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allthatjazz416 · 1 month ago

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Kakucho NSFW 💛

"Pussy Worship" Kakucho smut Tags: AFAB!Reader! PussyWorship! Oral(AFAB receiving)! Creampie! WorshipKink! SoftDom!Kaku BreedingKink! CockWarming! Wordcount: 2.7k! Note: HI! I'm not that active as I was in the summer, college is draining me💀 Yeah! Kaku fic... my Bonten Masterlist was looking empty lol. divider crdts: @/cursed-carmine

Your thighs tremble in his hands, spread wide open on either side of his head as Kakucho looks up at you like he’s about to pray.

Not to a god. To you.

"You’re so fucking beautiful down here," he murmurs, voice low and reverent, his breath fanning warm over your soaked cunt—already flushed, already dripping. His gaze doesn't waver, eyes fixed on your folds like he’s memorizing the shape of you, the way you glisten for him.

His thumbs press into the crease of your thighs, spreading you open just a little more as he leans in. He doesn’t rush. Doesn’t dive in with hunger. No, Kakucho worships. His lips ghost over your inner thighs, leaving slow, soft kisses that make your stomach flutter.

Then—closer.

His lips brush the mound of your pussy, then down further, parting your folds gently with the flat of his tongue. He breathes you in.

“You feel how warm you are?” he murmurs, tongue dragging through your slick, slow and deliberate. “You smell so good, baby.”

He licks again—long and firm, from your dripping entrance all the way up to your clit—then does it again, a little slower, savoring it.

“You taste even better,” he breathes, voice thick with need. “So fucking sweet…”

His hands tighten around your thighs as he sinks in again, burying his face between your legs like he needs to drown in you. His tongue works in lazy, deliberate strokes—up and down, then side to side, circling your clit like he’s teasing it awake. He hums softly, the sound vibrating through your core, and you gasp as your hips jerk.

He presses you back down without a word, forearms pinning your thighs open, nose nudging your mound while his tongue flattens and drags over your clit again.

His mouth is everywhere. He kisses your folds like he’s memorizing them, tongue slipping between them to taste more, more, more—each pass a slow indulgence. He doesn’t chase your orgasm. He draws it out of you with quiet patience, soaking in every shiver, every twitch, every moan that escapes your lips.

Every so often, he’ll hum low in his throat, savoring the flavor of you like fine wine, and the vibrations make your thighs twitch harder. You don’t even realize you’ve been panting his name until his tongue swirls around your clit again and you gasp—sharp, broken.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, voice deep and husky, “just like that. Say my name again, baby. Let me hear how good I’m making you feel.”

His tongue dips back down, lapping at your entrance now, drinking you in like he’s parched. Then he fucks you with it—just barely, just enough for you to feel the obscene slide, the hot, wet intrusion that has you clutching the sheets beneath you like they’ll keep you grounded.

You’re so wet, slick pooling beneath you, dripping down your thighs, smearing his chin. He’s completely soaked in you, and it only makes him hungrier. He groans deep in his chest as he pulls back just enough to watch a string of your arousal cling to his mouth.

“Fuck, baby,” he breathes. “You’re leaking. Making such a mess for me.”

He doesn’t wipe his face. He leans back in, mouth open, tongue flat and slow as he licks a wide stripe up the length of your pussy. It’s filthy. It’s worshipful.

You jerk at the contact, nerves still crackling from his tongue, your thighs instinctively trying to close in around his head. He doesn’t let them. His hands slide up your hips, firm but patient, holding you in place like he’s anchoring you to the edge of bliss itself.

“Stay open for me,” he murmurs, lips brushing slick heat. “Let me see everything.”

He lowers again, tongue working deeper now, lapping into your cunt like he’s trying to memorize how you taste. Every stroke is slow and intentional. He’s not rushing. He’s savoring. His nose presses into your mound, his mouth sealing over you, tongue dipping in and out, slow and teasing and so wet.

You can hear it. The obscene, wet sounds of him devouring you like he needs it to breathe. Your entire body trembles, stomach tight with heat, your orgasm building low and steady and thick.

Your fingers find his hair, threading through the strands as you moan his name again, more desperate this time, more pleading. He hums again, tongue curling inside you, and that little vibration makes your hips lift from the mattress.

“That’s it,” he growls softly, dragging his tongue up and wrapping his lips around your clit again. “Give it to me, sweetheart. Come for me. Let me feel it.”

His voice is so rough, so desperate. He wants it. Not for himself, but for you. He wants to feel you break on his mouth. To taste it. To hear it.

He sucks your clit gently, tongue flicking against it with a rhythm so precise, so loving, it drives you to the edge all over again. You’re shaking now, hands tugging at his hair, back arching. Every muscle in your body is tight, heat unraveling in your stomach, your thighs, your core. You can't stop it. You don't want to.

You come hard, pussy pulsing around nothing, slick gushing out of you as a sob escapes your throat. Your vision whites out for a moment, your whole body clenching and twitching beneath him as he keeps going, licking through every wave like he's addicted to the way you taste when you fall apart.

He groans into you again, and you can feel his cock rutting into the mattress, desperate for friction. But he still doesn’t stop. He keeps licking, slower now, softer, easing you through the comedown with tender strokes and quiet praise.

“God, you’re incredible,” he whispers against your cunt, kissing it gently. “So sweet. So good for me.”

You’re limp beneath him, still catching your breath, chest rising and falling in uneven little gasps. He presses one last kiss to your clit, then pulls away, chin wet, lips swollen, face flushed like he just finished a workout.

When he crawls up your body, he kisses your lips without hesitation, and you can taste yourself on his tongue. His cock is pressed against your hip now, hard and leaking and throbbing. But he doesn’t move to fuck you just yet.

“You okay?” he asks, brushing your hair back. “You still with me?”

You nod, too breathless to speak.

His hand cradles your jaw. “Can I make you feel even better?”

You don’t need to answer. The way you part your legs for him is answer enough.

He kisses you again, slow and deep and reverent.

“Thank you,” he whispers into your mouth. “For letting me love you like that.”

Then he shifts his weight, presses the thick head of his cock against your entrance, and slides in.

Your breath stutters.

You’re still slick from his tongue, still pulsing from your orgasm, and he sinks into you with almost no resistance. The stretch is deep, perfect, dragging a long moan from your lips as he pushes inch by inch, slow and careful, letting you feel every bit of him.

His forehead drops to yours, his breath hot and shaky.

“Fuck,” he groans. “You’re so tight. So warm.”

You can feel him everywhere—thick and heavy inside you, twitching slightly as your walls flutter around him. He stays still once he bottoms out, chest pressed to yours, just breathing. Just feeling.

“You’re still fluttering,” he murmurs, voice hoarse. “Still so sensitive.”

His hips roll forward, just a little, and you cry out softly. He swallows the sound with a kiss.

“Too much?” he asks, cupping your cheek.

You shake your head. You’re already addicted to the way he feels, the way he holds you like you might disappear. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer, and he takes that as his answer.

He starts to move—slow, deep thrusts that grind his cock into your softest spots. Each one knocks the air from your lungs, not rough, not fast, just devastating in how precise he is.

“Fuck, baby,” he breathes, his voice caught between awe and desperation. “You feel like heaven.”

Your legs wrap around his waist, and he groans when your heels press into his lower back, urging him deeper. He gives it to you. Gives you everything.

The rhythm he finds is smooth and consuming, each thrust stealing a little more of your sanity. He fucks you like he’s trying to memorize this too—the way your cunt sucks him in, the way you gasp his name when he brushes that one perfect spot.

You whimper into his shoulder, nails scratching lightly down his back.

“That’s it,” he says again, that same worshipful tone he used when he had his mouth on you. “Take it. Let me give you everything.”

His hand snakes between your bodies, fingers finding your clit, already swollen and sensitive. He rubs slow circles, matching the pace of his hips, and your whole body clenches.

“I want you to come again,” he says, voice rough with restraint. “I want to feel you soak my cock.”

You’re already close, the overstimulation tipping you into something higher, shakier, more desperate. Your legs tighten around him. Your hips lift to meet every thrust.

And when he leans down to kiss your neck, breath hot and needy, everything inside you coils impossibly tight.

“Kakucho,” you gasp, the sound raw. “I’m—fuck—please, I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he says, fucking you a little harder now, a little deeper. “Come on. Give it to me. Let me feel how much you need me.”

And you do.

You come with a cry, back arching off the bed, cunt spasming around him, soaking his cock as your orgasm rips through you. He groans at the feeling, biting back his own release as he fucks you through it, still rubbing your clit, still kissing every inch of skin he can reach.

When your body goes limp, trembling and slick with sweat, he finally lets himself go.

“Gonna fill you up,” he growls into your neck. “Wanna come inside this perfect pussy. Want you dripping with me.”

One more thrust, and he’s there. He buries himself deep and stills, cock throbbing as he spills inside you, thick and hot and endless.

You can feel it. Every pulse. Every drop.

He stays like that, breath ragged against your cheek, his arms wrapped tight around you as your bodies shake together.

And then he kisses you—soft, slow, grateful.

He stays like that, breath ragged against your cheek, his arms wrapped tight around you as your bodies shake together.

You can feel him twitching inside you, cock still nestled deep, his cum slowly starting to seep out around the base. He doesn't move. Doesn't pull out. He presses a kiss to your temple, then your cheek, then your lips—slow and warm, like he's still catching his breath between each one.

"You're perfect," he murmurs against your mouth. "I could stay inside you forever."

Your body is buzzing, boneless from release, but there's a dull, aching pulse between your legs that hasn't faded. You shift beneath him, just enough to feel his cock stir inside you again, still half-hard, still thick and warm.

He groans softly at the movement, his hips twitching. "Careful, baby. I'm still sensitive."

But you move again, slow and deliberate. His breath catches. His arms flex around you.

"You really wanna keep going?" he asks, voice husky, already sounding wrecked. "After everything I just gave you?"

You nod, lifting your hips just a little, grinding up against him. "You're still hard," you whisper. "Feels like you don't wanna stop either."

He growls low in his throat, and just like that, the restraint in his body slips again. He grabs your hips, pins them down, and thrusts—deep, slow, filthy.

"You want more?" he breathes, fucking into you with a punishing grind. "Even with my cum still dripping out of you?"

You moan, loud and helpless, and it only spurs him on. His cock is already stiffening again inside you, revived by the way your slick, overstimulated cunt clenches around him.

“Fuck,” he mutters, voice rasping as he thrusts again. “You’re insatiable.”

He sets a new rhythm, harder now, his hands gripping your hips like he needs to anchor himself. You’re soaked, sloppy from everything he’s already given you, and every time he drives into you, it’s deeper, messier, hotter.

He leans over you again, eyes dark and blown wide with heat.

“I’ll give you more,” he growls. “I’ll fuck you until you can’t take it anymore. Until I feel you come on me again.”

His pace picks up, cock dragging against your sore walls, forcing your body to respond even through the overstimulation. And the worst part is—your body loves it. You tighten around him again, crying out as that sharp, coiled pleasure builds once more, too raw and too fast.

Your nails dig into his back, not to push him away, but to ground yourself—because it’s too much. Too good. His cock feels like it’s everywhere, fucking you open again with thick, deliberate thrusts that make your vision blur. You’re still raw from the last orgasm, from how he licked you clean before filling you up, but that dull ache is burning into something sharp and hungry.

“Yeah,” he pants against your mouth, “you feel that? You’re sucking me in. So greedy for it, baby.”

