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rahuratna · 6 months ago

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Nanami Kento: Relationship Headcanons (now a fic), Part 10

Warning: MDNI!! Explicit sexual content in this and following chapter. Details below cut.

Contents: smut, fingering, mild breast play, oral sex (male receiving), mild testicle play.

Somewhere, between the bedroom door and the bed, Kento seems to come to a realization. You feel it in the way his almost desperate touches slow in pace, transforming to burning trails traced with agonizing slowness over the curves of your body.

His message is unspoken, and very clear. He wants this to be perfect. He wants to take his time with you.

You are more than happy to comply.

Your lips part from his with a soft, wet sound in the charged silence of the room. Something about this man, the way he looks at you, touches you, welcomes you wholeheartedly into his life, gives you a confidence you've never felt with any other lover. It leaves you feeling powerful.

He watches in almost pained concentration as you step away from him, eyes never leaving his. You're now wearing just your underwear and you wonder if the light catches your skin as tantalizingly as it does his. You reach behind you to unhook the clasps of your bra, but he stops you, grasping your wrist gently.

"Let me."

The soft desire in his voice flickers over you like a flame. You allow him to turn you, facing the bed, your hair draped forward over one shoulder. His fingertips scrape slightly against your skin as he works the hook, tracing down your sides as the straps slip off your shoulders and fall away.

He steps forward, pressing his body into your back, and you almost tip forward onto the bed from how overwhelming his bare skin feels against yours. He moulds to fit the shape of you, and you make out the shift of his pectorals as he brings his arms around, the subtle scrape of the coarse hairs on his chest against your shoulder blades. His breath is like a furnace against the nape of your neck, and you tilt your head, a soft noise leaving you involuntarily as his mouth descends, opening against the sensitive skin; a promise.

His hands are on the dip of your waist, large palms spanning you, rising, rising. They trace the outline of your breasts, and you rise on tiptoes, head falling back against him with a gasp as he cups them. His grip is firm, caressing, the roughened skin of his palms catching on your over-sensitive nipples as he draws broken little sighs from between your lips.

His breathing is accelerating as he feels you, supple under his touch, feeding on the noises you're making for him. His fingers leave their almost obsessive squeeze and stroke of your flesh and slide lower, under the lace hem of your panties. He pauses as if asking permission, even now, and you place your hands over his, pushing down impatiently.

He huffs a small laugh against your hair and then your panties are gone, slipping down to rest softly at your ankles. You feel completely exposed, and somehow, it arouses you beyond measure, knowing he will be the one looking, tasting, tou -

The breath temporarily leaves your lungs as he lifts you and tosses you gently down on the eiderdown, the small display of strength creating a pleasant throb between your legs. You turn over, taking him in fully as he gets on his knees and crawls across the bed towards you.

The lamplight gleams on his golden hair, mussed and uncharacteristically dishevelled by your touch. The sharp, lined corners of his eyes are softer, the scorching, languid glance drinking you in, but still so earnest, so endearing. He is utterly beautiful, from the powerful shoulders, lean waist, the small hairs that speckle the significant expanse of his chest and trail down, deliciously to the small, sandy tuft above the line of his underwear, to the arms and thighs that ripple with corded sinew, shadows chasing over every defined line visible in the dim intimacy of the bedroom.

You take a small, reverent breath and lie back, surrendering yourself completely as he reaches you, lying on his side against your supine form. He is so warm, so intoxicatingly close, breath fanning out against your collarbone as he takes a moment to drink in the sight of you, splayed out for him.

He cups your chest again, then grips the flesh firmly, his mouth coming down without warning around your nipple. The cry that leaves your lips spurs him on. Kento never does anything by halves. He gives your breasts his full attention, tongue tracing the rounded contours before descending on your stiffened peaks, mouth engulfing as much as he can take. His teeth grazing against you as he lifts his head each time, making you arch off the bed. He alternates between the left and right, laving them with soft licks and bites, and just when you've gained some semblance of control again, you feel his broad palm slide down your stomach.

"K - Kento - "

"Look. Look at yourself. Please. "

You obey him, raising yourself slightly on your elbows, hair pooling on the mattress behind you. Your thighs part at his approach, as if obeying some primal instinct. You already know how wet he's made you, and he grunts loudly when his hand finds your slick folds, watching you jerk, your mouth opening in a soundless cry. You don't take your eyes off where his fingers are, and your compliance makes his breath come quicker, the stuttering words that leave his lips spiralling up to the ceiling like smoke.

"You're ... darling, so wet - I - please. I want to - "

He is not accustomed to this, to expressing his desire verbally. You can tell. You decide to help him along, as much as you haven't experimented much with this before yourself. You are no virgin, but there are still many things you want to experience with Kento for the first time. Bringing your mouth to his ear, you feel him still slightly as you whisper to him.

"Kento."

