My name is Katherine. I’m 28 years old and I try to write stuff (emphasis on the word ‘try’). Member of the @maplewood-valley and of @eveningatthemoviesnetwork.
This is a side blog. All likes and follows will come from my main @littlefreak-1
My only request is that you please be of age—meaning 18 and older—when reading my content. I’m not responsible for what happens if you aren’t.
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Happy reading! 💕
Gradient dividers by: @cafekitsune
*pictures are from Pinterest
Here is my submittal for the 2025 Falloween writing event hosted by the one and only @unintentionalseductress, featuring yearning vampire!Nanami x human!reader.
Content warning(s): *not proofread*, penetrative sex, potential/slight dub con, rebound sex that’s due to a bloodlust induced haze that’s causes things to go awry VERY QUICKLY, monster-fucking (?), power imbalance of a sexual nature, mentions of a stalker, violence, minor character death, angst, emotional infidelity, a lackluster engagement/failing relationship, mentions of blood, blood drinking, potential hypovolemic shock, Nanami is a bit of a homewrecker if I'm being completely honest here, fem!reader insert, reader insert goes through it in this and is a bit of an emotional wreck, Nanami affectionately refers to reader as "little one"... and maybe a slight dacryphilia kink, as well?
I'm trying something a little different with the formatting here, so it's a little bit different in comparison to the other pieces that I've written. I hope that you all enjoy it :)
Tags: @pixelcafe-network
18+/MDNI!
Thank you for having me once again, Ray!
WC: 11.5 K
(sorry that I was late on getting this out)
But he talks like a gentleman
Like you imagined
Three and a half, nearly four, years of your life completely wasted.
Three and a half, nearly four years, of your life where you pretended to be interested in organized sports, hobbies that you got absolutely no enjoyment out of, and conversations with people that—quite frankly—bored the ever loving hell out of you, all while you put on a smile and attempted to be pleasant with them when they couldn’t even afford you the same courtesy.
Just for the sake of your partner. Now ex, that is.
You stared at the wedding ring on the counter as it laid before you—as if it were some kind of venomous snake that was poised to strike at any moment. Your fiancé had chosen it along with yours when the two of you had gone ring shopping nearly a year ago. You should have seen this coming, hell, you were damn near expecting this to happen—what, with the forgotten anniversaries, the failed attempts at dates or nights out, the shortened conversations, the lack of warmth that was offered whenever you would try to initiate even the most basic of physical affection.
It didn’t mean that it didn’t hurt any less, though.
The recorded message that he left for you relayed through your consciousness once again.
“Hey… Y/N…
“I just wanna start this off by saying that I’m sorry. I know that this is a conversation that’s best done face to face… but I’m clearly too much of a coward to do that.
“I wanna break off the engagement. I don’t know where things started to go bad, but I feel that it’s best to end things now rather than go through the whole ceremony, when you and I both know that the marriage isn't going to last. It isn’t fair to me, and it certainly isn’t fair to you.
“I’ll be spending the next couple of days at my folks place. I’ll come back over tomorrow to start moving my stuff out. And don’t worry about telling our friends and family. I’ll explain everything to them. It’s my mess, and I’ll do my best to clean it up.
“I pray that you find someone that can commit to you and cherish you the way that you deserve to be cherished. I just—can’t be that person for you.
“Again… I’m really sorry—for letting this go on for so long, for essentially leading you on… I’m just… really sorry.”
A fucking voicemail? That’s all that he left you?
Didn’t you deserve a little bit more respect than that?
The engagement ring that nestled and imprinted itself onto the skin of your left ring finger began to feel more and more prominent, almost becoming painful to you, as the reality of the situation truly began to sink in.
You had been dumped. Plain and simple.
Your relationship was now as dead as the leaves that had littered the ground, now it being deep into the season of autumn.
The man that you thought that you were going to potentially spend the rest of your life with decided that you were no longer enough for him—and you may know why or you may not know why—but ultimately, it was a decision that was made by your fiance, now former, that had its consequences upon you and your already fragile state of being.
You slowly lifted your head from the piece of jewelry on the counter, and meandered your way to where your shared bedroom was. With each step that you took, you felt like your body was moving through water with how slow your body moved. Your bedroom looked untouched for the most part, however, upon more careful examination, it appeared that your ex had cleared off most of his belongings on his half of the bed and the nightstand. Your eyes lacklusterly shifted from the bed to the double closet doors—with heavy hands, you slowly turned the knobs only to reveal that the majority of their half of the closet had also been cleaned out as well, with only a handful of shirts still attached to hangers and a couple of folded pants still remaining on the shelves—your half remained as it was when you had last saw it this morning.
Your hands slowly slid down the frames of the doors beside you, a shuddering breath escaping you as you continued to look into the near barren space; a whisper of a defeated sigh escaped from your lips as your head dipped down ever so slightly.
Your heart sank into your stomach and your chest caved inward. A lump had arisen in the back of your throat and a strangled gasp escaped from you as you nearly staggered forward into the enclosed space.
You knew this was coming. You shouldn’t be upset.
Tears burned in your eyes, threatening to spill over—your trunk curled forward, forcing you out of an upright position and rendering you to your hands and knees as a guttural sob ripped itself from the deepest crevices of your soul. You swiped away at the tears that managed to successfully stream down your face with the back of your hand; the shame burned itself deep within your chest, making you feel as if you were extremely small.
You knew this was coming. You shouldn’t be upset.
Why are you crying?
The subtle and gentle touch of a hand with its fingers splayed out as it tenderly pressed itself to your backside brought you back to the present.
A soft, velvet voice rumbled behind you. “What has you so upset, little one?”
You slowly craned your head over your shoulder to see a perfectly tailored beige suit, perfectly side parted and styled blonde hair, and carmine eyes that nearly glowed in the darkened atmosphere of your room.
Kento.
You sniffled and a staggered attempt at an inhale to try and calm yourself down sounded from you. “A lot… a lot of things,” you meekly whimpered. Your eyes drifted past to see that the window had been broken into from the outside, the curtains that hung from the sides of the frame gently blowing into the room from the evening, autumn breeze. “I thought I told you to use the front door, I can’t have the neighbors thinking that I’m getting my house broken into,” you scolded as you used the sleeve of your shirt to wipe away at your face. “What are you even doing here, anyways?”
He looked sheepish for a moment, before regaining his composure. “I was in the neighborhood, and I heard you crying. I thought that you were hurt.”
You hung your head. “I don’t think that you can mend this one, Kento.”
He shuffled around you to where he squatted down to your level. With a tender grip, he grasped his hands around your arms to pull your attention back to his face. The red irises bore into yours. “What happened?” Kento asked—almost a coo, if you wished it to be.
Your face crumpled and your voice cracked, once again overwhelmed with emotion. “He broke off the engagement,” you wailed as you covered your face with your hands. “Left the ring on the counter in the kitchen, and all. He didn’t even have the guts to tell it to my face, all he left me was a goddamn voice mail!” You nearly spat out the last part, rage now flooding through you as the sadness subsided for just a moment.
Through your emotionally charged state, Kento merely gathered you into his arms and pulled you into him, allowing you to rest your head against his chest and listen to the steady rate of his controlled breathing. Though, truthfully speaking, he shouldn’t be anywhere near you, at the current moment. Kento, while he was in the area, didn’t just stop by to be with you—he was off to find his next meal. It had been at least a month since he had last fed and his throat was burning with thirst. The thrumming of your heart, the rushing of your blood in your veins and arteries that he could easily visualize with his heightened senses—all were a sirens song to his ears.
And your scent? By god, your scent.
An aroma so mouthwatering and enticing, that he could feel the venom start to pool within his salivary glands. It was as if he were being presented with a meal so luxurious and plentiful, but he hadn’t been given any permission to eat it.
It’s a shame that the meal in question was a fragile, little human that had somehow managed to worm their way into his favor and endearment.
What a cruel irony, really.
A subtle bloodlust began to make itself known in Kento’s subconscious, but he quickly beat it back to the best of his ability. He would not harm you. He’s come to care for you far too much to do any sort of nefarious dealings to you.
Your ex, however… well, that might end up being a different thing, entirely.
The bell rang above the front entrance door to the cafe, signifying to you and your coworkers that a customer had just entered the shop.
At first, you were confused. It was nearing eight o’clock at night and the cafe was nearing to close its operations for the day. You hardly got any customers at this time of night.
While attempting to dredge the counter with flour so that you could roll out and shape the next batch of dough, you looked up to see quite literally the most handsome man that you ever had the pleasure of laying your eyes on. He easily could have been a top tier male model on the cover of a Vogue magazine, for all you knew.
“Welcome in, sir. How may I assist you today?” you greeted, wiping your hands off with the excess flour that coated them, keeping your voice light and cheery, all while trying to fight off the exhaustion that plagued you. You were seven hours in a ten hour shift and you had yet to receive your break—both your feet and your back ached something fierce.
“Hello.” Goddamn, even his voice was alluring. “May I please order just a small black coffee?”
You punched the order into the register. “Anything else that you would like, sir?”
“No, thank you. That will be all,” he said, reaching one hand into his suit jacket to pull out his wallet.
“Alright. The total will come out to $1.49.”
With the exact change handed to you, you could feel his stare on you as you inputted the money into the register. Normally, you wouldn’t have given it a second thought, but the customers that came into the cafe often weren’t devastatingly beautiful, either. You could feel your face start to heat up just a touch, and your hands beginning to shake—wait, were you becoming shy?
Nonetheless, you carried on. “Would you like your receipt?”
A small, courteous smile was offered to you. “No, thank you.”
“I should have it out to you in a few minutes. You’re more than welcome to take a seat.” You gestured to the near empty seating area with an open palm.
“Aren’t you going to take my name?” the handsome stranger prodded, slightly arching an eyebrow at you.
You paused, slightly caught off guard by the question. He was the only customer in the shop right now, why on earth would you need to take down his name? “Uh… sure,” you balked, “... can I take your name for your order?”
That small, courteous smile then formed into a chuckle, like he was being told a funny joke. “Kento Nanami.”
“Alright… Kento, I’ll call your name when your coffee is ready.”
“Thank you.”
Wasting no time, you immediately turned to the automatic coffee drip and started to brew up a fresh pot for him. Throwing in a coffee filter, you leaned down to grab the opened bag of coffee grounds before the man named Kento began to strike up a conversation with you.
“The ring that you’re wearing is very beautiful,” he commented, nodding his head to the engagement ring that sat on your left ring finger.
“Hm?” You glanced over your shoulder to give him a halfhearted smile. “Oh, thank you.”
“Are you engaged, by chance?”
Your hands remained busy as you filled the brewer with water and coffee grounds. “I am, in fact. I’ve been engaged since the start of February of this year. My fiancé actually proposed to me on Valentine’s Day, if you can believe that,” you chuckled, trying to recall fondly upon the memory—but, matter of fact, it wasn’t a pleasant one, at all.
