i know this won't hit, but i am gonna write it anyways. it's been running through my head rent free. period horny is still killing me.
it happened completely by accident this morning.
lohen has this habit of playfully swatting at your ass when you walk by him. the fifth company in fact is quite used to this happening in front of them. only this time, things turned out differently.
you felt lohen's hand connect with your ass. it happened without you realizing it. you looked over your shoulder, right at lohen, and said, "yes, daddy?" your eyes slowly widen realizing what you just said. he was never supposed to actually hear you call him daddy. that secret was supposed to stay locked up tight, never to be let out.
you hide your face in your hands, and run away. but not before you saw the literal shit eating grin form on lohen's face. nobody has ever seen you run so fast, in fact.
a switch lohen himself didn't even know he had just flipped on. he couldn't ignore the feeling that went straight to his cock hearing you call him daddy.
lohen put you on your back, wanting to watch your face. the floppy bunny ears he somehow got you to wear are an added bonus. his hard cock pumps between our drooling folds, rubbing against your throbbing clit. "don't worry, daddy is going to breed his bunny properly," he pats your floppy bunny ears reassuringly.
"l-lohen," you squeak around a moan, feeling your cheeks heat with embarrassment. his cock head pokes against your drooling hole, and your hips can't help but twitch up to grind on him.
"ah, ah, bunny," lohen chides you, smirking down at you, "don't be shy," he thrusts hips forward, slowly pushing his cock inside, "call me what you called me earlier," a lewd moan tears from your throat as he bottoms out.
"d-daddy," you whimper, seeing stars as his cock settles into your spongey spot, breathless from the sudden stretching of your cunt.
"mph-so tight," lohen laughs shakily, following up with another thrust, "again," he pulls out half way, only to stuff himself back inside as your pussy drools on his cock, "say it again, bunny."
you gasp in pleasure as your body jolts off the bed. "daddy, oh fuck-daddy!" you cry out, rocking your hips into his, feeling every pulse of his cock between your snug walls as he bottoms out again.
lohen lets out a shaky moan. "you don't know what that does to me, bunny," he angles his hips, fucking deeper into you. he trembles above you as your walls clutch his dick like a glove.
"heh, you enjoy being stretched on daddy's cock, don't you bunny?" he reaches out to pet your floppy ears, watching them shake on the pillow with the momentum of his thrusts.
"d-daddy," you whimper, drool pooling cutely from the corner of your mouth, your eyes filling with a haze of cock drunk bliss. your thighs tremble as you spread your legs wider for him.
keeping a hand steady on your hip, lohen leans down, capturing your lips in a sloppy kiss. his tongue eagerly parts your lips, greedily curling around yours. he swallows your moans until his lungs demand air.
he pulls away, nipping at your lips. "you wanna ride daddy's cock, bunny?" your back arches off his bed, seeing stars as his cock head assaults your sweet spot. you look away shyly in a fit of embarrassment as lewd moans rip from your throat.
lohen was never supposed to know you fantasized about this.
"v-vice captain," you moan, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment, not able to bring yourself to look at him. it's almost embarrassing how loud his cock is squelching in your cunt.
his hand finds your jaw. "no, no, bunny. not vice captain," he turns your head, forcing you to look at him, "look at me, and say what~," his voice wobbles with delight at your embarrassment.
"mhm, mhm, i want to ride your cock, daddy," a lewd moan tears from your throat before you lean up, and kiss him again.
your words make his cock ache like nothing else. every time the word daddy leaves his pretty bunny's lips, he nearly cums on the spot.
"daddy's cock is yours to bounce on, bunny," lohen slowly pulls out of your creamy cunt, and you whine at the empty feeling. you practically scramble to straddle him, your fluttering pussy begging to be stuffed by his cock again.
your back arches as you lower yourself down onto his cock. "you feel so good inside me, daddy," you moan, taking his cock out inside you all at once. he holds back a whimper as you bottom out, the snug feeling of your cunt feels too good.
taking him as deep inside you as he could go, you waste no time in bouncing on his cock. "oh fuck, you fill me so good, daddy," you babble, your thighs smacking against his. "so good. i-i can't get enough, daddy!"
