#he can wear ken's clothes

[embodyingchaos]

wow he really can wear ken's clothes

[dat2ndaccount97]

Was sorting my saved posts on insta and fell down the rabbit hole of the 1964 Barbie Fan Club Magazine. Look at this art of Allan! The cover says he's Midge's "new boyfriend", but we all know better. That first paragraph (3rd image) is a dead giveaway lmao.

[fitzfunnymoments]

I forgot to post this yesterday but I made my big Stretchy figure a bracelet :]

[pseudowho]

"--need to go--" kiss "--just for a minute, let me--" kiss "--go to the bathroom, I--" kiss "--god, you're a menace, I'll lift you onto this counter, and you'll stay there until I get back--" giggle, kiss.

You whispered filthy whispers against Kento's lips, playfully dragging him back to you by the collar each time he tried to release himself.

Half-huff, and half-kiss, he grumbled and spun you around as you laughed, gripping your hands behind your back and pressing you forwards against the counter.

"--unhand me, wife, or I'll tie you up--"

"--don't threaten me with a good time, Kento--"

"--truly-- truly incorrigible woman--"

You laughed again, arching back against him, and pressing his cock into the crease of your barely-covered arse until he moaned; in annoyance, or lust? You weren't sure. Perhaps both. You had the bit between your teeth.

Kento wouldn't put up with your shenanigans for much longer. He slapped your arse, jiggling it with a growl, and dashed past your swiping hands to the bathroom. You whined, then sighed to the sound of his victory chuckle, the bathroom door clicking closed behind him.

Silence-- for 30 seconds. A minute. Two minutes. Three. You called out, smirking.

"Doesn't take that long to pee, Ken--"

The bathroom door clicked open. A low, mulish grumble sounded from within.

"I...can't go."

You frowned, stifling a laugh. "What?"

"I can't go. I'm too hard. I...can't pee."

Bursting out into laughter was your downfall, and it broke down into panicked squeals as Kento stomped out of the bathroom after you, his lap tightly tented over his cock.

He tossed you onto the sofa, dragging you back by the legs when you tried to wriggle and escape, and pinning you beneath him with nuzzled growls to your throat.

"--thorn in my side-- too erect to piss, and other problems my wife causes--"

"--oh, no, whatever can we do to fix this--"

"--you're talking too much and wearing too many clothes, as usual-- come back here-- certainly one thing we can do to fix this, madam--"

[m-ayo-o]

thinking of husband nanami kento who is really into playing with your pussy through your panties!

so much so, that he often asks you to wear his favourite pair.

"which pair are you wearing tonight, darling?" he would ask during your evening out.

"the pretty white pair, just like you asked, kento~" you chime back, adoring this more sexually perverted side to your usually sweet and caring husband.

and with the way he's thinking, it is getting so perverse he needs to take you home immediately.

spreading his legs on the couch, he gets you comfortable on top, and feels up your inner thighs until he finds what he wants.

"that's it, sweetheart," he encourages you to open your legs wider for him and expose the sweet spot nestled in your core.

which is where his thumb rests, right at your centre, rubbing up and down.

the gentle motion, paired with the heat coming from his body and his voice in your ear, is enough to get you wet through the material.

and that's just how he likes it; seeping through the thin fabric of those pretty white panties.

"soaked already, honey?" the timbre of his voice makes you quiver on his lap. your thighs clench and he knows you're already close.

"just teasing, baby," he kisses your cheek from his position behind you, his golden hair tickling your neck, "let me get on my knees."

those words alone are enough to get you dripping down your thighs.

"y-yes, kento~"

you find yourself sitting above him with your legs being spread by large, masculine, familiar hands.

the gold band of his ring glistens in the low light, accentuating the beauty of the man below you.

"yes, just like that, good girl," he purrs and settles between your legs. his thighs bulge as he kneels, drawing your attention further down to the tent in his tight pants.

it's throbbing, getting harder the closer his lips get to your wet, messy panties.

his tongue reaches out, connecting to your core, and his throat forces out a guttural grunt.

his teeth find the saturated material, and he only just restrains himself from ripping them to shreds.

sliding his tongue out, he returns to his original mission; making you cum through your panties.

he pleasures you, licking you up and down your barely clothed labia, focusing on the sweet spot of your clit.

the relentless licking and restrained groans coming from his chest make you whimper. your breath falters, your hands gripping tight to the chair below you as you let out a shrill cry.

"ken..to- ahh-- fuckk..!!"

your legs are shaking. he can taste the liquid you're spilling through your panties.

but he's not satisfied.

taking you to bed, he lays you down with care and unbuckles his tight, restrictive pants.

releasing his cock from his shorts he arches over your body that's dewy with sweat, glistening from the aftermath of your first orgasm.

pumping himself a few times, he nestles his lips into your neck and mutters something.

"sorry.. sweetheart.." he's embarrassed, "i need to.."

and he slides his cock into your soaking wet panties.

he pumps his dick in and out of the tight material, giving him enough lubrication and friction to get off.

you look down, seeing the way his dick pushes into your panties, pulling them tight over the smooth head, all covered in your wet mess, combining with his precum, and you moan at the sight.

"uhh.." he groans as he starts coming undone- your composed and elegant husband is moaning profanities into your ear from fucking your soaking wet panties.

he rubs the head of his cock over your pussy. but not in.

he's not even penetrating you and he's getting breathless.

his moaning soon falls off, into heated panting as he presses kiss after kiss to your tender neck.

and the way the smooth head of his cock is teasing your puffy clit is sending you spiralling out of control as you clutch onto the shirt that you've nearly ripped off his back.

"ken-- kentoo..." you whimper for him, through the relentless pleasure.

"sweet-- heart.." his hands pin your hips to the bed and he pulls away in the peak of this heated moment to look down.

the sight of his cock, pulling tight against the material of your panties makes his abs clench up with pleasure.

"c-close.." he murmurs, giving your clit a few final touches before his cock starts pulsing, squirting ropes of cum through the lacy material.

"uh.. aah--" he groans, his brow squeezed together in pleasure as he looks down at you.

"god, i've made a mess.." he mutters, slipping his cock out of your panties and dragging them down your legs.

"let me clean you up, darling.."

kento

[chocolilies]

( ୨ৎ. husband!nanami kento x wife!reader. . .ᐟ

◟ꪆ୧ nsfw (afab!reader, fingering, teaching a lesson through sex, ditzy reader) - also on ao3!

nanami kento, who wears his wedding ring everywhere.

he never takes it off, he doesn't dare to. why would he? 

it symbolises the promise you two made to each other, the love you have and continue to share— of course he wants to show it off to the whole world.

you’ll never find him without it, golden band always snug around his ring finger when he showers, when he cooks, when he cleans, when he works...

which is why he's so disappointed to find yours teetering on the edge of the bathroom sink.

steam sticks to the mirror, blurrily framing the disappointment on his face as he picks up your ring, turning his head to look at you, watching you ransack your shared wardrobe for clothes to wear tonight.

"darling, are you forgetting something?"

he watches you snap your head around, drops of water still dripping from your recently showered body, mouth forming an 'o' out of shock as you realise what he's holding.

"oh!" you rush towards him, outstretching your left hand once you reach him so he can slip the ring back onto where it belongs, smiling bashfully up at him. "sorry, it must've slipped my mind."

you don't miss the frown that deepens on kento’s face at your careless gesture, placing your hands on his cheeks and pulling him down for a sweet kiss, your way of apologising for the mistake. "don't be upset, ken. it won't happen again."

oh but it does, and even though kento knows deep down that these are simple mistakes, he can't stop the pit that forms in his stomach whenever he finds your ring abandoned at your work desk, or the kitchen counter, or even slipped forgetfully into your bag.

he tries his best not to let it irk him, instead resorting to reminding you each time he finds your ring somewhere other than on your finger, making sure to slip it back where it's meant to be with as much love and care as the day you first exchanged rings and vows.

his resolve crumbles the moment gojo opens up his stupid mouth.

“woah, trouble in paradise?”

kento’s shoulders stiffen at the light-hearted way your coworker comments on your lack of ring, standing at your doorway holding lunch for the both of you as he watches you laugh it off with a wave of your ring-less hand, explaining your forgetfulness and immediately starting to look for the tiny trinket.

