jasminerereads

[jasminerereads]

OOH SHE WANTS IT, I GOTTA GIVE IT TO HER

masterlist

husband!nanami x wife!reader

cw: suggestive, mentions of babies and ovulation, crack (a bit), petnames (“my love”, “baby”), f!reader just wants it very bad (i mean, who doesn’t?), not proofread.

“Put a baby into me.”

“Good morning to you too, my love.”

Kento never seemed surprised with you. Not even glancing to you, his focus never wavered from his newspaper, his glasses carefully sat on the tip of his nose, comfortable on his chair.

He was the quiet, gentle strength, steady and unmoving and you hated him for looking so calm, while a raging war was taking place in your body - your ovaries screaming for you to get a baby.

Dilated pupils. Flushed cheeks. Short breath. Legs almost shaking. And grumpy in the morning?

Yeah, definitely ovulating.

It was always like that at this exact time of the month, he was used to it by now. So, it was definitely not a surprise when you approached him not so quietly, standing between his spread legs, your eyebrows knitted and your fists almost curled.

“Kento.”

“Yes, my love?”

“I want a baby.”

“And I want vacations. We don’t always get what we want unfortunately.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

You huffed, disbelief painted on your face. How could he? Your eyes narrowed, as if a single look would kill him right here, right now, your hands coming on his shoulders.

“Kento.”

“Hmm?”

“Put me out of my misery, please, please, please, please-“

“My love.” He put his newspaper down on the table at his right, pushing his glasses that were slipping on the top of his nose, as he gave you his undivided attention now. “I know it’s your ovulation week and-“

“How do you know?”

He always knew. Noticed the signs. And of course, kept a period app on his phone.

“I just know.” He sighed, his hands taking yours tenderly. “You always complain about babies, about how they look like trolls-“

“Gremlins.”

“Gremlins in diapers, right. You don’t actually want a baby.”

Was he wrong? Not really. Babies were loud, always crying and babbling nonsense that nobody understood but pretended they were cute. Babies were tyrants, little demons running everywhere, throwing tantrums and misbehaving.

Having a baby wasn’t on your plan right now, and Kento wasn’t really opposed to the idea but he always made sure that your desire came before his.

But right now, you wanted him.

Everywhere. Anywhere.

The single thought of Kento’s hand spreading your thighs, and the other one doing wonders between them made your heartbeat faster. His hands on your hips didn’t help at all, the heat of his palms through the fabric of your shorts didn’t help at all, him explaining things to you with patience didn’t help at all. And the worse of it? He didn’t seem to grasp it. To understand the effect his rasp voice had on you, and your body that was on fire.

“I want you in me. Your coc-“

“I get it, my love.” With an expert hand, Kento took off his glasses, setting them aside, his resolve slowly crumbling under your words. The image was pretty vivid in his mind,

“Do you? Because I feel like if you don’t give it to me now, I might die, Kento.”

“You’re exaggerating.”

“Yes, I am, but try to act normal when your ovaries are screaming and-“

The words in your mouth died the second his lips kissed the corners of yours, his eyelashes brushing your cheeks, the cold of his wedding ring dancing on your stomach. He pulled you on his lap, one of his fingers putting one of the strands of your hair behind your ear.

“Who am I not to give it to you, hmm? That would make me a bad husband, right?”

“A very bad one, indeed.”

Your breathless voice made him almost smirk in amusement - your body sensitive to the slightest of his touch - his forehead pressed against yours, shallow breath leaving his lips, his rough hands grabbing the back of your neck with tenderness, your perfume invading his nostrils.

“You just want to be fucked, my love, right?”

“Yes.”

Yes. Yes. Yes. A billion times of yes.

You were way too enthusiastic when he knew you won’t be in the same state at the end of this. As a man of his words, he was the only one who could give what you wanted - the thrill of the moment making your skin shiver with anticipation.

“It’s yours, baby.” Stealing your breath with his simple sentence, he gave you permission to use him however you desired it, his hands on the armrests of the chair, as you fumbled with the belt of his pants. “Do what you want.”

What wouldn’t he do for his wife?

────

thank you for the 150 followers, for all the likes, the reposts and the comments! it really warms my heart every time i get a notification 🫶🏻

if you have any questions, don’t hesitate, i’ll be happy to answer them (even anonymously); i’m curious, what would you like to see more here? (more fluff? more angst?) what characters should i write about? (suggest any fandom, and i’ll see if I can write about it) how can i improve my writing? do you have any scenarios in mind? let me know! i’ll try to be more original :)

[jasminerereads]

Breeding kink! Breeding kink! Breeding kink!

Simon Riley, who has hyperspermia. Can fill a condom with just his precum and doesnt really have sex anymore cause most women dont wanna run the risk of being pregnant.

Until he meets you.

You, who beg for him to cum inside and sleep with his cock still in 'so it sticks'. You who will bend over any surface for him if you can tell hes getting uncomfortable.

After the first time fucking you, he fell completely into the idea of breeding you too. Couldn't stop imagining you swollen with his copious amounts of seed, holding your intertwined love in that tummy.

And of course, within weeks, it would happen. People would call him crazy for getting a girl pregnant that he wasn't even dating for a month.

He liked to think he was efficient.

