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writingwhimsey · 20 days ago

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The Great Cock Revelation.

AKA: The Divine Dicking.

A/N: ..... :) this is one of the best things i've written. NOTE: the image that used to be there was from Leviathan

warnings: smut, reader is unhinged, i wrote this in like... two hours don't judge me okay. pls enjoy. crack fic.

Divine Dicking series: Toji Vers; Gojo vers; Hiromi Vers,

It starts, like all great love stories, with capitalism.

You're high on the fumes of a sales pitch victory, both of you still breathless from verbally suplexing some smug execs into a PowerPoint grave. Nanami had his sleeves rolled up and a vein in his neck doing numbers. You had your killer blazer on and that one shade of lipstick that says I will gut you with kindness and sue your mom after.

And now—now you're kissing him against your apartment door like he’s the last cigarette before a storm.

"Keys," you gasp, fumbling in your bag. Nanami’s mouth is on your neck, and he’s groaning like he’s the one being devoured. You finally get the door open—and almost die tripping over Chairman Meow.

"Jesus Christ—!" "Sorry—!" "Mrrrow." (Translation: "Degenerates. Sluts. Whores.")

Nanami stumbles inside, flustered, apologieses to the cat-fucking bows to Chairman Meow. What a man.

You kick off your heels. He’s already unbuttoning his shirt like he’s on a goddamn calendar shoot and doesn’t even know it.

The door SLAMS behind you two like it owes someone money. Nanami’s tie is already halfway undone—his usually pristine shirt untucked, hair slightly mussed, his jaw still clenched from arguing with that smug bastard in the blue suit at the pitch meeting.

“You were incredible,” you gasp, practically climbing him as he backs into the hallway.

He’s got a hand around your waist, the other fumbling for his keys, voice low and wrecked. “You almost bit that guy’s throat out. That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“He interrupted me, Kento. Three times.”

“You called him a ‘corporate barnacle.’”

“I blacked out. You were so hot when you took off your glasses to glare at him. Like—like an angry CEO in a smut fanfic.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“Shut up and get naked.”

He does. Oh boy. He does.

Clothes are shed in a trail from the door to the bedroom—somehow his belt ends up slung over the doorknob like a weird congratulatory ribbon. You’re down to your bra and panties by the time he kicks off his slacks, now fully, gloriously nude in the dim bedroom light.

You’re on him again in seconds. It’s messy and chaotic and a little too desperate to be graceful. You kiss like people starved. Your jacket hits the floor. And then it happens.

He steps out of his slacks. And you see it.

You freeze. Actually freeze.

Your bra is still on. Your panties, slightly askew. And yet—you are transfixed.

Nanami, confused, halfway to naked and very much at full-mast, pauses mid-unbuckling. His brows knit together in gentle concern.

"...Did I—?" He looks down at himself. "...Is something wrong?"

You're staring at his dick like it's a riddle sent by the gods. Like the Sphinx herself was like ‘Solve this or perish’ and you’re like ‘no notes, it’s art.’

"Wait," you whisper. Then louder. "Wait."

Nanami straightens up like he’s about to apologize for existing. "If I’ve misread—"

"No, no—" You blink. "Kento."

"Yes?"

"You have the prettiest dick I have ever seen."

A beat.

Another beat.

"...What?" His voice cracks. The most composed man in Japan? Sounds like someone’s nephew trying weed for the first time.

"Sir," you say, voice now absolutely reverent, like you’re kneeling in church. "That is a spectacular cock. I’m talking… museum exhibit. I want to commission an oil painting."

Nanami looks down at his dick like it just betrayed him. "I— It’s just... normal?"

"You’re HUNG." You gesture vaguely. "Like, intimidating but inviting?? Like a gourmet baguette?? And it’s got this, like… curve?? But not aggressive??" You’re approaching it like you’re giving a TED Talk. "And it’s veiny but tasteful. Like an artisanal sausage. It looks like someone designed it in CAD. This is aesthetic porn. You’re like the Apple product of penises.”

He covers his face with one hand.

“I—okay—what does that even mean—”

“Sleek. Sexy. Expensive. Makes me want to take out a second mortgage.”

“...You’re insane,” he mumbles through his hand.

“No. You don’t get it. This is top-tier dick. S-tier. If I had to Yelp review your dick I’d write an essay and get banned for erotic content.”

“…Would you like me to put it away?” he offers helplessly, and you lunge at him like he just suggested burning the Mona Lisa.

“Don’t you DARE. I’m trying to memorize it. I need to be able to describe this in vivid detail to my future ghost.”

