Having accessories on that jingle while you have sex with him makes him develop a pavlovian response, now every time your jewelry makes noise, he can't help how fast he pops a boner.
Manato's ears and tails stiffen in place as he feels his pants tighten, he can't meet your eyes, even that reminds him of how hot you looked while you were sucking him off, face beet red while you poke him for answers. Because of his ears, he picks up the jingling of your jewelry even more intensely, bouncing his leg up and down as you're telling Yuzuha some sort of story, he can't focus on anything but how good your lips look right now and how good they looked stretched around his dick. He does his best to not show it, fails, and hugs you from behind to make you feel how badly he wants you.
Lycaon coughs to clear up his mind and focus, you're telling him about a new café that opened up, has delicious menus and— god his ears can't stop twitching, his tail barely staying in place as you keep making excited movements with your body, the sound flashing a memory of you clinging to his neck desperately as he fucked your brains out on your bed, your clothes torn off and your body covered in claw marks, you looked so— he blinks himself out of the thought before it gets worse, but you do notice his tail wagging way too hard, and how tense he is the whole day.
Hugo's smile twitches as he's sitting with you on your bed, you're playing some sort of adventure game with your switch and those damn bracelets won't stop jingling. Just like how the sound made it even more erotic while you were stroking him off after you just gave him a blowjob, his moans had become so pathetic, he melted under your touch, let himself be vulnerable like he never dared to before as you kept stroking him with that punishing pace and— he's pulled out of his thoughts as you cheer for yourself, you finally beat that boss. His hands slowly circle your waist as he buries his head on the juncture of your neck, "Mmm, will you pay attention to me now?"
Lighter can't focus, you're showing him two different graphic t-shirts, you two had been out shopping when it just hit him. The way you're explaining how good both of the t-shirts look as you shove them into his face, the way your necklace keeps dangling— like how it was hovering over his face as you were riding him, your hands squeezing his pecs as you slammed your hips down on his thick cock, his head spinning as he grunts your name and digs his nails into your thigh to keep himself from losing himself in you— he coughs into the back of his hand, at your confused look he just shakes his head a little, "I'll get both of them for you."
Harumasa's hold on your hand tightens out of nowhere as you were running to the new ice cream store that just opened up, you turned to look at him— his face is beet red, refusing to make eye contact with you. The jingle of your bracelets as you were skipping around, holding his hand, is much too reminiscent of the sound the same bracelets made as he was fucking into you on his bed just yesterday. Your hands had circled around his neck, your nails, and bracelets digging into his skin as he watched you come undone just from his dick pounding into you, burying his cum deep inside as he finishes with your name spilling from his lips with a high-pitched whine, you looked so gorgeous then— "Harumasa! I'm asking you what you want to order!" you huffed, he blinked as your voice cut through the flash of memory, his other hand went to his throat out of nervous habit, his blush spreading to his ears and neck, "Yeah… yeah just order whatever you'd like for me, I don't mind."
Summary -> 1.2k words. Brushing out Manato's fur turns into a mini confession.
Warnings -> None
A/N -> I love when a big strong man ends up being a huge goober. Also, his right nip is totally out in his M6 art, and I never noticed until now. Also also, the demons in my mind are telling me to write smut, and honestly, I might indulge them.
“Hey, hey, stop pulling,” Manato growls, his shoulders tensing as the wire brush caught a tangled patch of fur on the back of his shoulders.
“Stop it.” You smack the brush lightly on the top of his head, listening to the hollow thunk before going back to taking care of the fur on his back. “If you hadn’t neglected it for so long, we wouldn’t be in this situation.”
Manato seems offended at your words. “I wasn’t neglecting it. The kids just wanted to ride on my shoulders, and the fur got all tangled, and it’s not like I can reach back there to get it myself.”
You pull the brush away, cleaning the bristles and tossing the dark fur in the trash can set up next to you. “And is that the same reason you’re coming to me with your tail all fucked up too?”
Manato was silent at that, his ears flattening to the top of his head as he looks down at his tail. He grabs the second brush you sometimes use for his coarser fur and starts brushing the end of his tail silently. You both sat in this peaceful silence for a bit, just working on brushing out all of his thinner summer coat to help him stay warm as the temperatures drop. After a while, he finally broke the silence, “Does it bother you?”
“Does what bother me?” Your pace slows a bit, now more worried about just feeling his warmth beneath your finger tips instead of actually brushing his fur.
“Me. All the hair I leave around your apartment. Me coming to you every shedding season and pouting the entire time while you just try to help me out.” Manato’s voice had this soft quality to it. You hadn’t heard it this low since A-Yuet scraped her knee and Manato had to patch it up. “I feel like I take up too much of your time.”
