Purrrsephone

Pairing.ᐟ: Photographer M. Fushiguro x Shy reader .ᐟ Tags.ᐟ: college au, non curse au, smut with minimal plot, cursing, teasing, kissing, deception, praise, piercings!megumi, dom!megumi, lovesick!megumi, sub!reader, afab!reader, exhibitionism, clit stim, overstim, recording you, cowgirl, belly bulge, squirting, cums in you, proofread

Megumi loves using you for his assignments.

He’s literally obsessed with you. Waking up early to stare at your sleeping face, tracing all your features with his eyes, memorizing every detail. Still a little embarrassing to walk into his dorm and see your face plastered on his walls—he’d look like a stalker if you weren't already dating.

So, when he texts you late at night to meet him on the beach shore in that pink bikini he bought, you assume it's just another late-night shoot for his class.

Oh how you were so wrong. 

for nanami kento, aftercare isn't a choice; it's a necessity, a very vital one at that.

you currently can't move, courtesy of your fiance, of course. he's been away for days, some mission going haywire. your loneliness paired with his frustration could only mean one thing: reunion sex.

that's how you've ended up like this, jelly legs and all. the bedroom currently looks like the one from twilight breaking dawn. your vision is blurry, the room stinks of sex and the candles are just about to go out. perfect.

while you're perfectly content staying like this, nanami has other plans. "sit up so i can wipe you down."

you give a loud sigh, yet still obeying him. "uuugh. why can't we stay like this forever?"

"because it's unhygienic, not to mention cruel if i didn't force you to get cleaned up."

you glare at him. he sees it, holds back a smirk and goes to get a towel. "it was rhetorical, ken."

"i know," he replies, slightest hint of sass in his voice. 'if only i could move,' you think. maybe then you could slap him on the wrist and make him leave you alone.

back in the present, he's back with a warm towel and lotion. you giggle when the cotton touches your skin despite earlier frustrations. "that tickles!"

"yeah?" he chuckles under his breath. it's more of a huff than anything. a mark of exhaustion. it's only now that you realize how tired he probably is. just fought for his like than spent hours rearranging your guts like it's nothing.

he always insists that he's fine, that you have nothing to worry about.

"this is all about you. don't worry your pretty little head about it."

it warms your heart that he cares so much, but he's rather dismissive when it comes to his own neds.

"ken?"

"yes, darling?"

"thanks for taking care of me. really."

he smirks at that. just as you expected. "your welcome. it's nothing. i'm only doing what a good lover should do." during the short conversation he's already done toweling you off.

"i know, but... you always take care of me and you ignore your own needs. kinda makes me feel bad, y'know?"

near silence hangs in the air. crackling frames and his hands against yours are the only things to cut through it. his heartbeat is almost audible.

"i suppose you're correct. i should be kinder to myself, shouldn't i?" it's not a true question. thinking out loud— no, an admission is what it is. his eyes have met the ground.

"you should let me take care of you some time."

"you do every day, baby." even with weary eyes he manages to be tender. "stop it, ken." his smirk grows to a full smile. there's nothing he loves more than making you happy.

again the room goes silent, yet it's welcome. you sink into the mattress as he rubs soothing lotion into your hickies. sleep nearly takes you until he pokes you awake.

"so," he whispers, "i take it you still want the foot massage?"

"of course i do, dummy!" you swat at his chest that you can barely reach. that gets a full laugh from him. "my apologies," he says, wiping a tear from his eye. "just teasing."

it took the last of your energy to hit him. you settle into the bed for good this time. soft blankets bunched at your waist, warm hands on your body and a tummy full of cum. just how you like to sleep. just before you doze off, he leans down to give your forehead a chaste kiss.

"i love you, darling."

masterlist | @orangethecarrotcoloredpaperred

mdni ❀ smut

wc 2738

“You really can’t do anything about it?” You asked hopefully, sitting at the edge of the examination table in the school’s clinic. 

Shoko exhaled before glancing at your white haired counterpart, arms folded across his chest as he leaned against the wall. 

She turned back to you and shook her head. 

“Cases of bonds this strong are so rare, there’s hardly any research on it,” she explained, tired from hours of digging through books and websites.  

Ever since the two of you broke up, you and Satoru have been having some unique problems. 

Specifically, you haven’t been able to stay away from each other. 

Whether it was because you had a stronger soulmate bond than most couples or because you were both jujutsu sorcerers, you had no idea. 

You were just getting annoyed of running into him every couple of minutes. 

You couldn’t really blame him, even if it was mostly him who ended up finding you. Being naturally drawn to each other was just what came with a soulmate bond this strong.

Besides, you more often than not found yourself subconsciously going to see him before your brain could catch up to your feet. 

It didn’t help that he could fucking teleport. 

If only he didn’t infuriate you so much. 

“I’m sorry. You guys are just gonna have to put up with it.”

The paper on the examination table crinkled under your grip where you were holding on to the edge. 

“There’s nothing temporary we can do?” Satoru cut in, and you felt a little bit bad. 

Your breakup wasn’t clean or pretty, but it was clear to you that Satoru still cared about you and hated when you were irritated at him. 

You appreciated that he tried to respect your boundaries, even when he teleported himself to you against his will. 

And if you had to guess, he would agree without hesitation if you said you wanted to get back together. He never seemed to be upset when he’d appear out of thin air, and every so often you wondered if he sometimes did it on purpose. 

“The only thing I could think of is to create a binding vow to stop Gojo from teleporting to you,” she mused, pulling out a cigarette to light. God knows she needed one. “But that could create a whole bunch of issues.”

