I bet Julian needs garlic bread too

olderbf!nanami headcannons ! (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

olderbf!nanami who never rushes you, no matter how impatient you get. you’re standing in front of your closet, frustrated, pulling out dresses and tossing them onto the bed.

"i have nothing to wear," you groan. he’s sitting in the armchair by the window, his tie already loosened, watching you with that calm, steady gaze.

"we have forty-five minutes," he says, his voice low and even. "take your time."

you huff, turning to face him. "you’re always so patient. it’s annoying."

he smiles, small and fond. "i’ve waited forty years to find you. i can wait forty-five minutes for you to pick a dress."

olderbf!nanami who always makes sure you eat before you leave the house. you’re running late, your heels clicking on the kitchen floor as you grab your purse.

"we’re going to be late," you say, already halfway to the door.

he steps in front of you, a plate in his hand—toast with avocado, a soft-boiled egg, sliced fruit arranged neatly. "eat first."

you stare at him. "nanami, we don’t have time—"

"we have time," he interrupts gently, setting the plate on the counter. "you’re not leaving this house on an empty stomach. sit."

you sit. you always do. because when he looks at you like that—like taking care of you is the most important thing in the world—you can’t say no.

olderbf!nanami who never raises his voice, even when you’re being difficult. you’re arguing about something stupid—where to go for dinner, maybe, or whether you should cancel plans to stay in—and your voice is getting louder, your hands gesturing wildly.

he just stands there, hands in his pockets, watching you. "you’re not even listening!" you snap.

"i am," he says quietly. "i’m listening to every word. and when you’re done, we’ll talk about it calmly. like adults."

you deflate, your anger fizzling out. "you’re too kind to me," you mutter.

he steps forward, his hands finding your waist. "you’re worth the kindness."

olderbf!nanami who takes his time undressing you, like every layer is a gift he’s unwrapping. you’re in his bedroom, the lights dimmed, and you’re already reaching for his belt, impatient, wanting him now.

"slow down," he murmurs, catching your hands. "we have all night."

you pout. "i don’t want to wait."

Summary: You are sick, and your six soulmates are there to comfort you.

Pairing: Chronic Illness Riddled Soft F!Reader x JJK Men (Ryomen Sukuna, Zenin Toji, Daddy Kento, Gojo Satoru, Geto Suguwu, Kamo Chocho.) Ft. Dr. Higuruma Hiromi.

The header was made by me, line dividers are from @cursed-carmine, and bunny dividers are by @dividersnook11.

A/N: I see you guys wanted this one posted first. Based on this ask I got last year. Symptoms are vague, and the reader's gender/pronouns aren't really relevant to the plot. WC: 2.7K.

For @mullermilkshake, hope you heal properly and swiftly, my love.

You woke up to six men arguing in your bedroom.

“Move your damn elbow,” Sukuna snapped.

“That’s not my elbow, fatass,” Satoru fired back instantly from somewhere near your feet. “That’s her plushie.”

“…Why the fuck does she sleep with seven stuffed rabbits?”

“Because she likes cute things,” Choso answered softly, internally proud to have figured it out.

“Shocking,” Toji muttered from the doorway, carrying a grocery bag full of medicine, chips, and three different kinds of soup. “Tiny bunny likes fluffy shit.”

You blinked awake slowly from beneath the mountain of blankets cocooning you. Your body ached horribly today—everything felt too much, too rough, too painful against your skin: the blanket, your socks, and even the pillow under your knees. Your legs throbbed like somebody had filled your bones with static, and lifting your head made the room tilt.

Immediately, six pairs of eyes snapped toward you.

“Good morning, bunny." Suguru smiled.

Kento was already getting up to cross the room, setting a cool hand against your forehead while the others crowded like feral dogs and cats behind him.

“You’re still warm,” he sighed, thumb brushing your temple.

“No shit,” Sukuna scoffed, arms crossed. “She’s been hurting for two days.”

“Your bedside manner is beautiful,” Suguru deadpanned.

“I’ll kill you.”

“You say that every day.”

You made a tiny, weak noise from the bed.

Instantly, everyone was silent.

Choso dropped beside you fast. “Baby? Do you need something?” His voice went all soft and worried immediately, eyes huge. “Are you hurting?”

You nodded miserably.

That was maybe the wrong answer because suddenly all of your soulmates reacted like someone had stolen their wallets.