You smack the brush on the top of his head playfully again. “You’re too hard on yourself. If it did bother me, I’d stop letting you in.” You drape your arms around his broad, bare shoulders, now letting his broad figure support your entire body weight. “In fact, you’re my favorite. I just love shedding season because it gives you more excuses to come over.” You smile to yourself as you see the soft wagging of his tail despite that frown still painted across his handsome face.
“Favorite, huh?” He avoids looking at you, knowing that he’d break if he did.
“Mhmmm. My favorite wolf. My favorite man. My favorite Manato.” The room is filled with the consistent thump, thump, thump of his tail finding a rhythm against the floor, his fingers suddenly preoccupied with digging into the fibers of the rug beneath him.
“Well I mean if I’m your favorite then I guess It’s good I come to you…” He tries so hard to stay serious, tries to bite back that smile, tries to remain neutral. His blush gives him away, the way he continues to scratch at the rug, and of course that big, fluffy tail.
“Manato.” You say, grabbing his chin and tilting it up to look at you (honestly this may have been the first time you saw him looking up at you). You silently thank yourself for convincing him to sit on the floor in front of your couch.
He just stares up, shocked, his tail freezing as he watches your every movement. “What?”
“For a big, scary man, you are adorable!” You coo, squeezing his face in between your hands as he lets out a little whine and huffs, but his tail wags even faster.
“Stop that!”
“No, no. You’re the best puppy ever, and you’re so cute and sweet and fluffy!” You continue to tease, wiggling his head in your hands as he continues to whimper and whine.
Manato grabs your wrists, twisting himself out of your grip and holding both of your wrists in one hand. “Alright, alright, that’s enough,” he growls, bearing his fangs playfully.
You look at just how big his hands are wrapped around your wrists, your eyes tracing over the veins in his hands. When’s the last time you saw him without his gloves? It was shocking, really. This man, towering over almost everyone and built like a brick wall, could restrain you so gently. One move, one twist of his hand and he could sprain your wrist at least. He squeezes your wrists in his hand, just enough to get your attention.
“Hey, stop zoning out. We were talking.” He pouts, and you look into his eyes. You pull your wrists out of his grip and reach forward, your fingers touching his soft hair, brushing it out of his face. He seems surprised but lets it happen, dropping his hands and letting you shift the direction of the conversation.
“Manato.” You whisper, your fingers tracing the scar over his eyes.
“Yeah?”
“You’re my favorite.” You repeat again, but this time more seriously, this time hoping he’d see the hints you had been trying to drop for so long.
“...Yeah?” Once again, he tries to remain stoic, but his tail starts instantly wagging at a million miles an hour. “Like… favorite favorite?”
You feel your face get hot, but now’s not the time to back down. “Yeah… favorite favorite.”
Manato launches up from his sitting position, pushing you to your back on the couch as he crushes you into a hug, using his entire, shirtless body to squish you. His tail is wagging so hard he knocks over one of your decorative pillows, but he doesn’t care. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, taking a deep breath, his nose practically vacuum sealing to your skin. “You’re my favorite too.” He speaks into your skin, grabbing and squishing closer like he was trying to meld into you, not unlike a touch-starved, large dog who just wanted cuddles. What else could you do but take it? You let him crush you, your hand coming up to scratch at the base of his ear, an instinctual low noise rumbling in his chest as he relaxed entirely on top of you.
“Manato?”
“Hm?” He wags his tail harder as he hears his name on your lips again.
“Manato. Look at me.”
“What?” His red eyes look at you with pure adoration. You couldn’t take it anymore. He was too damn cute. You move your lips against his and instantly hear a louder thump, thump, thump as his tail swipes all of the decorative pillows and blankets on your couch, even knocking over one of the back cushions as he kisses back enthusiastically. He crushes you closer, squeezing you closer to him. You could die now and be happy, because at least you’d go out between a broad chest and thick arms. Your hands found his shoulders, half petting the fur before you pull away suddenly.
Manato’s eyes go wide with worry, his tail slowing down as his hand goes to cup your cheek. “Hey, hey. What happened?”
“Dammit… I missed a spot.” You huff and show him the fistful of his summer coat you had just pulled off of his shoulder, and his tail started up again.
“Oh noooo, you have to brush me more. How terrible.” He teases, handing you the brush again. Instead of moving to sit on the floor again, he simply flops down on top of you, happy to cuddle while you brush him.
content: fluff. really, just fluff. discussion of canon prosthetics, references to previous trauma.
Lighter →
Lighter cobbles sleep together in pieces. He dozes off on his feet during gatherings or hooks his legs up over the handlebars of his bike to steal a few precious moments. Anything longer than a nap is playing with fire. That's when dreams creep in, smoke curling under the frame of a door he keeps firmly shut, suffocating, til he wakes up in a cold sweat, clawing at the chain around his neck, clinging to dogtags so they don't burn into his skin.