He fucks into you harder now, grunting as your cunt clenches around him with each thrust. Wet sounds echo in the room, obscene and endless, the slap of skin against skin and the filthy squelch of your slick spilling around his cock with every deep grind.

Your legs tremble around his hips. You can’t stop twitching, can’t stop gasping, every stroke of his cock pressing so deep it knocks the air from your lungs.

“Kaku—please, I’m gonna—”

“I know,” he growls, voice rough and desperate. “Come again. I want to feel you soak me. Show me how much more you can take.”

He shifts his weight, changes the angle—deeper, crueler—and suddenly he’s right there, hitting that spot that makes your back arch, that makes your mouth fall open in a silent cry. He doesn’t let up. He won’t let up. His fingers return to your clit, rubbing tight circles, wet and messy and perfect.

Your orgasm hits like a wave, brutal and hot, your body locking up around him, cunt clenching hard enough to drag a feral moan from his throat.

“Fuck, that’s it—fuck, baby—”

He curses again as you spasm around him, as your slick gushes out around his cock. He’s still fucking into you, erratic now, rougher, desperate to chase his own release as your body trembles beneath him.

“You want it inside again?” he grits out, pace stuttering. “Want me to come even deeper this time?”

You nod wildly, whining his name, and that’s all it takes.

His thrusts snap deep once—twice—and then he’s spilling inside you again with a raw groan, cock throbbing as he empties himself into your already soaked cunt. He doesn’t stop. He stays buried to the hilt, grinding in shallow, shaky thrusts to milk every last drop, your walls still fluttering from aftershocks.

He leans in, kisses you hard and messy, full of teeth and breathless moans, swallowing the tiny noises you can’t hold in.

When he finally stills, his cock is twitching inside you, your pussy a wet, overstimulated mess around him. You’re leaking both your releases, dripping onto the sheets, both of you panting like you ran miles.

But he doesn’t pull out. He keeps his hips pressed flush to yours, keeps his body wrapped around you like you’re something sacred.

"Still wanna stay inside you," he whispers, voice hoarse. "Don’t think I’ll ever get enough of this pussy."

And from the way you cling to him, legs tangled, cunt still pulsing softly around his cock, you don’t want him to leave either.

The End 🤍

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allthatjazz416 · 2 months ago

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Nanami NSFW 🎀

"His favorite position" A short Nanami fic Tags: Fem!Reader (Can be GN? Mentions of female genitals but mostly focused on penetration) MatingPress! BreedingKink! Creampie! DirtyTalk! COCKWARMING! Possesive!Nanami! NoPullingOut! WordCount: 1.6k Notes: HIII! My classes have finally started so I wont be able to be as active as I'd like anymore 😭 But yeah, I've had mating press brainrot for a bunch of characters but focused on Nanami. Dividers:@/cursed-carmine & @/cafekitsune

Nanami likes to watch you like this.

Pinned beneath him, folded nearly in half, your legs up in the air, cunt stretched wide around the thick base of his cock.

“You always take me best like this,” he mutters, voice gravelly as he bottoms out again, slow and brutal. “Fucking made for it.”

His favorite position.

And you know it. You can tell by the way he looks at you—calm, controlled, but wrecked just beneath the surface. Eyebrows furrowed, jaw locked, a thin sheen of sweat dripping down his neck as he holds your thighs apart and grinds in deeper.

Your moans are high and sharp, voice cracking as he angles his thrusts to hit that spot—that one spot—over and over again, relentless and mean in the way only Nanami can be. Focused. Exacting. Punishing.

“ M’so tight,” he breathes, watching your face twist with every grind of his hips. “So perfect for me...”

Skin slapping against skin in hard, steady rhythm. Your cunt squelches wetly with every thrust, obscene and loud where he's buried so deep inside you, dragging against your walls like he’s trying to carve himself into your body.

You swear you can hear it more than you can think—the drag, the slide, the stretch of you swallowing him down again and again.

And he loves it. You can see it in the way his eyelids go heavy, in the way his hips rock just a little harder when your wetness gets louder, dripping down your crack to soak the sheets under your ass. He pulls back almost all the way—just enough for you to feel the stretch at the rim, the unbearable emptiness—and then slams back in with a grunt, hips crashing against yours so hard your thighs jiggle where they’re pinned against your chest.

“S-Shit—Kento—!”

You sob through it, toes curling where they hang limp in the air, body jolting under every brutal thrust. There’s no room to move. No space to breathe. Just the weight of him above you, the thick press of his cock inside you, and the way the whole bed shakes beneath his rhythm.

You’re not even sure he can stop.

“You're taking all of me,” he mutters, voice low, wrecked, almost like it’s paining him. His brow furrows deeper, sweat dripping off his temple. “It’s too much, isn’t it? But you’re still letting me in.”

He pushes in deeper, impossibly so, until his cockhead grinds flush against the deepest part of you, until you’re gasping and twitching and going dumb under him.

And then he grinds.

Not thrusts—grinds, slow and deep and heavy, hips rolling into yours so you can feel every thick inch press up into the softest, most tender parts of your pussy.

It’s disgusting how loud it is.

The wet, sloppy slap of your cunt sucking him back in. The sharp, rhythmic clap of his pelvis pounding yours, echoing off the walls. The choked, breathless cries he fucks out of you with every grind. The way your body sloshes, overstretched and full, every time he pushes his cum deeper inside you.

You feel used, absolutely—owned. Marked.

Your hands scrabble weakly at his biceps, nails digging in like you need something to hold onto before you fly apart. But Nanami doesn’t waver. His breathing is rough in your ear, a strained growl buried in every exhale.

“You feel that?” he murmurs again, lower this time, almost to himself. “Still fluttering around me.”

He sounds... fascinated. Like he still can’t believe how good you feel every time he sinks into you. Like he doesn’t want to stop. Doesn’t plan to.

You whimper, broken. “Kento—so big… So full…”

He doesn’t hush you. Doesn’t argue. Just presses his forehead to yours, lips brushing your cheek like a secret.

“I know,” he says, voice a quiet rasp. “But I need a little more.”

And he means it. He doesn’t pull out.

Doesn’t give you a moment to breathe, doesn’t even let your legs drop from where they’re still folded against your chest. He shifts just slightly, readjusts his hips and pushes in deeper somehow, grinding slow as if he’s trying to mold your cunt to the exact shape of him

You clench again, involuntarily, and he groans—low and breathy—as your walls squeeze around him, still drenched, still sucking him in like you want him to stay there forever.

“Look at you,” he murmurs. “Still so fucking wet.”

And you are. Loudly. The wet squelch of your overstretched pussy surrounds every grind of his hips, each slow thrust a vulgar glide through the mess he’s already made inside you—slick with his cum, your slick, sweat, everything.

Your legs tremble where they’re still pinned tight to your chest, thighs pressed to your stomach, knees near your shoulders. You can feel your own slick dripping down the backs of them, pooling beneath you, every slow grind squelching louder, wetter, nastier.

You can’t stop moaning—each one more cracked and wrecked than the last.

His pelvis slaps into you again, deep and punishing, and you sob, fingers clawing weakly at the sheets.

“You’re doing so well,” Nanami breathes, lips brushing your cheek, your jaw, your mouth. “Taking everything. Every time.”

You whimper, trying to kiss him back, but you’re too gone, lips parting around a shaky gasp instead. He doesn’t mind. Just kisses your temple, your hairline, thrusting slow and deep like it’s the only thing he knows how to do.

It’s torture—deliberate and focused. The kind only Nanami can give.

Each grind of his hips presses you harder into the mattress, cock dragging through oversensitive walls, still soaked with the last orgasm you haven’t even come down from.

He pulls back just an inch—just to feel your pussy tighten—and then sinks back in with a low groan, deep enough to knock the air from your lungs. It’s so much. Too much. You’re full, stretched, trembling under him, twitching with every roll of his hips.

“You feel that?” he murmurs again, his voice hoarse now, his composure finally starting to fray. “Still sucking me in.”

You choke on a cry, legs shaking hard as you clutch his wrist, the one beside your head, needing something to hold.

“I-I can’t,” you whisper, breath hitching. “Kento—please—”

He kisses the corner of your mouth, slow, sweet, so at odds with the filth of what he’s doing to you.

“You can,” he says again, not even trying to be stern—just sure. “One more. Just for me.”

Then he fucks into you harder—not faster, just deeper. More deliberate. His hips snap forward with purpose, each thrust heavier, rougher, angled perfectly to rub against that devastating spot deep inside.

Your whole body goes tight, voice caught in your throat, and he feels it—feels the way your cunt clamps down, how your legs jerk where they’re trapped between you.

“There it is,” he breathes, lips brushing your jaw, your neck. “That’s it. Let it go.”

And you do. Again. Pathetically, beautifully.

You come with a soundless cry, body arched, mouth open, eyes rolled back. Your pussy clenches around him so hard he nearly loses it—has to grit his teeth and hold still, fingers fisting in your hair as he tries not to break.

But you won’t let him. Not with the way you’re still fluttering around him, still wet, still twitching.

He pulls out an inch. Just one. Then pushes back in again, slow and shaking.

“Fuck,” he gasps, finally. “I’m—gonna fill you up again, sweetheart.”

But this time, there’s no question.

No asking. No hesitation.

Just a quiet, deliberate snap of his hips, a low groan in your ear, and the final, brutal grind as he stays buried to the base. Deep. Possessive. Intentional.

You feel it before you hear it—the way his cock twitches, hard and insistent, followed by the hot rush of cum flooding your already soaked cunt. Thick. Endless. So much it starts to leak before he’s even finished, pushed out by the sheer force of his orgasm.

Nanami moans, low and wrecked, his head dropping to your shoulder as his hands slide down your sides, holding you still. Holding you open. His weight presses into you, thighs trembling slightly as he ruts through the last waves of it, cock pulsing inside your fluttering walls.

He’s breathing hard now, voice raw.

“Filling you up,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you. “That’s right… take it.”

Your legs twitch around his hips, overstimulated and weak, but you don’t pull away—and he doesn’t let you. He just stays there, thick and warm inside you, like he belongs.

His cum oozes around the base of his cock, hot and messy, dripping onto the sheets beneath you. And still, he doesn’t move.

He presses his forehead to yours again, breath mingling with yours.

“I’m staying,” he murmurs, voice low and sure. “I know you don’t like it when I leave right away.”

There’s a faint exhale through his nose—almost a laugh, almost a sigh—as he brushes his lips against your cheek.

You whimper softly, eyes fluttering shut, body still trembling with the aftershocks.

“Gonna keep you like this a little longer,” he says, quieter now, his hand smoothing the damp hair from your forehead. The same hand that held you down, that touched you like he owned you—now careful, reverent. “Let it soak. Let it take.”

You don’t say anything. Can’t. You just nod, small and dazed, your breathing finally slowing as the weight of him settles over you—his cock still nestled inside, his cum still warm and spilling where your bodies stay joined.

And Nanami kisses you again. Unhurried. Deep. Tender in a way that makes your chest ache.

He doesn't move to pull out. Doesn't even try.

Just holds you there, exactly how he wants you—folded under him, filled, and his.

The End! 🤍

348 notes · View notes

allthatjazz416 · 2 months ago

Note

ummmm so YES pt. 2….. 😋

Kenma NSFW🎮

"Stream's over, baby" Kenma TIMESKIP fic. PART 2! Tags: Fem!Reader! ChairSex! Creampie! PraiseKink! EstablishedRs! Edging! SoftDom!Kenma! NoAftercare! Wordcount: 1.5k Notes: Okay, HI! My classes are starting so theres that...haha... Heres part 2! divider crdts:@/cursed-carmine Part 1!! here

His other hand slides down between your thighs again, fingers slipping through the mess he made. “Still fluttering,” he murmurs, watching your hole clench around nothing. “Think you’re ready to take me now?”

