it seems there is never an activity too lackluster or intimate for this couple to find pleasure in each other's company with their busy lives.
husband!nanami kento x wife fem!reader.
catalogue. fluff, slice of life content, non-sorcery au/ non-curse, modern au, salaryman!kento, sick & soft kento, (1) mentions of praise kink.
thea’s preamble. inspired by this incredible art, i must admit i look at this at least once a day. → ✨
kento is a man of routine and order, we all knew that. he wakes up at a set time, kisses his beautiful sleeping wife, carries out his morning routine of showering and oral hygiene, dons his best suit, light breakfast, and is out the door by 8 AM. the evenings he returns home aren’t any less lax, whether he’s home at 6 PM on the dot or late by a few hours, he’ll always greet and kiss his beautiful wife, have dinner in his study whilst he continues more work while the lovely missus reads on the chaise or continues unfinished work of her own as well, then shower and oral hygiene, sleep.
perhaps that was an oversimplification, but don’t be fooled one may think the man adopts and follows this lifestyle out of a need for security, financial or otherwise. or that he loves the unrelenting and perpetual cycle of working painstakingly 10-hour days, he certainly isn’t given highly-coveted tasks for being a slacker. he’s grateful for what the occupation provides, the salary and bonus that come with his overtime, to lavishly spoil his family, but that's all.
he has no ambition to climb the ladders that will put him in places he doesn't care to be, to rub elbows and kiss ass with scummy executives, leeches, and conceited thugs, only to trash talk and scheme against the moment he steps foot in his home.
all he asks is for saturdays and sundays, as they happen to be Kento’s favourite.
the days he has off from his draining 9-to-5, to be spent properly with his lovely wife. who was ever so patient with him, ever so supportive, and ever so his to love and cherish so as long as his body would allow him. even if his body was battered down to a pulp, he’d find alternatives as necessary, but let’s hope it never comes to that.
there would be times when not much would differ from the previous weekend, and well into the next, spent doing the same activities, or nothing at all. he never wanted to take for granted the time you spent together, and sometimes that meant not always making the most of those days, and he’s okay with that.
whether the two of you lazed in bed until the afternoon or spent a whole day cooking a feast completely from scratch, starters to dessert. visiting the farmers market to cook said feast, reading in your cozy home library, or even the sudden bouts of spring cleaning.
there is always a welcome invite for spontaneity, a picnic under the stupendous aspen tree you simply adored at the local park. a quick overnight trip to a scenic and quaint town, whether your destination is reached by train, plane, automobile, or even boat. the occasional painting date has become a more frequent activity as of late. but there is one “special” activity that some might consider, unique. one that is relatively low cost, that is done from the comforts of your humble abode, that further advances the intimacy (according to kento), and is reserved solely for you, one that kento absolutely adored, shaving.
usually, it was something he’d done alone after showers with either a rechargeable or disposable razor or by his barber when it came time for his bi-monthly hair trim. but recently it became a task that you’d undertake by kento’s request, sort of. while you didn’t mind what would grow from a days of not shaving, he preferred maintaining a clean shave for the clean-cut classification for a man of his occupation, it also became supplemental to his hygiene routine that he grew to love.
it wasn’t something you saw often, kento so dishevelled with the most tragic undereye bags from the lack of sleep from what you’d think was months suffering from insomnia, condensed into a few days. a coarse stubble emerged from the days he’d spent in bed, and his nose was flushed with how often he’d been blowing it with the nearly empty box of tissues that was full just the night before. his eyes were dull and watering, a sight you truly hated.
