I think Nanami is having the worst day of work in his entire life and he texts you in the middle of the day to tell you to charge your vibrator
And then he comes home and you try to coax him to eat and take a shower, but he instead lifts you up and carries you to the bedroom
And as he's undressing you and squeezing your body and playing with your pussy, he seeks praise
"I'm a good husband, aren't I, darling? Don't I take such good care of you in every way? Don't I make you happy and satisfied? You're so happy to have married me, right?"
And it's all true so of course you agree and then he drowns himself in your pussy goodnight
so embarrassing to watch yourself become obsessed with a character that feels tailor made for you specifically to become obsessed with. feels like i fell into a trap made just for me. like damn they got me. those are all the things i like and go crazy for
this is different from my usual content but if you’re maga, if you support ice, if you support israel, if you’re racist, homophobic, transphobic or xenophobic LEAVEEE!!! i do not want to share the same space as you. do not interact with me or my content
on the night of your six months, the plans were to just make out on your couch for a while before falling asleep to some campy horror flick, but one thing leads to another & the two of you decide the best gift you can get is each other's virginities
𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐅𝐞𝐛. 𝟐𝐧𝐝.
ᦸ 𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐰𝐨 ft. 𝐯𝐢𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐧!𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐛𝐨𝐲!𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐝𝐣𝐨
gojo had always just been the quiet, nerdy kid in class, kept to himself, got his work done, & offered tutoring sessions after school—standard nerd stuff, so when you got partnered up with him for a project? easy peasy, at least until you noticed the glaring similarities between his apartment & your favorite camboys.
𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐅𝐞𝐛. 𝟒𝐭𝐡.
ᦸ 𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 ft. 𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫!𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐮𝐧𝐚
having a pornstar boyfriend is just as hot as anyone could have imagined; sex is nice, he's strong, and he's awfully affectionate after shoots & likes to show you off, but whenever he suspects you're thrown even a little bit off over his work, he'll fuck the fact you're his favorite girl right into you.
𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐅𝐞𝐛. 𝟔𝐭𝐡.
ᦸ 𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫 ft. 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐛𝐨𝐲!𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐭!𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐮𝐧𝐚
making love to your boyfriend is sweet, yes, but what's even sweeter? how sukuna spends the whole morning after your first time together, treating you like a gift from the heavens above, so you know he loved it—and is here to stay.
𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐅𝐞𝐛. 𝟖𝐭𝐡.
ᦸ 𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞 ft. 𝐞𝐱 !𝐠𝐨𝐣𝐨
drunk calling your ex outside the club to tell him you're still in love with him? light work, no reaction. waking up hungover on his couch with a soft blanket thrown over you like the good ole' days and for just a moment forgetting that the two of you ever broke up? that's got a kick to it. a hell of a kick.
𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐅𝐞𝐛. 𝟏𝟎𝐭𝐡.
ᦸ 𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐢𝐱 ft. 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝!𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐢
thinking your best friend is hot in an objective way is one thing; knowing just how hot he looks & sounds while fucking you in the bathroom at some shitty office party is something next level entirely.
“if you manage to best me in combat, i’ll allow you to strike me. three times—i won’t strike back.”
that’s what your husband, naoya zen’in, told you, lifting three fingers as though he were granting alms. the curl of his mouth made it plain this was no challenge, only ridicule. “c’mon, i know you hate me.”
yet here you are now, sitting pretty in his lap, cashing it in.
smack!
the crack of your palm against his cheek is music you’ve rehearsed only in fantasies, and boy oh boy, reality does not disappoint. you know there will be hell to pay later (your petty bitchass husband never lets anything go) but right now, against all reason, it feels worth every ounce of future suffering. his elegant nostrils flare, yet he doesn’t flinch.
“wasting your chances already,” he jeers. the brief flicker of pity you might have felt vanishes. such staunch arrogance and wounded ego only makes winding up again that much sweeter.
smack!
his head jerks sideways at the blow, and when he turns back, that feral grin is still present; promising that you’ve just inked your own death warrant. palm stinging, and for the first time—when, even if only momentarily, you step out of your own vitriolic lens and view him through the warped mirror of naoya’s own narcissism—you see him with startling clarity: how striking he is, cheekbone flushed pink with your handprint. aristocratic features squandered on a rotten soul, but beauty nonetheless.
