harlekin6

[harlekin6]

Still the coolest and cutest detail!! 😱♥️♥️♥️ @shrampi

My second (and last) post on possible Vampire Knight couples. This one is more of a what-if/could-have-been.

In one chapter, Hanabusa and Takuma are talking about Takuma being alone. Then Takuma mentions in passing that he had an arranged marriage before:

The arrangement was by his deceased grandfather, so it’s understandable that it fell to the wayside. However, Takuma also gives us some hints, both verbal and in his thought boxes:

The previously arranged partner who is happy with his “irreplaceable friend”? It’s pretty clear who it is if you look in the last panel, where he overlooks Yuki talking to Sayori in the distance.

And finally, in a previous chapter, Sayori’s father narrates:

So the arrangement had been between Takuma and Sayori! This puts some things in new light, such as the fact that Sayori’s dad had knowingly arranged a marriage for her with a vampire?! Also, this comment which was previously just teasing Hanabusa:

[harlekin6]

not pictured: gojo and geto fighting over who gets to wear the nurse outfit [strwpg anon request]

[harlekin6]

Gaaahhh i was looking for this fic everywhere! Finally found it again♥️

We Can Be Louder

Summary: When staying in a hotel, a couple next door is a little too loud— but you and Nanami can be louder.

Characters: Nanami Kento x AFAB!Reader

Warnings: hotel smut, unprotected sex, loud, vocal, moans, dirty talk, p in v, creampie, language

Word Count: 1.9K

A/N: I have a mighty need to grope Nanami’s butt rawr! 💚💚💚

“Ooooooh God,” a high pitched voice rang from the hotel room right next to you. “Oh God, baby fuck.” Your eyes widened as you turned your head to look back at the wall behind you. The sound of their bed slamming against the wall was almost deafening and powerful enough to cause your own bed to shake.

The sound of their phony moans made your nose turn up in sympathy for the girl and embarrassment from how loud they were. Nanami sat beside you in bed, placing his book down as the moans grew louder. From the whimpers and grunts, you had an inkling that this was not going to last long for them. Your best guess was that it was a young college couple; maybe it was their first time, or they weren't as experienced. Your hypothesis was all focused on the girl who was practically moaning like a porn star. It's wholly fake and unnatural.

“She’s faking it,” You announced to Kento as you took a sip of your wine, “and the poor guy has no idea that she is.” Nanami chuckled, furrowing his eyebrows as he placed his bookmark in place, turning to watch you closely. “I bet you twenty bucks he doesn't last longer than five minutes.”

“Oh, Love,” Nanami chuckled deeply, the sound igniting a fire inside you. “It's going to end way faster than that.”

“Oooh, my goodness, Ken, what makes you say that?”

“Nngh!” the stranger next door shouted as the bed started creaking again. “D-Don’t squeeze so t-tight!”

The corner of Nanami’s mouth twitched as he fought against a grin. “That right there speaks volumes.”

You found yourself unable to focus on your book, more intrigued by the young couple next door. You kept stealing glances at the wall, listening in on their not-so-quiet conversation. The girl kept screaming, ‘Oh my God, ’ while her companion kept asking questions like, ‘Oh yeah?’ and ‘You like that baby?’ It was quite entertaining. They both were inexperienced, unsure of what to say in bed, only having porn or books to use as a reference as to what sex would be like. They were mixing fiction into reality.

The bed pounding got faster and louder. “Oh,” you laughed, “he’s gonna finish soon.” Nanami laughed as you fist pumped in the air to the sound of the bed frame being slammed into the wall.

“I’m gonna-” the young man shouted, “I’m gonna blow my load!” You choked on your wine at his declaration, the alcohol coming out of your nose. “Oooooooh fuck!!!” You covered your mouth, coughing roughly as the man moaned loudly. It wasn’t short after that the girl gave a very poor performance of her own orgasm. Apparently, she didn’t want him to feel bad that she hadn’t finished with him. The moans that had barely started died down, leaving you and Nanami staring at the wall with sympathy. Glancing down at your watch, you grinned, holding it out for Nanami to see. “Five minutes on the spot.”

He shook his head, laughing slightly, “Pretty good for a first time; I can’t tell you how long I lasted my first time.” He grabbed his glass of wine and drank before running his tongue over his lips. “I’m relatively certain the girl I was with just laid there awkwardly.”

“Yeah,” you turned on your side, looking up at him, “my first time was at this guy's house. I was so excited to do it finally.” You held your fist, putting a single finger up as you spoke. “There was hardly any kissing, we undressed ourselves, no foreplay, he got on top, and it was over in literally one minute.”

“This is the part where you tell me you’re kidding me, right?”

“Nope, one minute was all I got. Hell, I didn’t have my first real orgasm until I was twenty-two.”

“Well, that’s unfair,” he put his book down on the nightstand. “what do you say we make up for that first time?” You giggled, grinning ear to ear as Nanami undid the buttons on his shirt. “I’ll make sure to give you the best orgasm you’ve ever had. Make up for the ones you’ve had to fake all those years ago.”

You lay flat on your back as Nanami removed his shirt, dropping it to the ground. Slowly, he crawled on top of you, looking at you as if you were his prey. There was a dark and needy gleam in his eyes that caused your breath to catch in your throat. You knew right there that it would be a long, sweaty night with him. He began running his long fingers underneath your nightgown. He slowly pushed the silky fabric up, bunching it at your hips. His lips slowly pressed kisses along the inside of your thighs as you ran your finger through his hair, tugging it softly.

A growl that was full of desire escaped his lips as he tugged the nightgown off all the way, throwing it across the room. Before you knew it, he was pulling his pajama pants off, exposing his hardened erection. Licking your lips, you spread your legs open, giving him a better view of your body that he loved. His eyes wandered down, taking you all in, inch by inch, before he grabbed both your legs, putting them over his shoulders. Your mouth suddenly went dry as the head of his cock brushed against your opening.

“God, you’re soaking wet.” He whispered, rocking his hips slowly, the swollen head of his throbbing cock brushed gently against your clit. “I need you. I need to make up for the first time.” Rolling your eyes, you rocked back against him, moaning at the pleasurable sensations rushing through your pussy.

“Nanami, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, so yes, every time we have sex, it’s better than my first time.” You dangled your feet over his shoulders, the head of his cock pressed firmly against your opening. “So what do you say? You stop teasing me and fuck me already. Let’s show these college kids how it’s done.”

He chuckled before kissing you deeply and pressing his forehead against yours. “You don’t have to tell me twice.” Slowly he pushed into you, his cock slipping past your slick folds, stretching your walls. The sensation left you moaning loudly as you gripped the sheets underneath you. You squeezed around his cock, taking all of him inside of you as he pressed against your cervix. “Fuck Love,” he groaned, nipping at your lip, “no matter how many times we do this, I’ll never get over how good you feel.” As soon as he was entirely inside of you, his body relaxed. The two of you relished in the feeling of each other's skin.

His hands traced over your body, his hands groping your breasts before sliding down and running down the curves of your body. You mirrored his actions, trailing your hands down his bare and muscular back. Your nails grazed him softly before meeting the fat of his ass. It was at this moment that he pulled out of you, looking into your eyes before he plunged back into you. You cried out, your head falling against the pillows, and your lips parted. His thrusts left your eyes watering at the intense sensation. Nanami hissed, repeating the action several times, each thrust harder than the previous one. The intensity of the rhythm had sweat beading against his neck and over his chest as sweat ran down your own collarbone, trailing over the swells of your breasts.

