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connorsui · 2 months ago

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In your tender gaze

Genre/warning: domestic fluff, Slice of Life, nanami looking at u like u are the only woman in his life, warnings? ..nah ..we don't divorce around here

Synopsis: Amidst the tranquility of their home, Nanami Kento cherishes the quiet moments with his wife, finding solace and profound love in their simple, tender interactions that offer a reprieve from the demands of his chaotic life.

Note: The great Gatsby love quotes got me writing nanami

w.c: 1,400

Nanami Kento had always carried a weight behind his calm exterior. He wasn’t a man of grand gestures or loud proclamations, and yet, his love for you settled into the quiet spaces where words failed and touch spoke volumes.

He stood in the doorway, watching as you moved about the kitchen. The soft clinking of dishes filled the room, and the sun filtered through the curtains, casting a golden glow over your form. His hazel eyes softened as they traced your figure—every motion, every breath you took was deliberate, as if you were made for this moment, for this quiet togetherness that he cherished more than anything.

"He looked at her the way all women want to be looked at by a man.”

Kento’s gaze held a tenderness that was almost imperceptible to the outside world. His colleagues saw him as stoic, a man who kept his emotions locked beneath a calm surface. But here, in the stillness of your shared home, there was no need for pretense. His eyes spoke of devotion, of a quiet longing to hold onto this peace, this fragile life you had built together.

It wasn’t just admiration that stirred in his chest—it was gratitude, a deep-rooted sense that he had found something too precious, too rare for someone like him. There was comfort in your presence, like the first sip of warm tea after a long, grueling day. You were his solace in a world that demanded too much, pulling him into chaos far too often.

And yet, there was something more in the way he watched you. A need, buried beneath layers of composure. It flickered in the depths of his eyes, an unspoken desire for more time—more days like this where the world could stay far away, where he could watch you move through your life, through his life, as though you had always belonged there.

You looked up, meeting his gaze, and the smallest of smiles tugged at your lips. His heart clenched, tightening under the weight of all the things he couldn’t say. There were no grand speeches, no declarations of love spilling from his lips. Instead, he walked toward you, his footsteps measured and calm. His hand reached out, fingers brushing against yours as you handed him a plate.

He didn’t need to say it. You could feel it in the way his touch lingered, in the way he stood just a fraction too close, needing the reassurance of your warmth to ground him.

You smiled at him, that soft, knowing smile, and his chest ached in a way that was both painful and sweet. You had always understood him in a way no one else could, reading the emotions that never reached the surface.

“Kento,” you murmured, your voice gentle, teasing.

“You’re staring.”

His lips twitched, the barest hint of a smile gracing his otherwise stoic face. “Am I?”

“Yes,”you replied, leaning into him, your shoulder brushing his. “But I don’t mind.”

He let out a low hum, his arm slipping around your waist to pull you closer. In moments like this, the world felt small, manageable. There were no cursed spirits, no dangers lurking just beyond the horizon—only you and the life you had built together.

He pressed his lips to the top of your head, inhaling the faint scent of your shampoo. It grounded him, anchored him in the here and now. You leaned into him, and for a moment, he let himself believe that this could last forever. That he could protect this, protect you.

“I don’t deserve this,” he murmured against your hair, his voice carrying a rare vulnerability.

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him. Your hand reached up to cup his cheek, your thumb brushing over his skin in a soothing gesture. “You deserve this, Kento. You deserve every bit of happiness.”

His eyes softened, and for a moment, he let himself believe you. In your eyes, he wasn’t the man who walked through life weighed down by responsibility and duty. He was just Kento—your Kento. The man who loved you with a quiet, steady devotion that went beyond words.

He looked at you again, the way all women want to be looked at by a man—with awe, with reverence, with a kind of love that felt too big for the small moments yet fit perfectly in the spaces between.

As the sun began to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, you found yourselves settling into the living room. The evening was still, the kind of calm that was rare and precious in the midst of his often chaotic days.

Kento had taken up his favorite armchair, a book resting in his lap. But tonight, he seemed more inclined to simply watch you, his gaze following every movement with a gentle, unspoken appreciation. You were curled up on the sofa, a soft blanket draped over your shoulders, lost in the pages of a novel.

The soft rustling of the blanket, the occasional sip of tea from your mug—it all created a soothing rhythm that filled the room with warmth. The light from the lamp beside you cast a soft glow, illuminating your face in a way that made every feature seem even more cherished.

Kento closed his book, his eyes lingering on you with the same depth of feeling he had shown earlier in the kitchen. He set the book aside, a rare moment of relaxation in the midst of his demanding life. Rising from his chair, he moved quietly to your side, kneeling beside you on the floor.

His hand reached out, gently brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. You looked up, meeting his gaze, and he saw the love reflected back at him in your eyes. There was no need for words, no need for elaborate gestures. Just the simple act of being close, of sharing this quiet space, was enough.

He settled next to you on the sofa, his arm slipping around your shoulders. The two of you sat together, the silence a comfortable companion. His hand traced gentle patterns on your arm, a silent affirmation of his presence and his affection.

The clock on the wall ticked steadily, a reassuring backdrop to your shared tranquility. As you flipped through the pages of your book, Kento took the opportunity to study the peaceful lines of your face, the way your eyes crinkled at the corners when you read something particularly touching.

“I love this moment,” he murmured softly, almost to himself. “These quiet evenings with you.”

You looked up at him, your eyes warm and understanding. “I love them too. They’re perfect.”

Kento nodded, his gaze dropping to your lips, which curled into a contented smile. He gently cupped your cheek, his thumb tracing a gentle arc against your skin. The simple touch was full of unspoken promises of nights spent in each other’s company, finding peace in the little things.

As the stars began to twinkle outside, Kento’s thoughts wandered to the future. He imagined many more evenings like this—quiet, content, and filled with the kind of love that was built on simple moments. The world outside might be tumultuous, but in this small, serene space, he found everything he needed.

You tilted your head against his shoulder, a content sigh escaping your lips. Kento looked down at you, his heart full. The love he felt was not just a fleeting emotion but a deep, abiding certainty that, with you by his side, he could face whatever the world threw at him.

The clock struck softly in the background, signaling the close of another day. The room seemed to hold its breath, the tranquil atmosphere a testament to the comfort and stability of your life together. Kento’s hand rested against your back, his fingers lightly stroking in a steady, soothing rhythm.

In the quiet, under the soft glow of the lamp, with your warmth pressed against him, Kento knew that despite the chaos of life, he had found his peace in the gentle constancy of your love. The world outside might be unpredictable, but here, with you, he felt anchored, complete. Each moment of stillness, each shared glance, and each quiet touch was a promise of a future filled with the kind of enduring love that only deepens with time.

I blame the great Gatsby for these nanami thoughts

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hitoshitoshi · 3 months ago

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Hair Washing [Husband!Zayne x GenderNeutral!Reader]

Summary: You take care of Zayne and he allows it for once in his life.

Tags: Established Relationship, Married life, Hair Washing, Self Degradation, Hurt/Comfort, Self Indulgent, Workaholic and Stubborn Zayne, Domestic fluff, Non-sexual Intimacy, Romance.

Zayne drove his Audi into the garage, the purr of the engine fading to silence as he cut the ignition. As the garage door descended, shutting out the world where it was just him in his car — his forehead resting against the steering wheel, eyes closed, the weight of a 16-hour shift was hitting him like a fire being snuffed out by a lid.

'Pull yourself together,' Zayne chided internally, straightening up with a soft inaudible groan.

Flipping down the sun visor mirror, Zayne assessed his reflection. Dark circles lurked beneath his hazel eyes, his hair was slightly disheveled, and his skin lost a bit of its glow. Zayne grabbed a comb and meticulously smoothed out his hair into place.

'You have no right to burden others with your childish grievances,' Zayne reminded himself, a mantra born of years of self-imposed stoicism. Zayne would not allow himself to ever burden you with such a pitiful thing such as tiredness or to ever make you worry as long as he lived.

Satisfied with his appearance, Zayne exited the car, his movements deliberately measured to hide his bone-deep fatigue that threatened to consume him. As he approached the house, he took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders. The mask, Dr. Zayne — the Cardiac Surgeon, slid off as he was now Zayne, your husband. He opened the door, stepping into the warmth of your shared home.

Zayne called out to you, "I'm home," his voice was steady and neutral, betraying none of the relief he felt at finally being home to where you were, in the house you two had lived in and cherished.

The sounds of rapid footsteps echoed through the house, and Zayne felt a flutter of warmth in his chest. You appeared, eyes bright with joy and relief that your beloved husband came home from work. For a moment, Zayne allowed a soft smile to tug at the corner of his lips as he drank in the sight of his partner.

Your heart raced at the sight of Zayne, a mix of excitement and concern washed over you. You rushed forward, arms outreached for a hug, but you stopped mid-motion as you took in Zayne's appearance. Despite Zayne's immaculate exterior, you knew Zayne more than anyone else to know that he was tired — the slight degree of a slump in Zayne's shoulders, the barely perceptible tightness around Zayne's eyes, the shadows under Zayne's eyes being a shade too dark. Your heart clenched, seeing the man you loved with your entire soul, pushing himself so hard.

"Zayne, you look tired," You said softly as you reached out to touch Zayne's arm. Your fingers trembled slightly, torn between the desire to pull him close and the fear of overstepping even if you two were already married. "Let me take care of you tonight."

Zayne felt a surge of conflicting emotions at your words — gratitude warring with his ingrained need for self-reliance. It was always Zayne treating and spoiling you, and not the other way around. Even the times when you tried to spoil him back, Zayne would always find a way to turn it around so that it was back to him spoiling you. His eyebrow arched slightly, his expression shifting to one of mild amusement to hide the vulnerability he felt.

"I'm fine," Zayne replied, his tone leaving no room for argument, even as an iota of him longed to give in, "It was just another day at the hospital." Zayne knew that he couldn't convince you since you were as stubborn as him, but it couldn't hurt to try.

Your eyes narrowed, unconvinced. You could see the weariness Zayne was trying so hard to hide, and it made your chest tighten with worry. You insisted, "You've been gone for over 16 hours and this was the 3rd time this week back to back that you've had these long shifts. You need to rest. Let me help you rest."

"I assure you, I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I've had longer shifts that were more troubling throughout the years," Zayne countered, a hint of stubbornness creeping into his voice. Even as he spoke, he felt his resolve wavering under your gaze — he hated concerning you. He hated making you feel this way — he hated himself for making you feel this way.

You stepped closer, your hand was gentle but insistent on Zayne's arm. You could feel the tension in his muscles and the slight tremor of exhaustion. "Please, Zayne," you pleaded, "Let me do this for you once. You always take care of me, let me take care of you sometimes. Even if it's on a blue moon, let me take care of you once."

Zayne's eyes shifted away as he let out a sigh, the rigid set of his shoulders relaxed a bit. A wave of tenderness washed over him, mingled with gratitude as he reluctantly gave in. "Fine," Zayne conceded, his tone was of his usual deadpan but it was tinged with affection. "If it will put your mind at ease."

Your face broke into a warm smile, relief and love shining in your eyes. You grabbed Zayne’s hand as you led Zayne towards the bathroom. Zayne allowed himself to lean slightly into your touch. For once, Zayne allowed himself to accept the care he so often denied himself.

You filled the bathtub with hot water, the sound of rushing liquid filling the quiet room. You added a generous amount of bubble bath, watching as frothy suds formed on the surface. The scent of rose oil wafted through the air as you added a few drops of it to the water. Your heart raced in anticipation and nervousness, hoping that you’d be able to take away Zayne’s stress.

