ïž” àł mdni. older-bf!nanami who takes care of you
older-bf!nanami who always wakes up before you. he makes sure your coffee is exactly how you like it and leaves a small note on the counter every morningâeven if heâs running late for workâalways ending with âhave a good day, darling.â
older-bf!nanami who is incredibly protective. he walks on the outside of the sidewalk, keeps a hand on your lower back in crowded places, and stares down anyone who looks at you for too long.
older-bf!nanami who gets especially possessive protective when younger men look at you weirdly. he doesnât make a scene, but his stare turns ice-cold as he watches them. heâll pull you closer by the waist and give them a look that says âtouch her and youâre deadâ without saying a single word.
older-bf!nanami who knows exactly how to make you loose your mind in bed. years of experience have made him incredibly skilled. he knows how to angle his hips to hit that perfect spot, when to go slow and deep, and when to fuck you hard and senseless. he reads your body like a book and he doesnât make a secret out of it.
older-bf!nanami who loves leaving hickeys on your neck and thighs where only he can see them. heâll grip your jaw and make you look at him while heâs buried deep inside you, murmuring, âtell me who you belong to,â then gently kiss every mark he left the next morning.
older-bf!nanami who fucks with patience, like he doesnât rush. he always takes his time stretching you open with his fingers first, watching your face the entire time. âbreathe, darling,â heâll say calmly, even as heâs pressing his thick cock into you inch by inch.
older-bf!nanami who sometimes fucks you with too much patience. he edges you for what feels like hours, bringing you right to the edge only to slow down or stop completely until your whimpers fill the room. heâll keep his thick cock buried deep inside you, barely moving, while he kisses your neck and whispers, ânot yet, darling.â
older-bf!nanami who loves the way you whine and beg. heâll hold your hips down so you canât chase your own pleasure, looking at you with that calm face while you tremble and plead. âshh⊠be good for me,â he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead even as he denies you again. âiâll let you cum when i think youâve earned it.â
older-bf!nanami who has gotten noticeably more veiny with age. his hands, forearms, and especially his cock are heavily veined. when heâs fully hard, the thick veins running along his length are so visible, and you can feel every single one dragging against your walls when he slowly pushes inside you.
older-bf!nanami whose dick is thick, heavy, and slightly curved upward. even when heâs soft, itâs impressive. when heâs hard, itâs almost intimidatingâfat head, those veins, and always leaking for you. he loves how you struggle to take all of him, enjoying the way your pussy stretches around his girth.
older-bf!nanami who is constantly teased by satoru about your age gap. gojo never misses an opportunity to poke at him. but nanami has grown completely used to the teasing. he doesnât get visibly annoyed anymore. instead, he just sighs, adjusts his glasses, and replies something like, âat least my girlfriend doesnât run away when i speak, gojo.â
older-bf!nanami who tolerates the jokes but draws the line when they go too far. if anyone ever implies youâre âjust a phaseâ or âwith him for the money,â nanamiâs expression turns icy cold in an instant that makes everyone shut up immediately.
older-bf!nanami who sometimes gets mistaken for your father in public. waiters, store clerks, or strangers often say things like âitâs so nice to see a daughter spending time with her dadâ or âyour daughter is beautiful, sir.â he stays perfectly polite on the outside, offering only a small smile, but you can feel the way his hand tightens on your waist.
older-bf!nanami who acts unfazed in the moment, simply correcting them calmly with âsheâs my girlfriend, actually.â but the moment youâre alone, especially in the car or back home, he feels stupidly lucky, almost greedy, that someone as young and beautiful as you is his. and it always leaves him with a sudden urge to claim you right away.
older-bf!nanami who often ends up fucking you in the car shortly after. the second youâre both inside, doors barely closed, heâs already pulling you into his lap or pushing your seat back. his hands are impatient as he tugs your clothes aside, breathing rough against your neck while he pushes inside.
older-bf!nanami who gets especially talkative during these quick, needy car fucks. between deep thrusts heâll whisper things like âlet them think iâm too old for you⊠as long as you keep moaning for this old manâs cock.â he loves making you cum fast and hard, one hand covering your mouth so people walking by wonât hear you.