[jasminerereads]

husband nanami helping out his pent up wife ۶ৎ

your legs were shamelessly sprawled out with your panties tugged to the side as kento face buried in your cunt. his jaws slacking as you tug at his hair as he sloppily eats away at your pussy.

his lips are covered in your slick and your juices dampening his chiseled chin. he dragged you against his tongue by your hips. licking between your soppy folds and swallowing your sweet delicacy greedily.

“oh my god— ken—fuck.” you whined. your hips bucked against his face, you tug at his well kept hair as his tongue lapping up against your slobbering folds like a starved man making your toes curling. “kennn—“ your cries only grew louder. he could eat you out for hours on end.

“you’re so messy, my love.” he groans against your cunt, pulling you closer to his face nose deep into your pussy occasionally brushing against your clit. not missing a single one of your sweet spots.

“come on sweetheart,” he spanked your puffy pussy as you squirmed making your bold jolt, his grasp tightening around your hips as you squirmed. “give it to me,” your eyes rolled back from the overwhelming pleasure of his tongue lapping.

you whined as he gave you a few harsh sucks on your sensitive clit, as you clawed at his beefy arms nails digging into his skin making your thighs shake in his hold as you finally came making a mess on his face.

“o-one more ..?”

he brings his sheen-covered lips towards your drooling cunt, giving it a teasing wet kiss. “anything for my gorgeous wife.”

[jasminerereads]

✦ husband!sukuna comes home with a brandished bruise

“Neither of us are leaving this room until you tell me how you got that.”

He only grunted in response, a huff of irritation as you blocked the door with your frame, your eyes glued on his where he was sporting a new shiner.

He knew you hated fighting—swore he’d stop once he’d gotten you all to himself. So for you to see a blotchy bruise coloring his cheek…?

“Ryomen Sukuna.” 

His averted gaze now flickered to yours, crimson orbs flashing with vexation at the use of his full name. No Ryo, no ‘Kuna. 

Full. Government. Name.

His jaw clenched under the grating pressure of his molars shifting like tectonic plates with a personal vengeance. He pawed at his chest, itching the skin beneath his milky white beater before backing away. “Some jackass at the bar had a mouth on him,” he muttered like a kid scolded.

You placed your hands on your hips, cocking your head ever so slightly, not uttering a word until he elaborated.

And his scowl was so deep, you feared that the tightly etched lines marking his face would be as permanent as the thick black tattoos adorning him. 

He continued at your silence.

“Said he slept with you back in college,” he mumbled, now tearing his gaze from you and fixing it on a houseplant like it was the most intriguing thing in the world.

“...And?” You pressed on, eyes narrowing at his lack of enlightenment. 

“And?” He blustered loud enough for you to feel the vibrations rattle through your bones. “What? You think imma sit there and listen to that piece of crock shit blab on ‘bout my wife?”

You parted your lips, about to respond, before you dropped your gaze on the floor, doing your best to conceal the minute smirk playing on your lips.

So that’s how he got it.

“I see,” you muttered beneath your breath.

And Sukuna felt like he’d been licked by flames at your solemn tone, body tensing.

Were you really this mad? Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

What else was he supposed to do? As long as he’s around, no one can utter a word about his darling girl.

“Baby,” he whispered, taking a wary step towards you and opening his arms. “Look, I ain’t good with words, but you’re my wife. And I’ll do anything to protect you. That includes your reputation,” he whispered, calloused hands now encircling your biceps and squeezing gently. “Hm? Where’s my pretty girl?” He whispered, still hesitant as your body stilled.

And in a flash, you were bringing a hand up to smack his chest—not enough to hurt the formidable man but enough to shock him wide-eyed. “You idiot. You know you’re gonna be the death of me? What if there had been a cop or—.”

At the discernment of your worried tone rather than enraged, a smirk tugged at Sukuna’s lips before he leaned down to crash his lips against yours and effectively shutting you up.

Your body always managed to respond to your husbands, lashes fluttering shut as a small whimper left your parted lips.

“There she is.”

[jasminerereads]

slutty little chain ── .✦

requested! thank you. ♡ content: explicit smut, established relationship, dom!Pedro, age gap implied, chain kink (yes), rough sex with filthy tenderness

The moment you see him walk into the bedroom in that tank top, you know you're not surviving the night.

White, tight, and clinging to every inch of his chest and shoulders. His biceps stretch the seams. The thin gold chain he always wears rests perfectly against his collarbone, catching the soft glow of your bedside lamp. His curls are still slightly damp from the shower. His pants hang low on his hips. And the look he gives you?

Predatory.

“Y’really just gonna sit there and stare, baby?” he asks, voice low and cocky. “Or you want something?”

You don’t answer. Can’t. Just sit there on the edge of the bed in your underwear, legs pressed together for any kind of friction.

He grins. “That’s what I thought.”

And then he’s on you.

Your back hits the mattress hard, his mouth claiming yours, tongue hot and desperate, hands everywhere. When he pulls back, his tank top brushes against your bare chest, and you realize — he’s not taking it off.

“You’re gonna leave it on?” you pant.

“‘Course I am.” His voice drops to a filthy whisper. “You like it, don’t you? Been starin’ at me all night like I’m dinner.”

