#jjk nanami

[camarei]

“we shouldn’t be doing this...” kento breathlessly muttered in bed.

“hm? do you not like it? do you want me to stop? we’re just having a great time.” you reply as you rub his chest, your touch so soft and gentle it made him forget what he was worrying on.

“i do like it. it’s just... feels unethical.” he retreats from your hold for a few seconds then came back to lean in again.

“i don’t think cuddling with your wife is considered ‘unethical’, baby.” you kiss his forehead, nuzzling his face on your neck as you pat the back of his head.

“yes, but i’m sick. what if you catch it?” he whispers, his hot breath tickling your neck.

“if snuggling with my husband would be the cause of my flu, i’d gladly accept it.” you let out a soft giggle as your free hand slithers on his back, massaging little circles on it.

after a few days, kento got better. and then there you were, sick in bed. but no worries! he’s there to take care of you like how you did to him.

[classyrbf]

thinking about fucking professor!nanami who you met at a bar, celebrating your last day of summer before college classes begin again. With his blonde hair, chiseled cheekbones and those muscles popping out from his dress shirt may have made you a little nervous, but with a few shots of liquor in your system you gained liquid courage. His perfect smile and smooth voice only drew you in more, and god how his thighs looked in those khakis made your imagination run wild. The conversation ran smooth, he told you he was a professor, which led you to realize he was older than you may have believed, but that didn’t stop you. Honestly, it seemed exciting being with an older man considering you’ve been told many times that they’re great in bed.

So with a few drinks in your system and hours of flirting back and forth, you both end up in his car, in the back of some random building. Your dress is hiked up, and his hands are gripping your ass, guiding your hips up and down his cock. The aroma of sex and sweat lingers in the air, your bodies pressed close together as he thrusts up into you. The tip of his cock grazes against your cervix, your eyes rolling back. “You’re so fucking deep! Yes!” You cry out. And Nanami doesn’t plan on stopping, the intoxicating of your pussy gripping down on his does something to his brain. Having a pretty little thing like you on top of him makes his dick throb harder than ever before, especially with how eager you are.

His hand swats down your ass, grabbing at the flesh to soothe the sting. His breath fans against your ear, panting heavily as he succumbs to your warmth, basking in the pleasure and thrill of this moment. “You like it right here? Huh?” He angles his hips just slightly, flushed against yours as he presses against your sweet spot. You let out a pornographic moan, gripping onto him tightly. “That’s the spot, baby? Right fucking there, hm?” He toys with you, thrusting up into you again. Your body shudders in his hold. “Ohhh, yes, baby. Take it. Fucking take it.” He starts loving at an animalistic pace, repeatedly hitting your sweet spot.

“Oh my god! Oh my god!” With each brutal thrust, your skin heats up, heart rapidly pounding in your chest. Your brows furrow in pleasure, turning your head to catch his lips, feverishly kissing him. His tongue slips against yours, both of you moaning, panting, high off pleasure. “Ohhh…shit…I’m gonna—gonna c-cum!” You moan, biting down on your bottom lip.

“Atta girl, cum on my dick. Let me feel all of you,” he whispers against your ear, his arms wrapping around your waist, holding you. “I got you, sweetheart.” His presses a messy kiss to your lips, each growing second your orgasm builds, and you already know how intense it’ll be. Your mind goes completely blank, incoherent mumbles and whimpers are all that are heard from you. Without warning, your entire body shakes, your orgasm raining down on you like a storm. “There she is,” he chuckles. “Good fucking girl.” He spanks your ass a few times, taking enjoyment out of watching you cum on his dick, still fucking him back as best as you could.

And the next morning, your up early in the morning, walking to your new class like nothing happened the night before. Thankfully it was your last year of college before you were officially done. It felt like a lifetime before that would happen though. You sat down in the lecture room, noticing a few faces from campus and previous classes through the years. It wasn’t anything you weren’t used to. All you were hoping is that the introduction was quick and smooth so you could go back to bed.

The side door to the room opened, the professor clearing his throat and setting down his things on the empty desk. “Good morning class, welcome to bio chemistry. I’m sure it’s nothing new for you. My name is Professor Nanami—”

You look up from your laptop, eyes wide in shock to see that your professor is in fact the man who just fucked you in his car last night. Why didn’t he say he was working at this college? Why didn’t you ask more question? You were so stupid. “Oh my god, oh my god,” you quietly whisper to yourself, hoping he didn’t notice you in the sea of students. “Are you fucking serious?!” You sink down in your seat just enough for the laptop to hide your face.

If only this class wasn’t a requirement for your major…

[chisakidream]

18+ mdni

//

thinking about how you make it your lifes mission to get even the slightest noise out of nanami when you’re fucking.

the most you get is a few grunts when he’s cumming but god you want more.

you’ve tried everything, bouncing on his cock as hard as you could, grinding your hips nice and slow on him, sucking that special spot on his neck right under his ear but nothing.

so one night when you drag your tongue over a thick vein on the underside of his cock right to the tip and see the quick flex of his abs and feel his thighs slightly jerk under hands, you could only think one thing….got his ass.

you do it one more time just to make sure and when his eyes close, eyebrows slightly furrowed and he lets out a huff of air, you smirk deviously in your head.

you try a third time, making sure to go slower when you reach his pink tip. he pants out again and and his head rolls back this time.

the fourth time, you pull away but not before giving that spot right under the tip a sloppy kiss, making sure just to suck on it the tiniest bit. then you hear it. he lets out a breath again but his voice comes through just a touch.

you go in for it. taking him in as deep as you can, hollowing your cheeks out and bobbing your head. dragging your tongue under the tip every time you come up. you can feel him slowly coming undone.

when you pull away for a second to catch your breath, you grab him with your hand and roll your wrist around the tip a few times. after the third jerk of your wrist, his composure waivers again and the most beautiful moan finally releases from him.

