(IMAGE IS NOT MINE CREDIT GOES TO OWNER I JUST DIDN'T HAVE ANY HEADERS SAVED!!!! ⚠️)
(IMAGE IS NOT MINE CREDIT GOES TO OWNER I JUST DIDN'T HAVE ANY HEADERS SAVED!!!! ⚠️)
Welcome to the Tavern, Take a seat°
About Me: Side:selimunfridhirako
MINORS DNI • ASK BOX{OPEN} •SFW/NSFW•Not Spoiler Free. JJK x Demon Slayer x One Piece x DMC Blog
If you don't want to read all opening info feel free to skip!! All works are at the bottom
♡Tara, 28 ♌️, minors DNI. They/her pronouns, witchy vibes 🧙, anime, horror, monster fucker & Music lover 🎶 Melancholic
♡Fur and fish baby through and through
♡Three orange babies, Oliver Chunks, GoldieBoy, and Samantha. And an Australian Shepherd named Mathias.
♡6 goldfish named Shanks, Buggy, Freddy, Oreo, Koby, Callie. And two Betas Named Lestat and Hellboy.
♡I have five tattoos! A Xenomorph Sleeve with Predator (still not done yet). A gladiolus flower on the other arm for Chester Bennington. A triqetra on my left ankle, and three horned triskelion on my right breast, and a rose tattoo on my back.
♡I own a 2014 Ford Focus painted like Neelas car from F&F Tokyo Drift. Hehe
♡I'm a fucking sucker for Lovecraftian horror and witch books. Have a mini library full of books of different genres. From non-fiction to Alchemy books.
♡I am a first-time homeowner, and my parents and sister live with me. I also am taking care of my mother, for she is in renal failure, so some writing prompts will take a little while before being posted. So apologies in advance. This masterlist was made on my phone !! So apologies if it's not super esthetically pleasing for the time being.
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What my Blog contains and Rules:
My blog has a little bit of everything posted on it. But this masterlist will have all the writing prompts here in one place for easy find.
Also Contains NSFW and SFW elements and some Dark Content as well.
Any and all NSFW posts will be tagged as such and I do ask that NO MINORS interact.
My blog is not Spoiler free on any media I'm fixated on
Current fixations are One Piece, DMC plus DMC Netflix, and 07' Anime content. Demon Slayer, Jujutsu Kaisen ( haitus), My Hero Academia (Haitus), Haikyuu, and Bleach.
I also post some form of politics on this blog but dont hardly ever, for this blog is strictly for my fantasies and relaxation.
I will not answer any asks that are asking for donations, for I don't have any money, and the money I do get goes to keeping a roof over my family and I's heads.
Any bullshit 💯 will be ignored. You can try and troll me in anon and comments. But you will be swiftly blocked 🚫. I am almost 30 and don't give two bucks about your drama and need for validation
This is a SELF-SHIP AND X READER BLOG. DO NOT INTERACT. If that's not your cup of tea.
Please be kind and understand that there is a real. Living breathing person behind the screen who is also dealing with bad shit all the time. You treat me with respect, and I will return the kindness TENFOLD. I don't like being mean, but I feel setting this boundary will protect the visitors, my mutuals, and myself.
Otherwise, please feel free to enjoy this blog!
I love interaction!! My DMs and Anons are open, so don't be shy !!! if you want to chat about anything and everything or discuss headcanons, stories, self shipping, or OC x Canon content. Please feel free, too !!!
I can take requests. I just ask for patience 😌
Story Works:
This is a list of stories I have written or on going or completed. This is just the list. It'll take me some time to add the links to each writing prompt because I'm doing all of this on mobile and Secondly I don't have internet (my internet company sucks ass atm) as soon as I have Hotspot or internet back I will get on my laptop and add the links to the works for easier enjoyment! For now. This is just the list of what I've worked on thus far. Self ship and oc x Canon will have its own list. Whereas Canon X reader will have a separate list. Trust that the links will be added soon!! Thank you!!
EDITED Thursday, June 19th, 2025***** MASTERLIST HAS COMPLETED WORKS AND LINKS NOW****
Dante (This can refer to any version of Dante. But for my self ship and oc x Dante. They will be written for Dmc 5 Dante.) :
Dante X Oc/Self-ship: shipname Daelim
Dante x Selim General Relationship prompt
Dante x Selim Headcanons
Dante x Selim Prompt How we comfort each other
Dante x Reader:
Relationship Headcanon W Dante Feat Disney
Sabo (One Piece) :
Sabo x Oc/Self-ship: Shipname SeaBo
Sabo x Selim Birthday kisses and wishes One-Shot
Sabo x Reader:
Trafalgar Law x Reader:
Watching Grey's Anatomy together
Law only has eyes for you
Porco Galliard (Attack On Titan) :
Porco x Reader:
Porco x Oc/Self-ship:
Gyutaro (Demon Slayer) :
Gyutaro x Reader:
Adoring His Spots/Slight nsfw
Adoring his Spots Part 2 coming soon
Modern AU Relationship Headcanons
Gyutaro x Oc/Self-ship:
Bleach :
Shinji Hirako x Reader Relationship Headcanons
Shinji Hirako x Reader Fic The First Date
Shinji Hirakos Message to his fans
My Hero Academia :
Shigaraki x Reader Fic A Want Just Enough to Grasp?