On that day, when you had come home from working a double shift, hoping to find either a hot, homecooked meal prepared, a box of chocolates, or at the very least a bouquet of flowers… only to find your fiance dead asleep on the couch, with several empty bottles of alcohol surrounding him. You only happened to find the ring, by chance, on the dining room table when you went into the kitchen to make yourself something to eat.
You fought back the bitterness that rose in your chest at the notion of having your marriage proposal feel somewhat “cheated”—and this apparently didn’t go unnoticed on your face, either.
“Is something the matter?” Kento asked, his smile faltering slightly. “I hope that I haven’t prodded too much.”
“No.” Your eyes don’t leave the carafe as it slowly filled with each drop of a freshly brewed pot. “You didn’t. I promise.”
“You seem upset.”
“I’m not. I swear.” Your voice is curt, clearly indicating otherwise, and you hoped that Kento doesn’t push any further.
Thankfully, he didn’t.
You poured the hot liquid into a 12 ounce cup, quickly capping it with a plastic lid. You turned and presented him with his drink. “Kento? Kento Nanami?” you called out, like he wasn’t standing directly in front of you.
“Funny,” Kento playfully replied, reaching forward to grab the cup from your outstretched hand. His fingers brushed against yours as he took the cup from you, and you could have sworn that he purposefully held his hand there for just a second longer than he normally should have—like he wanted to maintain physical contact with you. He brings the cup back to the center of his chest, before asking you another question. “Do you have a date set for your wedding?”
You gave him a tight lipped smile—you really wished that he would stop asking you about it. “No. Not yet, at least,” you answered, trying to twist the truth around to where it didn’t seem like your fiance was disengaged in your relationship as he truly was, “seems that every time that we try to sit down and actually discuss it… life seems to get in the way of things.”
“Mmm…” Kento mused, glancing down at the cup for just a moment, then glancing back up to your gaze. “Well, when it does end up happening, I’m sure that the ceremony will be beautiful.”
Before you could utter another word, he swiftly turned around and exited the cafe to go into late summer night, leaving you with a confused expression. Within that same minute, you watched as Kento, mere feet away from the entrance of the cafe, uncapped the cup that you just made him and completely dumped the rest of it onto the ground and tossed the rest of the contents into a nearby public waste bin.
You stood in disbelief at the sight of freshly, hot coffee staining the ground before briskly turning back around to the preparation counter to continue working with the pastry dough letting out an annoyed huff as you did so.
If he didn’t want the fucking coffee, then why bother you to make a new pot for him to begin with?!
What a dick move, you thought to yourself before angrily kneading the dough with both hands.
Unbeknownst to you, Kento let out a soft chuckle as he could hear how irritated you were with him. Truth be told, he hadn’t intended to go into the little café that sat on the far corner of the street that he was traversing on. He was simply passing through when his eyes landed on you as you quietly worked. The way that the sweat coated your skin, how stray strands of baby hairs wisped near or around your face.
Kento wasn’t sure why, but it was a simple beauty about you that he found himself allured to.
And when he actually stepped into the cafe, and caught a whiff of your scent?
Yeah, he was hooked.
He wanted to see you again. He would see you again. He was absolutely sure of it.
For whatever strange reason, in the reaches of his soulless existence… he wanted to get closer to you. He could tell that you were unhappy about your relationship when you seemed to talk about it. Maybe your fairytale prince isn’t all cracked up to be, he cynically thought.
No matter. He would eventually find out the truth.
Kento, trying to be cognizant of your shaking form, slid his arms under your body before lifting you off the ground to place you in an upright position at the very end of the bed. With the inhuman quickness that wasn’t visible to your naked eye, he darted to the connected bathroom where a box of tissues awaited him. Grabbing the box, he ripped out several sheets before he suddenly apparated in front of you—the sudden appearance nearly making you jump out of fright.
He lowly shushed you as you kneeled down in front of you, using one of the tissues to wipe away at the wetness that coated your cheeks. His heart—if it could beat—hurt for you, truly it did.
You had eventually calmed yourself down enough to where your sobs had momentarily stilled, but you still avoided his gaze, eyelashes soaked with the tears that escaped your eyes as the sadness returned once again to the forefront of your mind—now all that remained was the grief. Grief for how much of your time was wasted, how much effort you put into the relationship to try and make it work… only for it to end up blowing up in your face.
Kento could tell that you were starting spiral as meekly sat before him. “Look at me,” he gently commanded, willing you to raise your head to meet him half way, somewhat.
You slowly raised your eyes to meet Kento’s concerned ones.
“It was extraordinarily disrespectful and cowardly of your… of him… to not tell you that he wanted to end things with you directly to your face. You didn’t deserve that, and I’m sorry that things ended up that way,” Kento started off with, using the tissue to now dab away at your eyes, “but you weren’t happy with him. Anyone with eyes could see that… hell, even I figured that out within the first few moments of meeting you.” He used his other free hand to cup the other side of your face, his thumb gently stroking along your cheekbone in soothing motions. “If you had gone through with marrying him, you would have even ended up even more unhappy than you already were to begin with.”
Your bottom lip trembled, as another sob threatened to bubble over from within your chest as Kento spoke to you—but these were words that you needed to hear, regardless.
It was true, to say the least. You were unhappy with him, but you had hoped against hope that if you chose to stay with him through thick and thin and look through all of his imperfections that things would eventually change; turns out you were dead wrong.
It was like clockwork at this point.
Kento would, quite literally, come into the cafe eight o’clock on the dot every single night and would order a single small black coffee every single time.
And every single time, you would be the person to ring him up and serve him his order.
At first, you kept it cordial, even though you found it to be incredibly irksome that he would constantly dump out the contents of your hard labor; he would often ask you questions about your life, what you liked, what you disliked, etc. You thought that it was odd, why he was so inquisitive and incessant to keep poking into your life, and just… well, damn near everything about you.
Some would find it obsessive. You didn’t.
You felt ashamed to admit this to yourself, but you actually liked the attention that he gave you; even when you had pledged your heart and loyalties to another that seemed to not care about you.
Some days, especially the bad ones where the insecurities would whisper into your consciousness, you don’t think that he even liked you, anymore.
“Okay, do I really need to brew up a new pot every single time that you come in if you’re just going to dump it out on the street the second that you step foot out of the shop?” you huffed as you held onto the handle of the empty carafe, now completely doing away with formalities. “It’s extremely wasteful and I don’t know why you keep spending your money here if you keep doing that.”
He stared at you, amusement coloring his features. His hands were tucked away into the pockets of his suit jacket, standing in front of you in a relaxed manner. “It’s not my fault that the coffee pot is empty by the time I get in here,” he chuckled, the skin around his eyes crinkling as he smiled at you. “Do you find it annoying that I do that?”
“Kind of, yeah!” you almost snapped. You whipped around and shoved the carafe back into the pot holder. “I feel like it’s a complete waste of my time and your money.”
He let out a low hum as he pursed his lips together into a fine line, cocking his head to the side; seemingly debating whether or not to tell you the truth of the matter on why he continued to visit the cafe. A light shrug from his shoulders settled before it appeared that he made his decision.
Alright, then. A half truth, he decided.
“Needed an excuse to keep coming back, I suppose.”
You glanced at him over your shoulder, a skeptical eyebrow raised at his response, before turning back to the coffee machine to brew up another pot where you knew some of it would inevitably end up on the ground outside. “And what is that, exactly?”
“To keep seeing you.”
Your motions stopped and you stood up straight. You sharply executed a one eighty degree turn, your expression serious and your jaw set. Your voice is stern as you continued, “There better not be any ulterior motives to that statement—and if there is, then that’s highly inappropriate. I’m engaged, and I know that you know that.”
It was always a sore spot in your conversations whenever your engagement would come up—Kento could tell with the way that your face tightened and your answers became shorter and more terse. You knew that it was wrong to be so enraptured with another man when you were already in a years-long relationship with your fiance.
“Engaged to a man that can’t even do the bare minimum for his partner?”
You reeled back at Kento’s response, gawking at him in astonishment. “Excuse me? Who in the hell are you to comment on whether or not my fiancé makes me happy?”
“A man that, according to you, may have ulterior motives.” A smirk formed on his face, finding enjoyment out of how much he was riling you up at the moment. “Listen, I may not hold any significance in your life, but I find it incredibly hard to believe that I, an individual that you’ve known for little less than a month, knows more about you than a man that you claim that you have been in a relationship with for the past three years.” He looked down at his shoes, before scoffing. “It’s kind of sad, really.”
Now, you were angry. “My… my fiance knows me!” you cried out, borderlining on a whine.
“I doubt it.” His eyes glanced back up to you, and this is where you truly got to see the blood red that colored his irises, startling you. “He stopped trying a long time ago, and he doesn’t change because he knows that you’ll still keep crawling back to him with every incompetent mistake that he makes.”
You raised your eyebrows at him, completely speechless.
“He’s fine with the status quo because you have never indicated otherwise.” He pulled out one of his hands from his pockets to pull out his wallet to dig out a paper bill. “I think the saddest thing, however, in this whole… debacle, if you will…” you watched as he put a $50 bill into the tip jar to the side of the register, “is that you know it—and you continue to tolerate it.”
You stared at him in disbelief as he essentially called you out on your bullshit—read you to absolute filth; you were stunned, actually. There was a moment of silence that passed as you continued to stare at him, left speechless. You didn’t even react when the automatic drip machine beeped behind you, signifying that the pot had finished brewing—you couldn’t, really.
He lifted his free hand to point past you. “The coffee’s done.”
Another pregnant pause, and then you felt your jaw jut out just slightly as you robotically turned back around to grab the hot carafe off the warming plate before pouring it into another 12 ounce cup. You damn near had to stop yourself from throwing it directly in his face as you capped it with the lid and placed it on the counter in front of him.
Kento’s eyes flitted down to the cup, then back up to you. “Listen, I don’t say these things to be either rude or hurtful.” To some extent, he was being truthful. He really wasn’t trying to be ill mannered, but someone had to say it, and you clearly weren’t paying attention to the situation as it unfolded before you. “I say these things because you need to hear them. Either, someone tells you now—or you end up in a dead end marriage… or worse yet, you go through divorce court and wind up drowning in legal fees. Lawyers aren’t cheap, as I’m sure you’re aware.”
Your eyes fell from his to the register—subtle embarrassment burning in the pit of your stomach as Kento defended himself, while also offering you morsels of comfort where he could. He wasn’t the first to tell you this, but you were too stubborn to admit otherwise.
Now it just stung. It stung how much a complete stranger could blatantly pick up on how disconnected both you and your fiance were from each other; it was humiliating, really.
Kento was somewhat able to pick up on the internal debate that you were having with yourself, and urged his voice to be a touch softer. He leaned his head down to try and catch your gaze, “Aren’t you deserving of someone who treats you well and actually puts in the effort, not just into the relationship, but into you, as well?”
A beat of silence passed, as you continued to stare down the register; shame had long replaced the flash of anger that you held towards Kento. You couldn’t bring yourself to look him in the eye or even utter another word to him, especially after he denounced your entire engagement and the quality of relationship that you had with your partner.