“Where?” Kento asked, with concern barely hidden.

“How bad?” Suguru added.

“You nauseous?” Toji interrogated.

“You need water?” Satoru shoved a cup into view so fast that water sloshed onto the blanket.

Choso caught it before it drenched you, scowling at him.

Sukuna leaned over everybody else, glaring. “I’ll kill the doctor.”

You stared at them blearily. “…my legs hurt.”

The room collectively melted.

“Oh, bunny,” Choso whispered, as if your pained voice had stabbed him right in the chest.

You were very soft, very sweet, and very bad at handling pain, which meant whenever your chronic illness flared up, your boyfriends acted like overprotective teddy bears.

Especially because you kept apologizing like the pain was poor manners.

“Sorry,” you mumbled weakly. “I’m useless today…”

All six of them looked offended.

Toji narrowed his eyes. “The hell d’you mean, useless?”

“You can barely walk,” Kento remarked gently, pulling blankets higher around you. “You’re in pain, darling, so you need the rest.”

“But you guys have stuff to do…”

Satoru looked genuinely horrified. “Baby, I skipped work.”

“You skip work every week,” Kento deadpanned.

“Yeah, but this time it’s for love.”

Suguru rolled his eyes before crouching beside the bed. "Bunny, look at me.”

You peeked at him slowly.

“You do realize none of us mind taking care of you, right?”

“She still thinks the opposite regardless,” Sukuna grumbled, arms crossed over his chest.

“Even says ‘sorry’ every three seconds,” Toji grumbled.

“I counted seventeen yesterday,” Satoru added unhelpfully.

You shrank deeper into the blankets, sheeoish. “Sorry—”

“See?” All six snapped at once.

You softly chuckled.

Then Choso carefully climbed into bed beside you, big arms wrapping around your waist with sweet gentleness because he always thought you were something precious and fragile.

“You don’t have to apologize for hurting,” he murmured against your hair. “We love taking care of you.”

That made your achy little heart squeeze embarrassingly hard.

Unfortunately, Satoru immediately ruined the delicate moment by climbing onto the bed, too. “My turn.”

“No,” Sukuna yelled loudly.

“Yes.”

“No!”

“I’m undoubtedly her favorite.”

“The fuck you are.”

“You wanna test that?”

“Gladly.”

Kento rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Can we not start testosterone wars around the sick woman?”

But it was too late.

Toji was already dragging Satoru backward by his hoodie while the latter clung strongly to the blankets.

“Baby,” Satoru whined. “They’re separating us.”

“You’re crushing her legs, idiot,” Suguru groaned, shoving him off you.

“Oh.” Satoru paused. “…Sorry.”

You rubbed a hand over your face. “You all are too loud.”

“Unfortunately,” Sukuna muttered, already moving to massage your feet.

The rest of the morning passed in stupid domestic little rotations.

Kento handled medicine and water. Suguru handled soup and tea. Toji took care of things around the house before your feet could even touch the floor. Choso hovered close enough to feel everything personally.

Satoru called himself emotional support and immediately got banned from touching the thermometer.

Sukuna said he wasn’t worried, then spent twenty minutes rubbing warmth into your calves with a scowl that wasn't directed at you.

---

By afternoon, they had relocated you to the couch.

The pain had gotten worse. You couldn’t walk much at all—your joints kept locking whenever you tried moving.

So naturally, Choso had decided you belonged attached to him permanently.

You were currently bundled in his hoodie while sitting in his lap on the couch. His chin rested lightly atop your head while his strong arms stayed looped around your waist snugly.

All the while, Satoru was sprawled across both of you as Sukuna sat nearby, pretending not to watch you but the TV. Kento read while keeping track of your medicine timing every few minutes. Suguru sat next to Choso and brushed your hair gently as Toji cooked something in the kitchen, cursing at the stove.

You sniffled softly. “I love you guys.”

Sukuna clicked his tongue immediately. “Yeah, yeah.” But his ears looked suspiciously red.

"Holy shit." Satoru gasped. "Say it again."

“She’s medicated,” Kento warned.

“I don’t care.”

Suguru smiled softly and booped your nose. “We love you too, bunny.”

“To a criminal degree,” Toji added from the kitchen.

Choso squeezed you tighter, not saying much.

You looked around at all six of them—your loud, insane, overprotective men who argued and threatened each other daily and somehow still took care of you like it was the most important thing in the world.