you revel in it and continue your motions, watching him with pure lust and love as those gorgeous noises keep falling from his lips.

when he releases, his voice raises an octave and his head is thrown back again. hips rolling as he rides his high out in your hand and his moans fall into low hums.

the smile and small kiss you give his tip lets him know you’ve just unlocked the key to making him lose all control.

taglist: @what-just-happened-to-me @aperfectlynormalblackbutlerfan @stomiedaies @ersharyzst @nina-from-317 @love-me-satoru @ackshit @superdupersunny420 @optimisticwonderlandgardener @changbinsalonsblog @jayathelostdragon @moonlovergirl22 @l0vee-l3tters @loveyislost

[booty-stealer]

People try to disguise works with saying “oh they’re not real!” or “but they’re adults!”. It’s weird behavior, whether it’s a minor or an adult you shouldn’t be writing things like that

The amount of incest, noncon, and pedophilic jjk smut content is getting out of hand.

"Just scroll if you don't like it!" - this doesn't negate the fact they're posting disgusting scenarios. They're targeting an audience of people who should seek therapy. That kind of shit is not okay.

It's like saying "scroll part a zoophile account on Twitter if u don't like it." See how stupid it sounds?

This Fandom is slowly becoming one i regret being in because of just how disgusting people are becoming. Come on guys, do better.

It's okay to have kinks and fetishes, but that doesn't mean they're okay. It's not okay to sexualize minors, it's not okay to sexualizw little space, it's not okay to sexualize r//pe! I get dubcon, but noncon? That's literally just nonconsensual sex.

Anyways. Rant over. Do better, people.

---

Edit: I have MUCH more to say on this now that I've read some other inputs:

The problem isn't "block and move on" or "ur arguing for fiction..." it's the fact people are exposing minors and already mentally ill people to VERY REAL and DISGUSTING scenarios. It doesn't matter that they're fictional, what they're writing about is a real issue. Blocking tags doesn't work most of the time, so stop saying to shut up and just use that feature.

Another thing is that people are making these writings so normal that they are making others think it's okay. When I was younger, I had unsupervised internet access and was exposed to smut like this. It messed me up and got me institutionalized because I didn't know it wasn't okay to talk about. Minors nowadays are also very unsupervised and will come across your stuff. I'm worried for the next generation.

Last thing, the excuse "they're just fiction" is flawed because you're ignoring the PSA! You wouldn't say this if it was about something else, right? If someone was saying: "I love lolicon!" You wouldn't block and move on. You would call their asses out and comment bomb them. It's the same concept, except on a broader spectrum. You're enabling the behavior of these vile creatures that need serious help. You're not doing anyone any good by saying "this is so unnecessary" or "they're fictional..."

(Update: read this post about my asks if you plan on sending a hate message or threat lol)

[bjlipss]

— heaven;

cw: 18+, talks of erectile dysfunction, angst, hurt/comfort kinda, fluff, internal shame, smut, reader’s pussy so good it cures his psychogenic erectile dysfunction (jk jk )

nanami kento is twenty-seven, and he’s tired.

not just tired in the way most people are. not the kind of tired that a good night’s sleep can fix, or a strong cup of coffee, or even a weekend off. no—this is deeper. it’s marrow-deep, soul-deep. a weariness that clings to his skin like damp fabric, that coils around his spine and never quite lets go. he wakes up tired, works tired, eats dinner with aching jaws and leaves dishes in the sink because even that feels like too much. he falls into bed exhausted, but sleep doesn’t come easy anymore. it never really did.

he tells himself it’s just the job.

and maybe that’s partly true. being a jujutsu sorcerer is not a career so much as a death sentence delayed. he’s seen too much already—too many curses, too many mangled bodies of young sorcerers who were brave and dumb and sixteen. too many higher-ups pretending to care, pretending it’s all for the greater good, while they sip their tea and send teenagers into war.

but it’s more than that.

nanami feels like he’s rotting from the inside out.

like the life he’s built has been sanded down into something sharp-edged and joyless. he clocks in. he clocks out. he does what needs to be done. he’s efficient, dependable, clean-cut and quiet. people like him. respect him. some of the younger ones even look up to him.

but nobody knows him.

and he’s not sure anyone has, for a long time.

so one night—after a particularly bad day, after a body too small and a scream too young—he tries. he thinks maybe what he needs is something simple. human. physical. something warm to remind him he’s still alive.

a woman from another division has been flirting with him for weeks. she’s pretty, soft-voiced, always smiling a little too long when they talk. so he takes the outstretched hand. they go back to her place. she lights a candle. she kisses him slowly.

he feels it at first—some spark of arousal, like muscle memory—but it’s distant. like watching fire behind glass.

his body won’t move with it. won’t rise. won’t react. he breathes harder. tries to push through it. thinks about her hands, her mouth, anything to stay there in the moment.

but nothing happens.

he goes soft before he even really gets hard.

the woman doesn’t say anything cruel. she gets dressed in silence, touches his shoulder like she’s sorry for him, not angry. she tells him not to worry about it. says it’s okay but there’s underlying pity in her words and shame on her face.

the next day, she requests a transfer.

he books a doctor’s appointment that same week.

and of course—because he’s nanami—he does it methodically. picks a reputable clinic, shows up fifteen minutes early, fills out the intake form with precise handwriting. he answers the doctor’s questions with cool detachment, as if he’s talking about someone else.

yes, he’s under stress. yes, his job is demanding. no, he’s not in a relationship. yes, he’s been feeling… disconnected. not unhappy, not exactly. just empty.

the doctor runs some tests. blood work, hormone levels, a general check-up.

the results come back two days later.

nothing permanent. not uncommon. the diagnosis is delivered gently, like it might break him—psychogenic erectile dysfunction, likely triggered by chronic stress, emotional burnout, maybe even signs of depression. his testosterone is on the low end of normal. cortisol is high. his body is in a constant state of fight or flight, flooded with survival hormones that leave no space for desire. no room for softness. for sex.

