#new cursed blade just dropped!!!!

[pseudowho]

"Kento...can I...can I paint you?"

Kento glanced back over his shoulder, sleepy, to where you sat massaging knots out of his back. He didn't know why he'd bothered perusing his shelves beforehand; your hands had moulded and made him heavy, and he sunk, unbidden, his book forgotten and his eyelids made of lead, groaning in bliss.

Your eyes traced Kento's back...his arms...his hands. All ripped and reformed, broken and made stronger, the scars (both old and new), criss-crossing him, his life-story turned roadmap.

At some points, Kento's body seemed as though it would last centuries and end up in a museum somewhere, with futuristic admirers who did not know him as you did. At other points, he was just a porcelain man, full of cracks, to be handled with care lest he break.

Kento hummed; a cover-all rumble, unsure.

"...paint me?" He teased, a coy half-smile on the corner of his mouth. "Like one of your French girls?"

You laughed, kissing his shoulder blades, still stroking those seams of pink flesh with your fingertips. He shuddered, the hairs on the base of his undercut standing on end.

"Not quite...do you trust me?"

"Yes." No hesitation.

"Then just...close your eyes."

Kento huffed through his nose, leaning forwards on his elbows and clasped calloused hands. He heard you rattling around behind him, the tap running, the soft dompf of you resettling on the sofa. More rattling, and your quiet voice.

"Stay still..."

Kento jumped, shivering as the tip of a fine, wet brush licked at the skin on his shoulder blade. He hummed again, dubious.

"Oh...you meant paint me."

"Semantics."

"Bless you."

You laughed at his gentle idiocy. "Keep still."

In truth, as your brush traced idle patterns over his shoulder, his arm, and his hand, Kento didn't need to be told to keep his eyes closed even once. He meant it when he said he trusted you; and he meant it when your presence rocked him to sleep. Time lost meaning as he dozed, sat like The Thinker as you finally removed your brush from his hand.

"There. All done."

Kento opened his eyes...to art.

Patches of the back of his hand had been brushed matte with a soft jade green, fading out against peach flesh. Through the jade, where pink seams had once scored the skin, they now ran golden, liquid beauty joining the edges of his pain and history. And it was...lovely.

Kento swallowed thickly, laid bare beneath your eyes. He gently flexed his hand, seeing how the green and gold flexed with him, held together by your very own repairs. He tracked more and more patches up his forearm, his bicep, over his shoulder...

Kento was quiet, stoic, vulnerable. He whispered, as you took lamplit photos of your work. "I adore you."

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Christmas had come and gone, and still, Kento did not allow you to touch him as he once did.

The air between you was as taut as the flesh of his left side. You washed the dishes, and he dried, kept company only by the hush of the taps and clink of the plates. Kento reached for a mug with his left hand, and, numb-fingered, dropped it with a spitting curse, to where it shattered beyond repair around your feet.

Barefoot, and pausing with an oh!, you lifted your foot as if to move, and Kento berated you, growling, snapping.

"Stay where you are."

"Kento, it's alright, I'll get it--"

"No. It's my mess. My fault. Sit down."

"Really, it's fine--" Your words cut off with a squeak, as one strong arm looped around your waist. Kento grunted as he lifted you out of the shards with ease, to his body, only to drop you to safety the moment your hands began to brush his bare chest.

"Sit down." Kento rumbled, dark and sullen, his one good eye glowering at you beside the patch. You prickled, rejected. You refused to sit. Watching Kento, as he finished vacuuming, your eyes drifted without thought between him, and your paint set in the chest beneath the kitchen cabinet.

On his way over to the sofa, Kento spotted you, and scoffed, hissing with pain as he dropped himself to sit. He sneered, nasty.

"Sorry, my love. Not enough gold in that box to repair me."

You gritted your teeth, your mouth twisted in disgust, tears in your eyes. You pushed your chair away in a tearful rage, and padded over to Kento, fast, determined.

The briefest flicker of alarm crossed his half-burned face as you straddled him, trapping him to the sofa with a hand on each cheek. You spat, forcing him to see you, gripping him down as he writhed to get away.

"Then I'll break into palaces. I'll rob museums. I'll be a thief in the night. Because they don't deserve it, not like you do."

Kento cursed at you, twisting like a rat in a trap, and you held on tighter, sick of being pushed away, and you forced the words out of you as tears spilled over to drop onto his chest.

"And if there's not enough gold there then I'll melt myself down, but you don't need gold because you're not broken--"

"--get off me-- let me go--"

"No." You cried, looping your arms around his neck, your core pressed to his. The air stilled, his rejection rejected.

You panted, your shoulders heaving, weeping into his neck. Kento and you sat this way in silence, the tap still running and forgotten, your sniffles muffled into his neck. You felt him soften, his hands coming to rest on your hips, stroking you.

Kento's voice was thick, agonised. "You...deserve someone whole."

"I don't want them. They're nothing to me. It's you, or no-one."

Kento's teeth bared, his face stinging as it crumpled, salty tears washing away the grief. He gripped onto you, the fracture not breaking under stress; the bond, golden.

And when you finally did paint him, how he shone.

[logansdoll]

thank you

you never thought you'd be murdered in the middle of an alley... but you also never thought you'd be saved by a man with knives in his fists so... yeah.

CW: suggestive, profanity, the dude that attacks you is clinically insane, Logan's a little socially awkward, your power is kinda bad but kinda good, etc.

It was amazing how quick your day could go from fantastic, to an absolute, fucking shit storm.

Waking up that morning, as you went through your morning routine, something in the air just told you that everything was going to go right.

Your curls turned out perfect after your nightly twist, your makeup flawless, accentuating your natural beauty, and your breakfast sandwich tasted especially delicious.

That, along with the relatively quiet day at the hospital, left you leaving work with a certain pep in your step that made you feel like you could take on anything.

So not once did you plan to end up in the middle of a dark alleyway, and not once did you plan to stand off with a shady, seemingly dangerous, man because of it.

You were too lost in the music of your earphones to notice you had taken a wrong turn, a rookie mistake to make so late at night.

A mistake you were currently cursing yourself for.

"Look," you started, hands up and voice calm in an attempt to placate the irritated man. "I didn't mean to walk over here. I'm just trying to get home."

Slowly, he stalked closer, stance low and beady eyes staring at you in a way that made your stomach drop, and blood run cold.

'Shit.'

"Please... I don't want any trouble," you continued, taking a few steps back, "Just let me pass."

He tutted in response, wagging his finger as a sadistic grin slowly rose to his lips, "People who trespass on my territory gotta pay a toll, sweetheart," he licked his teeth, words slurring together, "and I can see you got more than enough..."

Shamelessly, his eyes dragged over your body, the surface of your skin erupting with a feel of grime and dirt.

You'd need a serious shower when you got home.

If you made it home...

As he drew closer, your hand discreetly slid into your jean jacket pocket, latching onto the cool, metal handle of your switchblade.

You were hoping to de-escalate the situation, but with the way things were looking, you knew you'd probably have to fight your way out.

"I'm only gonna ask one more time," you warned, your tone curt as your expression sharpened into a glare. "Let me go."

Without warning, he let out a manic shout, charging for you at full force.

You let out a shriek of surprise, quickly moving out the way before he could tackle you, whipping your blade out your pocket and flicking it open in one fluid motion.

Quickly, he turned around, expression furious as he ran again, hands out in an attempt to grab you.

And as you tried to dodge, he managed to latch onto the back of your scrub, roughly throwing you to the ground with a grunt.

"Fuck!" you spat, head throbbing as you attempted to sit up, your chest pounding as he grabbed your ankles and dragged you closer.

Fear struck your heart like a freight train, and in a bout of panic, you swung your knife, plunging it into the closest thing you could reach.

He let out a roar of pain, dropping your ankles as he nursed his injured foot, and the handle sticking out of it would've been funny were it not for the dire situation.

Quickly, you scrambled to your feet, stumbling towards your purse which laid on the ground not too far away.

But the man took notice, his foot becoming a thing of the past as he chased you again, scooping up a large shard of broken glass as he ran.

"Get away!" you cried, hugging your purse into your chest as his charge backed you into a corner, your legs giving out as you slid down the wall.

Horrible visions of your fate flashed through your mind as he approached, images of your lifeless body plastered on the nightly news, or your smiling picture on a missing persons poster.

What a fabulous time for your power to chime in...

You squeezed your eyes shut, bracing yourself for whatever was to come, when a loud shink and a pained grunt cut through the air.

Forcing your eyes back open, they landed on a figure, who stood over the dead body of your attacker.

The way the man laid, and the way he was injured, made it look as if he was mauled by some sort of animal.

'Holy shit...'

Pulling yourself back to reality, you realized the figure was now standing right in front of you.

He held his hand out for you to take, sharp, brown eyes flicking between you expectantly.

Finally having the chance to get a good look at him, you took in his appearance.

With his broad chest and strong jaw, you'd think he'd be on the cover of Sexy Bikers weekly, arms and legs thick with muscle under his leather jacket and blue jeans.

Your eyes met in an instant, an electric buzz shooting up your spine at his features.

From what you could see through the darkness, they were sharp, but strong and hard, handsome in their own rugged way.

His lips pulled taut in a line as he stared back, brows furrowing while his eyes flicked around you, almost like he was trying to gauge your reaction.

Slowly, you placed your hand in his allowing him to pull you up to your feet.

"Thank you," you exhaled, shoulders dropping as relief finally sank in your shoulders. "I don't know what I would've done if you didn't come when you did..."

His arms came back to his sides, tiredly, as he awkwardly cleared his throat.

As if he didn't expect you to actually talk to him...

"What're you doin' walkin' by yourself so late?" he asked, his voice a deep rumble. "You got a death wish?"

The sound ignited something in you, a sudden flood of warmth rushing to your stomach, your reply nearly dying in your throat.

"I just got off from work... I wasn't paying attention and turned the wrong corner," you explained, choppily, the embarrassment of your mistake setting in.

It was a stupid one.

Especially for someone who's mutation gave her the ability to see the future.

Or variations of it, at least.

"You got a way to get home?" he asked, resting a hand on his hips.

His arms flexed with the motion, his bicep straining against the jacket sleeve, your eyes drawn to it almost instantly.

You'd never seen a man as handsome as him before, and while you felt bad for gawking, you were more concerned by the flurry of feelings swirling in your chest.

"Cab," you blurted, snapping yourself out of it, "I can hail a cab."

He nodded, smoothly and, to your surprise, silently, stepping to the side and out of your way.

You were ready to head back toward the street, when you suddenly remembered something.

"My purse—" Jittery, the man nervously shoved it into your arms, averting his eyes from your thankful expression.

Your gorgeous, thankful expression.

God, he didn't understand what such a beautiful woman like you was doing in a place like this.

"I found it on the ground over there," he cleared his throat once again, shifting his weight on his feet, "I put your knife back in, too. You might wanna wash it—"

Without warning, you pulled him into a hug, nearly sending his heart into a frenzy.

He kept his hands up, quite confused and unsure of what to do, especially since your impossibly soft cheek was pressed against his chest.

"Thank you... really," you smiled, warmly, as you looked up at him.

God, he was handsome.

Though, you pushed that thought to the back of your mind.

"It was nothin'," he assured, awkwardly, as you backed out.

"I don't suppose I could learn your name, could I?" you asked, a small smile rising to your lips at his social graces.

It was adorable.

Someone so big and strong being so nervous.

Instantly, he tensed, completely taken aback by your bold comment.

Maybe he was imagining things, but he could've sworn your tone made it sound like you were flirting with—

"Logan," he blurted, stiffly.

You grinned, tucking a stray hair behind your ear, "(y/n)."

Slowly, you started toward the mouth of the alleyway, his eyes following you intently, "Well, Logan, I hope we meet again... Then I'll pay you back."

"Not necessary," he assured, shaking his head.

You paused your walk for a moment, turning to glance at him with a devilish glint in your eye.

"We meet again... I'll have something for you," you promised, crossing your fingers.

A shiver rolled down his spine at your words, and you continued on your merry way, exiting the alley and hailing a nearby cab.

Once he was sure you were gone, he let out a loud sigh, allowing his shoulders to sink and a tired hand to run through his hair.

You were something...

One conversation and he already knew you were going to be trouble, the smell of your perfume and the warmth of your smile already plaguing his mind.

He shook his head, taking a deep breath before turning to walk out the alley.

But just as he stepped forward, he felt something under his foot, lifting it to reveal a necklace.

You must've lost it in the melee...

Carefully, he picked it up off the ground, placing it in his pocket before walking out the backstreet.

The next time he saw you... he'd have something for you, too.

[entitled-fangirl]

Luck.

Cregan Stark x reader; Robb Stark x reader

Summary: the reader finds herself far away from Robb and in the arms of his ancestor, Cregan.

A/N: I just started watching Outlander if you couldn't tell.

Part 2!

Masterlist

.........................................................................

She had promised Robb she'd be back by now. 

Gods, he must have been worried sick.

And rightfully so.

She ran as fast as her legs would take her, steering through the various trees of the Godswood.

Chased by wildlings.

She had dropped her blade further back out of fright, and only now was she beginning to curse herself for it. 

The blade encrusted with the Stark emblem on it.

She and Robb had only been married a matter of months after his father's leave of Winterfell and his work as the new Warden of the North in Eddard's place. 

She felt her foot slip and black clouded her vision. 

…

She awoke to the sound of a horse's snort and a loud cry from a deep voice, "Here, my lord!"

She peeked her eyes open, rubbing them with her hands to adjust to the bright clouds that loomed over them. 

But that sight was soon covered by a silhouette her eyes couldn't quite take in. 

The man bent down as immediately as he had appeared. His hands immediately came to her face. "Thank the gods." 

He was out of breath but a smile managed across his face. He didn't seem like the type to smile. 

He pulled her face close to his and brushed his forehead against hers.

She then noticed the emblem of the heavy fur cloak he wore. 

The Stark wolf. 

When he pulled away from her, his thumbs traced a light pattern on her cheeks.

He was a young man, maybe a bit older than Robb, but it was evident in his stature that he had seen much in his few years. Broad shoulders, a set jaw, and a chill in his eyes that matched the coldest days in the North. 

"Are you hurt?"

Only then did she look around. She was exactly where she had fallen, she knows that. The same root that had tripped her laid not far from her feet. 

"My love," he said again as he grabbed her jaw to make her look at him. "Are you hurt?"

She shook her head. She groaned lightly pushed herself up onto her elbows, "Where… Who-"

"Easy. Tell me what happened." The man cradled her head with his large hand.

"I was… I was praying and… wildings…"

"Wildlings?" He asked in an almost shock. "There were wildlings? Here?"

She nodded and rubbed her face.

The man's relieved expression turned stony once again. He looked up to one of the men with him, "Find them. Bring them to me. I will not have wildlings roaming these woods."

"Yes, Lord Stark." The soldier quickly waved some men and they set off in search.

But Lord Stark looked back to her, "Let us get you back to Winterfell."

She sat up slowly with his aid, her bones ached with movement. "Lord Stark?" She asked rather confused. 

Now closer to him, she watched as his brows furrowed only for a moment before a smirk twitched at his lips, "I thought I told you to stop calling me that."

Her gaze shot back down to the emblem on his cloak, and she dared to raise her fingers to it, tracing the wolf she was so familiar with.

His head tilted as he watched her, "Is everything alright, pretty?"

She looked up to his eyes again, "Do not call me that."

His smirk grew to a grin and a breathy chuckle escaped him, "Why not? Even covered in dirt, you are quite pretty."

"I am married," she rebutted in shock. "To the Warden of the North. You will do well to remember that."

He began to laugh in a true happiness and his hands found her waist, "Yes. Yes, I am quite aware of that fact." He pulled her closer and his voice lowered, "I thank the gods for that simple truth every day."

Her confusion only grew. That jaw and cheekbones. Those brows that remained pinched even in joy. She'd seen a face much like it before. 

In Robb. 

"Back to Winterfell?" She asked as if his previous words had not affected her. 

"Yes. Yes, back to Winterfell." He immediately pulled at the strings of his cloak, letting it fall from his shoulders to his hands and then pulling it around her shivering body. It was quite comical to see the dirt-covered Lady of Winterfell in the oversized cloak of the Stark man. 

The ride back was filled with an awkward silence that loomed over the two. But she knew if she only remained content, she would be taken back to Robb and the walls of her Northern home. 

But as they neared the doors of the city, she couldn't help but feel lost. 

The wood of the doors were a different color entirely. The guards different men that she had previously thought on duty. 

And as their horse walked through the city to the stables, she began to think herself mad. 

Everything was right. The stone, the roads, the atmosphere. But little quirks made her question it all.

Even when the Stark man helped her off the horse and he began to walk alongside her to the enter the castle, she was lost. 

"Something the matter?" He asked.

She looked up to him, meeting his concerned gaze. "No, not at all."

"You were lost in thought."

"Just… happy to see my lord husband is all." She gave a brief smile and looked back to the path.

Robb would ease all her troubles as he always does.

The man chuckled lightly, "You always know what to say don'tcha?"

Every clarification for her only resulted in further confusion.

When they entered the castle, a much younger boy was quick to converse with them, "Cregan! You've found her!"

The Stark man, Cregan she assumed, smiled as the boy neared, "I have. Did you think I'd lose her?"

The boy turned his attention to her, "You promised we'd go exploring today. Where were you?"

Cregan raised a hand to the top of the boy's head, "Easy now, Brandon. She didn't mean it. She was chased by wildlings in the Godswood. You know she never skip time with her favorite Stark."

As she studied Brandon, she saw the Stark resemblance in him. His hair was the color or Eddard's, but curly like Robb's.

"Now, go. I do believe my wife is in need of rest." 

She felt her eyes glaze over. Wife. 

She was so lost that she didn't react to anything until Cregan's hand came to her shoulder. "Seems my brother will never let you alone."

…

Three days. 

Three days and no further explanation.

Robb's Lady of Winterfell was also married to the Lord of Winterfell generations before. 

Every moment spent in the walls she had once loved only made her more of an imposter. 

The bed she and Robb once shared now shared with another. It seemed so wrong.

But they were so alike it was painful.

Headstrong, and cleverly witty. Full of honor and pride. The same cheeky fucking smile that would make her do anything.

…

She awoke to the feeling of a light caress on her cheek. 

She opened her eyes with a groggy voice, "Robb…?"

Cregan tilted his head, "Hmm? What was that, pretty?"

She forced herself to awaken a little quicker, "Good morrow, Cregan."

He smiled, "Good morrow. Fancy a journey today?"

"Where to?"

"The Godswood. I need to ensure those wildlings are caught. Figured I could take you along to show me where they were. Only if you feel up to it."

She nodded and rubbed her eyes, "Yes, I… I can manage. Just let me-"

"-Braid your hair. Yes, yes, I know."

Her lips parted slightly. How did he know that? She only braided her hair when going on horseback, a fact Robb had memorized quite early on in their marriage. And so had Cregan, it seemed. 

…

Her feet quickly retraced her path. Cregan on his horse following closely behind her and his men further back. 

"I believe I saw them… here." She paused and pointed at the rook in the tree not far from them. "There. They were there."

Cregan looked over to his right-hand man, "Start here. She and I will search further up."

Cregan then bent down from his horse and pulled her up and practically into his lap. 

She had never even seen Robb pick her up with such ease. 

The two rode further down the trail until she came to the familiar area. "And you just… fell? Here?"

She looked around until her eyes found the very root that had upended her. "Yes. There."

The two unmounted the horse so Cregan could look in more detail.

His hands found their place on her waist again and his chest pressed to her back, "I am a lucky man."

"I thought Starks don't believe in luck."

His eyes furrowed and he spun her around, "Who told you that?"

Eddard. Her father-by-law had. 

"I dunno. Thought it was… clear. Made the assumption myself."

His lips pulled into a grin. "I like that. That's quite clever."

"I can be quite clever," she jested.

"Oh yes, I know that." He pulled her closer, "I only meant to say that I should thank the gods you're safe. Wildlings are worse than any animal you'd encounter out here. I shouldn't have let you go alone."

To be truthful, she hadn't left alone. Robb never would've allowed it. She had taken Grey Wind, which she only now assumed had protected her. 

She's not sure at all what happened to those wildlings. 

"Pretty girl," Cregan mused. "You think too much."

"There's much to think about."

He paused and studied her in admiration. They were quite close. She could see his eyes roam over her face, taking in every feature.

"My men think I'm too protective of you, you know that?" He finally whispered.

"And are you?"

He chuckled lowly, "You're the prettiest fire I've ever come across." He leaned in until their lips were almost touching, "Think you'll burn me?"

She found herself wanting to lean in, but she didn't know why. "I… I dunno…"

A voice sounded from a distance, "Lord Stark!"

His head snapped to it, and the moment was gone. He brought a hand to her face, "Stay with the horse. Don't go anywhere."

She nodded.

He took a step away from her, studying her entirely now. He bit the inside of his cheek before urging himself toward the sounds.

When he was out of sight, she felt herself finally breathe. 

She grunted softly in thought before taking some steps forward.

"And where do you think you're going?" A new voice commented from behind her.

She felt herself pause. 

Robb.

She turned quickly to the sound.

Robb stood only a few meters away from her with a playful smile on his face. 

When she didn't answer, he raised a brow, "Something wrong, pretty?"

"I've missed you," she blurted out without thought. 

He chuckled, "You saw me only hours ago." He held out his arms, "C'mere."

She immediately rushed forward, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

He rubbed her back lightly, "You said you'd be back within the hour."

"There was… much to pray about."

"Was there?" He asked in amusement.

She pulled away and looked over her shoulder to the spot Cregan had stood in only moments before. "Yeah… I believe there was."

Robb chuckled again and pulled her to him, "You're lost in thought."

"Just…" she paused. "Happy to see my lord husband is all." She said, now feeling stupid of the repetition from before.

He smiled, "Well, I am most happy to see you as well, pretty."

She felt his scruff as he kissed her forehead. "I'm a lucky woman."

He let out a disapproving hum, "Starks don't believe in luck."

She giggled against his chest, "No. No, they don't."

...................................................................

Part 2

[konigbabe]

PERISH

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x gn!reader Word count: 1.6k Tags/warnings: no y/n; manga spoilers (post Shibuya timeline); canon-compliant; angst; death; emotional breakdown; hurt/no comfort; loss; grief Summary: For the first time in a long time, Satoru Gojo, the epitome of strength, breaks. Happy start of JJKS2 writing week.

event masterlist • masterlist • navigation • faq • AO3 • ko-fi

November 2018 8 minutes until Satoru Gojo’s unsealing

"Don’t worry, I’ll make it on time. I’m right behind the corner."