Shigaraki x OC Angst One-shot
Dabi catches a PLF member being a creep to Reader
Rough Sex with Dabi
TetsuTetsu x Reader Fic Workout Interrupted NSFW
Hawks x Reader Fic Human Anatomy nsfw
Katsuki Bakugo x Reader Whose an Artist
Jin bubaigawara Headcanons
Chrono NSFW and SFW Headcanons
FatGum with a Quirkless S/O
Hanta Sero Selfship Headcanons
Shiagraki with an Innocent S/O
Sen Kaibara and Kosei with a Strong S/O
Shihai Kuroiro x Reader Love Triangle
Shihai Kuroiro x Reader Love Triangle Part two coming soon
"like spam and I'll block you" you people are weak. There's nothing more flattering than waking up to a bunch of likes on your fics from the same person. I hope you enjoyed your 3am fic reading time, pal, we've all been there. I'm honored I was chosen.
the world's smallest carnivore is called the "least weasel" 😭😭 i'm dying but like if it's the smallest carnivore then it sure is the least amount of weasel you can have 😭😭😭
i know folks are gonna call me a pedo for this one, but i grew up seeing my mom and grandma naked. they had health issues and at times needed care and help showering. and i truly think more kids need to be shown the nonsexual reality of naked women at a young age. there is nothing sexual about my grandmothers breasts, they were simply body parts. more women die of heart attacks because people are too afraid of breasts to do real chest compressions, because they are scared to touch their breasts. the sexualization of our bodies literally kills us. i need people to be more normal about naked bodies and i'm 100% serious.
Synopsis: After a lifetime of believing you are meant to be alone, Kento swoops in, ready to love you when you least expect it.
to sum it up: kento heals years of mistrust just by being himself
WC: 5,499
Warning(s): a little angst in there but it's mostly fluff
You always told yourself that you'd never turn into your mother.
The constant overextending. The subconscious, trauma-induced emotional manipulation. The sheer weight of her feelings that she never allowed herself to bear alone, always with the help of her daughter who carried the weight of her unhealed grievances on her growing back.
Your mother was emotional. Empathetic in that way that makes one feel suffocated, her emotions inescapable. Impossible to avoid feeling, and impossible to avoid projecting. How else is one woman meant to go on with the burden of such intensity all on her own? Someone had to act as a buffer, to shoulder it all, to take the heat of the manifestations of her haunting past.
She gave you better than what she had, but still inflicted damage nonetheless. You figure now, in your older age, that is the very curse of cycles and generational patterns. The inheritance is inevitable.
And growing up overly conscious of error, oppressed verbally, and trained to bear the plights of other people, you turned your nose away from any notion of vulnerability, and any possibility of you taking on your mother's flawed behaviors.
I'd never treat my kid this way, you would tell yourself, holed up in your closet with your face burrowed in your arms, tears streaking down your heated face as your mind replayed the accusations of disrespect and the belittling of your character for expressing opposing opinions. I never want to be like this.
For a while, you think swearing by this oath will work some kind of magic on you, wipe away your genes, and free you of all the memories and experiences you have with overpowering emotion, with your mother.
You think that when you fly the coop, you'll get a clean slate.
But suppression only leads to explosion.
You hide away behind a wall of toughness, as you've long struggled with letting people in, with letting them see the real you for fear of their judgment. Every time anyone has ever managed to peel away at the layers and expose the truth in your unsaid thoughts and your overthinking tendencies, they villainized you.
You've accepted a lot of bullshit in your early years, thanks to the skillful way your mother formed you into a durable doormat for others to stamp their complaints into. Boys guilting you into having sex, expressing insecure possession - declaring you too friendly, uncaring, rude for speaking your mind.
Excessive blame for things outside of your control, lies about secret attraction toward friends, forcing you to drive everywhere, to pay, to be at their beck and call but not to bother them while they're occupied.
Lack of communication. Hours into days without texts. Weaponized incompetence. Never thinking to hold the door, never cleaning you up after sex, gaslighting, lusting, preying.
And they were never like that in the beginning. Always scheming, always putting on a mask to be able to say that they could obtain you, a prize, then letting it drop once you were within their grasp.
Disheartened by betrayal, tolerance worn thinner with each disappointment, the very worst act upon your tender heart. You crumble, you burst, you pour out the years of pent up anguish. Every moment you've held onto when you felt belittled, or ignored, or unseen by those you've trusted rockets from your chest into a spew of heavy, harmful truths that sever the connection between yourself and others.
In moments of unreciprocated action and the antagonization of your pleading words, you step outside of your body to look down upon yourself - you realize that you aren't much different from your mother.
Overexplaining, pleading with someone to hear you though they can not provide the things you need, to understand your pain, to feel the sorrows you feel every day. You've begged for someone to lean on. Someone who can handle knowing you, who can learn about you without tilting his head and saying that your emotions are...
A lot.
But that someone has yet to come.
You recall telling your mother the same thing in your early college years, when you finally worked up the courage to advocate for yourself. To fight back. To create a sense of self separate from hers.
You shiver at the comparison. Kids really are doomed to be their parents from birth. You know, now, that there is no escaping it.
You aren't good with friendships. You're horrible with relationships. You don't trust others with your love, with your whole self. You've only ever truly felt safe within your own mind, where no one else can harm you. Where you can't harm anyone else.