"honey, have you seen my hard drive?" he'd sorely ask for the 3rd time today, "it's in the laptop, kento." you called back, changing the towels in your bathroom.
he was delirious, with a runny nose and little to no comprehension of where he was or what day it was, thanks to the combination of flu medicine and kento’s determination to finish a work proposal whilst in bed, common sense would also call it overworking. despite your gentle commands that he needed rest, there was no triumph on your end, as duty calls. he was relentless, in his defense there was a conference that was meant to be held in person had it not been for his sudden ailment. though a live video conference was able to be arranged, owing to the urgency of the matter at hand.
so you figured the fastest way to get the man back into bed was to help him complete this ordeal swiftly, that meant helping him in the shower, given his sore muscle ached. applying small dots of concealer under his eyes as to not bring attention to his fatigued face, deterring from the presentation at hand.
dressing him in his warmest wool suit, but only the upper half, kento was sound enough to know there was no need to abandon his fleecy Pompompurin pajama pants. the executives were only to see from the shoulders up after all. and lastly ridding him of a heavy five o'clock shadow that was speckled with smears of dried rice from the porridge you had made him earlier.
“ok, that should be enough,” you whispered, carefully taking off the damp towel that no longer retained warmth, and squeezing out the shaving cream from the canister into your hand.
you proceed to spread the milky foam in a thin layer across the lower half of his face, letting out a soft chuckle at the finished outcome. you picked up the brand-new razor from the counter, puffing your cheeks and letting out a deep breath.
“i trust you.” kento whispered, his voice scratchy and hushed.
you smiled in response, quietly informing him that you were starting. you crouched to his eye level, pulling his cheek upward with one hand, so the skin where you would shave would be taut. you intently watched his face as well as the area that you had just removed facial hair, making sure that there were no nicks or alter in his relaxed expression, verging on sleep. once you gained confirmation of such, you proceeded to shave the next row, and the next, working inwards towards his lips.
rinsing the razor after each use, and wiping on a towel you had draped on the counter. though nerve-wracking for a first try, it had been executed well and was quite therapeutic. your eyes were attentive and your hands steady with every down stroke. as you continued to rinse and repeat, literally, you looked up into the bathroom mirror to see your husband rotating his head to view the work that had been done, then looking straight at you with a simple grin and tired eyes, asking what he thought so far.
“you’re doing so good, my love.” he plainly states, but those watery eyes said otherwise with an innuendo you couldn’t miss, in a singular eyebrow raise. stupid praise kink, you thought, looking him up and down, wondering how even in this state, where he acquired the audacity. it wasn’t long until the two of you burst into a fit of laughter, kento being cautious as to not rub off the shaving cream with one hand that covered his eyes as he leaned back in the chair.
“what even are you.” you snickered, quickly calming yourself with the reminder of the razor in your hand.
you proceeded to shave, on the brink of completion, now focusing above his lip, where you took even more caution than you had before, due to the sensitivity of his skin in that area. opting to sit on his lap, nearly chest-to-chest with his sore arms that maintained enough strength to have a secure hold on you, even though your knees were bent, and your feet touched the heated floor effortlessly.
a few stolen kisses on kento’s behalf, and nothing more than a restrained smile that he was fighting from getting any bigger as you finished the last few strokes. in his mind, it was anticipated that the minute kento finally got better, you were going to contract what he had afterward anyway. and in turn, he’d take care of you.
“so my dear husband, how would you like to start our weekend?” you asked, still cozily tucked under the blankets, looking at your husband who was similarly bundled under the toasty blankets, with your hand situated on top of his, placed gently on your cheek.
“well dear wife, it’s been days since i’ve last shaved.” he simpered.
it was something the both of you saw coming, once again he hadn’t been shaving for a while, but of course, it was deliberate. you softly laugh in response with your voice still heavy in slumber, “i’ll go get the facial steamer… just after a few more minutes, i want to savor every second of this vacation.” further burrowing yourself into his chest.
it had been a few months since the first time you had to shave kento’s while he was recovering, the proposal went flawlessly if you omit the booming sneezes that startled the executives even through the screen. but you shaving his face became something that occurred more frequently, and turning into something the both of you love, you had since made the switch to a straight blade like the ones you’d see used in old school barber shops, watching tutorials on methods exercised by professionals for efficiency and safety.
you invested in a proper kit that supplied everything you’d need. from shave oil, pre-shave oil, shave cream, a velvety brush to spread the lather, after-shave (which smelled phenomenal), blade replacements.
