[seeingyoumourn]

RIO ꩜ 0.21 ⊹ s.her ⊹ jjk angst/mostly sfw archive

MASTERLIST ʬʬ﹕AO3 RULES

© 2026 seeingyoumourn. all rights reserved. translations, plagiarism/inspiration and ai-training are forbidden. non-adherence = blocked

[seeingyoumourn]

۪ ✚ ֗┊they say a kiss is the start of cannibalism, but with sukuna ryomen, it appears to be the opposite.

sfw, heian era! sukuna x fem! reader, somewhat detailing of gore (the taste of a human), established relationship (married), fluff, and technically sukuna comforting you, kissing/makeout

➞ ⋆ masterlist

꘩ . IMPRINTS of four palms and twenty fingers besmirched the lustrous textile of your opulent robe when Sukuna deliberately smooched his grimy palms atop your clothed hips, observing you glance down inquisitively as the new colourant infused itself into each molecule of the garment, considered the epitome of poised dignity – expectant to spot musty debris from the sordid land he conquered during his frequent hunts, but taken aback by the muted carmine instead. 

Your silken lashes fluttered as you peered at his personal stamp, bemused and startled not only by the premeditated decision to utilise your apparel as what you’d swiftly concluded was some sort of rag, sullying the fabric bestowed upon those of blest purity, but more so by the colour birthed when flesh had been carved. 

“Wife.” His stentorian greeting disrupted your trance as he had noticed your entranced demeanour shift.

In turn, you raised your head hastily and offered a strained nod, eliciting a jubilant chuckle from the man before you, ardent at witnessing your swift comprehension and the faint bob in your throat as you grasped why his expansive marks mirrored the pigment of a carrier transporting an inferior commoner’s vital nutrients rather than Mother Green’s terrain; your dearly beloved’s cannibalistic conclusion was abruptly thrust onto your consciousness and your stilled figure’s adornment.

He tutted, his delicately carved nose skimming your cheek, roused by both the splash of rouge pricked beneath and the ruffled warmth, relishing your pupils, usually deluged with reserved intimacy, now enlarged once reminded of his barbaric practices, sown in every coursing cell that regulated his herculean physique and deified status.

“Does this trouble you, wife?” he murmured with faux concern, evidently amused by your attentive stare fixed on the carnivorous evidence he proudly flaunted, his daring tongue peeping out to toy with the flaky crumb dependent on the quirked corner of his taupe lips.

Your satiny lips parted momentarily, a humble apology formulated, but the channel homing your voice refrained from vocalising your intent, irregular breathing fanning his visage; the lower half was graffitied with corrupt smears of scarlet, and unable to be sought over as his complexion peeked beneath the nanoscopic fractures from being stale, crippling with every obnoxious simper or facial expression. His gluttony was apparent, as he was no polite devourer, human remains smudged beyond the defined perimeters of his cracked lips.

“Ryomen…” you finally managed a hushed acknowledgement, bewitched by his repulsive enthusiasm for vile ravaging, subconsciously tilting your head away from a doting peck.

Sukuna cooly corrected you to address him with the sobriquet of ‘husband’ – his birth name of no importance once wedded to a woman who, despite being aware of his inhumane dietary choices, refrained from picking at the matter.

Then, he yanked his taunting smirk with a rough index finger hooked to one side, proudly unveiling the alternating hues staining the interior of his mouth; the variations nauseating, his gums richer in tone whilst the enamel’s naturally ivory base appeared cerise.

Although your dazed demeanour had brought rapture, predictably, his patience had worn thin. “I feasted on pomegranates; now you grant your husband a mere kiss.”

Of course, the last thing you were rendered to be was an idiot, mindful that a dismantled fruit, deconstructed to its initial stage of being no more than a bred womb, had not tainted his expressive mouth – but you obeyed, the persuasion and the futile attempt to glorify the substance enough to puppeteer your consciousness as his mouth slotted between your own eager lips, commanding you to feed from the source that offers you enrichment

Metallic leisurely gave way to saccharine intrigue, as the remnants of annihilation insisted on lodging in the closest molars of his intemperate mouth. Each subtle knock of his dental guards proposed that you embrace his radical ideals: a nourishment beyond the chambers of an individual’s organ, nonchalantly probed apart (and typically mentioned in a novelist’s draft regarding romance). 

You hummed, a husky groan exchanged in return as the false narrative of pomegranate seeds you had envisioned for your sanity ruptured, slowly welcoming the dulcet sensation and the endearment of being a third party to a stranger’s mushy marrow.  

His first set of hands cupped your flustered cheeks, while his lower limbs remained content to encircle your waist and shove your chest against the hard planes of his upper half; the gesture introducing nature’s spirit and pine, infused with his deconstructed robe, a hefty garment loose and sparing an expansive segment of his abdomen, unlike the skeletal frame unwillingly stripped of thick muscle; mundane protein for a lord but integral for a commoner to be considered human.

Sukuna’s explorative tongue appreciated your submissive cavern, his taste buds scorched by animalistic habit, eager to disperse the filling meal. Each languid swirl of his tongue serenaded yours, prompting you to rejoice in the unaffected admiration you had for a nefarious man such as himself; the progressive kiss was a reminder that he had no interest in a lover who rejected his true, cursed character

However, you? You latched onto his fiendish ways. Though at times stupefied, never dismayed by his brutish gestures and accepting the moral dichotomy between desire and consumption, aware that the differentiating factor lay in how much Sukuna’s bite would consume, already nibbling at your velvety lips, imbued with admiration, as either notion was capable of resulting in demise. 

Dismembered limbs perished as a concern; the sickly gore now an adhesive that prolonged Sukuna’s domineering lips, as you reciprocated and coveted the abhorrent aftertaste, still vividly apparent and saturating his oral cavity.

For you had been awakened by the eroticism of scavenged leftovers your dutiful husband offered.

a/n sorry for the small break, please take one of my fav works as an apology

© seeingyoumourn no plagiarism, taking inspo or any of that other stuff! divider: @/chrisssiren

[seeingyoumourn]

۪ ✚ ֗┊they say a kiss is the start of cannibalism, but with sukuna ryomen, it appears to be the opposite.

sfw, heian era! sukuna x fem! reader, somewhat detailing of gore (the taste of a human), established relationship (married), fluff, and technically sukuna comforting you, kissing/makeout

➞ ⋆ masterlist

꘩ . IMPRINTS of four palms and twenty fingers besmirched the lustrous textile of your opulent robe when Sukuna deliberately smooched his grimy palms atop your clothed hips, observing you glance down inquisitively as the new colourant infused itself into each molecule of the garment, considered the epitome of poised dignity – expectant to spot musty debris from the sordid land he conquered during his frequent hunts, but taken aback by the muted carmine instead. 

Your silken lashes fluttered as you peered at his personal stamp, bemused and startled not only by the premeditated decision to utilise your apparel as what you’d swiftly concluded was some sort of rag, sullying the fabric bestowed upon those of blest purity, but more so by the colour birthed when flesh had been carved. 

“Wife.” His stentorian greeting disrupted your trance as he had noticed your entranced demeanour shift.

In turn, you raised your head hastily and offered a strained nod, eliciting a jubilant chuckle from the man before you, ardent at witnessing your swift comprehension and the faint bob in your throat as you grasped why his expansive marks mirrored the pigment of a carrier transporting an inferior commoner’s vital nutrients rather than Mother Green’s terrain; your dearly beloved’s cannibalistic conclusion was abruptly thrust onto your consciousness and your stilled figure’s adornment.

He tutted, his delicately carved nose skimming your cheek, roused by both the splash of rouge pricked beneath and the ruffled warmth, relishing your pupils, usually deluged with reserved intimacy, now enlarged once reminded of his barbaric practices, sown in every coursing cell that regulated his herculean physique and deified status.

“Does this trouble you, wife?” he murmured with faux concern, evidently amused by your attentive stare fixed on the carnivorous evidence he proudly flaunted, his daring tongue peeping out to toy with the flaky crumb dependent on the quirked corner of his taupe lips.

Your satiny lips parted momentarily, a humble apology formulated, but the channel homing your voice refrained from vocalising your intent, irregular breathing fanning his visage; the lower half was graffitied with corrupt smears of scarlet, and unable to be sought over as his complexion peeked beneath the nanoscopic fractures from being stale, crippling with every obnoxious simper or facial expression. His gluttony was apparent, as he was no polite devourer, human remains smudged beyond the defined perimeters of his cracked lips.

“Ryomen…” you finally managed a hushed acknowledgement, bewitched by his repulsive enthusiasm for vile ravaging, subconsciously tilting your head away from a doting peck.

Sukuna cooly corrected you to address him with the sobriquet of ‘husband’ – his birth name of no importance once wedded to a woman who, despite being aware of his inhumane dietary choices, refrained from picking at the matter.

Then, he yanked his taunting smirk with a rough index finger hooked to one side, proudly unveiling the alternating hues staining the interior of his mouth; the variations nauseating, his gums richer in tone whilst the enamel’s naturally ivory base appeared cerise.

Although your dazed demeanour had brought rapture, predictably, his patience had worn thin. “I feasted on pomegranates; now you grant your husband a mere kiss.”

Of course, the last thing you were rendered to be was an idiot, mindful that a dismantled fruit, deconstructed to its initial stage of being no more than a bred womb, had not tainted his expressive mouth – but you obeyed, the persuasion and the futile attempt to glorify the substance enough to puppeteer your consciousness as his mouth slotted between your own eager lips, commanding you to feed from the source that offers you enrichment

Metallic leisurely gave way to saccharine intrigue, as the remnants of annihilation insisted on lodging in the closest molars of his intemperate mouth. Each subtle knock of his dental guards proposed that you embrace his radical ideals: a nourishment beyond the chambers of an individual’s organ, nonchalantly probed apart (and typically mentioned in a novelist’s draft regarding romance). 

