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@incelz
I AM ALWAYS LISTENING.
SIO ★ 20. she/they. leo. intj — zoro’s wife & obanai’s baby ⋆˚꩜｡ “look at my (future) lawyer dawg i’m going to jail!!!” lovelovelove! certified film nerd, writing, reading, matcha connoisseur ♥︎
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uni (kinda) taking my life awaaAAAAYYYYY…. i have like four thesis defenses and a few more presentations that i can’t even find the time to continue my wips 🙂↕️ I’LL GET BACK TO YOU GUYS SOON!!!!! 🤞
i'll make you famous
suguru is willing to do anything for the band. even if it meant sacrificing his little virgin girlfriend.
band leader!emo!suguru x female!reader wc. 4k cw/tw. explicit sexual content, blood/gore, human sacrifice, occult stuff, mentions of drugs, unprotected sex, vaginal sex, creampie, tits sucking, oral sex, edging, teasing, degradation, shameless smut 18+ mdni
The first thing you notice about Suguru is how he smells—like cheap cigarettes and the kind of body spray teenage boys buy in bulk at the drugstore. It shouldn’t be appealing, but it clings to him in a way that makes your stomach flip.
You love it when he slings an arm around your shoulders like you’re something precious. His fingers are always cold, knuckles bruised from punching walls after bad rehearsals, but you don’t mind. You like the way he touches you, like he’s memorizing the shape of you under his hands.
He’s got this way of looking at you—like you’re the only person in the room worth noticing.
“You’re staring again,” you murmur. The corner of his mouth quirks up and you can’t help but blush.
“Mhm. You caught me,” Suguru laughs. before tugging you closer. “Can’t help it. You’re such a cutie.”
You feel your cheeks warm. “Shut up.”
You fiddle with the hem of the sweater you’re wearing—it’s his. It’s too big. You like how it smells like him and how it drowns you in fabric.
You lean into him, letting his presence drown out the noise of the shitty diner you’re holed up in. His bandmates are arguing over something stupid at the counter, but Suguru’s attention is all yours.
It’s intoxicating.
It’s why you started dating him in the first place, why you sit through his band’s ear-splitting practice sessions even though you hate the noise, why you let him drag you to dingy bars where the air smells acrid and something of stale beer and lingering sweat.
You don’t belong in those places, obviously. You’d rather be curled up in your room with a book, instead of listening to the garbled screaming that Suguru calls lyrics.
But when he tugs you close, his fingers pressing into the soft of your waist as he whispers against your ear, “You’re my good luck charm,” suddenly the dawning headache is easy to bear.
The bass thrums through the sticky floorboards of the dive bar, rattling your teeth as Suguru adjusts the mic stand with that lazy tilt of his wrist. The stage lights bleach his already-pale skin, casting shadows under his eyes that make him look halfway ghostly. His bandmates shuffle behind him, tuning and testing their instruments.
“Alright, this one’s new,” Suguru murmurs into the mic, his voice scraping low like gravel. “Sorta about someone who… y’know. Sticks around even when they shouldn’t.”
The first chord cracks through the air, and Suguru’s voice curls around the lyrics like smoke—dark and suffocating. You recognize the melody immediately. It’s the one he’d hummed against your neck last week when he’s half-drunk, while you’re squished between his body and his guitar.
Back then, it sounded sweet. Now, amplified and distorted, it’s something else entirely. Suguru’s voice slithers between the notes, singing about hands that don’t let go, about quiet girls who taste like heaven, and some other metaphors you can’t make out of.
It’s not really that hard to understand. It’s clearly not a love song. But rather, a confession of being obsessed with someone.
Surely, it’s about you. You should be flattered. You are, sort of—except there’s something off about the way he keeps glancing at the crowd like he’s waiting for something to happen. But then again, you’ve accompanied him in most of their gig nights, this expression isn’t entirely new.
Suguru always mentioned about possible talent scouts lurking that can discover and get them signed into record labels. You think it’s absurd, considering they’re playing in some rundown bar where most attendees are either drunk out of their minds or too high to even remember their own names.
The song ends abruptly, cut short by the lead guitarist’s screeching feedback. Suguru blinks, like he’s surprised it’s over already, and the crowd offers scattered, half-hearted applause.
“Go cover some Bon Jovi songs!” Someone shouts over and you watch the way his jaw clenches.
Later, when the bar empties, you find him out back by the dumpsters, flicking his lighter open and shut. The glow paints his face in a flickering hue of orange.
“Did you like it?” he asks, not looking at you.
“Yeah!”
His smile is sharp.
“Good. ‘Cause we’re gonna be big.” He says it like it’s a promise, like a curse. “We’re gonna be bigger than this shithole of a town. Bigger than anything.”
You nod, because there’s really nothing to say. He’s always been like this—a wise dreamer.
You reach for him, fingers brushing his wrist. He just lets you and that’s the thing about Suguru. He lets you touch, but he never holds.
“C’mon,” he says, jerking his chin toward the parking lot. “Gotta show you something.”
You follow him from behind. The night air is thick with exhaust and the distant hum of the highway. Inside Suguru’s van smells like spoiled food and weed, the backseat is littered with crumpled receipts and other stuff you’re not interested to know. He digs under the passenger seat, pulls out a battered notebook, and flips to a dog-eared page.
“Here, I wrote some new songs.”
He thrusts the notebook to you. The page is smudged with fingerprints, his handwriting is slanted aggressively to the right. Some of the sentences are crossed out, underlined, and scribbled out. But you know some of the words, he’s murmured them against your skin while cuddling in the dark.
Little moth circling the flame
Bite down harder next time
“You’re gonna play these?” you ask, thumbing the edge of the paper.
Suguru shrugs lazily. “If they don’t suck.”
“They don’t suck,” you say automatically.
He snorts before snatching the notebook back and flicking it shut.
“Yeah, well. We’ll see.”
The words hang between you like the smoke curling from his cigarette. Suguru tosses the notebook onto the dashboard and the cigarette out the window. He leans back to the head rest, staring at the ceiling of the van.
“You’re quiet,” he says finally.
You chew your lip. “I’m just thinking.”
“About?”
About how his hands feel when they’re rough against your thighs. About the way he hums under his breath when he’s half-asleep. About the fact that he hasn’t kissed you since last week. But you don’t say any of that. You just shrug.
“Your lyrics. They seem… different this time.”
Suguru laughs, but it’s hollow.
“Different how?”
“Darker, I guess.”
He finally turns to look at you, and his eyes are blacker than you remember. The dim glow from the streetlight paints his face in streaks of yellow and shadow. Then, he smiles, slow and lazy.
“Dark’s what sells,” he says, reaching over to flick your chin. “You’ll see.”
Suguru turns the key in the ignition and the engine roars to life. The radio blares static until he slaps it silent, and then it’s just the two of you and the hum of tires on asphalt.
To be famous—it sounds easy when you’re seventeen and dumb and high off your ass in your best friend’s basement, scribbling lyrics onto the pages of a worn-out notebook.
Back then, Suguru thought it was just a matter of screaming louder than everyone else, of bleeding into the microphone until someone finally listened.
But three years later, stuck in the same shitty town with the same shitty gigs, the dream’s got teeth. And those teeth sink deeper every time some drunk asshole yells for them to play some old punk rock song instead of their own written songs.
The notebook on his lap is filled with crossed-out ideas and half-finished choruses. He’s tried everything—booking shows in every dive bar within a fifty-mile radius, handing out demos to anyone who’d take them, even letting some greasy promoter take a cut of their pay just for a slot at a slightly less shitty venue.
But nothing sticks. And the worst part? He can feel it.
He can feel the potential humming under his skin, the songs that could tear the roof off if someone would just let them. But potential doesn’t pay the rent.
Potential doesn’t get you out of a shitty town.
That’s how he ends up in the occult section of the library, fingers skimming over cracked spines of books that smell like mildew.
There’s a ritual—of course there’s a ritual. There’s always one. Some ancient shit about offerings and blood and contracts signed in something darker than ink. His thumb continues to press on the same line for a while now.
“A virgin’s life for a demon’s favor…”
Suguru laughs, loud enough that the librarian shushes him from across the room. He thinks the book is ridiculous. It’s stupid.
But then he thinks about the way your breath hitches when he touches you, the way you blush when he calls you, “good girl”.
You’re sweet. You’re soft. You’re-
Well.
You’re his.
And if he’s being honest, isn’t this what you want? To be his good luck charm? To be the thing that finally makes him something?
Suguru starts to plan the whole thing. You’re not really easy to trick but it should work, nonetheless. You’re the perfect candidate for the ritual because you’re still a virgin—he never touched you, hell, never even fingered you. Because when you and Suguru are alone, it’s either you two are making out while dryhumping each other or you’re giving him a sloppy head in the back of his van.
One random night, Suguru takes you to the woods behind the abandoned diner where the kids go to smoke and drink and fuck. You think it’s romantic with the way he’s holding your hand to guide you through the dark, the way he keeps glancing back at you like you’ll disappear.
“Baby, what is this? A date?”
You giggle when Suguru squeezes your hand tighter. His palm is slick against yours, he’s probably nervous or excited—or both. You can’t tell.
“Better than a date,” he answers. “I got something special for you.”
You bite your lip to hide the stupid grin threatening to split on your lips. Special. The word curls warm in your chest. Suguru’s never been the type for grand gestures—his affection comes in stolen glances and offhand comments, in the way he’ll let you wear his hoodie even though he complains about the cold.
But tonight, he’s different. Way too different.
The clearing opens up ahead, a slab of weathered stone jutting from the earth like an altar. You recognize it—couples sneak out here to make out.
Suguru’s fingers lace through yours and you feel your pulse thrum.
“You’re shaking,” he says, and you realize your hands are trembling.
From fear? Not really. But from the way he’s looking at you like he wants to devour you whole.
“No I’m not.”
Your breath hitches as he crowds you back against the stone. The moss is damp through your shirt, the chill seeping into your skin, but you don’t care. Suguru leans in and his lips brush the shell of your ear.
He presses into your lips with a soft kiss that’s gentler than usual. His fingers curl into the fabric of the shirt you’re wearing, tugging you closer until there’s no space left between you. The kiss deepens into something hungry and open-mouthed, his tongue sliding on yours in a way that makes your knees weak. You moan into his mouth, fingers tangling in the messy strands of his hair.
“You’re so sweet,” he murmurs against your lips, breath hot and ragged. “So fucking good to me.”
His hands slide down your sides, possessive. You’re starting to get so drunk from his kisses that you don’t notice the way his grip tightens.
“Gonna make you feel soooo good,” he promises, his voice dripping with something dark and sweet.
You believe him. Like you always do.
His hands slide up your thighs, fingers skimming the hem of your shirt. You tense up, he’s never touched you like this before.
He chuckles. “Relax, baby. Trust me.”
You do. God, you really do.
There’s something cold pressing against your throat that makes you freeze. Your breath catches, eyes widening as you pull back just enough to see the glint of the knife in the moonlight.
Suguru’s expression is blank and empty. Your fingers scramble on his leather jacket, nails digging into the worn material, but he doesn’t flinch.
You don’t even have time to scream.
The blade drags sharp and sudden across your skin, and the pain blooms white-hot before the warmth of your own blood spills down your collarbones to your chest. You try to open your mouth—to gasp, to beg, to ask why—but all that comes out is a wet, choking sound.
He leans over, smoothing your hair down while watching you attempt to cover the slash with your small hands.
“Shh, shh, it’s okay. Just a lil blood, s’all.”
His fingers brush your cheek, almost tender. Your eyes are still widened but you feel the corners dimming. The world tilts—Suguru’s face blurs above you, haloed by the sickly moonlight.
The stone beneath you is cold. So cold. You blink up at him, your lips parting. Suguru lets out a long and slow exhale before pressing a kiss to your forehead. His lips linger there, warm against your clammy skin.
“Sorry, baby,” he says. “Had to be you.”
You watch his silhouette fade into the trees, swallowed by the dark.
The demo flash drives and CDs pile up on Suguru’s desk like funeral wreaths. The online uploads languish at twelve views, probably all from bots or his own desperate refreshes. Three nights since the ritual, and nothing’s changed except the gnawing hole in his gut where guilt used to be.
He rolls onto his side, pressing his face into the pillow that still smells like your shampoo. His fingers twitch against the sheets, imagining you curled beside him like you used to. But the bed’s cold and empty.
He doesn’t remember falling asleep, but suddenly the air’s thick with the scent of rust and damp earth. There’s weight dipping the mattress beside him, fingers trailing up his arms. Suguru groans, blinking through the haze of sleep. The moonlight cuts through the curtains, painting his room in silver, and for a second—he thinks he’s dreaming.
Because you’re there. Sitting on the edge of his bed. He sees the blood smeared down your neck like spilled wine, your lips parted in a lazy smirk.
“Missed me?” you whisper.
Suguru’s breath catches. He should scream. He should bolt upright and scramble back, but his body’s frozen. Your fingers curl around his wrist, dragging his hand to your thigh.
“Y-You’re-”
“Dead?” You laugh, low and throaty. “Yeah, about that.” Your nails dig into his skin, sharp enough to sting. “Turns out your stupid little ritual didn’t work. Guess you forgot something.”
His brows furrow in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“You don’t remember?” You hum, tilting your head. “Aww. That’s okay. I do.”
You lean in, your lips brushing his ear.
“You were high that night. Like, really really high that you’re babbling shit. I let you fuck me in the back of your van.”
You straddle him and his breath stutters. Your fingers trail the outline of his jaw and you can almost taste his sweat slicked with adrenaline. Suguru lets out a moan when you press your palm against the growing bulge in his boxers.
“Fuck,” he chokes out.
His hips jerk involuntarily, and you laugh darkly—nothing like the shy giggles he used to coax from you.
“Aww. Look, you’re hard as fuck,” you murmur, grinding down against him. “Even after you killed me.”
His mouth opens—to protest, to apologize, maybe just to groan—but you press a finger to his lips.
“Hey—shh. Don’t ruin it.”
Your other hand slips beneath the waistband of his boxers, fingers curling around his thick, throbbing cock. His whole body tenses and a strangled sound tears from his throat.
“I can’t believe you’re this stupid,” you sigh, stroking him lazily. “Seriously? Sacrificing poor little me for fame?”
Suguru’s hands fly up to grip your hips, but you slap them away with a sharp crack that leaves his skin stinging.
“Ah-ah. You don’t get to touch.” You squeeze his cock. “Not until I say so.”
He whimpers, and the sound goes straight to your core. You watch the way his throat bobs as he swallows hard, the way his pupils blow wide with something between terror and lust. His fingers twitch at his sides like he’s fighting the urge to reach for you.
You tighten your grip before swiping a thumb over the slickness already beading at his tip. Suguru jerks under you and you can’t help but laugh.
“You look so fucking pathetic.”
You hop off his lap only to slide between his legs. You tug down his boxers so fast, freeing his twitching cock. Suguru’s breath hitches when your lips brush the tip, tongue swiping lazily at the salty pre-cum beading there.
“Fuck-” His voice cracks when you take him inside your mouth, hollowing your cheeks just the way you remember he likes.
The memory flickers—his hands tangled in your hair, the scrape of his zipper against your chin, and the way he’d groaned your name like a prayer.
You pull off with a wet pop, grinning up at him through your lashes.
“I forgive you,” you say, thumb circling the slick head of his cock. You lean in again, dragging your tongue along the veins underneath. “I’m not cruel like that.”
Suguru’s fingers fist in the sheets. “W-What?”
You laugh, warm breath ghosting over his twitching cock. “Of course I’ll fulfill your wish.” Your teeth graze his thigh. “Only if you fuck me good.”
The words hang between you. Suguru chokes on air when you swallow him back down, moaning around him like he’s the best thing you’ve ever tasted. His hips jerk up, fucking shallowly into your mouth, and you let him—for now.
“Fuck—fuck, please,” he gasps, fingers twisting in the sheets so tight the fabric might tear.
You pull off again with a wet sound, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. His cock snaps and twitches against his stomach, slick with spit and pre-cum. You crawl back up his body.
He whines when you start to roll your hips against his, the damp fabric of your panties rubbing against his bare cock.
“You don’t get to cum until I say so.”
His breath comes in short, ragged bursts. “Y-Yeah—okay-”
You press a finger to his lips again, silencing him. Then you lean down, nipping at the side of his neck hard enough to leave a mark. Suguru hisses, hips twitching upwards—desperate for friction, for anything—but you pull away just as fast.
“Nah-ah,” you tut. “I didn’t say you could move.”
His nostrils flare, chest rising and falling unevenly as he forces himself still. The sight of him sweat-slicked and trembling beneath you has his cock flushed and leaking against his stomach.
You slide off him just to peel your ruined, soaking panties down your thighs in a slow manner, letting him watch. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, eyes locked on the way you dip your fingers between your legs to gather the slick there.
“See?” you murmur, holding your glistening fingers up to the moonlight. “You did this to me.”
Suguru makes a broken sound when you straddle him again. You don’t let him inside yet, just grinding against him, the wet heat of you dragging along his cock.
“Please.”
You tilt your head. “Please what?”
