The oven timer beeped right as the front door clicked open. You wiped flour-dusted hands on your apron, already moving toward the hallway before the beep had fully died out.
"Hey, handsome," you called, rounding the corner just as Nanami stepped inside. His tie was slightly loosened, his sleeves rolled to the elbows—small signs of a long day finally unwinding. He blinked at you, then at the faint scent of vanilla wafting from the kitchen, and something in his expression softened.
"Hello, my love," Nanami replied, his voice low and warm like the oven you'd just left. His briefcase hit the floor with a soft thud as he reached for you, one broad hand settling at the small of your back. You could feel the heat of his palm through the thin fabric of your apron.
He didn’t say anything else, just pressed his nose against your temple and inhaled deeply, his breath hot against your skin. You laughed, tilting your head to give him more room. “Long day?”
"Mhm," he murmured, lips grazing your jawline. His other hand came up to cradle your face, thumb brushing absently over the smear of flour you’d missed near your ear. You could feel the tension in his shoulders, the way his body leaned into yours like he was borrowing your warmth. "You baked."
You hummed, sliding your fingers under his loosened tie to tease the first button of his shirt.
"Wanted to make something sweet for you." His exhale was sharp when your knuckles brushed the hollow of his throat. The oven beeped again, an insistent reminder—but neither of you moved.
Nanami’s grip tightened at your waist, pressing you closer until the starched fabric of his shirt rumpled against your apron. His mouth found the curve of your neck, open and wet, and you gasped when his teeth scraped lightly over your pulse. "Kento—the cookies—"
"Let them burn," he growled, and then his hands were under your thighs, lifting you effortlessly against him. Your legs locked around his hips on instinct, heels knocking against his perfectly tailored slacks as he carried you backward toward the kitchen. The counter dug into your lower back when he set you down, but you barely noticed—not when he was shoving the apron up your thighs, his palms rough against your bare skin.
Your breath hitched as Nanami’s fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties, dragging them down your thighs with a slow, deliberate tug. The cool air of the kitchen kissed your exposed skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat of his gaze—dark and intent, like he was mapping every inch of you.
"Kento," you breathed, fingers tangling in his hair as he dropped to his knees between your legs. His palms smoothed up your calves, then higher, thumbs pressing into the softness of your inner thighs to spread you wider.
"You taste so sweet," he murmured, voice rough as he leaned in, his breath ghosting over your damp skin. The first lick was slow, deliberate—a teasing drag of his tongue that had your hips jerking forward. Nanami chuckled, the sound vibrating against you, and his grip tightened to keep you still.
"Impatient," he chided, but there was no real scold in it, just that low, honeyed warmth that always coiled low in your belly.
His mouth was relentless after that, alternating between broad, languid strokes and sharp, focused flicks that had your toes curling against the tile. Every sound you made—every gasp, every whimper—only spurred him on, his fingers digging bruises into your skin as he dragged you closer to the edge.
"Love you like this," he rasped between kisses, lips glistening. "Love you messy, love you unwashed—fuck, you’re perfect."
The oven beeped again, a distant, forgotten noise as you arched into him, fingers tightening in his hair. Nanami groaned against you, the vibration sending a shockwave of pleasure up your spine.
"That’s it, sweetheart," he murmured, dragging his tongue over you in a way that made your vision blur. "Come for me.
Your thighs trembled around Nanami’s shoulders as his tongue pressed deeper, relentless in its rhythm—every flick and curl deliberate, every breath he exhaled against your skin sending shivers up your spine. The countertop was cold beneath your palms, but you barely registered it, too focused on the heat of his mouth, the way his thumbs dug into your hips to keep you from squirming away.
"Kento," you gasped, voice breaking as his teeth grazed your inner thigh, a sharp contrast to the softness of his lips just moments before.
"Say it again," he demanded, voice rough, and when you moaned his name louder, he rewarded you with a slow, torturous lick that had your back arching off the counter. The apron tangled between your legs, bunched up in his fists as he dragged you closer, until you could feel the scratch of his stubble against your skin.
"God, you’re sweet," he muttered, lips moving against you as he spoke. "Could eat you for hours."
You clutched at his hair, tugging slightly, and he groaned, the sound vibrating through you as his grip tightened. "Close?" he asked, voice thick, and when you nodded frantically, he hummed in satisfaction, lips curling into a smirk against your skin.
Then his fingers joined his mouth, pressing inside with the same slow, deliberate precision, and you shattered, a broken cry tearing from your throat as your hips jerked against his face. Nanami didn’t let up, drinking you in as you came, his free hand sliding up to press against your stomach, pinning you to the counter as you trembled.
"Good girl," he murmured, finally pulling back to press a kiss to your inner thigh, his breath hot against your oversensitive skin. "So good for me."
You slumped forward, barely catching yourself on his shoulders as your legs threatened to give out. Nanami stood in one smooth motion, his hands sliding under your thighs to lift you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist on instinct. His mouth found yours, deep and possessive, and you could taste yourself on his tongue—sweet and faintly salty, mingling with the vanilla still clinging to your skin.
"Missed you," he admitted against your lips, voice quieter now, almost tender.
The kiss broke with a soft, wet sound, and Nanami pressed his forehead to yours, his breath still warm against your lips. The kitchen smelled like burnt sugar now—somewhere between the oven’s forgotten cookies and the heat still radiating off both of you. You laughed, breathless, and he smiled, just a little quirk of his lips, before pressing another kiss to the corner of your mouth.
“You’re ridiculous,” you murmured, fingers combing through his hair where you’d missed it moments earlier. His tie was completely undone now, hanging loose around his neck, and his shirt was wrinkled beyond repair. Nanami didn’t seem to care, his hands still firm on your thighs as he held you against him.
at a coworker’s gothic-themed birthday party, your hunger as a new vampire is spiralling out of control. luckily, choso kamo is there to rescue you with a slow dance and a black lace handkerchief
contains: mentions of blood, biting, heated make out session, slow burn | choso is half-human, half cursed spirit but reader doesn’t know it | cw: reader struggles with accepting her new identity
written for @yoonsucks event ‘interlaced’ and lowkey based off a bigger project. hope you enjoy reading!
choso art: @/joe44ui on x
Navigating daily life in a new town is hard, but it’s worse when you don’t even recognise yourself.
It’s been almost three weeks since the bite, since your heart stopped beating. But you still have yet to learn how to keep your fangs tucked and how to ignore the rhythmic pulse in the neck of the person in front of you. Even when you’re at the ticket check - you’re baffled that a simple, mindless task as tearing a movie stub is now maddeningly frustrating. The scent of popcorn that used to be one of your biggest comforts is almost nonexistent when every neck in the lobby is a ticking clock of temptation, full of the warm blood you now crave to survive.
This overwhelming hunger is why you’ve been living like a hermit, retreating into the shadows of your apartment, terrified of the monster that might slip out if you lose control. The only exception is work; you still have rent and bills to pay, so you force yourself into the world just long enough to survive.
But tonight is non-negotiable. Nobara is throwing her birthday party and she’s the first - and only - real friend you have made ever since you moved here. You can’t let her down even if a gothic-themed party is the absolute last place you want to be at right now - surrounding yourself with fake blood and plastic teeth while fighting a real, very desperate thirst feels like a cruel joke from the universe, but for her, you’ll do your best.
The apartment is crowded when you arrive; you knew Nobara was extroverted, but you didn’t expect a crowd so… suffocating.
They are singing and laughing, some with plastic fangs falling out of their mouths, others exhaling gray circles of cigarette smoke that hangs heavy in the air. You can also smell the cloying scent of perfume and sweat, but beneath it all lies the most agonising trigger - the hot, sweet iron of blood pulsing through dozens of veins.
You navigate the room, eyes darting, your nails digging deep into your palms. Even your outfit feels like a trap - which, in comparison to some guests that have gone all out, looking like they stepped straight out of a Tim Burton movie, is awkwardly simple. You chose a cheap black dress with a corset that cinches too tight, and a revealing cleavage that makes you feel exposed, the hem brushing your knees with every small step.
“You made it!”
Nobara’s voice cuts through the noise. She looks radiant, so elegant in her purple gown, her face lit up with joy. She grabs your arm, her fingers radiating a heat that makes your throat ache.
“Look at you! You look absolutely gorgeous,” she gushes.
