if you know me— no, you don't

The argument has been going on for hours. Since 6 PM exactly. It’s almost midnight now, and the tension in the apartment is so heavy it’s suffocating.

You’ve fought about everything and nothing: his work that makes him distant, the risks you take on missions, his exasperating calm when you get angry… Everything finally exploded.

You’re standing in the middle of the bedroom, cheeks burning with anger. Nanami is leaning against the edge of the bed, legs slightly spread, one hand running through his blond hair as he pushes it back in a slow gesture. His shirt is half-open, his tie long abandoned on the armchair. The dim light makes his lightly tanned skin glow.

“Can you just shut up?!” you yell, your voice hoarse from hours of shouting. Nanami looks at you for a long moment. His brown eyes are calm, but a dark flame burns in them. A slight arrogant smile slowly stretches his lips.

“You want me to shut up?” he repeats in a low, husky, almost dangerous voice. He tilts his head slightly, staring at you with that intensity that always makes you weak. “Then come sit on my face. I’ll shut up nicely.”

Silence falls instantly. You freeze, eyes wide. Nanami doesn’t move, still leaning against the bed, one hand in his hair, the other resting on his muscular thigh.

His gaze slowly slides over your body: your breasts rising quickly under your thin tank top, your ass perfectly hugged by your shorts, your thighs he adores.

“Kento…” you murmur, torn between the anger still boiling inside you and the arousal already rising between your legs.

“Come here,” he says more softly, almost a calm, irresistible command. “You’ve spent the whole evening yelling. Let me silence with my tongue.”

You hesitate for a second, heart pounding, then step closer. Nanami grabs your hips firmly and pulls you toward him. He lies fully back on the bed and guides you until you’re positioned over his face.

“Sit,” he murmurs against the inside of your thigh, his hot breath caressing your sensitive skin. “Don’t hold back.”

You lower yourself slowly. Your already soaked pussy first brushes his lips. Nanami groans in satisfaction and grips your ass with both hands, pulling you down completely onto his mouth.

From the first contact, his tongue is merciless. Wide, hot, and flat, he licks your entire slit in one long, slow stroke, then becomes sharp and insistent, swirling rapidly around your swollen, hypersensitive clit before plunging deep inside you, exploring your inner walls.

You moan loudly, hands gripping the headboard “Oh fuck… Kento…” Nanami doesn’t speak anymore.

He devours you like a starving man after hours of frustration. His tongue dives deep into you, pulls out, swirls around your swollen clit, sucks, explores every fold. He groans against your pussy, the vibrations sending electric shocks through your whole body.

You start moving instinctively, grinding your soaked pussy on his face, your hips rolling harder and harder as his nose presses deliciously against your clit.

“Yes… just like that…” he murmurs between licks, his voice muffled. “Use my mouth. Soak my face.”

You moan louder, almost ashamed of how much pleasure you’re taking after such a violent fight. But Nanami gives you no mercy. He spreads your ass with his large, powerful hands and pushes his tongue even deeper, literally fucking you with it.

“Kento… I… I’m gonna… ugh mhh—”

“Do it,” he growls against you. “Cum on my tongue. I want all of it.”

You explode violently moments later. A brutal orgasm crashes through you, your thighs clamping around his head like a vice as a long, high-pitched cry escapes your throat. A powerful clear jet bursts out of you in intense successive waves.

You squirt abundantly, soaking his face, his chin, and a large part of the sheets under your ass. The pleasure is so strong your eyes roll back, your toes curl, and your body shakes with uncontrollable spasms for long seconds, wave after wave.

When the final tremors finally subside, you collapse on your side, panting and trembling. You look down and see the mess: the sheets are completely soaked beneath you. An intense wave of embarrassment washes over you immediately.

“Oh no… I soaked the sheets…” you murmur, red with shame, hiding your face in your hands.

But when you peek through your fingers, you see Nanami. His face is glistening with your juices. He looks… satisfied. Almost proud. His eyes shine with a possessive and admiring glint. You can’t help but burst out laughing despite your embarrassment.

Nanami lifts his head and laughs softly with you, a warm, rare laugh that vibrates through his chest. He slowly crawls back over you, towering over you with his imposing, athletic body. He kisses you tenderly, sliding his tongue into your mouth so you can taste yourself.

“You’re so beautiful when you squirt like that,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice hoarse. “Don’t be embarrassed. I personally loved every second.”