You hummed, a husky groan exchanged in return as the false narrative of pomegranate seeds you had envisioned for your sanity ruptured, slowly welcoming the dulcet sensation and the endearment of being a third party to a stranger’s mushy marrow.  

His first set of hands cupped your flustered cheeks, while his lower limbs remained content to encircle your waist and shove your chest against the hard planes of his upper half; the gesture introducing nature’s spirit and pine, infused with his deconstructed robe, a hefty garment loose and sparing an expansive segment of his abdomen, unlike the skeletal frame unwillingly stripped of thick muscle; mundane protein for a lord but integral for a commoner to be considered human.

Sukuna’s explorative tongue appreciated your submissive cavern, his taste buds scorched by animalistic habit, eager to disperse the filling meal. Each languid swirl of his tongue serenaded yours, prompting you to rejoice in the unaffected admiration you had for a nefarious man such as himself; the progressive kiss was a reminder that he had no interest in a lover who rejected his true, cursed character

However, you? You latched onto his fiendish ways. Though at times stupefied, never dismayed by his brutish gestures and accepting the moral dichotomy between desire and consumption, aware that the differentiating factor lay in how much Sukuna’s bite would consume, already nibbling at your velvety lips, imbued with admiration, as either notion was capable of resulting in demise. 

Dismembered limbs perished as a concern; the sickly gore now an adhesive that prolonged Sukuna’s domineering lips, as you reciprocated and coveted the abhorrent aftertaste, still vividly apparent and saturating his oral cavity.

For you had been awakened by the eroticism of scavenged leftovers your dutiful husband offered.

a/n sorry for the small break, please take one of my fav works as an apology

© seeingyoumourn no plagiarism, taking inspo or any of that other stuff! divider: @/chrisssiren

[seeingyoumourn]

۪ ✚ ֗┊they say a kiss is the start of cannibalism, but with sukuna ryomen, it appears to be the opposite.

sfw, heian era! sukuna x fem! reader, somewhat detailing of gore (the taste of a human), established relationship (married), fluff, and technically sukuna comforting you, kissing/makeout

➞ ⋆ masterlist

꘩ . IMPRINTS of four palms and twenty fingers besmirched the lustrous textile of your opulent robe when Sukuna deliberately smooched his grimy palms atop your clothed hips, observing you glance down inquisitively as the new colourant infused itself into each molecule of the garment, considered the epitome of poised dignity – expectant to spot musty debris from the sordid land he conquered during his frequent hunts, but taken aback by the muted carmine instead. 

Your silken lashes fluttered as you peered at his personal stamp, bemused and startled not only by the premeditated decision to utilise your apparel as what you’d swiftly concluded was some sort of rag, sullying the fabric bestowed upon those of blest purity, but more so by the colour birthed when flesh had been carved. 

“Wife.” His stentorian greeting disrupted your trance as he had noticed your entranced demeanour shift.

In turn, you raised your head hastily and offered a strained nod, eliciting a jubilant chuckle from the man before you, ardent at witnessing your swift comprehension and the faint bob in your throat as you grasped why his expansive marks mirrored the pigment of a carrier transporting an inferior commoner’s vital nutrients rather than Mother Green’s terrain; your dearly beloved’s cannibalistic conclusion was abruptly thrust onto your consciousness and your stilled figure’s adornment.

He tutted, his delicately carved nose skimming your cheek, roused by both the splash of rouge pricked beneath and the ruffled warmth, relishing your pupils, usually deluged with reserved intimacy, now enlarged once reminded of his barbaric practices, sown in every coursing cell that regulated his herculean physique and deified status.

“Does this trouble you, wife?” he murmured with faux concern, evidently amused by your attentive stare fixed on the carnivorous evidence he proudly flaunted, his daring tongue peeping out to toy with the flaky crumb dependent on the quirked corner of his taupe lips.

Your satiny lips parted momentarily, a humble apology formulated, but the channel homing your voice refrained from vocalising your intent, irregular breathing fanning his visage; the lower half was graffitied with corrupt smears of scarlet, and unable to be sought over as his complexion peeked beneath the nanoscopic fractures from being stale, crippling with every obnoxious simper or facial expression. His gluttony was apparent, as he was no polite devourer, human remains smudged beyond the defined perimeters of his cracked lips.

“Ryomen…” you finally managed a hushed acknowledgement, bewitched by his repulsive enthusiasm for vile ravaging, subconsciously tilting your head away from a doting peck.

Sukuna cooly corrected you to address him with the sobriquet of ‘husband’ – his birth name of no importance once wedded to a woman who, despite being aware of his inhumane dietary choices, refrained from picking at the matter.

Then, he yanked his taunting smirk with a rough index finger hooked to one side, proudly unveiling the alternating hues staining the interior of his mouth; the variations nauseating, his gums richer in tone whilst the enamel’s naturally ivory base appeared cerise.

Although your dazed demeanour had brought rapture, predictably, his patience had worn thin. “I feasted on pomegranates; now you grant your husband a mere kiss.”

Of course, the last thing you were rendered to be was an idiot, mindful that a dismantled fruit, deconstructed to its initial stage of being no more than a bred womb, had not tainted his expressive mouth – but you obeyed, the persuasion and the futile attempt to glorify the substance enough to puppeteer your consciousness as his mouth slotted between your own eager lips, commanding you to feed from the source that offers you enrichment

Metallic leisurely gave way to saccharine intrigue, as the remnants of annihilation insisted on lodging in the closest molars of his intemperate mouth. Each subtle knock of his dental guards proposed that you embrace his radical ideals: a nourishment beyond the chambers of an individual’s organ, nonchalantly probed apart (and typically mentioned in a novelist’s draft regarding romance). 

You hummed, a husky groan exchanged in return as the false narrative of pomegranate seeds you had envisioned for your sanity ruptured, slowly welcoming the dulcet sensation and the endearment of being a third party to a stranger’s mushy marrow.  

His first set of hands cupped your flustered cheeks, while his lower limbs remained content to encircle your waist and shove your chest against the hard planes of his upper half; the gesture introducing nature’s spirit and pine, infused with his deconstructed robe, a hefty garment loose and sparing an expansive segment of his abdomen, unlike the skeletal frame unwillingly stripped of thick muscle; mundane protein for a lord but integral for a commoner to be considered human.

Sukuna’s explorative tongue appreciated your submissive cavern, his taste buds scorched by animalistic habit, eager to disperse the filling meal. Each languid swirl of his tongue serenaded yours, prompting you to rejoice in the unaffected admiration you had for a nefarious man such as himself; the progressive kiss was a reminder that he had no interest in a lover who rejected his true, cursed character

However, you? You latched onto his fiendish ways. Though at times stupefied, never dismayed by his brutish gestures and accepting the moral dichotomy between desire and consumption, aware that the differentiating factor lay in how much Sukuna’s bite would consume, already nibbling at your velvety lips, imbued with admiration, as either notion was capable of resulting in demise. 

Dismembered limbs perished as a concern; the sickly gore now an adhesive that prolonged Sukuna’s domineering lips, as you reciprocated and coveted the abhorrent aftertaste, still vividly apparent and saturating his oral cavity.

For you had been awakened by the eroticism of scavenged leftovers your dutiful husband offered.

a/n sorry for the small break, please take one of my fav works as an apology

© seeingyoumourn no plagiarism, taking inspo or any of that other stuff! divider: @/chrisssiren

[seeingyoumourn]

۪ ✚ ֗┊hey! give fushiguro toji a break, alright? it's hard to control himself when he comes back home to a sweet thing like you

sfw (suggestive), middle-aged toji fushiguro x (early 20's) fem! reader

➞ ⋆ masterlist

꘩ . TOJI Fushiguro, despite widespread belief, adored when his (much younger) pretty lady adorned those babydoll lingerie sets. Or, more specifically, when you shamelessly welcomed him home with a honeyed greeting, your sensuous figure clad with that specific provocative attire on display after abruptly swinging the door open, preventing the opportunity for him to (intentionally) rattle his keys in the allocated slot with vigour, longing to be within the confines of the unpretentious but snug apartment.

And the hench male knew you never bothered to verify if it were him standing on the other side with the smart doorbell you’d pestered him into purchasing. Firstly, because he was aware you had memorised the sequence of his arrival, the particular jingle of his keys as he nonchalantly played catch with them, the hefty thumps of his Timberlands as he trod closer, and the melodic whistle reverberating within the isolated hallways. Secondly, it was to simply rile him up. Revealing yourself so brazenly as if your modesty weren’t hanging by a thread, as if the possibility of neighbours occupying the cramped corridor of their complex and able to sneak a glimpse was non-existent.

“You're jus’ opening the door like that for everyone, huh?” He enquired, opting to shut the door with a raised leg and firm kick from behind.

“Perhaps.”.

Toji's sharp eyes, coloured a collection of forest depths, narrowed with a light scoff whilst a sly smile paired itself with your scheming orbs.

You gracefully swivelled around and continued to saunter off, exhibiting the gracious flow of the sheer mesh stitched to the underwire, the base construction of your bra, skimming the bottom of your cheeks whilst the veiled thong taunted him, almost provoking him to lunge forward and aim a harsh smack to your bottom.

“Ohhh no you don’t~” he tutted, swiftly grasping your dainty fingertips before you could stray any further, which you demurred amidst a feathery giggle once he twirled you back around.

He strung your soft hand, which he had captured, to rest above his shoulder, dismissing your chastisement of his failure to remove his boots with a low ‘shut up'. Tender expressions flickered across both your visages.

His broad physique loomed over you, swaying back slightly so his attentive sight could wander over the matching set, studying the undergarments despite having seen them before – but he could not resist, enraptured by not only your domestic gesture but by the pink colourant complementing your satiny complexion.

