〝 ⸱ ✶. ݁ .⠀ 𝑯𝑨𝑳𝑨 [ or 𝒔𝒂𝒉𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒕 ]. they / she. twenty. black && creek-indian. our stellar editor - in - chief, who’s dedicated to bringing our readers the greatest content on this side of the nahdra galaxy! make sure to take a listen to their musical picks while you read!
📢 ︐ 𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕 . . .
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📰 ︐ 𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒑𝒖𝒃𝒍𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔 . . .
conflict of interest, clark kent &&. bruce wayne [ fluff ]
confessions between my soul and yours, getou suguru [ fluff, angst, smut ]
grieving, various bnha characters [ fluff, angst ]
synopsis: loving the most dangerous man in the city means learning how to live with blood on the floor, a gun in the nightstand, and the strange, stubborn tenderness he only ever shows you.
a kinder man than me | sukuna ryomen x f!reader
a quiet interrogation spirals into something far more dangerous when a careless insult drags old scars to the surface, and sukuna decides the man tied to the chair is about to learn exactly what happens to people who speak to you that way.
wicked witch | sukuna ryomen x f!reader
“babe,” you murmur softly, breath warm against the side of his neck. “fix your shirt, your gun’s showing.”
neutral ground | sukuna ryomen x f!reader
during a tense gathering of the most powerful people in the underworld, satoru gojo makes the mistake of flirting with you, only to realize a second too late exactly whose woman he’s been talking to.
safe and sound | sukuna ryomen x f!reader
after a nightmare drags you back to the night the zen’in clan took you, sukuna pulls you close in the dark and reminds you that everyone responsible is already dead.
PLEASE I NEED RE9 LEON SO BADLY IK HE WPULD LOOK AFTER US SO WELL PLSSSSS
I cant
જ⁀➴ Aftercare with RE9!Boyfriend!Leon ᝰ.ᐟ 18+
Leon wasn’t a stranger to hard work or long distance— he was trained for it, quite literally. That’s why he cherishes his time at home, with you, why he settles for nothing more than to worship every inch of you in bed.
He’s gotta make up for the lost time somehow, right?
And fucking you into the mattress until the only thing on your mind is him… is exactly how he does that, and he’s damn good at it too. He knows your body like he knows his way around a gun; it’s second nature to him. He knows exactly how to coax those breathless moans from your perfect lips and how to get you to arch up into him, when to press deeper and when to ease up, how to bring you over that edge and keep you right on the brink.
He gives it to you good, so it’s only logical that he takes care of you after he’s done fucking you dumb.
“You always take it so good, baby,” he coos against your shoulder blade, where he brushes a series of feather-light kisses, his lips trailing slowly down your spine— his stubble whispering against your flushed skin. “You okay, hm? not too sore?” he almost sounds proud of himself.
“A little achy, it’s a good ache though.” You hum into the pillows from where you’re lying on your stomach, face buried into the silk— your voice lazy and a little muffled.
“Good, means I did my job right,” you can feel his lips curl into a smug grin as he presses his face into the nape of your neck— his big palm running over the curve of your hip. “c’mere, let me hold you.”
Your body, heavy and boneless, relaxes into his big warm arms— he had joked one time that they were shaped to hold you, just like this, with your head tucked under his chin whilst his fingertips run nonsensical patterns up and down your spine in long soothing strokes, his touch grounding you in the moment, his heartbeat under your ear.
“Want me to go run you a bath?— reheat that pizza?” he murmurs against your temple, brushing a kiss to your hairline as you tilt your head to gaze up at those baby blues of his that the warm lamplight catches.
“Mm, in a minute… just wanna look at you first,” he smirks at your needy response, bringing a hand up to run his fingers through your hair, a silent 'I'm here' in his touch.
“Don’t think there’s much to look at… m’just wrinkles now baby,” he says, a faint chuckle catching in his deep voice.
He watches you roll your eyes at him, in that fond way you do whenever he says or does something ridiculous and god does he just thrive off of your little expressions— it’s free ammunition, that frown you get between your brows and that pout to your lips of yours that he loves to kiss right from your mouth.
You huff, muttering something about him ‘ageing sexily’ as you press a kiss to his stubbled jaw, then another to the corner of his mouth, lingering for a moment. “You’re still my man.”
“Damn straight I am, baby, all yours.” He beams, pride warming behind his ribs and bleeding all through his chest as he hauls you closer to him— dragging your thigh across his hips, your soft curves pressing up into the hard planes of his body like puzzle puzzles. “My girl,” he whispers as if to remind himself, bumping his nose against yours before stealing a slow kiss that has you melting further into him with a pleased noise.
Your fingers thread through his salt and pepper hair, smiling against his mouth when you feel him lean into your hands with the faintest hum— his forehead dropping to yours.
“I’ll build you that bookshelf tomorrow, after I make you breakfast.” you feel his voice rumble through his chest like distant thunder as he speaks, low and yet impossibly tender— always tender with you. “Right now, I’m gonna run you a bath and get some food in you.”
And all you could do was nod, humming a grateful thanks. His words weren’t up for debate, not when it came to looking after you.
AN: oh my god writers block has been beating the shit out of me lol. I’m watching someone play Re9 and got the sudden urge and wrote this <3
🏁 pit stop ! 𖦹 throughout the years your relationship with katsuki has blossomed into something precious. you've gone from liking him from afar to being everything he's ever loved, wanted and needed. (7K)
🏁 safety car ! ⋆ not safe for work ⋆ smut ⋆ eighteen plus only. pro hero au, canon compliant, friends to lovers, established relationships, mentions of alcohol and getting drunk, katsuki driving w one hand yum, failed break up, injury, hurt-comfort, angst, semi-public sex, unprotected sex, clothed sex, dry humping, breeding kink, cum play, the heels stay on during sex btw. pro hero bakugou, pro hero & fem reader.
🏁 team radio ! ⋆ woo hooo !! since mha has come to an end ( i feel so freaking sick dawg ) i thought it would be cute to write about bakugou's first relationship through the years. ily kacchan !!! hope u guys like! click for more.
your back hits the wall before the words can really register in your mind. the force isn’t hard, a gesture clearly not meant to harm you — somewhat panicked as it comes. even still, a gasp of surprise slips from between your lips at the feeling of the concrete against your spine and your eyes dart around in search of the source.
“god, bakugou!” you breathe as though the air in your lungs has been stolen and brace a hand against your chest in hopes of slowing the heartbeat that races there.
you’d been on the way to the supply closet as per the request of aizawa — something about needing more textbooks to study for final exams. you had no idea that someone would follow, no idea that katsuki would corner you on the way there.
“katsuki, you’ve always called me katsuki,” he sneers in an attempt to correct you — it’s said without malice, but the edge of his voice softens and lowers at the sight of your uneasy expression. the one that twitches on the curves and slopes of your features. “s-sorry, it’s just… i gotta ask. is it true? what round cheeks ‘n raccoon eyes said?” bakugou turns quiet then and something charges the static air. since he’s got his palm against and just above your shoulder, he’s close enough for you to catch every detail of his face. the curve of his plush lips into a frown caused by doubt and the manner in which his ruby armoured gaze hits the floor like it’s suddenly more interesting than you.
“that you…that you like me?”
you’ve never known bakugou to be so… quiet. careful with his words as though he’s had to plot them out before he speaks. his loudness is what drew your eyes to him that first day you became classmates, and it’s what kept your eyes on him for the three years that followed.
his presence in your life was so unmistakably big, with every phrase and gesture and movement — katsuki had been there. he was a constant even when his heart stopped beating before your very eyes.
so yes, of course it was true. of course you had feelings for him.
in that small clock tick of realisation, something stings at your heart, you can tell that even he doesn’t believe it — as though the thought of you liking him is too hard to believe. your uniform constrains your breathing. tie tight around your neck and blouse buttoned all the way up — trapping the calcium cage of your chest behind crisp cotton. before you know it, you’re nodding… eyes still wide to match that of a deer in headlights.
“y-yes.” whatever confidence you have left, even if just a mere shred, you gather it up between your fingers that bunch up the hem of your greenish school skirt and then set the truth free. “i’m surprised you didn’t notice before, i wanted to get closer to you back in the first year. even if you were a little mean.”
there’s no point in lying, katsuki had caught your confession from someone and with mina involved — it obviously spread like a pathogenic germ throughout class 1-A until inevitably reaching him. you don’t miss the way the blonde winces, flinching away from the blunt point in your words. disappointment yanks his eyebrows to the centre of his forehead and you watch, frightened, as katsuki tries to pull away from you. arm retreating to his side stiffly.
this school taught you to move without thinking, however, and you quickly grab at his wrist. the pads of your fingers sink into the sleeve of his grey blazer.
you swallow, thick, and speak slowly. “although… that has changed, you’ve changed. i know that you’ve always cared, you’re gentler now and when it counts. i.. saw it then and i see it now.” the words tumble out before you can stop them, blistering hot on your tongue from the honesty. your body temperature spikes, heated with embarrassment but you don’t stop — not when your heart lies open on the table for katsuki to hold inspect. “i do like you but… i never planned to tell you how i felt because i didn’t and still don’t want to get in the way.”
“but why?” the blonde asks.
“because we’re graduating soon? because we lived through a war and you died and even afterwards, when everything was over it never felt like the right time.” you confess, flustered and almost a little defensive — the grip on your skirt tightens to the point where the fabric creases.
it’s been three years since you first noticed katsuki bakugou, three years since you realised how much your heart desired him and now, you’re eighteen and a handful of weeks away from achieving what might be your greatest dream without him..
silence sweeps beneath every word left unsaid, the only sound coming from classes down the hall where students chatter about their aspirations or plans for graduation. yet here you are, stuck in a moment of ‘will they won’t they’ with katsuki bakugou himself. “what if… what if i felt the same? would you have told me then. if you knew that i liked you too?” he asks, a tinge of hope burning at the fraying edges of his question.
“yes? i think so…” you nod meekly as your breathing grows shallow and nervous.
“i like you.” bakugou takes a step forward, an invisible force pushing you further into the wall. where you cling onto his wrist, the blonde uses that same grip to intertwine your hands. his cheeks flare a red to rival sincere eyes, his palms sweaty to the touch like he might set of sparks from how fucking scared he is.
you don’t move, you don’t break away, you just let him speak as if he’s the last man on earth with something to say. “i like you a lot and you’d never get in my way. i don’t want graduation to be the last time i see you or the last chance i get to tell you this.” he says earnestly, eager to make you see the feelings he too has tried to hide. “you’re not…just some extra i’m going to forget after school ends. you’re someone i… someone i care about and someone i want to be with… ‘cause that’s how these things work, right?”
bakugou looks down at your intertwined hands, noting the way you don’t pull away even if you could. you’re not scared of what he can do or what he’s done. you accept it.
“i guess ‘m just tryna ask you out,” he adds shyly and rubs the back his neck with his free hand as his blush spreads down to it. “if you’ll have me.”
you don’t let a beat of silence pass without throwing your arms around his neck — overcome with affection and adrenaline.
“you’re so stupid katsuki bakugou.” tucking your face into his warm neck, you attempt to hide the excitement that curls around your shyness. “my answer is yes, i’ll go out with you. i waited three years for you to notice. of course i’ll have you.”
for a moment, katsuki hesitates. his arms stay hovering above your back and your waist, he even stops breathing for a moment… but then he realises this is exactly what he wanted. he couldn’t let you go without knowing if it was true, if you liked him the way he had secretly grown to like you.
“i promise i’ll be good to you.” he swears like an oath when you finally break apart — bashfully holding out his pinky.
“i’ll take good care of you too, katsuki,” you link it with your own, grin so wide that it spreads to katsuki like it's contagious. “so… does that make us boyfriend and girlfriend now?”
he mumbles so shyly you almost forget its great explosion murder god that you’re talking to. “we’re whatever you wanna be. as long as you’re by my side.”
“oh, then, i’m so telling the rest of class 1-A that you’re my boyfriend!”
“hah? why would you do that? it’s none of their damn business!” he groans, but it’s playful and there’s a smile. you know that he secretly doesn’t mind because his weary little heart sings, no longer in pain — happy to be yours at last.
the two of you return to the classroom and much to the excitement of your classmates — you’re hand in hand with blissful smiles that only last a little while.
only because it’s not long before aizawa starts yelling about the missing text books neither of you thought to bring back.
“you love me?”
the question comes out as half a rasp and half a giggle. katsuki’s tired eyes flit over to the figure strapped securely into the passenger seat of his car — he’s up way too late and past his bed time, after a gruelling week of patrols and press conferences, all he’d looked forward to was a day off and a quiet house where his girlfriend would be out partying with her girlfriends.
but someone calls the blonde, frantic, a little past three am. he answers with his usual gruff voice. a sleep ‘the fuck do you want’ murmured on the edge of cursing the caller out because even lord knows that dynamight needs his beauty sleep… but then he hears you — whimpering on the end of the line about how your shoes hurt and how cold it is and then someone else’s voice comes into play. he’s sure it’s round-face at this point.
‘she’s had too many shots and started crying about how much she misses you. she refuses to come home with one of us, so can you pick her up?’
now, katsuki’s never moved so fast — because even though he enjoys his down time, there’s nothing he loves more than being alone… with you. in fatigued haze he throws on a hoodie along with red-riot crocks he’d rather be caught dead in and races over to the scene. he doesn’t need to ask what club you’re at, you’d inswiping you from the arms of old classmates with a thankful look before helping you onto the porsche he’s had since first going pro.
a car you’d helped him to pick out, squealing over it at the dealership and purring something involving him in the backseat whilst he paid it off.
the fond memories take up space in the car as bakugou drives you both back home, one hand on the wheel with a sweet sleepy smile slotting perfectly on his lips — your feet stretched over the console to rest in his lap ( your heels lost somewhere under the front seat ) as you drunkenly profess your love for him beneath glittering street lights.
“i do, love you s’much!” comes your giggly hiccup, all sickly sweet and bubble-gum like. Katsuki feels his heart stop in chest because even the way you sound, drunk and airy, he knows that he’s missed you. can’t stand the silence when you’re away for too long. you fill the space and quiet when the doubts in his head get too loud — he loves you here, loves you when your mind is a little too far away. you’re everything to him. “you’re jus’ sooooo hot ‘n picked me up from th’stinky club! so sexy! like my prince!”
with his free hand, katsuki rubs gentle circles into the joint at your ankle — the car ticks as he indicates to love into the next lane. he drives smoothly, easily, with only one hand. “just a hot guy, huh? not your boyfriend? not anyone special?”
he jokes because he knows you won’t remember in the morning when your head kills.
“uh-no! my boyfriend’s name is kat-su-ki!” frowning and huffing tipsily in your place, hair a little out of place and skin hot to the touch — you babble on without realising. more for the memory book, more stories to tell when you finally come to. “ohmygooooood don’ tell katsuki i think you’re pretty. he’ll get superduper jealous ‘n pouty. soooo cute when he’s like that but he loves me so much! he gives me apple juice instead of orange when i’m hungover. my little kacchan.”
even when you’re not all here, away with the fairies and high on life from a beautiful night with your friends — he knows your heart will come back to him. you think of katsuki even when he isn’t there, miss him when he’s by your side or just at the other end of the room. right now, you remember how he cares for you like you’ve always secretly cherished the thought. it’s been years now and you still make him blush, even like this.
“i don’t think your boyfriend’s little, sweetheart.” katsuki quips, a little shy, spotting your drive way up ahead. perhaps he’ll keep this moment to himself, a reminder of how much you love him even when you’re not entirely yourself.
from the passenger’s side, you glance over at the blonde through your lashes in a way that makes his stomach twist — voice low and hot, familiar. “how would you know? you lookin’ in my boyfriend’s pants?”
bakugou parks the car in the garage after pulling up to it — turning in his seat to face you. using a knuckle he nudges the chub of your cheek, sticky with whatever you’d been chugging down with your friends. he makes a note to help you cleanse your face once you get in. “i know, sweets, because i am your boyfriend. c’mere.” he casually reaches over the console to press a lingering kiss to your forehead as if to remind you of the fact — and when he pulls back, the realisation settling into your features is obvious, pupils dilating until they’re able to form hearts. “there you are, gorgeous.”
“kacchan!” you coo cutely, keening into him. “missed you sooo much. my baby.”
after unbuckling your seatbelt, the strong pro hero hauls you from the car into his arms like a princess — your heels now hanging from his fingers like they belong there. every step is still careful, as though not to jostle you while you squeal and squirm happily — your laughter echoing throughout the halls of your shared home. decorated in your memories from high school until now.
“that’s right, your baby. let’s get you to bed, hm?”
with the kind of gentleness only lovers know, bakugou takes you through your nightly routine — accepting drunk kisses as he cleanses your face free of makeup and changes you into comfy clothes with his scent embedded into every thread. by the time he’s carried you to bed from the bathroom — your consciousness has started to fade, and your fingers curl tightly into his chest like you’re afraid to be without him.
“love you, kats.” you sigh into the earliest sighs of sleep — nuzzling into his arms tight around you.
bakugou’s smile, the one that he directs down at you, is soft and laced with all the words he can’t say — not until you’re more yourself in the morning. instead, he tucks you into bed and slips right in beside you, whispering into the shell of your ear.
“i love you most, don’t you ever forget.”
“you want to break up with me?”
one promise that the two of you made to one another, all those years ago, was to never yell at each other. never go to sleep mad at one another. no matter how shitty things may get, how much darkness your jobs may bring — you’d talk it out, stay calm, keep your voices even where you can.
fix it before everything breaks.
but right now, you can tell that katsuki is trying his hardest not to lose it. his voice wavers, cracks in the way it does when his emotions threaten to get the best of him. you see it in his body, the ticks and habits you know so well — his shoulders are tense, fists clenched, eyes wide and worried. bakugou is trying so hard to keep it all together and not scream like his heart wants him to.
you’re on opposite sides of the room, you behind the couch that you picked out together for your first shitty apartment. him by the door, his keys with the all might keychain still dangling from the keyhole in the door. it’s on purpose, the distance between you, because you know that if bakugou comes any closer you’ll shatter to pieces only he’s skilled enough to put back together.
“i just think it’s for the best right now, i can’t keep getting in your way—” you start to explain, but anything you have to say gets lost underneath the lump in your throat and the way he raises his voice.
not to yell, but to try to understand.
“that’s not a fuckin’ reason and you know, you know that’s bullshit,” katsuki tries not to snap, he really does — it’s not in anger, but as a result of the frustration building up within his veins. bubbling hot and bright. he knows shit has been tough recently, the press churning out negative stories on your quirk, making you seem weak in comparison to katsuki now that you work together. “you wanna break up fine. end it with me. tell me you hate me, scream, fuckin’ cry. but don’t you dare let it because of someone else.”
there’s been a pressure on your shoulders lately that he can’t seem to lift no matter how much he tries or chips away at it. a quiet elephant in the room that the two of you ignore while stripping hero suits and washing away dust or concrete caked to your wounds. there’s been moments at night, where you silently cry out for help — words of faith or encouragement. something to let you know that you’re a good hero. words that fail katsuki when he needs them most.
so he tries right now, his damned hardest. tries to tell you that without you he’s nothing.
“i can’t lose you for any reason other than me. that’s the only way i can let you go,” he says, adamant and tired all that once — taking a sledgehammer in hand, attempting to break down your walls. “let it be that you fell out of love with me, not because you’re listening to a damn word those extras say.”
bakugou throws out mid argument, desperate. because that’s how he’s always been — needing you to get by, wanting you to survive. things have been rough lately, maybe he doesn’t protect you from the media like he should. he’s grown to have thick skin, but he hasn’t extended it to you where he should have been. katsuki made a promise to protect you, be good to you — could he have broken that?
“i could never fall out of love with you, kats, it’s not that easy.” your eyes flit anywhere but the explosive hero’s face — ignoring the pain you’ve inflicted upon it. they land on your suitcase by the door, full of things he’d brought to you at the hospital. the latest visit being from a quirk-related accident.
the headlines scream at you from inside your head: hero or villain? dynamight’s partner dragging him down? civilians injured, dynamight’s dangerous partner to blame?
it sets the dream you had, to be a hero by his side, on fire — burning into smoke, going up in flames before your very eyes.
“then tell me why. make me understand,” katsuki sighs, not exasperated with you but with the world. “‘cause i can’t lose you, i won’t make it.”
“i’m scared,” you say and your voice shakes just like your body does. weakened with exhaustion and tears whilst showing the first signs of collapse. he’s across the room to catch you before you fall, sinking to his knees on the rug mitsuki gifted you back then — with you, cushioned in his arms. “i’m scared my quirk won’t let me keep up, that with every mission, you’ll see how useless it is. how it’ll stop you from being number one—”
“stop that.”
“i can’t, katsuki. this is… this is what’s making me feel the way i feel,” that’s when you yell, tears falling so fast that you don’t even realise you’re crying. everything hurts, to breathe or to sit here in his arms when other people deserve the same level of comfort. “i’m so scared of losing you, of dying before i get to see my future with you. i can’t protect you when i’m like this and i constantly get in the way.”
air in your lungs becomes scarce between each hiccup and you ball up your fists to push him away. except bakugou has always been forceful when it comes to loving you, he’s hard to move and hard to dismiss. you’re stuck with him no matter what you say. “you’ve always wanted to be the very best and i don’t want to put that in danger when i fall behind like everyone thinks i would,” you can’t help but cry, tears hot and wet as they seep through your boyfriend’s clothes. “i-i don’t want to make you hate me.”
“you don’t get to decide how i feel about you,” he responds, soft like a coo to bring you back down from the ledge you’re crawling to. “you don’t get to decide when i’m done lovin’ you. that’s not fair.” katsuki sees it now, someone he wants to help as much as he loves them. ever since you got back from the hospital you’ve been keeping all of this in, he’ll let you know it’s safe to get it all out. reassure you of your worth and rightful place in his life. “why would i throw away the one person who cares about me when i’m not my best? when have i ever given a fuck about what others think except for you?”
“katsuki—”
“i love you. it’ll only be you. i don’t give a fuck about what anyone else says. you’re always going to be my hero, the only one able to catch up to me.” your lover interrupts you, one arm around your waist to catch you if you fall, the other cupping your cheeks to brush away the tears you shed.
that makes you laugh all watery, gasping at the ugly blob of snot katsuki wipes away from your nose with a rough padded thumb. “aside from deku.”
“that nerd can go fuck himself and find himself a new rival,” bakugou pulls you closer and rocks backwards to sit on the floor properly — effectively dragging you into his lap. the cadence in his voice dips low, rough as though he’s been trying to hold back tears mixed with the fear of losing you. “i only want you. you’re not allowed to leave me. you promised…” blonde hair tickles the space between your neck and your shoulder from where lord dynamight tucks himself into it for safety.
“don’t be mean, my baby,” katsuki only relaxes when he’s sure you’re not going to leave. your fingers rake through the roots of his hair, scratching at his scalp because it calms you both down. you settle, you accept his love with open arms and let it fill you with life once more. “we could both be a little more like izuku… but i can’t bring myself to leave. i promised you.”
he kisses your pulse as it’s racing slows to a steady rhythm. “damn right you did, brat. don’t ever try to break up with me for shit again.”
katsuki doesn’t cry or scream or shout when you argue, but instead he pleads because living without you is like holding your breath and never letting go.
“you need me?”
bakugou asks when he feels your hand on his sleeve, perfectly manicured fingertips smoothing over the cufflinks in his shirt. there’s a look in your eye that carries a distinct heat, one that radiates from your body and spreads like wildfire to his.
it doesn’t take the hero long to notice what it is that you’re after. glancing up at him through hooded lashes, your foot dragging up his leg from underneath the table — it’s enough to set the warning bells off in his head and pull his attention away from hawks’ speech at the front of the hall. katsuki’s never cared much about the events that the hero commission throws at the end of every year. even if he’s up for an award at tonight’s show.
the two of you carefully slip away and shed your PR perfected skin, darting to a conference room down the hall. one with a lock to keep your sinful acts hidden from unsuspecting heroes and sidekicks and other prestigious guests here tonight. giggles and chuckles filter through the empty room as katsuki yanks off his sexy suit and tie, as you unclip your jewellery and fight with the zipper of your glittering ruby red gala gown. he doesn’t let you kick off your expensive red-bottom heels, however.
when your lips meet for the first time that evening ( that wasn’t for a camera ) it’s electric — sending a spark of lightning crackling across your brain and right down to your spine. your boyfriend tastes like red wine and victory — perhaps that’s what’s got you so riled up tonight, you know he’s going to win the award for best hero this year. you know what it’ll do to the blonde’s ego and what he’ll do to you as a result. are you wrong for giving him an early prize? each kiss grows sloppier than the last, lazily urgent like he’s not getting enough of you. pouring every ounce of white hot desire past the seam of your lips as his tongue slides into your mouth — running over your teeth, clashing with your own sticky pink muscle.
mouths slot against one another like they’re married, spit is swapped salacious and dangerous hands wander further up the flimsy hem of your dress before it inevitably comes off as a whole. his grip trails up the meat of your thighs and the soft curve of your hips and waist like he’s memorising it for the billionth time — remembering what it’s like to hold you like this.
each touch leaves you in shambles the further they reach, especially when his thumbs swipe over your hardened nipples, over the swell of your breasts once they’re free from your sweetheart neckline. you writhe and cry and he takes it from you — swallowing down whistle tone wines as pearly white teeth sink into your lower lip.
when he’s done ravaging your mouth he moves to your neck to place calculated smooches across its expanse. “keep it quiet, baby, we can’t get caught.” you almost hate the hypotonic timbre note of katsuki’s voice vibrating through your skin because it makes you embarrassingly wet. a wave of juices soaking through thin red fabric you know will be pocketed by the end of the night.
feather light kisses take a turn when sharp teeth come onto the scene — leaving hues of plum purple against your flesh where they’ll be most noticeable without makeup to cover it. you don’t even fight bakugou as he leaves marks, mewling out loud despite the oxygen that escapes your brain, distracted by the hand that pushes your slick thighs apart for his entertainment.
your breath hitches when you stumble into the edge of the table — both of you are more desperate and hungry now. katsuki hums against the race of your pulse just beneath your ear, pressing his fingertips against your arousal soaked panties to find your pulsating clit on instinct. that’s how the pro hero works you up to it, works himself up to it, his leaky cockhead straining against suit pants to the point where you’re fearful you’ll both cum before there’s any time to have fun.
now, katsuki has you naked on your back against the cool surface of the wooden table — smirking slow and sexy as goosebumps rise across your bare flesh like chicken skin. his now equally naked dick lies wet and heavy against your lower tummy. oozing viscous precum that smears over his scarred abs and your belly button whilst he leans over you, chest to chest.