It's best when he's pushed himself to his limit. Dreams don't come when's he's too exhausted to think past his next step. He stumbles back home, limbs heavy and body weary, and collapses face down onto his bed fully dressed. Come morning, he'll regret not taking the time to peel himself out of his clothes. He'll regret his blood-crusted knuckles and the lingering stiffness in his bad arm - but never enough to trade them for his nightmares.
That habit didn't change when you found your way into his bed. You can nag and insist all you want, but there's no avoiding it. He'll drag himself in at the dead of night and flop right down onto you. No shower. Just the sheer weight of him—sweaty and exhausted, the throat-burning stench of the hollow clinging to him—flattening you into the mattress.
Lighter snores. Swears up and down that he doesn't, ears turning crimson the second you bring it up. He's not shaking the house down or anything, but it's loud enough to rattle his cool guy image. He drools, too - especially when he manages to knock out for more than his usual sparse hours. You'll wake up with a wet patch on your shirt if you let him stay asleep on top of you.
His number one sleep position, though? Little spoon. He makes excuses about it - because this way he can still face the door, see? It's safer. He promises. It has nothing to do with how good it feels to have you wrapped around him, head pressed between his shoulders. It has nothing to do with being held, with your palm over his heart like it's something sacred.
When you fall asleep against his shoulder, he freezes. He's stuck in time. It's a crime for him to move — because what if he wakes you? What if he shifts and you slip away from his side? He'd never let you fall. Of course not. But if he jostles you too much, then you'll never lean against his side again.
He's the sort of sap that gets emotional when you're sleepy around here. He's heard all the anecdotal evidence about feeling sleepy around people you trust and he buys into it. You trust him. That's why you're sound asleep, head on his shoulder. He trusts you. That's why, when his eyes grow heavy and his back aches from holding still too long, he lets himself rest his head against yours.
Rina →
Sleep hygiene is just as important as regular hygiene, and if you try to bend the rules when Rina is in your bed, you'll get more than just a lecture.
Phone on the nightstand, in do-not-disturb. One singular alarm - none of this six plus nonsense. She's up before your alarm anyway. Sheer force of habit; you thought you might someday glimpse her with her hair undone, gazing longingly out the window in her flowing nightgown, a specter to haunt any passerby who turns their gaze her way. If she does any haunting in the dead of night, she keeps it carefully hidden from you. You start to think it's much more likely that she takes the recommendation for a full, uninterrupted eight hours of sleep extremely seriously.
Rina has the most elaborate pillow set up in the world. A body pillow, a neck pillow, a pregnancy pillow — this is just her first line of defense against bed bugs and charley horses. Her pillows are all on rotation, all prompty replaced every six months — there's even little cushions for her wrists.
Rina, of course, knows how overwhelming all of this can be. She forsakes her comforts the first few times you spend the night with her. These things take time. You would be overwhelmed if she rearranged your bed on the first night. Poor thing. She knows she has to be patient with you. You rest your head on her chest and she coils herself around you bit by bit. Her legs wedge between yours. You hadn't anticipated that she would be quite so clingy — and you're correct. Rina is simply focused on ensuring her knees have the proper support and spacing while she sleeps on her side. The deeper into sleep you fall, the more her arms tighten. You make for a fine (albeit temporary) replacement for her pillow arsenal.
Gradually, she introduces her pillows back into your bed. They appear one at a time, each an apparition that pops into existence while you're out at work. Explaining the use would be too obvious. It would expose her pillow-based scheme. Instead, she demonstrates their proper use each night, expecting you to pick it up subconsciously.
"Let me tidy up for you," she insists. You can only turn down the offer so many times before you start to rationalize it. Maybe this is how she shows her love. Maybe it's acts of service off and on the clock, and words of affirmation wrapped around you the second you stepped in the door. A warm shawl knit from praise, a hot mug of tea pressed to your hands.
Her true intent is, of course, to intertwine her belongings and habits seamlessly with your own. You don't realize it until the conquest is complete — until your bedroom has been transformed into a fluffy haven.
"Ah, yes," you drone, propping yourself up on an elbow to watch Rina pile her hair into a satin wrap. "Me. My girlfriend. And this brick wall she's built between us."
"A down wall," Rina corrects. She leans across the pillow dividing you to kiss your temple. "Would you like to cuddle before bed?"
Of course you do. Even if you're going to wake up to a pillow wedged between you, you'll fall asleep curled up in each other.
Yanagi ->
For a while, you thought she just didn't like you that much. She kept rescheduling nights at your place, kept having work emergencies that made her leave early, taking her spend-the-night bag with her. You understood - honestly, you did. She's a busy woman, she's got a kid, the whole nine yards. You wouldn't still be there if you expected things to move at your pace.
