18+ MDNI: people liked the last bf!suguru post so here’s #2 as my contribution to kinktober <3
bf!suguru loves brainwashing you when you’re fucked out and pliant for him.
bf!suguru hates when you don’t believe in yourself :( he loves playing with you, and he knows how much you can handle before you break.
“sugu! too much!” you cry as his fingers make you cum for the fifth time. “too much? no baby you’re supposed to say ‘it feels good’” he coos condescendingly. your body feels like it’s on fire. your legs thrash and kick under his torment, but the moans pour out of you helplessly.
“i can’t anymore sugu please-” you whine.
“c’mon baby, say it. tell me it feels good, say it for me pretty girl” his deep voice is smooth as honey.
“it- ah- it feels good” you cry weakly.
“aww baby. say it like you mean it. tell me how good it feels.” his fingers relentlessly pump and curl into your sweet spot.
“please— mfmgh— i can’t” you whimper
“you can baby, you can. you’re doing great sweetheart just say it for me.”
“it- feels good sugu… hmp haa— it feels so good please please please-” you whine.
you squeal when his thumb finds your overstimulated clit. closing your legs in an attempt to run from the pleasure. he just gently pries them open.
“sugu—gonna- ah- im gonna cum again—”
when your orgasm rips through you he holds you tight against him, grounding your shaking and twitching frame.
“that’s it baby, good girl, just like that” he whispers.
“aww my sweet girl. took it so well” he smiles against your cheek. “now, tell me ‘don’t stop’”
suguru likes winning, but what he likes infinitely more is watching you lose.
you should’ve known better than to joke about suguru’s stamina, but you couldn’t help it when you saw him on the game with satoru instead of spending time with you. “after this round gorgeous, ill be right there” he says with one ear out of his headset. when you scoffed and said ‘your rounds with satoru lasts longer than you in bed,’ you knew you fucked up.
so now here you are, forced to prove you can last longer than your boyfriend. suguru is laid back on his chair, hands behind his head and watching with a smile as you struggle to bounce on his cock.
“suguru~ i’m- ha- i’m sorry~” you whine above him as he fills you again and again.
“what’s the matter baby? i thought i couldn’t last hm? my cock isn’t good enough for you huh? my needy girl can last way longer than me, isn’t that right?”
he can tell you’re close with the way your legs are shaking and your pussy is gripping his cock. you’re trying to focus on anything else to stop yourself from finishing every time his tip bumps your cervix, silently praying that he’s closer than you are.
“aww are you close baby?” he coos.
“no- ah! i’m not—ngh” you manage to respond.
“really?” he asks. you feel him sit up now, chest pressing against your back. his hands finally touch you as one circles around to grope your tits while the other travels up to place slight pressure on your neck. “you’re not gonna cum soon?”
“no!” you cry out. his calloused fingers on your skin making every part of you more sensitive.
he leans in close on your neck, his hand pulls your head back to rest against him.
“you sure you’re not gonna cum?”
“i’m not gonna cum.”
his smile widen against your skin. every time the word “cum” gets said, he feels your walls pulse around him.
“say it then. say you’re not cumming” he whispers. his voice is loud in your head. drowning away all other thoughts and sounds.
“i’m- ahh- fuck… i’m not cumming.” you whimper. sparks shoot through your brain, worsening the ache in your lower belly.
his hand tightens around your neck. you shake your head. your hands fly up to his wrist, holding on to escape the pleasure.
“no? not gonna cum? i think you’re close baby. fuck- i can feel you dripping down my thighs, so messy. are you sure you’re not cumming?”
“i’m- not cumming” you say as hot tears roll from your hazy eyes. it’s hard to focus. all you feel is him. his voice in your head, his breathing against your ear, his hands on your body, his tip squishing against your sweet spot every time he fills you up.
“say it again” his hand tightens.
“i’m -hah not cumming” it’s hard to breathe.
“again”
i’m not cumming
i’m not cumming
i’m… cumming
your body gives in before your mind processes. the intense high pulsing through you makes you squeeze your eyes and legs shut as your body shakes and trembles above your boyfriend.
suguru smiles as he turns your face to give you a nice deep kiss you can’t reciprocate. this is his favorite view. his pretty baby with her mouth hung open, tear stained cheeks, and a dazed look in her eyes. he loves watching you lose to him, and the best part is you don’t even know what happened.
can’t speak? don’t worry! suguru loves you so much he’ll help you <3
suguru has you writhing under him. you’ve lost count of how many times you’ve finished. he’s turned you into a puddle on his bed. a pretty doll he can maneuver to his liking. his hands are pinning yours down on the pillows next to your head, fingers intertwined as his thick cock pistons in and out of your soaking pussy.
you’re nonverbal. his thrusts are knocking the words out of your head and the air out of your lungs. his fingers find a way into your mouth. his thumb playing with your pliant tongue.
“yea? does that feel good?” he coos into your ear as you brainlessly moan and drool around his hand. he smiles knowing you’re too fucked out and dumb on his cock to respond. of course he’s gonna help his pretty baby out.
his thumb presses down on your tongue as his other fingers wrap around the side of your face. he gently maneuvers your head to nod for him. “yea? it does doesn’t it? it feels so good huh? i thought so baby.”
you whine pathetically around his fingers. “mhm i know- fuck- i know baby, you’re doing so good for me.”
suguru fucks like he’s worshipping you. his thrusts are deep and calculated. every drag of his hips feel like his pulling out your soul and the air in your body just to knock it back in. you feel every inch of him press against all the sweetest spots.
“mhmm— you’re so perfect baby… my sweet perfect girl… i’m close baby— fuck. gonna fill you up”
it’s too much. you can’t anymore. if he fills you with his hot cum right now it’ll be too much. you won’t be able to handle hearing his moans, and feeling the way his body shudders against you as he fills you up.
you try to tell him no, but the words come out as incoherent moans.
“shh… shh i’m right here baby, i’m here. look at me…you want me to cum inside? have you shaking and leaking under me?”
he sees the plea in your eyes. beneath the tears of pleasure you’re saying “no, please. wait, slow down, too much.” you try to shake your head, but his fingers press harder against your cheeks. you feel his hand pull your head down again to nod for him.
“uh huh~ you do don’t you? so good for me, such a good girl. god- you feel so good. gonna cum. gonna pump you full.”
there’s nothing else you can do as you helplessly cum around him while he fills you up.
bf!suguru is the sweetest and most caring man until he has you under him. who knew your loving boyfriend fucked so mean? don’t worry! he’s definitely not trying to brainwash you to make you stay with him forever. he just wants to make sure you know no one can ever fuck you in the ways he can.
𝜗𝜚 You have fun painting Suguru’s nails. He has even more fun watching them slide in and out of your mouth!
finger sucking, dirty talk
more like this
“Okay!” You say happily, smiling as you open your drawer. “Which colour will it be this week, Sugu?”
“Oh, I’m not sure.” He smiles, tossing his waterfall of hair over his shoulder. He’s peering into the same place you are, at the colour-coordinated rows of nail polish. Matte, glitter, shimmery, top coats and bottom coats, your drawer is practically Geto’s personal nail salon. “What about something darker this time?”
You pout dramatically. “But the pale blue with baby pink glitter was soooo nice last week, admit it. It was like bubblegum, you looked so cute.”
Geto laughs and reaches over into the drawer. “Hm. Maybe this one?”
You groan. “That’s so boring, Suguru. I can’t do black again-“
“Actually, gorgeous, the bottle says it’s ’midnight blue’, so you’re wrong.” You open your mouth to retort but he cuts you off. “Oh, and it even clarifies it’s ‘extra shimmery underwater for swimmers, surfers, and those of you who love taking long bubble baths!’ How lovely.”
You sigh and take the bottle. “Okay, hand.”
He obediently splays it out over a magazine on home decoration you’re using to prevent any spillage onto your floor as you both sit across from each other. You bend over to clean his fingernails of any lingering polish, the scent of the polish remover filling the room.
“That smells terrible.” He huffs.
You grin, never taking your eyes off his nails. “I’ll burn some incense later, don’t be so dramatic.”
As the brush glides up and down his nails, painting them that perfectly dark and glossy blue, Geto’s eyes drift- as they so often do- to you. You look so adorable, he thinks, concentrated upon doing this small gesture for him, legs folded one over the other. So adorable it stings- who allowed you to do this to him, seriously?
Oh, and it doesn’t hurt your tits look amazing in that tank top either, his violet irises catching on to the dip in your cleavage as you bend lower to apply a secondary coat of the shimmer. “Okay,” you say triumphantly, “that polish went on so well I doubt I’ll even need a third layer. Don’t you think, Sugu?”
“Mm. I agree.” He smiles, leaving his hands stationary to dry while he leans forward to kiss your cheek. “Thank you.”
You tidy away the polish, then leave the room to go take the food your boyfriend already prepared out of the oven. You exit by messing up his silky hair, knowing full well he hates when you do that but hates the idea of getting nail polish in it even more. He rolls his eyes. “Mature of you, pretty.”
You grin. “I know. Now, let your fingers dry so the extra shimmer can really come through.”
As he ponders on nothing while he waits, Geto’s thoughts slide back to the swirly writing on that bottle.
Extra shimmery underwater. Well, he doesn’t want to take a bath (because it’s an all-day affair, really, and you’ve already showered), he doesn’t want to go swimming this late- besides, won’t all the pools be closed?- and he doesn’t want to waste water by running the tap over his fingers for excess time just to see his nails sparkle.
But, because he’s Suguru Geto, he finds a solution pretty quickly.
“Ah-ahhh, open wider.” He hums at you. “I know you can be a good girl, hm?”
The room is softly lit and smells of incense, something calming and pleasant that seeps into your bedsheets. But you don’t feel particularly sleepy at all.
Your cheeks are burning. Two of Geto’s fingers are pushed inside your mouth, gently rubbing along the ridges of your tongue and feeling the soft tissue the inside of your cheek gives. “You really do look so beautiful with your mouth full.” He smiles, tilting his head so he’s looking down at you even more. “You might look better like this than when I’m choking you on my cock, gorgeous.”
You gasp around his digits- or, at least, you try to, because they’re so heavy upon your tongue you can barely get a sound out. “My sweet, pretty girl,” he coos condescendingly, his other hand brushing back your hair so it doesn’t stick to the saliva steadily pooling at your lips. “Painting my nails, then opening your mouth for me to shove them inside later. You really are perfect, aren’t you?”
“Aren’t you?” He repeats sternly, his other hand lightly pinching your nipple through your shirt. Oh, that wasn’t a rhetorical question?
“Yes!” You garble out around his skin. His thumb on the hand that’s inside your mouth slowly strokes your face from the outside as his fingers push up against the inside of your cheek, digits meeting digits through the thin layer of skin and muscle. “Yes, you are.” Geto continues, preaching to his singular audience member.
“And you do know I’ll be using these to fuck your pussy next, don’t you?” Geto smirks, curling the fingers on his free hand crudely in front of your face in a ‘come here’ motion. It’s obvious what he’s insinuating, the knowledge of it heats bright on your face. You nod shakily, eyes foggy as you gently rub your tongue along his fingers.
“Mhmm, that’s right.” His free fingers keep beckoning, before resting lightly on your inner thigh. You jolt, along with your mouth, and he notices. “Ah-ah, no teeth unless I ask.”
Your eyes turn apologetic and he sighs. “You’re so good to me, really. I can’t wait to split you open on my fingers. But don’t worry, sweetheart,” he purrs, “I’ll be so gentle. So, so gentle to you. I wouldn’t want to chip the polish now, would I?”
You get the feeling that he’s lying.
“So gentle,” he repeats again. “I’d start with one, maybe. Work you open slowly until you’re sobbing and begging for me to add another, then I’d slowlyyyy break you. Wouldn’t you like that, my sweet girl?”
You’re lightheaded.
You moan whorishly around his fingers, spit dribbling freely now. “Oh, you wouldddd.” He’s speaking for the both of you know, humiliating you a little while his fingers fuck into your mouth. Which is a crude term to use, but it’s what he’s doing- fucking them into you, like he would if he was using his cock.
He keeps telling you what he’d do, only turning you on more. You wouldn’t be surprised if you were sitting in a puddle of slick by now. “I know you would. You’d beg for my cock, right? Maybe cry those pretty tears I simply adore on you so much, your eyes all wet and beautiful?”
“Aw,” he whispers, drawing himself closer to your face until his nose is brushing yours. “They already are. So cute.”
There is tears in your eyes, ones of need. But there’s also an odd sense of comfort you’re getting from this whole lewd ordeal, like having his fingers in your mouth grounds you while he mutters the filthiest things into your prickling ears. “You look cockdrunk already,” he breathes, “and I haven’t even touched you.”
He takes his dry hand and presses it to your cheek. You lean into it naturally and suck softly on his fingers; you really do look cockdrunk, he thinks again. It’s something in the way your mouth is slightly open, just occupying itself naturally around his fingers as you work yourself into a cosy little stupor.
It’s actually quite romantic, really. If you’re as much of a pervert as Geto, that is. The real word to use is probably ‘erotic’. The soft lamplight, the even softer touches, the way he’s cradling your hair and head as you go pliant and gentle with his fingers in your mouth. “You look so gorgeous,” he whispers, “you’ll look even better sucking my fingers while I slowlyyy-“ he drags that word out for dramatic effect, quiet syllables turning filthy, “-fuck you on my cock, hm?”
You keen suddenly at his language and your hips jut forward embarrassingly. Geto grins and pulls back, tearing his fingers from your lips. “What?” You gasp brokenly, eyes damp and lips soaked with spit. “I th-thought-“
Geto ignores you completely and holds his fingers up to the lamplight flowing softly from the corner. The orangey glow illuminates the polish on his fingernails and he smiles. “Aww, they really do look extra shimmery like this. Sweetheart, look.”
When you can’t, too shocked and aroused to think, he takes his dry hand and gently manhandles your chin towards his fingers. And, lo and behold, they actually are extra shimmery. They’re covered in a thin, blanketed layer of your spit, shiny and warm, but you do have to admit the polish does what it promises on the glass bottle.
masterlist
a/n: yummy!! I wrote this in like 15 mins after posting this little brainwave
summary: Your husband, Hiromi Higuruma, is no longer the man you thought you once knew. When you ask for a divorce and one night he shows up proving just how much he still needs, what are you meant to do?
warnings: mdni (18+) — age gap (reader early 20s, Higuruma in his 30s), porn w plot, angst, mentions of divorce, idk how the divorce process works guys but like trust i know what im talking about tho, mentions of alcohol and being drunk, whiny needy Hiromi, smut, oral (f receiving), fingering, finger sucking, sooome dry humping, overtstimulation(?), raw sex, piv sex, cream pie
word count: 6k
a/n: based off the Frank Ocean song ofc <\3. I dropped everything I was previously working on in order to write this bcs a vision was plaguing me and I couldn’t stop it. I hope you all enjoy reading this as much as I did writing it <\3 !!
His eyes were the first thing you noticed when you met him.
Down turned, tired, with slight bags beneath them, he stared out at the world as if assessing every little detail it held. They wandered over every corner and inch of every room he stepped in. He stared off at walls as if in his own world, mind full of thoughts that seemed too big for his own head.
You thought he wouldn’t feel your gaze on him, thought he would be too caught up with whatever was going on in his mind.
But when his eyes met yours across the court room that day— he seemed to come to life.
A small smile tugged at his lips, the hardness of his eyes softened, and you felt your heart pound.
Your future had been decided for you in that instant, only instead of a tight noose, you had found it in his gaze.
The second he looked at you, you felt the weight of your life in your chest with every beat of the loud gavel. Or was it your heart?
It was young love. Something harsh yet full of passion.
Built over bars and coffee dates, late nights, and promises you weren’t sure either of you would even keep, it was a fire that burned quick and bright. Leaving aches and hidden scars all over, ones you wouldn’t even feel or know they were there until they scabbed.
He was older, you were freshly out of college.
A defense attorney with a life already built and a girl with her life ahead of her.
In your vows, he promised the world at your very fingertips. His heart and soul yours to keep. You promised him the rest of your life.
And it was good. The life you lived together.
A cute apartment in Tokyo, fancy dinners, late night talks in your tiny kitchen. Sunlight coming in from the windows and covering your bodies as he touched you with a gentleness that felt grounding.
His lips were soft against your skin, whispering sweet words no boys your age could ever imagine saying.
He brought you gifts, small “it made me think of you”’s written on tiny sticky pads that littered themselves all across your home.
His hands always stayed at your hips, holding you close to him. In line at the grocery store, while you cooked dinner or even just got ready. The feeling of his fingertips squeezing flesh stayed and surrounded you even when he wasn’t there.
And at night he would renew it all over again.