older-bf!nanami who, after cumming deep inside you, stays buried in you for a while, gently stroking your hair and kissing your temple. heâll softly say, âi donât care what anyone thinks⊠youâre the best thing thatâs ever happened to me.â
older-bf!nanami who has started getting a few silver strands in his hair. you sometimes find them when youâre playing with his hair, especially at his temples. he used to be a little self-conscious about it, but now whenever you touch the grey hairs he smiles.
older-bf!nanami who especially loves when you kiss the grey hairs at his temple or run your fingers through them while heâs inside you. it makes something possessive and soft twist in his chest at the same time. heâll press you deeper into the mattress and whisper, âthese grey hairs are because of years of waiting for someone like you.â
older-bf!nanami who secretly worries that heâs too old for you. sometimes when he sees you laughing with people your age, a fear settles in his chest. he never says it directly, but he makes up for it by being even more attentiveâspoiling you more, fucking you harder, reminding you with every touch that no one else could ever take care of you the way he does.
i think shidou has a daddy kink but a little one like I donât think he wants you to call him daddy like all the time I feel like itâs very occasional. I feel like while you guys are having sex, heâll be just like oh whoâs your daddy and he was just like crack jokes
and you would tell him like bro stop like Iâm literally about to come and he would be like oh you want that bad and you would be like yes yes please and he would tell you to beg for it, but without the attitude
And because you guys are in prone bone and he has a pillow beneath your abdomen to support you, he would definitely give you a little slap on your ass and he would tell you call me daddy maybe Iâll let you finish
So youâre like please, daddy.. ryusei and heâd be like thats my girl before speeding up and not even giving you a second to breathe
Ok listen like hear me out right now right like ok OK. naoya. rifht smut like bro lets letssss say youârejust some girl he fucks or whatevr hes not gonna gaf about you cumming or you feeling good at all. the mf is not even gonna waste his projection sorcery on you
BUT but. listen. if youâre his wife who he LOVES right. i honestly do believe naoya is capable of love but obviously it would be twisted and not very good for said wife
BEST BELIEVE BESTTTTT BELIEVE YOUâLL BE CUMMING BEFORE YOU EVEN REALIZE. Is it even possible for him to use projection sorcery on just his hand???? OMG omg. Ohhhh dude. hes definitely the type of guy to have you laying down on your back, legs spread and hes like sitting beside your legs and hes fingering you REAL fast (LIKEthis one pornhub channel i watched where the girl gets fingered really fast right) and basically heâll also also BRO U GUYS CANNOT TELL ME HES NOT INTO MUTUAL MASTURBATION HE IS đ đ I SWEARR HE IS. heâll DEFFFFINitely Make fun of you for not being able to go as fast as him and heâll definitely mock your expressions by talking about how dumb you look with that face expression and so he literally coz hes beside you so he basically cums on your stomach right and then JUSTTT As youâre about to squirt/cum he pulls his fingers out and he WANTS you to save it until you and him can cum together. heâll be comign again u get it
HE LOVES missionary idc. is it borng? yes. BUT he likes it so your legs are lying flat on his chest and he can easily fold you like a fucking lawn chair and it makes it easy for him to pull you closer. HE LOVES suddenly putting you from missionary to captain too and definitely while hes POUNDING THAT PUSSY heâll reach up and grope your tit.
MAYBE maybe if heâs pissed off that day heâll be pulling your hair with both of his hands and just staring down at his cock sliding in and out of you while the bed is PROBABLY crying more than you. right!!!!! chin to your chest and tears welling in your eyes and hes just like SO FOCUSED.
obviously. rightt⊠heâs still very misogynistic very asshole. So if hes in a particularly shitty mood itâll probably be a quickie just for him to let out his frustration then dip to the shower
Ok aftercare right
So. if ur not his wife who he loves and ur just some random girl then no aftercare infact heâll be telling you to get the hell out before you can even like calm down from the aftermath..
but. BUT WIFE okay. okay. for wife i feel like heâd just land ontop of you and collect himself for a few moments, PANTING AND SWEATY AND DADDY GIVE ME THAT DICKđđđđ ok sorrrrrry but he doesnt carry u or even clean you up he just collects himself gets up and goes to shower. canât walkâŠ..? icl⊠not his problem. heâll just put his hand around your arm and drag you.