You whimper—something weak and wordless—as his fingers dip between your folds again, collecting slick from where it’s still dripping down your thighs. You’re raw. Still fluttering. Over-sensitive and aching. But you nod anyway.

You don’t care how full you feel—you need him now. Need more. Deeper. Thicker. Him.

Kenma makes a soft sound—more breath than voice—as he drags his slick-coated fingers up to your clit, brushing it in a circle that makes your hips jerk and your whole body shudder.

“Still twitching,” he murmurs, like he’s just taking note. “Didn’t even calm down yet.”

You shake your head. It’s too much. It’s not enough. Your thighs are trembling, muscles already locked tight from cumming too hard, and your pussy clenches helplessly every time he touches you—still fluttering around nothing, begging for more.

He exhales through his nose—slow, steady—then slips a hand under your thigh.

“Turn around,” he says, calm as ever. “Wanna see your face this time.”

You barely register the words before he’s manhandling you—lifting you up just enough to slide you off, only to settle you back down facing him. Your legs straddle his hips now, trembling against the arms of the chair, your hands braced on his shoulders for balance. His hands settle on your hips, holding you still for a moment as he looks at you—really looks at you—with that same unreadable calm he always wears. But his gaze is heavy now. Lidded. Feral under the surface.

“There,” he murmurs, eyes flicking up to meet yours. “Better.”

Then he leans in and kisses you.

Not rushed. Not rough. Just full lips pressing into yours. Slow, deep, warm. He kisses you like he has all the time in the world, like you aren’t shaking in his lap or soaked through from your own orgasm. His mouth moves over yours, coaxing it open, tongue teasing yours with a quiet sort of hunger.

It’s dizzying—soft and filthy all at once—the way he holds your hips and kisses you like he’s claiming every inch.

You whimper against his mouth, thighs trembling, and he pulls back just enough to breathe the words against your lips:

“Gonna fuck you just like this.”

He shifts under you, the leather seat creaking with the movement, and you feel the blunt head of his cock brush against your entrance. Thick. Warm. Heavy.

You gasp when he doesn’t push in right away. Just lets it sit there, nudging your entrance, teasing your already-used hole with the weight of him.

“Feel that?” he murmurs, voice low in your ear. “Not even inside yet and you’re already shaking.”

You’re past the point of embarrassment. You can’t even form words anymore. Your hips move on their own, trying to take him in, but your legs are jelly. You’re too sensitive to do anything but tremble in his lap.

He grips your hips and tilts you forward just slightly—just enough to line himself up—then sinks in, inch by inch, until your soaked cunt swallows him whole.

And you fall apart.

Your body arches tight, your mouth drops open in a silent sob, and your walls clamp down so hard it nearly pushes him out. You feel every fucking inch of him—hot, thick, stretching you to your limit—and it’s too much. Too deep. Too full. You can’t breathe.

“Oh my god—Kenma—”

“Shh,” he soothes, dragging one hand up your back. “Just take it.”

Kenma kisses your neck—soft, almost sweet—then grips your hips and starts to thrust.

Short and slow at first. Lazy little rolls of his hips, dragging his cock along every spot that makes your legs twitch. You’re still seated on his lap, so every thrust grinds right into that sensitive spot inside you. Every time he pulls back, your cunt flutters like it’s trying to hold him in.

“Fuck, you’re sucking me in,” he mutters. “Can’t even pull out.”

His hands slide to your ass, spreading you a little wider as he fucks up into you with more force. The chair creaks under the weight. Your moans get higher. Every time he bottoms out, your walls spasm—wet, greedy, still so fucking overstimulated.

And he loves it.

Your walls pulse around him like a response, fluttering helplessly. You can feel how slick it is, the way your juices squelch around his cock every time he moves even slightly. The chair squeaks beneath you both, your bodies damp with sweat and sex.

He moves again. Not fast—just deep. Slow. Grinding.

“Too much?” he asks, fingers digging into your waist like he already knows the answer.

You don’t answer. Can’t. You just moan. Cry. Shake.

Kenma laughs softly under his breath.

“Thought so.”

He pulls back and fucks in again—harder this time, sharp enough to make your breath hitch. Your hands scramble for purchase, grabbing the chair, his hoodie, anything. Your thighs clench around his, but your whole body’s useless now. All you can do is take it.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” he whispers. “All full. Just like you wanted.”

You nod. Desperate. Eyes wet, jaw slack. He’s so deep you feel him in your stomach. He shifts the angle, and the second he hits that spot—

You cry out, loud now, nails digging into the armrest, tears brimming again from the overstimulation.

“C-Close again,” you gasp, back arching.

And this time?

He doesn’t stop.

He grits his teeth—just slightly—and starts fucking up into you harder, holding you in place like a toy. You’re just there to take it now. One hand on your stomach, the other pulling your hips back against his cock, forcing every stroke deep.

“Cum again,” he says, low and sharp. “Do it while I’m inside you.”

And you do.

You cum with a full-body jerk, walls clenching down so tight he groans against your ear. Wet. Loud. Gushing around him. Your pussy milks his cock like it doesn’t want to let go, and he finally loses rhythm, hips stuttering as he buries himself to the hilt.

And Kenma doesn’t stop.

He holds you through it—arms tight around your waist, fucking you through every clench and twitch, every tear-streaked sob.

“Good girl,” he murmurs against your temple. “You take it so fucking well when you’re falling apart.”

Your legs don’t work anymore. Your whole body’s shaking. All you can do is hold on while he uses your cunt like it’s his—stretching you wider, fucking you deeper, until your brain’s nothing but static and sensation and the sound of slick, filthy skin.

“Shit—fuck—fuck—”

Kenma cums hard inside you, cock twitching deep, filling you with thick warmth as you pulse around him.

You feel it in the way his entire body tenses beneath you—thighs locking, fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise. His cock throbs deep inside you, twitching with every spurt of thick, hot cum that floods your cunt in waves. So much. So deep.

He buries himself to the hilt, grinding in just slightly as he cums—like he’s trying to make sure you take every last drop.

And you feel it.

Every pulse of his cock sends another flood of warmth inside you, thick and messy, forcing your oversensitive walls to flutter around him helplessly. You gasp—soft, broken—when the first wave hits you, and your cunt clenches around him like it’s trying to hold him in.

He groans, low and guttural, forehead pressed against your shoulder, and you feel his breath—hot and ragged—ghost across your skin.

“Fucking hell,” he whispers, voice cracking.

He doesn’t move. Just keeps you pinned there in his lap, stretched wide around his cock as it jerks and pulses and spills everything he’s got into you. His hands slide up your sides—slow, trembling—palms spreading wide across your back like he doesn’t want to let you go. Like he can’t.

His thighs twitch beneath you. Your legs are useless, your muscles jelly. All you can do is sit there, open and spent, leaking around him while your body spasms with aftershocks.

And still—he stays inside you.

No pulling out. No rush. Just the sound of both your breaths—shaky, uneven—and the soft squelch of your bodies pressed together, his cum slowly beginning to seep out and drip down your thighs.

Kenma finally lifts his head, lips brushing your neck as he exhales. He’s flushed. Damp with sweat. Eyes half-lidded, gaze glazed over with that slow, satisfied haze.

“Shit,” he breathes again, softer now. “You feel so fucking good.”

He shifts—just barely—and you both hiss from the sensitivity. His cock twitches inside you again, and you swear you feel more of his cum trickle out, thick and warm against your overstimulated skin.

“Stay like this for a second,” he murmurs, arms tightening around your waist. “Don’t move yet.”

You couldn’t if you tried.

The End ��

tags!: @callmemcee, @kad0o, @girlslovenerdyboys

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allthatjazz416 · 2 months ago

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Gojo NSFW 🤍

"Control Me" Gojo fic Tags: Fem!Reader! Sub!Gojo! Overstimulation! OrgasmDenial! Begging(Gojo)! Edging! Creampie! LightChoking! Word Count: 1.3k Note: I just like subby gojo more. Kind of brainrot? (not the skibidi toilet type) divider: @/enchanthings-a

The blindfold’s still hanging loose around his neck, half-forgotten in his desperation.

He’s flushed pink all the way up to his ears, lashes fluttering with every shaky breath as you keep your hand around his throat. Not squeezing—just resting there. Just enough to remind him who’s in control.

“Please,” he pants, hips twitching up from the bed, desperate for friction. “Been good. Haven’t touched myself in days, I swear.”

“Didn’t ask,” you say, voice calm. Cruel. He whines.

Gojo Satoru, the strongest sorcerer in the world, reduced to a squirming, needy mess under you. Sprawled across the sheets like a dream undone. Shirt half off. Sweat dampening his hair. Cock flushed and leaking against his stomach. You’ve edged him twice already—and he’s trembling.

“Thought you liked being in control,” you murmur at his ear.

He chokes on a laugh, breathless. “I do. Just... not right now. Not with you.”

His voice drops, rasps. “Want you to ruin me.”

You do.

You slide down between his legs, licking a slow stripe up the underside of his cock. He gasps, thighs twitching, one hand fisting the sheets.

“Ah—f-fuck—” He arches when you take the head into your mouth, tongue swirling, watching him through your lashes. That cocky grin he always wears? Gone. Replaced by something real. Raw. His bottom lip trembles. He’s biting it, trying not to cry out.

You pull off with a soft pop—and he actually whimpers.

“Satoru,” you say softly, “use your words.”

“I wanna come,” he whines, hips bucking. “Please. Feels so full, I can’t—just let me—please, please, I’ll do anything—”

You reach up and slap his thigh lightly. He moans.

“Stay still.”

He nods quickly. “Yes. Yes. I’ll be good. I’ll behave. Just please—”

When you finally sink down on his cock, slow and tight and hot, his whole body shudders. His fingers grip your hips like he’ll fall apart if he doesn’t hold on.

“Oh my god. Oh my god. You feel so good.”

You ride him with a slow, deliberate grind, watching him come undone. His head’s thrown back, throat bared, sweat glistening on his chest. The kinds of sounds you never thought you’d hear from him—soft, needy, desperate—fill the room.

You drag your nails down his chest, watching his muscles twitch beneath your touch. His cock twitches too, still sheathed inside you, unbelievably hard despite everything you’ve already done to him. He’s sensitive—you can tell. Every grind of your hips makes his mouth fall open like he’s about to cry.

“S-So close,” he breathes. Eyes wet. Voice catching. “Please let me come. I’ll do anything.”

Your hips roll slower. Deeper.

“Anything?” you murmur, trailing your fingers up his chest, wrapping around his throat again.

He nods so fast it's pathetic. His hands tremble on your thighs. “Yes. Fuck, yes. Just wanna come inside you. Been dreaming about it. Waking up hard and aching and thinking about your cunt. Please, let me fill you up, let me make you feel it—”

You clench around him.

He gasps, loud, like the air got knocked from his lungs.

“God, you're so tight,” he moans. “You're gonna make me—fuck, I can't—”

“You’re not allowed to come until I say so,” you say, dragging your hips back with cruel slowness. “You want to fill me up? Beg for it.”

“Please. Please, baby, let me come in you. Let me fuck it deep, let me feel you milk me dry. You’re so warm, so wet, you’re perfect, I’ll be good—I'll behave, I swear, I’ll be such a good boy for you—”

You cut him off by grinding hard against him, your clit catching on the ridge of his pelvis, and he cries out. Loud. Uncontrolled. Desperate.