Your hips tilted high, your cheek in the pillow as you tried to muffle your moans.
His hands squeezed you softly, before you felt his palm make its way down to the base of your spine. He would press down at your back, deepening the arch you held while his heavy hips met with yours.
His moans were low, deep groans in your ear as he whispered words only a lover could.
“So tight.”
“So good for me.”
His hands always drifted back to your hips and held you tightly, fingertips digging into your supple flesh as his strokes became heavier and deeper with every thrust.
“Good girl, you’re mine.”
His pace would quicken, your combined whimpers growing desperate in the thick air of the room.
“I love you.”
“My love, my only love.”
He would whimper over and over when he was close. And when his hand moved to intertwine your fingers with his own, you felt him spill deep inside of you.
His presence was heavy, surrounding and filling you inside until you couldn’t breathe.
Your body ached with the marks he left you with, but it made you happy. Being his.
It made his vows feel real, a reminder of the promise he was meant to keep.
But as a bright flame does, the passion burned quick, fading away too fast.
Time went on, life started to pull you apart.
His job at the law firm began to demand more of him. He started working late into the night, leaving home earlier than usual and constantly bringing work with him back the few times he allowed himself to rest from the office.
Cases that he shouldn’t be so invested in turned into cases that consumed his entire being, the bags beneath his eyes growing until that tired stare that used to look at you with love became unrecognizable.
He was consumed by it. The strong sense of justice within his heart pulled him in and pushed you away.
You waited, told yourself you were satisfied with whatever it was he still managed to give you.
Told yourself that his soft ‘i love you’ and ‘i miss you’s were enough as they filled your ears. That the quick touches he gave you still made you feel complete.
You said nothing, did nothing but held your tongue. Told yourself that him being here was simply enough.
Until eventually, the weak kisses stopped too.
His soft whispers faded into lousy ‘working late, you can go to bed’ texts. His hands only seemed to be able to grip the countless papers he brought home with him every night instead of you.
Then one night, in the dim light of your empty bedroom as you waited for him to come home, did you realize just how different the two of you were after all.
A relationship built on burning coal. Stolen glances, quick hands and tender touches, long kisses and not enough words to truly know the other.
You realized too late that you needed love, to be held like dripping water from a sacred stream to feel alive. He needed support, a pillar to keep him up and grounded.
Passion and action were your currency, his was simply being there.
A defense attorney and a girl who had her life ahead of her.
The differences between the two of you started to burn in the wedding band he gave you.
The cold promises he whispered melted in the gold squeezing across your skin. And then everything else started to crack.
The softness of your home became tense, words being bitten back as arguments you started kept being put on hold.
It was the little things mostly. The way he left his shoes at the door and didn't bother to put them in the rack. His tie being thrown on the floor as he undressed, his jacket wrinkled when you hadn’t found the time to iron it. The way you seemed to lounge about the house, never doing anything and hardly having a life.
It was small comments, whispers.
He nibbled, you bit and chewed loud enough to try to get a reaction out. He never gave in.
You couldn’t take it anymore.
The life he promised became too small, the world he gave you too restrained. Trapped inside of an apartment you couldn’t even escape or feel like it was yours anymore, everywhere you looked you were reminded of him.
His face, his clothes, his utensils and utilities that he had bought only for you. But none of it was really yours anyways.
Living felt like a prison, the wedding band your chains.
It was solid evidence that you were still his, in name and in law, but you weren’t even sure if he was yours anymore.
“I think we should get a divorce.” You finally managed to say to him one night. The words rushed and unsure as you blurted them out, your tongue heavy with the tears you bit back from spilling from your eyes.
You words were as loud as a pin dropping in the silence of your home.
You said them at dinner, the only one he’d managed to make it back in time to catch in months.
His eyes, the one that seemed to soften and fill with words he never said when he looked at you, went blank.
They didn’t judge, they didn’t search or stare. Just… blank.
Dumbfounded. Lost.
The fork in his hand trembled before he put it down, and that lost look went away with a blink.
He coughed, “Are you sure?” And his voice was thick with something you couldn’t recognize.
“Yes.” You said too quickly, your heart pounding in time with the gavel still ringing at the back of your head.
He only nodded before finishing his meal.
He was a lawyer after all. Though not a divorce one, he tried his best and knew how to make the process the least messy as possible. Quiet and smooth, steady. The opposite of how this all had started in the first place.
You tell yourself you should be thankful for it. The fact he didn’t put up a fight, he did what you wanted and asked as he always had.
But it only made the anger inside of your chest burn hotter, brighter than before.
Why didn’t he put up a fight? How could he give up so easily? On you, on this marriage.
Though you supposed you’d already done the same to him a long time ago.
But still, it made you wonder. Was it all nothing to him?
☆
Days went by, the agreement still hung heavy in the air of your home.
It lingered loudly, like a foul smell from something nasty that you couldn’t seem to forget. It clung to your skin, sticking to every strand of your hair and settling into the very clothes you wore.
You felt it in your bed, the remaining warmth of him finally slipping away as he moved to sleeping on the couch since that night.
You never realized just how big the room was, how cold it seemed when he wasn’t there besides you. Sure, you’d already spent months like this, alone and clinging onto the safety of a blanket that only smelled like him. But even then, the soft scent of coffee and cigarettes still held the promise of him coming back to you within each thread.
He hardly looked at you now, his eyes only stealing passing glances before walking away.
His every movement was slow, quiet and calculated as to not bother you.
He made no noise when he came into the room to get ready. The sound of him brushing his teeth barely reaching past a hum in the apartment before he came back out to prepare his coffee like a whisper.
He left for work early, he came back home even later.
You knew it was for distance, he was giving you the space you hadn’t even found the courage to ask for. Yet, why did it still feel like he was everywhere?
His absence felt louder now, real in the way it hadn’t felt before.
Why did it make you miss him?
You tried to forget it, to calm down at the reality you were now facing and no longer imagining.
Divorce. Separation. Leaving. Real. Happening. The words looped over and over in your mind as you tried to process them.
“It takes some time to even get the papers, but we’ll sign them right away when we get them.” He told you before heading out to work this morning.
Thinking about them now almost made bile spit up from your throat, your body locking up as you waited and watched the front door from the corner of your eye.
It was late, the city lights twinkling like stars outside of your windows, and he still hadn’t come back home. But when was the last time he even came back on time?
You sat on the couch, curled up with your knees to your chest watching some cheesy romantic comedy when you heard the faint jingle of keys.
Your ears perked up, body involuntarily tensing as the door handle rattled.
A bang, a thump, and more rattling came from the other side.
Your brows furrowed, confusion settling in as you got half the mind to walk up and see what was wrong, but a few seconds later it finally opened.
And in came a stumbling, disheveled Hiromi.
In the time you had been together, you had never known him to be anything but the well groomed and put together man he was. His suit was never creased, his hair always combed back and not a piece of lint clung onto him. Though his eyes were always tired, permanent bags beneath the skin, they were never anything but focused and aware.
But this. This man suddenly standing in front of you was not the husband you had come to know.
His hair is messy, strands falling over his forehead and blocking the view of his eyes. His jacket is wrinkled, the shirt beneath crumbled up like some paper ball come undone. The top few buttons have popped off, as if he was gripping his chest in desperation to be free of it.
His eyes were practically bloodshot, wide and glossy with unshed tears. A look you couldn’t recognize.
They flickered all over the room, lost and worried before settling on you. You can only watch as pure devastation fills his gaze as he takes you in.
His breath is heavy, chest rising and falling at a frantic pace before he whispers your name.
The sound is like an arrow to your heart.
Another loud thump, and you realize he’s fallen onto his knees.
He says your name again, drawing out and feeling every syllable on his tongue. His hands tug at his tie, grasping and ripping the damn thing off like it was stealing the very air he breathed.
His eyes never leave you, wandering over your body before finding your own.
The look he gives you sends a chill up your spine.
“H-Hiromi.” You stutter out, though it's barely a whisper.
“My love.” He groans back.
He’s messy, throwing his shoes off before stumbling out of his jacket. His gaze doesn’t leave yours even as he positions himself on his hands and knees, body shaking and trembling with some primal want as he begins a slow and devastating crawl towards you.
“I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I can’t.” He admits with a slur in his mouth, the wetness of his eyes only growing as he gets closer.
“You’re all I can manage to focus on, day and night.”
The sound of his pants shuffling over the carpet sounds like a roar in the quiet of the living room, your breaths caught within your chest.
He’s slow, creeping in close like some predator hunting its prey. You’re hypnotized, your heart beating too quick and too loud to even let you pull your eyes away from the sight.
He’s crawled close enough to reach the end of the couch, and you can finally smell it.
Sweet, sour.
Alcohol.
“Hiromi, you’re drunk.” You try to scold, but the way he’s looking at you with those eyes— god those fucking eyes, it sounds like anything but.
“No, ‘m not.” He replies, settling on his haunches by where you rest your knees. “I had a few. But I’m real. I’m here.”
His hand rises from the floor, slowly grazing over your skin.
He cuffs his hand around your ankle, feeling the way your pulse thrums beneath your skin.
His fingertips are light, gentle and hot as he traces over your bare calf, inching higher and higher until he settles his head within your lap.
You bite back a gasp, the weight and heat of him shocking you.
He grips your knees, holding you close and tight. As if he was willing you to not pull away. Like he was trying to convince himself you were real too.
“Please.” The man whimpers, lips practically quivering as the word leaves him. “All I have is you.”
He nuzzles his cheek into your thigh, eyes peering up at you in desperation. The gloss of his eyes finally manifests itself into tears, the droplets sliding out and now wetting your skin.
“What’s mine is yours, right? My vows.”
The look in his eyes is raw, unhidden and bare with everything that he’d been hiding before. The late nights at the office, the countless days spent apart– they all seem to come rushing and spilling out of him.
“You took my heart and had it longer than I ever did.”
He kisses your skin, hands trembling at your knees before rising up to settle at your hips.
He grips the fat harshly, he looks at you so softly. And you’re suddenly reminded of how he looked when you two met.
Strong, composed, a man who calculated every passing moment. The complete opposite of what lay in front of you now.
Your heart squeezes, an ache settling in your chest as you try to figure out what to say. But you can’t find any words that feel right, instead your body seems to react faster than your brain can.
Your fingers comb through his hair, pushing back the messy locks from his forehead so you can finally see his face.
There’s a blush high on his cheeks, a slight scrape on one side that your thumb brushes over.
You hiss imagining the slight sting he would feel, but he only moans at your touch. His mouth practically drooling as his eyes roll back into his head, closing them shut as he tries to lean in closer.
“Please…” He whimpers again, opening his eyes and blinking away a few stray tears.
His fingers dip into your skin, thumbing at the fabric of your flimsy shorts.
“I can make you feel good. Let me make you feel good.”
He grips at the cloth desperately, practically tearing it apart.
It shouldn’t have made your spine shiver the way it did. It shouldn’t have made your pussy so wet with the way he looked up at you.
But he hasn’t touched you in so long . He hasn’t whispered how much he’s needed you in ages.
There’s a need in your skin you can’t ignore, the feeling blooming and taking over every rational part of your brain that you have left.
You can’t even bring yourself to say it, only nod your head as a pathetic little whimper spills from your lips when you do so.
He’s quick to rip your shorts off, tearing the wet fabric of your panties along with them before spreading your legs.
In a swift motion, he throws a thigh over his shoulder, settling between them as if it was the place he’d always meant to belong.
He wastes no time, thick tongue immediately coming out to dive into your dripping folds.
He moans at your taste, licking a fat stripe from your fluttering hole to your clit, lapping up at the gushes of slick that seep out of your warm cunt.
“So wet f’me, baby.” He groans like a man intoxicated, the words muffled and even more slurred as he licks another stripe. “Missed your pussy so much.”
He buries his nose into your mound, the peak nudging into your clit as his tongue laps at the wetness spilling from you. He flicks and rolls the muscle all over, teasing your entrance before pushing flat and lapping up soft, quick lines to your clit.
Your hips jolt, hands burying themselves in his hair as you cry out his name.
He groans in response, eyes rolling back as he brings his tongue back down to dip into your fluttering hole, coaxing out more slick to gush as he opens his mouth wider.
Your legs start to tremble and squeeze around his head, overwhelming pleasure attacking you all at once. His hands hold you steady, knuckles turning bone white at the way they grip the fat of where your thighs and ass meet, pulling your legs further apart to feel you deeper.
He practically drools and groans at the way your hands have started to pull at his hair, fingertips gripping onto him like a lifeline as you desperately try to push him away with a weak and shaking strength.
“H-iro.” You whimper, feeling the pleasure start to spread throughout your body. It curls within your belly, spreading to your fingertip and toes until it makes you light headed.
Your body burns, bright and quick at the way he laps and gives you open mouth kisses, trying to devour and tongue every inch of you that is exposed.
You try to pull away again, your hips arching back from his touch, but he doesn’t stop.
His tongue teases and dips into your fluttering hole over and over, licking up every drop that squirts out.
His chin is covered in it, the sound obscene as he slurps and laps all over your pussy.
He licks a long stripe up your core, the tip of his tongue finding the sensitive bud of your clit and pushing his focus onto the poor thing.
It aches from sensitivity, the pressure of his lips sucking on it only making your body bow and hands grip onto his hair tighter.
“Hiromi!” You moan, the sound echoing off the walls and only making him suck harder.
The muscles of your body grow taught, thighs stiff yet still shaking as you feel a tightness in your belly start to build.
Your walls clench around nothing, breath becoming shaky as you try to whimper out some warning words, but he pulls away before you can even utter them.
The tightness of your body falls away, your bones becoming jelly and you whine at the sudden loss of his quick, needy movements.
His lips leave you with a soft pop, the sound wet and obscene as he grips the flesh of your thighs harder. Like he was trying to ground and hold himself from diving back in.
He’s panting, teary eyes gazing back up into your own as his hot breath brushes over your sensitive pussy, making you jolt and try to push away.
“Mm don’t run,” He whispers, voice hoarse and thick with need.
His hands grip harder, sliding you down the couch until your ass practically falls off of it. His hands splay themselves over your cheeks, holding your thighs over his shoulders as he tries to feel you closer.
“So good, so good, baby.” He licks his lips, savoring the taste you left upon his skin before nuzzling his cheek into the fat of your thigh.
He hums at the softness of the touch, lips parting in bliss before moving to kiss along the skin. He starts with a small trail, gentle and steady before beginning to bite and nibble small marks into the flesh.
“You missed me too, right?”
His eyes are half lidded, tired in the way they always were yet burning with a raw need as they look up at you.
It makes your chest tighten again, pussy clenching around nothing as you whine out a pathetic little sound. Words are lost to you, your brain a scrambled mess as you peer at the man resting between your thighs.
The sound makes him smile, his body suddenly shifting so that only one arm holds your weight now.
You feel it before you even see it, thick fingers parting your wet lips. A soft schlick noise as he spreads you open for him to touch and see.
“Can tell you did, look at her.”
His fingers rub over your folds, spreading and moving your arousal all around. It coats his digits as he parts them, scissoring and petting your pussy while his fingertips nudge and tease your clit with featherlight touches.
Your entire body throbs, sweat building and dripping from the heat that courses through your veins until you can’t take it anymore.
He dips into your tight cunt, filling you up until you cry out.
“So wet…” He groans, watching the way you clench and tighten, poor pussy not wanting to let go after being empty for so long.
“Hiromi, please I need you.” You whimper out, finally finding enough strength in your bones to pull at his head and speak any string of words. “I need you, I need you.”
Your plea’s fall out like a mantra, slurred and barely coherent as your hips buck up into him while you feel tears start to build in your own eyes.
There’s a pout on your face, plump lips parting in a way that makes his cock twitch and spill at the sight.
He gulps, closing his eyes for a split second before opening them back up.
His gaze falls on your pussy again, watching the way you continue to gush and clench around his fingers as he slowly pumps them in and out.
“Always so needy.” He sighs, biting back a smirk as he slowly pulls his fingers out.
Before you can realize, he’s settling you back on the couch. Your back flush with the cushion, his legs spread over your own before raising one to wrap around his hip.
You gasp, surprised at the quickness in which he moved you and the sight of his presence looming over you.
Tall, tired, and just as needy as you, Hiromi Higuruma stares into your eyes the same way he did on your wedding night. Fueled by pure passion and want.
“Open,” He taps his still wet fingers on your lower lip, you obey.
He shoves them in slowly, fingers pushing past your teeth before rubbing the pads all over your wet tongue.
Your cheeks fill around his hand, drool spilling down your chin. He pushes them in and out slowly, keeping the same pace he did earlier. The push toward the back of your mouth, a small gag escaping you before you stare up at him and start to suck at them slowly.
