Loveandpeaceanddoughnuts - Esperanza - Tumblr Blog

ex!Toji x Reader ~ Make You Better

sum: Your ex shows up on your doorstep one night, months after disappearing on you without a word. He’s also bleeding out from a stab wound.

feat: hurt/comfort (emotional & physical), tending wounds, drinking, apologies, protective!Toji // wc: 2717 // [ao3]

You’re jolted awake, nearly falling off the couch where you had passed out a few glasses of wine ago. Bleary eyes squint at the oven clock. 2am. There’s another knock on the door, hard and fast. Desperate. You think tiredly to yourself that nothing good ever happens after 2am, and prepare to be proven right as you slouch to the door and press agains the peephole.

The sight you’re met with sobers you like a slap to the face. You haven’t seen the man on your doorstep in six months, and tonight he looks like the most pathetic kind of stray cat, spiky black hair plastered to his forehead with lashes of rain. His strong form is bundled into a jacket, and his hands are pressed to his abdomen like he’s holding himself together. Toji Fushiguro.

You crack open the door and he straightens up quickly, teeth catching on his bottom lip as he bites back a groan. “Hey, doll. Sorry to bother ya so late.”

“Toji, what the hell? What are you doing here?”

“Mind if we talk inside? I’m not feelin’ too good.”

“Not until you tell me what’s going on. I haven’t seen you since…” since he disappeared. You had had an argument one night, the same one you always had about his line of work, but when you woke up the next morning he was gone. Toji doesn’t finish your thought, just smiles weakly.

“That’s fair. Thing is, I got into a lil’ trouble and this was the only place I could think of to go. Just need a minute to clean myself up, and then-“ he sways on his feet, suddenly unstable.

“Toji?”

His next words are slurred and lost. He takes an unsteady step forward and his leg gives out, left knee hitting the concrete floor with a nasty crunch.

You leap forward on instinct, catching his broad shoulders with an impact that knocks the breath out of you. His head lolls onto your shoulder, and you see the whites of his eyes.

“Fucking hell.” You drag him inside with a litany of curses, just managing to prop him up on the floor against your couch. He’s out cold, his chest rising and falling unevenly, and you slump against the wall opposite him. Nothing to do but wait for him to wake up.

A few too many minutes have passed with just your thoughts for company, and you risk leaving him long enough to pour yourself a drink in the kitchen. The liquor burns your throat but steadies your hands, and it dulls the adrenaline in your veins.

You walk back to the living room and wave the bottle under Toji’s nose, figuring the piercing fumes might snap him out of it. Nothing. You stare into the neck of the bottle, wondering dimly if this could be the mother of all nightmares. Your deadbeat ex-boyfriend passing out on your doorstep in the middle of the night. It would certainly fit the bill.

The part of you that isn’t wallowing in liquor-soaked bitterness thinks that he must have come here, of all places, for a reason. Something out there scared him more than the thought of facing you. With a heavy sigh, you scoot closer to him and push open his jacket, examining his body for wounds. Even in unconsciousness, his scarred hands were wrapped protectively around his stomach. You gingerly pull them away, and fall back on your ass with a gasp.

Fushiguro is bleeding badly. The palms of his hands are stained with what’s already dried, fresh blood slicking your fingers where you’d touched his. His t-shirt is transparent where it’s stuck to his skin, the ragged edges of a puncture wound framing a raw, red hole.

Your body reacts faster than your mind, and before you process what you’re seeing you’ve pressed your hands back over the wound with as much pressure as you can muster. You need a dressing, need to make sure there’s nothing else in there, need to disinfect…

“Why the fuck would you pull it out, dumbass?” You’re mumbling, to yourself. It’s one of the first rules you learn if you’re going to run the risk of getting stabbed with something, come on…

“Wasn’t me, doll. Bastard took his knife back when he ran.” The gravelly voice startles you, and you shove down harder on the wound in surprise.

Toji moans in pain, sucking air in through gritted teeth that somehow still form a cocky smile. “Easy, doc. Don’t need you squeezin’ out the blood I got left.”

“Oh good, you’re awake.” You switch your hands with his, waiting to let go until you feel him put the same amount of pressure on. “Now can you tell me why you’re bleeding out in my living room?” You try to sound detached, even angry, but your voice wobbles and you know he catches it.

“Thanks for bringing me inside.” His voice is softer, almost embarrassed. “Didn’t mean to faint on ya.” You stay quiet, waiting for him to continue. He twists his neck until it cracks, and stares at the floor.

“Wasn’t really thinkin’ straight after I killed the guy that put the knife in me. Realized you were the closest place I knew, wasn’t sure I could go any further. I didn’t wanna bother you, doll. Honest.”

You don’t react to the confession of murder. The more shocking thing was that someone got close enough to Toji to stab him in the gut. It’s a plausible enough excuse, you suppose. And it’s hard to hold a grudge for a man who is currently dying on your carpet.

“Yeah, well. Don’t make a habit of it,” you say gruffly, standing to retrieve a first aid kit. “Let me find something to patch that hole.”

When you return with an armful of gauze you find Toji finishing off the rest of your liquor. He flashes a stupid grin at you, and you start to remember why you hate him.

“That was my last bottle, asshole.”

“Aw c’mon mama, it’s my last meal.”

You roll your eyes, trying to ignore the flutter in your stomach at the old pet name. “In my dreams, Fushiguro. You’re gonna be fine.” You’re still not confident in that, but don’t bother letting him know. It’s not like it’ll matter if you’re wrong. Your assurance seems to loosen something in him though, and the show of bravado cracks with his voice.

“Yeah?” His broad shoulders slump. “That’s good.” He smiles up at you, eyes bright with the drink, his scar bunching at the corner of his lips. “Knew you’d fix me up.”

You hum as you start to cut away his bloody shirt. “Where the fuck is Shiu, huh? Isn’t your handler supposed to do the handling?”

Toji scoffs. “Don’t need him. He’s not happy with my attempt at an early retirement.”

“Not that early, is it old man?” You tease him mostly to distract him from what you’re doing, half-listening to his words, and thankfully he takes the bait.

“Hmm, you didn’t seem to think I was too old, babydoll. I thought you appreciated my experience.”

“Uh huh. Whatever you gotta tell yourself, pops.” You finish cutting the shirt open and slide it down his arms along with the jacket. “Can you get this off?”

He grunts and slips it off slowly, sweat beading on his forehead from the effort. It must hurt like hell, but he doesn’t complain. He sees you watching him and smirks. “Like what ya see?”

“Yeah, Fushiguro. I love a man with a good stab wound.” You won’t give him the satisfaction, but he does look good. His muscles are as defined as you remember them, unexpected hardness on the soft expanse of his body when he moves. He’s tense now, as one is after a near-death experience, and your mouth waters despite yourself at the familiar sight of him. Even injured like this, rain- and liquor-soaked, he’s beautiful.

He’s laughing softly, a pink smudge across his cheeks that isn’t just from drinking. “Did I leave ya speechless?” He relaxes a bit against the back of the couch now that he doesn’t have to move anymore, just the muscles of his forearms standing out as he holds his stomach together.

“Something like that. This is gonna hurt like a bitch, okay?” You take the inch of alcohol left in the bottle and pour it over his wound, biting your lip at his surprised cry.

“What the hell!” He pants, wide-eyed.

“Need to disinfect the wound,” you offer, without apology.

“Know damn well you could’ve been nicer about it,” he mumbles.

“You didn’t have to disappear on me.” The words are out of your mouth before you know it, before you can think of anything else to say, something that doesn’t make you sound like a vindictive, pathetic ex.

He blows out a breath. “Jeez, doll. I guess I deserved that.”

“I did need to disinfect it…”

He holds up one bloody hand to placate you, quickly returning it to his abdomen. “I know. You could have left me outside in the rain. Wouldn’t have been surprised, even.”

“I wouldn’t kill you over it Toji, damn.” You shook your head, angry at yourself for letting the conversation get here. “But why me? Seriously, you’re that mad at Shiu that you couldn’t have him take you to a fuckin’ hospital?”

Toji is quiet for a while before he responds, choosing his words with uncharacteristic care. “Shiu didn’t know about this job. I’ve been…freelancing. Something like that.”

You frown at him, trying to put the pieces together. “Freelancing how, exactly? You put an ad in the paper? Sexy hitman for hire?”

His mouth twists. “You think I’m sexy, mama?”

Fuck. Did you say that out loud? “Not the point, Fushiguro. What do you mean freelancing?”

He smirks, but lets it go. “I’m tryin’ to get out of the game. Turn over a new leaf. Go straight.”

He’s got to be joking. What he’s saying is unbelievable, but. When you look into his eyes, they’re serious. And you know he wouldn’t give enough of a shit to let himself get hurt this bad on a regular job.

“Why?” You’ve kept working on him as he talks, and finish applying the pressure dressing to his stomach. You wipe a wet cloth over his hands, smearing away the worst of the blood.

He’s quiet again, his pulse ticking in his clenched jaw as he watches you treat him. When you move your hands away from his, his fingers twitch like he wants to pull you back.

“Someone…informed me of the error of my ways.” His sharp canines flash as he smiles at you in the dim light. “Introduced me to an, alternative lifestyle. But I wasn’t too good at following the rules.”

“Toji…”

“Hush, doll. This confession’s been a long time coming. Don’t think I can keep goin’ if ya stop me now.” He looks longingly at the empty liquor bottle. “I understand why you were afraid for me, why my line of work was hurting you. It was selfish of me to want you, selfish to stay, when it was putting you in danger…” his breath hitches and he presses a hand to his stomach again with a pained smile. “Don’t think the blood loss makes this any easier.”

You move closer to him and cup his cheek in your hand, brushing your thumb over his rough skin. “I’m listening.” Your anger is ebbing away, replaced with something tender and fragile. You’ve never heard Fushiguro be this vulnerable, and you don’t want him to stop.

Toji’s eyes flutter closed as he leans into your touch. “Are ya gonna make me say it, doll?”

“Yeah, I am,” you murmur.

“I know I’m not what you deserve. But I’d give it all up to get just a little bit closer. Be a little bit better for you. I left because…” Toji trails off, and you feel the man tremble under your hand. “You were sleepin’ next to me, all innocent and beautiful, and I couldn’t…” he tries again. “I couldn’t let you tie yourself to a broken down old man like me.”

Toji opens his eyes and looks into yours. “Leaving you was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. But since then, I’ve done everything I could to be better, be someone worthy of you.” He shook his head, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “But it seems my colleagues don’t take kindly to someone gettin’ out of our line of work.”

