Latest Posts by whorefornoodles - Page 4
gojo saying “oopsie daisy” when his baby girl falls over after her first steps could heal me !!!
like he can see she’s about to cry, bottom lip wobbling and big blue eyes all watery — so he scoops her up real quick and sets on her feet to try again. “oopsie daisy, thats no good.” gojo smiles at her to keep the tears in her eyes at bay. “let’s try again. you’re too quick for your own good, hot shot.”
and she’s like all giggly again, toddling around gojo :((
hockey au sero, who looks so much beefier with all that padding–
he wipes his broken nose on the back of his glove and sheepishly tells you that, yes, he’ll wear his helmet during practice from now on– he’ll wear his helmet ALL of the time
he’s always drinking mass gainers and protein drinks, begging you to go out to dinner with him after practice even though he’s all sweaty and tired, because he’s trying to keep his weight up during the season
let’s settle this shit but do NOT reblog if you’re gonna be modest about it like a little BITCH. anyway privilege check tell me which ones apply to you: hot, funny, can dance, can do math, can spell, can drive, can cook
leaky, thick cock virgins who wanna make you cum soooo bad but they just don't know how and and and you're just soooo pretty to them that they end up losing their mind, so excited to finally fuck you, so they hammer into you like a rabbit- no technique, no finesse, no skill whatsoever, but their dick is just so big that it hits everything it needs to anyways and has you seeing stars
if i was a star and you were a star i would wink at you and blink at you and twinkle at you and the earthlings would call it science.
i made a new tumblr account and apparently YOU CANT SEPERATE ANYTHING OUT.
The US Copyright Office is opening a public comment period around AI
American friends! The US Copyright Office (which we know exerts huuuge influence in how these things are treated elsewhere) wants to hear opinions on copyright and AI.
"The US Copyright Office is opening a public comment period around AI and copyright issues beginning August 30th as the agency figures out how to approach the subject."
We can assume that the opposing side will definitely be using all of their lobbying power towards widespread AI use, so this is a very good chance to let them know your thoughts on AI and how art and creative content of all kinds should be protected.
I speak to the LED atop the streetlamp. It pools purple light into the empty parking lot, gnats and moths orbiting around its head in an awful frenzy, like there isn't enough time in the world to marvel. light.
"Why are you purple?" I ask. It doesn't answer, but Google does; a component inside it has degraded faster than it should and what was once pure is now gone.
"I guess we have that in common." I lay down against the asphalt and enjoy how it digs into my palms. I imagine a chalk outline around my edges, markers confining who I am and who I was. I don't feel like I thought I would; a find kinship with the cigarette butt stuck to the futter
"Don't romanticize your sadness," the light says, without a mouth to say it.
"It's the only way I'll never be romanced." I reply. Behind it, I see nothing. No sky, no stars, no outline of my apartment complex - blinded by a man made mistake, "Besides, I'm comparing myself to a street lamp. Isn't that considered absurdism? Or just creative?"
The lamp stares back. "It's kind of sad."
ugh my god, stupid frat boy gojo that turns out to be nothing like he seems.
yes, he's always at parties and being loud and reckless, but you take a swig of his jack and coke and only get the coke—because he really doesn't like the taste of alcohol that much.
yes, he's dating a new girl once a week and being fawned over constantly and hitting on everyone he sees, but his pick-up lines actually suck ??? and all the partners he moves on from all kind of say the same thing, that he never stops talking and is actually kind of weird ?? the sex isn't good or bad because there's no sex, at all.
and he's also much smarter than he looks and actually studies a lot in the library late at night and is a better tutor in physics than you could ever expected.
just as annoying as you figured, though.
HEY who’s following me …
Osamu leaves his phone number on napkins as a way to flirt with you.
You find them everywhere. Anywhere. It’s almost always the same thing- a chicken scratched version of your name, a crudely drawn winky face, and his phone number. If it wasn’t his phone number, it was another silly flirt, cheesy as can be and making your cheeks heat up each and every time you catch it.
who needs the galaxy when the only stars i want are in your eyes?
if i could rearrange the alphabet, id put U and I together
your hand looks heavy… want me to hold it for you?
call me ;}
And you’d be completely smitten with these originally, rolling your eyes and telling him how inappropriate it was leaving little napkins scattered around the back of Onigiri Miya for you.
But you don’t have to. Because you’ve been engaged for seven months by now.
“You don’t have to waste the napkins like this,” you snip playfully, tossing a wad onto the desk he’s occupied at. “You could very easily just text me your silly ass flirts.”
He chuckles and shakes his head, standing up and strutting confidently towards you. “You wound me baby,” he says, pulling you in for an embrace. “Is it a crime to leave little love letters for my little love?” You fake a gag and he rolls his eyes before pulling you in for a hug, “besides, how will everyone know you’re mine if I don’t?”
“I wear a fat rock on my finger every day, we come in together, and I know you’ve given me marks that I’ve been unable to cover- trust me, I think they get it.”
He lets his eyes glaze up and down before settling on your lips again, “well what if I just want you to know I love you? Huh?”
