#anime x you

[niki-phoria]

EVERYTHING ABOUT YOU, I LIKE IT, I LOVE IT

pairing: fushiguro megumi x gn!reader (no pronouns used) genre: fluff word count: 505

notes: sorry for the late post, i've been too busy reading zb1 fanfics to write anything lmao, possibly ooc megumi, not proofread, title from soulja boy - kiss me thru the phone

it wasn’t often that FUSHIGURO MEGUMI allowed himself to be vulnerable. even with the people he trusted the most, it always felt as if there was a wall separating him from others - a barrier preventing him from fully allowing himself to feel any love or comfort in fear of it being ripped away again. 

it was hard - even if he pretended like it wasn’t. 

you had come to see many different sides of megumi over your time at jujutsu high. you had watched his glares become softer and long silences shorten until he would freely share his ideas with you. somehow, when it came to you, all of his defenses had failed, one after another. he found himself looking out for you - watching over your training sessions; following after you during missions; waiting at your bedside when you got hurt. 

something about megumi was different. something about you was different. 

falling for you was fast. it happened before megumi had realized what was happening. brief glances had become nervous touches, and nervous touches had become long conversations that lasted far into the early hours of the morning until megumi found himself lying beside you in your bed, falling into a deep sleep almost as quickly as you did. 

the morning had come quickly and quietly. sunlight seeps into your dorm room through your open blinds, casting your sleeping figure in golden light. megumi watches intently as your chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm; stray strands of hair frame your relaxed features. 

despite himself, megumi smiles softly at the sight. he reaches up before gingerly resting his hand against your cheek, stroking his thumb against your skin. “y/n,” megumi whispers. you stir in response; your face twitches as you bury your face into the crook of his neck. the feeling causes heat to spread across his face and goosebumps to rise along his skin. “come on. we have a mission.”

you lazily wrap your arms around his waist, tugging your body closer until your head rests against his chest. megumi does his best to ignore the butterflies swarming throughout his stomach to little avail. “not yet,” you rasp out, nuzzling yourself even closer to him. 

he purses his lips. your body is warm beneath the covers as you nuzzle yourself even closer to him. as much as he hates to admit it, megumi would much rather lay in bed with you then watch you risk your life to kill a curse yet again. 

“gojo-sensei will be upset if we’re late,” he sighs. cool hands slip underneath the fabric of your shirt, tracing shapes into your bare skin. you startle momentarily at the feeling, but don’t move much otherwise. “y/n…”

you simply frown in response, tightening your grip around his waist. “five more minutes,” you murmur. megumi freezes when you blink up at him with flushed cheeks and tired eyes. “please?”

it wasn’t often that megumi allowed himself to be vulnerable. but with a request like that, how could he ever say no?

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[dabisbratz]

𝑀𝐸𝑅𝐼𝒩𝒢𝒰𝐸 𝒟𝒪𝐿𝐿 — kento nanami x male!reader

himbo!reader , farmer!au , strangers/friends/lovers , meet - cute , inaccurate farming techniques , lawyer!nanami , slow burn , depictions of injury ( minor burns ) , check - ins , dumbification , vaguely implied age gap (~5 years) , hand kink , inexperienced reader , light feminization , blowjobs , anal , mating press , fingering , hand-holding , praise , degradation , slut - calling , dirty talk , spit / drool , under-negotiated kink , aftercare

w.c; ~ 13.8k

sonny says. . . naaamiiii !!! {cry} {cry} mbaby :c can ybelieve s’is mfirst nami fic ?!?! just tbe clear, the reader’s size or height isn’t explicitly stated, but he’s vaguely hinted toward bein/appearin physical stronger than nanami.

‘ Next stop: Sekichiku ’

When he wakes up, Kento expects sunlight peeking through greenery— warm, yellow rays of light that dance and flicker across his eyelids. Warm, yellow beams that caress his cheek like the knuckles of someone tender, the palms of someone sweeter. It’ll overwhelm him at first, so bright and unapologetic as his eyes adjust and focus, but he’ll quickly crash, pupils constricting as the disturbance dwindles. And, suddenly, the star’s saturation will be comforting. It’ll be like a second. Just slower paced, peaceful. He expects the rustle of leaves, connected to strong branches and even stronger roots that dig into deep, rich soil. He expects to roll over in his temporary bed, breathing gently beneath shade, shielding his eyes from the welcoming invasion and blanketing him in a seamless flow of cool air.

When he wakes, Kento expects to hear the chirping of birds. It’s never quite enough to hear them in Tokyo. The strum of wind as it tickles his nose and pushes him forward. The swaying of grass— the smell is still so freshly imprinted in his brain, as it makes his head swim while crystal drops glide across its surface — a coarse underfoot of greenery that prickles the souls of his feet.

Tranquility by his side, urging him to get out of bed, chirping in an excited voice as it tugs on his wrist. He expects solitude, rolling its tangerine eyes and tapping its foot impatiently, “This is the break you’ve waited twenty-seven years for.”

But, instead, he finds himself clutching his chest, his heart beating with an unfamiliar pace that isn’t so calm. His body feels cold, like he’s been submerged in the deepest part of the ocean, unrelenting and ruthless as wave after wave crashes into his ribcage. The static in his ears grows louder and louder, ready to combust and burst his eardrums. Instead of the rustle of leaves, the cruel hustle and bustle of city life storms forward against his chest, shoving him back and forth. Back and forth, to and fro, against his body as his knuckles turn white and his vision starts to spot. Back and forth, as he comes undone.

It’s been so long, he’s not quite sure just how to unwind.

He starts off slow, swallowing air in desperate heaps until his legs relax, spreading toward the cushion arms of his faux-velvet chair. Then he flexes his fingers, draws them into tight fists and releases the digits until the shaking has stopped. Sips his complimentary white-wine with newfound steadiness, and tries not to choke when the intercoms ring,

‘Now approaching: Sekichiku.’

It’s a quaint little village, your district, where everyone knows everyone and the news is always, no matter where you are, city-wide. Stone-clad pavement and moss decalled windows, there’s a small blanket of achroous fog further north of town square. Yet, despite that, there’s an ever growing city of greenery and agriculture. With a small population and himself being the only passenger to unload at the station, it seems to be a lot busier than he’d originally thought. Street-food stalls and vendors, selling freshly baked goods and syrupy, savory sweets. It’s not like Tokyo, no, there’s no rush. No pushing or shoving, no overcrowded lines, no smells of smoke and burnt coal.

In fact, the air is rather crisp— the further his legs take him, the more apparent. No longer are his lungs breathing in the stench of sickness or body odors, no longer is he pushing past the fortunate, just to shove the unfortunate. And, admittedly, it’s a bit of a culture shock— but it’s not unwelcome. Regardless, Kento keeps his suitcase close, pushes it forward, sidestepping polite smiles and local shop owners.

He basks in it. The genuine nature to it all, the healthy glow of the atmosphere despite the steam, the fog, the chill to the air. He considers this a luxury— the closest to a vacation he’ll get, even if he’s technically ‘on the clock.’ Still— he soaks in the sights of hugging trees, of mossy roads and cobblestone streets. The colorful banners that jump with life, the lanterns and yellow-lighting that illuminates the day— he’s sure at night they’re even more wondrous. And, oh, the smells. Not at all like tokyo— there isn’t an overwhelming mixture of perfumes and colognes, no fast-food chains competing through aromatic smells, no heavy scents of tobacco littering the air. It's crisp, it’s ripe.

He almost takes no offense to the collision against his side— nor the screeching sound of surfaces grinding against each other, nor the loud and abrasive cry of the man bumping into him, accompanied by the crack of an apple’s core against the ground.

“Woah,” Warm breaths pan down the base of his neck, even warmer hands wrapping around his bicep with strength Nanami is sure shouldn’t be normal for a typical, everyday civilian. He involuntarily grunts, a deep sound that rumbles in his throat and earns an eager, yet apologetic chuckle. “You alright? Y’almost went flyin’!”

His brows furrow quizzically at that. First— he’s certain it’s the latter who nearly lost an arm and a leg with his tumble. Second, he hadn’t expected such a youthful, bouncy voice from the very stature shadowing acast him. Not even a bit, it doesn’t match the muscle straining through thermal clothing at all, let alone the sheer square feet of area being taken up by one person. Blocking his vision almost completely, standing straight— at an angle— that blocks a stall for fresh produce and flaky, steaming bread. The goods speak for themselves, crusted over in golden brown mountains and cloud-like, moist cross-sections.

Swallowing, Kento nods, eyeing the poorly drawn sign for fresh bread. Drawn in sharpie, the prices are written in big, bold, red letters. Endearing, almost, the curve and loop of each letter and number— the lines of each to-scale doodle of bread. Nothing like Tokyo, not nearly as artificial, not perfectly clean-cut. Not so cookie-cutter. There’s some personality in it, as juvenile as it may be. And it’s a shame, really, how promising the stand looks. Apples that shine a golden shade of red, bread that’s glazed in a sweet, sticky layer of yellow molasses and savory honey. And though he’d love to indulge, Kento has yet to label himself as the type. “Great, thank you.” Is all he says, pulling his suitcase along the perimeter of the stand.

Some other time, then.

The days are long as they are hard. The sun has yet to fully set, and still, the Earth pulls and pulls to weigh it down onto your shoulders. The sky is painted in hues of orange and purple, strokes of tangerine and lavender roaming past your bird's eye view. Your back pops as you stretch, arms tensing against the woven basket of leftover harvest, shiny red fruits aligned with the horizon and reaching toward the tiny glimpse of departing stars.

Where blossoms grow from tiny seeds, and orchids dance in gentle breeze— beds upon beds of farmland and agriculture drape the outskirts of the farmstead. Though the weather is turning, branches are starting to grow bare and bloom in color, the wind picks up its seasonal chill, and the clouds have begun to dissipate into the sky. . . The well-received proof of your hard work is still something to behold.

“—ome any minute, now,” You’ve heard it all before, your mother gossiping to her farmer-wife friends as she nurses sweet teas and tangerine tiramisu under her calloused, warm hands. You’d been a mere two steps away from where she sits at the open-island kitchen, shoes tipped in the illuminated speckle of celadon clearing just adjacent to the sliding, front, cedarwood door. “Said so, at least. Did you hear. . . ” Windchimes sing in welcome, soft and mellow as the door opens and shuts behind you, socked feet slipping from boots to warm, fuzzy slippers.

“M’back, Mama,” You mumble, half-humming along to the tune of muffled windchimes the further you walk, arms hoisting the overflowing basket up to your chest. A sweet sigh, then pitter-patter of fleece against parquetry, and the discovery of a sweet, cherry-red ladybug walking along your knuckles, leads to the basket securely placed on a free countertop. There’s a quirk of her brow, something of a gentle question— more of a suggestion— not completely committed to keeping two conversations at once. How’d it go?

“No luck sellin’ today,” your voice buds, small and soft as your eyes trail the curves of a particularly large waste of an apple. An evident pout on your lips, then a quiet huff of air.

Farming has been your whole life, really. It’s what you’re best at, good at. Ever since you were young, barely tall enough to push away tall-grass— barely strong enough to pull out weeds, you knew it was yours. Something special, gravel crumbling and breaking beneath heavy, solid boots and rubber tires. The remnants of small, flying rocks, pelting into each other and leaving behind white, gray smoke as your tractor comes to a slow, gradual halt.

“But I met someone new!” That peaks her attention, nothing short of a gasp coming from a pair of lips—identical to your own— and here come the questions. Was he blond? Oh, I knew it! Did he buy anything? Well, why not? Was he tall? Thought so. . . How about handsome? Come on, now. .

“He was . . hmm, pretty.” Is how you’d like to put it, raising a finger to the air in finality. Truth be told you don’t remember much about his appearance— it was more so his demeanor. He’d bumped into you— you think— and yet, there was something so smooth about him. Not even his slicked hair, wavy at the end and curved just right to frame his face and bleed into the bristles of his blond undercut. He’d carried on like it was nothing, still polite, even admired your handiwork on your stall’s banner. A sweet thing of a stranger.

“You’re so easily impressed,” The smile dusting your lips curls into a wee, nasty little frown. That’s just not true. “A good thing, too, you’ll have to like our new neighbor.”

Her voice melting through one ear and out the other like freshly harvested honey has your throat tied into a thick knot, stuck right at the base of your neck and only growing in size. Hands thrumming against the granite countertop, your body leans inward.

“Neighbor?”

“Mm,” She hums, landline trapped between her ear and sweater-clad shoulder. You’re not entirely sure if it’s toward you or her friend, either way, her conversation stays ambiguous. “I heard he’s some fancy lawyer. You think he’s defendin’ the Hasaba girls from last year?”

That’s something to think about. Two little girls who’d been found locked away by some sort of— police officer, was he? Perhaps something more authoritative, and taken into his personal care. You wouldn’t be surprised if it became legalized— you’d only met that man (Suguru Geto, was it?) in passing, but his stature seemed dead-set on protecting those girls.

There’s a muffled gasp on the other line, crackly with static as a finger twirls around the phone’s coiled, mint wire. The rest of the conversation goes unheard, slippered feet carrying you to the large, alcove window that displays just enough equal farmland and neighborhood housing. And, sure enough, as if on cue, it’s not hard to make out the lines and shadows of the ‘ fancy ’ lawyer, his fluid silhouette effortlessly carrying luggage and— what looks to be— a box of books. Documents, perhaps.

“You didn’t— how come you didn’t say nothin’ ?!” Your excitement has you toppling over, limbs every which way as your face presses into the glass window. When you’re stuck in a place where everyone knows everyone, there’s something exhilarating about having a new neighbor. And he knows nothing.

There’s a quiet mumble that roughly translates to: ‘You didn’t ask.’, but it’s filtered out by the sound of your full-footed stomps. You opt to keep your slippers, racing toward the neglected basket, mind completely set. “I’ll be back, Ma!”

The path along your house isn’t dangerous, but it is harsh on bare feet— inured by heavy boots and pick-up trucks.. Still, it goes completely ignored as you carry the heaviest basket of goods you own, anxiety twisting and turning in your stomach— bunny hops into your chest and stomps and stomps and stomps. You’ve carried yourself past the intersection of the cobblestone path, a lot more smooth the closer it gets to the large, usually untouched, rental home. The lights are off— save for the dim, yellow glow of a small porch lamp resting above an unsullied, sleek and wooden rocking-chair. When there’s no one to inhabit the home, it’s always been comforting to look at— but now? .

Cold would be one way to put it. Your feet are cold, your arms are cold, your hands are cold, and you’re stood at his front door— frozen. Scared is another.

Even so, you’ve always been told you’re the ‘bravest boy’ in your whole district. Cry-baby habits and all.

The door opens before you can knock, and all you can register is brown. Brown wallpaper— the beige type, just barely meeting the requirement. Patterned with old, vintage looking floral prints. Brown, sleek wood of a bannister— steps that lead down into the living room, but are visible from the front door. Brown eyes, such a specific shade. When exposed to the light they almost look gray— green?— but as he stands before you, there’s nothing but molten chocolate and burnt honey-candy. A brown leather belt, securing crisp slacks and an equally crisp button up. You expect to see brown loafers, but—

Fuzzy slippers, brown and soft and cute. Little black buttons for eyes, and two floppy, fluffy ears— reminiscent of a bunny.

“Oh. . . Can I help you?” You’ve heard it before, his voice, but it’s even more striking than ever. It’s easy to forget the voice of someone you’d just met, but there’s something so. . distinct about it. He’s got a slight accent, too, something Tokyo-adjacent— you’ve always wanted to visit for longer than the feeble four hours of a busy work-trip.

“Mhm!” Pretty lips spread to their best grin, pulling at your cheeks until the babyfat wells up. “Well, no— um, actually. .” Brown eyes are expectant, but calm and patient as they watch you fumble over your words. Your fingers tremor as the basket is thrusted forward, heat blooming in your cheeks. “These— This is for you!”

“Ah. . .” Pink lips part, cupid’s bow prominent. There’s a beat of silence, then the sound of his front door closing with a slight click— right in your face. For a moment all you can do is stare, eyes boring into the dark, chestnut wood of the rustic front door. Staring until it’s gone blurry, eyes bubbling with fresh, unshed tears. And, nearly spilling over like an overflowing faucet, they gather before you can blink them away— fat and thick and embarrassing.

“Um. . I like your sli—slippers.” Fully aware you’re speaking to an unmoving door, you can’t behind yourself to walk back the moss-decalled path home. It’s not so cold anymore, your bones having rung out in the, metaphorical, hot sun until they’ve dried completely and— now it’s warm. Warmth in your nose, stinging as you sniffle and bite down a hiccup.

“Sorry for the wait,” Mahogany shifts, offset by a deep rumble of a voice, smooth like velvet in comparison to the sharp, slow creak of door hinges, “Here.”

Dam rebuilt almost immediately, your body straightens. Him again, this time his eyes trained on what he holds in his hand. Brown and gold like sweet honey and, by God, it’s the most crisp set of yen you’ve ever held in your life. His fingers dance with fluidity you’ve never seen before, counting through each slip until he’s deemed an amount satisfactory— there’s a slight patch of hair on each of his knuckles, an array of veins that cascade into his forearm. His fingertips look a bit rough, but his nails are glossy and clipped. Even his cuticles are pushed back, just enough to look healthy and natural.

“Oh! I wasn’t trying to—”

“I know it’s rude to tip, so I left the exact change,” You blink. Once, twice— again, lips parted like a fish, fresh out of water. Then he’s hoisting the basket from your trembling hands, eyes downcast. “Next time, don’t give out things you worked for, for free,” Right where his eyes dip, his monolid, there’s a small mole— cute and circular, and had you not been studying the curves of his face you wouldn’t have noticed it. “You should wear a coat, too.” And, like a schoolboy, you can’t help the flurry of butterflies catching flight in your stomach.

