✧ nanami kento + "is there a reason you’re in my bed?"
✧ gender neutral reader, drunk sex, morning after
✧ requested by: anonymous
✧ minors dni
Kento's head is throbbing—a pain too dull to feel miserable but too persistent to be ignored. The little light that sneaks under the blinds, the very same that woke him up, stuffs glass fiber into his eyes. Groaning—and discovering his throat is bone dry—he forces himself to roll to the other side. He knows what's the source of his headache, even if he doesn't remember a thing from last night, and he fears the rest of fretsome consequences will catch up on him if he moves too much.
Instead, his heart skips a beat when he realizes there's a body lying next to him.
He recoils and immediately regrets it. The sudden move stirs you awake; you let out a little groan and roll to your back, one eye cracked open, then both wide and startled.
"Oh—" You bite on a curse at the last moment and awkwardly crawl away, the duvet pulled to your chin. "Uhm. Good morning?"
You've taken most of the cover with you, Kento has no choice but to look down and discover all the other sources of pain. His nipples are swollen and purple from constant mistreatment; marks of your teeth spill from them up his chest, to his neck, as he guesses from the throbbing needles there. His biceps are adorned with bright red lines; their dull burning reaches his back and below. You've had your claws even in his ass, god damn it.
"Is there a reason you’re in my bed?" He blurts out, the smartest he can figure out when shocked, hungover and, much to his embarrassment, weirdly turned out by the whole turmoil.
You collapse into giggles and try to sit down in the least revealing way before you give up and let the duvet fall to your lap. Kento sees marks left by his own lips and teeth, and his ears start to prick in shame.
"Do you really expect me to explain the details to me?" You rub your temples. "If so, you'll have to forgive me, because I can't remember a damned thing."
"Water? Coffee?"
"Water first, please. Lots of it."
Strands of memories slowly crawl to his mind when he goes through the pantry and tries to overtake the mess. New Year's party at Shoko's and more booze than anyone but her could stomach. A few new faces, yours included, and a modest meeting turning into an uproarious welcome. One of the interns hitting on you and him stepping in, like a good supervisor. You in his lap a few moments later and him kissing you like no supervisor ever should. Desperate and mad scramble after taxi drove you to his place. Black boards and lewd images in between, and a strain he feels in his hips whenever he moves.
Oh, holy shit. Oh, holy fuck.
When he makes it back to the bedroom, with a glass of fresh, cool water for you, you're sitting on the bed all naked, holding a used condom on your palm.
"Usually, I'd insist on a coffee first but—" You lift it by a tied end. Kento's face explodes with a blush. "It wasn't bad. And I don't have a grudge against you. Shit happens, right. A few times, sometimes…"
There are a few more condoms scattered around the bed. Kento picks them up as fast as he can with a growing headache and trembling hands.
"I hope I'm not your coyote ugly." You hand him the last one and cling to the glass. It's empty with a few drafts. "But if you want me to disappear right away—"
"It would be highly inappropriate to ask anyone to leave under current circumstances. I owe you breakfast and a shower, at least." Kento's voice somehow doesn't falter, and he doesn't feel any urge to look away. After a moment of hesitation, he adds. "You're not ugly."
"Well, thank you." You put the empty glass away and stretch, not without a strained groan. Kento catches a glimpse of dried cum on your tum. Shit. I hope this is where my stupidity ends.
"You are, in fact, very attractive." He doesn't mean to, but he stares at the body he had all night long; every way he wanted, every way he still wants, he realizes, feeling the familiar warmth dribbling to his cock.
You stare back, your eyes move along the bite and scratch marks, down his thick happy trail to the base of his penis, shyly showing the first signs of interest. Kento suddenly realizes he's standing too close, close enough for you to touch him, if you wanted.
Of course you want to.
"I had this inside and didn't die?" You compare his size to your hand, genuine awe in your voice. "I would never have thought you're so…endowed— Oh shit, I'm sorry, was it too far?"
"I doubt there are many things left in the 'too far' territory after what we were doing all night long."
You flick eyes up to his face, then down again, and wrap fingers around him, letting a little gasp at his girth. Kento's temples are throbbing, his loins are stiff and the world spins around if he moves head too fast, but his cock still acts accordingly. It's slow but constant—he's brought back to life thanks to your attention.
"Is it too much?" Whether you mean the situation or possible overstimulation, Kento doesn't mind, and bucks into your palm. A moment ago almost mortified, he's now putting the scattered puzzles together. That night wasn't just an accident; he had his eyes on you for a while and his advances, however cautious due to his position, haven't fallen on reluctant ground. If he wanted, if he wasn't so reserved and paranoid, he could have had you a long time ago. The party, the New Year's kiss and the gallons of booze you both poured into your mouths were only the pinnacle and excuse.
You're gentle but determined. You stroke him to full mast with great patience, and when a bead of precum gleams at his tip (how on earth does he still have anything in him left?), you lick it with the very tip of your tongue. The way Kento's whole body pulsed has nothing to do with the hangover.
"I hope you're not having any urgent business to take care of today?" Your lips brush his sensitive head as you speak, impish flickers in your eyes driving him—sober and conscious—crazy.
"Not at all."