"We can wait," Yuji’s voice carries through the car, the static of the Bluetooth speaker occasionally cracking.

It feels like years have passed since you last saw him. Sealed away in the prison realm, Gojo’s state remains a mystery. There’s no telling how being locked in a place where time and space don’t exist can affect even the strongest minds.

That’s what worries you. What if he’ll break? What if he goes crazy on all of you? What if he explodes; wipes you all out with his technique? An endless sea of ‘what if’ swirls inside your mind as you take another turn, the mountains on your left with an ocean view on your right.

"Don’t," you reassure the youngster, "don’t wait any longer."

"You should be here, though," Megumi jumps into the conversation, "You’re closest to that idiot. He’ll want to see you."

His words draw a smile on your lips. It’s finally happening. The sleepless nights are coming to an end with the arrival of your lover.

"Then I’ll just opt for a dramatic entrance while you keep him busy," you respond before tightening your hands on the wheel. A familiar feeling washes over you; sudden knowledge of a new presence. Heart picking up, your eyes search the road for the source while the car’s speed slowly drops.

32 seconds; that’s how long it takes you to locate the source. A curse spirit manifestation stands in the middle of the road, blocking you. Its small hunched build stands a mere meter above the ground; four arms decorated by translucent fins hanging by its body, the prehnite skin glistening in the last rays of today’s sun, giving off a wet, moist appearance.

"Boys," you announce, stopping Yuji’s and Megumi’s bickering while still keeping up the cheerful, light voice in an attempt to not raise suspicions about your current predicament, "don’t wait any longer. Unseal Satoru and stop worrying ‘bout me. It’ll be fine."

Bringing the car to a slow halt, Yuji’s tone shifts into a more attentive one as your name seeps through the speaker before you hang up after one more reassurance.

As you step out of the vehicle, the curse's malevolence engulfs the air, almost tangible in its intensity. It clings to the atmosphere like a poisonous fog, penetrating your senses with a pungent sulfuric odor that threatens to overwhelm you.

Your hand slips inside your jacket to retrieve a carefully preserved seal, reserved for such precarious situations; just like this one.

"I’m sorry," with every footfall, the curse seems to shrink in size, yet its malicious nature grows stronger, the smell of sulfur almost suffocating, "but I’m in a hurry right now and you," pointing the parchment paper towards the spirit, "are in my way."

Swift and precise, your movements carry an aura of practiced precision. With little effort, you firmly press the seal upon the spirit's head, causing it to stumble momentarily before dissipating into thin air, vanquished by the power contained within the sigil.

Yet, the energy lingers.

Stronger than before. Stronger than a second ago. Its absent defense, non-existent attempt to fight or flee…it all makes sense now —

A powerful grip; a strong hand adorned with talons as keen as the finest blades dig into your shoulder as an inhuman force pushes you to the side.

As you're thrust aside, your vision catches a subtle glimmer of chrysolite, a hue that seeps into your perception; its scales are sturdy, each edge honed to a dangerous sharpness. Driven by instinct and the will to protect yourself, you reach out, your hand making contact with the curse spirit’s scaly hide.

The jagged edges of its scales cut into the delicate flesh of your fingers, leaving trails of crimson in their wake.

— it was a decoy.

Your body collides with the unforgiving side of the mountain, back meeting the rough and unyielding surface. A symphony of pain resonates within your bones, their structural integrity compromised as multiple cracks reverberate through your form.

Gasping for breath, your body instinctively seeks solace, but find none amidst the terrain. The curse doesn’t wait either. Swiftly moving forward, it lunges at you. Unforgiving. With a clear intent to strike. To kill.

During Satoru Gojo’s unsealing

There is no pain. The moment the curse’s hand breaches the barrier of your chest, you expect it. Expect some kind of visceral reaction. But there’s none — a gentle pinch, akin to a fleeting touch when the sharp claws first pierce through the protective layers of your breastplate. A slight discomfort upon the feeling of having a foreign object that’s found its place within the confines of your ribs. The barrier of your rib cage offers minimal resistance, yielding to the relentless advance that seeks to reach the very core of your being. The heart.

It all feels confusing.

"Kenjaku sends his regards," it whispers, the words slurred by the razor-sharp fangs that protrude from its mouth.

October 31, 2018 — 8:09 PM

"What’s the worst that can happen?"

Satoru saunters around the corner of the table, his presence punctuated by the audible slurping of juice from a small cartoon container. All while your palms rest on top of the said furniture, fingernails tapping at the surface.

The news has spread fast through the jujutsu community, faster than wildfire. Whispers of an unknown curtain cast around Shibuya an hour ago, trapping all non-sorcerers, innocent civilians, inside its insidious grasp with only one demand: Bring Satoru Gojo.

"Don’t say it like that, Satoru," you turn to face the man whose casual and dismissive demeanor only adds fuel to the worries setting inside your bones.

"They’re a bunch of curses," his hand finds its place on your hip bone while placing the empty container away, "Some special grades, yeah, but they’re weak compared to me. I’ll deal with them, save some people in the meantime, and bam," he snaps his fingers loudly, "We can go home. Get that sunset date you’ve been babbling about. Life is good," he finishes with a kiss on the crown of your head.

Life is good.

You watch the sun dip below the horizon behind the curse spirit’s back, indulging the sinister being in a halo glow.

Yeah. In the end, life was good.

2 hours and 48 minutes after Satoru Gojo’s unsealing

For a moment, he stands still. Unable to look down; frozen in time. The weight of it all seems to bear down upon his shoulders – now that Sukuna’s taken over Megumi’s body, Nanami’s and Yaga’s death, Suguru’s body being used as a vessel, the slow crumbling fall of the Jujutsu world – and now you; being gone.

Satoru Gojo, the strongest sorcerer of the current time. Yet even his immense power proves futile as the people he loves keep dying on him…because of him.

A burden that threatens to crush him beneath its insurmountable gravity.

The air around him hangs heavy with sorrow, as if the very essence of grief has manifested itself in the atmosphere. A storm of emotions swirls within him; a combination of disbelief, anguish and a gnawing ache that gnashes at the core of his being.

He clenches his fists, fingers trembling with a mixture of sorrow and determination. In that agonizing moment, he finds the strength to finally lower his gaze, to confront the devastating truth that lies at his feet.

Everyone holds their breaths, the weight of his misery echoing in the silence as his eyes meet the lifeless visage of the one he holds dearest.

Of you.

Hand reaching out, his fingers graze the once-soft flesh of your hand; now cold and stiff. It serves as a confirmation of reality. There’s no getting you back, no way Shoko can nurture you back to health with her technique.

You’re gone.

And in that harrowing instant, the façade crumbles. The walls he built to contain his pain come crashing down, and Satoru Gojo, the epitome of strength, breaks.

Crumbling down on his knees, the vulnerability that spills forth from his broken form is raw and unrestrained. Only a handful of those closest to him stand behind to witness the symphony of torment that pierces the silence. Tears stream down his face, each drop carrying the weight of a thousand unspoken words, moments you two could’ve spent together.

One hand covering his mouth to silence the guttural sounds, the other reaches out to you, tenderly cradling your lifeless head upon his lap. He clings to the fragile hope that if he could provide just enough warmth and love, you might return to him.

Yuji looks around the room, at the people who silently observe their friend fall apart. Taking a step towards the hunched man, a soft grasp stops him mid step; Kiyotaka shakes his head, pushing his glasses back in place as Shoko looks down. For the first time, she’s unable to figure out her classmate, her childhood friend, the man whose side she’s always stayed by.

"Gojo," Yuji doesn’t allow Kiyotaka to stop him. Believing in what’s right, he stands behind his teacher’s back.

Hand laying on the tense muscle of his shoulder, he doesn’t attempt to comfort Satoru with any words — no words in this universe would bring you back anyway. Instead, his hand just rests there. Unmoving. Gentle.

"Who did it," his words cause Shoko to look back up as Satoru, stone-faced and stoic, speaks in a firm, devoid voice. Imagines of unspeakable horror flashes in his mind as he stands up, towering over the wide-eyed Yuji.

"Tell me now," his eyes search Kiyotaka’s, voice filled with undeniable authority, "I’ll kill them, kill them all."

[tsukimefuku]

blunt trauma ♰ nanami kento

summary: your mission is to execute a curse user. the issue? said curse user is nanami kento, your former high school classmate and the man who you still secretly love.

tags and cw: dark content, no use of y/n, sorcerer!f!reader, villain!nanami, +18, explicit smut (mostly rough with tender moments hate/love sex), unprotected sex (wrap it, ppl), masturbation, oral (f receiving), pv, from enemies to enemies who fucked 👍, drama and angst (i’m a latina who grew up watching telenovelas), mentions of death, canon-typical violence, ptsd, cursing, hurt/no comfort, this man is saltier than the sea and turned it into everybody else's problem. 

wc: 7.5k

notes etc.: somehow it became a character study. this is my rendition of what i think gege would make nanami to be like if they followed their original plan and had nanami be a villain. inspo list is so huge i had to make a playlist, i got carried away.

writing/reading soundtrack: playlist link ; main songs → way down we go (kaleo) and daylight (david kushner).

disclaimer: i do not in any way approve of (or encourage) the relationship depicted here. it is toxic and bad for all parties involved. this is fictional and should stay that way.

oh, father, tell me ♰ do we get what we deserve?

It felt like the air had been beaten out of your lungs by the very one and only blunt blade you ever knew when you heard the news from Gojo.

Of course the first thing he did when he finished wrapping things up was calling you. If roles were reversed, and this had been Geto, he wouldn't expect any less from you.

During the School's Exchange Event, Jujutsu High was attacked by multiple high grade curses and curse users.

One of them was your former best friend from high school, Nanami Kento. 

"Are you certain it was him?"

"Absolutely," Gojo replied on the other side of the line, "there were traces of cursed energy from his cursed technique. He was also spotted by one of MeiMei's ravens."

"And how many students did he…"

"Two students from Kyoto."

Your head instantly felt dizzy.

"He also killed around a dozen assistants and people securing cursed objects underground."

"Shit… shit," you muttered, forgetting for a few seconds what words were and how to form a coherent sentence. Following suit, your stomach dropped with a sinking ache the moment you made the obvious realization, uttering the most painful thing you had to say in your life — even worse than he's gone, so many years before.

 "This will earn him a death sentence, won't it?"

Gojo was silent for a few moments.

"Hey…"

"Tell me. I can take it."

After a bated breath — from your end, mostly — he confirmed your worst fears.

"Yes. It will."

Ever since Geto's and Nanami's defection, you and Gojo had a special type of shared sorrow over each other's failures to save the people you both loved the most. Call it trauma bonding or codependency, but you developed an unwavering sense of loyalty towards one another.

For that reason, he already knew what you were about to ask him, and you only would because you knew he wouldn't find it in himself to refuse it.

"When it happens, please, have me be appointed as the executioner."

"Of course."

Sitting with a glass of whiskey while gazing out of the window in an understated house just by the outskirts of Sendai, Nanami couldn't say he was fulfilled, unable to grasp the concept of feeling in any way elated ever since his teenage years. However, he was definitely satisfied that this plan had worked.

He managed to put a dent into Jujutsu Society, aiding Geto — or, at least, someone that looked like him, not that Nanami truly cared about it by this point — in retrieving multiple cursed objects that would be used for their inevitable fallout.

There had been a few casualties, though.

Two students and many personnel died — or rather, met their fateful end by the edge of his blunt blade —, but some deaths should be expected if Jujutsu Society was to be brought to the ground, down to its last brick.

Ever since that fateful day when he was nothing but a tall child sitting beside the cold corpse of his best friend, Yu Haibara, Nanami had simmered what would become a cauldron of absolute venom-dripping rage against Jujutsu Society.

To hell with saving other people — what about them? What about the teenager that would never grow to be a sorcerer, who became an inanimate nothing before ever getting the chance of making something out of himself? 

That face… Nanami could never forget it. It haunted his dreams, even a decade later. Such a stark contrast between the light-spirited smiles and this cold, gray monolith that laid in the morgue.

They had no right to rob their students from their youth, much less from their lives, but that's exactly what Jujutsu High did when they didn't even bother to check the mission appropriately before dispatching Haibara and Nanami to a certain death.

Nanami escaped, but just barely, by the skin of his teeth. Haibara, however, wasn't blessed with the same luck, and drew the short straw when his hitched final breaths met their end against Nanami's shoulder. Nanami, who carried his best friend on his back, desperately tried to win a losing race against death. 

Help was late to arrive.

They were too late for Haibara.

And, in a sense, they were too late for him, too.

The worst part, though, was when they were finally being transported all the way back to Jujutsu High. As he glanced over Haibara’s cadaver, now covered by a body bag, one particularly insensitive assistant very rudely stated, “at least there is a body to be buried.”

At least

There is a body 

To be buried

Those words echoed in his head for what felt like eternity. Was that the best they all had to hope for? To at least have remains left behind for the mourning?

In any case, that was why, even though he had to kill, Nanami never mangled any of his human victims — something not easy to do, given how his technique worked and how easy it was to split someone in half.

You had noticed this perverted benevolence while looking over the necropsy reports, a realization that just added insult to injury.

Let there be something for the funeral, I suppose, was what he told himself.

In his own twisted way, Nanami figured this was a kindness very few sorcerers received at their tragic ends, and decided he'd definitely be more compassionate than what Jujutsu High put their sorcerers through. 

In his eyes, those from Jujutsu High who died under his will were the ones granted a truly merciful death.

His peace was disturbed by the sound of the entrance door being brutally kicked in, flying its way across the living room. He pulled his blunt blade from the side of his armchair with his free hand, but quickly put it down when realizing it was you that had just barged inside.

He knew you very well — well enough to be certain you wouldn't come swinging at him immediately.

"I can see you still have a temper. Destroying the door wasn’t necessary, I would've opened it for you," he stated, sipping on his drink.

"I don't care," you retorted, "I guess you already know why I'm here, in any case."

"I do. You're here to carry out my death sentence," he stated, completely unbothered, as if talking about the weather.

As if he was just mundanely stuck in his ways. 

You huffed, placing your hand over your sword's handle.

"Precisely."

"We haven't spoken in a long time, why don't you take a seat?" Nanami inquired, pointing at the armchair right in front of him. "I want to finish my drink."

You glared at the curse user, as he, unfazed, kept gulping on his whiskey. Nanami was wearing a black buttoned shirt, black pants and black oxford shoes, and you couldn't help but see him as a grim reaper — this was a somber look, fitting for the equally somber man who carried it.

For a second, you took in his features — you hadn’t seen Nanami for a few years after the last time you crossed paths.

His shoulders had slightly broadened, and he still bore the same chiseled face, framed by his sand-blond hair neatly slicked back.

Nanami’s eyes traveled over you quickly, apparently doing the very same thing.

Time had left its marks. It was evident you both had grown up — and apart.

You knew this was a shit idea, but entertained it enough that you actually walked towards the chair and sat down. There were definitely things to be talked about, and you just about had a million questions for him.

Most of them, however, boiled down to what you immediately asked.

"Why did you do it?"

Nanami put his glass on the coffee table right in front of you.

"It was a necessary means to an end."

His words came with frost-bitten coldness, his voice embodying the monotone you once loved, but eventually, grew to hate.

You scoffed, incredulous at his reply, involuntarily clenching your fingers around your katana's handle as it laid on your lap.

"Necessary means to an end? Nanami, you killed teenage sorcerers!"

"As I said, and I don't like repeating myself," he interjected, "it was a necessary sacrifice for a greater cause."

"You're such a hypocritical, self-righteous ass!"

Nanami sighed, clearly displeased.

"We have always been able to keep some semblance of respect for each other, despite our… differences. Do not use that foul language with me."

You laughed bitterly, no amusement or fun in your voice as you did.

"Do you think I can still have an ounce of respect for you after what you did? You murdered my people! They were all sorcerers. You killed students, Nanami! Jujutsu High's students! Just like Haibara once was!"

He shot his eyes at you, and the aura of his cursed energy grew sinister at your words. 

"Don't say his name."

Yu Haibara, arguably the glue that kept the trio together. You were hot headed, Nanami was intransigent, and Yu was the conciliatory ray of sunshine that kept you two — but you, particularly — from constant quarreling as classmates nearly every day.

But back then, you'd argue with Nanami with love.

This wasn't the case now.

Not entirely, at least.

"He was my best friend too, the three of us were! Do you really think this is what he would've wanted?!" you questioned him, equal parts hurt and enraged.

"I'm not one to ponder on could've or would've been's. Haibara is gone."

"I'm not a would've been!"

You could still remember it. The day you realized why dealing with Nanami and hearing his sharp comebacks riled you up so intensely. 

You finally understood you were in love with him.

Ever since the first day you met Nanami, you envied the way he'd be able to keep his feelings in check when you constantly felt like falling apart. You felt jealous at how he was considered a greatly competent individual, regarded by all as the best of your class, while you were basically viewed as a ticking bomb nearing explosion. And finally, it made you livid the way how everyone treated him like the informal leader of the trio when the three of you were out on a mission together.

However, those were the same things that got you to admire your friend and, eventually, fall in love for him.

That day, you asked Nanami to meet you outside after class by himself — much to Haibara's dismay —, because you had something to tell him. It was a Tuesday afternoon, and the unforgiving sun of summer was already setting, casting an orange glow through the leaves of the tree you were both under.

After confessing your feelings for him and bracing yourself for being shot down, because why the hell would Nanami Kento, the brilliant, competent, and mature second-year, have any interest in the chaotic, hot headed mess you were, you realized he actually looked surprised. After taking a few moments to collect himself, Nanami told you how he had thought you actually hated him.

At last, somewhat nervous — but definitely intent on not letting it show —, he confided he had affectionate feelings towards you as well.

Your first kiss was awkward, as it would be expected out of two inexperienced people such as you and Nanami were at that age, but it carried the sweet taste of a blue spring marked by teenage years' innocence.

It felt like a promise.

Unfortunately, such promise was unmercifully cut short the very next day, when Nanami and Haibara were dispatched to their life-changing mission.

What an irony it was that, in the end, you were the one to actually mature over Haibara's death, growing up to be an upstanding sorcerer, loved and admired by peers and students alike, and Nanami was the bomb to blow up in everybody's faces.

What a cruel irony.

"I was there too, and I'm still here, having to pick up the pieces of what you deliberately destroyed!" you rasped, angrily.

"You weren't a 'would've been'? Where were you when we needed you? When I needed you?" his voice didn't conceal the tinge of hurt that those questions carried.

What a fucking low blow.

"Nanami, that's not fair. There wasn't anything I could've done in that situation, and you know that!"

You blamed yourself for a while for not going on that mission with them, until you realized that you too would probably have died if you were there. From the three, Nanami was the only one strong and fast enough to pull off an escape like he did.

He diverted his gaze back to the window.

"You were the one to bring up hypothetical scenarios. Let's indulge in them for a minute, shall we?" 

Nanami glanced back at you, and his next words brimmed with bitter resentment, even if his voice sounded more calm and collected than ever.

"You see someone you supposedly love slowly sinking into darkness. What do you do?"

"Don't you dare, you condescending prick! I asked you so many fucking times what was going on. You were the one who shut me out!"

Your voice carried a decade-old pain that resonated from the depths of your soul.

It came from all the times you entered his dorm room with his favorite sandwich after he had cooped up in there for days on end, and he didn't even bother to eat it. Every time you asked him to talk to you, said you were there for him, and was met by a vacant stare.

And, at last, the time when he cruelly blamed you for not being there when Haibara died.

The way he coldly told you about Haibara's last words.

According to Nanami, Haibara said he wanted to speak to you one last time, at least to bid you farewell.

And you weren't there.

Oh, the viciousness with which he blamed you, and decided you owed him something for this perceived failure. 

The next time Nanami talked to you, he asked you to leave Jujutsu High with him, just like Geto did, and swore to destroy them. You tried, pleaded, implored for him to reconsider and stay, but the very following day, you were met by an empty room where the person you once loved used to be. 

That emptiness had, paradoxically, filled you wholly with grief.

Gojo once told you that nobody could save someone who didn't want to be saved.

You still thought you should've tried harder, in a childish attempt at giving yourself an illusory semblance of control over that clusterfuck of a situation.

This is the gap inside our psyche that feeling guilty tries to fill, isn't it?

We can only feel guilty about the things we could've changed, right?

Your voice sounded decades older than yourself, burdening the weight of multiple lifetimes of hurt and grief. Your soul was too old for your own good.

"How can you find it in yourself to blame me for this?! No… This is a prison of your own making. You built the house of cards that is tumbling down on your head as we speak entirely by yourself."

He huffed intensely through his nostrils — Nanami’s version of a snort —, looking the other way before proceeding, each syllable hitting you with the deadly precision of his cursed technique.

"You abandoned us, leaving me and Haibara to fend for ourselves, just like Jujutsu Society did."

By that point, you began yelling, and your voice reverberated all across the room.

"The hell I did!"

You had to take a deep breath before proceeding.

"I just couldn't get behind this dumb idea that we should become curse users and bring down Jujutsu Society."

"Why didn't you come with me?" he finally asked, in an amalgam of pain, sadness, longing, anger, and stinging resentment. "I would have followed you to the deepest recesses of hell if you asked me to."

You huffed, laughing angrily in between your teeth, before thrusting your words like thorns against him.

"Funny you should say that. You'd go anywhere for me? How about staying? Why couldn't you have stayed for me, then?!" 

Perhaps that request was egotistical, but you didn't care. If only for a moment, you wanted to give yourself this small privilege — to want in a world of duty.

"I was the one actually left to fend for myself, right inside the belly of the beast, and you couldn't have cared less."

He stared at you, nothing in his eyes other than the void left behind after his spirit got killed with his best friend so many years ago.

"I didn't stay because… Because," Nanami stated, with a grave finality, "and you're the one who chose to stay. You're still actively choosing to, just like you did back then."

"That's not a good enough answer," you replied with a bad taste in your mouth.

"It's what you've earned," he coldly replied, "but in case you change your mind-"

"Enough," you interrupted him, incredulous that even after everything, this man had the nerve of suggesting you'd ever be interested in running away with him. "It appalls me you would even consider I could… After what you've done? No, never."

Nanami sighed, and for a brief moment, seemed to be actually disappointed under his resigned, polished visage.

"Well, then. Let's get this over with, at once."

In a split second, you pushed your chair on the ground, falling on your shoulders and rolling on your back, dodging his lightning-fast attack. It left a crater behind, right where you were seconds before. Nanami jumped over the fallen armchair, and you dodged him once again, spinning on your heels, unsheathing your sword as you did so, to deal a beheading blow on the back of his neck.

