an otter swimming around

Officially 19. Time flies by 🙃 🩷💛🩵 any pronouns

[woncheolisms]

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─── 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐈𝐀 ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

(n.) a place where you feel safe and at home, where you are your most authentic self; a place from which your strength is drawn.

everyone has needs. and everyone deserves to have those needs fulfilled. alphas have ruts. omegas have heats. do they not deserve partners? should they suffer in pain through their cycles because of biology? Alpha and Omega Services were created for this very reason, to help those who need it. you signed up to be a Service Omega months ago, and you’re happy with this life, helping your clients get through their ruts to the best of your capability.

but something is missing.

when a team of professional volleyball players request a Service Omega to help them through game season, you agree to the job, hoping the change in pace might help you break this strange emptiness. but the feeling only deepens, grows, along with a whole bunch of other emotions you are not ready to handle.

pairing: ot13 x reader

category: omegaverse au, a/b/o dynamics, sports au: volleyball, polyamory

status: completed

total word count: 72.5k

content warnings: omega!reader, fem!reader, this is set entirely in omegaverse so read at your own risk! exploration of secondary gender and pack dynamics, ruts, heats, knots and scenting. angst, fluff and smut. insecurity, the feeling of being lonely, abandoned, hurt, being ‘othered’. jealousy, some hostility. unprotected sex, nsfw, mentions of breeding, mating, knotting, omega subspace, multiple orgasms. there’s love between all subgenders. all members of seventeen are featured: alpha - seungcheol, jeonghan, junhui, soonyoung, wonwoo, seokmin, mingyu, hansol. beta - joshua, chan. omega - jihoon, minghao, seungkwan.

𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐗

☆ prologue (wc: 1.4k)

☆ chapter 1 - (wc: 7.2k)

☆ chapter 2 - (wc: 8.9k)

☆ chapter 3 - (wc: 8.3k)

☆ chapter 4 - (wc: 9k)

☆ chapter 5 - (wc: 8.4k)

☆ chapter 6 - (wc: 9k)

☆ chapter 7 - (wc: 8.6k)

☆ chapter 8 - (wc: 9k)

☆ epilogue - (wc: 2.7k)

𝐁𝐎𝐍𝐔𝐒

☆ seungkwan + vernon-focus (wc: 4.9k)

☆ seungcheol-focus (wc: 3.7k)

[hidingwhere]

♡ﾟbear!hybrid nanami who…

has a tendency of sleeping for over 18 hours at a time on his weekends off and proceeds to grumble every single time when he finds out you’ve deep cleaned the house in that time, cooked dinner, meal prepped for the upcoming week and gone shopping without him. You should be relaxing with him! So why on earth are you doing all the work? A deep massage and many kisses is the only way he’ll forgive you.

bear!hybrid nanami who always raids the kitchen of any berries, nuts and fish you have. You’ll catch him in the middle of the night, fridge light illuminating his shirtless form, shoving handfuls of raspberries in his mouth at once. His ears twitch shamefully when he sees you watching him, embarrassment filling his entire body after eating all the food for the week again.

“It’s okay, ken. We can just go shopping and buy some more. It’s no trouble, really,” you reassure as he buries his face in your neck and mumbles strings of heartfelt apologies.

bear!hybrid nanami who hates when you don’t live in sync with your own menstrual cycle. Seeing you wake up early during your luteal phase and do intense workouts during your menstruation makes him cringe, and if he’s nearby he’ll drag you back to bed with him with the most offended expression you could possibly imagine. He knows how terrible he feels when he doesn’t stick to his own hibernation cycles, so he can only imagine how thrown off your body feels when you start demanding too much of it.

bear!hybrid nanami who has the biggest breeding kink ever. During his rut, all he can think of is filling you up with his cum and making you carry his babies. Just the thought of his own cum dripping out of your pulsing hole has him rutting against the mattress early in the morning. Nanami can barely keep his hands off you in the evenings, fingering you over the kitchen counter, eating you out on the couch, fucking you senseless in the bedroom.

bear!hybrid nanami who starts slow and controlled, not wanting to hurt you, but as soon as he bottoms out inside your warm, welcoming pussy, he snaps. His hips slam against your ass, lewd moans and grunts filling the room as he keeps you pinned against the mattress, chest to your back as an attempt to cage you in.

“Ken- kenny! Hmm, you’re sososoo big,” you squeak beneath him, face buried in the pillow as his bulbous cock head kisses your cervix with every thrust, just light enough to be noticed but not painful. Nanami only finishes after you’ve finished, the feeling of your walls tightening around him and the sound of your sweet, delicate moans immediately sending him over the edge. His hips falter as he tries to thrust just a few more times before collapsing on top of you.

bear!hybrid nanami who keeps his cock nestled inside of you for the next few minutes before starting aftercare, wanting to make sure that every sperm cell has a chance to do its job. Even after he pulls out and cum dribbles from your hole, you still feel extremely bloated and full, one hand resting on your stomach as he tends to you with warm towels, hot drinks, and bucketfuls of affection.

[tonycries]

Super(girl) Trouper - N.K.

Synopsis. It’s a bird! It’s a plane! Look up out—it’s Supergirl. The villains fear you. The headlines hate you. The Justice League doesn’t understand you. And no one cares except for perhaps…Nanami Kento from the investigative journalism department. Tall. Blond. And sweeter than the world’s most potent aphrodisiac. But he doesn’t know that. The problem is that the villains now do.

Pairing. Nanami Kento x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem!Supergirl!reader, journalist!Nanami, DC AU, Supergirl AU, he’s Iowk like genderbent Lois Lane, nerdy Nanami, journaIism, headIines, inhibitions, you’re hated by the pubIic, but he Ioves you, saving people, saving the worId, more about finding yourself acc, miId vioIence, feeIings, aphrodisíacs, Nanami is PÚSSYDRUNK, hand j’s, oraI (fem rec.), fíngering, spítting, x-ray vision, heat vision, YOUR powers, manhandIing, matíng presses, he’s FÉRAL, he’s big, making it fit, tummy buIges, pressing down on it, cervíx smooches, struggling to take it, making HIM break, creampíes, s with feeIings, confessions, getting together, happy ending, Kenjaku mentions, Nanami with glasses, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 13.7k

A/N. Haven’t watched the new Supergirl movie yetttt but I just KNEW I had to do an AU.

MEET THE NEW GIRL IN SPACE!

SUPERGIRL: THREE A-LIST VILLAINS AND THEIR HENCHMEN DOWN IN SHINJUKU TRAIN FIGHT. DESTRUCTION PRICELESS—!

SUPERGIRL FLIPS OFF THE JUSTICE LEAGUE MID-AIR?! TAKES DOWN THEIR VILLAIN FIRST. ACCUSED OF STEALING THE SPOTLIGHT?

SUPERGIRL HANGS ZENIN CONGLOMERATE HEIR—ZENIN NAOYA—BY HIS SHOELACES FROM TOKYO TOWER! CITES ‘CHAUVINISM’ (EXCLUSIVE)

SUPERGIRL—THE NEW FACE OF HEROES OR A DARK TURN FOR JUSTICE?

That last particular headline makes you scoff.

Your eyes are darting to the byline; and immediately afterwards they’re on the verge of rolling. Who else would write such a rag of an article but Usami from the sports journalism department? And it’s not like Supergirl even had anything to do with the latest football scores or which manager had been sacked recently.

But you suppose everybody wanted a piece of you now.

“It’s rotten, isn’t it?” A voice trundles behind you—low and lightly husked. “They beg for a saviour, but in the face of one it’s revealed that what they really want is perfection. But with everyone’s definition of perfection being different…”

Nanami Kento.

“-isn’t what they really want just conforming to their mold?”

You’re turning around. 

A faint smile on your lips. “Then what can we do about all the different molds?”

Nanami nods. “No one person is correct. It’ll never be good enough.” He lets out a soft sigh before pushing up his gold-rimmed glasses; they were a delicate kind that seemed to have a faint glow whenever they caught the light filtering in from Tokyo’s busy morning. Perfectly paired against Nanami’s handsome face—in the sort of classical, movie-star manner that might have caused him to be hung up on posters in teenage bedrooms or emblazoned outside of theatres.

Or so you’ve heard human customs tend to do so.

And yet, here Nanami Kento was: standing in a cream-colored suit with ink smudges on his fingertips. It often surprised you how a perfect Earthling like this was simply tucked-away in a little cubicle at Daily Planet Newspaper.

You certainly have never seen another like so.

But you got to see his face everyday—so you weren’t exactly complaining.

Nanami’s eyes drop at the growing smile on your face, and he pushes up a strand of golden-blond hair. That was just about as mussed-up as that perfectly slicked hairstyle of his would ever become. “Apologies. It’s just- it really bothers me to see the shit being written about Supergirl with no basis. Especially in respectable newspapers.”

“Well, it is the gossip column.”

“The sports section?”

“Same thing.” It was all human mish-mash to you either way. Beside him, the corner of Nanami’s lips give the faintest twitch. You’re flipping through the latest print of Daily Planet to another page; this time one with your (Supergirl’s) face plastered centrespread. Mid-air and your red cape flying behind you. It’s been only a few years since you’d landed on Earth after the destruction of Krypton. Then only a few weeks since you’d debuted as a superhero: stealing the spotlight from Green Lantern and the rest of the Justice League as you swooped in and defeated Metallo. 

Ever since then it’d been an explosion of newspaper headlines and television shows and even sketches; both good and bad. Mostly bad. You weren’t sure what got you off to the wrong foot. Maybe it was the uniform that too-closely resembled Superman’s? Maybe it was the crude words you’d spit out at villains mid-fight? Maybe it was that one time you flipped off the Justice League for being too late to the fight? 

In your defense, you thought Earthlings said something about early birds getting the villains?

And maybe all those were correct.

But whatever it was—they would tear you apart. Then piece you back. Then tear you apart again. You weren’t the family-friendly image of a superhero that most were; and it made something at the pit of your stomach feel saturated and dark and useless to have to edit such articles time and time again. To have to write them yourself, if you wanted to get approved by your higher-ups.

Perhaps that was a part of human culture?

Fuck those windbags either way.

You didn’t understand how any other hero did it - then again it wasn’t as if you could easily ask them. You weren’t an official part of the Justice League—and you didn’t see yourself getting welcomed with open arms anytime soon. So you hid yourself away and semi-hypnotized those at your workplace to see a forgettable face whenever they looked at you - not Supergirl—even so, it was brittle at best. 

Kryptonian hypnosis wasn’t as powerful as Martians. What you could merely do was suggest. “So- you don’t think Supergirl’s too crass?”

Nanami looks up, brows somewhat furrowed. “I quite frankly don’t think it matters. Who am I to judge?”

“Oh yeah? What about too destructive? Too disrespectful of the Justice League?”

“Again, who am I to judge?” Now, Nanami’s taking a seat—his desk was opposite yours, your backs to one another as you tap-tap-tapped away at new articles everyday. “Maybe she could do with a little less destruction of public infrastructure and that’s fine, but if she’s too crass then she’s too crass. That’s just her. Just as I’m not forced to like it—it’s silly to expect every superhero to conform to the ideal. Not one person nor mold is completely correct.”

From his seat, he tips his head up and looks at your standing self.

“But, personally, I wasn’t the biggest fan of Green Lantern in the first place.”

This time, it’s your turn to attempt to keep a too-big smile off your face. 

You give him a pointed look. “I dunno. I heard she steals candy from babies—says so on Page 9.”

“Ridiculous.” Nanami cocks his head and beckons for the newspaper from you; after you hand it to him he flips through to that very page and scans it. “And precisely without proof. This is why I’ve been investigating Supergirl, beyond what these pages or secret sources say—”

From where you were, you could hear Usami loudly bragging to his colleagues a few desks over about the ‘exclusive source’ that gave him that little tidbit of information. You wanted to roll your eyes again.

“-and I’ve been working on something.”

“What is it?” You lean over to look as Nanami unlocks one of his desk drawers and pulls out a thick file. Unmarked. Your heart leaps to your throat as he sweeps it open to reveal pages upon pages of…pictures of you.

Not you—

—but you as Supergirl.

You mid-flight amongst thunderclouds. You amongst rubble. You pushing a kid behind you in order to shield him from a villain. You with your face twisted in fury as you’re pummeling that very same villain with a ferociousness that scared most - even civilians.

Which explained the headlines.

You skulking off into an alleyway before the medics and police could arrive, as you always did.

You. You. You. You. You.

And around them were notes scribbled in Nanami’s own neat hand.

Hero analysis:

Best skills: Superhuman strength, superhuman speed (comparable to that of the Flash), heat vision, physiological control, martial arts (see more on…)

Costume is that of similar style of Superman however with the added adaptabilities of…(sketch on back)

—one of the strongest debuts of any superhero in history. The supervillain Metallo has been terrorizing—

—though at odd relations with the Justice League, it seems that clashes over justice enactment—

—train—

—the greatest—

Female. 20’s to 30’s. Features may be changeable with Kryptonian powers (follow up with…). Suspected resident in Tokyo—concentration of fights here; in close contact with the Justice League who has headquarters here in Tokyo. Furthermore, seems familiar with the alleyways for her ‘disappearing act’ (for more thorough analysis see more on…) and mapping (more on…) has revealed that Supergirl tends to head in the wider direction of—Kabukicho. 

(Follow up).

Your eyes widen.

Fuck.

You have to change up the bars you hit after fights.

And just when you think your heart can’t leap any higher; he flips through a few more pages and stops on one particular piece of evidence - the biggest of them all - a frontpage newspaper clipping of you…and him. Nanami all dust-covered and dishevelled, bleeding from a cut on his forehead, as you threw his arm over your shoulders and helped him out of Tokyo Downtown Bakery. You had your face twisted in fury, and Nanami…you never noticed it before, but Nanami was looking at you like you were the Sun.

The fight had happened just last week: you’d been heading home after work when your superhearing told you something was off. An explosion downtown. 

Tokyo Downtown Bakery was a favorite of gods, mutants, aliens, and other non-humans alike. Known for it, in fact. And there was only one villain you could think of that wanted to take down such non-humans—Kenjaku.

You’d zipped there as fast as your flight could take you, and only once you were there had you heard a familiar heartbeat. More frantic now, of course. But familiar.

Nanami was trapped underneath the rubble.

Kenjaku saw your momentary distraction - the realization that made your blood grow cold - and had taken the chance to disappear into the shadows. 

After making sure that every other customer and employee didn’t have to be flown to the hospital urgently, you dropped onto your knees in front of the mountain of rubble and dug and dug. And dug. And dug. You dug until you felt the control over your physiology slipping, and small cuts started to apply at your fingertips—healing over instantly. Then getting ripped open all over as you just kept- on- digging.

In reality it must have been less than five or ten minutes, but it felt like months, before you finally flung away the last block of debris from a soft body. And Nanami Kento stirred.

That was what had resulted in the photograph, and the headlines that followed.

SUPERGIRL A WEEK INTO SUPERHEROISM AND ALREADY LETTING VILLAINS ESCAPE?

SUPERGIRL PAUSES FIGHT FOR BREAK?! MORE LIKE LAZYGIRL (Exclusive)

SUPERGIRL SAVES THE DAY AGAIN—BUT WHAT ABOUT THE INFRASTRUCTURE?

SUPERGIRL SAVES RUBBLE-TRAPPED CIVILIANS: “I owe her my life.” 

That last one boasted the picture. And the byline of Nanami Kento. 

You try to control your breathing.

“Ever since she saved me, I’ve been trying to understand Supergirl better. That fury on her face…I’ve been trying to figure out who she is-”

“To…expose her?”

“No.” Nanami shakes his head. The both of you were breathless - though for very different reasons. Excitement practically makes him glow, “To maybe try and interview her- personally. I want to see what she’s like beyond all those cashgrab headlines and the rumors. And…” 

You’re silent as he pauses.

“-and I want to thank her personally.” So soft.

“Oh.” Your voice sounds small. Smaller than you’ve ever heard it. 

 He’s then closing his file and looking up at you so sweetly—“And if you’re interested, then maybe we could work together on it? I actually got a tip that I’m about to go do some field work on right now.” A sudden burst of shyness makes Nanami’s cheekbones burn a pretty rouge as you stare at him intensely. That was one thing you loved about humans - immense control over your physiology meant Kryptonians couldn’t blush unless you made yourselves. Humans couldn’t control when they blushed and it was just the sweetest thing to you. Was Nanami’s heartbeat picking up? “That is…if you would like to? I know you likely have better articles to work on, but just in case…”

He trails off and you’re trailing behind your head and your heart.

Your heart that wanted you to say yes.

Your head that made you say—

“I’m sorry.” You feel your heart fall. There’s a simmering of anger at yourself; soothed partially by the understanding that the more time you spent with Nanami…the higher the chance was of him finding out who you were. There were countless people out to get you: villains, henchmen, reporters. And the second-best thing to getting you was getting someone you cared for that knew you. About you. 

The only powerless humans that knew about you were Clark’s- Superman’s adoptive parents. 

And whatever misery that might put you in - you’d take it twofold if it meant keeping one more normal Earthling like Nanami safe. You’re taking a step back and giving him a sheepish smile. “It’s just I have this really ah- riveting story to write about the erm- tax refunds and the economic implications of Supergirl’s last fight and…”

“Oh!” Nanami nods fervently, pushing his glasses up. Embarrassment radiated off of him like a miniature Sun, and you wanted nothing more than to reach out and tell him this was on you. But alas. “Oh, right, of course- I wish you luck with that.”

“Thank you.” You smile, lips pressed together to prevent a sigh. “I’m going to need it.”

“A journalist like you? Not in the least.”

With a nod of graciousness, you’re just about to leave Nanami’s table and pretend that the latter half of this interaction perhaps never happened. You almost wished Kryptonians had the ability to hypnotize themselves as they could to others. And you’re considering a much more interesting article about that before you’re stopping in your tracks and half-glancing at Nanami over your shoulder. 

He was hard at work gathering his things for what you assume to be the extra field work regarding his Supergirl article.

You feel your heart clench.

“Nanami?”

He looks up eagerly. “Yes?”

Your words are slightly less than steady once you speak again. “If- when you discover Supergirl’s identity…you might be…disappointed. They say she’s nothing like Superman.”

“She doesn’t have to be.”

As Nanami throws his messenger bag over his shoulder and stands to leave—“I’ll see you tomorrow, my darling.” But he calls everyone that, doesn’t he?

“And I’ll…be working late.”

“Be careful not to miss your train.”

You don’t look at him until the very last second. When his tall frame is ducking beneath the doorway to the Daily Planet journalism department; cream-colored suit and golden glasses; old movie star looks drawing eyes, but not too close so he’ll never know that you stared at him from afar. Never.

You sink into your chair.

“What was that about?”

Had your superhuman senses not told you about Shoko’s nearing presence, you would have been startled. But you’re throwing in a slight jump just for the sake of it.

“Oh- come on.” Shoko says with a roguish grin. There was a slender cigarette tucked between her index and her middle finger; as was wont to have if one was Ieiri Shoko. You honestly don’t think you’ve ever seen her without one. “Not dramatic enough. Next time try throwing in a little gasp there.”

It seems that you still had work to do on your human reactions…“What have I told you about the cigarette smell getting on the papers?” You grimace at her - this particular human pleasure was especially sensitive to your nose.

“Can’t remember.” She replies, blowing out her last puff of smoke.

Shoko was perhaps your one exception to humans not knowing about your true identity—for the sole fact that she wasn’t your average human. Smooth. Silent. And stupidly intelligent - Shoko was perhaps the best investigative journalist Tokyo had to offer.

Which was to be expected, of course, given that she was the protégé of The Question.

A normal human journalist—just with enough combat skill and power to get him inducted into the Justice League. The Question had been a master in hand-to-hand combat even amongst the most trained superheroes; which paired well with the depth of investigative journalism that he would do. He exposed criminal underworlds that led to likely half the lodgers at Tokyo Island Penitentiary. 

When you’d been reading up on the superheroes of Earth - both current and inactive - it was his sheer heroism as a mere human that’d inspired you to become a journalist as well.

The Question had hand-picked Shoko as his successor—and for good reason. After his passing due to old age, Shoko quickly proved herself to be a master with the pen; she cracked her ink like a whip. Just last week, she’d exposed that damned Lex Luthor’s embezzling which at least got him out of Superman’s hair for some time. And despite the publicity of the event, the covert nature of her heroism meant she didn’t have to deal with the constant headlines.

Shoko was no different than those at the Justice League. Than you.

But she was an enigma.

So you couldn’t have asked for anyone better to have walked in on you hurriedly changing into your supersuit in the cramped cubicle bathrooms at the Daily Planet - there was a train about to go off-course a few thousand kilometers away - than Shoko.

“Oh.” You remember it like it was yesterday. The door had swung open as you had one foot into the suit. “The lock’s broken.” She’d said.

“Uh…occupied?” You’d murmured then, in a voice higher-pitched than usual. You considered hypnotizing her twofold- no wait, there was some power to do with amnesia even though you weren’t sure whether it would be—

“I know what you’re thinking.” Shoko had smiled then. “And don’t you dare try - not because I’d say anything, but because the Justice League’s paperwork is a pain in the ass when you try to fight another superhero.”

Your jaw had dropped. “Another…?” You’d shove that paperwork up their asses- but another superhero?

“Haven’t guessed it already?” Shoko shoved a hand into her long jacket, pulling out a square piece of what almost looked like rubber. It was in the exact shade as her skin tone, and when she placed it over her face—

“Featureless.” You’d gasped. Pseudoderm. “Just like The Question.”

“Flattered you know us, Supergirl.”

But there was no more time for chit-chat—that train you’d been hearing was dangerously close to going off-tracks now, and you’d hastily begun stuffing yourself into your supersuit. To which Shoko hadn’t flinched - instead appraising you curiously. “Why don’t you just wear that underneath your suit?”

“Because…” Because you were too afraid of someone sneaking a peak at the suit underneath. Because you were too afraid of being Supergirl when you were your ‘human’ self—hated. At least as a human you weren’t hated. Because you were too afraid of walking around as two halves making up one whole, when one half was all you needed at a time to feel content.

Ultimately you settled for not saying anything at all. “Listen- please don’t-”

“Yeah, yeah- I’ve already been through this song and dance.” She waved you off absent-mindedly. “Don’t reveal your secret identity to anyone. Don’t make it obvious when you’re off saving the world.”

You felt a smile come to your face at those last few words.

“You don’t think I’m…ruining justice instead?” A rush of embarrassment ran through you for even asking.

But Shoko merely cocked her silky head. “Hah, no? And who cares what the Justice League thinks? Now go do superhero things, superhero.”

The train and its passengers were saved in record time that day. And just like she’d said, Shoko hadn’t spilled a word.

Though for all the secrets she kept- she did love hearing them.

“So…” She relights her cigarette. “Did Nanami finally ask you out and you rejected him?”

“What-” You’re turning to her with a yelp. “He did not—” She takes the moment to blow a cloud of smoke at your papers, and you’re snatching the cigarette from between her lips and snuffing it out on one of your ceramic desk decorations. 

“Hey…” Shoko whines.

Finally you’re whispering to her in a low tone - “He did not ask me out. And I did not reject him.”

“Then why’d he leave all sad and puppy-eyed?”

You’re turning around—almost as if expecting Nanami there still. “He didn’t…did he?”

“Maybe. I didn’t see. But you looked, didn’t you?” Chuckling. The Question takes the cigarette back from you, and holds it out of your reach.

“That was only because you-” You find that you don’t quite have much to say - at least not something that Shoko would pay heed to. And so you’re settling for a few grumbled curses—“No. He just asked me to be part of one of his articles.”

Shoko looks up in interest. “Oh? About what?”

“Supergirl.” You cross your arms. “He said he wanted to figure out who she was so he could interview her- I said no, of course.”

Shoko - who’d now newly relit her cigarette - takes a long drag and lets it free into the air. “Why?”

“What?”

“Why’d you say no?”

You take her cigarette and put it out again. “Because the more time I spend with him, the more likely he is to…find out. And with everything going on, I can’t risk putting him in danger.”

“Hm…” Shoko thinks for some time. “Putting him in danger? Or putting his image of you in danger?” She stares at you intently. “Are you really afraid that he’s going to be captured by villains you’ve been defeating time and time again these past few weeks? Maybe.” Then she’s gently tugging the cigarette from between your fingertips - to light it again. A final time. “Or are you more afraid that once he finds out who you truly are- he’s going to be just like the rest of them?”

You don’t bother reaching for the cigarette anymore. “I…”

But Shoko wasn’t done just yet. She blows her smoke into the air and lets it linger. “It’s just like these papers and this smoke. When the nicotine sticks to them, it’s invisible but it’s there—even if you don’t like it. But that doesn’t change its contents. Nor does that make it any less worthy than any other article here.”

You crinkle your nose. “But others won’t like it either.”

“So fuck them.” She stands. “It’s gonna be printed into a damn article, it doesn’t need to smell like rainbows and roses. No two newspapers are printed the same.”

And with that said, Shoko striding off. Cigarette and all.

And you’re left staring at a blank paper—ready for typing.

.

.

.

Nanami Kento had never quite been to this area of Tokyo.

It was one of the seedier places; an amalgamation of everything your mother advises you against. Past the bars and the spas, past the graffiti-tattooed walls and the alleyways that seemed to stretch into darkness endlessly. Past men slouched on roads - drunk or dead. Past the rattle of trains in the distance and rats who chittered at the only abode they truly ruled. Where even those cowered standing next to—and one goes to share the same fear doused upon this neighborhood, doled, perhaps to replace that of their own.

Then again, there was a strange beauty in it itself - like a giant wound mending itself.

There was a stun gun in his pocket. He wondered what this place would look like in daylight. 

He ignored the knot in his throat as he kept on walking.

It wasn’t the place you’d expect to find a superhero - then again, Supergirl didn’t listen to anyone’s expectations of her. 

Often after fights, he’d see you disappearing into the shadows of a building or a lone alleyway such as these. As if never there. You didn’t wait around for any authorities or paparazzi. And it was only after weeks of investigation that he’d managed to narrow it down to one district that you were frequenting: Kabukicho. 

Even afterwards, he’d quickly learned that it wasn’t simply the entertainment district that you were fond of.

You were fond of hiding.

Asking around for sightings of a person of your description took Nanami meters away from actual Kabukicho, and down narrow alleys and underground streets. Into clubs and behind hotels. Into the seediest, smallest establishments hadn’t even the faintest waft of a main street. Currently he was heading towards a bar he was directed towards by an anonymous tip; the tip had said that you came here at least once a week or so. Sometimes not even to drink - just to people-watch.

And if Nanami Kento knew anything about you: it was that you found humans fascinating.

He’d seen it after fights, when you’d watch families rush to one another and embrace. He’d seen it even during fights, as you analyzed villains that were easy prey.

And he wondered…did you find humans interesting as much as they found you? Or at least, he did. 

It’s after a few minutes of walking down this small street, lit only by the angry neon signs of underground clubs, that he stops before a squat bat. THE CHAMELEON—the sign said.

He pats the stun gun in his pocket. 

And with a deep breath, he’s walking in.

The stench of liquor dances a frenzied waltz with cigarettes; it reaches his nose though he doesn’t cringe as he weaves between closely-pressed tables. Patrons hunched over nursing their columns of glasses look up at him suspiciously as he walks past them. He knew he should have changed out of his cream-colored suit. 

It was barely visible in the bar, due to the faint light buzzing solely from a few spots on the ceiling, surrounded by wine-drunk flies, but Nanami managed to sit himself down at the counter. A bartender with long greyish-blue hair wiping greasy glasses with an even greasier rag looks up at him.

“Ah…” Nanami’s eyes fall to the glass and the rag - he himself was a good drinker, though the establishments he frequented were nothing of this sort. “Just a beer, please.”

The bartender asks, “Mmm, tap?”

“Do you have bottles-”

“No bottles.”

“Then ah- just a water, please.”

“No water either.” He says in a strangely melodic voice, “Just cider. Just cider. Apple, peach, and pear~!”

Nanami looks at the man warily, “Then…a peach cider please.”

The bartender shrugs then takes the rag—blowing his nose into it- before he throws it somewhere over his shoulder and fetches a peach cider for Nanami. It pools condensation onto the counter as it’s set in front of him, but he doesn’t reach for it even a single millimeter.

“What are you trying to find, young man?”

Nanami almost flinches. 

The voice comes from the seat next to him; gruff and gravelly like when one has smoked far too many cigarettes for far too long. As he turns—the man next to him laughs. He had a white, wide-rimmed hat tipped low over his face, and was wearing an equally stark white suit. It was just about the only things he could make of him - nothing of his actual features.

And though Nanami didn’t know the man, he couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of kinship as the two patrons of the bar that didn’t seem like they belonged there.

Despite this, however, this other man’s fingers found a chip in his cider glass with familiarity. 

“There are only two reasons that folks come down to a bar like this: either to lose something—pain, memories, fatigue; or to find something.” He nods his head over at the younger man, but still doesn’t reveal a sliver of a face. “And since you haven’t touched that cider of yours, young man, I’m assuming…”

“Finding something, I suppose.” Almost robotic, Nanami grasps his glass. 

He thinks he sees a flash of a smile from the other man.

Nanami continues, “Maybe you can help me? Would you happen to have seen someone come in tonight-” His heart thunders as he lists off the features written down in that file of his—and the man keeps nodding with each one. “-perhaps around my age, though-”

“So it’s love problems.”

He stops short. “What?”

“Love problems.” That man clucks out a wet laugh, then takes a swig of his cider.

Nanami responds hesitantly. “I’m…afraid you misunderstand. I’m just trying to find-”

“I know perfectly what you mean.” He displays a set of paper-white teeth, gleaming. Reaching into his coat pocket, he slaps something down on the marble counter. “Her, right?”

Nanami peers in and finds it to be a blurry polaroid of you at this very bar, taken like you hadn’t known it was happening. And you weren’t revelling like one would have expected you to after a constant winning streak against villains. You weren’t even lamenting your woes with your fellow bar patrons.

You were just…watching. 

Alone at a booth. Nothing in front of you but a water- perhaps that bartender had lied to him. 

It was a night livelier than this one, evidently, as bachelor celebrations and 21st birthday parties and seemingly drunken singing surrounded you from all angles. But you simply watched. Waited. There was something so sorrowfully beautiful about you that it made Nanami’s heart ache. 

“It’d been my buddy’s divorce party and someone had pulled out the polaroid. He snapped a picture and somehow I just couldn’t find it in myself to part with it…there’s something so haunting about it.”

Nanami merely stares speechlessly, running his finger down the edge of the picture.

“Trying to understand someone is, too, an act of love isn’t it?” The other man says. Before Nanami could respond, he’s polishing off the last few drops of his cider and getting off the chair—he seemed much taller when he was standing. “Come now. This Supergirl of yours is quite the party- after draining The Chameleon she tends to head East towards the Golden Gai. Finish up your cider and then we can go.”

“R-right.” Nanami’s hand almost falls to pat his stun gun reassuringly- but under the man’s scrutiny he reaches for the cider instead. “And sorry- what was your name again Mr…?”

“Come now, come now. We can save the pleasantries for when we walk there, young man.”

“Right.” 

Bringing it up to his lips. 

Almost. “But how did you know I was searching for Super-”

He sighs. “You journalists ask too many questions.”

And with a forceful shove, he’s making Nanami chug down the cider - blood and peaches coating his tongue. And the sharp shot of something else he couldn’t place. 

“And you can call me Kenjaku, young man.”

And then it’s black.

“I saw the way Supergirl—” Spit. “—looked at you. And I must thank you for leading her to me.”

Kilometers away, you’re in the middle of heading to the train station with Shoko. You’d both gotten off work late and were lamenting what a pain it’d be to get up tomorrow morning—

Your head snaps up.

You’re immediately looking behind you.

“What is it?” Shoko asks with no small sense of emergency.

That gasp. That thud. 

You’ve never heard it; yet you’d recognize it anywhere.

“Something bad has happened.”

.

.

.

Alleyways. Bar. Rats. Love Hotel. Alleyways. Bar. Bar. Alleyways. Alleyways. Alleyways.

Why did you have to go down so many alleyways?

It was a bar that you’d only been to once; the shadows were long and the cider was sweet—but ultimately you’d decided that you didn’t want to return. It was the day after you’d saved Nanami Kento. 

And now you were doing the very same thing.

THE CHAMALEON had wound down for the night by the time that you skidded to a halt before it - with the tar road cratering beneath you as you stopped. There’s a thundering noise that echoes down the gloomy streets of this forgotten part of Kabukicho. You don’t waste a single second longer before kicking the door open and storming inside—

“Ah~ my lovely Supergirl.”

“Kenjaku.” You spit. The bar was empty save for the man seated at the counter - a dark waterfall of hair, darker eyes - and in his hand he held a single glass of what you assumed to be cider. “Where is he-”

“Slow down, my dear.” He croons. “Why don’t you sit back? Have a drink or two? And then maybe we can-”

“Where the fuck is he.”

It happens instantaneously—in a jerky movement you’re picking up an entire table by its leg. Using a mere fraction of your strength, you chuck it at the man - not quite to hit just yet - and it flies past him with naught a hair’s breadth of space between the side of his head and the table. Crashing against the wall of alcohol bottles in the back; liquor and shards of glass explode behind Kenjaku, yet he doesn’t move a single muscle. Not a single muscle.

Not even his lips to speak. 

It infuriates you that he can remain sitting and sipping his cider without a care in the world- and so you’re striding towards him. Though striding was perhaps a kinder word.

Grabbing a bottle off the counter, he breaks its end and attempts to stab you.

You dodge.

He stabs.

You dodge.

He swipes your cheek—

“Motherfucker you better know that I don’t care what you do to me-” Each word leaves you like a dagger. “I don’t care how you hurt me-” And within a few seconds, you’ve closed the gap completely to grip him by the collar and raise Kenjaku a foot off his chair. “But what the fuck have these innocent people ever done to you?”

Suddenly, his eyes go wide and he starts laughing.

And you’re only watching in stunned silence.

You only can watch—Kenjaku laughs long and unabashed, with a strange hitch like a crow’s call - he laughs so hard that he has to wipe away a tear. It sends red-hot fury curdling in your veins.

You reel your fist back.

Tightly-coiled. Trembling with anger.

And you’re just about to swing—

When Kenjaku raises a single finger - the gesture humans often do when asking for a moment of your time - that makes you halt in your tracks. Whatever tricks he had up his sleeve, you didn’t want to risk anything that might put Nanami in danger.

And so you wait.

And you watch.

As Kenjaku’s eyes fall to the glass of cider that had been kept on the counter. He takes it in his hand. He clears his throat, “You should have been here earlier, oh- your little boyfriend was just drinking away his woes. Something about his love being a filthy alien, you see?” Those deep amethyst eyes—they were so dark that they seemed to leave a stain where they then turned to look at you.

You can’t take your eyes off of him - even as you bring your raised punch back and instead grasp Kenjaku’s neck with both hands. If you can’t pummel him to death, you were ready to strangle him.

Your hands tighten.

“O-oh.” Kenjaku’s hands claw down your forearms, but he’s powerless against you. “The truth hurts, doesn’t it?”

They tighten.

“And you already know it’s true, don’t you? You know that deep down—you’re everything they say you are- you’re everything and worse-” They tighten. His skin starts turning blue then purple. “Why else would they hate you so? They know- they know it and you do, too.”

They tighten.

And even though you had the upperhand, seemingly, Kenjaku seems to crane his head down to whisper to you.

“You were nothing. You are nothing. You will always and forevermore be nothing.”

Your breath hitches- and Kenjaku knows he’s got you.

Unbidden from your senses, you’re letting go of him - he stumbles to the ground but manages to catch himself on the bar counter. Throwing an arm over it to steady himself, Kenjaku looks down at his cider glass once more, with only a few drops at the bottom of it.

He throws back those last few ounces and holds the glass out to you- “Be a dear for me, and help your little boyfriend get me another glass, will you? It seems he’s gotten his…hands full.”

Shit.

Shit.

You’re forgetting to even fly down to the bar—you’re breaking off a leg of a nearby stool then bending the metal into something that resembles a handcuff, quickly restraining Kenjaku for the time being before darting downstairs. There was a dingy staircase in the corner of the room, of which the rusty handrailing bends and warps as you grip it with your superhuman strength.

As you do, Kenjaku calls after you…“But do be careful not to miss your train~!”

It doesn’t take long before you find yourself at the bottom of a damp cellar- running to a Nanami Kento who’d been hopelessly bound and gagged. His golden hair falls in front of his face. His skin glistens with sweat.

And as soon as you reach him, you’re noticing the sheer heat that radiates off of him.

It was as if he was on fire—

Was this…?

“Nanami- Kento.” You’re hissing - you don’t need to untie those cloth restraints, you’re tearing straight through them. Removing the fabric gag and cupping his face, you look deep into his eyes. “Kento- oh, are you alright? Speak to me-”

“Go.”

“What-”

“The train.” Tears fell down his handsome cheeks. His bottom lip was trembling as though he was cold - even though he felt like an inferno to the touch. “My darling, don’t worry about me worry about the train-”

You insist. “What about the train, Kento?”

“Kenjaku- fuck, I overheard him telling his henchmen to destruct the Yurikamome line on the Rainbow Bridge- the train is going to go over it any second now—”

Brows furrowing, you focus your supersenses. Hearing. “But that can’t be, I should hear…”

The zooming of a train. The distant rattling of train tracks that sounded different than usual - too different, too distant. 

Then it hits you.

“Kento, while you were here, did you encounter anything…strange?”

He strangles out. “The peach cider he gave me- a-after that I just…”

“I understand.” Your mind was racing a mile a minute—Kento. The train. Kento. The train. Kento. “Kenjaku probably laced it with something to weaken you, and amongst that he must have added…”

Your blood goes cold.

“Hold on tight.” And without another word, you’re scooping the man into your arms - a princess carry. You hold him to you like the most precious thing on Earth and Krypton as you crash! through the top of the cellar—past several stories without a single scratch nor ache. Past bottles of liquor and ceramic tiles. Past layers of concrete and your fear.

Once you’re out into the wild night, you’re taking in incredible lungfuls of crisp air, soothing the burning sensation in your lungs.

You could almost ignore the gasps around you- as people whip out their cameras. This time, you don’t shy from them.

Gently; you’re hovering down to the street below and setting Nanami down. “Are you okay, Kento?”

“Yes- yes.” He’s gasping as he struggles to stand- you’re attempting to help him, only for Nanami to back away as though afraid. Something painful twinges inside you.

And he must see the breaking of your expression - because he’s immediately rushing to answer. “The thing that was in that cider…it was Kryptonite, wasn’t it?” Your silence is enough of an answer. “You have to go.”

You step towards him. “We have to get you to a hospital. The Kryptonite-”

“The train-”

“Just let me-”

“The Kryptonite will poison you before it ever even thinks of poisoning me. Do you really think I’d ever- fucking ever put my life above yours?” Nanami Kento doesn’t exactly yell—but his voice carries to your superhuman senses above anything else. Anything else. “Save the people on the train. Save the world. Save yourself- for everything I love, please please leave me- save them, Supergirl.”

You’re straightening.

“I’ll be back for you, Kento.”

Stumbling back a few steps; you have to shake your head to do away with the fogginess of the Kryptonite.

And then you’re in the air once more.

Wind whipping your face. Cape thrashing behind you.

The clouds stick to your features and form condensation with how fast you’re flying to the train- fuck.

Once you get there, you’re seeing exactly what Nanami had been talking about.

The train track where the Yurikamome Line was going on top of - the lower deck of Rainbow Bridge - was completely obliterated in the middle. Throngs of metal sticking upwards. Train track rattling like a wounded snake. The train was charging full speed ahead, the driverless transit unaware of any anomaly in the track. 

Just enough of a gap that it would prove fatal to the 160,000 passengers aboard. 

Just enough of a gap that you could zip down—as fast as you could go. As low as you could afford. And as fearful as any human would have been in that moment - and just as foolhardy. 

And as the Yurikamome Line heads towards the broken railroad, you’re lifting the train once it passes. The dip in the train track; you’re making up for it with your hands and your shoulders—never letting the Line falter even a single decree—it stretches and stretches and sinks its heavy metal body down onto yours. Rolling over your shoulders. Like nothing you’ve ever felt before- you have to keep your shoulders up. You have to keep your shoulders up. You have to keep your shoulders up. 

Your body was indestructible. But you’re feeling cuts on your palms. But you’re feeling the strain on your core and your deltoids.

Every single axiom in your body was screaming—

Towards the middle mark of the Yurikamome Line, you feel a dip- fuck.

Gritting your teeth, you let out a clenched groan as you push the train up. From inside you can hear passengers scream. And from the horizon, you can hear news helicopters thundering.

Please.

A tear runs down your cheek. You struggle to move. 

Please. Please. Please.

You’re pushing the train upwards with all your might. 

Humanity above, only you know how strong you can be. 

Be strong.

.

.

.

Birds are twittering.

You would have assumed that the afterlife had no shortage of birds, too; but it’s a bit odd to you that they’re singing a tune so jolly.

Personally, since you were dead, you’d like to sing something more lamentable.

“My darling?”

It’s so quiet that you almost don’t hear it - but of course, you do. You’re Supergirl—and you hear everything everyone says to you whether you want to or not. But this one in particular sounds quite pretty in your ears - even prettier than the spring melodies of birds - and it makes you realize ah- angels…

But at the same time you’re realizing that angels didn’t exist on Krypton.

And then you’re shooting awake.

“Fucking fuck!”

Your graceful resurrection is marked by knocking your head with none other than Nanami Kento - whom you found quite understandable to mistake for an angel. As you’re clutching your forehead and letting out a few swears, he lets out nothing but the sweetest, soft chuckle—and as your vision slowly grows used to the light and unblurs, you’re seeing the most beautiful smile on his face. 

His eyes crinkled at the edges, framed by golden glasses. His cheeks had one faint dimple each. And he was looking at you with something humans had never looked at you with - love.

It couldn’t…

Was that your heart thundering or his?

“You don’t know how happy I am that you’re awake.” Nanami whispers, as if afraid to break this fragile piece. This suspension in a place that didn’t quite seem to be Earth nor Krypton. He presses his forehead to yours—“I wanted to thank you first, my darling.”

“Thank me…for what?” You ask- your voice is incredibly hoarse. How long have you been out for? 

Once you clutch your throat, Nanami hastens to pluck a glass of water off the bedside cabinet. And as you drink- you’re looking around the room. The next time you speak, it’s with a slightly steadier tone. “And where are we?”

“Ah- I guess I should apologize first.” Nanami says, sheepishly rubbing the blushing back of his neck. “We’re at my apartment. You’ve been asleep for about sixteen hours now.”

Your lips part.

He hurries to explain. “Chief Yaga from the police station wanted to keep you under their protection at the hospital, the Justice League insisted on keeping you at one of their quarters- your fan club wanted you all to themselves but…I…insisted you wake up in a place that’s somewhat of a home.” Eyes darting shyly downwards. “Just until you wake up- I asked Shoko and she wasn’t sure where you lived, either. You’re a very private person, Supergirl. And Superman is in outer space right now so…”

“Oh…I…I see.” You hold the glass limply in your hand. “And ah- fan club, you said?”

Nanami nods - you don’t see any humor in his eyes. “Your rescue of the train was shown on every channel and program- every breaking news. The Daily Planet won’t stop printing, I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“That…” You feel strangely numb. “I don’t even know what to say. And the casualties-”

“Zero.”

“How did you get to the hospital?”

“Just after you left, Shoko arrived with the police to save me and arrest Kenjaku. Did you know that she’s a vigilante?”

You bite back a smile. “I did.”

He unabashedly smiles, as if meeting you for the first time. “And did you know that I know?”

“I figured by now.” Cocking your head.

“I always had a suspicion but…I don’t know what hypnosis you did but it just wouldn’t make sense in my mind. But when you came down to save me at the cellar, when you were affected by that Kryptonite it just…clicked.”

He’s reaching a hand up to softly cup your right cheek.

