amy

︵ ೀ mdni. nanami and his oblivious!wife ( part one / part two / part three / part four )

“these bikinis are so tiny now,” you muse, poking your head out from the dressing room curtain. your husband kento slumps in a store chair, exhausted from working overtime and now you’re dragging him through this beachwear shop for a vacation he’s dreading—because you, his sweet, clueless wife, are a walking test of his sanity, and he’s losing.

“what’s the problem, honey?” he says while he’s trying to focus on the tacky store decor—anything but the thought of you in a bikini and your curves, because every time you step out, all innocent, his cock twitches and he’s one step from fucking you against the mirror until you’re a whimpering mess.

you yank the curtain open, stepping out, and kento nearly dies right here and there. the bikini’s a fucking crime—neon pink, two pathetic triangles straining against your tits, which threaten to spill over. the fabric’s stretched so tight it’s basically transparent, nipples hard from the store’s AC, and the straps are screaming for mercy, digging into your skin, pushing those pretty boobs up and out.

“my boobs don’t fit,” you pout, tugging at the top, making them bounce and jiggle in a way that sends kento’s cock throbbing painfully hard.

“fuck,” he chokes, voice a strangled wheeze. you giggle, oblivious, bouncing on your toes, and the bikini groans, one tit nearly popping free, a sliver of pink nipple taunting him—kento’s mouth waters, aching to lick that teasing peek, to push the fabric aside and tease the stiff bud with slow, hungry swirls of his tongue.

“it’s so tight, kento, look!” you say, spinning to check the mirror, and your ass in the matching thong bottom—plump, barely covered—makes his cock leak, a wet spot blooming dark against his pants, precum soaking through as he shifts, trying to hide it. “looks good” he rasps, sounding like he’s been punched, eyes glued to your chest, where every jiggle is slow-motion torture.

“stop talking and take off your clothes.”

you cut satoru off, staring at him from the edge of the bed. he showed up at your place talking about some mission, some curse, some dumb shit that happened with his students like you two were actually dating.

“why are you telling me this?” you ask, again. “we’re here to fuck, right? not play boyfriend and girlfriend.”

satoru pauses, then that lazy smirk spreads across his face. “yeah. you’re right.”

he doesn’t waste time. he pulls his shirt off, drops his pants, and pushes you back onto the bed. before you can say anything else he’s between your thighs, spreading them wide. he drags your panties down and buries his face in your pussy like he’s starving.

“fuck,” you moan as his tongue slides up and down, hot and wet. he licks broad and messy, then sucks your clit between his lips. you grip the sheets, hips bucking against his mouth. he eats you like he always does—greedy, sloppy, perfect.

but something feels different tonight.

every time you look down, his bright blue eyes are locked on yours. he doesn’t close them. he watches you the whole time, pupils wide while his tongue works your clit and two thick fingers push inside you. there’s heat there, sure, but something softer too. something that looks way too much like love.

you try to ignore it, but you can’t. not when he stares at you like that.

satoru curls his fingers and sucks harder. you whimper, thighs shaking around his head. without breaking eye contact he reaches up and grabs both your hands, locking his long fingers with yours. he pins your hands to the bed beside your hips and holds them tight while he devours your pussy.

“satoru—”

he hums against your clit, the vibration making your back arch. his grip on your hands stays firm, warm, almost possessive. those eyes never leave your face, even when your thighs squeeze around him and you start grinding against his tongue.

you can’t shake the feeling. it’s not just hunger in his gaze. it’s more. and it scares you how much you like it while he fucks you with his mouth and fingers, holding your hands like he never wants to let go.

toji’s old enough to be your dad and you both know it.

you see the silver in his stubble when he leans over the console, the way his knuckles are busted and healed a hundred times over. yeah... he’s got this shady job and a driver’s license that expired the year you graduated high school. but whatever.

you still crawl into his lap the second the door slams shut, loving the way the truck groans every time he drives into you hard enough like he’s trying to break it and you at the same time.

boys your age send dick pics and ask if you’re dtf. toji just palms your ass, lifts you onto his cock like you weigh nothing, and sinks you down slow until you’re gasping at how deep he sits. he doesn’t ask if you’re sure. he knows you are.

you picked him on purpose.

he always grumbles about your knees on the leather yet his hands are always already under your skirt, calloused palms spreading your thighs wide while he mutters “fucking brat” against your mouth.

thick arms cage you against the passenger seat while the windows fog up in the empty parking lot. he’s got you folded damn near in half, knees to your chest, cock buried so deep your belly bulges a little every time he bottoms out.

then his phone lights up. he doesn’t stop, reaches over with one hand, thumb swiping answer while the other keeps your hips pinned.