he listens. nods. thanks the doctor. goes home.

and doesn’t talk about it to anyone.

he blames himself anyway. even if it’s not his fault. even if it’s chemical, environmental, emotional—he feels lesser for it. less of a man. less of a person. like his body has given up on pleasure entirely. like his mind and his heart have withered into something that only knows function, not feeling.

so he avoids it.

he avoids women, avoids flirtation, avoids anything that might lead to a bedroom. he tells himself he’s too busy anyway. that morning wood was a bother anyways. tells himself sex is a distraction, a complication. that intimacy isn’t necessary for a man like him.

and then he meets you.

you arrive in nanami’s life without warning. not with fireworks or drama, not like most people who crash into his world demanding space and time and more than he can give.

he doesn’t fall fast. nanami isn’t built that way. but you come into his life quietly, like sunlight through half-closed blinds—slow and persistent, until everything is washed in warmth.

you don’t expect anything from him. you don’t push. you laugh at his dry comments, share your lunch with him, ask about his day like the answer matters. and without realizing it, he starts to linger longer when you talk. he memorizes the sound of your voice. he looks for you in a crowd, without meaning to.

you arrive quietly. like a steady rain after a long drought.

it starts with casual conversations in passing. the kind that linger in his mind longer than they should. he notices how you don’t rush to fill the silence. how you laugh with your whole body. how you speak with care, even when no one’s listening.

it’s not just want. it’s not even just need.

it’s love, blooming in slow, quiet ache.

and he begins to notice himself, too.

how his shoulders relax when you’re near. how the sharp, cloying edge of stress dulls a little when you smile at him. how, after weeks and then months, the ache in his chest—the one he thought was permanent—starts to fade.

he starts to want again.

not just sex, not the raw, thoughtless kind of release he’d once tried to chase like a cure. but something real. something soft. something he doesn’t think he deserves.

you.

but that desire terrifies him.

because the last time he wanted something like this, he was left feeling less than whole. and now, even with all the space you give him—all your patience, your gentleness—he still hesitates.

he thinks: what if i can’t give you what you need? what if you take it personally? what if you think it’s you?

so every time you lean in, every time your kisses linger too long and your sighs get needier, every time your hands slide up beneath his shirt or your voice goes warm and breathy in his ear—he pulls away.

softly. politely. like he’s putting up a boundary with words too careful to hold the weight of what he really means.

“early morning tomorrow,” he says.

“long day,” he says.

“let’s just hold each other,” he says.

and you don’t push. but he sees the flickers of confusion in your eyes. the slow-blooming insecurity in your silence. until one night—months in—you ask. gently. hesitantly. like you’re the one afraid of breaking something.

“is it… me?”

the look on his face could split stone. he flinches, hard—because no. never. because you are the only thing in his life that’s felt right in a very long time. and the idea that he’s made you feel anything less than wanted makes his throat close up.

he tries to explain, but his voice breaks halfway through. says something about the stress. the burnout. that it’s not permanent, that it’s not you, that it’s him. and you just nod, not asking for more, just sliding your fingers into his and resting your forehead against his chest.

he doesn’t sleep that night.

and then—some weeks later—something changes.

it’s a quiet night. rain patters softly against the windows. you’re sitting beside him on the bed, legs tangled under a shared blanket, your head on his shoulder.

he looks over at you—and the softness in your expression undoes him.

because when you say “i love you,” it’s not a declaration. it’s a truth. said simply. like breathing.

you reach up to touch his cheek, your fingers trembling. you’re afraid too—he can feel it. your voice is gentle, your body slow, like you’re asking permission with every movement. you kiss him, slow and steady, and for once he doesn’t pull away.

your hand slips under his shirt, fingers trailing down his chest, his abdomen, your touch featherlight.

and then—your palm presses lower, and he gasps.

he’s already half-hard.

your touch stills.

he looks down at you, wide-eyed, disbelieving. “wait,” he whispers. “wait—i—”

your hand shifts, tentative but confident, fingers curling gently around him. he’s warm and thick and growing harder by the second in your palm. his hips twitch into the touch, and a groan escapes him—honest, startled, and wrecked.

“kento,” you breathe, eyes flicking up to his. “you’re okay.”

his mouth opens. closes. opens again. his hand shakes as it settle on your thigh as if to ground himself, his chest rising and falling too fast. “i—i don’t understand. it’s never—” he swallows thickly. “not in months. not like this.”

you press a kiss to his throat. “you’re not broken,” you murmur. “you just needed something real.”

his breath catches. his head falls back against the couch as he tries to absorb the weight of what’s happening—your hand on him, his body responding, his mind not swimming with anxiety or failure or shame.

only you.

your name falls from his lips like a prayer.

“keep going,” he whispers, voice rough with disbelief. “please—don’t stop.”

and when you lean in to kiss him again, he’s already pulling you into his lap, desperate to feel all of you, like something inside him has finally come back to life.

your hand wraps gently around him, and he groans like he’s in pain—but the kind of pain that’s thick with relief. his hips twitch, a raw reaction, and he stares down at you like he can’t quite believe what’s happening.

you stroke him softly, just enough pressure to keep him grounded. he’s hard—really hard—and you feel the pulse of blood and heat against your palm, see the way his breath stutters with every pass of your hand. there’s something deeply vulnerable about the way he looks right now—wide-eyed, flushed, almost awed.

you lean in, press your lips to his throat. “you’re so responsive,” you murmur. “so sensitive. is this okay?”

he groans again, tilts his head back to give you more access. “more than okay. please don’t stop.”

you slide down his body, kissing a trail over his chest, his abdomen—slow and deliberate. he grips the sheets beneath him, knuckles white, trying not to lose control too fast. you settle between his legs, eyes flicking up to meet his.