"My love?"

"Do you like how I feel?"

"I - of course I - "

Your head drops back on the bed, a soft, alluring smile forming on your lips. His eyes are now trained on you, asking a question. You have his complete attention. Good.

"Can you feel how wet I am?"

He exhales sharply.

"Yes."

His fingers are slowly going to work again, rubbing against your sensitive skin, slipping down, making you gasp as he smears wetness over your already soaking labia.

"K - Kento. So good. Making me feel so ... so good."

"I am?"

"Yes. Want you ... hah ... right there, right there - "

"Here?"

"Yes, God, yes."

Your voice is rising, almost uncontrollably, as those large, strong fingers slide against you with greater firmness, circling your clit, pressing down, spreading you, testing the soft give of your entrance.

"Want to feel you, Kento, please."

"Like this?"

Your petals unfold under his touch, one finger breaching into the heated clasp of your walls.

"Just like that, like that - "

"Come here."

His voice is suddenly rough with want, and he tugs you closer, his mouth coming down on your chest again. You clutch at his shoulders as he adds a second finger, working relentlessly, picking up pace inside the wet heat of you. You are now barely aware of the words that leave your mouth, the soft cries, the wanton encouragement.

"Yes, yes, there. Kento, please ... I - making me feel so - "

He releases your nipple with the soft, wet 'pop' of heavy suction, and now his breath is ghosting over your ear.

"Making your pussy feel good, darling?"

Oh. Oh.

Always such a quick student, this wonderful, wonderful man.

"Yes, so good, so good, I - "

You cut off with a small scream as he curls his fingers inside and you stretch wider against the intruding digits. Where the fuck did he learn -

"My love, your pussy's so tight, so sweet - "

"Oh God, yes - "

"Tight, wet little -"

"Ken - Kento - I'm - "

"Squeezing me so much - "

He is panting as hard as you are now, head dipping down between the litany of his praises to take your nipples roughly into his burning mouth, watching them glisten with his saliva as your back arches high off the bed, your trembling thighs spreading wider apart.

Something white hot is building in your abdomen, between the rhythmic press of his fingers and the added stimulation of his lips. Your clit feels raw, each brush electric, a steady, throbbing pulse that is dragging all of your awareness down, down, to the blossoming between your legs that is now completely under his control.

"I - Kentooo - I'm - "

"That's it. Oh darling, so - you're getting so much ... tighter, I can feel - God, come for me, angel. Come for me. Come with this beautiful pussy, I - want - "

His own words are slightly slurred now, but you can no longer keep your eyes open, no matter how badly you want to see him right then. The peak he is building you to is frightening, a complete loss of control, your hands slipping on a steering wheel, careening of a cliff, that sudden weightless drop you feel when you're asleep, your body taut and shuddering, and -

Your orgasm punches the air out of your chest, diaphragm struggling to keep up with the demand of your lungs. The room around you, the bed beneath you, ceases to exist for a minute, the intensity of the pleasure reverberating all the way to the curl of your toes against the mattress. Your neck feels damp with perspiration, your fingers digging into the mattress above your head, clawed and desperate.

After a minute, you begin to regain your senses, one by one, sound and touch returning before your eyes blearily open to take in the man who's gently bringing you down from those dizzying heights. His hands are now gliding over you, grounding you as he soothingly brushes over your sides, hips, thighs.

You are aware that your throat feels scratchy, your fingers stiff from where they have been clutching the eiderdown. Your breathing is ragged, and sweat is cooling in the valley between your breasts, along with the remnants of his saliva. You realise, with horrifying immediacy, that there is dampness, not just at the corners of your eyes, but collecting at the side of your mouth. As much as you started off feeling confident, you hadn't expected him to reduce you to an embarrassing, drooling, babbling mess with just his fingers.

Your shame is quickly forgotten, though, when you see the tenderness with which he looks at you. Those same fingers that were mercilessly grinding inside you a few minutes ago come up, toward his lips, and no, was he -

Oh, those eyes of his, honey-brown in this light, more alive and softer than you'd ever seen them. His gaze never leaves your face as he takes those digits into his mouth, tasting you, then slowly reaches across and traces your lips. He is still watching as your mouth opens obediently and you graze your teeth languidly over him, tongue swirling around his knuckles.

"Good girl. So beautiful when you come."

You almost lose your hold over reality a second time when he leans forward and laps up the excess moisture that has slipped from the corner of your mouth, a groan rumbling through his chest.

Throughout it all, he had been so focused on giving you pleasure, he had drawn your attention completely away from his own needs. You chide yourself for being so selfish as you glance down, between your bodies and note that he still has his underwear on.

Making a small noise of protest, you lift yourself, having recovered enough to move.

Hands still trembling slightly, you place your palms against his chest, pushing him down on his back. He is clearly pent up, his erection tenting hard against the tight fabric. In spite of the fact that you've just orgasmed, you feel a surprising pulse of arousal at the sight of him.