“Yes, Sir,” Pearly whites biting at the fleshy, pink insides of your cheek have your lips puckered, pensive and sweet as you clutch the money to your chest. “Sorry about earlier— um, if it’s okay, I could help with your boxes?”

He leans forward, careful enough to keep the respective bubble of space between the two of your bodies, glancing at heavy, book-piled boxes labeled ‘N.K.’ The woven basket creaks under the weight of his chest, but it stays in one place nonetheless. “That?” He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It’s fine, just mail. Must’ve arrived before I did.”

It’s a bit awkward, really. Anticipation nips at your fingertips— you’ve never really had to work so hard to continue a conversation. You’ve never had to think about it either, if the words were coming out correct, if anyone was comfortable with your presence.

“Oh,” You breathe, subconsciously leaning closer. Perhaps it’s a miracle he hasn’t actually shut the door in your face, and— right. Your hands move to wipe away any streaks from your cheeks, a small sniffle ringing in the air. “Sorry f’I bothered you. I live, um, closest to the windmill. Yknow, just up the path from here. . . ?”

You haven’t known him for long, but you just can’t consider him comparable. Maybe it’s your heart speed-running past any other rational thought, maybe it’s the blooming heat in your chest, maybe it’s the shiver of winter trailing down your spine. You find yourself desperately hanging onto his every breath, only ever beaming when he shakes his head.

“Kento Nanami,” Tense shoulders relax with a deep inhale, the sweet smell of chocolate stuffed bread filling his nostrils. All that trepidation washes away, hushed under the breeze of Kento’s slow breaths. “Did you make these yourself?”

The door creaks, quiet and welcoming as Nanami extends an arm, stepping aside. Once his eyes finally settle on you they harden, just for a moment, as if he’s finally noticed the pull of your eyes— the crystalline seam tightlined around your waterline, the bright red strain of veins peeking behind your lids. Still, he says nothing, until you’ve introduce yourself with watery tremors.

“It’s cold, and you came all this way without a jacket?” Your eyes trace the vapor floating into the air as he sighs, irises dancing along the edge of your bare forearms. “Come in.”

Your muscles straighten up under his gaze, rippling until rigid as you eagerly nod, “Y’don’t think we could share some of that bread, d’you?”

The best time to farm, you’ve learned, is just after sunrise. The sun rests her head on grassy hills, still groggy and not quite awake yet, herself. But you are, suited up in your boots and overalls, not a single lantern in hand. That’s the first plus, natural lighting of the rising sun. The sweet, dim bath of light that paints the path from your home to your plantation in molten gold.

Then there’s Kento. You’d think he never sleeps, but you’ve seen it. Ritualistic, in a way. For the last two weeks, you’ve watched him go about his day. See, the window of your bedroom leads straight into his study, where he prefers a dimly lit lamp over the bright fluorescents. It’s almost hard to tell when he comes and goes, seeing as whenever you look, there he is. Sat in a swiveling chair and hunched over his desk, writing something in a notepad and skimming through— what looks to be— more documents on his computer.

You can only tell he’s going to bed once there’s a sigh, a pinch to the bridge of his nose before smoothing out his eyebrows, then the discarding of silver-frame, rectangular reading glasses. The lamp stays on, as if he knows he’ll be back in less than seven sleeping hours— which you think, for him, translates to roughly thirty minutes.

And, though he can’t see you, you always make an extra effort to wave up at his study, just before starting up your tractor.

You never expected him to wave back. You never expect his eyes to trail from your face to your supplies. And you, most certainly, never expect him to join you. Two thermal mugs in hand as he makes it over the small hill from his home to your own, past the thorn bushes and vacant tangerine trees. Hot chocolate— piping and rich, it coats your tongue in its sweetness and splashes against your lips with comforting warmth.

“Mm!” You hum, blowing through the small gap between the thermos and its sealed lid. You’d assumed your scarf, wrapped snug around your neck, would do the trick— keep you warm enough — but this seems to actually hit the spot. Sticky accents from remnants of unmelted marshmallows, its fluff clings to the corner of your lips. And Kento, nursing his own mug— though it contains tea— looks up to watch you grin, shards of tiny sugar crystals clinging to your pouty bottom lip.

“Hold still,” all but purring, his thumb swipes at your lip, wipes away the stickiness until they’ve parted— breathless. His eyebrows furrow with concentration, as if it’s a practiced habit, absentmindedly licking his thumb clean with one smooth, quick dart of his tongue.

“Sweet.”

Your breath circulates into the air, a swirl of white that dispels almost immediately. Your thoughts are cut short, breath stuck in your throat, eyes wide and glazed over with astonishment. “It’s— huh?”

“Sweet,” he chimes, lips curling around each letter. He’s beside himself, nearly forgetting who he is until the clear of his throat and a resigned grumble. “I can’t fathom how you manage to drink. . . radioactive waste from a cup.”

His humor is dry— something you have to think over for a moment before smiling against the lid of your cup. Kento notes how you smile— with your whole body— eyes closed tight and teeth on display, shoulders bunched and your stride much more bouncy. He tries not to smile when you giggle, hiding the lower half of your face behind the piping mug as your shoulders brush against his own. With each step the closer you get— to both the blond and your truck.

“It’s good,” Your voice lifts at the end of the statement, feigning offense as you lick your lips. Soft tongue against soft lips, Nanami partly wonders if you naturally taste as sweet as your preference for drinks. “M’not bein’ mean about yours!”

“I'm not being mean,” He corrects, a silent apology laced in his tone— just in case — and your knowing gaze lifts from his cup to his eyes, blazing bright and beautiful. He basks in your attention for a moment, like the gentle rays of a sun-swept island. Had this really been a vacation— no carry-on cases— he would’ve considered booking a flight to Malaysia.

First, he’s buckling you into your seat— it seems you’d forgotten, then he’s reminding you to put on your gloves, despite having bare hands of his own.

“You do this for a living,” is his justification, though you deemed it more a reason for him to wear the protective gear. “You wear them.”

And, now, he’s listening intently as you explain the mild inconvenience that is the technicalities that come with farming. He learns of your affinity to animals. Your slight, biased preference for gardening. The way your nose wrinkles when you think too hard, and the way you often forget what you were saying as you say it.

Though the scenery outside the passenger seat window is beautiful— valleys of faded green and brown, a light fog dusting the air. The symphony of crickets and cicadas, and of course, the sunset making its round up the horizon, teetering along the age of the Earth as it paints each and every blade of grass in its light.

He helps you out of the car as if you haven’t done it yourself a million times, careful not to spill your drink in his other hand. He’s awfully tender, too, his thumb absentmindedly circling the glove-clad skin of your knuckles as your hand squeezes his own. The door slams shut, and he doesn’t miss your expression twist as you whisper a small ‘oops, sorry!’ to your precious truck before unloading supplies.

Kento can’t name a thing— he’s out of his depths, here, but he helps anyway. He carries it down the never-ending row of cabbage and radish, watches his step despite nearly dismantling at least three dozen budding vegetables simultaneously. And you don’t yell at him once, instead offering words of sweet encouragement until you’ve found the place to start, dropping your assortment of tools and buckets.

“M’kay, ‘Nami,” He watches you drop to a crouch, warmth blooming in the apples of his cheeks. It’s not just the suggestive position, nor the way your pretty eyes look up at him from there— but it’s how sweet you say his name. . going as far as to give him a nickname, too.

Still, it manifests through the twitch of his eye, which you don’t catch onto, as he kneels alongside you.

“‘Nami—”

“No. It’s pronounced Nanami.” He interjects, his grip tight along the base of unsavory, frostbitten weeds— at least, that’s what he sees you doing anyway. Almost too tight, heavy and thick hands flexing, you can see the bend of his knuckles as his fingers dig into the roots.

“Na,”And, the smell of dirt, it’s so strong, the earthy undertones invade your nostrils and have no intent on stopping. . . “—na,” Raw, natural. His palms press in at the sides, thumbs stroking at the soil as he feels around for growing stems. For a moment it’s silent, save for the crackling radio beside you. Your pretty lips part, and sweetly, you’ve sounded out his name. “—mi.”

A puff of air leaves his lips, a scoff of a chuckle, and he’s giving a slight nod, quietly whispering the syllables of your name in acknowledgment. “Mhm?”

He doesn’t miss the way your lips split into a wide grin, weeds absentmindedly disregarded for a moment as you giggle, “I already knew that— I just said it!”

“Mm,” He agrees, though he’s not entirely sure you did. Then his heavy fingers tap your wrist— gentle, barely even a tap, but it gets you back on track— picking up the dead weeds. Kento watches, your hands gingerly plucking them free from the root, mastered and effortless.

Your fingertips dig into the soil, palms sticky and damp, littered with defrosting grass along each ridge and defining line. There’s so much care in your fingertips, and with every successful pull your eyes ignite. Like a cute, overgrown puppy. “Good. You’re a smart boy.”

“Y’think m’smart?” And, though your shoulders bunch up— a bit more bashful, you’re shaking your head. “I mean— I knew that already, too,” and it washes away as fast as it arrives, replaced with genuine exuberance. “I tell m’self everyday!”

The blond catches it anyway, gaze unwavering, even as your own struggles to keep contact. Nanami’s eyes are remarkably intimidating despite belonging to someone who’s positioned so utterly relaxed. . Crouching just as you are, but with smooth shoulders and lax biceps. Still, they’re visible through the silk fabric of his button-up, but he seems used to it. Tufts of blonde hair, slightly unruly and disheveled— swept back with gel, yet still set off in a flurry of gold by the back of his head, as if he’d rolled around in bed and decided to lounge about instead of retouching it.

Cozy.

“I do,” The sun dawns down through thick, gray clouds, framing his bronze locks— and with his lips slightly parted and his skin picking up a peachy glow, he looks almost seraphic. “What were you saying?”

“Um,” You pause to rethink through the last hour, warmth blowing past your cheeks as a particularly nippy gust of wind rushes by. “. . We sell ‘em, the weeds! That won’t be for a few days, sometimes we keep ‘em for cookin’, but . . . these aren’t any good.”

“Too many?” He asks, as if it’s the most interesting thing he’s learned in his vacation here, by far, despite having learned that just a few days ago.

“Too many!” Pretty lips part into a wide grin, and perhaps that’s the conclusion to Kento’s sightseeing.

౨ৎ

Kento tries not to lie— not unless he absolutely needs to.

With your black on black attire— a large, knitted sweater, a black bomber atop it, dark jeans to match, a hand-woven gray scarf wrapped around your neck, and white sneakers that carry a cream-colored accent in its threading— it’s hard to keep his mouth shut.

“Where are we going?” Is his first question— but there’s so much more he means to ask. Since when do you dress so nicely? Do your parents know you spent extra farm money on those shoes? Is it bad to feel the urge to hold you closer, just so no one gets any ideas?

Nonetheless, checking the silver-plated Rolex along his wrist with the slight tussle of his lapel-collared trench coat, just before popping open the passenger’s seat of your truck, he ignores the growing thought.

“You’re always locked up in your house,” Twisting your keychain covered keys into the ignition, the truck starts up with a gradual rumble. You’ve figured something was wrong with the oil for quite some time now, but it’s never been enough to start any problems. “Don’t y’wanna have fun?”

That doesn’t entirely answer his question, nor does it ease his mind— a vacation this is, yes. But it’s also paid, and he’s technically on the clock whilst being here. Still, he nods just once, the clench of his jaw apparent in the faint valleys of muscle just below his ear. Though, he supposes he could say the same about you. Every day you wake up, harvest, water crops, feed your animals, clean out troths and shovel up feces. He’s not even entirely sure if that’s your idea of fun— but he hopes not.

Kento doesn’t expect you to be such a great driver. Smooth turns and a gentle ride— even with cobblestone streets and gravel trails. You get carried away when you talk, too, hands moving about and your gaze trailing to his eyes every few seconds. He has to remind you— “Don’t take your hands off the wheel,” “Don’t look at me, look at the road,” — but Kento would be lying if he said it weren’t endearing.

It’s almost like you can barely function without basking in his presence.

“If it were warmer,” You swallow, finally stopping to catch your breath after the last fifteen minutes of rambling. The car slows down to a halt, an overhead traffic-light flashing a bright, crisp shade of red. “We could’ve went apple-pickin’ . . . or even oranges!”

You take the time to fully face him, eyes trailing up his dark trousers and gray turtleneck— it bunches at his chest, and you’re sure without his trench coat it’d be just as strained around his biceps.

“What do you do when it’s cold?” He muses, ducking his head to watch the passing of trees and inner city shops.

“Hm?” You hum, but before he can repeat the question you beat him to it. “Uh, we have this lake— it’s the first to freeze over when it’s cold. . ” So quaint, his eyes gloss over pedestrians as they live amongst themselves. Walking their dogs, sharing a drink at an outdoor bar, couples huddled close together for warmth. The sidewalks are clean and clear, there’s a polite, happy bounce to everyone’s step. Fairy lights blink in every other window, casting a sweet, bright hue along the streets below it. Kento understands it all, despite it being much more. . comfortable. . than Sendai. “And, when it’s completely frozen, we skate on it!”

It feels like home. A gentler, cozier version of it.

“I’m sorry—” The blond clears his throat as he turns to actually look at you, having fully processed your words. “Skating?”

“Are y’scared?” Nanami tries to ignore the burning of his throat when you laugh at his silence— a pretty, featherlight thing of a giggle that only progressively makes it harder for him to catch his breath.

“No,” He grumbles. He’s actually done it before— his younger, studying ‘coworkers’ had a knack for dragging him around outside of work hours— and he wasn’t free from it, even in winter. Yuji, Megumi, and Nobora, perhaps the three only people who could have him willingly risking a fractured disc.

“Don’t be scared, ‘Nami!” The car turns into a short trail, decalled in various signs and brightly colored symbols. “I can help you, m‘kay?”

Four people.

He nods anyway, save you the meltdown, and lets you drag him out the car once you’ve found a good place to park. He’d think it was illegal had there not been a sign for it, let alone communal skates in varying sizes. They’re in good condition, too. A small wooden bench— decorated with moss along its sides, he brushed his fingertips against it by accident— keeps him steady, but when he looks over to you, you’re already walking around with untied skates.

“Come here,” He beckons, voice soft and fond as he quirks a finger in your direction. He watches you fumble, nearly tripping over your own legs as opposed to your laces, but you make it over to him anyway, thigh against thigh. You brace yourself when he pulls your legs over his lap, shifts in his seat and tightens them just enough— “It’s not hurting you, is it?”— to fit comfortably.

“Thank you, ‘Nami,” He can hear the sincerity in your voice— as if he’d saved your life. Your breath pans across his face, warm and minty as you shake your head, “Doesn’t hurt. . .”

He offers a gentle pat to your knees once you’re fully set, softly dropping them back down as he leans to tie his own. It’s a quick process— not as tedious as the knotted up, tattered ones back home— a much more nice change of pace.

The ice, though, is considerably worse. He surmises it’s because it’s relatively untouched— if the whole village of Sekichiku had done two laps over it still wouldn’t have been enough to leave a noticeable dent in the ice— so his skates have nowhere to grip. You, though. . .

You’re much more graceful on ice than on land. A slow turn here, a quick twirl there, you could skate laps around him if you so choose. But you don’t, instead holding onto his wrists as he stiffly skates forward. Kento’s nose is nipped with pink, matching the particular shade of his lips as they part in concentration. The shade dispels down his cheeks, and you’ve never seen his face so. . . soft.

“Say, ‘Nami?” You huff, holding his wrists as you move in a slow, clockwise circle, turning you both. “When’re you leavin’?”

The truth bubbles in his throat, tougher to swallow than he’d originally thought it’d be. He clears his throat, avoids the question, and instead of freeing his wrists altogether, he holds your hand. You’re pouting when you slowly swivel to his side, his heart somersaulting almost painfully at the cute, wee frown to your lips. “Hey,” you whine, caught off guard but still pleasantly surprised, squeezing your palms against his own. “What’re you doin’?”

You’ve always been undeniably sweet. Kento thinks back to your basket of goods. The sweet, savory, aromatic flavors of bread, meats, cheeses, chocolates. How you have it to him so sweetly, no questions asked. There’s no ulterior motive to your demeanor, either. It’s peculiar to have someone so. . dependable. Someone to easily lean on, someone so— hospitable.

You’re perfect.

“I've never—“ He pauses, watching smoke dispel form your lips. An intimate position, he’s in— close enough to hear your breaths, holding on tight enough to feel your pulse through your fingertips. “Noone has ever done this for me. Thank you.”

“What, take you skatin’?”

“Support me unconditionally.” He pulls away before you can say anything in response, relishing in the thought of your pulse speeding against his knuckles as he stiffly skates back toward regular land.

The ride home is smooth, but quiet. And once you get there, hunger overrides your hospitality.

You like Kento’s rental— its kitchen is spacious and just big enough to support the mess of pots and pans that come with baking. It’s warm and inviting, the stove works great and the oven even better. Its heat burns a little brighter, but nothing you can’t handle.

Pain au chocolat — chocolatine — and meringue cookies; they’re a pain in Kento’s ass. Not even something he’d try to attempt without you there— he’s happy to watch you whisk away and laugh at his disgruntled faces. A “taste-tester”, you’d called him, scooping one sugary accessory after another onto the pad of your fingertip and asking him to try.

You weren’t lying. You really do know how to bake— flour dusted skin and all. Twisting raw dough into pretty sculptures of bows and braids, scored surfaces of x’s and o’s, light layers of warm butter that seep into soft, risen dough. And when it bakes, oh, how sweet the smell of aromatic bread is to Nanami’s stomach.

Studying the contours of a pretty face— baby fat rounding your cheeks as they pool into a sweet smile, pearly whites displayed brighter than the moonlight leaking through the floral curtains. Your laughter is wholehearted, hands gripping the hem of Nanami’s fleece shirt, body tipping toward his chest as your giggles dispel into the warm, brown-sugar baked air. For a moment he mentally swoons, something of a comforting coo, eyelids heavy and blanketed with the same baking powder littering your handsome face. He relishes the warmth, which leaves just as fast as it arrives, and suddenly you’re reaching into the oven without your cute, fluffy puppy-patterned mittens protecting your hands.

