7min-3

[7min-3]

Satoru Gojo can't help but desperately eat Suguru's cum pouring out of your pretty cunt, lapping it up until there's not a drop left inside you.

His swirling blue eyes look up at you, glittering as he murmurs - 'tell Suguru how much better I am, sweetheart, that I d-dont miss him' while scissoring long digits inside you, your eyes rolling back, cumming on his pretty face.

You date both of them, they'd brought you into their lives, but they're in the biggest fight, and now you're stuck being the go between for two six-foot-four sorcerers! You're bruised everywhere, your cunt and your ass are truly ruined, and they just won't make up.

'Hah, tell Satoru your ass feels so much better than his,' Suguru Geto whispers, cock stretching your little puckered hole, making you cry out, thighs trembling. He's fucking that liquid lube deep inside you, his fingers on your clit, black silky hair draped on your shoulder. 'I c-cant!?' He chuckles. 'You can, love'

'He said what now!?' Satoru is putting you in a full mating press, his blindfold is shoved up high. That cock thick and heavy against your entrance. 'Toru, can you two-mnh!' Satoru slams his cock deep inside you, big hands shoving your thighs higher, his white hair falling over a brow. 'Bet he'll be mad if I get our girl pregnant first, huh?'

'He said what now!?' Suguru's furious when he kneels, shoving your ass against the door, inhaling the scent of Satoru's cum that's slipping out from your abused hole. 'Sugu, please can you all get along again? I'm not even- ngh!' Suguru's tongue ring clicks against your clit. 'He thinks he'll get you pregnant first? we'll see about it.'

Suguru turns you, murmuring - 'arch for me, princess' and you do just that, letting him shove that silk robe you're wearing up your hips. After he cums inside you, biting your neck to the point it's almost bleeding, you're too wobbly to even walk, deciding to go home and try to hide from them.

How much dick can you take really!?

Satoru just appears in thin fucking air in your bedroom that night though, you roll your eyes at him, covering your face. 'Toru...' he says nothing, kicking off his shoes and laying in your bed, tugging you close. 'I miss him' he murmurs, you sigh and nod, brushing his hair back, feeling awful that they won't just communicate.

'You two will be fine,' he kisses on your neck sweetly, before scowling, seeing Suguru’s teeth marks. He touches the bruise, chuckling in that dark tone that makes you tense up. 'Hah, does he really think he'll win? I'll mark you everywhere before I send you back' then he's sinking his teeth into the mark, tugging your ass against his hard body.

You really need them to make up.

Wow this is freaky I'm ovulating 🤭

[7min-3]

Imagine your husband, nanami, caught in the grip of a smoking addiction you never saw coming.

you don’t know where it started — maybe from the long hours spent battling curses, or the weight of endless paperwork and unspoken stress piling up.

you catch the stale reek of cigarettes on his breath, see the ash stains on his fingers, and notice how he fidgets for a smoke when the pressure builds.

wanting to pull him out of this cycle, you offer your body as a substitute, a raw outlet for his stress.

you tell him that whenever the urge to light a cigarette hits, he can use you instead, no limits, to work out every ounce of tension through physical release.

he can grab you by the wrists, push you onto the bed, and move with relentless force, hands gripping your hips as he thrusts with mechanical precision, no pause, no gentleness.

he might flip you over, your knees hitting the mattress, his weight pressing you down as he drives into you, sweat dripping, breath ragged, the bedframe creaking under the strain.

or he could hoist you onto the kitchen counter, your legs spread, his fingers digging into your thighs as he moves with single-minded focus, dishes rattling in the background.

every motion is urgent, desperate — hands roaming, pinning, pulling, using your body to channel the stress that would’ve sent him reaching for a cigarette.

you let him take control, letting him move you however he needs — bending you over the couch, your palms braced against the armrest, or up against the shower wall, water soaking your skin as he presses into you with unrelenting pace.

[7min-3]

🜼 ⋆ doing nanami kento’s skincare whilst cockwarming him.

he’s already buried inside you by the time you open the jar.

his cock rests deep and heavy, unmoving, your walls soft and warm around him—clenching every so often without meaning to. not riding. not grinding. just sitting, your thighs snug around his hips, chest to chest, full in a way that makes your whole body ache.

nanami’s not even looking at you.

his eyes are closed. head leaned back against the headboard. one hand loose around your thigh, the other resting across his stomach. calm. quiet. pretending this isn’t killing him.

you dip your fingers into the cream.