“be my good girl, tell me where you need it.” katsuki croaks, growing desperate, acting like he’s been starved. he’s shameless with how he erotically bumps and grinds the length of his hardness against your swollen, clothed mound. he fits perfectly between your folds — just like he always has and he’ll never get enough of you, even after all these years. he’s wrecked from a little dry humping, ruined from the idea of taking you here just metres away from his peers and practically collapses on top of you.
“shit’s so fucking pretty…” he laments.
bakugou’s forehead falls to yours, slightly doused in sweat as he pouts condescendingly — leaning close to let his tongue dance messily with your own once more. you gasp into each other’s open mouths with slackened jaws, sharing avid moans that are high enough to raise the roof and your chests rise and fall rapidly in sync like you’ve just undergone hero training.
it’s only when you both pause for air that you’re able to speak and answer the blonde in a way that pleases him.
“inside.” you breath low, stomach twisting and abdomen contracting. “need your cum inside, katsuki.” you’re so pretty like this, underneath him, pretty bambi eyes wide and waiting. there’s always been something about you that leaves katsuki’s pulse a mess and swipes every breath from his lungs. he knew it back then when his heart first decided to become yours and he knows it now, years later — you’d be the death of him and he wouldn’t even mind.
“fuck, that’s my girl. always so needy for it, hah?” bakugou whines, so gone but yet so yours. his cock throbs hotly against your cotton clad slit as blood rushes through it angrily — spiralling through the pretty veins wrapped around his shaft. panties are torn in two, their silken ruby threads thrown somewhere into the room to make way for you. for your soft hand snakes its way between your bodies to guide him towards your fluttering entrance, which clenches around nothing. a droplet of milky white pearling at your hole and dribbling down between your ass cheeks.
you nod whilst the blonde draws his hips back to gather what you drool, using it as lube for his dick. you’re connected to him by milky strings from your sopping cunt and a little bit of him mixed in too — his expression turns dopey at the warm, wet feeling, nosing your cheek romantically before katsuki makes an effort to push into you. fill you up in the way that you need.
immediately, your heat envelopes his bulbous tip like a welcome home. spreading over every inch in a raunchy manner, viscous travel tides of your nectar track down along the length of him the further your boyfriend pushes into you until he shines with everything you offer. dripping onto the table below. then he shifts your position, using all that pro hero strength to nudge your n knees into your shoulders — legs folded over the wideness of his own as your heels click against his muscled back.
you feel a spasm in your legs, pinned hotly against your body now that he’s able to drop his weight against you fully. he spans across every inch of you, fills all of your senses and sends a tingle through all four of your limbs. the heaviness makes you dizzy, causing you to buck up as if you’re aiming to take more of him too quickly. katsuki’s lips move soft, sloppy against your cheeks but his movements start urgent and intentional.
one moment you’re grinding leisurely against each other, the next — the power behind his thrusts winds up before they turn animalistic. almost primal. even yet, every buck of his hips is intentional — ensuring that his tip strikes the most sensitive spot deep inside your sensitive walls. his hands slam against the table just beyond your head to steady himself, sparking from the sweat that gathers against them.
“kats,” you whimper out, though it sounds like more of a strangled sound of pleasure bubbling up in your throat. your boyfriend turns his head, licking a bead of sweat that trails down from your forehead to your jaw and hums softly. you tilt your own head to meet his line of sight, catching a glimpse of the black of his pupils that eclipses whilst it eclipses the tender carmine in his eyes. “katsuki.”
“i know, sweetheart. know just what you fuckin’ need,” he doesn’t lie, his raspy voice just honest and raw in a way that makes your heart skip, succumbing to the love that flickers like a flame between the two of you. “my girl, you take it so fuckin’ well, no matter where we are.” the praise punctuates the clap of damp skin against skin and makes you gush. slick and crude sounds echoing throughout the empty room, coasting over the moans he rips from between your lungs. “damn, baby. listen to how that pussy cries for me.”
you melt at his words, reduced to a shaky puddle on the table. a mess of hiccuped pleas and whines for mercy. or for more — you can’t even tell. every touch, every deep-hitting plunge into the syrupy walls of your core is centred around your pleasure and pushing you over the edge. katsuki barely finds the strength to pull from your selfish and darling hole but knows in his mind that he just wants you to feel good. give you exactly what you need to pacify the flames flickering inside of you.
beneath you, the table rocks and squeaks a little louder than you do — possibly giving you away to any stragglers from the show but you’re too caught up in the moment to care. your boyfriend hisses as the stem of your heel digs deliciously into his back, the type of pain that tells him to keep it up. it motivates him to take rein over your helpless body, driving his dick deeper until you’re only able to babble his name like a prayer underneath each shallow breath.
your hands take purchase in the plushness of his chest — the slither of golden and scarred skin that peeks between his halfheartedly unbuttoned shirt. “f-fuck, kats. you’re so deep. m-making me feel so good, baby,” you squeal pathetically, falling victim to the intensity in which katsuki loves up on you. so you throw your hips upwards in an attempt to match the hero’s ravishing pace — bowing into his heavy body like he’s a magnetic force pulling into him. “my god, katsuki!”
the tune of your bodies continue to fall into sync, your squelching cunt grips onto every pulsing vein on the blonde’s girth as it pushes and pulls at your gummy walls that gush fresh hot waves of wetness. his tip nudges your g-spot over and over again, focusing only on that little spot that makes you crumble underneath him like a sandcastle by the tide.
something in your mind switches off and for a moment, it turns blank. an orgasm that had been building at the core of your pelvis caused by your lover boy sneaks up on you entirely too quickly — hunts you down like a thief in the night ready to strike you down when you least expect it. except, bakugou knows your body perhaps a little better than you know yourself. he senses your high on the horizon like he’s got some kind of quirk that does it, the way your stomach tightens against his abs and your sweet moans turn into a wobbly dulcet sound.
the way your sloppy mound drips a constant stream of your essence down his length until it’s practically drowning bakugou’s balls as they slap against you — heavy and full of the cum that you so desperately need. he fucks you further along the edge like his life depends on it, pounding you while the legs of the table threaten to give out. he ravages you because he’s loved you his entire adult life and then some, you’re the only thing ( coming before his work ) worth pushing his body beyond physical limits for.
“so fuckin’ in love with you, with this pussy. ‘m the fuckin’ luckiest man alive, creamin’ on it like you own it,” katsuki groans through gritted teeth, breaking up each of his words with lunges of his hips that force you up the table — you’re prompted to grab at his ass to steady himself and keep him close. “and i just know you need to cum, so how about you give it to me? nice and messy like you always do.” the blonde’s voice stays tight, clinging to each ridge on the inside of his throat whilst he pounds your pussy to the high heavens.
he has you howling at the moon, hole locking and unlocking around the sinful curve of his dick and squeezing fat droplets precum from him — smearing opaque white against your rippling walls. he falters for only a second. your freehand reaches upwards, yanking bakugou down by a fistful of blonde hair to bring him down for a sloppy kiss. colourful curse words are licked into your molten hot mouth whilst you drool against his tongue, and dribble from your mound. in the mess of it all, he pinches at your swollen clit to drag you along.
“‘m cumming kats, f-fuck. please…please cum with me.” shock waves of serotonin and dopamine and other happy hormones shoot through you — from your sex fuzzied brain to the very tips of your toes as they curl within your heels. getting closer and closer, you kick your feet as your legs tremble where they’re slung over katsuki’s shoulders. the feeling lulls a filthy whine from your boyfriend, panted and ragged.
his lashes tickle your face, broken praises and prompts coasting warmly along your cheek as the blonde switches between circling his hips to throwing his hips into at a dangerous, insistent pace. “go ahead, sweetness. ‘m right here with you,” he purrs and squeezes your swollen nub, laughing airily once your stare turns vacant. “there it is, shit. atta girl.” he rocks into you fluidly like a boat on waves, grinning all sexy like when you finally hit your high.
“oh my god! katsuki!” you cry one final time, pawing at whatever part of him you can reach to tie yourself back to sanity. you needed this, for him to break you in and unwind all the knots in your system and he was the right person to give it to you.
even though there’s a gala outside or an award with your boyfriend’s name carved into its golden plaque — he would drop anything and everything just to make you see those heavenly stars, have them dot your blurring vision.
bakugou pulls back, leaning on his palms to watch you shatter beneath him. get a glimpse of his dick slipping in and out of your creamy hole — moaning at the sight of your sexes joining in unison. the dam holding you together can no longer withstand the force of your orgasm washing over you — clear streams trickling from your ruined mound. the force of it nearly pushes his girth from your snug warmth because you just cum so hard intensely. lovingly, your boyfriend swoops down to swallow the hearty scream that rips through your chest. whether it’s just to taste you or to hide your act from anyone outside — the simple lip lock is enough to send him up to cloud nine too.
“o-oh! fuuuck, sweetheart. makin’ me cum so fucking hard.” aftershocks make you dizzy as white flashes beyond your vision and katsuki basks in the feverish twitch of your cunt — blistering hot ropes of his seed quickly flood your womb, sticking to the pleasure points of your ribbed walls. it’s potent and milky, swirling with what gushes from you freely as it smears across your swollen folds. he keeps you plugged full, cum seeping into the deepest parts of you whilst katsuki gives you exactly what you need and not a drop is wasted on anything else.
he collapses on top of you once more, but doesn’t pull out nor does he let you go. one last chaste kiss dots your forehead and katsuki eases your legs down from his shoulder so that your ankles can lock around his unfairly slender waist — heels sitting just above his taut ass.
a second passes, breathing slows and even gentler smooches are exchanged. “i love you so much,” you sitter once you’ve calmed, a bright smile glazing your face. there’s this glow about you, one that you get when you’ve been fucked within an inch of your life — it shows that you’ve been loved just as thoroughly that you need in a way that only katsuki bakugou can pull off. “you’re so good to me.”
“i promised i would be, didn’t i?” bakugou hums as he looks down at your glistening body — covered with every ounce of him. he carefully takes your hand in his and presses a kiss against your knuckles — another promise sealed into your salty skin. like a lover should, he pulls out gently and helps you redress before fixing himself up. the hero hardly bothers to wipe the seed that leaks out of you, eager to leave his claim whilst he zips you back into your dress.
his tender words are a callback to that week before graduation, when you were both teenagers and you’d just confessed to one another. the memory makes you smile bright and genuine — because your boyfriend has kept his word through every phase. through liking you, loving you, wanting you and needing you.
you’re sure he’s counting his lucky starts to have you, and in a way, you’re counting them because of him too.
“yeah,” you answer katsuki, quiet and oh so in love. “you really did.”
Tags: context for why Y/N is crying is vague but has nothing to do with y’all’s relationship. It’s overall a fluffy chat log not angsty! They love you lmao
Synopsis. Your duties as a nanny are simple: pick Itadori Yuji up from elementary school, bathe him, feed him his veggies, and take care of him until his hot blond dad gets home. It doesn’t include something like…spending Valentine’s Day with the overworked, overstressed, absolute DlLF Nanami Kento. Does it?
Does it?
Pairing. Nanami Kento x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem!reader, older!Nanami, age gap, DlLF!Nanami, reader is in early 20’s, Nanami is in 30’s, he’s overworked and STRESSED, down bad!Nanami, desperation, Valentine’s Day, pùssydrùnk Nanami, oraI (fem rec.), p talking, p sIapping, punishments, dégrading but also soft Nanami, spítting, bíting, fíngering, yearning, teaching you, fírst times (yours), Iessons, talking you through it, he’s stern, he’s BIG, BRÉEDlNG BRÉEDlNG BRÉEDlNG, matíng presses, manhandIing, cervíx smoochin, overstím, vírginíty loss (yours), corruption, he’s feraI, DÚMBIFlCATION, calling you ‘momma’, mentions of kids, implied marathon, HEADLÓCKS, creampíes, cúmpIay, Yuji cameos, Papamin, HAPPY ENDING, pet names, swéaring.
Word count. 15.7k
A/N. BOO! SURPRISE VALENTINE’S DAY POST?! HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY BABYGIRLS <33
Nanami can’t help but sigh—“One more meeting and I’m quitting.”
Even though he knows he wouldn’t.
Those boxed-in, white-collar jobs felt just as lukewarm to quit as they were to work. One learns to numb oneself to the constant drone and sputter of the office, the ceaseless fury of a microwave that wouldn’t heat, and the wail of a printer printing listlessly furlong - too far behind its service date. So was there even a point?
That stupid screech followed him even out of the office: one could ignore the cracks and jolts of joints, but that doesn’t actually stop the noise.
He feels a headache coming on.
But Nanami can’t lie- the pay wasn’t all too bad. Besides, the extra hours helped him pay for the nanny he’d recently hired for Yuji—speaking of, he could hear you shuffling about inside.
His key’s just reaching for the door before it swings wide open.
“Welcome home—!”
And Nanami Kento can’t understand that strange, sweet flutter in his heart.
One of his hands jerks upwards- right to the pounding space above his heart. He knows he must look a bit of a sight right now - a grown man pawing at his chest - and part of him wonders whether this was all the all-nighters taking a toll on him. About time.
But another part of him wonders whether he should consult a cardiologist.
Also about time.
Because it’s been like this ever since he hired you - the vetting process for finding a nanny had been a long and tedious one. And Nanami had rejected (he’s sure) at least fifty different candidates, had been blocked by five different agencies, before he finally landed on you. Either they’d been too strict, or too lenient, or too new, or simply not cut out to handle the benevolent whirlwind that was his adopted son.
The poor man had been on the verge of giving up.
In fact, he was two paragraphs into an email to HR whilst stress-eating a homemade Danish pastry and wondering whether buying his boss flowers would be overkill- when it happened. God, could this day get any worse? First his manager gives him a ton of work just before he clocked off, certainly not in his list of responsibilities, then he’d burned those damn Danish pastries, then one of the nannies he’d interviewed had nearly passed out at the sheer energy Yuji had.
He’d been working more and more these days. And Nanami needed just a few more months - a few more nights putting in overtime before he could-
It was then that the doorbell had rang.
Ba-dump!
He opened the door tentatively, hoping that it wasn’t yet another ambush by a salesperson - each with their bright plastic garbage, and their even brighter smiles. But what he’d been met with instead wasn’t one of those visitors he dreaded…not in the very least. It was you—
And your explanation that you were here because of Shoko.
“Erm- she told me that you were looking for a nanny?” You flashed your conversation with Nanami’s clinical friend as proof. He flickered his gaze over to the screen but his eyes remained unreading—he remembers turning them back over to you.
Blinking at the vision of you.
And you’d slightly jolted at the intensity in them.
Digging through your pin-covered bag, “I also have my CV in here…somewhere.” He watched as you only grew more and more frustrated as that CV evaded you- “It really should be somewhere- give me one second-”
“That’s alri-”
But instead of your CV, your bag had poured out notes and pens in return. So much of it that Nanami marvelled at just how much fit inside that humble satchel. They dropped to the floor and you dived to pick them up, wincing. “I’m so- sorry-”
“Let me.” Crouching down in front of you, Nanami’s much-larger hands had had no trouble scooping all those papers up. In an instant he had them aligned neatly and handed to you. Prim. Proper.
By the tie still ‘round his neck, you guessed he’d just come home from work - and little did you know he’d also just finished four failed interviews for the position of nanny - yet he didn’t have a single blond hair out of line. They were slicked-back and handsome in a way you’d seen only in old movie stars. You thought you saw a few strands of silver.
Lines at the edges of his eyes. That tired strength about him.
It was hard to not ogle him.
Your fingertips brushed his rougher ones as you took the papers from him. “Thank you.”
“It’s my pleasure.” The older man peered down at you—so intense that you could almost feel yourself sinking into the mediocre polyester carpet lining the apartment hallway. Neither of you made a move to get up. “I want to ask you about your availability.”
You’d jumped slightly. “You…you actually want to hire me after that- I mean!”
“Should I not?” And what was this? Nanami Kento had to stifle a chuckle at that? How curious…it must’ve been the work day getting to him at that point- yes. He was feeling a little delirious.
“I mean- please do…”
He’d looked away with a slight smile once you reached into the depths of your bag once more. This time, you didn’t make it erupt in scribbled notes- instead you were pulling out a printed table that looked to be a time table. “Sorry I just- printing makes it easier for me to remember…sometimes.” You explained, “I don’t have any lectures on Wednesday and Friday- and the ones I have on the rest of the weekdays are rather flexible so—”
A college student!
Nanami’s jaw had dropped then.
He knew you looked young but-
A college student?!
“Wait a minute…” One of his hands twitched, almost as if to beckon that time table to himself and make sure.
But then you nodded, “I first met Shoko-san during a medical conference she gave at the university, and she told me you worked late on weekdays. I should be free in the evenings then, but will you be working late on the weekends as well? Because I do have this one professor that really-”
Nanami didn’t know how on Earth the topic of him would’ve even cropped up in your conversations- but he needed to end this.
Now.
Listen. It wasn’t that you seemed like a bad kid- you seemed great, even! But Nanami himself was well into his thirties with absolutely zero idea on balancing Yuji and his work life. So he really didn’t want to burden someone over a decade younger than him with-
“Papa?”
The sweetest, sleepiest voice echoed from inside.
He doesn’t even have to turn his head to know that Itadori was swaying, all decked-out in his Spiderman pajamas, at the end of the hallway. Likely having gotten out for water or because of the ruckus caused outside. He blinked his sluggish eyes open and ogled the two of you.
Nanami doesn’t know why- but he shoots up to a stand. Almost as if he was caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to.
You followed.
Which one of you three was the responsible parent here, by the way?
His parched mouth opened to—what? There was nothing to explain.
It was true that Nanami hadn’t had the time to even stop and think about dating or relationships in the time since he’d adopted Yuji. Not even if he wanted to. And, admittedly, he did have dreams of getting married one day - he watched all those sappy TV shows, alright? He knew how it felt.
He wanted to walk beside someone to that shrine. He wanted to have a few more kids, to give Yuji a bigger family than this. He wanted to quit his dead-end job and move out with his family to a bigger house in the countryside.
But none of that was as important as his son right now.
However, he knew that Yuji saw all those happy couples during pick-up at the elementary school- and his boy was sweet. The sweetest, actually. Nanami knew that Yuji wouldn’t say a single thing about him being the only exhausted father to arrive all alone. Day after day.
The two of them in their lonesome.
His sweet boy would beam the biggest smile nevertheless.
But kids were smarter than adults gave them credit for. Doesn’t he feel that loneliness, too?
Perhaps that was why Yuji ran up to you in an instant.
Right past his haggard father and only towards you - all previous sleepiness now gone - he reached up towards the pretty stranger with the pretty pin-covered bag.
Stubby finger pointing up at a particularly red one—“Do you like Spwiderman, too?”
“Of course.” Leaning down, you smiled warmly at the boy. His hair was a rose-colored mess that stuck up at all odd angles. “And my spidey senses are telling me that a certain someone does, too?”
He gasped, “That’s me!”
Before Nanami knows it, you were held hostage and dragged inside by a particularly overactive pink-haired boy. Shown all around the apartment as part of your tour to be shown-off Yuji’s prized Spiderman-themed bedroom.
And unbeknownst to him - against that lock-and-key and jaded guard - you’d walked into Nanami Kento’s cozy Tokyo apartment (and the strange cavity in his chest that softened whenever you were around).
He sighed.
A college student!
Still, Nanami can’t deny that it’s been a delight having you around.
Despite your packed schedule and your note-filled bag, you were always there to greet him when he came home. Without fail. Either tapping away at some assignment due before midnight, or humming to yourself as you wiped down the kitchen counters—last minute fluffy pancake emergency, he thinks of those nights.
Even though it’d been about eight months since your initial meeting, it’s almost fearsome how easily he’d gotten used to the routine of it all.
Something that should be so mundane - he flips each moment through his mind over and over again until it felt like they made up the grooves of his brain itself. The gyri and the sulci. Or so he’d heard you muttering to yourself as you studied one night.
He’s studied, too. He’s memorized how you’d open the door for him, with a smile across your face and a finger to your lips- telling the older man to be quiet as he shook off his shoes. He’s memorized how you’d never fail to tell him about the leftovers in the fridge as you reached for your satchel. He’s memorized how you’d hesitate to meet his gaze- but smile the brightest once you do, and how you’d linger at the doorstep telling him about Yuji’s day.
Nanami has memorized how it made some dust-covered part of his heart stir. Blinking away the exhaustion of the day.
Nanami Kento has never felt more invigorated than he is during those sparse few minutes that he caught up with you at the end of the night. Voices low, like neither of you wanted to interrupt a sleeping thing—Yuji, yes. But something else, too.
He gets the feeling that it’d feel like this even if you weren’t around as a job. If perhaps the two of you had met- the same age, at the same university.
Maybe in-between the sluggish hours of study sessions where you help him with some particularly hard question. Maybe in the library where he helps you reach some dusty ol’ book from the topmost shelf.
Times like this, he allows himself to dream.
You’d make the best wife.
You were the best nanny he could’ve ever chosen.
But one always has to wake up to one’s alarm. He sets his alarms himself.
“Come in.” Nanami tells you as he shrugs off his coat at the entrance. He watches as you stop in your tracks at the doorway, fiddling with your familiar pin-draped bag. “I’m just about to fire up some brownies for tomorrow.”
You pause.
“I-if it’s not too late and you don’t have any classes early tomorrow or-”
“I’d skip all my classes for some of your brownies.”
He lets out a breath of relief as you start walking back from the doorway. “Please don’t.”
It takes a little less than half an hour for the brownies to bake until they are crisp on the top and perfectly gooey in the middle. Layers of chocolate that are only sweetened by the conversation that you brought into Nanami Kento’s humble kitchen.
He listens as you talk about your day, about that professor that’d been out to get you, about that exam you were sure you’d fail (he knows you won’t in the end). Only adding brief hums of affirmation and nods as the older man sweeps through his counters, broad back turned to you, muscles flexing against his office shirt as he whipped up a hot fudge as well as a strawberry sauce for you to add to your brownies.
“—and you’d never guess what Yuji told me today.” Tonight you seem a little more breathless than usual. Stuttering out your thank-yous as he brings out the tray from the oven and cuts out the first piece for you.
“Blow on it. It’s hot.” Nanami leans over the other side of the kitchen island. He watches as your pretty lips fall into a soft circle, “What were you saying, my dear?”
“Well-” You dart your gaze around the rest of the empty apartment. “You know how it’s Valentine’s Day tomorrow, Nanami-san?”
Nanami runs a hand through his silver-streaked hair. Smoothing it down. He knows how his son can be, and he has to bite back the grin that threatens to spread across his face. “Mhm?”
“Yuji here seems to think that- well…” Bringing a hand up to your lips, fingertips slightly shaking. The brownie was just amazing. “He seems to think that Valentine’s Day is a bit like Christmas, you see. And so the entire day he wouldn’t stop making a list for Cupid.”
Now that piques his interest particularly- Nanami was never a man to skimp out whenever his loved one wanted something. “Oh, is that so? And what does he ask from this ah- Cupid?”
“That is- I don’t even know if this is appropriate for me to say but…” Looking around one last time. “But it seems Yuji is under the impression that we are together.”
“Oh.”
“Together together.”
“Oh.” He can’t help but inch just a little closer- a strange weight in his stomach. Not entirely unpleasant. “I see.”
You’re mustering up a little more courage, “And it seems that what Yuji wants the most this Valentine’s is…for us to get married. Spiderman-themed wedding, he says.” Watching as Nanami’s eyes slightly widen. “B-but of course, I told him that that might not exactly be in erm- Cupid’s range of power! He kept insisting however-”
He looks at you silently as you rub your temples.
“Because then he said a little brother or sister would be fine, too…” Was it time for the conversation about the birds and the bees already? Instead of storks, Yuji relies on Cupid?!
Nanami follows suit, running a hand through the silver streaks in his hair. “Is that so?” He sighs. “I shall have a little talk with him about asking…immoderate requests of Cupid.”