“Wait,” His tone is harsher than intended, solid and thick, and you— the sweet, softheaded boy that you are, don’t entirely deserve the worried look on your face that melts into sharp, hot pain.

“Ouch!” Your elbow smacks into Nanami’s calf as you flinch, fingertips raw and numb— still pulsing from the fresh burn. The man crouches down, knee to ceramic, palm to your warm shoulder, and suddenly your wide eyes are glittering and gleaming. Had the smile from your face not been growing, he’d have been appalled. “‘Nami, did you see that?!”

“Silly boy,” He sucks his teeth, pulling your clasped hands from your chest. Gingerly, he plucks out each finger one by one, runs the pad of his thumb along the burn sites. “You have to be more gentle with yourself.”

And, as if he’d declared to destroy your favorite equipment, your shoulders deflate. Hazel watches as tears well in your eyes in real time— with award winning speed, really— glassy and wet and oh, you’re so cute. It was just a small reminder, nothing too harsh— it could barely be considered scolding. Yet here you are, sniffling and averting your gaze. Eyes glossed over while your fingers instinctively curl over his own for comfort. Then a small, petulant, “M’sorry, ‘Nami.”

“None of that,” Soothing, it's gentle and soft as his thumb travels along the numb pads of your fingertips. And though it was already a faint sensation, you can tell his touches are deliberately featherlight and calculated, cautious. “Nothing to cry about.”

“I’m not crying,” You grumble, though his ears register the sound as a wet sniffle as you rub at your cheek with the back of your free hand. “I don’t do that.”

“Of course not,” The breathy lilt tongue voice gives it all away, a tiny smile dotting the man’s lips. They’re entirely too enticing, a sweet shade of pink that dispels into the milky tan of his skin. Sheen and glazed with what could be spit, your lips part to mirror the same smile. Though yours is larger, his isn’t any less exuberant— luring you in one centimeter at a time until, inevitably, his breath ghosts along the expanse of your jaw— you can almost taste him.

His voice breaks through the thickened silence, “But it’s okay if you do.”

The next two hours should go by just fine.

౨ৎ

“What does ‘default-judgment’ mean?”

Floorboards creak beneath Kento’s feet, dimly lit ambient lighting placed around the office keeps it lit just enough to see ever so clearly— a small lamp angled above an open file, then the remaining trickle of light cascading over photos. Labeled, dated, clipped, and shipped to his front door just a couple weeks ago. Soon to be released, relinquished, deadlined.

His hair drips with cold water, tiny drops dripping down to the floor while others slither down his neck, and pool where his back dips, just slightly. He doesn’t tense when he sees you— his muscles remain just as relaxed as they were in the shower— and his eyes barely widen past the tired, lidded expression that paints his face every night, before he gets his studying done. But you—

You’re the opposite. Your shoulders raise to your ears, eyes wide and unblinking as they stare at the towel wrapped around his thick, slightly hairy forearm— it’s navy blue, with a brown, horizontal stripe across its fabric, and embroidered letters you can’t quite make out. An intelligible sound, then an unexplainable expression, and— there you are, tripping over your own tongue as your hands shoot to cover your eyes. Only unclothed from the waist up, Kento can’t help the amusement blooming in his chest.

“It’s a deduction based on a defendant’s failure to answer. . or appear, in some cases, to a lawsuit or court.” Nanami’s eyes trace the part of your lips behind your palm as your brain processes (though, he doesn’t think that’d be the correct word for it) his words. They purse, quickly, tight lined, until parting again— once more, with less confidence. With each step he takes (long strides that make him appear as if he’s almost floating) he grows closer, strands of freshly washed angel hair sticking to his forehead.

“. S. . ure!” You smile and nod in faux understanding, fingers curling toward the dip of your hairline, eyes peeking through cracked fingers. From there, beneath your palms, an uncomfortable warmth blossoms from your throat up, settling in your cheeks and sprinkling across your nose— sweltering and tingly.

Kento tuts, a soft noise, and you watch as he inhales a deep breath, pine eyes perusing through the space between your fingers for eye contact. “. . . Don’t worry about all that.” And, as if he can feel the high voltages slamming against your heart, his tongue darts out to moisturize his lips, and his eyes fall to your chest. He sits aslant to you, legs spread wide with the occasional sway of his knee— but nothing too sudden. You’re made all too aware of his half-naked proximity, purportedly close enough to feel the warmth of his body radiating through the room— to smell the sweet undertones of vanilla, musk, and earl gray tea residing in his skin. In a low rumble he speaks, pulling lotion free from the drawer to your left. “Silver lining is: I’ll be out of your hair soon.”

Even as he leans forward, closer and closer, he doesn’t cage you in— even if your chest aches at the loss.

Your heart demands the conversation die after that. Beating so rapidly you assume it’s stopped, silence freezes the air as your hands slowly drop to your lap. Lips pulled with woe, darling eyes low and sodden in an instant. Shoulders dropped just enough to sound a sharp creak in the swiveling chair you’re sat in, your lashes clump with fresh, unshed tears. And, in a lapse moment of murkiness, Kento’s lips twitch into a frown of their own.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, as if afraid your response will confirm it— he’s what’s wrong. His choice of words— wrong. Thin brows furrowed, the dip of his chin has his lips ghosting your cheek.

“. . . Nothin’.” It’s worse. He’d expected tears— maybe even an exchange of fiery words— but instead you’ve shut down, hands balled up in the fabric of your flowy pants, denim bunched up and draped over your thighs. Completely silent, staring at nothing and everything— all in between— all at once.

“Nothing?��� He echoes, a silent suggestion for more. The rumble in your ear is almost too much, for a moment you assume you’d conjured it up with your imagination. Too close, too bare, too blunt, too warm— too fleeting.

“Mhm,” When your gaze meets, his heart plummets to his stomach. “Nothin’.” Words rush to his tongue before they can catch up to his brain, and. . you look so . . sad. He’s never seen you so defected— nor had he thought the concept of giving up existed for you. So headstrong, determined to make things work, gears always shifting into overdrive when you can’t make something out. You’ve gone as far as to create your own definition— this isn’t you.

“It’s. . . inevitable,” Kento’s voice softens, dropping to a quiet whisper between just the two of you. “But not for a while,” Then shifts his weight back, pulling away as he speaks in some sick sort of oxymoron, “I’m not going anywhere.”

“But you will.” Grumbling, you’ve always been an open-book.

“Not forever.”

“. . . Ever,” You grunt, choosing to ignore the stern quirk of his thin brow. You’re a bit of a brat— Kento sees that now— behind the pouty lips and soft eyes, behind the large smiles and intimidating prowess. “When are you goin’?”

Nanami treads carefully, fingers wrapped around the closed bottle of lotion. With a snap it clicks open, and a generous amount is pumped into his palms. The smell is neutral and muted, but clean and fresh.

Kento tries not to lie— not unless he absolutely needs to. An unexplainable feeling, adjacent to panic, rises in his stomach as he lies, “Six weeks, at least.”

“Nami…” Ignoring the deadline he’d just given you, you ask, “D’you like your job?”

You watch his posture relax, as if the previous conversation was just as emotionally taxing as it was for you, for him. He sighs, pauses to think for a mere second, then shrugs. “I like its structure.”

“Oh.”

“I like helping people, too.” He adds, much more sincere. Your eyes trail the lotion as it’s rubbed into his biceps, his shoulders, his forearms. His fingers flex and muscles ripple, skin bouncing beneath his fingertips, and light traces of hair at his knuckles raising.

“Oh.” You breathe, eyes locked on his veiny hands. You suppose, in a way, your jobs are similar. You, too, help people out— you provide fresh food and crops, you herd cattle and brush the hair of healthy horses. A very hands-on job— it’s rewarding. “Me too. I— I like helping too. And. . .”

His fingers twitch, almost as if they can feel your gaze, but Kento makes no effort to move them.

Six weeks. Time is fleeting.

“I—” With trembling hands you lean forward, clasping Kento’s smooth knuckles against your palm. He’s just as warm as he looks, skin soft and sheen. His fingers flicker in your hold, straining as they tense— silently, asking, ‘what?’ as an increasingly overwhelming urge to keep Kento close washes over you.

It’s moments like these you’d wish you were better with words. To weave them together into something pretty, like a basket made for carrying fresh harvest. To pull apart and braid together an amalgamation of just the right phrases— ones that sound pretty and roll off the tongue. Some that sound soulful and genuine, yet effortless and forthwith at the same time.

Moments like these, where your breath is stuck in your throat and with every rise and fall of his chest you think you’ve lost some more— he’s taken it all from you— you wish you knew just what to say, to do, to bring that air back.

To have him melt at your words the way you do at his actions, to have him feel the same exact thing when your heart clenches in your chest like a rag that’s been wrung out to dry. Without trying, without straining. You wish you were smarter— better at this, as you lean so far from the chair it begins to squeak in protest.

You’re sure there’s better people in Tokyo. With better educational backgrounds, with cleaner jobs. People who have it all together, who have different skills and assets— who don’t stick to one thing simply because they have a natural born talent for it. People who are prettier, more handsome— perhaps more his type. People who have aligning career goals and paths— more accomplishments.

Sweeter, kinder. With softer hands and an easier understanding of city life.

People who are better with words. Who can weave them together into something pretty, like a closed case with no loose ends or dead leads. Who can pull apart and braid together an amalgamation of just the right phrases— ones that sound pretty and roll off the tongue. Who can make their confessions sound soulful and genuine, effortless and forthwith at the same time. All within the heart of Tokyo.

People who aren’t you.

Nanami stands, shuffling over to fix the documents you’d ruined— of course you did— but his face hasn’t changed from his usual tight-lipped expression. Sometimes it’s hard to read him, and it’s times like these you really wish you could.

“I like you,‘Nami.” You whisper to yourself, quietly pouring your heart out with each spoken letter.

And, with a snap, your world goes crumbling down. Increasingly silent, the world stops as you hit the floor and Kento’s chest stills— the soft, quiet beat of his breaths gone quiet, as if it were a mere memory to begin with. The backing of his swiveling chair falls with you, right to the floor, clattering much louder than the sound of your tense body, and—

“Forgive me if I’m wrong, but I think you have the wrong idea.” His voice is strained. Uncomfortable.

You’ve never felt more humiliated.

౨ৎ

Despite your humiliating attempt to hold onto it, time flies by. Locked away in your room— your only source of comfort being an occasional knock on the door from your mother and the weight of your blanket as it remains overhead. You’ve counted the seconds— tripped over your thoughts after reaching 1,633– started over again. You’ve listened to the pitter-patter of rain against your windowsill, peeked out from your cocoon to bet on a race between the raindrops.

You’ve thought about Kento, of course. So much it plagued you, made your chest uncomfortably tight— until all you could do was let out a humiliated groan all over again. It’s a timeless cycle, and yet, it grows closer to his leaving date.

You haven’t spared a glance toward the actual outside, even when your window overlooks his own study. You’re sure everything’s out of sorts now— weeds overtaking the farm, plants dried out or overwatered, any blooming vegetation snipped at the bud before it could bloom. Tough luck, they’ll get over it.

And, God, has your family tried. Through gentle words and offers of food, through soft praises that fell on deaf ears. Through frustration, too, anger laced in the sweetest yell of ‘where’d my smart boy go?’

Your eyelids feel heavy and thick. No longer swollen with tears or bloodshot with dejection— just heavy, simply tired. Sleep is all you’ve done these days, yet it feels like your body can’t get enough. Fifteen hours a day leave you straining for more, three hours a day leave you exhausted. You can barely remember when you last left your bed— for the bathroom, never for a drink— and even when your frown deepens as you think about it, you can’t bring yourself to fix it.

You can’t bring yourself to fix anything as of late, if it can even be fixed.

You were stupid for thinking he’d feel the same, anyway. A man like ‘Nami— a man like Nanami— so smart and so distinguished. So. . opposite of you, to think you’d fall anywhere near the same line as him. . is laughable, really. Even more so when you consider his upbringing. He doesn’t mention it much, and you try not to pry, but you consider his lifestyle quite traditional and cookie-cutter. You hadn’t even asked if he liked men.

“I think you have the wrong idea.”

His rejection physically pains you, a quiet sniffle and suppressed whine straining your vocal cords. Your nails dig into the fleshy, cushiony part of your palm. You can hear the pitch of his voice — rumbling and deep, you hear the shakiness of his breath—so deeply uncomfortable, cold with disgust. “I think you have the wrong idea.”

A knock to your door startles you awake, eyes wide open as your cocooned body flops around in bed. Still, you barely make an effort to respond, dry lips parting to form a garbled groan.

“Your. . . friend was at the door,” It’s your mother’s voice, but softer and pleading. For a moment your heart twists, eyebrows pinched as you suck in a sharp breath through your teeth— you can’t remember the last time you’d seen her face without slamming a door in it. “Looked tired, so I gave him some coffee. . .”

A bitter, disconcerting ‘so?’ nearly leaves your mouth— something so unlike your usual self, it makes you want to borrow deeper into your sheets and never leave. Shame. She doesn’t expect you to crack the door open. You shake your head, even if she can’t see you, only breaking your stubborn resolve when knocks once more, and slowly, you scuttle around the mess of your bedroom to unlock the door. Your eyes carry dark circles and heavy bags as your gaze pierces straight through her. Then, a shaky breath and barely audible whisper, “. . . S’it Nanami?”

Her aged smile is soft and thoughtful as she leans into the doorframe— something you haven’t seen in a while, and your eyes prickle with warm tears once more. “Between you ‘n me, you’re in much better shape.”

Cracking a smile nearly takes all your energy from you.

You don’t bother changing from your pajamas— they’ve always been so baggy to support the muscle you’ve grown over years of lifting heavy produce and working with truckloads— and now you’re grateful for it. Something to hide behind if you need it, and your fingers subconsciously curl into the fabric of your long sleeves for comfort. Once you get downstairs the two of you depart, and a gentle rub to your shoulder blades is all your mother offers before finding solitude on her own, just a few rooms away if you need her.

And— she was wrong. Of course, he looks tired. You can see it in his shoulders— they’re all wound up and tense, like they’d been when you first met. Sure, his jaw is tightened and you can hear the grind of his teeth against one another despite keeping your distance— but he still seems put together, albeit lacking his usual combover or corporate style of clothing.

It hurts to know he does well without you, as selfish as it may sound.

“Hi,” You mumble, rubbing at your face with the palm of your hand. Your voice crackles with disuse, rumbling and garbled in your throat. “Nanami. .”

“Hi,” He echoes, your name heavy on his tongue as he stands, leveling out the shared eye contact. Just Nanami. For a moment he’s at a loss for words— and it’s odd, typically he has an answer for everything. You remember asking why he’d buckle your seatbelt before his own, and his answer was always the same. You remember asking why he likes what he does— and they’d all circle back to enjoying the small things in life. His Kento’s lips part, taken aback by the loss of his nickname, but they close into a tight line with registration. Perhaps you’re just. . too much.

“I lied to you,” He begins, and your heart leaps to your throat. He clasps his hands together, resting soundly by his thighs as his head tilts downward, a silent plea. “And, for that . . . I’m sorry,” Kento releases a breath, hands coming undone to swipe away stray, gold strands of hair. “Don’t feel obliged to accept, I just— I like y— I want to show you something.”

It’s odd. The look on your face makes him want to scoop you up, to cradle you in his arms and hold you tight. And yet, he can see the cogs turning in your brain, the gradual loss of your frown and faux steel in your eyes as you shrug— he can’t even distinguish if you’re being reluctant or stubborn. Nonetheless, Kento smoothens the fabric of his coat, and makes a small, polite gesture to the door.

“Okay.” Your fist rubs sleep from your eyes, steps heavy and dragging along the floor as you slide your feet into brown bunny slippers— the same ones he’d worn when you officially met.

Stepping into the cold, crisp winter air, you both ignore the tremor to your bottom lip, “What were you gonna. . ?”

Not at all hard to spot, set alight by the glow or orange lanterns, it’s your farm. Oh, it’s much prettier than you could’ve ever imagined it. So clean, with pristine rows and neat placements of fresh soils. You can actually walk through it, as opposed to tip-toeing around like you used to. The air is crisp and fresh, just like you’d remembered it— but it feels better than before. And, dotting the horizon, fireflies dance into the night sky and blend into the twinkling stars. You don’t remember the last time you’d seen them— vision occupied by tall grass or obstructed by rusty tools. You could almost cry. Your breath catches in your throat, a gentle breeze brushing along your forehead and digging into the fabric of your clothes— yet you feel light and warm.

He did all this for you?

“Are you cold?” You blink hard, vision blurred with tears as Kento’s hand grasps your shoulder. “You’re shivering.” He’s quick to shrug off his coat, barely even flinching when the fabric dips into fresh mud, and loops it around your form with steady hands.

“M’okay. .” He frowns, barely visible, and the slight protests of being strong enough to tough it out die on your tongue. But it’s true, you don’t feel cold— not internally, at least. You feel light yet heavy, warm and airy. Heat pokes at your skin, ignites in the apples of your cheeks and trails down your throat. “. . . Thank you, ‘Nami. . . For everythin’.”

‘Why're you saying it like that?’ He wants to ask. As if it’s some sort of sick, roundabout way of saying goodbye. His movement stutters, lips curled into a small ‘o’ before reverting back to its usual, thin line; and he speaks, “I don’t just like you.”

Your fist tightens in his coat, fabric twisting to accommodate your grip.

“I. . admire you. Your strength, your weakness. Your baking. . Your smile, too,” He sighs, quiet and cautious. “Your laugh. I regret not telling you before. At first, I thought you were impulsive, and somehow abrasive, bu—”

You’ve never been one to hide from your feelings— you laugh when you’re happy, scowl when you’re angry, mope when you’re sad. So it’s no surprise to feel you smile; wide and unapologetic. It’s no surprise to feel the tremble of your fingers as they release his coat and land on his biceps. To feel the slow, shaking breath of air he releases at your silence— hearing his own slight sniffle at the nippy, cold breeze. You’re nervous, lips twitching as his chin dips, bashful as his lips intertwine with your own.

