flair

the city hums faintly beyond the closed window, muffled by heavy curtains. the lamp on your nightstand casts the room in a warm amber haze, just enough light to trace the shape of him lying beside you. nanami kento—hair slightly mussed from the day, sleeves rolled up, shirt half-unbuttoned. even exhausted, he looks composed, a man built from restraint.

you lie against him, curled into the heat of his body. one of his hands rests at your waist, thumb brushing idle strokes through the thin fabric of your sleep shirt. the weight of him there is comforting—steady, grounding.

“long day?” you murmur, voice soft, not wanting to disturb the quiet.

“mm,” he hums, eyes closed. “meetings. too many.”

you smile faintly, pressing your cheek to his shoulder. “with who?”

he cracks one eye open, glances at you. “colleagues. clients. the usual parade of inefficiency.”

you laugh softly, but there’s something coiled in your chest. “were your colleagues at least tolerable today?”

“depends on your definition of tolerable,” he says, deadpan, which earns him another quiet laugh. “one of them spent the meeting typing so loudly i couldn’t hear myself think. another spilled coffee everywhere. a disaster, as always.”

you hum, fingers tracing a line down the front of his shirt. you shouldn’t, but the words slip out anyway: “what about the new one? the girl who started last week.”

his brow lifts slightly. “hm?”

“was she there too?” you ask, trying for casual, but your voice catches on the edge.

nanami studies you now, gaze too sharp for comfort. “yes. she was there.”

you swallow. “is she… fitting in well?”

“she’s quiet,” he says evenly. “seems capable. but why are you asking me this?”

you force a shrug, avoiding his eyes. “i was just curious.”

he’s silent. the kind of silence that makes you feel exposed, as though every unspoken thing inside you has already been laid bare.

“no,” he says at last, his voice quiet but certain. “you’re not just curious.”

your chest tightens. you want to insist, to play it off, but you can’t. the words tangle in your throat. i just wonder if she’s prettier, if she’s smarter, if she’s the kind of person you’d look at twice in a way you don’t look at me anymore.

but you don’t say it. you don’t have to—nanami reads it in you anyway.

he exhales, long and controlled, and then he moves. in one smooth motion, he shifts, guiding you onto your back and rising over you. his gaze is heavy, his jaw set.

“don’t do this,” he says, low and unwavering. “don’t sit here doubting yourself. doubting me.”

“i wasn’t—”

“you were.” his tone cuts through your protest, not cruel, just firm. “and i won’t let you. not for a second.”

before you can reply, he kisses you—deep, deliberate, swallowing the sting of your half-formed words. his hand cradles your face, his other sliding down your thigh, coaxing it open. his lips trail to your ear, his voice a rough whisper.

“you think anyone else could have what you have? what i give you?”

your breath stutters, but you can’t answer.

“i’ll remind you,” he murmurs. “properly.”

he shifts lower, pulling you with him until he’s lying flat and you’re straddling his chest. your heart races as realization dawns, but his grip on your thighs leaves no room for retreat.

“nanami—”

“sit,” he orders, voice calm but unyielding.

you hover, trembling, embarrassed by the intimacy of it, but he doesn’t allow hesitation. his hands are firm, dragging you down until you’re against his mouth. the first stroke of his tongue is slow, reverent—then the next deeper, hungrier.

your gasp breaks the quiet, your fingers tangling in his hair. “wait—”

he hums against you, the vibration jolting through your core, and it’s enough to unravel any thought of stopping. he works at you with devastating precision, tongue and mouth unrelenting. every flick, every drag feels like worship, like he’s carving his devotion into you with every breath.

you try to lift yourself, overwhelmed, but his hands anchor you down, holding you firm. “don’t run,” he murmurs, his voice muffled, command threaded with tenderness. “take it.”

your thighs quake around his head. your cries grow higher, thinner, until you break—shaking, spilling over his mouth. but he doesn’t stop.

he drags you through it, coaxing you again, mouth greedy, tongue insistent. overstimulation burns through you, sharp and sweet, and tears prick your eyes. “kento, i— i can’t—”

“yes, you can,” he says, pausing only long enough to breathe the words against your skin, then diving back in, sucking, licking, devouring.

you sob his name, hips twitching helplessly against his face. pleasure coils and snaps again, your body trembling as another wave crashes over you.

he swallows every sound, every shiver, until you collapse forward, boneless, clinging to the headboard for support. still, he doesn’t let go—doesn’t stop until you’re crying into the pillow, begging weakly for mercy.

only then does he ease his grip, kissing your thigh before guiding you back down against his chest. your body shakes with aftershocks, your breath uneven.

he strokes your back, his lips brushing your temple. his voice is quiet, certain, but it cuts through the haze with unshakable weight.

“i’m yours,” he says. “only yours. never forget it.”

For Hiromi, letting down his guard is a dangerous thing. He’s an intelligent man who has to walk on eggshells with almost everything he does—being vulnerable isn’t his thing.

