nanamincreampie

[nanamincreampie]

I saw in ur bio that one of ur favs was Nicholas brown from gangsta right?! Would u ever write for him? I love the sukuna fics btw !!^^

Hiii🤭🤭

Of course I would he's my man, after all 😫😫😫

But it would take me a while to conjure up something for him, though, or if you have a request that you would want me to do, JUST KNOW I WOULDN'T HESITATE

And Tysm I really appreciate it ❤️❤️

[nanamincreampie]

Little Boss Goes to Work

Context: Since Mama Bear's feeling a little under the weather, it's up to Sukuna to watch his lil mini me while he's at work ( part 4 to this series)

Contains: nothing but pure fluff and Sukuna being the #1 dad that he is lol

The morning started differently for Ryomen Sukuna.

Instead of the usual goodbye kiss at the door, he was standing over his wife, who was wrapped in a cocoon of blankets on the couch.

“You’re not getting up today,” he said firmly, pressing his palm to her forehead. “You’re running a fever.”

She sniffled. “It’s just a cold—”

Before she could finish, a small voice called from the hallway.

“Mmm!”

There stood D/n, bright-eyed, clutching her stuffed bunny by its floppy ear. At just over one year old, her pink hair stuck up in wild tufts, and her tiny hands were already reaching for him.

“Hey, Flower,” Sukuna murmured, scooping her up.

Her mother smiled weakly. “Guess she’s all yours today.”

“You want me to take her to the office?”

“She’ll be fine,” his wife rasped. “She misses you when you’re gone all day.”

D/n made a happy squeal, grabbing at his tie as if to agree.

Sukuna sighed. “Fine. But if she wrecks the place, it’s on you.”

The moment Sukuna walked into Sukuna Enterprises with his daughter on his hip, the ripple effect was instant.

“She’s here again!”

“She’s gotten so big, look at those cheeks!”

“She has bedhead and she’s still the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.”

The sight of their ruthless CEO holding a pajama-clad baby, bunny dangling, sent the floor into chaos.

“Morning,” Sukuna said flatly, walking toward his office.

D/n waved at everyone with an enthusiastic “Hiiiii!” in her baby voice, melting even the stoniest employees.

In his office, Sukuna set her up on the couch with a blanket, some toys, and a sippy cup. “Alright, Flower. Daddy’s got work to do. You stay here.”

It lasted… maybe eight minutes.

First came hunger.

She toddled into the break room clutching her bunny, looking up at a startled intern. “Mmm!” she demanded, pointing at a granola bar.

Within seconds, she was in a high-backed chair with a small plate of fruit, cheerios, and baby puffs.

“She’s eating like a little queen,” whispered someone from finance.

Next came exploration.

The glass doors to Sukuna’s private floor slid open with a quiet hiss, but the chaos that followed was anything but quiet.

A tiny, determined figure in a pale pink romper was crawling, fast across the pristine marble tiles, her soft curls bouncing with every movement. Her face was set in a concentrated scowl, cheeks puffed out like a tiny warlord on a mission.

Two of Sukuna’s assistants stood frozen by the elevator, wide-eyed, holding bags of baby snacks like peace offerings.

“She—she’s quick—” one whispered.

“She’s heading straight for—”

Bang.

Her small hand slapped against Sukuna’s glass office door, leaving faint prints. She tugged herself up on wobbly legs and began banging her fists like she was announcing her presence to the emperor himself.

Inside, Sukuna was mid-meeting with three of his top executives. None of them were prepared for the sight of their terrifying boss standing without a word, crossing the room, and opening the door.

The baby didn’t hesitate, she barged in, voice erupting in a high-pitched whine.

“Hhhhungry!”

The executives froze. Sukuna crouched, expression softening in a way they’d never seen.

“You’re hungry, huh?” His deep voice was uncharacteristically gentle.

She nodded, lip trembling. “Nack.”

He lifted her effortlessly, settling her on his hip. She buried her face in his shoulder, little fists clinging to his black silk shirt.

One assistant darted forward with a container of bite-sized fruit. She perked up, reaching out with greedy little hands. Sukuna sat her on the desk beside his towering stack of contracts, peeling the container open himself.

She stuffed a grape in her mouth, chewed, then patted one of his papers with her juice-sticky palm.

The executive closest to the desk swallowed hard, eyeing the bright purple handprint on a billion-yen merger proposal.

By 11 a.m., she’d crawled across half the desk, tugged the pen from his hand twice, wandered into a meeting to slap her bunny on the conference table, and stared at the elevators like they were portals to another world.

Then came the nap battle.

At 1 p.m., her eyes got heavy. She rubbed at them, whined, then tried to climb onto Sukuna’s lap mid-contract review.

“She’s tired,” someone whispered.

“No,” Sukuna muttered, lifting her into his arms, “she’s fighting tired.”

She squirmed, made tiny protest noises, then flopped dramatically against his chest. Five minutes later, she was out cold, bunny clutched tight, pink cheek pressed to his suit jacket.

Half the office stood in the hallway, peeking in, trying not to squeal at the sight of their terrifying boss rocking a sleeping baby.

By the time the meeting was over, she was asleep on top of a leather-bound portfolio. Sukuna didn’t move her. He simply signed the last document one-handed, his free palm steady on her small back.