“Fuck—please let me-” His voice cracks. “Need you so bad.”
You hum, considering. Then without any notice, you sink down onto him in one smooth motion, your pussy swallowing him whole. Suguru’s back arches off the bed like he’s been electrocuted as his hands scramble on your hips.
He chokes out, eyes rolling back when you clench around him. You lean forward and put your palms flat on his chest. You roll your hips in slow, torturous circles just to watch his mouth fall open.
“Ugh. You’re not doing shit,” you sigh, tipping your head back. Your fingers thread lazily through your hair as you bounce up and down on his cock. “Thought you were gonna fuck me good? Come on. Show me.”
His breath hitches as he drags himself out of you only to change your positions. He has you lying on your back on the bed now. The mattress creaks under his knees when he settles between your thighs after taking his boxers off. You arch an eyebrow at him, unimpressed, even as he sheathes himself inside you again with a sharp thrust.
Suguru starts slow, dragging his cock all the way out before pushing back in. You yawn, stretching your arms above your head.
“This is all you got?”
His jaw clenches. The next thrust is harder, his hips snapping forward with enough force to make the headboard slam against the wall. You don’t even flinch.
He fists the hem of your top and yanks it over your tits. They bounce with each rough snap of his hips, and Suguru’s mouth crashes down onto one nipple, sucking greedily while his teeth scrape the tender skin.
You let out a breathy laugh, digging your nails into his shoulders.
“Pathetic,” you mock him, rolling your hips up to meet his thrusts. “You’re still holding back.”
His rhythm stutters when you clench around him, milking a broken moan from his throat. Sweat bead at his temples, strands of his dark hair stick to his forehead as he fucks into you with increasing desperation.
“I—fuck! I’m trying!”
You lean back on your elbows. “Try harder.”
Suguru slows, hips rolling deep as the wet drag of him inside you makes your breath hitch. His eyes lock onto yours and his lips curl into that stupid, smug little smirk that used to make your stomach flip. Now, it just makes you clench around him tighter.
“Found it.”
You bite your lip to stifle the moan threatening to spill out, but it’s useless. His next thrust hits that spot again, and your back arches off the bed with a sharp gasp. Suguru’s smirk widens.
“Fucking found it,” he repeats, voice rough and wrecked.
His fingers dig into the meat of your thighs, spreading you wider as he fucks into you with brutality. The bedframe groans in protest as the rhythm of his hips relentless.
Suguru flips you onto your stomach, pressing your face into the mattress as he drags your ass back against his. The new angle punches the air from your lungs—his cock reaches deeper now, hitting spots that make your vision blur.
The noise being created as he pounds into you is so nasty. Squelch! Squelch! Squelch! The obscenity of it mixes with the sound of skin slapping against skin, now echoing off the walls of his bedroom.
The sharp crack of Suguru’s palm against your ass sends a jolt of heat straight to your core. You gasp, arching back into the sting as his fingers dig into your hips.
“Jesus,” His voice is ragged, his thrusts growing sloppy as he chases his own pleasure. “You—you feel so fucking good!”
You can feel the way his cock twitches inside you. His breath comes in short, desperate bursts against the back of your neck. You smirk into the mattress, twisting your head just enough to glance over your shoulder at him.
“Go on, cum inside.”
Suguru chokes on air. His fingers tighten on your hips, blunt nails digging into your skin as he slams into you one last time. A broken groan tears from his throat as he spills inside your aching pussy, pulsing in thick, wet spurts that have you rolling your eyes back. You clench around him, milking every last drop until he collapses beside you.
You can feel the sticky warmth of him dripping down your pussy when he finally pulls out. He slings one arm over his face while trying to catch his own breath.
You prop yourself up on one elbow, dragging a fingertip through the mess between your legs before bringing the slick to your lips. Suguru watches, his throat bobbing as you lick your fingers clean.
To be famous—one has to make a deal with the devil. It's always been that way. Nobody really achieves greatness without a little sacrifice.
“You’re mine forever,” you whisper against his ear. “But don’t worry. I’ll make you famous.”
Meet u after the game?
TAKE ME AWAYYYYY OR I WILL GAWK GAWK 3000 HIS SWEATY DIHHHHH
stop trying to suck me off i'm not done telling jokes
the doctor is in
you’ve been experiencing troubles with orgasm and it's stressing you out, until you finally decide that it’s about time you make that appointment with your gynecologist.
gynecologist!nanami x female!reader wc. 4.7k cw/tw. explicit sexual content, doctor/patient, medical examination, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, vaginal fingering, masturbation, pleasuring, edging, teasing, overstimulation, deep penetration, cunnilingus, nipple play, pussy spanking, shameless smut 18+ mdni
“So, uh… Dr. Ieiri isn’t available next week?”
You fiddle with the tips of your hair, the phone pressed between your shoulder and ear as you lean against the kitchen counter. The clinic receptionist on the other end sighs apologetically.
“Yes. She’s been assigned to a medical mission overseas for six months. But she personally referred you to another physician in practice. Would you like me to schedule you with him instead?”
You hesitate, now holding the phone in your hand.
“Him?”
“Yes. Dr. Nanami’s one of our most experienced gynecologists.” There’s a pause. “Unless you’d prefer to wait until Dr. Ieiri returns?”
You tap your fingers nervously against the kitchen counter. Six months is a long time to wait when you have already spent an entire month agonizing over this problem of yours.
“No, it’s fine,” you say. “Schedule me with this doctor.”
The clinic smells of antiseptic and faintly of lavender, the kind of sterile comfort that’s supposed to put you at ease.
Except that it doesn’t.
You shift in one of the leather chairs in the waiting room, knees pressed together, while flipping through a magazine you’re not actually reading. The articles are blurring together—something about seasonal allergies, a recipe for avocado toast, and whatnot.
Truthfully speaking, you’ve never been this nervous for a doctor’s appointment.
“Miss?” A nurse calls your name, clipboard in hand. “Dr. Nanami will see you now.”
The hallway feels longer than it should. Your sandals squeak against the linoleum, making the sound too loud in the quiet. The nurse stops at the last door on your right. She knocks twice before twisting the door knob open. You step inside and the door closes behind you.
The office is actually spacious, sunlight filtering through half-closed blinds. There’s a desk sitting in the corner, with neat stacks of files and a computer. Meanwhile, the other side of the room is parted with a long white curtain and you catch a glimpse of the gyno chair behind it.
Nanami stands from his swivel chair when you enter. You watch the way his broad shoulders stretch the crisp white fabric of his coat. He has blond hair that is neatly side parted, there’s also glasses perched on his nose.
“Good morning,” he says, his voice low and smooth. “Please, have a seat.”
He gestured to the chair across from his desk and you sit. You put your purse beside you. He sits back down while adjusting his glasses, and opens the folder laying flat on his desk. Probably your file.
The silence stretches a bit too long. You pick at the hem of your skirt.
“Dr. Ieiri usually-”
“Handles your case, yes.” Nanami nods, eyes still on the paperwork. “She gave me a thorough briefing.” He looks up then, and his gaze is steady behind the lenses. “But I’d like to hear it from you directly, if you don’t mind.”
Your mouth goes dry. You’ve rehearsed this in your head a dozen times, but now that you’re here, the words are like a lump in your throat.
“It’s… hard to talk about,” you tell him.
His expression softens just slightly.
“It’s okay. This is a safe space.” He leans back in his chair, hands inside the pockets of his white coat. “Take your time.”
You exhale slowly.
“Okay. Well, I’ve been having trouble lately. With orgasms,” The word feels embarrassing, though it really shouldn’t. “I don’t think I’m… having it. I don’t feel it.”
Nanami doesn’t react beyond a slow blink. “How long has this been going on?”
“About a month,” you answer. “At first I thought it was just stress, but then…”
Your voice trails off. The memory of that last hookup—the one with the guy who should’ve been perfect—flashes in your head. He has skilled hands and a body built for pleasure, but still, nothing.
Nanami’s pen scratches against paper as he jots something down.
“Any recent changes in medication? It says here that you take birth control pills.”
“No.” You shake your head. “Everything’s the same as always.”
He hums. “And prior to this, you had no issues achieving orgasm?”
“None.” The word comes out too fast, as if you’re defensive. “Sorry. It’s just frustrating.”
“Understandable.”
He sets the pen down and folds his hands on the desk. His fingers are long, surprisingly elegant for a man his size. You catch yourself staring and force your gaze back to his face.
“Have you attempted solo stimulation since this began?”
Heat creeps up your neck. “Yes. Toys, fingers—still the same problem.”
Nanami nods slowly and you bite your lip.
“Physically, there’s no immediate cause for concern based on your file. But I’d like to perform a pelvic exam to rule out any underlying issues.” He gestures toward the curtained area. “Would you be comfortable with that?”
Your stomach knots. You’ve had exams before, but never with a male doctor.
But it should be okay, right? He’s a professional and won’t definitely judge you or anything.
“Okay,” you say, because what else is there to say?
Nanami stands, motioning for you to follow him behind the curtain. There, the gyno chair looms. He snaps on a pair of blue gloves.
“You can undress from the waist down. There’s also a paper drape.”
You swallow hard and obey, sliding your panties off with trembling fingers. The paper drape rustles as you arrange it over your lap while you shiver at the chill of the stirrups against your bare feet.
Nanami adjusts the stool between your legs. “Just relax,” he murmurs. “This won’t take long.”
The lube is cold when Nanami squirts it onto his gloved fingers, the sound thick and slick in the quiet of the room. You flinch as the chill of it lingers in the air between your legs. His other hand presses gently on your lower abdomen, the warmth of his palm seeping through.
“Breathe.”
You inhale sharply as his fingers glide between your folds, parting them enough. There’s no hesitation when he slips two fingers inside you, the stretch just shy of uncomfortable.
“Tell me if you feel any discomfort,” he tells you, his gaze fixed on where his fingers disappear inside you.
You bite your lip, trying to ignore the warmth pooling low in your belly. It’s ridiculous. This is a medical exam, and yet your body reacts like it’s something more.
Nanami’s fingers curl slightly inside you, pressing against your inner walls, and you stifle a gasp.
“Hmm.” His brows furrow. “No signs of atrophy or abnormal tension.”
He withdraws his fingers with a slick sound, snapping off the gloves.
“Physically, everything appears normal.”
You exhale shakily while your legs are still splayed open. “So… what does that mean?”
Nanami reaches for a fresh pair of gloves.
“It suggests the issue may be psychological.” He meets your eyes but his expression is unreadable. “Have you considered that possibility?”
You swallow hard. “I-I don’t know?”
He nods, as if already expecting that answer.
“I’d like to perform one more test.”
His fingers hover above your inner thigh and you bite down on your lip.
“What is it?”
Nanami looks at you over his glasses. “A clitoral sensitivity assessment.”
A clitoral, what?
You just nod at him and look up to the office’s ceiling. The paper drape crinkles beneath your fingers as you grip it tighter. You suck in a breath as his fingers glide over your folds before they settle on your clit.
His fingers move in slow, circular motions. You bite your lip hard enough to stop yourself from making any sound. The touch is probably nothing for him but it’s everything for you. You hate the way your body reacts to such detached touch. Heat floods your cheeks when you feel yourself growing wetter under his ministrations.
You look down and your eyes meet his. Nanami’s expression still doesn’t change. You grip the sides of the chair when you feel your hips almost twitching involuntarily.
“Responsive,” he notes, almost to himself.
Something sparks low in your belly when he switches techniques—short, rhythmic taps that make your legs tremble. The sensation builds unnervingly fast, your thighs pressing together around his wrist.
Nanami pauses. "Too much?"
You shake your head, unable to speak. His fingers resume, slower now, drawing out each stroke until you're arching off the chair.
“Interesting.” His voice sounds thicker. “You're reacting well physically.”
The air suddenly feels electric. His fingers press hard that makes your toes curl, and you hear yourself letting out a whimper. Nanami’s gaze flickers up to your face.
Nanami withdraws his fingers with a slow drag that makes your thighs twitch. You exhale shudders, you’re feeling flush and oversensitive down there as he snaps off the gloves. The paper drape crumples when you shift off the chair, hastily putting on your panties back up.
Behind the curtain, Nanami washes his hands at the small sink. You watch the flex of his forearms beneath rolled-up sleeves—the same arms that just had you trembling beneath his touch. He dries his hands before gesturing for you to return to the chair across from his desk.
“Practically, everything appears normal,” he says while adjusting his glasses. “But given your symptoms, I’d like you to conduct a self-assessment before our follow-up.”
You blink. “A self-assessment?”
“Yes. It’s a detailed log.”
He slides a printed sheet across the desk. It’s a chart with time slots and blank fields.
“You have to note every attempt at stimulation, its duration, what are the methods used, and your psychological state beforehand.”
His pen taps on the parts of the sheet that you need to write on. You trace the empty boxes with your eyes.
“And… this will help?”
Nanami leans back.
“It’ll determine whether your block is situational or psychological.” His gaze drops to your face. “Unless you’d prefer a different approach?”
There’s something in his tone—not quite suggestive, but not entirely clinical either.
You cross your legs, suddenly aware of the dampness between your thighs.
“No—no, this is fine. I’ll try it your way.”
He nods. “Good. Be sure to be thorough and precise.” His pen hovers over some thick record book. “Same time next week?”
The clinic’s AC hums as you tuck the printed sheet into your purse. Nanami stands when you do, his height forcing you to tilt your head up.
“One more thing.” He stops you at the door, voice low. “If you experience any unusual reactions, call the clinic immediately.”
That night, you run a bath but not completely full. The water’s a bit scalding when you sink in, but all your worries seem to fade away the moment your fingers press on your clit. You try to mimic Nanami’s exact circular motions. You grip the tub’s edge when your hips jerk up.
Your fingers slide between your legs and you plunge two fingers deep in your pussy. You imagine it’s Nanami’s fingers as you curl your fingers upward, chasing that spongy spot. The bathroom tiles echo with the sloshing of water along with your breathy moans as you pleasure yourself.
All you can think about is how Nanami’s touch had been unfairly good.
The water turns lukewarm too fast and your fingers aren’t enough anymore. You rise from the tub and you pad toward the shower. The tiled floor is cool beneath your feet as you twist the shower faucet.
You sink to your knees, then lower yourself fully onto the floor, legs splayed wide. The water beats down on your head, catching on your parted lips, down to your body as you drag your fingers through your folds again. This time, you don’t think about any technique you usually do. You think about Nanami’s gaze and how he would watch you come undone on his fingers.
Your hips jerk when you press two fingers deep again, scissoring them the way you think he would. You imagine his other hand—the one that had pressed on your abdomen, sliding up your inner thigh.
“Fuck,” you gasp as your back arch.
Your own wetness turns your fingers slippery. Your free hand palms up your breasts, massaging each of them in circular and pulling motions while thinking it’s Nanami’s large hands doing it. You tug and roll your hardened nipples between your fingers and you bite down on your lip.
You can’t believe it but you think you’re getting close now. So close. Your vision blurs as you chase your high. Nanami’s voice echoes in your head and you whimper. Fingers plunging deeper and faster.
“O-Oh my god—more, more, more!”
Your orgasm slams into you like a wave. Your thighs clamp while your toes curl as you convulse through your climax. The pleasure crests, leaving you limp and gasping under the shower.
For a long moment, you just lie there. It’s the first orgasm in weeks and it leaves you shaking. You should feel ashamed that you just masturbated at the thought of Nanami, but you can’t bring yourself to care one bit.
The printed sheet Nanami gave you becomes your secret obsession over the next few days. You fill in every blank with precision, just like he had told you. Now, every time you masturbate, it’s him that you all think about.
Sometimes you think it’s weird that just imagining him gets you to your climax, but you just shrug it off. You don’t even put up a porn video anymore.
The following night finds you sprawled across your bed with your favorite vibrator—a sleek purple thing you used to swear by—but tonight it might as well be a piece of nothing. You toss it aside after five minutes of fruitless buzzing and resort to your fingers instead.
With eyes squeezed shut, yu recreate the exact pressure of Nanami’s gloved fingers circling your clit. You grasp on the sheets when you imagine his other hand pinning your wrists above your head while he whispers praises in your ear. Six minutes later, you came with a choked gasp.
By Saturday afternoon, you’re bouncing up and down on your largest dildo that’s suction-cupped to the coffee table. You’re riding it slowly while thinking it’s Nanami’s cock—thick and straining—against his slacks as he watches you. Your orgasm hits so fast you nearly fall on the floor.
The pattern continues until the follow-up appointment arrives.
The clinic smells the same—antiseptic and lavender. But this time, your pulse thrums for entirely different reasons. The receptionist greets you with a smile, her fingers clicking across the keyboard.
“Dr. Nanami’s running on time. He’ll be right with you.”
You nod, gripping the strap of your purse tighter. The waiting room chair feels warmer than last time.
The nurse calls your name sooner than expected. The hallway stretches and contracts as you walk. When the door opens, you catch Nanami already standing by his desk. The sunlight catches the edge of his glasses as he looks up your way.
“Good morning.” His voice hasn’t changed. He gestures to the chair. “Right on schedule.”