“He’s a sweet boy. Just a little confused.” You smile sheepishly. “Though I can’t really blame him- my friends think we’re together, too.”
Just an inch closer. “I see.”
And Nanami feels your breathing go heavy- enveloped in the hint of his cologne, the sweetness of the brownies, the musk of something that was entirely him. “I-it’s silly, isn’t it…”
He stares at you intently, reading your every reaction. “Quite.” Pupils flickering down your face. Just another inch closer—you wonder how much more space was left, and what you wanted to do with it. “I’m far too old for you, my dear.”
Your lips part-
The clock strikes eleven.
Both of you startle as if shocked with electricity- “I-I really should-”
“Yes, I understand-”
“The brownies were amazing-”
“Please, take this.” He pushes a bag topped with that delicacy and more of whatever topping you liked into your hands.
“Thank you so much.” You rush out breathlessly, other hand snatching your bag from the counter. “Night, Nanami-san—!”
“Goodnight, my dear.”
“And thank you for the brownies!”
The door shuts—with a lingering creak and ebb of your smile behind it. And soon enough Nanami finds himself lumbering in the direction of Yuji’s bedroom.
It’s not long before he stands before the parade of red and blue and masked superheroes: personnel stationed all to take care of the boy with a tuft of pink hair. His precious treasure. Nestled in the middle of his car-shaped bed.
A small bedside light traces a glow across his chubby cheeks.
As he does every night, Nanami walks up to the little boy and crouches down beside the bed. Forearms rested upon the soft mattress, face rested upon his forearms- it was always around this time that Yuji would stir and look up at his father.
“Papa…” He sleepily mumbles. Rubbing his sleep-swollen eyes, “Gone?”
“Mhm.” Nanami nods. “Left just now, sunshine.”
“Awww, man—” Yuji seems to deflate- but that only pushes him deeper into the puffy pillows. Making him yawn so wide that it makes the older man chuckle. “I really like her, papa.”
His father pauses before he answers. “I like her, too, Yuji.”
“No, but- I really like her. You know, she’s my best friend along with Kugisaki and Fushiguro and you-”
Nanami starts tickling the boy on his sides until he bursts into peels of laughter. “Really, huh?”
Through giggles, he nods. Before stretching his arms above his head and falling back onto the comfy bed- perhaps he was still dreaming. “Why can’t we keep her, papa?”
“We can’t just keep people, Yuji.” Nanami has to hide his own smile. He knows he should mention the thing about Cupid right now, but he just can’t bring himself to do it. Maybe tomorrow…
“Yes, but…”
“I know, I know.” Nanami pushes his face deeper into his strong forearms. Sometimes, he still felt much like a kid himself. “I get it.”
.
.
.
The next morning, Yuji still wasn’t giving up.
“Papa, it’s Valentine’s Day!”
Papa was about to burst a blood vessel.
He’d chattered on and on about Valentine’s Day as Nanami shuffled him out of bed, he’d announced what chocolates were the best according to his very distinguished five-year-old palate as Nanami helped him brush his teeth—he’d even turned his nose up at the heart-shaped scones that Nanami had made for breakfast.
“Papa, you’re gonna hafta make better hearts than this if you want to marry-”
“Yuji, sunshine, we’re going to be late.”
Nanami Kento was barely a match for his son. And it’s with something akin to relief - like the exhausted sigh of a stranded man, finally coming across the silhouette of a rescue boat in the bleak horizon - that he manages to hurry the boy into finishing his breakfast. Tuggin’ on his Spiderman backpack, Nanami held Yuji’s hand as they exited the apartment.
Today wasn’t even a school day.
It wasn’t even a school day! And yet the teacher wanted all students in for a short assembly and some chocolate party in class. Nanami would be damned if he didn’t let his son enjoy these small pleasures.
The elementary school that Yuji attended was only a short distance away from the apartment- usually they’d just make the trip by foot. During those ten minutes it’d become routine for the little boy to jabber away about whatever came to his mind.
How unfortunate for Nanami Kento today that, today, all Yuji could think about was you—
Not because Nanami wasn’t doing much the same- but because he didn’t like thinking of himself as doing much the same. Even though he knew. Query: if both father and son couldn’t get you off their minds, then which one of the two was going to use it?
The older man shakes his head just a little as Yuji suggests a Spiderman wedding cake again—he disagrees with both the cake and…the wedding. Right?
But the boy catches the movement and pouts-
“Why don’t you want to tell her, papa?”
They’re stopping at a red light. Nanami didn’t want to think about how those miniscule bulbs had been programmed to flicker in the shape of a heart today, instead of the usual pedestrian walking. What an apt metaphor for his life, no? Nanami Kento wanted to find something wrong in the traffic light - in the visibility, the practicality, the color - but he couldn’t.
In fact, it was rather pretty.
The crossing threatened to bubble over with salarymen and salarywomen and groups of families each hoping to be the first, the fastest, to jump the road. He tugs both himself and Yuji more towards the back where they were well out of the way of whizzing cars. Is it just him or were there more wedding cars than usual today?
“Tell her what? To marry me?” He absent-mindedly answers, “What did I say about no forced marriages, Yuji?”
“No.” He lightly stomps his feet. Making the blond man look down- “I mean why don’t you tell her that you like her, papa?”
And Nanami can’t help but look around like a caught teenager. “You- you can’t just say those things, sunshine! What if she’s heading to class and nearby…”
“But you told me you did last night?” Yuji answers.
Which, fair. And it leaves Nanami slightly at a loss for words. “I…”
“But why can’t you tell her?” The child nods sagely to himself, “S’like when I broke Fushiguro’s red crayon- and I told him. Don’t you always tell me not to lie, papa?”
“That’s…true.” His father hesitates. “But that’s different from-”
“But anyway- that’s why I asked Cupid.” Yuji hums. Content. “You’re a scwaredy-cat, papa, but I asked Cupid for you. Like Santa. And Santa always gives me what I ask for.”
One day, Nanami will consider telling him that Santa had to work a month overtime to get him that car bed—happily however. But that day’s not today. “Oh?”
“Yeah.” He looks up at his father with wide, innocent eyes. “And I also asked Cupid for a bwother- maybe this year I should ask Santa, too.”
“Oh.”
“Do you think Cupid will make my wishes come true, papa?”
“I’m…afraid I can’t be sure, sunshine.”
The light turns green.
And Nanami’s the first to step out onto the road.
From here, even the crosswalk seemed to twist and turn into the shapes of hearts.
Along the rest of the way to his elementary school, Yuji tugs on Nanami’s coat and asks him for his phone—“Alright, but no games before school, Yuji.”
“Not playing games!”
And he didn’t think much of it.
Not until Nanami was on the subway heading to work, about to shoot a phone call to one of the contractors he’d be working with today- and he finds Shoko’s name in his call log.
Outgoing call → Shoko [8:01AM]
Lasted three minutes.
How strange. Nanami doesn’t remember calling his friend at any point today - it must’ve been Yuji during his walk to school.
A mistake?
How strange, indeed…
But to be quite honest, Nanami doesn’t get the time to ponder upon this happening too deeply. The very second he’d considered clicking on that name himself and asking Shoko- the train had slid to a halt at his station.
Then came the chaos of the office: it seems that one of the interns had forgotten to fax a file yesterday. And Nanami had five angry clients on the phone before 9:00AM, one presentation to lead before 10:00AM, a few more angry clients just after the meeting, and a few more contracts to type up and edit before 12:00AM. Those utterly gaudy pink decorations hung about the room didn’t do anything to help with his oncoming headache.
Everyone in the office knew not to wish him today.
By the time that the overworked man was free for lunch, it was close to 2:00PM. His joints pop as he stretches his arms above his head, flickering a look at the clock above.
It was almost time for Yuji to be let out. Nanami knew you’d be humming to yourself as you walked to his school - and if his son was there, he’d join in, too.
At risk of sounding like a creep, he admits that he’s often listened to the low drift of your voice as you walked out of his apartment. It would start up once he shut that door. And he often stood there - on the other end - until it disappeared. Along with the sound of your footsteps.
His house always seemed smaller then.
Shaking his head free of such thoughts, Nanami stands and walks out of his department, wondering what he’ll have for lunch today. This usually wasn’t a problem with him, but this morning he’d been rather a bit…frazzled. So to say.
All those questions and ‘requests’ that Yuji had left him with just barely enough rationality to scrounge up something for the boy. As for himself, he was meandering through the busy streets of Tokyo - tarmac carpets flying by at a pace faster than he ever seemed to be able to. How was it possible for something inanimate to soar, to race, to live more than he did? Was it always built this way or was he one of the unlucky few?
He wonders which category you’d fall into.
That cheap ramen shop down the street wasn’t too bad - their broth was so good that Nanami was almost able to ignore the sappy love songs crooned from their battered radio. They had a special deal going: 80% off for all couples on Valentine’s Day! All ribbons and glitter. All special pink desserts and lovers holding hands. All love…love and a happy elderly couple behind the counter - the owners, it seems.
It was quaint- cute. The type of place he thinks you might like.
As he was walking back to the office, it seemed as though the city was fit to brim with similar sentiments.
Flower shops bursting with bouquets like carnivorous sunsets, bleeding hearts and ruby-red roses. Candy shops with something sweet for every color of the rainbow—and more covert advertisements for more…adult indulgences. Sex shops that Nanami had to speed-walk past because of how full and flush they were. Ripe with Valentine’s Day.
Nanami Kento might try to ignore what today is, but the world sure as hell wouldn’t let him forget.
Once he finally runs back to his cubicle- he ducks his head and focuses his eyes solely on the computer screen. He hopes no one comments on the numerous glitzy bags beside him.
.
.
.
“What the hell are you doing in my apartment?”
“Y’know- most people would say—‘Wow, it’s so nice to see you. Now I should totally stop brushing off your invites for drinks. Thank you for being such a kind and respectful and understanding friend, Ieri Shoko.’” The woman in question stretches languorously on top of the couch, her test tube-patterned socks dangling from the other side. “And you’re welcome, by the way!”
Nanami raises one hand in front of him- almost as if to pause the scene entirely. He closes his eyes—when he opens them, he hopes that this had all been a bad dream and he’ll wake up to his glaring computer screen.
He opens them.
Nope- still real.
“Let me rephrase- what the hell have you done to my apartment?”
Shoko gets off the couch and gestures at the apartment like a magician showing off a trick. “Ta-da!” At all the yellow candles that cast miniature sunrises where they wept, at the music that crept sensually from some mysterious corner of the room, at the humble dining table that now looked like it came out of a Times’ 10 Best Spots To Take Your Lover for Valentine’s Day.
Nanami’s stern lips part as he takes in the silver-covered dishes on top, on top of some white cloth—was that his goddamn blanket?!
“Oh c’mon-” Shoko rolls her eyes. “Don’t act so surprised, I see the bouquet in your hands. You obviously planned something of the sort.”
He forgot about that damn thing. Nearly dropping those flowers in his haste to hide it behind his broad back, though there was really no use - he simply couldn’t stand Shoko’s laughing eyes any longer. “Th-this was for Yuji.”
“I see the smaller bouquet in the bag.” She points out. Almost empathetically, Shoko sighs. “You really aren’t slick, Kento.”
“This isn’t- this is just—” But the longer she smirks at him, the less he seems to have an answer. Soon enough, he’s bringing out that massive bouquet from behind him and letting his friend fawn over the thing.
“Wow, she’s really going to love this-”
“It’s called being nice, by the way!” Nanami answers, belatedly.
The look Shoko gives him is enough to make him click his mouth shut.
“I hope you know that I bought one to give you tomorrow…I’m throwing it out now.” Because no matter how much Nanami denied it, today was about love. Parental. Platonic. Even the love that he could never have. As Shoko rummages through the bag with an excited squeak, he drawls on. “Where even is she, by the way? What have you done to her?”
“Hm? Oh, Yuji called me this morning. Thank you for these, by the way.” Shoko stands with a beautiful yellow rose and purple zinnia bouquet in her arms. She sniffs at the sweet fragrance- “Yuji called me asking whether he should leave out cookies for Cupid just like he does with Santa. It seems he wanted Cupid to bring us a wedding, and guess what? I wanted Cupid to bring us a wedding.” Her face breaks out into a smug smile - the one he’s only seen when she used to cheat through biochemistry exams without anyone ever knowing. “So we called up your darling nanny and let her know that her schedule’s changed for today- then Yuji and I did a little sprucing up in here.”
“Sprucing up…”
She turns around to admire her work, “Honestly, Kento, if I knew that you didn’t have a romantic bone in your body then I’d have dissected you-‘
“Papa!”
Spared from hearing whatever gory plans that Shoko had for him by the excited yelp of his son—Nanami hears his footsteps before he sees him. He feels the impact before he sees him.
Yuji’s running down the hallway and launching himself at his father at full speed- “Papa, you’re home!”
“That I am, sunshine.” Nanami smiles down at the boy. “How was your day? I have something for you.”
“For me?” Tufts of pink curls bobbing as he cocks his head, following his father’s movements as Nanami crouches down and reaches into one of the bags. Before breaking out into the most brilliant smile at the sight of the flowers. “Woah- they’re so pretty—! Thank you.”
Crushing the bouquet of pink carnations and hydrangea to his chest, he wraps his arms around Nanami’s shoulders and hugs him.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, papa. I’ve got a gift for you, too-” Breaking away, Yuji’s throwing an arm out towards the room at large. “Auntie Shoko said this was how you bring Cupid! And we also tried to make those heart-shaped cupcakes you make, but it tasted like tar so…”
“That’s perfectly alright, Yuji.” He swipes at a smear of icing still on the boy’s face. “We can learn together on my next day off, right?”
“Right!” Yuji jumps in excitement. “And after your wedding today-‘
“Yuji…”
“And right on time.” Shoko’s voice permeates the room- right alongside the sharp fwip! of the window shutters closing. She turns away from the glass and pushes off from her station. “C’mon Yuji, now the plan is a-go! Go! Go!”
“Aye-aye!” With a chubby hand raised in salute—Yuji wastes no time giving his father a final hug. “Bye bye, papa.”
“Wha-” Nanami looks at the harried duo in confusion. “What are you two-”
“And don’t mess this up, Kento.” Shoko gives him a stern wave.
Before she clasps Yuji’s hand and helps the boy match her longer stride- the two of them speed-walk in the direction of the door.
“Yeah- don’t mess this up, papa!”
“Uh, where are you taking my son?” Nanami stalks after them. Not letting the front door close behind them, he watches the two figures - bouquets and all - race down the hallway. How strange that they didn’t take the usual route - instead opting for the one that would let them leave through the back entrance. “Hello? Shoko-”
“Don’t mess this up!”
He has half the mind to chase after them - it’s not that he doesn’t trust Shoko with his son, but really, what on Earth could they be getting up to?! Especially so late past Yuji’s bedtime. At the very least, maybe he could run up to them and let Shoko know of his son’s Spiderman ritual before eating and the tendency he has to bite fingers when-
“Nanami-san?”
Your voice.
Was he dreaming?
And yet—Nanami snaps his head towards the source of the noise so fast that it almost causes whiplash. He breathes your name out in a whisper.
So this is what Shoko meant about-
“Am I hallucinating or is that Shoko-san and Yuji running down the fire escape?” You point at something beyond his line of vision, though Nanami doesn’t need to look to know that it is, in fact, Shoko and Yuji running down the fire escape.
“I think I’m hallucinating, to be quite honest.” He mutters. Because surely there was no conceivable world in which he would see you like this - standing outside his door on Valentine’s Day, looking all gorgeous as you always did - and dare to bring out the bouquet that he had bought for you. Also was that…was that a bit of make-up you’d dabbed on? More so than usual?
His eyes linger on the glitter beside your eyes.
The thought that it might’ve been because it’s today - that it might’ve been because you’d been as nervous about seeing him today as he was about seeing you - makes him jolt. He’d been smoothing his hair down the entire subway ride home thinking of you.
Thirty-something years and he’s acting like a teenager in puppy love.
Certainly no conceivable world…
And yet…he does. He reaches behind him to bring out that prideful bouquet: 520 flower-heads that blushed themselves silly over not being even half as beautiful as you.
“For you.” He croaks out. Awkwardly pushing up his glasses.
“Oh.” Your jaw drops, and the bouquet weighs heavy in your hands. In nothing but a whisper- “It’s beautiful, Nanami-san.”
Red, red roses.
.
.
.
Nanami explained the situation before he invited you in…somewhat.
Certainly nothing about how badly he’d been teased because of this little scheme or the ah- confession of feelings. Heavens, no! Nanami himself wasn’t entirely sure whether he’d go along with their plan…
As far as you knew, Shoko and Yuji thought it’d be a funny little prank to ‘invite Cupid’ into his apartment this Valentine’s Day. Leaving the two of you alone in an apartment draped in candles and roses like the most deviant of mistresses.
And Nanami knew you knew. You knew that Nanami knew.
The implications were there for all to see.
It was there in the way his face burned red, and Nanami couldn’t meet your eyes- “I’m aware of how it looks. And it seems that my son still holds the idea that erm…either way, ahem, I completely understand if you would much rather go home. Please do know that this will not affect your job in any way whatsoever- in fact, I will cover your fee double tonight-”
“Nanami-san.” You’d interrupted him. Cocking your head with a slight smile, “May I come in?”
From there he’d been the perfect gentleman - not that he wasn’t usually. Even in the months since you’d worked for him, you’d come to find that Nanami was the type of man that opened doors for you, that pushed your chair for you, that covered your taxi fare home, that escorted you as far as he could by foot either way.
But now…oh, right now he was putting any Prince Charming to shame.
He had his hand hoverin’ right above your waist- leading you inside to the romantic dinner table. Here, he’d pushed your chair for you—and before you could even thank him, Nanami had his hands helping you out of your coat.
He insisted on plating for you.
You couldn’t help but gawk at the way his biceps pushed against his work button-up, flexing slightly as Nanami stood beside the table and neatly cut your bread - one he’d baked just this morning, according to him. Shoko had clearly rummaged through his kitchen well…
Conversation was somewhat breathless at first- the both of you waiting for the other to go first. The both of you anticipating every single word.
Wondering what every single word meant.
But after the first two courses - Shoko certainly hadn’t burned these - the both of you were talking freely. Moving on from the more polite topics, like your day, his day, that were really a front for something more - speaking with Nanami was always so easy, he was the best listener you’ve had in a while—to dessert: strawberry shortcake cupcakes and a confession that slips from your lips.
“Y’know- this is the first Valentine’s Day I’m spending like this.” You giggle, wiping off the cream that sticks to your lips. Nanami watches with half-lidded eyes as you devour the delicacy he’d baked this morning.
He swirls his half-empty wine glass. Certainly not enough to get the man tipsy - Nanami was quite the heavy drinker when he wanted to be - but enough to make him ask. “Oh? Tell me more, my dear.”
The candlelight catches on the rim of his glasses, encasing his eyes in an intense glow. You think he looks even more handsome like this- “Sorry. It’s probably going to sound stupid to someone more experienced…”
“There is nothing you’d say that would be stupid.” He pushes his glasses further up his sharp nose. Fingers crossing before him, he leans in. “Continue, my dear.”
“It’s just- I haven’t had many serious relationships, is what.” You admit. And he looks at you so intently- “With life and university, it’s hard to find the time—if I was looking anyways, that is.” You sputter, before he can ask anything about whether the nanny job was cutting into your time. “The selection in my department isn’t great at all.”
“So…” Nanami runs the tip of his finger ‘round that glass cup. The thin rim. The gaping mouth. “-no lil’ boyfriend, then?”
“No boyfriend.” You echo. And perhaps being drunk on the proximity is what makes you blurt out- “But if I did have one, I think I’d like someone older—”
He quirks a brow in interest, “Older?”
You nod. Crossing your arms in slight embarrassment, “Boys my age will ask you out and then go halfsies just because you don’t want to go home with them.”
“Mhmm.” Nanami’s lip curls in distaste.
“I just want someone to like me for me- y’know? Just to sit across from me like this and really talk to me for once.”
“Has no boy ever wined and dined you like this?” He asks.
“No.” You admit, somewhat sheepishly.
“Has no boy ever bought you flowers?”
“No.” You cast a look at the 520 roses - now housed in a large vase that Nanami had pulled out from one of his cabinets.
“No…” You breathe.
He inches forwards, forwards, forwards—and wipes at a remnant of sweet, sweet cream on your lips. That roughened edge of Nanami’s thumb grazes the edge of your mouth. “Has no boy ever been sweet to you like this?” He catches the look in your eyes. And his own lower. “Has no boy ever treated you like a man would, my dear?”
The older man doesn’t hesitate in reaching his thumb back up to his mouth- and lickin’ off the cream. “Has no boy ever eaten you out like this?”
“No-”
Your lips upon his are even sweeter than the cupcakes he’s baked- and he’s lavishin’ his tongue over your mouth gently. Opening you up so wide—
And even that isn’t enough.
Nanami’s thumb finds permanent purchase at the end of your chin, letting his own sinful tongue slip inside. In and out. In and out. In and out.
Almost as if he was fucking you with it-
You’re not sure how long Nanami’s kissing you like this.
Maybe minutes. Maybe hours.
You’ve lost track of time- and the only thing you know is that your head feels dizzy. Your knees were growing weak in your seat. A slick line of spittle glides down the side of your mouth- and Nanami reaches a thumb up to smeeear it.
“My dear…” He murmurs, his deep baritone taking on a husky tone. Hot breath fans across your face, heating you up from the inside out.
You’re raising your face to meet his molten gaze- and it almost shocked you just how handsome Nanami Kento is. Noble features chiselled in the soft candlelight. His mouth slightly kiss-swollen. Blond hair unravelling from his usual neat style n’ cascading across his forehead.
He reaches closer to you and siiinks his teeth into your lower lip, “Have you ever been kissed like that- here before?”
You squirm. Shaking your head-
But he tugs on your pretty maw. “Tell me in words, honey.”
Gulping as one of his rugged hands snakes down your middle. A carnal jolt echoes through your body once Nanami presses the edge of his palm between your skirt- your legs. “I…” You think of all the disappointing dates you’ve been on before, of all the disappointing hands in places almost forgettable. “Not like that, Nanami-san.”
“Now now—when we fuck, call me Kento.” He mutters, finally making his way ‘round the table. Before you know it, he’s looming over you- and two of his strong hands rest underneath your legs. “Upsy daisy.”
He’s lifting you uuuuuup, up, up to splay out across the dinner table.
Lifting you like you weighed nothing.
Pushing aside first and foremost those plates and flowers- you’re being rolled with your back against the tabletop, and Nanami’s honed hips pinning you down. A dimly-lit halo of light behind his golden hair. He wastes no time before throwing both legs of yours on top of his shoulders- “M’gonna teach you how a real man eats pussy.”
You nod-
“First lesson. Big girls use their words.”
And your jaw drops—
“K-Kento—”
You’re not sure whether the primal noise escapes you because of his words, his tone, or because of the utterly desperate way that Nanami Kento falls to his knees. Thud!
Loud enough that it should hurt- but you don’t think it even registers in Nanami’s frenzied brain right now.
Not when he was pushing up that damn sinful skirt of yours- extra tight tonight. Nanami wasn’t a fool - he knew what you were doing. Not when he was starin’ deeply at your pussy, all wet through your panties and throbbing so hard he could practically see it.
Count it.
One-two-three.
Not when he was worshipping you as close as a man possibly could—“Not quite the answer I was looking for.” Then the next thing you’re hearing is a sudden thwack! The next thing you’re feeling are the five pointed tips of Nanami’s thick fingers, smacking down on top of your pussy. “But I’ll let it slide since s’your first time being eaten out all properly, mhm?”
“Mhm.” You nod.
“What was that?” Those mean fingertips of his raise again.
“Yes, Kento.” You’re hurrying to answer. And just as a little reward, Nanami smears his digits atop your swollen folds.
“That’s more like it.” The glaze of your sweetened slick lets out the loudest squelch, and you squirm as he’s tuggin’ aside your panties with a single index. “Are you ready, my dear?”
“Yes-”
“Are you excited, my dear?”
“Yes-”
“Good girl.”
Let the feast begin, he’s thinking. And Nanami Kento doesn’t wait. Nanami Kento doesn’t tease n’ toy. Nanami Kento doesn’t even swivel his fingertips around your wet hole more than a few times to check how soaked you are before he’s taking what he wants—he doesn’t have the damn time for anything else.
He’d been starving for far too long.
And the closer n’ closer he gets to your pussy, the more his mouth waters.
Nanami’s left drooling at the mere sight of your wet fuckin’ hole—you swear you could hear his stomach start to growl. Fuck.
He gulps.
He takes a single sniff.
With a sudden lurch - like he couldn’t hold it back any longer - he leans up and shoves his face nose-deep between your legs.
His tongue swiping your hole, jaw hittin’ the end of your slit.
He’s curving that wet, wet muscle against your walls. Just so soft that it feels as if you’re melting around him- “Fuck.” It escapes him- harsh and cracking. A primal groan at the back of his throat - one he doesn’t seem to even realize himself. “Fuck.”
You tremble at the tone.
Because there was something dark in it. Something almost…predatory.
This was nothing like the calm, composed Nanami Kento that you were used to - absolutely nothing. This was…you didn’t even have words for it.
