fanthiccs

[fanthiccs]

🌸 Drabble: “For the Man in the Mirror”

(All Might | Toshinori Yagi | Hurt/Comfort | Symbolism | Post-Retirement | SFW)

⸻

He buys the flowers in secret.

Nothing grand. Just small wildflowers—sun-colored and a little scraggly. Things that remind him of summer and growing up and days when his bones didn’t ache in the morning.

When he gets home, he doesn’t set them in a vase.

He walks to the mirror instead.

Not the one in the hallway. The one in the back room, where no one else goes. Where the Symbol doesn’t live. Where only he stands.

Thin. Scarecrow-thin.

A version of himself he used to flinch from. Still does, some days.

He sets the flowers down at the base of the mirror. Kneels slowly.

“…For you,” he murmurs. “For staying. Even when I didn’t want to.”

The man in the mirror looks back, tired and soft and a little surprised.

Toshinori smiles.

And for once—so does the man in the glass.

[fanthiccs]

🍁 Extended Drabble: “Almost” (Prelude to “Come Out, Sweetheart”)

(Gojo x Geto x Reader | Slow Build | Voyeurism | NSFT | Tension-heavy)

The first time it happened, it was an accident.

You were coming back from the trail—hands cold from your thermos, cheeks flushed from the hike—when you opened the door and froze.

Gojo and Geto were sitting a little too close on the couch. Shoulders pressed. Gojo was laughing, pink in the cheeks. Geto didn’t say anything—he just reached up, calm as ever, and wiped something from Gojo’s lip with his thumb.

Their eyes snapped to you in the doorway.

You blinked. “Sorry,” you mumbled. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“Not at all,” Gojo said brightly, scooting an inch away. “We were just talking about you.”

⸻

The second time, it was the hot tub.

It was late. You’d been reading in the lounge chair, nearly asleep, when a splash jolted you up.

You sat upright—and saw them.

Chest-deep. Steam curling from their shoulders. Geto had Gojo pinned to the edge of the tub, water lapping at his throat. His hand was on Gojo’s jaw. They weren’t kissing. Not quite. But their mouths hovered close.

You tried not to make a sound as you stood and slipped away, legs shaking like you’d been caught doing something wrong.

You weren’t sure what.

Not yet.

⸻

But now—now you’re in the bathroom. Sweater still in hand.

And you should not be here.

You meant to grab it and go, but you heard it. Gojo’s voice. Just a whisper, sweet and sinful.

“You like watching, don’t you?”

You hadn’t meant to open the door a crack. You really hadn’t.

But when you did…

Geto’s hand was wrapped around Gojo’s cock—slow and cruel. Gojo was laid out on the bed, hair damp, shirt unbuttoned. The window was open. The room smelled like cedar and skin and cologne.

You should leave. You should turn around.

Instead, you hold your breath and lean closer.

“Shit,” Gojo gasped, hips twitching. “You’re so fucking mean.”

“You like it.”

Geto pressed a kiss to his throat. Gojo arched into it like he was starving.

“I bet she’s watching,” Geto murmured. “Bet she’s behind that door right now, touching herself.”

Gojo laughed, wrecked and shining. “Wouldn’t blame her.”

You cover your mouth. Your thighs press together instinctively.

Then—softly—Gojo turns his head.

Right to the bathroom.

Eyes bright. Expression unreadable.

And he smiles.

“Hey, baby,” he calls, too casually. “You coming out, or should we just drag you?”

You freeze.

Geto’s gaze follows. “Didn’t think we’d notice?” he murmurs. “That’s cute.”

Your body buzzes.

To be cont.

[fanthiccs]

shy subs are so fucking cute. flushed all over and covering their face and body to hide, but they're soaking wet while they take my cock, whimpering and crying more than any slut i've ever seen. it's fucking adorable how desperately they want it, and how bad they try to hide it.

[fanthiccs]

🍜 Drabble: “Spaghetti Moon”

(Remus Lupin x Sirius Black | Wolfstar | Fluff | Sharing Noodles | Softly Chaotic Romance)

⸻

It’s two in the morning, and they’re hunched over one bowl of instant noodles like it’s the last meal on earth.

Sirius slurps a strand loudly. “We’re romantic, yeah?”

Remus stares. “This is a packet of beef ramen.”

“Imported,” Sirius says, mouth full.

“From the corner shop.”

“Exotic corner.”

Remus laughs despite himself.