"You sound so pretty when you're desperate," you whisper, leaning down to press your mouth to his ear. "So much for the strongest sorcerer."

He whimpers.

One of his hands flies up to your waist, the other fisting the sheets. He’s trying to hold back. You can feel it in the way he trembles under you. His cock throbs inside you, his body stiff with tension as he fights not to spill.

“Please,” he whispers again, raw and reverent. “Let me come for you. Let me fill you up. Let me make a mess—”

You pull him into a kiss just as you grind down hard again, and his mouth opens helplessly against yours. You can feel it in the way he trembles under you. His cock throbs inside you. His whole body tense, fighting not to spill.

You don’t let him finish.

You swallow the rest of his begging with your tongue, kissing him hard—wet and messy, biting his bottom lip until he moans into your mouth. His hands scramble at your hips, fingertips pressing into the flesh like he’s trying to ground himself, like he’s going to float out of his body if he doesn’t anchor himself to you.

And you’re not even close to done with him.

You roll your hips again, deeper this time, deliberately grinding your clit against the base of his cock. The friction sparks through your body like electricity. You shiver. He breaks.

“F-fuck,” he sobs, thighs twitching beneath you. “Please—I can’t—I’m so close, I’m right there, please let me come—”

You pull back just enough to look at him.

He’s a fucking mess.

Hair plastered to his forehead, mouth swollen from your kiss, sweat beading down his neck. His eyes are glassy, barely focused, lashes fluttering as he looks up at you like you hung the stars. You drag your hips forward again, slow and filthy, and watch his jaw drop, a high, helpless moan spilling out of him.

"You gonna cry for me, Satoru?" you whisper, voice like velvet wrapped around a knife. "Is that how bad you wanna come?"

His head tips back, exposing the long line of his throat. “Yes. Yes, I’ll cry—I'll do anything—just don’t stop, please don’t stop—”

He’s babbling now. Barely coherent. You can feel the way he’s pulsing inside you, how close he is to coming just from being inside you, no hands, no rhythm—just you using him like a toy.

“You sound pathetic,” you murmur, grinding down hard, pinning his hips to the bed when they jerk up. “And you love it, don’t you?”

His hands fist the sheets again, white-knuckled.

“I do,” he chokes. “I fucking do, just—please, let me come, let me fill you up, I need to feel it, I need to feel you take it—”

You don’t answer.

You ride him harder.

Your own breath starts to hitch now, the drag of him so deep inside you, hitting perfectly with every roll of your hips. Your clit throbs against his skin, slick dripping down where your bodies meet, making every grind messier, wetter. The sound of it—skin on skin, your cunt squelching around his cock—fills the room, filthy and raw.

He’s shaking under you. His heels are digging into the mattress. His chest rises and falls in shallow, panicked bursts.

“I’m gonna come,” he gasps, voice cracking. “Please, I need—”

“Not yet,”

He lets out something between a sob and a moan, head tossing side to side.

“I can’t—I can’t hold it—fuck, fuck, you’re gonna make me—”

“Then take it,” you say, leaning in to kiss him again, slow and deep. “Come for me, baby. Ruin yourself for me.”

He shatters.

The second you give him permission, his body tenses under you, his back arching as he cries out your name—loud, needy, broken. His cock jerks inside you, thick spurts of cum spilling deep, and he clings to you like it’s the only thing keeping him from floating away.

You keep moving.

Keep grinding through it as he trembles and moans, oversensitive and twitching, cock still pulsing helplessly inside you. You don’t stop until his voice goes hoarse, until his hands go limp, until he’s gasping like he can’t catch his breath.

And even then, you’re not done.

Not until your cunt’s full of his cum, dripping out of you.

The End (?)🤍

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allthatjazz416 · 2 months ago

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Etchings for the back covers of the Scum Villain books! All four books, all twelve characters!

It's my first time doing this kind of craft and I was so worried I'd goof up Liu Qingge, Mobei Jun, Zhuzhi Lang, and Bingqiu (they're the prettiest and most intimidating, so I had to do them justice), but I think everyone came out great!

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allthatjazz416 · 2 months ago

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Husband!Nanami HC! 🤍

Headcanons! NSFW HCs are at the very end! Skip if you're not into it 💙 divider crdts:@/cursed-carmine Note: I'M SORRY FOR THE OTHER ONE. HERE! A PROPER AND SERIOUS ONE THIS TIME 🫶

Hubby!Nanami who proposed at home. No big spectacle, no audience. Just dim lighting, a home-cooked dinner (that he made), and a simple box placed next to your wine glass with a quiet, “You know I’d rather die than live without you. So. Would you?”

Hubby!Nanami who takes anniversaries seriously. Always has a plan. A gift. Not always flashy but meaningful. Once gave you a first eidition of your favorite book with a note tucked inside: "I love you. I always will. For the rest of my life."

Hubby!Nanami who cleans the whole house when you’re sick but pretends it’s no big deal. “You needed rest. I had time. No need to thank me. You’re still my favorite mess.”

Hubby!Nanami who keeps his wedding ring on during everything. Always. Even in fights. Even in the shower. Even when you’re arguing over who left the stove on. Even during sex. Especially during sex.

Hubby!Nanami who has a drawer labeled “Y/N’s snacks” in the kitchen because he noticed you like different things than him and didn’t want to mix your treats with his plain-ass crackers and protein bars.

Hubby!Nanami who wakes you up with forehead kisses on work mornings because he knows he’ll be gone before you’re awake. Sometimes leaves your coffee half-brewed so you can wake up to the smell.

Hubby!Nanami who secretly carries a picture of you in his wallet. A candid one you didn't even know he took. He just knows that’s what love to him looks like.

Hubby!Nanami who never yells during fights. He just stands still, breathing slow, asking quiet, painful questions like “Why are you pushing me away when I’m trying to understand you?” and god, it’s worse than shouting.

Hubby!Nanami who still blushes when you grab his ass in the kitchen. Grumbles “not in front of the soup,” but pulls you close anyway, hand on your waist like he’s still trying to court you after years of marriage.

Hubby!Nanami who would take a cursed wound for you without hesitation. Then apologize for it. “I didn’t want you to worry. Sorry for making you cry.” Blood-soaked shirt and all.

NSFW! 🤍

Hubby!Nanami who fucks like he’s trying to memorize the shape of your moans. Soft when you need him. Rough when he knows you can take it. Always with your pleasure first.

Hubby!Nanami who loves slow, dragging strokes when he's been away on missions. Just holds your legs open, one hand on your belly, watching the way your cunt grips him like it missed him. “There you are. Still fits me so well.”

Hubby!Nanami who prefers positions where he can see your face. Missionary with your wrists pinned. You riding him while he cups your waist. His eyes never leave yours, especially when you cum.

Hubby!Nanami who worships your body like it’s sacred. Kisses every mark, every stretch, every bruise. Loves your thighs. Loves your stomach. Loves making you look in the mirror when you’re full of him, shaking. “Don’t look away. This is what you do to me.”

Hubby!Nanami who gets jealous when you wear something too revealing in public—but doesn’t say a word. In public he'll protect you, but when you get home, he just makes sure to fuck you hard when you get home, pulling your clothes off with quiet precision and making you repeat whose cock you belongs to.

Hubby!Nanami who marks you up intentionally. Hickeys under your collarbone. Finger-shaped bruises on your hips. His cum leaking out of you for hours after. He doesn’t mind the cleanup. He likes it. It’s proof.

Hubby!Nanami who sleeps curled around you afterward. One arm under your head, one over your waist, your hand resting on his chest where you can feel the slow thud of his heart. You’re safe. Fucked-out. Loved.

Hubby!Nanami who always makes sure you cum first. Always. Fingers, tongue, cock. It doesn’t matter. He’ll have you shaking and drooling before he even unzips. And he’ll praise you for it. “Good girl. That’s it. You take me so well every time.”

The End! 💙

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allthatjazz416 · 3 months ago

Note

Hiii do you write for kenma from haikyuu? 👀

OMG HII! I was did write for him in my drafts cause I know Kenma girlies love to send request 🫶. Yes! I do take request right now but he's not really a character I usually write for. But here it is!💗

Kenma NSFW🎮

"Stream's over, baby" Kenma TIMESKIP fic Tags: Fem!Reader! Post-streamSex! SoftDom!Kenma! LazyDom!Kenma! Fingering! Edging! OrgasmDenial! CryingfromPleasure! SlightDegration! DesperationKink! Workcount:1.8k Note: My first time writing about him! Hope you like it divider crdts:@/cursed-carmine

Kenma barely glances over his shoulder when you open the door.

The room’s dim, lit by nothing but the glow of his monitors and the faint RGB ripple under his keyboard. He’s still in his hoodie, headphones around his neck, hair messy from where he’s been tugging it during ranked. You can hear the faint ending jingle of his stream—the soft “thanks for watching” overlay flashing across the screen.

“Done?” you ask, leaning against the doorway in one of his shirts and nothing else. You know what you’re doing. You always do.

He hums. Doesn't even look away from the monitor. “Mhm. Got raided last second, had to say thanks.”

You cross the room slowly. No bra. No panties. His oversized shirt barely covers the tops of your thighs. And when you crawl right into his lap, straddling him backwards on the gaming chair, then he looks.

“...You’re not wearing anything under that,” he says flatly, hands sliding under the fabric like it’s just an observation. His fingers are already brushing the crease where your thighs meet your heat. “Trying to distract me?”

You grind down slowly in his lap, just enough to press against the bulge you already feel forming under his sweats. “Stream’s over, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, thumb brushing your clit like it’s nothing. “Camera’s off. Mic’s muted. Nobody’s watching.”

Except him.

And he’s watching now—eyes half-lidded, lashes casting shadows over flushed cheeks. He leans back in the chair, lazy and loose-limbed like he’s done this a hundred times, but his fingers are so deliberate. Slow, unhurried circles over your clit then he drags that finger down and curls it inside you, testing how wet you already are.

“You really waited until I logged off just to do this?” he asks, quiet, like he’s teasing. “Could’ve just asked.”

You let out a soft gasp when he adds a second finger, pace unchanging, dragging them in and out like he’s scrolling idly through patch notes.

“You were busy,” you whisper, breath hitching.

He hums again, low and unimpressed. “I’m still busy.”

But his free hand settles on your hip, anchoring you down against his lap while his fingers work you open like he’s got all night. And when your head drops back against his shoulder, whining soft, he presses a kiss just under your ear and says—

“Messy already,” voice low, almost bored. “You really just needed me to touch you, huh?”

You whimper something—affirmation, apology, maybe just his name—and he keeps going like he didn’t even hear it. His fingers curl just right, brushing that spot inside you over and over until your thighs start to twitch. Slow and steady, lazy and precise. His cock throbs against you beneath the fabric of his sweats—subtle, but unmistakable. You feel it twitch when your pussy squeezes around his fingers, like he’s not as unaffected as he pretends to be.

“Bet you were wet while I was still streaming,” he adds, tone unchanging. “Sitting out there, waiting, thinking about this. Should’ve let you crawl under the desk and suck me off mid-match.”

“Kenma—” you gasp, grinding down hard on his lap, chasing friction, but his grip on your hip tightens.

“No,” he says, so soft it’s almost a sigh. “You’re gonna sit still and take it.”

His free hand presses down on your lower stomach, holding you flush to him while his fingers work faster now—just a little. Just enough to make your breath catch. He hasn’t even pulled his dick out. Hasn’t kissed you again. Just fingering you open in the dark, hoodie sleeves pushed to his elbows, face calm and blank while your body starts to shake.