You whimper when his hips grind against you. He’s already hard — painfully hard — and the way he pushes inside you without warning, without mercy, makes your eyes roll back.

“Oh my god—Pedro—”

He’s rough tonight. Relentless. Driven by something deeper than lust. His hands grip your thighs, spreading you wide, fucking you with deep, bruising thrusts that make the bed creak.

And that damn chain?

It swings with every snap of his hips. Slapping lightly against his chest. Dipping forward. Hitting your mouth when he leans over you to growl in your ear.

“Look so pretty like this, baby. All dumb and wet and full of me.”

You moan, your nails digging into his shoulders.

“I—fuck—Pedro—your chain—”

That makes him grin. Smug. Filthy. He leans down until it brushes against your lips.

“You like that, huh?” he mutters. “That what you’re watchin’? Not even me? Just my slutty little chain?”

You don’t get to answer — his hand wraps around your throat, not tight, just enough to make your head spin, and he fucks you harder.

“That’s it, baby. Take it. Take all of me.”

Your legs tremble. You can’t even think.

The sound of skin slapping skin fills the room. His breath is ragged, forehead pressed to yours, that chain dangling between you like a weapon.

“Gonna cum for me?” he whispers. “Like a good girl?”

You nod desperately, already there, already falling apart beneath him.

And when you do? When your whole body tenses and breaks with his name on your lips? He holds you through it, fucking you slower now, deeper.

His chain swings with the rhythm of your heartbeat.

When he finally cums inside you, it’s with a rough groan against your shoulder and a shudder that rocks through both of you. He collapses onto you, heavy and warm, and doesn’t pull out right away. His chain is pressed between your sweaty chests.

You reach up, trace it with your fingers.

“Told you it was slutty,” you mumble, barely able to breathe.

He laughs against your skin. “You love it.”

“I love you.”

His lips curl against your collarbone. “Good. ‘Cause you’re mine. Every fuckin’ inch of you.”

And that night? He sleeps in the tank top.

Chain still on.

Just for you.

✦ please do not copy, repost, or translate this work. © lazysoulwriter // i write with a lot of love and care, so please respect that.

[jasminerereads]

*ੈ✩˚Sukuna×wife!reader ₊˚⊹ᰔ

In which boredom leads Sukuna's pretty little wife to try on his robes from his closet, and him to the edge of his control.

The estate was quiet.

Too quiet.

You’d already re-arranged the flowers in the receiving room (twice), skimmed through the ancient book of curses that made your eyes hurt, and sat in the garden watching koi fish for a good half hour.

Still bored.

Sukuna had been gone all day ,“important cursed business,” whatever that meant and left you with no entertainment aside from your own thoughts and the absurd amount of wealth lying around, untouched.

Which is how you found yourself in his private chambers.

Specifically, in his closet.

You had no business being there. It was lined with high shelves, dark wood, and rows upon rows of luxurious robes ,some ceremonial, others clearly meant for war, and a few that were almost sinfully soft. You ran your fingers along the fabrics,heavy silks, delicate embroidery, threads that shimmered like blood in sunlight.

“Just one,” you whispered to yourself, glancing back toward the door like a guilty child.

You reached for one that caught the light, black, with gold-lined patterns that looked like twisted flames, and a high collar that screamed power. It was obviously made to be worn during some grand audience, the kind where people knelt before him.

And yet now, you were the one slipping it over your shoulders.

It hung off your frame like velvet water, the sleeves far too long, the hem dragging across the floor behind you. You turned toward the mirror with a giggle, twirling once, then lifting your arms dramatically like a cursed emperor addressing her imaginary subjects.

You tried to mimic his voice, low and smug and said

“Bow, fools. Your king has arrived… and she’s prettier.”

Another giggle escaped you. You were halfway through a little twirl when you felt it.

A presence.

Familiar. Dangerous. Warm.

You froze.

There, leaning casually against the doorframe with arms crossed over his bare chest and a smirk curving the corner of his lips, stood Ryomen Sukuna.

You swallowed, hard.

“I—"

“I can explain—”

“It was just lying there and—”

He didn’t interrupt. He didn’t say a word. Just watched you,amused, silent, and… something else. Something hungry.

His eyes trailed down your figure, the way the oversized robe swallowed you whole, the sleeves covering your hands, your bare legs peeking out beneath the hem.

You tugged the silk tighter around you in a sudden fit of shyness, ducking your head, cheeks glowing red.

“You weren’t supposed to be back yet.”

Sukuna’s smirk widened, predatory and affectionate all at once. “Clearly.”

He pushed off the frame and stepped inside, slow and deliberate. The heavy silence of the room pulsed around you like a heartbeat.

“You rifled through my closet, played dress up,” he drawled, circling you now like you were prey he intended to devour slowly, “and stood here pretending to be me?”

You felt your skin heat up even more, and avoided his gaze. “I got bored…”

“Mm.” He stopped behind you, so close you could feel the heat of him at your back. His fingers brushed against your waist, pulling lightly at the robe. “You picked this one. Do you know what it’s for?”

You shook your head.

“It’s what I wear when I accept offerings,” he said, voice low against your ear. “Blood. Power. Submission.”

You went still.