“I come back here, and you tell me,” you offer with another kiss, which he takes happily. “You always tell me.” Your arms snake around his thick neck, fingers playing with the short hairs of his undercut just to hear him shiver. He settles his hands on your waist and gives you a small, playful pout.
“You really don’t like my napkin-flirts?”
“I don’t like you wasting napkins,” you snort. “Gotta leave some for the customers and staff, angel boy.”
He sighs dramatically, “fine. No more flirt napkins.”
“Good,” you say, smiling. In truth, it does seem weird that you’ll start walking into work without crude little napkins flirting with you, but it’s for the best. And it is weird for a few days, even to the point some of your staff asks about the lack of affectionate little notes.
But the strange feeling doesn’t last.
Instead, it upgrades to bright pink sticky notes, littered around the shop in a familiar fashion to the napkins, only now, stuck in place for you to find throughout the restaurant.
And every now and again, all over the house. All over.
But who would’ve known, he was right.
Because you’d be lying if you say you do hate the unprofessional little reminders.
hq men who’s grip tighten on your hips as you straddle them, groaning when they feel your teeth sink in the plush of their lips. their hands travel under your shirt up to your abdomen and you sigh into the kiss. pulling away, you buried your neck in the crook of their neck, kissing at the soft skin before you got up from their lap.
and you know damn well you left them wanting more.
| MATSUKAWA, ATSUMU, sakusa, bokuto, kuroo, suna, ARAN, osamu, IWAIZUMI |
“do you ever think about getting married?”
“um,” atsumu looks at you over his phone screen. “no? we’re babies, dude.”
“we’re twenty,” you sigh, and he watches as you kick your legs up and settle them over his, hooking a hand around your ankle and rubbing his thumb in circles over the nub of bone. “i want to get married.”
“you don’t even have a boyfriend,” he scoffs. “who’re ya gonna marry?”
“i dunno,” your eyes are heavy-lidded, hazy. talking for the sake of talking. he’s listening for the sake of you. “i want… a frat wedding?”
“a what?” he puts his phone down, dropping all semblance of disinterest.
“like, when the american universities have everyone get really drunk and do a pretend wedding for fun. i just want to put streamers everywhere and have a tacky balloon arch and pretend to get married. i want to wear a veil and a miniskirt.”
“okay,” atsumu says hazily, suddenly very aware of the shortness of your shorts and the bareness of the leg he’s touching. miniskirt… “let’s have a frat wedding.”
suddenly, you let out a big huff of air and tip your head back.
“what’s up?” he asks.
“i remembered i don’t have anyone to marry,” you explain. “so no fake wedding.”
you look so dejected, and the corners of your lips are turned down in a pout, and atsumu’s honestly still dedicating about 60% of his brainspace to miniskirt.
“i’ll marry ya,” he says, a little too quickly.
“really?” you say hopefully. “you know that means you’re gonna have to kiss me, right? in front of all of our friends.”
“sounds high-pressure,” atsumu says, lifting your legs out of his lap and setting them aside so he can leverage himself over your prone form. “we’d better start practicin’ now so i don’t embarrass myself.”
your son is in that age where he's throwing a lot of fits for not getting what he wants, and you get so fed up with him one day that you wrap him up tight in a blanket and scoop him up into your arms, hugging him to your chest so he can't move.
you come into the living room and tell katsuki, "look at this fussy little baby!" and you force a bunch of kisses all over his face as he squeals with laughter.
and then eventually katsuki takes him from you and rocks him around violently, before ticklingly him under his little pits. "a baby? didn't know we had another damn baby in the house,"
LIVE LAUGH LOVE FREAKS.
✧. ┊ “oh shit, yeah i love freaks.” ( 18 + )
╰┈➤ — haikyu!! men ; headcanons.
what kind of freaks the haikyu!! men are.
cw: pervy hq men, kinky bastards, need i say more? kuroo is mentioned twice bcs hes like a mix of both imo, lowercase & informal spelling + acryonyms intended !
OBVIOUS FREAKS
ATSUMU, oikawa, HONESTLY KINDAICHI??, tanaka, NISHINOYA, futakuchi, tendō, hear me out on hinata just a little, hanamaki, matsukawa, a little bit of kuroo, konoha, lev, sugawara, hayato, yahaba, koganegawa, bōkutō, suna, yamamoto, terushima, daishō, kuguri, inuoka, hoshiumi.
everyone knows they’re a freak and they aren’t afraid of that label too; in fact, they flaunt that shit like its a fucking first place, gold star, badge of honour medal for them. be careful around these men because whatever comes out of their mouths will not be pg 13. you need to run for the hills if sex is ever brought up in a conversation with these mfs because their horny has no off switch & they have zero filters. it is a daily battle to refrain from uttering the word “come” when talking to them. they could get a boner from the most random shit because it relates to some kink of theirs ?? like why are you hard from baking cookies,,, they’re the people who moan into the phone when their friend is calling their mom, yeah, those people. their one night stand stories are insane because crazy attracts crazy, meaning both parties’ kinks are equally as wild and thats a disaster waiting to happen. a one night stand with them will leave your body, mind and soul out of commission for a week straight because you will be physically broken and mentally unwell after being put through their crazy late night fantasies. they’re just preteen boys who never grew out of the hormonal horniness phase, or atleast learned how to turn it down a notch. most ( keyword; most ) of them are mr. hit it and quit it but they’re capable of finding someone, its just that their perception of woman is so severely warped by how much porn they’ve consumed they have impossibly high ( and strangely weird ?? ) standards so goodluck with that !!