“yeah,” he grunts into the speaker. “target’s still breathing. give me twenty.”

he rolls his hips hard on the last word, his cockhead grinding right where it makes you stupid. you whimper loud enough the guy on the line probably hears. toji’s eyes flick to you. “open,” he mouths, silent.

“w-wait, you don’t have to,” choso stammers, cheeks flaming red as you kneel between his thighs, his back pressed against the headboard, eyes wide like he’s about to bolt. he’s all nerves, hands fidgeting in the sheets, but you see the bulge in his sweats, the way he’s already hard just from your teasing kisses.

“relax, cho,” you murmur, smiling, tugging his waistband down slow, and he squeaks, covering his face. his cock springs free, thick and leaking, and he’s whimpering before you even touch him. “s’too much,” he mumbles, voice shaky, but you lean in, kissing the tip, and he jolts, a high-pitched whine spilling out. “fuck—oh god,” he gasps, hands flying to your hair, not pulling, just clinging.

you lick a stripe up his length, slow, and he’s a mess, thighs trembling, head tipping back with a broken moan. “p-please, i—i can’t,” he whines, so shy it’s adorable, but he’s rock-hard, betraying how bad he wants it.

you take him into your mouth, shallow at first, and he cries out, hips twitching up before he catches himself, muttering, “sorry, sorry!” you hum around him, sucking deeper, and his whines turn desperate, a string of “oh, oh, fuck, please” falling from his lips. “feels s-so good,” he babbles, tears pricking his eyes, one hand gripping the sheets, the other in your hair, gentle but needy.

you bob faster, tongue swirling, and he’s whining nonstop, voice cracking. “gonna—i’m gonna—” he tries to warn, but it’s too late; he comes hard, hips stuttering, spilling into your mouth with a long, shaky moan, body shaking like he’s never felt this before. you swallow, pulling off slow, and he’s panting, flushed, staring at you like you hung the stars.

“was… was that okay?” he whispers, shy again, and you crawl up, kissing him soft. “more than okay, cho,” you tease, and he buries his face in your neck, whining, already half-hard again.

So, I was looking through my old prompts and I haven’t done this in 2 years, so I thought I’d do an update! Some of you have requested smut prompts as well, so here you are~ I would say that this post is 18+, but I know that there will be people younger than that reading this, therefore there is no age limit, but this is adult content.

This is an explicit post.

As usual, this is a smut-based prompt list, SO PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION. This is not for the faint of heart and it might be trash because I’m not someone who usually writes smut~

“stop talking and take off your clothes.”

you cut satoru off, staring at him from the edge of the bed. he showed up at your place talking about some mission, some curse, some dumb shit that happened with his students like you two were actually dating.

“why are you telling me this?” you ask, again. “we’re here to fuck, right? not play boyfriend and girlfriend.”

satoru pauses, then that lazy smirk spreads across his face. “yeah. you’re right.”

he doesn’t waste time. he pulls his shirt off, drops his pants, and pushes you back onto the bed. before you can say anything else he’s between your thighs, spreading them wide. he drags your panties down and buries his face in your pussy like he’s starving.

“fuck,” you moan as his tongue slides up and down, hot and wet. he licks broad and messy, then sucks your clit between his lips. you grip the sheets, hips bucking against his mouth. he eats you like he always does—greedy, sloppy, perfect.

but something feels different tonight.

every time you look down, his bright blue eyes are locked on yours. he doesn’t close them. he watches you the whole time, pupils wide while his tongue works your clit and two thick fingers push inside you. there’s heat there, sure, but something softer too. something that looks way too much like love.

you try to ignore it, but you can’t. not when he stares at you like that.

satoru curls his fingers and sucks harder. you whimper, thighs shaking around his head. without breaking eye contact he reaches up and grabs both your hands, locking his long fingers with yours. he pins your hands to the bed beside your hips and holds them tight while he devours your pussy.

“satoru—”

he hums against your clit, the vibration making your back arch. his grip on your hands stays firm, warm, almost possessive. those eyes never leave your face, even when your thighs squeeze around him and you start grinding against his tongue.

you can’t shake the feeling. it’s not just hunger in his gaze. it’s more. and it scares you how much you like it while he fucks you with his mouth and fingers, holding your hands like he never wants to let go.

“are you sure this one looks okay?” you ask, stepping out of the fitting room in a tiny baby-blue bikini that barely covers anything.

choso freezes.

his eyes drag slowly down your body, taking in the way the thin straps hug your curves, the way the fabric barely contains your breasts, the way the bottoms sit high on your hips. he feels his cock twitch hard in his pants, already half-hard since the third bikini you try on.

“it… looks good.” he shifts on the couch outside the fitting room, trying to hide the very obvious bulge growing in his pants.