Trying to ignore the thumping of her excited heart, you force a polite curve on your lips. “Not as much as the birthday girl,” you manage to say, tone slightly tilted just enough to sound excited.
She hands you a drink and you accept it. As you chat and you keep sipping on it, the thirst for something entirely else continues flaring up.
It has been three days since your last meal - the 5ml hospital vial Choso had given you the morning after he found you behind the club and saved your life. The supply is long gone and you’re at the point where the hunger stops being just a dull ache.
He had told you it was just a medical surplus he’d managed to find, but the moment the warm liquid hit your tongue, you knew. It was his blood.
You don’t know why he lied, though. Maybe it was pride, or maybe it was some sort of protection. Truthfully, you aren’t sure which would hurt more - him keeping the secret forever, or eventually telling you the truth and making you feel even more like a parasite.
You watched him every day at work - sweeping popcorn, helping Nobara keep up with the rowdy students when they crowd the bar while bickering over nachos, swapping out movie posters in the lobby. You searched for a bandage under the cuff of his uniform or a slight tremor in his hands, - anything to prove you aren’t just deceiving yourself.
But you found nothing.
Still, the certainty sits cold and heavy in your gut. A vampire’s senses shouldn’t be making mistakes, right? The scent of what he gave you was an exact match for the pulse thrumming under his skin.
You’re ninety nine percent sure. The final one percent is just a desperate hope that you’re not harming the only person who actually cared if you made it to sunrise.
For that… you are going to find a way to survive alone. Without draining him.
Speaking of him - Choso is leaning against the far wall, and he looks breathtaking.
He’s wearing a dark suit - all deep velvet textures, subtle romantic ruffles at the collar and a Victorian-style vest that emphasizes his broad, tall frame. For the first time you see his raven black hair loose, falling around his sharp face, effortlessly softly. He has a glass of amber whiskey in his hand, the ice clinking as he watches you with those gloomy, intense eyes.
Until he pushes off the wall to walk toward you, his stride fluid and unrushed - even as he’s perfectly aware of how badly you are struggling. You know he is.
He stops just inches away, looming over you as the scent of his musky cologne momentarily overpowers the smell of the whole room.
“You look like you’re about to faint,” he says, his voice a low, deep vibration. His eyes fall to your glossy lips and stay for a second longer than he probably deems appropriate. “Or like you’re about to bite someone.”
You notice a subtle shift in him; in his gaze as it lingers with an unreadable intensity. It’s so rare to see his professional side crack, even a little bit, and let something through.
You swallow hard, your heart stuttering at the word bite.
“Neither,” you lie, shaking your head; but your voice comes out breathless, unconvincing. “I’m fine. It’s just… it’s too hot in here. And this dress is ridiculous… so uncomfortable.” You tug at the stiff fabric, the friction only fueling your irritation.
Your hands start to shake so violently you have to clench them into fists.
Choso just stands there, watching the way your composure crumbles piece by piece. “You don’t have to lie to me.”
He moves into your space, his body blocking out the lights of the party and creating a small bubble of shadows. Carefully, he catches your fisted hands, his thumbs brushing over your knuckles till your fingers finally unfurl.
His skin is warm, terrifyingly warm.
“I’m fine.” You insist, breath temporarily hitching as one of his hands slides at the small of your back to pull you flush against his chest. “I can handle this,” you add, voice thin as you try to find your footing. He guides you in a small, agonisingly slow circle. “I’m not some… mindless animal.”
The sway of the dance perhaps looks romantic to some. But in actuality - it’s torture. His body heat is radiating through your ridiculous corset that feels like a cage. And with every step, your thigh brushes his, pulling back your focus on the carotid artery inside his neck.
Swallowing thickly, you try to ignore the heavy thrumming, but Choso tightens his grip around you, forcing you to match the pace.
“You can barely stand,” he mutters, leading you with an impressively effortless grace. “Your pupils are blown and you haven’t taken a breath in two minutes. You aren’t handling anything.”
“I said I’m fine!” you snap.
You squeeze your eyes shut, getting dizzier by his scent; salt, wood, metal.
Then, in a flash, the control you’ve fought so desperately to hold onto snaps; like a thread that suddenly slipped through your fingers. All the frustration of the last few weeks spills out in a jagged whisper and you simply aren’t strong enough to hold it back anymore.
You drop his hands, your tight fists returning, only this time stronger.
“I hate this, Choso! I hate that I can hear everyone’s blood, I hate that I’m a parasite on you, and I hate that I’m standing here in this stupid dress, looking at my friend like… l-like I want to eat her! I hate it… I hate what I am! I’m a monster!”
A breath hitches in your throat, a dry sob. But no tears come as your frightened eyes, wide and searching, look up at him. You don’t know if it’s the fact his expression doesn’t shift into pity, or the quiet determination in his gaze as the hard line of his jaw softens - but something manages to steady you, just for a moment. It’s enough to notice him reaching into the breast pocket of his vest.
He pulls out a black handkerchief, made from a delicate lace that he lightly wraps around his wrist; turning it into a barrier to prevent any stray drops from ruining your dress.
The next moment, the lace-covered skin is directly pressed against your lips, the warmth of his pulse beneath impossible to ignore.
“Drink,” he murmurs; his voice a low, irresistible growl and a subtle plea all at once.
“Choso, I can’t—” the protest comes out barely a breath against his palm.
“Yes, you can,” he hisses. His thumb traces the line of your jaw gently, tilting you back, so he can peer through your eyes. “Just… bite me. It’s okay.”
Under the flickering lights, the music around you seems to fade, leaving only the sound of your shared breathing. Choso refuses to look away even for a second, his expression a stable mixture of trust and silent encouragement that makes the walls you’ve been trying to built crumble.
The struggle inside you finally snaps. Leaning forward, you allow your instincts to take the lead, pressing lips into the dark fabric. The resistance of the lace gives away as your fangs descend, sinking into the skin beneath.
The sensation is an intoxicating rush of warmth and vitality that floods your senses through a sharp wave; it silences the roar of the hunger instantly. The frantic noise in your head finally falls silent, replaced only by the rhythmic heat of him.
And it’s not just the physical relief that feels marvelous. It’s also the way he holds you close even as you take from him. It’s his honeyed taste… a complex blend of strength and something else - something close to lust, but deeper.
A soft sound escapes your throat, your hands gripping the collar of his coat, so you can steady yourself against the sensation; the heady, metallic warmth filling your system.
Choso doesn’t even flinch at the sharp sting of the bite. Instead, his arm tightens around you, anchoring you close. He leans down, resting his chin against the top of your head, his breath hitching slightly.
“That’s it,” he whispers in a reassurance. “Good girl. Take as much as you need. I’ve got you.”
The shame you feared melts away at the sound of his words, and as you feed, the edges of your panic gradually smooth out, overpowered by this shared vulnerability.
He’s truly giving this to you. His flesh. His own blood.
For the first time since your transformation, the hunger doesn’t feel like a curse. Tonight, it feels more like a connection.
As the initial rush of the feeding begins to steady enough, you pull back, full for the first time in days. The transition is seamless - the sharp, elongated points of your fangs slip back upward, retracting into your gums until your mouth looks human again.
Your eyes flicker to the handkerchief - it has done its job. Not a single drop has ruined your dress, or his coat. There is only a lone, stray smear of crimson at the corner of your mouth. You catch it with the pad of your thumb, gently wiping it away.
Choso watches you closely; not with fear or shock. There’s a profound, quiet stillness in his eyes. He looks almost relieved - that you stopped fighting yourself and took what you needed.
Around you the party continues in a blurred haze of laughter and clinking glasses. But now, as the two of you stand silently in front of each other, still just as near, the air shifts, charged with the heat you just shared.
Then, he reaches out, his calloused fingers grazing your jaw as he tilts your face up.
He doesn’t mind the blood you just wiped, the fangs he just saw, nor the way your eyes are still wide and stunned.
He kisses you. Slow, studiedly; you’ve never been touched like this before - there wasn’t an ounce of doubt in his actions. As the kiss deepens, the world around you blurs and your fingers scramble for purchase, catching the sleeve of his coat just to stay grounded as the floor seems to tilt beneath your feet.
Your mind is racing once you pull back slowly, struggling to keep up. Just a minute ago you were feeding from his wrist and now you’re… kissing?
It’s all too fast - these changes, and unfamiliar emotions.
