creedist

[creedist]

the only drawback to making kento a father is the lack of 'alone time' you now get.

he was made to be a dad, there’s no doubt about it. he’s the perfect contender, stern but patient and understanding and so infatuated with fatherhood that you almost don’t mind the nightly interruptions.

almost. the sound of little padding footsteps leading up to your closed bedroom door gives you a trauma response now. how your husband can hold himself above you, inches away from dipping inside your sweet center, and still remain kind-eyed and cheery when your daughter starts banging on the shut door to be let in is beyond you.

he's a good man. you hate him for it.

maybe you just need sex. you've been deprived of your husband's body for so long that you're going stir crazy, in a sense. he did marry you with a vow of servitude, after all.

thank god for takuma and his wide eyes. he looks like a deer in headlights as he stands at your front door, a huge bag of toys and snacks and just-in-case diapers in one hand and your daughters tiny hand wrapped around two fingers of his other hand. she beams up at uncle ino, ready to spend a night away from home (and get unreasonably spoilt in the process).

"no snacks after her teeth are brushed. and she's developed a penchant for climbing—don't let her do that. and if she comes home with even a mark, ino, i will be breaking each and every last one of your bones, starting with the toes and moving upwards until i reach your—"

"i think he gets the point, love," you place a gentle hand on your husbands tense bicep. "please stop threatening to snap takuma's bones."

ino, who is probably going over his last will and testament in his head, forces a grin. "loud and clear, she's safe with me."

"mhm," your husband can only eye him for so long before your daughter is tugging uncle ino away and leaving the two of you in the foyer.

finally alone. just you, your husband, and his teething paranoia. he's darting to the front window and peeking through it like a yappy dog would as their owner leaves. it’s cute. you feel bad for the future-teenage version of your daughter, who will have to deal with a man like kento nanami as her father. but now she’s just a baby and in the safe (albeit shaky) care of uncle ino, and you are vying for an orgasm or six.

“ken, honey."

his eyes are stuck outside.

"kento."

still stuck. you never thought the other woman would be sporting butterfly clips and drool as a statement piece.

"oh my fucking god kento nanami if you do not fuck me right now i will take that little sword of yours and stick it so far up your— oh hi."

he's standing in front of you before you know it, with your face held firmly in his hands and an awfully stern look on his face.

"my love," he drags his thumb from your cheek, down to your bottom lip. "first of all, i have every intention of ravaging you until you're so full of me that you don't have the mind to beg for more. and second, it's more of a cleaver than a sword."

"okay nerd," you pull your man into a deep kiss, one much more intimate than you've been allowing yourself of late. kento takes the lead easily, slipping his tongue past your lips in a way he'd never dare to do over the breakfast table.

before you can register your movements, the two of you are stumbling like drunk teens up to your bedroom, a garment of clothing lost with each step to the door. you loosen your husbands tie and drop it to the ground, and he manages to unclasp your bra just as his back hits the bed and you're falling on top of him in a mess of gross kisses and shared laughter.

it's sweet, until kento tires of the homely teasing and flips you over to press his heavy body (and even heavier cock, it seems) against yourself. your legs part naturally, as they will ever do for the man you love, and kento trails kiss after kiss from your neck all the way down to the dripping mess of your cunt.

when he latches his lips to your clit you gasp and shoot your hand down to his hair. he loves it being pulled, admitted to you after a drink too many that he finds in degrading in a way that is only pleasurable coming from you: he's sensitive to that sort of stuff, so you tug lightly at his blond locks until your fingers snag against something hard.

"what's in your hair?" you manage between moans as ken savours his most favourite meal.

he pulls away for a second, resting his cheek against your parted (and already shaky) thigh as you comb through his hair with your fingers once more and pullout not one, but two hot pink butterfly clips that you were looking for only this morning.

"oh," your husband smiles when he sees them. "i got a princess makeover last night. i stopped her before she could go looking for makeup but she did manage to find those."

"they suit you," you smile, and clip them back into his hair. it look silly, but it keeps his hair from sticking to his forehead in the heat of things, so you look past the glitter. "you're a good dad, you know?"

kento presses a kiss to your clit, which has your breath hitch in your throat, before rising up to climb over you once again. his cock is heavy and pulsing with heat as it rests against you, but ken denies himself for a moment in favour of pressing a very sweet kiss to your lips. you can taste yourself on his smile.

"thank you for making me a dad," he kisses your cheek next, and then your forehead. "and thank you for everything else you have given me in our marriage."