“you’ve said that about the last four. be honest, choso.”

how can he be honest?

how can he tell you that every single bikini makes him want to drag you back into the fitting room, lock the door, and fuck you against the mirror? how every time you twirl for him, showing off your ass and the way the strings tie at your hips, his mind fills with filthy images of pulling those strings loose with his teeth?

you step closer, doing a little spin. the movement makes your tits bounce slightly, and choso has to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from groaning.

“this one makes my ass look nice, right?” you ask, turning to show him the back.

his cock throbs painfully against his zipper.

“yeah.” his eyes glued to the curve of your ass. “it does.”

you smile. “okay, i’ll try the red one next!”

as soon as you disappear behind the curtain, choso lets out a shaky breath and presses the heel of his hand against his cock, trying to will it down. it doesn’t work. he is rock hard, leaking into his boxers and heart pounding like he is a stupid teenager seeing a girl naked for the first time.

every bikini looks unreal on you. every smile you give him while modeling for him makes him want to fuck you right there in the store. he imagines pushing you against the wall, pulling the bikini bottoms to the side, and sinking into your heat while you try to stay quiet but fail miserably.

“choso? what do you think of this one?” you step out again in a deep red string bikini that makes his brain give up completely. he swallows hard.

“…you’re going to kill me.”

you laugh softly, completely unaware that this whole shopping trip is torture for him. and the only thing choso can do is shift again, painfully hard and completely hopeless.

he is never surviving this shopping trip.

satoru didn’t know what was worse— you, or the problem in his pants.

you and satoru were sitting at a small beachside table, enjoying ice cream under the warm afternoon sun. you licked happily at your strawberry cone, swinging your legs under the table, completely unaware of the effect you were having on him.

a big drop of melted ice cream suddenly slid down and landed right on your chest, slowly dripping toward your bikini top.

“ah, it spilled!” you said, a little embarrassed. without thinking, you scooped the melting cream with your finger, collecting the sticky sweetness from your skin. you brought your finger to your lips and licked it clean, sucking the cream off with a satisfied hum.

satoru’s ice cream completely forgotten in his hand, melting fast and dripping onto the table. his eyes were locked on your mouth, watching the way your tongue swirled around your finger so sweetly, how your lips wrapped around it for a second.

he was losing his fucking mind.

his cock was rock hard, throbbing painfully against his swim trunks under the table. he shifted uncomfortably, trying to hide the very obvious bulge, but it was useless. precum was already leaking into his shorts.

“satoru? you’re not eating yours,” you said, tilting your head with big eyes as you licked the last bit of cream from your finger. “is something wrong?”

he let out a breath. “yeah… big problem,” he said. “i can’t stand up right now, baby.”

you blinked, confused. “why not?”

satoru glanced down at his lap, hidden under the table, then back at you. “because you’ve been licking ice cream off your tits for the last two minutes,” he whispered, almost whining. “and now i’m so fucking hard I almost hurts.”

your eyes widened, cheeks turning warm. satoru groaned quietly, pressing his forehead against his hand, his melting ice cream still dripping onto the sand.

“just… give me a minute,” he muttered. “or ten. unless you want to crawl under the table and help your poor boyfriend out.”

︵ ೀ mdni. nanami and his oblivious!wife ( part one / part two / part three / part four )

“isn’t it gorgeous?” you call out to your husband kento, twirling in the sand, arms wide. the bikini top strains, triangles shifting, a sliver of nipple teasing the edge, and kento’s cock throbs painfully, tenting his swim trunks.

the beach stretches out under a merciless sun, waves crashing lazily, and your husband is already regretting this vacation. he’s sprawled on a towel under an umbrella, sunglasses fogged with sweat, gripping a book so hard the spine creaks.

you, his sweet, oblivious wife, are the problem—prancing around in that neon pink bikini he bought in a haze of desperation at the store, the one that barely contains your curves and has been torturing him since you stepped out of the hotel room.

every jiggle of your ass, every bounce of your tits, is a fresh assault on his sanity, and now you’re out there, glistening with sunscreen, drawing every eye on this damn beach.

kento shifts, book slamming over his crotch, a pathetic shield against the wet spot blooming dark from his leaking tip. fuck, he thinks, jaw locked, teeth grinding. he wants to pin you to the sand, rip that scrap of fabric off, and fuck you raw until you’re sobbing his name, public be damned—but he can’t, and it’s killing him.

you’re oblivious to his problem, laughing as you kick at the waves, ass rippling with each step. the thong bottom rides up, exposing more of that plump, perfect curve, and his eyes track it, feral, imagining sinking his teeth into it, spanking you red, then burying his cock deep until you’re dripping with him.

his balls ache, heavy, and he presses the book harder, the pages crumpling under his grip. every giggle, every sway of your hips, mocks his control, and he’s one deep breath from losing it.