“I need a moment,” you breathe against his mouth, the words trailing off in the small space between you as your hand drops from his sleeve.
Choso tilts his head slowly, his expression shifting into something startled. “I’m sorry,” he begins, his voice now slightly rough with uncertainty.
But you don’t hear the rest. You’re already pushing through the crowd in need to find the bathroom as quickly as possible.
You push through the door, the click of the lock cutting off the muffled noise of the party. You walk to the sink, leaning over as you stare at your reflection in the mirror, trying to process the rush of the last few minutes.
You just need a second… a second to feel human again.
Because in all honesty - you hate the way you feel about yourself right now; the memory of your fangs bared in front of him makes your stomach churn. It’s a side of you that feels monstrous, and the fact that he had to witness that form… that he saw the predator behind your eyes… it leaves you feeling exposed in a way you can’t stand.
You take a deep breath, then quickly turn on the faucet to wash your hands and your mouth. After rinsing, you grab the near paper towel and press it to your lips. Not even a minute later there’s a hesitant knock on the door, firm enough to instantly snap you out of your thoughts.
“It’s me,” Choso’s voice comes from the other side. “Can I come in?”
“Leave me alone,” you shout, your voice slightly cracking.
But then, a sudden wave of exhaustion washes over you, overriding the panic. Ignoring him for the rest of the night won’t undo what he saw.
You take one last look of your reflection before unlocking the door and pulling it open, fully expecting to see an empty hallway.
But he is still there. His gaze lifts from the ground on the instant, peering through yours with that quiet concern you grew so familliar with.
You step back to give him room. The small space of the bathroom now feels even tighter with him inside, the air shifting from the memory of what happened under the party lights. You look down at your hands, struggling to find the right words, not knowing where to even start… You still feel the lingering shame, and it’s distracting you from thinking.
“I… I want to say thank you,” you begin, your voice small but sincere. “For letting me…”
You can’t. You can’t find the strength; bite, drink, feed - you can’t say them out loud.
“For helping me.” You finish at once.
Choso nods silently, his eyes holding onto the eye contact steadily, as if letting go would mean letting the intimate moment you had on the dance floor slip away forever. The room is quiet for a long moment before he speaks.
“Do you regret it?” he asks, his tone softer than usual. “The kiss?”
You look away, your fingers finding the edge of the sink as you acknowledge the weight of his question. And then, as your lips part slowly - it hits you. How big the gap between his world and yours is.
“I’m scared,” you confess, finally looking back at him. “I’m scared of what I am when I’m with you.” You take a shallow breath, noticing the subtle frown of his brows. “But no. I don’t regret it.”
A wave of visible relief washes over Choso, as if he had been bracing himself for a completely different answer. He erases the distance between you in a single step, reaching down to take your hand in his - his skin is still just as warm.
He lifts it slowly and leans in, pressing his lips against the inside of your wrist. It’s a slow, tender touch that immediately sends electricity through your body.
One kiss turns into a warm path of multiple kisses up your arm, his lips soft and gentle against your skin, causing your breathing to pick up.
He pauses just below the crook of your elbow, his breath excitedly fanning across your skin as his voice slips huskily.
“I’ll never let anything happen to you,” he murmurs, half-lidded gaze looking at you with unfiltered fidelity. “I swear it.”
By the time his other hand slides up to cup your jaw, your eyes are already closing. His mouth finds yours once more - but this kiss is different; so, so different.
It’s heavier, hungrier, and tastes with quiet urgency that makes your knees go weak.
A tiny moan escapes you when his tongue parts yours lips, sensually making its way through. His fingers never leave, laced through strands of your hair they gently press against the back of your neck to keep you tilted.
The kisses deepen, growing hotter and more demanding as his experient tongue leads yours into an arousing dance. Until he moves down, guiding his panting mouth along the column of your neck, inhaling deeply before kissing the sensitive flesh.
Every wet, warm press of his lips, every nibble, makes the weight in your chest go smaller, replacing it with pure delight. You grip his ruffled shirt tightly, bunching the fabric in your hands as you completely surrender to the sensation, letting him map the line of your throat.
You can feel his heartbeat quickening against your fist as he sucks on your skin with his puffy lips; his bulge growing bigger and harder with want as his body presses against you, surrounding you with heat and his musky scent as his two hands sneak beneath your dress; one of them carefully lifting your leg.
“Hey! Wrap it up in there!” A loud, slurred voice yells out of nowhere. “Need to use the bathroom ASAP!” An insistent banging against the wood follows.
His lips stay pressed against your neck for one last second before he exhales lowly.
Your fingers, trembling, uncurl from the fabric of his shirt; your foot carefully drops back to the floor. Reality rushes back into the room, sharp and overwhelming.
But even after everything, Choso still looks at you with that same gaze, full of hope and promise, before he steps back to turn around, giving you some privacy to fix your dress.
established relationship, smut with slight plot lol. barely proofread.
for @yoonsucks event~
Notes: lace stockings, kissing, oral f receiving, semi-public (people are downstairs), reader had one drink but isn't tipsy or drunk, Kento's a thighs lover (fight me)
“Thank you for coming, Choso. It means a lot to me!” You said, giving his shoulder a squeeze as you back out of the hug that he gave you.
He gave you a nod, his cheeks slightly puffing up. “Of course, wouldn't want to miss it.”
As you watched him walk back to his girlfriend, you let out a soft sigh. The room was crowded, filled with friends and family who were here to celebrate your engagement with Kento.
The sole glass of champagne you had drank today went straight to your head, as you'd forgotten to eat a proper lunch. Sure, you'd been snacking on the finger foods that Kento had prepared. But your feet hurt, your head hurt and you felt slightly overwhelmed by it all.
Scanning the big, spacious living room for an empty seat, you found one in the back corner and made your way to it. A soft huff escaped your lips as you leaned back in the chair. Your fingers traced the rim of the expensive china that Kento had gotten out of storage for this occasion, and the cold touch of it grounded you.
After a few minutes, a warm presence sat on the chair beside you. Your eyes looked up, meeting the most comforting and soft, hazel eyes. The ones you’d fallen in love with many moons ago.
“Everything okay, honey?” Kento asked, his fingers softly grazing over your exposed knee.
You nodded. “Yeah. Just taking a little break from talking to everyone. How’re you?”
He smiled, no concerned eyes behind his glasses; he knew you better than anyone.
“Good, been catching up with Gojo and Megumi.” He answered, his fingers slowly moving towards your thigh. He kept his hand there, the warmth of his skin radiated through your stockings. “Then saw that my soon-to-be-wife was sitting down, so I thought I’d check up on her.”
“You're the sweetest.” You chuckled. You crossed your legs, the fabric of your pastel yellow dress hiked up slightly and you noticed his eyes flicking to your lower body. “Something distracting you, my love?”
Kento smirked and eyed the room for a second and then slid his fingers up your thigh, his fingertips tracing the delicate lace of the top of your stockings. “These are new.”
“They are.” You mumbled, heat creeping up your cheeks. You leaned over the table, one elbow propped up onto the white tablecloth.
Kento swallowed, his eyes now flickering between your eyes and your cleavage. “Darling. Should we take a few moments to ourselves?”
His hand left your thigh, but not before giving your knee a firm squeeze. He sat up straight, slightly loosening his soft yellow –matching your dress– tie and looked at you with almost pleading eyes.
“Leave our own engagement party?” You said, fake shocked. You put your hand over your mouth as you let out a playful giggle. “Scandalous.”
“Come on.” Kento said, getting up from the ivory seating and grabbing your hand in his.
The guests didn't seem to notice the two of you sneaking upstairs, and even if they did; you couldn't care less.
As soon as the bedroom door closed, Kento pressed his lips to yours and caught your body in between his and the dark wooden door. His hand immediately slid under your dress, fingers tugging at the lacey band of your stockings.
“You make me go crazy when you wear these things.” He mumbled against your lips, pulling on the stretchy lace and letting it snap back against your thigh.
Pulling him closer against you, you tangled your hands in his hair. A soft chuckle slipped from your lips. “Why do you think I wear them?”
Kento groaned softly at your response, kissing you harder.
He then backed away, just an inch, and looked at you. “How much time do we have before anyone will notice we're gone?”
“Mh, a few minutes maybe?” You replied, tracing your pointer finger over his broad chest. The dress shirt he wore was getting slightly tighter, he’d told you he’d been working out more for the wedding and it definitely showed.