But it was starting to feel purposeful. So one night, holding her bag out to her while she slipped back into her heels and pinned her hair up, you just ripped the bandaid off. Was this going anywhere? Was there something wrong? If she didn't want to sleep over yet, she could just say that - no need for pretend, no need to bring along props or plan out the night.
Yanagi fumbles with her words. She fidgets, adjusts her glasses, strokes her hair back. You brace yourself for the inevitable, for the 'this isn't working'. She says your name lowly. Lamplight gleams off her glasses.
She confesses with all the seriousness of a general sending you to your death:
She has to have noise to sleep.
That's all. She acted like it was a big deal, said she understood if you would rather sleep in separate rooms — or, perhaps, not even together at all. She's flustered when you remind her that ear plugs exist— that this, in the grand scheme of things, is nothing. You can accommodate that.
The next time your schedules (and the stars) align, you march her back to the bedroom to show off your fancy new white noise machine. 33 different sounds. High fidelity stereo sound. You flick through a few different options, wiggling your fingers and waiting for her review.
It takes months for her to introduce you to Soukaku, and even longer for a proper sleepover at her place. After it all settled into routine, you found that Yanagi's bed was frequently abandoned in favor of the couch. Rather than keep you awake with tossing and turning, she folds the covers back over you, turns off the sound machine (moved from your apartment to hers permanently) and escapes into the TV's low drone.
Some nights, you wake alone. You can piece together the order of events. Yanagi fled the bed first. She untangled herself from the both of you, placed the covers back - tucked you in, even, if the covers at your back are any indication. Then, Soukaku - hair mussed, yawning big, pushing at her eyes and blearily calling for Nagi from the bedroom door. She would have clambered out of her bed, left the covers a mess behind her.
If you sleep through Soukaku's calls, you'll slip out of bed at brink of dawn to find both of them asleep on the couch. The TV plays a compilation of old infomercials, casts them a flickering glow. Yanagi sits upright, glasses askew, Soukaku passed out with her head on her thigh.
You slip her glasses from her face and settle onto her opposite side. Your head nestles against her, throw blanket carefully arranged over the three of you. You need to get a larger blanket, you think. This, too, you can accommodate.
Lycaon ->
Big. Fluffy. Warm.
That's what you anticipated. It's not quite what you got.
You wake up with fur in your mouth. A cold, wet nose presses below the hinge of your jaw has you shuddering awake. You squirm and he has the audacity to huff - as if he hadn't just wrested you out of sleep. His arms tighten around your waist, drag you closer, maw hooking over your shoulder to anchor you there.
"Not yet," Lycaon grouses. It's his (only slightly) more dignified version of 'five more minutes'.
His finesse unspools behind closed doors. He lets you pick at the buckles of his restraints one by one until he's unbound before you. Late nights are for catching up. The petals of his flowered language fall away while he removes his prosthetics and carries out his nightly routine.
All the irritants and complaints of the day, the little things he had brushed off, the small moments he had smothered a smile at — he lays it all at your feet while he brushes his tail. You swap stories until he's curled around you, his voice and words gradually roughened. Even with his prosthetics off, he manages to envelop you. His tail is insistent, tucked around you, swishing and lashing — emotive for the first time all day.
God help you if you have to get up in the middle of the night. He's a light sleeper, and he prefers to have you in his arms through the night. He's grumbling when you stir, grip tightening, only releasing you when you insist. And if you take too long? There's a very sleepy, very ruffled, very grouchy wolf thiren watching you from the doorway. He guides you back to bed with a hand between your shoulders. No more detours. Just because he can sleep without you doesn't mean he would choose to.
He's not quite the morning person you would think he is; once he's up, he's golden. Put together and professional, ready for the day. In those early hours, though, his voice is still scratchy. He yawns, tongue curling, jaw clicking shut. The alarm clock has nearly rattled off the nightstand by the time his big paw smacks it silent. He shakes the sleep off, ears slapping with the force of it, and even then, he's still groggy and grouchy well into his routine.
On rare mornings where he has nowhere to be, he rests his muzzle against the pillow and watches you go about your routine. He's still, save for the occasional swish of his tail and the prick of his ears. He'll be up in just a moment. He swears it. He just wants to soak in a little more time like this, to bask in the sun on his fur, in your easy, unhurried motions. Allow him this indulgence before he picks up everything he had laid down the night before.
Hugo →
Of course, by the time you're out of the shower, he will have put himself together — bound up for the day, looking professional and well-groomed while he tends to breakfast. He saves his tail bindings for last. How else would you get to watch it wag when you step into the room?
Hugo is the king of microsleeps. Genuinely, he could fall asleep anywhere.
Can and will sleep with his eyes open. It's awful. You'll be talking to him, thinking wow — he's so engaged with this story. Can't wait to hear his insights. Surely he has some revolutionary pearl of wisdom to share.
