Thinking about working under someone tough and mean and cold…
Maybe he's your commander, the emperor, or even just your boss. But he's a cold motherfucker, always wearing a scowl on his face, never one to give praise or compliments. Only giving out punishments or looks of disapproval. The looks were worse than any punishment he could give, to be honest. You tried your best, you know you did, you tried everything.
You don't know why, but there was something in you that needed his acknowledgment, his approval. To finally look your way and praise you for all the work you've been doing for him. For him. He never does though, not even when you're on top of the leaderboard, not when everyone else is praising you, and not when you did every single thing he asked of you without question.
It wasn't like he was incapable of giving out praise either. You would feel a lot better if he were the type to never do that. But you seen him praise others, giving them a slap on the back. Hell even he cracked a smile once. (It haunts your dreams, wishing he would smile your way at least once.)
You hated this. Hated him. Hated him for making you work so hard and for what? A couple of words of praise from a guy who looked like he ate nails for breakfast every morning? So one day you finally snapped. You walked right up to him and asked, no, demanded to know why. Why did he hate you so much, what did you do for him to despise you?!
You look pathetic right now, tears falling down your cheeks, voice raw from screaming, and that desperate and sad look in your eyes as you stare him down. He doesn't give you an answer, not at first, just pushing past you before you grab on to his arm. Hands trembling as you quietly asked once more if he really just hates you that much.
You hear a heavy sigh before he pushes you against the wall, a hand around your throat, his eyes focused on you.
"It's because you're insufferable, an annoying little pest that keeps buzzing around me for no good reason." He spoke quietly, like ice, no heat or venom behind his words. Just truth. It hurts so much.
"You're weak. So much weaker than me and you know it too. And yet, you try and you keep trying to catch up to me. And it's…. driving me crazy." His tone changed slightly near the end, if you listened closer, you would hear his voice wavering.
"Sir…?" You call out his name, and the hand around your throat tightens for a moment, making you choke on your next word. You claw at his arms, tears blinking out of your eyes at the loss of air.
"It your fault for making me do this."
That was all he said before you felt his lips on you. Searing hot, heavy, and aggressive. He wasn't giving you even an inch of space between your bodies as he held you close to him. His hand leaves your throat to travel down and squeeze your chest, making your gasp. He lets himself in your mouth at the opportunity. Tasting every single inch of your mouth, mapping it to his memory.
You pound on his chest, trying to push yourself away, but he was right. He's much stronger, bigger, and powerful than you. You were never going to win this. He grinds his body onto yours, and you feel his bulge rubbing up against your body. You cry out more, panicking at what's to come. Out of all the scenarios you envision in your head, this was one that you never thought would come true.
When he finally lets you go, a trail of salvia being the only link between you two now. He looks down at his work, at the hand print around your neck, at your tear-stained face, at the terror in your eyes. His cock twitches at the sight, and he almost goes in for another kiss, but a whimper leaving your lips stops him in his tracks. It was like he regain control of himself in that moment.
His fist slams against the wall next to you, he points to the exit.
"Leave now." His voice was gruff and weak.
You hesitated, unsure if this was a trick or not. Eyes dashing between him and the door.
"Go before you regret it."
You run, and you keep running until you run out of breath. Your mind and heart racing on what just happened back there…
𝓲𝗻 𝘄𝗵𝗶𝗰𝗵 ♰ you're so feverishly, impossibly hot that nanami, your husband, is losing his mind, trembling and rambling as he completely falls apart inside you.