SECRET FREAKS
KENMA, semi, shirabu, aone, yamaguchi, goshiki, kyōtani, osamu, kita, kunimi, akaashi, iwaizumi, kageyama, daichi, kawanishi, tsukishima, ushijima, did i mention kenma yet?, kuroo, yaku, kinoshita, ennoshita, washio, sakusa, akagi, hirugami, ginjima.
you would’ve never guessed they were one honestly, thats just how good they are at keeping it lowkey. their worst nightmare is their friends finding out what theyre like bcs they’d rather die than ever admit how needy and desperate they are. by the way they react to the very mention of sex you’d think they’re prudes or have never masturbated in their entire life because they’re either a) terrified and flustered of the topic or b) grossed out and disgusted as fuck BUT DON’T LET THEM FOOL YOU. they’re masters of acting cuz they’re actually the kinkiest mfs on the block and they’re probably even more wild than the obvious freaks when it comes to kinks. they probably read some nasty ass hentai to jack off to as well but you didn’t hear that from me.. don’t open their browser history btw unless you want to be traumatized indefinitely. their daydreams are so horny but you don’t even realize because they don’t show it on their faces, these mfs faces are STONE-COLD HARDENED. but just know that they’re imagining bending their crush over the teacher’s desk and rawdogging them for everyone to see in the middle of class while their teacher is explaining physics. they jack off in the shower and pretend they’re fucking their crush against the wall, and then proceed to do it AGAIN after their shower but this time against their bed.. most of them probably haven’t fucked in so long and thats why they’re like this bcs all their horniness has just manifested and multiplied x10. their kinks sometimes are more intense than the obvious freaks because these guys tend to like kinks that are so niche and bizarre that you didn’t even know they existed, and bcs they’re secretive about it their obsession with said kinks is greater than if they were open cuz its all bottled up and shit. once these mfs touch a women it is OVER FOR THEM !!
© TOKIYOVIE 2023 - please do not repost, copy or edit my works.
Imagine making out with him and he's holding you in place when he starts grinding against you, all the while scraping his teeth on your neck. You can feel his hardening length grow and you can only wrap your legs around him.
And the kissing
GOD THE KISSING Whenever you try to moan, he silences you immediately. His hot tongue makes your body turn to jelly. You let him violate your mouth cause it feels so good. His saliva is the closest thing to tasting nectar and you're addicted to it. You shiver as he slips his hands under your bra and fondles your soft breasts. You feel wet between your legs as he pinches and rolls your nipples with his thumbs, taking in your moans and whimpers. He knows where to touch you every time and how helpless you are underneath him.
When he pulls back, your body's flushed, your panting loudly, and eyes clouded with lust. You're the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen and so lucky to have you. He looks down and sees your lower region throbbing from the make out section. He moves to your ear and asks in a low, carnal voice 'Want me to help you with that babe?'
Your mind is all mush, but with what strength you have left, you spread your legs, showing your moist entrance. Your face pleading and hands resting on your inner thighs. He takes this as a 'yes' and you shudder when he licks his lips.
By the time he was done, you were in heaven. Your body relaxed after so much pleasure was bestowed upon you. His seed’s leaking out of you, with bite marks all over your body. The only memory you have is him laying his head on your chest, his strong, gentle arms wrapping themselves around you.
Bokuto, Kuroo, Dabi, Avocato, Atsumu, Tendou, Suna, Oikawa, Tanaka, Sakusa, Sugawara, Hinata + (your fav)
“tetsuro,” you bit out slowly, hardened glare zeroed in on the carpet that had been spotless before you left for work that morning.
“why are there red stains on our carpet?”
“please don’t be wine,” you think to yourself as you hesitantly approach the red blotch, seeing even more red blotches the closer you got. the frustration started to prick at your nerves even more.
that is until your husband’s response threw you into a state of confusion.
“because our carpet was witness to a miracle.”
you blink. “what miracle?”
“the miracle of life.”
you finally turn the corner into your living room to see your husband’s tall frame sitting on the floor, features softened as he gazed at the stray cat he often feeds on your back porch.
the stray cat that was currently tending to four tiny, newborn kittens.
“oh my,” you breathed out, your annoyance from earlier melting away as you took in the sweet scene before you.
moving to sit down next to kuroo, you felt his arm encircle your shoulders as he pulled you closer to him. the two of you sat there together, small smiles on both of your faces as a chorus of tiny mews and happy purrs filled the silence of the room.
“i left the window cracked open this morning and she must’ve climbed in. i guess she’s comfortable enough with us she wanted to have her babies here.”