Okđ thanks for reading time for me to disappear for the next few months
Itâs truly astonishing to me how some people cannot seem to comprehend that characters are fictional and that liking them doesnât automatically mean you align yourself with them morally. Like Iâm stoked as fuck for Naoya to be animated in JJK season 3. Heâs hot and I wanna be railed by him into infinity. Doesnât mean I think heâs a good dude and Iâd date him in real life, or that I share his beliefs, or any of that. Like people are allowed to find fictional assholes sexy itâs literally fiction these people do not exist!!!!! Itâs not that deep!!!! Itâs a pretty face made out of lines!!! Some people just suck the fun right out of fandom!!!
author's note: i didn't do a deep dive into the full history of daphne and apollo. all i really took was the core bit: eros shooting daphne (you in this) with the lead aversion arrow and apollo with the love one. i mostly just focused on the laurel tree myth and then twisted it for this fic. so yeah, in this the "spell" is broken and youâre back in nymph form just in time for the tournament, but the arrows and those feelings are still very much stuck in place. hope u guys enjoy the angst!
the sun doesnât just shine for apollo; it is him.
in the arena of valhalla, he is a masterpiece of light and arrogance. he moves with the grace of a man who has never known the word âno,â surrounded by a literal sea of womenâhis âbeautiesââwho scream his name until their throats are raw. to them, he is the pinnacle of existence. he is the god who tells them to shine, who validates their every struggle.
but as he stands there, bathed in the frantic adoration of a million souls, his eyes skip over the rows of weeping, cheering faces. he isnât looking for a fan.
he's looking for the one person who would rather be a corpse than be his.
and then, he sees you.
the laurel crown on his headâthe one he wears as a symbol of his victory, his style, his identityâsuddenly feels like a leaden weight. For centuries, you were wood and leaf. you were the silent, green monument to his greatest failure. he had kissed your bark and wept, swearing that if he could not have you as his wife, he would have you as his sacred tree.
but here you are. the transformation is gone. the "spell" of the gods or the sheer chaos of everything has spit you back out in your original form. a nymph. soft skin, bright eyes, and a soul that is still, very clearly, trying to vibrate out of its skin to get away from him.
the gold arrow is still buried deep in his chest. it never left. itâs been thousands of years and he is still, quite pathetically, desperate to the idea of you.
and the lead arrow? the one that makes his touch feel like a burn? the one that makes his voice sound like grinding stones?
itâs still in you. he can see it in the way you flinch when his eyes lock onto yours.
he wins his round. he bleeds, he suffers, he shines, and he wins. heâs taken back to the medical wing, his beauties fluttering around him like butterflies, dabbing at his wounds with silk, offering him nectar, crying over his beautiful, marred skin.
"my lord," one whispers, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. "you were magnificent."
"the most beautiful of all," another coos, leaning into his space.
apollo smiles. itâs practiced. itâs radiant. itâs his job to be their sun. he has thousands of themâmillions. a harem of women who would die for a single glance. he canât just turn them away. he is the god of beauty; he belongs to everyone. he is a public utility of desire.
but his eyes are darting to the door.
apollo finds you weeks later.
he's fully healed, radiant as ever, draped in gold and surrounded by the constant, buzzing hive of his beauties. they're feeding him grapes, tending to his hair, laughing at his jokes. he's the center of a universe he built to drown out the silence you left behind.
he dismisses them. it takes a long time because there are so manyâa hundred women, two hundred, a thousandâand they cling to his golden robes like cooling shadows.
he smiles, he kisses brows, he gently tugs them away, he peels their fingers from his golden silk with a soft "not today, my loves," and "i have business."
he is gentle, because he is apollo, and the sun does not strike the flowers that reach for it.
the moment the gilded doors click shut, the mask falls. apollo closes his eyes, and the air around him begins to shimmer. a divine portalâa tear in the fabric of the realms made of pure, white-hot lightâopens before him. he steps through the sun itself and out into the cool, damp air of the valhalla gardens.
he had come here to be alone. he had come here to mourn the fact that he saw you in the stands and yet, you hadn't come to his victory gala. but then, he sees you.
you are staring at a laurel tree with a look of such weary, bone-deep recognition that apollo feels the gold arrow in his chest twist. he stays in the shadows for a moment, just watching you breathe. you're real. you arenât bark.
"youâre back," he says. his voice is a low hum, a melody heâs spent eons perfecting.
you don't turn around. your shoulders tense. "i am."
