#i love the way he draws faces and the eyes of the mask

[kiryoutann]

another sneak peek because i have yet to find it in me to post the full thing. warning(s): MDNI, sexual contents, graphic description of blood, wounds, burn scars, and violence. past-torture, possible dacryphilia.

“Those scars…” Your voice wavered, and you had to pause to steady it. “Were they from your time in the military?”

Watching those pretty lips tremble, tears marring your beautiful face, he felt a sickening clench in his chest. Part of him hated seeing you so sad, while another swelled with something akin to misplaced pride – that this angel was weeping over scars so old they had long since stopped hurting him.

Scars from battles the old Simon had fought years ago. Scars he had seen as part of his creation, marks he bore without feeling.

“Some from service, yeah. Others… more personal-like.” He said it nonchalantly. In his perspective, as proof that it didn’t hurt anymore, didn't need to numb it with ice like he did in the past—so, sweet thing, stop crying over him.

As if that were possible. He could tell you that it happened years ago, but it doesn't matter; it wouldn't lessen the pain even if your human life spanned a hundred centuries. Your tongue seared, heart sliced—someone touched the one you love with the most brutal violence they could choose in this world.

The image must have been absurd—the two of you completely naked in front of each other, yet instead of continuing, you weep over him. But now that you’ve seen it—those scars etched so cruelly and eternally upon his flesh—how do you look away?

"Why... why would anyone want to hurt you?” Your voice trembled, tracing that scar near his ribs that had caught your attention since you first saw it. It stood out, raised and knotted in a way that spoke of a cruel blade—making you wince at the thought of the pain. “Is… is this from your time in the military too?”

“Yeah,”

“What happened?”

Without any real weight, he said, “Got meself ‘anged by the ribs once,” in a light intonation as if it were some kind of joke.

But it wasn’t. My God, you wished it was, but it wasn’t, judging by the scars.

Despite his effort, it couldn’t mask the horror he’d experienced. Your breath hitches in a sob, your hand trying to cover your mouth. Your airway constricts as you imagine how it must have felt for him then. Hanged by the ribs, feeling your skin tear from holding your weight, flesh on display like they do in a slaughterhouse.

And he still manages to shush you, drawing your head to his chest in a tight hug like you’re the one who’s been through it all.

“Twern’t nothin’ – doesn’t even ‘urt no more.”

Pressed against his skin, you seek the usual solace that his heartbeat brings. But your heart remains unsettled, a lingering question nagging at your mind and tongue, refusing to let you find peace until it's voiced.

Raising your head slightly, chin resting upon his chest, you meet his gaze with red-rimmed eyes. "And... and the burn scars?”

“House fire during a mission.”

You know that’s not the full truth, but you don’t dare to press it, choosing to spare your heart from more details of his agonies.

“I don’t like seeing you hurt.” You said.

Simon gave a small hum in response. Reaching up, he wiped away your tears with his thumb. “Then stop cryin', love. 'Urts more to see yer pretty face all red and puffy.”

The hands around your jaw bring you closer. This time, he's the first to initiate this new kiss, closing his lips around yours with almost hesitant caution. And you want to cry—you want to cry from how gentle his touch is, and yet someone has handled him in the cruelest way possible.

[sneak peek of chapter 10 of "A MAN'S HEART IS TRULY A WRETCHED, WRETCHED THING."]

[blanchebees]

Hi ! Just wondering how do you draw vessel's mask ? I love your art style, it's awesome and I tried to draw the mask the way you do it but I keep struggling

Hi there! I don't really have a process, i just draw it very loosely and then kind of fix it along the way? Most of the time i start from pics. I have A LOT of references to help me with getting the angles right so i would start with gathering those.

I can't stress this enough, create a reference board with all the pics you need to learn how to draw him right! The eyes work the same as the ones on a face, tilt the head down and they'll bow etc. They wrap around the mask.Tilt his face up enough and you'll eventually see his nose.Tilt it even more and you won't be able to see all the eyes.

And to end this, please don't try to go for someone else's style, this is how i do it but what you really want is to develop YOUR own take of Vessel yk? It's only a matter of repetition and studying, understanding how he works! :)

Here's another brief tutorial i made

Tips are highly appreciated if you find these tutorials helpful!

Tip jar

[skyward-floored]

So, your Whumptober fic with Sky and the All Night Mask had my brain in a chokehokd for a couple days. I got this written five minutes before you posted the resolution, which is fantastic and I'm rereading for the third time, but I am back on my Song of Healing hyperfixation and thought I'd share this with you.

Legend hissed as the magic holding the mask bit at his fingers. He reflexively scolded the object in its native tongue, prompting an inquisitive look from Wild. 

“That was Sheikah. Since when did you know Sheikah?” 

“Since my grandparents are Sheikah, I was raised among them. My aunt swore I was too soft-hearted to do the coming-of-age trials, nevermind I'd already killed Ganon twice and was the means of destruction of an entire island by my 17th…so I left it alone.” 

Sky made another attempt to free himself from Twilight’s hold and interrupted them.

“I won't do it again. Tell Impa. Please.” He begged. The three crowded around him attempted to soothe him once more while Twilight strained to keep him from hurting himself or Legend. Legend made another attempt, reaching out with his magic. It snarled and snapped back at him and finally Legend was forced to admit. 

“I can't get the clasp off.” 

“I have an idea.” Time held up the small blue ocarina. “At least… I hope it works. I haven't used this song in years.”

"Try it." Wars begged, with just a touch of desperation in his voice. Time nodded spoke to Legend again.

“Be ready, if it let's you at all.” Time put the ocarina to his lips and began to play. The mask sparked angrily at the attempt, drawing noises of concern from everyone, but after the first strain of notes, the enchantment gave way under Time’s melody. Legend quickly hooked fingers under the mask on both sides and the cursed mask finally came away in his hands. He quickly rolled to get out of the way as Hyrule and Warriors were now able to care for Sky’s injuries. The Chosen's red, irritated, painfully-dry eyes were gently guided closed. Sky sobbed at the gesture, breaking through the soporific effect of Time’s melody, but it was in clear relief. Then his eyes were carefully bandaged to encourage them to remain shut, the banages treated with a cooling concoction of Wild’s to grant relief to the itching and burning. In addition to the scratches leaving tracks of blood on Sky's cheeks, the mask had left welts where it touched Sky’s face and these were carefully cleaned before Hyrule soothed them away. Time played the song twice, the second time mostly to ensure that they could treat Sky without hurting him or him lashing out in his own delirium. By the time the second iteration faded away in the air, Sky had fainted.  It seemed to be a side effect of overwhelming relief that the mask and its effects were gone. 

OUGH THIS IS GREAT TY!!!! The comfort... the angst... yesssss. Also Legend having Sheikah heritage is a neat idea!!! I love how it came into effect here with him dealing with a Sheikah artifact it was great :D

Honestly if I'd had more time I would've liked to play with the chain having trouble getting the mask off, but I didn't want to take a week finishing the fic 😅 This was really great though!!! Thank you again! :D

[futuremrscameron]

weird girl!kook

weird girl!kook is a social outcast amongst her fellow kooks; they didn’t her strange and offputting for her macabre paintings

she loves people watching; it helps her gain inspiration for new paintings, and it’s fun. it gives her an insight on the lives of kildare’s “elite”

her parents are both artists, so she loves to joke that she never stood a chance. one of her mothers works with charcoal and the other is a sculptor so she was surrounded by the limitless potential of expression through art since before she could talk

has two ferrets named asuka anf shinji and they’re her babies. if they’re not rolling around on her bed they’re fighting and she’s constantly having to break them up

she does not have many non artist friends and even her non artist friends are a little artsy in their own way (ie; kiara)

knew of jj before officially meeting at midsummers. she was intrigued by the party animal front he puts up in front of everyone that barely masks his cruelty

wanted to drop out of kildare private academy and focus on her art but her parents convinced her to stay and graduate so she could at least her her high school diploma and when that didn’t work, access to their art supplies

smokes like a fucking chimney. not weed mind you, though she does get her stash from the mainland, cigarettes. she says it helps her think and that it’s good for stress but really she just likes the smell

weird girl!kook finds herself inexplicably drawn to jj after their midsummers meeting. she wants to get to know him but doesn’t want to seem desperate or like a school girl with a crush but her asking around about him isn’t helping

when he corners her asks her about it, she says it’s purely artistic curiosity, he has a good face and she would like to paint him. this inflates his ego to the gods so of course she has to humble him every so often

their painting sessions are something they both end up looking forward to though admittedly they had a rocky start

“why are you naked?”

he smirks at her blatant disgust, “aren’t you gonna draw me like one of your french girls?”

she rolls her eyes and begins packing up her materials. he frowns. “woah what are you doing?”

“if you’re not gonna take this seriously you can go. i can find someone else.”

he picks up his shirt from the floor and covers his lower half. he’s in front of her in mere seconds when she turns back from pack.

he grabs her arm, “hey hey hey okay wait there’s no need for that. i’m sorry.” she looks at him, trying to gage if he’s genuine. she looks down at his hand on her arm, he lets go.

“sorry.” he scratches his head awkwardly, she takes note of this too.

“you said that already.”

his cheeks flush at her bluntness, “yeah um sorry. sorry.” his face somehow grows pinker.

“you’re good.” she unpacks her paints and looks back at him, “well get dressed we’ve got work to do.”

he grins, “yes ma’am.”

she looks down at the arm he grabbed. goosebumps

often home alone because he mothers go to the mainland to sell their art as a kid she hated it but now she’s thankful she doesn’t have to explain why the infamous jackson genrette is sneaking out her room at 8 am

surprisingly not a lightweight, jj finds out the hard way when he tries to challenge her to a drinking game. she knew he was trying to get her drunk to fuck her so of course she hustled him, pretending not to know the rules and struggle in the first round only to kick his ass in the second, third, and fourth round. she ends up carrying him back to hers

her colorful outfits and makeup makes her stand out more than anything but she refuses to change it despite the drawbacks (being perceived) it’s how she expresses herself outside of her art

she hates being the center of attention but loves receiving praise for her art, this double edged sword always strikes when she offers to paint sets and props for school plays. she ends up the talk of the school for a month before she happily goes back to being the outcast

weird!girl!kook doesn’t realize she likes jj until he pulls up to her house in his motorcycle on one of their non-meeting days. he tells her to get dressed cause he just wanted to see her. he convinces her to take him up to the roof so they can look at the stars. he points out every constellation he can find and tells her about his mom teaching him all about them. it’s the softest and most genuine she’s ever seen him

thinks rafe is weird and sketchy but understands why him and jj are friends. rafe thinks she’s weird and sketchy but knows she’s exactly jj’s type. they get along for his sake

has jj saved as ‘my muse’ in her phone. jj has her saved as ‘sexy da vinci’ before he gets serious about her and ‘eye of the beholder’ after they start dating

no one understands how or why they’re together because they’re so different and they don’t seem to like each other, at least that’s what it looks like to outsiders. they still haven’t gotten over that time she called him a dirty dog after he asked her to put her cigarette out on him while he was drunk (she did)

weird!girl!kook who hopes to leave outer banks share her art with the rest of the world and secretly hopes jj will come along

—————————————————————————

this took me a minute cause it was not planned but as always tell me what you thought, positive or negative just keep it classy. <3

(i wonder if anyone will catch the iwtv inspo)

[evanhereonearth]

VEILGUARD ENDGAME SPOILERS

He collapses the moment the rift closes behind us.

I fall with him to the floor, my own strength giving out after these long years, and I draw the Fade around us like a nest. In a heartbeat we are surrounded by soft grass, growing shamrocks, plush moss. A bower of branches cradles us, gentle and alive.

My arms pull him to me, into the embrace of my form and the forgiving earth where I can enfold him in every bit of love I have stored away for him. My hand smooths his face where Elgar’nan’s archdemon battered him. Traces the tear tracks in blood.

“Are you—truly here?”

His voice is hoarse with the ravages of what he has endured.

“Where else would I be, vhen’an’ara?”

The softness in my words seems to shatter him, and his eyes fill once more. “I did not want you to see—”

“I have seen all there is to see of you, my heart. My spirit recognised yours all those years ago. There is nothing you have done that makes you unworthy of my love, Solas. Nothing you have endured, nothing you have survived, that could make me love you less.”

“Vhenan…”

“You found my messages.” I watch his eyes, tinged with violet amid the grey-blue. He blinks, but no tears fall, only soak his lashes. He nods. “I found yours.”

He doesn’t speak, but his throat bobs as he swallows.

“I learned our first time at Halamshiral your other names,” I tell him. “I learned your true name not so very long after Halamshiral the second time. How much it must have tortured you to see yourself written on my face every time you looked at me, inked there in service of the one you loved who returned such abuse.”

Solas flinches from the word, but he is past dissembling. I remember Cole, in a panic, begging Solas to bind him. “It’s not abuse if I ask!” And I remember Solas’s rebuke.

I touch the scar above his brow where he burned Mythal off his face.