After, his thumb grazed over the synthetic fabric moulding the cups which were embroidered with exaggerated hearts of tonal shades of blush and lilac, the bralette completed with golden hardware and cross detail trimmed straps with a miniature satin bow delicately sewn upon the centre gore and a heart-shaped lock pendant dangling beneath – the design replicated onto the panties that obtained a double-strapping detail to the waistband.

Having remained infatuated with assessing the minuscule efforts stitched with delicacy, he actively decided to disregard you, informing him that dinner awaited digestion.

Toji had internally perceived the sheer drape as an automated invitation for his calloused palms to slither beneath, marvelling at the feminine material and its pliable attribute, caressing his skin roughened by subservience to capitalism, which stirred his ungovernable libido further.

“Forget ‘bout dinner,” he murmured once his scarred mouth dove for your neck, playfully nipping his brutal canines into the side, which you involuntarily tried to wriggle away from with a syrupy laugh and whine of his name.

"Don't run either," he added, hooking his thick index finger between the centre panel and your sternum to forcefully tug you closer once more, the distance between you both minimising even further as his charming features lifted from the haven of your neck to hover over your own beguiling traits.

“You’re not hungry?” You stated with disbelief and raised brows. “That’s a first, old man.”.

Your witty statement earned the waggle of his brows, and another deliberate tug on the small expanse his digit had remained curved over, suggestive smirk almost brushing against your plush lips “Never said nothin’ bout not being hungry. Just…not for food.”.

Yet, Toji paused in coordination with his girlfriend when a faint gurgle disrupted the swell of their sexual tension, his rugged mouth parting slightly as your mellow chuckle fanned his briefly flustered expression.

With ease, he returned to his assertive demeanour when you patted his shoulder, disconnecting his touch from your frame by replacing it with the entwine of your own fingers, trailing him behind yourself and towards the kitchen.

“Well, it seems your body has betrayed you,” you paused, glancing over your shoulder with a reassuring smile, “But hopefully you’re up for dessert after?”.

Toji allowed you to remain in the lead and guide him before roughly grabbing a handful of your ass and delivering an assured nod.

“No doubt about it Babe.".

a/n i promise new stuff in the works, but my older work deserve love too okay 😔

© seeingyoumourn no plagiarism, taking inspo or any of that other stuff! divider: @/chrisssiren

[seeingyoumourn]

A HEAVEN FOR GRIEVANCE AKA THE MASTERLIST

[note! all of these works are angst unless stated otherwise e.g could also or solely include smut]

FUSHIGURO TOJI

᠂ ○ᩙ ᜓ where leaving is only spoken

᠂ ○ᩙ ᜓ sweet thing (suggestive, fluff)

GOJO SATORU

᠂ ○ᩙ ᜓ mr gojo is the worst

᠂ ○ᩙ ᜓ consume

GETO SUGURU

tba

NANAMI KENTO

᠂ ○ᩙ ᜓ to be a sinner, or to be a false saint?

᠂ ○ᩙ ᜓ tradition says (fluff)

SUKUNA RYOMEN

᠂ ○ᩙ ᜓ betrayed by the bass (angst + smut)

ONE TIMERS

᠂ ○ᩙ ᜓ megumi fushiguro and handmade gifts (fluff)

᠂ ○ᩙ ᜓ hiromi higuruma was destined for parenthood, regardless of whether you remained by his side or not

᠂ ○ᩙ ᜓ shiu kong is quite the meanie (smut)

[seeingyoumourn]

۪ ✚ ֗┊hey! give fushiguro toji a break, alright? it's hard to control himself when he comes back home to a sweet thing like you

sfw (suggestive), middle-aged toji fushiguro x (early 20's) fem! reader

➞ ⋆ masterlist

꘩ . TOJI Fushiguro, despite widespread belief, adored when his (much younger) pretty lady adorned those babydoll lingerie sets. Or, more specifically, when you shamelessly welcomed him home with a honeyed greeting, your sensuous figure clad with that specific provocative attire on display after abruptly swinging the door open, preventing the opportunity for him to (intentionally) rattle his keys in the allocated slot with vigour, longing to be within the confines of the unpretentious but snug apartment.

And the hench male knew you never bothered to verify if it were him standing on the other side with the smart doorbell you’d pestered him into purchasing. Firstly, because he was aware you had memorised the sequence of his arrival, the particular jingle of his keys as he nonchalantly played catch with them, the hefty thumps of his Timberlands as he trod closer, and the melodic whistle reverberating within the isolated hallways. Secondly, it was to simply rile him up. Revealing yourself so brazenly as if your modesty weren’t hanging by a thread, as if the possibility of neighbours occupying the cramped corridor of their complex and able to sneak a glimpse was non-existent.

“You're jus’ opening the door like that for everyone, huh?” He enquired, opting to shut the door with a raised leg and firm kick from behind.

“Perhaps.”.

Toji's sharp eyes, coloured a collection of forest depths, narrowed with a light scoff whilst a sly smile paired itself with your scheming orbs.

You gracefully swivelled around and continued to saunter off, exhibiting the gracious flow of the sheer mesh stitched to the underwire, the base construction of your bra, skimming the bottom of your cheeks whilst the veiled thong taunted him, almost provoking him to lunge forward and aim a harsh smack to your bottom.

“Ohhh no you don’t~” he tutted, swiftly grasping your dainty fingertips before you could stray any further, which you demurred amidst a feathery giggle once he twirled you back around.

He strung your soft hand, which he had captured, to rest above his shoulder, dismissing your chastisement of his failure to remove his boots with a low ‘shut up'. Tender expressions flickered across both your visages.

His broad physique loomed over you, swaying back slightly so his attentive sight could wander over the matching set, studying the undergarments despite having seen them before – but he could not resist, enraptured by not only your domestic gesture but by the pink colourant complementing your satiny complexion.

After, his thumb grazed over the synthetic fabric moulding the cups which were embroidered with exaggerated hearts of tonal shades of blush and lilac, the bralette completed with golden hardware and cross detail trimmed straps with a miniature satin bow delicately sewn upon the centre gore and a heart-shaped lock pendant dangling beneath – the design replicated onto the panties that obtained a double-strapping detail to the waistband.

Having remained infatuated with assessing the minuscule efforts stitched with delicacy, he actively decided to disregard you, informing him that dinner awaited digestion.

Toji had internally perceived the sheer drape as an automated invitation for his calloused palms to slither beneath, marvelling at the feminine material and its pliable attribute, caressing his skin roughened by subservience to capitalism, which stirred his ungovernable libido further.

“Forget ‘bout dinner,” he murmured once his scarred mouth dove for your neck, playfully nipping his brutal canines into the side, which you involuntarily tried to wriggle away from with a syrupy laugh and whine of his name.

"Don't run either," he added, hooking his thick index finger between the centre panel and your sternum to forcefully tug you closer once more, the distance between you both minimising even further as his charming features lifted from the haven of your neck to hover over your own beguiling traits.

“You’re not hungry?” You stated with disbelief and raised brows. “That’s a first, old man.”.

Your witty statement earned the waggle of his brows, and another deliberate tug on the small expanse his digit had remained curved over, suggestive smirk almost brushing against your plush lips “Never said nothin’ bout not being hungry. Just…not for food.”.

Yet, Toji paused in coordination with his girlfriend when a faint gurgle disrupted the swell of their sexual tension, his rugged mouth parting slightly as your mellow chuckle fanned his briefly flustered expression.

With ease, he returned to his assertive demeanour when you patted his shoulder, disconnecting his touch from your frame by replacing it with the entwine of your own fingers, trailing him behind yourself and towards the kitchen.

“Well, it seems your body has betrayed you,” you paused, glancing over your shoulder with a reassuring smile, “But hopefully you’re up for dessert after?”.

Toji allowed you to remain in the lead and guide him before roughly grabbing a handful of your ass and delivering an assured nod.

“No doubt about it Babe.".

a/n i promise new stuff in the works, but my older work deserve love too okay 😔

© seeingyoumourn no plagiarism, taking inspo or any of that other stuff! divider: @/chrisssiren

[seeingyoumourn]

۪ ✚ ֗┊hey! give fushiguro toji a break, alright? it's hard to control himself when he comes back home to a sweet thing like you

sfw (suggestive), middle-aged toji fushiguro x (early 20's) fem! reader

➞ ⋆ masterlist

꘩ . TOJI Fushiguro, despite widespread belief, adored when his (much younger) pretty lady adorned those babydoll lingerie sets. Or, more specifically, when you shamelessly welcomed him home with a honeyed greeting, your sensuous figure clad with that specific provocative attire on display after abruptly swinging the door open, preventing the opportunity for him to (intentionally) rattle his keys in the allocated slot with vigour, longing to be within the confines of the unpretentious but snug apartment.

And the hench male knew you never bothered to verify if it were him standing on the other side with the smart doorbell you’d pestered him into purchasing. Firstly, because he was aware you had memorised the sequence of his arrival, the particular jingle of his keys as he nonchalantly played catch with them, the hefty thumps of his Timberlands as he trod closer, and the melodic whistle reverberating within the isolated hallways. Secondly, it was to simply rile him up. Revealing yourself so brazenly as if your modesty weren’t hanging by a thread, as if the possibility of neighbours occupying the cramped corridor of their complex and able to sneak a glimpse was non-existent.

“You're jus’ opening the door like that for everyone, huh?” He enquired, opting to shut the door with a raised leg and firm kick from behind.

“Perhaps.”.

Toji's sharp eyes, coloured a collection of forest depths, narrowed with a light scoff whilst a sly smile paired itself with your scheming orbs.

You gracefully swivelled around and continued to saunter off, exhibiting the gracious flow of the sheer mesh stitched to the underwire, the base construction of your bra, skimming the bottom of your cheeks whilst the veiled thong taunted him, almost provoking him to lunge forward and aim a harsh smack to your bottom.

“Ohhh no you don’t~” he tutted, swiftly grasping your dainty fingertips before you could stray any further, which you demurred amidst a feathery giggle once he twirled you back around.