Something like pity shows on your face, and Toji talks faster. “I wasn’t planning to come back so soon, I swear. I was gonna take you out someplace nice when I was clean, show you that I could live this life, that I’d changed and that I’d done it for you.”

He reaches up to hold your face, and his calloused palm is softer than you’ve ever felt it. You’re looking at his lips, remembering the heat of them on yours. “Toji, I…”

He pulls his hand away as you lean toward him, the narrowing space between you electrified. The shadows shift across your face as you come closer. Toji suddenly jerks away from you, a look of horror in his eyes as they fix on your cheek.

“Toji? Toji, what’s wrong?” Your voice comes out too high, frantic and defensive. The wine and liquor roil in your gut as nausea climbs up your throat.

He presses himself against the couch, and his voice sounds very far away. “Your face, doll.” He’s shrinking, making himself as small as possible, as if his touch would contaminate you.

You press shaking fingers to your cheek, staring dumbly at the blood that smears them when you pull away. “Toji?” You’ve said nothing but his name for the last minute, each iteration smaller and more confused.

His smile is icy, the soft warmth he had shown you doused completely. “You’ve got my blood on your face. S’like I said. I’ll ruin you.”

You wipe hard at your cheek, leaving it red and stinging. “It’s nothing, Toji. I’m used to it.”

“You shouldn’t have to be! Fuck!” He tries to stand and you cry out, rushing to steady him, but he pushes you away. “This is what I mean!” You can’t tell if the shine in his eyes is from blood loss, liquor, or tears. Toji’s throat burns as he tries to keep you from guessing the latter.

“It’s the middle of the goddamn night and you’re holding my guts in while I bleed on your carpet. You let me in, hell you carried me in here after I collapsed on your doorstep like a pathetic little stray.”

He’s wobbling on his feet, but manages to keep you at arm’s length. “Someone could’ve followed me here. I could get you killed.” A strained laugh. “I’m a fucking curse, doll. I need to stay the hell away from you.”

A red stain is blossoming on his clean bandages, but he hasn’t noticed yet. “You don’t get to decide for me!” You cry, furious at his arrogance, desperate to keep him here until you know he’ll survive the night.

“What would you decide then, hm?” He points at himself. “This the prize you want? A beat-up old man who kills people for a living? Who comes home with blood on his hands? It’s not always mine, sweetheart.” He’s being mean and you both know it, the venom in his words meant only for himself.

“Maybe it is. So what if it is?” He lets you come closer, leans into your space, drinking in your look of defiance.

“That’s why I get to decide.” He’s pushing past you, heading for the front door, limping with every step. You don’t move to follow him. You press your lips together and curl your hands into fists, fighting to stay still as you watch him stumble, clutching at the wall. He staggers two more steps before he falls hard onto his knees.

You step up beside him, looking down with a sad smile. “I don’t think you’re leaving tonight, Fushiguro.”

He swears at you with his last breath before he loses consciousness.

like real people do is THE vashwood song!!! unconditional love, acceptance without judgement, devotion regardless of the past!!!

I will not ask you where you came from !!! 📢📢

I will not ask and neither should you !!! 📢📢

hashtag double meaning ifykyk

screaming crying throwing up they’re so pretty and so doomed!!!

like honey

cockwarming Hiromi Higuruma at work

you’re kneeling under his desk, straining to hold his throbbing length in your mouth as he reads through case files

you’re long past caring about the drool that drips from your stretched lips to your aching knees, your mind overwhelmed with the salt-tang taste of his skin, the weight of one big hand absently stroking your hair

he’s humming softly to himself as he scrawls notes and plots his defense, lost in his own world while you breathe hard through your nose, fighting to stifle your gag reflex

he shifts ever so slightly, his chair nudging forward, pinning your head against the back of the wooden desk

the movement forces his thick cock an inch further down your throat and you choke, eyes rolling back to the sound of hiromi’s muffled groan

the feeling of your throat spasming around him rips the lawyer back to reality, and he rocks his sharp hips against you, before shoving his chair back and pulling out

he leans forward to peer down at you, his sharp nose crinkling as he smiles, somehow looking both smug and sheepish as his spit-soaked cock twitches against his abs

you glare up at him through watery eyes, one hand clutching your wrecked throat as you gasp and retch

“Sorry, my love. I was a bit lost in thought.”

you open your mouth to complain, or maybe to forgive him, but you don’t get the chance before he’s shoving himself back down your throat with mumbled apologies, thick fingers tangling in your hair to hold your lips against him

“Mmm that’s it, you feel so- hah s’good love, just a little longer, need your pretty mouth to keep my thoughts straight…need to figure out how to conclude this…”

his praises trail off as you hear his pen start scratching again, and you settle back on your knees, closing your eyes as you let yourself turn back into a cock warmer for him

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

an: i’m working on a long-form office romance with Higuruma but have hit a wall, hope you enjoy the filthy result of my writer’s block

AWWWW this is so sweet and loving I can’t take it 😭 the characterization and dialogue is SOSO good you never miss

Nanami Kento was not a father; not strictly speaking. Not technically speaking. Not metaphorically speaking. The absence of paternity, however, did nothing to eschew him of the shackles he wore with pride, wearing them as a mantle; a medal of honour.

For one with such a black hole in his life, Itadori Yuuji would not notice Kento's absence unless something took Kento away from him, so natural was it that the void was filled.

Nanami Kento's priorities altered so dramatically, with such quiet consideration, that he had no real words to explain his situation to you when he first took you out for dinner. Or, when he took you out to the beach. Or, when you took him to that art gallery. Or, when you came over to his, tumbling through the door into stumbling kisses, all hands and groans and desperation.

For Nanami Kento was not a father. He ensured that his relationship with Yuuji did not overlap with his relationship with you, fearful that you would reject the burden of not-parenthood.

Kento was so introspective in his attempts to hide his not-parenthood, that he failed to see how blatantly-fucking-obvious he was. As if you wouldn't notice that dinner was always made for three, with a portion put aside or frozen for a hungry visitor. As if you wouldn't notice that Kento browsed the teenage boy sections in clothes stores, making note of what he would come back for later. As if you had not seen Kento listed as "I.C.E." on Yuuji's phone screen at school one day.

As if you were not a mother. As if you were not fully prepared to be.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Kento was stalking through the belly of the beast when he spotted two missed calls; one from Yuuji, and one from Shoko. His heart leapt into his mouth, his blade hanging dumbly by his side as he cursed internally at his lack of signal. Torn by conflicting responsibilities, he focused on the task at hand, but as a noticeably sloppier Sorcerer when worry gnawed at the bones of him.

An hour later, finally free, he jogged to his car, panting. He slipped into his seat, and called Yuuji-- no answer. He called Shoko-- no answer. He swore again, hurrying to start the car...and his phone buzzed.

He looked at the screen, and opened a message from you. He sat, staring at it, a cold trickle of worry down his spine. A photo; of Yuuji's characteristic shoes, beside your own, with the caption:

Picked up a wounded stray. He looks hungry. We'll be at yours soon!

Kento churned through emotions, trying to read your tone on the screen. Angry? Cheerful? Exasperated? Would you want to talk about his deceit later? Technically he hadn't lied. Or, he had. A lie by omission perhaps? She's angry. She's disappointed at least. Is that worse? That's worse.

Kento stewed, the whole drive home.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Kento continued to stew, when he arrived home to an empty house. He paced, and sat, and paced, and sat. He cursed himself for not maintaining tighter boundaries between Nanami-Kento-the-Boyfriend and Nanami-Kento-the-Not-Father. So deep was he in his self-flagellation, he jolted to hear the door open, and two familiar peals of laughter rolling through.

"--Ieiri-san told me I should have waited for Ino to arrive, but I just had to do something, y'know--"

"--not jump through a damn window, Yuuji, that's excessive--"

"--not stupid if it worked though--"

"--as your Not-Mother, I cannot condone this."

Kento stood, watching the scene unfold in wonder. You and Yuuji, bantering. You reaching for the grocery bags, and Yuuji insisting he carry them instead. You directing Yuuji to the bag with the snacks. Yuuji totally bypassing Kento, jogging past him to the kitchen.

As if this was his home. As if Kento was his home. As if you were his home.

Kento was still stunned into silence when you leaned up and pressed a quick kiss to his lips.

"Hey! Sorry we're late. Yuuji was hurt on a mission, so I picked him up, but I wanted to get ice cream, and I noticed we didn't have enough in for dinner for three, and--"

Your words cut off with a muffled "mmf!" as Kento leaned down, pulling you in by the back of the neck, and small of your back, silencing you with a kiss which tasted of all the gratitude for which he had no words. By the time he'd released your lips, his forehead pressed to yours, you felt the air rush back to the vacuum he'd left behind.

"...Kento, are you oka--"

"I love you."

The air rushed straight back out of you, leaving you light and giddy. Your lips puckered, threatening tears, so long had you been wondering if he'd ever confess the depths of his feelings.

"...you love me?"

"I love you. I love you. I absolutely love you. And I'm sorry I didn't--..."

"...didn't think I'd be happy with you looking after a boy with no parents, who needs some?"

You let your question hang, so Kento could soak in how much of a fool he'd been. He sighed, tense and looking over at Yuuji rustling through grocery bags in the kitchen.

"...I didn't want to assume that you'd accept it."

"Would you choose someone like that, though?" Kento looked unsure, and you clarified. "I mean, would you choose someone who felt jealous of you looking after an orphaned child?"

Kento's gears turned. "...no."

You smiled up at him, cupping his cheek in your palm. "Exactly. So, like I was saying...I put fresh sheets in his room. I'll go and make dinner. Yuuji will pick a movie. And you should have a word with him about jumping through plate glass windows to get to a Curse faster."

At that, Kento's head snapped up, fixing Yuuji with a frown that had Yuuji dropping bags of snacks on the floor.

"Yuuji."

"Shit, I'm sorry Nanamin, I--"

"Language."

"Shit, I'm sorry Nanami-san, I--"

You headed to the kitchen, pulling on an apron and stifling laughter at the Not-Father and Not-Son bickering in your wake.

Vash with a wide, dopey grin as he walks backwards up the stairs to his room, waving to everyone left in the bar, a garish tie knotted over his forehead

Vash who lets the mask slip as soon as he gets to the dark hallway, his strained smile falling away as he loosens the tie and tucks it into his pocket

Vash who closes his eyes, leaning his head against the door as he unlocks it, stumbling in to kick off his boots and slump on the bed with an arm over his face

Vash who flinches when someone knocks on the door, shoving himself back upright and pasting on another glassy-eyed look of sleepy drunkenness before he opens it

Wolfwood who stands outside with a paper bag of doughnuts, holding it up to Vash with a shy, crooked smile

“Happy birthday, needle-noggin. You didn’t think I’d forget, did ya?”

