⊹ FUKU. thirties. she/her. fanfic and fanart. jjk/bg3. tired lawyer. sideblog @tsukimefuku. original writing @fukur0shi-ogw. cover by @/g00miato. pfp by @/satanISA.
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most recent works: higuruma sensei ch 04 ; the memory of things ; big dick higuruma ; smoke with me
Why are men breaking up with their girlfriends and wives by abandoning them mid hikes in secluded / often dangerous areas. I wouldn’t do this to a woman even if she was my sworn enemy. What in the ever living fuck
Sometimes I wonder if I’m too much of a man hater but then reality reminds me I’m not hating men ENOUGH
Greetings everyone! I'm inviting you to my small birthday event! Thank you for being here! Your presence is truly wonderful, and I hope you're here to stay.
For this year's event, I'll be taking my lovely mutuals to Disneyland! This event was inspired by the Disneyland trip I took on my birthday a few years ago, and my husband thought of every detail. I hope that I can do the same for you.
Your task:
You will select one of the following places on the map. In return, you will receive a moodboard based on the themed land. But wait, we're going to park hop! We'll also be heading to Disney's California Adventure, so choose wisely. Make sure to include your plus 1! The moodboard will include places from the park and a quote. Here's one I made for demonstration:
Now, without further ado, the map:
Disneyland
Tomorrowland
Fantasyland
Adventureland
Frontierland
New Orlean's Square
Toon Town
California Adventure
Grizzly Peak
Pixar Pier
Cars Land
Send an ask with where you would like to go and who you're going with! Tell me a little about your dynamic, and I'll go from there! I hope to have so much fun with you on my birthday!
To give everyone a chance to visit their specific themed land, no repeats please.<3
Sorry for missing most of interactive posts and tags, I’ve been a bit MIA for a few reasons but do intend to be back soon enough. Love u all, be gay, do crimes 💜
Synopsis: A series of one-shots, in which your lover finds supreme pleasure under the benediction your erotic praise.
[X Fem Reader, featuring Gen Narumi, Kento Nanami, Soshiro Hoshina and Shota Aizawa.]
Contents: Explicit sexual content, romance, humour.
(Based on a smut challenge I've taken on ❤)
Gen Narumi
He was insufferable at the best of times, and today you were strongly reminded of why you loved him for it.
Since the first time he'd caught you appreciating the sight of him completely nude while gaming, Gen had latched onto his advantage like a starving wolf on a fresh kill in winter.
Today, he was reclining on the couch in his quarters, shirtless, watching your exasperated expression as he ran his fingers through his hair, flipping it back off his forehead, the roll of biceps beneath skin clearly visible.
"Enjoying the view?"
"You're a walking cliché right now."
"And you like it."
Damn it all, but he was right.
Not that you'd surrender so easily.
Arms folded, your gaze dropped to his belt buckle.
"Fine. Then give me something else to appreciate."
His grin widened, a certain wilful pride that tugged at something tender inside you, even as arousal warred with sentiment.
"Oho. So you're after the bayonet, huh?"
"Please don't call it that."
He was laughing, and you took in the rare moment of unguarded joy as he undid the fastening with a completely unnecessary flourish and tugged his pants and underwear down to his ankles.
"Well?"
It was just as much a challenge as it was an invitation.
In spite of his brash confidence, you were aware of exactly how he sought your approval, every word of appreciation and affirmation, always ready to drink from the fountain of your praise.
Recalling this gave you an inkling of how you intended to approach him tonight.
Lowering your voice to a purr, you sank to your knees before him, watching with satisfaction as his eyes widened momentarily. He'd obviously been expecting you climb onto his lap.
"Already so hard, Captain?"
This was new to him too. You'd never referred to him by his title during intimacy.
Judging by the slight flush at the tips of his ears, he seemed to like it.
"Oi, are you sure you - "
"Yes."
Meeting his gaze, holding it, you palmed the heavy, silky weight of him in your palm, already curving past the constraints of half-mast.
Leaning forward, you teased him with a soft, experimental lick, watching the flex of his hip as he jerked slightly.
"Fuck. Wait, you're - "
He was already slightly breathless, one hand hovering half-consciously near you.
"Gen."
Your breath washed over hardened flesh, and the set of his jaw grew slack.
"What?"
"Let me make you feel good, please."
"What's gotten into you all of a - ah."
His head fell back against the sofa as your lips closed over the head, slick and hot, earthy on your tongue.
You worked over him, bobbing langorously, before releasing with a soft, wet noise.
"You're always so big. Love how heavy you are."
He uttered a soft grunt of shock as you let the length of him drop against your face, nuzzling against him, allowing the musky scent to transport you.
Within a few seconds, the reigns had slipped from him, and judging from his chagrin and arousal, he wasn't displeased.
"Hold on - you're - "
"Is that an order, Captain? You want me to stop?"
Allowing your hand to drift downwards, you cupped him, rolling the sac in your palm.
Gen hissed, mouthing silent curses, before glaring down at you.
"No."
"No, what?"
"Don't stop."
Squeezing him lightly earned a tight groan.
Heat was growing between your own legs as you watched him, lowering your lips until they were just an inch above the taut, slick skin of his cock.
"You don't sound convincing, sir."
"Fuck, please, just - put your mouth on me - I - "
Without warning, you engulfed him again, and this time, he yelped, hips bucking right off the sofa.
How good he felt, so pliant beneath you, struggling under the heel of your whim.
Your palms spread flat against his abdomen, taking in the sheer strength of him, rippling like a landslide under your touch.
Here he was, the strongest, a soldier through and through, moaning, writhing, a litany of filthy praise on his tongue.
The teasing had driven him close to the edge, but you released him suddenly, earning a choked cry, his grip tightening in your hair.
"Why did you - "
"But you look so good like this, sir."
"Huh?"
Sweat was now glistening on his brow and chest, the strain in his voice audible.
"Want to see you like this a little longer."