And then you'll see it - the way his eyes suddenly sharpen, the way his they flutter as he blinks the sleep back. Somehow, fresh out of sleep, he's raring to go. No grogginess, no nothing — just mild surprise that you're before him now. He knows you hate it, too, and deliberately leans into it to get on your nerves. "Well, hello — when did you get here?"
He's been known to fall asleep mid-conversation — especially if you're chatting with Vivian. It's his favorite white noise. The steady chatter, the soft peals of laughter - you're both close by, safe. His head tips back, arms folded loosely across his chest. He doesn't shift, doesn't make a sound. He's a silent, still sleeper, would be perfectly at home in a coffin.
It's hard to stay mad at him for falling asleep (and he knows it) because, frankly, he doesn't adhere to a regular sleep schedule. Between his above board, legit practices and his less-than-savory business ventures, he runs himself ragged. He's grown to appreciate it. Hugo feels restless without something to work towards. Sleep comes easier when he's filled his days with his ambitions and his limbs are heavy from the effort.
Still — there's a peace that comes over him when he truly sleeps. His features soften. That ever-present vigilance falls slack. You brush the hair from his face and there's no teasing comment, no snatching your wrist. Just the subtle lean into your touch, his most vulnerable self craving the contact. He will never truly slow down, but in moments like these you can imagine a future where he's content. Where he dozes like this regularly and the bags under his eyes have disappeared entirely.
Surprisingly, he's not prone to nightmares — not ones that he remembers, anyway. Sometimes he'll wake with nothing but dread and a cold sweat. Hugo centers himself with tactile sensation, with temperature. He kicks the covers off of himself, tucks them in around you to keep you insulated from his sudden downturn in mood. He shuffles into the kitchen, finds himself making a hot drink and an ice water just to alternate sips of them.
You'll have to drag him to bed most nights. Hugo lies as easy as he breathes. He'll be right there, he swears it. You leave the lamp on, wait for her to crawl into bed next to you. Before you know it, you've passed out with the lamp on. You stir hours after he promised to come to sleep, to see him with his hand on the switch, caught like a kid with his hand in the cookie jar.
He's easily most likely to let his personal care habits slack. As a result, the top drawer of your nightstand has become an emergency stash. He stumbles to bed, looks a little too pale, words a little too slow and slurred, and you're practically launching a packet of fruit snacks at his face.
Manato →
A veritable jungle gym of a man. The kids swing from his arms and climb all over him, only to tire themselves out and crash, curled into his side, cheeks squished against his chest. He doesn't let it stop him from carrying about his day. He curls his arms around them, balances them where they lay and lets them snooze away while he runs errands.
It's not uncommon to see Manato heading back from the store, sleeping kid in one arm and a mountain of groceries in the other. His steps smooth unconsciously, gait gliding, rocking them further to sleep. It's as easy as breathing, second nature to keep them comfortable when they're bundled up against him.
Manato's the kind of partner to recognize when you need a break and enforce it. If you're walking around dead on your feet, then it's his job to get you to rest. It's not always right away, but when he realizes it — whether your social battery is completely drained or you're just exhausted — he's leaning close, his voice a low rumble. "You ready to go?"
And if you insist that you can stay, that you're not tired, that's cool. He'll respect that for all of about ten minutes. Then he's bumping you with his shoulder, the question evaporated from his voice. "I'm ready to go."
You can cling to him like the kids, too, if you want. Shoes hurt your feet? Just too tired to stand? He's crouching down, waiting for you to climb onto his back. It doesn't matter if you're big or small. What, you think he can't carry you? That's just gonna make him carry you harder. Or, well — more often. He adapts that same smooth, steady gait as he navigates back home. You'll be lucky if the warmth, the steady pulse of his heart, and the easy pace he sets doesn't lull you to sleep before you've even crossed the threshold.
He'll flop down on top of you on request, but he finds it… not weird. Well, a little weird. He's just concerned. He's muttering 'can you even breathe?' while you're smothered by his weight. It's secure, it's cozy, yeah — whatever you say. He's not buying it.
Manato would much rather you sleep on top of him. (Hypocrite.) It just makes sense. His chest is broad, see? And you're always saying how warm he is, so you probably don't even need a blanket. You can squirm, can toss and turn all you like. It doesn't particularly bother him. He's your favorite nap spot, after all. He's more than content to stretch out on the couch with you firmly in place. His thick arms act as guard rails to keep you from spilling out onto the floor when you shift. He's not hearing any apologies, either. The kids are way worse than this.
Besides. When you plop down on him like that, you're going to be there for a while. He shows you post after post on his phone — often from the forums, but sometimes he just uses it as your daily catch up. Why text you every funny thing he comes across when he knows he'll have a captive audience? This way, he can see your reactions for himself.