“Especially because he can’t control it,” you thought out loud in consideration.

“Exactly. He could get punished for something he can’t control,” Shoko agreed. “And even if you changed the vow to only intentional teleportation, it could be disastrous in cases of emergency where you might need his help or assistance.”

“Great,” you muttered, your grip on the table relaxing. 

Satoru frowned, looking like he wanted to say something, but kept his mouth shut. 

“Sorry, guys. I’ll let you know if I find anything that could help.”

“Well, thanks anyways,” you finally stood up and turned to leave.

Satoru, who was already standing by the door, took the hint and left before you did.

“Hey,” Shoko caught your attention before you left, only calling out when she was sure Gojo was gone. “Are you okay? I know the breakup was rough.”

“Yeah,” you turned to her. “It’s just getting irritating, you know?”

She nodded, bringing the cigarette to her lips to take a drag. 

“Okay. I just want to let you know that if worse comes to worse, we can do the binding vow. It’s rare, but soulmates can get… obsessive. If he’s hurting you–”

“Nothing like that,” you shook your head and interrupted her. “It’s kind of comical, if anything.”

“Okay,” she seemed relieved, smoke escaping as she exhaled. “That’s good. Just wanted to make sure.”

“I appreciate it,” you smiled gratefully. “Speaking of soulmates, how’s it going with Utahime?” 

“Good,” she said dryly. “We’ve got a date on Friday.”

“I hope it goes well!” you clasped your hands together in excitement. “You’ve gotta keep me updated.”

“Sure,” her tone remained dry, but you didn’t miss the tinge of pink dusting her cheeks. 

ᓚᘏᗢ

Nothing really changed after that.

The two of you continued to run into each other 24/7. Literally.

You woke up in the middle of the night to find him in your bed on two separate occasions, ones in which you definitely did not invite him. 

“Not right now,” he had mumbled, clinging onto you like a teddy bear when you tried to wake him up. 

“Satoru,” you hissed, trying to squirm out of his hold. “Wake up. You’re in my bed.”

“Uh huh,” he agreed with his eyes still closed and you almost shoved him off the bed. 

“Seriously, wake up!”

“Shhh.”

“Did you just shush me?”

You’d realized there was no way you could get him out of your bed and decided to just let it happen. As much as you hated to admit it, you slept really well that night. 

When you woke up, he was already up and in your kitchen, making breakfast for the two of you. 

An apology for teleporting in the middle of the night, he had said with a wink. 

You ate the pancakes with a scowl. 

And soon, you had started to learn to utilize his teleportation problem. 

Shopping sprees became a whole lot cheaper when you realized that there was about a 90% chance that he’d appear at some point during your trip. 

“Sorry, I just…” you had muttered, digging through your purse to try to find your wallet. Shit, did you really forget it at home?

“If you don’t have your physical card, we also accept electronic pay–”

The poor cashier was cut off with a whoosh when your soulmate suddenly appeared right next to you in the boutique. 

“Oh,” you set your purse down and turned to him. “Perfect. Could you help me pay for this? I’ll pay you back.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he shrugged, handing his card over the counter to a stunned teenage girl. 

He volunteered to carry your bags, too. 

Was it wrong to exploit your pining soulmate? Maybe a little bit. 

But he technically offered to pay, so who were you to turn him down?

You think that the soulmate bond was also learning how to send him at the right times. He started appearing whenever you needed help, and you wanted to simultaneously curse and kiss him every time it happened. 

There was one specific time it happened, right when you were on the verge of tears trying to get the zipper on the back of a dress you had worn out to a formal event. 

“Fuck,” you almost cried, arms twisted behind your back as you tried to figure out how to get out of the stupid dress. 

Miraculously, Satoru had materialized in the middle of your bedroom, staring at you blankly as he watched yourself twist yourself into a pretzel. 

“Um… do you need help?” He had asked, taking a cautious step closer to you.

You sighed, ego shrinking as you decided that yes, you did in fact need help. 

“Yes, please.”

He unzipped you with an infuriating ease, leaving you only frustrated with yourself and annoyed at the bond for no reason other than your wounded pride.

“Thanks,” you said, sliding the dress down your shoulders.

He stood there, staring at you blankly like you hadn’t tried dating. Like the two of you hadn’t had each other in a whole assortment of positions, that, yes, you had to admit you sometimes missed. 

“Enjoying the show?” 

You snapped him out of his thoughts, eyebrows raised as you pulled out pajamas from your dresser.

You could practically see his eyes widen under his blindfold. 

“Sorry!” He apologized, trying to be respectful even though you could see the outline of the tent in his pants. “I didn’t–sorry, I, uh. Yeah. Bye.”

You blinked, and suddenly, he was no longer in your room. 

You shook your head to yourself, going to brush your teeth. 

And so the two of you kept living in a never ending cycle of unintentional meetings, some awkward, others more natural. 

Nothing really changed until the two of you decided to try seeing other people in hopes that it would weaken the bond. 

It was Satoru’s idea, to your surprise. 

“You think it’ll actually work?” You asked, legs folded on your living room couch as he sat in the armchair across from you. 

“I think it’s worth a shot,” he shrugged. “I read something about soulmate bonds growing weaker when soulmates become occupied with other people.”

“Most people can’t teleport,” you pointed out with a teasing grin. 

“That’s true,” he admitted, a little flustered as he shifted on the seat. “Our situation is so absurd, though. I think we should at least try.”

“Okay,” you agreed, still taken back by his initiative. “Let’s arrange dates this Saturday. Both of us with different people in restaurants across the city at the same time.”

