feat. hoshina soshiro narumi gen
requested
i'm so sorry for how late and rushed this one sounds :(
─ hoshina soshiro
it took a while for the third division officers to reach the conclusion that there's nothing else hoshina is happier about than hearing his last name flitter around the defence force.
not for him, though. it's when they call for you.
to be completely honest, as the son of one of the most prestigious families in kaiju-killing history, marriage has always been a consideration, not out of his own will but for the sake of his family. his father had brought it up a good few years ago, but soshiro was never that interested and neither was soichiro.
when you're out there risking your life, what's the point? the best thing to do is keep to yourself and grow stronger so that you don't ever fall into the horrors of everyone's nightmares.
yet when hoshina soshiro met you, it genuinely changed his world.
now, as a happily married man with a woman who bears his last name, he now understands why love is such a big deal. before, if someone had told him that love makes you do ridiculous things, he would've scoffed, mocking the idea in his mind, but never did he imagine that it would be him so soon.
on top of that, being a vice-captain means your title is exactly the same. to hoshina, there's nothing more hilarious than that, but with the problems that arose from it, you were forced to simply change to 'vice-captain (name)' to avoid any more confusion.
knocking on hoshina’s door, you creep in, shutting it behind you with a small click.
he looks up from his desk, his straight face immediately replaced with a child-like grin people would pay to see.
"well, if it isn't hoshina-san," he chuckles, standing up. he tucks his chair back in with the tip of his feet as he approaches you.
he tries wriggling his arms around your waist, but you deftly swoop in by pushing a massive folder into his hand.
"sorry, hoshina-san," you say, trying your best not to laugh at his defeated expression. "i'm here on delivery duty. these came to me, but i don't think i'm hoshina soshiro."
you point to his name on the papers and he sighs, reluctantly taking it from you. he tosses it onto his desk without a care before leaning forward to bury his face in your neck.
your skin tingles as he presses light kisses in between his words. his bottom lip grazes the spot just above your collarbone and he lifts his finger to trace the inner path of your arm.
"so, ya weren't here to see me," he mumbles with another kiss, "but to just give me something."
"oh, fine, let me take a look at my beautiful husband," you tease, reaching up to delicately take his face in your hands. you brush a thumb over his cheek as he remains unmoving, unimpressed with thin furrowed brows as if he’s pouting, and hoshina soshiro never pouts.
"what're ya doin'," he says, his tone completely flat as he stands still under your control. he ignores your quiet laughs. "are ya tryin' to mess up my face?"
"my husband looks soo handsome no matter what i do," you coo. "have i ever told you that i love your genes?"
he tuts and tilts his head, his face still a mush in your palms. "ya have, and every time ya do, i say i prefer yours more.”
─ narumi gen
sometimes, you joke that narumi's forgotten your name.
every time he comms you, every time he demands anything from you or asks someone where you are, he never uses your first name. you're sure that even the officers of the first division don't know either.
it's always 'vice-captain narumi'. ever since you got married, your family name is simply forgotten as if it got pushed into the back of everyone's heads. narumi is more than adamant on making it known to the entire defence force, even chief itami, that you're his darling wife, his weapon, his woman and life.
if someone dares to mention your first name, he's quick to snap at them. you will not go by anything but narumi (name).
"captain, sir, vice-captain (name) is─"
his words are never sharper and his head never turns as faster. "narumi? she's off duty right now, what do you want?"
it's almost embarrassing when people fumble in front of you, too. you tend to stand there, blinking with your hands behind your back as you wait for your fellow officers to choose a name or title to call you. it's bad that they're overly terrified of narumi's outbursts, but it's not like you're going to give them the same fate of pissing their pants because they used a name you've been given... since birth.
currently and much to his growing stress, you're staying a few nights in tachikawa for a meeting with captain ashiro. he was absolutely devastated when he had to send you off, but he's started to deal with it bit by bit by calling you every night.
you're sprawled out on the guest bed with your phone resting between your ear and shoulder, listening to narumi drone on and on about how dull today was without his player two, you, by his side. he mentions watching kikoru pummel his platoon leaders to a pulp, interrogating kafka in the corridors because they made eye contact and also about hasegawa's habit of cleaning his room without permission. there's not a moment to breathe.
you hear him click his tongue on the line, his voice flat as if he's caught you staring off into space.
"oi, narumi."
you perk up, reaching for you phone. "hello, i'm still here."
"you're ignoring me, aren't you?"
a sigh flows out your mouth. "no, but i'll be honest, i'm getting a bit tired, gen. i'll call you tomorrow?"
there's an echoing groan that you can practically sense from miles away, but his voice returns in a second.
"you little─you don't even want to call me, huh?"
you rest your head on your arm, letting it dangle off the bed. closing your eyes, you try let the images in your head form a comforting sketch of narumi lying in front of you, but from how much your body is drifting in and out of sleep, you're forced to peel them open, suppressing a massive yawn.
"narumi!" he shrieks into the call, making you wince, "i heard that! that was intentional right now, wasn't it?!"
you chuckle as you roll onto your other side. "no, gen. i love talking to my husband."
"shut up, you suck at being a wife."
and so you find yourself staying up for a few hours, fighting yourself from falling asleep while he turns on his game. he gives the occasional commentaries on how ugly a character looks or how his controller is drifting out of control, which you do your best to respond to, but by the third hour, you're genuinely seeing the fuzz of an exhausted mind and narumi's voice is growing more distant.
your chest slowly rises up and down as your body succumbs to rest, and somehow, narumi notices this when he realises your soft mumbles have come to a stop.
"narumi? oi," he calls, a little quieter than before. he pauses his game and leans into the silence of the call. "are you dead?"
he gets no response, so he scoffs, setting his controller down before he taps his phone to check the duration of the call. it reads four hours twenty-two minutes and it's also one in the morning.
"i'm letting you off this one time, narumi. we're pulling an all-nighter tomorrow," he scowls to himself, but that tiny tiny disappointment shrivels away in an instant when he whispers his rare i love you into the call.
➥ synopsis: your boyfriend is drunk as hell so he’ll be quiet right? maybe
➥ cw: drunk Hoshina and Narumi, that’s all
➥ pov: you/your | gn. reader
➥ a/n: i needed to scratch that itch so i finally wrote something about drunk kn8 characters. also everything is my personal headcanon so take it as you wish
⟢ Hoshina is a drinker alright. he can chug down tons of bottles or glasses of alcohol
⟢ even tho he can drink he doesn’t have a habit of drinking, only when celebrating something or just because the atmosphere is right
⟢ don’t make any bets with him on who’ll drink more. he will win and make you do embarrassing stuff
⟢ when drunk he only got 2 sides. no in between
⟢ first. he’s even sillier, all smily and chucking and talking a lot
⟢ and second is sad Hoshina. he’ll be all sentimental about you not being here with him and wanting to see you
⟢ so when drunk he obviously talk a lot about what’s on his mind. like his doubts and insecurities
“baby~” you could hear your boyfriend’s whine from the other room. well maybe it’s an exaggeration but still, he looked like a kicked puppy when drunk and separated from you.
all the officers you were talking with giggled at their vice captain’s attitude. it was no secret you dated, but he made it so obvious now.
“yes, yes. coming” you yourself smiled as you saw your drunk boyfriend who was now clinging to you and nuzzling like a puppy. he went from a sly fox to a clingy puppy.
⟢ unlike someone, captain Narumi is a lightweight. he can’t drink at all
⟢ also he just rather not drink at all. he doesn’t see the appeal of drinking
⟢ would not spend a single yen on the booze. he needs money for his figurines and games
⟢ when drunk he’d probably sulk about you being away and not able to see you
⟢ that said, he’ll probably be the super emotional type of drunk person, but won’t talk much. eyes glossy as he tries to hide them and head low, staring at the table
⟢ Hasegawa can and will call you to pick up your sulking boyfriend
⟢ when he’ll hear your voice his mood will instantly improve. he’ll be all over you, kissing, hugging and touching you everywhere he can
when you got to the bar you were out of breath, scanning the whole place to find your boyfriend. as soon as you saw his bicolored hair you smiled calling his name.
his head immediately rose up as he heard your voice. even if you didn’t call his name but just said anything he still would look up.