He pulls back slightly to look at you better. In one smooth motion, he grabs the hem of his shirt and pulls it off, revealing his perfectly sculpted, muscular torso glistening with your squirt.

Your gaze drifts lower… and you immediately notice the massive bulge straining violently against his pants. His cock is visibly rock hard. A large wet patch spreads across the front of his gray pants, betraying just how much your orgasm and squirt excited him.

You bite your lip, both embarrassed and terribly turned on by the sight. Nanami follows your gaze and smiles, a little embarrassed himself, but mostly proud and full of desire.

“See what you do to me?” he says, slowly running a hand over his cock through the fabric. “I’m completely soaked because of you.”

He places a knee on the bed and leans over you again, his gaze burning. “And I’m not done with you yet, baby.”

pairing :: kento nanami x reader

the position you have yourself in feels all wrong and the angle is, well, utterly embarrassing. you'd been the one to suggest this in the first place, well written smut online fogging your mind and forcing the request past your lips before you could think about the logistics.

he'd said yes, of course. kento's inability to deny you paired with you being too chicken to back out (plus not wanting to out of sheer curiosity), leaves you in your current predicament.

"I don't think it's rocket science, sweetheart." kento's lying flat on his back beneath you, head propped up on a pillow. being awfully patient despite your prolonged stalling. his fingertips draw the barest shapes on either side of your hips, tapping lightly to get you to move higher. your knees bracket his ribs, heat of your cunt burning into the firm ridges of his stomach. "it's just me. nothing to be shy about." his frame shifts just enough to get close, mouth brushing over yours. "you just sit there like you sit on my lap. and then you move."

"I am sitting." you grumble, settling a little lower, ass right up against the band of his slacks. "being on your lap is different."

(AN: let's not act like we didn't know which one was gonna be the poll winner 👀)

You don't even know when you started this. All you remember is him coming home, tired after a court proceeding that was only gonna get him a re-trial at the end and a truck load of exhaustion. Your poor heart couldn't bear seeing him so down, and you were down to do anything to cheer him up.

Anything. Well..

"F..fuck- Hiro- Hiro! L..let's..oh..- slow down a bit!"

You whined, unable to feel any other sensation in your body other than his cock rhythmically bullying your cervix, procuring vivid sounds of shluck! shluck! schluck!

"S-slow down? H-..hah- we're only getting - fuck fuck fuuuck- started angel"

His voice came out strained, entailed by a deep groan as his head fell back, biting into his lip. He was thoroughly enjoying it, milking every sensation with a grind of his hips against your ass. His fingers dug deep into the soft flesh of your hips, finding purchase there to keep the ounce of sanity that held him back from actively fracturing the bed frame.

Even with how sensitive and raw your skin was starting to feel down there, your insides seemed to have grown a new brain, displaying a heinous betrayal with the way they clenched and milked his cock for all it's worth. It didn't do justice- not even a little bit- to how the sweat beaded and ran down your back from hours of exertion.

A veiny hand slid downwards from your hips to between your folds, spreading them out and pinching your clit between the digits, eliciting a sharp cry from between your lips. Your body twitched in a way that was nearly inhuman, and the sadistic fuck of your boyfriend seemed to be thoroughly enjoying it, because he was now drawing tight circles around the sensitive bunch of nerves mixed up with occasional tugs to it.

What were supposed to be moans coming out of your throat turned into a choked, garbled mess, hands tugging the pillow closer to your face so you could at the very least, escape the humiliation.

Your legs trembled like leaves, a tight string knotting up in your belly and walls starting to flutter wildly with your orgasm starting to approach at a much faster pace. Your vision had started to blur and get dotted. It was what, the 4th orgasm of the night? How were you supposed to count while your literal guts were being rearranged?!

Only for a moment did you feel his grip loosen a bit, his hand lifting to push back the strands of hair sticking to his forehead, and you took the chance to loosen your body forwards, squirming away from his onslaught.

Alas, the relief was only temporary before his fingers tightened into your hair, tugging your head up backwards from the pillow, followed by a sharp smack on your already reddened ass cheek.

"What did I say about trying to run away huh?" thrust "stay" thrust "fucking" thrust "still"

The movements that punctuated each words seemed almost as if he wanted to push through your cervix and right into your womb. A smug smile stretched across his lips as he scoffed, tugging you up against his chest with one hand choking your throat.