You tell yourself that you don't mind being single. In fact, you're better off. You have more room to develop yourself, to work toward your goals, build upon your career, nurture yourself in a way that you know you can't when you are in love and consequently overextending.
You try to push down the feelings of loneliness that often consume you when you see a happy couple walking by. You ignore the longing, the desire to be seen and loved in such a way by someone other than yourself. You convince yourself that it will never come, so you don't wait for it. You push on and try to forget.
Then, you meet Nanami completely by accident.
You're having a particularly unpleasant day, and after your shift, you decide to treat yourself to a fresh baked pastry to soothe your troubles and consequently destroy the diet you've put yourself on.
You're in front of the line, scanning the assortment of baked goods, and you finally decide on a tea and a chocolate croissant half the size of your head that's been calling your name. The lady behind the counter smiles politely and tells you the total you owe. When you reach for your purse, however, you realize that it is not on your person, but recall that it is lodged under the passenger seat of your car, after you'd tossed it off of you upon leaving work.
Embarrassed and annoyed, you sigh heavily and close your eyes. "I'm so sorry. I - forgot my wallet in my car. I'll be right back to go get it."
Before you can turn to go, someone walks up to the counter beside you. You think, at first, that he is rushing you, so you shoot him a hard glare, but instead, you are met with the side profile of quite a handsome man, tired and softspoken as he interjects.
"No need," he starts, voice formal and low with fatigue. He slots his fingers through his wallet calmly, clad in a grey work suit that brings out the soft yellow color of his blonde, fluffy hair. "I'll cover hers as well as mine."
You freeze, face falling with shock. "Oh god, don't do that," you step toward him again, reaching your hands out as if you can stop him, but he's already handing the lady a couple of bills as he recites to her an order that she seems to be all too accustomed with.
He turns to look down at you with the kindest chocolate eyes. "I assure you. It's not a problem."
"Really, though, my wallet's only a few steps away. I'd hate for you to pay for something I can easily take care of."
"Perhaps, but then you'd have to wait in line all over again. I figure this is more convenient," he explains simply, and you furrow your brows with a blink. The lady behind the counter darts her eyes between the two of you, hesitantly reaching for the money that is still extended toward her, unsure of what the consensus is.
"Sir, please," you chuckle awkwardly. "You're... too kind, but I can pay for myself."
"I insist."
"No, I insist. You don't even know me."
"I hardly think that matters."
"But-"
"Girl, just let the man pay! Damn."
Both of your heads swivel to the older woman behind you, her hand propped on her hip with a sour impatience scribbled onto her wrinkled face. Your brow twitches, and you turn to look up at the stranger beside you and catch the ghosting smile that graces his exhausted, pretty features.
You open your mouth to protest, but then consider the long line behind you, and deflate. "Okay fine." You nod toward the lady at the counter who finally takes the man's money.
She grins, counting the bills then putting them into the register. "We'll have your orders out shortly. Thank you! See you at the end of the week, Nanami!"
You step to the side as the man who paid for you nods into the woman's direction with appreciation and familiarity, before stepping to the side along with you.
The two of you stand next to each other awkwardly, your arms folded over your chest, and you clear your throat. "Thank you," you manage.
The man shakes his head. "Don't. Really. It was my pleasure."
"Still, you didn't have to do that. It's not like I forgot my money at home."
"I was happy to. Regardless." You slim your eyes with skepticism, unsure of his angle. He seems to catch your suspicion with a soft chuckle, as he proceeds to ask, "I take it you don't believe me."
Slightly taken by his forwardness, you stumble to explain. "It's not that I don't believe you, I just don't really get... why?" you shrug, smiling awkwardly with your teeth.
The handsome blonde ponders you thoughtfully. "Does there have to be a reason other than me wanting to?"
"No one ever wants to cover someone else," you wave him off.
"I just did."
Your mouth curves up. "Out of obligation."
"Because I wanted to," he corrects you for the third time.
You press your lips together tightly, and he chuckles something light and unexpected. "Are you laughing at me?" you quirk a brow.
"No."
Your eyes slim. "Liar."
The handsome man shakes his head, a smile line creasing over his warm skin. Tired eyes blink before landing back on you out of the corner of his eye. "Not at all," he says earnestly.
You look away. So does he.
You find yourself unsure of what more to say, so you let more awkward silence fill the small space between you as the cramped bakery grows busier. You tap your foot against the floor as you wait, and the man named Nanami checks his watch multiple times. You're keenly aware of his presence beside you. You try not to let it further bother you.
It shouldn't bother you, but the excited flutter of your heart proves otherwise, though you endeavor to ignore it and brush it off as nerves.
The call of your name soon comes, and your brows furrow as you and the blonde stranger move to grab your order at the same time. With hands outstretched, you find each other's gaze again, and you frown skeptically - Nanami seems to have reached your warmed croissant and hot drink before you.
"I was closer," he offers as he turns to you, tea in one hand and bag in the other. Your brow twitches as you hastily take your order from him. He lets you, his hands falling instinctively to his sides as though to surrender power back into your jurisdiction. "You would have had to push through-"
"I'm aware," you cut him off. "You don't have to go doing everything for me now."
"That wasn't my intention..." the brown eyed man trails off. Suddenly, his name is called behind him, and his head turns slightly at the sound but his eyes remain on you as he fumbles with his thoughts, bearing an indifferent expression. "I'm sorry. I've offended you."