“look at me.”

his eyes open immediately. obedient, steady, almost bored, except for the muscle twitching at the edge of his jaw.

you smooth a layer of moisturizer across the high slope of his cheekbone. slow and focused. like you’re not straddling him with his cock inside you. like this is just another part of your routine.

“your skin gets dry when you don’t let me do this.”

he exhales through his nose—measured, deliberate—but his cock twitches inside you. a slow, dangerous throb.

“you shifted,” he mutters, not opening his eyes.

“you’re imagining things.”

but you did. only a little. just enough to feel him drag along that tender inner wall. enough to make your breath hitch, to make your core clench helplessly around him again.

you swipe cream down the bridge of his nose, then across his jaw, all while seated deep on his lap. you’ve never felt so full, so stretched without movement. the weight of it. the heat of him. he’s not even hard anymore—not fully—but he hasn’t slipped out. hasn’t let himself soften, not even for a second.

he grunts when you reach for the folded sheet mask on the side table, lifting one hand off his chest for balance. the shift makes you clench again, and his hands tighten around your hips like a warning.

“you like being difficult,” he says flatly.

“you said i could do your skincare.”

“not like this.” kento hisses.

“you didn’t stop me.”

you smooth the cool sheet across his face, gentle and deliberate, pressing it into place with both palms. your fingers linger at the edge of his hairline. you’re sitting so close now your nose brushes his.

“hold still,” you whisper, like he’s the one misbehaving.

his cock pulses inside you again, slow and deep, and you fight the urge to move your hips, to rock on top of him, to take.

he’s so still. so composed. but you know how tight he’s holding onto it.

“ten minutes,” you say.

he doesn’t respond. just closes his eyes again, face beneath the mask unreadable.

you shift your hips to get comfortable, clenching around him as your muscles adjust.

he groans. softly.

but he doesn’t move.

he just presses one large hand flat against the small of your back—fingertips splayed wide, warm against your skin—and pulls you just a fraction deeper onto his cock.

“don’t squirm,” he murmurs, voice low and dangerous. “or you can wait twenty.”

[7min-3]

happiest of birthdays to my breadman 🥖 💛

[7min-3]

nanamin for his birthday :D

[7min-3]

oh baby put your tiny hand in mine-

[7min-3]

nanami is taking me out lol 😭😭😭

[7min-3]

they used to have dinner nights too...

[7min-3]

post sleepover

[7min-3]

more blurry pics

[7min-3]

ik i just run a tumblr smut page BUT!!!

FUCK ICE, free palestine, free congo, FUCK trump, FUCK musk, no one is illegal on stolen land, and if u disagree, FUCK YOU TOO!!!

i’ve said this before but if u support that fuckass orange in office, idc if ur a silent follower or ur like is ur only form of interacting with me, just know, i don’t want it!!! and u are a terrible person!!! 😛

[7min-3]

omfg we even got an ijichi cameo 😭

[7min-3]

teen nanacrumbs i never thought i'd witness

[7min-3]

you always knew you had a thing for older men.

It wasn’t just the salt-and-pepper stubble or the slow, practiced way they carried themselves. it was the stillness. the grounded energy. the calm. like nothing could touch them. like they’d been through hell and came back clean, sharper for it.

nanami kento was the embodiment of that.

you weren’t supposed to end up in his bed. it started with drinks after a shared mission, a conversation that lingered longer than expected. you were tipsy. he wasn’t. and yet he watched you like you were a puzzle worth solving. carefully, patiently, without a single wasted glance.

you’d had sex before. enough to know what you liked. enough to know that most guys your age didn’t really care about what that was. they rushed. they fumbled. Some were sweet, but rarely satisfying. even the slightly older ones, 25, 26, still had the attention span of a squirrel and the emotional intelligence of a wet sock.

but nanami?

nanami touched you like he’d studied you. like he had time. like he didn’t need to prove anything because he already knew he could ruin you. and would. he took off your clothes like unwrapping a gift he’d waited patiently to open. every touch was intentional. every kiss a quiet promise.

you thought you were prepared.

you weren’t.

his mouth on your neck, your chest, between your legs. devastating. the kind of slow burn that made you forget your name, arching into him with a gasp so raw you almost felt embarrassed. until you looked up and saw the way he was watching you. focused. like he needed to see what he did to you..

you expected him to be good. he was older, refined, deliberate in everything he did. from the way he sipped his whiskey to the way he looked at you, like he could read every need you hadn’t voiced. But this?

this was beyond anything your imagination had dared to stretch toward.

you're on your back, legs spread and trembling over Nanami’s shoulders, body pinned to the mattress like you were meant to be there. like he built this exact moment out of patience and control and years of knowing exactly what he was doing.

his cock stretches you open with a slow, thick thrust that makes your spine arch off the bed. he’s not fast. not frantic. he moves like a man who knows he doesn’t have to rush, because you’re already falling apart under him.