“darling,” kento speaks slowly from the other side of the room, announcing his arrival at the same time he flashes you with the item you were looking for. 

you don't seem to notice his clenched teeth and narrowed gaze as you happily walk over to him, allowing him to slip your ring back on before placing a kiss to his cheek in thanks, the maximum amount of affection you dare to show in your workplace. 

it hadn't dawned on him until then that he wasn't the only one that would notice your missing ring, wondering nervously as he finished up that day’s work just how many of your friends had noticed, whether the girls you normally went out and drank with assumed that he was a terrible husband, that there was indeed some trouble in paradise, that you were stuck in a loveless marriage instead of the obvious: that you were just forgetful.

he tries not to show his upset later that night when he finally arrives home, but as the dutiful and perfect wife you are, you notice immediately. you ask him what's wrong, offer to cook him his favourite dish, hold him in bed like you usually do whenever he feels down, tell him you’re there for whatever he might need and want…

“but… what I need… is to remind you how important this is to me,”

you watch as he catches your left hand in his, bringing it up to his face and pressing a chaste kiss to the warm metal, amber eyes staring deep into yours during his action. 

you smile, moving said hand to cup the side of his face, running your thumb over his sharp cheekbones. “I know how important it is, ken…”

despite your sweet coo and love-filled gaze, kento knows, deep down, that you need a reminder. 

“of course you do, angel,” he sighs, leaning closer into your space as his eyes trace your unforgettable features, drinking in your lovestruck expression. “but I feel that lately, it’s been slipping your mind. don’t you think that, as your husband, it’s my duty to make sure you never forget?”

your husband's ring feels cold against your flushed skin, a sharp contrast to the warmth his fingers are radiating as they slip through your sopping folds, collecting your dripping essence like a prize as his chapped lips press sloppy kisses all over your neck.

you can't stop the noises that leave you at the teasing, fleeting touches, eyelids drooping closed in pleasure as his other hand plays around with your chest, nimble fingers grabbing and tugging at your nipples in tandem with his other hand’s movements, sending rushes of overstimulating pleasure throughout your tired body. 

you're unaware of how many times he’s made you cum so far, the towel he’d oh so graciously placed beneath you thoroughly soaked thanks to his continuing ministrations, yet all you can focus on is the strange but welcome feeling of his ring pressing against your most intimate parts, bumping against your clit with every movement from his nimble hand and sending jolts of pleasure through your spent self, though you assume that this was your husband’s desired effect all along. 

“you’re doing so, so good, angel,” his voice rasped against your ear, harmonising with the squishing sounds your poor cunt was making, every touch to your clit making your body lurch and quiver, the feeling overwhelming. “c’mon, one more, alright? or have you already learned your lesson?”

lesson? you think as you feel his ring finger slip into you along with his middle and index, cunt loose enough to accommodate all three and hopefully his cock after this “lesson”. 

“w- won't take it off again, ken, pr-promise,” you gasp out, arching your back against his chest and pressing your rump against his very hard erection, which he'd been neglecting in order to get you to this point. 

you feel his fingers curl, hitting your g-spot perfectly like they had times before, but he didn't relent like you'd expected him to. 

“k-ken?”

“that's not all.” 

you whine out in confusion, hips moving along with his fingers despite the need to give your body a break, chasing the high that your mind oh so wanted but body couldn't exactly reach. 

“b-but-”

“it's not just about wearing the ring, darling,” kento started to explain, showing off his amazing dexterity by continuing to play with your tits with one hand while still fingering your pussy with his left, pressing a sweet kiss against your tear stained cheek. “no, if it was about that, this would've been over way more quickly.” 

you can feel a different sort of pressure start to build up in the lower parts of your tummy as he paused, legs shaking from the disturbance and in warning of what was to come if kento keeps doing his thing, though by the looks of it, he was nowhere close to stopping. 

he stays silent, allowing you to realise that he was really waiting for you to answer, as if you were both immersed in a casual conversation and he hadn't just melted your brain with just his fingers, and you force yourself to speak despite the mind numbing pleasure. 

“wh- oh god! what's it a-about, ken…?” you mewl, hips raising each time he pumps his fingers inside, almost like you were trying to ride him since his cock was still tucked away inside his slacks, his palm rutting deliciously against your clit with every movement. 

you hear him stifle a groan as your hips start to move, torturing himself as well as you by not bothering to help himself, too focused on your pleasure to act on his own, pressing his lips to the spot under your ear in an attempt to muffle the whimpers that were threatening to escape him. 

“k-ken?” you half-questione, half-moan, letting your head fall back onto his shoulder and focusing your blurry gaze on your husband's flushed face, drinking in the gorgeous expression he was sporting. 

“darling,” he lets out breathlessly, brown eyes darting down to meet your own, hands still not relenting in their attack despite his pause in speech, trying to compose himself before speaking once more. “it's- fuck, I… I want you to remember why you wear it, honey. who put it on your finger, who you belong to...”

he shudderd as one of your moans rings out throughout the dark room, not helping him in the slightest as he tries his best to fight against the urge to flip you over and fuck you like the both of you deserved. 

“who I belong to,” the strokes of his fingers grow deeper and more attentive, attacking your g-spot relentlessly as you writhe in his arms, his loving yet possessive words sending tremors throughout your body. 

“oh, kento…”

he exhales shakily at the moan of his name, letting his head fall forwards to rest on your shoulder in an attempt to ground himself, sinking his teeth into your shoulder with a shudder. 

“you're not going to- fuck, let this go, a-are you?” you manage to whisper out cheekily, hips and body still moving subconsciously on his fingers. 

“not a chance, my love,” 

kento moves slightly, adjusting your body so you're pressed even more impossibly closer to him, ass still perched against his hardened cock, member twitching and spitting out pre against his dampening slacks with each movement from your almost drunk body, high of pleasure and doing whatever it can to reach that high kento had seemed to have promised before. 

“I'll make sure you never want to take this off again—” he starts, and you gasp out in horror as his fingers slide out of you, lifting his soaked hand up to your chest, giving you a few seconds to panic before quickly replacing it with his other hand, nipples softening at the sudden lack of stimulation. 

to accentuate his point, his left hand, the one where he proudly displays his ring, the one that's covered in your juices and almost pruny due to the amount of time spent playing with your wetness, finds your own, carefully intertwining your fingers together and showing off both of your rings. 

“—not because you're afraid of forgetting, no…” 

you shudder as his other hand resumes the work his other had been doing, immediately feeling that intense need of release come back, biting your lip to muffle your sounds in order to listen to your husband better, not wanting to interrupt him, especially when he was like this— disheveled, flushed, with tiny whines escaping his chapped lips with every press of your ass against his crotch. 

“but, because every time you look at it—”

you can feel it building up, your release at the tip of your fingers, but not exactly like all the other times before, so you know what's coming. 

it's not the first time kento's gotten you to this point. he's exceptionally proud of it, obviously. no one before him had ever gotten you to squirt before, and evidenced by the rings that were currently getting dirty in your juices, no one but him ever would. 

his fingers quicken their pace inside you, attacking your g-spot with force before suddenly moving up to give your clit the same treatment, pinching and rubbing the tiny bundle of nerves in an expert manner, knowing exactly what to do to get you to that oh so delicious release. 

you raise your hips in preparation for it, pressure building up in your most intimate parts as you moan and cry out your husband's name, his mind crumbling with every sound you make, trying to stay on track. 

his mouth opens in awe as you grab onto his hand tighter, vision going white as you finally reach your climax, voice getting caught in his throat at the beautiful sigh of you coming undone on his fingers, love-filled eyes drinking in every single inch of your trembling bare body, release-soaked fingers still rubbing at your cunt rapidly.

he chuckles as you try to move away from his touch once it becomes too much, apologising silently for the overstimulation with a kiss to your sweaty temple, before finally finishing his speech. 

“—you’ll think of this.”

[choslut]

˖ ࣪ ، ◞ せ⌇ BABY MOMMA. featuring k. nanami.

↻ there’s nothing nanami wants more in the world than to make you a mommy, and give you his beautiful kids.

tags : breeding kink, creampie, mommy kink (if you squint), messy sex, pet names, feral nanami, marathon sex, lactation + pregnancy (fantasized), ovulation cycle // wc. 0.9k

author’s note : sorry this one’s a lil late, i’ve been busy with theme changes and real life is throwing a million and one hurdles at me and i just can’t keep up 😞 you can't tell me that nanami wouldn't be a massive family man, so here i have him completely desperate to start a family with you and give you his babies. notes and reblogs are always appreciated, and check out my masterlist for non-event based works <3 !!

this work is NSFW. minors and ageless blogs DO NOT INTERACT.

it’s been hours. hours since nanami even proposed the idea of trying for kids, and now, it’s all he can fucking think about. 

it’s all you can think about too, given the fact that he’s fucked you out of your mind, legs numb from being in missionary for as long as you remember with nanami plunging in and out of you, the tip of his cock nudging your cervix with every single thrust. 

it’s repetitive. it’s addicting. 