Soft light from carefully placed candles flickered across the walls as you dimmed the overhead lights. You turned to Zayne who stood in the doorway — a hint of vulnerability in his usually stoic expression.

“Come,” You said softly, extending your hand out towards him. Zayne took your hand, allowing himself to be led to the bathtub. He raised your hand up to his lips as he gave your knuckles a soft kiss as a thank you. Zayne didn’t know the last time someone had put effort into him that wasn’t you — at least, someone who didn’t have any outside intentions of being nice to him. Zayne was forever thankful that he had such a kind spouse in his life, that out of all the lives he had lived, that he was able to be with you in this one.

As Zayne settled into the warm water, a soft sigh escaped his lips. The tension he’d been carrying began to melt away, and he closed his eyes to savor the sensation. Your heart swelled with affection at the sight of Zayne finally relaxing.

With gentle movements, you began to soak Zayne’s hair with warm water. Your fingers combed through the dark strands, careful not to tug or cause discomfort. Zayne’s breathing deepened slightly, the rhythmic motion lulled him into a state of calm he only experienced with and around you.

You reached for the shampoo, squeezing a small amount into your palm. The fresh, clean scent filled the air as you began to work it into Zayne’s scalp. Starting at the temples, you used your fingertips to massage in small, circular motions, applying gentle pressure to stimulate blood flow and to clean all of Zayne’s hair and his head. As your fingers worked their way to the base of Zayne’s skull, you could feel the tension that Zayne’s been holding start to loosen. Zayne let out a low hum of appreciation — the sound sending a small flutter though your chest. God, you loved your husband so much. You worked the shampoo through the rest of Zayne’s hair.

Once Zayne’s hair was thoroughly lathered, you began to rinse it clean. You used a small cup to pour warm water over his head — your other hand acted as a shield to prevent shampoo from running into his eyes. Zayne’s thoughts drifted, the simple act of being cared for stirred emotions that he usually kept tightly controlled.

Next, You reached for the conditioner, applying a generous amount through Zayne’s hair — focusing on the ends which tended to be drier. You began to massage Zayne’s scalp once more.You used your thumbs as you applied pressure to the occipital ridge at the base of Zayne’s skull. You then moved to the crown, using your fingertips to make small circular motions. You paid special attention to Zayne’s temples as you used gentle sweeping motions with your thumbs to ease away the day’s stress.

As your fingers worked their magic, Zayne felt himself surrendering to the care being lavished upon him as his eyes fluttered closed once more, his entire body relaxing in the hot water. A surge of protectiveness and tenderness surged through you as you noticed the change in Zayne’s demeanor. You bent your head down as you placed a soft kiss on your husband’s lips who reciprocated the kiss with even more gentleness in his movements.

“Thank you,” Zayne murmured against your lips— his voice was low and thick with emotion. The simple phrase carried the weight of all the gratitude and affection he struggled to express aloud.

You continued massaging Zayne’s scalp as you replied to him softly, “Always.”

The rhythmic pitter-patter of water being poured filled the air as you rinsed out Zayne’s hair; steam curled lazily around them, carrying the fading scent of the conditioner. Zayne’s breathing slowed as the last of the conditioner washed away. Your hand found Zayne’s elbow, steadying him as he rose. The sudden change in position sent a momentary rush to Zayne’s head, his usual grace faltering. Your eyes met Zayne’s briefly in the foggy mirror as you reached for the robe hanging nearby; the dark purple fabric rich against the bathroom’s pale tiles. As you helped Zayne slip on the robe, the soft material settled against his skin, still warm and slightly damp. The sound of footsteps resonated through the house as you both made your way to the bedroom. The air was cooler, raising goosebumps on Zayne’s exposed skin. He sank down onto the bed’s edge; the mattress dipped slightly under his weight. You moved behind him with a towel in hand. The first touch of terrycloth against Zayne’s nape sent a shiver down his spine — bare perceptible but there. You towel dried Zayne’s hair as his eyelids grew heavy; his usual sharp focus softened around the edges. You reached over to the nightstand where you grabbed the comb, its teeth scraped gently against Zayne’s scalp, with each pass detangling your husband’s hair — detangling all of the stress in Zayne’s mind who only focused on you and your touch. A clock ticked softly somewhere as the lamp on the other side of the bedroom casted a warm glow that softened the lines of their faces, illuminating your faces and your love. As you worked, Zayne found his gaze drawn to your reflection in the dresser mirror. He watched the play of emotions across your face: concentration in the slight furrow of your brows with care in the gentle set of your mouth. Something stirred in Zayne’s chest — an emotion he had sought after for so long that he would fight with his entire soul to keep.

“I love you.”

“I love you most”.

It was more than just a hair wash to both you and Zayne; it was an act of love, trust, and vulnerability that would deepen your bond in ways words could never express.

A/N: I love Zayne. I really really really love Zayne as you can tell. Have I mentioned that I love Zayne? Because I love Zayne. I have Zayne smut in drafts thats halfway written :3

If you like otome games, including Love and Deepspace, you should join Linkon Lounge! A discord server that's LGBTQ+ friendly (only serving those who are 18+) where we all can share our interests, talk to roleplaying bots (Caleb, Rafayel, Zayne, Xavier, and Sylus), and have fun game, movie, and stream nights where we stream games and/or cards that we pulled that others want to see. It would be super fun to have you as a member of our server.

Click here to join Linkon Lounge!

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lifemaideasygroupltd · 2 years ago

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Do you use eco-friendly or non-toxic cleaning products?

#deep cleaning auckland #commercial cleaners auckland #domestic cleaning services auckland #exterior house cleaning auckland #residential cleaning services auckland #builders clean auckland

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moeitsu · 3 months ago

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Logan Howlett (Wolverine) Headcanons -`♡´-

This is my first time making head canons, and I wanted to keep them sweet and endearing since our boy has been through too much in his very-very long life. As someone who's read a majority of the X-Men comics, I hope you find these true to his character! Enjoy :)

(I got so carried away with this)

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

Logan may not say "I love you" often, but he shows it through small, constant touches—a hand on the back, a gentle squeeze of the shoulder, or simply holding hands.

Not a fan of explicit PDA, but will always touch you/stay close in public.

Tough exterior, but when it comes to his partner, he’s an overprotective softie. He’ll insist on walking them home, even if they can take care of themselves.

He can be extremely chivalrous too, always holding open the door for you.

Expresses his love through acts of service. He’ll fix things around the house without being asked, make breakfast before his partner wakes up, or leave a steaming cup of coffee on the counter with a note.

He's always leaving you little love notes if when leaves the house before you or knows he won't be home till late.

Though he pretends to hate it, Logan is a sucker for slow dancing in the kitchen at night, especially if it’s to an old blues or country song.

Any excuse to hold you close to him.

Logan values trust more than anything. Given how many times he’s been betrayed or manipulated, knowing someone trusts him, and that he can trust them in return, is what makes him feel truly loved and secure.

When sharing a bed, Logan always sleeps closest to the door—just in case someone comes through it. It’s a subconscious protective habit.

Always gets better rest with he's sleeping with his partner. The nightmares become less frequent when he's in their arms.

Heaven on earth is when you fall asleep on top of him. Your weight is extremely comforting.

He is incredibly careful with his strength, especially in intimate moments. He’s always conscious of not hurting his partner, and his gentleness with you is something he prides himself on.

I think it would take some convincing for him to be a rough with you. He's a dominant lover for sure, but he doesn't take pleasure in harming his partner.

Logan is an old soul and loves traditional romantic gestures—writing letters, giving flowers, and going for long walks. He may not be vocal about it, but his sincerity shines through.

Actually writes really beautiful poetry but NOBODY will ever read it. The words will die with him...if he ever dies.

God, I just know he is a secret romantic. This is so canon to me.

Tends to murmur endearments in his partner’s ear when they’re alone, things like "darlin’" or "sweetheart," in a tone so low and rough it gives them goosebumps.

Heavy on whispered praises in bed, so low its like he's speaking directly into your mind.

Never, ever forgets a birthday or an anniversary. This goes for all his friends.

Logan is the person everyone goes to when they need to spill their secrets. He never judges, just listens, and gives advice when it’s needed. His friends know their secrets are safe with him.

He's secretly a huge gossip and loves to hear about the young mutants drama. He'll act annoyed but he's listening to every word.

He may not be the most social, but he’s fiercely loyal to his friends. If they’re in trouble, he’s the first to show up, no questions asked.

Incredible memory for his friends’ favorite drinks. When they meet up at a bar, he’ll have everyone’s order ready before they even sit down.

Logan knows when someone needs to talk and when they just need company. He’s the type to sit quietly beside a friend, sharing a drink or a cigar, letting them know they’re not alone.

Perfectly content with sitting in companionable silence for hours.

He’s surprisingly good at cooking, and loves to feed his friends. It’s one of the few domestic things he takes pride in, and he finds peace in the routine of it.

Never breaks a promise, no matter how small. If he says he’ll do it, whether it’s fixing something for you or showing up for a drink, he does it.

Logan brings back small souvenirs from missions for his partner, whether it's a pretty rock he found in a river bed, a flower pressed into his notebook, or a feather tucked into his jacket.

It's his way of saying "I was thinking of you while I was away"

Has a shoebox full of old polaroid's of his long-gone friends. He rarely looks at them, but keeps them to feel connected to those he's lost.

Also writes letters to his dead friends and keeps them in the box as well. It helps him process his grief.

Loves the smell and feel of old books. He can often be found in second-hand bookstores (or Xavier's library), running his fingers over the spines and flipping through the pages just to take in the scent.

Old!Logan needs reading glasses but is too stubborn to admit it. He’ll wear them when he’s alone, grumbling about how small the print is getting these days.

Has a soft spot for classic cartoons like "Looney Tunes." If he’s flipping channels and catches one, he’ll stop and watch, chuckling at the slapstick humor.

Logan is not a morning person. He’s grumpy before his first cup of coffee, and everyone knows to give him space until he’s had it.

"I CAN'T GIRLBOSS WITHOUT MY COFFEE"

He is a creature of habit, and he always orders the same meal at his favorite diners—usually steak, eggs, and a black coffee. The waitstaff know his order by heart.

Logan has a way with animals, even the ones that are usually skittish or aggressive. It’s like they sense he’s one of them, and they naturally trust him.

Modern day disney princess lookin' ass

Logan pretends to hate puns, but deep down, he finds them hilarious. If someone cracks a particularly bad one, he’ll groan, but there’s always a hint of a smile on his face.

*cough cough* I'm looking at you Wade

Ridiculously competitive at board games. Especially Monopoly and Scrabble. He’ll argue over the rules and demand a rematch if he loses.

When Logan is working on something mechanical, like fixing a motorcycle or sharpening his claws, he has a habit of whistling old tunes from the 1940s.

Guilty pleasure for musicals.

I had to put that in I'm sorry...

Has a small collection of vintage lighters from all the places he’s traveled. He likes the look and feel of a good lighter in his hand.

Keeps a collection of old dog tags from the wars he’s fought in. He doesn’t wear them but keeps them as a reminder.

Also has a small but growing collection of "World’s Best" mugs—like "World’s Best Dad," "World’s Best Boss," etc. He picks them up when traveling.

He likes the irony of it, because he would never describe himself as the "World's Best" of anything.

Logan loves the sound of old vinyl records. He has a small collection of blues, jazz, and country albums that he listens to when he wants to unwind.

Secretly believes in superstitions. Like always knocking on wood or avoiding walking under ladders. He knows it’s irrational, but after living as long as he has, he figures it’s better to be safe than sorry.