When he pushes you down on the bed and opens your legs to take you one more time, you welcome him with enthusiasm that nearly knocks him off his feet. So warm and needy. And finally—his.
prompt list | divider credit | please reblog if you liked it ❤
oh to be nanami's wife. to greet him at the door with a kiss and your hands already loosening his tie. to wrap your arms around that broad back and let him sag against you, exhaustion too heavy for him alone to carry. to run your fingers through his hair, press a kiss to his temple and welcome him, at last, home.
✧ nanami kento x gender neutral reader
✧ no warnings, just sheer fluff and laughs, prompt 16 from this list
✧ sfw but please minors dni
✧ ao3 version
"I think she really likes you."
The cat—most likely a female—has appeared out of nowhere. It's smaller than the others you've seen around here but not a kitten anymore. Its tail— perking jauntily as it trots your way—is big and fluffy, almost gigantic compared to the petite body and triangle face. The fur is also on the fluffier side, sleek and white with black, brown, and orange accents. Must be so soft in touch, you deduce, not without a ping of envy when the little intruder gives you a wide berth and fawns over your partner.
Kento freezes, cup with coffee held half-way to his lips as he watches, curious of the little creature's next move. Cat has no shame; it chirps and cozies up to his feet, head coquettishly rubbing at Kento's calf.
"Such a flirtatious little lady," you laugh, watching her twist between his legs, her tail twitching and enticing.
The corner of Kento's lips twitches, almost a smile. He takes one last sip of coffee and sets it aside, hand now free for the adorable critter.
"Did you run away from home?" He lets her sniff his fingers before gently stroking her head. She chirps again and, with no shame, presses against the palm, demanding bolder caress. At that moment, she has wrapped Kento around her claw; he strokes her from head to tail, once, twice, thrice, pulling the arch of her back as if loaded with magnetic force. When he scratches behind her ears, she purrs—so loud for such a tiny cat.
Animals like Kento, his calm demeanor and careful touch. Cats, dogs, rodents, even birds, they cling to him, demand his attention and invade his personal space. It's not rare for him to return home with pants covered in fur. His calves and lap are always the hottest spot in the town, whether it's a friend's little friend, a pet met during a curse investigation, or one of the strays that like to linger around Jujutsu High. Even pigeons don't leave him alone.
You like to tease him and joke you're so jealous of all the gentling, sneaked treats and stolen attention. He always rolls eyes and pulls you for a kiss, soft but passionate, compensating you for every hair and feather you have to pick off his suit.
Your new friend surely leaves a lot of hers all over Kento's trousers. Where he can't reach with a hand, she helps herself with love and attention, her fluffy tail wrapped under his knee and vibrating. Oh, you can't blame her, you know his touch, and you're addicted to it.
Kento's eyes soften with every twitch and meow. He reciprocates animals' affection; oh, he adores them, from tiny and domesticated, to the wild ones you watch on the TV together every Sunday before lunch. He's never admitted to it, but you know how to read between the pages of his book. You know the look in his eyes when they approach and love him. It's almost as warm and delighted as when he's looking at you.
"Maybe she will let you pick her up," you encourage him, camera at ready. It's as clear as crystal that the cat will invite herself onto his thighs as soon as she has some space.
Kento leans back, lap all reserved for the little lady. Gracefully, she approves the invitation and rubs her cheek against his abdomen. Coquettish, innocent, closer and closer to his other hand, holding an almost untouched half of his chicken sandwich.
"Oh, that's not good for—" He sees it coming but not fast enough. Cat pounces on her prey and with a few leaps she disappears wherever she's spawned from. "Shit."
He looks so comically disappointed and betrayed, his frame still open for the little guest and pouting, that you just can't help and laugh. Kento tries to give you a bad eye, brushing crumbs and cat hair off his thighs, then flops against the back of the bench and sighs.
"First time getting dumped?" You dry a stray tear and hand him his coffee.
"No. But definitely the most painful." He washes down the bitter taste of defeat before finally relaxing and releasing an amused huff through nose.
"Come here," you scoot closer and pull his sleeve until he turns your way, still slightly pouting. You take a stray crumb off the corner of his mouth and kiss him. Just a small, soft peck, appropriate for a bench in a public park—but you feel his lips curving upwards before you part. "Feeling better?"
"Much better." Kento is smiling as he unwraps the remaining half of his lunch.
❧ nanami kento x gn!reader | cw: implied secret dating, established relationship, fainting ❧
One moment, you're sitting in the conference room with the others and reaching for the file with the results of your part of the investigation. The other—the world is reduced to a whirlwind and so light you feel flying for a moment before the longest blink of your life, after which you wake up on a futon in a random room, all sweaty and startled.
It's so tidy and neat it's almost raw, at least until you turn head to the other side and notice you've been placed right in front of a bookcase, filled to the brim and almost bursting. If you thrashed in sleep and nudged it, you could have died under a never-ending stream of books and magazines.
The thought makes you want to laugh but the first attempt turns into a cough. Your throat is uncomfortably dry and sore, somewhat swollen, and when you try to look around further, the world threatens to slip again, so you give up for now.
Someone's kind hand took off your shoes and loosened your clothes, then tucked you neatly in with a cold compress on your forehead and in the right distance from the heater. The duvet is heavy but soft and presses on you just right, a pod to die for. If not for thirst, you would gladly succumb back into nothingness, especially since you feel a headache forming in your sinuses. You need rest but water is more important. And you need to figure out where—and how—you've been taken from the office.