"But I - "
He bit his lip hard, and your smile grew wicked.
"Would the Captain like to give me another order?"
"Please."
"Please, what?"
"Suck me."
The words were a throaty growl, something desperate hidden within.
He was shifting underneath you, lifting himself into your grasp.
How needy.
You laved him with your tongue, pausing again, voice breathy with want.
"You're so hard, Gen. You taste so good. Want your cock in me all night."
He was now almost incoherent, raspy panting loud in the intimate hush of the room.
"I - oh, fuck, I need you, please. I'll give you my cock, I'll fuck you however you want, just please - "
"However I want?"
You were stroking him again, slow and measured.
"Put that pretty mouth on - ahh shit. Fuck, I need - need you so bad - "
He was all but begging you now, hitched breathing, face scarlet with humiliation and desire, erection leaking between your fingers.
Taking mercy on him, you slid him right back in, his groans louder, his demands more explicit.
You took him as far as he would go, sliding back down the slick length, wrist working as you released him to take a shuddering breath.
"Gen, come for me."
"Ah, yeah, I'm - don't stop, I'm - "
You could tell he was already at the brink.
"Come in my mouth, want you all over my tongue."
Picking up the pace of your fist around him, you held his gaze, mouth open, ready to receive everything he gave.
This proved too much for him, and his entire body stiffened, tendons standing out in his neck as his back arched.
A loud, desperate roar escaped him, cut off midway as he came, hot and viscous, the excess of him escaping down your chin.
You slid a finger beneath your lip, catching the stray drop, tasting more thoroughly.
He was now slumped boneless over the sofa, arms spreadeagled, the rise and fall of his chest ragged and uneven.
Placing your hands on his thighs, you clambered up to perch on him.
Gen raised his head slowly, eyes flashing and accusatory even as he basked in a considerable afterglow.
"You're gonna pay for that."
Kento Nanami
He had a slight spring in his step today, one that was barely perceptible to those who didn't know him well.
The brown paper bag tucked under one arm signaled that he'd had time to stop by the bakery.
Turning away from your laptop, you smiled as he removed his shoes in the genkan, stepping with slow deliberation into his house slippers.
"Canceled mission?"
"Not canceled. They just handed it over to someone closer to the site."
Kento was observing the 'ritual of return', as you'd teasingly named it.
First, the tinted glasses came off, polished briefly and stored in their case. Off came the coat, the tie loosened and removed, sleeves rolled up as he prepared to wash his hands at the kitchen sink.
Something about the smooth shift of powerful shoulders under the dark blue screen of formal wear always caught your eye.
Today, he seemed less tired than usual.
You considered him as he dried off his hands, reaching up to run fingers through the carefully set hair, loosening strands to frame the strong lines of his face.
Today, you'd have your way with him.
There was no doubt about it.
Before he had a chance to enter the bedroom to prepare for his evening bath, you slipped in yourself, hurriedly rummaging through the drawers for your secret weapon.
By the time he'd arrived, you had already prepared an ambush. Kento raised an eyebrow at the sight of you, perched on the bed, still in your robe.
"Did you want to use the bathroom first?"
"Hmm. Not exactly."
"Then - "
You let the robe slip to the side, raising one leg to fold over the other.
There it was, that subtle shift in his expression, from gentle propriety to charged tension, anticipation lacing the slow drop of his gaze.
These were the stockings you knew he liked an awful lot, sheer, black, the lace edges gripping the flesh of your thigh where they ended halfway up.
He glanced down, slowly laying aside the towel he still held, a smile growing on his lips.
"You're misbehaving today, I see."
"I wouldn't call it that. Come here."
Kento looked a little taken aback by how pro-active you were being. Normally, you allowed him to take the lead in bedroom matters, always secure in the knowledge that he would satisfy you, but tonight, you wanted to shake that status quo, to give him something to remember.
He was already unbuttoning his shirt, ready to set it aside neatly, as he always did, but this time you foiled him by pushing his hands away, unfastening and removing his pants instead.
His breathing hitched, ever so slightly, as you brushed against his growing erection.
You leaned back on your elbows and he protested in consternation.
"Hold on, let me get the condom on - "
"You won't be needing it for this."
While he was regaining his bearings, you shuffled forward, reached between your bodies and grasped him, watching his eyes fly open.
"What are you - "
As answer, you brought your thighs together, pushing his cock between them. The rapidly hardening tip slid out the other side between soft skin, and he uttered a small sound of helpless surprise.
Up went your legs, ankles crossed, propped against his shoulder. The angle tightened the vice you had on him.
Kento was now looking down at you, posture tense and uncertain. This didn't disguise the curiosity and spark of desire you'd inspired, a slow flush stealing across the firm bridge of his nose.
He looked almost ... bashful, slightly at a loss.
The fact that he allowed you to see this particular facet of his nature did not escape you.
A privilege, indeed.
"You can move."
He remained still for a moment, as if holding some internal debate.
Then, he did as he was bid, shifting back, pushing himself forward, once, twice, experimental and slow.
Kento was quite broad, the heft and width of him always making prior preparation necessary.
You hadn't expected him to feel like this, not inside you, but so close, every ridge and heated twitch making itself known to your flesh, that intoxicating duality of steel encased in velvet, passing through the clench of your thighs.
Just from this, his breathing had grown audibly shallow, Adam's apple bobbing as those large, warm hands slid around to grip you where the stockings ended.
The gentility of his touch was at odds with the act itself, eroticism bordering on debauchery, the pearly translucence sliding from his tip beginning to coat each measured thrust.
You'd never really listened to the sounds your bodies made when joining before, but this time, the slick press of him was unmistakable, causing you to arch back against the bed, eyelids lowering in sultry invitation.
"Kento ... feels so good. Harder, please."
He was growing more confident, a quick study, as always.
The earlier hesitance had given way to something more instinctual, primal, even.
His fingers hooked in the tops of your stockings for leverage, leaving you gasping as he dragged your body with intent against his, driving with greater impact.
