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tonycries · 5 months ago

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A Million Dollar Baby! - N.K.

Synopsis. Turns out, rent can be paid in much more than one way.

Pairing. Nanami Kento x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, landlord! Nanami (kinda), oraI (male + fem), cúmplay, reader’s a tease, unprotected, creampíe, down bad FERAL Nanami, spítting, bréeding, messing up his glasses, pantý-stealing, he’s sweet but fúcks so MEAN, mentions of Higuruma, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 5.8k (wild)

A/N. Decided it was high time I feed my Nanami girlies hehe.

“Just get the money and go.” Nanami deadpans, like a mantra. Giving a rapt knock on your apartment door, “I swear m’making him buy me lunch for this.”

Now, it wasn’t that Nanami was exactly upset about taking over Higuruma’s landlord duties for the day - no, in fact, he was the first one at his friend’s door with a bag of prescription medicine for the other man’s fever and the suggestion to take the day off.

But it was the thought of finally coming face-to-face with you - that mysterious new tenant that’d just moved into his building. The one that had Nanami wondering whether you were really as “sugary sweet n’ irresistible” as Higuruma raved you were.

Though, he can’t imagine you’d be particularly happy about being woken up at 10am on a Sunday for overdue rent - he certainly wasn’t.

Seriously, he had no idea how Higuruma managed to do this every-

Click!

“Higu- you’re not Higuruma.”

Oh, and suddenly, Nanami gets it.

If he got to see this view, too, then he might just become the landlord himself.

It’s as if you knew you’d be playing with his sanity as soon as you opened that door, dressed in a fitted t-shirt that did absolutely everything to show off every bit of skin he shouldn’t be looking at. Your lips curving into a sinful little smirk when you notice his eyes dancing off that excuse of fabric you call “shorts”.

“Um…” you hum, after a few moments of silence. Leaning against your wooden door frame to give the tall man an appreciative one-over, “Nanami, right? You’re Higuruma’s friend?”

It’s as if the sound of his own name jolts Nanami right back into his senses, clearing his throat as he readjusts his glasses. “Y-yes. Nanami Kento.” And he winces, fuck he’s never stuttered like this. Never, even in the toughest of board meetings. Yet, here he was - making a fool out of himself.

Knowing he’s completely fucked when your delicious grin only widens, he bows politely, “Apologies for barging in like this, ma’am. But Higuruma’s sick n’ m’here to collect the rent in his place.”

You wave off his formality, introducing yourself. “Ah, of course. I’ve seen you around, always been too nervous to come up and say hello, though.”

And, suddenly, Nanami’s glad you never came up to him to talk out of your own volition, he thinks he’s rather put off embarrassing himself for later. Coughing softly, “I apologize, s’my fault. It was rude of me to not introduce myself first.”

“Well, better late than never, right?” you continue in your smooth tone. Before your eyes catch down his broad shoulders, the bob of his Adam’s apple, the clipboard held between his long, long fingers. “Right- the overdue rent. I swear, Higuruma’s always such a sweetheart, he doesn’t bother to remind me.” Opening your door wider to give Nanami a good look inside your cozy apartment - something forbidden. “Come in come in, I seem to have lost my wallet somewhere in here though, maybe you can help me find it.”

Oh?

And Nanami knows this is dangerous. He knows this is much more than his simple plan earlier of just “get the money and go”. He knows that little glint in your eye certainly does not bode well for him as soon as he steps through that door.

Yet, he answers anyway, “Of course, lead the way.”

Every bit of small talk in your sultry voice has Nanami gulping, loosening his favorite yellow tie while he follows you inside. Averting his eyes from the curve of your shorts, he takes in the neat state of your apartment.

That is, until-

“Here we are.” you lead him to a towering pile of clothes piled unceremoniously on your tv room couch. Gesturing airily at the mess, “I’m sure I left my wallet in one of my pants, so you can just sit here until I-”

“I’ll do it.” Nanami’s quick answer stuns the both of you momentarily. But before you can resist, he’s shrugging off his jacket, ignoring the heat of your gaze when he bunches up his sleeves to reveal strong, veined forearms. “It’s only fair, since m’bothering you so early.”

You chuckle, “Oh? What a gentleman, we can do it together then, handsome.”

So here he was - sat on your cramped couch, your thighs flush against his, tackling your laundry. This was definitely a far cry from getting the rent and leaving - but, alas, Nanami can’t find it in himself to complain when he neatly folds up your clothes.

Whereas you were hastily throwing them god-knows-where, hissing, “Where- is it-”

“Patience.” he’s humming, placing another t-shirt on your coffee table. “Higuruma’s in no hurry, he can barely get out of bed right now.”

You click your tongue in frustration, “But you, Nanami-”

“-are perfectly fine helping you out.” Nanami cuts in, flashing you a gentle smile. Your eyes widen at the sight of a soft dimple at the corner of it. Which makes him tear his gaze from that pretty pout on your lips to turn back to his dwindling half of the pile, “Besides, it would be a shame if such a nice apartment was messed up by- by-”

Fuck.

Was that what he thought it was?

His fingers tremble, looking so fucking big wrapped around that those tiny strings of hot pink. Sinful. Obscene. Shit, if he tried he could just rip it to pieces with his bare hands right now - even if you’d been wearing it.

“Hm?” you’re gasping at the sight of the man before you, body stiff, ears a guilty red, gaze hardening at where he was holding onto one of your panties. Oh, shit. You pluck the offending piece of material from his hands, “Oh- whoops. Um- that can’t really be folded.” Throwing a wink at the flustered man - and the lingerie right back at him. “Evidently.”

It was all too much for Nanami, and he’s bringing a hand up to cover his blush - before ripping it off like it burned when he realized it was the same hand he held your panties with.

Somehow, he manages to choke out, “Maybe- maybe we should try looking somewhere else.”

And it was true - the few messy clothes now leftover (and…Nanami couldn’t forget, your underwear) didn’t show any signs of hiding your wallet.

“If you say so~” you muse, getting up from your seat - only to get down on your knees. Right in front of Nanami’s manspread legs.

“Wh-what are you-”

“Under the couch.” you interrupt, enjoying this way too fucking much for the poor man’s sanity as you flash him a cheeky grin. And he smacks himself mentally for letting his imagination be toyed by your teasing whims. “I might’ve dropped it under the couch, so won’t you be a dear and help lift it while I look?”

He couldn’t get up fast enough, almost stumbling over his long legs to crouch down beside you - just anywhere away from this scandalous position. “Ready?” Nanami rasps, biceps bulging tight against his button-up when he easily tilts over your couch.

“More than.” you take a second longer to admire him before going back to your mission.

Which - whatever’s left of the rational part of Nanami’s brain really thinks might just be to drive him insane instead finding that fucking- what was it- wallet?

“Hmmm seems it’s not here either, right, Ken?” He doesn’t know what he’s reeling at more - the fact that you used his first fucking name or the way you were arched so teasingly like that. On your knees, spine curving into a delicious little bend that has the crotch of his pants growing just a bit tighter. And- shit he was wrong. So, so wrong. Because those weren’t a sinful pair of shorts like he’d initially thought after all, instead, they were more like underwear. Flimsy and thin, bunching up perfectly at the crease of your hips.

You were captivating.

At his heavy silence, you bat your lashes so deceivingly innocently, “Oh? Was it the name? Sorry, Nanami, you’ve just helped me so much that it ah- slipped out. I won’t do it again.”

“No.” he grits out, the both of you surprised by the ragged hitch in his answer. Already so disgustingly missing the sound of his first name rolling off your tongue. “I’d like it if you called me that- ‘Ken’ that is, if you want.”

“Well then, Ken.” you brush up unnecessarily against his sculpted body as you move to get up and dust yourself down. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but my wallet’s not down there.”

Shit, he thinks, looking down at the empty spot of carpeted floor for the first time. You little tease, you knew what you were doing.

Grinning unabashedly as you tug on his arm, “Come on! There’s one more place to look.”

As you pulled him along to the kitchen, Nanami had held out the hope that maybe - just maybe - this would be an actual attempt at finally paying off your overdue rent. Maybe he could walk out of this unscathed and holding onto whatever’s left of his dignity (and lacking the raging boner that was threatening against his slacks right now).

But every feeble hope of that was thrown out the window the moment you instructed him to hold the rickety, certainly unsafe chair propped up in front of your counter steady.

“I swear I must’ve left it somewhere up there.” you grumble. Not wasting a moment before climbing onto it and rifling on top of your high cabinets. “No harm in trying, right?”

He gulps, palms getting sweaty on the wooden back of the chair with the effort to keep it still. “Are you sure you left it on top of there?”

“Huh? Yes yes, of course.” you answer absentmindedly. Your shirt snagging on your arms as you raise them even higher, “Think you can see something from down there?”

If Nanami could see the top of your shelves, then he didn’t want to find out - not when one glance upwards blessed him with a forbidden glimpse right up your t-shirt. All it took was a flash of skin before he was hit with the realization that you weren’t wearing a bra.

“Ken~”

“Fuck!” he breathes, when he looks up involuntarily at the sound of his name. Face burning when you raise a brow, “U-um, m’not sure.”

Yeah, he sure could see something - hell, he wanted to see more.

He urgently swipes at the sweat slowly beading at his forehead, immediately regretting his actions when the chair tips ever-so-slightly. “Shit, I apologize, n’ I also apologize for what I’m about to do-” He gasps over your soft yelp, before wrapping two warm hands around the small of your waist. Searing. Soft. Planting you softly on the firm floor like some lil’ ragdoll, “-but I can’t let you put yourself in danger this way.”

Before you know it, you’re back in the safety of the ground. Stood right in front of a determined Nanami as he cranes his head up in your stuffy kitchen, backed up against the counter as he takes over looking for your wallet.

“Let me, instead.” he grunts.

But oh even with how genius he thought it was to look instead - even with how he stopped himself from looking at that sinful little slice of heaven - Nanami Kento had another problem.

A problem that presented itself in the way that your body was pressed flush against his muscled chest, two of your thighs straddling his thick ones. Caged perfectly against him, exactly in the way he shouldn’t have been imagining - but did, anyway. And shit if he angled his body just right he could feel the heat of your core - the way your eager front was drawing in closer.

“Ah-” he grunts when your soft palm glides lightly across his pecs. Jaw clenching while he tries to blink his hazy eyes back into the glaringly empty top of your cabinets, “My apologies, seems uh- your wallet isn’t- here-”

Each word is wrenching out of his pretty, worry-bitten lips, a ragged gasp with every accidental brush of the pads of your fingers at the hem of his tight pants.

“It isn’t there, hm?” you purr, a low honeyed tone that has all the blood in Nanami’s body rushing to his fat cock. “Well what do you suppose we do about that, Ken? Since I can’t pay the rent?”

Nanami doesn’t know whether you’re talking about the rent or that massive tent in his pants he really couldn’t explain away. Instead, he spits, “You knew what you were hah- doing, didn’t you, you lil’ minx? You don’t have your fuckin’ wallet here.”

And the air is so thick, so heady that he can only bring himself to pull away mere millimeters from where he was hovering near your face.

But even that was too much - and in a split-second, you have your deft fingers wrapped tightly around his speckled tie. “And if I did?” Pulling close enough to ghost your lips against his, “You’re smart, Ken. So m’asking once again, what do you suppose we do about that?”

As if to draw out the answer from him, you’re giving a long, hard drag of your hot cunt along the outline of his swollen cock. You could almost feel every throb and nudge of his veins along the side, and it made you salivate.

“I suppose…” he answers, guttural, like some dark, primal part of himself is peaking its head out with each hot breath fanning your face. A large hand coming up to squish your cheeks into a pretty pout, pursing your lips perfectly for him. “That you hit me if you don’t like this, darling.”

And fuck for all how much of a gentleman Nanami acted - he kissed the exact opposite. All but ruining your lips in such a messy clash of teeth and tongue and him. Devouring you.

“Fuck- shoulda known.” he’s letting out a humorless laugh, swiping his tongue across your glossy lower lips. “Should’ve known when you invited me in. Such a tease.” Drinking in your breathless moans, sucking on your tongue, “Such a- ngh- horny lil’ thing. This what you wanted all along?”

You hum into the kiss so drunk, “Maybe.” Dancing your hands all across where his toned muscles were fighting against the restraints of his shirt, “But you really can’t blame me.”

And maybe it was true - maybe this was inevitable. Either way, Nanami didn’t know, nor did he really care - not when you were letting out such sweet gasps when he bites down on your bottom lip - just a little punishment. Kissing his way down your heated skin, giving a languid lick at where he suspected that secret sensitive spot on your neck would be.

“Oh! Ken.” you moan. Bingo.

He’s unbuttoned his shirt now - or maybe it was you. Fuck, either way you couldn’t tear your eyes off of his pretty washboard abs. Curving and dipping like he was sculpted meticulously.