“Good girl,” His voice is lower than a whisper as he says the words. It rumbles up from within his chest, rising out of him as he pushes the pads of his fingers down the middle of your tongue. But in it, there’s a kind of hurt.
“Always so good for me.”
His free hand comes up to swipe a stray hair that clings onto your cheek, his thumb softly rubbing at your skin.
He leans his body in closer, the clothes of his hips pushing flush against your bare ones. You can feel the heat of him even through the fabric, his cock hard and aching.
“You want my cock?” He thrust against you once, rubbing the outline of him in a slow and agonizing pull against your folds. He lets the feeling linger before pulling away.
You moan around his fingers, nodding softly and looking at him with pleading eyes.
“Aw, yeah?” He hums, his voice dripping in a mocking tone. He thrusts again, this time quicker.
A crease in his pants nudges against your clit, pressing hard against the bundle of nerves. It makes your back arch, legs trembling before you frantically start to nod again.
Tears spill from the corners of your eyes as you buck your hips against him, your mind past the point of return as his warmth envelops you.
He smirks once more, his hand brushing into your hair before pulling away.
“It’s okay, my love. I’ve got you.”
His fingers retreat from your lips, a string of saliva connecting them and falling over your breasts as he brings the hand down to unbuckle his belt.
His movements are quick, the sharp sound of him removing his pants loud and ringing through your ears as you can only watch him pull his cock out.
Your breath catches, something you always did no matter how many times you saw it.
Long, hard and aching with a soft red tip— his cock twitches and pulses with need. He takes himself in a large hand, slowly jerking himself off as he spreads the soft beads of pre spilling from his tip all over.
He groans softly, hissing through his teeth when he rolls his thumb over the sensitive top before aiming it down to rub in between your folds.
He parts your wet lips again, rubbing and pressing his aching cock between them, gathering your slick until it shines all over him. He thrusts into you gently, tip knocking against your clit until you’re both filling the air with whiny little noises.
“Please,” You moan, hands coming up to grip at his large shoulders, “Just fuck me already.”
He has to bite a groan back at that.
He gulps again, only nodding his head before breathlessly saying, “Of course, my love.”
He stretches you out slow, filling you up inch by devastating inch. He doesn’t rush, doesn’t enter in one soft swoop but instead lets you feel every vein and pulse of him inside your tight cunt.
Just like he always did.
From the way his cock curves slightly up, to the way his tip rubs against the gummy spot along your walls, you clench around the thickness of him, feeling everything that he has to give.
He’s not even moving much yet there’s still a soft squelching noise that comes from where the two of you meet, the sound ringing in your ears.
He bottoms out after what feels like an eternity, his hips flush against you as his heavy balls rest against your ass.
You feel so full, the sensation having stolen the breath from your lungs. Your hands grip at his shoulders harder, trying to steady yourself and not to focus too hard on the feeling of him inside of you.But the feeling of him consumes you entirely anyways.
From the warmth of his large chest pressed upon your own to the way his heavy thighs hold yours on them. He’s everywhere, he’s everything at this very moment. You almost forget just how long it’s been since you’d felt like this.
He whimpers softly above you, his own breath heavy as he gets used to the feeling of your fluttering walls around him.
His brows furrow, a crease in between them as he bites his tongue and holds back from moving his hips.
Inside, you can feel him twitch. The soft stutters he resists from pulling into, the way he feels you gush and try to pull him in closer.
“Move.” You gasp out after a few seconds, the fire in your fingertips running down his own back. “Need you to move.”
He nods in response, wasting no time before obeying.
His thrusts are deep, slowly and steady as he pushes his hips almost all the way back before snapping fully into you over and over again.
His cock hits the deepest parts, nudging and rubbing at the gummy spot in your walls as the soft hairs of his pelvis stimulate the small bundle of nerves with every crash of his hips.
It's soft, warm and intimate in the way he always used to take you.
Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him in closer as he dives in to kiss your neck.
He nuzzles into the softness of your skin, kissing over and over along the lines of your throat before sucking at your pulse point.
You jolt, crying out when he does so in time with his cock hitting your cervix. You clench tightly, gushing out all over him and he moans at the feeling.
He continues sucking at the skin, leaving tiny marks before trailing a small line of drool down to your chest. Your shirt had been taken off long ago, somewhere between him eating you out and laying you down.
His lips find your breast, kissing and licking along the tops before wrapping the warmth of his mouth over your tight and taut nipples.
Your body bows, fingernails scratching down the back of his wrinkled shirt as he sucks.
A purr rumbles from within his chest, savoring the way your bodies have started to move as one together now.
His hips pull away, yours rise to meet and follow them.
It’s gentle, yet raw and desperate in the way that only your bodies remember. Like this dance was something carved deep in your soul and you didn’t need to relearn it all over again.
His hands roam over you, squishing and holding onto every curve he can find, pulling you closer and closer as if he wants to merge your very skin into his own.
He grips your hips again, finding the place his hand was always meant to belong and you can feel the bruises already starting to form from the strength in which he holds you.
His other hand finds your own, pulling your arm away until your fingers intertwine. Palm against palm, his wedding band digs into your finger and you feel your body start to burn all over.
The knot in your stomach forms again, holding tight as his pace quickens. Pleasure runs through you, a shock that runs from your spine to your toes.
“Hiromi I’m-“ You whimper out, eyes shutting as you throw your head back.
“Mnn, I know, my love, I know.” He hums back, hiding his face deeper into your skin.
His pace quickens, hips rolling into yours as he angles himself deeper, filling you up even more.
He mutters something into your breasts, drool spilling past his lips as he kisses and mouths along the soft mounds.
You’re too far gone to understand anything, to hear anything but the soft plaps of where you two meet, to feel anything but the way his pelvis rolls into your clit. But if you listened closely, if you focused on the way his lips moved and ran across your skin, you would know he said the words “i love you” over and over as if trying to carve them into your heart.
His thighs pull yours higher, his movements becoming increasingly desperate as your walls tighten and clench all around him.
“Come for me, come for me.” He begs, uttering your name over and over like some kind of prayer that will save him.
It comes without warning, like a simple tug on a string as you fall apart in his arms.
It makes your legs shake, back arching as you come and lay beneath the waves of pleasure that start to wash over you. It consumes you whole, holding you prisoner and not letting you break free as he continues to chase his own high.
He says your name, breaking at the syllables in a small pitch before he fills you up with one final thrust.
Thick, warm, cum fills you from the inside. His cock twitching restlessly as he shoots rope after rope into you, the mess spilling out of you and gushing all around him. It coats your thighs, dripping down your ass and undoubtedly ruining the poor couch cushions.
Your chests are heavy, the sound of you both gasping for air fills your ears and you continue to cling onto him for dear life.
There’s a pause in the air, as if time has suddenly stopped to wait for you two to catch up.
Your hand holds onto his shoulders. His own holds your hips in the way he used to, grounding.
And suddenly you two have seemed to have forgotten the situation that brought you here.
Your bodies are flushed, sticky with sweat and lingering desire as Hiromi collapses onto you. His weight practically suffocating as he lays his chest back against your breasts.
Silence surrounds you two as the intoxicating feeling of need dies out, the heat you two created slowly turning back into the cold you’ve felt for weeks.
There are left over tears in your eyes you didn’t even know were there until you try to blink them away, suddenly confused as to why you’ve started crying.
Your lips move to say something, to utter some word of regret or apology or reason. But he beats you to it.
“I’m sorry.” He whispers.
“I should’ve been here. For you, for us.” His voice is solemn, regret cracking along the lines of every word.
“I won’t fight. I’ll do whatever it is you want me to. Just please,” His head moves to gaze up at you.
Those tired eyes shine with tears once more, need and hurt and love filling them so full that it robs you of breath all over again.
“Don’t take my heart with you.”
Thank you for reading </3 Comments and reblogs are v much appreciated! If you have any insights please leave them kindly
a/n: Mnnfggh, needy… whiny men…
tags: my beautiful @cherrys-wrld , hope you like it bbg :3
synopsis: in which lawyer higuruma is crushing on the cute receptionist at the firm who's too young for him.
contains: mdni, tension, ten-year age gap, law student!reader, drinking, adult conversations, fingering, face-sitting, explicit sex, the dorks babble on about violations while they fuck, 2.1k words
note: art by glowfu on instagram
The fluorescent hum of the firm usually felt like a cage, but lately, it felt like a sanctuary. Higuruma Hiromi, a man whose soul was etched with case law and billable hours, found his discipline crumbling every time he looked toward the reception desk.
He still recalls the day he first met you.
Breathless and clutching a red folder, you arrived at the interview in a rushed haze. Your lustrous hair was swept into a messy, high bun, several stray wisps framing a wide-eyed expression of panicked sincerity. Clad in a simple soft pink off-the-shoulder top and casual blue denim jeans, you looked more like the student you were than a legal candidate.
The man had told you that your resume was impressive but not to make the mistake of wearing casual outfits to work again. You'd given him a bashful smile and admitted that you were called in at the last minute for the interview hence your lack of preparation.
Once hired, however, the transformation was striking. Seated behind the sleek mahogany desk, you exuded a polished, academic charm. Your hair remained in a bun, but now neatly sculpted. Thin-rimmed glasses perched on your nose, highlighting an air of sharp focus. Swapping cotton for a professional black blouse and a structured plaid skirt, you finally looked the part of the law firm’s indispensable face at the front desk.
You were ten years his junior, a law student with bright eyes that hadn't yet been dulled by the judicial system. To the rest of the partners, you were the girl who handled the phones. To Hiromi, you were the only reason he stayed past 8:00 PM poring over textbooks and assignments he stopped using years ago.
"The logic in your torts brief is sound," he’d murmur in his corner office, the city lights shimmering behind him. “But your conclusion needs more teeth,” he'd gesture to the points he wanted you to flesh out with his glinting metallic pen while ignoring how you'd marvel over his long, thick fingers before snapping out of your thoughts and concentrating.
He’d spend hours guiding you through the complexities of the law, ignoring the mounting files on his own desk just to see you nod in realization. In return, you brought him life. Every morning, a coffee—black, two sugars—and on Fridays, a slice of rich chocolate cake. “Coffee and chocolate are the only acceptable pairings for a Friday,” he’d joke.
Once, a smudge of ganache lingered on his lip. Without thinking, you reached out, swiped it away with your thumb, and licked it clean. The air in the office had turned electric. Hiromi’s breath hitched, and for a moment, the professional veneer shattered into a thousand flustered pieces.
He looked out for you with a quiet, possessive intensity. He’d lightly scold interns who lingered too long at your desk, spinning your chair playfully as he walked past just to hear you laugh as he asked his usual, “Workin’ hard or hardly workin,’ kid?”
He’d even adjusted a twisted bra strap once, his fingers trembling against your skin, just as you’d often reach up to straighten his tie before a court appearance. Once, when a filing project left your hands covered in industrial adhesive, he’d led you to the kitchen sink, holding your hands under the warm water, scrubbing the stickiness away with a tenderness that felt like a confession. Your eyes had fluttered from how his dress shirt brushed your back, heat rolling off him and warming you down south.
Then came the Friday drinks.
The team was three rounds deep into highballs, and the conversation had spiraled from billable hours to the bedroom. The atmosphere was loose, blurring the lines of hierarchy. When the topic turned to “firsts” and fantasies, the group grew rowdy.
“A little choking never hurt anyone,” Shimizu, Higuruma's assistant said with a wave as she leaned back before straightening when she thought better of it and pointed to the interns. “Only if you do it properly.”
“I'm into a bit of bondage too, yeah,” your timid coworker with crooked glasses piped in, making you all turn to him in shock as he flushed a bright red. Huh, it's always the quiet ones. You nodded, impressed.
Sighing, one of the uptight, strict attorneys rubbed her brow bone when you all questioned her, an arm resting on the top of the booth. She looked way more relaxed than usual. “I have a breeding kink.”
Your mouth fell agape. “But you're a lesbian, how does that work?”
A slow, lazy grin claims her face that made your stomach tumble. “It's the idea of it. I know it can't happen but that won't stop me from trying to come inside my woman.”
Everyone grows flustered at that then continues going around the table and eventually, it's your turn. Higuruma slightly perks up, lending an ear to the conversation he found boring just before this.
“I’ve actually never... been eaten out,” you admitted, your face warming. A chorus of shocked gasps erupted. “But,” you added, emboldened by the margaritas, “I've always wanted to try sitting on someone's face.”
The table erupted in wolf whistles and teasing. You laughed, hiding your face, but Higuruma remained silent. He was staring intensely at the amber liquid in his glass, his knuckles white.
“What about you, Higuruma-san?” an associate prodded. “What’s the stoic overworked and underfucked genius into?”
Casting him a flat look, the dark-haired man with the hooked nose and tired eyes sighed. He set his glass down. He lifted his gaze, roaming over all the inquisitive, eager faces around the table then settling it directly on you. The noise of the bar seemed to vanish.
“I’ve always preferred it when a woman rides my nose,” he said, his voice a low, gravelly vibration. “Uses it to pleasure herself while smothering me.”
He took a slow sip of his drink, his dark eyes burning into yours over the rim of the glass, letting those words soak in for all of you.
While the coworkers cheered and laughed at what they thought was a rare bit of raunchy humor from the man, you felt the heat of his stare settle low in your gut. He wasn't joking. And for the first time, he wasn't keeping it under wraps.
Later, the walk to the parking garage was silent, the heavy night air thick with the unspoken confession from the bar.
As soon as the elevator doors shut with a metallic hiss, Higuruma's composure snapped. He didn't wait for his car door to open before his mouth was on yours, tasting like expensive gin and the chocolate cake from earlier.
Your surprised gasp was fucking adorable. “Mmph! Mr. Higuruma—”
“Hiromi,” he corrected you, breaking away just to tell you that before diving in again and groaning when you welcomed it.
The man practically lifted you into the backseat of his sleek sedan, the leather cool against your skin as he crowded over you. The professional, stern lawyer was gone, replaced by a man starving for the very thing he’d been lecturing you on for months when the interns would flirt with you.
“Hiromi, we shouldn't—the firm's policy on fraternization—” you sucked in a breath as his hand slid up your thigh, hooking into the lace of your underwear. Your blouse was pushed up to free your perky tits, bra unclasped.
“Article 4, Section 2,” he murmured against your neck, his breath hot. “Conflict of interest.”
He didn't stop. His fingers found you, slick and ready. There was no warning given as he shoved his middle finger inside your pooling hole. Back arching, you whimpered, hand catching on the cold steel of his watch that cost about the same as your tuition.
“You should take that off. I might ruin it,” you advised through pants.
“Don't worry about it, sweetheart. It's waterproof,” he assured you with the scrunch of his nose, slipping his dexterous finger back and forth, your cunt gurgling from the puddle of slick there. “Get it as wet as you want. Make a fucking mess.”
His filthy words had your pussy clamping down on his digit, swollen lips parted on a sharp gasp as his thumb rubbed your aching clit in firm, steady circles that had your stomach caving. He pumped it in and out of you with authoritative precision, adding the second one as his cock throbbed with another heavy pump of blood from the way your pussy fluttered and sucked him in.
The way your features furrow, brows creasing, lips parted on shallow, sharp pants and eyes glazed with desirous heat was better than the visions Higuruma conjured as he'd guiltily fuck his fist in the shower after sporting a hard-on all day from the scent of your perfume or you gracing him with a smile.
When he felt your insides swell as if you were about to come, he grew dizzy with arousal as your thighs twitch, rubbing together for more friction but he refused to let you come anywhere other than his mouth so he withdrew his fingers reluctantly, sucking them clean as you protested. He apologized with a kiss to your dewy temple.
“My apologies, sweetheart, but I'd prefer if you came in my mouth first so I could fulfill both of our fantasies, yeah?”
He didn't give you time to process the heat of his words before he was shifting, picking you up and laying himself down on the creaking leather seat. Hands on your hips, he pulled you onto him so that your syrupy cunt was hovering over his face.
True to his word, he didn't hesitate as he gripped your sides and settled your weight on his face. When his face pressed against you, the contact was electric. You gripped his silky hair, your thighs trembling as he showed you exactly what those 'college boys' had been missing.
“Stupid boys,” he muttered against your skin, his voice muffled and dark as he licked and slurped at you greedily, nose rubbing at your clit, the hook of it catching sometimes. “Noses buried in textbooks when they could have been right here. All those fools you study with, they have no idea what they're doing with a woman like you.”
You were mindless, your hips rocking against his face as he drank you in. The windows were already beginning to cloud over, a hazy white veil shielding you from the world outside. When you finally came, crying out his name, he didn't let you rest.
He moved over you, shedding his blazer and fumbling with his belt. You reached out, your stilettos digging into the pressed fabric of his undone trousers over his ass as you hiked your legs onto his shoulders. The friction of his dress shirt against your bare breasts was a delicious contrast.