“beloved!” he ran to your already opened arms and as you met he wrapped his arms around your waist and nuzzling closer like a cat.
“i missed you so much… it was so terrible without you” he slurred out, his grasp firm but gentle as if you could disappear in any moment.
ଳ content: their favorite parts of your body & position headcanons
ଳ !! MDNI 18+ !!
ଳ pairing: kaiju no. 8 men x f!reader
ଳ word count: 600~
Reno Ichikawa
Do you know how a majority of Japanese men have a neck fetish? Yeah, this man is definitely one of them.
He thinks your neck is the sexiest part of your body, and it drives him crazy.
He loves your exposed nape the most, especially when you're training or engaging in battle and your hair is up in a ponytail.
He prefers hugging you from behind so he can rest his head on your shoulder, smelling and leaving kisses on your neck.
Of all the positions he's done with you, his favorite is doggy style.
He definitely enjoys nibbling on your neck as he is fucking you from behind with his body hovering over yours—a hand supporting his body while the other is fondling one of your breasts.
Soshiro Hoshina
Since his family is quite traditional, he can be pretty conservative, so his favorite parts of your body are those that only he can see—your back and waist.
It drives him crazy when you wear a backless dress or blouse, and he gets extremely jealous—though he would never admit it. He would force his jacket on you, claiming that he knows you're "too cold" when it's midday in summer.
His hand is always around your waist whenever he's near you, whether on a walk or cuddling with you on the couch.
Like Reno, he prefers doggy style as he loves cumming all over your back, painting your body in his cum.
He definitely likes holding your waist and slamming straight into you like crazy.
Kafka Hibino
Guys, do I even need to say it?
Kafka is definitely a boobie guy.
He loves your breasts the most, especially when he's sleeping next to you and spooning you. Instead of resting his hand on your waist, his hand is under your arm and resting on your breast.
Kafka is relatively easy to flustered, so even a glimpse of your cleavage is enough to send him blushing and his cock hard.
Unlike Reno or Soshiro, he hates doggy style. He prefers standing as your laying on the bed, your butt near the edge, and slamming into you as your breasts dances for him.
However, if he had to choose, cowgirl is his favorite position as he likes watching your breasts bounce, and it's easier to grab while you bounce on his cock.
Gen Narumi
He loves your hips and butt the most, and he isn't shy to admit it.
He doesn't care if anyone sees the way he grabs your hips in public or the way he smacks your butt without warning.
Unlike Soshiro, his hand would always be around your hips when he’s walking with you.
For that reason, you always hate it when you have to bend down for anything, whether it’s because you dropped something or have to pick up something.
Gen's gaze will always find your hips beaming back at him, and if he's close to you when you're bending over, nothing will ever stop his hand from greeting your butt.
One would think his favorite position is doggy style, but no. He doesn't like working for orgasm when you can do it for him, so he prefers reverse cowgirl.
It's like a buy one get one free deal, your making him feel good while he gets a good view of your ass. What more can he ask for?
However, he could be lenient sometimes, so he'd have you in cowgirl style, your hands on his body while his hands grip your hips, and he's slamming into you from below.
Warnings: NSFW 18+, p in v, unprotected sex, cockwarming, spanking, biting, marking, sucking, hickeys, breast play, hair pulling, riding, multiple positions, rough sex, squirting, dirty talk, reader wears a skirt
Yours Truly: GAMER BOYFRIEND GEN AHHHHHHHHH- Enjoy!
Taglist: @regu1ar-huh @bellaciao0
Kinktober masterlist
THANK YOU!
︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵︵‿୨♡୧‿
The soft hum of the air conditioning unit in Narumi's room did little to cut the summer heat that clung to the air. Gen is slouched in his worn gaming chair, thumbs flying over the controller as explosions lit up the massive screen mounted on the wall. The room was a testament to his divided life: one wall plastered with tactical maps and kaiju reports, the other cluttered with empty energy drink cans, a half-eaten ramen cup, and shelves of video games. His black t-shirt stretched across his broad chest, sweatpants hanging low on his hips, feet propped on a stool as he battled through a particularly grueling level of his favorite shooter game.
His girlfriend, sprawled across his unmade bed a few feet away, her short plaid skirt riding up her thighs as she flipped idly through a magazine. They'd been dating for nearly a year now, ever since a post-mission debrief had turned into a heated make-out session in the locker rooms. She worked as a tech analyst for the Defense Force, her days filled with data streams and simulations, but tonight, she wanted nothing more than Gen's undivided attention. The way his hair fell over his forehead in concentration, the flex of his biceps as he gripped the controller—it all stirred something primal in her. But he'd been at it for over an hour, grunting at the screen, ignoring her sighs and the way she stretched languidly, hoping to catch his eye.
Boredom turned to frustration, a slow burn in her chest. She tossed the magazine aside, the pages fluttering to the floor, and slid off the bed. Her bare feet padded softly across the cool tile as she approached him from behind, her hands itching to disrupt his focus. Leaning over his shoulder, she pressed her lips to the side of his neck, right where his pulse throbbed steadily. She sucked gently at first, her tongue flicking out to taste the salt of his skin, then harder, drawing the flesh between her teeth until a red mark bloomed under her mouth—a hickey, possessive and bold.
Gen's body tensed, his character on screen dodging a virtual blast by mere pixels. A low rumble built in his throat, but he didn't stop playing. Her hands trailed down his chest, fingers splaying over the hard ridges of his abs beneath the thin shirt. She dragged her nails lightly, feeling the heat radiating from him, inching lower toward the waistband of his sweatpants where she could already see the faint outline of his growing erection.
Before her fingers could brush the fabric, Gen's free hand shot up, capturing her wrist in a firm grip. He paused the game with a click, twisting slightly in the chair to fix her with a narrowed gaze, his dark eyes sharp and amused. "What the hell are you doing?" His voice was rough.
She pouted, leaning closer so her breasts pressed against his back, her free hand still hovering near his lap. "I'm bored out of my mind, Gen. I want your attention. On me." Her words came out in a husky demand, her hips shifting restlessly against the chair's arm.
He chuckled, a deep sound that vibrated through his chest, but released her wrist only to resume the game. "Not now. I'm in the middle of a level—boss fight. Wait 'til I finish this, and I'll fuck you so hard you won't walk straight tomorrow."
She huffed, stepping back with crossed arms, her cheeks flushing with annoyance. She watched him dive back in, the screen flashing with gunfire and shrieks. The room filled with the electronic chaos, but her mind raced with images of him pinning her down, his cock buried deep. Minutes dragged on, each one amplifying her ache. She couldn't take it anymore. Circling around, she perched on the edge of his desk, her hand darting out to cup the bulge in his sweatpants. She gave it a firm squeeze, feeling him harden instantly under her palm, the thick length twitching in response.
Gen's character exploded on screen, lives lost in a spray of pixels. He cursed under his breath, pausing again and batting her hand away with more force this time. "Babe, seriously? I'm trying to focus here. You're killing my run." But his cock strained against the fabric, betraying his words, the tip already dampening a spot.
She leaned in, her breath hot against his ear, nipping at the lobe. "You weren't focused anyway. Your dick's harder than that controller. Come on, Gen—I need you inside me. Please." Her voice dripped with desperation, her thighs pressing together to ease the throb in her core.
He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair, frustration etching lines on his face. The game could wait; the heat in her eyes was a battle he was losing. "Fine. You want it so bad? I'll give you what you want." Annoyance colored his words, but so did hunger. He shoved the chair back slightly, pulling her onto his lap in one fluid motion. She straddled him eagerly, her skirt hiking up as his hands gripped her thighs.
