#nanamin

cw: 18+, explicit sexual content, choking, rough sex, degrading language, power dynamics, toxic communication, possessiveness, soft aftercare. m.list.

You’re fighting again. Loud enough for the neighbors to hear it through the fucking walls, probably. But at this point, you don’t even care.

“You don’t tell me shit, Nanami!” you yell, arms crossed as you trail him into the kitchen. “You just vanish for a week on ‘assignment,’ and then act like I’m crazy for asking questions!”

He slams the fridge closed hard enough to rattle the glass. “And you act like a spoiled brat every time I don’t tell you something,” he snaps. “It’s classified. You knew that when you started fucking a sorcerer.”

“Oh, so now I’m just someone you fuck?” you hiss, eyebrows raised. “Cute. Didn’t realize that’s all I was—”

“Don’t start,” he warns, tone cold. 

You do start. Of course you do. “Don’t start?” you echo, letting out a laugh. “You mean don’t ask questions? Or don’t get upset when you treat me like shit?”

Nanami turns around slow. His jaw tight, lips pressed into a flat line like he’s holding back the full weight of what he wants to say. “Careful,” he warns again. 

You tilt your head, biting down on your bottom lip. “What? You gonna run off again? Maybe tell Gojo I’ve got too much attitude this week and beg him for a reassignment?”

“I’m not going to let you twist my words into some pathetic little performance of insecurity just because you’re mad I didn’t call,” he growls, stepping in close, crowding you back toward the couch with effortless force. “You want to fight? Fine. Let’s fight.”

He shoves you, sending you stumbling back until your knees hit the edge of the cushions. You fall with a frustrated gasp, eyes wide as he stalks toward you, loosening his tie. 

“You think fucking me’ll fix the fact that you lie to me?” you fire back, even as your legs part instinctively when he steps between them. “You really think your cock is that magical?”

His hands are on you before you can blink—one gripping your jaw tight, forcing your chin up so your eyes stay locked on his. The other grabs the collar of your tank top and rips it down the middle, the sound obscene. “You don’t get to talk to me like that,” he growls. “Put your hands behind your back.” 

You grin, “What’s that, Nanami? Hm?”

And then he’s kneeling between your thighs, spreading them wide, not giving you a second to breathe before he’s burying his face between them. “I said, ‘Put. Your. Hands. Behind. Your. Back.”

“Nanami—!” you gasp, back arching off the couch as his mouth closes over your clit, hot and unrelenting, tongue flicking just right, just fast as you reach for him, bury your fingers in his hair, but he grabs your wrists again, pinning them above your head with one hand, never once pulling away from you.

Four roommates. One girl. Zero self-control.

art by @ thatsallitchief ✧⁠*⁠。

Room for One more ?

pairing : jjk men x reader

synopsis : you moved in for cheap rent, not to get passed around. but with four insanely hot men under same roof, it didn’t take long before things got messy. now you're cockwarming nanami at midnight, riding gojo in the shower, bent over for geto before dinner, and getting your throat fucked by toji. college? peace? who needs it when you’re getting dicked down for good?

one two three four five six seven eight nine ten

eleven twelve thirteen fourteen fifteen sixteen seventeen

eighteen

chapter nineteen coming soon...

Side stories are here

A/N : this fic is very smut-heavy and most chapters contain multiple smut scenes. if that’s not something you’re comfortable reading, please feel free to skip this one *⁠.⁠✧

lying there, panting softly against your husbands chest as he pulls you closer to him. a soft kiss is planted to the corner of your hairline, his warm lips like a furnance for your skin.

“you did so well, honey,” he murmurs against your forehead before pulling back a little to lay back on the pillow. a soft hum is all you give back, letting the silence stretch comfortably.

“hey, ken?” your voice gently pushes the silence, alerting his half-asleep form. he twitches a little, peeking one eye open. “hm?”

“do you think i made a weird face when i came?”

…

“like a—i dunno—a distressed face or something? like this—“ your eyebrows pinch together, mouth opening to mimic a gasp.

“honey—“

“cause honestly, i was imagining myself—which i know is weird, don’t get me started—and i think it looked weird or something…”

“sweetheart, you look very beautiful when you finish, i’m not sure what you mean.”

a small huff escapes your lips. “okay well what about that thing i said? when i was all like telling you to get me pregnant over and over? was that too far? maybe i should cut back on the pregnancy talk.”

“that’s a mutual want. we also both tend to say things we may or may not mean in bed. and, nothing you do or say in bed is embarrassing, my love.”

nanami kento shutting you the fuck up with just a few of his long, possessive fingers inside of your whining mouth. they’re easily hooked within the soft inner corner of your cheek, slick rivulets of drool spilling down his veined hand.