"This is... a massive violation of the employee handbook," you wheezed, your heels pressing into his back as he pushed inside you, filling the ache he'd created with a deliriously thick cock.
“Gross misconduct,” he agreed, his pace frantic like he was worried you might get caught at any moment, the car rocking on its suspension with every heavy thrust. “Grounds for immediate termination.”
“And sexual harassment... if I didn't want it this badly,” you added, your voice breaking as he hit a spot that made your toes curl.
He surged into you harder, a deep, bruising thrust that forced a sob of relief from your throat. The car rocked on its axles, the rhythm of his thrusts steady and relentless.
Every time he hit the end of you, he muttered another 'violation'—an ethics breach, a workplace hazard, a total abandonment of his moral compass—and you finished every single one of them until the words turned into breathless, incoherent moans.
“I've wanted you since the first day you brought me that coffee,” he confessed through a slur, his forehead pressed against yours, sweat dripping from his brow. “Fuck, it’s been torture. Every time I adjusted your clothes, every time I drove you home, I was imagining this.”
“Me too,” you sobbed, clutching his shoulders as the windows went completely opaque, pearlescent with fog. “I've wanted you since the first time you scolded me for my citations.”
“Yeah? You like getting scolded?” he grunted, nipping at your chin.
Sheepish despite the circumstances, you nodded. “A little bit.”
Higuruma let out a low, guttural laugh, his movements becoming desperate as he reached his limit, the snap of his hips growing sporadic. “Then let's make sure this violation is thorough.”
As the car swayed and the leather creaked under the weight of months of repressed longing, the law firm and the bar felt like another lifetime. In the fogged-up dark of the backseat, there were no rules left to break—only the two of you, finally honest.
Outside, the streets shone with the pink, green, blue and other hues of neon lights from the shops nearby, the beams streaking across the gravely roads while the music blasting from the nightclubs drowned out your debauchery.
"aw." higuruma tuts, tilting his head and grabbing your cheeks in his big hand, squishing your face so it forms a ridiculous pout. "i can feel your heartbeat in your pussy. did you know that?"
"hngh... n-no."
higuruma thrusts forwards slowly, watching the way your hole stretches around him to accommodate more and more of his thick cock the deeper he goes. he finally bottoms out with a soft, wet shlick! sound when his tip presses snugly to your womb. "yes i can." he says softly, staring into your eyes as you scrunch your face and flutter them shut, the sensation of being so full overwhelming you.
you'd only meant to close your eyes for a bit to gather your thoughts. it’s easy to get cockdrunk while higuruma fucks you, and trying to calm down even when he’s fucking you is needed so you don’t get dumb and drooly. however, he gets upset very quickly when part of your pretty expression becomes hidden from him. after all, the best way for him to read you is through those sparkly eyes of yours.
"open your eyes." he says, voice soft but firm. he doesn't pull out or give you any relief from his cock filling you up to your limits and pushing up against every inch inside you, instead leaning over you further to somehow stuff more of himself in you. you'll suffer until you obey him.
"hic-! hiromi, 's too big, jus' give me a sec-" you plead, sending waves of frustration through him. he prides himself on his ability to adapt for you, but you're being a brat at this point, intentionally disobeying him and hiding away. it's the one and only pet peeve he harbors towards you, not looking at him while he pounds your drooly cunt, and yet you manage to continuously do so.
rolling his hips sharply, he grinds his cockhead into your cervix and gives your face another gentle squeeze before trailing his hand down to your throat instead. “open your eyes, my love.” the use of the endearment even while he’s being stern with you has a whimper leaving you involuntarily.
he’s so deep inside you that his heavy balls are squished flush to the curve of your ass, nothing but neat pubic hair visible because all of his cock is sheathed inside you and unmoving. he won’t allow you relief until your eyes open.
you want to plead for a moment of mercy, but you know higuruma won’t accept any defiance from you any longer. you open your eyes, meeting his intense gaze. he stares at you with an expression that's soft but unwavering, his hand still lightly wrapped around your throat with his thumb pressing into your pulse point.
"thats it. keep them open for me," he murmurs, starting to pick up the pace again as he thrusts shallowly into your cunt, "i want to see all of you."
your body heats up at the admission and the feeling of being stretched open, and your hips squirm slightly beneath him to try and adjust to his size and how much he's filled you up, but all your desperation and whininess does is spur him on. his grip on your throat tightens slightly as he grinds his hips forward, burying himself even deeper inside you.
his free hand trails along your body, grasping everywhere from your waist, up to your tits as he grabs a mound and kneads it gently in his palm. he moans softly at the way they bounce and move with each deep thrust he delivers into your plush cunt, and he leans down to capture the noises you make as he plays with your nipples. his mouth captures yours in an open mouthed kiss, his tongue rolling over yours in a messy kiss. his grip on your neck allows him to tip your head back so he can sink his tongue deeper into you and taste every part of your sweet mouth as he ruins you.
as you anticipated, the mind fuck hits you due to so many stimulants on your body at once. him pounding into you, holding your throat with one hand, squeezing your breast with the other, and his tongue fucking your mouth with wild abandon. you're close to cumming, and higuruma knows it. he pulls off your mouth with a wet pop, watching, transfixed, as a sheer string of saliva connects your mouths and breaks. he stares, transfixed, at the way your face has contorted in pleasure.
higuruma can feel your pussy starting to tighten, squeezing around him like a velvet vice. "there you go," he says, feeling you milk his cock each time he tries to pull out, squeezing him as if you're trying to keep him inside you. "close already? have i fucked my sweet girl dumb already?"
you nod, then cry out his name as your back arches off the bed, loud moans leaving you as you start to cum around his cock.
feeling your pussy gush around his shaft, higuruma groans loudly and watches your arousal flooding out to coat his length. he doesn't stop his movements, continuing to grind against your spasming walls as your orgasm rolls through you.
the sensation of your pussy clinging to his cock while you cum is almost too intense, but he focuses, determined to prolong your pleasure. he can hardly keep eye contact with you as your eyes roll and glaze over because the face you make as you orgasm usually brings him over the edge too. it's why he loves looking at you, but now it makes him unable to hold back.
as your climax starts to ebb, higuruma feels his own release building. The way your cunt sucks and squeezes his cock, the slick heat engulfing him, it's too much for him anymore. with a final, deep thrust of his hips, he buries himself inside you to the hilt, his cock pulsing and throbbing as he cums inside you.
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(18+) hiromi higuruma has a thing for seeing you cry
he tries to pretend he doesn't. he knows it’s fucked up.
after a day of lost cases, spilled coffee, and interns who couldn’t follow basic instructions to save their life, he craves control more than he could ever admit.
when he walks into the apartment, you were already waiting – draped in his t-shirt, giggly, needy, and looking up at him from where you were sprawled on the couch.
he tells himself he’ll be gentle.
but when his thumbs dig into your lower tummy, right where he's buried inside you – you can’t help but shed a tear. his name comes out in some desperate wail as you cream for him.
and there it is.
a small, wrecked sound.
for a minute, he panics. slows down to an unbearable motion.
until that sound turns into a full whimper.
“no– don’t stop!” you beg, still teary. your nails dig into his forearms.
“i’m okay, i promise.”
the grip on your waist tightens, jaw flexing. “d-don’t lie to me,” he murmurs, clearing his throat. “i need you to tell me.”
“please...” you nod profusely, lip caught in your teeth.
“i want this.”
his eyes search yours, mindlessly pressing against your womb. your lower body jolts as you attempt to avoid the warm, tingly feeling building in your core.
“romi..” you whimper, back arching against the cool tile of the kitchen counter.
his gaze flicks to your swollen clit, eyes glazed over as he takes in just how puffy your cunt looks with the lace of your panties pushed to the sides. and he can’t help but thrust deeper into you.
“a-ah! wait– wait, feels s’good,” you babble, tears welling in your eyes. his lips twitch slightly, a breathy chuckle leaving him as you sob.
“too much, princess?” he finishes calmly. you nod frantically as your walls flutter around him. his thumb swipes under your eye, catching the tear before it falls against your cheek.
she said it feels good.
another tear slips down.
i shouldn’t like this.
this is inappropriate.
your voice cracks around his name again.
control yourself.
he breathes slowly.
and then you make the mistake of bringing his thumb to your lips, and sucking softly.
his breath catches in his throat, lips parting slightly. your lips close around his thumb – warm and deliberate – as you swirl your tongue around the tip.
don’t.
your tongue brushes again, the vibration of a whine taunting him.
don’t react.
and with a pop, he pulls his hand back from your mouth.
not roughly.
just enough.
his thumb drags along your bottom lip before he presses it there, smearing the wetness back against you. “you’re testing me,” he murmurs, hand roaming lower before pressing his palm to your throat.
“don’t...” he rasps, slamming into you. filthy wet sounds fill the room as his thrusts deepen. your vision blurs when he readjusts, bullying your cervix with the tip. you can’t help but clamp down around him – so hard he groans.
“fuck, romi… inside p-please..” you gasp, grinding against his hips.
and for a moment, he freezes – trying to comprehend your demand. his breath stalls, debating whether or not you were serious.
he could stop.
he gets one look of your face – glistening from spit and drool – and doesn’t.
“fuck–,” he hisses, eyes glued to the way he twitches inside you. warmth spreads inside you, cream coating the base of his cock as he pulls out slowly. your hole puckers at the unbearable emptiness.
your vision takes a second to clear.
he doesn’t move immediately.
his chest rises slowly.
once.
twice.
the dazed look in your eyes makes his chest tighten.
“hey.”
your eyes focus again, darting between the wetness gathered under you and him.
Showing Shibuya real incident from my balcony aka husband nanami stayed back.
"mr. nanami behave yourself," you huffed, slapping your palm against your husband's thick and voluptuous chest, trying and failing to push him away, other hand clutching his tie in your hand.
he ignored your words, breathless chuckle escaping from his lips as his hands found your waist again, fabric of his shirt wrinkled, "can't I love my wife, mrs. nanami?" he hummed, voice thick and smooth, vibrating along his chest.
you tapped your feet against the stepping stool, balancing yourself as you focused on tying his tie, "You loved me plenty this morning, time to be professional," you mused, still clad in his sleep shirt, feet padded in his socks (that were pooling at your ankles), cunt full of his loa—
"that's not enough," he groaned, feeling himself harden at the mere mention of the morning hours spent in each other's cradle, "nothing is ever enough with you my love."
His hand wandered, from the curve of your waist down to the hem of your his shirt, fingers ghosting over your thighs, skin painted with hours of dedication, "maybe I should spend few more minutes on her."
"Kento—" You breath hitched, hands fumbling the tie, feet wobbled on the stool as you leaned against him completely, hands grabbing first full of his shirt, "you'll be late—"
"and?" he hummed, arm wrapping around your waist, easily lifting your weight, "I think I have enough time to spare, my love." he pulled you tight against his chest, stepping stool toppling over with a dull thud, from the shear speed at which he snatched you up, "don't worry about it, I'll make sure to put extra inches in you."
the tie is abandoned at the door of your bed, dangling helplessly, just like your legs.
he has you in missionary, legs tossed over his thighs, shirt tucked underneath your chin, so he can see the bounce of your tits with each thrust, nipples still pebbled and glossy from his spit.
he grinned at you, teeths sharp and predator-like, one hand balancing his weight on the mattress the other squeezing lightly around your neck.
you moaned loudly, eyes slamming shut from the overwhelming presence of him.
"making your husband late for work," he groaned, shifting your thighs higher, angling his thrusts against the spongy spot that made you see stars.
"liar," you whined, hands pressing against his toned abs, feeling yourself inch higher on the bed with each rut of his hips, "you stayed—"
your words are cut off by another thrust, this time he stopped the rutting of his hips, grinding against your tender cervix.
"you tempted me," he groaned, licking a thick stripe from your sternum to your cheek, lips hovering over yours, hand sliding down to press against the bulge in your belly, basking in the way you withered under him, "dancing around all morning in just my shirt," he pressed his lips against yours, the tip of his cock mimicking the peck against your pudgy cervix, "I could see your pussy every time you raised your arms, my love."
you shuddered, so full of love and cock, clit aching for stimulation while your walls quivered around him.
dragging your hands along his torso, mapping out the shape of the man rearranging your guts, you whined, helplessly rutting against his hips, begging to move, "stop—teasing me, kento."
he leaned down, pressing his lips against your forehead, so rough yet so gentle, all the love he felt for you made his gums ache.
he pulled out, getting back into the rhythm, hand tangling in the sheets as he reached between your thighs, thumb rubbing shapes on your clit, practiced and perfected, "be good now, I know you are close."
you tossed your head back, head digging into the pillows beneath, "so—so close kento."
the messy circles on your clit accompanied by his throbbing length were enough to make your walls pulls taut, withering against his frame as waves of pleasure washed over you.
before your walls even had a chance to relax around him, he pulled out completely, leaving you empty and complaining.
"kent—"
"quite down." it's cold, you are completely naked on the bed, chest pressing against the soft sheets, pillow propping up your pelvis, giving him a full view of your glossy folds, hole squeezing around nothing.
"you didn't think about the consequences, my love?" deep, baritone voice filled the room, his hands coming to rest on your ass, spreading you open, "or maybe you did."
"sorry kent—honey, I am so-mmphh." your half-hearted apology dissolved into a low moan, his thumb finding your swollen bud, barely moving, just present there, weighing down.
despite your stupor, you felt the sudden thrum of cursed energy coursing through the room—thick and palpable against your tingling skin.
excitement and anticipation pooling in your stomach, already aware of what's about to happen.
he breathed out, lining his cock with your pussy, mentally counting down 3...2...1
and slam—it knocked the breath out of your lungs, face squished the pillows as stars danced across your vision, walls taut around his throbbing length.
before you even had a chance to recover, nanami slowly pulled out, veins dragging against your spasming walls, only rut back inside with his entire body weight, each thrust—with practiced precision, battering your insides.
"it feels good there, right?" he mused, swiping a hand across your sweaty forehead, lips smushed against your cheeks, "it's so tender there."
"you are close aren't you?" he huffed, plump tip of his cock, grinding deliciously against your cervix, leaving behind tingles.
"so—so close—" you gasped, feeling his balls pressed flushed against your clit, wet and sticky with slick.
he groaned, planting one feet flat on the mattress—just getting started.
════════════════════════
he stared down at you lovely, all ruined and tucked in bed, puffy pussy still leaking his cum as you sleepily looked up at him.
"I'll get you cleaned up." he murmured against your forehead, hand reaching between your thighs to smear the leaking fluid around, collecting thick glob and coating your clit, already feeling blood rush back to his cock.
you lazily curled your leg, toes poking against the base of his cock, eyes closing as you slid both hands down your body and parting your folds, fingers bumping against his on the way, "I can handle another round."
oml hubby!nanamin reminding you to breath during smex!
sorry for such the long hiatus loves :((
“where do you feel me baby? tell me.” you nails dug into the back of the man currently fucking the shit out of you, to the point where you were incoherent. your thighs pressed against your sweat glazed torso, his hips harshly colliding with yours, hitting the deepest and most sensitive spots you have.
“mmm! n-hereeeee!” you weakly moved one of your hands to your womb. he smiles, kissing your lips and then making home on your sensitive neck. where his moans and groans went straight to your ear.
nanami makes LOVE. he never fucks.
he wants you to lose yourself in the pleasure he gives you, always to the point where you’re overstimulated and almost can’t take it.
one thing nanami always noticed was how you don’t breath whenever you guys have sex. it’s not like when you ask him to slightly choke you, or when he shifts his weight on top of you when you guys are in prone bone. it’s whenever you guys are intimate in general, he has to stop and remind you every time :(
“baby, baby. breathhh.” he halts his hips, holding your face so your gaze is only focusing on him. not even a second passed and you’re gasping in and out, tears cradling down your brown cheeks. “there you go baby, there you go..” he slowly picks up his thrusts again, causing you to whine and whimper. trying your best not to fall into the habit of holding your breath again.
“m’gunna cuhmmm n-nana!” — “that’s my good girl. y-yeaa.” the knot in your stomach about to burst. his tip constantly hitting that spot that makes you feel dizzy. “it’s t’much!”
you whined. pushing against nanami’s abdomen, attempting to halt his thrusts for a moment. but he didn’t let up. “uh, uh baby. let out for me, let it out for your nana.” grabbing your wrists, and pinning it above your head.
the knot in your stomach snaps. squirting all over your husbands and thighs, coating them with your essence. it wasn’t too long until nanami reached his high. quickly pulling out and finishing on your stomach.
“did so good for me baby,” he lifted his hand from your wrist, using it to caress the side of your face.