it’s been even longer since his barber last gave him a proper shave after a haircut, and that time will only continue to be prolonged. he loved how close you’d be when focusing, but time after time you’d only grown to relax the tension in your muscles. you’d sit on his lap for more of the session, and those sessions would only go longer from the last.
where there would be conversation taking place about your lives, now and the future. sometimes there would be easy-listening music playing from the speakers that would lay the cornerstones of an “impromptu” dancing session, where kento’s hands would be politely placed on your lower back, and his hand strong in yours, waltzing all around your bathroom for what felt like forever.
even though he was shirtless, and truth be told a little chilly, and even though you were wearing an old shirt of his, to him you always looked beautiful. even though there was still plenty of shaving cream on his face, it would eventually be smeared on yours. there wasn’t much more he wanted in life.
if you ask him, any weekend is well-spent, even if you do spend the entirety of it in bed, painting beautiful sceneries, cooking your favourite dishes, dancing with ardour despite having taken one class on ballroom waltz, or you shaving his grown-out stubble. as long as you're by his side, nothing is ever a waste of time. that’s how it’s been, that’s how is it, and that’s how it’ll be.
maybe next time, kento will convince you to cut his hair.
[interactions] reblogs, comments & likes are appreciated ₊˚⊹♡
with your partner yearning for an approachable gateway and immersion into your culture as well as an official introduction into your family, what better way to do that than with dumplings?
catalogue. fluff, modern au, pre-established relationship, written with fem!reader in mind; but no pronouns specified. cw: food preparation/ intended consumption, mildly suggestive (?) cultural traditions, domestic family teasing, mentions of children, alcohol consumption/ age not explicitly specified; but intended to be over 21 per US laws.
thea’s preamble. by definition a dumpling is a small mound of dough flattened, maintaining a certain thickness for chew or absolute thinness, then filled with a well-seasoned paste/mixture, usually meat. like, gyoza 餃子, mandu 만두, xiao long bao 小笼包 which is my primary inspiration. BUT there's also lumpia from Indonesia and the Philippines, Italian ravioli, Indian modak, Polish pierogi, South American empanadas (i fucking love empanadas), pasteles, Ukrainian vareniky, Botswanan madombi, British pasty. my point is if you don't read into it too intensely, this is for anyone.
it was intended to be such an intimate moment and in their eyes the official inauguration to your family, as well as the perfect entry point into learning about your culture that you’ve only grown stronger and more confident in with age. and what better way to immerse yourself in another’s culture than through food?
with that being said…they tried, they really did.
it seemed simple in theory, add a decent bundle of the filling to the center of the wrapper, fold the wrapper over itself, and apply the liquid adhesive to seal the seams, crimping, folding, or rolling the seams shut as needed. simple right? well apparently not, there’s a tray full of “complete” dumplings with tears in the dough and the filling either smeared or oozing out, over-filled, or not enough… and it's quite obvious who made those. the intricacy and swiftness that you and your parents achieved thus producing a quarter sheet pan’s worth, overwhelmed the poor baby. they certainly have their strengths lying primarily in physicality, but the agility and patience needed for such a small product outcome were not in their capabilities.
you reassured them that it wasn't uncommon to have such results, frankly, it was impressive for a first-timer that they didn't collapse from frustration. "you'll get it eventually, today you just relax." you consoled, rubbing your hand on top of theirs.
"plus, you're still considered a guest, you have plenty of time before you're officially let into the pack and forced to do the mountain of dishes or babysit." you chuckled.
to which they agreed, today their strengths would lie in being the human ladder to get objects from high-up places, refilling wine and liquor for the adults, providing sliced fruits, and just sitting at the table supervising the unspoken competition of who can make the most dumplings, replenishing scarce ingredients as needed to. salivating at the sight as well as the uncooked aroma from the fresh herbs and spices used. surrounded by family, engaging in lively or even profound conversations, no matter how shy they were initially.
rest assured, there’s nothing to be ashamed of, and maybe another time they’ll give it another shot, but for now, they’ll leave it to the pros.