“It wouldn’t have made sense to be anyone else.”

It’s warm in Nanami’s bedroom. And it’s even warmer underneath the thin nightdress you’re wearing- you wonder where he got such a thing? And when you’d been put into it? It seems that he catches the questions in your gaze as it dawns upon you what you’re wearing—“I bought it for you after you got discharged at the hospital.” Nanami says. “Shoko helped you into it- althought…I did help.” With a shy blush, he’s looking away.

And you’re closing your eyes and leaning into the touch of his hand. “Thank you.” 

You don’t need to specify for what.

“And then there’s that.” Nanami surprises you as he says, reinvigorated. And how completely correct you were in him having those old movie star looks - that smile of his, with the soft little dimple on each cheek, should be on the big screen. He has a knowing glint in his eyes. “Thank you for saving me- that time at the bakery.”

You feel a little breathless. “It’s no problem.”

“No but it was- it’s how Kenjaku managed to escape. And I know how much you got torn apart in the papers for it—” His jaw clenches. “I saw it everyday.”

You look down at your hands, clasped on top of Nanami’s sweet cream-white sheets. “It’s nothing.”

And slowly - but surely - at a pace that matches the hesitant staccato of your heartbeat, Nanami’s own larger, roughened hands are sliding across the sheets. Intertwining with yours. “It’s not.” 

Your gaze was now flickering between your tangled hands and his unyielding gaze—you didn’t know which was more beautiful.

He continues, “And I can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done. I know you don’t feel as if you’ve done enough to be thanked, but I can assure you- w-well, I don’t know how much my word will mean to you if anything at all, but just-”

“Kento.” You cut him off. “Kiss me.”

His lips meet yours and you never wish for them to leave; he tastes like coffee with a hint of honey and everything you’ve ever wanted. You feel as though you can finally breathe.

And he feels as though he can’t—and he’s searching for his first breath between your lips. Nanami gasps as you clutch his baby-blue button-up. 

Nanami’s hand caresses the back of your neck, and he’s cockin’ your head to the side so he can deepen the kiss. Eventually you’re feeling that initial sweetness of first contact melt into somthing…more…something that makes your skin simmer, as he’s letting his pinkish tongue brush your lower lip.

With a gasp you’re welcoming him inside.

And before you know it, you’re being laid flat on your back with Nanami hovering on top of you. With a tap at his broad shoulders, you signal him to get up—and when Nanami’s on his knees before you you’re letting your hands…wander.

“O-oh.” His breath hitches. His Adam’s apple bobs. And a sizzling heat takes over the man’s body as your fingers trace the line of this throat- the valley of his pecs- the bumps of his abs. 

All your knowledge of human anatomy led you to believe that he must be hiding immense strength beneath suits too-big for him, but even this was a surprise.

And then lower, lower, lower—until you’re reaching his rock-hard erection. 

“Shit…” The soft grunt escapes the back of Nanami’s throat—unbidden. He immediately brings one roughened hand up to his mouth, chewin’ on the insides of his cheek as he watches your workings down below. Watches through half-lidded eyes as your palm’s meeting the bulge of his perfectly plaid pants. Cupping. Caressing.

Nanami’s breath grows more n’ more ragged as you keep palming- fuck, he was so big.

You don’t even have to use your x-ray vision to figure that out - but you’re doing so anyway. And what you’re seeing are about seven- eight? Inches of his swollen cock, all throbbing and pulsating underneath your touch. And beads—no, puddles of precum were constantly tearing out from the top of his shaft, creating a mess underneath that made Nanami feel shy.

You swear he’s growing even bigger once he feels the staring.

“A-are you using your…?” Nanami asks, pushing his thick glasses up.

“Mmm, maybe.” You’re cheekily replying. And in mere split-seconds you’ve used your heat vision to incinerate Nanami’s fabrics without actually hurting him.

He gasps and instinctively goes up to cover his aching erection-

But you’re stopping him with a hand of your own. Those fingers of yours wrapping around Nanami’s pale pink cock—he’s oh-so-thick at the base of it, surrounded by a scattering of golden tresses that graze the bottom of your hand.

You’re squeezing the hilt of Nanami’s shaft and he lets his head drop backwards with a moan- “Fuh-fuck. I could cum right here and right now, you know….”

“So do it.” You’re tugging his cock- until you’re reaching the mushroomy top of it and wipin’ away a speckle of precum. It feels so warm underneath your touch—he was just melting for you. “But just know that this is going to be a looooong night, Nanami Kento.”

He gulps.

Meanwhilst you’re pressing your lips to Nanami’s while you keep a constant pace fisting his length. Breaking off from the heated kiss only to lean down and spit-

A direct glob of your saliva gluing to Nanami’s puckered tip.

He’s shivering as it gleamingly trickles down his length—then reeling you into a kiss once more. “Mmm- I can hear your heartbeat, Kento.” You smile into the kiss. “Any reason why it increases when you’re around me?”

“I’m in love with you and I cannot lie about it.” And you don’t know what you expected - banter? Denial? But it certainly wasn’t outright confession, and it certainly wasn’t for Nanami to pant against your lips—to push you back onto the coiled mattress, and shuffle his body down until he’s between your legs. 

With languid movements, he’s pressing your legs to the side until each one is pinned to the soft cotton sheets. And you let him.

Your peripherals locked with his. Nanami’s gold-rimmed glasses tracing your skin. You’re running a hand through Nanami’s blond mane as he presses a line of kisses up your right thigh, up your left thigh, before finally…“May I?”

“Please.”

The next sound escaping you is a deafening trill—as in that very moment Nanami pushes his face nose-deep between those legs. And his tongue’s darting outwards and swabbin’ up - eating you out as though he was starving.

Almost wolfish.

Mouth gaped wide open. Honed canines stickin’ against the opened sides of your folds. 

Your eyes dart to the back of your head- as you’re feeling the dots of his tastebuds push through your nightgown. He was eating you out through your nightgown—

“Kento, take a breather.” You’re whispering down at him, peeping at the ravenous man through struggling lids. The pleasure was consuming every inch of you rapidly; and before long you snake a hand to lift up the nightgown. “Let me just take this off-”

“No.” Nanami’s warm hand comes gripping yours - with surprising strength for a human. “Please- please keep it on.” He struggles.

To even speak.

To even keep his breathing even.

To even unlatch himself from your pussy for the mere moments he has to speak- he didn’t want to waste a single second. And it’s with carnal ferocity that he’s stuffin’ himself back between your legs, flattening his tongue and pressing it against your hot folds. “A-at this point, it might just be the only thing keeping me sane, my darling…if I feel you in all your entirety then I might just-” Nanami’s voice cracks. “-break.”

“What do you mean, Kento…?” You’re breathing. 

There was something…off about the handsome man. Sure, it could’ve just been the heated proximity that was warping your perception of him; but—

But that couldn’t explain the nearly-frenzied pace of his heartbeat - 112 BPM to be exact - or the furious red flush creeping down his neck, or the way he was plastered in a cold sweat. Golden tresses gluing to his forehead and the forefront of your pelvis. One of those beads of perspiration runs down his attractive nosebridge n’ ends up positioning where he was pushing and pushing his sensual face into your puffy folds. Cheeks hollowing as he’s sucklin’ on them through the barely-there barrier of your nightgown.

And you’re swiping your thumb across it - feeling the slightly-sticker consistency of his sweat. 

More so than normal.

And somehow…sweeter?

It doesn’t take your heightened senses to realize—you start to tug on Nanami’s sweaty scalp- but he’s hesitant to remove himself. Merely parting an inch or so with the most agonized groan. “Kento- Kento, don’t you feel a little different right now?”

“Hmmmgh?” He asks with his bleary eyes struggling to focus on you.

“A little different? Maybe a little…warmer?” You watch as he has to think a little bit before nodding. “Don’t you feel like you’re going to- hah, shatter on my pussy?”

“I do.” Nanami spits a glob of spittle down on your cunt, kissing it away before it trickles. “Fuck, I do.”

“Mmm—” Your back arches as his tongue straightens then starts dragging up and down your sopping slit languidly. “And aren’t you wondering h-how exactly I know?”

“How do you know, my darling…?” Sounding barely awake as he questions so.

“It’s because…” And then you’re sitting up and starin’ down at his movie-star face, eyes half-lidded and his blond hair a mess. A few strands of it were falling in front of his gorgeous eyes—so you’re pushing them away with your hand- and Nanami shivers as though just splashed with cold water. “-I’m feeling the same way.” A shiver runs down Nanami’s spine. “That aphrodisiac seems to be contagious.”

“A-aphrodisiac?” Nanami’s eyes widen behind his spectacles.

And you’re giving him a soothing nod. “Mhm. Back at the bar, it seems that what Kenjaku spiked you with was a Kryptonite solution. But what he hadn’t accounted for was the fact that sometimes…Kryptonite can have a bit of an…aphrodisical effect on humans.”

You’re leaning down and kissing his pussy-drenched lips. “Mmm, yeah, I can taste it on you still.”

Nanami’s immediately lurching back- but this time, it’s your turn to be reeling him back in. 

Keeping him delightfully hostage between your legs. “And where do you think you’re going, Earthling?”

“But the Kryptonite-” Nanami pants. Even though his eyes kept constantly flickering down to your cunt as if his favorite baked good set out right in front of him. Syrupy-filled. “It can’t be good for you-”

“At the weakened state it’s in now, it’s not bad for me either.” You smile. “The aphrodisiac shouldn’t impair you, either. But if you do not wish to fully continue-”

“I do.” The words can’t leave Nanami’s lips faster. He’s shoving your legs further apart and whispering. “I do I do I do—”

Then pressing such a harsh open-mouthed kiss against your swollen folds - so hard that it honestly felt as though he was trying to permanently imprint its outline against your pussy. And then when he’s pressed hard enough and long enough and deeeep enough—Nanami jerks away with a wrangled moan.

“But then since I’m already broken…”

And in robotic movements- he pushes your nightgown up until your tits- and he’s plastering his hot lips aaaaall over your cunt. Tongue swiping urgently between your folds and fuckin’ inside like a damn animal.

“Shit—” Moans bubble to your throat- seeping out with bubbles of spit. You’re clawing through his sweaty locks, holding onto him for dear life. “Shit, shit, shit- I didn’t expect humans to be so…”

“S’this your first time on Earth?” He peeks up at you through his long lashes.

“It is.” You’re nodding. Biting onto your lower lip.

And something seems to shift behind Nanami’s darkened eyes; he fixates them on you and doesn’t waver a single second as he lets his tongue fully out. Lavishes the tender in-betweens of your pussylips with all his sensual kisses- “Then I better give you a proper welcome to Earth.”

And it’s with absolutely no warning that he’s increasing the speed of his thrusts.

Flarin’ that sopping wet muscle out so that it stretches out your first ring of muscle- you can feel the sides of Nanami’s tongue slide-slide-sliding all down your channel. He was just so thick- you were feeling him so perfectly like this- and you can’t help yourself…you’re activating your x-ray vision to see how deep Nanami’s really going.

“A-a bit more to the left, Kento…” You murmur. “And a little deeper- ngh.”

He looks up at you in slight surprise. “Oh? You can see where I’m going, my darling?” Experimentally, Nanami stabs a few more thorough probes- deep.

“X-ray vision, remember?” You gasp. Buckin’ up in a sloppy staccato every time Nanami’s nearing with his tongue and his prominent nose- fuck, you loved how the tip of his nose pressed into your clit every time he surged forwards. “Just a bit deeper- oh, your fingers?”

With two of his calloused fingertips slidin’ up and down your vertical slit - accumulating the dewy droplets of slick you were letting out - he smiles. “I may not have superpowers, but something tells me you’re going to like this, Supergirl.”

“Oh- shiiiiiit.” It’s letting out the sloppiest squelch to have Nanami’s fingers easing inside. 

They’re so large- oh, your mouth drops as he’s burgeoning inside. Through your x-ray vision you could see that he’s scissoring inside- stretching aside that velvety channel- letting the doughy tips of his fingers probe inside like two searchlights attempting to pinpoint your most treasured spots. He’s rovering in deeeeeep- and you’re letting your face press into the damp mattress. “You’re enjoying this, Supergirl?”

“I-I am.” You huff. You’re humpin’ up into his pretty face so hard that the bedframe was creaking and moaning. Just as you must have been.

“And is your- hah, favorite Earthling making you feel good—?”

You’re levelling a half-hearted glare at him. “Bold of you to assume- but yes.” His fingers are just so close- “To the right…”

And he’s immediately heeding your every word- meanwhile, his mouth seemed to have felt a little lonely. Because Nanami hastens to latch his kiss-bitten lips around your throbbing clit. “Good. Because I’m just made to make you feel good, my darling. I need this. I need this. M’made for this.” Huffing. “Don’t be afraid to fuck my tongue as hard as you want- don’t be afraid to s-suffocate me, because m’here just to make you—ngh, feel good—”

Pushing up into you.

Pressing himself between your legs even harder.

“I don’t need to breathe- I need you to tell me where that g-spot is.”

Your head’s throwing backwards, thighs trembling around him- you’re soon wrapping your legs around Nanami’s perspired head and locking your ankles around him. Digging his tongue even deeper- he crashes and crashes them against your clit in time with his probin’ fingers. “A little more-”

“How much more?”

“Just about an inch- oh.” You’re squawking out in a way that’d be so embarrassing if it was anytime but now. “And to the left…upwards.”

He notices that you’re almost shying away from his touch with every plap! of his palm hitting the forefront of your cunt. Harder. Faster—even though he may have been a gentleman, Nanami’s fingers were decidedly not. They’re ravenous; managing to curl against the side of your walls, with your direction perfectly locating that one spot you’ve been aching to be touched this entire time. And the human wastes no time pushing against it- you think you’re seeing stars—hey, was that Krypton?

Too occupied to come up with a concrete answer, however, you’re simply basking in the pleasure that Nanami was pouring through your veins.

And he only seems too happy to have your hips hikin’ higher and your pussy pushing up all the way until his nose- with every single thrust he was battering. Your gooey insides are shuddering at the sheer force, you’re feeling a tightness start to formulate at the pit of your stomach. 

Something sore - blissfully so.

“I think…” You gasp. “No I know—” And the thing about being Kryptonian was that it came with immense control over your physiology- which also meant that you could cum on demand. But oh, how much better it felt when it was being drawn out of you by Nanami’s sweet sweet fingers.

Plunging - each time from the rounded tips of his digits and down until those knuckles, reddening at the persistent skin-to-skin contact - towards your g-spot every time. Multiple times a second.

“-Kento, I’m going to cum—”

“So cum f’me, Supergirl-” Nanami spits against your cunt. He sounds ragged- he sounds gone. His tone was a barely-there husk of what it had once been, and his eyes seemed unable to focus on anything but the pretty soakin’ pussy right in front of him. He kept his mouth so fucking full of your throbbing clit as he continued speaking. “Cum f’me…my girl.”

Shit—he’s blushing just saying it. But the effect on you is undeniable - you’re throwing your head into the fluffy pillows and finally letting loose. 

Wrenching on Nanami’s hair. Squeezing his head till he almost suffocates- you’ve got the feeling that he gladly would. Dragging your slick-glazed folds against his face and cumming and cumming.

As your euphoria rips straight through you - Nanami leaves his mouth further ajar and swivels his tongue inside as well. In addition to his fingers, he’s now attempting to squeeze his tongue inside to fuck you silly- to make your dazed peripherals roll to the back of your scalp. “This is what I’m made for.” And you’re unsure whether that was him or the aphrodisiac talking. “This is all I ever wanna do now—mmm—” He moans as syrupy juices stream down either side of his mouth and he’s sucking in your pussy. “My darling, you don’t know how badly I mean it when I say m’made for you. For this pussy.”

You whimper as he perfects his tonguing thrusts to the rhythm of your orgasm. Hitting every single peak. “Sh-shit…it’s becoming sensitive…”

“My darling, I’d rather die than leave this pussy from now onwards.”

“Never expected a gentleman like you to be so filthy.” You huff- rather difficult, considering how much he managed to take your breath away. As he prolongs your high until you’re dizzy—

And then some.

“Mmmm, I’m sensitive.” Fondly; you tug on his golden strands. Nanami lets out a rumble of acknowledgement, but he doesn’t move a single inch - merely grazing- not even properly eating you out anymore, he’s just sloppy grazing his hungry mouth against your sensitive cunt. 

Lapping up the last few dredges of your slick.

Occasionally wishing to feel the clench of your hole- and letting it dip inside—

“Hck!” Tears start to well up behind your eyes. And you have to speak to something deep and carnal within Nanami - otherwise you’re getting the feeling that he’s never going to part his lips from your own drenched ones. “Kento, you can stay here if you want…”

“Mmm-” He eagerly runs his tongue between your velvety folds again.

“-but I was really thinking that we could use my x-ray vision…” That seems to finally pique his interest, and he’s looking up at you. “-for something else. Something bigger, hm?” Pointedly, your eyes dip down.

He knows exactly what you’re talking about.

And in no time, Nanami Kento’s shuffling up your twitching body - still oh-so-sensitive from your previous high. And his hips are closing towards yours, his ruby-red tip is slipping between your legs and sandwiching between your pussylips for a few thrust-thrust-thrusts—“A-are you sure, my darl- oh.”

Before you claw at Nanami’s muscular back and crush him against your body.

Against your hips- your readily awaiting cunt.

Just that sopping, sap-covered tip of his manages to fit inside in that moment - and you’re feeling it throb like he’s always wanted to be here. Filling up the cavern of your cunt and making your toes curl- such a delicious streeeetch—! you’ve never felt before. And Nanami watches as you’re on the verge of shattering just as he already has—and he leans down to press a quick press on the edge of your chin. “M-mmmm.” 

But it’s hard even think let alone fucking speak with your soaking wet cunt wrapped around him like this. His very own taste of heaven.

Nanami’s letting escape a few botched moans- before he decides to preserve whatever is left of his dignity, and bites down on his pathetically wobbling lip. Trying his very best to keep any noise from leaving him as he experimentally moves his hips behind and probes back inwards with his plump, puckered tip. Just the round girth of it openin’ you up even more. “Sh-shiiiiiiit—my darling, am I even…”

You’re looping your arms around him and dragging him even closer. But Nanami’s too far gone to even kiss you properly- and his lips end up sliding around your jawline. “Even what, Kento?”

Bleary eyes damn-near popping out of his skull. Skin flushed ever-redder due to the aphrodisiac or simply just…you. Cock spurting out wad after wad of eager precum—he just couldn’t stop himself.

“Alive…” Nanami rasps out.

And your jaw drops at the question. “Is that…is that a joke, baby?” Although you already knew the answer- Nanami Kento was never the type to just joke.

And just as you’d expected, he’s furiously shaking his head and pumping out a few more overeager semi-thrusts. So overeager, in fact, that he’s ending up plopped out of your wettened cavern- and Nanami almost blows a fuse trying to get himself back in.

“Let me help you with that, Kento.” You giggle. Pushing aside his fumbling fingers, you’re wrapping your own around his incredibly thickened base - enough to make your mouth water.

Pointing the globular top of his shaft towards your cunt, you allow him to push inside once more. Breath hitching. Thighs shaking. Pants erratic as he does so- “Are you alright, baby?” You ask him—this time opening your legs wider to let his furious inches shovel in. “D’you think you can handle it if I use my powers to bring all of you inside?”

“Yes but…no.” Nanami admits. He wears a sheepish smile on his face - almost shy. Which was in direct contrast with the way he’s scrapin’ his right hand down your core and resting it atop your womb. He looks at you with raised brows. “Here?”

You nod. “Right there.” Then you’re wiggling your hips down in order to take him deeper—

But Nanami’s stopping you with a hand at your waist- practically glued onto your skin. He’s firm in his touch though not unkind. And Nanami’s boring deeeeply into your eyes - your very soul - as he’s giving you light, shallow thrusts. Poking himself past that ruthless squeeze of your entrance. “I…hah, I’ll need your superpowers to tell me where I am, my darling. And exactly where you want me.” 

Then Nanami plants you with a particularly hard strike that sends his long cock digging. His sides were decorated with a zig-zagging pattern of veins that massages your delicate insides.

“But as for fitting inside…” His mouth fucking waters at the prospect - and you already know with your senses. The gentleman leans down and spits in your mouth. “-we’re gonna do it the human way, okay?”

“Please-” Your nails start to dig into the shifting muscles of his back. “Please-”

And he’s not doing it the human way—not instantly. Before that; Nanami removes your palms from his shoulders and pins them above your head. Using but a single hand of his.

And you know you could easily overpower him - you just know it - but in this instance it makes something carnal twitch inside you to have the calm, soft-spoken gentleman shatter in this way on your pussy. It wasn’t just the aphrodisiac: he was using one hand to restraint yours- so hard that you feel his nail marks, he was using the other to push your knees up until they hit your tits, he was pulling his cock out until it was juuuust the pretty, pinkish top of his shaft.

And then plunging back in.

As deep as he could go - until he’s feeling the little tightness of your entrance. Then reeling back out to repeat. And repeat.

And repeat.

And repeat.

Nanami Kento was stabbing you with his cock nearly a dozen times a second—and he wasn’t sweet with it- he wasn’t fucking gentle. 

He was utterly pussydrunk and fucking you just like it. “Please, please, please—” Nanami’s attractive baritone hitches at the very end of his sentence, breaking into a million pieces just as he was. “Sh-shit, it’s like the deeper I go…the more I can’t- hngh.”

“Think?” You flutter your lashes up at him.

“Yeah.” He breathes. “That.”

And you can’t help but let out a little giggle—the way his flared tip rubbed your insides was addictive. He was so wiiiiide above his sensitive slit, and that was pushing forcefully into every one of your hidden spots. “You’re so close to my- hck! favorite spot, Kento. Do you remember where that was?” 

“Mmm, my darling- remember?” Nanami looks down at you with crazed eyes. “I can’t even remember my own name right now.”

“Then I’ll guide you.”

Though your arms were pinned to the bed, you’re able to careen your hips up into his. And that ruggedly handsome v-line of his was slowly growing redder at the repeated contact- to which you’re only pushing up even harder. “Just a little deeper- two inches?” You’re using your x-ray vision to map out the perfect route to your g-spot. “And then a little more- fuck, angle your hips a little more to the left.”

“Like this?” He asks. Beautiful hazel eyes almost fluttering shut at the onslaught of sudden squeezes that your cunt was blessing him with. “Fuck, how are you squeezing me even- deeper?”

“My superhuman powers?” You’re joking- joking.

But that doesn’t stop Nanami from asking- “Then does that mean you can…snap my dick off with that pussy, my darling?”

At first you’re in disbelief that such words could have possibly left Nanami Kento’s - the Nanami Kento’s - mouth. And then when it’s finally sunken in, you’re debating whether he was actually serious about it—he looked serious enough. “Ah…” Your lips part. “Kiss me.”

He does.

And as he does, that winding restraint of your legs tugs n’ tugs him ever-closer. Ever-deeper.

That bulbous tip of his was openin’ you up so fucking well—hidden nooks you hadn’t even known existed. And after a few more jerky thrusts, Nanami breaks the kiss with a rather lecherous slurp! and moves to huff against your ear. “I-is it all the way in, my dearest?”

“Shouldn’t you be the one to know that?” You’re chuckling before looking down using your x-ray vision once more.

“Tell me, my darling- tell me.” And Nanami Kento was always rather the stoic man—never combusting, never overreacting. But at this moment, it feels as though the longer he’s not fully stuffed in your cunt, the more and more he’s fucking losing it-

“Well…just a few inches longer until you’re gonna be- hah-” Untangling one of your hands from his, you’re running it down your core. Your womb. “-here.”

And Nanami can’t hurry up enough to pin your hands back on the mattress, replacing it with his own. He fucking moans when he realizes that - if he presses down hard enough, perhaps through your superhuman powers - you can make him feel himself bumpin’ thrusts from the outside. You continue. “But you’re actually pretty close to- ah.”

Just then your words are taking on a trilling tone.

Almost matching his in terms of neediness.

Nanami’s running his lengthy cock so deeeeep inside that he ends up rubbin’ his flared tip along either side of your channel—perfectly massaging that one spot you’ve been yearning for this entire time. It’s like a pretty target then that he’s never failing to hit over and over and over again- until you’re throbbing and raw inside.

And every one of his thrusts end up puncturing that spot. That sweet bundle of nerves that makes his mouth water- you’re shattering around his shaft every time he repeats the motion. “Deeper.” Nanami chokes out. “Deeper- now I just need you to take me even deeper. I don’t just want it- I need it.”

And pressing your legs apart with his strong pelvis- he’s murmuring as he hones in.

That target at the back of your pussy.

That gummy surface that just seemed to be calling to him.

That area at the very bottom that just seemed soaked in his never-ending precum—“I need it. I need it. I need it so fuckin’ badly.” He was slurring on his words by this point, and Nanami noses down the column of your throat. “It’s like every atom inside me is burning up. Not just because of the fuck- aphrodisiac.”

“Not just…?” You ask with widened eyes.

And he’s grinding down on the heavenly spot between your legs - so hard that the scruff of his happy trail massages your clit. And it’s such a primal sensation that you don’t think you’d ever be able to replicate—not even with your hypercontrol. “Not just.” He dips his face into the crook of your neck, hair sticking to your clammy skin. “My darling, your body’s liquor.”

Harder and harder. 

With a few more thorough strokes, Nanami’s finally - finally - bottoming out. 

You feel the moment he empties out those thick, throbbing inches with a rough bang! The velvety end of his tip swipes across your cervix- and you’re shivering at the rope of goey precum he’s leaving behind. “Sh-shiiiiiit.”

“Have I…?” Nanami’s pupils dilate. “Have I…” And he keeps fucking you in merciless thrusts.

You smile, “Why don’t you see for yourself, Kento?” He seriously didn’t realize, yet?

Nanami blinks dazedly a few times- before he’s slowly ducking his head downwards and staring at the place where you two were connected. Where your puffy pussylips were struggling to swallow down his red cock—and his heavy balls were thwack-thwack-thwacking away. And it’s enough to make his mouth water.

“Oh.”

His breath hitches as he sees that lil’ tummy bulge he was fucking into you.

And Nanami falters his hips - for just a split-second - so that he could reach down and give that tummy bulge a kiss—a fucking kiss. Coming back up with the most accomplished smile- “I-I think m’close, my darling.”

“So then cum, Kento.” You’re breaking free of his restraint to throw your arms around him again. “And I’ll-”

“No.” The blond man already knew what you were going to say. Shaking his sweaty head, “I won’t let you make yourself cum using your powers, my dear—this Earthling is going to do it himself.”

So you’re keeping your mouth shut and giving into the pleasure - and on Krypton you may have had to use your physiological control to get yourself off most of the time- but Nanami was hellbent on making you feel better than he already was. He’s slammin’ away into your g-spot. He’s using his now-free hand to roll over your clit.

Again and again and again—

As many times as he needed to in order to push you towards your high - even if it meant rubbin’ his reddened cock raw against the sopping hot insides of your cunt. In next to no time; Nanami has your toes curling at the sheer amount of pleasure shooting up from them.

And you’re babbling away into the grove of his neck, “K-Kento, I’m close…”

“Please-” He sounds very much ruined by how he’s had to push his own orgasm for yours- gladly, at that. “P-please…” A ribbon of spit glides from the corner of his mouth, and Nanami pushes down on your tummy bulge using his chiselled abs. “Cum on my cock, my girl.”

You’re both reaching your highs at the same time - Nanami’s with a few more choked-up groans and the sloppiest thrusts you’ve ever had the pleasure of receiving, and you with a few more replays of his name and the bed frame shattering underneath you. It’s solely from using your super strength to fuck back into Nanami’s cock - something you hadn’t even realized you’d been doing.

Your brain feels completely fried by the crescendo of your high- getting every peak of it smacked! by Nanami’s ruthless hips.

Again and again—he’s pumping out scalding white globs of cum.

It empties out midway down your walls and smears once he’s hittin’ your cervix. “Cum on my- cum on my…oh, fuck.” Nanami’s pupils tremble- “Don’t think I’ve ever felt like this before…”

“Mmm, me neither.” You coo up at him. Your own orgasm was taking over you nerve by nerve—flooding it with white-hot pleasure. Back arching. Knees trembling. It thrums inside of you - and you’re wondering just how potent that aphrodisiac is, because your heartbeat’s almost concerningly fast—

“S’that so?” Nanami slurs. Pressing a chaste peck to your lips as he fucks his cum inside you. “Because I’m not just talking about the sex.”

Oh.

The realization hits you like a freight truck - or maybe a block of Kryptonite. Your heartbeat wasn’t increasing just because of the aphrodisiac. Not at all.

You’re pressing your lips to Nanami’s once more, and you can see yourself doing it over and over and over again.

“Me too.”

And then after a moment, you laugh.

“Kento, we broke the bed.”

.

.

.

SUPERGIRL SAVES 160,000 AT RAINBOW BRIDGE—A TIMELINE OF THE JUSTICE LEAGUE’S NEWEST ADDITION.

EXCLUSIVE: LOCAL JOURNALIST SAVED BY SUPERGIRL (THE COVERPAGE OF THE YEAR?)

SUPERVILLAIN KENJAKU FINALLY ARRESTED! REVEALED TO BE BEHIND RAINBOW BRIDGE SITUATION AND SLANDER CAMPAIGN AGAINST SUPERGIRL…

“I spy with my little eye…” Shoko’s knowing gaze flickers between you and Nanami. “-a smile. Two smiles.”

Nanami’s warm gaze turns to you. “Ah, what’s there not to smile about?”

“Considering I’ve finally cleared up my name.” You respond. And it was true; ever since the highly-publicized double heroism in which you saved both Nanami and managed to prevent the Yurikamome Line accident, the headlines couldn’t get enough of your name. Except this time…it wasn’t a bitter taste on their tongues. 

Were we wrong about Supergirl? Was Kenjaku behind the hate campaign?

(Partially. You don’t doubt that that man had his fingers in every pot and scheme possible, but you don’t doubt that most of it was pure human vitriol. And you hoped Kenjaku continued seething…from Tokyo Island Penitentiary.)

It was sweet.

And you weren’t naive enough to believe that the criticism would stop immediately - or in fact ever - but that was alright now. That was fine. 

When you were you.

And you had Nanami beside you—

He intertwines his hand with yours- and Shoko pretends to gag at the sweet, sweet act. The both of you are shaking your heads at her dramatics; which you know she didn’t mean considering the cover page that she’d been staring at at that very moment.

That second headline.

EXCLUSIVE: LOCAL JOURNALIST SAVED BY SUPERGIRL (THE COVERPAGE OF THE YEAR?)

By Nanami Kento.

Underneath those words were a picture snapped from the night you’d save Nanami for the second time. 

You’re crashing through the ceiling of Kenjaku’s bar. You’re carrying Nanami Kento in a princess carry. You. You. You. Powerful and precise. And the way that Nanami was staring at you- oh, he had stars in his eyes brighter than the night sky in the background. His arms were holding onto you like a lifeline, and you were unfettered as you held him close like a star himself.

It was the very picture of heroism.

But to you, it was also…

“Love.” Shoko whispers. “You’re in love.”

And you’re opening your mouth in response - but you’re spared from answering, as you hear something in the distance—a scream. Downtown Shibuya. There was a mugging in occurrence and the perpetrator seemed to have a weapon.

You’re looking at Nanami and Shoko, and both nod as they recognize the hardened glint in your eye.

They’d come up with some believable excuse for your absence, surely. And if they didn’t…

You’re sweeping a glance at the mundane cubicles to make sure no one was watching- then ducking out of the nearest open window as fast as light. On strong summer winds, you’re flying off to save someone—and underneath that grey coat of yours flapped your iconic suit. You tear it open at the chest to reveal the ‘S’ underneath.

-it didn’t matter, anyway.

You were Supergirl.

A/N. Hehehehehe-

Hope you have a lovely week <3

[milkyhoneybee]

I wish my nipples were even bigger and even more sensitive and even having them brush against the inside of my top made me so horny it was genuinely hard to think

and I wish that my friends knew and they thought it was hilarious/hot that they could just casually rub them and see me become a drooling, wet, stupid mess

Like, mid conversation they start just rubbing super gently and I can continue a bit but then they give a good squeeze and I physically can't restrain myself from moaning and leaning into it

As long as they keep playing with my nipples, they can do anything to me and I won't be able to resist. Someone sucks on them for a bit and I'm grinding and humping against them, mindless

They strip me, put nipple suckers on me, attach some weights to those, tie my hands behind my back so I can't get them off, and watch me shake as I deal with how horny I get every time I move even a bit. They might pull me over, slide a cock or fingers inside me, fuck me and make my tits bounce, or they just slap them to make me moan and drool from the stimulation...

Maybe they even attach vibrators onto the suckers, and watch me cum my brains out for a while... They could do anything they want to me as long as my nipples stay stimulated

By the time they finally take pity on me, it's been hours (or even days, maybe months?) and my nipples are so swollen and sensitive, they're super stretched out and thick, the air on them makes me cum so hard I collapse, and it's another half hour before I can even register I'm in some shady adult shop, with one of those massive special order super thick monster dildos inside me, and my friend who took me there told me they thought it was hot/funny that they were able to shove me down onto it with no resistance because of how stupid I get from my teats

I realise then that I'm wearing a collar and leash, and my friend is handing it over to the shady owner of the store, who says they're looking forward to trying out all the different ways they and their customers can think of to keep me an empty-headed cow whore, and before I can start to object, they stick a pair of wireless vibrating nipple rings on me and set them to the highest setting, and my brain melts as my tits take over

[anghimalaaynasapuso]

GYM CRUSH SIMON

sfw + nsfw. unsafe sex. womb fucking. no condom.

you never planned on becoming a late-night gym rat. it just …happened. like most things in your life, it started with good intentions and spiraled into something you weren’t entirely in control of.

you’d made a new year’s resolution to get in shape— because health, discipline, all that crap— and, in a moment of overzealous optimism, you splurged on a gym membership. a pricey one, to add. the kind that made your bank account cry, which meant quitting wasn’t an option.

there was only one problem. you were busy. between classes, assignments, and the absolute joke that was your sleep schedule, the only time you could consistently work out was well past normal human hours.

at first, the idea of hitting the gym at midnight felt… weird. like stepping into a parallel universe where only insomniacs and questionable life choices existed. but then you considered the alternative— going during peak hours and getting judged for your piss-poor form, or worse, waiting in line for machines behind a dude who was live-streaming his workout.

midnight schedule it was.

it grew on you eventually. the routine became second nature. drag yourself in after class, half-asleep, toss your bag into a locker, and start on the treadmill to wake yourself up. a slow warm-up, music blasting through your headphones, then a mostly half-hearted attempt at strength training.

the people who showed up at this hour were predictable. a few other students— dead-eyed, running on caffeine fumes. a handful of older folks, the dedicated ones who treated the gym like a sacred temple.

and then there was him.

tall. broad. built like something out of a military recruitment ad.

the first time you noticed him, you’d nearly tripped on the treadmill. one second, you were zoning out, staring at the clock, and the next— there he was. buzz cut barely visible beneath the hood of his sweatshirt, arms thick with muscle, veins running down his forearms in stark lines. tattoos peeked from under his sleeves, black ink tracing the ridges of his skin.

(the combat boots were what threw you off. who the hell wore combat boots to the gym?)

he moved through his workout with terrifying

efficiency. no wasted movements, no unnecessary pauses. heavyweights. circuits. the kind of training that looked more like preparation for war than casual fitness. he never looked winded either. no gasping for breath, no pausing to rest, just relentless, controlled effort.

you developed a— not a crush— an appreciation for him. admiration. respect. that was it. not the way his hoodie stretched across his shoulders when he adjusted his grip on the barbell. not the way his jaw clenched in concentration. not the way his fingers wrapped around the weights with an ease that made you feel woefully inadequate.

“it’s a crush,” your friend announced one evening, stabbing a straw into his juice box.

you scoffed, flipping through your notes. “it’s not.”

“it is. i’m fit too, but i don’t see you staring at me like you wanna lick salt off my abs.”

you made a disgusted noise. “jesus, shut up.”

he grinned, tipping his juice box back dramatically. “i’m just saying. the fact that you haven’t even talked to him and yet know his entire workout routine is very-"

“i do not know his entire workout routine.”

your friend raised a brow.

you sighed. “…he does back and legs on tuesdays.”

his brow lifted higher.

“…and arms on thursdays.”

silence.

“right.”

“shut up.”

you’d considered talking to him. maybe asking for tips or making some awkward joke about his frankly ridiculous choice of gym footwear. but he didn’t exactly radiate approachable.

the man looked like he’d rather be waterboarded than engage in small talk.

and you? you weren’t some plucky rom-com protagonist who could charm the brooding loner into friendship with a dazzling smile and sheer force of personality. so, you kept your distance. which was fine. totally fine.

What the hell would you even say? “hey, nice pecs, can I bury my face between them?” he’d call the police on you.

so, you stayed quiet..

until the night you made the monumentally stupid decision to start lifting weights.

in your defense, it wasn’t entirely your idea. you were perfectly content with your usual treadmill-and-machines routine. but then your friend had to go and mock you.

“you’re paying for a full gym membership,” he said, flicking a fry at your forehead, “and you’re not even using the weight room?”

“i use it,” you protested.

“you walk through it.”

okay, fine. he had a point. which was how you ended up here, standing in front of a barbell, mentally preparing yourself to lift it like you were about to perform brain surgery.

you’d done your research— watched some youtube tutorials, read some articles. you knew the basics. foot placement. core engagement. not arching your back like a possessed demon.

you took a deep breath, squared your stance, wrapped your hands around the bar, and— nothing.

the bar didn’t budge.

you frowned, adjusted your grip. another deep breath. still nothing.

okay. you could do this. just, more force. maybe a little momentum. you planted your feet, sucked in a breath, and heaved—

"y’need a spotter?"

you startle so hard you nearly fall backward, breath catching as you whip around. close— he’s close, and jesus, he’s even bigger up close. broad shoulders, thick arms crossed over his chest, pale eyes flicking between you and the barbell like he’s already making peace with witnessing an injury. his hoodie is pulled up like always, shadows cutting sharp over the edges of his jaw, but there’s something vaguely unimpressed about his expression. braced for disaster.

you swallow. "uh."

his brow lifts, expectant, as if this is some kind of trick question. "that a yes or a no?"

"i-" your brain short-circuits. every ounce of confidence you had a second ago shrivels up and dies. "i totally got this."

he exhales sharply, something between a scoff and a sigh. he shifts his weight, one foot bracing slightly forward. "sure you do.

your face heats. you turn back to the barbell, fingers tightening around the metal, and pull. it lifts— barely. your arms burn, hands already sweating, but you’re stubborn. you have it. almost.

"you’re about to smash your fucking face in," he mutters.

you falter— just for a second— but that’s all it takes. your grip slips, the weight tilting. shit, shit, shit!

he moves fast. faster than you expect. before you can even panic properly, his hands brace yours, steadying the bar with zero effort. he’s strong, fingers wrapping over yours for a brief moment before smoothly guiding the weight back onto the rack like it weighs nothing. you stumble back, arms trembling from the strain, but he doesn’t step away yet, just watches you catch your breath.

"right," he says after a beat, stepping back. "now that you’ve definitely got it, mind if i give you some actual pointers?"

you blink up at him, still processing the fact that you almost died, and this guy just saved your life like it was nothing. "you train people?"

"no. just rather not watch someone crush their skull in." which is… fair, you suppose.

you wipe your sweaty palms on your leggings, trying not to look as embarrassed as you feel. "okay. please. teach me."

you and simon— you learn his name by the third day!— slowly fall into a routine, much to his chagrin. he hadn’t expected offering to help you not splatter brain matter across the gym floor would lead to... this. a persistent presence. a shadow in his periphery.

he doesn’t know how it happened, how you managed to wedge yourself into the one place he thought was untouchable, but somehow, you did. and now, you’re there. always. not in an overbearing way. you don’t talk his ear off or force yourself on him. if anything, you’re surprisingly easy to be around. and worse— comfortable. which is fucking dangerous.

a routine starts forming. he hadn’t expected that offering to help you not crush your own skull under a barbell would lead to… this. hadn’t expected that you’d still be here, three days later, four, a week, waving at him when he walks in, bright-eyed and warm despite the ungodly hour. he tries to keep you at arm’s length, really, he does.

but you’re not loud. you don’t force yourself on him. you don’t pry or try to push past his walls— you just exist, alongside him, like it’s a natural thing in the world. you ask him questions, ease him into conversations so seamlessly that sometimes he doesn’t even notice he’s talking until he’s already halfway into answering.

"you ever listen to anything in those headphones?"

he glances at you, then down at his battered over-ear set, blinking like he’d forgotten they were even on. "sometimes."

you hum, stepping up to adjust your weights. "what kinda music?

he hesitates. "depends."

"on?"

"the day."

you narrow your eyes. "that’s not an answer."

"sure it is."

you mutter something under your breath about how “everyone in this gym is allergic to giving a straight answer,” but drop it— he notices that about you. you ask, but you never push. never press. you’re content with whatever he gives, and somehow that makes him want to give you more.

it’s little things at first. small details. he learns that you hate most protein juices but drink it anyway, that you run cold so you always wear a hoodie even when you’re sweating through it, that you hate country music and give him a long, horrified look when you learn that he doesn’t. ("not all of it," he defends, rolling his eyes. "some of it’s alright." you just shake your head at him like he’s beyond saving.)

you learn things too. that his tattoos are actually a full sleeve ("when’d you get these?" "over time." "wow, thanks, that clears so much up."), that he has an endless supply of grey hoodies and sweatpants that he refuses to explain.

"you ever heard of color?" you ask, plucking at his sleeve, and he swats your hand away. "practical," he grunts. "s’not a fuckin’ fashion show."

and then— of course— you fixate on the boots. the combat boots. “okay, but why?” you prod, nudging the toe of his boot with yours. “you know you can wear actual gym shoes, right?”

he gives you a flat look, expression unreadable under the shadow of his hood. “they’re my only pair.”

you freeze. your face twists, and there’s this flicker of genuine horror in your eyes that throws him completely off guard. “simon... are you... homeless?” your voice drops to a whisper, hesitant, like you’re afraid to even ask. his brain short-circuits. he smacks you lightly over the head, more shocked than anything.

"what the fuck- no, i'm not homeless, jesus."

you rub the spot with a pout, still eyeing him like you're not completely convinced. “well, i don’t know,” you mumble.

“you wear the same thing every day, never see you with a bag or a wallet or-”

“drop it.”

“-you don’t even buy pre-workout, simon, who does that-”

“drop it.”

some days, he comes into the gym in a mood. the kind where his head is full of static, his skin prickling with the restless need to exhaust himself into oblivion. those are the days he doesn’t want to talk. doesn’t want to be seen. and you— you notice. you don’t come up to him, don’t pester him or try to joke around like normal. instead, you just stand off to the side, watching him with this soft, wide-eyed expression like some kind of kicked puppy.

it’s unbearable.

like an itch under his skin that won’t go away. it eats at him, gnaws at the edges of his concentration, and before he can help it, he’s groaning and gesturing you over with a sharp flick of his fingers. “for fuck’s sake, just get over here already.”

you grin like you’ve won something, practically bouncing on the balls of your feet as you jog over, and he regrets it immediately.

you bring him coffee sometimes. at first, he doesn’t know how to react. he just stares at it when you shove the cup into his hands, blinking down at the little scribbled name on the side like it’s some kind of foreign object. he doesn’t even like sugary coffee, but he drinks it anyway.

the next day, guilt eats at him, so he shoves a protein shake into your hands, unwilling to meet your eyes. "s’only fair."

you squint at it, shake the bottle, listening to the liquid inside slosh around. “what’s in it?”

he scoffs. "fuckin’ cyanide."

you take an exaggerated sniff before grinning. “smells like peanut butter.”

his eye twitches. “just drink it.”

and then, somehow, that becomes a thing, too. a habit. every other day, one of you brings the other something— coffee, protein shakes, the occasional energy drink when you can tell he’s running on fumes.

one night, the gym is nearly empty. just the hum of air conditioning, the occasional clink of metal, the low buzz of some forgotten playlist over the speakers. the late hour has driven most people out, leaving only you and simon.

you’re exhausted, arms shaking, muscles burning with that deep, satisfying ache, but you’re pushing for one more rep. just one.

simon stands behind you, watching through the mirror. arms crossed, weight shifted slightly forward. tracking every movement, every shift in your stance, the way your hands tighten around the bar.