You sit down and Nanami does the same a second later. He drops a folder onto his desk with a soft thump, and he folds his hands over it.
“How was your week?”
“Oh. All is fine,” you say, though your fingers tighten around the strap of your purse.
“And the log I gave you?”
You reach into your bag, pulling out the folded sheet and slide it across the desk toward him.
Nanami unfolds the paper and his eyes immediately scan the contents. The silence stretches as he reads, and you focus on the way the sunlight catches the faint stubble along his jawline. His fingers tap once against the desk before he looks up.
“Interesting,” he says, adjusting his glasses. “You’ve been quite thorough.”
Heat creases the back of your neck. Of course you were thorough. Every single entry is branded into your memory. Nanami flips the page over, though there’s nothing written on the back. His thumb brushes the edge of the paper.
His gaze lifts. “You responded well to clitoral stimulation in particular but penetration still seems inconsistent.”
“Yeah. It’s… hit or miss.”
He hums, folding the sheet neatly in half.
“Physically, there’s no abnormality. But your logs suggest a psychological component.” His chair creaks as he leans back. “Tell me—during these sessions, were you distracted?”
You blink. “Distracted?”
“Were you feeling anxious, nervous? Or any other thoughts?” His eyes drop to your hands. “Perhaps… performance pressure?”
Heat floods your cheeks so fast. The truth sits heavy on your tongue—that the only thing distracting you was how badly you wanted it to be his fingers instead of your own.
But of course, you can’t say that.
“No,” you lie. “I just couldn’t get there.”
Nanami’s glasses gleam as he tilts his head. He stands up and he gestures toward the curtained area of the room.
“I’d like to try something different today.”
You follow him behind the curtain, your pulse hammering in your throat. The gyno chair looms just as before. He sits on the stool and crosses his arms over his broad chest.
“Undress,” he says, voice low. “Completely.”
You obey without hesitation. The air is cool against your bare skin as you peel off your clothes. You climb onto the chair, legs slightly trembling as you settle your feet into the stirrups. The paper drape rustles beneath you and then he hands you another to put it over your lap, but it does nothing to hide the fact that you’re completely exposed to him.
Nanami looks at you in a way that makes your skin prickle. His folded arms stretch the fabric of his white coat, the muscles in his forearms tense as you spread your legs wider.
“Show me how you do it.”
Your fingers tremble when you touch yourself. It’s different like this—performing under his gaze. The first brush of your fingertips against your clit makes you whimper. Nanami’s eyes track the movement as your fingers work.
You let out what seems like a moan when you slide two fingers inside your soaking pussy, curling them the way you imagine he would. Nanami doesn’t blink when you start thrusting shallowly, your wrist twisting at an angle.
“Faster,” he murmurs. “You’re holding back.”
Your hips jerk up when you follow his instruction. As you speed up on chasing that spongy spot, your thumb circles your clit in rough, uneven strokes.
Your fingers stutter when the rustle of fabric cuts through the wet sounds of your own hand working between your legs. Through half-lowered lashes, you watch Nanami shrug off his white coat. Your breath hitches as he rolls up his sleeves.
Still seated, he drags the stool closer to you. The sudden proximity sends a jolt through you. Before you can even process it, his hand wraps around your wrist, pulling your fingers free from your dripping pussy with an obscene pop.
Nanami’s eyes lock onto yours as he brings your glistening fingers to his mouth. His tongue swipes over your fingertips, savoring your taste. You barely have time to gasp before his tongue drags a flat, wet stripe from your entrance to your clit. Your hips jerk up, but his hands clamp around your thighs to pin you down the chair.
“Hold still.”
His tongue delves deeper, flicking against your aching clit in quick strokes that have your toes curling. You fist your hands in the paper drape, tearing it as he laps at you.
“Ah! Shit, Dr. Nanami-”
The honorific cracks halfway when you feel a finger pressing hard on your entrance while his tongue works your clit. The dual stimulation makes your thighs shake, but his grip keeps you spread wide for him. You hear it—the wet sounds of his mouth on you and the ragged breaths escaping your lips.
Your back arches off the chair. You’re dimly aware of one hand leaving your thigh, then the sharp click of his belt buckle. You hear his slacks being pushed down. You can’t bring yourself to look, not when his tongue is doing that twisting thing that makes you see stars.
Nanami stands up abruptly, his belt buckle clinking on the tile floor. Before he can say anything, you sit up and grab him by the nape of his neck, pulling him down into a bruising kiss. His lips part with a surprised exhale, and suddenly you’re tasting yourself on his tongue.
His hands, which had been gripping your thighs moments ago, now slide up to cup your tits, kneading them with a roughness that makes you whimper into his mouth.
He breaks the kiss only to duck his head and capture a nipple between his teeth. The sharp sting melts into warmth as he sucks, his tongue swirling in circles. You arch against him, fingers tangled in his perfect blond hair to drag him closer.
“P-Please—oh my god!” you gasp when he switches to the other, his free hand pinching the wet peak he just abandoned.
Nanami hums against your skin, the vibration makes your thighs clench. His thumb brushes over your nipple, now swollen and oversensitive, and you hiss through your teeth.
His mouth is back on yours, swallowing the needy and high sounds you make as he pushes two fingers inside you again. The stretch burns—his fingers are thick and longer than yours—and you rock against his hand instinctively to chase that delicious pressure of his palm against your clit.
“Do you want it?” Nanami murmurs against your lips. His glasses are askew, fogged. “Do you want me to fuck you?”
Your answer is a broken whimper. You nod frantically as your nails dig into his shoulder through his dress shirt. Nanami withdraws his fingers with a slick sound that makes you shudder. His hands grip your hips, dragging you forward until your ass teeters on the edge of the chair.
You look down between your bodies just as Nanami frees his cock from his briefs—thick and already dripping. He strokes himself slowly, his broad palm gliding up his thick length while his eyes stay locked on you. His thumb swipes over the leaking tip, spreading the precum, and your legs wrap around his waist to pull him closer.
You watch as he reaches blindly toward the small drawer beside the chair. He pulls it open and grabs a foil packet of lube. He rips it open and squeezes a generous amount onto his palm before slicking himself up.
Nanami slides his cock through your slick folds, the heat of him dragging against your clit in a slow, torturous stroke.
“Do you really want this?”
His voice is low and rough. Again, you nod frantically while your hands take a hold of your thighs spread open before him. His glasses catch the light as he tilts his head.
“I need you to talk,” he says, before slapping his cock onto your drenched pussy. “I don’t take answers like that.”
“Y-Yes!” The answer bursts out of you. “Please, fuck me!”
Nanami rubs his cock against you again. “Where?”
Your thighs tremble when his tip almost catches at your entrance. He’s pressing just enough to make your breath hitch.
“Inside. I want you inside me.”
He exhales sharply. His glasses are fogged when he finally pushes in and it’s splitting you open in a way that makes your vision blur. The stretch burns deliciously, his thickness drags against your pussy walls that haven’t been properly filled in weeks.
Nanami stops halfway. “Look at me.”
You force your eyes open. His face is now closer than you remember—blond strands falling out of place, his jaw tight with restraint. His hips jerk forward when you clench around him, drawing a groan deep from his chest.
“Fuck,” he grits out. “You’re taking me so well.”
The praise makes your thighs shake. You rock against him instinctively, but he holds you still with a firm grip. His cock twitches inside you when you whine.
“Be patient.” His voice is rough. “We’re doing this properly.”
He pulls out almost completely—just the head catching at your entrance—before slamming back in with a sharp thrust that punches the air from your lungs.
“Doctor—!” The moan rips from your throat as he bottoms out inside you.
“Nanami.” His breath ghosts over your lips. “Call me Nanami.”
Your nails scrape down his clothed back as he thrusts in again, the force of it makes the chair creek.
“N-Nanami—nngghh!”
“Good.”
His praise sends a shudder through you. His pace is relentless now, each snap of his hips drag against that spot deep inside you. His glasses slip down his nose and he takes them off with a frustrated grunt before tossing them onto the nearby counter. You watch the way his throat bobs as he swallows hard.
Nanami pulls out and you whimper at the sudden emptiness. His hands grip your waist and lift you effortlessly off the chair. Your legs wobble when your feet hit the floor, but he steadies you quickly.
He turns you around and his large hand splays across your back to bend you over. You try to hold onto the stirrups but his hands grab yours so fast. He plunges his cock back inside you again. The angle is deeper and the tip of his cock kisses that spot up inside—your cervix. You moan in both pleasure and pain.
“Look at you,” Nanami growls. “You’re taking me so deep.”
“Na-Nanami—ah! S’too much- I can’t-”
Your knees buckle, but one of his hands locks around your hips. The slap of skin to skin echoes off the clinic walls, mingling with your ragged breaths. You roll your eyes and you see stars burst.
His thrusts turn punishing. You feel him everywhere—the heat of his chest against your back, the ache in your shoulders from having your arms pinned behind you, and the brutal snap of his hips. You feel your slickness dripping down your legs as he fucks you senseless over and over again.
“You’re close.” Nanami’s teeth graze your earlobe. “I can feel you clenching around me.”
He’s right. There’s the coil in your belly that’s starting to tighten unbearably, it’s making your toes curl against the cold floor.
Nanami lets go of your pinned wrists and his hand slides between your thighs. His fingers find your clit, circles them with rough motion, and you shatter. Your back arches as your orgasm crashes through you with a force that whites out your vision.
Still, Nanami doesn’t stop.
“One more,” he groans. His cock pulses inside you as he chases his own release. “Come on, give me one more.”
You sub when his fingers redouble their efforts, the oversensitivity is now tipping into sharp pleasure. A few more thrusts and your second climax hits like a sucker punch. Nanami follows with a groan, his hips stuttering as he spills deep inside you.
Nanami fucks into you with a few more slow, deep thrusts. His cock throbs inside you, still spilling thick ropes of cum that mix with your own slickness. When he pulls out with a nasty squelch, you feel the warm rush dripping out of your swollen pussy almost immediately.
Your legs give out, but before you can fully drop to the floor, Nanami catches you. His hands are firm around your waist as he lifts you back onto the gyno chair. Your sweaty back presses into the cool leather.
Nanami reaches for the tissue box on the counter, tearing off a generous handful. He puts your feet on the stirrups before wiping between your thighs, cleaning the mess of cum trickling out of your pussy.
You’re like a limp, boneless heap on the gyno chair. Nanami is still wiping away the sticky evidence between your thighs. When he finishes, you expect him to step back and return to that clinical detachment he first had, but instead, his lips press a soft, unexpected kiss on your lower abdomen.
“How are you feeling?”
You blink up at the ceiling, then to him. “Wonderful.”
Nanami huffs a quiet laugh, and you find yourself grinning despite the absurdity of the situation. He grabs his glasses from the counter and puts them back on.
“Well,” he says, adjusting his glasses. “Looks like we just found a way for you to orgasm.”
You snort before slapping a hand over your face. You peek through your spread out fingers and you see him looking at you with a smug look on his face.
“Maybe we can continue this somewhere much more private next time?”
LAW AND ORDER ── you are the primary suspect for your husband's death. what are the odds that your defense lawyer happens to be your ex-boyfriend from years ago?
ex!lawyer!hiromi x female!reader
tw. domestic violence & abuse, mentions of mental illnesses (depression, psychosis), trauma-induced selective mutism, institutionalization, imprisonment cw. explicit sexual content, angst, shameless smut, violence, blood, age gap, unprotected sex, vaginal sex, oral sex, dubcon, masturbation, creampie, rough sex, face riding, throat fucking, overstimulation, hair pulling, choking, nipple play, breeding kink, cheating, power dynamics, ethical dilemmas, dead dove: do not eat
18+ mdni | wc. 3.7k | a/n. have any of you guys read the silent patient?
⚖︎ this is the first chapter of the LAW AND ORDER series ⚖︎
01. ab initio
Growing up, your mother never failed at telling you that it's better to find men to date after college—or better, when you already have a job, money, and all. She warned you about men (or boys, rather) that are still in school, penniless, or both, are up to no good. That they play games, they don't know what they really want, and worst of all, they always leave.
You scoffed at her back then, thinking she only said that because her high school sweetheart—your father—had abandoned the two of you for a different family to call his own.
But with the unwavering dedication to study hard, you were able to get through your freshman year all the way to junior year in college without dating anyone. Countless men have tried to woo you, but you were “too hard to crack,” or so they claimed.
Things were turning out well for you—or at least, that’s what you thought. You remember your mother’s warnings about boys but… what about a man who had just graduated from law school?
“Hi. Is this seat taken?”
You look up abruptly and see dark eyes scanning yours. The stranger’s posture is relaxed—one hand tucked in the pocket of his black slacks, the other gripping a book thick enough to bludgeon someone. You glance around the café and realize how the place is jam packed now. Most of the tables and chairs are already occupied except yours.
Probably because you’re sitting at the far end by the window that is too secluded for anyone to bother noticing.
“Go ahead.” you say.
You push your sprawled notes and books aside to give him space. He slides into the chair immediately. The scent of coffee and something faintly woody hits you as he settles in. You try not to stare, but it’s hard not to when his long and thick fingers drum against the book’s cover.
He doesn’t talk to you. He just flips the book open and starts reading like you aren’t even there. Which should be a relief, right? You just want to study in peace, too.
Except that you catch yourself glancing up every time he turns a page. The fourth time you do it, his eyes flick over to yours.
“Yes?”
You blink up at him.
“Oh. Uh—nothing.” You gulp, fingers tightening around your highlighter. “Sorry, are you a law student?”
He shakes his head. “Was.” His voice is dry and low. “I already graduated a month ago.”
You nod, though your fingers still grip the highlighter too tight. His gaze drops back to his book, but you don’t look away. There’s something alluring about the way his thumb brushes the edge of the page.
Oh my god, you are not getting horny over someone’s goddamn fingers!
You should really go back to studying. Instead, you blurt out, “What’s your name?”
His eyes slowly lift, like he’s weighing whether answering is worth the effort.
“Hiromi.”
You nod again and tell him yours, the syllables slipping out softer than you intended. You cringe at yourself.
“Good luck with… whatever you’re reading, Hiromi,” you add, gesturing vaguely at his book.
He gives you a slow blink before dipping his chin in acknowledgment. Then, silence finally settles between you two.
Three days later, you see him again. Though this time, he’s sitting a few tables away from your usual spot in the café. You’re supposed to be studying for a quiz but instead, you waste an entire hour staring at him. You busy yourself by doing one of your ‘observing people’ routines.
Upon watching him, you notice that he doesn’t really move that much. He stays still while turning pages. And it’s oddly captivating—the way his fingers pause just before flipping to the next page. He doesn’t slouch, not even once, nor prop his head up in boredom. The only time he moves is when he reaches for his phone. You watch the way his brows furrow and how his lips thin to a line. He gathers up his things and walks out of the café.
You notice that you seem to be seeing him a lot these days.
It starts to feel like a glitch in the universe. Like the Baader-Meinhof phenomenon. Now that you’ve learned his name, the world seems determined to show him to you in the randomest places.
You see him at the crosswalk, his back straight and his head slightly tilted as he listens to something on his earbuds. You see him at the convenience store just outside the campus, buying nothing but three cans of black coffee and a single pre-packaged sandwich.
One Friday, the rain is drumming a relentless, grey rhythm against the café windows. You’re tucked into your usual corner. The bell above the door jingles, and there he is. He shakes the water droplets off his coat. His hair is damp, some strands are sticking to his forehead. He heads straight for the counter and orders something too quiet for you to hear.
You look down on your laptop when you feel his eyes turning to you.
Just a few minutes later, you feel a presence at the end of the table. You don’t have to look up to know who it is. He slides into the seat without asking.
“Hm. You’re everywhere.”
That makes you look up.
You snort. “You’re the one who sat at my table first.”
“Fair.” He takes a sip on his coffee. Black coffee, no sugar. You know because you watched him order it last time. “You’re a psych major, right?”
“Yeah… how did you-”
“I figured from your notes,” he nods at the open notebook beside your laptop.
You blink. “Are you stalking me?”
Okay, that might be a reach.
He chuckles low and dark, it makes your heart hammer with something weird.
“You’re interesting.”
You don’t know what to say to that, so you just raise an eyebrow. “That’s not an answer.”
Hiromi leans back in his chair, looking at you with those heavy-lidded eyes.
“I really hope you’re single,” he says flatly. His fingers tap once against the side of his coffee cup.
You gulp. “Why?”
Hiromi shrugs, but his gaze doesn’t waver. “Because I’d like to take you out.”
You feel your pulse kick up. It’s stupid, really, considering you don’t even know this guy.
“I am single.”
The words tumble out of your mouth before you can stop them. Hiromi looks at you, and for the first time, his lips slowly curl into a smile—the kind that makes the corner of his eyes crinkle just slightly. It’s disarming, and you find yourself smiling stupidly, too.
He bites his lower lip, a quick gesture that makes your stomach flip. Then, he reaches for his phone. He unlocks it with a swipe and hands it out to you without a word. The screen glows with the new contact page. You take it, your fingers brush his.
You type your number in, savoring the way his gaze lingers on your hands. When you give it back, he doesn’t check it. He just pockets the phone and takes another sip of his coffee.