Gen wasted no time. His fingers bunched her skirt to her waist, exposing the lacy edge of her panties. He hooked them aside roughly, the fabric scraping against her slick folds. With his other hand, he tugged his sweatpants down just enough to free his cock—thick, veined, the head flushed and leaking pre-cum that glistened in the low light. He positioned her above him, the tip nudging her entrance, her arousal already coating him.
She gasped as he guided her down, inch by inch, her pussy stretching around his girth. Her walls fluttering to accommodate him until he was seated fully, balls pressed against her ass. She moaned, the fullness making her head spin, thinking finally, this was it—he'd fuck her senseless.
But as she rolled her hips, grinding down to chase friction, Gen's hands clamped on her hips like iron shackles, halting her cold. "Stop," he said, voice low and commanding. "You interrupted me twice now. For that, you'll sit still on my cock until I'm done with this damn game. No moving. Or you'll stay like this all night, clenching around me while I ignore you."
Her eyes widened, a whine escaping her lips. "Gen, that's not fair—I need—"
He lifted one hand and delivered a sharp spank to her ass cheek, the crack echoing in the room. The sting made her jolt, her pussy tightening involuntarily around him, drawing a hiss from his lips. "Stay. Or I'll pull out right now, leave you dripping and desperate to finger yourself while I finish my level. Your choice."
Defeated, arousal pooling hotter in her belly, she nods, settling against his chest. The scent of his soap and faint sweat enveloped her as he snatched the controller again, unpausing the game. The sounds of battle resumed, but her world shrank to the thick cock impaling her, unmoving. Every breath he took shifted him slightly inside her, teasing her g-spot without mercy. She bit her lip, trying to obey, but her body rebelled—slick arousal seeped from her, dripping down his shaft to coat his balls, making everything slippery and hot.
Time stretched torturously. Five minutes? Ten? Her walls began to clamp down, milking him in subtle pulses as need built to a fever pitch. She buried her face in his neck, whining softly at first, then louder. "Gen... please, it aches so much. Fuck me. I can't take it." Her tongue darted out, licking a stripe up his throat, then sucking at the earlier hickey, marking him deeper. She nipped at his collarbone, hands clutching his shirt as her hips twitched, fighting the urge to rock.
Gen's focus wavered; his score drops as her heat squeezed him, her pussy making obscene wet sounds with the slightest shift. A tough enemy wave hit, and he growled, his free hand flexing on her hip. Her begging turned to desperate pleas, lips trailing kisses and sucks along his jaw, her breath ragged. "I need you. Please, Gen, I'm dripping everywhere."
Finally, with a frustrated groan that had nothing to do with the game, he hurled the controller to the floor. It skidded across the floor, the screen freezing on a defeat. "Fuck it. You win. Can't think straight with your pussy strangling my cock like that." His eyes burned with lust as he gripped her hips tighter, lifting her up slowly. His cock slid out until only the tip remained, her entrance clenching around it greedily, strings of her slick connecting them.
Then, with a primal grunt, he slammed her back down, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal thrust. she cries out, the sudden fullness punching the air from her lungs, her nails digging into his shoulders. He didn't give her time to adjust—his hands controlled her completely, bouncing her on his lap with speed. Up and down she went, his hips snapping up to meet each descent, the wet slap of their bodies drowning out the paused game. She couldn't match his pace; her thighs trembled, body jolting like a ragdoll as he pounded into her, cock dragging against every sensitive inch.
"Like that? This what you were begging for?" he rasped, one hand sliding up to fist her hair, yanking her head back to expose her throat. He latched on, sucking a fresh bruise while his thrusts never faltered, balls slapping her ass with each drive.
"Yes—Gen! Faster!" She moaned, her pussy fluttering wildly, the friction on her clit from his base building her toward release.
But Gen craved more control. Abruptly, he lifted her off him, her pussy clenching on emptiness with a pathetic whimper. He manhandled her effortlessly onto the bed, flipping her onto her hands and knees. Her ass presented to him, skirt still bunched, panties askew. Kneeling behind, he gripped her hips and thrust back in, the new angle allowing him to sink deeper, his chest pressing flush to her back as he draped over her.
The position was dominant, possessive—his weight pinning her as he rutted into her like a man possessed. His hands smacked her ass, sharp stings that made her skin redden and her pussy tighten. "This what you wanted? Interrupting my game to get fucked?" Each word was punctuated by a thrust, his cock fucking her relentlessly, hitting her cervix with controlled force.
Her arms buckled, face pressing into the sheets as pleasure coiled tight. "Yes—fuck, it's perfect! Don't stop!" She pushed back, but he held her steady, controlling the rhythm.
His hands roamed, sliding under her shirt to shove her bra up. Fingers found her breasts, cupping the soft mounds and pinching her nipples hard, twisting until she keened. He rolled them between thumb and forefinger, tugging in time with his hips, the sensations overwhelming. Sweat slicked their skin, the room heavy with the musk of sex.
He sped up, thrusts turning erratic, balls drawing tight. "Gonna cum—squeeze me, baby. Take it all." Her walls obeyed, clamping down as her orgasm crashed over her. She shattered with a scream, pussy spasming, slick gushing around him. Gen buried deep, groaning as he erupted, hot ropes of cum flooding her, painting her insides white. He pumped through it, milking every drop until they both collapsed, panting.
She starts to pull away, her body limp and sated, cum trickling down her thighs. But Gen's arm banded around her waist, holding her in place. "Not so fast. We're not done. You dragged me from my game—now you take the full punishment." His voice was husky, cock still semi-hard inside her.
With a swift flip, he rolled her onto her back, missionary, hooking her legs over his shoulders. The position folded her flexibly, her pussy exposed and leaking their mixed release. He slid back in easily, the creaminess lubing the way as he bottomed out, pushing their cum deeper. "Gonna fuck this back inside you. Every drop."
He leaned down, capturing her mouth in a devouring kiss, tongue thrusting deep, mimicking his hips. He bent her legs further, knees nearly to her chest, the stretch allowing him to grind impossibly deep. she moaned into his mouth, hands tangling in his hair, the angle hitting her g-spot with every stroke.
Breaking the kiss briefly, he dipped a hand between them, fingers finding her swollen clit. He rubbed firm, insistent circles, the pressure building fast on her oversensitive nerves. "Cum again. With me. Soak my cock." His thrusts grew punishing, skin slapping, the bed creaking under them.
It was too much—the depth, the circles on her clit, the fullness of his cum-stuffed cock. She cries out as her climax hit, pussy squirting in powerful jets that soaked his abs and sheets. Gen followed, slamming home as he came again, more cum spilling into her overflowing depths.
They rode the waves together, bodies locked, until exhaustion claimed them. Gen eased her legs down gently, collapsing beside her. He pulled her close, kissing her temple. "Satisfied now? Or you planning round three?"
She laughed weakly, tracing the hickeys on his neck. "Maybe. If you pause the game next time."
pussy jobs with a man twice your size; hands pressing your hips hard into the mattress, so that way there's no escape from the ruthless rutting of his hips between your soaked, sloppy lips
Synopsis: A series of one-shots, in which your lover finds supreme pleasure under the benediction your erotic praise.
[X Fem Reader, featuring Gen Narumi, Kento Nanami, Soshiro Hoshina and Shota Aizawa.]
Contents: Explicit sexual content, romance, humour.
(Based on a smut challenge I've taken on ❤)
Gen Narumi
He was insufferable at the best of times, and today you were strongly reminded of why you loved him for it.
Since the first time he'd caught you appreciating the sight of him completely nude while gaming, Gen had latched onto his advantage like a starving wolf on a fresh kill in winter.
Today, he was reclining on the couch in his quarters, shirtless, watching your exasperated expression as he ran his fingers through his hair, flipping it back off his forehead, the roll of biceps beneath skin clearly visible.