“hah- kento, can’t take no more…” your voice is a sheepish babble, nails digging into his back as tears stream down your face. “ ‘s too much, ken, please–“

nanami grunts in your ear, hips never ceasing movement as he ruts into you. “g’na have to, sweetheart. this one’s gotta take.”

he said that about the last one, and the one before that, and the one before that… and fuck, you can’t keep up with how many times he’s said it because he’s been going at it for so long with only one goal in mind. 

he’s gonna give you kids. he’s gonna make you a mommy, and you’re gonna raise his kids with him as his wife. 

it’s all he’s ever wanted. it’s all he’s ever dreamed of, and when he watches you lounge around the house wearing nothing but a bra and his oversized dress shirt and a wedding ring fit snugly on your finger, he really can’t stop himself from imagining what you would look like with a swollen tummy, breasts spilling out of that same bra. 

“g’na give you my kids baby…” he’s rambling half out of his ass, his brain scrambled by pure need. “gonna make my girl a mommy. you’re gonna be a great mommy, aren't you?”

he’s brought up the topic before. it was never anything serious, just asking you what you would prefer and never really thinking of his own volition. you had always agreed with him wholeheartedly, and it would somehow lead to the two of you cooing over baby clothes and strollers but never anything more. 

nanami is fucking sick of it. he’s sick of fawning over the idea and not doing anything about it. sure, you’ve made love a couple of times, but it never held any true intent, focusing on the pure need to give each other pleasure. 

well, now, nanami needs more than pleasure. he needs to see you with that swollen tummy and those massive leaky tits, and there’s only one way to do that; fucking you within an inch of your life and cumming in your cunt until it finally takes. 

“kento–“ you seemingly haven’t gotten bored of it yet, despite having been at it for over two hours. your back still arches with every bump to your cervix, nails still raking down his back as his sweaty chest squashes your own. “this one’s gonna take, promise.”

“i can’t be sure of that,” he states matter-of-factly. “although your tracker says you’re ovulating, we can’t just trust that once or twice will be enough.” is he sure of this fact? no, but he is sure that you feel too damn good to stop, even though he’s already finished inside of you enough times to guarantee your pregnancy ten times over. 

you just look so beautiful beneath him. you wear the radiance of sex extremely well, eyes fogged over and mouth hanging open as your steamy pants echo in his ear. you’re borderline intoxicating, and that’s why nanami can’t stop, even though he knows you need him to before you pass out. 

“look at me, angel. i wanna see you.” you weakly turn your cheek away from the pillow and look up at him, lips stained a gorgeous red and swollen from his kisses. “you’re gonna be such a pretty momma.”

your eyelids flutter and your back arches weakly as you cum again for the final time, garbled moans of nanami’s name flooding from your throat. despite the longevity of your session, your cunt still manages to squeeze around him impossibly, and nanami groans deeply, arms sliding around your hips as you pulls you forward to meet his thrusts. 

“kentooo…”

“i know, baby, i know.” the sheets are soiled with your sweat and his, and the tight clampdown of your walls propels him to cum one final time, hips flush against your twitching clit as he pumps you full. 

you both stay like that for a beat, nanami folded over your twitching body before he finally pulls out slowly, and when he does, the sight he’s met with is so incredibly dirty that he can barely believe he was the one to reduce you to such a mess. “oh, angel…”

copious amounts of his release flood from your cunt, leaving a translucent pool on your sheets. whilst he absolutely loves the sight and wishes to brand it on the forefront of his brain, nanami’s goal is still clear as day. 

he leans down and kisses your overstimulated clit, fingers dancing around your twitchy hole and gathering up his release before pushing it back inside with a curl of his fingers that makes you want to scream. 

“can’t waste any, my dear, or it might not take, remember?” when he looks up at you from in between your trembling thighs, the look on his face is nothing short of depraved, blonde strands of hair sticking to his forehead and cheeks stained red with excitement. 

“can’t wait to see my girl become a mommy.”

PREVIOUS : THE COLOUR RED ft. yae miko NEXT : BLACKOUT ft. tartaglia

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© choslut 2024 — do not copy, repost or translate my works without permission.

[yzzart]

౨ৎ⊹. BOYFRIEND!KENJI HEADCANONS!

── content warnings: F!reader, mention of Emiko, Emi and Mina, Ultraman form, Kenji being a little needy (once again), fluff, a little something to warm our hearts and minds so dreamy.

── word count: 683!

⭑.ᐟ Underneath, and sometimes over, tight-fitting t-shirts and extremely expensive fabrics, wear a necklace; however, there is something special there. — His promise ring hangs on the gold chain; like a talisman, something that surrounds he with luck and passion. — Staying attached and close to you, even with a small object.

⤷ If he needs to think or try to decide something dramatically important and you're not around, Sato will take his fingers to the necklace and hold the ring; looking for guidance. — Oh, and waking up, before him, and contemplating that shiny and significant piece, which rests on his broad chest, is angelic.

⭑.ᐟ It's not uncommon to feel, in the middle of the night, Kenji's face trying, persistently, on your neck; readily, wanting to harness the huge and strong body between your. — He doesn't care about the grotesque difference in size, just at that moment, and he doesn't give up.

“Kenji, be careful…!” — Your voice, fully, drunk with sleep and maintaining stillness, murmured between the boy's black and shiny locks; who only responded with a snore, more like a purr and clinging even tighter to you.

⭑.ᐟ Sato can't keep his hands off you, no matter what's going on, what you're doing or what simple task you're performing; hands on your waist, kisses on every exposed and revealed part of your body, thin and wide fingers catching on some part of your clothes. — Don't be upset with him, this poor man is in love with you.

⤷ One day, Mina compared him to a sloth and obviously got a frown of disapproval and the adorable Emi observes how her “father” remains so attached to her “mother”. — Even laughing and grunting when he saw a completely sleepy and desperate Ken crawling towards you.

⭑.ᐟ Please, we have, we need to talk about all the times Kenji and Emi train together, most of the time, being just leisure moments, you sit in the stands, virtually, scheduled and cheer for them; accompanied by Mina. — The feeling of nostalgia, remembering an incredible part of his life, is exposed in Ken's chest; remembering his mother.

⭑.ᐟ I can easily imagine Ken pressing his nose against your cheek or neck wanting your attention; also, when he wants to show you the way Emi is sleeping, enjoying the baby's sweetness. — And, together, pressing his forehead against yours during countless moments of the day and night, when you get home after confronting some creature and every time he want to say "i love you" to you.

⭑.ᐟ This man knows you like the back of his hand; no one can disagree or dispute this fact. — Kenji pays attention to your gestures, noticing your body language and, for a matter of seconds, he knows that something is bothering you; and, there he is, dedicating himself, with all his attention, to doing his girl well.

⭑.ᐟ Funny situations, for Ken, between you and his Ultraman form are included in your lives. — Once, while chasing Aboras, he ended up finding you on the street, wanting to go home, and clearly he was distracted by wanting to cause a provocation. — Mina gave the boy a long, and rightly so, scolding.

“Go back to the house, young lady.” — The robotic voice filled a part of the city's environment, wanting to convey an authoritarian image. — “You know…” — He pointed one of his gigantic fingers in your direction, then towards the place he was. — “The streets have been very dangerous lately.” — Oh, you stopped yourself from answering him like you really wanted to.

“Thank you, so much, for the advice, Ultraman.”

⭑.ᐟ There are nights — many, many nights — that Ken spends watching, contemplating you sleeping, peacefully; your face remained full, without signs of tiredness, exquisite and messy locks spread out, this was adored by the player's eyes. — Between seconds of fascination, Kenji longed, dreamed, deeply and painfully, of his mother meeting you; this way, she would have the chance to know the light that raised her dear son.

⤷ Kenji prospers, sometimes praying, that one day his mother will return, safe and sound, and be able to achieve what he wants so much in his life.