"Kento ... here, let me."

Biting your lip, you glance at him from under your lashes, spying the infinite hunger with which he watches you. Taking that as permission, you hook your fingers into the waistband of the briefs and pull them away from his body, then down, careful not to jostle his erection. The privilege of stimulus is solely for you; you want him just as delirious with pleasure as you have been.

He catches his breath lightly as the air hits his exposed flesh, and you sit back on your heels momentarily, to take in the image of him. The ridged planes of his abdomen form a wide, clear cut 'V', the darker blonde hair trailing down to the trimmed tuft around the base of his cock. He is curved, thick, a slight turn to the right at the tip, the smooth flesh red and painfully engorged, veins standing out along the length.

You have never seen anything more delicious.

Previous experiences have left you feeling lukewarm about giving pleasure orally, but you want to taste Kento so badly you have to squeeze your knees slightly together. The way you're looking at him is obviously having the desired effect because the swollen head is now touching his belly and he lets out a sharp grunt as you lean forward, his cock twitching slightly as you trail your hands up his thighs. The short, coarse blonde hairs catch between your fingers, the planes of muscle hard and tense.

You lower your head and press kisses softly where your hands pass, the trembling in your own legs a reminder of the pleasure you want to give him. Kento's eyes glaze over slightly, and you've never seen him quite like this before, spread out before you like the choicest buffet, the powerful body that was always so tightly controlled under that suit coming undone beneath you. He is breathing heavily, the skin of his face flushed, trying desperately to keep his gaze fixed on you and what you are doing to him.

You touch him, fingers wrapping around the base of his shaft, squeezing, testing, and a groan tears from the back of his throat, the longing in that single sound an indication of just how much he's holding back. Always in control, even to the point of submitting to your own desires.

You have patience. You can wait until that changes.

Pearly fluid glistens at his tip, squeezing out further under the soft ministrations of your hand. You taste him; he is slightly salty, musky. The scent pulls a hazy veil down over your mind, and now you are operating on pure instinct. Taking him into your mouth, you press him into the inside of one cheek, watching his head flop back on the mattress, his hand sliding down to the back of your neck. Eyes closed, Adam's apple bobbing with each breathy attempt to regain control, he is the most magnificent feast you have ever had the fortune to behold.

You slide him out, until just the tip remains between your lips, then press him back in. Your pace is slow, allowing him to adjust to the heat of your mouth. The muscles of Kento's thighs clench every time you bob forward. You pause in between to lick him gently from base to tip. The flush has now spread to his chest, sweat glistening on his forehead and the swell and dip on either side of his peaked brown nipples. His deep groans have turned into a soft chant of your praises, spurring you on even more.

"Oh God, please, darling ... just - ah - just, there. Yes. Yes. Your mouth ... ngh ... so sweet. Fucking heavenly. Fuck, I'm - please. Don't stop. Don't. Yes."

Hearing him curse like this for the first time sends a bolt of electricity straight down the front of your body, and you moan around his cock, the vibrations causing him to jerk spasmodically under you. The sweet, filthy encouragement, the hardening grip of his hand on the base of your neck, just below the hairline, is filling you with a sense of elation.

You are doing this to him.

You slip him out of your mouth, rubbing the silky, glistening shaft, then place one hand on his inner thigh, pushing. He glances down, spreading his legs further apart, but slowly, as if not sure why you're requesting it. You run your hand down, to the base, but don't stop there, gently cupping the soft flesh of his sac. He hisses and raises his head, meeting the question in your gaze.

"I - sweetheart, I'll - "

"I know."

"I know, Kento. But I want it. Want you to come in my mouth."

Your keep your voice low, sultry, your fingers stroking him with slow, steady firmness.

The words ignite some kind of inferno behind his eyes, and he props himself on his elbows, gulping before giving you a small nod. You smile and dip your head once more, circling with your tongue, feeling the roll of his testicles within the loose outer skin. You take one into your mouth, suckling with care, and the sound he makes, somewhere between growl and a yelp makes you want to build a little pillow fortress and live between his legs forever.

You alternate between sucking his tip and gently teasing his sac, stroking his length firmly all the while. He is growing hotter, harder inside your fist, twitching now and then, the opaque essence leaking out into your hand. The slick, wet sound of your stroking is building another fire between your own legs, one you'll neglect for now in favour of giving him your full focus.

And God, you never want to look away.

He has now fallen back, unable to support himself on his elbows any longer. One arm extends outwards, fingers grasping the edge of the bed as if his life depends on it. His expression is almost the same as when you kissed for the first time, slightly pained, ecstatic, head pushing back into the mattress. He is much louder now, the sounds he makes gruff and almost animalistic. It turns you on no end to know that Kento, your Kento, the man who lives by professionalism and propriety, is here, with his cock in your mouth, bucking his hips into your face like he can never get enough.