He leaned down slightly, lips ghosting the curve of your neck, then whispered,

“Should I kneel for you, little wife?”

Your breath hitched, fingers tightening in the fabric.

You turned around to face him slowly, the oversized collar slipping off one shoulder. His eyes immediately dropped there, narrowing like he could eat you whole.

“...You’re making fun of me,” you mumbled.

Sukuna raised a brow. “Am I?”

You pouted, turning halfway away again, suddenly shy. “You just like seeing me flustered.”

He chuckled,low and warm and indulgent. His arms wrapped around your waist from behind, pulling you back into his chest.

“I like seeing you in my things,” he murmured, lips brushing the shell of your ear now. “My silks. My colors. My scent all over you.”

You melted a little into his touch, head tilting as he nosed into your hair.

“I might have more made,” he added. “Smaller. In your size. You looked too perfect to scold.”

You blinked. “You were going to scold me?”

“I was, yes,” he said, mock stern. “But then you twirled. And said you were prettier.”

You turned your head with a shy smile. “Was I wrong?”

Sukuna grinned and said,

“No,You never are."

note: had this in mind for quite a while

[jasminerereads]

FULL OF YOU

simon riley x bunny!reader

warnings: smut, breeding kink, multiple rounds/locations, unprotected sex(creampie), pet names, simon being thirsty. wc: 1.4k

it’s like you can’t go anywhere without simon trying to fill you up.

he swears it’s your fault. walking around in those soft little shorts, shirt riding up, that sweet, clueless little voice—just being you.

“you know what that does to me, bunny.”

he says it while your hands are in the sink, washing up like it’s just another sunday.

you giggle, totally unbothered. “i’m not even doing anything,” you shrug.

but simon’s already pressing up behind you, thick arms caging you against the counter.

“exactly.”

his voice is all low and gritty in your ear, big hand sneaking up under your tank top while the other palms your ass.

you whimper when he pulls your shorts down, panties soaked and stuck to your folds. he huffs a breath through his nose like he’s proud.

“already wet for me?”

you nod, but he makes you say it.

“yes—yes, simon. always.”

he doesn’t even take you to the bedroom. just bends you over the sink, cheek smushed to the cold porcelain, and presses himself inside, slow but so deep.

your knees almost buckle but he holds your hips so tight you don’t dare fall.

you can feel him in your belly.

you always can.

“gonna fill you up, bunny. yeah? make sure you’re dripping with me all day.”

you moan out something that sounds like a yes, even though your words are already all mushy.

he fucks you slow at first, watching how your soft thighs jiggle with every thrust, how your mouth stays open, breath fogging up the mirror.

“look at you,” he grunts, tilting your head just enough to catch your reflection. “sweet lil’ thing, lettin’ me use you whenever i want.”

he spills in you just like he always does—thick and full, and he stays inside. lets it sit.

his hand rubs over your tummy like he’s trying to coax it deeper.

“take all of it, love. yeah, that’s my good girl.”

you think he’s done after that.

you even lay on the couch in your big t-shirt and thigh-highs, watching a cartoon and hugging a plushie to your chest.

but he walks by with a glass of water and stops in his tracks.

“bunny,” he mutters, eyes dark and jaw clenched.

“hm?” you glance up innocently.

he just sets the glass down and kneels on the rug right in front of you.

next thing you know, he’s yanking your legs open and burying his face between your thighs like a starved man.

licking and slurping up all the mess he left inside you, letting his tongue fuck into you while you whimper and buck your hips against him.

you’re panting, babbling nonsense, thighs shaking—and he doesn’t stop.

not until you cum again.

not until you’re crying his name and clutching his hair like you’ll float away without him.

then he shoves two fingers inside, thick and slick.

“still so full,” he murmurs. “but not enough.”

he’s hard again. already.

you don’t even get a warning before he’s pushing back in, and you swear it’s deeper this time—like he’s fucking the mess right back in, balls slapping your ass with every heavy thrust.

you sob and he groans, like he likes how dumb you sound.

“need to keep you stuffed, bunny. every. fuckin’. hour.”

you go to grab a snack in the kitchen?

bent over the fridge.

he makes you hold onto the shelves while he presses his chest to your back and pounds you from behind.

you don’t even make it to the snacks.

you’re folding laundry in your cute little sleep shorts?

he bends you over the bed.

rips your panties to the side and groans about how you still feel like him inside.

you’re stretching in the hallway before your workout?

you get pinned to the wall.

and he fucks you up against it with his hand around your neck, calling you his good girl while you squeeze around him and moan like it’s the only thing you’re good for.

(which, let’s be honest—you are.)

and when night finally rolls around, you think maybe—just maybe—he’s gotten it out of his system.

you’re laying in bed in one of his old t-shirts, legs sore and pussy puffy, lips parted and brain totally scrambled.

you look so sleepy and cute and fucked-out.

but simon climbs in next to you, drags you into his chest, and nuzzles his face against your neck.

and then he murmurs it.

“think you can take one more for me, bunny?”

you nod immediately. your body’s tired but your pussy clenches just from the sound of his voice.

you turn to face him, and he gently spreads your thighs open, laying you back like you’re fragile.

he whispers praise the whole time. kisses your cheeks and your collarbones, and rubs his tip through your folds until you’re whining and trying to arch your back.

