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mossmotif · 7 months

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let them hear it (n.kento)

pushing away the angst i had in mind and prioritizing kissing nanami till he's on the verge of giggling while the two of you are outside in the snow.

What the two of you have is complicated; as complicated as something gets with someone as straightforward as Nanami Kento.

You vaguely knew of each other because of work before you quit, and then you found yourself taking the same commute as him to get to your new building.The familiar face was a surprise; autumn was on the cusp of tipping over and you were looking over at a man already dawned in gloves and a suspiciously thick looking coat you swear you've seen hanging on the hooks of previous office walls.

It’s what he’s wearing tonight, although it’s winter, so he’s also smothered in a wool scarf and stops to adjust his ear muffs every once in a while as the two of you walk. The action is somewhat unserious on its own; the idea of a man as serious looking as him so attentively dressed for the weather is already an easy thing to make you smile. But, you’re both a little more than tipsy.

When Nanami stops for the third time to stop the thing from falling into his eyes, you burst out into laughter as he groans to mask his own slew of giggles.

The reservation the two of you made this month was on the late side, so after too much wine and food, the streets are empty for the two of you to wander. These appointments have been something a little more than precious to you recently. You aren’t sure how it all started, but you and Nanami have both found ways to indulge in yourselves at least once a month without feeling too guilty about it for about a year now. Lately, it’s been something you look forward to more than anything else you have planned.

This isn't the first time you found yourself testing your tolerance with Kento. You quickly noted how much of a heavy drinker he was once you found yourself slipping trying to keep up with him. Every month he’ll assure you there’s no need, but you’re rather adaptable yourself; and Nanami would never admit to liking a challenge. It might be wrongfully advantageous of you, but you liked the look of him loose like this. He lets himself lean on you a little more.

It just helps that the sidewalks happen to be particularly icy tonight.

“Hold it, hold—hold on,” he says breathlessly. There’s been the hint of a smile teasing the corner of his lips since the two of you have left the restaurant doors. It’s so contagious that you’re sure your lips will be split and bleeding by the end of the night.

He’s doubled over now, earmuffs on the brink of falling once more. You snort before stepping in front of him, bending down to clumsily bring them up his forehead. He looks up to you as you do, looking a little unlike himself. His cheeks are pink, eyes are wide and nearly starry, his lips are wet because he keeps licking them to fight off the cold. It takes everything in you not to ruffle up his hair even more than it already has been. It would be different, you think; it would be your own hands doing the carnage. Maybe he wouldn't be so quick to try and fix it then.

“What is it?” your breath comes out as fog in the air. A physical thing your sluggish brain finds beautiful when you watch it mingle with Nanami’s own breath. This close, you can spot tiny snowflakes melting into his lashes.

He hesitates, as if fighting himself for wanting to speak in the first place. There’s a strange expression on his face, too old and twisted to fit his features.

“My stomach feels like it’s about to burst,” he blurts, still clutching to his middle while hunched over.

A silent beat passes before you explode into laughter loud enough to wake people, playfully slapping your hand on his shoulder.

“How crude!” you exclaim, half scolding in your tone. “You’ve seriously got a foul mouth after a few drinks.”

“I would say that was more than a few,” he notes dazedly.

You hum, trying to get him to match your pace once he straightens himself. His shoulders hunch up to his ears as he does, a slight shiver hidden in the sea of fabric he's practically being swallowed into. His chill, the same as his concealed smile, is infectious. Your body follows his, feeling every bit of the breeze that passes through your clothing. Crossing your arms over your chest, you try and steel off your body.

"Are you cold?" Nanami offers his arm for you to cling onto, giving you no time to answer him.

The buzz radiating off your skin is silenced by the fabric he wears, squashed into his figure and sticking to him like scorching asphalt. You feel cemented this close to him, letting your arm fall and feeling him interlace your fingers while still keeping it close to his. His gloves keep you from feeling his skin. Your tease about him being the coldest between the two of you dies on your tongue.

The two of you bump shoulders, a little too inebriated to be walking this close together. The surrounding snow swallows up all other sound, only leaving your heavy footsteps and gentle breathing to be heard. Nanami sighs. You feel the noise travel from the soles of your feet, tingling at the tips of your ears.