You watch as he grabs his own order, nodding toward the worker with pressed lips of acknowledgement. You look down at your own order in your hands, and back up at him. "No... you haven't. Sorry. It's - just been a long day. Not used to random acts of kindness," you say as an excuse.
The man faces you again, a large loaf now tucked under his arm as his veiny hand clasps his coffee. "I understand."
A lull in the conversation strikes once more when the two of you realize that you have nothing more keeping you within the establishment. "Well, thank you. Again. Really, that was... unnecessarily nice of you."
"You don't need to keep thanking me. It really was nothing."
He walks a few paces behind you as you both go to leave the bustling bakery, and as he lunges from behind to stretch his free arm toward the door, pushing it open from the angle he discovered just above your head, your brows pinch again. And you thank him. Again.
You give him a tight smile before turning over your shoulder to walk to your car, when you hear his steady, polite, subtly hesitant voice.
"Pardon me, but you're very beautiful."
Your heels halt their clicking against the pavement. You freeze, whipping your head over your shoulder with tight muscles and wide eyes. The suited man stands there in the middle of the sidewalk, face blank and eyes honest. He does not try to perform. Does not try to add anything more to the compliment. He simply lets it linger in the air, making himself known to you for fear that he would never see you again.
Your lips part, your breath hitches. You're hardly new to such praises, but the gentleness of his tone when he spoke, the humility in his words, the lack of expectation in his eyes is what frightens you.
You see his lips tighten under your gaze, and he shifts the bread under his arm. "That's all."
"Is that why you paid for my order?" you ask suddenly, cheeks warm and brain stirring with confusion. “Because I’m beautiful.”
Something in him dissipates, as though the tension in his body has eased slightly at your voice. "Partially. I saw you walk in before me. You looked stressed so, I thought I'd try to make you feel better."
"And how would you know if I was stressed or not?"
"Because I'm stressed all the time. I can sense it from a mile away."
There is, once more, no performance behind his words. Just truth in exasperation, in the lidded state of his warm eyes and the lines creasing beneath them. You inhale to speak, but the words get caught in your chest again. You have nothing to bite back with, nothing to scoff at, no excuse to chastise, and you're unsure of how to go forward accordingly.
You swallow hard. "Well, I hope you don't think that buying me something when I don’t even know you is gonna give you some kind of advantage."
"I don't think that," he shakes his head simply. "Like I said before, it was my pleasure. I don't expect anything from you in return."
You raise your brow, unconvinced. "Really?"
"Truly."
Your brows come down and your teeth sink into the inside of your lip. A light smile returns to the stranger's lips, something soft and observant. "Then," you start, drawing your tea close to your chest. "I'll be taking my leave now."
You wait for an outburst, an explosion, for him to go on a tangent about how you haven't even given him the decency of providing a number, or at least for his expression to shift with irritation. But none of which comes. Instead, he just nods simply and goes to walk off as well. "As will I. Have a wonderful day, miss."
Your jaw drops when he walks away, slow, easy, tired strides, and you stand frozen in place, watching the back of his head as he moves away.
You clamp your lips shut and swallow hard, moving to turn around as well, but something in you fights back. You clench your jaw hard and close your eyes before- "Excuse me!" you call out. Now a few yards away, he stops and turns over his shoulder with surprise and curiosity. Your lips crinkle, your skin flushing as passerbyers glance at you, and the blonde's attention is once again yours.
You can't believe you're doing this.
"W-What was your name again?"
He blinks, genuinely surprised that you stopped him to ask. "Kento Nanami."
You nod. “Okay. Good. Goodbye.”
You swiftly turn over your shoulder and leave, and the blonde watches you, shocked, before smiling.
You see Kento a handful of times before you finally give in and give him your number and your full name. You realize that, due to his frequent appearances in your recent life, that he must live within the same vicinity as you. A few hopeful conversations and approaches initiated by the blonde, cautious yet earnest, and a text from your friend is what pushes you to finally give him access to you outside of short interactions in the middle of the cereal aisle.
You're guarded from the beginning, terrified by his generosity, his respectful good morning texts, the way he checks in on how you're doing when he has free time in the day - unprovoked, unpressured, seeking no ulterior motive.
You would stare at the lit phone screen with your chin propped angrily in your palm, fingers thumping against your lips as your glare sharpens on his perfect grammar. You're waiting for the gentleman routine to die away, to fade out, but it remains steady over a week of phone conversation. Still, a week is just a week. Hardly enough time to know someone's true motivations, and you've been with men who have kept up the act for months before finally revealing his hidden, careless identity.
But then, Kento asks you out.
You read the text over and over after having initially dropped your phone and jumped away upon receiving the message.
Kento | I would love to take you to dinner, if you would be willing to let me.
It's a trap, you immediately think. You can't remember the last time you've been on a date, the last time a man actually asked you properly, the last time a man planned something for you without expecting you to jump through hoops to see him. You're prepared to tell him no, or that at the very least you'd think about it, but after leaving him on read for nearly six hours, and another call with your best friend, you accept, as she claims that you would be crazy not to go out with him.
But she can not account for the discomfort that seizes your body when he meets you outside of the nice restaurant he picked, after you insisted on driving separate cars; when he opens the car door for you and stretches his hand inside the vehicle to gingerly take yours in his; when his eyes capture your face and not your body as he tells you that you look absolutely stunning; when he pulls out your chair for you to sit down, having guided you by your hand throughout the twists and turns of the dimly lit space, an air of natural dominance crowding him when he interacts so calmly with the staff.