Hopeless with modern technology. He’s constantly asking for help with his phone, and he’s convinced that A.I. is out to get him.

He’s also been known to tap the screen harder when it doesn’t work, as if that will fix the problem.

Despite everything he’s been through, Logan believes in giving people a second chance. He knows what it’s like to be lost, to make mistakes, and to want to start over. He’s patient with those who are trying to better themselves and is willing to help them find their way.

Logan is a natural born leader.

And he deserves a life full of peace, love, and happiness

Thanks for coming to my TEDtalk!!

#james logan howlett #logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #wolverine x reader #hugh jackman #logan howlett headcanon #logan xmen #xmen comics #deadpool and wolverine #poolverine #marvel #deadpool

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lovieku · 27 days ago

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ORDINARY THINGS ⋆ 정국

𐙚 ordinary things, as long as i’m with you.

after a lost match, jeongguk’s only source of comfort is you.

from the grande series ୨ৎ

pairings: soccer captain!jk x fem!reader

genre: fluff, established relationship

warnings: lower case intended, i wanna say that i know very little about soccer, even more about what goes on behind the scenes, but of course i had to put jeongguk in bellingham’s iconic holey socks hehe 😻, it’s a bit angsty at first just bc ggukkie is an angsty boy, but then all of it is just fluff really! hints at mental illness, heavy use of the pet name baby, they’re so funny i love them, theyre also horny! only mentions of sex tho, and sexy kisses and touches keke

word count: 6990

a/n: waaa omg i managed to keep this under 10k words who’s proud of me! this is so slow but im in love w their domestic dynamic 🙁

────୨ৎ────

the piercing whistle cuts through the air.

it marks the official end of the match, sealing the loss of your boyfriend’s team. the sound feels sharp, final, not only to the game.

you knew this was fairly important. it wasn’t too decisive on the team’s position in the ranking, but you knew it mattered to him. like every other game, regardless of stakes.

whether it was a friendly or a tournament, jeongguk had no other mode but all in.

that dedication shows in every tense line of his body now. the weight of defeat begins to sink in, and you can see it on his face, the way it affects him.

you can already sense what’s swirling around in his mind, behind the quiet exterior. you’re sure of it from how he still stands there, avoids his surroundings, keeps his eyes glued to the ground, the green field suddenly more captivating.

you don’t need words to know. he’s retreating inward, locking away his disappointment, and likely taking on more than just the burden of his own loss.

he’s probably thinking of his teammates, feeling like he let them down too. allowing it all to crash on him, the single outcome of this match unraveling everything he worked hard for.

his confidence shatters with the referee’s whistle, and it shuts down the noise of the crowd, makes him unresponsive to the comforting pats on his back from his friends. it’s all a distant hum to him now.

jeongguk is deliberately slow as he almost mechanically leads his exhausted self out the pitch, body moving without his mind’s consent.

he doesn’t care if it’ll take him forever to take these steps. if he’s the last one leaving. he just needs a moment to figure out his next move.

but can he? can he face his team without this ugly feeling gnawing at him? can he keep lying, tell them they did well, that they’ll do better next time, while his own mask suffocates him? is he even deserving of the captain title?

he doubts it, his legs moving as if the world has time to offer him, body struggling under the weight of a lifeless feeling creeping in.

your heart clenches painfully. from the sidelines, watching him like this breaks something in you.

you grip the hem of your tennis skirt, fingers twitching as you fight the crazed urge rising in your throat to just run to him.

it’s hard to find your breaths when witnessing your boyfriend destroying himself as if that’s the only treatment he thinks he’s deserving of. but you also know the last thing you want to do right now is to draw more attention to him when he’s so raw, vulnerable. when every eye in the stadium strips him bare.

and you just want to put his every piece back, cover him in warmth. your mind is made up when you abruptly stand up, hastily making your way toward the locker room before he can get there, offering polite smiles to the players who are already getting inside.

you settle outside the door, waiting.

jeongguk drags behind the others, eyes still casted down. he’s so absorbed in his escape, so lost in the act of avoidance, that you’re certain he won’t notice you, with your beating heart held out to him in your cold hands.

yet, he does find some sort of answer in the ground he keeps staring at, asking for solutions.

amidst the worn, muddied football boots, he spots your shoes. dr. martens platforms, the ones you pair with white socks that ruffle at the top.

the sight is enough to pull him out of his daze, and he looks up.

the door to the locker room closes behind the last player, the heavy thump echoing in the long hallway. it startles you, just as jeongguk’s sudden awareness startles him, and you search for some sort of stability in each other’s eyes.

his own are glossy with unshed tears, and they glisten under the harsh fluorescent light. it doesn’t help the way his vision gets blurrier and pulls you farther from him.

but he needs to see you— the comfort in your face, the one that he feels as though he can’t breathe without.

jeongguk squeezes his eyes shut, the tears slipping free, but the moment he flutters his eyelids open and meets you clearly, he doesn’t care.

his wide, tear-filled gaze takes you in. brows drawn up, your expression seems to mirror his. you’ve always absorbed people’s emotions to an almost extreme degree. when others cry, so do you. and when jeongguk cries, it feels like the whole world is falling apart.

but you can’t afford that happening, and you’ll hold its full weight on your shoulders to prevent such thing.

this time, you need to be stronger for him. swallowing the lump rising in your throat, you blink back your own tears and take a hesitant step toward him.

jeongguk, so much taller than you, seems to shrink before your eyes. right now, he’s the smallest, most fragile boy.

“baby,” your voice is a soft whisper, arms stretching open in a subtle invitation, one that he doesn’t need to be asked twice.

the moment you speak and break the quiet, the dam he’s been holding up crumbles. he crashes into you, hands wrapping tightly around your waist, his nose buried in the crook of your neck.

the impact makes you stumble slightly, but you hold him just as tight in return, focusing on his sharp breaths against your skin, wet with his tears, body trembling in your embrace.

your arms wrapped around his neck, you squeeze him hard, as if he’s a sponge that you’re trying to empty from all the dirty liquid. all the exhaustion, the anxiety, the guilt.

with the way he downright drops his full weight on you, you guide him to sit on the bench just outside the locker room. he slumps beside you, heavy and limp against you, seeking your warmth and comfort the way an addict seeks for the drug that’s able to keep them going.

you sit like that for a while, and you think it’s better this way. he has time to let it out against your chest, and you have the time that you need to compose yourself before you’re met with the full extent of his brokenness.

the second you see his tear stricken face, you think all of the effort was useless. you’re so, so weak.

jeongguk hiccups, lifts his face, his wide eyes flitting between yours like one would follow a tennis match at his peak point, searching for something, the smallest indicator of victory.

the tears make his cheeks red, and it adds to the frantic pleading he trips on, “b—baby, please. i don’t— i’m tired. wanna— home—“

“hey, gguk. ggukie, breathe,” you’re gentle when you cut him off, taking his face between your small palms to try and steady his panic, and mostly yourself. you’re fighting hard to not break too, to try and be the anchor he needs.

you take exaggerated deep breaths, hoping he’ll mirror you, and after a few moments his chest rises and falls in sync with yours, warm breath fanning over your lips.

imperceptibly, you feel his panic begin to ebb. his brows relax and his eyelids blink slower, regaining consciousness of his surroundings.

his hands reach up, covering yours as they rest at his jaw, squeezing them, and he exhales shakily, still not fully over his agitation, “i’m sorry. i wanna go home. i don’t— don’t wanna do interviews, don’t wanna see anyone. don’t wanna talk to coach. i just wanna be with you, please.”

his speech is hushed, pleading, his words slurred as if afraid you’re going to stop him, force him to go through the motions of what’s expected of him before he can beg further.

you brush his cheek with your thumb in a slow motion, moving him closer to you, your voice as careful as possible, “but, jeongguk… we can’t disappear without at least telling the others. coach will want you to answer—“

“please, love. please,” he cuts you, words trembling, “don’t make me go through this. i’m too weak now. i can’t.”

you’ve never seen jeongguk like this before.

it’s been over two years since he asked you to be his girlfriend. that night, he scored a goal for you. you knew it the moment the ball hit the net.

even with his teammates swarming him in celebration, his eyes searched for yours, locking on the moment he found you in the stands.

wrapped in your wool scarf, your face almost fully hidden, the way your eyes turned into crescents and your cheekbones so prominent was unmistakable.

the smile that you shared was sheepish, but brimming with meaning. carrying all those emotions you had both been tiptoeing around for so long.

for a while, your feelings had been caught in a slow dance, never fully picking up, but nonetheless comfortable with the motion.

jeongguk always found a reason to have you near, inviting you to practices and matches, because only your presence could give him the strength needed. and you always found a reason to show up.

even more when you easily fell into the routine that followed every encounter, evenings spent at your apartment, on your couch.

it was a schedule you soon came to love, with him making you laugh, an arm draped over your shoulder, your leg casually resting across his lap. the movies you would put on would quickly become background noise as his playful jokes turned into shared glances, quiet giggles, and stolen kisses.

kisses that felt like the ones teenagers share when they’re crushing on someone for the very first time.

kisses that didn’t evolve into anything more until that night, when he scored for you. it was unashamedly sweet, the feeling he gave you.

back at his flat, his face lit up with a grin so big it was infectious. the rush of adrenaline from winning the game and the joy of finally making you his girlfriend radiated from him.

it’s a stark contrast to his expression, now. it’s drawn with helplessness, clouded with a desperation that makes you ache.

he looks tired of fighting, of holding it all together. and it’s not just that— there’s a deep yearning, a frantic search, a needy plea to be understood, to be seen by you.

there’s nothing that truly comes more innately to you. it’s second nature, caring for him. knowing him. looking after him. tending to his physical and emotional scars. and you don’t want him to scrape his skin further.

you try to reason, “what— what about your things, don’t you at least want to—“

“i’ll ask taehyung to take my bag with him or something,” for the state he’s currently in, he still looks willing to do anything if it means getting out of here. and so, he begs again, “please. can we go home?”

you know you can’t say no to him. that’s not something that comes as good to you. not in your nature.