“Ar lasa mala revas,” I say to him, the phrase he once said to me when he removed Mythal’s vallaslin from my face, the phrase she was too cowardly to use herself. Too proud to say she was sorry even as she set him free.

Something in him unfurls, unclenches.

“I told you once why I chose her vallaslin,” I say.

He dips his chin to say he remembers. “A reminder of what we do not know, you said. That we can learn.”

“Yes. But I did not tell you all of it.” I pause, sliding closer so my face is level with his—I do not wish to be looking down on him. “In that temple, everywhere I looked, your wolf statues sat adjacent Mythal. Anuon told me I was blaspheming to say perhaps we did not fully understand you; I chose that vallaslin because of you, in a way. Because even before we met, you challenged what I believed to be true about my world, about my history, about myself.”

He reaches out and places his hand over my heart, like I once did for him in our bed high above Skyhold. I mirror him with my own. His face relaxes in increments, whatever remnants of the mask of Fen’Harel that linger melting into an aching tenderness so wholly for me that my own eyes prickle.

“I never left your side,” I say, my soft words barely above a whisper.

“Nor I yours.”

For the first time since Dragon’s Breath, Solas reaches for me. The gentle firmness of his touch brings with it warm tears spilling over my eyes to cool upon my cheeks. Without a word, he tilts his head upwards to kiss them away.

“The spirits have named you,” he tells me after a moment, almost bashful as he searches my face, still looking for any hint of regret. “That was the single hope I have clung to, the only one I allowed my heart when I thought of you, vhenan. It is why—it is why I left you the letter. So you would know that…so you would be certain my heart was still yours, regardless of your choice.”

I know what they have named me, but I want to hear him say it.

“You have always been Sileal,” I tell him. Wisdom. “What is it they have called me?”

He touches my face like I touched his, tracing my freckles, my dimple, my scar.

“They call you Enaste, da’lath’in,” he says. “The spirits of the Fade call you Grace.”

[lifeonmvrs]

study of chris bachalo’s art style (plus some other artists who popped in also)

[Image Description: digital sketches of deadpool, spider-man, and a random girl. top left corner has two colored sketches of spider-man, one from the front and the other a side profile. both show his head and half of his arm only. he looks angry and confused in the first one, and angry and thoughtful in the second one. top right corner is a colored sketch of deadpool with his mask halfway up. by his side, there’s a little blonde girl with a purple beanie. bottom left corner has two colored sketches of deadpool, both a headshot. first one is an angry looking deadpool from a 3/4 view. second one shows him lurking and peeking into something from a side profile. bottom right corner is a colored sketch of deadpool looking sideways in confusion. he’s drawn from his face to half of his torso, but the arms have not been drawn. in the middle of the canvas, there is a little spider-man mask and a very open eye with a light blue pupil. the background is a solid white. the next picture is a collage of all the references used taken from the comics. /end ID]

[vanweezer]

coreys in my sketchbook 4/∞

these pages are not my favorites for many many reasons but they are funny to look at. i love drawing the 25th anniversary mask so i think that's what saved it for me 🤞

sticky notes to cover drawing mistakes my good friend sticky notes to cover drawing mistakes. i might have accidentally made him brat in the process but ☝️ it shows up yellow on the scanner. so ha.

also if you saw me try to post this the first time nuh uh nuh uh nuh uh

[sweetmapple]

This guy

[sysig]

Go play, ambassador, go play ambassador (Patreon)

[mephisto-reporting]

Husband?

About: How does he react when you accidentally call him your 'husband'? Pairing: Reader x Xavier, Zayne, Rafayel, Sylus (Seperate) Note: Reader and the men are in a relationship. My inbox is open for prompts and requests :)

RAFAYEL

The evening was going smoother than expected, considering Rafayel had dragged you along to one of his many gallery showings. He had made a big deal about how you should be the one showing off his work to the public, claiming he didn’t want to deal with the “art-snobs." Yet, the second you both arrived, he quickly preoccupied himself on his phone, leaving you to handle most of the small talk.

One of the visitors, a curious older woman, was admiring a painting of his, a chaotic burst of color with soft hints of golden light. You were discussing Rafayel’s "creative process" (whatever that was—he hadn't told you much before retreating to his phone), when she asked how long you’d been working with him.

“Oh, it’s been a while now. It’s honestly amazing seeing him grow like this—my husb—” You froze mid-sentence, realizing the slip just as it left your mouth.

"Husband?"

The word hung in the air for barely a second before you felt Rafayel’s presence shift. His head shot up like a bolt of lightning, his playful, cunning eyes locking onto yours. You could practically feel his grin before you even dared to glance over. You didn’t even need to turn around to feel his gaze burning into you, practically shouting, Oh? Husband, you say?

“Husband, huh?” Rafayel drawled, pocketing his phone and sauntering toward you with that signature smirk of his. “I didn’t realize we were making things official tonight. If I’d known, I’d have worn something even more dazzling.”

You flushed, attempting to stammer out a correction, but he was far too pleased to let you off the hook that easily. He leaned casually against the gallery wall, one arm crossing his chest as he dramatically placed a hand over his heart.

He gently took your hand in his, his dramatic flair dialed up to maximum as he pressed an exaggerated kiss to your knuckles, clearly relishing the moment. "I mean, I can’t say I’m surprised. Who wouldn’t want to marry someone as charming as me?"

The visitor chuckled awkwardly, clearly not sure whether to stay or go, but Rafayel was already having way too much fun. “Of course, as your loving husband,” he continued, drawing out the word in a singsong voice, “it’s only fitting that I’m showered with even more attention now, isn’t it? I expect lots of praise, darling. I mean, just look at me." He struck a faux thought-provoking pose, tilting his head and flipping a lock of his perfectly tousled hair.

You felt your cheeks burn with embarrassment, but at the same time, his antics made you laugh. “I didn’t mean to—"

"Oh no, no,” he interrupted, wagging his finger playfully. “You can’t take it back now. The word’s out, Miss Bodyguard. You’ve called me your husband. That means you’re stuck with me. Forever.” There was a mischievous glint in his eyes as he leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a teasing whisper. “Does this mean I get to cheat at board games forever too?”

You groaned, rolling your eyes as you playfully swatted at his shoulder. “As if you needed a reason to cheat more!”

Rafayel laughed, that familiar bratty grin plastered across his face. “Well, if I’m your husband now, I think it’s only fair I get first dibs on everything. Cards, claw machines—oh, and don’t forget, I demand the comfiest seat when we binge-watch our shows.”

Despite his teasing, the warmth in his eyes made your heart skip a beat. You could see the genuine delight he took in your slip-up, how pleased he was at the thought, even if he’d never admit it outright.

“Fine, fine,” you sighed dramatically, playing along. “But don’t expect me to let you win at everything, ‘husband.’”

Rafayel beamed, and for a moment, that bratty, carefree mask of his slipped, just a little. He tugged you closer, his voice softening as he murmured, “Deal.” Then, just as quickly, he switched back to his usual, cheeky self. “Now, let’s go, wife. You’re required to be by my side while I survive this boring night. ”

Shaking your head, you laughed, unable to hide the smile creeping onto your lips. “You’re impossible.”

The woman, watching the scene unfold with a warm smile, laughed. “You two make quite the pair.”

“Oh, we do, don’t we?” Rafayel quipped before lowering his voice just enough for only you to hear, leaning in ever so slightly. “You’ve really outdone yourself, calling me that in front of witnesses. Now they’ll all expect a wedding invitation.”

Your face burned as you tried to shush him, but he was loving every second of it. He tilted his head, his hair catching the light as his smile softened into something more genuine, the bratty exterior fading just a bit. “Still… I can’t say I hate the sound of it,” he murmured, brushing a finger lightly under your chin before pulling back with a playful wink. “I might just get used to hearing it.”

You could only manage a huff of exasperation, but deep down, you couldn’t help but feel a flutter at the way his teasing had just a hint of sincerity behind it.

Rafayel, always dramatic, and yet somehow, just when you least expected it, a little bit sweet.

ZAYNE

You and Zayne were in the middle of your usual weekly grocery run, efficiently dividing and conquering your list to save time. He’d taken off towards the produce section while you headed for the rice aisle. As you browsed the different varieties, a middle-aged man beside you struggled with lifting a heavy bag of rice.

"Need a hand?" you asked, stepping in to help. The man smiled gratefully as you hoisted the bag into his cart with ease.

"Thank you, young lady," he said, rubbing his wrist. "My arthritis is flaring up today. Getting old’s no fun."

You offered him a sympathetic smile. “No problem at all. My husband’s a doctor, actually. I’m sure he’d tell you to take it easy on that wrist."

The man nodded in agreement, offering you one last thanks before heading off. You turned back to your cart, completely unaware of the word you had just let slip—husband—or the fact that Zayne had returned in time to hear it.

You felt him step up behind you, his presence calm yet undeniably magnetic. When you finally glanced over, he was standing there, hands in his pockets, a small, amused smile playing at the corner of his lips.

"Husband, hmm?" he said softly, his tone more curious than teasing. "That's... new."

You froze for a second, eyes widening as you realized what you’d said.  You opened your mouth, the words tripping over each other in a rush. “I didn’t— I mean, it just—slipped out. We’re not actually—I mean, obviously, we’re not—” You could feel the heat creeping up your neck, and no amount of backpedaling was helping.

Zayne didn’t seem in a rush to let you off the hook. His hand found yours, fingers intertwining with an ease that made your heart stutter. “You know,” he said, voice as calm as ever, “if this is your way of bringing it up, there are smoother ways to do it.” His teasing was subtle, barely perceptible if you didn’t know him well, but it was there in the gentle tug of his smile.

You groaned, pressing a hand to your forehead. “Zayne, I didn’t mean to—”

But Zayne, ever level-headed, merely took your hand in his, his thumb gently brushing against your knuckles. “Relax,” he said, his voice low and soothing. “It’s not like I mind the idea.”

Your heart skipped a beat at that, and you looked up at him in surprise. There was a softness in his usually stoic gaze, the kind that made your stomach flip. He continued, his voice measured but affectionate, “Seems like the next logical step, doesn’t it? My parents have been asking me when I’m going to take that step with you for a while now.”

His calm tone made the statement feel both casual and monumental at the same time. “Wait, your parents…?” you started, blinking as your brain processed this new information.

“Mhm,” Zayne replied, still holding your hand as though it was the most natural thing in the world. “They’ve been pretty vocal about it, actually. But I’ve been waiting for the right moment.”

The right moment. Those words hung in the air, and you could feel the weight of what he was saying. He was serious—calm and casual, as always, but serious. Your breath caught, and for a moment, the world around you seemed to fade into the background. It was just you and Zayne in that grocery aisle, hands linked, talking about a future you hadn’t even realized you both wanted.

“Only if you wanted to, of course,” he added, his thumb still tracing soft circles on your hand. “I wouldn’t do anything unless we both agreed.”

You stared at him, a smile slowly spreading across your face despite the initial shock. “You’re really suggesting this now? In the middle of a grocery store?”

Zayne smirked, his usual pragmatic self. “Well, we’re already talking about it. Might as well make use of the time.” He glanced down at your joined hands, his tone softening again. “Besides, I think it’s worth discussing what our future looks like, don’t you?”

Your heart swelled at his words, and the warmth of his hand in yours was enough to make you feel grounded, no matter how your emotions were spinning. “Yeah,” you said, smiling as you squeezed his hand gently. “I think it’s definitely worth talking about.”

Zayne leaned in closer, his lips brushing your temple in a rare public display of affection. “Good,” he murmured, his voice filled with a quiet kind of affection that made your chest tighten. “We’ll talk more later.”

He pulled away just as smoothly, picking up the cart with a practiced ease, as though he hadn’t just suggested the two of you start planning your future together. His eyes twinkled, a subtle tease hiding behind that usual calm exterior of his.

“And for the record,” he added, as the two of you moved on to the next aisle, “I wouldn’t mind hearing you call me ‘husband’ again.”

Your cheeks heated again, but this time, you didn’t bother trying to hide your smile. “Guess you’ll have to earn it first, doctor.”

Zayne chuckled softly, that familiar, grounded confidence in his voice. “I’ll be sure to work on that.”

SYLUS

The desert sun was relentless, and you could feel its heat pressing down on you as you stood beside Sylus, waiting to be seated inside the restaurant. He had dragged you out of Linkon on one of his mysterious ventures—no explanation, no warning, just the two of you thrust into the desert with little more than his cryptic directions. And while Sylus might have thrived in the N109 Zone's shadowy world, he was decidedly out of place here in the glaring sunlight,already starting to show hints of discomfort.

You glanced over at him, squinting slightly under the bright light. His expression was carefully controlled as always, but you noticed how his hand twitched subtly as if annoyed by the heat. The two of you had been waiting to be seated inside for a while now, and you decided it was time to speed things up.

Catching the attention of a passing waitress, you waved her over, putting on your best expression of concern. “Excuse me, my husband and I were hoping to be seated inside. I’m feeling a little faint under the harsh sun,” you said smoothly, the lie of you feeling faint rolling off your tongue with ease.