[dante-mightdie]

long awaited part three of lowselfesteem!reader and simon

part two

invisible clothes

that’s what you called them, the rags you don when you have to integrate with the general population but you would much rather not be noticed. clothing that is so bland that it isn’t nice enough catch an eye but not hideous enough to catch any negative attention

you had told simon about them once, when he called you out on wearing them every time you stepped out in public, including your dates with him. especially since he knew you had a very elaborate wardrobe with a tailored sense of style

clearly they aren’t invisible enough to hide you from johnny’s guilty eyes from across the store aisle. you sigh when he comes up to you, tapping your shoulder to get your attention. he shifts uncomfortably on his feet

“I know ye probably hate ma guts, lass but ye should ken that simon shut down all of that bet talk after your first date. Ah just bring et up to annoy ‘im.” johnny says, with a nervous chuckles at the end. you don’t laugh alongside him

“okay, fair enough. look, he’s miserable without ye! he comes to the pub just to get pished and mope about how he fucked it all up with ye.” johnny continues, a pleading look in his eyes, “he’s supposed to he coming by to drop off some things of yours tomorrow. just hear him out, please, lass.”

you roll your eyes at him, continuing to grab what you need from the shelves in front of you. not even bothering to look him in the eyes when you finally begin to speak

"why should I? why am I always expected to think of other people even when they hurt me? you and simon didn't think about me or my feelings when you made your stupid bet. neither of you stopped to consider that I was just a person who simply wanted to be left alone." you say with a scoff, "he'll be lucky if I don't slam the door in his face."

johnny shifts on his feet, looking down at the floor since he feels too uncomfortable to look directly at you, "fair enough. take care've yerself, hen."

you bite back tears as you watch him skulk off in the corner of your eye. you stand there for a few more minutes, staring at the stacked shelves in front of you to distract you from the war raging inside of your head

-

it's late at night, nearly midnight, when there's a knock at your door. you let out a sigh, already knowing who was disturbing your doomscrolling at this hour. and when you open the door, you see him. you’re brooding prick of an ex-boyfriend. he at least has the decency to look guilty, like a dog caught ripping up the couch cushions

except he wasn’t a dog, he was the love of your life. and your heart isn’t so easily replaced like a cushion. though he definitely treated it like somewhere to rest his head

“hey.”

you scoff, you’re not sure why. there isn’t anything inherently wrong with what he said but it still annoyed you. he annoyed you. with his stupid stormy eyes and his stupid jokes and freckled shoulders that you used to connect like dots late at night

“just give me my stuff and go, simon. don’t have time for this bullshit.”

he doesn’t flinch. he saw that hit coming, and sometimes you gotta let them swing at you especially when you know that you deserve much worse

the exchange is quick, a box with small memories passed over to you. a couple items of clothing, a book and some toiletries. before you can slam the door in his face, he jams his heavy boot into it

“wait… love, I… there’s somethin’ else. I never gave it to you but it’s yours. got it for you and I’ll never give it to anyone else.”

the glare you give him only falters when he places a small velvet box in your hand, he pauses the speech you can definitely feel coming on. looking at you expectantly to open it. you do, waiting for him to laugh at you when you find nothing in there. ridicule you for even thinking he would consider making you his wife

but all he does it look on solemn, the beautiful ring twinkling as a devastating reminder of what could have been

“I kno’ I ‘ave no right to ask. I wouldn’t insult you like tha’ lovie. you can hate me, I deserve it. but you don’t deserve it. I won’t let you hurt yourself over what I did. you deserve to know the real extent of how bad I fucked up. maybe it’ll help to look at tha’ ring and know that I’ll spend the rest of my life having to know I lost the woman who should be my wife.”

there’s no chance to respond, not like you’d know what to say anyway,

“I’m sorry.”

and then he’s gone.

[beeing1alive]

Turning on Tokyo Revengers boys without knowing it pt.1

f.t.: Mikey (Manjirō Sanō); Draken (Ken Ryūgūji); Mitsuya (Takashi Mitsuya); Baji (Keisuke Baji); Chifuyu (Chifuyu Matsuno); Kazutora (Kazutora Hanemija)

Warning: Nsfw content, minors do not interact

Mikey:

can't help but get a hard-on when he sees you sitting on his motorbike

especially when it's summer and you're wearing short clothes

his gaze veils slightly, he draws the air through his teeth slightly and watches every movement you make

i'm not going to lie, he's never got hard so fast

Without hesitation, he ran over to you and sat on his motorbike with you, just to kiss you a little more intimately than he wanted to

you can always tell if he's Horney when he kisses you extremely kinky in public

Draken:

Gets hard the fastest when you wear his clothes

I think we can all agree when I say that he has a size kink

I mean, he just can't help it when he sees you in his clothes, which are obviously way too big for you

especially when you're wearing one of his shirts and otherwise just a pair of panties

his eyes would darken slightly and he would slowly move towards you to tell you that he has a big little problem in his trousers and that you could help him with it

Mitsuya:

jealousy turns him on immensely

I mean, I know he doesn't look it so much, but he gets rock hard in seconds when he sees you talking to another boy for a little too long

a chiselled smile appears on his handsome face and he tries as hard as he can to hide the ever-growing and pulsating bulge in his trousers, which he manages to do quite well

as soon as you and the boy are ready, he pulls you behind him, gently but firmly

the moment you arrive in a quiet corner, you are his

Baji:

nothing turns him on more than seeing you in a leadership position

I mean, when you assert yourself and do all those leader things

he'll sit still, his eyes veil slightly and he watches every little move you make

I'm not even lying when I say that he just sits there and a slight, barely noticeable blush spreads across his face as he notices his trousers getting tighter in a matter of seconds

Chifuyu:

gets hard within a few seconds if he sees you in short clothes

for example, shorts and a revealing shirt

he is just too innocent and would blush extremely and in rare cases get a nosebleed too

if he feels confident enough, he'll snuggle up to you from behind so you can feel his hard boner pressed against your bum, which doesn't make it any better for him

he'll gently give you a sweet kiss on the neck and tell you that you know how much it turns him on when you wear revealing clothes

Kazutora:

turns him on most of the time when you're sitting or lying on his lap

the first few times this happened, he was very uncomfortable because you felt it directly when he got hard and he can't hide it

when he's feeling very horny, he tries to move his hips against your bum to create friction

if you're also wearing short clothes, he'll almost come in his trousers at the slightest touch

I mean, that divine view of you, in short clothes, on his lap, pressed against his hard cock

he just can't help it, so don't be angry with him

Here is pt.2

Attention: The characters and the GIF do not belong to me. The credits go to the original owners. If you want anything to be changed or removed, please contact me.

[cythena]

IF I HAD TO CHOOSE . . .

warnings . . . tits ass or thighs? multi fandom blog post ( JJK, GENSHIN, KNY, BLLK, TOKYO REVENGERS ), pxrn links to twt, tit sucking, missionary, cowgirl + reverse, backshots lol, humping, thigh fucking is so hot, fingering, fem rec oral, mentions of taking nudes, spankings, all visuals show lighter skinned people but i would never try to exclude anyone

TITS 2 3 — the ultimate life source, he lives off of the existence of yours. there's not a day that will go by where you won't catch him staring. he loves how soft they feel in his hands and how you let him squeeze them. it gets him so hard when you walk around braless or wear a tight or low cut shirt. truthfully, anything you wear is enough to get his cock stirring in his pants. he loves to worship them and dedicates time to showing you how much he loves them. sucking and slurping on your nipples is how he wants to spend his days. he fucks you extra hard to see them bounce when you're on your back. he holds you close to his chest and fucks up into you just to get his lips around your tit. pics of you in his shirt that's been pulled all the way up are his favorites. his collection of your tit pics range from selfies you sent and the dirtiest ones of you covered his cum.

satoru gojo, kento nanami, toge inumaki

kaedehara kazuha, xiao, diluc ragnivdr, thoma, venti, albedo, kamisato ayato, neuvillete

akaza, muzan, obanai iguro

yoichi isagi, rin itoshi, meguru bachira

takemichi hanagaki, seishu inui, takashi mitsuya, shinichiro sano, hajime kokonoi

ASS 2 3 — tight jeans and short skirts are his favorite, really anything that let him admire the curve of your ass. actually even baggier clothing made him feel proud of being the only one who knows what's underneath. he palms your ass every second of the day no matter where or who was around. he would hold it and playfully slap it whenever you were in arms reach. he would grip onto it like he would lose you and slam it against his pelvis desperately. he just needed to have his hands on your body in some way. when you were on top, he liked having your back to him so he could watch the ripples in your gorgeous ass. he would get so needy when it came to bending you over. especially when he had such quick access with you only in a shirt and panties. he'd have your back arched and all clothing pulled out of his way immediately.

toji fushiguro, ryomen sukuna, yuuji itadori, aoi todo, naoya zennin

scaramouche, kaeya, arataki itto, tartaglia, wriothesley, gorou

sanemi shinazugawa, tengen uzui

reo mikage, sae itoshi, shoei barou, ryusei shido, micheal kaiser

ken ryuguji, nahoya kawata, taiju shiba, kazutora hanemiya, shuji hanma

THIGHS 2 3 — he's so proud to admit his love for thighs. he thinks they're the most versatile. he can use them for whatever he needs. he takes naps on them, he lays on them to talk to you, he can fuck them super easily. they also look the cutest in little skirts that he buys you just to see them. then he pairs them with socks that squeeze in a way that gets his mouth watering. he gets to dress you up and take pictures of your pretty skin before his cum spills all over it. as much as he loves filling you up, he would never complain about finishing over your thighs. he'd even go as far as to clean it up then spend the rest of the night with his tongue between your folds. he'd drink ever drop you had to offer while your hands tangled in his hair. if his fingers weren't spreading you open then he'd push your thighs around his head.

choso kamo, megumi fushiguro, yuta okkotsu, hiromi higuruma

zhongli, cyno, kaveh, tighnari

giyuu tomioka, kyojuro rengoku, sabito, douma

hyoma chigiri, seoshiro nagi, rensuke kunigami

manjiro sano, chifuyu matsuno, hakkai shiba, souya kawata

[joyful-soul-collector]

I've seen a lot of people talking about how Barbie talks about how the patriarchy affects women and how well it does that, so I wanna talk about how Barbie talks about how the patriarchy affects men and how well it does that. Because it does that really well tbh.