He strung your soft hand, which he had captured, to rest above his shoulder, dismissing your chastisement of his failure to remove his boots with a low ‘shut up'. Tender expressions flickered across both your visages.

His broad physique loomed over you, swaying back slightly so his attentive sight could wander over the matching set, studying the undergarments despite having seen them before – but he could not resist, enraptured by not only your domestic gesture but by the pink colourant complementing your satiny complexion.

After, his thumb grazed over the synthetic fabric moulding the cups which were embroidered with exaggerated hearts of tonal shades of blush and lilac, the bralette completed with golden hardware and cross detail trimmed straps with a miniature satin bow delicately sewn upon the centre gore and a heart-shaped lock pendant dangling beneath – the design replicated onto the panties that obtained a double-strapping detail to the waistband.

Having remained infatuated with assessing the minuscule efforts stitched with delicacy, he actively decided to disregard you, informing him that dinner awaited digestion.

Toji had internally perceived the sheer drape as an automated invitation for his calloused palms to slither beneath, marvelling at the feminine material and its pliable attribute, caressing his skin roughened by subservience to capitalism, which stirred his ungovernable libido further.

“Forget ‘bout dinner,” he murmured once his scarred mouth dove for your neck, playfully nipping his brutal canines into the side, which you involuntarily tried to wriggle away from with a syrupy laugh and whine of his name.

"Don't run either," he added, hooking his thick index finger between the centre panel and your sternum to forcefully tug you closer once more, the distance between you both minimising even further as his charming features lifted from the haven of your neck to hover over your own beguiling traits.

“You’re not hungry?” You stated with disbelief and raised brows. “That’s a first, old man.”.

Your witty statement earned the waggle of his brows, and another deliberate tug on the small expanse his digit had remained curved over, suggestive smirk almost brushing against your plush lips “Never said nothin’ bout not being hungry. Just…not for food.”.

Yet, Toji paused in coordination with his girlfriend when a faint gurgle disrupted the swell of their sexual tension, his rugged mouth parting slightly as your mellow chuckle fanned his briefly flustered expression.

With ease, he returned to his assertive demeanour when you patted his shoulder, disconnecting his touch from your frame by replacing it with the entwine of your own fingers, trailing him behind yourself and towards the kitchen.

“Well, it seems your body has betrayed you,” you paused, glancing over your shoulder with a reassuring smile, “But hopefully you’re up for dessert after?”.

Toji allowed you to remain in the lead and guide him before roughly grabbing a handful of your ass and delivering an assured nod.

“No doubt about it Babe.".

a/n i promise new stuff in the works, but my older work deserve love too okay 😔

© seeingyoumourn no plagiarism, taking inspo or any of that other stuff! divider: @/chrisssiren

[seeingyoumourn]

۪ ✚ ֗┊hey! give fushiguro toji a break, alright? it's hard to control himself when he comes back home to a sweet thing like you

sfw (suggestive), middle-aged toji fushiguro x (early 20's) fem! reader

➞ ⋆ masterlist

꘩ . TOJI Fushiguro, despite widespread belief, adored when his (much younger) pretty lady adorned those babydoll lingerie sets. Or, more specifically, when you shamelessly welcomed him home with a honeyed greeting, your sensuous figure clad with that specific provocative attire on display after abruptly swinging the door open, preventing the opportunity for him to (intentionally) rattle his keys in the allocated slot with vigour, longing to be within the confines of the unpretentious but snug apartment.

And the hench male knew you never bothered to verify if it were him standing on the other side with the smart doorbell you’d pestered him into purchasing. Firstly, because he was aware you had memorised the sequence of his arrival, the particular jingle of his keys as he nonchalantly played catch with them, the hefty thumps of his Timberlands as he trod closer, and the melodic whistle reverberating within the isolated hallways. Secondly, it was to simply rile him up. Revealing yourself so brazenly as if your modesty weren’t hanging by a thread, as if the possibility of neighbours occupying the cramped corridor of their complex and able to sneak a glimpse was non-existent.

“You're jus’ opening the door like that for everyone, huh?” He enquired, opting to shut the door with a raised leg and firm kick from behind.

“Perhaps.”.

Toji's sharp eyes, coloured a collection of forest depths, narrowed with a light scoff whilst a sly smile paired itself with your scheming orbs.

You gracefully swivelled around and continued to saunter off, exhibiting the gracious flow of the sheer mesh stitched to the underwire, the base construction of your bra, skimming the bottom of your cheeks whilst the veiled thong taunted him, almost provoking him to lunge forward and aim a harsh smack to your bottom.

“Ohhh no you don’t~” he tutted, swiftly grasping your dainty fingertips before you could stray any further, which you demurred amidst a feathery giggle once he twirled you back around.

He strung your soft hand, which he had captured, to rest above his shoulder, dismissing your chastisement of his failure to remove his boots with a low ‘shut up'. Tender expressions flickered across both your visages.

His broad physique loomed over you, swaying back slightly so his attentive sight could wander over the matching set, studying the undergarments despite having seen them before – but he could not resist, enraptured by not only your domestic gesture but by the pink colourant complementing your satiny complexion.

After, his thumb grazed over the synthetic fabric moulding the cups which were embroidered with exaggerated hearts of tonal shades of blush and lilac, the bralette completed with golden hardware and cross detail trimmed straps with a miniature satin bow delicately sewn upon the centre gore and a heart-shaped lock pendant dangling beneath – the design replicated onto the panties that obtained a double-strapping detail to the waistband.

Having remained infatuated with assessing the minuscule efforts stitched with delicacy, he actively decided to disregard you, informing him that dinner awaited digestion.

Toji had internally perceived the sheer drape as an automated invitation for his calloused palms to slither beneath, marvelling at the feminine material and its pliable attribute, caressing his skin roughened by subservience to capitalism, which stirred his ungovernable libido further.

“Forget ‘bout dinner,” he murmured once his scarred mouth dove for your neck, playfully nipping his brutal canines into the side, which you involuntarily tried to wriggle away from with a syrupy laugh and whine of his name.

"Don't run either," he added, hooking his thick index finger between the centre panel and your sternum to forcefully tug you closer once more, the distance between you both minimising even further as his charming features lifted from the haven of your neck to hover over your own beguiling traits.

“You’re not hungry?” You stated with disbelief and raised brows. “That’s a first, old man.”.

Your witty statement earned the waggle of his brows, and another deliberate tug on the small expanse his digit had remained curved over, suggestive smirk almost brushing against your plush lips “Never said nothin’ bout not being hungry. Just…not for food.”.

Yet, Toji paused in coordination with his girlfriend when a faint gurgle disrupted the swell of their sexual tension, his rugged mouth parting slightly as your mellow chuckle fanned his briefly flustered expression.

With ease, he returned to his assertive demeanour when you patted his shoulder, disconnecting his touch from your frame by replacing it with the entwine of your own fingers, trailing him behind yourself and towards the kitchen.

“Well, it seems your body has betrayed you,” you paused, glancing over your shoulder with a reassuring smile, “But hopefully you’re up for dessert after?”.

Toji allowed you to remain in the lead and guide him before roughly grabbing a handful of your ass and delivering an assured nod.

“No doubt about it Babe.".

a/n i promise new stuff in the works, but my older work deserve love too okay 😔

© seeingyoumourn no plagiarism, taking inspo or any of that other stuff! divider: @/chrisssiren

[seeingyoumourn]

۪ ✚ ֗┊hey! give fushiguro toji a break, alright? it's hard to control himself when he comes back home to a sweet thing like you

sfw (suggestive), middle-aged toji fushiguro x (early 20's) fem! reader

➞ ⋆ masterlist

꘩ . TOJI Fushiguro, despite widespread belief, adored when his (much younger) pretty lady adorned those babydoll lingerie sets. Or, more specifically, when you shamelessly welcomed him home with a honeyed greeting, your sensuous figure clad with that specific provocative attire on display after abruptly swinging the door open, preventing the opportunity for him to (intentionally) rattle his keys in the allocated slot with vigour, longing to be within the confines of the unpretentious but snug apartment.

And the hench male knew you never bothered to verify if it were him standing on the other side with the smart doorbell you’d pestered him into purchasing. Firstly, because he was aware you had memorised the sequence of his arrival, the particular jingle of his keys as he nonchalantly played catch with them, the hefty thumps of his Timberlands as he trod closer, and the melodic whistle reverberating within the isolated hallways. Secondly, it was to simply rile him up. Revealing yourself so brazenly as if your modesty weren’t hanging by a thread, as if the possibility of neighbours occupying the cramped corridor of their complex and able to sneak a glimpse was non-existent.

“You're jus’ opening the door like that for everyone, huh?” He enquired, opting to shut the door with a raised leg and firm kick from behind.

“Perhaps.”.

Toji's sharp eyes, coloured a collection of forest depths, narrowed with a light scoff whilst a sly smile paired itself with your scheming orbs.

You gracefully swivelled around and continued to saunter off, exhibiting the gracious flow of the sheer mesh stitched to the underwire, the base construction of your bra, skimming the bottom of your cheeks whilst the veiled thong taunted him, almost provoking him to lunge forward and aim a harsh smack to your bottom.

“Ohhh no you don’t~” he tutted, swiftly grasping your dainty fingertips before you could stray any further, which you demurred amidst a feathery giggle once he twirled you back around.

He strung your soft hand, which he had captured, to rest above his shoulder, dismissing your chastisement of his failure to remove his boots with a low ‘shut up'. Tender expressions flickered across both your visages.

His broad physique loomed over you, swaying back slightly so his attentive sight could wander over the matching set, studying the undergarments despite having seen them before – but he could not resist, enraptured by not only your domestic gesture but by the pink colourant complementing your satiny complexion.