You speed up your strokes, careful to grip him tightly enough such that he doesn't slip out of your palm. You slide a hand under him, marvelling at the sheer muscle that forms his perfect buttocks, and he cries out, hips lifting right off the bed as he twitches, harder than ever, within your grasp. A flood of earthy warmth is suddenly on your tongue and Kento's entire body spasms, muscles tauter than piano wire under your hands. His mouth is wide open, nothing but throaty, half-formed groans emerging. You keep still, allowing him to spend himself, before tilting back your head and swallowing his viscosity, wiping off the underside of your lip.

He slumps heavily back on the bed, and you sit up slowly, watching as a few translucent strands of semen droop from the head of his cock, settling on his stomach. You lean forward and clean him, his warm abdomen clenching under your tongue. He strokes your hair, drawing your head away and you crawl up the bed, making your way to his side.

Kento is looking at you as if you are the last earthly delight he will experience in his lifetime, his cheeks ruddy, strands of gold darkened by sweat sticking to his forehead. He reaches for you with slightly shaky arms, and you curl up into his side, head tucked between his armpit and chest. He is too spent to do much, besides wrap and arm securely around you, his breathing gradually slowing to a more even pace.

His embrace, the heat of his body beside you, the steady rhythm of his heart beneath your hand is so comforting that you must have fallen into a light doze, because a short while later he is tracing shapes on your back gently, whispering to you to wake up.

"Love. Don't you want to get cleaned up?"

You nod, stretching luxuriously, and he nuzzles into the crook of your neck, placing soft kisses there, and then on your temple. You sit up and he is watching you closely, a slight uncertainty in his posture that makes you take pause. You cup his face between your palms.

"Kento? Everything all right?"

He shifts slightly before clearing his throat.

"I ... well. I haven't had much in the way of ... I mean to say ... was it ... "

Dear God.

"Kento. It was not too much. It was perfect."

He pauses, the muscles of his shoulders losing some of their tension, and a small smile creeps across his face, devastatingly sweet and shy. He slowly eases you to the edge of the bed.

"I see."

"Are you really the same man who asked me if my pussy felt good?"

Kento's head whips around so fast you thought he'd damage a tendon. His expression makes something vast and tender well up in your chest, bursting from your lips in a violent sputter of laughter. He grabs you by the hips, not too tenderly this time, nipping slightly at your ear in reprimand.

"You are a cruel, cruel woman."

"Am I going to be punished, do you think?"

"Very harshly."

His grasp on you is rapidly stirring something else between your bodies, something you had no idea you would be capable of feeling, considering the earth-shattering orgasm he'd given you a short while before.

You stand, and his eyes travel the length of your body, lingering on the curved length of your spine and lower, taking you in with the kind of regard that was far from the gentlemanly nature of his everyday self.

"Are you coming, Kento?"

"I most certainly am."

Your laugh becomes breathy as he rises and wraps his arms around you from behind, a more intimate echo of the way he'd taken you to bed earlier. You speak into the charged silence.

"I thought you were concerned about me going to work tomorrow?"

"I was."

"And now?"

"You said you were going to take it easy at work."

"And that means ... "

His lips are now planting themselves along your shoulder, and he pauses between kisses to whisper to you, voice husky and alight with desire.

"That means you're going to accommodate me, my darling."

"Accommodate you where, Kento?"

"You know where."

"My kitchen, perhaps?"

His soft chuckle stirs the hairs at the base of your neck. His kisses turn to soft bites that make you gasp.

"We needed to get cleaned up," you reprimand him.

Your heart really isn't in it, though. Not when his hands are sliding down your thighs.

"We will."

"You're not helping. Kitchens are delicate areas, you know."

"You're right, love. After all, I've only set foot in yours. And I intend to use every part of your kitchen. Very, very thoroughly."

@tsukimefuku @g-kleran @kentocalls @actuallysaiyan

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merthosus · 4 months ago

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Blank minds

@selfishlittlebeing asked:

Hi! So basically I just read every single one shot on this blog. And I am obsessed with your work. And I gotta admit that, “Wounded nights” did things to me.🧍🏼‍♀️

I’m not sure if I am requesting or smth (if you’d like to write this I wouldn’t protest, but feel free to just ponder on this with me). But like… I can’t get the image of touch starved Five out of my head. Bcs…damn. Him holding the reader in his arms like that (WN)… but can you imagine HIM having a vulnerable moment because of all that stuff with the Commission and apocalypses, just the trauma package yk. And after all those years…just Five being vulnerable with someone and touch starved.🥲 I am making myself feel depressed with all this. Wanna be depressed with me?🎀

Summary: After Luthers wedding, most of the siblings already gone to bed. You didn't feel like drinking, but loved to watch the others drown their sorrows into liquor and just have fun. Just as you were about to fall into a deep sleep, a knock on your door pulls you out of your slumber.