⎯⎯ 七海 ! 𓈒ׁ ꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱ ໋ 𓈒 18+
sex with your loser husband is always amazing.
♡ nanami wasn’t the type to fuss. not outwardly at least. always attentive, always quietly catering to your needs in that subtle way of his. he didn’t say much, he didn’t need to. his actions spoke well enough on their own.
the way he would prepare meals for you and him whenever he was feeling hungry, drawing baths for you without a second thought, always bringing back the yummiest desserts whenever he went elsewhere for work . . . he was a sweetheart, really.
while no words could fully encapsulate your love for him, you sometimes wondered if the businessman was capable of understanding the art of seduction at all.
not that he was lacking in any way—if anything, that was the problem. nanami wasn’t a performer; he was a giver. there was no practiced confidence in the way he approached you, no effort to be anything other than sincere. and somehow, that made everything feel more intense instead.
he was hovered over you, your frame supported by the plethora of soft, satin pillows beneath you, body draped in pretty lace undergarments. your arms were wrapped around his muscular build for support. your face mere centimeters from his own, close enough to let your breaths mingle. his hazel colored eyes didn’t leave you as he slid his cock over your dampened folds, flushed tip nudging into your small bundle of nerves with each rock of his hips.
“you made that sound earlier too.” he spoke gently, tilting his head down at you.
“... does that mean you like this?” his voice is low and warm, heavy hands resting caging you in underneath him, soft strands of hair tickling your forehead. you nodded sheepishly, glancing down to see where the two of joined together — or almost. each soft stroke sent waves of pleasure through you, each vein of his shaft nudging against your drenched folds in a way that made your toes curl.
the soft squelches of skin on a skin made your brain melt, the slow roll of his hips only making your tummy flutter.
“kentooo . . put it in already . .” you whined, batting your eyelashes up at him, earning a small hum from your husband. “are you sure? i read that you’re supposed to take it slow..”
you couldn’t help but let out a small breathy laugh, “i’ll be fine… besides.. this is slow.”
he lets out a small huff of laughter, “you do have a point…”
he shifts just enough for his flushed tip to align with your entrance, he pushes in slow and steady until he’s buried deep inside you. your body involuntary clenching around him.
his forearms cradled your head as he he moved with shallow thrusts, everso gently. his girth stretching you out, his gaze remaining fixed on you, afraid he’ll miss all your soft breaths and gasps. “you look so pretty like this…” he murmurs more to himself than to you.
to be honest, sex with nanami was never the same, each time more intimate than the last. it never fully settled into routine. every time still felt like the first time with him: a tinge of hesitance whenever he touched you, soft in the same way, rediscovering each other over and over again.
his thrusts picked up in speed, rolling his hips lazily against you, filling you up deeper and deeper.
“s-so full ken…” you mewl, honeyed voice sending small waves of pleasure through his system. his face lights up, a soft gasp escaping him at your approval, he buries his face in the crook of your neck, sheen with sweat, pressing soft kisses against your nape right under your ear before they turned into soft bites. just the way you liked.
“good?” he hummed against your skin.
your walls clamped down on him tighter, lips parted as you hung your arms around the back of his neck, fingers tangling through his hair: “y-yes, keep going” your voice is shaky and needy as your velvet walls molded to fit him, his tip—flushed and sensitive inside you—grazing up against your sweet spot.
his touches to your skin remained gentle, one hand coming up to cup your breast as your legs wrapped around his waist, fully enveloping him in your warmth. the soft squish of your cunt filling up the room, clenching around him so hard that he lets out a choked moan. his pace not faltering, slow and heavy.
nanami didn’t need to go fast for you to lose your breath. the stretch of him was enough, thick veins dragging along your walls, his sensitive head nudging your sweet spot as if it were second nature. warmth bubbled up in your chest as your walls fluttered around him, slick dripping down between your thighs.
“mmmh.. ken.. m’close...”, your brows knitting together in bliss.
“m’close too…” he huffs before as his fingers find your puffy clit, his thumb pressing small figure eights, leaving your mouth agape. “better?” he hums.
“yes, fuck,” your eyes shut in utter bliss as you felt waves of pleasure wobble through your body. he captures you in a harsh yet gentle kiss, tongue softly prodding against the plush of lips . . .
it was all so overwhelming, his weight pressing into you, his scent, faintly of fresh citrus and clean skin, filling your senses.
your orgasm following soon after — calling out his name in a muffled sob, thighs twitching against him, your heat clamping down around him . . . it wasn’t long before his own release rushed up on him, choking up on top of you, rivulets of white painting your walls.
the two of you caught your breath before he leaned down to press a chaste kiss to your forehead, wiping the sweat off your forehead with a gentle swipe of his thumb. his two-toned strands sticking to to his own forehead, a pink hue gracing his cheeks.
he looked so pretty like this. soft light catching on his features, his expression unguarded. beautiful, really. he let out a soft hum, bringing your attention back to him.
“i was wondering..” he began, settling besides you, head hitting the pillow with a dull thud. “if it’s okay, can we try something else?” eyes hesitant and unblinking, his length still buried deep inside you. chest heaving softly, coming out in labored breath.
your hand rises to his cheek, pressing soft, careful touches there. “sure we can…”
and really, who were you to say no to your sweet husband?
reupload while i work on longer fics ^,^
i have 150 drafts on here and about 70 more in notes...
𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶ♱ ྀིྀ An overworked and exhausted Nanami snaps under the weight of months of unspoken tension when you interrupt his late-night paperwork. ˎˊ˗
MDNI
The clock on the wall of the office ticked past 1:00 AM.
Nanami Kento adjusted his cuffs, his eyes burning as he scanned yet another report on the recent casualties in the Tokyo suburbs. The fluorescent lights hummed a low, irritating note that vibrated straight into his temples. He was well past his designated working hours, a fact that tasted like ash in his mouth, but the paperwork wouldn’t disappear on its own.
A soft knock broke the silence.
He didn’t look up as the door creaked open, though he recognized your footsteps instantly. "If this is about the mission briefs for tomorrow, leave them on the desk. I will review them later."
"It’s not a brief," you said quietly, stepping into the room. "It’s coffee."
Nanami finally raised his head. his mouth was set in a tight, exhausted line. He watched as you set the ceramic mug down near his workspace. The steam carried the rich, bitter scent of dark roast—exactly how he liked it.
"You should be home," he said, his voice a low, gravelly baritone that vibrated in the quiet room. "Office workers require adequate rest to maintain peak performance."
"Look who's talking," you replied, leaning against the edge of his desk. Your thigh brushed against the corner of his neat stack of papers. You looked down at him, noting the way his hair was slightly disheveled, a few blonde strands falling out of their usual immaculate styling. "You look like you're about to snap, Nanami."
He exhaled a long, heavy breath through his nose. His hand reached out, not for the coffee, but to pinch the bridge of his nose. With a fluid, weary motion, he took off his spotted glasses, setting them carefully on the desk.
Without the lenses shielding him, his gaze was piercing. Heavy-lidded, dark, and tracking your movements with an intensity that made the air in the small office suddenly feel entirely too thick.
"I am tired," he confessed, the admission heavy and raw. "And my patience is exceptionally thin tonight."
"Then let me help you relax," you murmured. You reached out, your fingers tentative as they brushed against the collar of his shirt.
Nanami stiffened slightly. Every pragmatic, disciplined instinct in his corporate-trained mind told him to politely decline, to kick you out, to maintain the strict boundary he had built between his professional duties and his personal desires. For months, the tension between you had been an unwritten rule, a mutual understanding kept under lock and key.
But your fingers dipped lower, undoing the top button of his shirt, your knuckles grazing the warm skin of his collarbone. “Just wanna… help you relax sir.”
A muscle clenched in Nanami's jaw. The restraint he prided himself on—the meticulous, unyielding control that kept him alive in the face of curses—shattered in an instant. Before you could draw a breath, his hand shot out. His fingers wrapped around your wrist. His grip wasn't painful, but it was absolute, unyielding iron.
"You shouldn't have done that," he growled, his voice dropping an octave, thick with a sudden, dark heat.
With a sudden, powerful surge, Nanami stood up. The heavy office chair rolled backward, slamming against the filing cabinet behind him. He didn't let go of your wrist; instead, he used his leverage to push you back, pinning you flat against the heavy oak desk. The coffee mug rattled. A stack of reports scattered to the floor, forgotten.
He crowded into your space, his large frame completely eclipsing yours. The smell of him—expensive cologne, iron, and pure, intoxicating warmth—overwhelmed your senses.
"Nanami—" your voice caught in your throat as his free hand came up, his fingers sliding into your hair, tilting your head back to expose the line of your throat.
"I told you," he murmured against your skin, his hot breath sending a shiver straight down your spine. "My patience is gone."
He didn't waste time with gentle coaxing. His mouth came down on yours with a fierce, demanding hunger that took your breath away. It was a revelation—the pristine, stoic Nanami Kento, completely unraveled by his own desire. His tongue parted your lips, taking what he wanted with a meticulous but breathless intensity, as if he were mapping out every square inch of your mouth.
You groaned into the kiss, your free hand coming up to grip his shoulder. The fabric of his suit jacket was tight under your fingers, his muscles hard and coiled like a spring.
When he broke the kiss, he was panting, his forehead resting against yours for a fraction of a second. His eyes were dark, dilated, and entirely predatory. With an efficient, practice-honed movement, he reached down and unbuckled his belt, the metallic click sounding exceptionally loud in the quiet room. He stripped his tie off in one blind motion, tossing it to the floor.
"If we are going to do this," Nanami rasped, his hands gripping your hips, lifting you effortlessly to sit fully on the edge of the desk, "we are going to do it thoroughly. I do not do things halfway."
He parted your legs, stepping between them, his thighs locking you in place. His large, calloused hands slid up the inner skin of your thighs, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. Instead of pulling your clothes completely off, he ruthlessly tore your undergarments to the side, exposing you completely. He drove two long fingers straight inside you without warning, testing your readiness.
You gasped, your hips bucking up against his hand as the sudden intrusion stretched you. Nanami growled at the immediate, slick heat coating his knuckles, pumping his fingers deep inside you while his thumb aggressively mashed against your clit. He was deliberately making you a soaking, desperate mess, the slick friction sounding loud and dirty in the quiet office.
"Look at me," he commanded softly, his thumbs sweeping over your hip bones, pressing in deep enough to leave a mark.
You looked up, breathless, your chest heaving.
Nanami leaned down, his lips brushing yours once, twice, before his teeth nipped at your bottom lip, drawing a soft gasp from you. "Good," he whispered against your mouth, his hands moving to ready both of you. "Keep your eyes on me."
He didn’t hesitate. With a single, fluid motion born of absolute intent, he guided his thick length against your drenched opening and slammed inside, buried deep to the hilt in one heavy, unyielding stroke.
The sudden fullness tore a sharp scream from your throat, which he caught in his mouth, devouring the sound. Your hands scrambled for purchase, your fingers digging through his shirt and clawing into the firm, knotted muscles of his shoulders. The sheer size and heat of him filled you completely, stretching you to a point that blurred the line between ache and pure, dizzying ecstasy.
Nanami froze for a fraction of a second, his head dropping into the crook of your neck as he let out a low, ragged groan. His chest heaved against yours, his heart hammering like a trapped bird.
"God," he rasped against your skin, the uncharacteristic swear slipping out like a confession. His hands tightened on your hips, his thumbs pressing bruisingly deep into your flesh to anchor you. "You are... entirely too tight. You're squeezing me to death."
"Nanami," you choked out, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, locking your ankles behind his back to pull him even closer, desperate to eliminate any remaining distance. "Please. Faster."
The plea snapped whatever fragile thread of restraint he had left.
He began to move. It wasn't the frenzied, chaotic pace of a novice; true to his nature, Nanami’s movements were deliberate, rhythmic, and devastatingly deep. Each thrust was an exercise in absolute power, his hips driving forward with a relentless, heavy force that rocked the heavy oak desk against the floorboards. The wet, messy slapping sound of his pelvis smashing hard against your soaked folds echoed obscenely through the basement.
The friction was immediate and scorching. You threw your head back, your eyes closing as waves of intense pleasure rippled through your core. Every time he pulled back almost entirely, exposing his glistening shaft to the cool air, it was only to drive home again, bottoming out against your cervix, pinning you to the desk with the sheer weight of his body.
"Open your eyes," he commanded, his voice a rough, gravelly friction in the quiet room.
You forced your eyelids open, vision swimming with tears of pleasure. Nanami was looking down at you, his blonde hair falling wildly into his face, his jaw clenched so hard the muscles jumped. His shirt was completely unbuttoned now, dripping with sweat that fell onto your chest. The stark contrast between his usual buttoned-up, immaculate demeanor and this filthy, primal hunger was utterly intoxicating.
"I want to see you," he muttered, his pace quickening, shifting from deliberate to desperate. His strokes became shorter, harder, driven by an urgency he could no longer calculate or control. "I want to see exactly how wrecked you look."
He reached down, his large, calloused hand sliding between your bodies to find the hypersensitive knot of your center. When his thumb locked over it, applying a firm, grinding pressure in perfect sync with his heavy thrusts, your entire body arched off the desk. Your fluids lubricated every heavy plunge, making the friction slick, messy, and entirely consuming.
A high, broken sob escaped your lips. The pleasure was too much, accumulating too fast, a coiled spring winding tighter and tighter in your lower stomach.
"That's it," Nanami encouraged, his breath coming in short, sharp pants against your ear. His mouth sought yours again, smothering your whimpers with a deep, bruising kiss that tasted of sweat and desire. He was driving into you relentlessly now, his pristine composure entirely incinerated by the heat of your body. "Come for me. Let it go."
The world narrowed down to the slide of skin on skin, the heavy thud of the desk, and the overwhelming authority of his touch. You clamped down around him, your internal muscles spasming violently as the climax took you, shattering your vision into brilliant sparks of light.
Hearing your broken cry and feeling the fierce, rhythmic pulsing of your walls milfing him, clamping down on him like a vice, was the final catalyst. Nanami let out a low, guttural growl, his eyes darkening to near-black. He delivered three more deep, punishing thrusts, driving himself as far into you as physically possible, before his body went rigid.
He came with a heavy, shuddering force, a deep groan tearing from his chest as he buried his face in your hair, filling you completely with thick, pulsing ropes of his heat, spilling over where you joined and coating the desk beneath you.
For a long time, the only sound in the basement office was the ragged, synchronized breathing of two people trying to ground themselves. Nanami remained heavy between your thighs, his forehead resting against your shoulder, his heart thudding violently against your ribs.
Slowly, deliberately, the discipline began to return, but the warmth remained. He kissed the side of your neck—a soft, lingering press of his lips that felt remarkably like an apology, and a thank you.
Suguru and you lived together but you two never really looked at each other in that way, it’s always been as friends with platonic flirting, a deep friendship so intimate. Tonight he left to Satoru’s place to hang out and that means you had the place to yourself and you immediately went to goon, duh! He’s not here so you can make all the noise you want.
“Fuckkk..” you breathe out. Clothes on the floor, you got fully naked and grabbed your vibrater and turned it on to the highest setting. Lightly rubbing it across your puffy clit as your body flexes and relaxes at the same time—switching back and fourth between them. “Mmh..” you whimper.
Unbeknownst to you Suguru is already in the living room taking off his shoes. You were too into your own pleasure to hear the door being opened, or the laughter at the door between Satoru and Suguru when they departed. He stands at the door and takes out his earphones. He thought he heard something like a moan..no maybe he’s just tired. At least that’s what he tells himself in his mind.
“Ohhhh!”
There it is.
He knew he wasn’t hearing things, he’s not that tired. That moan, is it your voice? No..maybe it’s the tv in your room. He puts down his things and decides to be curious, besides those moans are too cute to ignore and furthermore if it is your tv, what are you watching? He’s going to tease the hell out of you with Satoru if you were watching porn on tv, that would be hilarious.
He smirks when he hears another loud moan and walks towards your bedroom door quietly creeping and turns the knob and opens it. He looks at your trembling, sweating form and sees you fucking yourself with your vibrator crying and drooling. The tv wasn’t on..so it’s you making all those moans. His eyes widen at the scene before him..and you…the noises your pussy is making.
He parts his lips and slowly walks to the bed—careful not to make a sound. His eyes are only focused on your pussy as your legs tremble from the overstimulation, sobbing and very unaware about how your best friend is watching you. He sinks his knee onto the bed and leans down putting both hands on it and sits at the edge.
“You’re so cute when you play with yourself like that.”
You pause for a moment and stop your movements, body still shaking, you get under the covers and blush hard. Your body is trembling but not only from your toy but now from him. You knew it was Suguru. “I..I didn’t..” you couldn’t even get the words that you wanted to say in order. You were too fucking embarrassed. How long has he been sitting there?! When did he come in?! “Oh sweet thing..it’s okay..just let me watch.”