Your chest felt warm.

“…can we all cuddle?” You mumbled sleepily, making grabby hands from where you sat tucked against Choso’s chest.

Satoru immediately launched himself over you, almost shoving Choso away. “MOVE, LOSER.”

“The fuck are you diving for?” Toji barked, appearing from the kitchen and catching him by the hoodie before he crushed you.

“She wants cuddles!”

“She’s already cuddling me,” Choso muttered, anger lacing his tone, his grip around your waist tightening possessively.

“Greedy bastard,” Sukuna scoffed, shifting closer to you.

Kento sighed like a tired father of five and sat near your feet, adjusting the hot water bottle.

Suguru calmly started rearranging blankets before the situation devolved further. “Honestly, all of you are acting like children.”

“Sure, daddy,” Satoru grinned unrepentant.

You made a tiny, pleased noise as warmth surrounded you from every direction: Choso behind you, your face pressed into Sukuna’s warm chest, Satoru somehow trying to crawl into your chest, Toji’s heavy hand rubbing absentmindedly over your ankle, Kento checking the heating temp around your legs, and Suguru smoothing your hair back from your sweaty forehead.

“You comfy, baby?" Choso murmured near your ear.

“Mhm…”

Your sleepy eyes fluttered shut while the six of them continued bickering quietly around you.

“You’re crushing my arm.”

“You’ll survive.”

“Why’s your foot so damn big?”

“Why’s your head so empty?”

“Can all of you shut up? She’s falling asleep.”

“Aw,” Satoru whispered. “Kuna cares.”

“Say another word and I’ll hurl you through the wall.”

You smiled weakly against Choso’s chest, feeling safe, warm, and loved stupidly.

---

In the evening, you woke up alone on the couch, thirsty and foggy enough to make one very stupid decision.

“You are not supposed to be out of bed.”

You froze in the hallway with one hand on the wall, fuzzy socks dragging slightly against the floor.

Toji stood at the end of the hall with a laundry basket tucked under one arm, staring at you.

“…Hi,” you whispered.

His eyes dropped to your shaking knees. “Don’t ‘hi’ me, bun.”

“I was just getting water.”

“There are six men in this house.”

“I didn’t want to bother anyone.”

That was the wrong thing to say because he kept the basket aside, and then within the next seconds you were suddenly in his arms, lifted off the floor like a misbehaving kitten.

“Toji!”

“Nope.”

“I can walk.”

“You were about to fall over in pain.”

“I was not.”

“You swayed at the word ‘water.’”

You pouted, but your body was melting into his chest because everything hurt today and he felt safe and solid.

By the time Toji carried you back into the bedroom, everyone had somehow been summoned there like you’d triggered a silent alarm.

Kento had been looking for you with medicine in one hand, water in the other, and a look on his face that made you feel two apples tall.

Satoru was kneeling on the bed, horrified. “Bun bun! Bunny, why were you escaping?”

“I wasn’t escaping.”

“Caught her making a break for it,” Toji deadpanned.

Suguru sighed from beside the dresser, where he was folding one of your blankets properly because Satoru had somehow turned it into a rope. "Bunny, you promised you’d call one of us if you want something.”

“I felt bad.”

Choso, who had sat down quietly near your pillows, looked wounded. “Bad?”

“Choso…”

“You were hurting, and you felt bad?”

“Oh no,” Satoru whispered. “She broke him.”

Sukuna walked over with a soup bowl in his hand. “Good. Maybe now he’ll stop looking like a kicked dog and help make her eat.”

“I am helping,” Choso growled, voice low and deadly.

“You’re staring at her like she’s dying.”

“She could have fallen.”

“She didn’t. Big guy caught her.”

Toji finally dropped you gently onto the mattress. “Damn right I did.”

Kento immediately moved in. “Sit up a little, love.”

You obeyed because Kento had that calm voice—the one that made your insides all warm and fuzzy like a forest cabin.

He handed you the pills first, then the glass. “Drink.”

You made a face.

His brows furrowed.

You swallowed the pills and drank.

“Good girl,” Satoru cooed.

Your stomach did a little flip.

Sukuna’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t praise her for swallowing medicine.”

“Why? Jealous?”

“I’ll gouge your eyes with the spoon and then shove it down your throat.”