“can i?”

he swears under his breath. “yes. yes, please.”

your mouth replaces your hand, and nanami breaks.

his hand flies to your hair, not to push or guide, just to hold, to anchor himself. his thighs tremble under you, breath coming faster now, a desperate hitch to it like he’s been waiting years to feel this.

“shit—i’m not gonna last long,” he gasps. “i’m—this is—you’re—”

he spills out your name like a secret, fingers tightening just slightly as you keep going, steady, loving. he tries to warn you again, but the words collapse into a groan, long and low and wrecked. he comes with a stuttered gasp, thighs clenching, whole body drawn tight like a bowstring before he collapses into the mattress, boneless.

you crawl back up to kiss him, and he pulls you into his arms like you’re the last soft thing in the world. he’s shaking.

“i didn’t know it could feel like that,” he whispers.

you smile against his jaw. “you mean good?”

“i mean real.”

but he’s not done.

after he catches his breath, after the shock begins to fade, he looks at you—eyes dark with something steadier now. want. and something clicks in him, something hungry and focused.

“your turn, darling,” he says, low and deliberate.

and the way he touches you then—slow and thorough, with trembling reverence and careful pressure—makes it clear he intends to make up for lost time.

he shifts you gently beneath him, hands slow and warm as they spread across your hips, your thighs. there’s a reverence to him now, a steadiness—it’s like some long-locked part of him has finally opened, and all that careful control he’s always worn like armor has melted away, leaving only want.

but not greedy want. devotional.

“you’ve been so patient with me,” he murmurs, kissing the inside of your knee, your thigh. his voice is low, steady, like he’s trying to ground you both. “i want to return that.”

his hands slide beneath your thighs, spreading you open with almost unbearable gentleness. his lips follow the path of his palms, mouth pressing kisses to the softest parts of you, slow and unhurried.

“kento,” you breathe, already trembling.

he glances up—eyes dark, intent. “tell me what you want.”

“you,” you say, helplessly. “just you.”

he exhales like that undoes him.

his mouth finally finds you, and the first drag of his tongue is soft, exploratory, like he’s memorizing the taste of you. and then he does it again, more confidently, more hungrily, and your hands fly to his hair, gripping hard as your hips rise into his mouth. he moans when you do, the vibration sinking straight through your spine.

he eats you like it’s the only thing that’s ever made sense. like your pleasure is sacred. his tongue flicks, presses, circles, learning every reaction you give him like he’s etching it into memory. and when you whimper his name, thighs shaking around his shoulders, he doesn’t stop—he slides a finger inside you, slow and deep, matching the rhythm of his tongue with deliberate care.

“you’re so wet,” he groans, lips slick. “i want to feel you come on my tongue. can you do that for me?”

you nod, gasping, your body already so close to the edge. it’s overwhelming—his mouth, his voice, the sheer intensity of how focused he is on you.

“you taste incredible,” he breathes. “you feel even better. i could stay here all night.”

you fall apart moments later, arching into him, his name torn from your throat as your release floods through you. and even then, he doesn’t stop—not until your body’s twitching, overstimulated, clinging to him.

he finally rises, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes never leaving yours.

“i’ve never wanted anyone like this,” he says, breathless, reverent.

he kisses you again—slow, messy, sharing your taste between your tongues.

and then, once your breathing steadies, once you’ve gathered enough strength to look up at him with pleading eyes—

he moves over you like a shadow—controlled, careful—but the moment he sinks into you, that composure shatters. his breath stutters. his hands shake.

“fuck,” he groans, burying his face in your neck. “you feel—god, you feel unreal.”

you wrap your legs around his waist, arms holding him close. he’s so deep, stretching you perfectly, filling you in a way that feels like coming home.

“you’re so tight,” he murmurs, voice fraying at the edges. “i don’t think i can—i want to go slow, i should—”

you arch your hips, driving him deeper. “don’t,” you whisper. “don’t hold back.”

and that’s all it takes.

he growls—a low, desperate sound—and suddenly his hips are snapping into you, strong and fast, each thrust sending a sharp crack of pleasure through your core. it’s messy and hot and overwhelming, the weight of his body, the heat between you, the breathless groans spilling into your skin as he fucks you like he’s trying to make up for all the empty years.

“missed this,” he pants. “missed the way it feels—you, around me like this—fuck.”

he kisses you like he needs to taste every gasp you make, teeth grazing your lower lip, tongue deep and messy. your nails rake down his back, and he shudders, cock twitching deep inside you.

“you’re perfect,” he groans. “you’re perfect.”

but even in his hunger, he doesn’t forget you—his hand slides down, finding your clit, rubbing in tight, desperate circles. “want you to come with me,” he says, voice wrecked. “need to feel you fall apart.”

“kento—” your voice breaks, too close, body already starting to tense.

“that’s it,” he groans. “give it to me. please.”

you break with a cry, clenching hard around him—and the feeling of you, pulsing, squeezing, milking him—that is what finally drags him over the edge. he moans your name as he comes, hips grinding deep, spilling into you as his whole body locks up.

he doesn’t stop moving for a while—gentler now, drawn-out, like he can’t bear to leave your body just yet. his forehead rests against yours, both of you gasping, sweat-slick and trembling.

he kisses you softly. “i don’t know how i lived without this.”

you smile up at him, lazy and dazed. “without me?”

he lets out a breathless laugh, tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

“yeah,” he murmurs, kissing your temple. “without you.”

you’re both quiet in the aftermath, tangled together in the warmth of each other’s skin, his head resting against your collarbone, his breathing deep and heavy. but slowly—slowly—you feel the unmistakable twitch of him still nestled inside, and your breath catches.

you shift slightly, just a roll of your hips, and he groans into your throat, voice deep and hoarse and still utterly wrecked.