However, right before impact, you faltered, slowing down your movement.

Your own body held you back from taking his life.

He didn't seem to notice.

Nanami bent down just in time to avoid the blow, and swung his blunt blade towards your kneecap. You were quick on your feet, and jumped back, putting a good distance between the both of you.

"I can see you're actually fighting to kill," he noted, getting up on his feet.

"Of course. That's what I came here to do," you spat in his direction.

"You were never the practical one."

You scoffed.

"Guess I learned something from you."

He smiled at the irony of that, but his eyes didn't follow his expression. 

Nanami lunged at you, but while you thought he'd deal his next blow in your direction, he hit your footing, having you fall on the ground. Abruptly, his blunt blade descended in your direction, but you were able to catch it and have it slip to your side using your katana supported by your hand behind it, sending a sharp, loud sound around the vicinity, trembling against the bones and flesh of the house.

You rolled on your side when he struck a new hit in your direction, leaving another gaping hole on the floor, and you jumped yourself up. 

Before you could attack him, however, he took you by surprise, and you lifted your sword to defend yourself. Nanami hit your katana with his blunt blade, breaking it near where the handle and the steel met, launching your body back on the wall.

The impact knocked the air out of your lungs, and you fell to your knees, unable to recover yourself as you got up. Instantly, you heard his quick, steady steps sprinting their way in your direction.

You were cornered.

This is it.

You braced yourself for the impact, closing your eyes. You remembered his technique perfectly.

Precise, just as he was.

Deadly, just as he was, too.

You were to die at the hands of the man you loved, who had become a murderer and only a distorted, broken version of whom you used to truly love.

This seemed like an oddly cruel way to go.

However, the impact never came.

His blunt blade stopped as it was about to hit your stomach, and you opened your eyes, just to see his face mere inches apart from yours. His mountainous form blocked your view from anything else behind him, and Nanami, at that moment, actually looked like the menace he truly was. 

“Why were you appointed as my executioner?” Nanami asked, much to your surprise.

“I asked to be,” you answered, holding his gaze as something went through his eyes. A hint of anger, most likely, and some sense of betrayal, certainly. 

“So, you want to kill someone you once loved? You were always prone to self-penitence, so it stands to reason you’d do something idiotic like that.”

You scoffed, grimacing at him, feeling your entire body incandescent with rage.

“I fucking hate you, Nanami.” 

He inched his face even closer, brushing your noses against one another, eyes stone-cold and hauntingly vacant.

“I hate you as well.”

For a moment, you wondered if he had really stopped his blade before impact. You didn't expect it, but hearing those words felt like you just had been hit, victim of a blunt trauma, at how much they tore you apart. 

The same blunt trauma that severed the Nanami you once knew — the teenager with bangs, who'd always be carrying around a few spare changes to get soda cans from the vending machine for you and Haibara, in his own understated kindness — and this empty monster looking back at you.

"Good. Finish me off, then, and get your revenge for a crime I never committed. Being unfair and an all-around self-centered asshole certainly suits you, fucker."

His hand made its way up your neck, and you were pressed against the wall. The grip was firm, but not enough to choke you — it came more as a warning than anything else.

"I already told you to stop using that foul language with me," he ordered, low voice simmering with genuine irritation.

"Then make me," you challenged him, hoping for this torture to be over as fast as possible.

Just fucking kill me already.

His blunt blade fell with a thud on the floor, and you were confused for a moment, wondering if he really wouldn't give you the kindness of a quick demise. Did he plan on choking you to death?

Did he hate you that much?

His other hand came up, but before you could do anything to try to resist — which would be nothing but a futile attempt at survival, given that Nanami was physically much stronger than you —, his fingers snaked their way through the back of your hair, tugging it at the roots. 

His mouth clashed against yours, all teeth, tongue, anger, and hunger, and instantly every nerve in your body flared up with a raging fiery ember you hadn't felt in years. All the pent-up resentment, hurt, and desire you had for Nanami swirled together in your gut, guiding your hands up his hair, as you also pulled on it intently, robbing him of a gasp.

You intertwined your tongue against his, and he unceremoniously bullied his own inside your mouth, leaving no crevice unexplored, as his hand on your neck descended towards your waist, where he clenched his fingers with a vicious grip. You whimpered against his lips, and he grunted in return, pushing his body on yours. His throbbing growing cock could be felt, even through both of your clothes, as he pressed it right against the edge of your pants.

When you finally parted after what seemed like a not-long-enough eternity, you huffed and panted, and albeit less than you, he was panting too.

"I fucking… hate you…" you gnarled, glaring into his eyes. The hazel-brown gaze you once adored was now clouded and dark, like the muddy waters of a deep lake.

"Shut the fuck up," Nanami groaned back, strongly cupping your cunt with his large hand. You whimpered in surprise, and he pulled you in harshly for another kiss, letting go of your hair and sex to sink his fingers on the backside of your thighs, pulling them. You immediately jumped up and threw your arms around his shoulders, as he manhandled your legs to have them hooked around him.

He quickly took you both inside the room, and tossed you on the bed, having you gasping in surprise. Before you could catch your breath, he climbed his way on top of you, pressing your body down, and clashed his mouth against yours again, making you actually lightheaded from a lack of air.

You pushed against his chest, grunting uneasy, and surprisingly, he parted his lips from yours.

"What?"

You panted heavily, nearly hyperventilating, and mindlessly rested your hand on his cheek.

"C-can't breathe…" was all you mustered up to say, trying to replenish oxygen back into your system.

His eyes softened so discreetly you nearly missed it, and his cold-ivory enclosure slightly cracked under the affectionate touch he didn't expect.

Nanami had no idea how much he had craved it ever since you parted ways, and hated himself, just a little, for how much such an innocuous gesture stirred his old feelings up, throwing his heart against his chest in a fluttering rush.

I should be over her by now, dammit.

Nanami also brought his hand up your face, and ghosted over your cheek for a second before sliding his fingers delicately down over it.

You also weren't prepared for that, and your chest tightened all over your heavy heart as you remembered your first kiss.

The way he'd cup your face in his hands.

 So delicate, so lovely.

This touch, at this very moment, felt like a painful reminder of everything you had lost.

"Kento…" you cooed, voice strained in your throat, with all the things you were sure you'd never say.

He hummed your name in return, and kissed you while sinking your body against the mattress. This kiss was different, as his lips brushed gently over yours, and his tongue tenderly teased over the seam of your mouth. You welcomed him in, and you both explored these deep waters tentatively, as he upped the intensity after each stroke of your tongues against each other.

He tasted like whiskey, and bread, and the tainted love left behind as nothing but a reminiscence of less grueling days. You couldn't help but feel robbed by him.

You both had been missing out on this for all these fucking years.

"Why did you have to go?" you asked, pulling back from him, a tinge of anger to your cadence, and another of pain in your face.

"Why did you have to stay?" he spat back at you, equal parts saddened and resentful.

His mouth made its way to your neck, and you gasped with the sensation of his warm breath mingled with saliva against your skin, as he licked and bit his way around.

You couldn’t find it in yourself to push him away, and your eyes burned with the prickling sensation of tears that wouldn’t come. You were starved for his touch, his smell, his body, even if this was the murderer of your students, of your friends.

In your head, you felt like digging a hole and throwing yourself in it, to wallow in the misery of realizing that you were about to fuck the murderer of people you loved, and that it felt good.

A pool of heat and fire shot down your insides as your heartbeats throbbed in between your legs.

You hated yourself, and on top of it all, hated Nanami. 

Hated that you couldn't help but still love him, even after all he had done.

This was the setting tension in between the both of you, the two extremes of hate and love pulling against each other, all while the tug of war rope refused to snap to either side.

He pulled your shirt over your head, tossing it aside, and you undid his shirt, unzipping his pants. He unzipped you too, and quickly enough, took off your pants along with your panties with a single sharp tug.

Back to rough, but not entirely, it seemed.

His hand glided against your thigh and his fingertips slipped over your entrance, getting completely glazed by your already dripping arousal. He grunted, a guttural and intense sound deep in his chest, giving you another bite on the soft skin of your neck.

"Hate me?" Nanami asked, teasing his digits over your cunt, "doesn't seem like it."

You managed to scoff at him, which would prove to be a mistake.

"Go fuck yours-"

Before you could finish your sentence, he dove two of his fingers inside knuckle-deep, without any hint of a warning, forcefully stretching your walls around them. You immediately let out a whimper so pitiful you wondered if that was really your voice.

He seemed satisfied at that. Perhaps, even elated.

"Good girl," Nanami whispered right beside your ear, nibbling against your earlobe with his teeth, sending shivers down your spine. He began sliding his fingers in and out, and you bucked down against his hand while moaning and mewling, walls sheathing his digits as he finger-fucked your cunt, neglecting your clit as punishment for calling him a condescending prick earlier.

His palm rucked against your dripping folds, echoing wet slaps all throughout the room, as your arousal kept pooling on his palm.

He mumbled softly against your skin, bringing his mouth up to brush against yours, "hate… you still love me."

You instantly drew one of your hands to slap him in the face for this hurtful teasing, but he had quick reflexes — quicker than yours. He dodged himself back as your hand hit the empty sheets, and edged his fingers to hit against your soft spot, pressing it so violently, you let out a strained cry from the shooting overstimulation pain.

"Ah- Shit!" you shouted, face all scrunched up.

"Can't you behave for once?" he chided, "why is it so hard for you to j-just-“ 

Nanami’s breath hitched in his throat as he grunted, unable to finish his sentence.

You shut him up the only way you could think — grabbing his cock harshly over his boxers. It was extremely effective, and he immediately humped his length against your hand, while lowly groaning.

With trembling hands and a violent snap, you haphazardly pulled his boxers down to his mid-thighs, as his fingers kept mercilessly bullying their way inside you, sending vibrating waves all throughout your body with every thrust.

“Stop… telling me… ah-aaah-“ you rolled your eyes back with a loud moan, struggling to keep a train of coherent thought, gnarling your next words,  “what to… ah- do!”

His cock sprang out, slapping against his belly. The tip was already flustered red, leaking with pre-cum, and had a long, prominent vein on the underside.

To punish him back for the roughness, you grabbed his length with one hand, and with the other, pressed the middle of your palm against his flushed tip, glistening his arousal around it with enough force to jump across the divide between intense pleasure and painful overstimulation.

Nanami cursed with a feral voice through his teeth, immediately biting the side muscles of your neck with no semblance of restraint, making sure to leave a purple remnant of pain etched on your skin.

“Ah- ouch! Fuck!” you spat out, tightening your grip around his cock, but weakened enough to release the tight pressure against his tip, letting him fuck into your hand. His hips bucked erratically, and his lips pressed a quick kiss right where he had previously bitten.

He couldn't help it.

Suddenly, Nanami stopped his rutting fingers to press his thumb against your already throbbing clit. That instantly had you seeing stars as you cursed loudly in between moans and grunts, drawing your free hand to his head, ferociously tugging at his hair, as heat pooled in your lower abdomen like fiery embers of coal.

He grabbed your arm, pulling it away from his shaft, and removed his fingers from your walls, having them clenching around nothing at such a sudden emptiness. You began complaining, only to have your voice cut short by his tongue slipping its way inside your mouth, in a sloppy, wet kiss. 

Parting from you, Nanami’s eyes were glassy, and you were absolutely sure your gaze must’ve looked just as hazy as his.

In a brief moment, before you realized it, he slid himself down, and unceremoniously lapped at your already sensitive clit with his warm tongue, hot breath tickling against your sensitive skin.

Both of your hands descended towards his hair, brushing over his golden and now messy locks more tenderly than you expected. Nanami suddenly shivered and moaned into your cunt, edging his tongue down your folds and back, eyes fluttering shut the moment he tasted you entirely.

He felt a tinge of pain clench at his chest, realizing this was the taste he had missed out on for all that time — your taste, which would surely ruin him forever.

Nanami’s pain, however, was quick to turn into outrage, as he began sucking on your clit relentlessly, eliciting the most animalistic sounds you had ever uttered.

You instinctively tried backing away, and he pulled on your thighs, holding them with such a violent force that his hand was sure to leave an engraving of his digits over your plush skin.

Nanami was intent on dragging this orgasm out of you by any means necessary.

You had never given him anything he wanted from you — be it the company to fight against Jujutsu High or the same unwavering loyalty he had for you. So this was something he’d take.

If you wouldn’t be by his side, then the least you could do was to cum for him so fervently, he’d be sure to ruin you just as much as he felt like you had ruined him. You owed him that, or so Nanami thought.

“Aaah-- Kento! S-slow d-… fuck!”

You came with a thunderous shout, jolting your hip forward as your thighs tightened with inhuman strength to the sides of his head. Nanami made sure to deliciously lick your way down from your high, applying such a precise and perfect pressure on your clit that you could’ve wept from sheer satisfaction.

After your legs went limp, he slowly climbed his way back to you, pressing kisses all over your body, leaving a ghost of heat wherever his mouth traveled. When Nanami finally reached your face, he put his forearms against your sides, hands over your shoulders, caging you in, as he pressed his mouth against yours in a slow kiss.

You were floating in a calm sea, salty waves caressing your body every time they passed through, and it felt cozy. Inviting, even. As he parted his lips from yours, Nanami gazed into your eyes in the way he used to.

For a second, you got catapulted into the past, and the orange sun that warmed your cheeks through the leaves as you kissed for the first time seemed to shine its rays over again.

With his arms around you, the nonsensical feeling of being protected washed over your heart.

“Come with me,” he whispered with a sultry, husky voice. 

“Kento…” you cooed, sighing, wanting nothing more than for this moment to extend for infinity.

But it couldn’t.

You didn’t go with him, so many years ago.

And wouldn’t go now, either.

That wasn’t how it worked for the both of you.

Nanami understood it, and what seemed like another crack against his unwavering walls had formed the moment his brows furrowed above his eyes.

“Fine, then,” he said, with a tinge of genuine hurt to his voice.

You parted your thighs to accommodate his hips, and he obliged, guiding his hand down to align his cock against your entrance. You bent and hooked your legs around him, pulling him in, and as the tip of his length got pressed against your dripping cunt, he gasped slightly over your lips.

Nanami sunk in slowly, going through your already relaxed ring. However, it apparently wasn’t relaxed enough, or perhaps he was just too big, because you could feel every inch of stretching his cock made against your walls as he slowly bottomed out inside your cunt.

His mouth fell open and you exhaled a moan into it, breaths mingling together. You two drank each other in. Nanami pressed his forehead against yours, and you both held each other’s gaze, as he pulled your left wrist above your head, holding it there, pushing you down the mattress by your waist with his other hand.

After a moment for you to take him in, Nanami began rolling his hips into you, while his hand kept bruisingly pressing your wrist against the mattress. You could feel his balancing act of trying to love you and wanting to hurt you at the same time.

You weren’t so different from him in that sense, though. Your nails got dragged down his back with abrasive force, and for a second, you considered drawing blood from him. He grunted, and you saw the spark of cold-hearted anger flash through his now dimmed eyes.

You both wanted to love each other just as much as you wanted to hurt each other.

In a more forgiving universe, perhaps, he’d hold your hand tenderly, intertwining his fingers in yours. Maybe you two would be in the kitchen as he showed you one of his favorite bread recipes, and share quiet moments of understanding companionship when remembering those who had left this world too soon.

But this wasn’t that universe, unfortunately.

He was to die, and you were to carry out his execution. 

Except you couldn’t, because even if you still tried to cling on to any sliver of morals, even if his life was something yours alone to take, the mere thought of a world without Nanami was far worse than the reality of a world in which he was a murderer.

You insisted on fighting a losing game, and much to no one’s surprise, you lost. 

Good riddance to me, I suppose.

His grunts came hitched and stuttered against your mouth as he was now rutting himself into you, biting your lower lip hard enough to almost pierce the skin with his teeth. You moaned loudly, dragged around with pain and pleasure, the combo that seemed to summarize the gist of your relationship.

He let go of your wrist and descended his hand without a warning towards your already overworked clit, glazing his thumb against the ring of arousal you were leaving around him before starting to make circles around your nub. Your moans came out cracked and faltering, as you tried to resist the instinctive urge of fleeing that the overstimulation was eliciting.

“Give me… one more,” Nanami groaned lowly against your cheek, planting multiple kisses down the side of your face and your chin. His hair — which had already fallen from its usual slick arrangement — brushed against your fluttering eyelids, momentarily weaving golden sand colors over your your vision, and you drove both your hands to the back of his head, pulling him in for another kiss. 

You could kiss him like this forever. 

You actually wanted to, at that moment.

To his request, you nodded, and this was probably the first time you acquiesced to any request Nanami had ever made to you. 

Fulfilled, his thrusts and his finger over your clit became increasingly erratic, as he was now moaning your name against your mouth. You pushed your tongue over his, sliding your hands up his head to tug at his roots, and that was all it took to tip him over the edge.

Nanami came with a muffled groan, having your tongue still pushed inside his mouth, and kept pumping himself inside you trying to keep the comedown at bay. His thick, white cum got glazed all over inside you, and the slaps of flesh and skin began sounding ever more wet than they already were.

You weren’t so far off, with your walls fluttering around him, and he noticed it, keeping his now trembling thumb pressed and circling intently over your clit. With one perfectly applied nudge on your sensitive bud, Nanami finally pulled you over the edge along with him.

Some tears began pooling on the edges of your lashes, and all your emotions — anger, sadness, grief, longing, and a particular brand of despair you cultivated during the last decade — came crashing down as he wrenched your second orgasm from you.

Your body convulsed under him, fluttering walls expelling his softening cock out, as you shouted and grunted into his mouth. You didn’t know if you were more furious at yourself for still loving him, at him for loving you, or at Jujutsu Society for jumbling you both like pawns to be tossed around until you two were broken beyond repair.

Angry at them for sending the young out to have their spirits crushed too soon. For all the deaths no one got to mourn because there was too much work, too little time, and the wounded were always left behind to fend for themselves.

Just like you were.

And just like Nanami was.

You sat at the edge of the bed while putting your shirt back on, and looked back at Nanami, who had his buttoned shirt open over his chest.

“Are you still resolute on your decision of not coming with me?” Nanami asked, with a tinge of eagerness. Or maybe it was just your imagination.

You pondered for a moment, and knew exactly what the answer to that question was.

“Yes. I’m not coming with you.”

For a second, you caught the faintest glimpse of the person he used to be. Something aching to genuine disappointment.

The longing that flashed through him, unfortunately, was quick to go, as he began buttoning his shirt down, averting his gaze elsewhere.

“Why?”

“Because I’d hate myself for the rest of my life if I did,” you stated, sighing before continuing, “and it’s not because I can’t kill you or because I love you that I don’t despise you. You crossed an uncrossable line.”

He pursed his lips, and almost felt regretful for the path he chose.

Almost, since regret now would come ten years too late.

“You can’t go back. They will know you let me go,” Nanami remarked. Be it from him or from looking around this house, Jujutsu High would surely hold you accountable for this — for willingly letting the curse user and murderer, Nanami Kento, escape their wrath.

“I know that,” you replied, a tad bit more defeated than you expected, “that’s why I’m fleeing to Hokkaido.”

He sighed and looked at you. You held his gaze, feeling a little hint of anxiety at what he seemed to be simmering under the surface.

With a warmer expression — or as warm as he could muster it up to be  —, Nanami spoke again. 

“I truly want you to come with me. You’d be safer. We’d… be by each other’s side.”

For a moment, you faltered, open lips with no sound coming out of them. Blinking yourself back to Earth, you asked, “you mean together?”

Nanami kept silent, but nodded, waiting for your response.

He wasn’t just asking for you to come with him, but to be with him.

You wanted to. You did. Something Nanami never knew was just how much you wanted to follow him when he asked you the same thing, so many years ago.

But even though you wholeheartedly loved him with every minute part of your being, your loyalty lied elsewhere.

Not with him, but with the people he had killed.

Well, at least that was the comfortable lie you were capable of living with.

It would destroy you to realize the loyalty you had for the murderer of the people you loved. 

In the end, even if you weren’t a teenager anymore, you were just as much a hostage to your feelings as you had always been.

The ticking took a long time, but the bomb eventually went off.

With a decade’s old delay.

“I… just can’t. I can’t.”

Nanami reclined himself against the wall over which the bed rested, closing his eyes as he supported the back of his head on it. 

He never told you, but this moment broke his heart all over again.

He felt pathetically small.

Guess we get what we deserve, after all.

“You really do have a taste for penitence,” Nanami noted, his voice barely concealing the bitterness that tainted those words.

You scoffed, getting up on your feet, ready to leave as the first rays of sunshine began bleeding through the thick curtains that covered the bedroom’s window.

“Go to hell.”

He chuckled, a sound you hadn’t heard in a very long time. However, it sounded off-key. Wrong.

Sad.

“We’re already here.” 

At the end of it all, he wasn’t wrong.

You were doomed to always keep leaving each other.

If only the world had been a little kinder.

But kindness, it seemed, wasn’t in the cards for you.

End notes: I’m silently screaming. Oh my, this one took way longer than expected, but I enjoyed the writing process during every step of the way (I mean, if that wasn’t evident already from the fact that I made a playlist for this 😂). I forgot how much I was a sucker for gut wrenching angst. Hope you enjoyed it too! 🦉

-

Tag list: @actuallysaiyan @diogodxlot @jadedjane @redlikerozez @voiceless9000

@marvelousfanfictionbitch @kentocalls @ohhheymessa @magical-girl-b @simp-manhwa

@codenamesongbird

[hauntedhowlett-writes]

HAND IN UNLOVABLE HAND

PAIRING: THOMAS HEWITT X FEMALE READER

RATING: EXPLICIT (18+ MDNI) | WORD COUNT: 5.8K

SUMMARY | This new man, the tall man with the icy somber eyes and expressionless mask, appeared above you, haloed in sunlight like an angel. By all accounts, he was a far more terrifying man than John or Mike or David, but you don’t see evil when you look at him, when his eyes meet yours for a brief second before looking away. No, not evil, but a familiar reflection, an unkind life that led to unkind circumstances and unkind decisions. You know the look well, it’s the same one you see in the mirror.

WARNINGS | 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT; DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT - this is slasher fan fiction with canon typical violence, mentions of blood, death, cannibalism and gore. if slasher fiction is not your cup of tea, please keep scrolling.

EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT: vaginal fingering, male masturbation, oral sex - f receiving, unprotected p in v, size kink, choking, creampie, praise kink

OTHER WARNINGS: no use of y/n, dual pov, able bodied reader, reader being picked up/carried, virgin thomas hewitt, no skin masks, monsters in love. if i’ve missed any tags, please kindly let me know.