A kiss.

"’Nami," Laughing into his mouth, it meets the sound of your lips continuously meeting in breathless, heavy harmony. His lips are plush, soft and sweet, hungry and hasty, everything and nothing and all things in between. “I like you. I like you, I like you, I like you.”

You feel it now— the warmth enveloping his chest, the hard hammering of his heart against his ribcage. "Shit," He whispers, incredulous, and before slowly pulling away, cradles your handsome face between his calloused “I like you too.”

౨ৎ

Kento owns silk pillows. You can tell they’re imported from home— as they disturb the uniform colors of the crisp, cream comforter set blanketing his bed. It’s the first thing you notice, head sinking into the fabric as your eyes flutter closed, thoughts and breaths stolen with each wet, heavy kiss being pressed against your lips. His breath is hot and heavy, small groans and grunts leaving his parted lips, and— he tastes of chocolate.

“Kenny—” You gasp, but the sound of his name on your lips only eggs him on. Hot heat blooms in your stomach, tingling down to your tummy, so deep, something you’ve never really felt before. It tingles, almost, right through your thighs and straight to your cock, plumping up with each passing second. And his hands, god, are so quick and skilled— shedding you of your clothing as if he’s done it a million times before.

“Kenny,” You repeat, much whinier than before, tiny sounds leaving your lips as you squirm in his hold. “Mm, wait,” and his response is barely committal, a low hum that melts into a breathy sigh as your bare skin is exposed and your leaking cock springs free against your tummy. He coos, peeling the sticky fabric of your underwear free. Cute.

“Use your words,” Kento mumbles against your skin, running his hands along the silky smooth skin of the back of your thighs. “I know you can, you’re a smart boy.” You squirm with every touch, plush skin bouncy as you press your thighs together, cock sliding by your navel. And, even when you hide, he can see the precum smearing against your stomach, the tightening of your balls, and, now, your exposed hole winking back at him.

Fuck.

“Mm, don’t look,” You’ve barely convinced yourself, a choked out moan leaving your lips as his big, warm hand wraps around your cock and pumps. “That’s— oh, embarrassin’!” Slow, at first, trailing up the sensitive shaft and rubbing circles into the overly-sensitive head. Until his hand is slick with precum and his own spit, until your thighs are convulsing and you’re close to covering yourself in your own cum. Until you’re sobbing, pulling at his wrist with weak, clammy hands.

“I know, sugar. I know,” And the stifled cry you've been hearing belongs to you. “Feels good, hm?” His free hand grazes down your waist, thumbing at the dip between your hip and your thigh, then cupping the soft, plush skin of your pecs. “Feels better than your own hand, doesn’t it?” Kneading until your nipples harden against his palm, soft skin swelling around his fingers. And, oh, how pretty you are when you cry, overstimulated tears rolling down your cheeks and incoherent babbles leaving your swollen lips.

“Uh— huh, yeah,” Is barely breathed out, and Kento watches pre leak over his knuckles. Creamy and thick, sticky and sweet as your hips rock back and forth, to and fro. You just can’t help yourself, greedy boy, fucking into his fist like it’s the best thing you’ve ever felt and— oh.

It is.

“Messy boy,” He huffs, pressing his forehead against your own— damp and sticky. Your hand, preoccupied with fisting his sheets, is grabbed, and all you can feel is slick, hot heat. “Fuck your fist for me.”

“Wh- Huh?” It takes a moment for your brain to catch up to your hands, wrapped tightly around your cock as your hips buck— whines high and loud in your throat, keening like a puppy. It’s not at all paced, not like Kento, just pure desperation and need as your toes curl and your eyes roll back into your skull. Warmth rises in your face as your legs instinctively part, tingles spreading through your body and needy moans filling the air. Wet and sloppy, your hand is slick and soaked.

He travels lower, lips trailing down your throat, your collarbones— pausing at your chest. He watches the rise and fall, the slight bounce of your pecs as you pant like a dog. Pretty buds hard and sensitive, a gentle suckle is enough to make you arch from the sheets and keen.

“Good boy, that’s it,” You have the urge to get on your knees, to present all your holes to him, to spread yourself open with your fingers- fucking them in and out, in and out, just for Kento. It’s all too much, thinking of what’s next, what’s happening now, what’ll happen later.

Nanami lifts his shirt over his chest, the fabric bunching under your armpits as he keeps it pinned between his teeth, and you have no other choice but to flutter your lashes, watching as his pants are loosened and his cock springs free. Big. Thick and long— and, it seems his tan has traveled to his cock, too. Blushing at the tip, the sweet color of mocha, it disappears the further you look down. Curved, too, slightly past his belly-button and heavy against his navel. It's humiliating, the way your mouth waters almost immediately.

It’d feel so good weighing down on your tongue, fucking your throat fast and rough, making you gag and sputter— choking on your own tears and groans.

“Wanna. . I want. . .” You squirm where you lay, whining high in your throat as you find nowhere to hide— nothing to put your face against, nowhere to bury the drunk, hazy expression on your face.

“Want what?” He murmurs, pretty eyes trailing along the curves of your face before he places a sweet, soft kiss along the edge of your jaw. You take the grip on your waist as a slight indication— Kento’s patience is slowly waning.

“V’never. .” Your lips part into a gasp, eyes fluttering closed as his large hands travel along the expanse of your chest. “I wanna. . . feel you in my throat.”

The smart man he is, Nanami, never misses a beat. Pink lips splitting into a small smile, his thumb rubs circles against your skin. Still, you can feel the throb and twitch of his cock against your thigh, hard and almost leaking. “That’s ambitious, sugar.”

You don’t register scrambling up by your elbows, nor the amount of time it takes for your fingers to fail at wrapping around his cock. Your thoughts are muffled and hazy until a quiet chuckle sounds above you— rumbly and deep, and— ah, Kento’s hand is guiding your head back as he pulls your hands free. You’re panting for it now, mouth dropped open as the slurp and slick noise of his cock tapping against your tongue drops straight to your stomach. You could cum from this alone, without even a single glance toward the ache between your thighs.

"M'gonna be so good, promise, know I can do it! Want it, Sir," A clear habit of rambling when you’re nervous, a soothing coo leaves Kento’s throat. His tip smears along your pillowy lips, sticky and salty as pre paints your chin.

“Shit,” He groans under his breath, fisting his cock to ease the ache in his balls. “Slow. I don’t want to hurt you. Gentle, remember?”

You don’t. You can barely think, let alone recall something from another day. But you nod anyway, eyes glued to his cock as it bobs to and fro— pretty and weeping. You bet it’ll feel so heavy, weighing down on your tongue and nearly crushing your throat as you gag around it. He’ll taste good, too, salty and sweet as he buries his cock down your throat. With your nose pressed into the blond of his pubes, and his balls slick against your chin as they tighten and clench.

Yeah, you want him to cum on your face.

With a whiny nod you take his tip into your mouth, pink tongue over your teeth. In your head, it’s much easier— you can sink down to the base no problem— but in practice. . . You sputter and gurgle, leaning into the gentle touch caressing your cheek as your tongue traces the pulsing, thick vein cascading down his shaft. Through your pathetic whimpers and whines he mumbles— but it falls on deaf ears.

You stick out your tongue, cute and pink, latches onto your bottom lip, slicking his slit as he blinks down at you, pupils blown and wide as he praises you, voice smooth and buttery.

Through your own jittery, inexperienced suckling, his tip is smeared along your lips, slowly tracing your cupid's bow and bottom lip until a thin layer of pre has them glazed over and sticky. Your lips part, carrying a thin trail of creamy pre between them, as his dick slides in and out your hot, wet mouth. Spreading heavy along your tongue, swallowing around the head as his thighs tense, muscles flexing and rippling as they strain to keep still.

“‘Nami’s dick is heavy, sweetheart,” He’s gasping before you can fully take in the stretch of his cock, hips twisting as his eyes flutter closed. It’s been a while, you can tell, with the way his balls are clenched tight, his hand morphed into a fist— careful not to grip your hair. Your spit bubbles and pools around his cock, slick and wet, sliding between the seams of your lips and dripping down your throat, down your sternum, down his thighs. “And you’re taking it so well.”

Running your tongue along his big, veiny cock, his head falls forward— adam’s apple bobbing as he lets out a pleased moan. His cock fills your empty mouth, stuffing it full like a pre-lubed fleshlight, his balls slapping against your chin in sticky, wet plaps. Collecting drool, it froths between your lips and his cock, bubbly and white until your noises are sloppy and loud. “That’s it, good boy, take this load down your pretty little throat. . .”

Gasping on his cock, Kento’s hand holds you close, until you’re buried against his pubes, until your throat is squeezing and contracting and wrapped plush around the thick shaft of his dick. You can feel it, each and every twitch and throb, each hit, sticky rope that paints your mouth as he cums down your throat, ropes shooting down your tongue and sticking to the roof of your mouth. You’ve done so good, such a good boy, marked for Sir, offering a few hollow sucks to his spasming cock before he pulls you off.

You’d rather he paint your face, but you trust him, swallowing the bitter, salty cream as he whispers gentle praises.

“You’re perfect,” Kento mumbles through heavy gasps, rubbing away the fat tears that roll down your cheeks. Such a sweet, pliant boy, leaning into his touch as he gently pushes you back down, off your knees.

Now he’s got you folded, knees bent back in such a slutty, shameless display. The blond squeezes at his cock, his large hand sliding into a fist that clamps down around his beading, shiny slit, then slowly back down to the thick, veiny shaft. Yeah, that’s good, how it slips and slides with rhythmatic pumps. You’d like to imagine that’s how it’ll be when his cock is inside, stretching past your rim and splitting you open, sliding against your velvety walls until he fills you up with his hot, sticky cum.

“Spit,” he says, gentle at first, but hardening as your poor, pitiful attempt at spitting down your own cock turns into gurgles of drool and incoherent moans. He grips your jaw, angling it just right— till you’re resting back on your elbows and have enough space to land a warm, wet glob right down the slit. “Good boy. Look at me, pretty. Like this.”

You watch as he spits down onto his own cock, runny and wet, which stands as a reminder of its own. His fist is so big, but it’s not nearly enough to swallow his cock down. You watch it pop free from his tight grip, loud squelches with each and every movement. Every time he throbs, pulses, shifts— you hear it all.

“That’s it, atta boy, my good little cocksleeve,” You— it must be you, there’s no one else he’s speaking to. Still, with your hand squeezing your throbbing shaft there’s not much you can say, airy little moans and sweet, high gasps leaving your pouty lips as you buck— up, up, up. A thin trail of drool slips down your chin, warm and wet and— oh, that’s nice— trailing down your cock. “That’s it, stick your tongue out.”

You really do play the part, tongue on display as you fuck your fist silly, bumping slits with the blond. Soft and sticky, loud and wet squelching until his own large, warm palm envelops both your cocks, bumping and grinding and sliding so messy. You nearly burst into hysterics when the warmth is gone, and Nanami’s gaze tears away from the pre oozing between your shafts. “Ask Sir for more, angel.”

“Mm, waitwaitwait, don’t— don’t stop,” You keen, stumbling over your tongue. Your brows pinch, eyes glazed over with unshed tears. “Kenny— Sir, please.”

“Good boy,” All but purring, his hands roam along the plush, round mounds of your ass. “Yeah,” His dick slips between the slick skin of your perineum, dragging along the sensitive skin— the head of his cock catching on your rim when his thrusts turn too eager. “You’re a good boy, asking like that.”

“You like grinding on Sir's cock don’t you? Getting me all wet. . .” Just as warm and wet as he’d thought, cooped up in his office and fucking into his fist, lube gushes and trickles out with every deliberate, shallow rut forward. Your balls bounce and twitch, slick and shiny with a mixture of pre. Your moans, so pretty, high and nasally— incoherent and blabbering. The slurp of his cock goes straight to your balls, tightening as you whine like a bitch for it. And his grip, once gentle and steady, leads down to your ass, keeping it spread as he slides the big head of his cock along your pretty little rim, again, and again, and again. It’s more menuevering than bouncing, through your fucked out haze you try to think; you want him to ruin you.

A knot tightens in your tummy, tingling in your balls as your thighs tighten and your legs tremble— fuck, you’re cumming, hard and all at once, it catches you off guard and a choked squeal is knocked from your throat, rope after rope spraying along your own chest.

“I—” You sob, cock convulsing against your tummy as Kento groans. “I didn’t mean to— didn’t know, m’sor—”

He hushes you, a low growl in his throat as his eyes roam up your tummy, past your hard nipples and land on the splatter of cum collecting between the plush hills of your pecs. “S’okay, it just felt too good, mhm? I bet your pussy feels so good, baby— perfect, pretty little pussy swallowing up my cock.”

You don’t expect him to say that— that’s the last thing you expect, eyes rolling back in your skull as you moan, wholehearted and slutty. With the wet squeeze of lube along your bottom half, slicker and sloppier than ever before, your hole winks back at him. Your perfect, pretty little pussy. “That okay, sweetheart? Can Sir pound this hole till it aches for him?”

Your response is barely coherent, garbled sounds and babbling that roughly translates to ‘please’ as thick fingers prod at your tight, puckered hole. Your loud moans are hushed as Kento leans down, close to your ear. His fingers slide against your entrance, sticky lube sliding along with them and connecting to your puffy rim. They feel so big, so long and thick when he taps them against your hole, barely breaching the tiny gape of your rim. “Gonna get you ready for Sir’s dick, gonna finger that cunt nice and slow, get that sweet boy-hole stretched out.”

“Kenny,” You hiccup, uncontrollable tears streaming down your face as you reach forward to press his fingers closer, a tiny gasp leaving your lips as your entrance is breached. You don’t miss the groan you earn in return, deep and shaky as the man takes the opportunity to slip his fingers right in, past the burning stretch of your fluttering ‘cunt’ that sucks the digits deeper and deeper into your gummy walls. “Can take it, pound it, Sir.”

“Look at me, watch me, sugar. Watch Sir fuck this little hole full.” You squeeze your eyes shut for as long as the reluctant, bratty little part of your brain lets you before staring down into hazel. Until his fingers have you seeing stars and rocking back into them like a cock hungry slut, you’ve never felt more full until his cock kisses your insides, leaving you sloppy and open and full.

Your voice isn’t nearly as loud as the wet squelch and slap of skin against skin, his cock sliding in and out your puffy hole as lube gushes out around his dick in white ringlets. Like you’ve creamed on his cock, he can see it slip back inside with each thrust. Your knees over his shoulders, Kento hauls your body up, and with a tiny, wee and pathetic ‘ah!’ you follow suit, your cute little hole clenching and fluttering around his thick, leaking cock.

“Give me a little more, just a little more of this pussy,” You can’t contain the squeals and squeaks that leave your mouth when the blond pistons his hips, a bruising grip on your waist that only gets harder as he grinds his cock down into you. He’s filling you up so good, his balls slapping against your ass with each rushed, rough thrust that has your mind scrambled just as much as your guts. You can’t take it, hands scrambling to grab at something, anything that’ll keep you from screaming.

Pounding into you, your head falls back as you take it, nice and slow, stretching you out— fast and rough, steady and patient— Kento groans above you, bullying his cock inside, grinding while your hips squirm. Mouth open with an unending stream of moans, he breaks you in, turns you into his good boy— his perfect fleshlight. Wet little hole clenching and spasming, his weight pins you down as your greedy hole milks him for all he’s worth.

“Cummin’, Nami, s’too much— M’can’t—” Whining and crying, his touches go right to your head as much as they do your puffy hole."Kenny," you whine, long and pitiful, a pout of a noise that hits him right where you want it to, just as his cock does inside of you. You whine again when your rocking turns into frantic overstimulated grinding, reveling in the stretch of his cock and the rub of your prostate. He groans, thick and gravelly, hands coming up to squeeze at your chest.

“I’ve got you, c’mere, hold Sir’s hand,” He chokes out, feeling it too. The tightening of his balls, the way his dick aches and pulses inside you, the way his cum is starting to kiss your insides and spurt straight onto that small bundle of nerves— fuck, it’s so deep. His thrusts are hard and deep, thick rope after thick rope frothing around his shaft as he fucks it deeper inside. “So good for me,” You never want it to stop, not the pump of his cock, not the drag of his tip against your entrance, not the filthy sounds, not the cum filling up your hole till you can’t move. Your grip on his knuckles is tight, nails digging into the skin of his hands. “That’s it, such a pretty boy, cumming on my cock.”

A searing knot of pressure grows in your stomach, filling as you bear down on his cock and sob on your whimpers. For a minute you think you’re going to pass out, everything going dark as you spurt all over yourself, globs of cum spraying hard onto your chin and splashing back on the blond. He makes you ride it out, offering hard, shallow thrusts to satiate the erratic spasming of your hole, and places a few sweet, tender kisses to your sweaty jaw.

౨ৎ

You wake with a small moan, limbs racked in small aches as your body melts into silk sheets. It smells like him: warm, cozy, and comforting, like a hug. Grateful for the dim, ambient lighting of his bedroom, your eyelids flutter open slowly, and there’s not much to adjust to. You’re clean— its the first thing you notice, a faint scent of soap lingering on your skin as your aching body scrambles for Kento’s warmth.

“I’m here,” He says behind you, hairs on your neck standing straight as you blink at him. Carrying a glass of ice water and a plate of meringue cookies— whisked perfectly. Cute, cloud-like spirals that sit on a porcelain plate— the same ones he watched you make, a smile pulls at your cheeks. “Hungry?” The muscles of your biceps flex as you push yourself up, body subconsciously leaning toward the blond until he’s sat next to you, his touches gentle and fleeting.

