☄. *. ⋆ KAIA’S WORLD !! TWENTY, Capricorn, Black, INFP-T
♫ NOW PLAYING: Rent Free by Sailorr !!
Ongoing work: IF YOU LET ME - a Kei Tsukishima SMAU
This blog is multi-fandom and far from spoiler-free. I always write with fem!black readers in mind. I frequently reblog controversy that I agree with as well as nsfw content with a lot of foul language. You should read at your own risk and keep in mind that only you are accountable for the media you consume. Happy reading, and have a wonderful day !!
REQUESTS ARE OPEN, BUT PLEASE KEEP IN MIND THAT I CURRENTLY HAVE WRITERS BLOCK!!!
the moment you step inside your boyfriend's tattoo place, the first thing you register is the sound. a low steady buzzing, quite like toji's deep voice himself. tattoo ink. inky hair. this place was truly your boyfriend personified.
he greets you, motioning over for you to lay down on the tattoo bed. you lay down, resting your head on your hands.
"you wanted a spine tattoo, right, princess?" his voice echoes in the parlor, brow cocking up in the most subtle way possible— like he's asked this a million times, which he probably has.
you nod, unzipping your favorite zip- up that is backwards for easy access to your spine, the first swipe of antiseptic running straight down your back, slow and deliberate. it makes you shiver before you can stop it.
"cold, isn't it? well, mama, this is the least painful part. you'll be okay." he smirks, scar stretching out.
toji places the detailed stencil right in the dip of your spine, pressing it securely onto the bone underneath your silky skin.
you hear the machine before you see it. that same low buzz. this time, it's even more intimidating. especially since it's being used on you.
the ink hits your skin and you swear your breath hitches for a moment. you feel toji's hands all over your back, his free hand rolling up to get a grip on your shoulder.
"shh, just like thaaatt, ma. you're doing so well." he traces the stencil with a yearning urgency. like he can't wait to put his hands on you when he's done.
you whimper in your hands, delicious pain filling your senses— and panties with warm slick as the ink spreads into your skin.
your hands clench around the tattoo bed, eyes closed— waiting for this to be over.
after an extremely long hour, he's done, wiping off your spine with a final huff, stepping back.
"how do ya like it, sweetheart?" he says, sitting you up, facing your back to the large mirror in front of you.
"gosh, it's so sexy. exactly what i wanted, 'ji." you grin, flicking hair that fell on your shoulder.
"mm, is that so, pretty?" he crosses his arms, failing to stay humble.
and that's how this started. toji, your incredibly hot and talented boyfriend.. has now got you in a mating press over the tattoo bed?
feet pressed high over your shoulders, overwhelmingly long cock rutting into you, wet slick exaggerating every movement he makes, noise clapping like a choir in the tattoo parlor.
"fuuuuckk, 'ji! don't fuckin' stop, i swear if you stoooppp—!!" you cry out, tip kissing your cervix in such a intimate manner.
"don't worry, mommy. i most definitely won't stop when this pretty pussy is practically beggin' for me. look at her!" he grins, huffing with every thrust.
your eyes tear up, choked moans escaping your throat as mascara runs down your flush cheeks.
toji kisses the tip of your nose on the next thrust in— feeling his own release catch up to him slowly.
your jaw drops lower than your low rise jeans, eyes rolling aalll the way backwards as your pussy clenches onto his invading length, white cum spilling onto the formerly clean tattoo bed.
"shit, princess. i think i'm gonna cum too, fuuuck!!" his voice roars in the very isolated tattoo place, thick ropes of creamy cum coating your insides white.
he pulls out, a string of release clinging onto the tip of his dick as he does. toji puts a finger to your abused pussy, collecting both of your release before his tongue wraps around his held up digits.
"mm, that tastes fucking divine. and it was all your doing. if you didn't come here, i wouldn't've cummed in you."
he scrapes up the last drops of cum, pressing it to your lips.
"suck."
your wet lips latch onto his two fingers, licking up every last drop he provided you.
"good girl. now let's get you cleaned up and go back home, alright?"
♡ sukuna realizes that he does get jealous after all. . .
series masterlist
sukuna will say this very seriously, he does not get jealous. the emotion itself is beneath him.
that is until yuji coming home from school, jumping in place.
“i made a friend today!!”
“you did?” you ask. “so what are they like?”
“his name’s megumi and he likes dogs and dinosaurs too and he traded me his pudding because i gave him my chocolate!”
yuji keeps talking without stopping.
