#♡ jordy is writing ♡
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fantasising about werewolf! bakugo, who—unbeknownst to you—has spent majority of your friendship secretly grooming you into accepting your fated role as his bondmate.
fem! reader, 18+, werewolf! bakugo, human! reader, friends to lovers, bondmates, hidden feelings, pining, mutual pining, possessiveness, making out, masturbation, dry humping, dubcon
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reblogs are appreciated ~
it starts with a touch.
it’s a gentle brush of his fingers to your elbow, one day, grip tightening around the bend of your joint as he steadies your balance. clumsily, you’d somehow managed to trip over your own feet, stumbling into the open threshold of his apartment, your forehead dangerously close to colliding with the warmth of his chest. admittedly, you are a tad dismayed when he’s able to save you the shame of face-planting the very comfortable-looking space between his pecs, the broad muscles hidden beneath the stretch of fabric that you recognise to be his favourite band t-shirt. you choose to pointedly ignore the bout of disappointment that settles at the back of your throat when he straightens you upright, grunting something indecipherable under the heat of his breath as he kicks the door shut behind you. you follow him into the comfort of his apartment, but whilst you’re free to ogle at the shape of his back as he leads you into the living room, you’re blind to the way that he forcibly hides the smug curl of the corners of his mouth with a twitch of his lips.
over time, his touches become more frequent.
again, you’re oblivious to the way that there’s a deliberate brush of his fingers whenever he’s passing you the remote, eyes already gluing themselves to the television, missing the brief flash of irritation that gleams the colour of his own crimson. there’s a press of his shoulder when the two of you are invited over to a movie night at kirishima’s, a group of five crammed onto a second-hand settee that was made for two. he’s purposeful in the way that the warmth of him is almost fire-like when his skin touches yours, but again, he’s humbled, for you bare no visible signs of reacting, too busy giggling along to something stupidly un-funny that shitty hair has spouted. the redhead can’t fathom as to why bakugo spends majority of the evening glaring scornfully at the side of his face when he should be focusing on the movie instead.
but, eventually, there comes a time when you start to lean into the palm of his hand when he’s grabbing at your bicep to tug you inside whenever you appear at his doorstep, and it leaves him feeling smug when you coo about how warm he is. he’s surprised, yet satisfied when you even go as far as to slug your feet onto his lap when the two of you collapse onto the settee after sharing a meal one evening, expelling a happy hum from the back of your throat when the pad of his thumb kneads at your heel.
after this, tactfully, he switches to scent.
it isn’t obvious, he doesn’t think, the way that he greedily inhales when you greet him at the door when he stops by after a late-night patrol. except, maybe it is, because he swears that it’s taking you a tad longer than usual to lock the door shut behind him. your scent sits on the tip of his tongue as he stands in the middle of your living room, watching as you disappear into the kitchen to flick the kettle on. momentarily alone, that wild part of him is frantic, forcing his nostrils to flare, a low groan bubbling in the pit of his stomach as his ribs expand to accommodate the stretch of his lungs as he eagerly breathes you in. it’s overwhelming, the sweetness of your scent that clings to all four corners of the room, and bakugo can do nothing as it entices a longing that coils deep in his stomach when you return from the kitchen—two steaming mugs of hot chocolate in hand—his eyes snapping towards the column of your throat.
there, bakugo just knows that you smell the sweetest, the gleam of his stare narrowing in on the very space where he, primeval beast that he is, aches to embed his canines into. his gums itch, threatening to do just that, and he forces himself to swallow down the urge around a scalding mouthful of hot chocolate.
it’s just after this when he starts to realise that although your scent is very much you, it is his own that he often catches latching into the strands of your hair, or seeping into the threads of your clothes. you don’t notice, of course, the way it drives him feral when you steal a well-worn hoodie of his, the fabric draping over your shoulders as it’s too large for your frame. he insists that you keep the hoodie for yourself, mumbling an excuse about how he no longer wears it (he’s lying—the fabric is saturated in his scent), a gluttonous instinct of his now placated when you agree easily—happily, he thinks— slipping the fabric over your head. you’re enshrouded by a bubble that tastes of his musk, and the fire that singes the blood in his veins is one that he can’t get rid of, even when he desperately fucks his cock into the palm of his fist later that night.
eventually, torment has him resorting to sound.
the beat of your pulse is one that bakugo has long memorised, ingrained into the very makings of his own dna. it’s usually a throb that dulls in the background, his instincts latching onto the sound even if he’s busy acting as if he can’t hear each steady inhale that is drawn between the very lips that he struggles to refrain from gawking at each day. it’s a task, one that takes months to perfect, especially when he has to learn that not every spike of your pulse is a cause for alarm.
but, somehow, the gentle thud, thud, thud that he becomes accustomed to has morphed. he’s not entirely sure when it happens, but almost a year has passed since the two of you became friends, and one day, he notices. you’ve invaded the private space of his home once again, only, this time, you’re lazily sprawled across his bed, tittering away to yourself when you make a joke about how his hero name should’ve been ‘boomshakala’. he’s swearing at you, shoving the flat of his foot against your hip, and although there’s no malice in his actions—his grin is far too wide for someone who does a very good job at being angry all of the time—there’s a tiny noise choked out from the back of your throat.
t-thump-thump-th-thump.
there, he thinks, is the spike of your pulse, again. it’s fluttering, uneven as you peer at him, mouth frozen on the shape of an exclaim that isn’t voiced. you’re staring at him, wide eyed—mortified—because did you just moan?
he’s still, watching you, the glower of crimson tainted by a molten heat that bleeds into his irises, and you find that you can’t look away. he looks hungry—starved—and you dare to think that maybe there’s a small chance that he—
he’s on to you.
literally.
you aren’t able to finish that final thought, because now he’s shoving, pressing you to the mattress, looming over you as he pins you still with the weight of his hips, grinning a smile that is all teeth and little else. you’re gawking up at him, a little wide eyed, dazed as your lips part, wetted by a flick of your tongue. unabashed, bakugo has decided that he cares very little for being inconspicuous, and now, he blatantly stares at the way you lick your lips, his own tongue wiggling from out of his mouth to mirror your actions.
and holy fuck, does he have fangs?!
you suppose that you ought to be terrified—because you’re definitely confused—and yet, suddenly, bakugo’s senses are overwhelmed by the existence of your very present arousal. the musky scent is dulled by your hesitation, your fingers, soft and pliant, wedged between the crooks of his own. but where your legs are hooked around the width of his waist, he can feel the way that your clit has begun to throb wantonly as you murmur his name so breathily that he’d’ve failed to hear the syllables—broken on the shape of another moan—if not for the fact that his sense of hearing far surpasses that of a human being. there’s a perspiration that has built on the nape of his neck, and he’s sure that you can feel the way that his cock has engorged, flooded with blood that surges south when you allow him to curl a possessive hand around the width of your pretty little neck.
‘you’re mine,’ he snaps, leaning close enough to catch the stutter of your breath on the curve of his cheek, leaning to tongue over the seam of your lips before you can reply.
bakugo was right. you do taste sweet. sweeter than he’d imagined, too. you’re gasping, the fragile skin of your throat jumping as your pulse quickens, and to his surprise, you’re keeping up with the repeated press of his lips, returning his affections with as much fervour as he’s giving. your fingers are twisting into the shock of blonde that rests atop his skull, and a stroke of his groin to yours has you choking, pulling on the strands with a sharp tug. in turn, bakugo snarls, lips tearing from the shape of yours, teeth dragging along the length of your neck. again, he was right, because here, your scent is as sweet as your taste.
‘tell me you’re mine,’ he demands, desperate as he ruts against you. he groans, the pitch low before it catches on a keen that has your toes curling within the confides of your socks. dizzied by how quickly he’s rendered you into nothing but putty, you’re unable to voice your surprise when the tips of his fangs catch on the dip of your collarbone.
things are moving quickly—too quickly, you should think—and yet you’re just as desperate as he, seeking friction as your hips roll to meet his.
‘say it,’ he’s all but begging, breath hot on your skin as it tickles its way down the shell of your ear. pinned beneath him, you shiver, and he huffs, seemingly upset by your silence. ‘say it—say you’re mine.’
his teeth actually nip at the jut of your jaw, and you cry out, mildly incredulous and incredibly turned on.
‘y-yours,’ you relent, gasping, moaning sweetly into the meat of his shoulder. ‘all yours.’ sated by your promise, he listens to the rapid thump of your pulse, the sound almost deafening at it strums at your clit, increasing in tempo when the hard lines of his cock nudges once, twice, thrice, accompanied by the scratch of his canines at the crook of which your neck meets your shoulder.
there, he decides, is where you’ll wear his mark.
pride has his blood stirring, his nostrils flaring as he devours the scent of you—whom he can now finally claim as his own. his lips curl around the shape of a smirk, and he sneers one word against the beat of your jugular.
mine.
you have no idea what you’ve just agreed to.
© obitohno. all rights reserved. do not repost my works.
#♡ jordy is writing ♡#bnha x reader#mha x reader#bnha smut#mha smut#werewolf! bakugo#bakugo x reader#bakugo x you#bakugo smut#bakugou x reader#bakugou x you#bakugou smut#bakugo fluff
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Love Letter - TAKUMA INO
WORD COUNT: ~5.1K
WARNINGS: None. F!Reader
SUMMARY: Y/N receives a love letter, sadly the sender wasn't very specific when he signed it.
A/N: Silly little brainrot I had months ago. Took me ages to actually finish this. Feedback is always appreciated!! Let me know if you wanna be tagged.
TAGGING @just-jordie-things CAUSE I GOT BACK INTO WRITING BECAUSE OF HER, SHE'S AMAZING ♡♡♡
Another day filled with lessons of an unusual kind passed by. Gojo-Sensei was a good and devoted teacher, but everyone agreed that his teaching methods sometimes were a little… unorthodox, for lack of a better word. He tends to throw students into dangerous situations to fend for themselves instead of preparing them for it beforehand.
Y/N was just happy that she had her student days behind her. Now she was a semi-grade 1 sorcerer. After graduating from Jujutsu High she slowly but surely worked her way up the ranks and earned the respect of her fellow sorcerers, one of which was Ino Takuma, who seemed to be just as impressed by her as he was by his mentor Nanami Kento.
Whenever she wasn’t on a mission Y/N used the time to train, either by herself, with Takuma or with some of the younger students. Which was exactly what happened right now. For the past hours she had exchanged blows with each of them, successfully winning every fight. Until Maki decided to challenge her. Without any ounce of cursed energy she was supposed to be an easy target, but exactly this made her all the more dangerous in close range.
She stood opposite of Maki, wearing a smile on her lips and chuckling a little. Even after losing their training fight there was not an ounce of bitterness within her. Maki was an astonishing fighter, she was more skilled and talented in hand-to-hand combat than any of the other students.
Due to her lack of cursed energy she focused entirely on close range combat, allowing her to win the fight swiftly. No doubt that Yuji would still smoke her in terms of raw strength, but Maki was no way inferior to any of them.
“You’re gonna raise hell some day, Maki.” Y/N never made a secret out of her adoration and pride for the young ostracized Zenin. If it had been anyone else Maki would have rolled her eyes and shrugged off the praising compliment, but Y/N was one of the few people she held in high regards, therefore her words meant a lot to the second year student.
Knowing that someone as strong as Y/N acknowledged her strength and even believed in her so strongly meant a lot to her, even if she would rather die a gruesome death than ever admit this to anyone.
“I’m working on it.”
Maki’s witty comeback earned another chuckle from Y/N. Truth be told, she was immensely proud of the young student. When she herself enrolled into Jujutsu High she was surrounded by all these amazing young sorcerers and even her teachers were fascinatingly strong. It often caused her to feel left out, as if she was merely a candle in the wind with everyone around her being raging wildfires, rapidly increasing with each passing day.
Back then Takuma was the only person who showed her acknowledgement, who openly told her that he believed she’d be destined for amazing and great things. Thinking back on it now, it might have been this exact moment her crush developed. She wanted to prove him right, that she was capable of whatever life as sorcerer threw at her.
Ultimately, she knew the pain of being left out, of not being believed in, of feeling far too weak. She wouldn’t allow anyone to feel like that, especially not someone like Maki, who was so willing and determined to prove herself.
Y/N only responded with a nod and a smile before turning around to gather her things. All too suddenly she halted her movements, her eyes squinting at the piece of white paper she spotted on the dark piece of clothing.
Right there, at the edge of the training grounds, in her lazily discarded jacket, stuck a letter, folded into a tiny rectangle. It certainly wasn’t there before. She would have remembered anyone messing with her clothes during the training. Whoever it was must have used the chance to leave the paper when she had her back turned. Or maybe when Maki successfully threw her onto her back…
However, that didn’t matter now, what mattered most to Y/N in this instant was the tiny rectangle.
Curiously, and with careful touches, she reached for the paper and slowly unfolded it. Her eyes scanned over the lines written on it. The first thing she noticed was the handwriting itself. It wasn’t neat, but it was far from messy. It seemed almost as if someone tried to conceal their handwriting. Something else she noticed was that it was a blank paper, no lines or squares, yet the short sentences made it seem as if there had been invisible lines.
Whoever wrote this note went through the trouble of using an undersheet to keep the perfect lines intact. The level of detail for one simple note was astonishing.
It took Y/N a few good moments of skimping over the words before she even realized what the letter said.
It was… a love letter.
Never in her life did Y/N think she’d receive one of those, let alone an anonymous one, only signed with initials, but there’s got to be a first time for everything, right?
Her gaze was fixated on the paper, as if it put a spell on her. The few lines were filled with sweet adoration, even bringing a smile to her lips until her eyes found the initials T.I..