"Hold onto my biceps, doll. Because I fucking told you already, we're just getting started"

You're not getting out anytime soon...

satoru is already whimpering before you even duck your head down; that small, reedy whine spilling from his pillowy lips whenever things aren't going his way. his skull is pinned all the way back against the headboard, iridescent eyes glaring at you with a childish, petulant stubbornness.

“c’monnnn sweets, don’t do that… it’s weird,” your husband mumbles, his fingers twitching where they’re embedded in the meat of your thighs, securing your hips down onto his lap. “it’s just wet muscle, no? nothing special...”

but this stagnant cockwarming is pure agony; his thick, pulsing cock is filled to capacity within you, yet today, t feels somewhat insufficient. you crave a more vicious internal shift from your spouse, knowing just how much force it takes to shatter that paper-thin grip he has on himself.

ignoring his protests, you fist your fingers in his fluffy white hair, yanking his head forward to smother his mouth with yours. satoru lets out a muffled groan full of exasperation, his frame locking up, but you offer no reprieve. you part your lips and shove your tongue deep into his maw, slathering it across his teeth eagerly as if to fuse your bodies into one—fluids included.

ovverstimulation wrings him out, turning his spine to jelly and his buffy thighs to unstrung bows as you force him to swallow the pooling excess of your combined saliva. it is a grotesque violation of his sterile world he polishes so obsessively, and the utter humiliation of how much ecstasy it brings to his poor heart paints his cheeks a painful crimson.

“mnh—wait a minute!!” his gasp bleeds into your mouth, six-eyes weeping from pure overload while a sullen pout rests on his lips. “i swear—it tickles me...”

yet, the degrading rush of blood goes straight to his groin. beneath your pelvic bone, you feel the sudden, predatory surge of your husband's cock gorging itself on his arousal, thickening and elongating until he is stretching your walls past their absolute limits. he is quaking, his mind drunk on a single kiss from his beloved wife, slender fingers clawing into your hips with a miserable zeal as he fights the sudden thought that forms in his mind—

he can fill your womb just as you mercilessly filled his mouth.

੭ a/n im not even joking i need this man so bad. sexual themes mentioned

bf satoru who persistently insisted on always touching you. at all times. everywhere. whether it was a hand on your thigh, his arms lazily wrapped around your shoulders, or his favorite—holding hands. he found it so endearing how his large, veiny hands completely engulfed yours.

bf satoru who didn’t mind the slightest bit about the judgmental looks sent his way while he shamelessly trailed gentle, loving kisses along your pretty neck. pda was never a problem for him. he loved watching people’s faces contort with disdain while he was merely appreciating his beautiful, sweet girlfriend.

bf satoru who loved to show you off, especially around his friends. like he wanted to show them just how lucky he got. how he’d wrap his beefy arms around your waist while you sat on his lap, possessively biting your shoulder as you talked with his friends. how he loved it whenever you wore something that showed a little more skin, just so he could show off the goddess he had as a girlfriend—while making it clear they’d never be able to touch you. or sometimes, he’d simply grab your face and pull you into a deep hungry kiss mid-convo with suguru.

bf satoru who would take you to amusement parks on purpose just so he could spend hours glued to your side, his head resting on your shoulder and his arms around your waist. or your arms looped around his neck while he gave you slow, lazy kisses as the two of you waited in line for the roller coaster, just like one of those cheesy, cliché teenage couples.

bf satoru who loved when you returned that same level of affection. possessively kissing him while staring down the girls that were making a fuss over him. shamelessly flirting with him around his friends, whispering sweet nothings in his ear while they looked at him with disgust written all over their faces, obviously aware of what you were doing.

bf satoru who could literally—as he claimed—feel his soul quiver whenever you weren’t around. he needed to feel you. to feel your soft skin against his rough, scarred one. to feel the pulse of your healthy, beating heart. to know that you welcomed his touch. that you wanted him just as much as he wanted you.

made by kugoism

A loud knock jolts you from your focus, your stationery practically shakes from the force. You murmur to yourself, “What now?” Irritation evident in your voice as you push yourself out of your seat at your desk and head towards your dorm door.

You’re met with a very groggy, very out-of-it Satoru.

“Satoru? What are you doing here — why have you got gauze in your mouth?”