"look at my bunny, babbling dumb on daddy's cock," lohen cackles teasingly, "how cute," lying back, he presses circles on your puffy clit, watching your floppy bunny ears bounce in time with your thrusts.
your body twitches as your clit throbs. your bounces turn more eager, and you chase the pleasure snapping tight in your core. you can't help but bring your shaky fingers up to pinch your nipples, giving lohen quite the show while you bounce yourself stupid. "gonna cum..gonna cum, daddy!"
lohen smacks his hand on your ass in mid bounce. "make a big mess on daddy's cock, bunny. this must've been a fantasy of yours, huh?" he teases, his eyes going down to admire the milky white ring forming around his cock. "i thought i heard you trying not to moan sometimes at night."
you squeak in embarrassment. you have spent many long nights fingering your cunt next to him while he slept, holding back your moans of daddy.
"s-stop, daddy, it's embarrassing," you fight the urge to cover your face with your hands, your bunny ears flopping against your head as you bounce.
lohen applies more pressure to his thumb circling your clit. "daddy, daddy," he mocks your moans, thrust up into you with each mocking moan, "you sound so cute cock drunk."
your body shakes as the knot of your orgasm unravels. "daddy! oh, daddy, i'm cumming," you whimper as your pussy gushes on his cock, "i'm cumming." your head spins from the pleasure jolting through your body, your thighs aching from the effort.
lohen breathes out a moan. "fucking hell, that's it, bunny," he hisses softly though his teeth, his cock aching in your cunt, "just a little more..a little more.." he whimpers as his cock empties inside you, his head falling on his pillows with a long moan, "daddy will fill you full, i promise."
---
DO NOT plagiarize/translate/repost on tumblr or any other site without my permission. please do not feed my writing into ai bots.
inspired by @chai-writes-stuff's a good bunny stays in her pen! so beautifully written that it got me picking up my pen at 2 in the morning, but i'm too sleepy to clean this sketch up rn i'm going to nap, have a nice day bunnies~
learning (now i know that we fw inexperienced lohenâŚâŚâŚâŚIM SORRY THIS IS BORINGGG TT)
say you and lohen are both inexperienced, youâre each otherâs first real, healthy sexual relationship. making out isnt so hard, but the touching? how to really approach third base? he doesnât know what the right move is. he knows what foreplay is, of course he does. he stays up at night reading guides on how to please his partner. but it doesnât mean hes any more confident
he proposes he watch you touch yourself, watch how you get to cloud 9. that way, he can learn first hand, because none of the articles are about you. he can look up all the techniques he wants, but only you know how to make yourself writhe and scream.
lohen will sit next to you attentively, watching you sprawl your beautiful naked body on the bed before you start your ministrations. he pays attention to every single detail, how your fingers move, how much pressure you apply on yourself, how long you stay at the same task for to really rile yourself up, all of your little noises and pretty faces you make. if you try to cover your face, heâll beg you to put your hands down, he needs to see for his research!
feel guilty for just making him watch? think your foreplay takes too long? nonsense. the moment you laid down, lohen was already turned on. heâll sit there for hours admiring you, until your umpteenth orgasm for all he cares. itâs entrancing. heâll praise you through it, commenting on how amazing youâre doing, how good you sound and how gorgeous you look. heâs itching to write down notes, but heâs sure his memory will not fail him he might just cum untouched by watching you, honestly.
he wonât pleasure himself until youâre finished getting what you need, he doesnât wanna miss any moment. he has to ignore the throbbing arousal in his pants, covering it with his shirt and hands, to be a good boy and not get ahead of himself. heâll wait for you. once youâre satisfied, he nervously strips away his embarrassment.
lohen cant keep his eyes on you when heâs working himself, but he likes the way youâre staring. being analyzed by the love of his life, wondering how to take care of his body. in fact, it just makes him all the more sensitive. this is exactly how he would touch himself whenever he was alone, aching to feel your body, aching for your hands to replace his. and now youâre finally watching him come undone.
if you comment on his performance, giving him praise, heâll just bite his lip and blush harder, a little stubborn look with his eyebrows furrowed. but everything you say to him, every time he glances over to remember that youâre studying him, goes straight to his dick. somehow, masturbating with you around feels 10 times better, and youâre not even doing anything.