EREN, JEAN ANNIE, GOJO, TOJI
their initial attempts were… admirable, but they weren’t satisfied with that. they wanted to do right by you, secure the approval of your family, and not feel absolute guilt at only contributing to the conversation and not the actual meal assembly process.
simply put, they're quite stubborn. they carefully studied each family member, the differing methods, and tendencies. from the angle of spooning the filling in the wrapper to the adhesive sealing— plain water vs. starch water?
they were determined, and with patience and encouragement from family, they were finally able to produce a perfect little flavor receptacle, savory and hearty. shrieking out an unexpected, "i did it!" that garnered a reaction that you couldn't help but laugh at either.
but they would not yet allow themselves even a minute victory until they garnered 100% of the acceptance, mainly from their own inner conflict of merit.
this may be their first time truly comprehending the phrase, ‘tasting the fruits of your labor’. and never had they had a sweeter meal, not in the literal sense of a saccharine feast. but the resolve and dogged attitude (stubbornness) was a taste that they would savor in the complete dish, something they would come to value greatly come the next culinary undertaking. "i made this!" they'd think to themself.
try not to be too surprised if you catch them in the early morning, meticulously crimping, folding, and rolling the edges of the wrapper, ensuring as little air as possible gets in the center, just as your grandmother taught them.
more than that it was an amusing sight seeing them nearly nude only wearing a pink frilly apron that you were gifted from relatives, "what do you think?" they teased, a question which you rolled your eyes at, considering they weren't asking about the food.
though you must admit, they did look incredible, for a rookie. and it was a beautiful sight to behold, an incredibly attractive person cooking in your kitchen, insistent on making you proud. i guess now the only issue lies in the lack of space in your freezer in contrast to the large batches of dumplings that are sure to last you months. let's hope this is an acceptable housewarming gift for the new neighbors.
BERTHOLDT, REINER, CONNIE , SUKUNA (hear me out), CHOSO
are we surprised? though they may not seem like the kinds to thrive in crafts and arts, their handiwork is nimble, and their dexterity is unmatched. they were initially slow to follow the instructions given to them, but after diligent observation, it was a task pursued and completed well. almost as if they too partook in similar repetitive affairs in their youth. sitting around the dining table, with heaps of filling and a lofty stack of dough wrappers, sometimes there’d be music in the back, but even if there was it would always be drowned out by the conversation that were being had. an endless variety of conversation topics, filled with light-hearted quarrels and absolute fits of laughter.
and if you’re being completely honest, it’s been approximately 5 minutes since the laughter erupted, and you can’t even remember what was so funny that you’re now clutching your stomach in what may be the best kind of pain, struggling to catch your breath and maintain composure. those were some of the memories you held dearly when you were younger, and it’s no different now. and with them by your side, falling in love over again with what seems like the acme of your joy, one they’d hope to preserve and maintain for as long as possible. a pride that one simply can't explain.
but where there is pride and inflated egos, there are grandmothers and aunties to humble you, making remarks comparing your tray to your partners.
"wowww, this is your first time, and they look perfect!" they'd exclaim, making their tour around the table. "you should take lessons from them." they'd continue teasing you, whilst pinching your partner's cheek or slapping them on the back just a little too hard.
by the end of the feast, your partner certainly got the elders' approvals, no less by your parents, who absolutely adore them. it’s also a food they loved eating, lovingly introduced by you, and now you’ve made them a fiend. they enjoy the bonding experience this has facilitated, as well a first-hand experience to the little things that helped maintain your cultural identity.
and they would be lying if they weren’t completely consumed by the thought that one day you would be the ones your ancestors depended on to carry on the traditions. with the future generations of your bloodline, if not your own children by preference, then your nieces, nephews, and cousins, who are currently wrapped around their very finger. to them, a jungle gym to be climbed, a pristine and willing model for a family-renowned makeup artist, an unsuspecting outsider that could be the green light for some sweets that the parentals refused earlier, but they don’t need to know that.
