pie

18! ⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅ forfunies (๑ᵔ⤙ᵔ๑) side blog

[m1ffyp13]

♬⋆.˚ come have a bite with miffypie .ᐟ.ᐟ ᐢ. ₓ .ᐢ

ˋ°•*⁀➷ eight-teen , she/her , jjk writer , my normal wc is 2-4k , filo , nsfw / sfw writer !!

i'm so excited to write for this blog, this is my side blog but my main blog is @jellyfin1

(i only use my jellyfin blog to like posts, reblog and follow ppl back)

ꉂ(˵˃ ᗜ ˂˵) MY GROCERIES ⤵︎ (what im currently into)

₊˚⊹ info corner ᝰ.ᐟ＼(〇_ｏ)／︎

— i like to think my theme is a napoleon ice cream with sprinkles on top.... — my blog may have 18+ content so be careful and mdni !! — i mainly write for fem readers , i don't take requests (for now) besides that feel free to ask away ! — i post whenever i can -> since im sometimes busy but ofc i'll still find a way to post!

☆ ～('▽^人) PRESS ME , PRESS ME ⤵

#– ‧₊˚♪ m1ffyp13 my writings

m.list (which ill add the link later but you can click my hashtags for my recent writings)

#miffyme more info

#pietalk lil chats

.✦ ݁˖ everything i used to make this -> with links .ᐟ

header and divider made with canva

every images/pngs i use in my posts are from pinterest ⤑ if it's from an artist, i will mention.

my square face cutie on my header

gradient tut -> colours i used for this post : #f593c2 , #fff5d5 , #7b4c3d

dividier tut -> images of mini dividers are from tomodachi life

receiptify -> the receipt on the 'my groceries'

ps. this post will be edited throughout the years!

© 2026 m1ffyp13. All work belongs to @m1ffyp13. Do not repost, modify, translate or plagiarise in any way on any platforms. This includes any creative ideas like personalised pngs, headers, and pinned. Please credit if used.

— ˗ˋ ୨ zᶻ ૮˶- ﻌ -˶ა⌒)ᦱ ୧ ˊ˗ —

[widowrelic]

imagine bestfriend!kuna who’s got a split tongue & an oral fixation:)

“s-shit — ryo…s-slow down!” you’re gasping, hand tangling between his locks, legs locking up as he runs the tip of his splits around your aching nub. the double sensation has the whites of your eyes showing, mouth babbling incoherent words.

he’s got you fucked dumb, without actually fucking you.

“tastes s’good baby…n-never tasted somethin’ so fuckin’ good before — hck — c’mon s-stop runnin’”— he’s practically purring against you, lips swollen and smothered with your honeyed juices. his lips suction around your puffy nub, cheeks hallowing slightly as he puuuullls against your clit, chuckling meanly when he watched it snap! right back.

the splits of his tongue have you literally gasping for air. you honestly don’t know how you’re ever gonna get over the feeling.

“f-fuck — f-feeels…shoooo good” you mewl, arms locking up around your thighs, stomach sucking in tight at the feeling of his godly mouth.

“s’sweet baby, could eat y’ all day” he all but whines, hands spreadddding you apart before he’s diving back in. His mouth is messy against you, devastatingly so. you couldn’t help the cries that left you as he absolutely devoured every thing your cunt had to offer.

his lips zero in on your clit completely, suckling and slurping at the throbbing nub. you let out a choked gasp, hands reaching for the cushions you try to scoot your cunt away from his hungry mouth.

fuck, you’re running? no, no, you can’t be.

you can’t run, not when you taste this fucking good. sukuna won’t have that and he definitely isn’t having that when he digs his fingers into your thighs, surely hard enough to leave bruises upon your skin. he holds you there, keeps you there as he continues to sloppily eat your pussy with all his might.

two thick fingers prod against your entrance, slowly they push in, opening you up, stretching you out before he’s scissoring his digits in an’ out, in an’ out.

your cunt clenches around his fingers, sucking them in deeper, deep enough that his finger pads merely graze that pretty little sweet spot inside you.

“fuck…kuna — p-please”!” You slap a hand against your mouth as your thighs shake furiously. one of his hands move to push your thighs closer toward your chest, your back arching further as he tilts his head to stay latched onto your clit.

“c’mon baby, make a mess, make a fuckin’ mess all over my face” he all but begs, grunting and groaning like a feral animal. his mouth and fingers push you closer and closer, claiming and coaxing you towards your peak.

and oh he’s surely in heaven when you finally reach it.

you come with a strangled moan, tears streaming down your face, streaking your mascara. he mumbles filthy praises against you, cock hard against the confinement of his jeans as he lazily ruts against the hem of it, trying to give himself some stimulation.

a small quiet mewl leaves his throat the second he feels your pussy gush all over his face, hips stuttering against his jeans as he pathetically comes in his pants.

“did you just…”

“shut up”

🏷️: @satorusdollie @uzugeto @gradeonefreak @suguruss1ut @sukunathispussy @satorusrealm @cherrys-wrld @lemonjuicie @winkii @sukusdoll @rainlina @liliklei

a/n: @venusins this one’s for u mommy and this isn’t proofread don’t even come at me

[daughter-fr0m-hell]

major in yearning with a minor in fleeting glances and daydreams

[luceleste]

Where Flowers Bow

Chapter 1

pairing – Satoru Gojo x f!reader summary – Invited to Duke Satoru Gojo’s palace as a potential bride, you arrive with nothing but a ruined name and perfect manners. Among jewels and judgment, you’re just another candidate in a parade of perfect girls — until a stranger in the garden, who isn’t what he seems, speaks to you like you’re real. In a palace of masks, someone has already chosen you. You just don’t know why.

warnings – renaissance!AU, female reader, eventual SMUT, strangers to lovers, angst with comfort, political drama, emotional tension, power imbalance, mentions of social hierarchy/class pressure, slow burn, manipulation, masks and appearances, gojo’s mother is named midora. reader’s mother is important in the story. the language leans slightly formal and poetic in tone to match the setting. more to be added.

word count – 7.7k

notes – This will be a long story because I love drama. I was completely obsessed with the idea of Duke Gojo after reading Silent Serenades by @madamechrissy and couldn’t get it out of my head. Thanks for the inspo, Chrissy ♡

divider by @thecutestgrotto

next chapter

It had never been a secret that you were meant to marry well — and soon. Since childhood, your mother had made it your life’s purpose. You were trained to move with grace, to speak only when spoken to, to always smile at the right moments. Every lesson, every correction, every praise was offered with the same quiet promise: become the perfect wife, and you’ll be rewarded. Preferably with wealth. Hopefully with influence. Love was never part of the arrangement.

You were raised knowing your fate, and it wasn’t as if you had any other choice, so you learned to accept it.

You also knew — though it was never spoken aloud — that your mother had pulled every string she could to keep your family’s downfall a secret. If anyone had learned the truth — the debt, the disgrace, the thin cracks in your inheritance — you wouldn’t have been offered to a tailor’s apprentice, let alone a Duke.

And yet, somehow, your name had made it to the list.

Now, as the carriage rocked gently beneath you, you pressed a hand to the velvet-lined wall and stared out through the narrow window. The estate was still far in the distance, but even from here, you could see the spires reaching toward the sky — proud, pale, and unreal. The Gojo palace was not meant for people like you. It belonged to stories. To legends. To those born into power, not those clawing at the edges of it.

You didn’t know what your mother had promised, or to whom. You didn’t know how many hands she’d kissed or threatened, how many secrets she’d buried. But she had gotten you here — one of the few young women selected to be considered for the hand of Duke Satoru Gojo.

And now, you would have to survive it.

The silence in the carriage was heavy — the kind that pressed against your ribs and made your thoughts feel too loud.

Your mother sat across from you, spine perfectly straight despite the uneven road. Her gloved hands rested in her lap, unmoving. Not a single strand of hair had escaped the smooth roll pinned at the base of her neck. She was composed, as always — the picture of control.

“You will remember what I taught you.” She said at last, not looking at you.

It wasn’t a question.

You nodded once. “Yes, Mother.”

Her gaze shifted to the window. “You must make yourself indispensable. But never too eager. You must appear grateful, but never desperate. If he suspects you want him—truly want him—it’s over.”

You said nothing.

A moment passed.

“You can’t ruin this.”

The words sat between you like an accusation. You turned your face toward the glass, watching the pale towers grow taller with every passing second. “What did you promise?”

Your mother’s jaw tightened.

“Nothing we can’t survive.” She said. “If you do well.”

You looked at her again then — really looked. There was something steely beneath her calm, something like exhaustion pressed behind her eyes. You wondered how many letters she had written. How many names she’d begged from. How many favors she’d burned to ash.

The silence returned. But you were used to it by now. In fact, you preferred it this way.

The carriage slowed.

The pale stone of the palace shimmered like a mirage — all towering columns and gleaming spires, its windows catching the sunlight like shards of cut glass. It didn’t look real. It looked like something out of a storybook, the kind your governess used to read aloud when you were small — back when your family still had a governess. Still had servants. Still had status.

Even the front yard — if it could be called that — was larger than your entire estate. Wide marble steps unfolded like a stage. Fountains danced in the sunlight as if they existed for no other purpose than to sparkle.

It was beautiful.

It was obscene.

And you were expected to belong here.

Your heart beat once. Then again, harder.

Still, your hands remained folded neatly in your lap. Your posture was perfect. Your face, serene.

Outside, servants moved with mechanical precision — polished boots striking stone in perfect cadence, crisp uniforms, faces impassive. No one looked at the carriage. And yet, you felt it. The watching.

This place had eyes. You could feel them the moment the wheels touched the marble drive — silent, faceless, everywhere.

Don’t show it. You told yourself. Not the awe. Not the fear. Not the ache in your chest that felt dangerously close to hope.

“Chin up.” Your mother said as the carriage door clicked open. Her voice was calm — too calm. The kind that disguised sharp edges.

She stepped out first, her movements elegant, unhurried. Then, with a gloved hand, she offered you help — not as a gesture of affection, but of precision. Ceremony. As expected.

You took it.

The breeze greeted you at once, cool and perfumed with something you couldn’t name — roses, maybe, or lavender crushed under carriage wheels. It brushed your face like a caress, but there was no comfort in it. Only the sharp reminder that you were no longer home.

Some of the servants nearby rushed forward to collect the luggage, moving with quiet efficiency, as if every step had been rehearsed. Then, a tall young woman approached — graceful and composed, each movement deliberate.

She had long black hair pulled back in a smooth coil, lashes dark as ink, and cheekbones so finely sculpted they gave her the air of something painted, not born.

“Ladies.” She said, bowing her head with effortless poise. Her voice was smooth, practiced. “I am Ysera. I’ll be attending you throughout your stay at the palace. If you would follow me?”

You tried to match her composure, straightening your spine just slightly. But something inside you twisted — not from fear exactly, but from the quiet, rising suspicion that even the palace’s servants were more prepared for this world than you were.

The moment you stepped inside, the air changed.

It was cooler here, like the walls had been holding their breath for centuries. The floors gleamed with such care that your reflection shimmered faintly beneath your feet. Tapestries the height of trees draped the walls, woven with gold thread and scenes you didn’t recognize. Stained glass windows filtered the sunlight into soft pools of blue, red, and purple that danced across the marble.

You had never seen anything so opulent. Or so quiet.