They both reach for the next noodle at the same time—same one. It stretches, golden and slick, a glistening lifeline between their mouths. Their eyes meet. Sirius’s brow lifts.

“Don’t you dare,” Remus warns.

Sirius leans in.

Remus groans. “This isn’t Lady and the Tramp, Pads—”

But Sirius slurps anyway. Remus gives in with a reluctant grin.

They meet in the middle. Lips brush. The noodle snaps.

“Disgusting,” Remus mutters.

“Magical,” Sirius corrects. “Next time we try it with buttered toast.”

[fanthiccs]

🖤 Welcome to fanthiccs 🖤

Hi, I’m k. I write x reader content, daydream prompts, and soft-tension indulgences that lean goth, bratty, and sometimes a little too honest.

This blog is a mix of:

💌 Reader-insert fiction and suggestive ideas

🫠Wet dreams, late-night spirals, and edging thoughts I feel safe enough to share

🎀 Subby rope bunny energy, but I’m also a bit of a mouthy princess

🕯️ Slow burns, emotional mess, and fictional power dynamics I’m too shy to ask for IRL

✨ I have a partner. I’m not looking—just expressing. This space is for creative exploration, emotional fantasy, and self-indulgent softness. I write for me and for anyone who gets the vibe.

My tags for anything not fanfic related is ops wet dreams 😐🫦

📬 Ask box is open!

Send me:

— Your fave characters + reader ideas

— Tropes with teeth, softness, or tension

— Prompts you’ve never seen written but always wanted

Anons welcome. Be kind, be clever, be gentle.

You can dm but I might not answer I’m pretty shy

[fanthiccs]

🖤✨ Ask Box Open ✨🖤

Pretty things get curious. So go on—

Tie me to a trope. Drape me in tension. Make it a little messy.

Send in:

🎀 X Reader ideas (angsty, teasing, or just too much)

🔗 Power dynamics, soft control, brat energy

💌 Your favorite character + a prompt you wish someone would write

🕯️ Gothy tenderness, royal pettiness, daydreams with bite

Anons welcome. Be gentle. Be bold. Be fun.

[fanthiccs]

💀 Drabble: “Don’t Get Shy Now”

(Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader | Hair Pulling | Grinding | Overstimulation | NSFT | 18+)

His hand is in your hair before you finish your sentence.

You don’t even know what you were saying—something smart, something sharp, something you shouldn’t have dared to tease him with. And now your head’s tilted back, scalp tingling, your mouth open in a gasp as he drags you against him like you belong there.

“You’ve been mouthy all day,” Ghost growls into your ear. “Thought you wanted to be good.”

You do. You do—but your thighs are already shaking from the way he’s grinding against you, thick denim pressing between your legs in slow, brutal friction.

No thrusts. No mercy. Just his thigh between yours, his belt buckle biting into your hip, and his grip—tight, pulling you by the hair every time you try to squirm away from the pressure.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, like it’s an insult and a reward at once. “Already can’t keep your eyes open.”

You’re trying—God, you’re trying—but your eyes roll back when he shifts just right, the seam of his pants dragging exactly where you need it. Your mouth drops open in a moan, head lolling against his shoulder.

“Takin’ what I give you,” he mutters. “No cock. No fingers. Just this. And you’re already dripping like a fuckin’ mess.”

You nod, broken, desperate.

“You like that?” he growls, tugging your hair hard enough to make you whine. “Grind on my thigh like the needy little thing you are. That’s all you’re gettin’ ‘til I say otherwise.”

You rock harder—shameless now. Breath stuttering. His mask brushes your temple, heat radiating off him in waves.

“Good girl,” he breathes, voice low and wrecked. “Make a mess. Show me how bad you want it.”

You do.

And when you come—shaking, soaking through your panties—he doesn’t stop you.

But he does press you to the wall and mutter, “I’m not done with you yet.”

[fanthiccs]

🕯️ Drabble: “Three Years Later”

(Nanami x Reader | Service Kink | Cunnilingus | Collars + Leashes | NSFT | 18+)

“You know,” Nanami says dryly, “when I agreed to let you put a leash on me, I didn’t think you’d actually use it to drag me to my knees.”

You’re already flushed, bare legs trembling where they rest over the edge of the bed. The collar sits snug and simple around his throat—no tag, just a matte black band with a small silver ring you’re holding onto.

“And yet here you are,” you murmur, thumb brushing that ring, “on your knees like you want to be good for me.”

He gives you a look—half reverent, half amused.

“Not want,” he corrects, voice steady as ever. “Am.”