Thomas hears a scream while he’s out in the barn. It cuts off so quickly he damn near thinks he imagined it but if he holds perfectly still and listens, listens, listens, there are noises that don’t belong. A grunt, a smack, a mumbled curse. Knife in hand, he ventures out in search of the source. 

Out on the road there’s a car, hood up and smoke billowing from the engine. A man has a woman pressed to the driver’s side door, forearm tight against her throat and a knife poised in front of her face. Red creeps into Thomas’ vision and his fingers begin to ache around the hilt of his own knife but just as he steps forward, something amazing happens.

The woman spits at the man’s face and in that brief moment of surprise, she brings her hands up and shoves the man back. He stumbles, falling to ground. The knife falls and she goes after it, lunging across the dirt and rocks. The man wraps a hand around her ankle, tugging her down and dragging her back as she screams, fingers digging into the dirt. She kicks, once, twice, the third time finally connecting with a painful crack to the man’s shin and sending him down to the ground again. She crawls away, grabbing the knife and scrambling to her feet. Thomas can see her chest heave with ragged breaths, skin glistening with sweat in the Texas heat. 

He’s not sure he’s ever seen anything more beautiful.

She approaches the man, the knife brandished in front of her. The man rolls onto his back, holds his hands up. A surrender. The woman doesn’t care. Her boot slams into his skull, a shout echoing in the vast emptiness of the road and fields. Thomas feels himself grow hard, pants tightening around his cock. He reaches down, adjusting himself.

The man is on his hands and knees now. Blood streaks his face and drips to the dirt, baptizing the land in violence. She kicks him between the shoulder blades, knocking him flat on his stomach, and stands over him with a leg on either side of his body. The breath catches in Thomas’ throat as she reaches down and tangles her fingers in the man’s hair, lifting his head. The man stares directly at Thomas and his lips move, a cry for help, but he doesn’t hear it. No, not when all his focus is on the way the woman leans close and drags the blade across the man’s neck and the skin splits, muscles and tendons ripping with the force of it and red, red, red spilling free. 

The man’s gaze grows empty and the woman loosens her grip, his head dropping to the ground. She drops to her knees, slams the knife into the man’s back over and over and over, roaring fiercely as she does. She’s covered in the red, red, red, clothes soaked through with it, skin stained and sticky. When she’s finished, she collapses on the ground beside the man, on her back, basking in the sun.

It’s then that Thomas approaches, his shadow falling over her, broad body blocking the sun. She blinks at him but doesn’t scream. Doesn’t run. 

Thomas holds a hand out to her.

To his surprise, she takes it.

Your mind is somewhere in the clouds as you walk beside the lumbering giant that carries John or Mike or David over his shoulder like he weighs nothing, is nothing. The body bounces with each step and you find it almost comical, lips twitching as you fight a smile. Something simmers in your veins, more potent than the adrenaline of the fight or the relief that you won another day against life’s shitty hand. 

This new man, the tall man with the icy somber eyes and expressionless mask, appeared above you, haloed in sunlight like an angel. By all accounts, he was a far more terrifying man than John or Mike or David, but you don’t see evil when you look at him, when his eyes meet yours for a brief second before looking away. No, not evil, but a familiar reflection, an unkind life that led to unkind circumstances and unkind decisions. You know the look well, it’s the same one you see in the mirror.

A house appears on the horizon, a two story Victorian era farmhouse that must have been impressive once before falling into a state of disrepair. There’s a woman on the porch, arms crossed over her chest and a stern look on her face as she watches the two (or is it technically three?) of you approach. 

“Bring ‘im downstairs. I’ll tend to the girl,” she says. The man looks at you, hesitating to follow the command. You give him a nod, the slight dip of your chin enough for his shoulders to relax. His heavy footsteps rattle the dilapidated porch as he disappears inside the house.

The woman leads you to the kitchen and pulls a chair out from the rough wood table for you to take a seat. You watch as she wets a cloth before returning to your side. Cool water hits the hot skin of your face and the rough fabric drags away the dried blood. Her touch is surprisingly gentle.

“You do all that to the fella my boy was carryin’?” She asks.

“Yes,” you reply, voice cracking on the single word that claws at your vocal cords. 

“‘Atta girl.” She smiles. “I’ll get you some water.”

“Thank you.”

She sets a glass on the table and you don’t hesitate to reach for it, chugging down the cold water so quickly it makes your stomach turn. She wordlessly refills it for you, twice, before murmuring a gentle, “That’s enough now, you’ll turn your stomach sour if you keep it up.”

“What’s with this fuckin’ car out on the road?” A voice yells from outside the house. Through the window you catch a glimpse of a man in a Sherriff’s uniform, shotgun held loosely in his hand as he approaches the house. The woman stands, wiping her hands on her apron.

“You don’t say nothin’, alright? You let me handle Charlie,” she commands. You nod.

The man appears in the doorway, eyes immediately landing on you. His leery gaze traces you from head to toe and you fight back the shiver that threatens to race down your spine. Your gaze drops to the floor as he addresses the woman.

“What’s with the whore?” He spits. 

“She’s a guest.”

“A guest? This a bed ‘n breakfast all of a sudden?”

“Thomas brought her up here.” As if summoned by his name, the monster returns. He looms behind the other man, silent. There’s a bucket in his hand that he drops to the floor with a loud clang that makes you jump. The woman pats your shoulder. 

“Tommy boy is takin’ in strays now, huh? What’s next, he’ll find himself some dumpster baby and finish buildin’ a whole happy family?”

The monster, Thomas, grows tense. His shoulders lift and the muscles of his arms flex, his eyes narrowed on the man who’s giving him a shit-eating smile. 

“Tommy, honey, why don’t you bring your guest to one of the rooms upstairs?” The woman suggests. Thomas shoves past Charlie and into the kitchen and stands wordlessly by your side. She nudges your shoulder and you stand, following him as he stomps through the second door to the kitchen. 

Shouting starts up as you leave, the words muffled when the door swings shut behind you. Thomas leads you upstairs to the second floor, where the hallway dark and a thick layer of dust coats anything it can reach. With a grunt he opens a door at the end of the hall and stands aside to allow you through the doorway. 

The room is bare save for a small but tidy bed and dresser. Despite the dust in the hall, the room itself is surprisingly clean. You sit on the bed, testing the squeaky springs with your weight. You look up at the man.

“Your name is Thomas?” You ask. He nods, once, a sharp dip of his chin that has his dirty hair falling into his face. You tell him your name and his blue eyes blink back at you, the only acknowledgment you’ll get.

He lingers for a moment, eyes searching. It doesn’t feel gross, not like when Charlie leered at you downstairs. No, it’s more like he’s committing you to memory. You realize, then, that he’s not looking at you like a predator looks at prey.

He’s looking at you like you’re a prize.

Thomas slams the cleaver down, the thud of it rhythmic, soothing. His thoughts keep straying to ones of you, upstairs in the kitchen with his mama. You’ve been here for two days now and he’s having a hard time concentrating on his chores knowing that you’re in the house, knowing that you’ve stuck around for God only knows what reason. It makes him antsy, suspicious. 

The door to the basement opens and he expects to hear Charlie’s boots stomping down the stairs but he’s surprised when you appear on the last step in an ill fitting dress that mama must have scrounged up for you. Thomas stands perfectly still as you look around the room. 

“This is what you do all day?” You ask. He nods. “That must be hard work.” Mama shouts your name from upstairs, making you jump. You give him a sheepish look. “I’m supposed to come tell you dinner’s ready.”

Thomas grunts, setting down the cleaver and wiping his hands on his apron. He washes up in the bloodstained sink, scrubbing at his fingers as best he can. You’re still on the stairs when he finishes, watching him. It makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up, the way you don’t look away, ashamed of your staring. 

You turn to climb the steps and he follows, a step below you. Your hips sway in front of him and he has visions of grabbing you by the hips, pulling you against his body so tightly you can’t leave, can’t leave, can’t leave. 

Mama is sitting at the table when you both emerge from the darkness, bowls of stew set out for each of you. Thomas sits down to mama’s left and you to her right, across the table from him. The two of you chat about the chores she’s assigned you and are they too much, honey? No, you tell her, you’re happy to help. Mama smiles at you and he knows what she’s thinking, that you’re sent from God himself, the perfect addition to the family. The daughter she never got to have, only the fucked up sons she was cursed and forsaken with. 

Thomas feels something prod his knee beneath the table and he freezes. All of your attention is still focused on mama, your head propped in your hand and your elbow on the table, relaxed as can be. He thinks maybe he just imagined it but he feels it again and this time he jumps, rattling the dishes on the table and sloshing stew from its bowls.

“Thomas! What’s the matter with you?” Mama asks, patting at her dress with a napkin. “You just got us all wet.”

“Yeah, Thomas,” you chime in. “Got me all wet and messy.”

By the look on your face, he knows that you’re not talking about the soup. He’s got some dirty magazines he snuck into the house over the years, women with their legs spread and their hands tied, glistening pussies on full display or the one videotape that Charlie got him, where the woman is split open on a man’s cock, begging for more as the lewd, slick sounds of sex grow louder and louder. The thought of you like that, maybe even because of him, makes his cheeks burn. He grunts, an apology, and his mama waves a hand at you both.

“You better get changed outta that dress before it stains. Can’t be lettin’ one go to waste so quick,” she tells you. You nod, standing from the table and heading for the door. You pause, looking over your shoulder at him and give him a wink. Mama clears her throat, a stern expression on her face as she looks at him.

“And you, boy. Go get yourself cleaned up and brush your damn hair for once. I raised you better than that.”

She didn’t, not really, but he listens to her anyway, trudging back down to the basement to hose himself off and change his clothes. As he cleans up, he thinks about you, because when hasn’t he been since you appeared? His cock hardens and he tries to ignore it, tries to think of the Bible lessons mama loved to teach and how it’s a sin to touch himself but maybe God will forgive him, just this once? 

He wraps a hand around his thick length and squeezes, almost punishing himself. His head drops back and he stares at the ceiling, eyes wide as he tugs and pulls at his cock, slow at first then fast, fast, fast, fist flying with a tight grip until stars burst in his vision and warm come dribbles over his hand. His chest heaves as he catches his breath, blinking away the dark spots as his high fizzles out.

Thomas dries himself and gets dressed before lying down on the mattress in the corner to toss and turn until the sun rises.

The next morning, Thomas doesn’t realize that you haven’t come down from your room until well into the afternoon. Mama’s gone to town and Charlie is off playing Sheriff so it’s just the two of you in the house. He debates whether he should check on you or leave you alone but ultimately the worry that something might be wrong pulls him upstairs and finds him knocking on your door, a quick tap of his knuckles to the wood.There’s no sound from the other side, no shout of fuck off like he’d get from Charlie or a quiet just a minute, sweetheart he’d hear from mama. Tentatively, he turns the handle and pushes the door open, just a crack, enough to peek inside.

You’re in bed, sprawled out on your back with the quilt kicked off to the floor. Your bare breasts draw his eye and he looks away quickly, shame clawing up his throat. The bed creaks as you shift, sleepy noises leaving your lips in the process, and panic races through his veins, worried that you might wake up and find him standing there, worried that it might be what sends you running, worried about what mama will say if you up and leave and it’s his fault, worried, worried, worried.

“Thomas?” You ask, voice raspy. He didn’t even realize that you were awake, stupid, stupid, stupid of him. He should have turned around and left, should have—

“Hey, it’s okay,” you murmur, sitting up. Thomas hesitates, eyes still fixed on the floor. You must notice because from the corner of his eye he notices the quilt get picked up and then you’re telling him, “I’m decent.”

He swallows around the rock lodged in his throat and looks up, meeting your gaze. You don’t look mad or disgusted or upset. You’re actually smiling at him, a hand held out in welcome. He doesn’t dare touch you, but he takes a step closer, body moving like a moth to a flame.

Your head tilts to the side, assessing him, eyes flaying him open and leaving him feeling more exposed than when someone catches him without the mask. You’re holding the quilt up over your chest but Thomas can still see the tantalizing curves of your shoulders, the long line of your neck with the flutter of your pulse beneath delicate skin. It makes his mouth go dry.

“You ever touch a woman, Tommy?” You ask. The question catches him so off guard that all he manages is a strangled noise. “Well? That a yes or a no?” He shakes his head. You smile, lowering the quilt just enough to expose the top curve of your breasts. 

“You wanna?” 

Thomas’ eyes drop to your chest before quickly looking away. A flush creeps up his neck, staining what little of his cheeks you can see above the mask he wears. His hand flexes at his side, fingers curling open and shut. 

“It’s okay, you can look,” you say, gentle, gentle, gentle, like coaxing a scared animal. He looks at you again, blue eyes wide. “Come closer.”

He shuffles closer, looming over the bed, back so wide that he blocks the sun streaming through the window and casts a shadow over your body. You reach for his hand and he jerks away, as if on instinct. You pause, giving him a few seconds of reprieve, then reach for him again, keeping your eyes fixed on his face. Lightly, you touch his hand and when he doesn’t flinch, you grasp it more tightly. 

You guide his hand to your breast, settling his warm palm to your chest. He holds perfectly still for a moment and the restraint of it drives you insane, makes you bite your tongue so hard the taste of copper blooms across your tastebuds. Finally, he leans a little closer, fingers digging into your skin and making you gasp. He massages one breast, then the other, playing with the weight and feel of them in his large hands. You press your thighs together, cunt aching from the attention.

“That feels good,” you tell him, arching into his touch. The praise spurs him on, makes him more confident, and he starts to focus his attention on your nipples, pinching and twisting the sensitive buds. He’s surprisingly gentle despite his size and demeanor. 

You kick away the quilt from your legs, exposing the rest of your body to him. His eyes trail down your body, hands going still. He looks up, tilting his head, asking a question, looking for permission. You nod your head quickly and your heart races as a palm slides down, down, down, until he’s cupping your pussy over your panties. Your hips jump at the friction.

“Oh, fuck,” you whine. Thomas holds his hand still as you grind yourself against his palm. You reach your hands down, holding onto his forearm with a death grip. “Please, please, please!”

His fingers slip beneath the elastic of your panties and you both groan. He plays with the embarrassing amount of wetness, smearing it over your skin. You guide his hand the slightest bit upwards until the calloused pads of his fingers swipe over your clit.

“That’s it, Tommy,” you tell him. “Right there, right there.”

Dutifully, he continues to lavish you with attention, taking every direction beautifully. Slower, faster, harder, he adjusts to every suggestion and has you moaning and crying his name in desperation, but it’s not enough. You’re right there, so close, but you feel so empty, you just need—

“Inside?” You ask. He pauses, brows pinching together. “Put your fingers inside me.”

Slowly, slowly, slowly, he eases one thick finger into your drenched hole. Your head drops back at the sensation, at the relief, and begin to grind your hips again. He starts to see the pattern, moving his hand so that he’s working with your rhythm. You look up at his face and the concentration in his eyes leaves you breathless. All he wants is to do good, be good, make you feel good. 

Thomas presses another finger to your entrance, glancing at your face to make sure it’s okay. When you don’t say otherwise, he works both inside of you in tandem, the stretch making you groan. He curls them, exploring, skimming a spot inside of you that makes you cry out and dig your nails into his arm so hard that he grunts but doesn’t doesn’t pull away.

“I’m gonna come,” you tell him. “You’re doing so good, Tommy, oh my god.”

He’s panting, sweat dripping down his neck, muscles tight with his efforts to wrench an orgasm from you. The lethal combination of his fingers inside of you and his palm against your clit and the muffled noises sneaking past his mask have you tumbling over a precipice so high you worry you might never come down. Your cunt pulses around his fingers and you babble his name and an incoherent stream of praise as your release washes over you, wave after wave of it.

Thomas waits until your body collapses against the mattress and you’re gasping for breath before slowly removing his hand. He holds it up to his face, pink tongue darting out from the slit afforded for his mouth to taste your cum from his fingertips. He groans, his other hand reaching down to press tightly to the sizeable bulge in his pants. He thrusts against his palm once, twice, before going still, shoulders shaking.

A door slams downstairs. Luda Mae’s voice shouts for Thomas and he takes a step back, head whipping towards the door and eyes wide with panic. You scramble from the bed, grabbing your dress and pulling it on quickly so that you can rush out the room, shutting Thomas inside. You lean over the banister and see Luda Mae standing at the top of the basement stairs, hands on her hips.

“I think he went out to the barn,” you call down. She looks up at you.

“Why would he be out there?” She huffs. “And what are you still doin’ in your room? You look a mess.”

“Sorry, m’am. Had trouble sleeping last night.”

Your politeness softens her annoyance. “That’s okay, darlin’, you’re still learnin’ the ropes. I gotta go find Thomas, Charlie’s found some troublemakers.”

“If I see him first, I’ll let him know.” You nervously smooth your hands down your skirt. “What kind of trouble?”

“You don’t worry yourself about that. We’ll let the boys handle it, alright?”

“Yes, m’am.”

“Good girl,” she says. “I’ll be back.”

Luda Mae leaves through the front door and you return to your room. Thomas is standing where you left him, hands curled at his sides. 

“You hear all that?” You ask him. He nods. “What’s going to happen?”

He walks to the window, peeks through the curtain. His shoulders are tense. When he turns back to you, he sets his hands on your shoulders and steers you to the bed, pushing gently until you’re sitting, the springs squeaking beneath your weight. He cups your cheek with one hand and points around the room with the other.

“You want me to stay in here?”

He nods.

“What if you need help?”

He shakes his head. He won’t need help.

“Okay. You better get down there.”

He nods again. Leaning down, he presses his forehead to yours, an approximation of a kiss. You smile at him when he pulls away. He lingers for a brief second longer before tugging open the door and disappearing from the room.

Trouble is heralded by the arrival of Uncle Charlie. You watch through the window as his cop car pulls up in the yard and he gets out, spitting curses you can’t hear. He waves a shotgun in the air, firing off a warning shot that makes you jump. You know Thomas told you to stay in your room but curiosity gets the better of you and you head downstairs.

Luda Mae is in the kitchen, sat at the table with a cup of tea. A piercing scream filters through the open window as she takes a tiny sip from her cup. 

“You need somethin’, dear?” She asks, unperturbed by the interruption. You shake your head.

“No, m’am. Just came to ask if you needed help with dinner.”

“No, no, that’s alright. I got it covered.” Another sip. “Could you get the laundry from the line?”

It’s then that you realize she’s testing you. Earlier she told you to let the men handle it, but she wants to see where your loyalties lie. Thomas told you to stay put, to stay safe, but she’s sending you out to join the wolves because she knows, she knows, she knows that you’re just like them. 

She just needs proof.

You smile. “Of course.”

On your way out of the kitchen, you slip a knife from the butcher block.

One of the men that Charlie dragged home writhes in pain, one leg bent at an unnatural angle. His friend takes off at run, pace as fast as his injured ankle will allow. They’re the last two that need to be dealt with. Thomas raises his chainsaw in the air, ready to end the animal’s suffering, but movement from the corner of his eye makes him pause.

The back door to the house opens and you stroll out into the yard, looking around frantically with a frightened expression. Thomas feels a rush of anger that you didn’t listen to him, didn’t stay up in your room, didn’t stay inside. The anger quickly turns to fear when he sees the other man, the one he intended to deal with later, rushes toward you. You take off, running across the field toward the barn.

Thomas cuts the gas, tosses the chainsaw aside. The muffled whimpers from the man on the ground piss him off and with one, two, three strikes of the heel of his boot, he silences him for good. He heads for the barn, red in his vision with every step. If the other man lays a single finger on you, Thomas will keep him alive but begging for death.

“Come on, we gotta get out of here,” a male voice shouts. “They’re goin’ to kill us!”

Thomas throws open the barn doors, the wood shaking with the force of it. You’re turned away from him and the first thing he notices is the knife held in a tight fist behind your back. The man stumbles to the ground, trying to scramble back from you as Thomas comes closer.

“No. We’re going to kill you,” you tell him. You spring forward, jumping on the man with a feral scream that sounds like music to Thomas’ ears. Your arms swing up, up, up and then slam down, down, down, burying your knife into the man’s chest over and over and over.

Thomas can’t wait anymore. He approaches you from behind and wraps an arm around your waist, lifting you away from the mangled body. You struggle in his hold and he hauls you over to a work bench, swiping the tools to the ground with his other arm and setting you on the surface.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you say immediately, head shaking side to side. “I just wanted to help, I just—“

Your rapid apologies morph into a choked off moan when he lifts your legs, wrapping them around his hips, grinding his painfully hard cock against you. He buries his face into your neck, licking at the blood that stains your perfect skin, the taste of salt and copper opening a pit of hunger in his belly that could never be filled by food.

“Tommy,” you whimper, head dropping back. He licks and bites at all the skin he can find and when he runs out, he drops to his knees and begins anew on the muscles of your legs. 

He pushes the fabric of your dress up, bunching it around your waist to expose your pussy, still covered by the same panties you wore earlier when he made you come on his fingers. Wrapping his fist in the elastic, he pulls until it snaps under the pressure, fabric falling away and leaving you completely bare. 

Thomas pushes your thighs apart, spreading you open. He leans closer, biting at the soft flesh of your thigh, a little harder than he should. The tiny indents his teeth make in your skin are proof that this isn’t some dream. You’re flesh and blood, just like him.

Just for him.

His mouth waters as he nears your cunt, the earlier memory of your taste making that hunger grow to near starvation. His tongue slides over the slick flesh, exploring the dips and folds that taste so sweet it hits him like a sugar high, like when he’d steal a handful of candy from the corner store and eat it all at once, afraid of getting caught.

There’s a quiet thump and Thomas looks up to find that you’ve collapsed onto the table. Hands reach down and your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling on the strands. He remembers the spot that he rubbed with his fingers and searches for it with his tongue, knowing he’s found it when your thighs press against his ears and you moan his name like you did in your room.

“Oh, god! Just like that, Tommy,” you say, holding his head in place. “So good, so fucking good.”

He licks and sucks and grazes his teeth against you to his heart’s content and you writhe beneath him, bucking up against his face so fiercely he has to hold you down with an arm across your lower belly. He grows braver, dipping his tongue into the warmth of your cunt and drinking you from the source until you’re shaking. When he pulls away, he’s awed by the mess he’s made of you, your lips puffy and skin slick and shiny from your cum. He uses his thumbs to spread you apart, admiring the way your hole clenches around nothing.

Thomas stands, unsure of what to do next. You sit up from the table, expression dazed. Tear tracks stain your cheeks and a brief strike of worry hits him. Did he hurt you? Was that too much? Are you—

“Come closer,” you whisper. His thoughts go silent as he obeys. You reach up, cupping his face, hands trailing down to the strap of his apron. You lift it over his head and drops down, hanging limply. 