Your hands grope his ass, allowing you to feel it flex with each thrust in and out of your tight wet pussy. With each push of his hips, the bed slams into the wall behind you. With each thrust that was angeled right against your g-spot, you screamed. As your screams increased in volume, Kento slammed his lips against yours as you cried out in pleasure, shouting his name to the heavens. You wanted everyone in the hotel to know who was fucking you this good. Who was exploring and ravishing your body, treating you like a goddess. When you were with Nanami, it was like experiencing heaven on earth. It was so surreal and so perfect.

The bed slammed harder into the wall as Nanami’s grunts and growls of pleasure grew louder. Your name was like a curse on his lips; it came out like a hiss, a groan, and a gasp. His name escaped your lips like a prayer as you begged him to make you feel good.

“Nanami! Oh fuck Kento!” He stared down at you, smirking at your moans. “Fuck me, baby! Fuck me harder!” He captured your lips against his, his hips hauling harder as he lifted one of your legs in the air. “Oh my God!” you cried out, your eyes rolling back as his cock slammed into your cervix.

“You like that, Love? You like my cock buried deep inside of you?”

‘Y-Yes Ken!” You cried out, digging your fingers into the skin of his arms, “I love it! I love it when you fuck me!”

“That’s my girl,” you clenched harder around him. “Oh darling, are you going to cum already? Cum all over my thick hard cock?” The pleasure inside began to tighten along with the coil in your lower abdomen. Nanami reached down, rubbing your clit as he continued to thrust. Your inner walls throbbed around him as the tightening coil within you threatened to snap at any given second. “Don’t hold back, cum for me, Love, cum for me.” Another brush against your clit had the coil in your abdomen snapped, sending you over the edge.

“Kento!!” You screamed, your walls clenching down around his cock. They fluttered as the immense pleasure rushed through you. Causing your body to wither and jerk underneath him, nails digging into his skin as you came. “Oh my God!”

“Love, fuck nngh!!” He grunted, hips stilling as he came deep within you. You shuddered, mouth falling agape as you felt hot spurts of cum coat your walls. “Oh fuck!” Kento let your leg go before he collapsed on top of you. His chest heaved as he pressed kisses along your shoulder before burying his face against your skin, remaining there.

As he lay on top of you, mumbling how much he loved you, you couldn’t help but smile. Glancing down at your left ring finger, you giggled happily. The ring glimmered in the low lights of the hotel suite. Only two days into your honeymoon, it has been amazing so far. It was a reminder that this was how the rest of your life would be. You and Nanami in bed together, going on trips, loving your loves to the fullest.

“Say, Mrs. Nanami?” Nanami grumbled, lifting his head to look at you. You pushed some hair out of his face, pressing your lips together.

“Yes, Mr. Nanami?”

“Let’s put our books away for the rest of tonight; I would much rather spend the night here inside of you.” He trailed his calloused fingers over your sensitive skin. His request fluttered your heart as you kissed his forehead, nodding in response to his question. “Good, let’s see how long it’ll take for the couple next door to regret getting the room next to the honeymoon suite~.”

Forever Tag List:

@darkstarlight82 @pandoness @nealeart @simp-plague @sugurubabe @chilichopsticks @reap3erslov3 @wil10wthetree

[harlekin6]

She's helping

[harlekin6]

Looking for a Nanami Kento x Reader fanfic

Hello guys~ Im in desperate help of the umited fandom again, since i don't find a fanfiction im looking for again. You guys are my hope🙏♥️

Its a Nanami Kento x reader fanfiction, where they both in bed as the neighbour has bad sex in the flat/room next door. Poor girl has to fake it. In the end Ken and reader show them.how sex is probably done🙈♥️ maybeee anybody knows the title or author♥️ thaaaaank youuuu

[harlekin6]

Blue Umbrella

Pairing: Kento Nanami x Reader

Summary: The first time Nanami notices you.

w/c: 2.8k

a/n: This is my first ever x reader fic so I'm super nervous!! I do really like the vibe I went for so please let me know if you'd want more of this reader with Nanami.

Any feedback is welcomed! Enjoy!!

Ao3 | M.List

!Warnings!: mentions of death, dead bodies and arranged marriages.

⋆.ೃ࿔⛈ ˖*༄

It was never a question if humans were meant to die. 

Death is one of the many truths of the universe. To the very planet we know. But there are some truths that the men of our era spend their lives putting aside. A truth so simple even a mere child could understand, a truth that truly made the world go round.

Life repeats and nature evolves. 

Nanami Kento knew these fundamentals well, just as others in his line of work did. There was no wondering if or how he died, it was a matter of when . He saw firsthand how the scales of power shift. 

Of how quickly a man could become something akin to a god.

Or something more monstrous.

Nanami didn't want power. He didn't want anything really. Nanami was simply doing what he could, and that meant returning to the world that broke every part of his soul. A job that demanded more than just his time and effort. 

Returning back to the world of sorcerers wasn't easy after spending his time running from it. The higher ups and his colleagues brought him back to his teen years, the years he spent countless hours at his dead end salary job trying to forget.

He was on the verge of regretting coming back. “What is the purpose of the small good I can do?” he’d often ask himself as he went from mission to mission. It still felt better than what he was doing after he left Jujutsu Tech.

The bleakness of both jobs seemed to stay with him regardless of feeling a bit better about his role in the world. After work, what did he have besides an empty apartment and friends that nearly die every time they clock in?

Something changed the first summer after switching jobs again. Something- no, someone had finally caught his attention.

He remembers it clearly, a hot rainy day where water rolled down the many steps to the entrance of Jujutsu High. Nanami had just come back from a mission, ready to give a quick report and head home exactly on his schedule.

Instead, he faltered, catching a glimpse of you.

You were standing in the rain with Gojo at your side. Nanami had never seen Gojo look so cautious around a person before, but he stood there, hands clenching and unclenching at his side, blue eyes trained on you as you looked up to the cloudy sky. 

The hot sticky rain was hitting your face, slowly running from the top of your head, to your cheeks and then framing your jaw. To others it would seem quite strange, but to Nanami it seemed like you needed this. Like nature herself was grounding you.

Nanami couldn't move. His muscles locked mid step, just his left leg on the upper stair as he watched the scene before him. You looked familiar in a way, but he couldn't put his finger on it. Perhaps you were the embodiment of life and death. Gentle yet a slow killing poison. He couldn't place you in his memories yet he felt as if he knew you.

He wanted to know you.

Forcing himself to come back to his senses, he shakes off some water from his hair and starts his journey back up. That's when he hears your voice, gentle yet stern.

“I’ll run a cursed blade through my heart before I’d ever listen to them and marry you.”

Gojo gave a small laugh, shoving his hands into his pockets looking at the sky with you. “I wouldn't expect anything less from you, Y/N Kiyomi.” He muses before dropping his tone to something deeper, curious. “What do they have on you to ask for such a thing?”

“Have? They have my life, Satoru, just as they have yours.” Your answer came easily. Just as you open your mouth to speak more, you catch Nanami's tall figure making its way up the stairs. Clearing your throat, you look down to your feet as Gojo spots him, waving the serious looking man over. 

“Nanami! You’re going to make the ladies go mad with your wet shirt clinging to you like that.” Gojo teases, throwing an arm over the man's shoulders before he could protest. Throwing him off casually, Nanami keeps his eyes trained firmly on you, his glasses off in his hand so he could see without the rain drops blurring his vision. 

“Have we met before?” Nanami asks you  bluntly but of course it's Gojo who answers. 

“Whaaat? You're telling me you don't remember the Jujutsu techs resident cry baby?” Gojo grins, bringing his arm around Nanami once more to whisper in his ear. “I suppose Y/N is all grown up now. They really….filled out.” 

Without looking, you hard launch a rock to hit Gojo right between the eyes.

