â You better lock your door and look at me a little more (we both know I'm worth waitin' for) â
Vander x ftm!reader | fluffy, NSFW, slight angst | there's some plot at the end | reader has had top-surgery & bottom growth | versatile. bottom. reader | NOT PROOFREAD | wc: 5k
warnings: r! is a prostitute, brothel mentioned, mentions of addiction, spanking, fingering, anal sex, unprotected sex, AFAB terminology (clit referred to as dick/cock, terms like boypussy, pussy, boycunt, cunt are used)
masterlist;
authors note: you guys have @strayjester to thank for this because of the thirst we had for this fine-ass single dad...
*song on repeat: Billie Boss Nova by Billie Eilish
*YN is described as being shorter than Vander in this fic.
Heâs getting that itch under his skin again. Muscles aching and throat begging for the soothing burn of addictive smoke. Vander tosses a rag on his shoulder, scratching at his beard as he fixes his posture. His skin feels stretched thin, aching for a salve to fill the crevices and drought; his ears muffle the bar, and the song playing floats into his ears.
The playful percussions, the whispering tone of the singer, and the sighs of the adlibs remind him of the fairytales of fairies, sirens, and boys in masks in nothing but a see-through robe.
Vander straightens up, briefly glancing over at the doors of the bar. The underground doesnât get sunlight, but like a dog, he knows when people are starting to head back home. The crowd in here was mostly gone, some were passed out in the booths and some intently eating sunflower seeds in their corner. Heâd have to clean it up and make sure the tables werenât sticky, and the floor needed a good sweep too.
Impatientness grows in him. Vander sighs, pouring himself a shot of something to reinvigorate him, and slams the glass down. It startles the man at the bar enough to have him reach for his coins, the rest get the same hint.
âYou look like you need a nightcap," Spider mutters. Vander thinks itâs ridiculous for people to call the seamstress such an intimidating name when she vehemently despises the arachnids, but it stuck and she has no choice but to embrace it. She has the courtesy of bringing her bowl of opened sunflower seeds and an empty glass to him instead of just stumbling off.
But Vander knows it isnât exactly out of the kindness of her heart.
It flatters him that she finds him attractive. Really, it does. She was a beautiful woman and a capable one too. But Vander is tired and truly, he doesnât want his rendezvous to be chattered on about everywhere. His kids didnât need to hear about any of it.
âAyeâ, that I do. Thankfully, I own a bar,â she chuckles and reaches forward to swat at his shoulder. Vander just smiles, taking her dishes and placing them elsewhere so his back is turned to her.
âItâs not good practice to drink your own stock,â Spider places her elbows on the table and Vander doesnât need to spare a glance to know her breasts are on display too. This isnât the first time sheâs done this, and most likely wonât be the last.
The song ends with a soothing croon from the singer and Vanderâs cock twitches in his pants as he spots the business card stuck between the frame of the mirror.
âYaâ sober enough to make your way back safe?â Spiderâs brows pinch and she mutters, gluing her gaze on Vanderâs face as he pulls the rag down to wipe the table. âYeah, yeah, Iâm fine.â
Vander nodded, bidding her a good night she simply replied with a wave. She was the last to leave through the front door and Vander manages to not groan in relief at the click he hears.
â Hurry! â A voice tells him.
Itâs early in the morning now, the window is closing but he canât possibly leave the bar in this state. Heâll be the one regretting it when he opens tonight. Vander imagines he mustâve looked a bit dumb as he stares at the state of the bar when Vi appears at the top of the stairs.
âWhat?â Vi tilts her head at him but gestures loosely to the tables and chairs.
âI said I can clean it, you look...tired.â
He sighs, squeezing the back of his neck. âWhatâre you doing up so early, Vi?â she shrugs which is a non-answer but pushes through the doorway and meanders behind the bar. Her head pops out and she places the iron bucket of cleaning supplies. Vander walks to her, handing her the rag as he reaches for a broom.
âVander, I can clean the place just fine,â she huffs. âAll by yerâself? Sâgonna take yaâ forever,â heâs jesting but she finds no humor in it. The girl crosses her arms as she glares up at him. A part of him wants nothing more than to dash out of here, to find that salve he desperately is aching for, but there was no way he could leave his daughter to clean up by herself just because he wanted to get his dick wet.
âDude, just go,â Vi grabs the bucket and rag and marches to the tables. He frowns a bit, crossing his arms as he contemplates it.
âYaâ couldnât sleep?â Vi shakes her head. âNope! Milo was snoring and Claggor kept moving in his sleep. Powder must be tired because sheâs sleeping through it with no problem.â Viâs always been a light sleeper. Most of the people in the underground were.
But Vander just needs to ask; âYaâ sure it wasnât the nightmares?â Vi pauses in her wiping and Vander watches her face as she sends him a pouty expression.
âYes, Iâm sure. I havenât had one of those in forever anyway â just go rest, old man. I can wipe down tables and sweep floors by myself.â
âAre you sure â â
âDude!â
The path he takes is always quiet. Hidden between tight alleyways and old wires hung too low â he rarely saw characters here other than the occasional cat or shady hooded figure but that was a normal sight anywhere.
The back of the building is less glamorous than the front but not out of neglect. It was purposefully made that way â fewer lights, fewer signs, and fewer girls spilling from the door. But he peeks up from the hood of his jacket and he sees the voyeuristicly lit windows. The shadows of bodies behind the thin curtains, the seductive glow and thrum of the others. The back door is not locked, it's just made to look that way so people feel dirtier pushing the heavy door open.
He hears a whistle and his cock honestly to god jumps at the sight of your naked shoulders. Your mask was askew, your hair messed up, and smears of lipstick on your lips, and your skin; Vander is envious of the cigarette holder you have in your grip.
When your lips wrap around it he feels the exhaustion melt away. Plumes of purple smoke pour out from your mouth; âHad a feeling youâd be cominâ over."
Vander laughs, moving to the door with his eyes still on you. âYeah? Just knew, did yaâ?â
You nod, placing your chin in your palm as he opens the door.
âYeah. My ass has been wanting a good stretch the whole day, only gets that way when youâre cominâ over.â
' Coming over ', you make it sound like heâs a teenage boy sneaking through your window. Vander says nothing as he walks in and you grin at it. His silence was good â it meant he was going to give it to you just how you wanted. You finish the cigarette and slip the curtains close.
Vander liked his privacy after all.
The hallways are familiar, but he still thinks the wallpaper is a bit too busy and the creak in the floorboards should have been fixed. Saying it out loud feels a bit shameful. After all, how often would he have to come over to recognize these things?
He passes by a doorway guarded with beaded curtains and he ignores the moans of the woman who is being devoured by another. The doorway next to it has the sounds of leather rubbing against leather so he peeks as he passes by to see it shines under the low lights.
Reaching the stairs, Vander is greeted by Sevika lip-locked with another woman. He lowered his head, hoping she was too busy fingering her to notice. At the landing, thereâs a wall of hooks, and on each of them held a mask of an animal. They differed in all sorts of sizes, and materials, each handcrafted by different artists. Customers wear them if theyâd like but it was a must for employees.
The allure, the secrecy, the seductive notion of masked strangers sucking your cock, blah blah blah.
He grabs the wolf mask, slipping it on with ease, as he climbs the rest of the stairs. He misses Sevika staring at his back with squinted eyes.
âDâyou know him?â she asks. The girl in the doe mask pants but eyes Vanderâs frame through the wooden bars of the stairs.
âHim? Oh, heâs a regular. Secretive, and never lets anyone else see his face other than the Fantastic Mr. Fox.â
That makes Sevika snort.
â(Y/N)? He only comes here for him?â She canât exactly blame the man. You were a talented little beast. Hands, mouth, feet, cunt, ass â every part of you was made with pleasure in mind. She enjoys having you in a headlock as she pounds into your asshole, enjoys your tongue inside of her and your filthy little words.
But just for you?
This pleasure house had a gaggle of beasts for him to lay with. Hairy beasts with cocks just as big as their arms who enjoy plowing and being plowed. Demure little nymphs with a talent to make people beg for their cocks to be stepped on or to cry in pleasure. Tall beasts, short beasts, catering to every need and fetish a man could have.
âThereâs a betting pool,â the Doe says. Sevika turns to face her as the masked man enters the hallway leading to your room.
âAbout?â Sevika pulls her fingers out to pull away the negligee and kneads at her small breast. She shudders, arching her back into her but continues;
âThe Wolf and The Fox. That heâs smitten, maybe even a bit obsessed.â Sevika scoffs, rolling her eyes as she pinches Doe's perk nipple between her fingers,
"Poor bastard."
"I think it's â ah â cute," Doe retorts as she squeezes Sevika's biceps. "To you maybe, a smitten customer gets you more coin," Sevika grunts out, her tone light despite it.
"Falling in love with a whore is just stupid."
"You saying you don't love me, Daddy?" Doe pouts her lips. Sevika chuckles as she lowers her head to nibble on it. "I'll love you tonight, baby. Think that'll be enough?"
The door has the symbol of your mask, painted in gold. It's ajar, a sliver of light lighting the carpeted floors and Vander rolls his shoulders as he pushes the door open.
Your room is heavy with the smell of incense. There's thudding against the walls, moans of pleasure echoing despite it being muffled. Vander's shoes make no noise. The carpets on the floor provide more than just comfort. Discretion. This room and the others on this floor are all for high-paying customers.
He closes and locks the door behind him. He reaches for his mask but your voice stops him.
"Keep it on," you push yourself off the door frame, the beads clattering softly, and Vander tits his head at your sashay. Your mask was left on the bed, leaving your face bare, and Vander cocks a brow as he looks down at you.
"One of those nights?" His hands settle on your waist. The size of them, the roughness that's felt through the silk of your robe, it makes your grin stretch wider.
"You got other ideas, Vander?" you muse.
"Was hopin' to kiss ya'," he huffs.
The grip on your ass lurches you forward further into his broad chest. Vander's eyes are heavy, the shadows attempt to hide the desire but it's futile. He's kneading, hitching you up higher until you're barely on your toes.
Head tilting, he leans in. Your head floats away, hands still gripped onto his shirt as he chases and you don't give in.
"(Y/N)," his tone suggests a warning. But it's amusing. Here you are, in his arms. His strength keeps you in place and in the air; the mask is akin to a muzzle. Except he's fully capable of taking it off if he wishes.
The fact that you asked for him to keep it on is not lost to you. Your words alone held so much power over him. You place his neck between the gap of your thumb and pointer finger, barely there pressure keeping him still despite the yearning in his eyes.
"You're exhausted, big guy. Long day, yeah?" Vander nods at your words.
"Lay down on the bed. I'll make you feel good."
He hesitates for a moment. But your feet find the floor again and he begrudgingly parts. When he walks past you, you follow behind him. He pauses when you reach for the front of his pants, looking at you from over his shoulder.
"Take off your clothes for me, baby."
Your bed is shaped in a semi-circle. The curtain around it was drawn all the way back. There's a mountain of pillows and bolsters that welcome Vander's naked frame as he settles on it.
The trail of his clothes on the floor has your silk robes accompanying you as you stand at the end of the bed.
Vander tilts his head, widening his legs and stroking his hairy thighs. Leading your eyes to the thick dick that's already at full mast.
"Damn," you whistle. The bed dipped under the weight of your knee. "I know I'm good looking but you can't be that hard from just 5 seconds of laying your eyes on me."
He can't tear his gaze from you. From the marks on your face to the state of your hair; the bare skin that he loves to bruise and mark up â despite being told by you it's not exactly encouraged â Vander is convinced you're not real sometimes.
The arcane has been long gone now. Yet, here you are. Living, breathing, proof that its remnants linger in pumping hearts and honey-sweet skin. With just your voice, you make his knees buckle and his cock strain through the material of his pants.
Just the whisper of your name has his entire day derailed as he thinks and thinks and thinks of you.
Oh, (Y/N).
You're his undoing.
Gooseflesh spread at your touch and Vander groans as you settle yourself between his legs. That haunting touch makes its way to his crotch, ghosting along his aching rod, up his soft stomach, and towards his chest. It rests there and his heart threatens to escape his ribcage. The heat from your cunt has him sighing and settling his hands on the arch of your back. It makes you chuckle.
"Please, darlin'," he begs, "I been needing you so badly. All day."
There's no way you can deny him. Not when your cock jumps at the airy tone he has, that gravelly husk that comes with it. It peeks up, just as hard as his. He can feel it drag along his own and he tightens his grip on you.
"Yeah?" You nose at his neck, trailing your painted lips down. The hairs on his chest tickle your cheek when you place your face there, breathing against his perk nipples.
"Shit, yeah. Can't you feel me?" He grows a bit bolder in his next move. Urging your hips forward so he can feel your wet folds, forcing your stiff cock to rub up. The motion makes your eyes flutter close, sighing against his pebbling nub.
"For such a big man, you're such a teddy bear," you lift your hips, lining his thick head with your needy cunt. He laughs, his masked face tilting downwards as his blue-grey eyes all but glow in excitement.
"I've been told I am a bear," his words end a moan when you slip him inside. The bowl of condoms littered just about everywhere outside this room wasnât there for decoration. They were there for the Johnâs and Janeâs who needed them.
But you know Vander. Youâve been the only thing heâs been hitting and you make sure the rest of your clients are always wrapped up.
Everything about him is thick so itâs no surprise you feel the twinge of discomfort as you accommodate to his size. It lingers briefly but once the mushroom tip of his dick is inside pleasure runs up your spine.
âOh fuck yes,â you wrap your arms around his neck and press your chest together. He instantly embraces you, adjusting his grip to your ass again so he can help you straddle his legs.
âFuck, baby. Your dick is so big,â and for once youâre not lying about it.
Vanderâs a big boy. His thick arms, square jaw, the delicious shape of his nose; his wide chest and sturdy shoulders, and his soft but firm stomach. Fuck, everything about Vander makes your head fill warm.
His dick twitches inside you as you slide down. The snout of the wooden mask bumps into your forehead and you laugh as he leans in.
âSâfuckinâ needy,â he has no protests. You reach for the bottom of the mask and push it up, blinding him but rewarding him with your lips. His beard is soft. As you feel through it, you cup his jaw and he groans into the kiss.
More of him inches inside of you and halfway down, youâre pulling away to breathe. His fingers are going to leave handprints with how roughly he holds you; flesh spilling from the gaps of his greedy digits.
âFuck, (Y/N).â
âYeah, say my name, baby.â
Vander grunts when you fix the mask into place. When you lean back, he takes in the sight of the bump on your stomach.
âPerv.â His dick twitches again. So you laugh.
âAbsolutely rotten.â
Your eyes slip close as you let gravity take over. Fuck, the way your hips buck up and twitch as he fills you up has his toes curling. Youâre dripping wet, the thick and clear liquid travelling down his balls.
âYouâre so fuckinâ hard,â he thumbs at your cock. When he uses his knuckles to stroke it, his mouth goes dry at the way it twitches and righteously stands tall.
âAll âcus of you,â you purr. Vander groans, now idly touching the bump of his dick and you sigh as he presses down on it.
âOoooh fuck, Vander.â
He rolls your hips, moving to ground his heels into the bed but you beat him to it. Your hands brace his knees and you lift up and up and up â his tip bumping into yours in the brief time itâs out of you â then slipping him all the way inside again.
Vander curses, his accent thickening as you throw his head back.
You chew on your bottom lips, savouring the explosion of pleasure behind your eyelids. As you look at his heaving chest, you cannot stop the sharp grin that crawls onto your face.
Placing one hand on his shoulder, you put your thighs to work. Vander is at your mercy. Panting and moaning behind the mask as he watches your work on his cock. Riding him, grinding down on him, using his thick dick for your pleasure.
Your other hand leads his own to a surprise.
Between your ass that he adores so much, he bucks up when he feels the base of a plug inside of your ass.
âOh, you liked that,â you moan. All high and airy as you slow down into grinding, thighs burning. Vander is tugging onto the plug and your rim stretches as he teases it in and out.
âYouâre gonna kill me one day,â he growls out.
âYouâll die happy, donât â mngh â duh-donât...Shit, Vander. Baby. Oh fuuuck.â
The exhaustion of the day has seeped out from him it seems. Heâs leaning forward, caging you between his raised knees and firm front.
In one smooth movement, your back bounces on the bed and heâs on top of you. The acoustic of the wooden mask makes him sound like an animal as he growls above you, he huffs and pants like a proper wolf.
You share a long look, even as he rocks in and out of you and you feel your heavy eyelids threaten to squeeze shut. He braces onto his elbows, his weight on you making you whine and keen.
He takes the reigns and smiles when you reach to take his mask off. It thuds onto the carpet, mere inches away from your own mask.
âHey, handsome.â You stroke over his cheekbones, gasping into his mouth as he kisses you. A particularly deep thrust makes you arch off the bed and it distracts you from his deft hands pulling out your plug.
âYour cunts got me all nice and wet,â he growls into your ear. âPerfect for fucking your ass then,â you whisper back.
âYou always know what to say, donât you?â He slips out and you whimper at the loss. Youâre not empty for long. He taps his tip onto your winking hole and you chew on the insides of your cheeks in anticipation.
âCâmon, baby. Fuck me.â
âYes, sir,â he purrs with a devillishly handsome smile.
He rights his posture, holding your ankles in one grip and folding your legs so your knees are nearly at your chest.
The stretch makes you toss your head to the side, cunt gaping as he fixates on the sight of your greedy holes.
Vander spits onto your hole and pushes in deeper. It makes you sing like a proper whore. Clutching onto the sheets while your chest heaves.
God, when he takes over like this â it makes you fantasize about how good itâd feel to wake up in his bed for once â but fantasies like that are dangerous. Vander is smarter than that, heâd know better than to bring a whore back home. Especially a whore like you.
His heavy balls slap against your ass. It knocks the breath out of you. You cry out, tears pricking your eyes when he strokes your dick. Vander splits your thighs and he holds your face with so much care you feel your heart pound our of your chest.
â(Y/N),â when he moans your name you want nothing more than to keep him here with you forever.
When he fucks up into your ass, you inch forward with every strong thrust. So he holds you down, keeping you in place as he stretches out your ass. The friction on your dick makes you even wetter. But you still hiss in discomfort as your rim clenches around him. Vander pants above you, slowing to a stop.
âLube, darlinâ?â
You nod, gesturing to the nightstand. Vander kisses you, pulling out as he turns and grabs the strawberry-scented bottle. You lay out on the bed, breathing heavily as you recompose yourself.
Vander lubes his dick up, eyeing your cunt a little too hungrily for your liking. So you knock your knees together, staring at him pointedly when he blinks innocently at you. âNo double dipping,â you warn. Vander scoffs, grinning loosely.
âI know that, boy.â
âDâyou?â
Your expression makes him snort. He parts your legs again, smearing some lube on your hole before he presses his heavy cock inside of you again.
ââCourse I do. Your cuntâs just so sexy, canât help but stare.â
âYeah? Should I call another client and make him fuck my pussy while you fuck my ass?â Youâre goading him. He realizes that. But the flash of jealousy that comes across his face is not something he can control.
Vander doesnât respond. Merely grunting as he fucks into you. You yelp at the strength heâs using, cursing as youâre dragged onto his dick. Helpless as he uses you.
âYuh - You pissed?â he glares at you but shakes his head.
âNo.â
âYer' a shitty liar.â You moan out his name as he turns you over onto your stomach, barely having time to process his movements as he pulls you onto your knees. Heâs bruising you with his grip and when he spanks your ass, you know itâll be sore till the next day. Every spank makes you tighten up around him. He presses between your shoulder blades and you are keen as he reaches deeper than before.
âMâjust joking, Vander,â you pant out. âItâs all yours, all of it â all of me.â
Vander vengeance is in his hips. An unrelenting force that turns your body into nothing but a conduit of pleasure. Your gummy walls are torn between pushing him out and keeping him in â it doesn't matter, in the end, the one with power over you was him. There's bliss in relinquishing control. It's a whisper of voices, serenading you to a high that even the strongest drugs could barely scratch.
Or maybe you were just an addict for sex â or just Vander.
No seasoned whore lets their guard down with a client. There's a degree of trust needed. It's surface level. The bond between you and Vander â there's something oddly binding about it. You've heard of the religions scattered around the world. Of monks who abstain from worldly pleasures, those who worship an entire militia of gods, and those who only believed in one Maker; they spoke with such certainty of their beliefs. The punishment and euphoria waiting for them at the end of the line.
Fucking Vander feels like religion. When he makes your body burn from the inside out with a lust only he can quench â you're doomed and there's no one to blame but yourself.
That's a lie, you bite down on the bedsheets as you feel his balls slap against your cunt and dick. There's someone to blame for putting Vander in your way, (Y/N).
"Shit, sweetheart. I'm close," Vander groans. You moan, forcing yourself to reach back so you can kiss him. Vander feels his heart hammering, reaching to pinch your cock between his fingers to distract himself from these bubbling emotions.
Loving you was a freedom he had long forgotten about. Hearing you moan out his name, digging your nails into his skin and kissing him so deeply. He aches for you â his veins burn when he even thinks he sees you in the crowd.
He loves you.
Vander murmurs something on your lips that you don't catch. But you're too far gone to acknowledge your senses. You're so close to unraveling. Teetering on that edge of bliss as Vander holds you like he wants your bodies to become moulded together like clay.
"Vander, Vander â "
He slips his fingers inside your cunt. You gasp, feeling yourself clench around him like a vice as you squirt onto his fingers and cum around his dick. Vander is close behind, growling out your name as he thrusts in balls deep and floods your ass with his thick ropes of cum.
The both of you ride off the orgasm. His hips still fucking in and out of you in shallow motions that have your breath hitching with every drag and poke. Vander slips his fingers out and brings it to your lips â you chuckle softly, letting them inside as you clean his talented digits.
"How much did you pay the madame?" You nuzzle into his neck, relying on him to hold you up. He kisses your shoulders, his beard tickling your skin as his hands roam your front.
"Long enough. You sick of me already, darling?"
Don't think that's possible, you thought with a loose grin. Vander groans into your mouth as you grab his chin and kiss him.
"Don't flatter yourself, baby."
Vander looks younger when he rests. Not like a boy again, just younger. The lines on his face were less prominent and the softness of his body was more inviting. You're tracing mindless shapes into his chest, chastising the city of Zaun for beginning its morning cycle. The noises from beyond the window are beginning to shift from the noisy nightlife of hookers calling for Johns and booming music from clubs to the food stalls opening and wagons being pulled along the worn-down roads.
You can hear the thudding of Vander's heart under your ear. It squeezes your own so you lift your head and gaze down at him, just taking him in from a new angle. The door clicks and Vander's brows pinch but he does not stir. He trusts you enough to rest. For you to keep vigil over him.
"Did you enjoy yourself?" his voice drawls like a thick caramel. A seductive purr with a certain husk that tingles your senses. The tall, lanky, man enters the room and he is shameless as he takes the both of you in.
"He paid for the whole night, not the day." Silco comments. "He gets a pass on good behavior. What do you need?" Vander's hand is carefully guided to hold one of the pillows and you carefully move to stand.
Silco takes in the sight of you. Moving forward, he grasps your chin in his hand and tilts your head back; "He's always been such a possessive man."
"Yeah? He marked you up like this too?" He regards you with a tepid glance. "Sir," you add smoothly. Giving him a half-hearted grin.
It works. Silco's eyes soften, just slightly but it's a crutch you're leaning on. He likes you more than he'd like to admit and you're beginning to feel guilty for all these emotions brewing inside of you for these two brothers-in-arms.
"Did you learn anything from tonight, (Y/N)?" Silco looks past you to Vander. Turning his voice into a whispering tone that feels more romantic than he probably intended it to.
You contemplate telling him. Pursing your lips for a second before you lean in and embrace Silco, pressing your lips up his jaw and whispering in his ear.
"He's friends with the Sheriff. Grayson. But he worries."
"About?" Silco's hands wrap around your waist, shadowing Vander's marks with his own.
"He worries about the fresh meat she has on her team. Piltover's steady now but one incident and he doubts he'll be able to keep the peace, no matter how hard Grayson tries. The children," you pause and he turns his head to look at you. You gulp thickly, then continue: "The eldest daughter, Vi, she's getting restless. Dangle bait and she'll bite."
Silco stares for a moment. You take him in, unable to stop the grin that crawls on your face as he presses a long kiss to your lips.
"Well done, (Y/N)." His praise had once been something akin to a drug to you, a high you desperately needed to keep your doubts at bay. A soothing coolness that'll keep this rage inside of you to a lukewarm temperature; the promise that Piltover will soon fall to its knees to Zaun had been your motivation to live for years now.
Yet, your chest tightens and your stomach twists as his words wash over you.
"Of course, sir."
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Gonna try and flesh out my main post today and get it kinda cleaned up. I haven't really been the best user when it comes to tumblr aesthetic, but I do wish to try.
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Armand With Dominant Male S/o pt 2
Backstory: Louis and Armand talk to Daniel about you. Armands, strange feelings and possessiveness of you is revealed. The obsession that Armand reveals for you is unsettling, Daniel can't help but wonder, what happened to you.
Authors note: heres part 2.
click here for part 1.
Tell me if you want a final part 3, which would be, sex.
My Stories are meant for the much more mature audience, 18+
The following evening, the soft hum of the dark outside was muted by the tension inside Louis and Armandâs apartment. Daniel Molloy, with his usual casual demeanor, entered the dimly lit space, clutching his laptop and a leather folder. The previous night's revelations had stirred something in him, a hunger for more information about the enigmatic [Your Name], the vampire whose existence seemed to linger between Louis and Armand like a forgotten melody.
Louis, dressed in his usual understated elegance, stood by the window, his back to Daniel while muttering a soft tune to the volin playing through the speakers.
Armand, seated at the dining table, his caramel-toned skin glowing softly under the elegant light bulb, observed Daniel with an unreadable expression. The sharp angles of Armandâs face, framed by his dark, wavy hair, gave him an ethereal presenceâhis deep brown eyes tinted with orange, so often intense and calculating, betrayed nothing.
Daniel set down his recorder and laptop on the table before opening the folder and placing it next to the recorder. He smiled awkwardly, clearing his throat as he took a seat. âIâve had some time to think about what we discussed yesterday. About [Your Name].â He let the words hang in the air, watching the way Louisâ posture stiffened slightly. Daniel slightly fixed his glasses as he stared at his computer.