He pushed past you with a groan and flopped down onto your bed as if he owned it. “Just got my wisdom teeth removed, sweets.” His words were slurred, almost incoherent. You stared at him, pondering why on earth your fuck buddy was coming to your dorm out of all places after just having his teeth extracted.

“Aren't you going to cuddle me?”

You snorted at his garbled words, the idea being so foreign that the only reasonable reaction was to laugh. “Satoru, we never cuddle after you visit, we high five and one of us leaves after getting dressed.” The white-haired man’s eyes nearly popped out of their sockets at your words, “But… why would I not want to cuddle my girlfriend?”

Hold on, girlfriend?

How many painkillers was this guy on?

You moved closer to him, sitting at the edge of the bed and rubbing your hand up and down his shin. “We aren’t dating, Toru. We just hook up sometimes, remember?” You tried to sound as kind as possible, lowering your voice so as not to embarrass him. Satoru however just shook his head, drool slipping from the sides of his mouth as he sat up.

“Nuh uh, we are dating because I’m sooo in love with you, pretty girl.” He tried to smirk but his cotton-stuffed mouth prevented that, instead, he ended up looking a tiny bit lopsided.

You froze, eyes wide, mouth agape at his confession. “You don’t mean that, you’re practically high from how many meds you’re on.” You tried to get up but he grabbed your hand and pulled you back onto the bed with him. “No, I love you.” He repeated in a sing-song voice, nuzzling his head into your hand.

“My girlfriend, let me love you...” You felt him starting to fall limp against your hand, eyes wavering as he fought a drug-induced sleep. You signed, leaning closer in to press a soft kiss to his damp forehead. “We can talk about whatever that was tomorrow, Toru.”

“Let me love you… don’t you give up, nah-nah-nah…”

“You listen to Justin Bieber?”

“Suguru played it in the car, told me to serenade you…”

And with that, he was asleep.

Sunday afternoon in late May. The late spring’s last remnants were still hanging on despite the unwavering heat that drastically hit Gotham last week. Music playing on the background, you were caught up finishing your remaining chores reminiscing about when Jason arrived in the morning after along, long night patrol that overextended until the early morning. He came to your apartment right after finishing up, falling dead asleep as soon as his head hit your mattress.

In an attempt not to wake him up when you needed to move, you replaced your body with a pillow he accepted after grumbling some nonsense just for the sake of it. As much as you desired to stay next to him for a little while, duty called and you needed to finish up everything to keep on track of your daily tasks. However, you did not forget to press your lips to his forehead, the first of the many kisses that followed during the day.

Laundry, removing dust, meal prepping, boring tasks that you typically reserved for the most boring day, now dreaded because of the company in your apartment. That’s how you spent your morning, leaving your boyfriend to get the rest he deserved as he did with you when things got too heavy and you needed sleep as much as air.

He woke up at noon, right on time to watch you prepare your meals from the doorway, silently watching, trying not to break the spell of normalcy. You were just cooking, humming a song that got stuck inside your head from listening to it every day (something probably sad, probably adrienne lenker he had come to know), when Jason made his presence known as he wrapped his arms around your middle, pulling you impossibly closer to him.

Gear off replaced by sweats he kept in your room, he somehow had woken up shirtless (probably because of the heat, you quickly thought), bare torso as warm as the laundry still in your living room, waiting to be folded. Strong arms engulfed your waist, hands wandering softly around the area as if he was trying to explore your chest, without a hint of lust in the action. His head rested against your shoulder, hair ticking your skin, breath swooshing your hair as you stirred the pot.

Jason grumbled something about remembering falling asleep with his girl, not a pillow, and the affection not very well hidden in the tone in which he said “my girl” made you try to hide a dumb lovesick smile plastered on your face. Reciprocating his affection, you toyed with his forearms as you finished up what you were doing, turning after to properly greet him with a hug and another quick kiss. He seemed annoyed at the duration of it, and so he pulled you back in to give you a longer one which he deemed fit. Now seemingly content, he actually left your kitchen and began to get half ready for the day, considering if a shirt was optional or mandatory on his to-do list.

Enjoying each other’s presence, you both were working on your own things in the living room, when you decided to play your conjoined playlist to add some ambiance as nothing was being done that required heavy concentration. He smiled in appreciation at your idea, pressing his lips to your cheek, pulling you into his lap as you passed by with the speaker. Kisses were given to you as his hands pressed at your back, drawing circles on our side as if he was trying to remember the exact shape of you and how you fit beside his own body, the warm pressure of your hands displayed across his shoulders, grounding him from becoming too caught up in you.