Wolfwood with a heart that skips a beat when he notices Vash turning pink, sees a genuine smile break across his face like a sunrise

Wolfwood who sings in a scratchy voice, smoke from his perpetual cigarette mingling with that of the single candle he managed to find for Vash

Wolfwood who makes a wish even though he doesn’t believe in them, who silently promises never to leave Vash alone as he watches the blonde man scrunch his eyes shut and blow out the candle

He doesn’t know that Vash is wishing the very same thing.

some of the brightest minds of our generation post on tumblr during work hours

I’m just a kid (and life is a nightmare)

dad!Nanami & kid!Yuji

commissioned this amazing piece from @yuutaguro for chapter two of my teen papamin au in which Nanami reluctantly adopts Yuji right after graduating from Jujutsu High and leaving the sorcerer world! [chapters 1-3 on ao3]

Everything had been going so well. Nanami would begin his office job on Monday, the same day that Yuji’s school year started. He had just taken Yuji to buy his uniform, and a shiny new backpack. It wasn’t until he was going back over the supply list and dress code that the trouble started.

“Yuji, you have to cut your hair! It’s not me, it’s the school’s stupid rule.”

Yuji stuck out his tongue and ran around the table, avoiding Nanami’s grasp. “Don’t wanna!” He shouted back.

“I know! But you have to anyway!” Nanami chased him back around the other side. “It’s not up for debate!”

“DON’T WANNA!”

Nanami stopped running and covered his face with his hands, taking deep breaths. The kid was driving him crazy. Hell, he agreed with him. He probably would’ve been just as pissed about cutting his hair at that age, but damn if it wasn’t frustrating on the other side. “Look, I’m sorry the dress code is annoying. I am! But you’re gonna get in trouble if we don’t tame that pink mop on your head!” God, I sound like my dad, Nanami thought glumly.

Yuji flung himself around the corner and peeked out. “But I don’t wanna , Nanaminnn!!”

“I know.” He gave a long sigh. “Can you tell me why?”

“I wanna look like you!”

“You- what?” Nanami was thrown for a loop. Yuji could barely see through his hair at this point, it looked nothing like… oh no. Nanami skidded into the bathroom and stared in the mirror. Yuji came hurtling behind him, just barely able to peek over the countertop on his tiptoes.

“See, Nanamin? We’re the same!”

The kid had a point. Nanami stared at his face, noticing for the first time that he had let his hair get quite long. It just didn’t seem like a priority, not after…well. He shook his head, tossing the long shock of blonde hair out of his eyes. Yuji peered up at him, looking annoyingly smug.

“See, you see?”

“Yeah, I see, Yuji.” Maybe it was time that he matured his look. At least a little. “I guess I have a mop up there too, huh?” He couldn’t help but chuckle at the way Yuji imitated his nod. “I have an idea for how we can fix this.”

Everyone in the barbershop couldn’t help but smile at the strange pair that walked in, the serious, blonde teenager and his hyper, pink-haired companion.

“Awww, is this your little brother?” The receptionist cooed.

“Uh, no, this is my…Yuji.” Nanami cringed at himself, but the kid holding his hand beamed.

“Yeah, I’m his Yuji!!”

The two boys politely requested the same haircut, and Nanami went first to reassure Yuji. “See? Doesn’t hurt at all, okay? Bet you’re gonna look cooler than me.”

Nanami watched himself in the mirror as the barber went to work. It wasn’t like he was attached to his look or anything, at least he told himself so. But change was weird. By the end of it, he could see more of his forehead than he had in years. He looked older, like a salaryman.

“What do you think, kid?” Yuji looked at him thoughtfully.

“You look like a grown-up, Nanamin!”

“Yeah, I guess I do.” He laughed. “Your turn, Yuji. Think you can be brave?”

“Yeahh! Brave like you!” Yuji slid into the seat and reached out a hand, which Nanami held tight.

By the end of it, Nanami’s hair was slicked into a deep side part, with a few stubborn strands escaping into his eyes. Yuji’s hair still spung up at all angles. It suited him, though. And more importantly, fit the school dress code.

Nanami took Yuji out to their favorite bakery on the way home as a reward. The boy eagerly gobbled down a pink-frosted doughnut with extra sprinkles while Nanami sipped coffee with a slice of lemon cake. “We did well today, huh kid?”

Yuji nodded proudly with a faceful of frosting. “Yeah, we did great! And we still look the same as each other!”

Nanami squinted at him, but couldn’t bring himself to burst the kid’s bubble. “We sure do. Maybe we could switch places, and you could go into work for me!”

Yuji doubled over with laughter. “No way Nanamin!”

“You sure? I could go to school for you, do all your homework…” he teased.

Yuji appeared to be considering the offer, then shook his head, still giggling. “Nuh-uh!”

“Ah, well.” Nanami pretended to sigh. “Worth a try.”

vashwood heatstroke !!

hi<3 tysm for 250 followers, that's wild!! i'm so happy that others are enjoying the output of my horniness for appreciation of our fav 2d men

~a little about me!~ • somehow new to tumblr in the year of our lord 2024 though i've been tumblr-adjacent for much longer • 25, married, work a 9-5 by day & write by night • current hyperfixations include Spike Spiegel Cowboy Bebop, Nanami and Higuruma JJK, and Nicholas D. Wolfwood Trigun (basically exhausted men in suits)

• outside of fandom I love to play video games, make music, crochet, take photos, and explore new places!

• was briefly an archaeologist and am still v much into academia as a hobby

• happy to chat and make new friends!! feel free to dm 💫

I’m so late responding to this but a reblog from THEE Mrs. Haitch?!?! I am BLESSED ma’am you are smut writer royalty to me <33 so happy you enjoyed thank you!!!

Sorcerer!Nanami x Sorcerer!Reader

While fighting a curse you're hit with an aphrodisiac. Nanami comes to your rescue but the effect doesn't wear off after he exorcises the curse, uh oh! [ao3]

cw: dubcon (aphrodisiac), brief tentacle-y curse, hurt/comfort

wc: 2897

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You could do missions like this in your sleep. It was just bad luck, really. Nanami had reluctantly agreed to split up with you after you convinced him things would be much faster this way. And besides, you could handle yourself, you thought. Famous last words, and all that... 

The curse had been hidden in the attic, its bulbous eyes glowing faintly in the musty dark. It surprised you, wrapping a long limb around your ankle before you could muster the cursed energy to defend yourself. You managed to cut off the appendage with a sword thrust, but the place where it had touched your skin burned cold. A tingling feeling crept up your leg. 

You turned back to it furiously, cursed energy flickering to life in the palm of your hand. But before you could advance, your leg went numb with a jolt. You hit the ground hard, dead weight from the waist down. It must have some sort of paralyzing defense mechanism, one that was steadily creeping up one side of your body. 

Four more dexterous limbs shot from the darkness, clamping around your wrists and ankles. You cried out as they pulled taut, lifting you helplessly off the ground. 

“Fucking hell. One of these perverted ass curses…”

As you writhed, the appendage curled tighter around your wrists, shifting to hold both above your head in one tentacle-like grasp. The newly freed one snaked its way along your jaw, pulsing steadily forward despite your attempts to jerk away. 

Your skin crawled at the contact, a vaguely wet invasion of cool flesh. It pressed against your lips, seeking entrance. You snapped your teeth, trying to keep it out, but it flattened itself to slip past your clamped jaw. The moment it got through, lolling fat and heavy on your tongue, something clicked off in your head. Your defenses melted away, replaced with an overwhelming need. 

A trickle of slick oozed slowly between your legs, your cunt suddenly clenching around nothing. A far-off, faint voice in your head begged you to resist, that the curse was using some sort of aphrodisiac to lower your defenses, but the voice faded into silence with a tender caress from the tentacle in your mouth.

You hung limply, eyes half-lidded as your awareness narrowed to each point of contact between the curse and your body. You needed to feel more of it- wanted it so badly you ached. The curse complied, its wide eyes still blinking from the dark corners of the attic as its appendages opened you up, spread and suspended in the center of the room. 

Self-preservation fled your body, and your desperate writhing slowed to a stop. The curse’s tentacles slunk down your arms and legs, tugging roughly at your uniform. The sound of ripping fabric seemed very far away. 

A fire was steadily building in your gut, licking outward until your whole body cried out for release. You needed an orgasm more than you needed escape, needed air, needed…

Nanami.

The sorcerer appeared in the room like a vengeful god, rage twisting his chiseled features as he spotted you. He swung his blunt sword into the body of the curse where it hid, effortlessly ripping it apart with his ratio technique. He didn’t wait to see if the blow had landed, of course it did, he was Nanami, before running for you with a shout of your name. 

Exorcised, the curse dissolved in a slow crawl, wet limbs becoming black char, then emptiness. The curl of slick muscle around your ankles and wrists disappeared and dropped you hard to the wooden floor. You gasped and choked as the tentacle that had been probing your mouth followed them. 

Nanami was at your side in seconds, his practiced hands checking for injury. You were too far gone to notice the way he trembled in relief as he found none. He shrugged off his jacket and slipped it over your shoulders, studiously keeping his eyes averted from your shredded uniform. 

With the curse’s invasive touch ripped away, you were left even needier, the aphrodisiac burning through your system. You whined high in your throat, blown pupils locked on the sorcerer leaning over you with such concern. His shoulders heaved with exertion, stretching his tight blue dress shirt. You wanted to sink your teeth into the leather of his harness, a suddenly ferocious urge that hurt.

You surged up on your knees, clinging to the bottom of his jacket. Your mind was blank except for the thought of getting him between your legs, using him to fill the impossible void in you. “Nanami.” You panted. “Nanami, fuck me. Plea-hah-please. Please fuck me…”

Nanami pried your fingers off his suit, looking down in horror at your dazed, needy expression. “You- I- what?” He bent down and grabbed your face in his hands, searching for your sanity. His voice was sharp with worry. “Did that thing hurt you?”