“and he’s really quiet but he laughed when i scared a pigeon away and megumi said maybe we can go to the park together and can we please please please—”
“ji— okay, okay,” you laugh. “slow down.”
his eyes widen instantly. “really?!”
“if megumi’s dad says yes, sure.”
yuji cheers.
later that week you end up exchanging numbers with megumi’s father after pickup.
toji fushiguro, he introduced himself— pretty tall, scar across his mouth, seems normal enough, though.
the playdate gets set for saturday afternoon, and sukuna seems pretty indifferent to it or at least he pretends to.
“you’re taking yuji to the park?” he asks while scrolling through his phone.
“mhm.”
“so, who’s the kid— or more like, you know their parent?”
“well.. a little?” you say thoughtfully. “toji fushiguro.. i think?”
“…fushiguro?”
you blink. “hm? you know him?”
“used to run in similar circles.” sukuna looks deeply annoyed already. “guy’s a pain in the ass.”
“well.. he seemed nice?”
“that’s because the guy likes pretending.”
you snort. “you’re dramatic, it’ll be fiiine.”
“i’m serious.”
“baby, i’m going to a playground. not a nightclub.”
sukuna looks at you for a long second, then sighs.
“fine, do what you want.”
which, surprisingly, he actually means— he fully intends to let you have your little park day in peace.
because really.. what could happen?
apparently a lot.
because now sukuna’s standing outside a convenience store a few minutes away while staring at his phone with growing irritation.
he just cannot stay at home while knowing you’re out with that damned black-haired man, so he lasts another three minutes before getting back in his car.
meanwhile, you’re sitting at the park bench while yuji and megumi run toward the playground together.
“be careful!” you call after them.
toji sits beside you a second later holding two juice boxes and an iced coffee.
“kid asked me to bring extras,” he says, handing you the iced coffee.
“thanks!”
“don’t mention it.”
for a while it’s easy and comfortable, you talk while the boys play. mostly about school— how both boys have been doing, how megumi apparently refuses to sleep without his stuffed wolf, how yuji always has endless energy no matter what.
“so.. that your kid, right?” toji asks eventually, nodding toward yuji.
you smile. “well no.. but technically my nephew.”
“could’ve fooled me.”
you shrug slightly. “he does feel like my own, though.”
“clearly.”
talking to toji is surprisingly easy, the guys laid back, which is probably why the next thing out of his mouth makes you second guess.
“you single?”
oh..
but before you can even answer, another voice cuts in.
“no, she‘s not.”
you look up immediately.
sukuna stands there behind both of you wearing all black with sunglasses pushed into his hair.
he looks weirdly calm, which means he definitely heard enough to annoy him.
toji glances between both of you once before leaning back slightly.
“oh! what are you doing here?” you say surprised.
“was just getting something to drink.”
“from the park..?”
“eh, crazy coincidence.”
toji snorts quietly beside you— big mistake, because sukuna’s eyes immediately slide toward him.
“fushiguro.”
“ryomen.”
you can absolutely feel the tension in the air.
you look between them slowly. “oh my god.. you actually know each other.”
“unfortunately,” they say at the exact same time.
yuji spots sukuna from across the playground and immediately lights up.
“UNCLE KUNA!!”
he abandons megumi and runs across the grass at full speed before slamming directly into sukuna’s legs.
sukuna just rests a hand on yuji’s head. “now get off me brat, you’re sweaty.”
“we were racing!”
“that so?”
“i won!”
megumi finally walks over, hands shoved into his little pockets.
“yuji cheated..” he says quietly.
“did not!”
“you pushed me!”
you’re trying not to laugh while yuji now clings to sukuna’s arm, and you get up to approach both.
toji watches the interaction for a second, then he looks back at you.
“…damn my bad,” he says finally. “cute little family you got there.”
sukuna goes quiet for a second, then his arm hooks around your waist possessively.
“exactly,” he says. “know where you stand, fushiguro.”
megumi wants to see you as you cum ୨୧ megumi fushiguro x fem!reader ୨୧ im gonna lick his tip
riding megumi means holding eye contact with him. it's hard when you're shy about even riding him in the first place. he doesn't care though, he needs your eyes on him.
he's sitting on the bed with you straddling his hips. his cock is buried deep inside you, kissing places you didn't even know he could reach. he makes you wrap your arms around his neck, faces so close you're basically breathing each other in.
he helps you grind on his cock, feeling him go even deeper.