Thank you for your lovely request! Also, here a sexy poster from Five I fell in love with! With every purchase you automatically support me :) https://amzn.to/3yGK6Fm

“Since everything will be dust soon anyway, you won't mind if I just lie down here for a while, will you?”

You're up to your nose under your eiderdown, with only the sound of collapsing buildings coming through your window. It may sound crazy to others, but for you, it's been part of everyday life for a week. Counting every second, spending the last time with your family and savoring it. There is nothing more precious than time. Money has no value anymore, but the ticking hands of the grandfather clock do have.

Your thoughts hover over your head like gray clouds. Since the first day you slept in that hotel bed, falling asleep felt like hell. You tried a lot to finally fall asleep normally again. But every time you closed your eyes, you were met with nightmares, worse than you could ever have imagined. You were sure that this couldn't be the end, it simply couldn't be.

Like every night, you try to push the thoughts aside, to repress them as if they had never been there. But a loud and uneven knocking jolts you out of your sleep like a thunderstorm. You startle awake and clutch at the sheets of your bed. “Yes!” you shout, but it sounded more like a question than an encouragement. You watch every movement, sharper than Diego's blades. As Five stumbles in, you let out a breath you didn't even released you were holding.

“You scared me,” you mumble. "I scared you, so please, why should anyone be scared of me?" he says to himself. Any blind person would have recognized that Five had probably had a little too much to drink at Luther's wedding. Five doesn't finish the sentence and drops his head down as he continues to mumble to himself. After he fell back against the door, you gave him a worried look. “Thanks for closing the door, but I think you have a concussion now,” I smirk to myself. Five starts to giggle. “The world is coming to an end,” he says, and pushes away from the door again.

You look out of the window that separated you from the crumbling outside world. Instead of bright sunshine, dark red fire dazzles your eyes, bricks fly off buildings and trees uproot themselves. “No, really?” you ask him sarcastically as you turn back to him. You suppress your horror as he suddenly stands right in front of you. He holds on to the edge of your bed. You think about how he managed to approach you so quietly, the alcohol in his blood must be enough to put a chimpanzee down.

“Since everything will be dust soon anyway, you won't mind if I just lie down here for a while, will you?” he asks as he tries to climb onto the bed. “Five, eh?” you ask as you hold him down so he doesn't slide off. He awkwardly pushes himself over your legs, which elicits a small squeak from your mouth. “You're really rough, Five,” you complain, but you just couldn't help the smile on your face.

You had never seen Five so shameless. Five, who is usually so strong and independent, asks you if he can lie down with you for a moment. As you think about it for a moment, you briefly doubt your sanity. Was this a fever dream? But Five's careless hand movement presses your torso so hard into the mattress beneath you that you're sure it would have shaken you awake. “I've never seen you so awkward,” you squeeze your words out of the pain. “I'm sorry, but your bed is sooo soft,” he lulls to himself. You shake your head and stifle the comment that the beds here were all the same.

“Five, why are you really here?” you ask him. He lies down on his stomach and presses his head into your pillow. He mumbles his words into the fabric so that you can only guess what he's saying. “I don't understand a word, you stupid…” you grumble to yourself as you grab a tuft of his hair and push his head to the side.

Five groans softly as you move his head, his eyes half-lidded and unfocused. You wait for him to speak, but it seems like he’s struggling to find the right words. He’s always been the one with the sharp tongue, the quick wit, and seeing him like this—vulnerable and slightly lost—pulls at something deep inside you.

“I didn’t want to be alone,” he finally mutters, his voice slurred but honest. “I’ve been alone for so long... and I guess I’m tired of it.” His words are a confession, raw and unguarded, much like the state he's in now. You’ve seen Five in many situations—fighting, strategizing, leading—but this is different. This is Five without his armor, without the walls he usually keeps so firmly in place.

You feel a pang in your chest, a mix of sadness and empathy. You’ve always known there was more to him than the ruthless time-traveling assassin he often portrayed himself to be. But hearing him admit his loneliness is something else entirely. "I understand you, Five," you say. He smiles and sightly closes his eyes. "I didn't want to be alone too, so I am happy that you are here now, I would've preferred sober Five, but this is also ok", you smile at him.

You let your body fall back into your pillows, Five, who was still lying on his stomach, watching you. You put your head to one side and just look at him motionlessly. “Promise you won't tell anyone about the following?” he asks you. You don't understand exactly what he means. “I hardly think I have enough time left to tell anyone anything,” you say, with an unintentional sweep of sadness. “Promise” he whispers to you, while looking at you with begging eyes. Not only the pungent smell of alcohol, but also his seriousness to fly in your face. “I won't tell anyone,” you promise. Without warning, Five starts to move again. He pushed your arm up and curled up on your chest, like a cat looking for warmth.