Y/N still stood in the middle of the training grounds but she suddenly didn’t notice anything around her anymore. Her thoughts were now fully engulfed by the two letters that sent her mind into a haze. Who the hell was T.I.?
Bombs and missiles could have detonated right in front of her, nonetheless, nothing would have managed to tear her attention away from her thoughts going on a rampage.
Seconds passed, turning into minutes as Y/N kept on thinking about the initials but she couldn’t come up with anything. Even if she turned the letters around no one came to her mind. No one seemed to fit, until a certain image popped up in her thoughts. And suddenly the need for a written letter made much more sense to her.
<--With a suspicion now in mind, she set out to find her best friend, hoping to get a different perspective on the entire matter. Maybe he’d even have some advice ready for her to handle this entire situation. It surely would help her to at least get a male opinion on this. That is… if her best friend Takuma would even have an opinion on it at all. -->
“Do you have any idea who T.I. could be?”
Immediately after finding Takuma she spilled everything about the letter she received. It took him a good few minutes to get her to slow down but once he realized what she was on about his lips curled into a little smile, not too big to get caught but just enough to seem like his usual self. Even if he was a nervous bundle of anxiety inside.
“It’s obvious, isn’t it, ‘Kuma?” This was it. The moment he was waiting for.
He was the one who left the letter in her jacket during training. She’d confront him and after hearing his cheesy confession she’d admit to always having had a crush on him as well, and the two would kiss and be the dream couple everyone would envy.
…At least that’s how he pictured it in his head.
“It must be Toge Inumaki. I can’t think of anyone else, to be honest.” Y/N crossed her arms in front of her chest, the letter still clutched in between her thumb and her fingers, as she gave an expectant look towards her friend, not knowing that his heart secretly deflated at her words.
Takuma tried his hardest not to show his thoughts all too clearly on his face. Usually, he was the personification of bubbly, open and unfiltered, blurting out the first things on his mind without really thinking of his words first. But this time he had to bite his own tongue to stop himself from speaking too quickly.
Why did she not realize that it was him who wrote that note? Then again, why did he have to sign it with his initials only? Was he really that stupid? Of course, there were other people with the same initials as him, he should have thought of this beforehand.
Or perhaps the fact that she instantly assumed it to be someone else meant that maybe she wanted it to be someone else? Did she believe Toge wrote the note because she wished that it was from him? Had her heart already been snatched by someone?
The possibility of it felt like a gut punch to Takuma. A few minutes ago he felt happy, expecting this moment to turn into the sweetest one of his life. However, by now his chest felt tightened, as if someone had reached down his throat and crushed his heart with bare hands, while simultaneously smacking the air out of his lungs.
This had got to be one of the worst moments of his life. He got rejected, indirectly at least, and in one of the worst ways too.
“If you think it’s him, then ask him about it.” The words were followed by a shrug of his shoulders, he tried so desperately to seem indifferent enough towards this. Of course, he didn’t want her to think that this entire topic didn’t matter to him, it did. More than she even knew. But she was smart and if he acted out of character now then she’d be onto him instantly.
Y/N let out a deep sigh, uncrossing her arms and letting them drop to her sides. As calm as she seemed, her mind was a mess. Why did she have to receive a letter like this? Anonymous with only initials to make her guess.
“Yeah sure, and what do I even say to him?” She asked with a hint of hopelessness, shrugging her shoulders lightly.
“That depends on whether you like him or not.” Takuma kept his posture, speaking in a tone that was usual for him. Or wasn’t it? He tried way too hard to appear like his normal self that he started to overthink his actions, words and even the tone he used. Did he talk like this any other day?
“I guess so.” Her response, paired with the deep sigh she let out and her sinking shoulders were a clear sign of defeat. She didn’t seem suspicious of him. Good, he had played his role well. Now he just needed to keep it up a little longer.
Eventually Y/N’s chat with her best friend offered no real help or conclusion, besides the obvious ‘talk to him directly. It was a piece of advice she didn’t need, considering it was apparent inside her own mind ever since she successfully deciphered the sender of the note.
She dreaded the encounter with Toge. She didn’t want to break the young student’s heart. Why did it have to be so uncomfortable and painful when friends caught feelings? How she wished for the ground to simply swallow her whole right at this moment.
Alas, there was no way around it. No matter how much Y/N tried to think of a different solution, she had to be direct and honest with Toge. He deserved that much.
Seconds passed and neither Takuma nor Y/N said anything. For Takuma the heavy tension in the air seemed almost unbearable. His heart threatened to burst out of his chest, wanting so desperately to confess to being the real author of the note. But he figuratively bit his own tongue to stay silent. It felt obvious enough to him that she wasn’t reciprocating his feelings.
On the other hand, Y/N felt a thick tension for different reasons. She dreaded the encounter with Toge, no matter how much she knew that it was necessary to clear the air. A feeling of unease and anxiety spread through her stomach and she took a few deep breaths, releasing the last one as a deep sigh.
“I should talk to him right now.” For a moment she glanced at Takuma before her gaze shifted towards the letter she still held tightly. There was nothing else to say or do, anything she’d come up with now would only prolong the much needed conversation.
“Good luck.” Takuma’s short nod was met with a grimace from Y/N, followed by quiet short noise that could only be described as a whine.
Just for a fraction of a moment he forgot the aching pain in his chest. Goddamn, why did she look so cute right now? It took all his willpower to keep his mouth shut when inside him everything was screaming at him to just be honest.
“Thanks.”
Without any further ado she turned on her heel. Even if she didn’t know where to find Toge, she was sure that eventually she’d run into him. Maybe she could think of the right things to say until then.
Takuma’s gaze followed her until she was out of sight. The second grace sorcerer wasn’t a coward or shy by any means, he was brave and courageous. So why couldn’t he just walk up to her and confess, like he had thought about so many times? Why did he settle to write a letter and leave it in her jacket like some clumsy lovesick teenager?
In an instant he froze in place, his eyes wide in shock as the realization hit him like a jolt of electricity. As soon as Y/N confronted Toge she’d find out that the letter wasn’t actually from him. His heart had started pounding and he felt paralyzed when he realized the extensive consequences of her finding out. Their entire friendship would shift and become awkward. In the worst case it might even end he’d lose his best friend.
He had to follow Y/N and ‘accidentally’ interrupt her encounter with Toge before the blonde student could expose his secret crush on his best friend.
For an experienced high grade sorcerer Y/N was far too immersed in her thoughts to realize that for the past half hour she had been followed by Takuma. He didn’t even have to use any cursed energy to be as stealthy as possible. She was too occupied with her search for the blonde student to notice him either way.
Well, she didn’t actively search for Toge, no. She dreaded this upcoming conversation more than anything else. Instead, she simply wandered around the school grounds as casually as she could. Eventually she’d find him, wouldn’t she?
She had already given up on thinking of what to say, nothing seemed good or fitting. With a nervous feeling in her gut she decided to just wing it and come up with anything she’d say on the spot.
Just when Y/N was about to call it quits and chicken out of this entire situation she saw Toge walking a little bit further away from her current position. After suppressing another unmotivated whine she took deep breaths to calm her nerves before approaching him.
“Hey, Toge!” She tried not to sound too loud with her yell as she ran up to the blonde student, who turned around towards her and greeted her with a hand sign, as per usual paired with a quiet: “Kelp.”
“I wanted to talk to you about something.” Y/N’s head was tilted a little and a somewhat awkward smile appeared on her face. Damnit. She tried so hard to act normal but she had only ever been in this situation two or three times before. Rejecting someone was hard on its own, but even worse when it was a good friend. How would she even start?
Instead of saying any of his safe words Toge opted to not say anything as he only raised his eyebrows. A silent sign that she had his attention and a gesture for her to keep talking.
“The letter you sent me… it was really nice, but…” As much as Y/N tried to find the right words, it resulted in her sounding uncertain. Hopefully this wouldn’t cause their friendship to get awkward.
The more she tried to construct a coherent sentence, the less she was actually able to speak properly. The nervousness that surged through her body felt almost paralyzing, even more so than the uncomfortable silence that hung between them. But she had to say something. She couldn’t give Toge any false hope. He didn’t deserve that.
“I don’t like you like that, I’m sorry.”
If Y/N had the courage to look up right now she would have seen the confused expression on Toge’s face as he tried desperately to make sense of this whole situation. However, her gaze was just about anywhere else, focusing on invisible dots, as to not look at him directly.
He wasn’t entirely sure what she meant, but with the limited vocabulary available to him he decided to simply agree with it and call it a day. Whatever this was about would surely resolve on its own. For him there was no need to stress about something he didn’t fully grasp either way.
“Salmon.” With that Toge nodded his head, conveying his understanding, even if it was merely an act.
“I don’t wanna hurt you, and I hope we can stay friends.” Even though Y/N harbored no romantic feelings for the short blonde student, rejecting a friend was always a gut-wrenching experience. It was something she hated, even if it had thankfully only happened very few times. The anguish of having to turn down someone she was close with always hung above the friendship, similar to the damning dropping chandelier in Phantom of the Opera. At one point it might crash and reduce the remaining friendship to rubble and dust.
Although this didn’t seem to be the case with Toge, he took the rejection like a champ. If Y/N hadn’t been too overwhelmed by this situation she might have realized that Toge even seemed a little too chill about getting rejected. But her mind was elsewhere, involuntarily drifting to the young sorcerer who was now hiding behind a wall, listening in on their conversation.
Toge hadn’t exposed him, he took the rejection and went with it. Yet, for some reason it caused Takuma to feel twisted. Y/N didn’t even think of him when she received the letter, and now she had officially rejected ‘T.I.’, which made it practically impossible to send her another note. He should have just gathered his courage and confessed when he had the chance.
“Salmon Roe.” Two words was enough to pull Y/N and Takuma out of their thoughts and bring them back to the present. She only nodded in an effort to ease the awkward tension between them, even if she was the only one that felt it.
Toge pointed towards his dorm rooms, not even attempting to say anything else before lifting his hand in the air to wave goodbye as he left Y/N on her own. Her thoughts were racing and her heart pounded in her chest. The conversation had gone smooth (more or less) and Toge took the rejection well. Hopefully this wouldn’t have any awkward consequences in their friendship.
Meanwhile Takuma leaned against the wall he was hiding behind, nervousness filling his stomach. He should get out of here, leave before she noticed that he had followed her.
His palms were sweaty, his heart beating so fast and hard that it threatened to burst out of his chest. His head leaned against the surface of the concrete as his eyes were closed. If he already felt like this when he was just hiding behind a wall then how was he ever gonna face her and confess? He, the usually cool, calm and collected auspicious beasts’ user, was undoubtedly a coward.
“‘Kuma?” Y/N’s voice rang in his ears, instantly his eyes widened. Instantly he cursed himself for not disappearing sooner. Now it was too late for that, if he attempted to leave now she’d just follow and question him.
“What are you doing here?” Her voice was, understandably, laced with confusion. Had he listened to the entire conversation she had with Toge? Why would he even care about it?
“Hey.” It was the most awkward and stupidest he had ever sounded as he dragged out the one word greeting. He wanted to disappear right now, vanish into thin air never to be seen again.
When he didn’t say anything she lifted her head forward just a bit and raised her eyebrows expectantly, urging him to continue with her sharp gaze. Oh, how he scolded himself internally at this very moment.
“I’m just here for emotional support…” The way the words came out of his mouth seemed more like a question instead of an answer to her initial inquiry. If there was ever an award for the worst lie, Takuma would receive it without any close competition. Even without this dead giveaway Y/N would have known that something was foul.
“Would you just spit it out?” Gone was the nervousness she felt just moments ago during her conversation with Toge. Now she was aggravated and irritated at his unusual behavior. It must have been connected to the love note, but she couldn’t come up with any reason why.
As Y/N was still waiting for his response, Takuma felt the sinking realization that he wouldn’t be able to get out of this situation without coming clean about the love letter. The weight on his chest grew heavier, his heart pounded louder, the beating rang in his ears. He wiped his hands on his pants, rather pathetically as they kept on sweating. Had he ever been this fucking nervous prior to this moment? He couldn’t remember.
Even after facing curse users, as well as encountering and successfully exorcizing countless curses, and finding himself in the most dangerous situations, he couldn’t remember ever feeling this uneasy in his entire life.
The silence between them remained for what felt like an eternity, but actually had only been about two minutes. Y/N knew that he heard her question loud and clear, there was no need to repeat it. Especially considering how nervous he appeared. Something was definitely wrong, but no matter how irritated or aggravated she was with him, she’d never pressure him. That simply wasn’t how their friendship worked.
Seconds felt like hours for Takuma but he knew he had to say something, and eventually, after taking multiple deep breaths, he finally overcame his uneasiness and forced himself to speak up.
“I’m T.I.”, as little as his words seemed, it had taken him immense courage to say them out loud.
“The letter… it’s from me.”
Y/N simply stared at him as he dropped this bomb of information on her. The thought of “T.I.” actually standing for Takuma Ino had never seriously crossed her mind. Even if for a split second she might have hoped for it, she had immediately dismissed it.
For as long as she had been friends with him he was never the type to write letters, especially love letters. She had known him long enough to learn his character inside out. He was blunt, but not brutal, open and unfiltered but never hostile. In short; he wasn’t someone who would hide behind an anonymous letter.
Or so she thought at least, which caused her thoughts to go into overdrive.
“You wrote that? Why? Did you think it’d be a funny joke? Is that why you didn’t say anything before and just let me make a fool out of myself in front of Toge?” Y/N asked suddenly, completely overwhelmed with this situation and clearly overthinking it.
Takuma knew that tone all too well, he was the one to calm her down more than just a few times, and while he was still nervous about this whole ordeal, he couldn’t watch how she doubted herself so much that she didn’t take his love letter seriously.
