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Kenhina🐱☀️

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Seasons - Hanamaki x reader

Summary: You’ve been friends with Hanamaki Takahiro since forever- is that something you really want to change?

CW: friends to lovers, cisfem reader, slight angst with a smutty end uwu, vaginal sex WC: 6k+ for: @antique-remains​ - sorry it took so long!

The key to Makki’s place is waiting for you under the loose edge of carpet in the vestibule, just like always.

His apartment is unapologetically lived in. Bits and pieces of his life are strewn across the apartment: sweatshirts and unfolded blankets are tossed over random pieces of furniture, his shoes are kicked off and left in front of the garbage he’s yet to bring downstairs. Down the hall, his unmade bed is proudly on display; the sheets are pulled up in the corners and the comforter left crumpled at the foot of the bed, leaving bits of his threadbare mattress exposed.

It should bother you, the mess that accumulates in the periphery of his life, but the rigidity of a perfectly kept home just wouldn’t feel like him– just wouldn’t feel like home. 

The scent of apple wafts under the overwhelming scent of extra buttered bagged popcorn; he’s lit the candle you gave him for Christmas last year in an attempt to hide the tinge of burning that clings to the air.

You neatly pull off your shoes and place them in the cubby saved especially for you. The sticker with your name on it is peeling at the corners- you make a mental note to replace it later. Maybe pinky and sparkly, something that the girls he brings home won’t be able to ignore.

Not that you care if Makki has girls over. It’s not like you’re dating.

You just want them to know that you’re special to him-

“Is that you or am I getting robbed again?” a voice calls from the kitchen.

“It’s a robber.” you call out and Makki barks out a laugh at the response,  “I’m here to steal your food.”

-Because you are special to Makki, whether he wants to admit it or not.

Keep reading

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RESIDENT EVIL 4 (2023)

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warnings: tired mornings with osamu, + suggestive (minors do not interact), fem reader, est. relationship (engaged)

word count: 600

Osamu always preferred coffee.

You don’t mind brewing it for him in the mornings, on the days when you wake up before him and before the sun. The smell is nice–warm, bitter yet sweet, the scent of roasted beans filling the air. It’s comforting. The quiet moment alone–a little bit of sleep still resting in your body, causing you to sway a bit as you stand by the counter, and the calming scent of the morning–is something you cherish. 

A soft chime from the coffee machine pulls you out of your tired daze, indicating the roast has finished brewing. You reach up, grab Osamu’s favorite mug, the hem of your sleep top rising until you can feel the softened fabric on your waist. Sometimes, you wear one of Osamu’s shirts, but sometimes it’s nicer to wear your own. 

Carefully, you fill Osamu’s mug, and it’s not until you hear feet padding into the kitchen that you turn around to greet him, cup in hand. “Morning.” You smile. 

A boyish, lopsided grin tugs at his lips—handsome, that’s the first word that comes to your mind. The morning light filters from the window behind him, making his hair look lighter. He stopped dyeing it a while ago, years before you even got engaged. All he wears are his pajama pants, allowing you to fully appreciate how the sunlight forms around his figure–a bit softer than when he played volleyball, but still toned from years of work. 

“Mornin’,” he tells you, and you can’t help how your eyes trail down his chest to blatantly ogle the course, dark trail of hair on his navel. 

“Did you sleep good?” you ask, back bumping against the counter as you lean against it. 

Osamu wraps his hands around the mug when you offer it, and it makes you smile how his long fingers instinctively nudge against yours.

“Yeah, but I missed ya’ when I woke up alone,” he says, shooting you a cheeky look. 

Your cheeks feel warm, because despite the years of love and friendship and one-hundred other good things and some not-so-good-things, Osamu still makes you feel like you’re falling in love all over again. You turn away with a small, knowing smile, and reach for a cup in the cabinet to pour yourself something to drink. 

“Sorry-not-sorry,” you tease. But, before you can get your own cup, a warm body presses behind you, and Osamu’s arm reaches up to easily grab it for you. 

“Mmm,” he hums, lips brushing against the nape of your neck, tickling you and making you want to shy away before he places a chaste kiss right behind your ear. “Let me make up for lost time?” 

His hands are on you, moving up your thin shirt, and his rough fingertips from years at the stove lightly caress the softness of your breasts. 

“‘Samu,” you laugh a little, but can’t help to give in to his sweet touch. You can feel him grin against you, hair still a bit ruffled from sleep tickling your cheek. His palm is warm and familiar as it cups your chest fully. “Your coffee will get cold.”

He pinches your nipple lightly, but it’s enough to let you feel his need. “I can warm it up later,” he states, and something else other than sleep now fills his voice. “Want somethin’ else now.”

Then he turns you around, hands falling to your hips as he kisses you, still smiling. 

The coffee goes cold, but you don’t think you’ll mind brewing a fresh pot. 

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LOVE LOVE CHAINSAW MAN!