The word husband had slipped out so naturally, you didn’t even realize your mistake until the waitress nodded sympathetically and promised to get you a table indoors right away. As she walked off, you felt a cold gaze slide over you, and you turned to see Sylus staring down at you, one brow raised, a slow, dangerous smile creeping across his face.

“Husband?” His voice was smooth, but there was a teasing lilt beneath it. “Did I miss a wedding, wife?”

Your breath caught in your throat. "Wait—no, I didn't mean—" You started to stammer, heat rising to your cheeks, but before you could backtrack any further, Sylus’ arm slid around your waist, pulling you closer to his side. His grip was firm, possessive, and you could feel the smug amusement radiating off of him.

“I like the sound of that,” he murmured, leaning in just close enough for you to catch the scent of the desert air still clinging to his clothes. His lips ghosted near your ear, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. “Maybe this is a sign I should make it official.”

You swallowed hard, heart racing as you tried to keep your composure. “Official?” you echoed, your voice coming out a little more breathless than you intended. “What—what are you talking about?”

Sylus’ smirk widened, his amber eyes gleaming in the sun. “Oh? Cat got your tongue, Sweetie?” he teased, his tone dripping with amusement as he let his fingers trace a light circle on your hip. “You seemed so sure a moment ago, wife. But now? Speechless.”

You blinked, trying to gather your wits, but the sheer cockiness in his tone was making it hard to think straight. “I…I was just…helping us get a table,” you protested weakly, trying to pull away from his grip, but his hold only tightened.

“Oh, I’m sure you were,” he drawled, clearly reveling in your flustered state. “But now that you’ve set the bar so high, don’t tell me you’re going to back out on me. After all, you made quite the declaration back there.”

“I wasn’t—” You huffed, narrowing your eyes at him as you regained a sliver of your usual confidence. “You know it was a slip-up, Sylus. Don’t start getting ideas.”

He chuckled darkly, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. “Ideas? Sweetie, I live for ideas.” His grip loosened just enough to let you step back, but the way he looked at you made it clear he wasn’t about to let you wriggle out of this one easily. “But let’s be honest, you didn’t hate it. Calling me your husband.”

Your face flushed again, but this time, you managed to meet his gaze without faltering. “I didn’t hate it,” you admitted, folding your arms, “but don’t go thinking you’ve won. I’m not about to sign any papers just because you liked hearing it.”

Sylus tilted his head, the playful smile never leaving his lips. “We’ll see about that, kitten” he said, the threat—or promise—hanging in the air between you as the waitress returned to guide you inside.

You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the butterflies in your stomach. “Please, Sylus. You couldn’t handle being married to me.”

He raised an eyebrow, leaning in with that infuriating smirk. “Oh, I think I could handle you just fine, sweetheart. You’re the one who might need to keep up.”

You shot back, “Keep up? I’d be carrying you the whole way.”

“Careful, Sweetie. That sounds an awful lot like a challenge.” He chuckled, his hand brushing against yours again. “Now that’s a tempting thought.”

“Tempting? Try exhausting,” you quipped.

As you walked beside him, you felt his arm brush against yours, and the sensation lingered far longer than it should have. Sylus, of course, said nothing, though the smug expression never quite left his face.

This was clearly far from over. And judging by the glint in his eye, Sylus was going to make sure you never forgot your little slip-up.

XAVIER

The café was quiet, filled with the soft murmur of patrons and the comforting smell of fresh pastries. You and Xavier had settled in for a peaceful afternoon, your table already adorned with a delightful array of treats. He had requested a simple drink—no whipped cream. The barista returned, placing his drink in front of him with an impressive mountain of whipped cream on top. Xavier, as calm and indifferent as ever, simply blinked at it, showing no signs of complaint. He wasn’t going to say a word about it, but that didn’t mean you were going to let it slide.

Excusing yourself, you raised a hand and called over a passing staff member. “Excuse me,” you began, with a polite smile. “My husband asked for no whipped cream on his drink, but it looks like there’s some here by mistake. Would it be alright for us to get it changed?”

The words tumbled out so smoothly that you didn’t even realize your slip-up until the staff member nodded apologetically and hurried back to fix the order. It was only when you turned back around that you saw Xavier sitting there, looking unusually... stunned.

He was blinking slowly at you, his expression softened by a hint of confusion and—was that amusement? “Husband?” he repeated, his soft voice barely more than a murmur.

Your face flushed as you fumbled for an explanation. “Oh, no, wait—! I didn’t mean—” You stammered, desperately trying to backtrack. “That just slipped out! I meant to say…uh my boyfriend? Partner? Date? Not—well, not husband, obviously…”

Xavier continued to blink, his face now showing just a little more expression than usual. The faintest curl of a smile played on his lips, and he tilted his head, considering your words. “I must’ve missed that chapter in the 'Guide to a Healthy Relationship,'” he said in that calm, unruffled way of his. “I didn’t know we’d moved on to the husband-and-wife stage.”

You groaned inwardly, burying your face in your hands. “I swear, it was an accident. Just ignore what I said.”

But Xavier was clearly in no mood to let it go. “So, dear wife,” he continued, completely unfazed by your protests, “do you think we’ll have matching mugs in our future? Maybe get a nice house, with a small garden and a picket fence?”

You shot him a playful glare, but the way he was looking at you made it impossible to stay annoyed. “Very funny,” you muttered, though your lips were twitching at the corners, betraying your amusement.

“I think it has a nice ring to it,” Xavier said, leaning back in his chair, clearly enjoying this far more than you expected. “I wonder how long it would take for people in the association to start sending us wedding gifts. Or perhaps they'd just send weapons... you know, as a gesture of goodwill.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “I don’t think wedding gifts are really their style, Xavier.”

“Hmm, you’re probably right,” he said thoughtfully, then leaned in slightly, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “But you did call me your husband in public. Shouldn’t we at least play the part now?”

Your cheeks were burning, but you couldn’t resist playing along with his ridiculousness. “Fine,” you said, crossing your arms and raising an eyebrow. “But just so you know, dear husband, you’ll be the one doing the dishes.”

Xavier chuckled softly, the sound rare and surprisingly warm. “As long as you take care of meals. A fair trade.”

You were about to retort when the waitress returned with Xavier’s newly corrected drink—this time, free of whipped cream. She set it down with a smile, glancing between the two of you as if she’d picked up on the playful atmosphere. “Here you go,” she said. “No whipped cream this time, sir.”

Xavier’s eyes glinted as he thanked her with a nod, and after she left, he looked back at you with a satisfied expression. “See? Husband perks,” he teased, taking a sip of his drink.

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t hide the smile spreading across your face. “You’re an idiot.”

“And you’re adorable when you’re flustered,” he said, the teasing lilt in his voice gentler now. He took your hand under the table, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “But... thank you,” he added after a beat, his voice softer and more sincere. “For speaking up for me.”

You blinked at him, momentarily thrown off by the gratitude in his tone. “Of course,” you said, squeezing his hand in return. “That’s what wives do, right?”

Xavier let out a soft laugh. “I suppose so,” he murmured, his lips quirking into a rare, genuine smile that made your heart skip a beat.

In that moment, with his hand in yours and the gentle teasing in the air, it was easy to forget the world outside the café. Just the two of you, playing pretend—but maybe, just maybe, something more.

AN: reblogs, feedback and opinions are appreciated!

[bi-writes]

hiiiii I'm new to your page but i would like to ask you what would've happened if simon mail-ordered a bride?

mail-order bride

you stare down at the address on the card, blinking as you reread the house number and look back up at the cottage in front of you. the numbers match, but you just need a few more minutes before you knock on the door.

you're not holding too many things. you have one suitcase with the entirety of your belongings at one side, the cat carrier sitting on top of it. on the other side, you hold a bundle of papers. your immigration papers, all shiny and new, your birth certificate, and your new british passport.

when you look back down, you swallow as you read over your name. it's odd, to see something new in the section labeled SURNAME.

Riley.

you've never met him. this isn't legal, it can't be, to have all of these things. he must be someone important. someone they value. or maybe, they are just too afraid to say no to him.

the front door opens, and you freeze on the spot as you see someone duck their head to step outside. they're wearing a mask, covering their entire face except for their dark eyes, but it's hitched up over his nose as he holds an unlit cigarette between his lips.

he stares as he sees you at the end of the steps. he frowns, looking you up and down.

"weren't supposed ta be 'ere for a few weeks."

your eyes water a little, but you only manage a shrug.

"i-i..." you meet his eyes. "i-i couldn't stay there any longer. i didn't have anywhere else to go."

he tucks the cigarette back behind his ear, slipping the mask off. it reveals a tousled mess of short blonde hair and a terribly scarred face. his eyes dart to the little carrier sitting next to you when he hears a soft meow coming from it.

"said no pets."

your lip trembles.

"please," you whisper, and his lip twitches as he fights off a scowl. you imagine he must not have much practice in hiding his emotions. he comes down the steps anyways, coming closer, and you pick up the carrier as he snatches the suitcase off the pavement, making his way back inside. you follow him, naturally.

when you close the door behind you, you're surprised at how quaint it all is. nice brick fireplace, a soft carpet (no shoes allowed is what he snapped at you), and wonderfully furnished to make the place cozy, warm, lived-in. there's throw blankets and accent pillows. there's pictures on the walls, paintings, yellow corner lights to give everything a soft glow. the kitchen is beautiful, with lovely colored tile and wooden cutting boards, a drip-coffee setup in the corner and worn cookbooks stacked neatly by a stainless steel toaster. there's herbs growing in little pots sitting on the windowsill above the sink, and there's a cast iron pot decoratively resting on the stove.

it's spick-span clean. there's no specks of dust or splatters left over from bacon grease. there's papers pinned to the fridge, lists to remind him to buy whole milk and sliced bread and call about the internet bill being charged twice again.

you set the carrier down on the couch, unzipping the top. a little curious black head pokes out of it, and you reach in and pick the cat up under its belly and drop it onto the floor. immediately, the cat spreads its front paws, claws sticking out as they begin to knead the carpet and use it as a personal scratcher, the prick, prick, prick sound enough to draw the giant man out of the bedroom with a hard frown on his face.

he points at the thing and shakes his head.

"keep tha' thing off the fawkin' counter," he snaps at you. he purses his lips when he sees you still standing there, afraid to even move. he comes closer, the cat scurrying off, and he yanks your coat and scarf off, going to the hang them up by the door. "can unpack tomorrow. need t'make somethin' ta eat."

you move immediately towards the kitchen, hoping he keeps a stocked fridge, but he puts out a big hand and stops you, stepping in front of you.

"the fuck are y'doin'?" he asks, and you blink up at him.

"you said to make dinner...s-sir?"

he tilts his head to the side, narrowing his eyes.

"y'listen t'this," he murmurs. "women don't lift a fuckin' finger in this house, y'hear?"

you nod, and he reaches up and palms your throat, cupping your jaw.

"and my wife doesn't call me sir," he mutters. "it's simon."

you soften a little. "i-i'm sorry, simon."

"don't apologize," he grits his teeth. "did nothin' wrong."

when a fresh set of tears comes down your face, he wipes them away with ease, calloused thumb swiping over your cheeks and quieting you. he puts something into your hands, a velvet box that he must've gotten when he went to put your suitcase away.

"y'r a riley now, yeah?" he murmurs, and you tilt your head at an angle, and your foreheads brush together when he bends low to speak to you. "act like it."

you lean up on your toes (he's so fucking tall), and you kiss him softly beside his mouth. when he moves his head, your lips brush against each other, but he pulls back to make his way to the kitchen. you hear the gas stove light up, and a few minutes later, there's a familiar smell of onions hitting hot olive oil.

you take a seat on the couch, smiling to yourself, wiping your eyes as you curl up there. you flip open the box, sighing shakily when you see the rectangular diamond and matching gold wedding band. when simon comes back in to give you a mug of tea, you take it with your left hand, and his eyes flicker when he notices the new jewelry there, so pretty, so new.

mine.

when he pads back into the kitchen, the cat blinks up at him slowly, green eyes bright as they sit on the counter.

simon walks past it, saying nothing at all.

[chocum]

KARMA !

— brat taming the jjk men feat. choso kamo, kento nanami, toji fushiguro.