“Don’t cum yet,” he murmurs—not a command this time. A warning. A promise.

Because he’s not even close to done.

His fingers never speed up—not really. They just stay steady. Intentional. He curls them just right, drags them slow, over and over, until your whole body’s buzzing with heat and your hips won’t stop twitching in his lap.

He doesn't; say anything. Doesn’t need to. Just keeps watching your face, eyelids heavy, mouth slack, pupils barely focused. Every breath you take is shaky now. Every shift of your hips pulls a little whimper out of you, desperate for something faster, deeper, anything.

But Kenma doesn’t give it to you.

Not yet.

Your moans start climbing, soft at first, breathy little exhales that grow higher, faster—until your walls start to clench, heartbeat thudding in your throat, right there, the edge curling warm and tight in your gut—

And then he stops.

Just stops.

Pulls out like he forgot he was even inside you. Lets your slick coat his fingers, trails them lazily down your thigh like he’s playing with spilled syrup. Then he lifts one hand, squints at the mess between your legs like he’s reading patch notes or checking a loading screen.

Nothing but silence for a beat.

And then?

Back in.

Two fingers, again. Slower this time. Crueler. The same maddening rhythm, like he’s clocking every twitch, every clench, every shaky little breath.

You can’t help it—you bury your face against his neck, nails digging into the fabric of his hoodie like that’ll keep you grounded. His hoodie smells like clean cotton and energy drinks. His voice hums low near your ear, flat and unconcerned as he circles your clit with the heel of his palm.

“You’re already shaking,” he says, like it’s mildly interesting. “Didn’t even cum once yet.”

You choke on a moan, breath catching when he presses deeper inside. “K-Kenma—please…”

“You’re so loud,” he murmurs, like he’s just noticing it. “Just from this?”

You nod quickly, breathless and ruined. You’re right on the edge again, and he knows. Your hips start to buck against his palm without meaning to, your thighs tense and trembling, right there again—

And then?

He pulls out.

Again.

No warning. No softness.

He slips his fingers out and drags them across your inner thigh, leaving a slick trail of your arousal like it’s nothing. You feel the air hit your swollen, aching pussy and almost whine from the sudden loss. But Kenma just wipes his fingers off on your skin like you’re his napkin. His hand settles on your hip again, like maybe he’s done. Like that was enough.

But it’s not.

You’re throbbing—empty and soaking and dizzy with need.

And he just sits there, the glow of his monitors painting faint lines across his tired eyes as he watches you struggle.

You’re throbbing—empty and soaking and dizzy with need

And he just sits there, the glow of his monitors painting faint lines across his tired eyes as he watches you struggle.

“You’ll live,” Kenma says softly, almost to himself. “You just hate waiting.”

You let out a pitiful sound in response, more of a whine than a word. Your hips keep trying to move—little twitches, half-thrusts against the front of his sweats—but he holds you still with one hand, fingers digging into your hip like a leash.

He brushes his hand back between your legs, lazy, like he’s not even thinking about it—and when he drags his fingers through your folds again, they slip in without resistance.

Hot. Wet. Clenching around nothing.

Two fingers again. Deep. Slow. And your walls pulse around him—gripping, squeezing, leaking down the backs of your thighs. Every thrust is a sloppy slide now, your cunt so desperate to be filled that it pulls at his fingers, greedy and aching.

Your moan comes out broken. High. Like you’re already close again and he knows it.

You cry out—soft and strangled—just from the stretch. Like your body doesn’t know how to take it anymore. Everything inside you pulses around him, slick and sore from being teased for so long.

“You’re so fucking sensitive,” he mutters, almost impressed.

And still, he doesn’t give you what you want. He curls his fingers just a little—presses into that spot deep inside you—and then pulls back. Again. And again. Slow enough that you feel everything. The squelch of your slick. The drag against your inner walls. The brush of his palm over your clit that you swear he’s doing on purpose.

You whine—frantic, wrecked—and bury your face in his hoodie, humping his palm now without thinking, breath hot against his collarbone.

“Kenma—please,” you gasp. “Please, I need it—I need to cum—”

“I should make you do this every night,” he says, tone unreadable. “Keep you warm and wet while I play.”

You moan into his hoddie, half-crying, nails scratching at the fabric of his hoodie. “Kenma, I—please, I can’t…”

“You can,” he says, calmly. “You will.”

He keeps going. Same pace. Same cruel rhythm. Brings you right up again, your whole body clenched, teetering on the edge—

And then stops.

Again.

You sob.

You don’t even mean to—it just slips out, a broken, desperate sound that makes him pause for real. His fingers rest against your inner thigh, still slick with your arousal, while he tilts his head and finally looks you in the face.

“You’re crying?” he says, quiet now. Still calm. But curious.

You nod frantically, trembling in his lap, thighs sticky and sore and clenching on nothing.

His gaze softens—barely. A blink slower than usual. He presses a kiss to your cheek, almost lazy.

“Alright,” he says, like he’s doing you a favor. Like he’s bored. “You can cum now.”

And this time?

He doesn't stop.

Fingers sink back inside you, his thumb pressed right there, rubbing messy circles over your clit as his other hand wraps around your waist and pulls you tight against him. No more teasing. No more pauses.

Just heat. Pressure. Wet, dragging friction right where you need it.

“Go on,” he mutters, breath warm against your neck. “Let go.”

And when your orgasm finally hits—hard, blinding, long overdue—he doesn’t say a word. Just watches. Watches your whole body jerk and spasm in his lap, hands trembling against his chest, mouth open and breathless while you fall apart for him.

Your whole body locks up—back arching, walls pulsing hard around his fingers while your orgasm crashes through you like a wave. Wet. Deep. Unrelenting. You’re crying out his name into his hoodie, hips twitching through the aftershocks, pussy clenching so hard he has to work his fingers just to ride it out.

You’re dripping—absolutely soaking his hand, his hoodie, the cushion of the chair. Still fluttering even after he’s pulled out. Even after he’s licked your release off his fingers, slow and lazy, like it’s nothing.

He presses a kiss to your temple, quiet now. Soft.

“Can feel you twitching still,” he mumbles, thumb brushing your inner thigh. “Didn’t even fuck you yet.”

Part 2? ❤

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allthatjazz416 · 3 months ago

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Ushijima NSFW 💎

"Soft Spot" an Ushijima TIMESKIP fic Tags: Fem!Reader! Post-game sex! Needy!Ushi! Switch!Ushi! SoftDom!Ushi! PussyWorship! Fingering! Oral (f. receiving)! Creampie! Intimate! SlowSex! BodyWorship! CouchSex! Aftercare! Word Count: 4.1k Note: MY MAN! 🫶 This was supposed to be fluff just rotting in my drafts but then I turned it into smut so yeah. YAY! MORE SMUT ON THIS BLOG igs! I love him so much!

The door shuts behind him with a soft click.

You don’t even have to look up from your spot on the couch to know it’s him. There’s a particular way Ushijima Wakatoshi walks—purposeful, steady, solid like he’s always got the weight of a team riding on his shoulders. And maybe he does. Being one of Japan’s top players isn’t easy on the body—or the heart.

But here, at home, he isn’t the stoic powerhouse that people see on TV. Here, he’s yours.

“Hi, baby,” you call gently, peeking over the blanket draped over your legs.

He’s already walking toward you, gym bag half-zipped, hair damp from a quick rinse at the stadium. He looks tired, like the pressure’s still clinging to his skin.

“Hey,” he says, voice low and soft.

You shift the blanket open in invitation. That’s all it takes.

Without another word, Ushijima drops his bag by the door and crosses the room with long, quiet strides. He peels off his hoodie, revealing the familiar contours of his strong frame—broad shoulders, lean muscle, arms that have caught a thousand spikes. Arms that now wrap around you like you're his entire world.

He practically melts into you.

All 90kg of pro athlete presses into your side until you're half lying down, half holding him up. You shift, letting him climb fully onto the couch with you, until you’re lying back and he’s resting on top of you, head tucked against your neck, breath warm against your collarbone. You swear he lets out the softest sigh—like he’s been holding it in all day.

“Tough match?” you murmur, threading your fingers into his hair. It’s soft from the shower, still damp in places.

He shakes his head slowly. “We won.”

You smile. “That’s good.”

He hums. But something’s still off.

You brush your fingers down the slope of his back, feeling tension coiled there. “What’s wrong, Toshi?”

He’s quiet. Then, in that same blunt, painfully honest tone he always uses—on court, in press interviews, and apparently now with his face buried in your chest—he says

“I missed you.”

Your heart clenches.

You curl your arms tighter around him. “You’re here now.”

His voice comes again, muffled. “I don’t like being away from you. It makes my chest feel... strange. Empty.”

God. This big, serious man. Always so composed, so exact with his words. And yet, here he is—clinging to you like something fragile.

“You’re allowed to feel that way,” you whisper, kissing the top of his head. “Even aces need to be babied sometimes.”

He huffs. “I’m not a baby.”

You glance down. He’s pouting. Pouting. It’s faint, but it’s there.

“No, of course not,” you tease, brushing your nose against his temple. “You’re my big, strong, six-foot-three husband who needs forehead kisses when he gets overwhelmed.”

“…Yes.”

You laugh, heart full.

You kiss him right on the forehead.

And then again, when he nuzzles impossibly closer, when his hand slides beneath your shirt just to feel your skin, grounding himself in you.

He doesn’t need to say anything else. You feel it in the way he breathes easier with every passing second, how the tension leaks from his body the longer he stays in your arms.

To the world, Ushijima Wakatoshi is composed. Cold. Unshakable.

But here, in your arms, he’s just your man.

And he’s never felt safer.

It’s quiet for a long time.

Ushijima doesn’t move much. He just lays on top of you, resting all that heavy strength like he trusts you to carry the weight he can’t speak aloud. And you do. You always will.

Your fingers keep working through his hair, gentle and repetitive. It’s the only motion in the room, besides his slow breathing against your skin.

You whisper soft things sometimes. Nothing important. Just little reassurances.

“I love you, you know.”

His arm tightens around your waist.

“You did good today. You always do.”

Another breath.

“I’m proud of you, even when you don’t say anything. Especially then.”

There’s a pause. Then—

“I like it when you talk like that,” he admits. Quiet. Honest. Voice a little rough.

You smile, tilting your head so your lips brush against his hair. “Why’s that?”

“I don’t have to think as much when you talk.”

Your heart tugs.

“I’ll talk all night, if it helps.”

“…It does.”

And maybe it’s the softness of the moment. Or the way he’s breathing against your neck—slow, then shallower. The subtle shift in his hips. The warm palm stroking just under your ribs like it’s second nature.

But something stirs.

Your hand drifts from his hair to the nape of his neck. Down, over the ridge of his spine. You press your palm to the small of his back and hold him flush to you.

You feel it. The twitch.

Just the slightest grind of his hips—barely a shift, but unmistakable.

His breath stutters.

You smile lazily. “Toshi.”

“…Yes?”

“You’re hard.”

He stiffens. And for once, he doesn’t have a clear answer. You hear him swallow.

“I didn’t mean to—” he starts.

You cut him off, fingers slipping under the hem of his shirt to feel the bare skin of his back. “I know. It’s okay.”

He pulls back just slightly, so he can look at you. His eyes search yours—deep green and open in a way that no one else ever gets to see. You feel him breathe, heavy and warm, and his voice comes a little lower now.

“May I…?”

You don’t even let him finish.