His strength was not always so evident in the bedroom, leaving space for gentler, more passionate pursuits, but now he let you have it.
You clutched at the sheets beneath you, whispering urgent appeals, soft and electric, the sweet promise of the night unfurling around you both.
"Yes, please, use me like that. Want you ... so much. You're always so warm, I - ah. Yes, yes, keep going. Fuck me, fuck me like that - "
He was unraveling as he watched you come apart beneath him, blonde strands falling across his flushed face, eyes misted over with pleasure, sweat building on his skin, his grip on your thighs tightening enough to leave bruises.
The pace he'd set was now punishing, driven by your pleas and praise, the sheets rumpled, your breasts swaying with every firm slap of his body against yours.
One final push, and you cried out as he came, a hoarse, guttural groan of ecstasy escaping him.
There was a loud rip as your stockings finally gave way under his powerful grip, heat spurting out onto your abdomen.
Panting, you lay sprawled beneath him, both legs slowly swinging down from their position on his shoulders, almost disbeliving that you'd managed to push him to this.
Kento's head was thrown back, throat extended, chest rising and falling rapidly as he leaned his weight against the bed.
When he finally spoke, breathless and uncharacteristically shaky, it wasn't to reprimand you for your boldness.
That was not his way.
"Let me ... help you get ... cleaned up."
Dutiful, devoted, never wavering.
You nodded wordlessly, and his palm passed over your ankle, squeezing momentarily before he made his way to the bathroom.
He returned with a warm washcloth to remove the traces he'd left on you, but the look he wore, the way he gripped and savoured the softness of you, spoke of further, unleashed desires.
This was Kento's way, not a rebuke, but a reward, and the night was far from over.
Soshiro Hoshina
There was little that escaped Soshiro's observant eye.
He always knew, for example, which of his officers had slacked off during training.
Perhaps this was why he invariably caught you staring.
Granted, you had never been subtle about it. Soshiro was incredible to watch in motion when he trained, darting across the floor, blades swinging like a contained whirlwind, every muscle outlined in glorious definition beneath the black compression shirts he favoured.
Sometimes, like present, he'd emerge from the shower in a fragrant cloud of steam, towel slung criminally low on his waist, strolling past you on his way to the fridge.
How could you not look?
An unreasonable demand.
And now he was -
Starkly outlined by the light emitting from within the fridge, he took his time bending over, the taut outline of his backside clearly visible through the towel.
One of his sweetened coffee-milk drinks was selected with a completely unnecessary show of attention.
What a tease.
Swinging the fridge door shut, he straightened, taking a swig from the bottle. A small drop of the rich brown liquid escaped the rim, trailing lovingly down his chest.
He swiped it off and licked his finger, catching your eye.
"Oh, did I distract you, sweetheart?"
"Stop that."
"Stop what?"
"That."
He had the grace to grin knowingly.
"Can't a man get a drink in his own house?"
"He could, if he were fully clothed."
"Now, don't be like that."
He approached, waving the coffee-milk beneath your nose.
"I'll share, if you ask nicely."
Sighing, you wrenched your eyes away from his enviable abs, fingers flexing around the pen you held.
"Maybe a little. I've got one more requisition to fill out."
He offered you the bottle obligingly.
As he leaned one elbow on the counter beside you, the towel around his waist somehow gave up its precarious perch and slid to the floor.
You nearly choked on the sip you'd taken as Soshiro glanced down at himself with a distinctly cheerful lack of regret.
"Oh no. Now I'm naked in front of my sweet gal. What'll she think of me?"
"You - "
Rising slowly with narrowed eyes, you wiped off your mouth and propped a hand on your hip.
"All right. I'll play your game, Soshiro."
This had evidently been what he was after, because his smile was now anything but innocent, the gleam of his still-damp hair as tantalizing as the expanse of bare skin he had graced you with.
"Oh? And how're ya gonna do that?"
In reply, you stepped past him, pausing in the doorway to the bedroom.
Shadows played over the bunch and slide of muscle in his thighs as he pushed off the counter and sauntered towards you.
Determined not to let his distractions progress further, you turned away, aware of the soft pad of his footsteps across the floor.
As carelessly as he had, you pulled off your own shirt and pajama shorts, dropping them to one side.
He raised an eyebrow as he entered the room.
"Puttin' on a show for me already?"
You glanced coyly over one shoulder at him.
"Just returning the favour."
The evident switch in your mood had thrown him slightly, and you could see it.
Settling on the bed, you crooked a finger.
"Here."
Graciously playing along for now, he climbed up, braced on hands and knees, and crawled towards you, those powerful shoulders rolling beneath scarred skin, a predator at play.
Maintaining an upper hand with this man was near impossible, but you'd be damned if you didn't try your best.
Placing one hand on his chest, you exerted gentle pressure, and he complied, violet eyes carving the sight of you into some part of his mind as he lay back.
Silky dark hair fanned out in a halo around his head, and you allowed your gaze to drag across his body, every sculpted dip and ridge, the delicious trail of hair that meandered down to the tuft between his spread legs, the casual bounce of his half-hard cock as he shifted to get more comfortable.
For all of his teasing, your Soshiro really was a work of art, forged and tempered by battle and a lifetime of hard training.
In that moment, an idea solidified.
Tapping his hip with one hand, you gestured to him to move more towards the right.
He cocked his head quizzically, but followed your direction, bemused.
He was now situated in the correct position for what you intended.
Fingers trailing across his chest, you followed their passage with light presses of your lips, listening to his soft exhalation.
He reached up and tucked your hair behind one ear, the sharp snaggle tooth projecting as he smiled down at you.
Unable to help yourself, you kissed the corner of his mouth, then, slower, the softness of his cheek, his chin, down the length of his throat, across the strong, supple curve of his pectorals.
Soshiro's breathing had sped up a little, warm anticipation in his eyes as he watched you take a nipple into your mouth, biting his lip as you applied gentle suction, tracing its contour with your tongue.