So fiercely needy that it shoots electricity up your spine- Nanami’s tongue was ravenous. He was holding onto both sides of your legs and- and correction…he wasn’t merely holding onto them. Nanami Kento was using all his strength to push them as faaaar apart as they would go before suffocating himself on your sopping wet cunt.
Such strong hands. Furious tongue.
No matter how much you’re bucking your hips- he just keeps fucking his muscle between your wet pussylips like the last thing on his mind was breathing.
Swooping his head even deeper and munching for more. More. More, more, more.
Nanami crushes his mouth against your pussylips - so deep that you start to wonder whether his oral area would start to bruise—
And it’s only because of that broken call of his name that Nanami flinches. He freezes. He puffs out a murky breath. As if only now registering where he was, what he was doing, and just what his name was at the moment-
He’s breaking free from your pussy with an echoing slurp!
“K-Kento…” You’re looking on in pure worry at the dazed man - his eyes were still glazed, and there was something almost…feral about his demeanour still. Though he seemed to be much calmer than before, “Kento, are you okay to contin-”
“I am.” His voice comes out strong. Firm. Like he’s never been more sure of anything in his entire life.
Nanami lets out a few stilted breaths- running a hand through his now-unruly hair. The glisten of a silver streak in it. “I am. I just…it’s been a long time…forever, actually, since I’ve tasted anything so delicious.” Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “I hope you can forgive this old man for getting a little carried away, my dear.”
Was he really that ruined from but a single taste of your cunt?
He stares down so long and deeeep at your quivering pussy. That cute hole peeking out from your panties—“She’s just so…sweet.”
And though he was speaking to you, Nanami looks down lovingly between your legs.
Now that he didn’t have his lips all plastered to your folds- he was rubbin’ his right thumb vertically down your slit.
Pressing down on the cute button of your clit-
“Awww did I scare you, honey? I sure hope I didn’t.” Honey, because you were just too sweet sizzlin’ on his tastebuds. Guiding one of your hands to grip his scalp, “Forgive me. When it gets like that, don’t be afraid to pull me- to use me, alright?”
“Kento, you don’t have to-”
“Consider it my second lesson.”
You squirm, “B-but don’t they say to…respect your elders, Kento?”
And you’re just too cute—he can’t help but flatten his palm down and spank your pussylips once more. It makes so many beads of slippery slick spray out from your cunt n’ glue against that chin of his. “You certainly can.” He hums, thoughtful. “But just remember- I won’t be respecting this pussy, honey.”
“I see.” You gape.
And while speaking to you - while speaking to you - Nanami lavishes out lil’ kitten licks between your folds. Lick. Lick. “I bet this pretty pussy’s never been eaten out like that before, huh?” He continues. Merely peeking up at you through blond lashes to confirm- and you can only nod—
Yet another spank sputtering down on your wet crevice.
“Words.” Nanami reminds.
Hiccuping, “Yes, please. All those boys usually just like- graze my clit and that’s all.”
He nods. He continues, voice nothing but deep murmurs that sets your entire body aflame - and it’s as though the more syllables he’s uttering, the harder n’ harder he rubs on your clit. “Awww poor girl. I just can’t help but think of how long this pussy has been wasted on- haaah, boys who didn’t know how to handle her.”
“Too- too long.”
Lovingly—almost drunkenly, he’s pressing a direct peck against your hole. The tip of his tongue just lightly slipping out and teasing your entrance- Nanami’s free hand grips onto your thigh as if holding himself back. “Mmmm, that’s what I thought.” He murmurs. “And how long has she waited to be eaten out by a man who isn’t afraid to get a little…sloppy?”
“Too long-”
At this, he chuckles. “And as for my last question-” Not even smooching anymore- he’s just smeeeeaering his puffy lips along your slit. More rapid. More hungry. “Actually- take this as my third lesson.”
You’re scrambling up onto your elbows. “Yes?”
“Can you settle down like a good girl?”
Whatever that means…you aren’t given the time to figure out. Because before you know it, Nanami purses his lips and plants a wad of spittle that hits your cunt with a wet splat!
Only making you even wetter for him to gape his jaw open- “Fuck.” For him to swirl his ridged tip around and around your snug entrance until it left your mind all dizzy, it makes your cunt streeeeetch incredibly once he digs the tip of his tongue inside. Thoroughly.
It’s almost as if he was splitting you apart on the thickness of his tongue.
Expanding and contracting. Expanding and contracting.
The stretch is so incredible that it leaves your mind searing
“Settle down. Settle doooown-” He’s humming in a low tone. Whenever Nanami feels you squirmin’ or clenching just a tad too hard, he’s making note of that particular spot and bashing it all in again. Thick muscle reaching in and out for your deepest depths until your tight hole can’t take it anymore- until you’re screaming for mercy.
“Oh fuh-fuuuuck—” You’re arching straight off the table, the fabric clinging onto your skin briefly. Only for a few split-seconds before one of Nanami’s hands fastens onto your hips, pushing you right back down where you came from.
“What did I say?” He wasn’t even using much of his strength- you were just so easy for him to move ‘round. Especially when he has his mouth attached to you in a way that was so ravenous—
Ruined.
“Settle. Fucking. Down, girl.”
Pinning you to the flat surface and letting his gaped maw run wiiiiiiild. It’s making you realize that he wasn’t going feral in the beginning- he was merely holding back.
Both in strength and in pure carnal hunger.
No matter how badly you were craving to grind down restlessly on his face for hours- Nanami keeps you on a tight leash. He keeps you restrained on the table n’ getting only what’s given. Pushing down. Maneuvering his greedy mouth. No matter how much you wanted to plant your feet down and take control - Nanami Kento really does know what’s best.
“Failing the third lesson already, huh?”
Tears stream down your cheeks without you even realizing. “S-sorry, I didn’t-”
“Shhhhh shh shh. No need for an apology, honey.” He opens his swollen lips up wider n’ latches them around your clit for a few seconds. “My poor girl’s just overstimulated because she’s getting her pussy eaten out, huh? This pretty pussy’s just excited?”
“Yes-”
“That’s why your Kento’s here.” Nanami hums, his cold glasses frames hit the front of your cunt and you flinch. Making the man push them up his nosebridge with a chuckle—“And m’gonna take care of this pussy, baby.”
The way that Nanami looks dead-set into your widened peripherals as he says this makes your heart race.
Spitting a few more times down your dribbling slit. He was teeeeasing you before reaching his right hand down n’ smearing your pussylips open with two fingers- the rugged tips of his index n’ middle streeetching your damp hole apart. Just so goddamn thick. “Fourth lesson: sometimes…fingers feel even better.”
“O-ohhh—” Your voice breaks out in carnal trills. Trying to bend your spine but then holding yourself back-
He was thrashing inside a few more sloppy strokes - swiping, slurping, scrapin’ every inch of your velvety walls. Anywhere you could think of, his thickened digits were pumping in.
At one point, he flicks his glistening tongue outside for you to take in his sheer size. “Size does matter when it comes to pleasing this needy pussy, alright? Don’t let any fuckin’ boy convince you otherwise.”
You mewl, “I-I wouldn’t need another boy if I just had you, Kento…”
And there’s something in his tone that sounds ecstatic- “Mmm, good girl.” Showing you a demonstration of his previous statement by mazin’ away straight towards your g-spot. And you could feel yourself shaking- all those times you had to worry about whether a guy could manage to make you cum?
Nanami was eatin’ you out like his one and only purpose in life was to make you cum.
“Always teasing me.” He scoffs out in a scalding breath. Raggedly running his mouth- his tongue. “Always riling me up with those pretty looks and that- damn-” Pushing and pushing onto your g-spot so hard that it makes you sob out of pleasure. “-mouth.”
Your jaw drops. “I l-love it—fuck.”
Practically on instinct, you’re gliding a hand down your tummy- where you could feel butterflies. They only seemed to grow even harder n’ rougher with his textured tongue…“I think I can feel you right- ngh, here.”
“S’that so? You love it, huh? I can feel this pussy growin’ so wet—She’s so fucking tight, bet she’s never been fingered properly before.” As if anticipating your next moves, he’s digging his fingers deeper against your flesh. Leaving little crescent marks.
Whatever rational part of you is left begins to wonder just why he might have to pin you down even harder.
“And for my fifth lesson, honey.”
You’re waiting with baited breath as he presses a few more heated-open-mouthed kisses. Nanami’s luscious tongue reaching spots inside you that you weren’t even sure you had - ones undiscovered—
And it’s the only warning you get before the puckered, pretty flaps of his mouth opens up your pussylips. Just past where your folds were all swollen n’ tight- it was quite a squeeze even when it was just his tongue. Just his fingers.
So to have both Nanami’s fingers and his tongue inside?
It was sheer madness.
It was driving you stupid with his touch in but a single stroke- the jostling feeling of his wet muscle and his digits pressing against your walls and each other. Your walls. Each other. Your walls. Each other. Your channel was so snug that even the slightest movements made it feel as though you were bulging from the inside.
Pressing in. Fucking in.
In and in, and in—
“A real man is- haaah, always hungry.” Alternating between slipping his tastebuds into your hole, and then fishing himself back out—not to breathe. No, not even close. He was merely roverin’ his mouth over to spank down on your clit. “A real man would never get tired of his lover, my dear.”
“Kento—ngh.” You’re echoing out.
Your moans bang against the four corners of the room and straight into his ears- the prettiest song he’s ever heard. “See how good you feel? S’only my duty to you, my dear.”
“But Kento-”
Mouth makin’ out with your cunt as if he’d gone mad, too.
“Kento, don’t you need to breathe-”
“Fifth lesson. Who cares about breathing?”
He gasps out in interruption. Tongue swiping at a constant rhythm - it was difficult to get a single syllable out when all Nanami wanted to do was stick himself to your cunt and lick and lick and lick—
Both of you are realizing at the same time that he’d miscounted.
“For my fifth…” And he sounded maddened, too. Octaves higher. Tone breathy. There was a feral sort of hunger in his eyes that shook you to your core- “Sixth…?” As if he was just so pussydrunk that it was causing his brain to melt, acting on pure carnal instinct. “For my sixth lesson, honey. This old man’s mind is a little foggy, you see…”
You don’t get the chance to answer.
Because with that, Nanami only accelerates. First those fingertips of his were shoved all the way in and making your walls twitch with every hard prod—thud-thud-thudding way. Then he was smoochin’ over that same bruised spot with his slithering tongue, just swipin’ up where you were most sensitive.
Before draaaaagging all the way out and about to suck on your clit. Throbbing so hard that he managed to time his lil’ bites to each pulse.
It was a dual sensation that left you driven mad. Absolutely mad.
Rubbin’ his fingers absolutely raw on those knotted bundles of nerves-
You buck.
You get hit with a sudden spank.
“Mmmm—do you think you deserved that, my dear?” He asks. Too cute- the more he eats you out, the more he’s twitching in his pants.
You sob, but you’re nodding. “Y-yes…”
Another spank.
“What was that?”
“Yes, Kento.”
“Good girl.” And honestly you could feeeel that sultry stretch of his grin—gently dabbing his tongue over your clit. Nanami Kento might’ve been a stern man, but he certainly wasn’t merciless. “But forget one more time and I’ll make you call me ‘sir’.”
You couldn’t deny the way that made your cunt twitch…
“Seventh and final lesson.” Nanami pronounces, his mouth slicked with so many layers of your sap that it gleamed—he wore those dangles of goopy syrup like a medallion. “When I make you cum- hah, you better reward me by cumming aaaaaall inside my mouth, honey. Or my cock.”
Your throat was utterly parched by now. And the only thing you could do was rasp out- “U-understood, Kento…”
Soon enough, he was babbling out hot breaths of something you could barely even understand- though each promise only sounded more ravenous than the last.
Mouth glued to your cunt. Nails digging into your skin. Rougher than you ever thought was possible before, he’s sucklin’ at your clit and pounding his fingers into you so hard that it looked like nothing but a blur—
Nanami counts one, two, three rapid clenches of your pussy walls-
Before you’re throwing your head back and absolutely shattering into your high because of him.
Your toes curling. Your throat ragged raw.
His textured tastebuds are swipin’ across every bead of slick you were dripping out. Dripping. Every bead of slick. All over your puffy pussylips. All between them till he meets your hole- even all the way up your inner thighs.
He wasn’t letting a single bit go to waste.
Not even as that translucent sap dribbles down the sides of his mouth and ends up splashin’ right up to his handsome cheekbones-
The pleasure washes over you twofold - both with your orgasm and the way that Nanami was eloooongating your orgasm. Both his fingers and his mouth were working overtime to press into each peak of your high. “O-oh—” Thighs trembling on top of his shoulders- you don’t know when, but they end up locked so tight around his head. “It feels s-so good.”
Each tiny curve of his fingers made your body twitch in the aftershocks. “Extra lesson- fuck back into me.”
“Wh-what?”
It takes you a significant amount of effort to even open your eyes - let alone start to swerve your body uuup n’ down. And yet you’re doing it anyway—moaning as you ride all of Nanami’s handsome features in looooong, sloppy drags. “Fuh-fuck, like this?”
And he was just loving it.
“Mhmmm.” He gurgles out. Cracking one eye open, “Exactly. I know this is the best fuckin’ orgasm you’ve ever experienced, my dear.”
He wasn’t even being cocky - and you usually would’ve called him out on it - this was just plain true. “I-it is-”
“I know this pretty pussy wants it again, my dear.”
You can only nod.
“I know I surely want to eat her again, my dear.”
And nod and and nod as he’s fucking you through even the tiniest peaks and spasms—the surplus of bliss making your veins bubble. Burst. Bulldoze your senses as you’re practically vibrating with the sheer amount of pleasure that runs through them.
There seems to be a hazy aura covering your vision as you finally ride through your entire high.
Struggling up onto your elbows once more-
“Stay down—”
“Yes…?” Your eyes widen at Nanami’s strict order. He leaves a final slurping kiss at your clit before he stands onto his feet. Slightly swaying—
There was a glaze over his eyes. There was your slick coating all the way from his lower face, and puddling dooown to form a dark patch on his button-up. There were the short, panted breaths he was emanating - like a predator honed in on his prey - the longer he looked at you splayed out on the messy table.
Nanami Kento almost looked drunk - and not on the dinner, not even on the sparse wine.
He was completely n’ utterly ruined on nothing other than your pussy.
He lunges towards you-
“Fuck, Kento—” You’re squealing at the rugged hands that tear through your clothes as easily as if they were butter. Shirt and bra easily landing on the carpeted floor- and your skirt was to follow before you even realized.
You’re just about to help Nanami shuffle you out of your panties - hips raising to facilitate it - before he takes another look at you. One long, hard look. And his hands leave your body as though that was enough-
He wanted your panties on.
Nothing but a sopping wet mess twisted ‘round your hips. Evidence of his depravity.
“I want these off then.” You’re reaching up to tug on one of Nanami’s sleeves. He was still partly in his office clothes: button-up, formal pants, tie. And those sleeves of his had been pushed up to his elbows during your dinner, leaving you struggling not to gawk at the older man’s forearms. Strong. Slightly veined. Slightly tanned.
He was just so attractive that it made you squirm.
Nanami looks down at himself and lets out a hoarse—“Oh…right.” Like he’d been so caught up in you that he hadn’t even realized he was still clothed.
Pop!
Pop!
Pop!
Pop!
Those neat white buttons end up flinging to the ground- useless against his sheer desperation. Nanami wastes no time before tearing through his layers, ripping them off. Fabric pools onto the carpet below. His belt buckle clangs as it hits the ground.
Gentlemen couldn’t deny such a thing when their lover’s asking so nicely, could they? At least Nanami couldn’t-
And fuck…
Now, you always assumed that Nanami Kento was the kind of guy to be well-built. It was naturally in the way he moved, the way he stood, in the broadness of his shoulders.
But you’d never in your wildest dreams could have imagined that he’d be this chiselled. This toned.
You have to stop yourself from ogling him—you have to. But you can’t help it.
Not when Nanami’s body was ridged and curved in muscle- almost Herculean in nature. He had pecs that looked lush enough for you to bite - and you could already feel your mouth start to water - with a faint coating of golden and silver hair scattered across his skin. Wide shoulders. Trim waist.
His biceps flexin’ as he moves onto the buttons of his pants.
Lined through the middle with similar golden hair that drove down, down, down…
But you think your favorite part of him wasn’t the muscles or the hardness- no. Though they were certainly a nice addition, what made your pussy throb the most was just how…thick Nanami Kento was.
It was evident that Nanami was the type of person who liked hitting the gym often- but then again, it was evident that Nanami was the type of person who didn’t have the time to be hitting the gym often.
As often as he used to, at least.
And you? You were loving it.
Because all those muscles of his were naturally-formed. But with all the years of responsibilities as a father which meant his body was comforted by a layer of slight chub, big. Strong. Suddenly, you understood why ‘dad-bods’ were all the craze on social media—because you - for one - couldn’t help but linger your eyes at the sight of the softness to his shape. The slight roundness to his belly, abs barely peaking through.
“My dear…”
“Kento.”
He presses a thumb against the hemline of his trousers-
And then he’s letting you see him—all of him.
From his V-shaped waist to his meaty thighs.
So thick. So strong.
You just wanted to be crushed between them.
And right down to the furious cock that stood upright and erect between them. Such a bulbous red tip, streaming with never-ending ribbons of pre. Such a thickened shaft that made you swallow—he had so many veins zipping down either side of him. You think he was about nine or so inches- perhaps on the lower end.
Before you’d realized it, you’d been reaching your hand between his legs- only for Nanami to stop you in your tracks.
“K-Kento…”
His thick fingers intertwine with yours and press your hand down on the tabletop. “Honey, you don’t have to reciprocate.” The older man stares deeply into your eyes- “You don’t owe me anything. I ate your pretty pussy out because I’ve been starving for her.”
“But I still want to.” You insist.
“Mmmm, how about after then?” He reaches his free hand up n’ thumbs across your bottom lip. “As much as I want to paint these beautiful lips with my cum, there’s another pair who’ve been waiting patiently for their turn…”
You shiver, “Erm- Kento, you should know that…this is my first time.”
He pauses. “Excuse me, my dear?”
“I’ve never done it before.” Looking up at him through your tear-draped lashes. “You’ll be my first.”
The thought takes a second to register in the older man’s sex-hazed mind. That animalistic part of him being overpowered by the rational.
Your first time.
Your first time.
Your first time.
He was about to take the virginity of that cute lil’ nanny he’s had his eye on for so long. “Honey, are you su-”
“Yes.”
Nanami almost moans at the sheer eagerness in your voice - your eyes were shining, and your legs locked tighter around him. “Well…” The man starts, dipping two thumbs down to your glistening pussy and spreading your folds wide open. He takes a good look at your entrance in comparison to the thickness of his cock, “Brace yourself then, my dear. S’gonna be a tight fuckin’ fit.”
In a split-second, he’s jerking his hips closer and smoochin’ your naked cunt with his cock. His rounded tip spreading your pussylips. His shaft sliding between your slit and massaging you with his veins.
Nanami was so goddamn hard that it looked painful.
And what better way to alleviate the pain than by pushing his pretty lil nanny’s legs apart and shoving his cock between them? Aching and needy for you.
Nanami was big enough to fuck you stupid with just his tip.
And he knows it, too. Having such a hard time completely fittin’ in his crowned girth, he just barely fucks the top of his shaft inside before groaning. Taking a peek at the way you were squirming below him, sobbing below him. Absolutely ruined- “Shit, honey.” Cupping his hilt with his left hand- Shit, honey, can you recite the lessons for me?”
You’re wobbling up onto your elbows, “Recite them?”
He can only nod. “Just—oh.” Cut off with the slightest sliiiiide between your sweet, swollen pussylips- he’s only managing to nudge the rounded edge of his length. “Just recite them. You have them memorized f’me like a good girl, yeah?”
“Yes-” Nodding frantically. “Yes, Kento-”
And that cute obedience of yours is enough to make him smile- tap-tap-tappin’ away the curve of his tip down there. For absolutely no other reason than wanting to. “Good.” He reels his hips back. “Then say it f’me, my dear.” And then forwards- “Say it while I fuck you.”
And the only thing you can fucking do is to babble out those words- the very same ones that’d been drilled into you. “The first lesson is that—fuck.” All the while Nanami’s probin’ tip enters your hole in a sudden thrust. “-th-that big girls use their words.”
Nanami grunts, voice shot. “Goooood good good- keep breathing now.” Hand clawing down your front—feeling for himself as he pumps inside. Tiiiight fucking fit, like he said. He almost wonders whether it would go in- “And then?”
“The second…”
But it’s almost impossible to remember- to even think with those rapidfire haaaard hammers of his cock.
That curved tip of his shaft kept pushing iiiin with the most lecherous squelches, drawing more n’ more sweetened slick out of you with every single thrust. That stretch was just incredible- it was making you see white. Just the first few inches of his pretty pink cock squeezing inside and pushing in and in and in—
Thwack!
Those rugged fingertips of his come spanking back down on your cunt - this time, however, they fit between your pussylips and latch onto your clit. And they stay there. He’s tuggin’ on that poor nub a few times just to bring you back to your senses- “Awww, you didn’t think you’d go unpunished for that—-did you, my dear?”
“I-I—no.” Because tears stream down your cheeks, and Nanami still isn’t letting go. He’s flopping out his tongue and lapping at that salty flavor-
“Then continue.” Humming at the taste of you. Fitting and fitting and—trying to stretch your elastic hole out to take him. It’s the first time you’ve ever felt something like this. “You’re doing so good. Keep going for Kento.”
Thwack!
“Keep talking, honey.”
“Second lesson-” Unable to do anything but arch your back, you’re being met with Nanami’s soft chest. Those pecs. The thundering of his heartbeat. It’s enough to make your mouth already water—“t-to…use you.”
He leans in, “What was that, my dear? Old man, you know…”
“To use you-”
“To not be afraid to use me.” He corrects.
And it’s the last thing you hear before both Nanami’s hands snake down to grab your ankles- restraining them. Tightening them.
He’s bending you easily in half.
Legs on top of his shoulders. Thighs against thighs.
Pushing you all the way back into a mating press.
A fucking mating press.
Of course the hot DILF that you’re nannying for puts you in a mating press. Of fucking course!
And it’s only causing you to become wetter than you’ve ever been in your entire life- your head falls back against the table surface. Thud! An action that makes the older man on top of you reach behind n’ cushion the back of your scalp. “Easy there, my dear. Eeeeeasy.” His left palm lightly massages your sweaty head.
“K-Kento-” Through your tears.
“Easy there- third lesson, remember?”
“To s-settle down…”
“That’s my girl.” Nanami hums, head threatening to tip backwards at the sensations of your quivering cunt. It’s impossible to keep his mind when you were gushing out so much slick that it coats his shaft and leaves his ballsack all drenched.
And if he was this gone, then where did that leave you?
Well, you were just babbling away the pretty syllables of his lessons. “The f-fourth lesson is that fingers feel better.” Hips bucking upwards. “The fifth is that real men are hungry—” Eyes scrunching with tears. That large circumference of his were pushing into tender spots n’ crevices that you didn’t even know you had - it felt as though your poor pussy was being split by him. Push after push.
After probe after probe.
Just animalistically trying to fit inside—
“The sixth- the sixth-”
“Breathe, honey.” Those smoky words of his scorch your face, as if Nanami himself was burning from the inside out. And there truly was a feverish tint to his words—to his actions, fuckin’ away sloppily between your pussylips. Slurp after slurp. “Breeeeeeathe- c’mon do it with me.”
Conducting you through these relaxation exercises for a few strokes.
Listening to his own advice - that fourth lesson - his right hand lifts off of your thighs to roll over your throbbing clit. Just so neglected by now, it makes you see white to have him massaging that sweet spot all slow and sensual.
“The sixth lesson is…who cares about breathing?”
“Mhmmm.”
A guttural tone that sent vibrations straight from your drippin’ core and up to your brain. Only growing more muddled by the inch- “And oh! The extra.” As all good students do, you’re deciding to show a demonstration. How sinful that this sort of demonstration is you balancing your hips on the table n’ choosing to bounce right up to meet Nanami’s rutting hits. His pounces. “To- ngh, fuck back into you.”
“Oh, good girl- this old man almost forgot that one.” Sleazily, he’s pushing his glasses up his nosebridge.
Staring at the lewd sight below of you griiiiinding your hips up into his. It was just so messy because your lips were jittery with pleasure.
His happy trail rubs carnally on top of your clit- and it sends you into a frenzy—
“F-fuck that was-”
“Shhhh shh shh, easy.”
You waddle your ankles from their perch atop his shoulders. “Yes, I know-” Hissing out—“I’m breathing, Kento. I’m listening to what you’re saying, promise…”
“Good girl. Now inhale.” Of course, you can’t help but take a looooong gasp of the heady air thick in the dining room - the candles were scented like roses. “And-”
“And…?”
And Nanami doesn’t finish his sentence. He doesn’t bother telling you to exhale before his fat, throbbing cock is fucking every volume of air from your lungs. In this mating press, he could hit each angle even deeper than before - and that meant you’re feeling his thick circumference bruise all the way against your womb.
Your cervix.
Bottomed all the way out and Nanami was pummeling his length away as if there was even more, more, more of him left. A hint of something metallic hits his nostrils—and he can’t hold back the victorious chuckle that leaves him. He’s done it. “Continue.”
“I—what-” Struggling to catch your breath. “Oh my fucking-”
“Continue.”
