Just Wanna Bake With Nanami So Bad, So I Can Accidentally Touch His Big Ass Male Titties . Nanami Just

Just wanna bake with Nanami so bad, so I can accidentally touch his big ass male titties 😩. Nanami just let me love you and touch your titties

high enough | haitani r.

haitani ran x fem!reader

summary: ran didn't know why he kept coming back to you when he knew the risks involved--or he supposed he did, he just wasn't willing to confront it yet.

warnings: sub!reader, dom!ran, bonten timeline, unprotected sex, a bit of gentle manhandling, mentions of gang violence and wealth disparities, angst + hurt/comfort undertones (? kind of i guess)

notes: ty teepot n eris n (eventually) kat for betaing sobs @sakusins @kxeyas @sano-obsessed

y'all this piece might be the one im most proud of i s2g i actually love how it turned out

He didn’t know why he was here. The air was cold against his skin, bitter on his tongue and the sky was dark, the only thing illuminating the street around him was the distant, flickering street lamps. Sirens and gunshots resounded through the air--a few streets away, he pinpointed, too close to you.

He should move you out of this area, but as soon as the thought raced through his head, he felt distinctly uncomfortable. He shouldn’t care this much. He shouldn’t care at all, really. You were a nobody--a random girl he had met at a bar a few months back that he used to relieve the stress that being a Bonten executive weighed on him.

But if you were a nobody, then why did he keep coming back?

It was easy for him to rationalize if he ignored a few important points. Sleeping around put him more at risk in regards to dangerous situations--fuck around with the wrong person and he might just be ending the night with a bullet lodged in his skull or a knife cutting open his neck. Sticking to one person, at the very least, lowered those chances. 

But even as the thoughts ran through his head, he knew that it wasn’t so simple. Sticking with one person brought other risks--risks of leaking sensitive information, risks of enemies pinpointing a possible weakness. It brought vulnerabilities that he just wasn’t quite able to accept because it would ruin any possible rationalization he might have to come back to you so often.

A particularly loud gunshot caught his attention, narrowed eyes shifting down the street toward where it came from, fingers drifting to curl around the loaded gun holstered at his waist. You lived in one of the shittier parts of the city--an area caught in the crossfires of the brutal, ongoing gang war between Bonten and its rivals.

It was dangerous for him to be here, the logical part of his brain reminded himself. There were hits on his head with bounties that would put oligarchs to shame, coming to this part of town with no back up, no one knowing where he was, no plan in case things went wrong, it was as good as a death wish and yet he found himself at your doorstep every other night. 

He was playing a dangerous game, a game of Russian roulette that he knew would end with him losing but he couldn’t bring himself to stop pulling the trigger. 

Go back to the apartment, he told himself but even as the thought raced through him he was pulling the trigger yet again--fist rising to knock heavily on your door. 

It was late--well past two in the morning but you were a night owl, you were usually up til the sun rose and slept well into the afternoon. And a part of him wondered if he had any hand in your odd sleeping schedule, he was sure that it hadn’t been this fucked before the two of you met but the thought conjured a warm feeling in his chest that he wasn’t willing to try to decipher. 

He waited a few moments before his chest began to curl anxiously. 

Why weren’t you answering?

His nails dug into his palm as he considered what to do--knock again? leave? 

He brought his fist back up against the door, knuckles rapping hard and rapidly against the wood. A series of worst case scenarios began to flood his mind--what if they realized what you were to him? 

You weren’t anything to him, he tried to argue back immediately but the sinking feeling in his chest was proof enough that you did mean something to him. 

His throat felt like it was closing up, the air around him becoming heavy, suffocating, he couldn’t breathe--images of you limp and bloody on the other side of the door flashing through his head, tied up and scared, wounded and unable to move, dead. He ignored the way his hands shook as he took a step back, preparing to kick in the door himself just so he could make sure you were alright.