Seeing five like this was new and made you very afraid to admit it to yourself. He cared so much about maintaining his strong, unbreakable personality that his current behavior frightened you. Despite the unfamiliar feeling of five so close to you, you almost automatically put your arms around his slender torso. His fingers slide onto the sides of your torso, clutching on it as if it was a matter of life or death.

"Five, what's wrong?", you ask him. "I am fucking scared", he lulls. His confession hangs in the air, heavy with the weight of his vulnerability. You can feel your heart rate quicken, the tension in the room shifting as you process his words. It’s a rare glimpse into the inner workings of Five’s mind, and the openness is both unsettling and intimate.

“Scared of what exactly?” you ask gently. “Everything,” he replies, his voice barely above a whisper. “The end of it all… the not knowing". The tremor in his voice sends a shiver down your spine, and you can't help but tighten your hold on him. You want to reassure him, to tell him that everything will be okay, but the truth is you’re scared too. The world outside is crumbling, and the future feels uncertain for both of you.

He shifts slightly, looking up at you with his tired eyes. “I don’t want to let anyone down. Not you, not the others. I’ve messed up so many times already.” His voice is tinged with a mix of regret and fear, and you can see the conflict waging within him. “If we lose, at least we'll lose together,” you say. It didn't really sound encouraging, but you couldn't think of anything better. “Do you think you'll regret this tomorrow?” you whisper without looking at him.

Five’s grip on your chest tightens just a little, and you can feel the slight shivering in his body as he processes your words. The silence that follows feels heavy, filled with the weight of the world outside and the vulnerability between you. “No,” he finally murmurs, his voice soft but resolute. “I won’t regret this. I might not remember every detail of tonight, but I’ll remember the way it felt to finally....", you wait for him to end his sentence.

"feel you", he says, so quietly that you almost missed it.. There is a silence in the room, your body is no longer able to move. Your brain needs some time to process his words. “I went too far, I'm sorry I…” he tries to apologize. He pushes away from your body and leans on his arms. But before he can finish his sentence and move away from you completely, you put your hands around his face and crash your lips into his.

The moment your lips meet Five’s, time seems to suspend itself. The world outside, with its crumbling chaos, fades into the background, leaving just the two of you in this small, intimate bubble. His initial shock quickly melts away, and he responds with a tentative but heartfelt kiss. His lips are soft and warm, and the urgency in his movements gradually transforms into something more tender and searching.

As you pull away slightly, you can see the surprise in his eyes, mingled with a hint of relief and something deeper that he might not fully understand himself. You’re both breathing heavily, the gravity of the moment settling in. “I didn’t want to...,” Five starts to say, but you place a finger gently over his lips, silencing him. “Don’t,” you whisper, your voice barely more than a breath.

“You don’t have to apologize. Not now. Not ever.” Five’s expression softens, and he looks at you with a mixture of awe and vulnerability. “I’ve been so caught up in trying to control everything, in fighting against the end, that I forgot about what really matters. I didn’t realize... I didn’t realize how much I needed this, how much I needed you.”

Feel free to tell me in the comments, what you think :)

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vaaaaaiolet · 7 days ago

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Leon's lifeline for the past two months has been a chance encounter he met at a bar. At an abandoned payphone in the dead of night, he can only hope his guardian angel picks up his call.

mdni (mild implied sex). gn / m, HELLA pining, romance, implied alcohol abuse bc older leon, egregious overuse of religious / angel imagery, angst w/ a happy ending!

word count: 935 // read on ao3

a/n: if you know anything about me it's that: 1) i will not stop making puns even if you held a gun to my head 2) paradise edition solos your fav 3) you can tear religious imagery out of my COLD DEAD HANDS

find more drabbles in my collection: sketches for my sweetheart the drunk!

Against every neuron in his brain screaming flight, Leon breathes way too early into the receiver, “Hi?”

The payphone is a cold metal kiss against his ear. The night rain works double time to chill him right through. He’s always had bad luck. Leon never meant for it to go this far. Never meant to let things get so out of hand with you, the angel he ran into at a bar two months ago.

Something about you just sticks. The quarter he fed into the pay slot did too. He should’ve taken it as a sign to let it go, let the drizzle soaking through his government-issued suit order him straight home from the airport, but the heart’s a heavy burden when it’s empty and besides, it gives him something to dream about.

So Leon stays. Prays you pick up.

The music was loud the night Leon met you. He’s tried convincing himself you’re an earworm instead. You tick all the boxes, too. He can’t get you out of his head (one). Leon had offered you a drink on a whim. You’d told him his eyes looked like pieces of sky fallen to earth, and maybe it was because you saw home in him that he saw it in you.