He sighed, and picked the cup of coffee off the counter, and stalked off to the exit. He paused momentarily, before he craned his head to look at you from over his shoulder. “I meant what I said, by the way. Every single word.”
You still don’t respond.
He sucked in another breath. “Do with that what you will.” He pushed the door open and the bell rang above, but stopped himself, once again. “I’ll be sure to give this to someone on the street if they desire to have it.”
Kento disappeared into the night, an unfamiliar feeling of longing filling his chest with each step that he took—that took him further and further away from you. The small intrigue that he had upon you, now manifesting itself into full blown attraction. He found himself enamored with you, with every interaction that he had with you.
With each thought of you, it further brought upon the limerence that seduced him even to a length that he knew was unhealthy. His throat burned with thirst, the monstrous side that he did his absolute best to keep dormant reared its ugly head—desperate to make itself known.
Kento would not scare you off; it was apparent that he had become attached to you… but there was going to come a point where he knew that it was going to reveal itself to you.
He hoped, for both his sake and yours, that it wouldn’t develop into anything further.
Oh, how wrong he was.
You sucked in a deep breath in hopes of it stabilizing you to prevent you from reducing yourself back to sobbing again. You unintentionally leaned your face into the palm of his hand, seeking out some form of physical affection that you had long been starved of—the kind where it offered warmth and comfort and not just out of pure lust and wanton need.
You couldn’t even recall a time where even your ex had provided you with nonsexual affection; now that you pondered upon it, it seemed that the only time that he ever wanted anything to do with you was when he wanted to fuck you. Just a body to get his fill and then move on to the next thing—like you were just an object instead of his lover.
Genuinely, when was the last time that someone had actually put forth your pleasure and your satisfaction above theirs?
Kento’s throat, now completely on fire, ached with a fury as he settled his eyes upon the pulsating throb of your carotid artery within the juncture of your neck and your shoulder; his pupils dilated, now almost overtaking his irises. If he were a rabid dog, he would have been foaming at the mouth by now, he was absolutely sure of it. Kento inhaled a shuttered breath, now attempting to regain some semblance of self control within himself.
You were not his meal. You were not his meal, goddammit.
“Kento?”
Your voice ripped him out of his inattention, now drawing his focus back onto you. You still looked like a wreck, your face swollen and your eyes bloodshot, but at least you weren’t crying anymore. “Yes?” Jesus Christ, even his voice sounds parched.
You looked at him rather meekly, as your eyes darted off to a spot within a far corner of the room, suddenly finding yourself too bashful to even look him in the eyes anymore. Your shoulders rose as you curled into yourself, appearing to him like you were both mentally and physically preparing yourself for something.
There was a beat of silence before a mousy question pierced the air with the weight of a thousand tons, striking the oxygen out of Kento’s lungs as his ears registered it.
“Can you touch me?”
A million thoughts fluttered through his mind at the thought of it, both the id and the superego of his consciousness now coming to play. For the past several months, all he’s wanted was you. He knew that he could treat you a thousand times better than what your piece of shit ex ever could, that much was blatantly obvious to anyone that bore witness to it—if it were up to him, you would have never had to beg for tenderness and devotion to begin with.
However, as it stood right now, with you in his arms and with everything that had unfolded… it wouldn’t have been acceptable for Kento to take advantage of you while you were still in such an emotionally fragile and heightened state. He may consider himself to be an abomination that shouldn’t exist, but he still was a gentleman, after all.
“No, little one. We shouldn’t.” His voice is jagged, and he doesn’t believe it himself when he says it. “It wouldn’t be fair to do that-”
“Why?!” you bawled, frustration evident in your tone, and the tears threatening to burn in your eyes once more. With rationality somewhat still cognizant, you had a feeling that it was because of how sensitive and fraught you were—but rationality was the last thing on your mind right now. All that consumed you was the skewed thought of how unlovable you thought you were, even though it was entirely untrue in Kento’s eyes. ”Why can’t it? I’m the one that’s asking here! I’m the one that’s consenting, goddamit!”
“Y/N, no, it’s not gonna happen.”
He would kill you if it progressed any further, he was sure of it.
“Please,” you all but begged, desperate for a validation that you felt only could have been remedied in a sexual nature; voicing a tone so pathetic and pitiful—that you’ve never, not once used it in your life before. Not with your family, and certainly not with him. You leaned your head against his, your eyes closed and prayed that you would somehow be able to change his mind. Your bottom lip trembled as you continued, “all I want is to feel something else other than this heartache that I’m drowning in and I know that you care for me more than you let on. It’s not fair of me to ask this of you, and I know that, but I just don’t care right now.”
The mere sight of you, eyes completely bloodshot, your bottom lip trembling, and your cheeks wet with tears once again, almost folded Kento’s abstainment. The way that you wailed and pleaded with him—God help him—sent lightning bolts of pleasure directly to his abdomen, his hardening member started to strain against the confinements of his slacks. He never thought of himself as the type of man to truly get off on the idea of someone crying and begging him, but apparently he was learning all sorts of new things about himself tonight.
Kento could hear your heart rate spike in rhythm, increasing the systematic pumping of your arteries, which in turn, only served to worsen his bloodlust. He felt the canines of his upper jaw start to sharpen to a point in his mouth, both pools of saliva and venom filling his mouth, nearly salivating at the near sight, sound, and smell of you.
He can’t…
He shouldn’t…
He mustn't…
You looked at him once more, cupping his face with both of your hands, attempting now to bring his focus back onto you as he bore a thousand yard stare upon you.
“Please,” you whispered, throwing all caution to the wind as the sight of a very thirsty vampire displayed before you. “I know what I’m asking here… please.”
Your words registered, and the beast within stirred awake; if it wasn’t the way that your blood sang to Kento as his thirst threatened to consume him, then it certainly was how pathetic you were becoming for him. The part that existed inside of him when he had opened his eyes and breathed his first breath into his life as a freshly turned vampire. It was the part of him that he often tried to keep buried away deep within the confines of his subconsciousness.
Give into it, it whispered, give it a taste.
Kento sat back on the haunches of his feet, no longer allowing himself to touch you as his rationality and his morality toed a very fine line.
You genuinely had no idea what you were asking of him right now.
He screwed his eyes shut, eyebrows furrowed, his jaw set, and his breathing labored—making one last ditch attempt to try and appeal to his better angels for the very last time.
Your hand reached forward to place a hand to his cheek. “...Kento?”
His eyes flashed open, an animalistic presence in place of the rationalized man that you knew so well. The fire burned his throat, and he was all but a slave to the monster inside of him at this point in time.
Oh, damn it all to hell! it screamed at him, fed up with the indecisiveness of the host it claimed.
Kento launched himself onto you, forcibly pushing you backwards back onto the bed. The frame slid backwards, nearly breaking against the wall due to sheer impact. The sudden change in positions made you gasp out loud, but you quickly found your mouth covered with Kento’s—both yours and his teeth clacking together and his tongue massaging against yours.
His hands gripped your pants and your underwear into his fists and with little to no effort on his part:
Rrrrriiiiiippppp
The clothes that covered your legs and your core were now long gone, leaving you utterly bare underneath him.
Your breath caught in your throat, gazing upon the man that towered above you, watching in complete awe of him. The ruby red eyes that you’ve come to find comfort and solace in blazed into the darkness of the night, darted from your face, all the way down to find your cunt completely soaked in your essence. His hands slid down the sides of your abdomen, his nails now lengthened to talons as it finally broke free from its enclosure, transforming him into the monster that he always feared would reveal itself one day; a shaky exhale sounded from his lips as the intoxicating sound of your erratic heart rhythm registered in his ears.
Badump.
Badump.
Badump.
The quickened thumping is all that you heard as you sped walked on the city pavement—long into the late autumn night and the majority of people had gone home from work and were tucked away into their homes for the remainder of the night.
The only person that was currently out right now was you… and a shadow that you had no claim to.
He’s been following you for a while now; ever since you closed up shop, his shadow is all that you’ve seen over your shoulder since you’ve tried to make the trek back home. He visited the cafe earlier in the day, but he lingered in the dining room and refused to leave until your manager essentially forced him out of the premises when it officially had reached closing time. He had hung around within proximity of the cafe, and that alone was enough to sound off the alarm bells inside your mind.
Throughout the time that he had spent in the cafe, he watched you with lascivious eyes; it was enough to make you uncomfortable within the first five minutes of him looking at you through a lewd lens. You could feel his stare on you as you tried to go about your daily work duties, trying your absolute best to try and busy yourself with tasks to keep your mind occupied otherwise. Your mind couldn’t even wander because you were too acutely aware as he continued to look at you, and only you.
It was nothing like when Kento did it, you snidely thought to yourself.
You had tried phoning your fiance to see if he could either pick you up or walk home with you—only to be sorely disappointed and slightly panic stricken when all of your calls ended up unreceived. It then dawned on you that he was hanging out with a group of friends that—to be frank—you weren’t exactly on friendly terms with. He never bothered to check his phone when he was out with them, no matter how many times you ended up getting on his case for it; not to be controlling, but just to be in contact with him if something happened to either you or him.
For you, unfortunately, that something was happening right now.
You were the last to leave your place of work, as you normally were designated the closing shift on most nights that you were scheduled. Your phone was now dead after having tried numerous times to try and reach your fiancé, all to no avail.
The anxiety in your chest began to overwhelm you, your pace increasing from a fast paced walk to a light jog now. Even when you tried to increase your distance, it seemed that your shadow simultaneously did the same thing, as well. You sensed that he was nearly close enough to you to almost put a hand on your shoulder; you tensed yourself up, preparing your body to either break out into a sprint or be ready to fight the stranger, if necessary—only to feel and hear the sound of wind whipping behind you, the air biting at the back of your neck where your skin was exposed.
You swiveled around in a complete one eighty degree turn, expecting to come face to face with your assailant—only to find an empty street.
Your eyebrows furrowed, your respiration rate—that almost mimicked your heart rhythm in terms of erraticism—began to slow down, your eyes darted from place to place, looking for your shadow as slight confusion overtook the anxiety where it once held prominence in the forefront of your mind. The danger was gone… but where had it gone, you wondered.
People just don’t randomly disappear out of thin air; he was just here a second ago, and now he was gone just like that?
“—no! Please, STOP!”
The hairs on the back of your neck became ramrod straight as the sound of someone begging came from one of the back alleyways, your hands shaking, and your mouth went as dry as the Sahara desert with the perturbation returning in full force. You still weren’t safe.
“I have a wife! I have children, PLEASE!”
You should have run. You should have immediately turned back around and booked it in the opposite direction, back to a home that you would find completely empty—and yet, against your better judgment, without a single thought or consideration for your own safety and regard, your body felt like lead as it slowly inched forward to the alleyway where you could hear the pleas coming from.
“I suppose that you should have thought of that before you decided to harass someone near and dear to me.”