Louis finally turned from the window, his dark eyes meeting Danielâs. âYes. I imagine youâve found more to ask about him.â His voice was calm, but there was an undercurrent of unease that Armand noticed, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly.
Louis took his seat beside Armand, placing Claudiaâs diary on the tableâa relic from a time long past, its pages filled with the ramblings, insights, and sometimes unsettling thoughts of a vampire trapped in a body far too young for the horrors sheâd witnessed.
Daniel glanced at the diary, flipping it open to where he had last left off. He furrowed his brow as he noticed something strange. âThis wasnât like this when I saw it last,â Daniel remarked, his voice cautious. He thumbed through the pages, stopping at a few that had clearly been repaired, the tears mended with meticulous care.
âYou repaired the pages?â Daniel asked, glancing up at Louis.
Louis sighed, his fingers trailing over the tableâs surface. âI did,â he admitted quietly. âThere were things⌠things I couldnât bear to read again.â
Armandâs gaze never left Louis, though his expression remained impassive. His voice, smooth and steady, cut through the silence. âThe pages Louis tore out pertained to [Your Name],â he revealed. His words were calm, but the tension between him and Louis was palpable.
Daniel, ever the journalist, leaned in, intrigued. âWhy rip them out? What was so important that you couldnât stand to see it?â
Louis hesitated, his eyes flickering with something Daniel couldnât quite place. He looked to Armand for a moment before speaking, his voice soft but firm. âBecause they were Claudiaâs thoughts. Her observations about me, about Armand⌠and about [Your Name].â
Armandâs fingers twitched slightly under the table, but he said nothing. Louis took a deep breath, his hand moving to rest gently on Armandâs. âShe was⌠perceptive,â Louis continued, a small, bitter smile tugging at the corners of his lips. âShe knew things about our lives that I refused to acknowledge.â
Danielâs curiosity deepened. He thumbed through a few more pages, stopping when something caught his eye. He began to read aloud, his voice filling the room with the words written by a vampire long gone.
ââArmand is unfaithful to Louis,ââ
Daniel read, his tone almost cautious, testing the waters.
âHe thinks Louis doesnât see it, but I do. I see everything. Armandâs heart may belong to Louis, but his soul (If he even has one) belongs to another. To [Your Name].ââ
The room grew still, the weight of Claudiaâs words settling like a heavy fog. Louis remained motionless, his hand still resting on Armandâs, but his grip tightened slightly.
âClaudia knew,â Daniel said softly, glancing between them. âShe saw what was happening between Armand and [Your Name], but you⌠you didnât?â
Louisâ eyes flickered, a mix of pain and resignation. âI saw it,â he finally admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. âBut I chose not to believe it. I didnât want to.â
Daniel leaned back in his chair, processing this new revelation. âSo, you were blissfully unaware. Or rather, you wanted to be.â
Armand finally spoke, his voice calm, yet with a certain edge that made Danielâs skin prickle. âLouisâ love for [Your Name] was always there, but he never acted on it. He feared losing what little he had leftâlosing me, losing Claudia. He couldnât bear the thought of ruining it.â
Louisâ jaw clenched, but he remained silent, his eyes locked on the table.
âAnd you?â Daniel asked, turning his attention fully to Armand. âYou were with Louis, but it seems [Your Name] was more than just a passing attraction for you.â Daniel said, typing away at his computer carefully.
Armandâs gaze darkened, but his voice remained steady. âI loved [Your Name]. Perhaps more deeply than Iâve ever loved anyone. He was... extraordinary. The way he saw the world, the way he moved through it. I couldnât help myself.â He glanced at Louis, his expression softening ever so slightly. âBut my love for [Your Name] didnât erase what I felt for Louis. Itâs not as simple as choosing one over the other.â
Daniel hummed thoughtfully, piecing it all together. âSo, Claudia knew, Louis knew, and yet you all carried on. Why? Why not confront it?â
Armand let out a soft laugh, but there was no humor in it. âBecause weâre vampires, Daniel. We live with our sins, with our lies, because sometimes, theyâre easier to bear than the truth.â
Louis finally broke his silence, his voice thick with emotion. âI couldnât lose them. Either of them. Not after Lestat, not after everything weâd been through.â
The silence in the room was deafening, the weight of their confessions hanging in the air.
Louis sat stiffly, his gaze unfocused as he absentmindedly rubbed his temple, his discomfort palpable. Armandâs expression was cool, his features serene, but there was a tension beneath it allâsomething simmering just beneath the surface.
Daniel, never one to let a moment of discomfort pass without prodding, leaned forward, tapping his notebook urgently. âSomething doesnât add up,â he said, his voice cutting through the thick silence. âLouis, youâve been hurt before. Hell, youâve been hurt over and over again. Lestat, Claudia...much more-- and now this? Youâre telling me youâd just stay with another lover who ends up cheating? No, thereâs more to this story.â
Louis shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his hand pressing harder against his aching forehead. His dark eyes flicked to Armand, but he said nothing. Armandâs face remained impassive, though a faint twitch in his jaw betrayed him.
âThereâs nothing else to it,â Armand said, his voice smooth but sharp, as if daring Daniel to push further. His deep brown eyes locked onto Daniel, his control over the situation tightening like a noose. Louis, under Armandâs thrall, said nothing, though his discomfort was clear in the lines of his body. The manipulation, subtle but strong, lingered in the air like a poisonous fog.
Daniel narrowed his eyes, sensing the unspoken tension between them but deciding to drop it, at least for now. He knew better than to push too hard when the truth was this fragile. âFine,â he said, leaning back in his chair, though his pen still danced across the pages of his notebook. âBut how about we delve into something else? Another story, maybe?â
Armandâs gaze flickered for a moment, but he nodded, leaning back in his chair as he spoke.
---
Armand sat with Louis on the velvet couch, his arm casually draped over Louisâ shoulder, their bond at the time seemingly unshakable. Claudia was off somewhere in the apartment, her presence as always felt but unseen.
The door opened softly, and [Your Name] walked in, his presence commanding without needing to say a word. He carried with him a drawing, carefully folded in his hands. His smoky red eyes scanned the room, as if making sure everything was as it should be.
âClaudia,â [Your Name] called softly, his voice melodic and rich.
Claudia appeared, her curls framing her face as she walked over with cautious curiosity. âWhat is it?â she asked, her voice tinged with suspicion, as it often was with gifts. But her suspicion melted away as [Your Name] handed her the portrait.
It was an abstract piece, hauntingly beautiful in its strange shapes and shadows, capturing the essence of Claudiaâs form without exaggerating her youthful body. It was something more than a reflectionâit was a tribute. Despite her usual aversion to seeing herself represented in any way, Claudia nearly jumped with joy, her eyes wide as she looked at the drawing, her face lighting up in a way it rarely did.
âIt's... beautiful,â Claudia whispered, holding the drawing with a reverence that was almost foreign to her. She rushed over to Armand and Louis, showing it to them like a prize she had won. âLook! Look what he made!â Louis haden't seen her this happy in a while.
Armand, always composed, looked at the drawing and was struck by the raw, unsettling beauty of it. But what truly shocked him was the man who stood before him, the artist who had created such a masterpiece. [Your Name]. His smoky red eyes were focused, his sharp jaw moving slightly as he waited for their reactions.
For a brief moment, Armand was speechless, his deep brown eyes locked onto [Your Name]. He hadnât expected this. He hadnât expected Louis and Claudia to be acquainted with him, let alone so close to him. The intensity of Armandâs gaze was not lost on Louis, who noticed but chose to ignore it, as he often did when it came to things he wasnât ready to confront.
âBeautiful work,â Armand finally said, his voice steady but laden with something deeper. Something obsessive.
The drawing was passed between them, admired for its haunting quality, but the true exchange of power in the room went unnoticed. Claudiaâs joy, Louisâ quiet acknowledgment, and Armandâs growing fascination with [Your Name] were now intertwined, even if none of them realized it at the time.
---
The flashback faded, and the dim light of the apartment settled once again. Daniel, now intrigued more than ever, reached into his folder and pulled out something worn and faded. He gently placed it on the table, his fingers brushing against the fragile edges.
It was a drawingâClaudiaâs portrait, old and worn with time but still visible, the haunting beauty still intact despite the years. Danielâs eyes were sharp as he looked from the drawing to Armand and Louis. âIs this the one?â he asked, his voice low but intense.
Armandâs eyes widened slightly, his carefully composed facade cracking ever so slightly. Louis, too, looked genuinely shocked, his fingers tracing the edges of the worn paper. They had never expected to see it againâcertainly not after all this time.
âI thought it had been destroyed,â Louis murmured, his voice filled with disbelief. Armand said nothing, his gaze locked onto the drawing as if seeing a ghost from his past.
Daniel, sensing their astonishment, leaned forward. âI picked it up at a pricey bargain,â he said with a slight smile, tapping the paper gently. âBut Iâd say it was worth it.â
Armandâs eyes narrowed, his gaze shifting to the worn-out signature at the bottom of the page. It was faint, nearly burnt out, but it was unmistakable. The signature of [Your Name].
Once it had seemed like a good more hour of talking, Daniel closed his laptop and called it a night.
After Daniel left the apartment, the door closing with a quiet click, the tension that had filled the room seemed to dissolve. Louis remained seated at the table, his thoughts lost in the past, when he felt a gentle brush of lips against his cheek. Armand stood over him, his touch tender, his expression soft but unreadable.
"Iâll return soon," Armand murmured, his voice low and comforting. Louis smiled faintly, his gaze following Armand as he made his way out of the room. He trusted Armand, as he always had, but there was a part of him that couldnât shake the feeling of something... unsaid.
Armandâs steps were silent as he glided down the hallway, his destination clear in his mind. He passed through the grand archways of the apartment until he reached the library, where one of the blood donorsâan obedient mortal, carefully chosenâwaited silently. With a simple motion of his hand, Armand beckoned the man to follow him.
The two entered the library, the scent of old books and polished wood lingering in the air. Armand walked with purpose, his fingers grazing the spines of the countless volumes that lined the shelves. He spoke softly to the donor, his tone gentle yet commanding. "Your sacrifice is greatly appreciated," he said, his deep brown eyes not once meeting the manâs gaze. "Your family will receive the funds after this transaction, as promised."
The donor nodded, wordless but obedient, as Armandâs hand stopped on a particular book. He didnât pull it out as one might expect. Instead, the book shifted slightly, triggering the mechanism of a hidden passageway. The library wall creaked open, revealing a narrow staircase that spiraled downwards into the shadows.
Armand descended the steps, the air growing cooler as they went deeper. The donor followed closely behind, his breath quickening with fear and anticipation. As they reached the bottom, the dim light illuminated a grand architectural room. The space was unlike anything else in the apartment, filled with the artistry of centuries. Paintings adorned the walls, handmade poems scattered across a nearby table, their words haunting and timeless. Sculptures, each more breathtaking than the last, were placed with precision and care. Vines hung from the columns, giving the space a Greek and Roman aestheticâa temple for a forgotten god.
At the center of the room, bound in silver cuffs that attached to long, heavily restricted chains, was [Your Name]. His presence filled the room as much as the artwork surrounding him. Armand's steps slowed as he approached, a soft smile pulling at his lips. His voice, as smooth as silk, echoed gently through the space.
âHello, my love,â Armand cooed, his dark eyes never leaving [Your Name]âs form. âI wouldnât have needed to do this if you hadnât tried to escape.â His smile was sweet, but there was a sinister undertone to his words. The chains clinked softly as [Your Name] shifted, his hands still busy working on a sculpture. He didnât look at Armand immediately, his focus still on the statue he had been creating, the marble coming to life beneath his skilled hands.
But when [Your Name] finally turned his head to meet Armandâs gaze, the room seemed to still. Armand, with the speed of a striking serpent, vamp-sped toward him, his lips brushing against [Your Name]âs in a kiss that was both possessive and tender. There was a softness in Armandâs touch, but also the undeniable reminder of who held the power.
âIâve brought you food,â Armand whispered against [Your Name]âs lips, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he pulled back slightly. His eyes flicked toward the donor, who stood silently by the doorway, his fate already sealed. âItâs been too long since youâve fed properly.â
The donorâs heart raced, his breath coming in shallow gasps as he realized what he was. Not a sacrifice for his family, but a meal.
[Your Name] looked at the donor briefly, but his focus returned to Armand, their connection fraught with tension. The chains that bound him were a constant reminder of the twisted love that had brought them to this moment. Armandâs obsession was more than simple infatuationâit was possession, a need that consumed him as much as the hunger he had for blood.
Armand brushed a hand across [Your Name]âs face, his thumb grazing the corner of his mouth. âYou wonât try to escape again, will you?â His voice was soft, almost gentle, but there was no mistaking the threat behind the question.
"I don't think fondly of being starved again, escaping sounds tempting, but I...doubt I could ever escape you." Your voiced hummed out, putting your sculpture tools down, as your lips connected with Armands, this time you taking the lead.
"I"m famished."
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I came across the yautja raised by humans trope and I canât stop thinking about it? Like yautja reader being raised on a ranch and now (~60 years later) takes care of the animals around their land before coming across another adult yautja on the hunt. Just bump into each other in the middle of the night and stare at each other in silence. You, wearing chaps and a wild rag, while heâs fully decked out in armor and weapons. VERY different first thoughts on each other.
You, stressing out because he killed the mountain lions in the area which means the ecosystem is now FUCKEDâ˘:
The hunter, livestreaming this to the ship for the homies bc heâs never seen a cowboy yautja before:
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ghost of you â geto suguru.
In his dreams, he would see you adorned in your Jujutsu uniform, the epitome of elegance and grace as you moved with a fluidity that mesmerized all who beheld you. Each time, itâs like that day he met you, Shoko and Satoru all over again. How kindly you smiled at him. Greeting him with every sense of wonder. Nothing could compare to the way your face lit up with a radiant glow whenever you caught sight of him and Satoru, your eyes alight with an adoration that spoke volumes of the love you held for them both. The adoring gazes of those who surrounded you, drawn to the magnetic allure of your presence, only served to amplify the aura of warmth and joy that surrounded you wherever you went.
GENRE: Hidden Inventory Arc - JJK 0, 2006/2007 - 2017;
WARNING/s: Angst, Romance, Pining, Grief, Mourning, Death, Depiction of Trauma, Depiction of Death, Depiction of Grief, Depiction of Blood, Depiction of Corpses, Depiction of Injury, Depiction of Curses, Depiction of Dreams and Nightmares, Reminiscing, Language;
masterlist
listen: ghost of you by my chemical romance
note: this is how im dealing with my failings in class. im sick too but i wanted to cry, so i wrote this!!! ramadan mubarak to those celebrating!!! i love you all!!!
HE THINKS THAT HEâS ABOUT TO LOSE HIS MIND. Night after night, Geto Suguru found himself ensnared in the clutches of a restless sleep, his subconscious a battleground where turmoil reigned supreme. Sleep, once a sanctuary from the trials of the waking world, had become a rare and fleeting commodity for him. Each night, he descended into the depths of slumber with a weariness that weighed heavily on his weary soul.
But even in the refuge of sleep, there was no respite from the torment that plagued his restless mind. As he drifted into the realm of dreams, he was met with a relentless onslaught of visions that offered no solace, no reprieve. The awakening, when it inevitably came, was always abrupt, tearing him away from the illusory tranquility of his dreams with a merciless force.
With each night that passed, Suguru's weary eyes would flutter open, revealing puffy lids stained with the remnants of tears shed in the throes of sleep. The contrast between the serenity of his dreams and the harsh reality of his waking world was stark, a cruel reminder of the tumultuous nature of his existence.
His heart, a relentless drumbeat in the silence of the night, served as a constant reminder of the vivid images that lingered in his mind long after the dream had dissipated. The dreams felt real, tangible, as if he could reach out and touch the ephemeral figures that inhabited them. And you, in particular, felt more real than ever before, a spectral presence that haunted his every thought.
In his dreams, you were within his grasp, your presence a beacon of warmth and vitality that seemed to defy the confines of mortality. Your smile, so vibrant and alive, illuminated the darkness of his subconscious with a radiance that pierced through the shadows of his restless mind.
But alongside the fleeting moments of solace came the nightmarish visions that haunted him without fail. The memory of Toji Fushiguro, the man who had wrought untold devastation upon your life, upon his life, lingered like a malevolent specter in the recesses of his mind. It was that man that had robbed him of life. The image of Toji's vicious gaze as he looked upon your lifeless form, a cruel reminder of the brutality of fate, haunted Suguru's dreams with an unrelenting intensity.
He called your name over and over.
He watched you turn your back at him.
Each time, his heart seeps with horror.
âSuguru, get out!â You rush from the entrance, getting his attention. His eyes blinked before he could even react. He looks at you, with your disheveled look, exhausted from keeping the entrance safe. âNow!â
Your desperate cry pierced through the chaos, urging him to run, to escape the impending danger. But he was frozen in place, his muscles refusing to respond to the command of his racing mind.
He could see the determination etched into your features as you rushed towards the young girl, summoning your own cursed creatures in a futile attempt to protect her. But in the face of the Sorcerer Killer's relentless speed, your efforts seemed futile.
Time slowed to a crawl as Suguru's heart pounded against his chest, each beat echoing the terror and helplessness consuming him. He screamed your name, reaching out to you with a desperation he had never known before. But his movements were sluggish, as if he were trapped in a nightmare from which he couldn't wake.
Amanai Riko's screams echoed in the air as you wrapped your arms around her, shielding her from the impending danger. Suguru's breath caught in his throat as he watched in horror, knowing that he was powerless to stop the inevitable.
The sound of gunfire shattered the silence, the bullets tearing through the air with deadly precision. Two shots rang out, each one a death knell that reverberated through Suguru's soul.
Blood sprayed into the air, painting a macabre tableau of violence and despair. Your body convulsed as the bullets found their mark, your once-vibrant eyes now vacant and lifeless. You choked on your own blood, your ghostly visage haunting Suguru's nightmares for years to come.
Even in your final moments, you clung to Riko, offering what little comfort you could in the face of such senseless brutality. But it was a futile gesture, as both your bodies crumpled to the ground, lifeless and broken, a stark reminder of the cruel reality of their world.
âOkay, jobâs done.â The dark haired man retorts, walking towards Suguru with a nonchalant look on his face. Nothing made him more angry, he thinks. Nothing in him was more devoid of life than in that moment.Â
He stares at both of you and Riko.
He takes a breath.Â
He turns to the man.
âWhy are you here?â was all he could muster out of him, his dark purple pupils dilated in bitter anguish as you laid there, lifeless, the girl you were so desperate to protect, still wrapped around your cold, blood arms.Â
âOh, that.â The man grinned back at him, scratching his head with his armed hand. âThatâs simple. Because I killed Gojo Satoru.â
He wasnât sure what else to do.Â
His rainbow dragon summoned.
His cursed energy bursted out of him.
His glare was pulsing with hatred.
âI see.â He says ever so bitterly, coldly. âThen die!â
Each dream began with your warmth enveloping him, igniting a fire within his soul that burned with a fervor unmatched by anything in the waking world. Your vibrant presence, etched into the very fabric of his being, illuminated the darkness of his subconscious with a radiance that defied the confines of mortality. Every detail of your existence was etched into his memory with an indelible permanence, a testament to the profound impact you had on his life.
In his dreams, he would see you adorned in your Jujutsu uniform, the epitome of elegance and grace as you moved with a fluidity that mesmerized all who beheld you. Each time, itâs like that day he met you, Shoko and Satoru all over again. How kindly you smiled at him. Greeting him with every sense of wonder.
Nothing could compare to the way your face lit up with a radiant glow whenever you caught sight of him and Satoru, your eyes alight with an adoration that spoke volumes of the love you held for them both. The adoring gazes of those who surrounded you, drawn to the magnetic allure of your presence, only served to amplify the aura of warmth and joy that surrounded you wherever you went.
You had a gift, a rare ability to make everyone around you feel like life was worth living, each and every time you graced them with your presence. You breathed life into every room you entered, infusing it with a sense of vitality and purpose that was as intoxicating as it was irresistible. And to Suguru, you were the embodiment of that beauty, a vision of unparalleled grace and elegance that left him breathless with longing.
But beneath the surface of this idyllic tableau of love and adoration lay a deep well of sorrow and longing that threatened to engulf Suguru's fragile heart. Because every dream ended with the same way. His guilt eating up and him. Every dream ended with you losing your life, with him losing you. And him, being too slow, too useless, too careless. The pain in his chest was palpable as he watched you over and over, knowing that you were no longer his to cherish. You haunted him, continually.
But he wouldnât have it any other way.
Because you werenât here with him.
All he could do was let him be haunted.
All he could do was let himself mourn.
All he could do was see the ghost of you.
HE DIDNâT REALIZE THAT HE HAD CURSED YOU. In the depths of Suguru's heart, a relentless denial gripped him with an iron fist, refusing to accept the crushing reality of your absence. He couldn't comprehend how he managed to carry on, nor could he grasp the reason behind his persistent refusal to acknowledge the truth. Yet, in the recesses of his soul, he harbored an unwavering certainty that you were still with him, your presence lingering like an indelible imprint on his consciousness.
The mere thought of your demise was inconceivable to Suguru, a notion he vehemently rejected with every fiber of his being. Even as he cradled your lifeless form in his arms, the weight of your absence pressing down on him like an insurmountable burden, he couldn't fathom a world without you breathing, without your laughter filling the air.
The memory of that fateful moment, when the sound of clapping mingled with the echo of your blood staining the pavement, haunted him relentlessly. It was a nightmare he couldn't escape, a grim reality that overshadowed every waking moment, gnawing at the edges of his sanity.
Even when he stood before Satoru, who held the lifeless body of Amanai Riko in his arms, the juxtaposition of death and despair surrounding them like a shroud, Suguru's mind rebelled against the notion of your absence. The image of your mangled face, revealed to Shoko as she trembled with unspoken grief, pierced Suguru's soul like a dagger, a stark reminder of the cruel fate that had torn you away from him.
But amidst the suffocating grip of denial, there lingered a beacon of solace â the memory of the day before, when both of you stood by the sea, basking in the warmth of each other's company. That precious moment played on an endless loop in Suguru's mind, a sanctuary of peace amidst the chaos of his shattered reality, a reminder of the love and joy you brought into his life.
In the tumultuous depths of his soul, Suguru clung to that memory with unwavering resolve, refusing to let go of the hope that one day, somehow, you would return to him, breathing life back into his shattered world.
That serene afternoon spent in your company felt like an eternity, a timeless moment etched into Suguru's memory. He could still recall the sensation of the sun's warmth enveloping his skin as he lay with his head nestled in your lap, the rhythmic motion of your fingers gently combing through his hair like a soothing melody.
The gentle caress of the wind against the backdrop of the sea created a symphony of tranquility, a scene of unparalleled beauty that seemed to exist outside of time itself. In that moment, there was no past or future, only the present, filled with the warmth of your love.
"You know," You teased, your playful grin lighting up your features, "You're lucky I'm not like Satoru. Otherwise, I might just shave your head when you fall asleep like this."
Suguru chuckled, his eyes still closed as he basked in the comfort of your presence. "You wouldn't dare. You love my hair too much."
Your laughter was like a sweet melody, a harmonious blend of joy and affection that resonated in Suguru's soul. "You caught me," You admitted, your fingers continuing their gentle movements through his hair. "I couldn't bear to part with those luscious locks of yours."
âHm, it's why I maintain it for you.â
âLiar, you maintain it for yourself.â You retorted back at him, teasingly. âWell, other than that, for your boyfriend, Satoru.â
Opening his eyes, Suguru met your gaze, captivated by the love and warmth that radiated from your eyes. "You're one of a kind, my love," he murmured softly, reaching up to intertwined his fingers with yours. His chest rambling with laughter. âSatoru wouldnât oppose those words, I like to think.â
You grinned back at him. âNo, heâd be very flattered.â
He smiled, squeezing your palm. âToo bad you already captured me, my love.â
"And you're stuck with me," You replied with a mischievous grin, gently squeezing his hand. "For better or for worse."
"And for bitter or for worse, too," Suguru vowed solemnly, his voice filled with unwavering determination. âYou and me.â
Your laughter echoed in the air, a symphony of happiness that danced around them. "That's a promise, hm?"
"It is!" Suguru affirmed, a smile spreading across his face as he felt a surge of warmth fill his heart. In that moment, surrounded by the warmth of your love and the echo of your laughter, he knew that heâd fall in love with you, over and over again.
In the aftermath of the tragedy that had torn you away from him, Suguru clung to your lifeless body with a tenacity born of desperation. He couldn't bear the thought of surrendering you to the authorities, not even to Shoko, who trembled with sorrow as she stood before him, her eyes filled with unspoken grief.
Instead, Suguru laid your body down gently on your dorm bed, heedless of the blood stains that marred the once-peaceful sanctuary where you had shared countless intimate moments together. "You belong here," he murmured softly, his voice choked with emotion, "Safe and far from harm."
For days, Suguru remained by your side, tending to your lifeless form with a tenderness that belied the anguish raging within him. "I'll take care of you," he whispered, his fingers tracing the contours of your face as if trying to etch your features into his memory forever.
As Satoru arrived, his usually jovial demeanor replaced with a heavy cloak of grief, Suguru's facade of stoicism cracked under the weight of his anguish. His heart, already battered and bruised, seemed to shatter into a million pieces as he watched Yaga and Shoko carry your lifeless body away, leaving him alone with the echo of his torment.
"How could you let this happen?" Suguru's voice rang out, filled with a rawness that cut through the air like a knife. Each word was laced with a pain so profound that it seemed to reverberate through the room, echoing the depths of his despair.
Satoru's response was a whispered apology, his voice heavy with guilt and sorrow. The weight of his words hung in the air like a tangible presence, a silent acknowledgment of the mistakes made and the lives lost as a result.
âSuguru,â Satoru began, his voice barely above a whisper, his eyes reflecting a myriad of complex emotions. But amidst the sorrow and regret, Suguru could see the unmistakable glimmer of guilt that lingered in his best friend's gaze. It was a guilt that cut deeper than any blade, a burden that Satoru carried with him like a heavy chain around his neck.
The apology hung in the air, a fragile thread that seemed to stretch and strain under the weight of their shared grief. Suguru's heart ached with the weight of it all, the pain of loss and betrayal mingling together in a tumultuous storm of emotions.