He nodded in agreement. “Sounds good.”

Of course, it didn’t go as planned. 

It did most of the date.

You met up with a kind of stoic, dark haired man who told you about his exciting life as a consultant.

He was charming, you’d give him that. Handsome and easy going, he carried the conversation well and made sure to ask you about yourself. 

Unfortunately for you, you couldn’t stop thinking about what might be happening with your soulmate right at that moment. 

It wasn’t until your date had gotten you in the front seat of his car, the two of you making out over the center console that your mind was finally off Satoru. 

Of course, the soulmate bond decided that was the perfect moment to have him teleport to you. 

He landed right in the backseat, eyes wide under the sunglasses when your date screamed. 

“What the fuck?!” He pulled back, reasonably alarmed, and gaped at your soulmate.

“Satoru!” You yelled. “What the hell?”

“You know him?” Your date turned to you with wide eyes and furrowed eyebrows. 

“He’s my soulmate,” you admitted, glaring at said soulmate. 

“I didn’t mean to!” He said defensively, trying to back away in the tiny backseat.

“Nah, fuck this,” your date shook his head. “I ain’t goin’ out with a bitch with a crazy ass soulmate.”

“He’s not crazy!”

“Don’t call her a bitch.”

Your date unlocked the doors. “Out.”

You both quickly fled from the car and stood on the sidewalk as you watched him drive out of the parking lot. 

“...sorry.” Satoru awkwardly apologized.

You shrugged. “It is what it is.”

A beat of silence.

“You look nice.”

“Thanks. So do you.”

The two of you started to walk down the sidewalk, not any destination in mind. 

“So, how was your date before I crashed it?”

“It was alright,” you said. “He was nice. A little boring, but otherwise pretty chill. What about you?”

He shrugged. 

“Also alright. She was nice, but too eager. A little overwhelming.”

“I get it,” you replied.

“Hey, I can teleport you back, so you don’t have to call a cab,” he offered. “An apology for ruining your date.”

“That would be nice. Thanks.”

ᓚᘏᗢ

After Satoru had dropped you off, you got ready for bed like you normally did. 

You walked around your apartment with ease. Taking off makeup, getting some water, brushing your teeth, it was just a mindless routine at this point. 

As strange as it was, you weren’t upset that Satoru crashed your date. You were relieved, if anything.

And you hated to admit it, but you were glad that the soulmate bond made Satoru ditch his date for you. You knew you should be irritated. You were just getting so used to being around him all the time that it was just becoming normal. 

It wasn’t until you stepped into something solid that you realized you had been lost in thought. 

“Oh!” You looked up at Satoru. “Satoru, I–”

“I’m sorry,” he interrupted you, sunglasses off and wearing a shirt and sweatpants. He grabbed you by your waist. “I can’t stay away from you.”

You don’t know what could have happened in two hours, but you hadn’t seen him looking this disheveled in a long time. Eyes wide and hair a mess, he looked like he just rolled out of bed. 

“Satoru!” You repeated, startled by his sudden confession. “What are you talking about?”

“I need you so fucking bad,” he swallowed. “Please, let me make it up to you.”

Fuck it. You were so tired of this stupid dance. 

You reached up to grab his face and pulled him down, lifting yourself up to meet him halfway. 

Your mouths crashed together messily, teeth knocking into each other and breaths growing quicker. 

You instantly felt lighter. 

He easily leaned into the kiss, towering over you as he walked you backwards until your legs hit the edge of the bed. 

You let him push you down, falling backwards into the plush mattress as he fell on top of you. 

You savored the weight of him, all muscle pressing into you and holding you down. 

You didn’t break the kiss until he started to trail it downwards. He lifted himself up above you, propping himself up with his arms while he started to leave kisses down your neck to your collarbone. 

You let him leave marks along your neck. Your hands found his biceps, squeezing as your eyes shut at the feeling of him sucking and biting. 

“Please,” he looked up at you in between kisses. “Can I make it up to you?”

With the way he was looking at you, you wanted to make it up to him. 

You nodded. 

His weight suddenly lifted off of you. You frowned before you realized what he was doing, now kneeling at the foot of your bed.

“What are you–” “Shhh,” he said, hands going up your thighs to the top of your shorts. “I told you I want to make it up to you.”

Your mouth went dry when he slid his fingers under the waistband and pulled down your shorts all the way. He discarded them somewhere on the floor behind him and reached up to feel you through your panties. 

Your head fell back at the first touch.

Fuck, you forgot how much better it was when it was your soulmate.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he muttered, watching the way your panties just kept getting damper and damper. 

You bit your lip, suddenly a little embarrassed.

A faint smile appeared when he saw your expression. 

“I’ll take care of you, yeah?”

He pulled down the panties all the way, leaving your lower half completely bare. 

He leaned forward, lifting your thighs over his shoulders and leaning in. 

You couldn’t help but let out a quiet gasp when the first puff of warm breath hit your cunt. 

The hands that were buried in the sheets immediately flew to his white locks and you held on for dear life. 

“Satoru, I– fuck,” you breathed out when you finally felt his tongue on you. 

You threw your head back against the pillow, thighs tightening around his head as he pushed his tongue in deeper. 

Maybe it was partly because he was your soulmate, but damn, you forgot how good he was at this. 

“Please, Satoru, need–fuck!–need more,” you whined, unable to think about anything besides how much you missed this. 

You couldn’t see his entire face, but you were almost positive he was smiling against your cunt. 

Regardless, he listened. 

His hands gripped onto your hips, nose bumping your clit as he worked his mouth faster, just the way he remembered you liked it. 