with your partner yearning for an approachable gateway and immersion into your culture as well as an official introduction into your family, what better way to do that than with dumplings?
catalogue. fluff, modern au, pre-established relationship, written with fem!reader in mind; but no pronouns specified. cw: food preparation/ intended consumption, mildly suggestive (?) cultural traditions, domestic family teasing, mentions of children, alcohol consumption/ age not explicitly specified; but intended to be over 21 per US laws. wc: 1.2k
thea’s preamble. by definition a dumpling is a small mound of dough flattened, maintaining a certain thickness for chew or absolute thinness, then filled with a well-seasoned paste/mixture, usually meat. like, gyoza 餃子, mandu 만두, xiao long bao 小笼包 which is my primary inspiration. BUT there's also lumpia from Indonesia and the Philippines, Italian ravioli, Indian modak, Polish pierogi, South American empanadas (i fucking love empanadas), pasteles, Ukrainian vareniky, Botswanan madombi, British pasty. my point is if you don't read into it too intensely, this is for anyone.
it was intended to be such an intimate moment and in their eyes the official inauguration to your family, as well as the perfect entry point into learning about your culture that you’ve only grown stronger and more confident in with age. and what better way to immerse yourself in another’s culture than through food?
with that being said…they tried, they really did.
it seemed simple in theory, add a decent bundle of the filling to the center of the wrapper, fold the wrapper over itself, and apply the liquid adhesive to seal the seams, crimping, folding, or rolling the seams shut as needed. simple right?
well apparently not, there’s a tray full of “complete” dumplings with tears in the dough and the filling either smeared or oozing out, over-filled, or not enough… and it's quite obvious who made those. the intricacy and swiftness that you and your parents achieved thus producing a quarter sheet pan’s worth, overwhelmed the poor baby. they certainly have their strengths lying primarily in physicality, but the agility and patience needed for such a small product outcome were not in their capabilities.
you reassured them that it wasn't uncommon to have such results, frankly, it was impressive for a first-timer that they didn't collapse from frustration. "you'll get it eventually, today you just relax." you consoled, rubbing your hand on top of theirs.
"plus, you're still considered a guest, you have plenty of time before you're officially let into the pack and forced to do the mountain of dishes or babysit." you chuckled.
to which they agreed, today their strengths would lie in being the human ladder to get objects from high-up places, refilling wine and liquor for the adults, providing sliced fruits, and just sitting at the table supervising the unspoken competition of who can make the most dumplings, replenishing scarce ingredients as needed to. salivating at the sight as well as the uncooked aroma from the fresh herbs and spices used. surrounded by family, engaging in lively or even profound conversations, no matter how shy they were initially.
rest assured, there’s nothing to be ashamed of, and maybe another time they’ll give it another shot, but for now, they’ll leave it to the pros.
EREN, JEAN ANNIE, GOJO, TOJI
their initial attempts were… admirable, but they weren’t satisfied with that. they wanted to do right by you, secure the approval of your family, and not feel absolute guilt at only contributing to the conversation and not the actual meal assembly process.
simply put, they're quite stubborn. they carefully studied each family member, the differing methods, and tendencies. from the angle of spooning the filling in the wrapper to the adhesive sealing— plain water vs. starch water?
they were determined, and with patience and encouragement from family, they were finally able to produce a perfect little flavor receptacle, savory and hearty. shrieking out an unexpected, "i did it!" that garnered a reaction that you couldn't help but laugh at either.
but they would not yet allow themselves even a minute victory until they garnered 100% of the acceptance, mainly from their own inner conflict of merit.
this may be their first time truly comprehending the phrase, ‘tasting the fruits of your labor’. and never had they had a sweeter meal, not in the literal sense of a saccharine feast. but the resolve and dogged attitude (stubbornness) was a taste that they would savor in the complete dish, something they would come to value greatly come the next culinary undertaking. "i made this!" they'd think to themself.
try not to be too surprised if you catch them in the early morning, meticulously crimping, folding, and rolling the edges of the wrapper, ensuring as little air as possible gets in the center, just as your grandmother taught them.
more than that it was an amusing sight seeing them nearly nude only wearing a pink frilly apron that you were gifted from relatives, "what do you think?" they teased, a question which you rolled your eyes at, considering they weren't asking about the food.
though you must admit, they did look incredible, for a rookie. and it was a beautiful sight to behold, an incredibly attractive person cooking in your kitchen, insistent on making you proud. i guess now the only issue lies in the lack of space in your freezer in contrast to the large batches of dumplings that are sure to last you months. let's hope this is an acceptable housewarming gift for the new neighbors.