“Comfortable?” you ask cheekily, feeling the pressing weight of him melding into your shoulder as time passes by. He hums in response, another vibration you can feel dancing on your skin.

“You’re warm,” he states, squeezing your hand firmly. Still painfully gloved. “Thank you.”

The sincerity in his voice knocks the wind out of your own, the only trace of it being the small cloud that leaves your lips. It takes everything in you to not dig your fingers into his hand, until you reached the skin, until he could really feel you, until he would be able toleach all the warmth he wanted from your blood. You think he would do it gently.

Nanami stops walking first once the entrance of his apartment comes into view. The steps up to the door are covered in snow and ice, they haven't been salted yet. You’re about to tell him to be careful while walking up the steps before you feel something foreign being placed on your head. They’re his earmuffs, unbelievably warm. They smell like the shampoo he uses.

He keeps his hands on the covers, an extra blanket on top of your ears. The weight makes any noise around you sound like it’s been drowned underwater. The feeling is as steady as his stare, half lidded and a little heavy, but balanced. The falling snow seems to still, as stagnant as the stars above your head. The warmth on his skin matches the mellow light seeping from people’s windows.

Your skin seers when his hand drifts to your cheek, dragging his thumb across your skin.

His face looks wind beaten and cold, cherry red at the tips of his ears, his nose, and his cheeks. The flush must run all over him, down to his knuckles and elbows, up his chest and shoulders. You wish you could see.

“You look like you’re freezing, Kento.” You lean into his touch unsubtly.

This proximity should maybe feel odd, but it’s hard to ignore all those secret moments the two of you share between meals, on commutes to work, on tipsy walks back home, now that you’re both facing each other.

And he shivers when you use his first name, when you raise your hands to fix his scarf and let the tips of your fingers graze the exposed skin of his neck. The cold teases at those that are cloaked the most, clawing at anything it can find.

“I’m fine,” he sniffles; soft and trailing and good natured. “How are you?”

“I’m good,” you chuckle. He smiles at the noise.

Something overtakes you, some kind of greed that can only be found in snow so pillowy that it wolfs down any noise, a force you can’t stop unless you step into it with your own shoes. There’s that crunch: where the only noise that life seems to need is your own. His. Yours. You’re both holding each other. The sound of his clothes are all you can hear.

You hear his movement before seeing it, feel his cold lips on your cheek long after he’s pulled away from you. It’s innocent, modest—but his hands—they cup around your entire face, shifting across your neck. His gloves are still in the way, but you can’t muster any complaints when the feeling is so intoxicating.

“Are you drunk?” he asks quietly.

“The cold sobered me up,” you answer, voice thin with the slightest shock. “You?”

“Me too,” he replies. He’s hastily taking off his gloves and the action momentarily puts some distance between the two of you.

“What—what are you doing?” you scoff confusedly.

“I can’t feel you,” he explains simply, stuffing the gloves into the pocket of his coat. “I’d like to feel you.”

Laughter ebbs past your lips for the millionth time. The happiness you’ve felt today only feels real because your cheeks are beginning to hurt from all the strain.

Kento has wrapped you in an embrace, easily picking you up from the ground by your waist. You gasp, smirking into his neck as you wrap your hands around him and try not to jostle the earmuffs too badly.

You might never know a strength like his; his hands are gentle and firm. When you press a lingering kiss to the juncture of his jaw, one coasts across the curve of your ass before settling into the meat of your thigh.

“Don’t be too quick just ‘cause you want to get out of the cold. The steps are icy.” You advise him while bombarding his face with light pecks similar to his first one, musing his hair and admiring the pliant looking smile on his face. It’s also the kind he holds when he’s holding back a laugh.

He hums deeply. You feel it intensely this time, it echoes against your own chest.

“I’m not being quick because of the weather,” he grumbles, barely hiding his urgency.

His response has you looking down at him smugly, wishing you could take a picture just so he could see his own flushed face.

this post is the culprit !! everyone please point and laugh at it, it is so embarrassing how long i thought about it.

i hope yall dont mind being tagged, but @riaki @maeby-cursed @threadbaresweater are also enablers!!! wrote this with yall in mind hope u like it

#THIS WAS BARELY EDITED LMAO #im so tired #it is five a.m. u guys #i love this man my hubby my wife #moss writes #jjk x reader #nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader

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