You gripped harder onto his hair in response, unable to stop the moans from spilling from your mouth. 

“Missed you, Satoru,” you couldn’t stop yourself from admitting. 

It clearly spurred him on, because you were soon crying out his name as you came on his tongue. 

He helped you ride it out as it shook you in waves, he himself moaning against you as he tasted your release.

He gently lifted your legs off his shoulders when he was sure you were done.

He laid next to you, pulling you into his strong arms and shaking his head when you offered to return the favor.

"Next time," he said as you curled into his side. "This is supposed to be my apology."

"You're forgiven."

"...You know, I hated seeing you kiss that douchebag. "

You snorted.

"It was your idea."

"Yeah," he admitted. "Sorry. I guess you're stuck with me."

𓍢ִ໋❀˚⋆

the first time you kissed shoko ieiri, you were staying over at her dorm after a party. you were both a drunk, giggling mess, wiping make up off each other’s faces in her obscenely small bathroom. you’re not sure how or why it happened, it just did. because it felt right.

it always felt right with shoko. every kiss, every breath against your heated skin, every sweet word in your ear.

none of those things ever left the confines of your dorms, though. you didn’t have an explanation for this, why neither of you would reach for each other’s hand in public, why at every party, you’d have to make it look like a pure coincidence both of you had to use the restroom, or suddenly be sleepy at the same time to leave.

it didn’t matter as long as it felt good when you were with her, even if it meant you couldn’t kiss her in the sunshine, but only cloaked in the moonlight.

the day before you graduated college, she took you to the beach. it was cloudy and windy, the ocean freezing between your toes. you wrote your initials in the wet sand on the shore, like some lovesick teenager, and watched as a wave wiped away half of the wonky finger-drawn heart, along with your name.

you never saw her again after graduation. no texts, no phone calls, shoko never posted on her social media accounts— and she soon became a ghost, buried along that part of yourself only she had ever been allowed to see.

it took some time, but life eventually forced you to move on. and that’s when he came— stable, kind, the promise of stability, the white picket fence life you were expected to want. everything that came after that happened so fast you were suddenly walking down the aisle in a white gown.

with a bouquet of wildflowers clutched between your hands, you spotted violets, and halted in your steps. violets— her favorite flower.

all those years of missing her suddenly dawned on you, and you didn’t think twice about turning on your heel and leave. the horrified gasps of guests didn’t reach your ears, the yelling, the shame they attempted to chain you down with.

you’d had enough of that.

so you stopped the first taxi on the street, bunched your gown in the backseat and told him to drive off. you knew exactly where you wanted to go.

the sun was high in the sky, shining down on the crystalline waves, the sand warm underneath your feet, heels held in one hand, a corner of your voluminous skirt in the other. there weren’t many people, but you did not care for their stares, not when your eyes when locked on the figure sitting by the shore.

you didn’t say anything when you sat down beside shoko, and neither did she. her hair was longer, her eyes more tired, but your heart still leapt in your chest when she turned to look at you. the first real reaction it’d had in years.

she smiled at you, soft and understanding, but never surprised— like she’d been waiting, and she knew you would’ve come back some day. when your fingers traveled across the golden grains to meet hers, she didn’t pull back, resting her hand on top of yours instead.

and promised to never hide again.

┊┊a/n. you might be thinking "what the fuck is wrong with you!?" and the answer is that i don't know either. please don't throw tomatoes at me

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Tags: [MDNI]husband!nanami x foodie!wife reader. SMUT and a sprinkle of fluff. Breeding (?), p in v, oral sex (f recieving), mating press, freaks in an established relationship (married), pregnancy. I need to stop writing smut but this has been in my drafts..

Ever since you were a little kid, you looooved eating.

And it's not like your parents teaching you to try everything at least once helped as you ended up growing up to be a foodie with no pickiness when it comes to eating at all.

Enter Nanami who you met at 21, just a year from graduating college, at one of the new local bakeries which you had just discovered recently back then.

He was all crisp button downs, dark blue slacks, cuffed sleeves, messenger bag slung over his shoulder—a walking portrait of what you just wished you would be waking up to in less than 10 years.

You didn't expect to run into him any more times after you'd seen him at the pastry shop ever again, he's one of those sights you only see once in your life.

Well, you were very wrong.

That same week, same time, three days later when you went back for a pick me up, he was there. Picking up the same order you noticed he got last time, and somehow looking finer than Monday did him justice.

Just out of curiosity, you asked for the same sandwich he got—a French Casse-croûte—fresh ham and cheese hidden in a crisp baguette baked early in the morning.

So simple, yet so heavenly. Though, you underestimated your stomach's capacity of hosting the large sandwich and... Had a little food baby pressing against the linen cloth of your yellow sundress.

Nanami noticed you had purchased and consumed the same sandwich he had—though not a social person at all, he found himself walking over to your table and making small talk.

“I’m impressed you finished it.” He had commented, you were wiping remaining crumbs from the corners of your mouth when his voice startled you.

Immediately you had flushed a deep shade of beetroot, suddenly feeling way too conscious about your dress being a tad bit tighter around the waist, the hair sticking to your neck and the fire burning the apples of your cheeks.

Because he was there talking to you when not even three days ago you were daydreaming about the handsome stranger you’d seen—the epitome of your type if you had one.

Grounding yourself surprisingly quickly, you had sheepishly smiled when replying “Oh it sure was a challenge..”, in a shy mutter.

Then, you realised how greedy you sounded and immediately stirred to fix your words up.