In that moment, as they stood amidst the wreckage of their shattered lives, Suguru realized that forgiveness would not come easy. The wounds were too fresh, the pain too raw. But buried beneath the layers of grief and anger, there remained a glimmer of hope â a flicker of light in the darkness that threatened to consume them both.
Satoru's shoulders sagged under the weight of Suguru's accusation, his usual confidence crumbling in the face of his friend's anguish. "I... I don't know, Suguru," he admitted, his voice wavering with emotion. "I thought we had everything under control. I never imagined..."
Suguru's gaze bore into him, a mix of disbelief and sorrow etched into his features. "You never imagined?" he repeated, his voice hollow with pain. "You promised me you'd keep my love safe, Satoru. You promised."
Gojo Satoru's eyes mirrored the grief that threatened to consume Suguru. "I know," he whispered, his voice choked with sorrow. "I know, and I'm sorry. I never meant for any of this to happen. I would give anything to go back and change it, Suguru. Anything."
The room fell silent, the weight of their words hanging heavy in the air like a thick fog. Suguru's heart ached with a longing for the past, for a time when you were still alive and everything felt right in the world. âApologies....it wouldn't bring Riko-chan....it wouldn't bring my love back. It wouldnât bring them back.â
âI know.â His best friend responded back to him, his eyes lowering down to the pavement. âI know.â
He just let Suguru cry.
And he just held him.
But he knew it wasnât enough.
It would never be enough.
As the days turned into weeks, the weight of grief and loss pressed down on Geto Suguru like an unrelenting force of nature. Surrounded by the very space that bore witness to a lifetime of shared memories between him and you, Suguru found himself drowning in bitterness and despair.
But his anguish only deepened when he discovered the truth â that your death, and the death of Amanai Riko, had been in vain. The realization that your sacrifices had been rendered meaningless, that another Star Plasma Vessel existed and remained to be found, fueled the flames of his anger and resentment.
Your deaths were not just tragedies; they were senseless, cruel acts of fate that left Suguru grappling with the unbearable weight of injustice. The quiet anger that simmered beneath his grief now boiled over, consuming him with a fiery intensity that threatened to consume everything in its path.
He was angry â angry at the world, angry at fate, angry at himself for not being able to protect you. He was bitter â bitter at the cruel twist of fate that robbed him of a future with you, bitter at the injustice of a world that could take away something so precious with such callous disregard.
In the midst of his despair, Suguru found himself grappling with a profound sense of loss â not just the loss of you, but the loss of the life they could have had together. It was a wound that cut deep, leaving him scarred and broken, forever haunted by the specter of what could have been.
"I can't do this without you," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, as he traced the outline of your bed with trembling fingers.
Amidst the suffocating darkness that threatened to consume him, Suguru clung to a memory that flickered like a solitary flame in the blackness of his despair. It was a memory of a night shrouded in chaos and bloodshed, a night when he had unleashed the full force of his cursed power upon a village that dared to defy him.
In the midst of the carnage, as screams echoed through the air and flames licked at the sky, Suguru found himself face to face with a man brandishing a dull blade, his eyes filled with a murderous rage. It was a scene straight out of his nightmares, a reminder of the violence and destruction that had become his reality.
But then, amidst the chaos and despair, he saw you â a specter of the past, with eyes as cold and dead as the winter night itself. In that fleeting moment of recognition, Suguru reached out to you, his hand trembling with a desperation he could not conceal.
"I need you," he whispered into the void, his voice thick with emotion. In that moment, he realized that even in death, you would always be there to defend him, to stand by his side through the darkest of times.
In the depths of his despair, Suguru's mind replayed the events of that fateful night with agonizing clarity. The memory of your sudden appearance, like a specter from the past, haunted him relentlessly, its impact both comforting and terrifying in equal measure.
As the man raised his blade, a glint of malice in his eyes, Suguru watched in stunned disbelief as you intervened, your ethereal form moving with an otherworldly grace. Tears streamed down your face, a silent testament to the grief and anguish that engulfed you both.
In that fleeting moment, as your cold hand met his trembling one, Suguru was overcome by a torrent of emotions â grief, longing, and a profound sense of loss. But amidst the chaos and turmoil, there was also a glimmer of hope â a belief that even in death, your presence would guide him through the darkness, offering solace and strength in the face of unimaginable hardship.
You couldnât speak, your voice silenced by the cruel hand of fate. Yet in that moment, words were unnecessary. Your mere presence was enough to soothe Suguru's tormented soul, offering him a lifeline amidst the darkness that threatened to consume him.
Because you were here, tangible and real, your touch and gaze a balm to his wounded spirit. In that moment, nothing else mattered â not the burning village, nor the screams of the innocent, nor the sorrow that engulfed them both. Only you, alive and with him, mattered.
"Welcome home, my love," Suguru whispered to you, his voice barely above a whisper, his touch gentle as he brushed your hair out of your face. In that moment, surrounded by the remnants of their shared past, Suguru found solace in the simple act of being with you, his anchor in a sea of chaos and despair.
He regretted nothing.
Not this moment.
No, not even you.
Never you.
HE HAD NO REGRETS, NOT EVEN BY THE END.You watched from the shadows, your ethereal presence a silent observer in the midst of the unfolding drama. Suguru had never wanted you near the battle. He had kept you out of it. But he supposed, as you dwelled through the walls, familiar to the cursed echoes of your mindâyou were just returning home.The moon hung low in the sky, its pale light casting long shadows over the desolate landscape. As the first rays of dawn began to paint the horizon with streaks of gold and orange, the world seemed to hold its breath in anticipation.
Your eyes, cold and ghostly, flickered with an otherworldly intensity as you surveyed the scene before you. Two figures stood facing each other amidst the quiet stillness of the night â one bathed in the soft glow of the moon, the other shrouded in the darkness of the shadows. Geto Suguru leaned against the familiar wall, his form hunched over in pain as he clutched his armless shoulder, blood seeping through his fingers in a steady stream. Despite the agony etched into his features, he remained steadfast, his resolve unyielding even in the face of death.
You blinked, your expression inscrutable as you watched Suguru's suffering unfold before you. There was a sense of detachment in your gaze, as if you were merely a spectator to the tragic spectacle playing out before you. The sun began to lower, its golden rays piercing through the darkness with a gentle warmth that belied the chaos of the moment. The world seemed to slowly descend to the slumber, the birds flying past as they chased against the shadows eating away into darkness.
And yet, amidst the beauty of that blue hour, there was an undeniable sense of foreboding in the air. This was not how he was expecting to go, but he supposed he had no other way but to live through it, with what he had left. The silent standoff between the two figures spoke volumes, a silent testament to the turmoil and conflict that raged within their hearts.
You stood silently, your presence a silent sentinel amidst the chaos, your eyes never wavering from the scene unfolding before you. As Suguru and the other figure faced each other in a silent battle of wills, you remained a silent witness to the unfolding drama, your ghostly eyes reflecting the weight of the world on your shoulders.
"You're late, Satoru," Suguru let out a voice tinged with resignation and a hint of bitterness.
Satoru Gojo stood before them, a towering figure even in the midst of turmoil, his usual blindfold gone to reveal the intensity of his gaze. His eyes, unobscured by the fabric that usually concealed them, bore into Suguru and the ethereal figure standing beside him, a silent testament to the gravity of the situation unfolding before them.
As Suguru and Satoru faced each other, a silent exchange passed between them, Satoru's expression remained stoic yet filled with an unspoken sorrow. It had been so long since he had last seen the figure beside Suguru, and this was not the reunion he had envisioned. But there was no surprise in his gaze, no hint of shock at the sight before him. He had long ago come to accept the unexpected twists and turns of fate, the unpredictable nature of love and loss.
Every essence of love, Satoru knew, carried with it a burden of its own â a weight that could either uplift or crush the soul. His love for Suguru, his steadfast friendship that had endured for nearly a decade, had been his anchor in the storm, the guiding light that had sustained him through even the darkest of times. And he was certain that Suguru's love for the figure beside him, ever-present yet so tragically unfulfilled, had likewise kept him tethered to this world, even as death loomed ever closer.
As Satoru turned his head to look at the figure beside Suguru, a wave of bittersweet memories washed over him. It had been too long since he had last seen you, too long since they had last stood together as allies in the fight against darkness. And now, as he gazed upon your lifeless form, he couldn't help but feel a pang of regret â regret for all the lost time, all the missed opportunities, and all the words left unspoken. You were chained to this life, out of love. And you probably knew that too well.Â
Amidst the sorrow and regret, there remained a glimmer of hope â a belief that even in death, their love would endure, a beacon of light in the darkness that threatened to consume them all. Yet he wouldnât want it to continue. This was already a nightmare. These moments were already haunting ghosts. And as Satoru stood before them, his heart heavy with grief yet filled with a quiet determination, he knew that he would do whatever it took to set them free from the chains of their past, to grant them the peace and solace they so rightfully deserved.
"To think you'd be the one here at my end," Suguru replied, his voice betraying none of the turmoil swirling within him. Yet he smiled, a genuine expression of warmth and understanding that seemed to contradict the gravity of the situation.
Suguru Geto, his expression stoic and unreadable, met Satoru's gaze with a steely resolve. There was a time when closeness existed between them, a bond forged through shared experiences and unwavering trust. But now, that bond lay fractured and strained, buried beneath the weight of their conflicting ideologies and diverging paths.
"Is my family safe?" Suguru demanded, his tone tinged with a shallow breath of concern. He glanced at the figure standing beside him, your dead, cold eyes betraying a silent worry that mirrored his own. Nanako and Mimiko, the twins who had become like family to them, were undoubtedly on both your minds. Suguru knew that your concern for their safety mirrored his own, even if you couldn't voice it aloud.
Satoru nodded solemnly. "Every last one of them managed to escape," he confirmed, his voice tinged with regret. "The ones in Kyoto were under your orders, too, right?"
Suguru's lips curved into a bitter smile. "Yeah," he acknowledged. "Unlike you, I'm a kind man."
The tension between them hung heavy in the air, suffocating and palpable. Suguru broke the silence once more, his voice steady and unwavering. "You sent those two assuming that I'd defeat them, didn't you?" he questioned, his tone accusing yet tinged with resignation.
Suguru's gaze hardened, his eyes narrowing in response. "To set Okkotsu off," he whispered, his voice laced with bitter amusement. Satoru's eyes remained steadfast, reflecting the resolve of a man driven by his convictions.
"I trusted you," Satoru interjected, his voice tinged with a note of disappointment. "Trusted that a man as principled as you wouldn't kill off young sorcerers without a reason."
"Trust, huh?" Suguru mused, his smile tinged with wistfulness. He glanced at the figure beside him, your cold, dead eyes mirroring his own emotions. "I didn't think I still had any of that left⌠after everything Iâve been through."
With a resigned sigh, Suguru retrieved a small object from the folds of his clothes and extended it towards Satoru. "Return this for me, will you?" he requested, his voice tinged with finality.
Satoru accepted the object, his fingers closing around it with a sense of inevitability. "Was the elementary school your doing, too?" he asked, his voice tinged with curiosity and disbelief.
Suguru met his gaze, his expression inscrutable. "Yeah," he admitted quietly.
Their eyes met in a silent exchange of understanding and regret, the weight of their shared history hanging heavy between them. Satoru took a step forward, his gaze piercing through the darkness to meet Suguru's gaze head-on.Â
"Do you have any last words?" he inquired, his voice soft yet tinged with melancholy.
Suguru's lips twitched into a bitter smile, his gaze unfaltering. "No matter what anyone says," he began, his voice tinged with resignation. "I hate those monkeys. But I never held any hatred for those in Jujutsu High. I just couldn't wear a heartfelt smile in this world. Not afterâŚ"
He turned towards you, his expression filled with an unspoken longing and regret. You looked back at him, confusion etched into your features. But he smiled at you, urging you closer with a silent gesture.
"I hope you can forgive me," Suguru whispered to you, his hand reaching out to touch your face gently. A tear fell from your eyes, a silent acknowledgment of the pain and loss they had both endured. "And I hope you will meet me soon. The real you. Wherever this death leads me. I hope you can love me again. Like you used to.â
"You need to do it, Suguru," Satoru urged, his voice filled with a sense of sorrow. One that Suguru cannot comprehend. One that was buried for ten years. âNow.â
Suguru wiped the lone tear away, his expression solemn yet resolute. "I know."
"Suguru," Gojo Satoru called out, his voice echoing with the weight of their shared history and the unspoken promise of redemption. "We'll meet again someday, right?"
His words were a whispered prayer, a plea for forgiveness and understanding that he never thought he'd utter. Each syllable hung heavy in the air, pregnant with the weight of their past and the uncertainty of their future.
Suguru looked at him with surprise, his expression a mixture of disbelief and resignation. And then, as if released from the shackles of his own sorrow, a laugh bellowed from him, echoing through the desolate landscape like a beacon of hope amidst the darkness. He smiled at Satoru, a genuine smile that reached his eyes despite the pain and regret that lingered there.
"At least curse me a little bit, in the end," Suguru teased lowly, his voice tinged with a sense of camaraderie that belied the gravity of the moment. It was a moment of levity amidst the heaviness of their shared grief, a fleeting glimpse of the bond that had once united them in friendship and camaraderie.
And then, as if on cue, your voice pierced through the silence, your words whispered softly yet audibly into the night air. "Go...od...bye," you murmured, your lips forming the words with a sense of finality that hung heavy in the air like a shroud. It was not strangled. But rather, warm. As warm as it used to be when you were alive.Â
They both looked at you, their hearts heavy with sorrow and regret, yet filled with a quiet understanding and acceptance. Your smile, though fleeting, filled the space between them with warmth and reassurance, a silent reminder that even in death, love endures.
As your body started to fade into the ether, a silent farewell etched into the depths of your soul, Suguru reached out to them one last time. His hand extended toward Satoru, a gesture of farewell and gratitude for their shared moments of joy and sorrow. And in that fleeting moment, surrounded by the echoes of their shared past and the promise of a brighter future, they reached back, their hands intertwined in a silent vow of eternal remembrance and love.
Satoru watched as your body disappeared, wisps of what had been blowing into the wind like cherry blossoms in the summer breeze. His gaze shifted to Suguru, a bittersweet smile playing at the corners of his lips. It was a smile of contentment, of freedom finally achieved. Because he knew, deep down, that he would meet you soon. And in that moment, he felt no regrets, no sorrow, only the quiet acceptance of what was to come.
âIâll do it once,â Satoru whispered to Suguru, his voice barely above a whisper. âIâm sorry.â
Suguru's smile widened, a sense of peace washing over him as he closed his eyes. He resigned himself to his fate. âBetween you and me, Satoru,â he whispered back, his voice filled with a sense of finality. âThere was never any need for thanks or apologies. Iâm ready to go. Iâve been ready for ten years. All I want is to smile genuinely again.âÂ
And with those words hanging in the air like a silent promise, Suguru took one final breath, his spirit soaring free from the shackles of his earthly existence. He didnât need to use his powers, Satoru thinks. He was already gone. Far too gone. And as he faded into the unknown, a sense of tranquility settled over the desolate landscape, one that had ever been so familiar. So full of memories of the four of you in your blue summer. It was now his turn, he supposed. To live with the ghosts of you and Suguru, for as long as he lives.Â
As Geto Suguru's spirit faded into the unknown, Gojo Satoru stood in the quiet stillness of the brisk sunset turning deeply into the darkened night. He stood before his best friendâs body, letting a sense of peace settle over him like a comforting embrace. He watched as Suguru's essence dissipated into the ether, a gentle smile gracing his lips as he whispered a silent farewell to his dear friend.
In the moments that followed, Gojo Satoru felt a profound sense of closure wash over him, a weight lifted from his weary soul. For so long, he had carried the burden of their shared past, the guilt and regret weighing heavily on his heart. But now, as Suguru's spirit ascended to a higher plane, he knew that their journey together had come to an end. And now Suguru's journey began. You both were together now, thatâs what he hoped for. Suguru was smiling beside you. That you both were waiting for him and Shoko. Thatâs what he wants to believe.
As the last traces of Suguru's presence faded from the air, Satoru closed his eyes, allowing himself to bask in the quiet tranquility of the night. In that moment, he felt a sense of gratitude for the time they had shared, for the laughter and tears, the joy and sorrow that had defined their friendship.
The tears fell from blue eyes easily.
He choked on his sobs, his head down.
It was never going to be easy for him.
He had to move forward, all he could do.
He had to live, for you and Suguru.
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BRO I LOVED THE SIZE KINK YOU WROTE BASED OFF OF MY POSTđŠđđ literally been constantly reading it iâm so obsessed. I literally have so many mlm ideas from angst to nsfw so I can spam your inbox if you want (or dmâs if you wanna be moots)đâ
BUT LIKE- imagine male reader soldier x male yautja where the reader had been off radar for a few months with their mate worrying only for the reader to return with new scars and a mechanical arm because he lost his real one during warđŠ
And then on god the yautja would be pissed asf because he was worried the reader was dead đâ
Return to Him
Pairing: Mai'tuiudh (Male Yautja) x Male Reader
Word Count: 2063
Summary: Four months isn't a long time to be away from home. Yet, everything that has occured during that time made it seem like years. Years since you last saw Mai, your beloved. You wished to see him, to ensure to him you were alright. Just a bit beaten up and newly scarred. This Yautja isn't liking the unfamiliar feeling of worry. That doesn't stop him from feeling that way. Nothing would.
Author Note: This one made me think a bit. I'm not used to these kinds of requests or prompts, not complaining though! Loving the prompts! Also, to those who requested something. It's going to take a little bit to get to those. Christmas time is very busy. I have three families to visit and my brother came into town after moving away four months ago.
I'm so glad you enjoyed that! I was a little worried since it was out of my knowledge. You can do whatever you want. I don't mind being mutuals. I will let you know that I'm bad a responding though, lol. I'm up to anything you want within reason, of course! Throw them at me.
Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!
Masterlist
Ao3
A ding behind him made the Yautja whip around in his chair to find a disappointing screen. Mai snarled lowly to himself and banged a fist against the armrest. He had set up a diagnostic to search through your governmentâs database for anything on you. It came up empty handed, nothing new about your location.
He felt his spine bristle at the thought. Where were you? A few buttons were harshly pressed on his dashboard. The ship you sometimes called home hummed louder before changing directions. Mai abruptly stood up and marched out of the room.
If your government doesnât know where you were then, he was going to search for you personally. Earth may be large, though not as massive as Yautja Prime, that wouldnât stop him. This Yautja wasnât going to coward away at a challenge. It was in his blood to hunt. Thatâs what made him, well, him. He was a fighter and would never think about backing down from a challenge.
Though, it would take time to reach earth without eating up his low fuel reserves. To hide away from detection from your governmentâs space program, he flew into Neptuneâs gravitational pull. His ship was pulled in and forced to orbit. Mai had to play smart, be a hunter without distraction. Thatâs the only way he would be able to find you without getting caught. That would ruin the double life you live. One Maiâtuiudh will never understand. The Yautja shook his head, tresses swaying as he passed through the short hall to the sparing room.
To pass the time, Maiâs going to work off some pent-up steam. Your time away from the brute has caused some unnecessary stress on his weary bones. He needed to relieve himself of it.
His muscles rippled, fist meeting reenforced leather. Maiâs mandibles pulled close. A hunterâs focus craved into his face. Eyes keen and moves precise. The hit was probably harsher than it needed to be against an unalive object. Yet, Maiâtuiudh didnât care. If thatâs what helped relieve the stress within his bones. Then, thatâs what needed to be done. He needs to a take stop at his mother ship anyhow for supplies and whatnot. Check in so no one thinks heâs dead.
That would mean heâll have to leave for about two weeks. Space travel wasnât always the quickest, especially with low reserves. Plus, Mai will be forced to make rounds around the ship. He may not be an important figure; it was customary to check in hunting brothers and sisters. Find out whoâs dead and who lives. Everything that makeâs living as a Yautja, Yautja.
.
When your feet hit dry, dusty soil, you cringed. Dust from the vehicles stopping behind you blew over to you. It forced you to close your eyes and hope for its quick pass.
Once it had left, you carefully made your way to the back of the unsuspecting black SUV. The driver was swift to hop out, scrambling after you. âSir! I can-can get th-hat for you,â the rookie stated and attempted to move past you. Your uninjured arm shot out and stopped him taking another step.
Without a single sound, you stepped up to the tailgate and simply opened it. The rookie shifted his weight frequently and arms straight at his side. His eyes were on you though, flickering all over the place on the view before him.
On the other hand, you slung the mildly heavy bag on your shoulder. It pulled at the muscles on your other⌠arm. Your face scrunched up at the sudden pain but not a noise made it past your lips. Years of training and all make a fine soldier. You just got to beat the human out of him.
The rookie stood there, eyes watching as your tired, used body limbed past him. One of his arms hesitantly reached to grasp at you but one side stepped easily dodged the rookie. He just stared at your leaving form, gaze dipping down at the unmatched color on your right hand. Then they were locked onto the back of your camouflaged jacket molded to your shape.
Your apartmentâs door slammed heavy behind you, the noise causing you no disturbance. Even the headache swallowing you barely increased at the sound. Instead, you let your bag slide off of your shoulder and on the ground. It made a soft noise, the only one in your quiet apartment.
It hadnât been that long since youâve last stepped foot in here. Not longer than four months. Yet, with all that has occurred within that time frame, it felt like years.
One thing after another happened out there, facing the enemies your country makes you fight. The demons. All for what? Losing amazing people or causing unnecessary trauma and bodily harm on the soldiers that defend this nation. You sighed, shoulders sagging before shuffling into your room and flicked on the light.
Nothing had been moved. Light dust had settled on everything you owned. The room was still in the state as long before. Clothes thrown haphazardly on the floor; bed unmade; empty glass of water on your nightstand; one curtain open will the other was drawn to the halfway point.
Wait a minute. You rubbed at your eyes with an uninjured fist. The bed. It was in a different position than you last remember. What you remembered was the long body pillow was across the top of the bed, against the headboard. It had been moved to be parallel with the long part of the bed. At first, you were on verge of freaking out. Your brain taking a few extra seconds to realize what that could mean.
One: someone broke into his apartment, acted like a complete fool, and slept in your bed. Or two: Mai slept in your bed, to probably smell your scent. You did leave without much of an explanation. The base called and you were shipped off that same day. A single message of you being safe was all you could get out to him. Maiâs probably searching for you or waiting close by. It all depends on if he found out what you were doing and where you were.
With a heavy sigh, you stripped yourself down to just your underwear. A chilling breeze washed over your skin, causing you to shiver. You simple tipped over and landed face first on the bed. The sheets were cool to the touch. A deep breath brought a faint scent of Mai to your noise. Your body relaxed completely at the scent. Next, you were out like a light bulb.
Through deadened sleep, the slamming of your porch sliding glass door snapped you groggily away. Your head shook to rid away some of the tiredness still within your bones. The blankets that once covered you had been kicked off sometime during sleep. You were on the verge of getting to check what had made that noise. That something had different plans.
The door to your bedroom was forced open, crashing into the wall. It probably left a mark that you could worry about later. Military or not, you were exhausted and currently in pain. You just stared through the darkness at what had made that noise.
Heavy, familiar pants could be heard before you. It took a long moment for you brain to realize what that could mean. In the meantime, the blob form standing in your doorway launched at you.
Large, calloused hands wrapped around your wrist from what you could feel. The heavy frame pinned you on your back, arms pinned above your head. Heat rolled over you. The calming smell of him filled your lungs. Something warm and felt like fingertips grazed over the naked skin of your chest. You didnât fight, not just because of the exhaustion. No, it was due to the fact you knew who it was.
As you longed to bring the Yautja into a kiss, your arms were trapped. Thatâs when you finally noticed the pain burning in your right shoulder. âMai, let go please. Youâre hurting me,â you demanded and started to wiggle underneath the fully armored male. An extra added fifty pounds from his armor and biomask.
The Yautja reeled back his mighty head, tresses slapping against his armored chest. Then, Mai quickly lifted his body weight off of you. The air around you tasted strange. Not in a bad way. It unnerved him nevertheless though. Mai tilted his head, biomask scanning over your frame.
Multiple new injures, most fully healed. Where had you gone?! Then, Mai caught sight of something that wasnât normal, that wasnât there before. His hand grasped at the metal attached to your right arm.
It was cool in hold. The gears inside pitched a high noise as they moved within. Mai brought his face close and took in its smell. The skin on upper, inner mouth crinkled at the horrible smell. Not that you could see though with his biomask.
Since he had released you, you brought a hand up to his face and shivered at cold metal. âTake it off,â you ordered of him. Mai listened without hesitancy. The tubes connected to his biomask hissed as they were disconnected. It was ripped from his alien face thrown off to the side on the bed.
Without another second apart, you wrapped both of your arms around him. All of your strength was used to keep him like that. Not that Maiâtuiudh was complaining. Not with you in his arms. Instead, he buried his mandibles in the crook of your neck and licked. Mai groaned at your missed taste. Your last message to him had him⌠worried. A feeling that wasnât very Yautja. That didnât stop him from feeling that way without you being at his side.
To be honest, it felt like the fullest of hunting grounds with you in his arms. Your warmth against him; hearing your heartbeat; smelling you. He wouldnât let you go, even if this position was making his back due to the strange angle and added weight.
Mai pulled his head back to stare you in the eye through the darkness. âWhat happened to you?â You knew immediately what he was reference towards and turned on the light on your nightstand. This lit up your newly marred skin to him. The scars were a fresh pink. Maiâs pupils narrowed down and scanned over them, hands coming up to stroke them.
âCareful, theyâre still sensitive,â you said, sounding distant. The memories were still fresh but you didnât want to think about them. Your hand carefully caressed a tress as a distraction.
Next, he motioned with his head towards your metal right arm. Before he could ask about that one, you beat him to it. âIâd rather not go into detail. Letâs just say I lost a fight,â is what you told him. You still couldnât believe what had happened. Your arm gone. Missing. Replaced by metal.
Anger dribbled into Maiâs system as he stared down at you. âWhy did you leave?â he hissed out and forced himself all the closer. You sighed, head falling to the side.
âI was summoned for an operation. It was sudden. I had little time to get ready, let alone send that message to you,â you explained and relaxed your sore arms. Mai changed his position. He forced your legs apart and shuffle closer, bottom of your thighs resting on top of his. His chest to yours, face reburied into the crook of your neck. A growl vibrated your ribcage.