"you're on fumes," he mutters, but steps closer anyway, close enough that the heat of him presses against your back.

you roll your shoulders, shake out your wrists. “i got it.”

he exhales sharp through his nose, scoff and sigh rolled into one, but he doesn’t argue. just moves in, bracketing your sides, his presence steadying.

"alright," he murmurs, watching as you adjust your grip.

you brace yourself, pull, and the weight barely moves. your arms burn immediately, tendons screaming under the strain. your grip shifts, fingers trembling, slipping—

his hands are there. firm and certain, sliding just beneath yours, adjusting your hold without taking over. his chest nearly against your back, his breath warm against the top of your head.

"fix that grip, sweetheart."

you do, fingers locking down harder, shoulders bracing. he doesn’t let go, not fully, his palms ghosting over your forearms, steadying you just enough.

"lock it out," he says, quiet but insistent. his hands shift, one flattening against your stomach, the other hovering at your ribs, like he can feel where the tension is pulling wrong, where you need to engage. "push through. i’ve got you."

your breath stutters, something curling low in your stomach, and you force everything into that last pull, dragging the bar up, arms shaking, until you finally lock it out.

his fingers press in, just briefly, a quick squeeze at your ribs. "good."

you hold it for a second before guiding the weight back down, slow and controlled. the second it racks, your body gives, arms dead, shoulders screaming.

you stumble, just a little, and his hands are already there, catching at your waist. warm. solid. fingers pressing in just enough to steady you. they linger, just a second too long.

and then— "good girl."

barely above a murmur, just breath and heat against your skin, but it slams through you all the same.

your stomach tightens. your pulse jumps. you freeze.

you turn, still breathless, muscles trembling from exertion.

and he’s right there. solid. massive. crowding you. broad chest rising and falling, sweat clinging to the fabric stretched over muscle. too close, heat rolling off him, sinking into your skin, and making your stomach twist. up close, he’s all sharp lines and thick muscle, biceps flexing slightly as he rolls his shoulders back, tilting his head down to look at you.

"don’t-" your voice breaks. you swallow hard. "don’t do that."

simon’s brow lifts, lazy. "don’t do what, sweetheart?"

your fingers twitch at your sides. you gesture vaguely, heat curling up your spine. "that. the- the praise."

his mouth quirks, amusement flickering at the edges. "what, telling you you’re doing good?"

"yes."

he makes a sound low in his throat. "why? thought you liked it."

you try to start a defense, but he steps closer, and fuck, there’s nowhere to go.

"you did so good," he murmurs. his hand lifts, brushing over the curve of your waist. "pushed yourself real hard. took every single rep like a good girl."

your breath catches and oh, does he catch on to that.

"you like hearing that, don’t you?" his fingers curl, pressing into your hip. "knowing i’m right there, watching you, making sure you finish strong."

low, warm, approving—

"bet that’s why you pushed so hard," he continues, like he’s musing to himself. "just to hear me say it. just to make me proud."

simon’s eyes flicker to the vein in your neck. his other hand lifts, brushing a damp strand of hair away from your face, slow, almost tender.

"say it, sweetheart," he murmurs. "let me take care of you.”

“please.”

the rest of the gym is a blur. you don’t even register leaving, don’t remember how you end up outside, only that simon’s hand is wrapped tight around your wrist, dragging you through the parking lot with a single-minded purpose. the concrete expanse is empty except for simon’s truck parked just underneath a street lamp.

simon hauls you into the backseat, the door slamming shut behind him. the truck rocks with the force of it, windows already fogging, the stale scent of leather and the last remnants of his cologne in the air. the streetlights outside cast a dim glow that cuts through the darkness in thin streaks, glinting off the sweat at his temples.

his hands are on you before you can think. rough, impatient. he grabs your hips, yanks you into his lap, drags you down until you crash against him. the heat of him burns through every layer between you.

his hips roll up.

you jolt, hands flying to his shoulders, gripping tight as the thick shape of him grinds against your clit. even through the fabric, you feel everything— the ridges, the weight, the solid pressure slotting perfectly against you.

he does it again.

your breath catches, legs tensing where they straddle his thighs. you try to move, to adjust, but his hands flex, fingers digging in, keeping you pinned where he wants you.

"shh," simon hushes, arm against your skin, grip tightening as he forces you down harder, thighs flexing beneath you. "let me feel you."

his hips drag against you and you react before your brain can catch up, instinct driving you forward, grinding down, chasing the pressure.

his breath stutters, shoulders tensing as he watches you move. the friction grows slicker, hotter, the damp fabric sticking between you.

you glance down— and then you see it. his sweats, darkened, soaked where you grind against him, your arousal leaking through, making a mess of him.

"fuck-"

he exhales sharply, hands shifting, one palm smoothing down your thigh before gripping, pulling you into him.

"that’s it." he’s almost slurring his words now, his hips rolling up to meet yours. "so fuckin’ wet..."

your nails bite into his arms, your body working without thought, hips rolling, pressing down harder. the truck shifts with every movement, the worn leather seat creaking beneath you.

"fuck, baby." his lips brush your jaw. "so messy. feel that?"

you nod frantically and his cock jumps at your eagerness.

his patience snaps.

one moment you’re grinding down against him, chasing the delicious friction, and the next you're scrambling for purchase as he lifts you.

simon shoves his sweats down, and his cock springs free, slapping up against his stomach. it's thick. throbbing. the flushed tip leaking pre, smearing along the ridges of his abs, catching in the dim of the streetlights.

he’s big. not just in length— though fuck, he’s long enough to make your stomach clench— but thick, too. veins run along the shaft, disappearing beneath the flushed, ruddy skin. the head is a deep, aching red, fat and swollen, leaking so much it dribbles down, streaking along his cock, mixing with the slick mess you’ve already made on him.

the weight of him makes his cock hang low even as it twitches, pulsing with the rush of blood. it looks almost angry, the veins along the base throbbing, his whole cock flexing with each slow pump of his fist as he strokes himself, spreading the mess of precum along his length.

simon watches your expression shift, pleased. "knew you’d like that.”

he's teasing but you barely hear it. your eyes stay locked on him, pulse hammering as you take in the sheer size, the stretch you’re about to take—

he shifts his grip, one arm wrapped around your waist, the other around his cock. your hips twitch, instinct making you reach for him, trying to press forward, but he holds you back, squeezes to get your attention.

"look at that..” simon presses the head of his cock against your stomach, dragging it up, smearing wet along your skin. "gonna take all this, yeah? let me stretch that little cunt open?"

"yes- yes, please-"

"fuck." his breath shudders, his hold on you tightening. "greedy thing."

he yanks you forward, spreads your legs wider, fits himself between your thighs, grinds his cock through your slit.

the first press makes you jolt, your whole body twitching, a choked sound slipping from your throat. he groans, gripping your waist, shoving you down, rubbing your swollen clit against the head, dragging himself through your slick over and over again.

"desperate," he muses, almost cruel. "thought you could take me just like that?"

you try to answer, try to say something, but your brain doesn't work, body too busy chasing relief, hips jerking, cunt aching, a mess of whimpers spilling from your lips.

his cock is heavy against your stomach, his tip leaving a damp streak along your skin as he drags it upward. the grip he has on your waist is firm, fingers pressing deep into your flesh, keeping you still, making sure you see exactly how much of him is about to disappear inside you.

“look at that,” he murmurs, lilted by something dark and pleased. “gonna fit all this inside, yeah? stretch that little cunt open real nice for me?”

your breath shudders in your throat. the weight of him, the sheer size, sends a pulse of heat through you, thighs trembling where he holds them apart. he presses his cock higher, smearing himself over your navel, dragging slow just to watch the way your stomach flexes beneath him.

simon's fingers tighten at your hips, anchoring you in place. his eyes flick up, locking onto yours. “still want it?”

you can’t nod fast enough, hands fisting in the hard muscle of his shoulders, your pulse drumming against your ribs. “yes-”

he huffs a quiet laugh before shaking his head. then he moves, his hands shifting to your waistband. simon doesn’t take his time, doesn’t tease— just yanks your shorts down in one rough motion, shoving them past your thighs, tossing them aside like they’re nothing.

your panties are soaked through, the thin fabric clinging to your skin, darker where arousal has seeped into it. his gaze drops, and he groans, fingers flexing against your thighs.

his eyes practically shine as he reaches down, hooking two fingers into the waistband, pulling the fabric to the side instead of taking it off completely. “how long have you been sittin’ here all wet for me, huh?”

then, without warning, he lifts his cock and slaps it against your cunt. the obscene sound echoes between you.

you jolt, a sharp gasp catching in your throat. the weight of him presses down, drags over your swollen folds, smearing your slick along the length of him, leaving him just as messy as you.

simon's breath hitches, jaw going tight for a moment before he grins. “feel that?” he rocks his hips, slow and deliberate, the ridge of his head catching against your clit with every motion. “soaked for me. filthy girl.”

he keeps at it, rutting through your folds, dragging his cock against you in long, teasing glides. every lazy roll of his hips spreads more wetness between you, slick growing messier, needier, your arousal coating every inch of him.

his voice drops lower, almost awed. “you always this wet?”

you shake your head. you're not even sure why you're this wet. it’s obscene, every slow slide of him making a sticky, wet sound, the kind that makes your face burn with embarrassment.

his grip on your thighs tightens. he presses against you harder, lets his cock drag through the mess, smearing it everywhere, making it worse.

“just for me then?” he asks, watching the way his cock glistens, slick with everything you’ve given him. “i kind of like that.”

he lines himself up, pressing the thick, leaking tip against your aching entrance. he lets it catch there for a second, teasing, before dragging it up one last time, rubbing against your clit, watching you twitch beneath him.

then he settles back down, pressing again, the heavy weight of him poised to sink inside.

his eyes flick back to yours. “gonna let me in now, yeah?”

the first push is a mistake. he realizes it the second you tense up, sucking in a sharp breath, thighs trembling where they’re spread over his lap. his cock barely breaches you— just the tip, barely an inch— and your body locks up, refusing to take more.

simon grits his teeth, hands firm on your waist, trying to ease you down, but you’re too tight, squeezing around him like you’re trying to push him out. the head of his cock throbs where it’s barely inside you, thick and unyielding, stretching you too much, too fast.

he exhales through his nose, slow and measured, and tries again. rocks his hips, nudging deeper, letting you feel the weight of him pressing in. but you whimper, body trembling, nails biting into his skin. your walls clench down hard, resisting, and—

he stops. groans, and drops his head back against the seat.

"jesus christ." his palm drags over his face. "knew you were tight, but- fuck. you’re not gonna take me like this."

your face burns. your throat aches. frustration coils hot in your chest. "i’m sorry-"

"oh, sweetheart." simon's hands slide up your back, rough palms smoothing over your skin before he leans back, head tilting, eyes flicking over you. half amused, half exasperated. "you apologizing for having a cunt this tight?"

you sniffle, shifting in his lap, arousal sticky between your thighs. "but i wanted to-"

"you will." his voice is steady, calm, but his grip on your hips tightens. "just gotta take my time, yeah? don’t want you cryin’ when i finally get this cock in you."

you sniff again, blinking up at him, vision blurred, lips parted. "too late."

he huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "fuckin’ hell."

then his hands are moving again, trailing lower, fingers slipping between your slick folds, pressing in slow.

you jolt at the touch, a sharp, wrecked little sound catching in your throat. simon groans, watching the way you twitch in his lap.

"fuck, baby. so sensitive. all worked up and nowhere to put it, huh?"

you nod, heat crawling up your neck, hips jerking as he rubs slow, lazy circles over your clit. his fingers are thick, rough, dragging through the mess between your thighs, teasing, pressing just enough to make your breath stutter.

"s’not fair," you mumble.

"life’s not fair, sweetheart." his fingers press in again, pushing deeper. one first, stretching you open, curling inside. then another. then a third. his other hand stays on your thigh, keeping you spread, holding you open so he can watch the way you take him.

"gotta get you nice and open." his voice low and warm. "don’t want you breakin’ on me just yet."

you whimper, rocking into his hand, clenching down around his fingers. your clit throbs under his thumb, swollen and aching, every slow grind of his palm sending another shudder through you.

"shh. just let me do this for you, yeah?"

you do. trembling, gasping, grinding down, taking everything he gives until you’re loose, slick, ready.

when he pulls his fingers out, you whine, walls fluttering around nothing.

then his cock is back, pressing against your entrance, thick and hot, teasing for only a moment before he pushes in—

you take him.

the stretch is unbearable. every inch forces you open, slow and deliberate, the thick drag of him pressing deeper than anything ever has. your breath stutters, body shaking, thighs trembling where they rest over his.

"fuck, sweetheart," he groans, voice tight, hands gripping your hips, keeping you still, keeping you from pulling away. "you feel that? squeezing me so fuckin’ tight."

you do. every ridge, every vein, the slow, impossible push of him splitting you open, inch by inch, pressing deep— then he stops.

breath stuttering, you blink at him, dazed, confused, still so empty. "w-why-"

"baby," his voice is almost pained. "m’pressing right up against your cervix. can’t go any deeper."

but it’s not enough. you whimper, hips twitching, shifting to take more, to sink lower. "but i still feel empty, si.."

his jaw clenches, fingers digging into your thighs, trying to keep you still, stopping you from punching a fucking hole through your guts. "jesus, sweetheart. you don’t know what you’re askin."

"please," you breathe, eyes glassy, desperate. "si, please, want all of you-"

he groans, head dropping back against the seat, restraint hanging by a thread. "fuck."

then his grip tightens, and before you can say another word, he forces you down the rest of the way.

"oh-oh my god-" your whole body shakes, a strangled moan ripping from your throat as the thick head of his cock breaches your cervix, slipping into your womb, stuffing you full.

simon grunts, the squeeze of you making his vision blur for a second. "jesus fuckin’ christ."

the moment he bottoms out, your walls clamp down, fluttering, pulsing around him— the pleasure snaps without warning, white-hot, rolling through you all at once.

"fuck- fuck, baby." he curses, the squeeze of your cunt almost painful. his half-lidded eyes are trained on where the two of you connect, the way you gush around him, soaking his cock. "just from takin’ me all the way? filthy fuckin’ thing-"

he huffs a rough laugh, fingers flexing against your hips, appreciating the extra slick easing the way. "makes it easier, at least," he mutters, then starts to move.

it’s slow at first— just enough to let you feel it, to make you ache through the thick drag of him pulling back, just enough to let you whimper at the sheer pressure of his cock pressing against every swollen, overstimulated inch of your cunt.

but you’re already gone.

your lashes flutter, your lips part around soft, wrecked little sounds, your hips twitching even though he’s holding you down, even though you’re already stuffed so fucking full.

"look at you," he murmurs, dragging a palm up your belly, pressing down right where he’s so deep, groaning when he feels the outline of himself inside you. "fuckin’ cock-drunk already, sweetheart?"

you sob, thighs squeezing around his waist, hands grasping at him, trying to find something to hold onto as your hips jerk, rolling forward mindlessly, instinct driving you to take more, take everything.

he groans, gripping your jaw, tilting your face up so he can see all of it.

"can’t even talk, can you? too fuckin’ dumb to think straight."

"s-simon-"

"what, love? too far gone already?"

his smirk is wicked, his grip tight as he presses his hips up, spearing you open all over again.

you scream, body jerking, back arching, thighs trembling around him. "ohh- oh fuck-"

"there we go." his voice is full of praise, full of something dark and indulgent. "there’s my good girl."

he sets a slow rhythm, dragging his cock out until only the thick head is inside you before slamming all the way back in, spearing you open, making sure you feel it, making sure you take every inch.

"bloody hell," he mutterd, feeling the way your walls squeeze him, the way you shudder, the way you drip around him, slick gushing, soaking his cock, ruining his seats.

"listen to that, sweetheart," he groans, shifting his grip, spreading his knees just a little wider to pin you in place. "fuckin’ mess you’re makin."

he glances down, eyes nearly rolling at the sight— your cunt stretched wide around him, slick dripping down to his balls, pooling beneath you.

"christ, love." he has to gasp for breath. "fuckin’ leaking all over me- ruinin’ my fuckin’ truck-"

"s-simon-" you lose your train of thought, babbling incomprehensible strings of words.

"can't think?" simon's grin sharpens. "good. don’t need you thinkin."

then he fucks you properly.

[softhandz]

just one night

pairing: yandere!strawhats x afab!reader

summary: they stopped on this little island to quickly rest and restock, but the they didn’t plan on encountering you. after defending them publicly, the crew just knows that you belong with them

content: yandere behavior, eventual romantic connections between you and most of the straw hats, platonic!chopper, franky, and brook, alluded criminal activity, instant attraction, drinking,

wc: 6k

18+ only, MDNI PLEASE AND THANK YOU

buy me a coffee | general masterlist | part 2 | part 3 | read part 4 here | part 5 | part 6 |

The tavern was loud in the way all good ones were; full, warm, and just a little bit on the edge of becoming a problem. Laughter spilled over clinking glasses, boots scraped against wooden floors, and somewhere in the corner, a chair tipped just enough to suggest someone had already had too much.

At the bar, though, there was a problem. A man with moss-green hair sat rigidly on one of the stools, fingers tapping against the wood before stilling entirely.

Roronoa Zoro did not like being ignored.

His gaze flicked toward the bartender again, still occupied. Leaning far too comfortably across the counter, laughing low at something one of the girls down the bar had said, completely uninterested in anything else happening around him.

Zoro’s jaw tightened in frustration as he’d already asked. Twice and nothing.

“Tough luck.” The voice came from his side, casual and amused.

Zoro turned slightly and you stood there like you’d always been there, elbow resting against the bar, gaze following his toward the bartender with mild interest.

“He’s not going to come over,” you added, almost thoughtfully.

Zoro huffed once through his nose. “Yeah. I noticed.”

There was a beat, then—

“I could help you with that.”

That got his attention. He glanced at you properly this time, sharp and assessing, like he was trying to place you in a category and hadn’t quite decided where you fit yet.

“Oh yeah?” he said.

You smiled. Not wide or sweet, but knowing. 

“Yeah.”

A small tilt of your head toward the bartender, and Zoro caught the flicker of something in your eyes.

“Watch.”

And before he could respond, you pushed off the bar and slipped into motion. The first thing he noticed was that you didn’t rush. You moved like you belonged there, like the space would shift and accommodate for you if it need to. By the time you reached the bartender, your posture had softened, your expression brightened just enough to catch his attention without looking like you were trying.

It worked immediately.

Zoro watched as the bartender straightened, grin widening, focus snapping entirely to you as you leaned just slightly over the counter. He couldn’t hear everything you said over the noise, but he didn’t need to.

There was a laugh, yours, followed by a light touch to the bartender’s wrist. Overall, a quiet exchange that had the man nodding quickly, already turning to grab bottles.

Zoro leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms. Huh.

A few minutes later, you returned, noticeably not empty-handed. Very much not empty-handed.

You set down one, two, three bottles in front of him until there were eight lined up neatly along the bar.

Zoro blinked once, then looked at you to see that you were already holding two for yourself.

“Figured that might last you a while,” you said lightly. “Buy you some time until the bartender does look over here.”

There it was again, that look. That subtle curve of your mouth like you two were in on something no one else was. You gave him a small wink, then turned to leave, and just like that, you were gone. 

Zoro watches you disappear into the crowd, the noise of the tavern settling back into place like nothing happened. Eight bottles sit untouched in front of him, his fingers curl loosely around one, but he doesn’t drink, at least, not yet.

Not when his attention is still fixed on the space you left behind, and the impression you left him. A slow exhale leaves him. “…Interesting.”

He leans back slightly, gaze sharpening, no longer unfocused anymore, not idle. You peaked his attention in a way that he can’t name yet, but it provduces a desire to keep you close and nearby.

     ‿︵‿ 𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝  𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼 ‿︵‿

By the time you slipped back through the crowd, the tavern hadn’t quieted, it never did, but it had shifted slightly. 

“There you are.”

One of your friends waved you over, leaning in as soon as you got close.

“You’re missing it.”

“Missing what?” you asked, already letting yourself be pulled into the edge of their table. Another one nudged you, barely containing a grin.

“The blond.”

You followed their gaze. And, oh.

There was a blond man sat at the far end of the tavern, as close to the kitchen doors as the seating allowed, body angled just slightly toward the narrow window where plates passed through. If his attractiveness didn’t grab your attention, that it would have been the way he wasn’t drinking, wasn’t talking, or even paying attention to the room.

His entire focus was locked on the kitchen, more specifcally, on the chefs. Your eyes narrowed just slightly, interest piqued. 

“…He’s not even looking at anyone,” one of your friends whispered.

“No,” you murmured, already standing. “He’s not.”

You approached without hesitation, wanting to know more about this mysterious man. He didn’t notice, at least, not at first, because he seemed distracted. A frown was on his face, not one that marked annoyance, but more of the ‘offended’ variety. 

“…He’s overcooking it,” he muttered under his breath.

You blinked, not expecting that to be the first line of interaction between you two. 

“Oh?”

While the mysterious stranger still didn’t look at you, you at least know he heard you due to his affirmative grunt before continuing the conversation. 

“He added the seasoning too early,” he continued, voice low, attempting to show some restrain “It’s going to burn the flavor right out and—”

You smiled, slowly. “And I’m guessing you could do better?”

“Obviously.” Immediate, and automatic, but still not looking at you. You huffed out a quiet laugh. This man was definitely different.

“I could get you in there,” you said.

And that is what did it. He finally turned and for the first time, he took notice of you. There was a flicker of something across his face—fast, sharp—like his brain had to catch up to what his eyes were seeing.

You, standing there like you hadn’t just been casually listening to him critique a kitchen mid-service. Like you hadn’t just offered something ridiculous with complete confidence. For half a second, he just stared.

And then, everything about him shifted.

Posture straightening, expression softening, and a new sense of charm clicking into place like second nature.

“—Mademoiselle,” he breathed, already halfway to standing. “I didn’t realize I was being graced with such—”

You tilted your head, cutting him off with a small smile, charmed despite yourself.  “Do you want to fix the food or not?”

He paused for a beat, and just like that, the flirtation stalled. Not gone, at least, not completely. Just…redirected. 

His gaze flicked back toward the kitchen window, to the view of the chef flipping the meat too soon, causing Sanji’s eye to twitch.

“…Yes.”

You didn’t give him time to rethink it. “Then come on.”

You turned, already moving, trusting he’d follow. He did, immediately. He was halfway convinced he could follow you anywhere. 

The kitchen door swung open with a soft creak as you stepped through, but you didn’t go far. You stopped right at the threshold, careful, respectful, not crossing into the space where only staff were meant to be.

Sanji’s heart skipped a beat at the implicit care and respect that you provide the kitchen and the chefs by showing that little bit of restraint. By understanding, seemingly implicitly, the rules and boundaries of a kitchen. Something he can’t help but be in awe by because of the lack of decorum shown on the ship by his crew.

“Hey,” you called lightly, catching the attention of one of the cooks nearest the door, causing the man to glance up and his shoulders to relax when he saw you.

“Oh, it’s just you. Hey sweet girl.”

There it was, recognition and familiarity.

“You busy?” you asked, already knowing the answer after years of hanging around.

He snorted. “Always.”

Your smile turned a little sharper. “Yeah, I figured.”

Your gaze flicked past him, toward the man currently manning the stove, the one Sanji had been watching.

“Head chef still out?”

A groan from somewhere deeper in the kitchen as more pots and pans clatter and the bustle of the kitchen moves on as more orders are placed. 

“Don’t remind me.”

Perfect. At least for you and your new friend. You leaned slightly against the doorframe, casual, comfortable. “I’ve got someone who can help.”

That got their attention. Skeptical glances were thrown at you and the blond, who got a more detailed assessment from the other chefs. Your head tilted just enough toward the man, tone light and teasing, “He’s been complaining from the dining room. This is—“ you stop yourself quickly realizing that you never introduced yourself to him or got his name. Actually this whole plan was crazy, but something in you told you it was right. 

The man sees your slight panic and smoothly steps in, “I’m Sanji, and I can do more than complain,” he said instead, stepping forward just enough to be properly seen.

Confidence, controlled, and certain. The room shifted just enough to accomodate their newest chef who seemingly just knows how to take control. 

One of the cooks raised a brow. “Oh yeah?”

Sanji’s gaze flicked to the stove, to the pan that’s worsening the mistake of that meat.

“…You’re burning it.”

Silence, then—

“Alright,” someone muttered. “Show us.”

And while you didn’t need to stay, Sanji being welcomed into the kitchen, accepted even. He was where he needed to be, you’ve done your second good deed of the day. But still, you lingered, just long enough to watch and see him in his element. 

Sanji noticed, even as his hands moved, corrected, adjusted, and took over without overstepping, his attention always flickered back to you. 

You smiled, small and certain, before mouthing the words clearly, “You’ve got this,” to him. And then you were gone.

The kitchen didn’t slow, didn’t pause, but something had changed. Sanji exhaled once, steadying himself, then refocused.

The pan, the heat, the timing. Everything where it should be, under control, exactly how he liked it.

His mind drifts back to the doorway, to you.

To the warmth of your smile, fleeting but lingering in a way that doesn’t make sense. He exhales slowly, steadying himself as he plates the dish.

Focus. Timing. Balance.

But the thought slips in anyway, soft at first, then settling. You noticed. A faint smile tugs at his lips.

You understood.

Something deeper follows, quieter and warmer, and definitely far more dangerous. His movements don’t falter, if anything, they sharpen.

I’ll make sure you never have to look anywhere else again.

     ‿︵‿ 𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝  𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼 ‿︵‿

The kitchen door swings shut behind you, the warmth and noise muffling just slightly as you step back into the hallway. For a moment, it’s quiet, or as quiet as a tavern like this ever gets.

You exhale softly, rolling your shoulders once before turning toward the back corridor. You might as well take a second.

The hallway is dimmer, lit by a couple of low lanterns, the hum of conversation fading the further you move away from the main room. You’re halfway to the bathrooms when you pause. There’s something… odd.

A small figure stands in the middle of the hall, shifting from foot to foot, clearly distressed.

“…Which one do I even use…?” a voice mutters, quiet but very real.

You blink, tilt your head, then step closer. “Uh… is everything okay here?”

The figure startles slightly, and turns, revealing a small, furry creature with a little hat.

You stare for a beat, attempting to process the sight infront of you.

“…Hi,” he says.

You blink again. “…Hi.”

Another pause, before his small mouth opens and he starts blurting out, “I need to use the bathroom, but I’m technically a male, but the guys bathrooms are always really gross, and I didn’t bring Nami or Robin and I don’t know if I could use the women’s and—” He trails off, clearly overwhelmed.

You stare at him for a second longer before you start laughing, not to be mean, but simply because you were surprised. The look you gave him after made Chopper feel warm and cared for.

“Well,” you say, stepping a little closer, “that’s a fair dilemma.”

He huffs, ears drooping slightly. “It is!”

You glance between the two doors, then back at him.

“…Alright.” A small shrug. “Go ahead and use the women’s.”

His eyes widen. “Really?”

“Yeah,” you say easily. “I’ll stand out here.”

You gesture vaguely toward the hallway.

“Make sure no one bothers you.”

“…You’d do that?”

You give him a small smile. “Of course.”

A few minutes pass as you lean lightly against the wall, arms crossed, listening to the distant noise of the tavern filtering back in. It’s almost peaceful. Almost.

Inside, there’s the faint sound of movement, a bit of fumbling—

and then— 

“Um, thank you again!” Chopper calls through the door.

You huff out a small laugh. “You’re welcome.”

There’s a pause before he continues softly.

“You’re really nice.”

Something in your chest softens. “Don’t get used to it,” you tease lightly.

“…Too late,” he mutters.

The door creaks open, and Chopper steps out, looking noticeably less stressed.

“See?” you say, pushing off the wall. “Crisis handled.”

He nods quickly. “Yeah! Thank you, I—”

He stops and so do you, because now you hear it. Not the usual tavern noise, buy something sharper.

A raised voice, hen another angrier. Your brows knit slightly, concerned about what you’re going to find outside those doors. 

“…Do you hear that?”

Chopper’s ears twitch. “…Yeah.”

Suddenly there was a crash and the sound of glass shattering loud enough to echo down the halloway, causing your stomach to drop. 

“That—”

“—wasn’t good,” Chopper finishes.

You glance at him., then toward the main room, then back at him.

“…I should probably—”

“I should check on them,” he says immediately.

Of course he does, you sigh softly.

“Yeah, come on.”

You round the corner together and step right into tension. The tavern has changed completely. People have backed away from the center of the room, forming a loose circle around the source of the noise.

A table lies overturned, shards of glass scatter across the floor, and at the center stood the man from the bar earlier and a group of other people, facing off against a group of men you recognize all too well.

Management.

Your stomach sinks.

“…Oh, that’s not good,” you murmur.

Because this? This isn’t just a misunderstanding. This is about to become a problem, a big one.

Chopper shifts beside you. “They’re gonna get in trouble.”

You exhale slowly, already thinking and calculating. “Yeah, probably.”

Your gaze sharpens slightly. “But maybe not for long.”

The air in the tavern has gone sharp, not loud or chaotic, but stretched thin, as if something was about to snap. From the edge of the crowd, you and Chopper watch as the circle tightens around them.

The Straw Hats, as Chopper calls them, stand at the center. While they’re seemingly still, it’s cleared they’re not relaxed, not even close. Tension radiated through their bodies, clear that one wrong move and this tentative peace we’ve found ourselves in will be over quickly.

A familiar figure steps out from the kitchen, Sanji. He’s wiping his hands slowly, methodically, like he’s finishing one task before stepping into another. His gaze sweeps the room once, clearly assessing and calculating.

Then it lands on you, then Chopper, then back to you, just for a second, long enough to give a small shake of his head. Subtke and deliberate, a clear message for both of you to stay back and out the way.

“Got a problem?” a voice sneers, grabbing your attention back.

Chase, of course it’s him. He’s one of the leading trouble causers in the town, but since his family is rich and helps funds a majority of the projects, no one ever wants to make a clear stance against him, leading Chase to think he can handle anyone.

He’s currently leaning too close to the crew, coming across as overally aggressive, and way too comfortable with getting in someone’s space. 

Specifically, Roronoa Zoro. 

You understand Chase’s facination, seeing the man carry around three swords is a clear indicator as to who he is. And to stand up to an infamous man like that and live to tell the tale would be an incredible and impossible desire for Chase to give up on.

Zoro hasn’t moved, not an inch. However, his presence has changed. His hand rests near his sword now, loose and ready.

Chase must not have noticed, or maybe he does, and thinks it’s a game.

“I said,” Chase continues, louder now, “you don’t just walk in here, cause trouble, and think you can leave without paying for it.”

Behind him, voices layer in. Snide comments toward Nami, a laugh directed at Robin, both dismissive smf disrespectful, clearlywrong. 

While Luffy no longer looks angry, he’s also still not smiling, and yet that makes it worse.

Sanji steps into place beside them, rolling his shoulders once as he loosens his tie, slow and controlled. 

“Oi,” he says, voice low. “You’re getting a bit too comfortable.”

Chase scoffs. “And who the hell are you supposed to be?”

Sanji’s expression doesn’t change, but the air around him does.

Zoro’s fingers tighten, just slightly, but enough to tell you that whatever patience they have is quick to run out.

You exhale, before nodding slowly to yourself. 

“Yeah,” you murmur under your breath. “This is about to get bad.”

Chopper shifts beside you. “They’re gonna fight—”

“I know.”

And that’s exactly the problem. Because if they do, it blows beyong just a tavern fight, a becomes a whole town problem, and there’s really no need for all of that. Not when you’ve worked so hard to not have attention be brought around you. 

So before it happens, before the first swing, before the first blade leaves its sheath, bou move. You slip between bodies, through tension, into the center like you belong there, because you do.

And then, without any further thought, you place yourself between them; management and the crew, making sure to face management head-on, surprisingly, giving your back to these pirates you’ve never fully met. 

There’s a shift immediately, while subtle, it was all the more real. Behind you, something in all of them stills. Not because the threat is gone, but because now, you’re there. Attempting to be their savior, and recklessly gave them your back without looking at them once to check, because for some reason, you didn’t feel like you needed to.

Your attention is on Chase.

“Wow,” you say lightly, glancing at the broken glass, the overturned table. “You’re really committing to the drama tonight, huh?”

He blinks, thrown off, before his face morphs into a scowl again. 

“Stay out of this,” he snaps.

You tilt your head slightly. “Mm. I would.”

A brief pause before you continue, “But you’re making it everyone’s problem.”

A couple of people nearby shift, listening now, watching a scene between this well known high-born citizen, and this seemingly random girl. 

You step just slightly to the side, subtle and controlled, positioning yourself so you’re not blocking the crew completely, but still in the middle, the focus. Your mind is running fast as you shift through tons of informations bits you’ve gleamed by listening around town to be able to turn this situation around fast. 

“Let’s think this through,” you continue, voice calm, easy. “You’ve got a full tavern, a paying crowd, and a reputation you barely manage to keep as it is.”

A flicker crosses Chase’s face, and there it is, your glowing sign. You press just slightly.

“If this turns into a full fight?” you add, gesturing lightly around the room, “chairs broken, people hurt, word spreads…”

A small shrug.

“…That’s bad for business. Especially if the Marines need to get involved.”

Murmurs ripple outward in agreement, and discontent at the thought of Marines coming to your island. While your island is relatively small and filled with lovely citizens, known as the perfect shopping and trading center, there are still the seedier parts of town that thrive and actually help support the town’s economy. And it needs the Marines to stay far away to keep the businesses going, as well as anyone who potentially harms that business is seen as a traitor to the town. 

Behind you, a flurry of actions and emotions passes through each of the present members. Zoro doesn’t move, but his grip loosens, just a fraction as he watches you charm the crowd and their opponents into your wishes.

Sanji’s gaze drops briefly to you, admiring your stance and your fierce bravery in the way you’ve placed yourself between them without hesitation or fear. But as much as there is attraction and appreciation, there is a small part of him that is frustrated that you didn’t listen to his earlier warning to stay away from danger. To have you risk your life for them, for him, and potentially get injured? He could never live with himself with that.

Chase exhales sharply, seemingly unwilling to let go of this potential new challenge, regardless of the negative consequences sure to come his way if he continues down this path. “Then maybe they should’ve thought about that before—”

“Before what?” you cut in smoothly with a small smile, not at all sweet, but sharp and pointed, clear that you’re done playing around. 

“Before sitting down? Ordering drinks? Existing?”

A couple of people laugh, quiet, but enough. You lean in just slightly, lowering your voice just enough so that others can’t hear, but that it still feels personal.

“Or is this about something else?”

A beat, before your gaze flicks, just briefly, to the staff behind him. To the kitchen, to the missing head chef, before back to him before briefly looking at the scratches that are on his hand. Clearly stating that you understand and are willing to call him out on it, without having to say it directly. 

Chase’s jaw tightens, since he knows what you’re doing.

But more importantly, so does everyone else, as shown by the various whispers that start picking up around the room. 

“…Clean it up,” you say lightly, gesturing to the mess. “Let them finish their drinks.”

A pause before you continue. “And we all pretend this didn’t happen.”

Silence.

Behind you, Luffy tilts his head slightly, equal parts interested and amused. 

Robin watches you carefully, trying to understand you and your motives. Why would you stand up in defense for this crew that you know nothing about? What is it about you that makes you so willing to risk yourself in the defensive of others. She couldn’t figure you out, not yet, but she felt something in her come alive at this new puzzle that was placed all wrapped up beautifully infront of her. 

Nami’s eyes narrow, not in suspicion, but in calculation. While she was appreciative of not being kicked out of another establishment, a sort of joke between the crew that has morphed to include an ‘incident free’ calendar that they just started three days ago. So while Nami was glad the streak was still on and alive, looking hopeful of reaching sometime of longevity this time around, she was cautious feeling that noone does a good deed like that without wanting or demanding something in return. And there is no way to ensure that what you ask for, it within the realm of positibility for either.rr

Sanji doesn’t look away, enamoured by the sight you make, taking charge in this situation and not giving up until you got your way, focused on your epic adventure. 

And Zoro—

Zoro’s watching your back.

Chase exhales sharply through his nose before looking around and seeing the large crowd that had amassed during the conversation. Even someone as blind as him could recognize that the crowd was noot on his side, before finally stepping back. 

“Fine, for now.”

The tension breaks, not completely, but enough that people start moving again, freely talking and breathing easily. You don’t turn around immediately, letting the moment settle and your heart beat slow down a bit. Then you glance back over your shoulder just slightly to tell the crew with the newly joined Chopper, 

“Try not to start anything else.”

Casually, as if you didn’t just stop a fight and this is a normal everyday encounter for you to step in defense for total strangers. 

Out of the corner of your eye you get a glimpse of your friends clearly searching for you, making you realize you have to go. With one last smile, you leave to join your friends and reassure them that you were fine. 

Behind you, something has changed beyond the situation and the outcome they were expecting. You’ve grabbed their attention in one way or another, something you would learn would be dangerous. All because you took action, without question and without knowing them, seemingly following your blind instincts to protect. 

Something a certain captain completely understands and approves of. Luffy grins, slow and bright, feeling certain that a type of adventure is in the air, and that it all has to do with you.

As if knowing what their captain was thinking, the remaining crew straightened up, feeling on the edge of something. 

Zoro’s gaze lingers on your back as you walk away, steady and certain. His thoughts couldn’t help but circle back to the confident steps, the certrainty in your actions of what was the right move. A confidence like that is difficult to fake, especially in a high pressure situation like that, even more so between people of authority and unknown people like them. Zoro takes a look to the left and sees Robin already staring, a shared thought between them. They had to learn more about you. 

Robin’s smile is soft, and slightly knowing. There’s something about you that draws her eye, something beyond your bravery that clearly captivated her crewmates. Something about you that felt vaguely familiar, but she just couldn’t remember how. 

Sanji watches you go, something warm settling into something sharper. He lights another cigarette in an attempt to calm himself. Meeting you was an unexpected joy, and he felt something beyond his typical admiration for women with you. But you putting yourself in danger like that, makes his heart clench with an emotion he cannot yet name. He won’t let yourself be risked like that again. 

Nami crosses her arms, thoughtful. You were quick on your feet, and obviously a smooth talker to be able to get the management off their backs, and the crowd onto their side. You’d be valuable, an asset. And Nami is certainly about advantages, especially when it could mean saving her nakamas in the future. 

And Chopper, now on Zoro’s shoulders, looks at you walking away with quiet admiration.

She protected everyone…

A small, certain thought follows.

…We should keep them safe too. It’s only right.

     ‿︵‿ 𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝  𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼 ‿︵‿

By the time you and your friends spill out into the street, the tension from earlier is gone, and instead is replaced with laughter. It’s easy, bright and alive, enjoying the few moments you allow yourself to relax and enjoy the night, enjoy yourself. 

“Did you see that?” one of your friends laughs, looping their arm through yours as you walk. “You just—“ she waved her hand in front of her casually as she continued, “walked in and fixed everything like it was nothing.”

You grin. “It wasn’t nothing, of course I was scared”

“Oh please,” another cuts in. “And what was that look you shared with the green-haired one?”

You blink. “What look?”

“The look,” she insists, nudging you.

“And the blond!” someone else adds. “Don’t think we didn’t catch that either.”

You roll your eyes, laughing. “You’re all dramatic.”

But you don’t deny it, not really. You’re not sure what to say about the connections you obviously felt with each man, but you weren’t ready to delve into that yet. 

As you guys continue down to the next location, you can’t help but notice how the street is lively, lanterns glowing warm overhead as you make your way toward the next bar. Music drifts through the air, voices and movement blending into the perfect night, the air cool now that the sun is completely gone. 

There was a loud noise that drew all of your attention across the street to see the same people you were thinking about gathered loosely near a food vendor. The captain stood at the front in mid-order, pointing enthusiastically at something on the grill while a man in overalls beside him nods along.

The rest are spread out nearby, relaxed, but not unaware, because the moment you step into view, they all notice, and something subtly shifts.

Postures straighten, attention sharpens but not in a guarded way, they were way to cautious to potentially scare you off by coming across tough in that way. They were sure to project an auro of open and interested as not to scare you off. 

“Well, well,” one of your friends murmurs. “Looks like your admirers are back.”

You huff softly, but you’re already walking closer, a part of you excited that your paths cross this soon. Pirates are known to stop by the island, but they’re quick to leave, especially after an encounter like they had in the tavern. You’ve heard the stories of this crew, but to see their confidence in person is a completely different experience. 

It’s  Catburgular Nami who greets you first with a small smile, eyes sharp but warm. “I was wondering if we’d see you again,” she says.

You tilt your head slightly, returning the smile. “Same here.”

Her gaze flicks briefly to your friends, then back to you.

“You handled that situation earlier… very well.”

You shrug lightly. “Someone had to.”

A soft hum from beside you as the one known as Nico Robin steps in just slightly, her presence calm, composed, observant.

“You seem quite skilled at placing yourself exactly where you’re needed. That’s a healthy skill to have,” she says.

There’s something in her tone, not accusatory or even questioning, just noting, a bit of healthy curiosity. 

You smile, just a little sharper this time. “Or maybe I just don’t like messes.”

Robin’s lips curve faintly. “An admirable trait.”

You’re aware of it then, the weight of their attention at a whole crew. Instead of feeling intimidated, a part of you feels relaxed in their prescence, despite knowing only tales and barely anything personal about them.

There’s a subtle shift of energy behind you, feeling warm, curious but focused, giving you just enough time to prepare for the upcoming conversation.

“Hey!”

You turn, and there he is, the famous Captain Monkey D. Luffy, grinning like he’s already decided something.

“I’m Luffy,” he says, like it’s the most important introduction in the world, as if there are people that don’t know about the Devil Fruit user. 

You blink, then smile. “Yeah, I figured.”

He beams immediateky, unfiltered but no less certain, “I like you.”

Your friends snort behind you, amused by the various conversations you’re partaking in, something completely different from your normal routine. They care for you but know that you’re still tightly guarded. Seeing this group of people bring you such clear joy, made them beyond happy. 

You laugh softly. “You don’t even know me.”

“Don’t need to,” he says easily.

And somehow, you believe him. The crew behind him shares some looks and laughter, familiar to the typical explaination from their captain, understanding that it’s a gut instinct. 

The rest of the introductions blur into something warm and easy. Voices overlapping, laughter shared, the groups seemingly eaily blending together. Sanji reappears at your side at some point, offering food without asking, while Zoro lingers just close enough to be part of the conversation without saying much. Usopp jumps in and out with exaggerated stories as Chopper sticks near you more often than not.

It’s easy, almost too easy. So when you suggest, “Hey, we’re heading to another place—bar hopping. You should come.”

It doesn’t feel like a big decision, just a continuation.

Some of them exchange looks, quick, silent. then—

“Yeah!” Luffy says immediately.

And just like that, they join you.

     ‿︵‿ 𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝  𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼 ‿︵‿

The bar is louder than the last, dimmer and closer, the kind of place where conversations blur together and time slips your friends peel away toward the counter, chasing drinks and laughter.

Leaving you, standing there with them all surrounding you. The shift is immediate, while not visible, it was felt. They’re all closer now, not crowding, just determined to be in your atmosphere, present and focused. 

Luffy, Sanji, Chopper and Nami are all immediately next to you, Zoro, Usopp and Robin sit opposite from you, completing a circle. Luffy leans forward slightly, his voice dropping in tone, clear that he’s serious and focused on this moment with you, and your answers. “Have you ever thought about being apart of a pirate crew?”