And that’s all it takes for your already-dripping cunt to grow impossibly wetter, and he could feel it leaking through those flimsy cotton shorts of yours. Forming a messy sheen right at that damp spot of precum on his pants.

“You’re so fuckin’ wet, my love.” Nanami murmurs, swiping a thumb down that sopping wet slit of yours through your shorts. Just marveling at the way that simple touch makes another wave of your sweet sweet juices bead through the fabric. “Hah, absolutely dripping. This all f’me?”

At your half-delirious nod, he flashes you a smile so handsome that it only makes you squirm more impatiently. “How sweet.” Giving your nose a chaste peck, “So good to me. So needy.”

“You’re the same, though.” you accuse, hotly.

And it’s true - Nanami couldn’t deny the aching need of his cock, the way he all but moans in response, “Then tell me- hngh tell me what you want. I’ll give you- anything-” Managing to get out through hot, sloppy kisses planted right on your wobbly lips, “-anything.”

But, ah, you always did manage to surprise him. And instead of an answer, you’re getting right down on your knees in front of him like you did not too long ago - though, this time, you’re reaching up to fumble with his belt.

“Wan’ taste you.” you huff when his expensive notches prove too stubborn. “Wan’ feel you in my mouth so bad, Ken.”

“Oh yeah?” he chuckles darkly, easily loosening his belt and his pants along with it. Rock-hard cock sensitive and just smearing a pool of precum where his fat head springs up to hit your lips. Such a pretty shade of gloss. Nanami laces his hand on your scalp to guide you forwards, slowly, “Then take it. Take it f’me, pretty.”

He was so pretty that you possibly couldn’t not - a delicate blushing red at his very tip, glistening and absolutely soaked in precum down the long path to his creamy base, his heavy balls. So girthy that it made your cunt clench in anticipation.

And then there’s no more talking. Hell, you barely get enough time to admire Nanami’s massive cock before he’s bullying it between your lips. Wetting his thick, angry tip with your saliva, just enough to eye down at the way your lips bulge so prettily around him.

“Gonna hafta open w-wider if you wanna take me, pretty. Open hah- yeah jus’ like that.” He’s reeling your head back, all the way till you were just kissing at his thick, angry tip. “Now spit on it, my love.”

Despite being the one to say it, Nanami’s mouth drops into a fucked-out little oh! of disbelief when you’re readily decorating his swollen length with a steady stream of spit. Your soft palms smearing the saliva along his length.

You’re slurring, “After all, I still haven’t found my wallet, right?”

And oh he doesn’t even have to ask for what comes next - doesn’t even have to make a noise.

Immediately, you take him in inch by fucking inch. The deliciously salty twang taking over your senses, and he’s so hot and heavy over your tongue. Veins pulsing in a dizzyingly throb! throb! throb! against the roof of your mouth.

“Are you- are you sure you can-” You shut up his doubts by rubbing your hot tongue along every sensitive ridge you could reach. Bobbing your head at a quick, ruthless little pace to milk his pretty cock for all he’s worth.

Nanami’s eyes roll to the back of his head. Was this what heaven felt like?

“F-fuuuck, oh you-” his words are catching in his throat with each flick of the tip of your tongue against his sensitive slit. Just the way he liked it. “-ngh guess that sharp mouth of yours wasn’t just hah- good for teasing, huh?”

He’s running his mouth a mile a minute - the complete opposite of the reserved man that’d come knocking on your door. Hips grinding up into your warm tongue mindlessly, slow. Languid - like he didn’t even realize what he was doing. “Oh you feel so heavenly- so fuckin’ good it should be illegal.”

You can’t help but bat your teary eyes up at him in response, blinking away the lustful haze to drink in that utterly obscene sight above you. Nanami’s neat, blond hair uncharacteristically disheveled, stray strands sticking to his furrowed brow. Only deepening with each wrecked sigh that leaves his plump lips every time his abs flex with the movement of his fat head hitting the gummy back of your throat.

He looks so pretty it makes you moan.

Those electric vibrations going all the way down that wet divot on the tip of Nanami’s painfully hard cock to his heavy balls.

“Oh shit- shit shit shit feels too good.” his words are slurring together, drunk off the way you gag around him. “Don’t do that don’t-” This only makes you drag your sloppy mouth down him deeper, syrupy moans sticking to

him all the while.

“Fuck!” Nanami shudders. And he’s pulling you down - hard - barely letting you get a feverish little breath out until your nose is hitting the neat patch of blond at his base. Rubbing up against his toned pelvis.

Still moving in deep, relentless thrusts inside your gummy cavern. “S’real fuckin’ hard to treat you as nice as I want when you act like that, my love.”

And, of course, the only response he gets are your pathetic, wet gurgles as you take him in faster. Cheeks hollowing to massaging his every sweet spot. Your jaw grinding against his twitching balls with each smack of his hypnotized hips against your mouth, fucking into you the way he wished he could do with your cunt. Frenzied. Sloppy.

Yeah, this was heaven alright - but you were the fuckin’ devil.

Of course, you wanted him to treat you like such a slut - so he does.

Just dragging your stubborn mouth off of his twitching cock, Nanami only reaches down to place an accomplished peck on the pout of your mouth before hoisting you onto the counter. “What? You think I’d really ngh- cum before my darling girl?”

He’s groaning into your mouth, licking at the seam of your candied lips as two strong arms of his spread your legs so far apart it burned. “F-fuck, Ken-”

“Aw look. You’ve got another slutty pair, huh?” he gestures down at the drenched scrap of fabric you so proudly called “panties.” Sliding a thumb underneath to glide it underneath your puffy pussy lips. He’s echoing your sentiment from before, “Said you can’t find your hah- wallet, right?” Well, ya better start makin’ up for that now.”

In all of two seconds, Nanami’s hooking two fingers over your underwear - pulling - ripping. He was right - Nanami takes a moment to admire your dripping cunt, glistening and needy for him - he could rip those panties right off of you.

With just one hand pinning you to the cool marble of your counter, the other thumbing open your puffy folds, he’s giving all of your pussy a hot, open-mouthed kiss.

“Mmm fuck-” he spits into your sloppy hole. Once. Twice. Letting it form a saturated little pool of your juices, before surging back nose-deep with a pained grunt. Again. And again. And again and again- “Jus’ as sweet- as sugary sweet ngh-”

Nanami didn’t think Higuruma knew about this little treasure trove when describing you - though, if he did, then he was well and fully intent on tongue-fucking every little thought out of him right now.

“Hngh! Shit-” you’re keening when his greedy tongue laps up every bit of your syrupy sweet slick. Alternating - methodically, indecisively - between rolling over your throbbing clit and just dipping into your awaiting entrance. “It feels so- so good, Ken.”

“Yeah that’s right.” he gasps, wrapping those pretty pink lips of his to suck on your clit. Harsh. “Say my name- no, louder. Louder.”

It’s all you can do to not just scream out his name without your neighbors filing a noise complaint. Dragging your sopping pussy all over his mouth - glistening and obscene right down the bottom half of his face all the way up to smear against his clear glasses.

Such obscene squelches ring through your kitchen as Nanami keeps making out so messily with your sensitive nub. Ringing in your fucked-out brain, so obscene, so addictive that you barely even register the thick fingers dipping their way around your hole.

You jolt when the cool metal of his glasses kiss your skin, “O-oh Ken what-”

“Shhh shhh, darling.” he soothes. The tip of his manicured index circling around your elastic muscle. Hypnotic. “M’gonna take care of you. Gonna take such good-” With this, he’s bullying his fingers inside, “-care of you.”

Tears crinkle at the corners of your eyes at the sheer stimulation. Because for how sweet Nanami was talking you through this, he was absolutely ruthless on your cunt. Not half the man he was this morning - animalistic. Feral, even.

His sharp jaw grinding against your skin, fingers almost a blur with how depraved they were pumping in and out of you. Massaging every hidden corner of your plushy walls, yet you get the feeling that they were calculated. Nanami’s darkened eyes drinking in every whimper and twitch of your body over the glasses inching dangerously downwards. Searching, waiting for that one-

“Ngh!” You worry you’d have fallen off the counter if it wasn’t for Nanami holding you down. Body jolting at sudden electricity running through your veins, “Oh- fuck fuck fuck. Oh my god Ken, there. Right there–”

But before the sentence has even left your heavy lips, he’s hitting your g-spot once more. Easily finding the bullseye that has you bucking and arching into his mouth like such a slut.

And this time - Nanami lets you use his mouth all you want. The fingers splayed out to pin you down moves to toy with your puffy clit. Rolling between his fingers while he hisses out syrupy sweet praises, “Shit, never liked m’name that much- ngh- but it sounds so pretty on your lips. So sweet. So- oh-”

The sight of your cunt just beading with need has him kissing it once more. All over your sensitive nub, your ravaged hole, hell, even down to the mess of slick dripping down at your thighs. Faster. Sloppier. No rhythm or rhyme anymore.

“M’so close.” you whine, weaving your fingers through his blond hair to help ride his face easier. Jolting with each purposeful flick of his tongue. “Gonna cum, Ken.”

“Cum then.” he answers, simply, grinning a guiltily glossy grin, “You’ve got a lot to make up for, right?”

And then you do - stars behind your eyes and that little nickname you’d made Nanami in your mouth. Over and over while he tonguefucks you through your high.

“Fuck- fuck fuck fuck–” you whine, big fat tears rolling down your cheeks eat time he swiped at your sensitive spots, dragging it out longer. Until your soft whimpers were drowning out the squelches from below. Until you were blinking your spotty vision back. Until you were squirming your hips higher up the counter to pull away from Nanami’s unforgiving tactics. “M’too sensitive- Nana-”

He tuts, interrupting your orgasm-drunk babbles, “Tha’s not what you call me.” Pulling away just enough to hum, “All I did was eat this pretty cunt out, darling n’ you already forgot my name?”

You shiver - both at his mean little tone and the absolutely sinful sight between your shaky thighs. Nanami’s lips plump and irritated, eyes foggy - glasses even more so with all the sloppy dredges of spit and your slick.

Shit, you think he’s never looked prettier.

“Is that so?”

It’s all you hear before you’re hit with his glasses being gently placed onto your nose bridge - followed shortly by the realization that oh, you said that out loud. But Nanami basks in your sudden shyness, giving your lips a chaste, lingering peck. “You dirtied my glasses, y’know. Now you have to make up for that on top of the rent.”

And by the feeling of his thick tip kissing at your pussy lips, you had a very good idea about how you’d be making up for it. Making a mess. Sliding the curve of his head up and down. Up and down up and down up and-

“B-but don’t forget.” you manage to grit out by the time he’s nudging his divot against your clit. “You have to make- hah- make up for-”

In a fluid motion, you’re reaching your fingers to dig into the irresistible tan skin at his hips, all hard muscle and the thick fabric of where he’d pulled his pants down just enough. You press down on his bulging back pocket, smirk growing at the familiar flash of hot pink you could spy, “-my panties.”

The moment the obscene little accusation leaves your lips, you give a soft tug forwards. Nanami’s towering body being pulled easily to push his weeping tip past your puffy folds.

“F-fuck.” he’s throwing his head back at the feeling. “You hngh- saw, huh?”

Oh, if he hadn’t been imagining this the moment he’d stepped inside your apartment then Nanami thinks he might’ve just passed out right then and there.

Because you were so warm, so addictive wrapped around his cock - even when he’s barely even in. That he just has to keep going - after all, it’s for the rent, right?

It’s what he likes to think.

It’s what he whispers - over and over into your open mouth as he bullies his thick cock past your gummy entrance. Letting your plush walls suck the ever-loving soul out of him with each lazy, lingering grind just to fit himself inside.

“O-oh! Shit-” your nails leave jagged red marks down Nanami’s broad shoulders when he stuffs you full. Desperate. “Y-you’re so big, Ken–”

At this, you feel Nanami’s girth grow even wider, stretching your walls until it felt like he was molding your poor pussy to the shape. Just reaching into your lungs. You squeal, “Wait- you got bigger- what-”

“I know I know, You got it, my love.” he’s soothing your cries with sugary kisses at the corners of your mouth. Drawing slow, methodical circles on your clit in time with his experimental thrusts. “You got it. You can take it. Shhh shh-” He’s drinking in your cute mewls, cupping your pretty face with his free hand, “You’ll take it right? All of it, like my good girl? You’ve gotta make up for it, right?” At your delirious nod, “Words, pretty.”

“Yes, please.” You buck your hips in a sultry tandem matching his, the cool frame of his glasses still kissing at your skin. “M’gonna take it all like your good girl, Ken.”

Shit, he can feel himself growing even bigger just halfway into you, “Then-” Angling your teary face down to watch the mess down below. The way your greedy cunt was trying to milk each and every inch of him like it was delicious. “-look.”