"i kept the leaves," he whispers, reaching out a hand, his fingers trembling. you step away. just one inch. but to apollo, it feels like a canyon opening up.
it stings. itâs a physical pain, sharper than any blade he faced in the arena. he is the sun! yet here you are, shivering as if heâs a winter frost. he reaches out, a golden hand trembling. "the arrow... surely after all this time, the effect has faded? we are in the end times. let meâ"
"don't."
the word is a wall. he stops. he thinks about his palace filled with women who adore him. he canât leave them. he won't. his pride is too big. he needs the harem to muffle the sound of his own heartbeat, which only ever thumps out your name.
"youâre still so beautiful," he whispers, his voice breaking. "it's unfair. i'm nothing compared to the way you hate me."
you look at himâreally look at himâand for a second, thereâs pity in your eyes. which is worse. so much worse than the fear. "go back to your harem, apollo. they love you. let that be enough."
"itâs not enough," he says, and the honesty of it feels like a sacrilege. "it's never been enough. a million voices calling me 'lord' and it doesn't drown you out. i sat beside that tree for a thousand years, talking to the leaves, hopingâprayingâthat if i was just patient enough, youâd come back."
"and i did come back," you reply, stepping toward the fountain. "and the first thing i see is you, draped in gold, surrounded by a thousand replacements."
apollo flinches as if youâd struck him. "they were there when you weren't. they love the light i give them. should the sun go out because one nymph refuses to look at it?"
"yes," you say simply. "if thatâs what it takes to be left alone, then let it go out."
the silence that follows is deafening. in the distance, the faint, melodic bells of his palace ring, signaling the start of another feast in his honor. he can feel the pull of his dutyâto be the sun, to be the god of beauty, to never show a single flaw.
"loveâ" he starts, using the name he hasn't dared speak in an age.
"don't call me that," you snap over your shoulder. "i'm not your 'love.' i'm just me. and i'm leaving."
he watches you go until the green of the garden swallows you whole. he stands there for an eternity, his hand half-raised, reaching for nothing. the god of the sun, cast in the long, lonely shadows. he waits until the scent of your skinâlike rain and wild herbsâis replaced by the heavy, cloying perfume of the gardenâs flowers.
he reaches up and touches the laurel wreath on his head. itâs cold.
eventually, the golden light around him flares, and he steps back through the portal. he returns to his home, to the silk-draped rooms and the endless praise of his beauties. they rush to him the moment he appears, their voices a sweet wave of adoration.
he lets them take his hands. he lets them lead him to his velvet couch. he smiles at them, and it is the brightest thing in the world, a sun that never sets. he tells them they are magnificent. he makes them feel like the center of his universe.
but his heart is still in that garden. he is apollo. he is the god who has everything. and as a hundred beautiful women press against him, whispering his name like a prayer, he has never felt more hollow.
he has a million lovers, and yet, he will always be the loneliest god in valhalla.
author's note: ummm if this is ooc i apologize this is just how i think he would be. smut hcs at the end lolsies
poseidon wouldn't ever call it "love," because that implies weakness or a need for another person, and gods do not need. instead, he views it as a singular, divine exception.
out of all the useless, noisy vermin in existence, he has decided that you are adequate. that you are perfect enough to exist alongside him without offending his senses. his affection isn't warm; itâs a cold, heavy, immovable fact.
you belong to him, and therefore, you are elevated above everyone else simply by association.
poseidon would only ever look twice at someone who embodies the exact same icy perfection he does. he loathes weakness, he loathes "flocking" together, and he absolutely hates noise.
his ideal woman is completely self-sufficient; if she ever looked at him with pleading eyes asking for help, he would instantly see her as "vermin" and lose all interest.
he wants someone who is perfectly content in her own power without needing validation from anyone, especially him. he is drawn to her because she is the only other being who looks at the universe with the same profound indifference that he does. she doesn't need him to be a god; she just is one.
and he would be the type of man who never asks for your opinion but somehow knows exactly what you want before you even realize it yourself.
if youâre tired, heâs already standing, his hand a firm, grounding weight on the small of your back to lead you away from the "vermin" without a single word of explanation to the people you were talking to.
he doesn't "escort" you; he moves you like a precious piece on a chessboard that only he is allowed to touch.
and his touch would be so rare that every time it happens, it feels like a divine event. heâs not a cuddler, but he is incredibly territorial.