“shh. easy, love. i got you.”

he presses inside one last time, slow and sweet and so full it knocks the air from your lungs.

you grab his arms, nails digging into the thick muscle, and he just groans.

“yeah… that’s it. that’s my girl.”

he makes love to you this time. not just fucking. not just filling.

it’s deep and slow and warm, and he holds your hips steady so every drop stays inside.

he finishes with a low moan and bites down on your shoulder, hips still grinding even after he’s done, like he doesn’t wanna let go.

when he finally pulls out, it’s messy.

it drips.

you look between your thighs, eyes big and dazed, and you whimper a little.

simon just smirks and scoops it up with his fingers.

pushes it right back in.

“can’t waste any of it, bunny.”

his voice is soft, but the look in his eyes is feral.

“gonna make sure you’re full of me tomorrow too.”

[jasminerereads]

simon riley x reader

summary: simon gives you a toy, made just like him before he leaves — and shows you exactly how to use it.

warnings: sexual content, toyplay, soft dom vibes from simon. wc: 895

you were curled in simon’s lap with your cheek on his chest and your arms tucked in tight, practically hidden inside one of his oversized hoodies. it smelled like him. warm and worn and safe.

but tonight, even that wasn’t enough to keep your heart steady.

“you’re leaving tomorrow,” you whispered, your voice small.

he hummed against your temple. “early.”

you didn’t answer right away. his hand moved in slow circles on your thigh, calm, like he wasn’t thinking about the goodbye coming in less than twelve hours.

but you were. you were thinking about the ache you’d carry when his warmth was gone, when the nights got cold and quiet and lonely again.

and simon knew that. which is why, after a long pause, he said:

“got somethin’ for you.”

you looked up, eyes soft. “you already gave me your hoodie… and your cologne… and—”

he smirked faintly. “not that. somethin’ else.”

he leaned to the side, reached under the bed, and pulled out a small black box. sleek. expensive. unmarked.

your brows pinched. “…what’s in there?”

he offered it to you, the weight solid in your hands. “open it, lovie.”

you hesitated. unclicked the clasp.

then froze.

your mouth fell open. cheeks flushed hot.

and with a gasp, you shut the lid so fast it clicked.

“simon.”

he laughed—a deep, rough chuckle from his chest that only came out when he was amused and smug.

“what?” he said, like he didn’t just hand you the most inappropriate gift in existence.

you stayed buried behind your hands, voice barely a squeak.

“you got me… that—”

“that?” he teased, leaning closer. “you can say it.”

you shook your head fast. “no i can’t.”

“you can,” he smirked. “go on, lovie.”

you peeked at him between your fingers. “s’so dirty, simon.”

he smiled — slow, wicked, but soft around the edges.

“only for you.”

he pulled the box open again, lifting the thick, flushed, heavy toy out with one hand — and watched your face go red all over again.

your eyes dropped to the toy. and that’s when it hit you. the shape. the curve. the exact way it flared near the base.

your lips parted again. breath hitching.

“…wait.”

he tilted his head. “notice anything?”

“is that—” you looked from the toy to him and back again, face burning. “that’s not just a… it’s you?”

“mhm.” he rolled it between his fingers. “exact mold. took hours. made sure they got it perfect.”

your whole body shivered. you were trying to hide your face again, and simon leaned in close, whispering like he was telling you a secret:

“so when i’m gone, you won’t even miss me… ‘cause i’ll still be right here.”

you didn’t mean to lay back for him so easily.

but he always made it feel like something soft. something sweet. something right.

he helped you strip out of his hoodie, leaving you in nothing but your pretty skin, already warm with need. his eyes roamed every inch of you like you were art.

“so fuckin’ beautiful,” he muttered, kissing down your chest.

his fingers slid between your thighs, slow and easy, parting you so he could feel the sticky heat there.

“already wet for me, huh?” he smirked against your hip. “you like the thought of it?”

you nodded shyly. “it just… it really looks like you.”

“feels like me too.”

he dragged his fingers through your slick, then wrapped them around the toy. he stroked it up and down slowly, coating it in you, his eyes never leaving yours.

“ready?”

you breathed out, “yes.”

he nudged the thick tip to your entrance and you gasped, hips twitching.

“fuck,” you whined, clinging to the sheets. “it… it feels like you.”

“yeah?” he rasped, easing it deeper. “you remember me that well, bunny?”

you nodded, eyes wet. “feels the same. i swear, it’s just like you.”

he groaned softly, pressing it in until the base nearly kissed your skin. your walls squeezed around it, body clenching as you whimpered under the stretch.

“look at you,” he murmured, brushing your hair back. “takin’ it like a good girl.”

he moved it slow. deep. steady thrusts that had your thighs shaking and your breath hitching in your chest.

“this is how i want you to do it,” he said, voice wrecked. “when you’re alone. just like this.”

he guided your hand to the base. “go on. try it for me.”

your fingers curled around it. shy. unsure. but when you started to move it the way he had, simon lost his mind.

“that’s it, bunny… fuck yourself. pretend it’s me. pretend i’m right here, stretchin’ you out just like this.”

your breaths turned into high, choked whines as your hand moved faster, the toy hitting the perfect spot with each thrust. your back arched. your eyes rolled.