✿ ◞◟) nanami kento 𝓍 female!reader
𝓬𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 18+ [ MDNI! ], explicit sexual content, established relationship, husband!nanami, unprotected sex (p in v), lots of kisses, praise & sweet talking, reader has a fever and nanami is losing his mind (fever-induced heat kink undertones), crying during orgasm, creampie, nanami is deeply in love.
nanami kento has always been a man of control.
he's precise in the kitchen, methodical with his huge hands, patient in the way he loves you — slow and thorough and devastatingly intentional. even in bed, even when he's buried so deep inside you that you completely forget where you end and he begins, there's a restraint to him; a gentleness, as if nanami is always holding back just enough to make sure you're okay, to make sure you're with him, to make sure he doesn't break you by accident.
but tonight is different.
tonight, you're burning up.
it started this morning — a little fatigue, a little flush in your cheeks that nanami kissed anyway before heading to work. by the time he came home, you were curled on the couch with a blanket and glassy eyes, the thermometer reading 102.3 and your smile still bright enough to make nanami’s chest ache. he'd made you soup, forced water into your hands, tucked you into bed with extra pillows and a cool cloth for your forehead.
the perfect husband, as always, all quiet concern and warm palms against your skin.
but then you'd pulled him down by the collar of his shirt, fever-bright and insistent, and whispered "kento, please" against his mouth, and something in him cracked.
nanami tried to be reasonable. he tried to tell you that you needed rest, that you were sick, that this could wait, but you'd just shaken your head and hooked your leg around his hip, and the sound you made when he'd accidentally pressed against you — half groan, half whimper, all desperate need — had shot straight to his dick like a live wire.
so now here he is.
here he is, kneeling between your thighs on the rumpled sheets of your shared bed, the soft glow of the bedside lamp painting everything in shades of gold and amber. here he is, watching you completely fall apart beneath him, your skin flushed an impossible pink, your lips parted and wet and whispering his name like a prayer.
and here he is, losing his goddamn mind.
because you're hot. not just in the way you always are — the way that made him fall in love with you in the first place, the way that still makes his breath catch when you smile at him across the dinner table — but actually, physically hot. like a furnace, like sin wrapped in skin and slick heat and the kind of wet that has him groaning before he's even all the way inside.
nanami sinks into you slow — he always does, because well… he's nanami kento and he believes in savoring things, in making them last — but the moment the head of his cock pushes past your entrance, he freezes.
"f-fuck," nanami breathes, and his voice cracks on the word, splinters right down the middle.
you're so warm.
you’re so impossibly, unbearably warm; it's like slipping into a bath that's just this side of too hot, the kind of heat that steals your breath and makes your muscles go liquid. your walls flutter around him, clenching and pulsing like you're trying to pull him deeper, and he has to brace one hand against the headboard just to keep from collapsing on top of you.
"kento?" your voice is soft, hazy, your eyes half-lidded and glassy in a way that has nothing to do with the fever and everything to do with him. "you okay?"
nanami laughs — it was a short, broken sound that's half sob, half something else entirely.
"am i okay?" he repeats, like you've asked him the most ridiculous question in the world. "sweetheart, you're—"
his hips twitch, an involuntary little thrust that sinks him another inch deeper, and the sound you make is so sweet, so wrecked, that he has to close his eyes.
"you're so hot. inside. it's—god, it's like—"
nanami can't even finish the sentence, he doesn't have the words for what it feels like. the heat is radiating through him, climbing up his spine, settling low in his belly like embers catching flame. every single nerve ending is on fire, every muscle pulled taut, and he hasn't even started moving yet.
you shift beneath him, trying to take more of him, and your hand comes up to cup nanami’s jaw, your thumb brushing over his cheekbone. your skin is warm too — not as searing as the rest of you, but warm enough to make him lean into your touch like the tide answering the moon.
"then move," you say, simple as anything else, like you haven't just turned nanami’s entire world inside out. "kento, please. i want you to move."
he's never been able to deny you anything, so he moves.
slow at first — because nanami is trying, he's really trying, to keep some semblance of control. he pulls out until only the tip of his cock remains, then pushes back in with a steady, rolling movement that has you arching off the bed, your nails digging into his shoulders. the wet sounds are obscene, amplified by the quiet of the room, and every single one of them makes his stomach clench with want.
but it's the heat that undoes nanami.
every single thrust feels like coming home and getting burned at the same damn time.
your body is so hot inside, so slick and welcoming and tight, and nanami can feel the fever radiating off you in hot waves; it's in the way your breath stutters against his neck, in the way your legs shake where they're wrapped around his waist, in the way your pulse flutters wildly against his lips when he leans down to kiss your throat.