WARNINGS. femdom!reader, f!reader (she/her), brat taming, cock slaps, crying, handjob, choking, p in v, riding, overstim, lingerie, lollll slotted toji out :33, recording, finger sucking. ( 2k ) note. hellloooooo hope u all enjoy this. i had fun writing bc i loveee the idea of making big strong men crumble mhmhmhm. anywaysss reblogs are appreciated thank youuu love u all. repost bc last night it didn’t show in the tags 💔 but i edited it and added alottt so if you already saw it feel free to read again !! ty

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 CHOSO KAMO

“ma— make m— ooohh fuck. wai—wait” his voice trembled so cutely that it was barely coherent, crumbling into a pretty whine that drowns out his pathetic attempt (if you could even call it that) at being a defiant little brat, making you giggle, your slicked up thumbs pushing and rubbing down on the slit of his leaky tip, sending jolts of pain masked as pleasure up his bony spine, “make you?”

immediately he knows he’s fucked up. the air between you growing thick.

he didn’t know what came over him, really. maybe he had been watching too much porn, fantasizing too much, because the idea of getting tamed by you— god, just the thought of getting put in his place, turned him on so much. so, so much.

but having to actually disobey you, he couldn’t. he believes he was only put on this earth to serve you and please you. to be good. his head hurriedly shakes side to side, making each strand of ravened silky hair jump and dance before resting to frame his flushed face, “‘m sorry didn’t me—”

you land a heavy, hard slap to his cock, the sound pounding in his flushed ears blending with the beat of his heart, making his body tense up and jerk underneath you. his breaths come out in ragged little gasps, each one such a struggle as his fuzzy brain short circuits under your warm palms.

it really is cute, you think. cute how easy it is to break him. the pretty tears that drip down his puffed-up, blushed cheeks remind you of that. he’s choking on his sobs when you move to cup his face and kiss the corners of his eyes, and his cheeks. crying and sniffling because he hates when you’re mad. hates disappointing you.

“‘m sorry, i don’t— just wanna be so good for you. i’ll be— wanna be your good boy.”

“i know,” you coo, petting him like the pretty pet he is, “wanna try again for me, hm?”

and oh, he’s nodding so sweetly, cock throbbing for you, his big glassy eyes heart-shaped, staring up. so ready to be yours, ready to be the good boy you’ve trained him to be.

so you tell him again, “fuck my fists, make yourself cum, pretty boy. and look me in my eyes.”

his hips buck up, the salty tears on his cheeks warming and dried as he uses your sticky hands like a fleshlight, whining prettily when you tighten your grip around him, “‘m sorry” he babbles over and over, drooling out the corners of his parted puffy lips.

he’s so good. staring into the blown pupils of your pretty eyes without fault, like you told him to. because you told him to.

and his thighs burn, his legs shaking and trembling against the silky sheets as he gets closer and closer. the pain almost urging him on, “are you gonna cum for me? baby? gonna give it all to me hm?”

“yes, ple— please. please, can i cum can—”

you pull your hands off him.

drawing out the prettiest whine to ever be heard. like a song of the angels. his head falling back against the wooden headboard, hips bucking up in search of something to ease the ache that overwhelms in his tummy. those hot tears making a special reappearance.

“aww baby,” you hum, feigning sympathy, massaging his warm— full, heavy balls, “did you really think you’d get to cum after that, hm? did you?”

his eyes widen in desperation, disappointment. he tries to speak, to plead, to beg, but all that comes out are broken little sobs and whimpers.

the look on his face is almost pitiful. furrowed brows, pout, and his mouth hangs open.

you bend to lean in closer, your breath so warm against the shell of his sensitive ear, “you have to earn it, baby. good boys get rewarded. brats get punished.”

for you, he nods weakly, his voice barely a whisper as he chokes, “i’ll be so good, pro— promise. please, let me cum. let me show you how good i am”

so pretty. your fingers slip down to massage his aching balls, applying just enough pressure to keep him on that edge he loves to dangle over without giving him the sweet, sweet release he craves. “nuh uh, not yet,” you hum softly, your tone both firm but oh so gentle. “show me how much you want it.”

his hips buck up involuntarily, humping the air in search of your grip— relief, eyes locking onto yours, colored irises filled with adoration. he’s completely at your mercy, every nerve and ending in his body on fire, every muscle tensed up in anticipation.

and you can see the struggle in his eyes. it’s really a beautiful sight, and you savor every moment of it. “that’s it,” mumuring, “keep looking at me like that. show me how much you need it.”

his breaths come in short little, ragged gasps, his chest heaving and caving, thighs burning from fucking the air.

but finally, after what feels like an eternity, you decide to grant him some mercy, your hands moving back around his throbbing cock, stroking him just how he likes it, “cum for me, pretty boy,” you command, a soft, seductive purr. “give it all to me.”

with a strangled, gargled cry, he obeys. his body convulsing, every muscle tightening as he finally, finally finds his release, his cum spilling all over your hands in thick, hot, sticky spurts. and he’s so obedient, his eyes remaining locked on yours, even as his vision blurs and fuzes with pleasure.

“there you go,” you whisper, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. “such a good boy.”

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 KENTO NANAMI

the tie that usually wrapped snug around the collar of nanami’s shirt adding that signature pop of yellow to his suits now decorates his flushed neck, constricting it, the tail of it clutched tightly in your fists as you ride his cock, your hips rolling and jerking against him relentlessly.

thick cum drips down to his balls, pooling underneath him, a swirl of your mess and his. he’s cum two–no, four? he doesn’t even know how many loads he’s stuffed into your warm cunt— or how many you’ve forced and sucked out of him, his cock so sensitive it fucking hurts, every time you snap back down on him sending poky jolts of overstimulation through his entire body.

“fu—fuck, honey, please. i don’t have— ngh— don’t have anything left to give. fuckin’ drained me already— can’t—”

you tug on the silky fabric, making him choke on his words, gargling on warm, foamy spit. his hands reaching to grab at the curve of your waist, but he’s flinching, remembering how you said, no touching. remembering why he’s in the position in the first place.

because he doesn’t listen.

refused to keep his hands to himself, your body begging to be touched, in his words. as if he didn’t take you seriously, just kept grabbing at you, digging his slim fingers into your plush skin.

so, obviously, there’s some sort of misunderstanding .. some sort of disconnect. he must have forgotten who was in charge.

you don’t even give him a response, ignoring the prickly burn in your thighs to fuck him dumb. maybe then, ironically, he’ll learn how to act. each jerk of your hips move to push him further to the edge, to remind him of his place.

his body is weak, just sitting pretty, twitchy, letting you do as you please, sweetly hiccuping under your frame, “hah— please, my fucking god i— i’m sorry” he’s all gone and sucked up, cock crying, drooling pathetic tears of salty cum in your cruel walls. sweat peppering his forehead, slicking the ridges of his chest, making him glisten.

“please, i’m fucking begging i’ll— hah, won’t disobey you again. i’ll— i’ll be good. i’ll be yours”

aw, there it is.

and you hum, stilling your hips, letting his cock fill you all the way up, “mhm that’s all i needed to hear. now give me onee more load. just one. know you can do it pretty boy, give it to me”

even though his body is spent, just the true definition of exhaustion, he responds, his pretty cock twitching inside you as he drags against his own warm cum in your spongy walls. and it doesn’t take long before he’s giving into you. balls so empty, just a few little spurts drooling out, but it feels just as intense, maybe even more than any of his other orgasms. “good boy”

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 TOJI FUSHIGURO

“toj’ my pretty boy” your finger draws across the pink lacy lingerie that does a pathetic job of covering his cock. poking out, leaking and drooling all over the fabric, almost ripping through it with just how hard he is, “you look so good like this”

he grunts, blush growing across his cheeks, a deep, deep crimson, turning his head to avoid your gaze, avoid your phone brightly flashing, recording him.

“so hard too, aw” mumuring, you move closer, recording every detail of how he bulges through the set you so perfectly picked out for him. the pink complementing his tanned skin so well, truly a work of art “touch yourself for me”

another grunt escapes his lips, and he’s fidgeting, dragging his balls against the bed, rutting like a fucking dog, pulling at the ropes that hold and confine him, caging him against himself, “need your ..”

“yeah, need what?” you prompt with a smile, watching through your screen how he struggles to say it, pouting as his brows furrow up.

“need your help”

theres a wicked little glint in your eyes, pulling back at the stretchy band of the pretty underwear, letting go so it snaps back against the sensitive underside of his thick cock, making him whine, his broad body shaking and twitching, muscles clenching up.

humming, you bring your palm to his face, telling him to lick, and he listens, immediately.

licking a long stripe up your warm palm, but oh, he gets carried away. stretching to wrap his scarred lips around your fingers, bobbing his head up and down, drool dripping down from around his pursed lips, letting his tongue lay flat. “look at you, so eager”

he comes off with a pop, smirking because he knows you love when he’s so good like this for you.

you press your slick fingers against his covered perky nipples, watching as he twitched, before moving to stoke him through the pretty lingerie, “don’t fu—fucking tease”

you ignore him, let him get away with the little back talk because he just looks toooo cute, eyes all big, looking up into the flash of the camera, leaking through the lingerie like such a pretty boy. all for you.

you flick your wrist faster, leaning to spit on his clothed cock, sending thousands of shivers up the nerves on his spine, making him croon, his ass raising up off the bed to buck into your palms, giving the camera such a good show.

“gonna cum, shit— i’m so close. fuck— please”

he’s babbling, his voice all high and whiney.

“mhm go ahead, baby”

with a final, desperate thrust, he’s shooting against the fabric, babbling your name as it oozes through making a sticky little mess before you’re leaning down to lap at his clad tip. to clean him up.

then you come off him, stopping the video. and tojis looking up at you through glassy eyes as you press against your phone, smiling.

“what— hah, what are you doing”

“sending it to shiu”

[s0dium]

I fucking hate him

A/n: One of the dialogues is lightly taken from "God of Ruin" by Rina Kentaken (plz check it out) Enjoy!!

Word count: 3.5k

Synopsis: You detest Yuji's uncle, Sukuna. His demeanor is rude and abrasive, and he is undoubtedly a sadist. You don't even try to hide your disdain, but the more you try to distance yourself from him, the stronger his opposition grows. Each attempt to push him away only seems to draw him in closer, closer, ever so close.

"You're fucking insufferable," you spat, your eyes narrowing with hatred. "You're pretentious," Sukuna shot back, a smug grin tugging at the corner of his mouth." No, you're a narcissist," you hiss" Yeah, but I turn you on," he purrs

Warning: Hate sex, rough sex, biting, fingering, edging, cowgirl, size kink, breeding, unprotected sex, slight voyeurism, breeding

You remember the day you met Sukuna for the first time like it was yesterday.

It was during the somber occasion of Wasuke Itadori's funeral—Yuji's beloved grandfather. The day was draped in a heavy sorrow; after the ceremony and the lowering of the casket, you followed the Itadori family back to their home. Being practically family yourself, and living just next door, it felt natural to join them and if not grieve, support the grieving family alongside them. While everyone gathered in the garden, sharing hushed memories and quiet support, you slipped inside the house to charge your phone.

As you stepped into the room, the air felt suddenly charged, like the prelude to a storm. There in the living room, was a man, a large man, lounging on one of the sofas dressed in a black suit and tie. The first thing you notice is his striking pink hair contrasting sharply with the dark, intricate tattoos that crawl up his neck and frame his face. His eyes, sharp and unyielding, fix on you the moment you enter, and his smirk is like a crack in a mask of indifference.

"You must be the famous dear friend of the family, Y/n right?" he drawls, his voice as smooth as silk and just as dangerous. "Heard a lot about you. All good things, I promise." His voice drips with sarcasm making you thickly gulp.

You hesitate by the doorway, your initial smile freezing on your lips. This was the Sukuna Ryomen? The man you'd heard only in hushed conversations between Jin and Choso, the man Yuji calls his uncle? You try to muster your composure, crossing the room to stand at a respectable distance.

"I wish I could say the same," you reply, aiming for polite but firm. Your voice wavers just slightly.

Sukuna chuckles, a sound that rumbles deep in his chest. "Oh, come now. No need for such defenses. I'm not the monster they painted in their tales. Or perhaps I am, and that's what intrigues you? What do you think so far" he bends forward. "Am I intriguing?"

You bristle at his words, the arrogance dripping from each syllable like poison. "I-I dont know about that." You curse yourself at the way your voice comes out as a stutter. "I'm here out of respect for your family."

"Respect," he repeats, tasting the word as if it's something exotic. "Funny, I never put much stock in that. The old man sure tried to teach me, shame he is gone. But perhaps you'll teach me its value?"

What the hell does he mean by that?

He stands suddenly, closing the distance between you with a few measured steps. You can’t help but step back, your back hitting the wall. His presence is overwhelming, suffocating.

"Why so tense?" Sukuna teases, leaning close, his breath ghosting over your cheek. "I'm just trying to get to know you better. After all, anyone who loves my family must have some redeeming qualities, hidden though they may be. Although," he tilts his head, as if analyzing you. "I wouldn't be surprised if they just kept you around cause you're a pretty thing to look at."

You feel a flush of anger and embarrassment heating your cheeks. "I think you've gotten to know enough for one day," you snap, ducking under his arm and striding toward the door. His laughter follows you, low and mocking.

"Oh, don't be like that!" he calls out. "We're just getting started!"

It only took a minute. One minute for you to decide that you hated Sukuna with a fucking passion.

Unfortunately, the fact that Sukuna had just gotten out of jail, did nothing to hamper your hatred. It seemed like ever since he got out, he was not only determined to stick to the family, but to you, like glue.

The Friday night dinners with the Itadori family, once cherished and loved, had practically turned into a battleground. What used to be a warm gathering was now filled with endless teasing and arrogant attempts at flirting. You were even hesitant to stay over now, as you were never to sure when you’d turn a corner and there Sukuna would be with some sleazy remark about your pajamas.