“Send copies to legal,” he told his assistants, voice calm, completely at odds with the tiny snore muffled against his chest.

That evening, back home, she wriggled out of his arms and plopped beside her mother on the couch.

“Mmm… day!” she babbled, waving her bunny. “Fun!”

Her mother laughed, brushing her hair back. “Fun, huh?”

“She tanked productivity for the entire day,” Sukuna deadpanned, setting takeout on the table.

D/n leaned into his chest with a sleepy sigh. “Mmm… Dada.”

He smirked, kissing the top of her head. “Yeah, Flower. Exhausting… but fun.”

Taglist: @slushycoookie @totallygyomeiswife @poopooindamouf @xxdiaqiaoxx @slushycoookielikes

[nanamincreampie]

Sooooo

I made a cutesy part 4 for my lil baby here, which includes our lil muffin spending time with Sukuna at his office while Mama's at home sick, and I wanna know if any of you guys are interested in being in the tag list when it's released tonight

[nanamincreampie]

WENDY IT’S COOKIE!!!

I hope you have a wonderful birthday today!!

AAAWWWW THANK YOU COOKIE POOKIE AND I'M GONNA TRY TO ENJOY IT JUST FOR U😋😋

[nanamincreampie]

Birthday in 2 hours and I just figured put a writing idea for Satoru and Suguru🤭🤭

Yep life's good🙂‍↔️🙂‍↔️

[nanamincreampie]

Ink and Silence

True form!Sukuna Ryomen x Black plus size reader

Contains: fluff, takes place in the Heian era, Sukuna being a lil cutie pie

(Inspired by the library in Beauty and the Beast( AAHH THAT MOVIE HAS MY HEART!!!))

The palace was hushed beneath the weight of dusk, steeped in incense and the rustle of silk across polished wood. The air, thick with heat and memory, was still, as if the entire world had paused to witness this moment.

"You must trust me," Sukuna said, his voice a gravel-smooth rumble that somehow softened as it reached your ear.

You nodded without opening your eyes, your full lips parting just slightly to release a steadying breath. “I do,” you whispered, and you meant it even though he was something torn from legend, from shadow, with four arms and two twisted mouths, a demon-god who walked like a king and smelled faintly of blood and sandalwood.

You were barefoot, your feet padded across the warm hinoki floors as he guided you forward with one massive hand cradling yours, the other barely brushing your waist. The sleeves of your summer kosode were rolled back, damp with sweat and perfume, and your wide hips swayed in time with each cautious step. Your skin, rich and dark as newly oiled mahogany, shimmered under the flicker of candlelight.

Your curls had been pulled into a twisted bun at the crown, the kind you did when your scalp ached from the heat, tendrils clinging to your neck, the nape damp and tender. You had been reluctant at first when Sukuna beckoned you to follow, after all, this wasn’t your world. The Heian court whispered when you passed. A foreign woman, round in all the places they weren’t. Wide nose, full cheeks, arms soft and thick as river stone. You were used to being seen, just not cherished.

But Sukuna? He didn’t just see you, he studied you.

You could feel his eyes on you now, that unholy golden gaze taking in every inch of your silhouette: the way your thighs brushed together beneath your cotton hakama, the way your belly curved beneath your tied obi, how your wrists glistened with shea oil in the torchlight. There was never shame in his stare. Only hunger. Reverence. Ownership.

"Keep your eyes closed," he said again, his lower mouth curling into a sharp, amused grin. You felt his claws graze your hip through the fabric. "You will know when."

The scent in the corridor began to change from less smoke to more parchment. Dust. Cedar.

Your breath caught.

He halted behind you, four hands steadying your shoulders. His fingers were cool and rough against the exposed back of your neck. His mouths is near your ear now, breath warm. “Open them.”

You did.

And the breath you’d been holding left you in a trembling gasp.

It was a library, but not just any library. A sanctum. A cathedral of scrolls and tomes. The ceiling arched high, carved from lacquered beams and inlaid with ivory. Rich tapestries lined the walls, painted with winding dragons and crimson moons, while enchanted lanterns floated mid-air, glowing softly like fireflies.

Rows upon rows of scroll racks and handmade bookshelves filled the space, some stacked so high they reached the rafters. There were ancient sutras, war records, poetry from long-forgotten lands, even texts written in foreign tongues you’d never seen but somehow yearned to understand.

The light danced across the space, painting gold across the deep browns of your skin, making the soft rise of your chest glisten with awe. Your hands flew to your mouth, your fingers trembling. “This… all of this…?”

Sukuna stepped beside you now, his height towering, his presence both oppressive and intimate. “It is yours,” he said simply, each word weighty with truth.

You turned to him slowly, lips parted in disbelief. “Mine?”

“I had it sealed for centuries,” he admitted. “Few in this pitiful age can read. Fewer still would respect what’s written here. But you…”

He reached for you again, and this time you let him. One of his right hands lifted to trace your cheek, the curve of it round and warm, a stark contrast to his calloused touch.

“You value knowledge as I do. You lose yourself in thought… in verse… in meaning. It moves you.”

A flush crept up your face, deeper than wine, even as your heart beat against your ribs like a drum. You looked around again, still trying to grasp the impossible.