“No, it wasn’t a joke. Listen…”, for a moment he paused, his might searching for words as she took a step forward to her. He let out a deep sigh before he spoke up once more.
“I like you. Like… a whole lot. I’ve pretty much had a crush on you since forever. I don’t know what made me write a damn letter. I guess I was too much of a coward to tell you face to face.” Even though he had taken a step forward, he couldn’t look into her eyes. His averted gaze focused on an invisible point a few feet away.
“It’s not a joke, alright? I’m serious.” His heart hammered against his ribcage. This was the moment he didn’t want to experience.
Y/N was far too shocked to construct a proper sentence, the confession had taken her by full surprise. Neither of them dared to say anything but as the moments passed her lips curled into a smile that she tried to suppress. It was slowly setting in that this wasn’t a joke or a prank. Takuma seemed to be genuinely nervous, even anxious. Something she wasn’t used to seeing.
Furthermore, she had known him for quite some time and while he was a bit of a goof who liked to pull pranks, he never would have gone for something that could end up emotionally scarring someone.
Her heart went from racing twice as fast to skipping a beat all the way to pounding heavily inside her chest. It felt as if a fuzzy blanket was wrapped around her, the realization that the boy she had a crush on liked her back.
“And you’re really really serious?” She questioned quietly, her voice now lacking the previous panicky tone.
“More than anything.”
When he finally lifted his head again Takuma saw the smile on her lips. It was like a drug to him, instantly he returned it with a smile on his own, the uneasiness fading away and being replaced by a warm feeling that spread through his limbs.
“Good, cause I like you too.”
“You really do?” His mind struggled to believe that it was real, but the way she smiled shyly with this faint blush on her cheeks was all the proof he needed. And suddenly he’s floating from happiness.
Suddenly the anxiety he felt died down, and all the uneasiness disappeared from his body.
Y/N had no time to brace herself when all of a sudden his arms wrapped tightly around her frame, pulling her right into his warm chest. The closeness, paired with his familiar scent, felt like a dream to her.
Takuma didn’t need to say it, it was obvious that he was happier than ever about this development, but so was Y/N.
The two of them didn’t know how much time passed, could have been an hour, could have been an eternity. In reality it was closer to a few minutes, when he eventually loosened his hold and leaned back just enough to look at her.
Y/N could have sworn she just fell much deeper for him when she saw his unusually flushed face. A sign so beautiful and handsome that she never wanted to look away. It was a sight she didn’t expect, and certainly something she never knew she needed to see until now.
“So… Can I kiss you?” Takuma asked, and Y/N swore he was still nervous, which caused her chest to feel even warmer. It was unlike him to not ooze confidence with every fiber of his being, however, knowing that she had this effect on him, even after both of them confessing, filled her with pride.
“I don’t know if you can, but you should.” She responded with a smirk, albeit with her cheeks so heated that she felt like a radiator. The chuckle that followed her words was cut short when his lips captured her own. Her giggle died down when she practically melted into the kiss.
It was a little messy and chaotic, but eventually they fell into a rhythm that felt just right in every way.
Her hands, which were still wrapped around his torso from their hug, grabbed his sweater tightly. Meanwhile her thoughts dissipated, leaving nothing else but the blissful happiness, and the fluttering butterflies in her stomach.
Everything was drowned out until a few seconds later when Takuma pulled away. As if she was magnetized by him she tried to follow his lips, leaning further into him just a few inches before regaining her composure. She opened her eyes but didn’t look at him right away. It was such a silly thing that she felt embarrassed for not wanting the kiss to end but at the same time she knew that from now on she could have kisses anytime she asked.
Her hands slowly let go of his sweater. A wave of uncertainty hit her but it was gone as quick as it arrived once she felt him reach for her wrist.
His hand found hers, and their fingers interlaced. Y/N couldn’t help but notice how natural and easy everything felt with him. Her heart might have raced like a sports car and rang in her ears like church bells but being with Takuma like this felt more natural and comfortable than she had ever imagined.
For a while it was quiet as the two of them simply started strolling around aimlessly on the school grounds. But there was one thing Y/N still wanted to address…
“You couldn’t come up with a better way to sign it then T.I.?”
“To be fair I didn’t think your first thought would be Riceball Guy.” He mumbled back and rolled his eyes, listening as her giggles turned into a short but warm laugh.
His eyes were glued to her, the corners of his lips subconsciously curling into the happiest grin he could possibly create.
They had no label yet but she was his girl, there was no doubt in his mind about it. She was hers even before he had even known it. And there was no way in hell that he’d ever let go of her.
#stef writes#ino takuma#jujutsu kaisen#takuma x reader#ino x reader#ino takuma brainrot#ino takuma imagine#ino takuma scenario#ino takuma x reader#ino takuma x reader fluff#ino takuma x you#jjk#jjk fluff#jjk x you#jjk x reader#jjk x reader fluff#jujutsu kaisen fanfiction#jujutsu kaisen fluff#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen x you
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julia’s favorites ! (iii)
♡ - fluff ; ♤ - angst ; ☆ - series
marvel
☆ deception - mob!bucky barnes
↳ @avecra
☆ monet issues - natasha romanoff ft. tony stark, avengers
↳ @arlana-likes-to-write
☆ masterlist - bucky barnes, steve rogers
♤♡ flashing lights (i) - paramedic!bucky barnes
♡ convalescence (ii) - paramedic!bucky barnes
♤ when he’s away - bucky barnes
♤ voicemails to an unmanned inbox - bucky barnes
♤ divine retribution - bucky barnes
↳ @pellucid-constellations
☆ Cержант - bucky barnes
☆ alone - bucky barnes
☆ obey - bucky barnes
♡ the owl and the wolf - bucky barnes
↳ @waiting4inspiration
♡ kiddo - bucky barnes
♡ for good - steve rogers
↳ @justauthoring
♡ hand holding - biker!steve rogers
↳ @angrythingstarlight (18+)
♤♡ initials - steve rogers, bucky barnes (poly!)
↳ @americancowgirl19
♡ grouch - bucky barnes
↳ @buckysfaveplum
♡♤ purgatory - bucky barnes
↳ @wkemeup
~
jujutsu kaisen
♡ stolen tigers - sukuna ft. itadori yuuji
↳ @mysicklove (18+)
♡ talent show - gojo satoru ft. fushiguro tsumiki, fushiguro megumi
↳ @tunatoge (18+)
♡ morning kisses - gojo satoru
↳ @riediaries
♡♤ just to be enough (i) - geto suguru, gojo satoru
♡ shoko just can’t be right (ii) - geto suguru, gojo satoru
♡ remind you of why (iii) - geto suguru, gojo satoru
↳ @justauthoring
♡ photobooth - nanami kento
♡ she’s everything. he’s just ken. - nanami kento
↳ @lemonlover1110
♡ cinnamon girl - kamo choso
↳ @just-jordie-things
♡♤ i worry for you, for you not know the danger you see - toji fushiguro, pregnant!reader
♡ baby mine - toji fushiguro, pregnant!reader
↳ @tojigasm (18+)
~
call of duty
♤ i see red (i) - simon ‘ghost’ riley
♡ i see red (ii) - simon ‘ghost’ riley
♤♡ wrong words - simon ‘ghost’ riley
↳ @milf-murdock
♡ hangry - simon ‘ghost’ riley
↳ @rileyslibrary
♡♤ simon hates seeing you cry - simon ‘ghost’ riley
♤♡ faking his own death - simon ‘ghost’ riley
↳ @cmncisspnandmore (18+)
♡ brother’s coworker - simon ‘ghost’ riley ft. john ‘soap’ mactavish
↳ @halcyone-of-the-sea (18+)
♡ off limits - simon ‘ghost’ riley
↳ @multi-fandom-imagine
~
my hero academia
♤♡ that cherished feeling - bakugo katsuki
↳ @justauthoring
♡ back off and look away - bakugo katsuki
↳ @celesteleoves
♡ nicknames - bakugo katsuki
↳ @ryukatters (16+)
~
tokyo revengers
♤ catalyst - manjiro ‘mikey’ sano
♡♤ serendipity - ken ‘draken’ ryuguji
↳ @justauthoring
♡ hidden relationship - manjiro ‘mikey’ sano
↳ @miniimight
♡ you’re too drunk to recognize your boyfriend - manjiro ‘mikey’ sano, ken ‘draken’ ryuguji, keisuke baji, takashi mitsuya, rindou haitani, ran haitani, shuji hanma
↳ @chalkscene
~
marauders / harry potter
☆ come back, be here - sirius black, marauders
↳ @ellecdc
♡ drabble - remus lupin
♡ james comes to your rescue when you call him (drunk) - james potter
♡ james puts his finger in your mouth - james potter
↳ @luveline
♕ divider — @bunnysrph
#⋆·˚ ༘ * julia’s favs !#marvel x reader#jujutsu kaisen x reader#call of duty x reader#my hero academia x reader#tokyo revengers x reader#marauders x reader#harry potter x reader
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Waves
♡ Summary: Kaz has thoughts about soulmates, and tests his suspicions.
♡ Pairing: Kaz Brekker x Reader
♡ Fandom: Six of Crows, Grishaverse
♡ Warnings: None
♡ WC: 5k
I am in love with soulmate aus and I don't know why I don't write them more often. They itch my brain in a way nothing else can. This is kind of a tattoo mark au where everyone has a personal mark that forms when they start on a path that will lead them to their soulmate(s), whether that path starts physically or mentally. They glow and move upon linking.
Please excuse any spelling and grammar mistakes. Hope yall enjoy <3
∘₊✧──────────────────✧₊∘
The irony is not lost on Kaz. It punches him right in the gut when he least expects it, leaving him a little winded and a bit more weary than before. So he learns to expect it. And that's when it eats at him. Gnawing at every hill and valley of his brain and taking what it can of his dispersed heart.
He doesn't allow himself to think how this could have been different if it weren't for Jordie.
It's not worth it, and overall does no good to wonder. Because the past is past and he can't change it.
So he covers, and covers, and covers. For both the sake of his mental well being and not feeling an ugly kind of anger wrap around himself when he has to stare at the mark that stretches up his arms.
He blames Jordie, he holds so much resentment towards him that at times it completely consumes him. But he moves past it, and fools himself for a little while that he's forgiven him. He himself holds part of the blame too for not working on himself and allowing it to fester and worsen as time stretches on. Covering is the only way he knows to give himself some relief.
But it's still always there. Sometimes the mark feels hot in his clothes. Every once in a while he'll roll up his sleeves, letting them breathe the not so fresh Ketterdam air, and go about his afternoon.
And when it's late in the night, after he's had one too many glasses of liquor and the feather pen he's holding shakes and makes his handwriting a little messy, he looks at them in the candlelight and they're burning against his increasingly warming and perspirating skin.
The only part of his hand that's free of a mark is his palms and the bottom of his fingers, but they feel just as clammy and hot as the rest of him, so it doesn't help much.
He knows it doesn't actually burn, but it definitely feels like it.
He's been around very few people long enough for them to make comments about it other than when he's on a job.
And that's where he currently sits now.
It's a bit of a private thing; Up in a penthouse with barely more than a hundred people attending, a gathering is taking place with multitudes of businessmen and traders from across the lands. For Kaz, and you, it's all reconnaissance work.
"My my, that's a beautiful mark you got there." The woman in front of him asked.. She was on the taller side, face covered in make up with her lips painted a bright red. "Who's the lucky winner?" A hint of desire sparks in her eyes.
He exerts a chuckle. "That would be my partner." He looks over to the right, nodding his head towards you.
You were dressed in crisp cream dress clothes, a stark contrast from the ocean of blacks and reds that differ from the colorful streets of Ketterdam. Barely any makeup was applied to you before you left, just some to cover old scars and open pores. Your lips were painted black, leaving a stain on the glass of champagne in your left with another stainless one in your right.
He watched as you chuckled with a man, his hand caressing your shoulder. You let it happen, and then moved along, saying your goodbyes.
The woman in front of him turns to look where he's staring, and shifts a little when you make your way back to sit beside him. He smiles at you, telling himself he's playing a part.
"Champagne for you, my love." You purr, handing him the one you were sipping out of.
"Thank you, dove." He picks it up, placing his lips directly on the stain you made and stares at the woman. She doesn't seem the slightest bit uncomfortable.
"You two are absolutely gorgeous together, you know that?"
You chuckle from beside him. "We have gotten that compliment before, yes. But it's never tiring to hear." She chuckles as you lean toward him in your chair, folding your arms in front of yourself with the glass still held comfortably in your fingers. "Surely you should know the same. Your wife is an incredibly lucky woman."
"Isn't she?" She agrees. "She's gone to get us some treats, but I fear she gets lost easily." She glances around, shifting again as worry creeps onto her features.
"I would suggest finding her, if only to ease your spirits. I understand the worry all too well." He smirks, averting his eyes towards you. "Ghezen knows how often I manage to lose this one."
You open your mouth, a shocked expression he notes is genuine spreads across your features. "I do not!" Your hit his arm with barely enough force to hurt, then retract it immediately.
The woman smiles and stands up, offering her goodbyes and pleasantries, and then leaves.
He waits a few moments before turning to chat with you.
"What's the status so far?"
"Can't I enjoy my champagne for a few moments?" You jest. "This place actually has the good stuff unlike your club."
He shakes his head, but keeps a smile up for the crowd. "My sincerest apologies for not ordering the highest quality of alcohol the whole of Ketterdam and Ravka has to offer to suite your tastes." He picks his own glass back up and drinks some, really analyzing the taste this time.
Its not bad, if a bit fruity for his tastes. Yet he stores the information in the files of his brain. He also notes that he's drinking from the lipstick stain. He takes another sip.