"Enjoying the view?"
"You're a walking cliché right now."
"And you like it."
Damn it all, but he was right.
Not that you'd surrender so easily.
Arms folded, your gaze dropped to his belt buckle.
"Fine. Then give me something else to appreciate."
His grin widened, a certain wilful pride that tugged at something tender inside you, even as arousal warred with sentiment.
"Oho. So you're after the bayonet, huh?"
"Please don't call it that."
He was laughing, and you took in the rare moment of unguarded joy as he undid the fastening with a completely unnecessary flourish and tugged his pants and underwear down to his ankles.
"Well?"
It was just as much a challenge as it was an invitation.
In spite of his brash confidence, you were aware of exactly how he sought your approval, every word of appreciation and affirmation, always ready to drink from the fountain of your praise.
Recalling this gave you an inkling of how you intended to approach him tonight.
Lowering your voice to a purr, you sank to your knees before him, watching with satisfaction as his eyes widened momentarily. He'd obviously been expecting you climb onto his lap.
"Already so hard, Captain?"
This was new to him too. You'd never referred to him by his title during intimacy.
Judging by the slight flush at the tips of his ears, he seemed to like it.
"Oi, are you sure you - "
"Yes."
Meeting his gaze, holding it, you palmed the heavy, silky weight of him in your palm, already curving past the constraints of half-mast.
Leaning forward, you teased him with a soft, experimental lick, watching the flex of his hip as he jerked slightly.
"Fuck. Wait, you're - "
He was already slightly breathless, one hand hovering half-consciously near you.
"Gen."
Your breath washed over hardened flesh, and the set of his jaw grew slack.
"What?"
"Let me make you feel good, please."
"What's gotten into you all of a - ah."
His head fell back against the sofa as your lips closed over the head, slick and hot, earthy on your tongue.
You worked over him, bobbing langorously, before releasing with a soft, wet noise.
"You're always so big. Love how heavy you are."
He uttered a soft grunt of shock as you let the length of him drop against your face, nuzzling against him, allowing the musky scent to transport you.
Within a few seconds, the reigns had slipped from him, and judging from his chagrin and arousal, he wasn't displeased.
"Hold on - you're - "
"Is that an order, Captain? You want me to stop?"
Allowing your hand to drift downwards, you cupped him, rolling the sac in your palm.
Gen hissed, mouthing silent curses, before glaring down at you.
"No."
"No, what?"
"Don't stop."
Squeezing him lightly earned a tight groan.
Heat was growing between your own legs as you watched him, lowering your lips until they were just an inch above the taut, slick skin of his cock.
"You don't sound convincing, sir."
"Fuck, please, just - put your mouth on me - I - "
Without warning, you engulfed him again, and this time, he yelped, hips bucking right off the sofa.
How good he felt, so pliant beneath you, struggling under the heel of your whim.
Your palms spread flat against his abdomen, taking in the sheer strength of him, rippling like a landslide under your touch.
Here he was, the strongest, a soldier through and through, moaning, writhing, a litany of filthy praise on his tongue.
The teasing had driven him close to the edge, but you released him suddenly, earning a choked cry, his grip tightening in your hair.
"Why did you - "
"But you look so good like this, sir."
"Huh?"
Sweat was now glistening on his brow and chest, the strain in his voice audible.
"Want to see you like this a little longer."
"But I - "
He bit his lip hard, and your smile grew wicked.
"Would the Captain like to give me another order?"
"Please."
"Please, what?"
"Suck me."
The words were a throaty growl, something desperate hidden within.
He was shifting underneath you, lifting himself into your grasp.
How needy.
You laved him with your tongue, pausing again, voice breathy with want.
"You're so hard, Gen. You taste so good. Want your cock in me all night."
He was now almost incoherent, raspy panting loud in the intimate hush of the room.
"I - oh, fuck, I need you, please. I'll give you my cock, I'll fuck you however you want, just please - "
"However I want?"
You were stroking him again, slow and measured.
"Put that pretty mouth on - ahh shit. Fuck, I need - need you so bad - "
He was all but begging you now, hitched breathing, face scarlet with humiliation and desire, erection leaking between your fingers.
Taking mercy on him, you slid him right back in, his groans louder, his demands more explicit.
You took him as far as he would go, sliding back down the slick length, wrist working as you released him to take a shuddering breath.
"Gen, come for me."
"Ah, yeah, I'm - don't stop, I'm - "
You could tell he was already at the brink.
"Come in my mouth, want you all over my tongue."
Picking up the pace of your fist around him, you held his gaze, mouth open, ready to receive everything he gave.
This proved too much for him, and his entire body stiffened, tendons standing out in his neck as his back arched.
A loud, desperate roar escaped him, cut off midway as he came, hot and viscous, the excess of him escaping down your chin.
You slid a finger beneath your lip, catching the stray drop, tasting more thoroughly.
He was now slumped boneless over the sofa, arms spreadeagled, the rise and fall of his chest ragged and uneven.
Placing your hands on his thighs, you clambered up to perch on him.
Gen raised his head slowly, eyes flashing and accusatory even as he basked in a considerable afterglow.
"You're gonna pay for that."
Kento Nanami
He had a slight spring in his step today, one that was barely perceptible to those who didn't know him well.
The brown paper bag tucked under one arm signaled that he'd had time to stop by the bakery.
Turning away from your laptop, you smiled as he removed his shoes in the genkan, stepping with slow deliberation into his house slippers.
"Canceled mission?"
"Not canceled. They just handed it over to someone closer to the site."
Kento was observing the 'ritual of return', as you'd teasingly named it.
First, the tinted glasses came off, polished briefly and stored in their case. Off came the coat, the tie loosened and removed, sleeves rolled up as he prepared to wash his hands at the kitchen sink.
Something about the smooth shift of powerful shoulders under the dark blue screen of formal wear always caught your eye.
Today, he seemed less tired than usual.
You considered him as he dried off his hands, reaching up to run fingers through the carefully set hair, loosening strands to frame the strong lines of his face.
Today, you'd have your way with him.
There was no doubt about it.
Before he had a chance to enter the bedroom to prepare for his evening bath, you slipped in yourself, hurriedly rummaging through the drawers for your secret weapon.
By the time he'd arrived, you had already prepared an ambush. Kento raised an eyebrow at the sight of you, perched on the bed, still in your robe.
"Did you want to use the bathroom first?"
"Hmm. Not exactly."
"Then - "
You let the robe slip to the side, raising one leg to fold over the other.
There it was, that subtle shift in his expression, from gentle propriety to charged tension, anticipation lacing the slow drop of his gaze.
These were the stockings you knew he liked an awful lot, sheer, black, the lace edges gripping the flesh of your thigh where they ended halfway up.
He glanced down, slowly laying aside the towel he still held, a smile growing on his lips.
"You're misbehaving today, I see."
"I wouldn't call it that. Come here."
Kento looked a little taken aback by how pro-active you were being. Normally, you allowed him to take the lead in bedroom matters, always secure in the knowledge that he would satisfy you, but tonight, you wanted to shake that status quo, to give him something to remember.
He was already unbuttoning his shirt, ready to set it aside neatly, as he always did, but this time you foiled him by pushing his hands away, unfastening and removing his pants instead.
His breathing hitched, ever so slightly, as you brushed against his growing erection.
You leaned back on your elbows and he protested in consternation.
"Hold on, let me get the condom on - "
"You won't be needing it for this."
While he was regaining his bearings, you shuffled forward, reached between your bodies and grasped him, watching his eyes fly open.
"What are you - "
As answer, you brought your thighs together, pushing his cock between them. The rapidly hardening tip slid out the other side between soft skin, and he uttered a small sound of helpless surprise.
Up went your legs, ankles crossed, propped against his shoulder. The angle tightened the vice you had on him.
Kento was now looking down at you, posture tense and uncertain. This didn't disguise the curiosity and spark of desire you'd inspired, a slow flush stealing across the firm bridge of his nose.