You blink, completely thrown by the question. “…What?”

He doesn’t laugh, and doesn’t brush it off. He leans in just a little, eyes steady. “Imagine it,” he says.

“Every day a new adventure. Somewhere you grow and challenge yourself and never have to settle.”

There’s something in his tone, something pulling and inviting, holding infinite promises for you, all under the premise if you would just leave with them. 

“Where you can be free.”

“Be treasured,” Nami adds smoothly. You glance at her to find her gaze is steady, certain.

“Never doubting your value or purpose. Everyone on a pirate crew provides.”

“Be protected,” another voice follows, this time low and grounded. You don’t even have to look to know it’s Zoro. “Never worry about having to be the strongest or the smartest.” A pause. “Just… you.”

“Where you can be cared for,” Sanji says softly.

You meet his eyes, earnest and unwavering. “Loved.”

Your breath catches, just slightly.

“What would it take?” Luffy asks again.

And suddenly, it doesn’t feel like a casual question. It feels like something is waiting on your answer.

You’re quiet for a moment, thinking, running through the logistics of leaving this town. It was always the plan, you’ve probably stayed too long already. But to leave like this? 

“Well…” You sigh softly, tilting your head. “For how long?”

A small shrug. “I could do a overnight trip, or a quick adventure. The store can be closed for that long.”

A faint laugh. “But to leave forever?”

You trail off, thinking.

You don’t see it, the way their expressions shift subtly and quickly.

Your gaze drifts instead, to your friends over at the bar, laughing and waiting for their oder. You smile, soft and fond, smile only growing once your friends make eye contact with you. Their faces light up and they wave over to you joyfully. 

You wave, enjoying this moment. And that’s your answer.

“Well,” you say quietly, turning back. “I’d miss my friends.”

A small breath.

“And I’d worry about them.”

Honest, simple, and real.

“I’d need them to say it’s okay for me to go, before I could join anyone forever.”

Silence, not empty and not awkward. Just, still.

Because you don’t notice the way something settles over the group. Not heavy or obviously, but decided. 

Luffy smiles, slow but happy at the answer. “Okay.”

And just like that, you’ve set the terms, and they’ve already accepted them.

Luffy watches you turn back toward your friends, thoughful and content. That’s easy.

Nami’s gaze follows yours, calculating. They just need reassurance, that’s something they can provide for you in spades. 

Sanji’s jaw tightens slightly, his eyes soft but focused. We can give them that.

Zoro exhales quietly, already done thinking about it. Then we’ll make it happen.

And you just smile, unaware of the way your future is slowly but surely changing.

a/n: happy birthday to me! this idea appeared in my head and has not left me alone, so i've written this. while this is not my normal dc content, i figured i should be allowed to post what i want today! this is my first time diving into writing one piece and this idea has hit me and i must write it! so i hope you enjoyed it, and sorry if they’re ooc!

as always, likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated, and here's a kiss from me to you!

respond below if you would like to be added to the taglist for this series!

buy me a coffee | general masterlist

[tonycries]

Cola

Synopsis. Hot DlLFs.

Pairings. [SEPARATE] Higuruma x Reader, Gojo x Reader, Ino x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem!reader, DlLFS (and MlLFS too!), age gaps (reader and JJK men are ALWAYS aduIts), arranged marriages (Toji), cIan Ieader!Toji, sIight exhíbitíonism, sIight bóndage (Nanami), mentions of kids, bréeding, manhandIing, matíng presses, HEADLOCKS, p sIapping, p talking, spítting, fíngering, rings and píercings, rockstar!Geto, headIines, use of ‘mómmy’ (Ino), miIking, overstím, súgar dáddies, running from it, oIder men, síxty-níne, talking you through it, pressing down, making it fit, he’s BIG, counting inches, overworked Higuruma, creampíes, cúmpIay, sIight cúmfIation, pIot, pet names, swéaring.

A/N. MWAHAHAH.

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - The Arrangement.

“O-oh, sh—”

“Shhhhh.” Toji’s voice is dangerous. Low. His chin was hooked into the crook of your neck - and you’re getting pushed back down, down, dooooown his- 

“Oh my…” Your mouth waters, weak arm reaching out to grasp the edge of the futon.

But Toji’s guiding it to his shaggy salt-and-pepper hair. Making you tug. Making you wrench.

His other palm - calloused after what you assume to be countless years of training his Heavenly Restriction - comes up to plaster over your mouth. “Unless ya want them to hear.” He mutters, referring to the council of elders seated behind the sliding doors. 

You knew it was part of the ceremony: to make sure that you and the older clan leader…affirmed your new union.

An arranged marriage, of course. The marriage of the century in jujutsu society’s highest circles. 

But even after a lavish wedding, and an even more lavish title suited to you, you still couldn’t believe that you were married to Zenin Toji.

Perhaps expected considering that the two of you had met just a few weeks ago; you’d announced to your council that you were ready for marriage. And they’d then presented you with a list of all the potential candidates for husband—every eligible bachelor from the Kamo clan to the rather obscure Fujiwara clan. The list had gone on and on with their names and ages.

And at the very end you’d spotted—

Zenin Toji—Age: 38 (once divorced). 

As soon as the elders had noticed you focusing on that one name, they’d dismissed you with a nervous chuckle. “Oh, that’s just Toji. Ignore him, he’s just there out of obligation-”

“But why would I ignore him?”And that had effectively shut them up.

Although what you really wanted were more answers.

Toji.

Toji.

Most of the other candidates ranged across their twenties, and they were names you’d heard of in mere passing during those stuffy clan functions. Toji, however, was beyond that age range and once divorced—and you’d heard of him almost too well. You knew him without ever knowing him.

You’d heard of the newly-appointed Zenin clan leader as he fought against every single elder to claim his rightful title as head - the first one since…ever without a speck of cursed energy.

You’d heard of the terror of the Zenin clan - or so they whispered - who could bring down battalions with a single swipe of his cursed weapons. He didn’t need cursed energy—and what they feared above all was the power of raw humanity underneath it.

But…you’d also heard of the merciful man. The first Zenin clan leader to grant his wife a divorce when she wished for it, thus leaving him printed once more upon a paper listing jujutsu society’s bachelors. 

Leaving him impressioned in your mind.

Zenin Toji was an enigma you wanted to understand.

And you laughed at the expressions upon your elders’ faces as you announced that the sole candidate you were interested in was none other than the notorious Toji. You could count on one hand how many had readily agreed to your union with the older man—and that would be exactly zero fingers. 

However, the meeting had proceeded as tradition dictated. Your council of elders reached out to the uptight council of the Zenins - and they’d reached out to re-confirm thrice that the man you were really looking for was Toji. Wasn’t he much older? Wasn’t he fearsome? Wasn’t he difficult to understand?

You waved off their worries and met him over a fragrant tea ceremony. 

To be quite honest; there wasn’t much talking between the two of you - although the Zenin elders kept up a constant stream of chatter with the elders of your own family. Meanwhile you simply looked at Toji over the rim of your ceramic cup—and—watched—

And he met your gaze just as intensely.

By the end of the tea ceremony, you nudged your elders to proclaim your approval for a union.

And Toji nodded his own approval.

The wedding preparations were accomplished in a week. It was a wedding for the history books - you heard that your council of elders were pushing to get it written in already - and it ended off with a lavish banquet that lasted into the long, long hours of the night. 

As sunlight started seeping into the horizon, you and Toji got up from your seats at the head of the table. And you made your way to the master bedroom—where rows upon rows of elders sat outside in preparation for the consummation.

They were here to hear you-

“Fuck.” You can’t stop the sudden whimper that escapes you at the feeling of Toji hiking up one of his muscular thighs. He still had his wedding robes on - dishevelled upon his frame, the graze of expensive Zenin cotton n’ silk makes you shiver—

And as soon as you do, you feel one of his large palms settle at the base of your spine.

Toji keeps you pinned down - deliciously helpless - once he reaches that upright leg forwards and rests his heel atop your scalp. Stepping on your sweaty crown. Keeping you pinned in one place as he fucks you- with a sheer audacity that makes your jaw drop.

“Careful.” Toji’s low tone trundles out. You’re bent into such a shape that it makes his cock thicker- stretchin’ out your snug channel with a sultry squeeeelch! “Keep your mouth open like that and you’ll catch flies.”

Leaning down as far as he could, he then spits.

“Or you’ll catch me.”

A few more vicious strokes that leave you gaping.

A few more changing angles- Toji was the type to not just straightly thrust. He was stirring his cock ‘round in somewhat circular motions of his hips as he pummeled inside, managing to hit eeeeevery single nerve-ended spot inside you. “And- hah, and we wouldn’t wanna explain that to those old toads, heh?” Asking you. And then…not you. “Isn’t that right, fuckers?”

There’s restless murmuring from outside. 

“W-well, maybe if you—fuuuuuck.” Just as soon as you’re mid-sentence - as though Toji had been waiting for this exact moment - he reaches forwards and slams! his ruddied tip into you hard enough that you can feel him in your damn throat. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck-” 

“Loud.” Scoffing. “Though I bet they already know what’s happening- hah.”

You were in utter shambles. 

Toji’s cock was sensually curved towards the right - the perfect angle to spot those areas where you were most sensitive and stimulate them until you were crying. “Y-you’re so shameless—!”

With a roll of his forest-green eyes, the clan leader crouches his body further forwards and accelerates his pace. His heel pressing down even harder.

With this position he had you in, Toji couldn’t keep his palm glued to your drivelling maw anymore. And he was letting it aaaaaall out—the more n’ more pretty moans that were leaving you, the more he’s speeding up his hips. Purposefully thumping his blushin’ red tip down your most precious spots. 

And as if that wasn’t enough, he’s using his free hand to sift apart your stuffy pussy. Pressin’ aside your folds and getting a good eyeful of your entrance - getting flooded with his rock-hard inches, and then emptied out for him to do it all over again. And again. And again and again and—“And who was it that decided to marry me?”

You don’t know what’s hitting you harder: the shock of being called out, or the sudden wad of saliva that he’s spitting between your legs. “Well…me…”

Toji nods. “Pretty young thing like you…for what reason could you want to marry- me-” Every space between his words was punctured with a targeted strike to your g-spot. “Money? Name? Power?”

Your head’s getting foggy - you don’t even realize that you’re drooling before Toji looks down and tuts. He watches as a slick puddle formulates underneath you—“Did you wanna marry this ol’ clan leader for power, doll? S’that what you wanted?”

As much as you could, you’re shaking your head- difficult, given the way he still had the heel of his foot on you.

“No? Then what?” Toji pretends to think. “Hmmm, could it be that your clan elders pressured you into this, doll?” And just at that moment, he stops- even though it seems as if he wanted to say more. “I’ll kill you all if—”

It wasn’t targeted towards you. 

But you’re vehemently denying—“No. No. Not at all…” Sobs and sultry moans strangle in your throat, and your poor, poor hips are driving back into his as much as you could. “Please- oh, I j-just wanted—”

“Let me think.” Now that he’d started his vigorous pace up again, your eardrums were crackling with the constant pap-pap-pap! of Toji’s toned hips hitting yours. He was just so large - in every possible way, it was as though he was engulfing you with his massive body, with his shaft stretchin’ out your insides in ways you’ve never experienced before. “Is it because- haaaaah…” Toji breathes, the cloud of his heated breath wafting down your arched spine. “Is it because you knew that those other- boys couldn’t fuck you as well as I could?”

Your jaw drops- “Fuck.”

But it seems that Toji had found his footing. He drags you even harder against him - the ramming of your two bodies almost violently shaking the flooring beneath. “Is it because you knew that- mmm, this pussy would always be satisfied with me?” Whatever little jostling you’re experiencing at his movements, he’s considering it a nod. “Is it because you’d been greedy? Because you’ve been yearning-”

Somehow, he’s tipping his head backwards and managing to perfect a stream of spit down onto your stuffed cunt.

“-for someone more mature. Someone that knows how to handle a pussy, doll?” Voice dipped in lust. “Have you been yearning for Zenin Toji to fuck you properly?”

“Y-yes—” You pitch out softly. Sniffling. Seeing stars behind your eyelids. “Toji, m’so close…”

“So cum, then?” He snickers, as though it should be the most obvious thing in the world. “What’re you waiting for? Permission?” Leaning back and projecting his voice - though, not for you. “Just so y’know, I’m gonna make my wife cum.” 

“Oh-oh my god—” The words crackle in your throat as a final bash to your syrupy-sweet spot leaving you careening into your high. Stars of pleasure burst behind your shuttered lids - and you’re dragged through wave upon wave of white-hot bliss. 

It overtakes you like nothing you’ve ever felt before.

And Toji was only more than happy to prolong them using his length. Hitting you right when your peaks were at their highest - and if you were in the right state, then you’d wonder how he even managed to time them - and making your veins feel molten within. Making you whimper and thrash into him. Thrashing and thrashing—fucked like you’ve never been before through your orgasm.

You’re so hazy afterwards that you barely even register the shuffling outside the bedroom - as the elders started making their way back to the banquet. Mission accomplished, you suppose.

And Toji takes his foot off your head. 

“Haaaaah, fuck.” He hisses. “Want to give them an encore, my wife?”

You couldn’t nod faster.

Before you know it, he’s tipping his head back and calling out - at the elders—

“Get ready for an encore, fuckers.”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - Parent-teacher DATING?!

“Ms. Teacher…” 

Itadori’s sweet, sweet voice breaks through your conversation with one of the parents; and you’re looking down to see him clasping one end of your flower-patterned apron. Pink brows furrowed. Chubby cheeks puffed. And how could anyone resist that face?

So throwing an apologetic smile at the parent, you’re leaning down slightly so that you could hear the little boy better. “Yes, Yuji?”

He cups a hand over his mouth then leans in towards your ear as if to whisper. “I have a secret to tell you.” And he does not whisper.

Still, you bite back a giggle and ask. “Oh, really? How exciting. Do I get to know that secret, Yuji?”

He nods.

Then leans in once more-

“My papa has a big, big crush on y-”

“Yuji—!”

You didn’t have to look up to see that it was none other than Nanami Kento, Itadori’s father, pushing past a few gossiping parents and kids playing jumprope- heading in your direction. He quickly clasps Itadori’s arm and gently tugs the boy away, “I am so, so sorry—I have no idea what’s gotten into him-” Nanami pinches the top of his nosebridge with a sigh. “He seems to have gotten it into his head that I have f-feelings for you, and…”

You watch, almost astounded, as the ever-stoic Nanami’s ears burn bright red.

“A-and I sincerely apologize if he made you uncomfortable in any way-”

“Oh, no.” You’re raising your hands up and fervently shaking your head. “He didn’t make me uncomfortable at all. Did you, Yuji?”

“Yup!” Those tufts of pink hair atop his head bounce as he nods as well, beaming - happy to see that you were on his side, at the very least. He then turns back to Nanami. “I didn’t make Ms. Teacher uncomfortable, papa. I just told her what you told me-”

“Sunshine…” Nanami grumbles, though with less panic in his voice this time.

And you’re biting back a smile as you look between the handsome father and his son; it’d been two years since Nanami had adopted Itadori, according to what the man had told you when he’d first enrolled the boy in Tokyo Jujutsu Elementary. Since then, you’ve had the privilege of watching over the father-son duo as they become closer, as they found family in one another, as they opened themselves up to both the school and you. 

And although you knew you shouldn’t have favorites as a teacher - you can’t deny that one of the best parts of your day was seeing the two. 

Yes, the two.

It didn’t quite help that Nanami Kento was the talk amongst the single ladies and men at pick-up. Tall. Tender. With his broad shoulders and his blond hair—always slicked back, not even a single strand out of line. 

Nanami was the type of man to hold doors open for students, other parents, and teachers alike - he’d happily stand there for half an hour as an entire grade passed by, if he had to.

Nanami was the type of man to not worry about what anyone thought of him as he let his energetic son paste stickers all over him, or use the play make-up he’d snagged from Kugisaki.

Nanami was the type of man to buy you a large bouquet of roses for Teacher’s Day- roses. And he’d apologized for at least fifteen minutes about not meaning any sort of innuendo, and he’d completely understand if you didn’t want to take them—you’d cut him off then n’ there by taking them with a gracious thank you. Even if others at pick-up shot you knowing smiles. 

So could you blame yourself if you happened to form a crush on the man?

And hearing what Itadori had to say about it now…

“I wouldn’t mind, y’know.” You speak once you’d ushered Itadori to play with some of his friends—Fushiguro and Kugisaki had just been dropped off. And Nanami was still standing next to you, watching as his son scampered off after causing perhaps the most chaos he’s ever experienced in his life. 

But ah…your voice was low enough that it couldn’t be heard by anyone around you two. Perhaps not even Nanami himself- but of course, he heard.

Of course, he heard.

He turns to you with widened eyes, “I uh…I- excuse me?”

You turn back to him with a grin, “How about coffee sometime this week?”

“I have a better plan.” As soon as the first bout of shyness wears off, he’s clearing his crackling throat and answering you. “How about dinner?”

.

.

.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuh-fuck.” Nanami wrenches between clenched teeth. His hot breath sticks against the side of your throat; and every single puff makes your skin erupt with perspiration. 

Which worked for him—it just let the movements between your two ravenous bodies proceed even faster, slipperier, sloppier. Nanami has you pressed flat against his neat mattress, in a bedroom that was humble and meticulously organized - and with Itadori at Fushiguro’s for a sleepover, the two of you could let those ancient bedsprings creak as much as they liked. 

Nanami could fuck you as hard as you liked.

He’s grinding that golden happy trail into your front; both palms pressed flatly atop your inner thighs to keep them open. To keep you stretched as faaaaar apart as you could go—because fuck- Nanami’s cock was thick enough that he had to pin you down n’ squeeeeeeze his inches inside as far as they could go. 

Rubbin’ his prominent veins along your walls. Entire body tensing up whenever you clench-

“Fuuuuuuck.” With a heavy sigh, he’s letting his head tip backwards. And honestly—you don’t think you’d ever seen a more attractive sight. 

You’ve always known that Nanami was ripped underneath those office button-ups of his - but this was damn-near Herculean. The way his shoulders were defined and pulled taut as they closed in on you, the way his chest was absolutely luscious—you almost wanted to take a bite. And you’d guessed that with energetic Itadori as a son, he hadn’t had the time to hit the gym lately.

Because there was a layer of thickness over his muscles that left Nanami softer and stronger- the soft curve of his belly pushes down on your core. 

Jostling your body back n’ forth with every honed thrust.

Banging at the back of your cervix and your throat- “Fuck. It feels so good, Kento.” 

“S-soooooo fucking good.” And you wonder which one of you two was more gone on your syrupy cunt: you or him. Nanami struggles to keep his damn head up- collapsing into the crook of your neck and letting out botched groans- every single time his sensitive tip slid uuuuuup your channel into its deepest depths. He almost sounded as though he was in pain as he wept—“F-forgive me, darling.”

Perking your head off the plush pillows, “What for, Kento?”

“Well it’s just…” And his foggy glasses were still on his face - which Nanami pushes up his nose bridge. “I haven’t felt this good in—forever. So forgive me if I’m a little…”

And then he’s surging his hips forwards and giving you a good thwack! with the rounded end of his shaft. Enough to make stars appear in your vision-

“-rough.”

And then it’s like the floodgates have opened.

Because Nanami’s grip on you grows hard enough to leave fucking nail marks, his sweat splashes with the urgency of his movements. “And I wanted to f-fuck you all niiiiiice and slow like this pretty pussy deserves.” Those strong arms keep manhandling you open as he shovels straight into you. “W-wanted to show you that a mature man like me could- hngh, make you feel the best you’ve ever felt.”

“But I already do…” You huff out, arms thrown needily around his neck. 

Yet Nanami doesn’t seem to hear—he doesn’t even seem to register. At least, the only acknowledgement that you get of your response is the way his body flinches ever-so-slightly at the mere sound of your voice. “And yet…” Those hazel-brown eyes of his widen as they run down your body, ultimately resting where your pussy was bloated all ‘round him. “And yet, one kiss of these pretty lips and I’m done for.”

“D-done for…” You repeat - mostly because you don’t know what else to do.

Don’t know what else you’re capable of doing other than wrapping your weak legs around his waist. Your hamstrings stretch and scream; and you’re sobbing yourself as his pace seems to accelerate.

“I can feel myself…” Nanami speaks through a watery mouth. “-getting fucking addicted—shit, like some hormonal punk. I should know better. A man my age…”

“Oh- oh, Kento.”

“I should know better- I should fucking know better.” He admonishes himself - though that doesn’t stop or even slow down the feral pap-pap-paps! of his pelvis hitting yours. Through scrunched-up eyes, he’s gazing upon you. “C-can’t believe you got some old man like me-” Despite your instant protests. “-to finally break.”

After a few more sudden strikes - almost animalistic - you’re managing to string together enough syllables. “But…I don’t mind, Kento.”

And that—that might just be the one thing that makes him falter. “Pardon?” He blinks up at you with glazed-over eyes.

Nodding, “I promise I don’t mind.” In fact, you’re tugging him in with a fistful of his blond strands between your fingers. “I- ngh! want you to go even harder…if you can-”

“Of course I can, my love.” The both of you are startled by his instant answer. “I-I mean, if you know that it means I might leave a few marks and—even more marks.” Perhaps most notably on your spongy cervix, welcoming his bashing thrusts.

But you don’t mind. Like you said.

You’re nodding even harder, “Yes, please.”

So polite. How could he ever refuse?

And in the blink of an eye, the blond-haired man leans over to clasp that patterned tie draped over his bedpost. It’d gotten thrown there sometime after the frenzy of getting home - quite convenient for when Nanami wanted to throw it loosely over his clammy neck and give you the other end to hold onto—

“Don’t be afraid to pull if it gets too much.” He puffs out at you in a breezy breath.

“Too much?” You ogle up at his handsome face. You half-jokingly wondered whether the bed - and perhaps you - would be in one piece by the time that Itadori gets home tomorrow. It was going to be a never-ending night…

“Mhm, because this is going to be rough, darling.”

♡ GETO SUGURU - Controversy.

WHO IS ROCKSTAR HEARTTHROB GETO SUGURU’S GIRLFRIEND? HOW CAN WE BE HER?!

GOLD DIGGER?! BASSIST OF 6EYES SHUTS DOWN MALICIOUS RUMORS SURROUNDING BEAU: SAYS THEY ARE ‘BULLSHIT’. 

DILF OFF THE MARKET: GETO SUGURU CONFIRMS RELATIONSHIP OF ‘YEARS’ HE SAYS. 

Everyone knew of Geto Suguru. Or so it seemed when they were screaming his name and cursing yours—everyone wanted to be with him. 

Or be him.

Who wouldn’t? Thick rings. Grey-black hair. Feline smile.

A 6’2, long-haired dreamboat that just-so-happened to be the bassist of the hottest rock band on the charts right now: 6Eyes. They’d been discovered quite early on - when they’d just been out of high school, actually - and had maintained a steady presence in the music scene ever since. Shattering record after record and filling stadium after stadium. By the time you’d gone with some of your college friends to one of their concerts, they were already titans in the industry—and you’d been an instant fan. 

So imagine your surprise when your friend announced that one of the security had invited your group backstage. 

That was the night you’d met Geto Suguru - you’d locked eyes and the both of you had just known.

You signed that NDA. You met for dates under disguises. And you’d even met his young adopted daughters- oh, you adored them.

Several months later, when TMZ or some other site had broken the story of Geto secretly dating a fan over ten years younger than him - and that was when scandal ensued. The fandom was rabid—and you understood.

Though Geto, who was rather used to biting headlines and speculation, told you that the whole thing would blow over soon enough- you holed up in your shared penthouse. You turned off your social media notification. You tried not to turn on any celebrity news channel. 

And you decided: the very least you could do is make a good first impression…

“Easy now…easy there…” Geto holds the recorder in one hand n’ the side of your hips in his other. You’re maddeningly aware of both the rolling tape and the way his puckered, pretty tip is getting guided to your entrance—“Don’t strain yourself now. Trust Suguru.”

Just the very first inch of it slipping lusciously between your pussylips and easing inside.

Geto was always so thick, donning numerous veins that creep up the sides of his shaft in zig-zagging patterns. And the sheer girth of him intruding is enough to make you gasp-

“Mmm, that’s good.” The older man murmurs with a smile- long, greying hair forming a curtain around the two of you. “Let’s try again. A little louder this time.” Before he reels his hips back the mere inches he’s squeezed inside, and then rammin’ right back in again - it sounds the loudest squelch! as you’re taking even more of him. “Ohhhh, that’s good. Maybe I can use that as the outro, heh?”

“Maybe just use it for the entire ch-chorus.” You hiss.

“Trying to take my spotlight?” Geto leans down to kiss your swollen lips- or so you think. He’s pressing his pierced mouth against yours and gnawin’ down on your lower lip.

“Scared of- mmpf. Scared of being ousted by the young new talents?”

The edges of his lips curling upwards. “A rock veteran like me? Oh, I don’t think I have anything to be scared of…”

And you can only moan straight into his greedy, greedy maw as you’re jostled back and forth. Geto’s thrusts were oh-so-merciless and puncturing deeeeep into your womb—using the smooth Prince Albert’s piercing atop his flared tip, he’s torching every hidden spot and nerve-end inside. Mazin’ around your walls and pushing into those little ridges that just made your back arch into him-

His eyes crinkle at the edges as he smiles. 

“Hey hey-” The only thing snapping you out of your frenzy is Geto’s sharp tuts. He stalls your restless hips by hooking his fingers into your thighs and throwing them over his broad shoulders- dragging you back into him. “Don’t run away, gorgeous—the studio session’s not over yet.”

“I wasn’t running away.” You huff.

“Sure seemed like it to me.” He grins - that silver piercing of his glinting in the dim lighting. It was the type of Cheshire-cat grin that you knew wouldn’t bode well for you…and as soon as you’re thinking about it, Geto opens his sensual mouth and spits—straight between your lips.

The wad lands softly on your tongue.

And Geto himself reaches a second ringed hand up to close your jaw- to urge you to swallow. “Remember to keep those vocals hydrated, gorgeous. We’re getting to the good part now.”

You think you could gasp at the audacity—but what’s leaving you instead are a series of long, lewd moans. Mewls. Pleas. 

He’s drawing them out over and over again by hiking your thighs up his shoulders and pressing you into a mean mating press- lunging his body down into yours. Crushing your pliable self underneath him. Slashing your cervix with loooooong thrusts and his ropey precum puddling sweetly at the back of your pussy.

“Yeah- yeah, louder now.” Pushing the recorder even closer. “Louder, girl.”

“I am—oh.” With the way he was fucking you like he almost hated you - though it was rather the opposite - your sentences warble with hiccups and gasps. The lines of his veins were somehow massaging the exact hidden spots that drove you wild. 

“You got this.”

“Fuck-”

“Louder. S’just you and me.” This was exactly what he wanted to hear - his favorite melody was you. “Just a bit of chopping up n’ remixing- this is perfect. Gonna sound so fuckin’ pretty to my bass.”

“Fuh-feels so good-”

“Mhmmm, I know, gorgeous. Now let the listeners know.” 

Making your noise pitch upwards in volume. 

After a few more strokes, he bores down at you with a thoughtful expression. “Now…why don’tcha try calling me ‘Sugu’ for the recording?”

“You want me to be sappy? Okay, rockstar.” You’re unable to bite your tongue fast enough- though your snapping only makes him even more excited.

Amethyst eyes glistening. “Oh, don’t be a diva just yet, newbie.” The older musician brings the audio recorder closer to catch your every breath, “Trust me. I’ve been in this industry for a loooooong time- c’mon now. Listen to your- heh, vocal coach—say ‘Sugu’.”

How you loved riling him up just as much as he did to you. “Then give me something good to moan for, baby.”

“Don’t test my patience, superstar.”

Though he does as you say. 

You should have expected it all the same; the rockstar had mapped out every single good spot inside you. And it was with a near-photographic memory that he’s inching his length backwards- until it was just his lavish red tip lickin’ up your entrance.

Just for a second…just for two…

Before slamming into your g-spot so hard n’ suddenly that you almost sob.

Making your cunt mold to the exact texture of his circular piercing- hitting your sensitive area first, before then pushing his smooth tip into it as well. You’re feeling every bit of him—and you’re making sure that your future audiences can hear it, too. 

“S-Sugu—!” You’re thrashing in his arms- and he’s crashing and crashing his hips into you. Gluing the heated, stinging pink skin of his pelvis against yours so ferally that you can’t keep up with his pace no matter how fast you’re attempting to buck and bounce.

“Oh, that one’s going in the intro for sure.” He titters. 

“S’fucking mean.” You whimper as he pushes down on your lower half - purposefully, so that his scruffy happy trail scratches your clit.

“Sugu knows best.” So sweetly, he kisses your forehead—and you wonder whether the loud smacking sound that he leaves behind is more for the recorder or to make you squirm. Shy, much? “Now how about I fuck you pregnant n’ we just announce the baby on the album?”

You pause for a second - before a smile twitches at your lips. “A rockstar baby? You read my mind.”

He reciprocates. “Always knew you were made f’me.”

The headlines were sure to love this.

♡ CHOSO KAMO - MY UNCLE’S GF?!

Someone had suggested playing two truths and a lie:

You weren’t a lot older than Choso- at least in his eyes. That didn’t matter to him.

Choso has always wanted you.

He’s over that now, though.

Choso’s palms are sweaty ‘round his lightweight beer as he utters the words; words just a little louder than he intended them to be. Maybe that was the pre-game finally kicking in—but he couldn’t blame it on that, either. Had it been called three truths and a lie, then Choso would have also confessed that he was stone-cold sober as he murmurs two of his deepest secrets to the little circle of drunk college kids. 

And you.

You…you’re looking at him like you’d already guessed he’d say that.

Had he really been that obvious? Choso first met you three years ago, during his sophomore year in college, when he’d gone home for the holidays—and discovered that, this year, Sukuna had been dragged home, too. Except…his uncle hadn’t come alone this time.

He’d brought along- you. 

You were the one to greet him at the door—and Choso remembers his breath catching in his chest. He remembers feeling his heart bang against his ribcage. He remembers his eyes widening- and his mouth gaping stupidly as you introduced yourself.

So caught up in you, he’d been forced to ask Sukuna for your name again-

“Back off.” His uncle had scoffed, crimson eyes narrowing. Honestly - Ryomen Sukuna was the only person alive that could make cotton candy-pink hair look intimidating. “Don’t think I don’t see the way yer looking at her.”

He’d probably stammered something intelligible-

“Look all ya want- if she feels uncomfortable, she’ll thump ya herself. But you can’t touch.” Sukuna set his beer bottle down. “M’actually serious about this one.”

And Choso could see why - you were the first person that Sukuna had ever brought into the Itadori family home. You were smart. You were funny. You weren’t afraid to put the pink-haired man in his place. You were fucking gorgeous—

And…you were Sukuna’s girlfriend. Ten years older than Choso.

Which is why - no matter how badly you made his heart flutter - Choso had vowed to never, never so much as even think to act upon his feelings for you. 

He just had to grit his teeth and avoid prolonged conversation with you during every family function and gathering you attended with Sukuna- of which the man was making an appearance at every single one now. Almost as though to provoke him even more. 

And Choso was forced to make peace with the fact that he’d never make peace with his feelings.

That is…until the two of you broke up.

He’d heard news about it just a few weeks ago, actually- his father had said something about Sukuna being down in the dumps after you’d broken up with him. Something about not making enough time and drifting apart—Choso hadn’t heard the details, he’d been too overwhelmed with the guilty glee that’d shot through his body and made his heart pound. And then just tonight - oh, how he wished he could kiss whoever was looking down at him (but no, that was saved for you…) - Choso just-so-happened to run into you at the bar he was attending with his friends.

So of course he had to invite you over to their table.

Of course, he had to ignore your protests about being older than them all. None of that shit mattered. 

Of course, he had to sit right opposite you on the table and divulge his greatest secret - one he’d been keeping to himself for three years now.

You’re just opening your mouth to respond-

When Choso’s feeling a harsh smack! on his back and one of his friends crowing in his ear. “Atta boy! You never struck me as the type to like MILFs, man.”

“Technically I’m not a MILF yet.” You giggle, fixating your gaze upon him. He almost flinches. “But you’re right…I never thought you’d be the type to like older women. I’m ten years older than you, Choso, you know that right?”

Choso mumbles almost too quietly to hear. “Th-that doesn’t matter to me…”

“Yeah- and you’d probably like that ‘ma’am’ shit, eh?” His friend guffaws, making the now-bashful Choso - whatever courage he had liquified - duck his head. “Oh- sorry I didn’t mean—”

“No, no.” You dismiss the babbling college boy. “I’m not offended at all. In fact, you might be right.”

The table bursts into wolf whistles-

And it’s a blur until you’re ragging with the banter a little more - before discreetly excusing yourself to go to the bathroom. Choso’s staring up at you - totally not admiring your back like some pathetic lovesick fool - before catching your gaze and your pointed wink.

And then he’s scrambling right after you. As discreetly as a sledgehammer.

.

.

.

Nose buried into the crook of your neck. Mouth gaped wide open- letting out the sweetest crackling moans into your skin. 

Choso had you pushed against the bathroom stall - clean, don’t you worry - with his arms wrapped around your body n’ his cock shoved between your legs. Dragging in and out in a way that was so messy—he’s roverin’ around his globules of cum with that fat tip of his, and then reeling his hips rapidly backwards to spray it down your walls over and over.

He’d cum as soon as he’d put it inside.

And it wasn’t his fault.

Honest! 

“Oh- oh.” And now he was panting desperate breath after breath between thrusts—“I’m sorry…the condom broke, baby.” Choso’s lower lip cutely trembles as he speaks. “Can’t help it. And then your pussy’s just so warm and welcoming a-and…”

His breath hitches as he hits that one gluttonous spot that makes you clench.

“-and I just- can’t- when you’re squeezing me like that.”

Basically hypnotized, Choso’s slender fingers dip down between your legs. And so swiftly - that you’re almost surprised at his nimbleness - he pulls out of your wet hole n’ clasps his hand around his barely-wrapped length. The rubber condom had been too tight around him, and it’d shattered into a million pieces—Choso looks up at you through his doe-like lashes, and waits until you’re nodding.

That’s when he’s wringing off his broken condom and squeezing out whatever wetness it held. Pushing out the cum back onto your pussy. 

Making such a mess. 

Those pure-white droplets that end up splattered back down on your pussy- warm and utterly unwholesome. A sinful cover. He wasn’t leaving a single ounce wasted. “Sh-shit.” Choso’s mouth gapes wide open. “It’s all your fault…”

Just the cutest trickle of saliva makes its way down his lips - and you’re reaching upwards to wipe it away. “Awwww. Ever done it raw before, Cho?”

After a brief bout of hesitation, he shakes his head.

“I’ve never done it before.” He confesses. Your eyes widen, so he was a virgin…

“Then are you sure you can handle it, baby? No need to push yourself if-”

“No.” He gasps. Sharp. Shot-through. It leaves his lips before he even knows what’s happening- and then you’re clenching again in a way that makes his brows twist together, and his fingers dig into your waist. “No, no, no, no-” Eyes frenzied. “We don’t have to stop f’me, baby. We don’t even have to slow down—”

Cum-coated; his thickened cock gets sandwiched between your lips then jerked back and forth a few times. By now he was so wet with slick n’ sap that it was making him slip a few times before he’s actually managing to get it in again—and that, too, with your help. 

You reach down to help grip Choso’s raging-hot erection, and guide it inside your cunt: an action that leaves the other man blushing down to the roots of his hair. Even his tip throbs just a little harder—“Th-thank you, ma’am.”

Your brows raise in amusement- and it only hits him then. So he was into the ‘ma’am’ thing.

“I mean- baby.” He sounds so utterly ruined. “Thank you, baby. Promise I can handle it now, m’kay?”

And oh…you can’t deny that it was just so fun to tease him. “Hmmm…I dunno, Choso-”

Chocolate-brown bangs sticking to your skin, he’s lurching his face away to bore straight into your eyes. “I-is it because I’m younger?” He asks with a hint of desperation, and your lips part as your ex’s hot nephew keeps steamrolling away with his pussydrunken mouth. Poor, poor Choso. “Because I promise I can handle it. I can fuck you- ngh, the best. Promise m’gonna make you feel sooooo—”

Choso’s hips were hammerin’ away at a pace you’d never have suspected- and his hips end up crushed against yours. So close that the scruff of his happy trail scratches your clit raw.

“-g-good.” A single tear track runs down his face - you’re unsure whether he’s talking about you or himself.

“Easy there, tiger.” You’re pushing back on a stray lock of his hair- darker now with perspiration. The sweet gesture makes Choso huffs. 

It wasn’t doing him any favors, however, as that only made him look even cuter. You’re craning your neck and planting a chaste peck on his bubblegum-pink lips—only for Choso to take control of the kiss and softly bite down on your bottom lip. “Baby-” He rasps. And with just how sweet Choso had always been to you, you could’ve almost forgotten how strong he was- how easily he could bounce you down on his cock- how needy he was for you. Feral. Even though you had him wrapped ‘round your finger, he was jostling your pussy’s inside like craaaazy. “Don’t do that. Don’t baby me- I need to be taken- ngh, s-seriously by you, m’kay?”

“Oh…” You’re letting out a heated breath as his tip empties out at your cervix.

And to prolong that sensation; Choso claws his hand up and pushes on the lower part of your stomach. Right beneath where your cunt was expanding and contracting with his cock. “Feel how big I am?” He doesn’t stop putting pressure on that spot until you’re nodding - “How hard? How much I’m leaking?” Just on cue, a splatter! of precum leaks between your pussylips.

And with something like a broken whimper- Choso snakes his fingers down to push the leakage back up your channel. 

“O-oh—this pussy’s so fuckin’ wet. And I can handle it- I can handle it.” He utters more to himself. The more he’s speaking, the harder and longer he’s fucking you, the more ruined he sounds. “M’not as innocent as you think, baby.”

“Oh? Do tell.” You smile.

Such a gorgeous, gorgeous smile that he almost hesitates wiping away with a roll of his thumb - stimulating the nerves of your clit. But it makes you break out into the prettiest lewd expression that leaves him rutting his hips even harder, “Do you have any idea how fuh-fucking long I’ve waited for this? How badly I’ve wanted to- ngh, stuff my cock and fuck you like an animal?” As he trails off, he feels his stinging tip start to twitch even more wildly. Dangerously. “Fuck—”

“H-how long?” You’re asking with a smug smirk.

Choso’s blinking a few times just to let the question register- and finally muttering. “Even when you were dating- him. Ever since I first saw you…” And then he rubs his thumb at an even more steadied pace, matching it to the pushes of his spearing cock. “You were wearing that red dress of yours- hah, and I could see the strap of your pretty pink bra peaking out…the one with the bows on-”

That makes you gasp.

Which Choso takes advantage of to plaster his lips against yours n’ suckle on your tongue. 

“And then-” Barely managing out through kisses- through stabs of his length- through the pleasure. “And then you called me ‘baby’ as you were getting ready to leave, and I- ngh, knew you were teasing me for being younger—fuck, I h-had to run to the bathroom just to jerk off.”

Rovering his mushroomy trip straight into your nerve-ended g-spot; you’re arching into his chest as you feel Choso lose his grip on his sanity.

Already having been so loose.

He’s babbling as he cums long and hard, and oh-so-deeeeeply into your cunt. Mouth ajar. Body collapsing against yours - caging you even further against the bathroom wall. “Baby- fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck-”

“Shit, so much…” Just feeling the ribbons upon ribbons of creamy-white sap he was emptying out. Hot. hypnotizing. Every stroke managed to hit your best spots, and every push meant your pussy was getting overloaded with his cum. The inches of his shaft were curved just perfectly enough that he’s managing to slip aside your walls and use his tip to circle and circle those webs of cum at the very base of your pussy. All over. 

Soon enough, you’re feeling a layer of it make its way down your inner-thighs—and Choso still didn’t seem like he was going to stop anytime soon. You moan, “H-how can you cum this much- mmpf.”

He captures your lips in another sloppy kiss. “Must be the stamina of a younger guy.”

“Choso you’re pussydrunk.” You’ve never heard him sound so drawling and dreamy.

“Hmmmm…” He’s nuzzling the crook of your neck, leaving bite marks that will be entirely too difficult to explain when you’re going back outside. “Did you cum? Promise I can- ngh, make you cum, too…” Grazing your skin with his lips.

“Prove it, then.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - 6…9?

“It’s a fuckin’ pandemic, isn’t it?”

You’re looking at your boyfriend over the rim of your book, “Excuse me?”

Sukuna was seated on the armchair in the corner of your bedroom; just having finished a video call with his brother and his nephew. The bright chatter (at least from their end) had died down some minutes ago, and they’d bid your boyfriend goodnight—which was rather the same routine for these biweekly calls. Despite how much the two of you visited, Itadori Yuji always found it too hilarious to put strange filters on his grumpy uncle.

Except, tonight…Sukuna had sat in the armchair for a few minutes longer.

Usually; he would join you in bed.

Usually; he would grumble - though with a fond smile on his face - about whatever Yuji had been chattering about before. 

He was practically an honorary father to the boy, and it always made you smile to see. 

Usually; he wouldn’t look up at you as expressionless as if he’d seen a ghost- as if his soul had wafted away. And ask you about some…pandemic? Did Yuji put something in his head again?

At the confused expression on your face, Sukuna was heaving out a sigh—pushing up those glasses that were totally, most definitely not glasses and merely a tool he uses to…see…better up his handsome nosebridge. Sukuna was in his late thirties, and silver was beginning to tinge the edges of his pink hair, climbing up his temples. His crows’ feet creased as he frowned at you, “The…67 thing. It’s a pandemic.”

“67 thing?” You gape, your book plopping down on the bed. 

“You heard me.” He scoffs. “I’ve been thinking it’s mass hysteria- every brat at his kindergarten keeps repeating it. But there seems to be no pattern or cohesion. I thought it was just those damn kindergarteners, but the other day I even caught Jin saying it-”

“S-six…seven…thing.” You’re repeating - for no reason other than to confirm to yourself that what you’re hearing was real.

Sukuna straightens in his chair, “See? Now it’s got you—”

“Kuna, like the meme?” You’re shaking your head, “The one from the song? Oh my god, it’s not mass hysteria-”

He crinkles his nose. “The hell is a…meme?”

“You don’t know what a—” How has he been Yuji - of all people’s - uncle but still had no idea? You continue, “It’s basically an Internet inside joke- it’s been over for a while now but the kids are still obsessed with it.” Finally gripping your book once more, you level him a look. “You didn’t seriously think it was mass hysteria, did you, Kuna?”

Sukuna crosses his bulky arms and looks away. “Tch—”

And when he catches you giggling, he barks-

“What?!”

“Oh- nothing.” And from the smile upon your lips - Sukuna knew that whatever was coming out of your mouth next wasn’t about to be anything sincere. 

Which is why he’s raising himself off the sofa and climbing up the foot of your bed.

You continue, “It’s just you’re getting old, Kuna.”

Joking; nothing ever riled Ryomen Sukuna up more than teasing him for not understanding some new slang or lyric. 

And with how much he riled you up sometimes—you had to get back at him somehow, alright?

Soon enough, he’s pinning you down to the bed - with his toned pelvis pressing down on your waist, and his arms creeping upwards to keep your wrists pushed against the mattress. “Say that shit again. I dare you.”

You’re leaning up as though to kiss him. “Old man.”

.

.

.

Sukuna’s tongue was zig-zagging wiiiiildly between your legs- striking the soft circle of your entrance and then swervin’ as deeply inside as it could go. Deeper. Deeper.

No matter how fervently his mouth was glued to your pussy. 

No matter how ravenously.

His hips rut off the bed with every single lick—and that fat, throbbing tip of his kept shovelling n’ shovelling at a synchronized pace with his tongue. 

He had you twisted in sixty-nine with your pussy latched onto his lips. 