“you’re insatiable,” you tease, breathless.

his voice is rough when he answers, low and reverent. “you have no idea.”

nanami lifts his head to look at you, and there’s something different in his eyes now—less disbelief, more possession. awe replaced with intent. he cups your cheek with a hand that’s still trembling, brushes his thumb over your lower lip.

“i thought something in me had just… broken. like i’d worn myself down past the point of wanting. but you…” he leans in, kisses you slow, “you woke something up.”

he kisses you again—deep, slow, tongue sweeping into your mouth like he owns it. and as he moves, you feel him swelling inside you, hardening with each gentle grind of his hips, still sheathed deep. the sensation pulls a soft moan from your throat, and he smiles—a real, almost smug curl of his lips.

“still so wet,” he murmurs. “still perfect.”

he pulls out slowly, and you feel the slick warmth of his cum spill between your thighs, but he doesn’t go far—he shifts down your body, spreading your legs again, and runs his tongue through your folds with a sound like he’s dying for it.

he devours you this time—not gentle, not worshipful, but needy. his mouth is hot and relentless, tongue stroking through the mess he made, sucking at your clit until your hips are jerking and your fingers are in his hair again, dragging him closer, closer—

you gasp his name, trembling under him, and he pulls back just enough to rasp, “you’re going to come for me again. i need you to. i want to feel it when i’m inside you.”

your stomach twists, tight with anticipation, and you nod, hips rocking helplessly into his mouth until you come again, loud and sharp and aching. nanami groans like your orgasm gets him off, like the sound of you falling apart is the only thing he needs.

he moves over you fast—lifts your leg, presses your knee back toward your chest, and sinks back into you with one rough, deep thrust that knocks the air from your lungs.

“fuck—so good,” he grits out, already moving hard and slow. “so goddamn tight.”

this time, there’s no hesitation. he takes his time, but he owns every movement—drives into you with long, deep strokes that press your body into the bed, each one punctuated with soft, dirty praise.

“you feel this?” he growls against your neck. “feel how deep i am?”

you nod, too overwhelmed to speak. he’s everywhere—inside you, all around you—his scent, his voice, his heat. the steady slap of skin against skin is dizzying.

“i could stay here forever,” he breathes, one hand bracing your thigh up, the other moving down between your bodies. “feel you like this—tight and wet and mine.”

his fingers find your clit again, rubbing in circles that match his thrusts, and the pressure spirals fast—he’s hitting every spot, every angle, like he’s been memorizing your body since the beginning of time.

you come again with a sob, and this time he doesn’t stop—his pace picks up, thrusts more frantic now, deeper, rougher. wild.

“want to come inside you again,” he gasps. “want to fill you up, fuck it deeper—fuck—”

your name breaks from his throat as he drives deep one last time and comes hard, hips shuddering, breath gone ragged. he stays inside you, body shaking, arms braced on either side of your head.

for a long moment, neither of you moves.

just breathing.

just feeling.

and then he collapses beside you, pulls you into his chest, still buried deep, still twitching with the last pulses of pleasure. his lips brush your forehead, your temple, your jaw.

“i didn’t know it could be like this,” he whispers. “not just the sex. this.”

you hum, pressing your lips to his chest.

“i’m not going anywhere.” you say.

and his arms tighten around you—like he believes it, finally. like you’ve given him something back that he thought was lost forever.

[tojislovergirl]

revolving door ft. jjk men

PART 2: you give into the jjk men and hookup with them because you think they are serious about your relationship…turns out they aren’t.

cw: angst, no comfort, swearing, toxic jjk men, gaslighting in choso’s, situationship, not proofread

a/n: the final part will out tomorrow!! it will probably hurt more than this one���requests are closed!

part 1 part 3

tags: @nina-from-317 @stillswoon @guppygrunge @comeonatmebruh @stressed-cryptid @bellsoftheball @rodeorun

[flowerymenendez]

Your boyfriend loved playing with your pussy. And, no, not in a sexual way.

You were cuddling, your back resting against his chest while his tired eyes were fixed on the TV after a long day. Your legs were spread and his big hands were subconsciously roaming lazily over your relaxed body, down, down until he reached the waistband of your pretty panties. You glanced down at his hand when he slid it under your underwear, meeting your soft pussy lips.

You looked up at him when he started rubbing and pinching your folds only to see your almost sleepy boyfriend staring at the TV, very drawn into the show. He didn't even look at you, not even a slight flinch. Because, well, he was too damn relaxed, watching TV while playing with your pussy because he loved how soft and puffy it was.

You whimpered lowly, turning your attention back to the TV while he kept molding your pretty pussy.

A few minutes later, you started squirming when he accidentally rubbed your little bud, making you leak.

And, without noticing, he slid his thick fingers down to your sappy cunt, rubbing small circles over it before moving them back to your clit, making it throb.

You bit your lip, lifting your hips against his hand, meanwhile he chuckled softly at the forgotten TV show in the background.

He kept playing with your clit and cunt until you were all soaked, holding back your moans when your clit started throbbing deliciously against his fingers while you orgasmed.

Finally, he looked down at you, noticing his very flushed and lustful little girlfriend. Then, his eyes moved down to his hand, sliding it out of your panties. His fingers were sticky, soaked with your arousal.

[nanamisgirly]

your dilf doesn't need 'perfect'　ྀི　

“w-wait—” you were panting, legs wrapped around his hips where dilf!nanami straddled you on the countertop. you pull back just as his mouth dragged open-mouthed kisses down your neck.

you don't remember how exactly you ended up there, how things turned from soft touches over dinner to a heavy make out session—tongue sliding between your lips, big hands pressing you against his chest. 

it's been months of holding back for both of you—resuming your relation to slow touches, soft kisses, and ‘no pressure sweetheart’ every time things started getting heavy. since you weren't experienced and kind of…scared, dilf!nanami suggested waiting til you're ready. and you've been grateful for it, even when you returned home some night aching and soaked from just making out with him.

and maybe all the courage you gathered to tug him in by his tie tonight and kiss him like you were desperate for it, had drained from your veins the moment you felt one of his hand sliding up your thigh and the other slipping under your shirt—hot, rough, calloused.