He pulled away at some point, maybe when his hands tied to draw you in so close that there was almost no space between your bodies, or maybe it was when a sound escaped his lips when your hands started paying with his hair; either way, his lips weren’t on your anymore. Eyes glossed over, you pecked him when you moved away, dumb smile plastered on your faces.

Your attention diverted towards the centre of the living room, and you made your way through the pile of still warm laundry you hadn’t folded yet. Dread on your expression, Jason got up as you sat down, and as he stood up in front of you, he picked up the clothes hanging from your hands and begin to do the task himself, leaving you stranded in the room without anything left to complete.

Instead of relaxing after a day of mindlessly doing chores, an idea began to form in your head. Putting it into action, you made your way to where he stood, and began to caress his skin all over his back, arms, and every place he might have tension in. Shuddering at the unexpected feeling, Jason tried to keep up with the task at hand as your hands began to wander across every inch of his torso.

Trying to finish as quickly as possible, he folded everything twice as fast as your normally would, and he turned to get a proper look at you. It was then when the same thought crossed your minds: even though you had been together the whole day, only lingering touches and fleeting kisses had been exchanged.

Now fully looking at each other, a subtle tension was left hanging in the air; not desire, especially not lust, but pure adoration and love. You shared a look that let you both knew that without a doubt, the only emotion reserved for the other was devotion. As if your skin remembered how his felt, you were drawn closer to the other, and without an exchange of words, you shared one of the most intimate feelings you had ever experienced.

It wasn’t just a kiss or making out, but it was the way you tried to memorize how he felt standing in front of you, the feeling of your hands displayed over his chest, while his were resting comfortably on your cheeks, your heartbeat trying to match the rhythm of his, the warmth of his breath fanning over yours. You did not know exactly how long you were in that place, whether it was seconds or years, but after pulling apart, you simply couldn’t stay out of sight for the rest of the day.

Constantly lingering beside you, his presence sat with yours in the kitchen, bedroom, even in the bathroom, trying to sneak in little grazes of your skin with his. When the night fell, he draped himself all over you first in the sofa while you watched a film, and later in your bed.

There, he finally seemed content enough after feeling your breath warm his cheek and your body resting on top of his. A final kiss was shared as you drifted to slumber, silently thanking the universe for sending you Jason to keep as yours.

He keeps coming back. 

Your taste has him hooked like a druggie chasing that first high again.

It’s a friend with benefits. You two met at a pub, a drink or two led to you bringing him home. Since then you two have been doing it here and there between his jobs. It eases the stress out of him more than comforting words or massages could ever do. 

Toji spends his lonely afternoons far away from you fantasizing you playing with yourself. When he’s spent days without a lick of you. That’s just how much he loves “you”. 

All that bloodshed and violence in exchange for a wad of yen is forgotten when his face finds itself between your thighs, kissing and kissing your throbbing little clit as you mewl and whine above him.

He’s exhausted from his latest job. He can only calm down and clear his thoughts here, on the bed of your apartment.  It’s 2am. It's absurd to disrupt a person’s rest for a selfish need of his. But he couldn’t care less about anything but getting off on you.

He loves your pussy too much to let anything else keep him away. He’d kill anyone if they tried. It sounds dramatic but that’s the truth for him.

Your hands fist his dark hair, like you’re trying to rip the strands straight out of his scalp. He doesn’t care as long as he can keep worshipping your sobbing cunt, its divine nectar tasting straight out of heaven.

It’s intoxicating, strong and uniquely flavorful. He’d carry a flask filled with your juices if he could, to take with him on missions to keep him going. To quench his appetite for you.

He searches for you when he has time off. Toji’s been hypnotized by your taste alone, and that’s just where you want him.

It’s nothing more but sex with him. You see other people, but none can satisfy you like him. You don’t want him to stop. You need him around at all times, even if you can’t truly tame and claim him as yours. 

Downtown is where he belongs, tasting that sweetness and warmth on his tastebuds is enough reason for him to keep doing. You know this all too well. You let him do anything he wants if it means he keeps coming. 

Your thighs squeeze his skull hard enough for his vision to haze, or maybe that’s just from the lack of oxygen from how deep he’s buried between your legs.

He grunts and groans, as if he’s enjoying a delicious five course meal after starving for a week straight. His mumbles are incoherent, not like you can hear yourself through your whines and pleads.