The corridor stretched endlessly before you. Every step felt too loud. You kept your chin up, your gaze steady, but your throat had gone dry.

Ysera walked ahead, graceful and unhurried. Your mother followed as if she belonged here — as if she’d done this before. Only you seemed to feel the weight pressing down from the ceiling itself, from the velvet silence, from the history threaded into every stone.

You tried not to stare too long at the grandeur around you. You couldn’t afford to be caught in awe. You were supposed to be used to this — supposed to belong among the gold and glass.

“You are to rest for now.” Ysera said as she led you down the hallway. “The banquet will be served at six. Please be prepared—Her Grace, Lady Midora Gojo, and His Grace, Lord Satoru Gojo, will see you there.”

You weren’t sure which name made your stomach twist more.

Ysera stopped before a tall white door and turned the handle with a graceful twist of her wrist.

“This is your room.”

You stepped forward — then froze.

It was a vision in blue and gold.

Sunlight poured through gauzy curtains, casting a soft glow over the white walls and spilled across an intricate carpet underfoot. The bed looked like something out of a painting: large enough to drown in, dressed in rich blue velvet and trimmed with golden tassels. Matching chairs stood beside a tall window. The room glowed with quiet warmth, like it had been prepared with care — not just for a guest, but for someone meant to be seen.

Your mother moved to enter behind you, but Ysera lifted a hand—polite, firm, immovable.

“I’m sorry, my lady.” She said. “This chamber is for your daughter alone. Don’t worry—your quarters are just as refined.”

Your mother’s lips thinned, but she said nothing.

You knew her well enough to recognize the displeasure in her silence. She didn’t like the idea of you being alone — not now, not in a place like this, where everything mattered and everything could be lost. But still, you couldn’t help the quiet relief that bloomed in your chest. For a few hours, at least, you would be able to breathe without being corrected. You could sleep without being jolted awake for sleeping in an improper position.

“Good evening, Mother. I hope you rest well.” You said, offering your most delicate smile — the one you’d practiced a hundred times in the mirror. “And thank you, Ysera.”

“I will return to escort you to the banquet hall, my lady.” Ysera replied, bowing with elegant precision before closing the door behind her with a soft, final click.

Silence.

Your knees wobbled. You reached for the edge of the bed, fingers curling into the thick velvet for balance.

Your mind spiraled — how were you supposed to become a Duchess when you could barely breathe in a place like this? How were you meant to impress a man whose palace made your childhood home look like the servant’s quarters? How could you ever convince a family like his that you belonged here?

The fear crept in slowly. Then all at once.

But you swallowed it, like you always did.

Because there was no room for doubt now.

You had to be perfect.

—

You couldn’t rest. Not even for a moment.

Lying in the enormous bed, you stared up at the blue and gold panels carved into the ceiling, your fingers drifting across the velvet sheets like they belonged to someone else. This wasn’t just a room — it was a throne disguised as a chamber, built for people born into power, not for girls like you, who had to be trained to imitate it.

The thoughts hadn’t stopped since the door clicked shut.

What would you do if he didn’t choose you? How would you face your mother then — look her in the eye after everything she’d risked?

Were the other pretenders just as close to breaking as you?

And the Duke… how did he look?

Not that it mattered. It wasn’t his face that would decide your future. It was his choice.

And it had never really been yours.

You kept repeating it in your head like a prayer — the way to walk, the right tone to speak in, how much to laugh, how little to eat, the exact pressure to hold a glass without showing a shake. Over and over. Again and again.

The walls felt like they were pressing in, gilded edges turning into a cage. Every breath you took felt shallow, like the air itself was too fine for your lungs. You knew this wasn’t how you were supposed to behave — a lady didn’t wander, didn’t drift unsupervised through a Duke’s palace like a restless ghost. But you needed air. Just a moment of it. Something real.

You stood by the door, frozen.

What if someone caught you? What if the Duke’s mother — Lady Gojo — heard of it? What if this single choice undid everything your mother had schemed to build? Your hands were cold, slick with nerves. But the thought of staying — of lying back on those sheets and letting the silence close in around you — felt worse. You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t think. You had to move.

You remembered a door you’d passed earlier, tucked between gilded columns and half-shadowed tapestries — it had looked like it led to the garden. You hoped you were right.

With fingers trembling against silk skirts, you stepped out of your room. The hall beyond was quiet. Too quiet.

Your mother would skin you alive if she found out. But with any luck, she was already resting. Or pretending to.

Your shoes made no sound on the polished floor as you walked, heart hammering with every step. A pair of servants passed — expressionless, dressed in silver and navy — and though their eyes slid to you, they said nothing. Just a bow of the head. Polite. Dismissive.

You found the door. Tall. Glass-paneled. Cool to the touch.

You pushed it open.

And breathed.

The garden unfolded like something from a dream — all sculpted hedges and marble fountains, arching roses and soft grass that looked too delicate to walk on. The scent of jasmine hung in the air, faint and heady. Lanterns glowed in the distance like fireflies caught mid-flight.

You had never seen anything so beautiful.

A light breeze played with your hair as you walked, catching at the loose strands and brushing cool against your cheeks. For the first time since arriving, you felt something close to peace — fragile, fleeting, but real. The distant sound of water trickling from a fountain filled the silence without demanding anything from you.

Then, you stopped.

A bush of blue flowers caught your eye — their color so vivid, it hardly seemed real. Not sapphire. Not cornflower. Something deeper, stranger, like the sky just before a storm or the pigment of a dream you couldn’t quite name. It was a shade you didn’t know flowers could be — not in books, not in gardens, not in anything meant to bloom.

You knelt, skirts folding beneath you, fingers hovering just above the petals. There was something sacred in the way they bent with the breeze — not broken, not fragile, only reverent. Your hand trembled slightly as you reached out, not quite touching. As if afraid contact would wake you from whatever this was.

They looked too beautiful to be allowed. And yet they bowed gently toward your palm, like they were the ones drawn to you.

“Are you lost?”

The voice cut through the quiet — warm, unhurried, and far too close.

You startled.

Spine snapping straight, you turned so quickly your hand brushed the petals. The flowers trembled — or maybe it was you.

There he was.

A tall man with silver-white hair, his skin pale and glowing faintly in the evening light. And his eyes — blue, yes, but nothing like the flowers. His eyes were unreal. Too vivid. Too piercing. Like they didn’t belong to this world.

He wasn’t dressed like a servant. His shirt sleeves were rolled to the elbows, and he wore no coat, but there was an ease to the way he stood — like he belonged here more than anyone.

You stood quickly, smoothing your dress. “I’m so sorry, sir.” You said, breathless. “I only came to get some fresh air.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused.

“Lady Midora doesn’t like people picking her flowers.”

You froze. His voice sent a chill down your spine. And then you noticed — the way he’d called Duchess Gojo only by her first name.

Panic tightened in your chest. You couldn’t get in trouble on your first day in the palace.

“I—I wasn’t going to pick them.” You stammered, cursing yourself. “I’m really sorry. I just meant to—”

Your words caught in your throat as he stepped closer, reaching past you. His hand moved with quiet ease as he plucked one of the vibrant blooms from the bush behind you.

“But she’ll forgive me.” He said simply, offering it to you with a faint smile. “Eventually.”

You hesitated before taking the flower. His fingers brushed yours — just for a second — and something in your stomach twisted in response.

“Thank you.” You said uncertainly.

He only nodded, studying you with quiet curiosity.

“You’re not from the capital.” Not a question, but a fact.

You swallowed. “No, I’m not.”

“So what brings you here?”

You let your fingers trace the petals, trying to mask the thudding of your heart.

“I’m here for the banquet.” you said quickly. “Just a guest.”

“A guest.” he echoed, the corner of his mouth lifting like the word struck him as unexpected.

There was something about him — the way he stood, so relaxed, so confident — like no one had ever told him to be quiet or careful in his entire life.

You took a breath. “May I ask who you are, sir?” You asked carefully, trying not to look directly into his eyes.

“Same as you.” He said. “Just a guest.”

The tension in your chest loosened just slightly. He was clearly someone important, but if he wasn’t part of the Gojo household… you could breathe a little easier.

“Oh. I see.” You glanced down, your grip tightening around the flower. “The garden was so beautiful, I just had to see it for myself. I hope Duchess Gojo won’t be too upset.”

“She won’t, if she doesn’t find out.”

You let out a small laugh, hiding your smile behind your free hand.

“Well… I hope she doesn’t, then.”

“I won’t tell.” He said, already turning toward one of the marble fountains nearby. “If you don’t tell I’m here either.”

“Your secret is safe, sir.” You replied.

And when he walked, you followed.

His steps were slow but deliberate, hands clasped behind his back, like your presence was a detail, not a disruption. He moved with a kind of ease — not arrogant, exactly, but far from the stiff grace you’d been trained to recognize in noblemen.

And just when you thought the silence might stretch forever—

“Do you think he’ll choose you?” He asked, casually — like commenting on the weather, eyes still fixed on the marble fountain ahead.

You blinked. “What?”

“The Duke.” He clarified. “You’re here as one of the pretenders, aren’t you?”

Your step faltered.

He glanced at you from the corner of his eye, a faint smile ghosting across his lips — but his voice had dropped lower now.

“Do you think he’ll choose you?”

The question landed softly — but it echoed through your ribs like a bell. You turned to him, uncertain if you’d heard him correctly. But he was watching the water.

You opened your mouth, then closed it again.

“I… I wouldn’t know.” You said at last, the words careful, almost measured. “I haven’t even met him. Or the other girls.”

He tilted his head, studying you.

“I imagine they were trained as well as you.” He said, leaning against the fountain’s edge. “They know how to pretend they belong.”

“Would you blame us? It’s not like we have a choice.” The words slipped out — too fast, too real — and you winced. That wasn’t how you spoke. Not here. But something about him disarmed your careful rehearsals.

He smiled, faintly amused. “No blame. Don’t worry.”

He looked to the palace — the gold-trimmed walls glowing in the twilight. “This place swallows people.” He said. “It’s made to. Most who walk through those doors forget who they were before.”

“You speak like you’ve seen it happen.”

He shrugged, trailing his fingers through the fountain’s water. “I have.”

A beat passed. You moved closer, the flower in your hand was warm from your grip.

“Why did you ask me that?”

His eyes met yours. “Because you don’t seem like you’ve forgotten yet.”

You weren’t sure if it was a compliment. Or a warning. But it landed somewhere deep — like he saw something you weren’t sure you meant to show.

Then, more lightly, he added, “Or maybe I’m just trying to make conversation with the girl who wasn’t supposed to be in the garden.”

You huffed — almost a laugh — tension easing from your chest. “Well, you said you weren’t supposed to be here either. So I’d say we’re even.”

This time, it was your fingers brushing the water’s surface.

He didn’t speak at first. He just watched the motion of your hand — not rudely, not with the judgment you were used to. It was more like… curiosity. The kind that didn’t need answering.

“So,” he said at last, voice mellow, “do you make a habit of wandering into forbidden places?”

You glanced at him, arching an eyebrow. “Only when they’re beautiful.”

He smiled at that. Not the kind you’d expect — not polite, not rehearsed. It was crooked, almost boyish, like he hadn’t meant to let it out. “Dangerous answer.”

“Is it?” You challenged, resting your hands on the stone edge. “Or is it just honest?”

He tilted his head, regarding you again. “Honesty isn’t common here.” He said. “I can tell you are really not from the capital.”