“this is not the way to your house.”

still in his soccer jersey, the uniform’s shorts touching his knees and holey socks high up his calves, muddy boots hurting his feet, jeongguk sits quietly next to you in the backseat of his car.

his chauffeur drives steadily, away from the hurt, and each mile puts more distance between jeongguk and the weight of the loss, the field, the pressure. he feels himself leave fragments of disappointment behind, back there.

it’s been a long time since it was just the two of you in his car. jeongguk would be the one driving, his left hand steady on the wheel, the right one always reaching for yours, a quiet confirmation of his love.

now, someone else takes care of the driving, especially after games, or in moments like these when jeongguk’s mind and body are too exhausted to handle anything more.

ever since the goal that changed everything between you two, jeongguk’s life took off. a big team recognized his potential and signed him, a moment that marked his breakthrough as pro in the football world.

then, it became a whirlwind. constant games, media attention, opportunities flooding in, and money pouring from every direction.

he bought a house — a mansion, really, — just outside the city, the kind of place he dreamed of as a small kid with big ambitions. everything about it is luxurious, grand, all jeongguk thought he wanted.

but there’s been something left behind, back in the quieter days when he was just a young player fighting for his place on this planet.

you met him before the fame, before his name was on the backs of jerseys and his face on billboards. you fell in love with the boyish version of him, the one who lived in a cramped flat, working tirelessly to make a name for himself.

you’ve been there through every step, enough to recognize the struggle in his eyes.

you so easily catch that flicker of awareness in him. the jolting confirmation that all of this is real, his orbs trembling. and when it hits, he retreats into himself, lets anxiety creep in.

he may not voice it, but you know the root of it. the fear of losing himself, of becoming someone else, of forgetting the version of him that’s grounded in simplicity and love.

jeongguk fears intertwining himself with what he always wanted will inevitably erase what he’s always been, the son of hardworking parents in busan, raised on sacrifice and dreams.

what he always had with you. quiet, uncomplicated. happy with the ordinary things, eating ramen on the floor of his tiny apartment, driving around just to talk about anything and nothing, reading quietly next to each other in the cafè you’ve introduced him to, your presence a comfort to him long before he realized he loved you as more than a friend.

jeongguk wants to hold onto that simplicity, and he wants you to be part of that. he wants you to stay by his side, to be the reminder of who he is beneath all the noise. what he wants to keep being.

because you’re his constant, unwavering, never changing. you’ve never needed him to be more than who he already is. you never look at him with the kind of judgment or disappointment that seems to follow him after every missed opportunity. there’s no pressure, no expectations of success.

in your eyes, he is just jeongguk— the same boy that approached you with a bad pun only to clumsily blame it on his drink. the one you built a familiar rhythm with, ordinariness always just enough for you. for the two of you, together.

you don’t need mansions, fancy restaurants, designer clothes. you don’t need grandeur. you’ll stay the way it’s always been, and the way you both want it to stay.

he quickly scans your face, letting your words register. your brows are furrowed slightly, pouty lips parted as if you’re about to tell the driver that he’s going the wrong way, headed somewhere other than the house he now calls home.

before you can speak, jeongguk interrupts you, his voice soft and suddenly self aware, “oh, i— sorry, i gave directions to your apartment. i just really wanted to be there with you.”

you blink at his fragile honesty. he had begged to be home, and now here you were, on the way to your own.

warmth spreads through you, and you can’t help but break into a big smile, one that eases the tension in his forehead, and mirrors softly in the grin that tugs at his pierced lips.

leaning in, you place a peck on his cheek, “it’s okay, baby. i’ve got so many of your clothes in my closet, there won’t be a problem.”

his low chuckle is comforting, and he scrunches his nose in that familiar way, shuffling closer to nuzzle into your shoulder. for a moment, the world outside fades. you’re hopeful as you think you can feel the weight on his heart lifting.

looking up, a teasing smile spreads across his face, “i wonder why.”

his playful shift surprises you, though you try not to show it. you want him to feel normal, like there’s nothing you should keep being sad over. your brows raise ever so slightly before you roll your eyes in mock exasperation, the fond amusement clear on your features.

it’s enough for jeongguk’s giggles to fill the car, an arm snaking around your waist, “it’s because you always steal my clothes.”

feigning shock, you gasp dramatically, swatting him lightly. he only laughs more, soft sounds bubbling up again, and you can feel love rushing through you, swarming frantically in your chest.

you play along with him, “no, it’s because you always leave your stuff behind after we— we…”

you trip on your words and pause when you realize what nearly slipped out, sheepishly averting your gaze to glance at the chauffeur, who seemingly looks too focused on the road to hear what you’re saying.

jeongguk’s eyes light up, his smile widening as his fingers teasingly pinch your sides, “after we what? say it, baby.”

you flinch at his ticklish touch, breaking into a grin and stubbornly shaking your head no. his laughter mingles with yours, bodies pressing tighter as he leans his weight into you, his nose brushing your jaw.

being this close to him, you inhale his scent. he still smells like adrenaline, mixed with exhaustion, sweat pearling his back. the feeling grounds you.

he hums lowly against your skin, his lips trailing wet pecks along your throat, “i miss doing that.”

your chuckle turns into a frenzied groan, and you steady yourself with your hands on his arm still squeezing around you, feeling your face heat up, “that was three days ago.”

”too long,” he mumbles, kisses slowly becoming more languid, savoring you.

when he pulls away from your neck, he doesn’t give you a moment to breathe before his lips find yours. the kiss is simple, sweet, but you can feel each beat of his pulse against your mouth.

you break the contact first, your hand slipping into his damp hair, gently brushing the long strands out of his eyes. you think out loud, admiring his perfectly framed face, “you need to cut these.”

but jeongguk isn’t currently interested in haircuts. he ignores your suggestion, his focus entirely on you, and his whispered words hold a kind of raw vulnerability, “i missed you.”

you hum, threading through his locks, “missed you too, my boy.”

that’s all he needs to close the gap between you again. this time, his kiss is more intent, deeper, as if trying to communicate what words can’t. his hands pull you closer, your chest arching into him, and in between the wet sounds of your lips meeting he lets a moan escape him.

you’re quick to swallow it, your own quiet noises vibrating against him before you put distance once again, softly tugging at his hair and finding his eyes lovingly, “let’s get home first, yeah?”

but he protests, a childlike groan reverberating in his throat, eyelids fluttering shut as he basks in the feeling of you against his lips. he attacks your cheeks next, trailing down, and down, and down, kissing you through your shirt.

then, it’s his fingers touching you under it, hand traveling up and kneading your breasts through your bra, only to slide around to trace the curve of your spine.

the sudden contact is overwhelmingly pleasuring, head thrown back on the headrest as quiet whimpers leave you. jeongguk is as hungry as ever, seeking for proximity no matter your bodies already molding with one another, his teeth scraping against your most sensitive spots, almost digging, eating, tasting.

and you want to let go, allow him to give you every last thing he’s holding onto, be selfish and take it all for yourself.

but you can’t when you know this is just another one of his escapes. he’s using this moment to drown out the chaos in his mind, to run from his pain, to bury his burdens and get high on a dopamine rush.

“baby, wait—“ in between gasps, you manage to get your voice out, but its whisper doesn’t seem to reach jeongguk’s ears, his long digits boring holes in the flesh of your bare thighs, prickling with goosebumps at his feverish touch.

in your own daze, you carefully take a hold of his face in your palms, lifting him up from the devoting motion of his lips on the edge of your shoulder, and the look in his eyes is hazed, inhebriated on the the burning of your skin under him, but it’s tinged with desperation.

behind his orbs there’s no other thought but to chase you, his only refuge, and your sweet smile only aggravates his crazed desire, trying to catch your mouth with his before you open it to speak, “i don’t want us to do this while you— you’re still mentally fragile.”

your worry is laced with love, it’s clear from the way it spills out of you, seeps from your delicate touch on his cheeks. but jeongguk’s eyes still widen in shock and shame, orbs shaking with panic.

his brows furrow in an attempt to conceal his turbulent emotions, but the city lights continuously flashing through the car windows only accentuate the glistening under his eyelids. he stammers, “i— i’m not— i’m… please. don’t reject me.”

the plea is shaky, and it makes your pulse race with agitation, fingers grasping his jaw with more intent as you’re quicker on your words than your own thoughts, “oh, honey, i’m not. look at me, please,” the way he flickers his gaze down only makes more panic flood in your veins, and you frantically search for him.

you manage to sound stable, whispered words fanning over his lips, “i just want what’s best for you, okay? do you trust me?”

he seems to lean into your touch, looking up at you through his lashes, brows still betraying him with the way they’re drawn up in sorrow. he hums in agreement.

you smile reassuringly, “perfect. then, i’ll tell you what we’re gonna do, hm?” when he nods, you continue, brushing his hair back through your calm words, “we get to my flat. take a hot shower. i make us something warm to eat. and then, if you still want to, i’m all yours. in our bed. sound good?”

our bed. the flicker in your boyfriend’s face doesn’t go missed. it’s fond, it softens his eyes, and it rushes down to his lips, struggling not to break into a grin. he pouts to hide it, and you can see he’s still ashamed by his earlier rush, his response muffled, “okay. i love you. i’m sorry.”

you coo, pulling his head to rest on your chest, drawing comforting strokes along his damp back, “i love you more. you did nothing wrong, baby.”

the both of you stay like that for a while. his cheek is squished against your breasts, lips parting to release quiet huffs, and your soothing motions run down his arm.

the quiet moment is interrupted by jeongguk’s phone ringing once again, loud and persisent, for the nth time in less than half a hour. he doesn’t even glance at the device when declining the call, and you catch the name flashing before the screen goes black.

it’s his coach calling. you stay quiet as he shuts off his phone completely, tossing it onto the empty seat next to him.

only a few moments pass before he looks up at you, his expression hesitant, a timid smile trying to mask the uncertainty in his eyes. you return his gaze with quiet confidence, nodding subtly, letting him know that you’re here with him— no matter what.

right now, all that matters is that jeongguk feels safe in your arms. you don’t care about the consequences he might face tomorrow. you’ll be there for him, just as you are now, when he needs you the most.

the moment you both step in your apartment, shoes messily discarded at the entrance (you’ll make sure to take care of his boots later), he trails after you like a lost puppy. he becomes your shadow, mirroring your every step with big eyes and a natural pout.

“take your uniform off, baby,” you gently instruct him while letting the water run from the shower head, adjusting the temperature until it’s hot enough for the both of you.

he slumps over on the toilet lid, eyes never leaving you as you move around the bathroom. when he lets them travel down your figure, a low groan escapes him.

you look so good in your skirt, the high socks triggering a weird, primal instinct in him, stirring dark fantasies that have him wishing you’d let him take you right there on the sink.

but he knows better than to mess with the plan you set earlier in his car for the both of you to enjoy the night, so he only allows himself to play with you a little, “can you do it for me? i’m tired.”

he really does seem tired, the exhaustion visible from the way his hands tremble slightly and his eyelids drop, but the look only adds to the lazy smirk spreading on his pierced lips. he knows what he’s truly asking for.

you narrow your gaze at him only to roll your eyes when he doesn’t look like he’s going to surrender any soon, grin only widening, and you pull him up by the jersey.

he complies, brows wiggling in teasing disobedience, looking down at you from his taller stance, “woah, commanding. i like it.”

“shut up,” you only murmur as you hastily strip off his sweaty uniform, throwing it right in the laundry bin. you leave him in his high socks and boxers, smacking his round ass playfully, “take these off yourself, mister.”

he’s ready to protest, to demand your touch back on him, but you shoot him a look with your raised eyebrows, “ah-ah. c’mon, and get in the shower, i’ll bring your change.”

before he can respond, you leave the bathroom. he whines childishly, slipping off his underwear along with the uncomfortable socks, adding them to the pile in the basket under the sink. he yells over the sound of running water, “you’re coming too, right?”