"you feel—" he gasps, and his hips stutter, rhythm faltering. "you feel incredible. i can't—fuck, sweetheart, i can't think."
and nanami can't.
his brain has completely short-circuited, reduced to nothing but static and sensation. every logical thought has been burned away by the heat of you, replaced by something primal and desperate and almost frightening in its intensity. he wants to be gentle. he wants to take his time, to worship you the way you deserve, to show you just how much he loves you with every careful, deliberate movement.
but his body has other plans.
nanami’s hips are moving faster now, snapping against yours with a rhythm that's more urgent than he intended. the headboard knocks against the wall in a steady, rhythmic beat, and nanami knows he should care about that — nanami knows the neighbors will probably hear, nanami knows he'll be embarrassed about it tomorrow — but right now he can't bring himself to give a single shit.
not when you're making those sounds.
soft little gasps and moans that pitch higher every time he bottoms out, your head thrown back against the pillow, your throat bared and vulnerable and so beautiful it makes his chest hurt. your hands are everywhere — tangled in nanami’s hair, scraping down nanami’s back, gripping nanami’s hips like you're trying to fuse yourself to him.
"k-kento," you whimper, and it's broken, shattered, the kind of sound that goes straight to nanami’s dick and makes him see stars. "kento, don't stop. p-please don't stop."
"not stopping," he grits out, and his voice is ragged, wrecked, nothing like the composed, collected man he usually is. "never stopping. not when you feel—fuck, not when you're this—"
nanami loses his words again, and he buries his face in the curve of your neck instead, breathing you in. you smell like sweat and illness and something uniquely, achingly you, and he wants to live in this moment forever. he wants to drown in the heat of you, in the tight grip of your body, in the way you moan his name like it's the only word you remember.
you're clenching around him — tighter now, your orgasm building, and he can feel it in the way your thighs tremble, in the way your nails dig crescents into his back. but more than that, he can feel the fever; the heat that seems to intensify with every thrust, radiating from your core and soaking into his skin, making him sweat, making him need.
"sweetheart," nanami gasps, and his voice breaks on the word, splinters into something raw and desperate. "i'm—i'm not going to last. you're too hot. you're so hot, i can't—"
you turn your head, catch his mouth in a kiss that's all teeth and tongue and clumsy urgency. it's not graceful — nothing about this is graceful — but it's real, it's you, and he groans into your mouth like a man dying of thirst.
"then don't," you whisper against his lips, and your voice is thick with fever and want and something softer, something sweeter. "don't last. i want to feel you. want you to—ah—want you to cum inside me. please, kento. want to feel you."
nanami going to die.
he's actually going to die, right here, inside his wife, and he's going to die happy.
his hips snap forward harder, faster, every single ounce of control he had evaporating like water on hot pavement. he's gripping your thigh with one huge hand, holding you open for him, and the other is fisted in the sheets beside your head, knuckles white. nanami’s whole body is trembling — from the effort, from the pleasure, from the sheer overwhelming muchness of feeling you like this.
"you're everything," nanami hears himself say, and his voice sounds so strange, so distant, like it's coming from someone else. "you're everything to me. fuck, sweetheart, i love you. i love you so much. i love—"
he's rambling now, words spilling out of him unchecked, and he simple can't stop, he doesn't want to stop.
you're so hot, so wet, so perfect, and every time he pushes inside you, he swears he can feel your heartbeat, he can feel the fever thrumming through your veins, he can feel the way your body clings to him like it never wants to let go.
your orgasm hits you without warning — nanami feels it in the way you gasp loudly, in the way your back entirely bows off the bed, in the way your nails rake down his spine hard enough to sting. but mostly nanami feels it in the way you clench around him, a vise of slick, searing heat that pulses and flutters and tries to completely milk him dry.