Except, of course, when he’s balls deep inside of you. You’re a reprieve, a statute of pleasure that he can’t help but over-indulge in. You’re so warm and tight and perfect wrapped around his pulsing cock and he’s so cumdrunk that lust starts to feel like something a whole lot more serious.

You’re on top tonight, helping the poor man destress after a particularly long day. His hands are cramping from hoee tight they’ve been gripping your hips, and he’s so lost in pleasure that he can’t remember if he’s trying to slow down your ride on his cock or guide you to orgasm even quicker.

What he does know, though, is that you’re breaking his damn mind. He can’t form a coherent fucking thought, not when you lift yourself up to eagerly just to drop back down on his cock. The sound of skin hitting skin and your breath hitching with each tiny bit deeper he manages to reach inside of you.

He looks a mess, eyes heavy and lips parted and hair strewn all over the place. He’s not even out of his suit—you just hooked him out of his pants because you were so fucking eager to take his cock to the base that you had no time nor care to undress him.

He loves it, how needy you get for him. He loves how good you feel on his cock. He loves the look on your face as you try and match your orgasm to his. He knows he’s close, and he loves the way you encourage him with a quickened pace and the prettiest of praise spilling from your lips.

“I love you, I fucking love you,” his hips jerk upwards as he cums—your own climax matching his in time and intensity. “I love you I love you IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou.”

You aren’t so sure if he means it, because for a solid few seconds as he lowers his head back against the pillow and returns from the high of his climax, he doesn’t register his own words. He’s mindless, senseless, speaking without thought or reason.

But you watch his pretty eyes widen, and his kiss-swollen lips part in surprise at himself. And before he can apologise, or try to take his words back, you shut him up with a kiss and affirm his thoughts in the same breath.

Yeah. He loves you.

it's been two weeks since kento has been inside of you. He's gone months, hell even years without sex before he met you and he was fine. he didn't even wish for it like most of his bachelor counterparts did.

but now that he's had a taste of you? two weeks may as well be a death sentence. which is ironic, giving the nature of this sex ban. everything you do is inviting: maybe it's just his underworked sex drive or maybe he's reverted back to his teenage years because he sure does feel like an impatient, entitled brat whenever you walk past him.

he can smell you. not the smell of your perfume you spritz on each morning. not the product in you hair. not the moisturiser you use. but you, the scent of your self, your body, the skin he's so often inhaled as he bit down between your thighs or up the column of your neck. he can smell the memories of sex, sweaty and tangled in pheromones and all things primal.

he can hear you. not your words or laughter or the way you hum absentmindedly when you're pottering around the house. he can hear that sharp little intake of breath when you accidentally, or not-so-accidentally, brush against him. he can hear that whining tinge to your voice when you tell him you won't sleep with him, that you're punishing him, as if its moreso a punishment for you than him. he can remember the way you'd moan for him, desperate and glassy eyed and oh so perfect for him as he ruins you from the inside out.

he can't take it anymore.

His fat form is good for many things. It's good for his job, obviously. It's good for combat and his brand, good for making him seem more approachable-

It's not good for intimacy.

Tai keeps the light off, as if that makes it any better. That way, he can't see your face when he sits down next to you on the couch. Surprisingly, you're quick to throw a leg over him, straddling his lap with wide legs.

"This is what you've been hiding from me?" you tease. Your touch is so liberal; you give it so easily, so much. Everything about you is pressing and touching and-

A hand on your hip to keep you apart for him.

"I know it's not..." he trails off. It's not a lot of things. The though won't form; his skin is buzzing too loud.

"I like you like this." You cup his cheeks in your hands, head tilted with an abundance of affection and a hint of mischief. "I like a big boy."

But Taishiro can't shake off the feeling that you're lying.

"It's okay." He laughs this time. "I know I'm not-- I know I'm not attractive like this."

He can feel your weight shift as you tilt your head to the other side, watching him in the dark.

"Give me your hand."

Both of your hands fit into his. Easily, you guide it to your mouth and kiss each knuckle, slowly, unrushed, each touch a love letter in itself. It's tender. So tender tgat he gives into you, lets you moce him how you need him.

Then, you drag it to your cheek, down your neck, all the way to the top of your collarbone. He almost pulls away on instinct, but your grip is firm and trustworthy. The give of your breast shocks the breath out of him, especially when you close your hands around his and force him to squeeze.

"Oh," he manages. He's never fully allowed himself this, never allowed himself to touch you, but now you make him. He's caressing your stomach, fumbling with your shirt--

Oh.

Oh.

His hand is suddenly down the front of your pants. Your panties are soft and lacey, but you don't give him time to admire that. No, you're pushing him lower, until his thick fingers are pressing between your folds-

"Tai," you whisper, right into the shell of his ear. "Am I wet?"

"Y-yeah."

Your hips roll into the palm of his hand and he's amazed at how your excitement slips between his fingers.

"Am I wet for you?"

His breath gets caught in his throat. "Yeah."