He feeds you a cookie, watches your teeth sink into the sweet, then wipes away the remnants of sugar from your lips. So tender, your heart flutters when he takes a bite after you— an indirect kiss.

He swallows, throat bobbing, lashes batting against his high cheekbones, before parting his lips, “I was thinking of extending my stay.”

The room feels ten times brighter, ten times louder, and yet, your heartbeat overpowers it all.

“I like you,” The words tumble from your mouth, almost as if he hadn’t just spent the last hour taking you apart and building you back up. You have nothing to lose, and everything to gain. “I more-than-like you, Kenny.”

And, without missing a beat, Kento answers truthfully this time.

“I love you too.”

[headintheclouds-posts]

🔞 MDNI FemReader OptionalMale

“Be a good girl and stay quiet, I don’t want us getting caught”

As usual, any event you were both invited too ended up with you hauled up in the nearest empty room devouring each other. It was something about the way a suit clung to his body that made you want him to take you at any given moment.

So here you are hoisted up onto the bathroom sink at your friends birthday party, making out with your husband as his fingers attack your entrance.

He quickens the pace of his fingers in your hole, the squelching sound of your wetness is barely heard due to the pounding music outside the door. He quickens his pace, matching his slender digits with the beat of the house track playing.

He continues to whisper praises in between kisses as you tighten your walls around his fingers, waves of pleasure building up inside of you.

“That’s my girl, cum for daddy” he growls, knowing your body reacts to his commands. Ripples of pleasure satisfy you as you unravel in his arms, whimpers and rasped praise leaving your lips.

Soon you’re back at the party, face flushed from the recent escapade. You look over to him, he’s talking to a friend and smiling as they discuss old memories.

At a glance he looked normal, nothing out of the ordinary…but if you really looked, you would see the drying wet patch on the lower part of his white shirt from where you squirted all over him, and the way he occasionally brings his fingers to his lips, the same fingers that were deep inside you not too long ago.

What people wouldn’t know is the unsaid promise you can see in his eyes, the promise that says it won’t just be his fingers making you see stars later.

Not my best, so I do apologise.

Also comments and reblogs make my day ♥️

[urkuna]

# KUNA ₊˚⊹ ᰔ 𝜗𝜚 — he’s too stubborn/prideful to ask you to rub his tummy -🪼

You were one of the few people that could make Sukuna calm down when he was in one of his moods. In a moment of weakness, he'd even admitted that you soothed his temper, something that he was ashamed of despite having a strong pride and ego.

A frown spreading across his face as his stomach ached, but he didn't want to admit that to you, of course.

As the seconds ticked by, Sukuna's frown intensified. His jaw clenched as his breathing intensified. "Well?" he demanded, shifting his weight forward in his seat.

His body was tense, ready to move, but he refused to be the first to break the silence. "You're gonna make me say it?" The King of Curses muttered to himself with annoyance. He had never felt this impatient or desperate before, but that's the kind of effect you had on him.

Yet, even as he fought against the urge to request for your attention, there was a silent plea in his expression, for you to see past his facade and offer him the comfort he so desperately craved.

Sukuna gritted his teeth as he realized just how powerless he was in this situation. He had no way to make you do as he wished without showing his vulnerability and letting you know how much your touch was needed. And the thought of doing so was just as insufferable as being deprived of your affection.

"You're being a brat." However, his attempts at sounding threatening were hampered by his current predicament, resulting in them sounding more like a frustrated grunt.

Sukuna grumbled silently to himself as he observed your lack of reaction. He was well aware that his attitude was ridiculous, but he couldn't help it.

He shifted closer to you, subtly prodding your body, hoping to prompt a reaction.

His movements grew slightly more forceful, but he kept it subtle. He felt ridiculous, considering that he was the mighty King of Curses, reduced to begging like a cat for affection.

You couldn't help but smile as you felt the soft, pink locks of his hair rub against your arm. "You okay?" You question him in a soft tone, finally giving him the attention he craved.

The second your voice filled his ears, he grunted quietly in satisfaction. "Mm..." Sukuna muttered, nudging you with the lower part of his body.

You tilt your head in curiosity when your eyes are met with his tattooed abs, clenching and unclenching painfully. "Poor kitty..."

The king breathed a relieved sigh, exhaling softly as your hand's gentle touch eased his stomach ache.

He wanted to say something in retaliation, but he refrained from doing so. Instead, he simply gave a small grunt of acknowledgment, keeping up the stubborn persona for reasons beyond his understanding.

However, his actions betrayed his facade, as he shifted his body a little closer to you, angling his stomach to be more conveniently accessible to your hands.

Sukuna scoffed, but his pout only became more exaggerated in hopes of coaxing more comfort from you.

He would never admit it, but as you lovingly called him by that silly nickname, your tender touch made him feel pampered and spoiled.

Not only that, but the soft, soothing feeling of your hands on his skin was intoxicating in itself.

Sukuna began to fidget, his muscles twitching beneath your touch as he resisted the desire to lean into your hands more.

"Your kisses make it feel better," he admitted in a low tone, shifting his body closer to yours in the hopes of receiving even more affection.

You smiled, his words prompting you to lean in to leave small, soft kisses along his tattooed jawline.

[thursdayisfriday]

ᴀꜰᴛᴇʀᴄᴀʀᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ɢɪʏᴜ︎⋆˚✿˖°

⤑ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: Giyuu Tomioka x GN!reader

⤑ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: mention of sex (just in the beginning), cursing, fluff

⤑ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: Giyu takes care of you after you come down from your high

“Fuck- I’m close~” Giyuu moaned as he kept on pounding into you. He kept on abusing your hole making your eye roll back into your head and your fingers ache from gripping the sheet so hard. The sound of skin slapping and you guys moans filled the room making it easier for you to release. “Shit-” Giyuu groaned as he pounded in you a few more times before cum, filling you up once more.

He huffed as he laid on top of your chest. You guys stayed in this position for a while, with Giyuu still in you. “Did…did it feel good?” Giyuu asks hesitantly. He felt you cup his cheek, making him look at you. “That was amazing” You said, still coming down from your high. His cheeks flushed at your words, making him turn his head so you wouldn’t see. “You really think so?”. You chuckled as you tried to get up, wobbling as you balanced your upper body. Turning Giyuu’s face towards you, you pecked him on the lips, moaning as he pulled out. Some of his semen escaped, running down your legs. You flipped over so that you were on top of him now, laying down. He pulled you in close by your waist. “Can we stay like this for a bit?”

“Of course, whatever you want”.His hands drag on your body. Memorizing the curves of your body.Your breath stuttered every time his hands went lower. Playing with his hair, Giyuu blinked slowly at the feeling. “Trying to put me to sleep now?” You chuckle at his somewhat rough voice. “Maybe…is it working?”. He stole your hand from his hair and kissed it gently making your cheeks flush. “No…”. He rested your hand on top of his chest along with his hand. “Ready to take a shower?” You nodded, making a humming sound.

Swiftly, Tomioka got up after you moved to the side. “Do you think you could stand?” You got up, wobbled a little, then leaned on Giyuu. “Unless I crawl there… I dont think I'll be able to walk to the bathroom “ You chuckled, embarrassed. “It’s fine, i could take you there”

“Wait- Giyuu, you don’t hav-” Before you knew it you were already in his arms. You clutched onto his shoulder at the sudden movement. “You could have warned me, dummy” Giyuu held you close. “Sorry..” He said before walking towards the bathroom. He turned on the light and sat you down on the toilet seat. Then plugged up the shower and turned on the water waiting for the water to fill up. After it was at a reasonable height, Giyuu picked you up once again and set you in the bathtub and sat right behind you before taking the pipe off.

Your body leaned on his, feeling abs on your back. His hands found a way to your thighs as you moved around, trying to get in a comfortable position. The water sloshed around with every movement you made. “Careful, you might just get me hard again~” He whispered in your ear while squeezing your thighs. Your body tensed up as your cheeks flushed once more. Brushing it off, you leaned on him once more engulfing his hands in your, kissing the tips softly.︎⋆˚✿˖°

I hope you enjoyed (⁠人⁠⁠´⁠∀⁠｀⁠)⁠｡⁠ﾟ⁠+

[luvrkay]

gojo can be so impatient sometimes. that's why you're leaning against the wall barely a few feet away from your front door, one leg thrown over satoru's shoulder, the other keeping you standing upright. your skirt is bunched up at your waist, panties pulled to the side as gojo's tongue swipes through your puffy folds.

"toru!" you cry out, fingers tangling in his white strands and tugging roughly at the roots. he has one arm wrapped around your waist, fingers rubbing circles on your clit as his tongue prods at your entrance.

he fucks his tongue in and out of you quickly. satoru pulls away for air, peppering opened mouth kisses along your thighs. "wanna see your tits" he murmurs quietly before he's sucking your clit into his mouth, pushing two of his fingers into your tight, wet walls.

you pull your shirt and bra down with one swift motion, exposing your breasts, your free hand coming up to pinch and tug at your hard nipples as you grind yourself down on gojo's face.

"'m'cummin" you moan out, hand pushing gojo deeper into your pussy as you gush on his face and fingers. gojo drinks down your slick, licking through your folds and making sure not to waste a single drop of your sweet slick.

Masterlist

[kizoken]

𐙚 prison princess. wriothesley

𐙚 smut ; afab!reader , degradation (use of bitch, slut, pretty girl) , feral wriothesley , choking .

water droplets and clanking chains reverberated throughout the room. masking as much as possible the collision of yours and the inmates' skins.

wriothesley was harsh in his pounding thrusts on your pretty puffed out pussy, never missing a single beat to maul over your sweet spot. his rough hand had a tight grip on your hair while the other was placed over your mouth. thick fingers inside for you to taste your own juices from his previous teasing as well as a means to keep your voice at bay.

drool seeped out from wriothesley's muzzle, setting on your half-naked back. he was a troubled prisoner for sure, one that you as a prison guard had to punish due to his reckless behavior. though he charmed you enough to let yourself be at his mercy.

you reached out to take your keys and throw them at the criminal for him to take off the muzzle. you wanted to hear more, what his voice sounded like, what his thoughts formed into words were like.

"such a whiney little bitch..." he huffed, throwing that god forsaken speech impediment tool out of his mouth once the keys unlocked it. "this cute little cunt feels like home, milking me to the fullest."

"tell me pretty girl," the hand on your mouth moved to hold its place around your neck, squeezing its sides. the vision holder ecstasies himself on how your pussy walls welcomed him in deeper once he begins to apply pressure. "do you tease your pretty clit think'n bout me throughout your breaks?"

your own drool crept at the corners of your mouth as you tried your best to relay a cohesive answer. though you only projected mewls and moans to the best of your capabilities. "bet the other fuckers locked here will be jealous, should i show them who you belong to now?"

such possessive words made you reach your all-time high, while marveling on wriothesley's thick, veiny cock twitch, tease, pound and stretch you out to his delight on the cold table.

"i know now," he mused, icy blue eyes staring down at your fucked out figure, "i'll mark you as my cute slut." his thrusts became erratic from there on out. rutting himself while in your high, stringing along words to encourage you to keep him satisfied.

it was not his sole mission to cum inside you. no, not yet at least. with a few sloppy thrusts, he pulled out from you and made you face him as milky white strings began to paint along your pelvis and stomach. some droplets landing on your chest as well.

"don't even think of cleaning yourself up." he whispered, setting you on his lap before putting your clothes back on.

—ᴛᴏᴊɪᴄᴜʟᴛ²³

[yurmomsawh0r]

Taming His Beast

Synopsis - Teaching your new barbarian husband how to be gentle.

Cw: Rough sex, biting, power exchange, creampie, pet names, Baki being a little mean, slow sex, getting caught (squint), reader on top

Hi everyone! Todays story was inspired by Zoey Dravens Horde Kings series and I thought Baki would be perfect for it! Please enjoy!

*All characters are over the age of 18+*

“Ahh!” I ragged moan escaped my lips once again. On an endless loop, he ripped them from me with his powerful thrust. He was a beast. A monster that brought my body to new heights again and again and again.

I couldn’t take anymore as he used my arms against me. Securing them behind my back with his one hand. Pulling me back against him only to buck his hips into me harder than last. I felt it. Another bubbling orgasm that was about to surface. “Yess. . . “ He groaned out.

“I feel you clenching around me little beauty” He whispered in our tent. “Give it to me” He said again. The dark tone in his voice was so primal, it made my heat hotter and my walls grip him tighter. I heard him moan a little. I felt him everywhere.

His breath on my back, his hands now roaming up and down my body, his cock deep inside me — rubbing my walls in a way I never knew a man could. It felt amazing as always but it left me aching afterwards. By now I had learned that my new husband liked to fuck, and he fucked hard. “Cum for me little beauty!” He thrusted harder and the damn in me broke, hopefully for the last time of the night.

“Fuck!” I was a moaning mess. His cock started to feel bigger and his pace started to fall. He was about to cum. No doubt in me. He was ravenous yes, but for some reason his seed filling me made him feral. Primal even. He always looked at me afterwards with such a possessive look in his eyes.

Like I was his prize and no one was allowed to see.

“Yes! Yesss!” Calling out as I felt my insides gush around him making him still, shooting his load into me. The warmth coated my insides, filling me up and sliding out when no more could hold inside. Both of us spent and slumped over on his king size bed. Lush furs tickling our flesh.

He was still seethed inside me. Throbbing ever so slightly. The intense heat from his body blanketed mine from the slight breeze that made its way in our tent. I knew I would be in pain once I awaken from the slumber I felt looming over me. Like a thick fog waiting to collapse.

Soon, that looming fog started to descend upon me. My mind drifting and my eyes fluttered shut. I felt a gentle touch. A soft caress to my small cheek. So soft that I had thought I imagined it.

-

When I had awoken, I was alone. Of course I was. He seemed to always be gone by the crack of dawn. Like he wanted to avoid me. I shifted slightly. The agonizing throb between my legs evident. My handmaidens must have heard me get up because the flaps to our tent opened and they rushed inside.

“Morning my lady.” They said in unison. It was odd, but I didn’t mind. Giving them a greeting in return, I forced myself up and out of the bed. “Would you like some salve my lady?” One of them spoke. I walked over to the basin full of steaming water. As I stepped in, a deep sigh had left from my lips the deeper I went in. “Yes please. After my bath.” No doubt they all had heard me last night. Baki did not take it easy on me. He was angry about something, but he seemed to calm down after we had sex. I can still remember the way he came in. No greeting me as he grabbed my upper arm and threw me on the bed. I remember feeling him gripping my hips and flipping me over so he could take me from behind.

After my soak, they dressed me in fine silk garments and placed my hair into a ponytail braid. I wasn’t used to being catered like this. My family always treated me like I wasn’t one of them. An expendable they could used whenever they wished.

I wonder if that’s how it would be here. Only useful when my husband needed to dump his load. I wondered if we would ever have any type of relationship at all…

The least he could do for me is be gentle. At least some of the time, but it was like he didn’t have a gentle bone in his body. Even as I begged him to slow down, it always fell on deaf ears. But not tonight. Surely he would want to have sex again but this time we will do things my way.

I turned to my handmaidens. “May I ask you something?” I waited for a response. “Of course my lady. What would you like to ask.” Daila spoke.

She seemed to be the oldest of the two so I asked her instead of her sister Mina. “How do you make a male. . . be soft for you?” I asked. Although I was a little to shy to ask what my question directly.

“What do you mean my lady?” I huffed. My cheeks felt hot. “You know. . Like how do I make Lord Hanma more. . . gentle. . . I’m bed.”

At the end of my words I felt my body heat up with embarrassment. I wasn’t experienced with dealing with men and that was already an embarrassment in itself. My handmaidens laughed. I looked to them with a slight playful glare.

“I’m sorry my lady, it’s just it isn’t often we have these types of conversations, but our Lord has always been, well rough. With everything he does. Honestly. He might not even know how to be gentle.”

I plucked some dried meat and took a bite listening to her words. “But men are simple my lady. They may like being in charge, but with some ‘encouragement’ any man can fall.”

“What do you mean?” She giggled again. “Get him on his back my lady. The rest will be easy. And I promise he will like it.” . . . .

-

Time flew by that day. Night had fallen and my husband would be here soon. I had drank myself two full cups of wine, and already, I felt myself loosen up. Tonight would be the night.

The tent flaps opened and the smell of husky male filled my nose. The hairs on my skin stood at attention and my heart beat faster than ever.

He stood tall and proud. His muscular body always did something to mine. It’s like my body knew that he owned it. As if our bodies called to each other. Constantly.

His eyes met mine, and I could see his iris flare. He looked upset when he first stepped in, but now, he looked wild. Untamed with lust. He stalked toward the steaming tub, undressing quickly before stepping in.

His cock already starting to rise and it bobbed and swayed with his movements. Just the shear size of it had me gulping. It was unbelievable that that was inside of me. Caressing me from the inside.

“I can smell your desire little beauty. Come here” he called out to me. Never breaking our eye contact. Carefully, I stood and made my way over to the side of the tub. “Would you like me to wash you my lord?”

He huffed. His body going rigid. His cock throb just above the water. “If you wish is my wife. I will not stop you.”

I grabbed the wash rag and lathered it with the oils given to us. With soft movements. I washed him. Caressed him in ways that I knew he liked. Thanks to the help of Daila, I had learned the quick art of seduction.

As I reached over to wash his hard length, I felt the sheer dress stick to my body from the water. My breast were on full display for his pleasure. Bake had no shame in staring at him. Even if it made me uncomfortable, nervous or even lust filled. I was his wife, and as he put it before. He could do what he pleased.

I gripped the base of his shaft with the rag and drew a long tug upwards on it. A growl escaped my husbands lips as I did it again and again and again, until his length was full on hard and hot.

A gasp left me as he gripped my sheer dress and yanked it from my body. The tattered rags fell from my body and instantly, I was exposed.

His hand caressed my bottom before he went to my most softest place. “Well little beauty. Are you wet from just washing me? It seems so.” I couldn’t help but moan when he rubbing circles on my clit. My body moving on its own to grind into him.