“I used to dream of a place like this,” you whispered, stepping toward the nearest shelf. The smooth bark paper under your fingertips, the familiar smell of history and ink it nearly brought tears to your eyes. “Back home… there was never space for someone like me in rooms like this.”

Sukuna growled low, stepping close enough that your back brushed his chest. “Then they were fools.”

He gathered you gently, with two arms wrapping around your waist and another hand ghosting along your side. “You are not merely worthy of this space. You enhance it.”

Your voice cracked. “I’m not what they expect. Not in body. Not in skin.”

“They expect nothing worth holding,” he replied.

You turned to face him now, looking up into that face, his twin mouths, his many eyes. His monstrous beauty. “Sukuna…”

He leaned down until his forehead nearly touched yours. “I gave you this not for favor. Not to claim you. But because you are the first to walk these halls and make them sacred.”

His voice dropped, smoky and dark. “You belong here, not as decoration. As keeper. As queen.”

Your chest tightened.

In that moment, the scrolls, the light, the whispers of ancient spirits all faded into quiet awe. You reached for his face, cupping the side of it, the way no one dared to, and for once, Sukuna’s four arms went still.

“I’ve never been given something so… holy,” you said.

His smile, cruel and soft all at once, crept wide.

“You’ve never been loved by a god before.”

[nanamincreampie]

You would you guys believe me if I say I'm gonna post the sukuna fic tonight around 10 ???😔😔😔

This job thing is getting to me now and I'm two and a half weeks in 😭😭😭

[nanamincreampie]

This job thing is getting to me now and I'm two and a half weeks in 😭😭😭

[nanamincreampie]

Brownie Points

Satoru Gojo x Black plus size reader

Context: You bake all the time, especially for Satoru. So when he sees a tray of rich brownies on the counter, of course, he thinks they’re his. The problem is… they’re Suguru’s very strong edibles. Now your clingy, red-eyed boyfriend is wrapped around your thighs, confessing his love, and swearing he can hear colors, and all you wanted was a quiet Saturday.

Contains: fluff, Gojo being high asf, Suguru enjoying this a bit too much

It was supposed to be a relaxing Saturday.

You had the apartment to yourself, the faint hum of your favorite playlist echoing from the kitchen as you tidied up. The oven was off. The dishes were done. You’d even taken a quick shower and slathered on your favorite whipped shea butter, vanilla almond, the one Satoru swore made you smell “biteable.”

You had just one thing left to do before he got back from running errands: hide the edibles.

The brownies. The strong brownies. The "one square will send a grown man to Saturn" brownies that Suguru made for your next girls’ night.

Only...you kind of forgot.

The Tupperware sat right there on the counter. No label. No warning. Just six rich, glossy squares of chocolatey goodness in one of your prettiest baking containers, the same kind you usually used for Satoru’s treats.

And just as you stepped into the bedroom to grab your bonnet, the front door swung open.

“Baaaabe! I forgot to eat breakfast,” Satoru called, his voice echoing through the apartment as he kicked his shoes off. “Do we have snacks?”

Your heart dropped. “Wait—”

Too late.

You emerged from the hallway like it was a horror movie scene, the smell of sugar and poor decision-making thick in the air. You were just in time to watch your tall, lanky boyfriend lick the last of the brownie crumbs from his thumb, looking so pleased with himself.

“I knew you loved me,” he grinned. “Did you bake these for me? I almost cried, they were so good.”

Your lips parted. “How many did you eat?”

He blinked, then gave a sheepish shrug. “Uh... all of them? There were only six. You’ve made more than that before, greedy.”

You stared at him. “Satoru.”

“Hmm?”

“Those weren’t for you.”

A beat of silence passed. Then another. And then very slowly, Satoru blinked again. His fingers curled into his hoodie pocket like he suddenly forgot what to do with his hands.

“...Wait.”

You took a step closer. “They were edibles. Suguru made them for me.”

Satoru stood frozen for a moment before letting out a nervous, delayed laugh. “...Like...weed-edibles?”

“Yes. Extreme ones. He told me to only eat half of one if I had stuff to do.”

Satoru opened his mouth. Closed it. Looked down at his now-empty hands. “...So I ate all six…?”

“Six.” You repeated it, like the number alone might send you into cardiac arrest. “You’re gonna be so high, Toru.”

And right on cue, it hit him like a train.

His pupils started to dilate. His knees wobbled a bit. He leaned dramatically against the fridge like it had suddenly become his best friend.

“Ohhhhhh,” he breathed, sliding down slowly to the kitchen floor. “Oh no. Oh babe. Oh baby.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “I’m getting the water.”

Twenty Minutes Later

Satoru was completely horizontal on the living room carpet, one sock off and his hoodie half-zipped like he’d tried to wrestle it mid-episode. His snow-white hair stuck up in every direction, and his eyes were red-rimmed and glassy, like he’d just watched the final scene of The Notebook while cutting onions.

You crouched beside him, holding a water bottle with a bendy straw near his lips. “Drink this. Please.”

“Do you even understand,” he said slowly, “how warm your hands are?”

You sighed. “I am begging you to stay hydrated.”

“No no no, I’m serious. Your hands are like... like lil’ heated blankets with cocoa butter.” He wrapped both arms around your waist and pressed his face into your thigh like a sleepy cat. “You smell so good. Are you trying to kill me?”