Your arms wrap around his thick middle, working the knot of strings loose behind his back. It falls to the floor in a heap now and he stares at it, pulse racing as your hands roam to his chest. His breath stutters as your touch traces lower, lower, lower, until your palm presses against his cock and his mouth drops open at the pleasure of it, so different from when he touches himself or ruts his hips into the mattress. He can feel the heat of your skin even through the thick fabric of his pants.

You’re popping the button and dragging down the zipper, wrapping a soft hand around his cock and pulling it free. Thomas groans, loud and rough, as you slide your hand up, thumb swiping over the clear fluid gathered at the very tip. 

You tug on his cock, hard enough that he stumbles forward, pressing closer. You look up at him as you rub the flushed head through your wetness and his shoulders shake at the sensation. You feel so good, so warm, he just wants to—

You notch him at your entrance and on instinct he thrusts forward the slightest bit, just enough that the fat tip of him sinks into tight heat. You gasp, eyes going wide and he’s once again struck with the fear that he could be hurting you, maybe he’s too big, too much of a monster, but when he tries to pull away you’re grabbing his shirt in a tight fist.

“Don’t you dare,” you hiss. “Keep going.”

Thomas obeys, just as he always does, pushing his hips closer, shoving his cock deeper, deeper, deeper. He watches his length disappear, your body stretching to accommodate his size. You look beautiful, with the tears that gather in your eyes and the blood smeared on your chest and the way your thighs shake with the effort to take him, that his chest aches, that last thread of control keeping him slow and steady snapping like his hips as he buries himself inside of you, completely and thoroughly.

You’ve never been this full before. You fall back on the rough wood of the work bench with a gasp, stars in your vision as your body adjusts to the sheer size of the man, the thick length of him splitting you open and leaving you breathless. He leans forward, the angle changing and tears spilling from your eyes as you stare up at the hulking monster above you.

“So big,” you gasp. “God, you’re so fucking big.”

His cock twitches inside of you and you moan, back arching off the bench. He feels so good, even through the burning stretch. You give a tentative wiggle of your hips and his eyelids flutter, a moan escaping him. When the pain eases into a dull ache, you lift a shaky hand to his face, settling your palm against the cool leather of his mask.

“I want you to fuck me, Tommy,” you tell him. “I want you to ruin me.”

His pupils grow impossibly wider and a shadow falls across his features, his demeanor changing in the blink of an eye. Gone is the man who was worried he would hurt you and in his place is the ravenous beast that matches the one clawing at you from the inside, just beneath your ribs where your chest aches with need. He draws his hips back until the tip is barely inside of you before thrusting forward. Your mouth opens, a scream ripping from your lungs but it’s cut short when a large hand wraps around your throat and squeezes. 

Thomas is a man possessed, pounding into your body like it’s nothing more than a toy for his pleasure, filling your pussy to the limit with each stroke. The hand on your throat holds your body steady and he uses his other arm to lift one of your legs, then the other, your thighs pressed to his thick belly and your ankles by his ears. His moans mix with the lewd sound of skin against skin, a soundtrack of hedonism that you want to listen to on repeat until God calls you for judgment and sends you straight to Hell.

Your orgasm is quick to build, a pressure in your tummy that grows tighter and tighter until it bursts, all your muscles going taut with the force of it. Thomas roars, hands gripping your hips and holding you impaled on his cock as he floods your pussy with his release. You feel untethered, like you’re floating, and it’s not until you’re squinting into the Texas sun that you realize you are floating. Thomas is carrying you through the field, back to the main house, one arm supporting your back and other under your knees, holding you close to his chest.

Luda Mae is on the porch when he reaches the door, hands on her hips. He pauses and her keen gaze assesses you both. Finally, she smiles.

“Get yourselves cleaned up. Dinner is almost ready,” she says. 

Wordlessly, Thomas brings you inside and down to the basement, where does exactly as he’s told.

Just as he always does.

Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed, please consider reblogging or leaving a comment.

Want more to read? Check out my masterlists.

[devoutekuna]

Bring your child to work

Includes- Toji, Sukuna, Nanami, Gojo, Geto

Sukuna-

Sukuna doesn't have a job, you don't even know how he gets money. So he brings her to a village he recently raided, he sometimes raided them for resources or just for fun. Once he raided one just because he wasn't willing to pay for your pregnancy cravings. "Dad, this village is all burnt!" complaining at the sight of ash everywhere, kicking her foot through the charred grass blades. "Be quiet" glaring at his daughter as he walked away from her. He was trying to look for atleast a child to keep his daughter company. "Don't leave me!" Running up to him, he didn't understand how she could be scared when her father was the king of curses, plus it was broad daylight and no curse would dare get close to him.

Nanami-

"Let me come with you dad!" All dressed up in her father's clothes, frantically trying to tuck in the shirt, into her skirt. Stood Infront of the bathroom door, she had been awaiting her father to come out, walking out with a bottle of shaving foam in his hand. "You can't sweetheart" crouching down to say it, patting her head as a way to comfort her. She had gotten all dressed up by stealing her father's shirt and tie only to be rejected, even putting in his reading glasses to make her seem more professional. He knew for a fact that she wouldn't be coming with him to work, especially since he was on a mission today. Grabbing her by her shoulders as he dragged her out of the way. "Why not?" Begging for a chance. "Cause I said so" walking towards you.

Sat inside the office reading a book, he purposely didn't take any missions today so that his daughter thought that his job was boring and wouldn't ask again. "Dad, your work is boring!" Sat on the armchair beside him, she had nothing to do but wait for the 9 hours to pass. "I told you that" letting her sit through her actions.

Geto-

Geto has his daughter stand behind the curtains whilst he talks to his followers, not wanting her to hear anything he has to say, especially what would come after he gets mad. He has a personal servant bring her noise cancelling headphones when he starts to get annoyed. Crouching beside her as they played a game, she was so clueless to what her beloved father was doing. Murdering the so-called 'monkeys' of society. "When is my daddy done?" Pats on the head, despite having the headphones on she could recognise that from anywhere. "Right here princess" retracting his hand as he picked her up. Taking the headphones off, dropping them into the servant's hand as he walked off. "Hi daddy!"

Gojo-

When Gojo isn't busy, he's either at home with you or teaching his students, unfortunately for them, they were on a mission already. So he was just laying around in his office. "Dad I'm bored" sat on the sofa opposite him. "So am I" slouching in his chair, there was nothing to do. Even his second year students were on a mission. "Let's go see Nanamin" dragging his son out of his office, searching around the campus just to find the blond. Sat in one of the many lounge rooms. A sigh depleting from his mouth as he heard the voice of the strongest. "What is it now?" Refusing to look up from the book. "Nanamin!" Your son knew who Nanami was due to the many times that Gojo dropped him off on the campus when he went on missions. Despite his many times to stop Gojo's son from calling him 'nanamin' it never worked out since he was so much like his father. "We've come to see you!" Sitting down opposite him. "Are you sure you haven't come to drop your son off?" Receiving the snarky comment was like a bullet to the chest, but he was wrong this time.

Toji-

Toji wasn't officially employed, he was basically unemployed but he always acted like he was employed since he brought in good amounts of money. "Papa I want to help" kicking her little legs as she sat playing with one of the weapons. Her father was currently discussing the new target he had, redacting any words that she may pick up on. "No" Shiu carried on rambling on about the prices he would get if it was under a specific time. "Why not!?" Slapping the poor man with the weapon, fortunately it was blunt, just like playful cloud. "Cause you'll get in my way" ripping the weapon from her hands, putting it back inside the worm. Scrunching up her face as soon as she heard the harsh reality, "Mr Shiu would let me come!" Trying to prove her point even more. "No I wouldn't" he should be smoking right now but didn't for the courtesy of your kid, patting the girl's head as they walked out. Toji following behind him, chuckles could be heard as they left.

[seiwas]

₊˚⊹｡ i'll be good to you | nanami kento

wc: 1.5k

summary: nanami’s half-hoping you call a fourth time.

contains: implied f!reader but no mention of pronouns, exes, mentions of alcohol, swears, reader wears makeup and heels, drunk calls, a bit angsty and a bit hurt/no comfort but it isn’t all that sad i think

a/n: this ran away from me again! but this is a brainchild from me and @augustinewrites, with song inspos: you were good to me, tequila, bourbon, and already gone

part of the in's and out's new year/birthday event | request prompt: calling your ex drunk at two a.m. with feelings still stuck in your throat

you are here -> part 2

Nanami moves in numbers. 

It comes with his personality—practical and efficient, forward thinking. 

Predicting deals from 9-to-5 looks a lot different from dealing deaths by a ratio of 7:3, but the tactics remain the same, the stakes still high; every move is precise and calculated, analyzed to be accurate. 

So he’d known—the day he decided to pick up his blade again was the day he’d deal his final blow—at you, and the relationship you built together. 

A strategic takedown of something he deemed doomed from the start. 

That’s what he wants you to think, at least. 

When his phone rings three times—the first in the middle of lecturing Yuuji, the second while going overtime underground, and the third just moments ago, bleeding out on a bathroom counter, Nanami realizes that the probability of him ever speaking to you again, alive and breathing, is a number he can’t predict. 

So he waits, linen pants and a cotton shirt while sporting a drink by his kitchen counter. 

Strangely, he’s full of hope, half-good and half-bad—that you’ll call back; that you won’t. The line between the two blurs. 

It always has with you. 

A friendly face—that’s all you were supposed to be; his work neighbor a few cubicles down his. It started with polite nods, a few casual waves, maybe even small smiles on a good day. Your schedule was terrible, much like his—one of the first ones to arrive and the last ones to leave. 

Then, you finally moved past just a friendly hello; something about bread, he recalls, an attempt to exchange recipes on sourdough. It started then, with you leaving a cup of coffee on his desk and he saving an ‘extra’ sub for you. 

(Except, it’s never an ‘extra’ with Nanami; he’d never do anything miscalculated.) 

Suddenly, you’re the first face he looks for in the morning, and he’s the last person you check on before clocking out at night. 

For a while, he didn’t know what to call you—a coworker? Friend? Someone he has dinner with at 12 midnight? 

You set it straight after the seventh ‘date’. 

Now, when his phone rings the fourth time, he picks up.

You’re cursing on the line, the sound of metal clinking on tile muffled in the background. 

He waits for you to talk, half-hopeful and half-nervous at hearing you speak. 

You always used to drop your keys by his door—your haphazard way of looking for his amongst five of yours. 

“Shit,” you grumble, the lock finally clicking open. 

He hears your footsteps, the sound of your heels landing as if they’ve been hastily kicked off. 

A party, perhaps? Or a night out? 

There’s a funny feeling that sits in his stomach when he thinks about you coming home from a date, one he knows he no longer has a right to. 

It should be good, he thinks, you’re moving on.  

He stares at his glass, liquor blurring into ice—brown edges fading into something lighter, near transparent. For a moment, he wonders if this was a mistake, if you hadn’t meant to call him at all. He’s considering putting the phone down to save you the embarrassment. 

But—

“Finally,” you spit out, clumsy and a little too honest. 

To anyone else, you’d sound normal, but Nanami’s known you for years, has loved you for just as much, and this sounds a lot like the version of you that’s lost track of how many you’ve had to drink—the same one he’s had to tuck in bed, with your arms clinging onto his neck while dragging him under the covers with you. 

He takes a sip. 

“Was starting t’think you died or sum’in.” 

It’s impossible for you to know the truth, he’s made sure of that—it’s why he let you go in the first place. 

“Someone offered to buy me a drink t’night,” you mumble, wood scraping against your floorboards. The exhaustion in your voice is palpable. 

He has no idea why you’re telling him this. 

“I asked f’r bourbon,” you breathe, shaky, “on the rocks, because—” 

That’s what he always got, what he introduced to you when you asked him why he likes it so much. 2 ounces of bourbon for a ball of ice, with time as an aid, mellowing its intensity to flavors of smoky caramel, vanilla, and a touch of spice. 

He gives a lowly hum, swirling the drink in front of him. 

“Was it good?” 

(The drink, the date. The potential new guy.) 

There’s silence on the other end of the line, too long to be considered thoughtless. His watch counts the seconds. 

“Not as,” you finally answer. 

Another bout of silence. 

He wonders what you look like, if you’re wearing that lipstick you know is his favorite; if you still smell like the closest thing he’s ever had to a home. Do you still keep an extra handkerchief in your purse? That obnoxious cow print he now uses to remind him of the life he used to know? 

You sniffle. 

“You fucked me up, Kento.” 

He knows. 

“How c’n you say this… is what’s best f’me when it hurts this much?” you hiccup, a sob caught in your throat. 

When Nanami ended things with you, he gave himself 30 minutes. Any less, he would have regretted it, and any more, he would have taken it all back. 

“Y’re so unfair,” you breathe out shakier than the last, broken more than anything, “din’t ev’n ask me what I wanted.”

He knows.

And he supposes he deserves this, aching at the way you fall apart on the line.

He takes another sip, longer and fuller, dragging out his gulp. 

“I still love you,” you weep, voice unsteady, “and I f’cking hate you for that, y’know?” 

Your words burn more than the alcohol down his throat. 

His eyes start to sting, brown glossing over. There was a time when your ‘I love you’s’ gave him reason to wake up in the morning; when they got him through the day and lulled him to sleep at night. 

But this one, this time, he knows, will haunt him for the rest of his life. 

(He’s never wanted anything more than to say it back to you, right now.)  

“I apologize.” the words come out stiff, squeezed out as he puts down his glass. 

“I know,” you scoff, managing a chuckle while sniffling, “like that’ll do ‘nythin though.” 

Nanami clenches his jaw, fingers tightening around his drink. You always were the perfect bite to his snark, acknowledging things straight up, as is. 

And you always had a hunch of how things would end up. 

You know that this call is pointless, that he won’t take you back by the end of it. You also know that each and every one of his decisions comes from a series of calculated predictions, that once he makes up his mind, there’s no changing it. You know how Nanami works, that he moves in numbers. 

Except, you never know his reasons—that the truth of all this is that he’s sworn to himself that he’ll be good to you. There’s no point being with an empty man, and dragging you into the dangers of sorcery would be cruel, even more unfair to you. 

The line is quiet for a while, filled only with your attempts at steadying your breathing. 

“Did you drink enough water?” he asks, a little out of nowhere but completely in place. 

You snort, pushing back your chair, “Shouldn’t say things like that,” your footsteps are picked up by the mic, “makes it sound like y’care.” 

He hears you gulp a glass down on the line, lips curling into a sad smile. 

“D’me a favor?” you slur, followed by a yawn. 

He hums. 

“Stay on ‘til I fall’sleep?” 

And for once, he doesn’t think so hard about it. This small thing can’t possibly skew the damage he’s already caused you. 

“Okay.” 

A creak sounds from your end, the sofa you both used to spend your weekends on; it’s been thoroughly broken in, love seeping through each crevice and dip. It’s selfish, but he hopes you still feel him through it—giving you a safe place to rest, soft and tender in keeping you close when he can’t. 

You shuffle, pillows muffling the microphone as you move around; then you mumble, sleep-laden, “Don’t forget to turn the lights off.” 

It shouldn’t affect him this much, but the reminder calls back every instance you’ve ever said it to him: whispers over his shoulder, while dragging your feet away from his home office; a peck to the tip of his ear before nuzzling his neck while he reads; a shout from your bed, for him to hear within the echoes of the bathroom walls. 

You both have terrible sleep from odd hours at the office, but nightmares have always persisted with him more. Turning off the lights was a reassurance, a quiet ‘I love you’—a reminder that it was okay to fall asleep, you’d be there when he wakes. 

His eyes zero in on the light switch to his right, humming his response. 

.

The call runs for 31 minutes.

a/n: other tidbits i wasn't able to include—reader is able to hold liquor well, and used to drink with nanami often but doesn't understand the appeal of his preferred drinks; reader is able to go head-to-head with nanami's personality but is also a lot more vibrant and loud; reader also doesn't know about the jujutsu world (in case it wasn't obvious). i also envision nanami becoming less himself towards the end of their relationship, which is also when he starts considering going back to sorcery.

thank you notes: big thank you to @augustinewrites for half-mothering this fic 🥺 what would i do without your sad ideas and songs to match!! and to @mysugu and @soumies for ofc!! listening to me talk abt this all the time lol

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

[hazbinshusk]

blitzø x afab!reader. you want to get your work done so you can go home. blitzø wants to fuck you on his desk. you come to a compromise that turns him on way more than he thought it would. anon request for tail play. 1.6k.

featuring: imp!reader, tail play (including jerking him off with your tail), blitzø being reduced to a mess by a power dynamic shift, oral sex (f!receiving).

“Hey, tits! Get in here!”

You look up at the sound of Blitzø’s voice, huffing a sigh as you drop your whetstone and set the blade you were sharpening on the table. Millie gives you a glance torn between sympathy and annoyingly knowing humor, and you flip her off on the way out the door. You hear her giggle as you make your way to your boss’ office.

“Would it kill you to call me by my name?” you ask as you enter, closing the door behind yourself out of sheer habit.

“Dunno. Maybe.” Blitzø shrugs, lazing back in his chair, feet kicked up on the desk. “Better to play it safe.”

“Uh-huh.”

He grins toothily, crooking a finger at you to beckon you towards his desk. “Got somethin’ for you.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m working, Blitz.”

“I fuckin’ hope so,” he smirks. “It’s what I pay you for.”

You register the lascivious edge to his expression, and despite the way it automatically makes your insides flutter, you fold your arms over your chest.

“Be careful how you phrase whatever you’re about to suggest, B.” you warn. “’Cause if you even suggest that I put out for pay, I will slap you in the face so hard your teeth will bleed.”

“Ooh, kinky,” he teases, and you shake your head, determined to hide your amusement. He tucks his hands behind his head, shifting in his seat in a way that lifts his hips briefly in a manner that you know is suggestive. “Wanna take a break?”

“I want to finish up so we can go home,” you shoot back, jerking your thumb back over your shoulder. “Can I go now?”

Blitzø shakes his head. “Nope. I got shit for you to sign. So, get your sweet ass over here and… do your job.”

You scoff at the weak innuendo but do as he tells you. However, when you come to a stop on the other side of his desk he raises a brow pointedly. His tail is waving lazily back and forth behind him, the way it does when he’s thinking about just how quickly he can get you naked. You sigh, rounding his desk obediently and coming to a stop beside his chair. You eye the stack of papers in front of you skeptically.

“And these are?”

He shrugs. “You took out the main target on all of these. You gotta sign off on ‘em for billin’.”

“Right… and I have to do it in here, huh?”

He smirks, dropping his feet from the desk. He pats his lap invitingly, brushing his palm over the bulge in his pants and squeezing suggestively. “You wanna get comfy, you can park it right here.”

“I’m good.” you tell him, bending down to sign the first form. He reaches forward to smooth a hand up your inner thigh, dipping it between your legs before grabbing a handful of your ass. You inhale sharply, caught off-guard by the sudden thrum of arousal his touch elicits from you. You swallow, cursing yourself because you know he’s heard it, and turn your focus determinedly back to the papers in front of you. “Dude.”

Blitzø slumps back in his chair with a heavy, overly dramatic sigh, one elbow propped on the arm of it. His cheek squishes against his fist petulantly. “Come on, tits. I thought the whole point of you comin’ in today was so we could get freaky on my desk.”

You roll your eyes, flipping the form over and skimming the other side. In truth… this is turning you on. The way he’s touching you, the way his tone is growing almost needy. You’re so used to him calling the shots, to taking charge both in and out of the bedroom, and so is he. Denying him like this is sending a new kind of warmth tingling through the middle of you. Still, you ignore that feeling pointedly.

“You are so lucky we don’t have a H.R. department.”

He snickers. “Bitch, I am the H.R. department.”

“Well, that’s terrifying,” you shoot back snidely, and his smirk widens. You turn around when you feel the spade of his tail smooth over your ass, raising an eyebrow at him pointedly. He raises his hands innocently, the gesture ruined by the evil little grin still on his face. You sigh dramatically before a smirk of your own blooms. You take hold of his tail, just below the spade, just before he can smack you with it again. “You’re not gonna let this go, are you?”

“Unlikely.”

“Asshole.”

“Ooh, now there’s an… shiiit…” he breaks off as you squeeze his tail and drag your fist down the length of it slowly. His eyes roll back for a moment, his jaw ticking.

“You’re gonna keep bugging me about this,” you continue, wrapping his tail around your hand and squeezing. You straddle his lap, thrilling in the way his eyes spark with interest as you do. He leans back in the chair, pressing his hips up into yours temptingly. You reward him by palming him through his pants, feeling him twitch beneath your hand. “You’re not gonna stop until you get to cum…”

He shakes his head quickly, eagerly.

You unzip his pants, and Blitzø exhales a soft groan as you slip your hand into them and take hold of his cock. He’s hard under your touch, and he surprises you slightly by leaning up to kiss you. You tilt your head and let his lips catch the underside of your chin, and you lean back, letting spit drip from your mouth and down onto the head of his cock.

“Satan’s taint, that’s hot…” he mutters, confused when you climb back off his lap. “What the fuck are you—”

“Shut up,” you tell him, and Blitzø’s next complaint is drowned out in a moan as you wrap your own tail around his cock. You drop a quick kiss on the mark on his forehead. “And be a good boy for me.”

“Holy titty-fucking… fuuuuck…” he groans as your tail begins to stroke him, spreading saliva and precum down over the length of him. You tighten your hold around him each time you reach the base, and he grasps at the back of the chair and the arm of it as you turn back to the desk. “Slutty little… Christ!”

You smile to yourself as you bend over again, picking up your pen and returning to the paperwork. The way he’s breathing is getting to you, the heavy, labored exhales sending sparks dancing along your spine. You can feel his own tail wind around your calf, the spade of it twitching back and forth in time with you jerking him.

There’s almost a purr sounding through the imp behind you, his hips humping up into the grip your tail has on him. Your signature becomes skewed and shaky as you feel him shift forward, his hands running up over your thighs. Your breath catches as he takes hold of the waistband of your pants and jerks them and your underwear down over your ass.

“Bli—” your reprimand breaks off with a gasp as he buries his face in your cunt, his tongue immediately finding your clit. “Oh, fuck!”

He snickers into your pussy, teasing your clit before pushing his forked tongue into your cunt. You moan aloud, accidentally knocking the pile of paperwork onto the floor as you bend further over the desk. Your tail quickens over his cock as he circles your clit with two fingers, his other hand digging claws into the flesh of your ass. He urges you to grind against his mouth, fucking you ruthlessly with his tongue.