Your spine straightened when you heard another speak, your heart now in your throat. A voice that you knew all too well and had become familiar with, with each visit to the cafe that he had and each conversation that he struck up with you.
What in the world was Kento doing?
More importantly, what was he planning on doing?
Hidden behind the cover of the wall, you slowly peaked your head around the corner to watch the scene unveil itself before you.
Within ten feet from you, you could see that your shadow was being held up against the wall with Kento’s hand at his throat, his feet dangling with mere inches off the ground.
You could make out the figure of Kento as he bared a viscous front as he held the man hostage. It startled you to see him like this; the once kind, funny, sociable man that you had grown accustomed to was nowhere to be found in the man that was in the alleyway. Your bottom lip trembled, fraught at the sight of it. The way that he held the man at his throat with just one hand, strong enough to lift him off the ground and the way that you could see the devilish red glow from his eyes in the dark of the night—it frightened you, to say the least.
Kento Nanami was not human. That much you had gathered.
The man continued to struggle in his hold, gripping at his wrist with both of his hands and his feet swung back and forth—you could see that he was trying to scratch at Kento’s skin and well as try to aim his kicks at his chest, in hopes of landing a blow debilitating enough to try and wind him in order to secure him freedom and guarantee some form of escape. It was all for naught, however.
Kento just barely cocked his head to the side, like he was pondering something. “Hm… I suppose that it’s bad manners to play with my food.”
At a breakneck speed that your eyes simply couldn’t even sense or comprehend, Kento, rather effortlessly, as it appeared to you, crushed the man’s trachea, cervical spine, and spinal cord with just one squeeze of his hand; the crunch that came from the sound of the vertebrae being disintegrated made you cower where you stood. The body fell limp within his grip, all signs of struggle… and life were now gone.
The hum of a demonic growl pierced the air, and the next thing that you knew, his lips were at the dead man’s throat. His teeth sunk into the hollow, tearing away at a chunk of flesh before the blood began to ooze out. A strangled gasp sounded from Kento once more and immediately his mouth was back on the wound, again.
You don’t know how long you stood there as Kento drank and drained your assailant's body of his blood. You were frozen on the spot—a complete deer in the headlights, with your eyes locked onto the horrific scene as it continued to unveil itself in front of you.
This wasn’t happening.
This was not happening!
The reality and danger of the situation finally set in after Kento smoothly tossed the body off to the side on the opposite end of the alleyway, like he was trash that needed to be thrown away. The squelching of the body hitting the ground, and crumpling into a pile of lifeless flesh and bones had you stealthily high tailing it out of there, immediately sprinting back to your home without Kento noticing. Your legs were burning, a pain in your side so sharp and fierce that it felt like you were being stabbed, and you were so out of breath by the time that you reached your house that you could feel your heartbeat throughout your entire trunk.
Unbeknownst to you, Kento’s eyes had flicked over to where you previously stood, cowering in fear as he had fed upon the stalker for his late night meal. Regret started to swirl inside his abdomen, wishing that you hadn’t seen what had just unfolded. He hadn’t meant to scare you, truly he hadn’t—but in his mind, monsters must be dealt with accordingly, even if he was one to begin with.
There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that you would look at him differently now; that was a fate worse than dying of thirst after having spent so much time trying to earn your favor and companionship, as little as it may be.
You were too anxious to sleep, and you knew that you couldn’t go to the authorities about what had just happened. There was no way in hell that they would believe you—but most of all, you simply couldn’t believe what you had just seen either.
Someone that you considered to be, at the very least, a friend to you had murdered someone. What was worse yet, was that particular friend was a being that most people would have considered to be fictional.
Were vampires actually real? Or was it just your imagination playing tricks on you after having worked back to back doubles for the past six days? You prayed for the latter as you tried to tuck yourself into bed for the night, your mind still too keyed up and fear still rampant in your veins.
Eventually, the exhaustion came for you, and you fell asleep into the early hours of the morning. You don’t wake when your fiance stumbles in, completely sloshed from a night of drinking. When the sun arose the following day, you awoke to find a piece of paper tucked away into the crevice of the window frame. Plucking it free, you opened it up, only to reveal a simple message.
I hadn’t meant for you to see that. I promise you that I’m not the monster that you think I’m to be. I’ll see you soon.
-KN
A tender expression colored Kento’s face as he gazed down upon you, a slight moment of humanity breeching past the frenzied bloodlust that hazed his consciousness. He leaned his forehead against yours, letting out a constipated exhale, trying to find some method to try and ground himself as every instinct inside him screamed at him to devour the meal that laid beneath him.
He would not harm you.
His lips captured yours once more, the fervorness taking a much more gentler approach than previous; one hand went to cup the side of your face and the other went to start undoing and freeing himself of the clothes that proved to be restraints against the skin to skin contact that he desperately craved from you. To allow himself to feel you in the most primitive way.
In a mere matter of seconds, he presented himself to you, naked as the day he was born. Your breath caught in your throat as you gazed at him, taking in his form and the absolute heartbreaking beauty that his body could offer to you—it was almost unfair, really. He leaned down over you, both arms beside your head as he essentially caged you underneath him. Perching down to one elbow, Kento reached down with one hand to grip his hardened cock, guiding it to your weeping entrance. He glanced down, then back up to your face, intent on looking to see if you had any discomfort or objection to what was about to transpire between the two of you.
As if you could read his mind, you nodded your head yes and gripped his shoulders—both mentally and physically preparing yourself.
And with that in mind, Kento fully sheathed himself inside of you; your warm, wet walls creating the most euphoric sensation to his centuries old body, that almost made him reminisce on the very first moment that he tasted human blood in his new life.
His hips thrust forward on their own accord, seeking out the pleasure and snugness of your cunt as it hugged around his cock the more that he moved in and out of you at a consistent rate. For a brief moment, as the sexual gratification started to overtake him the more that he moved against you—for a split second—he felt his thirst sit on the backburner, as he continued to be consumed by the thought and feeling of you. Even if it was just temporary… he felt like he could have been human while he was with you—while he was inside of you. What simple joy you provided him.
It was fleeting, however; the thirst burned at his throat once again, reminding him of the nature of his being.
The beast inside would never be quelled, until it had its fill of blood, of course.
You were locking the doors behind you to the cafe as you were just about to head home for the night after finishing another closing shift. A soft wind whispered behind you, the hairs on the back of your neck standing up on end, your body seismically sensing that something or someone had materialized behind you.
“Are you headed home for the night?”
At the sound of his voice, your hands froze. Apprehensively, you slowly craned your head over your shoulder to see Kento stood behind you, his hands clasped behind his back as he tried his best to appear as nonthreatening as he possibly could. He offered you a courteous smile as strands of blonde hair fell out of the neat part that he always donned, and slowly covered one of his eyes.
A shaky breath escaped you, the feeling of dread flooding through you. “And if I am?”
“I would like to walk you home… if that’s alright.”
Your mouth went dry, uncomfortable at the thought of it. “What would happen if I declined?”
Kento tilted his head to the side, sucking in the inside of his bottom lip in between his teeth as he pondered what would be an appropriate response—something that would put you at ease. “I would respect your choice… but I would very much like to attend to you so that I can see that you get home safely… it would also allow me to…give an explanation. You deserve that much.”
Goddamn right he did.
“I know what you saw in the alleyway,” Kento began, as the two of you journeyed back to your home. “And I would like to apologize for it. It was extremely unbecoming of me for you to witness, and for that, I am incredibly sorry.”
A beat of silence passed, save for the sound of your shared footsteps against the pavement.
“Are you even human?” you asked, fighting back the overwhelming feeling of embarrassment at how ridiculous the question sounded.
He pursed his lips, and set his jaw. “I was… a long time ago.”
“Then what are you?”
He shot you a disapproving look. “I think you’re smart enough to figure that one out.”
The finality of his answer marinated with you, trying to not make any eye contact with him as you kept your gaze straight on to the pathway in front of you.
This did not go unnoticed by Kento.
“You don’t need to be afraid of me, little one,” he tried to reassure you, urging his voice to be as reposeful as possible, gently grabbing hold of your shoulder in an effort to stop you from walking and turn to face him. “What happened back in the alleyway was a rare occurrence, and I never usually feed in such a primitive, unrefined way.”
You jerked your head back to look at him, now utterly confused and puzzled. “Then how do you feed?”
“I raid blood banks, mostly. I don’t enjoy hunting for my food.”
“Kento, you murdered someone in cold blood. You seemed to enjoy doing that, and that’s not something that I can easily forgive or forget.”
His face hardened as you reprimanded him for his actions. “Were you so quick to forget that he was content on harassing and possibly assaulting you that night? Is that so easily forgivable?”
“Well, no—but-”
“Listen, Y/N,” he interrupted, now just trying to plead his case to you, in hopes of somewhat alleviating the apprehension that you held towards him. He grabbed hold of both of your hands into his clasp, forcing you to face him. “I can’t control what I am, all I can do is control who I am. He had intentions on hurting you, and I don’t regret for a single second what I did to keep you safe.”
Your eyebrows knitted together, creasing your forehead as Kento’s confession weighed in your mind. You knew that in your heart of hearts, that you should have pulled your hands away from his grip, and immediately turned back to head back to your home where your partner was waiting for you. Your priorities should have started and ended there. Whatever kind of relationship that you had with Kento would no longer exist from there on; and then… in some sick and twisted part of your mind, the part that was deeply buried within your subconsciousness… it told you to pay it no mind.
Kento had cared for you and was willing to protect you in times of need, that much was clear. How much you had gained his compulsive adoration and overwhelming devotion, well—that was yet to be discovered now, wasn’t it?
Your cunt spasmed around him, sending shockwaves of white hot euphoria through Kento’s body as your hand reached down to vigorously rub at the oversensitive nub that was your clitorus. A strangled groan released from deep inside his core, his hips now starting to piston in and out of you; the sound of his pelvis meeting yours, of skin on skin filled the room as he continued his motions against you.
He hooked his arms under the bend of your knees, forcing you to curl your abdomen upwards as he moved you into a modified press, the feeling of his release beginning to swell inside of him. The pace increased to a faster rate as he began to chase that orgasmic high that he longed for.
His eyes rolled into the back of his head, the intensity of the pleasure starting to overwhelm him, and his lack of restraint becoming apparent the more that your slick covered his length. He glanced down to see pools of your essence leak past your opening and start to drip onto the bedsheets, strings of your essence still connecting him to you as his hips moved away from yours. His mouth would have salivated at the sight of it, had he not already been to your scent, the thumping of your heart, and the rushing of the blood exchange between your organs, veins, and arteries.
Kento absentmindedly let his head fall into the crook of your neck, his nose brushing up against the hollow of your throat—a dangerous move. He could feel the pulsation underneath the thinly veiled cover that was your skin. If he were human, he could have sworn that he was intoxicated by the mere sensation of it.
The rational part of his mind, as tiny as it may have been in that moment, screamed at him.
He would not harm you.