"all those orgasms..." you muse, which earns you a small laugh from your lover.

"oh indeed," he reaches down and lines himself up with you. "you always know just how to set the mood. very sentimental, you are."

"it's what you married me for," you lift your hips a little to help your husband in. "isn't it? you just love the way i—oh god, ken."

he pushes into you niiice and slow, feeling the way you stretch around him. it's been a while, so the usual ache of accommodating his unfair size is more of a burn this time through, but kento's lips against your neck are a nice distraction. he's slow and sweet and so in love with you that you can feel it in the way he fills you up. or maybe you're just delusional from the dick.

"love the way you feel," he finishes your sentence. drawing his hips back only a little to get you used to his movements, he presses his next kiss to your shoulder. "love the way you look."

"you don't need to flatter me. you're already inside of me."

kento bites the skin of your shoulder and picks up the pace to really start fucking you. "love the way you can take a compliment without being a smartass about it."

"god, kento," you can only manage a few words before he's adjusting his thrusts to brush against your g spot with each movement in and out. "it's so much."

"i love how well you take me," he goes on. "i love your heart. and i love your body. and i love your idiotic jokes. and i love how you smell."

"ken..."

"and i love—" kento runs a hand down your left arm to take your hand in his, bringing your knuckles up to his lips before pressing a long kiss to your wedding band "—how i'm all yours."

not his, yours. he's made it very clear since your first date (which was more of a study-situation than anything, that he is all yours. your property. your lover. your shoulder to cry on and your life partner and the man who would burn down cities for you and your kid.

and the only man who could fill you this deep and still be romantic about it. he fucks you like that until your legs are locked around his waist and you're begging him to fill you up with his load.

and of course he obliges, because anything you ask for he will give you enthusiastically. he rubs your clit until you're blanking on your own name and cumming in beautiful synchronisation with him. kento spills deep inside of you with a breathy groan and even then still manages to fuck you through your orgasm until he's softening inside of you and you're trying ultra hard not to cry from the overwhelming love (and pleasure) you're feeling.

and as he holds himself over you, smiling down at you like he didn't just possibly breed you out again, all you can do is look up at him with teary eyes and laugh at the ridiculous pink butterfly clips on his head.

"you're so pretty," you giggle, reaching up between your sweaty bodies to tap on the clips. "my manly husband."

"god," he groans, dropping his head down to your chest. you laugh some more, now with an even better view of his accessories, until he steals your laughter altogether with a sharp bite to your nipple.

"ow, fuck! that is not how a princess behaves."

"you are going to be the death of me."

[creedist]

threesome with gojo and sukuna but gojo is just tryna be degraded by sukuna the whole time

-☁️ (if you'll have me)

because you're being spitroasted by the two of them (naturally) and every time gojo says something to piss sukuna off, he's fucking harder into you, which pushes you deeper on gojo's cock in turn. they're literally having a bitch fight and you're stuck in the middle AND they're getting off on it. that is crazy ☁️ anon, of course i'll have you welcome

[creedist]

*threesome with gojo + sukuna but they keep biting each other while fucking you. why are they always biting each other (they won't stop biting each other)

[creedist]

hey i just wanted to say welcome to tumblr <3

shit hey thank you i hope to serve god on this platform

[creedist]

18+

for as composed in his language that kento nanami is in his day-to-day life, he moans like a bitch in bed.

gripping the sheets so tight his fingers go numb, i mean. eyes squeezed shut, lips caught between his teeth like he's trying not to be profane in front of his baby, but he can't help it when you're so warm and wet and tight around him.

"fuck... shiit, just like that. you take me so well, don't you?"

and you have to laugh, because such obscenities are foreign on your lover's tongue, but he's smiling back when you lift your head to scold him. "language, kento."

"i'm sorry, darling," he's kissing you complacent. "can't bite my tongue when i've got other things on my mind."

you roll your hips against his, devastatingly slow to tug another long drawling curse from his lips. "what other things are those?"

you're answered with a swat against your ass. "how many times i can fill you up before i let you cum?"