You knew he was more sensitive here, lapping and gently sinking your teeth into the yield of him as he let out a hiss, one warm, calloused hand sliding along your waist.
You gave both sides equal attention, alternating until they were rosy, perked, begging for further attention. His erection was now rock hard against your thigh, and your lips curved against his skin as he moved, as if to create more friction.
Sitting up, you paused in your worship, arching your back, rocking against him.
He was now panting slightly, his grip on your hip tightening, eyes traveling over you with undisguised hunger.
You took his hand, watching his eyes widen slightly as you extended his middle and forefinger, taking them into your mouth before your whisper sounded, soft against his palm.
"Feel how wet you make me."
Soshiro was spellbound as you allowed his fingers, dampened with your saliva, to trace a glistening path down, between your breasts, across your stomach, down, down, to the growing heat between your thighs.
You uttered a soft cry as you felt the firm press of his hand against you, the breach of your entrance and the slow circle of the sensitised bud outside.
"Fuck."
Soshiro seldom cursed, and the raw edge to his arousal never failed to set your nerves ablaze.
In spite of the growing haze of desire in your own mind, you placed a finger over his lips, directing his attention once more.
"Watch."
He raised himself on his elbows, the pieces of the puzzle slotting into place as you moved your torso to the side, your abdomen lowering against his.
Behind you, directly in his line of sight, was the mirror across the top of the dresser. You'd shifted your position to the right edge of the bed, where he could now claim a clear view of the both of you.
There was a fierce intensity to how he focused on that reflection as you raised yourself slightly, your folds clearly visible to him, even in the dimmer lighting of the bedroom.
In your current position over him, your mouth was beside his ear, hands braced on his shoulders. He groaned softly as you slid against his cock, all wet heat and petal-soft promise.
"Soshiro."
He nodded, strain visible in the taut lines of his neck.
"Watch how you stretch me."
His mouth fell open, a rare display of complete surrender to pleasure as you sank down onto him, inch by inch, clutching at him like a lifeline.
All the while, his eyes never left the mirror, exactly as you'd instructed, watching himself push past your labia, deeper and deeper into you.
Keeping the angle, breathing hard, you began a rocking motion with your hips, legs spread wide on either side of him, ensuring that his view was never obscured.
Over and over, you slicked him with the unspoken praise of your own arousal, letting him see exactly what he did to you.
His arms had now closed around your waist with an almost convulsive grasp, biceps pressing into your sides as he whispered endless encouragement to you, to keep going, keep riding, keep taking his cock just like that -
Before long, you'd both lost complete track of whichever game he'd decided on before this had all started, lost in a maze of passion, delineated only by the slap of his flesh against yours, the endless, hard press of him inside you, the damp, open heat of his mouth against your shoulder as he took control, filling the bedroom with broken gasps and cries.
When the surge of heat inside you, finally tipping you into the molten embrace of a pulsing, heavy climax, shook you both from head to toe, you collapsed against him, nails digging into his back.
The tremors subsiding, you raised yourself off him, breathless laughter fanning out against his lips.
"Do I win this round?"
His grin was as charming as ever, boyish and lop-sided from all of your exertions.
"Only if you let me settle the score."
Shota Aizawa
As chronically sleep-deprived as he appears, there's a dichotomy to Shota that becomes more evident over time.
He is always alert, every sense finely attuned to his surroundings, even when he's asleep.
Since you've started spending time at his place, he's also made other concessions, starting with the habit of actually sleeping in his bed at night, as opposed to the familiar yellow sleeping bag.
The moment you join him, he rolls over, arm draping across your form, heavy and warm. It's testament to how far this unspoken trust extends, for a man who so studiously avoided physical contact with others.
Tonight, however, you can tell that he's awake, mulling over something.
He's lying on his back, one arm draped across his forehead, the blankets pushed down.
"Shota?"
"Hmm."
It's a partial answer, giving away none of his thoughts, but still indicating that he's present, and listening.
You turned over to find him watching you, intent and fully aware.
"Can't sleep?"
"I will. Eventually."
Reaching for him, you traced along his bare chest, fingers catching slightly on the dense tangle of dark hair, the solid planes of him beneath.
"What are you thinking about?"
"You."
The blunt honesty of his answer was typical, and you shifted, propping up your head with an elbow.
"Why?"
"Just thinking."
Electing to remain silent, you waited. He always required a little more time to gather and articulate his thoughts.
Shota never said anything he didn't mean, especially not to you.
His eyes were on you again.
"Are you happy?"
"You mean ... with us? Yes, of course I am."
"You sure?"
His meaning wasn't lost on you. Shota had never seen himself indulging in softer emotions, his life Spartan, making room only for that which he was familiar with.
You were an anomaly, a bright splash of uncertainty and vulnerability he was still grappling with.
"I wouldn't be here if I wasn't."
Somehow, you knew that a simple answer was not enough. He didn't expect anything more, though, and that was precisely why you would act.
Reaching over, you ran a hand down his cheek, the rough edge of stubble a contrast to the softer overgrowth along his jaw.
He responded to you immediately, an unspoken desire for something, anything you could give him.
Instead of allowing him to cover your body with his, you pushed back against his shoulder, your leg drifting sideways across his body.
Hooking your ankle against his knee, you lifted yourself on one elbow, sliding over him.
The blanket formed a partial cocoon around you both as you straddled him, leaning down to capture his lips with yours.
For the most part, Shota let you initiate, but the quiet, passionate urgency of his response never failed to set you alight.
His fingers were already threading through your hair, pulling you closer.
You let him taste you, thorough and deliberate, before leaning back, watching him chase after you with slow delight.
Beneath you, he was already hard, and you slid a hand past the waistband of his underwear, a moan escaping the tight set of his lips as you found the hot weight of him beneath the wiry thatch of dark hair.
You could tell that he was trying his best not to buck wantonly into your palm.
