✨anime and existential crises✨

he s w e a r s he’s being gentle when your legs are flailing and your feet hit his chest, a reflex reaction of your body trying to accommodate to him and his heavy cock that tries (correction: trying, succeeding) to bully its way through your walls by its fat tip. just wants to feel the bite of heaven your pussy holds again, craves the sensation of all of his length dragging and pulsing along the velvet grip that massages his cock that’s a guarantee with every stroke, but you won’t. let. him. not even when he asks you nicely, when a low “open up, baby. wanna fuck you properly,” is met with a resistant whine of, “s’too big, ken. can’t take it.”

an answer that’s just… absurd to him. you’ve taken him hundreds, no thousands (maybe millions) of times before, now’s no different.

intends to prove that to you when his thumb touches the glistening skin on your clit, rubbing pressured circles into the nub that has you keening, your pussy weeping and your feet kicking him again, the heel pressing on the pec covering his heart, pedicured toes brushing against his nipple.

but you’re open, just like he knew you could be, and he’s sliding in deeper— every inch of him welcomed, celebrated even with a pulse of wet that has his jaw clenching so hard the teeth grind— so close to bottoming out until you wail, lower limbs flailing blindly until they catch him in the abdomen, right where his scar was. the strength of your kick revives a pain ken thought was long dead, curses tumbling out from his lips one after the other.

strike three.

strong ken whose arms hook beneath the back of your knees to gently redirect your legs up to your chest in a mating press, has your ankles centimeters away from dangling under your ears as earrings. ken who doesn’t realize that his entire body and all of its weight—rippling and tensing muscles flush against you—now looms over you intimidatingly, caging you between him and the mattress, rendering you incapable of evading him.

ken who, with newfound albeit manufactured freedom, bottoms out in seconds, nestling himself to the peak of your pussy and laying a figurative flag there. leaves it there when he draws back, pulling out until he’s almost completely out of your addictive cunt; and shifts its placement whenever he drives back into you, consistently moving the goalpost with every thrust.

ken who, when you cry out, is there to swallow your moans and steal your breath in sloppy clashes of lips, teeth and tongue. your muffled whimpers only give him energy to keep fucking you stupid like this; which is why he only pulls away when he’s out of breath and panting. just makes it easier for him to reset, using those precious seconds to return the spit he took from you during your kisses, combined with his to rest on the back of your tongue in a fat glob of white that disappears as quickly as it landed when you swallow it eagerly, tongue lolling out as if to beg for more.

ken, who stretches your body and your pussy at the same time, cotton candy pink enclosed around his girth like a glove. whose balls slap a percussion beat against your twitching clit whenever he pistons his hips, sop and squelch of your cunt clearly audible regardless of how he’s making you wear your feet as earmuffs.

ken, who knocks into your cervix like it’s in his way and he wants it to move, cock imposing as it curves its way up to, beyond and away from that gummy spot that has your toenails scratching the headboard, and right up to your womb.

ken who couldn’t give a single, solitary fuck about the slick sliding down his shaft and onto his balls (and the sheets), the wetness that’s polishing the inside of your thighs and covering your ass, or the film of white cream that decorates his shaft. he’d already made you cum more times than you can count and squirt for half of that. what he’s focused on now is him, chasing his high as he’s pounding you into the mattress, practically molding the shape of your body into the sheets.

you’re a whole new person by then, begging in soprano squeals for him to go deeper, fuck you harder, stuff you full. ken, who by default, becomes your genie the way he’s exceeding your wishes, promising to do just as you ask and then does that when he thrusts himself all the way up to the hilt. leaves no spot untouched as heaps of his cum coats your walls in hot white streaks, slight grind of his hips sending it right back up your womb the same time you clamp down on him, greedily swallowing the load he’s graciously feeding you, moaning delirious thanks and praises all the while.

ryuguji ken, whose struck by short term memory loss the next day when he sees you limping, genuinely stunned when he offers to eat you out and you all but run out of his arms, complaining that you’re sore and swollen.