Slowly, you look at the bookcase again, but your fever-scrambled brain can't even focus enough to read a single title. It's the only personal touch around; the only clue solving the mystery is the harsh contrast between it and the rest of the room, depressing whites and beiges all around, so basic as if it remained untouched since someone purchased it pre-furnished. You can't match anyone you know with this kind of style. Maybe if your fever-ridden mind wasn't so scrambled…
Soft steps outside grab your attention. The shoji rustles open and Kento walks into the room, carrying a tray with a glass of water, a fresh compress, a towel and a thermometer. He's still wearing the same suit as on the meeting but the jacket and shoes. Paying no attention to expensive pants, he sits on his heels by your side, his face concerned.
"How are you feeling?" He wipes a stray strand of hair off your forehead and gets to change the compress immediately after.
"Where am I?" You squint, looking at him; you've discovered your eyes are as sore as your throat and the light sipping through the window behind Kento's back hurts them.
"That doesn't quite answer my question." A tiny wrinkle appears between Kento's eyebrows as he gently pats your face and neck dry with a towel. "In my family house."
You have so many questions but not enough voice and strength to ask. Instead, you succumb into his gentle care, leaving all the worries for the future you, who will be watered and set up.
"It's closer than my place or yours," he explains with the patience of a saint. You love this about Kento; he doesn't speak much but, somehow, he always knows what to say and doesn't need to be pulled by the tongue. "You passed out during the meeting. Ieiri eliminated any curse influence, so I called a taxi and brought you here. Don't worry, we are alone here, you won't be disturbed."
After checking your temperature (very high but not alarming) and changing the compress, Kento helps you sit for a few sips of water. It's still enough to send your vision flying; when you're lying flat again, you keep your eyes closed. You pull one hand over the duvet—he immediately wraps it in his, big and warm.
"So much for keeping everything a secret," you sigh but smile, feeling his thumb rubbing across your knuckles. You can't remember a thing, but you know how it is with Kento when he's worried—he can't keep it cool when it comes to people he holds close to his heart.
"I don't care about that." A shadow blocks the sunlight; Kento is leaning closer now, right over you. "I care about you, only."
He squeezes your hand and pulls it to his lips, slightly cold against your burning skin.
"It's just a fever." You can't help but chuckle a little. "And you might catch it from me."
"I don't care about that either." He kisses your nose, then forehead, right on the hem of the compress. "Let me take care of you and spoil you. You need rest. Do you want more water?"
You slowly shake your head, suddenly even weaker. Maybe you shouldn't have closed your eyes, it's so tempting to let the fever win and doze off again…
Kento kisses you again, so lightly you barely feel his lips on yours, and gets up, "I'll cook you something. Do you have any wishes?"
His words blend into an unintelligible stream of his voice, then completely drown in the feverish darkness. Before you pass out, you creak one eye open, just right to catch his soft smile, a blessing for the dreams to come.
↬ nanami kento x chubby gn afab!reader
↬ masterlist // ao3 version
cw: PWP, reader has a vagina, established relationship, plus size reader, vaginal sex
summary: just nanami asking his plus size partner to ride him. and being in awe. based on prompt 13 from this list.
word count: 1k
a/n: repost from the old account. divider by saradika
"Ride me."
It slips past Kento's lips almost unwittingly, like a voice speaking straight from the depths of his subconsciousness. The rhythm breaks: the both of you are utterly confused in the best, most excited way possible, almost frozen in place for a few, heavy seconds.
He releases your wrists, suddenly realizing he held them so hard there will be bruises shaped like his fingers, then shifts his body to the side, pulling yours with himself. You squeeze thighs around his hips for leverage and balance, and he can't help letting out a little, breathy groan of appreciation. He loves the softness, the rolls forming on them flush to his body, the yet tentative moves as you're looking for the most comfortable position for your knees. It's just the beginning and he's already entranced by the feel and views.
From comfortably nestled in pillows, your legs wide open to fit his wide body in between, you're above him now, in your wonderful glory, in power and control over him. As you ease into the new situation, your weight gradually presses close to his hips until you settle on the angle you like. Kento clenches teeth, an inch away from successfully catching a moan; he's much deeper in your now, squeezed tight by your slick, hot walls, and sentenced to obediently awaiting your moves.
The fear of accidentally hurting you, prior stirred by your wrists, fades now. He grabs your hips with all he's got for your—not to hurry you up nor to pull you closer, but to feel you, to sink his fingers into your softness and to feed his eyes with the dip of your silhouette around them.
You shift on him for the last time, balance grabbed and checked, and lean slightly to the back, your eyes closed as you sink into the sensation. You start slowly, almost too slow for the both of you, either shy or testing the new waters. Kento holds his breath back, irrationally worried a draft of air might interrupt you; his nails scratch deep at your skin, vertical lines right next to your stretch marks. He's going to kiss them with care later, insatiably sipping on your warmth, but now nothing can peel his attention away from desiring you. He's addicted to the sway of your hips, to the bouncing rhythm you soon pick up, to the flow of your body on top of him.
Kento can't possibly grow tired of the sight of you in your naked glory. Since the day he's been graced with it for the first time he only grows more and more hungry. He loves every inch of it, whether you love it yourself or not, and usually doesn't shy from praising and adoring it—but now, with you bouncing on his cock, something keeps his words in check. Everything he feels like saying seems inappropriate, too simple and too vulgar. All he can do is to stare, eyes wide open in wonder, lips heavy of breath, and hands full of your curves. He lets them wander at times, to knead your ass or to support you at the waist, but every time the sensation grows too strong to handle, and he returns to your hips in hurry. It can't end like this, not now, when he's still starved, when he knows you can still show him more.