“Tastes so fucking good.” Toji moans, eyes closed hard as he savors your slick.

Your head lolls back, hips rising from the bed only to be pinned back down by his large, scarred hand.

“No squirmin’ when I’m eatin,” he rumbles, never bothering to look up or unlatch his mouth from your pretty puffy clit. His scarred lips close around it, sucking the soul from your body.

“Toji- please!” You whine, thighs quivering from overstimulation.

Your vision flashes white, body tenses and relaxes in a second. It’s over as soon as it came.

He rubs your inner thighs, finally opening his eyes to look at how much of a mess he made of you.

Never does his tongue stop, it slows down instead, licking up the white creamy release coming within your gooey walls.

“Delicious,” he says to himself, he dips his fingers inside you, scooping out some more for him to suck.

You lay there catching your breath, appreciating the break while you can because you know he’s not stopping until dawn. He’ll stay in the morning for breakfast and then leave. Sometimes he stays the night if he didn’t ambush you in the middle of your sleep like tonight.

He’ll never really leave and you’ll never push him away.

Toji’s too hooked, and he’s too good to complain.

He's your best eater.

soft smut | domestic life w’ jason | fluffy

waking up to find jason asleep on top of you. part of you feels bad cause he’s tired. but mostly he just wants to keep you in bed, with whatever necessary method.

it’s past noon when you wake up to jason laying with his head on your chest. his face literally buried between your breasts like it’s a pillow or something. snoring softly as though completely content.

you probably wouldn’t have woke up if it hadn’t been for the blinds being open because his weight over you just felt like a blanket. warm and inviting. his suit still on him like he just collapsed here somehow and his huge arms resting beside your head. watching the rise and fall of his back since his chest was to your stomach and the soft ruffle of his hair, you smile to yourself.

when you finally try to get up, he’s not budging even a smidge. if anything, he seems to get heavier, and he doesn’t make a sound still completely asleep. but you know he sleeps at odd hours and lord knows when he got home and collapsed on your sleep-ridden form.

fine, you think to yourself, i’ll give him another ten minutes.

though ten turns into twenty and now it’s 1pm. you shake him a little harder and groan out his name.

“jason, get up. you’re crushing me.”

he mumbles something against your chest and rubs his face there before turns it to the side. hands spanning around your waist to keep you from squirming further.

you groan a little louder and laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. “half the day is gone and you’re here suffocating me.”

that’s when he lifts his head to look at you. sleep heavy on his eyelids and a soft pink to his cheeks from pressing his face to the fabric of your clothes. the soft imprint of your ribbed shirt against his skin.

“you aren’t suffocating if you can talk ma.”

#drabble.ᐟ ⸝⸝ dadbod!jason ⸝⸝ fluff ⸝⸝ body praise ⸝⸝ sfw .

✦ masterlist　╱　dc masterlist　𓏼 ͜͜

The couch dips under Jason's weight, and he's already reaching for you before he's even fully settled. It's unconscious and routine at this point—the way his arm finds the back of the couch behind your shoulders, the way his thick, muscular thigh presses against yours like he's making sure you're still there.

You are. You've been here for an hour, pretending to read, mostly just watching him doze. As if you’d miss out on a chance to dote on him when he’s like this.

His head tips back against the cushion. Eyes closed. Mouth slightly open. The line of his jaw is soft like this, unguarded in a way he'd hate if he caught you looking. His henley has ridden up just enough to expose a strip of skin above his waistline. Not muscle there—well, not all of its muscle at least. There’s something softer. Something that shifts when he breathes.

You close your book. You’ve been on the same line for maybe ten or fifteen minutes now and you don’t even remember to put a bookmark in. Too entranced by how hot your boyfriend looks all comfortable like this.

"Jay."

Nothing.

You poke his side. His eyes crack open, bleary and suspicious as he groggily eyes you.

"Mm… what."

"You're comfortable," you say.

"That's not a crime."

"No." You turn onto your side, facing him fully. Your hand lands on his stomach before you think about it. Palm flat and fingers spread. The fabric is warm from his body heat, and underneath it, there's the sexiest pudge you’ve ever seen on a man. A soft layer that yields to your touch before meeting the solid wall of what he used to be beneath.

Jason looks down at your hand. Then up at you. "You're doing that thing again."

"What thing."

"The thing where you look at me like I'm a stray dog you found in an alley."