ılıılı komano manato and his tiddies
request by: me because your honor they're huge
manato quietly grows protective of his chest - even when you tease him. you bop him on the pecs playfully: “hey, stop jiggling.” he rolls his eyes but grabs your hands gently. “these are heavy-duty, okay?” then wraps his arm over your shoulder with that familiar warm confidence.
morning cuddles are pillows + pecs. you sleep sprawled across him and his chest feels like your own built-in pillow. he snores softly, arm draped over you, and you remark: “should we register this as furniture?” he just smirks, “only if you’re happy being sat on.”
he pretends to hate shirtless moments - but lets them linger. after a mission, you catch him stripping off his undershirt to air out. you gasp: “what a sight!” he blushes, mutters, “for your eyes only,” and tugs that shirt back on - though you secretly sliver your sketchbook open and take notes.
pec massage, komano-style. one evening, sore from armor, he asks: “can you rub these suckers for me?” you do, giggling. he hums. “told you they’re sensitive.” and you let your fingers trace that broad chest, marveling at how jelly-on-a-train actually jiggles like pudding in motion.
he challenges you to chest pillow fights. “bet my pecs can ward off your pillow,” he teases. you take the other pillow, and he throws… the softest, slowest punch, chest wobbling theatrically. you laugh so hard you lose. he catches you mid-collapse with a snarl-smile, victorious.
he gets possessive if others stare too long. when people in feilume heights turn double takes at his physique, he narrows his red eyes dangerously. but if you rest your head on him, he shifts, body turning into a shield - even his chest. protective thiren mode: activated.
he leans into the fanservice - sometimes. after you compliment how “well-defined” he looks, he flexes once - too soft, too earnest - and pats his pec with genuine pride. “don’t get used to it,” he grumbles - but you know it's for you.
unexpected chest-nap interruptions. you fall asleep on his chest during a quiet night. his heart thumps steady underneath. he strokes your hair. “bet they never said chest naps were part of proxy perks,” he whispers. and you sleep deeper.
he wears chokers that draw focus… he teases you about fluffy collars and necklaces. but for your birthday, you gifted him a scarf-length choker that accentuates his broad chest. he flushed, pretended it was dumb - then wore it around new eridu proudly. loves showing it with the chest.
secret admirer vibes with pecs. one day you sketch him, shirt off, chest curves perfect on paper. he sees and leans over, lips brushing your ear: “that’s… impressive work. just like the real thing.” you snap- “impressive work?!” he smirks. “yeah. yours.”
Man... I need to write more ZZZ... I love you guys my gooner fandom!!! Have another token up my appreciation!
Switchy dog man pspspspapspspspsp
Komano Manato NSFW ALPHABET
Cw: possessive
NSFW 18+ MINORS DNI
A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)
He tends to get a little bit rough. He doesn't mean to, and he feels so bad afterward, so he'll whine and whimper and bury his face into your chest. If he finds any bruise or bite mark he has made on your skin, his ears fold back, looking up at you with puppy dog eyes as he licks the spot as if trying to soothe the pain.
He always has your favorite snacks or water on standby.
B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)
Don't call him mushy, but he really likes your hand. He likes intertwining his fingers with yours. He likes comparing how small your hands look compared to his
C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)
He feels embarrassed of how much he likes seeing you covered in his cum.
He whines his head in his hands as he mutters about how gross it is. His tail was wagging, of course.
the inner Thiren in him loves marking you in his scent no matter how much the other part of him wants to deny it.
D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)
A secret he will take to his grave. The last time you left your hoodie or shirt at his place, he was drooling and panting, burying his nose into the fabric, his big hand stroking his cock.
"P-please... Let me put it in! Please I'll be good... Please... Let me K-knot you!" His whine and growls muffled into your hoodie you're scent making him spiral.
That is why he always washes and folds your clothes and gives them to you the next time he sees you.
One of your pairs of underwear is still missing, though....
E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)
Manato is the type to only have sex with the people he loves, never just for pleasure. So you are probably the first person he's ever felt such sexual attraction to. When he is over you or under you, his fear to perform is overshadowed by the animalistic need to be inside you.
F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)
He hates that his favorite position is doggy style.
Yes, haha, dog thiren liking it doggy now put your head into the pillow and shut up while he fucks you stupid.
G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)
Manato is pretty serious; if you're more goofy, his patience will wear thin quickly. Well, naturally, a switch. He will never dominate a person so fast if you try to goof off with him.
H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)
Nah. He's a hairy boy. Maybe if you make or say anything, he'll shave once. And he'll probably do it wrong, get hurt, and never do it again.
I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)
He doesn't know shit about romance, but that doesn't stop him from trying. He's a good boy, and he loves to please. He'll do anything to make you feel special. If he isn't a heat-drunk mutt trying to rut his cock inside you, then he's taking it slow, preparing gently, making you feel loved before making love to you.