“K-Kento!” you cried out, finding yourself entrapped to the total euphoria that Kento’s body was offering you, your body literally being jerked up and down with the way that his hips continued to slap against yours; his thrusts so powerful that it was beginning to transcend to the bedframe and have the headboard start to rap against the wall. Your hands latched onto the muscles of his back, your fingernails digging into the flesh and leaving erratic scratches in their wake. Your limbs felt like complete jelly, and it’s not like you could do anything about it either; all that was in your power to do, was to lie there and take it.
And take it, you happily would do.
It became routine that Kento would see to it that you would safely make it home after working a closing shift at the cafe by accompanying you on your long walk home.
His lips brushed against the portion of your throat that was your carotid, the fangs barely starting to peak out past them.
Most nights you would find a single rose by the window frame.
Kento’s breath became labored, if not more so, as the venom started to flood his mouth. His tongue slowly rolled out to lick a strip of saliva against neck.
He would sit with you during your lunch break, talking about anything and everything and would quite literally hang onto every single word that you would say in conversation.
He would not harm you.
Kento’s cognition was no longer prominent anymore, as the monster inside once again overtook his rationality—he couldn’t hold himself back anymore, even though it continued to scream at him to not continue any further, no matter how dwindled it was in the current moment.
His fangs pierced through your skin, and the nectar that was your blood slowly dribbled onto his tongue—igniting every nerve ending on fire in his body, and the vampiric nature revealed itself at long last. The last bit of his cognition finally dissolved and the frenzy finally consumed him.
The sensation of his teeth breaching past your skin made you gasp—the foreign feeling borderline painful, but extremely indulgent in some way that you had never experienced before. The eroticism of it all sent shockwaves of white hot pleasure directly to your core, Kento’s cock now jackhammering in and out of you at an inhuman pace.
He locked his body onto yours and latched his mouth onto you, and he drank.
He drank and he drank and he drank, until the burn in his throat dulled. Until his climax was reached as he continued to thrust into you, the pleasure exploded throughout his abdomen and he groaned directly into the flesh of your neck.
“K… Kento.” Your voice was weak. You felt faint.
He… he can’t stop.
“Ken…”
Black spots started to fill your vision, and your body felt like it weighed far heavier than it should.
“K… Ken… please… stop…”
Your world goes dark—and Kento could feel his heart stop in his chest the moment that he hears yours do the same, as well, sobering him immediately within the moment.
~
“Y…N…”
A voice called out to you in the darkness.
“C…me… ba… t… me…” it said, each word fading in, as the other would start to fade out.
“Little one…wake up…”
Good god, your head was absolutely pounding right now.
You could feel your body slowly fall and rise, your back up against someone's chest. You blearily opened your eyes, temporarily blinding yourself to the extremely bright overhead light just to find yourself in Kento’s arms, the both of you in the bathtub with water filled to the very top of it; both of your feet were propped up to the edges of the tub, creating elevation between your legs and the rest of your body.
You slowly lulled your head to the side, to meet the overly concerned gaze of Kento—the carmine eyes filling your vision.
“Oh, Y/N. Thank god,” he breathed, quickly leaning down to press a kiss to your exposed forehead. “I thought I lost you.”
“...wha… happen’?” Your tongue feels like lead in your mouth, unable to properly form words that you wished to speak.
Kento’s face becomes grave, regret filling his voice and his body turning cold as he confesses to you, “I fed on you… and I almost killed you for it.”
Your head fell back into its original position up against Kento’s chest, still too weak to even maintain it upright. A low hum rumbled from your throat as you digested what was just said to you. Some part of you knew that this could have happened, even when you completely ignored the warning signs when Kento had clearly told you otherwise.
You reap what you sow, you guess.
“I nearly drained you completely of your blood, and for that, I am incredibly sorry.” Kento was extraordinarily dismayed by his actions—he thought of himself as someone that could afford great restraint, but even he isn’t infallible.
Your eyes drifted down to the warm bathwater, disregarding what Kento was saying to you. “...what happened after?” Your voice is a little bit more sturdy as you slowly become more alert and oriented. It became more and more apparent of a sharp ache that dulled in the center of your chest.
“Your heart stopped… so I had to perform CPR on you and I gave you some of my blood to help replenish what you lost.” Ah, so that’s what the pain in your chest was from. You must have had a confused look because he quickly followed up with, “I cut myself and allowed for my blood to drip into your mouth… it was the only way that I could think of to get it into your system.” Your eyes looked downwards to see large incision made cuts to his forearms that stretched from his wrists all the way to his elbows.
“You shouldn’t have done that. You’ve hurt yourself.” You slowly raised a hand out of the water to gently press your fingertips to the freshly made wounds on his forearms.
A sarcastic laugh erupted from Kento, startling you as he did so, the hilarity of your concern for him rendering him incredulous. “I nearly killed you because of my own selfish desires and wanton lust, and you’re concerned about me because of cuts that I made to myself?”
“I pushed you… that’s not your fault.” You lulled your head to the side to glance up at him once more, just to see the shameful expression formed on his face. “You told me not to… and I still didn’t listen to you. Part of the blame lies with me, as well.”
“Don’t.” His voice was stern. “I should have known better, and you paid the price for it. Don’t try to assuage my guilt. This whole thing is my entire fault.”
“But if I don’t, you’ll continue to degrade and blame yourself for it.”
Kento cynically chuckled. “I should.”
You shook your head. “No, you shouldn’t.”
He exhaled a sharp sigh, realizing that he wasn’t going to dissuade you; he then ended up changing the subject entirely. “How are you feeling?”
You weakly smiled at him, hoping to dissuade some of the shame and grief that he was directing towards himself. “Honestly? I’ve had better days.” You shakily raised a hand, gesturing to the bathwater. “Why the bath?”
Kento raised a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose with his thumb and his forefinger. “I needed to find a way to keep you warm somehow. A hot bath seemed like a good idea at the time.”
The two of you sat in silence for some time after that, just basking in each other’s presence with the water having gone cold after at least thirty to forty minutes of stillness. You didn’t pay it any attention, however.
“I hope you know that I’m not mad at you,” you said, breaking the silence.
A pregnant pause passed as Kento tried to conjure up a way to respond, without trying to argue with you in any way, shape, or form. “You should be upset with me,” he began, “but I’m thankful that you’re not.” He leaned his face into your shoulder, longing for a sense of affection. “I’ll spend my whole existence trying to make this up to you.”
A tiny smile formed. “That’s a bit much, don’t you think?”
Another breathy chuckle; he leaned forward to press a gentle kiss once more to the top of your forehead. “Not for you, it’s not.”
Kento eventually got the both of you out of the bathtub, lifting and carrying your body out of the bathroom and back into the bedroom. He laid you upon the bed, and tenderly dabbed away at your body with a towel in an effort to try and dry you off. He then dressed you warmly in clothes that were sure to keep your body heated throughout the night.
With a fondness that mimicked that of a husband to his wife, he gently laid you into bed as he grabbed hold of a glass of juice, hoping that the sugar would eventually replenish some of the energy that you were terribly depleted of. “Open,” he instructed, bringing the rim of the glass to your lips.
You downed the entire glass in a mere matter of seconds, the liquid offering you reprieve as both your tongue and throat were incredibly dry.
“Easy, easy now,” he gently chided, using his thumb to swipe away at any droplets that escaped past your lips or the cup. “It’s not going anywhere, little one, I can promise you that much.”
“Didn’t realize how thirsty I was,” you coughed, using the sleeve of your shirt to wipe away at your mouth. You could feel the sugar from the juice start to alleviate some of the horridness that you felt throughout your body—it wasn’t much, but it was certainly a start.
Kento took the cup away, setting it off to the side on the bedside table. “Come now, you should get some sleep… your body certainly needs it.”
A look of uncertainty passed on your face. “Will you still be here when I wake up?”
He threaded his fingers with yours, pulling the covers up to your chin. “I promise.”
Kento maneuvered himself behind you, curling his arms around you to pull your back against his chest. Unsatisfied, you managed to turn your body around so that you were facing him, your head resting against where his heart was. The calming, rhythmic motion of his breathing, along with the steady beat of his heart is what allowed you to fully succumb to unconsciousness, undaunted and peacefully into the night.
Your vampire never faltered as he continued to watch over you—until the moon passed over to the west, and the sun began to rise in the east. Even as the sun began to streak into the room, and the beams began to slightly burn at his flesh.
Content warning(s): fem!reader, alcohol consumption, a very sloshed Satoru at the annual company Christmas party, smut, penetrative sex, overstimulation, mild degradation, an attempt at size kink, Suguru affectionately calls you "my baby" in both a sweet and condescending way... and I think that's it?
WC: 1.4 K
!!*Minors, I don't want you here. This is an 18+ post*!!
There are four major traditions that you and Suguru have in your relationship whenever the holiday season rolls around.
The first tradition: it is absolutely imperative that you and Suguru bring at least three bottles of the Hana brand sweet peach sake so everyone can indulge at the annual Jujutsu Technical College end of the year Christmas party.
…and by everyone, you mean Satoru.
It’s not typical that Satoru ever indulges in alcohol, but he’s never one to turn down tooth rottingly sweet drinks.
Unbeknownst to you, this turned out to be great entertainment for the rest of the evening.
You remember the very first time that Satoru had tasted Hana’s sweet peach sake, he damn near downed the entire bottle within ten minutes.
What followed the next several hours were Kento, Shoko, and Utahime trying to fend off Satoru’s drunken advances as he tried to cling to them like he was a koala—all while you and Suguru were damn near close to dying from with how hard it was to keep the laughter at bay as the two of you would watch the hilarity unfold before you.
Later on during the night, he managed to grab hold of the microphone to the karaoke machine, and haphazardly sing his way through several power ballads and chart topping songs by popular boy bands that you had maybe heard on the radio once upon a time.
Both you and Suguru nearly ended up with hernias.
It’s been an ongoing gag for the past two years since you had discovered this side to Satoru—what’s even funnier is the fact that he still hadn’t caught onto the fact of it yet, either.
The second tradition: on Christmas morning, Suguru wakes up early before you do, so he can prepare you breakfast.
He never sets an alarm and it always baffles you as to how he could even pull off such a feat.
In the past, you’ve protested to try and return the favor to Suguru, but he immediately shuts it down before you can even breathe out another objection to his act of service for you.
“Food is my love language.” It’s actually acts of service and physical touch, but you don’t interrupt. “I enjoy cooking and preparing meals for you, for the holidays and the regular days.” He tapped your nose with his forefinger, a playful expression coloring his violet eyes. “Don’t you take this away from me, now.”
One time that you can recall, Suguru woke up at four in the morning to make you Japanese souffle pancakes from scratch.
They were so good that you nearly cried; from how gracious you were to receive such a loving and considerate partner.
Usually, most people are excited to wake up and open gifts on Christmas morning, but you mainly just look forward to what Suguru has planned for you for breakfast.
The third tradition is where he puts your entire being through your shared mattress on Christmas Eve.
The kind of tradition that has you gripping the bedsheets until your fingernails nearly tear through the fabric and leaves the tendons and bones in your hand aching for reprieve.