“did i go too far?” he asked, one hand still under your shirt, fingers hovering just under the band of your bra, not moving an inch. “it's okay. you don't need to explain. we can stop, sweetheart.” his lips were swollen—covered with spit. his eyes glassy and you could feel the weight of his cock pressing against your shorts.

“no—! no… i want to,” you blurted out too quickly, voice overlapping his, desperate not to be misunderstood. but even as you said it, you couldn't bring yourself to look at him in the eyes, so you turn your head, letting your hands rest on his broad shoulders as you continue, 

“it's just…” you exhaled, shame blooming fast in your chest. “i'm not confident about. . y'know.” you gesture vaguely toward your boobs. “they look nice in a bra and—uh…you've probably seen better. i know they look big in a bra, but they don't, well…stay up. they're soft, and…” your voice tightens. “i just…i've read things. about guys saying they were disappointed. or didn't want to even see them during the act, unless they were covered—” you laugh nervously, voice cracking. “it's so embarrassing. i-i didn't want you to see them and think—think they're…ugly.”

the silence that followed felt unbearable.

it only makes your anxiety grow and you feel so dumb for talking about it, maybe you should just have stopped and that's it…because nanami didn't move an inch since your little monologue, his honey eyes still trying to catch your gaze. 

your stomach drops. you start to shift trying to get off the counter, anything to escape mortification. “look, i'm sorry,” you say, heart pounding, eyes glassy. “i-i shouldn't have brought it up, i—umh—it's ok. i just thought that'd be nice to tell you before hand and huh…fuck i ruined everything didn't i?”

that's when you feel his hands coming to your hips, pinning you in place on the countertop. you gasp as he presses his cock against your core harder than ever—twitching with need.

when you looked up, his eyes had darkened. his brows were furrowed, jaw tight, emotion bleeding into every sharp line of his face. “that,” he said flatly, “is the stupidest fucking thing i've ever heard.”

your breath hitched.

“i'm not a boy with a warped idea of what women are supposed to look like.” he leaned in, cupping your jaw to be sure your eyes stay locked onto his. “i'm a grown man. you think i'm painfully hard, grinding against you, shaking, because i'm waiting for something ‘perfect’? sweetheart, i'm here, aching because it's you. all of you that i want.”

his voice was low, frayed. barely holding together. “let me very clear, sweetheart, i'm going to lose my mind when i see them, i will drop to my knees and thank the gods for putting someone as sweet as you.”

your lips part, trying to breathe through the whirl of embarrassment and affection and…arousal.

“ken—”

“does this—” he rasped, grabbing your wrist and guiding your trembling fingers down to the thick, pulsing shape of his cock straining in his slacks, “feel like someone who's going to be disappointed?”

you whimpered, your smaller fingers squeezing his boner. 

“f-fuck…” he shuddered. “if you want to stop,” he breathed, forehead falling to your shoulder. “i'll stop. if you want to wait, we'll wait. another month. another year. i don't care. anything you want, for you to be comfortable.”

but his voice cracked at the end—like he was hanging by a thread. you felt it too, his body coiled tight, like a beast barely leashed.

“you're too nice, ken.” you say teary-eyed, half laughing, half melting.

“well, k-keep squeezing me like that and i'm afraid i won't be nice any longer.” he groaned, lip brushing your neck.

your thighs wrapped tighter around him. “you can take it off,”

his head snapped up. “you sure?” his gaze held yours as his fingers brushed the hem of your shirt again, and when you nodded, “arms up, sweets,” he said softly, and you obeyed.

when he tosses delicately your shirt to the side, skilled fingers quickly find your bra and unclip it, oh very so slowly.

when your bra hit the floor, everything held still. like the world paused long enough for nanami to lose his mind quietly. his eyes dragged up, heavy-lidded and wrecked. one big hand came up—trembling—cupping your breast with a war raging in his mind : should i worship or ruin them?

“sweets,” he breathed, thumbing over one of your nipple, “they're perfect. so fucking perfect i feel like i'm hallucinating.”

[camarei]

“happy mother’s day, sweetheart.” kento mumbled in your ear as he embraces you from behind.

“huh? we don’t even have a kid nor am i pregnant, ken.” you reply, chuckling at him.

“hm, not yet”

WOAH WHAT WHAAAT . . .

[ohmy-gojo]

nanami's daughter went through an identity crisis at the age of four.

you were teaching her how to write her own name. she happily exclaimed that she can do it herself, after all papa taught her all the alphabets. she clumsily jot down her supposed name and showed it to you, looking very much proud

suethart nanami

you were confused but told her this was not her name. she looked up at you with confused big doe eyes, the color the same as your husband's

"but thats what papa calls me?"

you chuckled behind your hand and explained to her what her actual name was and how it wasnt sweetheart. she looked so devastated that you almost wanted to rename her.

"no, its sweetheart!"

later that evening, before nanami could even announce he was home and put out his shoes, his daughter went to him running

"papa! whats my name??" she asked very firmly, with arms crossed and brows furrowed

he raised his eyebrow at you to see if it was another tiktok prank where he was supposed to call her 'my princess' (hed gladly do that). you just shrugged your shoulders at him, looking very much done. he fondly huffed, things are always so chaotic with you two, but he wouldnt have it any other way. he smiled softly and patted his baby's fluffy haired head

"sweetheart, at least let me put out my shoes first-"

she cheered happily and threw herself in nanamis arms. out of instinct, he held her, with all the gentleness in the world.