You shook your head quickly, frustrated that he was talking instead of shoving you down and filling you. Your legs shook as your cunt spasmed, aching, wet, and so painfully empty. “Not hurt. Just,” you shifted in his jacket to swipe two fingers between your folds, searching for a hint of relief. “Just wanna, need to- fuck I need to cum so fucking bad-” 

Nanami staggered, blindsided by your begging. He quickly realized that the curse had done something to you, hadn’t just overpowered you by brute strength. The sorcerer swore under his breath. He had to fix this. He couldn’t linger on how close he was to your exposed skin, the way your blush slunk down your neck to the top of your chest, maybe even lower…couldn’t take advantage of you like this, no matter how many times he had wondered exactly what you looked like naked. What you sounded like under him. The blonde bit his lip hard, swallowing his want. 

He knelt down next to you and pulled you into his side, rubbing your back a little roughly as he tried to soothe you. “Listen to me. You’re under the influence of something, a residual part of the curse. You don’t know what you’re saying.”  You tried to squirm tighter against him, your hands scrabbling for any part of him you could grab and yank closer. Nanami was gentle as he caught your wrists, folding your clutching fingers into his palm. 

“Mmmngh please Nanami, need it so bad…” you whined. “Need-hah- need you so fuckin’ bad…” He swallowed hard and the twitch of muscles in his neck made your mouth fall open. 

Heat rushed through his body when he saw you pressed against him like that, glossy lips parted, skin bare under his jacket, your chest heaving with little panting breaths. He felt his cock jump in his slacks and hated himself for it. “Please, you have to listen to me.” His voice cracked. “I’ll help you, get you back to campus, Shoko will know-”

You caught him by the tie and dragged his mouth to yours, crashing into him sloppily. Your tongue lolled against his lips, desperate to taste him, to get inside. Nanami’s eyes blew wide, then fluttered shut as he reached for the back of your head and held you to himself. You felt the rigid planes of his body relax, his lips impossibly soft, kissing you back almost lovingly- before he snapped back in control. 

You felt like crying as he tore away from you. “What the fuck, come back, can’t-ah-” Your need was a black hole and you were falling into it, torn apart, spaghettified. “Please help me, please, won’t make it back to-” you shuddered and fell back, head rolling.

That brought him back, corded arms supporting your neck and knees as he lowered you to the ground. When you met his gaze through the swirling fog of your arousal, it felt like an electric shock. “Kento,” you murmured, drooling a little down the side of your chin.

Goddamn it, why did you have to use his first name? He wiped away your drool with the back of his hand, brushed your hair off your forehead. He dragged one hand down his face as he sat down heavily beside you. “Does it hurt? What you’re feeling?”

To your credit, you tried to rally your two remaining braincells to answer him. You cast your focus down your body, trying to name the raw ache that was pulsing in you. “Not exactly p-pain…” you grimaced, pressing your thighs together and lifting your hips, trying to escape the pressure. “A little, maybe? I just-hah- just need. Need more than anything. Can’t- can’t breathe for it.” The incoherent explanation was all you could offer him, unsure yourself if you needed to be fucked, to cum, or just to ride out the ravaging desire.

You tried again to cum against your own fingers, slipping in the sopping wet of yourself when you reached down. Hot tears pricked at your eyes when it wasn’t enough, hardly a bucket on the inferno even when you squelched three fingers in. “God damn it!”

Nanami was staring, frozen, as you fingered yourself. His sharp cheekbones and the tips of his ears were stained a dark red. He groaned softly as you dragged your fingers out, his own fingers twitching to hold you when you arched your back and cried out in frustration. It hurt to see you like this, hurt even more to not be able to fix it.

“What can I do?” He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, steeling himself to an impossible task. “Tell me what you need, please.” His voice was ragged, frayed at the edges, but he couldn’t keep watching as you suffered like this.

You pressed your hand to your mouth to muffle the scream that a new wave of lust ripped from you. The anxious tilt of his head, the tick of the muscles in his clenched jaw, the way his broad hands reached for you, they felt like blows to the chest. And it hurt so good. 

“Kento, please. I’m begging you. Please fuck me- mmmnghhh-” you moaned into your hand, arousal seeping down your thighs, puddling on the edge of the jacket you still wore.

He sucked in a slow breath and pushed aside the jacket to reveal your body underneath. His first, slightly hysterical thought: you really did blush all the way down. You bucked your hips up under his gaze, silently begging him to come closer. He placed a tentative hand on your hip but jerked back when the tiny action made you moan as if he was bottomed out in you. Sweat beaded at his hairline and rolled down his back. Almost unconsciously he whispered, “This isn’t how I imagined our first time.” 

It wasn’t how you had imagined it either, and you had imagined it plenty, but the part of you that might’ve cared about that was long gone. You grabbed Nanami’s hand and pressed it against your aching pussy, slicking him in your juices. You hissed through clenched teeth, “Need it now Kento,” and yanked him closer again by his leopard-print tie. 

He seemed to understand you that time and shook his head as if making a decision. “This is just to help you, okay? I can’t- don’t know what else to do. I’ll buy you dinner, later, take you out for real. Earn it.” He shifted to free his throbbing cock from his slacks as he made the promise, not sure if you were even hearing him.

Nanami lined himself up with your soaked cunt, sliding his swollen head along your folds. Your arousal collected on the tip, and he stroked himself hard a few times, coating his shaft in your wetness as a makeshift lube. He always had been methodical. He planted his hands on either side of you, caging you in as you writhed underneath him, needing more more MORE. 

“Are you sure you want this?” He asked, biting his full bottom lip. True, you weren’t exactly yourself right now, but he wasn’t going to take chances. Wanted to be sure that this was the best he could do for you, right now.

“God yes, wan’ you so bad Kento,” you slurred, lifting your hips to meet him. “Need you to…hah- fuck this outta me…”

He bent down to press a soft kiss to your forehead, sliding inside you at the same time. You shrieked at the relief of fullness, finally, every twitch of his cock and brush of his lips amplified by the aphrodisiac. It felt like you were being broken apart and put back together, your body rebuilt to fit his length perfectly. You instinctually locked your legs around his back, earning a huff of surprise from the blonde as he was bent over you and pushed deeper. 

“Are you okay?” He groaned into your hair, dragging himself out ever so slightly before rocking back in all the way.

You clutched at his neck in response, running your fingers frantically over the sharpness of his undercut. The closeness of him was overwhelming you, your senses heightened by the curse. You could smell his aftershave and the vague vanilla of his cologne, taste the green tea he had had with breakfast, the metal and salt of his fear-sweat from thinking he could lose you to the curse. You sucked it all in like air. His hands anchored you to the ground as you bucked and squirmed against him, trying to fuck yourself on his cock when he didn’t keep moving. 

The dim haze of your mind worked out that he was waiting for a response still, noticed the twist of his lips and wide, worried eyes behind the glasses. “Y-yes, I’m good,” you panted, still clawing at him. “For fuck’s sake, don’t-ughh- stop! Need more!”

He didn’t need to be told twice. Nanami snapped his hips into you, gripping the softness at your waist to drag you up and down on his cock. He didn’t usually start like this, fuck, never would’ve gotten here so fast, but you all but growled at him if he tried to take it slow or make any sort of love to you. So he fucked you. Faster, harder, obeying your whimpered commands like the gentleman he was. 

His long fingers found your clit and rolled it hard, drawing you up and up into the orgasm that had drowned everything else out. He stroked you like he had done it hundreds of times, understanding your body implicitly, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your straining neck. He kept up his punishing rhythm as he worked your clit, his thick cock stretching you deliciously, reaching places inside you that had never been touched. The fire inside you reached its peak, and you thought for a terrifying moment that you’d combust right there, burning up underneath him. Somehow, you went up and over the blaze, coming undone with a howl that was lost in the expanse of his chest as he held you close. 

You sobbed his name, and it was that, after all the roughness of your coupling, that pushed Kento into his own orgasm. Ever the gentleman, he slipped out of you when he felt his release closing in and came with a broken groan into his fist. Hot spurts of cum spilled from between his fingers, and he stroked your hair desperately with the other hand, his lips at your neck. 

Dimly, he realized that you were still wearing his jacket around your shaking shoulders, and he trembled. Fucking hell.

You blinked up at him, coming back to yourself, the aphrodisiac’s fire mercifully quenched. You still felt high on the afterglow of your orgasm, but the realization of the things you said and the way you acted fell into a pit in your stomach. You remembered what Nanami had said about your first time, and the pit grew spikes. “Oh, Kento…” 

Nanami looked at you with such relief when your voice sounded like you again, and your heart melted. He wrapped his arms around you tightly, taking your breath away. “Oh god, it worked! Are, are you alright? God, I’m so sorry.” His lip trembled and he tried to steady himself, looking at you with glassy eyes.

“I’m okay, Kento. Really, I am. And don’t apologize,” you hid your face against him. “Thank you.”

His broad shoulders shook, his harness creaking with the effort. It took a moment before you realized that he was crying. “Kento? I’m okay, I swear.” You pulled away to cup his face, lifting his glasses to thumb away the tears pooling on his long lashes. “I needed you and- I’m the one that should be sorry. I told us to split up,” your voice broke as you started to cry too, and you curled up against him.

You and Nanami held each other tight as the adrenaline wept out of your systems. He hiccuped as his crying softened, and the unexpected sound from the stoic man, somehow stranger than his tears, broke the tension. The two of you laughed, the sound like sunlight breaking through clouds. You used your fingers to shape his hair back into his signature part, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

You leaned back just enough to smile crookedly at him. “I think you said something about taking me to dinner…?”

thank you for writing this 🥹🥹

content warning: fluff, hurt and lots of comfort, written in mixed style (head canon + fic), non-explicit smut, post Shibuya scarred Nanami. Loosely inspired by the song “gilded lily”.

Nanami Kento, who opened his eyes while on a hospital bed, barely feeling the left side of his body after Shoko tended to him, just to find you by his bedside finishing wrapping him up with bandages as a hurricane of emotions took over your face — fear, panic, anger, sadness, eagerness... 

Relief.

Nanami Kento, who reached towards your forearm with his unburnt hand, completely ignoring the bandages covering a good portion of his own face, glad to know that the last time he saw you wasn’t, in fact, the last. He had lived a proper life without regrets, or so he thought, up until those fateful moments in which he believed he was about to die without ever telling you how he truly felt.

Nanami Kento, who for the next few days, while bedridden and feeling useless after Gojo’s sealing in the prison realm, had the time to contemplate the life he’d been living so far, and wondered with an untapped honesty if the death of a pawn soldier — what he had been reduced to after such an influx of special grades — would really be relevant in this war. Would he be missed?