You can’t tear your eyes away as he delves into you so filthy.

Not waiting for your pathetic whines about him being “too big” - no, Nanami’s only pulling you back from escaping like some sextoy - his favorite one. Still toying sweetly with your clit while he pushes against that feeble ring of resistance. Once. Twice. Thrice.

“Ken!” you’re yelping out when he finally bottoms out. Your swollen folds meeting his drenched hilt, blond tufts of hair brushing up against your pelvis. Sighing, ”Finally.”

“Finally?” he’s dragging out his words with an already-crooked, pussydrunk grin. Eyes wild - bewildered almost at how well you were taking him. “S-seriously? Did you say ngh- ‘finally’, my girl?” Each word has him tapping more strength behind those thrusts, faster. Harder. Spitting out so contendly, “Finally- hah. Such a slut f’me, hm?”

He’s plunging into you like such an animal right now, so harsh that it was almost difficult to pull back. To dare subject himself to not be buried inside your dripping cunt for even a split-second.

In response, you lick a long stripe up the sensitive area of his neck, splaying out a hand to squeeze Nanami’s pec - and the rapid heartbeat you felt beneath it. “You’re not- ngh- any better.”

“I know.” Nanami leers, unabashedly kneading at your sore tits now. Fucking you harder and harder into the counter. Connecting his sweaty forehead with yours to look you right in the eyes as he gruffs, “I’ve been thinking about fucking this pretty cunt as soon as you opened that door, y’know.”

You feel his cock twitch wildly at the confession, dragging against your gummy walls with his tip. Hitting - oh-so-expertly - that one sensitive honeypot of nerves. Which makes Nanami’s mouth fall slack with what a treasure you were.

“Y-you’re such a-” you’re moans are syrupy and slurring together now. Holding onto the larger man for dear life, “such a pervert, Ken.”

Shit, you were squeezing around him so hard that it was almost impossible to pull out. Abs straining to keep up the loud staccato of skin-against-skin, and Nanami’s long, jagged rams inside your wet heaven.

Nanami’s nosing down your pulse, letting his hot tongue loll out to catch the salty drops of your tears, “Mhm, only for hngh- you. Because you’re my girl now, aren’t ya?”

So easy for him to trawl out those addictive moans with each drag of the upwards curve of his fat cock. Thick tip hitting your g-spot, your cervix - as if he was branding his name into your pretty pussy from the inside. Sloppy.

Leaving a bruising little Kento. With his erratic fingers pinching and rolling your clit at the same feverish tempo of his cock bullying inside your cunt - Kento. With his heavy balls smacking against your ass, sending jolts of white-hot pleasure all the way up to his sensitive slit, rubbing up against your succubus walls - Kento. With the way your heels were now digging into those dimples at the bottom of his spine, sure to leave marks with the way you were pulling him impossibly closer. So needy - Kento.

Only getting sloppier. The only thing in your mind right now - Kento Kento Kento-

So, really, it makes sense when that’s the only thing you’re capable of getting out once you cum. It sneaks up on you at first, and then all at once - and before you know it, you’re cumming so desperately all over Nanami’s relentless cock.

Over and over.

Your thighs spasming, such a slutty ah! ah! ah! leaving your mouth with each wave of pleasure he’s forcing out of you by targeting your ravaged g-spot. Only a few more of those sloppy, mean thrusts left in the man himself before Nanami’s spilling into your greedy cunt.

Painting your gummy walls white with each painful squeeze of his balls, he’s still thrusting - as if on instinct. Shoving his seed deeper and deeper down your cum-filled hole until he’s sure it’s overfilled.

By god were you a vision, he’s thinking deliriously. Tears pooling at your eyes, drool dripping down the corner of your mouth, throat to shoot to do anything but whimper when he keeps going in and out in and out in and-

And if he angled his head just right, he could see the hot globs of cum that take to trickling out from your puffy folds, pooling at a mouthwateringly creamy base around his hilt.

“Ah,” Nanami wastes no time squeezing his index into your already-bulging entrance, pumping the cum slobbering out back in. “Better- hah- better not waste any-” He could barely speak right now, cumming harder than he has in his whole life - in fact, his overworked cock was still shooting out wispy spurts of his seed. Like he couldn’t stop. “-after all, y’haven’t made up for all the overdue rent yet, my love.”

A/N. Concept inspired by this NSFW audio by IchigekiVA that my friend sent me <3

Plagiarism of work not authorized.

#nanami x reader #nanami smut #nanami x you #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk x you #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento smut #nanami kento x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk #jjk fic #jujutsu kaisen #nanami kento #tonywrites #nanami

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apollo-zero-one · 8 months ago

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Listening to stories of people who survived situations like being trapped in collapsed buildings and it kinda sounds like the human response to being trapped in a bad situation is to just keep going back to sleep until death comes. Thinking about depressive avoidant sleeping. Brain doesn't know you aren't trapped under rubble it can't see out of his bone prison brain just knows everything is bad and everything hurts and we can't handle this stress we need to divert all power to life support, night night.

#is that a horrible comparison to make? yeah probably in poor taste given the state of things #do I earnestly believe I am in as traumatic a situation as that? I think my brain is reacting the same way yeah. genuinely.#I think my brain has been in survial mode or death incoming mode for like. since middle school #I think I hit puberty and my brain decided we are dying slowly and painfully and has been reacting accordingly.#I think this year it got much worse tho I think this is when I hit the critical level because this is when I have been sleeping more #I hate that house and my roommates so much that I just sleep whenever I'm there. i don't eat much at home #I try not to drink much so that i don't have to use the bathroom as much and that also minimizes my kitchen trips.... I collect 2 litres of #water each morning. one for me one for my cat. his fountain stays full and I ration my water for myself and on the 4 nights a week I work #I will refill it at work. I am mostly trying to be unseen unheard in that house. Of course the dogs always hear me which is why I am so #careful. I only pass through that house twice a day: once in the morning and once in the evening. Coming and going.#on my days off that means only 2 bathroom trips per 24 hours but you know fucking what I still get bitten by a dog every time.#and wish I had just pissed in a bottle or something because they are jumping on me they are biting me there are tears in my eyes I am biting #my tongue because if I shout or tell them to stop their owner comes and yells at them. And they don't give a shit about being yelled at!!#but me??? Bleeding and anxious and trying not to piss myself?? I don't handle being yelled at well!! even if it isn't directed at me!!#I have RSD!! I used to cry in school when a teacher was chewing out SOMEONE ELSE !! and being SHOUTED genuinely at????#i am not coping well!! i do not feel safe in this house!!! between the actually getting bitten and the yelling!!!#and the yelling is nonstop because these women have issues with each other. bro I'm so fucking glad my dad moved out when he started having #Marital Issues bcos I think I'd have like 85% more childhood trauma if I had to listen to them fighting like this as a kid #shit I'm getting adulthood trauma from these women fighting. oh my god. angie dump your girlfriend for christ sake #and sTOP MOTHERING ME. I MOVED HERE TO GET AWAY FROM MY MOM AND THIS WOMAN IS WORSE THAN MY MOTHER ABOUT THE FUCKING MOTHERING.#Stop telling me what to wear!! Stop telling me what to eat!! Stop asking if I'm seeing anyone!!#this is my own fault I put myself in this situation and I am trying to claw my way back out but it isn't as easy as it was to get in ;-;#I hate myself I hate the decisions I made that got me here

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our-blood-is-our-ink · 2 years ago

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... I think Agatha inadvertently caused him to die, and I think Evanora will fully blame her for it

Obligatory disclaimer that the whaling industry was terrible and cruel and decimated populations of an amazing animal that has yet to recover almost 200 years later.

But it is just so fascinating to me. The only sea occupation where your destination was literally just THE SEA. That’s it. You go out there and you don’t come back until it’s somewhat worth it, however long that takes. There are familiar grounds one would go to first, yes, but no routes, no schedules, no final destinations, no sense of when one comes back if one ever comes back. Just going to lonelier and lonelier places that no other ship is going to nor has need to go to. And when one finally happens to see another whaler it was a cause for an extended social event in ways that other maritime jobs just DID NOT have time for.

Highly diverse crews that were, of course, not without racism and inequity by any means (the entire job was…rife with inequity since idle agents ashore were already taking around 60% of the cut), but also one where one’s rank was ultimately determined by ‘can you kill a whale?’. And where the social component was so closely intertwined the fact that one would be at sea likely 3-4 years and if there was ANY surviving it and ANY success of it everyone had to more-or-less get along with each other.

And over the course of those years and years staring down aimless stretches of boredom you get the most fascinating folk art. And folk art that is so often tied to domestics. Making yarn swifts and pie crimpers and valentines for your girl outta BONES. Bones that came from the moments where that boredom was punctuated by Complete Terror.

An industry that was just like…SO violent and bloody and brutal, all for the aim of bringing back materials to make things that were so staid and domestic. Lamp oil. Candles. Corset Stays. Perfume Bases. Soaps. Just…candles paid for by so much blood from people, from animals. And was something that for such a fleeting moment was one of THE American industries, before settling, mercifully, into obscurity.

IT’S REALLY FASCINATING TO ME and so unlike any other maritime professions. I feel like piracy is the thing that comes closest to whaling in terms of all of the componants above, in a weird way, but whaling is such a thing of its own. UNIQUE AND TERRIBLE CREATURE.

#like it wasn't her fault he died #but it was definitely because he insisted on teaching her how to manage and use her dark magic #whatever nearly killed him originally - I don't think it was healed I think it was DELAYED #and even though he would've kept practicing his natural magic regardless if Evanora allowed it or not (this would have been a massive #argument)#teaching it to a witch who's own natural magic is still largely unstable definitely irritated the infection #(closest to)#and eventually caused a flare up and Agatha of course didn't know how to stop it #and it quickly went from flare up to full on life threatening #and that's how he died!#in front of Agatha!#and then Evanora starts going through the stages of grief and places the blame fully on Agatha's shoulders #(Agatha would've done this REGARDLESS however)#I just keep making their situations worse someone should take my ability to come up with these things away from me

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ttsukiimi · 8 months ago

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*ੈ✩‧₊˚ F⍣CK HER ‘TILL SHE SORE!

★ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 ⎯ He’s not addicted to your cũnt—he swears. He swears even as he’s forced the fourth ōrgasm out of you tonight; and there’s more to come.

★ 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 ⎯ gojo x fem!reader, toji x fem!reader, choso x fem!reader, nanami x fem!reader, smut (mdni), tit play, multiple örgasms, size difference (choso), slight còckwarming (nanami), reader referred to as (princess, baby, doll, good girl)

✧･ﾟ𝓖. 𝓢 ✧･ﾟ

Gojo didn’t even know how he even initially found himself inside you—it was like one second he was cuddling closer to you as his eyes glued to the tv, then another your leg was hoisted over his waist as he jerked his hips into you repeatedly. Was it his fault? Had he begged you to let him put just the tip in? Yes.

But you had given in, and that in its own was your mistake.

“Stay still, princess, wanna give it to you good,” he whispered in your ear, the way his shaky breath fanned past your neck causing goosebumps to bloom on your skin. You nodded, though it wasn’t a promise, and tried to take each passionate thrust of his girth he gave to you.

You were clutching the couch pillow for dear life, whining as you felt euphoria rock through you so pleasurably for the umpteenth time that night. The movie playing had long been forgotten—only serving as background noise, and to Satoru a nuisance since the sounds drowned out your heavenly moans.

He huffed into the skin of your neck, determined to now make you louder, and a hot slap landed on your left cheek, effectively coaxing a loud yelp from your lips. “Mh—!”

And you were sensitive by then, his seed dripping from your battered cunt, your body shivering and thighs quivering, but even then he was set on urging one last orgasm out of you.

Or two.

Hell, he couldn’t even promise it wouldn’t be three. But he just needed to stay inside of you.

Satoru’s hands came up from behind you before they latched onto your chest, groping your tits as he muttered lewd words in your ear.

“You like when I fucking play with these pretty tits, hm?” He kissed your shoulder, and you felt a smile form against your skin as the only thing you could let out was a weak whine—too drunk on his dick to speak. Satoru groaned at the sound, his lips finding your pulse point as he spoke.

“Always so dumb once I get inside you,”

✧･ﾟ𝓒.𝓚✧･ﾟ

Choso doesn’t have an exact idea of why he loves being buried inside you so much; perhaps it’s the way you sound, the way you feel, or the way you look—tears in your eyes and all—but he does know that he’d die happy if that meant he was inside you in his last moments.

And he absolutely adores every minute that he is.

Because with how much your greedy cunt is pulsing around him, and your manicured nails are scratching red lines down his back, Choso thinks he’s really found heaven. Right between your legs.