“I didn’t think it was that obvious.” You murmured, glancing down.

“I didn't mean it in a bad way, trust me.”

You turned to him again, surprised by his tone. There was no mockery in it. If anything, he sounded almost wistful.

Then he glanced back at the water and said, lightly. “You know, when I was younger, I used to think there were tiny spirits living in fountains.”

You smiled. “Spirits?”

He nodded. “They’d whisper secrets to anyone brave enough to listen. I spent a whole summer trying to make them talk to me.”

“And did they?”

He leaned in slightly, stage-whispering. “Only once. But they had terrible advice.”

You laughed, and it came out too loud — real, surprised. You covered your mouth again, embarrassed.

But he just looked pleased.

He grinned. “They told me to cut all my hair off. I did. My mother nearly banished me to the mountains.”

“You can’t be real!” You said, still trying — and failing — to hold your laugh.

“I mean it!” He insisted, mock-offended. “She was furious, and I was completely frustrated — the tiny spirits conspired against me.”

You gave him a look — amused, curious, surprised at yourself. He wasn't afraid to say what he wanted, like you always were.

“What about you?” You asked. “You’re a guest… you said?”

Where was this curiosity coming from? You never let yourself speak so freely — but your spine wasn’t so straight now, your voice not so careful. Around him, it was like remembering how to breathe.

“I did say that.”

“But that’s not all, I presume.”

“Isn’t it?” His smile sharpened, eyes glittering. “I’m not lying.”

“No. But you’re not telling everything, either.”

“I’m always more sincere before breakfast.” He said with a grin. “After that, I tend to talk between the lines and hang around gardens hoping someone interesting loses their way.”

It took you a moment to register what he’d said — and when you did, the corners of your mouth betrayed you. A smile, quick and involuntary, slipped out before you could hide it.

As you part your lips to answer him, something shifts in the sky — a single star, then another. Your heart skips a beat.

“Oh dear lord — I’m going to be late!” You breathe, panic clutching your ribs like a corset drawn too tight. You hadn’t even noticed the time passing.

You were supposed to be ready by now. Your gown — laid out across your bed, untouched. Your hair — had the pins held through your aimless wandering? Had the curls fallen? And your shoes — dusty now from the garden paths, the fine leather smudged with soil and crushed petals.

You turn on your heel, but your body refuses to move as quickly as your thoughts. Your feet, suddenly heavy, hesitate on the garden path like they knew something your mind hadn’t admitted yet.

You didn’t want to leave.

How could you? The garden had been the only place you’d felt peace in a long time. Your breath was easier, your voice your own. The quiet here had soothed you, wrapped around your shoulders more gently than silk ever could. And maybe it wasn’t just the garden.

Maybe it was the man beside the fountain.

You look back.

He hasn’t moved. Still by the fountain, the water now glowing silver beneath the deepening twilight. His expression is unreadable — but he’s still watching you.

“Go.” He says softly, almost teasing. “I’ll see you around.”

The words warmed something under your skin. Ridiculous, maybe, how much you wanted to believe him. That this wouldn’t be the last time.

But you lingered a moment longer anyway. Just one more breath. Just in case.

You walked back toward the palace, your steps quieter now, slower than urgency demanded. With each one, the garden slipped further behind you. The flickering lanterns. The scent of jasmine. The sound of trickling water.

But a part of you — maybe the most honest part — was still there, somewhere between the fountain and the blue flowers.

And you weren’t sure if it would follow you back.

—

You didn’t need help getting ready.

Not anymore.

Since your family’s fall, you had learned to pin your own hair, apply your own makeup, to fasten corset laces with aching arms and silent frustration. You had taught yourself to move with elegance, even when no one was watching. Especially then.

Tonight, all of that practice had paid off. You were ready on time.

You’d just finished polishing your shoes — a careful, obsessive effort to remove every speck of dirt from the soles — when three soft knocks came at your door.

“It is time, my lady.” Came Ysera’s voice, muffled through the heavy wood. The same servant who’d helped you and your mother settle in earlier.

You closed your eyes.

That was it.

The performance began now.

You turned to the mirror for a final glance. Your reflection stared back — composed, poised, unfamiliar. You adjusted a curl near your temple, tucking it neatly behind your ear. Then, slowly, you layered on the smile you had practiced for years: gentle, beautiful, convincing.

Perfect.

You reached for the golden handle and opened the door.

Ysera stood before you in her spotless uniform, her face calm, giving nothing away. Behind her was your mother — rigid, as always, her gaze slicing through you like glass.

Just looking at her made your stomach clench. You knew what she was thinking. You knew what was at stake. You knew how much she had gambled to bring you here.

And so, you locked your arm with hers. Chin lifted. Shoulders squared.

You would make this right.

Ysera turned and began to lead you down the corridor, your heels echoing against marble floors. You and your mother followed in silence, arms intertwined, your pace practiced, your steps too careful to be natural.

You wanted to notice the palace — to let yourself be awed by the arched ceilings, the embroidered tapestries, the decor. But your mind was somewhere else entirely. Trapped in your chest. Beating fast, too fast, as though your body already knew what you were walking into.

“You won’t have another chance.” Your mother whispered beside you.

“I will cherish this opportunity, Mother.”

She didn’t look at you. She hadn’t looked at you in a long time. Not really. Her gaze always seemed to move just past you — like you were an image she hadn’t fully decided to keep.

“This isn’t the pair of earrings I told you to wear.”

Your hand flew to your ear without thinking, brushing the tiny gold drops you’d chosen.

“You were supposed to wear the pearls. I told you twice.”

“I know.” You said, softly. “I forgot to bring them.”

She sighed. A short breath. Not angry. Just disappointed. And tired.

You were always tired around each other.

“Of course you did.”

You said nothing. There was nothing to say. You were already working so hard to hold yourself together, your smile strained at the edges, your spine starting to ache from how perfectly you were standing.

Ysera turned to you both, her voice gentle and practiced. “When you enter the hall, please sit immediately and do not speak until Her Grace, Lady Gojo, arrives. Do not interact with the others. Do not touch anything.”

You nodded. Your mother did the same.

Ysera stepped ahead and knocked on a tall, intricately carved white door.

It opened.

And for a moment, the world beyond it stole your breath.

The banquet hall was the largest room you had ever seen. The ceiling arched like a cathedral. Gilded columns stood in quiet rows along the walls, and between them, paintings — scenes of battles, saints, and heavenly skies — hung in golden frames as tall as you.

Statues stood like ghosts in the corners: marble maidens, a king holding a broken sword. Even the air smelled expensive — a blend of beeswax, rose oil, and something cool and sharp you couldn’t name.

But nothing — nothing — caught your attention like the table.

A single, enormous thing of polished mahogany, stretched the length of the room, set with silver platters and porcelain plates. Dozens of candles flickered in crystal holders, their flames casting shadows that danced across the glass. Every fork and knife was placed with precision, every napkin folded in identical perfection.

And around that table sat the other girls.

Three of them.

Each one more dazzling than the last.

Their dresses were made of the kind of fabric you’d only ever seen in paintings — silk that shimmered like water, lace so fine it looked like mist. Their jewelry sparkled with diamonds and pearls that didn’t catch the light — they commanded it. Their mothers sat beside them, regal and composed.

You had worn your finest gown. The one your mother had preserved from her younger years. You had tailored it yourself, adjusted the sleeves, stitched new embroidery along the hem.

You had thought it would be enough.

You were wrong.

They looked at you as you entered. All of them.

Not cruelly. Not even unkindly. Just… assessing. Like you were another item on the table, something to be weighed, compared, measured for worth.

And for the first time tonight, your smile nearly slipped.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself not to flinch under their eyes.

You had come this far.

You had to be perfect.

Even if it was already clear that perfection might not be enough.

The walk to your chair felt like a slow unraveling.

The stone floor echoed beneath your shoes, each step striking sharper than it should have. In the silence of the room, the sound was unkind — like you were announcing your presence when you would’ve rather disappeared.

No one spoke. Not even a polite murmur.

The three girls didn’t look at one another. They didn’t need to. The awareness in the room was a current — unseen, electric. You could feel it tightening around you with every step. You hadn’t even sat down yet, and already, you were being measured.

You wanted to look down.

But your mother’s voice echoed in your mind — firm, steady. “Head high. Chin soft. Never let them see where it hurts.”

So you did as she taught you. You lifted your gaze and let it drift, slow and deliberate, across the table.

Lady Taira.

Her silver gown shimmered like the moonlight. Every fold fell perfectly, not by accident — but because she’d been trained to make it seem accidental. Her wavy blonde hair had the kind of polish no brush could give without servants. And she sat like a statue — not stiff, but still. As if stillness was her natural state.

Your mother’s words came back to you, clipped and precise: “Baroness by title, but richer than half the dukes in the realm. Her family could buy land from the crown and not blink. She grew up in court — learned how to smile without warmth, and bow without bending. Watch her closely.”

Lady Vale.

She looked like something carved from ivory — soft, luminous, too pure to be real. Her dress shimmered like pearl dust, but her eyes… they gleamed. Curls were pinned atop her head, each one meticulous. She blinked slowly, almost too slowly.

“She’s the youngest, but don’t mistake that for innocence. Her family’s been loyal to the Gojo house for generations. Her father commanded the guard of the late Duke Gojo. She won’t make a scene — she’ll make allies. And she’ll do it quietly.”

And then — Condess Shinto.

There was no softness in her. Her eyes were green like shattered glass — beautiful, but not safe. She wore a dress the color of drying blood, velvet with a neckline like a blade. Around her throat sat a string of emeralds, polished to gleam like envy itself. She didn’t smile, not really. Not in any way that counted.

Your mother hadn’t even hesitated about her:

“She’s the favorite. Everyone knows it. Her uncle sits on the Council. Her cousins command fleets. She doesn’t have to try. The game is already rigged in her favor.”

You still remembered the day you found out a Condess — a woman with rank, wealth, and lineage — wasn’t the automatic choice for the Duke’s hand.

It had seemed impossible. If Condess Shinto wasn’t already chosen, then what were the rest of you doing here?

Even now, you didn’t have the answer.

They sat like portraits in a gallery — elegant, composed, untouchable.

You, by contrast, were a question mark. A curiosity.

A last-minute invitation.

A gamble made by a mother with nothing left but her name.

Still — you sat without flinching.

Lady Taira adjusted her glove with practiced indifference. Lady Vale blinked — slow, measured. Countess Shinto tapped one perfect nail against her glass, the sound sharp as judgment.

It was a game, all of it. And you were part of it, whether you liked it or not.

You were all pawns.

The only unfairness was that you were playing against perfection — girls raised for this moment, sculpted like marble into their roles. You told yourself you didn’t care. You told yourself you had no illusions. But sitting here, surrounded by them, it was hard not to feel the crushing weight of inadequacy.

Of course, you had been raised to be perfect too — taught the art of posture, of quiet obedience, of speaking only when spoken to. But as you looked around the table, at the glinting jewels, the practiced stillness, the effortless grace stitched into every gesture of the girls before you, you knew with aching certainty: you could never compare. Not to them. Not here. Not like this.

You had known, the moment you received the letter sealed with the Gojo crest, that this was far beyond you. You’d told yourself it was a formality. A courtesy. A trap, perhaps. But seeing them — the daughters of power and pedigree — was far more harrowing than any whispered rumor.

Your thoughts were scattered, tangled with tension, until—just for a flicker—you remembered the man in the garden.

