cosplay fill, 3 images (one of them a gif), 464 words tags: implied future sexual content, implied crossdressing, I suppose
This could've been a fill without the cosplay god dammit. (but also, like, this too is fine)
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The wrapping of the box Furuya presents to Miyuki is familiar. Discreet. Its charcoal paper could conceal any number of innocuous objects, providing the item in question fit in a space narrower than the width of Miyuki's hand. It could contain something innocuous, but it doesn't. Miyuki remembers that wrapping from the last time, from the other time Furuya had presented him a gift.
The first time he'd asked, he'd almost been shy about it. He'd looked down at the object in his hands, uncertain, before pushing himself to meet Miyuki's gaze head on. I have a present for you, senpai, he'd said, and Miyuki had laughed, laughed at how serious his pitcher could be, laughed at the thought that Furuya of all people might be nervous.
He'd laughed because he didn't yet recognize the seal of the shop, subtly printed into the paper, because he hadn't known what Furuya was asking of him.
(He doesn't laugh this time, this time he isn't to be caught off-guard.)
"Please wear this one next time, senpai," Furuya says as he stretches out his arm, as he presses for Miyuki to take from him the gift.
It's light in Miyuki's hands, the box of lingerie that Furuya presents to him with all due ceremony. Miyuki knows that's what it is, but he doesn't know the specifics — will there be lace, garters, filmy little floating bits that waft around his body? It's a new sort of challenge, trying these things on, moving in unfamiliar garments as if he's modeling them with ease. Miyuki has never been one to say no to a challenge.
It's all Furuya wants, that acceptance. As soon as the box is in Miyuki's hands he nods his head, like that's everything. He leaves without saying another word.
Miyuki supposes that's something else he recognizes better than anything.
(Miyuki only opens the box later, in the privacy of his own room. His fingers are delicate in unwrapping the paper, precise in flipping open the lid. Furuya's offering is wrapped up in soft tissue paper, paper Miyuki peels back to reveal the red of the flimsy fabric beneath.)
(He's grinning, he realizes, as he pulls back his hand. It's not the fetish he might have expected of his straightforward underclassman, of Furuya who always takes things as they are. It's a surprise of a sort, a funny little puzzle he's still turning over in his head, much as he turns his body when they're alone: subtle, casual movements just to watch how Furuya will react.)
(Miyuki never has been one to say no to a challenge.)
FILL: TEAM MIYUKI KAZUYA/MIYUKI KAZUYA, T
tags: implied future sexual content, implied crossdressing, I suppose
This could've been a fill without the cosplay god dammit. (but also, like, this too is fine)
-
The wrapping of the box Furuya presents to Miyuki is familiar. Discreet. Its charcoal paper could conceal any number of innocuous objects, providing the item in question fit in a space narrower than the width of Miyuki's hand. It could contain something innocuous, but it doesn't. Miyuki remembers that wrapping from the last time, from the other time Furuya had presented him a gift.
The first time he'd asked, he'd almost been shy about it. He'd looked down at the object in his hands, uncertain, before pushing himself to meet Miyuki's gaze head on. I have a present for you, senpai, he'd said, and Miyuki had laughed, laughed at how serious his pitcher could be, laughed at the thought that Furuya of all people might be nervous.
He'd laughed because he didn't yet recognize the seal of the shop, subtly printed into the paper, because he hadn't known what Furuya was asking of him.
(He doesn't laugh this time, this time he isn't to be caught off-guard.)
"Please wear this one next time, senpai," Furuya says as he stretches out his arm, as he presses for Miyuki to take from him the gift.
It's light in Miyuki's hands, the box of lingerie that Furuya presents to him with all due ceremony. Miyuki knows that's what it is, but he doesn't know the specifics — will there be lace, garters, filmy little floating bits that waft around his body? It's a new sort of challenge, trying these things on, moving in unfamiliar garments as if he's modeling them with ease. Miyuki has never been one to say no to a challenge.
It's all Furuya wants, that acceptance. As soon as the box is in Miyuki's hands he nods his head, like that's everything. He leaves without saying another word.
Miyuki supposes that's something else he recognizes better than anything.
(Miyuki only opens the box later, in the privacy of his own room. His fingers are delicate in unwrapping the paper, precise in flipping open the lid. Furuya's offering is wrapped up in soft tissue paper, paper Miyuki peels back to reveal the red of the flimsy fabric beneath.)
(He's grinning, he realizes, as he pulls back his hand. It's not the fetish he might have expected of his straightforward underclassman, of Furuya who always takes things as they are. It's a surprise of a sort, a funny little puzzle he's still turning over in his head, much as he turns his body when they're alone: subtle, casual movements just to watch how Furuya will react.)
(Miyuki never has been one to say no to a challenge.)