Sharp claws bit into the flesh of your skin. The pain barely noticeable over the already existing one. âWorry isnât something a Yautja feels.â Mai paused to somehow shift even closer into your body. âYou made me worry if you were dead or alive. Donât do that again.â He stopped again, the gears inside of his mind working. âYou know what, you wonât be given an opportunity. Youâre staying with me, all the time.â
âWhat?!â you shouted and wiggled against him, but unable to escape. âYou canât do that Mai! I have a life here, a job, all that stuff.â
It was like he wasnât listening to you. âMine,â he snarled into your skin and tightened his hold. There was a chance of freedom at the moment. You were stuck for better or worse.
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Fun (Lestat de Lioncourt x M! Vamp Reader)
Summary: You found this whole thing amusingâit was Lestat who pushed for an open relationship, not youâso how was it your fault when your companion became jealous?
tags: jealousy, typical Lestat, no mention of Louis or Claudia, reader doesn't really care, he loves seeing Lestat come undone, does mention Antoinette, fluffy/happy ending
You struggled to hold in your laughter, watching as Lestat paced the parlor of your home after scaring off your latest lover. "I don't see what's the problem." You drawled, crossing your arms as you leaned against the doorframe, enjoying the spectacle that was a non-composed Lestat.
"You were the one who said we could see other people, fuck whoever we pleased, as long as we returned to one another. So, what changed?"
Lestat whipped around to face you, his eyes blazing with a mix of anger and something deeperâsomething almost vulnerable. âWhatâs changed?â he repeated, his voice low and dangerous. âWhatâs changed is that I didnât expect to find someone draped all over you like a cheap coat, looking at you like youâre theirs to keep!â
You raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at your lips. âIsn't that how Antoinette sees you? A man who'd given her everythingâeven the Dark Gift?
The moment you mentioned Antoinette, you saw something flicker in his eyes, a brief flash of guilt that he quickly masked with renewed anger. âThatâs different." Lestat shot back, his tone harsh, almost desperate. âI never let her think she had all of me. I never gave her whatâs ours. She's justââ
âJust what, Lestat?â You interrupted, "Just a convenient distraction? Someone to keep you entertained when youâre bored with me? Or is she something more, something you donât want to admit?â
âDonât twist this around!â Lestat snapped. âYouâre the one who brought this on! Youâre the one whoâs been pushing the boundaries, flaunting your little affairs in my face, acting like it doesnât matterââ
âMaybe because it doesnât!â You shot back, the words slipping out before you could stop them. "I asked you many times, Lestat, if this was what you wanted, and you said yes every single time. Why should I feel guilty when I'm finally enjoying myself?"
"Because I never thought you would!" Lestat roared, his voice echoing through the parlor. His eyes were wide, as if in disbelief at what he said, but there was no taking it back. âI didnât think youâd actually let someone else get close to youâclose enough to make me feel like Iâm losing you.â
The parlor grew silent after Lestatâs revelation, and while you wanted to comfort your companion, a grimace tugged at your lips. He spoke of his fear of losing you, but you couldnât help but think about his ongoing relationship with Antoinette. Despite being a distraction, Lestat had returned to her for a century. Meanwhile, none of your lovers had even lasted a week.
"You're a hypocrite, Lestat. You truly are. Just admit it, you don't want to lose control over me. I'm to stay at home, waiting at your beck and call while you're out fucking anything that catches your fancy!"
"That's not trueâ"
"Stop lying!" You interrupted him, patience wearing thin. This conversation wasn't supposed to go this deep, neither you nor Lestat were good at conveying emotions, but perhaps this was the time to put aside shame and bear it all. "Just tell me if you want to continue this arrangement or not. Be honest for once."
Lestatâs eyes widened, his struggle evident as he searched for the right words. âIââ He hesitated, his mind racing but his heart already knowing the answer. âI want you.â Seeing the confusion on your face, he took a deep breath and continued, his voice steady but filled with emotion.
âI want us to be together, without these complications and uncertainty. I'll end things with Antoinette, even dispose of her, if you desire, to prove my sincerity and love."
Smiling, you abandoned the doorway and walked toward your companion. While it had been amusing to see Lestat angry and out of his element, this display of vulnerability was even more compelling. Gently tracing his jaw with your fingertips, you leaned in and kissed him, your lips brushing against his in a tender, reassuring gesture.
Lestat's eyes fluttered closed, his initial surprise melting into a soft, almost relieved expression. âI hope you keep to your promises.â you whispered, your breath warm against his skin as you broke apart. Your arms were still wound around his waist, tightening when the vampire laughed with joy.
âOh, for you, Iâm willing to do anything.âÂ
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Oils and Incense [Masseur AU]
FEATURING : AITO SOUSUKE (OC) X male reader
Following your friend's suggestion, you went to a health & beauty spa, specifically for a massage and you're surprised to find a fellow student working there as a part-timer. What's that smell and why do you feel so hot? This was the wrong room? Your body won't be the only thing getting oiled up!
dubcon af, rough sex, aphrodisiac on both ends, shady reader(?), sousuke munching, profile
Find out more under the cut!
"All the rooms are full?"
The clerk standing at the register nodded with a polite smile on her face. (m/n) frowned, feeling the ache on his shoulder weighing on his figure.
It had been a harsh week for the (h/c), catching up on his assignments, managing his club activities and after sleeping on his desk for a week straight, his muscles were tense and in pain.
His friend, Daisuke, had suggested this place, a high-end beauty spa and of course it was expensive that motherfucker was loaded. But you decided to treat yourself, as a reward for getting through the semester and you drove over to the place after your classes.
Unfortunately for him, all the rooms are filled and busy.
"Well, we do have a private room available. Although it is usually booked in advance for regulars, I can make an exception for you." She winked at him, feeling sorry seeing the (h/c)'s tired expression. "I'll take it."
"And what kind of package would you like?"
(m/n) didn't bother reading the whole brochure, only skimming through the numbers. "Two hours, please."
The lady escorted her to the room, opening the door inside and (m/n) awed at the interior, fluffy flooring, multiple candles on mahogany cupboards with decorations to make the room more presentable with gold and green highlights with a warm lighting to compliment the whole design.
A massage table stood in the middle, layered with a white covered mattress and a hole for the face in the head area. "The rooms are designed for your privacy and comfort, thick walls and we provide a change of clothing afterwards. Your assigned masseur will be here soon." He thanked the lady and placed his bag on one of the lush seats.
(m/n) stood in the room idly, peering at the ceramic dishes and balls before hearing a conversation outside.
"Make sure you take the right incense and oils, okay. He's not one of the usual clientage." The woman from before seem to be speaking to someone. The masseur perhaps.
"Yeah yeah, I know." The voice replied with a drag, implying annoyance followed by a smack.
The door opened and (m/n) turned to see a familliar person, holding a basket of bottles and taper candles. Said person, with his long red hair in a claw clip with strands sticking to his forehead, froze seeing the (h/c). He had adorned the usual white piece, what masseurs would usually wear.
"You..." He seemed to be taken aback, although his face doesn't show much, (m/n) could definitely tell he knew him and vice versa as well. "...We go to the same university, right? Keio Shiki?' (m/n) broke the awkward silence with a nervous grin.
The redhead seemed to snap back out of his trance as he coughed into his fist and moved to one of the cupboards, setting up the session, placing the taper candles in its holders. "Yeah, we do." He replied dismissively.
"We shared a class once, too. Aito? Was that your name-?" "It's Sousuke. Just Sousuke." (m/n) tensed, nodding quickly as he rubbed his nape.
(m/n) had seen Sousuke around campus before, always alone and keeping to himself with his muted red hair that had always caught his attention. When they shared a class together, the (h/c) had attempted to converse with the redhead but was ignored or only received half-assed answers.
He only knew snippets about the redhead from his peers, who told him to stay away from the man, saying that he brought trouble everywhere he goes. However, (m/n) thought of otherwise.
"So you work here? I thought your dad runs a dĹjĹ." It's not everyday you get to talk to the brooding guy in your prestige university, especially when he's supposed to service you. (e/c) eyes gazed at him with a smirk, teasing the redhead whose hazel ones squinted at him.
"...It's temporary. Until that old man gets off my back." He mumbled, lighting one of the candles with a long nozzle lighter, clicking it a few times. The (h/c)'s eyes still wandered, lingering on his muscular back the white uniform couldn't hide. "Do you remember me? You looked shocked when you first walked in here-"
(m/n)'s words were cut off as Sousuke promptly pressed a white fluffy cloth to his chest. "I do. (l/n)." The redhead emphasized, pushing the article on his chest with pressure. There's a hint of annoyance but (m/n) can see the tip of his ears turning red.
"You can call me (m/n)." His lips stretched a smile, cheekily looking up at the redhead through his lashes.
Sousuke stared for a second before turning away. "Change."
The (h/c) held the cloth Sousuke had given to him, it was literally just a white fabric meant to tie around his waist. "Just this-?" "Yes." Sousuke huffed as he turned back to the (h/c), his fingers snapping a pair of black latex gloves on his hands. "In other words, strip."
"Will do." (m/n) whistled, pulling his clothes off.
The redhead rolled his eyes, rummaging through the cupboards as the (h/c) had his fun teasing the former.
Sousuke did not expect the (h/c) as his customer for the evening. His father had sent him here for work since he had broken three sandbags at the dĹjĹ, apparently his old man's friend owned the place and needed a pair of strong hands to cover a few shifts. Unluckily, Sousuke had been taking a degree in physical education so he was more or less qualified to work here.
However, the clerk suddenly called him on his break, saying that there was a fill-in in one of the private rooms, he was never allowed to step in there by the way, and the woman told him that there was someone looked like around his age while lecturing him about grabbing the right bottles or whatnot.
Sousuke had mindlessly grabbed the basket for the private rooms, there can't be much difference there can it? Probably just the brand itself or whatever.
Fuck, why is he here? Sousuke grumbled silently. He had known the (h/c), (m/n) (l/n) who had caught his eye ever since he walked on campus. His stupid cute smile, really nice build and those fucking thighs-
He snapped himself out of his thoughts hearing shuffles of clothing behind him as he lit the incense and waving the smoke around, letting it dissipate. Something smelled weird. He's dealt with incense before but this one smells more honey?
"I'm done."
The redhead had to stop himself from looking too much as he ushered the (h/c) to lay stomach down on the massage table.
(m/n) pouted, seeing the redhead was quick to place him down as he straddled the massage table, putting his head in its place and his face facing the floor through the hole.
Sousuke helped him place his legs on the rest of the table, his large gloved hands pulling his calves up before setting it down, avoiding looking at the (s/c) presented before him.
The (h/c) felt like he was purring in bliss. "It smells...sweet?" "It's the candle. Nothing much." Sousuke reassured (m/n) and himself, he had never used this specific candle before.
Taking a bowl of warm water, he placed three different sizes of ceramic balls or spheres, letting it sit in the liquid while the (h/c) attempted to start a conversation with him. "How've you've been? Anything interesting coming up?" "None of your concern." (m/n) scrunched his nose at the immediate rejection.
Was the room supposed to be this hot?
He felt warmer than usual, the blood rushing to the lower part of his body. (m/n) continued staring at the carpeted floor beneath him, talking to the redhead. "My team is having a practice match next week. With a university in the next town over."
Tilting the glass bottle, Sousuke dripped the oil in his gloved hands before rubbing them together, warming it up. "So?" "Will you come watch?" He huffed. "For what?"
"For me." There's a hint of flirt and Sousuke had to take a breather before nearing the laying (h/c), avoiding looking at his (s/c) legs. "I'll start now." "What-?"
(m/n) bit his tongue to prevent a moan from escaping his lips when warm gloved hands pressed on in between his shoulders. Fingers moving around, testing the waters as Sousuke gently spread the oil on his back like slicing butter on a piece of bread.
When the redhead felt the skin beneath him less tense, he slowly pressed his fingers deeper, kneading the muscle beneath him, rubbing his thumb in the notches and crooks of his shoulder blades.
Then he moved upwards, trailing his hand and poured more oil directly on (m/n)'s shoulders, letting it stain the cushioned table and he dipped his fingers in the skin between his neck and his shoulder, inching closer to his chest as he massaged his clavicle.
Sousuke was wondering why was the chatterbox underneath him was quiet. Usually customers would let out a satisfied groan every now and then. Maybe it was better for the redhead himself, not having to answer to the (h/c)'s incessant questions.
Beads of sweat dripped down his forehead, sliding down the tip of his nose. (m/n) was holding in his breath, his eyes rolling to the back of his head when Sousuke's fingers massaged his nape, pressing his knuckles on the base of his neck, letting the pressure subside when he reached his hairline.
He had been holding in gasps and groans from his throat, feeling so pleasured with the service he's receiving. He felt more fired up than usual. (m/n) almost released a whine when Sousuke pulled his hands away, walking over to the front of him, where the bowl of water was and (m/n) stared at his legs, licking his lips.
"...Everything okay down there?"
Yeah I want you down here- "All's good." (m/n) felt his cheeks flushed, trying to focus back but his mind was foggy, all fuzzy and warm, he couldn't keep his head straight only thinking about those nice thick gloved fingers touching his skin.
Sousuke carefully picked up the smallest ball, placing it in the middle of (m/n)'s back, the latter letting out a noise of confusion. "It's a new thing they brought in. Constant pressure isn't good but the warmth helps and we've been receiving positive feedback..." The redhead muttered, stabilizing the sphere.
"Is it okay for you?"
(m/n) nodded drowsily. "Yeah, yeah. Anything's good from you." Sousuke's mouth gaped from the comment before looking away, grabbing the second ball while ignoring the butterflies raging wildly in his stomach.
"Don't move." He mumbled, balancing the second ball on his upper shoulders, near his nape. He rolled it around, using it as a tool before letting it rest on (m/n)'s body. Sousuke was unaware of the drooling (h/c) who was resisting the urge to utter the most sinful things human beings have ever heard.
The redhead paused, his steps stopping as he gazed at the taper candle, his eyes brimming suspicion before (m/n)'s voice brought him back to reality.
"Hurry up." He whined. Sousuke gritted his teeth, his cheeks warming at the cute noise the other had mewled out. "Be patient." (m/n) grinned. "Don't think you're supposed to talk back to your customers."
He heard the redhead sighed, his legs coming into his line of sight and Sousuke's face suddenly appeared close to his. "And I don't think you should be acting like a brat but here we are. Be quiet...and let me do my job." Hazel eyes stared up at him, his position crouching on the floor near the massage table.
(m/n) was silent, taken aback by the sudden proximity of his handsome face. He definitely got hard. "... Yes, sir." Sousuke groaned in annoyance, immediately standing back up, secretly adjusting his pants.
Immediately, he retrieved the third sphere, letting them all line up on (m/n)'s lower back, the latter letting out a guttural groan at the pressure. Hazel eyes leered at the (s/c) legs on display, sighing lowly as he poured another batch of oil on his gloved hands.
Steadily, he placed his hands on the (h/c)'s thighs, near the cloth and he dragged his palms down, pulling the muscle and knots all the way down to the ankle. Heat was looming all around his crotch as he massaged (m/n)'s foot, rubbing his fingers in between the appendages.
"You're like...mmn- really good at this."
Sousuke heard the drowsy comment from the mouth at the other end. "I work here. It's my job." "Wasn't it temporary?" "As I've told." "Wish it wasn't. I'd come for you everyday."
(m/n) was slurring his words, his cheeks flushed, his dick hard and sweat was dripping from his face to his nose. Fingers massaging him all over, caressing his thigh, pushing his skin and god he wished those fingers were in him.
Just fuck me- The (h/c) grinned to himself, not noticing the reddened masseur who pulled away, grabbing the spheres as well, eager to end the session already.
"Sit up. We'll work on your front next." "...My front?" "Yes. Is there a problem?" Sousuke went to grab a pillow to fill the hole in the head area so (m/n) could lie down on it but when he turned around, the (h/c) was on his side, his face looked embarrassed and he looked away when Sousuke's eyes travelled down to (m/n)'s crotch.
"...It's normal." The (h/c) frowned, mad that Sousuke isn't getting the hint. What the hell? Is it normal for customers to get hard after you massage them or what? (e/c) eyes glared at Sousuke, who was panicking in his head.
"And if I say it's intentional?" "I won't believe you."
He couldn't deny his slight attraction to the (h/c) and what the fuck why does he feel so hot right now? Sousuke staggered when the loop of his pants was tugged.
"Is it normal for you to get hard too?" (m/n) whispered into his ear, huffing his warm breath into the shell of Sousuke's ears that flushed at the contact.
The redhead looked down and he was indeed hard. Had he not noticed the whole time? Sousuke pulled away, facing the cheeky (h/c) who was kneeling on the table, the cloth around his waist barely hiding his erection and an amused expression on his face.
"Stop that." "You don't hate me." "I can." "I don't think you will."
What? Sousuke pressed his lips into a thin line, his head dizzy. (m/n) was so lax around him, closing the gap he had with others, toying with his boundaries like he was edging the redhead, wanting to draw a reaction out of him.
It's the same when they had first met too, when they shared a class. To (m/n), it was normal but to Sousuke, it was thrilling and confusing.
He was melting under the (h/c)'s gaze, his lips quivering and he felt his eyes water. "Are you flirting with me?" (m/n) purred. "Maybe." He winked and held out his hand.
The redhead swatted it away. He can feel his sweat building up on the collar of his uniform. (m/n) looked like a meal in front of him but he couldn't, his heart conflicted.
"Don't...play about these things. Don't toy with me." Sousuke stated, him placing down the pillow, covering the hole in the massage table, (e/c) eyes following him. "....I'm not."
Sousuke clenched his jaw, his neck tense as he felt fingers inching on his nape, tugging his claw clip. He yelped, his hair now loose, red strands laying on his back as the redhead glared at the (h/c).
(m/n) clipped the hair accessory onto his own tresses. "You should kick me out. I'm harassing you and all, aren't I?" The redhead stared at the now sitting (h/c) who swung his feet back and forth. He glanced at his hair clip on the (h/c)'s head.
"I ought to." "...You're hot, Sousuke." A cough escaped his lips, exasperated at the sudden confession. The redhead scrunched his eyebrows in confusion. (m/n) gleamed at him, glancing at the taper candles behind him.
"If you wanted to have sex with me, all you had to do was ask." "What?"
"You think I don't see that?" (m/n) jutted his chin to the candle holder behind Sousuke, the one he had lit up earlier. "Lucky Clover. Common choice but it does its job."
Sousuke snatched the candle out of the holder, blowing out the flame, his eyes scanning the brand name edged on the side of the candle. He had grabbed the wrong basket. "I didn-"
"Haa...now I'm all hot and bothered. It's not fair you're not as affected as I am." "I took the wrong candle. I didn't mean to-" "Whatever was your intention, it doesn't matter." (m/n) rested his chin on his palm, his body was coated with sweat, his back smooth with the oils Sousuke had rubbed in earlier.
"I have at least an hour and a half left. Now come here and do your job, masseur."
Something snapped inside the redhead at that moment, something raw and viscous. His feet slowly moved to the (h/c), settling behind him and grabbing a bottle of oil.
Sousuke should have never denied the attraction he had for the (h/c). His words that jumbled his thoughts, his eyes that made his legs quiver, his tongue that flicked against his teeth that made the redhead desire to grab his neck so he can-
(m/n) leaned his back against Sousuke's chest with a satisfied sigh, smudging the redhead's white uniform. Biting his lower lip, he grinned while staring at across the room. Sousuke was something (m/n) had wanted to solve, it wasn't a priority, but with the massages and the oils, it was like a candlelit dinner for him.
The claw clip was pulled from his hair, Sousuke swiping (m/n)'s hair back and clipped it in properly, (m/n) rubbed his cheek on the redhead's hand, the latter not responding and the (h/c) heard him picking up a glass bottle.
Slippery liquid trickled down his chest, Sousuke tilting the whole bottle on (m/n)'s torso letting it trickle down onto the (h/c)'s crotch. He placed the bottle aside, cracking his fingers. The redhead placed his arms underneath (m/n)'s own, looming his hands over his body before placing it flat against the (h/c)'s chest.
(m/n) gasped when Sousuke cupped his pecs, rubbing his nipples in between his fingers. "Mmnn!" He mewled as the redhead continued his work, massaging his man tit, rubbing his hands up and down as (m/n) gripped Sousuke's arms.
He squirmed when Sousuke's movements became rougher, squeezing his chest and essentially groping him. The redhead's right hand trailed down and rubbed the oil all over his stomach, kneading it into his side.
(m/n) was wrong when he had stated that the redhead was not affected as he is. The redhead had only not noticed. His will is strong, not something that is easily swayed by a mere candle.
Sousuke had bear flirts, jabs, and allure from the (h/c). He's a man. He has sensual passion. Although the redhead simply locked his aptitude to bite back deep inside himself. However, (m/n) was brave. Almost like he was aware Sousuke would let him trample all over him.
Hovering his tongue over the (h/c)'s shoulder, he licked a stripe experimentally. (m/n) flinched, his head turning to the side, looking with his glossy (e/c) eyes. He was panting disheveledly, Sousuke's hand still playing with his chest, gripping the fat and pinching his nipple.
The redhead leaned in closer, his face close with (m/n)'s and their breaths mixed. (m/n) was staring at the masseur's mouth, gazing over his lips and the redhead was looking for any sign of desire in his eyes until (e/c) met hazel.
There was only pure unholy lust. Sousuke pushed his mouth towards (m/n)'s awaiting lips. The latter moaning as they mushed their tongues together, exchanging drool and (m/n) was so excited as he sucked on the redhead's muscly organ.
"Aanh haa ah ah!"
Sousuke's right hand went lower, cupping (m/n)'s erection as he squeezed it lightly. The (h/c) bit his lower lip in response, the redhead gasping as (m/n) stuck his tongue inside Sousuke's mouth.
Tearing the fabric at (m/n)'s waist off, Sousuke grabbed (m/n)'s cock, pumping it up and down, earning whines from the (h/c). It was so slippery, so easy to move with the oil coating (m/n)'s skin and Sousuke gave no mercy to the (h/c) whose hips started to stutter in his hold.
(m/n) bucked his hips, loving the attention his cock was receiving as he pulled away from the makeout session. "I-I'm close- nggh ahh ang ahh!"
Ropes of cum spurted from his tip as Sousuke gripped his base, dragging out (m/n)'s orgasm. His hazel eyes had a fire in them, one (m/n) had ever since Sousuke laid his hands on him.
Drool seeped from his lips, (m/n) was in a daze as Sousuke laid his body on the massage table, letting him lie stomach down. He shivered when he felt the redhead pour more oil on his bottom, the liquid dripping on his ass, seeping and touching his twitching hole.
"You wanted this." Sousuke grunted, pulling off of his sticky uniform, revealing his sexy sweaty torso. His hand rubbed one of the (h/c)'s asscheeks before bringing it up and slapping it. The (h/c) yelped at the contact and Sousuke spanked him again, rubbing the oil on the cheek before swinging his gloved hand back down.
"Ah! F-Fucking- ah!" (m/n) screamed, feeling his cock twitch every time Sousuke smacked his ass. His hips stuttered he felt the redhead gripped and spread his ass, revealing his perky hole, Sousuke dipping his covered thumb in experimentally and scratched his rim.
Whining endlessly, (m/n) flinched as Sousuke spat on his hole, feeling the cold liquid trickle down. The redhead pulled his hips up, (m/n) hugging the pillow for stability, his nails digging into the fabric and pushing his face into the pillow.
Sousuke laid his tongue flat against (m/n)'s balls, licking up until he reached the wet entrance and he pushed a finger in, hearing a squeal from the (h/c). Digging inside, he shoved another gloved finger in to spread the hole with a scissoring motion. The (h/c) could only emit muffled cries, staining the pillow with his saliva.
The redhead licked his hole, a flinch from (m/n), and he pushed his tongue inside, brushing his fangs against (m/n)'s rim. He kissed, licked and spat on the twitching entrance, taking his time and ignoring the begging (h/c).
"P-Please- mmn ahh! I-I'm sorry- ungg mmn!"
Sousuke didn't want an apology from the (h/c). All he cared about was the ass in his hand he was eating right now. The redhead sucked on (m/n)'s balls while pistoning his fingers in and out of the (h/c)'s puckered hole.
He stopped when a hand grabbed his arm, Sousuke glaring down at the crying (h/c) whose back was facing him. "T-Too much. I'm s-sorry- mmn!" (m/n) cried, his tears and drool wetting the pillow under him.
"...Then what do you want?" Sousuke asked nonchalantly as he released (m/n)'s hips, letting him drop onto the table. (m/n)'s lower half was trembling.
"I w-wanna suck you off..." "Is this your apology?" (m/n) shook his head. "I want your c-cock in my throat." He mumbled.
Sousuke stared at him, (m/n) tried to calm down his nerves but his entire body was so hot, the oil covering almost every inch of his skin. "Get on the floor." He heard the redhead ordered.
Shakily, (m/n) pushed himself off of the table, landing on the floor on his knees with a pitiful whine. He turned to the unimpressed redhead who stood, his back leaning against the massage table, his flowing red hair framing his gorgeous face.
"I don't understand you, (m/n)." Sousuke mumbled, grabbing his jaw when the (h/c) inched closer to his crotch while on his knees, his (s/c) glistening under the warm spotlight.
Caressing the (h/c)'s inner thigh with his shoe, Sousuke gazed at his dripping dick, raising his line of sight to (m/n)'s panting flushed face. "You don't have to..." The (h/c) closed his eyes, enduring the tightening still gloved grip Sousuke had on his face.
"You're so...confusing. Pushing my buttons, testing my limits. I'm a man, (l/n)." (m/n) nodded drunkenly. "Handsome man..." He slurred and Sousuke rolled his eyes at that and extended his hand into (m/n)'s face who pulled off the drenched latex gloves with his teeth.
"I can't believe you're into this shit." The redhead raised his bare hand, slapping (m/n)'s face, not too hard but enough to leave a red mark. "You like this? You like getting slapped?"
Sousuke smacked the (h/c) again, who only cried out wantonly, his body leaning closer to the redhead's. "Does your friend know? That you're a fucking freak." (m/n) shook his head, tears threatening to spill from the corner of his eyes.
"I'm supposed to be special then?" (m/n) couldn't even talk properly, getting slapped for the third time. He only slobbered, his eyes peering up at Sousuke's hazel ones. "I-It hurts..." He whined.
The redhead released his tight hold, carressing (m/n)'s cheek. "Went too far, huh? Least' I know your limit now." He gently stroked the (h/c)'s reddened cheek fondly, as if its a way for him to say sorry. (m/n) purring into his touch.