Suguru took the bowl from Sukuna before murder became part of your care routine. “Soup first. Violence later.”

“It’s not violence if he deserves it.”

“Kuna,” you mumbled.

“What?”

“Be nice, please.”

He scoffed, but his ears went suspiciously red again. “Eat your soup, brat.”

Suguru sat beside you and lifted the spoon to your mouth. “Small bites.”

“I can feed myself.”

Your hands trembled trying to reach for the bowl.

Every man in the room stared.

You slowly put your hands back down. “…Okay.”

Choso made a tiny distressed sound and shifted into bed beside you, paying careful attention not to jostle your legs, and softly held your hand under the blanket.

“You should have told me,” he whispered. “I would’ve carried the water. Or you. Or both.”

“That’s my job,” Toji grumbled, annoyed.

“You had laundry.”

“I can multitask.”

“You put a red shirt in with her white socks last week,” Kento added dryly.

Toji looked away. “I’m colorblind."

Choso stared at him. “Since a.. when?” 

Satoru crawled toward you with tragic eyes. “Bunny, were you trying to leave me?”

“I just needed water.”

"Could've called me.”

“You were snoring,” Sukuna stated, refilling the empty glass.

“I was communicating with her soul.”

“You were drooling on her plushie.”

“My love language is moisture.”

You almost gagged, unable to swallow the soup Sukuna had made.

“Satoru,” Suguru muttered pleasantly, glaring, "stop talking. I need her to eat."

You tried to laugh, weak and breathy, until the movement made pain flare through your legs and your smile crumpled before you could hide it.

Kento adjusted the heated blanket over your knees. "Relax, love.”

Choso squeezed your fingers. “It’s ok, you don’t have to be strong right now.”

Suguru brushed damp hair from your face with his other hand while Toji lowered the lights.

Satoru pressed a kiss to your temple, unusually quiet.

Sukuna sat in front of you on the bed, his big hands wrapping around your ankle, rubbing slow warmth into the ache.

Your eyes stung.

“Oh, bunny,” Choso whispered. “Does it hurt too much?”

“I’m sorry." You nodded, sniffling, embarrassed by the tears slipping down your cheeks. “I’m being annoying and needy.”

“No. None of that thinking,” Kento said firmly.

“Pain’s pain,” Toji muttered.

“And you’re our girl,” Suguru added softly.

Sukuna clicked his tongue. “Cry if you need to. Just don’t apologize for it.”

Satoru gasped. “That was almost mature of you, Shrek.”

Sukuna’s hand paused on your ankle. “Say that again.”

“Compliment or insult? Be specific. I’m receiving a lot of energy from you right now.”

“I’ll fry your testicles.”

Satoru grinned.

Then, very quietly, added, “With garlic butter?”

“That’s it. Timeout.” Toji straightened immediately. “Bathroom. Now!”

“Wait, wait, I have follow-up questions—”

Suguru handed the soup over to Kento, caught Satoru by the collar before he could finish, and moved him out like a man escorting a raccoon out of a wedding. “You are taking a ten-minute break.”

From the hallway, Satoru yelled something incoherent.

Sukuna went back to rubbing your ankle.

---

Hiromi woke up at 1:07 AM because someone had rung the bell once and knocked multiple times.

He opened the door, rubbing his eyes blearily.

Then he looked up.

Six men stood in the hallway.

Kento was holding a folder; Suguru, a paper bag of tea; Satoru waved; and Choso looked like he had been crying in the car, while Toji had one hand braced on the doorframe like he was the landlord.

Sukuna growled, “Our bunny hurts.”

Hiromi thought it must be sleep deprivation, so he shut his eyes.

Opened them again.

They were still there.

Choso held up a bunny plushie the size of his head. “The Warmie does not work.”

Sukuna’s jaw twitched. “He means she's still crying every few hours.”

“Did she say anything?”

Suguru answered first, immediately furious. “She asked if needing help was too much.”

Hiromi stared at all of them for a long second. “I meant about the medical condition.”

Toji cracked his knuckles.

Hiromi sighed so hard he aged four years.

From the back, Choso raised his hand. “Can she have pudding with the medicine?”

Sukuna clicked his tongue. “That’s what you came here to ask?”

“She makes the sad face.”

“She does make the sad face,” Kento agreed.

“I’ll write it down.”

Sukuna nodded once, satisfied. “Good doctor.”