He looked almost ... bashful, slightly at a loss.
The fact that he allowed you to see this particular facet of his nature did not escape you.
A privilege, indeed.
"You can move."
He remained still for a moment, as if holding some internal debate.
Then, he did as he was bid, shifting back, pushing himself forward, once, twice, experimental and slow.
Kento was quite broad, the heft and width of him always making prior preparation necessary.
You hadn't expected him to feel like this, not inside you, but so close, every ridge and heated twitch making itself known to your flesh, that intoxicating duality of steel encased in velvet, passing through the clench of your thighs.
Just from this, his breathing had grown audibly shallow, Adam's apple bobbing as those large, warm hands slid around to grip you where the stockings ended.
The gentility of his touch was at odds with the act itself, eroticism bordering on debauchery, the pearly translucence sliding from his tip beginning to coat each measured thrust.
You'd never really listened to the sounds your bodies made when joining before, but this time, the slick press of him was unmistakable, causing you to arch back against the bed, eyelids lowering in sultry invitation.
"Kento ... feels so good. Harder, please."
He was growing more confident, a quick study, as always.
The earlier hesitance had given way to something more instinctual, primal, even.
His fingers hooked in the tops of your stockings for leverage, leaving you gasping as he dragged your body with intent against his, driving with greater impact.
His strength was not always so evident in the bedroom, leaving space for gentler, more passionate pursuits, but now he let you have it.
You clutched at the sheets beneath you, whispering urgent appeals, soft and electric, the sweet promise of the night unfurling around you both.
"Yes, please, use me like that. Want you ... so much. You're always so warm, I - ah. Yes, yes, keep going. Fuck me, fuck me like that - "
He was unraveling as he watched you come apart beneath him, blonde strands falling across his flushed face, eyes misted over with pleasure, sweat building on his skin, his grip on your thighs tightening enough to leave bruises.
The pace he'd set was now punishing, driven by your pleas and praise, the sheets rumpled, your breasts swaying with every firm slap of his body against yours.
One final push, and you cried out as he came, a hoarse, guttural groan of ecstasy escaping him.
There was a loud rip as your stockings finally gave way under his powerful grip, heat spurting out onto your abdomen.
Panting, you lay sprawled beneath him, both legs slowly swinging down from their position on his shoulders, almost disbeliving that you'd managed to push him to this.
Kento's head was thrown back, throat extended, chest rising and falling rapidly as he leaned his weight against the bed.
When he finally spoke, breathless and uncharacteristically shaky, it wasn't to reprimand you for your boldness.
That was not his way.
"Let me ... help you get ... cleaned up."
Dutiful, devoted, never wavering.
You nodded wordlessly, and his palm passed over your ankle, squeezing momentarily before he made his way to the bathroom.
He returned with a warm washcloth to remove the traces he'd left on you, but the look he wore, the way he gripped and savoured the softness of you, spoke of further, unleashed desires.
This was Kento's way, not a rebuke, but a reward, and the night was far from over.
Soshiro Hoshina
There was little that escaped Soshiro's observant eye.
He always knew, for example, which of his officers had slacked off during training.
Perhaps this was why he invariably caught you staring.
Granted, you had never been subtle about it. Soshiro was incredible to watch in motion when he trained, darting across the floor, blades swinging like a contained whirlwind, every muscle outlined in glorious definition beneath the black compression shirts he favoured.
Sometimes, like present, he'd emerge from the shower in a fragrant cloud of steam, towel slung criminally low on his waist, strolling past you on his way to the fridge.
How could you not look?
An unreasonable demand.
And now he was -
Starkly outlined by the light emitting from within the fridge, he took his time bending over, the taut outline of his backside clearly visible through the towel.
One of his sweetened coffee-milk drinks was selected with a completely unnecessary show of attention.
What a tease.
Swinging the fridge door shut, he straightened, taking a swig from the bottle. A small drop of the rich brown liquid escaped the rim, trailing lovingly down his chest.
He swiped it off and licked his finger, catching your eye.
"Oh, did I distract you, sweetheart?"
"Stop that."
"Stop what?"
"That."
He had the grace to grin knowingly.
"Can't a man get a drink in his own house?"
"He could, if he were fully clothed."
"Now, don't be like that."
He approached, waving the coffee-milk beneath your nose.
"I'll share, if you ask nicely."
Sighing, you wrenched your eyes away from his enviable abs, fingers flexing around the pen you held.
"Maybe a little. I've got one more requisition to fill out."
He offered you the bottle obligingly.
As he leaned one elbow on the counter beside you, the towel around his waist somehow gave up its precarious perch and slid to the floor.
You nearly choked on the sip you'd taken as Soshiro glanced down at himself with a distinctly cheerful lack of regret.
"Oh no. Now I'm naked in front of my sweet gal. What'll she think of me?"
"You - "
Rising slowly with narrowed eyes, you wiped off your mouth and propped a hand on your hip.
"All right. I'll play your game, Soshiro."
This had evidently been what he was after, because his smile was now anything but innocent, the gleam of his still-damp hair as tantalizing as the expanse of bare skin he had graced you with.
"Oh? And how're ya gonna do that?"
In reply, you stepped past him, pausing in the doorway to the bedroom.
Shadows played over the bunch and slide of muscle in his thighs as he pushed off the counter and sauntered towards you.
Determined not to let his distractions progress further, you turned away, aware of the soft pad of his footsteps across the floor.
As carelessly as he had, you pulled off your own shirt and pajama shorts, dropping them to one side.
He raised an eyebrow as he entered the room.
"Puttin' on a show for me already?"
You glanced coyly over one shoulder at him.
"Just returning the favour."
The evident switch in your mood had thrown him slightly, and you could see it.
Settling on the bed, you crooked a finger.
"Here."
Graciously playing along for now, he climbed up, braced on hands and knees, and crawled towards you, those powerful shoulders rolling beneath scarred skin, a predator at play.
Maintaining an upper hand with this man was near impossible, but you'd be damned if you didn't try your best.
Placing one hand on his chest, you exerted gentle pressure, and he complied, violet eyes carving the sight of you into some part of his mind as he lay back.
Silky dark hair fanned out in a halo around his head, and you allowed your gaze to drag across his body, every sculpted dip and ridge, the delicious trail of hair that meandered down to the tuft between his spread legs, the casual bounce of his half-hard cock as he shifted to get more comfortable.
For all of his teasing, your Soshiro really was a work of art, forged and tempered by battle and a lifetime of hard training.
In that moment, an idea solidified.
Tapping his hip with one hand, you gestured to him to move more towards the right.
He cocked his head quizzically, but followed your direction, bemused.
He was now situated in the correct position for what you intended.
Fingers trailing across his chest, you followed their passage with light presses of your lips, listening to his soft exhalation.
He reached up and tucked your hair behind one ear, the sharp snaggle tooth projecting as he smiled down at you.
Unable to help yourself, you kissed the corner of his mouth, then, slower, the softness of his cheek, his chin, down the length of his throat, across the strong, supple curve of his pectorals.
Soshiro's breathing had sped up a little, warm anticipation in his eyes as he watched you take a nipple into your mouth, biting his lip as you applied gentle suction, tracing its contour with your tongue.
You knew he was more sensitive here, lapping and gently sinking your teeth into the yield of him as he let out a hiss, one warm, calloused hand sliding along your waist.
You gave both sides equal attention, alternating until they were rosy, perked, begging for further attention. His erection was now rock hard against your thigh, and your lips curved against his skin as he moved, as if to create more friction.
Sitting up, you paused in your worship, arching your back, rocking against him.
He was now panting slightly, his grip on your hip tightening, eyes traveling over you with undisguised hunger.
You took his hand, watching his eyes widen slightly as you extended his middle and forefinger, taking them into your mouth before your whisper sounded, soft against his palm.
"Feel how wet you make me."