Suddenly he stood from the bath, grabbing me into his arms and taking us straight to our bed. He laid me down and went to dive in between my legs, but I pushed him away. His brows creased. “I do not have time for your stubborn games tonight, do not try to stop me now.” He spoke. Again he tried to pull my flesh against his, only to be stopped a second time.

Quickly I sat up. Placing my hands on his face before drawing his lips to mine. I could already see the fight in his eyes dwindling. Our lips melted together in a slow dance. His tongue brushing against my lips asking for access to which I gave. I sucked on the tip of his tongue and like the wild man he was, he gripped my backside roughly.

Slowly, while he was distracted, I pushed him down onto the furs. Straddling his rock hard body. My cunt dripping with need. A gentle need.

Reaching behind me, I gripped him in my hand and stroking ever so slowly. He hissed. “Little beauty…” he called out a warning by saying my pet meals. “Have patience my lord.” I said softly as I stroked him again. A bead of his seed falling onto my hand.

Lifting myself slightly, I positioned us so that the head of his cock lined with my opening. His hands flew to my sides, trying to roughly pull me down, but I stopped him. I gripped his hands in mine and removed them from me. “What are you doing wife. I told you. No games.”

“I am not playing games your highness. I’m just being gentle.” He narrowed his brown eyes at me but relaxed his hold on me.

I stared into his eyes as I slid down on him. Both of us releasing a gasp once he touched my back wall. Placing my hands on his chest, I slowly slid up and back down. A loop I continued until I found a good rhythm. “Ah. ..” I moaned. Baki started to thrust upwards ever so softly. Matching my pace.

Although I felt full and slight pain from him hitting my cervix, I felt alive. Powerful even. He gripped my breast gently and played with my nipples till they peaked.

I think he was starting to realize this was something I liked. My big bulky husband being gentle, and for my eyes only. “Do you like when I play with you breast little beauty?” He asked me. His voice deep and lulling me into him further. My hips started to grind a little faster as I felt my peak nearing. “Yes, I do. I love it!” He took one into his mouth. Pulling and tugging gently with his teeth and lapping them with his tongue.

“Oh gods!” I moaned louder. My insides clenched around him and I heard him suck in air. I rocked back and forth, chasing my orgasm that was so, so close.

“Are you going to cum for me little beauty?” He asked me. His hands now on my ass. Spreading me even more. “Yess my lord!”

“Then cum for me. .” And I did. Just freely falling over the edge of pleasure. “Ohhh fucck!” I collapsed on his chest, allowing him to take over and thrust into me as his pleased. Taking me, fucking me into my next orgasm and to his.

My juices spraying all over his shaft.

He roared fiercely, stilling himself as his seed shot into me. Coating me deliciously. He rocked me against his body, chasing the last of our orgasms. The last of his seed falling into my womb.

We laid there for a while until our breaths evened out. He rubbed my back with his rough calloused hands, but I loved them on me. They felt warm and safe.

“You will be the death of me little beauty. But it will be an honorable death.”

As I drifted off, I felt him place a gentle kiss to my forehead.

“Sleep little one.”

•

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Hey everyone! If you like my writing, please be sure to check me on on kindle Vella - Aaliyha Writes

“The Boy Next Door” 💓

[chiyoso]

“THE MARA'S WILL”

someone as fragile as you shouldn't have to reign the bloodied fields of cloudford, along with raging war against two powerful factions—as well as an internal presence that invaded your mind that started all of this mayhem.

content warnings; oneshot · female reader · honkai impact 3rd inspired · takes place after xianzhou arc · canon universe · manupulation · mentions of depressive tendencies · declining mental health · war · death · traumatic events · mentions of blood · fighting · sensitive descriptions · dead dove: do not eat.

author notes; an open ending is an open ending. i appreciate all your of love for this oneshot, but i won't be making pt2. ty.

The Astral Express.

A widely known faction of celestial mysteriousness that traverses across the galaxy, they dedicate themselves to the ways of trailblaze and adventure, an enormous train conducted by a rumored fluffy creature that travels through vast worlds with its starry residers.

However, you didn't expect to meet the faction like this. The time that you yourself encountered the famous members of the Express— or rather, they bumped into you.

A memorable impression, leading their hearts and minds to waver in complete uneasiness, fear and curiousity.

It was one of those moments. Moments of tranquility, replaced almost immediately with unsightly chaos, and screeching horrors.

And they weren't coming from you.

2:49 PM — CLOUDFORD, XIANZHOU LUOFU

NOW PLAYING ♪ TOT MUSICA

11 minutes until eruption.

ᚷᚨᚺ ᛉᚨᚾ ᛏᚨᚲ ᚷᚨᚺ ᛉᚨᚾ ᛏᚨᛏ ᛏᚨᛏ ᛒᚱᚨᚲ

ᚷᚨᚺ ᛉᚨᚾ ᛏᚨᚲ ᚷᚨᚺ ᛉᚨᚾ ᛏᚨᛏ ᛏᚨᛏ ᛒᚱᚨᚲ

“F- Fu-aahh.... Haah...” You groaned in pain. The sounds of alarms, crumbling and a voice of elegant dread echoed inside your mind, chanting unfamiliar, incomprehensible sounds that you were unable to understand nor fathom its sound waves.

Your flesh continued to crack as gold seeped out from the insides, bright lightning marks all around your form, accompanied with your heavy eyelids, struggling to keep your consciousness as you panted heavily. Your thoughts fogged viciously with memories of all kinds, your mind had felt like a mix between ice and fire. A flaming vortex along with an Icy storm that seethed inside, causing a severe throbbing that had you wailing in pain in heaps of volume consecutively as you grip your head.

“M- Mr. Yang!” A high pitched voice trembled, struggling on her feet while a grey haired female helped her up to stabilize her balance.

“Go. Call for reinforcements. I'll take it from here.” He says, gripping his cane while the other hand hoists his frames up to his nose bridge, returning his gaze towards the sight of you.

Reinforcements?

“H-hhgk—” You coughed up gold. Your face stained with your aureate tears, gasping for air as you clenched the area of your heart, which was beaming light, pulsating with the same color as the liquid that stained your whole being.

What was happening?

You screech, lower limbs suddenly at work, executing swift dodges that your untrained body couldn't handle physically, stretching and tearing your muscles.

Something was fighting for survival, and it wasn't you.

Your actions lowered the morale of determination from the Cloud Knights that had stationed on the sidelines, now replaced with a panic and fear from your ever so visibly increasing strength and agility, etching negative emotions into their wounded states that you have inflicted previously.

The man with the glasses, distance away from you clicked his tongue in frustration, he had summoned a multitude of black holes, raining hellish orbs of gravity towards you in such high speeds and velocity, but you... despite your poor state of self, you've managed to avoid them all.

But,

Even you weren't aware of your own skillful sequences.

ᛗᛁᛖ ᚾᛖᚷ ᛟᚾ ᚷᛁᛖᚲ ᚷᛁᛖᚲ

ᚾᚨᚺ ᛈᚺᚨᛋ ᛏᛖᛉᛉᛖ ᛚᚨᚺ

“P- Please... shut... get out of m—”

Feeble attempts of retribution, cease your resistance.

Play into submission, child of Lan.

You cocked your head to the skies, letting out gutteral sobs to the heavens, screaming and pleading your heart out while your own nails dug into your skin, your eyes weeped in gold, blurring your sense of sight.

Your thoughts were a sea of fragmented memories, bad ones, the negative ones that only fueled your transformation and the thread of your consciousness that you desperately were holding onto, was now being threatened harshly.

The man in glasses gripped his cane, firming his hold while witnessing your overwhelming presence and what was happening infront of him.

You were talking to yourself. You were visibly in pain, you were weeping, and the mara that was supposed to overcome you right now was... being barely resisted. Resisted. Resisted?

That's impossible.

You can't resist the Mara.

Beads of sweat formed trickled down along his jawline, his eyes diluded towards the sight that was all too familiar for him.

Someone- or something was talking to you, and he felt nothing but the sensation of dread swell inside him.

He didn't know what to do. Based on your own visible actions, it was clear—you didn't mean to do any harm, you were struggling more than anyone in this dire situation.

You brought your tainted hands that was darkening onto your face, trying to hold onto what's left of yourself, your consciousness.

“PLEASE! L- LEAVE M—” You choked out.

You were stumbling on your feet, drowning in pain as you sobbed your pleas of desperation.

His face scrunches, biting his bottom lip, frustrated over his hesitancy and lack of determination into going all out against you.

You reminded him of a state that reminded him of his past companions from another world, a state that only led to an upbringing of a powerful force, leading to the destruction of humanity and civilizations, a state that almost destroyed his homeworld.

But he had to remind himself repeatedly, you were just... Mara-strucked. A man-made work from the schemes of Sanctus Medicus, their work, befalling to an unfortunate character before him.

But... why the hell were you talking to yourself? Why were you pleading? Crying? How were you still able to talk? And most importantly, how were you still able to resist your supposed inevitable demise?

You peeked through your digits, your eyes pierce to the man with glasses, before lowering your hands to your sides in idle, continuing to pant heavily in place.

Your stance had your staggering legs slightly bent, your chin upwards—but your stained eyes remained on the figure infront of you.

His eyes diluded upon meeting your sorrowful gaze, his hand tightened around his cane further, seemingly ready to take on any action you will commence, but he wished you didn't engage, he wished for your attacks to cease. He didn't desire to harm you at all—You were in obvious pain, emotionally, physically and mentally, and only his veteran observations can see that.

“M- Miss—”

“Kill me.”

You said breathily with your burning throat, your voice had been accompanied with a second, mixing with your original tone with a now deeper, and sinister chord that showed the fruition of the transformation you were currently experiencing.

Your hands find their way to your throat as you coughed out more gold, along with the taste of iron that mixed with the aureate liquid that had turned into an morbid shade of color from your blood.

Your legs gave in, bringing you to your knees while you continued to choke on your own secretes, sobbing continuously from the sensations you were experiencing.

“BENEFACTOR! SHE HAS FALLEN!”

“WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?!”

“END HER LIFE BEFOR—” “Gghk-... Nngh...”

“Reinforcements are on their way.”

“I- It hurts.... It HURTS!!!”

“Call for further units! At ONCE!”

“P- Please tell me I'll live...”

“BENEFACTOR ITS YOUR CHANCE!”

“M- Monster!” “M- MY ARMS!”

“KILL HER!” “HER STRENGTH IS ONLY-”

“KILL HER!” “KILL HER!”

“KILL HER!!!!”

“KILL HER!”

The man with glasses was overwhelmed with contradicting emotions, hindering his wavering will to use the opportunity of your vulnerability.

The cries and pleas of desperation from the several Cloud Knights that have fallen from your battle, ring through the bloodied field, along with your genuine—sorrowful filled sobs that only haunted and hesitated him much more.

His own thoughts were only mirroring the mess that you were in, having to be filled with deep memories of a life that was filled with death and torment, reminding him of his sins once again.

The child of the Hunt, hopelessly clings onto the wretched humanity, only to be shunned out and betrayed by your own race.

I feel their sea of desperation, their desires for your lesser existence to perish without a trace in the galaxy.

Give into the sensations of truth, let it embrace your poorly sculpted soul, for I will accept you without fail.

You were already on the floor arched, your hands had continued to hold your head, gripping your hair as you wallowed in your pool of tears, gold and blood that soaked your once beautiful skin.

“Sss-top... Stop... Please...”

You've already hurt your own kind.

“I- I... Hgk— Ahh-Haah...”

You've already inflicted enough despair and chaos to the point where these lowly humans cling onto their life in a feeble attempt of living.

“Th- That's not...”

Savor their pleas and screams of anguish as they call upon your death. You aren't wanted, you aren't needed.

“THAT'S NOT TRUE—”

The floor beneath your shaking body began to crack, the density and force around you had only drastically strengthen, creating a growing crater below you.

You are only inducing fear in your surroundings, and you are more than aware of what you're causing.

Hatred. Anguish. Despair. A need for violent measures. A selfish greed of clinging onto life from their grave wounds you placed upon them. This is all you.

All you.

Mindlessly in pain, your body unwillingly helps itself up despite your own injuries. You took a heavy step forward, only ceasing the noises that surrounded you as they witness your hauntingly beautiful yet bloodied form, but there was no attraction, they were now instilled with a new type of fear.

2:55 PM — CLOUDFORD, XIANZHOU LUOFU

5 minutes until eruption.

You were a golden death. A victim.

A new dreadful existence that was unintentionally yet successfully created by Sanctus Medicus.

The golden liquid had already burned the rest of your outfit. Your body only continued to pour gold from the rifts on your skin, your heart—or your now crystalized core, pulsated with consecutive glows, as if your former heart, and the rest of your biology had changed, in which case, it did.

That's it... Embrace it... Your perfected, honed and better self.

Shut up.

The voice chuckles, continuing to fog and envelope your whole essence.

The unwavering, unbearable pain was now released, replaced with the sensations of your skin, healing slowly. The paleness in your face had become warm once again along with your body.

Your hair only grew longer, luscious and free, your eyes glimmered in high self esteem once more, while previous cracks all over your body had almost disappear as if nothing was there in the first place.

You will never admit it, but you felt more healthy, you felt beautiful, you felt confident, you felt...

New, refreshed and reborn, and you grasped control of yourself once again.

Your newfound vigor and vitality only brought unease and curiousity to the Cloud Knights who loathed your existence being a supposed child of Yaoshi the Abundance now.

The man with glasses couldn't help but be reminded of his weakness from your newfound growth, he had hesitated until now, witnessing your upbringing and his own actions had left a sour feeling on his drying throat, unease had surrounded the man, in fear of what will commence. He doesn't know how much longer he can fight, accompanied with the knowledge of his two fatigued Astral companions seeking out help of any kind, but another question lingered in his thoughts;

What were you?

You weren't a mindless Mara-strucked individual that they've previously continuously dealt with, nor you had the appearance of golden leaves that battered and grew out of you. You were just a woman, at what he assumes to be your very prime, the high peak of your health, appearance, physicality and mental state, and your curiousity and confusion about your own state confirmed his assumptions.

“I-...” Your senses interrupt you as your instincts come into fruition, tilting your head to the right, only to reveal a Cloud-Piercing spear infront of your vision that had thrusted forward from behind. The light, horizontal slit from your left cheek which the Cloud Knight slightly grazed, begun to heal almost quickly, as well as suddenly realizing your hand was already around the unfortunate Cloud Knight's neck, lifting them up in a chokehold as their air supply begins to be cut off.

With widened eyes, you immediately loosened your grasp upon becoming aware of your actions, retorting your hand while guilt pumped into you.

“It- It was... It was instinct I-” Your voice cracked, bringing both of your hands to cover your mouth as your once blurred vision finally had a good look to your surroundings, grasping the situation and your hellish surroundings at bay.

Remember the sight.

Your mind throbbed once again, yet your nerves find ways to soothe the pain, but... even then, it will never be able to heal your aching heart and the damage you inflicted against the soldiers of the Xianzhou Alliance.

Instincts went into play once more, feeling a sudden familiar, pulling force behind moving towards you in a faster, denser velocity, only for you to barely dodge a faster orb of gravity that you had previously, went up against.

“W- Wait! I-” You turn your face quickly towards the man whom attacked you just now, only to be met with a bright, icy blade that moved quickly towards you, but both of your hands had already instinctively raise to your face, piercing both of your palms instead, grasping in the side of the bloodied tip of the cold sword that pierced you.

“FUCK!!! NNGH—!” You whimpered in pain, feeling the sensations of burning that sourced within your palms, along with the skin and nerves that was already healing, your own rejuvenating flesh, pushing out the icy sword as a 'CLANG' follows suit.

“Hmph. You're lucky I didn't throw it with too much force, otherwise you wouldn't be able to survive that!” A voice of a young boy graced the battlefield, turning the red sea into a cold, thundering storm of snow and ice, putting the injured Cloud Knights at ease and discomfort from the coldness that surrounded the environent.

“L-Lieutenant Yanqing!” A Cloud Knight gasped at his arrival, alerting the rest with jarred cheers erupting, while your gaze dilutes back and forth to the man with glasses—and a child who happens to be a lieutenant that had arrived.

“P- Please- I-”

“Save it servant of the Abundance!”

A continuing, cold breeze of snow enveloped the young boy, his aqua colored swords flying towards you once more.

Now equipped with newfound, engraved instincts that you have begun to get use to, your body- that had not tasted the ways of war and battle, danced its way around elegantly and flexibly from the skillful wrath of ice that relentlessly continued to attack you.

Despite your consciousness and having a sense of control once again, you felt another sensation, one that felt like another presence, another soul, tangled with yours, tugging at your essence, and it was most definitely the reason as to why you were moving in such a way, that continued to inflict fear and uneasiness to the Cloud Knights, and the man with the glasses whom continued to witness your dance of agility and grace against the right hand of the Arbiter General.

...

...

Why me...?

Imperfect.

There are many others.

...

The embodiment of failure and success.

Wh- What does that even mea—

A host of purity and defections all in one. All suited for me.

A canvas of the purest, warmest of soul, painted with absolute grief, sadness, regret, pain — yet harboring no anger, rage, hatred. A non-existent need for revenge.

Something a certain diciple of mine lacked, thus her inevitable defeat from the subjects of Akivili.

And you are mine to break and reconstruct. I can finally fathom why the Hunt had their arrows set on you.

The words gnawed your logical, racing thoughts, leaving you in a moment of disarray, visibly seen from your relentless opponent.

The Hunt... The... Reignbow Arbiter? But—

“Hhgk—!”

Tch. So flawed.

You felt another burning sensation to the left side of your waist, looking towards a deep cut that split your flesh into two from the icy blades that hailed like the rain against you, yet once again, it had begun to heal slowly, as sounds of your flesh and cells crickled, halting the young boy in his trained steps for a moment.