He does not suffocate conversation with arrogance, but asks you questions about your life, holding your gaze as you speak to show that he is truly listening. When you notice him staring, he apologizes, ducking his head with the intrusion of stifled shyness as he continues to compliment you, your mind, your beauty.
You're out of your depth. Your heart flutters the whole night as your (e/c) hues hold his warm ones, and your skin crawls with something you can't quite name. You don't remember the last time you felt so seen, so prioritized, so catered to. And more than Kento's swiftness to pay without blinking an eye or letting you even see a peep of the bill, and more than his haste to make sure you aren't too hot or cold, that your food is just the way you wanted it, is the manner with which he treats you. As though wining and dining you at some fancy place you always wanted to try is nothing near a chore, but something he feels that you are entitled to, that he is expected to do as a man in pursuit of your heart.
And at the end of the night, after he has offered to walk you back to your car, instead of expecting once more, he asks if he can take you out again.
You look at him with a dumbfounded gaze for a long moment, as you likely have for the majority of the night, and you mindlessly nod, your skepticism warping into fear.
Fear over the fact that this is the first man you've felt a genuine connection with after years of shielding your heart from any possible vulnerability.
You wreck your brain, wondering what this man could possibly want from you. Sex? A mistress? Someone to manipulate?
The speculations die one by one with each date you have with him, with every fact you learn about his personality and his daily life, about his morals and values, his drive, his grit, his responsibility. Three dates fly by, and he has yet to ask you to join him at his place or to accompany you at yours. He keeps a respectful distance whilst continuing to pursue you, to treat you, to court you as a man should.
You feel yourself actually beginning to like Kento, and that prospect alone is enough for you to disappear for a couple of days after your discovery. You tell him that you've been busy, that you don't have the time you once had to talk on the phone every night or plan your next outing.
Ordinarily, you get away with your habitual isolation, but one rather serious text is enough to tell you that you won't be able to get away with such things with Nanami, especially since he has made his intentions with you very clear - that he plans to be yours.
Kento | Hello, beautiful. I understand you need your space. Please correct me if I'm wrong, but from your tone and distance, I've sensed that you are upset about something. I recall you mentioning that you tend to take steps away when you aren't feeling like yourself. I won't further intrude in honor of your space, but whenever you feel ready, I am here to talk or listen. I sent you something to help take your mind off of whatever is bothering you. I hope you like it.
You open your door to find a bouquet of flowers lying at your doorstep, and a note attached with Kento's name and I'm here written in cursive. Your nose flares and your eyes glaze over as you look down at the thoughtful gift. No one's ever sent you flowers before. Not like this.
And no one's ever noted your habits, ever paid enough attention to you to tell when you're overstimulated or overthinking. You'd mentioned that about yourself one time, and Nanami remembered. And he didn't just remember, but he acknowledged it. He didn't antagonize you for it. He made himself known, and reminded you that you aren't alone. That you don't have to be anymore. That he sees you and wants to continue seeing you in every sense of the word.
Your heart pangs. You like him and you're terrified.
You don't reach out to him until the next morning. You've placed your flowers on the counter for display and lean against the kitchen sink with your phone in hand. Your leg bounces restlessly against the cabinets as you harshly tap on his contact to call. It's the weekend, so he answers rather swiftly.
"Hello?"
"You scare the shit out of me," you bluntly confess into the speaker, voice tight.
The other line is silent for a moment before Nanami's voice, low and thoughtful, comes back in. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to," he apologizes. You click your teeth with a huff of a laugh. "Could you tell me what I've done to make you feel that way?"
You suck in a sharp breath, for there truly is no way to get this man to show any bad side. Your gut trusts him, but your mind screams at you to run, while your heart yearns to feel his arms encase you as he tells you that everything will be alright. You're at odds with yourself.
But you want him so badly.
"You're too nice," you exhale through an anxious laugh, looking longingly over at your flowers.
"...Too nice?"
"Yes. I-It's confusing. You don't need to check in all the time or - or send me flowers-"
"You don't like them?"
"No," you quickly say. You sigh. "I mean... no - yes, I do like them. They're very sweet. T-Thank you. But that's not what I mean. I just mean... like... you're so..."
You stumble over your words, struggling to find the right way to express yourself whilst evading judgment. Your mind frantically searches for the right path and you fumble.
"(Y/n)," Kento calls gently.
"What?" you heave.
"Take your time," he guides. "Just tell me how you feel. It's alright."
You freeze. "...Wha...What?"
"I'm listening, sweetheart. Just take your time to sort it all out," he assures.
Your lips press together in a pout as you stare ahead, wide-eyed, your heart pattering in your chest. Your eyes sting with humiliation, and that hardness around your heart softens as you feel that you will finally be heard, that someone is happy to hear you.
You take in a shaky breath. "Why are you so nice to me?" you whisper.
"I'm happy that you think I’m kind, but I’m not trying to be nice, (Y/n). I've only aimed to be honest. I like you, and I want to be with you someday if you would like that too. I want to treat you the way you deserve to be treated. In all honesty, I haven't done anything very remarkable."
"You haven't-" you stop yourself with another laugh, sniffling slightly. "Kento, what do you mean you haven't done anything remarkable? You - you're so sweet to me all the time. You go out of your way to do things that you don't have to do."
"Like what?"