You lean up and kiss him. Slow. Deep. One hand cradling the back of his neck while the other drifts lower, sliding down the ridge of his spine to rest over his ass. He groans softly into your mouth, and it’s like something clicks—like he finally gives himself permission to want.

His hips roll into yours, firmer this time.

You let out a breathy moan, caught off guard by how needy he suddenly feels. How desperate. Like holding it in all day has built into something molten.

“You want me, baby?” you whisper against his lips.

He nods. His voice is tight when he answers. “I want to feel you. All of you.”

Your hand slides up the back of his shirt, slowly dragging it over his skin. He helps you pull it off, tossing it to the side, his chest rising and falling fast. You press soft kisses to his collarbone, his neck, the side of his jaw.

“You can have me,” you murmur. “Come on, get comfortable.”

He shifts above you, big hands trembling slightly as they slide beneath your shirt now, and you raise your arms for him, letting him peel it away. His eyes drink you in—every soft, warm inch of you—and when he leans down to kiss your chest, it’s so gentle it almost breaks you.

His touch is reverent. Careful.

Like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

You run your hands down his back, nails dragging lightly, and he shudders—his hips grinding instinctively into the heat between your legs. You gasp, clinging to him, and he freezes like he’s done something wrong.

“Again,” you breathe. “Do that again.”

And when he does—when he ruts slow and deep into you, fully clothed, grinding his thick cock against your panties like he’s trying to merge with you—you hear the smallest sound fall from his throat.

A whimper.

God, it goes straight to your core.

You cup his cheek and whisper, “That’s it, baby. Just let go.”

His jaw tenses, nostrils flaring. For a moment, he just looks at you—like you’ve undone something in him he can’t put back.

Then, slowly, Ushijima leans down and kisses you again. Slower this time. Lingering. One big hand slides under your thigh, spreading you wider, until you're cradled beneath him completely—held in place like you’re the softest thing in the world.

“I want to taste you,” he murmurs, lips brushing against your jaw.

You blink. “Wha—Toshi—”

“I need to.” He’s already moving, already shifting down your body with purpose, lips kissing down your sternum, your belly. “Please.”

He rarely asks for things. Never begs. But there’s a tension in his voice like he’s starving for you.

Your legs part instinctively when his fingers hook your panties, dragging them down slow enough to make your breath hitch. He doesn’t rush, doesn’t even touch you right away—just stares for a second, jaw clenching like he’s trying to burn the image of your dripping cunt into his memory.

“You’re wet,” he says, leaning in to kiss your mound then your clit

“I told you,” you breathe. “You grind on me like that, I’m soaked.”

His eyes flick up to meet yours, blown wide and dark. “I love you so much…”

But his voice trails off because his mouth is already moving—already licking a slow, deliberate stripe up the center of your folds—your back arches.

“Oh my god—Toshi—!”

He groans. The sound vibrates straight through you.

His grip tightens on your hips as he locks you down, big hands sliding under your ass to tilt your cunt up toward his mouth. His tongue moves with almost painful control—slow licks, teasing circles, tasting every inch like he’s learning you. Worshipping you.

You reach for his hair, panting. “Toshi, honey…”

“You’re soft here,” he murmurs against you, nosing through your folds. “And here.”

Your thighs try to close around his head, but he presses them apart again—firm and gentle. “Don’t hide from me.”

He says it like it’s a request, but he means it. He’s not going anywhere.

And then—God—his tongue flicks your clit, careful at first, then firmer, and your legs shake.

“You taste so good,” he mutters between licks. “I want you to come like this.”

His voice is low, hoarse with need, and every word is followed by more of his mouth—sucking softly, lapping hungrily. He starts moaning into you when you start grinding back, like your pleasure is turning him on even more than your body.

You start to roll your hips against his mouth, slow and needy, and the second you do, he lets out a noise. Something low and guttural, like it shocks even him.

“You like that?” you breathe.

His answer is to pull you closer—grip firm, head tilting for a better angle—like he’s lost the ability to speak. And really, he has. There’s nothing in the world for him right now but the taste of you.

His tongue starts working tighter circles, flicking up and over your clit with maddening precision. He’s so fucking focused. You can feel it in every stroke. Not just hunger. Devotion.

Your head falls back. “Oh—fuck—Toshi…”

He groans again—loudly—like your voice is feeding him. You glance down and see him rutting into the couch, hips grinding down like he can’t help it. His cock is straining in his pants, swollen and twitching, and he’s not even touching it.

God. He’s getting off just from eating you.

“Fuck,” you whisper, thighs shaking. “You’re gonna make me—Toshi, I’m so close—”

But he doesn’t let up. His tongue gets firmer, lips sucking greedily, and suddenly there’s a finger—his thick finger—sliding through your slick folds, pressing slow and deep into you while his mouth stays locked on your clit.

Your back bows.

Your breath catches, and then you’re crying out—loud and unfiltered—coming so hard your thighs clamp around his head without permission.

He groans into your cunt like he’s the one falling apart.

You’re trembling, fingers twisted in his hair, trying to breathe as the aftershocks roll through you—but he’s not done.

Not even close.

His head lifts for just a second, lips glossy, chin wet, pupils blown. “One more.”

“T-Toshi—wait—”

“One more,” he repeats, kissing the inside of your thigh as he slides another thick finger in beside the first, stretching you wider, slow and deliberate. “Let me make you feel good again.”

His voice is so quiet. So gentle. But his fingers start fucking into you steadily, his other hand coming up so he can rub slow, careful circles over your clit with his thumb—watching your face like it’s the only thing anchoring him.

You’re gasping. Writhing. All thought slipping away.

“I love how you fall apart,” he breathes. “How warm you feel. How sweet.”

And then—just when your body’s coiled tight again, hips canting to meet every thrust—he leans in, brushing his lips over your inner thigh, kissing the skin softly like he’s trying to soothe the ache he’s building.

You try to catch your breath—limbs still twitching, brain still foggy from the first high—but Ushijima isn’t satisfied. Not even close.

His mouth glistens. His hair’s a mess. His chest is heaving.

And his eyes?

God. His eyes are starving.

“One more,” he says again, soft and sure, like he’s promising something sacred. His voice cracks just slightly—“please”—but his fingers are already moving.

You don’t resist. You couldn’t even if you tried.

The stretch makes your mouth fall open—so full, that its so good—and you let out a noise that doesn’t even sound like you.

He groans like it turns him on more than anything else he’s ever heard.

“You’re so tight,” he murmurs, watching the way your walls clench around his fingers. “So fucking tight…”

He loves watching you squirm, so he pushes his fingers deeper, while letting the rhythm build. Making you whine, legs twitching, and his lips part like he wants to taste the sound.

“You’re still sensitive,” he says, like it’s a fact. Like it’s precious. “But I know you can take more.”

You moan, helpless, rolling your hips up against his hand.

“That’s it,” he breathes, his pace steady, precise. “Just like that. Let me feel you.”

His fingers crook just right, pressing against that perfect spot, and you see stars. Your head falls back against the couch cushion, chest rising in frantic waves as the pleasure starts to build again—hotter this time, deeper.

“T-Toshi—fuck—”

He leans in again, lips brushing just above your mound now, so close you can feel the heat of his breath.

“Don’t hold back,” he whispers. “I want all of it.”

You don’t even get a chance to catch the words fully before he drops his head again—devours you like a man driven by instinct alone. Not desperate. Just… determined. Worshipful.

His tongue flicks quick little circles around your clit, every motion in sync with the firm pump of his fingers inside you. He’s so good at this—so methodical, so unshakably present, like he could spend all night buried between your legs and never tire of it.

You cry out, hips lifting to meet his mouth, but he pins you down with one big arm thrown across your stomach. Holding you in place. Keeping you spread.

“So sweet,” he mutters against your cunt, so low and hoarse it vibrates straight through you. “I want to stay here forever.”

You moan. Loud. Unfiltered.

His mouth closes over your clit again—this time sucking. Gentle at first, then sharper. Just enough to send a ripple of pure heat through your core.

You arch off the couch. “Oh my god, Toshi—fuck—don’t stop—”

He doesn’t. He can’t. His whole body is moving with you now, like he’s syncing himself to your rhythm, adjusting every lick and pump to chase the edge he knows you’re hovering on.

Your hands fly to his hair, anchoring there. He groans when you tug. Louder when you grind.

“You’re so good,” you pant, dizzy with need. “You’re so fucking good at this—Toshi—Toshi—I’m cumming—”

It slams into you like a wave. Hot, blinding, sudden. You scream his name—unfiltered and raw—and your whole body shakes, thighs clamping around his ears as you come harder than before. Maybe harder than you ever have.

He moans into it. Doesn’t move, doesn’t ease up. Just keeps working you through it like he’s addicted to your orgasm.

You gush. Soaked. Boneless.

And he drinks it in like it’s all he’s ever wanted.

You’re still trembling. Still split wide open, body wrecked and twitching.

But all you can say is “Fuck.”

he stays between your legs like he’s savoring the aftermath—kissing your inner thigh, licking softly through your folds like he wants to clean every drop himself.

Your breath is broken. Your body limp. But your heart is full—aching, blooming, beating so fast it almost hurts.

When he finally pulls back, you see it his mouth flushed and wet, chin slick, eyes darker than dusk. His chest is heaving like he’s just sprinted ten miles, and his hands are still gripping your thighs.

“Can I make love to you now?” he asks.

You nod. Barely more than a twitch of your head, but it’s enough.

Ushijima doesn’t wait for anything else.

He moves fast—still controlled, but burning with purpose—his hand goes to his waistband, dragging his sweatpants and briefs down in one swift movement.

His cock springs free—hard, flushed, glistening with precum. It’s thick and heavy, the head angry-red and already leaking against his abs.

You can’t help the way your breath stutters. The way your thighs instinctively twitch open wider.

He leans over you, bracketing your hips with his own, and lines himself up without ceremony. One big hand curls around the back of your knee, pushing your leg up as he rolls his hips forward—just enough to tease the tip through your folds.

You whimper at the contact—so sensitive, so open—and he groans at the sound, deep and guttural.

“Look at you,” he mutters, voice low. “So beautiful.”

Then he shifts—bends lower—bringing his chest flush to yours, bracing one forearm beside your head as his nose brushes along your cheek.

And then he pushes in.

Slow. Unyielding.

You feel every inch of him stretch you open—thick and hot, dragging against your walls like he’s meant to fit there. You suck in a breath, hands flying to his shoulders as he sinks deeper, deeper, until he bottoms out with a quiet curse.

Your back arches. His name leaves your lips in a desperate gasp.

“Shit—Toshi—”

He stays still for just a second, breathing hard against your skin, letting you feel all of him. Letting you adjust.

“You’re taking me so well,” he rasps, voice thick, reverent. “So fucking good for me.”

And then he starts to move.

Slow thrusts at first. Deep. Measured. Each one deliberate, like he’s trying to memorize the way you feel wrapped around him.

You cling to him, body pliant, every roll of his hips making you feel fuller, closer, burning deeper.

His mouth finds yours in a kiss—unhurried, open, all tongue and breath. He moans into it, swallowing your whimpers like they feed something feral in him. Like you’re giving him everything he’s ever wanted.

“You feel incredible,” he murmurs against your lips. “So warm… so soft…”

He trails kisses down your cheek, across your jaw, to the hollow of your throat. Every press of his lips is tender, almost worshipful.

“I could stay inside you forever,” he breathes. “Just like this. Wrapped in you. Drenched in you.”

You whine—high, helpless—and your hips buck up to meet him, greedy for more. He groans at the squeeze of your walls, then shifts just slightly, angling his thrusts—

And fuck.