“I mean—I, uh, I was just really hungry you know? At work-” you began rambling, hoping to save face in front of perfectly gelled back hair and sculptured cheekbones that had women’s knees weak for days.

but Nanami broke out in a soft chuckle he hadn’t realised he needed until a pretty stranger pulled one out of him.

He left you with his business card and called one day later like he promised.

Fast forward five years later, you still have the now-outdated business card neatly kept in your bedside table along with your husband’s initial draft for your wedding vows which you found more authentic than the version he ended up reading to the audience on your special day—heartwarming and emotional nonetheless.

Living with Kento has taught you a slow world you never thought existed within all of the noise and chaos.

Every page from a book is turned slowly, every step of the day is calculated with no effort—just routine, every hour with your husband is priceless.

And you didn’t imagine this side of life existed. Where every human sentiment somehow was deeper and stronger when it was shared with your person.

Living within Nanami’s comfort zone is learning that his routine bends to you, and eventually incorporates your life into his.

It’s learning that he loves waking up with the sheets tangled between your legs, one of his hands buried in your hair as your face is pressed against his bare chest.

That he adores pressing reverent kisses to your neck, forehead, palm, temple. With a burning gaze that says more than any verbal statement ever could.

However, you learn that your husband relishes in afteroon reading with you snugly tucked by his side on the loveseat in your makeshift library corner, more than the normal person does.

Which is exactly where you are, pressed against his side, head on his shoulder, half of your brain paying attention to the words on the page he’s reading, the other half dipping into a dangerous side as you feel his warmth spread over you.

You’re insatiable, just hours ago Kento cooked you a full-course meal because you woke up “feeling empty” not really knowing what is wrong with you and thinking that just a hearty meal will do.

Creamy alfredo pasta did not in fact solve your issue. Now, once again with an empty stomach, you hold in the urge to open your mouth and disturb your husband’s reading.

Just what were you even going to complain about? It’s not like you were hungry.

And then it clicks.

Slowly, the corners of your lips gently pull upward as your fingers trace up his torso, feeling the dip of his hard abs, the rough lines of scars underneath his breathable pijama shirt.

God he is a sight for sore eyes.

The cogs turn in your head as you start to wriggle your way out from underneath his muscular arm draped over your figure, which was holding you close to him, palm on your hip.

His head turns from the book balanced between his fingers, eyes zeroing on your shifting figure that was slowly crawling over his bulky legs.

An eyebrow of his subtly lifts subconsciously as he carefully watches your every moment. The book in his hand lowers and closes—page forgotten, bookmark nowhere to be seen—as you sit yourself on his lap facing him, knees digging into the soft leather of the loveseat.

Using your hands on his shoulders to stabilize yourself, you slightly fight back a smirk when you feel Kento's hands find their place on your waist almost instantly after you get comfortable.

This position is no stranger to either of you—which is why Nanami puts the pieces of the puzzle together quicker than anyone else could. So this is what you meant when you said you felt empty?

It makes even more sense when he remembers that a few days ago your period tracker said you would be ovulating soon. Absentmindedly, his fingers trace gentle figures on your hips where his hands have lowered to.

You peer down at him, swimming in his alluring hazel eyes full of an unspeakable kind of love—feeling yourself melt into him.

He breaks the silence, "What is it, darling?" Even though he knows the clear answer, he asks.

Drawing closer to him, your head dips past his chin and you go to press a light kiss to his throat, feeling him swallow when you do. The familiar shape of him starts to grow beneath you.

Again, you feel pride creep up your spine, but you push it down and kiss the side of his neck—itching closer to his collarbone with each kiss peppered. You hear his breath lose it's steadyness little by little.

After a bit of teasing, you finally answer with a shrug "I feel..weird.” Letting a defeated sigh slip past your lips as they press up and at the peak of his right cheekbone.

“Weird?” He chokes out. “What do you mean by weird, honey?”

You hum as you shift over him, deliberately circling letters over his lap and dragging your thinly covered warmth against him.

“I guess I feel kind of.. empty.” The sultry tone in which your voice has dropped to makes blood rush at an embarrassing speed to Nanami’s cock—stiffening like a teenager underneath you.

“Yeah?” He hums.

You bite your lips, tongue then tracing your canines as you run your hands over his broad chest.

“Yeah.”

“I can do something about that.” His hand curves around your ass, firmly grabbing onto the skin—not enough to hurt, enough to have you dripping even more.

Your eyes lift to his face—clean,shaved, no hair to see, pink lips, drooping eyes. “You can?” You muse.

He smiles, a smirk he tried to suppress knowing what you’re going to ask for next.

“Like what?”

And before your question can even land, he gets up. Two hands under your thighs, effortlessly carrying your body.

Carefully, he turns and lays you down on the loveseat. Bracing his broad frame by the armrests—face dangerously close to yours.

Noses brushing, musk and manliness oozing out of him so much your legs close and you can feel yourself pulsing down there.

The roles are reversed and you are so whipped for your husband it’s not even funny anymore. How he has completely turned the tables.

A pin drops somewhere and Kento’s lips gently latch onto yours. Warmth and love exploding in your chest. Neediness clawing at you as your hands wrap around his shoulder’s.

He kisses like you’re a forbidden fruit he can’t resist tasting—happily accepting his sin. Basking in it when a swipe of his tongue under your lips opens a whole world he knows at the back of his hand.

You feel him exploring you—one hand running up your thigh—pressing a thumb against the wet material of your panties.

A moan from you vibrates against his lips. He detaches to hear more as his fingers slip past the lace and dive right into you.

The needy whine that escapes you has him thanking the gods for your paths crossing—for the universe giving him such a good wife.