A rumble of your name follows an especially bold move of yours, and Kento claws at your thighs with desperation. You've caught him off-guard this time, with his hands out of control when you suddenly clenched hard on him, squeezing him deep in your hot slick. He has to close eyes, to spare himself at least the delicious views, but the feeling is right there—your tight cunt, your big and soft ass, your thighs tensing under his fingertips and pressing flush to his sides.
"Fuck—" He desperately tries to keep his hips in check, fights with each desperate attempt to jerk up, fails. "Holy shit—"
He's ready to beg you to slow down and show him mercy, equally ashamed of himself and turned on by the thought alone. You coo something about him squirming and twitching but he can't quite tell words from the stream of your voice. Blindly, he reaches up, hands stopping before they can reach your middle and pawing at your soft tummy. Again, you speak to him, but he's deaf in his pleasure, maybe if he opened his eyes—
He can't open them. If he does, it's the end. If he sees you, messy, disheveled, tired and so beautiful, he won't be able to last any longer. If he takes one more peek of your body bouncing on top of him, of you using him to your pleasure—
"Kento—" You beg him first, your voice drenched with ecstasy and breaking.
Kento can't resist such a melody. He snaps his eyes open as if under a spell.
Your name dies between slurred whimpers when his hold tightens, clawing its way into your skin, and Kento, early, way too early, caves in to pleasure. Eyes plastered to your bouncing tum and his hands sinking in it, now determined to not miss anything if it's bound to happen anyway, he joins the stuttering rhythm of your hips, just on time to push you into orgasm. A few thrusts later, stirred by the tight spasming of your cunt, he follows suit with a loud, the loudest this night, groan.
For a moment, reality around slurs too, and when he regains control over his senses, Kento finds you in his arms, nestled on top of him, sweaty and breathing heavy. He runs hand up and down your back, smiling at the feel of rolls and softness underneath.
Your body presses his tight—and yet again Kento reasserts himself his life truly wouldn't be the same if cruel fate ever took this blessed feeling away from him.
"One more time?" He whispers, lips pressed to the crown of your head. "I'm not quite full of you yet, my love."
↬ nanami kento, higuruma hiromi, kusakabe atsuya x gender neutral reader
↬ masterlist // ao3 version
cw: suggestive themes, implied bottom reader
a/n: repost from the old account. divider by saradika
nanami kento
Kento is not used to noise and smells in the kitchen so early in the morning. Such disruption of his routine would bother his mood under other circumstances—but now, with the soft sound of your bare feet at the other side of his apartment, it feels only right. Familiar, he would even say, despite the atmosphere of a special occasion lingering in the air.
When was the last time he made breakfast from scratch, he wonders when the door of his bathroom closes behind you. Normally, he would be still asleep at this hour; his alarm would go off in thirty minutes, he would take a necessarily short and cool shower, check emails in case of an emergency, and then head to the 7/11 on the corner, to eat a humble meal of a pre-made sandwich and a cup of coffee from the machine, maybe an onigiri too, if he felt particularly greedy. Today, he barely slept and rose with a crack of the dawn—yet he felt the most relaxed since what seems to be ages to him. He still had the taste of you lingering on his tongue after the night, and decided to savor it until the flavor of cooking he had to test on the way would eventually wash it away. Scratched marks on his shoulders and back stung when he leaned to check what he had in the fridge. His hips, unlearned of moves he had been using on you since you had devoured the takeaway dinner together, ached as he tiptoed to reach the rice cooker, left dusty on one of the highest shelves. His eyes kept the afterimage of your blissed out face over the selection of vegetables and seasonings he chose for this meal.
When was the last time he was so peaceful?
Kento finishes cutting the fresh cucumber and tsukemono, pours water into mugs with instant miso soup inside, and finally checks on the rice. It's warm and fluffy, just waiting to be put into the bowls he prepared—the cutest he had, with a long-tailed tit pattern. He brought them from Hokkaido and didn't use them even once, until he spotted them today and decided you would love them.
Rice has to wait; he can't let it grow cold like the sheets you two left behind are undeniably growing. First, he checks on the piece of salmon—a luxury that waited for a day when he could cook again—getting ready in the oven, then cracks a few eggs and beats them well with a pinch of salt and pepper. His stomach growls when they hiss on the red-hot pan—and he can't help but wonder if you're as hungry as him. Things you had in your mouth through the night couldn't feed you, as your corny, vulgar jokes suggested. Kento rarely smiles but the memory of them and the startled look you gave him as you worried if you hadn't been too much for him has him grinning for a short moment.
When was the last time he felt strain in the corners of his lips?
The omelet is ready in no time. Kento knows how you like your eggs, but he can't remember how and when he learned about it. He's sipped many details like this from your lips, through the whole year of waiting for the day you crossed the threshold of his bedroom. He was feeding on crumbs for so long... Being full out of the sudden fills his heart with content and anxiety at the same time. He wants to savor this moment, afraid to stomp on the thin shell of happiness too strong, but he knows he's already too addicted to stop. Whatever happens, happens.
And the food can wait only as long. He can't feed you a cold meal.