“Baby, slow down, Cho,” you whined, your sight obscured with tears though you could still make out the image of his sculpted body over yours, and he’s so big compared to you.

Sometimes he might forget that—but could you blame him though? Anyone would forget about some mere size difference when inside your addictive pussy, and he proved to be that anyone.

Choso leaned forward, and in the process his hair fell forward, framing both yours and his face. His hands ventured up your body and found their place on your chest, squeezing the meleable flesh.

“‘S okay, you can take it,” he mumbled, pressing a quick kiss to your lips, uncaring of the slight drool dribbling from the side of your mouth. With each thrust the course hairs at his base tickled your clit, stimulating you in a way that felt so good your whole body was quivering with pleasure.

“Just..one more, baby,”

✧･ﾟ𝓝.𝓚✧･ﾟ

Sometimes Nanami finds himself wondering just what you do to him, how you’ve changed him in ways he couldn’t himself in the past years you’ve been together. He can't help but smile when he sees your infectious smile, and he melts when he hears your sweet laugh.

But, above all, you've created an addiction in him. One that he seems to think about every waking moment; even at work, and that’s new territory for him.

What’s worse is that you know. Always teasing him about how pussy drunk he is, how he’d really do anything just to be inside you—not like he’s denying that—but he can’t retaliate with the way the tips of his ears burn pink. So, he’ll prove it.

“Kento, what’re you—“ you cut yourself off with an uneven breath, eyes rolling to the back of your head in tandem with the way he pushes himself into you.

His strong arms are wrapped around you, keeping you in place, but he strangely doesn’t begin to move. The reason being—well, he’s testing himself. His resolve, his patience by not moving a single inch, even while being compressed by your tight warmth.

Which is proving to be a challenge already for Nanami.

“Proving to you that ‘m not—“ he halts, groaning and gritting his teeth as you slightly shift, causing a grin to flourish on your face.

“That you’re not what?” you retort, pushing your hips back onto him, taking him in deeper than he already was. Your hand reaches back and caresses his face, cooing above his lips. “Know you wanna move. ‘M not stopping you either, ken.”

You’re so close to his lips Nanami could move an inch and they’d touch, but he won’t, of course. But…when you’re fucking yourself on his cock, moaning out for him to hear, to tease him, Nanami thinks maybe there isn’t anything to prove.

Maybe he is drunk on your pussy.

✧･ﾟ𝓣.𝓕✧･ﾟ

Toji knows of his slight compulsion towards your pussy. His tendency to always want to be inside is truly something that needs to be studied—because there’s absolutely no way his sex drive should be this significant.

Admittedly, he is aware of his addiction, but will he take any action to try to change his behavior? No. That then becomes your problem to tackle, but you have the perfect solution.

“A what?” Toji mumbled, licking the scar on his lip as he creased an eyebrow upwards in confusion. You were sat on his lap, your arms looped around his neck and you began to speak.

“A Sex ban, Toji.” you attempted to suppress your grin when you saw the confusion on his face only deepen, and a big hand came to cup your cheek, forcing you to look at him.

“‘M not for all your little games today, doll. Got a mission tomorrow and y’know what that means.” he sighed, his free hand holding your waist, slowly sliding to the waistband of your shorts and beginning to pull them down.

“But, really baby, we—you need a break.” you protested, but just couldn’t counter back with the way his rough and thick fingers were already playing with your folds, gathering your essence.

Quickly, his lips were on yours and that shut you up, which gave him time to free himself from his sweats and enter you in one, swift motion.

He wasted no time in holding your hips and bouncing you up and down on his cock, a smug smirk on his lips as he looked at the way your eyes rolled back in pleasure. You weren’t one to talk about a sex ban when you could hardly even let him go on a mission for more than 2 days without complaining about how much you missed him and his magic dick.

“Now ya just be quiet and take what I give you, yeah?” he breathed in your ear as his big hands groped your tits, fingers playing with your hardened nipples. The pleasure coursed throughout your body so deliciously, already causing your thighs to begin quivering and your pussy pulsed around him, greedy to suck him dry.

“Good girl,”

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swordsandholly · 8 months ago

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Thinking about a mechanic!AU where the 141 boys run a garage and need a new receptionist. They hire you because you’re just so cute (great tits) and have a decent resume but it becomes a slight problem when they realize you’re a bit… dense.

Total ditz to be precise.

But they can’t really get mad when you get the keys for clients mixed up and look at them with those big eyes all teary and a little pout pushing out your lower lip.

Price is the most patient, perfectly content to walk you through how to file paperwork and fill out forms. Instructing you in a low voice while his breath brushes the shell of your ear. It’s really their fault for having such a terrible system, you know? Don’t worry about it too much, dove. He’ll settle his big hands on your shoulders and gently trace up and down your arms. See? You’re getting it. Just needed some more practice, hm?

Johnny is more than happy to show you around the garage, rattling off everything he knows about all those nitty gritty details that go right over your pretty little head. He’ll pop open the hood of some sports car and point to the engine to show it off. No, bonnie, you’ve got tae get in close. Closer.

Until you’re bent entirely over in one of those too-short skirts you wear everyday. It takes all his willpower not to yank you into the supply closet.

Gaz is just so sweet to you. Always bringing you little treats and candies to suck on. To help you concentrate, of course. Always greeting you with a soft ‘baby girl’ at the beginning of your shift. Whenever you’re standing around be it at the printer or counter - wherever really - he’ll slip a hand on your waist. It always trails a little lower, his pinky just edging on the hem of your too tight jeans.

Ghost gets frustrated with you to the point of causing tears to well up in the corners of your eyes. He’s feels guilty, sure, but bloody hell just print the damn receipt. He avoids you for the most part. Until one evening when it’s pouring down. You forgot your rain coat of course, silly girl. He offers you a ride which you take happily.

After that he can’t get rid of you. You bring him coffees (how you remember his order word for word but not where you last left your own cup is beyond him) and giggle at his jokes. When a client gets too snappy or too loud he’s the first to step in - standing behind you glaring at them with his huge arms crossed over his chest until they back down.

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not-neverland06 · 4 months ago

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Kid?

Logan Howlett x fem!mutant!reader A/N: I haven’t watched X-Men since I was a child, so I can’t promise this is going to be canon-compliant. I haven’t watched DP & W either, I’ve just been influenced by that one gif where Hugh Jackman shakes his head like a dog. I feel FERAL Also, I am not good at superhero names or coming up with creative powers. So you’re a mutant with matter manipulation and they call you Flux. I mean, superhero names are inherently ridiculous so I think this works. (Don’t judge me, I’m just here for the sexy man) Summary: You walk in on Logan and Jean in a compromising position and feel your heart break. You really thought he loved you, you were so wrong. (Or were you?)

It was your own fault, you should have knocked before you busted through the door. You only have yourself to blame as you struggle to catch your breath and swallow down the lump in your throat. The image of Logan standing between Jean’s bare legs is going to haunt you for a while. Their faces will keep you awake at night, cringing at yourself while you remember the humiliating moment.

You rush towards the door, a stupidly giddy skip to your step. You were a mutant, a superhuman, and getting a chance to talk to your crush should not have you giggling like a schoolgirl. Still, you’re blind to all logic when it comes to Logan.

You turn the corner, spotting the medbay and nearly ramming into the door you know he’s lurking behind. Charles had told you where to find him. Of course, you hadn’t paid attention to the odd tone of voice when he had very clearly warned you to knock. All you’d heard was Logan’s name and you’d zoned out for the rest of the conversation.

And, of course, you don’t knock. You grab the door’s handle and bust in, “Hey!” Your eyes widen and your stomach plummets with a depressing plop to the floor. Your eyes nearly bug out of your head when you see the way Jean and Logan are entangled in each other. He’s leaning over her, the muscles and veins in his neck pulsing with strain. Normally, that sight would have you nearly drooling.

Instead, all you can see is the flush on Jean’s cheeks and the way her pupils are dilated with want. Her nails are digging into his back, bare legs twined around his waist. There’s no way to misinterpret this. No way for you to later assure yourself that this was all just a misunderstanding.

The words stumble out of your mouth in a disjointed mess that even you can’t decipher. You stand there, jaw opening and closing like a fish out of water before you finally get it together. “Charles,” you stutter out, his name sounding like a question. You wince and finally tear your gaze away from them. “Sorry,” you chuckle, trying to play off your hurt as humor. “Charles needs us all for a mission.”

You don’t give them a chance to respond, you slam the door closed, ignoring what you think might be someone calling your name.

You shake off the mortifying memory and groan. Your head falls into your hands and you grip at your face until the pain distracts you from the embarrassment. It’s not too hard to push it all down, to pretend what happened didn’t make your heart crumble away into nothing.

Maybe it’s because you’re a mutant that you’re so used to rejection. You’re used to constantly being disappointed by people around you. Your childhood was nothing but cruelty, your crush not liking you back can’t compare to half of what you went through.

That’s what you tell yourself, at least, to try and pretend it doesn’t hurt as much as it does. You shove it down until you think you can’t feel that dull ache anymore. And when Jean and Logan walk into the room, looking more put together, you smile at Logan like you always do. It doesn’t turn down at the corners, your eyes don’t water. You take in a deep breath and look utterly unaffected.

He sits down beside you and leans towards you. “I can explain-”

You cut him off and shake your head. “Forget about it. I should have knocked.” You turn towards Charles who wheels himself to the front of the room. You dismiss Logan and ignore the way his stare burns into the side of your head.

Charles looks to Jean and Logan, a smile starting. Then his gaze drifts towards you and your chest deflates when you see the look on his face. He knows, the old miser probably coasted over your thoughts and he knows. He sends you a sympathetic look that makes you feel like a little girl who just got told unicorns don’t exist. “Jean, Logan, glad that you’ve finally joined us.”

Logan nods and leans back in his chair. But his eyes remain fixed on you and it makes you wish you could stab a fork into them. You let out a short, irritated huff of air and frown at yourself. Maybe you were a little more angry than you would like to admit.

You blame Logan for that. You never would have fallen so deep into infatuation if you hadn’t believed there was even a sliver of a chance with him. Always speaking so kindly with you when he would barely spare anyone a second glance. Constantly doing checkups on you after a particularly harsh training session with Charles.

Your mind runs over all the small things with him, everything you’ve done together. And you’re hit with a sudden nauseating thought. Oh my god, what if he sees me paternally?

You force yourself not to physically react but inside your throwing up and fucking freaking out. You feel a sudden spark of alarm from Charles and quickly do your best to fortify your mind so he doesn’t see your major mental freakout.

You’re not that much younger than him. Well, it’s not illegal, your crush on Logan. But what if this entire time, when you’ve been falling harder and harder for him, he’s just been platonically taking care of you? You’ve seen him do it plenty of times for the younger kids, as reluctant as he is to admit it.

You’re spiraling further and further into panic. So much so that you have no idea what’s even being discussed or what’s going on. You get onto the jet and have to ask Storm what you’re doing. She gives you a confused look but tells you nonetheless. Just some recon on a potential mutant trafficking ring. Nothing out of the ordinary, as depressing as that is. There shouldn’t be much violence, which is why your group is particularly small today.

You nod your head, moving like you’re in a daze as you throw yourself onto a seat. Logan sits beside you, an alarmed look on his face. “You alright, kid?”

The nickname, which is used to make your stomach flutter, makes you want to throw up. How have you missed it for this long? It was laid out so plainly before you. Of course, he doesn’t want you. Not when he has perfect Jean. Bile rises in your throat with a vicious ferocity when you glare over at Jean.

There’s a sudden petty, vindictive rage fueling you. The type you should have abandoned in high school, especially now that you’re grown. Instead, you feel like giving into Logan’s idea of what you are. You feel like reacting to all of this petulantly.

You ignore Logan and instead catch Jean’s eyes. Slowly, and with as much intention as you can force into your gaze, you look from her to Logan and then Scott. Her eyes widen and Logan scoffs beside you. She shakes her head minutely, silently begging you not to say anything. You smile at her and stand up.

You take a step towards Scott and Logan calls out an irritated, “Kid.” You ignore him and Jean eyes you warily as you approach. She stands like she’s ready to fight you and take the jet down just to keep you quiet. You reach Scott and can hear the way Jean takes in a sharp breath.

“Scott,” he looks up at you with his brows raised. There's a pause before you speak. Dragged on too long for Scott not to realize you’re planning something.

Jean takes a step towards you and you grin, “Mind checking my cuffs?” Scott gives you an odd look and his confusion only gets worse as Jean slumps onto the seat beside him. She’s not even trying to hide her relief. Scott shakes his head and holds his hands out, fingers gently probing around the cuffs on your wrists. The ones that keep your powers in check.

You’re still new to welding them. And they’re too entwined with your emotions for you to just have free range with them. If you hadn’t had the cuffs on this morning, you’re afraid you might have just turned everything around you into nothing but dust.