if a stray hair falls out of place, he won't tell you to fix it. he will simply reach out, his long fingers cool and steady, and tuck the strand back behind your ear.
itâs a terrifyingly intimate gesture because his eyes never leave yours while he does itâa silent reminder that he notices every single flaw, and yet, he has chosen to correct yours himself.
and if he were to kiss you, he wouldn't be intense about it. there's no desperation in a god like him. he'd simply place his hand on your cheek, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw with just enough pressure to tilt your face up to his.
he would show love through absolute, unwavering standards. he doesn't give "participation trophies." if poseidon ever stays to watch you train or move, itâs because he finds your form flawless. as it should be.
he won't tell you "good job," but he will stare at you for a long, quiet minute before turning away, and that lookâthat brief moment where he actually sees youâis worth more than a thousand "i love yous" from a lesser god.
and he's the type to be silently jealous.
he doesn't shout or pick fights with other gods.
if someone dares to look at you for too long, poseidon will simply turn his gaze toward them. he won't move a muscle, but the sheer, crushing weight of his intent will fill the room until the offender shuts their mouth and leaves. he doesn't do it to protect your feelings; he does it because no vermin has the right to gaze upon what is his.
SMUT HCS HERE
poseidon is a man of absolute control, and that doesn't change when the lights go out. his desire is like the oceanâitâs calm and flat until it suddenly, wordlessly pulls you under.
he doesn't "initiate" with words or suggestive looks. he simply walks into the room, locks the door, and looks at you until the weight of his gaze makes you realize exactly what is about to happen.
he finds the idea of public fumbling or quickies in hallways to be beneath himâthe behavior of a clown who can't control their own impulses. he prefers the absolute privacy of his own space, where he can take his time without distraction.
and his kinks are all centered around quiet, firm dominance.
heâs a prone bone man through and through; he likes the view of your back and the way you look pressed down into the deep, expensive sheets. he doesn't need to see your face to know you're his; he can feel it in the way you tremble beneath him.
he wouldn't mind tying your hands behind your back, eitherânothing cheap like rope, but a heavy, black silk tie. he wants you still. he wants you focused entirely on the sensation of him.
and he's incredibly iffy about bite marks or anything that "mars" your skin. he views your body as something perfect, a divine extension of his own space, and he doesn't want to see teeth marks on it the next day. however, heâll leave a single, dark bruise on your hip where his thumb pressed too hardâa proprietary mark that only he will ever see.
he prefers the mouthâstolen, lingering kisses that remind you who he is.
his libido isn't high, mostly because he finds the "need" for sex to be a little too much, but when he decides itâs time, he is incredibly thorough.
he isn't a loud man, but he isn't silent either; when you move just right, heâll let out a low, guttural grunt against the back of your neck. his praise is rare and sharp: "good. stay like that," or a simple, breathless, "perfect," when you finally break. itâs not meant to make you feel "good"âitâs meant to confirm that you are meeting his standards.
and for aftercare, heâs not the type to cuddle or whisper sweet nothings. heâll sit up, compose himself, and then heâll clean you both up with a damp cloth, his movements efficient and steady.
but if heâs feeling particularly "spicy," heâll just carry you straight into the shower. the water will be freezing coldâjust the way he likes itâand heâll press you against the tile, the steam filling the room while he takes his time exploring you all over again.
no funerals for the living
authors note: hi....!!!! hope everyone is having a good day!! i listened to 'on possession' by sea oleena on repeat while writing this
AT 13, noritoshi kamo is informed the same way you areâpolitely, formally, like itâs the weather. itâs a future decided with teacups and careful words. youâre both too young to understand what marriage really means, only that your names are now tied together in a way that feels heavy and permanent.
he bows to youâstiff, formal, his eyes already carrying the weight of a man three times his age. you were friends once, playing in the courtyards of the kamo estate, but now he looks at you and sees another obligation he cannot afford to fail.
AT 14, you both start avoiding each other without ever agreeing to it. clan meetings put you shoulder to shoulder, knees almost touching, eyes fixed anywhere but forward.
when the elders dismiss you both so they can discuss "the future of the bloodline," you stand in the hallway in a silence so thick with things you donât understand yet that itâs hard to breathe. you stop being children at different speeds, and neither of you knows how to bridge the gap.