“You don’t want to test it?” you ask, teasing. “Make sure I didn’t give you a fake one?”
He almost laughs at that.
“Oh, I know you wouldn’t.”
The following weeks are a blur. You spend your mornings in lecture halls, and your nights with Hiromi across various dinner tables. He’s a creature of habit; he likes his steak medium-rare, his scotch neat, and his conversations intellectually grueling.
The first time he brings you to his apartment, it’s under the guise that he has the better Wi-Fi for your joint study session. Only for the day to end with him pressing you deep into the mattress while whispering the filthiest praises into your ear—how good you take him, how pretty you look falling apart, or how perfect you are when you choke on his cock.
Eventually, it becomes a habit. Your supposed study sessions dissolve into him pinning your wrists above your head while he peppers you with warm and delicate kisses. His hands map your body like he’s memorizing every dip and curve. His tongue worships you like his sacred texts.
You find yourself breaking every rule your mother ever set.
“Can you please fuck me now?”
You look up to Hiromi with the best pleading eyes you can put on, tugging on the hem of his hoodie as you go on your knees in front of him. He only exhales deeply, as if annoyed (he’s not really). He pushes the bridge of his reading glasses back.
“What? No.” he almost says quickly. “Babe, I’m still reading.”
Right. He’s busy reviewing for the bar exams. He’s adamant on passing it with first try, but the thing is, he barely has time to even sleep—let alone fuck you.
You pout and shift closer. You press your cheek against his knee.
“But you’ve been reading for three hours straight now,” you murmur while tracing idle circles on his sweatpants. “Your brain’s gonna fry.”
Hiromi doesn’t look up. “My brain’s all fine.”
“Your dick, though-” You press your palm flat against the front of his pants, grinning when you feel him twitch. “Seems like it could use some attention.”
He exhales through his nose. It’s that long-suffering sigh he does that you’ve come to adore.
“No.”
No?
You blink up at him and he straight up just goes back to reading that stupid thick-paged book. He even uncaps a highlighter with his teeth while you’re sprawled between his knees.
One thing you’ve come to realize since dating Hiromi is that you never back down on any challenge. It’s almost as if that since he’s a very stoic and determined guy, breaking him in is a challenge for you already.
Your fingers curl around the waistband of his sweatpants and the fabric slides down easily. And just like you predicted, he’s not wearing anything underneath again. His cock lazily springs free, thick and soft. You wrap your hand around him to feel his warmness.
Hiromi doesn’t react. His eyes are seriously fixed on whatever the hell he’s reading. You smirk and drag your tongue along the underside of his cock. You feel him stiffen slightly. Then, you swallow him down in one go, hollowing your cheeks as you pull back.
Except that he’s just too dedicated on his studies that he couldn’t give a fuck he’s balls deep in your mouth.
His breath suddenly hitches when you take him even deeper. The tip of his cock hits the back of your throat and you almost gag at the sensation. You hum around him as he slowly shifts his hips to meet your movements. Still, he doesn’t look at you.
But you know his game.
You pull off with a wet pop! Your teeth lightly drag along his length and you feel his thighs tense under your palms.
“You’re really gonna pretend you don’t wanna fuck my mouth?”
“I told you-” He clears his throat. “I’m busy.”
You roll your eyes in irritation before taking him back to your mouth. Your head bobs up and down so fast while your throat works around him. You hollow your cheeks once more, pulling back to swirl your tongue around the slit of his tip. Hiromi’s fingers twitch against the pages of the book. The sound of sucking and slurping are so obscene it’s echoing off the walls.
The heavy thump of a book snapping shut makes you glance up. Hiromi removes his reading glasses and he looks down at you with heavy-lidded eyes.
“You’re so stubborn, I hope you know that.”
Hiromi yanks you up with ease just as he stands from the swivel chair. He drags you by the wrist and the back of your knees immediately hit the edge of the mattress when he pushes your body to it. His fingers fumble with the button and zipper of your denim shorts and he tugs them down along with your panties in one smooth motion. The cold air hits your skin, but his hands are warmer as they slide up the inside of your legs before spreading them.
“Such a goddamn distraction,” he mutters, finally leaning down to catch your mouth with his.
You arch shamelessly into him, wrapping your legs around his waist. His cock presses against your lower abdomen and you rock against him just to hear him groan into your mouth.
Hiromi pulls back abruptly. His fingers curl under the hem of your shirt, dragging the fabric up your torso until you lift your arms. He tosses it somewhere behind him, and then his hands are on you again—palming your tits, rolling your nipples between his thumbs and forefingers until they harden under his touch.
You let out a whine as you buck against him, but he clicks his tongue.
“So impatient.”
His lips brush your collarbone, then lower. He licks a warm stripe over one nipple, then sucks it into his mouth. You gasp and tangle your fingers in his hair. He flicks his tongue over the peak and bites down.
“Hiro-”
“Shut up,” he murmurs against your skin.
His hands slide down your sides, slightly squeezing your waist before gripping your hips. He drags you close to him and you feel the blunt head of his cock nudge against you. You’re wet—have been since you sucked him off earlier—but he doesn’t push in just yet. Instead, he grinds his cock between your folds ever so slow you let out a whimper.
You claw at his shoulders. “Stop teasing.”
“You’re gonna have to ask better than that.”
“Please, fuck me,” you look up at him, his eyes flicker with something dark. “I want you so bad, Hiromi.”
Hiromi slides into you with one smooth thrust. His grip on your hips pins you down on the mattress, but your back arches off, anyway.
“Fuck,” he hisses. “You’re so tight.”
You dig your nails into his shoulders, your legs locking around his waist to pull him deeper.
“Move,” you demand breathlessly.
He does—his hips snap forward followed by a sharp, punishing rhythm that has you gasping. There’s nothing gentle about it. His hands slide under you to grip your ass, tilting your hips just so until every thrust hits that spot inside you that makes your vision blur.
“Mhhhhmmm… fuck me harder, please,” you pant, your voice breaking as he fucks you harder.
The veins of his cock drag against your walls in a way that has your toes curling. The bed creaks violently under the force of his movements, the headboard slamming against the wall. All you feel is him, the brutal stretch, and the way your body clenches around him like it’s trying to keep him inside.
“You-” Hiromi grits out between clenched teeth, “are fucking persistent.” His fingers dig into your thighs, spreading you wider. “You couldn’t just let me study in peace.”
You gasp when he suddenly flips you onto your stomach, yanking your hips up before driving back into you. His palm lands sharp on your ass.
“If I fail the bar, what would you do, hm?”
Hiromi’s voice is deep and edged with something between frustration and irritation. You don’t get the chance to answer since he slams into you again, his hips thrusting so hard your knees almost slide against the sheets. You claw at the mattress—the pillows—anything to grab on but he only drags you back onto him.
He leans over you, his chest is pressing hot against your back. His hand gathers your hair to yank your head back.
“You wanted this, didn’t you?” he growls. “Wanted me to fuck you stupid instead of studying.”
You nod frantically, your words dissolving into a gasp as he angles his hips deeper.
“Yes! Nngghhh—just like thaaat-”
Hiromi’s grip tightens in your hair. “So fucking greedy.”
The slap of skin to skin fills the room, punctuated by your ragged moans. His thrusts grow erratic. Then, his fingers press into the dip of your lower back before sliding between your legs. His middle and ring finger circles your clit and you choke on a sob as pleasure starts to coil tight in your stomach.
“Fuck-” you gasp, your thighs trembling as his fingers work in tandem with the ram of his cock deep into you. “I’m- I’m so close, Hiromi!”
“Hmm…” Hiromi hums. “Gonna cum already?”
You don’t answer again—not when his fingers press harder, not when his cock kisses that spot inside you that makes your vision white out. Your hips jerk uselessly while trying to meet his thrusts.
Hiromi groans and you feel his rhythm stuttering. You can feel your legs shake as your pussy clenches around his cock. You roll your eyes so hard it almost reaches the back of your head.
“Shit- oh my fucking-!”
Your voice cracks, all high and desperate, as the wave of orgasm crashes over you. Hiromi curses under his breath. He pulls you back to him before burying himself to the hilt just as your legs shake violently. You feel him coat your insides with his warm, thick cum.
For a moment, neither of you move. His weight presses you into the mattress. Then, with a slow drag, he pulls out. He collapses onto the bed beside you. You roll onto your side, immediately pressing your face into the crook of his neck as his arm drapes heavily over your shoulder.
Silence stretches between you, but it's comfortable. You trace idle circles on his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips.
“You’re gonna pass,” you murmur after a while, your voice still thick with satisfaction.
Hiromi snorts. “Not if you keep distracting me like that.”
You grin against his skin. “But you love it.”
He doesn't deny it.
You lift your head to look at him. His dark lashes are fanning over his cheeks. There’s a faint sheen of sweat on his forehead. You caress his lips that are still slightly parted as he catches his breath.
“You should take a break,” you say, nudging his shoulder with your nose. “Just for tonight.”
Hiromi sighs as his fingers trail absently up and down your spine.
“I can’t.”
“Yes, you can,” you insist. “One night won’t kill you.”
He opens one eye to glare at you half-heartedly. “You say that like you won’t be the reason I fail.”
You laugh before pressing a kiss to his jaw.
“Ugh. Stop being soooo negative. You won’t fail.”
Hiromi hums before his arms tighten around you to pull you closer. You settle against him with your limbs tangled with his and your skin still sticky with sweat.
Outside, the city bustles—cars are passing by and there’s the occasional blare of a horn. But inside of his apartment, it's just the two of you, wrapped in the quiet aftermath of something raw and real.
You close your eyes while listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing.
If only you had known that it’s the last time you’ll be with him, you would’ve savored every second—every ragged breath, every groan, every heartbeat—more. But you didn’t.
Because when Hiromi passed the bar exam with flying colors, his priorities shifted.
You thought you’d be happy for him when he landed his first case. You tried to but you really couldn’t. The moment he stepped into courtrooms, he stopped being yours. His texts dwindled to one-word replies. The weekend dates turned into rescheduled ones that never really happened. His eyes, once warm and soft when they looked at you, became cold and distant.
“You knew what you were in for,” he told you one night when you dared to complain about his absence. “This is who I am.”
And that was it. The beginning of the end.
Then came the night of your twenty-second birthday. You’re sitting at the edge of your bed, staring at your phone screen illuminated by the last text Hiromi sent six hours ago.
Hiromi: Busy. Raincheck dinner?
You swallow the lump in your throat, fingers hovering over the keyboard. Before you can type a reply, a notification from your roommate pops up on top of the screen.
Roomie: come downstairs, i brought sum food
You frown but oblige, padding barefoot down the stairs. The apartment is dark except the flickering glow of candlelight from the kitchen. There you see him—Hiromi, standing stiffly beside a lopsided homemade cake. His tie is loosened and his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows.
“You… baked?”
Hiromi exhales sharply, avoiding your gaze. “It already collapsed twice.” He gestures to the cake. “The recipe online obviously lied.”
You bite back a laugh. “You could’ve just bought one!”
“I wanted to do it right, at least.”
The words hang between you two, heavy with everything he hasn’t said. You step closer, close enough that you see the exhaustion in his eyes. You tiptoed to press a kiss on his lips.
Your fingers slowly brush his. “You’re an idiot.”
“I know,” Hiromi’s thumb traces your knuckles.
For a moment, you feel warm and happy. Until his phone buzzes on the counter, shattering the quiet. His grip tightens briefly before he lets go, reaching for it. You watch his expression shutter as he reads the message—the way his shoulders slump and how his mouth thins into a line.
“I have to go,” he says, already grabbing his coat.
Not even a single “I’m sorry” or a “Happy birthday” came out of his mouth.
You just look at him while tears slowly form in your eyes. You don’t bother asking him to stay because you know he won’t.
A month later, you ended your relationship with him. You didn’t even cry when you told him a simple, “This isn’t working anymore.” But the worst thing is that Hiromi didn’t even try to argue with you.
He just nodded once and said, “Okay.”
You walked away with your chest hollowing. You ignored the way his eyes followed you until the door clicked shut behind you.
You told yourself it’s for the best but you spent the following years believing that lie. Maybe your mother was right. That men in school are completely up to no good. But men in general? They are just different versions of the same storm.
Some leave you shivering in the cold, while others stay just long enough to make sure you drown.
chapter 1 is out, lovies <3 @lkukaknka @beninn @alebrasil0101 @taylorsturniolo @chikiakeez @ikozuki @cupidwhispers @secretsimpcorner @mmari-07 @starlingy @10105s @l3eksa @curiousbutbored @maggie-mae1110 @tojislefttiddies @byerno6 @raystrawberryaesu @lem-hhn @chiaramartyna @1yvana @nobodygotyoulikehoshina @satiiv-a @sadlovergirlhere @leviackermanl0ver @sparkleboomshiny @satorucupcake @rmxilsan @kranktruther @matcha-nicolas @jeanswifey1 @syleepy @sin-tax-errotic
hii awesomeness!! if you make a pt 2 to the single dad sukuna fic i’ll literally give you a big fat kiss 🥹 ur so bomb
🐈⬛
my first emoji anon oh my gawwwdddd this is making me feel emotional. i love you 🐈⬛ nonnie, actually can i claim that big fat kiss ???
ANYWAY. a lot of you guys are asking for part 2 but ngl i don’t think i can top that peak LMAOOOO i have more other dad!kuna in the works though….. 🤔🤔🤔
please make more of dadkuna 🙏🙏🙏
oh baby i already got LOTSSSSS of wips here 😣 it just so happens that i can’t post them yet bc uni and work is whipping my ass
NEVER STOP WRITING FICS
it’s almost like a threat this is so funny i love you nonnie
LAW AND ORDER ── you are the primary suspect for your husband's death. what are the odds that your defense lawyer happens to be your ex-boyfriend from years ago?
ex!lawyer!hiromi x female!reader
tw. domestic violence & abuse, mentions of mental illnesses (depression, psychosis), trauma-induced selective mutism, institutionalization, imprisonment cw. explicit sexual content, angst, shameless smut, violence, blood, age gap, unprotected sex, vaginal sex, oral sex, dubcon, masturbation, creampie, rough sex, face riding, throat fucking, overstimulation, hair pulling, choking, nipple play, breeding kink, cheating, power dynamics, ethical dilemmas, dead dove: do not eat
18+ mdni | wc. 3.7k | a/n. have any of you guys read the silent patient?
⚖︎ this is the first chapter of the LAW AND ORDER series ⚖︎
01. ab initio
Growing up, your mother never failed at telling you that it's better to find men to date after college—or better, when you already have a job, money, and all. She warned you about men (or boys, rather) that are still in school, penniless, or both, are up to no good. That they play games, they don't know what they really want, and worst of all, they always leave.
You scoffed at her back then, thinking she only said that because her high school sweetheart—your father—had abandoned the two of you for a different family to call his own.
But with the unwavering dedication to study hard, you were able to get through your freshman year all the way to junior year in college without dating anyone. Countless men have tried to woo you, but you were “too hard to crack,” or so they claimed.
Things were turning out well for you—or at least, that’s what you thought. You remember your mother’s warnings about boys but… what about a man who had just graduated from law school?
“Hi. Is this seat taken?”
You look up abruptly and see dark eyes scanning yours. The stranger’s posture is relaxed—one hand tucked in the pocket of his black slacks, the other gripping a book thick enough to bludgeon someone. You glance around the café and realize how the place is jam packed now. Most of the tables and chairs are already occupied except yours.
Probably because you’re sitting at the far end by the window that is too secluded for anyone to bother noticing.
“Go ahead.” you say.
You push your sprawled notes and books aside to give him space. He slides into the chair immediately. The scent of coffee and something faintly woody hits you as he settles in. You try not to stare, but it’s hard not to when his long and thick fingers drum against the book’s cover.
He doesn’t talk to you. He just flips the book open and starts reading like you aren’t even there. Which should be a relief, right? You just want to study in peace, too.
Except that you catch yourself glancing up every time he turns a page. The fourth time you do it, his eyes flick over to yours.
“Yes?”
You blink up at him.
“Oh. Uh—nothing.” You gulp, fingers tightening around your highlighter. “Sorry, are you a law student?”
He shakes his head. “Was.” His voice is dry and low. “I already graduated a month ago.”
You nod, though your fingers still grip the highlighter too tight. His gaze drops back to his book, but you don’t look away. There’s something alluring about the way his thumb brushes the edge of the page.
Oh my god, you are not getting horny over someone’s goddamn fingers!
You should really go back to studying. Instead, you blurt out, “What’s your name?”
His eyes slowly lift, like he’s weighing whether answering is worth the effort.
“Hiromi.”
You nod again and tell him yours, the syllables slipping out softer than you intended. You cringe at yourself.
“Good luck with… whatever you’re reading, Hiromi,” you add, gesturing vaguely at his book.
He gives you a slow blink before dipping his chin in acknowledgment. Then, silence finally settles between you two.
Three days later, you see him again. Though this time, he’s sitting a few tables away from your usual spot in the café. You’re supposed to be studying for a quiz but instead, you waste an entire hour staring at him. You busy yourself by doing one of your ‘observing people’ routines.