“that’s two,” he hisses, “one left. make it count.”
smiling sweetly, you oblige and draw your hand back for the final strike… only to feel something, ominously hard beneath you.
Herm who fucks you so good that when you stand up to go to the bathroom and clean up, your legs buckle.
He's so concerned and apologising, checking in, and making sure you're alright. Lifting you up and carrying you around. Thankful that his place is so disability friendly so he can get you cleaned up and back in bed with no issues.
Maybe he's a little bit proud under all that worry. Deep deep down. He thinks he's hiding it well. He's not.
literally just a oneshot of you favourite superhero jerking off to you looool ill get to the reqs i pwomise
Can we tell i didnt know what to title this?
18 PLUS ONLY PLEASE
Herman couldn't sleep again; his mind was racing. He laid awake in bed, staring at the ceiling. He was always up late due to his insomnia, but tonight it was different. He was anxious. Every little sound that night seemed amplified, and every hour seemed like an eternity.
Herman sighed deeply, rolling over in bed, hoping to find a more comfortable position. It was useless. He couldn't stop thinking about you, he was a mess inside. Every time he closed his eyes, your face flashed his mind, and every little sound made his heart flutter.
He really liked you; but what were the chances that you would actually like someone like him back? He was just an awkward, scrawny waterboy who couldn't stop blushing.
You were stunning, echos of your directions during missions and the sweet praises you hummed whenever he completed one well hummed in his ears.
Herman's mind wandered to the memory of the times you'd spoken to him. You were always so sweet and kind, flirtatious, even. It was like you were purposefully trying to turn him into a blushing, stuttering puddle, and he craved it.
He let out another deep sigh, burying his face into his pillow. The thought of you made him feel like a teenager. He knew he shouldn't let himself think this way, but he couldn't help it. You had him wrapped around your finger.
Herman bit his lip, shifting against the mattress under the covers. The growing stiffness between his legs was impossible to ignore now. His fingers twitched under his pillow, aching to touch—but he stopped himself. What would she think of me if she knew I was lying here, thinking about her like this?
He could still hear your voice from earlier that day -soft, teasing- when you leaned close in the breakroom and whispered,
"You look so cute in your suit Hermy" God, that did things to him. His breath hitched just remembering it -the brush of your hair against his shoulder, the way your eyes lingered on his lips before pulling away-.
His hand slowly crept down, trembling slightly as it hovered over the waistband of his boxers. Just once, he thought. Just let me imagine it… imagine her.
Herman squeezed his eyes shut, trying to quiet his racing thoughts. He could still feel the phantom warmth of your smile against his skin. That little smirk you gave him when you handed him a bottle of water after a particularly hard mission -the way your fingers brushed his, just a second too long. Did that mean something? Or was he just reading into it again?
He shifted in bed, thighs pressing together as another wave of heat rolled through him. His chest tightened. He hated how helpless this made him feel -like every nerve in his body was lit up just by the memory of your voice saying his name.
“Hermy~”
Just like that—he gasped.
His hand slipped under the waistband of his boxers without permission, fingers trembling as they curled around himself. Softly at first, barely there -a test to see if he could even handle thinking about you touching him like this.
"Oh god." A shaky moan caught in his throat and he clamped a hand over his mouth. What if someone heard? what if, somehow, you knew what he was doing. The idea sent shivers of pleasure down his spine.
He imagined it: You standing in the doorway in that soft tank top and shorts you always wore after shifts, hair slightly messy from sweat and stress, stepping inside with those knowing eyes full of mischief and warmth, telling him it was okay -that he was okay -to want you.
His hips jerked once into his grip as pleasure coiled low and heavy in his stomach. "Nngh—!" He muffled another sound with the back of his wrist, breath coming faster now. "C-c'mon… s-stop—" But he didn’t stop -he couldn’t. Not when in his fantasy Herman got to hear you whisper:
"Let me take care of you."
And then-
A notification.
On his phone.
From you.
"Hey hermy, u up?"
Im sawry there will be no part two 😭 for now at least