"Thank you. I appreciate it." You smile a shit eating smile, and then give him the update before he has time to respond. "Several of the traders you had your eye on are here tonight, disregarding the ones you've already talked to, however two of them couldn't make it due to abhorrent weather conditions and another fell ill with a case of the common cold and decided to stay home.
Of the few that did make it, again, disregarding the ones you have met, one wants nothing to do with other people and is making a point of staying towards the corners and eating his fill of the 'snacks' as our lovely guest called them earlier, and the others are too busy chatting up the woman to really have given a care what anybody else was saying."
He set the glass down, moving the fabric of the thin cloth glove he was wearing to take a look at his watch. Almost eleven bells.
Quickly he began to calculate the pros and cons of attempting to talk to these sexually insatiable men tonight. If they're as insistent as you say they are, walking with them could be a waste of time and resources. But if their profiles had anything to say about them, then he might be able to wiggle his way in and, upon choosing his words carefully, make at least a memorable impact before their next trip back to Ketterdam.
He was about to make a decision when your fingers ghosted over the skin of his arm. His body tensed, but gave you his attention.
"Incoming, four o' clock."
Incoming from his right, he was able to make out two figures walking towards him, their connected arms glowing.
He recognizes them as Mr. and Mrs. Belldock. They were well known for their displays of physical affection that could otherwise be seen as inappropriate. He's heard stories about them, but he's never seen them in person.
The lightshow between their bodies bounced off the glasses, creating a bit of a rainbow on the table. You hold your glass up in a feeble attempt to block it, but only end up giving your wash a colorful wash of color. It makes his heart clench.
"I'm so sorry if we're intruding, but we couldn't help but notice your mark."
Kaz sighed internally, giving a shy smile externally. "Ah, it is rather out there, isn't it?" He begins to roll his sleeves down just a bit, but Mrs. Belldock places her fingers on his shoulder and his entire body tenses.
"No no! It's beautiful. I was just wondering if you've found your Soulmate yet." She quickly retracts her hand, feeling the stiffness.
"I have." He tries a smile, feeling his lungs fill with water. "That would be my partner here."
She looks over at you, her smile only growing. She offers a hand to you. "It's nice to meet you."
You nod, offering her a thanks and shaking her hand.
"So, what's your story?"
You quirk a brow. "Story?"
"Yes!" She begins to take her seat, her husband following along. "I just love hearing people's stories about how they came to find eachother. They're never the same, always a new adventure."
He watches your face crinkle, head tilting to the side before it lights up in realization. "Ooh, how we found out we were soulmates." Mrs. Belldock nods. "It's rather funny actually, the way we came to be."
You launch into a fabricated story about his and your coming together, and Kaz can't help but watch as your hands move about, working numbers to exaggerate certain parts. There's a smile on your face, genuine as it tilts to one side. He tries not to focus on the painful aching in his heart as your story goes deeper in detail.
He can feel his mark begin to burn as it usually does while the residual water in his lungs freezes him from the inside out. It both makes the situation worse and better when he rolls his sleeves back to where they were, exposing the waves that drag along his pale skin.
It's sickening, yet he yearns to see it in motion. To watch as the arms that clutched his dead brother swim in the ocean of his Soulmates hold, of your hold.
Of all the people that have ever asked about it, you weren't among them. Aren't among them. And it's strange the way that fact hurts him a little.
Jesper has asked, Wylan has asked, Nina has asked, Matthias has asked, Inej has asked, that Ravkan king, Nikolai, has asked. All who have seen his mark has asked and have received an answer that will never satisfy them.
But you haven't. You stare and stare, memorizing it with your eyes and tracing it with your fingers in the air, even drawing it out in your sketchpad when you get really bored, but never asking.
He doesn't know whether it's out of respect or disinterest in the answer, but it makes him feel like a lovesick puppy and it gets under his skin. Because feeling like that is dangerous. It's a hook that anybody could grab onto and uproot everything he's worked towards.
And yet here he is, wanting. Wanting for more than he should no matter how much he already has, overwhelmingly aware that he's not going to get it.
As he listens to you, he wants this. Not the story you're conjuring up (which has evolved into meeting on the streets in Ravka during a circus-esque performance), not in a million years. But he wants a story. A story you can tell to others with a smile just as bright as the one you're exhibiting now, if not brighter.
He's not even a hundred percent sure you're his soulmate. But he wants you to be.
Your mark in question was a bit odd in terms of what's considered normal, and it's the main reason for his skepticism.
It's currently covered utilizing Nina's quickly improving tailoring skills. It won't last much longer, he can see your skin starting to turn oil black where the mark is if he looks closely enough.
From what he's seen, the part that's on your face resembles a cardinal compass, it's north and south faces tilted. The south face points towards the second part of your mark, which he's yet to see or even know the contents of.
The only reason he knows it's not two separate marks, meaning two separate soulmates (which isn't as rare as most would think), is because there's a line, almost like a crack, extending from the point and disappearing beyond where his eyes can follow.
His own mark isn't even separate. It cascades along his back, over his shoulder blades and encompassing a major portion of the back of his ribcage before going along each arm.
You pinched Kazs glove between your fingers, the whispers of a laugh on your lips as you look at the time on his watch.
"We should be heading out now, the nanny will be starting to get anxious."
He quirked a brow, but went along with it. "It was truly nice getting to talk with you both." He held out his hand, allowing one, two hands to squeeze his before grabbing his jacket and going to follow you out.
"I hope you and your kids have a wonderful evening!"
Kaz tripped over his own shoe at the same moment you responded with a thank you and a good evening.
Kids? Multiple? Where did kids come in? There's no way he zoned out for that long... or at all.
Fuck.
--------
The walk back was silent, a stark contrast to the bustling penthouse. Claws from stray dogs scratched the ground as they chased after their meal, the meal in question yowling as it clawed its way up a pipe, turning and arching its back before hissing and scurrying out of sight. His cane provided little stealth for the hungry mutts.
"I'm sorry for touching you back there." Your voice broke the air. "I just could not remember if we were supposed to be using code names or not."
That made him smile. He tried his hardest to suppress it. "Code names were not necessary tonight." He let the silence heal itself, and then broke it again. "Though I do wonder about the names of our kids though."
You chuckled beside him. "I'm sorry, I panicked! She wanted to know our story so I just thought of the first thing I could think of."
"And whose might that be?"
"My parents." A melancholy smile rested on your cheeks. "That was their story. I can remember it like its my own. They've told it to me at least a thousand times. Granted, half of those were me asking to hear it again."
'Ask.' Kaz's mind shouted at him. 'Ask them why. Ask them /why/.' His mind refused to specify the why, a gross thick kind of anxiety slowly filling his aching limbs.
You ask. You ask others, but not him.
"I agree with her in some sense." You continued. "Other people's stories are rather interesting, even if theyre of the most mundane variety. But going around and asking strangers their story just... isn't the way to go about it."
His heart raced. "I suppose you're going to tell me the correct way?"
You shrugged. "Well, that's just it. There is no correct way."
He stayed silent, allowing you to get your thoughts together. Your shoulders were bunched, not yet coming down from their earlier movement. And when they did, it was followed by an exhausted sigh.
"I used to be just like them, asking couples left and right what the story was behind their marks, what event led up to them meeting and finding out that they were a match." You kicked a rock up the street, weaving in and away from him while you followed it's path.
"And eventually, I met a man. A really sweet elderly man, and asked about his. His partner wasn't around, but the mark was just as blatant as mine is. A large cloud smack in the middle of his forehead with a pair of lips at the center. It looked interesting, I just had to know the story. And when I asked, the change was immediate. He became angry and erratic, yelling at me to leave and about how rude I was."
You wrapped your coat tighter around yourself, all traces of a smile completely gone from your face. "Later I had found out that he and his soulmate were on two different sides of a very intense family war that ended in his partner and his brother being killed. The only time the two got to connect their marks was the night before the two boys died. They met to see each other in private for the first and last time, shared a kiss, and then parted ways." You kicked the rock, watching as it plunked into the canal. "I've never asked about anyone's mark since, no matter how much I wanted to."
He allows himself to turn to look at you, not startled but completely and utterly dazed when your eyes look at him, open and blown and pleading.
'Ask.' His thoughts run again. 'Be the one to ask.'
Better yet. Allow them to ask.
"Never be afraid to ask the questions you truly wish to know." He begins. "Just prepare yourself for the consequences." He adds, feebly trying to frame it as advice over a direct invitation. He knows it doesn't work, not in the slightest.
The feeling he gets when you smile upon hearing those words... it's not like anything he's ever felt.
It's small, but your entire face holds and releases the energy you have built. All in one breathy sigh.
The whispers of loud talking and chairs moving roughly against wooden floors tickled his ears. He looked to the crooked building that is the Slat, then motioned you along to follow.
He was met with little cheers and questions when he opened the door. Some stared between him and yourself with raised brows. A few drunkenly told him they hoped the night went well and others gave him a simple welcome back. None of it mattered.
The door to his office closed as you entered in front of him, and he tried his hardest to go about his nightly routine. Just taking off his coat and hat, setting his cane on the sink and, undressing himself to give himself a wash.
But the entire time he was distinctly aware of your presence in his office. Everytime the water trickled back into the sink, piercing the air, he thought of you. Everytime the rough surface of the cloth scratched his skin, leaving a red swatch in its wake, he thought of you. Everytime he rolled his shoulders, feeling his muscles move against his bones and water bead down to his hips, he thought of you.
He could swear he lost his heart a few times.
He patted himself dry, then grabbed his cane and dirty shirt and limped to his office.
There he saw you standing, out of your dress clothes and into some of his own.
Now he really thinks he may have lost his heart. And his breathing.
He gripped his cane, leather gloves squeaking against the metal crow head. He gives himself one, two, three seconds, and then tosses his dirty clothes into the doorway of his bedroom and limps over to you.
You're seated in a chair in front of his make shift desk, playing with a ball of thin twine he used for keeping papers together. He relished in the way your eyes widened and your face no doubt heated when you realized he was bare from the waist up.
Yet you didn't stop, eyes glued to his skin.
He turned around, allowing you to look at the back.
"I never realized it was so large." He heard the chair creak.
"That would be because you've never seen the full thing."
You chuckled, his skin prickling when he felt your breath on his back. "No shit. I just thought that maybe you had two rather than one."
"I have told others in your company that it's connected."
"No, you haven't."
"I have." He thought back briefly. "Nina asked about it for third time whilst she was drunk. You were right next to her, as alert as ever, as I told her that it's one mark."
Your silence was telling.
He caught sight of you from the corner of his eye as you slowly walked around him, eyes trailing up and over his shoulders, over his collar bone, and down his arms, taking note of everything.
Marks don't necessarily have to connect, which is why theres an absense in his mark of where youre supposed to touch. They don't have to be of a certain theme or even be where your soulmate first touches you. The only constant it seems is that your mark is personal to you, yet linking somehow, in some way, with your partner- or partners. They form in response to a change that led you to meeting them.
His was rather obvious, the freezing waves of the Reapers Barge haunting his life, making him the leader and schemer he is today.
Yours had something to do with you leaving your parents, he'd reckon, and setting your course here.
But he didn't know for sure.
Something was on your mind though, he knew, as you worried your lip between your teeth.
"As much as I loved to ask others about theirs, I don't think I've ever willingly shown anyone what my mark is- my whole mark, anyway." You said, voice small and distant. "And it's not because I didn't want to, but I think the hand print on my face scared people off from asking about it for fear it would unlock some horrible backstory."
Your hands came to the bottom of the shirt, bunching it up in your hands.
"But it's not really anything like that. I hope it's not anything like that."
The shirt continued to rise until it was exposing your ribs, the rest of the mark on full display.
They were waves. Waves not necessarily identical to his but definitely similar. In the middle was a handprint. A handprint, he realized, that was very similar in shape to his own.
"I don't reckon it's anything like that either." He couldn't tear his eyes away from it. It had to be connected to him. It had to.
But he had questions. Questions that you seemed more than prepared to ask and answer yourself.
"I didn't say anything before because I didnt think youd want anything to do with it." You rolled the shirt down, but played with the hem between your fingers. "You have goals, goals that require your attention, goals I don't want to get in the way of." You hesitated, hesitated a long while, before adding, "and it's not like we could prove it with your phobia. I didn't want to get my hopes up only to have them crushed and trigger you all at once."
Your logic was sound, but still his questions felt unanswered.
"I do believe I should have a word in this since it largely involves myself."
You picked at the hem again. "Well, yeah. I guess so but..." He felt his cane move, your hand touching the beak of the crow head just inches from his own hand. "I just thought it'd be easier to not bring it up at all rather than go through the hassle of suggesting it in the first place. You're not an easy man to suggest things to. Or ask things from."
His heart beat harder at that, a twinge of guilt infecting his blood. Only for you. For anyone else he'd scoff and say "that's the point", but it hurts when it's you. He wants your suggestions. Your questions. Anything you could give him he'd take with no qualms.
"Still, I believe my point holds some merit."
You sighed. "Yeah... you're right."
"I would not mind if..." He lifted a pointer finger, just barely making contact with your own. He could hardly feel it through the leather. "If one of these days, now even... if you wanted to test it."
The moment the words were out of his mouth, his mind that was screaming for him to reach out split in two. One side continued it's begging, cheering him on. The other begged for him to retreat and sink into himself.
But you looked at him, shocked and hopeful, and the second half became just a little smaller, a little bit more manageable.
"Kaz." You breathed. "Kaz."
He pressed his finger a little harder. "I know what I want, and I know my limits. If you are willing, then I am too."