Extending his hand, (m/n) tugged Sousuke's pants, sticking his tongue out eager to suck his cock. The redhead scoffed, his face expressing amusement. "You're cute, y'know?" The (h/c) pawed at the redhead's zipper, pulling it down and shuffling his pants off.
Sousuke pushed his briefs down, his hardened cock springing out and (m/n)'s eyes brightened, his tongue drooling and he whined even more, leaning closer into the redhead. Sousuke cooed, running his fingers through the (h/c)'s hair and he pulled the hair clip off, placing it on his own head.
(m/n) placed his tongue under Sousuke's tip, sliding it gently as he licked the base, caressing the veins. The redhead groaned, bucking his hips and accidentally gripped the (h/c)'s hair. Moving his head forward, the (h/c) took the long cock in his mouth, slobbering his spit all over the shaft.
It was a wonder how their dynamic switched. When (m/n) had first walked in, he was so adamant at poking at the redhead, now he was the one on his knees, sucking Sousuke's cock so desperately.
His cheeks hollowed as he hummed, (m/n)'s palate being grazed and the tip touching the back of his throat. He choked and coughed, Sousuke wanting to pull back but (m/n) grabbed his hips and shoved his own face into the redhead's crotch, his chin touching his balls.
"Anngg- mmff!" Sousuke held onto the table, his fingers clenching on the cushion as he closed his eyes, hot pleasure focusing on his dick and the (h/c). Cum shot from his tip and he was ready to pull out but (m/n)'s nails dug into his hips as he hissed in pain. Sousuke pulled his other glove off with his fangs.
The (h/c) sucked everything he could muster out of the redhead, letting the semen pool on his tongue as he shakily stood up and grabbed Sousuke's face, pushing his tongue in so the redhead could have a taste of himself.
Sousuke choked and gagged as the (h/c) shoved his tongue into his mouth as they stumbled, the redhead's arms around (m/n)'s waist and the latter around his neck. They planted themselves back onto the massage table, (m/n)'s back lying on the stained cushion and he spread his legs.
"Put it in." He breathed out, staring at hazel eyes who gazed back at (e/c), their sweaty foreheads touching each other. Sousuke took a breather and he adjusted himself, pumping his cock and lining it up against (m/n)'s hole.
"Just a second." The redhead spoke, he leaned forward, (m/n) stupidly clinging onto his body and rubbing his cheek against his face as Sousuke grabbed a decanter, biting the cork off and spitting it on the floor. The (h/c) rubbed his dick against the redhead's abs, letting his precum smear all over the rockhard muscles.
Sousuke pushed (m/n) to make room, tilting the decanter and pouring oil onto the (h/c)'s thighs, the liquid dripping down onto his ass and the redhead used his fingers to push it into (m/n)'s throbbing hole.
He also spilled the oil onto his own body, letting it drip from his chest and onto his dick, (m/n) now thrusting his hips to get the redhead's attention. "I know, I know." He mumbled, brushing his lips over (m/n)'s forehead.
Carefully, he held the (h/c)'s waist, adjusting both of them and he pushed in, the slippery oil letting him thrust all of his cock in one go. (m/n) let out a satisfied mewl, his thighs shaking as Sousuke pulled his cock out until only the tip nestled inside the twitching anus.
"Aannh ann ah ah ha ahh!" (m/n) wailed as the redhead began to pound himself with wet sloppy noises emitting around the room. Their squelching was so loud, the oil making their skin soft and wet as it smacked together.
Sousuke licked the (h/c)'s ear, his fangs biting the shell as the (h/c) spread his legs even wider, letting his ankles dangle in the air and the redhead slapped his inner thigh. "God you should've came here earlier." Sousuke groaned into (m/n)'s ear who nodded ferverently.
"Fuck fuck fuck." The (h/c) cussed with a moan , every time the redhead's cock kissed his prostate, his shaft dragging against his walls. Sousuke poured more oil on his base, as he pushed (m/n) down on the table, humping and fucking his meaty cock into his drenched ass.
The candle's waft still lingered in the air, although not as intense as earlier but (m/n) wished that it would last longer. His untouched cock was flicked by the redhead's fingers and (m/n) came, cum shooting out of his stimulated penis and it landed on both of their chests.
Sousuke wanted to kiss the (h/c), however he opted to graze his neck and sucked on the skin there instead, leaving hickies and marks. His hips stuttered as he shallowly thrusted into (m/n)'s bottom, his orgasm arriving and reaching its peak and (m/n) locked his ankles around the redhead, forcing him to still and cum inside his ass, filling his hole with his white batter.
(m/n) pulled Sousuke by his hair away from his neck and crashed his lips onto his and their teeths clashed. There were biting and saliva dripping from their chins, the (h/c) pushing his hips, indicating his want for a second round.
Sousuke climbed onto the massage table, asking (m/n) to kneel like him and he positioned himself behind the (h/c). He rammed himself inside (m/n) who arched his back and started to bounce himself on Sousuke's lap in time with his thrusts.
The redhead hands sneakily cupped (m/n)'s chest, groping his pecs and rubbing the skin. (m/n) whimpered when Sousuke scratched his nipple with his nails, pinching and twisting it as he continued slamming himself in and out the (h/c)'s throbbing hole, his previous cum spilling and dripping out of (m/n)'s rim.
(m/n) turned his face to the side, his (e/c) eyes begging Sousuke for a kiss as he stuck his tongue out. The redhead obliged licking (m/n)'s lips and kissing him again, them sloppily making out for the nth time already. The table shook with each thrust, shockingly still able to support the two.
Sousuke came inside the (h/c) again while (m/n) was pushing his ass back desperately for his own orgasm, the redhead gritting his teeth as (m/n) prolonged his climax by using his cock like a joystick.
Both of them lost any sense they had as they succumbed to their arousal, having sex on the table as much as they could. (m/n) was having the time of his life getting slapped, used like a fleshlight, begging Sousuke to fold him into many position and the redhead indulged in his cries, pushing him up against the cupboard, forcing him to ride his cock and they only stopped when the clerk had came back, knocking on the door while Sousuke was pushing (m/n) into a mating press.
"Is everything alright in there? Aito, the session is supposed to be over."
The redhead grunted out a half-assed response as he covered (m/n)'s mouth and quickly fucked himself inside the (h/c) making them both cum. (m/n)'s body was sweaty and slippery, his skin covered in oils and bite marks, his neck filled with hickies and his ass was dripping spit and cum.
Sousuke pulled the (h/c), pushing him and himself into the small shower station they had and quickly washed themselves clean, (m/n) begging the redhead for one last round and he unceremoniously followed through, making the (h/c) cum on his cock under the pouring shower head.
The redhead forced (m/n) to help him clean, changing the cushions, wiping the floor, throwing away the candle tapers so the clerk won't lecture him for using the wrong ones. Sousuke checked everything, making sure he didn't leave any evidence behind as he changed the drowsy (h/c) into a simple clothing the spa provided for customers.
He packed (m/n)'s clothes and his dirty uniform into a paper bag, clocking himself out of his shift as he left the spa hurriedly with the (h/c) hugging him fondly. Sousuke made sure to drive (m/n) back to his dorm with the latter's car, not trusting him to arrive safely as the (h/c) immediately passed out in the passenger's seat.
-
"(m/n), someone's looking for you." His classmate called him, the (h/c) lifting his head from the table he was sitting in. The class had just ended and (m/n) wanted to stay behind to finish his notes before his classmate yelled for him.
It had been three days since the whole massage thing and he couldn't find the redhead, not even at the spa. Hilarious to think that (m/n) actually went back searching for him but the clerk informed him that Sousuke asked for a few days off, him claiming that he had exams to study for and the (h/c) frowned, knowing that the redhead was avoiding him.
Understandably he was taken aback when he was met with the sight of the abashed redhead, who was standing with his hair still clipped in that purple accessory, his shoulder bag on his side.
"I thought we should go on a date. After that whole y'know." Sousuke handed him a singular sunflower, its stem jagged and (m/n) could tell that he didn't bought this at the florist.
(m/n) caressed the petals as he laughed. "Now which poor gardener did you stole from?" The redhead jabbed his finger behind him, the window showing the university's prestige courtyard with many beautiful flowers blooming, people won't notice one going missing.
"How sweet." The (h/c) smiled and Sousuke looked away, his ears reddened. "Let me grab my bag first. Where are we going?" "Eat. You need some meat if you want to win that practice match."
(m/n)'s heart fluttered, Sousuke remembered the practice match he had mentioned and he took it as a sign of him attending it for him as he hurriedly retrieve his books, shoving it in his bag as he skipped to the redhead.
"Told you I wasn't toying with you." The (h/c) teased Sousuke as he hugged his bicep. The redhead only rolled his eyes, letting (m/n) hang off of his arm as they walked through the hallway, earning weird looks from the rest of the students.
"The sunflower reminds me of you." Sousuke quirked an eyebrow, he had only chose said flower because it was the biggest one in the flower patch. "A flower?" "The sun." The redhead was silent, not understanding what he meant but shrugged. He'll let his potential boyfriend run his mind in weird places.
"Say...do you have it?" "Have what?" (e/c) gleamed up at the redhead. A knowing grin on (m/n)'s face as Sousuke slightly opened his shoulder bag, letting (m/n) peek inside.
The same candle taper, a new one, Sousuke had grabbed some from the spa. He'll cover a shift or two later and (m/n) kissed his cheek, the latter flinched and blushed heavily.
"Can't wait." The (h/c) was now pushing the redhead, eager to start and finish their lunch date so he could make room for their raunchy dinner that would last from the early evening to the dead of night.
[END SCENE]
[unedited]
Afterthoughts :
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I had debated the plot for this au but i didnt want it to be some random drugged bunny fuck so theres the convo, the trifling comm, and the buildup there. Everything is better w feelings involved and its good if its one that makes u think, its what gives character
I wished this fic was what debuted sousuke on my page argh. this might be my proudest work yet. When i meant rough I meant ROUGH
This will probably be my last one before i disappear for a couple of weeks. I'll reply to stuff but to post nahhh new sem starts soon so imma be super bz.
Haha i got happy cuz ppl commented on my last post so i shat this one out as quickly as i could.
comment lots and ill post lots mkayđ
more of aito sousuke! đ¤
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Thinking about having to push Lestat away when youâre making out because he forgets you need to breathe.
He just loves kissing you so much that the fact youâre still human slips from his mind. The kiss is leisure and sloppy. He lets out soft little moans and pets his hands over your hair, suckling gently on your tongue with the sharp edge of his fangs ghosting over the slick muscle. Itâs thrilling, having such a dangerous creature become pliant and needy on your lap. Your lungs start to burn around the three minute mark, making your thoughts fuzzy from the lack of air, as Lestat starts to rock against the bulge in your pants.
You tap your fingers against his thigh, and Lestat lets out a petulant whine before he releases your mouth with a final, slick sounding suck. You twist your head away with a gasp, blinking the blurriness from your eyes as you attempt to catch your breath. He takes a moment to lap up the spit smeared over your chin and the corners of your mouth in between quiet apologies. Lestat himself sounds breathy, filling his lungs with enough air to speak into your ear. He nuzzles into the curve of your jaw, tucking his nose into the spot behind your ear to take greedy inhales of your scent.
âMon coeur,â he moans softly, âje suis amoureux. Je tâadore.â His hands travel down your throat, reverently petting down your shoulders and chest before they slip under your shirt. His claws lightly run over the hair there, following the trail that disappears into your underwear. Loving whispers are quick to turn filthy and needy as he unbuttons your pants to wrap his hand around your cock.
âLes,â you sigh, feeling his tongue lap at the strong pulse on your throat. You cup his face to kiss him again. Heâs quick to part his lips, eagerly inviting your tongue back into his mouth for another three minutes.
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đđđđđ
đ | yan!priest x male!reader | nsfw
WARNINGS: extremely dubious consent, graphic and explicit smut. please do not read if you are not comfortable, or if you are triggered. In no way is this disgusting yandere behavior meant to be romanticised. This excerpt is taken from my fic on wattpad, twisted faith.
PAIRING: yandere!priest x male reader
SCENARIO: after one too many attempts of rebelling against him, the priest (anton) decides to punish you.
WORD COUNT: 4.2k
You knew.
You knew the minute you were brought to Anton's home â you knew the minute you were washed and fed by several maids, and was brought right before the priest.
A sickening part of you knew.
You had always wondered when. When Anton's obvious desire for you would finally break, when the final straw would be until Anton would take you
And now you stood right before him, washedâyour hair still a little dampârobed, trembling.
Shit. It was about to happen. It was about to happen. It wasâ
You didn't know what to do. You were utterly terrified, utterly helpless.
"To first cleanse your sins," Father Anton said quietlyâhis hands resting on your back, tracing circles, "you must purify the body." The motion was smooth, gentle, supposed to be comforting, but instead all you felt was an unwanted heat traveling up your spine, along with deep seated dread. Thick, sludgy dread.
This was part of the plan, you thought, swallowing. This is part of my plan.
Someone had already warned you, had they not? That with the priest, he was looking for something else with you. Something deeper. Something akin to lust, akin to desire.
"Yes, Father Anton..." you whispered. You wanted to close your eyes, but you feared the consequences that came with it. Instead, your own trembling (e/c) eyes were forced to stare at pools of liquid diamondâthe color that belonged to the priest's eyes.
"You want this, don't you?" Anton purred, "you want this. You admitted it yourself. You needed purifying. And now I shall give it to you. Everything. I will purify your heart, your soul, your body..."
First, your shoulder. You found breaths shallow and quiet when Anton used one finger to slowly undo your clothes, starting from a simple slip of the shoulder, until your collar bone was exposed.
Exposed, for the priest to see.
You no longer felt like it was you. Your mind was growing hazy, your body was responding to Anton's touch in such a way that you were horrified by it. You could feel his own unwanted arousal slowly burning your insides, and before you knew it, you were pressed down onto the cool sheets of the bed, stripped of your clothesâAdam and Eve once roamed the Garden of Eden in their naked form freely, you recalled, before the serpent made them sin.
Was this what Anton meant? To return to the roots of mankind, before sin had existed?Â
It wasn't long before the priest started to undress himself, and you nearly wanted to kill yourself there and then when you saw just howâjust how huge Anton wasâbecause fuck, how the hell were you supposed to fit him inside?
You watched as Anton dipped his fingers in sweetly scented oilâperhaps even the liquid from a while back, in the confessions roomâand coated it liberally on his own cock. The oil was costly, but perhaps, to Anton, there was no better purpose than to anoint one of heaven's own.
Fuck, you started to breathe heavily, feeling Anton's hands slowly grasping at your hips, his touch bruising, and lining his arousal upâyou could feel it. Every inch of him.
Deep breaths. In and out...
"Ughâ" you let out a soft sound that was quickly muffled when you pressed your face down onto the pillow, ears burning with shame.
There was no greater pain and pleasure than this.
Anton pushed forward ruthlessly into your body. Anton did not stretch you out or give you advance warning. If the initial intrusion was painful, it was meant to be, as part of your penance.Â
"Cleansing," Anton purred, his voice sending shudders running down your spine, "punishment. This, my dear Y/n, is divine punishment."
Fuck, you teared up as you gripped the sheets, yes. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps this was an atonement of your sins, your crimes towards your own humanity. Perhaps you deserved this for spitting such cruel, careless words at your sister, for showing his weaknesses so blindly to your friend...
"Anton," you gasped out, the delicate flesh of your insides was battered and pried open by Anton's enormous girth, "IâI..."
Anton pressed into the hilt and then stopped, giving you time to adjust, and enjoying the trembling shudders of the bruised and violated muscles clenching around him.
"Give it all to me, turn everything over to the Lord and let me purge the sin from your flesh. Let me morph you; Y/n; let me purify you.â
"Slower," you begged him, tears starting to roll down your cheeks. You felt so utterly helplessâso pained, yet there was that deceitful pleasure crawling up in your insides, telling you this was what you wanted. This was what you asked for.
In a way, it was. In a viscerally twisted and distorted way...yes. You had planned this, did you not? You had orchestrated this plan to seduce the priest for your own survival, and you would fall down into the abyss with it.
There was no foreplay. Nothing. Nothing that could have told or prepared you of the pain that had shot up in your stomachânothing that could have told you that you would be throbbing with pleasure, aching with sin. Your body felt filthy instead of pure, and the tears staining your face felt like they were burning. Anton kissed it all awayâbut that did nothing but to send feverish heat and silent hatred worming into your insides.
"Oh, Y/n," Anton cooed, his fingers trailing every inch of your skin, exploring every curve, every flat, "you were made for me. Made to be a vessel for me. You saved me, Y/n...you saved me."
Anton felt God would forgive the sin of his omissionâafter all, he was the closest being to godhood, and you were so beautiful and precious and pure. God's creation and the wonders of natureâfrom your mesmerising eyes, from how the arch of your back highlighted the delicate curve of your spine.
You made a strangled sound, biting back your moan that was about to slip past your lips. The pace remained brutal; relentless, and when you tried to grip on the sheets for some sort of stability to the madness, it failed.Â
"Confessing," Anton whispered, "is something you were never good at. But perhaps this gives you clarity. Perhaps this will help."Â
With suddenness, Anton stoppedâ instead, he pulled out, leaving your walls empty and clenching around for something. Just anything. Anton pressed one finger to the opening, almost like he was teasing you. Teasing you with inviting warmth, but not giving it to you. The priest was the one who reduced you to such a state, so how dare he? After stripping you of your innocence, claiming he would purify youâŚ
You had never hated someone so much before. You hated him.
"C-Confess?" You managed to choke out, voice hoarse, "y-you want me to..."
Anton pressed the finger in deeper. More. You wanted more. It was not enough.Â
"Confess, yes." Anton tilted his head, his other hand pressed against your shoulder, the touch firm and gentle. It was strange how he seemed to treat you like you were so precious, like you were made of glass, but then his actions would contradict and you would feel the lower part of your body searing with deep, hot pain.
Blood. You could feel it trickle down your leg.
Anton waited until your breathless pants slowed and then spoke, "You may begin."
Your voice was thick with tears as you spoke, "Bless me father, for I have sinned."
The priest's hips began a slow and steady pace, pressing in deeply and then pulling out until the head of his cock caught on the thinly stretched rim. It kissed it slowly, slowly pushing until half way inside. You let out a strangled gasp, sobbing.Â
"Continue."
Oh, but how? You found it hard to find words scattered here and there, when your brain was a mush and you didn't even feel like you were you anymore. You werenât yourself anymoreâyou werenât innocent. Anton had ripped away any last remnants of sanity and purity that you had, claiming it for his own, marking you as a sinner.Â
Y/n...Y/n...who were you even, now? The feeling of derealization pierced your chest.Â
Anton's cock looked impossibly large as he pressed it against your gaping hole. It looked like it could split you open. You trembled from the stretch â you wanted more, in a horrible sense, and the only way you could get that was to atone. To confess all your sins to the greatest sinner in the world.
Your stunning (e/c) eyes went wet with tears, but it only made your submission sweeter and it only made the priest's cock throb harder as your body worked to accommodate him; flesh clinging and gripping deliciously as he pushed deeper with each second, but never quite hitting the end.Â
It was a tease, a long drawn punishment.
Anton's hot gaze dropped so he could watch your belly bulge each time he entered you fully. The evidence of his physical penetration into youâ his innocent, innocent saviorâonly made the dark feelings in his stomach swirl, twist, knot.Â
"I'm sorry," you found yourself begging, "I'm sorry, Father AntonâI shouldn't haveâI shouldn't haveâ"
I shouldn't have existed.
"I shouldn't have went outside the church walls," You sobbed, "I shouldn't have met anyone else, I shouldn't haveâ"
"Don't even say that." Anton's voice was serene yet so damned. "What else?"
"I shouldn't have murdered the man." You babbled on like your mind was shattered; broken beyond repair.
"I shouldn't have talked to herâ"
You felt another sharp pain crawl up your spine when Anton rammed inside you. The priest's hands went to cover your mouth, stifling your moans that threatened to slip out.
"Ah, no," Anton whispered, his voice sultry and deep, "we can't have you making such noises, can we?"
"Justâjust..." You felt the tears roll down your cheek, felt the way your chest heaved and your hips ached â all this felt too much; too overstimulated.
You released; arching your back and feeling your fingers grip on the sheets with reckless abandon. Your thoughts were pounding in your head and so was the slow, subsiding heat: what have I done? You thought with misery, with fuzziness and dazed eyes, what have I done?
Anton smiled and leaned forward.
"You have been purified."
The second time, it was because you had disobeyed him. You ran away â at least, you attempted to. But it had been foolish, and now you had to face the consequences of your actions. You willed your trembling form to straighten, choking down a sob.
âIâm sorry.â
"That's what I thought." Anton smiled in amusement. "Here I was praising you, darling," Anton tipped your chin up and you swallowed, fear started to flood within you. "But it seems that once again my trust in you has been misplaced."
"I'm sorry," you started to sayâto begâ"don't put me back there. Don't!"
Fear rotted between your teeth and gave you that toothache feeling: the slow thudding of realization, the slow ache of cavities worming into your insides, staining your mouth. The sweetness had been too much. Too painful.Â
"I won't."
"...Then..."
What will you do?Â
"It's been long since you were purified."
Inwardly you shattered once again.Â
"Slow down," you gasped, feeling Anton's cock enter in, unrelenting, brutal, mercilessâyou dug your fingers into the expanse of his back, taking it down, causing a soft sigh to elicit from Anton. "Please," your voice took on a begging note. "Please."
Anton paused for a while. His fingers cupped your cheek, and his eyes were almost dazed with pleasure.. But they still held a certain maddening clarity that you were afraid of.Â
"You wanted this, didn't you?" Anton tilted his head. You felt the cock inside you press further still, your walls squeezing it, your body welcoming it, with pleasure spilling in your gut. Unwanted pleasure. "You wanted this, darling. And so I give it to you."
How long had it been? The tears were running down your face but your body betrayed yourself. For there was your own answering arousal between your legs, the way your hips lifted and responded to Anton's fast, full thrusts, the way moans slipped off your mouth like nothing. You wiggled your body a little, squirming, trying to find a better positionâbut another ram into you, another buckle of your hips and a sharp cryâstopped you from being able to do so.
"Slower," you repeated once againâ begging him, before Anton shoved his fingers down your throat, causing the yoo choke on your words. Saliva coated the priests's fingers but he did not seem to care. Kisses were planted on your bare formâthe shoulders, the nose, the lipsâAnton seemed satisfied, actually. More than that. Darkness was twisting in his eyes. Anton loved itâloved ravaging your, loved having sex with you. He pulled those fingers out and your mouth felt empty.
"You're doing such a good job," his voice was so gentle, so sweetâyou could have cried. Yes, there was the constant pleasure in your body that Anton managed to induceâthe kind of pleasure that made you yearn for more, the kind of pleasure that made you moan into the kisses that Anton provided, obscene and all, but oh, it betrayed your mind. "Continue on. You have barely managed to take me yet."
I'm disgusting, you wept, oh, someone save me. I'm so disgusted with myself.Â
"I can't," you panted, your fists gripping the sheets. "Anton...I really can't."
The only answer was a push that pressed you flush against the bed. Anton's fingers wrapped around your jaw slowly and turned your face to the side, peppering kisses on it. It was a soothing gestureâAnton was marvelous at what he did. He would torture you mentally, sexually, but treat you like porcelain physically, treating you with such tenderness and gentleness at times that you werebdazed by it. And it worked now.Â
"Good job, darling." Anton cooed, almost relishing in the soft moans that you were desperately trying to keep down your throat. You felt tears roll down your cheeks slowly, you felt the pain down there, swollen and overstimulated. You knew the sheets were stained with your earlier releases, and now would be what, the third? Fourth? Fifth? Anton was brutal in his pace.
How far had you fallen, already?
Behind Anton you could make out through your teary vision, a small cross. And now that cross taunted you. Watched you ws your purity was slipping away from you.
Tears rolled down your cheek, and you felt yourself slipping into darkness.
To feel anything would make you deranged.
After Anton hadâŚpurified you â you had scrubbed endlessly at your skin, hoping to remove any memory of him. But with that purification, also came a change of treatment. Anton grew gentler, kinder, and you grew more tired, more willing to be deceived.
Simply put, you didnât know how to place your rage anymore: there was the rage that was simply rotten, incurable loveâthere was the rage which were all the tainted truths and desiresâand then there was the rage that was like a unanswered prayer, rattling in your mind, ricocheting off the walls.Â
You had learnt a long time ago that your body betrayed your mind. That your mind betrayed your heart. You feared that you had grown to love Anton, in some sickening, undeniable way: but was that not inevitable? A human will crave fire, though deadly, in the light of cold. And in this case Anton had stripped you of everything you ever had, and now you were craving warmth.
And Anton. He was that very warmth. You wanted his embrace â you wanted it so desperately, the feeling of being loved, cared for, tender and sweet. After all, Anton had never hurt you before, did he? Everything earlier had been some sick farce, some disgusting aversion to all things good. But it was alright. You had learned your lesson.
You needed only Anton, and yet Anton seemed to withhold from sex, like he was dragging it on. You wanted it carnally, biblically. You could feel the sins and evil swarming under the layer of your skin. You wanted it. You wanted to be made pure again, you wanted that sin purged from your flesh. You wanted it eviscerated. You wanted it to be painful, almost.
But as luck had it, Your purification this time was not one of pain. Anton was always tender with you âbut the purifications were always painful, rightfully so, as penance.
The sheets were soft and silky, as luxurious as you remembered. It was the same bed that you had laid in during your first time. Oh, how rebellious you had been. How unwilling. But now you are older, wiser. You knew to behaveâyou knew this was for your greater good.Â
You have made life miserable for yourself. Why did you bother trying to resist? It had taken coaxingâand you had been so delightfully and wonderfully patient with you. Anton had already been so sweet even when you had been feisty and sharp-tongued, but the priest treated you with honeyed, saccharine sweetness. See, Anton seemed to tell him. See, you should have obeyed me earlier. This way, no one would have died. You could have carved out your own ending.Â
And now Anton bit at your lip until you could only groan. Supple, strong hands removed whatever clothes you had onâ you were kissed until you were lightheaded and breathless, until the only thought that remained was the priest. Anton, Anton, Antonâuntil those thoughts flooded your mind, strong and vicious.