After, his thumb grazed over the synthetic fabric moulding the cups which were embroidered with exaggerated hearts of tonal shades of blush and lilac, the bralette completed with golden hardware and cross detail trimmed straps with a miniature satin bow delicately sewn upon the centre gore and a heart-shaped lock pendant dangling beneath – the design replicated onto the panties that obtained a double-strapping detail to the waistband.

Having remained infatuated with assessing the minuscule efforts stitched with delicacy, he actively decided to disregard you, informing him that dinner awaited digestion.

Toji had internally perceived the sheer drape as an automated invitation for his calloused palms to slither beneath, marvelling at the feminine material and its pliable attribute, caressing his skin roughened by subservience to capitalism, which stirred his ungovernable libido further.

“Forget ‘bout dinner,” he murmured once his scarred mouth dove for your neck, playfully nipping his brutal canines into the side, which you involuntarily tried to wriggle away from with a syrupy laugh and whine of his name.

"Don't run either," he added, hooking his thick index finger between the centre panel and your sternum to forcefully tug you closer once more, the distance between you both minimising even further as his charming features lifted from the haven of your neck to hover over your own beguiling traits.

“You’re not hungry?” You stated with disbelief and raised brows. “That’s a first, old man.”.

Your witty statement earned the waggle of his brows, and another deliberate tug on the small expanse his digit had remained curved over, suggestive smirk almost brushing against your plush lips “Never said nothin’ bout not being hungry. Just…not for food.”.

Yet, Toji paused in coordination with his girlfriend when a faint gurgle disrupted the swell of their sexual tension, his rugged mouth parting slightly as your mellow chuckle fanned his briefly flustered expression.

With ease, he returned to his assertive demeanour when you patted his shoulder, disconnecting his touch from your frame by replacing it with the entwine of your own fingers, trailing him behind yourself and towards the kitchen.

“Well, it seems your body has betrayed you,” you paused, glancing over your shoulder with a reassuring smile, “But hopefully you’re up for dessert after?”.

Toji allowed you to remain in the lead and guide him before roughly grabbing a handful of your ass and delivering an assured nod.

“No doubt about it Babe.".

a/n i promise new stuff in the works, but my older work deserve love too okay 😔

© seeingyoumourn no plagiarism, taking inspo or any of that other stuff! divider: @/chrisssiren

[seeingyoumourn]

۪ ✚ ֗┊so nanami kento couldn't wait to see his soon-to-be wife on their wedding day, sue him.

sfw, nanami x fem! reader

➞ ⋆ masterlist

꘩ . NANAMI'S temporary silence humoured you.

“It’s bad luck to see me before the wedding.” You softly mused.

The man in question remained remorseless.

His soul, nestled in tradition, which would typically have reeled back in disbelief, succumbed to his unusual impatience and pardoned his decision to dishonour decade-old customs.

His heart was soon to be legally roped by an endless scripture inscribed with not only his consent to this union, but with cursive letters strung to formulate paragraphs brimmed with gratification for the day he was to settle another diamond atop your fourth finger, which was finally today.

As your palms manoeuvred south, soothing over the chapels of his exquisite suit of identical textiles, his organ restrained beneath the ensemble of his wedding attire, gently thrummed, reciprocal of your touch as your dainty hands rested a few centimetres above his pectorals

“I’m aware, Love,” he expressed lowly, hazel eyes strewn from a melodic harp’s chords, studying the orbs, still somewhat surprised he had wandered away from his station, which was to be at the end of the altar, awaiting your presence.

Nanami’s own hand placement remained stitched to your hip, savouring the blanche lace tailored to snugly sculpt your heavenly silhouette and the stark contrast of the vintage-esque fabric enticing the calloused landscape of a working man.

Shame almost derided him, and the slight discomfort stirring in his lower half, as, in a couple of hours, he anticipated the gown's cloth balled within his grasp: the semblance of chaste caressing his thick digits (which had failed to remain as such) a divine vision.

The opulent fabric was a mere distraction by cloaking practice vows his ardent mouth had smooched against your body during your sexual rendezvous as boyfriend and girlfriend. Every amorous advancement was instead a bout of devotion he murmured against your soft flesh that permeated beneath your skeletal protection, garnering a shudder, a delicate moan, or both.

"Oh, Kento..." You tsked teasingly, rolling your eyes to disguise the warmth whenever he spurred flattery onto you - his romantic tendencies constantly heartening

As you subconsciously nabbed at the navy handkerchief peeking out his breast pocket, you chuckled to herself, visualising Nanami plucking the neatly folded material from its suffocating confines to dab dry the prick of a stream nourishing his waterline whilst witnessing your poised figure leisurely unite with his embrace, the bob of his Adam’s apple a hefty gulp of finality you was to be his under legal pretences, a long-awaited moment and insinuation no man beside himself could sincerely or even attempt to state you was theirs. 

Alternatively, Nanami noted the minuscule embellishments of priceless pearls adorning your customised gown, and the semi-extensive width of fragile tulle delicately draped atop your head, paired to complete your wedding look.

He reached behind your head, stepping back once he had acquired the matrimonial headpiece. The bulky clock, settled behind you, which had scrutinised Nanami's pace and urged both of you to respect the allotted time slot for this venue and the guests’ effort in reaching here on time, surprisingly paused.

The clock’s lanky arms softened, hesitating by a mere second to witness the intimate ceremony between the pair before strutting on to be observed by a swarm of onlookers.

Your vision became obscured by ivory netting, mascara-coated lashes tickling against the diaphanous veil that now vaguely concealed your beguiling portrait.

In return for Nanami's gesture, you lifted your gaze onto the man you would meet once more in a few minutes to officiate your companionship.

“Forgive me, dear,” Nanami spoke, seeking remission, although his expression of adoration illustrated he didn’t quite care whether his repentance was acknowledged.

“I just couldn’t help myself.”.

© seeingyoumourn no plagiarism, taking inspo or any of that other stuff! divider: @/chrisssiren

[seeingyoumourn]

۪ ✚ ֗┊these frat parties weren’t what people had hyped them up to be, but without them, there was no sukuna ryomen, regardless of his intentions towards you. However, the music alone made it really… really… hard to survive a lifestyle you never intended to participate in until it involved him.

18+, frat! sukuna x (fem) student! reader, fraternity/college AU, unrequited “crush”, hookup/non-established relationship, coloured text = mental angst/meltdown or warfare?, implication of other women, some use of technical music terms (not an expert!!)

➞ ⋆ masterlist

꘩ . EXPRESSIVE symphonies were composed to be bridges between strangers, to artistically distort and orchestrate sound into a euphonious opus that would resonate with listeners and validate sentiments associated with a peculiar experience; manipulated frequencies embodied saviours, a balm to those needing an alternative to personified offers, aiding in healing.

However, you weren’t entirely certain that the synthy, dynamic, and erratic tune thumping throughout the fraternity house and hammering at the outer boundaries of Sukuna’s bedroom—subject to the futuristic barrage currently captivating the occupants outside, far too intoxicated to distinguish hallucination from reality—would be a piece you personally identified with.

Especially when heightened awareness disrupted your sensuous fascination and eager engagement with the taut, tensile impulsion to tamper with worldly desires.

You suddenly became conscious of your surroundings, able to perceive each raw element and distinguish the technical components, as the tactile sensation of the deafening tempo yielded to a cacophonous disarray of discordant melodies, swathing your figure, currently involved in coition.

Vehemence was present in each of Sukuna’s thrusts, reflecting an inherited rhythm. Both his libido and the essential drums for most songs were commanding and served as the foundation of precision to maintain control. Nonetheless, they disturbed your internal mechanisms to the point of displeasure, even as your physical form contorted in pleasure. 

“So-so full,” The insignificant lyrics, sung at an excessively high pitch outdoors, influenced you to whimper, which in turn dictated the tonality of Sukuna’s brutish demeanour as the man towering over you shuddered ungracefully. His thick neck was corded as he briefly peered south to observe your snug entrance, submissively accepting the brutal penetration of his vigorous cock. 

“Still sucking all of me up, though, aren’t you?” He emitted a grunt, accompanied by a slight wince, as you involuntarily etched raw scarlet via the third letter of the alphabet into his tanned complexion, which bore the same clammy sheen as your own, whilst the experimental reverberation thrived in his favour. Your expression of bliss contorted into a visage reminiscent of Sukuna himself, who, too preoccupied with your compliant form, failed to recognise the change, all while he cursed for the umpteenth time. 

An altered doctrine of the rapture had captivated everyone except yourself, all bewitched from guzzling spirituous beverages and content with the temperamental rhapsody, unperturbed by the consequences awaiting their awakening after dutiful slumber.

The formidable intensity persisted in corrupting your sanity as it exerted an immoral weight far exceeding the strength of the muscular frame compressed upon your throbbing chest. The persistent burden extended beyond your auditory perception and stalked your dispersing atoms, merely executing their customary functions, frantic to provide.

You cried out, your disoriented mind prompted your head to nestle firmly against his shoulder as he intentionally withdrew, then reinserted himself gradually, his uncouth ministration provoking your escalation towards release as the electrifying boom outside scraped your ear canals, fusing with the aggressive snap of his hips against yours. 

The complaint concerning your overextended opening (Sukuna had previously manipulated to accommodate his size) ebbed away. The unsettling soundscape, composed of mingling bodies and unintelligible chants, inflicted psychological damage upon your skeletal armour. Each harsh holler of the chorus, unable to be completely blocked by drywall, grated against your joints; jagged spikes in pitch encased your limbs, resembling thorns sprouting from uncultivated vines.

Your wandering hand subconsciously slithered beneath the crinkled pillow, supporting your head’s weight after disembarking from Sukuna’s neck, which was slightly tilted back for comfort in matted linen. You were startled by the graze of four vivid edges and a glossy texture that smooched your fingers, which you instantly deciphered as Polaroid film, undoubtedly capturing Sukuna and another individual.

“Don’t do that again.”