But he didn’t have to. Just as he was about to drive his foot into the door, it unlocked from the other side and a numbing sense of relief swept through him as his eyes fell upon you standing in the doorframe, eyes sleepy and confused and trained on him. 

He could breathe again. 

Another blank.

Your nightgown hung off your shoulders as you brought a hand up to rub at your left eye, a yawn slipping past your lips, “Ran,” you murmured, “I didn’t think you were coming tonight, I would’ve stayed up. ‘m sorry. How long were you waiting?”

“I didn’t mean to wake you up,” his voice was colder than he intended for it to be and he hated the way your lips tugged down, and he hated himself for being this way, “I can go.”

“No,” you reached out, your smaller hand grabbing his and he stiffened instantly. Your hand dropped back to your side when you noticed his reaction, “Come in, it’s late, you looked exhausted.”

Ran opened his mouth to protest but didn’t get the chance, “Please,” you said quietly and Ran faltered, eyes unable to meet yours.

It’s late, whatever is going on down the street is getting closer--it isn’t smart for him to be wandering around in this area with the Bonten tattoo branding his throat, he rationalized as he stepped into your home. 

“You need to be more careful,” Ran said as you shut the door behind him, relocking the door with a flimsy chain that even Kokonoi Hajime would be able to kick down if he wanted to. He would have to get it replaced with a stronger one. “What if it wasn’t me behind that door?” 

Your lips pulled up into a soft smile that did something to his heart that he did not like. You looked back at him from over your shoulder, “I’m not one to linger on ‘what ifs’,” you told him. Ran looked down at the floor, unsure of how you could live so carefree in such a dangerous area. “You should go change out of that, I’ll go get you a glass of water.”

You didn’t wait for a response, walking in the opposite direction. He only stared after you for a moment, lips turned down, eyes heavy as you disappeared from sight. And Ran tried to pretend that he didn’t know the way through your home like the back of his hand, despite the confusing twists and turns of your hallways, ones that most people would end up getting lost in. He tried to pretend he didn’t recognize every little ding in the wall, every little stain in the wallpaper; he tried to pretend that he didn’t know which floorboards to step over, the ones that were worn out due to storms and the passage of time that you couldn’t quite afford to get redone. 

His shoulders were tense and stiff as he pushed open the door to your bedroom and he still continued to pretend--he pretended that the clothes tucked away in one of your drawers weren’t ones that he had ended up leaving during one of his nights staying over, ones you washed and cleaned despite the fact that you could barely afford detergent and your washing machine was on its last legs, even if it meant taking out some of your own clothes to tuck his away safely in your dresser. 

He ran his fingers through his hair, purple and black strands falling loose around his face. He let out a heavy breath, chest tight as he unbuttoned the red-stained shirt and tossed into the bin next to your dresser--casually, too casually, like he would in his own apartment. 

He felt ill. 

His eyes caught the cracked mirror resting against the wall by your dresser and his lips twisted even further down when he noticed the bruises lining the left side of his body—almost hidden, but not quite, by the dark tattoos decorating his skin. 

You would notice, you always did.

He hesitated as he reached for one of the cloth undershirts of his that you had stored in your dresser, an uncomfortable feeling stirring in his chest. What was he doing? He shouldn’t be doing this. 

He shouldn’t be doing this.

But it was addicting, you were addicting, you brought him a type of high that no amount of drugs or alcohol could hope to give him and he couldn’t bring himself to give it up, give you up. Even if he did know deep down it would be for the best; even if he knew it could get him killed, get you killed. 

A shattering of glass, a shriek, the trigger was pulled again, this time by his invisible opponent. 

Ran was moving in an instant, tearing out of your room without a second to waste. His shoes slammed against the floorboards, his lungs burned, his eyes were wide and he felt the world collapsing around him. Ran was fast, he knew that, he’d always been the fastest in whatever gang he was in--Tenjiku, Rokuhara Tandai, Kanto Manji, Bonten, no one could ever keep up with him--but in that moment he swore that time must have been against him, his feet felt like they were dragging against the floor, sinking in quicksand, it was like he was trying to run through waist-deep water and the tide kept pulling him back, preventing him from getting to you. 