Upon watching him, you notice that he doesn’t really move that much. He stays still while turning pages. And it’s oddly captivating—the way his fingers pause just before flipping to the next page. He doesn’t slouch, not even once, nor prop his head up in boredom. The only time he moves is when he reaches for his phone. You watch the way his brows furrow and how his lips thin to a line. He gathers up his things and walks out of the café.
You notice that you seem to be seeing him a lot these days.
It starts to feel like a glitch in the universe. Like the Baader-Meinhof phenomenon. Now that you’ve learned his name, the world seems determined to show him to you in the randomest places.
You see him at the crosswalk, his back straight and his head slightly tilted as he listens to something on his earbuds. You see him at the convenience store just outside the campus, buying nothing but three cans of black coffee and a single pre-packaged sandwich.
One Friday, the rain is drumming a relentless, grey rhythm against the café windows. You’re tucked into your usual corner. The bell above the door jingles, and there he is. He shakes the water droplets off his coat. His hair is damp, some strands are sticking to his forehead. He heads straight for the counter and orders something too quiet for you to hear.
You look down on your laptop when you feel his eyes turning to you.
Just a few minutes later, you feel a presence at the end of the table. You don’t have to look up to know who it is. He slides into the seat without asking.
“Hm. You’re everywhere.”
That makes you look up.
You snort. “You’re the one who sat at my table first.”
“Fair.” He takes a sip on his coffee. Black coffee, no sugar. You know because you watched him order it last time. “You’re a psych major, right?”
“Yeah… how did you-”
“I figured from your notes,” he nods at the open notebook beside your laptop.
You blink. “Are you stalking me?”
Okay, that might be a reach.
He chuckles low and dark, it makes your heart hammer with something weird.
“You’re interesting.”
You don’t know what to say to that, so you just raise an eyebrow. “That’s not an answer.”
Hiromi leans back in his chair, looking at you with those heavy-lidded eyes.
“I really hope you’re single,” he says flatly. His fingers tap once against the side of his coffee cup.
You gulp. “Why?”
Hiromi shrugs, but his gaze doesn’t waver. “Because I’d like to take you out.”
You feel your pulse kick up. It’s stupid, really, considering you don’t even know this guy.
“I am single.”
The words tumble out of your mouth before you can stop them. Hiromi looks at you, and for the first time, his lips slowly curl into a smile—the kind that makes the corner of his eyes crinkle just slightly. It’s disarming, and you find yourself smiling stupidly, too.
He bites his lower lip, a quick gesture that makes your stomach flip. Then, he reaches for his phone. He unlocks it with a swipe and hands it out to you without a word. The screen glows with the new contact page. You take it, your fingers brush his.
You type your number in, savoring the way his gaze lingers on your hands. When you give it back, he doesn’t check it. He just pockets the phone and takes another sip of his coffee.
“You don’t want to test it?” you ask, teasing. “Make sure I didn’t give you a fake one?”
He almost laughs at that.
“Oh, I know you wouldn’t.”
The following weeks are a blur. You spend your mornings in lecture halls, and your nights with Hiromi across various dinner tables. He’s a creature of habit; he likes his steak medium-rare, his scotch neat, and his conversations intellectually grueling.
The first time he brings you to his apartment, it’s under the guise that he has the better Wi-Fi for your joint study session. Only for the day to end with him pressing you deep into the mattress while whispering the filthiest praises into your ear—how good you take him, how pretty you look falling apart, or how perfect you are when you choke on his cock.
Eventually, it becomes a habit. Your supposed study sessions dissolve into him pinning your wrists above your head while he peppers you with warm and delicate kisses. His hands map your body like he’s memorizing every dip and curve. His tongue worships you like his sacred texts.
You find yourself breaking every rule your mother ever set.
“Can you please fuck me now?”
You look up to Hiromi with the best pleading eyes you can put on, tugging on the hem of his hoodie as you go on your knees in front of him. He only exhales deeply, as if annoyed (he’s not really). He pushes the bridge of his reading glasses back.
“What? No.” he almost says quickly. “Babe, I’m still reading.”
Right. He’s busy reviewing for the bar exams. He’s adamant on passing it with first try, but the thing is, he barely has time to even sleep—let alone fuck you.
You pout and shift closer. You press your cheek against his knee.
“But you’ve been reading for three hours straight now,” you murmur while tracing idle circles on his sweatpants. “Your brain’s gonna fry.”
Hiromi doesn’t look up. “My brain’s all fine.”
“Your dick, though-” You press your palm flat against the front of his pants, grinning when you feel him twitch. “Seems like it could use some attention.”
He exhales through his nose. It’s that long-suffering sigh he does that you’ve come to adore.
“No.”
No?
You blink up at him and he straight up just goes back to reading that stupid thick-paged book. He even uncaps a highlighter with his teeth while you’re sprawled between his knees.
One thing you’ve come to realize since dating Hiromi is that you never back down on any challenge. It’s almost as if that since he’s a very stoic and determined guy, breaking him in is a challenge for you already.
Your fingers curl around the waistband of his sweatpants and the fabric slides down easily. And just like you predicted, he’s not wearing anything underneath again. His cock lazily springs free, thick and soft. You wrap your hand around him to feel his warmness.
Hiromi doesn’t react. His eyes are seriously fixed on whatever the hell he’s reading. You smirk and drag your tongue along the underside of his cock. You feel him stiffen slightly. Then, you swallow him down in one go, hollowing your cheeks as you pull back.
Except that he’s just too dedicated on his studies that he couldn’t give a fuck he’s balls deep in your mouth.
His breath suddenly hitches when you take him even deeper. The tip of his cock hits the back of your throat and you almost gag at the sensation. You hum around him as he slowly shifts his hips to meet your movements. Still, he doesn’t look at you.
But you know his game.
You pull off with a wet pop! Your teeth lightly drag along his length and you feel his thighs tense under your palms.
“You’re really gonna pretend you don’t wanna fuck my mouth?”
“I told you-” He clears his throat. “I’m busy.”
You roll your eyes in irritation before taking him back to your mouth. Your head bobs up and down so fast while your throat works around him. You hollow your cheeks once more, pulling back to swirl your tongue around the slit of his tip. Hiromi’s fingers twitch against the pages of the book. The sound of sucking and slurping are so obscene it’s echoing off the walls.
The heavy thump of a book snapping shut makes you glance up. Hiromi removes his reading glasses and he looks down at you with heavy-lidded eyes.
“You’re so stubborn, I hope you know that.”
Hiromi yanks you up with ease just as he stands from the swivel chair. He drags you by the wrist and the back of your knees immediately hit the edge of the mattress when he pushes your body to it. His fingers fumble with the button and zipper of your denim shorts and he tugs them down along with your panties in one smooth motion. The cold air hits your skin, but his hands are warmer as they slide up the inside of your legs before spreading them.
“Such a goddamn distraction,” he mutters, finally leaning down to catch your mouth with his.
You arch shamelessly into him, wrapping your legs around his waist. His cock presses against your lower abdomen and you rock against him just to hear him groan into your mouth.
Hiromi pulls back abruptly. His fingers curl under the hem of your shirt, dragging the fabric up your torso until you lift your arms. He tosses it somewhere behind him, and then his hands are on you again—palming your tits, rolling your nipples between his thumbs and forefingers until they harden under his touch.
You let out a whine as you buck against him, but he clicks his tongue.
“So impatient.”
His lips brush your collarbone, then lower. He licks a warm stripe over one nipple, then sucks it into his mouth. You gasp and tangle your fingers in his hair. He flicks his tongue over the peak and bites down.
“Hiro-”
“Shut up,” he murmurs against your skin.
His hands slide down your sides, slightly squeezing your waist before gripping your hips. He drags you close to him and you feel the blunt head of his cock nudge against you. You’re wet—have been since you sucked him off earlier—but he doesn’t push in just yet. Instead, he grinds his cock between your folds ever so slow you let out a whimper.
You claw at his shoulders. “Stop teasing.”
“You’re gonna have to ask better than that.”
“Please, fuck me,” you look up at him, his eyes flicker with something dark. “I want you so bad, Hiromi.”
Hiromi slides into you with one smooth thrust. His grip on your hips pins you down on the mattress, but your back arches off, anyway.
“Fuck,” he hisses. “You’re so tight.”
You dig your nails into his shoulders, your legs locking around his waist to pull him deeper.
“Move,” you demand breathlessly.
He does—his hips snap forward followed by a sharp, punishing rhythm that has you gasping. There’s nothing gentle about it. His hands slide under you to grip your ass, tilting your hips just so until every thrust hits that spot inside you that makes your vision blur.
“Mhhhhmmm… fuck me harder, please,” you pant, your voice breaking as he fucks you harder.
The veins of his cock drag against your walls in a way that has your toes curling. The bed creaks violently under the force of his movements, the headboard slamming against the wall. All you feel is him, the brutal stretch, and the way your body clenches around him like it’s trying to keep him inside.
“You-” Hiromi grits out between clenched teeth, “are fucking persistent.” His fingers dig into your thighs, spreading you wider. “You couldn’t just let me study in peace.”
You gasp when he suddenly flips you onto your stomach, yanking your hips up before driving back into you. His palm lands sharp on your ass.
“If I fail the bar, what would you do, hm?”
Hiromi’s voice is deep and edged with something between frustration and irritation. You don’t get the chance to answer since he slams into you again, his hips thrusting so hard your knees almost slide against the sheets. You claw at the mattress—the pillows—anything to grab on but he only drags you back onto him.
He leans over you, his chest is pressing hot against your back. His hand gathers your hair to yank your head back.
“You wanted this, didn’t you?” he growls. “Wanted me to fuck you stupid instead of studying.”
You nod frantically, your words dissolving into a gasp as he angles his hips deeper.
“Yes! Nngghhh—just like thaaat-”
Hiromi’s grip tightens in your hair. “So fucking greedy.”
The slap of skin to skin fills the room, punctuated by your ragged moans. His thrusts grow erratic. Then, his fingers press into the dip of your lower back before sliding between your legs. His middle and ring finger circles your clit and you choke on a sob as pleasure starts to coil tight in your stomach.
“Fuck-” you gasp, your thighs trembling as his fingers work in tandem with the ram of his cock deep into you. “I’m- I’m so close, Hiromi!”
“Hmm…” Hiromi hums. “Gonna cum already?”
You don’t answer again—not when his fingers press harder, not when his cock kisses that spot inside you that makes your vision white out. Your hips jerk uselessly while trying to meet his thrusts.
Hiromi groans and you feel his rhythm stuttering. You can feel your legs shake as your pussy clenches around his cock. You roll your eyes so hard it almost reaches the back of your head.
“Shit- oh my fucking-!”
Your voice cracks, all high and desperate, as the wave of orgasm crashes over you. Hiromi curses under his breath. He pulls you back to him before burying himself to the hilt just as your legs shake violently. You feel him coat your insides with his warm, thick cum.
For a moment, neither of you move. His weight presses you into the mattress. Then, with a slow drag, he pulls out. He collapses onto the bed beside you. You roll onto your side, immediately pressing your face into the crook of his neck as his arm drapes heavily over your shoulder.
Silence stretches between you, but it's comfortable. You trace idle circles on his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips.
“You’re gonna pass,” you murmur after a while, your voice still thick with satisfaction.
Hiromi snorts. “Not if you keep distracting me like that.”
You grin against his skin. “But you love it.”
He doesn't deny it.
You lift your head to look at him. His dark lashes are fanning over his cheeks. There’s a faint sheen of sweat on his forehead. You caress his lips that are still slightly parted as he catches his breath.
“You should take a break,” you say, nudging his shoulder with your nose. “Just for tonight.”
Hiromi sighs as his fingers trail absently up and down your spine.
“I can’t.”
“Yes, you can,” you insist. “One night won’t kill you.”
He opens one eye to glare at you half-heartedly. “You say that like you won’t be the reason I fail.”
You laugh before pressing a kiss to his jaw.
“Ugh. Stop being soooo negative. You won’t fail.”
Hiromi hums before his arms tighten around you to pull you closer. You settle against him with your limbs tangled with his and your skin still sticky with sweat.
Outside, the city bustles—cars are passing by and there’s the occasional blare of a horn. But inside of his apartment, it's just the two of you, wrapped in the quiet aftermath of something raw and real.
You close your eyes while listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing.
If only you had known that it’s the last time you’ll be with him, you would’ve savored every second—every ragged breath, every groan, every heartbeat—more. But you didn’t.
Because when Hiromi passed the bar exam with flying colors, his priorities shifted.
You thought you’d be happy for him when he landed his first case. You tried to but you really couldn’t. The moment he stepped into courtrooms, he stopped being yours. His texts dwindled to one-word replies. The weekend dates turned into rescheduled ones that never really happened. His eyes, once warm and soft when they looked at you, became cold and distant.
“You knew what you were in for,” he told you one night when you dared to complain about his absence. “This is who I am.”
And that was it. The beginning of the end.
Then came the night of your twenty-second birthday. You’re sitting at the edge of your bed, staring at your phone screen illuminated by the last text Hiromi sent six hours ago.
Hiromi: Busy. Raincheck dinner?
You swallow the lump in your throat, fingers hovering over the keyboard. Before you can type a reply, a notification from your roommate pops up on top of the screen.
Roomie: come downstairs, i brought sum food
You frown but oblige, padding barefoot down the stairs. The apartment is dark except the flickering glow of candlelight from the kitchen. There you see him—Hiromi, standing stiffly beside a lopsided homemade cake. His tie is loosened and his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows.
“You… baked?”
Hiromi exhales sharply, avoiding your gaze. “It already collapsed twice.” He gestures to the cake. “The recipe online obviously lied.”
You bite back a laugh. “You could’ve just bought one!”
“I wanted to do it right, at least.”
The words hang between you two, heavy with everything he hasn’t said. You step closer, close enough that you see the exhaustion in his eyes. You tiptoed to press a kiss on his lips.
Your fingers slowly brush his. “You’re an idiot.”
“I know,” Hiromi’s thumb traces your knuckles.
For a moment, you feel warm and happy. Until his phone buzzes on the counter, shattering the quiet. His grip tightens briefly before he lets go, reaching for it. You watch his expression shutter as he reads the message—the way his shoulders slump and how his mouth thins into a line.
“I have to go,” he says, already grabbing his coat.
Not even a single “I’m sorry” or a “Happy birthday” came out of his mouth.
You just look at him while tears slowly form in your eyes. You don’t bother asking him to stay because you know he won’t.
A month later, you ended your relationship with him. You didn’t even cry when you told him a simple, “This isn’t working anymore.” But the worst thing is that Hiromi didn’t even try to argue with you.
He just nodded once and said, “Okay.”
You walked away with your chest hollowing. You ignored the way his eyes followed you until the door clicked shut behind you.
You told yourself it’s for the best but you spent the following years believing that lie. Maybe your mother was right. That men in school are completely up to no good. But men in general? They are just different versions of the same storm.
Some leave you shivering in the cold, while others stay just long enough to make sure you drown.
LAW AND ORDER ── you are the primary suspect for your husband's death. what are the odds that your defense lawyer happens to be your ex-boyfriend from years ago?
ex!lawyer!hiromi x female!reader
tw. domestic violence & abuse, mentions of mental illnesses (depression, psychosis), trauma-induced selective mutism, institutionalization, imprisonment
cw. explicit sexual content, angst, shameless smut, violence, blood, age gap, unprotected sex, vaginal sex, oral sex, dubcon, masturbation, creampie, rough sex, face riding, throat fucking, overstimulation, hair pulling, choking, nipple play, breeding kink, cheating, power dynamics, ethical dilemmas, dead dove: do not eat
18+ mdni
⋅ ───⊱༺ ⚖︎ ༻⊰─── ⋅
CHAPTERS
01. ab initio 02. volenti non fit injuria 03. ignorantia legis non excusat 04. dura lex sed lex
TAGLIST (now closed)
↳ @lkukaknka @beninn @alebrasil0101 @taylorsturniolo @chikiakeez @ikozuki @cupidwhispers @secretsimpcorner @mmari-07 @starlingy @10105s @l3eksa @curiousbutbored @maggie-mae1110 @tojislefttiddies @byerno6 @raystrawberryaesu @lem-hhn @chiaramartyna @1yvana @nobodygotyoulikehoshina @satiiv-a @sadlovergirlhere @leviackermanl0ver @sparkleboomshiny @satorucupcake @rmxilsan @kranktruther @matcha-nicolas @jeanswifey1 @syleepy @sin-tax-errotic
pain reliever
it's your time of the month and the cramps are even worse. thankfully, your loving boyfriend, choso, is here to save the day!
bf!choso x female!reader wc. 2.8k cw/tw. explicit sexual content, fluff, domestic boyfriend choso, blood, oral sex, menstrual eroticism, vaginal fingering, cunnilingus, menophilia, blood kink, nipple play, aftercare, shameless smut 18+ mdni
“Nope. Absolutely not.”
You press the heating pad harder on your abdomen as you curl further on the bed. Choso leans against the doorframe with his arms crossed, his usual composed expression is giving way to something softer.