AT 16, the idea of âsomedayâ settles in. itâs not romantic, not yet, just inevitable. noritoshi becomes gentler with you than with anyone elseâmeasured, respectful, and painfully considerate. he walks you home from training when he can. you correct his form when he overthinks. itâs subtle, contained, and careful enough to be deniable. itâs a kind of kindness that hurts more than distance ever did.
AT 17, jujutsu high forces proximity. shared missions, shared reports, shared danger. the engagement stays unspoken; principal yaga doesnât need to know, and clan business stays clan business.
but then you almost die on a mission that goes southâa grade 1 that was supposed to be a semi-grade 2âand you're nearly gutted. the world narrows to pain and noise and blood. when itâs over, noritoshi doesnât hesitate; he pulls you against him, one arm tight around your waist and the other braced between your shoulders, like heâs afraid youâll disappear if he loosens his grip for even a second.
AT 18, the words come out wrong, but they come out anyway. noritoshi never says "i love you" like itâs simple. itâs more careful than that: "i wouldnât want this with anyone else. i don't think i could." there are hidden kisses, stolen moments, and promises made in the spaces between missions and expectations. it feels fragile and precious. for the first time, the future feels like something he actually chose.
then shibuya happens. the culling game looms and the clan fractures. noritoshi is ousted from the kamo clan, his birthright stripped away by kenjakuâs arrival.
the engagement is nullified before he can even speak to youâerased quickly and efficiently, like ink from a page. your parents inform you that youâre free now, free to choose someone else, and somehow that makes it worse. not being the heir is one thing, but losing you feels hollow in a way he has no words for.
you donât see each other again. yet, even in the middle of a game meant for slaughter, he still carries your favorite ribbon in his pocket.
noritoshi kamo, whose marriage with you ended before it could ever truly begin, learns that some losses donât need funerals to haunt you.
sometimes, years later, he wonders if what he felt was loveâor if it was just something he was never allowed to keep long enough to understand.
BONUS: the culling games are a symphony of noiseâthe sound of blood hitting the pavement, the hum of barriers, the screams of the weak. but in the quiet spaces, between the carnage and the survival, noritoshi kamo finds the silence unbearable.
he is sitting against a concrete wall, the air smelling of ozone and old dust. his bow is leaned against his shoulder, his fingers stained with the iron scent of his own technique. he is no longer a kamo heir. he is barely a kamo at all.
he reaches into his pocket.
his fingers find it immediately. the ribbon is frayed now, the silk worn thin and dull from where his thumb has traced the edges a thousand times too many in the dark. itâs a useless thing. it has no cursed energy. it won't stop a blade or a curse. it won't bring back his name, or your smile, or the life he imagined with you.
but itâs the only thing that wasn't decided for him by an elder or a bloodline. it's the only ghost he is allowed to keep.
he thinks about the "freedom" your parents promised you. he hopes youâre breathing somewhere safe, far away from the blood and the barriers. he hopes youâve found a choice that doesn't feel like a heavy, golden cage.
mostly, he just looks at the fabric and wonders if you still remember the boy who bowed too low at thirteen, or if heâs just another erased line in a history book youâve finally been allowed to close.
jjk men while drunk â satoru, suguru, choso, sukuna & naoya
SATORU GOJO
the lioness is thinking about satoru gojoâhow the "strongest" sorcerer loses every ounce of his cool factor and turns into the worldâs stickiest, most affectionate koala bear.
he stops being untouchable and starts draping his entire heavy body weight over you, chin digging into your shoulder, murmuring slurred confessions like, "did i ever tell you? you're the best. like, literally the best. i love you guys so much."
everyone is staring because he's technically a lethal weapon, but right now he's just rubbing his flushed cheek against yours, refusing to let go of your waist, demanding repeated validation and one hundred simultaneous high-fives.
SUGURU GETO
the lioness is thinking about suguru getoâwho is trying desperately to maintain his dignity while the floor tilts forty-five degrees to the left.
heâs swaying, eyes half-lidded, looking like a sleepy cat, waving a hand dismissively when you ask if he's okay. "drunk? me? impossible. i am simply... resting my eyes while standing. it is a meditation technique."
he tries to lecture you on the failures of non-sorcerers but slurs the word "monkeys" into "munkies" and then trips over his own expensive robes. he lands face first on the couch, mumbles, "just resting my eyes," and immediately passes out, looking peaceful and totally defeated by the alcohol.