At the beginning of the movie, it's made very clear that the Kens are constantly competing with each other, and trying to prove their worth, their Ken-ness, to both the Barbies, and more importantly, to the other Kens. In fact, multiple times through the movie it's shown that Ken seems to find the opinions of other Kens as a motivator for him to do things. He tries to show off to Barbie only after he sees the other Kens saying hi to her. He only starts dancing with Barbie when he sees the other Kens dancing with her. He only goes with her to the Real World after another Ken accuses him of cowardice and he decides to prove him wrong. Barbie says "Ken's not cool!" and Ken responds "He is to me."

This shows so damn well what the patriarchy is like for men. Because for the Kens it's not necessarily about Barbie, it's about what other Kens think of you. Being a man you are constantly, incessantly trying so damn hard to prove to the other men around you that you are a man, the manliest man to ever man, the best Ken to ever Ken. Literally doing backflips trying to prove yourself. And this is before patriarchy is even officially introduced to the story, there's no undertone of power yet, this is just what it's like to be a man around other men. It's toxic masculinity.

And when the patriarchy is introduced, that's increased tenfold. At first it looks like they've banded together to take power, but really they're still competing with each other, they're just doing it differently. Rather than competing to see who can get Barbie to fall in love with them, they're competing to see who can be the manliest, have the manliest stuff, wear the manliest clothes, have the manliest house and decorations.

And then they literally go to war. War is considered one of the few places where it's socially accepted for men to be more emotional, form deep and personal bonds with other men, and that's exactly what happens in the movie. They go to war, and there's an entire song where they bond and learn not to fight with each other anymore.

And that I think is the message from the Kens. For men, the way the patriarchy affects them is it forces constant competition and animosity, even around people that are supposed to be your friends. It makes it impossible to express your feelings unless they're with a romantic partner, and all of this turns you into a pent up ball of emotions with nowhere to go.

Which means that the message is: In order to fix the way the patriarchy oppresses men, men need to learn how to form close bonds with people, especially other men. Because like Barbie said to Ken, he needs to discover who he is without her. Men have learned to lean on women as a crutch, using them to figure out how to Be A Person and express emotions in a healthy way, but this can very quickly turn into a woman feeling like she needs too be his mother and teach him how to do these things. And Ken was 100% doing this, or at least he was trying to throughout the movie. Ken was so desperate for Barbie to be in love with him, not necessarily because he loved her, but because he needed a person he could just exist as himself around. Because he couldn't do that with the other Kens, the only person he could be himself around was Barbie.

And what's so great about the end of the movie is that the Kens did eventually figure out how to form close bonds with each other! They went to war, argued and fought, but by the end of the song they were holding hands, kissing each other on the cheek, telling each other they were enough. Even when Ken is up in the dreamhouse, crying and saying that he looks stupid, all the other Kens start shouting back up to him, saying that he looks cool. And Ken responds by giving one of his new friends his coat, which was clearly very important to him.

What the Kens did, that's what men in the real world need to do. They need to form close bonds with other men and stop competing with each other. Hopefully not by going to war the way the Kens did, Barbie isn't a blueprint for solving the patriarchy lol.

I'd be happy to do it through a song though.

[itelya]

be rude. husband! Nanami Kento x chubby fem! reader.

synopsis: you want your husband to be rougher with you.

warning: NSFW (MDNI), rude, dom, dirty names, beg, creampie, sperm, breeding, eat pussy?, suck nipple, slap, fingering, spanking, one mention of y/n, think its all.

words: 2132.

Nanami loves you more than anything, there is no doubt about it. His gaze, so tender and filled with love every time he rests on you. His hands, which rest on you with a sweet possessiveness when there are people around. His lips which stretch into an irresistible smile every time your own smile lights up his face.

His way of kissing you is filled with kindness and sweetness, so much so that you melt every time. He is so protective and attentive in your intimate moments, almost like a guardian angel. But deep down, you wished that he would turn into a wild and merciless demon.

"Ken..", you get on top of him seeking his attention as he reads his book on the couch. "What babe?", he puts his book down and looks at you to understand what you want.

"I need you.", you whisper sensually in his ear and start to rub yourself against him in need. "Y/n.", he moans lightly and starts to kiss your exposed chest in your small tank top.

"Wait. I want you to be rough with me. Really. Please.", he lifts his head and looks at you surprised. "Seriously? You don’t like how I-", you immediately cut him off.

"No no! Not at all fair that I want you to be mean to me but if you don't like it I won't force you baby. I love how you fuck me never doubt it.", gives him a soft smile to reassure him. He believes you and doesn't doubt it remembering how you moan under him every time.

"I understand. Do you want me to be rough with you?", he takes your chin forcing you to look him in the eyes and his voice becomes mean, deeper than usual and almost cruel. "Yes ken-… please.", your trembling answer betrays your excitement in his voice.

His hand slowly slides over your waist before closing on one of your love wrists. He pinches you hard but not too much so as not to hurt you. The slight pain and pleasure, tears a moan from you.

He places his hands under your thighs and often lifts you from his thighs to carry you to the bedroom. "I know how quickly my girl makes a mess wherever she goes. I don't want you to dirty this expensive couch with your fluids.", you can only nod.

He puts you down abruptly but without hurting you on your big marital bed. He undresses you with his eyes. You can see his big cock growing through his simple jogging pants that he wears when he is at home. You like it when he wears them.

"Take off your clothes.", you comply and slowly remove your clothes under his excited gaze to provoke him. "Hurry up. You're becoming such a bad girl, honey.. I'm disappointed in you." (Obviously he doesn't think so) He looks at you mean and disappointed and goes to get something in his closet then comes back with a tie.

He moves closer to you and pins you against the bed. His hands search for your wrists to tie you up. He ties your wrists behind your back with his tie. Once done he removes your shorts and your soaked white panties and throws them into the room.

"Fuck baby you so wet at the thought of me being rough with you? I never knew you were such a slut.", his words only turn you on more. Every dirty word he says to you makes you wet.

Your needy throbbing pussy looks warm from the room and his intense gaze as he looks down at your soaking wet folds. All he wants is to eat you out and make you cum countless times on his tongue. His dick rises even higher at the thought.

He puts his hand on your waist and repositions you correctly and makes you spread your legs so that he can get between them. He looks at your big and thick thighs stained with stretch marks that make you even more beautiful according to him even if you don't like them.

He lays on his stomach and puts his hands on your thighs. He looks at your hot and wet pussy. Nanami can only think about how he would eat your pussy and make you cum as many times as you want because you deserve it.

Her little angel with perfect curves.

He remembers that he had to be rough with you. He gives a little slap to test on your clitoris swollen barely touched. You moan with pleasure and surprise. You didn't expect it but that doesn't stop you from begging for more.

"M- more ken.. please.", he looks up at you and smiles. "My little slut girl wants more? You think you deserve more?", you really think you do. You're still his wife. "Y- yes."

He chuckles and spits on your wet, throbbing folds for him. "Beg if you mean it," then you start begging him like he wanted. He bites the inside of your thighs as he listens to your wonderful pleas in his ears.

"Hum good girl.", he hits your clit again a little harder without abusing not wanting to hurt you. Your little pussy gets even wetter. "Ken… so go- good.", you let out a muffled cry and your voice slowly breaks.

He slaps your clit harder. You moan louder, your voice breaking into a cry of pleasure. "Ah, slut... you like this, don't you?", he whispers, his eyes shining with desire. He licks your soaking wet pussy and abuses you wanting to drink you in.

He starts eating you out, he loves your juices so much, he might get addicted. He moves his thumb over your clit, making you arch your back in pleasure. "Do you want my fingers baby?" he asks, his voice low and sexy. "Yes...please," I beg, my voice breathy. He smiles, his eyes glistening with desire.

He straightens up and directs those fingers in front of your mouth. "Open up," you comply and open wide and take those big thick fingers into your mouth. You suck them and coat them with drool. The wet noises from your mouth only excite him. He wants to fuck your hot little mouth with his big dick but that will be for later.

He pulls his soaking wet fingers out and starts teasing your entrance with his middle finger. "I'm starting to doubt... I don't think you deserve those thick fingers in your slutty pussy.", he looks at you and sees your frustrated expression, it makes him smile. "Please Ken... I deserve them.", you had tears in your eyes and were begging him.

“Hmm…” he thrusts a finger into you suddenly, taking your breath away. You moan from the sudden intrusion and pleasure. He gives you time to breathe then starts moving his finger and pushing it deeper into you.