The memory came soft at first: a breath of wind, the scent of crushed petals, the way the late sunlight caught the edge of his smile. He had seemed too unreal to belong to a place like this — and yet, in that moment, beside him, you had felt more yourself than you had in days. Maybe years.

Next to him, you had felt human.

Real.

Like you could belong in a place where flowers bloomed without permission and skies stretched wide and generous.

You barely caught yourself flushing, the ghost of that smile threatening to surface again.

And that’s when the door opened.

The great double doors at the far end of the hall parted without a single trumpet. Just the hush of wood and silk and breath. You turned delicately, instinctively, unsure of what you were expecting.

A woman entered — tall, composed, resplendent in restraint.

Duchess Midora Gojo.

You had heard the stories. Everyone had. That she’d ruled the Gojo estate with a blade sheathed in velvet. That she’d survived the fall of her husband without lowering her chin once. That she’d raised her son — the son — with wolves at the gate and knives at her back. And yet, no story prepared you for the sight of her.

She didn’t walk.

She arrived.

Her gown was navy, trimmed with gold — the kind of understated elegance that made more extravagant outfits look like theater costumes. The fabric shimmered subtly, embroidery catching only the softest hints of light. Her silver hair was braided into a crown, regal and exact. Not a single strand rebelled.

She did not smile.

She didn’t need to.

The Duchess moved to the head of the table, placed a single hand on the back of her chair — and stopped.

Without a word, every woman in the room stood. Including you.

You bowed your head, not out of respect but instinct. The atmosphere demanded it.

Her gaze swept the table slowly, like moonlight across still water. Calculated. Cold. Not unkind — but far from warm.

One heartbeat.

Two.

Then her eyes found you.

It wasn’t just looking. It was the weight of being seen — truly, unmistakably seen. Her gaze was cool, discerning, a quiet threat wrapped in curiosity.

You didn’t blink.

Couldn’t.

Something told you that blinking would count against you.

So you held her eyes. Just long enough to feel the tremor of challenge. Until she moved on.

“Good evening.”

The women answered in perfect harmony. Like a prayer they’d recited since birth.

The Duchess sat. The rest of you followed.

Silence lingered, thick and reverent, until she spoke again — voice smooth but sharp as drawn steel.

“Ladies,” She said “you are here because your families have placed great faith in you. As have I.”

Her tone left no room for uncertainty.

“Conduct yourselves with composure. I expect grace. Poise. This is a demonstration.”

She didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t need to. Each word carried the weight of command — clean, final, unarguable.

“Each of you has been granted a seat. Whether you keep it,” She continued, her eyes gleaming with meaning, “depends on more than posture and pleasantries. The Duke will join us shortly.”

The mere mention of him was enough to set the air humming with tension. Some of the girls straightened in their chairs. Others held their breath.

The Duchess glanced toward the servants.

That was all it took.

They moved like clockwork — coordinated, efficient, silent. Wine was poured into crystal glasses. Platters were uncovered. Silverware gleamed. Aromas filled the air, rich and delicate. But no one relaxed. If anything, the tension only deepened. The ritual of dining had begun, and every movement now was a test.

You watched the girls — how they lifted forks with dainty precision, how they dabbed their lips, how they smiled just enough. Not too much. Never too much.

You mimicked them as best you could. Wrist poised. Chin tucked. Back unbending. You smiled when required. You didn’t breathe when you shouldn’t.

Across the table, Duchess Gojo engaged each mother in conversation — even yours. Her words weren’t warm, but they commanded. She dominated the room without trying. She didn’t need to try.

And then — it happened.

The door again.

You knew. Before you saw him. Before you heard a step.

The room didn’t just fall silent.

It held its breath.

You didn’t dare look. Looking would make it real. And part of you — the scared, unready part — didn’t want it to be real just yet.

There was no announcement.

No flourish.

No grand entrance.

Just the sound of footsteps.

Measured. Casual. Unhurried.

He moved through the room like the air adjusted for him. Like the space recognized who it belonged to. Like the walls bent slightly to accommodate his presence.

He took the seat beside the Duchess.

And your heart dropped.

No.

It couldn’t be.

But it was.

The man from the garden. The stranger who had spoken to you like you mattered. Who had watched you reach for flowers like it was allowed. Who had made you laugh like it was safe.

You hadn’t just ruined everything.

You’d ruined it before it had even begun.

He was dressed now in formal regalia — a coat of midnight blue, its collar open with defiant elegance. Silver embroidery twisted along his sleeves like vines. A ceremonial sword hung at his hip, glinting softly. At his throat, the Gojo crest, a six-petaled flower.

He didn’t hurry.

Didn’t bow. Didn’t acknowledge.

And worst of all — he didn’t look at you.

Not even once.

Not a flicker of recognition.

Not even the smallest glance.

You looked down at your plate, fists clenched tight in your lap.

And still, your hands trembled.

You took a sip from your wine, careful not to gulp — though part of you wanted nothing more than to drain the whole glass and ask for another. You tried to look composed, as the Duchess demanded. Composed, like every other girl at the table seemed born to be.

But your chest was too tight. Your throat too dry.

You could only hope this was some cruel dream.

At first, you thought he wouldn’t speak — that he’d sit through the evening like a shadow cast by his mother’s presence. But then, quietly, effortlessly, he stood.

He did not need to raise his voice.

“Thank you all for coming.” He said, his posture relaxed but his tone exact. “My mother — Her Grace, Duchess Gojo — and I are pleased that your families have placed their trust in our name.”

It was him. You knew it. You would always know him by those eyes. But nothing else was the same.

The warmth was gone.

“This banquet.” He continued. “is simply a gesture of our appreciation.”

A lie — all of you knew that. Every girl seated here knew this was no simple dinner.

“I look forward to getting to know each of you in due time.”

And then — he smiled.

Not the off-kilter, boyish grin that had slipped free in the garden. No. This smile was sculpted. Beautiful. Practiced. The kind of smile that could win favor, or undo alliances, depending on where it was aimed.

His gaze moved from girl to girl — smooth, precise, unrevealing.

And when it landed on you, it did not soften.

It did not linger.

It did not recognize you.

Not truly.

And that, somehow, hurt more than if he hadn’t looked at you at all.

You held the eye contact because you had to. Because the rules of the room demanded it.

But inside, something cold was settling in your ribs — the slow realization that the man in the garden may never have existed at all.

Because standing before you now wasn’t him.

It was the Duke — Satoru Gojo. And there was no room in his eyes for who you’d been, or what you thought you’d shared.

[m1ffyp13]

olderbf!toji . mdni

— — —

You keep annoying your older boyfriend the whole night. Playflighting and suddenly push comes to shove, and now Toji has you turned around, your back facing him as you roll your hips against his and his hands hold a firm grip on your hips.

“Since you wanna keep being like that, how about you keep bouncing?” He snarled under his breath.

Toji gripped your hips, firm and not gentle whatsoever. He was leaning against the bed headboard, having you face away from him as he couldn’t stand to look at your face as you bounced on his cock.

“Ahh-ah” You moan “Oh whatever.” You groan.

With your hands laid out in-front of you, you bend over closer to his legs, holding onto his knees.

“Uh-huh? and you fucking love it-” He grumbles with a smile to his face, holding your waist — fucking himself into you.

You hear him groan under his breath, and you look over your shoulders. Seeing his sweating body slouched against the headboard, you feel his hands soften and firm as he travels from your waist and onto your hips.

You glance up from his dampish lower abdomen- his mouth agape and to his closed eyes.

You tighten at the sight and his eyes open… looking at you through his partially closed eyes. He tilts his head to the side, keeping eye contact with you.

“Whatcha looking at?” He says before he boyishly smiles. He laughs under his breath. “You fucking love this..”

“Like you make it enjoyable-“ you groan sarcastically.

“Honestly- I do” He smiles like a jerk, as you feel him throb inside you.

He holds you still, keeping himself stuffed inside as he pulls himself up to have his chest against your back.

Toji leans in close, his warm breath against your ear, whispering…

“I do make it enjoyable.”

——— © 2026 m1ffyp13. Do not modify, translate or plagiarise in any way on any platforms.

[m1ffyp13]

I wuv ur theme it’s so cute

MY THEME??! heheh thank you so muchhh

[m1ffyp13]

i hate men that are funnier than me

[m1ffyp13]

discipline and lust cannot coexist

banner made through canva, by @ / m1ffyp13

PROFESSOR ! NANAMI X FEM!READER

    ── .✦

authors’ note – I wanted to write a reader who isn’t so bratty, ive seen so many where reader is and i think i just wanted it a lil different…

i did not proof read, i think this isnt my best so hopefully my next fic is listen to art of war by avenoir or glory box by portishead !!

mdni.

cw: smut (no s3x), age gap (Nanami 30/reader 21), sexual frustration, dreams about him, turned on at the thought of reader, professor x student, angst(??), solo m*sturbation scene

wc: 4.3k

Days became shorter and nights became longer. 

You knew the impending doom of going back to school, after the summer break, was creeping at your back. The late night partying and your horrific lack of sleep was already coming back to bite you in the ass. 

But what was really biting at your ass, was something else. 

You were never one to get distracted in class, in fact you were known for being such a good little student. Every professor loved you, they would praise you for your mannerism, for your attitude in class, even when you’d answer correctly. However you were still flawed – still crumble at the feeling not being praised, of not being adored. 

But by the end of the week for semester 1, you realised that not every professor liked you. 

Kento Nanami was your social science professor, he came into your class near the end of the first semester as a replacement for your, now retired, professor. To say the least, he was strict and mean. His demeanour was professional and competent.

You still remember…

In one of his afternoon classes, you were sitting alone on the lecture seats and minding your own business and had your head deep in the textbooks, trying to focus on your next upcoming exam. 

The peace was interrupted by a hand slamming down onto the desk in front of you, a paper flat underneath a calloused hand. You look up at the towering man above and you’re met with Nanami.

“Sir?” You said, a bit shaken.

A low gruff leaves his mouth “What's this?” 

“A paper-” 

He interrupts, “-Your marks for my class” 

You almost wanted to cheer but something about his furrowed expression said everything you needed to know. 

He then said in a gravelly quality, “I’m disappointed, you mess up again and you fail my class” 

He leaves you with your pride tucked between your legs, you stare at the paper while a pathetic 68/100 stares right back. You feel your vision become blurry, your hands pathetically wiping it away as it flows down the side of your cheek. No professor has ever told you off before, especially confronting you on a mark.You then quickly pack your things for that afternoon and rush out of his class.

Now, with the start of school on your mind, you still find a way back to wondering how you got such a bad mark when you knew you deserved better. 

— — —

For you, dreams never laid flat. Always colourful, always filled with feelings. The night before school, your dream felt all too real.

You were laying down in bed, not your bed. Your hair was down and someone else was laying in it. You felt how a single hand had held onto one breast, how its fingers would find its way to nip your nipples between them. Soft kisses against your neck-

You moaned “Sir”—

— You jolt awake, awake at the fact you had a dream of someone you shouldn’t. 

Your professor. 

Before heading to bed you shake away the lustful thoughts, telling yourself that you only dreamt of him simply because you dream of certain things when you often think about them. And you only thought of him since school was approaching. 

You fade back to sleep… slightly soaked. 

— the first day back —

Social Science class finds its way to end in the longest way possible, you don’t miss this, not the yawns of other students or your own. Nor how professor Nanami would stare you down when you answer a question. 