“I didn’t know you were this—vocal.”

“I’m usually not! But you just revealed to me the Biology Textbook Gold Standard and I’m spiritually unwell now.”

Nanami sits down on the edge of the bed, dragging a hand down his face while his ears go progressively pinker.

“You’re making me feel like an exhibit.”

“I would pay admission.”

He groans.

“…Are you okay?” he asks again, voice wrecked.

“No. I’m not okay. I’m so turned on I might cry.”

Nanami covers himself with his hand, flustered beyond belief. "I— Are you… mocking me?"

You gasp, scandalized. "Sir. SIR. I would never disrespect this weapon."

He stares at you like he’s buffering. Naked. Hot. Kind of turning red in the ears. And then your panties hit him square in the face.

You fling your bra next. "C’mon, pretty boy."

"Wait—"

"Make me s-cream."

Nanami just stands there, bare-assed, holding your underwear like he’s Hamlet with the skull. For a second. Just a second. And then?

He pounces.

*-*

There’s a moment—like, a literal fraction of time—right before Nanami’s mouth touches your inner thigh where you realize:

You are no longer a civilian. You are at war. And your opponent has a tongue made of pure fuckery and finesse.

You are whore-iffic™, yes. A certified menace to society. And Nanami? Nanami is quickly realizing he has never met this version of you before.

You’re both half-melted, hands all over, kisses searing and ravenous—you’ve already made a complete meal of his collarbone and probably whispered more obscenities in the last ten minutes than your entire life combined.

Nanami’s currently got you on your back, legs parted, and his head buried between your thighs like he's been sent on a goddamn pilgrimage. He’s slurping you down like he’s being graded.

You’re gripping the sheets like they insulted you. Voice wrecked, laughing a little, eyes crossed.

“Fuck—Kento—holy shit, you eat pussy like you’ve got something to prove.”

He groans against you, deep and smug, like a man who knows. One big palm pins your hip down as your legs twitch around his shoulders.

“Do I need to slow down?” he rumbles against your thigh, voice a little hoarse.

“You slow down, I riot.”

You’re a menace. A beautiful, writhing menace.

“God, I love your thighs,” you groan, sprawled out and already halfway to speaking in tongues. “Thick and useful. Like sexy architecture. Structural integrity: ten out of ten.”

Nanami doesn’t even respond. He just presses a kiss to the meat of your thigh like you’re some ancient deity he’s preparing a blood sacrifice for. His hands are huge and firm, spreading you open with reverence and intent.

You’re basically already vibrating when his tongue finally hits your clit, and the first thing out of your mouth is:

“Oh my fucking God.”

Nanami hums. Literally hums. And your soul exits your body like a power outage.

“Again. Do that again.” Your fingers tangle in his hair like a medieval witch trying to hex him. “Oh my GOD. Oh my GOD, I love your mouth. Do you understand the fucking havoc you’re causing right now?”

He looks up from between your legs—glassy-eyed, lips wet, jaw slick, like an erotic Renaissance painting—and he still has the audacity to look calm.

“You taste good,” he says. Like that’s a normal thing to say while actively devouring someone’s soul via clit stimulation.

“I love you,” you say immediately.

“I know.”

And of course, because you're... well... something to behold, you pant:

"You're built like a Renaissance wet dream. Like if Zeus wore slacks.”

He pulls back just enough to catch his breath, panting slightly.

“You're speaking in tongues,” he says, dazed. “You're delirious.”

“Your titties are beautiful,” you whisper reverently, reaching out and thumbing one of his pecs. “Like, respectfully, your chest is immaculate. Peak architecture. If you ever die I’m selling plaster casts on Etsy.”

“I’m not sure whether to be flattered or frightened.”

“Be both. Be flattred. Be flenlightened.”

“You’re a menace.”

“You’re bending me in half like origami, and I’m the menace??”

“Let me stretch you out,” he says suddenly, voice ragged, mouth swollen, pupils blown like he just sniffed a line of you. “You’re soaked, but—fuck, I don’t want to hurt you.”

Oh.

Oh, okay.

You don't blush—you detonate.

He’s gentle, of course. One finger, then two. Talking you through it, whispering praises, kissing your knees, your stomach, your mouth. The whole thing feels almost sacred—except for the part where you keep begging like a little freak.

Ten minutes and three orgasms later, you’re a limp, breathless maniac, and he’s dragging two fingers through your slick pussy like he’s checking the consistency of a fine sauce.

“We're still going to need to stretch you out more, darling,” he murmurs, voice wrecked and patient, like a man about to do carpentry. “You’re tight.”