His heart was in his throat as he turned the corner into the kitchen, gun in hand--he hadn’t even noticed he had pulled it from where it had been strapped to his waist. 

His heart was beating in his chest so loud that he was sure you could hear it, his eyes were wild as his gaze darted around, trying to figure out what had happened until his gaze fell upon you on the floor, eyes wide and trained on the gun in his hands.

You were on your hands and knees, glass shattered beneath you that you were trying to pick up with your bare hands, water pooling below you. His heart rate slowly calmed down once he realized what had happened--you dropped the glass. The raised gun fell to his side, his shoulders relaxed.

He could breathe again.

Another blank. 

You gave him a small, apologetic smile, “‘m sorry,” you said again, and he hated when you apologized--especially to him, “the glass slipped.”

You were unbothered by the gun in his hand, relaxed even, and Ran wondered if that had to do with the fact that you were used to guns and violence considering the part of the city you lived in. Or was it that you just trusted him that much? The latter thought made that warm feeling in his chest return. He pushed it away. 

He couldn’t move as he watched you clean up the glass, his feet were glued to the floor, holding him in place even as his mind told him to move forward and help you so you don’t end up cutting your hands. 

He didn’t understand you. He wasn’t sure if he ever would. He didn’t know why you kept willingly letting him into your home. You knew who he was, what he did--you had to, even if he had never explicitly told you. Everybody knew what the tattoo branding his throat meant, and the area you lived in leaned heavily toward Bonten’s enemies and they had received plenty of intel that their rivals were using civilians as their eyes and ears to keep an eye on Bonten’s movements without risking their own men. 

You knew who he was, what he did, you knew the risks that came with associating with him and yet every night he found himself at your doorstep, you opened your home, your arms, your bed for him. You took him, you gave him something to look forward to after long grueling days of blood and pain instead of drowning himself in drugs and alcohol trying and failing to forget old memories and what he had turned into, what he had dragged Rindou into. 

It had never been enough, no matter what he took, no matter how much he drank, the memories haunted him, fear consumed him--fear of what could happen to him, to his few remaining friends, to Rindou. 

It had never been enough--not until he met you at least, and all thoughts of trying to deny how much you meant to him disappeared as he watched you chat easily about your day at work. Your words went in one ear and out the other as his mind raced. You had become important to him quickly, too important, too quick. You had become the light to his darkness, your home a sort of sanctuary that he had never had experienced until he met you. 

You were good to him--too good. Sometimes he wondered if he was ruining you, a poison that was slowly eating away at your health, an acid corroding your happiness, your stability, your future; and sometimes he wondered if this was just a cruel, elaborate ploy from his enemies, showing him what love was like and then ripping it away.

His world stilled, his vision tunneled onto you.  

Showing him what?

Anxiety began to twist in his stomach, curl through his limbs, ice cold fear began to spread through his body and that familiar fight or flight feeling took hold as his breath quickened. Every instinct told him to run, protect himself--weakness, vulnerabilities, they weren’t allowed in his line of work. Every weakness brought disaster, every vulnerability brought death. He had seen it time and time again with friends and enemies alike. 

You’ll get yourself killed, you’ll get her killed, and he was about to turn on his heel--flee your home in an effort to protect himself and the one thing that might bring him genuine happiness--but then you looked at him as you stood from the floor, tossing the shattered glass into the garbage can, and you smiled, and Ran was selfish. God, he was so fucking selfish because instead of turning on his heel and leaving--making the choice that ensure you weren’t targetted by his enemies in attempts to get to him--he moved forward.