The priestâs hands were warm as they trailed down your bare skin. You wanted to lean into the warmth: you wanted to tattoo it on your flesh, you wanted it imprinted, made permanent. You could have said that these desires were ignominious, even, humiliating, hideous. But you were no longer blind by the evil that had blinded you. This was good. This was good for you. You had utter faith in Anton.
Your feelings once had been raw and ambivalent. And now they carried on within you, strong, unwavering, comforting.
Anton pressed onto your chest, tapping at where your heart was. âThis, Y/n,â Antonâs voice was heavy and commanding. âThis belongs to me.â
You took a hitching breath, swallowing.
Anton moved to kiss your neck. âOnly I can purge your sinful urges. And only I, my darling, can consecrate you. Do you understand me?â
âYes,â you whispered, âyes, I do.â
Anton smiled. His gaze was heavy, like his words: shadowed, dark, dangerous. It was clouded with haziness, and his arousal was pressed against your thighs, his arms spreading your legs apart. You whimpered, but offered no protest. Your muscles shook from the stretch, but you remained obedient. Sweet, darling lamb. Yes. You would be a sweet, darling, obedient, loving lamb.Â
âYou have been so good lately,â Anton purred, âand there are no more lies. You have changedâI was right, wasnât I? Around you there was only a plethora of distractions. And now itâs justâŚâ He pressed his forehead against yours. âYou and I. You have morphed, Y/n, you have become perfect.â
Hell was a manâs own creation, so was heaven. And you were a piece of heaven that had been carved out for himself. You were his, fully his â you were no longer anyone elseâs. His, his, his.
Anton pressed his fingers against the wetness of your hole, slowly slipping into it. You gave a startled pant: where was it? Where was the pain you were expecting? This was no penance, this wasâ
âSee,â Anton said softly, pressing further until you gave another strangled sound, breathier this time, when his fingers brushed against your prostate. âSee, Y/n? Your sins have been absolved. By submitting yourself to me, there is no pain. No penance.â
âPlease,â you pantedâthe fingers were not enough. Where were you? You were still so impure, so dirtiedâ you wanted it.The pained ecstasy. The purification. The Anointment. âWhy wonâtâŚwhy wonât you give it to me?â
Anton tilted his head, smiling. âI thought you wanted this. I remember you begging me last time: to be gentler, to be tender. Whatâs wrong, Y/n?â
You could not even place it in words. Breathless moans left as your throat when Anton pressed deeper still: you swallowed, before you shook his head. âIâŚdonâtâŚknow,â was all you managed to choke out, âI donât know.â
âHm,â Anton murmured. âVery well,â he brushed a loose strand of hair from your face. âyou are loose, Y/nâyou are so loose. Were you thinking about me? Were you waiting anxiously for this? Did you want this?â
âYes, Anton,â you managed out in between your breaths, quick and dirty. âYes.â
Anton pulled his fingers out abruptly, and you were left trembling. Your eyes were watery, almost: your back arched, your fingers fisted around the sheets. You almost caught your breath before you felt the same feeling again: the feeling you wanted, of origination and sin and purificationâYou could feel the delicate flesh battered and pried open again. You gave a soft moanâAnton pressed to the hilt, and thrusted. You started to screamâbut it was of pained ecstasy.
It was nowhere as painful as the first time. This time was more mellow. Antonâs touch was bruising against your hips, leaving behind imprints of blue and black. The thrust pinched everything from you, all your breaths and your thoughts and all that horrifying, twisted doubtâall those reservations.
Anton continued. That same feeling plunged all the way up to your gutâit crushed your prostate entirely. You felt yourself start to release guttural, muffled sounds: you tried to swallow back your sobs, unable to discern between the wretched desire and pleasure that kept pulling, yanking at youâand the pain. Anton was still certainly gentler than last time. And this time round, Anton had prepared you.Â
You screamed, your hands flying out to claw at Antonâs back. You could feel yourself nearing your first orgasm; so painful, so soon, and tears flowed freely down your fever red cheeks. Your hole stretched painfully around the girth of Antonâs cockâAnton continued this pace, but ohâhe was so gentle with you.. It was almost like the priest was praising you.Â
Good job, Anton seemed to be telling you, with the kisses peppered on your face, with the gentle, supple tugs of your hair whenever you started to wobbleâgood job.Â
âYou are doing so beautifully,â Anton cooed, âso, so well.â
You could barely think through the hazy pleasure. Anton set up a rhythm like this, Anton sliding out just right to see you clinging almost whorishly to his cockâthen pressing, pushing, spreading you open with a force that made your throat raw from the obscene sounds you made. Antonâs voice was calm and soothing, low, almost menacing, a juxtaposition to the violence below. But it wasnât his fault. Anton had wanted to be gentle, you had refused. You wanted the pain, it was your punishment. You would claw Antonâs back, Antonâs lips would capture your own with each cry you wanted to release. His kiss was always breathtakingâliterally, in a sense that all coherent thoughts and all your breaths were ripped away from you; and then Anton would chew on your bottom lip, biting it, allowing a stream of crimson to bleed out.
âAnton,â you moaned out feverishly, âAnton.â
The priest continued to fuck you with a blind frenzy, eyes dark and hooded and the grip on your hips so tightâso that you wouldnât dare to even crawl away. So that you wouldnât even dream of it. So that you would remain pilant and soft and warm and obedient.Â
âIâm sorry,â you started to say, your words punctuated by sobs, âIâm sorry I was soâŚâ
Iâm sorry. Iâm sorry. Iâm sorry. Punish me all you like. I deserved all of it. I deserved every single bit of it. Every inch. Everything. Everything Anton didâwas it not what you were practically begging for? Anton had given you so many chances, but you had failed him each and every time.Â
âThere is nothing to apologize for,â His voice was calm and soothing, not matching the violence below. âYou have repented. And that, Y/n, is the most important.â
Anton pushed againâand this time the sound you made was almost inhuman: when you finally, finallyâfelt the warmth flooding into you, when you finally felt your insides being filled, your sin being washed away. And you were filled so completely, so much of it that some spilled from your hole, that you felt like you were choking on it. You released at the same timeâthe electrifying heat spread all the way to the tips of your fingers, enveloping you whole, leaving you dazed and weightless from the ecstasy of it.
Anton kissed your tears away, and his face was one of pride when he touched your forehead gently.
âGood job,â Anton whispered, his voice lilting and insidious. âGood job, Y/n.â
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âIâm just gettinâ started bub. âď¸â
Havenât posted in a while! BUT I SAW DEADPOOL AND WOLVERINE YIPPE!! âď¸
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Finally getting to that fic, and then working on the chainsaw man oneâ
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18+ mdni; male!reader
puppy!reader mounting wolf!toji because their heat is just too overwhelming. you're so much smaller than him but you're making it work; toji's face is shoved down into the pillows and his back is arched as you drill your hips into his, drool dribbling from the side of his mouth because it all feels so good. his deep growls have turned into softer type of mewls instead, your balls hitting his with every messy thrust you make.
you feel delirious on top of him. your head is dizzy bc toji is just so fucking tight, and so fucking warm. but what gets you the most is just that he's even letting you do it - he's letting a little puppy like you mount him. you can't stop babbling about filling him up, about giving him your pups.
"toâ toji, you're gonna take myâ ahh knot, yeah?" you babble on top of him, your claws digging into the wolf's waist. you watch his muscles contract as he squirms below you. "pleaseâ fuck, please take it?"
all you get back is a grumble and it's enough. you press onto his lower back, making him arch even more and growl when toji's tight hole clenches around your cock. curses stumble from his scarred lips as you rut into him, pushing your tip against the sensitive spot inside him that's making his eyes roll back into his head.
a mixture of your own pre-cum and spit dribble down his heavy balls, making a proper mess of him. toji fucking loves it â your sloppy and desperate thrusts, your groans, the way you're gripping him, the way you're marking him up. bruises and red scratches adorn his skin, hickeys bloom on his neck and his thighs are littered with your teeth marks. toji has never felt like this before.
"fuckâ c'mon, puppy." toji rasps from under you, his words a little muffled by the pillows. but you hear him clear and loud. "gimme yer knot."
sweat trickles from the side of your mouth as you push yourself flush against him, your hips stuttering as you cum inside him. your eyes are screwed shut and you can't fucking breathe â the feeling is just so overwhelming. and then toji's twitching and bucking back into you as he reaches his high just from the feeling of you filling him up.
it's so warm. it feels so fucking good. despite the sensitivity, you keep grinding into him â you never want to pull out.
"you're gonna have my puppies..." you sound delirious, your mind tunnel visioning on the task of keeping all your cum inside him.
the knot.
toji's eyes crack open at the feel of the base of your cock swelling up and stretching his hole even wider. "ohâ "
your hold on him is bruising. you've never had the chance to knot toji before, not anybody for that matter, so this is all new. and you're addicted. you need to do it again. and again. and again. the sight of your wolf boyfriend bent over before you with your markings all over his big body and your fat knot inside him â yeah, you're definitely doing this again.
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I've been overthinking this damn hound fic for months, it's driving me INSANE genuinely
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đđ¸đ
đźđŠđ˘đ°đ¸ đđŞđżđż â kento nanami x male!reader
himbo!reader , farmer!au , strangers/friends/lovers , meet - cute , inaccurate farming techniques , lawyer!nanami , slow burn , depictions of injury ( minor burns ) , check - ins , dumbification , vaguely implied age gap (~5 years) , hand kink , inexperienced reader , light feminization , blowjobs , anal , mating press , fingering , hand-holding , praise , degradation , slut - calling , dirty talk , spit / drool , under-negotiated kink , aftercare
w.c; ~ 13.8k
sonny says. . . naaamiiii !!! {cry} {cry} mbaby :c can ybelieve sâis mfirst nami fic ?!?! just tbe clear, the readerâs size or height isnât explicitly stated, but heâs vaguely hinted toward bein/appearin physical stronger than nanami.
â Next stop: Sekichiku â
When he wakes up, Kento expects sunlight peeking through greeneryâ warm, yellow rays of light that dance and flicker across his eyelids. Warm, yellow beams that caress his cheek like the knuckles of someone tender, the palms of someone sweeter. Itâll overwhelm him at first, so bright and unapologetic as his eyes adjust and focus, but heâll quickly crash, pupils constricting as the disturbance dwindles. And, suddenly, the starâs saturation will be comforting. Itâll be like a second. Just slower paced, peaceful. He expects the rustle of leaves, connected to strong branches and even stronger roots that dig into deep, rich soil. He expects to roll over in his temporary bed, breathing gently beneath shade, shielding his eyes from the welcoming invasion and blanketing him in a seamless flow of cool air.
When he wakes, Kento expects to hear the chirping of birds. Itâs never quite enough to hear them in Tokyo. The strum of wind as it tickles his nose and pushes him forward. The swaying of grassâ the smell is still so freshly imprinted in his brain, as it makes his head swim while crystal drops glide across its surface â a coarse underfoot of greenery that prickles the souls of his feet.
Tranquility by his side, urging him to get out of bed, chirping in an excited voice as it tugs on his wrist. He expects solitude, rolling its tangerine eyes and tapping its foot impatiently, âThis is the break youâve waited twenty-seven years for.â
But, instead, he finds himself clutching his chest, his heart beating with an unfamiliar pace that isnât so calm. His body feels cold, like heâs been submerged in the deepest part of the ocean, unrelenting and ruthless as wave after wave crashes into his ribcage. The static in his ears grows louder and louder, ready to combust and burst his eardrums. Instead of the rustle of leaves, the cruel hustle and bustle of city life storms forward against his chest, shoving him back and forth. Back and forth, to and fro, against his body as his knuckles turn white and his vision starts to spot. Back and forth, as he comes undone.
Itâs been so long, heâs not quite sure just how to unwind.
He starts off slow, swallowing air in desperate heaps until his legs relax, spreading toward the cushion arms of his faux-velvet chair. Then he flexes his fingers, draws them into tight fists and releases the digits until the shaking has stopped. Sips his complimentary white-wine with newfound steadiness, and tries not to choke when the intercoms ring,
âNow approaching: Sekichiku.â
Itâs a quaint little village, your district, where everyone knows everyone and the news is always, no matter where you are, city-wide. Stone-clad pavement and moss decalled windows, thereâs a small blanket of achroous fog further north of town square. Yet, despite that, thereâs an ever growing city of greenery and agriculture. With a small population and himself being the only passenger to unload at the station, it seems to be a lot busier than heâd originally thought. Street-food stalls and vendors, selling freshly baked goods and syrupy, savory sweets. Itâs not like Tokyo, no, thereâs no rush. No pushing or shoving, no overcrowded lines, no smells of smoke and burnt coal.
In fact, the air is rather crispâ the further his legs take him, the more apparent. No longer are his lungs breathing in the stench of sickness or body odors, no longer is he pushing past the fortunate, just to shove the unfortunate. And, admittedly, itâs a bit of a culture shockâ but itâs not unwelcome. Regardless, Kento keeps his suitcase close, pushes it forward, sidestepping polite smiles and local shop owners.
He basks in it. The genuine nature to it all, the healthy glow of the atmosphere despite the steam, the fog, the chill to the air. He considers this a luxuryâ the closest to a vacation heâll get, even if heâs technically âon the clock.â Stillâ he soaks in the sights of hugging trees, of mossy roads and cobblestone streets. The colorful banners that jump with life, the lanterns and yellow-lighting that illuminates the dayâ heâs sure at night theyâre even more wondrous. And, oh, the smells. Not at all like tokyoâ there isnât an overwhelming mixture of perfumes and colognes, no fast-food chains competing through aromatic smells, no heavy scents of tobacco littering the air. It's crisp, itâs ripe.
He almost takes no offense to the collision against his sideâ nor the screeching sound of surfaces grinding against each other, nor the loud and abrasive cry of the man bumping into him, accompanied by the crack of an appleâs core against the ground.
âWoah,â Warm breaths pan down the base of his neck, even warmer hands wrapping around his bicep with strength Nanami is sure shouldnât be normal for a typical, everyday civilian. He involuntarily grunts, a deep sound that rumbles in his throat and earns an eager, yet apologetic chuckle. âYou alright? Yâalmost went flyinâ!â
His brows furrow quizzically at that. Firstâ heâs certain itâs the latter who nearly lost an arm and a leg with his tumble. Second, he hadnât expected such a youthful, bouncy voice from the very stature shadowing acast him. Not even a bit, it doesnât match the muscle straining through thermal clothing at all, let alone the sheer square feet of area being taken up by one person. Blocking his vision almost completely, standing straightâ at an angleâ that blocks a stall for fresh produce and flaky, steaming bread. The goods speak for themselves, crusted over in golden brown mountains and cloud-like, moist cross-sections.
Swallowing, Kento nods, eyeing the poorly drawn sign for fresh bread. Drawn in sharpie, the prices are written in big, bold, red letters. Endearing, almost, the curve and loop of each letter and numberâ the lines of each to-scale doodle of bread. Nothing like Tokyo, not nearly as artificial, not perfectly clean-cut. Not so cookie-cutter. Thereâs some personality in it, as juvenile as it may be. And itâs a shame, really, how promising the stand looks. Apples that shine a golden shade of red, bread thatâs glazed in a sweet, sticky layer of yellow molasses and savory honey. And though heâd love to indulge, Kento has yet to label himself as the type. âGreat, thank you.â Is all he says, pulling his suitcase along the perimeter of the stand.
Some other time, then.
The days are long as they are hard. The sun has yet to fully set, and still, the Earth pulls and pulls to weigh it down onto your shoulders. The sky is painted in hues of orange and purple, strokes of tangerine and lavender roaming past your bird's eye view. Your back pops as you stretch, arms tensing against the woven basket of leftover harvest, shiny red fruits aligned with the horizon and reaching toward the tiny glimpse of departing stars.
Where blossoms grow from tiny seeds, and orchids dance in gentle breezeâ beds upon beds of farmland and agriculture drape the outskirts of the farmstead. Though the weather is turning, branches are starting to grow bare and bloom in color, the wind picks up its seasonal chill, and the clouds have begun to dissipate into the sky. . . The well-received proof of your hard work is still something to behold.
ââome any minute, now,â Youâve heard it all before, your mother gossiping to her farmer-wife friends as she nurses sweet teas and tangerine tiramisu under her calloused, warm hands. Youâd been a mere two steps away from where she sits at the open-island kitchen, shoes tipped in the illuminated speckle of celadon clearing just adjacent to the sliding, front, cedarwood door. âSaid so, at least. Did you hear. . . â Windchimes sing in welcome, soft and mellow as the door opens and shuts behind you, socked feet slipping from boots to warm, fuzzy slippers.
âMâback, Mama,â You mumble, half-humming along to the tune of muffled windchimes the further you walk, arms hoisting the overflowing basket up to your chest. A sweet sigh, then pitter-patter of fleece against parquetry, and the discovery of a sweet, cherry-red ladybug walking along your knuckles, leads to the basket securely placed on a free countertop. Thereâs a quirk of her brow, something of a gentle questionâ more of a suggestionâ not completely committed to keeping two conversations at once. Howâd it go?
âNo luck sellinâ today,â your voice buds, small and soft as your eyes trail the curves of a particularly large waste of an apple. An evident pout on your lips, then a quiet huff of air.
Farming has been your whole life, really. Itâs what youâre best at, good at. Ever since you were young, barely tall enough to push away tall-grassâ barely strong enough to pull out weeds, you knew it was yours. Something special, gravel crumbling and breaking beneath heavy, solid boots and rubber tires. The remnants of small, flying rocks, pelting into each other and leaving behind white, gray smoke as your tractor comes to a slow, gradual halt.
âBut I met someone new!â That peaks her attention, nothing short of a gasp coming from a pair of lipsâidentical to your ownâ and here come the questions. Was he blond? Oh, I knew it! Did he buy anything? Well, why not? Was he tall? Thought so. . . How about handsome? Come on, now. .
âHe was . . hmm, pretty.â Is how youâd like to put it, raising a finger to the air in finality. Truth be told you donât remember much about his appearanceâ it was more so his demeanor. Heâd bumped into youâ you thinkâ and yet, there was something so smooth about him. Not even his slicked hair, wavy at the end and curved just right to frame his face and bleed into the bristles of his blond undercut. Heâd carried on like it was nothing, still polite, even admired your handiwork on your stallâs banner. A sweet thing of a stranger.
âYouâre so easily impressed,â The smile dusting your lips curls into a wee, nasty little frown. Thatâs just not true. âA good thing, too, youâll have to like our new neighbor.â
Her voice melting through one ear and out the other like freshly harvested honey has your throat tied into a thick knot, stuck right at the base of your neck and only growing in size. Hands thrumming against the granite countertop, your body leans inward.
âNeighbor?â
âMm,â She hums, landline trapped between her ear and sweater-clad shoulder. Youâre not entirely sure if itâs toward you or her friend, either way, her conversation stays ambiguous. âI heard heâs some fancy lawyer. You think heâs defendinâ the Hasaba girls from last year?â
Thatâs something to think about. Two little girls whoâd been found locked away by some sort ofâ police officer, was he? Perhaps something more authoritative, and taken into his personal care. You wouldnât be surprised if it became legalizedâ youâd only met that man (Suguru Geto, was it?) in passing, but his stature seemed dead-set on protecting those girls.
Thereâs a muffled gasp on the other line, crackly with static as a finger twirls around the phoneâs coiled, mint wire. The rest of the conversation goes unheard, slippered feet carrying you to the large, alcove window that displays just enough equal farmland and neighborhood housing. And, sure enough, as if on cue, itâs not hard to make out the lines and shadows of the â fancy â lawyer, his fluid silhouette effortlessly carrying luggage andâ what looks to beâ a box of books. Documents, perhaps.
âYou didnâtâ how come you didnât say nothinâ ?!â Your excitement has you toppling over, limbs every which way as your face presses into the glass window. When youâre stuck in a place where everyone knows everyone, thereâs something exhilarating about having a new neighbor. And he knows nothing.
Thereâs a quiet mumble that roughly translates to: âYou didnât ask.â, but itâs filtered out by the sound of your full-footed stomps. You opt to keep your slippers, racing toward the neglected basket, mind completely set. âIâll be back, Ma!â
The path along your house isnât dangerous, but it is harsh on bare feetâ inured by heavy boots and pick-up trucks.. Still, it goes completely ignored as you carry the heaviest basket of goods you own, anxiety twisting and turning in your stomachâ bunny hops into your chest and stomps and stomps and stomps. Youâve carried yourself past the intersection of the cobblestone path, a lot more smooth the closer it gets to the large, usually untouched, rental home. The lights are offâ save for the dim, yellow glow of a small porch lamp resting above an unsullied, sleek and wooden rocking-chair. When thereâs no one to inhabit the home, itâs always been comforting to look atâ but now? .
Cold would be one way to put it. Your feet are cold, your arms are cold, your hands are cold, and youâre stood at his front doorâ frozen. Scared is another.
Even so, youâve always been told youâre the âbravest boyâ in your whole district. Cry-baby habits and all.
The door opens before you can knock, and all you can register is brown. Brown wallpaperâ the beige type, just barely meeting the requirement. Patterned with old, vintage looking floral prints. Brown, sleek wood of a bannisterâ steps that lead down into the living room, but are visible from the front door. Brown eyes, such a specific shade. When exposed to the light they almost look grayâ green?â but as he stands before you, thereâs nothing but molten chocolate and burnt honey-candy. A brown leather belt, securing crisp slacks and an equally crisp button up. You expect to see brown loafers, butâ
Fuzzy slippers, brown and soft and cute. Little black buttons for eyes, and two floppy, fluffy earsâ reminiscent of a bunny.
âOh. . . Can I help you?â Youâve heard it before, his voice, but itâs even more striking than ever. Itâs easy to forget the voice of someone youâd just met, but thereâs something so. . distinct about it. Heâs got a slight accent, too, something Tokyo-adjacentâ youâve always wanted to visit for longer than the feeble four hours of a busy work-trip.
âMhm!â Pretty lips spread to their best grin, pulling at your cheeks until the babyfat wells up. âWell, noâ um, actually. .â Brown eyes are expectant, but calm and patient as they watch you fumble over your words. Your fingers tremor as the basket is thrusted forward, heat blooming in your cheeks. âTheseâ This is for you!â
âAh. . .â Pink lips part, cupidâs bow prominent. Thereâs a beat of silence, then the sound of his front door closing with a slight clickâ right in your face. For a moment all you can do is stare, eyes boring into the dark, chestnut wood of the rustic front door. Staring until itâs gone blurry, eyes bubbling with fresh, unshed tears. And, nearly spilling over like an overflowing faucet, they gather before you can blink them awayâ fat and thick and embarrassing.
âUm. . I like your sliâslippers.â Fully aware youâre speaking to an unmoving door, you canât behind yourself to walk back the moss-decalled path home. Itâs not so cold anymore, your bones having rung out in the, metaphorical, hot sun until theyâve dried completely andâ now itâs warm. Warmth in your nose, stinging as you sniffle and bite down a hiccup.
âSorry for the wait,â Mahogany shifts, offset by a deep rumble of a voice, smooth like velvet in comparison to the sharp, slow creak of door hinges, âHere.â
Dam rebuilt almost immediately, your body straightens. Him again, this time his eyes trained on what he holds in his hand. Brown and gold like sweet honey and, by God, itâs the most crisp set of yen youâve ever held in your life. His fingers dance with fluidity youâve never seen before, counting through each slip until heâs deemed an amount satisfactoryâ thereâs a slight patch of hair on each of his knuckles, an array of veins that cascade into his forearm. His fingertips look a bit rough, but his nails are glossy and clipped. Even his cuticles are pushed back, just enough to look healthy and natural.
âOh! I wasnât trying toââ
âI know itâs rude to tip, so I left the exact change,â You blink. Once, twiceâ again, lips parted like a fish, fresh out of water. Then heâs hoisting the basket from your trembling hands, eyes downcast. âNext time, donât give out things you worked for, for free,â Right where his eyes dip, his monolid, thereâs a small moleâ cute and circular, and had you not been studying the curves of his face you wouldnât have noticed it. âYou should wear a coat, too.â And, like a schoolboy, you canât help the flurry of butterflies catching flight in your stomach.
âYes, Sir,â Pearly whites biting at the fleshy, pink insides of your cheek have your lips puckered, pensive and sweet as you clutch the money to your chest. âSorry about earlierâ um, if itâs okay, I could help with your boxes?â
He leans forward, careful enough to keep the respective bubble of space between the two of your bodies, glancing at heavy, book-piled boxes labeled âN.K.â The woven basket creaks under the weight of his chest, but it stays in one place nonetheless. âThat?â He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. âItâs fine, just mail. Mustâve arrived before I did.â
Itâs a bit awkward, really. Anticipation nips at your fingertipsâ youâve never really had to work so hard to continue a conversation. Youâve never had to think about it either, if the words were coming out correct, if anyone was comfortable with your presence.
âOh,â You breathe, subconsciously leaning closer. Perhaps itâs a miracle he hasnât actually shut the door in your face, andâ right. Your hands move to wipe away any streaks from your cheeks, a small sniffle ringing in the air. âSorry fâI bothered you. I live, um, closest to the windmill. Yknow, just up the path from here. . . ?â
You havenât known him for long, but you just canât consider him comparable. Maybe itâs your heart speed-running past any other rational thought, maybe itâs the blooming heat in your chest, maybe itâs the shiver of winter trailing down your spine. You find yourself desperately hanging onto his every breath, only ever beaming when he shakes his head.
âKento Nanami,â Tense shoulders relax with a deep inhale, the sweet smell of chocolate stuffed bread filling his nostrils. All that trepidation washes away, hushed under the breeze of Kentoâs slow breaths. âDid you make these yourself?â
The door creaks, quiet and welcoming as Nanami extends an arm, stepping aside. Once his eyes finally settle on you they harden, just for a moment, as if heâs finally noticed the pull of your eyesâ the crystalline seam tightlined around your waterline, the bright red strain of veins peeking behind your lids. Still, he says nothing, until youâve introduce yourself with watery tremors.
âItâs cold, and you came all this way without a jacket?â Your eyes trace the vapor floating into the air as he sighs, irises dancing along the edge of your bare forearms. âCome in.â
Your muscles straighten up under his gaze, rippling until rigid as you eagerly nod, âYâdonât think we could share some of that bread, dâyou?â
The best time to farm, youâve learned, is just after sunrise. The sun rests her head on grassy hills, still groggy and not quite awake yet, herself. But you are, suited up in your boots and overalls, not a single lantern in hand. Thatâs the first plus, natural lighting of the rising sun. The sweet, dim bath of light that paints the path from your home to your plantation in molten gold.