Your laugh goes so deep that it's almost a purr. Throwing an arm around his neck, your hips move again, this time more securely. It happens again, then again, then again, and your head dips low into the crook of his neck.

"Mm," your voice is buttery with want. "Yeah, I am."

It takes him a while to cut through the static thats built on in his brain and realize what you're doing. You're masturbating. You're masturbating using his hand.

"I'm so wet for you." Your body presses closer to his torso. "I want your fingers."

Oh, he should move, but he's just so gobsmacked that he can't. This has to be a dream, a hallucination-

"I want your cock."

Your tone tips up, wobbly and tender and ugly in the most delicious way, the way that makes his ribs open with want-

When you cum, it's with a garbled tone. If he weren't touching you, feeling how your pussy twitches and pulls and wets, he'd think you were lying to him, protecting his ego.

But, instead you chuckle, right into the shell of his ear.

Neither one of them remembers who suggested watching porn, but it was up on the television. The volume was turned down low, but the girl's voice still pierced through the silence as she rode, hips slipping down against her partner's.

"Fuck dude." Mattsun said. "You mind if I?"

His hands were already on the zipper. Makki didn't even consider saying no.

"Is it weird if we both have our cocks out?" Makki wiggled his sweatpants down, keeping his eyes forward. He'd seen Mattsun's cock before, but never hard, and certainly never while he was jacking off.

Mattsun's abandoned pants completely, legs spread wide enough that his thigh rubs against Makki's.

"She's so fucking hot," he says after a long stretch of silence.

"Yeah," Makki breathes back. He doesn't stop himself from watching Mattsun anyone. He admires the curve of his nose and the crook of his cock and-

"The guy's hot too."

Makki perks up a bit at that. Mattsun's never...

"Yeah. I guess." He tries to play it cool. "Nice cock."

Mattsun shifts and the contact between them grows firmer, more purposeful. A heat is building and Makki can't blame the porn.

"Your is nicer."

Makki clamps his hand at the base of his cock to stop himself from cumming. What the fuck. He's never reacted this way to a guy before, never simmered under the attention, but now the only thing he wants is more-

"Yeah?" Makki breathes.

"Yeah."

Is it obvious that he's stroking harder now? That he's going faster?

"Not as big as yours though."

that’s it.

EEEEEEK! <3

older bf!nanami is the one to show you how a real man should act in a relationship! he gives you your first taste of being doted on by a gentleman and god is he good at getting you hooked. he takes you on proper dates: out for dinner and movies and nights dancing. picks u up from college or school or work and he opens the door to his car for you and once he’s in his seat leans over to buckle you up n kiss your cheek at the same time :(

older bf!nanami is mature enough not to care about the things said about the age gap too. he knows his intentions and he knows what he has in you and he isn’t about to let someone’s opinion change that! plus his coworkers are a little sleazy and nanami doesn’t mind much the jealous looks they give him when u drop him off some lunch and stay a little too long to kiss him long and good!

older!nanami likes calling himself ur partner because boyfriend feels too juvenile for him. but you call him your boyfriend like it’s the biggest badge of honour in the world (it is) and so he takes it in stride!

sometimes you like teasing older!nanami about his age too. you’ll use slang in texts that he doesn’t understand and laugh at him when he learns and uses it in the wrong context. or you’ll pluck a grey hair (he swears you’re the cause of them) from his hairline and tell him all gooey that you love him even if he’s a grumpy old man :(

also he takes over all the paperwork. taxes n forms and files all belong to him now as long as u sit on his lap while he fills em out :))))) <3

(nsfw under cut)

nanami was truly insatiable.

when the wedding finally ended, and you got to the stunning villa near the venue, he didn’t take his eyes off you for a second as soon as you stepped inside. when you turned around and realized he hadn’t followed you, he loosened his bowtie, taking it off while undressing you with his gaze.

“go upstairs and take off everything except your veil. i don’t want to see a single piece of clothing on you. understood, mrs. nanami?”

you nodded and went upstairs to your room without hesitation. stripping off everything but your veil, you waited for your husband.

that night, nanami fucked you until morning without stopping. he bent you over and pounded into you relentlessly, watching your veil sway with every thrust, which only made him harder. by the end, not a single inch of your body was free from bruises or marks, because your husband wanted everyone to know who you belonged to when you went to the beach on your honeymoon.

touchstarved!dabi who starts to crave the feeling of your skin on his with an almost visceral pain. he can't help it; you're just so soft and warm and kind

touchstarved!dabi who nuzzles into your neck and nips at your ear hard as you ride him, whispering filth that makes your stomach drop, "going nice and tight around me, aren't ya, baby? let me feel you gush all over my cock, go on, you can do it"

touchstarved!dabi who goes absolutely feral when he's been away from you for any longer than a week, collaring you by the neck and dragging you into his room just to toss you onto the bed and hitch your thighs under his forearms, "show me how much you fucking missed me princess" (goodbye to your fucking guts)