"Your fucking pussy is swallowing me. She's so greedy like you aren't she?", he chuckles inwardly and looks at your hardened and abandoned nipples. He slides his hand to one of your sensitive nipples and pinches it. It was a painful but so pleasurable.

He watches your reactions and sees that you like it so he starts again. He puts his mouth on the other nipple even more sensitive and runs his tongue over it. At the same time, he adds another finger inside you and starts going back and forth deep inside you and spreading your spongy and tight walls.

He continues then decides to lightly bite your nipple and suck it and with your other free hand, he pinches you and plays with your nipple. You feel simulated everywhere and the vision of Nanami sucking your breast makes you moan even more. "Ken! Ken-.. I'm go- going to cum!..", small tears threaten to fall.

He removes his fingers from your pussy, his hand from your breast and his mouth from your breast coated with his drool. "Shit..", he straightens up and looks at your defeated expression and your light trembling body. He gives one last slap on your wet folds.

"I'm gonna breed that tight little pussy wet and needy with my cum.. that's what you want slut isn't it?", you can only nod. Your pussy is throbbing with anticipation, you want him to breed you.

"You're such a slut baby I didn't know you were like that.", he slowly undresses letting you admire his perfectly sculpted Greek God physique and his veins that only enhance it. How lucky you were to have such a handsome and sexy husband.

His big veiny dick is finally free from the tissues, throbbing and the precum leaking from his red tip made you want to get your face fucked but what you want now is his fucking cock inside you.

Your arms are starting to hurt and get tired but you can handle it. "Your arms hurt? Do you want me to untie you baby?", his voice was softer like he usually does when he's worried. "I can handle it.. just breed me Ken. I want your sperm inside me and filled with you.", when you talk to him like that he can't resist.

"Fuck you're gonna kill me.", he whispers low and turns you over onto your stomach. "Place yourself. Get comfortable.", replacing you properly so that you're comfortable and your ass is proudly displayed in front of your husband's cock that needs attention.

He stands behind you and takes your ass in hand and kneads it. He loves your ass fucking. He rubs his cock between the two cheeks of your buttocks and decides to spank you. You moan with happiness, he hasn't fucked you yet but you thought you saw the stars.

He rubs the tip of his dick over your swollen clit. He slaps you several more times. He watches your skin turn red from the slaps. He strokes your ass then enters your tight, soaking wet pussy. He almost never needed lube because you were so wet every time.

He gives you time to adjust to his size. The number of times you had him was uncountable but you never managed to adjust to his size quickly. After a while he started to move. You moan, your eyes closing in pleasure.

He keeps moving, his hip thrusts rhythmically getting harder and deeper. "I'm gonna fuck this little pussy.. I wanna fill you with my cum. You're my own little cum cave aren't you?", he moans low and keeps a flawless but incredibly good rhythm that makes you roll your eyes.

"Y- yes.. yes daddy I'm your cum cave..", you moan and without realizing it you called him daddy. His cock grows even more inside you. "Fucking girl. Do you want daddy to make you a mama?", his hand slides into your hair and pulls it back. Your head comes off the pillow and you nod, tears streaming down your face.

He continues to fuck you in a hard rhythm. Your tight, warm spongy walls are squeezing him. Your pussy was the dream, he's convinced you were made for him. He pulls your arms towards him making sure your back is against his chest and his other hand takes your jaw and kisses you.

He moves his hand to slide lower to your swollen clit and starts rubbing small circles on it. He places small kisses on your shoulder and bites it. He licks the bite and kisses it. He's so wild now. You like it so much.

Minutes later, back in the initial position, his rhythm becomes more messy but deeper. He was going to cum soon. You were going to cum soon too. You feel your walls and eyes flutter. "Daddy.. I'm gonna soon-…", he cuts you off and slaps your sensitive clit.

"You want to cum before daddy? Aren't you ashamed, dirty girl. You're becoming a bad girl.", you whine, you don't want to be a bad girl. You want to be good for him. "Sorry daddy I didn't want to. I want to be good..", you feel his hand on your breast and pinch your nipple.

"Good girl. Take my cum in that tight little hot pussy of mine.", he whispers in your ear and thrusts deep and hard. Drool runs down your chin, you moan, scream, cry. Shit, you’re an absolute but delicious mess to Nanami.

A few moments later you feel Nanami's cock throbbing then Nanami's hot ropes in your pussy which now belongs to him. You cum at the same time, letting yourself see the stars. He goes back and forth a few times then withdraws his soft dick soaked with your juices. His cum drips from your little hole and onto your trembling thighs. Fuck.

He never told you, but he's been wanting to fuck you like this for a while.

any opinion is appreciated! thanks for reading till the end 💗

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© 2024 itelya. All work belongs to @itelya. Do NOT repost, modify, translate or plagiarize in any way on ANY platforms.

[admiringlove]

part one || part two || part three tw: mentions of death, suicide ideation, severe injury, slightly suggestive towards the end, etc. post shibuya arc au. a/n. here is the last part (can be read as a standalone). i'm so grateful to everyone who's read this <3

[10:46] . . .

malaysia is so much hotter than you thought it would be.

the heat clings to your skin like a second layer, oppressively wet, never letting up—not even at night, when the ceiling fan whirs uselessly above the bed. in the beginning, it made you irritable. the air felt heavy in your lungs, the water from the tap never cold, and everything—every corner of your new home—smelled like salt and heat and city dust. the first few months were awful.

you had to run the air-conditioning almost constantly, kept the curtains drawn just to keep the light from boiling the room alive. you’d panicked the first time kento had started sweating in his sleep, terrified it would irritate his skin, that the damp cotton would rub too hard against healing burns. you spent those nights wide awake, turning the air-conditioning on, carefully peeling the sheets away from his body, dabbing at the worst of the sweat with cool cloths, whispering apologies he never asked for.

and kento, sweet, maddening nanami kento, never once complained. not when the electricity bills climbed sky-high because you insisted on climate control, not when you micromanaged every step he took out of the house—checking three times for his meds, his sunscreen, his hat, the stupid scarf he never wanted to wear but let you wind around his neck anyway.

he endured it.

he endured everything with the kind of quiet patience that used to feel like strength to you. but lately—lately, it feels like something else. like self-punishment. like he’s trying to make up for something that isn’t his fault.

he nods whenever you say, “ken, did you take the skin cream?” even if you’ve asked him twice already, even if you’re halfway through preparing his pills. he lets your fingers skim over his jaw, checking for signs of sunburn or irritation. he lets you mother him.

and sometimes—sometimes, it makes you so angry you could cry. because he shouldn't have to put up with you.

it’s ten-something in the morning now. the sunlight outside is already too much, and you’re at the small kitchen table, legs curled under you, a mug of hot tea pressed to your lips even though it makes no sense to drink something hot in weather like this. the tiles are slightly chilled beneath your feet. your shirt sticks to the small of your back.

six months.

it’s been six months since you arrived here. six months since you left behind the cold, grey halls of jujutsu tech. six months since you said goodbye to the only life you’d ever known. six months since you packed up every shard of your broken world and carried it with you across oceans, just to follow him.

you sip your tea. you stare at the slow whir of the ceiling fan. outside, somewhere, kento is probably checking the mailbox or watering the balcony plants, moving slow in the heat, bones still aching from old injuries. you wonder if he took the skin cream. you wonder if he’s still pretending not to hurt. you wonder how long he’ll keep letting you love him like this—like he’s something fragile.

like he might disappear if you stop.

you sigh, your fingers brushing against the edge of the countertop, lingering for a moment before you push yourself upright. the december air is bearable today—softer, quieter, tinged with salt and the kind of stillness that only arrives in the morning. the breeze carries in the breath of the sea, faint but unmistakable, and you can hear the low rush of the waves from the end of your street. from your house—this house that you bought with the very last of your savings, a house with too many windows and not enough insulation, perched just shy of the shore where the sand begins to give way to tide—you can hear everything.

it’s a sound that reminds you why you did it. why you left. why you dragged your tired body and your broken heart across countries just to come here.

to the place kento had once called peaceful. to the place he'd only ever mentioned once, in a passing conversation years ago. something about how mundane life could be beautiful. about how he didn’t want to die in the middle of a fight.

and you—fool that you are—you remembered.

so here you are. in this sun-warmed house with its peeling paint and its thankfully fast ceiling fans and its cracked tile on the upstairs bathroom floor. here, where you cook your own food and sweep your own porch and hang your laundry on a line strung across the kitchen window. here, where kento waters the plants and you learn the quiet names of herbs.

you rinse your teacup slowly, watching the water run from warm to cool to finally cold. it surprises you every time—when the cold sets in. this is the first winter you've had here, and it isn't like home. it isn’t biting or sharp. it doesn’t come with snow or breath that clouds in the air. but it’s cool enough for your hands to ache a little under the tap. cool enough to make you think maybe, just maybe, this season will be kinder to you than the last.

you turn off the tap, letting the silence settle again. and then you turn toward the staircase—and there he is.

kento.

he’s just reached the top of the stairs, the watering can hanging loosely from one bandaged hand. his shirt clings slightly to his back, damp from the exertion, and his shoulders are tired in a way that makes something twist behind your ribs. you watch him place the watering can on the shelf, slowly, deliberately, as if he's afraid he might drop it.

and something in you softens. something in you cracks.