It took a split second for Kento to decide what he wanted to do with you in those few minutes, but the new stockings ultimately made the decision for him.
He got down on his knees, pushed up your dress, helped you slide down your panties and then swung one of your legs over his shoulder with ease.
Pressing hasty kisses against your inner thighs, making sure to trace the intricate lace of your stockings with his lips and tongue, he could almost come from just this.
He licked a slow strip through your folds, making you shiver to his touch. His hands caressed your thighs while holding you steady against the bedroom door. His fingertips gave just as much attention to your stockings as his mouth did to your cunt.
“Kento…” you sighed, tangling your fingers in his hair. The waxy feeling of his hair product was a familiar touch to you. “More please… we don't have much time.”
He chuckled against your wet core, the vibrations going through your whole body.
“I’ve got you, sweetheart.” He said, sliding his tongue through your folds and every now and then dipped into your hole. “Gotta be quiet though.”
One of his hands held you firmly against the door and the other scrunched the fabric of the stockings, carefully making sure not to rip it off your leg. It slid down slightly and Kento couldn't help but take a quick peek at your leg over his shoulder. The pressure of the elastic lace had made an ever so slight design on your bare thigh.
He bit his lower lip to suppress a groan and went right back to eating you out, determined to let you come within the minute.
Soft pants and whimpers were heard throughout the bedroom, quiet enough for the both of you to hear but not loud enough for anyone else.
As Kento focused his licking and sucking on your clit, you clenched around nothing as you pushed his face closer against you to ride out your high.
Kento grunted as he lapped up your juices like he hadn't had a sip of water in three days. His hand still wrapped around the thin stocking fabric, he couldn't even begin to explain how much he loved the feeling of them on your thighs.
His lips left you, and he gently pulled the stocking back up your leg. Eyeing the other one to see how high you wore them. He pressed a kiss atop it before coming back up to meet your eyes.
Pulling him in for a kiss, you startled when someone banged on the bedroom door.
“Nanamin?!” Yuji yelled from the other side. “Are you here?!”
Kento’s eyes widened slightly, but as he looked at you –trying to keep in a chuckle– his eyes softened. “Yuji, what's wrong?”
“I spilled hot chocolate over your white rug and I’m really sorry but I freaked out and tried to clean it, but I think I made it worse?” Yuji yapped, a slight panic could be heard in his voice.
You pressed your lips together, a laugh would certainly come out soon if Yuji kept blabbing like that.
Kento pecked your lips quickly, then cleared his throat. “Give me a few seconds, Yuji, and I’ll come downstairs to help.”
a/n: something little while I work on my summer series <3
more like this
ೃ࿔*:･
Rain patters the window loosely. Sunday quietly arrived hours ago, and now it’s seeping through into your bedroom. Maybe you should be preparing for the working week; instead, you’re still bundled up in bed with your husband.
You shift just a little, feet and legs tangling with Nanami’s under the sheets as he pulls you closer- your back pressed to his front, curled up together like you were always meant to end up this way. Distantly, you can smell the rain landing on the windowsill outside.
“Mmfh.” You sigh into the pillows, pressing your cheek into the awaiting softness while your husband gently moves your hair aside to press a soft kiss to your nape.
“Good morning, my love.” He says quietly. The nickname has become second nature to you both now, but it still carries the significance it did the first time he spoke it while passing you the salt on a date and you both froze.
You love that memory, it reminds you of the way his face had cracked into a nervous grin and you’d smiled back just as brightly, brushing your hand against his while you giggled at his expression. Now, if you ever tease him about it, Nanami will just shrug beneath his shirt and mutter something about how ‘it felt right’.
But you still notice the blush on his face when he turns away.
“Morning, Ken.” You mumble back, letting your fingers lace casually with his across your stomach. “Did you sleep well?”
“I did, thank you.” He replies.
God, you think, it’s all so domestic it almost scares you. It scares Nanami too, having a constant in his life that isn’t mundane or arduous. It’s just you, and he loves you so much sometimes he can’t bring himself to express it with words.
It’s a feeling that sweeps over him in moments like this, in tiny snapshots of married life. Whether it’s you tutting at him when he forgets to sieve the flour before adding it to the cake batter or him tutting at you when you leave your heels strewn across the corridor, Nanami is prone to a sickeningly sweet gush of emotion.
What Nanami feels for you is everything, happiness and reverence and desire and nostalgia and pure, unadulterated joy all mixed up into one big ball within that he can only describe as love.
Which is exactly what he whispered to you on your wedding day, stood at the altar as he slipped the ring onto your finger through the sheen of tears he didn’t bother denying to anybody who teased him about it at the reception afterwards.
It’s exactly what he’s whispering now, as he hugs your warmth closer underneath the puffy duvet. You giggle and squirm when his breath fans across your ear, his lips curving upwards into a smile when the sound drifts to his ears.
“Ken, that tickles.” You laugh quietly, the melodic tinkling of your voice the most gorgeous thing he’s ever heard.
“Shh.” He laughs back, so unlike the stoic salaryman-turned-sorcerer everybody expects from him, “let me have my fun.”
You do, you lie there and melt into your husband and his words while you gaze out into the morning.
Nanami listens to the rain too, and reminisces. He thinks fondly about ducking into nearby bakeries to wait out drizzle on dates, he thinks about the time you both got soaked to the bone during monsoon season in Malaysia.
Nanami loves that memory, he adores and cherishes it close to his heart. The way you'd looked so shocked when the clouds split open above you, hearty waterfalls of water spattering across your clothes and wetting you head to toe. You'd laughed at his hair, at the way it stuck to his forehead, the sea crashing on peacefully behind you while the sand ruffled beneath your bare feet. Bare because Nanami was carrying your sandals.
Raindrops trickle across the glass, and you hazily watch them through half-opened eyes as they pool together and splash. The water flows smoothly, calmingly, and reminds you of the vase of flowers you need to mist.
“Ken.” You murmur, voice muffled by the duvet tugged up to your nose, “I need to water the flowers in the kitchen or they’ll wilt.”
His arms hold tighter and he groans defeatedly into your shoulder. “I’ll buy you a new bouquet later, darling.”
“But I feel bad for them.” You say, only half meaning the empathy over your flowers, but Nanami is quickly swept over again by yet another wave of bubbling affection.
“I love you.” He says against your skin, his fingers tracing the metal of your wedding ring. You smile sleepily, the sound of the rain and your husband’s gentle touch lulling you back to sleep.
“Mmm, I love you too.” You breathe softly, “the flowers can wait.”
𝓱usband!kento who presses a quick kiss to your temple every morning before leaving for work. it’s an unspoken habit, one he never forgets no matter how early he has to leave. if you stir awake while he’s pulling away from you, he’ll murmur a soft “go back to sleep, love” before slipping out the door.
𝓱usband!kento who speaks to you calmly even on his worst days!!! he could never bring himself to raise his voice at you no matter how tired or frustrated he was :( he absolutely refuses to let you become the outlet for his anger.
𝓱usband!kento who only shows his sense of humor around you. his dry, borderline terrible dad jokes that often make you snort are reserved solely for your ears. and when you tease him about how funny he actually is, he’ll only raise an eyebrow before saying, “i’ve got a reputation to maintain. can’t have others knowing i’m actually this amusing.”
𝓱usband!kento who notices when something’s wrong before you mention it. his gaze softening slightly before asking, “do you want to talk about it?” and if you don’t, he doesn’t push— instead he’ll stay patient until you’re ready to open up about whatever’s been bothering you.
𝓱usband!kento who listens to you ramble about anything and everything after a long day. he’ll loosen his tie, roll up his sleeves, and give you his full attention by keeping his eyes on you; nodding along to every word while actively hearing you talk about your day, your coworkers, or even the random documentary you watched the other time. kento loves hearing you speak even when you think you’re talking too much.
𝓱usband!kento who still gets you flowers even when there’s no special occasion. sometimes it’s a small bouquet of roses, while other times it’s just a single stem he saw on his way home from the supermarket. he’ll pass it to you with a faint softness in his expression as he says, “… this is for you, love.” you now have a collection of dried flowers tucked away, each one from a different day he thought of you.
𝓱usband!kento who goes to great lengths to ensure you feel comfortable & fulfilled. he takes care of things without making a big show of it, choosing to ease your burdens wherever he can by helping you with the house chores sometimes, and making sure you don’t overwork yourself too much since he’s more than willing to provide for you both.