You let out a soft hum of surprise as Ran brought his hands to your face, large palms cupping your cheeks, fingers tracing your skin, toying with your hair and you inhaled sharply when he pressed his lips to yours, gently at first, his lips moving slow in time with yours, a special dance that only the two of you knew.

He knew that it was wrong, that he was risking your safety for his own selfish desires, but Ran couldn’t stop himself. He tilted your head up, one hand sliding behind your head, fingers entangled with your hair to hold you impossibly closer, and he could feel your fingers trembling from where they were wrapped around his forearms, he could feel the way your eyes fluttered shut as you relaxed into his touch.

And Ran thought it was sickening how you could be so at ease with someone like him, so willing to give into him, so happy to give into him. He didn’t deserve it, he didn’t deserve you, he was selfish and inherently cruel and he was undeserving of your love when there were so many better men out there that could treat you better than he could, give you the stability and safety that you deserved.

But unfortunately for them, and unfortunately for you, Haitani Ran was not a good man--a good man would have let you go so that you could make the best of your life, would have given you the means to get out of this shitty area so you could live a life free of crime and danger. But Ran was not a good man, and instead of pushing you away like he should, his grip tightened. 

His hands slid down your body, wrapping around your thighs to lift you and you gasped into his mouth, legs wrapping around his waist and arms circling his shoulders. You pulled back slightly, lips parting to speak but Ran didn’t give you the chance, leaning in again to capture your lips with his, tongue tracing the inside of your bottom lip. 

He knew you were probably confused, he could practically predict the question on your tongue--Ran had never been one to display affection like this, the most he kissed you was when he was half-drunk on your pussy and not thinking straight, and he didn’t want to answer the question you were bound to ask. He wasn’t ready to verbally admit the conclusion he had come to--verbally admitting it made it real, and Ran wasn’t ready to face the consequences of it being real. 

And it was unfair to you, he knew it was. He kept you in limbo, wondering each night if he would show up, wondering what you really meant to him, and you deserved better than that, better than him. 

His grip tightened on your thighs and you let out a soft moan into his mouth, your arms fell from around his shoulders, delicate hands coming up to his cheeks instead. Ran’s eyes slid shut as your fingers traced his cheekbones, nails drawing gentle patterns on his skin. And you always did this and he was quite sure he would never be used to it. His breath shuddered against your lips and he tried to hide it by kissing you deeper, his tongue running against yours, tasting the mint on your breath. You had always touched him softly, from the first night up until now, and it was another thing he would never understand because Ran was rarely ever gentle with you--he tried, he swore he tried but soft touches to your skin would always turn into bruising, borderline painful grips as he desperately tried to fuck away the pain and fear and stress that laid so heavy on his shoulders. 

But it didn’t matter how many unintentional bruises he left on your hips and thighs, ones that caused his chest to swell up with guilt when he woke up before you the next morning to slip out before you could try to convince him to stay, you would always cup his face gently the next time you saw him, tracing your fingers over his scars and tattoos, showing him a type of tenderness that he had never experienced in his entire life before you.

His throat felt tight as the slow kiss began to shift into a far more needy one, his teeth nearly clashing with yours as he leaned in closer, stepping from around the kitchen counter to lead you down the narrow halls toward your room. And yeah, he had to admit that it was harder to pretend that he didn’t know all of the little nooks and crannies of your home when he kept his lips pressed to yours, not even bothering to look where he was walking as he brought you back to your room.

“Ran,” you gasped against his lips, “What’s wrong?” 

Instead of answering, Ran pressed his lips to the underside of your jaw, trailing hot, wet kisses down your neck, making your words melt into soft moans next to his ear as his teeth grazed your skin and his lips massaged bruises on your neck. Ran let out a groan into your skin as one of your hands slid behind his head, intertwining with his hair, nails scratching his scalp as he laid you back on your bed.

