I wonder if you have some ship with Kengan ladies and some headcanons of these? Can sfw or not.
One hc ship I have is Togo x Hiyama, stealing her away from the abusive husband
Well, *now* I have a ship headcanon thanks to you. I really liked Togo, so I decided to expand your idea with a short story since I'm not the best at thinking up stuff for women without sounding forced 🫠
For Your Own Good
-
The rain had just begun when Tomari first noticed it.
Not the weather.
Hiyama.
Across the marble floor of the Kengan Association headquarters, executives drifted between conversations with polished smiles and expensive suits, glasses of champagne clinking softly beneath crystal chandeliers. It was another meeting of people who measured worth in billions of yen and human lives.
Tomari Togo hated almost every second of it.
She leaned lazily against one of the enormous pillars, swirling amber whisky in her glass as several CEOs wisely chose not to approach her. The "Merchant of Death" had a reputation for biting harder than she smiled.
Which was saying something.
Her narrow eyes wandered across the room until they landed on the tiny CEO of Wakasa Life Insurance.
Hiyama Shunka looked exactly as she always did.
Perfect.
Her pale blue kimono sat without a wrinkle. Every strand of her neat black bob rested precisely where it belonged, the blunt bangs ending just above those large, dark eyes. Even standing completely still, there was an unusual precision to her posture, as though every breath had been measured beforehand.
She checked the watch hidden beneath her sleeve.
Six seconds.
Looked toward the entrance.
Three seconds.
Straightened a flower arrangement by exactly half an inch.
One second.
The front doors opened.
Akoya Seishu entered.
Tomari's grin widened.
"Of course."
Like clockwork.
Literally.
───
She watched without meaning to.
Or perhaps she did mean to.
Akoya crossed the room, every movement stiff with military discipline. The conversations around him seemed to quiet instinctively.
People feared him.
Tomari simply found him exhausting.
Hiyama lowered her head ever so slightly when he reached her.
No smile.
No greeting.
No warmth.
Only quiet acceptance.
Then Akoya reached out.
His hand closed around her wrist.
Not lovingly.
Firmly.
Enough that Tomari noticed the faint tightening around Hiyama's eyes.
Pain.
Tiny.
Almost invisible.
Most people would have missed it.
Tomari didn't.
Akoya released her just as quickly.
They walked away together.
Five minutes later, when Hiyama reached for another document, Tomari caught sight of the faint red fingerprints blooming beneath the sleeve of her kimono.
No one else noticed.
Hiyama certainly behaved as though nothing had happened.
Tomari finished her whisky in one swallow.
"...How unbelievably dull."
One of her secretaries blinked.
"Ma'am?"
"I've decided I dislike him."
"...Mr. Seishu?"
"I dislike anyone who mistakes ownership for affection."
───
Over the next month, curiosity became observation.
Observation became obsession.
Not with Akoya.
With Hiyama.
Tomari learned that the woman truly did live by the second.
At exactly 7:03 every morning, tea.
At 7:11, financial reports.
Lunch lasted precisely twelve minutes.
Every document was filed with mechanical efficiency.
Every meeting ended exactly when she predicted.
It should have impressed Tomari.
Instead...
It saddened her.
There was no spontaneity.
No mistakes.
No life.
Just someone desperately clinging to order.
As though if even one second slipped away...
Everything else would collapse with it.
───
The answer arrived one evening.
Tomari happened to be leaving another Association meeting when she saw Hiyama waiting quietly outside the building beneath a small umbrella.
She wasn't looking at the street.
She was looking at her watch.
Waiting.
Tomari checked her own.
Seven-oh-one.
Hiyama's eyes never left the road.
Seven-oh-two.
A police motorcycle rolled around the corner.
Akoya.
Exactly on schedule.
He removed his helmet without a word.
Hiyama stepped forward immediately.
Almost automatically.
Like breathing.
Like gravity.
As Akoya spoke, Tomari couldn't hear the conversation.
She didn't need to.
She saw Hiyama lower her head.
Saw Akoya frown.
Saw his hand seize her upper arm with enough force to wrinkle the silk of her kimono.
Hiyama apologized.
Again.
And again.
Until whatever invisible standard he'd been measuring her against had finally been satisfied, and she bowed her head in appreciation.
Only then did he let go.
They drove away together.
Tomari remained standing beneath the awning long after the rain had begun.
"...You're thanking him."
She laughed quietly to herself.
"You're thanking him."
There was something profoundly wrong about that.
───
The kidnapping wasn't planned.
Not originally.
Tomari preferred negotiations.
Bribes.
Hostile takeovers.
Those were civilized.
But civilized solutions required civilized people.
Akoya was many things.