"see mama?? i told you my name was sweetheart!!" she then proceeded to give you a 'i told you so' look

nanami, still very much confused and not out of his shoes looked at you, asking for help. you just sighed heavily

later during dinner time, you and nanami both taught your baby about real names and pet names. she got so pouty after she learnt that her name was neither sweetheart nor baby nor honey, it was taking nanami a lot of willpower to not her rename her sweetheart and bring back her sunny smile. but you reassured her that to you guys she will forever be 'sweetheart'. she lit up at your words and proceeded to happily munch her food

nanami blinked. well that was easy.

tho she had another breakdown when she found out that your name wasnt actually 'my love'.

edit : i have a papa geto work too! pls check it out on my profile!! ty :))

[classyrbf]

may we have calling toji (or nanami!) "daddy" for the first time 🙏 ive been so brain rotted with this thought recently ... please and thank you lmaox

thank you for the request pookie, I hope you like it!!

nanami has your head swirling, your body sweating and your cunt dripping. You can’t even think straight anymore, the feeling of his wet tongue running against your throbbing clit made your body tense. It felt like hours and hours of endless orgasms being ripped from you, legs shaking and eyes rolling back and all he’s doing is taking his sweet time with you. It’s feels so good, but you’re so tired, your body feels like it’s reached its point, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about your small cries and pleas. He doesn’t care about your weak attempts at pushing his head away, messy blonde hair sticking to the sweat on his forehead. He doesn’t care how much you writhe beneath him, trying to pull away because his arms at wrapped around your thighs so tightly that he just pulls you right back. The warm feeling of his spit dripping down your clit and to your hole makes your body shiver, nanami quickly slurping it right back up to your clit, giving it a light suck.

His dark eyes stare up at you, watching how your jaw falls slack and you throw your head back at every little feeling. “Can you give me another, sweetheart?” He hums, lips glossy from your juices, his chin soaked. “Please.” He lays the flat of his tongue on your clit, licking a stripe.

“I can’t, I can’t,” you mumble, shaking your head. And he knows that’s not the truth, he knows you have at least one more orgasm left to give him.

“Yes you can, baby. I know you can.” He suckles you clit once more, your back arching off the bed. His tongue runs up and down between your folds, moaning to himself at your taste. You keep shaking your head, crying out in pleasure from the overstimulation. “You taste so fucking good.” He presses a kiss to your clit, his thick fingers inching their way into your sopping cunt.

You gasp, lifting your head at the added feeling. All you see when you look at him a lustful, greedy man. He’s completely drunk on you in every way. “Oh my god,” your teeth catch your lower lip, fingers tangling in his hair when his fingers curl against your g-spot. “I can’t, it’s too much!” Your begging fall upon deaf ears. He’s too busy slurping your cunt to care. “Daddy, please!” You don’t even realize what you said, but your legs are shaking, everything coming to standstill when he lifts his head with a smirk.

“Say that again, sweetheart?” His fingers slowly pump in and out of you, eyes boring into yours like he’s looking into your soul. A wave of embarrassment crashes over you and your sat there, stuck, at a loss for words. “Don’t be shy now. Come on,” a breathy chuckle emits from his chest. “Say it again and I’ll give you what you want so badly. I know you’re close.” He presses light kisses to your inner thigh, teasing you.

You squeeze your eyes shut, right on the brink of your orgasm. He sits there, waiting patiently because he knows he can do this all day, but you’re running out of time. That impatient and desperate look in your eyes tells him everything. Your lips part, breath hitching before speaking, “daddy…please.” The words are so quiet and unsure, yet they still make his dick hard.

“Please what, baby?” He coos, blinking up you.

“Please…make me cum, daddy. Please,” you whimper, running your fingers through his messy hair, slowly pushing his head back down. You didn’t care if it was too much anymore, you wanted to feel the extreme high of your orgasm once more.

"Good girl.” His tongue is right back on your clit, moving it circles while his fingers work your cunt. He’s being messy and ruthless, sucking, licking, spitting. The grip you have on his hair makes him groan, the vibrations making your pussy tingle.

Your hand comes up to squeeze your tits, pulling at your nipples while you’re toes curl. “My god! Fuck! Daddyyy!” You scream, legs trembling. “I’m cumming! I’m cumming! I’m cum—ahhhh!” Your cunt spasms around his fingers, body shaking in pure pleasure. Your hands grip the wrinkled bedsheets below, Nanami’s assault on your cunt barely coming to a stop. He drinks up every last drop of your essence, pulling his fingers out of you and push in your legs even farther back to make sure he cleans up between every fold and crevice.

He huffs, letting your legs drop and your limp body lay on the bed. You feel his weight dip the bed below you, his shadow casting over as he mounts you. “You did such a good job, sweetheart.” He peppers your neck with light kisses. “Just relax, okay? I got you.” He effortlessly pulls you on top of him as he falls onto the bed beside you. “Daddy’s got you, sweetheart.” He kisses the top of your head, calloused hands caressing your back and thighs.

[nayy-a]

NANAMI I NEED YOU

in a good way | nanami kento

you never really were the type to show your emotions with your partners, especially when they couldn’t stand people crying over every little thing. it made you feel trapped, like you couldn’t express yourself the way you needed to.

but that all shifted the first time you cried in front of nanami, your boyfriend. it happened so quickly you couldn’t even catch up with your emotions, before you knew it, fat tear droplets were streaming down your face. it was because he’d brought you a bouquet of flowers, full of all your favorites. that wasn’t even the thing that entirely broke you though. it was his confession, the way he told you he loved you. he’s a man of few words, but when he speaks, it’s always poetic.

before he even finished his sentence, you were already sobbing, hiccuping, and struggling to form any kind of sentence. and to your surprise, he smiled, kissed the tears off your face, and pulled you into a hug. there was no hint of frustration or annoyance in him. in fact, he was happy that he made you cry happy tears, not tears of pain or sorrow. he adored you, even with your nose and cheeks tainted red, and your eyes red from crying.

whenever he gets you a small gift or said something that touched you, he always had a tissue packet ready to wipe your tears. he’d sometimes grin in amusement, but it was clear how much he loved making you so happy, so happy that you couldn’t help but cry. he loves his sensitive girlfriend. <3

[avaredava]

JJK men and your weird questions

MDNI

Master lists

Nanami Kento:

You're raking your nails up and down Nanami Kentos bare chest, heaving up and down after having long sweaty sex.