hes a little shy when it comes to making noise, but if you made noise while you demonstrated to him, heâll open up too. heâll try to grab for your hand to hold while heâs masturbating, wanting some form of touch now that youâre finally here to have this moment with him. little curses in german, little mumbles of your name, you can tell heâs getting closer.
perhaps when hes much too blissed out, he has such a pathetic look on his face, pouting. he has the guts to bring his head up to finally meet your eyes before he cums, whimpering out your name as if heâs thanking you, as if youâre really touching him.
when youâre both finished? itâs time to put all the learning into action, the real test starts now! ^_^ as soon as he stops cumming, heâs immediately moving to devour your lips, hands scrambling around your body to finally touch you again.
thereâs no shame, no expectation for the first time to be mind blowing. all it has to be is full of love and care, like it should be. if thereâs slip ups, heâll just laugh it off and seal it away with a reassuring kiss.
ngl i havent manga coloured in MONTHS (used to post a lot for tokyo revengers and bluelock on my main) and this is my first winbre colouring so i just wanna see how my colouring style looks like on winbre panels haha maybe i'll do more if i feel like it but this was eh
How could the memory of your featherlight touch overpower the crunch of bones under his fists?
cw: 18+ mdni. gn reader. fluff with sprinkles of suggestiveness. soft takiishi. mutual pining & heavy denial. they're both weird and awkward. you get a little taste of both their thoughts, for funnies :P wc: 3.2k.
Takiishi has never said he loves you, and he never will.
But he thinks about you on his walk home. Against his will, he thinks of your hands the most. Theyâre what heâs seeking out tonight, to wipe away the smears of blood that stain him. He looks down at his own hands as he walks, picking at his cracked nails as he tries to recall anything interesting about the scuffle he just had.
He inspects his everlasting bruised knucklesâ split, scarred, and blushed, calloused and protruded. His hands hold so many memories of blood and cracked teeth, roughened and sculpted in the shape of brutality. Gentleness is not in his bones. Knuckles that are built to split skin have no business gliding along yours, and yet, lately itâs what he thinks of most.Â
Nowadays the blood stained memories fade faster than the ones of youâ that peculiar look in your eyes and the curl of your lips. Itâs only bits and pieces, a montage of moments that trigger that tight feeling in his chest. Itâs restrictive. He canât help but want to resist itâ to feel like he can breathe again, to feel the rumbling boom of fireworks coursing through his body, to set his heart rate back to a normal pace. But it skips and stutters instead, a memory of sparks between your hand and his fingertips shoving its way into his head.Â
Itâs annoying. He canât get rid of you, even when you arenât around. Heâll have to seek you out, he thinks, to eliminate your incessant presence. Surely, it's the only way.
The door is locked when he arrives. Annoying. You never bother to announce your arrival in his mind, so why should he have to announce his? He jiggles the handle hard, to no avail. As he takes a few steps back, rearing up to kick it down, he hears a chime. Ding. Slowly, his wide eyes trail upwards, and he makes contact with a glowing blue ring.
Your voice sounds out through an unseen speaker, âHi, Takiishi.â He blinks, putting his leg down, standing there, and staring up at the camera version of you. â...Can I help you?âÂ
âOpen the door.â
You sigh, âDo you know what time it is?â
Crickets sing in the bushes around him. âNo.â
A few seconds of silence, and the glowing blue light fades away. He rears up again before he hears the chime once more, followed by a mechanical whirr.
âWait, itâs open, itâs open!â you huff, âSo impatient.â
When he walks inside, everything is dark. Heâs familiar with the layout enough to be able to walk where he thinks the bathroom is. A few steps, and a loud clunk, and if he hadnât been wearing boots he wouldâve stubbed his toe. âTakiishi!â you groan, exasperated, turning on a lamp and crossing your arms over your chest. He blinks rapidly. He hadnât even known you were in the room. As his eyes adjust to the light, they sweep over you, just briefly.