“Baby, you’re being stubborn,” he says, voice low but firm, like he’s stating an objective fact.
The cramps only twist harder, and you bite back a groan.
“I’m not being stubborn! I’m just saying that there’s no way that-ah!“ Another spike of pain cuts you off, making you dig your fingers into the plushie beside you.
Choso’s shadow falls over you before you even hear him move. The dip of the bed signals his presence as he kneels beside you. His fingers brush your wrist to nudge the heating pad aside.
“C’mon. Just lemme help you, ‘kay?”
You glare up at him but his expression doesn’t waver. If anything, it only looks like he’s more determined to get you out of your poor state.
You exhale sharply. “This is ridiculous.”
“It’s not,” he says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. “My baby’s in pain and I can fix it. That’s not ridiculous.”
You huff, but another cramp rolls through you. You clench your thighs together. “It’s just gross, Cho—you don’t even-”
“Don’t care,” he interrupts you. His fingers slide up to your hip, tugging gently at the waistband of your sweatpants. “You think I give a fuck about that when you’re hurting?”
You swallow hard. There’s something stupidly compelling about the way he says it, like it’s not even a question worth considering. Like he’d do anything for you without any hesitation.
His fingers pause, waiting. “You can tell me to stop halfway,” he murmurs. “I can grab you more ibuprofen, run a bath—whatever you want. But if you let me do this…” His thumb presses into the dip of your hipbone, just shy of teasing. “I’ll make it so good for you, baby. Promise.”
The ache in your lower abdomen pulses again, worse than before, and you squeeze your eyes shut.
Fuck it.
“Fine,” you mutter, lifting your hips for him to slide your pants down. “But if you make a face, I’m kicking you out.”
Choso laughs warmly and it distracts you from the way he’s peeling your panties off with careful fingers.
“Not a chance, baby.”
The air is cool against your skin, and you shiver, suddenly hyperaware of how exposed you are. His hands are now on your thighs, spreading them apart, and his breath ghosts over you before his mouth follows—hot, wet, and perfect.
You jolt. “Oh- fuck.”
His tongue licks a slow, filthy stripe up your slit, and your back arches off the bed before you can stop it. The relief is instant, a warm rush of tension uncoiling low in your belly. It shouldn’t work this fast, shouldn’t feel this good, but Choso’s always been good at proving you wrong.
He hums as if pleased against your pussy, like he can feel the way your muscles are already relaxing. One of his hands travels up to your stomach, pressing gently where the cramps are worst. The combination of his touch and mouth has you whimpering.
“Told you so,” he murmurs, right before his tongue flicks over your clit.
You gasp as your fingers twist in his hair. “Shut up.”
Choso chuckles against your folds before diving back in with careful strokes of his warm tongue. His hands keep you spread open as he laps at you like you’re some kind of dessert.
You barely have time to brace yourself before Choso’s fingers press against your entrance. The breach of his fingers makes you gasp, walls fluttering tight around him instantly.
“Fuck,” you breathe, your hips twitch upward as he crook his fingers inside you.
Choso hums against your thigh. The vibration makes you shiver, your grip on his hair tightening as he slowly pulls his fingers out before pushing them back in with a curl.
“You’re so wet, baby.”
You whine, embarrassed and aroused, but the sharp ache in your abdomen is already dulling under the steady rhythm of his fingers. His tongue replaces them for a second then he’s pressing two fingers back inside you again.
“O-Oh my god-” Your voice cracks as his tongue flicks over your clit.
“Mhm?” He glances up at you through his lashes, mouth glistening with your period blood while his fingers work you open. “You good?”
You nod frantically, hips lifting into his touch while chasing the relief that’s flooding in your veins. The cramps are still there, but they’re distant now, drowned out by the heat coiling low in your belly instead.
Choso smirks before ducking back down, his tongue slurping on your soaking pussy with that loud, sloppy sucking noise. His mouth seals over your clit and sucks gently.
“You feeling better now?”
You groan, thighs trembling around his head.
“You—you know I do, asshole.”
He laughs and his breath is hot against your skin. His free hand slides up your stomach and higher this time. His large hand cups one of your swollen tits, warm and heavy, and you whimper. His thumb brushes over your already stiff and sensitive nipple, and your breath hitches.
“So pretty,” he murmurs.
His fingers roll your nipple between them, pinching gently, and you arch off the bed with a choked moan. The dual sensation of his mouth and fingers between your legs then his hand on your tits has your head spinning, the last remnants of your cramps melting into something far more delicious.
“Cho-” you gasp, fingers tightening in his hair as he works on your pussy. Your thighs jerk around his head. “Please—nngghh—too much!”
Choso doesn’t stop—if anything, he doubles down with his tongue pressing harder while his fingers curl just right inside you. The sound of his mouth on your pussy is obscenely wet and messy, and you can feel the heat of your own blood smeared across his lips and chin.
He adds another digit, three fingers now and it’s only stretching you wider. You gasp while your back arches off the bed as he moves them inside.
You’re so close and already teetering on the edge, when he suddenly pulls his mouth away, leaving you throbbing and empty. You whine, fingers tugging at his hair in protest, but he just grins up at you.
“Look at you,” he says, voice rough. “Takin’ me soooo good, baby.”
His fingers don’t stop moving, still pumping in and out of you at a steady pace.
“You—god, you’re such a fucking tease,” you pant, glaring down at him through half-lidded eyes.
He leans to press a kiss to your inner thighs. His hand slides up to your abdomen, pressing gently where the cramps had been.
“Does it still hurt?”
You shake your head frantically. “No—just—shit, just don’t stop!”
Choso exhales sharply—almost a laugh—before dragging his tongue flat and slow up your slit again, groaning like he’s savoring the taste. His thumb finds your clit, pressing harder with relentless little motions while his fingers fuck into you.
“Gonna cum for me, baby?” he asks. He leans down to flick the tip of his tongue over your clit, and you whimper. “Yeah? Wanna cum on my fingers? On my tongue?”
You can only nod at this point. You remove your hold on his hair to grab on the sheets this time. His fingers speed up, thrusting harder, and you can feel the coil in your belly tightening impossibly further.
The pressure builds so fast you can’t even warn him. Your orgasm slams into you like a freight train, stealing the breath from your lungs as your body locks up, thighs clamping around his head. Choso groans against you, the sound muffled by your pussy as his fingers keep pumping, drawing out every pulse of your climax until you’re squirming.
“C-Cho—ah! I’m close—I’m so close-”
Choso withdraws his fingers to replace them with his tongue, plunging deep into you with a groan that vibrates against your sensitive walls. The sudden switch drags a strangled cry from your throat, your hips bucking wildly as he laps at you like a man starved. His hands grip the backs of your thighs, holding you wide open while his tongue fucks into you with quick strokes.
“Oh my god—haaah—oh m’god!” Your voice cracks as his nose brushes your clit. His lips seal around your entrance, sucking hard, and you swear you see stars when you roll your eyes. “I can’t—I’m gonna-”
“Yeah? Gonna cum all over my mouth, baby?”
“Yes! M’so close, Cho, p-please!”
You gasp and you feel the coil inside you snap, pleasure crashing over you in hot, pulsing waves. Choso doesn’t let up, drinking you in as you tremble, his fingers digging into your thighs to keep you from squirming away.
By the time the aftershocks fade, you’re limp and panting against the mattress while Choso licks his lips smeared with a mix of your blood and slick clean. You let out an embarrassed groan and he catches it with a smirk, crawling up your body to press a kiss to your slack mouth.
“Better?” he murmurs against your lips, his hand smoothes over your stomach where the cramps had been. The warmth of his palm is soothing.
You nod, breathless. “Mhm. Way better.”
Choso grins, unrepentant, before rolling off you to stretch out on his side. His fingers find yours, lacing them together as he pulls your hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.
“Told you I’d fix it.”
You groan, tossing a pillow at his smug face, but Choso catches it effortlessly, tossing it aside before dragging you against him. His skin is warm, his body solid, and despite yourself, you melt into his chest with a sigh.
“Still think it's gross?” he murmurs, thumb tracing idle circles on your hip.
“Shut up,” you mutter, but there’s no bite to it.
The pressure in your abdomen is gone, replaced by a drowsy, post-orgasm haze that makes your limbs feel heavy.
Choso’s fingers card through your hair, untangling the knots gently, and you nuzzle closer, breathing in the familiar scent of him—something earthy and faintly metallic, now mixed with the tang of sweat and sex.
“You’re gonna have to let me do this every time now,” he says, voice laced with amusement. “It’s a scientific fact, actually. Science says that it’s a must for boyfriends to eat their girlfriends out during their periods—somethin’ about hormones or some shit.”
His hand drifts lower, fingertips skimming the inside of your thigh, and you swat at him halfheartedly.
“You just made that up.”
Choso’s chuckle vibrates against your temple as he presses another kiss to the top of your head. His fingers trail lazily up your thigh, tracing patterns that make your skin prickle even as exhaustion weighs your limbs down.
“Wouldn’t have to make shit up if you just admitted I’m always right,” he murmurs, the smirk evident in his voice.
You huff, but the sound lacks any real irritation—not when his palm settles warm over your stomach, fingers splayed like he’s mapping the absence of pain there. The touch is possessive in a way that sends a slow curl of heat through you, despite how thoroughly spent you are.
“Keep telling yourself that,” you mutter, but your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, holding him closer.
His breath ghosts over your forehead as he hums, low and satisfied. “Mhm. You’re welcome, by the way.”
You roll your eyes but don’t bother arguing. Not when the rhythmic stroke of his thumb along your hipbone is lulling you into a hazy, contented stupor. The room smells like sex and the faint iron tang of blood, but Choso doesn’t seem bothered—if anything, he’s preening, his chest puffing slightly under your cheek with every breath.
You drift in that warm, weak haze for a while, half-aware of Choso’s fingers tracing idle patterns down your spine. His touch is light, almost absentminded, like he’s not even thinking about it—just needs to keep touching you. The silence is comfortable, broken only by the occasional rustle of sheets as you shift closer to his warmth.
Then, his stomach growls—loud enough to startle you both.
You snort, pressing your face into his chest to muffle your laugh. “Hungry?”
Choso sighs, his fingers tighten briefly around your waist.
“I’m starving,” he admits. “I put in a lot of work, y’know.”
You lift your head just enough to squint up at him, catching the way his lips twitch with suppressed amusement.
“Aw. This poor baby,” you deadpan, flicking his pec lightly. “He had to work so hard eating pussy. Must be exhausting.”
Choso’s grin widens, unrepentant. “Damn right.”
He pinches your hip lightly before rolling onto his back, stretching his arms above his head with a groan that’s way too dramatic. The muscles in his abdomen flex under your fingertips as you trail them down his stomach, and you don’t miss the way his breath hitches when your nails scrape lightly over his skin.
“Guess I should feed you then,” you murmur, propping yourself up on one elbow.
Choso catches your wrist before you can pull away, tugging you back down against him.
“Nah,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. His other hand slides up your thigh, squeezing lightly. “Stay here. I’ll cook up something.”
You watch, drowsy and content, as Choso slides off the bed with effortless grace. The muscles in his back flex as he stretches, and you bite your lip at the sight of his sweat-damp skin glowing in the dim light.
He turns, catching you staring, and arches a brow. “Enjoying the view?”
“Ugh. So arrogant,” you mumble, throwing the nearest pillow at him. He catches it one-handed, tossing it onto the chair in the corner before padding barefoot toward the door.
The way his sweatpants are hanging low on his hips should be definitely illegal.
“Be right back,” he says, pausing in the doorway to glance back at you.
You flip him off, but he just laughs, disappearing into the hallway. The second he’s gone, you slump back against the pillows, exhaling hard. The room smells like sex and him, and you should probably feel gross, but all you feel is warm and loose-limbed. The cramps are a distant memory, replaced by the pleasant buzz under your skin.
The distant clatter of dishes from the kitchen barely registers as you stretch against the sheets, your limbs heavy with satisfaction.
You drag yourself off the bed with a groan, legs still wobbly from your orgasm. The bathroom tiles are cold under your bare feet as you shuffle inside. The mirror catches your reflection. You look thoroughly wrecked.
When you pad back into the bedroom, freshly cleaned up and all, the sheets are still rumpled. You’re halfway to collapsing face-first into the mattress.
Footsteps pad back down the hall, and you crack an eye open just as Choso enters the room while balancing a tray in his hands. There’s a steaming bowl of something that smells suspiciously like instant ramen, a glass of water, and—your heart does a stupid little flip—a single chocolate bar tucked beside the chopsticks.
“Don’t laugh,” he grumbles, setting the tray carefully over your lap. “This was the best I could do.”
You poke at the noodles, hiding a stupid smile. “Wow. I’m impressed.”
Choso rolls his eyes playfully, sliding back into bed beside you. His thigh presses warm against yours as he steals a sip from your water glass.
“Could’ve made you something fancier,” he admits, nodding toward the ramen. “But I figured you’d wanna eat fast and pass out.”
“Aww. You know me too well,” you coo, already slurping a noodle.
The heat of the broth soothingly spreads through your chest. Choso watches you eat with that same stupidly fond expression. His fingers reach out, brushing a stray hair on your cheek before tucking it gently behind your ear.
“So,” Choso drawls. “Can we do this again in your next period?”
You nearly choke on your ramen, shooting him a glare as he grins.
“Don’t push your luck.”
Choso’s grin drops instantly, his bottom lip jutting out in an exaggerated pout that makes him look unfairly adorable.
“C’moooon,” he whines. “You obviously enjoyed it so much!”
Choso’s pout deepens even more. You slurp another mouthful of ramen, pointedly ignoring him.
“You’re seriously not even gonna think about it?” he huffs, flopping onto his side.
You shrug, swirling your chopsticks in the broth without looking up at him.
“Dunno. Maybe.”
“So, that’s a yes?”
“I said maybe.”
Choso exhales slowly through his nose, like a child throwing a quiet tantrum. You roll your eyes hard at him. Then, you twirl a messy bundle of noodles around your chopsticks and hold it out toward him.
“Say ahh,” you tell him.
He blinks. The pout vanishes instantly, and he leans forward to take the bite. The noodles slurp messily between his lips. Choso chews loudly, munching and humming before swallowing thickly. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand—and then, like the absolute menace he is, he grins at you.
“Can we, pleasepleaseplease, have period sex after this?”
i don’t think any of you understand how much i wanna ride higuruma’s nose like it’s his fucking cawwwccckkkk oh my gawwwddddd pUHLEAAAASSSEEEEE lemme ride your face and bump my clit with the tip of your nose 🥺🥺🥺🥺
this duo >>>
i’m about to bust a nut
playing house
testing out the furniture before buying it is a must!
naughty bf!gojo x female!reader wc. 1.5k cw/tw. explicit sexual content, fluff or bluff, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, fingering, pet names, big dick!gojo, almost caught ?, shameless smut a/n. very short but sweet mUAHAHA 18+ mdni
“I don’t wanna do this with you! Let’s break up!”
Satoru whines, dramatically draping himself over the faux marble counter top. You roll your eyes, stirring an imaginary pot on the induction stove with exaggerated chef-like flair.
“Too bad, babe. You signed the lease. You’re stuck with me.”
He pouts, those unfairly blue eyes flickering with mischief as he props his chin on his hand. “But you burn food. I saw it happen last week.”
You gasp, clutching your chest like he’s wounded you. “That was one time! And I was distracted!”
“By what? My ass?” he grins, and you swat at him with a wooden spoon from the display rack.
He catches your wrist effortlessly, pulling you closer until your hips bump the edge of the counter. The kitchen showroom is brightly lit, way too public, but the way he’s looking at you like he’s already undressing you with his gaze, makes your pulse jump.
You wiggle your wrist free, clearing your throat as an elderly couple wanders past, eyeing the stainless steel fridge.
“Anyway,” you say, voice dropping lower, “we still gotta pick out a bed.”
Satoru’s smirk sharpens. “Oh? You wanna test the bounce?”
The mattress section is quieter, dimmer, and tucked away in a corner. You pretend to inspect the price tag of a king-sized frame, but really, you’re watching Satoru out of the corner of your eye as he flops onto a plush memory foam, stretching like he owns the place.
“This one’s nice,” he says, patting the space beside him.
You bite your lip before glancing around. The nearest employee is three aisles over, stacking pillowcases. So you crawl onto the mattress, knees sinking into the soft surface, and—just because you can—you bend over to fluff one of the decorative pillows.
“Baby,” Satoru’s voice is suddenly rough, “what are you doing?”
You glance back at him, blinking innocently. “Oh, just testing it out, you know.”
His hand lands on your waist, warm even through your shirt. “Yeah?” His thumb slips under the fabric, brushing your skin. “How’s it feel so far?”
Your breath hitches. “Firm.”
Satoru’s grip tightens, fingers pressing into the dip of your waist. His other hand drifts up your spine and you shiver when his palm settles between your shoulder blades.
“Good,” he murmurs, voice dropping into that low, honeyed tone that makes your stomach flip. “But we should test it properly, don’tcha think?”
You swallow hard, glancing over your shoulder at him. His eyes are darker now, pupils blown wide, and the way he’s looking at you—like he wants to devour you right here—sends a jolt of heat straight to your core.