BERTHOLDT, REINER, CONNIE , SUKUNA (hear me out), CHOSO
are we surprised? though they may not seem like the kinds to thrive in arts and crafts, their handiwork is nimble, and their dexterity is unmatched. they were initially slow to follow the instructions given to them, but after diligent observation, it was a task pursued and completed well. almost as if they too partook in similar repetitive affairs in their youth. sitting around the dining table, with heaps of filling and a lofty stack of dough wrappers, sometimes there’d be music in the back, but even if there was it would always be drowned out by the conversation that were being had. an endless variety of discussion topics, filled with light-hearted quarrels and absolute fits of laughter.
and if you’re being completely honest, it’s been approximately 5 minutes since the laughter erupted, and you can’t even remember what was so funny that you’re now clutching your stomach in what may be the best kind of pain, struggling to catch your breath and maintain composure. those were some of the memories you held dearly when you were younger, and it’s no different now. and with them by your side, falling in love over again with what seems like the acme of your joy, one they’d hope to preserve and maintain for as long as possible. a pride that one simply can't explain.
but where there is pride and inflated egos, there are grandmothers and aunties to humble you, making remarks comparing your tray to your partners.
"wowww, this is your first time, and they look perfect!" they'd exclaim, making their way around the table. "you should take lessons from them." they'd continue teasing you, whilst pinching your partner's cheek or slapping them on the back just a little too hard.
by the end of the feast, your partner certainly got the elders' approvals, no less by your parents, who absolutely adore them. it’s also a food they loved eating, lovingly introduced by you, and now you’ve made them even more of a fiend then they already were. fully enjoying the bonding experience this has facilitated, as well a first-hand experience to the little things that helped maintain your cultural identity.
and they would be lying if they weren’t completely consumed by the thought that one day you would be the ones your ancestors depended on to carry on the traditions. with the future generations of your bloodline, if not your own children by preference, then your nieces, nephews, and cousins, who are currently wrapped around their very finger. to them, a jungle gym to be climbed, a pristine and willing model for a family-renowned makeup artist, an unsuspecting outsider that could be the green light for some sweets that the parentals refused earlier, but they don’t need to know that.
it seems there is never an activity too lackluster or intimate for this couple to find pleasure in each other's company with their busy lives.
husband!nanami kento x wife fem!reader.
catalogue. fluff, slice of life content, non-sorcery au/ non-curse, modern au, salaryman!kento, sick & soft kento, (1) mentions of praise kink. wc: 1.95k
thea’s preamble. inspired by this incredible art, i must admit i look at this at least once a day. → ✨ also this is my first published work, it's a bit rough but hopefully with time it gets better. thank u for reading <3
kento is a man of routine and order, we all knew that. he wakes up at a set time, kisses his beautiful sleeping wife, carries out his morning routine of showering and oral hygiene, dons his best suit, light breakfast, and is out the door by 8 AM. the evenings he returns home aren’t any less lax, whether he’s home at 6 PM on the dot or late by a few hours, he’ll always greet and kiss his beautiful wife, have dinner in his study whilst he continues more work while the lovely missus reads on the chaise or continues unfinished work of her own as well, then shower and oral hygiene, sleep.
perhaps that was an oversimplification, but don’t be fooled one may think the man adopts and follows this lifestyle out of a need for security, financial or otherwise. or that he loves the unrelenting and perpetual cycle of working painstakingly 10-hour days, he certainly isn’t given highly-coveted tasks for being a slacker. he’s grateful for what the occupation provides, the salary and bonus that come with his overtime, to lavishly spoil his family, but that's all.