Soshiro was spellbound as you allowed his fingers, dampened with your saliva, to trace a glistening path down, between your breasts, across your stomach, down, down, to the growing heat between your thighs.
You uttered a soft cry as you felt the firm press of his hand against you, the breach of your entrance and the slow circle of the sensitised bud outside.
"Fuck."
Soshiro seldom cursed, and the raw edge to his arousal never failed to set your nerves ablaze.
In spite of the growing haze of desire in your own mind, you placed a finger over his lips, directing his attention once more.
"Watch."
He raised himself on his elbows, the pieces of the puzzle slotting into place as you moved your torso to the side, your abdomen lowering against his.
Behind you, directly in his line of sight, was the mirror across the top of the dresser. You'd shifted your position to the right edge of the bed, where he could now claim a clear view of the both of you.
There was a fierce intensity to how he focused on that reflection as you raised yourself slightly, your folds clearly visible to him, even in the dimmer lighting of the bedroom.
In your current position over him, your mouth was beside his ear, hands braced on his shoulders. He groaned softly as you slid against his cock, all wet heat and petal-soft promise.
"Soshiro."
He nodded, strain visible in the taut lines of his neck.
"Watch how you stretch me."
His mouth fell open, a rare display of complete surrender to pleasure as you sank down onto him, inch by inch, clutching at him like a lifeline.
All the while, his eyes never left the mirror, exactly as you'd instructed, watching himself push past your labia, deeper and deeper into you.
Keeping the angle, breathing hard, you began a rocking motion with your hips, legs spread wide on either side of him, ensuring that his view was never obscured.
Over and over, you slicked him with the unspoken praise of your own arousal, letting him see exactly what he did to you.
His arms had now closed around your waist with an almost convulsive grasp, biceps pressing into your sides as he whispered endless encouragement to you, to keep going, keep riding, keep taking his cock just like that -
Before long, you'd both lost complete track of whichever game he'd decided on before this had all started, lost in a maze of passion, delineated only by the slap of his flesh against yours, the endless, hard press of him inside you, the damp, open heat of his mouth against your shoulder as he took control, filling the bedroom with broken gasps and cries.
When the surge of heat inside you, finally tipping you into the molten embrace of a pulsing, heavy climax, shook you both from head to toe, you collapsed against him, nails digging into his back.
The tremors subsiding, you raised yourself off him, breathless laughter fanning out against his lips.
"Do I win this round?"
His grin was as charming as ever, boyish and lop-sided from all of your exertions.
"Only if you let me settle the score."
Shota Aizawa
As chronically sleep-deprived as he appears, there's a dichotomy to Shota that becomes more evident over time.
He is always alert, every sense finely attuned to his surroundings, even when he's asleep.
Since you've started spending time at his place, he's also made other concessions, starting with the habit of actually sleeping in his bed at night, as opposed to the familiar yellow sleeping bag.
The moment you join him, he rolls over, arm draping across your form, heavy and warm. It's testament to how far this unspoken trust extends, for a man who so studiously avoided physical contact with others.
Tonight, however, you can tell that he's awake, mulling over something.
He's lying on his back, one arm draped across his forehead, the blankets pushed down.
"Shota?"
"Hmm."
It's a partial answer, giving away none of his thoughts, but still indicating that he's present, and listening.
You turned over to find him watching you, intent and fully aware.
"Can't sleep?"
"I will. Eventually."
Reaching for him, you traced along his bare chest, fingers catching slightly on the dense tangle of dark hair, the solid planes of him beneath.
"What are you thinking about?"
"You."
The blunt honesty of his answer was typical, and you shifted, propping up your head with an elbow.
"Why?"
"Just thinking."
Electing to remain silent, you waited. He always required a little more time to gather and articulate his thoughts.
Shota never said anything he didn't mean, especially not to you.
His eyes were on you again.
"Are you happy?"
"You mean ... with us? Yes, of course I am."
"You sure?"
His meaning wasn't lost on you. Shota had never seen himself indulging in softer emotions, his life Spartan, making room only for that which he was familiar with.
You were an anomaly, a bright splash of uncertainty and vulnerability he was still grappling with.
"I wouldn't be here if I wasn't."
Somehow, you knew that a simple answer was not enough. He didn't expect anything more, though, and that was precisely why you would act.
Reaching over, you ran a hand down his cheek, the rough edge of stubble a contrast to the softer overgrowth along his jaw.
He responded to you immediately, an unspoken desire for something, anything you could give him.
Instead of allowing him to cover your body with his, you pushed back against his shoulder, your leg drifting sideways across his body.
Hooking your ankle against his knee, you lifted yourself on one elbow, sliding over him.
The blanket formed a partial cocoon around you both as you straddled him, leaning down to capture his lips with yours.
For the most part, Shota let you initiate, but the quiet, passionate urgency of his response never failed to set you alight.
His fingers were already threading through your hair, pulling you closer.
You let him taste you, thorough and deliberate, before leaning back, watching him chase after you with slow delight.
Beneath you, he was already hard, and you slid a hand past the waistband of his underwear, a moan escaping the tight set of his lips as you found the hot weight of him beneath the wiry thatch of dark hair.
You could tell that he was trying his best not to buck wantonly into your palm.
Ever a master of restraint, was Shota.
Throwing all caution to the wind, you decided on something you'd never tried with him before.
Familiarity be damned, he'd asked you if you were happy, and you fully intended to show him just how much.
Relinquishing your grasp on him, your reached up, tugging off the shift you wore to bed, now completely nude from the waist up.
The faint furrow of confusion between his brows was especially amusing to you as you lowered yourself between his thighs.
He only figured out what you intended moments after you lifted both breasts, settling them on either side of his cock.
"What - "
For once, Shota was at a loss, stiff with disbelief.
"Keep your eyes on me."
You gave one playful upward stroke, and the groan that exploded from him was almost unrecognizable.
He was watching all right, that hooded, drowsy gaze now drinking in the sight of you and what you were doing to him.
Within the snug, velvety channel, he was long, firm and pulsing, the slight upward cant of his hips meeting the lowering of your breasts each time.
You hadn't been expecting the sensations that he'd give to you, the prickle of his hair catching on your nipples, dewy pearls of pre-cum sliding down his length with every lift and drop.
Soon, the dampness had spread across your skin, gleaming with a soft, obscene sheen in the dim light.
Adding fuel to fire, you gently licked the tip each time it raised, humming in satisfaction at the taste of him, earning short, desperate growls, his fingers scrabbling for purchase on the bedspread.
How you loved seeing him like this, entirely focused, lost in the pleasure you gave so freely, taking and taking until he was completely spent.
Opening wider, you held him in your mouth on the next thrust, engulfing, tracing the small opening at the tip with your tongue.
He jerked spasmodically, a harsh, hoarse protest on his lips.
"If you ... if you keep ... ah, fuck, if you - "
Watching this man come undone would never grow tiresome.
Abandoning your earlier exploits, you focused on the building climax you could sense in the coil of muscle in his abdomen, the flex and tensing of his thighs.
He was so close.
Taking him fully into your mouth, you sucked and stroked with relish, picking up the pace as he threw back his head and lifted himself into you without restraint.
Hips snapping up one final time, he let out a long, low, guttural groan as viscous heat spurted over your breasts and tongue. It was slightly bitter, the distinctive taste of him.
Panting hard, even amidst the white hot bliss you'd brought him, Shota's hand was tracing your lower lip, wiping away the excess that had spilled down to your chest.
His touch was shockingly tender, considering what you'd both just done together.
Mote than that, it was an answer, one he'd finally grasped acceptance of.
Smiling up at him, you stretched, arms raised high above your head.
"You wonder if I'm happy when I get to feast like this?"
His laughter was low and rich, a trifle rough from disuse.
"Fine. Made your point."