Then he leans in and kisses the inside of your thigh, slow and lingering. One kiss, then another. Your hips shift restlessly, aching for more. He doesn’t rush. Doesn’t need to. His hands settle on your thighs like they’ve always belonged there, thumbs stroking gentle circles into your skin.

You tug lightly on the leash.

His lips curve. “Needy little thing.”

“Three years,” you gasp, tilting your head back as he finally, finally mouths over your soaked center. “You’re still such a smug bastard—”

He hums into you, and your breath punches out of your lungs. One long lick—then two. Then he settles in like he’s got nowhere else to be, tongue moving slow and thorough, one arm wrapping under your thigh to keep you open for him. The leash tugs slightly as your grip tightens.

You try to speak. You really do. But your hips are already stuttering, thighs trembling under his mouth.

“‘M close,” you whimper, tugging on his hair this time. “Kento, I—”

His voice is a growl against your skin: “Come on my tongue like a good girl.”

You do.

Hard.

Your moan breaks into pieces. Your back arches. He keeps going, gentler now, licking you through it like worship. When you finally collapse, panting, he presses a kiss to your thigh.

“You’re the reason we even have those damn collars,” he mutters, dragging the leash from your hand with practiced ease. “And yet somehow I’m the one on my knees.”

You grin, dazed. “I like the view.”

“So do I,” he says, climbing up the bed with that warm, wrecked look in his eyes. “Get ready to switch places, sweetheart. I’m not done with you yet.”

[fanthiccs]

🎬 Drabble: “Backyard Premiere”

(Remus Lupin x Sirius Black x Reader | Poly!Wolfstar x Reader | Fluff | Movie Night | Domestic Magic | SFW)

⸻

The sheet flutters in the breeze, enchanted to stay taut between two wooden posts. The projector hums softly, flickering light across the garden. Fireflies hover near the hedges, and a bowl of popcorn balances precariously on Sirius’s chest.

You’re tucked between them, legs tangled, a blanket thrown over the three of you like a lazy spell.

Remus’s arm is around your shoulder, warm and steady. Sirius keeps tossing popcorn into the air and trying to catch it with his mouth—failing spectacularly every time.

“You’ll choke,” Remus mutters.

“Worth it,” Sirius says, voice muffled by a kernel bouncing off his chin. “It’s cinematic.”

You snort. “You’re not the movie.”

Sirius leans in, brushing his nose against your cheek. “No, but I’m the leading man.”

Remus chuckles. “Of what? A comedy?”

Sirius grins wide, triumphant. “Exactly.”

The movie starts. Some old black-and-white thing Remus loves. You don’t really watch it. Not closely. Not when Sirius’s fingers keep brushing your wrist and Remus’s thumb rubs little circles on your arm like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.

Stars bloom overhead. A warm breeze rustles through the trees.

None of you say it aloud, but you all feel it.

This is your favorite part—every time.

[fanthiccs]

🕯️ Drabble: “You Just Can’t Help Yourself”

(Nanami x Reader | Thigh Riding | Praise + Chastising Kink | Heatwave | NSFT | 18+)

The fan does nothing.

The apartment is heavy with heat—thick, slow, like honey. Your shirt’s clinging to your back. Nanami’s collar is undone, hair damp at the temples. He looks like patience incarnate. You look like sin.

“Kento,” you breathe. Your voice is wrecked from whining. “Please.”

“You’re going to ruin these pants,” he murmurs, voice low, more observation than warning. One brow lifts as he watches you grind down on the thick line of his thigh. “Again.”

You almost cry. “I can’t—I just need—”

“You always need.” His tone is soft, but edged in something firm. Not cruel. Not mocking. Just truthful. “You can’t go five minutes without trying to get yourself off on me lately, can you?”

You shake your head. Shame prickles at your skin—but it’s swallowed whole by the heat and the slow roll of pleasure between your legs. His thigh is flexed, perfect. Your hips chase friction like it’s the only thing left that makes sense.

He exhales through his nose and lets his hand settle on your waist, steadying you.

“Poor thing,” he says, like he means it. “Too hot to think. Too worked up to behave.”

Your rhythm stutters. You let out a broken sound and try to press down harder. He doesn’t stop you.

“Go on, then,” he murmurs. “Make a mess. If that’s what it takes to get you to breathe, I’ll take care of it.”

“Kento,” you gasp, clinging to him now, muscles trembling.

His voice lowers, intimate and rough: “You want to be my good girl?”

You nod frantically.