"Like... planning our dates all the time, or picking me up, or sending me things, or-or listening to what I say-"
"(Y/n), those aren't remarkable things. That's the least I can do for the woman I care about."
"You say that, but you don't get it."
"Perhaps I don't," he agrees. "But I'd love for you to help me understand what you're feeling more."
You trace your finger over the countertop sheepishly, blinking back the tears in your eyes. "Can you come over?"
"Absolutely."
And he does. And the two of you talk for hours, or rather, he listens to you spill your vulnerabilities, your feelings, vent your concerns and frustrations with a trust that you did not realize you had formulated with him. And unlike every guy who brushed you off or told you that you were too demanding or too emotional, Nanami holds your hand, looks you in the eye, tells you he hears you, and means it.
Your bottom lip trembles as the past month or so spent with him flickers through your mind. You can feel the race of your pulse against the blonde's skin, and you frown at yourself. At how giddy he makes you feel. "I know how I get," you say. "When I have feelings for someone, they're not something I take lightly. I'm not casual. I can't pretend not to care, and I don't want to feel like I'm grasping for attention when you finally get me. I don't want to delude myself into thinking that just because you're nice, you can't do what other people have done."
Nanami watches you with a fondness you can't name, silent and steadfast, warm and enticing. His thumb traces over the back of your hand as he sits close to you on the couch, unhurried, patient, present, and grateful to be.
"I can't pretend to know what other men have put you through, or how deeply it continues to impact you. I know you're scared. You have every reason to protect yourself the way you do," he begins. "But I'm not that kind of man. When I say something, I mean it. When I promise something, I have every intention of fulfilling that promise. When I treat you one way, it's not for show. It is how I intend to treat you for as long as you will allow me. I know trust is not something that can be built overnight, but I'm willing to do the work. I want you to feel safe with me. I want to make you happy. I won't try to rush that happiness or that trust. You're entitled to your space when you need it. You owe me nothing. But when you're ready, I'll be here. I'm not going anywhere unless you tell me to."
You sink into his words, your walls cracking, your heart surging. Glassy, red eyes search his face for some trick, and you once more come up empty handed. He presses his lips together in that tired, half smile, reminding you that it's okay.
Moved, you lean forward and press your lips to his impulsively, parting shortly after with a soft smack and sad eyes. You go to start apologizing when his palms raise to hold your face and your lips are slowly brought back into his.
Nanami kisses you for the first time like he is holding something precious. He does not attack you, but he savors you, slow and kind like his voice and the way he interacts with the surrounding world. You feel your chest tighten and warm, your skin tingle all over, and your flesh run hot as he holds you to him carefully, politely, gliding warm lips over your own with an appreciation so firm, he can't bear the thought of breaking away.
You part for a moment with heavy eyes, his thumb tracing over the skin of your cheek. Your hands press to his shoulders as you release a hot breath. "Please don't hurt me," you plead against his mouth, surrendering yourself from this point forward.
Nanami cradles you close. "I'll do everything in my power not to."
And even then, his words ring genuine, for Kento is aware that he can not promise such things, that people hurt their loved ones without attempting to all the time. But more importantly, he will work to honor your desires, to remember your triggers and fears, to know you well enough for that not to happen as long as he can control it.
And that, to you, means more than he could even begin to understand.
The two of you take it slow. You don't have sex until after he has asked to be your partner, and when you do, Kento asks for your permission before making any move to touch you further. He sees, feels the anxiety in your eyes and your body language, the fear that sexual intimacy will draw him further away from you, but he stays.
He stays with you while making love to you, holding your gaze, interlacing your fingers, pressing his body flush to yours, eliminating any exposure to the cold, keeping himself present.
He stays with you after, holding your shivering body against his, murmuring soft praises into your ear and pressing warm kisses to your skin.
And rather than creating a distance, sex brings you inexplicably closer. The passion is thick in Nanami's enamoured eyes every time he sees you, every time he utters your name. After months of chipping away, you mirror his smitten nature, opening yourself up to the affections he always, always provides.
That's what Kento is, a provider, financially, physically, and emotionally. You feel light with him by your side, like the burdens of the world have lifted from your shoulders just long enough for you to breathe and simultaneously enjoy the good that it has to offer.
You never find yourself overexplaining your frustrations, because Kento has already noticed them and taken action to help you through them.
You never feel as though you are carrying anything alone, because Kento is always there to share the load or take it on himself.
And you never experience a moment in which you feel unloved, because Kento ensures that he spends every second of every day reminding you what you mean to him, showering you with unforced, unconditional ardor.
When you look back on your past, at the lengths you went to avoid further damage to your heart, you wonder what force in the universe brought Kento to you when you thought that you were never meant to experience the happiness you do now.
The moment Nanami sees you, his appreciation takes a sharper, more urgent turn—less about how the dress looks on you, and more about how quickly he can get it off so he can have you right then and there.
content: Explicit sexual content (smut), oral sex (female receiving), penetration, possessive Nanami, light dirty talk, consensual.
word count: 1,811
song: Talking Body by Tove Lo
masterlist ୧₊˚ playlist
The dress was a sin against modesty, and you knew it the second you zipped it up.
It was a deep burgundy—almost wine—with a neckline that plunged into a sharp V, barely held together by a thin gold chain. The fabric was stretchy, soft, and utterly merciless. It hugged your waist, flared slightly at the hips, and then clung to your ass like it had been painted on.