Hiromi pointed at him. “Do not praise me like a dog.”

Satoru was already backing away, texting. “Great news, bunbun. Doctor says pudding is medically binding.”

“That is not what I said.”

Suguru patted Hiromi’s shoulder as they left. “Thank you for your time.”

Kento added, “We were never here.”

Hiromi closed the door.

Locked it.

And looked for tickets to Alaska.

---

At 3:45 AM, you blinked awake.

Choso was behind you, rubbing your back. Kento sat close, glasses low on his nose, reading something on his phone with the grim focus of a man trying to defeat your illness himself. Suguru tucked the blanket beneath your chin. Toji blocked the edge of the bed like a guard dog. Satoru had his cheek squished against your other shoulder.

“You comfy, bunny?” Choso murmured.

“Mhm,” you breathed, still sleepy.

Satoru smiled, turning to you, his lips close to your forehead. “She looks drugged.”

“The medicine is kicking in,” Kento added.

“Same thing.”

Sukuna pulled the blanket higher around your legs. “Try walking again, and I’m putting a bell on you.”

Your eyes fluttered shut. “…a cute bell?”

“Absolutely not," Kento groaned.

Would you guys live with them? And if yes, who'd be just a lil bit your fav?

For me it's a tie between Sukuna & Choso, but Sugu, ahhh, I can't pick.

The first time Kento Nanami falls asleep on you, it’s entirely by accident.

One minute he’s sitting beside you on the couch, still half-dressed in his work clothes, listening to you talk about something neither of you will remember tomorrow.

The next, his head is resting against your shoulder.

Still.

Heavy.

Warm.

You stop mid-sentence.

Nanami doesn’t fall asleep around people.

Not fully. Not deeply. Not without one eye open to the possibility of disaster.

But here?

With you?

His breathing evens out almost instantly.

The television glows softly across the apartment, washing gold over the sharp lines of his face. Without the constant tension pulling at him, he looks younger somehow. Less like the man who carries entire city blocks worth of grief on his back.

More like someone who was meant to be loved gently.

You stare at him for a long moment before carefully brushing a strand of blond hair away from his forehead.

He doesn’t wake.

That’s what gets you.

Not the affection. Not even the closeness.

The trust.

Kento Nanami trusts you enough to be unconscious in your presence.

The realization settles in your chest with startling weight.

You lower the volume on the TV.

A few minutes later, he shifts slightly, brow furrowing as though he’s trying to wake himself back up on instinct alone.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, voice thick with exhaustion. “Didn’t mean to-”

“Don’t apologize.”

His eyes crack open slowly.

You smile. Soft. Quiet.

“Go back to sleep.”

Nanami looks at you for a long moment after that. Like he’s searching for something in your expression. Permission, maybe. Assurance.

Then he exhales.

And the tension leaves him all over again.

“You’re warm,” he murmurs absently, already half-asleep.

You laugh under your breath. “That’s romantic.”

“Hm.”

“Was that your attempt at flirting?”

A sleepy pause.

“Yes.”

It’s so sincere you nearly melt on the spot.

Because that’s the thing no one tells you about loving Kento Nanami.

He isn’t flashy about it.

He doesn’t shower you in grand declarations or overwhelming displays of affection. Love, to him, exists in consistency. In reliability. In every tiny thing he remembers without needing to be asked.

The exact way you take your coffee.

Which side of the bed you prefer.

How you unconsciously reach for him in your sleep.

He loves in observations.

In quiet persistence.

In staying.

Your fingers move carefully through his hair, slow enough not to disturb him. His arm tightens around your waist instinctively, pulling you closer even asleep.

Outside, rain taps softly against the windows.

Inside, Nanami breathes against your neck, steady and deep.

Safe.

You think, suddenly, that this might be the most intimate thing you’ve ever experienced.

Not sex.

Not passion.

Not desperation.

Just this impossibly capable man allowing himself to rest.

And maybe that’s what love really is to Kento Nanami.

Not intensity.

Not chaos.

Just finally finding someone who makes the world feel quiet enough to sleep through.

© isetmyfriendsonfuckingfire. do not copy, repost, translate, claim as your own, or use for ai training. all reserved.

the first time you suggest it, nanami freezes.

you’re straddling his lap on the living-room couch, both of you still half-dressed from a long day that bled into a longer night. his tie is loose around his neck, shirt unbuttoned to the neck, sleeves rolled to the elbows. your blouse hangs open, bra pushed down just enough that your breasts spill free—soft, warm, flushed from his earlier mouth.

he stares at the sight like he’s trying to solve a particularly difficult equation.