Heâs seen you like this, riddled with sleep, messy hair and disheveled clothes more often than heâs seen you dressed up. (On account of his barging in, of course.) Itâs not like he looks any betterâ equally messy and disheveled, and also covered in drying blood. Something about it is stylish on him.
Just as youâre about to ask him what the hell he was on the verge of breaking your door down for, he speaks up. âI want a bath.â
You scoff, âOf course you do.â Turning and beckoning him to follow with a slight tilt of your head, you trudge to the bathroom, slippers sliding lazily against the floor. His boots clunk behind you. You have a feeling theyâre leaving blood stains, but youâre too tired to care. Nothing a new rug canât fix. (Until he comes and bloodies that one up, too.)
As you plug the drain and run the water, you snide, âMaybe you should start getting into fights by your place. You have a bathtub.â Silence. You stand to meet his eyes. â...You also have your own personal maid who would be more than happy to lather you up at three in the morning.â
He tilts his head at that, like a confused animal. You roll your eyes. Poor Endo.
With the light on, you take a better look at him. Even covered in blood and scarsâ especially, evenâ his hands are so pretty. Tanned knuckles and lithe fingers, adorned in heavy rings that probably hurt like hell to be on the receiving end ofâ not that you'd ever know. You sigh, motion for him to sit, and turn to grab the first aid kit. You know the routine by now.
When you turn back to him, heâs already staring up at you. Youâre not sure youâve ever seen someone so unsettlingly beautiful. Itâs daunting, but you decide to clean his face first, because if you know anything about Takiishi, then you know that blood on his face certainly isnât his. That makes things easier for both of youâ no wounds, no flinching.Â
Your eyes are too busy moving around his face to notice him noticing you. He watches your irises flit around, lashes obscuring his view as they trail down his face, so he watches as your eye rolls around under the flesh of your lids instead. Your eyes linger in some spots, even after you pull the rag away. He wonders what you find so interesting, and yet, he canât look away either. His heart thumps a little louder in his chest. His fingers twitch.
Just as youâre finishing up, you yelp as his fingertips press into the backs of your thighs hard enough to knock you into his lap. You stare at him in shock, met with one of his many unreadable expressions.
You take a really, really deep breath. âWhyâŚwould you do that.â The smell of dirt and iron lingers on his clothes, and you just washed these pajamas, not to mention your bedsheets. Ugh.Â
He blinks at the proximity, even though heâs the cause. Why did he do that?Â
He says the first thing that comes to mind. âYouâre warm.â
You avert your eyes. His stare is too intense. âYeah, well. So is the bath,â you deflect, âand it looks about ready.â
You figure thatâs a good enough cue for him to let go, but he grips onto the hem of your sleep shirt. "Takiishi. The bath will overflow if you don't let go." It's a useless statementâ you know he'll do whatever he wants. You're a bit surprised to see he looksâŚconflicted. As if he can't make up his mind on what to do. His gaze flits over to the tub, and then back to you, and then he's wrapping his opposite arm around your waist and using the other to stop the running water for you. For you. You try not to think about that.
It's difficult when he's looking at you in that way he always does. It makes you want to hide, but he's got you face to face, and all you can do is avert your eyes. They're growing heavy with sleep, on account of the fact that that's what you should be doing right now. Not this. Not sitting in Takiishi Chika's bloody lap, not nearly nodding off at the feeling of his calloused palms running along your waist, not shivering at the tickle of your shirt falling off your shoulder.
You come to your senses a bit, huffing as he stretches out the neckline of your top, "Are you getting in the bath or not, Chika?"
Ba-dump. Chika. He thinks he might like his name in your mouth, or how often you put it there. Maybe tonight he'll finally make use of yours. Mouth or name, he's not quite sure.
You groan, exasperated, at the way he just stares. You hate that you never know what he's thinking, or if he's even fucking listening. Losing your patience, you tug at his jacket, stripping it off his shoulders. You try not to think about the way he switches his arms to keep holding you as you shed him of his jacket. Instead, you think about how this would go a hell of a lot faster if he did this part himself.
"Alright, that's enough," you sigh, "I'll leave you to it." You wriggle around in an attempt to escape his grasp, but he tightens his hold, and pulls you just a tad closer. There's a mellow defiance in his golden eyes. Under the right conditions, it's a look that would send a shiver up a sane person's spine. In your eyes, it's like a housecat's demand for nothing and everything all at once, with the assumption that you can read its mind.