“Jesus, fuck, Blitz—” you crush a hand over your mouth to muffle your moans, but Blitzø has no such hang ups, snarling your name as he cums, forehead pressed against your ass. You can feel his cum drip over your tail and you loosen it, your body quivering as he returns his tongue to your clit. “God…”

He moans into your cunt as you cum against his mouth, lapping at your clit until you take hold of his horn and force his head away again. Boneless against the desk, you bump your head against the wood with a sigh.

“Goddamn it.” you mutter, pulling up your pants. You feel Blitzø give it a parting, appreciative squeeze as you straighten. “You always get your way, don’t you?”

He hums a self-satisfied laugh. “Seems that way.”

You roll your eyes, grabbing the tissue box out of the drawer and tossing it into his lap. “Clean yourself up, B.”

“Ooh, I love it when you’re all bossy.” he teases.

“Yeah?” you raise an eyebrow, stepping up between his parted knees. You brace both hands on the back of his seat, leaning down over him. His smirk falters, his eyes flicking down over you before meeting your gaze again. He leans up, but you press a finger to his lips before he can kiss you. “Well, if you wanna see me get all ‘bossy’ like this again, you better finish the fuck up in here. Because the next time I make you cum, it’s not going to be where we’re risking staining the fucking paperwork. Got it?”

He nods, his face flushed.

“Good.” you kiss him, briefly. “Because I’m gonna need to ride that cock of yours as soon as fucking possible.”

Blitzø grins. “Oh, you filthy whore.”

You straighten, smiling back at him as you head for the door, blowing him a kiss as you go.

[venmondiese]

THE KINSLAYER

based on nightwish's kinslayer aka aemond's theme ✧ gifs: /feodor-dostoevsky // jeonwonwoo

AEMOND COULD HEAR THE LOUD NOISES FROM THE BROTHEL. He could smell the filthiness from it. He could feel it deep in his bones. He could sense it in the depts of his soul.

Aegon was much more careless than he was. As if he knew that he was doomed, destined to the seven hells, he left himself enjoy the pleasures of terrenal life, hedonistic natures for a doomed man.

Aemond wanted to be correct. When he was a kid, he dreamed of great things. Second sons often got nothing. And he wanted to be someone.

His own grandsire, Baelon, could have been someone. He was to be King, if the stranger didn't take him to soon. He would have been King. A second son.

Jaehaerys was a second son. Maegor was a second son. Even Aegon the First was second to his sister Visenya. Yet it was destined for him to be the ruler.

He thought of himself as worthy. He really did. Aemond Targaryen, rider of Vhagar. It was not something to be taken lightly. Vhagar, ridden by Visenya, Baelon, Laena. All of them were second best too.

It wasn't killing Lucerys what bugged him. He could not care less for the bastard boy. It wasn't making Rhaenyra suffer, though it wasn't how he planned it. She wanted him tortured, she wanted him to be sharply questioned when he just lost an eye. She ran away, with her impecable kin, secured on Dragonstone.

He made a mistake. He felt the power of what the Velaryons boys did when they bullied him. He was worthy. He was a Targaryen. And Vhagar was backing him up.

But sometimes, he didn't think losing an eye was worthy. Hidding it to not scare ladies at court. Cut the eyelids open so he could incrist a sapphire, like Symeon Star-Eyes. He learned how to chop men with a long staff with blades at both ends, just like the legendary hero did.

He wondered if he just wanted to feel something. If he just wanted to feel as someone special, worthy again. If he did, maybe they would admire him, or even care for him. Did they not?

Aegon had his own mess. Helaena had her own mess. Daeron wasn't even near King's Landing. His mother was busy ruling as his father was busier rotting.

"It's okay, my prince." The female voice says, in an attempt of soothing him as her hand caressed his forearm, and he sighed, his head on her lap as he looked into the room.

Brothels, even dirtiest, could have bedroom for the highlors attending. Aemond's naked chest was warm due to the fire, but not thanks to the physical intimacy.

It was a vain attempt of comfort. Aegon had invited him, to cheer him up and to celebrate his new title as King.

'Celebrate what?' He thought. 'I just started a war'

It haunts his dreams. The knowledge of what he did. The burden, the burning.

Kinslayer.

He found himself doomed. Haunted by a hateful nature inside him. It stirred, it boiled deep on his soul. Kinslayer.

A war between kin. The first drops of blood om his hands, tainting his very soul.

It felt good, at the beginning. He tried to rationalize it. A mistake. Vhagar lost control.

Because she did.

Right?

She had to. Because he didn't. It was... teasing. The power of being on Vhagar was just his arrongace, his vanity acting. Not him. It wasn't him. It couldn't be him.

He couldn't even look at his mother on the eyes. He could less look Helaena, hearing her horrified little scream as she found out.

His eye hurt. The emptiness of it, the wound that never fully healed. He couldn't even cry properly, not even for makind or his own doom.

'You lost one eye. How could you be so blind?' His grandsire said.

A need to understand. But there wasn't a need to forgive. He won't do that, for he has no reason. His mother called the war a curse from Gods themselves. She prayed, and prayed. But there wasn't any sense or truth to be followed. He even started to doubt if this was about ruling the realm.

"Do I have to pay you?" He asks, slightly unsure. Vulnerable, even. He hated it.

He was not used to this. Using a whore for comfort. Aegon laughed when he excused himself, asking for a whore, and he even congratulated him, a loud cheer all over the table.

Now he laid naked, curled up as his head rested on her lap. Warmth. Cosiness.

"No, my prince. The King has it covered"

The King. It was Aegon. The same Aegon who bullied him, and used to mock him. His big brother. Now, he was the King. It was his biggest fear, and another curse.

Was this a curse for his own ambitions? For wanting what wad the destiny of his elders? For preparing to rule even if he wasn't even acknowledged in his father's mind?

He sighed. His hair loose, the eyepatch lost somewhere on the room. He felt the touch over his cheebone, going up to move his hair to his back, her hands caressing his hair and head, in a soothing manner as she didn't speak more. He prefered silence after his vulnerable moment.

Being with a whore felt like meeting an old friend. It scared him, it bugged him in the wrong way. But who else can he turn to? The Gods have abandoned him to his luck, and with good reason.

He would prefer having a wife do it. He wondered that if he had one, she would be gentler than this, cozier than this.

He craved the love. He never tried to actively persuing a lady at court, so he had no wife. He couldn't go back to Floris Baratheon, he knew he cannot. Not as a Kinslayer.

He liked to picture his wife as beautiful lady. He does not imagine especifics, he is not demanding on that sense. He imagines her beautiful as the maiden herself, gentle and caring. Not judging him, even if his new curse made him a monster. If he had offsprings, would they love him? Afraid of his lost eye?

He realised that he has to thank the Gods. For not having a wife, or offsprings to pass the curse on. To share the madness with them.

Praying was in vain, for who would hear him? A slayer of his own kin. The blood of his sister was on his hands. Of her little son, that he murdered.

He had prayed to the Father. For him to save a place for Aemond. There are no gods. Not by your side.

He soon realised, he was as well doomed. Second son, kinslayer, murdered of his own nephew, on the skies mounting their dragons. Just as Maegor The Cruel did.

He won't become an acknowledged second son. He won't be worthy, he won't be remember greatly. He won't be a hero, unless he dies greatly. And he knows it. He lusts for this game, and he falls for every lie of it.

He looked at the flames, as if they could answer something to him. As if they could show him what was ahead of him. How he has to act. How he'll die.

A war was yet to come, and he knows he'll fight it. For he has nothing else to lose. He curses the Gods. How was he supposed to know?

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

the girl next door 2

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as age gap, manipulation, chronic illness, noncon/dubcon, coercion, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: A new neighbour moves in and upends your already disarrayed life.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself.

This lewk but silverfox

You gnaw on your cheek as you read over the letter. Final warning. You really didn't think much of the first five but that word catches your worry; litigation.   

Your mother grunts and clicks her pen, dropping it as she curses under her breath. She tosses the crossword book away from the chair. For all your life, you remember her working on her puzzles. Now, she can hardly hold pen steady enough to put in a single clue.  

"Mom, you want another coke before I head out?" You ask.  

"Where are you 'headed out' to?" She scowls.  

"Just outside. Try to figure out the mower."  

"Piece of shit," she sneers and for a moment, you're not sure if she means the machine or you.  

"So..."  

"Just go," she snips.  

You purse your lips around the cut of her tone. You leave her in her recliner and you go down the hallway to the back door. You shove your feet into your stained vans and let yourself gently outside.  

You come down the steps and cross the overgrown grass to the garage. You prop the door open with an old paint can and drag put the mower. You haul it over to the little patch of pavement by the house as the sunlight raises beads of sweat across your forehead.  

You shade your eyes and squint. You don't get the thing. It's not even motorized, it just started catching. You can't push it hard enough to make it go. It only bounces uselessly across the ground.  

You squat and put it on its side. You examine the blades, nervous to dig between the mulching teeth. You grab a stick and poke around. It breaks and you rip it out.  

"Dang it," you whisper.  

You stand up. It's too hot to think. As much as you miss the sunshine in the grim winters, the heat is less than welcome.   

"Hey, excuse me," a voice startles you. You ignore it, thinking maybe it's just the neighbours on the other side of the fence. "Um, miss?"  

You turn towards the voice and find a man peeking through the loose slat in the fence. You sigh. Yeah,   

that needs to be fixed too.  

You stare dumbly. You recognise the man. It takes a few seconds to remember where you saw him. He was with the realtor. You hadn't see much yet, not that you ventured outside often. The sign changed to sold and that was that.  

"Hi, uh, so this," he touches the plank, swiveling it on the hanging nail.

You nod and go to the edge of the patch of pavement but no further. You nibble your lip and search for something to say. Talking to mom is easy, you know what to expect, but strangers are different.   

"Gonna fix it," you assure him flatly.  

"Yeah, well, I was actually thinking, I'm just doing a few touch ups right now and I could spare a couple nails or two."  

You tilt your head and bring your hands together, mashing your palms anxiously, "it's rotted."  

He wiggles the wood and little slivers fall away. He hums disappointed, "sure is." He smiles as his blue eyes shine in the sunlight, "no problem then. I'm sure I can find something at the hardware store."  

You hesitate. You should mention you can afford even half a plank. Grandma left you the house and enough to cover property taxes, but mom's monthly cheques are already stretched thin. If he doesn't ask, you won't offer.  

"Steve," he stretches his arm through the opening.  

You look at his hand. Your stomach flip flops. You don't want to be rude as much as you don't want to touch this strange man. Well, no use in making another enemy around here.  

You lift your feet as you trudge through the high grass. As you near, the sweat slakes down your back. You gently shake his hand, just for a second, and pull back.  

"And your name? Neighbour?" 

You stare at the collar of his grey tee shirt and eke your name out. 

“Is it just you over here?” He asks. 

You shake your head. You bend your arm to pick at your sleeve. You don’t mind introductions but you’re not much for conversation. You don’t need him prying into things. If anyone really saw inside those walls, they’d only feel bad for you. You’d rather their apathy. 

“Oh, you got kids? A husband?” 

You wince. It’s almost a flattering assumption yet a reminder of everything you don’t have. You’re not old enough to really think about all that anyway. 

You glance back at the side of the house. You should hose that down and get rid of the mildew. Another tick on the endless list. 

“Mom,” you say. 

“Ah, makes sense. You in school?” 

You shake your head again. He’s quiet. You sway listlessly. 

“Anyway...” he says. 

You put your head down and back away. You go back to the mower, bending down to fiddle with it again. You could see if anyone would lend you one but that means asking and as much as the neighbourhood paints itself in friendly smiles, they aren’t genuine. The letter on the kitchen table is proof of that. 

“Not working?” The man, Steve asks. You cringe and stand up. He’s still there. 

You shrug as you look at him. You turn back to the mower and lift it by the handles. You try to ignore the nosy neighbour and line it up with the grass. You push and it doesn’t move easy. You grunt and it rolls over the grass. You think maybe it’s working but as you turn, you notice the grass stands back up, only slightly bent. 

“You know, I got a nice electric one. Isn’t here yet but I can bring it tomorrow on the truck,” he offers, “I wouldn’t mind doing a once over, if you need.” 

You huff and push the mower over. 

“Can’t pay you,” you stomp back towards the house. 

“I didn’t say anything about money,” he chimes. 

You stop by the steps and cross your arms. You look at him, “too much.” 

“Well, if you change your mind, you can just come knock on my door,” he says. 

You nod and spin around again. You climb the steps, fighting to keep your steps even. You want to run inside and hide but you don’t want him to see how desperate you are to get away. 

The screen door snaps shut behind you. You kick off your shoes and go down the hall. Your mother huffs from her recliner. 

“You figure it out?” She asks. 

“No,” you flop onto the couch. 

“Knew ya wouldn’t,” she snorts as she stares out the window. “Man’s back. Musta bought the place.” 

“Uh, yeah,” you lean back, pulling the collar of your shirt over your face to sop up the sweat. “It’s hot.” 

“Nah, you’re just whiny,” she snickers. 

You don’t respond. You know better than that. You let her have her truth. Whatever she thinks of you, you can’t disprove. The world is she says it is. 

🏠

Your bedroom window shines yellow with the noon sun. The heat beams down on the folding table, warming your hands as you scratch charcoal onto thick paper. You still have grass stains on your fingers from another fruitless attempt at fixing the mower. Another day and you expect another letter isn’t far behind. 

As you focus on the lines and curves left by the pencil, your anxiety subsides. Drawing is the only thing that helps you forget. Really forget. You don’t think about the house or the lawn or the HOA or your mom. It’s just you and the pencil. 

You lean your forehead in your hand as you cross hatch the shadows. The chirping birds and the soft breeze deepen your trance. The world around you is distant and dim. You’re only awoken but the sudden and unfamiliar ‘ding dong’. 

You sit up. It takes a moment before you realise what it was. The doorbell? No one ever rings it. No, even Marge from the HOA waits until you come out to get the mail to accost you. 

You put the pencil down and get up. You go out and peek down the hallway. You creep along and stop at the doorway to the front room. You mom sniffs and wipes her eyes. She must have fallen asleep in her chair. 

“Who is it?” She snarls with grogginess in her throat. 

“I don’t know,” you go to the door and pull the curtain away from the long window beside it. You peek out at the figure on the porch and quickly hide behind the fabric. Too late. “It’s... the neighbour. I think he saw me.” 

“Ergh, don’t be stupid, girlie,” your mother barks, “help me up.” 

“Oh, uh, okay.” 

You go to her and offer your hand. You get her to her feet. She slightly hunched and slow but she makes her way to the door. She pauses and turns to the mirror above the little bench against the wall. She tidies her hair and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. 

She leans on the door as she grips the handle. She opens it and the man from next door, Steve, greets her with a grin. 

“Hello?” She sweetens her tone. 

“Hello, miss, sorry to bother you,” he says, “I just moved in next door and I’m getting settled in. I was just about to do some lawn work and I thought maybe I might offer to do yours? It’s no trouble, I just thought I’d offer.” 

“Oh, what a honey you are,” she preens, “of course, that would be lovely of you. My daughter,” she sighs and shakes her head, “I’ve been nagging her for weeks to get it done.” 

“Really, it’s not a bother,” he assures her, “I’m Steve by the way.” 

His smile is just as charming as his introduction. 

“Holly,” your mother returns, “I’ll make you some lemonade for your trouble. It’s a hot one, isn’t it?” 

“Sounds good,” he agrees, “I’ll try not to make too much noise.” 

You peek out from behind your mother. Steve’s eyes meet yours for an instant before she blocks her out, no doubt eager to hide the state of the house from him. You back up as she turns to you.  

“What’re you doing hanging on like a rodent?” She hisses, “go make some lemonade.” 

[sashi-ya]

𝑩𝑰𝑹𝑻𝑯𝑫𝑨𝒀 𝑪𝑨𝑲𝑬. Yuuta's birthday 🍰 PROFESSOR! OKKOTSU YUTA X F! READER ☆ MDNI

🎀 tw: after yuta and you graduated, you became professors at the Tokyo metropolitan curse school. vag sex. cream pie. birthday sex. semi public 💟 wc: 663

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ happy birthday, Yuta! my sweet boi!

Because he can be as sweet and innocent, as dark and lascivious. Because he is him, the special grade one. The dark circled man that always looks tired and dangerously sexy… because Yuta can fuck you as hard as he pleases, because you want it.

Your hair tangles around his hand, pulling from it to hold you still. Your skirt stuck around your ankles; your breasts pressed against the wall.

“Shhh…” he whispers, using the fingers of his free hand to spread your labia from behind. Yuta has you pinned against the wall of one of the sorcerers school’s classroom.

“Prof- professor Okkotsu, I- I don’t really think it’s- the new students could be here any minute”  you stutter, as if you had a choice… as if you really didn’t want to indulge in such sinful morning activities.

In any case, he doesn’t care. Those days when he used to be a sweetheart, a trembling bean sprout only remain in the past.

His lips land on the crook of your neck, a deadly kiss… those he only knows how to give. His teeth, then, carve marks over the delicately kissed spot… oh, Okkotsu… why are you always biting?

“It’s my birthday, come on…” he purrs, taking your mind to those days back in school. Melting at the sweet statement, at the innocent plead while his fingers get a coat of your wetness.

A low moan, that escapes in between bitten lips, gives your man the so awaited “yes”.  The sound of his zipper going down follows. The warmth of an untamed hardness, is next.

Yuta lets go of your hair, just to grab you by your waist. His grip is delicate, sexy, and still strong enough to bend you over one of the desks. The sorcerer’s hand fall in between your shoulder blades, pressing you hard against the wrecked desk where he used to sit.

A hand slides down your waist until your hip, pulling your ass up, leaving you ready for his intrusion. But it is not enough, he wants it deeper…

“Leg… up” Yuta moans, trembling perhaps. He wants you, so, so much. Yuta becomes weak, but immensely needy… love and lust are his only kryptonite, but also the strongest of his goodness.

You understand; deeper it is, then. Lifting your right leg, your knee finally rests on top of the desk. From the side, you are ready to take him completely.

“Nghh…” he grunts, and the sound of little drops of precum echo against the floor.

“Fuck me, birthday boy ~” you moan, looking at him from over your shoulder. What a delicious façade; serious but equally made into a mess. And a mess is what your insides are about to become, too.

A pump or maybe two with his hand, coat his shaft with enough wetness from himself. The cold surface of his ring makes him gasp when it touches his gland. And then, fast, and desperate, he finally buries into you.

Impaled, your back arches and your hips lift enough to perfectly combine your bodies in one. The slapping sound of your skins, music to your ears -and maybe for the rest of the school if they are silent enough-

Fast, faster. Harder. Yuta can’t keep fucking you without bending himself over you too. With his white uniform, the one he still wears even being a professor, getting all sweaty against your back.

Pinned, pressed down. Yuta has fallen, but his thrusts have never stopped. In fact, those are violent, reaching deeper and deeper into you, against walls that clench and release with an orgasmic releif.

“I want to finish… ngh- inside you“ he asks, politely -and probably on the verge of exploding- to finish.

“You asked a cream pie for your cake this year, didn’t you?” ~

[fandomfics]

Anything for You

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem Reader

Description: undercover jobs are always risky, but when you're caught going against the gang you and Dean have fallen in with, Dean is forced to do something drastic.

Masterlist

A/N: I love Dean. That is all

⚠️Warnings⚠️

18+ MDNI

Past/memories in italics. Canon typical violence, language, use of restraints, alcohol use, drunkenness, dark themes, human trafficking, murder, talk of vamps, no actual vamps appear. unprotected p in v, oral F receiving, angst, fluff, smut. The whole 9 yards. Not proof read.

Smut under the 🔥

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You are on your knees on the hard concrete, sitting on your heels, blindfolded. The rope that binds your wrists behind your back digs into you, the friction burning your sensitive skin. The smell of blood invades your nostrils, you can only hope it's not Dean's.

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"This could take weeks. We need to make sure that we don't blow this before we find the nest. " Dean sighs putting his head in his hands.

"We'll be fine. As fucked up as it is, them using a shelter as a cover will help us. My intel says they mostly pose as volunteers, they just hand the people off, No kidnap or torture at this stage. We pass the info to Sammy when we get it," you gesture to him across the table, "and he'll let the other hunters know the drop point."

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You curse yourself under your breath as you remember those words, you should have been prepared for the unexpected. Your sense of time is distorted, your body is weak, you just want to fall to your side and pass out. You resist the urge and continue straining your ears to hear anything outside of the concrete room you are in. Nothing. Every pair of shoes you have are modified to carry a blade of some sort, You take the silence as your que to remove it and work at the rope. Periodically you stop to listen for any indication of footsteps, when you are satisfied by the silence you continue.

After what feels like an eternity, you're finally able to free yourself. When you draw up the blindfold you see the bare concrete room with a single light dangling from the ceiling and a door in front of you.

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The shelter you stand in front of is quiet and unassuming, the sign above you flickers momentarily, 'Hope's Haven'. Your gut clenches, places like this are supposed to be safe for the less fortunate. You're spurred on to take out this threat and move forward, duffle slung over your shoulder.

Dean is hot on your heels as you enter the building, "We're the new in-house caretakers." You say plainly, looking over the receptionist, wondering if she's part of this whole game.

"Door at the end of the hallway." She considers you and Dean for a moment before returning to her computer.

You pass several doors, every one marked, men's and women's dorms, family dorms, restrooms, showers, cafeteria, rec room. The door at the end of the hallway is marked volunteers only.

Behind the door is a staircase that leads to the small volunteers dorm, a few individual rooms and bathrooms, and a door marked 'Do Not Enter.' each door of the dorms has a white board on it with the names of the occupants, you quickly find the one marked with yours and Dean's chosen alias'.

"I'm surprised you let me pick the names. No protest either. I expected more from you Dean." You chuckle as you start to unpack your things.

His eyes narrow as he realizes he's missed something, "what do you mean?"

"You know," you stiffle a full on giggle before continuing, "Stevie Nicks is a woman right....and Lindsey Buckingham is a dude."

"Really?" Dean says Incredulously. "I guess it's a good thing no one ever thinks twice when we give our cover names..."

You can no longer keep your laughter in, bursting out in a fit as you fall back into the bed. "Right, no one EVER second guesses them." The sarcasm in your voice evident as your laugh dies down.

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You hear footsteps approaching outside the door and reposition yourself to sit against the wall, replacing the blindfold, hands behind your back with your small knife in one.

The creak of the door causes your muscles to tense, but then you hear his voice.