“si— simon— i can’t—”

“you can,” he said firmly. “you will.”

his fingers rubbed tight, desperate circles on your clit as you cried out, the pressure finally snapping.

you came hard around it, sobbing into his shoulder, legs trembling.

and he praised you the entire time.

“that’s it… good fuckin’ girl… so perfect, takin’ all of me like that.”

he held you after. whispered soft things against your forehead. and as he brushed your hair back, he murmured:

“think of me when you use it, yeah?”

[jasminerereads]

you think you’ve seen every version of nanami kento.

you’ve seen him tired, in the glow of the bathroom light, rubbing his face with one hand and brushing his teeth with the other.

you’ve seen him angry, voice low and calm and cutting.

you’ve seen him unguarded and soft and flushed pink under you, so in love it aches to look at him.

but you’ve never seen him like this.

his shoulders are relaxed, and not the kind of relaxed you’re used to — not the slow unwinding that comes when you’re both tucked away in the safety of your shared home. no, this is different. there’s something in the way he carries himself now, standing at the edge of his grandfather’s garden outside of copenhagen, speaking in low, fluent danish to a man who looks so much like him — taller, older, gruffer, but with the same nose, the same quiet strength behind his gaze.

you’re still holding the wine glass someone handed you. barely. your fingers are numb with surprise.

you didn’t even realize he knew danish. he never said, never even hinted.

and god, it’s like hearing him for the first time.

his voice, always so deliberate, so gentle in japanese — in danish, it’s something else. it’s soft, still, but there’s an ease to it, a rhythm, like it’s the language of his bones. like he learned it curled into his mother’s lap, or at the knees of the grandfather who just clapped a broad, affectionate hand on his shoulder.

he laughs. you’ve never heard him laugh like that. not even once.

“du stirrer,” comes a voice near you — a soft, amused one. his aunt, maybe? cousin? you’re too busy staring to remember the polite thing to do and answer. she is shaking her head at the sight of nanami’s grandfather ruffling his hair whilst he tries to dodge his hand. “you’re the girlfriend, right?”

you blink. “yes— sorry, i didn’t mean to stare—”

“it’s alright,” she says, smiling. “we don’t see him like this often either. not since he was a boy.”

you nod slowly, but it doesn’t help ground you. something in your chest is still flipping, turning over itself again and again. watching him. hearing the way he slips between languages like second skin. watching the subtle shift in his face — like this is a part of him you’ve never been allowed to see until now. one he keeps quiet, tucked away, only brought out for these people. for this place.

it makes your throat tight.

because god, you love him. you love all of him.

you love the quiet, tired man who presses his lips to the top of your head when he gets home from work and sits on the couch to remove his shoes.

you love the stubborn, gentle man who folds laundry while muttering about how much he hates folding laundry.

you love the fiercely intelligent man who talks about justice and economics and hard, impossible things in that even, thoughtful tone that makes you listen even when you don’t understand.

but now— you love this, too.

you love this version of him that is suddenly brand new to you, even though he’s been here all along. this version who is, for once, not split between the weight of the world and his sense of duty. this version who is someone’s grandson, someone’s nephew, someone’s childhood made grown — someone whole, in a way you’ve never seen.

“hey,” he calls gently, when he sees you from across the yard. switches back to japanese without thinking. “you okay?”

you nod a little too fast, then take a sip of wine to hide it.

“you were staring,” he says again, stepping close, eyes searching yours. “was it something i said?”

you blink up at him, a little dazed. “…i didn’t know you spoke danish.”

he hums. “it doesn’t come up often.”

“it’s really hot.”

he blinks. “what?”

“really, really hot.”

he looks away then, down at the ground, the tips of his ears turning a faint, warm pink. “you’re drunk.”

“i’m not drunk.”

“you’re a little drunk.”

“i’m flabbergasted,” you whisper dramatically, and he actually laughs. he hides it behind the wine glass he’s just stolen from your hand.

“ridiculous.”

you grab his wrist gently. “say something again.”

“in danish?”

you nod eagerly.

he eyes you. and then — quiet, playful, low — he leans in and murmurs something soft in your ear, too quick to catch all of it. but the lilt of it is beautiful. it ends with your name, and you nearly melt at his feet.

“what did you say?” you breathe.

“not telling.”

“kento—”

“later, sweetie,” he says, and the look in his eyes makes your heart squeeze. “i’ll whisper it to you again when we’re alone.”

you’re going to die.

and he — now smiling, pearly whites and all, the kind that reaches his eyes — knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

because this version of nanami kento speaks danish, and teases you, and is loved by a loud, warm family who call him by his childhood nickname and pull you into their arms like you’ve always belonged.

and you think — no, you know — this is the moment your life changes.

because this is the moment you realize, you haven’t seen every version of him yet, but you’ll spend the rest of your life trying.