“Toru,” you whisper.
He ignores it, leaning in until his lips brush the shell of your ear. “C’mon,” he coaxes, breath warm against your skin. “Just a lil experiment.”
You laugh, but it comes out shaky, because his hand is already sliding down, skimming the curve of your ass before giving it a teasing squeeze.
“You’re insane,” you hiss, even as you arch into his touch.
“Mhm, and you love it.” His teeth graze your earlobe, sending a spark down your spine. “Spread your knees f’me, baby.”
The command is quiet, but it punches the air from your lungs, you hesitate for a second before shifting, knees pressing into the mattress as you widen your stance. Satoru hums in approval, his hand slipping between your thighs, fingertips brushing the sensitive skin there.
“Good girl,” he whispers, and the praise coils hot in your belly.
His fingers find the hem of your skirt before dragging them up just enough to expose the lace of your panties. The cool air hits your skin, but it’s nothing compared to the heat of his palm as it cups you through the fabric. You bite your lip to stifle a whimper, hips jerking instinctively against his hand.
“Shhh,” he soothes, middle finger tracing slow circles over the damp crotch of your panties. “Gotta be quiet, baby. Unless you wanna get caught.”
You glare at him over your shoulder but the effect is ruined by the way your breath stutters when his fingers dip beneath the lace, stroking through slick heat.
“Fuck,” you breathe, fingers twisting into the sheets.
Satoru chuckles, the sound low and smug.
“That’s the idea.”
His fingers curl inside you, slow and torturous, and your thighs tremble. “Damn, you’re already so wet,” he whispers. He drags his thumb over your clit in a way that makes you clench around him. “You really wanna do this here, huh?”
You don’t trust your voice, so you nod, pressing your forehead into the mattress when he adds another finger, stretching you just enough to make your toes curl. The distant chatter of customers fades into white noise, replaced by the sound of your own ragged breathing and the obscene, wet slide of his fingers.
“Look at you,” Satoru whispers, voice thick with arousal. “Taking me so gooood.”
“Nnghhh- Toru-!”
His free hand grips your hip, holding you still as his pace quickens, fingers fucking into you with relentless precision. “Gonna cum for me?”
You choke on another moan, hips rocking against his hand as the pleasure coils tighter and tighter.
Then you hear footsteps.
You instantly freeze, heart lurching into your throat as the sound grows closer. Satoru doesn’t stop, though if anything, his fingers only press deeper, curling just right, and you clench your teeth to keep from crying out.
“Relax,” he murmurs against your ear. “They’re not stopping.”
He’s right—the footsteps pass by, fading down another aisle. The rush of adrenaline only makes the heat pooling in your gut sharper and more desperate.
“Satoru,” you whimper. “Pleasepleaseplease—I can’t- Too much now-”
“S’okay, I got you,” he promises as his fingers work on your slick pussy. “C’mon, baby, let go.”
The pressure snaps like rubber. Your body tenses, back arching as pleasure crashes over you in hot, dizzying waves. You bury your face into the mattress to muffle the choked moan tearing from your throat, thighs clamping around his hand as your pussy throbs in his fingers. Satoru strokes you indulgently through it until your hips twitch away from the oversensitivity.
“There you go,” he presses a kiss to the nape of your neck before withdrawing his hand from under your skirt.
You’re still trembling when he suddenly flips you onto your back, his weight settling between your thighs before you can catch your breath. His jeans are rough against your skin. You see the bulge beneath them unmistakable.
You blink up at him, dazed. “You’re not seriously-”
“Testing the bed, remember?” he interrupts you, voice gravelly as he pops the button of his jeans.
You scoff, but the protest dies in your throat when he shoves his pants down just enough to free his cock, already flushed and leaking. He fists it lazily, stroking himself while his other hand grips your hip.
“You’re gonna behave, right?”
The challenge in his tone makes your stomach flip.
“Depends.”
Satoru grins and it’s all teeth. “My baby’s a fuckin’ menace.”
He doesn’t take any longer, he pushes your panties to the side before lining himself up. Then he pushes in with one smooth trust, stretching you deliciously full. Your breath hitches, nails digging into his shoulders as he bottoms out.
“Christ, you’re tight,” he groans, forehead dropping to yours.
You whimper, legs hooking around his waist to pull him deeper.
He starts rolling his hips in a slow, filthy grind that has you seeing stars. The mattress slightly creaks and you whimper. Satoru puts his palm over your mouth as he thrusts into you deeper.
“So good,” he rasps, one hand sliding under your shirt to pinch your nipple. “Fuck, you take me so well-”
A distant voice cuts through the haze—someone laughing, maybe two aisles over. Your stomach clenches, walls fluttering around him in a sudden rush of panic. Satoru notices, of course he does, and his grip on your hip tightens.
“Eyes on me,” he orders, voice rough. “Just me.”
You nod, biting your lip as he angles his hips just right, the head of his cock dragging against that sweet spot inside you. Your thighs shake, toes curling as pleasure coils tighter, sharper.
“Toru,” you gasp, fingers tangling in his hair. “I’m gonna—fuck, I’m-”
“Yeah?” He licks into your mouth, swallowing your moan as his thrusts turn erratic. “C’mon, baby, lemme feel it.”
You come with a silent cry, body arching off the mattress as white-hot pleasure rips through you. Satoru follows with a stifled groan, hips stuttering as he spills inside you, warmth spreading between your thighs.
For a moment, the only sound is your ragged breathing.
“We should probably,” you pant, “get the fuck out of here.”
Satoru laughs, breathless, pressing a kiss to your forehead before pulling out.
“Naaah,” he says, tucking himself back into his jeans with infuriating nonchalance. “We still gotta test the headboard.”
You swat his chest, but you’re grinning. “Stop! You’re gonna get us arrested!”
He helps you stand up, steadying you when your knees wobble. You smooth your clothes down, cheeks flushing when you notice how the bed looks extremely messy. Satoru catches your expression and winks.
“You know what? I think this one’s perfect.”
old enough
there's a hot dilf living nearby.
neighbor!dilf!sukuna x female!reader wc. 5.5k cw/tw. explicit sexual content, unprotective sex, vaginal sex, deep penetration, fingering, creampie, overstimulation, hair pulling & choking, size difference, nipple play, tits sucking, biting, teasing, edging, praise, light voyeurism, age gap, daddy kink, breeding kink, shameless smut 18+ mdni
➳ this work is part of THE PERFECT MATCH collection
“Darling, could you please make use of yourself and give this to the neighbor?”
Your mother shoves a plate full of watermelon slices into your hands before you can even complain. You blink at it—the juicy red chunks glistening under the afternoon sun—then glance up at her. She’s already turning away, wiping her hands on her apron.
“Ugh. Mom, seriously?”
She doesn’t even turn around, just waves a dismissive hand over her shoulder.
“Go now before they lose their crunch.”
Ever since you came home for summer break, your parents haven’t shut up about the five-year-old kid living next door. Baby Haru, as they call him. While you’ve never actually seen the kid, you've heard enough to know your parents have already mentally adopted him.
You sigh, adjusting the straps of your bikini top under your thin sundress. The backyard’s still too hot for sunbathing anyway, so you trudge through the house and out the front door.
The sun is relentless; heat presses down on your bare shoulders. The neighbor’s house looks very much the same as yours, just with a slightly messier lawn and a small bike tipped over near the porch. You shift the plate to your right hand so you can ring the doorbell.
The seconds stretch. You’re about to ring it again when the door swings open.
And holy shit.
The man standing there is—well, he’s not what you expected at all. He’s towering over you, broad-shouldered, with two horizontal line tattoos peeking out from under the sleeves of his black t-shirt. His hair is short, a pink-red like faded cotton candy, and his eyes—red and sharp—lock onto you with an intensity that makes your throat go dry.
You forget how to speak.
He raises an eyebrow. “Yeah?”
You clear your throat, suddenly hyperaware of how short your sundress is and the fact that you’re only wearing a string bikini top underneath it.
“Oh! My mom sent me—I live next door. And, uh, these are for Haru,” you thrust the plate toward him. “Are you his brother?”
A slow smirk curls at the corner of his mouth, and you feel your face heat up instantly. His voice is deep and rough when he answers, “His father.”
Your brain short-circuits. You imagined the father to be some tired middle-aged dude with a beer belly and thinning hair, not a man who looks like he could pick you up with one hand and pin you against the nearest wall without breaking a sweat.
He takes the plate from your hand, his fingers brushing yours. “Thanks. Kid’s still sleeping, so…” His voice trails off, but he doesn’t move to shut the door.
He just stands there, watching you with those unsettling red eyes. Then he tilts his head a little after noticing how your mouth twitches like you still have something to say. The silence stretches heavy until you blurt out the first dumb thing that comes to mind.
“You look, uh—really young for a dad.”
The smirk returns, slower this time, as if he’s savoring your awkwardness.
“Old enough, actually,” he says, his voice dripping with something that feels like a challenge.
His gaze drags down your body, lingering on your bare legs before flicking back up. You swallow hard, fingers twitching at your sides like you don’t know what to do with them now that the plate is gone.
“O-Okay, well, enjoy the fruit!” you stammer, gesturing vaguely at the plate in his hands before taking a clumsy step back.
You spin on your heel so fast you nearly trip over your own feet. The weight of his stare burns on the back of your head the whole way across the lawn. Back inside your house, you slam the door a little harder than necessary, immediately pressing your back against it. Your heart is hammering against your ribs like it’s trying to escape. You press the heels of your hands against your cheeks—hot to the touch—and groan.
Your mother’s voice floats from the kitchen. “Did they like the watermelons?”
“Yeah,” you mutter, peeling yourself off the door. “Loved it.”
You spend the rest of the afternoon sunbathing while pretending not to replay that encounter in your head, but it’s useless. You’re sprawled belly-down on your towel, propped up on your elbows with a book splayed open in front of you. The same paragraph has blurred in and out of focus for the past twenty minutes, your brain too busy replaying the way his calloused fingers felt against yours.
Sukuna—the name your mother had offhandedly mentioned earlier—is so fucking hot. He and his son have been next door for three months, and you’ve been home for a while now, yet somehow you’d managed to miss him.
With a hot single dad neighbor, looks like your summer is far from being over.
The next afternoon, you’re halfway through reapplying sunscreen when your mom calls from inside the house. You groan before walking back inside. You catch your mother with her phone pressed to her ear.
“Sweetheart, Sukuna just called and he’s got an emergency at work and he needs someone to watch Haru for a few hours. Can you?”
“Why don’t you and Dad do it?”
“Because we are going out to grab something.”
You roll your eyes. “Fine.”
Ten minutes later, you’re standing at the neighbor’s door again, this time in denim cutoff shorts and a tank top. Sukuna answers before you can even knock, already shrugging on a jacket while Haru—tiny, messy-haired, and clutching a stuffed dinosaur—peeks out from behind his legs.
“He’s fed. If he gets hungry, jus’ feed him anything that he asks for,” Sukuna says, handing you his house key. His eyes slowly rake over you and your fingers tighten around the key. “You sure you can handle him?”
You tilt your chin up. “I babysat all through high school.”
Sukuna huffs a laugh and then he’s gone, the rumble of his motorcycle engine fading down the street.
You look down to Haru, who is looking at you with the most doll-eye looking set of red eyes you’ve ever seen. He has pink hair just like Sukuna, except ruffled and messy.
He tugs your hand immediately. “Wanna see my room?”
It turns out babysitting him is mostly building block towers and pretending to be eaten by his dinosaur toys. Haru’s a sweet kid, chatty and bright, and by the time Sukuna’s bike pulls back into the driveway, you’re sprawled on the living room surrounded by toys.
The front door swings open and Sukuna steps inside. His gaze lands on you first, on the sliver of skin showing from when your tank top rode up, before flicking to Haru.
“Dada!”
“Hey, little guy,” he mumbles, tossing his keys onto the counter. He turns to you. “Did he give you trouble?”
You laugh, gently prying Haru’s fingers from your hair.
“Haru? Oh, no—nope. He’s great.”
Sukuna hums, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it over the couch. His fingers hook on the neckline of his black t-shirt, peeling it off in one smooth motion. The fabric lifts, revealing taut muscle and ink-dark lines carved into his sunkissed skin.
Two segmented curve marks frame his chest and two bold line cuts vertically across his abdomen. His biceps flex as he stretches, the twin tattoos there flexing with them, and the black circles on his shoulders—dots centered like targets—draw your gaze upward. His body is unfairly sculpted for a man his age, all hard planes and coiled strength.
His jeans hang dangerously low on his hips as he disappears down the hallway, the sharp V-line abs cutting a path through your thoughts. You watch the flex of his lower back until he turns a corner and vanishes from your sight.
Haru tugs at the hem of your top, completely oblivious to your internal crisis, but you barely register it—too busy swallowing around the sudden dryness in your throat.
Sukuna returns in a fresh white tank top that clings to him like a second skin, the thin fabric doing nothing to hide the thick lines on his biceps or the way his chest strains against the material.
Haru tugs harder, whining about showing you his favorite toy, but your eyes are glued to Sukuna as he strides back into the room. His tank top rides up when he bends to scoop Haru into his arms.
“Thanks for watching him,” Sukuna says. “I think he likes you.”
You shrug, trying to play it cool. “He’s easy to like, too.”
Sukuna’s gaze lingers on you a second too long.
“You should stay for dinner.”
The words roll off his tongue like an afterthought. Haru wriggles in his arms, whining about mac and cheese, and Sukuna adjusts his grip without breaking eye contact with you.
You should say no. You should go home, change out of these shorts that suddenly feel too tight, and pretend like the sight of Sukuna’s bare torso didn’t just sear itself into the back of your eyelids.
“Sure. If it’s no trouble.”
Haru cheers, wiggling out of his father’s grip to sprint toward the kitchen. You follow him, hyperaware of Sukuna’s presence behind you—the heat of him.
The kitchen is warmer than the rest of the house, filled with the faint hum of the fridge and the clatter of pots being dragged across the stove.
You help Haru get onto one of the bar chairs. “My Dada makes creamy mac and cheese!” He informs you very seriously, as if it’s classified information.
Sukuna snorts. “Don’t expose my secret like that.”
You lean against the kitchen island, arms folding loosely beneath your chest as you watch him move around the kitchen. He doesn’t rush but instead, moves with lazy efficiency.
The white tank top stretches across his back when he reaches up to grab a box from the cabinet. The fabric lifts slightly, revealing the strip of tan skin above his jeans waistband. Your eyes snag there before you can stop them.
“You always stare that obviously?” he asks without turning around.
Your stomach drops.
“I’m not staring.”
He glances over his shoulder, then raises a brow. “Uh-huh.”
Heat crawls up your neck. You push off the kitchen island, sitting on the empty bar stool beside Haru instead.
“So, how old are you again?” Sukuna asks while stirring the noodles. The steam from the pot curls around his forearms.
You glance up from where you’re helping Haru scribble on his drawing book.
“Twenty-two.”
Sukuna hums low. “College kid, then?”
“Yep. I’m just home for summer break.”
Haru nudges at you, completely uninterested in the adult small talk between you and Sukuna. “Draw me a dragon, please!”
You oblige, sketching a crude creature with too many teeth while Sukuna finishes cooking. The scent of butter and cheese fills the kitchen, thick and delicious. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Sukuna watching you—his gaze heavy and lingering on the way your fingers move over the paper. When you glance up, he doesn’t look away.
Dinner is then served. Haru is practically vibrating in his seat as Sukuna slides a steaming bowl of mac and cheese in front of him. The kid digs in immediately, barely waiting for it to cool. You take smaller bites, extremely aware of the way Sukuna leans against the island instead of sitting, arms crossed over his chest as he watches you both eat.
“Good?” he asks, though his eyes are locked on your mouth when you nod.
“Mhm…” You lick a stray fleck of cheese from your bottom lip. You see his jaw tighten. “Really good.”
As you eat, Haru chatters between bites about dragons and dinosaurs, blissfully unaware of the thickening tension between you and his father.
When the dishes are cleared—Sukuna insists on washing—Haru tugs at your hands again.
“Can we please watch a movie?”
You glance at Sukuna who only shrugs.
“Your call, kiddo,” he says while drying his hands on a towel.
Now, you’re wedged between Haru and Sukuna on the couch, some animated movie playing on the TV. Haru’s already half-asleep against your side. You shift carefully, trying not to wake him, and your thigh brushes against Sukuna’s. The contact sends a jolt up your spine—his leg is warm beneath the fabric of his jeans. He doesn’t move away.
The credits roll by the time Haru’s fully asleep. His soft snores puffing against your arm. You try to lift him, but Sukuna’s already reaching over you. His arm brushes your chest as he scoops the boy up effortlessly.
“I got him,” he murmurs. He’s so close you can smell the faint musk of his cologne mixed with something smokier.
You watch him carry Haru down the hall, his back flexing under the thin fabric of his shirt.
When he returns, the living room feels suddenly smaller. He doesn’t sit back down—just stands there, staring at you with that unreadable red gaze.
“You should head home,” he says, but his voice is rough.
You don’t move. “It’s still early.”