"So just to be clear you are agreeing to this of your own volition, right?" You used your hands as you talked, holding an invisible object in front of you. "You're not saying this because you feel an obligation?"
The corner of his mouth quirked up. He lifted his cane, hooking the beak in a belt loop of your pants- his pants on your body, and pulled you forward, slowly, gently.
"Yes. Completely of my own volition. No obligation."
You smiled, a delighted giggle bubbling in the air. "Then by all means, go for it."
His heart pounded against his chest so loud, so obscenely loud, he wondered if Nina could detect it from down the stairs. If she could, he was pushing any and all of his hope towards her ignoring it and moving on with her night. He clipped his cane to his own belt, leaving his hands free.
He may not be able to handle skin on skin, but he could handle this for a moment. He peeled off the leather gloves to reveal the cotton ones underneath, much thinner but still a barrier.
There were slits in them just like the leather ones, so when he finally got his hands, arms, and brain working, and touched your face, he could feel the texture of your skin running along a sliver of his finger.
It makes him want to hurl. But he keeps pushing, your mark and his glowing the faintest light. The other hand slides into position, fingers trailing up and under your shirt, and the room gets washed in a deep blue.
The color emanates from his own mark and the waves of your own. An orange color radiates from the compass on your cheek where it spins and rocks, and the waves-
The waves. They flow around his arm like a hurricane, no other course of action. If he thinks about it hard enough he can feel them ripple and move along his flesh, his back tingling like a limb just realizing it's fallen asleep.
Your face is glowing, literally. But the light that shines and bounces at you gives him a completely new appreciation for the little things.
The show lasts no more than a few moments before he pulls back, drowning and gasping for air. He feels like he's being pulled under, but there's an anchor. A stability that wasn't there before.
So he grips it, and is pulled out like a worm on a pole. Youre shoving the leather gloves back on his hands, careful to roll them a bit so your fingers don't graze his. He corrects them when two of his appendages try and fit into one slot, and then unclips his cane for security.
When he finally has his bearings, he realizes that he's just opened a floodgate.
If the marks looked like that muddled by cotton, what brilliance would they hold if he were to take the gloves off?
It's a goal. A solid goal that he could achieve one day. A goal that you could witness /with/ him.
But for now he really, really needs a shirt and some tea.
"You've still got a stain."
What? "A stain?"
"On your lips. From the champagne."
The champagne. The glass that he drank out of, purposefully placing his lips on the stain to peeve some random lady off. Stained his lips.
He looked at his desk, and grabbed a glass of whats probably days old tea and looked at his reflection. Sure enough, there was a faint yet noticeable black smudge on his bottom lip. That's why some people were staring earlier.
Huh.
"That accounts for the weird stares we received." He put the glass down, wiping at his lip with his glove.
"Probably made it worse that we immediately disappeared up here." You retrieved a shirt from his closet, handing it to him.
"Naturally."
The silence that followed was comfortable, his mind reeling at the fact that he touched someone and that someone was you.
As a child, he and Jordie used to wonder what their soulmate was like. At the time Kaz hadn't received his mark, only about eight or nine, but Jordie had his.
One day he woke up and it appeared. It wasn't until hours later that Kaz noticed it had formed on him, the sweat drenching the shirt his brother was wearing, making the oily black tattoo stand out. It was a flock of cardinals all escaping from a central point on his lower back, the point itself being the pads of four fingers.
He thinks, it was a thought Jordie had before he went to bed that made it appear. Opportunity. Freedom.
Soulmate Marks form as a stepping stone. A reassurance you're going in the right direction.
Right now, Kaz can forgive Jordie, if only for a moment, as his mark feels lighter.
∘₊✧──────────────────✧₊∘
Tags:
@b3kk3r-by-br3kk3r @a-candle-maker
#kaz brekker x reader#kaz brekker fanfic#kaz brekker imagine#kaz brekker x y/n#kaz brekker x you#six of crows x reader#fanfic#six of crows fanfic#x reader#gender neutral reader
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[loveables ♡]
✮⋆˙ what's after like .ᐟ
hello <3 here's a lil list of those who stole my heart aka my mutuals!!
@delzinrowe -> the og #1 jujutsu angster & my pookie (adoption papers are on your way btw)
@just-jordie-things -> the og #1 megumi writer (my dear pls teach me how to write him so accurately)
@newtthetranswriter -> the og #1 retail survivor & lawful evil sibling (i love your dog btw)
@keigotakamiz -> the og #1 ms takami & THE protective mom (ily i wish you all the best)
@bakugoushotwife -> the og #1 mother & jujutsu kaisen freak (in the best way possible) (her mbti is the same as gojo's)
@baesoobibi -> the og #1 ugly duckling that overgrown her master in building genshin characters (im proud of you my g)
@szopplacztuptuptuptup -> the og #1 dead inside almost like me twink lover & another pookie (adoption papers are yet to be send)
[please note that some of those accounts contain sensitive content. you have been warned]
i probably forgor about someone so please if we're moots hit me up so i can proudly show you off in this lil hall of fame !!
@ ddora-kken / @ ness-iness 2023
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hihi, bella! firstly, i want to say that it’s so sweet of you to create an event like this—it’s always lovely to come across those who are willing to support others, no matter their follower count ♡
my name is jordan (some call me jordy; i don’t mind either), i’m twenty-six, n which fandom i write for usually fluctuates depending on which character i’m currently obsessing over ;-;
i like to write about a mixture of fandoms, such as aot, csm, jjk, bnha n tokrev, but i have also written for naruto, genshin n spy x family ♡ i mainly write 18+ content, for those who are over the age of eighteen, but i also like to indulge in sfw content, too ♡
once again, tysm for this event (i hope that i’m not too late to join); this community definitely needs more souls like yours ♡
awwww jordy bb :(( it makes me happy making y'all happy!! HAPPY HOLIDAYS!!
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just stopping by to say that i hope that you’re doing okay! how are you doing—any plans for the weekend? ♡
hiii jordy thanks for stopping by!! i'm v tired it's been a long week <33 my plans are to finish my 2 assignments due next week sob sob and i really really wanna squeeze in some time to write because i haven't written in awhile. i also hope you're feeling much better. ily 🥰
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I hope this weekend treated you nicely. I didn't wanna spam you cause you weren't online a lot so I hope you could relax at least a little bit.
Make sure to take good care of yourself, Jordie!!
♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡
~ Nanami Flowershop Anon
while i appreciate your concern for spamming its quite alright 🫶 i’ll get to my messages when i get to em and i have no issue with having a bunch to read thru! i enjoy em all! shits just getting crazy, comes with the season, so i’ve been writing less and on here less. but it’s almost over right! just gotta get to the new year for sweet peace lmfao
take care of yourself too, it’s a busy and stressful time, we gotta remember to do what we can to keep ourselves sane and healthy. water sleep and meals!!!!
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Hii!! I was wondering if you can write some kaz x fem! Reader. Imagine that the reader is in a long relationship with kaz (years) and he want to pleasure her. He wants to do it with small touches and some kisses.
If you don't want to write it it's ok, no problem!! ♡
moonlit rooftops - kaz brekker
pairing: kaz brekker x fem!archer reader
request: one shot for a female non grisha reader x kaz brekker whose main weapon is a bow and arrows like alec lightwood (impeccable taste, my dude) and helps kaz overcome his touch aversion from the amazing @thornyrose463
summary: angst but with a fluffy ending, moonlit rooftops at midnight in the barrel and reminiscing
a/n: this is so late but i hope you enjoy! these two requests were really similar, so i hope you don't mind that i combined them. kudos if you got the hadestown reference! idk how well i characterized kaz so yeah let me know how i did
warnings: mentions of an abusive household
the moon rose above the rooftops of ketterdam, faintly illuminating the city that was already lit by thousands of tiny lights, specks of yellowish dots that covered the buildings and clubs of the barrel. the smoggy air was warm and tepid as the small group of teenaged criminals waited in bated breath for the shouts of the stadwatch night guards, for the blasts of gunpowder and the subsequent tangy, metallic scent that never came.
y/n crouched at the edge of the roof, her hair blown to the side of her head by the warm summer wind. the job that kaz had directed their minuscule group of seven to pull off (or was it really minuscule? the job was one in which the less people were involved, the less the chance of discovery.) was a hard one, with a very small chance of success. the odds weren't in their favor, and anxiety nipped nervously at the back of y/n's mind.
it wasn't that she had any doubts of the brilliance of kaz's intricate plans. no, not at all. she'd known him since her street days, begging for morsels of food in small alleys and draped in dirty rags. a runaway, escaping a home where both food and kind words ran scarce and sharp curses and harsh slaps were a common sound that echoed in the small, dark house, a twisted, grey melody that made no one sing.
a pale, thin woman with a sour look on her face for a mother and a father who gambled all day and smelled of the drink. two bitter souls, trying desperately to rid themselves of the world. nothing like the parents that y/n used to know, a kind father who taught her how to shoot and a mother with warm smiles and flour coating her hands.
"aim well, my little songbird. aim well, and your enemies will never cut you down," he had said, patiently correcting her arm positions. look what i can do, momma!
little y/n faded away, running with a look of delight on her face to a smiling woman as the smell of stew wafted out of the kitchen. then there were no smiling mothers and fathers who taught her how to shoot a bow and arrow, and so the happy world of a little girl became no more. aim for the heart, and shoot to kill. if you don't act first then the other one will do it for you.
she left behind her childhood and everything she had ever known and ran far, far away until she could run no more. there she had met kaz rietveld. kaz, a small boy of nine with knobby knees, gangly limbs, and a gap between his two front teeth that had skipped over to her with a penny in his hand and a joke about parrots that had made y/n laugh and laugh and laugh.
with him, he brought a smile that lit up y/n's entire world. the merchers looked down on him, spitting at kaz whenever he stopped to ask a question about what they were selling or say hello, but to a little girl who had almost lost hope, he was the best thing in the whole world.
kaz's brother jordie looked down upon y/n just as the merchers with tailored suits and shiny shoes looked down on kaz, but kaz always came back to visit. a magic trick he'd just learned, or a bit of candy that he'd gotten. y/n had to have some of it too, he told his brother. jordie had sighed, but let him have his way in the end. the little boy was lonely, he supposed. what was the harm?
y/n relished her every meeting with kaz. the girl had been isolated for so long from social interaction, and her friendship with kaz was one of the few joys in her life. kaz always brought her things, she knew. and she had to pay him back somehow. kaz had always admired the red ribbon that tied her hair up, one of the few luxuries she owned. and so she tied it around his wrist, the boy solemnly watching as she worked the knots together, nimble fingers dancing over the satin and his wrist. and that was that. her debts were paid. kaz was free to move on, but he stayed anyways.
one day, his sporadic visits came with a spark of happiness. kaz rounded the corner of the hidden alley, and y/n stood up eagerly, waiting for whatever snippet of news he was going to bring. "y/n, you won't believe it! me and jordie, we've made a deal with jacob hertzoon! have you heard of him y/n? he says he's going to make us rich!" y/n didn't know who jacob hertzoon was, but she nodded along anyways, half happy for kaz's success and half wishing that it were her instead of kaz who was going back to a brother and a warm and dry bed.
her stomach grumbled hungrily, and kaz stopped his rant midsentence, a guilty look on his face.
"i'm so sorry i didn't bring any lunch!" he'd said, fidgeting slightly with his hands.
y/n nodded, but her mind was on something else. there was a small inkling of panic in her head. what if kaz abandoned her just like everyone else had after he'd made his royal flush? what then?
"make me a promise," she'd said, frantically taking his hand in her own. his hand was soft and firm, callouses lining his palm. he'd grown up on a farm, y/n remembered, in her small moment of hysteria, the small detail appearing amidst her fear that kaz would abandon her. it was a soothing thought, and y/n calmed down long enough to make out her next words. "promise me that you won't forget me. promise me that you'll remember me, and that i'll still be your friend when you're rich."
kaz promised her that sunny afternoon, promised her that he would never forget her. and y/n had believed him.
he didn't visit for a while after that, but y/n still saw him, following his brother around and a stern looking man with grey hairs who shook hands and wore fancy pocket watches. kaz flashed her a smile in the middle of the busy market, raising his wrist to show her red ribbon tied around his arm.
and then he disappeared. meanwhile, the plague wiped through the barrel, killing the old, the young, the weak, and the beggars who sat huddled in the cold with boiling fevers that never went away. y/n had contracted the queen's lady plague herself, the fever burning hot in the day and at night leaving her shivering under the thin sweater that kaz had claimed was too small for him and gifted her, all while the plague sirens wailed throughout the city as the bodies burned on the reaper's barge doubled and tripled, filling the dying city with the ashes of the deceased.
y/n assumed kaz was somewhere safe, and that jordie had kept him away from the barrel, the area of ketterdam that was hit the hardest. but when the plague sirens faded away and world came back to normal, she never saw him again. he'd promised, but promises were meant to be broken. what a waste of a perfectly good ribbon, she thought bitterly. and to think of what a pretty price it would have fetched on the market if you knew who to sell it to.
but y/n did see him again. kaz had changed, calloused hands that had once been kind and gentle were covered in blood, knuckles smattered with bruises. y/n had thought before to join the gangs, but had ultimately decided against it. it seemed that kaz had not. where was jordie, she wondered at the back of her mind, simply not caring anymore. no one answered.
he'd taken on the name of kaz brekker, dirtyhands. the person you would go to if you needed some dirty work to be done. y/n watched. he raised a small gang, the dregs, from the bottom of the scum of the barrel and made a name for himself. y/n kept watching. watching, watching, watching.
something drew her near to him however, as much as she hated him now. and so y/n had joined the dregs as a barmaid at the new crow club, a new investment that had brought the dregs one step closer to being one of the top gangs of the barrel, taking on a fake name. y/n watched. she was very good at watching, polishing dirty glasses and pouring drinks. you never knew what someone might say under the influence of some alcohol and a bit of coaxing. so much so, that dirtyhands finally called her to his office.
y/n didn't look one bit like she did when she was nine. her hair had grown out, she had grown taller, there was no more dirt covering her face, and her body that lacked nourishment had filled out due to the food that money she had made from previous jobs and her new one at the crow club provided her. she was unrecognizable.
kaz hired her to be a new spy, eavesdropping on conversations. no one notices the barmaid, she'd said, using a fake ravkan accent just for the fun of it. she's only there to pour your drinks and to look pretty for you to stare at. any other time, she's invisible. no one cares.
kaz had given her a strange look, but that was all. he wore gloves now, she noticed. she wondered if he still wore her red ribbon, but then she realized that she didn't care. for all she knew, kaz had thought that she had died during the queen's lady plague, and for good reason.
and so y/n sat on the rooftop that night, watching as the moon rose higher in the night sky while the city lights bustled busily beneath her.
the click of kaz's cane brought her back to reality.