“with the amount of food you give her, tetsu, i would hope she’d be comfortable with us.”
that earned you a chuckle from your husband. he then reached a hand out, letting the mother cat sniff him for a second before she affectionately nudged his fingers and began purring more. kuroo then rubbed her head once he felt he’d received permission.
“you did a great job, mama.”
standing to his full height, the nekoma grad reached a hand down to help you get to your feet.
“come on,” he said, excitement in his hazel eyes.
“let’s go make the world’s most luxurious nesting box.”
Premature Death
Drippin 💦
does anyone know the ex husband suna series where they almost end up tog again … i think the first one was when he has a date and can’t celebrate an event with her and so she bails on their rescheduled dinner and he just knows she’s upset about his date
NEW MATCH FOR @whorefornoodles
suna wants to message you. . .
netflix watch party? i'll doordash you concessions
OMG OMG OMG ok
fave hq: kuroo
least fave: the weird karasuno second year who likes lolita, i think his name is kinoshita?
fave other anime character: sero
cw: most likely inaccurate
it feels like you're very family oriented! whether that be blood or bond, your loved one's opinion matter dearly to you. within yourself is a deep sense of loyalty that you probably expect out of others as well
thinking about best friend!sero who buys a vibrating tongue ring as a ‘joke’. He gets it in the mail when you’re at his house, and you’re both laughing about it because surely something so small couldn’t really feel that good. and then he’s asking to try it on you and you’re struggling to hide the hitch in your breath and the squeezing of your thighs. laughing it off until— oh. he’s not joking. and then suddenly your thighs are clamping down over his head and your fingers are yanking at the roots of his hair. his hips are rutting into the couch and he’s moaning into your heat and—
IT’S ME, NOT HER (SUNA RINTARŌ SMAU) ♡
♡ synopsis after you drunkenly slept with the lead singer of one of your favourite bands, all you wanted to do was forget that it ever happened, despite how wonderful it was. much to your misfortune , the world, and he, wouldn’t. it’s a shame that instead of you, they found your best friend and cousin; the girl they thought was you.
♡ pairings suna x f!reader
♡ genre angst || hurt/comfort || crack || band au || smau
♡ warnings some depression || swearing || emotional manipulation || smoking || family issues || suggestive
♡ characters the fans || the band
♡ starting 11 august 2022 9 august 2022
♡ chapters one || two || three || four || five || six || seven || eight || nine || ten || coming soon
♡ status ongoing!
there are reasons why a body stays in motion
summary: you work too hard—kita knows it the second he meets you. he’s not expecting you to take him up on his offer. you don’t either, until you end up on his farm.
tags: shinsuke kita x reader, strangers to lovers, fluff, smut (oral, reader receiving), afab reader (no pronouns used, terms for body parts used("clit")), reader is a first responder, kita is a mother hen wc: 4.7k
the farmer’s market is quiet. mostly because it hasn’t opened yet.
you walk between stalls as the owners of them set up, smiling softly at those who greet you. it’s still a little dark out—the grass under your feet still a little dewy without a sun to warm it. if you were anyone else, you might still be in bed.
but you never made it to bed. in fact, you’ve been up for more hours than you care to count. that much is obvious by the way you sway slightly on your feet in front of Hanaka’s tomatoes.
“hey, you,” she murmurs, affectionate and maternal—reaching beneath the wood top to grab the coffee she’s brought you, as is your weekly tradition. “long night?”
“mm,” you hum around the plastic lid, tipping your head back. the coffee is a little bitter and a little grainy, but it doesn’t matter. truthfully, you’ve been up for so long that things are starting to lose their taste. in this case, that might be for the best. “on call. the phone just kept ringing.”
she nods, sympathy apparent on her face, and you know she understands. Hanaka is retired now—blissfully so, she says—but when you met, she was your coworker. she’d adopted you as some sort of pseudo-child, teaching you and looking out for you. it was a loss when she left, but you were happy she finally was getting to rest. when you found out she’d reserved a stall at the market, you made the effort to be there. even if it meant losing out on your rest.
“silly of you to come straight here,” she admonishes you sweetly, in the way that only she can. it makes you smile.
“and let the coffee get cold? never.”
she rolls her eyes, turning to busy herself with stacking deep green cucumbers into weaved baskets. you let your eyes roam the spread in front of you, reaching to brush a fingertip over the waxy skin of a tomato. your stomach growls—abrupt, and loud.
Hanaka snorts, shaking her head as she calibrates the scale. “head down the row,” she says, pointing in front of her without looking, “there’s a stand that does rice.”
you feel a bit like a zombie as you move among the crowd—still mostly vendors, until you can smell someone cooking. your feet bring you to a halt in front of a grey-haired man, shaping neat triangles of rice around what appears to be pickled cabbage and bean curd. your mouth waters.
"we're not quite open yet—oh." he pauses when he looks up at you, concern immediate and all over his face, "you need to sit down, darlin'?"
it makes you laugh. "is it that bad?"
he smiles at you, directing the man to his left to bring you a folding chair. you thank him, plopping unceremoniously into the seat. when you look up, there's an expertly assembled onigiri in your face.