When class finally comes to an end, you hear everyone is already talking about the upcoming exam for their own classes. And your mind was already filled with your own new busy schedule, but more importantly…filled with the need to prove you deserve better. 

Nanami walks over in front of his desk.

“If anyone has any questions, feel free to come down and ask.” He says boringly.

He plops down to sit on the edge of the desk. He then reaches behind him and opens a folder, minding his own business. 

You waste no time, rushing down while everyone walks the opposite direction as you. 

“Mister Nanami?” You say, your tone trickles with irritation but you shallow your tongue the moment he glances up from the papers and to your timid face. 

“Yes?” 

“How can I get extra credit? Last semester you told me how i could fail your class- when I know i deserve at least top mark” 

He places the folder back down behind him.

“If I make it easier for you, you’ll learn nothing.” He says bluntly.

He folds his arm over his chest and tilts his head. 

Deep down Nanami knew he should never give you extra credit and deep down he knew he should never go soft on you, on a good student like you.

It felt as if it was an un-spoken rule between you two — you knew he’d push you and he knew you’d be begging to be pushed. And he seems exactly like that. Someone with no patience for ignorance, who’s disciplined, and one who knows to never play favourites. 

“You want extra credit?” Nanami says, sounding almost defeated

Before he says anything he pokes the side of his cheek with his tongue, unfolding his arms and propping himself up on the desk with his hands behind him, still sitting on the edge. 

“I want to see how well you do on my next assignment first. Impress me and I’ll reconsider.” 

You think to yourself, it’s better than nothing, better than crumbling at the mere thought you’ll fail. 

“Fine.” 

You turn back around and feel his gaze stabbing the back of your head. Before reaching the door you turn your head to look over your shoulders. 

Glancing back at him — his head tilted to the side, arms crossed, his sleeves rolled up and exposing his muscular forearms. 

All while he stares up at you, his eyes never leaving your figure. 

His look was so annoying- and it was so irritating to see how calm he is, when you’re sitting ducks.  

You throw your head back and exit his class. Leaving him all by his lonesome. You swear you can almost hear him huff when you leave the lecture room.

——— Another day.

“How much of who you are is actually your choice, and—“

You rummage through your bag finding your needed items for Nanami's class. His voice fades away and before you knew it, you were nose diving to find your simple pencil case. 

“Is my class boring you?” 

A voice says from behind. 

You jolt your head out of the bag and turn to look up. To your surprise it was Professor Nanami. The class had gone silent, voices murmured as you took a quick glance to see almost everyone looking at you. Then you look up and you’re met with Nanami’s stern eyes.

You slightly stammer, “I- Uhm… No Professor, I was just-“ You pull out your pencil case “Looking for this” 

Nanami hums in response. Before turning around and continuing his lecture. 

“As I said…is it the only way or the best way?”

——— After classes.

After such a long day of boring and non-stop lectures, you collapse yourself and lay limp on the beige leather couch of your living room. 

Your head lowers down on the armrest and you bring your phone up to your face. Unlocking it you’re met with the unread messages from your best friend. 

You told your friend how annoying your professor had been, not annoying more of… He doesn't even care if I pass! 

Before your friend could reply back, you start to replay that dream. The dream you had the night before semester 2 started. It felt so vivid, so real. It plays back, unwillingly. You remember that moan, how it rolled off your tongue so nicely, how it came so naturally. 

Your eyes flick up to see your friend's notification. 

Biting the inside of your side cheek, you replay back. 

Why does this matter so much? Why do I even need his praise or…ugh-

You groan at how frustrating this whole charade is. Telling yourself it's simply just stress, so for now, you suppress this lingering feeling. 

You close your phone and take a nap on the couch.

- nanami’s pov - Nanami’s apartment was far different from yours, ordered, quiet and just to his liking. 

After a long day after lecture, after lecture, he removes his shoes and places them parallel onto the shoe rack. He was organised, he already had his coat removed and placed onto the over-the-door hanger, from the moment he steps into the apartment. 

For him, order was easy when he enforced it on himself.

His tie was already loosened and he sat down with his back leaning onto his tailbone and against the backrest, throwing his head back to hang over the headrest. He groaned to himself before looking at the desk to see assignments stacked to the brim and loose papers scattered on top. His student’s papers.  

Yours sits near the top, not because of favouritism — he would never allow that. But because it was thorough, a well written and top marked assignment on psychology. 

He exhales, slow and deliberate. He thinks to himself if he was a bit too harsh of asking her to ‘impress him’. Yet he understood his role, how unprofessional it would be to think or even be concerned for her. 

Nanami’s only role as a professor was to keep pushing you.  

“Focus” He sighs.    

He reaches upwards from the pile and picks yours, once it's in front of him eyes scan and travel, from top to bottom, title to conclusion. Again and again… rereading your essay, before realising he already has it memorised. 

Groaning to himself, throwing the paper back on the top stack. Nanami was never one to get frustrated at his student’s writing, the idea that they worked so hard to do this. The others were predictable and recycled trash. But yours…  

This is ridiculous.

Is what he tells himself. Before he knew it, his lower stomach felt a heat settle in at the thought of you, your hand grazing over the paper. Writing so effortlessly. 

He is a gentleman. 

Yet he has always noticed you, the day he came into his class he noticed you. 

The way you'd unconsciously straighten your back when you knew the answer to a question. Or when you’re unsure, you’d place the top of the pen’s barrel against your lips. The same lips that looked soft despite being under the harsh white lighting, your lips… no- your face, give him an unexpected warmth inside. Yet Nanami wasn't so sure why he paid attention to you but he did.  

So innocent, thoughtless- somehow to him, you were the most distracting thing in the room.

- your pov -

You hush and groan as you shuffle in your sleep, dreaming away…

You feel yourself, every little surface, as you sit down in a lecture room and notice you’re in the front seat.

Front and centre.

You see Nanami. Lights were dimmed and it seemed like it was after hours. With his back turned facing the white board, sleeves rolled up, hair messy and marker in hand.

For some reason it felt normal for it to be only you… alone.

“That’s right” His voice cuts through the silence.

You felt your seat get warm. You glance up and see him write about your essay.

“You’re writing like you're hesitating something.” He says.

“Im not-”

“-Are you.” he says bluntly.

He turns around and approaches your seat. He walks heavy with purpose, maintaining eye contact. He reaches… not to touch you but you grab your pen from your fingers. He crutches down to your eye level.

“People your age don't know how to write, you make it look so easy. Yet you’re hesitating to do more”

You open your mouth but nothing comes out.

All you can do is loosen your fingers, making it easy for him to grab your pen from you.

He places your pen on the side of the desk and your eyes look up at him. You start to note how close he is, how you can feel the warmth of his body.

His gaze softens, “Read it.” Referring to the paper on your desk. “Outloud.”

You pick up your paper, hands slightly shaking under his gaze. You’re not like in class yet here you are in a dream, about being alone in a lecture room, about you being asked about your writing, about him.

You start to read it outloud, voice unsteady yet he nods.

“Good job.” he praises quietly.

You pant softly as you wake up dishevelled, you sit up and your blankets pool onto your lap with your tank-top strap barely hanging on your shoulder. You don't know why but you felt that same warmth in your stomach, the one you felt when you first saw him.

If you keep dreaming about him, who knows how far these dreams could go.

——— Another day.

Sitting in his class, a feeling lingers inside you.

You sit down and keep to yourself.

“Any other ideas?”

Nanami’s voice echoes in the lecture room. You’re back straightens yet you keep your head down. That doesn't escape his eyes. Catching your stance, he then calls your name out like it’s a question.

You look up, looking through your eyelashes before fully lifting your head up to look at him. His eyes showed concern, looking up at you from the bottom of his lecture.

“No- nothing to add” you fidget with your pen before placing it flat and giving him your full attention.

His eyebrows narrow in at your fingers but also at the sight of you acting so out of character, he wanted to ask if you’re feeling alright or if you didn't quite understand the topic. Despite him knowing you understood the topic well, well enough to teach it.

He hums a soft “Alright” before picking on another student.

Nanami wasn't one to pry at quiet students but you’re not quiet, you’d come up with some argument- anything to further deepen your understanding on the topic. But today you aren't, you’re fidgeting like you don't know how to hold a pen, you're not even talking to other students and you’re not even… looking at him.

The class ends and he watches as you walk up the stairs and head out, probably to your next class or maybe to your dorm- he didn’t know because all he wanted to know is if you were alright.

- -

Days go by like this, not talking during lectures and leaving class without anything else to say. And now everything leads up to an upcoming exam that's worth 70% of your grade.

You’ve been locked in your room, forcing yourself to study for 3 hours, or more, a day. Late night sleeps and dreams of failing taunt you. You distracted yourself so much with studies, that when you’re left alone in the dark, in bed, all you can do is think about how you have to pass Nanami’s class.

Despite this recurring thought, you haven't had any unsolicited dreams. Which you're almost grateful for.

——— Again. Days go by faster and nights become longer.

Buried and dying in the load of work, you find yourself at home exhausted and laying your head on your folded arms, resting on the desk. You bite your lip wanting to cry over an assignment you knew should be easy. Instead, you hold it all in… like you always do. Your eyes peak up, looking at the books and papers in front of you.

You sit up straight and pull yourself together. Glancing outside the window beside your desk, you see the sunset, the colours are fading into black, it looks breezy and cold, and you definitely need to stretch your legs.

So you sigh, grabbing your winter jacket and dragging yourself outside.

The cold surrounds you.You hug yourself as your body shakes slightly as it tries to warm-up. The wind carries your hair off your face, you look back to glance at your dorm before heading for the campus grounds.

While leisurely pacing away, your mind leads back to your assignment for Nanami’s class.

You never felt so overwhelmed.

You always kept to yourself, never complained, never whined about the workload. Yet his class had a way of pushing buttons you didn't know existed.

This constant need for his praise, for his approval…was too much.

Yet something deep down couldn't help but appreciate him. How he didn’t give up so easily, how he challenges you or how he makes you want to do better.

You groan away the thought and stuff your hands inside your pockets, keeping your hands warm. You glance up and catch the stars, feeling the breeze brush over your face. It’s starting to become colder as July goes into August.

You feel as if you walked into a wall, accidentally bumping into someone.

“Oh excuse me-” A voice says.

The voice filled the silence of being alone. You give a polite “Oh sorry.” Before looking up and catching his eyes.

Professor Nanami?

A bit shaken, you say. “Oh Mister Nanami, I’m sorry- I didn’t- I didn’t see you.”

You step back to get a bigger picture.

Your eyes travel down to his winter coat, he layered cream with dark blue so well.

“Oh you’re okay-“ He chuckles before it hits him.

“-What are you doing out here alone?” He says, sounding concerned.

You don’t respond. You briefly soak in how he looks in casual wear, because outside of suit pants Nanami can actually dress.

“I was finishing papers-“

He inhales quickly and interrupts himself “-why are you out late?” He says in one breath, stuffing his hands in his pocket.

You softly exhale, your breath becoming visible in the cold.

“Needed a walk… study got a bit too much” you say, downplaying how boring and exhausting it has been for you, in these past few days.

His jaw tightened, as if he knows something you don’t. He knew that look, the look of when you had something on your mind.

“Is that all?” He mumbles.

“Mhm” You hum.

You glance away, seeing people pass by but instead you’re thinking back to the piles of paper that were still in your room. Still on that desk.