Ever a master of restraint, was Shota.
Throwing all caution to the wind, you decided on something you'd never tried with him before.
Familiarity be damned, he'd asked you if you were happy, and you fully intended to show him just how much.
Relinquishing your grasp on him, your reached up, tugging off the shift you wore to bed, now completely nude from the waist up.
The faint furrow of confusion between his brows was especially amusing to you as you lowered yourself between his thighs.
He only figured out what you intended moments after you lifted both breasts, settling them on either side of his cock.
"What - "
For once, Shota was at a loss, stiff with disbelief.
"Keep your eyes on me."
You gave one playful upward stroke, and the groan that exploded from him was almost unrecognizable.
He was watching all right, that hooded, drowsy gaze now drinking in the sight of you and what you were doing to him.
Within the snug, velvety channel, he was long, firm and pulsing, the slight upward cant of his hips meeting the lowering of your breasts each time.
You hadn't been expecting the sensations that he'd give to you, the prickle of his hair catching on your nipples, dewy pearls of pre-cum sliding down his length with every lift and drop.
Soon, the dampness had spread across your skin, gleaming with a soft, obscene sheen in the dim light.
Adding fuel to fire, you gently licked the tip each time it raised, humming in satisfaction at the taste of him, earning short, desperate growls, his fingers scrabbling for purchase on the bedspread.
How you loved seeing him like this, entirely focused, lost in the pleasure you gave so freely, taking and taking until he was completely spent.
Opening wider, you held him in your mouth on the next thrust, engulfing, tracing the small opening at the tip with your tongue.
He jerked spasmodically, a harsh, hoarse protest on his lips.
"If you ... if you keep ... ah, fuck, if you - "
Watching this man come undone would never grow tiresome.
Abandoning your earlier exploits, you focused on the building climax you could sense in the coil of muscle in his abdomen, the flex and tensing of his thighs.
He was so close.
Taking him fully into your mouth, you sucked and stroked with relish, picking up the pace as he threw back his head and lifted himself into you without restraint.
Hips snapping up one final time, he let out a long, low, guttural groan as viscous heat spurted over your breasts and tongue. It was slightly bitter, the distinctive taste of him.
Panting hard, even amidst the white hot bliss you'd brought him, Shota's hand was tracing your lower lip, wiping away the excess that had spilled down to your chest.
His touch was shockingly tender, considering what you'd both just done together.
Mote than that, it was an answer, one he'd finally grasped acceptance of.
Smiling up at him, you stretched, arms raised high above your head.
"You wonder if I'm happy when I get to feast like this?"
His laughter was low and rich, a trifle rough from disuse.
"Fine. Made your point."
When you made to get off him, his grasp on your hip halted you, the slow curve of his smile matching yours.
Pairing: Nanami Kento x f!reader
Summary: In which your recent gift to Nanami has him quickly feeling himself.
Contents: fluff, humor, established relationship, canon-div
Word count: 4.3k
Never could you have foreseen the situation reaching such a dire level.
With both of your text messages sent to Nanami within the last half-hour going unanswered, you’d suspected that he might have succumbed to the sleep deficit he’d accrued over the previous week—his relentless schedule had been filled with one assignment after another, with the promise of finally winding down only today after a mission he was assigned in the early hours of this morning.
With this in mind, you’d made a calculated effort to be as quiet as possible, gently sliding the key he’d given you just a mere few weeks prior into his door lock, marking this as the very first time you were using it yourself.
As you quietly stepped inside, Nanami’s shoes instantly caught your attention from the corner of the genkan, their leather soles still bearing the dark sheen of melted snow. It was this, coupled with some fresh ingredients left out on the counter just by the fridge, that offered undeniable proof that he was indeed home.
Only after you’d slipped out of your shoes and tiptoed further inside did you sense that something might be amiss.
A clothes hamper haphazardly lay tipped onto its side just outside the laundry closet, whose door was left ajar. Some of Nanami’s clothing had spilled onto the ground, strewn about as if they’d been hastily discarded, leaving a trail of shirts, slacks, and socks that led all the way up to his living room couch, where were piled what could be no less than two weeks’ worth of laundry.
You carefully waded your way to the end of the hall, past the guest bathroom, past his vacant home office, until you reached his bedroom.
As soon as you crossed the threshold, you heard a rummaging noise emanating from the open closet.
“Kento?” you called out towards it.
It only took a couple of seconds for Nanami to stumble out of the confined area, looking like he’d just been dragged through a storm.
He was less than half-dressed, clad merely in his slippers, boxer briefs, and an undershirt that revealed the glint of his thin gold chain at the base of his throat. His hair was disheveled, and he bore a tired and troubled expression, with pupils darkened, brows furrowed, and the corners of his mouth tugged downwards into a tight frown.
It took you a moment to process the sight before you.
Your visibly disarrayed Nanami spoke before you could.
“Ah, welcome back,” he said, the warm affection of his greeting swiftly slipping into something grave. “Have you seen my robe?”
A few weeks prior…
To think that this all started with a pair of fancy, comfortable house slippers.
With his book in one hand and a freshly brewed cup of matcha in the other, Nanami had just settled onto your couch beside you, fully emulating a Sunday morning languor that mirrored the quiet mid-winter day outside.
You’d wrenched your gaze from your phone just in time to watch him set his mug onto the coffee table before leaning back into the plush pillows with a gentle sigh.
He now had his leg extended, outstretched and slightly lifted off the ground as he idly rotated his ankle in an absent-minded, lazy motion that caused his slipper to repeatedly slide halfway off and on with each unthinking movement.
You couldn’t help but chuckle at the amusing sight.
“You seem to be enjoying those,” you remarked.
Nanami set his book on his lap and glanced at you, lips twitching into a sheepish smile.
“Well, these are some awfully comfortable slippers.”