He hits there. That perfect spot that makes your breath catch and your thighs twitch.

“That’s it,” he pants, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Right there. You feel that?”

You nod, but it’s shaky, broken—your voice lost somewhere in the haze of heat curling low in your belly. He rolls his hips again, deeper, and your mouth falls open in a soft cry.

Your nails dig into his shoulders, but he doesn’t flinch. If anything, he presses in closer—his chest flush to yours, heartbeat pounding hard enough you feel it echo against your ribs.

He’s everywhere. All of him—his hands, his voice, his body—wrapped around you, inside you, like you were made to take him.

“You’re perfect,” he murmurs into your skin. “So fucking perfect…”

He kisses you again—slower this time, lips dragging sweet and messy over yours as his hips move in a steady rhythm. You taste your own breath between kisses. Feel his tongue sweep your bottom lip. His hand slides up your side, strong and steady, fingers spreading wide to anchor at your ribs.

And the way he holds you—it’s not just control. It’s need. Like he wants to memorize you with his palms.

Every thrust sinks in deeper, more purposeful, every drag of his cock brushing right against that tender, aching spot inside you. You whine into his mouth, clinging to him like you’ll fly apart without him holding you together.

“You take me so well,” he breathes, lips brushing your cheek. “Feel so good—like you’re made for me.”

“T-Toshi—” you gasp, but your voice warbles, overwhelmed by the slow build. “Feels so good, I—fuck—”

He shushes you with a kiss. “I know,” he whispers. “I know, baby… I’ve got you.”

And he does.

He rocks into you with a pace that’s steady but unrelenting, pulling pleasure from you like it’s something sacred. His body pressed tight to yours, the heat of him seeping into your skin, his breath warm against your ear as he murmurs your name like a prayer.

You’re melting under him. Quivering. Pleasure licking hot and heavy through your veins, winding tighter with every thrust.

“I’m close,” you whisper, almost in disbelief. “I’m—Toshi—I’m gonna—”

“I want to feel you,” he groans, voice wrecked and thick. “Come for me. Please.”

He angles his hips again, fucks up into you hard enough to knock the breath from your lungs, and your orgasm hits—sharp and shuddering, tearing through you like a lightning bolt.

Your mouth drops open in a silent scream. Your back arches, your walls clamp down around him—and Wakatoshi moans as he buries himself deep, holding you through it.

“Fuck—just like that—”

You don’t stop shaking. The aftershocks roll through you, wave after wave, until your fingers go slack on his shoulders and your head falls back, dazed and flushed.

But he’s still moving—less rhythm now, more desperation.

His mouth crashes to yours again—hot and messy, all tongue and teeth—as he chases his own high. You feel his cock twitch inside you, his thrusts turning erratic, hips stuttering as his whole body goes tight.

And then—with a broken groan of your name—he spills into you, thick and hot, hips jerking one last time as he comes hard, buried as deep as he can go.

The only sound in the room is your shared breathing. Heavy. Shaky. Real.

He doesn’t pull out. Doesn’t move. Just collapses over you gently, his arms bracketing your head, his weight solid and grounding.

For a moment, there’s nothing but his heartbeat against your chest.

And then he kisses your temple. Soft. Barely there.

“I love you,” he murmurs, like a truth he’s been carrying for years.

You smile, even if you’re too spent to say it back right away. Your body’s limp beneath him—boneless, blissed out—but your heart’s still racing, full to the brim.

He doesn’t move far. Just shifts slightly, careful not to crush you, his forearm still beside your head as he presses another kiss to your cheek. Then another—your jaw, your nose, the corner of your mouth—each one a little firmer, a little more lingering than the last.

“Toshi,” you whisper, eyes fluttering closed.

He hums like he didn’t hear. Or like he doesn’t care. Just keeps kissing you—your collarbone, your shoulder, your chest—lazy and warm, lips brushing every inch of skin he can reach like he’s mapping you in reverence.

You giggle softly, body twitching under him. “You’re insatiable.”

“I’m thorough,” he replies, deadpan—but there’s a faint curve to his lips, a telltale spark of amusement in his voice.

You roll your head toward him, eyes heavy, hand lifting to cup his cheek. “You’re sweet.”

He kisses your palm.

“You’re mine,” he says simply, and the way he says it makes your heart clench all over again.

Then he finally lifts himself—just enough to reach for the throw blanket behind you on the couch. He tucks it over your bodies with practiced care, one arm sliding back beneath your head like a pillow, the other curled around your waist, pulling you close.

You let out a sleepy sigh, face tucked into his chest, still flushed and sticky and a little overwhelmed.

And Wakatoshi?

He just holds you like you’re the only thing he’ll ever need again.

divider crdts: @/cursed-carmine (bow ↑) @/anitalenia (banners under Ushi pic) @/arminsumi (mdni banner up)

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allthatjazz416 · 3 months ago

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JJK Masterlist

Bonten Masterlist

❀ All Headcanons (NSFW, Fluff, Angst)

The characters I write for: Request currently open!

❀ Sukuna

⋆ "Ruin me"

❀Nanami

⋆ "His favorite position"

❀Gojo

⋆ "Control me"

❀Suguru⋆

divider: @/cursed-carmine

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk masterlist #girlhood #girlblogging #just girly things #pink blog #pink #pink aesthetic #sub jjk #subby gojo

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allthatjazz416 · 3 months ago

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Bonten Masterlist

ʚɞ All Headcanons (NSFW, Fluff, Angst)

ʚɞ Mikey⋆

ʚɞ Sanzu⋆

ʚɞ Ran Haitani⋆

ʚɞ Rindou⋆

ʚɞ Kakucho

⋆"Pussy Worship"

ʚɞ Takeomi⋆

ʚɞ Mochi⋆

dividers: @/cursed-carmine

#bonten smut #bonten #masterlist #bonten tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers smut #tokyo rev x reader #tokyo rev smut #bonten x reader #girlblogging #girlhood #pink blog #pink aesthetic #aesthetic #anime

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allthatjazz416 · 3 months ago

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Haikyuu Masterlist

♡︎All headcanons (Mix of fluff, angst, nsfw)

The characters I write for: Request currently open! ♡︎ Daichi ⋆

♡︎ Kuroo ⋆

♡︎ Ushijima ⋆ "Soft Spot"

♡︎ Iwaizumi ⋆ ♡︎ Kageyama ⋆ "Touch me"

♡︎ Osamu ⋆ "Kiss the cook"

♡︎ Atsumu ⋆

REQUESTED ♡︎ Kenma ⋆ "Stream's over, baby" ⋆ Part 2! ↑

dividers: @/cursed-carmine

#haikyuu #haikyuu masterlist #anime #pink aesthetic #girlhood #girlblogging #haikyuu smut #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu angst #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #haikyuu scenarios

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allthatjazz416 · 3 months ago

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they had matching shirts oh my god i think we should all kill ourselves

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allthatjazz416 · 3 months ago

Note

that osamu fic was AMAZING AND SOW ELL WRITTEN i loved it a lot <3 cant wait to see what other works u haveeee

OMG HIIIi! Glad that Osamu fic was really loved 🥰 I didn't even mean to post it and didn't realize til I read this LMAO. But thank you for the love!

Samu fic link

#anon #girlblogging #girlhood #haikyuu #pink aesthetic #pink blog #anonymous #thanks anon!#anime

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allthatjazz416 · 3 months ago

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Osamu NSFW 🌹

"Kiss the cook" A Miya Osamu TIMESKIP fic Tags: Fem!Reader! Creampie! Squirting! Spanking! A lil nipple play! Manhandling! Brief!Cockwarming! Implied!Breedingkink! Praisekink! Dom!Osamu! Sub!Reader! Established RS! Cockdrunk! Cunnulingus! MarriedCouple! LovingDominance! Word Count: 2.9k Note: MDNI! Porn with like a lil plot. Inspired by this header lol which divider crdts: @/cursed-carmine

The smell hits you first.

Garlic. Onion. A little soy sauce. It hits like a warm hug the second you step through the door, bags in hand and shoes half-off. You sigh, stretching your arms over your head, sore from work but already relaxing because he’s home. And he’s cooking.

You round the corner and find him there—in a loose gray shirt, apron tied around his hips, sleeves rolled up, stirring something in a skillet.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he says without turning around, voice casual, warm. “You’re home early.”

“I missed you,” you hum.

He laughs softly under his breath. “Didn’t even text me.”

You walk up behind him and snake your arms around his waist, pressing your cheek between his shoulder blades. He’s warm. Solid. Smelling like salt and dinner and Osamu.

“Wanted to surprise you,” you murmur, nosing at the back of his neck. “Smells amazing.”

“Y’better be talkin’ about the food,” he teases.

You smile. “You know I’m not.”

He goes still when you kiss just below his ear, and stay there. His knuckles tighten on the spoon. You know that look—that tiny shift in his stance. He’s trying not to react. So you push it.

Your fingers dip under the hem of his apron. His cock’s not hard yet, but he shifts when you press your palm over his waistband, groaning low in his chest.

“…Now, sweetheart,” he warns, gently, “you start that and I’ll burn the whole damn thing.”

“Then maybe you should turn the stove off.”

He snorts, but it’s breathless. He does turn it off. And the second he sets the spoon down, you spin him around, eyes already on his mouth.

Osamu tastes like soy and garlic and the tiniest hint of sake when you kiss him. He kisses like he cooks—slow and sure, knowing exactly what he’s doing. His hands find your waist. Then your hips. Then your ass.

“Been wantin’ you all day,” he mutters against your lips. “Got this picture in my head of you bent over the kitchen counter in nothin’ but a smile—”

“That so?” you whisper, tongue flicking the corner of his mouth. “Think you can make it happen?”

He doesn’t answer.

He grabs your thighs, lifts you like you weigh nothing, and sets you on the counter in one smooth motion. You blink—pulse quickening—not expecting him to actually drop to his knees. He never does this without teasing first. Without dragging it out. But this time—

He kneels. Right there on the kitchen floor.

“Samu—!” your hands reach for the edge of the counter, breath catching. “I’ve been out all day, I’m probably all sweaty down there—”

“Good,” he growls, spreading your thighs. “I wanna taste all of it.” eyes locked on your soaked cunt. “Fuck, look at you.”

You freeze, pulse hammering in your throat. Heat crawls up your chest. You weren’t expecting this—weren’t expecting him to want you like this, right now, raw and unfiltered. Part of you hesitates, skin flushed and prickling with the awareness of the day still clinging to you.

But the way he looks at you—hungry, reverent, fucking possessed—melts every ounce of self-consciousness. He wants you. Just like this.

Your breath catches again, this time for a different reason. You relax back into your elbows, thighs falling open.

“Fuck,” you whisper. “Okay…”

He spreads your thighs, hooks them over his shoulders, and drags his tongue through your slit like he’s starving.

And god—he doesn’t stop.

Osamu eats pussy like it’s his job. Like you’re his last meal. He licks up your folds, slow and wet and filthy, then swirls his tongue around your clit until your thighs twitch. His hands keep you open, thumbs pressing into your hips just enough to bruise. You pant, moan, try to grind down—but he pins you there.

“Stay still,” he growls, voice low against your core. “Lemme take my time.”

His mouth seals around your clit and sucks. You yelp, clapping a hand over your mouth. He hums into you, sending vibrations straight through your cunt.

“Osamu—fuck, that—ah—”

“You’re already drippin’, sweetheart,” he groans. “This little pussy missed me?”

You nod helplessly, hips twitching. “Y-yeah… I missed your mouth…”

He groans into your cunt, like that does something to him. And then he gets meaner. Hungrier. His fingers come next—one thick finger pushing inside while his tongue works circles around your clit. Then another. Curling just right.