“Ignore him, he's a fool.” You rush to say, puffing out your cheeks in mild embarrassment. Nanami feels something tighten in his chest as he nods, stepping away from Gojo who's now complaining about the attack that didn't even hurt him. 

He steps closer, looking down at you. You watch as his jaw clenched, hands tightening around his glasses, the rain drops sliding down his cheeks to his perfect jawline. “Forgive me for not remembering you.” He nearly whispers. “You’re one of Shoko's' friends, yes?”

You nod your head, a shy smile taking place instead of the somber feeling you oozed earlier. “No, no it's okay, Mr. Nanami. I was a year below you, then you left not long after I came to the school.”  Pausing you look to the side, a little sheepish. “ And yes, I work closely with Shoko.”

“I see.” So they were here when I ran away, Nanami thinks as he takes in the shape of you. You stand there with a certain air about you. Like you know your place in the world well, that you've accepted how the course of your life will go.

I’ll run a curse blade through my heart before I’d ever listen to them and marry you.

Your words come back to his mind, and he quickly re-evaluates his last thought. Perhaps you've accepted your place, but it seems you have yet to stop fighting for what you want. 

“Did you not have an umbrella?” You ask him, before digging into your bag and handing him a blue folded one. Nanami raises a brow, looking at the dry umbrella to the soaked clothes clinging to your skin.

“I don't usually carry one.” Nanami answers. “Did you forget yours was in your bag?”

“No, I love the rain.” You lean up, whispering like it's some sort of secret. Nanami's mind nearly blanks at how close you are and how good you suddenly smell. “Take it, Mr. Nanami. For next time.” You say, grabbing his arm to turn his palm to the sky to set the umbrella in his hand.

Nanami opens his mouth to protest on taking your property but you're already moving down the steps as a sleek black car pulls up. A man in traditional clothing comes out to open the door for you, bowing slightly. You nod to the man, then look back to Nanami and Gojo.

With a small wave, the door slams shut and you're gone, leaving only an umbrella and a few past memories Nanami couldn’t remember behind.

“Oh boy! Do I smell love in the air?” Gojo laughs, pushing his glasses up his nose bridge. Nanami does not dignify him with an answer, simply opening the umbrella and walking to finish his work day. Of course, Gojo tags along smiling like a Cheshire cat. 

“She simply caught my eye.” Nanami says when they make it back inside. Gojo simply pats his back, before turning to run off to do God knows what. 

⋆.ೃ࿔⛈ ݁ ˖*༄    

That simple boring conversation with Nanami stayed tucked neatly in the back of your mind as the June weeks slowly passed to July ones. There was nothing special about the words exchanged between the two of you. No new revelations, no love at first sight. 

Yet you couldn't get that look on his face out of your mind. 

You stayed busy regardless of your clouded thoughts as there were plenty of things to be done on the Kiyomi Estate.

Unlike the Zenin's or the Gojo's, the Kiyomi’s were more of a laid-back family when it came to certain things. There was no power struggle, no money issues, only set expectations everyone with a drop of Kiyomi blood was expected to follow. 

The Kiyomi’s respected the course of nature. The soft and warm, the sick and deadly. The elders were not afraid of the new generations to come. There wasn't a word spoken of the new age, it was a known fact deep in their souls. 

For the world always changes when things become too comfortable. Nature always evolves, and humans always die. 

“Y/N!”

You look up from the hole you were digging, dirt collecting on your clothes and staining your hands. A young teen boy comes your way, Megumi with his familiar deadpan look on his face carrying a plastic bag. He’s Satoru’s ward, a project of sorts that Satoru loves to tell you about. Soon he will be a first year at Jujutsu Tech, meaning your days of doing Satoru’s job of caring for the boy are coming to an end.

Smiling as the young teenager approached, you dust your hands off on your pants, rising to greet him. “Megumi, what brings you here?” You ask, watching as Megumi makes it to you, sighing at your question. He steps closer, halting at the sight of the six-foot hole before flicking his gaze back up to you.

“Stupid Gojo told me to bring these souvenirs to you from his mission” Megumi explains, handing off the bag while side eyeing the hole. Or perhaps the corpse that lies close to the hole and unplanted flowers. 

“Of course he did.” You smile, taking the bag and looking inside at an array of sweets. “He really shouldn't waste his money on such things.” 

“I doubt he even checks prices before swiping.” Megumi huffs, crossing his arms. His eyes fall to the corpse again, but you pretend not to notice. The man looked to be older, semi decayed and clearly ready for a proper burial. Whatever got to him and ended his life did it brutally, given the stitches holding certain parts back together.

“Who's that?”

“A criminal who was brought to justice.” You explain without hesitation, setting the bag down before glancing to the body. “Unclaimed body from the morgues. Shoko suspects he was a curse user. I am returning him to nature so that he may come back as something better.”

Megumi takes a moment to absorb the words you tell him before nodding. It's nothing new when it comes to the Kiyomi's. Every flower patch here is someone who has lived a life before. From unclaimed criminals, to sorcerers who’ve met their fate, their bodies rest here when no one else takes them.

Whatever can be salvaged of them at least.

For a brief moment you wonder if you should make the young boy go inside to not see this, but you know his future work will show him much worse things. Inside you hope you'll be dead before his body comes here to rest.

Megumi moves to the hole, grabbing one of the shovels to help dig before you can ask what he’s doing. You smile at his kind offer to help, and fall into quick work of burying the man. After the corpse is buried and flowers are planted on top, he takes his leave without a single word.

Your next distraction comes in the form of Nanami himself, though this time it was not the thought of him. He's in the garden, walking with his suit jacket tucked neatly in his arm as the clan leader, your grandfather, rambles to him about the Kiyomi ways. 

Finishing the last flower in the arrangement on top of the criminal's final resting place, you stand to make your way to greet them. Bowing as they approach, your grandfather lets out a joyful laugh, echoing throughout the land.

“This here is my lovely grandchild Y/N. Do forgive her appearance, they work hard in these fields putting the dead to rest.” He says happily, waving his wrinkled hands in front of his face.

Nanami nods, before bowing to you slightly. “Forgive my interruption. I came here to ask some questions about the curse user you've just laid to rest.”

“What sort of things would I know?” You ask, watching paint as he stands straight up and fiddles with his tie. Nanami clears his throat before glancing at your grandfather who's taking notes on the flowers nearby instead of listening to the conversation.

“The man's cursed energy, I was told by Shoko that it seemed off. I'm afraid he may..well you know..” He looks back to you, making sure to make direct eye contact as he pulls your blue umbrellas from his arms, handing it back to you. 

“And I wanted to return this.” Nanami says, watching every move you make. You feel the urge to smile, but hold it back to instead nod, taking the umbrella gingerly from his large hands. Your fingers brush and it's like you were suddenly set on fire. 

“Thank you, Mr. Nanami, but I could have sworn I meant for you to keep this.”

“Perhaps I wanted to see you.” He retorts back, making your cheeks warm slightly.

Your grandfather stiffens up, looking between the two of you with a knowing smile. Fighting the urge to roll your eyes, you clear your throat pointedly to the old man. “Oh! Well, look at the time, I've got to head back inside to work.” he says cheerily, leaving you both on the garden path. 

Turning on your heel, you gesture for Nanami to walk with you. Instantly he falls right into step at your side, like there was nowhere else for him to be. “You didn't have to go through all the trouble. How did you even find me?”

Nanami hums, pushing his dress shirt sleeves up slightly and adjusting the jacket in his arms. “The Kiyomi estate isn't hard to find…..and I asked Shoko.” Nanami tells you, looking at the many flowers instead of you. 

You giggle in response, grinning as you look at the side of his face. 

“Why are you here, Mr. Nanami? Surely, you're aware of the gossip in jujutsu society right now.”