When you made to get off him, his grasp on your hip halted you, the slow curve of his smile matching yours.
how do you get the whole JAKDF to respect you, especially in the first division? oh narumi gen is about to find out why you’re so popular among the others !
featuring. narumi gen !
content. 0.8k wc , fluff , crack , time line; past , little spoiler alert about narumi’s backstory , safe for minors , gen might be ooc , crappy writing.
author’s note. ahh I finally posted about kaiju no. 8 yay !! I always wanted to write for kn8 but I didn’t get to but finally after finishing the manga, I mustered my motivation to post about kaiju no. 8 ehe!
"GET back to the mission. There are still Yoju's lingering around!"
You turned back to your division as soon as you noticed some of them beginning to slack off after you finished off the Honju with one single attack — their shoulders slumping down.
But it didn't take long until they flinched at your demand, your sharp and stern glare burning through their suit. "No slacking off until every Kaiju dropped dead!" you exclaimed.
"Of course, Vice-Captain!" they shouted as a reply and jumped off the scene in search for the last few Yoju's.
Heck — you were stern as hell and even glared at them but despite all that? You were a respected figure among your comrades, especially in the first division. Not because you were the vice-captain.
It has to be something else. Well that's what Gen thinks. And he's kind of right because what makes you so respected among the others? Was it your overwhelming strength? Your excellent ability to lead others?
Maybe everything together. But there are so many others who are capable of your job? Why are you so popular? Honestly, those questions are torturing Gen for the last few days
Until he experienced the reason himself.
It was unspeakable kindness.
Like last time when he stalked you for a whole day—
"Wahh! I forgot my wallet!"
"That's alright. Today's my time to invite you." your lips curled into the faintest smile, a rare sight for your solemn gaze.
"Ah..! Thank you so much, vice-captain [lastname]!"
Or in the middle of the battlefield—
"My apologies, vice-captain! It's entirely my fault for being distracted!"
You shook your head and placed your hand on top of his shoulder, ignoring the burning pain in your other arm. "It's alright. Everyone gets distracted once in a while." you were quick to brush off.
"But you got badly hurt!"
"Make sure to stay focused from now on so this won't happen again. Yes?"
"I-I understand, vice-captain!"
Not to forget on your day off—
"Oh? It's unusual to see you out on a day off." you blinked in surprise.
The black-grey haired boy twitched as he immediately lifted his head, tearing his gaze from his phone to you. "Y-You..!" he spluttered in total shock, not expecting to see you around.
"T-That's [lastname] [name], vice-captain of the first division!" a young girl gasped in shock, her excitement vivid.
"Who? Who's that, old man?" another kid spoke up, who sat next to him on the bench.
"Oi, I'm not old at all! I just turned twenty!"
"Right, explain that to your white hair."
"It's obviously grey, brat!"
"Oh, I didn't think you would be the type to understand yourself with children." you patted the head of the girl, who clung onto your leg.
"I don't!" he denied, "they just came out of nowhere."
"Gen-chan visited us!" the little girl giggled.
"Really?" you crouched down to her level.
"Yeah, he visits us once in a while. The orphanage we live in isn't in the best condition, so he makes sure to check up on us." she whispered, a big smile adorning her chubby face.
"That's sweet of him." you hummed, returning her smile with your own.
"I'm not checking up on them..! Just because I decided to hang out here, doesn't mean I intended to visit you brats..!"
"Wow, that's totally something what an old man would say..."
"Right?" you agreed, deciding to humour them a little.
You rose from your crouching position and sat down beside him, the girl not hesitating to follow you and making herself comfortable by leaning her head against your arm. "Can I get an autograph?!"
"Sure, you just have to give me a marker." it's not like you're a celebrity. But it doesn't hurt to bring a little joy for children.
"You want an autograph from her!?" Gen froze, his thumbs halting mid air. "Could've asked me too, y'know?"
"No, thank you."
"Old man, you died!"
"It seems like you're pretty loved." you chuckled as you faced him, "next time you check up on them, make sure to call me too."
"I'm not..!"
You are kind. It might not look like that upon first glance but the longer someone spends time with you, the more aware they are of this side. And then they start cozying up on you.
Because you respect them, you understand them, you recognise them. Sometimes you're tough to them but later on, they realise that you did this for them. For them to improve and learn out of their mistakes.
That's what makes you so respected. Not only in the first division but also in the whole JAKDF. And lastly by Narumi Gen himself.
"Spar with me, vice-cap'!"
"Clean up your room first, Gen."
"I will do it later."
"No. Do it now or you have to spar with Hasegawa."
"...fine."
It was a quiet murmur before Gen left the room.
"Oh, I expected it would take longer for vice-captain to tame that beast..."
"Dang this is a new record. Not even the platoon leader gets him to clean up his room..!"
cool people don't know gundom lore ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧
Narumi Gen x Platoon Leader!Reader
Synopsis: In which Narumi tries (like, ironing-shirts kind of trying) in an attempt to impress the cool, seemingly normal new platoon leader. Because there’s no way someone like them would like something so nerdy and lame like Gundoms, right? Right?
----------
Narumi wasn’t used to anything being out of his league.
He was used to leading the charge, dropping kaiju twice his size with a grin on his face and his bayonet in hand. He was used to being the strongest guy in the room–or at the very least, the loudest.
But when you walked into Divison One Headquarters for the first time, freshly transferred and personally scouted by him, something in his brain short-circuited.
It had started with your combat footage.
Precision. Confidence. That eerie clam under pressure that only came from having seen enough chaos to befriend it. He liked that. You didn’t flinch, you didn’t freeze, didn’t hesitate. You were sharp, ruthless, efficient. And handled your weapon like it was an extension of your spine–fast and unforgiving.
So of course he had fast-tracked your transfer and told the higher-ups you were Division One material.
“Bet on her,” he’d say, leaning back in his chair, popping open a can of carbonated soda, blissfully unaware that in a matter of weeks he’d be completely obsessed with the person behind that combat footage.
He wasn’t expecting you to show up looking like the walking embodiment of confidence.
Your uniform was always sharp, firmly pressed and not a wrinkle in sight. Your boots always scrubbed clean as if they hadn’t been covered in kaiju remnants merely the day before. You talked just enough to make an impression, but never so much that you invited unnecessary questions. You nodded through chaos like it was background noise you had grown bored of.
And yet, when you cracked a joke, it was dry, deadpan, devastating, and sent the entire room into hysterics. The corners of your lips lifting ever so slightly in satisfaction.
You were cool.
Like, annoyingly cool.
And Narumi, unfortunately, was not.
Which wouldn’t have been a problem, except for the fact that somewhere between your third mission and your first energy drink-fueled briefing banter Narumi realized he had it bad.
Like, atrociously bad.
He wasn’t sure what did it. Maybe it was the way you handled your team–efficient, fair, no-nonsense but not cold. Maybe it was the way you tossed him a spare protein bar after a mission without even sparing a glance his way, like you knew he’d forgotten to eat.
Or maybe it was the day you muttered, deadpan, “Tastes like despair,” after biting into the day old cafeteria curry bread.
He had laughed. Like, actually laughed. And then spend the rest of the day spiraling over it.
Because now he couldn’t stop watching the way you tied your hair back before a mission. The smooth expanse of your nape proceeding to haunt him in his dreams. Or the way you always sat with your legs crossed and your arms folded like you were too bored to care. He couldn’t stop noticing how you always gave a little nod of approval when someone said something smart, or how you somehow managed to make twirling your pen look chic and effortless.
It was stupid.
He was stupid.
And the worst part?
He was certain you thought he was a total loser.
And to be fair… he wasn’t entirely wrong.
You were tactical, competent, and wore your uniform like it belonged on a runway.
Narumi once attended a briefing in a hoodie with a ketchup stain shaped like a kaiju claw. You had looked at him, blinked once, and said nothing–which somehow made it worse.
After that, he made up his mind.
A firm yet doomed decision:
Become the type of man you’d actually take seriously.
Which meant trying.