he has no ambition to climb the ladders that will put him in places he doesn't care to be, to rub elbows and kiss ass with scummy executives, leeches, and conceited thugs, only to trash talk and scheme against the moment he steps foot in his home.
all he asks is for saturdays and sundays, as they happen to be Kento’s favourite.
the days he has off from his draining 9-to-5, to be spent properly with his lovely wife. who was ever so patient with him, ever so supportive, and ever so his to love and cherish so as long as his body would allow him. even if his body was battered down to a pulp, he’d find alternatives as necessary, but let’s hope it never comes to that.
there would be times when not much would differ from the previous weekend, and well into the next, spent doing the same activities, or nothing at all. he never wanted to take for granted the time you spent together, and sometimes that meant not always making the most of those days, and he’s okay with that.
whether the two of you lazed in bed until the afternoon or spent a whole day cooking a feast completely from scratch, starters to dessert. visiting the farmers market to cook said feast, reading in your cozy home library, or even the sudden bouts of spring cleaning.
there is always a welcome invite for spontaneity, a picnic under the stupendous aspen tree you simply adored at the local park. a quick overnight trip to a scenic and quaint town, whether your destination is reached by train, plane, automobile, or even boat. the occasional painting date has become a more frequent activity as of late. but there is one “special” activity that some might consider, unique. one that is relatively low cost, that is done from the comforts of your humble abode, that further advances the intimacy (according to kento), and is reserved solely for you, one that kento absolutely adored, shaving.
usually, it was something he’d done alone after showers with either a rechargeable or disposable razor or by his barber when it came time for his bi-monthly hair trim. but recently it became a task that you’d undertake by kento’s request, sort of.
while you didn’t mind what would grow from a days of not shaving, he preferred maintaining a clean shave for the clean-cut classification for a man of his occupation, it also became supplemental to his hygiene routine that he grew to love.
it wasn’t something you saw often, kento so dishevelled with the most tragic undereye bags from the lack of sleep from what you’d think was months suffering from insomnia, condensed into a few days. a coarse stubble emerged from the days he’d spent in bed, and his nose was flushed with how often he’d been blowing it with the nearly empty box of tissues that was full just the night before. his eyes were dull and watering, a sight you truly hated.
"honey, have you seen my hard drive?" he'd sorely asked for the 3rd time today, "it's in the laptop, kento." you called back, changing the towels in your bathroom.
he was delirious, with a runny nose and little to no comprehension of where he was or what day it was, thanks to the combination of flu medicine and kento’s determination to finish a work proposal whilst in bed, common sense would also call it overworking. despite your gentle commands that he needed rest, there was no triumph on your end, as duty calls. he was relentless, in his defense there was a conference that was meant to be held in person had it not been for his sudden ailment. though a live video conference was able to be arranged, owing to the urgency of the matter at hand.
so you figured the fastest way to get the man back into bed was to help him complete this ordeal swiftly, that meant helping him in the shower, given his sore muscle ached. applying small dots of concealer under his eyes as to not bring attention to his fatigued face, deterring from the presentation at hand.
dressing him in his warmest wool suit, but only the upper half, kento was sound enough to know there was no need to abandon his fleecy Pompompurin pajama pants. the executives were only to see from the shoulders up after all. and lastly ridding him of a heavy five o'clock shadow that was speckled with smears of dried rice from the porridge you had made him earlier.
“ok, that should be enough,” you whispered, carefully taking off the damp towel that no longer retained warmth, and squeezing out the shaving cream from the canister into your hand.
you proceed to spread the milky foam in a thin layer across the lower half of his face, letting out a soft chuckle at the finished outcome. you picked up the brand-new razor from the counter, puffing your cheeks and letting out a deep breath.