“yes!” you quickly call out from the bedroom, voice raised to reach him over the distance.

you know how difficult your boyfriend can be— if he hasn’t come to drag you in yet, you’re at least hoping he’s taken off the rest of his clothes. you foolishly hope he’s already in the shower, though the chances are slim if he’s not completely sure you’ll be joining him.

that’s why you move fast, grabbing his change of clothes from the drawer where you keep all his left-behind things. in your rush, you take one of his oversized t-shirt and a pair of boxers for yourself, too.

when you return to the bathroom, you’re not surprised to find jeongguk standing in the middle of it, bare and waiting for you. his eyes light up when he sees you, taking the clothes from your hold and placing them on the counter, “i was about to come and get you.”

you scoff lightly, trying to fight the smile tugging at the corners of your mouth, but it’s no use. especially when he reaches out to pull you closer, fingers working at the zip of your skirt and sliding it off with ease, his own grin warm on his expression.

you gently push him toward the shower, pretending to scold him, “i can do this myself, thank you. now get in, silly.”

with a disappointed, and very adorable huff, he finally obeys, stepping under the hot steam of water. you can tell by the subtle way his shoulder relax that the heat soothes him, but the tension doesn’t completely ease from his muscles.

he tracks your movements attentively, taking in the way you strip yourself completely bare, and only when you step in the small cabin and close the sliding window door behind you he sighs in relief.

jeongguk engulfs you immediately, positioning you both directly under the cascade of water. it blurs your vision slightly, your bangs flattening on your forehead.

you push them out of the way, your hands then finding his own hair to slick it back, allowing you to see the fondness in his eyes clearly.

you look up at him through wet lashes, chin placed on his toned chest, and his own is dipped low to meet your gaze, take in the smile spreading and making your dimples show.

it grows bigger when he sheepishly scrunches his nose, the love seeping from your orbs suddenly overwhelming, and you press a gentle kiss to his adam’s apple before pulling yourself away, voice a whisper, “let me take care of you.”

jeongguk doesn’t argue, complying when you ask to hand you his shampoo. you’d originally bought it as a joke during one of your grocery runs together, picking it off the shelf with a laugh and pointing out the label— johnson’s baby shampoo, made with honey and wheat extracts, and on sale too. you’d exclaimed how it was so jeongguk, and he’d let you try it on him as soon as you got home.

the joke had stuck, and to your surprise, he ended up liking it more than you did. now, it was the only shampoo you used on him whenever he stayed at your place, a small tradition between the two of you.

as you work it into his damp hair, jeongguk’s eyelids flutter shut. he eases into your touch, body going loose as your fingers massage his scalp with the perfect amount of pressure, the kind that always seems to make him melt, the one that could immediately put him to sleep.

you wash it off and repeat the motion once more, taking your time. only when his hair is thoroughly cleaned do you reach for your vanilla body wash, moving on to carefully lather it over his skin.

tracing every line of his body, you watch the way he softens more with your touch, unconsciously swaying closer.

you’re slow, deliberate in your motions, letting your hands run over his shoulders, down his arms, across his chest. his skin is warm and slick under your palms, and every now and then he lets out a contented sigh.

the sounds get fuller when you finally reach his back. you press a little harder, working out the knots you can feel lingering there. he groans softly, his head falling forward slightly, droplets of water dripping from his hair onto your face.

“feel good?” you ask quietly, your voice barely audible over the sound of the water.

he nods, his voice low and drowsy. “yeah, feels amazing.”

his moans grow unrestrainedly louder, eyes rolling back, and you would tease him for it if the sight of him like this wasn’t having its own effect on you.

biting your lip, you press your fingers deeper into his muscles, and suddenly his hands grip your waist, tight enough to startle you.

it has your mouth opening unconsciously, brows furrowed at the sensitivity. you almost give in when his palms slip further down, resting on the curve of your ass, and for a moment you consider the temptation, but the triumphant smirk on his face immediately pulls you out of your daze. your own fingers work to move his hands to rest at your shoulders.

you manage to sound stable, but you can feel the slight shake in your voice, “hands up here, mister.”

“oh, c’mon,” he has the audacity to whine, the sound muffled by his pouty, and so inviting lips.

you almost cave at the sight of him, his eyes wide and pleading. but you know better. if you let him push the boundaries now, things won’t stop here, and the careful rhythm you’ve set will be forgotten.

it’s not just him you’re trying to hold back— it’s yourself too, especially when his gaze almost breaks through your resolve.

you shake your head, trying to gather your composure, suddenly turning off the water and sliding the shower door open.

jeongguk groans in protest at the contrasting cold air hitting his skin, but you promptly step out to reach for your bathrobe and wrap it around him.

pout stubborn on his lips, he follows you out the shower, but instead of arguing further, he surprises you by engulfing you both in the same robe, pressing his chest against your back.

his arms circle you, and he starts rubbing the spongy material of his sleeves against your body, trying to dry you both at once.

you snort, amused by his antics, “what are you doing?”

“i’m drying us.”

“this will take us forever—”

“no, see? i’m already done,” with ease, he slips out of the robe, laying it over your shoulders and tying the belt snugly around you.

then he casually walks over to grab his change of clothes, pulling the t-shirt over his head despite the fact that his hair is still dripping with water.

you roll your eyes at the sight of it soaking into the fabric and gently push him to sit on the toilet lid, “don’t move. you’re still wet, god.”

“that’s what she said,” he wiggles his brows, eyes gleaming with immature delight as he grins mischeviously.

you sigh, struggling not to laugh at his pun. instead, you wordlessly grab the hairdryer and start running it through his damp locks.

he obediently leans into you, closing his eyes and resting his head against your chest as your fingers run along his hair. the warmth from the device makes him nuzzle even closer, his posture fully relaxed between your legs.

once his hair is dry and his clothes no longer clinging to his skin, you finally shut off the hairdryer, giving his now fluffy locks a final pat.

the time it took to dry jeongguk allowed the bathrobe to work its magic on you too. you quickly slip into his boxers and one of his many stussy t-shirts you picked randomly, tying a towel around your hair.

you prepare to head out of the bathroom, but before you can his hand gently stops you, gripping your forearm, suddenly towering over you when he stands up, “where are you going?”

“to make us dinner.”

“i’ll do it. you should dry your hair, or else you’ll get a headache.”

“but—”

“no but. you already did enough, baby. i’m okay, i swear,” his voice softens, and the fond look in his eyes makes it clear he won’t let you argue further. he doesn’t even let you respond, stepping out of the room and heading to the kitchen.

a smile tugs at your lips, and you take a deep breath, the comforting scent of vanilla and honey still lingering after he leaves.

you’ve always appreciated jeongguk’s attention to detail. he knows how long it takes you to care for your thick, long hair and also remembers the countless nights you complained about your head hurting from leaving it damp. he always listens, even to the smallest things.

twenty minutes later, you’re warm and dry, stepping into the kitchen where the delicious smell of soup greets you. jeongguk is behind the stove, stirring a pot and softly whistling as he tends to another pan on the burner.

when he notices you, his eyes brighten, trailing over your legs and the way his t-shirt sits just above your thighs, revealing glimpses of his boxers. as you approach, he grins, “what’s a pretty woman like you doing here, alone?”

you’ve been with him long enough to know this is just the start of one of his playful roleplays, so of course you instantly know your line, “i have a boyfriend, actually.”

“oh, really? is he here too? can he fight?” his voice drops lower with every step you take towards him, with the last words coming out as a growl as you stand in front of him, looking up into his eyes.

you snort, “you’re so dumb.”

he stays in character, raising his eyebrows, “no, tell me. can he?”

you hum thoughtfully, pursuing your lips as you pretend to consider, your eyes wandering before settling on his again, “yes. he’ll break your nose.”

he chuckles, feigning surprise, “god, he sounds tough.”

“he is.”

with an arm snaking around your waist, he pulls you closer, his lips brushing your ear, nose tickling your lobe, and he whispers, “but i just want you so bad, young lady. don’t tell him, hm?”

his mouth is on yours next, molding together in a sickeningly sweet, lingering kiss, and you let him find your tongue with his own, your front arching against his.

with your arms wrapped around his neck, you part slightly, your eyes jumping on every corner of his face. your voice is thick with pure love, “do you feel better, big boy?”

jeongguk smiles, presses it against your forehead, “so much better, thanks to you. i love you.”

“i love you more,” you momentarily lose yourself in his expression, and you have to blink harshly to pull yourself out of the daze before you fall too deeply into your emotions and start waxing poetic, letting your heart run as wild as the love in your veins.

you move from his hold, busying yourself with setting the small table in your kitchen, grabbing the usual pink glass for yourself and the yellow one for him.

he chose them himself a long ago, said pink reminded him of the way you blushed at his every action, and the yellow symbolized a sunflower always turning toward its sun, because, “that’s how i’ve felt ever since i met you.”

as you arrange the glasses, you almost forget what you were about to ask, but the faint ring of your phone from the bedroom reminds you, “is your phone still off? coach has been calling me.”

his brows knit slightly, betraying his otherwise calm demeanor, but he doesn't meet your eyes, focusing instead on plating the soup. “can we— not talk about it? just for tonight?”

a small gasp escapes you at his quiet plea, and you rush to his side to help him, taking the plates from him and placing them gently on the table, your words hushed, “of course, baby. i was just worried you might want to hear from him. i don’t care about all of that, i only care about you.”

a sheepish smile breaks through his composure, his front teeth worrying at his lip piercing. he looks up at you, lets himself be coddled by the warmth of your gaze, and he sounds just as timid as he looks, “hm. that’s what i wanted to hear.”

you shake your head fondly at his vulnerable side, motioning for him to sit with you, “silly. come, let’s eat, and then we can get some sleep.”

even after swallowing the burning soup, jeongguk still finds a way to tease, nudging your foot under the table with a mischievous grin.

"you’re not getting any sleep tonight," he quips, his voice low with playful intent. you roll your eyes and kick him lightly, making him yelp in exaggerated shock.

it becomes a game of back and forth, his dirty jokes pushing boundaries just enough to make you question if he’s actually serious. there’s a part of you that selfishly hopes he means it, but the side of you that knows him inside and out knows better.

sex for jeongguk isn’t just a casual thing, especially after a night like this. for the two of you, intimacy is more than physical— it’s an act of devotion, a way to connect deeply when words can’t express everything.

it’s never about distraction or escape, but about grounding one another, the flicker of something real and tender at the core of it.

tucked under the covers, waiting for him after he convinced you he could handle the dishes himself — arguing that picking a movie was just as much work — you’re not surprised by what he says when he finally enters the room.

“baby… i think i’m happy with just cuddles for tonight. that okay with you?”

you break into a big grin, brimming with unspeakable feelings for the man standing at the foot of your bed, for which you spread your arms open, “of course, sweetheart. come here, you big child.”

he doesn’t need to be told twice, instantly burrowing himself against the warm sheets, intertwining his limbs with yours. he nestles his head on your chest, sighing contentedly as if he’s found the safest place, “i love you. have i said that already?”

“a million times. and i’m never sick of it.”

“say it back.”

you snort at the insistence in his tone, words muffled by the fabric of your shirt, and your fingers unconsciously play with his straight locks as you swing one of your legs around his waist, your voice a whisper above the shuffling, “i love you more.”

he tilts his head up, chin resting on the softness of your breasts, “no, you don’t.”

brushing his bangs away from his eyes, you smile fondly, “i do. believe me.”

he huffs in faux protest, narrowing his eyes. but he gives in as quickly as he tried to argue, his cheek settling back to rest just where your heart beats, its steady beat lulling him into calm along with your gentle strokes along his nape.

jeongguk doesn’t resist it, doesn’t fight your love. accepts it as the purest form of closure he can get for himself, “hm. okay. i love you.”

946 notes · View notes

fieldpractice · 8 months ago

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#domestic exterior #clay tiles #clay rosemary tiles #cladding #architect homes #art deco #london #1930s #period renovation

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coffee-and-geto · 2 months ago

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“SAY YOU’RE MINE, I’M YOURS FOR THE NIGHT!”

pairing: kento nanami x f!reader

summary: forced to spend the evening with his co-workers, nanami has no idea that the bar he goes to with them is gradually turning into a club where your enticing body catches his beady-eye. so despite his exhaustion and tolerance for alcohol, nanami has every intention of enjoying his evening as much as you do by flirting with him.

warnings: +18 ONLY, smut, nsfw, age gap (11 years), fluff, slight domestic at the end, reader is a student, nanami an employee at a bank, needy! nanami, excessive drinking, alcohol, tired! nanami, sex (p in v), fingering (f! receiving), handjob, oral (f + m receiving), balls playing, cowgirl, teasing, unprotected sex, fanart by @/matchapichai on twt.

wc: 4,764

a/n: based on this post. hope you guys will enjoy this silly fic :)

“Come on, Nanami, going to an izakaya will do you good, and besides, the boss won’t be there, you can relax,” a colleague teased insistently.