What the fuck did he just say?
You stare at him—heart pounding in your chest. Suguru wants to watch you touch yourself with your vibrator. You swallow and close your eyes embarrassed and take the covers off revealing your nakedness. He’s already seen it now so there’s no need to hide. He’s already caught you in the act. You sigh out through your nose. Whispering. “Now what…” you look at the toy in your hand. “Now, I want you to keep using that vibrator and let me stare.” He softly smiles. You slowly part your legs and open your pussy to him. Putting your toy back on your clit hesitantly. “Look at that.” He stares at your shiny puffy pussy. “Mmh..” you squirm under his gaze. “Had no idea how pretty it is, wish I could see it more often, yeah?”
rubbing the toy up and down on your clit gently. “Yeah..” you breathe steadily in and out. “Poor thing so horny, you’ve been waiting so long for me to leave so you can touch yourself however you want, huh?” His voice dripping with mockery. You nod not even trying to deny it. “Hmm..” he hums. You swallow again moving your wrist faster, turning up the vibrations. “Haaah..” you moan louder, tears swelling in your eyes from the stimulation. Your lips quiver from the vibrations. Your legs shaking.
“I..mmmh!” You sniffle and breathe. “Is it pretty..?” you hiccup. “So pretty.” He confirms like it’s just fact. “Such a pretty pink clit so needy and twitching, all she wants is attention. Pretty hole clenching and leaking cum I bet she’s going to make such a mess.” You sweat and your legs tighten their muscles. He notices then crawls closer to spread your legs open, not touching you but just spreading you enough and holding you there. “Go ahead, moan like you were when I walked in.” And you do. “Aaaaahhh!!” You cry out and rub the toy against your clit faster and desperate for release. Up and down and harder. “Ohhh, cumming already? How needy can you be? Hmm..” his words just make you cum on the spot right there rubbing your clit fast over your poor sensitive pussy. He takes both hands off your thighs and spreads your vagina making you cry more because now the stimulation is directly on your clit.
“I can’t!” You slow down your pace—close to stopping until. “Don’t you dare stop.” He moves his right hand from your pussy to your toy and rubs it harder and faster against you, forcing you to take it and cum harder and faster. “Aaaahhhh!!!” You squeal and weakly push his hand away but no budging because of course there isn’t. You wanted to touch yourself so bad and waited this long to do this? Oh you might as well take all of it, it’s the least you can do.
“Sweet thing so cute when she’s squirting.”
He’s going to make you cum so much because you’re the one that wanted this so now you’re just going to have to take it.
ever since the sadness came to pollute your husbands life the house hasn’t been peaceful. just quiet. a quiet neither of you guys like.
suguru hadn’t left the couch all day.
you noticed the signs before he’d ever say anything. the tea he’d made hours ago gone cold. his hair was still tied loosely from that morning. he didn’t even opened that book resting on his lap once.
his eyes stayed fixed on the rain outside.
without a word, you padded across the living room in fuzzy socks and gently sat beside him. careful to not be too close, just enough so your shoulders brushed.
“hi” you whispered
“…hi.” his voice sounded so tired.
you reached over and quietly took the book from his lap before setting it on the coffee table.
you turned toward him and held out your arms.
“c’mere”
he looked at you for a long moment.
“… i don’t think i’m very good company today.”
“i wasn’t asking for company”
“…no?”
“i was asking for my husband.”
he let out the smallest, weakest laugh.
“…you’re unfair”
“i know”
slowly, like every moment required permission, suguru leaned into you.
his forehead rested against your shoulder. you wrapped your arms around him without hesitation.
he melted. remembering the feeling of your arms for the first time. does he really deserve a wife as sweet as you?
“i’m sorry,” he murmured
you frowned “for what?”
“…being like this”
your hand found his hair, fingers slipping through the dark strands with ease.
“suguru”
“hm?”
“you’ve hold me together more times than i can count”
he stayed quiet. the memories of you coming through. there’s still so much to look forward to.
“so if today i get to hold you together…”
you kissed the top of his head “… i’d say we’re even. ”
he inhaled deeply. you felt his fingers tighten around the fabric of your sweater. “…i don’t know why it feels so heavy.”
“you don’t have to know”
“i can’t seem to make it stop”
“you don’t have to”
“… i feel guilty”
“i know”
“i feel useless”
“i know”
“… i don’t like who i am today.”
that one sting your heart. you pulled back just enough to cup his face
his tired eyes finally met yours.
“you know what i see?”
he didn’t answer.
“i see my husband. my pretty awesome husband.”
you brushed your thumb beneath one of his eyes. “i see the man who remembers exactly how i like my coffee.”
another stroke. “the man who apologizes to spiders before putting them outside.”
a tiny smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“the man who pretends he doesn’t want dessert then steals half of mine”
“…you noticed?”
“i’ve always noticed”
another tiny laugh escaped him.
“so no… i don’t see a bad man. i see my kind husband.”
both of you guys went quiet for a little while. the rain tapped the windows, the cars hissed outside.
his breathing which was uneven for the longest time started to match yours. “… can we stay like this for a little longer?”
you smiled giving a slightly nod. “as long as you need.”
“…what if it’s all evening?”
“then instead of cooking i’ll order takeout.”
“… all night?”
“i’ll sleep here”
“… tomorrow too?”
you grinned. “and the day after.”
you kissed the bridge of his nose, his eyes finally closing. wrapped in your arms with the rain outside and your heartbeat on his cheek.
a/n: girl sorry i made you have a savior complex it’s cause i do and i gotta self insert. misaki (aka us) save getooo :c
warnings: fem!reader, non sorcerer au, cursing, sq*irting, light degredat*on, slapping (oh hey daddy issues), belly bulge, creamp*e, a hell of a lot of drool mentioned, spitt*ng, a little dumbificat*on, pet names (angel & pretty girl), fluffy aftercare
wc: 1.3k
a/n: happy Monday everyone! I hate Mondays I’m ngl so lemme make yours a little better (if I can). I don’t even have an excuse for this tbh. It’s just straight up filth from my brain🥲. Enjoy!
Suguru looms over you. All corded muscle that glistens with sweat in the low light of the room.
He leans down on one forearm, keeping his balance, while his other hand grips your face. Violet eyes focused on you with predatory-like precision. Raven hair tied back in its usual man bun with a few fly aways stuck to his sweat slicked forehead.
Your legs hang loosely around his waist, feeling like jelly as they bounce in tandem with his punishing thrusts.
One of your hands grips his lower back, nails scraping against his pale skin and making him hiss lightly, while the other grips desperately at the pillow beneath your head as you let out a mewl.
You can barely make out his blurred figure at this point. Eyelids feeling heavy and eyes that are trying to roll into the back of your skull each time his tip slams your cervix.
“Look at me.” Suguru demands. “Look at me while I wreck this pretty little cunt.” He growls.
You let out a gurgled moan, forcing your eyes back into place to stare up at him.
Suguru gives you a lopsided smile as he slows his thrusts down temporarily.
Making sure you feel every fucking inch of his girth. Making sure he’s taking his time, molding your insides until they only remember him. Until he’s so deep that cute little bulge appears in your belly.
Suguru grins when he feels his tip pressing directly against your cervix, letting it rest there and coat your cervix in his silky precum that won’t stop oozing from his tip, making you let out a shuddering breath.
“You feel me in there, angel?” He coos, pressing in harder and making you cry out wantonly. “Feel how fucking deep I am?” He whispers.
Suguru lifts himself up slightly, staring down between your bodies at where he’s stuffing you.
He almost whimpers at what he sees. Your little pussy bulging around his cock, slobbering out more of that sticky, sweet wetness.
“And you said it was too much.” Suguru chuckles. “That this sloppy little cunt couldn’t take me. But look at her now.” He sighs blissfully, slowly pulling his hips back.
This time he moans, watching the way his cock glistens with your essence as he slowly slides out of your pussy to the tip.
Then, he slams himself right back in. So deep it feels like he’s in your fucking throat, making you scream out as your cunt flutters and grips at his cock like she doesn’t want to ever let go.
“She’s taking all of me and still greedy for fucking more.” He growls as he resumes his previous brutal pace.
His hips are relentless, stamina unmatched, as he slams into you again and again and again. The poor bed creaking and groaning in protest.
“S-Sugu! S-ugoo! S-Suu—“ you blabber. “Pathetic. What? You can’t even string a sentence together anymore?” Suguru scoffs. “Have you been fucked that dumb already?”
You nod like a limp bobblehead. Not even sure you fully understood what he just said as more drool dribbles from your lips.
You’re so close to cumming again. Suguru can feel it in the way your cunt constricts around his length. So he begins to pound harder, making you wail.
Before you even have time to process what’s happening you’re gushing. Soaking your thighs, Suguru and the sheets below you in clear fluids.
“What is that all you can do? Drool and then wet yourself?” He chuckles darkly.
All you can do is sob and Suguru gives you no reprieve, just continues to pound into your slobbering cunt ruthlessly.
“Pathetic, angel. Truly pathetic.”
His hand grips your cheeks, forcing your jaw open then spitting onto your awaiting tongue before his hand collides with your cheek in a short, sharp, stinging slap.
Your head lulls to the side as you whimper, cunt slobbering out more sticky mess.
“Nuhuh. You know the rules. Show me that pretty pink tongue. Show me you swallowed.” He demands.
You look at him, visibly cross eyed, as you weakly present your tongue to him.
“Mmmm.” He hums in satisfaction. “That’s my good girl.” Grinning before he licks at the wet muscle then sucks it into his mouth, pulling off with a pop.
“Fuck, I’m so close, angel.” Suguru moans, his hips slamming into you. “You gonna let me cum inside this pretty little pussy?” He teases.
You nod, words caught in your throat but that isn’t good enough for Suguru.
“Words, pretty girl. Tell me what you want.” He orders. “Y-yeeshhh—hah—f-fuck, Suguwuuu—.” You wail.
Your body is so sensitive every word feels like a jumbled mess except for Suguru’s name and even that is slurring.
Your eyes begin to roll back again but they quickly snap back to the front of your head when another sharp sting spreads across your cheek.
Bleary eyes try desperately to stay focused on the raven haired man above you whose eyes are so blown out just an amethyst ring lines them.
“Use. Your. Words.” He rumbles. “Ins-side, Sugu. I w-wan’ it—hah—i-inside.” You cry. Suguru grins, all shiny, sharp teeth and ridiculous good looks.
“Good girl.”
Suguru preemptively puts his large hand over your mouth, knowing how loud you were about to get—there was already a noise complaint guaranteed from the neighbours tomorrow, he wasn’t about to make it worse—before he tucks his face into your sweat slicked neck and pounds.
As if on cue, you begin to wail and cry out at the top of your lungs. Voice sounding garbled and gravely even beneath his hand.
Suguru feels your legs trembling around his waist once again before another gush, the feeling making him groan and sink his teeth into the flesh of your neck.
The moment Suguru feels your warm, wet tongue lap across his hand it’s the finishing blow.
“F-fuck!” He grunts, hips pumping on automatic, before he’s spilling inside of you. Your eyes meet the back of your skull as rope after rope of pearly cum is leaking into you, stuffing you. He’s cumming so much it’s oozing out at the sides and dripping down to your ass.
“Fuuuuck, angel.” Suguru growls. “G-god, can’t stop c-cumming.” He shudders as his spine tingles.
When his high finally seems to be simmering down, Suguru takes his hand off of your mouth as his hips come to a stop.
You look wrecked.
Face tear streaked, spit slathered all over your mouth, chest heaving, body trembling, your hair just about in every direction and a fresh mark blooming on your neck.
Yet, you still smile weakly up at Suguru. He smiles back softly before pressing kisses all over your face.
“Did so well for me, angel.” He praises. “We’re done now, alright?” He smooths your hair out of your face as he presses a few more kisses to your forehead.
“Gonna pull out now, ok?” He tells you softly. You give him a soft nod before you feel his hips slowly begin to pull back.
You hiss slightly at the sensitivity while Suguru softly strokes your cheek in comfort.
Before you know it Suguru is sitting you up, moving behind you and pulling you to rest on his chest.
Your head lays in the crook of his neck while he soothingly strokes your back.
“Doing ok?” He asks quietly. You hum back affirmatively to him, resting your eyes as you both take in the quiet.
“Hey, don’t fall asleep on me, angel. Gotta get you cleaned up first.” He gently nudges you. “Sleepy.” Your murmur, voice sounding gritty from how raw your throat is.
“I know.” Suguru kisses your temple before sliding out from behind you and laying you gently on the bed. “I’ll run a bath right now, ok? You just relax until then. I’ll get you some water too.”
That’s the last thing you remember before passing out, snuggled up in blankets that smell like Suguru.
The next time your eyes open you’re enveloped in a warm, soapy bath while a softly smiling Suguru gently washes you up.
ㅤꨄ︎. sweet talk/praise, overstim, fem!reader, shy!reader, p in v,
when you and hiromi higuruma first had sex you were oh so shy. you could barely look him in the eyes while he sat in between you legs, kissing and sucking like a man starved. you knew he liked being in control. he liked knowing exactly what spots he could hit inside of you with his dick to make you go crazy. he liked how wet you got when he bottomed out fully and his pelvis kissed your puffy, wet clit. he adored when your eyes rolled back from how good he felt inside of you, how you babbled pure nothingness while clinging to him for life, or how you gripped his achingly hard cock forcing him to slow his thrusts so he doesn’t cum too fast and end this euphoric moment.
he liked being close to you in missionary, analyzing your face for any sign of discomfort or sudden pleasure or just watching the tears of pleasure fall down you face. his thrust were calculated, eliciting the exact reaction he knew you’d have. he knew how you clenched onto his cock whenever he thrusted slow and deep. he knew how loud you got when he propped you legs onto his shoulders, pinning you down on the mattress with his broad body. and he knew how dumb you got when he had you flipped over doggy style, drooling onto the mattress.
and his favorite past time was tasting you, just to feel you squirm against his mouth while he swirled his tongue around your puffy, sensitive clit. he knew you could squirt. he was easy for him to get you there to drench his chin in your sweet juices as you came from how deep his long fingers were curled inside of you paired with the overwhelming sensation of him licking your clit. hiromi knew all the ways to make you go dumb as well. he knew how much you loved when he talked to you. he’d grab your chin, angling your face forcefully to meet each others eyes heavy with lust.
“you’re so good to me…fuck.”
“my god, you’re so fucking wet.”
“who’s got you this hot and bothered, hm?”
he’s got you on the edge of the bed, back arched and ass up meeting his brutal thrusts. you cried out, “i..it’s t-too muchhhh… hiromi please! fuck i c-can’t!”
“you can’t?” he responds, pressing his sweat-glistened, toned chest to your back. “you can. you wanted this, doll. you were impatient and needy for my dick earlier and how you can’t take it?”
@𝒫𝑅𝑅𝐼𝒩𝒞𝐸𝒮𝒮𝐵𝒜𝐵𝒴𝒟𝒪𝐿𝐿 2026 ⸻ please do not steal my work or feed it to ai, thank you!
oversize!men who could easily fuck you hard enough for your headboard to smash through your apartment walls, for your neighbours to complain about the pornographic racket echoing through your house, leaving you dragging your feet and struggling to walk straight for days after just one intense round.
oversize!men who instead choose to make love to you (at least on most days), treating sex between the two of you like the beautiful, treasured experience that it was instead of just a means to satiate his lust.
oversize!men who overpower you with ease; dwarfing you under his sheer size and the warmth of his weight caging you into the sheets while he gently reassures you with promises of " just relax, sweetheart. let me do all the work yeah ?" and "it's okay baby just let me take care of you."
oversize!men who always take ample time to prepare you before feeding you their biiiiig over-oversized cocks; his fingers scissoring you open with thick, knuckle-deep twists of his hands as you claw at his thick biceps and whine into his mouth engaging yours in wet, sluggish kisses that leave you gasping for breath.
oversize!men who thrust into you with slow, deep rolls of their hips; the pinky swollen- thick head of his cock nudging into your sweet spot with each reverent buck of his hips. each loving thrust dragging his heavy cock in and out of your pussy with a lewd schlick! sound, allowing you to feel — in extreme filthy detail— each and every bulging, now stretched tight vein adorning his shaft.
oversize!men who keep praising you and babbling about just how good you feel; his voice getting deeper and more pronounced than usual as he tells you "feelsogood baby. always such a good girl for me." and " always take my cock like a fuckin' champ, honey." — punctuating his words with sweet little kisses and bites against your neck.
oversize!men who always keep a large, heavy hand pressed softly against the bulge his cock creates in your belly; the sight of him reshaping your insides in that soft and pretty yet deeply intimate way makes arousal rush to his head like a freight train. his hand doesn't move even once, staying firmly planted on the soft bulge as he applies juuuust the right of pressure on it to heighten your pleasure.
oversize!men who only allow themselves to come after you do; fucking his cock into you with steady thrusts throughout your orgasm before he lets himself go with a deep groan of "i love you." before he's spilling into your already overstuffed pussy with stuttered little pumps of his hips.
taglist :@kelbrave, @icebearcucumber, @sketchbonked, @lizzebear123.
