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FINALLY cowboy Nanami 🤲

ac: aliasNnmknt

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Part two otw….. 🎀

Biker!Sukuna whose blacked out Yamaha YZF-R1 you hear from a mile away, sputtering and grunting with nothing but 1000cc of raw power down the highway. The empty night air only echoing the sound back at him which gives the man the most wicked grin under the mask.

Biker!Sukuna who can't shake the feeling of somebody watching him and finally gives his head a little tilt to find your eyes tracing the dark ink running across his exposed arms. Your mouth was even dropped open a little in awe.

Biker!Sukuna who looks around before gliding over to the passenger’s side of your best friend’s car, pressing his ginormous, gloved hand to the window to tease you a little. He chuckles when you press your much smaller hand against the glass where his rests.  

You, eyeing the thick, muscular thighs of Biker!Sukuna, straddling the beast of a vehicle, pelvis pressed into his seat as he leaned forward slightly and strayed from your window. 

Biker!Sukuna who cockily blows you a kiss, bracing himself as he jerks the throttle and speeds off his exit, his bike roaring and coughing flames.

You can barely focus on your book on the way home, plagued by the thoughts of him. And pissed Biker!Sukuna cuts his workout short because everytime he shuts his eyes to push through the end of a set, he sees the face of the pretty girl from the highway. How pathetic.

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Biker!Sukuna whose blacked out Yamaha YZF-R1 you hear from a mile away, sputtering and grunting with nothing but 1000cc of raw power down the highway. The empty night air only echoing the sound back at him which gives the man the most wicked grin under the mask.

Biker!Sukuna who can't shake the feeling of somebody watching him and finally gives his head a little tilt to find your eyes tracing the dark ink running across his exposed arms. Your mouth was even dropped open a little in awe.

Biker!Sukuna who looks around before gliding over to the passenger’s side of your best friend’s car, pressing his ginormous, gloved hand to the window to tease you a little. He chuckles when you press your much smaller hand against the glass where his rests.  

You, eyeing the thick, muscular thighs of Biker!Sukuna, straddling the beast of a vehicle, pelvis pressed into his seat as he leaned forward slightly and strayed from your window. 

Biker!Sukuna who cockily blows you a kiss, bracing himself as he jerks the throttle and speeds off his exit, his bike roaring and coughing flames.

You can barely focus on your book on the way home, plagued by the thoughts of him. And pissed Biker!Sukuna cuts his workout short because everytime he shuts his eyes to push through the end of a set, he sees the face of the pretty girl from the highway. How pathetic.

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Biker!Sukuna whose blacked out Yamaha YZF-R1 you hear from a mile away, sputtering and grunting with nothing but 1000cc of raw power down the highway. The empty night air only echoing the sound back at him which gives the man the most wicked grin under the mask.

Biker!Sukuna who can't shake the feeling of somebody watching him and finally gives his head a little tilt to find your eyes tracing the dark ink running across his exposed arms. Your mouth was even dropped open a little in awe.

Biker!Sukuna who looks around before gliding over to the passenger’s side of your best friend’s car, pressing his ginormous, gloved hand to the window to tease you a little. He chuckles when you press your much smaller hand against the glass where his rests.  

You, eyeing the thick, muscular thighs of Biker!Sukuna, straddling the beast of a vehicle, pelvis pressed into his seat as he leaned forward slightly and strayed from your window. 

Biker!Sukuna who cockily blows you a kiss, bracing himself as he jerks the throttle and speeds off his exit, his bike roaring and coughing flames.

You can barely focus on your book on the way home, plagued by the thoughts of him. And pissed Biker!Sukuna cuts his workout short because everytime he shuts his eyes to push through the end of a set, he sees the face of the pretty girl from the highway. How pathetic.

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Save a horse and…whatever the saying is.

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True form Sukuna 🫣

!!REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED!!

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sorry you put your hand on my cheek and I immediately opened my mouth for you to put your thumb in.

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imagine! ghoul sukuna catching a whiff of you while he's knee deep ravaging in some deserving creep's guts. you've just been dropped off home by a cab directly in front of your apartment, and he's right around the corner, hidden in an alleyway, perfect for perching up and getting a view of you.

what kind of human are you?

sukuna has never wanted to fuck a human. they're weak and incapable of pleasure the way ghouls are, boring.

but the sight of you...

his bloodshot eyes hone in on the sound of your heartbeat from so far, fuck even the way it beats is turning him on.

and, is that, fear? he smells?

you seem to be taking a bit long in tapping in the code to your apartment building.