Sukuna’s own cock squeezing out heavy volumes of his salty precum near your lips, then promptly pushin’ them inside with his thrusts- Sukuna was so loooong and rock-hard that he was managing to swab across every spot and directly target the back of your throat. Playing with that dangly in the back.

You’re moaning as he squeezes two ringed-decorated fingers into your tight cunt. And he grins as he feels the vibrations—“Ah ah- s’rude to talk with your mouth full.” 

Just then, Sukuna’s planting a smack! on your pussy that makes you pull off of his shaft with a loud pop! “H-hey…”

“What?” He trundles. Reaching his hips up and guiding his needy tip back into your mouth, “Speak.”

All because he knew that you’d attempt to nonetheless- and it would end up with the most lewd noises being muffled into this cock. It would end up with his eyes scrunching shut, his head throwing backwards at the shocks of pleasure. “Th-thought I told you to speak? Hah- not babble. Cock got your tongue or something?”

And…it would end up with you being all huffy n’ puffy. “That’s not even f-fair…”

“Heh- fair?” From where he’d been nipping at your clit, Sukuna pulls off - just to confirm he wasn’t hearing things. He wasn’t. And though you couldn’t see his expression from this angle, you could practically hear the amusement in his tone. “What happened to me being old, huh? You surely don’t need me to go easy on you.”

“I d-didn’t say that…” You’re stubbornly answering him - though the constant drives of his fingers were driving you absolutely mad. Sure. 

“Good.” And then you’re feeling two more consecutive smack-smacks! atop your bloated folds. “Because, babydoll…m’barely even started.”

In no time, Sukuna has you manhandled so that your stomach’s against the soft bed. Your back’s against his thoroughly toned front - so incredibly strong; he was bulky—with a layer of thickness to him that made your skin tingle with want - and his erect cock placed between your legs. He takes a few moments to wetten your core up- because no matter how many times you’ve taken him, you think you’ll never get used to Sukuna’s sheer size.

And before long you’re clawing onto the headboard for dear life—as he damn-near molds your tender cunt to his size. Startin’ at the tip-top of his bloated shaft, and then bouncing you down- down- down so many inches greedily. 

Utterly greedily. 

“Oh- oh, fuuuuuck.” Hands shooting forwards to grab onto more of the mahogany frame.

But Sukuna stops you right then n’ there by wrapping his right arm around your neck; like a wreath, your pants are immediately cut off. And his muscles bulge as they tighten—the defined ridges of his biceps pushing against your throat - it’s sensual enough to make your mouth water…“And where’d you think you’re going, huh?”

“Nowher- mmpf.” Cut off immediately by the tightening of his muscled restraint. 

“Lying’s not a good look, brat.” Then his second set of fingers snakes down to spank! your stuffed pussy- right atop your bloated folds. The shockwaves that run up your spine are enough to make you buck and whine—and enough to make him drag you back into him. Again and again. “Wasn’t stuffing this mouth earlier ‘nough to teach you a little lesson?”

So stubborn. “Not at all-”

He’s spitting straight between your lips.

And when Sukuna’s fucking you; it’s with harsh, pointed jabs - scouring deeeeep into the bottom of your pussy and leaving the mark of his cockhead. That rounded bruise you feel throb-throb-throbbin’ away every time he repeats the action—he fucks you like he hates you.

And he’s only growing faster, harder by the second.

Only tightening his headlock and wrenching your body back into his. Again and again.

Over and over.

Until the globes of your ass were stinging with impact, and you’ve memorized the pattern of his happy trail. It’s practically a part of you. 

Sukuna’s rugged cock knew aaaaall the right spots. Making your pupils roll around in the whites of your eyes, and leaving you wondering just how he had this much stamina still…“Awww, c’mon now.” His low voice trundles in your ears. “Get your act together, girl. You don’t wanna be this cockdrunk for someone so old, huh?”

“I-I—”

“What was it you called me?” He growls, sharp canines nipping at the shells of your ears. “Huh? What was it you called me? See, this fossil ‘ere has some trouble…remembering-”

Every syllable of his was punctured by a thorough glide across the velvety channel of your pussy- “Ummm, then in that case, I didn’t say anything?” You try your luck.

“Nice try.” Sukuna grins. “But m’not that geriatric yet.”

Another spank. “Please-”

“What did you call me?”

“I-I just meant-”

And another. “What did you call me?”

“An…old man.” You feel embarrassed just letting the words slip between your lips.

You didn’t think he could get even rougher with his movements - his shaft was throbbing, and his pelvis was smack-smack-smacking into you. So hard that you’re propelled forwards by the sheer force; and Sukuna roughly lurches you back with his headlock. “I might be an old man- cheh. I might not know all these…damn Internet memes- but I do know how to fuck this pussy right.” To prove his point, he scours in-between your pussylips to squeeze your pretty clit. “Look at her- she’s in love with me.”

“O-oh—” Eyes fluttering shut. 

“I know how to make her cry with pleasure. I know how to make her- mmmngh, squeeze like she doesn’t want me leavin’…heh.” He continues muttering into your ear as his hips grow more fervent. “I know how to make her feel so good—”

Your teeth grit. “Shit.” And you recognize the twisting sensation at the pit of your stomach. “K-Kuna, I’m gonna cum-”

“And even better.” He chuckles. Gnawing at the top of your ear shell, before moving down to bite the tender crook of your neck - like a wolf catching his prey. “I might not know those fuckin’- memes like the youngsters do. But I do know how to make this pussy- cum.”

“S-sooo close—don’t stop.” You’re bouncing n’ bouncing back into his pistoning hips. 

Feeling the pleasure well up. Feeling your head start to spin a little as you near your high- 

You’re crashing past your tipping point. And Sukuna gives you one, two, three good strokes to fuck you through the bursts of white-hot pleasure running through your veins - before he’s suddenly setting you free of his headlock and letting you drop straight into the plush pillows. 

Reeling his damn cock out.

You don’t know what’s louder: your disappointed groan or his rough cackle.

“What? Wanted this old man to be nice in bed or something?” As soon as you’re looking over your shoulder, you’re met with Sukuna’s priggish grin—his sharp canines peaking out at the edges of his lower lip. 

Grumpily, you nod. “Yes? What- can’t last or—oh.”

Another smack. “That’s not gonna work on me again- sorry, babydoll.” And before you know it, you’re being flipped right over - getting your legs thrown over his shoulders and pushed into the meanest mating press you’ve ever experienced. “Because m’not letting my bratty girl properly cum until I’ve had a good few rounds to blow off some steam. And m’sure you can keep up- heh, if not…”

“And um- how many rounds might that be exactly?”

Sukuna smirks. “67.”

“I hate you.”

♡ INO TAKUMA - “M-mommy!”

AITA for seducing the HOT rich MILF (40’sF) that I (23M) pool-clean for while her ex-husband and kids were away?! In my defense, she’s reeeeeally hot.

You freeze.

Ino freezes.

The world itself seems to freeze; all except for the ruby-red tip of Ino Takuma’s cock. Shoved deeeep inside your cunt - deep enough to leave a permanent bruise there - and throbbing away wildly—he’s cumming with that particular title escaping his lips. 

And then his lower lip wobbles once- twice- before he ducks down and attempts to hide his face in his arms. 

“Hey hey-” Swiftly, you reach down to push his hands away - you’d be disappointed not to see his pretty expressions as you fucked him even further. All pouty lips and doe-like eyes—Ino Takuma was so pretty, and perhaps that’s what drew you to the younger pool cleaner in the first place. “What’s the matter, Taku?”

“I-I didn’t mean to call you that- honest!” He stammers out.

To which you’re cocking your head with a sly smile- time to try something. “Call me what, Taku?”

“Y’know what it is…” Ino grumbles, huffing. And when you simply continue to stare at him in slight confusion, he’s rockin’ up into your wet cunt as he speaks- “The way I c-called you—mommy- oh.” Just as you’d predicted, his velvety length jolts at the mere utterance of that title. Excitedly spurting out a few creamy-white wads of cum that glue to your cervix.

So messy. He was so fucking messy.

How ironic, considering that his entire job was to clean your pool.

You’d been introduced to Ino through one of your friends - those networks of older rich women with far too much time and money on their hands. Juggling kids and businesses. And you’d just been complaining to them over a gold-flaked brunch that your last pool cleaner had moved towns, and with your kids now entering middle school, the pool was left without use and starting to gather leaves. 

That’s when they’d shared Ino’s number with you—a reliable pool cleaner. Just graduated college, and so easy on the eyes if they did say so themselves…

You’d huffed that you’d tell their husbands- meanwhile you on the other hand had just recently gotten divorced. One too many nights of your husband coming home with a cloud of mysterious perfume around him, or a lipstick stain on his collar - at least you’d gotten a good chunk of everything in the divorce!

But that was all in the past- maybe love just wasn’t for you.

You had your kids. You had your gorgeous hillside mansion. You had your hobbies and friends- men just weren’t…for…

Fuck, that’s when he’d showed up at your door. 

Bright and early. Beaming with all his gorgeous pearly whites; the sweetest smile on such a killer body. Ino showed up in nothing but an unbuttoned flowery shirt and swim trunks—their lightning-yellow color perfectly complemented his slightly-tanned skin and messy brown hair. Slightly tawny from the Sun.

“Er, I hope you don’t mind.” Ino had said, a sheepish smile on his face. “I thought I’d get changed for the job before I got here.”

Mind? Mind?!

In simply what world would you mind—it took every speck of reason and rationality in you to dart your eyes away from the plane of his chest, his washboard abs. Sultry shoulders. Slender waist. There was a scattered happy trail that ran between his six-pack and- beneath his swimming trunks. 

Fuck. 

Instead, you focused on the tight necklace of shells around Ino’s throat. “C-come in.”

On the first day, you stayed inside - only peeking out occasionally from your bedroom window - as Ino cleaned your pool. You tipped him heavily.

On the second day, he’d told you that it was completely okay with him even if you used the pool whilst he was cleaning—and you took that as your sign. You donned a bikini you hadn’t gotten the chance to use in years, and sprawled yourself out on the nearest sun bed - making occasional conversation with him almost as an excuse to ogle him.

And if you weren’t mistaken, you’d say that he ogled you too. 

But you really did discover that Ino was a sweetheart- and made you giggle like a schoolgirl, too. How embarrassing you felt admitting this!

And a part of you was almost relieved when your kids arrived home from school - escorted by their driver - so you could resume your mundane lavishness. But a bigger part of you was already yearning for when you’d see him again…

And so continued the third day.

And the fourth day.

And so on to the fifth and the sixth.

Before you knew it, Ino had been employed as your pool-cleaner for at least a month—and he’d quickly grown to become someone you and your kids were quite fond of. Even your driver had caught on, and shot you a knowing smile every time you asked him to escort Ino back to his downtown apartment. Perhaps feeling jealous of such an occurrence, your ex-husband had showed up with tickets to an amusement park - already having planned a day trip for your kids.

They’d, of course, begged to go. And so you’d agreed.

Leaving nobody inside this vast mansion: but you, Ino, and the growing tension between you two. 

The only thing was, right before he left, your ex-husband had the audacity to stop Ino and snipe at him. Low and threatening. “Touch her and I’ll make you very, very sorry.”

So, of course you’d fucked Ino as soon as they were out of the house. 

Squeezing your robe-covered thighs ‘round his waist—just so perfectly curved to meet your embrace. “W-we really shouldn’t be…I mean- I’m old enough to be your-”

“Works just fine for me, pretty.” He’d cut you off. Pulling on the gauzy material of your robe to let your tits spill out- fuck, he was in heaven.

Enough so that it’d taken just putting it in for Ino to cover your luscious inside in his sap. To watch the satiny liquid seep between your pussylips and leave his pelvis gleaming with a sheen. To wrench out the most pathetic calls of your name—and one particular title that made him want to get swallowed up by the Earth.

Again and again.

Ino’s cock was longer than you’d expected - and all this time, you’d been wondering where the hell he’d been hiding all that in his swimming trunks. Just reaching over six pretty inches. Just smooooth and leaned ever-so-slightly towards the left. It’s making his bulbous tip drag across every sweet spot inside you, and your thighs quiver as you take him.

Every single inch. You’re arching your back and mustering up your strength to grind your hips forwards and back, forwards and back.

Milking him—

“C’mon, baby.” You’re cooing down at the handsome man. He blinks his teary eyes open- and you just can’t help but lean down n’ kiss them away from his cheeks. “Call me ‘mommy’ again?”

“C-can’t…” Ino blushes down to the roots of his chocolate-brown hair. “It’s embarrassing-”

“But it gets me so wet, Taku.” You pout—and his eyes widen at your admission. You watch as his pupils shift down- as if making sure. “Pleeeeeeeease? Just once?”

And in response, you smush your thighs harder around him. You’re sure you leave red, red welts on his skin - but that wasn’t registering in his mind right now. Nothing was. Nothing but the smooch of your soft velvety insides embracing his cock, and the sensation of cum sploshin’ around inside you. “Fine…but only because I wanna impress you…” His breath hitches. “-mommy.”

You shiver. “Oh, I liked that—”

And he does, too, because your cunt’s just suctioning on his length as if you were trying to take his soul. His fucking soul. 

The thing is- Ino would have gladly given it to you at this moment.

“It feels good- it f-feels s-sooooo good.” Tears begin to crinkle at the corners of his eyes, and Ino’s fingers dig into the sides of your hips as he bucks upwards. “Fuck, it should be illegal for it to feel this good- mommy.” And he can’t fucking help it—it echoes before he can stop himself. 

“Taku, I think you like saying that more than me.” With a soft chuckle, your dominant hand ends up wrapped around his throat. “C’mon now- a little faster for mommy.”

“Sh-shut—ngh.” No matter how hard he attempts to regain control- it doesn’t work. He pushes upwards into your soft, syrupy cervix as though marking it.

After a few desperate thrusts, he asks you- “Is this okay?”

“Hmmmm…” You pretend to think - and the ruined expression on his face is oh-so-completely worth it. “How about a biiiiit faster?”

His jaw drops- but he doesn’t complain. He’s grabbing onto either side of your thighs now, and plunging straight into your deepest depths—multiple thwacks! every second, it feels like. “H-how about-”

“Just a little faster.”

Doubting himself. “Is that even possible-”

“But you’d do it for- heh, me won’t you? You’d do it to make me feel good?”

Nodding and nodding. “Yes, mommy. A-anything for you mommy—” Broken moans and pleas cycle at the back of Ino’s throat, and he’s planted his feet flat on the mattress to push himself up ravenously. “M’just here for you to use me.”

Your eyes widen - your smile grows.

“Just use me-” He gasps, face reddening as he follows your instructions. “Fucking use me like a toy. Use me- fuh-fuuuck—”

“A liiiiiittle bit—” Your head tips backwards as he’s entering the perfect pace - rapid enough to leave your thoughts stupidly muddled, but still steady enough that you’re feeling every single ridge, vein, and curve. Giving your walls such a good massage—“Th-that’s perfect, Taku.” You squeeze his pretty neck tighter, and you’re hearing him let out a little hiccup of a sob. “Mommy’s so proud of you.”

Oh, and you thought that he was ruined enough already?

You thought that he was reaching his limits?

Because after that particular sentence - oh, you’re evil for that - Ino digs his digits into the flesh of your thighs and rams deep into your womb. His pistoning cock resting there for a brief few split-seconds as he sputters—“L-let me make you a mommy all over again.”

Your breath catches. “Do you even know what you’re asking for, Taku-”

“Fucking yes.” His glazed tip twitches dangerously in a way that told you he was oh-so-close to cumming again. Again.  “Yes, please- fuuuuck, let me get you pregnant. Let me make you a mommy for the third time. I-I promise I’ll be the best- ngh, dad and nothing like that asshole. I’ll take care of you and cherish you and-”

You kiss him to shut him up.

“But of course, baby.” You hum. “But you have to be quick before my ex-husband finds out.”

He’s never cum harder in his life. 

Verdict: NTA (drop the fucking tutorial, OP).

♡ GOJO SATORU - Sugar, sugar…

Gojo Satoru wasn’t technically a DILF - but he was a sugar daddy.

And they called you a gold digger.

Gojo called you business-savvy.

It was a rather unique situation: the relationship between the two of you had started out as a regular sugar daddy-sugar baby relation. You met Gojo Satoru at some stuffy ol’ business function when you were the arm candy of some other businessman—one who’d been ignoring you in favor of one of his business associates the entire night, of course.

Whatever.

You’d gotten used to this routine by now - and so you’d drifted by the grazing table with microscopic clean cuts and cheeses you couldn’t even pronounce. 

And that was exactly how your knight-in-shining-suit had sidled up next to you.

With two champagne glasses in-hand and a flirtatious smile upon his face, he handed you one of the drinks. Then you gestured at the businessmen you’d arrived with- and Gojo had the audacity to roll his eyes and pretend to retch. That was when you knew you’d get along.

Tall. Toned. With twinkling blue eyes—and just the slightest bit of silver creeping into his already-white hair. Gojo Satoru was as handsome as he was rich—and considering that both aspects occupied a fair share of the conversations tonight, you were rather flattered to be in his presence. Though the CEO of Gojo Corporations didn’t waste time: “Y’know, if I was lucky enough to arrive with an angel- I’d never leave her sight. Why waste time with some geezers over such a gorgeous gal?”

You smiled.

And you left that night with Gojo instead.

From the boxes of jewelries and flights around the world - to the tabloids and online speculation that couldn’t get enough of you. 

CEO of Gojo Corporations finally finds love?!

Gold digger or gold-hearted: All we know about Gojo Satoru’s girlfriend!

Is it sugar baby season? The newest IT Girl’s best red-carpet looks so far—

But of course, there was always some truth to those headlines. Perhaps. 

You were Gojo Satoru’s sugar baby. You were in a transactional relationship- though he never laid a hand on you. Not unless you initiated it.

So…what was it really?

You got your answer a few months into this limbo of lust—the two of you finally started dating. 

And to be quite honest; it wasn’t that big of a change at first. The two of you went out for romantic dinners either way. The two of you dodged paparazzi and rumors every step. The two of you bantered and teased as much as you did anyways- the only change would be that Gojo Satoru finally let loose when he fucked you.

Though, at times, he still did like to let his sugar daddy side peek through…

“A-awwww- just look at you.” Gojo’s hands were rubbin’ furiously down his length - from those curls of white cozily decorating his base, up to that poor, pretty tip that just wouldn’t stop cumming. Up and down. Up and down. 

Salty-sweet heaps of cum were pouring out of his cockhead and splashing down your front- your stomach, your inner thighs, your cunt. He watches as it creates a little waterfall effect—and Gojo reaches down to pat your stuffed pussy with his long fingers. “No matter what pretty trinkets n’ expensive lingerie you wear- you always look the prettiest covered in my cum, sweetheart.”

“S-Satoru—” You’re squirming underneath him. Hands clasping the silken sheets.

Your fingers were decked-out in diamond rings. Your lacy lingerie was tugged n’ pulled aside for access. 

Around you were bracelets upon necklaces upon every piece of jewelry that your heart could desire - Gojo had taken it upon himself to empty out Tokyo’s luxury stores earlier. All for you, of course.

All to drown you in—whilst he attempted to do the same with his fucking cum-

“I fuckin’ loooooove it when it covers you like this.” He hisses- nose scrunches in a feral way as he glides his fingers across those splatters. Those smears. That ruinous mess. His favorite was to see you like this: pull out game, who? You often scoffed whenever Gojo claimed that his was unmatched. “Love the way it looks like your pretty pussy can’t keep it in-” Just another light tap on your cunt. “Love the way it looks so pretty on your skin like this—mmm, you’ve got me obsessed, girl.”

Your thighs were shaky- but not shaky enough to stop you from attempting to pull him even closer. They’re wrapping around his waist, and careening him close ‘nough to kiss your puffy pussylips with his throbbing tip. His length doesn’t stop sensitively twitching for a single second—“O-oh…greedy for more, my girl?” 

“More.” Just barely managing to wrangle out. “W-want some more—”

“Fuuuuck.” He whispers underneath his breath - something so ragged in his tone. That blushin’ tip of his was twitching in excitement already, and Gojo probably doesn’t even realize before he’s slotted his still-erect length between your legs and his rockin’ away at a slow pace. “You seriously want more?”

Your eyes squeeze shut at the sensation of him intruding your hole- seemingly only growing bigger every time he feels you clenchin’ around nothing. So needy. 

“Yes-” You’re nodding furiously. Perhaps had this been any other time, then you’d have been almost embarrassed at your unabashed eagerness. “B-but this time, I want it inside, Toru.”

“Inside?” Gojo’s pale brows fly to his hairline. “But you’re already stuffed so full, my sweetheart.”

And then he’s smearing his fingertips between your bloated folds- teasin’ them apart and taking a good look at your entrance. He can’t help himself - he’s spitting straight into that puckered hole—and watching at the glossy wad slips down your crevice and only adds to the mess he’s made previously. You’re shivering as he runs his nimble digits up n’ down your slit and presses on your clit.

“Yes, but—” You keen, arching into his firm core. “But you never really came inside, Toru.”

“Oh…” Those glossed lips of his part.

And you’re taking the opportunity to throw your arms weakly around him- “And I want it inside this time.” Though Gojo loved teasing you with his creamy-white sap—making you beg for it at times, he’s never properly cum inside.

He always thought it’d be too soon: you were younger, after all. And a pregnancy at this point might derail your plans-

“But I want it.” Had he been babbling this entire time? The sheer determination in your eyes sends a jolt of dark-black need through him - far more primal than he ever thought possible. Far more. Gojo’s blue peripherals glaze over as he clasps his cock even tighter, as though afraid he’s so hard now that it’d fucking fall off.

“Shouldn’t fall off now.” He whispers breathily.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Gojo quickly amends. Before he uses the pointed tip of his shaft to web up those dollops of cum he’d spurted ‘round your thighs and folds—it creates a gloss of white that he thinks would suit the insides of your pussy so well (did he mention that he was the one to pick out your lingerie colors?) ‘Round and ‘round.

It devises the most sinful sounds between your legs. And your breath catches in your throat: “A-are you gonna cum inside or not, Toru? Hurry-”

“So impatient.” He’s tutting. Voice low and husky. “I hope you know that if I fuck my cum inside—then m’gonna fuck you pregnant, sweetheart.”

Goosebumps scatter across your skin.

But Gojo doesn’t let you squirm, he doesn’t let you move about restlessly- he’s pinning you down with his hips and rumbling lowly in your ear. “M’gonna make sure it takes.” A rough sliiiiiide of his length sandwiched between your cushy pussylips - drooling for him by now. “M’gonna stuff you so full that you won’t even be able to walk—” Another rough slide. A thrust. “M’gonna give you the most precious gift of all - in my eyes.”

“P-please—!”

As you’re letting your head tip backwards, Gojo reaches his hand up to and clasps your gorgeous, gorgeous face. Smushing your cheeks together in a way that was so pathetic - “Are you okay with that, pretty baby?”

You’ve never heard him sound so serious.

And you’ve never yowled an affirmation faster in your entire life—

In the next few seconds, Gojo’s stuffed rawly all the way to the hilt and is messin’ up your insides with determined strokes. Once. Twice. Thrice- he punctures through your clingy walls and hits all the best spots - memorizing your g-spot and running his flared tip along it. 

And honestly, it doesn’t take much - the two of you were already so overstimulated already - before you’re feeling the wave of euphoria start to build up in your stomach already. Almost as lewd of a sensation as the clear twitchin’ mess that Gojo and his length had turned into—babbling, gasping, sobbing as he runs his fat cock raw on your velvety walls. Fucking raw.

You were going to make him an actual DILF.

“Y-you’re gonna get it now…” It’s the last thing he’s getting out before a flood of white sap enters your tight cunt. Getting absolutely drenched from the inside. “When have I ever forgone you of a gift, my girl?”

“Never—” You’re keening out. Rushes of pleasure start up between your legs- before crackling through your veins and ultimately ending up at your brain.

Hazy and startling at the feeling of him fucking you through both your highs. Thrust after thrust. Gush after gush of both pleasure n’ his milky-white cum. 

Underneath the overwhelming sensation of your orgasm; you can feel his spurts of cum start to trickle between your legs. It was just as warm as your skin was getting, and creating a little puddle beneath you that Gojo takes one looks at and gasps- 

“Now now, are you wasting your gift, sweetheart—?” He cocks his head, genuinely ruined. 

“N-no?”

“Or do I just have to- heh, regift it to you again?”

“Shut up.”

♡ HIGURUMA HIROMI - Ms. Babysitter.

“We have to be quiet, angel- fuck. Fuck.” Higuruma’s voice sounded ragged—

Ruined. Nothing but carnal desire creeping up into the edges of his tone; giving you a jolt, considering that you’ve known the older man to be nothing but utterly calm and collected.

He was one of the best parents that you babysat for. 

One of your college friends had recommended you for the job - the hot lawyer in your neighborhood needed someone to look after his young daughter whilst he worked long nights? You were agreeing before you’d even heard the hours, you can’t deny—and despite how hasty of a decision it had been, you thoroughly enjoyed working under Higuruma Hiromi.

And being under Higuruma Hiromi…though that didn’t come until a few weeks after you’d been employed. 

The first night, you’d barely seen him. Dark hair. Dark circles.

The main thing you remember was that he looked exhausted—and some strange part of you was actually enticed by the hard-working man. Especially when he was such a gentleman…

Fuck, that suit fit him so well.

He addressed you oh-so-respectfully; unlike some parents who were tempted to treat you like a live-in server. Hands behind his back. Jet-black eyes to himself as he gave you a two-minute tour around the house- you’d been thoroughly enjoying yourself admiring his broad shoulders in that suit, when a sudden call from the office meant your tour had to be paused. 

Higuruma had pinched the bridge of his nose with a groan. He’d sighed.

And he was out that door before you could even confirm bedtime- which hadn’t been too much of a problem, to be honest. His daughter was extremely well-behaved and didn’t hesitate to let you know. 

She also didn’t hesitate to let you know that her dad was very, very single.

You let her stay up just a liiittle past her bedtime. 

And then the second night, he’d apologized for his hastiness - telling you that a recent case had them fighting to prepare before the court deadline, and there’d just been so many fucking tax audits to go through.

You nodded like you understood. But what really intrigued you was when he’d told you that his daughter had just loved having you over. Though a part of you was simply satisfied that you did your job well (buttered popcorn and K-pop Demon Hunters wins again!), you can’t deny that it made your heart…flutter hearing it from the older man like this. 

It made you realize that you had a little crush.

So of course, you made him a regular.

And the pay was so good that you were able to weed out your other clients to focus predominantly on Higuruma and his bizarre babysitting schedule (some nights he worked until 3AM…)—you guessed the overtime was paying off. 

Though your interactions were limited mostly to the brief conversations before and after- though you never did cross your boundaries. That all came to a head when one night - about a month or two into your babysitting gig - Higuruma suddenly perked up after a late night at the office. It was 3:31AM when he quietly let himself inside the house, sighing as he finally tugged off his tie.

It was 3:32AM by the time you got up off the couch and offered him some cookies you’d made with his daughter in the morning.

3:40AM when he suddenly remembered- and suggested resuming that house tour you didn’t get to finish. And though you’d been a bit hesitant—for nothing other than the fact that you might wake his sleeping daughter up, he promised that the two of you would be quiet.

Then, finally, 3:47AM when he was telling you to be quiet in bed-

“Wouldn’t wanna wake her up, hm?” The prominent outline of his nose runs down the side of your throat - and it makes you shiver. Fuck, you always have thought that that was one of the most handsome parts of him. 

A soft moan strangles in your throat as he slots his thickened tip between your folds—feeling it like this, your mind’s reeling with the question of how the fuck he’s going to fit like this.

Higuruma always did strike you as the type of man to be big; but this was enough to make your mouth water and your eyes damn-near bulge out of your skull. From here, you were feeling at least seven or eight inches of his erection, furiously hot, wrapped in throbbing red veins and having the most luscious precum dripping out from top. He seemed hard enough to fucking ruin you - just how you wanted it. 

And as if reading your mind, Higuruma runs his slippery wet tip down your pussylips, and trundles in his low tone. “Are you sure you want to do it? We don’t have to rush into anything if you don’t want-”

“I do.” Cutting him off mid-sentence.

Although by the way that Higuruma’s stern lips were quirking up ever-so-slightly—you’re taking it to mean that he didn’t exactly mind. He keeps one hand underneath your ass, so that you can be pushed up into his roverin’ hips, and his other one caresses your cheek softly. “Hm, is that so…? Then I guess what I meant to say is…can you take every single inch, sugar?”

You gulp. Your eyes dart down nervously to his twitchin’, throbbing length. “Yes.”

And you’ve never been more sure of anything.

Higuruma merely horses out - “Then buckle up, angel.”

Before you know it, his round, ruddied tip is probin’ inside. Sifting your gluey walls from side-to-side before spreading you up so maddeningly open.

He spots your sweet areas with a few dollops of pre- as soon as Higuruma found himself inside you, he was fighting back whimpers of pleasure. The older man’s achin’ cock doing all the talking for him as he shovels his way in—

“Sh-shit.” Your eyes sprint to the back of your head as you take him. “Shit, you’re so big-”

The way you’re moving your hips around as though confused whether to buck right down or make him ease up- it’s just so cute. And he plants a reassuring hand on the side of your waist, “Easy now.” Higuruma hushes out, “Eeeeeeasy, angel. You can take it for me.”

“Right there—” You keen out as his flared tip rubs along your g-spot.

And although he knows what you meant, that doesn’t stop Higuruma from throwing you a ravishing smirk. Letting his second hand run down your core- “No, sugar. Right here.” He pushes down right where he knew your womb would be - that soft pressure making your walls clench around him wildly, until you could feel every throb of his engorged tip even in your brain. “And you’re gonna take it f’me, right?” 

Jostling you hard with every thrust—so that you’re nodding away. Almost pathetically. 

“Mhm…exactly what I thought.” He coos - so lovingly thrusting away between your quiverin’ legs. Higuruma’s skin slap-slap-slaps against yours at a steady pace, “Just a few more inches now—keep quiet, please.”

“I’m t-trying.” Gnawing down on your lower lip. “How many more?”

“Ah, just one inch…two…” And after a prolonged thrust- so deep that you swear you’re feeling it in your throat, Higuruma cracks a grin. “Maybe more.”

Five more?

Five more?

And you were already on the verge of being fucked absolutely stupid? You’re letting a groan escape you—lewd and louder than you intended- and before the realization hits you, Higuruma himself swiftly reaches over to where his work tie had been dangling off the side of the bed. Bunching it up, shoving it between those pretty lips - he couldn’t have anyone waking up now, could he?

And that’s exactly what he’s telling you: “C’mon, angel…” Shoves getting deeper and longer. Rougher- as he rams his thickened inches past where you don’t think anyone’s ever gone before. And throughout it all, the older man was so steady with you—“C’mon- c’mon. You can do this—fuuuuuck, you can do this. This pussy’s gonna take all of me, right?”

Nodding and nodding.

“Yeah? Because you’re my goooood girl, right? Taking me so well.” He continues rasping - tone pitching higher and higher as he goes on. “My good- fucking- girl—”

“O-oh, fuck, fuck, fuck-”

“You’re my goooooood fucking girl, huh?” The stubs of his five o’ clock shadow rub up against your skin. The deeper he thrusts, the hotter his body seems to become on top of yours. More and more. “Can you count how many inches m’putting in you?”

Tears flow down your eyes, “Y-yes- mmpf.” Somehow managing past the tie. “Ah- four? Five. Six.”

Higuruma’s eyes widen.

“Seven—” Your voice seems like it’s on the verge of cracking. “Eight.”

It’s just too adorable how you’re sweetly attempting to respond to him even with the gag in. And Higuruma can’t help himself as he leans in and kisses you through the tie.

It’s hot and it’s messy.

And it ends up with him smiling against your stuffed lips, “Finally bottomed-out.”

Hazily, you’re blinking a few times. It clears your vision enough for you to jerk your head down and see that it was indeed true, Higuruma had stuffed himself inside your pussy until his thick base was kissin’ your pussylips. Just the most innocent peck.

“And now…” Except…fuck, except he was reeling right back again. “-for the fun part.”

Right back until that rounded tip stretched your hole out.

Right back inside-

“Makes me wanna put a baby in you- I swear. Taking me like this.” 

A/N. TONY’S BACK.

Plagiarism not authorized.

[loverstv]

bullhybrid!sukuna is smitten with the the new cow!girl (　-∀・)

cw: suggestive, feminine fem!reader, hybrid&college au, bull!sukuna x cow!reader, athlete!sukuna, sukuna so tall your height doesnt matter he's bigger anyway, reader moos kinda, reader is described as 'plump', written with chubby reader in mind

entry for @indiewritesxoxo hybrid!jjk event ♡

getting hit in the face with a rogue football wasn't an ideal way to start your career at a new school.

you would know, since you just were.

knocked back onto your rump, you clutch your face with a pained yelp. you have to lean over to prevent the fresh stream of blood from falling onto your clothes, redirecting it onto the ground instead.

heavy footsteps approach hurriedy, a shadow overtaking your form. a deep, rumbling voice sounds teasing at first, "woah there, you go-"

it stops the moment you look up, your teary eyes meeting the stranger's red ones. you sniffle, the floppy ears on the sides of your head twitching.

the man was big. capital B-I-G. covered in tattoos, with a bulls horns sticking out in between his pink, messy hair. his nose was lined a pretty pink, too. pierced with a wide septum hoof. much like yours.

he took off his hoodie hastily, pressing it against your own pink-lined nose to help stop the bleeding. it smells good.. really good.

"sorry, uhh.. let me take you to the infirmary, yeah?" he asks, his gruff voice totally unfit for the amount of shyness currently plagueing him. he tries to keep his expression steady as his strong arms grab you by the plush of your waist.

standing up, you fully realize how absolutely massive this man is. broad enough to be grateful for the extra wide doors installed in the building for freakishly big hybrids like him. eyes wide, cheeks warm and the man's hoodie still pressed to the lower half of your face you find yourself blindly nodding.

instead of making any moves to actually walk towards said infirmary, you and the devilishly handsome stranger have your eyes locked on one another. you see his eyes wandering over your face, and you can't help yours from wandering too. his tattoos, his crooked nose, the thick ring of his piercing...

it's only when your hold on the hoodie against your nose unconciously tightens and you wince that he finally lets go of you and ushers you to follow him.

you're both quiet on the way there, the silence only interrupted by the giant's heavy footsteps. each of his steps equals to three of yours, making you have to basically jog. which makes you finally speak up.

"p-please, slow down.." you mutter through the hoodie that you've totally not been inhaling the smell of like your life depended on it. and not only because it covered your entire nose and you technically had no other choice.

your voice makes him stop entirely, which causes you to walk into him, knocking against his hard back. you stumble back, now not only upset from your injured nose, but now also utterly humiliated from being such a kultz. "oh my god, i'm so sorry..!" you immediately step back.

he turns and grabs your shoulder to steady you, his earlier bashfullness now accompanied by a flicker of amusement. "bit of a klutz, ain't ya?"

you flush with warmth and rush past him only to be stopped with a large hand on your shoulder and a teasing: "wrong way, heifer."

with your humiliation trial hopefully over, you arrive at the nurse's office. she cleans your nose and your jewelery, examining your nose. it'll bruise, but at least it's not broken.

she walks off to another student, leaving you and your 'assailant' alone. you've felt his eyes on you the entire time, making you shyer and shyer.

"sukuna," he finally says, eyes still locked on you. at your confused expression he clears his throat and clarifies, "that's my name."

you nod, quietly sharing yours. an awkward silence follows. you both keep eyeing eachother, not even prentending you're not. but while you're still frowning slightly at the painful predicament he's forced you into, he's shamelessly checking you out instead. which makes you conclude that the silence must be awkward for you only.

you're totally over his leering gaze, so you speak up: "i've got class soon.. could you tell me where it is instead of.. whatever it is you're doing? by the way, you haven't even said sorry!"

you suddenly realize he has yet to apologize, your frown deepens. but instead of an apology, you're met with a cocky smirk.

"why would i be sorry? sure, you're hurt and i didn't mean for it to happen, but i ain't upset about having to be near you 'cause of it. gave me a damn good excuse, didn't it?" he drawls.

the audacity of this guy!

ears twitching, you hop off the infirmary bed, stomping your foot, "thanks a bunch, asshole. i'll find my own way."

you hear him chuckling as you exit the room, which only makes you huff in annoyance. it's not like you to get this type of mean, but he almost broke your nose! and didn't even apologize! and he's a pervert! so much for a hot bull. though, you could've figured. bull, athlete and damn handsome too.. he was bound to be an ass.

the bull hybrids at your previous college were much more gentlemanly, polite and respectful.. but it was a small town, so maybe that had something to do with it. or maybe he's just the rude exception.

you didn't have to wait long for your next encounter, as it happened just a day later.

walking through the halls, so engrossed in your phone you don't notice the group of absolutely massive hybrids you just passed. one of them sukuna. he does notice you, however, and immediately splits from his friends to match your pace. as insanely slow in his opinion as it may be.

he leans down, and with the most sultry tone he can muster he speaks lowly: "good morning, little heifer. your nose okay?"

it makes you jump, and you immediately turn to glare at him. "it's not nice to sneak up on people like that!" you hiss.

he laughs in response. that cocky, drawn out, ear-grating noise sending chills down your spine. you try to maintain your frown, but your expression quickly contorts into one of shock as sukuna grabs you by the chin. is he even trying to be delicate? this hurts..

he tilts your head in a bunch of different directions, looking at your bruised nose you've since put a pink band-aid on. you huff: "hey! what do you think you're doing, huh? you're hurting me.." at which, to your surprise, he gentles his touch immediately.

"try not to get your panties in a twist, little one." he grins, letting go of your face. "was just trying to see the damage. cute little decoration you've got there. does little to distract me from the massive blue bruise, though."

"yeah, wonder how that got there.." you pout, rubbing your chin where his fingers just held you.

sukuna stands up straight again, looking you up and down. his grin only widens. "football game tonight. wanna come? i'll save you the best seat as a consolation. might even give you my jersey~." he teases.

"why would i want to see more of you, hmm?" you retort, "you haven't been particularly nice to me in the less than 24 hours we've been aware of one another."

he rolls his eyes at that, "yeah? and i'm trying to make up for it, you stubborn heifer. can't you see i'm trying my best here?"

"quite a sad 'best', if i'm being honest." you grimace, "besides, i'm not really into sports, so no thanks."

his cocky smirk falters at how quickly you've brushed him off, he's surprised enough to not even register you've already walked off until he sees you disappear in the crowd. he shakes his head in disbelief and returns to his friends, his thoughts occupied by the cute, plump cowgirl whose nose he almost broke.

he frowns at the recollection. when he first heard the yelp, it just sounded like a cry for attention, if anything. but seeing a new girl, especially one this pretty, with tears shimmering in her eyes.. your beauty rendered him speechless then, as much as it did now. so much so his friend has to slap him on the shoulder to snap him out of his train of thought.

unsurprisingly, you don't show up at the game. sukuna had been searching the stands, hoping you were there somewhere, but alas. no sign of you anywhere. it bothered him more than he'd like to admit. and it pissed him off royally since it affected his performance on the field.

they won. barely.

one of sukuna's teammates, a wolf-hybrid named toji, clocks his sour mood immediately. toji shoves his shoulder, grinning. "whats even gotten into you, dude. you sucked."

sukuna glares at him and grumbles something under his nose. when he's met with a raised brow, he chucks his shirt into his bag and turns to toji with a uncharacteristic seriousness.

"y'know that new heifer? the one i chucked a ball at yesterday?"

he can barely finish his sentence before toji bursts out laughing. tears in his eyes, clutching his stomach, doubled over. the works.

sukuna stares at him, unimpressed. he expected this reaction, but what else could he do? this is the first time he's sucked this bad, there was no getting out of this one.

through his wheezing, toji manages to cough out a: "zero pressure, bro. you folded under zero pressure!" which is then continued by even more wheezing.

the rest of the team has left the lockerroom by this point, leaving only the two friends. when toji finally calms down, he wipes his tears and looks at sukuna as if he's seconds away from laughing at him again.

"a girl? really? you could've said a fucking fairy cursed you and it'd be more believable." toji mocks.

"nevermind, you fucking prick." sukuna scoffs, grabs his bag and shoves toji aside to leave the lockerroom.

on the way to his car, his face was imprinted with the most nauseating scowl. he was pissed. how could someone he met a little over a day a go affect him this much? well, he thought to himself, he's never seen a sweetheart as enchanting as this.

this is just some stupid infatuation. love at first sight doesn't exist. it's all about your looks. it must be. so cute, soft and round..

in his car, sukuna grabs the steeringwheel tightly, almost cracking the damn thing. how does he get you out of his mind? it has to just be your appearance.. if he gets to know you, maybe some character flaw will reveal itself, bad enough he'll get icked out. or.. the next best thing. which should've been the first thought, really. sleep with you. he'll just hit it, get his fill, and he'll be fine. right?

turns out he definitely won't be. but that's for future him to worry about. he waits it out at first, hoping that as your bruise fades, so will your anger at him. he uses that time for research. he quietly observes what you like snacking on, but to his capitalistic disappointment, he manages to find out you make all your treats yourself. buying something similair will be an automatic downgrade from your homemade goods. he had to step up his game.

he watched what kind of pastries you ate, internally boiling with anger each time he heard fuckass toji laughing at him. he ignored his teammates jabs about how he had to work hard for someone's attention for once. which wasn't even guaranteed, by the way. he was painfully reminded of that fact by his friend.

it made sukuna rethink his actions so far. he's putting in all this effort, but for what? it's a far cry to imagine you being into him, especially since he's not only injured you but has yet to apologize. something you clearly valued, having called him an asshole for refusing and all that.

meanwhile you've been freaking the fuck out. for the last two weeks sukuna has been glaring holes into your face, often followed by frantic writing. a man that big, that muscular.. did i mention big? it was extremely obvious whenever he did something, so subtlety was not in the books for him. which means you did in fact notice him following you around, writing something when you ate, and then leaving just as quickly. his heavy footsteps a dead giveaway each time, no matter how far away he was. his horns weren't working in his favor either, the bold design on them making him stick out even amongst other horned hybrids.

your annoyance and anger still lingered, mostly out of pettiness due to a lack of an actual proper apology.

just as you ran out of cute band-aids to use, the bruise has faded enough to no longer stand out. your not-so-secret 'admirer' thought it was the perfect time to strike. just.. not your nose this time.

walking into the courtyard you're forced to look up from your phone, immediately faced with a paper bag held by none other than sukuna. it was comically small compared to his massive hand, but even through the paper whatever was inside smelled absolutely delicious.

your eyes then dart up, his chisled, tattooed face contorted in an unreadable expression. his gruff voice startles you out of your stupor.

"here. take it," he shoves the bag closer. "got it for ya."

your eyes widen, lips forming a tiny 'o'. you take the bag from him, your fingers brushing against his. you open the bag, finding a muffin. but not just any muffin. a chocolate banana muffin. you look back up at him in an instant, eyes sparkling with excitement and cheeks flushing with warmth.

"where'd you get that? no one around here sells this stuff.." you ask, voice full of wonder. you take out the muffin, sniffing it up close. even more enamored by the smell, an involuntary 'moo' escapes past your lips.

sukuna looks off to the side, glancing back at you every few seconds. his face is adorably red, he looks shy for once. it kind of reminded you of your first meeting, when you first locked eyes.

"nothin' special. this a better consolation? figured you'd like this more than a sweaty jersey." he grumbles, rubbing the back of his neck.

you take a bite, and instead of an explosion of your favorite flavors you're met with flour pockets, and what looks more and more underbaked the lower in the muffin you go. you muster up a smile, chewing cautiously.

he eyes you warily, his eyed narrowing. it's for the first time you notice his stringy tail, which is now whipping behind him, giving away his nerves.

"it's.. great. thank you." you force yourself to swallow. your smile turning cautious.

"it's shit, isn't it?" he asks, taking on an accusatory tone.