Reasonable was not among them.
So when her surveillance team informed her that Hiyama would be leaving the Wakasa headquarters alone for exactly seventy-three seconds before Akoya arrived...
Tomari made a decision.
───
The black limousine slid silently against the curb.
Hiyama looked up from her watch.
Confusion crossed her face.
The rear window lowered.
Tomari smiled.
"Good evening."
"...President Togo?"
"Get in."
"...Pardon?"
"I said get in."
Hiyama blinked several times.
"I'm waiting for Akoya."
"I know."
"He'll arrive in..."
She glanced down.
"...Thirty-two seconds."
Tomari sighed dramatically.
"Yes. That's rather the issue."
"I don't understand."
"No one ever does."
Twenty-four seconds.
Hiyama remained rooted to the pavement.
Tomari stepped out of the limousine.
Up close, the difference between them was almost comical.
Hiyama barely reached her chin.
"So."
Tomari adjusted her glasses.
"I'm asking one final time. Would you kindly get into my car?"
"...No."
"...Excellent."
Before Hiyama could react, Tomari slipped one arm beneath her knees and another around her back.
With surprising ease, she lifted the tiny CEO clean off the ground.
"...Eh?"
Hiyama made the smallest, most bewildered sound Tomari had ever heard.
"I've been told I'm quite strong."
"President Togo—"
"Tomari."
"I—"
"You can complain once we're moving."
She deposited Hiyama gently onto the leather seat and climbed in after her.
The doors shut.
The driver accelerated.
As they turned the corner, Tomari glanced through the rear window.
Akoya had just arrived.
He stood perfectly still in the rain.
Watching the limousine disappear into traffic.
Even from this distance...
Tomari could almost feel the murderous intent rolling off him.
She laughed.
"Oh, this is going to become everyone's problem."
───
Hiyama sat perfectly upright beside her, hands folded neatly in her lap despite having just been abducted.
For nearly three full minutes...
She said nothing.
Then, very quietly—
"...I've been kidnapped."
Tomari nodded.
"Correct."
The silence that followed stretched on until Hiyama looked out the rain-speckled window.
"...I've never been kidnapped before."
"No?"
"No."
"...How disappointing."
For the first time since entering the car...
Tomari noticed the tiniest hint of confusion crease Hiyama's otherwise composed face.
It wasn't fear.
It wasn't anger.
She simply... didn't know how to process someone whose first response to kidnapping was disappointment that it hadn't happened sooner.
Tomari decided then and there that she rather liked her.
Before I go & order rigid mailers, cellophane covers, & A4 backing sheets, I'd like to know if there's any interest at all for mini prints of some of my art.
4x6 inches, glossy, & I'm thinking ~£6.
I'll print some more of my Kengan Ashura + other fandom art. & if you'd like a specific piece, it'll just take longer to order, but it's not impossible.
His back arches violently beneath you as the transformation rips through him mid-thrust. You feel it happen inside him first, his hole clamping down on your cock like a vice, the rhythmic pulse of his changing body milking you without mercy. His claws rake down your forearms, tearing through skin and drawing hot ribbons of crimson that drip onto his heaving chest. You grip his hips harder, forcing him to take every inch as his lycan form bulks and shifts beneath you.
His spine pops. His jaw elongates, fangs glistening with saliva as he snarls up at you, eyes blown to dark slits of pure animal hunger. You feel his insides rearrange around your shaft, tighter now, hotter, the friction building to something almost unbearable as his new form demands to be filled deeper, harder, ruined.
He claws at your shoulders, drawing you down, those beast eyes burning with Formless desperation of finding something that gives him a challenge. "Don't fucking stop," he rasps, voice guttural and broken. You feel his cock spilling precome untouched across his transforming abs, his body betraying how thoroughly he's submitting to your cock even as his claws draw fresh wounds across your back.
The pain is white-hot. You crave it. Every sting of his nails, every throb of his tightening lycan hole around your base, every desperate growl vibrating through his chest as you pound into his changing flesh. He could shred you open right now. The thought makes your balls tighten, your thrusts savage and uncontrolled.
You feel his hole flutter, then clamp in rhythmic spasms as his knot throbs and untouched cock erupts across his fur-sprouting stomach. His howl tears through the room, and you bury yourself to the hilt, letting his convulsing body wrench your own release from you, flooding his transformed guts while his claws sink deep enough to hit bone.
I usually don't post self-indulgent fics. So I was wondering if anyone would be interested to read an ongoing story I've been writing of my & a friend's OC being included in Kanoh Agito's backstory starting from his survival in the Russian-Mongolian border before he got taken in by The Other Niko.
It's pretty gruesome so I'm hesitant to share.