⨳ 𝓷𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: i actually do miss writing for kento…
credits to im4yeons for the pink cream & star divider, polka dot floral frame found on pinterest ♡
he's huge; broad shoulders, husky build, and standing at a towering 6'0.
and yet, he's so, so gentle.
more specifically, his kisses.
because he doesn't squeeze you or bite your lips like he's trying to devour your face.
no, nanami kisses you sweetly. like you're as delicate as spun glass.
you needed his kisses. craved them, even.
you didn't even care that he was a workaholic. didn't get upset when he had to leave you early in the mornings or when he returned so late at night that you were already damn near asleep. it didn't bother you, as long as he followed your one rule:
give you a kiss before he leaves and when he got back.
sure, it sounded a bit silly. some of your friends even called you addicted when you told them about it. but you didn't care. it was routine, and you planned on it staying that way.
so when morning came again and the first rays of light peeking through your bedroom window got paired with the familiar rustling of kento trying to get dressed without causing a disturbance, you don't get mad.
you just roll over and lay there, patient. waiting. you sit up groggily, a lazy hand rubbing the sleep from your eyes.
meanwhile nanami is busy tying his tie, back turned to you just enough to show off the carefully sculpted muscles of his back without even trying. your gaze wandered over him appreciatively.
it didn't take long for him to realize you'd woken up. it was hard not to notice with you literally staring holes into the back of his head. he glances over his shoulder, expression softening instantly at the sight of your sleepy face.
"oh, hello..." he murmurs, as if anything louder would break the peace that settled at this early hour. he finishes the final knot before taking a seat beside you. you curl into his side instantly, and he hums approvingly.
his hand finds your waist, thumb brushing soothing circles as he says quietly, "i didn't mean to wake you, love."
but you just shake your head, completely content. you nuzzle into his chest, mumbling into him. "mm...'s okay."
you're quiet for a bit, fingers playing with the soft fabric of his shirt. not nervous, just lazy fidgting. then, you blink up at him expectantly, asking the all-too-familiar question. "...kiss?"
a tiny smile tugs at his lips. he'd heard the question a thousand times already, and he was waiting for it. he nodded without thinking, mumbling a soft "of course." before leaning in.
his free hand finds your chin, gently tilting your head up to his. the distance closes, lips pressing to his.
you can faintly taste the coffee on his lips, dark, bitter and honestly not as horrible as expected. and just when you start to relax into him, a bird chirps loudly outside the window.
you jump back, startled. his head tilts at you, but when he sees your wide eyes he can't help the soft laugh that leaves his lips.
"it's just a bird, sweetheart." he teases, gently ruffling your messy bedhead hair before standing up to slip on his shoes.
your lips twist into a pout. "whatever." you grumble, pretending not to be as embarrassed as you were.
but you didn't let him get his foot near the second shoe before you were climbing out of bed, arms wrapping around his neck. "i need another, ken...that one didn't count." you murmur, voice soft and thick with sleep.
his brows furrow, conflicted. "why, not? was that one not enough?" he asks, though he doesn't sound upset. just genuinely curious.
you shake your head. "we got interrupted, so it didn't count." you mumble.
nanami glances between you and the clock on his watch, hesitant. he knows he should get going. but you're hard to deny like this. you’re half asleep, drool dried on your cheek, and in nothing but his shirt and some shorts. you look absolutely adorable.
he sighs.
"fine." he caves, unable to fight the urge. his large hands find your waist, pulling you in closer. "but this is the last one, okay? no more." he explains.
you nod, feeling like you'd won the lottery.
he smiles at your eagerness, and finally leans to capture you in another kiss.
your lips slot against his, weaving together like they're meant to be there. a soft press first, then your lips start to move.
you know he has to leave soon, but you can't bring yourself to care. he feels so good, and you just feel all warm and fuzzy inside. and when one of his hands slide into your hair to tilt your head and deepen the kiss, you melt. your eyes flutter shut, knees going weak.
he hums against your lips, his own gaze growing half-lidded. he granted you access when your tongue slipped in his mouth, dancing with yours in a slow, passionate dance.
when you moan into his mouth and he feels his dress pants start to tighten a bit, he knows he should stop. reluctantly, he speaks.
"sweetheart..." he calls softly, but doesn't pull away yet.
"mm...?" you hum, clearly not done yet.
he's not either. but, he knows this is wrong. "i really need to leave now. i'll be late." he manages to murmur. but every word is muffled between another tender yet messy kiss.
but you just grumble against his lips, pulling him closer as you mumble under your breath. "mm...d'nt care."
it’s safe to say that nanami was definitely late for work that day.
a/n: okay this is really short but i wanted to write for him cause he’s just so like ughhhh (also more fluff cause ive just been spamming smut back to back)
Your sweet husband nanami buys you lacy nightgowns and has you put a fashion show on for him… it’s more a treat for him than you.
Husband!Nanami x wife!reader. Cw: Established Relationship, Suggestive, Fluff, Domestic, Lace & Nightgowns, Intimacy, Kissing
ᛝ This is apart of @yoonsucks 3k interlace event!! I hope you enjoy :3
It started with a single box from a boutique Nanami usually walked past without a second glance. Then came another. And another.
Nanami Kento was a man of precision and practicality, but he had developed a very specific, very expensive hobby: seeing you draped in the finest silk and lace money could buy. He claimed it was about "comfort" and "quality of sleep," but the way his gaze lingered on the hem of a chemise told a different story.
Tonight, the bed was covered in tissue paper and delicate fabrics.
"Kento, there are at least five here," you laughed, picking up a floor-length sheer gown with intricate floral embroidery. "When am I supposed to wear all of these?"
"Ideally? Every night," he replied smoothly, loosening his tie as he leaned against the doorframe. His eyes were dark, tracking the way the moonlight caught the shimmer of the fabric in your hands. "But I haven't seen them on you yet. Consider it a quality control check. A private showing, if you will."
You rolled your eyes but couldn't hide the blush creeping up your neck. You ducked into the bathroom, emerging minutes later in the first piece, a baby pink satin slip with a neckline held together by nothing but thin silk ribbons.
Nanami didn't say a word. He simply sat in the armchair by the window, his glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, looking every bit the discerning critic. He gestured for you to turn.
"The color suits you," he noted, his voice a low vibration. "But the lace at the hip... it’s a bit distracting. Next."
The "fashion show" continued with a rhythm that felt more like a slow burn than a parade.
The second gown is a white, Victorian-inspired nightgown with puffed sleeves and enough lace to be a wedding dress. He called it "innocent," though his smirk suggested he enjoyed the irony.
The third is a black, knee-length gown with a slit that traveled dangerously high. Nanami plays with the ends of the fabric and drags his other hand up your thigh. He hums and lightly taps your butt signaling you to try on the next one.
By the time you reached the final box, the air in the bedroom felt heavy. You stepped out wearing a pale blue piece, completely backless and trimmed with lace that rubbed against your skin.
Nanami stood up. The "critic" persona vanished, replaced by the man who had spent the last hour meticulously memorizing every inch of skin those gowns failed to cover.
"This one," he murmured, crossing the room until he was standing directly in your space. He didn't touch you yet, but the heat radiating from him was enough. "This is the winner."
"Oh? And what does the winner get?" you teasingly giggle, reaching up to toy with the collar of his dress shirt.
"My undivided attention," he whispered.
He finally reached out, his large, calloused hands contrasting beautifully with the delicate lace at your waist. He pulled you in flush against him, his lips finding the sensitive pulse point just below your ear.
"You look breathtaking," he breathed against your skin, a rare crack in his stoic composure. "I think I’ve spent my money very wisely."
He captured your lips in a kiss that was slow, deep, and tasted of lingering desire. It was the kind of kiss that promised the nightgowns wouldn't stay on for very long. As his hands wandered over the expensive silk he’d gifted you, you realized that while he loved the fashion show, he loved the finale where the clothes ended up on the floor even more.
“Kento,” you whispered between kisses.
“Hush,” he groaned, his thumb tracing the line of the lace. “I’m still evaluating the texture.”
⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ husband!nanami and the attractive things he does
a/n: trying to bless everyone by sharing another husband!nanami post. i've got plenty more ideas of little things he does, so i'm hoping to make some more of these throughout the week (˶˃𐃷˂˶)
wc: 1.0k
Husband!Nanami who tells you before going out for your date night that those heels will start to hurt after walking for a while, but you claim they match your outfit perfectly and finding another pair would ruin the vibe you're going for, so he doesn't press the issue.
Once you take them off while walking back home, he doesn't complain, he doesn't dare tell you I told you so. Quite the contrary, he’ll willingly hoist you up in his arms, bridal style, while carrying the heels in his hand. No complaints, no mumbled fusses, because all in all, he gets to hold the woman he admires most in this world while using your heels as the excuse.
Husband!Nanami who’ll slightly lean over the table to maintain his conversation with you, elbows steadily planted on the wood, and once you lean in as well, he’ll drag your chair closer to his.
It’s ridiculously smooth, in a way mixed with confidence that hasn't been seen before. You’re there one moment, and the next, your thigh is touching his, and a strong-smelling cologne is wafting up into your nostrils.
With his palm pressed against the material of your seat, or by hooking his ankle around one leg of the chair, he easily drags it closer. No effort, no outspoken words, just the mere act of actively listening and making space for you in his life.
Husband!Nanami who took a photo of you on your first date together. Hair blowing in the wind, the sun setting behind you, adding a golden hue to the picture even through the black and white filter, your smile impossibly wide, eyes creasing, and dimples deepening.
It follows him everywhere, since he shoved it into his wallet the day after he took it, and never bothered taking it back out again. He bought two photo frames a few weeks later, and neatly placed the duplicates in them, then continued to let one photo frame rest on his nightstand and the other on his desk at work. The last duplicate is taped against the sun visor in his car, often keeping it down so he can see you while driving.
He claims it’s only when he misses you and hasn't seen you properly in a while because life gets busy, but he knows he's a liar, since the sun visor is always down. He’s never snapped it shut since hanging up the photo many years ago.
Husband!Nanami who tells you to bring a coat with you, is aware you won't be listening to his advice any time soon. Again, no I told you so’s when you're visibly shivering due to the cold. Instead, he's taking off his coat and hanging it over your shoulders while not uttering a single word.
He’ll catch the soft look you send him, and that’s enough in his eyes.
Husband!Nanami who, even when he's exhausted from working all week and day, still cooks dinner for you when he gets home. He doesn't ask you to do it, actually preferring to either do it himself or do it together.
Soft music playing in the background, all the main lights turned off, dimmed lights turned on, which adds a cosy ambience. The kitchen window is pushed open, and suits and other proper clothes are changed for comfortable, looser ones.
Kisses are being shared here and there, light touches are being pressed to your waist and hips each time he walks past you. Handing ingredients over when you need them, easily taking over with no complaints when you're starting another part of the recipe.
Husband!Nanami who’s come to master navigating you through traffic without losing you, since you're rather fond of wandering off without uttering a single word. Walking behind you, only slightly, so he can wrap one arm around your waist to hold you close, and the other holding onto your hand as he steers you through overly crowded areas.
Husband!Nanami who never dares to look away from you, terribly afraid of missing a single thing. A missed smile, the twinkle in your eyes, a strand of hair falling in your face, or even the simplest detail of an exaggerated story.
He’ll keep his eyes set on yours, unblinking, lips turning upwards in the barest hint of a smile, the bags under his eyes suddenly seeming so small compared to usual. The lines on his face soften, making him look younger than he actually is.
Husband!Nanami who you claim needs to relax now and then, yet you can't help but find him awfully handsome— that quiet, oftentimes bordering on stoic, accumulated energy.
You’ll be panicking over something mundane, and he’ll be standing right next to you, a hand on your lower back or resting on the nape of your neck, squeezing, not once letting his composure drop. Shoulders straightened obscenely, head held high, not once thinking of slouching, and the calmness will ease into your veins.
That’s how easy it always goes with him. He doesn't need to communicate through words with you, since his mere presence looming over you is more than enough. As easy as breathing, you crave that stability like air.
Husband!Nanami who loops his arms around your waist from behind whenever you're doing anything that involves you bending over the tiniest bit.
You’re bent over against the kitchen counter, elbows planted on the island, nursing through a book filled with recipes your mother shared with you— within a second, he's pressed behind you. Firm front against your back, blond hair nuzzling the side of your face whilst he presses kisses to your shoulder and neck.
Reaching up to get something from the highest cabinet? He’s already behind you, unnecessarily adding himself into your personal space, and although he does help, he enjoys the situation greatly. Every time, over and over again.
Bending over to open the freezer, bending over to pick up a book, bending over to—
It’s second nature to him, he's afraid. Being able to help his wife whilst holding onto you in a lovely yet intimate way is a win for him.
Husband!Nanami who always knows what you need before you can come up with a single thought yourself. You've had a bad day, and aren't sure if you want to go to bed or just relax on the couch while watching a film. Meanwhile, he's making both options possible by unnecessarily going out of his way to make you feel better.
It’s not that you spent too much, or that you were too controlling of the list, or that you didn’t help.
For some reason, you were so touchy. Not that Nanami would ever complain about such affection, no. He loved it, truly. However, it felt as if you had been possessed by a succubus whenever you both stepped foot into the food shop.
Your hands would trail everywhere, along his waist, fingers delicately wrapping around his bicep and squeezing every few seconds. In empty isles, his ass would be slapped until he was sure you’d left a mark, him silently ticking off items as you tried to act nonchalant playing with his belt loops.
What was a girlfriend meant to do, though, watching the handsomest man ever walk around with reading glasses perched low on his nose? Biceps flexing as he pushed the cart in front of him, brows furrowed in concentration as he checked over the list again and again. Were you really expected to keep your hands off?
Unfortunately for Kento, you couldn’t. Hell, he almost got a boner halfway through the shop when you decided to palm his bulge firmly in an empty isle. Nanami’s head tipped down with a groan, one hand gently taking ahold of your wrist and trying to pull it away.
“D-Darling, I appreciate the affection but maybe we could save it for somewhere more… private?”
You pout up at him, dropping your hand with a huff. “Fine, I’ll wait.”
Until the car.
Good thing Nanami parked in the back corner of the car park otherwise you were sure the whole town would have seen the vigorous rocking of the car as you pushed Nanami into the back seat, mounting him like some wild animal in heat.
You sunk down onto his thick cock quickly, head tipping back and moaning whoreishly. Nanami kissed up your breasts, quickly attaching his lips to yours as he guided you up and down on his cock, the wet phap phap sound filling the silence of the car. Your fingers entangled into his blonde locks, messing up the neatened style.
Heat bloomed in your lower belly all too quickly, movements faltering as his grip tightened, moving you himself as your legs practically gave up on you.
You came at the same time, one hand gripping the back seat headrest as thick ropes of semen shot up into your womb, leaving you feeling bloated and full as you pulled off with a sheen of sweat covering your forehead.
If this was what happened after every shopping trip, then Nanami couldn’t find a reason to complain.
Dinner simmers on the stove, the only light in the large expanse of the kitchen being the range hood, the curtains pulled to after the sun had gone down. Steam curls in the air, the faint smell of herbs hitting your nose as you continue to stir.
While the TV hums quietly in the background, the fireplace burning low as the windy breeze of winter rages outside, you wait for your husband to walk through the door at any moment. He was late, kept long after he needed to be like usual, and you knew it irritated him to no end.
One hand propped on the edge of the counter, your hip sticking out where a soft, lace slip curves to your body, ankles crossed delicately. The lock clicks from the door, creaking open ever so slightly as Nanami walks through.
Looking over your shoulder, you watch as he places down his things, loosening his tie just enough until his gaze catches on you through the breakfast bar window. Walking towards you, his steps eat up the distance between you quickly, his hands settling low on your hips. His eyes were tired, blackened by countless nights of no sleep and being overworked until he physically couldn’t handle it anymore.
“Hey baby,” he says, voice low and rough, exhaustion laced throughout his words.
“Hey handsome,” you say, craning your head back to place a soft kiss to his lips.
He hums against you, and when you pull away to keep stirring, his fingers grip against the soft silk of your nightgown to pull you closer. Wet kisses line your shoulder, open-mouthed and needy, a quiet groan rumbling through his chest from the taste of your salty-sweet skin.
“I missed you all day,” he whispers in between kisses.