You tried talking to the Itadori family about it, tried complaining to Jin and raise your concerns. And as receptive and understanding as they were, you knew that for them, blood was thicker than anything, and in some part, you knew that applied to you too.

Still, you persisted, even now as you sat at another Friday dinner you were determined to just enjoy yourself with the family you loved so much.

Key word, tried.

"Well, Jin, I must say, this food is... quaint.” He says through a chuckle and you have to bite the inside of your cheek from throwing a fork at him right there and then. “Did you burn it on purpose, or was that just a happy accident?"

"Dude," You breathe a sigh of relief when Choso speaks up, his voice calm but firm. "Can you go one day without being a jerk?" His eyes are fixed on Sukuna, echoing the frustration you both share about his behavior. This solidarity is one of the reasons why you feel closest to Choso in the family. His understanding and shared grievances with the insufferable man were one of the reasons why you two were best friends.

"Please, I bet this food beats anything you had in prison." You whisper under your breath, but audibly enough that others catch it when you hear Choso breathe through his nose in a laugh-like snort.

Sukuna sets down his silverware and leans forward with a grin, his eyebrows raised in amusement as he gazes across the table at you. "Oh, someone's got a sharp tongue," he remarks. "Careful, angel, you might cut yourself."

You roll your eyes and sharply cross your arms. "Funny, coming from someone who probably had to beg for scraps behind bars. Do you even know what real food tastes like?"

You don’t miss the way Yuji chokes on his pasta, stifling back laughter making you smile.

Sukuna's lips curve into a sly smirk as he locks eyes with you. "Oh trust me, I've tasted a lot of things. But I guess you wouldn't understand, being so... sheltered."

Unfazed, you shoot back with a dismissive wave of your hand, "Sheltered? Please. At least I don’t need to rely on prison slop to remind me of home."

This time, Sukuna's response is a silent, piercing stare that makes you shift uncomfortably in your seat. Even though you were wearing a sweater and shorts, his gaze made you feel like you were naked.

From the corner, Jin clears his throat, chuckling nervously. "Um, maybe we should all just calm down a bit—"

You cut him off, your voice firm as you defend the meal laid out before you. “No way, not when he disrespects your food, which is great, may I add.”

"Oh, I love it when you get all fired up." Sukuna's eyes glint with mischief as he watches your rising frustration. "It's adorable."

Feeling the heat rush to your cheeks, you stand up abruptly, pushing your chair back with a scrape. "Excuse me, I think I'm full," you declare crisply, gathering your dishes with a clatter and storming off to the kitchen to dump them in the sink. Without a backward glance, you stride toward the living room, your footsteps echoing your irritation.

"Come on, why do you always gotta be such an ass, Uncle?" Yuji mumbles, shooting a glare at Sukuna who only responds with a shrug.

As you sank into the couch cushions, you let out a deep sigh of relief, your body sinking into the familiar comfort of your favorite spot. You turned on the TV, dazedly watching whatever was on, trying to distract yourself from the day's tensions. Of course, thoughts of Sukuna kept creeping into your mind. What was his problem with you? Did the man get dropped on the head as a baby? How and the hell were he and Jin brothers?? Surely he was the result of some fucked up science experiment.

Engulfed in your thoughts, the passage of time slipped unnoticed until a shift in the couch's cushion snapped you back to reality. You turned, and -

Oh what the fuck.

Sukuna settled next to you, leaning on the armrest of the other side of the couch, a tattooed hand settled on his thigh, He had changed into a white tank top and sweatpants, and you feel your heart jump when your eyes unconsciously travel to between his leg where a slight budge pressed against the fabric. Shit. The tips of your ears turned red and you bit the inside of your cheek. That's another thing you loathed about Sukuna; how the scent of his old spice shampoo made you dizzy, how the way he towered over you made your breathing stop, how despite how fucking insufferable he was, he was so so so attractive.

"What the hell are you doing here?" you choked out, your tone edged with disbelief and irritation.

Sukuna raised an eyebrow, unfazed. "What does it look like? Watching TV," he replied coolly, his eyes briefly scanning the screen before settling back on you. "Everyone's gone to sleep, you know."

"No, what are you doing sitting next to me?" you hissed, the proximity suddenly feeling far too close despite the physical distance. Your eyes narrowed, locking onto his vermillion eyes.

"Why you afraid I'll bite?" He says, gnashing his teeth together in a teasing display before moving closer to you. "Don't worry, I only bite when I'm asked."

"S-stop talking to me like that," you say, trying to shuffle back, but find yourself already trapped against the armrest.

"Like what?" Sukuna's voice is teasing, almost playful.

"Like I'm your toy."

He tilts his head slightly and leans forward, a smirk playing at his lips. "More like my doll."

"More like your grim reaper. I'll slice your throat if you touch me," you retort sharply, the tension between you crackling. You watch the way his eyes rake over you like a porn magazine, making you cross your arms as if to shield yourself.

He laughs, a sound rich with amusement. "You're such a menace. I want to gobble you up."

As he inches closer, the scent of his shampoo fills the air—a fragrance so intoxicating you want to bury your nose in it, yet you resist. "I'll give you indigestion, asshole," you snap, trying to maintain your composure.

"Worth it, muse," he counters smoothly, his eyes locking onto yours.

"Sure you're going to be thinking about that when I punch you in the face?"

"Oh, and make me bleed? Blood?" He licks his lips. "Yum." He feigns shock, leaning even closer. "You just keep ticking all my boxes today. Did you do your research on me?"

"Not even if you were the last man alive," you choke out, his proximity overwhelming, his face just inches from yours now. A slight move, and your noses would brush against each other.

"Last man to everyone else? No. To you? Highly likely." His whisper is a taunt, his breath a warm tease against your skin.

That's it.

As you attempt to rise from the couch, Sukuna's large hand swiftly lands on your thigh, pressing just firmly enough to guide you back down onto the cushion. You react instinctively, trying to swat his hand away, but he's quicker; he catches both of your wrists in his grasp, holding them gently yet with an unyielding firmness.

"What the hell are you doing?" you demand, your voice sharp with alarm and a flare of anger, your eyes locked intensely on his, searching for an explanation in his steady gaze.

"Jesus christ Y/n" Sukuna groans, rolling his eyes, "How long are we going to keep this thing of ours going?"

You furrowed your eyebrows. “Our thing? What thing?”

“The thing where we act like we hate each other but actually want to fuck the brains out of each other.” He chuckles.

Your eyes widen and you feel your face grow deathly hot. You try to step back, and get some space, some room to breathe, but the hand on your wrist keeps you from doing so.

“I-fuck you” The words come out of your mouth more soft and meager than you intended to, and you find yourself locked into his blue gaze.

“Believe me, I've thought about it.” His voice is low, and his face isn't painted with a shit-eating grin like it so usually is, he's serious and stern. You stay silent as you watch him examine your face. He leans in, close enough to kiss you, raises his right hand and runs his finger tips down your face.

"Will you bite my tongue if I kiss you?"

"Maybe"

Sukuna's mouth crashes onto yours, hard, angry, and demanding. He doesn't even give you a chance to resist, not even a breath. His lips are fierce against yours, stealing every breath you try to take. Your hands instinctively move to push him away, but instead, you find yourself gripping his shirt, pulling him closer.

You meet his aggression with equal force, your lips moving furiously against his. His hands cup your face roughly, holding you in place as his tongue demands entry. You respond with a whine, opening up to him, your tongues tangling in a heated dance.

Every kiss is a challenge, every touch a dare. You bite his lower lip, drawing a groan from him that vibrates through you. His hands slide down to your waist, pulling you flush against him. The intensity of the moment leaves you breathless, hot, and angry.

Your fingers thread through his hair, tugging sharply as if to remind him you won't be dominated easily. He retaliates by pressing you harder against the cushions, so you have no choice but to melt into him.

In one swift motion, Sukuna pulls back just enough to yank his shirt over his head, revealing muscles lined with black tattoos beneath. Before you can even take a breath, he’s back, his mouth claiming yours with renewed fervor. His hands move to your shirt, fingers pulling at the fabric of your sweater. You break the kiss for a mere second as he tugs your shirt off, then he dives back in, his lips crashing against yours with a hunger that makes your head spin.

His hands roam over your newly exposed skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. Your breath hitches as his fingers find the waistband of your pants. He undoes them with a practiced ease, pushing them down and leaving you in just underwear and bra, feeling vulnerable and exposed.

"W-what do you think you're doing?" you stutter, trying to maintain some semblance of control.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" he replies, his voice low and filled with a wicked amusement.

He leans in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, "I'm gonna fuck you." His hands slide over your hips, pulling your pants down completely, and you shiver at the sensation of his touch.

You whine when he places his knee between your legs which pushes against your clothed crotch. You involuntarily buck up your hips to try and gain more friction, making Sukuna chuckle; his shit eating grin widening.

“Needy, arent you?”

Your instinct is to tell him to fuck off, but he is already hooking a finger under your pastel pink panties; pulling the material down to reveal your cunt. You mentally curse yourself at the fact that you're already wet, a fact that will sure to swell Sukuna's ego.

Your hands fly down to hide yourself but he swats them away, giving you a glare before sliding a finger up and down your wet slit; collecting the juices before pushing a digit into your tight hole.

"S-shit." your groan, and the moment you clench around him, a sickening grin spreads across his tattooed face.

"Always knew you where gonna feel great around me."

The first curl of his fingers knocks the wind out of you, as it hits the sweet spot inside of you that you could only dream to reach on your own.

“Hah~ I cant-” You whimper, stomach clenching and legs trembling from the pleasure. You want to say you hate this, tell him to get off of you but you can't, you can't even think straight. You even push your hips out, angling them so his digits reach deeper into that sweet spot that sends tendrils of electricity through your body. But before you can fully bask in the pleasure, before you can taste your orgasm on your tongue, he pulls his fingers out.

"You think I'm gonna let you cum so early? After all the shit you have pulled?" His hand flies to your throat wrapping around it with a force that belies the strength behind it. Your breath hitches, a strange mix of fear and exhilaration coursing through your veins. His touch is firm, and commanding, but there’s an undeniable pleasure in the way his fingers tighten slightly, reminding you of the power he holds.

"Nah no way." Sukuna chuckles "Your just gonna have to suck it up."

You try to speak, but his grip tightens just enough to cut off your words, leaving you gasping. The pressure on your throat is intoxicating, a strange pleasure mingling with the discomfort. You can feel your pulse throbbing under his hand. You are so dazed that you don’t even notice he has pulled out his dick until you feel something big pressing against your entrance, making you look down and your eyes widen as you do so.

You’re about to open your mouth to say something, what, you do not know, but all of a sudden Sukuna pushes his dick into you until his hips are flushed against yours. It feels like you're being split in two, and the way his tip smushes against your cervix makes you unable to find your breath. The unfamiliar feeling has you squirming and clenching around his cock; body desperately trying to push out the foreign intrusion.  

“Shit you gotta loosen up doll, cant fuck you like this.” There were veins popping on his temple as he started to rub tight circles on your clit. Bolts of pleasure shoot up your body, and you desperately try to relax your body.

“Atta girl” He coos, withdrawing his hips before slamming into your.

The first thrust completely knocks the wind out of you. The collision with your gspot has you arching your back of the couch; eyes screwed shut and letting out a loud moan. He's girth spread you so well, so much, and the friction was so delicious, tears blotted your eyesight. Your skin is buzzing, and your entire lower half is shaking from the pleasure. Sukuna's pace is brutal, unforgiving, and he has to grab the arm rest above you with one arm to help his brutal and unforgiving pace into you.

Your mind grows hazy, lost in the sensation of how good he was fucking you, but then, without explanation, a spark of defiance ignites within you. Suddenly, you find the strength to flip him over, his dick not leaving the warmth of your cunt once and so you were effectively laying on top of him, your legs on either side of his body. With your chest flushed against his, and your ass perked up in the air, you begin to fuck yourself on his dick, raising your hips up and down his length as if he was a dildo.

"Oh thats it." Sukuna is not a whining man but here he is, his voice cracking from the feeling and sight of you riding him. "Fuck yourself on me shit shit shit."

You are practically drooling on his chest, your eyes rolling back from how good he felt against your G spot.

You let a whine when you feel yourself start to get tired so Sukuna grabs your hips and starts fucking you on his length.

Fap.Fap.Fap

"Gonna cum in you baby ok?" He murmurs into your ear and you dazedly nod.

Suddenly you feel your stomach dip and your mind go blank. Your mind feels as though it’s been dipped in pure euphoria, thoughts scattering like leaves in the wind, replaced by an overwhelming wave of bliss that drowns out everything else. Your body responds in kind, muscles tensing and releasing in perfect harmony with the pleasure coursing through you. It’s as if every cell is vibrating with delight, your skin tingling with a heightened sensitivity that makes even the slightest touch feel like a divine caress. The heat of the sensation is intoxicating, making your limbs feel weightless as if you’re floating on a cloud of pure, unadulterated joy.

Sukuna is quick to follow, shooting ropes of thick cum that glide down his shaft onto his balls.