It was probably his own gin and tonic steering him astray. It could’ve been the twinkle in your eye when Leon kissed your knuckles in the red flush of the stoplights streaming in through the front window. But sooner than later, you had him wrapped around your wings. It just felt right with your feet off the ground when he’d hoisted you up under your thighs.

You sang so pretty in his arms. Leon’s postmarked for hell for sure. He’d taken you apart in a quiet back corner, pressed kisses down your eiderdown-soft nape, had the gall to smile at the shiver he brought out in your shoulders. You fit him like a glove. Every sweet gasp of his name that left your lips, Leon had burned into his brain to play on loop (two).

Leon, Leon, Leon.

And now, two months later, Leon realizes he’s angry about it. Not because of how outdated that is – seriously, who burns CDs anymore? – but because he didn’t know he was doing it. And that he’d do it for so long. He’d come to depend on the savior of your laugh to pull him through nights he’d spend with moonshine or an emptied magazine in different, more unfortunate circumstances. The memory of your voice put his fear to sleep. It was only a matter of time before Leon was skipping church in favor of taxi cab confessionals, drunk under the passing streetlights. Reciting the silvery lyric of your name under whiskey breath (three) as good as turned him into an acolyte.

One, two, three rings pass before the line drops. Leon slips in his last quarter and punches in again the 10 digits that haunt his dreams.

Why should you pick up? Maybe he’d hallucinated you tucking your number into his hand before you’d kissed him goodbye. Your wings could’ve been made out of paper, a false idol of Leon’s desperate invention, a feather dropped into his jean pocket from when he plucked you out of heaven. Of course he’d be the hero of the greatest love story that never was. The longest romance novel never written.

The dial tone stretches skyward. Leon sinks his teeth into his lip, stifles a dying scream to God with an aching throat. He doubts he’d listen.

Because even after all this time, Leon is impatient. The whole city’s asleep except him. The downpour is knifing into his back and he doesn’t want to wait for the day so he can turn sunshine into sugar; Leon wants to pull the sun into his mouth. All this praying on his knees and he can’t even put his mouth on you, can’t put into use all the practice he’s had saying your name.

He never even offered you a dance. Some kind of gentleman he is. The president’s bitch at attention and a poor excuse of a prodigal son to boot, standing at this payphone and pretending it’s only rain sliding down his cheeks.

So when the receiver echoes back his greeting, Leon thinks it’s a cruel test. He’s sullen, tasting bitters again.

“Hello?” it repeats softly, “Leon?”

And it’s you.

Leon gasps your name, clutching the phone to his chest and scrambling to answer back. “You didn’t- is it really you?”

You laugh like tinkling bells, lovelier than he remembers. “You sound just the same.”

“And so do you.” Leon runs an incredulous hand through his hair. “How’d you know it was me?”

“You started off with a ‘hi’. Normal conversations start with the word ‘hi’ and we’ve never had a normal conversation. It didn’t sound right with your voice.”

You remembered how he sounded. He’d called for you and you’d heard.

“I regret that. I’d like to have one of those with you sometime,” he admits.

“It’s been a while.”

“You don’t- you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“Can I be honest?” you whisper.

Leon holds his breath.

“I forgot to put my name on my number and I thought you’d never call.”

Tomorrow, Leon decides when he asks you to meet him for dinner at the Italian place you’d once told him about, right across the old church and the bar where he’d once met an angel, he’ll tell you he was always going to come back home.

And he hopes you’ll forgive him for being late.

click for my full drabble collection, and find more of my work here!

comments and reblogs are very much appreciated <3 divider by @/saradikagraphics

#leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy smut #ao3 fanfic #leon kennedy fluff #leon kennedy angst #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy fanfic #leon kennedy fanfiction #vaaaaaiolet #ns/ft #resident evil

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realcube · 19 days ago

Text

dilf december

day three ⭑ toru oikawa ⭑ sugar daddy x reader

tw : nsfw minors dni, age gap, implied sugar baby dynamic, vaginal fingering, slight impact play.

a downside to being a professional volleyball player is the lack of longevity. most players are put out of work by thirty; some may make it to thirty-five, if they're lucky. but generally after they've reached that age, they have past their prime and their athletic performance begins to decline.

for oikawa, his thriving volleyball career reached a glorious finish at thirty-three. he still does interviews and associates with the argentinian volleyball league, but his time as a player had ended.

but a massive perk to being a professional volleyball player that largely nullifies the previous issue, is that the money he made and the fame he gained during his short-lived time as a player was enough to last him for the rest of his life.

even at fourty-three, he is filthy rich: living in his big house by the seaside, appearing on national television and making guest appearances on shows and news outlets constantly. paparazzi swarms him whenever he steps foot out the door, journalists continue publishing articles about his legacy and magazines still beg him to be on their front cover. the headlines would read: "top ten men who only get hotter with age!"