“good girl,” he murmurs, voice low and steady, as if he’s rewarding you for every helpless sound you make. “you can take it. i’ve got you.”

and you do. you take him. inch by devastating inch. because you can’t not. he fills you in a way no one else ever has. deep. heavy. the kind of depth that forces a raw, gasping whine from your throat with every stroke.

your nails claw weakly at his forearms, the only parts of him you can reach in this position. he’s got you folded open, helpless, a mess of sweat and slick and trembling limbs beneath him. his hips grind slow, controlled, like he’s studying how each angle wrecks you.

“too much?” he asks, and it’s maddening how composed he sounds while you’re unraveling like silk in his hands.

you try to answer, but nothing comes out but a high-pitched, wrecked little moan. your head tilts back. eyes flutter shut. brain static.

he leans in closer, the weight of him pressing into you deliciously, lips grazing your jaw. “words, sweetheart.”

you manage a shaky, whined: “don’t stop. please. don’t stop.”

his lips curve into the faintest smirk against your cheek, and suddenly his thrusts get deeper. not harder. not faster. just…more intentional. perfectly timed to make you feel every ridge, every drag of him against that sensitive spot inside you that makes your thighs shake.

your vision goes blurry. your mouth drops open in a silent gasp. And then it happens: Your brain short-circuits.

everything goes white-hot, your body locking around him with a desperate cry you barely hear. your climax rips through you with a sharp, clenching heat that leaves you breathless and boneless, twitching beneath him as he fucks you through it with devastating care.

“beautiful,” he breathes, watching you crumble.

you’re too far gone to even feel embarrassed at how wrecked you sound. you’re crying a little overstimulated, completely taken, the term “fucked dumb” no longer a meme, but a diagnosis.

he slows down. pulls out just enough to let you breathe, but not leave. his hands slide down your thighs, soothing, grounding.

and then, without warning, he’s back inside you. slower this time. softer. but it still hurts, in the way pleasure hurts when you’ve already come once and your nerves are still singing. you whimper, and he kisses your shoulder.

“i know, i know,” he whispers. “just one more. you can do one more.”

you don't know if you're nodding or crying, but it doesn’t matter. he keeps praising you, guiding you back to that high again with practiced care and relentless control. and when you finally collapse beneath him, thighs shaking, tears wet on your cheeks, he kisses you like you’re something fragile he’s honored to break.

he doesn’t leave right after.

he wraps you in a warm, damp towel and carries you to the bath. cleans you gently. makes you tea. sits beside you as your body catches up with your soul.

and when he says, “you’re safe,” you believe him.

and you realized then: you’d never be able to go back.

how could you? to twenty-something-year-old men who needed validation, who didn’t know what to do with a woman who needed to be held, not just touched? who didn’t understand the ache that came from deeper wounds. wounds that wanted comfort, not conquest?

nanami wasn’t just good in bed.

he understood. he moved with restraint, with precision. the kind of man who didn’t need to be loud to leave a mark.

you looked up at him. his calm, unreadable expression softened only by the way his thumb brushed over your hip. and it hit you:

you weren’t just ruined for boys.

you were recalibrated.

no one else would ever compare.

[7min-3]

୨୧ kento loves when you only wear panties to sleep.

somno. penetration.

nanami would never admit it, not even to himself, but the sight of you in nothing but a skimpy panty and a tight tank top as you slept drove him wild.

the way the fabric hugged your curves, barely covering your skin, made his cock throb every night.

he prided himself on control, years of discipline, but you tested him in ways he couldn’t ignore

he tried to hold back, to be the gentleman he swore he was, but the urge was relentless.