“Who cares about breathing-”
A sixth lesson that he was fully demonstrating.
He really was mean.
He really was merciless.
Because he was fucking you into the dinner table like a damn animal—and the thing is Nanami wasn’t even going at a particularly fast pace in order to leave you speechless. He wasn’t merely half-thrusting away and hoping that you liked it. He wasn’t just tracin’ his cockhead down the sweet spots at the back of your pussy.
Nanami Kento was holding you down tight in his mating press. He has one hand gripping onto the back of your scalp - such a gentle gesture turned so sinful - and another crushin’ the fatness of his palm to your pussy.
Purposefully, the older man pushes the edge of his palm down on your clit. Harder. Harder. Harder.
And he was drilling into you harder by the second, too. Harder didn’t mean faster.
Just draaaagging every inch of his vein-covered shaft down your slick channel - he’s making sure that you can feel every single curve n’ ridge down his cock. He’s making sure that he massages your insides so thoroughly that it feels as though you’re being molded to his cock. Nothing more. Nothing less.
You swear you’re seeing the pearly gates spread wide open before your very eyes. “O-oh my god-” Reaching your hands up, Nanami lowers his strong body further into yours. Pushing you down against the dinner table, the pressure from all sides is too much that you have to claaaw down his perfect back. “Kento, what—fuck. I didn’t know that it could feel like this-”
And deep inside, you can feel his thickened tip flinching. Directly at your g-spot. “Mhm?”
“Yeah-” Voice shattering in your throat as his circumference swells just a few millimeters thicker inside of you. He was growing even bigger, harder, just by the sensations of your slurping cunt. “I-it just feels so good- I’ve never been fucked like this.”
“Honey…” Nanami’s mean yet pointed tone makes you stare up at him. “You’ve never been fucked before me.‘
“Oh.”
“Your virginity is mine.”
“Oh.”
Just that gone on his cock that you’d almost forgotten - even the realization itself seems to take up too much storage inside your already-muddled brain. Now filled with only the thought of him n’ his achingly hot cock—pouring out bucketloads of precum until it sloshed around inside.
Inside and inside.
Stirring ‘round and ‘round with his probin’ cockhead. He pushes deep into spots that you hadn’t even known existed, let alone could be smooched away by his pulsating shaft. He constantly whacks your g-spot until it feels numb.
Enough to render you speechless-
“—graduated.”
And that makes your eyes blink open. “Wh-what?”
“Oh, honey…” Nanami plants a loving peck on your lips- until that peck turns into a rugged bite. “What world are you on, hm? S’my cock that good? Awww, my poor girl—here.” Nanami’s perspired forehead sticks against yours. This time, he’s staring deeply into your eyes as he pronounces the words, “You’ve graduated.”
You cock your head in confusion, “From university?”
He chuckles, fine lines popping out from the edges of his eyes. You’re noticing that his glasses have slightly fogged up by now- “No, silly girl. From my lessons.”
“Oh…” Pouting, “But I liked your lessons, Kento.”
“Mmmm, you’ll like this one even more.” Dipping down- Nanami presses his stern lips right to the shell of your left ear. Whispering as if a secret shared by no one but the two of you in this world, “Remember how Yuji mentioned he wanted a little brother…”
A jolt goes through your body- as does the realization.
“If you’d like then-”
“Yes.” You know it might be rash. But looking at him like this - looking at Nanami Kento so deep in the pangs and plunges of his carnal pleasure - how could you deny what you want? “Yes—”
The blond man’s breaths start to grow heavier, eyes slightly widened. For the first time in the longest time, he actually looks like his usually-sensible self. Those molten eyes of his search yours for an answer- “Honey, really think this throu-”
“I did.” You’re insisting. And if that wasn’t enough, he could feel your wobbly ankles surge with the strength to lock ‘round his neck. “Inside, Kento.”
Nanami’s mouth moves noiselessly with an answer, but his cock does all the swelling. So painfully hard that you were sure it was tougher than rocks-
And there’s only one thing left for you to do. “Inside…sir.”
If he was any less of a gentleman - of a man, really - then Nanami would’ve cum inside you then and there. At least in his mind—which was focused solely on digging his heels into the carpet, solely on gritting his teeth and holding his damn cock back from pouring out those wads of cum like he knew he wanted to.
Was on the verge of doing.
He was instead collapsing the entirety of his weight upon your body- feeling your limbs strain, hearing your joints pop. But not even that noise crackling in his eardrums is enough to get the man to slow down.
Now he was just fucking you sloppy—grunts filtering between his grit canines by the minute. By the thrust. “The first to fuck you.” And what a rare occasion: to hear the ever-eloquent Nanami Kento stutter. “I’ll be the first to breed you too, my dear.”
“Oh—fuck, yes.” Your entire body shivers in excitement. You could feel the pit of pleasure starting to grow in your stomach.
“I’ll be the first to give this pretty cunt a taste of cum.” And you could hardly believe that such a sinful sentence was leaving the confines of his mouth—“She’s probably so thirsty by now, no? I’ll be the first to quench that thirst, my dear, just you wait-” Pinching your clit between the fingers on his right hand once more. “-mama.”
Really, if you were calling him ‘sir’ then it was only fair for him to call you by that pretty nickname. Something primal awakens inside of you-
“I’ll be the first one to stuff this pretty pussy-” Nanami gurgles out, eyes locking in on your stomach. That was where his rounded tip occasionally made an appearance by bulging through your flesh n’ skin as he fucked inside you. “-with so much of my cum that you’ll be bloated.”
You gasp hysterically, “Yes-” So turned on that it almost hurt - you wanted him. Now. “Yes, yes, yes—”
“I’ll be the first to make you feel me in here- for weeks. Months.” Thrust after thrust. Pinch after pinch. It was incredible how much he was stimulating you to tears- “I’ll be the first where—when you walk down the street, everyone will know that I fucked you. Everyone will know that- that this pretty pussy is mine, that I’m the one fuckin’ her and stuffing her and—and giving her my cum every night.”
Rolling a sweet, sweet heart on top of your clit.
“They’ll know that I’m the one fuckin’ the cute, sweet lil’ nanny—all of them. The professors. Those parents at pick-up. Your friends. My friends.” He chuckles darkly. And he doesn’t care who’d be scandalized. “Wanna know why, my honey?”
“Wh-why—” You sob out.
And he leans in to whisper in your ear- “Because I’ll be the one making you a momma.”
Until you’re all round and glowing with his seed.
Until you’re so full of him that you can’t take anymore.
Until you’re so stuffed that you wouldn’t be able to hide it- he hopes you’re walking ‘round with his cum between your legs for weeks.
It’s taking only that and a single puuuush against your g-spot for you to topple off the edge of your high. Bliss pumping through your veins in waves, you couldn’t escape from the constant throb and ebb of it. Dimming the edges of your vision. Making the lights seem brighter.
Again and again and again—
He’s probin’ inside that swollen cockhead to push you through the bouts of your pleasure. In the time he’s had you like this, Nanami’s already mapped out where every single one of your sweetest spots where- and first he’ll thwack! his hand upon your clit. Then he’ll move onto your tender bruised spots at the rim, then his cock delves deeper until he’s hitting your g-spot—then again and again he’s knockin’ on your womb.
Filling it with so much of his cum.
“Breathe.” Your orgasm hits you so hard that you have to manually control your breathing- and Nanami’s right beside you. Walking you through every step, every exhale and inhale. “Breathe iiiiiin.”
You’re sucking in a breath. “Fuck-”
And it’s just then that he’s emptying out a particularly powerful wave of his own euphoria. Balls clenching as his ribbony white cum leaks near your cervix- with your breath sucked in, you’re only feeling the sensations even stronger. “And out.”
Panting out with a whine. “Fuuuuck- f-feels so good.”
Too good, almost.
You never knew it could feel like this to have someone pourin’ out all their lecherous sap inside of you- the thick layers clinging onto either side of your walls. There’s so much of it - so much volume that you wondered just how he managed to keep it all stuffed inside - frothing out and forming a circle of white ‘round Nanami’s hilt. Gleaming with every thrust. Puddling out and sticking your thighs together—
Head throwing slightly back, though still peeking at you through his lashes. “Honey…”
Nanami’s gruff tone makes you jump. “Yes?” Still slightly twitching from the aftershocks of your incredible high.
He stares into your eyes with a slight smile. Something unreadable. “You forgot the seventh lesson earlier.”
The seventh…?
Oh.
Oh.
Fuck.
It’s with a sudden cold thrill that you’re registering what he said- and remembering the mistake you’d made during your recitations earlier. “I-it was to cum all over-”
“That’s quite alright, my dear. No need to tell me now.” Nanami smiles the sweetest smile that makes your cunt start to throb - his eyes shuttered closed, his lips pecking yours. His cock shovels a long, hard thrust inside you—“But I will have to rescind your graduation.”
You gape, “What, why-”
“Until you’re completely and fully stuffed by me.” He grumbles out the rest of his statement. His condition.
Hands rovering all over your body, Nanami makes sure that every slight tingle of your high has passed before he’s pulling out of you with a loud sluuuuurp! Immediately scooping you up into a princess carry n’ walking in the direction of his bedroom.
It isn’t long before you find yourself draped over Nanami Kento’s large mattress - on all fours so that he can slip inside you with ease. Pumping away immediately- “Until you’re fuckin’ pregnant, consider that you’re still taking lessons.”
You’re sobbing into your newly-caught pillow. “Oh—oh fuck.”
To which Nanami leans over and snatches your neck into a fucking headlock- his strong biceps pushing against the sides of your throat. “Happy Valentine’s Day, my dear. When this is all done- fuck, m’gonna show you how much I love you.”
“I l-love you—” Feeling his rounded tip immediately pierce across your g-spot and towards your womb. Full. “-too.”
“Mmm, I love you more.” Watching as you shake and quiver. “We’ll get you something sweet after this, honey, don’t you worry.” He hums- before sneaking a look at the both of you through the mirror in his bedroom and chuckling.
Ruined. Completely and utterly ruined.
“If we make it out of Valentine’s Day alive, that is.”
Maybe Shoko could babysit Yuji a little longer?
“Papa’s gonna do his best to try for a second child, alright?”
.
.
.
Morning shed its sunlight like the clothes upon Nanami’s apartment floor.
A stream of white-gold Sun, the richness of the day, enters through his windows and splays out perfectly on the bed. It dapples light across his naked chest and leaves him stirring—
Valentine’s Day.
The dinner.
The table.
You. Being taken on the table.
Afterwards on this very bed, afterwards on the damn bedroom floor after he heard a snap coming from somewhere on the bed frame. He’d shovelled himself n’ his gooey white sap inside you until the Sun had risen—
And it’s enough to make him jerk upright in his bed.
Blankets falling around his waist, sleepy eyes scanning the room for any sign of you.
From here, he couldn’t see what’d been made of your clothes in the dining room- or your panties in his bedroom. But it was obvious that you weren’t here. If from your physical presence, then from the warmth you brought into his drafty Tokyo home.
Just to make sure, he casts several wide-eyed looks around the room - breath-still in case there was a single noise from the kitchen - and still…nothing. Absolutely nothing.
There’s a sinking feeling in his chest that he doesn’t want to make sense of.
Of course, what was he thinking? He’d said…those words to you last night- but just because you’d said them back didn’t mean it was real. It was probably in the heat of the moment, you’d probably snuck out before dawn broke so you didn’t have to face him. You’d probably woken up disgusted.
He didn’t blame you - there were no promises between the two of you. And even if there had been, he knows he can’t find it in himself to get angry at you.
If anything - if you chose to quit after this - he supposes he’ll have to start looking for a nanny again. Something in Nanami’s chest twists, and he reaches up to rub the spot where his heart was.
He wouldn’t mind the long and tedious process if it still led him back to you. He wouldn’t mind the long and tedious process if it meant you were there with him - not as a nanny, just yourself being you.
It was a cold morning.
And Nanami Kento was clenching his sheets, just about to throw his legs over the side of the bed and get out—he needed to put away his clothes anyways before Shoko came with Yuji. What was the time anyway? It was his off-day today, and maybe he could take Yuji out to the park to take his mind off of-
And it’s then that several things happen at once.
Nanami’s eyes catch the face of the clock on his bedside cabinet: 12:48PM.
Nanami’s jaw drops at just how late it is.
Nanami snatches his phone off of the cabinet and makes to race outside while calling Shoko-
And he makes it about two frantic steps, too, before getting stopped by a sudden squeal of laughter. Loud and bubbling. Euphoric.
Of course, it was none other than his son.
Echoing a short burst of laughter throughout the apartment- before abruptly cutting himself off with a pronounced ‘shhhhhh!’ It rings even louder than his laugh, and reaches Nanami’s ears alongside some words. “Sowwy! Yuji promises not to wake papa!”
And Nanami’s brows furrow, wondering whether Shoko had somehow managed to forge a key to his apartment and get in. Before out of nowhere—your voice is the one that answers him.
“S’alright, sunshine.” You’re using that nickname he always did. Sleepiness was still laced into your tone, and he could tell it hadn’t been long since you must’ve waddled away.
Since you must’ve put away the clothes in the dining room, since you must’ve opened the door for Yuji - Nanami would hate to imagine the smug look on Shoko’s face then, but the surplus of texts from her were already doing the job. “Papa needs to be awake for breakfast-in-bed, doesn’t he?”
The smell of pancakes drifts through the bedroom door - along with Yuji’s answering call. “True…but what if papa won’t wake up?”
“Then we eat the pancakes.”
“Yes—” Yuji echoes, “Thank you, Cupid.”
“Hm?”
“Because Cupid made you n’ papa married, right?” But of course. It leaves you stunned for a few seconds, and Yuji obliviously chattering. “I’ve always wanted to keep you- papa, too. Even though I know he won’t say—can we keep you now, Ms. Nanny?”
Your voice sounds slightly thicker than before. “You can keep me as long as you want, Yuji.”
“Thank you, Cupid!”
Two evil cackles, and the sound of footsteps.
You’re opening the door with a flood of sunlight and a tray of pancakes in your hand. Yuji rushes in after you with a call of ‘good morning’ - and by the smile on your face…yeah.
Yeah, it really is a good morning.
He still doesn’t know how to explain to Yuji that the two of you aren’t married yet, however.
It’s in an hour that you finally break the news- but rush to assure the little boy before he bursts into tears, that he could ‘keep you’ as long as he wanted. And that the two of you were together—yes, together together. Nanami puts off answering Shoko (she ambushes him for gossip the very next day).
It’s in a month that you start officially calling yourselves lovers - boyfriend and girlfriend, whatever it is. It seems like so much more than that, however. And so Nanami just settles for introducing you as his partner at those tedious work dinners.
It’s in a few more months that those work dinners become the last he’s attending. Because Nanami Kento quits that damn job, using everything he’s saved up to buy a little bakery and a house just a small ways off from the heart of the city - not quite the countryside as he once imagined, but this was good, too. It was still a manageable distance from your university and Yuji’s school, and yet so much bigger than the apartment.
It’s in a year that Nanami’s bakery is at the height of business - a figure that will only keep growing as the years pass by. Word spreads far and wide about those treats- and soon enough, he’s forced to fire extra hands and more part-timers than he ever thought would be needed. The little bakery grows into a big bakery, with time.
You couldn’t have been more happy to see those dark circles underneath his eyes cease for once, to see him pursue his dreams. Yuji couldn’t have been more happy to get all the sweet treats he could’ve ever wished for.
And now, Nanami could buy him all the car beds he could’ve ever wished for.
He also starts looking into wedding rings.
He still isn’t sure about a Spiderman-themed wedding, but he knows he’ll be baking the cake.
A/N. Hehehe that Nanami and the flowers scene was inspired by my father having a tradition to always buy me a bouquet as well today.
Yk when they say if you’re grinding your hips during riding it’s for you and if you’re bouncing it’s for him? Yeah bakugou doesn’t care in fact he would rather your grind and roll your hips on him cause he gets to see you fall apart
🛞 NEED A RIDE? ✩ katsuki bakugou .ᐟ
🏁 pit stop ! 𖦹 pro hero dynamight's fatal flaw is his inability to keep his hands off you and when he finally manages to lure you away from the hero gala and back to his car for the journey home, you end up taking him for a ride. (2K)
🏁 safety car ! ⋆ not safe for work ⋆ smut ⋆ eighteen plus only. pro hero au, canon compliant, established relationship, spit, creampies, car sex, semi-public sex, unprotected sex, squirting, bakugou just likes to watch his girl have fun, reader is wearing a dress !! pro hero bakugou & pro hero fem reader.
dynamight’s one fatal flaw, is that can’t keep his hands off of you. never for very long. it’s not always sexual, sometimes it’s a hand in yours for reassurance, one on your thigh to let you know he’s there, one at the small of your back to help manoeuvre you through crowds and prying press. though tonight, it really is the latter.
dressed to the nines for some charitable hero event, the blonde couldn’t help but paw at your doughy hips and perfect thighs over the designer dress that you wore. all black and orange and dynamight colours — a slit high on your thigh. of course he was hard. of course he wanted to touch you. the whole evening was hell on earth, pure torture watching you flounce about in fancy fabric and smile for cameras you’d never met. so yes, katsuki bakugou absolutely pulled over his car somewhere secluded on the way home and dragged you into the backseat with him.
the bedroom nearly half an hour away couldn’t wait for this.
now you’re on top of him, riding him, straddling that tiny waist. now he’s touching you. everywhere on everything — the curve of your breast as your sleeve slips lower. the back of your neck when you reach down to kiss him, uncoordinated and giddy. your tummy, where you take him and he bulges from his thickness and the small of your back just to keep you close.
“ride me so good sweetheart, know that?” katsuki glances upwards with a spark lost in his vermillion eyes, the kind you get when you see the stars for the first time. he thinks he might be high, words strung together to form praise slipping out before he has much time to think — large hands squeezing your hips. “love the way you bounce on it, throwin’ it back like you fucking own me.”
he’s got your dressed hiked up enough to feel some skin, toying with the supple flesh at your waist with dangerously rough and explosive hands — but you handles you like you’re a precious porcelain doll. delicate. something to be cherished and admired, like the pro hero does from underneath.
“‘m tired, kats…” you huff, looking so dazed as your head rolls back between your shoulders — vacant eyes going with them. like you’re barely conscious. like you’re losing it. through his unfairly long lashes and hooded blood current eyes, katsuki admires the pearlescent sheen to your skin, a mix of saltine sweat and the body shimmer your stylists had lathered on you earlier. you’ve always been pretty, your beauty rivals that of the moon, but the blonde thinks you’re most pretty when you get lost in the motions. swaying above him, bouncing up and down to the point where your cunt let’s out a crude suctioning sound every time she swallows the stretch of him back in.
he hums, pawing at your doughy hips and fleshy thighs, fixing the strap of your dress as it slips down your bare shoulder. “then stop, lemme take over, baby.” he offers gruffly against your shoulder whilst he sits up — plush pink lips leaving kiss against your skin. bakugou sucks in a breath, choking on the air that rushes in as your walls wavelet around him hungrily.
“but i— ” biting down on your lower lip, you exhale carefully with your brain all happily fuzzy and your soul alight with katsuki’s explosive spark. “wanna ride you, feels nice on top of you.” you explain cutely, clenching down on the diameter of his leaky bulbous tip, loving the way it kisses those sweet spots along your ribbed walls. you keep him trapped inside.
for a moment, you pause, hips stuttering as you try to regain the strength to go on. bakugou’s calloused fingertips traverse your spine and land at your ass, holding you on his cock — shallowly fucking you with the tip as you bask in the weight of him stretching you out. “sit down.” he goads you with a slick rasp, pressing his sweaty forehead to yours. you’re still so sensitive from the work you’ve put in, close to the edge of bliss and falling over it. the blonde hero leans up, nipping your cheeks with no real bite. “grind on it for me.”
“wh— but what about…?” you question shyly through a pout. people say it never feels as good for the guy when you’re grinding on his dick, but you forget that katsuki only ever cares about your pleasure. you’ve always come first to him.
red eyes watch in amusement as you try to control the tears warping your vision, need and frustration coursing through you. “baby, pretty girl. i’m yours,” he whispers with that husky, sexy voice that has your belly erupting with butterflies. “use me, take what you want.” the more katsuki encourages you; the more you find the strength to lift your weight from his lap and peel your hips back — already missing the way the prominent veins decorating his cock; feel nestled against your insides. “w-worry about me later, just wanna make it good for you.” he just barely choked on a moan before you’re slamming yourself back down against him, a wet slap resounding through the sleek black porsche that rocks with the momentum of hot, passionate sex.
pride flickers within the maroon strokes to his eye colour, bakugou admiring you as you switch a desperate rhythm of swirling your hips over him feverishly, forcefully. it’s so much better this way, his achingly hot cock continuously jamming against that one particular spot whilst also churning up your gummy insides just the way you like. you throw your arms around bakugou’s thick neck in an attempt to keep yourself seated in his lap, his slacks burning deliciously against the backs of your thighs as a result of the friction. your gaze becomes misty and katsuki’s haughty moans become murky — breathes of exertion and delight coasting against your skin, as you jerk your hips back and forth, swollen mound streaming with sweet juices all over him.
a pink tint glows underneath the surface of katsuki’s golden skin, the blood carrying lustful hormones through his system begin to coagulate at his cheeks, the back of his neck and the tips of his ears in the form of a blush. with you barely pulling off of him, languidly rolling your pussy over his meaty shaft — a sticky glaze coats the blonde’s thick thighs and sinks into the polyester of his pants, leaving behind a scent he longs to carry with him for weeks.
“o-oh katsuki,” you mewl into the heavy hormone dusted air, drawing attention to the angelic contours of your face. “gosh, i don’t think i can…fuck!” slurring over sentences that don’t make sense, you reach for the headrest your boyfriend slumps against. he lazily circles his hips upwards to meet the languid flow of your grinding, because he can tell that you’re drowning and almost unable to take anymore. fat beads of his precum bead between your sore thighs like pearls, because nothing feels better than watching you fall to pieces above him like angel falling from heaven.
your body won’t let him go, your dripping mound keeps him warm and safe — pulling the blonde into the steps of intense, dreamy sex. his painfully red cockhead stays married to your g-spot because you’ve positioned yourself to make sure it hits deep, dotting your own line of sight with sparks of euphoria.
“god, you’re close aren’t you? gonna make yourself cum on my fucking cock?” bakugou ask you in a rough voice. tight and stretched with arousal. adoringly, his gaze snakes downwards to where the fabric of your dress bunches at your waist and his milky white dick disappears into your perfect, soaked pussy. his equally rough fingertips dart from your ass to your nether lips, thumb tacking to your clit to rub in tantalising circles and shapes. “just like that baby, grind on me. make yourself feel good on me.”
ecstasy slips into your veins with a chill but does nothing to soothe the white hot throb between your legs as you swivel your messy, precum streaked hole back and forth, back and forth over katsuki’s length. when you lunge forward, capturing his sweaty Cupids bow and soft lips between your own, his hips canter up quickly — easily kissing the pleasure spots you can barely reach with your own fingers. “so fuckin’ pretty, look at you go, gorgeous,” the wrecked and mighty pro hero dynamight heaves, once you pull apart snd the rope of saliva snaps between your open mouths. breathing hot and heavy. “take what you need, just wanna see you fuckin’ cum. see you feel so fucking good. use me baby.”
his plea makes you move faster, clench and squeeze and buck harder and in the meantime, a sheet of sweat layers over katsuki’s body — drops between his golden delicious pecs and over his abs until his baby hair is pinned to the back of his neck. you reach for it, wring your fingers through soft blonde as leverage to hump his thick, cock as it froths opaque white at your entrance. your lips barely graze on another’s, despite the proximity, only damp with the warm breath that condenses against them — the result of panting into one another’s mouths as they fall open with hearty moans.
bakugou then grabs at the fat of your ass uses his grip as leverage to hoist you up and down on his girth — viscous honey seeping from your core obscenely whilst slamming you down on the curve of his shaft. “lemme help you. gush on that cock baby,” everything is so messy, a mix of arousal splattering everywhere as the blonde pro hero jackhammers into you with a speed fast enough to give you whiplash. “can tell by the way you’re squeezin’ me, like you’re gonna milk me in the back of this fuckin’ car.”
you tip forward, leaning your weight on your palms that press against bakugou’s chest and torso. your nails dig into his expensive linen shirt. nearly ripping it. neither of you care. “f-fuck, katsuki. suki,” orgasmic waves start to roll through you, the car creaking and squealing the wilder your movements become. your clit smears all over his hipbone, painting him with your essence and the frothy white streaks over your ravaged pussy lips in a claim. staining your dress too. “o-oh god, feel so hot. like ‘m gonna burst.” your thighs squish together, practically touching despite how you straddle katsuki because you’re not sure you can handle the strikes of ecstasy tingling down your spine.
it’s nearly embarrassing, how your hood stutter above dynamight’s and your cunt squirts little streams of nectar each time the blonde is able to bully himself further along your welcoming walls. wailing out, you slump against his broad shoulder, too weak to hold yourself up but strong enough to swirl your hips down on his dick one last time.