Then thereâs Kento. Youâd think he never sleeps, but youâve seen it. Ritualistic, in a way. For the last two weeks, youâve watched him go about his day. See, the window of your bedroom leads straight into his study, where he prefers a dimly lit lamp over the bright fluorescents. Itâs almost hard to tell when he comes and goes, seeing as whenever you look, there he is. Sat in a swiveling chair and hunched over his desk, writing something in a notepad and skimming throughâ what looks to beâ more documents on his computer.
You can only tell heâs going to bed once thereâs a sigh, a pinch to the bridge of his nose before smoothing out his eyebrows, then the discarding of silver-frame, rectangular reading glasses. The lamp stays on, as if he knows heâll be back in less than seven sleeping hoursâ which you think, for him, translates to roughly thirty minutes.
And, though he canât see you, you always make an extra effort to wave up at his study, just before starting up your tractor.
You never expected him to wave back. You never expect his eyes to trail from your face to your supplies. And you, most certainly, never expect him to join you. Two thermal mugs in hand as he makes it over the small hill from his home to your own, past the thorn bushes and vacant tangerine trees. Hot chocolateâ piping and rich, it coats your tongue in its sweetness and splashes against your lips with comforting warmth.
âMm!â You hum, blowing through the small gap between the thermos and its sealed lid. Youâd assumed your scarf, wrapped snug around your neck, would do the trickâ keep you warm enough â but this seems to actually hit the spot. Sticky accents from remnants of unmelted marshmallows, its fluff clings to the corner of your lips. And Kento, nursing his own mugâ though it contains teaâ looks up to watch you grin, shards of tiny sugar crystals clinging to your pouty bottom lip.
âHold still,â all but purring, his thumb swipes at your lip, wipes away the stickiness until theyâve partedâ breathless. His eyebrows furrow with concentration, as if itâs a practiced habit, absentmindedly licking his thumb clean with one smooth, quick dart of his tongue.
âSweet.â
Your breath circulates into the air, a swirl of white that dispels almost immediately. Your thoughts are cut short, breath stuck in your throat, eyes wide and glazed over with astonishment. âItâsâ huh?â
âSweet,â he chimes, lips curling around each letter. Heâs beside himself, nearly forgetting who he is until the clear of his throat and a resigned grumble. âI canât fathom how you manage to drink. . . radioactive waste from a cup.â
His humor is dryâ something you have to think over for a moment before smiling against the lid of your cup. Kento notes how you smileâ with your whole bodyâ eyes closed tight and teeth on display, shoulders bunched and your stride much more bouncy. He tries not to smile when you giggle, hiding the lower half of your face behind the piping mug as your shoulders brush against his own. With each step the closer you getâ to both the blond and your truck.
âItâs good,â Your voice lifts at the end of the statement, feigning offense as you lick your lips. Soft tongue against soft lips, Nanami partly wonders if you naturally taste as sweet as your preference for drinks. âMânot beinâ mean about yours!â
âI'm not being mean,â He corrects, a silent apology laced in his toneâ just in case â and your knowing gaze lifts from his cup to his eyes, blazing bright and beautiful. He basks in your attention for a moment, like the gentle rays of a sun-swept island. Had this really been a vacationâ no carry-on casesâ he wouldâve considered booking a flight to Malaysia.
First, heâs buckling you into your seatâ it seems youâd forgotten, then heâs reminding you to put on your gloves, despite having bare hands of his own.
âYou do this for a living,â is his justification, though you deemed it more a reason for him to wear the protective gear. âYou wear them.â
And, now, heâs listening intently as you explain the mild inconvenience that is the technicalities that come with farming. He learns of your affinity to animals. Your slight, biased preference for gardening. The way your nose wrinkles when you think too hard, and the way you often forget what you were saying as you say it.
Though the scenery outside the passenger seat window is beautifulâ valleys of faded green and brown, a light fog dusting the air. The symphony of crickets and cicadas, and of course, the sunset making its round up the horizon, teetering along the age of the Earth as it paints each and every blade of grass in its light.
He helps you out of the car as if you havenât done it yourself a million times, careful not to spill your drink in his other hand. Heâs awfully tender, too, his thumb absentmindedly circling the glove-clad skin of your knuckles as your hand squeezes his own. The door slams shut, and he doesnât miss your expression twist as you whisper a small âoops, sorry!â to your precious truck before unloading supplies.
Kento canât name a thingâ heâs out of his depths, here, but he helps anyway. He carries it down the never-ending row of cabbage and radish, watches his step despite nearly dismantling at least three dozen budding vegetables simultaneously. And you donât yell at him once, instead offering words of sweet encouragement until youâve found the place to start, dropping your assortment of tools and buckets.
âMâkay, âNami,â He watches you drop to a crouch, warmth blooming in the apples of his cheeks. Itâs not just the suggestive position, nor the way your pretty eyes look up at him from thereâ but itâs how sweet you say his name. . going as far as to give him a nickname, too.
Still, it manifests through the twitch of his eye, which you donât catch onto, as he kneels alongside you.
ââNamiââ
âNo. Itâs pronounced Nanami.â He interjects, his grip tight along the base of unsavory, frostbitten weedsâ at least, thatâs what he sees you doing anyway. Almost too tight, heavy and thick hands flexing, you can see the bend of his knuckles as his fingers dig into the roots.
âNa,âAnd, the smell of dirt, itâs so strong, the earthy undertones invade your nostrils and have no intent on stopping. . . ââna,â Raw, natural. His palms press in at the sides, thumbs stroking at the soil as he feels around for growing stems. For a moment itâs silent, save for the crackling radio beside you. Your pretty lips part, and sweetly, youâve sounded out his name. ââmi.â
A puff of air leaves his lips, a scoff of a chuckle, and heâs giving a slight nod, quietly whispering the syllables of your name in acknowledgment. âMhm?â
He doesnât miss the way your lips split into a wide grin, weeds absentmindedly disregarded for a moment as you giggle, âI already knew thatâ I just said it!â
âMm,â He agrees, though heâs not entirely sure you did. Then his heavy fingers tap your wristâ gentle, barely even a tap, but it gets you back on trackâ picking up the dead weeds. Kento watches, your hands gingerly plucking them free from the root, mastered and effortless.
Your fingertips dig into the soil, palms sticky and damp, littered with defrosting grass along each ridge and defining line. Thereâs so much care in your fingertips, and with every successful pull your eyes ignite. Like a cute, overgrown puppy. âGood. Youâre a smart boy.â
âYâthink mâsmart?â And, though your shoulders bunch upâ a bit more bashful, youâre shaking your head. âI meanâ I knew that already, too,â and it washes away as fast as it arrives, replaced with genuine exuberance. âI tell mâself everyday!â
The blond catches it anyway, gaze unwavering, even as your own struggles to keep contact. Nanamiâs eyes are remarkably intimidating despite belonging to someone whoâs positioned so utterly relaxed. . Crouching just as you are, but with smooth shoulders and lax biceps. Still, theyâre visible through the silk fabric of his button-up, but he seems used to it. Tufts of blonde hair, slightly unruly and disheveledâ swept back with gel, yet still set off in a flurry of gold by the back of his head, as if heâd rolled around in bed and decided to lounge about instead of retouching it.
Cozy.
âI do,â The sun dawns down through thick, gray clouds, framing his bronze locksâ and with his lips slightly parted and his skin picking up a peachy glow, he looks almost seraphic. âWhat were you saying?â
âUm,â You pause to rethink through the last hour, warmth blowing past your cheeks as a particularly nippy gust of wind rushes by. â. . We sell âem, the weeds! That wonât be for a few days, sometimes we keep âem for cookinâ, but . . . these arenât any good.â
âToo many?â He asks, as if itâs the most interesting thing heâs learned in his vacation here, by far, despite having learned that just a few days ago.
âToo many!â Pretty lips part into a wide grin, and perhaps thatâs the conclusion to Kentoâs sightseeing.
๨ŕ§
Kento tries not to lieâ not unless he absolutely needs to.
With your black on black attireâ a large, knitted sweater, a black bomber atop it, dark jeans to match, a hand-woven gray scarf wrapped around your neck, and white sneakers that carry a cream-colored accent in its threadingâ itâs hard to keep his mouth shut.
âWhere are we going?â Is his first questionâ but thereâs so much more he means to ask. Since when do you dress so nicely? Do your parents know you spent extra farm money on those shoes? Is it bad to feel the urge to hold you closer, just so no one gets any ideas?
Nonetheless, checking the silver-plated Rolex along his wrist with the slight tussle of his lapel-collared trench coat, just before popping open the passengerâs seat of your truck, he ignores the growing thought.
âYouâre always locked up in your house,â Twisting your keychain covered keys into the ignition, the truck starts up with a gradual rumble. Youâve figured something was wrong with the oil for quite some time now, but itâs never been enough to start any problems. âDonât yâwanna have fun?â
That doesnât entirely answer his question, nor does it ease his mindâ a vacation this is, yes. But itâs also paid, and heâs technically on the clock whilst being here. Still, he nods just once, the clench of his jaw apparent in the faint valleys of muscle just below his ear. Though, he supposes he could say the same about you. Every day you wake up, harvest, water crops, feed your animals, clean out troths and shovel up feces. Heâs not even entirely sure if thatâs your idea of funâ but he hopes not.
Kento doesnât expect you to be such a great driver. Smooth turns and a gentle rideâ even with cobblestone streets and gravel trails. You get carried away when you talk, too, hands moving about and your gaze trailing to his eyes every few seconds. He has to remind youâ âDonât take your hands off the wheel,â âDonât look at me, look at the road,â â but Kento would be lying if he said it werenât endearing.
Itâs almost like you can barely function without basking in his presence.
âIf it were warmer,â You swallow, finally stopping to catch your breath after the last fifteen minutes of rambling. The car slows down to a halt, an overhead traffic-light flashing a bright, crisp shade of red. âWe couldâve went apple-pickinâ . . . or even oranges!â
You take the time to fully face him, eyes trailing up his dark trousers and gray turtleneckâ it bunches at his chest, and youâre sure without his trench coat itâd be just as strained around his biceps.
âWhat do you do when itâs cold?â He muses, ducking his head to watch the passing of trees and inner city shops.
âHm?â You hum, but before he can repeat the question you beat him to it. âUh, we have this lakeâ itâs the first to freeze over when itâs cold. . â So quaint, his eyes gloss over pedestrians as they live amongst themselves. Walking their dogs, sharing a drink at an outdoor bar, couples huddled close together for warmth. The sidewalks are clean and clear, thereâs a polite, happy bounce to everyoneâs step. Fairy lights blink in every other window, casting a sweet, bright hue along the streets below it. Kento understands it all, despite it being much more. . comfortable. . than Sendai. âAnd, when itâs completely frozen, we skate on it!â
It feels like home. A gentler, cozier version of it.
âIâm sorryââ The blond clears his throat as he turns to actually look at you, having fully processed your words. âSkating?â
âAre yâscared?â Nanami tries to ignore the burning of his throat when you laugh at his silenceâ a pretty, featherlight thing of a giggle that only progressively makes it harder for him to catch his breath.
âNo,â He grumbles. Heâs actually done it beforeâ his younger, studying âcoworkersâ had a knack for dragging him around outside of work hoursâ and he wasnât free from it, even in winter. Yuji, Megumi, and Nobora, perhaps the three only people who could have him willingly risking a fractured disc.
âDonât be scared, âNami!â The car turns into a short trail, decalled in various signs and brightly colored symbols. âI can help you, mâkay?â
Four people.
He nods anyway, save you the meltdown, and lets you drag him out the car once youâve found a good place to park. Heâd think it was illegal had there not been a sign for it, let alone communal skates in varying sizes. Theyâre in good condition, too. A small wooden benchâ decorated with moss along its sides, he brushed his fingertips against it by accidentâ keeps him steady, but when he looks over to you, youâre already walking around with untied skates.
âCome here,â He beckons, voice soft and fond as he quirks a finger in your direction. He watches you fumble, nearly tripping over your own legs as opposed to your laces, but you make it over to him anyway, thigh against thigh. You brace yourself when he pulls your legs over his lap, shifts in his seat and tightens them just enoughâ âItâs not hurting you, is it?ââ to fit comfortably.
âThank you, âNami,â He can hear the sincerity in your voiceâ as if heâd saved your life. Your breath pans across his face, warm and minty as you shake your head, âDoesnât hurt. . .â
He offers a gentle pat to your knees once youâre fully set, softly dropping them back down as he leans to tie his own. Itâs a quick processâ not as tedious as the knotted up, tattered ones back homeâ a much more nice change of pace.
The ice, though, is considerably worse. He surmises itâs because itâs relatively untouchedâ if the whole village of Sekichiku had done two laps over it still wouldnât have been enough to leave a noticeable dent in the iceâ so his skates have nowhere to grip. You, though. . .
Youâre much more graceful on ice than on land. A slow turn here, a quick twirl there, you could skate laps around him if you so choose. But you donât, instead holding onto his wrists as he stiffly skates forward. Kentoâs nose is nipped with pink, matching the particular shade of his lips as they part in concentration. The shade dispels down his cheeks, and youâve never seen his face so. . . soft.
âSay, âNami?â You huff, holding his wrists as you move in a slow, clockwise circle, turning you both. âWhenâre you leavinâ?â
The truth bubbles in his throat, tougher to swallow than heâd originally thought itâd be. He clears his throat, avoids the question, and instead of freeing his wrists altogether, he holds your hand. Youâre pouting when you slowly swivel to his side, his heart somersaulting almost painfully at the cute, wee frown to your lips. âHey,â you whine, caught off guard but still pleasantly surprised, squeezing your palms against his own. âWhatâre you doinâ?â
Youâve always been undeniably sweet. Kento thinks back to your basket of goods. The sweet, savory, aromatic flavors of bread, meats, cheeses, chocolates. How you have it to him so sweetly, no questions asked. Thereâs no ulterior motive to your demeanor, either. Itâs peculiar to have someone so. . dependable. Someone to easily lean on, someone soâ hospitable.
Youâre perfect.
âI've neverââ He pauses, watching smoke dispel form your lips. An intimate position, heâs inâ close enough to hear your breaths, holding on tight enough to feel your pulse through your fingertips. âNoone has ever done this for me. Thank you.â
âWhat, take you skatinâ?â
âSupport me unconditionally.â He pulls away before you can say anything in response, relishing in the thought of your pulse speeding against his knuckles as he stiffly skates back toward regular land.
The ride home is smooth, but quiet. And once you get there, hunger overrides your hospitality.
You like Kentoâs rentalâ its kitchen is spacious and just big enough to support the mess of pots and pans that come with baking. Itâs warm and inviting, the stove works great and the oven even better. Its heat burns a little brighter, but nothing you canât handle.
Pain au chocolat â chocolatine â and meringue cookies; theyâre a pain in Kentoâs ass. Not even something heâd try to attempt without you thereâ heâs happy to watch you whisk away and laugh at his disgruntled faces. A âtaste-testerâ, youâd called him, scooping one sugary accessory after another onto the pad of your fingertip and asking him to try.
You werenât lying. You really do know how to bakeâ flour dusted skin and all. Twisting raw dough into pretty sculptures of bows and braids, scored surfaces of xâs and oâs, light layers of warm butter that seep into soft, risen dough. And when it bakes, oh, how sweet the smell of aromatic bread is to Nanamiâs stomach.
Studying the contours of a pretty faceâ baby fat rounding your cheeks as they pool into a sweet smile, pearly whites displayed brighter than the moonlight leaking through the floral curtains. Your laughter is wholehearted, hands gripping the hem of Nanamiâs fleece shirt, body tipping toward his chest as your giggles dispel into the warm, brown-sugar baked air. For a moment he mentally swoons, something of a comforting coo, eyelids heavy and blanketed with the same baking powder littering your handsome face. He relishes the warmth, which leaves just as fast as it arrives, and suddenly youâre reaching into the oven without your cute, fluffy puppy-patterned mittens protecting your hands.
âWait,â His tone is harsher than intended, solid and thick, and youâ the sweet, softheaded boy that you are, donât entirely deserve the worried look on your face that melts into sharp, hot pain.
âOuch!â Your elbow smacks into Nanamiâs calf as you flinch, fingertips raw and numbâ still pulsing from the fresh burn. The man crouches down, knee to ceramic, palm to your warm shoulder, and suddenly your wide eyes are glittering and gleaming. Had the smile from your face not been growing, heâd have been appalled. ââNami, did you see that?!â
âSilly boy,â He sucks his teeth, pulling your clasped hands from your chest. Gingerly, he plucks out each finger one by one, runs the pad of his thumb along the burn sites. âYou have to be more gentle with yourself.â
And, as if heâd declared to destroy your favorite equipment, your shoulders deflate. Hazel watches as tears well in your eyes in real timeâ with award winning speed, reallyâ glassy and wet and oh, youâre so cute. It was just a small reminder, nothing too harshâ it could barely be considered scolding. Yet here you are, sniffling and averting your gaze. Eyes glossed over while your fingers instinctively curl over his own for comfort. Then a small, petulant, âMâsorry, âNami.â
âNone of that,â Soothing, it's gentle and soft as his thumb travels along the numb pads of your fingertips. And though it was already a faint sensation, you can tell his touches are deliberately featherlight and calculated, cautious. âNothing to cry about.â
âIâm not crying,â You grumble, though his ears register the sound as a wet sniffle as you rub at your cheek with the back of your free hand. âI donât do that.â
âOf course not,â The breathy lilt tongue voice gives it all away, a tiny smile dotting the manâs lips. Theyâre entirely too enticing, a sweet shade of pink that dispels into the milky tan of his skin. Sheen and glazed with what could be spit, your lips part to mirror the same smile. Though yours is larger, his isnât any less exuberantâ luring you in one centimeter at a time until, inevitably, his breath ghosts along the expanse of your jawâ you can almost taste him.
His voice breaks through the thickened silence, âBut itâs okay if you do.â
The next two hours should go by just fine.
๨ŕ§
âWhat does âdefault-judgmentâ mean?â
Floorboards creak beneath Kentoâs feet, dimly lit ambient lighting placed around the office keeps it lit just enough to see ever so clearlyâ a small lamp angled above an open file, then the remaining trickle of light cascading over photos. Labeled, dated, clipped, and shipped to his front door just a couple weeks ago. Soon to be released, relinquished, deadlined.
His hair drips with cold water, tiny drops dripping down to the floor while others slither down his neck, and pool where his back dips, just slightly. He doesnât tense when he sees youâ his muscles remain just as relaxed as they were in the showerâ and his eyes barely widen past the tired, lidded expression that paints his face every night, before he gets his studying done. But youâ
Youâre the opposite. Your shoulders raise to your ears, eyes wide and unblinking as they stare at the towel wrapped around his thick, slightly hairy forearmâ itâs navy blue, with a brown, horizontal stripe across its fabric, and embroidered letters you canât quite make out. An intelligible sound, then an unexplainable expression, andâ there you are, tripping over your own tongue as your hands shoot to cover your eyes. Only unclothed from the waist up, Kento canât help the amusement blooming in his chest.
âItâs a deduction based on a defendantâs failure to answer. . or appear, in some cases, to a lawsuit or court.â Nanamiâs eyes trace the part of your lips behind your palm as your brain processes (though, he doesnât think thatâd be the correct word for it) his words. They purse, quickly, tight lined, until parting againâ once more, with less confidence. With each step he takes (long strides that make him appear as if heâs almost floating) he grows closer, strands of freshly washed angel hair sticking to his forehead.
â. S. . ure!â You smile and nod in faux understanding, fingers curling toward the dip of your hairline, eyes peeking through cracked fingers. From there, beneath your palms, an uncomfortable warmth blossoms from your throat up, settling in your cheeks and sprinkling across your noseâ sweltering and tingly.
Kento tuts, a soft noise, and you watch as he inhales a deep breath, pine eyes perusing through the space between your fingers for eye contact. â. . . Donât worry about all that.â And, as if he can feel the high voltages slamming against your heart, his tongue darts out to moisturize his lips, and his eyes fall to your chest. He sits aslant to you, legs spread wide with the occasional sway of his kneeâ but nothing too sudden. Youâre made all too aware of his half-naked proximity, purportedly close enough to feel the warmth of his body radiating through the roomâ to smell the sweet undertones of vanilla, musk, and earl gray tea residing in his skin. In a low rumble he speaks, pulling lotion free from the drawer to your left. âSilver lining is: Iâll be out of your hair soon.â
Even as he leans forward, closer and closer, he doesnât cage you inâ even if your chest aches at the loss.
Your heart demands the conversation die after that. Beating so rapidly you assume itâs stopped, silence freezes the air as your hands slowly drop to your lap. Lips pulled with woe, darling eyes low and sodden in an instant. Shoulders dropped just enough to sound a sharp creak in the swiveling chair youâre sat in, your lashes clump with fresh, unshed tears. And, in a lapse moment of murkiness, Kentoâs lips twitch into a frown of their own.
âWhatâs wrong?â He asks, as if afraid your response will confirm itâ heâs whatâs wrong. His choice of wordsâ wrong. Thin brows furrowed, the dip of his chin has his lips ghosting your cheek.
â. . . Nothinâ.â Itâs worse. Heâd expected tearsâ maybe even an exchange of fiery wordsâ but instead youâve shut down, hands balled up in the fabric of your flowy pants, denim bunched up and draped over your thighs. Completely silent, staring at nothing and everythingâ all in betweenâ all at once.
âNothing?â He echoes, a silent suggestion for more. The rumble in your ear is almost too much, for a moment you assume youâd conjured it up with your imagination. Too close, too bare, too blunt, too warmâ too fleeting.
âMhm,â When your gaze meets, his heart plummets to his stomach. âNothinâ.â Words rush to his tongue before they can catch up to his brain, and. . you look so . . sad. Heâs never seen you so defectedâ nor had he thought the concept of giving up existed for you. So headstrong, determined to make things work, gears always shifting into overdrive when you canât make something out. Youâve gone as far as to create your own definitionâ this isnât you.
âItâs. . . inevitable,â Kentoâs voice softens, dropping to a quiet whisper between just the two of you. âBut not for a while,â Then shifts his weight back, pulling away as he speaks in some sick sort of oxymoron, âIâm not going anywhere.â
âBut you will.â Grumbling, youâve always been an open-book.
âNot forever.â
â. . . Ever,â You grunt, choosing to ignore the stern quirk of his thin brow. Youâre a bit of a bratâ Kento sees that nowâ behind the pouty lips and soft eyes, behind the large smiles and intimidating prowess. âWhen are you goinâ?â
Nanami treads carefully, fingers wrapped around the closed bottle of lotion. With a snap it clicks open, and a generous amount is pumped into his palms. The smell is neutral and muted, but clean and fresh.
Kento tries not to lieâ not unless he absolutely needs to. An unexplainable feeling, adjacent to panic, rises in his stomach as he lies, âSix weeks, at least.â
âNamiâŚâ Ignoring the deadline heâd just given you, you ask, âDâyou like your job?â
You watch his posture relax, as if the previous conversation was just as emotionally taxing as it was for you, for him. He sighs, pauses to think for a mere second, then shrugs. âI like its structure.â
âOh.â
âI like helping people, too.â He adds, much more sincere. Your eyes trail the lotion as itâs rubbed into his biceps, his shoulders, his forearms. His fingers flex and muscles ripple, skin bouncing beneath his fingertips, and light traces of hair at his knuckles raising.
âOh.â You breathe, eyes locked on his veiny hands. You suppose, in a way, your jobs are similar. You, too, help people outâ you provide fresh food and crops, you herd cattle and brush the hair of healthy horses. A very hands-on jobâ itâs rewarding. âMe too. Iâ I like helping too. And. . .â
His fingers twitch, almost as if they can feel your gaze, but Kento makes no effort to move them.
Six weeks. Time is fleeting.
âIââ With trembling hands you lean forward, clasping Kentoâs smooth knuckles against your palm. Heâs just as warm as he looks, skin soft and sheen. His fingers flicker in your hold, straining as they tenseâ silently, asking, âwhat?â as an increasingly overwhelming urge to keep Kento close washes over you.
Itâs moments like these youâd wish you were better with words. To weave them together into something pretty, like a basket made for carrying fresh harvest. To pull apart and braid together an amalgamation of just the right phrasesâ ones that sound pretty and roll off the tongue. Some that sound soulful and genuine, yet effortless and forthwith at the same time.
Moments like these, where your breath is stuck in your throat and with every rise and fall of his chest you think youâve lost some moreâ heâs taken it all from youâ you wish you knew just what to say, to do, to bring that air back.
To have him melt at your words the way you do at his actions, to have him feel the same exact thing when your heart clenches in your chest like a rag thatâs been wrung out to dry. Without trying, without straining. You wish you were smarterâ better at this, as you lean so far from the chair it begins to squeak in protest.
Youâre sure thereâs better people in Tokyo. With better educational backgrounds, with cleaner jobs. People who have it all together, who have different skills and assetsâ who donât stick to one thing simply because they have a natural born talent for it. People who are prettier, more handsomeâ perhaps more his type. People who have aligning career goals and pathsâ more accomplishments.
Sweeter, kinder. With softer hands and an easier understanding of city life.
People who are better with words. Who can weave them together into something pretty, like a closed case with no loose ends or dead leads. Who can pull apart and braid together an amalgamation of just the right phrasesâ ones that sound pretty and roll off the tongue. Who can make their confessions sound soulful and genuine, effortless and forthwith at the same time. All within the heart of Tokyo.
People who arenât you.
Nanami stands, shuffling over to fix the documents youâd ruinedâ of course you didâ but his face hasnât changed from his usual tight-lipped expression. Sometimes itâs hard to read him, and itâs times like these you really wish you could.
âI like you,âNami.â You whisper to yourself, quietly pouring your heart out with each spoken letter.
And, with a snap, your world goes crumbling down. Increasingly silent, the world stops as you hit the floor and Kentoâs chest stillsâ the soft, quiet beat of his breaths gone quiet, as if it were a mere memory to begin with. The backing of his swiveling chair falls with you, right to the floor, clattering much louder than the sound of your tense body, andâ
âForgive me if Iâm wrong, but I think you have the wrong idea.â His voice is strained. Uncomfortable.
Youâve never felt more humiliated.