"ah." it's warm in your fingers and you fight the urge to unhinge your jaw and shove the entire thing in your mouth. "thank you...?"
"Kita," he says, and his smile is kind in a way that feels a little disarming this early in the morning, "don't mention it. can't have you passin' out in front of my stall—s'bad for business."
you chuckle around a mouth full of rice—and holy shit, is it good. you try to tell him that, but to stop eating does not feel like an option. it makes him laugh.
"glad to hear it. can't take credit for the recipe—but the rice is from me."
"you're a farmer?"
"mm. have been for more than a few years now. just started comin' to the market though."
you nod, shoving the last of the onigiri in your mouth and greatly suppressing the urge to lick the stray bits of grain off your fingers.
he goes back to work, packing and shaping in a way that feels casual, but you have a hunch that the motions are some that he's practiced greatly. your lack of sleep emboldens you to let your eyes wander—his hands are calloused and careful, and it's obvious what he does just by the look of them. corded muscle flexes under sun tanned forearms as he shapes each onigiri with great focus, and you find yourself fascinated by the repetition.
"y'think you're closer to livin' now?"
you look up and find his eyes already on you, mirth all over his face. you grin, caught, warmth spreading up your neck.
"think so. what do i owe you?"
"nothin'," he waves you off, brown eyes crinkling. "just go take a nap."
you smile—warmed by his generosity. you get up and leave of rough estimate of coins on top of his register anyway. "see you later then, Kita."
.
..
later comes quicker than you thought. the very next week, as it turns out. you're a little more rested when you see him again, and it's the first thing he notices.
"y'look like you slept." he says by way of a greeting, handing you another perfectly formed onigiri—this time with pickled plum and what you suspect is salmon. it falls apart decadently in your mouth, the flavors complimentary and not overpowering against the rice. it's good.
"i did," you tell him around a mouth full, "wasn't on call last night."
he smiles, gentle around his eyes, as he watches you. "work?"
you nod. "social work—kids, mostly."
he crosses his arms over his chest, leaning against the counter. he considers you for a moment before he speaks again.
"so not sleepin' is normal for ya."
you shrug, avoiding his gaze. it's a little too early in the day to feel chastised by a man you only just met last week, even if he is admittedly a little handsome and insists on feeding you. he sighs, reaching for a stray piece of register paper.
"you like ducks?"
"like, the bird?" you look up at him, eyebrows arched in confusion. "yeah, i suppose i do."
he smiles down at the paper, scribbling a few lines down on it and handing it to you. "have a few babies that just hatched in the paddies. come by and see 'em if you ever feel like y'need a rest."
he waves you off, turning back to his work, and leaves you a little shellshocked as you look down at the paper. it has an address on it—for what you assume is his farm. you fold it neatly and push it down into the pocket of your jeans with the mental reminder of taking it out before you wash them. you shake your head, smiling to yourself as you turn and head back down the lane, dodging a few folks that are entering the market. you have a few hours before work—just enough time to knock out on the couch.
.
..
a few weeks later, you find yourself bouncing down a rocky lane, rice paddies on either side of the thin road. you figure you have to be in the right place, but feel a little nervous until you arrive to a little cabin at the end of the gravel, the numbers on your paper painted neatly on the side of the mailbox.
it's late—probably too late to be stopping by unannounced—but Kita didn't give you a phone number, and the day had been long. the thought of baby ducks and looking at anything that wasn't the blue light of your laptop felt like a lifeline.
he's leaning against the doorframe as you shut the car door behind you. you smile when you see him—maybe sneaking a little peak at the way his white t-shirt stretches around the biceps he has crossed over his chest. he doesn't say anything until you clear the porch steps.
"y'alright?" he asks quietly. it's a little startling—you're always careful not to let the effects of the day show. you feel exposed in front of him, and it has you shifting on your feet.
"i believe i was promised baby ducks."
the corners of his eyes crinkle and you find yourself genuinely charmed. he doesn't acknowledge your lack of an answer, and you're grateful for it.
"sit," he says, gesturing to a wooden rocker on the porch, "i'll grab 'em."
you do as he says, leaning back and taking in the view. the sun simmers a deep red on the horizon, bathing everything in it's hue. the paddies stretch on for what feels like miles. the house itself feels like an island—the one lane road it's only connection to life beyond it.
the rocker creaks as you push your toe against the porch, swaying gently back and forth. it's quiet, save for the chirp of the cicadas and the occasional bloat of a bullfrog. you jump when you feel something furry rub against your shin.
you look down and are greeted by an orange cat with the most round cheeks you've ever seen. old and a little ratty, it chirps at you, headbutting your leg.
"hello there," you smile, bending forward to scratch behind it's ears. "where'd you come from?"
"that's Barn Cat," Kita says, trudging up the wooden steps. "he hangs out in the fields."
you chuckle, looking up at him. "his name is Barn Cat?
"yup," his grin is contagious. you let your eyes roam around him, looking for the ducks he was supposed to get. they stop on the pouch he's created out of his shirt—widening as you hear several little quacks come from inside of it.