"well.. maybe your oven was on the wrong setting..?" you attempt to salvage the situation. "look, baking is hard! and it's a great first attempt, i swear!"

though it seems to do very little to comfort him. not like he should need it in the first place, he's the one apologizing. hmm, does this count as one if he doesn't actually say it?

he runs a hand down his face, his face getting even more red. "forget it. sorry, or whatever. good for ya, the bruise is gone." he makes a move to walk off again, but is stopped by your hand grabbing his. his head whips back to look down at you, confusion written all over his face.

"i can teach you. if you want to." you offer, tugging on his hand gently. he may be an ass, but if all that staring at you was him trying to learn more about you and how to say sorry.. well, you can't really argue with how cute that was. especially from a guy who looks as tough as this.

he raises a brow, "teach me? why?"

"well, i think it's very sweet that you tried. and honestly, just a few more minutes of mixing and the proper oven setttings would've made this quite perfect." you smile, his gaze softening at the cuteness of it.

"maybe you'll become good enough to be my little kitchen assistant?" you tease.

he rolls his eyes at that. though, he hasn't pulled his hand away yet. still snug in your grip, he tugs you a bit closer.

"kitchen assistant? is that the only position left? i was looking for a more.. intimate internship."

that was a week ago. now, having exchanged numbers that day, you were finally able to plan a baking class for sukuna.

dressed in your cutest dress, paired with a pink apron you waited excitedly for sukuna to arrive at your apartment. you didn't have to wait long, the bell ringing exactly on time.

behind the door is a casually dressed sukuna. the same hoodie he gave you to stop the bleeding back then, paired with some grey sweatpants. you had to force yourself to look away from those.

his nose piercing swapped out for a black ring, and the design on his horns changed to one that matches his tribal tattoos more. while you were busy basically drooling over him, he smirked and snapped his fingers in front of your face. "done with starin'?"

heat flushes up your neck and you step aside to let him in. quickly wanting to change the topic, you lead him into the kitchen where you laid out all the necessary tools and ingredients. "look! i thought we'd bake some cinnamon buns."

with a mild amount of grumbling from sukuna about all that effort, you manage to actually teach him something. like the different oven settings you suspect were part of the failure of the muffin.

while the dough was mixing in that one expensive mixer you overpaid for because it was pink, you try to pry some information out of sukuna.

you look up at him with a teasing glint in your eyes, "sooo.. is saying sorry the only reason you followed me around like a creep for two weeks? you're not exactly subtle, y'know."

"tch, i wasn't followin' ya. maybe the hit got a bit closer to y'r brain than you thought. made you hallucinate or some shit," he scoffs.

"mhm, sure," you giggle, "there's no one else on campus with horns that decked out."

"copycats, y've heard of 'em," he tries to deflect.

laughing at him still, much to his dismay, you make him roll out the mixed dough. he hikes up his sleeves, revealing his insanely muscular forearms which make your eyes almost bulge out of their sockets.

you explain to him how to properly smear out the cinnamon mixture and roll it up evenly together.

"final step! cutting them evenly and filling up the tray with 'em," you clap excitedly. you hear sukuna chuckling as you take out a pink baking tray, because what other color could it have been otherwise.

you stick the buns into the preheated oven and settle down in your livingroom. he looks comically large on your average sized couch as you look over to him, finding him already looking at you as well. you shoot him an excited smile, "they already smell so good, don't they?"

"..yeah, they do." he answers absentmindedly. "thanks." he then continues.

"hmm? for what?" you tilt your head, your ears twitching.

he sighs, looking away, "for not laughing at me. when i gave ya that shit muffin."

"it wasn't shit.. you tried your best." you turn to him fully, tucking your legs under you. "i really appreciate it. it was a whole lot more genuine than the jersey offer."

he chuckles, "ain't gotta comfort me over that. and i meant that jersey thing. bet even that soft body of y'rs would drown in it. gonna look even cuter than you do now, with all that apron bullshit."

you huff, "looking cute is half the fun!"

"then you must be having fun all the time," he immediately retorts, looking back to you with that smug smile.

your face heats up dangerously at that, making you hide your face in your hands. "don't say things like that!"

he shuffles a bit closer, taking your hands off your face. his smugness has softened into something more tender. "ya scare me, y'know that?" his voice is low, hesitant. "known ya for three weeks. barely spoke to ya for the first two.. but i really want to keep goin'. wanna keep getting to know ya. i ain't never had that feelin' before."

you bite your lip, very tempted to tease him. but it's clear to you that this must be a very difficult thing to admit for someone as tough and crude like him, and if he's willing to do so after such a short time, it either means he's really determined to sleep with you as soon as possible, or is actually infatuated with you. for a peace of mind, you go with the latter.

"yeah? well, maybe that hit to the face did end up getting to my head, since i also wanna keep going.." you whisper, leaning in closer.

his large hand cups the back of your head, bringing you closer until your lips meet. he sighs in relief, as if he's been craving this since he first saw you, which he has.

you reach up, tangling your fingers into his hair, softly massaging the base of his horns. he groans deeply at the intimate touch.

he wraps his other arm around your plush waist, pulling you under him as he tries to stabilize himself properly above you on your couch which is still too small for him.

and it shows, because he loses his balance pretty much immediately and tumbles to the floor, tugging you with him. you land on his chest, with him flat on his back on your floor. you stare at one another in disbelief, before you burst out laughing. sukuna on the other hand, looks absolutely mortified. now it's his turn to hide his face in his hands, surrounded by the sound of your laughter and the delicious smell of your cinnamon buns.

a/n: im still learning how to write yearning (ーー;) can u tell, u can likely also tell im a sucker for clichés also this is my longest piece yet omgomg pls i did my very best i hope you enjoyed ♡ and a big thank you to indie for letting me participate, she's super kind, extremely talented and im very honored to be a part of this ♡

[nanamisgirly]

summary ✧ The campus womanizer who enjoys fucking anyone, his nerdy bestie is the total opposite, and far from his usual style. So why is he feeling...jealous, when she starts dating the sweet stem boy?

pairing ✧ chubby!nerd!fem reader x womanizer!geto

content ✧ fluff, mid angst, friend to lover, mention of bi geto, geto fucking anyone, not virgin reader but she didn't fuck that much, reader getting in relationship in front of geto, a lot of jealousy, reader cheating on her actual bf, p in v, creampie, enormous dick geto, multiple orgasms for reader, manhandling, multiple position, p€ssy drunk, slight choking, brat tamer geto, pierced geto (even his dddddd and tongue mhhh), overstimulation, rough and jealous sëx, cum play, geto wears rings, geto is mean really, degrading (calling her bitch and slut), pet name (sweets mostly, pretty and good girl), cock drunk, nipple play, unprotected sex, masturbation (both)

author notes ✧ ayoooo my little baby fic ( >▽<) !! thank you for the people who requested about my babies 🙂‍↕️🤞 y'all (or you) did bring this fic closer to my heart.

🌸. Their meeting. 🌸. Introduction of their friendship dynamic. 🌸. That stem boy making everything crumbles. 🌸. Geto destroying your relationship with the nice boy. 🌸. Well, they go RAWWW. 🌸. Aftercare. 🌸. How their relation as a couple goes. 🌸. Trying the new set of bikini you ordered in front of him. 🌸. A matching... piercing?

you can send asks about them if you wanna know more!! I love talking/seeing your perceptions (｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )

arts cred 0wwllly & chu-cho (ơn tumblr)

[saintnoctis]

not exactly sure how it should go, m!reader who’s the only one that picks up on leon’s sketchy behaviour, m!reader who becomes a little too obsessed trying to solve it, leon who thinks it’s cute he has such an clumsy stalker, until he realises m!reader isn’t clumsy and has way more information on him than leon though was possible, leon does everything to make m!reader be obsessed with him, scandalous

𝐈’𝐋𝐋 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔

leon kennedy x m!reader

𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐋𝐔𝐃𝐄𝐒 ! ── after realizing someone is stalking him, leon dismisses you as a harmless “fan” only to discover you’re actually terrifyingly smart about it and have built an unnervingly accurate psychological profile on him. lowk a mood change at the end.

You first noticed it with small things.

It wasn’t anything too dramatic. It wasn’t anything that was easily noticed nor was it anything that would make someone pause and think.

But you did.

Like the way Leon always arrived earlier than he should’ve been able too. Like how he never seemed to be surprised by anything, even when he should’ve been. Like the way he checked almost every reflection—windows, particularly shiny metal, car mirror–without making it obvious.

And the biggest thing?

People around him kept disappearing like they were gently erased from existence.

At first, you told yourself you were reading too much into it. That was the normal thing to do. But you didn’t let it go

You started watching him more closely after that.

Not in a sloppy way either. You made it look accidental—standing near the wrong hallway, showing up late to places on purpose so you could observe exits, acting like you were just another person trying to keep up.

Leon noticed you.

But he read you completely wrong.

“Kid’s pretty clumsy,” he’d mutter under his breath, watching you. “Always in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

You almost laughed out loud when you heard that.

Clumsy, huh?

If only he knew how much effort it took to look like that.

Because you weren’t clumsy. You were building a new identity.

Every movement, every accident, every ounce of hesitation—it was all under control. You were mapping him out piece by piece without him realizing he was just a puzzle for you to solve. And Leon? He just kept treating you like a harmless puppy that kept tripping over itself.

He even started softening toward you in a way that was almost annoying.

“You’re gonna hurt yourself doing that,” he said once, catching you by the elbow when you “slipped” near a stairwell.

You looked up at him, wide-eyed, like you were embarrassed.

“Sorry,” you murmured. “I didn’t see it.”

He gave a small huff like it was cute. Like you were just some kid trying too hard to keep up in a world you didn’t fully understand.

That was the part that made this so easy.

Because while he thought you were struggling to keep pace with him, you already had more information on him than most agencies would ever get approved to access.

His schedules. Alternate routes. Behavior triggers. Cleaned records that weren’t actually clean if you knew where to look.

Leon never once considered the possibility that the “clumsy guy” quietly trailing him wasn’t following his footsteps—you were ahead of him. Always.

Still, you didn’t correct his assumption. Now wasn’t the time to reveal yourself.

They way he underestimated you made everything run smoother and a helluva lot more interesting.

Leon, meanwhile, just kept going about his work, occasionally glancing back at you like you were a stray problem he hadn't decided what to do with yet.

If only he knew you weren't trying to keep up with him. You were already waiting for him at the finish line.

                          ༶•┈┈୨୧┈┈•༶

Leon, obviously, has dealt with many threats before.

The kind that don't hesitate. The kind that harm just for fun. So when he clocked you trailing him for the third time that week, he didn't exactly feel alarmed.

Just... mildly entertained.

Because you weren't good at it.

At least, that's the side of you that he's been seeing.

You were currently walking too close behind him again, pretending to be absorbed in something else while matching his pace a little too perfectly. Then you bumped into a street sign.

Hard.

It made a sharp metallic clang.

"Oh, s- sorry!”

Leon didn't even fully turn around. He just glanced over his shoulder, one brow slightly raised.

"Again?"

You looked up at him, almost startled. "Huhh? I—no, I didn't mean—”

And then, because you were so committed to the role, you tripped a few steps after.

Leon let out a heavy exhale through his nose.

Yeah. Definitely not a threat.

He truly believed you would lose a fight with a revolving door.

And yet? You kept showing up.

Always near him. Always in his periphery. Always just out of reach that would've been creepy if it didn't come with the consistent energy of an anxious mouse.

He'd seen real surveillance before. Professionals who were practically invisible, disciplined.

You were none of those.

And that’s why he didn’t take it seriously.

At most, he figured you were some overeager civilian who thought tailing a federal agent was a hobby. Or worse—one of those kids who got too fascinated with the idea of “spy work” and didn’t understand how fast it could go wrong.

So instead of confronting you properly, he started.. adjusting.

Slower turns into corners just to see if you’d keep up.

You did.

Stopping suddenly just to see your reaction.

You nearly walked into a door that time and stood there like you were personally offended by your own mistake.

Had had to bite back a smile.

“You okay back there?” he called out without fully stopping.

“Yeah—yeah, I’m fine!”

Still, he never let his guard down completely.

Old habits die hard.

Plus, you were moving like someone trying very hard to look inconspicuous while doing the exact opposite.

So when you showed up across the street from his temporary meet-up, pretending to read a map you weren’t actually looking at, he didn’t react beyond a small sigh.

“Still here,” he muttered.

He took a sip of water, watching you struggle with your own reflection in the window like it was an enemy you couldn’t quite track.

“Either this guy’s the worst tail I’ve ever had,” he thought, “or he’s not even trying.”

                          ༶•┈┈୨୧┈┈•༶

Leon didn’t usually just show up at people’s places.

That was the kind of thing rookies did, or people who didn’t know better.

But you weren’t exactly "people who didn’t know better,” at least not in the way he originally assumed. And after a few more days of your consistent, somehow-improving stalking, something about it started to itch at the back of his mind.

So he came anyway.

Your place wasn’t much. Small, organized in a way that looked normal at first glance. The kind of space that tried a little too hard to seem forgettable.

Leon stepped inside without announcing himself.

“Hello?”

No answer.

That made him pause for a moment. Because you were always around. Always present in the most inconvenient way possible. If you weren't here, it meant one of two things; you were out, or you were hiding.

He moved further in.

The room you called your “safe space” was exactly what he expected. Nothing suspicious—just a desk, a chair, a few scattered books.

Then he saw the folder.

It wasn’t even hidden well. Just sitting slightly off-center like it’d been moved recently and not returned.

Leon opened it.

And stopped immediately after.

Photos.

Not random ones.

Him.

Different angles, different days, different distances. Walking. Standing. Talking. Sitting alone. Standing with others.

Even moments he didn’t remember being visible to anyone.

His eyes narrowed slightly. “...Okay,” he muttered.

He kept going.

There were notes too. Pages and pages of them.

Sleep cycles. Route changes. Reaction delays. Micro-expressions. Behavioral inconsistencies across environments. Even predictions.

Actual predictions.

A few pages were labeled in bold:

“Stress response triggers (confirmed vs inferred)”

“Probable emotional suppression strategy: humor displacement + hypervigilance masking”

Leon blinked slowly.

This was analysis. Structured and uncomfortably accurate.

He flipped to another section.

“Risk tolerance baseline: artificially elevated due to exposure history (military/field conditioning likely?). Possible trauma normalization. High functional dissociation under stress.”

He stared at that one a little longer than the others. “You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he sighed quietly.

The next folder wasn’t even about his work patterns.

Just him.

Preferences. Habits. Even things he hadn’t consciously noticed about himself.

Self-perception gap analysis.

“He believes he’s more unpredictable than he actually is. In reality, his behavior is extremely consistent under close observation. He confuses adaptability with randomness.”

He wasn’t scared. But this wasn’t a funny gag anymore.

He looked around the room again, finally noticing details he hadn’t before. The way the desk was angled toward the door. The placement of objects within reach of the chair.

This entire room was mapped.

Like someone—you—had been simulating outcomes here.

His jaw tightened.

“You’ve been busy,” he said to the empty room.

And for the first time since you started trailing him, Leon didn’t think of you as harmless. Just miscategorized.

Because clumsy didn’t compile this, nor did it predict behavior with his level of accuracy.

                          ༶•┈┈୨୧┈┈•༶

Leon didn’t like being wrong.

And right now, he was pretty sure he had been wrong for a while.

Not about the fact that you were watching him, that part was obvious. What he’d been wrong about was the sheer scale of it.

So instead of confronting you immediately, he fed the pattern.

He “forgot” a file on purpose in a place he knew you could access. Nothing classified, nothing dangerous to know—just enough to see if it would move through your little system of notes.

It did.

Within two days, he found your writing about it tucked into one of your folders like it had always been there.

“Of course,” he muttered.

Then he escalated a bit.

He changed his routine. Took longer routes. Stopping in places with reflective glass. Letting conversations linger where they could be overheard.

And every time, like clockwork, you were there.

Still playing clumsy. Still pretending not to notice anything.

But watching everything.

He didn’t expect you to be so thorough.

You were updating your notes in real time. Refining conclusions. Adjusting probabilities like you were building a version of him in your head that was getting uncomfortably accurate.

Leon flipped through one of the copies he managed to intercept again later.

“You’re overthinking this,” he said to himself.

But he wasn’t exactly sure if that was true anymore.

He shifted tactics.

If you needed data, he’d give you data.

He started being unnecessarily visible.

Standing in his doorway with the light behind him long enough for anyone watching across the street to see a clear silhouette before he closed the blinds.

Leaving his routine coffee consistent for days so it became predictable again, then changing it suddenly for no reason just to see if you reacted.

He could tell you did.

The next time he passed your usual “accidental” meeting spot, your timing was off by half a second.

Then there were the personal spaces.

He didn’t like the idea of thinking about you analyzing him in those moments, but he couldn’t deny what you’d already collected.

He’d walk out of the shower still drying his hair when he knew the blinds weren’t fully shut.

He’d pause in the middle of a routine call just to see if he could feel your attention on him through whatever mental grid you were running.

And every time, he caught something in your pattern shifting.

He exhaled slowly one night, leaning back in his chair after another day of deliberately unguarded behavior. “You’re not clumsy,” he finally admitted quietly to the empty room.

“…You’re just bad at pretending you are.”

Because now it was clear.

You weren’t reacting to him anymore—you were studying his reaction to you studying him.

And Leon, for the first time, wasn’t sure who had started watching who.

                          ༶•┈┈୨୧┈┈•༶

The mission itself wasn’t the kind that left room for distractions. Low visibility. Tight corridors. Too many places for things to go wrong. Which is why it almost felt ironic that Leon picked that moment to finally stop pretending he didn’t notice you.

You were there, of course.

Not officially.

Not on any roster.

Just “somehow” in the periphery again, doing your usual routine—wrong-footed timing, slightly too close to the edges of safe cover, acting like you were just trying to keep up with everything happening around you.

But now Leon knew better.

He just hadn’t said it out loud yet.

You rounded a corner a second too late, nearly bumping into him in the dim hallway between two secured doors. You froze immediately like you always did when caught mid-act. “Sorry,” you started automatically.

Leon held up a hand. “Don’t.”

That made you stop.

“…What?”

He stepped close.

“You always do that,” he said mildly.

You blinked. “Do what?”

“Dumb,” he replied, like it was obvious.

There was a pause.

Then you tried to smile. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Leon actually huffed a short laugh at that. Not mean. Just… amused.

“Yeah,” he said, nodding slightly. “That’s kind of the problem.”

He tilted his head a little, watching you. Up close, you still looked the same as before—wide eyes, that same “harmless inconvenience” energy he used to file you under without thinking twice. Except now he could see the gaps.

“You’ve been following me for what,” Leon continued casually, like they were discussing weather, “weeks?”

Your expression flickered for half a second. “No, I just.. run into you a lot.”

“On purpose, hm?”

That made your shoulders go a fraction tighter—like you were deciding whether to keep the mask or switch it out.

He leaned slightly against the wall, rifle still secure, like this was just a conversation in a hallway instead of a breach of every normal boundary between them.

“You know,” he added, voice lighter now, almost teasing, “if you wanted attention, you could just ask.”

You did a quick glance away without denying. “You think I want attention?”

Leon shrugged. “You tell me.”

“I— I don’t!”

“Hey, now, I’m not exactly accusing you. Just curious.”

A pause before he added: “And a little impressed. You’re not as bad at this as I thought.”

He pushed off the wall slightly, stepping closer.

“Here’s what I don’t get,” he said, voice still easy. “You’ve got skills. You’ve got access to things you shouldn’t. And yet you chose… this.” He gestured vaguely at your entire persona.

You didn’t answer immediately. Which told him more than any denial would’ve. He gave a small, almost amused breath. “I’ll be honest,” Leon added, glancing past you toward the corridor like they weren’t in the middle of something complicated at all, “I thought you were just some awkward kid trying too hard. But you’re not.”

That silence between you changed shape after that. Less playful and a bit more aware.

He didn’t raise his weapon. Didn’t escalate it.

Just watched you like someone finally reading the correct version of something they’d been mislabeling the entire time.

“Still,” he said after a moment, tone easing back into something lighter, “you’ve gotta work on your acting. The whole ‘clumsy’ thing? Not as convincing as you think.”

A faint pause. Then, almost like he couldn’t help himself:

“It’s kind of cute, though.”

You stared at him for a second.

“…Cute?” you repeated slowly, like the word itself sounded wrong coming out of his mouth.

Leon’s mouth twitched slightly, immediately noticing the disbelief on your face.

“Yeah,” he said. “Cute.”

“What part of any of this is cute?”

Leon looked at you for a long second before snorting under his breath. “Everything now that I think about it.”

You frowned harder now, almost disturbed by the fact he seemed sincere about this.

Because in your head, the act had only ever served one purpose: lower perceived threat level. Make yourself forgettable. Make him underestimate you.

Which had worked.

Too well, apparently.

But cute?

That wasn’t part of this at all.

“You seriously thought that was cute?” you asked again, like you needed confirmation for psychological reasons.

Leon shrugged one shoulder.

“I thought it was funny at first,” he admitted.

You looked horrified.

“There it is again,” he said, amused.

“You were supposed to think I was incompetent.”

“I did.”

“That’s not—”

“You can be competent and still look cute doing something dumb.”

“You don’t understand,” you muttered, almost to yourself now. “The whole point was that you wouldn’t take me seriously.”

“I don’t.”

“That’s bad!”

“For you or me?”

You opened your mouth.

Then closed it immediately.

Leon tilted his head slightly. “You really thought I saw you as stupid?” he asked.

“…Didn’t you?”

“Nah.” He paused.

You looked dead at him.

“I hate you.”

“You wouldn’t stalk me if you did.”

You rubbed a hand over your face, suddenly feeling the weight of every fake stumble you’d committed to over the past several weeks.

The sign.

The revolving door.

The trash can.

Everything you’ve done.

Dear god.

“You know what’s messed up?” you said finally.

“Hm?”

“I spent all that effort building a believable persona and you reduced it to ‘cute!’”

Leon grinned a little at that. “Not entirely,” he said. “You’re scary too.”

That made you pause.

“Wait… really?” You asked as if it meant everything to you.

The amusement was still there, but quieter now. Underneath it sat something more like respect, maybe. Caution.

“You built a whole psychological profile on me,” he said. “You predicted behavioral patterns I didn’t even notice myself doing.”

“…It was effective, no?”

“Yeah.” Leon laughed again, softer this time, shaking his head slightly before stepping back toward the corridor.

“C’mon,” he said. “Mission first, identity crisis later.”

You were still standing there mildly shell-shocked while he walked ahead like he hadn’t just completely ruined your perception of your own undercover abilities.

And somehow the worst part was realizing he probably meant every word.

© 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐧𝐨𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐬 — do not copy my work.

[toruii]

───𝒮EVEN DEADLY SL*TS ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃

content: your parents pulled you out of college and sent you to a “discipline camp” because they thought you were too 'exposed' and 'dirty' plus, they were super religious. However instead of fixing you, it does the exact opposite of that. tags: counselor!gojo satoru :: pastor!toji fushiguro :: camp leader!nanami kento :: instructor!sukuna ryomen :: disciplinarian!geto suguru :: cleaner!choso kamo :: elder!hiromi higuruima :: fem!reader :: jjk :: creampie :: blowjob :: smut :: etc

w.c. 4.3k

tag: @charlisflyingangell

Gojo ✩ Satoru — Pride

You were doing this on purpose. You’d been at this camp for a month now and you’d purposely gotten into trouble more times than you could count. Why?

It's simple really.

Your counselor was hot—like..really fucking hot. Gojo Satoru. The hottest man in camp. He was most likely in his early thirties, with the hottest body you’d ever seen. But your favorite part?

The way he spoke to you when you broke the rules. His voice is always so strict and proper. You craved knowing how his voice was when he lost control.

So, you always showed up to his office dressed in barely contained outfits—short skirts, tops that barely contained your breasts—another rule you always broke.

And he noticed. Of course, he noticed. How could he not?

The way your eyes always flickered to his biceps. The way you shifted in your seat, your skirt riding higher every time you sat down in front of him, wearing that same innocent expression. Before leaving his office, you always leaned over his table to say 'thank you, sir', allowing him a clear view of your breasts before leaving with a grin.

God, you were killing him.

And he was finally starting to lose his patience.

ᢉ𐭩⋆˚࿔

Gojo had you bent over his table, one hand around your throat and the other on your hips as his cock drove into you in rough fast thrusts. “You wanted this didn't you?”

"Mngh—" He pulled out, watching you clench desperately around nothing. Gojo grinned and thrust inside once more, burying himself balls deep inside you. His balls slapped against the curve of your ass, making your cheeks bounce and yout body jerk forward.

Paperwork and pens clattered to the floor as you gripped the table for stability. "All those times—those outfits..you fucking tease."

Your moans and whimpers filled the room, tears streaming from your face in pure unfiltered pleasure. "Ngh..'toru you're soo deep."

You gasped, back arching as he rocked his hips into you, pulling out and slamming my cock back into your pussy each time.

Your back arched—pushing your ass against him, allowing him to slide deeper inside you.

"Fuck—you're killing me baby."

"You wanted this didn't you?"

"Yes," You moaned, knees feeling weak.

"How much?"

"So bad, 'toru please." You cried out, orgasm fast approaching.

"Good girl." Gojo rewards you by dropping a hand to your pussy, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing it in fast circles.

Your pussy wetter as his thrusts got faster. He grunts, gripping your hip tighter. "Cum with me baby."

His hand squeezed your throat and that was your undoing. Your pussy clamped around his cock as you came. Eyes rolling back, hot white pleasure filling you. Gojo groans, his thrusts flattering. He thrusts into you one last time, cumming with you. You whimpered, ropes of him filling you over and over.

"Hah—look at you." Gojo pulls out, watching your joint orgasms leaking out of you, falling to the floor as you shuddered.

"Come, let's get you cleaned up."

Ryomen ✩ Sukuna – Wrath

Sukuna prided himself on one thing. He was a patient man. There's nothing in this world that made his patience slip—except for you of course.

It started with an outdoor activity—scavenger hunt. You came late, you refused to participate and even worse? You talked back to him. He thought since it's your first day there, you'd learn eventually but no—you only got worse.

He cornered you in the shed, trying to be civil with you and in return he got attitude and he had enough of you.

ᢉ𐭩⋆˚࿔

"Open your mouth. If you're going to act like a whore, then suck me like one."

"Sir—" You begin to speak, the look in his eyes made you pause. Deep down, this is all you've wanted from him. He knew that—hell botj of you did.

You barely had time to breathe before he shoved his cock past your lips, stretching your mouth wide. A groan rumbled from his chest as he hit the back of your throat with barely any resistance. A choked sound slipping from you.

"Fuck—that's it," he growled, hips snapping up roughly. His hand gripped your hair harshly. Forcing you down to take more of him. "Take every fucking inch, brat."

Sukuna was merciless with you. He fucked your mouth with barely contained anger. Each thrust was deep, his thick cock bullying its way down your throat while his grip on your hair kept you exactly where he wanted you. Saliva dripped down your chin as you gagged and sputtered around him, hands scrambling to his thighs to grip desperately.

Sukuna grins, a sadistic smile on his face as he watched tears streaming down your face. "Yeah?Not so bratty now are you?"

He hissed through gritted teeth, his eyes glowing. "All those times I wanted to punish you for misbehaving...."

He held your head down, forcing you to take him to the hilt until your nose pressed against his pelvis—refusing to let you up for air. Your thighs clenched, each thrust from Sukuna made you even wetter.

Truth to be told, you thrived from this. All those days of acting like a total bitch finally paid off with his cock in your mouth and you had never been happier.

"You're loving this aren't ya?"

He groaned, pulling you back just to give you momentarily release before slamming back in.

The wet, filthy sounds of your mouth sucking him filled the shed. The gagging, slurping, his low angry grunts mixing with your muffled moans. Sukuna's thighs tensed beneath you as he fucked your face harder, chasing his pleasure. Your hand found it's way to his balls—a surpised moan slipping from Sukuna. Motivating you even futher.

"Ah—shit..I'm gonna cum." He tells you. His pace turned sloppy, hips snapping as he chases his orgasm. "Fucking swallow it."

With a groan, Sukuna buried himself down your throat and came hard, thick ropes of hot cum filling you. He held you there, twitching and pulsing. When he finally pulled out, strings of saliva and cum connected your swollen lips to his still-hard cock.

Sukuna stared down at your messy, tear-streaked face with dark satisfaction. He smirked. "Get up and all fours. Time to really punish you brat."

Toji ✩ Fushiguro – Greed

Toji had never prided himself as being a religious man. If someone told him, 2 years after retiring he'd be desperate and become a priest and some camp? He'd laugh right in their faces.

Truly, Toji had no idea what he was doing. But it paid him good money so he did what he was instructed. Life at the camp for Toji was exhausting at times but mostly pleasant.

At least until you came there.

Your parents had sent you to this camp after you had 'flirted' with your father's boss—which to be fair, wasn't entirely true. Toji's carefully constructed routine was destroyed the second you came to his confessional—wanting to be forgiven for your sins.

Then you made your own routine, finding his confessional booth every afternoon to 'confess'. Yet you only spoke about one thing. Him. It was beyond obvious of course, the way you described the 'temptation'. You told him how much you craved him—in the nastiest details ever.

Toji finally had enough of it when you slipped up (on purpose) saying his name.

ᢉ𐭩⋆˚࿔

"Fuck..I need you. Right now." Toji sat on the narrow wooden bench and pulled you onto his lap, lining up his cock with your soaked entrance. You were beyond turned on—your nails digging into his shoulders.

He dragged you down onto him slowly, savoring every inch as your pussy stretched around his thickness.

"Mghh 'ji oh fuck.." You whimpered as you sank down on his cock. He was so huge. Toji groaned, eyes rolling back for a second.

"This is what I've been starving for...it took song long." Toji bottomed out, his hands gripped your hips with bruising greed and he started fucking up into you with deep, desperate strokes. He was pace was frantic, almosg like he couldn’t get enough of you. Ever since Toji's wife died his entire focus was on his job, not sex. Being in you felt so fucking live changing to him. "Been hard for days because of you,"

Your moans echoed in the small confession room. Your head falling against his shoulder as he claims you.

"..you've been in here whispering about wanting my cock and then leave me like nothing happened. Never again." You moaned loudly as he thrust up harder, his thick cock dragging against every sensitive spot inside you. The booth creaked with every greedy roll of his hips.

Toji's hands found your ass. Gripping your ass and pulling you down onto him. "Come on doll. Ride me,"

He tells you breathlessly, his voice rough with desperation. "Give me that greedy little pussy. It's mine now."

You moved your hips. Bouncing on his cock as he thrust up to meet you. The wet, filthy sound of your cunt taking every inch of him filled the small space. Toji looked completely lost in pleasure, forehead pressed to yours, breathing ragged. "I'm never letting you go after this."

He groaned, fucking you deeper. "Gonna fill this tight cunt every single day. Keep you dripping with my cum inside you..you want that don't you?"

His pace grew faster, more urgent and pure greed taking over as he chased his pleasure and yours. One of his hands slipped between you, rubbing your clit in messy, desperate circles. Your whined, clenching around him. "Fuck 'ji plesse..im so close"

"Yeah? Cum on my cock doll. Milk me." you clenched hard around Toji as your orgasm hit. You hit his shoulder to muffle your scream, causing Toji to freeze. He cursed loudly and buried himself as deep as possible, pumping thick, hot loads of cum into you with greedy, stuttering thrusts. He held you down on him, making sure not a single drop escaped. You both sat there, breathless and needy.

"Again." he whispered, already starting to roll his hips again.

Suguru ✩ Geto – Envy

Being the disciplinarian of Camp Biscuits meant one thing. Order.

Suguru Geto had always been one to be orderly. He ensured the rules were carried out, kept the camp in order for Nanami and made sure everyone remained on their best behaviors.

So, what the hell was it with you?

You never once showed fear the authority in his voice nor have you listened. Instead you insisted on doing the complete opposite of keeping order.

You were always late to sessions, you refused to do what he said, he'd spot you by the river at midnight, half naked after being told not to go there.

Suguru hated it. He hated how much you ticked him off, he hated the fact you were so irresistible, he hated every moment of it.

You picked up on his unexplainable desire for you of course. It was only natural since..you wanted him too. Normally, you'd make your move on him but for once, you wanted him to break first.

So, it began with your teasing glances, the new found desire to obey the rules, the inappropriate clothes..flirting around with others.

Suguru catched on easily at what you wre trying. He wasn't stupid—obviously not. But..how could he really stop himself from temptation?

ᢉ𐭩⋆˚࿔

"You just couldn't help yourself, could you?" Suguru's voice was low and dangerously smooth, but laced with pure venom. He stood behind his desk, arms crossed, dark eyes burning with envy as he stared you down.

"Flirting with Satoru right in front of me? Knowing I was watching?" He stepped closer, tall and imposing, his long hair loose over one shoulder. The envy radiating off him was palpable— hot, ugly and starving.

"See, I think you wanted this. You wanted to make me jealous," he said, voice dropping even lower. "Guess what love? It worked."

"Mister Sug—" He cuts you off with his finger. Backing you against the wall, his mouth crashing against yours in a possessive angry kiss. His hands trailed down your body. Rough and greedy, sliding under your camp shirt and squeezing your breasts harshly. He broke the kiss, breathing heavilh. "These are mine, love. Not Gojo's or anyone else. Just mine."

"Mm...Suguru wait—" He spun you around and bent you over his desk, yanking your shorts and panties down in one harsh motion. Refusing to give you any time to speak.

You heard his belt and zipper, then felt the thick, heavy heat of his cock pressing against your soaked cunt. Suguru hissed. Rubbing his mushroom tip against your slit. "Shit. Look at you, already dripping...did flirting with him get you this wet? Hm?"

"Suguru s-stop talking and fuck me already—ah!"

Suguru pushed inside you with one deep thrust, burying his cock to the hilt. A broken moan left your throat as he stretched you open.

He groans at your tightness. Giving you a moment to adjust to the feeling of him inside. After a moment he starts fucking you with hard, deep strokes that made the desk creak beneath you. "See who's fuckin' you? Not him. Me. I see the way he looks at you and I want to kill him."

"Do you want a death on my hands, love?" Every thrust was fueled by jealousy. He gripped your hips tightly, pulling you back onto his cock like he was trying to claim you completely. "S-slow down—hah no..no killing please."

"Shut up." he grits, a hand sliding up to wrap around your throat. "I'm going to make sure every time you sit down tomorrow, you're going to feel me."

He leaned over you, lips brushing your ear as he drove into you faster. "Say it love. Tell me whose cock is ruining this pretty pussy right now." "Yours, Sugu—fuck, all yours" you gasped, your hips pushing back against him, chasing your orgasm.

"Good girl."

His pace turned punishing, hips snapping against your ass. "And I'm the only one who gets to fuck you. The only one who gets to fill you up."

His fingers found your clit, rubbing tight circles while his cock kept pounding into you. The pleasure got too much. You clenched around him desperately, eyes rolling back as you finally came around his cock and crying out his name. Suguru followed right after with a groan. Your grip on his cock so tight—literally milking him. He buried himself as deep as possible, pumping thick ropes of cum inside you, like he was marking his territory—which he was.

He stayed inside you for a long moment, breathing heavily against your neck, still twitching. "Don't ever test me like that again," he whispered, pressing a surprisingly soft kiss to your shoulder.

"Maybe don't pretend you don't want me then.."

Suguru's eyes darkened at your words. "Oh yeah? Seems like I didn't discipline you enough yet."

Nanami ✩ Kento – Sloth

Nanami Kento was overworked and deprived of sex. Being the leader of Camp Biscuits came with it's pros and cons—mostly cons.

He had to work everyday regardless of the staff he had. He hated every single second of his job. Sometimes he'd wonder, was quitting easier? Or..perhaps a trip to Malaysia?

Of course none of those became reality. Nanami began slacking off as the weeks went on. Having you as a new member in his camp messed with his head more than he wanted to admit. Regardless of hating every minute of his job, he never slacked off. Never once broke his composure or his neat proper schedule.

But, you were so irresistible. A beautiful sweet lady always talking to him in the sweetest tone ever. In his mind, you were sent from the gods above to help him.

And he definitely made the most of this..blessing he'd like to say.

ᢉ𐭩⋆˚࿔

Nanami's private quarters was on the other side of the camp. Quiet and dimly lit. Nanami lounged back on the large leather couch. His shirt was unbuttoned, tie loosened and his blond hair slightly messy as he watched you with heavy-lidded eyes.

"You've been awfully restless lately, princess" he tells you. You've been teasing him for weeks after catching on his desire for you. At first, it started with innocent gestures before they got bolder. Bending over in front of him, "accidentally" brushing against his body, wearing shorter and shorter skirts whenever you saw him. Nanami pretended he hadn't notice your desperate acts. Afterall, how could he?

Instead, he waited until you needed him beyond resisting. Like tonight.

"Come here," he ordered calmly, patting his thigh. You straddled him without hesitation—too far gone before he even touched you. Nanami didn't move much. It was late at night and he was tired. To his surpise you werent wearing panties under that dress of yours. Your wetness soaking his pants.

He leaned back further, one hand resting on your waist while the other guided his thick, heavy cock out of his pants. He was already rock hard, veins pulsing and leaking pre as he rubbed the fat tip along your soaked slit. "Ride me princess."

He whispers—his eyes burning with quiet hunger. "Fuck yourself on my cock like a good girl yeah?"

"O-okay.." you mumbled, raising your hips before you sank down onto him with a shaky moan, stretching around his girth. Nanami let out a sigh of pleasure as your warm, wet cunt swallowed his every inch.

"That’s it..." he breathed, head tilting back against the couch. "Good girl."

His hand stayed steady on your hips—allowing you to choose the pace. Your moans and whining filled the room whenever you sank back down—allowing his tip to hit your cervix. His hands lazily squeezed your ass.

"Fuck princess look at you," he said quietly, voice roughening. "Such a desperate little thing aren't you?"

"Mngh—yes..please you feel so good."

You began picking up your pace, moaning as his cock dragged against every sweet spot inside you. Nanami's breathing grew heavier, every whimper you made felt like music.

"Faster princess," he commanded softly, eyes half-closed. "I want to feel you creaming all over me."

His fingers finally moved from your hips, trailing down to between you two. He lazily rubs slow circles on your clit while you bounced on his cock. The contrast between his relaxed posture and the filthy way his dick stretched you open was dizzying. "I—I can't anymore please..so tired Ken."

Your legs started shaking, orgasm approaching causing Nanami to take the lead. He thrusts up in you few from below, just enough to push you over the edge.You came hard, pussy clamping down around him as you cried out. Nanami groaned lowly, eyes fluttering shut in pure lazy bliss as he spilled deep inside you, thick ropes of cum flooding your cunt while he held you down on him.

Even after finishing, he didn't pull out yet. He wrapped one arm around you, keeping you seated on his cock as he relaxed back into the couch again, breathing steady. "Stay like this for a while princess..." he murmured, voice sleepy and satisfied.

Hiromi ✩ Higuruma – Lust

The elder's private quarters were quiet and dimly lit by candlelight. Hiromi Higuruma, one of the camp's most respected spiritual elders, had you sitting on the edge of his heavy oak desk with your legs spread obscenely wide. His dark eyes burned with pure, unfiltered lust as he stared at your glistening cunt like a starving man. "You keep coming to me night after night," he murmured, voice low and rough.

"...confessing how you touch yourself thinking about my mouth. How you soak your panties during my sermons just from watching my lips move."

He slowly sank to his knees in front of you, robe partially open, revealing his toned chest. Lust had completely consumed him. "Oh and I'm so done resisting."

Hiromi grabbed your thighs and yanked you forward roughly, burying his face between your legs. His hot tongue dragged straight up your dripping slit, licking a long, filthy stripe from your entrance to your swollen clit. The sudden pleasure causing you to jolt. A moan slipping past.

"Fuck...you taste even better than I imagined," he groaned against your cunt, the vibration making you twitch. He was shameless — loud, wet, and ravenous. He licked and sucked like a man possessed, tongue fucking deep into your hole before pulling back to swirl around your clit.

Two long fingers pushed inside you without warning, curling instantly against that spongy spot while his mouth latched onto your clit and sucked hard. You whimpered. Fingers gripping his hair as your hips bucked against his face.

Hiromi growled in approval, the sound vibrating through your core. He devoured you like a man starving. His nose bumping your clit as fingers pumping deep and fast inside fo you. Slick sounds filled the room as he ate you out like he'd been fantasizing about it for months.

"Look at this pretty cunt dripping all over my face," he groaned, pulling back just enough for you to see his chin and lips shiny with your juices. You blushed. Suddenly feeling embarrassed.

"Ugh can you..stop talking?"

"You were grinding on my face like a desperate slut and now you're embarrassed?" He smirks at your flustered face before he dives back in even more desperately, sucking your clit harder while his fingers curled and stroked that perfect spot inside you. His other hand gripped your thigh so tightly to ensure you couldn't escape.

"Hiro! W-wait fuck, I'm gonna cum—" you whimpered, legs shaking around his head. He doesn't stop. If anything, he became more aggressive. His fingers hit the sensitive part inside of you, sending you over the edge. You came hard, crying out his name as your cunt clenched around his fingers and gushed against his tongue.

Hiromi groaned. Licking and sucking up every drop like he was addicted, refusing to pull away even as you twitched and trembled from overstimulation. Your back arching as you try to escape. "T-too much I can't—"

He finally lifted his head, his eyes were glazed with lust, lips swollen and glistening. He pressed a wet kiss to your inner thigh, breathing heavily.

"Too much?" he grins, voice dark and dripping. "We're not done until I have you squirting on my tounge baby."

He leaned back in, flattening his tongue against your sensitive clit with a hungry groan. Your eyed rolling back. "Shut up and let me enjoy my meal."

Choso ✩ Kamo – Gluttony

Choso had never once encountered seduction or temptation during his years as a cleaner at Camp Biscuits. Make no mistake, he wasn't a virgin. After his first fuck, he never found anyone else interesting enough to focus on.

Until you.

Choso was inlove with you. The moment he was cleaning and some kid knocked over his supplies and you helped him? He fell inlove. Truly, you were an angel in his eyes.

And he'd do anything for you.

ᢉ𐭩⋆˚࿔

The camp's old storage cabin behind the mess hall was quiet and dimly lit. Choso had you pressed against a stack of wooden crates, his large hands gripping your thighs like he was afraid you'd disappear.

"I-I tried to stay away," he breathed, voice hoarse and shaky. "I really did...but you kept hanging out with me, smiling at me, letting me see you in those tiny shorts. I can't stop thinking about you. I'm so fucking hungry all the time. For you."

"Please let me taste you.." He whimpered dropping to his knees right there on the dusty floor. "Can I have you?"

You looked down at him, flustered and grinned. "Okay.."

That confirmation was all he needed. He yanked your shorts and panties down in one desperate tug—wasting no time to bury his face between your legs like a starving man. A deep, guttural moan ripped from his chest the second his tongue touched your pussy. His eyes rolling back at your taste.

"You taste so divine—hah..my angel." he groaned, licking long, messy stripes up your slit before sucking your clit into his mouth.

He was loud, sloppy shameless—eating you out like your cunt was the best thing he'd ever tasted in his life. Choso's hands squeezed your ass, pulling you harder against his face as he devoured you. Your hand gripped his hair, your head falling against the wall. "Yeah..mmm Cho just like that."

His tongue pushed inside you, fucking in and out while he moaned and hummed in pleasure, the vibrations shooting straight through your core.

Two thick fingers joined his tounge. Sliding deep into your soaked pussy and curling greedily. He couldn't get enough really—he kept pressing his face deeper, rubbing his nose against your clit while his tongue worked you relentlessly. Your grip on his hair tightened as your legs started shaking. Choso whimpered against your cunt when you clenched around his fingers, clearly loving every reaction you gave him.