His mind starts to run wild at the thought of what he’s going to do to you.

Thought he would never push or admit it. Nanami has found himself getting turned on way too often lately at the sight of you bloated, belly full of food after a hearty meal.

At the beginning of your relationship, he tried to ignore the sight—figuring you’d get insecure or uncomfortable if he looked at it for too long.

But he’s been having a hard time not relishing in your well-fed shape.

He’d never admit he cooks more food than usual lately to see you drape your hand under the protruding curve and huff out like you’re in pain from eating so much.

Because the sight of you so full drives him insane.

So insane the thought of using a condom doesn’t even cross his mind when you have sex. It doesn’t help that you have no intention of reminding him.

What would you look like if you were full of him?

His child.

A walking testament of him feeding you well.

A sharp moan snaps him out of his thoughts and he kneels down, taking his slicked fingers from your pussy and spreading your legs wide in front of him.

You’re blushing like crazy. Heat crawling up your spine, bundling up at your neck and cheeks—he’s barely even touched you.

Nanami’s big hands slide under your legs, hooking onto the thin material that has snapped back in place and pulling it off.

His face comes closer to your pussy subconsciously—body begging for a taste before his mind can even catch up.

And he dives in, hands hooked on your thighs, pulling you down the seat and closer to his face so he can lick up your slicked lips.

You become putty in his hands, back already arching off the seat. He sucks and sucks, greets with open mouth kisses—desperately devours like it’s his first time on earth.

Nose casually nudging your entrance, making your body jerk so violently that you almost cry at the blissful feeling.

Kento’s tongue slides into your walls, tasting your sweet nectar straight from the source and losing himself in its sweetness.

Your mind starts going blank, babbles of complete nonsense spilling out of your mouth as he jumpstarts your orgasm.

“Honey—don’t stop-please—“

He doesn’t, instead, a finger slips in—unexpectedly, but so welcome one your desperate hole starts clenching around him.

“Shit I’m going to—” You try to tell him the coil in your lower belly is going to snap but it does before you’re finished, coating his tongue, chin and nose in you and only you.

Panting, you try to catch your breath but your husband’s jaw doesn’t put itself to rest as he continues to lap up every drop of your juices over your sensitive clit.

Back arching off the loveseat, high-pitched moans rip from your chest from the overstimulation.

“Kento—” You whine.

He pulls back silent, shiny chin and drowsy eyes looking up at you from his position—a sinful picture that has heat pooling in between your legs again.

“Yes, sweetheart?” The urge to ride his face when his deep voice calls out to you with those nicknames is immense, but you want him.

“Inside—please go-”

“Your words, darling, use them.” Your hands find his forearm rested over your spread thigh and you dig your fingernails into them.

“Ken, please—please fuck me.”

A frown overtakes his face, lips disapprovingly pulling down into a pityful pout.

“I’m not going to fuck you, honey. I’ve already told you that.”

And it’s true, Nanami does not fuck. He is a stranger to the act of using someone as a tool for him to get off, belittle them into a good fuck or a bad one.

He loves.

And he loves you so much.

“Love me, Ken.”

A small smirk breaks out.

You have him.

He climbs over you, heavy—muscular thighs barely fitting between your spread out legs where he presses his clothed hard-on against your slit.

From the sensitivity, you almost moan against him.

His lips latch onto yours again, hungrily yet deliberately finding their way down your throat—making you taste your remains on his tongue.

Your hands travel down to the hem of his thin cotton sweatpants and hook your fingers both onto that seam, and his boxer’s waistband.

Simultaneously, the two layers that were between the both of you drop to the floor. Thick 7,5 inches to match his 6 feet of height.

Girthy, one prominent vein leading to the shaft and bringing your eyes to his dusty blonde happy trail.

Sculpted v-line that has you going feral for days.

Gosh, you really love your husband in all of his glory.

Wrapping your hand—and barely being able to fully grasp it—around him, you stroke a few times before rubbing him against your bare pussy.

A shock of electricity shooting up your spine at the feeling of his precum mixing with your slick. Nanami groans against your lips before delicately pulling your hand away and taking over.

Already nudging at the entrance has you biting down his soft lips to hold back a moan.

The tip slips inside after some coaxing, your fingernails dig into his shoulder’s for stability, legs shaking due to the pressure.

Kento tries to tether you, “That’s it, love. Relax, I got you.”

And he really does.

He pulls away from your lips every time he pushes himself a bit more inside, carefully watching your face—searching for any sign of pain or backing out.

Not once do you display any, so he bottoms out. Balls pressing against the soft skin of your ass over the expensive leather.

While you adjust, still inside, he rearranges both of your legs to rest over his shoulders as he hunches and looms over you.

Slowly, he starts moving. The deliberate drags of his cock between your velvety walls tattoo themselves into your gummy brain.

Eyes fluttering—opening and closing from pleasure, you feel yourself start to ascend to that personal heaven he always takes you to.

You clench around his size, unable to relax but enjoying the burn so much.

A hand of yours claws at his shirt, trying to bring him closer, harder. He wastes no time in delivering his sweet wifes request.

One thrust and you feel him in your throat, pale pink tip pushing past your cervix—probably going to bruise it later on.

But you love it.

And he continues. In and out, back and forth. A frothy creamy ring building at the base where your bodies meet.

He sees the bulge of him in your stomach, the imprint of his cock peeking through and his mind goes haywire.

The image of your protruding stomach after a meal, the idea of you leaking with his cum running down your thighs, the thought of a little baby with your genetics growing inside of your swollen belly.