"oh god," you sob, and there are tears on your cheeks — from the pleasure, from the fever, from the sheer overwhelming intensity of it all. "kento, oh god, oh god—"
nanami watches you fall apart beneath him, and it's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.
your eyes are squeezed shut, your mouth open in a silent scream, your whole body shuddering through wave after wave of pleasure. and through it all, you're so hot, so impossibly, devastatingly hot, and nanami can feel your orgasm like it's his own, nanami can feel it in the way your walls massage his desperate cock, nanami can feel it in the way his name falls from your lips like a benediction.
he follows right after.
there's no warning, no buildup — just a sudden, violent crest of pleasure that crashes over him and drags him under. he buries himself as deep as he can go, hips flush against yours, and spills inside you with a groan that's almost a sob. the heat of you surrounds him, consumes him, and for one perfect, eternal moment, there's nothing else in the universe.
just you.
just him.
just the two of you, unreservedly tangled together in the sweaty sheets, trembling and gasping and so full of love it might actually kill him.
nanami collapses on top of you — careful, always careful, one arm bracing his weight so he doesn't crush you — and presses his forehead to yours. your skin is still warm, still flushed with fever, but there's a softness in your eyes now, a drowsy contentment that makes his heart stutter in his chest.
"that was—" you start, but your voice is hoarse, faded, and you have to clear your throat before trying again. "that was not how i expected tonight to go."
he laughs, breathless and a little unsteady, and presses a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth.
"you're sick," he says, like it's just now occurring to him. "you have a fever. i shouldn't have—we shouldn't have—"
"kento." you cut him off with a hand on his cheek, turning his face so he has to look at you fully. "i wanted to. i want to. always want to, with you."
he closes his eyes, lets out a shaky breath, and when he opens them again, there's something soft and wondering in his gaze.
"you're going to be the death of me," he murmurs, but it sounds like a declaration of love.
you smile — that bright, brilliant smile that made nanami fall in love with you in the first place — and pull him down for a kiss that's slow and sweet and tastes like forever.
"good," you whisper against his lips. "then you'll die happy."
nanami laughs again, real this time, and gathers you into his arms. you're still too warm, still sick, still in need of soup and water and cool cloths and rest, but right now, in this moment, none of that matters.
right now, you're both exactly where you're supposed to be.
I had triple tibia fracture like 15 years ago and I never mentally recovered; whenever someone breaks a bone in movies I close my eyes and cover my ears and wince in phantom pain
neighbor!nanami fixing your car and earning himself a cute date!
“can you hand me the screwdriver?” your neighbor, nanami kento, asked. he wiped his sweat dappled forehead using his shirt that he’d tossed aside, standing across from you shirtless as sweat dripped down his chest.
you almost couldn’t hear what he’d said, way too busy staring at him because what the hell?
that morning, before you’d driven off to the cafe, with all the easiness of a deserved off day for you’d worked nonstop all through the week, you were happy and content and peaceful.
until your gaze caught up on the steam creeping across the cool floor beneath the hood. and let out a horrified scream loud enough to wake the whole neighborhood up.
which, was also the reason your neighbor, nanami kento ended up on your garage, shirtless and sweating.
he talked about some hose clamp and how it loosened, but honestly, you were way too focused staring at his biceps to comprehend what he’d just said.
as he tightened the clamp, he uttered a silent “fuck,” his knuckles splashed with coolant and the warm breeze upon his bare chest made him slightly shiver. ‘this,’ you thought, ‘is the hottest thing i’ve ever seen.’
“what can i help with?” you asked him, purely out of courtesy. kento breathed heavily as he leaned into the car, his arms tightening along. at the beginning you’d wondered if it was that necessary for him to take his shirt off, now thinking again, it certainly was needed. it was a necessity. your eyes lingered on his arms.
“nothing really— it’s almost over anyway.” he muttered under his breath, his muscles still flexing along his every move. “that must’ve scared you.” he added.
