut him off with a slow but eager kiss, snaking your arms around his neck and tugging him closer to deepen it. If Nanami had been surprised by your interruption he doesnât show it â his lips, soft and plump, move in complete synchronization with yours. He tastes like tea and honey and he smells like he always does, of wood and spice and the beach. Itâs intoxicating and completely dangerous how irresistible he is and you canât get enough of him.
The truth is, every real kiss with Nanami feels like the first. And you can never get enough. But you are running out of air, so you break the kiss first and rest your forehead against his, feeling his hot breath fan across your cheeks.
âYouâre perfect,â you whisper, stroking his cheek with the pad of your thumb. âI wouldnât want anyone else as my husband.â
Nanami quirks one corner of his mouth up and covers your hand with his, turning his head to kiss its palm. âIf I had another life to live after this one, Iâd marry you in that one, too.â
A prolonged growl from Nanamiâs stomach interrupts your sweet moment.
âI think your stomach objects.â
âMaybe we should shove something down it, like dinner.â
Grinning, you slip out of your husbandâs reach and beckon him to follow you into the kitchen.
âThis salmon is delicious,â Nanami remarks, taking another bite off his fork.
âThank you,â you beam. âI found a recipe while I was at work today and thought Iâd try it out. Honey garlic salmon. My life is forever changed and so is yours, by extension. Youâre welcome.â
Nanami chuckles, ready to respond with a dry comment about âhaving no choice,â but then that odd email youâd shown him earlier resurfaces in his mind. âSpeaking of changes. Should we cancel that Gary Danko reservation?â
You hum, thinking back to the letter as you chew. It seems like the most logical thing to do. After all, neither of you remembers making the reservation. The ambiguity surrounding its existence is unsettling enough to warrant cancellation, but something in you just wants to see what might happen. Swallowing your food, you say, âDonât you think itâs strange that it has our names on it? I think we should consider going.â
âWhat if itâs a scam?â
âThen we go home, order Indian takeout, and watch a war documentary until we both fall asleep.â
Unconvinced, Nanami sits back in his chair and crosses his arms over his chest, the navy fabric of his button-up tightening around his muscles. âWe should call them first, figure out if they know anything.â
âYouâre right,â you say, and then you pause before adding, âAnd if they donât?â
Youâre done speaking but Nanami knows that sentence isnât finished, and that the other unspoken half is: can we still go? The truth is â and heâs told you many times â that your unpredictability is the most predictable thing about you. For a moment, he doesnât say anything, eyes darting across your face as he contemplates his answer.
Itâs not that Nanami is an overprotective husband or needlessly suspicious of every odd thing in life. Itâs that he somehow cannot remember a single second of his life before today, the same day this email arrived. To be more accurate, he feels like he has those memories inside him. Somewhere, deep in his brain, he vaguely remembers what things like a âfifth birthdayâ or âfirst wedding anniversaryâ look like. They just feel out-of-reach. Regardless, heâs absolutely certain that things arenât exactly right. But you look so excited and utterly unaware of his predicament, so it must be something only heâs experiencing and he doesnât want to burden you with this problem.
âIf you really want to go, then weâll go,â Nanami concludes, taking a sip of his wine. âAfter all, the wifeâŚâ
â⌠is always right,â you finish for him. âWell, sometimes the husband is, too, but in this specific context, for unspecified reasons, the wife is most definitely correct.â The grin on your face almost puts his worries to rest.
(Almost.)
You call Gary Danko after dinner and they confirm your reservation.
âSorry if this sounds, um, weird, but would you mind reminding me when we made this reservation?â you ask, walking in circles around the kitchen.
âNot at all!â Some typing noises travel through the receiver before the man you were talking to says, âActually, you didnât make the reservation.â
You make eye contact with Nanami whoâs lightly rinsing the plates from dinner. âPardon?â
âNo, it was a Miss Amanda Priestly who called us and reserved the table for you two days ago on October 31st. Does that name sound familiar?â
Nanami raises his brows. Thatâs your boss.
âUm, yeah. I know her, thank you,â you say, frowning. What on earth is your boss doing reserving tables at Michelin-rated restaurants for you and your husband?
âShe left a message, too, in case you were, quote, âconfused,â unquote. She says, âMimsy, thank you for your help on the Modish Winter look book. Dinner is on me. Kisses, AP.ââ
And suddenly, everything falls into place. All those late nights you spent analyzing old trends and predicting the next seasonâs rush into your memory. For a month, you pretty much lived in your office down the hall from your editor-in-chief. You barely even had time to sleep. It makes sense that Amanda would show her thanks for the effort you put into the project, but you hadnât expected her to. After all, sheâs Amanda Priestly. She still calls you Mimsy instead of your real name.