Nanami’s control breaks with a hard snap.

His hips slow down, gently stroking your insides now. No longer pulling you apart. But he shifts, lowers his chest down, teeth finding your nipples and cock angled at a new direction.

You try to focus on what he’s doing still. Then the controlled thrust comes—slow, but so deep you know this is how he can get a baby in you.

Now, you feel full.

And you can only hope he leaves you this way.

“Mmh-Kento?”

He detaches his head from your tit. “Yes, sweetie?”

His cock slides out your pussy until only the very tip of it is inside before he rams himself home again.

“Oh my go—” you get cut off from your vision going blank at the pleasure. “—Kento, stay- inside.”

You clench around him, not wanting him to leave.

“Oh?” He knows what you want. He’s your husband after all. Doting, careful.

“Please.” You breathe out, pleading, clawing at his back under his shirt. His pace picks up just enough to be rhythmic but intimate.

“You want me to fill you up?”

Not even a beat goes by before you whimper. “Yesyesyes.”

So he stays inside. He finds your clit with thick fingers, gives her enough attention for you to get on cloud 9.

Slams into you till you spasm around his cock and then fills you up. Paints your insides with him.

And suddenly, you no longer feel empty.

But maybe you need a few more rounds to ensure you will be full of him for some time.

At 9 months pregnant though, you desperately need to feel empty. The weight of your son making you feel like an overfilled dumpling about to pop.

Your husband has his large hands that got you in this position in the first place on your lower back, applying pressure and massaging your aching hips while you hunch over the edge of the hospital bed as your lower half bounces on a gym ball.

“Ken, I curse you and your heavy baby.”

He doesn’t know if he should laugh or comfort you. No, he’s not vexed at all by you cursing him—he knows how his heavy son has been giving you a hard time in your first pregnancy so he’s not going to deny he is the cause of it.

In the end, he chooses the latter. “Just a bit more, honey. You’re strong, he’ll be here in no time.”

“He better be or I’ll strangle you!”

He got his nine months of your stomach poking out from under your clothes, nine months of you looking like a goddess around the house and glowing more than the sun.

Nine months of it driving him crazy how you are swollen with him.

Who knew his wife being a foodie would turn him on so much…

Anyway,

Nanami Kento is right where he wants to be.

You’re an FBI agent assigned to be a bodyguard to the Senator’s son during his last semester of college, only for him to be your latest hookup?! Will you be able to keep it professional or will he crumble the protection around your heart?

pairing: bodyguard f!reader x frat!jo

content: mdni mild cussing, implied smut (p in v), gojo’s a little intoxicated lol, not explicitly stated that he’s a fratboy but the signs are there ^~^ heavily inspired by “Operation Quarterback” on Episode so credit to that creator !!

note: this is my first fic so be kind please! i played episode for the first time in a while and couldn’t help but imagine this hehe

wc 1.3k divider @pixopix

ch.1

You didn’t think you’d be back on campus so soon.

College wasn’t the best experience for you as someone who preferred to stay out of the spotlight. You were someone who preferred the company of textbooks and Spotify as opposed to the wild ragers and thrilling dares that excited the general student population. Even when you were approached by the FBI after graduation, you basically stayed the same.

Now it seemed like you were going to have to break out of that shell if this assignment was going to be a success.

One week ago

“We need you to go back to college. Well, pretend to.” Director Yaga sat across from you, leaning back in his chair and pressing his fingertips together as he uttered the words that would change your life. Well, the next few months of your life.

You blink at him for a few moments, caught in confusion. This was a joke, right? You’d graduated two years ago and sworn to never look back.

“No offence sir, but April Fools is over” you raise your eyebrows, trying to mask your slowly cracking composure

Director Yaga frowns “This isn’t a joke, Agent. You are aware of the upcoming election, correct?”

You nod slowly. Who’s not aware of the upcoming election? Everyone knew that it was almost certain Senator Gojo would win for the third year running, overtaking the other candidate, Mr Shiu, by a landslide.

“Well, Senator Gojo has requested that the FBI assign one of our best agents to protect his son while he finishes his semester of college” He explains “Given your…record lately, we’ve decided it would be beneficial to take you out of the field for a while. A change of scenery could do you some good”.

You scoff at the idea “Sir, with all due respect, you can’t seriously be assigning me to babysit some nepo baby! I’m an FBI agent, not Mary Poppins” The idea of following around some cocky brat with too much of Daddy’s money for the next three months gives you the start of a headache.

“If you don’t take this assignment, we’ll be forced to reevaluate your standing and you may be removed permanently from the field, Agent” he leans forward menacingly, shoulders square as he stares you down “Furthermore, the Senator has requested that this is a secret operation between himself and the bureau. His son is not to be made aware of any of this, as shown with the bodyguards we sent in the past” He winces slightly at that. “If you are discovered, the mission is an automatic failure”.

“But sir—!” You protest with a rush of panic. “This is non-negotiable” Director Yaga scowls with an air of finality. “You’re the only agent we have who can afford to be off-field and pass for a college student”.

You swear internally. “Fine. I’ll tail the Senator’s brat.”

As soon as the door shuts behind you, you drag a palm down your face. You feel exhausted already and you haven’t even met the prick.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket and you take it out, reading the messages from your groupchat with your friends

“sooo we hittin’ the town tonight?”

“you can’t go w/o drinks for three days?? we literally just went out”

“party pooper”

You grin as you type back eagerly. One more night of freedom before you’re trapped in a cage of immature college kids who’ve never met deodorant if it slapped them.