Even months into this budding relationship, there remained something novel about the way Grade 1 sorcerer Nanami Kento seamlessly switched into the softened, unguarded iteration of himself, something deeply endearing about recognizing the way he shed a week’s worth of job-induced tension and allowed himself to truly relax, even if for a mere few hours.
It made your heart swell with pure delight, just as much as it did back when you’d watched him lounge in this very spot the morning after he’d stayed over for the first time, no longer as a guest you were hosting in your house but as a partner with whom you were sharing a pleasant slice of home.
By now, you’d easily slipped into an alternating pattern, visiting one another whenever your weekend schedules permitted, and over time, you’d naturally stocked Nanami’s go-to toiletries and yielded him a non-negligible portion of your closet and drawer space where he’d kept several changes of the clothes, along with all the things you’d offered him to make his stays comfortable—newest among those was this very pair of luxurious slippers.
“They come in a set too, you know,” you added after a moment.
“A set?”
“Mm-hmm. It includes a silk eye mask and a matching house robe.”
Nanami let out a low, pensive hum, and you returned your attention to your phone.
“I don’t believe I’ve ever owned a robe before,” he murmured, drawing your attention to him once more.
“Wait, really?”
Nanami slowly shook his head before his gaze flickered to you. “Why, is that so surprising?”
You took a moment to truly consider his question, letting it resonate within you. “I don’t know… I just think it would really suit you. Comfort always does look good on you, Mr. Nanami.”
Nanami settled deeper into the soft cushions, a bashful blush coloring his cheeks in the kind of vulnerable display you always treasured, always felt lucky to behold.
Something softened in your chest, and it was right then and there that you zeroed in on the next addition to his gradually expanding side of your closet, unwittingly embarking on what would be an entertaining ride.
No later than the very next week, you were able to hand Nanami his gift.
With both of you having the following Monday off duty, this Sunday presented the kind of placid respite that only the middle day of a long weekend could offer. Following a lunch date at a nice bistro, followed by a fruitful trip to the local bookstore, you’d returned to his apartment together.
By now, Nanami had already slipped into what was now the second pair of comfortable slippers you’d gifted him, and stood before his full-length mirror as he fastened a wide belt into the double loops of a brand new matching house robe.
“How does it fit?” you asked from where you sat behind him on the corner of his bed, keen to confirm whether the size you’d picked out for him would provide a loose enough fit for his comfort.
With a muted swish and drag of his slippers against his hardwood floor, Nanami took the small side step that allowed him to meet your gaze through the mirror’s reflection, something not quite yet readable in his eyes. He adjusted the shawl collar that framed his neck before finally turning around to face you.
“You tell me,” he simply replied, his gaze moving over your face.
You took in the way his broad shoulders filled the width of the pale gray gown, which was composed of carefully crafted towelling and where the soft Egyptian cotton fabric no longer hung loose, molding his frame instead as it held snug along his sides and cinched at his waist by a thick, fastened belt. The robe had a wide hood and two deep front pockets just below his hips, one into which he’d slipped a hand as he brought his other hand to his hip, as if to strike a pose.
Effortlessly classy, functionally stylish, and, just as you’d envisioned, he looked damn good in it.
Your staring must have been prolonged enough to catch Nanami’s attention, which he signaled with a sudden quirk of his eyebrow and a noticeable twitch at the corners of his mouth.
“Well, it looks perfect to me,” you replied, as casually as possible, even as you felt the inklings of a buzzing, familiar warmth come over you, driving you to briefly bite the inside of your cheek.
“It certainly feels perfect,” he concurred, his voice low and warm and his nose crinkling in a way you recognized to be whenever he was absolutely self-content.
Like was totally feeling himself. With good reason.
Later that evening, you found yourself observing Nanami while he carefully arranged one of your napkins into a makeshift bib over his new robe as he sat down to have dinner.
“It’s just too comfortable to take off just yet,” Nanami said, responding to what could only be your perplexed expression. “Surely I’m allowed to indulge in this today, right?”
Your palms shot up in mock surrender at his defensiveness from an accusation you hadn’t even considered forming. “Hey, I didn’t say otherwise!”
“Good,” he returns, with an equally playful, self-satisfied smile.
Because of course he’s allowed to indulge you thought as you snickered at the sincerity counter weighing his joking tone, at the dualities of the man before you—goofiness under seriousness, indulgence under restraint, the dutiful sorcerer who wielded a blunt sword to exorcise the most vicious curses in this existence, now deep in the plushy comfort offered by a simple cotton house robe.
So for the remainder of that sweet, long weekend, Nanami indulged in his new house robe, removing it only for the scarce occasions he stepped outside, or when he was showering or sleeping.
You could forever watch him roam around with a leisurely tempo in his step as he went about his day—it was charming, adorable, sexy in the most understated ways.
You gave yourself a mental pat on the back, relishing the idea that you’d managed to offer him a small slice of comfort, not yet realizing what you’d gotten yourself into.
It wasn’t until sometime later that you hit the absolute tip of the iceberg that was Nanami’s fondness for his robe.
He wore it so often now, nearly whenever he was hanging out at home, and this quiet, late morning was no exception.
You were seated at the dinner table, busy drafting an addendum to a recent mission report of yours in a comfortable silence that was only punctuated by the sound of a wooden spoon occasionally hitting a pot.
Keen on sharing a recipe he’d talked about at length, Nanami had taken it upon himself to prepare his twist on a risotto, a dish whose preparation doubled as a test of diligence, requiring a near-constant presence by the stove as he monitored the pot and gradually added in the stock, one careful ladle at a time.
Kento also happened to be in the middle of reading a mystery thriller novel that had him particularly hooked. It did surprise you a bit when you spotted him taking his paperback along with him to the kitchen—he usually treated his reading time with more sanctity, making it a point to separate it from any other activities.
But what truly caught your attention was what you noticed him do with it.
You’d lifted your gaze just in time to catch Nanami as he slipped his book into one of the expansive pockets of his robe before reaching for the stove and adding two ladles’ worth of broth to his pot which he then gently stirred.