Nanami Kento, who had many visitors throughout the following days, such as Yuuji, Ino, Ijichi and Megumi, and shared the quiet comfort from your companionship every time you weren’t elbow-deep assisting Shoko with the wounded. He’d ask you to read for him. He said it was only needed while he got used to seeing with one eye, but the truth of the matter was Nanami just enjoyed listening to your voice. You knew and you didn’t mind. In fact, you actually enjoyed reading aloud by his bedside as you both ventured through Hemingway’s A Farewell to Arms.

Nanami Kento who, for some reason, woke up on the wrong side of the bed the morning he was to remove his bandages, and cringed as he saw the scarred, burnt skin that was hidden underneath. Not because of any aesthetic discomfort, — he’d grown accustomed to seeing far worse on the daily — but because now he’d forever be engraved with the violence and viciousness of the life he chose. A constant reminder, literally in the flesh, of everything he almost lost. Every future, chance or opportunity that would’ve been thrown away on a whim during that night in Shibuya. 

Nanami Kento, whose jaw unclenched and shoulders untensed when you wrapped your fingers around his burnt hand, and who turned to regard you with his bandaged head and eye. Who genuinely and warmly smiled when you gave him the small eye patch in yellow splattered fabric you had sewn using one of his ties, apologizing in advance for rummaging through his things without talking to him first. You explained about asking for Ino’s help to fetch one of those. With this eye patch, you told Nanami, he would “have an all matching attire.”

Nanami Kento, who made a half-hearted remark about chastising Ino for using his copy of Nanami’s apartment key to go behind his back, but spared no time in actually removing his final bandages — while turning away from you — and covering the gaping hole where his eye should be with the accessory.

Nanami Kento, who one day before getting officially discharged, felt he was once again letting the opportunity of telling you how he felt slip through his fingers. The fear and the urgency from before were gone, life was once again moving in its own settled way, and you both would surely go back to tiptoeing quietly around the unsaid.

You both knew what it meant, and neither could muster up the courage to say it out loud, even with him having just survived certain death. Not even then.

Nanami Kento, who on that very evening wrapped his fingers softly around your wrist as you got up to leave for the night. Who, after you asked him if he needed anything, absentmindedly answered “you,” making your heart skip a beat.

Nanami Kento, who instantly regretted it, and wondered what could’ve possessed him to say that, but as he began apologizing, his words got muffled by the pressing of your lips against his. Who didn’t think twice before pulling you closer, having you almost fall on top of  his supine body.

Nanami Kento, who was too tired. Exhausted, even. Exhausted of waiting, of pretending, of denying himself the comfort of a less grueling existence in the comfort of your embrace, of your kisses, of you. 

Nanami Kento, who gasped into your mouth the moment you straddled over him, so gently that the bed barely moved, and drew his hands up your back, leaving a trail of heat wherever they traveled. Who hesitated for a moment when your fingers motioned to remove the eye patch you gave him, but obliged after you asked him “please, let me see you,” melting into the soft pecks you laid all over his scarred cheek, imprinting your affection on him one kiss at a time.

Nanami Kento, who was genuinely surprised to see that you, too, had a good portion of your body covered in scars from previous missions after you propped yourself up and took off your shirt. He gently descended the tips of his fingers in between your breasts, where the deepest of the marks laid gravely over your sternum. “I never knew,” he whispered, to which you replied “It comes with the job, I guess. None of us survives this truly unscathed.” 

Nanami Kento, whose dexterous hands kneaded around your body, committing every inch to memory, as all of your garments slid down onto the floor, like all the other things that didn’t matter at that moment — the losses, the fear, the past, the duty.

Nanami Kento, who had you with urgent kindness, as you both gave yourselves entirely to each other. He felt your body wave and flow on top of him, just like the soothing, fresh waves from the beach he thought he’d never get to see.

Nanami Kento, who for the first time ever since waking up from a sure death, felt a warmth capable of pushing away the cold grip of death around his throat, your warmth. 

Nanami Kento, who had survived. Who was glad that you did too, and loved you with no apologies through each second of it all, all touch, and kiss, and tongue, and smell, and taste, and breath, and promise.

Nanami Kento, whose arms wrapped around your body as he whispered against your lips, soft pleas none of you could put into words, but both knowing what they meant. He held you tightly as you unraveled for him, muffling your cries of his name with his mouth.

Nanami Kento, who was enthralled by the sound of his name in your voice, your need, your pleas, your smell, your flesh, your desire, and it was all too much, as he filled you whole while sinking his palms over your thighs, pushing himself as deep as he could.

Nanami Kento, who kept you in his embrace while your ear rested right over his chest, and you could hear each and every heartbeat echoing through him. Who asked you to stay the night, and you knew, right then and there, that you would.

You, who knew that no matter what happened, you’d never leave Nanami’s side from that day on.

End notes: I always wanted to write a post-Shibuya Nanami piece, and the inspiration finally hit! A huge thank you to @redlikerozez and @rahuratna for beta reading this.💜

written by tsukimefuku ㋡ comments and reblogs are appreciated. do not copy, translate or repost. copycatting is for losers.

UHHHHM

excerpt from the first chapter of my slow burn Vashwood romance, Like Real People Do [regularly updating on ao3!]

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The problem was that Wolfwood was in love. Hopelessly, stupidly, pathetically in love with Vash the Stampede. It hadn’t started out that way, of course. Did it ever? All he knew was that somewhere between July and whatever godforsaken town they found themselves in now, he had fallen hard.

The blonde had ridiculous ideals, a bottomless stomach, simultaneously the best aim and the worst clumsiness of any man he’d ever met. He was brave and reckless and foolish and brilliant, and he was utterly out of reach. Wolfwood didn’t suppose that Vash had even considered the possibility that he was anything but a traveling companion, a sidekick. Not maliciously, of course. He figured Vash cared for him about as much as he cared about anyone, that being far too much. But Vash cared about him like a puppy, or a very reliable gun. Wolfwood loved Vash like the sun, like an angel. Like a man.

Tonight, Vash opened a nondescript door in a nondescript lodging house and flipped a smile over his shoulder at Wolfwood. “Only one bed, preacher man.”

Wolfwood looked him up and down. “You don’t usually complain, needle.”

Vash laughed and flounced in, sprawling on the bed with a puff of dust. “I’m still not, don’t worry. Dontcha wish you could bring a girl back or somethin’ though? Must get old havin’ to share with me.”

Wolfwood looked intently at his cigarette. “Sure. But I wouldn’t want ya to get lonely. Not my fault you always strike out.”

Vash pouted. “C’mon, they just don’t know what they’re missin’!” He put on an exaggerated baritone voice. “The six million double dollar man, the Humanoid Typhoon, the peace-loving gunman! Ladies can’t help swooning for me!”

“Yeah, yeah.” Wolfwood smirked. “Just lemme know before you kick me out for your conquests, huh?”

Vash nodded earnestly. “Of course! I’m not a jerk.”

“Tell that to the girls next time.”

Vash sat up on the bed, a hand pressed dramatically to his chest. “You wound me, Nicholas.”

Wolfwood rolled his eyes. “C’mon. You definitely won’t have any luck if we don’t head downstairs before closin’ time.” He hefted the Punisher on his shoulder and sucked in another lungful of smoke.

Vash posed in the room’s cracked mirror, making sure his hair was spiked up as high as possible. “Alright, alright. Let’s go!”

Wolfwood claimed a table in the corner and got to work building a cloud of smoke around himself. Vash leaned on the bar, his red coat fanning out as he gave a megawatt smile to the girl behind the counter. “Two beers please, gorgeous!”

Wolfwood shook his head with something like fondness. Vash always came on too strong. He’d likely be picking up the pieces of the blonde’s broken heart later tonight, but he wouldn’t complain. At least he got to hold something of his.

Vash stumbled his way to Wolfwood’s table a few minutes later, waving a hand to disperse the smoke. “I was cultivating an aura over here,” Wolfwood groused.

“How is anyone gonna see us like that?” He slid Wolfwood a beer. “Here, make this last, alright?” Wolfwood stared into the bottom of his glass as Vash leaned his toned forearms on the table. “I think the bartender girl likes me,” he grinned.

Wolfwood snorted. “Ya mean she didn’t slap you yet?”

“Heyyy they don’t all do that!” Vash whined.

“Whatever you say, blondie. Ya gonna kick me out of the room then? Give a man time to find other arrangements, would ya?

“Nah, it’s not like that. Not yet, anyway. Besides, I don’t wanna get locked down too fast. The night is young!”

“Whatever you have to tell yourself.” Wolfwood pretended not to notice Vash’s failed attempts to wink at the bartender, who was conspicuously avoiding any glimpses toward their table. Eventually the gunman tired himself out and slumped on the tabletop, defeated.

“Maybe I read the situation wrong somehow, Wolfwood. Ya think that’s possible?”

He blew a slow stream of smoke to the ceiling. “It’s not impossible.”

“Awww man! She probably thinks I’m ridiculous.”

Wolfwood stared at Vash long enough that the blonde started to blush. His voice was uncharacteristically soft. “Who cares what she thinks.”

“Hah, yeah. I guess so.” Wolfwood couldn’t take his eyes off the soft pink that dusted Vash’s cheeks, the way it crept down his neck and reached the tips of his ears. It made him dizzy, reckless.

“No really, who cares what she thinks? Anyone would be lucky to be with you, Vash.” The words were out before he could swallow them, and Wolfwood briefly considered drowning himself in his beer.

“Gee thanks, Wolfwood. Guess it’ll be another cozy night for us, then. At least till someone realizes my worth.” Sarcasm lingered on the last word, like he didn’t quite believe it.

The cigarette suddenly felt like it was burning Wolfwood’s lips. He stubbed it out hard on the table, willing the awkwardness to dispel with the smoke. “Well. I’m gonna call it early. Good luck down here.” The priest was up and gone before Vash could protest.

As soon as he disappeared upstairs, Vash slumped down his seat. Why did he always do this? That would’ve been such a good opening, he thought miserably. When was Wolfwood going to realize?

The familiar doubt that haunted Vash reared its head. Wolfwood was never going to realize, because he would never think of him like that. Could never want him like that . Vash wasn’t even human, just a battered, alien thing.

He picked up Wolfwood’s discarded cigarette in shaking fingers and pressed the end to his lips. The paper was cold and damp with Wolfwood’s spit, but the core was still warm. Vash sucked it softly, the acrid burn in the back of his throat like a penance.

oh my god??? I don’t even stan Toji like that but you’re changing my mind!!!! do I…need him??