The hum of the shower ceases shortly after he takes the salmon out of the oven. Kento listens to the commotion in the bathroom while he finishes the last cuts. Bowls are filled with steaming rice, plates and mugs find their right place on the table. He hasn't cleaned the kitchen—but even if he could do it quickly before you join him, he can't bring himself to disturb this disarray. It looks—it feels—so good to have his place messy at least once, at least today, at least for the first hour you spend together after the night of passionate lovemaking.
His hands still remember the shape of your hips, he realizes when you appear at the entrance, fresh yet still sleepy—and smiling bright at the sight of him by the table.
Kento doesn't want to ever forget it.
higuruma hiromi
Out of the first mornings Hiromi experienced, this one is not the most...extraordinary. But he definitely would place it somewhere at the top of the list.
Seated on the edge of the bathtub, head leaned down, he still feels drowsy. The night was deliciously long and so worth the lingering fatigue in his muscles. He hasn't worked that hard in a while—well, physically at least—and he's undeniably going to pay the price with the top soreness of the last decade. He's more than okay with it...as long as you're not going to ask him for the repetition within the next few days. He's crazy for you—but he's not twenty anymore, and his job squeezes much more energy from him than he would have sacrificed, if he had any choice in this matter.
Speaking of squeezing—he barely managed to find time to bring you home, for dinner and a movie you didn't even start watching, hungry for something else than a story. And he did so only by nipping time off somewhere else—and by paying the carrying charge now, in his bathroom, awaiting the blind judgment of your skill...or the lack of it, to be honest. He has no idea if you've ever done a haircut before.
But you seem at least familiar with it enough to know how to hold and turn the hair clipper around. Hiromi watches you from the corner of his eye: you're right behind him, scrunching your nose as you're studying the shape of the device and options the various buttons provided. Bare-chested, wearing your pajama shorts only, you secure the towel wrapped around your head with the other hand. It's on the verge of falling apart, some of your hair already got out. He feels an urge to get up and help you tuck it where it should stay but just thinking about feeling it pushes blood where he really doesn't want it, if he wants to leave for work on time. He had his share of touch a few hours ago, stroking and playing with your locks as you had your sweet lips wrapped around his cock.
He's ruined the position when trying to take a better look, so you gently nudge him to lean fully again, a brush of your warm palm enough to have hair on his forearms standing. He had your hands all over him for hours, pulling him close, securing him next to you when you both finally collapsed into well-deserved sleep, so he could swear he's learned your touch enough.
But now...it's different.
You run fingers through the hair at the back of his head, testing the line you want to cut—and Hiromi is melting. He has to clench hands on the edge of the bathtub to stay collected; the last thing he wants is to get scolded and deprived of your digits slowly threading through his locks. You mumble something about being jealous of how thick they are and something about how badly he needs this cut—but all he can think of is how your voice is so raspy after moaning out his name over and over again. He wonders how your mewls would sound with this tone but thoughts evaporate from his head as soon as they've appeared, this time with the steady buzz of the clipper.
So the sound can be ticklish, such a weird sensation...
You're quick and as precise as only you can be at six in the morning, scrunched over his back in a rather tight space. You cut his hair just enough to keep him somewhat tidy for the few days before he can see an actual hair stylist; there's no time for more and Hiromi doesn't want to make it too much of a struggle for you. Even if it was his own request, he immediately regrets it when you're finished with brushing the cut dust off his neck and shoulders. It's such a pity you have to abandon him and rush with your own preparations. If only you had more time...
Right as he's straightening his back, you touch him with both hands, fingertips scratching lightly at the freshly shaved part of his head, right at the point where it meets his neck. Warmth explodes in his chest—and Hiromi lets out a low, needy growl. It's good, so good, oh gods, just touch him more, just do it one more time, he hasn't had anything like this for so long...
Humming, you move towards the longer strands, then down the sides of his face until you're cradling it between your palms. You tilt his head back and pull him close, until he rests it against your exposed, warm belly. Dry sob shakes his whole body and tears prick at the corners of his eyes—but Hiromia can't bring himself to close them or at least to look away. He's begging for your attention like starved and he's not ashamed.
All he wants is for you to never let go of him.
kusakabe atsuya
Holy shit.
Atsuya didn't get a wink of sleep through the whole night—and the fact that he doesn't have anything to do for the day to come doesn't help the case. He always had problems with falling asleep after sex, but he thought the long break since the last time and, well, the overall busy period in his life would crumble this irritating habit by sheer force of exhaustion. He's as good at taking an accurate measure when it comes to love as he is with dozing off, it seems.
You're sprawled by his side, lying face down and on his arm, butt-naked with the exception of the blanket loosely wrapped around your leg and covering half of your ass. You've taken his share of sleep since you collapsed as soon as he rolled to his side and reached for wipes to clean you both, much to his amusement—and horror once he realized he was sentenced to his thoughts alone for the hours to come. Your smell, soft, twangy breathing, and warmth is just helping them race now. Your weight, pressed tight from his wrist to shoulder, keeps him in place too, cutting any attempt of shameful retreat short. It's nothing he wouldn't be able to move, he's carried you around not once and not twice and it meant nothing to his strength, but he dreads to wake you up.
You deserve that rest after taking his pent up tension over and over again. And he really has no idea what to say to sound appropriate.
Good morning? Good job? Did you sleep well? I love you?