[creedist]

The bulge is to distract you in combat dipshit

[creedist]

i’m free on thursday if you wanna start a toxic codependent thing

[creedist]

even a forehead kiss would have a maladjusted freak like me bricked the fuck up. to be honest

[creedist]

YOUR ACCOUNT UNGHHHHHHH 😩😩😩

me ^

[creedist]

nothing some ibuprofen and a blunt and five beers and a head injury and jerking off and killing myself can't fix

[creedist]

18+

satoru gojo gets a little too eager to eat you out that sometimes he loses his manners.

okay, all of the time. you don't know what it is about that man but if he has the opportunity (and the space) he will be lowering himself to his knees for you. it doesn't matter where you are or who could hear you, he's a hungry man.

like in the mornings, how you no longer need an alarm clock because your man is a fiend and will be waking you up most mornings with his lips latched to your clit. still underneath the covers so you don't get cold. your orgasm rises with the sun, and satoru gladly grinds himself against the mattress in time with the bucking of your hips up against his face.

like at the breakfast table, as you sip on your morning coffee, satoru is crawling on hands-and-knees under the table so that he can slip between your legs and have his own breakfast. your knee always seems to hit the underside of the table, so he soothes it over with one hand and uses his other to curl his fingers inside of you and bring you to the edge so that you can start your day properly, with a clear mind and whatnot.

or on lunch breaks, because it's now been a whole few hours since he's last gotten a taste of you. he'll gladly drag you off into a quiet room or dark corner so he can kneel at your feet and hike one of your legs over his shoulder. never one to tell his darling what to do, gojo would never encourage you to quieten down, either. whoever hears you, hears you—better that they know you're well taken care of, that's gojo's motto.

like as soon as you get home, and you're hardly a few steps inside before satoru has you bent over the nearest surface so that he can eat it from behind. a good snack is a great way for him to wind down after a long day, and he's sure the orgasm won't hurt your mental load either. plus, you taste good after a long day. call him gross all you want, it won't change his philosophy.

or after he's fucked you dumb in the evenings. you're so overstimulated from the day of pleasure, let alone the way he just fucked you so deep into the mattress that you forgot your own name. you're hardly able to catch your breath before satoru is cleaning up the mess he made... with his tongue. it's only fair that he cleans up after himself: he was raised right, after all.

or even to help you fall asleep some nights, when you're tossing and turning and can't seem to get comfortable enough to drift off in his arms like you usually do. satoru will kiss you goodnight, help you get extra comfy, and then take his position between your thighs because there's nothing his baby deserves more than a good night of rest. and another orgasm on his tongue to bide you over till morning.

[creedist]

18+

joel miller puts on some weight after a while in jackson.

he's still active, and a lot of the extra weight is built muscle, but it's also in part to the food you keep shoving onto his plate in the evenings. and the lack of stress that comes from sleeping next to you in a bed behind a locked door.

and your insistence on riding him.

he's not complaining—god, of course not. he loves watching your pretty self take the reins: letting him lay back and dig his fingers into your waist as you bounce yourself up and down on his cock like he's the toy in this exchange.

but half of his exercise is fucking you, laying his weight on top of you as he ruts into you over and over. he likes stretching you out and filling you up and setting the pace, be it brutal or devastatingly slow. he likes taking charge and holding control over you in that way that makes you both feel so safe and needed.

but you love how soft he's gotten. the belly he's grown, how it feels to splay your hands over the expanse of his (now even softer) chest. you love the padding of his thighs beneath you when you lean your weight back onto them: and god do you love watching him look up at you, all fucked out and taken care of.

it's taking care of him that you like, you realise. letting him breathe, and eat until he's full and a little more then. you tell yourself it's just to take care of him when you pile his plate up, not so that you can feel even more of his weight against you when he's balls-deep.

you would never have such lewd intentions. not at all.

[creedist]

18+

jack abbot is a bit of a romantic novice that doesn't know how to apologise after an argument, so he gives you the next best thing to a bouquet: an orgasm. or three.

in fact, he'll fuck you so good that you forget why you were mad at him in the first place, and the silent treatment you were previously giving him is replaced by a beautiful chorus of his name from your lips—god he loves it when you say his name like that.

it's not like you can stay mad at him when he makes you feel that good; the drag of his cock against your g-spot is apology enough, right? he'll make you see stars in lieu of his gentlemanly ways and you'll forgive him all the same because he's trying, and knowing your body like he's studied it for a career is his love language, in a way.

plus, once he's given you a few loads of himself, he's a mess as well. so loose-lipped and chatty despite himself that he can't help but moan endless apologies in your ear. rutting against you, one hand drawing circles against your clit as he whispers 'im sorry' into your ear over and over again.

he is sorry, really. he doesn't like it when you're mad at him—even if it was just you putting on an attitude to get fucked good like this. semantics.