“i trust you.” kento whispered, his voice scratchy and hushed.
you smiled in response, quietly informing him that you were starting. you crouched to his eye level, pulling his cheek upward with one hand, so the skin where you would shave would be taut. you intently watched his face as well as the area that you had just removed facial hair, making sure that there were no nicks or alter in his relaxed expression, verging on sleep. once you gained confirmation of such, you proceeded to shave the next row, and the next, working inwards towards his lips.
rinsing the razor after each use, and wiping on a towel you had draped on the counter. though nerve-wracking for a first try, it had been executed well and was quite therapeutic. your eyes were attentive and your hands steady with every down stroke. as you continued to rinse and repeat, literally, you looked up into the bathroom mirror to see your husband rotating his head to view the work that had been done, then looking straight at you with a simple grin and tired eyes, asking what he thought so far.
“you’re doing so good, my love.” he plainly states, but those watery eyes said otherwise with an innuendo you couldn’t miss, in a singular eyebrow raise. stupid praise kink, you thought, looking him up and down, wondering how even in this state, where he acquired the audacity. it wasn’t long until the two of you burst into a fit of laughter, kento being cautious as to not rub off the shaving cream with one hand that covered his eyes as he leaned back in the chair.
“what even are you.” you snickered, quickly calming yourself with the reminder of the razor in your hand.
you proceeded to shave, on the brink of completion, now focusing above his lip, where you took even more caution than you had before, due to the sensitivity of his skin in that area. opting to sit on his lap, nearly chest-to-chest with his sore arms that maintained enough strength to have a secure hold on you, even though your knees were bent, and your feet touched the heated floor effortlessly.
a few stolen kisses on kento’s behalf, and nothing more than a restrained smile that he was fighting from getting any bigger as you finished the last few strokes. in his mind, it was anticipated that the minute kento finally got better, you were going to contract what he had afterward anyway. and in turn, he’d take care of you.
so what's the harm in a few more kisses?
“so my dear husband, how would you like to start our weekend?” you asked, still cozily tucked under the blankets, looking at your husband who was similarly bundled under the toasty blankets, with your hand situated on top of his, placed gently on your cheek.
“well dear wife, it’s been days since i’ve last shaved.” he simpered, looking down at you with sly eyes.
it was something the both of you saw coming, once again he hadn’t been shaving for a while, but of course, it was deliberate. you softly laugh in response with your voice still heavy in slumber, “i’ll go get the facial steamer— in a few minutes, i want to savor every second of this vacation.” further burrowing yourself into his chest.
it had been a few months since the first time you had to shave kento’s while he was recovering, the proposal went flawlessly if you omit the booming sneezes that startled the executives even through the screen.
you had since made the switch to a straight blade like the ones you’d see used in old school barber shops, watching tutorials on methods exercised by professionals for efficiency and safety.
invested in a proper kit that supplied everything you’d need. from shave oil, pre-shave oil, shave cream, a velvety brush to spread the lather, after-shave (which smelled phenomenal), and blade replacements.
it’s been even longer since his barber last gave him a proper shave after a haircut, and that time will only continue to be prolonged. he loved how close you’d be when focusing, but time after time you’d only grown to relax the tension in your muscles. you’d sit on his lap for more of the session, and those sessions would only go longer from the last.
where there would be conversation taking place about your lives, now and the future. sometimes there would be easy-listening music playing from the speakers that would lay the cornerstones of an “impromptu” dancing session, where kento’s hands would be politely placed on your lower back, and his hand strong in yours, waltzing all around your bathroom for what felt like forever.
he was shirtless, and truth be told a little chilly, and you were wearing an old shirt of his, to him you always looked beautiful. even though there was still plenty of shaving cream on his face, it would eventually be smeared on yours. there wasn’t much more he wanted in life.
if you ask him, any weekend is well-spent, even if you do spend the entirety of it in bed, painting beautiful sceneries, cooking your favourite dishes, dancing with ardour despite having taken one class on ballroom waltz, or you shaving his grown-out stubble. as long as you're by his side, nothing is ever a waste of time. that’s how it’s been, that’s how is it, and that’s how it’ll be.
and who knows, maybe next time kento will convince you to cut his hair.
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