"A very handsome stray dog."

He snorts. It's not an attractive sound. You love it.

"You're ridiculous," he grumbles, but he doesn't move your hand. Doesn't even pull away. If anything, his stomach rises a little more against your palm as he takes in a a deeper breath, deliberate or not. It’s a soft sigh. One that tells you what his words won’t. He loves being here.

"You have a belly," you tell him.

Jason blinks. "I have—okay. Sure. Thank you for that." He rolls his eyes, throwing a beefy arm over his eyes.

"It's not an insult." You trace a slow circle around his navel through the shirt before reaching out to pull his arm off his eyes. It’s heavy. Big. Just like everything else about him. His abdominal muscles twitch underneath, instinctive, but the softness stays. That's what gets you. The way he's still undeniably him—broad, strong, capable of breaking things without so much as trying—but there's this now. This evidence of rest. Of takeout eaten on weeknights. Of sleeping through alarms. Of a normal life where he’s not running himself into the damn ground every single hour of every single day.

"I like it," you say with that cheeky smile of yours.

"You like—" He stops. Rubs a hand over his face. "It's just weight. I've been eating like garbage and I haven't been running as much. It's not—that's not a thing you like. It's just a thing that is."

You lean in and kiss the corner of his mouth. He freezes. You kiss his cheek, the hinge of his jaw, the spot just below his ear that makes him shiver every time. Every damn time. A weak spot, if you will.

"Liking it," you murmur against his skin.

Jason exhales. Slow. A little shaky at the end because—sure, he’s used to this—but it still gets him hot. His hand comes up to rest on the back of your neck, not pushing you away, not pulling you closer. He just holds you there, fingers gently brushing the nape. Like he's trying to steady himself.

"You're weird," he says quietly.

"You've mentioned."

"Yeah, well." His thumb continues to brush the baby hairs at your nape. "It bears repeating."

You pull back just enough to look at him. His face is flushed—not from embarrassment, exactly. Something closer to disbelief. Like he's waiting for you to reveal the punchline.

You don't have one. He should know this already.

You push his henley up, just a few inches. His stomach tenses on instinct, but you shush him like you're calming a spooked animal, and he lets you, because fuck it, right? He secretly loves the attention anyway. The skin underneath is pale, a roadmap of old scars, and softer than anywhere else on him. You press your lips to the spot just above his waistband.

Jason makes a sound. Not a word. Just a breath punched out of him. A little bit of a groan maybe. Why must you torture him so?

"You're so warm," you say.

"That's—" He clears his throat because if he doesn’t, his voice will definitely crack in a way he would rather it not. "That's generally how bodies work."

"Yours is special."

"It's really not."

You kiss his stomach again. Then again, an inch to the left. Then right where the softest part gives way to muscle underneath. Jason’s not fat—never has been, never really could be with the way he moves, the way he fights, the way his body remembers things yours doesn't. Like years of brutal training and patrol and other shit he had to do, being Red Hood and all. But there's padding now. A layer of proof that he gets to sit down. That he stays. That he isn't running himself ragged every single night.

Jason's hand tightens on your neck. Just a little bit. He’s careful not to crush it—and he definitely could.

"You're gonna give me a complex," he sighs, peeking at you from the corner of his eyes.

"Good. It'll match the others."

That earns a laugh. It's rough, startled out of him, and his stomach jumps under your lips. You smile against his skin and chuckle.

"I'm serious," you say, propping your chin on his belly so you can look up at him. You’re lying in between his legs and even though the position’s pretty compromising when you’re pressed up against him like that. His eyes are soft. His mouth is doing something unreadable, somewhere between a smirk and something a little more fragile. "I love this. I love you. Every part."

Jason stares at you for a long moment. Then he hauls you up by your armpits like you weigh nothing—because to him, you basically do—and places you against his side, sandwiched between him and the back of the couch, with his arm around your shoulders.

"You're annoying," he says, lips pressing against the top of your head. He breathes in your shampoo like he’s trying to commit it to memory. Old habits from when he wasn’t sure if he’d be coming home. But he’s got you forever now.

"You love it anyway." You give his side a squeeze and he groans, grabbing your hand, then your wrist and forces your arm around his waist instead.

"I guess," he agrees quietly.

His hand then drops yours and finds your hip. His thumb rubs back and forth over the bone. His stomach rises and falls against your ribs, soft and warm and alive, and you press your face into his shoulder so he doesn't see you smile too wide.