You tried not to laugh, you really did. But he was so sincere.

You ran your fingers gently through his hair. “You’re okay. Just ride it out.”

“I feel like I can hear colors,” he mumbled. “And I know the color blue is talking shit.”

That did it. You snorted and reached for your phone. One quick video later, and you were texting Suguru.

🎥 [attached video] your boy just ate six of the brownies. i tried to stop him. send help.

Seconds later, Suguru replied:

LMAOOOOOO 💀 tell him he’s gonna float above the apartment in about 45 min put on some lo-fi and give him snacks

You flipped your phone to show the message to Satoru. “Suguru says—”

“I love Suguru,” Satoru sighed dreamily. “But not like I love you. You’re my wife. Even if you don’t wanna get married. I already decided.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I saw you the first time in that little polka dot apron,” he whispered, staring up at you like you hung the moon. “And I was like...that’s her. That’s my girl. Thick thighs, pretty smile, always smells like cake. That’s her.”

Your cheeks burned. “You are so high right now.”

“I’d say it sober too,” he insisted, now clinging to your waist like a koala. “M’not letting you go. You’re so soft. So warm. You ever just...feel lucky you get to touch yourself?”

You choked. “Satoru!”

He gasped. “No no no, not like that! I mean, like—like your skin! It’s so nice! You’re like a heated mochi pillow.”

You wheezed, trying to stifle your laugh as you gently pried him off your leg. “Come on, let’s get you on the couch.”

It took five whole minutes, a blanket cape, and a lot of negotiation, mostly bribing him with your lap as a pillow, but eventually, Satoru was curled up on the couch with his head in your lap and the water bottle resting against his chest like a teddy bear.

You reached for your phone again.

🎥 [another video] he said i’m a “heated mochi pillow.” if he proposes again i’m blaming you

Suguru replied instantly:

this is the best day of my life. film everything. i’m making a compilation.

One Hour Later

Satoru hadn’t stopped talking for forty minutes straight.

You’d let him ramble. You’d nodded along. You’d even recorded the part where he described your stretch marks as “tiger stripes from god.” But now he was going off on a tangent about quitting his job and becoming your “full-time house husband slash muse.”

“I’ll pose in an apron,” he said, sipping water like it was a fine wine. “You can feed me little cupcake samples while I read you affirmations.”

“You don’t even like sitting still,” you reminded him.

“I’d sit for you.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Just sit?”

“...With my ass out.”

You burst out laughing, nearly dropping your phone. “You’re impossible.”

“I’m in love,” he said, beaming up at you with glossy, half-lidded eyes. “Hopelessly. Eternally. I’d bake myself into a pie if you asked.”

“No more pie metaphors,” you warned, brushing hair from his face.

“You are the pie.”

You just shook your head and leaned down to kiss his temple. “Alright, my little cosmic brownie.”

“Mmmm,” he hummed. “Say it again.”

“What, cosmic brownie?”

He wiggled his brows. “Yeah. It’s sexy.”

Evening

Eventually, the high started to wear off. Satoru was dozing off, his long limbs tangled in the blanket, your body heat keeping him grounded. His grip on your hand hadn’t loosened once.

You were tired too. But part of you didn’t want to move. You just watched him, chest rising and falling, that tiny smile still lingering on his lips.

Your phone buzzed one last time.

Suguru: he gonna remember any of this? You: maybe half Suguru: tell him next time, start with ONE. and label your shit 💀 You: i will. You: …maybe.

You locked your phone and looked back down at the man curled up in your lap, lips parted, cheek squished against your soft thighs like they were the comfiest thing he’d ever known.

And you couldn’t help but smile.

Even high out of his mind, Satoru was your goofy, clingy, wildly in love with you boyfriend, and honestly?

He could eat your brownies anytime.

(Well... maybe just one.)

[nanamincreampie]

This just woke something in me

I CAN'T EXPLAIN IT BUT IT JUST AAAHAHHHA!!!!

—Boyfriend girlfriend

❥ Rubbing clits with Fem!Toru after a curse turns him into your girlfriend!

A.N. Super short drabble but I might write more...

“Uuughnn– I’m gonna hah, miss this when I transform back,” Fem!Toru gasped, grinding her hips forward to smother both of your pussies in each other's juices. You two whine when your clits bump together, sliding and slotting against each other perfectly.

You twitch, every feeling of Satoru's pussy on yours having sparks of electricity shoot up your spine. Through the haze, you lean forward, mouth finding purchase right on Satoru’s small, perky tits that bounced just right whenever she’d rut against you roughly. The action has Satoru arching her back and into you, head thrown back as she lets out a loud moan, grabbing your hair as your hand plays with her other nipple.

“Fuck baby!” Satoru’s higher-pitched voice keens, eyes rolling to the back of her head as your warm tongue toys and licks her nipple. “No wonder you like that so muuuuch– Ah!” You hum, brows furrowed in concentration as you suck on the soft flesh, bringing your other free hand to rub Satoru’s clit as she grinds down onto you.