18+ mdni; gn!reader

toji is okay with you not making eye-contact with him during sex because he knows that you're just overwhelmed, right? it's because he simply loves to feel your lips against his skin when you hide your face in the crook of his neck because that's how he knows he's taking good care of you, right?

fuck no.

those are not the only reasons.

if you look toji in the eyes while he's fucking you, he will cream his pants like a fucking teenager who's just seen a pair of tits for the first time.

when he has you on your back with your heels digging into his lower back and with your hands clawing at your back, his own arms barely supporting his body as he sinks into you; you look beautiful like this – a layer of sweat covers your body and he thinks about licking it all up, your bitten lips are parted and the sounds that spill from you cloud toji's mind like a drug. you're writhing and you're squirming, squeezing around his cock so tight that he feels like he's about to pass out.

and then... your eyes.

eyebrows scrunched together, you stare up at him and toji thinks he's going to die instead. tears brim in the corners while your pupils are blown wide, a mix of pleasure and adoration swimming in the dark orbs as he brings you closer and closer to another high. oh, he thinks you look like a fucking painting. like you belong in a museum.

the way you're looking at him is making his cock twitch inside you and that in turn makes you blink at him. you flutter your eyelashes while pressing your heels deeper into his back, silently begging for more.

"f-fuck..."

toji's head falls as he squeezes his own eyes shut. he feels like he's on fire. he feels like he's about to fucking explode. he's going to cum just because you're looking at him with nothing else but love in your eyes. he feels stupid for it – a little embarrassed that such a simple thing is getting to him so easily, but when he feels your hand on his jaw, cradling him like he's something that could break – the shame fades.

the combination of meeting your gaze once again, the care in them, and the love you offer him, makes the knot in his belly snap.

you caress his cheek as you hold your eyes on him, eager to watch him unfold in front of you. a fucked out smile makes its way to your lips and toji's heart skips a beat at the sight. he's never felt weaker, he's never felt more loved. oh, you're something alright.

he also can't handle your eyes whenever you're giving him head. he simply cannot do it. he does love watching you, he really fucking loves it – how you screw your eyes shut, your eyebrows furrowing as you concentrate on your breathing. how the drool pools in the corners of your mouth and how it dribbles down your chin. how your whole body twitches when you gag around him. how small your hand looks on him, how you massage his heavy balls. how pretty you look while doing it all – he's obsessed.

but the second you open your eyes and look back up at him... he's throwing his head back and hiding behind his arm. and while the view of his neck does get you to rub your own thighs together in want – it's not enough.

you want more.

taking your lips off his cock and ignoring the line of spit that connects you to it, you patiently wait for him to look at you. you even stop jerking him off, just resting your hand around his base. his dick twitches and another glob of pre-cum trickles from his tip.

"toji?"

your voice is as sweet as ever and he knows it's a trap. he grumbles back at you in hopes of convincing you to continue, but he's wrong. merely giving his base a squeeze, you watch how the older man buck his hips into your fist.

"look at me."

he won't, he won't, he won't. you're evil, you're awful, you wish to torture him until he dies. this is how it all ends for him. he won't.

"please..."

his balls twitch and his his body burns. he needs to cum so fucking bad but he hates looking like an actual old man, who can't keep his shit together.

"look at me, baby."

it's more of a demand now and he can't resist you. he never has and he never will. whatever you say goes – if you tell him to jump off a damn cliff, he will do so. if you want to break him just like you're doing right this moment, then so be it. he's all yours.

his arm falls from in front of his face and his green eyes crack open to the most glorious sight in the world. you look completely fucked out and your hair is a mess, your lips and your chin are all covered in spit and he thinks of you as an angel of some sort.

you give him a smile and his hips buck into your fist again, but you don't tease him for it – you want him to feel good. so you press a kiss to his sticky tip as you hold his lust-filled gaze and it's enough for him to blow his load all over your gorgeous face.

you lap at his tip like a kitten, collecting the few drops that threaten to escape while still pumping him with your one hand and massaging his balls with the other. toji grips the sheets below with both his hands – his fingers tug at the material so hard that they almost rip but neither of you care.

you worshipping his cock, or better yet worshipping him, is baffling to him. but he's not complaining. you take him into your mouth again, eyes still on his, you wrap your lips wrap around his tip and push him into overstimulation.

curses tumble from his scarred lips like they're the only words he knows and you can't help but smile while still having him him in your mouth. you're covered in his cum and now you're fucking grinning up at him – he really does think he's about to pass away. there's no way this is real, that you're not something his mind conjured up to plague him with. your hands feel godly and your mouth feels so fucking warm. no, this is it – he's officially dying.

taking your lips off of him with a pop, your smile widens even more as you give him an 'ahhh!' as if you've just had the best meal of your life and toji doesn't waste a second before pushing off the bed.

"fuck, come here."

his knees hit the floor with a thud as he lunges at you like a starved beast. he grabs your cheeks and pulls you toward him, smashing his lips to yours in a desperate kiss. he needs to feel you, he needs to taste you. he needs to love you.

he needs to give you his all.

jjk men: panic attack comfort

Satoru Gojo carries sour candy in his pocket at all times because you once told him it can help snap you out of an attack. (He even manages not to eat it all himself.) He attempts to trick your brain out of fight-or-flight with incredibly specific questions, and as silly as it is, you find yourself breathing a little slower as you try to decide on your sixth-least-favorite Pokemon for him.

Suguru Geto knows how you feel, having been through panic attacks himself. He quietly comforts you, reassures you that it will pass, and never judges your reactions in the moment. He understands that it’s just as frightening every time, and his steadiness soothes you.

Kento Nanami spent hours researching panic disorder after you had an attack at his place, wanting to understand what you felt and how to fix it. He comes back to you armed with all kinds of techniques: vagus nerve stimulation, progressive muscle relaxation…you sometimes need to remind him in the moment to just be there for you, but he always reigns it in after that and gives you the comfort you need.

Choso Kamo freaked out the first time you had a panic attack in front of him. When you were able to explain what was happening, he was both amazed and horrified that human minds have so much power. The next time it happens, he does his best to make you feel safe, taking deep breaths with you and letting you run your hands through his hair.

Toji Fushiguro isn’t exactly an expert on mental health, but he learns how to recognize the signs that an attack is coming on and will drop what he’s doing to hold you until it passes. He’s not fazed if you cry or vomit, quietly passing you tissues and holding your hair back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

an: this is shamelessly self-indulgent bc panic disorder is currently kicking my ass

Ohhh this is so tender and lovely and heartbreaking 😭

thinking about nanami's coping mechanisms with the trauma of his work and how reader reacts...

you find yourself stirring awake to an empty bed once again. there's warmth already fading from the sheets, and the clock shows that it's far too early for this to be a good morning. so despite every bone in your body that aches to settle back into the sheets, you're pulling on your robe and heading to the main room.

only the dimmer lights are switched on, yet your eyes still squint to adjust as you notice your husband in the empty space between the kitchen island and the sofa. soft grunts are filling the otherwise silent space, and his hair bounces with each push up that he does.

the soft pad of your slippers against the floors seems to alert him, as he gazes up at you mid rep, but he just continues on without saying a word.

"kento, sweetheart." you start, knowing he's trying to shake off the anxiety from his nightmare. "come back to bed." your voice is terribly soft as you try to show your sympathy.

he groans louder, pushing himself harder as he just shakes his head in disbelief. "i'm okay, just got some extra energy. can't sleep with it."

"this is the third time this week, ken," and you're growing more worried by the minute as you watch how sweat beads down his face. moving from your place by the wall, you come closer to him and kneel down.

nanami's trapped in his own mind, adrenaline pumping through him as every bad thought and memory churns his stomach. his arms are so tired, his chest is aching and all he wants is to collapse into the softness of your arms.

it's when your hand touches his sweaty shoulder that he realises he can have what he wants. he sits back on his knees, chest heaving as he recovers from the exercise and he's itching to touch you—but he won't let himself move first.

luckily you're already wrapping your smaller arms around his neck, pulling his face into your shoulder. your fingers are at his undercut going over the sensitive skin, moving further up to the longer strands of his hair as you do your best to soothe him.

you give him space as he cries into your shoulder, still holding him but doing nothing more as his body has it's emotional release. and when he's finally burnt out, your hands hold his face as you kiss him all over—bringing him back to his senses.

when you finally tempt him back to bed, it only takes his head resting on the warmth of your chest and a few strokes of his hair to have him peacefully sleeping.

and you'll do it again and again, every night as long as it makes him feel better.

working on some vintage angst with my new-old word processor <3

Gojo Satoru couldn’t stand you. He couldn’t bear the faint smell of your shampoo in the stairwell you’d just left, the sound of your laughter disappearing around the corner.

He’d started excusing himself from staff meetings at school, much to the fury of the higher-ups. But he quite literally couldn’t be in the same room with you. Not after what he’d done.

The strongest sorcerer started letting his Infinity slip, hoping you’d brush against him in the hallway just so he could feel you again.

He got sloppy on missions, ending up on Shoko’s operating table more and more often. The last time, forced back into consciousness by her technique and a lungful of secondhand smoke, she had called him on it.

“Are you trying to get yourself killed, Satoru? You think that’s going to bring them back?” He took so long to answer that she started to worry he’d passed back out.

“I know it won’t.” His ocean-blue eyes were an abyss. “But then it wouldn’t hurt anymore.”

Gojo knew he hardly had the right to say it. You had only had one request of him when you got together, one thing that worried you about getting involved with him and his reputation. And he had blown it all up.

It didn’t matter that it was his first love, his high-school ex that he never really got over. It didn’t even matter that he had a good excuse when it came down to it. You had caught Gojo with his tongue down someone else’s throat, and ended it on the spot.

So he dragged himself and his self-pity around campus, half-heartedly instructing the first years when he wasn’t busy volunteering for suicide missions.

You kept your broken heart well-hidden, quietly requesting a transfer to Kyoto at the end of this semester. You looked right through him when you couldn’t avoid him entirely, and found empty bathroom stalls to cry in afterward.

+++++++++++++++++

You had carefully planned your escape, steadily sending your belongings on to the Kyoto school and distancing yourself from the administration of the Tokyo campus for the past few weeks. Now moving day was here, a one-way ticket clutched in your hand. It felt both impossible and inevitable.

No one was there to see you off, as requested. Your closest friends would come visit and everyone else didn’t care much either way.

Except for the person you were running from.

You felt him before you saw him, his Six Eyes boring into you from across the station. His snow-white hair was scruffy, sticking up like he’d been pulling at it. Dark sunglasses hid his shadowed eyes.