"hold out yer hands," he says, standing in front of you now. you do as your told, and a few seconds later, there's a teeny tiny baby in your palms.
"oh my god," you breathe, not quite able to wrap your brain around how something can be so small, "oh my god."
Kita chuckles, smiling when you look up at him. something about it brings you back to this moment—you're suddenly very aware that you've interrupted this man's evening and ordered him around at his own house.
"i'm sorry for showing up like this," you say quietly, running a fingertip over the downy-soft little body that's now nestled in your lap.
"no need. i'm glad yer here."
you can feel that the smile you give him doesn't quite reach your eyes, and you know that he notices.
"long day?"
you hum, watching the tiny duck tail twitch in its sleep. suddenly feeling a little envious of the rest it's able to get, and how simple its life will be. wake up, swim around, eat bugs, go to sleep. it won't ever think about anyone else. its little conscious will always be clear.
"yeah," you murmur. "it was."
he moves to sit down in the rocker next to you, smiling at the little duck that has taken up all of your attention. when you look up, his eyes are gentle and unwavering from yours. you're certain he's looking too deeply, but you know there's nothing you can do.
"i should get going," you say, mostly to convince yourself that it is true. Kita's mouth turns downward for only a moment, and then that soft smile is back again.
"give me yer phone," he murmurs, extending a hand toward you. you shrug, pulling it out and handing it to him. he types something quick and hands it back to you, Shinsuke Kita and a phone number on the screen.
"meant it when i said you can come by anytime," he tells you, hand lingering still in your space. "call me if ya need anything."
.
..
you get to texting, after that. it's funny—he's a man of few typed words, so you learn about his days through pictures. a criminally early shot of the rice paddies. the baby ducks that look bigger each day. Barn Cat sprawled out in the sun on the porch. dinner there, too—filleted tuna and rice under a waning sun. sometimes he calls, when your schedule allows it. the low timbre of his voice through the speaker frequently (and embarrassingly) lulls you to sleep. you have a hunch that he does it on purpose.
you've showed up at the farm enough times now that you're unable to use the excuse of the ducks anymore, especially now that they're bigger and far less cuddly, but neither of you acknowledge it. he starts showing you around. walks across narrow paths in the fields become excuses to bring you inside—into his home. the cabin is quaint and cozy, and decorated in a way that surprises you. pictures cover the walls—some of Kita as an adult, but mostly of Kita as a child, which makes him bashful and you smile. you stop at one of him as a chubby toddler, sitting in the lap of a woman he's clearly the spitting image of.
"that's gram," he says quietly, behind you. "this is her place. i moved out here when she got sick, and then i just..."
"stayed," you whisper, tracing the edge of the frame with your fingertip. he hums, closer to you now.
"didn't feel right t'leave."
you think it's admirable, but you don't want to embarrass him, so you keep it you yourself. he leads you down the hall, pointing out rooms as he goes—bathroom (you can't hide your surprise at the massive clawfoot tub in the center of it. he just shrugs, continuing down the hall—flushed up to his neck. it makes you smile.), guest room ("mostly unoccupied," he says, and you wonder if it was intentional). his bedroom is slightly larger than the guest room and considerably less decorated, but still tastefully so—the bed is large and looks temptingly soft, and the dresser adjacent to it is an antique, heavy and well-loved. you both linger in the doorway, coated in warm lamp light and shoulders brushing, not talking much and still saying a lot between you.
"you hungry?" he asks, voice a little gruff. you shrug, following him into the kitchen. you take a seat at the bar stool on the other side of the counter, watching him work.
he doesn't ask what you want and truthfully, you know he doesn't need to. there hasn't been a time yet that you haven't liked something Kita's made you. he moves with the same fluidity and grace he does at the market—he prepares your food with the same care, too. you watch him blatantly, this time. his brow furrows a little as he plates it. it's cute—it makes you ache.
you're expecting it to be good, but this is really good—unagi over rice, soft and chewy when it hits your tongue. you groan audibly, savoring each bite. Kita grins at you across the counter.
"good?" he asks, even though he doesn't need to.
you nod emphatically, not bothering to pause long enough to answer him.
"good." he looks awfully proud of himself. that ache twists in your chest again. "don't make it too often. glad ya like it."
it's quiet between you as you eat—you try to leave a few extra for him because he was nice enough to make you something so luxurious, but it's hard to stop yourself.
you linger in the cabin for the next hour or so, finding every reason to stay until you can't anymore.
"y'know," Kita mutters, looking a little shy, "yer welcome to stay in that guest bedroom. s'not like anyone else uses it."
he goes red immediately and it makes you smile. you fight yourself hard to keep from teasing him.
"i have to work early tomorrow," for the first time, that fact feels disappointing. "but i'd be happy to next time."
the smile he gives you leaves you a little breathless. "be careful gettin' home."
.
..
next time comes sooner than you thought it would.
the weekend comes and you shoot him a text, asking him what he's doing tonight. his reply comes immediately—whatever you're doing. come over—i'll cook.
you sit outside to watch the sunset after dinner. it goes down past the hills, extinguishing the light like the flame of a candle. you kick your feet out over the rail in front of you. the cicadas sing from their perches in the trees and the paddies look like an undulating, dark sea from where you sit. the only light is the dim bulb above your head, and the stars don’t pay it any mind. bright and shining, you can’t remember a time that you’ve seen so many.