“I'm well aware you’re on the cusp of an engagement to that idiot.” Nanami tells you bluntly, stopping in his tracks. You follow along, letting him step to face you. “I dislike the higher ups and the clans who force such things. No, I actually hate them. I hate all sorcerers too.”

Pausing for a moment to find the right words, Nanami runs his hand on his jaw before looking you in the eyes. Even through his tinted glasses, you could see it clearly. The bit of nerves, the longing to be understood. The acceptance of what this world is.

“I didn't come back to be their dog. I came back to do what little good I can. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I feel you are the same way.” 

Humming in thought, you put your hands behind your back and look up to the sky. Closing your eyes at the feel of the summer breeze, you let this wonderfully complex man sit in silence. 

“My job, Mr. Nanami, isn’t to kill curses. As a Kiyomi, I am here to bring a balance to this world. A new age is coming, and I fully intend to protect the generations to come. To plant trees and flowers that I’ll never come to see.” You speak, before cutting yourself off with a small sigh, looking back at Nanami. “I don't play by sorcerer rules. I'm not that kind of person, and I'll never be.”

Nanami nods, swallowing roughly. “You’ll plant flowers at my grave then?”

“No. You will become a wonderful tree. A protector from the sun and harsh rain. A provider, something solid, long lasting.” 

He reaches out for your hand, hesitant to touch. You're almost worried he'd be put off by the dirt and calluses that were on your skin. Nanami simply brushed the mess, before bringing your hand to his lips for a soft gentle kiss against your skin.

“Miss Y/N, would you join me for dinner this Saturday?”

A pretty smile graces your lips, then slowly turns to a teasing grin. “Only if you bring an umbrella. I hear it's forecast to rain.” 

Nanami grins, letting your hand go. “I'm starting to like the rain.”

⋆.ೃ࿔⛈ ˖*༄

[harlekin6]

Omg They are adding little charm thighys to Marvel Rivals

OMG, THIS IS THE BEST THING EVER!!! Alpineee!❤️

[harlekin6]

His eyes in the last gif....i love those eyes🙈✨️

#Not a single thought behind those eyes

[harlekin6]

SEBASTIAN STAN as BUCKY BARNES Captain America: Civil War THUNDERBOLTS*

[harlekin6]

♥️♥️♥️♥️gahhhhhhhh i need more pleaseèe

you think you’ve seen every version of nanami kento.

you’ve seen him tired, in the glow of the bathroom light, rubbing his face with one hand and brushing his teeth with the other.

you’ve seen him angry, voice low and calm and cutting.

you’ve seen him unguarded and soft and flushed pink under you, so in love it aches to look at him.

but you’ve never seen him like this.

his shoulders are relaxed, and not the kind of relaxed you’re used to — not the slow unwinding that comes when you’re both tucked away in the safety of your shared home. no, this is different. there’s something in the way he carries himself now, standing at the edge of his grandfather’s garden outside of copenhagen, speaking in low, fluent danish to a man who looks so much like him — taller, older, gruffer, but with the same nose, the same quiet strength behind his gaze.

you’re still holding the wine glass someone handed you. barely. your fingers are numb with surprise.

you didn’t even realize he knew danish. he never said, never even hinted.

and god, it’s like hearing him for the first time.

his voice, always so deliberate, so gentle in japanese — in danish, it’s something else. it’s soft, still, but there’s an ease to it, a rhythm, like it’s the language of his bones. like he learned it curled into his mother’s lap, or at the knees of the grandfather who just clapped a broad, affectionate hand on his shoulder.

he laughs. you’ve never heard him laugh like that. not even once.

“du stirrer,” comes a voice near you — a soft, amused one. his aunt, maybe? cousin? you’re too busy staring to remember the polite thing to do and answer. she is shaking her head at the sight of nanami’s grandfather ruffling his hair whilst he tries to dodge his hand. “you’re the girlfriend, right?”

you blink. “yes— sorry, i didn’t mean to stare—”

“it’s alright,” she says, smiling. “we don’t see him like this often either. not since he was a boy.”

you nod slowly, but it doesn’t help ground you. something in your chest is still flipping, turning over itself again and again. watching him. hearing the way he slips between languages like second skin. watching the subtle shift in his face — like this is a part of him you’ve never been allowed to see until now. one he keeps quiet, tucked away, only brought out for these people. for this place.

it makes your throat tight.

because god, you love him. you love all of him.

you love the quiet, tired man who presses his lips to the top of your head when he gets home from work and sits on the couch to remove his shoes.

you love the stubborn, gentle man who folds laundry while muttering about how much he hates folding laundry.

you love the fiercely intelligent man who talks about justice and economics and hard, impossible things in that even, thoughtful tone that makes you listen even when you don’t understand.

but now— you love this, too.

you love this version of him that is suddenly brand new to you, even though he’s been here all along. this version who is, for once, not split between the weight of the world and his sense of duty. this version who is someone’s grandson, someone’s nephew, someone’s childhood made grown — someone whole, in a way you’ve never seen.

“hey,” he calls gently, when he sees you from across the yard. switches back to japanese without thinking. “you okay?”

you nod a little too fast, then take a sip of wine to hide it.

“you were staring,” he says again, stepping close, eyes searching yours. “was it something i said?”

you blink up at him, a little dazed. “…i didn’t know you spoke danish.”

he hums. “it doesn’t come up often.”

“it’s really hot.”

he blinks. “what?”

“really, really hot.”

he looks away then, down at the ground, the tips of his ears turning a faint, warm pink. “you’re drunk.”

“i’m not drunk.”

“you’re a little drunk.”

“i’m flabbergasted,” you whisper dramatically, and he actually laughs. he hides it behind the wine glass he’s just stolen from your hand.

“ridiculous.”

you grab his wrist gently. “say something again.”

“in danish?”

you nod eagerly.

he eyes you. and then — quiet, playful, low — he leans in and murmurs something soft in your ear, too quick to catch all of it. but the lilt of it is beautiful. it ends with your name, and you nearly melt at his feet.

“what did you say?” you breathe.

“not telling.”

“kento—”

“later, sweetie,” he says, and the look in his eyes makes your heart squeeze. “i’ll whisper it to you again when we’re alone.”

you’re going to die.

and he — now smiling, pearly whites and all, the kind that reaches his eyes — knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

because this version of nanami kento speaks danish, and teases you, and is loved by a loud, warm family who call him by his childhood nickname and pull you into their arms like you’ve always belonged.

and you think — no, you know — this is the moment your life changes.

because this is the moment you realize, you haven’t seen every version of him yet, but you’ll spend the rest of your life trying.

[harlekin6]

Aww this is the cutest and most polite Nanami

hii im not trying to be annoying or anything but you wrote awlays instead of always in your nanami drabble lol. just letting u know no judgement haha💗🫶🏻

You’re a real one for this, honestly.

Here’s Nanami offering you a rose as thanks ♡(˃͈ દ ˂͈ ༶ ) hahaha!!!

୨୧ — 𝐿𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝒫𝑜𝓅𝓅𝓎 𝓍𝑜𝓍𝑜

[harlekin6]

Against bullies since ‘30

[harlekin6]

Nanamin🙏♥️

JJK MEN KISSING HABITS

I'm back with another treat :D

Characters: Gojo Satoru | Geto Suguru | Toji Fushiguro | Nanami Kento | Choso Kamo.

Any Sleep Token fans here?