๨ŕ§
Despite your humiliating attempt to hold onto it, time flies by. Locked away in your roomâ your only source of comfort being an occasional knock on the door from your mother and the weight of your blanket as it remains overhead. Youâve counted the secondsâ tripped over your thoughts after reaching 1,633â started over again. Youâve listened to the pitter-patter of rain against your windowsill, peeked out from your cocoon to bet on a race between the raindrops.
Youâve thought about Kento, of course. So much it plagued you, made your chest uncomfortably tightâ until all you could do was let out a humiliated groan all over again. Itâs a timeless cycle, and yet, it grows closer to his leaving date.
You havenât spared a glance toward the actual outside, even when your window overlooks his own study. Youâre sure everythingâs out of sorts nowâ weeds overtaking the farm, plants dried out or overwatered, any blooming vegetation snipped at the bud before it could bloom. Tough luck, theyâll get over it.
And, God, has your family tried. Through gentle words and offers of food, through soft praises that fell on deaf ears. Through frustration, too, anger laced in the sweetest yell of âwhereâd my smart boy go?â
Your eyelids feel heavy and thick. No longer swollen with tears or bloodshot with dejectionâ just heavy, simply tired. Sleep is all youâve done these days, yet it feels like your body canât get enough. Fifteen hours a day leave you straining for more, three hours a day leave you exhausted. You can barely remember when you last left your bedâ for the bathroom, never for a drinkâ and even when your frown deepens as you think about it, you canât bring yourself to fix it.
You canât bring yourself to fix anything as of late, if it can even be fixed.
You were stupid for thinking heâd feel the same, anyway. A man like âNamiâ a man like Nanamiâ so smart and so distinguished. So. . opposite of you, to think youâd fall anywhere near the same line as him. . is laughable, really. Even more so when you consider his upbringing. He doesnât mention it much, and you try not to pry, but you consider his lifestyle quite traditional and cookie-cutter. You hadnât even asked if he liked men.
âI think you have the wrong idea.â
His rejection physically pains you, a quiet sniffle and suppressed whine straining your vocal cords. Your nails dig into the fleshy, cushiony part of your palm. You can hear the pitch of his voice â rumbling and deep, you hear the shakiness of his breathâso deeply uncomfortable, cold with disgust. âI think you have the wrong idea.â
A knock to your door startles you awake, eyes wide open as your cocooned body flops around in bed. Still, you barely make an effort to respond, dry lips parting to form a garbled groan.
âYour. . . friend was at the door,â Itâs your motherâs voice, but softer and pleading. For a moment your heart twists, eyebrows pinched as you suck in a sharp breath through your teethâ you canât remember the last time youâd seen her face without slamming a door in it. âLooked tired, so I gave him some coffee. . .â
A bitter, disconcerting âso?â nearly leaves your mouthâ something so unlike your usual self, it makes you want to borrow deeper into your sheets and never leave. Shame. She doesnât expect you to crack the door open. You shake your head, even if she canât see you, only breaking your stubborn resolve when knocks once more, and slowly, you scuttle around the mess of your bedroom to unlock the door. Your eyes carry dark circles and heavy bags as your gaze pierces straight through her. Then, a shaky breath and barely audible whisper, â. . . Sâit Nanami?â
Her aged smile is soft and thoughtful as she leans into the doorframeâ something you havenât seen in a while, and your eyes prickle with warm tears once more. âBetween you ân me, youâre in much better shape.â
Cracking a smile nearly takes all your energy from you.
You donât bother changing from your pajamasâ theyâve always been so baggy to support the muscle youâve grown over years of lifting heavy produce and working with truckloadsâ and now youâre grateful for it. Something to hide behind if you need it, and your fingers subconsciously curl into the fabric of your long sleeves for comfort. Once you get downstairs the two of you depart, and a gentle rub to your shoulder blades is all your mother offers before finding solitude on her own, just a few rooms away if you need her.
Andâ she was wrong. Of course, he looks tired. You can see it in his shouldersâ theyâre all wound up and tense, like theyâd been when you first met. Sure, his jaw is tightened and you can hear the grind of his teeth against one another despite keeping your distanceâ but he still seems put together, albeit lacking his usual combover or corporate style of clothing.
It hurts to know he does well without you, as selfish as it may sound.
âHi,â You mumble, rubbing at your face with the palm of your hand. Your voice crackles with disuse, rumbling and garbled in your throat. âNanami. .â
âHi,â He echoes, your name heavy on his tongue as he stands, leveling out the shared eye contact. Just Nanami. For a moment heâs at a loss for wordsâ and itâs odd, typically he has an answer for everything. You remember asking why heâd buckle your seatbelt before his own, and his answer was always the same. You remember asking why he likes what he doesâ and theyâd all circle back to enjoying the small things in life. His Kentoâs lips part, taken aback by the loss of his nickname, but they close into a tight line with registration. Perhaps youâre just. . too much.
âI lied to you,â He begins, and your heart leaps to your throat. He clasps his hands together, resting soundly by his thighs as his head tilts downward, a silent plea. âAnd, for that . . . Iâm sorry,â Kento releases a breath, hands coming undone to swipe away stray, gold strands of hair. âDonât feel obliged to accept, I justâ I like yâ I want to show you something.â
Itâs odd. The look on your face makes him want to scoop you up, to cradle you in his arms and hold you tight. And yet, he can see the cogs turning in your brain, the gradual loss of your frown and faux steel in your eyes as you shrugâ he canât even distinguish if youâre being reluctant or stubborn. Nonetheless, Kento smoothens the fabric of his coat, and makes a small, polite gesture to the door.
âOkay.â Your fist rubs sleep from your eyes, steps heavy and dragging along the floor as you slide your feet into brown bunny slippersâ the same ones heâd worn when you officially met.
Stepping into the cold, crisp winter air, you both ignore the tremor to your bottom lip, âWhat were you gonna. . ?â
Not at all hard to spot, set alight by the glow or orange lanterns, itâs your farm. Oh, itâs much prettier than you couldâve ever imagined it. So clean, with pristine rows and neat placements of fresh soils. You can actually walk through it, as opposed to tip-toeing around like you used to. The air is crisp and fresh, just like youâd remembered itâ but it feels better than before. And, dotting the horizon, fireflies dance into the night sky and blend into the twinkling stars. You donât remember the last time youâd seen themâ vision occupied by tall grass or obstructed by rusty tools. You could almost cry. Your breath catches in your throat, a gentle breeze brushing along your forehead and digging into the fabric of your clothesâ yet you feel light and warm.
He did all this for you?
âAre you cold?â You blink hard, vision blurred with tears as Kentoâs hand grasps your shoulder. âYouâre shivering.â Heâs quick to shrug off his coat, barely even flinching when the fabric dips into fresh mud, and loops it around your form with steady hands.
âMâokay. .â He frowns, barely visible, and the slight protests of being strong enough to tough it out die on your tongue. But itâs true, you donât feel coldâ not internally, at least. You feel light yet heavy, warm and airy. Heat pokes at your skin, ignites in the apples of your cheeks and trails down your throat. â. . . Thank you, âNami. . . For everythinâ.â
âWhy're you saying it like that?â He wants to ask. As if itâs some sort of sick, roundabout way of saying goodbye. His movement stutters, lips curled into a small âoâ before reverting back to its usual, thin line; and he speaks, âI donât just like you.â
Your fist tightens in his coat, fabric twisting to accommodate your grip.
âI. . admire you. Your strength, your weakness. Your baking. . Your smile, too,â He sighs, quiet and cautious. âYour laugh. I regret not telling you before. At first, I thought you were impulsive, and somehow abrasive, buââ
Youâve never been one to hide from your feelingsâ you laugh when youâre happy, scowl when youâre angry, mope when youâre sad. So itâs no surprise to feel you smile; wide and unapologetic. Itâs no surprise to feel the tremble of your fingers as they release his coat and land on his biceps. To feel the slow, shaking breath of air he releases at your silenceâ hearing his own slight sniffle at the nippy, cold breeze. Youâre nervous, lips twitching as his chin dips, bashful as his lips intertwine with your own.
A kiss.
"âNami," Laughing into his mouth, it meets the sound of your lips continuously meeting in breathless, heavy harmony. His lips are plush, soft and sweet, hungry and hasty, everything and nothing and all things in between. âI like you. I like you, I like you, I like you.â
You feel it nowâ the warmth enveloping his chest, the hard hammering of his heart against his ribcage. "Shit," He whispers, incredulous, and before slowly pulling away, cradles your handsome face between his calloused âI like you too.â
๨ŕ§
Kento owns silk pillows. You can tell theyâre imported from homeâ as they disturb the uniform colors of the crisp, cream comforter set blanketing his bed. Itâs the first thing you notice, head sinking into the fabric as your eyes flutter closed, thoughts and breaths stolen with each wet, heavy kiss being pressed against your lips. His breath is hot and heavy, small groans and grunts leaving his parted lips, andâ he tastes of chocolate.
âKennyââ You gasp, but the sound of his name on your lips only eggs him on. Hot heat blooms in your stomach, tingling down to your tummy, so deep, something youâve never really felt before. It tingles, almost, right through your thighs and straight to your cock, plumping up with each passing second. And his hands, god, are so quick and skilledâ shedding you of your clothing as if heâs done it a million times before.
âKenny,â You repeat, much whinier than before, tiny sounds leaving your lips as you squirm in his hold. âMm, wait,â and his response is barely committal, a low hum that melts into a breathy sigh as your bare skin is exposed and your leaking cock springs free against your tummy. He coos, peeling the sticky fabric of your underwear free. Cute.
âUse your words,â Kento mumbles against your skin, running his hands along the silky smooth skin of the back of your thighs. âI know you can, youâre a smart boy.â You squirm with every touch, plush skin bouncy as you press your thighs together, cock sliding by your navel. And, even when you hide, he can see the precum smearing against your stomach, the tightening of your balls, and, now, your exposed hole winking back at him.
Fuck.
âMm, donât look,â Youâve barely convinced yourself, a choked out moan leaving your lips as his big, warm hand wraps around your cock and pumps. âThatâsâ oh, embarrassinâ!â Slow, at first, trailing up the sensitive shaft and rubbing circles into the overly-sensitive head. Until his hand is slick with precum and his own spit, until your thighs are convulsing and youâre close to covering yourself in your own cum. Until youâre sobbing, pulling at his wrist with weak, clammy hands.
âI know, sugar. I know,â And the stifled cry you've been hearing belongs to you. âFeels good, hm?â His free hand grazes down your waist, thumbing at the dip between your hip and your thigh, then cupping the soft, plush skin of your pecs. âFeels better than your own hand, doesnât it?â Kneading until your nipples harden against his palm, soft skin swelling around his fingers. And, oh, how pretty you are when you cry, overstimulated tears rolling down your cheeks and incoherent babbles leaving your swollen lips.
âUhâ huh, yeah,â Is barely breathed out, and Kento watches pre leak over his knuckles. Creamy and thick, sticky and sweet as your hips rock back and forth, to and fro. You just canât help yourself, greedy boy, fucking into his fist like itâs the best thing youâve ever felt andâ oh.
It is.
âMessy boy,â He huffs, pressing his forehead against your ownâ damp and sticky. Your hand, preoccupied with fisting his sheets, is grabbed, and all you can feel is slick, hot heat. âFuck your fist for me.â
âWh- Huh?â It takes a moment for your brain to catch up to your hands, wrapped tightly around your cock as your hips buckâ whines high and loud in your throat, keening like a puppy. Itâs not at all paced, not like Kento, just pure desperation and need as your toes curl and your eyes roll back into your skull. Warmth rises in your face as your legs instinctively part, tingles spreading through your body and needy moans filling the air. Wet and sloppy, your hand is slick and soaked.
He travels lower, lips trailing down your throat, your collarbonesâ pausing at your chest. He watches the rise and fall, the slight bounce of your pecs as you pant like a dog. Pretty buds hard and sensitive, a gentle suckle is enough to make you arch from the sheets and keen.
âGood boy, thatâs it,â You have the urge to get on your knees, to present all your holes to him, to spread yourself open with your fingers- fucking them in and out, in and out, just for Kento. Itâs all too much, thinking of whatâs next, whatâs happening now, whatâll happen later.
Nanami lifts his shirt over his chest, the fabric bunching under your armpits as he keeps it pinned between his teeth, and you have no other choice but to flutter your lashes, watching as his pants are loosened and his cock springs free. Big. Thick and longâ and, it seems his tan has traveled to his cock, too. Blushing at the tip, the sweet color of mocha, it disappears the further you look down. Curved, too, slightly past his belly-button and heavy against his navel. It's humiliating, the way your mouth waters almost immediately.
Itâd feel so good weighing down on your tongue, fucking your throat fast and rough, making you gag and sputterâ choking on your own tears and groans.
âWanna. . I want. . .â You squirm where you lay, whining high in your throat as you find nowhere to hideâ nothing to put your face against, nowhere to bury the drunk, hazy expression on your face.
âWant what?â He murmurs, pretty eyes trailing along the curves of your face before he places a sweet, soft kiss along the edge of your jaw. You take the grip on your waist as a slight indicationâ Kentoâs patience is slowly waning.
âVânever. .â Your lips part into a gasp, eyes fluttering closed as his large hands travel along the expanse of your chest. âI wanna. . . feel you in my throat.â
The smart man he is, Nanami, never misses a beat. Pink lips splitting into a small smile, his thumb rubs circles against your skin. Still, you can feel the throb and twitch of his cock against your thigh, hard and almost leaking. âThatâs ambitious, sugar.â
You donât register scrambling up by your elbows, nor the amount of time it takes for your fingers to fail at wrapping around his cock. Your thoughts are muffled and hazy until a quiet chuckle sounds above youâ rumbly and deep, andâ ah, Kentoâs hand is guiding your head back as he pulls your hands free. Youâre panting for it now, mouth dropped open as the slurp and slick noise of his cock tapping against your tongue drops straight to your stomach. You could cum from this alone, without even a single glance toward the ache between your thighs.
"M'gonna be so good, promise, know I can do it! Want it, Sir," A clear habit of rambling when youâre nervous, a soothing coo leaves Kentoâs throat. His tip smears along your pillowy lips, sticky and salty as pre paints your chin.
âShit,â He groans under his breath, fisting his cock to ease the ache in his balls. âSlow. I donât want to hurt you. Gentle, remember?â
You donât. You can barely think, let alone recall something from another day. But you nod anyway, eyes glued to his cock as it bobs to and froâ pretty and weeping. You bet itâll feel so heavy, weighing down on your tongue and nearly crushing your throat as you gag around it. Heâll taste good, too, salty and sweet as he buries his cock down your throat. With your nose pressed into the blond of his pubes, and his balls slick against your chin as they tighten and clench.
Yeah, you want him to cum on your face.
With a whiny nod you take his tip into your mouth, pink tongue over your teeth. In your head, itâs much easierâ you can sink down to the base no problemâ but in practice. . . You sputter and gurgle, leaning into the gentle touch caressing your cheek as your tongue traces the pulsing, thick vein cascading down his shaft. Through your pathetic whimpers and whines he mumblesâ but it falls on deaf ears.
You stick out your tongue, cute and pink, latches onto your bottom lip, slicking his slit as he blinks down at you, pupils blown and wide as he praises you, voice smooth and buttery.
Through your own jittery, inexperienced suckling, his tip is smeared along your lips, slowly tracing your cupid's bow and bottom lip until a thin layer of pre has them glazed over and sticky. Your lips part, carrying a thin trail of creamy pre between them, as his dick slides in and out your hot, wet mouth. Spreading heavy along your tongue, swallowing around the head as his thighs tense, muscles flexing and rippling as they strain to keep still.
ââNamiâs dick is heavy, sweetheart,â Heâs gasping before you can fully take in the stretch of his cock, hips twisting as his eyes flutter closed. Itâs been a while, you can tell, with the way his balls are clenched tight, his hand morphed into a fistâ careful not to grip your hair. Your spit bubbles and pools around his cock, slick and wet, sliding between the seams of your lips and dripping down your throat, down your sternum, down his thighs. âAnd youâre taking it so well.â
Running your tongue along his big, veiny cock, his head falls forwardâ adamâs apple bobbing as he lets out a pleased moan. His cock fills your empty mouth, stuffing it full like a pre-lubed fleshlight, his balls slapping against your chin in sticky, wet plaps. Collecting drool, it froths between your lips and his cock, bubbly and white until your noises are sloppy and loud. âThatâs it, good boy, take this load down your pretty little throat. . .â
Gasping on his cock, Kentoâs hand holds you close, until youâre buried against his pubes, until your throat is squeezing and contracting and wrapped plush around the thick shaft of his dick. You can feel it, each and every twitch and throb, each hit, sticky rope that paints your mouth as he cums down your throat, ropes shooting down your tongue and sticking to the roof of your mouth. Youâve done so good, such a good boy, marked for Sir, offering a few hollow sucks to his spasming cock before he pulls you off.
Youâd rather he paint your face, but you trust him, swallowing the bitter, salty cream as he whispers gentle praises.
âYouâre perfect,â Kento mumbles through heavy gasps, rubbing away the fat tears that roll down your cheeks. Such a sweet, pliant boy, leaning into his touch as he gently pushes you back down, off your knees.
Now heâs got you folded, knees bent back in such a slutty, shameless display. The blond squeezes at his cock, his large hand sliding into a fist that clamps down around his beading, shiny slit, then slowly back down to the thick, veiny shaft. Yeah, thatâs good, how it slips and slides with rhythmatic pumps. Youâd like to imagine thatâs how itâll be when his cock is inside, stretching past your rim and splitting you open, sliding against your velvety walls until he fills you up with his hot, sticky cum.
âSpit,â he says, gentle at first, but hardening as your poor, pitiful attempt at spitting down your own cock turns into gurgles of drool and incoherent moans. He grips your jaw, angling it just rightâ till youâre resting back on your elbows and have enough space to land a warm, wet glob right down the slit. âGood boy. Look at me, pretty. Like this.â
You watch as he spits down onto his own cock, runny and wet, which stands as a reminder of its own. His fist is so big, but itâs not nearly enough to swallow his cock down. You watch it pop free from his tight grip, loud squelches with each and every movement. Every time he throbs, pulses, shiftsâ you hear it all.
âThatâs it, atta boy, my good little cocksleeve,â Youâ it must be you, thereâs no one else heâs speaking to. Still, with your hand squeezing your throbbing shaft thereâs not much you can say, airy little moans and sweet, high gasps leaving your pouty lips as you buckâ up, up, up. A thin trail of drool slips down your chin, warm and wet andâ oh, thatâs niceâ trailing down your cock. âThatâs it, stick your tongue out.â
You really do play the part, tongue on display as you fuck your fist silly, bumping slits with the blond. Soft and sticky, loud and wet squelching until his own large, warm palm envelops both your cocks, bumping and grinding and sliding so messy. You nearly burst into hysterics when the warmth is gone, and Nanamiâs gaze tears away from the pre oozing between your shafts. âAsk Sir for more, angel.â
âMm, waitwaitwait, donâtâ donât stop,â You keen, stumbling over your tongue. Your brows pinch, eyes glazed over with unshed tears. âKennyâ Sir, please.â
âGood boy,â All but purring, his hands roam along the plush, round mounds of your ass. âYeah,â His dick slips between the slick skin of your perineum, dragging along the sensitive skinâ the head of his cock catching on your rim when his thrusts turn too eager. âYouâre a good boy, asking like that.â
âYou like grinding on Sir's cock donât you? Getting me all wet. . .â Just as warm and wet as heâd thought, cooped up in his office and fucking into his fist, lube gushes and trickles out with every deliberate, shallow rut forward. Your balls bounce and twitch, slick and shiny with a mixture of pre. Your moans, so pretty, high and nasallyâ incoherent and blabbering. The slurp of his cock goes straight to your balls, tightening as you whine like a bitch for it. And his grip, once gentle and steady, leads down to your ass, keeping it spread as he slides the big head of his cock along your pretty little rim, again, and again, and again. Itâs more menuevering than bouncing, through your fucked out haze you try to think; you want him to ruin you.
A knot tightens in your tummy, tingling in your balls as your thighs tighten and your legs trembleâ fuck, youâre cumming, hard and all at once, it catches you off guard and a choked squeal is knocked from your throat, rope after rope spraying along your own chest.
âIââ You sob, cock convulsing against your tummy as Kento groans. âI didnât mean toâ didnât know, mâsorââ
He hushes you, a low growl in his throat as his eyes roam up your tummy, past your hard nipples and land on the splatter of cum collecting between the plush hills of your pecs. âSâokay, it just felt too good, mhm? I bet your pussy feels so good, babyâ perfect, pretty little pussy swallowing up my cock.â
You donât expect him to say thatâ thatâs the last thing you expect, eyes rolling back in your skull as you moan, wholehearted and slutty. With the wet squeeze of lube along your bottom half, slicker and sloppier than ever before, your hole winks back at him. Your perfect, pretty little pussy. âThat okay, sweetheart? Can Sir pound this hole till it aches for him?â
Your response is barely coherent, garbled sounds and babbling that roughly translates to âpleaseâ as thick fingers prod at your tight, puckered hole. Your loud moans are hushed as Kento leans down, close to your ear. His fingers slide against your entrance, sticky lube sliding along with them and connecting to your puffy rim. They feel so big, so long and thick when he taps them against your hole, barely breaching the tiny gape of your rim. âGonna get you ready for Sirâs dick, gonna finger that cunt nice and slow, get that sweet boy-hole stretched out.â
âKenny,â You hiccup, uncontrollable tears streaming down your face as you reach forward to press his fingers closer, a tiny gasp leaving your lips as your entrance is breached. You donât miss the groan you earn in return, deep and shaky as the man takes the opportunity to slip his fingers right in, past the burning stretch of your fluttering âcuntâ that sucks the digits deeper and deeper into your gummy walls. âCan take it, pound it, Sir.â
âLook at me, watch me, sugar. Watch Sir fuck this little hole full.â You squeeze your eyes shut for as long as the reluctant, bratty little part of your brain lets you before staring down into hazel. Until his fingers have you seeing stars and rocking back into them like a cock hungry slut, youâve never felt more full until his cock kisses your insides, leaving you sloppy and open and full.
Your voice isnât nearly as loud as the wet squelch and slap of skin against skin, his cock sliding in and out your puffy hole as lube gushes out around his dick in white ringlets. Like youâve creamed on his cock, he can see it slip back inside with each thrust. Your knees over his shoulders, Kento hauls your body up, and with a tiny, wee and pathetic âah!â you follow suit, your cute little hole clenching and fluttering around his thick, leaking cock.
âGive me a little more, just a little more of this pussy,â You canât contain the squeals and squeaks that leave your mouth when the blond pistons his hips, a bruising grip on your waist that only gets harder as he grinds his cock down into you. Heâs filling you up so good, his balls slapping against your ass with each rushed, rough thrust that has your mind scrambled just as much as your guts. You canât take it, hands scrambling to grab at something, anything thatâll keep you from screaming.
Pounding into you, your head falls back as you take it, nice and slow, stretching you outâ fast and rough, steady and patientâ Kento groans above you, bullying his cock inside, grinding while your hips squirm. Mouth open with an unending stream of moans, he breaks you in, turns you into his good boyâ his perfect fleshlight. Wet little hole clenching and spasming, his weight pins you down as your greedy hole milks him for all heâs worth.
âCumminâ, Nami, sâtoo muchâ Mâcanâtââ Whining and crying, his touches go right to your head as much as they do your puffy hole."Kenny," you whine, long and pitiful, a pout of a noise that hits him right where you want it to, just as his cock does inside of you. You whine again when your rocking turns into frantic overstimulated grinding, reveling in the stretch of his cock and the rub of your prostate. He groans, thick and gravelly, hands coming up to squeeze at your chest.
âIâve got you, câmere, hold Sirâs hand,â He chokes out, feeling it too. The tightening of his balls, the way his dick aches and pulses inside you, the way his cum is starting to kiss your insides and spurt straight onto that small bundle of nervesâ fuck, itâs so deep. His thrusts are hard and deep, thick rope after thick rope frothing around his shaft as he fucks it deeper inside. âSo good for me,â You never want it to stop, not the pump of his cock, not the drag of his tip against your entrance, not the filthy sounds, not the cum filling up your hole till you canât move. Your grip on his knuckles is tight, nails digging into the skin of his hands. âThatâs it, such a pretty boy, cumming on my cock.â
A searing knot of pressure grows in your stomach, filling as you bear down on his cock and sob on your whimpers. For a minute you think youâre going to pass out, everything going dark as you spurt all over yourself, globs of cum spraying hard onto your chin and splashing back on the blond. He makes you ride it out, offering hard, shallow thrusts to satiate the erratic spasming of your hole, and places a few sweet, tender kisses to your sweaty jaw.
๨ŕ§
You wake with a small moan, limbs racked in small aches as your body melts into silk sheets. It smells like him: warm, cozy, and comforting, like a hug. Grateful for the dim, ambient lighting of his bedroom, your eyelids flutter open slowly, and thereâs not much to adjust to. Youâre cleanâ its the first thing you notice, a faint scent of soap lingering on your skin as your aching body scrambles for Kentoâs warmth.
âIâm here,â He says behind you, hairs on your neck standing straight as you blink at him. Carrying a glass of ice water and a plate of meringue cookiesâ whisked perfectly. Cute, cloud-like spirals that sit on a porcelain plateâ the same ones he watched you make, a smile pulls at your cheeks. âHungry?â The muscles of your biceps flex as you push yourself up, body subconsciously leaning toward the blond until heâs sat next to you, his touches gentle and fleeting.
He feeds you a cookie, watches your teeth sink into the sweet, then wipes away the remnants of sugar from your lips. So tender, your heart flutters when he takes a bite after youâ an indirect kiss.
He swallows, throat bobbing, lashes batting against his high cheekbones, before parting his lips, âI was thinking of extending my stay.â
The room feels ten times brighter, ten times louder, and yet, your heartbeat overpowers it all.
âI like you,â The words tumble from your mouth, almost as if he hadnât just spent the last hour taking you apart and building you back up. You have nothing to lose, and everything to gain. âI more-than-like you, Kenny.â
And, without missing a beat, Kento answers truthfully this time.
âI love you too.â
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Me : wants to continue writing
Also me : vibrates as Destiny 2: Final Shape has DROPPED GRRRR
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Smiles,,, finally have time to edit hound fic and post in morning, yes yes
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