“when’d you come downstairs?” you ask, quiet, the words almost carried away by the sea breeze curling in through the open windows.

“just now,” he murmurs, not turning around. “i watered the plants. the lemongrass was getting too big, so i cut some. basil’s looking good.”

you nod. even though he can’t see you, you nod, because you don’t know what else to do.

there’s a pit in your stomach now. familiar. ugly.

you don’t know why it’s growing. you don’t know why, even here—even in this house with all its salt-soaked peace and sleepy afternoons—there’s still a voice in your head whispering that you’re not doing enough.

that you're too much. that you fuss too much. that your love is heavy in ways it was never meant to be.

you’re here. beside him. you’ve given up everything. you’ve done everything. so why does it still feel like you’re failing?

"do you wanna go into town for dinner today?" kento asks, voice light and gentle, like he's been rehearsing the question all morning in his head. he's fluffing the collar of his old cotton button-up—the off-white one you’d once jokingly called a dad shirt, the one that has a faint yellow stain near the hem because neither of you ever figured out what it was. his fingers move slow and measured, smoothing it down before he reaches up and switches on the ceiling fan in the living room. the blades creak softly as they begin to turn, stirring the warm, salty air.

you nod, absentmindedly. your hand finds the glass and pours the water out of muscle memory. it’s not until he’s settling on the couch, shoulders sinking into the cushions, that you realize you’ve been holding your breath. you exhale as you hand him the glass, your fingers brushing against his for a fleeting second.

"we can do that," you say, and your voice comes out too flat. too practiced.

he doesn’t say anything. of course he doesn’t.

you know he knows. knows that your mind is fighting itself again. that there's something lodged in your chest like a stone, too stubborn to cough up, too painful to swallow down. kento always knows. he doesn’t pry. he never has. he watches you the way someone watches the sea during a storm—knowing that there’s no use in stopping the waves, but hoping anyway that they don’t crash too hard.

he tilts his head toward you.

that same tilt. the one he’s always done. the one he did the night you first kissed him, when he looked at you like you were a puzzle that he didn’t want to solve—just admire. his slightly overgrown hair falls into his eyes, soft and mussed. his lips are pursed, not in disapproval, but in something closer to concern disguised as patience.

and you—you look down.

because if you keep looking at him, you're going to break.

because you want nothing more than to climb into his lap and bury yourself in him. to press kisses along his jaw and into the crook of his neck, to feel his arms around you again like they used to be. to cry a little, maybe, and tell him that you’re scared. that every time you wake up and see the bands still wrapped around his arms, the scarred skin, your heart twists with something too sharp to name.

but would that be too much? would you be too much?

you’ve asked yourself this every day since he came home to you. since you washed his wounds for the first time, hands trembling as he winced through the pain but never pulled away.

is your love too loud? too heavy? too wrapped in routine and fuss and rules about when to apply which cream, which hat he should wear if the sun is too high, how long to stay out before the heat irritates the grafted skin?

you don't know. you only know this: you would do it all again. a thousand times. a thousand more. because he's here. because he came back.

and you love him. you love him so much it terrifies you. but you wonder—do you overlove him? is that a thing? is there such a thing as being too tender with the person who saved you just by staying alive?

and finally, finally, kento says, so softly it’s like the sea breeze carries it over to you: "you know. i think i'm going to change myself a little."

the words don’t register at first. they settle like dust in the air, floating around you until your mind finally catches up. you blink, snap out of your spiralling thoughts, all the self-deprecating noise quieting for just a second as you turn to him.

"what do you mean?" you ask, brows drawn together.

and kento, with those weathered, gentle hands that still tremble when he holds a fork for too long, reaches for you. he tugs at your wrist first, feather-light, and when you don’t resist—because when have you ever resisted him?—he pulls you closer. so close his breath kisses your stomach, so close your knees bump the sides of his thighs. and then, with that same infinite patience he’s always shown you, he pulls you onto his lap.

you're straddling him now, breath caught in your throat, and the panic kicks in like clockwork.

"wait—" you start, heart thudding hard against your ribs, "ken, your skin—your legs—what if—"

your voice fizzles out. you were going to say something about his scars. about his healing. about the pressure on his wounds. about hurting him.

but none of it matters, really. because you worry too much. you always have. and he’s always let you.

but right now, kento is looking at you like he wants to memorize every inch of your face. the light cuts through the curtains and lands across his cheekbones, outlining the tired lines of his face in soft gold. he cups your face, and his thumbs graze your cheek like you’re something delicate. like you’ve given too much of yourself and he’s only just realizing how much.

"i mean," he continues, voice low, slow, careful, "that i should stop staying quiet when i can clearly see that something is bothering you."

you feel your throat tighten again.

"i should ask," he says. "the way you always do."

his eyes soften. they always soften when he looks at you. even now, even when the scars have made him feel like less of a man, even when the mirror still makes him flinch on some mornings, he looks at you like you are the one who saved him.

"so," he says, and he tilts his head just slightly, the way he always does when he’s being serious, "tell me."

and just like that—just like always—he gives you a place to land. a soft, sturdy place to fall.

you stay quiet.

his hands are still on your face—steady, grounding, reverent, sacred—and his hazel eyes are still searching yours like he’s afraid to miss a single flicker of emotion. like this moment, this breath between you two, is something sacred. something he doesn’t want to rush. something he would wait lifetimes for.

he looks at you like that. like your silence is a gift, not a burden. like your stillness is something holy.

and then, finally, your voice emerges, small and cracked and unsure: “am i too much?”

it’s so soft it barely makes it across the short space between your mouths, but it does. and you see it—feel it—the way his expression shifts in real time. the slow inhale. the almost imperceptible widening of his eyes. and then, he smiles.

he smiles.

and you frown instantly. your heart twists. your voice sharpens. “why are you smiling?”

and then, kento laughs. soft at first. small and breathy. like something long-lost and unfamiliar breaking its way out of him.

you stare. you can’t breathe. because it’s that laugh—the one you used to hear before the war. the one he’d let out when you burnt dinner by accident or when gojo said something dumb, or when you tripped in the hallway and tried to style it out.

it’s that laugh. the one you would’ve given anything to hear again. and here it is—after months of ointments and bloodstains, of careful bandaging and sleepless nights, of biting down on your own sobs and holding him while he couldn’t move. here it is.

a return. a sound that feels like the sun rising inside your chest. he chuckles again, thumb tracing the edge of your cheekbone like he’s trying to memorize you all over again.

"it's just..." he begins, voice full of something like wonder, "you can never be too much."

your brow furrows deeper. “huh? what do you mean?”

and now he’s tugging you in—arm curling around your back, palm pressing to the base of your neck—and your foreheads are touching. your noses brush. you can feel the warmth of his breath against your lips.

"everything you do," he murmurs, as if the truth should be said slowly, carefully, the way you would unwrap something fragile, "is for me. every morning, every night. you check my meds. you chase the sun out of the bedroom when i’m hurting. you fuss. and you fuss so much."

his voice drops, tender and low. “but it's never too much.”

you open your mouth, ready to argue. to insist, “but that’s literally my job,” because it is. you signed up for this. if it had been you in that hospital bed, you know he would’ve burned the whole world down just to ease your pain. you mumble it anyway, soft as a sigh, “we’re married. this is how it works. you would've done the same.”

and kento—sweet, careful, ruined kento—shakes his head. his thumb brushes under your eye, as if you’d cried even though you haven’t. not yet.

"you didn’t have to stay,” he says. “you could’ve left, and i would’ve understood. it’s been hell, i know. watching me like this. taking care of me like i’m made of glass.”

you shake your head. you want to tell him he’s wrong. that he’s not fragile. not to you.

but he keeps going. his voice is thick now, but steady. “you put your life on hold for me. you left the country for me. you gave everything up, just to live in this stupid humid town by the sea because—because i said once, once, that i wanted to retire here. you remembered. you remembered that.”

you’re crying now. you don’t even notice when the tears start. but his fingers are already catching them.

“you’re practically the dream,” he says, and it sounds like a vow. you swallow. your voice is a broken hush. “i’m just me.”