You feel it building—hot and tight in your belly, your thighs clenching, every muscle on edge. But just when you’re about to tip over—

He stops.

You whine, loudly. “Samu!”

He smirks up at you, fingers still buried deep, glistening mouth pressed to your thigh.

“You were close, huh?” he teases, curling his fingers just enough to make your body jump. “You gonna cum all over the counter for me?”

“Please,” you whimper. “Please don’t tease me—need it so bad—”

He grins, slow and filthy.

“Say it again.”

“Need your mouth,” you gasp, hands fisting in his hair. “Need to cum for you, Osamu—fuck, please—”

He goes in.

Tongue on your clit, fingers curling hard and fast—right there, over and over—and the pressure snaps.

Your back arches. You scream, thighs clamping around his head as you squirt hard, soaking his mouth, his chin, the front of his apron.

You’re gasping, shaking, crying out—helpless against the wave of overstimulation.

Osamu groans like it’s the hottest thing he’s ever felt, grinding his face into you like he wants more.

“Fuckin’ love makin’ you squirt,” he pants. “You always make a mess for me, don’t you?”

You’re still shaking when he stands—licking his fingers like he’s tasting your orgasm, his cock hard as granite behind his sweats. His mouth and chin are slick—glistening with you.

Then he grabs your face.

Big, calloused fingers wrap under your jaw, thumb pressing just under your lips as he tilts your face up to his. His eyes are dark. Hungry.

“Open.”

You do.

He kisses you—filthy. Deep and slow, no warning. His tongue pushes past your lips and you taste yourself, still dripping from his mouth. He groans into the kiss, hand gripping your chin like he owns you.

“That's you,” he growls, pulling back just enough to pant against your mouth. “So fuckin’ sweet. I could live off this cunt.”

You whimper, clenching around nothing. He must feel the heat radiating off you because he grins, smug and slow and dangerous.

Then his hand slides down. Between your legs. He cups your pussy—still wet, still messy—and moans into your cheek.

“Still so fuckin’ wet,” he mutters, grinding his palm against your clit. “Y’gonna let me fuck you now, sweetheart? Let me fill you up?”

You nod. Fast. Breathless. “Yes. Please.”

“Not beggin’ pretty enough,” he growls, licking into your neck, one hand gripping your waist tight enough to bruise. “Want you to ask me. Like a good girl.”

You whimper, arching your back, rubbing against him. “Please fuck me, Samu. Wanna feel your cock. Wanna feel you inside.”

“Where, sweetheart?” he presses, cock hard against your thigh now, rubbing through the front of his sweats. “Tell me where you want it.”

“Inside,” you pant, eyes fluttering. “Need you to finish inside me.”

He lets out a sound—deep, dark, filthy. Then he hooks one arm around your waist and lifts you, making you yelp. Not rushed, not rough—just strong, decisive, possessive.

“Counter’s too small,” he mutters against your neck. “Need more room to fuck you proper.”

He carries you across the kitchen and lays you back on the table like you’re made of something precious and his. The wood is cool against your back, a sharp contrast to the heat of his body as he looms over you, staring down at you like you’re his next course.

His eyes drop to your chest, still hidden under your shirt, and he growls low—like he’s just remembered what else he’s starving for.

“Lift your arms, sweetheart,” he murmurs, tugging your shirt up and off. “Wanna see all of you.”

He palms your breasts with both hands, rough but reverent, thumbs brushing over your nipples until they harden under his touch. You arch up with a soft gasp, and he groans—low and filthy, cock twitching against your thigh.

“Fuck, these tits,” he mutters, bending to mouth at one nipple, sucking slow and deep until it makes your toes curl. “I missed these, too. God, you make me crazy.”

He bites—just enough to make you yelp—then soothes it with a slow lick. His hands never leave your body, one still cupping your breast while the other slides down, trailing heat along your side.

“Keep lookin’ at me like that,” he mutters, tugging his sweats down just enough for his cock to spring free—thick and flushed and already leaking, “and I’m not gonna be able to take my time.”

“Then don’t,” you whisper, hips lifting, legs parting. “Samu, I need it.”

He groans, low and hungry, and steps in closer—running his cock through your folds, dragging it over your clit, tapping it against your soaked entrance just to hear the obscene slick of your arousal.

“Fuck,” he hisses. “You’re drippin’—you this messy just from gettin’ eaten out?”

You whine, squirming. “M’still sensitive—”

“I know.” His smirk is slow. Dangerous. “That’s why I’m gonna make it worse.”

He strokes his cock once—twice—then presses the blunt head to your entrance.

But he doesn’t push in.

Not yet.

His hand slides up your chest, under your shirt, up your neck. Grips your chin.

“Kiss me.”

You do, panting into his mouth as he leans over you—his tongue slow, dragging, dirty. He kisses you like he owns every part of you.. Like you belong to him.

Then—only then—he starts to push in.

“Just a little,” he murmurs against your lips. “Let me feel that squeeze…”

You moan, loud and helpless, as he sinks in—slow, steady, inch by inch.

“Big,” you gasp. “You’re so—fuck—you’re so big…”

“That’s right,” he growls. “Wanna feel me stretch you out. Wanna ruin this pussy nice and slow.”

He stops halfway in. Just stops—and starts grinding.

Not thrusting. Just deep, tight circles of his hips, the thick weight of his cock rubbing right against the spot that makes your toes curl. Your hands fly up, clinging to his shoulders, his apron still bunched around his waist.

You whimper. “Samu—need all of you—please—”

“I know, baby,” he mutters, cock twitching inside you. “You’re takin’ me so well. Almost there…”

Another inch. Another grind. He watches your face—eats every gasp, every twitch of your lips, like he’s feasting on your need.

And then he bottoms out.

All of him. Buried to the hilt.

You both moan.

You swear you see stars for a second.

“God, I feel so full—”

“That’s ‘cause you are, baby,” he pants, forehead pressed to yours. “Look at me. Let me see your face when I fuck you.”

He pulls out just a little—then thrusts back in.

Deep.

Slow.

Like he wants to mold your insides to his shape.

He does it again. And again. Each thrust deeper than the last, each one building that low, aching heat between your legs. You wrap your arms around him, thighs trembling, biting back moans that only make him grin.

“You love this,” he growls. “Love bein’ fucked like this, huh?”

“Yes,” you whimper, tears pricking your eyes. “Love your cock—fuck—don’t stop—”

He doesn’t.

His thrusts stay deep, slow, and dirty. Every inch of him feels like it’s made to ruin you—hot and thick, dragging against your sweet spot with a precision that makes you clench down and moan his name like it’s the only word you remember.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, leaning over you, his chest pressed to your back. “You hear that? That’s your pussy talkin’ to me.”

He’s right.

It’s wet—obscene. Every thrust sounds like filth, slick and messy, your cunt fluttering greedily around him. You gasp as his hips press flush to your ass, his cock buried to the hilt, and he stays there—grinding. Deep and slow. Like he’s savoring how tight you are around him.

“God, I can’t get deep enough like this,” he growls, pulling out slow. “Turn over for me, baby—lemme see that ass.”

You moan, dizzy with need, and roll over—cheek pressed to the table, arms braced, legs trembling as he slips back in.

Then—

Smack.

You yelp, jumping slightly as his hand lands hard on your ass. The sound echoes through the kitchen. Your cunt clenches around him.

“There she is,” he growls, rubbing the sting in with a big, warm hand. “Always gets tighter when I spank you.”

“Samu,” you moan, shivering. “Again—”

Another smack.

You whimper, arching your back, presenting for him like a good girl.

“You’re filthy,” he pants, fucking into you again—slow and thick. “Come home from work all sweet and polite, then turn into a cockdrunk mess the second I get you on the table.”

“I missed you,” you breathe, voice trembling. “Missed your cock. Missed this.”

“Yeah?” His hand slides up your spine, fingers winding into your hair to gently tug your head back so he can kiss the side of your face. “This pussy miss me, baby?”

You whine—high, needy—grinding back into him. “So much.”

He groans into your skin, then pulls out slow—just the tip inside—and slams back in, hard enough to make the table creak beneath you.

You cry out, nearly folding over the wood, but he catches your hips.

“That’s it,” he grits, rutting into you again, hips smacking loud and sharp. “Let me fuck it better.”

His thrusts pick up, sloppy now—wet and deep, the sound of skin on skin echoing in your little kitchen, obscene and delicious. He’s panting into your neck, hands bruising on your hips, buried so deep inside you it feels like he’s touching your fucking soul.

“You love this, huh?” he growls. “Love comin’ home and gettin’ fucked dumb like this?”

“Yes—yes, baby, I love it—”

“You were so fuckin’ sweet walkin’ out the door this morning, actin’ all innocent in that cute little work outfit,” he pants, one hand coming down again—smack—harder this time, making you jerk forward with a cry. “Bet you were thinkin’ about my cock the whole damn day.”

You nod frantically, gasping. “Wanted your cock all day—”

“Should’ve told me,” he growls, grinding deep. “I’d’ve bent you over this table before you even get your keys.”

You moan, loud and unfiltered, your thighs shaking again.

His pace doesn’t let up. He keeps fucking into you like he owns it—your body, your cunt, your sounds. His cock drives in deep, again and again, that perfect spot hit over and over until your vision starts to blur.

You’re soaked. Gushing around him. So wet it’s dripping off your thighs onto the floor, messy and hot and loud. You feel another orgasm building fast—sharper this time, tighter, like a spring wound to the breaking point.

“Fuck—Samu—I’m gonna—”

“You gonna squirt again for me, baby?” he groans, thrusting harder. “So fuckin’ greedy tonight—”

He slips a hand between your legs, thumb rubbing your clit in tight circles, fucking you through it—hard and fast, like he wants to feel you fall apart again.

And you do.

You break with a scream—back arching, mouth open, body going rigid before you gush, helpless and messy, your juices spilling around him in hot waves. You feel it spray out, feel the slap of it against his thighs, the flood between your legs soaking the front of the counter.

Osamu groans like it’s the best thing he’s ever seen.

“Look at you,” he pants, never stopping. “So fuckin’ wet, baby—fuck—feel that? You’re milkin’ my cock—fuckin’ made for it—”

You’re limp. Wrecked. But he’s still going.

You moan, weakly now, every thrust sending aftershocks through your nerves. And you feel him twitch inside you, cock hard and pulsing, hips starting to stutter.

“Tell me where you want it,” he grits, hand clutching your waist. “Tell me where to finish.”

“In me,” you whimper, “Osamu—inside—wanna feel it. Wanna keep it in—”

“Fuck—fuck—” he grits out, voice cracking.

He slams in deep and stays, hips locking against yours as he cums with a growl—low and broken and possessive. You feel it fill you, thick and hot, pumping inside until it leaks around his cock and drips down your thighs, mixing with everything else you’ve spilled.

And still, he doesn’t pull out.

He bends over you, chest to your back, both of you trembling. He kisses your shoulder. Your cheek. Your neck.

“You okay, sweetheart?” he murmurs, voice soft now, tender against your ear.

You nod, still panting. “I’m so full…”

He grins, slow and wicked, cupping your mound with one big hand, with his cock plunged in to keep it all in. “Damn right you are.”

And then he laughs—soft and low, one hand sliding up your spine to stroke your hair.

“I ever tell you how much I love it when my wife comes home to me?”

You laugh, exhausted. Wrecked. Soaked in love and slick and everything that’s his.

“Only every time you fuck me like this.”

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