------------------------------------------------

‎GOJO SATORU ♡

‎A huge tease.‎

He always leans in way too close, lips just barely brushing yours… then stops.‎

He waits to see who breaks first you or him.‎

Kissing is a game to him, a challenge that he sets.‎

He always has that smug little smirk drawn on his face.‎

He’ll whisper something like "you nervous?" just to mess with you.‎

He starts with slow, lazy kisses as if tasting dessert, two fingers under your chin tilting your head. ‎

Give it a few seconds and he's flipping it, sudden, rough, devouring kisses that catch you off guard, that you weren't prepared for.‎

He turns slow kisses into a heavy make out session in a matter of seconds. ‎

Definitely can’t keep his hands to himself, he kisses using his whole body.‎

One hand tilts your chin, guiding the kiss.‎

The other sneaks under your shirt, fingertips trailing over your skin leaving goosebumps there.

Then moves down to grip your hips tightly, squeezing just to hear your breath hitch.

He playfully slides his knee between your legs and push your buttons.

He smirks into the kiss whenever he hears your soft sounds.

Your gasps and soft moans turn him on even more and push him to kiss you senseless.

Very playful while kissing, he would bite your bottom lip, or lick it and laughs at you softly when you get flustered.

He knows the effect he has on you and he knows how to use it, in his favor.

Afterwards, he always rests his forehead against yours.

Literally breathless and a total hot mess after devouring each other.

Still teasing, "Hmm not bad, wanna try again?"

Your lips drive him insane.

‎

‎GETO SUGURU ♡

‎Suguru is not in a rush. He kisses like he’s got all the time in the world to love you.

His hands doesn't roam a lot, one hand cups your cheek softly brushing your skin with his thumb and the other hand on your waist fixing you in place and pulling you impossibly close to him.

He loves to make you ache for his lips.

So he starts with a kiss on your forehead, on the tip of your nose, on your cheeks, on your jaw line, building thay sexual tension kiss by kiss, till finally he kisses your lips.

When the kiss deepens and he starts to lose control, he squeezes your waist hard to ground himself.

It makes you jumpy since you're ticklish so he laughs into your mouth.

That sweet soft low chuckle, it makes your heart burst.

He Kisses with purpose , every second, every movement is intentional, he knows what he's doing.e

He's memorizing you.

He's memorizing the taste of tour lips

He's memorizing the sounds you make.

He's memorizing the feeling and the way you lean into him.

He notices every single thing you do, the way you hold your breath right before be kisses you.

He loves it when you grab at his bicep, and feel his muscles, he lives for that, especially that he's way bigger than you.

He loses it when you run your hand through his hair or tug on it, man starts growling.

He mumbles a lot into kisses, whispering things like "mine", "I love you", "you drive me crazy".

And the way he says these things, his voice, makes your knees weak.

Afterwards, he rest his forehead against yours, eyes still closed breathing heavily "one more kiss".

‎

‎TOJI FUSHIGURO ♡

‎This man doesn't believe in the term soft kissing.His kisses are rough, desperate, greedy and controlling.‎

Toji doesn’t initiate kisses often, but when he does he usually initiates a heavy make out session, and its whether after a fight, when adrenaline’s high or when he’s jealous as hell and needs to remind you who you belong.‎

He kisses you as if he's claiming you. ‎

Before he kisses you, he presses his whole body against yours.‎

He pins you to the wall, trapping you.‎

His hand flat beside your head as he keeps that intense eye contact. ‎

He always starts with neck kisses rough and wet, a strong start to hook you up into his kiss.‎

No gentle warm-up, just full-on lips and tongue dragging down your skin.‎

He turns you into a moaning mess before he even reaches your mouth.‎

Toji loves to mark you.‎

He bites, hard enough to bruise so he can see them later and smirk.‎

His hands roam constantly, always end up on your ass, squeezing, pulling you closer.‎

Might lift your leg up around his waist and grind his hips against you.

Grabs your neck not too tight, just enough pressure to make your heart race.‎

When he finally kisses your lips they're always sloppy, wet, and open-mouthed, he literally devours you.‎

Always uses tongue, always deep, like he’s trying to taste your soul.‎

It’s hot, messy, and makes you lose all sense of time.‎

He kisses you like it’s a battle, like he’s trying to prove something.‎

But when Toji’s emotionally vulnerable, his kisses turn shaky like he doesn’t know how to handle the feeling of wanting someone that bad or how to handle you.‎

Afterwards, he says nothing he just buries his face in your neck, breathing heavy.‎

But his grip around you never loosens.

‎

‎NANAMI KENTO ♡

‎Before he kisses you, he always rests his forehead against yours.

His eyes closed, breathing you in, like he's recharging, grounding himself in your presence.‎

His thumb gently brushes your lips.‎

And then, in that soft voice of his, he whispers, "Can I?"‎

Once you nod, it’s all the permission he needs, it's like giving him the greenlight to do whatever he wishes to you.‎

He leans in slowly.‎

He always starts with soft, feather-light, cotton candy-gentle, kisses.‎

He always begins with short, tender kisses, then trails to your cheek, your neck, his lips lingering longer each time.‎

When he finally deepens the kiss, it’s still slow but more emotional.‎

He wants to memorize it, engrave it into his brain, so he can remember it whenever he misses you at work.‎

One hand cups your cheek, his thumb caressing it softly.‎

The other rests on the small of your back, holding you protectively.‎

Nanami hates rushed kisses.‎

If you kiss him too messily or urgently, he’ll pull back just slightly and murmur against your lips "Slower. Properly"‎

And then he kisses you the way he wants to be kissed as if he owns the night, as if the time stopped. ‎

He's very intimate, very serious when it's about you.‎

He adores it when you hold onto him, clutching his shirt, wrapping your arms around his neck like he’s the only thing keeping you grounded to earth.‎

It makes something inside him melt.‎• If your hair gets in the way, he’ll gently tuck it behind your ear.‎

His kisses feel like he's making up for all the time he spends at work and not by your side. ‎

Every kiss with Nanami feels like being loved out loud, deeply, calmly, completely.‎

Afterward, he presses a soft kiss to your temple, then pulls you into his chest.‎

Hand on your back, letting you rest against him.‎

No words,  just quiet, steady comfort.

‎

‎CHOSO KAMO ♡

‎ This man worships you and his kisses are pretty much the proof.

Kissing you is sacred to him, he doesn’t take it lightly.‎

With him every kiss has a meaning, has a story of its own.‎

He always starts slow, tender kisses on your shoulders, your neck, your collarbone, your hands, even your fingertips.‎

His hands are unbelievably gentle.‎

He holds you like you’re made of glass, very careful. As if one wrong move might make you disappear.‎

He holds deep eye contact before kissing you.‎

His gaze roams every inch of your face with awe.‎

When his eyes drop to your lips, that’s when it becomes difficult to hold back.‎

While kissing he’ll follow your pace, no questions asked.‎

If you're soft, he's softer. If you're rough, he’s ready to lose control with you.‎

If you're in a soft mood then he’ll cup your face in both hands, eyes closed, breathing you in, kissing you so gently.‎

If things get heated and you'd like to be more bold then he’ll pull you onto his lap, gripping your hips tightly.‎

That soft man flips fast, he becomes wild, hungry, unhinged in the best way.‎

And he shows you how dangerous he can be.‎

He kisses you hard enough to make you forget your own name, to make you lightheaded.‎

His arms tightly wrapped around you, not letting you pull away even for a second.‎

"Stay" he whispers in his low, raspy voice , his breath hot against your lips.‎

If you're into it, he'd bite your shoulders, marking you with deep hickeys that he kisses over afterward.‎

He always tilts his head, deepening the kiss like he’s trying to merge into you.‎

He slips out soft whimpers and moans, especially when you tug his hair or scratch his back.‎

He knows how much you love his sound and he wants you to hear it, the same he loves to hear yours.‎

When you’re both playful, he just stares at you smiling, watches you laugh, and then leans in to kiss you mid-giggle.‎

It makes you laugh even harder, and he grins against your lips.‎

Wfter kissing, he like to keep you seated on his lap, your head resting on his shoulder.‎

He strokes your hair, chest still rising and falling after how hard you were kissing.‎

Then he whispers with the softest smile, "Oh, I love you so much".