"mm wait!" you whine at the feeling. he doesn't wait though. he keeps helping you roll your hips on his length. its good, feels really full, you can't hold back the long whiny moan that comes out of your throat.
you close your eyes, but then you feel a pinch on your thigh.
"eyes on me." he demands you, rolling deeper into you.
you whine, trying to keep your eyes open, but it's embarrassing. your cheeks flush as he continues bullying your poor pussy.
"bounce, pretty girl." he tells you in a whisper. his lips meet yours in a gentle kiss, far different to what's happening between your legs.
he helps you bounce on his cock, holding your hips tightly. it's enough to leave finger prints and yet it feels so good.
megumi sighs, panting and groaning at the feelings of you fucking yourself on his cock. his lips find yours again in another gentle kiss.
"mm so good, baby, just like that." he whimpers out as you bounce harder. your legs ache from the movements, already preparing for the pain that'll come when you're older. it's worth it though.
his breath mingles with yours, lips a whisper away from yours. "fuuuck, baby." he whines when you clench around him. you bounce sloppily, slow and fast and then stop all at once. he has to take over, rutting his tip into your walls.
"ngh, gumi!" you whine. his tip meets your spongey spot. he moans when he feels you clench around him tightly. it's almost too tight. he can't keep a steady rhythm when you clench him like that.
"tight, sweets, so ti-tight!" he whines, pressing so deep as he finishes inside you. he keeps his eyes on yours, watching as you whine, clenching harshly on his cock, milking him dry.
he watches you try not to close your eyes, failing and earning a pinch.
"i said eyes on me. now we have to do it again because you can't listen."
being with choso meant having your tits sucked 24/7 ୨୧ choso kamo x fem!reader ୨୧ i love boobs
it starts off as a coping mechanism after a long hard day. choso will pull your shirt down and suck on your nipple, softly, squeezing the other gently.
somehow over the months, it turns into an obsession. now, even after a good day, choso thinks he deserves to reward himself. his lips attach to your nipple, sucking and licking, rutting his bulge against your cunt.
if you're home all day with him, there's no point in putting on a bra, let alone a shirt. it will be stripped off you instantly. his lips will be attached to your chest in record time.
he loves sucking on them when he fucks you too. he pounds into you while licking your nipples, marking every single bare spot of skin. he thinks you look pretty like that. and when they all start to fade away, he fucks you again so he can mark them.
your tits will always be covered in his spit. he loves the way his spit shines when it catches a shimmer of light. he spits on your nipples before taking them into his mouth, admiring the wetness of him on your pretty buds.
he sucks your nipples while going to bed. you'll cradle his head in your chest while he sucks on your nipples like a baby with a pacifier. you've gotten used to feeling him falling asleep with your nipple in his mouth. his drool with slide on your skin as he sleeps with you in his mouth.
do not forget the patron saint of these weeks that we celebrate ourselves proudly and openly in the streets
her name was Marsha P Johnson, and we have her to thank for so much.
remember, the first Pride was a riot, and she was one of the brave souls who endured it to help carve the path which so many of us walk today. she helped found several activist groups regarding LGBT safety and wellbeing. and she was absolutely radiant, too.
sukuna doesn’t know what it is like to receive a touch that is gentle.
sukuna has spent his life being a man who lived up to every bit of his reputation—terrifying, horrific, menacing, everything befitting a king. a lord. a curse.
everything he’s been on the receiving end of has been tainted with violence, hatred and malice. he is deserving of every bit of it, he’s sure.
but you, his queen, the lady he’s sure he’s conceived from his feverish nightmares, you touch him as if he was a prize.
you eye him like one would eye diamonds, something precious, not a curse. and that has his heart beating a rhythm dangerously akin to a person in love. but a curse’s heart cannot beat for cause other than violence, now can it?
he has you by his side because it’s convenient. because it’s an advantage—or so he tells himself, as he paces around his chambers in the dead of night, staring at your sleeping form, hoping to get close enough to touch you, but he never does.
but once you get to touch him? your hands are gentle, softer than his own calloused palms, as you glide them across his beastly body, slowly making way to his face.
sukuna feels his eyes well up with a sensation he’s never felt before, while you stood before him, studying him, your arms prodding, prying, your nails grazing his skin before they came up to cup his face.