J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)
His hands are never enough, and toys last long with him. He can't help it. It feels so good to pound into a tight little hole. He can't help but be rough.
You're different. He could never hurt you, so he takes it all out on the poor toy. It is embarrassing how much money he spends on new toys.
K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)
Olfactophilia
Hehe, you smell nice... Dog brain loves your smell
Primal play
Manato feels so guilty of how much he really wants to lose control of you. To sink inside you and Knott you. He wants to overpower you with his sheer size and strength. Especially if you are a smaller herbivore Thiren or just a human.
Praise Kink
"shut up don't call me that..." He growls as his tail wags so hard it's thumping on the ground. He loves knowing that he's doing good. He loves knowing that you're happy with him. His pride swells three sizes every time.
Biting
He is in an internalized war with himself of not wanting to hurt you versus wanting to mark you. Wanting a visible deep mark so everyone who sees it knows you're taken. A deep urge to mark territory, a deep urge to tell others that you're his to protect you from other men especially other Canine thirens. He's a very jealous boy.
Size Kink
God he loves how small you are compared to him. He tries not to think about how much of a tight fit you'll be. A wave of guilt wash over him after remembering that he might hurt you.
L = Location (favorite places to do the do)
Home please. It has to be his home. He doesn't care where in his home as long as no one else is here to see you cry out and scream. That's only for him.
M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)
NICE SMELLS BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK.
He loves when you're close smell like your cologne or perfume.
Be careful in using too much perfume or cologne around him because that might hurt his nose.
If you ever rub that lovely little scented lotion on your skin, it will make it ten times harder for him to focus on whatever he's trying to do. It smells so good and is subtle enough to make him want more as it mixes with your scent. It drives him crazy.
N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)
No matter how much he wants to dig his teeth or claws or pound you till you can't walk, he's extremely hesitant to hurt you.
He will outright refuse to hit, slap, or choke. He doesn't want to lose control of his strength and really hurt you. He'll never forgive himself if he sees you cry.
One time, he saw you cry from overstimulation, and he stopped completely to kiss your tears away, whining and asking if he should stop.
O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)
He rather be the one giving than receiving.
Every time he sees you take his huge cock in your tiny throat he gets extremely scary urges to knot your mouth. He'll dig his claws into the mattress so hard that they tear through.
Nope nope nope you do feel insanely good but he rather be the one giving. It's not that he minds He rather have his face buried in your thick scent while tasting your sweet yet salty and rich flavor.
P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)
Slow and deep ( well he tries anyway)
It will almost always melt away into primal and rough. Manato will buck and rut his hips so deep that he will make your back arch and toes curl. His eyes will roll back as he drowns in pleasure, barely able to control his pace.
Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)
He tries to. But then when you finally pull away he will whine and nuzzle into your neck before finally letting go.
He still likes quickies. He just hates the part where he has to let you go.
He always put a hickey on you before letting you leave, whether it's before, during, or after.
R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)
Very eager to please you so they're definitely down to experiment on whenever you like. Though he might not be good at it. With risk-taking it depends.
S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)
Manato can easily Go for an entire day with brakes in between. He's a greedy dog and he just wants more.
T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)
He's never actually thought about using toys on you or the other way around. He doesn't like when you use toys in front of him because he feels a little jealous. He wants to be the one inside you :(
He hates how fast he loses his composure when you use toys on him. He is humiliated by how fast he came. The moment you put that vibrator on his shaft.
U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)
No, absolutely not. Do not tease him. He does not take teasing well. It will just make him want you more. It's hard to control himself around you as it is, and the last thing he needs is for you to tease him.
Teasing doesn't come naturally to him. He will always give you what you want. He likes being a good boy!
V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)
VOCAL
Whines, grunts, growls, howls. He has to bite into anything just to hold back his noises.
W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)
Manato is a very jealous person It's not that he's insecure He's just possessive. He's especially so with other dog thirens.
One of his red flags is that he's particularly possessive with other guys, Of course you would never stop you from seeing your friends it's not that he doesn't trust you. He just has to make sure he can trust those other dudes.
X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)
HUGE AND THICK. It gets worse with his knot.
He is insanely insecure about it because he doesn't want to hurt you. (As well as extremely turned on...)
Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)
Judging by his usual idiot demeanor you'll never know how much he truly yearns for you all the time. Unless he outright says.
It's embarrassing how much he thinks about fucking you.
Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)
His favorite thing about sex is when you snuggle up against him and fall asleep, he'll wrap his big arms around you and nuzzle into the top of your head.
One of the things he likes about sex is that his sheets will smell like you afterward :)
hey!! I was wondering if I could request a jealous Manato scenario maybe?!
your hero
jealous komano manato x gn!reader
tags: jealousy, protectiveness, manato protects reader from an unwanted advance
tw: minor conflict/aggression
a/n: of course, yes!!! I loved writing this and hope you enjoyed reading it :) my requests are open through my ask box! ~900 words
The touch of a stranger interrupts a beautiful day in the market.