"good job," he said, in that gravelly voice of his. y/n turned around. "you made a good shot tonight with that bow of yours. even jesper couldn't be able to pull off what you did."
"thanks," she said, her legs dangling dangerously off of the edge of the roof. he sat down beside her, awkwardly kneeling down with the support of his cane.
"y/n."
he said it more like a statement than a question. it was a strange feeling to hear kaz say her real name for the first time in years, and y/n didn't know whether she liked it or not.
yes, she wanted to say. yes.
"finally figured it out, haven't you?"
kaz shyly took her hand in his, and y/n realized with a jolt that he wasn't wearing his trademark leather gloves. his hands were cold and bony, but still gave her comfort. a red ribbon was tied around his wrist.
"you kept it," she said, barely a decibel above a whisper, the shock and disbelief evident in her voice.
"i did."
it took a while for y/n to realize that she was crying. kaz brushed his fingers hesitantly under her eyelashes, brushing away the pool of tears that threatened to spill out of her eyes. his eyes were shining as well. who knew that the bastard of the barrel could cry, she thought. a pity pekka rollins couldn't see him now.
she leaned in, waiting for any sign that kaz didn't want to touch her, wrapping an arm around him. when he didn't react, she nestled her head in the crook of his shoulder. the moon rose above, climbing higher and higher into the sky as two souls that were broken and then built back together reunited for the first time in years.
#jules writes#fandom: grishaverse#kaz brekker x reader#kaz brekker#six of crows#grishaverse#kaz brekker headcanons#kaz brekker x you#kaz brekker imagine#kaz brekker x y/n#kaz brekker x oc#inej ghafa#nina zenik#matthias helvar#jesper fahey#wylan van eck
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roommate! bakugo who secretly steals your used underwear from the laundry basket, and feigns indignation when you accuse his best friend because you swear that the red head’s gaze had lingered on the exposed width of your thighs when you’d found him lounging in the living room just the other week. (kirishima had been staring, but bakugo isn’t going to admit that he had been staring too)
roommate! bakugo who waits for you to leave the apartment to pick at the lock of your bedroom door and dive into the safety of your bed. he burrows beneath the covers, dry-humping the mattress until he cums a hot sticky mess inside of his sweatpants as he desperately inhales with his face buried into the plush of your pillow where your scent lingers the strongest.
roommate! bakugo who uses the broken lock on the bathroom door to his advantage, quietly creaking it open just an inch, the scarlet of his irises locking onto the gut-warming sight of your naked body, lathered in soap suds that just manage to preserve your modesty from his greedy leer. his patience prevails, however, and he’s rewarded when you step out of the shower, skin glistening with a sheen of wet that rolls down the length of your spine, and he wishes he could follow the trail with his tongue.
roommate! bakugo who also rummages through your belongings when he’s home alone, pleasantly surprised when he discovers your hidden stash of toys that have been crammed into the bottom drawer of your wardrobe. hardly an inconspicuous hiding place, considering that it’s the first place he thinks to look, but that doesn’t stop him from pressing his ear to the wall at night, heat bubbling between his legs as he strains to listen to the muted sound of your voice, breathless and wanton, accompanied by the faint tell-tale buzz of what he recognises to be the crimson coloured bullet vibrator.
roommate! bakugo who angrily fists his cock at a furious pace, panting heavily—purposely pitching his voice loud enough because he wants you to hear him—the cut of his abdomen coiled tight, a perspiration matting the unruly locks of blonde atop his head to his temples. toes curling and spine arching, he paints his knuckles a pretty shade of opalescent, with your name barked from the tip of his tongue around the shape of a choked moan.
© obitohno. all rights reserved. do not repost my works.
#♡ jordy is writing ♡#mha x reader#mha smut#bnha x reader#bnha smut#bakugo x you#bakugo x reader#bakugo smut#bakugou x you#bakugou x reader#bakugou smut#bakugou fluff
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Hi! I love your writing style! I'd like to read a kaz brekker x reader in which reader is a healer who grew in the country side, in a farm near to kaz and jordie's one. They were sent to little Palace in order to protect them and there wasn't time for they to say goodbye to the Rietveld brothers. They eventually rejoined with kaz during Crooked Kingdom, when they are helping grishas side by side with zoya and genya.
Have a lovely weekend ♡
Hey, anon! I’m sorry it took me so long to see this, I was just wanting to get Crooked Kingdom done before I responded! I’m a bit confused on your phrasing and don’t want to come to my own conclusions just in case, so on the off chance that you see this, can you clarify where you want it to be set?
Do you want it to be set when they’re in the pool room and have Y/N heal the worst of Kaz’s wounds while Genya tailors Wylan? Or around the scene where Nina and Matthias are in the Ravkan embassy? Or when they’re on the boat and Zoya is reviving Kuwei?
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he isn’t sure whose dumb idea this was, but when someone suggests a game of the spin the bottle, and although he initially grumbles about being too old for this shit, bakugo is one of the first to wedge himself into the shoddily formed circle when he overhears you agreeing to take part. sulking from his spot between kirishima and denki, he all but snatches the emptied wine bottle from the redhead’s fingers, ignoring the toothy grin that is shot his way when his fist curls around the bottleneck.
all eyes are on him as he taps the rim to his knuckles, before placing it into the centre of the circle, jaw ticking with irritation when his small crowd of friends are suddenly sharing a muted silence with bated breath. forcing his expression into one of feigned indifference, he doesn’t notice the knowing smirk that tugs at kirishima’s mouth when his daze dares to dart towards where you’re watching just as intently, your stare fixated to the twist of the bottle that spins and spins and spins.
until, finally, it stills.
upon you.
bakugo doesn’t have time to decipher the snort that jumps from the back of kirishima’s throat, because you’re already shuffling your way toward him, a wry smile curling the shape of your lips. there’s an uncomfortable weight that itches the back of his neck, knowing that everyone is watching, but the nervous coil in his stomach dissipates with the first tentative brush of your mouth to his own.
pulse hammering at the base of his throat, there’s a bite of relief that slumps his shoulders when he feels the tell-tale stutter of your breath unsteadily fluttering over the curve of his cheek—a sure sign of your own apprehension. still, he welcomes the way that you press your mouth to his, with a little more confidence this time, flinching when your fingers tickle along the cut of his jaw.
‘sorry,’ you murmur an apology, its breathlessness jolting a heat that’s quickly forming low between his legs. he smothers the unnecessary regret with a swipe of his tongue gliding along the seam of your lips.
you taste better than he’s imagined, if the rumbling groan that trickles from the depths of his chest and into the wet cavern of your waiting mouth is anything to go by. immediately, your answering keen, fanned from out of your nostrils, is furiously swallowed by the insistent curl of his tongue that’s already wound its home around the length of your own. there’s a hand that comes to rest at the nape of your neck, possessive as well as steadying, and it is your fingers that are threading into the tresses of his hair, knotted tightly and tugging yet another sharp grunt from the back of his throat.
there’s a throbbing need that repeatedly pangs at the apex of your thighs, which only quickens when he moans into the heat of your mouth, his teeth scraping over the plush of your bottom lip before he dares to suckle on the tip of your tongue. the crooks of his knuckles tighten where they still claim the back of your neck, and it is only when you gently mewl the syllables of his names to the corner of his widening smirk that he finally retreats just enough to allow you to catch your breath.
‘woah,’ someone breathes—denki, bakugo recognises the awed lilt of his voice—‘that was hot.’
beside him, kirishima’s voice sounds hoarse, ‘fuck… yeah, it was.’
© obitohno. all rights reserved. do not repost my works.
#♡ jordy is writing ♡#mha x reader#mha fluff#bnha x reader#bnha fluff#bakugo x reader#bakugo fluff#soft bakugou#bakugou x reader#bakugou fluff#bakugou thirst#kiribaku x reader#kiribaku#kiribaku fluff#mha thirst#bakugou imagine#mha imagines
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first-time dad! keigo who presses his lips to the swollen curve of your stomach with the promise to give his unborn offspring the childhood that he never had.
first-time dad! keigo who tries—and fails—to be subtle with his pandering, often waking you in the middle of the night when your breath pauses for a second too long, brows knitted with worry.
first-time dad! keigo who accompanies you to hospital appointments, and stares at the monitor, glossy-eyed and enamoured by the tiny thump, thump, thump of his baby’s heartbeat.
first-time dad! keigo who, later that night, burrows beneath the covers with you by his side, and dreams of the future that is to come, the spread of his palm warming your skin as he nuzzles at your pulse.
first-time dad! keigo who frequently litters your changing body with affection, the press of his fingers gentle as he tests the weight of your milk-laden breasts, humming an answering moan when you keen the syllables of his name.
first-time dad! keigo who is determined to show you just how much he adores the marks that stretch along the expanse of your hips and the patch of curls that have taken home between your legs now that you can no longer reach to tame them.
first-time dad! keigo who makes love to you on the nights that sleep evades you, chuckling when the mood is broken when he titters a calming symphony that has your unborn babe responding in kind with a swift kick to your ribs.
first-time dad! keigo who taps the tips of his fingers to your belly, irises gleaming the colour of liquid gold with unabashed excitement that renders him giddy, because, fuck, he can’t wait to meet you.
first-time dad! keigo who, despite his meticulous preparations, finds that, actually, he isn’t at all ready for when the day of your child’s birth finally arrives, horror paling his cheeks a worrying shade of white when your waters break.
first-time dad! keigo who looks a little green, overwhelmed with a flurry of mind-reeling emotions when he smoothes away the sweat-soaked hairs that stick to your forehead as the crooks of your fingers tighten around his own, straining as you finally bless him with the perfect bundle of joy.
first-time dad! keigo who, whilst you slip into the arms of slumber, counts ten tiny fingers and ten minuscule toes before he’s then blinded by his own affections that roll down the apples of his cheeks in rivets, a singular droplet landing on the tip of a perfectly small nose.
first-time dad! keigo who brushes his lips to the wisps of those finely curled hairs that match the colour of his own, greedily inhaling the new scent of life that intermingles with the taste of freshly fed milk. and there, he whispers a promise of an unconditional love that wasn’t gifted to him until the day he met you.
© obitohno. all rights reserved. do not repost my works.
#♡ jordy is writing ♡#mha x reader#bnha x reader#mha fluff#bnha fluff#hawks x reader#hawks x you#hawks fluff#soft hawks#keigo x reader#keigo x you#keigo fluff#soft keigo#keigo takami x reader
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daydreaming about feral! keigo who, as a bird hybrid, is very prideful of his appearance.
meeting you is a chance encounter, one that, previously, he’d never given much thought about, even when surrounded by fellow hybrids who dream and gush about meeting a soulmate of their very own. despite living within the safety of a flock, after leaving the nest a little too early, he’s long accustomed to the life of a solitary bird, and even years after he’s matured into the proud, crimson feathered tiercel that he is, he’s never truly understood the appeal of sharing his territory with another.
until he meets you.
it scares him, the way that you easily invade his space—how prideful and nervous he is when he shows you the nest that he spends the best part of a month building for the two of you to share. it also frightens him, how quickly he adapts to seeking your approval, eyeing your awed expression when he drags home the carcass of a sizeable buck with a prideful puff of his feathers. he’s not particularly accustomed to the anxious knotting of his stomach, and yet, the sensation seems to rear its ugly head when the times comes for him to present himself to you.
it’s no secret that keigo is the prettiest of the flock, for no other bird bares such a handsome colour as he, and he finds that, with this too, he seeks your favour. on the first night that he invites you into the comfort of his nest, his feathers have been preened meticulously, with not a single plume out of place, and his hair is scented with the stalk of lavender that he’d plucked from the edge of the neighbouring territory. there’s a sheen that glistens within the cut of his muscles, and the molten flicker of his eyes are golden, observing the wet of your tongue sliding across your bottom lip when you eye the way that his cock twitches between his legs, heavy and wanting.
and to his delight, you coo your approval around the symphony of his name when he takes you that night, welcoming the stretch of his knot when he fills you with the promise of a brood.
© obitohno. all rights reserved. do not repost my works.