Yet you’re out here. Having a walk. Talking. Talking with the professor who has better places to be. Places where he doesn’t have to talk with a student who doesn’t even involve herself anymore.

You don’t realise it until your vision becomes blurry. “I.. uhm sorry-“ you clean your throat as you wipe your tears away. You were crying… trying not to break down right then and there.

Please, not in front of him.

“Are you alright?”

You nod “Yeah- i’m… i’m fine.“ You press your finger tips under your eyes, wiping your tears away.

Not wanting him to see you, you put your chin to your neck.

He doesn’t accept your response.

“You haven’t talked in class for days.” He says, “And you barely showed up to my lectures.”

That does it.

Your breath shutters and you groan to yourself.

“I don’t cry over assignments” You say, immediately defensive.

“I didn’t say you did,” He replies bluntly.

He takes a breath. Pausing. You were shaking, crying in the cold, and he can’t do anything about it because he knows better than to hold you close.

People pass by, your tears starting to trickle down your cheek. Life continues around you, even if it feels like it’s only you and him.

Finally.. “This isn’t the place,” he adds, firmer now. Nanami glances away. “And I’m not the person you should be breaking down in front of.”

The words ached to say but he had to keep his feelings under control.

“If the class work is too much, then something isn’t working. And it’s my responsibility to address that academically.”

Of course… academically.

Not personally. No.

This was purely academic. And that’s what hurt you more.

You wipe your face again, sniffling and embarrassed you try to pull yourself together.

“I don’t need special treatment,” you mutter.

“I know,” he says softly.

He couldn’t help but look at you.. how your cheeks were tinted with a berry blush and your tears making your eyes shine

“Email me,” he adds. “About the content.”

Then, quieter… he mumbles.

“And go home.”

- - -

Nanami should’ve forgotten about it the moment he left campus. Yet the image clung to him tightly. The way you’d turned your face away as if that would stop the tears from spilling.

He asked you what was wrong.

And you lied.

I usually cry over assignments.

He presses his palm to his eye, jaw tightening.

“Fuck sake,” he mutters.

And yet his chest feels tightened in a way it never does.

As he sits down at his desk his mind drifts off, remembering how your tears built up around your iris, the way your lashes had cling together or the way you refused to let him see you like that.

Nanami finds his right hand curling into a fist at his lap, the other about to grip the edge of the desk. The curled hand unravels and slowly traces his thigh upwards and onto his strained suit pants. He hated how he thought about how pretty you looked even when you were crying, how disgusting of him… but he can’t stop.

Now oddly frustrated at the thought of you, his hands firmly cupped his clothed bulge that pressed against his inner thigh. His left hand reaches for a pen and paper from a short stack, frustrated and flustered. He marks papers, hoping you’ll be rid of his mind but all he thinks is how you’re probably at home now looking back at notes or even crying.

The warmth built up fast, he dropped his pen onto his desk causing it to roll across the desk. He covered his mouth gently biting on the webbing between his thumb and index. While his right hand softens and tightens around his bulge, he swallows his saliva and gently rubs his clothed cock.

He groans under his breath, biting his hand a bit harder, while his elbow now resting onto the desk.

With his right hand and two fingers, Nanami unbuttons the top of his suit pants, it almost flew open before he could even finish zipping it down. He exhales a long breath…lifting his hips up he uses his hands to remove his pants, making his boxers hover over the waist belt.

Now with both hands at his use, he uses one to push down the boxers and the other to remove his aching cock.

His thoughts filled with how pretty you looked today. “Ugh-” he groans as he pulls out his phone, opening up safari and searching up porn. He hated using websites but he didn't want to think about you. Because in his mind that wasn't something he should do.

Nanami’s cock pulsed in his hand, he lifted his head up into the air as rough groans escaped his mouth.

“Fucking hell… ah-hmph”

His fingers trace over his tip as it spurts out a small pre-cum, spreading it across the tip of his dick. He glances down at the video on his phone, his other hand reaches to pause it- he was sick of knowing it’s not you.

He continues to stroke his cock like he was some teenage boy. The clothing rustles against the chair as his hips buck upwards, upwards into his hand.

As he glances away from his paused phone his gazes falls onto your paper, the one he marked nights ago, was now laid flat on top of the desk with his red pen comments laced neatly across the paper

He removes his hand from his pulsing cock… he exhales through his nose as his finger tips retract back as it throbs and pulsing- his dick needing more.

“I can’t- i shouldn’t.” He moans under his breath. watching his cock twitch without him even touching it.

A minute later, he finds himself washing his hands clean with warm soapy water.

Nanami stands naked in front of his sink, his face slightly flushed and annoyed at himself for not finishing what he started.

All while his dick stays hard- thinking about you.

How unprofessional.

© 2026 m1ffyp13. Do not modify, translate or plagiarise in any way on any platforms!!

[rikiluvrr]

A Couple Minutes

⎯ NRK 西村 力

𝜗𝜚 ; Ni-ki wants his sweet girl back!

ꨄ︎ yearner!ni-ki x fem!reader

cw ✶ exes-to-???   angst    fluff    ex!ni-ki   cursing     wc 3.4k

pt. 2 of ‘Let Alone the One you Love’ but can be read separately!

‧₊˚♪ 𝄞𝄢₊ Now playing: “A Couple Minutes” – Olivia Dean

Ni-ki was a quiet lover.

He was never good with his words nor expressing them. His love seeped through the simplest moments that would often go unnoticed to the blind eye. He’d like to say that he was a man of true chivalry. Whether it be buying you coffee for your morning classes or wrapping his jacket around your shoulders on a cold night, he knew you like the back of his hand. Why shout to the whole world he’s in love with you, when his whole world was already in front of him? 

‘I really fucked up big time’ Ni-ki ran his palms across his face as he plopped himself on the sofa, groaning into the pillow. Jaeyun shook his head in return, pushing Ni-ki’s leg off as he sat himself right next to him.

 “Yeah. You really did.” Hearing his roommate’s lack of pity, Ni-ki only groaned louder as he threw a pillow right at Jaeyun’s face. Since the break up, Ni-ki really thought he had moved on. Everyone thought he had moved on. He hung out with the boys, went to every party and even landed himself a talking stage. Yet, even after all that, something was missing. Someone was missing. 

As the silence and minutes of contemplation prolonged, Jaeyun could only sigh at his friend’s state. He’d never say it to his face but he had always noticed that, since the breakup, Ni-ki was always on edge. Of course, that never stopped him from being the party animal he was. But, he was no longer the guy who’d tuck himself away in the corner playing beer pong or lounging with his friends. Instead, Ni-ki became louder and cockier. As if turning up the volume would fill in the silence you had left. 

Everyone mistook it as Ni-ki being the life of the party. But Jaeyun knew it was merely a guise. Ni-ki was casketed under a veil of lies and whiskey, drowning himself in intoxication rather than letting himself fall victim to his broken heart’s tidal waves.  It was his way of distracting himself.

 “If you’re so miserable, why don’t you just get back with her?” Ni-ki sat up at the suggestion, giving it a genuine thought before shaking his head

“She wouldn’t want me back,” He grew quieter at his own words, realising the weight to them. He’s familiar with the kind of person you are. The distance you committed wasn’t a matter of pride nor disdain, but rather love; Love for yourself and love for him. He knew you well enough to know that if you hadn’t detached yourself first, you’d only continue to bring each other down. 

A love that has become a wilted flower never means that it has never bloomed. It was once beautiful too. But in that same vein, Ni-ki just wanted his sweet girl back.

Even if there was only a tiny fragment of your heart that still loved him, he didn’t care. He’d take it and run a mile with it.

At first, Ni-ki started off small. 

A simple smile by the hallways, a like on your story or borrowing a pen in your shared morning classes. It was his way of slowly easing himself back into your life. You never really questioned it since it had already been months after the breakup. Distance gave the two of you time to reflect and grow. Day by day, Ni-ki was gradually making his presence known. However, when his simple actions were able to escalate into short conversations and small catch ups, Ni-ki got a bit bolder.

You were sitting at your usual spot in your morning lecture as you mindlessly took down notes, mentally preparing yourself for the next one hour. If it hadn’t been last night’s all-nighter, then you were sure that the endless nonsense your professor was spewing about was the reason you could barely keep your eyes open.

However, your endless daydreaming was cut short at the sound of the chair next to you being pulled back. Glancing to your side, you were met by Ni-ki’s exhausted gaze. You hadn’t even noticed his absence until now. As soon as he was seated, the boy couldn’t help but slouch himself over on the desk as he rested his head on his crossed arms. Only a chuckle left your mouth as you noticed his tousled black hair, wrinkled shirt and the way his chest kept rising and falling every time he tried to catch his breath. 

“What happened to you?” You quietly asked as he peaked his head up from his arms, brushing off your question with a quick ‘it’s nothing’. 

Oh…so much for small talk. 

Assuming he was having an equally sleepy morning as you, you chose to end the conversation there. You went back to tuning out the continuous string of boredom your professor was saying whilst simultaneously ignoring whatever Ni-ki was doing next to you. It’s not like it was awkward between the two of you. But the last time you two were ever in this close of proximity was back when you had been dating. 

Ni-ki continued shuffling beside you as he set himself up. He took out his macbook, pens, notes and from the corner of your eye, you see him slide over a coffee cup to your side of the table. You looked at him with a puzzled stare before he cleared his throat and looked straight ahead to the professor. 

“It was buy one, get one free..” Your mouth only formed an ‘o’ shape before whispering to him a quick thanks. Looking at the drink, you couldn’t bite back the smile that had crept on your face when you realised it was your usual order. And Ni-ki, too, couldn’t help but grin at seeing your mood be immediately enlightened. 

From the way his ears turned red and his eyes averted from your own, you knew Ni-ki was lying. But, being too giddy at the small gesture to call him out on it, you let it slide. 

Of course he’d remember. 

The weather today was truly as unpredictable as Ni-ki’s feelings. 

Your morning was basked in the warmth of the sun’s beams accompanied by the gentle breeze of summer’s air. But now, with the heavy droplets of rain pelting on the ground to cover the streets in pools of puddles, the shitty downpour had no sign of stopping anytime soon. You, who had not bothered to check the forecast on their phone, were now left waiting inside your campus until the sky eventually clears.

Usually on days like this, your prince charming would come on his white horse, aka Ni-ki’s BMW, to save his poor damsel in distress. But now, only a mere sigh left your lips once you had remembered that you no longer were blessed with that privilege. You stared at the ground in contemplation as you try figuring out whether you should just: fuck it and bolt in the rain or pray on a miracle it stops. Before you can even make up your mind, a pair of black Jordans came into your view; one that looked all too familiar. Your gaze immediately travelled up.

“You’ve been here for a while” Ni-ki’s soft, boyish grin stared back at you. “Need a ride?”  

In your helpless state, you knew you couldn’t take up on this opportunity. When you had shamefully given him a small nod, his grin only widened as you trailed behind him. Your conversation on the way to his car was mostly light and playful. Whilst you complained about your bad luck, Ni-ki teased you on how you never change. 

He opened the door for you and you climbed in the car as if you were back in routine. In his usual monochrome aesthetic, the interior was still the same mix of dark and dull hues of black. Your eyes, however, immediately spotted the slight tinge of pink from the keychain you gave him hanging on his rearview mirror. It was a gift you had given him on your first date. 