You release Satoru’s tit from your mouth with a wet pop! Licking your lips as you watched your saliva slick right on your pretty boyfriend-turned-girlfriend. “You’re so pretty as a girl ‘Toru,” You coo, sighing as the stickiness in between the two of you intensifies, having both of your clits throbbing against eachother. “I almost like you better like this.” You joke, giggling breathlessly.

“You don't mean thaaaatt—” Satoru whines, pouting down at you but making no sign of stopping. “I’m better with a dick, right?”

You shrug, a taunting smile gracing your features. “That's debatable baby.”

Satoru’s pace slows, beautiful blue eyes growing dark. “Hey, I might not have a dick, but I can still fuck you stupid.”

“Try me.”

[nanamincreampie]

Lunch Break

Ijichi Kiyotaka x Black plus size reader

Context: A curse investigation’s been draining both your schedules, leaving barely any time alone... until today

Contains: blowjob, pussyjob, y/n the d, mentions of squirting, subby Ijichi, 18+ mdni

The car door shuts with a soft click, and for the first time in a week, there’s silence. No ringing phones. No cursed energy readings. Just the idle hum of the AC, the smell of Ijichi’s peppermint tea, and the heat between your thighs.

You lean back in the passenger seat, adjusting your dress, a thin, stretchy fabric that hugs every roll and curve, barely holding up against the soft weight of your breasts. You feel his eyes dart toward your thighs when they spread slightly, that innocent black tie of his looking tenser than usual.

“We have maybe thirty minutes,” you murmur, voice dipped in a honeyed tone. “That’s all the time we’ve got to ourselves today.”

Ijichi swallows. Hard.

His knuckles grip the steering wheel as if it’ll save him. “Thirty minutes?”

You smirk, reaching over to trail your nails down his arm, slow and teasing. “Should be enough… if you’re quick with your mouth. Or I could be.”

The way his breath hitches sends a thrill through you.

The past week has been hell. A relentless curse on the loose, student crises, late nights, and barely any privacy between missions. Even during shared assignments, you’d barely brushed fingers without interruption.

But now? Now he’s all yours. And this car, shaded, parked in the quiet side of campus, is about to become the setting for something filthy.

You unbuckle your seatbelt, climbing awkwardly over the center console until you’re perched in his lap. Your soft, thick thighs straddle his, the hem of your dress rising with every shift. Your plush belly presses against him, your natural coil puff brushing lightly against his glasses.

“I’ve been thinking about your mouth all week,” you whisper, lips near his ear. “Wondering if you’d still taste sweet. If you’d still whimper when I suck you deep.”

His cock twitches in his slacks. You feel it.

“I I-I…” he starts, but your hand cups the back of his neck, and he falls silent, already melting under your touch.

You kiss him hot, slow, possessively. His mouth opens with a soft moan, hands unsure of where to land on your body. You guide him to your hips, let him squeeze the softness there, let him feel your weight.

When you pull back, you’re breathless.

“Pants off,” you say.

He obeys immediately, face flushed as he fumbles to undo his belt. His cock springs free, flushed and heavy, already leaking.

You sink to your knees on the floor between his legs, body wedged awkwardly but determined. Your eyes lock with his as you wrap your thick lips around the head, tongue swirling the bead of precum into your mouth.

“Fuck—” he gasps, eyes squeezing shut.

You hollow your cheeks and take more, slow and deep, your plush lips stretched around him as your throat relaxes. His hands scramble for something to grip, first the seat, then your puff until you guide him to rest one hand on the back of your head, anchoring him to you.

Drool slips down your chin as you bob, slurping wet and filthy. He whines, hips twitching, and you hum in approval, vibrations making him jolt.

“You’re gonna make me—shit, baby, slow down—” he babbles.

But you don’t.

You take him to the hilt, gag just a little, just enough for his eyes to fly open and his mouth to drop open in disbelief.

Your hand strokes what your mouth can’t reach, wrist twisting, saliva making the glide slick and sloppy.

When he cums, it’s sudden. His thighs jerk, his body tenses, and his voice cracks as he spills into your throat with a desperate cry of your name. You don’t stop. You suck and stroke through it until he’s a trembling mess, his hips trying to squirm away from the overstimulation.

You finally let him go with a wet pop, licking your lips.

“God,” he gasps. “You’re—you're too much.”

You smile, smug and soft. “Not done.”

You climb back into his lap, pull your panties to the side, and press your soaking pussy lips along his cock, still slick with your spit and his cum.

He groans when your folds wrap around him, your plush, warm flesh enveloping his shaft. You grind slow, back and forth, pussy gliding along him like a silken vice.

“Look at that,” you whisper, watching his eyes roll back. “You’re still hard. Poor thing.”

You use both hands to press your soft thighs together, trapping his cock between your pussy lips. Your clit rubs against the underside of his shaft with each grind, both of you panting as the friction builds.

He’s fully hard again, throbbing. His hands grab your ass now, greedy and desperate, kneading the thick flesh as he bucks his hips helplessly up into the tight channel of your thighs and pussy.

“I’ve missed this so much,” you moan, voice cracked. “Missed the way you fall apart under me.”

He looks up at you, glasses fogged, face flushed, lips parted. “I—I missed you too. Been dreaming of this. Every night.”

“Oh yeah?” you tease, grinding harder, faster. “Dreaming about this fat pussy riding your cock? Or dreaming about tasting my cum on your tongue?”