tracing his jaw while your eyes met his, one of your hands finding their way into his hair, slowly brushing past the knots with the gentleness one would use only with something, someone that was adored.
the way your eyes softened as they met his face, your touch indicating nothing but reverence had his eyes pool with the unfamiliar sensation of tears. they pricked at his eyes shamefully—he was a king. he didn’t, nay, never cried, he never had that privilege bestowed upon him.
but before he could swallow the tears, they slid down his cheeks, meeting your palms that cupped his face oh so tenderly—you didn’t question it. it wasn’t your place. you swiped them away with your thumb, his tears pouring out his four eyes while a pair of his arms held on to your waist.
burying his head in your chest while you slowly pet his head—he should’ve had you killed for that. treating him like a common dog. but with his breath unsteady as he fought off tears that’d never left his eyes before, his heart swelled with an emotion he thought he had never possessed—he was grateful.
as the tears that were shed left behind salt tracks to make their presence known, you lifted his head only to plant the softest kisses against them—the saltiness coating your lips while he looked up at your form like you were a goddess that descended before him.
you held him in your arms like you would a baby—and sukuna held himself close to your heart, listening to the sound of your blood rushing through your veins just to make sure that you were here. that you were really before him, holding his cursed heart in the palm of your hands while you softly sighed against his head.
he would stay here, frozen in time if he could. ryomen sukuna didn’t know what it meant to shed tears, he didn’t know what it meant to have your heart swell merely in the presence of someone. he didn’t know what it meant to be held close to a heart without having to rip it out with his bare hands. but maybe, he’d finally be deserving to have this. to have you.
maybe, he was finally deserving of being held by a pair of arms that didn’t wish to tear him apart.
repost from liliklei :p. i loved this fic. @yoonsucks @yorikae @satorusdreamer @kireampie ok bai.
all works belong to @lilithkleia, do NOT copy, translate or feed to AI. lest you wish upon toji’s worm to crawl up your ass.
choso is a firm believer that pretty girls like you shouldn’t have to do anything.
it’s not something he’s ever said out loud, not in those exact words, but you see it in the way he kneels at your feet when your evening slippers are pinching, in the way his hands steady your ankles as he slides them off.
you see it in the careful, reverent way he unties the laces of your dress at night, his knuckles brushing your spine, his breath warm against the nape of your neck.
"cho, i can do that myself," you protest for the hundredth time, reaching for the hairbrush on your vanity. you’ve just returned from a work dinner, your face aching from smiling, your scalp tender from the weight of your responsibilities.
"don't be like that," he says softly, taking the brush from your hand. he’s already behind you, his reflection meeting yours in the mirror. he’s wearing a simple black sweater now, his pigtails undone, but he still looks at you like you’re the only thing in the room worth seeing. "let me help you."
"you’re going to spoil me rotten," you murmur, but you’re already sinking back against him, your eyes drifting shut as he starts working the brush through your hair in slow, even strokes. the bristles scrape gently against your scalp and you make a small, involuntary sound of pleasure.
"that’s the point," he says, his voice low. he sets the brush down and reaches for the cloth and cleansing oil. "you're too beautiful to even lift a finger, baby."
he’s wiping the rouge from your cheeks now, the kohl from your eyes. his touch is so gentle, so methodical, like he’s polishing something precious. you let him tilt your chin up, let him clean away the day’s mask. when he’s done, he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead.
"cmon, bed." he commands. not harshly—never harshly—but with the quiet authority of a man who knows exactly what you need.
you stand, your hand in his, and let him lead you to the mattress. he undresses you slowly, layer by layer, the silk pooling at your feet. when you’re down to your thin shift, he pulls back the covers and tucks you in like you’re something fragile.
"sleep," he whispers.
but you catch his wrist. you’re not sleepy. not anymore. the tiredness has shifted into something else, something warm and heavy low in your belly.
"stay," you plead.
he hesitates. "you’re tired."
"i want you," you clarify, your thumb stroking the inside of his wrist. "but i’m... i’m exhausted. but— but i want you— but i don't want to do anything—"
something dark flickers in his eyes. understanding. hunger. devotion.
"then don’t," he says. he climbs onto the bed, fully clothed, and crawls up your body until he’s hovering over you. "don’t do anything. don’t even think. just let me make you feel good."
"choso—" you start, already feeling guilty, already reaching for the hem of his sweater.
he catches your hands and pins them gently above your head. his fingers twine with yours, pressing your palms into the pillow.