Trying to look put-together. Trying to be a little more like you. Calm. Controlled. Less “Gundom pilot on his off-season” and more like “respectable captain of Division One of the Japan Anti-Kaiju Defense Force.”
He started wearing collared shirts. Tucked them in. Even ironed one. (Just once. He almost died.)
He got a haircut. Bought real deodorant. Started responding to emails with punctuation and showed up to meetings in a timely manner.
He even read part of a leadership book his stupid apprentice left lying around–though he bailed halfway through and watched Gundom lore breakdowns instead.
Worst of all, he tried to clean his room.
Which was hard, because his room was… not just “messy”. It was a shrine.
Narumi’s quarters were a fully weaponized nerd den. Floor-to-ceiling shelves of Gundom figures. LED-lit display cases. Dioramas with tiny, battle-damaged mobile suits frozen mid-action. He had multiple model kits in the building progress, a themed mousepad, and a premium HDTV dedicated to his BS5 gaming.
He had never seen Hasegawa smile as wide as the day he finished up tidying his room.
It didn’t take long for him to catch onto his antics.
——
Narumi was minding his business in the break room.
He had a canned energy drink in hand, a mission roster on his tablet, and was doing his absolute best not to think about the way your voice dropped an octave when you were giving orders to your subordinates.
So of course, this peaceful, quiet moment was immediately ruined by the sharp knowing voice of his baka-deshi.
“New shirt again, baka-shisho?”
Narumi didn’t look up, “No.”
“It’s black, and tucked in. And it has actual buttons,” she leaned against the break room counter, arm crossed and eyes full of wicked amusement, “You know what that smells like, Vice Captain Hasegawa?”
Hasegawa, sitting calmly on the couch with a mug of tea, didn’t miss a beat, “Desperation.”
“I will personally demote both of you–"
Kikoru grinned, “Big words for someone who wore a hoodie that said ‘platinum rank holder’ last month.”
“And now you look like you’re trying to qualify for a government interview,” Hasegawa added.
Narumi shot back, “You people have no chill, maybe I just decided it was time for me to fully assume my duties as captain!”
“Whatever you say, baka-shisho,” Kikoru agreed teasingly, “We do have eyes, you know.”
She walked around him in a slow circle, inspecting him like a cat sizing up a mildly interesting box.
“New dress shoes,” she said, pointing, “Hair’s been styled. And you finally stopped using that awful citrus body spray that smelled like anime con bathrooms.”
“I don’t recall asking for this character assassination.”
Hasegawa turned a page in his report, “It’s not an assassination. It’s an intervention.”
Narumi furiously scrolled through the reports, “You two are imagining things–“
“Mm-hmm,” Kikoru said, perching on the table, “You’re just coincidentally acting like a functioning adult the exact same week platoon leader starts hanging around the strategy briefings more.”
“They're a platoon leader. They're supposed to be there.”
“And you suddenly care about punctuality,” Hasegawa added, raising an eyebrow, “Yesterday, you beat me to the meeting room. I thought I was having a stroke.”
Kikoru nodded, “You even brought a tablet instead of scribbling on the back of a ramen wrapper.”
“That was one time–“
“That was every time,” both of them said in unison.
“I’m not trying to impress anyone–“
“Sure you’re not,” Hasegawa said, sipping his tea.
Kikoru smirked, “And you just happen to be reading deployment schedules like they’re love letters.”
“I–“ words got stuck in Narumi’s throat.
“You’re pining, baka-shisho,” she teased, sing-song, “Like a protagonist in a slow-burn manga. The pathetic kind.”
He didn’t respond. Just stood there, red creeping up his ears, and drank his energy drink as if that would kill the part of him that felt emotions.
Kikoru leaned in close and whispered, “So what’s your plan? Gonna win her over with professionally stapled mission reports?”
Hasegawa looked up again, “Better idea, he’s hoping she walks by and says, ‘Wow, Captain Narumi, your tactical readout formatting is so clean. Take me now–’”
Narumi bristled at the comment but before he could protest Kikoru patted him on the shoulder, “Look on the bright side. At least she hasn’t seen your room yet.”
Narumi flinched so hard the tab on his can snapped off.
Hasegawa’s eyes widened in mock horror, before a mischievous smile appeared, “She hasn’t, has she?”
“Don’t you DARE send her in–“
“We’ll see about that.”
You’d never been in his room. He avoided it at all costs. Because the idea of you seeing the full extent of his plastic addition?
Immediate death. Fatal.
You were too composed. Too mature. Too normal.
You wouldn’t understand his nerdy obsession.
So when you offered, casually, to drop off a stack of mission reports that evening while passing his room, he panicked and cursed Hasegawa.
“Uh, you don’t have to, I can just pick them up–“
You looked at him, unblinking, “You live three doors down, why not drop them off right now?”
He choked, “Right. Totally. Just. I might be… reorganizing.”
“…You okay?”
“Fine!” he exclaimed a little too loudly, “Just–uh–cleaning up some tactical paperwork. Very classified. Very explosive. Dangerous, really.”
You squinted at him.
He wanted to dissolve into atoms.
But you just shrugged, “Alright, I’ll make it quick.”
“Just, give me one second–“
And with that he sprinted back to his room like a man on fire and tried to hide everything remotely shameful.
He threw a blanket over his figurine wall. Haphazardly shoved his open model kits into drawers. Closed his Gundom-themed laptop and flipped his “I ♥ Gundom” mug around.
He even sprayed a little cologne into the air like a coward trying to mask the scent of desperation.
And then, you knocked.
He opened the door like he was bracing for impact.
You stepped inside with a clipboard under one arm and zero expression on your face–until your eyes landed on the corner of the blanket draped over the shelves.
There was a single Gundom figure sticking out from underneath.
Glowing.
He cursed internally.
You titled your head.
“Is that… a Siege Unit model?” you asked, stepping closer.
Narumi blinked.
You pulled back the blanket. Revealing the full display.
And Narumi watched as your face–your entire face–transformed.
Your eyes lit up. Your mouth parted slightly. You turned towards him, stunned.
“…You have the Iron Siege Battle-Damaged Edition?”
He stared, “You… know what that is?”
You looked at him like he had just confessed to being the chosen one.
“I tried to get it. Camped for hours only for it to sell out in two minutes.” you said with exasperation and with more emotion on your face that he’d seen yet.
He blinked again.
You pressed closer to the shelf, “Wait–wait, you have the Solaris Trench diorama too? That was a limited run–only two hundred ever made–“ your voice cracked mid-sentence, “Oh my god. Is that the Aegis Eclipse Frame with the magnetic joints?”
“…Yeah?”
You turned slowly.
And for the first time since he met you, the first time through all the cool glances and calm expressions and carefully measured silence, he saw you grin.
Wide. Gleaming.
Like a kid in a candy store.
“Please don’t tell anyone,” you said quickly as you regained your composure, “I’ve been trying to keep a low profile about this stuff. But I’ve watched every Gundom series. I’ve played the strategy sims. I once called Vice Captain Hasegawa ‘Commander’ by accident because I was thinking about the Reversal core storyline–“
“You’re insane,” he whispered, awestruck.
“I wrote fanfiction in high school,” you admitted with a whisper, leaning in ever so slightly towards him as if sharing a terrible secret.
He dropped the mission folder.
You stared at each other.
And then Narumi blurted out, without thinking.
“Marry me.”
You laughed. God, you laughed.
“You’re such a loser.”
“Yeah,” he said, breathless, “But so are you.”
You both ended up sitting cross-legged on his floor, surrounded by model kits and Gundom parts, talking until 2 AM about timelines, ranking systems, favorite betrayal arcs, and how overrated Gundom Reignite was.
And somewhere in the middle of it–when your shoulders were touching and your voices hoarse from laughing–Narumi realized.
He didn’t have to try to be someone he wasn’t.
Because you were exactly the kind of disaster he’d been hoping for.