"Fuck, are you okay?" You can hear Dean making his way across the room to you as you quickly bring your hands up to remove the blindfold. He drops to his knees next to you and cups your face in his hands waiting for your reply. When you don't respond quickly enough he lightly taps your cheek with his hand, "Hey!"

"I-I'm fine." You look at him in shock, "Dean...why are you covered in blood?"

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"I told you to fucking wait for me!" Deans exasperation was clear, "You think they really believe that you weren't in that office snooping?"

"Would they let me go if they didn't?" You plop down on the bed in your shared room and start to take off your shoes.

"Maybe not, but you still should have waited dammit." His voice was quiet, almost inaudible. You pause briefly before continuing in a totally different direction.

"Come on, it's the fourth night we've been here, stop sleeping on the floor. I'm not gonna give you cooties." You say playfully trying to change the subject.

"Fine, I guess that's a suitable punishment for making me worry."

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You've barely slept, huddled with your back against the wall, Dean takes up most of the bed. As much as you would love to just cuddle up to him, he's your best friend. You've harbored a bit of a crush on him for years, but you know he doesn't feel the same, you've accepted that.

You're letting your mind wander until he begins to shift beside you and suddenly his face is inches from yours.

"Dean." His name a hoarse whisper. When he doesn't stir you try again, this time louder, "Dean!"

His eyes open slowly, "hmm?" When he is finally able to focus he realizes how close he is. "I told you this was your punishment. I'm not moving." You push his chest trying to get him to move but he doesn't budge.

"I can't sleep, you're taking up the whole fucking bed." You whine, exasperated from your exhaustion.

He wraps his arm around you and pulls you a bit closer as his eyes slowly close again. "Come on. We're friends, you don't have to be afraid to touch me, get some sleep." He turns away from you and gives you a bit more room. You follow suit, turning to your other side to face the wall and finally drift off.

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When the alarm wakes you in the morning you feel the heaviness of Dean's arm draped over your waist. He stirs behind you and swings his arm back to turn the alarm off before leaving it back where it was.

"Mornin'" His voice is groggy

"Dean...what are you doing?"

"Shit, sorry. Am I making you uncomfortable?" He starts to move away but you catch his hand before he can, keeping it firmly planted where it lays on your stomach.

"No, it's nice." You are emboldened by his touch and allow your fingers to trace over his hands.

You feel his hot breath on the shell of your ear, "Yeah..." He quietly agrees before lightly kissing your cheek. Your heart swells and flutters and you have to stop yourself from overthinking this. He isn't confessing his love your you, he's just enjoying cuddle. It doesn't mean anything.

You wait a couple minutes in silence, enjoying a little taste of domestic bliss with Dean before reluctantly pushing his arm away and speaking again, "Come on, we gotta get up." You sit up and stretch, turning to Dean, "Come on!" He turns to lay face down, the pillows muffle his clear rejection at the thought.

"We've got shit to do. Come. On." You stand on your knees and push at his body again, trying to roll him out of bed. When that doesn't work you begin to poke and prod at him.

"I don't wanna." He groans.

As a last resort you stand up and start bouncing up and down, it's childish, but you're having the time of your life annoying Dean until he turns and sits up. You stop your antics, standing above him within arms reach, out of breath and giggling. His face softens and he smiles.

"You're a god damned pest, ya know that?" He chuckles and finally swings his legs over the side of the bed.

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"We can talk about it when we get out of here." Dean says as he helps you up from the concrete floor.

He checks you over before grabbing your hand to make a run for it. Everything is oddly quiet and you meet no resistance on your way to baby. In an instant your on the road making your way out of town in silence.

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You've barely slid out of the bed when you hear the door open. Some of the bigger goons of this operation stand on either side of the door as the woman you assumed to be the receptionist in your time here walks in with a look of disappointment on her face.

"You can't just barge into-" Dean starts protesting before one of the men point a gun at you. He stops and keeps his eye on him with a glare. "What do you want?" Dean says harshly.

"Her." The woman states rather plainly.

"Why?"

"She violated my privacy, caught her snooping through my things."

"What? No I didn't!" You try desperately to lie.

"Honey, I got you on camera."

Deans face drops as he looks to you, his face contorted in surprise and anger.

"Oh," she feigns pity, "you didn't know what she was doing without you? Wonder what else she gets up to behind your back?"

You're both too stunned for words as she turns with one last statement, "lock her up, don't torture her too much. She may still be useful. And Stevie, you'll need to work extra hard around here if you ever want to see her again." She snaps her fingers and the men drag you off to the room.

"Just do what they say, help them finish the job. don't worry about me." You try and tell Dean as he calls after you.

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An eternity passes in silence and night falls. A neon sign in the distance advertises a motel with a 24 hour diner across the street, you sigh in relief knowing he'll stop.

When you've showered and eaten you both lay in your respective beds in the dark. Dean has still barely said a word to you, the tension has made you anxious. You fade in and out of consciousness, your thoughts never ceasing. You remain restless.

You look to the clock on the nightstand. 3:17am. You run a hot bath, hoping it will help to ease your tense muscles, you pour the lavender shampoo in the running water, hoping the calming scent will ease your mind.

You let out a sigh as you sink in, your thoughts still lingering on the question you've pondered since leaving. What did Dean do that would cause him to be so distant?

Your snapped out of your thoughts when you hear a knock on the door. The water has grown cold and you're unsure how long you had been in there. "How much longer you gonna be? I need to piss." You hear Dean's gruff voice from the other side of the door.

"I'll be out in a sec." You quickly dry yourself off and dress allowing Dean the restroom. You sit on his bed, lights on, waiting for him to finish. He doesn't seem surprised, but he still doesn't want to talk.

"Dean, tell me what happened."

"I saved you, end of story." His climbs back into his bed and turns away from you. "Get the lights will ya?"

You scoff, "if it's that fucking simple, why can't you talk to me about it?"

He remains silent, no sign of any change. "Fine." Tears sting your eyes as you move back to your bed, turning the lights off on the way.

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You sit in the kitchen of the bunker with Sam. Same thing you've done a million times before.

"It's been three months Sam. Has barely talks to me. It fucking hurts."

"He still won't tell me anything about it either-"

"Yeah, but at least he doesn't treat you like the worst thing that ever happened to him, like a plague. We used to be so close, now we're practically strangers. I don't know if I can keep living here like this. I don't want to."

You hear footsteps retreating away towards the library and look to Sam.

"Well go tell him that. I don't want you to go, but I don't blame you either."

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You walk into the library to see Dean sitting at a table, hunched over a book, deep in thought.

"I'm leaving, I can't live here anymore." You say matter of factly.

"Okay. Have a nice life." Dean doesn't look up from his reading.

You march over to where he sits and fling everything in front of him off the table in a rage.

"What the fuck happened to you Dean? You have made these last few months an absolute living hell for me. We were best friends, we shared almost everything with each other." Your tears fall freely as you scream, he avoids your eyes.

"You can't even look at me. Like whatever happened is my fucking fault, but you're too chicken shit to say what it was."

You start to pace around as he stands up to leave.

"You're gonna run away from me again?" You stalk forward and shove him back, "Just tell me you hate me, you don't want to be near me, you don't want anything to do with me anymore. Something, anything. Give me some god damn peace Dean Winchester." You try to push him again and he catches your arms before they can make contact with his chest and you struggle to free yourself from his grip.

"I wish you left sooner. I thought maybe you woulda got the hint sooner. You're making this whole thing harder for both of us." He finally looks into your eyes after months, you're clearly in pain. Your mouth hangs open in disbelief of his words, as a sob shakes your body and your legs stop working. He catches you and sits you in the chair he was occupying.

You feel as though the man you thought he was is dead, and you sit in front of a facsimile of him, mourning the loss of someone who was once dear to you.

His hands slam on the table and you flinch at the sudden noise. "You want to know why I don't talk to you? Cause I killed five people. People, not monsters. I didn't think twice about doing it. I did it to save your sorry ass."

You sit in stunned silence as he leaves the room. You're heartbroken, you never would have expected him to be so cruel to you of all people.

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Torture? Absolutely the fuck not. Dean is going to take down every one of them before they can touch a hair on your head. He gets dressed and opens the door to find one of the large men guarding it.

"What? You supposed to follow me around?"

He nods solemnly. Without warning Dean pulls a small knife from his pocket and stabs the man right in the neck. As he begins to fall Dean catches him and drags him into the room before holstering the knife and continuing on.

His rage bubbles in his gut, consuming him entirely, his body moves without a second thought. His mission to rescue you is clear, damn the job, damn these fucking people.

One by one he finds each of the other people and puts them down without hesitation.

Something snaps when he finally releases you and is running for the exits. He just murdered five people. They weren't good people by any mans, but they weren't monsters in the literal sense.

The entire ride to the motel was silent, his mind was overwhelmed with the thoughts of how far he went to rescue you, how much it scares him that he was willing to take these humans out, for you. The fact that he would do it again a hundred times over if it means you're safe.

As much as he doesn't want you to leave, he is afraid of the lengths he will go to, the things he will do for you.

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Sam finds you in the library an hour later, hunched over the desk, still crying. He kneels beside you and puts a hand on your back to sooth you. You immediately turn into him and engulf him in a hug as you explain what happened. Your ever dutiful friend listens to every word as he allows you to cling to him, rubbing your back.

"I'm so sorry," he says as he squeezes you tightly. "I understand if you still want to leave, but you need to rest a bit now." You nod into his shoulder and he helps you up, guiding you to your room and laying you in bed. As he leaves you turn to face the wall and cry yourself to sleep.

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In the middle of the night you find yourself in desperate need of hydration. On your way back from the kitchen you turn a corner and collide hard with Dean. The glass in your hands drops to the floor and shatters sending water and sharp shards across the hallway. You're about to berate Dean, take all your anger out on him until you realize he's been crying.

He turns and makes his way back to his room without a word and you follow close behind.

"What the fuck do you have to cry about Winchester? Huh? You tore me to pieces like I didn't mean a thing and you're crying?" You scoff.

He ignores your words and you keep going. "Still don't want to talk? You killed those people. Not me. I told you to finish the job, not to worry about me. You decided to do all that yourself. So stop taking it out on me you selfish prick. Hate me all you want, but that was your decision."

He stops in his tracks just as he crosses the threshold of his room and finally turns his head to address you. "I don't hate you."

"Unbelievable."

"You're not going to leave me alone are you?" He turns to you fully now, "You aren't getting it. I killed those people because the thought of them touching you in any way was terrifying to me. The thought of losing you forever filled me with blind rage. You were careless and got yourself caught and I couldn't deal with it. The fact that I could do that for you fucking scares me. I was the monster."

His door slams in your face and you are left speechless. You have no idea how you feel, your thoughts are jumbled and you want nothing more than to quiet them down.

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You and a bottle of rum occupy the kitchen for the remainder of the night. You talk to yourself, to the bottle, to imaginary Dean as you play out how future conversations may go. You're emotions are scattered to the winds and you just want to drink until you're numb.

Half the bottle is gone and your head lays on your folded arms at the table. You hear someone walking in but all you can do is groan pitifully. Your vision is blurred and your head is fuzzy but you recognize Dean's voice through it it.

"Jesus Christ," you hear the bottle being picked up and unceremoniously slammed back down. "This isn't going to help."

"Yeronetatalk" your words slur together.

Without another word he lifts you from the chair and takes you to your room. As much as you want to protest, you can't, you're too drunk. He lays you in your bed and leaves for a few minutes. He returns with a gallon jug of water, a cup, a trash can, and some aspirin.

He pulls a chair up next to the bed and puts his head in his hands. He spends hours there with you, mostly asleep, but taking care of you when you're not, holding your hair back, urging you to drink water.

"I'm sorry." You hear him whisper when he thinks your asleep. "I didn't want this."

Your heart hurts. So does everything else. Your eyes open and he urges you to drink more water and take the aspirin.

"Dean," his eyes meet yours. "I'm sorry...for being reckless. I should have waited for you. You're right. But don't you dare blame me for what you did."

"I'm sorry too. I know it wasn't your fault that I did it for you. I just wanted you to leave so I wouldn't have to worry about losing you in the worst ways imaginable. I wanted you to run off and find a nice normal guy to settle down with and live a nice normal life. I've been....selfish. "

Again you're left speechless at the vulnerability that Dean is showing. He's finally talking to you again and dropping his innermost thoughts, it's dizzying.

"You're one of the most important people in my life, my best friend, I love you."

"Dean, I love you too, I never wanted to leave, you just made me feel like trash. Like nothing. I don't know what this means for our friendship, but you really fucking hurt me. Im not going anywhere though."

"I don't just love you as a friend. That's not what I meant." He whispers "but I understand, I wouldn't want to even be my friend after what I've done to you."

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The next day him and Sam leave to go take care of a simple haunting. They should only be gone a few days, a week at most with delays. You take the time to try and do things you enjoy. You relax. For the first time in months. Now you know everything, it still hurts, but you aren't in the dark anymore.

You use the time to think about what you want. You think about Dean saying the words you've wanted to hear for so long. Even after all that you are still in love with him too.

You spend the next four days mulling everything over, weighing all of your options, going through every scenario in your head. Every outcome.

This is the first time in the years that you've known him that Dean has ever done anything to purposely upset you. You understand why. Can you forgive him?

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You hear them return and rush to Dean's room to wait for him. You play with your fingers nervously as you sit on the bed, it feels like time slows as you wait.

"Oh, Hey." He says somewhat suspiciously as the door opens.

"Hey," a small smile graces your lips. "Can we talk?"

"Yeah....yeah. " he drops his duffle in the floor and sits next to you on the bed, suddenly finding his hands very interesting.

"I forgive you. You should forgive yourself too. Those were terrible people. They knew what they were sending those people into. They knew they would die."

He looks up to you in surprise, "They were still human though."

"They've led hundreds of people to their deaths, knowingly. Fuck them. I know you Dean. You wouldn't hurt anyone who doesn't deserve it."

"I did though... I hurt you."

"Okay, but you usually don't." You place your hand on his. His eyes meet yours before you continue, "That's why I forgive you."

"I don't deserve it."

"I think you do, so get over it and accept it because I'm in love with you too. You're never getting rid of me now."

"You can't be serious." You cup his face with your hands and pull him in for a gentle kiss which he eagerly returns.

"I am," you say pulling away, "get some rest, you're taking me out on a date later. And I want something fancy. Pick me up at eight."

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At exactly 8pm, Dean knocks on your door. He extends a single red rose when you open the door, a wide goofy grin adorns you face as you look him over in his suit. You take the rose and place it in the glass of water at your bedside before returning to him.

"You look beautiful. You always look beautiful." You look down as a blush comes to your cheeks.

"Thank you," you reach up on tip toes and kiss him on the cheek. "You look handsome as usual." You smile up at him.

"So, where are you taking me Mr. Winchester?" He extends an arm and you take it as he leads you to the garage.

"It's a surprise." He winks and your heart flutters.

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"Truth or Dare?" Dean asks you, it's your first night at the shelter and you and Dean are passing time with a game.

"Uhhhh, truth."

"What's your ideal date?"

"What an odd question from you," you laugh, "a picnic under the stars, dancing slow in the moonlight, maybe a bit of wine."

"That is so fucking sappy." Dean laughs and you stick your tongue out at him playfully.

"Whatever. Truth or dare?"

"Truth."

"What's your ideal date?" You chuckle maniacally.

"Whatever gets me laid." He laughs heartily and you roll your eyes.

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"Close your eyes." Dean holds you hand as he drives, after about 15 minutes of driving the car comes to a stop and Dean takes your hand. Your confused when you step out and feel the crunch of gravel beneath your feet, after a short walk it turns to grass.

"Okay, open your eyes." Dean drops your hand and leans down to press play on a. Old boom box and Lady by Styx begins to play. You stand on a hilltop, a tree before you is covered in fairy lights, on the ground is a blanket that's been laid out, he sets a basket on the ground and gestures for you to sit. The moon is full, the sky is littered with stars, everything is perfect.

"I know it's not fancy like you said... But-"

"You remembered." You whisper, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

"Of course I did." He smiles. You enjoy a charcuterie board, conversation, wine. You spend a while just enjoying each other's company, laying on the ground staring up at the stars. The tape that was playing finally ends and Dean switches to a new tape before standing up and extending his hand to you.

Can't Help Falling in Love by Elvis Presley begins to play and you take his hand. He helps you up and pulls you close, "dance with me?"

You nod your head, one hand clasped in his as the other rests on his chest. His other hand pulls you by the waiste, impossibly close. You sway slowly, looking up into his eyes. "You're so fucking sappy." You grin.

"Anything for you." He looks deep into your eyes before continuing, "I want to ask you something."

"Yeah?"

"Before I ask, I want to promise that I will always be honest with you from now on. I won't ever hide anything unless it's a really cool surprise for you."

"Okay," you giggle

"Will you be my girl?"

"Abso-fuckin-lutely." You bring him in for a kiss. It's soft and sweet, you feel a warmth flood through your body. "And I promise to try and not be so reckless."

He smiles and plants a quick peck on your lips before pulling away to get a velvety rectangular box out of his jacket pocket. He opens it in front of you and you can't help but laugh boisterously at his cheesy gift.

A dainty silver chain with a "D."

"You hate it." He says looking down.

"No, it's the cheesiest fucking thing and I absolutely adore it. Help me put it on!" He moves behind you and clasps it around your neck before snaking his arms around you and resting his head on your shoulder. You rest one hand on his and cup his face with the other.

"I'm never taking this off." He gives you a little squeeze and sways with you to the next song that plays. "I love you dean." He hums contentedly.

"I love you too." He says softly before kissing your neck. A small moan escapes your lips and you feel him smirk into your neck. You tilt your head and allow him to continue and he takes the invitation with no hesitation. A shiver runs down your spine when he hits your pulse point and you turn in his arms tilting your head up just as his lips crash into yours.

🔥

This kiss is deeper, voracious, his desire is evident in the way he holds you to him, and you're returning it right back to him.

"Dean," you pant after breaking the kiss, "do you think we'd get caught for public indecency out here?"

His eyes widen as he takes your meaning, "Babe, it'd be worth it even if we did."

You giggle as he backs you up against the tree and kisses down your body, when he's on his knees he looks up to you, "Tell me. Tell me what you want."

"I want you. I want to feel you inside of me, I want you to claim me."

"Fuck." He moans out before pushing his hands through the slit in your dress to remove your underwear. He shoves them in his pocket, "Those are mine now." He winks before hiking one leg over his shoulder, displaying your dripping cunt to him.

He immediately dives in, the obscene sounds of him devouring you mixed with both of your moans cut through the silence of the night. His hands gently caress your legs leaving a delightful tingle that causes you to shiver as the bark of the tree digs into your back with a pleasurable pinch of pain. He moves his focus to your clit as he allows a finger to prod your entrance.

"Yes, please, Dean..." You whisper breathlessly. He hums, sending a vibration through you and you can't help but buck into it. Your hands weave into his hair, gently pulling as you continue to roll your hips into him. He fully inserts his finger and curls it right against your sweet spot, eliciting a squeak of surprise from you that quickly turns to a moan.

He adds another finger and continues pumping them into you, moaning every time you pull his hair and grind against his face.

"Dean...fuck, just like that.... I'm gonna cum." Your cunt tightens, pulsing as your release hits and you cum hard on his fingers as he helps you ride it out. He immediately laps it up and removes his fingers. You moan as you watch him lick them clean. The lower half of his face is covered in your slick, igniting your desire to feel him again.

You grab the lapels of his jacket and yank him to you, his mouth finds yours again and you taste yourself on him. Your hand travels down his chest to the hard outline of his cock. You gently run a finger over it, teasing him until he's a shivering mess.

"Babe please." He whispers into your mouth. You make quick work of releasing him, he hikes your leg up, keeping one hand on your thigh as he lines up to your entrance. He slowly rolls his hips until he's fully inside of you.

He continues languidly rolling his hips, his free hand cups your face as his forehead rests against yours, his eyes firmly gazing into yours. The connection you feel is deeper than just the physical way your bodies are melding.

You call out his name in a breathy moan and his hips move a bit faster, "where?"

"Cum inside me, please Dean. I want to feel you."

"Fuck, you drive me wild. Cum with me." Your hand finds your clit, circling it in time with his thrusts. Your eyes close involuntarily in bliss, "Eyes on me beautiful."

"Almost...."

Another wave of pleasure washes over you, you pulse and contract around Dean as you both cry out in pleasure. You feel him spill inside you with a few final languid thrusts. He stays there, cradling your face in his hand, catching his breath.

After his breathing steadies, he releases your leg and puts himself away. He takes one of the extra cloth napkins he brought and pours some water on it before getting on one knee in front of you. His hands guide your foot to rest on his leg to open you up to him once more and he cleans you up, lovingly planting kisses to your inner thigh.

[darkside-writing]

Spoiled

WARNINGS: 18+ ONLY, Incestuous relationship, dubcon(?), manipulation, slight infantilization, oral sex (M receiving), female pronouns

Pairing: Father!Shikamaru Nara x Daughter!Reader

Words: 3.7K

The moment Shikamaru learned of your existence he knew that he would do absolutely anything within his power to protect you. Despite being a teen father Shikamaru accepted fatherhood with effortless ease, taking on the role of caregiver and protector naturally. While Shikaku was admittedly disappointed in his son being reckless, he soon accepted this outcome and supported his son’s choices. Your conception came from a simple one night stand with a girl from an unknown clan, she had visited Konoha to attend a festival where they met briefly. While the revelation of getting a one night stand pregnant should have angered the Shadow Nin, he accepted the responsibility of his actions quickly. Shikamaru did not have any feelings for the foreign woman, he only used her pussy once just to temporarily satiate his needs. They would eventually sit down together to agree that a relationship was not viable. However, Shikamaru did push for her to bring the pregnancy to term so he would raise his child on his own. It would not be long before the pregnancy flew by and you were left with the single father to raise on his own.

Fatherhood became something Shikamaru embraced. He practically spoiled you rotten, never having the heart to deny his princess of anything. The Nara was especially weak to your tears. Once those crystal drops brimmed your eyes, Shikamaru would have thrown himself onto the blade if it made them go away. Your childhood would soon breeze by and eventually lead you becoming the young, beautiful woman he sees now. Shikamaru would be lying if he did not feel a swell of pride whenever he saw you. Your beauty is something that Shikmaru knew drew attention to all around you no matter where you went. However, he would also have to admit that the Nara genius also skipped your pretty little brain. Don’t get him wrong, Shikamaru loves you regardless of your intelligence. However, he just knows that your naivete is something that he would have to keep a close eye on. He doesn’t want any boys to take advantage of you. Which is why when you approach your papa and bring the news of your new boyfriend, the older Nara is completely stunned. Even more so when you tell him it is Naruto’s very son that you are dating.