"See? We are practically made for each other."

[goxjo]

𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐝 ⋮ 𝐬𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐬𝐚 𝐤𝐢𝐲𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐢

↪︎ bridesmaid series ∘ haikyuu mlist ∘ general mlist

In which you find no way out of the most absurd wedding tradition of all time — the garter toss

pairing. groomsman! sakusa kiyoomi x bridesmaid! reader

warnings. no pronouns, f anatomy! reader, peer pressure, biting, soft dom! sakusa, he calls you pretty a lot, he uses the pet name ‘baby’, light choking, he wears a condom but discards it later on, handjob, slight humiliation, slight corruption, deepthroating, slight gagging, fingering, cunnilingus, mentions of alcohol, edging, slight praise kink, overstimulation, creampie, aftercare!!!! I love him this is a lot I know

word count. 6.1k

an. this is one of my fav fics that I’ve ever written, speaking as an omi girlie myself ;; this is also rewritten & reposted <3

꒰ 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬, 𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐝𝐧𝐢 — 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 ꒱

“Flower girls, please save the petals for when you walk down the aisle. And please, behave,” the coordinator says with hints of sweetness in his voice. He dusts off a few petals that got on his sleeves from a playful dispute between the little girls. Later, he requests for the older (and the more collected) bunch — the bridesmaids and the groomsmen — to be in their places in exactly five minutes.

You don’t really know much of the people here, save for a few bridesmaids and the bride herself, all of whom you’ve been friends with ever since high school. A few minutes ago, at the very brief orientation for the entourage, you stiffened when they announced who you’re getting paired with — a tall man with black wavy hair swept to one side, two prominent moles on the right side of his forehead, dark piercing eyes, and the rest of his face hidden behind a mask. Not that you’re complaining or anything, he just seems like he didn’t want to be there.

The coordinator darts his eyes back and forth from his clipboard onto the pairs falling in line but fixes his gaze on your partner who’s about an arm’s length away from you.

“Kiyoomi-san, please take it off just for the ceremony.”

Your partner gives his offender a sinister look, furrowing his brows before ultimately giving in — taking a deep sigh as he hooks his fingers on the loops of his mask.

Your head subconsciously draws back upon seeing his whole face, eyes fluttering, completely taken by how soft the entirety of his face looks regardless of the spiteful demeanor he gave off.

Mesmerized, you watch him slowly glance from the ground up as he folds his mask, keeping it deep in one of his pockets. As soon as your eyes locked, he cocks a brow, and the realization kicks in that you have just been caught ogling him.

Immediately, you look away, attempting to brush off your embarrassment now that you’re minutes away from walking down the aisle.

Shit. Please look away, please—

Promptly, you check to see if he’s still looking. And yes, he is, in fact, staring at you intently. He takes a few steps towards you, slowly closing the gap between the two of you.

“Sorry, I was just… did you want something—”

“Hold still.”

He inches closer to you, inspecting your face, and you can feel his warm breath brushing over your cheek. He raises his hand and as soon as you feel his fingers running through your hair, you can't help but jolt backwards in response.

“I said hold still,” he commands.

Your mouth opens agape and you feel a soft pinch at the top of your head. Pretty soon he’s waving a stray petal in front of your face.

He falls back in line, letting go of the petal to drop on the red carpet, and you, on the other hand, are frozen in place, not having moved an inch from where he left you.

You realize that you may have overreacted but your heart is pumping nonetheless.

“____, Kiyoomi, you’re up next!” the coordinator announces, and snapping you out of your daze is Kiyoomi offering his arm for you to take.

…

If there’s one thing at a wedding that the guests enjoy more than the bride and groom themselves, that would be the garter toss. Roaring cheers are heard from all corners of the reception hall and phones are whipped out, taking every good angle of the bride and groom in the middle of the dance floor. Obviously, no one is missing a shot of this momentous occasion. You can even tell by the expressions of the hotel staff that they aren’t immune to the appeal of the lewd tradition.

In reality, the ordeal actually goes by quickly. But from both the viewer and the participant’s perspective, it somehow feels menacingly slow. You suppose it’s due to the thrill of having someone consent to get borderline felt up on center stage as a groomsman sticks his head under their skirt, all while crappy overused stripper music plays in the background.

You have to admit, it’s quite the craze… until you consider the possibility that it’s you who gets to do it after all. “All single women to the center of the dancefloor. Bridesmaids, no exceptions!” the host announces, pertaining to you in particular upon seeing your hesitation.

To slim those chances, you stand as far back as possible. That, and so as to not get caught up with the horde of bachelorettes aching for their turn to play wifey. Your friend, the bride, takes one good look at you lot before spotting you at the rear, locking eyes with you, smirking.

You know that devilish look. Oh, don’t you dare.

And with a good throw, the bouquet flies past the mob of hopeful brides-to-be. They attempt their hardest to reach for it but to no avail, now only able to merely follow it with their eyes. A dozen heads turn to look at your figure and reality slaps them on the face all at once, the glimmer of hope leaving their eyes hollow upon seeing the bouquet already within your grasp.

Fuck.

…

Let’s just get this over with. Holy shit, can I do this…

You squirm in your seat, fiddling with the smooth lace wrapped around the bouquet on your lap, mentally debating whether to just say you’re not up for it, but your friends will never let you hear the last of it if you decide to sit this one out.

When you hear the swarm of bachelors bark in defeat, you look for the hand that holds the garter and your eyes widen in shock when you realize who it belongs to.

Although he doesn’t appear to be as miserable as you, not even his mask could hide that it irks him to be on the receiving end of all this attention. How he even ended up being included in the roster of bachelors, you do not know.

You’re being pulled by two of your friends towards the center stage. And just when you think things couldn't possibly get worse—

“What do you say we kick things up a notch?” The DJ riles up the crowd and two seconds later, one of the guests is yelling out, “use your teeth!” Pretty soon, the entire reception hall is echoing that same request.

“USE YOUR TEETH! USE YOUR TEETH! USE YOUR TEETH!”

At this point, you’re not even sure how to react anymore but it concerns you how Kiyoomi’s face just shifted from peeved to aggravated — and you couldn't tell if it’s because of you or the crowd.

“You’re wasting your time, he’s never gonna say yes to that,” one of the groomsmen with light brown hair and round eyebrows answers in your entourage partner’s stead, snatching the garter from Kiyoomi’s hand.

There’s pressure from the audience but you try your hand at reassuring the onlookers. “It’s okay, we can just pick again. Plus, I honestly don’t think he’s up for it.”

You hear him snicker. Did I say something wrong? Shifting your gaze to him, you see that he has already taken off his mask.

“Get on the chair, sweetie.”

You could feel your heart drop in your chest at his behest.

He loosens his own tie. “Let me borrow that for a sec,” he says, turning to the one who took the garment from him.

The crowd whistles. But so far, with how fast-paced the events are unfolding, that’s really the least of your concerns.

He kneels down on one knee and sneaks back a look at you before hooking a finger underneath your dress — lifting it a little and letting it hang on your knees to grant him a better view. You lower your head, trying to hide the redness of your cheeks after being slightly exposed for everyone to see.

He grabs your leg and your breath hitches at the sudden touch of his cold fingertips on your calves. He stretches the garter wide, letting you keep your shoe as he places the garment loose around your ankle. He brings your leg up higher, near his face this time, securing the ivory band between his teeth.

The rhythm of your pulse drowns out whatever music and cheers that could be heard within this very large hall. You’re on the edge of your seat, hands on either side of the chair for your own support, providing him better access for when he gets to spaces that are… tighter.

The brushing sensation of the lace tickles you as he swiftly drags the garter along your shin. He hooks a hand behind your other leg, subconsciously squeezing it when he struggles a little at your knee.

Once more, he slides a finger underneath the hems of your dress. He takes one look at you as if to ask for permission, and you nod at him — prodding him to go on. At that, he slowly lifts the chiffon garment, burying himself underneath it, and you couldn’t stop your shivers from locking your muscles in tight.

Undeniably, you feel your insides coil at his now-dangerous proximity to your private area. You feel the garter hugging your skin tighter when it reaches your upper thigh before it slaps your skin in his release, causing a bolt of heat to shoot down your center.

Abruptly, you feel a sharp sting when something sunk into the soft skin of your thigh as quickly as it left. Your eyes widen for a brief moment, making you bring a hand up to your mouth.

Did he just…

At that he gets out of your dress, standing on his feet. The groom and the bachelors applaud but he seems unaffected by them.

He extends his hand out to you, making you release what breath you didn’t realize you were holding — your eyes dead fixed on each other as he helps you out of your seat.

You’ve since tuned out any noise from the people around you, especially now that you’re distracted by the new, tingling sensation of soft lace rubbing and tickling between your thighs.

The bride comes up to you, hugging you and screaming at you, overjoyed as if whatever the fuck just happened calls for an even bigger celebration than her own wedding. You look for your partner, only to be met with his back as he heads for the exit. That becomes his cue to take his leave, nowhere to be found for the rest of the evening.

…

In the later hours, you barely speak (or rather, barely respond properly) to other people. You’re tipsy from what little amount of wine and cocktails you had drunk and so far, you only seem interested in learning about Sakusa Kiyoomi — how he’s a professional volleyball player for one of Japan’s top leagues and is without a doubt one of the best you’ll ever see in the country.

Your friends even warn you about him being too frank and too clean, but who on earth would complain about the latter? But the thing that you still can’t wrap your head around is the fact that he rarely ever shows interest in just anyone. “He must’ve really liked you, or else he never would have agreed to that,” one of his friends tells you — some words you’re trying to not get too hyped about.

The last of all the absurd wedding traditions is where the groom carries his bride to their room, and you all take that as your signal to leave as well. It’s pretty late but you still haven’t gotten over your high from earlier. And with this place being the same hotel where most guests are checked in, you silently hope to at least bump into him again, checking at every turn as you make your way to your hotel room. But again, he’s nowhere to be seen, and you’re dead set on denying your futile longing if anyone asks.

Feeling uneasy, you get out of your clothes, leaving them and your other belongings on the floor of your bathroom, and find yourself soaking in a warm bath. You’re frustrated — half due to feeling you have unfinished business and half due to the possibility that you’re romanticizing your little encounter more than you should.

The warm bath should’ve helped by now, but the knotting feeling in the pit of your stomach is only welling up inside you. Resting your head on the edge of the tub, you close your eyes, repeating the moments over and over in your head, with each account of the memory almost as potent as when you had experienced it hours ago.

Finishing up in your late-night bath, your attention is called to the sound of your phone receiving a text.

…

Text message from unknown

Today 2:00 AM

:Are you still up?

:I hope you don’t mind. I had Komori ask for your number from the bride.

Komori? You had your guess — or hopes up, more likely. But no way, it couldn’t be.

Who’s this?:

Text message from unknown

Today 2:01 AM

:It’s Kiyoomi. Can I come over?

——

Three hours. It has been nearly three hours since you last saw him.

A dim, ambient yellow emanates from the two lamps on your nightstands, one on either side of the bed, your only sources of light. You sit on the edge of your bed, restless, mindlessly tapping the heel of your foot to the floor, taking deep breaths as your anticipation wells up in your chest.

Five minutes. That was how long it took for you to come up with an answer.

You have done your part in reminding yourself that you just met the man today. You’re blatantly aware that that important bit of information holds him against your better judgment. Even so, you’re meek to dismiss the biggest warning signs over the slightest doubts that… Maybe he means well? I don’t even know what he wants. But what could he possibly want at 2 in the morning?

And as for you, well, what could you possibly want dressing up like that?

…

Twenty minutes. It had been twenty minutes since you replied to his text with your hotel room number.

Clad only in the hotel-provided bathrobe that covers you only up to your thighs, you clump the blue linen fabric in your balled fist, further exposing your thighs, unarmed with the first thing to do or say once he gets here — once he sees how you chose to present yourself.

The suspense is killing you. Your own imagination running amok causes you to put a hand in between your crossed legs. Breaths, labored. Your bottom lip, red and plump from your constant, thoughtless nibbling. And worst of all, your own velvet walls, twitching.

Maybe this is a bad idea, you realize, prompting you to get up and throw on some pants, underwear, anything. Except you’re brought to a halt when…

2:30 AM — it was what it said on the digital clock on your nightstand when you heard three full knocks coming from the other side of the door.

Your body makes an involuntary turn towards the door, striding slowly as you tighten the belt of your robe, a minor sting lacing around your stomach. You can feel blood rushing to your cheeks, heart pulsating when your hand makes contact with the cold doorknob.

After having heard no follow-up nor signal from the other side of the door, you would have believed that your senses fooled you the first time you heard knocking. Would have, if it weren’t for the tall man in a gray hoodie and black sweatpants standing in front of you. It doesn’t surprise you that even in the later hours, his pretty face is still concealed behind a mask.

“It’s you,” you say, partly as a greeting and partly to convince yourself he’s real.

His eyes trail your form from up to down, black orbs deep as night studying you torturously slow. You don’t know what it’s for but you find it safer to assume that it’s judgment coming from him, making you fiddle with your hair, looking away as you’re suddenly conscious of how you look.