"no, sweetheart." he says, his mouth brushing your ear. his voice drops, rough and reverent. "you don’t do the work. you never do the work. you just lay there, princess, and let me take care of you. let me please you. let me—" he grinds his hips down, and you feel how hard he is, straining against the fabric of his trousers, and you gasp. "—let me do everything."
he releases your hands only to finally pull his sweater over his head. you watch the muscles of his back shift in the warm light of your tablelamp, the old scars, the lean strength. when he turns back to you, he’s already unlacing his trousers, pushing them down, kicking them off.
he kneels between your thighs, his dark eyes raking over you. "open up," he murmurs, his hands sliding up your legs, pushing your shift higher. "be good for me, okay?"
you spread your legs, trembling. he’s already so hard, the pink tip flushed and wet, and he wraps his hand around himself, stroking once, twice, his eyes never leaving your face.
"you don’t even have to move," he says, leaning down, caging you in his warmth. "i’ll do all the work. i’ll get you ready. i’ll make you feel so good. all you have to do is look at me. can you do that for me, princess? can you let me love you?"
"yes," you breathe, your voice cracking. "yes, choso, please—"
he kisses you then, deep and filthy, his tongue sliding against yours in a rhythm that makes your toes curl. his hand slips between your legs, his fingers finding you already wet, already aching. he doesn’t make you ask, nor does he make you work for it. he just pushes two fingers inside you, curling them, stretching you open while his thumb circles your clit.
"that’s it," he praises against your lips, feeling you clench around him. "that's my girl. just lay there and take it. let me get you ready for my cock."
you moan, your head falling back against the pillow. he’s relentless, his fingers pumping in and out, hitting that spot inside you that makes your vision blur. you try to rock your hips, try to chase the sensation, but he stills you with his free hand on your hip.
"no, angel." he says, his voice firm. "don’t move. let me. i want to feel you squeezing my fingers while you just lay there and let me fuck you open."
you whimper, your hands gripping the sheets because he won’t let you touch him. he’s leaning over you, watching your face, watching the pleasure overwhelm you, and his expression is something almost feral. like this—serving you, controlling your pleasure, doing all the labor—is exactly where he wants to be.
"look at you," he breathes, his fingers moving faster, harder. "so pretty. so perfect. you're doing so well, baby. letting me make you cum. can you do that for me? can you cum on my fingers like a good girl?"
"choso!" you sob, the pressure building, your body tensing.
"there she is," he croons, his thumb pressing down. "cum for me, make a mess of the sheets."
you break, your orgasm crashing over you, your walls clamping down on his fingers as you cry out. he rides you through it, his hand moving slower now, drawing out every wave until you’re shaking, boneless, your hair fanned out across the pillow.
before you can catch your breath, he’s moving. he hooks his arms under your knees, spreading you wide, his hands sliding up to grip your hips. he positions himself at your entrance, the head of his cock pressing against your still-pulsing heat.
"now," he says, his voice rough with restraint. "i’m going to fuck you, and i’m going to make you cum again. and again. until you can’t think. until you can’t even remember your name."
"please," you gasp, your hands reaching for him again, wanting to touch, to hold.
he catches your wrists and presses them back into the mattress. "no," he says, his eyes dark. "be good, or i'll stop. understand?"
you nod, dizzy, your body still throbbing.
he pushes in with one long, smooth thrust, filling you completely. the stretch burns so perfectly you cry out, your back arching off the bed, but he holds you down, his grip tight on your hips.
"fuck," he groans, his forehead dropping to your shoulder. "so warm. so tight. and you’re just— letting me use you— shit—"
he starts to move, a slow, deep rhythm that has you seeing stars. he’s doing all the work—his hips rolling, his cock dragging against your sensitive walls, his hands holding you exactly where he wants you. you try to move, try to meet his thrusts, but he growls and pins you harder.
"stay still," he orders, his voice strained. "let me do this for you. you had a hard day. you smiled at people who didn't deserve it. now you just get to lay here and take my cock. that’s all. that’s your only job."
"ch-choso!" you sob, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes. it’s too much, the pleasure, the devotion, the way he’s using his body to serve you. "i love you— hic!— i love you so much—"
"i know," he breathes, his thrusts speeding up, becoming harder, more desperate. his skin slaps against yours, the bed creaking, but he never lets you move. he holds you open, holds you down, fucks into you with a single-minded focus that’s entirely about your pleasure. "and i love you more. god, i love you so much more."
his hand slides between you again, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing tight, fast circles. you’re so sensitive from your first orgasm, every touch is electric, overwhelming. you can’t move, can’t do anything but lay there and take it, exactly like he wants, and the helplessness of it, the sheer luxury of being cared for so completely, sends you over the edge again.
you cum with a scream, your walls clamping down on him so hard he chokes, his rhythm faltering.