"D-don't stop—please don't stop," you whimpered between the wet, filthy licks. Your moans served to motivate him. He sucked harder, fingers pumping faster, completely lost in pleasure.

When you finally came, crying out his name and gushing against his mouth, Choso moaned like he was the one orgasming. He licked and drank up every drop, refusing to pull away even as you twitched from sensitivity.

But he still wasn't satisfied. He stood up, breathing heavily, lips and chin shiny with your juices. Without a word he lifted you onto the crates, spread your legs wider and dropped back down to continue eating you out. "One more," he rasped, eyes glassy with hunger.

"Just one more please my angel." he whimpers, his tongue flattening against your sensitive clit again as he groaned in pure bliss.

"Ah—Cho!"

floralasylum © all rights reserved. do not plagiarize or repost my work. reblogs appreciated<3

[bumpen-underbeds]

One of the little ones in your class is adamant you are going to be their new parent.

At first it was cute, the excitement they had as they presented you with a drawing of you, them and their parents all together, but soon they began telling everyone that you were going to be their new parent, even starting small fights to the point of bitting, with other kids when they would disagree with the idea of you being their parent.

While the little one is a Naga and their bite has no venom behind it right now, bitting other students is not acceptable.

Which is how you ended up here, sitting with the child in question and their parents after school, looking at the Naga couple and explaining that their child is lovely but has fixated on the idea of you being part of their relationship, to the point of bitting and getting physically involved with the other children. Gently encouraging them to explain to their child that while you definitely care about their wellbeing and education, you're not a part of their family unit as a whole. Only, once you're done speaking and leave the air open for them to respond they look almost curious, tilting their heads and flicking their tongues before sending their little one to go play in the back of the classroom.

The sound of toys and whatever childish story the little one was playing out filled the background of the classroom, a few more moments passed before the mother spoke up, almost like she was afraid you would bolt at her words, telling you that they won't be telling their little one to do any of that and that they were in this meeting for a very different reason.

You'd thought you got along quite well with this particular pair, even having been given a rather stunning bracelet from them for your birthday last year, but the atmosphere now feels serious, tense, almost expectant.

Placed on your desk is a mid term transfer request, they wanted to change their little one to another teacher, before you can speak the father is cutting you off. He explains slowly that it wouldn't be good for you if you continued to be their childs teacher, and to avoid accusations of favouritism they were going to transfer them out to a new class, smiling at his mate before looking back at you with a similar fond look.

"It's been almost a year since you took our courting token, and we thought it was high time to begin truly acting as mates."

The gold bangle on your wrist feels heavier with every word and soft look the two of them give you.

[lefteagleblizzard]

𝒫𝔯𝔬𝔭𝔢𝔯𝔱𝔶 𝔬𝔣 𝔫𝔬 𝔬𝔫𝔢 𝔢𝔩𝔰𝔢 Leon Kennedy x male reader

Summary: What's worse? Once-human monsters caked in blood and hungry for flesh… a towering doctor who kept you locked inside Rhodes Hill Care Center since you first began remembering things… or the man willing to do anything to have you all for himself?

Tags: No use of Y/N. Male reader. Dark Leon S Kennedy: dangerous, lethal and charming. Flirting. Possessive behavior. Overprotectiveness. Gore. Protective Leon Kennedy.

ℳ𝒶𝓈𝓉ℯ𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉 - gif - 𝒩ℯ𝓍𝓉 𝓅𝒶𝓇𝓉

Words count: 6000

Rhodes Hill Care Center had never felt like a place built for healing.

Even before you understood what hospitals were supposed to be or learned from overheard staff conversations and the fragmented mutterings of other patients that normal places did not keep people behind reinforced glass and keycard doors.

Something about Rhodes Hill was wrong.

Its corridors were too bright in some places and too dim in others, fluorescent panels humming overhead with a nervous, air carrying the layered scent of antiseptic, old mop water, latex gloves, metal trays, stale coffee gone bitter on nursing desks, along the colder smell you could never quite name as a child but knew now as medicine.

Your ‘room’ sat in the lower level, one of the smaller observation units set behind thick glass panels framed in dull institutional steel, walls painted an almost-friendly off-white that yellowed under artificial light, a color someone had once selected believing it would soothe unstable minds.

Not that it worked.

Thin seams ran between wall panels and in the corners you could see where years of repeated cleaning had worn the finish down to a smoother, shinier sheen.

A small vent high above the bed exhaled a steady stream of cold air that smelled faintly of bleach and dust. Every few minutes it clicked as the system cycled, a sound so familiar it had become part of your pulse.

The bed was narrow, white and too firm, made with military precision by nurses who tucked the sheets so tightly that slipping beneath them felt like being packaged.

Pillow thin enough to flatten beneath your cheek in seconds, a rolling metal stand stood near the wall for IV bags even on the days you were not hooked up to anything and there was a monitor mounted outside the room behind the glass, its dark screen sometimes reflecting your own shape back at you at night when the hall lights dimmed.

The door was not really a door in the way doors should be, more a controlled access panel with a magnetic lock and a detector, meant to be opened from the outside, except on the rare days someone remembered or decided that a supervised walk would keep you cooperative.

Tonight the room seemed smaller than usual.

You sat on top of the bed, knees bent, bare feet against the stiff sheet, listening.

The routine had stretched too far.

Usually by this point someone would have come, a nurse to check your vitals with clipped efficiency.

Another to ask the same useless questions in the same practiced voice.

Then maybe, if the day had gone the way Dr. Gideon liked and if whatever numbers or samples he wanted from you had satisfied him, you would be granted a little freedom, a reward dressed up as treatment with few supervised laps through Rhodes Hill’s inner corridors or, on especially rare evenings, time in one of the common areas where the long-term patients drifted around bolted furniture and muted televisions.

No one had come today.

Hours had passed, ache in your back from sitting too long, growl of your stomach and constant creeping shift of thunder somewhere far above the buried concrete levels of the facility.

A same routine had ruled your life for as long as memory could hold.

Wake, needles, questions, testing, silence and observation.

Another tray of food slid to you with as little conversation as possible, another evening listening to footsteps beyond glass.

Ever since the first days you could remember clearly, Rhodes Hill had been your world. The basement units had been your house before you knew houses belonged above ground.

The other patients, unstable and unpredictable in ways that could turn frightening without warning, had still become the closest thing to family you had. Not because you understood the true meaning of family, but because you understood presence and the way some people looked for you when they were frightened.

Understood the woman who enjoyed attention and sang beautifully, enjoying hearing her talk profoundly of anything she wanted as you learned progressively everything about life.

Understood the man with bandages around his eyes and offered yourself to be his own eyes while he moved inside the place with that medical auctions for drip and grumbly whined to you about everything.

Although he was easily irascible, deep down he seemed to like your presence whenever you had the opportunity to step out of your ‘room’

Dr. Gideon liked to phrase it differently.

Therapeutic social exposure, he called it when he allowed you out.

Baseline interaction opportunities.

He liked making cages sound clinical.

Sometimes he had you brought to one of the exam rooms where the counters shone under surgical light and the tray instruments lay arranged in exact rows. There he would take always more blood, tapping a gloved finger against your vein with a patient sort of fascination before the needle did it’s thing.

On his kinder days, or the days he wanted something from you that cooperation would get faster than restraint, he would let the suggestions of the others sway him. A nurse would mention fresh air in the atrium levels, doctors chiming in would say increased privilege might produce better behavioral outcomes.

And then you would be allowed out.

Never alone but always with eyes on you, by it from a nurse, an orderly or security.

Even then, those walks had meant everything. The polished corridors, sharp turns where one department bled into another and glimpses through reinforced windows into rooms that smelled of chlorine or medicine.

Would it really hurt to go out and take a look around?

Maybe you could check in on your friends if they weren’t already in bed.

Sliding off the bed soundlessly and dropping to your knees, feeling the cool change from contact with smooth floor even through the thin fabric of your white pants. Lower yourself all the way to flatten yourself and reach beneath the frame into the shadows where dust gathered in gray ribbons and forgotten things sometimes hid, fingers finding the taped underside of the support bar exactly where you had left it.

Peeling the tape free and drawing out the bracelet you had kept and constantly used throughout the years.

White plastic, slightly yellowed with time, with the embedded amber yellow chip still intact under its smooth surface. An ID bracelet from a newcomer girl who had arrived disoriented and terrified.

You had stolen the bracelet in the confusion of her first week as she came to check on your vitals, quick hands and quicker panic, afterward she had vanished from your orbit as so many people in Rhodes Hill did.

Moved, perhaps, or taken elsewhere.

You had felt bad in your own way, a small sour knot of guilt that never fully dissolved, but guilt had not stopped you from hiding the bracelet or using it.

Thanks to her, you had slipped out on late nights when the lower ward ran thin on staff and half the building seemed to doze under storm-heavy skies, wandered the sleeping corridors and traded whispers with the few patients still awake.

Shared contraband snacks, laughed quietly in laundry alcoves and sat under the emergency stairwell lights listening to stories from people whose memories came in cracked pieces.

That was as close to belonging as you had ever gotten.

You crouched by the door and pressed the bracelet against the outside-detection point built into the panel seam. It took a few seconds of stubborn pressure and angle adjustment before the reader acknowledged it, followed by the tiny mechanical click, one of the most beautiful sounds you knew.

The lock disengaged and you backed away instinctively as the door slid open with a muted hydraulic whisper, breath catching in your throat from the thrill of it even after all these years.

The basement was so claustrophobic at times, floor polished linoleum and walls lined with occasional observation windows and storage closets.

Thunder grumbled above the concrete earth as you moved quickly.

You knew where to place your feet to keep them quiet, knew where the camera blind spots curved near the corners or which stairwell door on this level complained if opened too fast. In a few moments you were climbing from the basement, hand gliding over the cool rail, pulse ticking faster as you emerged upward into the broader heart of the facility.

The main lobby looked different at night, large enough to suggest the illusion of openness, furnished just well enough to make visitors believe in Rhodes Hill’s polished mission statement if any real visitors still came. You had memorized its shape over years of stolen glances and supervised crossings.

“Excuse me.”

The voice struck surprised and immediate across the lobby.

“What exactly are you doing out here?”

You turned toward the irritating noise with instant annoyance and found a nurse marching toward you, shoes clicking briskly on tile, expression already pinched into reprimand. You still couldn’t remember her name, she had not worked here long enough to sink into your internal map of the place.

She carried a medical record tablet tucked tight in her hands as the irritation on her face came in small precise shifts, flattening of her mouth first, then the slight draw of her brows inward followed by an exhale through the nose that lifted her upper lip just enough to make her look disgusted before she’d even finished hearing your answer.

“No one came to check on me,” you said, already defensive. “This is usually when Dr. Gideon lets me go out.”

She sighed heavily in annoyance, dramatic enough to make sure you heard it. Her shoulders dropped with the breath and her eyes rolled very slightly toward the ceiling before settling back on you. “You are going to put me in trouble with this attitude,” she said, voice tight with that fake patience staff used when they had already decided you were the problem.

“Honestly, I would expect more discipline from someone who has been here as long as you have.”

Something shifted at the edge of your vision and both of you looked.

A man had just stepped through the front entrance, tall, broad-shouldered and dark jacket still damp from the storm outside, leather catching the lobby light in worn matte streaks.

Blond hair, a little longer than severe professionalism would allow, falling in a loose lock near the side of his cheek.

Face with the kind of rough, worn handsomeness that didn’t need help from expression, though there was plenty of it buried under the restraint if you looked close enough.

Tiredness lived around the mouth and at the edges of the eyes, experience sat in the line of his shoulders and the way he moved, balanced and watchful even in stillness.

Dull blue eyes that settled on you immediately.

The nurse straightened instantly.

“Mr. Kennedy, welcome. Dr. Gideon has been expecting you.”

His gaze rested on you for a beat longer before moving to her with maddening calm.

“Funny,” he said, one corner of his mouth lifting just a little. “I don’t remember getting an invitation.”

The flicker of his gaze came back to yours as if he couldn’t help it.

“Well, he’s waiting for you,” the nurse said, already turning, then shot you a look from the side and muttered “you come along”

“Can’t have that, can we?” he replied smoothly, and the ghost of a smile remained at his lips as he fell into step behind the two of you.

His eyes cooled when they rested on the nurse after the tone she had used with you, a faint tightening near his jaw that suggested he was filing away details he didn’t like.

The hallway beyond the lobby stretched long and clinical, lined with offices on one side and internal windows on the other where blinds were partly drawn, your footsteps and the nurse’s clicks and the heavy, controlled cadence of Mr. Kennedy’s boots created a strange little rhythm through the corridor.

“So how long have you been working for… uh, Dr. Gideon?” he asked.

“Not long,” the nurse said quickly. “I just recently joined the team.”

Lightning flashed beyond the distant windows, bright enough to bleach the hall for a heartbeat. Your shadows leapt onto the wall to your right in stretched black forms and, for that instant, you saw all three of you projected there.

What caught in your chest was how close his shadow ran behind yours, broad and looming and near enough to seem almost joined.

“We care for quite a few long-term patients here,” the nurse continued, smoothing her tone into strict professionalism. “All undergoing experimental therapies developed by Dr. Gideon.”

“Experimental therapies?” he repeated.

“Yes. It’s all very cutting edge. The facility keeps a low profile due to the sensitive nature of the research.”

He nodded once, slowly, but you could still feel his attention on you. It was absurd how aware you had become of it in such a short time.

Not because he was the first attractive man you had ever seen, though the sheer difference of his presence in this place gave his attractiveness a sharper edge, but because he didn’t looked at you like data or a case file.

Every time you glanced behind and found his eyes already on you, something small and hot tightened under your ribs.

Swallowing turned difficult, air seeming to drag a little thicker in your throat, hated that he could do that with so little effort.

The nurse stopped at a pair of large double doors and ushered him inside a private office, larger than the basement rooms by a humiliating margin, lined with bookshelves, framed credentials, locked filing cabinets and a heavy desk of dark wood polished enough to gleam under the lamp with a fake skeleton nearby.

She turned back to you. “Wait here with him. I’m going to call for Dr. Gideon.”

Then she was gone, large doors closing behind her with a padded thud.

For a moment neither of you spoke.

Mr. Kennedy moved first, taking in the office with the clipped efficiency, gaze skimming the shelves, the corners, the window, the desk. He picked up a framed photograph from one corner of Gideon with his team, all of them posed in lab coats under bright sunlight. He studied it briefly, then set it back down and turned his attention to you.

“So,” he said. “How long have you been here?”

Leaning against the large door frame behind, careful not to put enough weight on it to lose your balance and crash into the hallway like an idiot. “Forever,” you muttered. “Since I could remember things.”

His eyes lifted to yours fully then. Serious, yes, but there was something gentler tucked into the severity and under all that roughness. The lines in his face made him look harder than he sounded, lock of blond hair falling loose near his forehead and softening the stoic cut of him.

“Anybody from outside ever come to visit you?”

His gaze moved over you again, quiet and unashamed, tracing the shape of your face, pause on your mouth, take in the fragile tension in your shoulders. Heat crept up your neck before you could stop it.

“No one I know of.” Then, because the words had lived in you too long not to come out when asked plainly, you added, “I was probably abandoned here.”

It had become the explanation that made the most sense after years of listening to others and collecting fragments of their histories. Parents who signed forms, guardians stopping visits, people left behind by those who could not or would not deal with what they had become.

He tilted his head slightly, the loose strand of hair shifting from said motion. His blue gaze stayed heavy on yours and this time the smile that touched his mouth was a little more visible, though no less strange for how soft it was.

“Hard to imagine,” he said, voice low. “I’d really like to know who’d leave someone like you here alone.”

The word hit you like a spark to dry tinder, heat exploded into your chest.

He watched the result with the faintest widening of that smile into a real grin, small but unmistakable, like he was entertained by how quickly he’d unraveled your system.

“Announcement: Code Six. Code Six. All staff, initiate emergency protocol.”

The words ripped straight through the charged bubble formed between you and the handsome stranger.

The doors banged open, nurses hurrying back in, visibly agitated now, composure fraying at the edges. “Mr. Kennedy, we need to leave immediately.”

“What’s happening?” You moved toward her on instinct and caught her shoulder.

Her head snapped toward you, eyes too wide now, breath coming quicker. “We all need to get out of here. Now.”

She turned toward the hall just as another figure lurched into view behind her.

At first your brain tried to place him as one of Gideon’s doctors because of the ruined remains of a lab coat hanging off his body.

His skin had the sick, waterlogged pallor of flesh gone wrong, gray-white stretched over features that no longer moved properly except in jerks, lips receding from the teeth in a permanent grimace while grayish-towards-the-black tears ran down his face.

His dead fingers twitched on the grip of a chainsaw he had as it was yanked alive and the engine roared.

A large hand seized your arm so fast you barely felt the movement until you were already being dragged back and crashed against a broad chest made of solid muscle.

Mr. Kennedy’s bicep locked across your frame to hold you close, hand on your arm calloused and strong even through the glove.

The chainsaw punched out of the nurse’s back and burst through her stomach in an obscene spray, her mouth dropping open in a soundless cry before the real scream came too late, cut short when the blade tore sideways through tissue and bone. Blood hit the floor in a red fan as her body dropped in a boneless collapse and the saw’s scream filled the office, chewing air and flesh alike.

Leon guided you behind him with astonishing gentleness for the violence of the moment, a firm push at your shoulder that placed his body between you and the thing wearing a doctor’s face before kicking a nearby metal-legged office chair that skidded hard across the floor and slammed into the zombie’s knees, opening its stance just enough.

He moved instantly cutting behind the arc of the chainsaw with a grip still tight on your arm to keep you moving with him.

“I think I want a second opinion,” he muttered while extracting a huge handgun.

He closed the distance on the chainsaw-wielding corpse with insane speed for someone his age. One step, pivot, boot driving into the back of the thing’s leg at the joint. It buckled and hit the floor hard, still trying to turn the screaming saw toward him. The magnum came level with the back of the doctor’s skull and fired.

Shot detonating the room at the revolver’s bark and the zombie’s head burst apart in a spray of bone fragments, blood and gray matter that painted the wall behind it. The body spasmed once and collapsed, chainsaw clattering loose from dead hands and skittering across the floor in a wild grinding spin until it finally choked out.

Your ears rang, too much had happened but fate kept firing more catastrophe towards you as snarling came from behind.

The office side door shuddered as more nurses and doctors in the same state as the chainsaw welding one was, shoved through with jaws working and hands clawing.

Mr. Kennedy stooped, caught the fallen chainsaw by the handle once the chain stopped whipping and hauled it up with caution, the engine coughed as he yanked and it came alive with a vicious buzzing roar.

He stepped forward, face nearly unchanged and set into an hard and stoic calm that somehow looked even colder with a blood-slick chainsaw in hand.

Before fully engaging the oncoming dead, he looked back at you quickly, eyes sweeping over you head to toe, checking for injuries.

When he found little more than shock, something in his features eased by a fraction.

“Stay behind me,” he said, voice rough. “Wouldn’t want that handsome face getting hurt.”

It should not have landed in the middle of all this.

Then he turned and met the first zombie, chainsaw carving upward into its torso with wet violence that drowned the creature’s snarl under the engine scream. Flesh split and blood sprayed hot across the desk and rug.

He drove through it without hesitation, letting the dead body open like a book fall to the ground in a puddle of infected blood before he wrenched the blade free and swung sideways into the next one.

The second corpse lost an arm at the shoulder in a spinning burst of black-red droplets and staggered, still advancing on blind instinct, only for Leon to step in and bury the chain deep across its middle. The body opened with gruesome resistance, then gave way. He shoved it off the blade with a jerk of his arms and pivoted around the third as it lunged, using its own momentum against it.

Blood sheeted over the floor by the time the last corpse dropped in two collapsing halves, the office looked less like a workplace than a butchered shrine.

You had ended up on the floor without remembering the moment you sat down, legs who had simply given up while staring at the ruin all around while your mind lagged painfully behind your eyes, trying and failing to fit what you had just seen into anything a human nervous system should be expected to accept.

Leon crossed the ruined office and lowered himself to one knee.

Blood speckled his jacket, fine spray dotted one cheek, hard planes of his face were still there, still stern and almost intimidating, but his hand when it came down on your shoulder was careful, voice scraping at an effort toward gentleness.

“You alright?”

You nodded, but the motion broke something in your throat when a sob tried to come with it, swallowing it down badly, hands shaking.

Getting back to full height he offered you one of his hands which you took.

Even hauling you upright while the other hand still controlled the heavy chainsaw, he made it look easy and when you stumbled the slightest bit, his body automatically adjusted to steady you.

“One hell of a first night together,” he muttered, mouth pulling into another dry and crooked almost-smile again.

Leon’s blood-flecked hand was still wrapped around yours when he moved towards the heavy emergency doors locked down by a lattice of metal braces.

Leon stepped forward, eyes narrowing once at the obstruction, then down at the chainsaw in his hand as if measuring one problem against another.

“Stay close,” he muttered, voice low and rough before bringing the chainsaw up.

The engine snarled back to full life in his grip with a vicious mechanical scream. He set the spinning chain against the middle brace, both hands steady on the weapon as the teeth bit into steel and orange tongues of fire spat from the point of contact in molten bursts, a storm of sparks showering outward and ricocheting against the walls in blistering little comets that showered over him in sheets, catching for an instant in his hair, hissing against the leather of his gloves, spitting harmlessly off his jacket and the hard line of his jaw.

He shifted to force the chain deeper, teeth chewing through another brace as orange spray intensified near the center seam.

A harsh metallic crack came from inside the housing, a jolt that kicked through Leon’s arms and then the front half of the tool split, blade assembly sheared away in a blur of smoke and slammed into the floor several feet off.

By then his other hand was already moving, Requiem drawn with smoothness together a compact flashlight snapped up in his off hand.

With a kick the metal keeping the door closed disintegrated completely.

The beam of light punched forward and tore a pale path through the darkness beyond the parted doors.

He barely turned his head enough for you to catch the hard edge of his profile and the blond strand hanging near his temple.

“Stay close,” he said again.

“Alright,” you swallowed and managed, though it came out smaller than you meant it to, more breath than voice.

You kept so near behind him that every step made you aware of his size, eyes snagging lower where there was a hatchet secured against the lower side of his back.

Its edge was darkened by fresh blood near the tip, sitting against the tight grey fabric stretched over his hips and thighs, making the contrast almost unfair. His pants fit too well not to notice, hugging the powerful build of his lower body in a way that made every shift of his bulky frame the more eye-catching.

He kept moving, gun raised and light steady.

“So,” he murmured after a few silent steps, his whisper pitched dry with sarcasm, “this one of your doctor’s therapy side effects?”

You stared at the line of his shoulders under the tight shirt and stuttered a little when you answered. “I—I don’t know anything. I swear. They never told me anything.”

He made a quiet noise that might have been acknowledgment.

“You can keep going?” he asked without looking back.

Terror had your heart in a fist, hands still shaking and the shard of broken bottle you’d picked up downstairs now dug cold and awkward against your palm.

“Yes,” you whispered. “I can do it.”

A tiny chuckle, more vibration than voice, nearly lost under the hum of the flashlight and the far-off alarms.

Due to him having his back to you, you caught only the edge of it.

“Good,” he said. “Lucky for you, you’re cute. Makes you easier to trust.”

Heat flooded up your neck and into your cheeks so fast it almost hurt. In the dark you were grateful he couldn’t fully see it, though part of you suspected he knew anyway.

“Are you a cop?” In a hushed voice, because your brain had found the first thing it could grasp.

His shoulders shifted almost imperceptibly and then a short laugh escaped him, dry and worn.

You remembered one of the patients on your floor with bandages around his eyes after an incident the staff always retold with too much relish.

He had attacked a police officer during some uncontrollable episode years ago and afterward, before they sedated him, had rambled to you about what cops looked like after asking him what they were and he had laughed so hard he cried.

“Used to be,” he whispered back, missing the way his face tightened briefly at that.

Nothing in his tone invited more questions and you understood that clearly enough.

Farther ahead, the corridor opened near an alcove where one of the wall switches or breaker panels had malfunctioned. The overhead lights there flickered on and off in erratic rhythm.

In the center of that broken strobe stood a figure wearing elegant clothes, skin the same dead, water-swollen gray as the others.

“Turn them off,” he rasped.

Click.

“Too bright...”

Click.

“Turn them off turn them off turnthemoff.”

Each flicker constantly made his frame twitch.

Leon’s arm shot out across your chest without looking, a silent bar of muscle halting you instantly.

Stay.

The message came through even before the slight angle of his hand reinforced it.

He slipped forward silently, flashlight beam dropping enough to keep from flashing directly across the zombie’s ruined face.

The hatchet came free from his lower back in one smooth pull while the zombie kept clicking the switch before Leon drove the weapon into the side of its neck.

Not a clean chop but a brutal sinking bite that buried steel into stiff tissue and half through the vertebrae. The zombie convulsed, fingers spasming on the switch so the lights flashed madly and Leon planted his weight, bicep swelling hard beneath the fabric as he forced the wound wider, using leverage and pressure as a tearing crack came, then the head came off.

It separated in a nauseating burst of blood and ruptured tissue, a geyser of dark arterial spray blasted upward from the stump in a violent fountain, pattering the wall, switch panel and floor. The body remained standing for the smallest impossible fraction of a second, pumping blood into the air from a neck attached to nothing, then folded and crashed sideways into the wall before sliding to the ground in a twitching heap.

Leon flicked the hatchet down to shake some of the blood free, then gave a tiny curl of two fingers without even really looking back at you, absurdly casual for a man who had just decapitated a once-human being with one arm.

Hurrying after him, carefully stepping around the corpse. Even on the floor the body still twitched, muscles spasming in ugly little aftershocks as trapped chemical energy and dying nervous discharge rippled through tissue that had not yet accepted it was finished.

“Do you know where Gideon’s office is?” he asked, not turning around, pistol staying raised and flashlight beam drifted with every measured step.

The tight shirt clung to his back in darkened patches where rain and blood had soaked in, shoulders broad enough to block half the hall. Each time he extended the gun, the muscles in his arm and chest shifted under the fabric with dense, heavy definition, bicep flexing as he adjusted his grip, large enough that the pistol in his hand looked almost secondary.

Nothing about him looked soft and yet he had checked your injuries twice already and kept placing himself between you and every horror in this building.

“Do you think Dr. Gideon is involved in this?” Asked after a moment of hesitation.

He turned his head just enough for you to catch part of his profile, lock of blond hair falling down the side of his face, brushing the stubble at his cheek with the motion.

“How about,” he murmured, thick with sarcasm, “for now I ask the questions and you answer them?”

That shut you up immediately, focusing instead on remembering on the times you had been brought through upper levels under escort or the few escape attempts that had made it farther than they should have.

“Top floor,” you said at last. “I saw him there before. Near the upper offices.”

Leon gave a quick nod and kept going, flashlight carving a narrow visible path through the suffocating dark.

After another stretch of hall, he tilted his head slightly and touched something at his ear.

“Sherry,” he said. “I’m getting close to Gideon’s office. Maybe I find something there.”

A woman’s voice answered in your earless emptiness, crisp and controlled, carrying the faint backdrop chatter of keys tapping quickly somewhere far away. “I’m surprised you didn’t ask me to find it for you.”

No speaker on the wall or person in sight, just the small device in Leon’s ear.

Leon glanced sideways and found you already staring at him with open curiosity, mouth of his edging up a fraction.

“Managed to find someone to help me out,” he said.

“You found someone in that facility who isn’t infected?” Sherry asked with genuine confusion.

Leon grunted approval. “Got there in time.” His side glance flicked over you once, warm and wicked in a way that made your stomach jump. “Saved the most handsome one, too. Honestly, if he’d turned, I probably wouldn’t have minded him jumping on me.”

Your gaze dropped so fast it almost hurt your neck, heat slamming across your face again while staring very intently at the floor as you followed him, gripping your pathetic glass shard harder than necessary.

Over the comm, Sherry made a quiet sound of disgust that still somehow carried amusement under it. “That is absolutely not the update I was looking for.”

You could practically hear the small scoff and the headshake behind her words, somehow even you could tell she was smiling despite herself.

“Contact me if you find anything,” she said and the line clicked dead.

The stairwell entrance came into view ahead, its push-bar door half open and emergency lights bleeding thin red along the frame.

Leon stepped toward it first, then a huge hand shot out from the darkness behind and lifted you clean off the ground.

One moment your feet were on the floor, the next your body was dragged backward against a mass of strength so overwhelming it made panic white-hot and immediate. The shard of glass nearly fell from your hand as fingers clamped around your upper torso and pinned your arms awkwardly as you kicked uselessly in empty air.

Dr. Gideon didn’t change into one of the mindless dead exactly, there seemed to be the same sight of the infection on his whole body but retrained his intelligence. He had always been tall, now the corruption seemed to exaggerate it, making him loom with grotesque emphasis.

Veins dark as spilled ink climbed the side of his neck and vanished beneath the collar of that torn coat, skin gone ashen and uneven, split at the temple, drawn tight over sharper bones.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked you first, rotten breath still carrying the dry, educated cadence you knew, only now threaded with something spoiled.

Then his eyes cut to Leon.

“And Mr. Kennedy,” he said, almost pleasantly. “You shouldn’t take other people’s things without asking first.”

Your whole body flooded with adrenaline so hard your vision narrowed, without thinking, you drove the sharp broken bottle neck backward into his arm.

It punched into the flesh above his wrist with a wet crunch and sank deeper than you expected. Gideon hissed, but not in pain, more annoyance, grip barely loosening.

Leon’s magnum shot cracked through the hall with force as the round hit Gideon in the head and snapped it violently backward, the impact so brutal you heard it before you fully understood it. Blood burst outward in a thick arc, droplets and heavier spatters painting the wall. Gideon’s hold failed all at once and you dropped hard to the floor, catching yourself badly on one arm, pain flaring hot from wrist to elbow as your shoulder jarred.

Scrambling up immediately and ran straight to Leon’s side as he was already sighting the gun again, stance squared, expression gone glacial.

The barrel smoked faintly in the flashlight beam.

"Sorry, doc. Guess that answers the custody question."

Said doctor answered with a roar, wound on his head knitted not perfectly but unfairly fast. Torn flesh shivered and pulled together, cratered ruin of bone sealed beneath a fresh spill of blood that cascaded down his face in dark streams.

Leon fired again.

The second shot from the magnum punched Gideon back a step, chest twisting with the force.

Then Leon turned his head sharply toward you.

“Run,” he said. “I’ll be right behind you.”

Running out of the hallway and into the bright white spill of the main lobby higher floor abruptly after the corridor’s suffocating dark, polished floors flashed beneath your feet.

Then metal bars dropped behind over the path you had taken in a thunderous sequence.

You spun just in time to see the hallway begin to close off even further as a reinforced wall panel descended from above.

Leon was still on the other side.

He had turned at the sound, Gideon somewhere beyond him in the dark passage. For one sliver of a moment, before the closing barrier cut him away, his gaze found yours through the narrowing gap, tension hardening around his eyes in concern before the wall sealed shut.

Suddenly, completely, you were alone.

Note: This was originally planned as a oneshot, but this first part alone ended up much longer than expected ✌︎. Let me know if you'd be interested in seeing a continuation.

[vinnyandthephenomena]

Telling Puppy! Leon to “Slow Down.”

MDNI. Puppy! Leon was driven by sheer instinct and hormones. Asking him to slow down was asking the ridiculous .. the near impossible. (or he didn’t want to.)

tags: knotting, rough p in v, puppy hybrid! leon, breeding kink, established relationship.

Your cheek was smushed into the pillows as Leon rutted into you from behind. “Oh, my pretty owner.” He grasped at your hips, licked a stripe up your neck to the back of your ear. It made you shiver. “I’m sorry.” He whined, ears flat on his head. “It can’t be that bad, feels so good.” He hummed, his hips never stopping their relentless pace. rough and needy.

“Leon! It’s too much.” You managed to choke out, nails digging into the sheets. “You need to slow down.” You panted, bare chest dragging against the mattress with each jerk of your body. You knew it was a stupid idea, giving into your puppy’s whining and begging. He knew how to persuade you, knew how to get exactly what he wanted. It started with wanting to sleep in your bed, and barging in on your bath time to join in. It seemed Leon lacked the concept of personal space. (or boundaries.) Yet you let him get away with it.

“Can’t.” He growled, fingers squishing into the fat of your hips. “S’ close already, gotta fill you up.” His breath was warm on your ear, his tongue running over it. You could only whimper, feeling his drool run down your cheek. “Give you my puppy knot.” He nuzzled into your shoulder, his hips snapping with increased intensity. It was frantic, chasing his high.

“Leon, please slow down. I-I’m serious,” Your words came out in slurred mumbles, the pleasure became hard to resist.

“Fuck, I-I can’t, gonna pop my knot s’ fast.” His chest was pressed to your back, humping you faster with every thrust. It was overstimulating to take him so deep and fast, over and over as his cock teased your cervix. “Gonna give you alll of it, make you a mommy.” He babbled, sliding his hands to grip your tummy.

“Leon,” You moaned, feeling his fluffy ears nudge your skin as he nuzzled close, as if he could rub his scent all over you. Claim you. If he wasn’t so needy, that is. He wasn’t typically the dominant one.

The metal name tag on his collar was cold when it brushed against your shoulder, reminding you of who owned who. Even if Leon acted spoiled and took what he wanted, he was yours. The very name you scolded and whimpered.

“Owner, my sweet owner.” He was drooling down your neck again, lapping at your skin and panting as he throbbed inside. Twitching and aching to knot your pussy. “Oh, F-Fuck.” A breathy whimper was spilled against your ear as he felt even thicker and bigger, grinding his hips as he stuffed you full. “Couldn’t help it.” Leon sounded a little embarrassed, panting as he kissed your cheek.

“You just wanted to.” You corrected, eyes fluttering shut. You were helplessly pinned beneath his sweaty body, not going anywhere for a good while.

“I did.” He admitted, fully content with laying top on your back. He was heavy, but didn’t seem to have a care in the world. Typical of your puppy—didn’t seem to have a lot going on in his dumb brain. He was all clingy, making the waiting period not so bad .. at least you were a fan of cockwarming.

[julymist]

Masterlist

gif by eddrawsstuff on X

🥀smut 🌻 fluff 🪻angst ⚠️ dead dove ✔ completed series

❌18+ MDNI❌

Leon S. Kennedy

Series:

You're gonna be okay Older Mentor!Leon x DSO Agent!Reader 🥀🌻🪻

Holding Out For A Hero Isekai Yandere!Leon x fem!OC🥀⚠️🌻🪻

Tenure of Teeth Vampire Professor!Leon x Uni Student!Reader 🥀⚠️🪻 ✔

One shots:

You're so mean, Mommy! Switch!Leon x Reader🥀

Copy That Leon x Reader x Clone!Leon🥀🌻

Positive Reinforcement Puppy Hybrid!Leon x S.T.A.R.S. Captain!Reader🥀🌻

Worth The Wait Virgin!Leon x Virgin!Reader🥀🌻

Quality Control Leon x Sex Android!Reader (D:BH AU)🥀

Can't Stop, Won't Stop Husband!Leon x Reader🥀

TBA

Headcanons:

Slut!Leon headcanons 🥀

TBA

Audios:

Rookie Leon hits it from the back 🥀

Re4 Leon gives your throat a test run (Quality Control)🥀

Re9 Leon wants endless shower sex (C.S.W.S)🥀

TBA

Tiktok Edits:

Re9 Leon Supermassive Black Hole

Re2 Leon The Less I Know The Better

ao3: auguststorm

[residentevilweirdo]

Too Sweet. (Leon Kennedy)

Summary: Just Rookie Leon being all clingy to you all the time because he loves you so much.

You often found yourself thinking that maybe Leon Kennedy was just too sweet for you.

Maybe it had something to do with the fact that he was one or two years younger than you, but even that did not fully explain it. When you were his age, you had not been like that at all. You had been sharper, moodier, a lot less patient with people. You did not follow others around like they were the center of your world, and you definitely did not look at anyone the way Leon looked at you.

You first met Leon the day he got assigned as your rookie.

That was not something you had agreed to. You had not even said yes to it, but somehow it still happened, and now you had to deal with it. The only thing that made it slightly worth it was the extra money that came with being a training officer, so you took it anyway.

Still, when he stood in front of your desk that day, you had to take a second to process him.

He looked… way too excited.

You could barely tell the difference between him and a kid walking into a candy store for the first time in his life. His posture was straight, but there was this restless energy in the way he stood there, like he was trying very hard not to move too much.

The moment you introduced yourself, his hand shot forward eagerly, reaching for yours in a handshake. His palm was a little sweaty from nerves, but you shook it anyway, watching the way his blue eyes locked onto yours and stayed there for just a second longer than necessary.

You noticed it, you just did not say anything.

His first day was simple, quiet, and steady. He followed everything you said, asked questions when he needed to, and overall did not mess anything up too badly. He was clearly nervous about being a cop, that much was obvious, so at the end of the shift you did something you normally would not.

You reassured him, told him he did an acceptable job. That if he kept going like that, he would probably become a good policeman one day.

You did not usually do that, but the way his face changed made it worth it, his eyes brightened instantly, his whole expression softening before he got visibly flustered, like he did not know how to handle being told something nice.

That should have been your first warning because from that day on, you could not get him to shut up.

Apparently, that little confidence speech you gave him really encouraged him.

Really, really encouraged him.

Because now you were not training a nervous rookie anymore, you were training a yapping puppy, a very talkative, very clingy puppy that followed you around the station every second of the day.

You were having lunch? Oh, perfect, he was actually feeling a little hungry too.

You needed to talk to the lieutenant? That was great, he wanted to say hi as well.

You needed to walk somewhere alone for five minutes? Not happening. He was already right next to you, mid-conversation, like he had always been there.

You needed to use the ladies’ room? Yeah, he would be outside waiting for you like a bodyguard. Sometimes you genuinely thought he would go inside if that was not considered weird.

Absolutely clingy.

And you tried. You really tried to make him understand, you explained why you needed personal space, why you needed time alone, why being around someone all the time was not exactly normal. He would just stand there, looking at you with wide eyes, trying to put the pieces together like it was some kind of complicated puzzle.

But somehow, he always got it wrong.

If you said, “Look, Leon, I like having you around, yeah? But that does not have to be all the time, you know that, right?”

All he heard was, “Leon, I like having you around… all the time.”

If you said, “Leon, get the hell out of my sight for five minutes.”

What he heard was, “Hey Leon, I know you are all handsome and sweet, would you please leave me alone for exactly five minutes? I need to do girl stuff.”

And yeah, he would be back exactly five minutes later.

Not a second more, like a damn golden retriever.

And that included physical affection too, not because you encouraged it, but because it was nearly impossible to keep him out of your personal space.

You loved your personal space.

Leon loved your personal space too.

Whenever you were alone, he would find some excuse to be close. Always something that sounded just believable enough, but not quite.

Like the time he grabbed your hand out of nowhere and told you he was reading your palm.

You had stared at him for a moment, unimpressed.

“Leon, I do not think you can read my hand with your own,” you had said, watching the way his face immediately turned red.

“Yeah,” he had replied, completely unfazed by the logic of it, “but I can try.”

He hugged you every chance he got.

You finished paperwork successfully? That deserved a hug.

You arrested someone during patrol? You were so cool, that definitely deserved a hug.

You breathed wrong in his general direction? Probably still deserved a hug.

Your birthday had been a nightmare, he hugged you for what felt like eighty percent of the day, and the other twenty percent he spent eating cake while you were hiding in someone else’s office just to get a break.

Even then, he found you eventually.

He always did.

And when other people were around, it did not get much better.

He stayed close. Too close.

If you moved, he followed.

If you stepped away, he closed the distance again without even thinking about it.

During meetings, he would sometimes take your hand under the table, intertwining his fingers with yours like it was the most natural thing in the world. He knew you could not make a scene, could not call him out in front of everyone, and he used that to his advantage.

You had slapped his hand once.

Not hard, just enough to make a point.

He had looked at you, surprised for a second, but then he had smiled.

And neither of you really believed that would stop him.

It did not.

At some point, you stopped trying to understand it.

Or maybe you just stopped fighting it as much.

Because as exhausting as it was, as overwhelming as he could be, there was something about him that made it hard to push him away completely.

He was genuine.

Every word, every gesture, every bit of affection.

None of it felt forced.

None of it felt calculated.

It was just… Leon.

And that made it complicated.

One day, you tried to escape.

Slipped into the break room and you did not even think twice before laying down to take a nap.

Finally, silence.

You closed your eyes almost immediately, letting your body relax for the first time that day.

You fell asleep faster than you expected, and when you woke up, it was not because you wanted to, it was because you felt it, that familiar feeling, someone staring at you.

You opened your eyes slowly.

And there he was, sitting there like he had been waiting the whole time, looking at you with that same soft, slightly concerned expression.

“Hey, I was looking for you,” he said. “I looked everywhere. You had me worried.

You sighed, already annoyed, closing your eyes again and turning your back to him.

“Of course you did,” you murmured.

There was a small pause.

“Are you taking a nap?” he asked, stating the obvious, but there was something hopeful in his voice.

“Yeah.”

Another pause.

“Oh. Good,” he said, like that somehow solved something. “I am a little tired too… you know, from that paperwork.”

You stayed quiet, you knew exactly what he was doing.

Another ten seconds passed.

Then fifteen.

Then you sighed again, longer this time, giving up before he even had to ask "Yes, Leon, you can take a nap too.”

That was all he needed.

He moved immediately, like he had been waiting for permission the entire time. The bed dipped slightly as he laid down right next to you without hesitation, closing the distance like it was the most natural thing in the world. His arm wrapped around you carefully, pulling you closer without asking, like he already knew you were not going to stop him.

You should have said something.

You should have pushed him away.

You should have reminded him, again, about boundaries.

Instead, you stayed still.

Because as annoying as he was, as clingy and persistent and impossible to deal with as he could be…

He was warm, comforting, and for once, quiet.

Your body relaxed before you could stop it, your mind too tired to argue, too used to his presence to treat it like something foreign.

Leon adjusted slightly, settling in more comfortably, his hold gentle but secure, like he was afraid you might disappear if he let go.

And just like that, the silence returned.

Only this time, it did not feel like an escape.

It felt like something else entirely.

Something you were not quite ready to name yet.. Leon was definitely too sweet for you, but maybe that was not such a bad thing after all.

[nyxiedreams]

❆ Pairing: Bunny hybrid! Gojo x Bear hybrid! Reader

Part 2

✿ Synopsis: Living on the outskirts of a small town where prey hybrids reside as a predator yourself comes with its challenges. You've no interest in them, but instinct has shaped their beliefs, has led them to fear you.

All but one—the strongest of the bunch. Satoru, your mate who is hopelessly in love with you.

Despite what his instincts tell him, despite what the rest of the town believes, he stays by your side through thick and thin. Through dangers, predators and hunters, through every day life where you slowly learn more about one another, he stays with you and you stay with him.

It's what mates do and even though winter is harsh, spring comes around to remind you that the season is a sweet reward for everyone.