âOh, of course!â you laugh, looking over at Nanami. He sends you a curious look before putting the rinsed plates into the dishwasher. âThank you for your help.â
âMy pleasure.â
The call ends and you tuck your phone in your pocket as you say, âMystery solved.â
âHmm,â Nanami says, drying his hands on a kitchen towel. âThe Modish Winter Look Book. For some reason, I donât remember you working on that.â In fact, he doesnât remember you working at a magazine company at all, although he canât put his finger on what job he used to think you had. What is going on?
âReally?â you ask, reaching for his hand and lacing your fingers together. âYou donât remember that time I ran into our office with four different tweed blazers and asked which one looked the most wintery?â
Nanami furrows his brows as a memory comes back to him. It was a sunny morning in early November when you ran into the home office with two blazers draped over each arm and forced him to rank them based on how well they exuded âwinter energy.â Truthfully, he had no idea what he was doing, just that the one with more blue seemed most appropriate for wintertime.
âI just remembered,â he says, a look of amused confusion coming over his features. Today has been so strange. âDid the blue blazer make it to the final look?â
âOne moment,â you say, disappearing into the living room and returning with an advanced, rough copy of Modishâs Winter Fashion Edition. âItâs not out yet, butâŚâ you trail off as you flip through the pages, pointing when you get to the one you were looking for â⌠hereâs your contribution to the magazine.â
The blue blazer, in all its glory, smack dab in the middle of the section that says âTRENDS TO SAY GOODBYE TO.â
âOuch.â
âWell, you predicted something,â you giggle, placing a hand on his chest. âFashion might be your calling, Ken.â
He smiles wryly. âIâm hanging up.â
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[4:44 PM] the thing about you and him is that youâre two fortresses waiting for the other to crumble first.
after being closed in the sun, your eyes take a while to adjust to being open.
âtooru, whatâre we doing?â
the brunet laying beside you turns his head and grins. instinctively, your brows quirk.
âwhat dâyou think?â
you open your mouth, ready to reply with something witty. you donât have anything particular in mind, but you know you want it to be witty.
âno, wait,â oikawa tooru says, moving so that heâs now facing you entirely, resting on his side with his head propped on his hand. âreally think about it.â
heat spreads over your cheeks as you take in his new position, how heâs just slightly hovering over your lying figure now, his chestnut eyes fixed steadily on yours. his shadow overlaps yours by the thinnest sliver and that has to mean something, right? the air between your bodies grows scarce and your chest tightens ever-so-slightly in response.
this is vulnerability.
more questions spring to mind â what happens next? where are we going with this? are your pupils dilating or is that pseudoscience? can he even see them?
you turn your gaze away and look up, sinking into the blue sky like an anchor. knowing that oikawa still has his eyes on your face, you slide an easy smile over your lips. âi think weâre lying in a grassy meadow in the middle of nowhereââ
oikawa flicks your forehead. âno, you idiot.â he falls flat back on the grass again, folding his arms behind his head. the tension in your chest subsides. âthatâs not what i meant.â
âwhatâd you mean, then?â you wait for him to answer as you run your palms over the soft grass, feeling each blade tickle and poke your flesh as if to say hello. cicadas in the distant oak trees fill in oikawaâs silence with their little songs about summer. the out-of-view gurgling stream, which you had tuned out earlier, lets out a small splash. âhey, didâya hear thââ
âshhhh.â oikawa laughs and itâs light and boyish as always, except it feels far away, like the rest of him isnât here in the meadow. somethingâs changed and you canât put your finger on it. so you get up and sit with your legs crossed beneath you, determined to get some answers.
âsay, youâve been acting pretty weird today, tooru. everything okay?â under your eyes, the brunet furrows his brows, crinkling his pretty features with amused confusion. still, he says nothing, only continues to hold your gaze. you canât tell if heâs thinking or waiting.Â
waiting for what?
âdefine âweird,ââ he finally says, sitting up and breaking the trance heâd put over the two of you. he mirrors you and crosses his legs, positioning them so that his knees rest against yours.
âwell, you asked if i wanted to hang out and, when i said yes, you drove us to this meadow.â
âi did.â
âand then you lied down on the grass and told me to do the same.â
âyep.â
âand we just laid in silence for, like, ten minutes.â
oikawa chuckles. âthat is pretty weird.â and then, he lies back down on the grass and closes his eyes. âbut you said you were stressed earlier this morning. isnât this relaxing?â
things fall into place. suddenly, you feel warm all over. âin a way, i guess.â without waiting for him to pat the grass beside him, you, too, lay back down. âis that what weâre doing? relaxing?â
the brunet turns his head and grins.
âyouâre relaxing. iâm just waiting.â
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