“Gojo? What the fuck are you doing here?” You knew he could hear your harsh whisper from where he stood.

“Gojo, huh? Ouch.” He crossed the room in a blink, pushing up his glasses to show off an exaggerated wince, one eye scrunched shut. “That hurts.”

“Good. You should know how it feels. Now if you don’t mind, I have a train to catch.” You tried to step around him, but he easily mirrored you.

“It doesn’t leave for another ten minutes. Can we talk?”

“Talk? Talk about what, asshole? How your ex tasted?” A pointless shove against his broad chest.

Gojo caught your wrists in one hand. “Please.”

You made the mistake of eye contact, taking a half-step closer, and your heart broke open all over again. He was so beautiful, so desperate, his vulnerability a halo. The wound you had tried to cauterize with space and silence flared back to agonizing life.

He sensed your hesitation- he knew all your weaknesses- and used the opportunity to pull you into his arms. “I’m so sorry. So, so sorry, you have no idea…” murmured apologies into your hair.

“Fuck you,” you said to his chest.

“I know, baby.” A shaky laugh. “I know.”

Against all your instincts, the longing to melt into his embrace, you stepped back. “Satoru…” you did your best to ignore the hope in his face when you used that name. “You can’t expect me to forget what you’ve done.”

“I don’t! I swear. Just please, don’t run away from this. From us. I can’t lose you.” He still held your wrists, your pulses knocking against each other.

“You already did.”

He lets go, off balance, like you’d punched him in the gut. Your train doors are opening and you’re turning away, not before you catch the shine of tears in his blue, blue eyes.

You’re sorry too, so goddamn sorry, but you’re stepping off the platform and there’s nothing left to say, even if you had the time to say it.

The doors close indifferently, your world cleaved in two. Before and after, inside and out. You turn back, watching him shrink into nothing as you pull out of the station. He watches you disappear for much, much longer.

[ SMAU ] 𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐒 ! in which you message the jujutsu kaisen men after a bad date .

୨୧˚ incl; satoru gojo , suguru geto , kento nanami , toji fushiguro , choso kamo

୨୧˚ cw; crack, profanity, pre-established relationships

୨୧˚ an; some quick food while i finish writing the next chapter to office hours😇

୨୧˚ join my discord server ! we share headcanons, fanfic recs, color roles, and more drooling emoji

likes and reblogs are appreciated !

rahhh this is so pretty and poetic I want to eat it!!!

suguru geto is unbelievably captivating.

he catches your eye immediately – standing tall, he's got one hand on the subway pole to keep his balance. his hair is tucked into his hoodie with only a few strands left out to frame his face. you can only see his side profile but it's enough; a sharp, prominent jawline and a beautiful nose, thin eyebrows, a pierced lip and a pair of tired eyes. you feel bad for thinking it but the dark bags under them leave you no other option.

afternoon sun peeks from the windows behind him, successfully making the scene before you seem like a painting. the colors move; the shades of green flashing by as trees wave you goodbye, the different hues of the tired grays, of the big buildings taking up space as the base of the canvas. splashes of black and white and silver and beige are thrown into the mix, too. his slacks, his big headphones, his jewellery, his totebag. but what truly brings it all together, is his deep, dark maroon hoodie; there's a hint of purple in it aswell, and you just think it's one of the best colors you've ever seen. you figure the thought is a bit silly, but you can't get it out of your head.

something so comforting about it, something so warm and welcoming. something a little murky about it. you can't look away.

you forget about everybody else around you. for you, it's just him in this moment. a total stranger. you don't know him and you probably never will; a pang of hurt hits right under your ribs at the thought. you wonder what his name is, you wonder how his voice sounds. how warm his hands are, and what's his favourite color. no, he doesn't seem like the type to have a favourite color. childish. you'd have to ask about a favourite drink or a book perhaps instead. you're fine with that.

you can spot a few rings on his fingers, a silver watch and a bracelet or two peering from under his sleeve. his hands are pretty. they look good. you also think that you can see a tattoo sprouting from under the collar of his hoodie but the dark lines are blending in with the strands of his hair, so you can't be sure. you want to be sure.

your foot taps against the floor or the cart, your body itching to scoot a little closer to him. you want to see his whole face. you need to. fidgeting with your own fingers, you continue observing the man in front of you. he might step out every second now, you can't waste any more time.

his shoulder seem very broad, his posture almost immaculate. handsome – you think he looks very handsome. well put together. his clothes aren't wrinkled, there isn't a single hair or a speck of dust anywhere on them as far as you can see; the only things that betray his true state of being are his eyes.

purple. glued to the window in front of him, he watches... nothing. he seems a little out of it. he's not focused on the trees or the buildings, the people aside him. you think about what kind of music he might be listening to.

the subway doors open and you jolt, head turning around to look at the platform behind the glass. people stand and leave, and a few come in, leaving an open space for you to take on the bench you're currently sitting on. and you do take it.

there he is.

you can see his eyes a little better now. keen and sharp, he reminds you of a wolf. a malnourished one. the corners of his mouth are tilted down and he really does seem tired. but he's still utterly, utterly beautiful. his skin is almost perfect, his hair shiny and his lips a little glossy. but not too glossy though – no, he definitely uses something like shea butter. something that isn't too thick, something that doesn't smell or taste too strongly. it just seems right.

you've never been this captivated by a stranger before. it's weird. the effect this man has on you without ever even sparing you a glance. you think about asking for it. for a glance. for a second of his time. a fraction of it? anything. everything.

how would he greet you? would he be mad? would he think that you're bothering him? would he give you a smile? a scoff? an eyebrow raise? would he let you ask whatever your heart desires? or would he brush you off, never even removing his headphones when you try to speak to him? oh, it hurts. the blatantly fake heartbreak still hurts.

his trainers are clean - they're white with some accents on them. they match his hoodie. you wonder which he bought first. did he buy the other with the intent of wearing the two pieces together? you want to ask him. that's not his favourite color though, right? no, no – he wouldn't have one. this man reads books and watches movies that are mostly only shown at different festivals. you don't mind it.

films. foreign films. he knows names of the directors from the top of his head, he could probably name a few cinematographers, too. fancy. but that's not his main thing, definitely not. there's something missing, something you can't grasp with just your eyes. what is he passionate about? truly passionate. what does he pour his heart into? is that why he's exhausted? is he tired from loving something? is it starting to hurt now? is it overwhelming? does he want a break? does he want to rest? does he want to get away?

the sun finds your eye from behind his body, forcing you to tear your eyes from him. the cart stops again, the doors open. you try to rub out the slight burn, suddenly a bit frantical that you'll really lose him. you look up and—

he's not there.

he isn't there anymore.

people walk past you, plopping down beside you as you're still trying to find him. turning in your seat, you eye the station. maroon, maroon, maroon, maroon. c'mon, how fast does this man fucking walk?!

but he's just not there.

you think it's unbelievably unfair that it's the sun that made you lose him. isn't she supposed to be full of love? bullshit. with a huff, your shoulders slump and your eyes fall shut while sinking into the bench below you. the cart seems to rumble more now, the seat way more uncomfortable than it was a mere minute ago. you really are disappointed; in yourself and in the world. why didn't you get up? why didn't you speak to him? better to get a no than to drown in the million 'what if' questions in your head. stupid. you're stupid.

"hi."

as you listen to the voice recording of the station names, the very same ones you memorized years ago, you crack open your eyes. your own shoes stare back at you; they're dirtier than his were. you don't think too deeply about the comparison. sun dances on the ground before you, the various shapes entertaining your mind with the shadow play. but you don't stay for long; trailing up, you see the familiar paint and your heart skips a beat. white and maroon. black. maroon. silver.

purple.

Hands-On: Nanami/Ino/Fem!Reader

wc: 2154 / explicit consent, exhibitionism, blindfolded with his Nanami's tie [ao3]

Nanami’s confident voice came from somewhere behind your head. “Listen carefully. I’ll explain everything first, then you can get some hands-on experience.” You bit your lip, trying your hardest to lie still as your husband lectured his student. He brushed back your hair with one heavy hand. “The face is an obvious place to start.” 

Nanami brushed his lips against your forehead. “A kiss here can be very sweet, and conveys safety and love.” A flush dusts your cheeks. “You can build up to a kiss on the lips. Something like this.” He gently kissed the corners of your mouth, just below your nose, the slope of your chin- everywhere but your mouth. You whimpered and tried to meet him, tilting your head up pleadingly. His laugh was a rumble in his chest. “You see?”

Nanami turned to the young man beside him. “Now it’ll be more satisfying when you give in.” He lovingly kissed your lips, smiling against you. “I presume you understand the importance of consent. Clear, enthusiastic, can be withdrawn at any time…” Ino nodded. “I think you’ll find that asking for consent can be quite an enjoyable part of the process.” 

He leaned down to whisper. “Do we have your consent, my love? Would you like to keep helping me instruct my student?” He held your chin in his hand, squeezing your cheeks into a pout. You nodded dumbly, cheeks burning. Nanami grinned. 

“Such a good girl. I’m sure Ino here appreciates it.”

Ino’s voice cracks a bit as he answers, “Y-yes, very much. Thank you...”

Nanami trailed his fingers down your neck, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. “There’s so much you can do with a gentle touch, Ino. Pleasure isn’t a race.” His exploring fingers skimmed your collarbone and draped around your neck. “So many places to apply sensation…” he squeezed your throat, just barely, and your mouth fell open in a moan. 

He smirked. “As you can see, my wife is quite responsive.” Ino nodded again, his eyes wide.

Nanami took his hand off your neck and deftly unbuttoned your shirt, pressing kisses to each inch of revealed skin. You squirmed under his attentions, letting out a whimper when he pulled away. “Every bit of build-up is part of the experience. Leave nothing unappreciated.” As he spoke, he smoothly unfastened your bra and slid the straps down your arms.

Nanami and Ino breathed a sigh in tandem as your breasts were revealed, your nipples stiffening quickly with exposure to the air. You fought the urge to cover yourself, keeping your arms pinned to your sides. To your hiss of disappointment, Nanami ignored them entirely and slid his hand down the plane of your stomach. Ino watched, rapt, as you trembled. As if you were nothing more than a doll, Nanami traced your curves and calmly described his actions.

“Here we have an often under-appreciated area, so pay close attention. Though the object of your desires may appear to be here-” a whisper-light brush of your cunt with his calloused knuckles- “there is much to be made of the hips and waist.” He gripped you hard, kneading the soft flesh that pooled on your hips. You bucked into his touch, lifting your back off the table.