❆ Word count: 9.4k

✿ Content warnings: 18+ MDNI ⋆ hybrid AU ⋆ small town (cottage life) AU ⋆ FEM! Reader ⋆ Reader is bigger than Gojo (I tried to keep it ambiguous in a sense where you can imagine her as taller and either more muscular or chubby) ⋆ Gojo likes the size difference ⋆ interspecies couple ⋆ established relationship ⋆ predator/prey dynamic ⋆ plot with porn ⋆ swearing ⋆ contains fluff ⋆ contains very mild angst ⋆ mentions of blood and mild descriptions of gore ⋆ some animalistic habits, behaviours and instincts ⋆ Hunter! Toji cameo ⋆ Bunny hybrids! Shoko + Nanami + Suguru ⋆ implied jealously ⋆ heat/rut cycles ⋆ hibernation and hibernation preparation ⋆ adrenaline highs and rushes ⋆ implied fem!dom! Reader & sub! Gojo ⋆ dynamic switch ups (switching) ⋆ feral, needy Gojo (he's a yearner) ⋆ slight primal play ⋆ riding ⋆ semi-public (forest) sex ⋆ teasing ⋆ oral (f! and m! receiving) ⋆ marking (biting & scenting) ⋆ unprotected p in v sex ⋆ breeding ⋆ passive somnophilia ⋆ m! masturbation ⋆ pregnancy ⋆ pregnancy hormones ⋆ having sex while pregnant ⋆ lactation ⋆ nipple stimulation ⋆ doggy style position ⋆ slight dumbification ⋆ pussy-drunk Gojo ⋆ fingering ⋆ multiple rounds (implied marathons) ⋆ multiple orgasms (Gojo & reader) ⋆ overstim ⋆ creampies ⋆

☆ Author's note: This was meant to be a single post, but tumblr is lowkey a pain. Had to split this into parts 😭 Neeways, y'all. This was a request and I worked so hard to do the idea justice because I really liked the prompt 😩

You trek through the forest, legs carrying you through the lush green foliage despite your aching muscles. Even though your limbs beg and plead for relief, you trudge forward, ignoring the way your body burns.

The burn is good; it means that you have gotten far. Whether it’s far enough or not is a question that you will need to find an answer to.

You tell yourself that this is all for the best, that the aches and pains are worth it because you’re finally going to lead a life that you get to choose for yourself. After years of living in a space, a village that didn’t care about anyone, you’d deemed it necessary to escape.

You needed to escape from the traditions that weighed you down, you needed to escape the community that thrived on consuming other hybrids. Even if they are considered prey, you just can’t bring yourself to stomach a hybrid diet. It’s one of the many reasons that you just had to get away.

So, after the brutal cold that settled over the land, after the snow and frost melted, you refuelled your energy after hibernation, relishing the gift of spring before making your journey here. Where there’s more wildlife that you ensure to avoid.

It's not because you’re scared of them or because you want to leave them be, it’s simply because you’re too tired to have to deal with the outcome of being spotted by an animal.

Animals are dangerous, and many a times, severely so. They look at hybrids and see human, they’ll sniff the air and smell animal and that often leaves them confused, conflicted. It messes with their senses; to see a human and to smell an animal all in one go tends to do that.

You’ve learned that alone triggers their fight or flight response and the smaller critters, harmless ones tend to do the latter. Predators, the bigger, much more dangerous animals, tend to do the former. It’s how they cope with their confusion. Either fight the mass that is the source of their uncertainty or run from it.

And you just don’t have the energy to fight or chase after anything right now.

You hadn’t seen hybrids along your way and there’s a part of you that wonders why. Surely you’d find a village or settlement of some sort around here. The area looks inhabitable, so you don’t understand why you haven’t seen life other than that of the wild animals that roam the lands.

Still, you continue forward, stubby ears flicking while you follow invisible paths that allow you to map the area. There’s a stream that cuts the acreage in half, separating the two plots of land and you take it upon yourself to cross it.

The stream flows gently, kisses the edge of the bank with a low trickle.

You cross it and it takes about seven long strides before you’re on the other side, boots soaked through, but that’s pretty much the only part that had gotten wet. Somehow the air on this side feels different, not in a bad way, simply in a way that suggests that there is more activity here.

You continue, steps slower than before. You need to find some place to rest, you’ve no choice.

The scent of cedar drifts in the air and you freeze. It’s very faint, so that suggests that the source is farther away, but you perk nonetheless. Smoke means that there’s some place where you can refuel your energy.

You don’t worry about stumbling into human civilisation, humans don’t live out here.

You hadn’t come across any hunters either—the humans who are foolish enough to step foot in a place where they don’t belong. You’d thought that maybe you’d been lucky, maybe fate had been on your side.

You still think that way.

There’s a rustle that catches your attention and you tense, head snapping in the direction of the noise. You narrow your eyes but soon relax when you gauge the weight of whatever is moving. It’s not heavy and the bushel itself is small.

You suspect that it’s nothing dangerous, perhaps a smaller critter searching for food, so you ignore it, continue on towards the source of the smoke that you’d detected.

It still seems like it’d take a little while to get there, but you’ve got hope.

Your eyes continue to survey the tree-littered landscape and that’s when you hear it, a bark. It’s not just any bark, but one that belongs to the dogs hunters travel with. A hound.

That suggests that there’s a hunter nearby.

You’d know because it doesn’t matter where you find yourself, there will always be people who venture out with their dogs to ensure a successful hunt. You know that you have to avoid the hunter at all costs.

They never hesitate to point their guns at hybrids and you’re not looking to pick a fight where you’ll lose due to pure exhaustion.

You exhale and turn the other direction. Part of you is panicked, but there’s another part of you that has faith that you’ll escape. It’s in that moment that you depend on your faith far too much; it’s in that moment when you’re completely distracted that you forget to double check your surroundings.

There’s a hunter nearby and that means that there’s bound to be traps. You should have been more vigilant because you just so happen to engage a trap hidden under leaves and twigs that bundle up in a suspicious amount.

Had you been more careful, you would have noticed it.

You step directly on the trigger and a pained cry rips from your chest when the jaws of a bear trap clamp around your leg. You stumble to the ground as pain shoots through your entire system and another pained wail escapes you.

Even the birds seem disgruntled by the sudden noise, and everything feels far too quiet. They stop singing and fly off and that’s when the same bark from before resounds in the far distance. You curse under your breath.

The hunter will be coming for you, and you know that you need to get away.

You push yourself up so that you can peer down at where the metal jaws have got you trapped and you swallow a whimper.

The metal digs into your flesh, pierces the skin to the point blood oozes from the wound, crimson seeping from you in thick rivulets that has copper burning your senses and drenching the air.

You hiss, swallowing another pained cry that threatens its way from your chest. It hurts. Everything hurts.

Suddenly your breaths are too sharp, your body feels like it’s failing you and you’re still exhausted from the long journey that you’d been on. You curse yourself for thinking that you’d been lucky, for thinking that fate had been on your side.

It clearly wasn’t.

You know that this trap had been set up for an animal, you’d just been unfortunate enough to trigger it.

Pain courses through you while your leg throbs and aches, stained a deep shade of red that begins to drip to the soil below. You won’t die, the trap won’t kill you, but if you don’t get out soon, the person who had set it up definitely will.

You exhale, eyes scanning the ground for anything that you can use to help set yourself free. You need a stick, a branch, anything sturdy enough to help you.

You fight the pained noises that sit in your chest. You’re already compromised and the last thing you want is to bring more attention to yourself. There are wild animals here too and you’d rather not have to deal with one of them either.

You don’t find anything to help you, nothing that’d be of use and you curse again, gaze flicking in the direction of where you’d heard the hound.

You hear another rustle and your heart drops. You think that it’s the hunter, that maybe they’d managed to get to you a lot sooner than anticipated, but judging by the distant baying that slowly grows closer, you don’t believe that it’s the hunter at all.

Instead, when you peer up, you meet a cerulean gaze, one that remains fixated on you from a distance. You exhale, lips parted and it takes you an embarrassingly long time to realize that what you’re looking at is another hybrid.

Not a predator. Prey. You can smell it underlying the scent of your blood.

The hybrid perks, gaze following your form and you note the long ears that match the head of blanched hair. It stands out amongst the greenery, like snow that takes its time to melt once spring arrives.

You inhale, and even through the heavy scent of blood and dirt, you detect a small ounce of fear and it’s not yours. It’s the type of fear that simmers due to instinct if anything.

You’re not a threat; you try and relay the fact that you’ve no intention to harm the hybrid.

You open your mouth to speak, to ask for help, but you groan instead, peering back down at your leg. It feels numb, like the pain itself is slowly eating away at you. You peer back at the hybrid, allow your eyes to do the talking for you and there’s a nasty feeling that churns in your gut that resents your showcase of weakness.

There’s another bark in the distance and your fingers dig into the soil.

“Please,” you manage, voice riddled with an ounce of panic and pure exhaustion.

You’re not going to bother trying to act as though you don’t need help. You’re not that prideful because realistically, you’re not getting out of this one on your own.

The hound howls again, closer this time and you begin to feel yourself panic now. You know that you have to stay calm in order to figure something out, but your heart has long since tried to escape your chest.

Your breathing is quick, sharp and you snap your head back to plead with the hybrid that had been huddled behind a bush, but there’s no one there.

“Shit.” You hiss and decide that you might as well try and pry the trap open with your bare hands yourself.

It’s a dangerous task, one that wouldn’t even guarantee your freedom, but you try regardless.

It’s no use; you can’t get a proper grip, and you can’t do anything without applying pressure to the trap either. This isn’t your first time having to deal with a trap, but it’s your first time being caught in one.

Still, desperate to escape, you claw at the metal, try your luck with a stick that snaps when you attempt to use it and you feel yourself spiral.

Your mind feels muddled with too many thoughts.

You ask yourself if this is where you die, you ask yourself if your death will be quick or whether it’d be dragged out, you tell yourself that maybe you should have just stayed put in your old home.

Surely living in a community with strict rules, with traditions that feel like shackles that weigh you down is a fate better than death. It’s a fate that sounds a lot better than your current one.

When you decide that there’s nothing more that you can do, a branch falls beside you, thick and sturdy as it lands with a heavy thud.

You glance at it, blink a couple of times before glancing up in the direction it had been thrown from. That same hybrid from before stands closer now but still keeps distance between your bodies.

His lips are parted as he exhales through his mouth. He peers at you, maintains eye contact as though he’s reading you before his head snaps in the direction of the hound that gets closer and closer.

You don’t know what it is that he’d done to get you this branch, but you’re thankful that he did.

Controlling your raging emotions and panicked state, you grab the branch before you’re immediately shoving it into the loop of the trap before pressing down. The tension in the jaws diminishes, alleviates the level of pain that you feel in your leg and before long, you pry the jaws open.

You try but fail miserably. Your hand slips and what little distance that had been put between your leg and the trap quickly closes again and your eyes bulge before you choke on a sob.

Tears blur your vision and you hadn’t even realised that they’d built in the first place.

“Shit, I thought bear hybrids would be strong enough to pry traps open.”

You manage to shoot him a glare, but he isn’t looking at you. Not at your face.

“Fuck, that looks bad—you won’t attack me if I come any closer, right?”

You don’t say anything, your voice catches in your throat when you try, so you simply repeat the motion of attempting to set yourself free. This time, another set of hands are on the jaws, helping you pry the trap open.

Your gaze flicks up for a second only for you to focus your attention on your leg again.

You work steadily. Not because you’re panicking or because you’re too tired, but because the last thing you want right now is for the trap to re-engage. You keep pressure on the springs with the branch and within seconds, you pull your leg free.

You stumble back and so does the other hybrid as the trap snaps shut with a clang again, snapping the branch that you’d used in half. Your blood stains the jaws of the trap, the splintered branch and you groan when your fresh wound burns.

Now that your leg has been freed, blood trickles from the gash. Faster, thicker and you suck in a breath, pushing through the pain.

“Wow, that really, really is bad.” The hybrid shifts, darts his gaze to your face and blinks like he’s been awestruck.

“You’re so pretty, wow—why are you looking at me like that—oh shit, right. The bleeding.”

He pats at his clothes, like he’s searching for something before he curses himself, muttering something about how he’d left his bag behind somewhere. You observe him, take in the uniqueness of his features. He stands out, you can’t deny that. He’s prettier up close, cuter in the way prey hybrids usually are.

Then, as if to remind you of the gravity of the situation that you’re in, the hound barks, silhouette darting in the far distance. Visible now.

You shift, eyes widening and when you move to warn the hybrid that had been crouching over you, he’s gone. He moves fast and you’re far too exhausted to keep up with anything.

You do, however, notice that the hound isn’t running towards you anymore, it’s no longer within sight and the baying and howling of it grows distant.

You huff, breaths coming out in short pants as you try and catch your breaths. You begin to feel your panic ease and your heart slows while relief washes over you. Only briefly.

You’re no longer trapped, but now you’ve got to control the blood loss that you’re dealing with. You can’t imagine the sick concoction of being exhausted and suffering from blood loss.

You rip at the material of your top, tear a fair amount that leaves it cropped before tying the ripped piece of material around your leg. It won’t do much, but it’ll help slow the bleeding until you find somewhere safe to get a good look at the wound.

You secure the material, teeth digging into your bottom lip as you pull it tight. You groan, exhaling a shaky breath through your mouth and it’s then that you lay back, allowing the earth and soil to press up against you.

You’re not sure how long you stay laying like that, but your body refuses to allow you to get up. It’s the first time you’ve managed to catch a break in a long while. You’re tired, sore and injured. You need to get to the source of the smoke as soon as you can, but you can’t move.

Perhaps it’s your body recovering after the immense amount of panic that you’d felt.

“So I… have to run to get that hunter away and you’re—hah—laying and… resting like your life hadn’t just… fuck.”

It's the same bunny hybrid from earlier. Though now, he’s out of breath. Panting like he’d run around the entirety of the forest.

“Your life was in—hah—danger.”

You blink, turning to glance at him. Despite being so out of breath, his voice is smooth, deep. He steals a glance at you, swallows hard when his gaze flicks to the newly exposed skin of your torso before glancing at your leg.

“I see you saw to the… ah bleeding.”

He’s chatty, you note.

“Thank you,” you manage after a moment of silence, pushing yourself into an upright position. “For saving me.”

He shakes his head.

“It’s fine, don’t mention it.” He meets your gaze, ears twitching. “It’s my fault that you got caught in it anyway. I’m really sorry for that.”

Your brows knit together. You’re aware that prey hybrids will do all that they can to keep themselves safe, but you didn’t think that they’d set up traps.

“What–”

“It wasn’t on purpose, I swear.” He points in the direction that you’d detected smoke from. “There’s a town that needs protecting and the only way to do that is to set traps.”

That makes sense, though you wonder why. Perhaps there’s a lot about this area that you don’t know.

He steps closer to you, movements slow. It’s like he’s not sure what to do now that you’re free from the trap. He’s not as scared as what many other hybrids would be of you and you cock your head, gaze flicking over him.

“I don’t think I’d be as delicious as I look.” He chuckles, offering you a smile. “I uh… you really won’t try and attack me if I come any closer?”

He holds up a bag, one that you hadn’t noticed and gestures to it. “I’ve got something for that nasty gash. You can trust me—I’ve got a friend who taught me how to do this.”

“I promise that I won’t try to make a meal out of you.”

He pauses, considers your words, your intent. He stares at you for a long time, like he’s got a sixth sense that he’s tapping into.

“Right, okay.”

He steps closer, pulls out rolls of bandages and a little bottle containing a substance that you’re not familiar with.

“Name’s Satoru Gojo by the way—I’m the strongest too—as I so wonderfully demonstrated earlier.” He offers you a smile, clearly more intrigued by you than what he is scared.

You huff, canines glinting as you muster all that you can to smile through the pain that throbs in your leg. You give him your name and he blinks at you, most likely repeating the syllables in his head.

“So pretty.”

Your eyes flutter before you raise a brow.

“Your name, uh… your name is so pretty.” He chuckles awkwardly before gesturing to your leg. “Here, let me take this off—okay, that is a lot of blood.”

He turns away, holding his hand to his mouth and exhales heavily. You peer at the blood-soaked material and huff out a chuckle. You suppose that he hasn’t seen much bloodshed in his life.

Still, you appreciate the gesture, his willingness to help. Even though he claims to have set the trap, you wouldn’t have made it out alive without him.

❆❆❆･══════════･⁺❀⁺･══════════･❆❆❆

The autumn leaves crunch beneath the weight of each of your steps. Admittedly, that makes everything much more complicated than what it has to be, but you manage. You’ve been through enough autumns to know how to manoeuvre through the season’s conditions.

You continue to follow the trail of his scent, stepping through the foliage while you peer through tree branches, through masses of browns and oranges and yellows as the tress and plants prepare for winter.

You catch sight of him in the distance.

Just like the very first time you’d seen him, he stands out amongst the undergrowth of the forest, stark white hair all but demanding attention. He’s holding something, a basket, trudging along unbeknownst that you’re hiding.

Then there are his ears, long and silky, a cottony white on the outside and a warm, pretty pink on the inside. They twitch.

He doesn’t seem to notice you; continues his way in the direction of the cottage you’ve spent all of summer repairing. With Satoru’s help. He’d been the one to help you find it when you first arrived last spring.

You slow your steps before you circle him, ensuring that you keep out of his line of sight.

This is one of your favourite things to do and although Satoru has begged you to stop, you can’t help it. You love teasing him, you love the rush of adrenaline that you get when you see him fight with himself.

He's safe around you, he knows that and you know that, but when in the face of danger, sometimes biology takes the win, instinct, takes the win.

You take careful steps towards him. He comes to a standstill, breath stuttering. He knows something is out here, knows that he’s being watched. There’s that familiar hint of nerves that begin to stir.

Instinct pricks at your mind and you stalk closer and you do while Satoru’s ears flicker and twist. His head moves, eyes trailing the foliage in the distance in front of him and that’s when you take your chance.

You lunge forward, tackling Satoru who exhales a yelp as the basket in his hands falls to the ground and so do the assorted fruits and veggies that had been in there.

You catch the hint of fear, the scent that you’ve grown addicted to. You don’t like it because you’re sadistic, you like it because it’s driven purely by instinct, by the little voice in Satoru’s head that compels him to run.

You shift the moment you tackle him to the ground, pressing against his back as he struggles, whining about the spilled contents of his basket as your tongue flicks out to lick a stripe along his neck. You taste his flesh and it’s sweet, underlined with a thin layer of salt that tastes familiar to you.

He shudders and makes a little sound.

“Wait—that’s not fair,” Satoru huffs, craning his neck to glance at you from over his shoulder. “I thought that we agreed no sneak attacks—oh fuck.”

Your teeth graze his pulse point and Satoru shudders again. You sense it then, his body fighting to get free while he actively tries to keep still. It’s a war between love and instinct, one that, when it comes to Satoru, is always claimed by love as the victor.

You smile, nuzzling his neck before letting out a chuckle, pushing of Satoru before dusting off your clothes. He catches his breath, composes himself and rises to his feet as well. He peers up at you, wide eyed like he’s seeing you for the first time.

“I thought you’d be at home.”

He’s no longer victim to the fear that bubbles low in his gut, he pushes that unnecessary feelings aside.

“Just got a little bored,” you shrug, moving to help pick up the contents of his basket that lay scattered on the ground. “Thought I’d surprise you—sorry about this.”

“It’s fine, but maybe if you held out on sneaking up on me, we wouldn’t have to worry about spilled baskets.”

You guffaw, “You always say no sneak attacks, but you always make it easy for me to sneak up on you.”

“I don’t do it on purpose.”

Your lips curl and you eye Satoru with mirth. You don’t believe him, but you humour him. You continue collecting the fruits that Satoru had dropped and one in particular catches your gaze.

It looks ripe, like the type that is used in courtship behaviours.

“Where’d this come from?” You hold it up for Satoru and he shrugs.

“There was someone who offered to me. She offers me fruit all the time and I accept them—bring them here for you because you like those ones.”

Your eyes narrow at that.

“Is that so?” You shift rising to your feet and he cranes his neck just the slightest to peer up at you. “So this other bunny that you speak of—she keeps throwing herself at you?”

Satoru gulps, he doesn’t sense anger rolling off from you, but your eyes communicate that there’s a possibility that it’s simmering somewhere.

“What? No, she’s not throwing herself at me–”

“You’ve been accepting her advances of courtship.” You hold up the fruit for Satoru. “This is evidence of that.”

“No, wait, but that’s for you. I’m not interested in her at all—I am popular, I’ll admit that–”

The look on your face has his mouth snapping shut, and he exhales as perspiration gathers at his temples. You’re not listening to him, you’re looking at him yes, glaring at him, but the words he utters don’t register with you.

You make a sound, that same one that you do when you encourage him to run, to get away. He pales, steps back as you step closer.

“Wait, princess, we talked about this—hey—hey! Wait!”

“Better run if you want a chance of escaping, Satoru.”

That’s where it starts; the little game that you play where Satoru runs off before you eventually find him and then mark him with teeth and tongue. It’s repetitive, but this time you prolong it.

You respect that the hybrids from Satoru’s hometown won’t welcome you in, but you won’t tolerate anyone even considering the possibility of throwing themselves on him.

You don’t grow  tired of sending Satoru off into the forest for him to run, to hide only for you to find him again. He’s fast, but he still makes it easy for you to find him. You’ve grown addicted to the game, it feeds your instincts and the high you get is intoxicating.

He enjoys it too. You see it when he flushes, you see it in the way his eyes dilate when you’re near. He fights with his instincts a lot despite not wanting to admit it.

You continue forward as you search for Satoru for what feels like the millionth round now, you build tension by keeping your strides slow. Though, through the charged tension that you feel, there is something underlying it.

Something in the air feels different somehow. It’s no longer oozing with just the faint scent of Satoru’s fear—the fear that consumes him solely due to instinct—but instead, it’s tense, quiet.

Like there’s someone else here. You’re far from town, quite a distance from your cottage, but it’s still too close. This sense of unease that you feel has you on edge.

You’re not dumb, you know the risks of living in the middle of a forest right on the outskirts of a town that harbours hybrids that your kind would consider prey. The town itself is an attraction and not just for tourists.

There are predators, both hybrids and animals that lurk in the surrounding areas. There are hunters too and you know that fact far too well. They barge in unwelcomed, they destroy, take up too much space and they like to make it known.

Fires, traps, spaces that feel occupied even when nobody is there. They love leaving things out of place.

The breeze shifts and the wind carries something far too familiar for your liking. Your spine straightens and you go completely still. You stare at nothing in particular and simply focus on what it is that you’re smelling.

Amongst the scent of pine and dirt, there’s the faint scent of dry blood and a stronger metallic smell that makes even the air feel out of place. It’s heavier, a scent that suggests that there’s something man-made that doesn’t belong here.

It’s a trap and you believe that it’s one set out for a bear. Hybrid or animal, you’re not sure which for, but what you do know, is that you have to avoid it at all costs.

The trap hasn’t been cleaned thoroughly and that’s how you’re able to tell that it’s there.

You follow its trail, taking slow, careful steps while you remain vigilant. You know the direction in which Satoru had darted off in, so you follow that path, eyes tracking any movement that you manage to detect.

From rustling bushes to small critters that dart past your feet, you remain alert.

You spot Satoru, you see him crouched by a bush and you don’t think that he’s hiding from you. From where you are, you hear his erratic breaths, short, panicked.

He's tired and you’re to blame for that.

Your eyes narrow before you scan the area and that’s when you see it. A human with a rifle pointed at Satoru. You often always think before you act, but there’d been an instinct that pushed you forward.

You managed to remain out of sight, but within a matter of seconds, you lunge at the human, aiming to push the rifle out of the way.

You do just that, catching the hunter off guard. He stumbles back, dropping the rifle and you grab it. Humans use weapons like this all the time, if you take it away, they’re left defenceless.

You don’t know how to use the weapon, but you suppose that if you ruin it, it’d be useless. So you mess around with, bend it and the hunter throws curses your way like you’d just left him homeless.

You glance up.

The hunter meets your gaze, and you stare him down. You’ve never seen him before and you know because you’d remember angry green eyes the regard you like you’re some prize, a mere catch that’d bag him a good load of money.

“Must be my fucking lucky day,” you manage to hear him murmur and you narrow your eyes. You don’t bother standing upright, you don’t feel the need to size him up.

That’s what males, and of many species, do. You don’t try to intimidate the human; you don’t even move from where you’re standing in front of Satoru. If he has his eyes set on you only, it makes your job much simpler.

The human’s jaw ticks and you grimace before shooting him a lethal snarl, but he doesn’t back down from it, doesn’t seem to be intimidated by you at all. You can tell that he’s probably used to this, that he’s probably seen hybrids much bigger than what you are and that’s why he’s not backing down from you.

He grabs what you make out to be a blade, and you frown. He’s not backing down, so neither will you.

He lunges at you and you manage to dodge the first swipe he throws your way. He moves fast, like he’s trained for this and that’s the part that throws you off guard.

You’re not so lucky the second time. The blade grazes your arm, and you hiss as blood seeps from the new wound. Satoru makes a sound behind you and his nerves mingle in the air. You freeze, noting his distress.

The human takes advantage of your distraction and knocks you to the ground. You push at him, knock the blade from his grasp in the midst of your struggle. Your senses come rushing back to you, you recall what it is that you’re doing.

The human brings his arm down and you sink your teeth into his flesh, earning you a groan.  He pushes at your shoulder with a force that you have to admire coming from a human. Still, you don’t budge, you don’t relieve him of the pain that he’s feeling.

You roll over him and the human cusses at you. He moves to throw a punch your way, aiming for your jaw, but you stop him with your free hand and exhale through your nose. For a moment, you see something flicker in the human’s eyes, perhaps fear, perhaps panic or a medley of both.

The scent, the taste of copper drowns out anything else and it’s then that you begin to tug. Your teeth pulls at flesh, at sinewy muscle and the hunter grunts before making a pained sound.

You want to rip his arm off, you consider it, but the flicker in his eyes is something far too humane, something that resembles the lives that you refuse to take because you see no use in it.

You release him. You suppose that you’ve given him enough of a warning to get the message. He won’t be this lucky if he decides to come around again.

Your lips, mouth, chin are smothered in his blood and the hunter slips back, pushes himself back far enough before he stumbles away. You don’t watch him run off because you can’t guarantee that you’d let him escape if you do. Instead, you glance at the weapons he’d left behind, the ones damaged and the ones that are still in good condition.

Some seem like they’d be of use to you.

Satoru rushes to you in a matter of seconds, eyes wide and panicked as he scans your features, the cut on your arm and suddenly he’s babbling to himself while he tries his very best not to lose his mind over how you’d risked everything just to save him.

You hear the thumping of his heart, an erratic rhythm that’s almost deafening.

“Are you okay, princess? Oh god, that hunter scared the shit out of me—fuck, you’re bleeding—are you hurt anywhere else? Are you in pain? Do I need to–”

“Satoru.”

His mouth snaps shut, chest still stuttering as he attempts to compose himself. His eyes dart between yours and the blood adorning your face, still, he doesn’t make a move to get away from you.

His worry only seems to grow.

“I’m okay. It’s just a little scratch,” you gesture to your leg and although it’s not in sight, there is a scar, a reminder of one of the very few times you’ve experienced worse pain. “I’ve been through worse.”

“You scared me.”

You snort. “I thought you said the hunter did.”

Satoru shakes his head, keeps his ears pushed flat against his head as he cups your hands, his just the slightest bit smaller than yours.

“You scared me,” he repeats, voice shaky. “I thought that I was watching you die—when he pulled that knife out I froze because I got so scared, I’m so sorry that I couldn’t do anything.”

“Don’t apologise.” You huff out a chuckle, cupping Satoru’s face before pulling him closer. “You’re mine to protect, you know. I’ll do that all over again if it means that I get to save you. Besides, it was my fault that you were so tired in the first place.”

○

○

○

Satoru finds himself in the town’s market searching for bandages, first-aid kits, anything that he can find that he’d be able to take back to you. He’d noticed that you were running low on a couple of supplies that would be near impossible to restock while staying out in the forest all on your own.

So, he’s taken it upon himself to get whatever he can in town.

He knows that you’re fine, that you’re not severely hurt—all healed up after having confronted the hunt—and that you saw to the cut on your arm all on your own, but he’d realized that he’s completely defenceless when it comes to helping you ward off dangers that lurk in the forest.

He'd saved you once, but that had simply been because you’d been caught in a trap that he’d set, because you’d been exhausted at the time. He remembers the tired look on your pretty face all too well.

Though, this, gathering supplies for you, is how he can help because the town he resides most of his time in doesn’t welcome predators. It’s for safety purposes, he understands that, but Satoru can’t help but feel that something has to change.

“It’s truly a shame that hunters are on the prowl again,” Shoko huffs, flicking at her ear that droops forward. “Though I’d count us lucky, the hunter didn’t show up to town.”

“I told you that leaving traps around the boarder would keep us safe.” Nanami drawls, tone monotonous and Satoru only shoots a quick glance his way.

They don’t know that the traps and fences aren’t the things keeping the town safe. It’s like they’re living in their own fantasy.

“We can’t always count on flimsy wires and old traps to keep unwanted company out,” Suguru sighs, running his fingers through his bangs, pushing the short tresses out of his face. “We’ll have to do something eventually.”

The group trudges along the walkway, past stalls and kiosks that advertise foods and snacks best suited for prey hybrids. From small snacks like berries and nuts to fruits and cooked vegetables.

The smells waft in the air, warm, sweet and familiar.

Suguru’s gaze finds Satoru, amethyst irises darting between the bag in his hands and the expression on his face.

“You’ve been awfully quiet, Satoru.” Suguru’s words have Shoko and Nanami peering over at him too, like they’d been thinking the same. “Did something happen while you were out?”

“No—nothing.”

“You know,” Suguru sighs, matching pace with Satoru. “With hunters wandering the forest, don’t you think that you should stay in town more often?”

There it is; the insistence to have him stay.

It’s no secret that Satoru stays out of town for more than just one reason. Yes, he patrols the area, yes he helps keep the town safe, but everyone knows that there’s a predator that moved here.

You.

They avoid you, but Satoru has made it known that he visits you frequently. He’s gotten weird looks because of it, but nobody says anything.

“It’d be wise to stay in town,” Nanami adds. “It seems that winter is going to take a toll on all of us this year and being isolated from the rest of us doesn’t seem like an approach that you should be taking if you want to survive.”

Satoru glances between his friends, but he doesn’t say anything. They notice, all three of them do, and they know that it’s unlike Satoru to remain so quiet.

He knows what they’re trying to do and just like any other occasion, it’s not going to work.

“I think I’m all good.” Satoru quickens his pace, just the slightest so that he’s not forced to walk between his friends, but Suguru doesn’t allow him to get away.

He huffs, pinched gaze narrowing.

“You can’t possibly think that you’re safe with that predator friend of yours. Who knows what she’ll try and do to you.”

Satoru thinks of the way you protected him, attacked an enemy that was by the means to deal a lot of damage. He doesn’t think that it’s luck, he isn’t foolish enough to credit fate for that.

It's your strength, your confidence and your determination that got you to chase the hunter off.

“What if she goes hungry and decides that you’re an easy meal?”

You don’t eat hybrid flesh; Satoru recalls you telling him that.

“Satoru, are you listening to me?”

“Yes, I am.”

Suguru glances back, eyeing Shoko and Nanami who haven’t bothered trying to catch up with them. Then he turns back to Satoru, and with a frown, he opens his mouth, “Then why aren’t you saying anything? Is it that difficult for you to see that I’m trying to help you?”

Suguru’s eyes flit to Satoru’s neck and he pales. He sees the bite marks that aren’t quite covered by the layers of clothes Satoru has on, he sees the bruises and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what those mean.

“She marked you.”

Satoru freezes, brings his hand up to his neck and shoots his gaze towards Suguru. He’s not panicked, but this isn’t how he planned on letting his friends know that he’s mated to you.

That he’s been mated to you.

“You mated with a predator?” Suguru’s face contorts and an ugly grimace settles on his face. “That’s disgusting, Satoru.”

He flinches at that, breath stuttering as his chest pulls tight. Satoru’s gaze trails over to Suguru, eerily slow before his eyes narrow.

“Don’t look at me like that. You’re acting like there aren’t perfectly suitable hybrids here, in town, to mate with.”

“Like who?”

Suguru goes silent at that. he’d expected the question, he really did, but somehow, he’s ill-prepared in being able to answer it.

“You might not be able to see it, but I’m right where I want to be.”

Suguru narrows his eyes, ignoring the ugly feeling simmering in his chest.

“Would you choose her over us? The people you grew up with? The town that you’ve sworn to keep safe?”

Satoru doesn’t move, doesn’t even blink as he stares at his best friend. He knows what he’s answer is, he knows that he’d choose you over anyone else.

“Yes.” Is the only thing Satoru utters.

He doesn’t wait, doesn’t meet Suguru’s gaze, doesn’t bother waiting behind as Shoko and Nanami catch up. He’s gone before they can ask questions.

Satoru rushes back to the cottage with the newly acquired supplies in hand. He sees you crouched outside; sees you wrap cloth around your palms; eyes laser focused on the task as you ensure that you secure the material around your hands.

You’ve considered using bandages, but you refuse to waste them.

“I brought some supplies—what are you doing?”

You blink, lifting your gaze as Satoru trudges over towards you, cerulean gaze fixating on your hands. He checks your hands, searches for a hint of crimson, but he realises that you’re not bleeding.

He doesn’t detect the scent of your blood in the air either.

Satoru exhales, relief escaping him in a heavy breath that has you raising a brow at him. He’s been awfully protective of you in his own way. He doesn’t crowd you, doesn’t mark you over and over, doesn’t breathe down your neck like you’re accustomed to due to instinct.

Instead, he’s quiet, searches for small cuts and bruises, offers you supplies much like right now. You see bandages amongst other things that’d better suit you in a time when you’re hurt.

“Just protecting my hands,” you hum before gesturing to your hunting equipment that you’d set aside. “Going on a hunt to prepare for hibernation.”

“Can I help?”

You pause, stealing a glance at him. “You don’t have to do that–”

“I want to help you prepare for hibernation,” his ears twitch and his nose scrunches in the way that it does when he’s adamant on a choice that he’s made.

You fight back a smile, fight the hearty laugh that threatens its way from deep in your chest.

Oh, how sweet he is.

“Fine, fine,” you chuckle and Satoru narrows his eyes at you.

“What’s so funny? You think that I’ll struggle?”

You shake your head, “No, no. It’s just that you’re talkative, you know?”

“I am not.”

○

○

○

“They don’t understand. They think that they know what’s best for—okay, Shoko and Nanami haven’t said anything—I didn’t stick around to hear what they had to say.

You hum, hurling the deer that you’d managed to hunt down along with you as Satoru follows behind, still as chatty as ever. He hasn’t stopped talking just like you’d anticipated, but you don’t mind.

You’ve noted that he’s venting, so you allow him to. He had been helpful during your hunt too.

“I just don’t understand why Suguru doesn’t want to see what I see.”

You set the deer down, huffing out a breath as you dust your hands off. You glance at Satoru, raising a quizzical brow.

“What do you see that you’re wanting him to see?”

“My mate,” the answer comes quick, a little too quick and you fight the heat that burns your cheeks. “Perfect in every way—maybe almost as perfect as me.”

You huff, rolling your eyes at him. “How sweet.”

“I’m serious, I’m quite the catch. I just knew that I’d end up with someone who is able to match my strength.” He stands taller, puffs out his chest, but he lands against the ground with a yelp when you tackle him.

“Ah yes, Satoru Gojo, strongest little bunny I know.”

He flushes as you keep him pinned down. He doesn’t struggle, doesn’t even bother. You’ve wrestled countless times and Satoru knows when he’s at a loss. He simply pouts as you smile down at him.

“That’s not fair—you caught me off guard.”

“Did I now?”

He exhales, though peers up at you with wide eyes, absolutely smitten by you.

“It’s crazy to think that my friends think that you’ll eat me.”

You don’t say anything in response to that, only smirk before leaning down and allowing your lips to graze his neck. His body jerks, but not because of fear, but because you graze that weak spot of his.

“Oh… what am I to do, huh?” You huff, kissing along Satoru’s pale flesh. “You’re not safe out here with me at all.”

Your tongue swirls along his flesh, leaves a bruise that you’re proud of. He doesn’t say anything, allows himself to exhale heavy breaths as you mark his neck. He does allow his hands to wander, and you sigh, a pleasured little sound.

He grows harder beneath you, you feel it, you smell the evidence of his need from under his clothes. You grind against him and Satoru curses under his breath. He mimics your behaviour, allows himself to lick a trail along your neck before nibbling on it.

Your eyes flutter.

“Careful, Satoru, or I might just eat you.”

His breath stutters and he presses up against you, a silent plea for more.

Your lips quirk and you fight the smirk that pulls at the corners of your mouth before you push yourself lower, making yourself comfortable between Satoru’s legs.

“Your friends are right, you know?” You tug at his pants before pulling them down, allowing his cock to spring free, hot, heavy and leaking at the cusp.

Satoru makes a desperate sound, one that goes straight to your pussy.

“So many predators out here that would want to eat you,” you place a kiss on his globular tip, flushed a dark shade of rosy pink. It feels hot against your lips and your tongue darts out for a moment to lap the fat bead of ivory that had collected there.

The sweetness of him blooms across your tongue and you exhale through your nose, pupils dilating.

“Imagine that, hmm?”

Satoru says your name, catches his plump bottom lip between his teeth while he fights the urge to buck his hips. Tears brim his eyes, not because he’s scared, not because instinct is compelling his emotions, but because his cock aches, because you’re torturing him.

“Mhm?” Your tongue glides along the length of him, over the veins that decorate his shaft and all the way back to his tip.

“Please, princess.” He sucks in a breath when you pinch that sensitive spot on the underside of his cock, pressing the curve of your thumb against it and it has stars bursting behind his eyes.

“Please what, ‘Toru?”

“Stop teasing me, I’m not… fuck… I’m not built for that kind of torture.”

You give him what he wants. The heat of your mouth envelopes him as your teeth graze his flesh, just enough to tease, just enough to make him twitch at the sensation. You bob your head, dragging your tongue along the underside of his cock while the taste of his arousal lingers on your tastebuds.

Satoru whimpers, his fingers curling into the ground below as you slurp on the tip of his cock while massaging the base. You work him just like that, occasionally alternating between pinching and pressing up against the more sensitive parts of his cock.

Your pussy throbs, eager too and Satoru catches a whiff of it from where he is.

“You’re so hard.”

“And you’re so wet—fuck, can smell you from here, princess.”

You kiss the tip of his cock again before swallowing it again until your nose brushes the coarse hairs at the base of it. You moan and the vibrations shoot right through Satoru and he moans, bucks his hips at how tight, how warm your throat is.

He doesn’t last long; he couldn’t ever last long with you if he tried. He cums with a whine, cock twitching in your mouth as silky fluid shoots to the back of your throat.

You drink it all up as need courses through you and it’s in that moment that you realise that you won’t get to experience this once winter arrives, because when sleep claims you, you won’t be able to feel or taste Satoru like this.

“Gonna miss you while I’m asleep,” you sigh, pulling off him, cunt throbbing while need drenches your inner thighs. “Gonna miss feeling you.”

You crawl over him and Satoru groans when you line your entrance up with his cock. Your slit kisses his tip so sweetly, drools all over it that makes the contact sloppy. You gasp when the fat head of his cock nudges past your folds, grazing your orifice when you lower yourself.

Down.

“Let me—fuck—that’s tight, you’re tight.”

And down.

“Princess… hnngh–”

You sink lower and inch after inch, your pussy swallows Satoru’s cock, eats the entire length of it as he fills you, stretches you. He feels so good, too good and feeling the way his vein-streaked shaft grazes your treacly innards has your eyes rolling back.

“Please, Satoru, wanna feel you.”

He groans, whimpers as you clamp around him and his Adam’s apple bobs with the restraint it takes to keep himself from blowing a load into you. His tip nudges that sweet spot of yours and you moan, a soft little cry that reverberates in the air for all the critters to hear.

“Here, you are—hah—feeling me, princess.”

You lift your hips before they come down again, pussy gushing all over Satoru’s length as you tend to that needy feeling of yours. You want him deeper, you need him deeper and you grind against him, rubbing your clit against his pubes.

His scent cradles the air around you, suffocates you. You feel hot, needy and so close to an orgasm that it’s almost embarrassing.

“A-are you in heat?”

You are. He smells it, smells the sweetness that permeates in the air and it’s early. Extremely early. That explains it too. The heat, the need and your desperation to feel him.

“Mngh, ‘Toru, please—feels so good.”

Satoru’s cheeks flush, they burn bright and his cock throbs, swells at the thought that he’s the reason why your heat is so early. You need him so bad that your body responds in the only way it knows how.

“You want me to breed you?” His hands find your waist; he massages the flesh there as your thighs tremble and quiver as your hips come down with the obscenest of squelches. “You gonna feel a growing baby all winter long? That what you want?”

“Please.”

He groans and your eyes flutter before a yelp slips from your lips when he forces his hips up, fucks you from below while you take what you need from him. You loll forward, still bouncing on Satoru’s cock like it’d save you.

Your orgasm hits you and you flood Satoru’s cock, walls fluttering around his length. Your release coaxes another orgasm from him, and he fills you with a groan, decorating your walls with ivory that mixes with your sap.

It leaks from you, adorns Satoru’s pelvis in a thick layer, but neither of you care.

“Again… mngh… more, ‘Toru.”

You commit every ridge of him to memory, bury the feel of it deep in your mind so that you’ll feel him for months, so that you’ll feel him in your dreams when the time comes. You stay just there, coaxing orgasm after orgasm from Satoru until even your mind goes numb.

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You run on autopilot the last couple of days before winter officially arrives. It had been difficult because like you’d wanted, Satoru’s seed had taken root, had planted itself inside of you and as a result, you’ve had to battle with nausea.

Still, you didn’t let that stop you.

Satoru does manage to help you where he can, but he doesn’t work as fast as what you do. If you’re not eating and then eventually throwing the food up, then you’re out, gathering firewood, chopping down trees like everything is normal.

Everything is not normal. You’re not supposed to be spilling the food you consume. Satoru knows that because you’re preparing for hibernation and you’re going to need all the energy and vitamins that you can get.

You even go as far as checking for tracks left behind by hunters, you mark your territory to keep other predators away by carving either a blade or your nails into tree trunks. You’ve been adamant on keeping Satoru safe while you know that you physically wouldn’t be able to while you’re asleep.

Satoru doesn’t like that you’re doing everything all on your own, doesn’t like that there isn’t much that he can do for you. He sees it in your eyes, an almost blank stare that suggests that you’re simply following instinct.

He’s never seen you be so busy either, hasn’t ever been around you during your preparations for winter. It makes sense because he’d only met you last spring, but even though there is an urge to help, he can’t help but admire you more.

You do the same things over and over again, but Satoru can’t get enough.

He manages to help in small ways, saves you time by leaving small portions of berries or nuts for you to snack on, because you’re able to stomach those, he starts a campfire so that you don’t have to bother when you prepare meat for roasting and he mimics the marks you leave on the tree trunks all on his own for extra measure.

He slowly learns the ways of a predator preparing for hibernation and he does it so that he can help you. It makes him feel useful.

Satoru is currently out, said that he wanted to do a few things in town and you’d been so adamant on waiting for him, but lethargy is quickly kicking in.

You begin the last of your preparations just to keep yourself awake. You snack on the last little bits of food Satoru had left out for you and before doing anything else, you take a bath, soak up the heat of the water that has you feeling drowsy.

Satoru still hasn’t returned by the time you’re finished, and you head on over to your bedroom.

You hum to yourself, staring at the articles of clothing that you have. You’ve spent a long time crafting them yourself, using flax fibre, furs and animal hide, but there’s a thought that teases you at the back of your mind.

Your lips tug upward.

Another yawn escapes you and you mumble to yourself. Satoru isn’t here and as much as you want to, you can’t wait for him. Your body, your instincts coax you to find some place warm and comfortable.

You turn, trudge over to your bed before slipping under all of the blankets you’d laid down for yourself before. You stretch before making yourself comfortable on your side, curling into yourself.

You murmur something, Satoru’s name perhaps, you don’t quite hear yourself.

Your eyes flutter shut, eyelids heavy. The warmth of the blankets helps coax you to sleep and it doesn’t take long before your breaths become shallow. Your heart follows a steady rhythm and just like that, you fall into a slumber that’d help get you through the harsh weather.

© nyxiedreams 2026 ⋆ All rights reserved ⋆

A/N: I just have to thank @burntnuggetsworld22plusnotaminor for this request! I had fun writing this.

Also, I'm adding a request masterlist to my pinned so if it is that you guys make a request, you will find your ideas there, MWAH! 💜

Also, all the tags are in this post, I'll add the appropriate ones for part 2 when I tidy the posts up.