"that’s it," he gasps, fucking you through it, chasing his own release now. "atta girl. just— shit— i-im gonna—"
he thrusts deep one last time and stills, his cock pulsing inside you as he comes with a broken groan against your neck. you feel the heat of it, the way he spills into you, marking you, claiming you, all while you lay there trembling, his hands still gripping your hips, his weight pressing you into the mattress.
for a long moment, neither of you moves. he’s breathing hard, his chest heaving, sweat slicking his skin. slowly, carefully, he pulls out and collapses beside you, immediately pulling you into his arms. he’s still panting, his heart hammering against your ear.
"okay?" he whispers, his hand stroking your hair again, back to the gentle, domestic touches.
you nod, boneless, drifting. "more than okay," you murmur. "felt so good."
"that’s the point," he reminds you, pressing a kiss to your temple. "pretty girls like you shouldn’t have to do anything."
you smile against his chest, your eyes already closing. "then i guess i’m just going to have to let you do it again tomorrow."
olderbf!nanami who never rushes you, no matter how impatient you get. you’re standing in front of your closet, frustrated, pulling out dresses and tossing them onto the bed.
"i have nothing to wear," you groan. he’s sitting in the armchair by the window, his tie already loosened, watching you with that calm, steady gaze.
"we have forty-five minutes," he says, his voice low and even. "take your time."
you huff, turning to face him. "you’re always so patient. it’s annoying."
he smiles, small and fond. "i’ve waited forty years to find you. i can wait forty-five minutes for you to pick a dress."
olderbf!nanami who always makes sure you eat before you leave the house. you’re running late, your heels clicking on the kitchen floor as you grab your purse.
"we’re going to be late," you say, already halfway to the door.
he steps in front of you, a plate in his hand—toast with avocado, a soft-boiled egg, sliced fruit arranged neatly. "eat first."
you stare at him. "nanami, we don’t have time—"
"we have time," he interrupts gently, setting the plate on the counter. "you’re not leaving this house on an empty stomach. sit."
you sit. you always do. because when he looks at you like that—like taking care of you is the most important thing in the world—you can’t say no.
olderbf!nanami who never raises his voice, even when you’re being difficult. you’re arguing about something stupid—where to go for dinner, maybe, or whether you should cancel plans to stay in—and your voice is getting louder, your hands gesturing wildly.
he just stands there, hands in his pockets, watching you. "you’re not even listening!" you snap.
"i am," he says quietly. "i’m listening to every word. and when you’re done, we’ll talk about it calmly. like adults."
you deflate, your anger fizzling out. "you’re too kind to me," you mutter.
he steps forward, his hands finding your waist. "you’re worth the kindness."
olderbf!nanami who takes his time undressing you, like every layer is a gift he’s unwrapping. you’re in his bedroom, the lights dimmed, and you’re already reaching for his belt, impatient, wanting him now.
"slow down," he murmurs, catching your hands. "we have all night."
you pout. "i don’t want to wait."
he leans down, his lips brushing your ear. "i know, baby. i know. but i’m going to make you wait. because the longer i take, the better it’ll feel when i finally touch you." he undresses you slowly, his fingers working each button, each zipper, until you’re standing in front of him in nothing but your underwear. he steps back, his eyes raking over you. "beautiful," he says. "now lay down."
olderbf!nanami who eats you out like it’s a meditation, like he could spend hours between your thighs and never get bored. you’re on your back, your legs over his shoulders, and he’s taking his time, his tongue moving in slow, deliberate strokes.
"n-nanami—please—" you gasp, your hands fisting the sheets. he looks up at you, his mouth glistening.
"patience," he says, his voice calm even as he slides two fingers inside you. "i’m going to make you cum. but i’m going to do it my way." he curls his fingers, finding that spot that makes your vision blur, his tongue circling your clit with agonizing precision.
you’re moaning, your hips rolling, but he holds you down with one hand on your stomach. "stay still," he orders gently. "let me take care of you."
olderbf!nanami who fucks you slow and deep, his hips rolling in a rhythm that has you seeing stars. you’re on your stomach, your face pressed into the pillow, and he’s behind you, his chest pressed to your back, his cock buried so deep you can barely breathe.