"you wanna give me a taste cheeky!" a slurred and cackling voice jeers and suddenly sukuna's head reels to the forty some year old cat-calling you from the end of the street. before he can even process the thought, he feels his body tense and get ready to defend you, watching critically as your eyes widen and you fumble with the door again.

and right just when the creep crosses a distance that might get close to you, you quickly zoom inside after a low buzz of your door.

and it's then that the creep is at your door, starting to yell at the building for you to come out. you don't hear it considering your apartment was rather far from where his yells could reach. and you don't hear him stop abruptly either.

the next morning, on your way to work, you don't even pay much attention to the small splatter of blood stains near the entrance of your building.

but what does catch your attention is the large and tall meat stack of a man that walks by you while you're on the way back home that afternoon. he's immensely handsome, scarily so. but he looks so serious and as if he couldn't notice the blatant stare you gave him in awe.

and everyday, you see him again at the same point in time. as if his schedule perfectly lined up with yours. except he never looks at you and you feel as if he's destined to never do so.

maybe its your own small obsession over him, but you start seeing him in your part of town more often. at the grocery store he's always buying packs of instant coffee and and what looks like regular groceries for his pantry. whenever you're on the metro, he's barely just escaping to another destination and off to the stairs. if he's at a cafe, theres a cup of coffee in his hands, black, from the one time you got an intense whiff of it in passerby.

but his obsession with you is anything but small. sukuna prides himself in eating every single piece of scum that has made you uncomfortable. it's worked out, considering his hunger's grown a thousand times more ever since he laid eyes on you and you're such a beauty that a number of men flock to you.

a month of this behavior passes, and sukuna had thought he'd already reached rock bottom until he catches a whiff of you, on your period.

his right eye almost twitches when he passes by you.

and it gets his blood boiling when the precinct's famous sleazy ghoul also passes by you, pheromones screaming that he wants to devour you.

sukuna devours him later that night after he spied on him spying on you the entire day. if anybody was going to devour you, it'd be him. and you were going to scream for only him, pleasure or not.

you belong to him.

this fan art of him on the left corner with blood on his mouth got me bad :(

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Everything is in its right place.

Nanami Kento angst Inspired by Everything In Its Right Place By Radiohead

WC: 500 TW: Vomit, anxiety, heartbreak, angst, death y all the very very bad things..

There was a Japanese myth which Kento introduced to you the day he proposed. He was never much of a mythology buff, but he admitted that your presence in his life gave him a reason to believe it was true. A thin red string tied to the two pinkies of two individuals which the gods had predestined to be together. It was nostalgic, the shaking of his ordinarily steady voice as he explained that the red string twisted and turned, but could never be cut or broken. Everything was in its right place, that was, until it wasn't. His face contorted in pain and the little red thread which was once taught, gave in and laxed to your feet. 

Bile bubbled up in your throat, as you shot up in bed. Your once sleep-rotted consciousness festered with the images of your beloved choking on his own blood. Feet hitting the cold wood floor, you rushed to the toilet to heave the bitter liquid out of your mouth. Your stomach twisted and contorted, ringing out chunks of steak and rice and the bottle of sauvignon blanc you finished yourself. All remnants of the dinner you were supposed to have with your fiance until he told you off the unexpected assignment he had to take on. 

The cold bite of porcelain on your skin did nothing to soothe the shakes that racked your body paired with the anxiety that had you filling its cup. Each heave felt like a flash of your past before your eyes, grieving the future that would never come. Though your mind ceased to find the reason for this all-consuming reaction, an eerily absolute feeling of horror stirred in your gut. On knocking knees, you stood, walking slowly to your phone to hopefully soothe your nerves.  You jabbed your fingers into the screen, pulling up his location. Shibuya… You hurriedly reached for the remote and turned on the news. More bile began twisting out of your throat as you saw the ruins the city was in. Buildings creaked and groaned as they fell, bodies everywhere, the reporter screaming for people to try and seek refuge far from the city. 

The door to your shared bedroom groaned. For a second relief flooded you as you walked forward, a pale hand pushing in with your husband’s tie wrapped around its fist. Everything was okay, he was alive…

Yuji looked at you wide-eyed, tear trails cleared on his face through the muck of caked-on blood. There was only one reason he’d be here. 

“I tried.” He moaned your name in pain. “He asked for you before he went..” 

You felt your eyes roll back, your head lulling to the side, the air rushing against your body as you dropped towards the ground and everything went black. The string will stretch and tangle, but never break. 

Please consider liking and reblogging! Dont steal pls Boarder by the lovely: @saradika

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When life was still vibrant, you had stood barefoot in the kitchen of your new house with crossed arms. Your husband, Kento, had stood behind you, watch-decorated hand lazy on your waist as you amused him with your concentration. Your eyes had narrowed, inspecting every corner of the space with an ugly determination and tsked, ‘well this won’t do.’

You believed, in your vibrant life, that the kitchen was the centrepiece of your house. You finally, after years of renting apartments with Nanami, owned a house you could curate into a home, and you wouldn’t dream of starting anywhere other than the kitchen. Plans unfolded in your mind, how you’d turn a boring sterile kitchen into something homely and lived-in.

Nanami had been no help at all, of course. Though he insisted on being the one to re-tile, because it would be a cold day in hell before his wife did the heavy work. He ripped the countertops out, too— and the lights. And the ugly sink. But you were left with the decisions to make. Colour schemes and marble finishes were your domain, your husband was allergic to the colour wheel.