He knows. He pretends not to notice anyway.

You stay there until the light shifts and the room goes dark, and neither of you moves to turn on a lamp. Too lazy. Too comfortable. And probably asleep by now.

Content Warnings: pregnancy/family planning implications

You wouldn't call yourself a jealous person.

You wouldn’t call yourself a video game hater either. Not particuarly. You had dabbled, but had come to realise it was not an activity that you would consider participating in often.

It was clear that there were other things you were more interested in. Tangible things. Pottery classes where you can make coasters. Knitting a sweater that warms you on a winter evening. The weight of your boyfriend's hand finding yours beneath a cheese and wine tasting event. Such things.

This same thing could not be said for your boyfriend, Satoru Gojo.

The windows were cracked open against the summer heat, letting in the distant hubbub of Tokyo traffic come through the filters of living high up in a high-rise building.

And Satoru Gojo was spread across your bed, laying on his stomach. His socked feet swung through the air behind him, far too preoccupied and focused on his console.

Your lives as jujutsu sorcerers were stressful, swallowing up any free time you had, and if your boyfriend felt like looking at pixel versions of you getting together and falling in love. Who were you to judge?

It was his prerogative.

You tried to focus on your paperwork. There were reports spread across your bed. Witness statements. Property damage estimates. Curse sightinga in Shinjuku. Witness statements.

You tried to read.

Trying being the operative word.

The console chirped, and Satoru made a noise of genuine distress.

You did not look up. You traced a line of text with your finger, forcing your eyes to stay fixed.

“Baby,” he finally said, with a grave sense of concentration you could say you had only heard from him on the battlefield.

“Our Miis are fighting again.”

“Maybe pixel-me is tired of your pixel-infidelity,” you spoke up from where you sat cross-legged against the headboard.

warnings. fem!reader, body worship, kissing, clit play, body image issues, implied plus sized reader but read how you like, general insecurities, fluffy smut. nsfw 18+ mdni.

──── ୨୧ ────

You’d been trying to get dressed for the last hour.

More precisely, you’d been trying to find anything at all that didn’t make you feel bloated, or oddly proportioned, or downright ugly to wear to your husband’s very important work event, which also just so happened to be happening very soon.

You’d torn your shared wardrobe apart, scattered every dress or piece of party attire you think you’d ever owned across every square inch of your bedroom, and yet here you stood, buck naked aside from the old band shirt you’d tugged on in a furious fit after the last dress you’d tried on had made you feel like a trussed up Christmas turkey.

With tears prickling hotly in your eyes and a sob threatening to break free in your throat, you tossed yourself onto your bed. Wallowing amidst a plethora of abandoned gowns and several shoes missing their pairs.

Your husband, for all his patience and tact, had remained at your side throughout the ordeal. Silent aside from a few well intended comments which, by no fault of his own, had only left you spiralling further.

He now settled onto the bed beside you, a quiet, steady presence. You listened to the gentle creak of the mattress dipping beneath his weight as he leaned over you, studying your expression with a concerned one of his own.

Did you start an argument out of nothing? Possibly.

Are you enjoying the consequences? Hell yeah.

You had been on Sukuna’s ass about buying the wrong brand of apples; now, was it a big deal? No, not at all. But that didn't stop you, arguing with your boyfriend is your favourite thing in the world. Why? Because it means he gets to go feral on you.

And his favourite punishment? Eating you out until you apologise.

You're practically folded in half on the bed, legs dangling over his shoulders and kicking feebly at his muscular back. Tufts of Sukuna’s pink hair tickle your inner thighs as his tongue lashes against your clit over and over in mean stripes.

“Are you finally finished giving me cheek, brat?” He grumbled into your cunt, sharp teeth grazing your clit, causing you to jerk and whine in his grasp. You shook your head, a pretty little pout sitting on your lips as you stared down at him between your legs.

His mouth and chin were coated in your slick and his own spit, dripping lewdly onto the sheets below. Sukuna practically growled at your response, digging his nails into the flesh of your thighs before hauling you closer to his face, “Wrong answer.”

You felt his tongue swirl around your oversensitive clit, lapping at the bud before taking it into his mouth and sucking. Obscene sounds of your wetness filled the room as he pushed two thick fingers into your cunt, curling and scirssoring them to hear the lewd squelch they made.