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olderbf!nanami who never rushes you, no matter how impatient you get. you’re standing in front of your closet, frustrated, pulling out dresses and tossing them onto the bed.
"i have nothing to wear," you groan. he’s sitting in the armchair by the window, his tie already loosened, watching you with that calm, steady gaze.
"we have forty-five minutes," he says, his voice low and even. "take your time."
you huff, turning to face him. "you’re always so patient. it’s annoying."
he smiles, small and fond. "i’ve waited forty years to find you. i can wait forty-five minutes for you to pick a dress."
olderbf!nanami who always makes sure you eat before you leave the house. you’re running late, your heels clicking on the kitchen floor as you grab your purse.
"we’re going to be late," you say, already halfway to the door.
he steps in front of you, a plate in his hand—toast with avocado, a soft-boiled egg, sliced fruit arranged neatly. "eat first."
you stare at him. "nanami, we don’t have time—"
"we have time," he interrupts gently, setting the plate on the counter. "you’re not leaving this house on an empty stomach. sit."
you sit. you always do. because when he looks at you like that—like taking care of you is the most important thing in the world—you can’t say no.
olderbf!nanami who never raises his voice, even when you’re being difficult. you’re arguing about something stupid—where to go for dinner, maybe, or whether you should cancel plans to stay in—and your voice is getting louder, your hands gesturing wildly.
he just stands there, hands in his pockets, watching you. "you’re not even listening!" you snap.
"i am," he says quietly. "i’m listening to every word. and when you’re done, we’ll talk about it calmly. like adults."
you deflate, your anger fizzling out. "you’re too kind to me," you mutter.
he steps forward, his hands finding your waist. "you’re worth the kindness."
olderbf!nanami who takes his time undressing you, like every layer is a gift he’s unwrapping. you’re in his bedroom, the lights dimmed, and you’re already reaching for his belt, impatient, wanting him now.
"slow down," he murmurs, catching your hands. "we have all night."
you pout. "i don’t want to wait."
he leans down, his lips brushing your ear. "i know, baby. i know. but i’m going to make you wait. because the longer i take, the better it’ll feel when i finally touch you." he undresses you slowly, his fingers working each button, each zipper, until you’re standing in front of him in nothing but your underwear. he steps back, his eyes raking over you. "beautiful," he says. "now lay down."
olderbf!nanami who eats you out like it’s a meditation, like he could spend hours between your thighs and never get bored. you’re on your back, your legs over his shoulders, and he’s taking his time, his tongue moving in slow, deliberate strokes.
"n-nanami—please—" you gasp, your hands fisting the sheets. he looks up at you, his mouth glistening.
"patience," he says, his voice calm even as he slides two fingers inside you. "i’m going to make you cum. but i’m going to do it my way." he curls his fingers, finding that spot that makes your vision blur, his tongue circling your clit with agonizing precision.
you’re moaning, your hips rolling, but he holds you down with one hand on your stomach. "stay still," he orders gently. "let me take care of you."
olderbf!nanami who fucks you slow and deep, his hips rolling in a rhythm that has you seeing stars. you’re on your stomach, your face pressed into the pillow, and he’s behind you, his chest pressed to your back, his cock buried so deep you can barely breathe.
"nanami—h-harder!!—" you beg, trying to push back against him. he stills, his hand sliding up your spine to grip the back of your neck.
"no," he says, his voice firm but kind. "you take what i give you." he starts moving again, each thrust deliberate, each roll of his hips dragging against your walls in a way that makes you sob. "you feel that?" he murmurs against your ear. "that’s me. all of me. and you’re going to take every inch, just like this. until you can’t think about anything but how full you are."
olderbf!nanami who makes you ask for what you want, his voice low and commanding. you’re straddling him, his cock inside you, but he’s not moving.
he’s just watching you, his hands on your hips, his thumbs stroking your skin.
"p-please, i.... i can't—" you whimper, trying to roll your hips. he holds you still.
"use your words," he says. "tell me what you want."
"i-i want you to move," you gasp. "i want you to fuck me."
he smiles, small and satisfied. "good girl. now ask nicely."
you bite your lip, your face burning.
"please fuck me, nanami. please."
he rewards you with a slow thrust upward, his cock hitting that spot inside you that makes you moan. "that’s it," he praises. "that's my girl."
olderbf!nanami who holds you after, his arms wrapped around you like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. you’re lying on his chest, your body still trembling, your mind fuzzy with pleasure.
he’s stroking your hair, his lips pressed to the top of your head. "you did so well," he murmurs. "so beautiful. so perfect." you nuzzle closer, your eyes already drifting shut.
"you’re too good to me," you whisper. he kisses your forehead.
"no such thing. you deserve everything. and i’m going to give it to you for as long as you’ll let me."
olderbf!nanami who wakes you up in the morning with his mouth between your legs, because he’s not done taking care of you yet. you’re half-asleep, your body warm and heavy, when you feel his hands on your thighs, spreading you open.
"nanami—" you start, but then his tongue is on you, and you’re gasping, your hands flying to his hair. he looks up at you, his eyes dark.
"good morning," he says, his voice rough with sleep. "lay back. let me love you." and you do. because when nanami wants to be patient, you let him. every single time.
a/n : for my bbg lyra heh😼🌹 first time writing for suguru bear w/ me, satoru ver. how did this reach this much word count i feel like i cheated on my cutie😔
ON THE COUCH.ᐟ
sunday night, the living room’s a disaster, like it always is when you two decide to “relax.” popcorn kernels litter the coffee table, a half-empty wine glass teeters on the edge, and your fuzzy blanket’s tangled on the floor, one corner still draped over the couch. the tv’s blaring some action flick—explosions, car chases, dialogue you’ve both stopped caring about.
suguru’s sprawled out beside you, one arm slung lazily around your shoulders, his gray sweatpants slung so low you can see the sharp cut of his v-line, the faint trail of dark hair disappearing beneath the waistband. he’s pretending to watch the screen, but you feel his eyes, heavy and warm, sliding to you every few seconds, catching the way you shift closer, your thigh brushing his.
“you’re squirming again, baby,” he murmurs, voice low, that smug charm dripping like honey. he tilts his head, dark hair falling over one shoulder, catching the dim glow of the tv. “what’s got you so worked up? the shitty plot or just me?”
you roll your eyes, nudging his ribs with your elbow, but it’s half-hearted, and he knows it. “don’t flatter yourself, suguru. this movie’s boring as hell, that’s all.”
“mm. bored, are we?” his voice is low, brushing the shell of your ear like velvet. his arm drapes tighter around your waist, fingers slipping just beneath the collar of his shirt—soft cotton and cedar clinging to your skin. “funny,” he murmurs, thumb grazing the curve of your throat, “your pulse says otherwise.”
you open your mouth to scoff, to throw some snark back, but his hand moves, sliding down your arm, across your waist, and under the hem of the shirt. his fingers are warm, calloused from years of sparring and cooking and touching you like he’s memorizing every inch. they graze your hip, slow, deliberate, and your breath catches, betraying you.
“suguru,” you warn, but it’s weak, more plea than protest, and the smirk curling his lips says he hears it too.
“what?” he’s all innocence, but his hand dips lower, slipping under the waistband of your panties, finding you slick and warm. “oh, sweetheart,” he breathes, fingers stroking you so slowly it’s torture, “this wet already? i haven’t even done anything.” his voice is teasing, but there’s an edge to it, a hunger that makes your thighs clench.
“shut up,” you mutter, cheeks burning, but you’re already melting, legs parting just enough for him to work. he chuckles, low and filthy, and shifts closer, his chest pressing against your side, his lips brushing that sensitive spot behind your ear. “you’re so full of shit,” you add, trying to keep the upper hand, but it’s slipping fast, especially when his thumb finds your clit, drawing tight, lazy circles that make your hips twitch.
“full of shit, huh?” he nips your earlobe, teeth grazing just hard enough to make you gasp. “says the woman who’s practically begging for my fingers.” he slides one inside you, slow, curling it just right, and you moan, soft and broken, your head falling back against the couch. “that’s what i thought,” he whispers, kissing down your neck, open-mouthed, sucking lightly at the pulse point. “you missed me today, didn’t you? all that running around, and you’re still this needy for your husband.”
you want to argue, to say you weren’t that needy, but he adds a second finger, pumping them steadily, and your comeback dissolves into a whimper. “suguru—fuck,” you manage, hands clutching his biceps, nails digging into the firm muscle. he groans, like your touch is his undoing, and shifts you closer, pulling you half onto his lap so you’re straddling one of his thighs. the pressure of his leg against you, combined with his fingers, is too much, and your hips start moving, grinding against him, chasing the heat pooling in your belly.
“that’s it,” he murmurs, voice thick with something darker, something worshipful. his eyes stay locked on yours, half-lidded and burning. “take what you need.”
your hips grind down without shame, chasing the curl of his fingers as slick sounds fill the room—louder than the gunfire on screen, louder than your own breath. his free hand cups the back of your neck, steadying you like you’re precious. and when he kisses you, it’s slow, deep—tongue sweeping past your lips like he’s claiming the noise you make. like he owns it.
“so pretty like this,” he murmurs against your mouth, his free hand sliding up to cup your breast, thumb brushing your nipple through the shirt. “fuck, you’re perfect. always so perfect for me.” his words hit harder than they should, sinking into your chest, making you clench around his fingers. he feels it, groans low, and speeds up, thumb pressing harder on your clit, fingers curling deeper. “c’mon, sweetheart, let go. wanna feel you make a mess on my hand before i even fuck you.”
you’re close, so close, the pleasure coiling tight, and he knows it—reads it in the way your breaths turn ragged, the way your nails bite into his skin. “suguru,” you gasp, half-warning, half-plea, and he just kisses you again, softer this time, like he’s anchoring you through it. “i’m—fuck, i’m gonna—”
““there you go,” he breathes, low and steady, like he’s guiding you home. and you fall apart just like that—shuddering, clinging, crying out against his mouth as your thighs tremble around his hand. he doesn’t rush you. just keeps his fingers moving slow, deliberate, coaxing every last wave from you with the patience of a man who knows he’s got you.
when you finally sag into his chest, boneless and dazed, he eases his hand free, wet and glistening. then—eyes never leaving yours—he slips his fingers between his lips and hums, thoughtful.“mm. sweeter tonight,” he says softly, almost to himself. “must’ve missed me.”
you’re still catching your breath, head spinning, but he’s not done. he shifts you fully onto his lap, tugging his sweatpants down just enough to free his cock—hard, leaking, and so thick it makes your mouth water. “c’mere, baby,” he says, guiding you over him, hands steady on your hips. “wanna feel you ride me now.”
you sink down slow, inch by inch, the stretch making you whimper. he’s big, always has been, but the way he fills you feels like home, like nothing else could ever compare. “fuck,” he groans, head tipping back, hands gripping your ass like he’s trying not to lose it. “you take me so well, sweetheart. every damn time.”
you start moving, slow at first, savoring the way he feels, the way his hands guide your rhythm. “you’re—ngh—so annoying,” you pant, trying to keep up the banter, but it’s hard when he’s hitting every spot that makes you see stars. “can’t even watch a movie without you—fuck—doing this.”
he laughs, low and rough, thrusting up to meet you, making you gasp. “annoying? baby, you’re the one who stole my shirt and pranced around in it. you wanted this.” his hands slide up your sides, tugging the shirt higher, exposing your breasts. he leans in, sucking one nipple into his mouth, tongue flicking just right, and you arch into him, moaning louder than you mean to.
“suguru—shit,” you whine, bouncing faster, the couch creaking under you. his hands are everywhere—your hips, your breasts, your face—pulling you closer, kissing you sloppy and desperate. “you’re mine,” he murmurs, voice rough with need, “all mine. this pussy, this body, this heart—fuck, it’s all mine.”
the words push you over the edge again, faster than you expect, and you come with a cry, clenching around him so tight he curses, loud and filthy. “fuck, baby,” he groans, thrusting up hard, chasing his own release. “gonna—shit, gonna fill you up.” he does, spilling deep inside, his grip on your hips bruising as he rides out the aftershocks, kissing you through it, soft and messy.
you’re both panting, sweaty, tangled together on the couch. he doesn’t pull out, just holds you close, his forehead pressed to yours, breath mingling. “you okay, sweetheart?” he asks, voice softer now, thumb brushing your cheek. you nod, still dazed, and he chuckles, kissing your nose. “good.”
he doesn’t ask for more. doesn’t need to. instead, he reaches for the blanket with one arm, pulling it over the both of you as he shifts to settle you against his chest. one hand drifts into your hair, slow and soothing, thumb brushing your scalp like he’s grounding himself with you.
“movie’s still running,” he murmurs, voice casual, steady—like he didn’t just unravel you. “don’t move. you’re mine tonight.”
his fingers trace soft shapes along your spine, and when he presses a kiss to your temple, you feel him smile. not smug. not teasing. just content. like this—sweat-slicked, quiet, yours—is exactly where he belongs.
IN THE BED.ᐟ
it’s late, past midnight, the kind of quiet where the world shrinks to just you two. the bedroom’s soft and warm, lit by the faint glow of a lavender candle flickering on the nightstand, its scent mingling with the familiar musk of suguru’s skin. the sheets are a mess, half-tucked, still carrying the faint tang of last night’s sweat.
you’re sprawled on your back, wearing nothing but one of his old t-shirts, the hem bunched at your hips from tossing and turning. suguru’s beside you, propped on one elbow, watching you with those dark, heavy eyes, hair loose and spilling over his shoulders like ink. he’s shirtless, sweatpants slung low, and the way he’s looking at you—like you’re the only thing that matters—makes your skin prickle.
“can’t sleep, sweetheart?” he murmurs, voice low and smooth, a little rough from the late hour. his fingers brush your thigh, barely a touch, but it’s enough to make you shift, thighs pressing together. “or you just waiting for me to do something about it?”
you roll your eyes, swatting his hand, but there’s no heat in it. “you’re so full of yourself,” you mutter, turning your head to hide the smile tugging at your lips. “maybe i’m just hot. this room’s stuffy.”
“stuffy, huh?” he chuckles, shifting closer, the mattress dipping under his weight. “that why you’re blushing? or is it cause you’re thinking about me?” his hand slides up your thigh again, firmer this time, fingers splaying possessively over your skin. “don’t lie, baby. i know that look.”
you open your mouth to retort, something snarky about his ego, but he’s already leaning in, lips brushing your jaw, soft and deliberate. “you’re so cute when you’re stubborn,” he whispers, kissing along your jawline, slow, like he’s savoring every inch. “makes me wanna ruin you even more.”
“suguru,” you breathe, half-laughing, half-warning, but your hands betray you, sliding up his chest, fingers tracing the hard lines of muscle. he’s warm, solid, and the way he hums against your skin—like he’s tasting something divine—makes your head fuzzy. his kisses trail down your neck, open-mouthed, sucking lightly at the pulse point, and you arch into him, a soft moan slipping out before you can stop it.
“that’s my girl,” he murmurs, pulling back just enough to look at you, his eyes glinting with something fierce, something tender. he tugs the t-shirt up, exposing your stomach, your breasts, and tosses it to the floor with a lazy flick. “fuck, look at you,” he says, voice rough, reverent. “you know this is my favorite part of the day, right? just you, like this, all mine.”
he kisses you everywhere—lips, collarbone, the soft curve of your belly, the inside of your thighs—like he’s worshipping you, like he’s making up for every second he wasn’t touching you today. his hands are gentle but possessive, guiding your legs apart, settling between them like he belongs there.
“i don’t think you get it,” he says, voice softer now, almost raw, as he kisses the sensitive skin just above your hip. “this—you—it’s everything i ever wanted.”
you’re trembling, heart pounding, and he notices, because of course he does. he always does. he slides up, hovering over you, one hand cupping your face, thumb brushing your cheek.
“you okay, sweetheart?” he asks, and it’s so earnest, so suguru, that you nod, pulling him down to kiss him. it’s slow, deep, tongues sliding together, and you taste the mint from his toothpaste, the faint bitterness of the wine from earlier. his other hand slips between your legs, fingers finding you slick, and he groans into your mouth, low and filthy. “fuck, baby, you’re so wet for me.”