“That’s true,” another one added, flipping her long chestnut hair over her shoulder in charming, seductive waves.

Nanami suppressed a sigh, fully aware of her futile attempts to flirt with him. She was a much younger colleague who seemed to have been drawn to him since his arrival at the bank where he worked.

“Maybe we could grow a little closer.” She flashed her brightest smile.

Perhaps Nanami gave in, as the dimmed lights of the bar did wonders for his mood — a stark contrast to the blinding lights above his office desk. He sat on a barstool and ordered a dry Martini — his usual choice after a long day at work.

Though he was used to drinking, the perfect man that Kento was stood far from the image of an alcoholic drowning his problems or drinking out of addiction. He was a man of sophistication who valued sobriety but could still appreciate refined tastes. Fatigue often gave him the urge to drink more to help ease into sleep, but he could thank his genetics for inheriting a high tolerance for alcohol from his family (dear reader, note the irony).

So how could he unwind in peace?

The bartender placed his drink in front of him after a few minutes, during which he tried, without much success, to follow his colleagues’ conversations.

The rolled-up sleeves of his blue shirt revealed long forearms with prominent veins that ran down to his large hands with thick fingers. Those fingers absentmindedly stirred his dry Martini, garnished with a thin slice of lemon, while his gaze swept across the bar, stopping when he heard a bell ring — the sign of new customers entering.

In the next second, several thoughts passed through his mind in precise order:

First, the exterior setting gave him a glimpse of the starry navy-blue sky, signaling how late it had gotten.

Then, he noticed a rather large group of people entering the bar, filling it quickly to the point where the noise of conversations was almost drowned out by the background music.

And finally, there was you.

Amidst all the commotion, it was your silhouette that caught his amber eyes. Standing by your side were what seemed to be your friends, with whom you were chatting cheerfully in your elegant evening dress. And as if you felt his gaze on you, you stopped laughing with your friend and turned your attention toward the bar, where your eyes instantly fell on him.

The shared gaze between the two of you intensified the atmosphere, and strangely enough, Kento didn’t seem ready to look away...

...at least not until his annoying colleague with the long hair, whose name he couldn’t even remember (had he ever?), slid up next to him, forcing him to break eye contact.

“Nanami-senpai, are you having a good evening?” she coos, batting her eyelashes, all smiles.

He let out a barely audible sigh. “Fine, and you?”

“Same.”

A slight pang tuggs at his heart, not out of interest in her, but out of pity for her wasted efforts. She was, after all, quite cute, polite, and always so gentle in both her manners and her voice — a true angel fallen from the heavens, yet still unable to reach the blonde.

Time continued to pass, with his colleague trying her best to keep the conversation alive, despite Nanami’s often short, closed answers. Loud, raucous laughter caught his attention, and he glanced over his shoulder.

There you are again.

Sitting on the couch, still surrounded by your friends, you’re deep in conversation, and for some reason, Nanami feels a sudden urge to join in. You seem so warm and charming. The changing lights of the bar shift with each movement of the cherry-red and occasionally neon-purple spotlights. Music now fills the bar, the dance floor packed with dancers, and the muffled conversations serving as background noise.

Just as he’s about to look away from you, you catch his attention by locking eyes with him for the second time that evening. He finds it hard not to stare, resting his elbow on the wooden counter while his thumb absentmindedly brushes his lower lip. You sit down next to him and order your drink.

Your hair cascades over your shoulder as you turn slightly toward him.

“Good evening,” you murmur, barely audible, your cherry-colored lipstick making him want to ruin it with his own mouth. A slight smile curls your lips.

He ignores his colleague, who was still trying to hold the conversation, to respond, “Good evening.”

You glance at his empty glass. “What were you drinking?” you ask.

And Lord, your voice intoxicates him far faster than the sherry ever could.

“Dry Martini,” Kento replies, his eyes fixed on yours. “But I think I’ll have the same as you.”

He gestures to the bartender, and less than a minute later, two glasses of dry vermouth appear in front of you, the clear liquid shimmering in the transparent glasses, with ice cubes floating on the surface.

“You don’t seem like you’re from around here,” you comment, taking a sip of your drink.

“I’m not.”

“I figured as much. You don’t look like someone who enjoys partying.”

Nanami raises an eyebrow, almost amused. “Oh really? So what do I look like?”

“Like a salaryman who just wants to go home after a long day on a Friday night,” you glance behind him, “but got dragged here by his colleagues without realizing the bar turns into a club after 10 PM, am I right?”

“Right on the mark,” Kento chuckles.

“Haha!”

“And you? You look like a real party girl,” he continues.

A mischievous smirk tugs at the corner of your carmine lips. “Close enough.”

Kento hums, narrowing his eyes as he studies you. “You seem younger than me.” He pauses. “Still a student?”

“Right on the mark,” you echo his words, taking another sip of your cocktail.

A pleasant silence settles between you two before you decide to break it.

“How old are you?”

“How old do you think I am?”

“Hmm…” you ponder, squinting slightly. “Late twenties, early thirties. No more, no less.”

“I’m thirty-four.”

You burst into laughter. “Such an old man!” you tease.

“And you?” Nanami counters with a slight smile, raising an eyebrow. “Still a baby fresh out of her mother’s arms, I guess?” He sips his glass of dry vermouth.

“Hey!” you protest, playing along with his teasing. “I’m twenty-three!”

“Really?”

“Really.” You nod, a smile in your softened voice. “11 years apart, but in the end, it’s just a number, right?” You gently bite your lower lip, and Kento doesn’t miss the slightly timid — albeit subtle — tone you’ve adopted, nor the rosy hue creeping up your cheeks.

Is it knowing his age that makes you seem even cuter?

Kento shrugs, downing the rest of his glass in one go. “Indeed, after all, it can depend on cultural norms.”

“Screw norms,” you mutter under your breath, suddenly annoyed, as you follow his lead and finish your glass.

Kento suppresses another smile and orders another drink.

“Aren’t you going to rejoin your friends?” he inquires.

“I have far less interest in them now that I’m in such better company,” you purr.

“I’m flattered.”

“You should be,” you add, moving your seat closer to his. And he can’t help but notice that your blush hasn’t faded.

Nor that a strand of your hair is blocking his view of your pretty face, so he reaches out to tuck it behind your ear. You jump slightly at the gesture but quickly regain your composure, thanking him in a soft whisper.

He pulls his arm back and quickly checks his watch.

“As charming as this company is, it wouldn’t be very wise to stay too late here,” Kento warns, his protective nature resurfacing. The bartender refills his drink, which he immediately begins to sip.

You pout. “Don’t you want to protect me?”

“You want me to protect you?”

"Couldn’t we do more?" you ask hopefully.

“I didn’t say that,” Kento responds, measured, rubbing a hand over his tired face, the alcohol starting to catch up with him. He needed to unwind.

“You seem exhausted,” you comment.

“I am. There’s no ‘seem’ about it,” he sighs.

Your hand — much smaller than his — glides along his exposed forearm. “Let’s go sit on the couches, Mister…”

“Kento Nanami. Call me Kento,” he says. “And you?” He stands up and pays both his tab and yours, despite your protests. All he wants is a name, after all. You finally give it to him with a slight pout, which he quickly erases by slipping an arm around your waist. “May I?”

Your lips part. “Yes.”

You both head toward a couch, half-occupied by a couple making out, too engrossed in each other to notice you.

The rest of the evening continues in the same flirtatious tone as at the counter, with waitresses bringing drinks to everyone, including Kento, who, despite the number of drinks, barely seems tipsy. Only the fatigue is visible on his face, but the smile you give him makes him forget about it as he listens to you talk, his head resting on the back of the couch, eyes closed for a few moments.

He doesn’t immediately realize how or why his head slips and falls onto you.

Or more precisely, onto your chest, exposed by the neckline of your dress.

He immediately straightens up. “Sorry, I—”

“No worries.” You pull him back against you, his face pressed against the middle of your breasts to hide the blush spreading across your cheeks. “You can stay like that, I don’t mind.”

Kento doesn’t argue, instead sighing softly, his large hands finding their way around your waist, gently squeezing as his thumbs trace soft circles over the fabric of your dress. So there he is, half-sprawled on the couch, using the softness of your chest as a pillow.

A comfortable silence settles between you two, filled by the background music from the bar-turned-club.

Yet it feels as though it’s just the two of you.

Kento looks so adorable like this, half-lying on you with his head on your chest — so cute, in fact, that you place a kiss on his prominent cheekbone.

Your lipstick leaves a hot red mark on his perfect skin, and you resist the urge to do it again — especially when Nanami’s cheeks flush, and he gazes up at you with a neediness in his captivating eyes.

“More,” he breathes so softly that the word barely makes it past the thumping beats and cherry-red LED lights. “Please, more—”

“Shhh.” You silence him, placing your finger gently on his thin lips, dying to taste them. Your fingertips gently scratch at the sharp undercut at the back of his neck, slowly moving up to his clean parting, and Nanami hums in appreciation.

“Please, another,” he whispers in a raspy murmur.

“You still look so tired yet so composed, Kento, hmm?” you purr into his ear, and suddenly, his shirt feels too tight around his muscular chest, stifling his breath. “Are you good with alcohol?”

He nods almost imperceptibly.

“How about a deal? For each kiss, you take a sip to help relax those poor shoulders, okay?” you coo, your voice enchanting as your hand glides sensually from his hair to his jaw, then down his neck, finally resting on his broad shoulders.

“Anything you want.”

And now, you’re pressed against each other, a needy Nanami in your arms, covered in cherry-red kisses from your lipstick while one of your hands holds a glass of extra añejo tequila, pressed to the edge of his lips.

You place another kiss on his face — this time, at the corner of his mouth — and Nanami lets out a soft moan, more like a muffled growl. One of his hands grabs your jaw, pulling you toward him, capturing your lips in a kiss filled with desperate, ravenous desire.

A smile curves your lips before you return the kiss he’s silently begging for. The tip of Nanami’s wet tongue brushes against the entrance of your mouth, asking gently for access. You grant it, sliding your own tongue to intertwine with his, humming at the sweet-bitter taste of alcohol.

“Kento,” you sigh between kisses. But he lets out a faint whine, eager to continue kissing you, which makes you giggle in amusement. Your hands gently hold the sides of his head, pulling him even closer to deepen the kiss.

Your breathing quickens, as does his, the tension between you two swelling like a balloon. After a few minutes that feel like an eternity, you slowly pull away, not moving too far — just enough to notice the bulge forming in the crotch of his beige slacks.

A sly smile forms on your lips. “Needy, hmm?” You shift slightly and raise one leg between his, allowing your knee and calf to slowly, discreetly brush up and down against his growing erection with each movement.

Just to tease him.

He clenches his jaw — likely grinding his teeth — trying to contain all the pleasure your touch is giving him. As your leg strokes upward one more time, his dick twitches in his slacks. Immediately afterward, a blush of embarrassment stains his hollow cheeks.

“Sweetheart, not here—”

“So, upstairs?” You wink at him.

Before he can respond, you plant yet another kiss on his lips and pull away. His amber eyes sparkle with desperate need as they meet yours.

“Look at you, Ken, so needy, so messy with that mouth of yours ruined by my lipstick, hmm?” you purr, your forefinger trailing down his blue shirt and toying with the hem of his yellow tie. “You want me? Aren’t you the older one?”