The farther up he goes, the more you tilt your head subconsciously, giving him more skin to kiss. He sucks, bites, licks against the soft skin of your neck, one hand caressing up your side, just far enough until he can push through the top of your slip to grab a breast.
He kneads your heavy, full breast before running his calloused fingers along your nipple, the small gasp he pulls out of you only urging him to toy with it. Pinching, pulling, twisting ever so slightly just how he knows you like it until the simmering food on the stove was long forgotten, and your knees were growing weaker from the pleasure.
“Nanami...” you whimper breathlessly, gripping onto his wrist where he still holds your hip.
Pushing his hand down, he pulls against the edge of your nightgown, bunching it up around your waist just to find you bare underneath. A guttural groan leaves him, vibrating through your body where his chest rests against your back, landing right into the pool of heat gathering in your lower belly.
“Hoping you would get some tonight weren’t you,” he says, laughing softly, gripping tighter onto the thin fabric.
“A wife could dream,” you say, low and unashamed.
His mind runs wild at your words. There were so many nights he was gone for work, so many nights he had to leave before you woke up, so many days he never had a chance to see you at all. The fact that his own wife has to dream of his touch infuriates him.
Nanami’s hands leave your body for a split second, just long enough to unbuckle his belt and shove his slacks down until his throbbing cock was free of its restraints. Hiking up your nightgown even further, he rubs his cock through your folds, not another word leaving his mouth.
You whimper softly, squirming against him, hands splayed out on the kitchen counter to steady yourself. He places one hand on your back, pressing down slightly, arching you just before sliding his cock deep into your pussy.
His pace begins punishingly, hips slamming against yours, his balls slapping against your sensitive clit at the perfect rhythm. It was almost too much. Your fingers grip the marble as moans tear from your throat, eyes shutting tight from the feeling of being completely filled.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry baby,” he says, voice rough as he pounds into you. “I’m so sorry I’m not here more. That I haven’t been the husband you need.”
His hands find your hips, the soft silk covering where his fingers dig into your plush skin, sure to leave bruises in the morning. Grunting roughly, his cock rubs through you, veins and ridges sliding against your sensitive walls until he is buried against your cervix, tip curving upwards onto your sweet spot.
“Nanami-”
“Shh, baby I know. Let me make it up to you,” he whispers, leaning over you.
Pressing his chest to your back, one hand slides down your lower stomach, holding you in place. The other reaches up to your breast, gripping tight against the soft skin, feeling it bounce from the force of his thrusts.
Your mouth hangs open, whines and whimpers falling from your lips as you take your husband’s cock. He kisses against your ear, whispering sweet nothings to you, groaning softly when you clench tight around him.
“You take it so good... so tight... so wet... all mine to please...”
All of his words push you closer and closer to the edge.
“Please N-Nanami,” you whine, pushing your body back onto him, allowing his cock to reach deeper inside of you.
His hand trails down your lower belly, his fingers rubbing through your folds, until he brings them up to your clit. He presses slightly, adding just enough pressure before rubbing tight, fast circles onto your sensitive bundle of nerves.
Your legs tremble from his touch, your body sparking with need from every thrust, every sensation. His fingers toying with your nipple, his other rubbing your clit, all while he thrusts relentlessly into you.
Grinding down against him, your hips move sloppy, your body growing weaker as your orgasm crests. Cum gushes from your entrance, coating his cock until the wet sounds of desire fill the air.
Clenching tight around him, he grunts repeatedly, your name falling from him over and over again. His pace stays steady, rocking with your body until you come down from your high, and it doesn’t take him long to reach his own.
“F-fuck,” he stutters, his cock twitching, his thrusts growing sloppy quickly.
A guttural groan rips from his chest, rumbling through you as long, thick ropes of cum flood you, filling up every last empty space left inside your pussy. His hands grip at your body, trying to steady himself, to ground himself in you until his cock runs dry.
Hanging your head low, you pant, doing your best to catch your breath after the events that just took place. Nanami presses his forehead to your back, right between your shoulder blades where his warm breath hits your soft skin. A shiver runs down your spine, raking through your entire body.
Pulling out slowly, his hands find your hips once more, turning you around to him. His body crowds your space, backing you up until you’re slightly bent over the counter, his forehead resting against yours.
“I’m going to take some time off work, spend it all here with you,” he says softly. “My wife should never have to dream of something she should be able to have whenever she wants.”
His fingers tangle in the fabric bunched at your hips before smoothing it back down. Placing a soft kiss to your lips, he speaks an apology more than a thousand words could ever say.
Headcanons that I think Nanami will have with you!
The rainy evening in Tokyo had finally slowed to a persistent drizzle, the kind that made the city lights blur into soft, glowing smudges against the pavement. He stepped through the front door, the familiar scent of home—sandalwood and something warm, like toasted bread—instantly loosening the tight knot of tension in his shoulders.
He moved with his usual quiet precision, hanging his beige trench coat and methodically loosening his spotted tie. The day had been long, filled with the "nonsense" of paperwork and the draining energy of minor curses, but the sight of you curled up on the sofa with a book made the fatigue feel distant.
A quiet welcome
The Greeting: He doesn't say much at first, simply walking over to press a lingering, cool-nosed kiss to your forehead.
The Shift: You notice the way his sharp gaze softens when he looks at you, the "salaryman" persona melting away to reveal the man who just wants to be home.
The Ritual: He allows you to guide him to the kitchen, where a warm cup of tea is already waiting. He treasures these small, domestic anchors.
Domestic Bliss
Nanami isn't a man of grand, sweeping gestures; his love is found in the meticulous details. It’s in the way he makes sure your favorite bakery treats are on the counter before you wake up, or how he’ll quietly take the book from your lap when you fall asleep, marking your page before tucking you in.
"You're late," you tease softly, leaning against the counter as he sips his tea.
He glances at the clock—6:05 PM. A small, rare smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "Five minutes of overtime is still five minutes too many. I apologize."
He reaches out, his large hand finding yours and squeezing gently. In this quiet apartment, far from the chaos of jujutsu high and corporate offices, he isn't a Grade 1 sorcerer or a former stockbroker. He is simply yours.
Evening Routine
1. Downtime: He enjoys "boring" activities with you, like finishing a difficult puzzle or playing low-stakes video games to unwind.
2. Affection: Nanami is surprisingly tactile in private. He loves resting his head in your lap, letting you run your fingers through his hair while he closes his eyes.
3. Protection: Even on his day off, he’s observant, making sure you’re comfortable and well-fed, treating your happiness as his most important "assignment".
As the night deepens, he leads you toward the bedroom, his arm draped securely around your waist. "Let's rest," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that vibrates against your temple. "Tomorrow is a day off. No work, no curses. Just us."
a/n: this is my first time writing for jjk, aahh !!! i was originally going to go for choso since he's my favourite but there's something about husband!nanami that rubs me in all the right ways. i love him so much ohmygosh °ʚ(*´ᵕ`*)ɞ° wc: 1.2k
Husband!Nanami had a quick, efficient morning routine before settling into married life. Never exactly one’s stereotypical bachelor, but the detached environment that used to linger around his apartment before meeting you did, kind of, fit into the category.
Sterile white walls, books stapled upon one another, often were used as a nightstand— aesthetically pleasing to some, a way to personalise the space. Still, in reality, he never truly got around to buying an actual bookshelf back then.
Throwing himself into work had always been good for him, considering he only had himself to look after. He wouldn't let his alarm clock go to snooze, wouldn't allow himself to linger in bed, maybe because the moment he turned, the other side would be ice cold, although he did always dismiss this thought, convincing himself it was only to boost his productivity.
Husband!Nanami who still goes about his mornings as quietly as possible even while being a married man. Not because he doesn't want you around in the mornings, but because he thinks you deserve all the rest you can get.
He’ll already be sitting up in bed, his alarm clock having rang only once, the sunlight filtering through the windows. Turning, and then he’ll see you wriggle beneath the duvets.
Something in his system slows down. Why is he in such a rush, anyway, he seems to think now.
It doesn't matter if he's later than usual that morning, if the rest of his routine doesn't add up to the specific hours and numbers he's been used to for most of his life— all he’ll do is take a deep breath, lie back down, and relax into the pillow. Blond hair sleep-ruffled and beautifully messy, spreading around and over parts of his face like the tiniest of halos.