“do you ever get lonely?”
he’s watching you—you can feel your skin warm where his gaze lingers, but you keep yours in front of you. Kita’s been the picture of hospitality, sweet in the way he’s shown care to you—but he’s seldom talked about himself. you feel vulnerable, toeing the line. he’s silent for a moment, and then it stretches on long enough that you start to regret asking.
“s’hard to, out here with all of this noise.” he says it lightheartedly, but you wonder if he’s deflecting. you have your answer a moment later when he says, quieter, “at night, mostly. y’notice when yer the only person for miles.”
you hum, picking at a splinter in the wooden arm of your chair. you feel the same, somehow. though you have trouble understanding how you can feel lonely being around as many people as you are. you tell him as much.
“they don’t really see you though, right?” he asks, but it’s rhetorical. “you help ‘em but it’s one sided. they remember what y'did but they don’t know who you are.”
it never fails to rattle you, his ability to see right through you. your face heats. “that’s the way it should be.”
“sure,” he says, smiling softly. “but it weighs on ya.”
you tuck your knees under your chin and close your eyes—frustrated, knowing that he's right and still wanting to fight him on it. you jump when his knuckles brush against your own.
"i didn't mean to upset ya, darlin'."
"you didn't," you murmur, shaking your head and willing your limbs to relax, "you're right. i just wish you weren't."
he smiles and keeps the back of his hand pressed to yours. it's a sonic interruption to the silence—you're so aware of the warmth of his skin that you feel it in your eardrums. you wonder if he can, too.
it's a while before you speak again—to bid him goodnight, even if you don't want to.
"goodnight, darlin'." his voice is low and soft, nearly a whisper over the cry of cicadas. you still hear it like he screamed it. "extra quilts're in the closet."
it makes you smile, how he can't help but make sure you're comfortable. it would be easy to mistake it for something else—something more.
"goodnight, Kita."
.
..
you get in the car and drive on muscle memory alone. eyes burning, you dial the number you now know by heart.
"hey darlin'," Kita's voice comes through the speaker like a warm blanket. it helps to settle you.
"hi," you croak, immediately wishing you'd taken a minute to get it together before you called him.
there's a pause. "you been cryin'?"
"only a little." you don't see a point in lying to him. "you around?"
"yeah, i'm here—where are you? i'll come get ya, don't want ya drivin' out here upset—"
you let out a wet laugh, shaking your head. "i'm alright, Kita. i'm already halfway there. i just wanted to let you know i'd be over."
there's another pause, and you can hear the way he's fighting with himself on the other end of the line.
"alright," he says finally, "be careful."
he's waiting on the porch steps when you pull up to the cabin. you're barely out of the car before he's pulling you into his chest. new tears threaten to spill over into the fabric of his shirt. you can feel the way he softens himself to hold you—like you'll shatter in his arms if he's not careful.
"c'mon," he whispers into your hair, "let's go in."
he takes your coat (and your shoes, and your bag) before he's pulling you closer again—keeping you tucked under his arm like something will swoop down and snatch you up if he's not careful. you'd laugh if you weren't soaking in every second of his affection like a sponge.
"can i run a bath for ya?" he asks, reaching to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. the callouses on his fingers brush the curve of it and it makes you shiver. you nod.
he only leaves you for a few moments before he's back, corralling you down the hall and into the bathroom. there's a pile of comfy sweats folded and set on the toilet, and a fluffy towel hanging on the hook.
"holler if ya need anything."
you smile at him, a little more genuine this time, and he leaves you to it. you strip the clothes from your body slowly, hoping that if you do it right, the day will come off with it. you sink down into the warmth of the water and sigh. your eyes start to burn again as you lean your head back on the rim of the tub, this time just at Kita's kindness. you feel guilty for relying on it.
you feel guilty knowing you've been keeping what's in your heart hidden from him.
you use his soap, knowing you'll smell like him—knowing it won't be enough to satiate the longing you feel, but doing it anyway. you're not sure when it started—if it hadn't been there all along—but it's been tearing up your insides for months. he makes it worse with the way he cares for you. it's almost cruel.
you drag yourself out of the tub eventually, drying off in record time just to be swallowed by his clothes , soft and warm and smelling of him. you brush your hair out in the mirror and tie it up on top of your head. you feel a little more like a person now.
Kita's up and hovering at the end of the hallway as soon as you open the bathroom door. you manage a little laugh this time—mostly content and only a little guilty, letting him mother hen over you. you close the distance between you, looping your arms around his middle. you feel him relax, just a little bit.
"you need to talk about it?" he asks, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and pulling you closer. you shake your head. "alright. come lay down."
he penguin walks you down the hall, grinning when you laugh. he moves right past the guest bedroom and into his.
he arranges you on the bed to his liking—cocooned in blankets and reclined against his pillows. he lays down next to you, on top of the comforter. respectful of your space, even if you wish he wasn't.