“You see?” He chuckled, obliging you with a hard squeeze of your ass. “But they can also be used more creatively.” Seeing Ino’s confused look, he pulled you down closer to him. “Flip over, beautiful.” Nanami hummed approvingly as you obeyed and yanked you down the table by your hips. You groaned as he shoved you against the bulge in his pants.

“Now, this might be a bit advanced for you,” Nanami bent over your prone form and grasped a thick handful of your hair, pulling your head back. “But if you keep one hand here-” he slapped your ass lightly and moved back to your hip, “and the other here-” he gave your hair a firm tug, forcing you to arch against him, “then you are in a very interesting position indeed.”

Ino looked like he might faint, sweating underneath the balaclava bunched on his head. “I-I see.” Nanami smiled at him without relaxing his hold on you, his cock throbbing against your ass.

“But again, this is more advanced. My wife likes when I play rough with her.” One more tug of your hair, hard enough to make you cry out, and he released you. “Back over please, darling.” 

You twisted onto your back again, chest heaving as you looked up at the two men. You felt beyond exposed, but at the same time completely safe in Nanami’s hands. As if reading your mind, he soothed, “You’re doing amazing, my love. Isn’t she Ino?”

“Yes, absolutely,” he breathed.

“Back to basics then, shall we?” Nanami caressed down your thighs and calves. “You should leave no part of your lover’s body unadored,” he said. He lifted your foot and lovingly kissed the arch as he massaged it. “Exploring each other is a beautiful, vulnerable thing. Treating it as such will allow for much…deeper encounters, shall we say.” 

The lecture was all well and good, and under other circumstances you would’ve laughed at the concentration on Ino’s face, but you were desperate for the teasing to end. Your pussy clenched around nothing, slick pooling down your plush thighs as you were used like a prop. “Kento, can we…move on please?”

He laughed, patting your head condescendingly. “It seems our beautiful model is impatient, hmm? Let’s not keep her waiting.” He tilted his head at his student as an idea occurred to him. “Unless you feel you need to spend longer on these concepts?”

“What do you-” Ino began, then froze when he saw what Nanami was getting at. “Oh I, uh- I could use a little more time. To make sure I really get everything.”

Nanami hummed in agreement. “I appreciate your diligence, Ino.” Your eyes went wide, and you pushed yourself up to your elbows to argue.

“Kento, I really don’t think that’s necessary, wouldn’t he rather-”

“Shh, my love. I certainly don’t think you would downplay the importance of foreplay in front of our impressionable student here, would you?” He easily pushed you back down on the table.

Nanami loosened his speckled tie and slid it out from his collar. “Sometimes toys can intensify an experience,” he lectured. “Particularly those involving the senses, or their limitations.” He tied his tie over your eyes in a makeshift blindfold. Your breath hitched as your vision went dark, but you didn’t protest.

“Now every touch will be unexpected and all the more intense.” You felt his fingers trail down across your stomach, stopping just above the patch of coarse hair on your mound. You willed him lower, but gasped as his other hand found your breast at least, rolling your nipple in two rough fingers. Before you could get any relief from the touch he moved on, a soft kiss to your earlobe chased by a sudden smack to your clit with the back of his hand.

“Fuck!” You snapped your legs together a moment too late, hissing at the sting.

“Now how can we see that way, pretty?” Nanami teased as he pushed you back open. “That’s a good girl. Ino, you see her heightened responses?” You heard the younger man shakily agree. Nanami’s laugh rumbled again, and you ached. “Ah, I can tell.”

An embarrassed grunt from Ino, and the rustle of him adjusting his pants. You bit your lip, your cheeks flaming with both embarrassment and arousal. “I can’t blame you, though.” You suddenly felt Nanami’s smile against your inner thigh, and blindly groped down to tangle your trembling fingers in his hair, hoping to keep him there.

“Let’s not torture her any longer, fun as it is.” His tongue met your pussy, licking a long stripe up your slit as you writhed underneath him. He pulled away too soon, tugging his hair from your grip with his teacher voice back on. “Always try to make her finish first, Ino. Properly eating a woman is a crucial skill for a gentleman to have.” He demonstrated with another lap at your cunt, dragging his tongue in and out of your messy folds as you whimpered pitifully.

You felt him hum into you as you clenched your thighs around his head, desperately trying to pin him down as he sucked and tongued at you eagerly, licking up the juices that smeared on his face. He pulled back just long enough to breathe before diving back in, savoring you so sinfullyl. You almost forgot that you had an audience until you heard a ragged breath from Ino, and felt Nanami drag himself away from you with one last sloppy kiss to your cunt. 

“You taste amazing, my love. Forgive me Ino, I was carried away. I trust you were watching carefully?”

“Yes sir, very much so.” You could hear the strain in Ino’s voice, the effort he was making to keep it together in front of his mentor.

“Good, because now it’s your turn.” Nanami pulled off your blindfold in time for you to catch Ino’s awestruck gaze tracing down your body hungrily. “Why don’t you try what you’ve just seen?”

“A-all of it?”

Nanami shrugged. “Whatever you feel ready for. We’ll both give you feedback.” You smiled encouragingly, shivering in anticipation.

Ino tugged his balaclava off, rocking on his feet for a moment before he dropped to his knees in front of you. With a final nervous look at Nanami, he closed his eyes and leaned into your dripping pussy, pressing his lips to yours shyly. You moaned and wiggled your hips to encourage him, and he slowly began to lick up and down your folds, mimicking what he had seen Nanami do. He breathed hard as he ate you, little puffs of warmth that made your walls flutter.

“Kento, he’s so cute,” you giggled, reaching down to tug him closer. Nanami stood behind him with a critical eye, encouraging the younger man with quiet advice.

“That’s it, follow her movements. See how she’s responding to what you do.” Ino hummed at the praise and moved more confidently, lapping deeper into your dripping cunt.

“You look so pretty under him, my love,” whispered Nanami, reaching for your hand. He laced his fingers with yours then drew them together down to Ino’s head, pressing him against you.

Ino’s muffled sigh sent a spark up and into you, your thighs shuddering against his clenched jaw. His earnest face so messy, slick and debauched in your arousal and his own spit. 

“Mmmm, taste s’good Mrs. Nanami,” he mumbled, and you felt the elastic band in your gut draw taut. Beginner’s luck had him latching onto your clit, sucking hard when he felt you stiffen and arch into his mouth. 

“God, don’t fucking stop, hah, that’s a good boy-“ you tried to borrow some of your husband’s authority but couldn’t hide the needy whine in your voice.  

Nanami watched with bright eyes as his student brought you closer to your peak, drinking in the ripples of your flesh and the muss of your hair as you squirmed on the table. 

He moved behind Ino, a firm hand on either side of his head to guide his movements. Nanami steered the younger man like a toy, angling his eager tongue into your greedy hole with practiced ease. 

With nonchalant grace, your husband bent over you, his hips and hands smothering Ino between your legs as he leaned in to kiss you. His lips captured yours passionately, his tongue swiping into your mouth as Ino’s was shoved deeper into your core, forcing sighs and moans from all three of you. 

Nanami’s familiar taste overwhelmed you, the elastic in your gut stretching further and further until you snapped, coming with a cry into Nanami’s mouth and a twitching, aching gush into Ino’s. 

Your head fell back, mouth open and chest heaving as you ground down against Ino’s face, chasing the fading high. Nanami kissed you more softly now, feather-light brushes against your cheeks and lips.

A strangled whimper below you, and Nanami quickly backed up, letting Ino break away to pant for breath. Strings of slick and saliva connected him to your thighs as he gasped, eyes and lips glassy. 

“You okay, baby?” You coo at him, and Ino focuses a wobbly, fucked-out smile at you. 

“More than okay. I’m…I mean you-” he looked up at Nanami like a puppy. 

Nanami clapped a hand on his shoulder. “You’re a quick leaner. Good job, Takuma.”

The sound of his first name seemed to embarrass Ino even more than being nose-deep in the wife of the man who used it. “Thank you sir!”

You smiled as you slid your hand into Nanami’s, stroking Ino’s hair with the other. “I think we should continue these lessons. Same time next week?”

hey this made my stomach hurt!! (positive)

What would a Kento Nanami do for his birthday? The possibilities are near endless my brain can’t contain it!

What say you, Mrs. Haitch?

So if he were alone, I think he'd start by calling up his parents, and his grandfather, who lives with Kento's parents and is an elderly, Danish man by this point. He taught Kento Danish as a child, and they sit and have a quiet little conversation while Kento makes himself a coffee. He knows he's privileged that his grandfather is still alive, in his eighties and generally poorly behaved not me headcanoning Kento's grandfather as one of the last remaining Witchers of Europe and having left it all behind for Kento's Japanese grandmother and so secretly it's where Kento got his Curse Sight from and I know there are plotholes in this and this is a Headcanon for another day but anyway

Kento doesn't dress up; he dresses down. All black. His comfiest black slim fit jeans, an old band t-shirt. He wishes he could wear a big heavy overcoat, a black one like he used to, but the weather is too warm, even early. His hair is mussed and soft. He heads out for breakfast, finding a favourite little bistro.

He tells nobody that it's his birthday. He's off work for other, boring reasons, according to everyone else. He sees another year pass, and wonders with an edge of melancholy, if this is the last birthday he will celebrate.

Taking a book with him, he enjoys a long, slow breakfast. He ensures he finishes that book, and talked a languid walk to a local bookshop, to buy the next.

He visits the market. Buys loads of fresh food, cheese and bread, olives. Fresh olive oil, infused with garlic and truffle. A cake he knows he will be too full up to eat.

He sleeps in late, and goes to bed early; but cannot sleep. The corest part of him wonders if he should see his birthday through until midnight. He wonders and wonders and gets up and goes for a snack. He wonders. If this year is the year he falls in love. If this year is the year he gets a cat, like he always wanted. He couldn't, he thinks. He's away too much. It isn't fair.

By the time he reaches midnight, he is steeped in red wine and camembert, and god, does he want to live. He wants to live more than anything, not work and work on the promise of living later.

It will be the Autumn, soon. After Halloween passes, he will hand in his notice.

His elderly grandfather misses him the most.

Except, that didn't happen. The boy with the pink hair who loves Kento so deeply arrived in time. Kento lived. His grandfather cried, stroking over Kento's burns with a clawed over hand.

The next year, Kento took Yuuji out for cake...to say thank you.

Love,

-- Haitch xxx