“chase that feelin’ sweetheart, you’re right there,” katsuki’s rough palms ensnare your wrists — thumb pressing into your pulse points. “‘m right here with you.”
that’s all you need to hear, all it takes for the world around you to blur into a flashing white. static rings in your ears and your brain actually falters like a video game with a persistent lag. a scream rips through your entire body, shooting from the base of your lungs to your throat as you squirt hard on katsuki — quivering and gargling on a whine.
whatever you leak pools on the blonde’s dress pants and down to the leather seats of his car but the aftershocks of your high throw him into his own and before you know it, bakugou is cumming too. white ropes of seed spill into you, lining your perfect cunt with his claim. what doesn’t stay inside catches on your evening gown — but it’s not like either of you are paying attention.
“f-fuck,” katsuki gasps, blinking like his vision’s gone black. “fuck, you’re so hot.”
you grin against his neck from where you’ve hidden yourself in it, catching your breath, fixing your dress. “so are you,” you mumble and kiss his cheek. “made a mess of your car.”
“won’t cost shit to get it fixed up,” bakugou nuzzles into you. “‘n besides, watchin’ you ride it, watching you fall apart for me… makes the bill totally worth it.”
he’d be right, because katsuki would pay millions to have you fuck him like that again — even if it feels better for you than it does for him.
end. reblogs and comments are always appreciated! just liking doesn't do anything. so leave a comment to motivate this writer if you'd like to see more!!
ᯓᡣ𐭩.ᐟ ⊹ boyfriend!nanami being the best support system
nanami presses a soft kiss to your forehead. "my smart girl."
you're curled up in bed, tucked tightly into your blanket and staring at your phone with a shocking amount of neutrality. exam season.
it was the biggest evil of all evils, you had declared to nanami just a few days ago. your hair was unkempt, glasses askew, and your brain utterly frazzled. there was just too many exams, too many essays, too many assignments that were all due at the same time. there was only so much one could tolerate.
nonetheless, you had trudged throughout the week, dealing with each due date one step at a time and nanami by your side.
he was always composed - sure, he got stressed out just as you did but he always managed to keep his wits about him, to always have a game plan with his handy-dandy weekly planner.
so when you get stressed out, he was always there to extend a hand to you and to pick you back up whenever you were feeling too down from academic stress.
if you got a bad grade, he would take you in his arms and rub your back while you cried your eyes out. if you were feeling insecure about any lecture material, he'd insist on taking you to a cafe so the two of you could study and work on it together. if an exam didn't go the way you thought it would, he would still murmur, "i'm proud of you," in your ear and take you out for a sweet treat as celebration regardless.
he was there.
and he was still here today when all you wanted to do was lay in bed and refuse to move a single muscle. there was a clink of the porclein mug being set down on the wooden nightstand and the dip of the mattress indicating nanami was sat down next to your lumpy form in the blankets.
a gentle hand stroked your hair, "i brought you some tea, honey." he says quietly. "it's your favorite."
you don't say anything, don't make any movements that indicate that you heard him. nanami lets out a deep sigh and shifts over to lay down next to you, enveloping you in his arms. slowly, you turn around his arms and lay your head against the steady plane of his chest. the pitter-pattering of his heart is enough comfort to you to finally push words out of your mouth.
"i failed."
he doesn't stop stroking your hair, doesn't seem phased at all. "i'm still proud of you. it doesn't make you any less smarter."
you breathe out a heavy sigh, the anxiety in your chest slowly melting at his kind touches. "i just... i feel stupid. i thought i did good."
you feel the hot trickle of tears run down the side of your face and into the fabric of the pillow as you shove your face deeper into nanami's shirt. you squeeze him tight, as tight as you can and he only responds by holding you tighter.
"you're not stupid. you're not ever stupid. things like this happen sometimes but that doesn't define us. one exam doesn't mean you're stupid, okay? you'll do better next time, i'll make sure of it. we'll study together."
once more you don't say anything, but the hot tears continue to fall, his comforting words pushing all the sadness to the forefront of your mind.
he lets you cry, the tears and snot smearing his 'it's no use, jo!' shirt. he rubs your back in circling motions, and when he finally feels you coming back up for air and calming down, he cups your face in his hands.
golden brown eyes look deep into yours, "hey. you are so smart, my darling. so smart. you're the smartest person i know and an exam is not going to change that." he presses a kiss to your forehead. "my smart girl."
you start to shake your head against the words but he refuses even that. he thumbs away a stray tear and kisses your lips gently. you feel like something precious with the way he holds you. "so smart." he murmurs. the littering of kisses on your face continues as he says, "i'll keep saying it till you believe it too."
it doesn’t even really matter what you’re doing, just that its you doing it. he’s the kind of boyfriend to calmly yet not-so-casually tell you to turn your camera on when you’re on facetime. and he won’t say it, but he does get a little upset when you face away from him while you sleep together.
he has several folders on his phone: work documents, press photos, and one simply titled [y/n]. half of the photos are candids, and most you aren’t aware he actually keeps.
of the many things he observes about you, makeup is his favourite.
its always been elusive to him. he recalls a younger version of himself, watching his older sister do her makeup through a crack in the washroom door. painfully unaware of his own beauty, he possessed a long-held curiosity towards the medium. bottles of differently named products that all seemed to do the same thing. tubes of brightly pigmented waxes and glosses. hundreds of pressed powders that make your eyes glow.
it all plants a seed in his head. and he starts thinking: makeup goes over things. covers up things. things you don’t want the world to see. things like scars.
so one night, blunt as always: “why do you wear it?”
if it were anyone else, you’d roll your eyes at the statement mostly rooted in misogyny. but you know he doesn’t mean it that way. it’s shoto, after all, the man who kisses the ground you walk on. his tone is curious, tilting his head like a dog in genuine wonder. despite his strength and maturity, you do remember that he’s spent most of his life in isolation, and awkwardness is a symptom of that.
your glossed lips curve up into a smile. pink lilly lipgloss that shoto paid for a while back.
“because… i like it.” you shrug. “it brings out my beauty.”
he nods. “you are pretty.” he agrees, because he can’t argue with what that. you stares at you enough to know every beautiful thing about you.
then, an idea: “can i try it on you?”
his head tilts again, this time in the other direction. but he can’t say no to you.
you spend the next 10 minutes with delicate brush strokes, letting the soft bristles paint over his skin. he watches you dig into your makeup bag to find his exact shade, and which blush will compliment his undertones best.
finally, your beauty blender reaches the upper left side of his face. he watches as you work the foundation into the foam, preparing to apply it to his skin.
his breath hitches as he feels you tediously, delicately, work around his scar.
he stops you, his hand touching your wrist. “why aren’t you covering it?”
he expects the worst. he thinks, for a moment, that the damage has been done. that no amount of product can ever hide this part of him. that no foundation can prevent people, even his own family, wincing at him every time they make eye contact.
but you take his hand and press a kiss to his knuckles. “you weren’t listening to me?”
“i was.”
“no, you weren’t.”
“what did i miss?”
you almost laugh, opting for a smile instead. “i said that makeup is for bringing out beautiful things, shoto.”
you lightly trace the skin just below his left eye. he feels it, the contrast of your smooth fingertip overlapping with rough, burned skin. your hand then moved to cup his face. “and this right here… is beautiful. you don’t need to cover up anything.”
theres a lump in his throat, but he chokes it down. he can’t let tears ruin your masterpiece.
he doesn’t fully believe you. doesn’t know if he can. but he also knows that loving you is stronger than any hatred he’s ever felt towards himself.
so instead, he opts for a kiss, tasting your lipgloss and pouring everything he has into it: “if you say so, gorgeous.”
jabber acting like a clingy puppy with you [head cannon-ist]
masterlist
you hate being around your boyfriend sometimes. because when you were together, he always found the need to follow you around like a puppy. literally. a dog.
you could be in the bathroom, minding your business, taking a dump, maybe. and jabber would stay outside the door waiting on you like he couldn’t go anywhere without you, “you done in there, baby?” he’d ask you, his ear against the door. and once you finally came out, he’d complain like he’d been holding a grudge, “what took you so long?”
jabber would stare at your food like he was abandoned for days on end without anything to eat. the moment you ordered something he claimed he didn’t want, he’d plop down beside you on the couch and just stare. drool pooled at the corners of his lips, a drop slipping down his chin.
rolling your eyes, you’d spoon-feed him a couple of bites, and next thing you know, half of your plate would disappear. all while he sat there, pupils wide, drumming his hands on the couch, chewing like this was the best thing he’d ever had.
he’s constantly trying to get your attention. he’d bring you a new ring he’d found at a store or buy you some random trinkets he'd seen while thrifting. he’d drop it in your lap and stare at you, crossing his arms, rocking on his feet, flashing his canines at you, as if he was waiting for a treat, knowing you’d love whatever it was he picked out for you. “whadd’ya think?” he asks, already smiling. “found it at that one store over there on uh...y’know that one street.”
sleeping in bed, jabber would crawl all over you, clinging so close that it got unbearably hot as you tried to sleep. he’d lay against your boobs or stomach like they were his favorite pillows, pawing at the fabric that separated him from them. pushing his head, you’d snap at him, “move, jabber. i have to get up early in the morning.” he’d make a sound, similar to a whine like you betrayed him but later, sink lower under the blankets. after a few seconds, you’d feel cold air where it shouldn’t be, his mouth following—pleased with the high-pitched sounds that slipped from your lips.
jabber would love for you to mark each other. he was serious about it. like, it was your little pact to everyone else that you belonged to him, and he belonged to you. he’d stare at the mark on his neck in the mirror in the morning, dragging his painted black nails over it. “what?” you’d grumble, rubbing at your eyes. and he’d grab you by the neck and tilt your head back while looking in the mirror at yours. “yours ain’t dark enough.” he’d pout, his eyebrows furrowing as he brought his lips down to your neck.
sypnosis: time has passed, and your once broken heart has healed to a somewhat cracked heart, all taped up but still very fragile. you still see little bits of blue in your dull life, and when you thought you're finally moving on, a burst of blue were shoved into your life once again. of course, fate will never let you be at peace, and why would it if you could rekindle with your traumatizing past, aka your ex-fiancé, gojo satoru.
content warnings: mdni! hurt/comfort. angst. graphic sexual content. betrayal. heartbreak. forced arranged marriage. light yandere content. mention of murder. grief/loss/regret. 9k wc (pls bear w me the angst is gonna hurt soooo good)
the alarm never went off anymore.
you woke naturally now, at exactly 6:47 a.m. the way your body had retrained itself after two years of rigid schedules and jet lag and lights that never really dimmed. the kyoto apartment was quiet except for the soft patter of early spring rain against the sliding glass door that opened onto the tiny balcony garden. you lay there for exactly seven minutes—always seven—watching the gray light shift across the ceiling, counting your breaths until the tightness in your chest loosened enough to sit up.
no panic today.
that was progress.
you swung your legs over the side of the bed, bare feet meeting cool tatami. the room smelled faintly of cedar and the lavender candle you’d lit last night and forgotten to blow out. it was a small victory: you could forget things now without spiraling. you could leave a candle burning and not spend the next three hours imagining the building burning down with you inside it, the way you used to when the nightmares were fresh.
the mirror in the hallway caught you as you passed.
you paused.
two years ago, the reflection would have made you turn away fast—hollow cheeks, sunken eyes, collarbones like broken wings, hair coming out in clumps in the shower. now the woman staring back looked… alive.
your skin had color again, a soft golden undertone from actual sunlight instead of studio lights. your cheeks were full, not gaunt. the dark circles had faded to faint shadows that concealer erased in thirty seconds. your hair—once chopped unevenly in fits of despair—was long again, past your shoulder blades, glossy from the expensive masks your stylists forced on you. you’d gained almost fifteen kilograms since the worst of it. the ribs didn’t show anymore. the hip bones didn’t hurt when you sat on hard chairs.
you lifted your chin, tilted your head.
not perfect. never perfect.
but healthy.
whole enough.
you smiled at the mirror—just a small one, testing.
it reached your eyes.
another small victory.
you showered, slow and deliberate. the water was hot enough to pink your skin. you used the shampoo that smelled like yuzu and something floral— part of a campaign you’d shot last winter. you conditioned twice because your hair was finally long enough to need it. you stood under the spray until your fingers pruned, letting the heat seep into muscles that still sometimes ached from phantom missions you no longer took.
when you stepped out, steam fogged the mirror. you wiped a stripe clear with your palm and looked again.
still there.
still you.
breakfast was simple: miso soup from the konbini down the street (the ajitama eggs were your favorite), rice, pickled plum, a banana because the nutritionist wouldn’t stop texting you about potassium. you ate at the low table by the window, watching raindrops race each other down the glass. the koi in the building’s shared pond moved slow and fat beneath the surface, orange and white ghosts.
you didn’t rush.
you used to rush everything—seals, meals, goodbyes—afraid time would run out before you could hold onto anything. now you let minutes stretch. you chewed slowly. you breathed between bites.
the phone buzzed at 8:12.
nanami:
car outside at 9. hair & makeup already on site. don’t. be. late.
you:
i’m never late, you're too dramatic nanamiii :<
nanami:
you were late once. paris fashion week. three minutes. i still have nightmares from the way the director was yelling at me.
you:
that was jet lag 🥲 let a girl get her rest
nanami:
excuses. see you in 48 minutes.
you rolled your eyes but let out a small smile and finished the last of your rice.
the agency car was black, sleek, waiting at the curb like it belonged there. the driver nodded once when you slid into the back seat, already knowing the address. you put in your earbuds—lo-fi beats with soft rain sounds—and watched kyoto slip past the tinted windows: narrow streets, temple roofs, salarymen under umbrellas, schoolgirls laughing behind their hands.
you didn’t miss tokyo the way you thought you would.
tokyo had been too loud, too bright, too full of blue eyes in every crowd. kyoto felt older. slower. the air smelled of wet stone and incense instead of exhaust and desperation. you’d moved here on impulse six months ago, after a shoot wrapped early and you realized you could afford not to live in a city that still tasted like heartbreak. kyoto feels like peace. exactly what you need.
the studio was in a converted warehouse near the river; high ceilings, white walls, natural light pouring through skylights. when you stepped inside, the energy shifted like it always did: heads turned, assistants smiled, the photographer clapped her hands once.
“mon dieu! you look beautiful but you need to be upgraded. come, come—hair first.”
you let them lead you to the chair.
hair and makeup took ninety minutes—longer than usual because today’s concept was ethereal kyoto spring.
when they spun you toward the mirror, you had to admit the work, you do look like spring is your middle name. they pinned half your hair up in soft waves, left the rest cascading down your back, threaded tiny pale pink cherry blossom pins through the strands. makeup was dewy: flushed cheeks, glossy lips the color of fresh plum, eyes lined with soft gold shimmer that caught the light like tears you’d never cry again.
the wardrobe team brought the first look: a flowing silk kimono-style dress in pale blush and ivory, layers of sheer fabric that moved like water when you walked. the obi was wide, soft gray, tied in an elaborate bow at the back. underneath, delicate lace lingerie that cost more than your old monthly rent. bare feet because the floor was heated and the concept was “untouched by the world.”
you stepped onto the set.
the backdrop was a painted garden—cherry trees in full bloom, koi pond reflection, soft fog rolling across the ground from hidden machines. lights were warm, not harsh. music played low: koto strings mixed with ambient rain.
elise directed you with small hand gestures.
“lean against the tree—yes, like that. head tilted. eyes to the horizon. soft. like you’re remembering his beautiful smile."
your heart drops. your brain flashes the smile that had made your heart beat everytime you see it, but your heart remembers the pain that comes with it.
camera clicked.
“chin down a fraction. lips parted. perfect.”
click. click. click.
you told yourself, she doesn't know anything, just breathe. it doesn't mean anything. you are safe now.
you moved through poses like water—slow, deliberate, letting the dress ripple around you. the silk caught every breath, every shift of weight. you felt the fabric slide across your skin and didn’t flinch. two years ago, touch had felt like violence. now it was just… fabric.
they changed looks three times.
second: a modern take—cropped haori jacket over high-waisted wide-leg trousers in cream silk, the jacket embroidered with faint silver cherry blossoms. you wore simple gold hoops and nothing else. the poses were sharper here, more architectural: arms extended, back arched, gaze direct to camera. you felt powerful in this one, like the old you—the one who used to bend cursed energy into perfect seals—hadn’t disappeared completely, just changed shape.
third look was the boldest: a sheer black lace bodysuit with long sleeves and high neck, layered under a translucent white yukata that fell open in the front. it was sensual without being explicit, elegant without being safe. elise loved it.
“yes! give me longing. give me ache. give me the moment before the fall.”
you closed your eyes for a second, let the ache rise—real, old, familiar—then opened them again and let it show on your face.
the camera loved that too.
by the time they called lunch, your feet ached from standing on the heated floor for hours, but it was a good ache. the kind that meant you’d done something with your body that wasn’t running away.
the crew gathered around the catering table—bento boxes, onigiri, fresh fruit, cold green tea. you sat cross-legged on the floor with the makeup artist (a quiet girl named aiko who always smelled like vanilla) and the lighting tech (a tall guy named ren who talked too fast).
“you killed it today,” aiko said, peeling an orange. “seriously. the last set? i got chills.”
ren nodded, mouth full of rice. “yeah, that look in your eyes… like you’re seeing something no one else can. magazine is gonna lose their minds.”
you laughed softly. “thanks, guys. you all made it easy. the lighting was perfect, the hair stayed in place for once—miracle.”
they laughed with you. easy. warm. no pressure.
you ate slowly, listening to them talk about weekend plans, the new ramen place in gion, how ren’s cat kept stealing his socks. normal things. human things.
two years ago, you couldn’t imagine sitting like this—surrounded by people, laughing, eating, not thinking about the next panic attack or the next time he’d show up smelling like jasmine.
you can enjoy other people's company now.
and it didn’t feel fake.
after lunch, one more round of shots—close-ups, detail work. your face in soft focus, petals falling around you, hands cradling a single cherry blossom like it was fragile and precious.
when elise finally said “that’s a wrap,” the room burst into applause.
you bowed—small, japanese-style, grateful.
“thank you, everyone. really. you guys are incredible.”
more hugs. more “see you next time.” someone handed you a small bouquet of real cherry blossoms—pale pink, still damp from the rain outside.
you held them carefully all the way to the car.
back home, the apartment was still quiet, but the quiet felt different now. softer.
you put the flowers in a vase on the kitchen counter, changed into oversized sweats and a hoodie that still smelled faintly of the studio’s hairspray.
dinner was takeout—soba noodles with tempura shrimp, eaten at the low table while you scrolled through the day’s behind-the-scenes photos the agency had sent.
you looked… happy.
in the photos, anyway.
you set the phone down.
the rain had stopped. through the balcony door, the koi pond reflected the first stars. you slid the door open, stepped out barefoot onto the cool wood.
the air was fresh, clean, carrying the scent of wet earth and distant incense from the temple down the street.
you leaned on the railing, arms folded, breathing slow.
two years.
two years since you’d packed a single bag in the middle of the night and left tokyo without telling anyone where you were going.
two years since you’d deleted every app, blocked every number, changed your name for work so you aren't traced.
two years since you’d sworn you’d never let anyone make you feel small again.
and yet.
at night, when the city quieted and the lights dimmed, the hollow place still ached.
not as sharp as before.
not as loud.
but there.
you thought about him less during the day now. the modeling world kept you busy—shoots, fittings, travel, interviews where you talked about “self-discovery” and “new beginnings” without ever mentioning the real reason.
but at night…
sometimes you still dreamed of blue eyes. sometimes you woke up reaching for a necklace that wasn’t there. sometimes you cried—quiet, private tears—because surviving wasn’t the same as healing.
you weren’t sure you’d ever fully heal.
but you were learning to live with the scar.
you went back inside, closed the door, turned off the lights. in the dark, you climbed into bed. the sheets were cool. then, you pulled the blanket up to your chin.
and for the first time in a long time, when you closed your eyes, you didn’t see him.
you saw tomorrow. a new chance to be someone who wasn’t broken. you smiled into the pillow—small, tired, real. then you slept. deep. dreamless. peaceful.
tonight, you were whole enough.
and that was enough.
the next morning felt lighter than most. you woke at the usual 6:47, but the rain had cleared. thin sunlight slipped through the balcony door like it was apologizing for yesterday’s gloom. the cherry blossoms in the vase on your counter had opened a little more overnight; pale pink petals curled softly, still holding droplets of last night’s dew.
you felt steady—not euphoric, not healed, just steady. like the ground under your feet had finally decided to stop shifting for a day.
you chose something simple: a soft cream sweater that hung loose over your shoulders, high-waisted light wash jeans, white sneakers, and a thin silver chain necklace (not the infinity one—you’d thrown that away in tokyo, hadn’t you?). your hair fell loose down your back, makeup minimal—just enough to look put-together without trying too hard. today was a rare off day. no shoot, no fittings, just you and the city. you decided on the little outdoor café behind the temple, the one with the koi pond and the low wooden bridge where cherry trees hung so heavy with blossoms that petals sometimes drifted into your tea like accidental gifts.
you texted nanami on the way.
you:
yayy finallyy off day :< i'm heading to the koi café, can u come here to accompany me?? iced tea’s on me
nanami:
only if you promise not to order the matcha latte with extra whipped cream again. your blood sugar doesn’t need that kind of drama.
you:
you’re no fun, nanamiii :(
nanami:
i’m exactly the right amount of fun. see you in 20.
when you arrived, the café was still quiet, early enough that only a few locals sat scattered among the tables. you picked your favorite spot: the corner table right at the edge of the pond, close enough to hear the soft plop of koi mouths breaking the surface, far enough from the path that you could breathe.
nanami showed up exactly on time, black coat unbuttoned, tie missing for once. he looked softer in casual clothes; still sharp, still nanami, but undeniably human. he slid into the seat across from you with a small sigh.
“you look rested,” the blonde mentions, eyes squinting at your face, as if almost surprised. you responded by tilting your head. “is that code for ‘i finally don’t look like death today’?”
“it’s code for ‘you look like someone who slept more than four hours.’ take the compliment.”
you laughed quietly, agreeing internally because these two years were rough on you and finally, these past few months are more gentle. nanami had ordered for you guys: iced tea for you, black coffee for him, and a small plate of warabi mochi because you were feeling brave.
the two of you talked easily, mostly about work. the paris trip coming up, whether milan’s fall campaign was worth the jet lag, the agency’s new intern who kept calling nanami “sir” like he was eighty, and you laughed freely, teasing him about secretly liking the respect.
petals kept falling. one landed in your tea. you fished it out with a fingertip, watching the ripples spread across the koi pond. everything felt calm. peaceful. safe.
then it happened.
a sharp, unmistakable tingle raced down your spine—not pain, not fear, just recognition. like the air itself had remembered your name and decided to whisper it against your skin after two full, endless years of silence. your breath caught. you froze, finger still hovering over the water glass. nanami noticed instantly. his eyes narrowed. “what is it?”
you couldn’t answer.
because behind you—three steps away, close enough that the ozone scent of warped space brushed your hair—stood gojo satoru.
you didn’t need to turn around to know. you felt him the way you used to feel curses before you even saw them: overwhelming, electric, inevitable. your heart slammed once, hard, then seemed to forget how to beat properly. nanami’s gaze flicked over your shoulder. his posture changed—subtle, but you knew the shift. protective. ready.
you forced yourself to turn, slowly, like moving through water.
there he was.
gojo satoru stood frozen on the stone path, a paper coffee cup crushed in his hand, dark liquid dripping steadily between his fingers onto the ground. he looked like a man who’d aged a decade in two years. his white hair was longer, messier, falling into eyes that were wide, bloodshot, and utterly disbelieving. no blindfold. none. he had taken it off—something he almost never did anymore, because the six eyes were too much, always too much, a constant flood of information that scraped against the inside of his skull like sandpaper on raw nerves. he used to keep it on for days at a time, only slipping it off in stolen hours when he was alone with you, when the world could be narrowed down to just your face, your heartbeat, your breath.
but today the blindfold was gone. had been gone for hours, maybe longer. his eyes were strained, pupils blown wide against the soft spring light, veins faintly visible at the corners like he’d been staring into too much brightness for too long. the six eyes were drinking everything in—every leaf trembling on the cherry trees, every ripple in the koi pond, every particle of dust floating between you, every tiny micro-expression flickering across your face.
and he saw you.
really saw you.
every detail.
the way your eyes had widened the second you recognized him, pupils dilating with shock. the way your lower lip caught between your teeth—old habit, the same one you used to do when you were nervous, when you were trying not to cry, when you were biting down hard enough that sometimes you drew blood and he’d have to kiss the copper taste away. he saw the faint scar still there, barely visible now, a tiny pale line where you’d bitten too deep once. he saw your left foot tapping under the table—quick, restless little bounces, another old tell you’d never quite shaken, the rhythm that always sped up when your heart was racing, when your mind was screaming run or stay or both at once.
he saw it all.
too much.
too clearly.
the pain of the six eyes was etched into the tight lines around his eyes, the way his brows pinched, the faint tremor in the hand holding the crushed cup. but he didn’t look away. couldn’t. he stared like he was afraid the second he blinked you would vanish again, like you had two years ago.
his mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. no sound came out at first. the cup slipped a little more. coffee pooled at his shoes.
he looked like he was staring at a ghost.
not because he thought you were dead—though he’d feared it every single day for two years—but because it had been so fucking long. so impossibly long since he’d last seen your face in person. two full years of chasing rumors, dead ends, empty apartments, grainy photos that weren’t you, leads that crumbled. two years of waking up every morning convinced this would be the day he found proof you were gone forever. and now here you were—sitting at a café table, sunlight catching in your hair, cheeks softly flushed from the spring air, body healthy and filled out, eyes bright and clear, laughing quietly at something nanami said just seconds ago.
you looked like life had finally been kind to you. glowing. whole. more beautiful than the day you left, because the hollows were gone, the exhaustion was gone, the constant tremble was gone. you looked like someone who had learned how to breathe again. and he… he looked like someone who hadn’t.
the disbelief on his face was so profound it bordered on pain—like his brain refused to accept that the person he’d spent two years mourning in the living was sitting right there, real, breathing, existing without him. his lips parted again. a single, broken syllable tried to escape.