“you want…” his voice is rougher than usual, the careful enunciation fraying at the edges. “you want me to—”

“yes.” you cup yourself, lifting, offering. “right here. between them.”

his adam’s apple bobs. hard.

nanami has always been precise. controlled. every movement measured, every touch deliberate. he’s never rushed, never sloppy, never let instinct override decorum. but now his hands tremble—just a fraction—when they settle on your hips.

you slide down his thighs until you’re kneeling between his spread legs. his trousers are still on, belt undone, zipper lowered, cock already thick and flushed dark against his stomach. he’s leaking steadily, a bead of precum sliding down the shaft. he doesn’t touch himself. he waits.

you lean forward and the first press of your breasts around him makes him exhale through his nose—sharp, almost pained. warm skin envelops him, soft and yielding. you squeeze them together, creating a perfect channel, and slowly drag upward.

his head tips back against the couch. eyes close. jaw clenches so hard the muscle jumps. “f-fuck,” he breathes—the word so quiet you almost miss it. nanami kento almost never swears.

you smile while you move again—down, then up, letting the head of him nudge the underside of your chin with every pass. slick smears across your neck, warm and slippery and your nipples drag against his shirt with every stroke.

“is this—” his voice cracks, barely. “is this what you wanted?”

you hum, low and pleased, and squeeze tighter.

he groans—deep, broken, nothing like his usual restraint. hips jerk once, helpless, fucking up into the soft tunnel you’ve made. the motion is small, almost polite, but it sends another thick pulse of precum spilling over your skin.

you lean down and lick the tip once—just a flick of tongue—and his whole body locks.

“don’t,” he rasps. “i’ll—”

you do it again.

his control splinters.

hips snap up harder this time, chasing the heat of your mouth, the pressure of your breasts. he’s panting now—short, ragged sounds he tries to swallow. “please,” he says, and it’s so raw, so unlike him, that it makes your core clench.

you speed up. tighter. wetter. the slide is filthy now, skin sticking and releasing with every thrust. his cock throbs between your breasts, veins standing out, head flushed an angry red.

then a choked sound tears out of him. thick ropes spill across your chest, your throat, one stray stripe catching the corner of your mouth. he trembles through it, hips stuttering, eyes squeezed shut like the pleasure is physically painful. when he finally opens them again, they’re glassy. dazed. reverent.

he reaches up with shaking fingers and wipes the corner of your lip with his thumb. then he pulls you up and kisses you before he whispers, “i didn’t know i could want like this.”

older-bf!nanami who always wakes up before you. he makes sure your coffee is exactly how you like it and leaves a small note on the counter every morning—even if he’s running late for work—always ending with “have a good day, darling.”

older-bf!nanami who is incredibly protective. he walks on the outside of the sidewalk, keeps a hand on your lower back in crowded places, and stares down anyone who looks at you for too long.

older-bf!nanami who gets especially possessive protective when younger men look at you weirdly. he doesn’t make a scene, but his stare turns ice-cold as he watches them. he’ll pull you closer by the waist and give them a look that says “touch her and you’re dead” without saying a single word.

older-bf!nanami who knows exactly how to make you loose your mind in bed. years of experience have made him incredibly skilled. he knows how to angle his hips to hit that perfect spot, when to go slow and deep, and when to fuck you hard and senseless. he reads your body like a book and he doesn’t make a secret out of it.

older-bf!nanami who loves leaving hickeys on your neck and thighs where only he can see them. he’ll grip your jaw and make you look at him while he’s buried deep inside you, murmuring, “tell me who you belong to,” then gently kiss every mark he left the next morning.

older-bf!nanami who fucks with patience, like he doesn’t rush. he always takes his time stretching you open with his fingers first, watching your face the entire time. “breathe, darling,” he’ll say calmly, even as he’s pressing his thick cock into you inch by inch.

older-bf!nanami who sometimes fucks you with too much patience. he edges you for what feels like hours, bringing you right to the edge only to slow down or stop completely until your whimpers fill the room. he’ll keep his thick cock buried deep inside you, barely moving, while he kisses your neck and whispers, “not yet, darling.”