CHOSO KAMO
the lioness is thinking about choso kamoâwho starts the night stoic but ends it sobbing into his hands because the shape of a pretzel reminded him of brotherhood.
one minute he's babbling excitedly about a sunset he saw three years ago, clinging to your sleeve with wide, watery eyes because "everything is just so beautiful," and the next, the mood crashes entirely.
he's babbling, tears streaming down his face, talking about how much he misses yuji, misses his brothers, misses the quiet comfort of his past life. "look at me... i failed them all..." he looks at you with wet, red eyes and asks if you want to be his sibling too, just so he can protect you, before bursting into fresh, ugly tears that somehow smell vaguely of blood manipulation.
RYOMEN SUKUNA
the lioness is thinking about ryomen sukunaâwho refuses to admit that a mortal substance could ever affect the king of curses, even though his eyes are definitely unfocused and his vessels are struggling.
he's sitting perfectly still, projecting cold power, but his mood is swinging like a pendulumâone second heâs oddly calm, smirking at his cup with a terrifying, almost pleasant look, then you ask him a question and he snaps, "silence, woman. are you dumb? do not speak to me."
he briefly leans into your touch before realizing the soft weakness of the act, immediately growling and shoving you away with controlled force. he keeps rubbing his temples, holding his head like he has a headache, oscillating between "i'm fine" and internally threatening to dismantle anyone who points out the redness of his cheeks.
NAOYA ZEINN
the lioness is thinking about naoya zeninâwhose arrogance doesn't dissolve in alcohol, it just gets louder, whinier, and way more annoying.
heâs leaning back, face flushed, gesturing wildly while ranting about how nobody appreciates true zenin talent and how superior he is over absolutely everyone else. "do you have a problem? hah? you looking at me? only the best are allowed to look at me."
the lioness is thinking about how he starts murmuring and whining when you successfully ignore him, like a spoiled child denied his favourite toy: "âŠwhy is my glass empty? why am i the only one who truly understands the principles of the zenin clan?" he's groaning, pouting like a brat, and trying to pick a fight with a lamp because it wasn't respecting his status.
authors note: for nanami, i couldnât really imagine him drunk drunk. he feels like the type who knows his limit, drinks responsibly, and stops before things get messy. if he ever did overdo it, i think heâd just get quiet and sleepy.
Denji knew it was wrong but he couldnât help himself, here you were knelt between his legs looking up at him with those doe eyes, oh how innocent you were he thought to himself. Earlier he had told you that he was, âfeeling unwellâ and the only way he could get better is if you could suck him off, warning you not to tell anyone because this something kept between best friends only!
He unbuckled his belt, then led your hands to his zipper encouraging you to take it off, sitting up slightly as you led his pants to his ankles. There was a wet patch on his boxers, mesmerised unable to look away from his bulge. His eyes hazy with lust âyouâre gonna help me feel better, right?â you look up at him and nod slowly. He lifts his hips up once again to pull his boxers down.
His tip is slick flushed an angry shade of red, drooling with pre-come, desperately begging to be sucked a prominent vein bulging out . You donât what it is but you feel a weird wetness between your legs. âDonât be scared, âm gonna guide you kay.â He takes his member in his hand slapping the tip on your cheek before telling you to âopen wideâ, placing his tip in your mouth âshit..â the warmth wetness tempting him to use your throat like a cocksleeve.Â
He placed a hand on the top of your head and slowly began to push down letting out a strained whimper, âmmh, Iâm starting to feel better alreadyâ once you reached the base of his cock he kept you there for a few seconds, not being able to breathe your throat contracted around him, ripping a strangled groan out of him before he guided you off giving you a sec on to catch your breath.Â
ââm gonna go a bit rougher this time, you wanna help me out right?â his voice sultry, he shifted your hair into a makeshift ponytail and placed his tip on you tongue once again, roughly shoving himself in and out of your mouth the room filled with sounds of you choking as you throat continued to contract around him âgood girlâfuckâhelping your best friend feel betterâ
Your lips were red and swollen, tears falling down on your face, but denji was too lost in pleasure to care, heâs your best friend so he can make it up to you later right? âhaah-shit-iâm so close, donât stopâ he pushes you all the way down groaning âhaah â you feel so warm âm coming, swallow kayâ you taste something salty but not unpleasant spilling into your mouth,  doing exactly as your told you donât let a drop go to waste, feeling him soften in your mouth.