“…you.”
barely audible. cracked. like the word itself had been locked inside him for too long.
nanami stood slowly. his voice was low, calm, but edged with steel. “do you know him?”
you swallowed. throat dry as sandpaper. “…yes.”
gojo still hadn’t moved. just stared. like if he blinked you might dissolve into petals and disappear again. you saw every flicker across his face: shock, grief, longing, guilt, something dangerously close to awe. you saw the exact second he realized how much time had passed. how much you had changed. how much he hadn’t been there for any of it. the pain in his eyes was so raw it almost hurt to look at—raw from the six eyes, raw from the years, raw from seeing every small, familiar habit you still carried like scars he’d helped leave behind.
you stood. legs steady, somehow. you didn’t look away from him. not yet. nanami stepped closer to your side—not touching, just there. you reached out slowly, wrapped your fingers around nanami’s wrist. not for support. for an anchor. to remind yourself where you were now. who you were now.
then you turned. and walked.
past the koi pond. past the cherry trees. down the narrow temple path. you didn’t run. you didn’t look back. but you felt his gaze burning into your back like summer sun after too many winters—every nerve alight with the knowledge that those eyes were still watching, still seeing too much, still hurting from how clearly they saw you.
gojo stayed rooted. his mind screamed every word he’d rehearsed for two years—every apology, every plea, every broken “i’m sorry”—but his body refused. legs like lead. chest caving under the weight of seeing you alive and so far away. coffee dripped faster. forgotten.
he watched you disappear around the curve of the path. watched the hem of your sweater vanish. watched the petals keep falling like nothing had happened.
then—finally—the spell shattered.
the cup fell completely. hit the stone. split open.
he ran.
heart slamming so hard it hurt. coat flapping wildly. shoes pounding the path.
he rounded the corner—
empty.
the lane was empty. you were gone. vanished like smoke. like fate had decided two seconds was all he was allowed.
he stopped. breath ragged. blossoms drifting around his shoulders like cruel snow. he dropped to one knee in the dirt, hands fisted in the hem of his coat. a sound escaped him—half sob, half shattered exhale.
two years.
two years of believing he might never see your face again.
and the first time the universe gave him back even a glimpse…
it was over before he could speak your name.
but this time… this time he’d seen you. really seen you. every tiny detail. every old habit. every sign that you were still the same person underneath the new glow. healthy. breathing. alive.
and that image—your widened eyes, your lip caught between your teeth, your foot tapping that same restless rhythm—burned into him deeper than any curse ever could.
he wasn’t leaving kyoto.
not this time. not until you let him say your name out loud again. even if you never forgave him. even if you walked away every single time. he would wait. because now he knew, without a doubt: you were still here.
and that single truth was enough to make him start breathing again.
the path curved sharply behind the temple gate, stone lanterns and dripping branches lining the way. your sneakers barely whispered on the damp gravel as nanami walked beside you, his wrist still in your loose grip. he didn’t ask questions—not about the man, not about your trembling fingers, not about why you’d walked away without a word. he simply kept pace, a quiet shield between you and the storm you’d just left behind.
the air carried wet moss and faint incense from the main hall. cherry petals stuck to the stones underfoot, turning the path into a soft pink carpet that felt almost cruel. you kept your eyes forward, breathing slow and deliberate—four in, hold, four out—the technique you’d taught yourself for the panic that used to come without warning. you weren’t panicking now. not really. but the tingle along your spine hadn’t faded, like he was still watching even after you’d turned the corner.
nanami broke the silence first, voice low. “you okay?”
you nodded once, too quick. he didn’t push. he just glanced sideways, assessing. “back exit leads straight to the main road. cab stand’s there.”
“yeah,” you whispered. “let’s go.”
you didn’t slow. you didn’t dare look back. part of you knew he’d run. part of you knew he’d chase. the part that still remembered every desperate night and bruising kiss knew he wouldn’t stop until he caught up. but you weren’t that person anymore. you weren’t the one who waited. you weren’t the one who broke.
you slipped through a narrow side path most tourists never noticed, the temple grounds giving way to a quiet residential street—old wooden houses, laundry strung between poles, a single vending machine humming under a tarp. you finally released nanami’s wrist. your fingers ached from how tightly you’d held on.
“thanks,” you murmured.
he flexed his hand once. “anytime.”
a cab idled at the corner. you flagged it with a small wave. the driver nodded as you gave your address. you slid into the back seat. nanami stood outside the door for a second longer, looking back the way you’d come, like he was memorizing the path in case he needed it later.
“sure you don’t want me to ride with you?” he asked.
you shook your head. “i’m okay. just… need a minute alone.”
he studied your face for another heartbeat, then stepped back. “call if anything changes.”
the door closed. the cab pulled away.
through the rear window, you watched the street shrink, watched nanami disappear around the corner, watched the temple roof fade behind trees. you leaned your head against the cool glass and closed your eyes. the city blurred past in streaks of pink and gray.
back at the café, gojo satoru finally broke free.
the moment your figure vanished around the bend, something inside him snapped. the crushed coffee cup hit the ground with a wet slap. he didn’t glance at the mess. he just ran—long legs devouring the path, coat flapping like broken wings, shoes skidding on wet gravel. he rounded the first curve too fast, nearly crashing into a stone lantern, but kept going.
“wait—”
the word tore out raw and ragged, swallowed instantly by the wind.
he pushed through the narrow gate, six eyes still burning from overuse, still drinking in every detail: crushed petals underfoot, the faint imprint of your sneakers, the direction the air shifted when you passed. the world screamed at him—every leaf, every droplet, every heartbeat within half a kilometer. it hurt. sharp pain lanced behind his eyes with every step. he hadn’t worn the blindfold in almost twenty-four hours, had ripped it off the second he’d heard you were in kyoto, because he needed to see everything. needed to make sure this time it wasn’t another false lead.
now the pain was worth it.
he burst onto the residential street, chest heaving, hair plastered to his forehead with sweat and stray rain. he scanned left, right—vending machine, empty alley, old woman sweeping her stoop. no you.
gone.
again.
he staggered to a stop in the middle of the road, hands on his knees, breathing like he’d been drowning. the six eyes kept working, merciless. they traced the faint trail of your suppressed cursed energy—barely there after two years of deliberate hiding—but enough to know which way the cab had turned.
he straightened. wiped his face with his sleeve. his strained, bloodshot eyes narrowed.
he could teleport. could warp space and appear in front of the cab. could stop it. could force you to look at him.
but he didn’t.
not yet.
because he’d seen your face when you turned—widened eyes, lip caught between teeth, foot tapping that old restless rhythm. he’d seen the way you’d reached for nanami’s wrist like it was the only thing keeping you grounded.
you weren’t running because you hated him.
you were running because you were finally strong enough not to shatter in front of him again.
that realization hurt worse than the six eyes ever could.
he stood there, petals falling around him like slow, indifferent snow. he shoved his hands deep into his coat pockets.
and started walking.
not after the cab.
not yet.
he would find you again.
he would wait.
he would learn how to stand in front of you without the world screaming in his head.
and when the time came—when you were ready, or when he couldn’t bear the silence anymore—he would knock on your door.
he would take the blindfold off. he would let you see every strained, aching inch of what two years without you had done to him. and he would beg. not with power. not with infinity.
just with the truth.
because this time, he wasn’t running from anything. he was running toward you. and he wasn’t going to stop.
three days dragged by like sand through clenched fists, each one heavier than the last.
you’d been dying inside, piece by quiet piece. the steady you’d built—the one who woke up early, laughed with the crew, breathed without the weight of old ghosts—had cracked the second you saw those blue eyes.
now misery crept back in, familiar as an old scar splitting open. you forced the smiles at shoots, nodded through fittings, but inside? god, it was a storm.
why now? why him? i was fine. i was finally fucking fine. i mean half of it was you fucking pretending but i didn't think that this would happen
nanami saw it all. he didn’t say a word, but you caught the way his eyes lingered a second longer during meetings, the subtle tighten of his jaw when you zoned out mid-sentence. he wasn’t the type to pry, he always respect your boundaries.
but you remembered how it started with him, back when you first got scouted and he was assigned as your manager. a flashback hit yo: that first month, showing up to a test shoot with shadows under your eyes so deep they looked bruised, hands shaking as you held the coffee cup, barely able to string sentences together without your voice cracking. you’d been a wreck then—fresh from tokyo, still raw from the starvation, the self-harm scars hidden under long sleeves, the nightmares that left you gasping awake every night. nanami had noticed even then, hadn’t he? handed you water without comment, rescheduled when you couldn’t focus, never pushed for explanations. “take your time,” he’d say, simple as that. now here you were again, slipping back into that hollow shell, and he was watching it happen all over.
another three days blurred past, and the misery had rooted deep.
you tried a different café this time—one farther from the temple, tucked in a back alley with mismatched chairs and no koi pond in sight. just plain coffee, plain walls, plain everything.
you thought it would help. keep moving. don’t let him find you again. don’t let the past win.
but sitting there alone, stirring sugar into your latte, the anxiety hit like a freight train. your chest tightened first—slow, then all at once, breath coming in shallow gasps. hands shook on the table. the room spun a little at the edges. not now. breathe. four in, hold, four out. you’re safe. he’s not here.
but the thoughts wouldn’t stop. good memories flooded in uninvited: stolen rooftops in tokyo, his laugh bright against the city hum, cheap mochi shared under stars, his fingers tracing your spine like you were the only real thing in his world. you smiled faintly at the table, a ghost of it, but it twisted quick. that was then. time’s different now. those memories are false—poisoned by what came after. the ring, the jasmine, the lies. i can’t get stuck there. i won’t.
but fate is always cruel, it's always mocking you. and you knew fate had other plans when a tingle hit your spine again. sharp. familiar.
you looked up.
there he was, pushing through the door, blindfold off, eyes strained and bloodshot like he hadn’t slept since the café. he froze mid-step when he saw you, mouth parting like he’d rehearsed a thousand words and forgotten them all.
“fuck,” you whispered, heart dropping. “i hate my fucking fate. look at my luck now.”
you bolted—chair scraping loud, coffee spilling forgotten. out the door, down the alley, legs pumping like you could outrun the past if you just went fast enough.
gojo ran after you. of course he did. “wait—please!”
you spun on your heel, chest heaving, tears pricking hot. “you’re fucking insane! leave me alone! go back to your wife!”
the words echoed off the alley walls, sharp and final.
he skidded to a stop a few feet away, face crumpling. his hands rose halfway, then fell limp. frustration twisted his features—eyes wild, jaw locked, body trembling like he wanted to close the distance but couldn’t make his legs move. once again, frozen in place, unable to bridge the gap he’d created.
you didn’t wait for more. you turned and kept running, alley blurring through tears, leaving him behind in the dust.
you didn’t make it far.
the alley twisted into a dead end—high walls, overflowing dumpsters, a chain-link fence blocking the way out. your chest burned, lungs screaming from the sprint, but you skidded to a stop anyway, hands braced on your knees, gasping. fuck. trapped. why does fate always corner me like this? tears blurred the graffiti on the walls, hot and furious. you wiped them roughly with your sleeve, spinning back toward the entrance, ready to bolt another way, but it was too late.
he was there.
gojo satoru rounded the corner at full speed, coat flapping, hair wild, eyes still bare and bloodshot under the dim alley light. he stopped short when he saw you—trapped, trembling, cornered like a wild animal. his hands came up slow, palms out, like he was approaching something fragile that might shatter.
“please,” he rasped, voice cracked from running, from everything. “just… hear me out. five minutes. then i’ll go. i swear.”
you backed up a step, hitting the fence. chain links rattled behind you. “i don’t want to hear it. i don’t want any of it. you ruined me once—i’m not letting you do it again. go back to your perfect life, your clan, your wife. just leave me the fuck alone.”
he flinched like you’d slapped him. “there is no wife. there never was. akira—she’s gone. exiled. i made sure of it.”
you laughed—bitter, broken. “exiled? what, you sent her on a vacation? spare me the lies, satoru. i saw the photos. the ring. the wedding spreads. it’s over. we’re over.”
“no.” he took a step closer, eyes desperate, straining like the six eyes were drowning him in too much detail again—your tears tracking down your cheeks, the way your lip trembled where you’d bitten it raw, your foot tapping that frantic rhythm against the concrete. “you don’t understand. i’ve been fighting them. all this time—every day since you left—i’ve been tearing it all down.”
your breath hitched. don’t listen. don’t let him pull you back. but god, why does his voice still sound like home? “fighting? you call showing up to my apartment, hugging me, with her perfume on you, fighting? you call, letting her twist my head until i couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, fighting?”
he closed the distance in two strides, stopping just short of touching you. his hands hovered, trembling. “let me show you. let me tell you everything. please.”
you wanted to run. wanted to scream. but your legs wouldn’t move, rooted by the raw plea in his eyes. fuck my luck. why can’t i just walk away? you nodded once, sharp and reluctant. “fine. talk. but if i say stop, you stop.”
gojo exhaled like he’d been holding it for years. then the words poured out, laced with flashbacks that hit you like waves—his voice painting the scenes as if you were there.
“it started the day you gave back the necklace,” he said, voice low and wrecked. “i left your door and went straight to the clan estate. i told them no. no wedding. no alliance. no more fucking games. the elders laughed at first—said i was throwing a tantrum. but i wasn’t. i fought. every meeting, every ritual, i pushed back. arguments turned to threats. threats turned to curses.”
the flashback unfolded in his words: gojo in the dim clan halls, white hair disheveled, facing a circle of wrinkled faces under flickering lantern light. “she’s mine,” he snarled. “not some pawn for your bloodline bullshit.” one elder slammed a fist on the table. “you’ll marry akira or you’ll be stripped of everything.” gojo’s laugh was cold, dangerous. “try it.”
“they drowned me in missions,” he continued, eyes distant now, reliving it. “special grade curses spiking everywhere—ones they probably stirred up themselves to keep me busy, alone, worn down. i could handle them. i’m the strongest, right? but the constant fights at home… the arguments with the elders, i didn't see how akira’s manipulations were slipping to you through the cracks… i wasn’t paying attention. i let it distract me. i thought i had time to fix it with you.”
another flash: gojo alone in a ruined warehouse, domain expanding in a blaze of blue, a massive curse disintegrating under his hollow purple. sweat poured down his face, not from the fight—from the exhaustion. back at the estate, another screaming match. akira in the corner, smiling that poison smile. “she’s weak, satoru. she’ll break you.” he grabbed her by the collar that night—first time he’d ever touched her in anger. “you’re done hurting her.” but the damage was already done.
“i had a breakthrough,” he whispered, voice cracking. “finally. i confronted them all—every elder, every puppet. i killed them. all the old wankers. there was blood on the tatami, my infinity was shattering their barriers like glass. i regretted not doing it sooner. every day i waited, every time i chose fighting politically over you, i was killing us. akira… i docked her that night. tricked her into confessing everything—the visits, the lies, the way she twisted your mind until you were starving yourself. she was insane, obsessed with me, the power that i have. i exiled her to a small island, where she'll be living with just a hut and the ocean. that's her punishment for hurting you. for everything.”
gojo's eyes flash, suddenly remembering the way he was standing over broken bodies in the clan hall, red staining his white hair. akira on her knees, begging, then dragged away by his limitless. the estate empty after, silent for the first time. but when he teleported back to your door—breakthrough in hand, ready to choose you—you were gone. vanished. the apartment cold and empty.
“i looked everywhere,” he said, tears glistening now, voice thick. “every city, every rumor. shoko stonewalled me. yaga lied to my face. i tore through leads until my eyes bled from the six eyes. everything hurts without you. breathing hurts. waking up hurts. i regret it all—should’ve killed them the first day they mentioned her name. should’ve burned it all down for you.”
your tears wouldn’t stop. pouring hot down your cheeks, blurring his face. why does it still hurt like this? i was free. i was healing. but fate drags me back every. time. your chest tightened, breaths coming short and ragged. the alley spun. anxiety clawed up your throat—an attack, full force, like the old days. knees buckled. you slid down the fence, gasping, hands clutching your shirt like you could force air in.
“hey—hey, breathe,” he dropped to his knees in front of you, hands hovering but not touching. “i’m here. you’re safe. in. out. with me.”
but the world tilted. black spots danced in your vision. can’t breathe. can’t think. why does he still do this to me? everything went dark.
you fainted in his arms. he caught you gently, pulling you close for the first time in two years, forehead pressed to yours.
“i’m sorry,” he whispered into your hair. “i’m so fucking sorry.”
the alley was silent except for his ragged breaths. fate had won again. but this time, maybe—just maybe—it wasn’t cruel.
the days after the alley blurred into something soft and strange.
you didn’t faint for long—just seconds, maybe a minute. when your eyes fluttered open, gojo was still holding you against the cold brick, one arm cradling your back, the other hand hovering near your cheek like he was afraid touching would break you worse. he looked wrecked—eyes redder than before, blindfold dangling from his pocket like a surrendered flag, voice barely a whisper.
“i’ve got you. i’ve got you.”
you pushed him away weakly, legs shaky as you stood. he didn’t stop you. just stayed on his knees, watching like a man who’d forgotten how to breathe without permission.
“don’t follow me,” you said, voice hoarse. “i mean it.”
he nodded once. slow. defeated.
but he did follow.
not in thunder, not in storm.
just quiet.
persistent.
a shadow that learned to wait in the light.
everywhere and nowhere at once.
white hair across the street during a shoot break, leaning against a lamppost, blindfold back on but shoulders soft in surrender. he never crossed the road. never spoke. just waited until your eyes found him, then dipped his head in the smallest bow—like apology carved into bone—and vanished when you turned away.
at the konbini near your apartment, he’d linger in the aisle with the instant miso, pretending to read labels he’d memorized years ago. when your gazes met, he’d lift the packet like a question. you’d shake your head. he’d set it down. leave.
on the train platform one evening, rain falling sideways, he stood at the far end—drenched, no umbrella, just watching. when the train arrived, he didn’t board. just watched the doors close, petals of goodbye clinging to his coat.
like a stray dog that had been kicked too many times, yet still returned—tail low, eyes hopeful, learning the shape of patience the hard way.
you hated it at first.
hated how it chipped at the fortress you’d built from grief and time. hated how your eyes began to search crowds for white hair, how your heart stuttered when it found him.
nanami saw the cracks too. one afternoon during a fitting, he caught you staring out the window at nothing.
“he’s still following you,” he said quietly. not judging. just observing.
you nodded. “yeah.”
“want me to handle it?”
you looked at him—really looked. nanami, steady as stone, ready to stand between you and the storm.
but you shook your head. “no. i… i need to handle this one.”
three weeks later, spring had decided to stay.
you were at the koi café again—the original one. same corner table. same iced tea. same warabi mochi you still couldn’t finish without tasting rooftop nights and cheap sweets.
he appeared at the edge of the path. not sudden. not dramatic. just there. coat open. blindfold off. eyes tired but clear. he didn’t come closer. just stood with his hands loose at his sides, waiting for your verdict.
you stared at your glass for a long, long time.
then you lifted your phone.
opened contacts.
typed a number you still knew by heart.
sent one message.
you:
if you’re going to keep following me like a lost dog, at least text me when you’re outside. it’s less creepy.
you hit send.
his phone buzzed in his pocket.
he pulled it out slowly, like it might vanish. read the message. eyes widened. then softened. a tiny, trembling smile broke across his face; the first real one you’d seen in years.
he typed back immediately.
satoru:
baby, i’ll text you, spam you, give you my heart my money, my mansions. every time. thank you.
you didn’t reply.
but you didn’t block him either.
the messages came like rain after drought—small, careful drops.
satoru:
good morning. saw a dog that looked like the one you used to feed on the way to missions. thought of you.
satoru:
it’s raining again. take an umbrella.
satoru:
i’m outside the studio. not coming in. just here if you need anything.
never pushy. never demanding.
just there.
always there.
weeks turned into months.
he didn’t ask for forgiveness. didn’t beg for another chance. just showed up. every day. quiet. consistent. proving with presence what words had once failed to carry.
one night, late summer, you were on your balcony staring at the koi pond when your phone glowed.
satoru: i know i don’t deserve this. i know i broke everything. but i love you. i always have. even when the world was mean. even when it was evil. even when it was cruel to both of us. i never stopped. i never will.
you stared at the message until the screen dimmed.
then you typed.
you: come up.
the door opened minutes later.
he stood in the doorway—taller than the frame, hair messy from the wind, blindfold gone, eyes soft and scared and hopeful.
you didn’t move from the balcony.
just looked at him.
“real true love,” you said quietly, voice trembling like a leaf in wind, “it hurts. it cracks. it almost kills you. it leaves scars that never quite fade. but if it’s real—if fate, or God, or whatever cruel, beautiful thing spins the stars wants it—then it always comes back. circling. waiting. bleeding. until it finds its way home.”
he stepped inside. slow. careful. like the ground might give way beneath him.
“i never stopped loving you,” he whispered, voice raw as open wound. “not for one second. not even when i thought i’d lost you forever. the world was cruel to us. it tore us open. but love—true love—doesn’t die in the dark. it waits. it endures. it comes back to you, even when everything else says it shouldn’t.”
tears slipped down your cheeks, silent as rain.
you walked to him, stopped just short of touching, then reached out. your fingers brushed his.
he froze—like he couldn’t believe it was allowed.
you laced your fingers with his, one small, trembling connection.
“one more chance,” you said, voice breaking like dawn over horizon. “but if you break me again, satoru… that’s it. i won’t survive it twice.”
he pulled you into his arms then—gentle, reverent, like you were glass and miracle and everything holy all at once.
“i won’t,” he promised against your hair, voice thick with years of regret and relief. “i swear on every star that ever watched us fall apart. i won’t.”
you buried your face in his chest.
smelled ozone and rain and him.
and for the first time in years,
the ache felt less like a wound
and more like a heartbeat.
real.
cracked.
hurting.
but coming back.
because some loves are stubborn constellations—
they burn out, they collapse, they scatter across the sky in ash and light,
yet somehow, against every law of gravity and grief,
they always find their way home again.
and in that quiet, trembling return,
the cruelest fate finally learned to be kind.
bonus r.a.w content *winks*
the apartment door clicked shut behind him, sealing the world out like it never existed. just you. just him. the air hummed with something electric, heavy—two years of longing coiled tight, ready to snap. you stood in the living room, back to the balcony where koi still swam lazy circles under the moon, but your eyes were on him. satoru. gojo satoru. the man who’d shattered you and somehow, against every scar, pulled you back whole.
he didn’t move at first. just stared, blindfold long gone, those infinite blue eyes drinking you in like you were water in a desert he’d wandered for lifetimes. his coat slipped off his shoulders, hitting the floor in a soft heap. then he was across the room in two strides—teleport or not, it didn’t matter. his hands found your waist, fingers digging in just enough to bruise, pulling you flush against him.
“i missed you,” he breathed against your lips, voice rough, cracked. “god, i missed you so much. every breath without you was fucking torture.”
you didn’t answer with words. your hands fisted in his shirt, yanking him down, crashing your mouth to his. it wasn’t gentle. it wasn’t sweet. it was desperate—teeth clashing, tongues tangling in a mess of heat and salt and need. he tasted like ozone and tears, like the storm he carried inside. his lips were soft but insistent, sucking your bottom lip between his teeth, biting down until you gasped, the sting blooming into fire that shot straight between your legs.
“satoru—” you moaned, and he growled low in his throat, hands sliding under your shirt, palms hot against your bare skin. he traced your ribs, your spine, mapping every inch like he was relearning a language he’d forgotten. “missed this,” he muttered, voice muffled as he kissed down your jaw, your throat. “missed your skin. your sounds. the way you arch for me like you can’t help it.”
you couldn’t. your back bowed as his mouth found your collarbone, teeth grazing, tongue soothing the mark he left. he shoved your shirt up and over your head, tossing it somewhere in the dark. no bra—just you, exposed, nipples hardening in the cool air. he groaned at the sight, one hand cupping your breast, thumb circling the peak slow, teasing, until it pebbled under his touch. “perfect,” he whispered, lowering his head to take it in his mouth. wet heat enveloped you—tongue flicking, sucking hard enough to make your knees buckle. you threaded fingers through his white hair, tugging, and he moaned around you, the vibration shooting sparks down your core.
“fuck, satoru—i missed you too,” you gasped, hips grinding against his thigh instinctively. he pressed it forward, giving you friction, letting you ride the muscle there while his free hand dipped lower, popping the button on your jeans, zipper rasping down. “every night. every damn day. thought i’d die without this.”
he pulled back just enough to shove your jeans and panties down in one rough motion, pooling at your ankles. you kicked them off, bare now, vulnerable, but his eyes—god, his eyes—looked at you like you were divinity incarnate. “on the couch,” he commanded, voice low and edged with that possessive hunger you’d craved in secret. you backed up until your calves hit the edge, sinking down. he followed, kneeling between your legs, spreading them wide with his hands on your thighs.