The kind of tradition where Suguru uses his entire bodyframe to completely cover yours as his hips continue to rut into you and bruise your cervix with the tip of his cock. Suguru is a large man standing at over 6 feet and clearly took care of himself by going to the gym and building muscle upon muscle; he certainly uses that to his advantage whenever he can—whether that be being able to reach up to the top shelf to grab something that’s clearly out of your reach in the kitchen or using his entire torso to cage you in his arms as he pistons his cock in and out of you. For lack of a better word, once you were under him, there was no chance in hell that you would be able to escape him unless he willingly let you up.
The kind of tradition that has you pathetically moaning and whining and whimpering for him as he demolishes your insides—and he eats it up every single time.
The kind of tradition that leaves his lips at your ear, strands of his long, raven black hair tickling the side of your face, nearly making you giggle.
The kind of tradition that has Suguru both debasing you and praising you within the same breath.
“It’s kind of pathetic if you ask me; I've barely even started touching you and you’re already a complete mess for me. Have I been neglecting my baby that much?” and “Moaning and whining like you’re an animal in heat. Oh, how embarrassing would it be if everyone at the college knew how much of a slut you were being for me right now.” to “My baby’s so responsive to me.” and “Taking everything that I’m giving you like the good little whore that you are.” and “My baby. My dumb, little cock drunk baby.” You especially loved it when he called you ‘his baby’. You’re not sure why the term of endearment rattled you so much to your core, even when it was mixed in with a tone of degradation to it—and Suguru knows it, too.
The kind of tradition in which you can’t even register the words that are leaving his mouth. Your consciousness is elsewhere, your mind an absolute mess and your higher thinking powers and comprehension skills very much down the drain; this happens when he pulls orgasm after orgasm out of you; Suguru is never satisfied with just one climax. How insulting to think, really.
The kind of tradition where the pleasure then begins to muddle with pain. The tightening of your abdominal muscles slowly ebbing into an uncomfortable vice, despite the erotic joy that it brought you prior. The more sore that your body became, the louder you cried out—and holy shit did that enable Suguru even further.
The kind of tradition where even when his cock painfully aches from the overstimulation that he feeds you as his hips continue to slam into yours time after time. Even when the muscles in his entire body, from his legs to his abdomen and his arms, scream in protest with every movement against you—he will never be done until neither you nor him physically cannot handle any more.
The kind of tradition that makes him collapse his entire trunk into you as your cunt spasms around him one last time, counting six orgasms in total; the exhaustion and fatigue finally catches up with him and his body renders to jelly. He tucks his face into the crook of your neck, staggered respirations shallowly blowing across your exposed skin.
The kind of tradition that has the two of you completely drenched in sweat, in every crevice and contour, leaving you feeling sticky and gross… but neither of you can really bring yourselves to care in the moment. You shakily bring your hands up to his head, threading your fingers through his locks as you gently scratch at his scalp and stroke his hair. The silence is filled with heavy and uneven breathing, but truthfully speaking, neither you or him really need to say anything to each other.
It is in these moments where Suguru lifts his head to gaze upon you with a longing expression. Even when the weariness still lingers in his mind and body, he will always lift his body to lean forward and press kisses to your lips and your forehead.
“You are the greatest gift that I’ve ever received,” he says, tilting his face down so he can gently nudge your forehead with his. “Nothing will ever change that.”
And eventually, when the exhaustion finally wears off, he gently handles your body into his arms so he can carry you into the bathroom to get you cleaned up and ready for bed. He has to be up bright and early so he can make you breakfast, of course.
… oh right—the fourth tradition.
And the fourth tradition is where you and Suguru take Christmas card photos with your black cat, Nero, so you can send them to your friends, family, and coworkers.
Can’t forget the fourth tradition; how silly would that be.
the best fanfiction you've ever read was written by a woman in her 40s before she made dinner for her kids. it was written by a teenager after school when they should've been studying for a history test. and a barista came up with the idea while they cleaned the espresso machine and busser fact-checked it on their break and the post-doc edited between writing grant proposals and the nurse apologized for typos in the notes after a long shift and behind every drabble and one-shot and multi-chapter fic there is a person with a wonderful and interesting and chaotic life and it is such a privilege that we get to be apart of it because they decided to do this thing we all share, for fun.
Content warning(s): fem!reader, alcohol consumption, a very sloshed Satoru at the annual company Christmas party, smut, penetrative sex, overstimulation, mild degradation, an attempt at size kink, Suguru affectionately calls you "my baby" in both a sweet and condescending way... and I think that's it?
WC: 1.4 K
!!*Minors, I don't want you here. This is an 18+ post*!!
There are four major traditions that you and Suguru have in your relationship whenever the holiday season rolls around.
The first tradition: it is absolutely imperative that you and Suguru bring at least three bottles of the Hana brand sweet peach sake so everyone can indulge at the annual Jujutsu Technical College end of the year Christmas party.
…and by everyone, you mean Satoru.
It’s not typical that Satoru ever indulges in alcohol, but he’s never one to turn down tooth rottingly sweet drinks.
Unbeknownst to you, this turned out to be great entertainment for the rest of the evening.
You remember the very first time that Satoru had tasted Hana’s sweet peach sake, he damn near downed the entire bottle within ten minutes.
What followed the next several hours were Kento, Shoko, and Utahime trying to fend off Satoru’s drunken advances as he tried to cling to them like he was a koala—all while you and Suguru were damn near close to dying from with how hard it was to keep the laughter at bay as the two of you would watch the hilarity unfold before you.
Later on during the night, he managed to grab hold of the microphone to the karaoke machine, and haphazardly sing his way through several power ballads and chart topping songs by popular boy bands that you had maybe heard on the radio once upon a time.
Both you and Suguru nearly ended up with hernias.
It’s been an ongoing gag for the past two years since you had discovered this side to Satoru—what’s even funnier is the fact that he still hadn’t caught onto the fact of it yet, either.
The second tradition: on Christmas morning, Suguru wakes up early before you do, so he can prepare you breakfast.
He never sets an alarm and it always baffles you as to how he could even pull off such a feat.
In the past, you’ve protested to try and return the favor to Suguru, but he immediately shuts it down before you can even breathe out another objection to his act of service for you.
“Food is my love language.” It’s actually acts of service and physical touch, but you don’t interrupt. “I enjoy cooking and preparing meals for you, for the holidays and the regular days.” He tapped your nose with his forefinger, a playful expression coloring his violet eyes. “Don’t you take this away from me, now.”
One time that you can recall, Suguru woke up at four in the morning to make you Japanese souffle pancakes from scratch.
They were so good that you nearly cried; from how gracious you were to receive such a loving and considerate partner.
Usually, most people are excited to wake up and open gifts on Christmas morning, but you mainly just look forward to what Suguru has planned for you for breakfast.
The third tradition is where he puts your entire being through your shared mattress on Christmas Eve.
The kind of tradition that has you gripping the bedsheets until your fingernails nearly tear through the fabric and leaves the tendons and bones in your hand aching for reprieve.
The kind of tradition where Suguru uses his entire bodyframe to completely cover yours as his hips continue to rut into you and bruise your cervix with the tip of his cock. Suguru is a large man standing at over 6 feet and clearly took care of himself by going to the gym and building muscle upon muscle; he certainly uses that to his advantage whenever he can—whether that be being able to reach up to the top shelf to grab something that’s clearly out of your reach in the kitchen or using his entire torso to cage you in his arms as he pistons his cock in and out of you. For lack of a better word, once you were under him, there was no chance in hell that you would be able to escape him unless he willingly let you up.
The kind of tradition that has you pathetically moaning and whining and whimpering for him as he demolishes your insides—and he eats it up every single time.
The kind of tradition that leaves his lips at your ear, strands of his long, raven black hair tickling the side of your face, nearly making you giggle.
The kind of tradition that has Suguru both debasing you and praising you within the same breath.
“It’s kind of pathetic if you ask me; I've barely even started touching you and you’re already a complete mess for me. Have I been neglecting my baby that much?” and “Moaning and whining like you’re an animal in heat. Oh, how embarrassing would it be if everyone at the college knew how much of a slut you were being for me right now.” to “My baby’s so responsive to me.” and “Taking everything that I’m giving you like the good little whore that you are.” and “My baby. My dumb, little cock drunk baby.” You especially loved it when he called you ‘his baby’. You’re not sure why the term of endearment rattled you so much to your core, even when it was mixed in with a tone of degradation to it—and Suguru knows it, too.
The kind of tradition in which you can’t even register the words that are leaving his mouth. Your consciousness is elsewhere, your mind an absolute mess and your higher thinking powers and comprehension skills very much down the drain; this happens when he pulls orgasm after orgasm out of you; Suguru is never satisfied with just one climax. How insulting to think, really.
The kind of tradition where the pleasure then begins to muddle with pain. The tightening of your abdominal muscles slowly ebbing into an uncomfortable vice, despite the erotic joy that it brought you prior. The more sore that your body became, the louder you cried out—and holy shit did that enable Suguru even further.
The kind of tradition where even when his cock painfully aches from the overstimulation that he feeds you as his hips continue to slam into yours time after time. Even when the muscles in his entire body, from his legs to his abdomen and his arms, scream in protest with every movement against you—he will never be done until neither you nor him physically cannot handle any more.
The kind of tradition that makes him collapse his entire trunk into you as your cunt spasms around him one last time, counting six orgasms in total; the exhaustion and fatigue finally catches up with him and his body renders to jelly. He tucks his face into the crook of your neck, staggered respirations shallowly blowing across your exposed skin.
The kind of tradition that has the two of you completely drenched in sweat, in every crevice and contour, leaving you feeling sticky and gross… but neither of you can really bring yourselves to care in the moment. You shakily bring your hands up to his head, threading your fingers through his locks as you gently scratch at his scalp and stroke his hair. The silence is filled with heavy and uneven breathing, but truthfully speaking, neither you or him really need to say anything to each other.
It is in these moments where Suguru lifts his head to gaze upon you with a longing expression. Even when the weariness still lingers in his mind and body, he will always lift his body to lean forward and press kisses to your lips and your forehead.
“You are the greatest gift that I’ve ever received,” he says, tilting his face down so he can gently nudge your forehead with his. “Nothing will ever change that.”
And eventually, when the exhaustion finally wears off, he gently handles your body into his arms so he can carry you into the bathroom to get you cleaned up and ready for bed. He has to be up bright and early so he can make you breakfast, of course.
… oh right—the fourth tradition.
And the fourth tradition is where you and Suguru take Christmas card photos with your black cat, Nero, so you can send them to your friends, family, and coworkers.
Can’t forget the fourth tradition; how silly would that be.
💅🏿 Author's Note: Merry Christmas 🎄🤶🏿! This is my Secret Santa gift for @littlefreak-1 / @littlefreak-2 for the @pixelcafe-network's Secret Santa 2025 event! This was such a cute story to write and I hope you like it!
It’s quiet.