“They look fine, Flux.” His tone betrays his thoughts. He doesn’t know why you’d come to him for this when it’s Charles who usually deals with it. But this stupid, petty little display wasn’t for poor oblivious Scott. It was for the woman sitting next to him. The redhead whose still drilling holes into your skull.

You’ve got leverage over her that you’ve never had before. Scott wouldn’t take her little foray with Logan very well. And all it would take is a flick of your wrist to give him a very clear image of exactly what you’d seen. Then, her picture-perfect relationship would be over in a matter of seconds. You’re sure Logan would be more than pleased. But he doesn’t seem to understand that Jean just wants to have fun with him, she’d never choose him over Scott.

“Thanks,” there’s a bite to your tone that you’re not used to. You usually keep your emotions relatively in control. That way you won’t have to wear these cuffs one day. But you feel volatile today. You’re channeling your hurt and turning it into misguided anger.

You drop your wrists to your sides and stalk toward the front, hovering behind Charle’s and Storm’s chairs so you don’t have to look at the others. It doesn’t take long for you to feel the floor trembling under heavy booted steps.

Logan’s arms rest on the headrest of the chairs, bracketing you in between them so you can’t escape. He leans forward until his chest is pushed against yours and you can feel every ridge of his muscled torso pressing into you. You try not to suck in a breath, try not to play into the cliche of instantly forgetting why you’re angry when you’re faced with those muscles of his. It is hard, though, because he’s so handsome and so warm and you just want to melt into him.

“Wanna explain what the hell that was?” His voice is so low, whispering against the shell of your ear so only you can hear. You feel the vibrations of it against your back, his tone more gravelly than it should be.

You glance over your shoulder at him, face placid and blank. “What? Just needed some help.” Storm looks over at you both and rolls her eyes.

Logan opens his mouth to say something but she cuts him off. “Put a pin in the lover’s spat, we’re landing.” Using just a bit of your power, you push Logan off of you and head towards the back of the jet. There’s a slight jolt as you land and then the ramp opens up and you’re practically running into the snowy forest.

You don’t know where you are, mainly because you weren’t paying attention, you just know it's fucking freezing. The leather of your suit isn’t doing much to help fight against the chill. Charles stays on the jet and reminds you all that this is only meant to be recon. You’re partnered up with Logan, and as much as it irritates you, you’re not stupid enough to argue against it.

You have to put aside your personal grievances for this mission. You can’t risk the safety of mutants because the guy you like likes another girl. Logan seems pleased about it, stubbornly staying by your side even when you make it clear you want space.

You both linger behind the other’s as Storm leads you through the forest. Jean is being more touchy with Scott than normal. Either to assuage her own guilt or to rub it in Logan’s face, you’re not sure which. You nearly gag as you watch them whisper to one another, you glance over at Logan to see if he notices.

You’re startled when you see him already staring at you. His lips tick up into something mischievous when he catches your eye. That smug smirk on his face as he leans in towards you. “Wanna tell me what’s got you so pissed off?”

You roll your eyes and tamp down the rising tide of anger. “Nothing,” you bite out, jaw clenching the longer you stare at the back of Jean’s head. You’re surprised you haven’t chipped a tooth with how hard you’re grinding your teeth together.

He scoffs, not believing you for a second. He doesn’t say anything, just gives you an expectant stare. You can taste the words forming on your tongue, an irritating urge to just spill your guts overcoming you. Before you can stop yourself you blurt out, “I’m a little surprised that’s all.”

“Oh yeah, ‘bout what?” You hate how amused he sounds, the chuckle just lying in wait under his words. Like your anger is funny to him, like he didn’t just break your stupid fucking heart.

You stop walking, not feeling as intimidating as you want while you shiver and huddle into yourself. He seems perfectly at ease in his leather jacket and beater, still refusing to wear the uniform. He leans back and looks at you with a fondness that you can’t tell if you love or hate. “You and little Miss Perfect.” You spit the nickname with enough venom to make both of your eyes widen.

Logan rolls his eyes and takes a step towards you, again, Storm interrupts you both. “Guys, really?” Everyone turns around to stare and you will the heat in your face away. “Not the time,” she scolds and you brush past Logan to catch up with the others.

You come upon a warehouse, it’s nearly camouflaged under all the snow. You see two guards waiting outside the metal doors and you all disperse behind the trees. Storm glances towards Jean who focuses on the guards. They drop to the floor and you wave your hands, their guns melting into puddles of metal.

Logan and Scott move forward, sliding the large metal doors open. You wince at the loud screeching as the rust flakes off the sides. There’s a collective quiet as you all hold your breath, waiting for them to give the all-clear. Once they run inside and run back out, you and the others quickly get to your feet and rush into the warehouse. Logan closes the doors again as you make it inside.

“No one here?” Storm checks. Scott shakes his head and you frown. That doesn’t make any sense. Why would there be guards if there was nothing inside?

Your question is, unfortunately, answered a minute later. You find a pile of metal crates stacked on top of each other. A large beige tarp covers them. You tug at the corner, letting the fabric slide off. Your eyes flutter with disappointment, “Guys! Over here,” mutants sit inside the crates. Each of them stares at you with varying degrees of mistrust and fear.

As awful as it is, you’ve gotten used to these quiet depressing missions. There aren’t usually many mutants in one place. They don’t like to keep the product in one spot for too long. There are only four kids here. The youngest is eleven and the oldest is seventeen. There’s nothing physically telling about their abilities so you assume it must be psychic powers.

They don’t want to come with you until you all give them a demonstration of your powers. Proving that you’re not just trapping them and taking them somewhere worse. You’re nearly out the door when Charles's voice rings loudly through all of your minds.

You wince at the volume, hands coming up to grip at your hair as he shouts, “Behind you!” A gunshot rings out, something hot rips across your wrist and you gasp in pain. There’s a clatter of metal as your cuff drops to the ground, the bullet having destroyed it. Without them both, they’re useless. One won’t work without the other.

You glance up at Logan, a panicked look on your face. You can already feel the tidal wave of power thrashing and building in your chest. It’s been so long with the safety net that you forgot how bad it gets without the cuffs.

“We need to get you out of here!” He shouts over the gunfire. He herds the group behind a cluster of metal shipment boxes. It provides enough cover for you all to try and figure out an escape plan.

You listen to the other’s worried voices, each of them trying to console the kids. You don’t know their powers yet. Don’t know what might go wrong if they get too scared and can’t control their abilities.

You can’t speak, breaths coming short and fast as you clutch your wrist to your chest. You know it’s delusional, hoping that if you keep a tight grip like the cuff you might be able to control yourself. You can already feel the energy leaking out of you, the ends of everyone’s hair stands on end. The wall in front of you warps and cracks like it can’t decide if it’s liquid or solid.

You grit your teeth and look only at Storm. “You need to get out,” you force the words out. It causes physical pain to try and keep everything at bay. You can feel pressure building in your forehead, pushing out until you think you might explode.

“We’re not leaving you,” Logan snaps. There’s shouting going on behind you, a pause as they all reload their guns.

“Wasn’t a question,” you grit out. You look towards Jean and there’s a moment where you both put aside your differences. You both know how stubborn he is, how much he’ll fight against leaving you behind. Regenerative powers or not, it's dangerous to even be close to your gift now. You can see them all straining against the ebbing flow of your powers. Their skin shifts unnaturally like you’re already altering the atoms of their being.

This is why you’re only allowed to train with Charles and Jean. They can get in your head, shut it down when you can’t. You’re not sure you’re going to survive yourself. Logan glances between the two of you and practically growls at Jean, “Don’t you fuckin’ dare-”

His words trail off into an unintelligible slur as he slumps forward, Jean having knocked him out with her powers. Scott grabs him and grunts under the weight of his body. “I’ll cover you,” you gasp the words out. Anything but focusing on your powers causes physical strain that makes you feel like you’re being tugged in a hundred different directions. “Just get them out,” you nod towards the kids.

Storm nods and you slip out of cover. It isn’t hard to push your powers in one direction, to solidify the air in front of you so the bullets ricochet harmlessly off. You listen to the whine of the metal door and wait for the others to be gone.

“They’re in the jet,” Charles's voice rings out. “Don’t do this,” he warns. You can’t think of a response, you’re not even sure what you would say. You never thought you would be able to approach death this calmly, or that this would be how you die. It feels almost pathetic, dying because you lost control on a recon mission.

At least those kids are safe. It’s not a bad reason to die. Just not great. You glance down at the other cuff on your right hand, the air around it fluctuates until it melts off your wrist like liquid metal. With the last barely there tether off your powers, you close your eyes and release the tidal wave.

It feels like a dam exploding. It doesn’t leak fluidly from you, it rips through you like a hailstorm of knives. Tears apart anything in its path and rewrites the molecular build of everything in its path. Screams echo through the air as men’s bones turn into brittle dust and their hearts morph into something inorganic. You’re blind to everything around you, vision clouded by the horrific release of energy.

You can feel warmth leaking down your face. Blood still pours from the wound on your wrist, and fresh blood from other wounds you can’t even feel. You don’t know when the screams stop, or when you’re finally drained. But you feel like an empty husk as you drop to the floor, your head bouncing harshly against the cement as everything goes black.

“I’m gonna kill you,” Logan says with a grin, glaring at Scott even though it’s Charles who is holding him back. He’s got a firm mental grasp on Logan, keeping him locked into place while he focuses on the warehouse.

They’re waiting for the all-clear. The others know there’s always the possibility that they’re going to be collecting a body. But none of them are willing to say that, not with the look on Logan’s face. His muscles look ready to pop out of his skin with how much he’s fighting against Charles’s hold.

Scott backs away from Logan with a scoff. He stands near Jean, but she can’t take her eyes off the restrained man. Nothing had happened this morning, Flux had seen to that. Interrupting them just as they’d started. Seeing the way he’s acting now, she’s starting to believe that nothing is ever going to happen.

He’d looked like he was about to dismiss her when she started making a move. She can see the anger on his face, it seems he’s only ever pissed off. But underneath that, as much as he hides it, she can see the fear. He’s terrified that they're going to walk in there and you’re going to be dead.

Jean can feel the fear of the others as well. They’ve only seen you lose control once and that had almost leveled the mansion. Charles had stopped you then, but the loss of the cuff had been so sudden Jean just barely had enough strength to keep the others blocked from your powers. She didn’t have enough time to shut you down.

Jean, as much as she’s tried to deny it and dismiss her suspicions, can’t look Logan in the eye and ignore it anymore. It’s never been her that he’s wanted. The way he trails along beside you, always prodding and poking until you’re pissy and mouthing off. It’s not done because he finds antagonizing people fun, it's because he loves seeing you all worked up and passionate. He doesn’t view you through the same platonic lens he does the others. You’re something else to him, something she doesn’t want to name, afraid of the bitter taste it will leave on her tongue.

Charles slumps back in his chair and Logan suddenly lunges forward. He looks a little surprised by the sudden freedom of movement, but before any of them can stop him he’s running out of the jet. “Logan,” Jean tries to call after him but he’s already a distant blur.

Scott sighs and starts down the ramp. “Come on,” he mutters. He’s the last one who should be coming along. If anything is wrong with you, he’ll end up being Logan’s punching bag. Jean follows reluctantly, she’s not sure she wants to see what’s happened.

Your powers are too similar in their volatile nature. The way they rule you and come so close to destroying you when you use them too much, is too familiar to Jean. She doesn’t want to see you lying dead on the floor and be reminded of her own mortality. But someone needs to make sure Logan is stuck on a leash.

They reach where the warehouse should be. It’s nothing but a pile of rubble now. Throughout the wreckage, Jean can make out odd pools of liquid, some writhing, others still. She can only assume that these had been the men shooting at them. She doesn’t see your body, none of them do. But Logan isn’t giving up.

He lifts different pieces of metal and tosses them off into the forest. Jean doesn’t sense your presence anywhere but she doesn’t have the heart to tell Logan to give up. After a few minutes of searching, she almost tells him to quit. But she can’t see him anymore. He’s disappeared somewhere behind a particularly large pile of roofing. A moment later, Logan stands up. His jacket is gone, wrapped around the body in his arms. None of them are close enough to see if you’re breathing. And he doesn’t say a word as he brushes past them, just keeps going back to the jet. Ororo, Scott, and Jean all share a silent look. None of them prepared for the potential fallout that’s going to happen after this.

The first thing you feel is two familiar bands of metal around your wrists. The comforting feeling of the cuffs is enough to have you sinking further into the pillows surrounding you. Then you hear the beeping in your ear, feel the cool blow of AC, and become startlingly aware of the fact that you’re in a bed you don’t recognize.