Of course he knew that someday you would get boyfriends, he isn’t blind to your attractiveness. Like a young minx seducing every man that crosses her path, her papa was also affected by it. Shikamaru, feigning as much boredom as he could, brushes off his princess’ news of her boyfriend. However, anyone who knew the Nara could easily see the turmoil building inside. It was much too early for you to be dating! He is also no fool to what all boys are after, he was once one with the same mindset as well. It leaves a bad taste in the Shadow Nins mouth at the thought of his precious daughter losing her virginity to Naruto’s son, or any boy for that matter. No one is good enough for his daughter, they do not deserve the honor of getting to stretch open her virginal walls with their pathetic cocks.

Yet as Shikamaru thought over and over about the prospect of you having sex with other boys, a peculiar bubble formed in his chest at the idea of being your first. It is disgusting and immoral but he can’t get rid of the feeling of arousal at the idea. So what if he was the one to take your virginity? No other man could take care of you like he can. He is more than experienced enough to guide you through the throes of passion.

Shikamaru curses as he feels his cock stir at the very mental image of spreading your legs open, exposing your perfect virginal pussy to him. Your little twitching clit just begging for him to suck and lick to your first orgasm. He would also rather take it to his death bed than admit he has masturbated over his daughter before. With a frustrated sigh Shikamaru unzips his pants and pulls out his cock, springing up at full attention against his abdomen. The tip is drooling precum and a thick engorged vein pumping blood travels underneath the shaft. He needs to make this quick before you come home. It has been so long since he has been buried in a tight wet pussy, ever since you were born he has sworn off any relationships. With practiced calloused hands wrapped around his member, he brings his hand up the thick shaft in a slow motion before stopping. His palm teasingly squeezes the tip of his cock before sliding down his shaft again, repeating the motion in a hasty jerk off session. His balls ache from how full they are that it has him going feral at the thought of depositing his entire load inside your young pussy. Oh Gods how he wished he wasn’t a sick pervert, jerking off to the thought of his own flesh and blood.

“Shit..” he cursed underneath his breath as he stroked his cock in a hasty rhythm. Desperate to drain his balls before his baby girl came home to find her perverted daddy masturbating. With a mental image of you in his mind, he quickly found release all over his hand. Thick cum oozing over his cock that began growing soft, leaving Shikamaru in post-climactic haze as his mind comes to terms with the fact that he just masturbated to his own daughter. He lights a cigarette to take off the edge of his sins before getting up to clean himself up.

Later that night when you returned home on your first date with Naruto’s son, he could tell something was on your mind. Usually you filled their small home with mindless chatter and giggles, yet he could clearly see on your face that something was wrong. It filled Shikamaru with rage at the thought of Naruto’s son offending you, or worse, making you do something you did not want to. His mind quickly becomes dark with the idea of you being forced to perform any sexual acts without your consent. This is the exact reason he was so overbearing when raising you, he knew how easy it was to manipulate your little dumb mind.

“Princess..” Shikamaru said sternly, as he watched you pick at your dinner plate with a crestfallen face. You have not eaten a bite of the dinner he prepared for the both of you. You perked up at your papa’s voice, as if finally noticing the other presence at the dinner table. “Yes, papa?” you answered quietly, wide-doe eyes falling onto your father sitting across from you. Your reply brings a mental sigh of relief to him, at least you are finally talking. He knows you like the back of his hand and probably better than you know yourself.

“How did your date go with that Uzumaki kid?” he asked delicately, quizzical eyes watching for any facial expression. He could tell that you were holding back by the way you avoided his gaze and bit your lip nervously. “It went well, papa..”

He hummed at your response but was still unsatisfied with the answer. He wanted to know exactly what happened during your time out with that boy. He can obviously tell this was a subject you were not comfortable with, and normally he would have backed off to avoid your tears. Shimakaru had to press further to get to the bottom of why his princess was not smiling anymore. With a pointed look towards you Shimakaru patted his lap, a signal for you to take a seat on his thigh just like you always did so obediently. Getting up from your seat you sat your plush bottom onto your papa’s lap and looked up at him meekly, awaiting whatever lecture your daddy always gave you when it came to boys or things he deemed too “grown up” for you. Shikamaru wraps a strong arm around your waist and looks deep into your eyes,

“You can’t fool me, princess. Tell papa exactly what happened.” he said sternly. Shikamaru watched as you twiddled your thumbs together, avoiding his authoritative gaze. It was practically impossible to lie to your papa. Many years of trying have led to you learning that your papa is the smartest man in Konoha, nothing gets by him. However, he can feel that he is on the edge of discovery when he watches your chest heave with burgeoned submission. “It’s embarrassing, papa.” you admitted finally. Shikamaru was almost stunned, he had never known his daughter to hold anything back from him. You have always been open and honest to him, never shying away from your papa no matter what. It was unusual that you were holding back this time, especially after your date with that Uzumaki kid. It only reaffirms to the Shadow Nin that this needed to be addressed immediately.

“You know you can tell me anything, baby, right? We have no secrets.” Shikamaru reaffirms, heart thumping inside his chest at his promise. “You can always tell papa anything, no matter what it is.” His tone is soft and reassuring, instead of that indifferent one he uses around everyone else.

You sighed and nodded at Shikamaru’s words, feeling comforted by his promise of no judgment. With a deep breath you opened your mouth to tell your papa what was bothering you. Revealing in detail how Naruto’s son had brought you to a nice dinner date before things began to heat up quickly. His fingers found their way into her panties as he fingered her under the restaurant table. It was a feeling she never felt before, being stuffed with fingers inside her virgin cunny. However, she was upset because she did not feel any release at all. She creamed over his fingers but did not reach that orgasm awaiting over the edge. It was unsatisfying and left the poor girl feeling stressed out from not getting any release.

Shikamaru listened to every word of his daughter’s confession. It burned him inside that the Uzumaki kid made such a brazen move on his daughter, especially on the first date. The boy’s unskilled fingers inside his daughter made the older Nara’s frown deepen. Of course boys like him know nothing about pleasuring a woman. All they care about is getting their rocks off and leaving afterwards. However, that will just have to wait for another time as he thought about his poor little girl being sexually frustrated.

“Baby, why don’t you let your papa sort you out?” Shikamaru asked gently, as if approaching a small animal in a trap. He wanted to make sure it was completely your choice before even thinking about taking actions. Shikamaru was hesitant with his proposal, hoping that you would not scurry off from his sight at his perverse request. The very thought of you never looking at him again is enough to make the lazy man panic internally. It stunned you that your papa made such a proposition, isn’t it wrong to let daddies play with their little girls’ bodies? Yet, the more you pondered it, the idea just makes sense! No one has ever provided for you like your papa has, or ever will. It only makes sense to you that your papa should be the one to take your virginity.

Without any hesitation you nodded at your papa’s request, the very thought of him helping you with your first orgasm bringing a rush of excitement through your body. Shikamaru leaned back on the chair and laid you against his chest, spreading your thighs apart easily. Your short skirt doing nothing to hide those cute panties peeking out underneath.

“Show papa where it hurts, baby.”

Spreading your thighs over your papa’s lap, you pulled your frilly panties aside to finally show your weeping pussy, all wet and twitchy from the tension of what is to come. Shikamaru sucked in a breath at the sight of his daughter’s pussy, finally having the one thing he has longed for right in front of his eyes. His tongue peeked out and licked his dry lips at the very sight, cock already throbbing in his pants pushing against your plush bottom. He takes a finger and swipes it against your slit, testing the waters for your reactions. He is pleased to see how sensitive you are and how you practically jumped in his lap from just a simple touch. It just lets him know that you are such a good girl, probably never masturbated before or know how to play with your pretty pussy.

Shikamaru presses his fingers deeper into your slit, searching for that little button he is just dying to play with. When you gasp and shake in his lap he knows he found exactly what he was looking for. His thumb gently rubs slow circles on your clit, watching intently as your eyes cross at the foregn feeling. Even when Naruto’s son had his fingers buried in her pussy it did not feel nearly as good as her papa playing with her pretty pussy. A crooked smirk appeared on Shikamaru’s face, satisfied with his princess’ reaction to him playing with her virgin body. However, he had to hold himself back from going off the deep end just yet. This was after all your first time, and he wanted to make this as pleasurable as possible, like the good father he is.

“This is your clit, baby. When I rub it like this it feels really really good,” he enunciated while rubbing quick circles around your throbbing clit, accentuating each of his words with the finger actions. You thrashed around your papa’s lap at the sudden intense pleasure, borderline overwhelming from his skilled fingers. It felt so good yet something was building up inside that it made you panic at the feeling. You were a babbling mess as Shikamaru continued his exploration of your pussy, even dipping a single finger inside your virgin pussy, careful of your unbroken hymen. The feeling was too intense and you couldn’t get out any words, just grabbing onto your papa’s forearms to try and warn him of the building pressure. Without any warning you squirted all over Shikamaru’s lap, leaving a wet sticky mess all over his pants.

Shikamaru stared in awe at the mess you created, he has never seen anything more beautiful or sexy in his life. The very sight made his cock throb and ooze precum, desperate for any semblance of relief. He doesn’t recall ever feeling so turned on by any woman he has fucked before, even your own mother. Shikamaru waited until you calmed down from your first orgasm, kissing and sucking on your neck to help bring you down from the intense shock. He pulled his finger from your fluttering hole, coated it in your cream and brought it to his mouth to clean. His mouth practically drooling at the taste of your pussy. Just as he was about to let you off his lap, Shikamaru jerked at the feeling of your small hand pressing against his bulge.

“F-fuck princess! What are you doing?” he gritted through his teeth. It has been so long since anything besides his own hands has touched his cock, even through his pants. You looked up at your papa with those doe-eyes he has always been weak for, “I…I want to make you feel good too,” you can’t help but feel an intense blush come over your face from the confession. You wanted to thank your papa for the pleasure he brought you by returning the favor. Shikamaru was stunned at your words and cursed under his breath once again, since when did you know how to say sexy things like that? He was going to have to lecture you about that later, but right now he has more important matters at hand needing to be taken care of.

“You don’t have to do that, baby. This is only about you,” he replied, trying to take back some semblance of authority after committing such a lewd act with his own daughter. His mind was reeling from the lust he was feeling for you. He patted your butt as a signal for you to get off his lap, his bulge was becoming almost unbearable and needed to be attended once he was alone again. Just when he thought you were going back to your seat to finish eating dinner he watched as you suddenly dropped to your knees, small hands scrambling to lay on top of his thighs, just mere inches from his obvious bulge. “Please, papa… I want to know how to make you feel good,” you responded sultrily, just like the little minx you always were, you knew how to manipulate your daddy to get your way.

Shikamaru was at a crossroad; on one hand, this is the exact moment he has dreamed of. Yet on the other hand, he was your father and someone who vowed to protect you with his very life. However, when has Shikamaru ever been known as a righteous man? He was weak to the touch of an attractive woman, even if it was his own daughter. Not to mention he has never been able to say no to you, and probably could not start now. With a nod, he allows you to unzip his pants and pull his cock out, albeit clumsily. Shikamaru was a patient man, he allowed you to work at your own pace and watched closely as you stared at his aching cock, standing straight up begging for any attention. You looked at his cock bobbing up against his abdomen, it was so thick and huge. You just knew you had to have your papa’s cock inside you and be the one to take your virginity.

With words of encouragement from the Shadow Nin, you took your hand and delicately wrapped it around the base. Your small hand barely fits around the shaft all the way. It made your pussy drip at the feeling of your daddy’s throbbing, heavy cock in your grasp. Shikamaru could sense your hesitation and gently brought a hand behind your head, grasping your hair into a tight ponytail. “Just open your mouth, baby. Let papa fuck your pretty mouth, okay?” No sooner than after opening your mouth Shikamaru pushed the back of your head towards his awaiting cock, easily sliding the thick tip inside your small mouth. The older Nara had to hold himself back from completely fucking your throat raw, the feeling of being inside a wet warm mouth after so many years bringing a feral instinct to surface. However, being the good father he was, the older Nara allowed you to hold his cock in your mouth to get used to the feeling. He sat back in his chair and watched as you explored his cock with your tongue, getting used to the heft and taste. After a while of tasting his cock on your tongue you hummed onto his shaft, a signal that you were ready to continue.

Shikamaru smiled at your reassurance and pushed your head further down his shaft, centimeter by centimeter just to get you used to having something in your throat. He could feel your gag reflex slightly as he held your head tightly in place, just long enough for you to get used to the feeling of his large cock inside your tight throat. After what seemed like hours, Shikamaru was bringing your head up and down on his cock in a steady rhythm. The sound of gargling and drool coating all over his cock filling the room while he fucked your tiny throat. “Fuck baby… just like that. Let papa use your throat like the good girl he knows you are, okay?” he gasped out, jutting his hips in rhythm with fucking your mouth. Your gurgling and muffled moans were all you could reply as tears brimmed your eyes. Being used like this by your father should have been scary at least, but all you could feel was your thighs getting sticky from how much it turned you on. Meanwhile, Shikamaru was losing himself to the feeling of his daughter’s tight little throat.

“Baby, when I cum you have to swallow it all, okay? You should always swallow everything your papa gives you when he breeds your tiny little throat,” he gasped. Both hands were now holding your head tightly as the older Nara fucked into your throat as if it was the best pussy ever. He wanted you to swallow every drop of his cum and deposit it all into your belly. “Don’t let any boys do this to you, okay? Only papa’s should be doing this to their princess’,” Shikamara gritted out, making it clear that only he has the right to play with your body.

You hummed the best you could, with a cock lodged into your throat as a response. You could practically feel your papa’s cock throbbing, a signal of his approaching release. The very thought of your father letting you taste his cum was enough to make you feel light headed. With a few more rough thrusts into your mouth, Shikamaru held your head down at the very base of his cock with your nose buried into his pubic hair as his load shot straight down your throat. The load of cum went straight into your belly, making you feel slightly full and satisfied.

The older Nara held your head down until his cock grew completely soft, gently sliding out of your drool covered mouth. He gently brought you into his lap again as he wiped your mouth clean with his sleeve, whispering affirming words of love and praise into your ear. “You’re such a good girl for your papa. I love you so much, Princess,” Shikamaru whispered. Drowsiness was easily coming over you as you made yourself comfortable in the crook of your papa’s neck. The Shadow Nin looked at the untouched dinner and sighed at the mess he will have to clean up. However, he will just have to focus on that later because he has more important things to attend to. As he wraps an arm under your legs and waist to carry you to your awaiting bed, he can’t help but think about teaching his princess how to accept cock in her virgin pussy next time.

[scribe-of-the-gods]

Quickies

i'm back to feed you, babe. im enjoying my new format since i'll be doing different levels of smut. this isn't too detailed cuz i did it last night at like... 2am?

♢ fandom: honkai star rail ♢ spice level: spicy ♢ characters: dan heng, jing yuan, blade, luocha ♢ extra: minors dni, f!reader

》 Dan Heng

“I-I’ll be late,” Dan Heng gasped as he felt you press his back against the mattress. The conductor had asked everyone to meet in the parlor car in just ten or so minutes.

Of course, before he could fully change and leave… you took your chance.

“We can be quick.” You said as you discarded your shirt and began kissing his neck.

“Y-yeah but…” Dan Heng’s words got caught in his throat as your hand moved to his thigh. You let out a moan as you pressed yourself down on him, feeling that excitement rush through you.

“Come on, babe…” you whispered in his ear as you grinded against his half-hardened cock.

“Fine.” He replied with little hesitation as he flipped you over and pinned your hands above your head. “But I’m not going slow this time.”

》 Jing Yuan

“I don’t… have much t… time..” Jing Yuan said between kisses as you two quickly stripped out of your clothes.

“That’s fine. We’ll just be quick.” You said as you pressed yourself against him, your hand sliding down his chest and to his cock. 

“Fuck…” he cursed as he felt you grip him. Your hand moved in slow motions, teasing him. “Is this r-really the time to go slow?” He asked as he picked you up and pushed you onto the bed, throwing your legs apart.

“Hey- gentle!” You said with a light pout.

“I can’t, I only have 10 minutes. So prepare yourself. ” He said as he roughly kissed you.

》 Blade

“Wh-what are you doi- hey!” Blade exclaimed as you pushed him against the wall. 

“Sorry, I’m excited.” You moaned as you began to kiss his neck, your hand slowly moving down his thigh.

“I have things- fuck- I have things to do.” He said, trying to push your hands away. 

“Come on, babe.” You said with a pout, “just a few minutes. I’m needy.”

Blade stared at you for a second before nodding. Yeah well after all that, he was excited too. He easily lifted you in his arms and walked over to your shared bed and dropped you onto it.

“Then spread your legs for me.” He said simply as his hands slid down your waist as he kissed you. 

You wasted no time and obeyed him, shivering as his hand met your clothed core. His lips trailed down your neck and collarbone before he moved lower and lower. 

》 Luocha

You giggled as Luocha’s lips moved down to your collarbone, nibbling slightly.

“Th-that tickles!” The blonde man couldn’t help but chuckle as he pulled away and looked down at you.

“I’m trying to seduce you and you’re laughing? Awfully rude of you.” He joked as he slid his hand down to your hip. 

“I can’t help it!” You said as you met his emerald eyes. “Ok, I won’t laugh this time. I promise.” Luocha’s eyes shifted to the clock on the wall and he clicked his tongue.

“Sorry, lovely. But my time’s up. I need to be somewhere in 20 minutes.” He said as he picked your lips and backed away, instantly bringing a frown to your face. 

“W-wait, what!? B-but I’m all excited!” You said with wide eyes.

“Should’ve been obedient earlier.” He teased, making you grab his arm. Your pout and big ol eyes were the best way to get what you wanted. “Oh, come on! Don’t make that face.” 

“Please…”

“Oh fine, but stop making that face.” You stuck your tongue out at him with your little mischievous smile following suit.

“Or what?”

“You really wanna challenge me there? Especially when you’re begging me to fuck you?” He asked, placing a hand under your chin.

You just leaned in and kissed him, not wanting to waste any precious time.

[in-jail-out-soon7]

Happy New Year!

After the New Years' festival, you and Mikey talk about the future.

Manjiro Sano x GN!Reader

Warnings: Cursing, tooth rotting fluff, a little bit of angst if you squint & Reader mentions having a kid

A/N: I wish you all the best 2024! January is definitely gonna be a hard month for me mentally, but now that I have my writing to look forward to I know it's gonna be alright. Enjoy Lovelies❤

You lay down in the grass while Mikey kills the engine of his bike behind you. Flipping open your phone you gaze lazily at the bright light, trying to adjust to the screen at least enough to see the time.

1:04 A.M. January 1st, 2006.

You close your phone with a click and shove it into the top of your kimono. The New Year's festival had ended an hour ago. Everyone had gone home, Draken offering to take Emma home, so Mikey could drive around with you. Emma happily agreed.

Rubbing your eyes, Mikey slumps down in the grass next to you with a thud. You roll onto your side to face him.

He lays on his back staring at the star dotted sky. He rubs his hands together. "Shit."

Raising an eyebrow you prop your chin in your hand, pushing yourself off the ground with your elbow. "What's up?"

"It's cold." He pulls his own kimono up slightly to cover his exposed collarbone.

"Oh." You chuckle. "I told you. We should've went home."

Mikey shakes his head and crosses his arms over his chest. He doesn't say anything else. You sigh and drop your elbow, folding your arms on the grass to rest you face against.

It's quiet for a few moments. Just you staring at Mikey as he stares at the sky. Picking at a blade of grass you finally break the silence.

"What do you think this years going to be like?" You ask.

Mikey hums and thinks for a moment. He shrugs. "Probably the same as every other year." He turns onto his side to face you. "There's not really a lot we can do right now. As kids. Maybe the year after us and the gang graduate, there'll be more things to do."

"Wait," you sit up quickly. Mikey gazes up at you, confused. "You were planning on finishing school?" You tease in an overdramatic and sarcastic tone.

Mikey rolls his eyes and pushes you back down by your shoulder. "Shut up, (Y/N)."

You chuckle. Even though he wasn't wrong, it still felt weird to refer to yourself as kids. After everything that's happened in the past year, all the fights and deaths, you forgot that you, Mikey and the whole gang were still just kids.

A small sigh falls from Mikey's lips as you settle back into place. As you two sit there in comfortable silence, you begin to feel your eyelids growing heavy.

Lacing your fingers through his you begin playing with his finger tips, tracing along each detail of his calloused hand. "How about in twelve years or something then?" You blurt out suddenly.

Your voice was drowsy and soft as you fought the urge to fall asleep. Mikey chuckled. "Don't know. Like jobs?"

You shrug.

"Maybe like a mechanic or a motorcycle racer- I don't know?" He says. "I think it's easier to think about other people's futures."

You raise a brow and glance at him through your lashes. "What do you mean?"

"Like Takemitchy and Hinata," he starts. "They're gonna get married, Kenny and Emma too."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Kenny and Emma are gonna have a kid too, they're gonna name it Manjiro Jr." He says jokingly.

You scoff. "They are not." Surprisingly, Mikey doesn't argue back, letting the silence take over again. The wind howls and you shudder against the cold. A yawn escapes you before speaking up again. "Is that something you want?"

Mikey raises an eyebrow. "Is what?"

Suddenly nervous you drop his hand and your gaze to the grass. Picking at the earth you swallow, your face growing hot. "A kid."

He doesn't respond and you can't tell what he's thinking, too distracted by your own heartbeat pounding in your ears.

"Obviously not now- y'know!"

Mikey chuckles nervously and sucks in a breath. "I would hope not." He wraps an arm around your waist to pull you closer to him, pushing your face into his chest. "How about we just worry about this year?"

You nod against him. "Okay."

And then once again it was silent. The wind brushed against you two but you found warmth in each other's bodies. You take a long blink, your eyelids drooping lazily.

"Oh.. hey," you start before yawning. "We didn't have our New Year's kiss yet."

Mikey hums. At first it didn't seem like he was going to do or say anything, but before you could follow up your observation he brings a cold hand to your face, cupping your cheek before leaning in and placing his lips against yours. His lips were chapped from the cold and you could still taste whatever candy he had been eating at the festival. Somewhere in the distance fireworks boomed and crackled.

When you pull away you roll away and flop onto your back with a satisfied sigh. Allowing your eyes to flutter shut. You hear the movement of Mikey as he scoots closer to you.

"You can go to sleep," a hand brushes against your face and you shiver.

"I'll be here when you wake up."