[jasminerereads]

you’d been dodging him all day.

a door closed gently in the morning, an excuse at lunch that even you didn’t believe. you drifted through your home like mist, choreographing your disappearance with practiced steps - ducking around corners, shrinking into silence each time you caught the rustle of his newspaper or the soft clink of his watch as he adjusted it for the third time.

you wore invisibility like a cloak, moving as a ghost through the rooms you used to share with ease.

because your skin had betrayed you again - four angry blemishes rising red and bright across your cheek and jaw, blooming like a constellation born to shame you.

it wasn’t the worst you’d had, sure. but it was enough to make you recoil from the mirror, to keep your face turned away, to lower your face when nanami passed too close.

you couldn’t bear to let him see you like this.

not with the wedding two weeks away, not when the final fitting was tomorrow. not when he was the nanami kento - precise, composed, impossibly, effortlessly elegant - and you felt like a child masquerading in grown woman skin, unraveling just when you should have been most beautiful.

you braced for the change, waited for it like rain preparing to ripple through the clouds, for the shift in his gaze, the falter in his tone, for the quiet moment where his warmth would begin to dim as the fading sunset, and the words you’d feared might surface:

this isn’t working, i didn’t sign up for this, maybe we rushed things.

but of course, he never said any of that - instead, he let you vanish until dinner, when you padded back to the bedroom with a bowl of noodles and a bruised kind of shame, closing the door like it could keep your insecurities contained.

half an hour later, it opened.

you were curled cross legged on the bed, hoodie drawn up over your mouth like a veil, the ceramic bowl empty on the nightstand.

nanami stepped inside with the quiet certainty of a man who never needed to raise his voice to be heard, to be seen. he closed the door behind him. the silence shifted.

you stilled, your eyes stayed low: fixed on the wall in front of you. your shame flared redder than your skin.

“i’m only going to ask once,” he said, voice calm accompanied by the kind of steadiness that cuts through any lie you could form. “are you avoiding me because of a breakout?”

your heart stuttered.

you didn’t answer, just sank deeper into the hoodie, into the fabric, into yourself. the sting behind your eyes crept closer to the surface.

he sighed - not with anger, but with weariness. the kind born not of frustration with you, but with the invisible wall you’d built between you both. with the absurd, aching notion that a few angry patches on your skin could shift the foundation of his love for you.

“darling,” he said, the word felt like gravity sucking you into him.

you heard his steps, slow and deliberate, as he crossed the room. felt the bed dip beneath his weight, his hand reached up and gently tugged the hoodie from your face. you turned away of course, instinct as sharp as breath.

but his palm found your jaw, and turned you back, “no,” he murmured. “let me see you.”

you hesitated, then lifted your eyes.

he saw everything - the irritated pink, the heat of humiliation, the unshed tears clinging to your lashes like dew. and in return, gave you no wince. no judgment. just his gaze - gentle, grounded - and his thumb, brushing reverently over the most inflamed of the blemishes.

“i’ve seen you exhausted,” he said. “in pain. crying. afraid. do you really think something as small as this would ever make me hesitate?”

you tried to laugh. it came out watery, brittle.

“kento… don’t say that. it’s not just a breakout. it’s me, i always fall apart before big things happen, and you’re… you. i thought maybe you’d-”

“call it off?” he offered, a brow lifting, eyes calm, you nodded, breath catching, gaze falling.

for a moment, he was quiet.

then, softly, he muttered, “unbelievable.”

you flinched - when he leaned in and pressed his lips to your cheek, to the angriest mark on your face. a kiss - comforting, “kento-”

“again,” he said, kissing the blemish near your jaw. “and again.”

you squirmed, laughter startled and sharp, pushing at his chest. your face burned now for a different reason, “stop-”

“no,” he said, finally brushing his lips against yours. “i’ll stop when you understand this: i didn’t choose you because you were flawless. i chose you because you’re you. skin and all. hormones and all. all of it.”

your heart ached. the kind of ache that cracked you open just enough to breathe as if a weight has been lifted off your chest.

he exhaled, softer now, and pulled you into his arms. folded you beneath his chin, like something precious, something sacred.

“you’re marrying me in two weeks,” he murmured into your hair. “don’t run from me again, sweetheart. i’m not going anywhere.”

you nodded, a sound caught in your throat, small and raw, your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt like roots into earth.

divider by @/cafekitsune // art by ThisUserIsAngry on twt // not proofread.

[jasminerereads]

one of the many features that you love on your boyfriend is his huge chest. it's so surprisingly soft and you love to lay your head on it while sleeping or snuggling with him. and recently, you've found out something very special about him and his puffed chest.

toji is sprawled across your bed, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers as he mindlessly scrolls through his phone. he's waiting for you to come to bed, something he awaits for at the end of every day — though he'd never admit this out loud. you come in, your body engulfed by his large t-shirt, and with nothing underneath it.

"hi doll," he says softly, setting down his phone as his eyes take in all of you, finding it so cute the way you look in his clothing. "ready for bed?"

you don't say a word and climb on top of him, straddling him with your bare pussy grazing over his boxers. his hands instinctively come up to hold your sides, a delighted hum escaping his lips. he's curious as to what you have in mind but the moment you're lowering yourself towards his pecs, he knows exactly what you're doing.

you flick your tongue slowly over his nipple, his whole body shuddering at the touch. his grip on you tightens, pushing you down on his growing erection. you continue to lick and swirl your tongue over the perked nubs, his breathing turning ragged and cheeks turning a soft pink.

he's moving your hips over his boxers, his hard dick rubbing on your exposed puffy pussy-lips. you're letting out soft and cute moans, your ministrations on his nipple quickening, some spit glossing over them. toji is trying so hard not to whimper — yes, whimper — as you suckle on them and he makes you grind harder on his cock. he can feel your wet folds soak through, mixing a bit with the pre that's leaking from his tip.