He hit from the back today, even though he doesn't like it because he can't see your pretty face but seeing your ass jiggle makes up for it.

"What if I hit it from the back Nanami?"

He shut his eyes tight ribbing the bridge of his nose as he caresses your back. "How would that even work love?" He asked with an overstimulated hint in his voice.

"Baby you do a lot and you didn't even do aftercare because your overwhelmed and stuff but I want you to sit there and look pretty my gorgeous queen." You say with your lips puckered.

"Whatever makes you happy princess."

"Whoop! I love you so much Nanami, I already bought the strap."

"Oh my god."

He said for the tenth time today, he gets tired being your husband but he couldn't live without you.

Toji Fushiguro:

When you ovulate it's rough. Toji makes fun of you sometimes, because it's like your sex deprived, like he didn't just fuck you into the mattress an hour ago.

But seeing his muscles bulge in his tight shirt. But it's also good when he wears a baggy shirt too.

So when he stretched you can see his v muscle and happy trail leading to happy places.

So you instantly get wet. But for some reason the normal sex that last like 30. Minutes feels so good.

But it's so fast and quick. You need something slow and sensual. But sometimes you get so wet, you need it to be fast.

But maybe something else...

"Toji can I sit on your face?"

He turned his head back with a small grin. And a little nod just made your squeeze your thighs together.

Yeah he did not let you get off his face all night.

Suguru Geto:

Suguru will always be a dom, no matter what.

But sometimes it pisses you off. So mid sex when he was plowing into you missionary you started to yap.

"Fuck- Suguru so uhm I wanna talk about something." You say trying to stay composed because his thick cock was rubbing on every one of your sweet spots.

"Yeah? What's that pretty?" He said it in a breathy tone that made your clit throb. His hair hanging in front of his while is more shorter hair in the front stuck to his forehead with sweat.

He let out a shaky breath out when you held him closer. To whisper something in his ear.

"Can I like... eat your ass out?"

He rolls inside half way in a thrust and looks at you while he stopped. "What did you say?" His fazed look leaving his face to a more confused one.

"Like your chocolate starfish?"

His face dropped and pulled out immediately. He left, making you feel empty and a bit sad since he usually gives you after care but he ran into the washroom and you hear a ding on your phone.

"Listen, only if you never tell anyone because like it kinda sounds fun as long as it's with you."

Yeah this means more than aftercare.

Satoru Gojo:

"What's your opinion on smacking?"

"What?" He said snapping his head back to behind the couch to where you were standing, fluttering his white lashes over his wide open baby blues.

"I don't mean meanly, I mean like during sex." You respond in an overly happy voice, like you want him to hit you.

And of course his jaw drops, like the dramatic baby boy he is. He never wants to hit you. Even if mildly pinched you and he saw a blemish of red on your skin because he did that too you he would die. (His words, not yours)

"No!"

He said almost instantly after panicking, with a long stare and a gaping mouth.

"But..." His demeanor fully changed into cocky, you sometimes don't know how it works. But it happens.

"You can smack me mommy dommy."

You walk off with a roll of your eyes. "Eugh you ruined it, I'm leaving."

"Wait!"

Ryomen Sukuna:

"Can you scratch your name out on my back?"

"Why in the world would I do that woman?" He said with a scrunch of his eyebrows and all four of his arms crossed.

You're sitting on his knee in his empty throne room. Just sitting quietly like he likes it. You're just reading and he's relaxing but looking over your shoulder once and a while to read what you're reading.

So the random breaking of silence just made him surprised. Especially when you said that.

"I wanna show people you own me." You said with a small smirk. Like he doesn't have you clinging to his hip 24/7.

But he gave in anyway, mid back shots (like usual) you felt his long nail drawing his name small on the back. A tramp stamp.

It hurt for a second but it quickly stopped when he used his cursed technique to heal it before it started to bleed.

The next morning you look at your back in the mirror, it was his first and last name in the prettiest font. He surprisingly has good hand writing.

When the scar goes away he'll do it again.

[neoangelxx]

Nanami shoves his ice cold hands up your shirt causing you to screech.

“Get your cold hands off me!” You try to squirm away but he’s wrapping you in his arms.

He shushes you. Shoving his cold nose into the back of your neck. You continue to try and wiggle out his grip.

“Don’t shush me!” You protest.

He’s warmed up but the chill is now prominent in your body. Plus the principle!

“Just let me hold my hot wife.”

You scoff, amused, turning around in his arms. “You got jokes.”

“I’d never joke about my hot wife,” a slight smirk on his lips, “but I do find that compliment to be rudimentary.”

He kisses your lips gently before placing a trail from your cheek down to your neck. He stops above your shoulder.

“I much prefer beautiful, gorgeous,” his hands slip from under your shirt down the curve of your ass, “sexy.”

He squeezes, pulling you closer something hard pressing against your stomach.

“I’m still a little chilly darling, can you warm me up some more?”

When you first started dating Nanami you never expected him to be so suave. It was like a switch flipped and you were blushing and stuttering while he gazed at you with that same smirk he’s giving you now.

“I can try my best.” You flirt back.

“That’s all I ever ask.”

[sailorkamino]

wisdom teeth {jjk men}

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ characters: choso kamo, gojo satoru, geto suguru, nanami kento

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ warnings: mentioned blood/pain/stitches, 1 dirty joke

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ note: reminder that reqs are open! i'll also write platonically for the younger characters