“your fault,” you mumble against his lips, and he laughs, the sound vibrating through you.
“yeah? good,” he says, sliding one finger inside you, slow, curling it just right. you gasp, hips bucking, and he adds another, pumping them steadily, his thumb circling your clit. “look at you, taking me so well already. always so fucking perfect.”
you’re moaning now, shameless, hands clutching his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. he hisses, but it’s a good sound, the kind that makes him thrust his fingers harder, watching your face with those dark, hungry eyes. “suguru—please,” you whine, not even sure what you’re begging for, but he knows. he always knows.
“please what, baby?” he teases, kissing your nose, your chin, your throat. “use your words. tell your husband what you want.” his fingers slow, just enough to drive you crazy, and you glare at him, half-desperate, half-annoyed.
“you’re such a dick,” you pant, but your hips keep moving, chasing his hand. “just—fuck me, okay? stop teasing.”
he grins, all teeth and mischief, but there’s something soft in it, something that makes your chest ache. “anything for my wife,” he says, and then he’s pulling his fingers out, licking them clean with a groan that makes your core clench. he shoves his sweatpants down, freeing his cock—hard, thick, already leaking—and lines himself up, teasing your entrance with the tip. “ready, sweetheart?” he asks, voice softer now, checking in.
you nod, wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. “always,” you whisper, and he slides in slow, so slow it steals your breath, stretching you in that perfect, aching way.
“fuck,” he groans, head dropping to your shoulder, “you feel like heaven. every damn time.”
he starts moving, deep, steady thrusts that hit every spot, his hands framing your face, holding you like you’re something precious. “open your eyes, sweetheart,” he says, voice rough with need, thumb brushing your lower lip as you moan beneath him. “let me see you when you fall apart on my cock.”
you do, blinking up at him, and the way he’s looking at you—like you’re his whole world—makes you clench around him, hard. he feels it, curses, and thrusts deeper, harder, but still so controlled, like he’s savoring every second.
“you’re mine,” he murmurs, kissing your lips, your jaw, your collarbone, each word punctuated by a thrust. “this body, this heart—fuck, it’s all mine.”
you’re sobbing his name now, nails raking his back, leaving red lines you know he’ll wear like badges tomorrow. the pleasure’s building, coiling tight, and he knows it, angles his hips just right, hitting that spot that makes you see stars.
“suguru—i’m—fuck, i’m gonna—” you gasp, and he kisses you, deep and messy, swallowing your cries.
“that’s it,” he murmurs, breath warm against your neck, voice low and impossibly calm for a man buried deep in you. “give it to me.”
his thumb circles slow, firm—no rush, just precision—and your body obeys before your mind can catch up. pleasure coils, breaks, crashes, and you come with a cry that sounds more like surrender than climax, clinging to him as your muscles lock and tremble.
he doesn’t stop. doesn’t falter. just keeps moving through the rhythm of your release, hips deep and steady, chasing the heat with quiet, focused groans.
when he follows, it’s with a choked breath, forehead pressed to your shoulder, holding you like he’s never letting go.
he doesn’t pull out, just stays there, buried in you, panting against your neck. “so good for me,” he murmurs, voice hoarse, kissing your shoulder, your jaw, your cheek. “my perfect wife. fuck, you’re everything.”
you’re both sweaty, boneless, but he rolls you over so you’re draped across his chest, his cock still softening inside you. “stay here,” he mumbles, voice sleepy but firm, one hand cupping the back of your head. “wanna wake up like this, you on me, all warm and soft.”
you hum, too tired to argue, and he chuckles, kissing your forehead. “love you, sweetheart,” he whispers, so quiet it’s almost a secret, but you feel it, deep in your bones, the way he holds you like he’ll never let go.
ON THE KITCHEN COUNTER.ᐟ
it’s saturday afternoon, the kitchen a chaotic testament to your shared domesticity. flour dusts the counter like snow, a mixing bowl of half-whisked cookie dough sits abandoned, and the air smells of vanilla and burnt sugar from the batch you almost forgot in the oven.
your pop playlist hums through the bluetooth speaker, some upbeat tune you’re half-singing, half-mumbling, hips swaying as you stir the dough. you’re wearing suguru’s old band tee, the black fabric soft and worn, barely covering your thighs, paired with tiny shorts that ride up every time you move. your hair’s a mess, pinned up with a chopstick, and there’s a smudge of flour on your cheek you haven’t noticed.
suguru’s supposed to be grabbing milk from the fridge for the recipe, but he’s taking his sweet time, leaning against the counter, watching you with that lazy, predatory grin that makes your stomach flip.
“you’re gonna burn the next batch too, sweetheart,” he teases, voice smooth and teasing, crossing his arms so his biceps flex under his fitted black shirt. “focus. or you trying to set the house on fire?”
you shoot him a glare, brandishing the wooden spoon like a weapon. “you focus, suguru. where’s the milk? or you just here to stare?” you turn back to the bowl, stirring harder, but your hips keep swaying, the music too catchy to ignore. you know he’s watching, feel the weight of his gaze on your ass, and maybe you lean into it a little, just to mess with him.
“milk’s right here,” he says, but he doesn’t move, just keeps staring, and when you glance over your shoulder, his eyes are dark, glinting with something that’s definitely not about baking. “but i’m more interested in this,” he adds, stepping closer, voice dropping low. “you, dancing around in my shirt, looking like that. you know what you’re doing, don’t you?”
you snort, trying to play it cool, but your cheeks heat up. “i’m just making cookies, you perv. help or get out.” you flick a bit of flour at him, and it dusts his chest, white against black. he raises an eyebrow, brushing it off, and suddenly he’s behind you, so close you feel the warmth of him before his hands find your hips, tugging you back against him.
“perv, huh?” he murmurs, lips brushing your ear, breath hot and tickling. his fingers dig into your hips, possessive but playful, and you feel him, hard already, pressing against your ass through his jeans. “says the woman who’s been teasing me all day, prancing around in these little shorts.” one hand slides up, under the hem of the shirt, fingers splaying over your stomach, cold from the milk carton he was holding earlier. you yelp, squirming, but he holds you firm, chuckling low.
“suguru, the oven’s on,” you protest, but it’s weak, half-laughing, because his other hand’s already slipping under your shorts, tugging them down just enough to expose you. “we’re supposed to—fuck—finish baking.”
you try to swat him again with the spoon, but he catches your wrist easily, plucks it from your hand, and lets it clatter against the counter.
“mm-mm,” he hums, sinking to his knees like it’s routine, like it’s right. “try this instead.” before you can blink, he’s tugging your shorts and panties down in one fluid motion, spreading your thighs like they belong open for him—and maybe they do. his mouth finds you without hesitation, tongue tracing a slow, deliberate line that steals the air from your lungs.
“to hell with the cookies,” he mutters against your skin, warmth blooming where his lips graze your thigh. then he stands, smooth and sure, spinning you around like you weigh nothing and setting you on the counter. the cold edge bites into your thighs; flour sticks to your skin. he just smiles, gaze heavy-lidded and hungry.
“messy suits you,” he says, nudging your knees wider with his hips. “bet you’ll taste even sweeter.”
“suguru—shit,” you gasp, hands flying to his hair, tugging the dark strands loose from his bun. he groans against you, the vibration shooting through your core, and his tongue’s relentless, deep and intentional, lapping at you like he’s starving. one arm hooks around your thigh, keeping you open, pinned to the counter, while his other hand grips your hip, fingers digging in like he knows you’ll try to squirm away—or collapse.
“fuck, i’ll never get tired of this,” he mumbles, voice muffled, lips slick with you. he sucks your clit, slow and hard, then flicks his tongue, and your moans are bouncing off the cabinets, louder than the music. the counter’s cold under you, flour sticking to your sweaty skin, but all you can feel is him, his mouth, his hands, the way he knows exactly how to unravel you.
“so sweet, baby,” he says, pulling back just enough to look up at you, eyes glinting, lips glistening. “all mine.”
you’re a mess, thighs shaking, gripping his hair so tight he hisses, but it’s a good sound, the kind that makes him dive back in, tongue fucking you deep until you’re seeing stars. “suguru—gonna—fuck,” you pant, and he hums, encouraging, one hand sliding up to pinch your nipple through the shirt, making you arch.
“come on my tongue, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice rough, needy. “let me taste how much you want me.” you do, hard, a broken cry tearing from your throat as pleasure crashes through you, your body trembling against his mouth. he doesn’t stop, licking you through it, slow and greedy, until you’re whimpering, oversensitive, tugging his hair to pull him away.
he stands, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and grins like he’s won the lottery. “fuck, you’re perfect,” he says, and then he’s kissing you, deep and messy, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. you’re still catching your breath when he flips you around, bending you over the counter, hiking the shirt up to expose your back. “look at this,” he groans, hands gripping your hips, spreading you open. “this pussy’s so fucking pretty, baby. always so perfect for me.”
you hear his zipper, the rustle of his jeans, and then he’s sliding in, hard and fast, filling you so completely you gasp, hands scrabbling at the counter. flour smears under your palms, the mixing bowl tips over with a clatter, and he laughs, low and filthy, thrusting deep. “fuck, you take me so well,” he says, voice rough, one hand sliding up your spine, pressing you down. “made for me, weren’t you?”
“suguru—shit,” you moan, the counter digging into your hips, his thrusts shaking the whole damn kitchen. the fridge hums, the oven beeps, ignored, and your nails scrape against the surface, leaving trails in the flour. “too—fuck—too much,” you whimper, but you’re pushing back against him, chasing the heat, and he knows it.
“too much?” he teases, leaning down to kiss your shoulder, teeth grazing. “nah, baby, you can take it. you always do.” his other hand finds your clit, rubbing hard, and you’re gone, moaning so loud you’re sure the neighbors hear. “that’s it,” he growls, “come for me again. let me feel this pussy squeeze me.”
you do, harder than before, legs shaking, vision blurring as pleasure rips through you. he’s right behind you, thrusting deep, groaning your name as he spills inside, hot and thick, his grip on your hips bruising. “fuck, baby,” he pants, still moving, slower now, riding out the aftershocks. “you’re mine. always mine.”
you’re both panting, sweaty, flour everywhere—on your thighs, your hands, his shirt. you wobble when he pulls out, and he catches you, laughing softly as he lifts you back onto the counter.
“sit there, messy girl,” he says, kissing your temple, your nose, with ridiculous gentleness for someone who just fucked you senseless. “i’ll clean this up. you just look cute and stay out of trouble, yeah?”
he grabs a towel, wiping the flour off your thighs, your arms, then starts picking up the spilled dough, all while stealing kisses like he can’t help himself. “we’re never baking again,” you mutter, still breathless, and he laughs, full and warm, pulling you into his chest.
“oh, we’re baking tomorrow,” he says, smirking. “but only if i get to eat you first.” he winks, and you swat him, but you’re laughing too, because this—messy, filthy, and so fucking in love—is just how you like it.
ON THE STAIRS.ᐟ
it’s well past midnight, the house wrapped in that heavy, hushed stillness that makes every creak feel louder. you’re tiptoeing down the stairs, barefoot, the wood cool under your feet, trying not to wake suguru. you’re only wearing his old black t-shirt, the one with the faded band logo, the hem barely brushing your thighs, no panties because it’s too warm and you’re just grabbing water.
the kitchen’s dark below, the fridge’s hum the only sound, but you’re barely halfway down when you feel it—his presence, like a shadow moving before you hear him. your heart skips, not from fear but from that familiar thrill, the way he always finds you, like you’re his prey and his home all at once.
“where you sneaking off to, baby?” his voice cuts through the dark, rough and low, tinged with that teasing lilt that makes your skin prickle. he’s at the bottom of the stairs, leaning against the banister, shirtless, sweatpants slung low on his hips, hair loose and messy from sleep.
the dim moonlight through the window catches the sharp lines of his jaw, the glint in his eyes, and you pause, one hand on the railing, caught.
“just thirsty,” you mutter, trying to sound casual, but your voice wavers, and the way you’re gripping the railing gives you away. you take another step, slow, like you’re not already burning under his gaze. “go back to bed, suguru. you look like you need it.”
he chuckles, soft and dangerous, stepping up to meet you, his movements lazy but deliberate, like a panther stalking. “thirsty, huh? funny, cause you’re killing me, prancing around in my shirt, no panties, ass out like you don’t know what it does to me.” he’s closer now, one step below you, close enough that you feel the heat rolling off him, smell the faint cedar of his skin. his hands find your hips, fingers slipping under the shirt, grazing your bare skin, and you suck in a breath, trying to hold your ground.
“you’re so dramatic,” you say, rolling your eyes, but it’s weak, and the way you lean into his touch betrays you. you swat at his chest, playful, but he catches your wrist, pinning it against the wall with one hand, the other sliding up your thigh, teasing the edge of the shirt.
“suguru, it’s late,” you whisper, half-laughing, half-pleading, but your legs part just enough, and he notices, because he always does.
“late, huh?” he murmurs, stepping up so he’s level with you, his body pressing you back against the wall, the stair’s edge digging into your spine. “too late to stop now, sweetheart.” his lips brush your neck, soft at first, then he bites, not hard but enough to make you gasp, your free hand clutching his shoulder.
“fuck, you look so good like this,” he says, voice rougher now, his hand sliding higher, finding you bare and slick. “youtrying to ruin me?”
“maybe,” you manage, smirking despite the heat pooling in your belly, and you tug at his hair, just to mess with him. he groans, low and filthy, and suddenly he’s feral, all that teasing charm turning sharp, hungry. he releases your wrist, grabs your thigh, and lifts your leg, hooking it over the step above, spreading you open.
“suguru—fuck,” you gasp, but he’s already there, fingers stroking you, slow and deliberate, spreading your wetness like it’s his to play with.
“look at you,” he growls, eyes dark, glinting in the moonlight. “so fucking wet, just from this. you want your husband that bad, huh?” he slides two fingers inside you, curling them deep, and you moan, loud enough to echo in the quiet house. his other hand covers your mouth, gentle but firm, muffling you.
“shh, baby,” he whispers, lips brushing your ear, “neighbors don’t need to know how good i’m fucking you.”
you bite his palm, half-defiant, half-desperate, and he hisses, but it’s a good sound, the kind that makes him grind against you, his cock hard and straining through his sweatpants.
“brat,” he mutters, but there’s a smile in it, and he pulls his fingers out, licking them clean with a groan that makes your knees weak. “taste so fucking good,” he says, and then he’s tugging his sweatpants down, just enough to free himself, thick and leaking, pressing against you.
“suguru—here?” you whisper, but you’re already arching into him, hands clutching his shoulders, nails digging in. the stair’s hard against your back, the railing creaking as you lean into it, but you don’t care, not when he’s looking at you like that, like you’re his whole damn world.
“right here,” he says, and he slides in raw, no prep, just pure, desperate need, filling you so completely you cry out, muffled by his hand. “shit,” he groans, biting your neck to stifle himself, “you take me so well.” his thrusts are hard, fast, shaking the stairs, the wood creaking under you, and you’re clawing at his back, trying not to collapse, your leg trembling where it’s hooked over the step.
every move is frantic, his hips snapping against yours, the wet sounds of your bodies louder than your muffled moans. “keep it quiet, sweetheart,” he pants, but his hand’s slipping, and you’re not quiet, not really, your whimpers spilling out as he fucks you into the drywall.
“fuck, you feel so good,” he groans, free hand sliding down to rub your clit, fast and rough, making you sob his name behind his palm.
you’re close, so close, the pleasure coiling tight, and he knows it, feels it in the way you clench around him.
“come for me,” he demands, voice low, urgent, his thumb circling your clit harder. “let me feel this pussy squeeze me, baby.”
you do, hard, a muffled cry breaking free as pleasure crashes through you, your body shaking, legs giving out. he holds you up, thrusting through your aftershocks, groaning your name as he spills deep, hot and thick, still moving like he can’t stop.
you’re both panting, sweaty, trembling, the stairs creaking like they’re about to give up. your legs are jelly, but he catches you, pulling out slow, his arms wrapping around you like you’re something precious. “can’t have my wife crawling upstairs, can i?” he teases, voice soft now, kissing your hair as he lifts you, carrying you up the last few steps like it’s nothing. he’s still hard, still inside you, and you feel him twitch, making you laugh, breathless.
“you’re insatiable,” you mutter, head lolling against his chest, and he grins, smug and warm, nuzzling your temple.
“only for you, sweetheart,” he says, setting you on the landing, but he doesn’t let go, just holds you there, kissing your forehead, your nose, your lips. “round two in bed, yeah? gotta take care of my girl.” he winks, and you swat him, but you’re smiling, because this—feral, messy, and so fucking in love—is everything you both are.