You thought nothing more of this, that is, until a minute later, when you caught him fishing the book from his pocket once more, quickly thumbing his bookmark to find his page.
A moment later, he closed his book and returned it to his pocket.
By now, your mission report was long forgotten in favor of the scene unfolding before you, of Nanami Kento, whom you’ve only ever known to be a practical, efficient man, engaging in a very much less than efficient enactment of his favorite hobby, as if his main purpose was to maximize the usage of the pockets of his robe.
Surely that wasn’t what he was truly doing, you thought as you carefully observed him out of the corner of your eye.
Sure enough, it hadn’t been a fluke—he did this a few more times, each time making a point of tucking his book away into his robe pocket before resuming his cooking.
A short moment later, Kento’s eyes found yours, a quiet but undeniable thrill radiating from them.
“This story is getting wild. You must absolutely give it a read once I’m done,” he said, casual as ever, before returning to his stove.
What you brushed off at the time as one of Nanami’s amusing albeit peculiar new habits with his robe would only be the first of many others.
There are habits, and then there’s this.
Nanami has his mannerisms, many of which you’d picked up early on as you’d surreptitiously observed the man who was still only your lovely colleague who was just broaching the outer limits of your attention.
He readjusted his glasses whenever he was narrowing his focus to lock onto a target.
He often rolled up his sleeves when he was gearing up to enter combat or preparing to take on an arduous task.
When deep in thought or pondering a tough decision, his hand instinctively went to his tie, smoothing its fabric.
And now, there was a new one, one you’d been noticing over the past few days, one that you were about to put to a test.
“Nanami,” you called out to him suddenly one day, keeping your tone as neutral as possible.
You watched him freeze right where he sat on his couch, his countenance stiffening immediately as your unusual usage of his surname, well outside the formal confines of work, gradually registered.
And there it was, subtle but right on cue—Nanami’s fingers found the edge of the belt of his robe, sliding up until they found the knot and began fidgeting, adjusting something that didn’t need it.
“…Yes?” He replied after a short pause, a flicker of nervous curiosity clouding his eyes.
“I’ll be driving out to the tailor tomorrow for a few items I need adjusted. Is there anything you want to have dry-cleaned since I’ll be in the area?”
“Dry cleaned…” he began, his eyes narrowing in suspicion as he tried to decipher yours, but you expertly averted your gaze before he could probe too deeply. “No, I don’t have anything to be dry-cleaned… Is there something wrong?”
“Why would there be something wrong, Nanami?”
He let out a nervous scoff, and you watched his fingers quickly find his belt again, less fidgety this time, just settling there.
“Well, good, now I know you’re just messing with me.”
“Oh, am I?” you countered as you walked right by him, but your carefully crafted composure faltered, and the snicker you’d been suppressing escaped in an uncontrolled burst.
Nanami’s demeanor relaxed as his hand slipped from the anchor of his robe’s belt to your hip, halting your stride with a gentle yet firm pull toward his lap.
“Not so fast, we ought to discuss this…” he commanded huskily.
Yielding to his tug, you savored in the moment and in the way by which, ever since you’d discovered that this particular mannerism of Nanami’s stemmed from a mix of nervousness and hesitation, you derived great pleasure in baiting it out of him just to witness him embody it at your whim.
It was on an early, unsuspecting evening that the most blatant manifestation of Nanami’s metamorphosis occurred.
Yet another particularly busy season at work made for late nights at the Tech, making your apartment the most convenient place for you and Nanami to retreat before you’d have to do it all over again in the morning.
You were spending the evening like you’d spent most of them these days: carefully planned leftovers made for a quick dinner, leaving you with just enough time to decompress before the inexorable wave of slumber came knocking at your door.
Today had been extremely brutal, and after spending ten minutes staring at your TV screen trying to determine whether you had the emotional capacity to embark on the new story arc for the program you were actively watching, fatigue made the decision for you and you ended up sitting on your couch, blankly staring at the wall instead, slowly processing the events of the day.
Nanami’s soft steps could be heard behind you as he emerged from the kitchen area. You tilted your head up in time to catch him through your periphery.
In moments like this, you admired, almost envied, Nanami’s deep delineation between work and home. On most days, he bested you at this, consistently compartmentalizing work as work and refusing, as much as he could, to allow it to encroach on his scarce downtime.
He set down a steaming hot cup onto the coffee table just before you, and it only took a few seconds for the calming, familiar floral scent of chamomile to tickle your nostrils, its scent, along with Nanami’s presence, already doing wonders to ease your tension.
You caught Nanami’s hand before he retreated it, brushing your fingers along his palm before giving it a gentle squeeze, a gesture of your wordless gratitude.
Nanami said nothing, letting a gentle press of his lips to your forehead be his silent acknowledgment before he disappeared from your focal view.
The serene quiet that had reigned between you for some time extended for a moment before it was interrupted by the gliding sound of the sliding patio door and the gust of crisp evening spring air that swept into the living area.
“Are they really still repaving that road over there?” Nanami spoke suddenly.
“On the side street?” you asked as you brought the cup of chamomile tea to your nose, basking in its calming balm. “Yeah, that’s still going on…”
“They sure are taking their sweet time with this,” he muttered.
You couldn’t help but snicker, amused by the snide delivery of his comment.
A brief silence before Nanami’s pensive hum filled the air.
“Weren’t they here recently?” you hear him mumble again, as if to no one in particular.
“Who was?”
“The landscapers. Did they not do the shrubbery in the courtyard last week?”
Your weary mind needed a moment to shift focus, sifting through your memories to grasp what Nanami was referring to.
“Right… The landscapers were here last weekend,” you confirmed as it slowly came back to you now. “We drove by them on the way to park the car, remember? You even made a comment on how good a job they seemed to be doing. Why do yo—”
“Tch,” Nanami abruptly cut in with an unimpressed click of his tongue. “Well, I definitely take that back.”