“Then show me. Come just like this. Let go for me.”

Your vision goes white as you obey, clinging to his shirt, panting through the heat and the slick press of your release. He holds you gently, breath warm against your temple, and says—

“There she is. That’s it. That’s my girl.”

[fanthiccs]

🖤 Drabble: “Since You Like to Share”

(Toji Fushiguro x Reader | NSFW | Jealous Dom | Thigh Riding | Possessive Behavior | Reader-Insert | 2nd Person POV)

His phone screen glows in the dark.

You can feel his eyes on you before you even realize he’s behind you—before he tosses the phone down, face-up, your Twitter feed still open.

“You’re real generous with that like button, huh?” His voice is calm, low. Dangerous.

You blink. “What—?”

He doesn’t answer. Just pulls you forward by the wrist until you’re between his legs on the couch. His thighs are spread wide, shirt half-unbuttoned, eyes unreadable.

“You don’t think I see the shit you like? The moaning audios. The thigh-riding gifs. Those ‘good girl gets ruined’ posts on Tumblr?” He clicks his tongue. “Bet you listened to that one three times.”

You open your mouth. He shakes his head.

“No excuses. C’mon. You wanna ride a thigh so bad?”

His hands are already on your hips, guiding you up onto his leg like you weigh nothing. The fabric of his joggers is soft but firm beneath you. His thigh flexes under your soaked panties.

“You can earn it,” he says, voice silk. “You wanna get off? You do it here.”

⸻

You start slow—grinding, clenching, breath stuttering as his leg tenses beneath you.

He doesn’t move.

He just watches.

“You looked real desperate bookmarking that audio. Thought about me while you listened, didn’t you?”

You nod, shaky. He grips your waist harder.

“You don’t get to come yet.”

Your hips stutter.

He smirks. “You thought I wouldn’t notice? Thought I wouldn’t read through the shit you liked? You want other voices in your head while you’re wet in my bed?”

His voice drops an octave.

“No more of that.”

He shifts his leg. The pressure hits just right. You whimper.

“From now on, you text me every time you’re horny.”

His hand slips between your thighs. Doesn’t touch—just rests.

“You tell me what set you off. You don’t listen to other people’s voices. You don’t come without permission. And if you fantasize about something?”

He grabs your chin. Makes you look at him.

“You tell me. Every last filthy detail.”

⸻

You’re so close your thighs tremble.

“Please,” you whisper.

He leans in—breath hot at your ear.

“Good. Now keep going. Make a mess on my thigh.”

[fanthiccs]

🖤 “Mushroom Stew and Bad Ideas”

(Tav x Astarion | Enemies to Lovers | First Kiss | Slow Burn Campfire Scene | Gale & Shadowheart Orchestrate Chaos)

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

Night had settled over camp like a velvet curtain. Cool air brushed the backs of necks. Somewhere nearby, an owl called out, long and low. The fire crackled lazily, casting long gold shadows across the makeshift stone table.

Tav frowned.

Two bowls. One bottle of wine. A stack of clean linens. And no sign of Karlach, Wyll, or anyone else. The camp was suspiciously quiet.

“Where’s everyone else?” Tav asked.

A voice behind them answered far too quickly.

“Oh! They had a… side quest.”

Tav turned. Gale stood nearby, drying his hands with a very clean handkerchief. He wore that polite, innocent expression that only meant trouble.

“I believe this is what people call ‘a lovely evening,’” he said, gesturing grandly to the table. “So sit. Enjoy it.”

“We’re the only ones eating?” Tav asked.

“Indeed.”

A pause.

“And the only ones still here?”

Gale’s smile widened. “Yes.”

Another pause.

“You did this on purpose.”

“My dear Tav. I’ve no idea what you’re implying.”

From somewhere behind the tents, a very muffled snort echoed. Tav looked toward the sound. Gale followed their gaze and immediately coughed into his fist.

“No need to get paranoid,” he added hastily. “Just eat. I’ve infused the stew with subtle warming magic—perfect for the chill.”

“And aphrodisiacs?”

“Just a whisper,” he said brightly, already walking away.

Tav was still gaping when Astarion arrived, teeth bared in something that was technically a smile.

“Oh no,” he said flatly, eyeing the table. “Absolutely not.”

“You, too?” Tav groaned.

“Don’t look at me. I thought I was meeting Shadowheart to discuss the finer points of knife throwing.”

“You own a single knife.”

“And I throw it magnificently.”

They stared at the two waiting bowls of stew.