The kind of soft, velvety quiet that comes with snowfall overnight. It settles like a shroud over the house, amniotic and soothing. A soft, graying dawn is what finally wakes you, and beside you, the mattress dips and shifts, rousing you further. Your husband is already awake, alert in a way that after years of being together you still can’t figure out, and he’s sitting up. Instinctively, almost as if it is simple physics, you stretch your hand out lazily, and like two vines entwining, he reaches for you too.
As your fingers lace, you realize it is this simple thing that makes every spectrum of your lives worth it. Quiet dawns with Kento as he bends a tender smile toward you, hazel eyes soft with a helpless longing that hasn’t faded even as time continues the endless weaving tapestry of the two of you.
“Is there coffee?” Your voice is raspy with the haze of sleep, a familiar murmur Kento expects every morning. He would set his watch to this question if he could. He never does.
He tries to remember if he remembered to buy coffee on the way home, a deep line forming between his brow in thought.
“Yeah,” he tells you, never breaking contact with your hand, running an unhurried thumb over your knuckles before he brings your hand to his lips to kiss each of your fingers, one by one.
He could set his watch to this, too.
With this ritual, the dawn brightens the room and you stretch lazily across the sheets as you watch Kento shuffle off to the kitchen to brew the coffee. You lay there a while, watching color return to the world, the warm, earthy aroma pulling a sleepy smile across your face. By the time you sit up, Kento is in the doorway, his hair still mussed, a slight flush in his cheeks as he brandishes two mugs. You recognize yours: a round white mug sporting a smiling cat’s face.
For a moment the two of you are held suspended, beams of snow-dazzled light spangling between you. His smile and yours turn soft, remembering that in this moment, there is only you and him.
He steps into the light, hands you your mug which you take gratefully, an offering to greet the day. You let out a grateful sigh on the first sip, and the world comes into startling focus as Kento takes his place on the bed beside you.
“I took today off,” he says without preamble. Your brows raise in surprise, but you suppose you shouldn’t be. After Shibuya, everything changed; and for a while, neither of you were sure if what exists between you could survive that change. Some things between you, you never got back, but other things changed.
Kento takes rest when he truly needs it, now.
“That’s good,” you say, meaning it as you let the warmth of your mug seep into your hands. Both of you sit with the weight of the memory: Shibuya in flames, and you, not knowing if Kento would live or die. Suspension of his wounds had saved him, but though he healed, and the wounds have since melded to oily scar tissue, the memory lingers like an ache when pressed. Your therapist tells you this is normal, and that the important thing is that you two move through it together.
So this became your new ritual addition: the two of you, in the cool quiet of the morning, sipping coffee, grateful for the simple domestication your lives have become since that awful night, and the difficult nights since. So you sit, and you reach for him, and link your fingers, the warmth of you blending with the warmth of him.
“Soooo,” you chime in when the solemnity of the moment passes, shooting him an impish sidelong glance. “What do you plan to do with your day off, babe? Don’t keep me in suspense.”
Kento hums in thought, deliberately delaying your prodding, but you know how to read the archaic text of him. Beneath the stoicism is a sharp wit and a playful spirit.
A smirk curls his mouth.
Your mouth drops open in a surprised laugh.
“Am I hearing things or does the meticulous Nanami Kento—love of my life—not actually have a plan for once?”
Kento lets out a quiet laugh, cedes this delight to you as he does all things that keep you smiling like the world doesn’t matter beyond what’s right in front of you.
You set your coffee down, and Kento pauses momentarily. The warmth between you blooms into a radiant heat. Kento slowly sets his coffee on the nightstand beside him. The heat turns magnetic, drawing you closer. His arm wraps around your waist, pulling you effortlessly into his lap as you swing your leg over and settle with a small huffing laugh, sighing as the warmth of his hands settle on your waist, smoothing down your hips to pull you closer. Your arms link loosely around his neck and shoulders as he leans in to rest his forehead against yours.
Together, you breathe deep, cocooned in the unbroken quiet of a snow-powdered world. You kiss, his mouth as slow and thorough as his hands. Your lips trace a familiar path over the ruddy scar tissue of his face, anointing him with tenderness even as his grip on your hips tighten slowly.
“I never said I didn’t have a plan,” he murmurs against your mouth, rubbing your noses together. “I said I took today off.”
Something like heat drips through your body and you tighten your thighs around his hips.
Closer, now. Something warm and solid presses against the most intimate juncture of your body, the pressure making you bite your lip on a small, helpless sound. Your hips rock forward, and you laugh in simmering triumph at Kento’s answering grunt.
You rock your hips back, planting your ass directly in his palms, and his fingertips dig into your skin, and as you move again, his arms come around you, caging you as your lips meet again, open-mouthed and desperate.
The silence is cut apart by your collective panting breaths. You reach in the heated space between your bodies, fingers slipping below the waistband of his trousers, threading through the thatch of dark, golden hair to grasp his cock, heavy and hard in your palm. You take a moment to bite your lip, savoring how thick he feels, running your thumb along the veined braille of the shaft, swiping at the silky bead of seed at the tip.
As you like, and as you expect, Kento’s answering groan coincides with his tightening grip on your backside, and his larger hand joins yours. His mouth overtakes your own, tongue swiping across your lower lip. Your mouth yields, your tongue yields, and his hand between you wraps around yours, engulfing the whole of it, guiding you—urging you—to stroke him.
You do, together, as you always have.
“Good girl,” he murmurs into your mouth, and you squeeze his cock a little tighter, slicking the shaft as more seed beads and drizzles from the tip. Something in your blood ignites like a match strike, and a desperate little whimper swims from your throat into his mouth.
The heat dripping through you collects between your thighs, making you ache with a pulse in your sex that rocks your hips forward and back, in time with your mutual stroking of his cock. But you need more, and Kento knows this, even as he takes his time tracing a path down your throat with tender kisses like footprints in sand. He knows what you want, knows what you need, and he’s declared in no uncertain terms that he intends to make good on giving it to you.
All he requires is your unconditional surrender.
“Do you want me to take care of you?”
His breath spills across your throat as the words transform you, mold you, make you pant. He always asks this right before you give him everything.
“Yes,” comes your soft, breathy voice. Kento looks up at you with one hazel eye from between his soft blond hair.
It’s quick how the pace shifts, the way he handles you so expertly, maneuvering you both until you find yourself sprawled on your back, bracing against the cushioned landing, Kento’s fingers curling at your hips to drag your panties down, and then up your legs. You watch, legs in the air, as he tosses them aside. You’re about to spread your legs around him when his grip on your calves halts you.
“Not until I say, kitten,” he murmurs, turning to kiss your ankles. You bite your lip again, smiling. With a soft exhale, every part of you relaxes, relinquishing control. Kento gives your calves a deep, affectionate squeeze, smirking at you.
“Good girl,” he murmurs, sending a shiver of delight down your spine, an aching pulse between your thighs. You want to open for him, show him just how much you need him, but Kento has taken the day off.
Time is all the two of you have.
Kento’s mouth takes the journey from your ankles down the curves of your calves, following the wake of his hands, which maintain firm control of your body, sliding down the backs of your thighs, thumbs pressing to make you relax.
Every nerve in your body feels heightened as he finally—finally—pulls apart your thighs, and you lift your hips, your core flushed and soaked. Your eyes wander to the thick outline of his cock in his trousers. You breathe deep, and Kento leans in, breathes in your scent. Then, with aching gentleness, he delves in and parts your drenched folds with his tongue licking a firm, measured stripe up your entrance, pressing against the swollen bud of your clit.
“Ah!” Comes your surprised but satisfied whine. You barely have time to recollect yourself before his tongue begins a languid, wet rhythm: up, down, up, down, more pressure. Your mouth drops open in a mindless whine, hands coming to settle on Kento’s head as his hands squeeze your hips, settling your thighs on his shoulders. His mouth envelops you, his tongue never stopping even as you watch his jaw work in a firm suck on your clit.
Your back bows, your hips writhe mindlessly in his hold as he works you, watching you come apart, tasting you as you dissolve on his tongue like spun sugar, dripping down his chin like the juice of a late summer peach.
In the full light of day, Kento demonstrates why he has taken a day off. He isn’t sure he’ll ever tire of you, has loved you with the whole of himself even in the moments he felt sundered in two. Right now, he is grateful: grateful for the predictability of this heat between you, undimmed by time or trial by fire and fury.
So he takes you apart, soothing your pleasure-heightened body with soothing rubs of his thumbs against your hips, holding your cunt in his mouth as if it his last meal. Kento has looked death in the face and come back changed. Every meal can be his last.
He pulls away with a gasp, a man who has delved deeply for exactly what he wants. You lay melted on the sheets, sunlight spilling across the contours of your flushed and panting form. Kento loves you this way: thighs trembling, your cunt open and soaked, and your face looking at him with eyes like that.
“Please…p-please…” comes your whimper, trying to coax him to you sooner than he wants. Kento’s hands smooth up from your hips, span your ribcage, coming to cup your breasts. As his thumbs pass over the hardened buds of your nipples, you moan, your sex clenching desperately.
There’s no plan, there’s no words. Kento leans forward, folding your knees to your chest. The heat of his cock presses against your entrance, warm pressure you want to fill you up so desperately. He grips the shaft firmly, bracing himself on his other arm. The head of his cock slides up and down between your lips, soaking him, making you shiver and whine as he teases you. He leans in to kiss your face, starting from your eyebrow, your eyes, the tip of your nose, and finally your trembling lips.
Kento presses forward, a firm and controlled roll of his hips as his cock slips past your entrance, and you moan eagerly as you feel yourself stretched, your body going limp and accommodating to take him inch by slow inch.
He pauses, only an inch deep.
“Start counting, kitten,” he reminds you. Your face floods with heat as you remember what he’s referring to.
He wants you to count him in. Count every inch of his cock as it slides into you.
“O-one…” Your voice is tremulous, but your cunt tightens in response. Kento smiles, his hips move forward.
“T-Two…” Your voice drags, tapering into a high sound.
Another inch, the stretch burns.
You pant, tears burning in your eyes at the strain before Kento cants his head, an expectant smile on his face. He doesn’t have to tell you what he’s waiting for.
“Three—oh god—”
On your count Kento’s hips snap forward, driving the remaining five inches into you with a wet slap to the backs of your thighs, the mattress absorbing the force, but you take him deep and a cry scrapes out of you, broken and relieved all at once.
He draws out slowly, pushes in slowly, and you pant with each stroke, fingers digging and twisting into the sheets, your broken voice choked in your throat, spiraling into a wail. Kento’s flushed face hovers above yours and you glance down between you watching his cock vanish inside you and withdraw, glistening with the slick of your juices.
You don’t know how long he does this, but you know he can do it for as long as it takes for you to give up everything in your flesh and bones. Every withdrawal drags some more of that lingering ache out of you. The persistent pain of almost losing him, almost losing what you have between you.
Kento leans in, and you yield with a whimper into the kiss he licks into your parted lips.