Every curve, every dip, every swell was on full display.
You turned in front of the full-length mirror, watching the way the material shifted over your skin. The hem stopped a few inches above your knees, but the slit on the side went higher—just enough to tease.
Just enough to make a man forget how to breathe.
And you wanted to see Kento forget how to breathe.
You had bought it on a whim, but watching yourself now, running a hand down your own side, you felt a pulse of anticipation. He was in the living room, reading some report, probably with that serious furrow between his brows.
You would walk in, give a little spin, and watch his composure crack.
That was the plan.
You padded out of the bedroom, the soft click of your heels against the hardwood floor announcing your arrival.
The hallway opened into the living area where Nanami sat on the leather couch, legs crossed, a glass of whiskey on the side table. He was still in his work suit minus the jacket—white shirt rolled at the sleeves, tie loosened.
He looked tired. Sexy. Distracted.
Until he looked up.
The moment his amber eyes landed on you, the world seemed to stop. His hand froze mid-page turn. His jaw tightened. He didn't blink.
You gave a slow, deliberate turn, letting the dress do all the talking. The fabric shifted, hugged, released.
When you faced him again, you smiled.
“So? What do you think?”
He set the report down with a controlled, deliberate motion.
His gaze traveled from your face down to your neckline, then lower, following the curve of your waist, the flare of your hips, the way the dress clung to your thighs. When his eyes came back to yours, they were darker.
“Come here.”
Just two words, but the gravel in his voice sent a shiver through you.
You obeyed, stepping closer until you stood between his legs, looking down at him. He didn't touch you right away. He just looked. Like he was cataloging every inch, memorizing the lines, deciding where to start.
“New dress?” he asked, his voice deceptively calm.
“Just picked it up today.” You ran your fingers along the gold chain at your neckline. “You like it?”
Instead of answering, he reached out and placed a broad palm on your hip, fingers curling into the fabric. He tugged you closer, until your knees bumped the edge of the couch. Then he leaned forward and pressed his lips to the bare skin just above the neckline, where your pulse beat fast.
“I like you,” he murmured against your skin. “The dress is just… in the way.”
Your breath hitched. “But I wanted to show you—”
“You've shown me.” He pulled back, looking up with that intense, half-lidded gaze. “Now I want to take it off.”
Before you could protest—not that you would—he stood, his body towering over you, all hard lines and quiet strength. His hands slid from your hips to your waist, thumbs tracing the seam of the dress.
He leaned in, lips brushing your ear.
“You have no idea what that dress does to me.” His voice was low, rough, a growl scraping against your eardrum. “Walking in here like that, looking like a damn dream… Did you think I'd just admire it?”
“I hoped you would do more than admire,” you breathed.
He answered by gripping the hem of the dress and pulling it up, slow, agonizingly slow, exposing your thighs inch by inch. The fabric slid over your hips, your waist, your chest. He paused at your breasts, letting the material catch on your nipples, then peeled it upward.
You raised your arms, and the dress came off in a rustle of burgundy, pooling at your feet.
You stood before him in only your black lace panties.
His eyes roamed, hot, and possessive.
“Beautiful,” he said, the word heavy.
Then he stepped forward, pressing you back against the wall. The cool plaster met your bare shoulders as he caged you in, one hand braced beside your head, the other finding the curve of your hip.
His mouth claimed yours.
The kiss was not gentle. It was demanding, hungry, all tongue and teeth and the taste of whiskey.
His free hand slid from your hip down to your thigh, then up, fingers dipping beneath the waistband of your panties. He groaned into your mouth when he found you wet.
“Already?” he murmured, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. “I barely touched you.”
“Your voice does things to me,” you admitted, cheeks flushed.
He hummed, a low sound of satisfaction. Then he dropped to his knees.
Your heart slammed against your ribs as he pressed a kiss to your stomach, his hands gripping your hips to keep you steady. He kissed lower, over the jut of your hipbone, then lower still, until his mouth hovered just above the damp lace.
“Let me taste you,” he said, not a question.
You nodded, fingers threading into his blonde hair.
He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of your panties and pulled them down, letting them fall to your ankles. You stepped out of them, and he pushed your legs apart, spreading you open for his gaze.
He looked at you like you were something sacred. Something he intended to devour.
His first lick was slow, deliberate, a flat stroke from your entrance to your clit.
“Kento...”
Your knees buckled.
He caught you, wrapping an arm around your thigh, holding you against the wall as he worked you with his tongue. He was methodical, relentless—flicking, sucking, pressing his tongue inside you before sliding back up to circle your clit.
“Ahh—fuck... More...”
You gasped, pulling at his hair, rolling your hips against his mouth. He groaned against you, the vibration sending sparks through your core.
He didn't rush.
He took his time, savoring every sound you made, each whimper and moan.
“Kento... Ohh—please...” You could barely form words. “I'm close—"
He pulled back, lips slick, eyes dark. “Not yet.”
Before you could protest, he rose, took you by the wrist, and guided you to the couch. He sat, then tugged you onto his lap, facing him. You straddled him, feeling the hard length of him through his trousers.
“Undo my belt,” he ordered softly.
Your fingers fumbled with the buckle, then the button, then the zipper. He lifted his hips, and you pushed his slacks and boxers down just enough to free his cock. It stood thick and rigid, the tip already glistening.
He took himself in hand, stroking slowly.