The bottle of wine. The glowing firelight.

“This is a trap,” Tav muttered.

“A trap with excellent ambiance,” Astarion admitted, folding himself into the opposite seat with a sigh. “Honestly, they could’ve at least tried to hide the matchmaking.”

Tav jabbed their fork into a mushroom. “I’m going to kill Gale.”

“Oh, get in line.”

The silence stretched as they ate. The stew was good—thick and earthy, clinging to the tongue with notes of thyme and pepper. The wine went down too easy. And it didn’t help that the flickering light made Astarion’s eyes glow that ridiculous molten gold.

“So,” he said finally, swirling his wine. “How long have you hated me?”

“Since you started talking,” Tav said. “You?”

“Oh, since you corrected my grip mid-battle. Twice.”

“You were holding your sword like a spoon.”

“I was being efficient.”

“You were being a peacock.”

They both glared—and then, for one heartbeat, neither looked away.

Tav shifted first. “This was a bad idea.”

“Gale’s full of bad ideas.”

“Shadowheart helped. I know it.”

“She absolutely did.”

The fire cracked louder. Somewhere in the shadows, Karlach whispered “Shh!” too forcefully.

Tav stood. “I’m leaving.”

“No you’re not.”

They turned. “Excuse me?”

Astarion rose too—slower. Closer. His voice dropped a register.

“Tell me you haven’t been thinking about it. All that snarling. All that breathless rage. Tell me you don’t wonder.”

Tav didn’t answer.

“You hate how much I get under your skin,” he murmured, stepping close. “And I—”

He stopped.

They were nose to nose.

Tav’s hands curled into fists. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re maddening.”

A moment.

Then:

“Fine,” Tav breathed.

“Fine?” he echoed, unsure.

They grabbed his collar.

The kiss wasn’t soft. It was fire. All teeth and gasps and years of tension detonating in a single reckless decision. Astarion made a strangled sound as their teeth grazed his lip. His hands slid to their waist, pulling them in, like he was starving.

The bushes rustled violently.

“GODS they’re actually doing it!” Karlach hissed.

Gale squealed.

Shadowheart calmly handed over a pouch of coins.

[fanthiccs]

🍰 “Have Your Cake” – Lawliet (L) x Reader

Setting: Monitoring room. 3:02 AM. Everyone else asleep. A can of whipped cream. A dare that went too far.

⸻

You hadn’t expected him to actually take the bait.

A casual, offhanded comment—“Bet you’ve never had whipped cream off anything but pie”—and suddenly L was standing behind you in the dim light of the monitoring room, one hand braced on the chair’s backrest, the other holding the can.

No emotion. No hesitation.

Just curiosity.

“I haven’t,” he said simply. “But I imagine your skin would be… warm enough to melt it.”

You blinked. “You’re joking.”

He tilted his head, barefoot steps soundless on the tile. “I don’t joke. I test hypotheses.”

His fingers brushed your wrist. Cold. Precise. But his grip was surprisingly strong—unexpected from someone who slouched like his spine was a question mark. You’d forgotten how fit he really was underneath the oversized sweater and shadows.

He pressed the whipped cream into your palm.

“Hold still.”

You hesitated—but only for a second.

A dollop landed just above your collarbone. L leaned in slowly, watching your pulse jump.

The monitors behind you clicked softly, cycling feeds of sleeping agents and blinking server lights. The whole room felt like it was breathing differently. Like it knew what he was about to do.

When his tongue met your skin, it was clinical at first. Gentle. Measured. He moved with all the deliberation of someone solving a puzzle.

But then—he did it again.

Slower.

“You taste… sweet,” he murmured, not looking up. “But not because of the cream.”

Your fingers curled around the armrest.

L’s lips ghosted lower. He wasn’t rushing. That wasn’t his style. He devoured logic. Dissected tension. And now, it seemed, he wanted to unravel you in the same way—slowly, methodically, until your thoughts scattered like sugar cubes in hot tea.

The whipped cream can hissed again.

Your breath caught. “That’s—probably not regulation.”

He licked the next spot clean. “Neither is monitoring the cameras without backup. But here we are.”

His voice was cool, but his hands weren’t. They rested lightly on your thighs, thumbs pressing into muscle with just enough pressure to remind you he could hold you still if he wanted to.

“L…”

“Yes?”

You weren’t sure what you meant to say. You were certain he already knew.