Husband!Nanami who loves the feeling of your burning skin against his already cooled down fingers. His lean fingers will reach out to your waist, twitchy and slightly hesitant—even after all this time—the flesh burning and smooth beneath his feather-light touches.
He’ll try his best not to wake you, despite being more than aware you have an alarm set in roughly ten minutes from now. He never wins in this marriage, because you want to be awake while he gets ready for work, and he can try as much as he wants by saying, ‘honey, you need your sleep,’ because the next day your alarm will be set nonetheless.
Husband!Nanami who knows your body as if he walks in it himself every day. Your back is arched most unusually, and certainly, it makes it easier for you to wedge your leg in between his muscled thighs.
No words, no whispers, any sort of doubt washes away like a mere wave. He’s not sure why it was there to begin with, but being in a happy marriage and feeling fulfilled all the time still feels like a dream for him.
His palm moves up to your soft belly, firm and reassuring, dragging you backwards onto the mattress, his front pressed against your back.
So, occasionally, he’ll treat himself to ten extra minutes in bed. It’s the best ten minutes of his day, and it sure as hell is a good morning.
When he finally manages to gather his strength to get ready for the day, he’ll press one last kiss to your shoulder, a dozen more to the back of your neck, and you’ll let him. Yet again, you’re so used to the gesture that your head is already tilted at another specific angle, awaiting his sweet lips.
Husband!Nanami who tries his hardest not to let out an embarrassing squeal once he walks into the kitchen—showered, blond hair slicked back, suit proper and pristine, teeth brushed—because you packed him a bento, with freshly baked bread next to the container.
His habit of going to the local bakery a few streets down has certainly rubbed off on you. After work, he’ll sometimes want to treat himself, but since the hours often tire him out, you go for him instead.
He tells you you don't have to, and you tell him that doing sweet things for him comes so naturally to you, that you don't even second-guess it anymore.
Imagine the surprised look on his face the first time you did this, more than eight years ago, a couple of months after you started dating. A bunch of heartfelt love confessions followed, they oozed out of him as if it was as easy as breathing, meanwhile, he held you adoringly while the tips of your ears burnt.
Husband!Nanami who tells you to go inside and get back into bed, but secretly loves it when you wait for him to leave. Seeing the door close behind you once you think he can't see the house anymore makes all sorts of fuzzy feelings explode in his abdomen.
You’ll lean against the front door, the chilly air of dawn wrapping around you like a coat itself, while you're dressed in nothing but the flimsy pair of pyjamas he bought you. Arms tentatively wrapping around your middle, eyes briefly falling shut in peace once you feel his lips graze your forehead.
“I’ll see you in the evening, honey,” he’ll whisper, voice undeniably gentle—that alone can do you in—thumb sliding along your rose-tinted cheeks.
It might've been a déjà vu, it could even be a flash of your foreseeable future together, or perhaps there's just some truth wrapped up in this point in time. Isn't there always? All you can think of is that staying in this very moment together wouldn't be so bad.
Husband!Nanami who can't find it in himself to fully leave without saying—
“I love you.”
Even when he's already made it to the gate of your front path, his sleek black dress shoes clicking on the classic tiles beneath him, he’ll look back. A knowing twinkle visible in his eyes, mixed with something more profound, but you can't figure out what it portrays exactly.
He says it’s because he wants you to know. Still surprisingly timid, even after roughly a decade of being together, like he isn't sure you believe him.
You do, though. And the mornings, they differ each time.
“I love you, silly girl,” when you're exceptionally chipper.
“I love you, baby. Lock the door behind you,” when he's feeling the remnants of sleep.
“I love you, honey,” being his usual one.
He mixes that one up, too. He’ll throw in a darling or sweetheart, and you’ll say it back. Louder, with more emotion. Because he might want you to know he loves you, but you would love for him to know that he's the sun you orbit around.
Husband!Nanami who treasures your mornings together very much. The slight tilt to his lips when he walks to the metro, the love-sick look remaining on his face until he walks into the office, the way he gets his work done faster than usual. It gives him away.
Husband!Nanami who never fails to make your domestic morning routines and habits feel like the first twelve seconds of Landslide by Fleetwood Mac.
Quiet, intimate, too much introspection to not make someone go clinically insane, and a calm awakening for even more bliss of married life yet to come.
Husband!Nanami who can see himself doing this for another ten years. Twenty, thirty, he’ll take it all and cherish each moment like it might be his last. In reality, there isn't a single day when he wouldn't want to wake up next to you, for it has become his greatest blessing, after all.
Oh, how he has come to love the early mornings and the feeling of letting life slow down, even if it’s only for ten minutes.
p.s: i have to confess that i did only write this because i woke up at three in the morning, put on my headphones and then the intro of landslide started playing. yes, i thought of nanami, replayed it a bunch of times (i almost got sick of it), and came up with this... clearly, he's always on my mind
papa!kento baking brownies for yuji’s school bake sale :)
art credit: getoad on twitter jjk.mlist
content: pure fluff. no curses au. husband!nanami x wife reader
the kitchen smelled like warm chocolate and home, a scent that was currently being fought over by the sound of shifting parchment paper and nanami’s soft, exasperated sigh. he was standing at the kitchen counter, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his glasses sliding slightly down his nose as he meticulously leveled off a cup of flour. he took brownie-making for yuji’s school bake sale with the same quiet intensity he took everything else in life, which was exactly why it was so funny to watch him try to manage a chaotic five-year-old.
"kento, you’re going to overmix the batter if you keep staring at it like that," you teased, leaning against the counter with a spatula in hand. "it’s for a bunch of kindergartners, not a michelin-star review."
nanami didn't look up, but the corner of his mouth quirked. "if it is going to be associated with our name, it should be done properly. besides, yuji was very clear that he wanted the best ones for his friends."
at the mention of his name, a small head topped with messy strawberry pink hair popped up from the edge of the counter. yuji had been hovering like a little shark since the cocoa powder came out. he looked between the two of you with wide, innocent eyes, his hands tucked behind his back.
"i can help taste," yuji offered, his voice bright and hopeful. "mommy says chefs always taste the food."
"mommy is right, but the batter has raw eggs in it, buddy," you said, reaching over to ruffle his hair. "you have to wait for the first tray to come out of the oven. why don't you go find your paw patrol stickers for the bake sale bags?"
yuji nodded solemnly and padded away in his dinosaur socks, but you knew him better than that. nanami went back to folding in the chocolate chips, his movements rhythmic and steady. it was one of those domestic moments that made your heart feel a little too big for your chest—seeing this man, who usually carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, being so soft in a flour-dusted apron.
a few minutes passed in comfortable silence until you heard a tiny, wet slapping sound. you looked over just in time to see yuji’s small hand dipping into the bowl of extra chocolate chips nanami had left on the far side of the kitchen counter.
"yuji," nanami said, not even looking up from his mixing. "that is the third time."
yuji froze, his fingers mid-air with two chocolate chips pinched between them. "i was just making sure they weren't... old?"
you burst out laughing, leaning your head on nanami’s shoulder. "baby, we bought those an hour ago. they aren't old."
nanami finally put the spoon down and turned, picking up yuji and settling him on his hip. the contrast between nanami’s sharp, structured presence and yuji’s soft, round face always got to you. "if you eat all the ingredients now, the brownies will just be bread. is that what you want to give your teacher and friends? chocolate bread?"
yuji pouted, thinking it over seriously. "no. i want the gooey ones."
"then you have to be patient," nanami said, tapping the tip of yuji's nose with a finger that had a bit of flour on it. "go sit at the table and i will let you lick the whisk when i am done. but only if you stop being a little thief."
yuji giggled, squirming down and running to his chair. nanami watched him go, a look of pure, unadulterated devotion on his face that he only ever wore at home. he turned back to you, pulling you into his space by your waist, his hands still smelling like sugar.
"he gets his lack of impulse control from you," he whispered, pressing a quick, firm kiss to your cheek.
"excuse me? i am the height of discipline," you joked, though you immediately proved him right by reaching for a chocolate chip yourself.
nanami caught your wrist, a small, genuine smile finally breaking through his serious exterior. "exactly. absolutely no discipline in this house. i don't know how i'm supposed to raise a son with two children to look after."
"you love it," you whispered back, wrapping your arms around his neck as the oven preheat timer beeped in the background.
"i do," he admitted, his voice low and warm as he kissed your forehead. "more than anything."
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