Atsuya groans and does another trip around the room with his eyes only. The more light sips through the loosely drawn curtains, the more details he could pick up, and shame already pricks at his cheeks. He couldn't remember the last time he cleaned around properly but even if he had it squeaky clean for the night, the area just screamed: a confirmed bachelor. Well, at least there's no trash lying on the floor or furniture, but he could easily pick up the smell of cigarettes and badly aired room. None of it mattered when you tussled in darkness, sucking sloppy kisses from each other's lips and peeling clothes off your bodies. But once you wake up and take a look around—Nope, he doesn't want to think about it. That's a problem for Atsuya from in-a-few-hours-future.
He rolls head to the other side, ashamed to even look at your sound asleep body, and stares right at his shirt, casually thrown over the bed stand. He doesn't have to look at it to know it definitely has its best days behind it. He could at least wear something presentable when seeing you for that unplanned job, hasn't he learned anything from his past relationships? Maybe he did, but it was so long ago he wasn't sure anymore if his sloppiness was ever addressed. His chain-smoking, however, is a different story.
Holy shit, he really needs to smoke.
Atsuya knows there's a spare cigarette and a small pack of matches hidden in the little pocket of his shirt, this very shirt within his reach. Carefully, he scoots to the side and reaches for it, fingers already brushing the sleeve, just an inch more, just a little...
You mumble his name and shift, sheets rustling around your legs. Atsuya freezes, sure he's finally done it and woke you up, but you just adjust your position, face turned to him, and continue with your softest snores. You're all messy and exhausted, in need of a shower even more than his room is in need of tidying. With amused relief pushing his worries out of his mind, he reaches out and gently strokes your hair.
You repeat his name, with a mewl dangerously close to what you screamed into his ear a few hours ago.
Out of the sudden, the thought of smoking by your side has him disgusted. You're going to wake up to this mess, to crumbled sheets and clothes all over the place and dying plants and papers lying on the floor in piles—and he wants to add smoke right into your eyes? You deserve better than that. You deserve him to be better than that.
Hell, he's been thinking about it for a while anyway. Maybe if he remembers your face from now, so calm and smiling through your dreams, it will be easier for him to finally quit.
↬ gojo satoru, higuruma hiromi, nanami kento, choso, ryomen sukuna x fem!reader
↬ ao3 version // masterlist
cw: pwp, femdom, individual warnings per each drabble, sukuna's drabble (the last one) contains dark content
a/n: repost from the old account. divider by saradika
gojo satoru
cw: pegging, breeding talk, teasing, dirty talk mixed with praise
Satoru’s thick thighs start trembling. He’s hanging on the last thin straps of control and dignity, the mewls he’s been giving you growing louder and lewder. Sweat pearls along his arching back; droplets dribble down his spine towards the line of shaved hair at the back of his head.
You retract your hips, almost pulling out of him, and pour more lube on the shaft of your plastic cock. It slides back into him with delicious ease, slick, almost swallowed by his lustful greed. He moans, low and throaty, when you bottom out, buried balls-deep in him.
“Good boy,” you murmur and spread his asscheeks, devouring the views. You skim past sweaty hair and line of arched spine, towards the red marks your hands left by his waist, blooming with ease on his pale skin. Finally, you focus on your union, on his stretched hole gripping the thick shaft whenever you move your hips back. He doesn’t say it—but you know he’s begging for you to stay, to drill him deeper, to fuck and breed him throughout.
“You take me so well,” you coo and smirk, seeing Satoru finally caving and hiding face in pillows, his sweet sounds now muffled. “You love when I fuck you with this big dildo, hm?”
Sharp trembling of his limbs and a needy groan are his answer. You move the pump to your dominant hand and push his hips down. Obedient, he follows, sprawling himself flat on the bed. Mounting him comfortably, you adjust the angle of your thrusts until they cease, fat dildo nestled in him deep and stable.
“What happened to my big and mighty Satoru Gojo?” You chuckle, drawing a line on his back with your nails. You love how his muscles tense under your touch; thin and white, barely visible, hairs stand up and tickle your fingertips. “You’re so behaved when you want my cock…”
You lie down and press close, your breasts flush against his broad, sweaty, hot back. Satoru groans louder again as he’s turned face to side for a breath, quickly hiding again. His long fingers dig helplessly into the sheets, immense pleasure overwhelming his reactions.
“Tsk, tsk, lemme hear you." Free hand sneaking into his hair you pull his head away from the safety of pillows, at the same time squirting some of the thick, cum-like lube into him.
Satoru lets you. Loudly, shamelessly, and needy; such a lewd moan teared out of the throat of a man deemed the strongest. The strongest, yes, on the battlefield, stomping on the teared flesh of his enemies. But here, in your bed, he’s but your toy, a doll you use however you like. And whenever you like.
“Good boy.” You lick the back of his neck, bury your nose into the delicious smell of his hair. “You like when I breed you, hm? You’re such a cute cumslut for me.”
higuruma hiromi
cw: bondage, sucking on strap, footjob
You’ve expected that Hiromi wouldn’t submit to your will so easily. He’s not a brat in the usual meaning of it—but also not a man who would succumb easily to such mundane needs and whims. You don’t have all the power on him; his unwavering gaze, looking up at you, is a remarkable proof of his silent resistance. He’s on his knees only because he wants to, your whims and orders—and his distinct bulge pressing through his pants—have nothing to do with it.