“i’m down”

That night, you let the music dilute your senses as you dance mindlessly to some EDM beat. Your friends are whirling around nearby, having had a few drinks too many. Being the designated driver for the night, you head to the bar to order cups of water for them. You’re trying to squeeze through the tangle of bodies grinding against each other when someone elbows you in the back, knocking a squeak out of you as you teeter in your heels. “Hey, watch it asshole!” You frown as you rub the spot on your back. With all the music pumping, they probably didn’t hear you anyways.

The guy turns around and raises his eyebrows at you “Hey, you alright?” he asks, his low voice somehow drifting through the music. 

“I’m fine, thanks. Just watch where you’re sticking your..limbs” you retort, finally making it to the bar. You order the waters and wait patiently, nails tip tapping against the smooth wood of the counter.

A chilling sensation suddenly runs up your spine. Not from fear or anticipation - someone’s literally pressing a cold can of beer against the sore spot on your back. You whip around just to find the guy who elbowed you earlier “Alright asshole, what’s the big idea?” you snap for a moment, taken aback to find a very attractive man with sparkling blue eyes peering down at you.

He smirks at you “You were acting like your spinal cord snapped. Just trying to lend a helping hand” he cooes with a syrupy tone.

“Yeah, well, I don’t need any of your hands or elbows or any of you near me” you scowl, turning back to the counter determinedly. “Also, what’s with the can?”

He shrugs “Cold relieves pain. Didn’t have a frozen bag of peas on me”.

You huff in disbelief, turning to face the bar counter again.

“C’mon, let me make it up to you with a drink” The guy slips large hands around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder.

“No way. I’m not drinking tonight and I definitely won’t be drinking anything you buy me” You glare at him, trying to give this prick a hint

He just chuckles, sliding his fingers to intertwine with yours “Okay. So dance with me then. Or are you just not going to have any fun at all tonight?” he teases, eyes gleaming as he stares at your mouth shamelessly

You sigh. One dance won’t kill you if it gets this numbskull off your back, literally and figuratively. “Fine. One dance. And then we never interact again”

The guy’s grin widens, displaying a dimple. Please. This is probably how he butters up all the girls. You roll your eyes as you follow him to the middle of the club. One dance and this guy will be out of your hair.

Which was the plan. Until his fingers tilted your chin up and pressed a kiss to your lips. It slowly got darker and hungrier with your fingers carding through his soft ivory locks, playing with the ends curling under your nails as your tongue slid into his mouth. He groans softly, letting you mold him into whatever you wanted him to be. So yeah, maybe you let your guard down and let him take you to a nearby hotel, spending the night tangled up in the scent of recklessness and desire.

It was supposed to be a hot hookup for one night and one night only. That was it.

You scour your map to find the college campus reception, feeling your brain twist at all the routes listed in the key and colours too bright for 8AM on a Monday morning. Seriously, some people took fluorescent colours to a whole new level.

You’re about to give up and head in any random direction when a long finger points at a route on the map over your shoulder. “If you’re looking for the reception, it’s that way. If you’re looking for a good time though, I can help with that”

You snort at the audacity “I think I’ll pass on that” you turn around to face the person and your pulse picks up almost immediately.

The white haired guy grins at you, hands stuffed in his grey sweatpants pockets casually as his blue gaze drags over you.

“I’m Satoru. Gojo Satoru. Couldn’t stay away, huh?

No fucking way. 

You shagged your client’s son?!

a/n: i love fratjo can you tell

𝓲𝗻 𝘄𝗵𝗶𝗰𝗵 ♰ yuuta, your sweet boyfriend, discovers that making you fall apart beneath his tongue is far more addicting than he ever imagined.

✿ ◞◟) okkotsu yuuta 𝓍 female!reader

𝓬𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 18+ [ MDNI! ], explicit sexual content, established relationship, oral sex (f! receiving), pussy drunk!yuuta, double orgasms, inexperienced!yuuta, fingering, overstimulation, affectionate sex (?), my boy yuuta is absolutely hungry.

the first thing you register is the warmth of yuuta’s breath, a shaky, hesitant puff of air that ghosts over the slick heat between your thighs. it makes you jolt, a tiny, involuntary gasp escaping your lips before you can stop it, and your hand flies down, fingers tangling in the soft, dark strands of his hair.

yuuta’s head lifts just a fraction, just enough for you to catch the wide, almost panicked look in his beautiful dark eyes from where he’s positioned, his cheek resting against the damp skin of your inner thigh.

"is this okay?" he whispers, his voice a low, rough scrape against the quiet of the room.

yuuta’s lips brush your skin with the words, and you shiver, a tremor that runs from your scalp all the way down to your curling toes. he looks so earnest, so utterly devoted and yet completely terrified, like he’s standing on the precipice of something monumental and has no idea how to proceed.

you can only nod, your breath catching in your throat.

words feel too far away, too clumsy for the weight of this very moment. your fingers tighten in his hair, not to pull or push, just to hold onto something solid as the anticipation coils low and hot in your belly.

yuuta takes a slow, shaky breath, as if he’s trying to steady his own nerves, and then he dips his head again. the first touch is barely a touch at all — it was just the barest press of yuuta’s closed lips against your soaked folds, a shy, questioning kiss. it’s clumsy, his nose nudging your clit in a way that’s more awkward than pleasurable, and he pulls back instantly, a pretty flush creeping up his neck.

"sorry," yuuta mumbles, his forehead dropping to rest against your hip for a second. you can feel the heat radiating from his skin, the slight tremble in his shoulders. "i— i’ve never . . . i want to make you feel good. i just don’t want to mess it up."