“yeah, honestly, once i saw that steam i almost thought the car was gonna blow up.”
he laughed with a strained voice, and you thought how the dry summer air must’ve been making it unbearable, let alone the heated breeze fluttering through the garage here and there.
“thank you, really, you didn’t have to do this.” you kind of felt guilty about how he was wasting his whole weekend morning on fixing your car, but then again, it was him who’d rushed out of his house once he’d heard you scream. with his mug full of coffee on his hand. and his surprisingly cute slippers.
well, you’ve always known that he had a rather unique approach on fashion.
“don’t mention it. i had nothing better to do anyway.” he smiled up at you, his cheeks reddened with a slight flush. his hair was messy in a way that made your heart throb.
“hmm.” you tilted your head to watch him as the leak stopped dripping and he slowly rose up, the warm breeze rippled through the branches across the garage and summer sun stretched across his flushed skin with a soft glow.
he was finished. probably.
“really, thank you so much nanami-“ you tried but he cut you off.
“kento. please.” the words tumbled out as he ruffled his hair with a nervous urgency. although you’d been familiar with each other through years of silent good mornings and shy attempts at conversation, you’d never crossed that invisible distance before. you smiled warmly upon his words.
‘fuck, just go for it,’ you cheered for yourself. there was no way you were letting that shirtless man leave.
“thank you so much kento. genuinely-“ you bit your lip, “actually, i was just about to get my morning coffee. there’s a really nice place i know nearby. how about,” you fidgeted with your hands. “a thank you coffee? my treat.”
you breathed out the last words with such haste that even you couldn’t comprehend what you’d said for a few seconds.
“well, that’s a bit generous for just fixing your car, isn’t it?” he laughed gently.
“a coffee?”
“you.” oh.
with heat creeping into your skin, you giggled, avoiding his gaze. “no, i think i’d say it’s exactly what you’ve earned.”
he, again, breathed out a laugh as he shook his head. wearing his shirt back, with a muffled voice he said, “i don’t think i could ever say no to that.”
Thinkin about asking your tall male friends to grab you something from the top shelf and how each of them would reaction….
The assholes
“You want this one?” He shakes the item you were pointing at.
You nod, “Yes! Thank you!”
You reach out your own hands to grab it, only for him to yank it out of reach at the last second.
“Wait… you sure it was this one?” He questioned with a tilt of his head, trying (and failing miserably) to hide the dumbass smirk forming on his face. He grabs another item, one you didn’t want.
“I think it was this one you actually wanted.” He gives that one to you.
You swat his hand away. “No, I wanted that one.” You point at the original item in his other hand.
“Are you sure though? I think this one is wayyyyyy better.” He leans on the shelf and dangles the items in front of you once again. Just daring for you to try and take it away from him.
“Can you just please give it to me?” You huff out, annoyance apparent in your tone.
“Mm, wished you would say that to me in another setting..”
“What..?”
“Nothing! Listen, you can have this, only if! Only if you can do a pull up on my bicep while I flex or…. We go on a date.”
The Nicer ones
“You want this one?” Instead of handing it to you, he would either carry it himself or put it in a basket along with the rest of the things you wanted. He didn’t want you to carry anything while he was around.
“Yup! And I think that checks off the last thing I wanted on my list.” You jot off the item on your list and happily skips along side your friend.
“Thanks for coming with me, it really helps that you’re here for me.” You grab on to his free arm, feeling his muscle tense underneath your fingertips.
“Of course, happy to do this for you. Anytime you need me.” He flexes his arm a bit more, just so you could feel how strong and capable he was. All this muscle just for you.
“Are you sure you don’t need my help with carrying anytime?” You asked innocently enough, feeling a bit bad that he was doing all the work.
“Nah, this weigh nothing to me, I could even lift you up and carry you home right now if I wanted.” He meant it too.
You feel your face heat up at the imagery.
“O-oh… you think you could handle me?” You say it almost like a challenge.