You close your eyes, desperate for sleep, nearly pouting, "What do you want from me?"
He responds simply, as if the answer is obvious, âWash my hair.â
You blink your eyes open, slowly, because it was feeling really good to keep them closed. âYou canât do it yourself?â
The weight of his head in your hands makes itself apparent, and his voice goes quieter. âYour hands feel better.â
You finally fluster at that. He sounds tired. It's a rare Chika, a vulnerable Chika, and it's hard to resist.
You sigh. "âŚCan you at least undress yourself?"
The bath is pink tinged with blood and the sweaty remnants of his freshly dyed hair by the time youâre all done.
You laugh, âThis is gross, Chika.â
Ba-dump. That irritating jump in his chest again. He doesn't understand it. Itâs not the first time heâs heard you say his name. Maybe itâs the first time youâve said it fondly. He thinks he should say your name too, but he has no real reason to. It sits on his tongue, the way he wishes you would.
âŚHuh?
He looks the mildest bit bewildered for a moment, and you can't figure out why for the life of you. It's gone nearly as soon as you notice it, so you pass it off as lack of sleep and seeing things.
As you rinse the suds from his ends, he peers over his shoulder at you from the corner of his eye. He stays that way for a minute, unmoving, unblinking. He gives you no indication that he plans to speak up, but thereâs an air of something unsaid before he turns back around. You canât help but smile to yourself about how strange he can be.
When he's clean and dripping wet, sleep wearing down his sharp eyes, you wrap him in a towel. You fight him on drying off, insisting he can do it himself while you blow dry his hair. He agrees, reluctantlyâ but he won't tell you it's because he wants to prolong the feeling of your hands in his hair.
His hair takes longer to dry than yours, and you're both wobbling, warm and exhausted by the time you're done. With a yawn and a big stretch, he drops his towel, and it's then you realize he doesn't have any spare clothes here. You consider himâ one very long, lingering up-and-down look, before turning to dig through your drawers. He watches the whole thing. Neither of you are well versed in subtlety.
You manage to fish out a fresh pair of pajamas for yourselfâ since yours smell like a fight and a rescueâ and a too-tight pair of hot pink sweatpants for Takiishi. Again, he pulls them off as if they were his own. You just hope he doesn't mind going commando.
There's no use in asking him to sleep on the couch at this pointâ he's already pulled the covers back and crawled in. The two of you lay in the dark, in silence. Cozy, clean air fills the space between you, as does the air of something unspoken. But sleep wedges itself under your tongue like a duvet, and you figure you can save words for the morning.
Moments before you feel yourself drifting off, warm fingertips press into the flesh of your arm. Soft, gentle, before pressing again, hard enough to pull this time. The sheets shuffle as you turn, expectant gaze squinting to focus on Takiishi in the moonlight. He doesnât let go as your eyes adjust to one another. His stare bores into you, fluffy, freshly dried hair falling over his eyes ever so slightly. It softens up his sharp edges, high cheekbones and the flat plane of his nose, bright eyes against tanned skin.Â
The soft edge of his bangs tickles the bridge of his nose and the skin crinkles as he scrunches it up. Cute. He tilts his head to brush it out of the way, revealing sparse little freckles on his nose that youâre not sure youâve ever been close enough to see. Your eyes widen at the realization. Oh, heâs so close.
Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump. He really hopes you can't hear that.
And then, without warning, Takiishi kisses you in slow motion. You arenât sure if heâs hesitating or savoring. His lips hover above yours, a tickle of his breath on your skin. Then his bottom lip grazes yours, ever so slightly chapped. Slowly, so, so slowly, he forces you to feel it all. Youâve never felt the moment your skin depresses against anotherâs. Youâve never sat with the feeling of a kiss so focused, the full press of a bottom lip before the top even reaches you. It feels like it could be the first kiss youâve ever truly felt, and itâs from Takiishi, of all people.
