#and is freaky

[psalidodont]

marie the hagfish

[hansoeii]

the honda odyssey, huh?

[huellitaa]

"match my freak!" match my sweetness. match my benevolence. match my empathy. match my ability to feel emotions so deeply it tears me apart from the inside out

[wolfythewitch]

Henry Clerval and the creature

[mw00nie]

before you and nanami started dating, you thought you had him all figured out.

quiet. composed. polite to a fault. the kind of man who holds the door open for strangers and tips too well. the kind of man who never interrupts, never forgets birthdays, never texts past ten unless it’s an emergency.

you thought you knew what kind of lover he’d be. careful. respectful. maybe even a little restrained.

you were so wrong.

because nanami kento is the definition of “gentleman in the streets and freak in the sheets.” not the loud kind. not the messy, aggressive kind. he doesn’t degrade. doesn’t spit unless you ask. doesn’t choke unless you beg. and even then, he makes you say please.

but he knows how to ruin you. with quiet control. with devastating precision.

he learns you like a language. reads you like scripture. he notices the smallest things. the shift in your breathing when his hand rests on your thigh, the way your hips tilt slightly when you want more. he catalogs it all. stores it away. and when you’re under him, you feel it. every inch of that studied, focused attention.

he fucks like he’s solving a problem he already knows the answer to. his fingers are experts. his mouth is lethal.

and the worst part? he says the filthiest things in the gentlest tone, like he’s giving a lecture. like it’s all just matter-of-fact.

“you’re soaking,” he’ll murmur, two fingers teasing your entrance. “i’ve barely touched you.”

“there it is,” he’ll say when he finds that spot inside you, the one that makes your back arch and your thighs tremble. “i thought so.” “you can take more, can’t you? i know you can.”

he never loses composure. he doesn’t need to. he’s in control, always. he’ll have you shaking, begging, gripping the sheets like you’re drowning, and he’ll still be fully clothed, sleeves rolled up, watch ticking on his wrist.

he praises you like it’s a prayer. “good girl. just like that.” “you’re being so patient for me.” “look at you. you’re so gorgeous when you fall apart.”

and when he finally fucks you, it’s deep and slow and ruthless in its restraint. like he’s savoring every drag, every clench, every sound you make. he doesn’t just chase his own pleasure. he chases yours. insists on it. he’ll edge you until you’re crying, then kiss the tears from your cheeks and ask, softly, “do you want to cum now?” as if he hasn’t earned the right to decide for you. as if it’s still your choice.

he’ll hold your face in one hand while he pushes into you, thumb resting at your jaw. not to grip. not to control. just to feel you. to anchor you.

you’ve never been so exposed. so undone. and he never rushes. never gets sloppy. even when he’s close, even when he’s quiet and tense and thrusting just a little harder, a little deeper. he still holds your gaze. still whispers, “breathe.” “you’re okay.” “i’ve got you.”

and when it’s over, when you’re limp and dazed and boneless beneath him, he pulls you into his chest and strokes your spine like you’re something delicate. something treasured. he doesn’t gloat. doesn’t tease. he just kisses your forehead and says, “you needed that.” like he planned it. like he’s known for days.

you thought you knew him. but the truth is, nanami’s the kind of man who thanks you after eating you out for half an hour, who ruins you with his hands and then helps you into the shower. he’ll say “may i?” like he’s asking permission to wreck your entire evening. and when you say yes, he will. completely. beautifully. quietly.a freak. but always polite. always in control. always him.

[assiraphales]

reylo was probably THE worst thing to happen to star wars. just had to drool over a genocidal 6 and help encourage the derailing of an entire trilogy. no luke skywalker shouldn’t have killed him bc it would have gone against his morals but he should have phoned a friend

[kookydoodleky]

She'll go for anything, as long as it's a lady

[taraxippos]

Outta my FUCKING way

[one-time-i-dreamt]

“Freaky Friday” was not in fact a real movie which existed BUT had recently entered production as a film because people kept referencing it any time body swapping came up so the movie industry was just like “well I guess we have to make that movie now” and there was already a niche internet fan-base for it.

[nouverx]

"I want to eat you" is their love language and you can't change my mind

[stemmmm]

one more one more

same au thing as last time

[sam-spooky]

what if the magnus archives was called the freaknus archives and the archivist was called the freakivist and they took peoples statements regarding freaky happenings (im so sorry)

[luminixx]

“Your mom” gone wrong. Not the right person.

this is lowkey so unserious don't kill me. it's a reference to all that stuff about his mother that I am seeing.

[time-woods]

helen redesign but with that one yarnface trend

[psuejo]

❥ u love chef!sukuna’s cinnamon rolls.

he doesn’t bake sweets often, but when he does, just for you, they’re always so tasty! a perfect amount of sweet and well-baked, though, sometimes, you swear you can taste a little saltiness :c

sukuna tells you not to worry about that.

you don’t need to know that he milks himself dry trying to produce that stupid drizzle for you, hands tugging his throbbing cocks to get every last drop into the measuring cup, or that he has to keep himself hard with your dirty panties and a photo of you in lingerie that he’s never quite gotten over, despite ripping said lingerie to shreds a couple of weeks ago.

it’s a tough job, one filled with grunts and groans and the very, very occasional whimper when his angry-red tips are beyond sensitive and his balls are empty. that you definitely don’t need to know.

it’s all worth it, though, when you finally take a bite, a soft, content moan leaving your full mouth and a happy twinkle in your bright eyes. something about the sight makes sukuna’s cold, cursed heart thump, especially when you praise him.

“these are really good! you should make sweets more often, ‘kuna,” you say in-between bites, and he can only scowl and flick your forehead.

“you’re so greedy. they aren’t that easy to make.”

yet, a couple of days later, there’s another fresh batch waiting in the kitchen. anything for his wife, right?