#♡ jordy is writing ♡#bnha x reader#bnha smut#mha x reader#mha smut#hawks x reader#hawks x you#hawks smut#keigo x reader#keigo x you#keigo smut#hawks fluff#keigo fluff#mha fluff#bnha fluff
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let's talk kinks
aki, angel, denji, power, makima
themes ⤸
fem! reader, 18+, edging, orgasm denial, oral sex, foot fetish, foot jobs, pussy grinding, piss kink, golden shower, sex toys, chastity belt, lingerie, vibrators, paddles, pussy spanking, degradation
word count ⤸
1.7k (unedited)
a/n ⤸
the way that i’ve been desperate to write about csm kinks has been rotting my brain, but the wait is finally over! also, this is my first time writing wlw, so i really hope that it’s not completely terrible to read ;-; i had a lot of fun writing these, so pls enjoy!
reblogs are appreciated ~
you think that it’s entirely unfair, how easily aki is able to snatch the breath from your lungs each time that his lips ghost over the surface of your skin, unable to voice it so when he kisses you just like that.
he’s no stranger to the way that the muscles of your inner thighs clench, stretching wide enough to accommodate the width of his shoulders, broad enough to have you aching as he tongues at your clit, his gentle hum of approval vibrating over your sensitive nub. it throbs beneath the flat of his tongue, glistening with the shine of his saliva that only serves to aid the drooling mess that escapes the fluttering entrance of your hole, forced open around the tight stretch of his fingers.
his teeth graze over your clit, the wet muscle of his tongue delving between your folds to taste where your scent is the strongest. he groans, and along with him, you mewl with the promise of your fast-approaching climax.
only, it doesn’t come.
as soon as your fingers are clenching tight around the ink-like strands of his hair, his mouth is all but torn away, and you’re left choking, a pitched cry of frustration gasped from between your kiss-swollen lips.
‘c’mon!’
he actually dares to huff a laugh, the heat of his breath fanned across the sensitive crook of your hip. furiously, your clit pounds, the tune matching that of the rapid beat of your pulse, and you sob with the loss of your well-deserved orgasm. repeatedly, his tongue—aided with the to-and-fro of his fingers buried within the cavern of your cunt—brings you to the summit, only to force you to abandon each time. you’re sobbing, slit desperately ground against the mould of his mouth, but you fail the realise that the pitched keen that escapes you—accompanied by the shimmering of your sclera—only serve to inflate the swell of his ego as he brings you to the edge of yet another orgasm, only, to let you fall, again.
‘a-aki! please!’
he’s grinning, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he thumbs at your swollen clit.
‘since you asked so nicely.’
ଓ
it’s movie night, and you are a tad baffled when denji encourages the press of your heel between his legs.
the night had started as usual, with your legs stretched across the length of the settee, feet pillowed by his lap, his fingers deftly working through a knot that has been niggling at the arch of your foot all day. you’d thought nothing of the breathy moan that had escaped you when the pad of his thumb worked to release the tension, but clearly, he had. only, you don’t realise it until you’re stretching your toes and your ankle brushes against the evident bulge that has swelled between his thighs. at first, you make to pull away, an apology already spilling from out of your mouth, but his fingers catch, curling around the circumference of your ankle.
‘again,’ he begs, nostrils flaring as he exhales a nervous, jittery sigh. there’s a dusting of pink forming on the bridge of his nose, and the sight alone has you agreeing readily, the press of your foot nudging at his groin once more.
his brows pull together, and just a couple of strokes have him moaning throatily, hips rolling to meet each press of your foot. watching him has your thighs clenching, the spark of your own arousal dampening the lining of your underwear, and you can’t help but moan along with him when he tears at the fabric of his sweats, the rigid heat of his cock now gliding against the flat of your foot without a barrier to halt him. the rounded shape of the tip of him is swollen an angry shade of red that matches the blush that dominates his cheeks, and you’re awed by the way that his expression morphs into one of unabashed bliss. his slit is weeping a mess all over your toes, and it has the blunt edges of your teeth biting into the plush of your bottom lip, and it is mere curiosity that has your heel grinding into the squishy pillowing of his balls, prized by the way that he wails.
‘more, more, fuck, please, don’t stop—!’
ଓ
it is with power straddled above you, the damp warmth of her pussy slipping and sliding over your own, when you announce that you need to use the bathroom.
only, when you attempt to sit upright, expecting her to allow you to empty your bladder within the comforts of the bathroom, the palms of her hands are pawing at the curve of your breasts, fingers roughly pinching at your nipples before scratching over your ribs to find purchase there. fiercely, the schlick, schlick, schlick of her sopping cunt melds to yours, circling, grinding, stroking you closer and closer to where she wants—needs—you, and your gut coils with the phantom whispers of the orgasm that teases at your pulsing hole. each brush of her public hair tickles at your clit, the texture sodden with the diamanté of your arousal intermingling with hers, and each wet thud of her hips dropping to yours has a breath punched from out of your mouth.
the velvet-like glide of her folds make your head spin, and beneath her, you squirm, the release of your bladder now dangerous close.
‘ah—w-wait,’ you manage to gasp into the the silk of her hair, her teething nipping at your throat. ‘i really need to—’
‘so, go,’ she’s grinning, all wicked teeth and the bite of her nails scratching at your ribs once more. despite the fire that scorches the apples of your cheeks, no further encouragement is needed, and just as her fingers are prodding at the tight muscles of your hole, your bladder releases in time with the pitch of your orgasm, cresting high as the spray of golden liquid wets power’s groin, along with your shaking thighs. you don’t know whether to feel relieved or embarrassed, wide eyed as you acknowledge the dampened bedsheets with a coy mewl, and perched above you, power squeals, the slight curves of her breasts rising and falling with each rapid breath that is greedily sucked into the ‘o’ that shapes her lips, jaw slack as she watches you recover enough to brush the tremble of your thumb between the stretch of her thighs.
‘your turn, hm?’
ଓ
angel has always been pretty, you think, but you are unprepared for just how beautiful he looks bound in nothing but the frilled lace that hides the contraption that cages his weeping prick.
it had been he who had presented the idea, already bearing the pink-plated chastity belt as he drops the key into the palm of your hand. he’s entrusted you, you recognise, and the realisation has your heart swelling with pride. you don’t question where he bought such a device, yet, when he presses a silver-coated bullet vibrator into your other hand, you feel the hitching of your own breath, watching as he teases at the hem of the frilly white material that hugs at his waist. they’re quickly tugged down the expanse of his cream-coloured thighs, and upon the sight of the translucent string of sap that clings to the flimsy fabric, your mouth is watering. he kneels before you, squirming under the heat of your gaze, and when your stare drops from the sweet pinking of his cheeks to the belt that hides his cock from view, his lungs expand and deflate just a little faster.
your tongue is probing into the valley of his mouth when there’s a click! and a buzz, which is then followed by a low, drawn out moan that is muffled to your shoulder. the warmth of his thighs are already damp with perspiration, and nerves have your fingers trembling, by no fault of the vibrating toy that has his balls swelling within the confides of the chastity belt. it’s not long before he’s drooling, teeth scraping over the curve of your shoulder, greedily humping at the press of the palm of your hand as he seeks moremoremore of the toe-curling bliss bestowed upon him.
despite the fact that the cage prevents the full expansion of his girth, you’re still able to watch as his slit leaks a pretty mess down the bumps of your knuckles, and when the bullet strokes a path over the sensitive skin of his perineum, his jaw drops and he shrieks.
‘m-more—pleasepleaseplease—!’
ଓ
you probably shouldn’t have trusted that when makima had promised to take it easy on you, that she’d be telling the truth.
the smirk that had flashed across her face should have been telling, and yet, it isn’t until she has you stripped bare, bent over her equally naked thigh, that it finally dawns on you that this isn’t going to be a typical punishment. you’d been especially bratty this evening, she’d reminded you on the way home from a meal shared at your favourite restaurant, and this, apparently, is her way of ensuring that you thank her properly. still, when the leather padding is roughly tapped against the naked curve of your pussy, you’re unable to muffle the strained moan that is torn from your throat.
subconsciously, your hips roll, desperation pushing the edge of the paddle between your folds, which spread to reveal the slick-soaked hole that dances with anticipation. but, instead of the fingers that you’ve become familiar with widening the muscles of your inner walls, the paddle retreats and then, in one swift motion, it connects with a sharp squelch, and the squeak you expel quickly morphs into a moan. the sting ricochets, and the way that your pussy throbs is laced with both pain and arousal.
again, and again, the paddle beats at your sopping cunt until your lustrous secretion is oozing a tacky stain on the thighs that pillow the weight of you humping uselessly into the air. no matter how much you beg, she refuses to stuff your clenching hole, the pads of her fingers teasing over your rim instead, only, she doesn’t touch you there, either, not really. instead, the paddle, now sodden with your arousal, is harshly slapped over your pulsing clit, and when you scream, she scoffs.
‘how pitiful,’ she tuts, grinding the flat of the leather, up-down, up-down, up-down, until you’re just about to come undone.
you’re gasping, feet kicking out as you beg, ‘please, please—!’
but instead of hearing your cries, she simply laughs.
‘how pathetic, indeed.’
© obitohno. all rights reserved. do not repost my works.
#♡ jordy is writing ♡#csm smut#csm x reader#aki x reader#aki smut#aki hayakawa smut#aki x reader smut#denji x reader#denji smut#angel devil x reader#angel devil smut#power smut#makima smut
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fantasising about husband! aki who can no longer hide just how much he longs for you when you accidentally walk in on him.
fem! reader, 18+, friends to lovers, semi-angst, marriage of convenience, fluff, love confessions, mutual pining, (male) masturbation, making out, fingering, sitting cowgirl, dick riding, vaginal creampie
3.9k (unedited)
reblogs are appreciated ~
it’s embarrassing, really, just how quickly aki adapts to a life dominated by your presence, and yet, it happens so naturally, that without realising, he’s accepting it as easily as he does breathing.
with the both of you now settling into the final years of your twenties, your marriage had been born from the promise of companionship, should neither of you settle with a partner of your own. it was you who had drunkenly slurred the idea after he’d accompanied you home after a night out—rambling something about how much you loved him—and because you were so stupidly inebriated, you had shrieked with laughter when he’d actually agreed.
the promise isn’t mentioned again for the two years that had followed, until a few months after aki’s twenty-eighth birthday, and it is denji, of all people, who brings it up. in truth, after ignoring it for so long, you’d actually forgotten all about that particular night, and so, after aki shoos denji away with a carefully aimed glare, you’re pleasantly surprised when he then proposes that the two of you marry, because—in his very own words—it made sense.
it’s not quite the proposal that you’d imagined when you were far younger, enamoured by the idea of marrying your very own prince charming, and yet, it’s all too easy to agree, and a month later, your life is eternally tied to aki’s with a single signature upon a piece of paper.
only, a year later, and the relationship that is shared between the two of you remains strictly platonic.
you aren’t exactly sure what you had been hoping to change once the two of you married, but even power has begun to notice that your marriage with aki isn’t at all what it’s made up to be.
‘you don’t share a bed?!’ she’d exclaimed one evening after coming to visit and poking her nose around your bedroom long enough to discover that the wardrobe is home only to your clothes.
‘we’re friends,’ you’d stressed, brows furrowing.
‘yeah,’ denji had piped up from somewhere down the hall, head buried within the depths of your fridge, ‘but you’re married.’
‘hm, hm,’ power had nodded, agreeing, and you’d had to hide your grimace by busying yourself with shoving her from your bedroom and clicking the door shut behind you.
the conversation had quickly changed after denji had convinced you to accompany them to lunch—‘cause you’ve got nothin’ in—but it’s still one that you catch yourself thinking about when you tuck yourself into bed each night.
lately, more often than not, he’s the reasoning behind your last thought at night, and the first when you rouse from sleep in the morning. at first, you chalk it down to the fact that now the two of you live together, it’s only natural that he’s who you think of when ordering takeout, because it’s also obvious that you’d wonder what he’d like to eat tonight. it’s also totally normal for hope to rear its familiar heat in the centre of your chest when you return home from work—because, why on earth wouldn’t you pray that he made it home safe and sound? and, of course, it’s just curtesy to ask if he’d like to join you when you’re watching one of those shitty chick flicks that are shown every friday evening, hiding your smirk behind a cushion when he grumbles under his breath about how terrible the movie is, but still comes to slouch on the settee beside you, your feet nestled on his lap.
there’s nothing unusual about marrying your best friend.
at least, that’s what you tell yourself.
until, one night, everything changes.
it’s new year’s, and your small group of friends have gathered to denji and power’s apartment.
it’s just the four of you crammed onto the small settee, a concoction of what smells to be both vodka and beer glaring up at you from the depths of the glass that power had shoved into the palm of your hand upon arrival. you haven’t yet dared to take a sip.
there’s another of those shitty chick flicks playing in the background, but no one is really paying attention to the screen, all eyes focusing on the clock that has been pinned—lopsided—onto the wall. there are only a few minutes until midnight, and suddenly, you’re all too aware of the heat of aki’s thigh pressing to your own, his arm brushing against yours when he lifts a hand to push a loose strand of hair from his face. tonight, the inky tresses are free from their usual tie, and for a reason known only to the heavens, you can’t stop glancing at him from the corner of your eye. it’s not as if you’re a stranger to this particular hairdo, but tonight, the blues of his hair entice your stare back toward him, over and over, and the more you do so, the more confused you become.
fortunately, power pins your attention onto her when she all but throws her weight onto your shoulder, giggling loudly, ‘hey, hey!’
‘hey,’ you hum down at her, vaguely aware of denji jumping from his seat, hopping over the back of the settee, and disappearing down the hallway.
power leans forward so that her cheek is pressed to yours. the stench of beer is heavy on her breath, and when your nose crinkles, she only laughs harder. ‘you guys gonna kiss?’
you don’t have to look to know that aki is staring at the back of your head. awkwardly, you clear your throat, unable to hide your wince in time. denji returns, bowl of freshly cooked fries in hand. he’s already shovelling a handful into his mouth, belatedly remembering to share by shoving the bowl under power’s nose so suddenly that, in her surprise, her left foot kicks out and connects with his knee. he howls, the bowl dropped to his lap, and power snatches it, scoffing down a mouthful herself. cheeks stuffed, she points to the clock, and a garbled yelp of excitement escapes her.