Sukuna exhales deeply, fingers flexing at his sides before he steps closer. His hand lands on the back of the couch, caging you in.
“You’re playin’ with fire, kid.”
You tilt your head up to meet his dead-on gaze.
“I’m not a kid.”
His smirk creeps slow. “No?” His free hand brushes your jaw, his calloused fingers rough on your skin. “Prove it, then.”
You don’t hesitate. Your hand fists in the front of his tank top, yanking him down until his mouth crashes into yours. He groans, the sound vibrating through your chest as his hands grip your hips. His tongue is hot and demanding, and you gasp when his teeth catch your bottom lip.
One of his hands slides up your thigh, fingers digging into bare skin where your denim shorts ride up.
“Fuck,” he mutters against your mouth, “you’ve been drivin’ me crazy since I first saw you.”
You let out a whimper when his thumb teasingly brushes the hem of your shorts.
Then, there’s a creak down the hall.
Sukuna pulls back instantly, chest heaving. Haru’s sleepy voice calls out, “Dada?”
He exhales sharply, his forehead dropping to yours for a fleeting second before he straightens.
“Go home,” he says, voice strained. “Before I change my mind.”
You’re still breathless when you slip out of the front door, the taste of him lingering on your lips. The night air does little to cool the heat prickling under your skin. You practically sprint across the lawn, your pulse hammering in your ears loud enough that you barely hear the cicadas buzzing in the trees.
The next day, you wake up feeling hot and tangled in your sheets, the memory of Sukuna’s hands on you playing on loop.
You groan, pressing your face into your pillow. “I am so fucked.”
The afternoon sun beats down mercilessly, the kind of heat that makes the smooth pavement shimmer. You peel off your sundress, letting it drop by the edge of the pool, leaving you in your skimpy bikini. The water glitters invitingly, and you dive in without hesitation, the cool shock of it stealing your breath for a second before you resurface to brush your hair up.
You don’t notice the shadow in the second floor window of the house next door.
Sukuna is leaning against the window frame with his arms crossed, intently watching as you glide through the water with lazy strokes. His fingers tap absently against his bicep. The angle is so perfect—the white slats of the fence do nothing to obscure the view of your back arching as you flip onto the lemon-shaped float.
Haru’s voice drifts downstairs, muffled. “Dada! I can’t find Mr. Scales!”
Sukuna doesn’t move. “Check under the couch,” he calls back, his voice low. His eyes stay fixed on you as you sink back into the water.
You’re completely oblivious to the fact that he’s watching you. Always been, actually, since you came home a few weeks ago.
The first time he saw you, it’s not during one of your sunbathing shows. It started when you were lounging on the hammock under the big oak tree in your backyard. There’s a book propped open between your thighs. Your leg is dangling off the edge to push yourself into a slow rocking motion. Your sundress—some flimsy, pale yellow thing—has ridden up past your thighs, revealing the smooth expanse of your skin beneath. His fingers still on the windowsill when you drag your fingertips absently along your thighs, tracing invisible patterns as you read.
Days later, he catches you again—this time in a bikini so small he’s surprised it’s legal. You’re stretched out on a towel with your ass in the air as you flip through a magazine. You wiggle your hips slightly to adjust your position, and he nearly cracks the mug in his hand.
By the time you knock on his door with that plate of watermelon slices, he’s already mapped up every inch of skin you’ve bared to the sun.
You tilt your head back to soak up the sun, water sluicing on your neck down between your breasts. Your fingers trail along the surface of the water, trying to make ripples.
“Dada!” Haru’s tiny fists pound against the bedroom door.
Sukuna exhales sharply before pushing away from the window just as you climb out of the pool. He catches one last glimpse of you wringing out your hair before he yanks the door open.
Haru blinks up at him, his dragon stuffy in his arms. “Found him!”
Sukuna ruffles his hair, forcing his voice to ever sound so steady.
“Good. Wanna help me make lunch?”
You’re halfway through a pint of ice cream when your phone buzzes—your mother’s name flashing on the screen. You scoop another spoonful into your mouth before answering, muffled by the mint chocolate chip.
“Yeah?”
“Sukuna just called,” she says, and you nearly choke. “Haru won’t stop asking about you. Apparently, you made quite the impression.” There’s a pause. “Go over there.”
You splutter, ice cream dripping onto your lap. “What—now? Mom, it’s like, seven PM. Where are you and Dad, anyway?”
The line clicks dead.
You stare at your phone screen with a scoff, then down at your pajama shorts and the melted ice cream.
Fantastic.
Minutes later, you’re standing on Sukuna’s porch again. This time, in tight leggings and a hanging crop top. The door swings open before you can even ring the doorbell.
Sukuna leans against the frame, one eyebrow arched.
“Took you long enough.”
You scoff, pushing past him into the house. “I was busy.”
“Oh, yeah?” His voice drops, rough against your ear as you pass. “Doin’ what?”
The air between you crackles—there’s a stupid, dizzying tension that makes your skin prickle. You ignore him, heading straight for the living room where Haru’s sprawled on the floor with crayons scattered around him.
“Hey, kiddo,” you greet him, dropping onto the carpet just beside him. “What’re we drawing?”
“Dragons eating dinosaurs!” he announces, showing a purple crayon into your hand.
Sukuna watches from the doorway. His gaze burns into the back of your neck, but you refuse to turn around.
Haru leans closer to you and whispers, “Dada says you’re pretty.”
“Really? When did he say that?”
“When you were in the pool earlier.”
Your face heats up. When I was in the pool?
Sukuna clears his throat sharply. “Bedtime, Haru.”
“No!” Haru immediately whines, clinging his arm to yours. “She just got here!”
“Now.” There’s no room for argument in Sukuna’s tone. “Say good night.”
You bite your lip, helping Haru gather his crayons.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, ‘kay?”
Haru pouts but lets Sukuna scoop him up, tiny arms looping around his neck. As they disappear down the hall, you hear Haru whisper, “Is she gonna be my new mom?”
Sukuna’s answer is too low to catch, but the thought alone makes you feel tense. You busy yourself with picking up stray crayons and markers.
When Sukuna returns exactly ten minutes later, the house is now too quiet. He stops behind you, close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off him.
“He’s sleeping now.”
You turn slowly, tilting your head up. “Liar. You just put him down.”
Your breath hitches when he steps closer, backing you against the couch. His hands settle on your waist, pressing into bare skin where your crop top rides up.
“You’re such a tease, you know?” he whispers. “You’ve been teasing me all day—swimmin’ in that tiny fucking bikini.”
“You’ve been watching me?”
Sukuna hums, hauling you against him. His mouth crashes into yours, teeth and tongue and hot. You gasp when his hands slide under your thighs, lifting you effortlessly onto the couch. His hips slot between your legs, the hard press of him drawing a whimper from your throat.
“Fuck,” he grits out, almost biting down your neck. “Wanted this since you first strutted into my house.”
His hands are everywhere—under your top, his fingers now dragging over the swell of your breasts, palms scraping against your nipples until you arch into him with a gasp. You claw at his shirt, desperate to feel skin, but he catches your wrists and pins them above your head with one hand. The other slides down your stomach until his fingers hook into the waistband of your leggings.
“You gonna be good for me?” he murmurs, lips brushing the shell of your ear. His voice is so rough-edged. As if he’s barely holding together.
Sukuna exhales sharply when he doesn’t hear your answer. He suddenly lifts you up then hauls you onto his shoulder like a sack of flour. You yelp, hands scrambling against the solid muscle of his back, but he doesn’t falter. He strides through the house, the stairs groaning under his weight as he walks them two at a time.
The bedroom door clicks shut behind you, then he presses the lock. He puts you down on the bed, the mattress swallows you whole. The sheets smell like him, something warm and faintly smoky. You barely have time to catch your breath before Sukuna’s already stripping off his shirt. His hands fumble on his belt next, the buckle clinking as he slide it free.
You prop yourself up on your elbows and he’s on you before you can speak—one knee sinking into the mattress beside your thighs as he fists the hem of your crop top.
“Take ‘em off.”
You scramble to take your clothes off but when it’s your leggings and panties you’re pulling down, Sukuna helps you by yanking it down in one swift motion. He tosses it somewhere on the floor.
His fingers immediately press into the inside of your thighs, spreading you open. “D’you like fucking old men?” His voice is rough, the words curling around your skin like smoke. His thumb brushes your slick folds. “Or is it just single dads that get you wet?”
You gasp when he presses two fingers inside without warning. “Fuck-”
“Answer me.” His fingers curl, dragging against your walls in a way that makes your toes curl.
You choke out a laugh. “You’re not that old.”
Sukuna grins. “Nah. I’m old enough.” His fingers pull out only to slide back in, deeper this time, his thumb rolls on your clit with every thrust. “Old enough to know exactly how to ruin you.”
You whine while arching into his touch, but he slows teasingly until you’re panting and writhing beneath him.
“You like single dads to fuck you so bad?” His other hand grips your jaw to force you to look at him. “Like the idea of me bending you over while my kid’s asleep downstairs, huh?”
The thought sends a bolt of heat to your stomach. You nod frantically and Sukuna laughs darkly.
“Thought so.”
His fingers vanish, replaced by the thick head of his cock dragging through the lips of your pussy. The rub of him is agonizing—just the tip and his length with the barest hint of pressure. He’s big, thick, and veiny, you can feel it throbbing. You whine, hips bucking up to chase the sensation but Sukuna only pins you down with a hand on your hips.
“Patience, princess,” he whispers. He circles your clit with the tip of his cock. “You wanna come already? That fast?”
You bite your lip so hard that you taste copper. “Stop teasing, please.”
He laughs low and low, the sound almost vibrating through your chest. His fingers dig into your thighs, spreading you wider as he drags himself through your folds again. The friction burns in the best way but it’s not enough—never enough.
“You gotta beg for it.”
You reach out for his cock but he swats your hand away.
“Nah-ah. Use your words.” His teeth graze your ear. “Tell me what you want.”
You groan in frustration as your arousal twists in your gut. “Fuck me. Please—just put it in.”
He hums as if considering but he doesn’t move. Instead, he presses the tip against your entrance, letting you feel the stretch for a fraction of a second before pulling back once more.
“I know you can ask better than that,” he taunts. “C’mon, princess. You gotta show me how bad you want it.”
You arch off the bed with another frustrated noise, your fingers scrabbling at his shoulders in irritation from all his teasing.
“I swear to god, if you don’t-”
His hand wraps around your throat. “Or what?”
The hint of challenge in his tone only presses the heat in your abdomen more. You gulp against his palm.
“Please,” you whisper. “Please fuck me, Daddy.”
Sukuna’s grip tightens just slightly. “Good girl.”
Finally, he pushes inside, the stretch burning in the best way. You haven’t had sex for a long time now so you can’t help but wince when he enters you. You gasp as he bottoms out in one smooth thrust. He doesn’t immediately move, he lets you adjust to his fullness.
“Shit,” he grits out. “You’re so tight.”
You roll your hips experimentally and Sukuna’s breath hitches. His tightening grip on your throat tells you everything you need to know.
“Move,” you demand.
Sukuna growls, pulling out almost entirely before slamming back in. The force of it knocks the breath from your lungs, your nails raking down his back.
“That’s it,” he groans against your ear. “Take it like a good girl.”
His thrusts are deep and punishing. Each one dragging and ramming against that sweet spot inside you until you’re seeing stars. His hand leaves your throat to grip your thigh, yanking it higher to fuck into you at a new angle.
“You close?” His voice is rough and strained.
You nod frantically, feeling your orgasm coil tight in your stomach. You look down and the sight nearly sends you over the edge. Sukuna’s cock is glistening with your slick. The obscene push and pull of his hips is making your pussy clench around him. The sound is filthy, wet squelch filling the room with every snap of his hips.
His hot mouth finds your hardened nipples and sucks on them. Tongue swirling and teeth grazing just enough to make you arch from the sensation. You tug on his hair as the sharp sting mingles with the delicious stretch of him inside you. He envelops your whole tit in his mouth and bites down.
“Oh… m’god..! Oh my god!” you whimper, your voice cracking as his thrusts become deeper and rougher.
Your fingers twist in the sheets, now knuckles white from the strain of holding on. Sukuna’s grip on your thighs tighten.
“Yeah?” he rasps, his breath hot against your neck. “That’s it, baby—let go.”
He puts a hand on your lower stomach, feeling the bulge of his cock pressing up inside your pussy. The pressure is dizzying that every thrust now comes with the added sensation of his palm pressing down.
You choke out a cry. Your back keeps arching off the bed as pleasure rips through you. “W-Wait! S’too much!”
Sukuna smirks when he looks at your pretty little face while you’re now practically a babbling mess beneath him. He presses a soft kiss on your forehead. The headboard knocks against the wall with his every thrust that would’ve been mortifying if you could form a single coherent thought. But all you can do is gasp and moan while you struggle to hold onto something other than his sweaty arms and shoulders as he fucks you through oblivion.
“Come on, baby,” he grits out. “Squeeeezin’ me so goddamn tight!”
Sukuna leans in, his mouth crashing on yours in a messy and hungry kiss. You whimper into his mouth while looping your arms around his neck to pull him closer. His chest presses flush against yours until there’s no space left between you. The kiss turns filthy as he tongue licks the insides of your mouth as if mapping every inch.
He breaks the kiss with a chuckle. “Needy little thing, aren’t you?”
Without any warning, he suddenly pulls out and flips you on your stomach, the sudden change in position making you yelp. His weight settles over you while he pins you down to the mattress.
“Up,” he commands before giving your ass a sharp slap that echoed in the room.
You scramble to push yourself on your knees. And when you do, Sukuna doesn’t even give you time to adjust. His large hands spread you open, fingers pressing into the soft flesh of your ass. His cock slides in straight away. You bite down on your lip to stifle a moan but he only tells you to be louder.
“I’m so close! I’m so- o-oh my fucking god! M’so close, Daddy!”
The words barely leave your mouth before Sukuna’s hand fists in your hair, yanking your head back. His breath is ragged against your ear, the slap of skin on skin drowning out the creak of the bedframe.
“D’you want Daddy to knock you up?” he growls in your ear. “Fill your tummy with my babies?”
“Yes! Yesyesyes, please!”
The words tumble out of your mouth, delirious and raw. Sukuna groans deeper, his hips stuttering as he pistons into you harder. You feel like you’re drooling—which you truly are. Sukuna’s ragged breaths, the creaking of the bed, your pitching moans—everything comes close together.
“I’m gonna-” You choke on the words, thighs trembling as the coil inside you snaps.
Sukuna’s grip on your thighs return, his fingers bruising as he fucks you through it while his rhythm begins to stutter when your walls clamp down around his cock.
“Yeah, that’s it,” he murmurs. “Take it. Take all of it, baby.”
His hips jerk erratically, then he buries himself to the hilt with a groan so deep it vibrates through your spine. Heat floods your insides, his cock pulsing as he spills into you. You moan at the overstimulation but he doesn’t stop—just grinds his hips slowly to work his cum deeper inside your swollen pussy.
When he pulls out, you whine at the sudden emptiness. Sukuna sighs deeply before his fingers spread you open, smearing the oozing cum between your folds.
You flop onto your back, breathless. Your chest heaves as you collapse onto the mattress, limbs tired and trembling. Sukuna looms over you as he shows you his fingers slick with his cum mingled with yours.
“Look at that,” he proudly says with smugness on his face. “All that fucking cream inside you and you’re still dripping.”
You watch as he brings his fingers close to your face. The scent of sex is thick in the air. You dart your tongue out and lick his fingers clean. The taste is both salty and bitter on your tastebuds. You release his fingers with a soft pop.
Sukuna drops beside you with a low groan, the mattress dipping under his weight. He turns his head, red eyes dragging over your wrecked form.
“Fuck,” he rasps as he wipe off the beads of sweat on your forehead. “Look at you.”
You shiver when his fingers trail lower, tracing the bite mark around your areola. His touch is oddly gentle now, a stark contrast to the way he’d just fucked you raw.
"You good?" he asks, his voice rough like gravel.
You nod, throat too dry to speak.
Sukuna hums, rolling onto his side so he can face you fully. His hand settles possessively on your hip, fingers splayed wide.
"Gon’ be feelin' me tomorrow," he murmurs, dragging a fingertip down the inside of your thigh. "Every time you walk, every time you sit-"
"Shut up," you mutter, but your cheeks burn.
Sukuna lets out a deep laugh. His fingers trace idle patterns on your hipbone, calloused skin scraping lightly. The aftershocks of your orgasm still hum under your skin, leaving you almost limp and stupidly pliant beneath his touch.
“You’re real pretty when you’re all fucked out,” he whispers, thumb brushing the dip of your waist.
You roll your eyes and turn around away from him. He pulls you closer to him, curling his body against yours. His slow breathing fans across the back of your neck before he presses a long, soft kiss on your shoulder.
“You know, for an old man, your stamina is fucking crazy.”
Sukuna’s arm tightens around your waist, dragging you even closer to him. He huffs against your shoulder.
“This old man could fuck you for days, princess.”
my first 5k is on a daddy kuna fic 😭😭😭😭😭😭 you guys are crazy