‎Who would you kiss?

[harlekin6]

THUNDERBOLTS* Behind the scenes.

[harlekin6]

I wanna cuddle Bucky♥️ aka Sebby

Thunderbolts* Cast Behind The Scenes

[harlekin6]

Read Me Like You Mean It

✦ oneshot

Reader x Kento Nanami | 18+ MDNI

cw: 18+, smut, softness, teasing touch, opposites attract, morning-after scene, bookstore AU, emotional intimacy, physical affection, quiet obsession, domestic fluff, slow burn with payoff

⸻

You hated bookstores.

The musty smell, the quiet people, the way your friends spent hours comparing covers like it mattered. You weren’t a reader, never had been. So when they dragged you along to some trendy used bookstore downtown that also sold limited edition manga, you already planned to spend the whole time sulking in the corner on your phone.

That was until you saw him. He didn’t belong here. Not really.

He stood near the far aisle, adjusting books on a display table with slow, methodical movements. Tall. Broad. Hair swept back but tousled in a way that looked too good to be accidental. A cable-knit sweater strained gently across his shoulders, the sleeves pushed to his forearms to reveal strong, veiny hands that could do unspeakable things. And glasses—those glasses—rested low on the bridge of his nose as he skimmed the back of a novel, completely unaware of the world burning around him.

“Who is that?” you whispered, elbowing your friend.

“Oh—that’s the owner. Kento Nanami. Used to work in finance or something. He’s like, super quiet but nice.” She smirked. “Why, interested?”

You should’ve said no. But instead, you found yourself drifting toward the poetry section like fate was pulling you there by the hem of your shirt.

He turned slightly. His cologne hit first—earthy, expensive, subtle. Like amber and citrus and heat. Then those eyes glanced up behind the glasses—brown, calm, devastating.

“Can I help you find something?” he asked, voice smooth like velvet, but with weight behind it. Serious. Warm.

You blinked. “No, I don’t really read,” you admitted.

He quirked a brow. “But you’re in a bookstore.”

You gave a shrug. “Dragged by friends. I’d rather be anywhere else.”

He gave a small hum, then glanced at the poetry book in your hand. “Yet you’re holding Neruda.”

You looked down. You were. The cover was soft. Old. Worn like a well-loved secret.

“Maybe I just liked the color,” you muttered.

But Nanami didn’t laugh. Instead, he leaned one hand on the shelf beside you and said, low, “May I?”

You handed him the book, breath caught.

He opened it one-handed, thumb flicking through like it wasn’t the first time, then stopped on a page. Cleared his throat.

“I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.”

You stared at him, lips parted. The nerve. The delivery. The goddamn voice. Heat bloomed up your neck.

“Maybe… I like that one,” you whispered.

Nanami met your eyes. Held them. Then closed the book carefully and handed it back.

“I’ll put it on hold for you,” he said. “Just in case you change your mind.”

You came back three days later. Alone.

He didn’t mention it, but the book was still behind the counter.

You didn’t buy it.

You came again. And again. You started pretending to browse. Asking for recommendations. Sitting in the little reading nook by the window. He never flirted—but the way he moved near you, the way he leaned when explaining a passage, or handed you a mug of warm tea without asking, or fixed your scarf on windy days outside—God, it felt like foreplay.

Until the night it became one.

It was late. Your friends had bailed on movie night. You’d wandered by the shop without thinking, only to see a light still on.

You knocked. He answered. No sweater this time. Just a black fitted t-shirt and low-slung slacks. Hair mussed. Glasses gone.

“I was closing,” he said, holding the door slightly open.

“I’ll only be a minute,” you said. “Or… unless you don’t want—”

He opened the door wider. Inside, it was warm. Dim.

He watched you from behind the counter as you wandered, touching spines, trailing your fingers across the edge of the poetry shelf.

“Can I ask you something?” you said softly.

He tilted his head. You turned. Heart hammering.

“Why do you always feel like a secret I shouldn’t want to keep?”

Nanami blinked. Then something shifted in him. Quietly. Deeply.

He came toward you with a measured pace, as if calculating his restraint with every step.

“I don’t want to be a secret,” he said. “But I also don’t take things lightly.”

You stood your ground. “Neither do I.”

Then his hands were in your hair. And then his mouth was on yours.

It was slow at first. Careful. His lips pressed to yours like punctuation, deliberate and weighted. You clutched the front of his shirt and pulled—hard—until he pushed you against the nearest shelf with a groan and kissed you like you were a story he’d waited a lifetime to read.

Your fingers slipped under his shirt, dragging over abs you hadn’t even fantasized about yet, too distracted by his brain until now. He hissed through his teeth, then hooked his hands under your thighs and lifted you like you weighed nothing.

“Say you want this,” he murmured against your neck, voice low and wrecked.

“I want you,” you whispered back. “Since that first fucking quote.”

His laugh was soft. A little breathless. “So poetry wins again.”

You fucked in the back room, on top of a table covered in hardcover first editions.

Nanami was everything you’d imagined and more—controlled, intense, quiet, but not cold. He unbuttoned your pants like they were a gift. Pressed his mouth to your stomach, your thighs, your chest, reverent and slow.

When he finally slid inside, he kissed you so deeply you forgot where you were.

And when you came—twice, embarrassingly fast—he whispered your name like it was the final page of his favorite book.

Later, you lay tangled in a blanket from the armchair, the storm outside shaking the windows, his hand wrapped around yours.

“You’re not what I expected from a bookstore owner,” you said, smiling into his chest.

“And you’re not what I expected from someone who hates reading.”

You glanced up. “Still not a fan of books, honestly.”

He raised an eyebrow.

You leaned in and kissed him, slow. “But I think I’m starting to like the endings.”

Two weeks. Fourteen days. Not that you were counting. But it had been that long since you’d last seen him.

After that night—the slow burn turned wildfire on his office desk—you hadn’t gone back. He hadn’t texted. You hadn’t called. Maybe it was fear. Or maybe it was something worse: the ache of wanting something real in someone who moved like a ghost and touched like a storm.

Now, standing just outside the shop with your phone in one hand and a folded list of manga titles in the other, you realized how stupid this was.

Your best friend’s birthday was tomorrow. You needed books. The bookstore was here. That was it.

So you walked in. A bell chimed. The door creaked. And there he was.

Behind the counter. Dressed in a grey button-up, rolled sleeves, tortoiseshell glasses perched on his nose. Hair combed but not gelled. The knit vest did things to your spine.

He looked up when you entered. And his eyes—those slow-burning, unreadable eyes—landed on you like they’d never really stopped watching.

“Hi,” you said. Quiet. Controlled.

“Hey, you,” he replied, equally calm. Polite. Neutral.

But the heat? Still there. Like a room with no windows.

You wandered toward the manga section, acting like you weren’t hyper-aware of the way his voice had dropped half a register since last time. Like the memory of him pressed over you didn’t haunt every aisle.

“I need help,” you finally said, walking back over, waving the list in your hand. “My friend’s birthday. She’s obsessed with romance manga. I have no idea what I’m looking at.”

He blinked once, nodded, and stood. You followed him.

He pulled books down efficiently, explaining tropes, plotlines, things you pretended to care about.

You let yourself look.

His hands were still scarred in that oddly elegant way. The veins in his forearms twitched when he reached for the top shelves. You wanted to bite them. You wanted him to lose control the way he hadn’t that night.

He handed you three volumes at once. Your fingers touched.

Electric. Immediate.

You looked up through your lashes. He didn’t move away.