And it was crazy, really--your bed creaked underneath the two of you, the mattress dipped, and he knew his bed back at his own apartment was objectively exponentially more comfortable than yours but he had never felt more at home, never slept better than when he was laid up with you in yours.

He dragged his lips back up your skin to your lips, arms braced on either side of your head, body heavy on top of yours. Your legs tightened around his waist and Ran bit back another groan as he rolled his hips against yours, feeling you whimper against his lips.

He carried his weight on one arm as he brought his other down between your bodies, and then between your thighs to slide your panties off. He smiled against your lips when he wasn’t met with the pretty silk panties he was used to. 

“Thought you weren’t expecting me to show up?” he murmured against your lips and you giggled, eyes bright as you looked at him and the warm feeling in his chest grew and he couldn't even bring himself to push it away this time.

“I was still hopin’ you would,” you said, leaning up to press a soft kiss to his lips that had him dizzy and reeling. His throat was tight as your lips left his, head falling back against the pillow and he couldn’t stop himself from chasing your lips, pressing them hard against yours with a type of desperation that he didn’t know he had in him.

As if you could sense the turmoil within him, which you probably could if he were being honest, you matched his intensity. Lips slipping against his messily, hands sliding across his shoulders, smoothing out over his skin, tracing his tattoos and making his body shudder, and Ran fumbled to undo his button and unzip his slacks, brows furrowing in frustration.

A curse slipped from his lips as he failed to undo the button again, but he paused as he felt your hands cup his cheeks, lifting his face to force him to look at you.

“Relax,” you said quietly, voice smooth and gentle and at once, all of his frustrations seemed to fade away, “There’s no rush, we’ve got all the time in the world, Ran.”

Ran’s breath was shaky as your hands drifted down his body, undoing the buttons with ease and he let out a moan as your fingers slid up and down his cock, hips bucking into your hand as you freed him from his pants. 

There were a million words on his lips—telling you that you didn’t have all the time in the world, that there were so many risks, so many dangers, that he was sorry for dragging you into this life and that he was sorry for not being a good enough man to let you go. 

But nothing left his lips—he did not voice his fears, he did not apologize, instead he kissed you more intensely, holding the side of your face hard, hoping to convey all that he couldn't speak aloud through his actions.

Your fingers wrapped around his cock gently, languid strokes that had him gasping against your lips, eyes fluttering shut. 

He bit down on your bottom lip, tugging it, and his eyes slid back open, meeting yours, questioning.

You gave him a small smile, and it was all of the answer he needed. He reached down with one hand, a large hand wrapping around your thigh and lifting it, pressing it up against your chest and hooking your leg around his shoulder and then repeating the process with your other leg. 

His jaw clenched as the tip of his cock nudged against your entrance, slipping against the slick and sliding between your folds. He bit back a low groan as you gasped but couldn’t hold back the moan that fell from his lips as he began to push his cock into you at an agonizingly slow pace.

Your legs were trembling on either side of his head, chest heaving and your nails were digging into his bicep as you tried to control yourself but the fluttering of your walls gave you away. Heavy pants escaped your lips as he bottomed out into you—walls contracting and squeezing him so good that it nearly had him whimpering.

And he watched as you braced yourself for the hard, heavy thrusts you were used to—the ones that would knock your breath out of your lungs and have you dumb and drooling into the mattress by the time he was done with you; that would have him out of breath and sweating, thighs tense and shaking as he emptied his load into you for the third or fourth time of the night.

But this time was different—slow, deep strokes that had your jaw slack and eyes half-rolled back. He could feel every inch of your walls as your cunt tightened and fluttered around his cock. Each roll of his hips had your thighs twitching and trembling and your toes curling as Ran let out shaky breath while he turned his head to the side, pressing his lips against your ankle as he continued the steady pace.

Each drag of his cock against your walls had his arms tensing and flexing on either side of your head, shaky groans that he couldn’t quite hold back spilling from his lips as your cunt clung to him like a lifeline—wrapped around his cock so tight that each slow roll of his hips had his eyes knocking back.