“What... What are y—” The young boy gets cut off.

Your gaze suddenly returns to the boy, with your left iris flickering into a golden color, replacing your original shade.

“Your demise.” The voice took over your vocals for a moment.

“N- No! you will NOT HARM ANYONE FURTHER!” You grit your teeth, holding your curled fists into each other, retraining yourself and letting the voice solely focus on avoiding further attacks.

How unpleasant.

Why do you continue to resist, child of Lan?

The sight of you... talking to yourself? No... Your voice had continued to change back and forth, only confusing him further.

Something was amiss, but the young boy and his youth couldn't fanthom the uniqueness of the situation before him, he had only one thing in his determined mind, the solution of exterminating a being that threatened the peace for the Xianzhou Luofu; You.

The boy took his stance, his flying swords once again stationed behind him, but a sudden deep voice emerges from behind him, only startling the whole battlefield in his appearance.

“Yanqing. Well done in keeping the adversary at bay.”

A commanding presence immediately intensified the trickling air of tension, only leaving sounds of sharp breaths and your continuous argument with yourself.

Hush.

Huh?

You fall into silence to its bidding, only to look around to the young boy, who was now accompanied with the famous Arbiter General, holding a glaive that had a threatening presence, along with the General himself.

“I apologies for my tardiness Mr. Yang. I had matters to tend to.” The strong presence spoke, his eyes hovering upon your naked, yet coated state, assessing the situation with an unknown gleam in his eyes.

“Where of Stelle and March?” The man with glasses walked beside him, mirroring his gaze upon the beautiful woman before their sights.

“I sent message to the High Elder Vidyadhra medic to tend to their wounds, not to worry, they will be back.” He said faced to him with a knowing smile, only causing goosebumps to your skin, he was taking in this stage you set lightly, only irritating the voice in your head slightly.

“Now... What of the contexts of this fascinating situation?” The Arbiter General's penetrating gaze returns to you, eyeing your undeniable attracting form. You were oblivious, but the voice wasn't.

Leave the premises, now.

Wha? W- Who are you to tell me what t—

The throbbing had begun once again. Their conversations sealed upon noticing your actions as your hands gripped tightly around your head, whimpering in place.

“S- Stop...”

No. If you perish, I-

...

Leave, woman.

“Is she...?” The Arbiter General looks towards the man with the glasses, his eyebrow raised slightly in speculation.

“She's... She had been at this state for more than a few minutes since earlier...” He frowned, gripping his cane, being reminded of fragments from his life that whispered evily to him.

“Who cares? Let's extinguish her presence already General!” Impatient, the young boy firmed his grasp around the hilt of his sword of ice, pointing the tip of the sharpness towards you, his sky filled eyes sending daggers to your direction with determination.

“Patience little lieutenant. One does not rush in unknown, trifling matters.” The General warns with a faint smile that doesn't reach to his eyes, and without a choice from the tone of command, the young boy's will wavers with a sigh, lowering his blade in defeat.

“P- Please, end me...”

Your words grasped the attention of the trio, while your tears began to flow, taking note of your willingness to submit in defeat.

“See?! Even—” The young boy gets cut off once more, earning a serious glare from the General that hushed him almost immediately.

“Please I-... I'm sorry for causing harm...” You continued to sob quietly, gritting your teeth while your head continued to throb mercilessly with ruthless, familiar pain.

I said leave now, and I'll cease the pain.

The Arbiter General takes a step forward, his left hand holding the body of his glaive, no words left needed to describe that despite his aloof hold around his weapon, he was more than ready for any attempt of violent assault.

NOW.

Mirroring the gesture of his, you took a step back abiding the voice's word, your glistening, heterochromic eyes lock with the readied General, only fascinating him further from your saddened, alluring gaze. Noticing your hesitancy for closeness.

“...My lady, if you escape this very moment, I will make sure that every inch of the Xianzhou Luofu will be well guarded, awaiting your presence in every corner you find yourself in to hide away from our— from my grasp.”

A silence from him ensued for a few long moments, following a faint warning smile from earlier, his gaze unwavering towards you while you weeped, assuming you aren't able to grasp his own chords.

“I- I do not... wish to harm anyo—”

“You're right my lady, I won't allow it.” He came closer, moving towards you with delicacy in his footsteps.

“ ... ”

...

...Stubborn child.

“Don't go, my lady.”

“It- It hurts... My head... General I-”

“Our High Elder Vidyadhra apothecary will assist you.” The General says firmly with undertones of softness, taking another step forward, but you remained still, weeping in silence from the continuous throbbing and regeneration of the nerves that seethed you repeatedly.

He manipulates.

S- Stop the—hhnghk... Please...

His experienced words, eons worth of vocabulary, coming into fruition, laying the power of syllables onto you. Do not—

I DON'T- I CANNOT CARE FROM THE UNBEARABLE PAIN YOU CONTINUE TO MAKE ME SUFFER IN!

A befitting punishment for your unwilling soul.

“I- I didn't mean to... General I- Hnnhk—...” Your form staggers, suffering from the internal turmoil that resumed, collapsing in place—but before you hit the floor, the sensation of warmth arrived behind your lower back and waist.

You found your crystalized golden core, your bare, coated chest pressed up against a man with command, towering and holding your suddenly weakened state that matched a situation one again in prior events.

“Jing Yuan.” He said, lowering his own golden to you, his expression, hidden with enthrall from your weakened state.

You hear the voice click its tongue.

“I'm sorry... I'm sorry... I'm so—”

“Hush my lady,” He said in his low, husk voice, holding your weakened body, his hand firming against the soft, coated and warming flesh of your waist, stirring a once familiar sensation that rooted in his stomach.

“General Jing Yuan—” The young boy averted his gaze with a slight flush in his cheeks. Jing Yuan had not heard him, lest deciding to tend to the injured Cloud Knights instead, grumbling under his breath.

The man with glasses came closer to the two of you, his gaze feigning ignorance on the display.

“Miss... What—” He gets cut off, both men alarmed from your sudden intense grip around his biceps, your golden, crystalized core beaming, pulsating rapidly along with your quickened breath.

A golden ray of light erupted from you surrounding you vertically in a circle, sending the light up towards the sky endlessly, alerting everyone who bore witness to the intense display.

So be it.

A powerful, echoing screech escaped your mouth, tilting your head up to the direction of the clouds that welcomed your gaze as rubbles of cement from the previous struggles of the battle began to levitate the surroundings.

”ᚷᚨᚺ ᛉᚨᚾ ᛏᚨᚲ ᚷᚨᚺ ᛉᚨᚾ ᛏᚨᛏ ᛏᚨᛏ ᛒᚱᚨᚲ”

I claim your soul, little child of the Hunt.

You will be my host, my pure, imperfection of despair.

Only I shall intertwine with you, body, mind and soul eternally.

And this mortal, blessed with the lightning guardian spirit, shall be your first prey.

3:00 PM — CLOUDFORD, XIANZHOU LUOFU

The eruption commences.

how ironic, this fic being my first successful hsr fic ended up being the reason why i got my ppl pleasing tendencies back pfft. anyways, reblogs help my audience reach, thank you!

[dabisbratz]

CRYBABY — armin arlert x male reader

w.c: 2.5k

genitalia terms: cock, hole, dick

WARNING: humiliation, dirty talk, impact play (face slapping, spanking), edging, restraints (spreader-bar, undisclosed hand restraints), degradation, subspace, sadism, bottom reader, specific body type (taller/bigger than armin, other than that nonspecific!), amab reader. CHECK REBLOGS.

“To be fair, you’re pretty girly, Armin,” Hange chirps, wrapping their arm around Armin’s shoulders with a sly grin. Their hair swings over their face, a dark shadow casting over their gaze. His striking blue eyes watch in amusement as the rest of the Survey Corps nods along in agreement. Truthfully, he doesn’t mind the speculations, albeit a little strange how interested his coworkers are in his sex life, he can’t blame them for being so interested when he has a boyfriend like you. Plus, he’s come quite far from how he used to be— his hair is shorter, cheeks less rounded out by babyfat, shoulders broad and square. He doesn’t need to prove anything. “You let a big rock like that push you around every night?”

The blond coughs into his fist, squeezing his big, cerulean eyes shut to stifle a laugh. You’re much taller than Armin, even on a bad day, with a permanent glare in your eyes. You’d make mountains shrink if they could, with your piercing gaze. Even as you trail behind your boyfriend like a puppy, they see nothing but a guard dog, its canines bared and sharp and dangerous. Your intensity almost surpasses Levi’s, even if they were too scared to admit it.

But it means nothing when you’re under him.

You look up at him like he means the world, glassy eyes blinking against crystal tears as he pushes his cock deeper down your throat and forces you to gag on it. Your eyes roll, drool falling down your chin and down your chest that he loves to squeeze and fondle. You’re such a good boy, the way you writhe and squirm with every orgasm of yours he ruins— just thinking about it makes his dick harden in his cargos.

Armin tugs at the collar of his shirt with his index finger, bending the fabric absentmindedly. His comrades snicker at his flustered display, and the hard smacks to his back lurching him forward, back and forth.

“Bet he really makes you his—“

“… bitch, huh?” His voice is fuzzy in your ears, sweet and tantalizing as rope digs into your wrists. Your legs are bent, knees reaching your head as a spreader-bar holds your thighs wide open. Your back is pressed into Armin’s small mattress, which dips and sinks under your weight. No matter where you turn, you’re consumed in Armin’s warmth, his soft hands roaming along your naked body. He lets you whine, your head lulling back and forth as you knit your eyebrows together.

“Huh…? M’sorry.. m’sorry,” You pant, not quite sure what you’re apologizing for, probably because you’ve lost your train of thought, because you couldn’t hear what filthy things he was saying because he’s fucking you stupid.

“Oh, honey,” The blond's voice is coated in just that, sweetness dripping from his tongue as he grips your cock tight, thumbing the slit and smearing precum all over the head. The bars at your knees stop you from bucking your hips, as he squeezes the base of your cock the second you start to pulse a little too much. “Such a dumb whore. What happened to my big, smart boy?”

Degradation. You love to hear it, especially from Armin’s lips. If you thought too much about it, had it whispered in your ear until your brain melted, you could cum from that alone. Your cock throbs in his hand, as he spits down on it with a quiet ‘p’tuh’ and grins as you shudder. The wetness of his saliva feels too good, too warm against his skin as your rut and flex in his hand. “Mm, your cock is so pretty. Too bad it’s useless.”

You try to fuck into it, chase the feeling that has you wailing, writhing in your restraints and struggling to kick your legs. It’s too much, the squelching in your ears as Armin’s warm breath pans lower and lower down your chest, your abdomen, closer to your throbbing, needy dick. He sighs, open mouthed and breathy, watching your cock jump in retaliation— nearly out his hand. Nonetheless his grip tightens, pumping uppp and dooown, smearing precum until it covers your cock in a thin, shiny and tempting layer. You moan between your teeth, eyes glued on his skinny fingers milking you for all your worth.

“Feel good?” Armin grumbles against your thigh, voice hoarse as he stares down at your weeping cock. With a jumbled moan you nod frantically, toes curling as he twists his fist around your sensitive head and— fuck, you’re cumming. Your eyes roll back, body clenched as a thick rope—

“Aht. Whose cock is this?” Armin’s hand is quickly tightening around the base of your dick cutting off whatever orgasm you were about to feel, whatever ropes of cum that were supposed to spray across your thighs, your stomach, maybe your chin.

“Wh- wai’… waitwait..wha—” You’re stunned, stammering and stumbling over your words as your brain fails to connect the dots of what just happened.

“Answer me, boy,” And— oh. That’s his commander voice, the one he only ever uses in battle. A shiver runs down your spine as you reluctantly make eye contact with your boyfriend, his blue eyes suddenly gunmetal gray. Like a broken record, you whimper, shaking your head and babbling our apologies when, really, you have nothing to be sorry for. “Hush. Just answer the question.”

“S’yours, Ari,” You breathe, big thighs flexing against his hand. One more time, a little more confident you moan: “S’yours.”

“That’s right. That means you cum when I say,” When he pushes an impossibly long finger into your hole you’re done for, mewling as you flutter around him. Even with such a drastic size difference your hole is tight and grips him like a vice, swallowing his finger in and begging for more. His finger slides out slowly, a sharp contrast in the sudden smack straight to your winking hole. You jump, moaning high in your throat as your eyes flutter closed. “Fuck, just one finger stretching this pretty hole like it’s nothing. You want more, baby? Want more fingers in this greedy hole? Gonna cry on my cock all night so everyone knows how good you take it? How much of a slut you are for me? Say it.”

You bat your eyelashes, peering up at your handsome boyfriend through glazed eyes. He coos, if only for a moment, as he dips his other hand into your mouth and watches you suck on his fingers, no questions asked. His face drops a little, pink lips curling into a frown as he wipes his fingers off with the soft skin of your cheek. You’re usually such a good boy— such a good dog. You know better. You keen into the touch, pressing your cheek into his palm until he takes it away, just to smack you across the face with a cruel smile.

Your brain goes blank for just a second, a startled gasp leaving your pretty lips. He wants to squish your cheeks together, watch your face distort into dumb expression while you sit there and take it. Maybe your face will match your mind, empty and eager and broken as tears stream down your face. Armin’s eyes darken, heavy-lidded as he stares at you like he’s going to eat you alive.

“Oh, oh fuck, w-wan’ your cock, Ari’ please give it…give it to me, please,” You babble, as if his question has only just now registered in your brain. Then comes the flaring heat of skin where he’d smacked you, blooming in your cheek and making you whine. Armin tuts, tilting his head in feign innocence, a tuft of blond hair tucked behind his ear. “V’been so good, didn’t cum when you said not to. Been goo-”

“Mhm,” Armin hums, only half listening as he slowly pumps his other hand back up and down your cock, a sadistic grin slowly etching across his face the more you let out a stream of moans. You’re sensitive— almost too sensitive, your hips convulsing in different directions, your eyes squeezing shut, your body begging to cum. You can’t quite make out how his fingers look curling up inside you, long and thin but perfectly stroking that special spot that makes you see stars. “Gonna cum for me? Hm? This pretty cock gonna cum while I finger you? Slap you around a little?”

“Uh-huh, gonna cum.” You’re purring, helplessly rutting your hips until you feel your balls tightening, your abdomen spontaneously spawning and— Ooh! Armin’s index finger slides out of you, and his palm lands right on top, a hard smack straight to your fluttering hole. You're pliant and small like this, squealing into the air while the walls bounce the sound right back at you.

“Not yet.” He whispers into the skin of your inner thighs, placing a chaste kiss on top for safekeeping.

“Noo, no, I can’t,” You gasp, weakly struggling against your restraints in fruitless effort, continuously begging for both release and a chance to move on. You don’t really mean no, you’re conflicted, really— it feels too good, but you’re not sure how much more teasing you can take. “I cant.”

“You can,” The blond snickers, fingers massaging your puckered rim, the puffy skin gaping around his fingertips. You’re slick with a thin layer of precum and lube, shining under the fluorescent bedside lamp. “And you will. Know why? You’re my good little boy. You can take what I give you.”

Collecting yourself, you nod.

Armin beams. You’re certainly not little— not in comparison to him, not in comparison to anyone in the Survey Corps, not in comparison to your friends. But you’re his little boy. To smack around, to manhandle, to fuck into sweet, empty-headed submission. You’re his bitch. He thinks of how everyone else would react, if their jaws would drop at the sight of his guard dog dropping to his knees and presenting right in front of them, at the sight of his big boyfriend going braindead strictly for his dick.

“Just one more time. One more time while I split this pretty hole open on my cock. That’s not too bad, right sweetheart?” Armin whines this time, breathless as he’s quickly stripping himself of his clothes. His cock, pretty and long, curves to the upper right, with an angry pink tip that twitches as he presses it to your rim. You sob beneath him, your bigger body arching up to his touch. His cock is worked into your body inch by inch, his smaller hands spreading your cheeks apart to spread you further— like the slut you are.

He pushes into you deep, bottoming out with a high moan. Heat pools on your stomach, his cock punching your insides and kissing your prostate with each small movement he makes. Your moans are unintelligible, barely even English, as Armin’s blond hair drapes over your sweaty forehead. If you could, you’d wrap your arms around his neck, hold him close and kiss him drunk while his dick rearranges your guts.

“Gonna let me fill you up till you’re drippin’? God, I love this hole, love this ass,” You feel a sharp smack to your backside, your hips stuttering upward in retaliation. His cock slams dead-on into your prostate, your vision momentarily leaving your body as the air is punched from your lungs. “Right there? Fuck, you’re basically milking me.”

Armin nearly crumbles above you, your silky walls throbbing on his cock as his fist grips the sheets on his bed, his large eyes fluttering closed. He can’t exactly fall on you, not with the spreader bar between your bodies, but the thought of him collapsing because you feel that good makes you impossibly harder, “Fuuck, fuck me, ohh, God.”

That earns a genuine chuckle from your boyfriend, his back muscle rippling as he regains his composure and lifts your hips up, brushing your prostate with every twist and turn. He whispers sweet words into the air, something along the lines of good boy and perfect cocksleeve. You hiccup on your own sobs, choking on your words as his cock slams in and out, in and out, Armin’s own moans leaving his mouth. “Ohh, You take my cock so well. That slutty little hole just swallows me right up, sounds so sloppy n’ wet.”

“You’re like,” Armin laughs to himself, his teeth gritting as he sharply inhales, pressing himself deeper and deeper until all you can do is clench around him and take it. Fuck, you’re so full. It’s ironic, you’re so big, but your holes are tight and small, stretching around him perfectly. “You’re like the perfect flashlight. I should let the team pass you ‘round. Imagine that.”

You do, you imagine Armin’s long dick fucking you within an inch of your life while the rest of the Survey Corps watches, maybe they take turn using your holes, maybe Armin stops them from fucking you because that one is his. It’s embarrassing how much you like it, how warm it makes your face feel, how hard it makes your hole spasm around your boyfriend's cock.