“Look at you. So eager.” He ran the head through your folds, collecting your wetness, teasing your entrance. “You want it?”
“Yes...”
He pushed inside in one smooth, deep thrust.
“Fuck, yes—ahh!”
You cried out, head falling back, nails digging into his shoulders through the white shirt. He filled you completely, stretched you, pressed against every sensitive spot.
“Shh, baby...”
For a moment, neither of you moved—just breathing, adjusting, feeling.
Then he began to move.
His hands gripped your hips, guiding the rhythm. You rode him, rolling your hips, meeting each thrust. His head fell back, eyes closed, lips parted. A low moan rumbled from his chest.
“Shit...” he breathed. “You feel—fuck—”
You leaned forward, capturing his mouth as you moved faster. The kiss was sloppy, breathless, all tongues and gasps. He broke away to mouth at your neck, sucking a mark into your skin.
“I wanted this the moment I saw you in that dress,” he panted against your throat. “I knew exactly what I was going to do to you.”
“Show me...” you gasped. “Show me what you planned.”
He laughed, low and dark.
Then he wrapped an arm around your waist, stood, and turned, laying you back on the couch. He remained inside you, the shift in angle making you moan. Now he was on top, braced on his forearms, looking down at you with that serious, hungry gaze.
He pulled almost all the way out, then slammed back in. Hard. Deep. The force pushed the air from your lungs.
“Ahh... Baby—ngh...”
“Like that?” he asked, voice rough.
“Yes—baby, yes—”
He set a punishing pace, each thrust driving you higher. The couch creaked beneath you. Your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him deeper. He was sweating, the white shirt sticking to his chest, his tie still dangling.
“Look at me,” he demanded.
You met his eyes. “Ohh, Kento... Baby—fucking good...”
The intensity there made you clench around him. He groaned, hips stuttering.
“I want to feel you cum,” he said, grinding his pelvis against your clit with each thrust. “Let go, baby.”
The command, the pressure, the sheer fullness of him—it was too much. You shattered, crying out his name as waves of pleasure crashed through you, your walls fluttering and clenching around his cock. He watched you, eyes burning, and then he followed, a deep groan torn from his throat as he spilled inside you, hot and thick.
He collapsed over you, forehead resting against yours, breath ragged.
“Damn, baby...”
For a long moment, neither of you moved. His weight was comfortable, grounding, the scent of sex and sweat and him filling your senses.
Finally, he stirred, pulling out slowly.
You winced at the loss.
He sat up, tucking himself back into his trousers, then reached down and pulled you up into his lap. Your bare skin against his still-buttoned shirt, his tie now crooked, his hair a mess.
You looked at the discarded burgundy dress on the floor. “Guess I could've kept it on a little longer.”
He glanced at it, then back at you, a rare, soft smile curving his lips. “We'll buy another one. You can wear it next weekend.”
“And you'll do this all over again?”
He kissed your forehead. “I'll do it again before you even get the chance to put it on.”
You laughed, curling into him, letting his arms wrap around you. Outside, the city hummed. Inside, you were his, and he was yours, and that dress had done exactly what it was meant to do.
Perfect.
He looked down at you, his eyes softening as he took in your flushed face and the way you seemed to melt into him. He reached down, hooking a finger under your chin to lift your gaze back to his.
“I suppose you could say I’ve always been a fan of your talking body."
he picks up his phone on the first ring, ‘yes sweetheart? did you already reach? where are you?’
‘i’m almost there ken but i think i’m gonna need a minute or two to recover’
concern flooded his mind ‘recover? what happened-‘
‘i just saw the most beautiful man ever!’ you squeal through the phone.
what.
‘he’s drop dead gorgeous ken! and he’s not even doing anything, he’s just- standing there’ you sigh dreamily.
‘oh my god ken, his jaw is so chiseled i could grate cheese on it’ your squealing continues.
‘my love, what are you talking about?’
were you being serious right now? was his jaw not chiseled enough to grate cheese? was he not gorgeous?
why were you calling him, your dear boyfriend, to gush about some man guy?
‘and he’s in this light blue dress shirt which you already know is my personal weakness’
wait. oh.
just then, a small smile makes its way on to his face.
‘ken ken ken he just smiled! i think it might be my favourite smile ever! oh god, it’s so beautiful’ you’re swooning on the other side.
‘really? tell me more’ he’s full on grinning now.
‘i could go on and on but you know what? i think i’m gonna shoot my shot and ask him out. i’ll let you know how it goes later. bye, i love you’ you hang up and he has to stop himself from laughing.
he pockets his phone when sees you crossing the road to get to him.
you throw a small wave at him ‘hey, i was on my way to see my boyfriend but then i saw you and you’re just so beautifully sculpted and i decided that i’d rather spend my life with you instead. what do you say?’
‘i’ll have to ask my girlfriend about that’
clicking your tongue ‘of course a guy like you is off the market’ you feign defeat ‘but i bet i’m more prettier than her’
his eyes scan you from top to bottom ‘you’re ok i guess’
scoffing ‘gee ken thanks a lot. what’s the harm in playing along for a little bit?’ you pout, making him snicker.
you and your antics never fail to amuse him.
you feel his arms wrap around you then and pull you to his chest as you melt into him.
‘i’m not lying. my girl is the prettiest’ he says.
‘and i wasn’t either, you really do have a jaw for grating cheese’