Itâs silent in the room until the soft smack of your mouths rings out between you. He pulls back into that featherlight pressure, eyes open and watching you react. He sees the crane of your neck and the upward tilt of your chin; he sees you chasing him like a tidal wave. He wonders what itâll take for you to crash over him.
Takiishi melts over you like molten lava, the achingly slow flow of his tongue drags across yours with growing intensity. His pace stays the same as he loses his gentleness, nose digging into your cheek, pads of his fingers melding to your skin. Spit seeps from the corners and he swallows it all up; drinks you in. He breathes through it, through you. It never seems to stop. He trails his palms along your skin, sticky with the beginnings of sweat. Heâs red hot and flowing through your veins, seeping into you and carving a path just for his mouth, onto yours.
Takiishi kisses you until you lose all focus, until youâre both messy and losing feeling in the pads of your lips. He sighs and pants as he grazes his lips over your spit soaked ones, eyes lidded and watching you closely. He follows the stretch of your lips into a wide smile, and he almost feels your sleepy giggle against his chest before he hears it. His thumb comes up to wipe the glistening spit from the bottom of your lip, surely a mixture of both of yours. Experimentally, he drags his thumb into your mouth, glazing along the tops of your teeth and stroking along your tongue.Â
Now it's your turn to try and steady the beat of your heart. What in the world is going on?
It's moments like these where you wonder at which point you started to anticipate these meet ups for more than what they really are. It started out so strangeâ and at times, it still is. His reactions, his responses, his touchâ should you really be feeling so warm under such analytic hands?
Takiishi has been curious since you've known him. He has always experimented with varying degrees of hesitance to find things he's interested in, and that often means roping you in to these weird situations where you become an observer and a test subject all in one. As soon as you think you know what he'll like, he proves you wrong. As soon as you think you know his next move, he's naked in your bathtub in the early hours of the morning or sticking his fingers in your mouth face to face with you in your bed.
Somewhere along the way, at the exact same time, his experiments with you started to make him feel something, and he's determined to get to the bottom of it. (Or the top. He isn't so sure yet.)
He glides his fingers along the ridges of your teeth like it's the first time he's seen any. And then, along the gummy insides of your cheeks, and pressing on your tongue until you audibly complain. He marvels a bit at all the saliva he forced out of you. It's starting to drip from the corner of your mouth, and the shift of your warm, soft mouth around his digit as you try to suck it back in sparks a glint in his dilated eyes.
You're groaning and pulling away, fighting even as sleep threatens to take over, and he feels something flutter in his gut. It's a strange enough sensation that he pulls his fingers out with fervor, giddy and confused and tired all at once. You sigh contentedly and roll over so he can just barely hear your soft, shallow breaths. He stares into the back of your head, unsettled by the urge to shake you awake and watch you lazily protest against him again.
No wonder Endo can't get enough of irritating him. Maybe it's addictive? He'll be sure to test this theory. For now, he lies restless yet exhausted in the plush of your bed, plagued and comforted by the scent of you all around him.
He tosses and turns with his thoughts, softened skin stretched over sore muscles. He can't get comfortable. His knuckles ache, and something in his chest does too. He kind of wishes you were still awake. So he reaches out, brushing his cracked knuckles over your smooth skin, sighing at the sting. Something about it is comforting. Maybe it's just you.
In a daze, your hand reaches out for his. Nothing else about you moves, completely at rest despite the search for him. He indulges you, indulges himselfâ it's the whole reason he came here, after all. As he runs his calloused thumb over your skin, wishing he could feel just a bit moreâ because all Takiishi knows is take, take, takeâ his brows twist into a knot. This isn't what he came here to do, and it's the whole reason he came here.
He squeezes at your hand, at the vein that runs through your palm, feeling the steady thrum of your pulse. He pinches and prods, silently punishing you for being so confusing. How could the memory of your featherlight touch overpower the crunch of bones under his fists? How could one be such a threat from miles away, that he'd seek them out just to slow the beat of his own heart?
You grunt softly in your slumber, rolling over and plopping your head down in subconscious frustration. The hand he held onto rips itself from his grasp and flops onto his chest in a lazy ball. He's thankful you're dead asleep, so you can't feel the sparks you set off through his chest. Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump.
Annoying.
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