“Both,” he confesses breathlessly.

You lean back just enough to reach between you and press your thumb to your clit, circling it while you grind against him faster, his cock now soaked with your slick. The sounds are obscene, wet, squelching, needy.

Your orgasm creeps in hard and fast, pressure building low in your gut until you gasp, thighs trembling, vision hazy.

“Shit—shit, baby, I’m—!”

You squirt.

Warm liquid gushes from you, soaking his cock and his slacks, spraying onto his lap as your body shudders violently. You grind through it, desperate for every ounce of pleasure, every wave of sensation.

Ijichi moans like he’s dying, fingers gripping your ass while he thrusts desperately into the mess of your release. Your pussy lips part just enough for his head to slip between them slightly, and he nearly cries.

You reach down, finally guiding him inside, just the tip, and he sobs, high-pitched and trembling.

“You wanna cum again?” you ask sweetly.

He nods frantically.

“Then give me all of it. Be a good boy for me.”

You ride him hard, full now, the car rocking slightly with every bounce. His face contorts with overwhelming pleasure, cock twitching as he nears his second climax. You never stop rubbing your clit, making sure to meet every thrust with desperate rolls of your hips.

When he cums again, hot and deep, it sets you off too, your body collapsing against his, cunt clenching around him in spasms of ecstasy.

You lie there a moment, boneless in his lap, both of you catching your breath.

“Lunch break well spent?” you tease, breathless.

He nods, flushed and fucked-out. “I… I think I might need a nap before we go back.”

You laugh, pressing a kiss to his temple.

“Good thing I brought snacks,” you whisper, winking.

[nanamincreampie]

we NEED a part 2 on your recent fic 😫😫

it was so bomb omll

I'M SORRY FOR RESPONDING LATE BUT TYSM BABE😭😭😭

I'm not sure if I'll be making a part 2 yet but maybe when the time comes I'll tag you or something 🫶🏼🫶🏼

(For those who don't know what she's referring to it's this fic)

[nanamincreampie]

IT'S DROPPING TONIGHT 🗣🗣🗣🙂‍↔️

Might just write a lil smutty smut of reader giving Ijichi Kiyotaka a pussyjob and thighjob

[nanamincreampie]

Dish Duty and Double Ds

Sukuna Ryomen x Black plus size reader

Context: Sukuna’s been dodging dishes like it’s a full-time job. You’re fed up, braless in an oversized tank, and done being nice. One titty drop later, the man is humbled, hands in suds, ego deflated. Turns out, divine cleavage gets results.

Contains: suggestive, fluff

“Do the damn dishes, Sukuna.” The words came sharp, heavy with frustration, as you crossed your arms beneath your soft, full bust, your curves swaddled in your favorite oversized tank top that barely clung to your plush hips and thick thighs. You stood firmly in the kitchen, in front of a sink piled high with his damn bowls, plates, and mugs like it was some kind of modern art installation made entirely of “I’ll get to it later.”

Sukuna didn’t even look up from the couch.

“Why are you yelling like I haven’t saved your life six times this month?” he called out lazily, legs spread wide, one arm draped over the backrest, his robe hanging half-open to show off his ridiculous abs. “It’s just a few dishes. You act like the world’s ending.”

Your nose flared. “It’s every damn day! I cook, you eat, and then just leave your mess like I’m supposed to be your little maid. No thank you, no help, just ‘Babe, what’s for dinner?’ like I’m not breaking my back in this kitchen every night.”

He shrugged, still not looking at you. “I’ll get to them eventually.”

You stared at the back of his cocky-ass head, heart pounding, rage threatening to bubble over. The audacity. The smugness. The nerve. But then… an idea sparked.

You took a slow, calculated breath. “Oh. You’ll get to them eventually?”

“Yeah,” he muttered. “Stop nagging.”

You didn’t reply. You just moved.

It was too late when he sensed your presence in front of him. You tugged up your tank top, no warning, no countdown, and your full, heavy breasts spilled out like two glorious, honey-rich sunrises. Warm brown skin, stretch marks like lightning etched across your cleavage, plush curves that jiggled softly with the movement.

He. Froze.

The room went silent except for the distant hum of the fridge. Sukuna’s mouth parted just barely, and his eyes dropped like they were magnetized to you, the way your nipples pebbled instantly in the open air, your soft belly visible beneath the rise of your breasts, thighs deliciously pressed together.

You didn’t say a word. You just tilted your head and waited.

After a long beat of silence, his voice came out a lot softer. “...What are you doing?”

You smiled, sweet as molasses. “Just making a point.”

Sukuna swallowed, visibly. “You think that’s fair?”

“Fair is me cleaning up after your grown ass like I’m your mother,” you shot back, arms still up, tits on full display like you were handing him the gospel. “Now, are you gonna do the dishes, or do I have to keep these out all day?”

His tongue darted across his bottom lip. “…You win.”

“I always do.”

And with that, you slid your shirt back down, adjusted your girls with an unnecessary bounce, and strutted back to the kitchen like a queen returning to her throne.

Minutes later, you heard the water turn on. The clink of plates. The soft grumble of a man defeated.

Sukuna was doing the dishes. Quietly. Like a man who had seen God and she had titties.