"nanami—h-harder!!—" you beg, trying to push back against him. he stills, his hand sliding up your spine to grip the back of your neck.
"no," he says, his voice firm but kind. "you take what i give you." he starts moving again, each thrust deliberate, each roll of his hips dragging against your walls in a way that makes you sob. "you feel that?" he murmurs against your ear. "that’s me. all of me. and you’re going to take every inch, just like this. until you can’t think about anything but how full you are."
olderbf!nanami who makes you ask for what you want, his voice low and commanding. you’re straddling him, his cock inside you, but he’s not moving.
he’s just watching you, his hands on your hips, his thumbs stroking your skin.
"p-please, i.... i can't—" you whimper, trying to roll your hips. he holds you still.
"use your words," he says. "tell me what you want."
"i-i want you to move," you gasp. "i want you to fuck me."
he smiles, small and satisfied. "good girl. now ask nicely."
you bite your lip, your face burning.
"please fuck me, nanami. please."
he rewards you with a slow thrust upward, his cock hitting that spot inside you that makes you moan. "that’s it," he praises. "that's my girl."
olderbf!nanami who holds you after, his arms wrapped around you like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. you’re lying on his chest, your body still trembling, your mind fuzzy with pleasure.
he’s stroking your hair, his lips pressed to the top of your head. "you did so well," he murmurs. "so beautiful. so perfect." you nuzzle closer, your eyes already drifting shut.
"you’re too good to me," you whisper. he kisses your forehead.
"no such thing. you deserve everything. and i’m going to give it to you for as long as you’ll let me."
olderbf!nanami who wakes you up in the morning with his mouth between your legs, because he’s not done taking care of you yet. you’re half-asleep, your body warm and heavy, when you feel his hands on your thighs, spreading you open.
"nanami—" you start, but then his tongue is on you, and you’re gasping, your hands flying to his hair. he looks up at you, his eyes dark.
"good morning," he says, his voice rough with sleep. "lay back. let me love you." and you do. because when nanami wants to be patient, you let him. every single time.
You'd always heard horror stories of friends staying the night at each other's houses and not knowing how to work their showers. You'd also considered yourself smarter than the average cookie because that has never happened to you. Most showers seem self explanatory.
And then, you stay the night at your boyfriend's for the first time and take a look at his stupidly expensive shower.
You eye the four knobs that control temperature and the dozen jets, two waterfalls (one higher, one lower (what is the lower one for?)), the removable showerhead and what you're assuming is the rainfall head. The symbols on the knobs may as well be hieroglyphics, giving next to no insight on how to turn this mother fucker on without being soaked immediately by the jets.
You don't even try. You wrap yourself in a towel and walk back into the adjoining bedroom, shaking your head with your eyebrows raised.
"Satoru, what the fuck is that?" you ask, motioning behind you to the bathroom.
"A shower..?" he says, looking up from his phone. His eyebrows furrow in his own confusion.
"Yes," you reply through grit teeth. "How do I turn it on?"
"Oh!" He jumps up from his bed and crosses the room to you, placing a hand on your hip and a kiss to your lips as he leads you back into the bathroom. "Why didn't you just say that, love? I'm more than willing to show you."
Satoru opens the glass door and steps in the shower, dragging you along with him. He points at the individual knobs and explains each of the symbols, explaining which is best for which occasion - the misters for when you're hot, rainfall for normal showers, waterfall for when you want to feel like you're lost in the jungle and it's been a week and you're losing hope of being found, etc.
You're giggling by the time he finishes his spiel and he's got his own 1000 kilowatt smile plastered on his face and turned on you.
"So what'll it be tonight?" he asks, clapping his hands together. "The waterfall is a personal favorite."
"A normal shower, please."
"Can do, baby." He kisses your cheek and sets the shower to your preferred setting. "The temperature control turns the water on," he says, stepping out of the shower.
Your towel drops to the floor just as he's exiting, the sound making his head crane back around to catch a glimpse of your ass before you step into the fog of the shower.
"You know, on second thought," he says, grabbing your attention as his shirt joins your towel. "Maybe we should shower together. Just in case you have questions."
"no, he would not be soft to you, he would actually kill you-" dooooon't care, make that man sobbing pathetically on his knees as he begs for you to stay.