“I remember these hands,” you whispered. “They made me cry.”

Nanami’s jaw clenched ever so slightly. “That’s not very appropriate to say in public, is it?”

You smiled. “Well, it was your desk.”

He let out a slow exhale, but you caught the flicker of amusement in his gaze.

Still, he turned, walking further down the aisle, clearly trying to keep things professional.

But you weren’t in the mood for professional. You were in the mood for him.

So you followed. You waited until the aisle narrowed.

Waited until he stopped to skim a spine and you slipped in behind him.

“Nanami,” you said softly.

He turned, and you stood close. Very close.

He was so much taller. But you didn’t care.

You stepped into his space, tilted your head up, and slowly dragged your fingers along the front of his slacks.

He stilled. You palmed gently over the fabric, soft pressure, just enough to get his attention.

“I missed you,” you said, voice low and saccharine. “Did you miss me?”

His mouth twitched into a slow, dangerous grin.

“Mm. Little lady…” His voice rasped like it had been locked away too long. “You don’t know what you’re doing to yourself.”

You tilted your head, bit your nail, gaze locked on his.

“Maybe I don’t know, sir. Maybe…”

You leaned closer, lips brushing just beneath his jaw.

“…I want you more than you can imagine.”

That was it. That broke him. He looked around once—silent, careful—then took your wrist with firm gentleness and led you straight to the back room again.

The door shut behind you. The latch clicked. Your back hit the same desk as before.

“I’ve tried,” he said, voice calm but low, eyes burning into yours. “To forget that night. To stay professional. To keep you at a distance.”

You swallowed. “Why?”

“Because I don’t do casual. I don’t fuck someone just to say goodbye the next day. But you…”

His hands moved to your waist. “You tempt me like no one else ever has.”

You could barely breathe. “And now?” you asked, chest heaving.

“Now,” he said, dragging you closer with one arm, “I’m going to remind you what this desk is for.”

It was messier this time. Not frantic—but possessive.

He lifted you onto the desk with ease, pushed your thighs apart with reverence, not rushing, but not waiting either. The air was thick. Heavy with memory.

You kissed him first, hard—tongue, teeth, need—and he kissed you back like he’d been starving for two weeks straight.

Your shirt hit the floor. His mouth was on your chest. He made no noise but let out the occasional exhale when your hands tugged his belt open and your nails raked his back.

When you wrapped your legs around his waist and whispered “Please,” against his ear—he finally gave in.

He didn’t just fuck you. He claimed you.

Hands on your hips. Teeth on your neck.

Thrusts deep and controlled—measured and perfect.

You cried out once, gasping his name. He gripped your chin and looked you in the eye.

“Keep your voice down,” he warned with a smirk. “Or someone might hear how good I make you feel.”

And fuck, you loved him for that.

When it was over—when you were panting, flushed, back against a pile of books and still gripping his wrist—he kissed your knuckles, then your temple, like nothing had happened at all.

Like everything had. You stayed silent for a while. Breathing.

Then you looked up and whispered, “Do you think I might become a regular customer?”

He chuckled. Full, rare. Real. “I think I’d like that.”

The day after.

As you gathered your things that morning, something he said the night before lingered in your head like a line from a favorite page.

“Maybe just stop by tomorrow. I like my coffee black, ma’am.”

You hadn’t planned on going. You meant to play it cool. Let the fire simmer, maybe wait a few days. But by the time you left work, the sky was grey and the rain was soft and the thought of him behind that counter—with his sleeves rolled, his quiet mouth, his smell—made your chest ache in ways that felt too sweet to resist.

So you went. With two coffees in hand.

Your jacket was damp, hair sticking to your cheeks. You pushed open the bookstore door and stepped in, the warmth and woodsy scent immediately wrapping around you like something personal.

And there he was.

Behind the counter. One hand holding a pen, the other braced against a notepad. A few books scattered, the open sign still glowing behind him. He looked up as you entered.

His expression shifted.

That same Nanami look—cool, sharp, unreadable—except not quite. Tonight there was something softer in it.

Like he’d been waiting. Like seeing you just fixed something broken.

You stepped up to the counter, smiling through wet lashes.

“Hello there, mister,” you said playfully, voice sweet. You set down one of the drinks. “Your coffee is ready.”

He looked at it. Then at you.

And God—that look.

His eyes dragged down your body slowly, lingering at your damp shirt, your flushed cheeks, your hand still curled around your own cup. And when he stepped out from behind the counter, the distance disappeared in two quiet strides.

“Mmm. Coffee?” he murmured, voice low and curious. “What about you?”

And before you could answer, his hand reached behind your neck—firm but gentle—and pulled you in.

His mouth met yours, deep and slow and familiar.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t greedy. It was like coming home.

You melted instantly.

His lips moved with purpose, tongue brushing yours in a kiss that left you dizzy. He smelled like cedarwood and old pages and rain-soaked linen. His other hand slid up your side, stopping just under your ribs like he needed to feel your heartbeat.

When he pulled back, barely, his breath still on your lips, he murmured:

“I close in fifteen minutes.”

Your stomach twisted—giddy. Hot. Then he leaned in closer, mouth brushing your jaw. “Do you have plans for your Friday night… or does this little lady want to come home to me?”

You bit your lip, grinning, already gone.

“Depends,” you said, teasing, voice honey-sweet.

He cocked an eyebrow. “On what?”

You leaned up on your toes, lips ghosting his. “What you have to offer.”

That did it.

His eyes went dark, hunger and amusement flickering together as he dipped his head beside your ear.

“I can show you everything,” he whispered, voice like velvet and danger. “All night, sweetheart.”

And then—God, then—he leaned back just enough to meet your eyes with a slow, devilish grin.

“Only if you want, of course.”

You nearly moaned right there.

Fifteen minutes later, you were in his car.

Twenty minutes later, you were in his home.

And ten seconds after the door shut—you were in his arms again.

He didn’t even wait to get to the bedroom.

He kissed you against the wall of his hallway, coat still on, his palms braced on either side of your head. The rain dripped from your sleeves but his mouth was hot and demanding, like he’d been holding back for days.

You tugged open his shirt, pressing your palms flat to his bare chest. His skin was warm, taut with muscle, a few fading scars here and there like stories you wanted to read with your tongue.

“You’re so goddamn hot,” you breathed.

He chuckled—quiet, smug. “I’ve been called worse.”

He peeled your jacket off, slowly, mouth dragging down your neck.

And when he lifted you—strong arms under your thighs—he didn’t ask.

He just carried you to the bedroom.

The rest of the night passed in slow-burning chaos.

He undressed you like you were fragile but kissed you like you were his favorite sin. When he finally buried himself inside you, one arm wrapped behind your back to hold you up, the other gripping your thigh—you saw stars.

You clung to him, breathless, panting.

“You feel so good,” you whispered, nails dragging down his back.

His mouth pressed to your shoulder. “You have no idea.”

And when he made you come—hard, crying his name—you bit his neck and whispered “Fuck—Kento” for the first time.

He shuddered. And then he fucked you again.

Slow. Deep. Like he was trying to make up for every day he hadn’t touched you.

Later—much later—you lay tangled together in his sheets, skin still slick with heat, hair damp with sweat and leftover rain.

He was quiet. You were quiet too. But it wasn’t awkward. It was thick with something that scared you more than lust.

You looked at him. He looked at you. And with that soft, unreadable smile, he whispered, “Next time… don’t wait two weeks.”

You smiled back. “Next time,” you whispered, “maybe just read me poetry in bed first.”

He reached over, brushed your cheek with the back of his hand, and said— “I can do that too.”

Morning came slow.