And for the rest of the week? Not a single dish left in the sink.

Because no man, no matter how powerful, could resist the gravitational pull of your body in motion.

[nanamincreampie]

That's What Got You Pregnant

Streamer!Suguru Geto x Black pregnant reader

Context: Your streamer husband is still loves staring at your ass even during your pregnancy (inspired by this)

Contains: Domestic fluff

The rhythmic boing of the yoga ball echoed gently through your shared office. The soft latex surface flexed under your weight as you bounced steadily, thighs working overtime while your round belly swayed with each motion. At 32 weeks pregnant, this was your go-to for easing back pain and getting a little movement in without doing too much.

You looked good, and you knew it.

Leggings hugged your thick thighs and wide hips like they were made for your body alone, the stretchy waistband under your bump. The charcoal gray workout sweater you wore was unzipped halfway, letting your baby belly breathe. Your dark skin glowed in the soft ring light you’d set up behind the camera, and your long boho braids, freshly done, swayed along your shoulders and back.

You had your phone set up on a tripod across the room, angled perfectly to capture the full scene: you bouncing on your yoga ball behind your husband, Suguru, who was live on stream mid-Call Of Duty match, shirtless as always and deep in his zone.

“Got ‘em. Bro, don’t ever rush me like that again,” Suguru muttered into his mic, a grin tugging at his lips. “I’m built different.”

He didn’t know you were filming. Not for content, not for the world. Just for yourself. You’d been documenting your pregnancy in quiet little snippets, and tonight you felt beautiful. Plush and glowing. You wanted to remember this feeling, this version of you.

Then it happened.

You didn’t even notice when Suguru glanced away from his screen.

His head turned just slightly enough to catch the motion behind him.

The bounce. The ass. The curve of your hips and thighs jiggling with each soft bounce on the ball. The shine of your braids. The way your sweater hugged the top of your bump while your leggings clung to everything below.

His game could’ve ended right there, and he wouldn’t have noticed.

You caught his gaze on the camera screen and smirked to yourself, still bouncing subtly, smooth, as if you didn’t just catch your husband in 4K thirsting over you on livestream.

“You look good, baby,” Suguru said out loud, a little too casually.

His mic was still on.

The chat fell into silence. Then rolled into chaos.

He blinked.

“…Wait,” Suguru said, finally noticing the phone on the tripod. “You recording this?”

You gave him that smile, soft, sweet, amused, while staying silent, still bouncing, braids swaying, belly gently moving with each rise and fall.

He squinted, clearly realizing he was being documented.

“Damn,” he muttered. “My bad. I was starin’ at your ass.”

You immediately burst out laughing, your laugh loud and full, shoulders bouncing right along with your belly. You nearly rolled off the yoga ball, hand flying to your side as you gasped between giggles.

The chat exploded.

"NAH HE SAID WHAT HE SAID 😭" "AND HE’S RIGHT" "YALL SEE HOW SHE LOOK THO??" "THAT’S WIFE ENERGY" "GETO AINT NEVER COMIN BACK FROM THIS ONE"

Suguru glanced at the screen, then back at you, clearly flustered but trying to play it cool. “What? Like I’m not allowed to admire the woman who got me losin’ sleep over her ass since we were nineteen?”

You wheezed.

“Suguru!” you gasped, tears in your eyes from laughing.

He leaned back in his chair, finally surrendering to the moment, mic still on, headset slightly askew, his entire attention now fully on you. Not the game. Not the chat.

You.

“That’s what got you pregnant,” he said with a shrug, as if he were simply stating facts.

You nearly collapsed laughing all over again, wobbling on the yoga ball as you clutched your bump.

“That is not how it happened,” you choked out.

He raised a brow. “Was it not that same ass, those same leggings, this same bouncin’ that got me kicked off stream three months ago?”

You went speechless. Face hot. Belly shaking. Boho braids swinging as you shook your head at your husband.

Suguru looked dead into the camera now, all smug confidence and no regrets.

“I’d like the record to show,” he said to the chat, “I ain’t even sorry.”

Later that night, when you finally got the video off your tripod and onto your private camera roll, you sat on the couch replaying it while Suguru walked back into the living room with a bowl of ice cream and two spoons.

“You said all that on live?” you teased, licking your lips as you played the part where he muttered "my bad, I was starin' at your ass."

He shrugged, sitting beside you and scooping a bite of your favorite flavor. “They needed to know.”

“Know what?”

“That you're fine as hell.”

He pressed a kiss to your cheek, one hand instinctively resting over your belly, the other offering you the spoon.

“Still,” you grinned, “you’re lucky I am pregnant or I’d be bouncin’ on something else tonight.”

Suguru froze.

Then grinned.

“…Bet.”

[nanamincreampie]

The Cowboy Hat Rule

Cowboy!Nanami Kento x Black plus size reader Contains: Smut + Fluff, Cowboy AU, Size Kink, Body Worship, Breeding Kink (soft), Possessive Nanami, Praise Kink, Reader Wears the Hat = She Rides, Overstimulation, Descriptive Plush Body, 18+ mdni

The ranch had settled into silence for the night, save for the distant lowing of cattle and the creak of the wooden porch swing where you sat, sipping sweet tea from a mason jar. The air was warm, heavy with honeysuckle and hay, and your sundress clung to your thick thighs and round hips in the humidity. Fireflies danced across the open field, and in the distance, you could hear Nanami tending to the horses in the barn, his low hum of an old country tune barely audible.