“exactly,” he says, smiling. “and that’s all i’ve ever needed.”

and god—god—you kiss him.

you kiss him because there’s nothing else left to say. you kiss him because his hands are warm on your waist and his scars are healing and his love is infinite and patient and here. you kiss him like you mean it, because you do.

because kento is yours. and you are his. too much and just enough. forever.

his grip tightens just a little around your waist—stronger than you remember, steadier than it's been in months. his hands are big and warm and trembling slightly, but they're there, and they’re holding you. one anchors itself at the small of your back, the other pressing gently to your hip as if to make sure you don’t float away.

“stay like this,” he says again, voice low, hoarse with something aching and holy. “stay on top of me. until i can lift you like i used to. until i can carry you to the bed just to hear you squeal. until i’m strong enough to have you pinned beneath me without worrying about the pressure. until i’m me again.”

he pauses, breathing heavily. “just… stay.”

and you do. you do. you’re already melting into him before he finishes speaking. you lean down, your hands on his chest, fingers curled into the soft cotton of his button-up. you press your lips to his again—slowly, deeply, almost desperately—and it’s like inhaling sunlight.

his mouth parts beneath yours, and his breath hitches when you deepen the kiss, arms tightening around your waist. it’s messy and aching and utterly, utterly tender. you can feel the way his body responds to you, how he sighs softly into your mouth, how his thumbs stroke your waist like he’s trying to memorize every curve again.

and when you pull back for just a second to look at him, he’s watching you with a softness that threatens to undo you entirely.

“i could never leave,” you whisper, breathless and trembling and everything in between, your forehead pressed against his. “i would never go anywhere where you aren’t there.”

his eyes flutter shut for a moment. you feel his breath catch in his throat, and then he’s whispering back, “then you’re everything.”

the words are a confession. a promise. a vow.

“i hope that answers your question,” he murmurs, brushing your hair behind your ear with a touch so careful it makes your heart squeeze.

you blink, still breathless, and your smile is shaky and aching and filled with something that could only be love. “it does,” you say.

but you don’t stop.

you lean down again, lips brushing his cheek first, then his jaw, then the spot just under his ear that always made him shiver. he lets out a soft noise—almost a groan, almost a sigh—and tilts his head to give you more access.

“i missed this,” you murmur, lips ghosting over his pulse. “i missed you.”

“i’ve always been here,” he says, and the way he says it makes you want to cry again, “even when i wasn’t all the way… me. even when you weren't you.”

you hum against his throat, then kiss him again, firmer this time. your hands slide up his chest, feeling the way his muscles shift beneath your palms, the faint hitch in his breath as you grind down just slightly on his lap. not enough to hurt him—never that—but enough to remind you both that he’s alive. that he’s here. that he’s yours.

he groans, hands sliding up your sides, slipping under the hem of your shirt just to feel your skin. his fingers are warm and rough and reverent, tracing the familiar dips and curves of your body like he’s rediscovering home. like you are the one piece of earth he can still stand on without falling apart.

your lips part again, and his tongue meets yours with slow, languid purpose. it’s not hurried. it’s not frantic. it’s deep. intimate. kento's kiss says things neither of you have dared to put into words. his kiss says thank you, and don’t go, and i love you so much i don’t know where to put it all.

your hips roll again, involuntarily this time, and he groans into your mouth, the sound low and helpless. you smile, breaking the kiss just long enough to breathe against his lips.

“you okay?” you murmur.

he nods, chest rising and falling quickly. “never better,” he whispers, eyes glazed, smile lazy. “god, i missed kissing you like this.”

you press your forehead to his again, cheeks flushed, lips swollen. “well, i’m not going anywhere.”

“good,” he breathes. “because i think i’m gonna need you to stay right here. at least until i figure out how to stand up with you in my arms again.”

you grin, letting your fingers thread through his hair, tugging gently until he groans again.

“i’m not heavy, nanami.”

“you’re everything,” he repeats, voice rough with emotion. “and i’m never letting you go.”

and then he’s kissing you again, and again, and again—like he’s relearning how to live. and you kiss him back like it’s the easiest thing you’ve ever done.

because it is.

© all works belong to admiringlove on tumblr. plagiarism is strictly prohibited.

[isaacthedruid]

(spoilers for the Barbie movie)

As a trans-masc non-binary person, I saw myself in Allan. I’m a boy but not a Ken, I'm Ken-like but not quite.

Allan’s role of being awkward, unsure and a little out of his element but still trying to help the Barbies through the chaos and events caused by the Kens, is how I feel as a trans-masc person who is still trying to advocate for women and discuss the issues they face.

I don't identify as a woman anymore but I still grew up as a girl, I lived as a young woman for 14 years, and people continue to be misogynistic towards me when they think I am one-- customers will talk to my male coworkers instead of me, when I’m the person with the answers

I wasn’t expecting to see myself, in terms of gender, in the character often described as Ken’s boyfriend, though it is said in a more playful, joking way rather than any attempt at representation. I’m gay and this version of Allan is definitely queer as well. Yet, that’s a separate story which has already been written, here’s an excellent article about that. [LINK]

Allan isn’t Ken, and he isn’t Barbie either. Allan is simply Allan, an idea with both masc and femme traits. He doesn’t fit into anything specific, he just is. Allan can wear Ken’s clothes but also Barbie’s pink jumpsuit-- but when he's not doing that undercover mission with the Barbies, we only ever see him wearing his own clothes. A set of clothes worn only by him, that iconic striped outfit that is signature to the real Allan doll.

Additionally, notice the horse patch on the front of his shirt, he never changed his clothes unlike the rest of the Kens when they discovered the patriarchy and a new version of masculinity, a toxic and destructive one. Allan only added something to his clothes to “fit in” or act as if he did, but he hated what the Kens did to Barbieland. He also wasn't brainwashed and never acted upon those destructive abilities that were laid out for him. He could've just joined the Kens and broke stuff and drank copious amounts of "brewskis" but he didn't.

Allan is different and it's constantly stated, "there's only one Allan" in this world of Kens (and Barbies).

I will never be Ken nor will I ever be a Barbie again, I’m not happy in either. I’ve tried both, neither is my style (or title). I wear Ken’s clothes as well as Barbie’s, and sometimes I wear Allan’s.

But, I like Allan’s clothes best, they fit me well.

[thoughtssvt]

domestic nanami kento x reader headcanons pt. 2

one day you opened up about your physical insecurities was the day he signed up for art classes. he wanted to paint you so you could see how beautiful you were through his eyes.

-`♡´-

that small smile that makes the corners of his mouth twitch for a split second whenever you try making something for him as a surprise, but you can't help consulting him since he's the bread maker of the household. "no, no, darling, i'm sure they taste amazing. you're right, it doesn't sound appetizing to boil bagels" he appeases you with a chuckle before offering to help you when he gets home which ends up much more fun for the both of you, though he does appreciate the sentiment.

-`♡´-

on the rare days he has a day off and you don't he rolls onto your side of the bed when you get up to get ready. he breathes in your scent, melts into your warmth. "i can't believe i'll have all this free time and work is taking you from me," he laments softly, face buried in your pillow.

-`♡´-

he loves seeing you in adam sandler core. he loves you in anything you wear but there's just something about seeing you so free and comfortable in baggy clothes that don't really go together.

-`♡´-

when you feel brave enough to try something new at a restaurant he orders what he knows you'd like for himself. "how's your drink, darling?" he'd ask, saving face as he watches your momentary hesitation as soon as the new flavor hits your tongue.

"it's good..." you squeak probably a little too quickly.

"really? can i have a taste?" his backup plan ensues, handing over his drink to you for you to try even though he knows you've had it countless times in the past. he hums as he takes a swig of your drink, raising his eyebrows as your eyes light up. "that is quite good. could i have this one instead?" he asks though he's already setting your tried and trusted drink down on your coaster, the new drink on his.

-`♡´-

you don't talk about it. it's the mutually agreed upon rule. you keep your eyes forward when you hear the cricks in kento's back as he rises up from his chair, leaning forward to shift his center of gravity into a more favorable spot. in solidarity he doesn't comment on the sharp pops that crack in the air when you squat down to pick something up.

-`♡´-

you stir awake one night by the sound of his voice, thinking that something was wrong. "please update the deck," he murmured, arm tight around your waist. you furrowed your brows in confusion. "it's due end of day for the committee meeting on thursday." he continued slurring, still heavy with sleep. you chuckled softly, the pieces beginning to click together. he was dreaming of his office job days.

"ken," you whispered softly, not enough to wake him up, just enough to reassure him. "you're a sorcerer now. don't worry about the deck," you reminded, rubbing away the wrinkles between his brows.

"ugh, sorcery is shit." he grumbled for the last time before relaxing against you, finally getting a good night sleep.

-`♡´-

A/N: this took months for me to compile because my head is always empty these days, i fear. what was your favorite headcanon?

nanami kento x reader masterlist | sweet headcanons pt. 1

heart and sparkle divider by @/adornedwithlight