Your teasing was too much for him.

How can a young girl have this grumpy man wrapped around her finger?

That’s wild.

“Fuck,” he hisses, grabbing your wrist when you stop your knee at the level of his zipper, rubbing it in earnest. “You asked for it, so you’ll have it, my dear teaser.” He gives you a faint smile, sliding his rough hands down your waist as he stands up, throwing you over his shoulder.

“Kento—”

“No more Kento, sweetheart,” he whispers, forgetting about the crowd in the bar, now fully transformed into a club. A steady sway tells you he’s climbing stairs, and soon, your eyes fall on dark wooden steps. “A room okay? Or would you prefer the restroom?” He flashes a sly grin.

Even though you don’t know him that well, smiling this much doesn’t quite seem like Nanami.

Looks like the alcohol has had its effect on him...

“A room, of course!” you protest, and a genuine laugh echoes in your ears. The blush rises to your face, both from his laughter, which warms your heart, and from the idea of fucking in a semi-public area. Not that you would’ve minded.

“Alright, alright.”

A minute later, in a room with fresh sheets — clearly prepared for any intimate encounters between customers — Nanami is already above you, his tie undone, and his imposing body pinning you against the mattress. His soft lips devour yours with much more hunger, while his large hands caress your body from time to time — massaging slow circles on your waist with his thumbs, gently stroking the underside of your thigh he’s lifted against him, or running his fingers along your torso.

Things heat up further when Kento trails sloppy kisses down your neck, stopping at your collarbone before teasing the edge of your evening dress.

“May I?”

You nod quickly, helping him get rid of your clothing in no time. Now only in black lingerie, Nanami continues his trail of kisses along your body. Your heart racing, you let out a soft moan as he caresses your nipples through the thin fabric of your bra.

“Feels good?” He starts to gently pinch them, then takes your breasts in his hands to massage them softly. “So soft,” he murmurs, placing another kiss between your breasts.

“Kento, I want more,” you whisper, wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him closer until your crotch is pressed against his obvious bulge. A wave of electric pleasure shoots through your core, making you gasp as you rub against him, desperate to feel more. “Please…”

Your pout tugs at his heart, enough for him to lower himself down to your lower abdomen and kiss it tenderly. “A little lower?” he mutters. He uncrosses your legs after your squeaky “yes” and spreads them, planting a chaste kiss in the center on your clit, which he can already feel swollen even through the fabric. “Here?” He sticks out his tongue, licking the wet spot forming on your underwear and pressing his nose against your sensitive bundle of nerves.

“Ah—Kento,” you moan, bucking your hips against his face for more friction. You squeeze your eyes shut, letting out more sweet sounds as he seriously begins the foreplay, pulling your panties down your legs and sliding them off completely. “Hmmm! Ah!”

Without waiting any longer, his lips capture your clit, torturing it in the gentlest way — his finger tracing teasing circles around your entrance, which clenches and releases around nothing. “So needy and wet f’me…”

“F-finger, a finger, I want a finger inside me, please,” you babble, panting and squealing.

“You sure? I don’t think you deserve that reward, sweetheart,” Kento tuts, still lapping at your clit as the pad of his forefinger gently taps your damp entrance. “You were such a tease, rubbing my cock through my pants and telling me you’ve got me wrapped around your finger, didn’t you say that?”

He chuckles softly when you pout again, giving him those puppy-dog eyes. “Kento, I’m sorry, I’ll be a good girl, I just want you so bad…”

He smirks, savoring your pleading tone. Then, he pushes his finger into you, the tightness making him stifle a groan, though it’s only the first third of his finger. “That’s what you want?” he coos.

“More, please, haa…”

He feels you clench around his thick finger, and the sensation is delicious for him. He slides a bit more of his finger in, pressing the pad against your cervix, causing your back to arch immediately. “How responsive.”

“Kento, please,” you whine, tears welling up in your eyes. Your tight pussy sucks on his finger so perfectly, so how will it handle his fat cock? Shivers run down his spine at the mere thought.

He starts slowly pumping his finger inside you, rubbing against your soft, gummy walls that make him want to devour you. “You’re so wet,” Kento comments, finger-fucking you tenderly, the slick sound evident. He suddenly pulls his finger out with a pop sound, despite your protests, and brings it to his mouth. His tongue wraps around it as he hums. “Tastes so good, sweetheart.”

Your face flushes completely, but you try to shake off the feeling by taking one of his free hands and bringing it to your chest, still covered by your bra. “I want you. Now.”

“You wanna take the lead?” he chuckles, planting light kisses on your inner thighs.

“After,” you murmur, unclasping your bra before sitting up to gently push Kento back onto the bed and straddle him. “I want to play with you a little, then we’ll see.” As you lower your hips, your dripping, naked cunt presses against the bulge in his pants, already swollen from his erection.

The effect on Nanami is immediate. He wastes no time grabbing your hips, holding them firmly to stop you from moving — risking him cumming in his pants.

“God, you’re perfect,” he praises, closing his eyes for a moment, a small crease forming between his brows. “Baby, fuck, I can’t even think straight—”

You cut him off with a deep kiss, your smaller, agile hands quickly undoing his shirt buttons. You can feel the throb of his dick beneath your cunt, with only his pants in the way — and your wetness soaking the fabric in the process.

You gently rub against him, forcing him to let out a sharp breath. His nails dig into your hips as you trail kisses down his chest, pressing a kiss to each of his abs.

“You want more, Kento?” Your voice turns just as teasing as your wandering hands that play with the blond hair above his groin. You move lower, grazing over the growing bulge in his pants, knowing it’s about to burst. “My mouth? My hands? Both?”

“Anything, sweetheart, as long as you touch me, please,” Kento breathes out, sucking in a sharp breath as you swiftly unzip his pants, kissing the length of his cock that now lies across his lower abdomen.

His balls look fuller and more obvious, even through the thin layer of his boxers, and the urge to squeeze them becomes overwhelming. You do, pressing lightly, the squishy sensation making you giggle, while Nanami finally lets out a groan.

“Please, haa, I’m close,” he pants, grabbing your wrists to stop you.

You pout, furrowing your brows. “I’m not done.”

Nanami slowly pulls down his boxers, his hands slightly trembling as he frees his thick, hard cock. “Now you can.”

Without hesitation, you wrap your hand around his length, gently stroking from the base to the tip. Your mischievous mouth moves to his balls, softly sucking on one, which makes you grin — they’re so soft and adorable. Kento’s precum leaks quickly, trickling between your grip and along his shaft, slicking it up.

You stroke him faster and harder until Nanami is reduced to incomprehensible babbling, and he warns you how close he is. “Baby, I’m cumming, I—”

His thick, abundant load spurts, coating your hands and dripping onto the balls you were sucking fervently. “You taste so sweet,” you mumble, licking up his cum while cleaning him at the same time.

His chest rises and falls rapidly, and as soon as he catches his breath, you move up over him again, aligning his still-hard cock beneath your dripping pussy.

“Wanna ride you,” you pout, begging him with your eyes. “Can I?”

“Of course, baby, take it easy, okay?” Kento murmurs, gripping your hips to help you lower onto him.

As the tip pushes inside you, you immediately tighten around him, encouraging him to fill you with his fat, aching cock. You moan loudly as he slides deeper, reaching so far inside you that you can feel him brushing against your womb, so perfectly and heavenly.

“Oh, God— Fuuuck, you feel so good, so perfect, attagirl,” Kento babbles, his lips parted in pleasure, but his eyes never leave yours, watching every wince and every sound you make.

He lets you adjust to him, gently spreading his legs to ensure that every inch he has is swallowed by your greedy cunt. You cry out as he reaches your deepest point.

“Ah, Kento, so fucking deep, so big, I’m so full,” you babble, tears welling up in your eyes once again. Your chest rises and falls uncontrollably, and even when you try to stabilize yourself, it’s hard to resist bouncing on his dick.

So that’s exactly what you do, lifting your hips easily thanks to the firm grasp he has on your soft sides, following the rhythm to gently bounce on him.

“That’s it, baby, you’re doing good,” Kento whispers, clenching his jaw to suppress his moans. “Fuck, just like that, tell me if you need more help.”

“Feels so good,” you squeal. "Please, help me a bit." You try to bounce on him a little faster, but it’s much harder than you expected.

The slapping sounds fill the room, and a steamy atmosphere settles in. You lean in closer as Kento helps you bounce up and down on his cock faster and deeper, his grunts and moans escaping. “Want me to fill you up, baby?”

You pick up the pace, your pussy greedily swallowing his length and tightening even more when you hear his words. You moan together, your desperate sounds mingling in the heat of the moment. Meeting Kento’s lust-filled gaze, you reply, “Yes, want to be full of your cum, please, Kento.”

“Anything for my good girl.”

He pulls you against him, taking control even though you’re on top. The scent of sex fills the room, signaling that both of your climaxes are nearing. With his powerful thrusts, he sinks deeper into you, relentlessly hitting your sweet spot, until you’re almost crying from the pleasure.

“I’m starting to get close, sweetheart,” Kento whispers into your ear, sending shivers down your spine as your walls tighten around him.

“M-Me too, want to cum on your cock, Ken,” you cry, biting down on his trapezius to stifle your sweet sounds.

“I’m gonna fill you up, okay?” Kento bucks his hips harder into you, the wet sounds getting louder and more steady. You nod and sniffle, tightening around him as you teeter on the edge of orgasm.

“Cummin’, ah!” Your pussy spasms around him just as he releases inside you, spurting thick drops deep into your womb. He groans, his hands gripping your hips even tighter, surely leaving marks that will appear tomorrow.

“Oh, you feel so good, my sweet girl.” Kento keeps thrusting into you, slower and more tenderly now, guiding both of you through your orgasms.

Warm, white ropes leak out of your walls as they milk every drop from him, both of you struggling to catch your breath.

“You’re perfect, my love,” Kento mutters into your neck, peppering your slightly damp skin with kisses.

“I love you,” you breathe, letting your body lay flat against his, unwilling to leave his embrace ever again.

─────────────────────

When you wake up, the daylight makes you squint, causing you to groan. You turn onto your side and suddenly open your eyes wide.

You’re no longer in the club bed, but in one that’s unfamiliar to you.

A few inches away, a masculine figure half-covered by white sheets is, in fact, Kento, who also begins to stir, his gaze immediately finding yours.

“Sweetheart.”

The nickname warms your heart.

And suddenly, you remember spending the rest of the evening with him, and when it came time to leave, you cried and protested, wanting to stay with him. How could he refuse such an adorable and sweet-hearted request?

“I want to live with you.”

Kento’s eyes widen, and he’s on the verge of choking on his own saliva. “What—”

“You heard me. I don’t want to leave you, please,” you insist, biting your lip. “I want to be your girlfriend, your partner, or even your wife.”

“Hey, easy.” He sits up and pulls you into his arms. “You might still be under the influence of the alcohol. Do you want me to take you back home—”

“No! Ken, I’m serious, please!”

Big, hot tears roll down your cheeks.

Why are you becoming so emotional and stubborn like a child? This childish behavior doesn’t suit the adult you are, and yet…

“Hey, hey, hey! Sweetheart, I understand, please, don’t cry,” Kento whispers, panicking, wrapping his powerful arms around you and pulling you close to him. “You’re really serious? Are you sure about what you’re saying?” He plants a series of sweet kisses along your jawline, sending shivers through you. His thumb wipes away your tears as he gently rocks you.

You nod, sniffling. “Yes, I love you, I realized it after we slept together,” you explain, your voice slightly hoarse. You clear your throat. “Do you… or…?”