“You can just drop me off at the library, I have some assignments to catch up on,” You say, buckling your seatbelt in as Ni-ki started up the engine

“Sounds good to me, I was actually heading there too”

Whilst the rain continued to pour outside, you and Ni-ki shared genuine conversations with each other. You were catching up on each other’s lives, filling in all the chapters you had missed and were no longer part of. You asked him questions like did he end up moving house? or whether Bisco was doing okay (since he always liked you better). It felt comfortable. Familiar even.

But the flow of your chattering was abruptly interrupted by his phone’s ringtone. It was an incoming call from Jaeyun. Ni-ki asked if it was alright if he could take it, to which you simply nodded before he answered. You tried to ignore his conversation with his friend but Jaeyun’s distressed voice reverberated in the car.

“Bro, where are you?! I told you we had a reservation at 5pm!” Your eyes immediately darted to Ni-ki and you didn’t miss the dust of red that crept on his face. You chuckled before asking.

“I thought you were heading to the library?”

Caught him.

Whilst music blasted from the party inside, you were sat down on the roadside pavement trying to get some fresh air. It was finally the end of your exam season and you and your friends had decided to let loose. What better way to congratulate yourself on months of studying than getting completely wasted at a random frat party? 

The bustling night had slightly died down as your mind tuned out the blaring house music in the background. Your whole body was completely slouched over itself as you felt the queasy feeling of acid travel up your stomach. But, before you can throw up your guts on the sidewalk, you feel a figure approach you from behind, his subtle touch grazing your bare shoulders.

“What are you doing outside by yourself, pretty?” His mellow voice sounded through your ears as your dazed state was unable to put a name to his face. Judging from the way he sat so close to you, legs almost touching, you assumed he was the guy that was hitting on you earlier. His hand lingered on your bare skin whilst his face inches closer to you, lustful eyes undressing every part of your body. Unable to process the situation, he was a breath away from stealing a kiss before he was shoved backwards.

“Get off her. She’s with me.” He knew he had no right. He was no longer your boyfriend. But at the same time, Ni-ki knew better than to just watch you be taken advantage by some drunk frat boy. His jaw tightened at the mere thought of some asshole kissing you in this state. The guy only mumbled apologies before he stood up and walked away, Ni-ki’s eyes never leaving his figure until he was fully gone.

He turned to you on the floor, your short bodycon dress slightly riding up your thighs, heels abandoned and a pout plastered on your face. A sigh left his lips before helping you get up and wrapping his jacket around your figure “Let’s get you home.” You could only hunch over and gag in response. Ni-ki acted quick, knowing you and your low alcohol tolerance. He soothingly rubbed your back whilst zipping up his jacket on you, making sure your vomit wouldn’t stain your clothes. 

“It’s alright..just let it all out” He says to you, holding your hair back with his hand whilst you puked all over the the house’s front yard. Ni-ki makes a mental note to apologise to Jay for that tomorrow.

After you had spewed out all the remaining alcohol in your system, you now found yourself seated on the passenger side of Ni-ki’s car. Again. You rested your head on the window as you felt your eyes getting heavier, succumbing your body to sleep. Ni-ki leaned over the center console to buckle your seatbelt before quietly shifting the direction of the air conditioning to your side of the car.

The ride to your place was quiet, filled with the soft hum of Ni-ki’s playlist on carplay accompanied by your even breathing whilst you napped. Stopping at a red light, he glanced at your resting figure from the corner of his eye. He didn’t miss the way a soft smile played on your lips, the way you snuggled deeper into his jacket and the way you simply looked like you belonged in his world. You stirred a bit in your sleep, mumbling incoherent words which Ni-ki could only chuckle at. However, once the car had started moving again, you gradually woke up. Albeit, you were still incredibly drunk.

“Sstop doin’ thiss, ‘ki” You slurred out as Ni-ki only hummed in response, curious as to what you meant. He also couldn’t stop the smirk tugging at the corner of his lips at the sound of his nickname come out your mouth

“y-you can’t jus’ act like you suddenly care!” Ni-ki’s face suddenly turned serious at your words, catching the way your emotions took over the tone in which you delivered them. Don’t get me wrong, you still sounded like any drunkard. But your pain was definitely evident in the way your voice shook and the way slight sniffles were heard between every word.

“Although it's over, of course I still care, about you, yn.”

“You don’t just get to decide when you want to care and when you don’t!” Your eyesight slightly blurred as you stared aimlessly at the passing houses outside the window, refusing to look at him. You scolded yourself for letting another tear be wasted over Ni-ki. “It’s not fair to me..” You whisper as the whole car now fell in a deafening silence; where now, only your ragged breathing and the hum of the engine could be heard.

“Let’s talk about this when you're sober in the morning, okay?”

In the morning, you woke up to a 100+ notifications from your hgs and the worst hangover known to man. At least you were in your pajamas and your makeup was off…wait what? Staring at your bare face and matching silk set in the mirror, you only know one person that knows your post-party routine off by heart. You snatched your phone off your bed side table and immediately scrolled to a familiar contact info, “Ni-ki”. At the opening of his inbox, you almost wanted to neck yourself once you read the most recent message.

I’m coming over.

Shit. You tried recalling what had happened last night for him to have to visit you the morning after. You must have fucked up real bad. Yet, no matter how hard you try, your memories have just become a wash away blur of drinking, dancing and laughing. You threw your phone across your bed and groaned into your pillows. If only you just kept that big mouth of yours shut.

But at the ring of the doorbell, your brief reverie was immediately interrupted and you swore you were experiencing war flashbacks. 

Shit. Shit. Shit. 

Quickly running to the bathroom, you brush your teeth and comb through your tangled hair, trying to look at least presentable.

You took a deep breath at the face of your door before opening it wide and offering a polite smile. As expected, there he was. Riki Nishimura, clad in his all black hoodie and sweats, carrying take out in his hands. He had a small smile etched on his lips which only grew at the sight of you.

“Thought some soup could help with the hangover,” If your head wasn’t throbbing as hard as it was, you would have rejected him like any normal ex would. But right now, all you wanted was to get this conversation over with and rest.

He slipped off his shoes and made his way to your living room to set up the food on your coffee table. You followed right after, watching the way he moved around your house so naturally. As he grabbed the bowls from the top shelf of your cabinet, you couldn’t help but stare at the flex in his broad shoulders that was defined even under his hoodie. Or the way he had pulled up his sleeves to reveal the veins running on his forearms. You hated how conventionally hot he was.

Seated on the same sofa you both had broken up on, you started to question him before you could even take a bite of the food. “Why did you come here, Ni-ki?”

“I want to get back together with you.”

His words knocked the wind out of you. The last thing you expected was Ni-ki trying to rekindle your relationship on a random Sunday. Especially on one where you quite literally looked like a hot mess.  

He can’t be serious right now...

“I regret the way I was towards you back then but..” He took a pause to assess your facial expression, trying to find some hint of anger or resentment towards him. But you were simply listening. And so, he continued “I’ve changed. I’m trying to be a better man for you.”

At the sound of his desperate voice, your heart ached a bit. But what broke you even more was the way his eyes were filled with sincerity when it had locked with yours.

“If you just let me, I’ll give you the world.”

You bit your lip and chuckled dryly. If he had asked you this when you had first broken up, your answer would have been clear as day. You would have crawled right back to him and would have fallen back into the same old habits. But now, looking at his glossy eyes and the way he nervously played with his silver rings, your answer was not so certain anymore. You swore this is what you wanted. Then…why didn’t it feel like it?

“I never wanted the world Ni-ki…I just wanted you” A quivering exhale left his lips. From the sound of your words alone, he could already see where this conversation was going. “Why did it have to cost you the loss of me for you to realise you cared?”

There it was. Ni-ki had expected it from the moment he wanted you back. His gaze suddenly faltered from your eyes to the wooden floors, the guilt and shame weighing down upon his shoulders. The familiarity of it all was suffocating. The way you two were back on your sofa, the way only apologies left his lips and the way he felt you slowly drifting further away.

“I don’t know, yn” He softly let out, truly at a loss for what to say. Ni-ki never knows why, but, when he’s facing you like this – vulnerable and hurting – he could never find the right words to say. 

A part of you wanted him to understand how unfair this was for you. How humiliating it is to play with your feelings just because his kept fluctuating. This was the man you thought you were going to marry. But at the sound of his own uncertainty, you realised he was merely a boy with feelings too big for him to even understand. 

“Who’s to say you won’t change your mind again? Change how you feel?” 

At the end of the conversation, it wasn’t awkward. 

No tears were shed by either Ni-ki or you, returning back to eating instead. The two of you would share a couple of laughs and were even able to talk casually without falling into a deafening silence. There were no lingering feelings of resentment, grief nor pain. Just acceptance. Acceptance of the fact that you and Ni-ki no longer hold the same love you once had before. But even so, he still reserved a special place in your heart to foster a new feeling. Something more simple. Something more mature. 

Loving Ni-ki made you realise that even when it's over, love should never be stigmatised for what it has become. Whether it has ended in wedding vows or a teary goodbye, love’s never wasted when it's shared. There’s a beauty in the fleeting moments those temporary to us leave, and it takes a brave heart to accept the inevitability of letting this go. 

Ni-ki was a quiet lover. If it guaranteed your happiness for him to finally step back, he was fine with going back to real life

all interactions are appreciated muah! ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ♡ ©rikiluvrr 2026

[m1ffyp13]

actual war flash backs.

[m1ffyp13]

hello tumblr glad to see you're back after it was down... i missed you.

[m1ffyp13]

how tf do you write a good professor x reader fic

[doomedl-ove]

"are you normal about-" no I'm an insane pervert

[rikiluvrr]

LET ALONE THE ONE YOU LOVE

⎯ NRK 西村 力

𝜗𝜚⋆₊˖ : The saying goes, ‘distance makes the heart grow fonder’, yet the more Ni-ki pushes you away, the more you feel your heart breaking piece by piece

ꨄ︎ toxic!ni-ki x fem!reader

cw ✶ lovers-to-exes angst breakup slight fluff swearing

wc 2.4k

. ♬ ݁˖ Now playing: “Let alone the One you Love” – Olivia Dean

"Thought I was done with this feeling

Really thought you could be him"

You first noticed it at Jaeyun’s birthday party.

The way Ni-ki’s eyes would subtly avert from yours, the absence of his touch from the small of your back and the way you awkwardly stood beside him whilst he laughed with his friends. You didn’t think much of it at first. After all, this wasn’t your scene. It was Ni-ki’s. You were never the type to join the sweaty intoxicated bodies feeling up on one another. Nor were you the type to voluntarily join a beer pong tournament just to get your ass handed to you. But here you were, watching your boyfriend do exactly that, absentmindedly ignoring you to miss another shot.

As the strobe lights casted a red hue on his sharp features, you couldn’t help but admire him like he was Adonis reincarnate. His cheeks were flushed with a tinge of pink whilst he ran his fingers through his slicked back locks, sporting the same boyish grin that you grew to love so dearly. Even when it felt as though you didn’t belong, you still wanted to find a place in Ni-ki’s world where you could witness this softer, carefree and loving side of him. You planted a light kiss to his cheek before you excused yourself to the kitchen for some water. 