“look at you,” he murmured, breath hot against your inner thigh. “so wet already. missed me that much?” his fingers traced your folds, slick gathering on his tips. you bucked, whining, and he chuckled dark—then dipped his head.
first lick was slow, flat tongue from entrance to clit, tasting you like fine wine. you arched off the couch, a cry ripping from your throat. “satoru—oh god—” he hummed, the vibration pulsing through you, then sucked your clit between his lips, tongue circling relentless. two fingers slid inside you, curling just right, pumping slow at first, then faster, scissoring, stretching. “taste so good,” he groaned against you. “missed this pussy. missed how you clench around me like you never want to let go.”
pressure built fast—too fast—your hands fisted in his hair, pulling him closer, grinding against his face. he let you, encouraged it, free hand pinning your hip down just enough to keep you from floating away. “come for me,” he demanded, fingers hooking against that spot inside. “been too long. give it to me.”
you shattered—body seizing, vision whiting out, a sob of his name echoing off the walls. he worked you through it, tongue lapping every drop, fingers slowing but not stopping until you were trembling, oversensitive.
he rose then, lips shiny with you, eyes dark with want. “not done,” he said, stripping his shirt, pants, everything—cock springing free, hard and thick, tip leaking. “need to feel you. all of you.”
you reached for him, pulling him down. he settled between your legs, weight a welcome crush. “missed you inside me,” you whispered, guiding him to your entrance. he pushed in slow—one inch, then another, stretching you full until he bottomed out, both of you gasping.
“fuck,” he groaned, forehead against yours. “so tight. so perfect. like you were made for me.” he pulled back almost all the way, then thrust in deep, hips snapping. you wrapped legs around his waist, nails raking his back, urging him faster. he obliged—pace brutal now, skin slapping, every stroke hitting that spot that made stars burst behind your eyes.
“missed this,” he panted against your neck, teeth nipping. “missed fucking you like you’re mine. because you are. always were.” one hand slid between you, fingers finding your clit, rubbing circles in time with his thrusts. “say it. say you’re mine.”
“yours,” you moaned, clenching around him. “always yours. satoru—please—”
he growled, thrusting harder, deeper. “come again. with me this time.” the coil snapped—your walls fluttering, milking him as pleasure crashed over you in waves. he followed seconds later, burying deep with a guttural moan, spilling hot inside you, body shuddering.
he collapsed half on you, both panting, sweat-slicked. his lips found yours—soft now, tender. “i love you,” he whispered. “missed you so much it almost killed me.”
you held him close, tears mixing with sweat. “i know. i missed you too.”
in the quiet after, bodies tangled, the world felt right again. just you. just him. no infinity between.
the end <3 pls reblog and like if u enjoy my content. if u do that inspires me to make new content for u guys <3
tw periods, slight angst surrounding periods and period typical misogyny, misunderstanding, fluff at the end, a lot of suggestiveness LOL. this is post-canon, after bridgerton!gojo and miss itadori get married
a/n you are warned this is not a drabble this is almost a fic (still a bit short tho) but i was too lazy to make a layout for it
you woke beside your husband, bridgerton!gojo, with a peculiar slickness between your thighs and a slight ache in your joints, particularly that of your lower back.
at once, you knew what it was---your courses. you couldn't help but feel a little disappointment; while you and satoru had only wed recently, your...child bearing efforts had been rigorous. however, it had only been about a fortnight since you had become missus gojo, so it would be reasonable to assume a child was to come in due time.
that is to say, becoming with child was not what was troubling you at all---it was the tangent, irony smell of blood between your thighs, and, if you did not take quick action, it would soon stain your marital bed.
but the biggest worry of all: your husband.
unfortunately, you did not know his...stance about the monthly affliction women face. it was true you felt you could discuss anything with him---after a whole season of fighting like fools, you both had shown each other your most vulnerable parts. however, you were not sure how he would react to the blood that was slowly trickling out of you. would he be disgusted? would he want you to sleep on a seperate bed? the both of you shared your marital bed every night, despite the fact that the gojo manor had many other rooms and one that was formally yours, too.
yet it was not his disgust that you feared most. it was his silence---that he would silently hold back his true feelings of disgust to care for you.
you shook your head. you definitely could not stomach making him bear such responsibility. to be safe, you would distance yourself from him for a couple of days.
looking once more at him, you were relieved to see him sleeping peacefully like a babe next to you. in his slumber, he had wrapped his arms across your waist and buried his head in your chest. as carefully as you could, you unwrapped yourself from his arms and waddled miserably towards the door, and outside, until you found nobara.
after you had debriefed her in your formal room (the one where you were supposed to sleep in, but it had gathered dust nonetheless because satoru would not tolerate distance between you two), she sent a pointed look at you. "you are being ridiculous. that man is a lovesick fool when it comes to you."
"i know he adores me, which is precisely why i do not wish to be close to him during my courses," you mutter back, clutching your stomach and sitting uncomfortably on the bed. "what if he stayed silent about his true sentiments---"
before you could finish, a hesitant knock came on the door and came the voice of your husband. "my love, are you inside?" he sounded concerned, and your heart broke; he must have been confused why you were not by his side when he woke.
then, panic welled inside of you, and you quickly stood up, then immediately shrinked in pain. in a shrill voice came your response: "give me some time, dear, to get dressed!"
then came a confused but brief, "all right," and he obediently stayed outside the door, waiting for you. you hurriedly put on proper attire---not before putting a linen cloth over your crotch to temper the bleeding---and opened the door.
there he was: dressed in a white shirt that was clearly shrugged on in a daze, and pants. it was truly a shame you were resolved to avoid him and any intimate engagement; if it weren't so, you would have dragged him back to your bed for a reenactment of last night.
it seemed that this time of the month had amplified your lust; you were gazing intently at his bare chest and stomach and didn't notice how he had been trying to say something. it was only until he grabbed your hand and started walking that you got out of your reverie. "where are we going?"
"to break our fast," he sighed, looking at you with trace of amusement in his eyes. "it seems that you cannot seem to concieve any words of mine without food in your stomach."
heat creeps up your neck, but you stay silent as he leads you into the drawing room. he sits you down next to him on the couch, and you're so overwhelmed with the heat of his presence that you dizzily sit next to him, while he murmurs things to the maid. it's only until you are alone with him that he pulls you close, onto his lap---you panic once more.
you both have been spending your time as newlyweds at each other's sides; in the morning, he ushers everyone else out of the drawing room and pulls you onto his lap to feed you pastries by hand; during the day, the both of you find some way of keeping each other company, whether it be you reading in the library while he conducts his work or him lazing by your side as you play the pianoforte; at night....every unfortunate being in the manor knows what the both of you do at night.
however, if you were to bleed onto him, forget his reaction; you'd probably offer yourself up to the chef to be cooked for dinner.
your hands remain stiff where they hover in the air, unsure whether to wrap around his shoulders or press against his chest and shove him away. but your legs are already tucked awkwardly to one side, your skirts pooling in your lap and the linen cloth beneath them barely hanging on to dignity.
"now, then," he murmurs, voice low and drowsy, still husky with the vestiges of sleep, "would you care to explain why you vanished on me this morning?"
you stiffen slightly, gaze refusing to meet his. his thumb strokes your back through the fabric of your robe.
“i woke early,” you reply, feebly. “i did not wish to disturb your sleep.”
satoru hums, unconvinced yet concerned. “you were limping.”
your breath hitches.
he lifts his head, ocean eyes narrowing with concern as they search yours. “did I hurt you?” he asks, tone suddenly urgent. “was it last night? I—darling, I swear I never intended—”
“no! no, heavens, no,” you interrupt, pressing your hand over his mouth before he can spiral further. “it's not that. I just—” you trail off, heart pounding.
you feel a trickle escape you and remember that you are still situated on his lap. you jump up, to satoru's dismay, and pat down your skirts in a show of fluster. while you do so, you make sure to peek a glance at satoru's---mind you, very expensive---pants, and let out a sigh in relief when you find they are unmarred with any shade of red.
satoru blinks up at you, visibly startled at your sudden escape from his lap. he sits upright, arms slack at his sides, disheveled and blinking like a dog who had just been denied a treat. “darling?” he calls, voice still rough from sleep. “why did you—?”
“i just remembered—i'm meant to be with nobara,” you blurt hastily, smoothing your skirts once more. “she needed… guidance. On a matter of embroidery.”
he tilts his head, clearly skeptical. “embroidery.”
“yes,” you say, far too quickly. “she's quite hopeless with her stitches, you know.”
satoru gives a soft hum. “i see.” he looks at you pointedly, but says no more.
you nod, all nerves, and inch toward the door with forced casualness. “i'll be back before supper,” you promise, though you plan nothing of the sort. “rest, please. you looked dreadfully tired.”
and with that, you flee.
...
the day drags.
you spend an hour in nobara's company, pacing and muttering until she throws a cushion at your head and tells you, in no uncertain terms, that you’re being idiotic. you ignore her.
you then wander the halls of the gojo manor like a ghost, ducking behind tapestries and pillars the moment you hear your husband’s voice approaching.
at one point, you’re certain he sees the edge of your skirts disappearing up the staircase, because you hear a faint, amused, “hm,” followed by very deliberate footsteps that turn away.
it doesn’t help. the ache in your belly has dulled to a throb, your joints heavy and mood sullen. you've gone through more linen cloths than you care to count, and your back feels like it’s being punished by God himself.
but worse still is the shame coiled in your chest.
you miss him. you miss the warmth of his lap, the rasp of his voice when it’s still tinged with sleep. you miss the way he’d drawn heated circles into your back without even realizing it. and you hate—truly, hate—that you’re keeping something from him.
...
by the time night falls and the clock strikes ten, you’re already curled up in your formal room, not even pretending to be useful. you know, instinctively, that he’ll come.
and he does.
the door creaks open gently, as though he’s trying not to startle you. “are you hiding from me again?” satoru asks softly.
you sit up from your curled position on the chaise, wrapped in a thick shawl. you've no more excuses left in you.
he's dressed in his day's clothes, but his shirt is rumpled and a bit unbuttoned. you wish he'd cover up more, for your unscrupulous eyes were devouring the sigh. he looks tired---but not angry. never angry.
still, you look away. “i didn’t mean to avoid you,” you say, voice faint. “truly, i was a bit occupied today.”
"no, you were avoiding me," he says, without heat. "you are hiding something from me."
you nod, the confession a lump in your throat. “i was.”
satoru sighs and crosses the room, kneeling in front of you. “tell me, darling. please.”
you hesitate, and then meet his eyes. "it's my courses."
he blinks. “Your—oh.” realization dawns in an instant. his brows lift. “that's all?”
you flush. "'that's all'? satoru, i bled onto the sheets today. while you were in it---the smell was pungent! then, at breakfast, i thought i would bleed on your trousers, and i've been waddling all day!"
he makes a move to interrupt, but your shrill voice continues, giving him no opening. "and i've heard how it goes!" you cry, but then your voice quiets, now low in mood. "i just did not you know your feelings on the matter. some husbands don't say anything about it but internally do not take kindly to the display. i thought it perhaps to spare you the discomfort. if you wish, you may sleep alone in the marital bed tonight." you laugh but your hands are quivering, your voice equally shaky. "it is due time that i start sleeping in my designated room, regardless."
there's silence, and you refuse to look at him.
you nod to yourself, eyes burning. "so, please do what you are comfortable with, my dear. i will wholly understand and will draw no resentment from your choice, for it is what you wish."
and still, he says nothing.
you do not look up—not when he pushes off the door, not when you hear his footsteps retreating down the hall. the sound of the door clicking shut behind him cleaves clean through you.
you sit for a moment, frozen.
so that was it, then. he had chosen comfort and distance from you.
and that was fine. that was what you had offered him—wasn’t it?
that was what you wanted, you tell yourself. for him to be comfortable. for him to have the space to choose without pressure or obligation. you didn’t want to burden him with your body’s inconvenient truths, didn’t want to tether him to your pain out of guilt or duty.
you had meant it. you had.
still, like a traitor, your throat tightens. you press a palm against your sternum, as if you could quiet the ache blooming there, deep and hollow and foolish.
you should get ready for bed. blow out the candle. crawl beneath the covers and sleep it off—
the door bursts open.
you startle, eyes flying up—and there he is again, storming in not with coldness or distance, but with purpose.
you blink as he steps towards you—not empty-handed, but with a bundle of linens, something wrapped in muslin, and a small ceramic jar tucked beneath one arm. his expression is unreadable as he walks to your chaise.
he crouches before you, silent.
then: he unravels the cloth and reveals a warmed compress, gently pressing it to your lower abdomen with a care that nearly undoes you. his hands are sure, practiced. the pressure soothes more than you can say.
next comes the jar—some ancient concoction for cramping and pain, herbal and bittersweet in scent. he rubs a dab into your wrists, then into your temples, then—when you remain frozen in stunned silence—cups your jaw, brushing a knuckle along your cheek.
“is this allowed?” he murmurs.
you nod, too stunned to speak.
he lets out a slow breath and says, “you absolute goose.”
your lips tremble. “I thought—when you left—”
“i went to the warming stone cupboard, you little fool.” his tone is fond now, teasing, like he can’t bear to let you spiral any further. “you think I’d leave you bleeding and aching and miserable just to have a soft bed to myself?”
you shake your head, and he leans in to press a kiss to your brow.
"i married you, mrs. gojo," he teases, the same way he used to say miss itadori when the both of you were at odds. "do you think i could bear to know nothing about your body with you as my wife? or, heavens forbid, sleep alone in our bed? i knew eventually you would be curled up in my bed, looking cross and adorable while i play nursemaid." he
your eyes brim. "i'm sorry."
“you're forgiven, my love,” he says easily. “on one condition.”
you blink. “What?”
“that you stop hiding from me. i'm your husband. i'd much rather hold you while you’re bleeding than miss you while you’re gone.”
you give a watery laugh. “You make it sound so poetic.”
“i am a romantic at heart.” he stands, then scoops you effortlessly into his arms. “now come. we are going to our bed. i've fluffed the pillows, and you’re going to let me dote on you until you beg me to stop.”
you cling to him, heart light for the first time all day.
synopsis: satoru is far from spoiled and you make it your responsibility to spoil him as much as you can. to take care of him and let him be him, rather than the strongest, for at least one night. though, he feels like the luckiest to be married to you - his love and dreams all wrapped up in one person.
word count: 2k
a/n: comforting him comforts me so i rewrote one of my older fics (also art by @/olololooloool and pics found on pinterest; dividers by @/angeliicide)
fem!reader x gojo satoru, canon au, sfw
most people would say that satoru is spoiled. he’s the strongest, after all - he has all the power anyone could want, fame within the jujutsu society, and money. what else could he want or need?
satoru himself thinks he’s spoiled - no, not because of the materialistic things like money and fame, and definitely not because of his burdensome power. it’s because of his wife. everything else is put to shame when he has you. he really couldn’t want or need anything else.
but to you, he’s anything but spoiled. you felt like you could never do enough for him. you try to do as much as you can for him, wanting to make his life easier and to bring back the striking light in his baby blue eyes that have dimmed over the years. to give him back the love and care he pours out straight from his own heart.
so here you are, at three a.m., anticipating your husband’s return. he should be home any minute now. not too long ago, he messaged you that he’s on his way home, assuming that you’d be asleep but wanting to update you regardless.
you have the bathroom light turned off, a few scented candles scattered on the counter and on the edge of the bathtub create a soothing ambience. the smell of chamomile fills the air as you had infused the warm bath water with oil specific for his relaxation.
you’ve noticed that, recently, his responsibilities between teaching and being called on missions has caught up to him. it was normal for sorcerers to experience burnout, even for satoru, contrary to popular belief. it’s expected due to the lack of sleep, the burden of the world on his shoulders, the responsibilities of teaching and the lives of students, and the stress of the higher-ups.
as you get caught up in your concerned thoughts about satoru, you barely hear him come home. his shuts the front door quietly and his steps are faint, his feet almost dragging along the floor due to his exhaustion.
all he wants is to lie in bed with you - simply having you by his side recharges him.
“sweetheart?” he calls softly as he steps into the bedroom, finding the bed made and no one sleeping in it like he expected. he frowns slightly, wondering where you could be. did something happen?
before his heart races any faster and his thoughts spiral down a negative hole, you appear at the doorway of the bedroom. and he turns around before you speak, his shoulders visibly relaxing.
“i’m here, my love.” you approach him with a loving smile, immediately wrapping your arms around his tall figure. his own arms find their way around you, holding you in a tight embrace as he closes his eyes to savour your warmth and comfort.
“why aren’t you sleeping?” is the first thing he says to you, yet he makes no move to tear away from the hug. of course, he thinks about you before himself.
“come with me,” you say simply, not providing an answer or explanation. you slide your hand down to his, lacing your fingers together and gently tugging him towards the bathroom.
“baby, i really just want to go to--” his voice is rough with fatigue, his sentence getting cut off when you both step into the dimly lit bathroom filled with comforting scents. he pauses, eyes flitting behind his blindfold, looking between you and the bath setup. “is this for me?”
“mhm, just for you.”
he swallows thickly, standing there as if unfamiliar with the situation. his lips part as if wanting to say something but the words not formulating. his heart melting at your gesture, and it feels like all the stress and tension is leaving his body with each second he spends in your vicinity.
with a smile, you bring your entwined hands up to your lips, gently kissing the back of his hand.
“i know you wouldn’t go to a spa, so i brought the spa to you. for a few days.”
you untangle your fingers from his, reaching up to gently tug the blindfold off his face. your eyes soften with concern at the dark bags residing under his eyes. picking up his round, tinted glasses from the bathroom counter, you carefully set them onto his face.
the lump in his throat grows bigger, choking on his words as he tries to express his appreciation, his thoughts. you take his hand again and give it a gentle squeeze in understanding, hoping he knows that he doesn’t need to thank you.
but despite his appreciation, there’s a lingering thought that he has to voice. “and the higher-ups approved of this?”
“hmm, technically no. but when have we ever cared about what they say? you need this, my love, don’t think about it. forget about your responsibilities, being the strongest, being gojo satoru. just be you for a few days, okay?” you urge him, your eyes almost pleading as you look up at him.
his beautiful, beautiful eyes become slightly misty in response to your words, a look of adoration and pure, tender love glistening in them. he doesn’t respond, rendered speechless again while he keeps his eyes locked onto yours.
he doesn’t know if he can just be himself, to forget about the identity forced upon him since birth. even if it’s for a few days.
you notice the uncertainty glinting in his eyes, revealing the disarray of thoughts in his mind. “my love?” you say softly, withdrawing him from his thoughts.
you cup his face in your hands and run your thumbs over his eye bags, and he tilts his cheek into your hand, turning his head slightly to brush his lips against your palm.
“... sorry.”
you shake your head with a small smile. “there’s nothing to apologise for. come on, get in the bath before it gets cold.”
“undress me?” his cheeky smile returns along with a spark in his eyes, and you laugh softly as you step closer to him without hesitation.
his eyes follow your movements, glancing down at your hand that reaches for the zipper of his dark jacket. you slowly drag it down, revealing the black t-shirt he wears beneath. he takes that off himself, grabbing the hem to tug the shirt over his head, while you work on his trousers and boxers.
it’s a completely uninhibited, intimate moment. no sense of desire, just complete tenderness as he stands bare before you with a few scars adorning his porcelain skin.
once you’re done, he lifts your hand to his lips and kisses each of your fingertips gently, letting each one linger as he locks his eyes with yours. his gaze makes your heart skip a beat; it’s so full of intense love and devotion that you can feel it seeping into your skin, crawling into your heart.
you clear your throat before speaking, but your voice still comes out small. “do you need anything else?”
“no, just you. join me, sweetheart?” he asks with a saccharine lilt, smiling down at you boyishly.
you smile back at him and it only serves to widen his own. “if you want me to. i was planning on washing your hair, not necessarily joining you.”
“you can still wash my hair that way,” he insists, determined to get you in the bath with him.
he settles into the warm bath, stretching his legs out and leaning against the wall of the tub behind him before letting out a heavy, contented sigh.
once you’ve slipped out of your own clothes, he holds his hand out to you and spreads his legs under the water so that you can take your seat between them. you take his hand and let him help you into the water. and once you’re sitting, he tugs you against his chest with your back towards him.
“i don’t think i can wash your hair this way,” you point out, as he wraps his arms around your stomach and leans forward slightly to rest his chin on your shoulder.
he smiles, pressing a kiss to your neck and rubbing mindless circles into your skin. “it’s alright. i just wanna hold you like this for a bit.”
and feeling the amused curve of his lips against your skin, you assume that that was his plan all along - convincing you to get in the bath with him just so he can hold you. he doesn’t need anything else, after all.
the two of you stay like that for a while, tangled limbs and shared warmth in a serene silence that settles around you. you almost think that satoru fell asleep behind you since he’s been quiet the whole time, his breathing steady.
but then, his lips move against the back of your neck. “i love you.” it’s the softest of whispers, yet it’s so heartfelt, his tone saturated in emotions that he only ever feels around you, his voice almost cracking.
“i love you, too, ‘toru,” you murmur, your heart swelling. and you feel the beating of his heart quicken, his chest moulded to your back. “do you want me to wash your hair now?”
he hums and nods reluctantly in response, not wanting to let go of you. the water sloshes around the both of you as you switch positions so that he’s sitting between your legs with his back leaning against your chest.
his eyes flutter closed as he feels warm water rain onto his hair; a quick rinse before you squeeze shampoo into your palm, gently lathering his hair and massaging his scalp with your fingertips.
a low groan rumbles in the depths of his chest as your fingers thread through his hair, ensuring every strand is soapy, and the tips of your fingers manage to soothe every ache in his body.
he relaxes completely against you. trust buzzing between the two of you as he allows you to take care of him in the way you know best.
“feels good,” he mumbles, sounding as if he’s on the verge of sleep.
“i’m glad,” you reply softly with a smile that he can’t see, but can hear in your voice.
asking him to keep his eyes closed and tilt his head back a little more, you begin to wash out the suds from his hair. the gentle manner in which you treat him is something he isn’t used to - he feels as if you handle him like something so fragile that if you moved too rashly, he would shatter.
he feels a lump grow in his throat and his lips part to release a shaky breath. unable to contain all the vulnerability he’s feeling, a crystal tumbles down the curve of his cheek and your hands freeze in his hair.
“my love?” you whisper with concern.
he unlids his eyes once more, and with his head still tipped back, he stares up at you from his upside-down angle, yet you’re able to see the emotions swirling in the waves of his ocean eyes. one motion of a wave, and another salty trickle escapes.
“hey...” you lean down to brush your lips against his forehead and he tilts his head further into your touch, craving your affection and warmth.
you trail your lips down to kiss each of his eyelids with the gentleness of a feather, and his lips curve up into a smile, an unsteady one, but a smile nevertheless. he reaches up, fingers rooting themselves on your cheek as his thumb brushes against it back and forth.
“i love you,” he whispers once more, but never the last. he’ll continue to say it until his very last breath. “and i love the way you love me.”
ꮼ fratboy!sukuna is a cuddly mess whenever he smokes.
ᦸ there's nothing more romantic than having a cuddly stoner bf that's in love with you.
He surprised himself the first time he smoked a blunt while you were over.
Typically, when Sukuna got high, from gummies, brownies, blunts—even the occasional cart, he threw his headset on & played video games, or went to fuck around downstairs with his frat brothers, played a game of pool, or played basketball in the backyard.
When he got his blunt out that night, he expected something similar, you lying on his chest while he gamed, him cleaning his room while you talked, going shopping at a corner store, board games on his floor—even just sex.
But no, the moment the weed kicked in, and he saw you so prettily snug in his sheets, limbs tangled with his—he couldn't fight off the need to smother you in his affections.
Sukuna's body rolled on top of yours with a hum, red eyes half-lidded as he tucked his head into the crook of your neck, scattering soft kisses across the skin.
"Ryo!" You choked out, tensing up as his hands found their way to your waist, rubbing over the skin almost reverently. "Baby, what's gotten into you?"
"Mm. Pretty girl." He mumbled, moving his kisses to your jaw, soft pink hair tickling your cheeks with each gentle caress of his lips, each cold rub of his lip ring against your skin. "Fuck, you're so pretty, I love you."
His long, cold-to-the-touch fingers slid up the back of his shirt that fell so comfortably around your skin, savoring the hitch of your breath as his lip fell to your collarbone.
Nipping at the skin slowly before pulling back, pressing his forehead against yours, muscular arms dragging you flush against his chest.
"I love you so much, woman; it drives me insane." His lips found yours, suckling gently on your bottom lip. "You taste like heaven itself."
You gasped against his lips, whining as he pulled back, rolling your eyes up at him. "Ryo. Baby, fuck—you're such a dork sometimes, I swear."
"My pretty girl." He kissed down your jaw, humming in content before lying on your chest. "My sweet, perfect, pretty, amazing girl."
"Yeah, yeah. You're not so bad yourself." You whispered, tangling fingers in his hair, brushing through the softness slowly. "I love you too, Ryo."