“You say that like it’s my fault,” you pant.

“You’re small.”

“You’re hung.”

“…I am, yes.”

“Say it.”

Nanami blinks. “Say what?”

“That you have a monster cock and it’s going to ruin me. For science.”

“...I’m not saying that.”

“I will.”

“Please don’t.”

“Oh my GOD your dick is a paranormal entity. They’re gonna have to call in experts when I’m done. I’m gonna have to get baptized again. I’m gonna see colors no one else sees.”

“...I’m going to get the condom.”

He leaves, finally, because someone (read: him) is responsible. And where is the condom, you ask?

In the back pocket of his pants.

And where are his pants?

Why, dear reader—Chairman Meow is sitting on them. Loafed up. Judgey. Fluffy. Full of vibes.

Nanami crouches. “Chairman,” he says gravely. “Please move.”

Chairman Meow blinks. Does not move.

Nanami squints. “I need the condom. For your mother.”

Chairman Meow yawns.

And then—it happens. The ancient ritual. The sacred standoff. Nanami vs. Cat. It’s primal. It’s biblical.

Eventually, Nanami emerges victorious. Slightly scratched, holding the condom packet like a trophy of war.

He returns to the bedroom and there you are, staring at the ceiling, half delirious, mumbling: “He’s bringing it back, I know he is, my brave soldier—My brave warrior… you went to battle for this pussy.”

He leans down. “I always go to battle for this pussy.”

You shriek. He kisses you.

He tosses the condom onto the nightstand. “Your cat challenged me to a duel.”

When he slides in— Let’s be real: it’s like being reformatted. Your whole OS just blue-screens.

It’s not just big—it’s mean. It’s got curve. It’s got grit. It’s got a mission statement. But he’s so gentle—until he’s not. Until you ask for it, beg for it, praise him like you’re high on him (you are) and then?

Then he breaks you apart like bread and eats you like communion.

You make a sound that can only be described as a corrupted angel weeping.

“OH my FUCK,” you gasp. “You’re—holy shit—you’re up in my lungs.”

Nanami groans, slow and controlled, breath caught like he’s physically trying not to unravel. “You’re so fucking tight.”

“Because you’re massive, Kento. This is structural intrusion. I’m getting renovated. My cervix has filed a complaint.”

“You’re doing so well,” he murmurs, brushing your hair back. “You’re taking it so well. So good for me.”

Reader, you whimper. You bite his shoulder. A soft, horrible little mlem like a feral animal tasting skin for the first time.

He freezes. “Did you just—bite me?”

“You taste like a wet dream, Kento,” you hiss. “I am OBSESSED with you. I love your titties.”

“…Again? My what??”

“Your chest. Your titties. Let me hold one. You’re so tittylicious.””

You grab it. Cup it lovingly. Like a devoted worshipper touching the sacred relic.

Nanami chokes. “You’re a menace.”

“And your ass?” You slap it. “So firm. Love that for me. Incredible. Firm. Excellent jiggle. I want to write poetry about your ass.”

He raises an eyebrow, nibbles your throat. “…Poetry?”

“Let me sonnet your cake, Kento.” You mumble against his lips after pulling his face up.

“You are insane,” he says, and thrusts hard.

You black out for a second. Reboot. Reincarnate. Moan like a sacrificial lamb.

And still, he’s so fucking patient. So goddamn sweet. Like he's not packing a weapon of mass destruction between his thighs.

*-*

By the end, you’re puddled. Soup. A boneless, twitching, happy little slut pile. Nanami collapses beside you, chest heaving, looking less like a salaryman and more like he just emerged from a goddamn vision quest.

“Everything hurts,” you mumble dreamily. “But in a good way. Like spiritual muscle soreness.”

Nanami just hums, wrapping an arm around you. “I’m glad.”

You roll over, a noodle. A soup. A formerly living person.

“You okay?” he murmurs, brushing hair out of your face.

“I’m soup,” you mumble. “You made me soup, Kento. Like. Emotionally? Physically? I am jus. Broth.”

“…That’s not a sentence.”

You reach up, boop his nose.

“You have the prettiest dick I’ve ever seen. And the best titties. I’m in love with you and your whole situation.”

He chuckles. Kisses your forehead.

You nuzzle his chest. “Hey.”

“Hm?”

“Let’s do that again tomorrow.”

“…I might be the one to need to need to stretch this time.”

A/N: this is pure crack. live laugh love or wahtever. also i still have no beta reader so apologies if this has mistakes.

Massterlist.

#reblog to save for later

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