“M’gonna cum, gonna cum, Armin. Please,” You can’t control your body now, your cock uncomfortably hard as he fucks into your pillowy body. In one foul swoop, the spreader bar is removed from your thighs, your legs instead wrapping around the blond’s smaller waist. “Lemme cum, wanna cum with you. Wanna feel you cum inside me. God, love you, love you s’much. Y’fuck me so good, fuck your cum ‘nto me, wanna be leaking—”

“God, you’re so easy. Damn whore…Christ,” Armin grunts. his hips stuttering into a choppy, inconsistent pace. The sound of his balls slapping against your ass is obscene, precum and lube frothing between your warm skin. Moving up to press hurried, frantic kisses to your lips, Armin cups your jaw gently, and mumbled a quiet C’mere. “Cum with me, puppy, give it to me.”

You give it to him, your all, as your thighs shake and your throat finally gives out, your voice hoarse and tired. You can feel him shoot deep inside you, thick, creamy ropes of cum pooling inside you and seeping out your puffy, used hole. Armin huffs, panting into your damp skin with a satisfied smile, watching as your cock spurts rope after rope across your chest, across your stomach, even on your chin.

You twitch uncontrollably, finally melting in your boyfriend's embrace as he pulls you close and places scattered kisses on your forehead, “Good boy.”

[cynoswifey]

Kenma NSFW Headcanons

AN: Bouncing ball inc? More like bouncing on his-

Warnings: Nsfw topics involved

^°•^°•^°•^°•^°•^°•^°•^°•^°•^°•^°•

• Kenma is not to crazy when it comes to sex. But then again I see him as a power dom but he sometimes goes way on you but usually he fucks you dumb. Oh but there are nights where he wants you ride him when hes playing a game that he has to use his headset so you have to be quiet

° Let's say you felt a bit freaky and gave him a blowjob when he was streaming. Oh man its adorable to see how he barely keeps his composure. But dont worry hes going to get his payback when you stream🤗

• He whispers in your ear during sex. He seems so innocent but hrs got quite the dirty mouth on him. It's always the quite ones isn't it..

° Kenma has a sharing kink. But he'd only ever share with Kuroo no one else

• if he ever sees you in his jersey he goes crazy. He likes fucking you in his jersey. He then wears the next day at his game. He claims it gives him good luck

° GAMER FINGERS!!!! Man has fast and slim fingers he can reach really deep all while thrusting into quickly. But hey his hands got nothing on his dick

• His dick is like his fingers slim and long. He really isn't big width wise but he makes up for that in length

° He doesn't have that much stamina. He last like 3-4 45 minute rounds.

• Kenma loves quickies. If hes got a meeting in 30 but is feeling really horny he'll take you anywhere 😚

° Car sex. Hey if y'all went for McDonald's at three in morning and suddenly hes in the mood Kenma will drive to a more secluded parking lot and fuck you in the car.

• Ohhhh timeskip kenma is a bit more crazy. He can and will fuck you in public. If your at a booth with friends he might slip a few fingers into you. He likes seeing you crumble

° Ooooo I imagine him have a receptionist who like doesnt like you because she has a thing for him at one point you get feed up and he fucks you in his office only after to tell you that there was a window and how the receptionist saw everything 😚 of course hed fire her after

• Million dollor question. Tits thighs or ass? Kenma seems like an ass guy ngl. Always gripping your ass when hes making out with you and he has to pressed against a wall

^°•^°•^°•^°•^°•^°•^°•^°•^°•^°•^°•Reblogs likes, and ask are appreciated!

Thank you!!!

[urkuna]

# KUNA ₊˚⊹ ᰔ 𝜗𝜚 — confiding in his favorite concubine ( ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ഒ

“Come here,” he grumbles, not bothering to explain himself.

Sukuna remains silent as you close the distance between you.

Rather than saying what is on his mind, though, he continues to stare ahead, his expression shifting ever-so-slightly to reflect a growing unease. He knows what he wants, but he's afraid to admit it, even to himself.

The king can't help but scowl as his mind drifts towards his other concubines.

None of them have the slightest idea how he really feels about them, and their constant harassment is nothing short of irritating.

Then there's you. He doesn't understand what it is that makes you different, but there's just something about the way you talks to him that's so... relaxing.

Sukuna remains silent, clenching his teeth even tighter as he continues to avoid eye contact.

He hates how dependent he's become upon you, how much you soothed his frayed nerves with your mere presence.

No other concubine can pacify his inner demons the way you do.

He hates that you can sense his discomfort just as much as he hates how much he enjoys it.

For the first time in his life, he feels vulnerable. He doesn't want to admit it, yet here he is.

The cursed king is visibly tense, one of his four hands gripping the blankets tightly in frustration.

"Sit," he speaks once more, his voice even softer than before as he forces himself to relax into the bed.

With you close to him, he can finally relax. You’re the only one in his domain who he can bear to be affectionate with, the only one he can tolerate having contact with.

He grips you gently with his hands, his sharp fingers lightly tracing over your smooth skin as he savors your presence in silence.

The curse king knows it’s wrong to grope you like this, how you’re always there to comfort him. You’ve never seen him as a sex object or a way to get fame and power like the other girls did.

"Shut up," he growls to himself, unable to contain his frustration any longer.

His hands are more intense now, his fingers sinking deeper into your warm, soft body as he squeezes harder.

"Don’t say a damn word about this," he insists. "I’m serious."

You whimper in his grasp, unaware of who or what he was rambling about. “Ryomen—?”

"I said shut up," he snaps, not realizing he spoke out loud.

His grip loosens only slightly as his hands move to your sides, gripping them tightly as he pulls you closer.

He continues to glare ahead, not making eye contact as he speaks. "Just... hold me.”

He doesn't say it out of desire for affection, but rather as a demand.

He doesn't want you to stop when you begin leaving soft touches and kisses to his tattooed body, but he is too anxious and self-conscious to admit it. Instead, he keeps his face buried against you, trembling slightly from the sensation of your warmth.

"Mm..."

Sukuna lets out a low grunt of pleasure as his shoulders relax, his tension slowly fading away.

He lets out a few more grunts of approval as your hands begin to play in his hair, letting his body sink further into your embrace as his eyes finally close with a small smile upon his lips.

[bwabys-scenarios]

If you still write Hunter x Hunter stuff, can you do Illumi trying to get his baby to smile while his wife watches?

Tough Crowd

Illumi x Reader

Illumi was a handsome men to most women, but to babies… he was terrifying.

Growing up, every time his mother gave birth to another baby, he would quickly be banned from seeing the newborns.

His big dark eyes and pale face would scare the babies into crying fits, and eventually they gave up trying to get them used to him.

So when his new wife found herself pregnant, he tried his best to at least attempt to seem less threatening… to little success.

His first meeting with his child was shortly after her birth. He peered over her, pulling down the blanket to get a better look.

Illumi could barely contain his excitement. There was nothing more he wanted than a large family, and she was the first to get him closer to his dream. He found himself smiling down at her, widely.

The opened it’s eyes, looking up at her father for the first time, only to see a pale face and black orbs staring back at her, an ominous grin on his lips.

A loud cry left the baby’s mouth, causing (Name) to pull the baby into her arms and coo softly.

“Illumi, sweetheart, I love you with my entire soul but please don’t smile like that at the baby, you looked like a creature of the night.”

Illumi tilted his head.

“Is it not my child? She’ll be training to be an assassin. At birth I wasn’t that easily frightened, and I had been my parents would have subjected me to much more terrifying things to crush that fear.”

(Name) stared at him for a second, noting another reason in her head to never leave her baby alone with Illumi’s parents.

“Darling she just needs time. Just let her get used to you, and she’ll come around eventually.”

But Illumi being Illumi, he decided that training himself to be more like able would maybe help.

“Sweetheart, why are you staring in the mirror with that expression?”

(Name) placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently.

“….nothing. Let’s get to bed.”

After three months of intense training, he was ready to face her again.

It was the perfect opportunity after all. (Name) was leaving for the day to visit her friends, and for some reason she wouldn’t allow any butlers to care for her.

“I’ll be gone for just a few hours to meet up with Kurapika, Leorio, Gon, and Killua. No I will not ask Killua to come home, but I will tell him you said hi.”

She kissed Illumi’s cheek, then her baby. This was the first time she had felt comfortable enough to be away from her baby, so she had a few worries. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Illumi to be competent enough to watch the baby, in fact it was the opposite. She feared he might over do it.

“I made a list of things you need to do. Stick to the list, no more, no less.

With that, she was gone. She arrived at her meeting spot much quicker than she thought she would.

“(Name), it’s so great to see you!”

Kurapika surprised her with his words. She turned around quickly to see him and Leorio, each carrying a wrapped gift in their arms.

(Name) grinned, walking forward and wrapping them both in a hug.

“It’s great to see you both as well. It’s been… rough.”

Soon everyone was there, talking and trying to figure out where they should eat. It was already decided that (Name) wouldn’t be paying for her food, killua and Gon would be buying her meal as a baby shower gift.

None of the four had been able to attend due to… tense family situations and their own Hunter obligations, but now they could finally meet up!

They decided on (Name)’s favorite restaurant in town. They ate, drank, and had an amazing time together. Poor (Name), Killua, and Gon were left out of the drinking, though.

After a bit, they all went their separate ways, and (Name) found herself being escorted through the Zoldyck estate. A butler held her gifts in one hand, and opened the door to her and Illumi’s shared room with the other.

Inside was a Illumi, sleeping on the bed with their baby lying on his chest. (Name) put a hand on her mouth, holding back tears.

“My babies are finally getting along…”

For a moment all was peaceful, until (Name) started to notice some… irregularities.

Her husband wasn’t his usual clean self, instead his shirt was covered in baby food. His usual flawlessly smooth hair was messy and tangled.

She looked around the room to see it was a mess!

The butler from before cleared his throat.

“I can show you what happened, if you like.”

(Name) was led to a small camera room, displaying each room in the house. She decided to not express her disturbances with being filmed constantly and instead sat in front of the monitor showing her room.

“Let me rewind to about an hour ago.”

As the butler turned back the time on the monitor, there were flashes of color. She grimaced, already afraid of what was to come.

“Here is where it all started.”

The monitor showed Illumi and her child, the former cooing at the latter with a blank expression. When the child cried, he frowned and switched to trying to feed her.

That just resulted in a mess of baby spit and food all over him.

(Name) tried to suppress a laugh to little success.

Next, he tried peek-a-boo, but that only made her cry louder. He was beginning to think his baby may fear him forever, when something changed.

As illumi leaned forward to put her to bed, her screams turned to soft coos. He felt a soft pull on his hair, which told him to look for the source.

There she was, softly pulling at his hair, a big smile on her face. Illumi gently pat her back.

“You like daddy’s hair, huh?”

She giggled in response.

The rest of tape consisted of illumi climbing into bed, holding their daughter as she played with his hair, the two eventually falling asleep together.

(Name) smiled, leaving the room and going to visit with Kalluto as her two babies slept.

[thursdayisfriday]

ʟᴇɢꜱ ᴜᴘ˚♡˖°

⤑ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: Sub!Fem!reader x Dom!Male! Character,cunnilingus, cursing, smut and short dabble

"Come on, keep your leg up for me, baby". One of his hands massages your thigh as the other one fingers your pussy. Your body tumbled, wanting more than what he was giving you. You bite your shirt, holding it up so that he could have more access. But you also did it to hide your moans. Which were now muffled as he sped up his pace. With your back leaning on this wall you were sure that your legs would give out any time soon.

Feeling him slow down you whined. If he had keeped on going for a couple of seconds, you'd already have cummed by now. "Quiet, I'm not done". Your heart did cartwheels ready for whatever he was going to do next. But not entirely ready.

You watched as he placed both of your legs over his shoulders, pushing you up against the wall. You gasp at the sudden movement, a little embarrassed since you thought you were quite heavy. But he did it with a breeze. He started teasing you with a couple kisses on your thighs, leaving bit marks and Hickey's.

He moved slowly, loving how you squirmed. From kissing your thighs innocently to kiss your clit. He flickered his tongue making you gasp and place your hand on his. Which was digging into your thighs. It felt good. Way too good. Moans escaped your mouth. To know that you were making these sinful noises made you blush in embarrassment. You turned your head to the side, biting your lip as he worked on pleasing you.

You felt him slow down his movement. Your breath hitched. "Look at me baby". Hesitantly, you look at the man under you, currently stuffing his face in your cunt.You felt him smirking against you. His eyes fixated on you, ready to devour you."There she is~" he got out before resuming.

This time he was a little rougher. Moving his tongue everywhere. Not miss a spot. His tongue was slick, making you arched your back and move your hips in desperation. "You taste so good" he praised you as you held onto his hair, occasionally grabbing and tugging on it."O-oh g-god-MmMmM~ Oh fuck" you moaned out. Keeping the sounds in was a problem now. With the way he was moving you were gonna finish soon. Your hips bucked with desperation.

"yeah, keep move your hips just like that, good girl"

Insert any character of your choice: bakugou, DEKU, AIZAWA, Eren, LEVI, Armin, REINER, NEUVILLETTE, ayato, ALHAITHAM, zhongli, Xiao, BLADE, ghostface, BILLY, Steve, Zoro, Giyuu, rengoku, SANEMI, LEON, AKI, angel devil, KISHIBE, MIGUEL O'HARA

I hope you enjoyed (⁠人⁠⁠´⁠∀⁠｀⁠)⁠｡⁠ﾟ⁠+

[tvgals]

Do you think you'd be able to write a hurt/comfort for aran x influencer reader who's got a backhanded compliment thrown at her during an interview she did? Ending can be a smut or fluff it's up to you <33

‘ MY KIND OF WOMAN. ‘

— aran has a problem when one of the reporters says something about you.

you sat at the table with an interviewer in one of those large white rooms with a camera crew and two chairs. you sit next to a woman wearing all black — you in stark contrast with pink and white attire. you were told this interview would be about your personal life and experiences growing up who you were, and you were beyond excited.

“so y/n, glad to have you here!” the camera panned to you, you waved at the camera and gave a sweet smile, turning back to the interviewer. “i’m your host, jeanie, and today we’ll be interviewing miss. y/n about her trials and victories as an influencer!” she smiles. as the interview goes on, she asks you questions about your life and how you see your future. things were going well until she asked you about aran.

“i know things must be hard having a boyfriend like aran. i mean, look at him and look at you!” jeanie giggles, putting her palm face up and jutting it in your direction. your eyebrows crease in confusion. “what do you mean by that?” you ask, starting to get up from your seat. “oh no, i just mean that he’s so good looking you must feel insecure sometimes!” you heave a sigh and walk out with a “y’all got me fucked up.” you take your phone out your purse and call aran.

‘hey baby.’

‘aran, they got me fucked up. come get me.’

‘what happened? i’m on my way.’

you hung up the phone and waited for aran to get there — while waiting you decided to post a tweet about your current situation.

y/n’sinterlude

these reporters got me fucked up if they think they finna talk shit then have me sit there and take it 🤡

aran pulls up in his hellcat and you get in the car — throwing you purse on the floor. “woah, baby, i paid almost four hunnid for that purse.” aran chuckles, immediately shutting up when he sees your glare at him. “but seriously, what’s wrong, baby?” aran asks, putting his hand on your thigh and driving away. you scroll on twitter for a minute before answering. “baby, they in there playing with my time.” you said, turning your phone off and throwing it on your lap. “tell me what happened.” aran says, turning the corner.

“so ole’ girl was in there talking to me about my life or whatever, then she asked be about our relationship. at first i’m like ‘okay?’ but then she started speaking about how insecure i must be ‘cause i’m with you. so i left they ass.” you explained, smearing fenty lipgloss on your lips. “damn. i gotchu, mama.” aran says, pulling into the driveway of your house. “whatchu mean?” you ask, getting out the car and opening the front door — aran trailing behind you. “i mean i gotchu. don’t worry ‘bout it.” he says, pulling you into you twos bedroom and pushing you onto the bed. you giggle and pull aran down into a kiss.

“i’m gon’ get you right, mama.” aran says in your ear, trailing down to your cunt. “aran..” you whine, arching your back. “jus’ let me take care of you, okay?” he says, his hot breath ghosting on your clit. “okay…” you mumble. aran licks a strip along your pussy, earning a moan from you, and delves his tongue inside of you. aran nudges his nose against your clit as your hand flys to the back of his head, forcing him deeper into your warm cunt. “right there, baby! i’m finna cum!” you warned him before you eventually gushed onto the bottom half of his face. aran slurped up the cum and rose above you, a dopey grin on his face. “taste so good.” aran laughed airily while pulling his dick out his boxers — hitting just in the middle of his belly button with a soft thud.

“y’know what to do, baby. on yo stomach, make sure you arch real good.” aran says. you flip over and arch your back, your hands under the pillow that your faced was shoved in. aran ran his tip along the slit of your pussy for a minute before slowly pushing in, letting out low grunts. “ah shit…just fucked you on tuesday, why you not lettin’ me in?” he asks, holding your hips. “‘m sorry, papa..” you whined, pushing your hips back. “aht, i gotchu.” he hushed you, finally bottoming out. you noticed aran didn’t move for a while, you looked back to see aran on his phone, the flashlight on presumably taking a video. “aran!” you groaned in annoyance. he chuckled and hushed you — finally fucking you like you deserved. “my baby so pretty.” aran mumbled, caressing your plush ass. “you so deep, papa…” you groaned, drool rolling down your chin and into the pillow. “i know. you real close, too. i can feel yo pretty pussy getting tighter.” aran laughs. you eventually came so hard your eyesight started getting splotchy and you heard ringing in your ears. “mhm..” aran hummed, his dick shooting cum into your womb. aran ends the video and opens twitter — his dick still inside of you — and he posts the video with a caption of “she don’t seem too insecure to me.” and he watched as the video blew up.

“aran, baby, whatchu doin’?” you ask, looking back at him. “nun.”