You groan, eyes peeling open painfully as your lashes get stuck on your skin. You reach up to rub at your face but your arms feel too weak to lift. You give up on the thought, instead staring up at the ceiling and waiting for your vision to refocus.

A throat clears in front of you and you nearly jump out of your skin. Sitting at the end of your bed, arms crossed and a fierce glare on his face is Logan. His feet are propped up on the small table beside you. He quirks a brow and gives you a sardonic grin, “Finally awake, princess?”

Normally the name would have you up and doing somersaults, but there’s something distinctly negative and disappointed lacing his tone. It squashes any and all butterflies in your stomach. You grimace as you try and sit up. Logan is up in an instant, an annoyed look still on his face as he helps you up.

You can’t help your dopey smile at how gentle his hands are on you. Even pissed off, he treats you so kindly. Maybe it’s the drugs relaxing you, or the fact that you almost died, but you can’t remember whatever made you mad at him. You can only feel the slide of his calloused hands against your arms, the way you shiver under his touch and crave more.

He pulls the chair closer to you with a loud scratch of metal feet on the linoleum. You groan at the loud sound and he huffs, throwing himself down in the seat. “How do you feel?”

Your head sinks back against the wall and you finally realize you’re in the medbay. It’s why everything smells so sterile. “Like I got hit by a semi.”

He barely lets you finish your thought before he spits out, “What the fuck were you thinking?” He doesn’t ease you into this at all and you frown. You’re not sure why you would expect him to ever beat around the bush. That’s not his style, he’s always been blunt. Even when others wish he wouldn’t be.

“What else was I supposed to do?” You ask, voice weak. Your throat feels like it’s been ripped apart. Idly, you wonder if you had been screaming in the warehouse or if this was just general strain from the whole ordeal.

“Not put yourself at risk like that.” He leans forward, voice stern and bordering on shouting. You know he’s holding back. As much as he wants to lay into you right now, he’s stopping himself from going completely out of his mind. You appreciate it, but you almost wish he would just yell at you. You wish you had a reason to resent him, to finally get over him. “Not have Jean knock me out like that. You don’t get to make those decisions for me.”

It’s completely inappropriate and horrible timing, but you can’t help but scoff at the mention of Jean’s name. Can you not have one conversation that’s not tainted by the mention of the redhead?

Logan’s mouth snaps shut and he glares at you in disbelief. You squeeze your eyes shut, not willing to face him as embarrassment washes over you. No wonder he always calls you kid. You’re not exactly acting like an adult. You’re being a brat and for such a stupid reason too.

Just because you like him doesn’t mean he has to reciprocate. You can’t just force your feelings on someone. “Logan,” you whisper his name, “Sorry. I’m sorry-”

He cuts you off before you can finish. Some of the anger, but not all, has ebbed from his expression. He almost looks like he’s smiling. “Jean? That’s what this is about? Jealous or something, sweetheart?”

You sputter, shocked little noises leaving you but no words. After a solid minute of restarting a sentence you don’t know how to end you finally land on a squeaky, “Who?” If you weren’t so mortified, you might have just thrown yourself out the window. Out of every cop-out you could have gone with you chose to just pretend you didn’t know who she was. Maybe you could make this work, like selective amnesia.

Your shame only builds as Logan laughs. You cover your face and wish you could bury yourself six feet deep and never come up. You feel two rough hands wrap around your wrists, tugging your own away from your face. You don’t have the energy to fight back, so you keep your eyes on his chin. Too afraid to meet his gaze.

“Come on,” he mutters, gently nudging your chin up until you’re forced to look at him. You're caught off guard by the look in his eyes. You recognize it, but you’d only ever seen it directed at Jean. It’s the same way you’ve always looked at him. Pure unguarded want and desire.

The hand on your chin drifts back, fingers tangling in your hair and gently resting on your jaw. He tugs you forward until your lips are nearly touching, breaths mingling with every exhale. “Only ever wanted you, darlin'.’”

The kiss catches you off guard. It shouldn’t, deep down you knew it was coming, but the intensity behind it, the way you can practically taste how bad he wants this, wants you, catches you off guard. You lean into him, wrapping your arms around his neck and letting yourself melt into his hold.

His free hand drifts to your waist and clutches the flimsy hospital gown until you hear it tear. You part your lips, deepening the kiss so you can finally taste him. It’s cigars and whiskey, something you should hate but is entirely intoxicating when he’s holding you so tightly. Fireworks are going off in your mind, sparks darting between your fingers as the cuffs struggle to contain all the energy suddenly pushing out of you.

He can feel you holding back, squeezing you like it’s a promise he can take it. Take everything you throw at him. You let go as much as your cuffs will allow you. Let the energy blanket you both so you can’t hear your heart monitor going off like crazy. So you don’t feel anything other than each other. You think you’re going to devour each other like you’ll just keep kissing until neither of you can take it anymore. You don’t want to let go of him, don’t want to lose this moment.

But you have to breathe. You don’t get to just keep living the way he does. You pull away from him slowly, every part of you dreading separating from him. His forehead drops against your own, his laughter playing along your lips as he finally hears the monitor going haywire.

You groan, flicking your wrist and shutting it off so it can’t betray how flustered you are anymore. He gently nudges you aside so he can sit beside you on the bed. You don’t waste a second before you’re draping yourself across his chest and siphoning his warmth. He chuckles, arms coming up to wrap around you.

“Can’t believe you were jealous of Jean.”

“Shut up,” you snipe. You look up at him and glare, “How else do you explain what you two were doing?”

He leans forward and gives you a smug grin. “She came onto me, sweetheart.” Your face screws up in distaste and jealousy. She’s going to need to learn to keep her hands to herself. He seems to feel the way you tense up, he huffs in amusement and rubs your back. “Relax, you’re gonna blow your fuse again.”

You glance down at your wrists and nuzzle further into him. You can’t believe you could have been laying on him this whole time. You never want to use a blanket again, not when you’ve got him. “I’ll be fine now that I’ve got my cuffs.”

His hand stills on your bicep. He squeezes it before his hand drifts up to your chin and he tilts your face up again. “I don’t ever want to see that again.” You’re a little surprised by the sudden shift in tone, but you knew this was coming.

“I had to, Logan. I either took you all down with me or I went on my own.”

Logan frowns and takes in a deep breath. You place a hand on his arm, giving it a gentle squeeze. He smiles down at you, “Next time, take me with you. I’m not fucking dealing with Summers without you.”

You can’t help but chuckle. Your face grows warm and your chest expands with some odd gleeful feeling as he laces your fingers together. “Deal,” you whisper, still smiling at him.

A/N: Okay, this might be shit, I’m not sure. I sort of rushed the ending because as I was writing this I had another idea for him. I guess I’m officially off my hiatus.

#wolverine x reader #Wolverine x you #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett #logan howlett x you #x men #deadpool and wolverine #Wolverine

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yandere-daydreams · 4 months ago

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tw - non/con, unbalanced power dynamics, obsessive/possessive behavior, and manipulation.

Guard Dog!Nanami, who's the best security you could possibly ask for. You've been told that hybrids aren't very good for protection, that you'd be better off just getting a regular dog or, better yet, not living alone in one of the sketchier neighborhoods of a notoriously unsafe city, but those people haven't meant your Kento. Stern, stoic, and loyal - he keeps you safe, helps around the house, and doesn't need (or want, for that matter) half of the attention a normal dog would need. Really, it's more like having a personal bodyguard than a pet. You're sure he'd prefer if it if you treated him more like the former than the latter, too.

Guard Dog!Nanami, who'd practically be human if it wasn't for the adorably pointed ears on top of his head, the wiry tail at the base of his spine, and the dull canines you sometimes catch a glimpse of during one of his rare smiles. It's clear that he doesn't consider himself to be like most hybrids, so you do your best to treat him like a roommate - giving him his space, making sure he has his privacy, constantly resisting the urge to run your hands through his hair and apologizing profusely when you inevitably fail. He claims he doesn't mind, not if it's you, but you've seen the way his lips curl when strangers so much as approach him, how he rolls his eyes when he sees other hybrids sitting on their owners' laps or begging for treats. You're not eager to get on his bad side, even if you do occasionally catch him slipping into your bed in the middle of the night.

Guard Dog!Nanami, who's mistaken for your boyfriend at least once a week. It's your own fault, really. He likes to walk you to work, run errands while you're away, all the things a stay-at-home boyfriend would usually do if he were as loving and as attentive as Nanami. It's always embarrassing, even if all you have to do is nod to one of his less-than-human features to clear up the misunderstanding. Still, it happens so often, and you're not proud to admit that from time to time, you don't have the energy to do anything but smile and nod when your elderly neighbor compliments the 'hunk of a man' living with you.

Guard Dog!Nanami, who's less naturally protective than you think he is. He's concerned with your safety, of course, but that's not a privilege that extends to the male coworkers he catches with a hand on the small of your back, to the friends who drag you out of your shared apartment and don't bring you back until the early hours of the morning. He spends more nights than he's proud of standing outside of your bedroom door, listening for any signs of life, waiting for an intruder, or a nightmare - any excuse to cross that unspoken boundary. It'd be more practical to spend his nights on the foot of your bed like every other drooling, filthy mutt hybrid, but that's not the kind of relationship he wants to have with you. Not if you have to think of him as a dog to get there.

Guard Dog!Nanami, who has to fuck his fist three times a day to offset his humiliating instincts. He tried for complete abstinence at first, not to think about you in that context at all, but there's only so many hours of his day he can spend with his knot pressed into his stomach, his cock twitching every time you bend over or brush against him. Still, it's far from a long-term solution. How could it be, when he still cums untouched every time you scratch the base of his ears?

Guard Dog!Nanami, who volunteers to take care of your household chores so he'll have an excuse to root through your laundry while you're away. He's surprised you haven't noticed just how much of your underwear mysteriously vanishes with every load, but even if you were less oblivious, he'd rather you be suspicious of him than ever find the hoard of tattered, stained, ruined fabric he keeps underneath his mattress.

Guard Dog!Nanami, who knows this can't go on for much longer. He loves you, and he respects you, and he knows that you'll never really see him as anything more than a pet, but he's can't seem to bring himself to see you as a master. And, when he's walking you home late at night after yet another unplanned bar crawl, when he's listening to you whine half-coherently about how hard it is to live with a hybrid that's so close to human, he may pass a darkened alleyway and listen to the long-buried, animalistic mind urging Nanami to claim what belongs to him.

Guard Dog!Nanami, who knows that you'll never make a very good master and he'll never make a very good pet. But, that doesn't mean he can't hope that you'll both be better off after your roles are reversed.

#hybrid au #yandere #yandere imagines #yandere x reader #yandere x you #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen imagines #yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere jjk #jjk x reader #jjk imagines #jujutsu kaisen x reader #yandere nanami kento #nanami kento x reader

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augustinewrites · 1 year ago

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“do you not love me anymore?”

satoru’s (self-proclaimed) adorable pout is rendered ineffective when you refuse to look up from your work, typing away on your computer as his world absolutely crumbles.

“are you a worm?” you ask, wholly uninterested in his theatrics.

“no.”

“then of course i still love you.”

“then what the heck is this?!”

sighing, you finally lift your gaze to see your wallet open and laid out in front of you. “that’s what this is about?”

“you took my favourite picture of us out for megumi’s school photo!”

“that was not your favourite picture of us,” you argue. “you keep that in a locked folder on your phone.”

(it’s your fault that he thinks of that photo now, having to utilise mental skills he’d learned during unnecessarily sexy sparring lessons in high school to will away the beginning of stiffness in his pants)

“that’s not the point,” he says calmly, tapping a finger over megumi’s glaring face. “the point is that i’m losing top-billing in my girlfriend’s wallet to a snot-nosed brat with a crush.”

“really? you’re competing with a seven year old?”

“it’s not competing if i’m losing!”

“it’s puppy love, satoru,” you laugh, closing your wallet before he can see that his card is inside. “i don’t think he’s ever had someone - that wasn’t his sister - fussing over him.”

“no, he definitely has a crush on you,” your boyfriend insist, draping himself over your lap quite dramatically. “can we still disown him if the adoption papers haven’t gone through yet?”

“no one is disowning anyone,” you tell him, gently pushing back his bangs to plant a kiss on his forehead. “you’ll just have to learn to live with the competition.”

_____

you’re halfway through the show you’re watching when the front door swings open and satoru tumbles inside. “honey, i’m home! nanami almost killed me at the gym.”

“hey, there’s lunch in the fridge,” you call, eyes glued to the television.

satoru, predictably, is unsatisfied with this. he grabs the mug that you’re holding and sets it on the coffee table, wrapping you in a sweaty hug and peppering your face with kisses.

“let me love you!” he whines, his hair tickling your nose as he nuzzle his face into your neck.

“you can love me after you take a shower, cause you stink.” your tone is stern, but you can’t seem to fight the smile that grows on your face as he hugs you tighter.