 Denji takes his cock out your mouth, pulling up his boxers tucking himself away, he then takes both of his hands caressing each side of your face and wiping your tears before pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead before grinning at you.
also also gojo has a piss kink too and if you refuse this fact you're wrong in the head because he does. have a piss kink.
i dont think he actually wants to pee on your or vice versa (but yes he will let you hold it while he pees and yes he will get it on your hand on purpose) but i think he is more into the omorashi side of things... he drinks these big sugary drinks back-to-back until he's positively busting to go and then he will fuck you! super hard and fast and deep to distract himself from just how much he needs to piss until he's so fucking desperate that he just has to pull out and run to the bathroom. or cry a little when you wrap your legs around his waist and force him to keep holding it or make a mess of the both of you or something
the lioness is thinking about the regrettable, yet utterly blissful, feeling of waking up pressed against naoya zenin, feeling the heat of his body and the heavy, proprietary weight of his arm draped across (MY) her back.
the lioness is thinking about the shared quiet of the morning, even if it's already an absurdly late 11:00 AM, and the comfortable reality of being allowed to exist in his space.
the lioness is thinking about the low, irritable sound he makesâa rough, sleepy "ugh... damn,"âas he begins to stir, nudging her side just enough to interrupt the deep, selfish comfort of sleep.
the lioness is thinking about the annoyance of being interrupted, hearing his voice, husky with sleep and annoyance: "woman. are you awake?"
there's soft, slow movement as she stirs, still half-asleep, and mutters back, "hnn.. five more minutes. it's too early, naoya."
his body shifts against hers, the tension in his lower half now unmistakableâand the insistent, hard press of his 'problem' against the outside of her thigh. "i have a problem," he mutters, his voice sharper now, "a very obvious, pressing problem."
she gives a lazy, unhelpful response of, "go deal with it." but before she can finish the sentence, she feels the insistent, demanding shape of the issue, and the concentrated, radiating heat off him.
he presses himself a bit firmer against her, a demanding movement, and his voice drops to a low, impatient command: "are you dense? are you still asleep, you idiot? look."
she reluctantly, fully turns her head on the pillow this time, opening her eyes properly to the light streaming through the curtains, and the realization hits, heavy and immediate, wiping the last vestiges of sleep away in a single, burning wave. oh.. oh.
the lioness is thinking about the way he doesn't even wait for a verbal response, just demanding, "well? are you going to help or what?" as her lazy, almost imperceptible nod comes too late, because his heavy, proprietary hand is already leaving her back and moving to the hem of her sleep shorts, tugging them down hard.
authors note: sorry again. im!!! i post when i think. naoya zenin my feminist king! im so sorry but he is fine as fuck! or maybe i just like really arrogant men!! me after i say i can fix naoya and everyone looks at me weird đ also thank you all so much for the likes??!! holy shit
the lioness is thinking about how, three months into dating, suguru geto suddenly developed a very intense, extremely specific interest in your personal hygiene schedule. It was so weird because heâs usually so calm and chill, but now heâs obsessed with the timeline of your cleanliness, like it's a major cursed spirit threat or something.
the lioness is thinking about the subtle, kind-of thirsty way he first brought it up after a particularly intense mission, pretending it was a scheduling issue: "just so I can, you know, coordinate my recovery time... can you text me when you plan on using the shower? for planning purposes." seriously, planning purposes?
heâs suguru geto, he doesnât plan anything unless it involves a cult or eating cursed spirit spheres. but whatever, it was him.
the lioness is thinking about how you started diligently sending him texts like:
the lioness is thinking about how you (YES YOU) absolutely sent those pictures. not immediately, though. you spent a good three minutes inside, trying different angles, tilting your phone just so the steam didn't block the light, making sure the soap was just right.
the lioness is thinking about how you settled on the best one. the one that showed the most... artistic soap distribution, and hit send. but then, because you are who you are.. you immediately sent the others right after. you were really in there, putting in the work. you sent them all.
authors note: sorry to my 4 followers i love u đ„č this came to me in a dream also this kind of feels ooc? i dont know how he would text tho (obviously.) but this is just my... thinks rlly hard and starts sweating... how i think he would be. hes supposed to be a little shy about it in this so maybe that helps!