You had worked hard, you really had. And Kento appreciated the love you’d put into your shared kitchen. Perhaps this wouldn’t be your home forever, maybe one day you’d have a few brats running around and need to upsize, or maybe one day you’ll both be old and need a smaller, warmer house to decay in. Regardless, you cared for the integrity of the kitchen as if it were the room you’d inhabit after life. He used to joke that you’d haunt that bloody kitchen.

And even when it was done, it never really was. There was always a vase of flowers on the island to replace, or something missing from the junk drawer that you had sworn was in there. It was ever changing, in subtle and beautiful ways that maybe Kento had never picked up on. Magnets on the fridge would be swapped out every now and then. Glasses would be dropped and broken and swept up from the tile you had chosen. Nanami would stock his bottles on the top shelf and switch them out as needed, you’d keep your wine glasses just below. It was your space, in your colours and with your lighting. Wholly and absolutely yours.

And you loved the domesticity of a kitchen. Dull mornings give warmth through the window above the sink. You make breakfast for your love, who’s not always home to thank you for doing so much for him. The smell would stain the kitchen for hours to come, and your husband would walk in with lazy morning eyes and press into you from behind for kisses with breath you’d tease him about. Kento would wash up, because he was a gentleman even through the busy-man act— but he’d always miss a spot. Always.

Evenings, too— after a long day in the sun, the cooling tile against your skin has always felt a blessing. Wine, whiskey, gin: your poison of the night would be poured and consumed like it was communion. Skin would flush red, gazes would linger. You’d feel the cold countertops against your naked skin as a Kento Nanami would bend you over and push into you from behind. His loving wife, made for him in every aspect of the words ‘intelligent design’. No doubt had been in his mind that a higher power existed, not when you feel so good around his cock. Not when you cry for release and his veins flood with an antidote to all things evil. The sweet ‘thank you’ that slipped from your lips as he rendered you stupid and filled you over and over with the receipt of his loving. Dark nights and sweet nothings as he carried you to bed, laughing at your sudden post-orgasm clarity of the hygiene rules around fucking in the kitchen you had built to share.

And the nights go on, time would pass. Magnets once left on the fridge would soon hold up drawings that Nanami would joke belong in that junk drawer of yours— which would slowly fill with discarded homework and lolly wrappers despite the bin being only a step away. The heavy footsteps of your husband would no longer be the only ones sneaking up on you, and your time spent cooking lazy breakfasts would have to wait until you could one day call yourself an empty nester. The expensive glassware would be put away for special occasions, because tiny hands break many things. You’d learn in that kitchen that glassware is not worth a raised voice, and the excitement of what’s for dinner is a great motivator to cook. You’d learn to live with Nanami's lack of dish-washing skill, because time was no longer on your side and bedtime was five minutes away and no one had a bath yet.

And you’d still find dark nights exhilarating, because your husband was feated by no obstacles when it comes to loving his wife well.

Somehow, a cupboard door would fall off its hinge in the night, and crash in such a way that your husband would lock you in the kids rooms. In that kitchen, after learning everything was okay, you’d learn the aftermath of a life fighting curses. Kento would cry, for the first time in forever— used to the loving domesticated version of himself and afraid to lose it to the memories of a life not half as warm. You’d see the wounds of Nanamis heart open wide on the tile you had insisted on. You’d hold the man you love, and you’d assure him that nothing was going to happen to you, or him. He wouldn’t believe you, of course, but in that kitchen he’d learn to allow your words to bring him comfort.

And you would grow. The doorway would age with etched markers of your household's heights, Nanamis always at the top. You’d promote yourself from new mother to new mother, because experience never stops coming. Disputes over toys would turn to angry banter between hormonal teens, and you’d love mediating it all. Kento would give the life advice, battered by the reality of the world for a living. You’d offer reason and guidance from a place in your heart you knew Kento kept under lock and key. Family dinners would become less frequent, bedtimes disappeared— you’d get the house to yourselves at night again.

And even with age, Mrs Nanami gets treated like a teenager in love. You’d drink watered down booze and laugh about how the kids think you can’t tell when they’re stealing from your bottles. A cigar would still be shared on occasion, your husband secretly excited to share a drink and cigar with your oldest when the time is right. You’d reminisce on the vibrant youth of your marriage, when the house was new and the kitchen ugly, and you’d miss none of it. Your kisses would grow more tender, and after so long together you’d learn each others bodies like a second language.

And soon enough you would be sad about ever wanting a moment alone. The house feels empty without the chaos of the Nanami kids. Nanami takes up something physical to ease the ache on his body— golf, maybe, and you start to read more. At night, you call the kids and pester them about remembering to separate their laundry right. You occupy the kitchen at night, slippers on your feet because the cool tiles of your youth are too harsh on your skin now. Tea becomes your poison of choice, though Nanami is adamant about his whiskey bottle staying stocked. You listen to old songs like they’re new, because no one’s around to force you to listen to the top charts and there are so many golden tracks from Kentos high school days he still hasn't shown you. And sometimes, when the night is young, Kento takes your hand and twirls you around the kitchen. You dance, and laugh because after all these years you still can’t dance. And you feel like a kid, and the kitchen is lived in, and yours, and you’d never dare to downsize.

Yeah, this will do.