“this is all for your benefit,” he argues, finally releasing you just to pull the hem of his shirt up. you try to smother the heat rising to your face, but satoru notices, a self satisfied smirk on his lips as he pats his abs. “i’m letting nanami kill me at the gym for you.”

“you’re such a slut,” you mutter, wriggling out of his grasp and over to the opposite end of the couch. satoru relents, staying on his end as he recounts his (apparently) near-death experience at the gym.

it’s a few moments later when megumi saunters into the living room.

“megumi! come sit with me!”

the boy’s nose immediately wrinkles. “you stink.”

his full-force pout returns. “i do not!”

“do too.”

“do not—”

“do too,” megumi scoffs, plopping down next to you and resting his head against your arm.

“so you’re gonna let him snuggle with you but not me? i’m tired and sore and—”

“and sweaty,” you finish. “go take a shower.”

he glances down at the kid glued to your side, brows raised as he mouths, crush.

you roll your eyes, thinking it wise to not engage in any banter in front of megumi.

(but as your attention returns to the tv, what you don’t see is megumi’s own little smirk, directed right at satoru.

like father, like son.)

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #keeping up with the fushigojos

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gyuswhore · 6 months ago

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Sit Down

anniversary event [closed]

kim mingyu x reader

prompt(s): getting aroused by the other's jealousy/obsession with them, "Could he/she/they do it like this?”, “you're sexy when you're angry”

word count: 5.1k

warnings: smut (MINORS DNI), fluff, potter!mingyu, they're married, reader discovers jealousy, oral (m.rec), penetration (unprotected!!!), kissing, breast play, clit stimulation, they're nasty as hell idk what to tell you

synopsis: It isn't your fault that you feel this way, especially as you watch her hands trace over your husband's own.

It isn't your fault that you can barely go on with your day with that cursed image replaying in your mind like a broken record.

And it certainly isn't your fault that you find yourself completely naked on your husband's lap while his clay-clad hands cannot touch you.

[a/n]: @highvern at the scene of the crime as always, we all have to thank her for her service as she betas for me and encourages my tomfoolery. enjoy this and let me know your thoughts in the rbs, comments or send me an ask!!!!!

masterlist

The grip you have on the file is proving to be detrimental to the cheap plastic covering. Not that you could blame yourself as you watch your husband through the window of his pottery studio, leaning over to help a student with her discombobulated salad bowl.

It was a beautiful morning, the beach across from the boardwalk sparingly occupied with delighted tanners and swimmers, the low buzz of waves reaching the shore sending a calming draft across the area. Envious as you were of Mingyu and his impeccable real estate choices, especially right now as your heel clad feet ache to take a dip in the waters, you couldn’t help but feel all the more irked that this was the background the image inside the studio was sitting against.

Through the large glass windows, Mingyu is pressing his foot over top of his very pretty student’s on the pedal to force the pottery wheel to spin, hands over her own as he guides her fingers to put pressure on the wet clay. A spiteful part of you pushes a thought in your mind, that your husband was attempting to fix a lost cause, especially when his student seemed quite insistent in her soft smiles and keeping her gaze on the fingers that cover her own, rather than actually fixing the abomination on the pottery wheel.

You don’t know how long you’ve been standing there by the time he’s done, straightening his back to turn his attention to the other students that make their attempts at their half done projects. Mingyu catches your figure through the window and immediately breaks into a big smile, clay covered hand coming to wave at you.

Taking it as your cue to walk into the studio, you return neither his gorgeous smile or his occupied wave as you strut through the glass doors. Your husband meets you on the other side of the open space, hands now washed clean as he leans over to place a kiss on your cheek.

“Hey, you,” he says in greeting, hands drying on a towel.

All you can think about is if that salad bowl girl can see you, and you thank goodness you wore your nice top today.

“Here.” You merely push the slightly crumpled file of documents to his chest, jaw set and lips tight.

“Oh, thanks,” he comments as he grabs the papers pushed towards him, smile dropping a little at your abrupt attitude. “Is everything alright?”

“Hm? ‘Course,” you answer, adjust the strap of your bag. “I have to get back to work. Be careful about your paperwork next time, I can’t keep making trips across town for this.”

You bite your tongue as soon as you say it, the words tumbling out before you can help it. Can’t keep making trips across town for this? Last time you checked, you were looking for passive excuses to make the trip to your husband’s studio just to see him during the day.

“Oh.” His brows are furrowed, the frown apparent on his face. “I–I didn’t think you’d be too busy today, you said you’d be done early so—I—nevermind. I’m sorry I pulled you out of work for this, I’ll be careful next time.”

There’s a pang in your heart as you hear him apologise, immediately mad at yourself for going on and ruining his mood. What were you annoyed at? That he was doing his job?

Your gaze lands behind him where most of his students are occupied with their projects, but just one whose eyes dart between you and Mingyu.

Taking a step back, you’re about to walk out before you feel him grab your wrist. “D’you wanna have dinner at the new restaurant down the pier after work? We can watch the sunset too, haven’t done that in a while.”

You want to scream yes. Of course you want to watch a beach sunset with your husband. Of course you want to eat at the restaurant you’ve been waiting eagerly for with your husband. And you aren’t entirely sure if this reaction is simply because you’ve been stressed lately, but the sticky feeling is pushing you to make your claim in some way, somehow.

Biting back another strangely snarky reply, you make an attempt to fix your stoic face and walk back to Mingyu. Leaning up, you kiss the corner of his mouth in what you hope is slightly reassuring.

“I’ll see you in a few hours.”

Kicking off your heels is the first thing you do once you make it back to your desk, taking no time to punch the power on button on your computer. You pull a file from the stack next to you, one that sits at the bottom, with a harder than necessary yank. Bad idea, because as you scramble to stop the pile from tipping over entirely, you can only think of other ways your day could get worse.

Before the worst of it can hit the floor, you find a second set of hands catching the strewing papers.

“Thanks, Han,” you say as you attempt to reorganise the documents, taking the extra ones off his hands.

“Have the laws of physics forsaken you? Or do you just like reorganising paperwork?” Hansol asks, sipping on something from the stupid horse mug Mingyu had made for him in light of his promotion.

Huffing, you only haphazardly stuff the files to the corner to be done with it, opening the file you need as your computer finally boots up. “Don’t you have manager stuff to do?”

“Being a manager means I can put off doing manager stuff,” he states. “Besides, I’m taking care of my peers, can you imagine the catastrophe that could’ve been if I didn’t swoop in to save you?”

“Papers on the floor? How catastrophic indeed,” you monotone as you click away at trying to find a particular excel sheet.

“How was Mingyu?”

Stiffening, you want to curse Hansol at reminding you of the very thing you did not want to think of right now.

“He was fine.”

“You were back earlier than usual, thought you would’ve had lunch with him.”

That was your plan, but clearly the universe had other ways for you to go about your day. Like thinking about an overly flirty student and her all too oblivious teacher.

“He…he had a workshop today,” you simply comment.

“Okay, Elsa, who shoved an ice cube up your ass?” You can hear the sneer in his voice, the judgmental stare.

Groaning loudly, you can only slam your forehead onto your desk in an all too dramatic fashion. “Can you drop it? Please?”

“Ah,” he drags. “Trouble in paradise. Understood. I will be at my desk if you want to complain about your husband like Margaret from Finance.”

Margaret from Finance. The woman who’s entire catalogue of marital issues would be solved if she and her husband simply spoke to each other once in a while. Perhaps even held hands on occasion.

You wince as you envision yourself becoming as stuck up and miserable as that, Hansol’s harmless comparison sending you into yet another spiral. It wasn’t that serious, this was all because your brain was stressed, horny and in love. The fact that your husband looked like how he did wasn’t really helping either.

With a little more aggression than you usually would’ve done with, you attempt to skim through the files as quickly as humanly possible, flicking through the useless filler pages to get to the ones that actually required your attention.

You send a passive aggressive email to Hansol entailing his job to keep things precise.

Shoving forkfuls of salad into your mouth, your mouse clicks louder than anyone else in the area, having gone back to change your cursor speed about thrice since you turned your computer on.

Your phone dings. Closing your eyes, you count to ten before turning to look at the illuminated screen beside you.

[Gyu <3]: did u have lunch?

[Gyu <3]: i wanted us to get sum together but u zoomed off : (((

[Gyu <3]: im done with my classes for the day. The students were asking ab you earlier when u came in heh

[Gyu <3]: cant wait to see u tonight i looooooveee u <333

God, he makes it hard to stay mad at him.

Snapping your head back to your monitor, you close your eyes once again as you question the war in your head and chest. Why were you mad at him? There was nothing to be mad about. Did you expect him to go about his day covered in plastic wrap and a neon ‘OFF LIMITS’ sign all day? The ring on his finger was supposed to do the job just fine.

You sigh as you force yourself to text him back something that wasn’t entirely passive aggressive. Typing and erasing, and typing again and erasing again. A smiley face to seal it into something you were not feeling, and send.

It’s late in the afternoon by the time you’re done, the sun less blaring as it pours through the office windows. You flick the last file shut, power off your computer and spring up to your feet, immediately gathering your things. Phone, ID, keys, and the last plastic file in your hands, you stalk towards Hansol’s desk and slam the papers next to his computer.

He nearly chokes on his pocky stick as you spit out your final notes in rapid fire, not caring if you were indecipherable in the slightest. Hansol’s eyebrows remain in the air by the time you’re done, spinning on your heels and walking straight towards the elevators.

“See you, Monday!” you finally hear him call out and you don’t turn to return his goodbye. Something that might have given you a strike but you could threaten him to take it off all the same.

Besides, you had somewhere to be, and the idea churning in your brain didn’t seem like it wanted to wait.

The sun is setting by the time you get to the beach boardwalk, climbing the steps to the line of establishments that overlook the significantly more occupied shore. Everything is perfect. Warm just the right amount, the sunlight forcing everything in its path into an incandescent glow.

What you would’ve given for a nice lie on one of the beach chairs to release an entire day’s worth of tense muscles. But alas, you trudge straight down the boardwalk and walk the way to Mingyu’s studio. When you’re nearly there, you see the glass door of the studio open from a distance, immediately recognising the part timer leaving for the day.

You cross paths as he walks towards you in the opposite direction, lighting up as he recognises you through your work attire.

“Oh, hi!” Chan chirps, arm raised in a half wave.

“Hi! Clocking out?” you ask as you stop to greet him.

“Uh—yeah, Mingyu let me go early.” He’s grinning.

“Good to hear. You enjoy the rest of your night, alright?”

“Yeah–uh, you too!” he stutters once again as he continues to smile wide. You think nothing of it and continue your short walk to where the studio doors were.

Coming round, you find the large glass door and walls have been blocked out with the blinds, the blaring CLOSED sign right at the entrance.

You stand there in front of the door like a fool, taking a deep breath, eyes closed as you gain your bearings. Grabbing the shiny handle, you push the unlocked glass open.

The bell at the top jingles, signalling a customer, and you watch your husband sitting at one of the turntables, clearly occupied. The studio is completely empty except for him, the whirr of the spinning table coming to a halt as he turns to tell whoever came in that they were closed for the day.

It’s revolting. He’s wearing his usual black tee, stained with months of splattered clay, his hair tousled like he’d run his hands through it before he started his project. The sun seeps in through the neglected edges of the top of the glass walls, past the blinds that cover most of them, casting him in an unbelievable light. It’s revolting, he’s done nothing and it’s making your head reel; revolting.

“We’re—oh, you’re early!” There it is, that stupid smile he can’t help but flash at every last person he sees, directed straight at you laced with nothing but love.

Reaching behind you, you push the metal lock on the door to click it shut, locking the both of you inside, and the rest of the beach and boardwalk out. Right after, you begin to kick off your heels.

“I already made the reservations for an hour from now, let me change and wash up so we can go to the beach till—”

“Sit down.”

He was halfway out of his seat as he was talking, ready to leave his half done work on the turntable to leave with you. Your words come out firm, a strange tone like you were giving him a command.

It works, and the shock has him immediately falling back into his chair. The force pushes the chair away from the turn tables, now half facing you.

Dropping your bag, you shuck your long coat off and leave it on the floor. Eyeing his hands, they’re covered in wet clay, suspended away from his body so as to not ruin his clothes more than they already are, speckled with dried clay and paint.

He recovers quickly, confused as he watches you fiddle with the buttons on your bottoms, rising out of his chair once again.

“What are you—”

“I said,'' you grunt as you finally push your bottoms down so they hit the floor. “Sit down.”

The shift in his face makes it obvious it has clicked in his head, staring at you as you walk towards him in just your blouse as the situation escalates faster than he can keep up with.