Warm light bled in through gauzy curtains. Somewhere in the kitchen, the soft hum of the fridge buzzed under the hush of rain against the windows. But nothing felt more sacred than the heat between the two of you—limbs tangled, skin to skin, bodies lazy with the afterglow of the night before.

You were half on top of him. Bare chest pressed to his side, your leg thrown over his hip like you owned the man.

Kento Nanami—stoic, pristine, serious bookstore owner—was flat on his back in rumpled navy sheets, glasses on the nightstand, and not a single thought in his brain except you.

His hand rested gently on your thigh. Your head was tucked beneath his jaw, hair soft and wild against his skin. He didn’t want to move. Didn’t even want to breathe too hard, afraid he’d wake and find it all gone.

But then—of course—you did move.

You shifted with a slow little stretch, chest brushing his ribs, hand sliding from his stomach down—

“Mm,” you hummed against his throat, fingertips dragging across the soft trail of hair under his navel, “someone’s still warm.”

He let out a breath. Tight. Low. “You’re playing a dangerous game, sweetheart.”

You grinned.

“I thought you liked games, Mister Bookstore.”

He turned his head to look at you—and Jesus. His eyes. Still sleepy, golden in the morning light, soft around the edges but simmering underneath.

You touched his chest. Drew little shapes over his sternum. Then let your fingers wander further. Smoothing over the cut of his abs, brushing his sides, watching the way he breathed like each graze made him bite down a groan.

He didn’t stop you. Of course he didn’t.

“Your body is ridiculous,” you murmured, tracing over a scar on his rib. “How are you real? You look like you were carved out of a Greek statue and then cursed with… literacy.”

He actually laughed at that. Low and raspy.

“You’re trouble,” he said, eyes still half-lidded.

“And you,” you whispered, moving your hand lower, brushing the edge of his briefs, “are a very, very good distraction.”

Nanami caught your wrist—not hard, not sharp. Just enough to pause you.

“You keep touching me like this,” he said softly, eyes flicking down to your mouth, “and I’m going to make you late to whatever life you’re pretending you still have.”

You leaned over him, hair spilling across his chest, your hand sliding back up to his shoulder.

“Maybe I don’t care about being late,” you whispered. “Maybe I like it here. Warm bed. Pretty man. Big arms. You know… my kind of literature.”

His jaw flexed. His hand went to your waist, then your lower back, dragging you gently up over him. You were straddling him now—lazy, playful, hips settling over his growing problem.

“God,” he murmured under his breath. “You don’t even know what you do to me.”

Your hands cradled his face now. Thumbs brushing his cheekbones. He looked up at you like you were something impossible—like a miracle he didn’t dare ask for, but you showed up anyway, dancing barefoot into his world with rain on your jacket and fire in your mouth.

And even as you smiled, kissed his nose, teased, touched him again— Something changed behind his eyes.

He caught your wrist again. Brought it to his lips.

And whispered, “You know… for thirty-two years, I didn’t think I was missing anything.”

You blinked.

“But now…” he continued, voice low, almost like it hurt to say, “You touch me. You smile. You talk your little shit. You wear my damn shirt and tease me like it’s your full-time job…”

His fingers skimmed your waist, curling under the hem of his t-shirt that you had absolutely stolen.

“…and I think maybe you’re the missing piece I didn’t know I was allowed to have.”

Your breath caught. He looked away, then back, like he couldn’t believe he’d said it—but wouldn’t take it back for anything.

“You’re nothing like me,” he added. “But you fit me in ways I didn’t think were possible.”

You pressed your hand over his heart. It was beating fast. For you. You bent down and kissed him. Not playful. Not teasing. Just soft. Deep. Slow.

“I’m gonna ruin you, Kento,” you whispered.

He smiled. “I think you already have.”

The rest of the morning? You kissed his neck until he groaned.

You slipped your hand inside his briefs just to hear him mutter “Fuck, sweetheart—” in that broken voice.

You made him coffee wearing nothing but his shirt.

And he didn’t stop smiling for a single second.

You ended up staying. The whole day.

After breakfast—which Nanami cooked with maddening precision and a little smirk every time you bumped into him barefoot in his kitchen—you curled up on his couch under a blanket, a mug in your hands, one of his books in your lap.

He watched you read for a while. Not with judgment. Not even amusement.

Just quiet, curious awe.

“You’re really doing it,” he said eventually, sitting down beside you.

You looked up, squinting. “Doing what?”

He gestured toward the open book. “Reading.”

You snorted. “Only because you told me this one has smut in chapter nine.”

He chuckled, warm and low. “Chapter eleven, actually.”

You gasped in mock betrayal. “You tricked me?”

“I lured you in,” he corrected smoothly. “I believe that’s the proper term.”

You rolled your eyes and tossed a pillow at him. He caught it one-handed, effortlessly.

God, he was annoying. Perfect. Smart. Hot.

And he looked at you now like he was memorizing you—your wet hair tied up, his oversized hoodie swallowing your frame, your legs tucked under you like you’d always belonged on that spot on his couch.

“You’re comfortable here,” he said after a beat. It wasn’t a question.

You glanced around, then shrugged. “Shouldn’t I be?”

He nodded. Then said, softer, “I just never thought anyone would be.”

That made your chest ache. You leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Well, I’m here now.”

His eyes closed briefly. As if that meant more than he was ready to admit.

Later, he worked on paperwork at the kitchen table while you explored his shelves.

He had everything: classics, first editions, weird out-of-print poetry, horror novels you didn’t even know existed.

“You’re a nerd,” you said, holding up a ridiculously annotated copy of Frankenstein.

“You’re in my hoodie stealing my coffee,” he replied without looking up. “You don’t have much room to talk.”

You grinned and wandered back over, sliding into the seat across from him.

“I like your world,” you said suddenly.

He looked up. Surprised.

“This quiet, cozy, leather-smelling place you live in. The books. The calm. The routine.” You paused. “It’s the opposite of mine. And maybe that’s why I like it so much.”

He tilted his head. “Tell me about your world.”

You blinked. “What?”

“I want to know.”

You chewed your lip. “It’s… messy. Loud. Unpredictable. I never know what I’m doing next. I forget appointments. I don’t cook unless toast counts. I’ve never finished a novel in my life.”

He set his pen down.

“But,” you added, “when I’m in your bed, or your kitchen, or even just beside you… it feels like I’m learning how to breathe right for the first time.”

That silenced the room. Nanami stared at you, eyes unreadable, something breaking loose behind them.

He stood. Walked around the table.

And then he knelt beside your chair—knelt, this proud, composed man—and rested his head on your thigh.

“Don’t go then,” he murmured against your skin.

You blinked fast. Your fingers curled into his hair.

“I wasn’t planning on it,” you whispered.

His hands slid along your calves. Up your thighs. One of them slipped beneath the hem of the hoodie. Not rushed. Just there.

You swallowed. “Do you want to go back to bed?” you asked, your voice smaller than it had been all day.

He looked up. His face so open now. Unhidden.

“I want you wherever I can have you,” he said. “But if we go back to bed, I’m not letting you out of it for hours.”

Your stomach twisted deliciously. You stood. Took his hand. Led him there without another word.

The second time that day, he made love to you. No teasing this time. No games.

Just soft, slow kisses and hands that roamed with reverence.

He buried his face in your neck and whispered how good you felt.

He held you like you were something rare. Something real.

Afterward, you stayed tangled up together in silence, the afternoon light creeping in golden through the curtains.

His fingers traced your spine lazily, skin to skin.

“I wasn’t joking,” he said softly. “You might really be it for me.”

You didn’t know what to say. But your heart answered for you by how hard it started to beat.

So instead, you curled in closer, kissed his collarbone, and said:

“Then don’t let me go.”

And from the way he tightened his arms around you…

He wouldn’t.

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