And yet, he listens. And yet, the thrill of the moment is rushing through your veins like adrenaline. You love not having him wholly within your reach.
“You’re so silent…” Not daring to ruin the atmosphere, you don’t speak much louder than a whisper. “As a lawyer you should use more words…”
His gaze heavy and eyes half-lidded, Hiromi tilts head back and takes a deeper breath; the slightly whistling rustle of air is his only answer. Unfazed, you trace the lines or red ropes, tied around his chest and keeping his hand bound behind his back, with the tip of your stiletto. You can see his muscles taunting under a thin, white shirt, but that’s as much as you get out of him. Even when you keep moving down, towards the hard bulge, cozily underlined with another loop of rope.
“You’re not going to say anything?” You smirk and give your strapped cock a lazy stroke. Your hand is slick and sticky with strawberry-flavored lube you chose for tonight—and you feel an immense urge to wipe it against his cheek, to stain his handsome face before you move to the main course.
Hiromi’s gaze flicks down, towards the dildo, his Adam’s apple bobbing just slightly at the sight of thick, heavy droplets sliding down its shaft.
“Are you hungry?” You tease and press his crotch harder. His hips jerk forwards, he ruts against your foot but stutters and stills as fast as he’s reacted.
“Anything you say can be used against you.” Moving the tip of your shoe against the curve of his bulge, you taste the words and their weight on your tongue. “But this is not a court. Your punishment will be only your reward. And if you’re going to be a good boy, we might even skip that part.”
He jerks again, a slow, dragging move of hips against your sole—but this time you see pleasure and need in his eyes, the everlasting calm, emotionless, expression breaking into a pleading, demanding whim.
You can’t help but smirk with satisfaction.
“Are you hungry?” You repeat and reach out to him. Higuruma hesitates only for a moment.
“I am, ma’am.” He shimmies closer, clumsily with hands bound, and licks your palm, opens mouth wide for your fingers. You toy with him, test how nimble his tongue is, how deep he can take you before he gags. The way he whimpers around your fingers, the way his eyes darken with pleasure, the way tears prick at their corners when you touch his limits… You’re getting wet just from the sight.
“I have something bigger for you.” Grabbing your cock at the base, you rub its head against his lips.
You don’t have power over Hiromi—but at this moment, at this moment only, he blindly gives you all the reins, and swallows the offered treat like a good boy he is.
nanami kento
cw: crossdressing, rimming, degradation
Kento blushes so easily, for his own demise. The curse of his Nordic ancestors ruins his serious demeanor at the slightest inconvenience—and he’s extra prone to any intimate situation, to restless teasing and to pushing him into an utterly embarrassing state.
But it looks so cute. Especially paired with a skimpy maid dress.
“Your tea, ma’am.” He places the tray with the teakettle, cup and three cookies, neatly piled on a little porcelain plate. He pours you some, careful to not spill a single droplet, and takes a few steps back for a respectful distance.
“Thank you.” You nod with a smile and let your gaze wander up his legs. Long, strong legs, with thighs thick enough to crush wooden logs—now deliciously exposed by a tight, short dress. It’s frilled and has a window on his chest: a perfect view on big, soft and hairy pecs, additionally squeezed by restraining fabric. “Are you wearing panties?”
Red explodes on Kento’s face, and he has to bite on lips before he dares to speak, “No, ma’am, I am not.”
You click your tongue with a feigned disappointment, “Bend over.”
His legs are shaking and he’s right on the verge of giving up to embarrassment—but he listens and shows you his rear against the same table, right next to your tea set.
“Walking around the house, working and cleaning, without any underwear?” You don’t need to lift the skirt to see what you want but you do it anyway. “You’re such a dirty slut, Kento-chan.”
Slowly, you drag a finger down from his butthole towards his balls—and he whimpers, voice muffled, as he’s probably hiding face in hands right now.
“Dirty, horny whore of a maid—” You keep teasing him at the same spot, watching with satisfaction as he’s growing fast under your ministrations— “thinking about his mistress doing lewd things to his little, tight hole… Instead of working…”
“I’m sorry, ma’am…” Kento chokes on words, trying his hardest to overpower whimpers and mewls. “I promise… Never again…”
“Aww, aren’t you sweet?” You tease his entrance with a slow, encircling move. It twitches, hungry for your attention. “For a cock-hungry whore you have such an angelic voice. I can’t help but devour you, Kento-chan.”
You nudge his legs open wider and kneel between them, face at the level of his ass. Tension runs through his muscles, not a bad one, but definitely nervous and embarrassed to high heavens. You suck a little, teasing hickey on the inner side of his thigh, smirking as his whimpers grow louder and more desperate.
“You were dreaming about my tongue, weren’t you?” You spread his cheeks open and move closer, your breath ghosting against the most sensitive and intimate part of his body. “Be a good whore and admit it.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Kento's voice—usually so low and raspy—breaks with ease. “Please, can I have it?”
You reward his honesty with a deliberate lick, from his balls towards his hole. He moans—and immediately shuts his mouth with both hands.
“No, Kento-chan—” You pull away, not without satisfaction noting how he sighed, disappointed. “You will get my tongue only if you sing for me like a dirty slut you are.”