“Right now? Can you at least let me—”

Through his blabbering you’ve reached him and swung a leg over his lap, seating yourself on his clothed thighs as he moves his hands away, making sure not to get clay all over your blouse.

His hands may be occupied in a different sense, but you choose to busy yours in other ways. Taking his face in your hands, you lock your mouths in an open mouthed kiss, rendering him speechless.

Taking no time to think, nor to let him think, you push your hips down to meet his own in a deep grind, panty clad pussy making contact with the rough of his jeans right over his bulge. The feeling is so sudden, spiking throughout your system as you hear him take a sharp inhale still pressed into your mouth.

That was you. That was you getting that reaction out of him, no matter how small it was. The thought has you gripping the back of his head, fingers making home in the short strands of his hair as you let go from the kiss.

Wasting no time, you push his head back and stick your tongue out, licking a stripe from the base of his throat right up to his jaw. He shivers beneath you, and it only muddles your mind even more.

You can feel his bulge beneath you growing larger and larger by the second, pressing into your inner thigh as his breathing grows exponentially heavier in your ear. Locking eyes with him, you trail your other hand down to graze over the front of his shirt, pressing into the bumps and ridges that lie beneath.

Reaching his buckle, you hook your finger underneath the gap and pull at the metal. As you let go, it snaps back into place with a resounding cling! Keeping the eye contact, you drift even lower, your fingers find the growing tent in his jeans as you cup the bulge. Moving your hands in the way you know he likes it, you curb your speed to drag out the feeling for him.

“Fuck,” you hear him curse lowly.

It’s becoming impossible for him to keep his composure, especially to keep his hands away from your body that sits on him. He gets close, fingers brushing the white of your blouse in a moment of confusion, instant brown on the surface as his wet, clay hands ruin your shirt.

“If you really can’t keep your hands to yourself,” you say, halting your movements on his crotch. “I guess this’ll have to go too.”

Not bothering to undo all the buttons, you tug the first couple ones unfastened and pull your blouse over your head, throwing it somewhere behind his head. Quickly, you reach behind and unclasp your bra, flinging it away in the same general area. You’re now almost entirely naked while he remains clothed head to toe.

Your nipples harden as they meet the air in the studio, Mingyu’s eyes set on your mounds as he takes them in.

Before he has the opportunity to do anything, you slip off of your seat in his lap, knees slamming the floors in your haste as you kneel before him. Hands flying, you tug at the buckle of his belt, undoing it despite your hurried motions.

“You’ve been off today, are you sure everything’s alright?” Mingyu asks from, still wide eyed as he watches helplessly as you yank his jeans enough to reveal the final layer of his underwear. It doesn’t take you long to take his entire length out of there too, needing him in front of you.

“Do not ask me about my feelings when I’m trying to fuck you.”

“What on earth–shit!”

You’ve taken his now fully hard length into your hand, licking a strip from the base of his cock up to the bulbous head. The tip of your tongue teases the head ever so lightly, and Mingyu watches as his head and your tongue match in their reds. He watches the way your tongue dips into the pooling white of his precum, pushing into his slit as the tip of your tongue wiggles slightly.

The fact that he cannot touch only heightens the effects of your teasing, clayed hands balling into fists just to feel something on his fingertips.

Soon, your lips have wrapped around the head of cock as you let it rub against the beginnings of the inside of your soft mouth. Letting go, you take him in again, this time running your tongue over his slit, feeling his hips twitch beneath you as you continue to take him in and out, only to take him back in again.

In one motion, you sink your mouth lower onto his dick, feeling the head of his cock run against the roof of your mouth. Mingyu hisses audibly amidst his very loud and heavy breathing.

When you feel him hit the beginnings of your throat, you pull back, bringing your hand to curve around the base to cover what you couldn’t fit, pumping him up and down as you continue to pull his member in and out of your mouth.

He’s moaning loud, the echoes resonating off the walls as you hear your name slip from his mouth over, and over, and over again. It only encourages you as you move down deeper, his cock touching the back of your throat in more familiarity than before.

Everything is wet; the spit and precum turning into a shiny gleam on his cock and on the lower half of your face, the heat between your legs that makes you feel oh so empty. Clenching around nothing, you resist the urge to bring a hand down to relieve yourself.

“Are you ovulating or something, why are you suddenly…suddenly, fucking hell I don’t know.”

Releasing him from your mouth with a loud pop, you rear your head to look up at him, the lower half of your face covered in a wet glisten. Your hand continues to pump him as you watch his face remain contorted in pleasure.

In a daze, you don’t realise what you’re saying as you blab. “Could she do it like this?”

“What?”

“Could she do it like this?” you repeat like a mantra, needing to hear his answer. “Could she make you feel like this?”

“What are you talking about?” It’s taking Mingyu every bit of his soul to form coherent words.

In one swift motion, you’ve hoisted yourself back on your feet, nails digging into his thighs through his pants.

Hovering over his lap, you take his shaft once again, but this time you push your panties aside with your hand and bring it close to your heat, brushing the head of his cock over your wet folds, using him to feel the pleasure that builds.

“God, you’re so wet,” he blabs as he throws his head back at the feeling. “I wanna touch you, fuck I need to get this clay off, I need to touch you.”

He’s brought his mouth to latch onto your nipple, evoking a loud gasp from you as feel him circle your nub with his tongue before sucking. Letting go, he sticks his tongue out as his only weapon, flicking it repeatedly as you continue to rub his wet cock over your equally wet cunt.

Lining him up with your entrance, you sink onto his head as you let out a loud moan, feeling the tip stretch you out in the familiar way you’ve been craving all day. It’s like your brain is buffering as you recover from the bout of pleasure, barely registering that he’s continued to assault your other nipple now.

Your free hand comes to toy with your relieved tit, twisting your spit covered nipple between your fingers as his dick pushes further and further inside you.

Fully sheathed, you pull your husband’s face away from your breast as you bring his lips to your own, kissing him deep as you clench around his hard cock.

“Don’t. Do that,” he hisses against your lips, hands suddenly closing in your waist, so close before he realises he can’t. “‘M gonna fucking come, I’m so serious.”

The news is enlightening, especially as it encourages you to lift your hips ever so slightly, and curl back back down in an initial thrust. Again, and again, and again till you’re moving your hips at a swift pace, striking down on his length as you both moan into each other's mouths.

The feeling is electrifying, and the borderline pornographic noises your husband is making is only making it all the more easier to gush around his member, to move your hips faster as you feel the knot in your abdomen tighten and loosen.

“You feel amazing, so fucking good,” he grunts as he mouths the column of your throat. “My baby, my darling, my wife.”

And when the burn in your thighs becomes more than just a mental battle, your hips slowing despite the mind boggling feeling and the choked sobs that come out of you, you feel Mingyu’s hips lift from the chair he’d been trapped in, pushing into you instead.

His still dirty hands have taken hold of the top of the back legs of the chair, helping himself push off his seat to thrust into you rapidly.

“Touch yourself, baby,” he says. “Rub your clit for me.”

Who are you to deny him, one hand on one of his broad shoulders while the other flies down to the mess that’s becoming of your cunt. Rubbing two fingers over your clit, you throw your head back in a loud moan as you feel yourself beginning to close in.

Mingyu is watching the apex of your thighs; the way your fingers work against your swollen clit, the way his dick disappears inside you, a ring of sinful white foaming at the base of his cock. He twitches inside you, a clear indication that he was also close.

Your breasts are a sight to behold, and the scene before him is enough to make him bust entirely. Bouncing tits that he cannot touch, perfectly red, puffed pussy he cannot touch, the beautiful curves and dips of your waist and thigh, barely illuminated by the setting sun, that he cannot touch. He curses the wretched idea to make a last minute thing on the turntable before you arrived, curses the fact that he should be able to feel all of you.

He might lose his mind, and he does when your walls clamp down on him like a trap, your moans so loud he’s sure he’ll be hearing them in his ears for weeks.

“G–Gyu, I’m cumming,” you whimper through the pure brain fog.

Mingyu fucks you through your orgasm, finally letting himself release his own load into you when he simply can’t take it anymore, dick spasming as he shoots white hot cum into your hole. The added slick makes it easier to slip in and out faster as his orgasm holds out far longer than it usually does, both of your hips twitching like you’d been zapped as you come down from your highs.

It’s become near impossible to hold up your own weight, slumping against his large frame as you unclench every pinched muscle and joint. Forehead on his shoulder, you take pleasure in the afterglow, breathing in his scent with your nose pressed into the sliver of skin that reveals past his shirt. Sweat, the earthy odour of clay, and the calm familiarity of him.

“I don’t know what I did to have you acting like this,” he breathes into your ear. “But whatever it is, I need to do it more often.”

Sluggishly, you lift your head to look at him. His head is leaned back on the chair, face glowing as you stare into the eyes you fell in love with so long ago.

“You haven��t done anything,” you sigh. “It was…stupid.”

“That’s the worst thing you could say to me right now.”

You whine, rolling your neck. “What do you want me to tell you?”

He stares. “Who do I need to thank for creating this monster?”

It was a joke, clearly, but you couldn’t help but feel the little pool of pride swell within you anyway.

“Salad bowl girl.”

“And I’m supposed to know what that means? Do you want a salad bowl? I can make you one.”

“No. The girl in your class this morning with that god awful salad bowl,” you huff. “It looked offensive, she was too busy burning holes into you.”

“Oh no,” he whispers, eyes wide, mouth turning it the beginnings of a hysterical laugh. “My pretty little wife is jealous.”

“If you’re gonna rub it in, I'm getting off.” You try to remove yourself from his lap, slipping his now soft member out of you.

You’re stopped when you feel the two points of his elbows locking you at the waist, pushing you down. He’s grinning like a fool. “You’re sexy when you’re angry.”

“I’m not angry—”

“Your hello was my dick in your mouth.”

“So you didn’t like it?”

“I’d fire myself in the kiln before I ever say that.” He locks his elbows harder, pulling you closer. “Besides, I think this means I’ve won.”

“Won what?”

“Like you’ve never noticed Chan looking at you like…like he’s got some puppy dog crush on you. I’ve won the battle of composure.”

You guffaw, “What are you—stop it, he does not!”

He merely leans forward and kisses you, “I don’t blame him. My wife is the most gorgeous thing anyone could ever see.”

Grabbing him by the elbows, you break free of his hold and get off of his lap, attempting to gather the clothes you’ve scattered across the studio.

“Can you at least help me put my dick back inside my pants, these are my cleaner jeans!”

Snapping the elastic of your bra back on, pantied adjusted, you walk back to him. He’s looking at you with those stupid stars in his eyes and it makes it hard to focus on readjusting his jeans for him.

Leaning down, you take in your hands his still wet cock, smothered in your spit and arousal, complete with his own release. You can’t help it when you dip further to take his head into your mouth, the groan coming from above you near automatic.

“Oh, you’re evil.”

You grin as you wrap your mouth in a harsher suck, feeling him harden slowly, still quicker than you’d thought. Giving him a few more generous sucks, you run your tongue over his slit before moving back.

He’s breathing heavily, leaning close as you pull his waistband up. “You know, they say you should lay down afterwards if you want to be successful. I think we might have to go again later on a real bed to do the trick.”

“You can stay horny, I’m getting dressed for some real food.”

“I think we kinda need to be horny to do what we’re trying to do,” he lowtones, moving his face back and forth to meet your drifting eyes.

You sigh once again, “Why can’t just getting off birth control be enough?”

“Are you not having fun?”

“I’m literally buttoning your pants for you, it was fun until now.”

Mingyu raises his hands in both surrender and pointed regard, the clay now dried and cracking over his hands and forearms. “I digress.”

It annoys you that he’s right, so you lean in to give him a kiss as a distraction. It works.

“It’s alright,” he smiles into your kiss. “This is the one thing I won’t mind breaking my back for.”

The giggle escapes you before you can help it, and you feel him kiss at your cheeks, placing one last one on the tip of your nose.

“Now, if my lovely wife will let me wash my hands…?”

“Go,” you chuckle.

“We should name our baby Salad Bowl in this honour.” He’s way at the handwash station by now, water running as he scrubs off all the dried up clay.

“So sad our baby will have to grow up without a father.”

“I love you,” he yells.

“I’ll be sure to tell our child.”

“You’re insufferable,” he says, suddenly behind you as you pull on your blouse. Wet hands grasp your waist and you squeal at the feeling.

“Mingyu!”

“I love you,” he drags, spinning you around to face him.

“I thought I was insufferable.”

Your husband groans, simply pulling you into him with his own two hands to kiss you.

“I think we’re late for our reservation.”

“You’d better hurry then.” You eye his clay speckled shirt.

“Don’t miss me.” He turns around to find his cleaner shirt, all while you drift over to see the incomplete project still on his table.

A mug still clay-brown and half done, but one that looks suspiciously similar to your favourite one you broke last week.

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