"fuck dollface, 'm cummin'," he growls lowly, bucking his hips up while you suck and nibble on his reddish nipple. soon enough, he's groaning your name out while he soaks his undergarments with his white seed. you follow suit, hot white waves of pleasure crashing over you, body writhing and your arousal slick and glossy over his hardened clothed dick.

he captures your lips into a hungry kiss, holding the back of your neck as your tongues dance together in his mouth. he pulls away, the both of your chests rising and falling as you try to catch your breath. "i should've never told you that my nipples are sensitive," he huffs, pinching your cheeks in between his fingers, and there's this flicker of amusement that dawns over his face despite his frown.

[jasminerereads]

simon who's been in the military so long that sometimes he can't function without someone giving him instruction.

simon who will come to you at all hours of the day, just staring at you in hopes you give him a task to do.

"Simon can you grab-" he's already getting up

"Simon can you cook that chicken in the f-" he's already putting on an apron

"Simon can-" yes. he will. he can and he must. its compulsory at this point.

doesn't need or ask for praise when he completes the task at hand, but will be over the MOON if you do. even a simple "thanks, Si," gets him wagging his tail.

[jasminerereads]

OKAY WEIRD IDEA BUT FUN IG ISJDKDKDKDK:

what if reader has a teleportation quirk and tends to like. always teleport to shinsous dorm??? just randomly??? like 4AM reader just pops up like “hey boyfriend!” IDK???????? sounded silly in my head :3

hitoshi with a clingy s/o who has a teleportation quirk

you toss and turn in your bed, missing the coldness of hitoshi’s hands on you. it’s four in the morning, and although it’s a weekend, you’re still struggling to sleep. you groan and huff, stuffing your face into the pillow before an idea comes to your mind.

maybe hitoshi’s still awake, and he won’t mind if you come to his room again, he never does.

you smile to yourself and stand up from your bed, stretching and cracking your back with a sigh of relief. then, you have hitoshi’s layout engraved in your mind, so you clap your hands, thus activating your quirk.

when you open your eyes, hitoshi’s lying on his bed with a sly grin on his face, tired eyes, and grabby hands. the sounds of a tv playing are soft and quiet in the background, and you jump into his welcoming arms. the sheets and comforter are soft below you, and he puts them over you, pulling you closer to his body.

“hey boyfriend!” you greet, kissing him on the cheek and running your hand through his purple hair.

with a raspy voice, he states the obvious, “it’s four in the morning,” then teases, “missed me again? you should just come into my room right after class at this point.”

you wrap your leg around his hip and grin, “maybe i should.”

a few minutes later, when he sees your eyelids fluttering close, he quietly asks, “do you want me to turn the tv off?”

you shake your head and softly murmur into his bare chest, “just keep the volume low, please.”

hitoshi nods, kissing your forehead but not even finishing one more episode of his favorite show, instead falling asleep, with you in his arms like every other night.

eek this was sooo adorbs to write! i love this req so much

[jasminerereads]

MHA BOYS REACTING TO YOUR SUGGESTIVE STORY!!

links = broadcasting: previously on unknown's goofy smaus -> here mha masterlist -> here

✮⋆˙ | featuring: izuku midoriya, katsuki bakugou, shoto todoroki, eijiro kirishima, denki kaminari, hitoshi shinsou. ✮⋆˙ | cw: suggestive/crack content. fem!reader.

[jasminerereads]

IZUKU AND HIS ROUGH HANDS!!

Izuku isn't exactly a big fan of his hands. They were rough and scarred up from all the past trauma he's been through. He thinks they're quite ugly, to be honest, and he honestly doesn't understand why you like them so much, but you tell him it's for multiple reasons!

One of them being because it feels ridiculously good when he fingers you.

The rough pads of his fingers rubbing your clit in tight circles with one hand while the other finger-fucks you. The tips of your fingers curling up into your g-spot, causing a fit of moans to fall from your lips.

He knows he's making you feel good, and he loves that for you. He leans in close, his breath warm against your ear as he whispers into it, "You close?" with that slight hoarse voice of his. You nod, and he picks up the speed until you cum against his fingers, thighs shaking as he gives your earth-shattering orgasm.

Yeah, he isn't a big fan of his roughed-up hands, but he does like them for multiple reasons, such as that.

[jasminerereads]

JJK BOYS/MEN WHEN YOU ACCIDENTALLY SEND THEM NUDES!

✮⋆˙ | featuring: yuji itadori, megumi fushiguro, toge inumaki, choso kamo, gojo satoru, geto suguru, kento nanami, toji fushiguro, hiromi higuruma! ✮⋆˙ | cw: suggestive/crack content. "kys and kms" jokes. fem!reader.

[jasminerereads]

a work out

the jjk men send you a workout video where they're doing pushups while grunting your name

tws: p in v ; oral sex ; jealousy ; size difference

a/n: thank you 🥥 anon for sending in the prompt!! hopefully you like it sjdksk