His brazen warning to behave oppressively suffocated your strained gullet, pre-littered with his mouthy violence. Your hiccupped gasp was an acknowledgement of his admonition, securing your dire airway’s liberation from his touch’s constriction as he guided your dainty fingers to entangle with his salmon strands, their spikey nature dampened and slightly slumped with perspiration; an attempt at affection, mediated to disrupt the myriads of realisations dawning upon you concerning other flings.

Sukuna’s rugged palm, gorged with the gluttony of fiddling with women's sensitivity, remained eclipsed atop yours, a particularly harsh yank, of his own accord, twisting his thin lips into a guttural utterance, “Now you do it.” 

Your compliance with his instruction to inflict mild masochism tensed his sinewy stature; with a subtle stammer, you faltered in the face of an impending ivory demise.

Disrupted chords, uniting celebrants to flail their limbs in a tipsy frolic, differed no less than the rapid slaps of Sukuna’s rolling hips, indiscriminately staggering, from the breakthrough appointed between your legs. Your tits, still clothed in the fitted tank, at the cusp of spillage and restrained from bouncing, remained squashed against his expansive chest, which Sukuna internally extolled, the protruding fat jiggling against the hard planes of his pectorals, a newfound delicacy. 

His mouth seamlessly yielded to yours. Instead of vocally expressing that he, too, was near, his sly tongue traced the receptive curve of your lips from one side to the other. His palms pressed against your bruised waist to gain leverage as he generated an impeccable friction, one that would permit you or any other woman to spectate an array of minuscule glints subservient to the selenic sphere they emerged alongside — a metaphoric comparison an individual who genuinely valued your presence would have said, was visible through the aperture of your stygian pupils once gazed into long enough. 

Glitchy beats synchronised with the amalgamation of lecherous ardour, culminating in a cracked sob of his name and the frothy ring fragmenting into delicate strands. Sukuna’s shallow thrusts continued to facilitate his own climax while purging your innermost being, as you persisted in wringing him empty, desensitised to this licentious encounter by the complex instruments you considered merely as a total disruption. 

“Might have to do this again sometime,” Sukuna exhaled heavily, a conspiratorial smirk, chuffed with his performance and your reactions as you, in turn, panted for breath, your chest heaving and vandalised by the corrupted ethics of this night.

“You liked this, you know you did," your sinister reflection stated with conviction, amused as you crumpled under upheaval and inner strife, torn between the desire to persist in engaging with a man under circumstances you typically disapproved of. 

"Not under these pretences, I don’t want him this way!” you bawled in response, the secondary persona mockingly sneering at your distress, as you lamented the compromise of being with your crush; the thunderous bass and subtle cymbals continued to interfere with your internal monologue, blurring your sincerity. 

The sticky appendage of his crude mouth dragged against your jugular, bobbing and still in need of respite.

“Next Friday, you gonna take me as I am?” he teased, with an arched brow and an anticipatory gaze regarding his proposition.

“Then don't have him at all."

This was college, the experience that everyone raved about! You reasoned to yourself, before murmuring the confirmation of your depreciated standards.

“I will.”

a/n I just wanted to write a bit more of a realistic piece where reader is so out of her element and becomes unintentionally hyperaware of it.

© seeingyoumourn no plagiarism, taking inspo or any of that other stuff! divider: @/chrisssiren art cred: @/sukunx.a

[seeingyoumourn]

۪ ✚ ֗┊you wished toji fushiguro would realise there was more to being a father than physical presence and basic provisions, whilst he wished you would realise there was no such thing as leaving him or his kids

sfw, dad! toji x stepmum! reader, reader, major angst, manipulation, guilt tripping, toxic toji, mentions megumi and tsumiki (and their respective mothers), established relationship

➞ ⋆ masterlist

꘩ . WAFTS of familiar citrus overwhelmed your senses; the concentrated yet chemically fresh aroma lingered around your nostrils with each gentle heave of your breath. Slippery fingers once again grasped the curvaceous plastic vessel, its indentations moulded for an easier grip, as you studied yourself, lethargically dribbling the viscous gel over the scrunched scourer in hand.

Immersed in the slippery liquid, coloured an eccentric green that mirrored the scruffy, abrasive composition, it fused into bubbly foam when briefly agitated by the running water you nudged with a bony knuckle. The more water the sponge absorbed, the frothier the washing agent became, as minuscule bubbles overpopulated your hand, your other propping up the last dish to be scrubbed.

“That shit ain’t cheap, ya’know?”

Huh?

Megumi’s Batman-themed bowl shuddered with a resounding CLANG! When the final dish mistakenly evaded your grasp amid an abrupt, disembodied statement. Your gaze remained unmoved, fixated on the scene before you, casting a meaningless glance at the burly man whose gruff voice came from beside you.

Toji had settled his muscular frame into the tight corner of the countertop, a few feet away from you, observing your hushed demeanour with perplexity. His orbs, a colourant intended to enunciate nature’s rebirth, contradicted such a notion, as verdant vines entwined to compose a romantic chorus – once gazed into intently – instead, offered darker fragments portraying the consequences of greenery deprived of handsome nourishment.

You stretched your neck from side to side, once satiated by the visual enrichment, then returned to your prior fixation; indifferent to his unethical, quotidian returns and aware that enquiring could not dispel his recursive tendencies; the cycle was far too prevalent to be broken, so you settled on examining the sudsy border icing the inner edges of the stainless basin, now accompanied by the foamy oblong, disfigured by being squeezed far too tightly.

Despite the last plate being pristine and the cartoon imprint slightly blanching, you instinctively found yourself cleaning it again, which drew an exasperated sigh from your partner and emphasis on his brief examination, “It’s clean, doll.”

Toji’s steps were heavy and pronounced, despite having shed his bulky footwear long ago. The soles of his bulky steps mistook the heat of the threadbare carpets for a sacred footpath in an exquisite garden, homing spring's blossomed children whose delicate petals billowed gaily before reaching you, in that world a deific centrepiece deserving of eternal praise – unaware that the shabby flooring actually barred the swelling flames, increasing in temperature with every remorseless trod of his addiction he trampled in. 

He minimised the (already short) distance and approached you with purpose, trying to prise your hands away from your chore and place the final piece on the overcrowded drying rack. You halted him, doubting his competence to avoid ruining the carefully assembled yet slightly crooked tower of assorted washed items. 

He sported an offended squint, his sculpted nose wrinkling in incredulous disbelief, whilst you gingerly set the bowl atop the strategically placed medley of dishes. “What? Don’t trust me to set a bowl down?”

You hummed in response rather than formulating an answer, unwavering in the face of his disgruntlement.

“Kids ‘sleep?” he enquired after a beat of pregnant pause, anticipating that the shift towards the children would prompt you to vocalise an actual answer in this one-sided conversation.

As if he genuinely cared about their schedules anymore. He was only ever concerned with the basic structure, appointing himself a break from the children he had only partially acquainted himself with, instead praising his own neglectful tendencies by being swindled by the thrill of impossible victory, his own offspring pawned off to you to raise whilst he carelessly pursued monetised ruination. 

Biological relation triumphantly distinguished itself from paternity; you considered Megumi and Tsumiki your own, regardless of their respective mothers. The two children had been tucked in hours earlier, their final moments marked by a tender kiss on their heads and fairy tales narrated to ease them into a mythical timeline within their own consciousness, requesting their father’s presence, only to be solemnly informed for the umpteenth time that their dad wouldn’t be joining bedtime. 

In a somewhat cruel way, you occasionally reassured yourself that the two women previously mentioned had been relieved of their nurturing responsibilities because the omniscient entity recognised that neither was sufficiently resilient to bear the burden of Toji Fushiguro. However, reality undermined your hypothesis and your attempt to rationalise his shortcomings as a father, because if any of that were genuinely true, he would have shown you the same respect he showed towards them, both as a partner and a maternal figure. 

Toji was promptly agitated by your nonchalance, as your focus shifted once again to the empty sink, albeit wearily, without acknowledging him. This, in turn, allowed him to shadow you, peering over your shoulder to observe your peculiar fascination with vacancy. 

He noted that your empty hands remained limp, yet your dainty fingers were deeply wrinkled and pruned, as if from prolonged immersion in water; the smooth surface had shrivelled from excessive moisture, and he momentarily pondered how long you’d been stationed here, idly washing up or drifting into a blank headspace. 

He arched a thin brow, his suppressed lips and rigid scar twitching involuntarily at the corners as he attempted to assess the abnormal paranoia that had taken you hostage, as if you had become completely desensitised to his presence. He noted that you had neither accounted for his sneaky return nor attempted to scold him (not that it affected him, as it went through one ear and out the other), but the poise in your dominance was endearing when you did, regardless. 

“Well…” He began, his calloused palms, once ingrained with the appreciated labour of a hardworking father and partner, now tarnished with the slimy plastic of playing cards and meaningless gambles, resting on your plush hips, his audacity to do so somewhat disparaging to your worth.

“The brats seem to be dead asleep. I say we make the most of it while the night’s still young.” His parted lips unveiled his brutal canines, which underscored his guileful nature. His low-toned murmur feathered the side of your head as he merely towered over you.

“…Leaving” was all he heard you mumble incoherently, and he shook his head in denial, as if he’d imagined it. The rough grip on your hips jerked away, hovering above its former position.

“What’s that, sweetheart?”

“I’m leaving,” you declared assertively, melancholy evident beneath your words, yet still unable to look him in the eye as you announced your intention to be absent.

A brief hitch in his breath, tempered by your ear canals, the rest of the cartilage warm from his physical proximity and the tense atmosphere, before Toji derided your credence in withdrawing from this family you’d adopted as yours.

“Yeah, alright, no need to be rash all of a sudden,”

He inhaled sharply after his futile attempt to reason, as you refused to shift even slightly to reveal your emotions or expression. Consequently, he held back from trying to discern your current state, content with the close proximity between you both and letting the conversation unfold on your terms until he could manoeuvre the ball back into his court.