“It’s me. Aren’t you gonna let me in, ___?” he inquires, tone as monotonous as ever but you don’t miss the smirk in his voice at his mention of your name. The very first time you hear your name roll off his tongue, it knocks the breath out of your lungs and sends you to a near-cardiac arrest.

You take a step back before turning your back to him, leading the way to your bedroom.

Keeping a clear head proves to be quite the task. You’re careful not to let him detect any nervousness from you but you know that to be a lost cause when the mere sound of the door closing shut behind him causes you to flinch, not to mention the hairs that prickle all over your body when he suddenly runs the back of his fingers along your spine.

You gulp, crossing your arms tight around your chest, covering yourself up a little bit as you gather the courage to even turn around.

Looking at him over your shoulder, you pick up that he’s also somewhat keeping a distance from you. Like he’s waiting for something from you, a signal perhaps? Your lips subconsciously part in your musing but you’re unable to mutter a single word.

Raising a brow at you, he asks, “you’ve got questions?” sounding more like a fact than a query.

“Well, you— uhm… you disappeared all of a sudden…” you mumble, fiddling with your fingers as you turn to face him entirely.

“And?”

Scratching the back of your neck, you reluctantly ask, “I don’t know, I guess I just— where had you gone off to? And… Why did you come over?”

The first time his eyes leave your form, he cranes his head back, hands digging into the pockets of his hoodie as he thinks of an answer. When he doesn’t say anything, you add, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you—”

“No one’s ever gotten me to be in that kind of position,” he responds and your heart drops over your presumption of where this conversation might lead to.

“Making me go down on my knees and stick my head underneath your skirt like that,” he adds, eyes staring daggers into yours again.

“I didn’t mean for it to… if you’re asking me to apologize then—”

“I’m asking you,” he cuts you off, taking a few steps closer to you, “to be good for me like you were earlier, and then we’ll call it even.”

Your breath hitches as you subconsciously draw one hand to a fist, balling the hems of your robe, feeling a pool of heat growing in your core before you nod your head twice in agreement to his terms.

His figure towers over yours as he tilts your chin up with a finger, “Not like that, ___. I want you to say it.”

“…I’ll be good for you, Kiyoomi.”

Soon, his hands are moving to the bands of his mask but before he could tug on them, you interrupt him. “Wait—” you pause, your eyelashes fluttering, making him cock a brow in response. “Allow me?”

At that, he relaxes his stance, letting you do as you please. One side of his face is golden where the light touches, dark brown where it doesn’t. And for the third time today, you’re rewarded with his soft, captivating features that he tends to deprive others of in his aversion to dirt.

You try to brush off the thought but it’s so hard to dismiss the fact that he’s so good looking. You know you’re never going to get enough of him.

He pulls you in slowly, ridiculously big arms wrapping around you, his touch embedded with a bit of care in contrast to his daggers for words. He presses your tits and stomach flat against his taut stomach as he holds you by the small of your back.

The feeling of need for your mouth to be occupied grows but you wait for him patiently. Even now, his eyes study you, looking as if he has something to say.

“Fuck it,” he cusses after what seemed like a debate in his head. “You’re so pretty.”

If you thought his features looked soft, his lips definitely felt much softer. His kisses are heavy with need, betraying what composure he let on earlier.

You roam your hands across his biceps that feel hard to the touch, hands finding solace on his broad shoulders, melting into his hold as you find the taste of his mouth finer, and far more intoxicating, than the liquors you indulged in today.

He trails a hand lower to grab your ass, unintentionally pulling on the skirt of your robe. You moan into the kiss upon the brush of a cold breeze past your slightly exposed bottom. 

He’s the first to pull away and you whine at the abrupt separation.

“Lie down.” He runs his fingers through his locks while he tries to catch his breath, eyes half-lidded, pupils dilated, his signature bass deeper than usual. Before you could submit to his request, he places a soft, wet kiss on your cheek, surprising you by pulling on the strings of your robe.

“Kiyoomi!” you whine in your shock, hands automatically crossing over your exposed chest but he pays no mind to it. Instead, he begins to trail kisses from the crook of your neck up to your jaw.

“Mm,” you purr when he hits a sweet spot on your neck, making him attack that same spot repeatedly and oh so tenderly. Your head cranes back to grant him more access to your neck, your own body betraying your resistance earlier.

Your legs feel like jello at this point with every ounce of defiance leaving your body from how good he peppers your skin with his kisses. Kiyoomi knows what you want, and makes sure you know what he wants. 

He kisses the lobe of your ear once, hot breath fanning your ear as he whispers, “You don’t need to hide from me. And weren’t you the one who promised to be good for me?” He kisses your temple. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

Biting the inside of your cheek, you let your robe drop to the floor, doing as you’re told. His eyes explore your body, exposed skin burning underneath his half-lidded gaze. Kiyoomi’s cold fingertips caress your side, calluses leaving a faint trail where he touches. You look away in embarrassment but his hand is quick to capture your jaw, thumb and middle finger digging into your cheeks.

“Eyes on me.” His hand wraps loosely around your neck, thumb stroking your throat, making you swallow a lump of saliva in your submission. Next, he reaches for your breast, placing your nipple in between two fingers as he fondles your tit.

There’s a certain tenderness with the way he handles you. A softness in his touch, in stark contrast to his rough demeanor. Big man that knows just how delicate you are compared to him, like you’re something that needs to be treated with utmost care, that if he’s not careful enough, he just might break you.

“Lie down.” Eyes still fixed on his, you lie down and he mirrors you, towering over you as you prop your elbows on the bed, your knees drawn together, pressing against his stomach. 

“Whenever you’re rea–hha!” You let out a gasp when he pulls you by your thighs closer to the edge of the bed, granting him easy access to your entrance. He gets down on his knees, face dangerously close to your cunt. “Keep still, I want to try something.”

“What are you—”

Kiyoomi parts your knees abruptly, eliciting a whimper from you. “Kiyoomi, please,” you whine, he looks at you briefly before turning back to your cunt. He releases a breathy grunt upon seeing your pussy so wet and puffy, clenching before him. Warm breath wafts across your folds before he takes a whiff. “Lavender, huh? Were you preparing?”

Your knees attempt to contract upon his inquiry, but he pins your legs down on both sides.

“This is embarrassing, Kiyoomi.”

“Omi. And I’m sure it is. Who would have guessed that sweet, harmless ___ would lie down in bed, spread wide open for me?” he teases, running his thumb along your slippery slit, making you bite down on your lower lip, eyes rolling back when he starts to rub slow circles on your clit. “Sweet ___, drenched in your own juices, when I haven’t even gotten to half of what I plan to do to you.”

“Ff-fuuuck,” your moans drag out, betraying your own words. “O-omi–mm,” you coo, humming when he inserts two fingers inside you easily, slowly fucking your hole. Your hips buck in a poor attempt to ride his hand, arching when he flicks your clit with the tip of his tongue. “Hm?” he asks before slowly swiping his tongue side to side, alternating between sucking and playing with your clit, and he realizes just how vocal you can get with your purring now filling the room.

“Ha—Omi, I need—hm,” your words are coming out incoherent with how good Kiyoomi’s tongue feels on your clit, but it’s not quite enough. “Fuuuck, fuck me, Omi, please, fuck,” you whisper and it feels like a prayer on your lips, starting to feel your orgasm building up. But right when your hole begins to spasm, Kiyoomi pulls his tongue back, fucking you with a third digit, and you wince at the slight tear.

“What is it, ___?” seeing the smirk plastered on his face causes your entire face to burn up, and at this point, you realize that he’s insistent on making you last out.

“I want to see you too, please.”

…

As if Kiyoomi eating you out isn’t enough to push you over the edge, watching him strip out of his clothes is a whole experience in itself. He’s built as you would expect a professional athlete, but seeing all of him, bare, in the flesh sends your core throbbing in excitement. And though the thought of him being big shouldn’t come as a surprise, you’re forced to inhale air through gritted teeth upon seeing what he packs beneath his trousers — long, girthy, and veiny — fully erect with the tip glinting with precum. Oh he’s big, alright.

His curls drop to his forehead when he looks down, rolling a condom over his hard shaft. He doesn’t need to look at you to know you’ve been practically eye-fucking him. “It’s rude to stare, pretty (nickname),” he says with sarcasm hinted in his voice. Even after seeing each other naked, after letting him taste you, you still feel the need to look away, flustered from just his words.

He aligns himself at your entrance, laughing through his nose at your adorable flushed state. He tilts your chin to look at him, your blown-out irises meeting his black ones. “I told you to look at me, didn’t I?”

“I-I am. Please, Omi.”

He crouches down to your level, muscles crunching and contracting with every movement, hands propping beside you, trapping you as he captures your lips gingerly. Your stomach locks in tight with the light slap of his dick on top of it. Your fingers instinctively wrap around it making him grunt into the deepening kiss. He bucks into your hand, hard cock slippery from the condom but he suddenly pulls out with dissatisfaction all over his face.

“Fuck it. I want to feel all of you,” he says as he impatiently discards the condom. Not a second later, he recaptures your mouth and your hand forms a ring once again around his dick. His cock feels warmer to the touch, slick with his own precum. Kiyoomi clearly finds it better this way, humming into the kiss as he lets you pump his dick.

Next thing you know, he’s on his feet, him in all his 6 '4 might, towering over you. You sit up and you find your face levelled with his cock. Through thick lashes you look up at him, jerking his shaft wet as you prop your free hand on his hip.

He welcomes that look on you. If he isn’t, he wouldn’t be sweeping your hair behind your ear. The corner of his lip upturns as if he wishes to entertain the thought you just had.

You really just want to please him.

Eyes looking up at him, you slide the expanse of your tongue up and down across his shaft, mirroring how he ate you out earlier, tip of your tongue flicking at his foreskin.

“Hm,” he huffs out, head craning back, cussing and grunting from how good your tongue feels.

“I want to make you feel good, Omi,” you say, with a glint of bashfulness in your voice.

With steady breaths, you try to take as much of him as you can, but you’re only able to take in not even half of his cock when you feel a slight gag behind your throat. You take a deep breath through your nose to control your reflex. “Fuuuck,” Kiyoomi groans, cock feeling tight around your throat and to say your own pussy is drenched is an understatement. You know just how much you’ve been making a mess as you grind on the sheets. 

With tears beginning to prickle your eyes, you bob your head, hand pumping his dick as an extension of your mouth. Kiyoomi’s hand caresses the side of your face while you fill yourself up with his cock. His abs begin to flex even harder in front of you in an attempt to prevent himself from fucking your throat. He knows you just wouldn’t be able to take it.

The second he feels his cock throb he pulls out of you.

“Stop,” he says it more to himself really, unwilling to finish in your mouth. “Sorry, we made a little mess.” He uses his thumb to wipe off the mix of precum and drool that dripped to the side of your face. His expression, both stoic and yet oh, so endearing. You suppose it’s part of his allure, him coming off ominous even as he peppers you with tenderness.

“You really are lovely, ___, and I’m going to cum in you, not your mouth,” he tells you so matter-of-factly, to which you can only nod in obedience.

He pushes you by your chest gently, making you lie down and wrap your legs around his waist. And without warning, he thrusts all of his cock inside you, making you scream both in pleasure and pain, your own wetness allowing him to slide into you with ease but it doesn’t help with the stretch. It’s not an exaggeration to say he’s the biggest you’ve ever had. And his pace is unforgiving, orienting you with the stamina of a professional athlete.

“O-omi,” you cry out, eyes rolling back as you clutch onto his biceps. His length leaves your walls almost as soon as he pounds balls deep into you. Moments later, your pain turns purely into pleasure, finding yourself smiling in your own euphoric high the more he thrusts into you, hitting your sweet spot.

“If only you could see how pretty you look when you’re being so good to me, taking my cock like that.” He rests his forehead on top of yours, his dark eyes hooded and boring into you, planting soft and sloppy kisses in between sentences.

“Don’tstopdon’tstopdon’tstop–” Your brain is rewired by his cock with every roll of his hips. Every new detail of him is a new engraving in your memory, and every memory of him is an experience – from the sight of his soft curls beginning to stick slick to his forehead, the feeling of his biceps contracting beneath your palms, the clashing sounds of your moans against his grunts and shallow breathing, to every wet slap of his hips on your cunt.

You can’t get enough of him. The obscene thought of fucking a man you had just met and know so little of should have scared you. But it is, without a doubt, bringing you over the edge, making your walls knot at the very fact.

You start to feel tears well up in your eyes when he hooks your legs around his arms, and you become a teary-eyed, whining mess at the ample friction on both your clit and your g-spot.

“You’re even prettier when folded, fuck.” His mouth is on yours once again, tongue so familiar with your own at this point. He props himself up higher as he wantonly jerks his hips to brush over your clit. “Cum for me, baby.”

“Omi!” arching into him, you crane your head back as you let out a high-pitched cry of his name, your walls fluttering as you come undone around his cock, nails burying crescents into his skin, and you swear you hear Kiyoomi utter a curse under his breath.