[fanthiccs]

📚 Drabble: “Loud Reader”

(Kakashi Hatake x Reader | Flirty Teasing | Blushing Kakashi | Icha Icha Torment | Reader-Insert | 2nd Person POV)

You curl up on his couch, flipping casually through the worn orange paperback.

“‘She gasped as his fingers slid lower, heat pooling in her—’”

Kakashi’s head jerks up from his tea. He doesn’t say anything. Just… stares. One eye narrowed, one twitching.

You grin.

“Oh, don’t stop on my account,” he says. Voice even. Mask still on.

You lean your chin in your hand. “I didn’t know you liked this kind of stuff, Kakashi. So explicit. So… unfiltered.”

He shrugs. “It’s well-written.”

“Mmm.” You thumb a page corner. “So you’ve read this one before?”

He hesitates. Just for a second.

“…Maybe.”

You hum thoughtfully. “‘He took her like a man possessed, pressing her—’”

“—You’re mispronouncing the pacing,” he says sharply. “You’re supposed to pause for dramatic tension.”

You blink, surprised.

Then grin. “Oh? Want to show me how it’s done?”

Kakashi’s ears go pink. Not his cheeks—his ears.

He doesn’t answer.

[fanthiccs]

🪐 Drabble: “Snapped”

(The Doctor x Reader | Light Flirtation | Suspenders Moment | Drabble | Tension-Filled SFW)

⸻

“You’re staring,” the Doctor says, not even looking up from the console.

You tilt your head. “Am I?”

“Mmh.” A flick of switches. A pull of a lever. “You’ve been watching me since I rerouted the chrono-pathways.”

“Could be I’m just admiring your technique.”

“Could be.”

You step closer. Barely a breath between your hands and the suspenders pulled snug over her shirt.

“So practical,” you murmur, fingers brushing the strap. “So… snap-able.”

The Doctor finally glances at you—sharp, curious, not quite smirking.

“You wouldn’t.”

Snap.

She jumps.

You grin. “Guess I would.”

The Doctor blinks. Once. Twice.

Then she turns slowly, steps forward, and lowers her voice.

“…You do know payback’s a thing, yeah?”

You wink. “Looking forward to it.”

[fanthiccs]

🕯️ Drabble: “Progress” (Nanami x Reader, Soft Dom Edition, 18+, dacryphilia, Overstimulation, brat training)

(((I had to take my last idea further aghhh)))

You hiss the first time he touches you.

Not because it hurts—but because it doesn’t. Because the warmth of his hand on your shoulder makes something inside you flicker and soften, and that terrifies you more than pain ever has.

Nanami doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t withdraw. He waits. Thumb rubbing slow, grounding circles against the sleeve of your sweatshirt.

“You’re safe,” he murmurs. “No one’s asking you to be anything but here.”

It starts slow. Always slow, with him.

A cup of tea placed just right. A quiet “have you eaten?” A hand brushing your hair back from your face when you’re too tired to move.

You push, sometimes. Test the boundaries.

He doesn’t bend—but he never punishes, either. Just looks at you with that quiet, unshakeable patience and says things like:

“If you’re going to act like a brat, I’ll just wait until you’re ready to be good again.”

(You were not ready for the way your body reacted to that.)

⸻

Tonight, he has you on your back.

Warm skin. Low light. Your legs are trembling from how many times he’s made you come—his fingers soaked, mouth slick with the evidence of every time he’s coaxed you open with nothing but praise and deliberate, devastating pressure.

“You take it so well,” he says, voice low, reverent. “You don’t even realize how good you are for me, do you?”

Your breath hitches. Your hips try to move—up, away, closer—you don’t even know anymore. You’ve long since passed the point of understanding what your body wants and what your body needs. Nanami knows. Of course he does.

“P-please,” you whisper, half sob, half laugh.

“Please what, sweetheart?” His hand strokes slow between your thighs, easing the ache without stopping it. “Use your words. Let me give you what you need.”

“Please let me—can I—Nanami—”

He kisses your knee, then your thigh, then just above your twitching, oversensitive center.

“You’ve already been so good,” he murmurs. “You’ve done everything I’ve asked. You’ve eaten. You’ve slept. You’re letting yourself feel.” His mouth brushes your skin. “That deserves something, don’t you think?”

You nod frantically, tears blurring your eyes.

“That’s my good girl.”

You fall apart again. You think you might still be shaking when he tucks you into his chest, whispering soft nothings against your damp skin. You don’t remember when you started crying. You only know that he stays.

You only know that you’re warm. And safe. And, finally, allowed to rest.