“Tell me, what’s this really about?” He beckoned behind you, the deploration heavy as you pursed your lips, suddenly reminded of the two upstairs, unaware of your final fractions of sanity.

“And look me in the eyes when you do, yeah?” he subtly snubbed you, a brow quirked, his expansive palm unceremoniously yanking your chin to finally regard his presence, drawing a stifled gasp and cruelly squishing your cheeks together – as if to certify that his fingerprints had imprinted his exclusive DNA on the flustered flesh of your visage, unsurprisingly a beguiling sight for a depraved man such as himself; your words, prepared to enlighten him, seized and incomprehensible. 

“Just talk to me already, dammit.” He commanded in a rough tenderness despite his tough exterior; one you typically savoured and appreciated for the sentiment, yet couldn’t under this pretence, whilst he sincerely yearned to reverse your announcement, relenting his rugged contact with your ruffled expression, which restored its earlier direction: forward.

A struggling gulp poked your wary visage upwards, partially fulfilling his request; your sight annexed to the translucent reflection in the dingy window (prettied by Tsumiki’s fragile daisies), dimming his unpledged emotions and exhibiting both your reflections instead of offering an escapade.

“The kids deserve a mother confident in their father,” revealed your forlornness.

“Is that so?” he grunted, unimpressed by what he coined as bullshit you’d spouted, despite the query regarding the initiation to brew such a distasteful conclusion being defied by your silence – preconscious of his flaws without them needing to be verbally listed. 

“Sayin’ you’re not confident in me?”

His gruff chuckle indicated that he perceived your admission as a mere misunderstanding. The brawny brute pressed his broad chest against your back; his muscular front, blemished with meek violet bruises retentive of his fleshy canvas from your intimate encounter the previous night, was concealed beneath his shirt, which was imbued with the faint yet persistent odour of insidious cigarette fumes. Before his chin settled at the junction between your hickey-adorned neck and shoulder, no apparel could obscure from prying eyes. 

Beefy digits deliberately caressed the small swell sheltering your uterus through the thin cotton. Wirey veins in your neck were distinct, suppressed aversion evident, as his limp, inky tresses and pointed nose roughly smothered themselves against your craned refuge, peeling his cunning persona from concealment afterwards; both parties observing the silvery sphere, associated with historic televised landings, and it’s strategic glints accentuate the faucet before Toji unfeignedly leered through the glass panel before them.

“What’s this for then, hm?” he implored sensuously, his tone dropping and, unfortunately, titillating to your traitorous hearing, pliant when addressed with beguiling tonality.

"No one is ever cut out to be a mother; they grow into it, Doll.” He reassured you, his tantalising persuasion tickling your jouncing jugular.

“She was, that’s why you respected her as one.” He predictably stiffened at the impudent reference to his deceased wife (his second spouse, more-so a financial remedy), whilst you, unsurprisingly, were indignant at the contradictory treatment, followed by a doleful whisper yearning to be proven. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

Toji refrained from denying such an accusation while concurrently failing to offer any assurance of validation and just recognition.  

“You think abandonment’s going to be the solution? Gee, I ought to thank you for their future therapy bills,” he scoffed, the scorn about your resolve muffled against your shoulder blade, that homed his tattered tee, whereby inspiring synthetic zest infiltrated his expanding airways.

His deplorable comprehension of a plea remained efficacious, although you coldly twisted around in his cliched confinement; the hypocrisy he sprouted was idiotic, as if his physical presence expiated for the mental lack thereof

Toji attained a mug you’d left aside whilst despondent, mulling over the delivery of your newsbreak, and wove his grasp between yours, his audacious palms annexing the backs of yours by caressing your softer skin and tickling your bony knuckles, positioning the ceramic sideways whilst he guided your free hand to grab the sponge once more.

He squirted a stingy dollop, remerging with a lathered sponge before tentatively twisting the apparatus in a circular motion, ensuring complete coverage of the entire radius and any residual coffee granules, now dried sludge encircling the bottom rim; conscious of our entrancement with the synchronised choreography as the soap transitioned, devoid of frothy agitation, into an undisturbed stream. 

He placed the mug atop two stainless steel pots, offering balance. A sigh of relief escaped both of you as your hands withdrew.

Both of you recognised that the structure was on the brink of collapse, yet consciously chose not to comment on its condition, for the sake of your sanity and to prevent the need to reorganise the entire stack from the beginning, as the situation mirrored the dilemma faced by the family you consider your own.

The scenario resembled a block-stacking game and a mundane task, a dysfunctional yet ongoing tournament, despite the awareness that the structure would eventually topple. For now, however, it was deemed preferable to leave the structure undisturbed and to refrain from interference. 

“You make it work,” he permitted an effective pause and corrected himself, “we make it work.”

You murmured, eyeing the Jenga of dishes overbrimming the rack, all while intertwined, per Toji’s choice, as he refused to retract

“I can’t keep pretending I’m okay with this-”

He pressed his scarred lips to your hollow cheek.

“Then lie. Tell yourself you are.”

...

Okay.

a/n although I believe toji would be a great father, I’ve always wanted to write him in a different light for the sake of loving angst hehe

© seeingyoumourn no plagiarism, taking inspo or any of that other stuff! divider: @/chrisssiren art cred: @/Sally_Chang_III

[seeingyoumourn]

۪ ✚ ֗┊of course gojo satoru wasn't a ghoul, but you were, and cosplaying as a human could only last so long

sfw, gojo x ghoul! reader (Tokyo Ghoul inspired/chase atlantic 'consume'), descriptions of gore, angst/no comfort

➞ ⋆ masterlist

꘩ . SATORU was no oblivious citizen regarding the other species living amongst the human race, specifically, ghouls.

Carmine tainted your canines, metallic infiltrating your eager taste buds that clung to the few remains of his pancreas before finally allowing the bumpy delicacy to traipse down your throat. Your tongue was saturated with a mix of both saliva and blood, the appendage tarnished by the unfortunate indulgence of a cannibalistic diet.

“I’m sorry…” You whispered, sitting prettily beside an extremely slouched Satoru who weakly shook his head, managing, albeit sluggishly, to shove a cascading strand behind your reddened ear with a faint yet endearing grin before warily glancing down at his punctured abdomen - his pristine shirt cautiously torn and circling the gaping gash, now an entrance to the contents of her diabolical feast.

“You tried for me, and that’s more than enough.” He sputtered, azure irises once brimmed with exuberance now dampened by the loss of blood, the shadow of his limp arctic strands, and a smidgen of injustice regarding their last moments together.

Essential body parts of his were either devoured or waiting to be. Satoru could almost imagine cavities budding within your mouth, the more of his body you digested; despairingly gnawing on the flesh remnants of your lover, as you finally caved into hunger’s beckon; your patience rewarded with the offer of his organs, which was a stake he insisted she claimed.

He witnessed the faint lick of your lips, stygian pupils deluged with a metabolism revived and urging you to dine more once granted permission by him to “commit the deed”.

You wiped at your mouth with the back of your hand; gore smudged outside the perimeters of your pouty lips, which trembled; your appetite coming to be replenished, but loving him the opposite.

Satoru tiredly smiled despite the grimy brick wall of an abandoned alley and its gritty surface repugnantly stroking his undercut before his head began to loll forwards - but not before a shaky thumb warmly swept against the rouge smothered across the lower half of your visage – the view confirming the stigma around those lacklustre of remorse and restraint; all stereotypes around your kind you so direly attempted to refrain from falling into.

Your vision twinged with a moist blur, noting his consciousness decrease, which you yearned to prolong however sufficed by cradling his limp hand against your cheek defaced with your boyfriend’s remains.

It’s not right, It’s not fair.

© seeingyoumourn no plagiarism, taking inspo or any of that other stuff! divider: @/chrisssiren

[seeingyoumourn]

֗  ۪ ✚ ֗ raising children had always been the final key to completing your and your husband, higuruma hiromi's, family plans. But once that was endangered, so was the promise ‘till death do us part’.

sfw, higuruma x reader, angst/no comfort

➞ ⋆ masterlist

꘩ . THROUGHOUT your childhood, timidity and the repression of vocalising your perspective were the absolute antonyms to your nature, duelling with both introversion and Japan’s expectation of ladies to bloom with traditional reticence – much to your mother’s dismay, who always commented you would be a great lawyer.

At the time, such words, insinuating a career pledged to fulfil justice, inflated your pride, unaware that the sequence of verbal kindness you’d embraced internally implied the contrary; her acknowledgement disguised her reproach for your incompetence in blindly agreeing with her 

Overall, it served as a critique of your capacity to challenge her viewpoint; nevertheless, the memory of her insincere commendation remained, a recollection you stowed in your mind, regimented with theories and schemes – solely because your only reply was that she had yet to encounter your husband and that you finally agreed on something regarding lawyers.

“I just don’t think it’s right to bring children into a world like this.”

An anchor of guilt rendered your stance immobile, uncertain of your privilege to reach for the man you had knowingly disheartened and stupefied by ultimately thwarting the final stage of domestic completion.

“I know that’s what we envisioned for our future,” you subconsciously cradled the slight pouch of your clothed stomach, currently vacant of an evolving foetus, but intended to one day nurture the infants he envisioned would waddle idly across the hallways, cling obstinately to his leg before he bade them well for work, and, most importantly, be the synthesis of both him and the only woman he adored. 

Consequently, Higuruma expressed his disapproval of your body’s distance and of the small space he designated as barren; your hesitant disclosure severed a fissure in sacred vows that had previously sanctified the notion that marital union equated to a single entity. 

Despite the series of gestures revealing his inner turmoil, as the pinch of his hooked and prominent nose bridge had not gone unnoticed, accompanied by his exasperated sigh and taut knots squatting between his joints.