“I love you,” Kento replies almost immediately. “I don’t know how it happened, but you’re adorable, stubborn, and an unmatched tease, but I love you, angel.” He pauses. So, you want to live with me?”

You nod. “Please.”

“I’ll give you whatever you want. I’ll never leave you, okay?”

You wipe away the remaining traces of tears and gently kiss Kento’s lips, a smile forming as you notice his hair tousled from sleep. “Love ya.”

“I love you too, baby.”

A moment of silence follows, where you both settle into the warmth and comfort of each other until Nanami decides to break the peaceful quiet. “Are you hungry? We can have breakfast together if you want,” he suggests, a soft, tender smile appearing on his face, sending butterflies fluttering in your stomach — and even lower — when you see a faint blush tinting his cheeks.

What a perfect husband he’ll make.

“I know how to make pancakes.” You smile proudly.

“Pancakes it is.”

a/n: i want to write more nanami fics if you guys have any idea around him being older pls ask me in my inbox!! also i’m so sorry if my writing sucks actually i’m so exhausted rn and i’m on my period (cramps hurt so bad) 😭

edit: i was writing this last week so yeah, basically i’m also sick this weak and i lost my voice... can you believe me? 💀

tags: @ssetsuka @zara-zara11 @bearwithmoo @elliesndg @lymsfm @mutsu422 @whathappenedtobees @drippymcdrippison @koshhin

also check comments!! there’s people i can’t tag so i do it in comments :) if you want to be added in the tag list, let me know here.

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braxiatel · 8 months ago

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Being a mumscarian shipper and trying to imagine domestic fluff for them in this early season 10 day and age is hilarious because their living options are

1) Grian’s starter base that has an exterior but no interior living space

2) Scar’s train that technically has an interior but would only loosely count as an enclosed structure if you are really into sleeping under the stars and/or exhibitionism

3) Mumbo’s mothball which technically has both a solid and sturdy exterior and an interior with a bed, but which does require anyone trying to enter to literally die

#my boys are so functional and normal #they fucked in that secret cramped chest compartment on the train #because honestly it’s the best option they’ve got at this point #suggestive #hermitcraft #hermitshipping #mumscarian #mumbo jumbo #GoodTimesWithScar #Grian #the void collection

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jasspainting · 8 months ago

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Eco-Friendly Paints and Tips for Painting Your Office

Eco-friendly paints emit fewer harmful fumes, leading to better indoor air quality and reducing the risk of respiratory problems. Jass Painting Services one of the best painting services in Melbourne. Call at - 0401890000.

Visit at - https://www.jasspaintingservices.com.au/commercial-painting-in-mornington-peninsula/

#domestic painting #Commercial Painting Services #Eco-Friendly Paint #Office Painting #Painting Services Melbourne #Best Painters in Melbourne #Interior Painting #Exterior Painting #roof painting

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elflutter · 2 months ago

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— salvation logan howlett x chubby!reader | ao3 | part two

synopsis:

“Like what you see, old man?” Your voice comes out more breathy than intended, eyes sparkling as you goad Logan just a little. “You fuckin’ know I do, princess.” Logan presses his nose to your hair, inhaling your scent like he wants it to mark his soul. “Mmm, I think I could use a little refresher.” Your grin is coy as you ask him to worship your body like an altar.

notes: explicit (minors dni), worst!wolverine, fem!reader, body worship, oral sex, established relationship, domestic fluff, porn with feelings

word count: 1.6k

You hear shuffling footsteps behind you over the rush of water from where you stand at the sink, giving the plates a quick rinse before gingerly placing them in the dishwasher. That was a perk of your boyfriend having a skeleton made of adamantium—he can’t even try to sneak up on you. It was Logan’s turn to cook tonight, which meant it was your turn to do the dishes. You don’t find any particular delight in washing the damp residue off the porcelain dishes. But you are more than willing to exchange this chore for the opportunity to ogle a shirtless Logan in his plaid pajama pants and dorky apron while he made you dinner. You would never have guessed that Wade’s gruff, violent new roommate would make such a damn good stir-fry. You cherished the memory of his gorgeous biceps as he chopped your favorite veggies—shamelessly wearing the Kiss the Cook apron you got him on Valentine’s Day. He had even winked at you. Winked! He was probably able to smell your arousal from where you sat on the couch, pretending to watch the news when really, you were watching him.

Thoughts drifting back to the present, you feel your lips curl up in a smirk. If he wants to be a little tease, you are more than happy to return the favor. You know exactly what these pajama shorts do to your man. Sometimes shorts that would be passable on someone with a smaller butt are downright indecent on you—not that you mind, when you only wear them around the apartment anyways. This pair are short and loose enough that the plump curve of your ass is on full display when you bend down to put the plates in the dishwasher.

You hear Logan's barely stifled grunt as you linger, bent in half longer than strictly necessary. After you had spent so many years pushing down insecurity about your body, you feel warmth well in your chest at showing off your plump figure to Logan in this way. You know he likes it. But that doesn’t make it any less delicious every time he tells you so.

In the beginning, you were downright surprised when he was interested in you. You knew you were beautiful, from your tummy, to your luscious thighs, to your more than generous ass. And from the first time you met him, you felt an undeniable pull towards Logan’s hardened physique, so different from the softness of your own. It wasn’t that you weren’t confident in your attractiveness. You had already won that battle with your body before meeting your Wolverine. It’s just that—with men who look like Logan—you have to keep yourself guarded. There are a lot of fucked up ideas about what makes a woman pretty, and a lot of the time, guys who look like Logan ascribe to them. But, once Logan had sniffed out your interest in him (with a little help from Wade), he made his feelings towards you abundantly clear. And you quickly discovered that beneath his gruff exterior is a delightful gentleman with a filthy mouth. Tonight, you plan on putting that mouth to extremely good use.

You arch your back as you stand up, and Logan is right behind you, calloused hands finding your hips like they have a hundred times before. You can feel the heat radiating off his body, the ghost of his breath against your skin. Warmth is already rushing to your stomach and lower.

“Y’know what you’re doin’ to me, sweetheart?” Logan’s voice is a rough, low growl in your ear. You look over your shoulder at him, a wicked grin painted across your lips.

“You like what you see, old man?” Your voice comes out more breathy than intended, eyes sparkling as you goad Logan just a little.

“You fuckin’ know I do, princess.” Logan presses his nose to your hair, inhaling your scent like he wants it to mark his soul. One of Logan’s hands moves from your waist to rest on the countertop by the sink. You wiggle your hips just a little, feeling Logan’s delightful bulge against your ass.

You turn around in his arms, back pressed against the counter as Logan’s presence locks you in. He doesn’t use his strength. He doesn’t need to. Your pull towards him is magnetic, and wherever he wants you is where you want to be. He is careful never to rest the full weight of his frame on you, body hovering a hair’s breadth above your own. Your hand finds his neck in a gentle caress, moving up to tangle in his hair. His hazel eyes simmer with desire as they meet yours.

“Mmm, I think I could use a little refresher.”

Your grin is coy as you ask him to worship your body like an altar. In an instant, Logan’s lips find yours in a searing kiss. His hands cup your ass, lifting you up as you wrap your legs around his hips to steady yourself. You fucking love how he picks you up like you weigh nothing. You love your curves and your tummy, but they also meant that none of your past partners could carry you into bed like Logan can. This man might just have ruined you for anybody else, with his super-strength, and his gruff charisma, and his deceptively generous spirit.

Logan loves the way his fingers sink into your supple flesh just a little as he carries you into your shared bedroom. He lays you gingerly on the bed, soft sheets enveloping every gorgeous curve. His cock is already leaking pre-cum in his pants. He would be embarrassed, but he can smell how badly you need this too.

I think I could use a little refresher.

Well, you’ll get a fuckin’ refresher, Logan thinks to himself as he runs his hands along your body, following every blooming swell and valley. He has seen beauty standards come and go during his long life, but he can’t help but think your body is the most delectable he’s ever had the pleasure of laying his eyes on. He feasts upon the sight of you splayed beneath him, breasts rising and falling in anticipation, nipples peaked through your little tank top. Your body looks like something from myth. He takes one between his fingers and pinches softly. You let out a tiny, needy whimper. “Look like you belong in a damn painting, sweetheart.” His words are a low rasp in the charged air between you. “Like the fuckin’ Renaissance.”

Logan positions himself towards the bottom of the bed, hands resting on either side of your legs. His lip caress your ankle, leaving trails of electricity with every touch. He kissed his way up one leg, stopping just before reaching the apex of your thighs to kiss his way down the other. His lips brush along the curve of your calf, featherlight fingers caressing from your knee to your ankle with a reverence that steals your breath.

“Gorgeous fuckin’ legs,” Logan grunts. You can feel his words on your skin, his breath sending shivers up your legs and to your core. His hands sweep up to grab at your thighs, and you are already bucking your hips up into nothing, desperate for his touch. His name falls from your lips in a plea, and his eyes meet yours.

“These thighs’ll be the death of me, sweet girl. Can’t wait to feel ‘em crushin’ my head.”

Logan’s lips finally trace their way back up to where you need them most, his nose knocking against your clothed slit as he savors the heady scent of your arousal through your sleep-shorts.

“Let’s get these off ya, yeah?” His voice vibrates against you as you arch your back into him.

You nod desperately, and that’s all the confirmation he needs before he’s slipping you out of your shorts and panties. Your bottoms are discarded on the floor, and Logan settles once again between your thighs.

“Smells so fuckin’ good for me, baby.” Desire pulls tight in your abdomen before he finally nuzzles into your pussy, lips puffy and ready for him. His gaze is heavy-lidded as it meets your own, his tongue darting out to lick a teasing circle around your clit. Your hands tangle in his hair, spurring him on, and his tongue finally laves a long, languid stroke up your slit. He stays like that for some time, head buried in your cunt. He feels your lush thighs press into him. Fucking you with just his tongue, chasing your pleasure. He moans as he laps at your arousal. You taste like divinity, like the nectar of the gods is pouring into his mouth. Suddenly it is not adamantium in his bones, but golden ichor in his veins as he hears you cry out beneath him. You come undone on his tongue, and he feels you flutter so sweetly beneath him.

He was never a religious man. But then he met you. The first time he kissed you was a benediction. The first time he tasted you was paradise. If you were Eden in that moment, he would have taken the apple in a heartbeat. You were his salvation after years alone. You were his light at the end of the tunnel.

You stroke his hair, pulling him back to the present. You haven’t even touched him yet, but he can feel himself leaking in his pajama pants. Your breath comes out in ragged pants. You let out a blissful laugh as Logan continues his careful caress of your body, his dripping mouth pressing kisses to your soft belly.

“You’re perfect, Lo.”

He chuckles against your skin before climbing up to straddle your hips. “No, babydoll. You are.”

a/n: wahhh thank you so much for reading! this is my first fic for logan!! but there will be more please let me know what you thought!! i planned to make this a longer one-parter, but i needed to get eyes on this and honestly it felt like a natural ending point for this part! don't worry they're going to fuck in part two xx

i also didn't proofread this as thoroughly as normal bc im extremely tired HAHA, let me know if there are any typos! (edit: i caught several grammatical errors while posting this on ao3, so i've updated this to fix them! please let me know if you see any more)

ty saradika-graphics for the lovely dividers!

#wolverine x fem!reader #logan howlett x fem!reader #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett smut #wolverine smut #wolverine x you #worst wolverine x reader #deadpool and wolverine #wolverine fanfiction #logan howlett fanfiction #wolverine #logan howlett #my work #logan x reader #wolverine x reader #.5k

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