“Fuck, baby,” he gasped into your skin as he buried his face into your neck again, “Feel so good.”

And you were letting out barely intelligible babbles, begging him to fuck you faster, harder, but Ran couldn’t bring himself to do it—the new pace unlocking something primal within him, a warm unfamiliar feeling that had heat pooling in his lower stomach and spreading across his body like a wildfire.

He forced himself to pull his face from the crook of your neck, pressing his lips against yours again, and he inhaled sharply through his nose as your babbles for more shifted into high pitched whines and desperate moans. 

His lips brushed yours, breath mingling and creating a dizzying sensation that had him light headed. His eyes traced your face, hips stilling against yours as he watched your eyes water, glassy and unfocused and barely trained on his face, lips wet and swollen. 

You were beautiful—you were always beautiful but right now….

He brought one hand to cup the side of your face, watching as you instinctually leaned into his touch, eyes lidded and glossy, filled with a sort of intense love and trust that had never been directed toward him his entire life. You looked at him as if he weren’t Haitani Ran, a wanted criminal, a gang executive, a murderer and a liar and a coward.

Or maybe you looked at him like that because he was Haitani Ran.  

His throat felt tight, his heart felt heavy.

“I love you,” he breathed out before he could stop himself and he watched as your eyes widened, if only slightly, but he didn’t give you the chance to let his words register, instead leaning down to press an open-mouthed kiss to your lips as he began to rock his hips into you again.

He fucked himself deep, deep into you—as if he couldn’t get close enough—his slow place gradually shifting into a faster one. Your walls clung to his cock and he was letting out low groans into your mouth as he felt your cunt spasm around him.

You were close, he could feel it in the way your hips were rolling up to meet his, he could hear it in the way your moans were becoming breathy as your voice shook, in how your arms were wrapping tight around his shoulders, trying to hold him as close as possible.

“‘m gunna cum,” you sobbed against his lips, “‘m gonna cum, Ran, I-“

You didn’t get the chance to finish your sentence, one particularly sharp thrust of his hips had your jaw going slack and your eyes rolling back, body spasming beneath his. Ran let out a low groan, lips pressed to your jaw as the feeling of your walls contracting tight around him pushed him right over the edge—mind hot and fuzzy as he spilled his cum deep inside of you.

He panted against your skin, body heavy on top of yours as you went limp beneath him, chest rising and falling rapidly as you tried to recover from your high.

Ran let out a hiss as he let his cock slip out of you, rolling onto his back to pull you onto his chest. Your eyes were tired and droopy as you looked up at him and Ran let out a soft hum, bringing one hand up to cup your head as the other traced patterns on your skin.

“Ran…” your voice was soft, shaky, you still sounded half out of it but there was a question in your eyes that made him anxious.

“Go to sleep,” he murmured.

“Will you be here when I wake up this time?” your eyes were sad, your lips wobbled, and Ran’s heart was in his throat as he looked down at you.

The words spilled from his lips before he could consider what they meant, “I will.”

And he supposed the relief and adoration on your face was worth the fact that he would have to confront questions that even just the thought of made him sick and fearful. But you rested your head back down against his chest, eyes fluttering shut and breath evening out and Ran knew he wouldn’t have the heart to go back on his word—not with you.

He toyed with your hair as you slept soundly on his chest, his own eyes slowly drooping shut as exhaustion took hold. He leaned down, pressing his lips to the top of your head once before letting his head drop back against the pillow, and as he slowly allowed himself to drift off to sleep to the sound of gunshots and shouting in the distance, he couldn’t help but wonder how many blanks were left.

—-

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@fruitl00ps is my 3D soulmate, argue with the wall ✌🏼

Bitches nowadays are jobless and without some decent dick to choke on.

Sorry but it’s my Bday !!!

i want to warm ran’s cock 24/7 in my mouth.