Higuruma’s extensive palms remain calloused from the intricate verses of social progression. Within palmistry, the linear, nanoscopic, and winding etches imbue all ratio-decidendi permanently saturated beneath the flesh, and responsible for integrating binding authority in the present day.

His rugged fingers, incised with scabbed crimson, sought solace upon your loosely crossed arms, softly circled his thumb atop the smooth exterior, and then drew you nearer with a gentle tug on your elbows.  

A subtle sigh pried his taupe mouth apart. “Sweetheart, you and I both know the world will always spin on its axis through both corruption and triumph, and when my children grace it, it’ll be me protecting them amidst it all.”

Indeed, when did the obligation to fulfil a civic duty become conditional upon the absence of procreation in a world renowned for constant misunderstandings – as if an awareness of the world's imperfections had not existed from the get go? 

The temptation to ask him whether you were wrong in this matter refused to materialise, your resolve practically adamant in the refuge of your parched throat, especially as his answer, curated and perfect in reassurance, offered you no such benefit, and your airy scoff belittled his response as he added, ‘you’ve always wanted children, we’ve always wanted children.’

Higuruma Hiromi was both a lawyer and a devoted husband; if questioned which role took precedence, it would be revealed that it depended solely on whether victory was essential in the matter. 

Your imposing pout endured, accompanied by a dismayed shake of your head. “You can’t protect them from everything, Hiromi," you lamented, the surge of realisation presenting a considerable challenge to convey to your husband. “I wish you could, but curses exist, as do vile humans, and our children aren’t a case. Safety and children have never truly co-existed on this planet.” You whispered solemnly.

His avoidance of a response cast doubt on your capacity to anticipate his verdict, as hope chastised the persistent hum resonating within your stagnant figure’s interior.

“So,” you inevitably swallowed, “you can call me selfish all you want..." Your speech, usually mellow and complementary with the measured stentorian of Higuruma’s own, wobbled.

The mental supplication he comprehended your opposing view as selfless, and the genuine expression of maternal love and protection persisted, as the ongoing silence and absence of words from your partner heightened your anxiety. 

The momentary period, which one in your position might have perceived as an eternity, was brought to an end with his low murmur. Your dishevelled head was nestled beneath his stubbled chin, while his fingers loosely wove between yours, not committed to completely entwining.

Meanwhile, his courageous thumb caressing the carats that embellished your fourth digit (and certified your wedded status) unexpectedly began wiggling your band off - much to your bemusement.

“You’re right,”

With Higuruma Hiromi, relief was brief, you realised.

“You are selfish.”.

a/n yayy finally wrote something new rather than transferring my works

© seeingyoumourn no plagiarism, taking inspo or any of that other stuff! divider: @/chrisssiren

[seeingyoumourn]

۪ ✚ ֗┊so nanami kento couldn't wait to see his soon-to-be wife on their wedding day, sue him.

sfw, nanami x fem! reader

➞ ⋆ masterlist

꘩ . NANAMI'S temporary silence humoured you.

“It’s bad luck to see me before the wedding.” You softly mused.

The man in question remained remorseless.

His soul, nestled in tradition, which would typically have reeled back in disbelief, succumbed to his unusual impatience and pardoned his decision to dishonour decade-old customs.

His heart was soon to be legally roped by an endless scripture inscribed with not only his consent to this union, but with cursive letters strung to formulate paragraphs brimmed with gratification for the day he was to settle another diamond atop your fourth finger, which was finally today.

As your palms manoeuvred south, soothing over the chapels of his exquisite suit of identical textiles, his organ restrained beneath the ensemble of his wedding attire, gently thrummed, reciprocal of your touch as your dainty hands rested a few centimetres above his pectorals

“I’m aware, Love,” he expressed lowly, hazel eyes strewn from a melodic harp’s chords, studying the orbs, still somewhat surprised he had wandered away from his station, which was to be at the end of the altar, awaiting your presence.

Nanami’s own hand placement remained stitched to your hip, savouring the blanche lace tailored to snugly sculpt your heavenly silhouette and the stark contrast of the vintage-esque fabric enticing the calloused landscape of a working man.

Shame almost derided him, and the slight discomfort stirring in his lower half, as, in a couple of hours, he anticipated the gown's cloth balled within his grasp: the semblance of chaste caressing his thick digits (which had failed to remain as such) a divine vision.

The opulent fabric was a mere distraction by cloaking practice vows his ardent mouth had smooched against your body during your sexual rendezvous as boyfriend and girlfriend. Every amorous advancement was instead a bout of devotion he murmured against your soft flesh that permeated beneath your skeletal protection, garnering a shudder, a delicate moan, or both.

"Oh, Kento..." You tsked teasingly, rolling your eyes to disguise the warmth whenever he spurred flattery onto you - his romantic tendencies constantly heartening

As you subconsciously nabbed at the navy handkerchief peeking out his breast pocket, you chuckled to herself, visualising Nanami plucking the neatly folded material from its suffocating confines to dab dry the prick of a stream nourishing his waterline whilst witnessing your poised figure leisurely unite with his embrace, the bob of his Adam’s apple a hefty gulp of finality you was to be his under legal pretences, a long-awaited moment and insinuation no man beside himself could sincerely or even attempt to state you was theirs. 

Alternatively, Nanami noted the minuscule embellishments of priceless pearls adorning your customised gown, and the semi-extensive width of fragile tulle delicately draped atop your head, paired to complete your wedding look.

He reached behind your head, stepping back once he had acquired the matrimonial headpiece. The bulky clock, settled behind you, which had scrutinised Nanami's pace and urged both of you to respect the allotted time slot for this venue and the guests’ effort in reaching here on time, surprisingly paused.

The clock’s lanky arms softened, hesitating by a mere second to witness the intimate ceremony between the pair before strutting on to be observed by a swarm of onlookers.

Your vision became obscured by ivory netting, mascara-coated lashes tickling against the diaphanous veil that now vaguely concealed your beguiling portrait.

In return for Nanami's gesture, you lifted your gaze onto the man you would meet once more in a few minutes to officiate your companionship.

“Forgive me, dear,” Nanami spoke, seeking remission, although his expression of adoration illustrated he didn’t quite care whether his repentance was acknowledged.

“I just couldn’t help myself.”.

© seeingyoumourn no plagiarism, taking inspo or any of that other stuff! divider: @/chrisssiren

[seeingyoumourn]

۪ ✚ ֗┊so nanami kento couldn't wait to see his soon-to-be wife on their wedding day, sue him.

sfw, nanami x fem! reader

➞ ⋆ masterlist

꘩ . NANAMI'S temporary silence humoured you.

“It’s bad luck to see me before the wedding.” You softly mused.

The man in question remained remorseless.

His soul, nestled in tradition, which would typically have reeled back in disbelief, succumbed to his unusual impatience and pardoned his decision to dishonour decade-old customs.

His heart was soon to be legally roped by an endless scripture inscribed with not only his consent to this union, but with cursive letters strung to formulate paragraphs brimmed with gratification for the day he was to settle another diamond atop your fourth finger, which was finally today.

As your palms manoeuvred south, soothing over the chapels of his exquisite suit of identical textiles, his organ restrained beneath the ensemble of his wedding attire, gently thrummed, reciprocal of your touch as your dainty hands rested a few centimetres above his pectorals

“I’m aware, Love,” he expressed lowly, hazel eyes strewn from a melodic harp’s chords, studying the orbs, still somewhat surprised he had wandered away from his station, which was to be at the end of the altar, awaiting your presence.

Nanami’s own hand placement remained stitched to your hip, savouring the blanche lace tailored to snugly sculpt your heavenly silhouette and the stark contrast of the vintage-esque fabric enticing the calloused landscape of a working man.

Shame almost derided him, and the slight discomfort stirring in his lower half, as, in a couple of hours, he anticipated the gown's cloth balled within his grasp: the semblance of chaste caressing his thick digits (which had failed to remain as such) a divine vision.

The opulent fabric was a mere distraction by cloaking practice vows his ardent mouth had smooched against your body during your sexual rendezvous as boyfriend and girlfriend. Every amorous advancement was instead a bout of devotion he murmured against your soft flesh that permeated beneath your skeletal protection, garnering a shudder, a delicate moan, or both.

"Oh, Kento..." You tsked teasingly, rolling your eyes to disguise the warmth whenever he spurred flattery onto you - his romantic tendencies constantly heartening

As you subconsciously nabbed at the navy handkerchief peeking out his breast pocket, you chuckled to herself, visualising Nanami plucking the neatly folded material from its suffocating confines to dab dry the prick of a stream nourishing his waterline whilst witnessing your poised figure leisurely unite with his embrace, the bob of his Adam’s apple a hefty gulp of finality you was to be his under legal pretences, a long-awaited moment and insinuation no man beside himself could sincerely or even attempt to state you was theirs. 

Alternatively, Nanami noted the minuscule embellishments of priceless pearls adorning your customised gown, and the semi-extensive width of fragile tulle delicately draped atop your head, paired to complete your wedding look.

He reached behind your head, stepping back once he had acquired the matrimonial headpiece. The bulky clock, settled behind you, which had scrutinised Nanami's pace and urged both of you to respect the allotted time slot for this venue and the guests’ effort in reaching here on time, surprisingly paused.

The clock’s lanky arms softened, hesitating by a mere second to witness the intimate ceremony between the pair before strutting on to be observed by a swarm of onlookers.

Your vision became obscured by ivory netting, mascara-coated lashes tickling against the diaphanous veil that now vaguely concealed your beguiling portrait.

In return for Nanami's gesture, you lifted your gaze onto the man you would meet once more in a few minutes to officiate your companionship.

“Forgive me, dear,” Nanami spoke, seeking remission, although his expression of adoration illustrated he didn’t quite care whether his repentance was acknowledged.

“I just couldn’t help myself.”.

© seeingyoumourn no plagiarism, taking inspo or any of that other stuff! divider: @/chrisssiren