“fuck,” he muttered under his breath, his hand hovering over your thigh.

he shouldn’t.

you were asleep, peaceful, unaware.

but his fingers grazed your skin, sliding up to your inner thigh, his touch lingered at your core, brushing the edge of your panties.

his cock twitched, aching as he pressed himself against your ass, the heat of your body making his restraint crumble.

with a shaky exhale, he tugged his sweatpants down just enough to free his hardened length, the tip already leaking.

he slid your panties aside, careful not to wake you, and positioned himself at your entrance. slowly, he pushed in, your tight warmth enveloping him.

you squirmed in your sleep, a soft whimper escaping your lips, but you didn’t wake.

nanami’s breath hitched, his hips moving in shallow thrusts, each one drawing a low groan from his throat .“goddamn it,” he whispered, his hand gripping your hip as he pressed deeper, your body responding instinctively, hips shifting slightly.

he was close already, the forbidden thrill of taking you like this while you slept, with a final, deep thrust, he came, spilling inside you with a muffled grunt, his body trembling as he held you close.

you stirred, a faint moan slipping out, but stayed asleep, your breathing steady.

nanami pulled out carefully, fixing your panties and pulling up his pants, his heart pounding with a mix of guilt and satisfaction.

he’d never admit how much he loved this, your teasing sleepwear, the way you unraveled his control, but as he watched you sleep, he knew he’d do it again.

© written by kaizer | do not copy plagiarize or translate any.

[7min-3]

୨୧ nanami is soo bad at hiding his pathetic moans.

“oh, fuck,” he breathed out the tip of his dick stretching your wet pussy, the sensation pulling a raw edge to his voice.

you threw your head back against the pillow, a soft moan escaping your lips, and nanami seized the moment, his teeth grazed your neck, then bit down hard, making you squeal.

the sharp sting was a distraction, a way to ground himself as he fought the sounds threatening to spill from his throth, his dick finally plunged in fully, and he found his rhythm, thrusting faster.

his hands braced on either side of your head, caging you in as he focused on your face, his brows furrowed, lips parted.

you squeezed around him, your pussy tightening, and his rhythm faltered for a split second. “shit honey—” he grunted, his voice low and strained, a pathetic moan nearly slipping through before he caught it with the curse.

he leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours, his eyes squeezing shut as he thrust harder, trying to bury the sounds in the intensity of his movements.

“k-kento…” you whimpered, your voice trembling with need, and his gaze snapped to yours, sharp and focused despite the haze of pleasure.

“y-yeah?” he managed, his tone rough but attentive, always attuned to you even in the heat of the moment.

one arm slid behind your head, his fingers tangling in your hair, pulling just enough to tilt your face up to meet his eyes.

“you okay?” he asked, his voice quieter, flicker of concern cutting through his focus. even now, he couldn’t help but check on you, his care for you woven into every action.

you nodded, breathless, your hands gripping his shoulders. “keep going,” you whispered, urging him on, his jaw tightened, and he gave a short nod, his hips snapping forward with renewed intensity.

the bed creaked under the force of his thrusts, the rhythm steady but relentless, each movement pulling a low grunt from his chest.

another moan threatened to escape, and he hissed, dipping his head to bite your shoulder, the sharp press of his teeth muffling the sound against your skin.

“goddamn it,” he muttered, his lips brushing your collarbone as he fought to keep himself in check, his hand tightened in your hair, pulling again, not harshly but enough to make you gasp.

“you feel—” he cut himself off with another grunt, his forehead pressing harder against yours, his breath hot and uneven.

he squeezed his eyes shut, a low, desperate sound catching in his throat before he smothered it with a growled, “fuck.” you clung to him, your nails digging into his back, matching his rhythm as best you could.

the way he moved, the way he tried so hard to hide those soft, pathetic moans, only made you want him more, he was unraveling, piece by piece, and you felt it in the way his thrusts grew less controlled, more desperate.

his teeth found your neck again, biting down just enough to sting, and you squealed softly, your body arching into his.

“kento,” you murmured, your voice barely audible, and he responded with a low hum, his lips grazing your jaw. “you don’t have to hold back,” you said knowing how hard he tried to keep himself composed.

he exhaled sharply, almost a scoff, but there was no malice in it. “easier said than done,” he muttered, his voice rough with effort.

his hand slid from your hair to your cheek, his thumb brushing your skin briefly before he braced himself again, his thrusts growing harder, more erratic.

another moan slipped out, and he cursed under his breath “shit” before burying his face against your neck. “you’re doing fine,” he said, his voice muffled against you, as if he needed to ground himself by focusing on you.

“just—stay with me.” it was as much a plea as a command, his usual composure cracking under the weight of his need.

[7min-3]

Babysitter Nanami

and the fushiguro siblings

can't take this hc out of my cold dead hands

gojo laughed at them at first but then he wanted to be a part of it too