"thanks for taking care of me," you whisper, turning your head to look at him. "sorry for turning up like this."
his eyebrows knit together like he's never heard a more wrong thing in his life. "i'll have ya any way you turn up."
you blink at him, feeling like you've short circuited. you huff out a laugh, closing your eyes. "how unfair."
"mm?"
you open your eyes and feel stuck, pinned to the bed underneath his stare. there aren't many other options than to spill your guts onto his sheets.
"you make it hard not to love you, Kita."
he freezes, eyes locked on yours. your stomach ties and unties itself, but you can't look away.
it's another agonizing moment before either of you even breathes, and then you blink, and he's hovering over top of you, hands planted on either side of your head.
"say it again."
"i love you." it feels like the easiest thing you've ever said.
"tell me i've got it wrong," he rasps, leaning in to nose along your cheek.
"you don't."
your hand fists around the material of his shirt and you yank him down to your waiting mouth. it feels exactly the way you knew it would—warm and soft, not unlike the feeling you get every time you walk through his door. it’s gentle and unhurried, and you know he knows no other way. you let him break you apart slowly.
he pulls away from your lips, only to press soft kisses to your cheeks, your chin, your brow bone. his mouth brushes against your temple and to your horror, you let out the world’s most pitiful little moan.
his eyes go wide as he looks down at you, flushed and breathing hard beneath him. your fingers still tangled in his shirt, he closes his own around them and brings them to his lips. he keeps his eyes on you when presses them to the sensitive skin of the inside of your wrist.
you feel no control of your reaction—your eyes flutter closed as the rest of you shudders underneath him. it’s so little and it’s almost too much. you know he’s figured you out when you’re able to meet his gaze again—deep brown filled with as much adoration as they are hunger.
“tell me what you need, darlin’.”
"your mouth," you whimper, feeling hot.
"where?" his smile turns a little wicked, still pressed to your skin.
"everywhere."
if you were overwhelmed before, it would pale in comparison to this—his kisses turn hard and heavy, soft lips sucking harsh bruises into your skin. you keen and whine underneath him, writhing both toward and away from his searching mouth. he doesn't take his sweatshirt off of you—he just pushes it up to kiss every inch of skin it exposes. he only pauses to check in with you, only stopping for a second to ask half of a question you'd already started answering before he'd asked it.
he cradles your waist in strong, wide hands and bends down to lap at your navel, nipping sensitive flesh, tongue slipping inside the dip of your belly button.
your hips buck violently, whimpering into the crook of your elbow while you reach down to card your fingers through silver strands. you feel yourself making a mess of his sweatpants.
"please, Kita," you hiccup, nearly slurred in his onslaught. he hums against your skin and you feel it in your belly.
"s'alright sweetheart," he murmurs, pressing gentler kisses between your hipbones, taking the elastic of the sweatpants down with them. "i got ya."
he reduces you to something less than human with the hot slide of his mouth against the inside of your thighs, licking and sucking his way up to where you need him the most and then back down, too far away. it takes a wholly unreasonable amount of begging to get him there, and to get him to stay.
"please, please i just need—oh," your spine bows off the bed and then pulls taut at the feeling of his tongue sliding slowly through your wet heat. he lets out a groan at the taste of you, and you watch through hooded eyes as he grinds his hips into the mattress.
one hand keeps a steeled grip in his hair, and the other one sneaks under his sweatshirt to pull at your nipples. it's sensory overload—the feeling of the pebbled flesh under your fingers and the way Kita suckles gently on your clit has you squealing. he opens his mouth, panting and tongue lolled out, encouraging you to ride it. you don't need to be asked twice.
every snap of your hips against his face pulls a weak moan from him, and a louder one from you. everything is wet and hot and your thighs shake around his head with every drag of your achy clit across his tongue.
"Kita," you whimper, feeling the warmth start to spread, "gonna cum—i'm—"
it damn near melts you into the mattress. every muscle in your body contracts and then releases, leaving you immobile under his tongue. he holds your thighs apart, sucking on your clit while you shake and cry under him. it doesn't stop—every brush of his tongue pulls another dizzying contraction from deep inside you. he only relents when he's licked up every last drop of you.
he kisses his way back up your body and you feel like you're on fire. when he presses his lips to yours again, finally, it douses it. you only smolder underneath him now.
forehead pressed to his, you can't help but let out a little giggle. he grins, his pretty mouth pulled up in the corners, and presses another round of kisses to your jaw.
"i love you," you sigh, pulling him closer. he hums.
"i love you," he nips at the point of your chin, "and you're callin' out sick tomorrow."
there's nothing in your heart that wants to argue with him.
happy misandrist gojo monday
positions | m. issei
tags: fluff, mildly suggestive content
issei never knew how much he loved touching you until he was granted unconditional permission to do so. he thought he was relatively independent and someone who didn’t need as much reassurance or physical affection compared to other guys around him, like oikawa and hanamaki or even iwaizumi.
he thought he’d be fine, satisfied, content with just having you sit next to him or holding your hand or just being near you.
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