And he doesn’t stop fucking you. He keeps a steady rhythm, coaxing the buildup of your second orgasm seconds after your first.

“I-I want to make you feel good too, Omi, please,” you chirp, utterly intent on committing to your promise.

“You do feel good, baby.” You try with all your might to answer but your walls are too busy coiling as he fucks you through your second high. “You don’t know how good your tight pussy feels around my cock.” The corners of his mouth turn upwards, and albeit only slightly, the sight of it is a high in itself.

Before you know it, he’s able to prop himself up with one hand on a side plank, roughly rubbing circles on your clit with his fingers, and you’re losing your mind over how he keeps hitting your g-spot while he teases your sensitive bud. Your erratic heartbeat all but fills your chest when you notice his pace has gotten uneven, his breath, shaky.

“Omi, I’m-I’m—” He takes one full thrust in you, releasing the loudest groan he’s had tonight. His cock twitches inside of you, stuffing you full of his hot cum, preventing you from finishing your sentence when you reach your own high at the same time as his. His propelled hand doesn’t falter even when he’s on the brink of collapse from his own orgasm, and you can tell he’s avoiding crushing you with his form.

He pants, slowly pulling out of you, and flops as he rests his head on top of your stomach, the both of you taking a second to catch your breaths.

He plants a kiss on your stomach before he leaves you briefly, heading towards the bathroom. You close your eyes for a bit, devoid of strength to worry about him leaving you. You jolt up when you suddenly feel a towel on your cunt.

“Hold still,” he tells you for the second or third time today, finding him cleaning up the cum that’s beginning to drip out of your pussy. And at this point, you’ve lost count of the number of times he has taken you by surprise.

Once done, he makes his way back to the bathroom to dispose of the used towel properly, making you chuckle at how even when he’s exhausted to the brim, his own tendencies never leave him.

Finally, he sits down and takes the space beside you. Still catching his breath with his back slightly hunched, he stares forward at nothing.

You, on the other hand, know better by now than to probe him, and so you wait for him to speak his mind.

“No lie. I really thought you were the prettiest earlier,” he confesses all of a sudden and you almost feel your eyes popping out of their sockets. “Still do.”

“What… happens now?” Truth be told, you really didn’t want to bring it up, but the question has since welled up in your stomach even before he fucked all rhyme and reason out of your brain.

“I wanna try something else,” he utters, “something where I get to wake up next to you in the morning.” And you realize you were worried for nothing.

Smiling to yourself, you respond, “I’d like that.”

[thephantomsdream]

Let's be real for a second.

Ghost likes you a lil mean. Just enough. To him, to his mates, to everyone. He can fight. He will fuck anyone up who dares to react aggressively to you, so it doesn't matter if you're sassy, snarky, plainly put a little shit. He won't stop you, he's not gonna "tame" you, he's definitely gonna fucking eat it up and tease you, loving your remarks, clever, funny or straight up mean. The man will be smirking behind his mask (or straight up giving you heart-eyes at home). Don't be unnecessarily mean though, it's not a good look on anyone. Oh, god, and if your humor is dark? You got the man snorting and fucking giggling*(1), shoulders shaking and him trying to hold it in as you're plain roasting someone.

Be mean to him. He tests the waters, dropping one of his incredible and fantastic jokes for you to roll your eyes at him and tell him to rather wear a clown mask, since he's such a joke, and I swear he folds. Wants to pin you down and fuck you raw until you're a sobbing mess that knows nothing else but his name? Of course, and know he'd be mocking you, because where's that snarky mouth of yours, hmm? Oh, ya, busy sucking on his fingers. But until then, he's lowkey following you around dropping stupid joke after stupid joke until you're actually angry and amused. He got you smiling somehow? Gets him feeling like a young boy with a crush, silly butterflies and all.

Give him a bitch-face. Raised brow and unimpressed face at anyone and he's just eyes on you. Fucking hell, he's creepy too. Ghost is fucking intimidating as he is but if he just fixates on something, big brown eyes locked onto you and (big, awkward because let's be fucking for real, boy's actually fucking awkward) body frozen. Just 🧍‍♂️. (I'm fucking wheezing, he just 🧍‍♂️👁👁 and you know it!)

"Fuck are you looking at, weirdo?" That's bloody foken lovely!

And!

AND! He just (again, awkwardly) hovers and makes shit jokes but is so helpful to you in any way he can because in reality he's garbage with words but with actions he's much better. Regardless of where you met, he'll find a way in your life because you bring him joy and he just can't seem to let go. Simon tries to convince himself too that it ain't a good idea, that you're better off. Aha. Yeah, then you just look at him in a way when someone else says something absolutely fucking stupid and he just... Yeah, he's yours.

Be mean to him, then let him shove his face in your tits. Pull his hair a little but wrap your arms around him. Bite him and call him an idiot if you want, as long as you call him your idiot. That's Simon to you.

(But when you're nice to only him, he feels special. Make this man feel special, yeah? He needs it.)

(1): I actually imagined him in his barracks, him kicking his feet while he wears a pink robe, writing in his pink diary (with a pink pen with one of those fluffy balls at the end) "Dear diary, my lovie called me an asshole today. My heart is still racing. We shall mary in spring." and drawing hearts around his and your initials together.

[anisespice]

“ accidents happen ” || tokyo rev.

cont.

synopsis: in which they discover you had their child and kept it from them all these years later.

pairing: bonten x fem!reader [ mikey, ran, sanzu ]

warnings: mature content ahead. MDI. mature language, crude humor, angst (if you squint really hard), deadbeat!bonten (unintentionally), not proof-read so there may be errors lol and i think that’s it :))

notes: i just want the drama >:) may make more parts, and even extend said headcannons into longer fics in the future, but wanted to post something quick for mother’s day. hope you enjoy!

When you disappeared off the face of the earth, MIKEY had never been the same. One fight. One argument that spiraled out of control, and you were just gone...

He had people looking for you for about a couple years, the trail ran cold after a while and he had half a mind to think you were dead. Up until he got intel of your whereabouts one morning during a meeting.

That man got up and left immediately.

He wasn’t accompanied with any of his men, only because he didn’t want to draw any unwanted attention in the broad daylight. Sure, him wearing a black hood, ball cap, and mask in a park didn’t really help him look inconspicuous but it at least concealed his identity enough for him to blend in. Mikey sat on a bench for a good forty minutes, anxious, making anyone who passed him shiver from his intense aura alone; even birds walked around him. After almost an hour of waiting, he began to feel frustrated. Perhaps, the intel was false. Just as he went to stand, already conjuring up ways to have Sanzu execute the idiot who wasted his time, he heard it.

Your voice. Seizing him, like a siren’s call.

His eyes were alert, darting around until they landed on your figure, spotlighted by the sun, like an angel descending from the heavens. You looked good, healthy. That was good. An array of emotions fought for their turn in Mikey’s heart—Relief, distress, anger, nostalgia. He couldn’t just pick one, especially when it came to you. As he watched from his spot, doing his best to not seem suspicious, he clocked the people you were approaching with excitement, your peppy stride as you waved at, what he presumed, to be mother and daughter.

However, his entire world turned upside down when the little girl extended out her arms towards you, and said “Mama!”

“Hello, my darling.~” You cooed, taking her into your awaiting arms from the woman, embracing the toddler tightly. “Mama missed you so much.”

“Missed you, mama!” was the child’s reply, followed by her giggles.

A bucket of cold water would’ve been better than this. Watching you converse with who he now assumes to be the babysitter, Mikey felt faint. Vision blurring, head pounding, heart clenching. You…you…no. There’s no way. You wouldn’t have moved on…you couldn’t have, not like this, not from him. You loved him, didn’t you? You still love him, didn’t you?

How could you…how could you?

Before he knew it, he started to follow you around. From the park, to the store, all the way back to your apartment. He already phoned some of the executives to start working in on the babysitter, and anyone else in your new found circle for information. He wanted answers. He needed them.

By the time you began fixing dinner, with your daughter laid down for a nap, you receive a knock at your door. Who could that be at this hour?

RAN was chilling outside the rendezvous spot for something the boss and a few other execs were participating in, having a smoke, minding his business, up until he sees a little girl with pigtails wearing a school uniform approaching, standing before him and just…staring. She barely came up to his thighs, could've been no older than seven. She was practically staring into his soul with bright lavender eyes that scarily reminded him of Rin’s when he was that age.

He stared back, head tilted as he blew out the smoke from the corner of his mouth. The hell was a kid doing on this side of town?

Then, after an uncomfortable staring contest, the little girl points at his cigarette. “My ma says those things are bad for you.”

Ran raised a brow, “Does she now?”

“Mmhm! She says it makes people unhappy.”

He offered a thoughtful nod, an amused grin spreading across his face. “Mm. Do I look unhappy?”

The girl looked at Ran for a minute, eyes squinted. Eventually, she shook her head. “No. But, ma also says people who are always unhappy get better at hiding it.”

Ran’s grin faltered. Her unwavering stare started to unnerve him, especially after hearing such a heavy statement come from such a small package.

After a brief moment of silence, he chuckled softly, taking one last drag of his cigarette before flicking it away. He exhaled. “Smart woman.”

The little girl beamed, “Mmhm! My ma knows a lot of stuff.”

“Tsk. But not ‘Stranger Danger’, apparently.”

She tilted her head, curious. “Huh?”

“You shouldn’t be wandering around by yourself, let alone approaching someone you don’t know. ‘s not safe. Especially for nosy little girls who stick their noses in other people’s business. Your ma never taught you that?”

The little girl rolled her eyes, hands on her hips. “Duh. Of course she did. Everyone knows that rule,” she exasperated. Ran snorted, but yielded when she squinted at him, pointing as she sassed. “And I do so know you, so you’re not a stranger.”

This time, Ran couldn’t help the incredulous laugh. “Oh, you know me, huh? That’s not good. ‘m supposed to keep a low profile. Say, you ain’t a cop are you?” He teased, earning another eye roll.

“No. Too small to be a cop, dummy.”

“Oh, pardon me, I didn’t notice. Where do you know me from, then?”

The little girl pointed over to the building..where the executives were having their meeting. She beamed, “Ma’s works in there. On important people days she can’t get me from school, so she tells me to come straight here, and to not talk to the purple man that stands near the building. She says you’re mean.”

Ran smirked, then gave a half-hearted shrug.

“She also says you’re my pa. But, I never believed her. You’re too old.”

Ran’s smirk dropped.

Whether more from the first comment or the last, you decide. But, one thing was for certain: he needed another cigarette.

SANZU cackled watching some guy struggle to round up a couple of rowdy twins at the convenience store. One was knocking shit off the shelves while the other ran circles around the guy. It was what he needed for his bitch of a hangover, a good laugh to distract from the ache in his skull.

However, he wasn’t laughing for long when you came around the corner of the isle, holding a few items with a smile on your face that soon faded once you saw the scene unfolding before you; the pinkette thought he was still tripping balls. Blinking a few times to allow any after effects of the drugs to clear up, when you didn’t disappear he used his long legs to swiftly yeet behind one of the shelves, peering around it like some paranoid stalker. The last time you had spoken, you had threatened to castrate him with your teeth if you ever saw him again.

And he’d be damned if he tried your bluff.

He watched in awe as you straightened those twins up quick. If he didn’t know any better, he would’ve thought they were trained to obey you, and only you. Any other authority be damned. While the guy was putting all the stuff back on the shelves, sweaty and out of breath, you gently reprimanded them for causing trouble. You still made that cute pouty face you always did whenever you were mad at him…

“What did we talk about earlier? Hm? Mr. Satoru was very kind to help mama today, you know. You two promised me you’d be on your best behavior for him.”

Sanzu gagged. This was the rebound you let nut in you? This huffy moron who can’t handle a couple of ankle biters, this was your king? He had half a mind to just gut the guy to put him out of his misery from that pathetic display from earlier, alone. He couldn’t imagine how difficult it must be back home. He remembers when he was that age—Rowdy, reckless, the Antichrist. Adorable, but deadly. God bless that poor bastard’s soul.

Wait…Mister? Not…dad?

The first twin whined, stomping their feet. “He’s too boringggg!”

Come to think of it…if Sanzu squinted…the longer he looked at the little family…he swore the more he saw the resemblance of himself in the tiny gremlins. From the hair, to the eyes, all the way down to the mannerisms…Hang on. When had been the last time you two fucked? Three…no, was it four years ago?

The second twin huffed, pointing at the man. “Yeah! And he’s jus’ being nice so that he can sleep in your bed, mama!”

You flushed, nervously chuckling as you looked around to make sure no one heard. Sanzu ducked behind a bag of chips, now nothing but eyes peeking through the gaps of food on the shelf.

So…that loser’s not the father? Then…could that mean..?

“He’s mama’s boyfriend, remember? He’s allowed to do that. And he’ll be around for a while, so I want you two to be nice, okay?”

“…okay, mama.” They grumbled.

Sanzu almost popped a blood vessel, fist clenched around a bag of Lays and nearly busting it. He chuckled darkly, “Oh. We’ll see about that.”

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