You reached for the brim of his cowboy hat, sitting on the hook by the door. That worn, honey-brown Stetson was his thing, never left home without it. But the moment your fingers brushed the brim, your lips curled into a wicked smile. You remembered what he’d told you last week, in that slow, sinful drawl:

“Darlin’, if you ever put that hat on... you best be prepared to ride.”

Well, now you were ready to ride.

You were stretched out on the bed by the time he walked back into the house, hat tilted over your eyes, sundress bunched at your waist, and your full, thick thighs spread just enough to make his breath catch.

He stopped in the doorway like he’d seen a ghost. Or more like he’d seen a goddess he didn’t deserve.

“Sugar,” he rumbled, voice already hoarse. His eyes slowly traveled up from your calves to the plush swell of your soft tummy and thick arms, up to the hat sitting on your crown like a crown. “Now you know what that means.”

You gave him a lazy smile, letting one hand trail between your thighs, your fingers slipping just beneath the hem of your lacy panties. “I remember,” you purred, voice sweet as molasses. “You said if I wore the hat, I had to ride.”

His jaw clenched. That cowboy walk of his was slow, all thighs and control, ate the distance between you in a few short strides. He didn’t even stop to take his shirt off. Just dropped to his knees by the bed and leaned in, pressing his lips to the soft swell of your inner thigh, inhaling the scent of your body like it grounded him.

“Lord have mercy,” he whispered against your skin. “Look at you. My pretty little cowgirl.”

You tugged off your panties and let them fall to the floor, opening your thighs wide so he could see the way your folds glistened. His breath caught, he always got like this when he saw you. His stoic composure melted every time your thick, brown beautiful body was laid out just for him.

He kissed your belly next, reverent, his large hands kneading into your plush thighs, spreading your legs apart with the kind of gentle hunger only a man who worshipped could manage. “You’re perfect,” he whispered. “So soft. So full. Ain’t a single part of you I don’t wanna taste.”

But you shook your head, cupping his jaw and smirking beneath his hat. “Not tonight, baby. I wore your hat.”

That flicker in his eyes, pure fire. He stood up, unbuckled his belt with one hand, and kicked off his boots. His cock was already straining through his jeans, thick and leaking, curving up heavy against his toned stomach when he pulled them down.

“Then get up here and take what’s yours, darlin’,” he growled.

You straddled him slowly, his hands gripping your hips as he lay flat against the bed. The moment you sank down onto him inch by thick inch, he let out a sound so guttural it echoed through the room. You were soaked, your warmth swallowing him whole, your walls fluttering around his cock.

“F-fuck, you’re tight,” he rasped, his voice strained as his fingers dug into your plush hips. “Look at you… ridin’ me like you’re made for it.”

The way he filled you stretching you wide, thick and pulsing deep inside, made your thighs tremble. You rode him slow at first, rolling your hips in slow circles, grinding your clit against his pelvis while his cock hit every spot inside you that made your head spin.

“You always talk so big,” you teased, voice breathy. “But look at you now. Whinin’ under me, baby.”

He was whining, his hips jerking up, chasing your rhythm, moaning as your thick thighs clapped against his. “You’re killin’ me, sweetheart,” he panted. “This body... this fat pussy, Goddamn.”

You leaned forward, letting your full breasts hang in his face. He immediately latched onto one nipple, sucking like a man starved, groaning as you rocked harder on him. “Fuck, that’s it,” he gasped against your skin. “Ride it, pretty girl. Show me who it belongs to.”

Your moans turned into cries as he reached down and rubbed your clit with rough, practiced fingers, his thumb pressing tight, rolling in firm circles. You clenched around him so hard it made his eyes roll back.

“I’m close,” you whimpered, “Kento—baby, I—”

“Then cum on it,” he growled, slapping your ass hard, making it jiggle as he pushed up into you. “Show me you can ride like a real cowgirl.”

That sent you over the edge.

You squirted around him, wet and wild, soaking his thighs and stomach as you screamed his name. Your walls gripped him so tight he had no choice but to follow. His hands gripped your ass hard as he came deep inside, pulsing and throbbing, his eyes locked on the way your body shook with pleasure.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—” he groaned, “fillin’ you up, sweetheart. Every last drop.”

You collapsed against his chest, still wearing his hat, both of you panting and covered in sweat. He wrapped his arms around your thick frame, hands tracing lazy circles along your back.

“You always wearin’ that hat from now on?” he teased, pressing a kiss to your temple.

You laughed, breathless, cheeks flushed. “Only if you keep lettin’ me ride you like that.”

He tugged the hat off and plopped it on your chest, grinning up at you. “It’s yours now.”

“Really?”

He nodded, brushing a soft kiss over your knuckles. “You ride better than any damn cowboy I’ve ever seen.”

Note: Since I've seen others hoping onto this trend I wanted to participate so in no way or form am I stealing anyone's idea

[nanamincreampie]

Me if I ever get my hands on him :

He remembered to take his clothes off this time 🫣🫣🫣