You nearly choked mid-sip.
A glance over your shoulder wouldn’t suffice—this time, you just had to fully turn into your seat to face him in earnest, this source of unusual snark.
When your gaze found Kento, he was peering out through the sliding door leading to your balcony, his hair down from its usual style, his reading glasses on, and he was casually swirling a mug of his own herbal tea, looking relaxed as he usually did at this point of the evening.
It was only now, as it caught and absorbed the hues of orange just beginning to tint the sky, that you noticed that he had notably changed into his favorite house robe.
Something about Nanami’s allure tonight carried something different that you couldn’t quite place.
Your train of thought trailed off as you suddenly spotted him peer up, moving to the side and closer to the edge of the sliding door as if to discern something from one of the apartment windows above and adjacent to yours.
“Oh, this should be interesting. I got here just in time,” he said as he brought his cup right back up to his lips.
“In time for what?”
He nodded towards his focal point. “She’s about to start again.”
“Who is?” you asked, feeling as though you were hallucinating from tiredness and finding it increasingly difficult to grasp the thread of this conversation.
“That loud neighbor of yours, the one who’s always engaged in those loud phone conversations.”
“Kento! Don’t be a snoop!” you said in a loud, scandalized hush.
“Well, are you not the one who first told me about her all those weeks ago?” he countered, dismissing your playful outrage as he scooted closer to the door and slid it slightly more ajar, before leaning against the frame.
An incredulous laugh escaped your lips. “I’m honestly surprised you remember that.”
“Oh, I more than remember it—she’s been airing out her fraudulent boss for the last few weeks now.” He paused and turned to you, lowering his voice conspiratorially, as if sharing a well-kept secret. “Last time around, she was talking about a sting to catch him in the act. Hopefully, she provides us with an update on that…”
“Who is us? How long have you been—”
“Oh. You didn’t tell me someone finally moved into that top-floor penthouse.”
“The… what?”
Nanami paused to take a sip from his cup, shaking his head as he savored it before swallowing and continuing.
“Those curtains definitely weren’t there last week. Someone’s moved in.” Then, turning to you again, this time with the most serious expression ever, “You haven’t noticed?”
Your confusion melted away, replaced by amused bewilderment.
“Now, Kento, you know I’ve done little more than eat dinner and sleep here for the past couple of crazy weeks, when would I even have the time to notice something like this?”
Still, curiosity got the best of you, so you yielded to its draw, picked up your cup, and slowly made your way towards the window, towards Kento.
“Good point…” he started. “I do wonder what they’ve got going on, though…”
“Nanami!”
“What is it?”
“When the hell did you become this nosy, sir?” You underscored your remark with a light, teasing tap to his bicep.
When Nanami’s smile reemerged, it held something genuinely coy, as if you’d caught him in the natural act of one of the hidden sides of himself, utterly disrobed within the cocoon of comfort delimited by your presence.
There was no facade he could sustainably maintain, not that he’d want to, no sides of him he could feasibly suppress under the fissure brought on by your caring perceptiveness.
With you, it was far more reasonable to get comfortable, made all the sense in the world to lean into it.
“Ah,” Nanami said, perking up as he leaned closer into the opening once more. “She’s talking about him again. This is about to get interesting…”
“You need to close this window, it’s getting chilly in here,” trying but failing to mask your own enjoyment at all this by hiding your face behind your raised mug.
“I’m confident I can keep you warm if you come here, and we can listen in together,” he offered, his words sounding more like a question than not as he extended his free arm, beckoning you closer. “Did you know this thing is made of one hundred percent Egyptian cotton?”
“You and this house robe… What is it about it that always finds you in such rare form?”
Even as you shook your head in amazement, you couldn’t bring yourself not to take him up on his offer, and you slowly slotted yourself into his open arm. As he gently closed it around you and pressed you close, you could immediately sense the decompressing effect that had been evading you all evening starting to seep from him to you, blotting out, in real time, the vestiges of your stressful day.
Nanami drew the patio curtain, leaving only enough to match the crack in the open sliding door. “In case there are nosy neighbors…” he solemnly stated, his tone taking a cautious tenor.
“You can’t be serious, Kento,” you snickered, your tone dripping with disbelief. “Surely you realize that you are being the nosy neighbor right now?”
Present day...
A suspended moment passed between you.
“Your robe?” you asked, unable to mask the amusement overtaking your surprise at the scene before you.
Nanami must have perceived the incredulity spelled on your face. He stepped just out of the closet and straightened up, lightly clearing his throat as he visibly attempted to regain his composure.
“I looked for it everywhere,” he said in a lower tone.
“Your… robe?” you repeated slowly to confirm what was dawning on you. “You turned your place upside down searching for your house robe?”
He crossed his arms over his chest, something almost flustered settling in his allure. “Alright, go ahead, you can laugh.”
“I’m not laughing, I’m just...” you trailed off, words forever lost, buried beneath the hand covering your moth along with the sound of your own uncontrollable giggling.
Nanami allowed you the moment he now realized this situation deserved.
“Nanami Kento,” you gasped in between laughs as you took slow, trudging steps his way. “Grade 1 sorcerer. Indispensable to him are his watch to keep track of his precious time, his blade to exorcise the most tenacious of curse spirits, and at the end of the day, his fancy house robe.”
You reached into your tote bag and produced another smaller garment bag containing Nanami’s robe, carefully folded with its soft fabric tucked in on itself, with a new addition made to it. You bowed your head slightly as you handed it to him with both hands, taking on an excessively apologetic tone.
“I hope you can forgive me for borrowing this prized possession for the time it took me to have it monogrammed.”
You lift your head up in time to see the spark light up his eyes, something between relief and affection chasing away all previous signs of disquiet.
“Thank you, this is... Well, I suppose I should first tidy up…” he said, quickly turning away, but not so quick that you don’t notice the reddening of his face.
A/N: had fun writing this one lol | my JJK mlist here