however, he rarely indulges in satisfying the media anymore; he prefers to stay private these days. not because he doesn't love seeing himself in the media, because he undoubtable does, but rather because he doesn't want them catching wind of his new relationship. the age difference might stir up controversy.

not that either of you thought there was anything wrong with it. when he first saw you at the private golf club, working as a cart girl, he thought you were just the most beautiful woman he had ever laid his eyes on — baring in mind, he's had oppertunies to do photoshoot with famous models, but all of them were nothing in comparison to you — and your age had nothing to do with this.

meanwhile, you've always had a soft spot for an older gentlman with a pretty face and fat wallet. so it was only natural that he two of you immediately clicked, and in less than three months, you had moved in with him.

which is why you are currently laying in the centre of your queen-sized bed, chest pressed flush against your eiderdown bedding while your nose is buried in your phone, doing whatever you please. but out of the corner of your eye, you see your bedroom door creep open and a voice call out, "guess who?"

you purse your lips and furrow your brows in thought, "hm, i don't know."

he scoffs and steps out into the room to reveal himself, sauntering over to the bed and playfully flicking your forehead, "silly girl. don't even recognise your own boyfriend, huh?" he takes a seat at the side of the bed, and since you are laying on your front, he is able to place a hand on the back of your thigh and caress your tender skin.

"i suppose not." you murmur, still typing away on your phone, prompting him to lightly smack your ass.

"put that thing down. pay attention, sweetie. i've not seen you all day." he says with a smile, gazing lovingly at you.

while you simply roll your eyes, placing your phone anyway but still huffing in disinterest. "why should i? you barely pay attention to me, like, at all. you've been busy all week. we don't get to spend any time to together."

"i know, baby, and i'm so sorry. i've just got so many things to do."

"like what? i thought you were supposed to be retired.."

"i am, but work never really ends." he chuckles awkwardly, "i've got interviews to do and they still ask me to visit the team to give speeches to boost morale. it's a waste of my time, really."

you don't seem to impressed by this reply. your small 'hmph' prompts him to continue.

"but that's not an excuse, i'd rather be spending time with you, my gorgeous girl." he says solemnly, leaning in to place long kiss against the exposed skin of your thigh. "we will spend the weekend together. just us, with no distractions. we can do whatever you like. how does that sound?"

he waits patiently for your response, but you lay there with your hand propping up your chin, simply averting your gaze. he takes your silence as a response again and continues, "we can go shopping n' by you whatever you like. some new shoes, or clothes. maybe a new birkin, or whatever handbag it is that the new generation of women obsess over—"

"coach.." you reply plainly.

"right." he nods, "or we can get you a new phone. you mentioned needing an upgrade. plus, i don't like the front camera on your current one; it makes my eyes look asymmetrical." he cringes at the misrepresentation of his lethal facecard.

"i guess it would be fun to spend the weekend with you." you mumble, hesitantly gazing over your shoulder at him, "i really missed you, toru."

"you don't need to miss me, baby, i'm right here." he reassures you in a quiet tone. gently gripping the flesh of your plush thigh as he leans in to plant a sweet kiss against your lips. it lasts a while before he returns to his seat on the edge of the bed. this is when you begin to feel his hand creep from your mid-thigh, up and under your skirt until it was rested on your ass.

"in fact, let's start spending some quality time together right now." he kneeds the skin for a moment before his fingers curve inwards, and dip down between your thighs, brushing against your clothed pussy. he toys with your hole a little, and lovingly massages your clit and labia, basking in how wet he is making you and the cute moans and mewls that slip from your throat.

he pulls the fabric aside once he has you sopping enough for his liking, but continues to only tease your hole with his fingers. pressing against it and feigning penetration to get you needy and desperate for him.

"has this cute pussy been needing me all day?" he muses, playing with your clit under the rough pads of his fingers.

"uhuh.." you whine, arching into his touch.

"oh, poor baby." he says tauntingly, then proceeds to smack your ass, causing you to gasp. however, he simultaneously pushes to finger into your aching hole, which makes a lewd moan immediately follow your deep gasp.

he only chuckles, amused by your reaction to his ploy. it doesn't take him long before he starts thrusting his thick fingers in and out of your pussy, gradually building up a moderate yet rough pace. two fingers is enough to strain your tight walls, and he adores how each vulgar thrust is enough to elicit another loud moan from you.

since you have been deprived of sexual attention for so long, you had already got yourself so worked up at the idea of oikawa, that you end up finishing quicker than usual. creaming around his fingers and arching back into himself, letting him fuck your wet hole through your orgasm.

once he's done, you collapse onto your front, breathless, and he lays down next to you. turning his head so your faces are inches away from each other, "and there's more to come, princess."

#oikawa smut #oikawa tooru #oikawa x reader #haikyuu smut #oikawa x you #oikawa x y/n #oikawa tōru #oikawa fluff #oikawa toru x reader #dilf⭑december

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