“that’s all you fucking need, huh?” another hand smooths down the depraved arch of your spine, pressing you deeper. “a couple fingers to quiet that pretty little mouth?”

a delirious sound suspended somewhere between shock and unwitting pleasure escapes your occupied maw at his brashness. you love when he gets like this and god, does he know it. he can feel it in desperate rut of your hips, the way you’re pushing back on his cock, chasing it.

he can hear it in the catch of your breath as your pant around his digits—low, gurgled moans of rapture spilling past your parted lips as you succumb the feeling of everything him.

“you love it, don’t you?” he hums, pulling your limp frame upright to hold you to him, pressing himself against your body, his hips dizzying. “yeah? when i stuff every one of these messy holes for you?”

the throb of his cock is almost painful when you nod to him, choking on your own tongue, pretty eyes watering and threatening to cross like a whore. oh, he loves that. maybe even more than you do; a deep moan is lost within the crook of your neck, flaxen wisps of stray hair tickling your skin.

with his chest pressed to your backside, beaded like adhesive with sweat, he slips his fingers a little deeper. he anchors his hand there, the pads of his digits brushing the base of your tongue as he draws your head back, back, back, forcing it against his left shoulder.

you can’t help but to tighten around him, aroused beyond comprehension at the way your husband has claimed your body. a dopey little smile graces your face, and nanami thinks he just might cum when your eyes flitter shut, sweet, saccharine moans tumbling out of you.

“gaaah—i wish you could see yourself,” it’s strained, his lips so close that you can’t miss the inflection of arousal that seeps through his tone.

his eyes flit from gape of your mouth to your glistening irises. “my pretty girl, huh?”

you nod your dazed head as best as you can beneath his grasp.

my personal fav fantasy is husband!nanami coming home late. he's super exhausted and he finds you already sleeping.

he sighs in relief at the sight of your peaceful body lying on the bed, the moon light peeking through the curtains, casting a soft glow over you.

you're wearing a delicate crop top, yellow with tiny pink roses on it, thin straps slipping off your shoulders, and lace-trimmed triangles barely covering your breasts— shifted out of place in your sleep. it's Nanami's fav. because he got the chance to cup your tits easily from behind.

it's not in a lustful way!! he's not groping you with some filthy intent not always at least. he holds them in a comforting way, in a way that makes him exhales deeply the moment he slides into bed, feeling the stress of the day melt away as his large, calloused hand finds its rightful place. right over your chest.

it's comforting, the way they fit just right in his palms— they're not too big, not too small, just perfect. like they were meant to be in his hands, like he was meant to touch you this way. he likes the shape of them, the way they mold to his touch, yielding and soft, a stark contrast to the roughness of his palms. he doesn't squeeze hard, doesn't knead them like he's trying to work you up— just holds.

he loves how soft they are when you're relaxed, when you're warm and tucked into his arms, your body completely at ease. how they don't poke or demand attention. they're sitting there all plush and smooth against his fingers, unbothered.

he loves how your breasts change when you're lying down, how they spread just a little, how they lose that roundness but become so soft, so flat, almost like they're becoming one with his hands. he loves the way his fingers can rest along the curve of your ribs, feeling the gently rise and fall of your breath beneath them.

it's instinctual. reaching for you. holding you. owning you.

his favorite way to touch you is when you're on your back, his face buried in the crook of your neck—your floral scent invading his nostrils—'cause that's where he has better access to your tits. he likes to slide his hand up from your waist, fingers ghosting over your ribs before they settle beneath the swell of your breast— his thumb and index supporting the weight ever so slightly, pressing just enough to feel their fullness. and sometimes most of the times he gives the underside a gentle pinch, his lips twitching at the way your body shifts in response, even in your sleep.

and your nipples. god he loves them sooo much. he's totally obsessed when they don't poke or stiffen under his fingers, just stay warm and smooth against his touch, like they trust him enough to relax. he traces lazy circles over them, fingertips gliding over the subtle change in texture. he never presses, never pinches because he knows if he did, if he rolled them just right, they'd start to react. they'd tighten, harden under his touch, and sure—when the mood was for it—he loved that just as much.

but right now, it was only about feeling you.

and if you make some little sound of protest when he adjusts his grip— he simply shushes you, pressing a kiss to the back of your neck, whispering, "go back to sleep, darling." and you do. because how could you not when you were so sweetly wrapped in his warmth?

honk shoo 😴💤