‘look, look!’
there’s just a minute left.
a warm hand eases over your crown, and the way that your spine relaxes is instantaneous. it’s reflex, the way that you curl into his side—as you have hundreds of times before—and you pointedly ignore the way that power jabs her elbow into denji’s flank, his eyes watering as he chokes on another mouthful of fries.
the clock tick-tocks, and the tip of a nose is ghosting over the shell of your ear. his fingers tickle down the back of your neck, and the brush of his lips at your temple welcomes you into the new year.
it’s not quite the kiss that you’d hoped for, once, when you still dreamt of new year kisses way back in your teen years, and yet, your pulse skips a beat all the same.
‘happy new year,’ he murmurs to your cheek, thumb slipping to press to your pulse, and you know that he can feel the way that it stutters, faltering beneath his touch.
it’s just aki, you tell yourself, because it’s easier to lie than it is to acknowledge the way that your stomach twists itself into knots.
from over your shoulder, you peek towards him, unsurprised to see that his stare is already focused on you. he blinks, once, twice, and something in his eye shifts, his lids drooping as his gaze lowers to your mouth. subconsciously, your lips part, as if to say something—anything—to save yourself from the press of the pad of his thumb at your throat, but all that comes out is a stuttered repeat of his sentiment, the words choked upon when that damned thumb of his strokes over the length of your jugular.
clearing your throat, you try again, despite the fact that you’re sure he can feel the perspiration that has begun to form on the surface of your skin. you force a smile, one that is returned by the crooking of the corner of his mouth, and you will yourself to feign indifference, even though you’re sure that he can feel the way that your pulse jumps at the sight.
‘happy new year, aki.’
ଓ
the new year passes.
the world settles into its usual routine, and things in your shared apartment appear to be just as normal.
only, they’re not.
aki has always been a constant in your life, this, you’re grateful for. yet, after new year’s, something changes between two of you. you’re a little slow to realise that all too suddenly, he’s everywhere.
he’s there when you’re stirring your morning coffee, squinty eyed as he smiles when you thank him for boiling the kettle for you because you’re running a tad late this morning. it isn’t until you’re rushing out of the apartment, handbag swinging on your shoulder, that you realise that he is the one who is late for work, as he’s usually out of the door at least an hour before you drag yourself from your bed.
he’s also there when you’re returning home from work, waiting to greet you as you’re kicking your shoes from your feet and slumping onto the settee with an exhausted groan of relief. the tips of his fingers are kneading at the ache that has formed in the arch of your foot, and you fail to realise that he’s staring at the column of your throat, as your eyes are closed. this happens once, twice, and upon the third time, you’ve started to become a tad suspicious, because usually, he doesn’t arrive home until long after the clock reads six pm.
a month later, when he catches you kicking at the boiler because it’s stopped working, again, it is he who calls to have it fixed. in the meantime, he leaves freshly boiled hot water bottles outside of the bathroom door, ready for you to bundle into your dressing gown after you finish bathing under an uncomfortable spray of cold water. you’re a little dramatic, sure, when you exclaim that the cold is going to be the death of you, biting the inside of your cheek to hide the smile that tugs at your lips when he huffs, rolls his eyes, but still takes your hands in his to warm your fingers.
another month passes quickly, and another, and another. you’ve grown long accustomed to the fingers that stroke at your elbow whenever he passes by, to the knowing smiles that conceal secrets that you’re not privy to, hidden behind the rim of his mug as he all but inhales yet another mouthful of coffee. he still comments on your shitty chick flicks, yet, sometimes, you compromise, and he forces you to sit through a range of disaster films that stretch on for almost three hours at a time. oftentimes, you’re falling asleep beneath the blanket that he’d thrown over you just an hour or so before, and yet when you wake, you’re tucked into the comfort of your own bed.
all too soon, you find that each smile, each brush of his fingers, each cup of coffee, each hot water bottle, and each blasted three hour disaster film, are all driving toward something that you can’t control.
spring arrives, and with it, so does the realisation that you are helplessly in love.
and yet, it isn’t you who confesses first.
today, exhaustion has you sent home from work an hour earlier than usual. again, aki’s brogues are stacked neatly on the shoe rack when you step inside, the front door clicking shut behind you. you’re too tired to ponder on the reason why he’s home far earlier than he should be, your feet kicking themselves free from the shape of your heels. the relief is instant, and a sigh has your chest heaving, shoulders slumping low enough for the strap of your handbag to slip down to the crook of your elbow. you allow it to thump to the floor, and you can already hear aki’s voice reprimanding you, but you’re shattered, and right now, all you want to do is go to bed.
rolling your neck until it cricks, you shuffle your way down the hall, pausing by the living room door to see that the television is switched on, but muted. a brow raising, you move on, only to halt when you hear a noise coming from inside your room. if you were more alert, you probably would have hesitated just a second longer, but before you can stop, and think, your hand is twisting at the door handle, the door flying open.
and there, sprawled across your bed, buried within your sheets, lies aki.
only, aki is naked.
the sheets are draped over his legs, his thighs spread, and between them, his cock stands proud, leaking an iridescent mess all over his knuckles. his abdomen is tense, muscles taunt underneath the surface of his skin, and your eyes linger for a moment too long before you acknowledge just what is happening.
‘what the—?’
aki actually shrieks.
then, at the same time, you both yell at one another, the merge of your voices displaying varying tones of mortification:
‘what the fuck?!’
‘in my bed—seriously?!’
horrified, you’re spinning back towards the door, and he’s scrambling from the bed, and there’s a fumble, and all of a sudden, his fingers are curled around your wrist, and he’s begging you to stay, but all you can focus on is the wet of his knuckles pressing to your skin, and you blurt:
‘is that your wank hand?’
you’re not even looking at him, but you hear the stutter of his breath and his grip is tightening, ‘my… my what?’
you exhale loudly, skin aflame with embarrassment, ‘your wank hand—it’s… it’s wet.’
‘fuck, fuck,’ his fingers are all but ripped from your skin, and he’s stumbling somewhere behind you, cursing under his breath. curiosity has you daring to peek over you shoulder, but it appears that you’ve misjudged his ability to dress quickly, as he’s only just shoving a leg through the crumbled leg of his favourite sweatpants. and again, your stare is lingering between his legs, where his prick is starting to droop, his arousal now forgotten. only, he catches your stare, and he somehow stubs his toe on the bedside table, yelling another curse as he trips, falling flat on his arse as he does so. he’s wide eyed, a smattering of red staining both the bridge of his nose and the crests of his cheeks, and you can only gawk back at him, bewildered.
for a long moment, there’s a tense silence that stretches between the two of you.
you remain by the doorway, and he hasn’t moved from the floor, staring at you just as intensely as you stare at him.
and then:
‘i love you.’
your lips part, your mouth opens, and then it closes. again, you try, your tongue fumbling against the inside of your cheek, your breath catching in the back of your throat. again, your pulse is hurtling angrily at the side of your neck. again, your gaze slips, eyelids lowering, aimed between his legs, to where his cock is still half-hard, resting against the crease of which his hip meets his thigh.
eyes snapping toward his, you squeak, ‘come again?’
he clears his throat, glancing at your mouth, once, twice, and then croaks, ‘i love you.’
your knees crumble, bending to accommodate your weight as you crouch before him. your face is buried into the palms of your hands, and your chest heaves as a tiny sob is forced from between your lips. there’s a relief, a hot, burning sensation that prickles at your stomach, and although this isn’t the kind of confession that you’ve dared to imagine, it’s a confession all the same.
‘god, fuck, aki—’
he’s scoffing on a laugh, one that sounds as painful as it feels, and his hand is reaching to tug at yours so that he can see your face. ‘s’this where you say you don’t feel the same?’
you’re laughing—wetly, but still, it’s a laugh—and instead of answering his question, you ask:
‘is that your wank hand?’
this time, he’s snorting, and his hands are pulling at you just as he’s leaning close enough that the bridge of his nose bumps to yours. it’s the only warning that you’ll receive, one that you deem unnecessary, as you’re already meeting him halfway, chin tilting upward just as his lips mould to the shape of your mouth.
you’re unable to focus on the taste of him, not really, not when his hands are grabbing at you greedily, your breath faltering when his fingers are urgently tearing at your clothes. the next few minutes are a blur, and his kisses are a flurry of tongues, gasps stolen between breaths when the blunt edges of his teeth bite into the plush of your bottom lip. there’s a pause when your shirt is all but ripped over the top of your head, his mouth like fire when his lips press to yours again, and it’s quickly followed by another pause as he helps you to shimmy you out of the remainder of your clothing. desperation has him kicking the fabric of his sweatpants from his leg, his fingers deftly ridding you of your bra, your knickers quickly joining the pile of discarded clothing soon after.
his kisses are frantic, sloppy, and his fingers are blindly exploring each inch of skin that he can get his hands on. it doesn’t take long for him to discover the ticklish spot beneath your ribs, or the quiver of your thighs when his fingers grip at your waist, hoisting you atop him. a surprised oof escapes you, mostly formed around the fact that your head is spinning.
things are moving quickly—too quickly—and when you manage to tear your mouth from his long enough to voice it so, he’s stilling, spine rigid as he peeks at you through a long strand of hair.
‘wanna stop?’ the deep gravel of his tone suggests that he hopes for anything but.
‘no,’ you confirm his hopes, the curve of your smirk smothered by the press of his lips.
he’s mouthing at the pulse that beats a steady tune at your throat, his fingers, gentle as they pinch, stroke and tickle their way towards the centre of your legs. you shudder, anticipation trembling down the length of your spine, and when his thumb presses over your clit, your breath catches, eyes widening as you peer down at him. his touch is like fire, your skin scorched, thrilled, and he swallows down the lust-driven mewl that is muffled when he kisses you yet again. it’s almost painful, how slowly he works you open, your opening stretching around the press of his fingers, but he welcomes the feel of your lips at his throat, your teeth at his collarbone next, and your fingers twisting into the length of his hair. above him, your hips rock to-and-fro, and his fingers are tugging free with a wet squelch that has you grimacing, and him, grinning. your pelvis rolls, the plush of your cunt gliding up the rigidity of his cock, his balls heavy between his thighs, and the moan you exhale across the curve of his cheek is mirrored back to you, his lids blinking rapidly in order to watch the way that you sigh for him.
‘love you,’ he breathes, pupils blown wide as he stares at you as if seeing you for the very first time. you’re unable to describe the warmth that is burning its way up the column of your throat, and yet, your fingers tug at his hair, again, coaxing him in for another kiss.
‘i love you,’ he groans the syllables of your name, the width of him stretching the searing walls of your cunt wider than his fingers ever could.
‘shit, yes—justlikethat—l-love—fuck, i love—hngh!’ repeatedly, his cock claims home inside the wet of your cunny, which eagerly welcomes him in, over and over, the schlick, schlick, schlick of his sac—long stained with the evidence of your arousal—smacked tight against the curve of your rear with each thrust as he pistons his girth past the stretch of your fluttering hole.
‘g-gonna—ah, ah!’ and then, his slit is painting thick strands of opalescent jism that have your inner walls glimmering a pretty shade of pearl. your clit is still humming with the aftermath of your own peak, pulse deafening as it thunders an uneven beat past your tragus and down the canal of your eardrums. exhaustion has your thighs trembling around the width of his waist, spine curved as you collapse just enough to rest your cheek to the sharp jut of his shoulder, gasping loud enough to encourage the gentle hum of laughter from out of his lungs. the glide of his cock thump, thump, thumps dangerously close to the tight opening of your cervix, the seam of his sac glistening with the drooling mess that somehow oozes free from the vacuumed grip of your puffy orifice. eventually, he stills, spent, and the back of his head clunks against the wooden surface of the bedside table.
he wheezes a laugh that bubbles from somewhere deep in his chest, and the force has his shoulder vibrating, your cheek jiggling along, until, soon, his laughter titters into something that sounds less pleasant. when the tip of his nose traces the shape of the shell of your ear, it’s cold, wet, and there’s a choked sob that gargles from the back of his throat, and your fingers clutch at his ribs, desperate to feel the warmth of him just a tad longer. ‘i love you,’ he murmurs, voice thick, hoarse, strained with the weight of a fear that you understand his ego won’t allow him to acknowledge aloud.
still, you nose at the space beneath the cut of his jaw, and there, is where his scent is the strongest, the familiarity of nothing but him, him, him now intermingled with the salted musk that clings to the surface of his skin. and there, is where the shape of your smile eases the uneasy ache that roughly thwack, thwack, thwacks his jugular against the bridge of your nose until it begins to settle into a pace that comes with the soft exhale that flutters across the back of your head. and there, is where you breathe that no, this isn’t where you say that you don’t feel the same, because, actually, you love him too.
he’s laughing again, vocal chords twisting around the sound of relief, and when his mouth seeks yours again, his hand comes to cup the shape of your cheek, fingers brushing at the wispy baby hairs that wind around the tip of his finger. the taste of him dominates the inside of your cheeks and the flat of your tongue, and when your fingers curl over the circumference of his wrist, the corners of your eyes crinkle with the stretch of your smile. and just as aki’s lips part—awed—you tug his hand from your skin, your fingers slotting between the crooks of his own. the corners of your mouth morph into the shape of a smirk, the dampened surface of your forehead nudging at his, and you ask:
‘is that your wank hand?’
© obitohno. all rights reserved. do not repost my works.
#♡ jordy is writing ♡#csm#csm smut#csm x reader#aki smut#aki hayakawa smut#aki x reader#aki x you#aki hayakawa x reader#aki hayakawa x you#aki x reader smut
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