“So this is why you took the day off, hm?” You purr into the hair’s breadth between your lips, panting around restrained noises as his rhythm grows slippery, sliding his cock in and out with ease. You relish the fullness, wishing you could wrap your legs around his waist, dig your heels into his back, and keep him inside of you.
“Oh,” Kento groans, a rare disruption of all that control he exudes; he’s as pliant for you as you are for him in this moment. His pace is as torturous for him as it is for you, and you take pleasure in the power is accords you.
“One reason,” he admits, nipping your lower lip with a tenderness to match his pace. “But you’re more than enough reason, you know that.”
Something behind your ribs shudders and breaks open. He always says things like this; these tender niceties that he offers as easily as everything else he’s given you. As if loving you is the only logical thing in his world.
This affirmation emboldens you, and you tighten around him as he slides hilt-deep, anchoring you both. You watch his face slip between the dichotomy of determination and surrender, and his eye settles on you, flashing in the morning light.
He sits up, releasing your legs, which quiver. He takes a moment to admired you as his hands grasp your hips, dragging them into his laps as he sits back on his heels. Sensing his next move, you reach up, grasping one of the pillows to slip beneath your arched back. Kento smiles, reaching down to where the two of you are sealed together. His thumb strokes your swollen clit, watching as your eyes flutter, and your slick heat tightens around his cock. He groans in approval.
And in the cold morning, he fucks you.
It’s a punishing rhythm, and at this angle you have no choice but to surrender to him. You upped the stakes in your morning ritual, and now Kento has come to collect.
Plap-plap-plap.
Your bodies shatter the snowbound quiet, as Kento’s forearms distend with the effort of pulling you back and forth along his cock. His pace is steady, and he somehow has mastered your body enough to bounce you so easily, watching your mouth open in a broken cry of his name.
“Kento…!” You whine; your breath squeezed from your lungs as your husband answers your desperate call for him by stroking your clit in response.
A scream builds inside of you as heat coils like a serpent in preparation, deep in your core. Your mind feels wiped clean of sentient thought, only the sound of flesh meeting flesh, Kento’s grunts and groans, and your cries of beseeching and encouragement to fill the space.
Plapplapplapplapplap—
“Now, kitten,” his voice is winded, his face flushed, and yet he seems tireless as your body yields to him even more.
Everything in you feels like a raw nerve touching a live wire, electrified from root to tip as your pussy tightens around his cock in a paroxysm of ecstasy. Stars spangle in your veins, and for a moment your vision goes white.
The pressure in the base of Kento’s spine is building, and he lets out another moan at the sight of you soaking him, the soft blond hair at the base of his cock darkened and slick with your juices, your pretty little cunt split around him like a ripened peach.
He slows his pace, reaches down to squeeze your puffy folds, pressing the seam of you around his cock, fucking his hand and you with short, hard pumps as he shudders in release, holding you down, letting you milk him. He presses on your belly, giving a few more hard pumps of his hips, cock pulsating against your clenching walls, the slide growing sticky and slick between you.
In the aftermath, you both breathe deeply, the sunlight cutting across both your sweaty, flushed bodies. With aching languor, you reach for him and he grasps your arms, pulling you bodily into his embrace, your legs folding around his hips. You bury your face in his chest while he buries his in your hair. The two of you stay wrapped around one another like this.
The quiet resettles in the room, accompanied by the scent of sex. You keep breathing, your pulses slowing, but you’re not listening to yourself, you’re listening to his.
“Good morning,” you mumble into his skin, pressing your lips against the center of his chest. Kento smiles, pressing a featherweight kiss to your sweaty temple.
“Good morning,” he murmurs, then adds, with an almost playful smirk. “Pleased to meet you.”
Your laughter sounds the way sunlight feels. Kento spies the clock on his nightstand.
(Firstly, I’d like to apologize that it’s taken me this long to give you my review/commentary. It’s been a hectic few days 😓)
I would like it to be known that I have read this multiple times and each time that I finish it, I am rendered to a pile of jelly.
I absolutely loved reading this, Muse. Your prose and your choice of diction is extraordinarily superb and I found myself in complete awe with every read. Post-Shibuya!Nanami will always be a personal favorite troupe of mine and I will devour it every single time.
And your depiction of Nanami and the smut scenes quite literally had me salivating. The subtle dominance and control that Nanami exhibits, the languid yet sensual motions between him and the reader insert, and being the center of attention/being the object of Nanami’s affections in both a romantic and sexual nature?
Fucking hell, don’t mind if I do.
Thank you, thank you, thank you!!!!!! I loved every bit of this piece of artwork that you’ve made for me!!!!!! 💙💙💙💙
Content warning(s): fem!reader, alcohol consumption, a very sloshed Satoru at the annual company Christmas party, smut, penetrative sex, overstimulation, mild degradation, an attempt at size kink, Suguru affectionately calls you "my baby" in both a sweet and condescending way... and I think that's it?
WC: 1.4 K
!!*Minors, I don't want you here. This is an 18+ post*!!
There are four major traditions that you and Suguru have in your relationship whenever the holiday season rolls around.
The first tradition: it is absolutely imperative that you and Suguru bring at least three bottles of the Hana brand sweet peach sake so everyone can indulge at the annual Jujutsu Technical College end of the year Christmas party.
…and by everyone, you mean Satoru.
It’s not typical that Satoru ever indulges in alcohol, but he’s never one to turn down tooth rottingly sweet drinks.
Unbeknownst to you, this turned out to be great entertainment for the rest of the evening.
You remember the very first time that Satoru had tasted Hana’s sweet peach sake, he damn near downed the entire bottle within ten minutes.
What followed the next several hours were Kento, Shoko, and Utahime trying to fend off Satoru’s drunken advances as he tried to cling to them like he was a koala—all while you and Suguru were damn near close to dying from with how hard it was to keep the laughter at bay as the two of you would watch the hilarity unfold before you.
Later on during the night, he managed to grab hold of the microphone to the karaoke machine, and haphazardly sing his way through several power ballads and chart topping songs by popular boy bands that you had maybe heard on the radio once upon a time.
Both you and Suguru nearly ended up with hernias.
It’s been an ongoing gag for the past two years since you had discovered this side to Satoru—what’s even funnier is the fact that he still hadn’t caught onto the fact of it yet, either.
The second tradition: on Christmas morning, Suguru wakes up early before you do, so he can prepare you breakfast.
He never sets an alarm and it always baffles you as to how he could even pull off such a feat.
In the past, you’ve protested to try and return the favor to Suguru, but he immediately shuts it down before you can even breathe out another objection to his act of service for you.
“Food is my love language.” It’s actually acts of service and physical touch, but you don’t interrupt. “I enjoy cooking and preparing meals for you, for the holidays and the regular days.” He tapped your nose with his forefinger, a playful expression coloring his violet eyes. “Don’t you take this away from me, now.”
One time that you can recall, Suguru woke up at four in the morning to make you Japanese souffle pancakes from scratch.
They were so good that you nearly cried; from how gracious you were to receive such a loving and considerate partner.
Usually, most people are excited to wake up and open gifts on Christmas morning, but you mainly just look forward to what Suguru has planned for you for breakfast.
The third tradition is where he puts your entire being through your shared mattress on Christmas Eve.
The kind of tradition that has you gripping the bedsheets until your fingernails nearly tear through the fabric and leaves the tendons and bones in your hand aching for reprieve.
The kind of tradition where Suguru uses his entire bodyframe to completely cover yours as his hips continue to rut into you and bruise your cervix with the tip of his cock. Suguru is a large man standing at over 6 feet and clearly took care of himself by going to the gym and building muscle upon muscle; he certainly uses that to his advantage whenever he can—whether that be being able to reach up to the top shelf to grab something that’s clearly out of your reach in the kitchen or using his entire torso to cage you in his arms as he pistons his cock in and out of you. For lack of a better word, once you were under him, there was no chance in hell that you would be able to escape him unless he willingly let you up.
The kind of tradition that has you pathetically moaning and whining and whimpering for him as he demolishes your insides—and he eats it up every single time.
The kind of tradition that leaves his lips at your ear, strands of his long, raven black hair tickling the side of your face, nearly making you giggle.
The kind of tradition that has Suguru both debasing you and praising you within the same breath.
“It’s kind of pathetic if you ask me; I've barely even started touching you and you’re already a complete mess for me. Have I been neglecting my baby that much?” and “Moaning and whining like you’re an animal in heat. Oh, how embarrassing would it be if everyone at the college knew how much of a slut you were being for me right now.” to “My baby’s so responsive to me.” and “Taking everything that I’m giving you like the good little whore that you are.” and “My baby. My dumb, little cock drunk baby.” You especially loved it when he called you ‘his baby’. You’re not sure why the term of endearment rattled you so much to your core, even when it was mixed in with a tone of degradation to it—and Suguru knows it, too.
The kind of tradition in which you can’t even register the words that are leaving his mouth. Your consciousness is elsewhere, your mind an absolute mess and your higher thinking powers and comprehension skills very much down the drain; this happens when he pulls orgasm after orgasm out of you; Suguru is never satisfied with just one climax. How insulting to think, really.
The kind of tradition where the pleasure then begins to muddle with pain. The tightening of your abdominal muscles slowly ebbing into an uncomfortable vice, despite the erotic joy that it brought you prior. The more sore that your body became, the louder you cried out—and holy shit did that enable Suguru even further.
The kind of tradition where even when his cock painfully aches from the overstimulation that he feeds you as his hips continue to slam into yours time after time. Even when the muscles in his entire body, from his legs to his abdomen and his arms, scream in protest with every movement against you—he will never be done until neither you nor him physically cannot handle any more.
The kind of tradition that makes him collapse his entire trunk into you as your cunt spasms around him one last time, counting six orgasms in total; the exhaustion and fatigue finally catches up with him and his body renders to jelly. He tucks his face into the crook of your neck, staggered respirations shallowly blowing across your exposed skin.
The kind of tradition that has the two of you completely drenched in sweat, in every crevice and contour, leaving you feeling sticky and gross… but neither of you can really bring yourselves to care in the moment. You shakily bring your hands up to his head, threading your fingers through his locks as you gently scratch at his scalp and stroke his hair. The silence is filled with heavy and uneven breathing, but truthfully speaking, neither you or him really need to say anything to each other.
It is in these moments where Suguru lifts his head to gaze upon you with a longing expression. Even when the weariness still lingers in his mind and body, he will always lift his body to lean forward and press kisses to your lips and your forehead.
“You are the greatest gift that I’ve ever received,” he says, tilting his face down so he can gently nudge your forehead with his. “Nothing will ever change that.”
And eventually, when the exhaustion finally wears off, he gently handles your body into his arms so he can carry you into the bathroom to get you cleaned up and ready for bed. He has to be up bright and early so he can make you breakfast, of course.
… oh right—the fourth tradition.
And the fourth tradition is where you and Suguru take Christmas card photos with your black cat, Nero, so you can send them to your friends, family, and coworkers.
Can’t forget the fourth tradition; how silly would that be.