The late afternoon hour demanded a stroll through town to pick up produce for dinner. While Manato bargains for leeks with wide, aggressive gesticulation and a loud voice, you meander away from the stall, attention drawn to another small stall boasting organic honey harvested from bees that have grown fat on clover and dandelion. The touch on your shoulder is, at first, hardly distinguishable from the bustling crowd around you. The second touch is firmer and finally drags your eyes away from the jars that have grabbed your attention.
The offending hand belongs to a man with wrinkles creased around the corners of his eyes and a large, flushed nose. Despite the sun drenching the world in shades of orange and yellow, you catch the stench of alcohol clinging to his breath. His hand remains on your shoulder.
“Heyyy. You, uh,” he stumbles on nothing and braces himself against your shoulder, “you from around here?”
You attempt to escape his grasp and disappear further into the crowd, but his grip is resolute. “Please don’t touch me.”
He doesn’t listen. “Come on, now. Don’t be like that. Just try’na getta know ya. That so wrong?”
“Yes, leave me alone.”
Your fingers curl against his and struggle against the strange strength afforded uniquely to drunkards and the desperate alike. Your body jerks away from his, another attempt that ends in the same failure. Whether you like it or not, this bastard has trapped you here.
“Alls of you bitches are the same,” he slurs. “Always puttin—“
The man cuts himself off with a strangled, throaty shout when another weight lands upon your shoulder. Your eyes draw up to find Manato’s hand clutching the drunkard’s with enough strength to turn the offender’s fingertips white and bloodless. You’ve always known your boyfriend to have the capacity for violence, but it is only now that you truly understand why so many people cross the street to avoid him. He radiates palpable menace, glowering down at the drunkard as if he would like no more than to tear him to shreds with just teeth and nails.
“Do we have a problem?”
The man blubbers for a moment, floundering.
“I was just—“ another strangled cry as Manato’s grip tightens enough for you to hear the bones in the man’s hand creak. “—No, sir! No problem at all!”
“Good.” Manato’s grip remains resolute as he lifts the man’s hand from your shoulder. “Because it would end poorly for you if we had a problem.”
The man whimpers.
“But, since we don’t have a problem,” another squeeze, “you’ll have no issue apologising.”
The man looks up at Manato with watery eyes. “A-A-Apologise?”
“Yeah. Apologise for touching them. Now.”
The man dips his head. “I’m s-so sorry for—“
Manato growls. “Not to me. To them.”
“I’m so sorry,” the man blubbers, turning those pathetic wet eyes to meet yours for a brief moment before tilting down. “I’m so sorry for touching you!”
This whole thing has been too much drama for what was supposed to be an easy run for ingredients. While it would greatly satisfy you to see this miscreant grovel further, you grow weary of drawing out this punishment any further. Judging by the trembling of his lip, he’s suffered enough. As such, when Manato looks down at you for confirmation of the validity of this apology, you merely nod. Manato’s lips twitch.
“Good.” He releases the drunkard’s hand, and the man goes stumbling backward, catching himself on the edge of the honey stall. “Go. Don’t let me catch you again.”
“Yes sir! S-sorry, sir!”
And then the man goes scrambling off into the crowd, disappearing with great haste. His touch is now little more than a memory on your shoulder, a brand soothed by the love of your protector.
Manato turns to you, placing both hands on your shoulders and looking down at you like he’s checking for damage. There’s a palpable concern in the furrow of his brow, a worry that makes him look more like a kicked puppy than the fearsome protector you saw moments earlier.
“Are you okay?”
You nod. “Yeah. He didn’t do anything.”
“I woulda killed him if he did.” Manato leans down and gathers you into a tight embrace. “Like, he woulda been dust before you even said the word.”
You laugh, pressing a kiss into his neck, then his cheek, then his lips. “My hero.”
Manato’s tail gives a sweeping wag that you feel more than you see. “Yours.”
His eyes trace the curve of your neck and darken, and you realize with a start that this kind of display should wait until the both of you are in private, beyond the nosy, prying eyes of the marketplace. You pull back from him with another laugh and rapidly search for a distraction. It comes in the form of a plastic white bag hanging from Manato’s shoulder.
“You got the leeks?”
Manato snaps out of it, pulling back with a wide, toothy smile, though his hand refuses to leave the small of your back.
“Yeah! Managed to get three for one, can you believe it? That’s, like, the best deal I’ve ever gotten.”
You smile in tune to his infectious enthusiasm as you draw him back to the marketplace thoroughfare. “Wow. Not a bad deal at all.”
“Right?! Now, if I can haggle down the carrots, we can…”