You lick at his butthole this time, teasingly sliding the tip of your tongue inside until you hear his voice clearly again, truly a melody for your ears.
choso
cw: restraints, overstimulation, begging, non-penetrative sex
You know the power that lies in Choso’s arms, in those thick muscles and big hands, capable of tearing and crushing and breaking—and carrying you around as if you were but a mere feather. That’s why you ordered custom handcuffs, from the strongest materials available, and then bribed Gojo Satoru with a pile of sweets to imbue them with an insane load of cursed energy, so they could work as a decent seal.
Even though you hear the metal chain moaning as loud as him when he pulls, trying to break free and grab your hips to get what he desperately needs from you.
“Fuck! Y/N!” Choso thrashes head to sides, hair plastered to his sweaty forehead. “Please. Please! I can’t any longer! I—”
His hoarse voice turns into a whimper when you drag your hips again, wet, hot slit against his painfully hard and sensitive cock.
“Please what?” You coo, keeping the slow, teasing pace. “Can you finish the sentence?”
You press harder against him, putting almost all of your weight into the friction, and the attempt to answer dies on him with a moan.
Smirking, you continue, one hand running through his chest hair and happy trail. His abdomen is stained with cum, on top of a glistering layer of sweat; you brought him to his high a few times already, restlessly rubbing your cunt against his cock until he’s come all over himself—and never ceasing doing so. He’s so sensitive and spent he’s shaking and raging, each move of your hips sparking his nerves like an electric shock. Veins bulge on his arms, muscles twitch and taunt—but the handcuffs are merciless.
Drooling and crying, Choso finds some power to hump against you, but he steals only some more friction, not exactly what he wants and needs.
“Please… Lemme cum…” His big, puppy eyes seem even bigger under the thin layer of overstimulated tears.
“Oh? But you already came so much…” You cease moving until he stops jerking and shifting under you. Choso is desperate and half-mad with lust but still understands as much. If he wants to get what he asks for, he has to play on your rules. “Do you still want more? So greedy…”
“N-no… Lemme… Lemme in—”
You cut his pleading shut with a sudden, sharp drag of hips—and a shameless moan of your own. Long session of teasing and rubbing against him hasn’t left you unbothered; your juices stain his lower abdomen and sheets under you two. You’re teetering on the line of your first orgasm—and frankly, his helpless whimpers and begging only stir you on more.
You’re not taking this pleasure away from you.
“Y/N!” Choso sobs, the bed frame creaking as he’s thrashing against the restraints. “Please! Fuck! Please! Put it in! Lemme cum in you!”
You stop again and lean down, squishing his cheeks and forcing him to look at you, until he remains still and silent, obedient the same way he’s been when you’ve cuffed him to the bed.
“That’s better.” You smile and kiss his tears away. “But I’m cumming first. Then you can ask me nicely again.”
ryomen sukuna
cw: noncon, handjob, forced orgasm, sukuna threatens you with...sukuna-compliant things
“I’m going to kill you.”
The weight of those words and the range of the voice saying them would have you terrified under any other circumstance. But you’re midst one of those once-in-a-millennium moments, in power you would never expect yourself to ever have. You are the stronger one. You are dealing the cards and dictating the conditions. You are having a curse on your mercy—and nothing and no one could stop you from doing whatever you want to do now.
He seems to care about it as much as you care about his threats.
“I’ll rip your head off.” Sukuna muses, as disinterested as if he wasn’t spread against a wall and pierced to it, all four arms plastered with countless seals. Each would be enough to kill a curse of a significant power. “I’ll tear your ribcage open and smash your heart. And break all your limbs. Gauge your eyes. Bite your breasts off. And then fuck whatever is left of you. All of that while keeping you alive, you worthless maggot.”
“Don’t make me rip your tongue out.” You scoff and squeeze him harder. Any other creature would be already hissing in pain—but not the king of curses. He’s “just” hard against your palm, heavier than any cock you’ve held in your life.
Half of this is satisfaction from his miserable state—and half of it sheer curiosity. But overall, his and only his fault. Even if on the verge of a death sentence, Sukuna couldn’t keep his filthy mouth to himself. You, well, just accepted the challenge.
“You want to harm me.” He laughs, loud and ugly. “You can’t even get me to cum with those weak hands of yours.”
Instead of answering you squeeze his cock so hard you feel pain in your hand. Sukuna’s smirk fades a little and his eyes pop open as he lets out a hiss, not a painful one, but still, the first vocal reaction you’ve heard of him.
His other cock, on purpose ignored and abandoned, twitches and brushes against your wrist. You crook an eyebrow at the sight, triumphant and encouraged.
“Not only you will cum—” Keeping a steady and tight hold on him, you jerk him violently— “you will cum when I tell you so, you worthless curse.”
“You’re a mouthy bitch.” Sukuna scoffs, both pairs of eyes squinted and observing you with disdain. “But that’s as much as you can—”
Genuine surprise flashes through his face when, with a free hand, you trace and press at his perineum.
“Fuck—” He groans and thrashes against the binds. “You—”
“A worthless maggot who can’t even get you to cum?” Now, having a thread ready in your reach, you don’t intend to let it go. The satisfaction from humbling Sukuna himself is even greater than the views and arousal coming from absolute control.
Who knows, maybe you will cave against your inner promise and use his cocks for your own pleasure after you get bored with milking him?
Smirking, you watch him crumble and succumb into your touch—until he finally caves in himself, with a loud, demon-like groan, spurting cum from both of his cocks all over your hand.
“I’m going to kill you,” he repeats, sheer murder beaming from his eyes. “No, you will beg me to kill you.”