Weaving your way through the crowd, the air of vape and tequila had travelled in every corner of the house. Even in the kitchen, the smell of wasted college students still lingered around. You quickly grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and decided to take a small breather from Ni-ki and his drunk friends. Where you were was a lot more calm, albeit with the occasional couple making out near the pantry, but besides that it was the nice and quiet. Yet, as Drake’s ‘Trust Issues’ sounded through the drywalls, a heavy feeling weighed down on you as you catch a glimpse of Ni-ki from afar. 

Insecurity was a bitch, and right now she’s in the form of a cute brunette laughing a little too hard at Ni-ki’s joke. It’s not that you didn’t trust him. You knew he would never cheat. But that didn’t stop the devil on your shoulder reminding you of all your exes who DID cheat. The ones who left your heart shattered for Ni-ki to piece back together. The ones who rewired your whole understanding of love. Suddenly, the room felt too loud, too hot and too much. You couldn’t even bring yourself to look away as she leans closer to him. The longer you stared, the more the all-too-familiar, disgusting, insecure feeling gnaws at every part of your skin.

"Thought I was safe

You were the warmth that I needed

Like a breeze in the evening"

You remember how nervous he was on that day. He could barely hold eye contact with you and every time he spoke, he kept fumbling his words. It was cute really. You’ve never seen thee Riki Nishimura act this way since you’ve been friends with him. 

Friends. 

That’s how it first started between the two of you.

You probably should thank Mr. Kim on that second period of a Tuesday. Back then, you came to know Ni-k as the tall and quiet soccer player who you had been assigned to as lab partners. At first, it was awkward. He didn’t talk to you much and even when he did, it never exceeded more than three words. But somehow, his short replies gradually shifted from ‘okay’ and ‘I don’t know” to asking what you had next period or what your plans were for the weekend. The two of you grew more comfortable with one another day by day that you'd even find yourself looking forward to his persistent teasing every class. 

Yet, on a random winter day, that bickering mouth of his had suddenly lost its ego whilst he stood awkwardly in front of your house. It wasn’t like him to come to your place without telling you, especially not that late in the evening. 

“Ni-ki? Why didn’t you tell me you were coming over?”

“The books I borrowed from you…um I came to return it..?”

Confusion was plastered all over your face. Not only did you not remember lending him any books, but he was also standing in front of you empty-handed.

“It’s in the back trunk..uhm..so you should probably get it.” He cleared his throat and straightened his posture whilst all you could do was give him a suspicious look, heading to his trunk and opening it. 

“I swear, Ni-ki, if this is one of your pranks aga-” 

You gasped. Heart-shaped balloons started to float in the air as fairy lights scattered itself among the bed of rose petals. A basket of all your favorites, a bouquet of flowers and a sign reading: “Will you be my girlfriend?” all stared back at you whilst Ni-ki stood in silence, nervous of what you were about to say. Despite the cold air, his ears were dusted with a bright shade of red and he couldn’t stop fidgeting with his hands. The longer the silence dragged out, the more Ni-ki swore his heart was going to escape his ribcage. Yet, it was as if time had stopped itself, when you had turned to him with the most smitten and brightest smile that adorned your face. 

“Yes!”

"And then you changed

You're all the same, yeah"

You couldn’t exactly remember when it had all started. From subtle excuses to complete ghosting, it was hard to say what part you played in Ni-ki’s world. Hell, if you were even apart of it. He seemed to have existed in the fragments of instagram stories, posts and his occasional ‘good morning :)” texts. That was the thing with Ni-ki. Your relationship somehow developed into something like a swinging pendulum; days where he was present and days where he completely disappeared. He was no longer the constant in your life that creeped its way into every passing moment, instead he was only there when it was convenient. 

Sometimes at night, when the empty side on your bed felt too cold, you’d reminisce back on when you and Ni-ki first started dating. There were moments where the two of you could spend hours talking about everything yet nothing at the same time. And even in the quiet, autumn dawns, a comfortable silence would fall between you where no words were shared yet a million affirmations were felt.

He’d show up at your door multiple times with a bouquet in his hand “just because”; so much so that a vase was now dedicated just for him and his flowers. He fitted perfectly into your world. In your routine. Until suddenly, he didn’t.

You looked at the wilting tulips and lilies in the ceramic vase, a small reminder of what your love has come to be. Withered, old and dried.

"It's too much to mend

You're the hug that had to end

Though I've tried to hold on"

Then, you noticed it during the breakup. Not once did Ni-ki cry. The boy, who once burst into tears at the ending of ‘The Notebook’, couldn’t even shed a single one on the day he lost you.

Sitting two feet apart from one another, the silence that fell between you two was no longer comforting. This time, there were no words shared yet you both knew what was bound to happen. You just didn’t know who’d take the first step. Even as he sat on your couch, it was as if it was his first time visiting your house. Like he didn’t practically live there at one point. Tears pricked the corner of your eyes as you try to find the right words to say. You rehearsed how it would all go down in your room days prior; How you would keep a strong front when you say ‘its over’. But you were simply a girl who wore her heart on her sleeve, and facing him in person felt different. It felt all too real. 

When you opened your mouth to say something, nothing came out but a sob. Ni-ki’s gaze immediately softened when he had noticed your tears. He stood up and sat right next to you, arms wrapped around your shoulders as he pulled you in. Even in these moments, your heart still ached from how much you loved him. You couldn’t bring yourself to hate the smell of his cedarwood perfume or hate the gentle way his palm soothed your back. In that moment, you realised, you’ve really done it. You were basically bleeding right in front of the shark.

“I-I thought you were the one” Looking up at him with tears brimming your eyes, you searched for some kind of sign in his expression. A sign he wanted to stay. But you were only met with the same tired and solemn face. He cupped your cheeks and could only kiss your tears away. 

“I know…I know…”

Your grip on his hoodie softened as you took it upon yourself to break away from the hug. His hands reached out to tuck the loose strand of hair from your face, but you pulled away before he could. You couldn’t do this anymore. You knew you would never hate him, but you also knew that deep down, you hated the girl you had become because of him. One who was insecure. One who spent her days overthinking. Without realising it, your fingers mindlessly laced with his.

“I love you so much, but I also love myself more to know that I deserve better than this” 

Ni-ki chuckled dryly, a lump had formed on his throat before he blinked away the tears that threatened to come out. He also never understood when it had all changed. Never knowing why one day, he no longer felt that blooming feeling in his heart whenever you were around. Back then, he used to easily spot you in a room full of people. But now, you were just there. Simply blending with crowd. He could’ve ended it but instead, he kept pushing you away until you cut him off yourself. 

“You know I’ll always be here for you, right?” He whispered ever so lightly, scared his words would only break you more.

“I know.”

That summer night was spent talking, reflecting, and understanding one another. You poured the rawest part of you to him on a silver platter, telling him all the times he made you feel like shit. Which was a lot of times. Ni-ki listened, offering only apologies in return. 

It wasn’t until 1 in the morning that he decided to leave. He stepped outside as you stood by your open door, watching every one of his moves. You felt the sinking feeling that this was really it. Ni-ki was no longer yours. He turned around one more time to face you, knowing goodbye was the hardest part of any breakup. For one last time, he pulled you in for another hug as his arms tightened around you. You didn’t want this to end. You wanted to stay in Ni-ki’s embrace until all the pain seized. But before you could find yourself crawling back to him, he let go and walked back to his car. 

Closing the front door, a new chapter had opened. 

"And if you knew me at all

You wouldn't try to keep me small"

The first few weeks after the breakup hurt.

Everything around you seemed to want to remind you of how pathetically single you now were. Whether it was your friends’ posts with their boyfriends, a cafe filled with couples having brunch dates or the cheesy romcom recommendations on Netflix; everything led back to Ni-ki. Even when you weren’t looking at his Instagram account, you’d see how yours was empty of any trace of him and your heart ached a little. It got to a point where you would find yourself scrolling through your archived highlight titled ‘ki♡” just to numb the loneliness in you.

And, of course, just to rub even more salt in the wound, Ni-ki would always find a way to feature in Jaeyun’s stupid dump posts, looking like he was having the time of his life. Who would have known losing a three year long relationship could make anyone look that happy.

But what really gave you a hard slap on the face was Ni-ki posting a story for the first time after you had broken up. You opened it expecting to see his usual fit checks, practice video or a photo with the boys. But, what you certainly did not expect was a repost of another girl’s story. At first glance, it looked like a normal mirror selfie of two awfully close friends. But with your eyes, you didn’t miss the way Ni-ki looked at her the way he use to looked at you. Adoringly and lovingly. And you most definitely could not have missed the way she looked effortlessly pretty wearing one of his favourite hoodies that you had gifted him. Fuck you, Nishimura Riki.

Ever since you were dating, he rarely reposted any of the couple pictures you would post and was even more reluctant to introduce you to his friends as his girlfriend. He’d excuse himself by saying that “the only people who need to know about us is us” and you believed it at first. You wanted to think that all he wanted was a bit of privacy in your relationship, not wanting to be those couples who’d flaunt how much they loved each other in public. But, there was a thin line between privacy and secrecy that blurred every time he denied your relationship in front of your parents or your own friends. Of course, insecurity would manage to seep its way into your thoughts every time it happened, asking the same question: did Ni-ki really love you?

It was stupid to think. You knew Ni-ki loved you. There was no doubt about it. You noticed it in the way his eyes brightened when you had your first kiss. You noticed it when he’d slow down his pace just to match yours. You noticed it in all the little things Ni-ki did that showed he cared. But those moments in the past could never compensate for the pain he inflicted in the present. You were strong for bearing his disrespect, but now, you were even stronger in learning how to walk away. 

You taught yourself how to let go because you knew what Ni-ki had become was never a product of affection. Because, after all..

Who would do that to a friend

Let alone the one you love?

[m1ffyp13]

this is why dating sucks 😪

[doomedl-ove]

Fuck freak for freak let's go yearn for yearn

[m1ffyp13]

fratboy!sukuna

banner made through canva, by @ / m1ffyp13

authors’ note – this is my first time even writing for a smut or on this acc, so I hope you enjoy it and also please tell me if I missed anything! … listen to ‘so high’ or ‘been like this’ by doja, cause i listened to it while making this so i hope the vibe of the song really came through. enjoy! ദ്ദി◝ ⩊ ◜.ᐟ

mdni.

cw : smut, frat!sukuna, fem!reader, uni au, situationship to ???, pet names (babe, baby, ma), slight text-fic format, missionary, penetration, exhibitionism, dirty talk, protected sex, fingering, cunninglingus, slight pussy slapping (with his tip), slight overstim?, needy(ish) sukuna.

wc: 2.9k

You and your friends finally got the hang-out outside of the group chat and you find yourself laughing, dressed up in your sleep outfits. This was a hang out in which you haven't told Sukuna why or who you’re with, so from the moment you stepped into Anna’s house, your best friend… you had an idea of what you were getting yourself into.

But you didn’t care. Why care? Sukuna wasn’t your boyfriend.

You sit on the cold wooden floor, legs crossed and your back almost touching the feet of the long four-seater couch. Jen, another close friend of yours, turns and suggests a new romcom to pass the time. All five of you agree and start to gather close to the tv.

On the topic of relationships, they mock and tease you about your current boyfriend ‘situationship’ with the notable frat boy from Alpha Phi, Ryomen Sukuna. You previously told them about your current situation that's been going on for at least a year now, well… all the good parts. When he’d buy you flowers, simply “just because” and the sweet remarks he'd say when he’d take you out for some ‘date’. those are what tugs a small smile in the corner of your lips. You never told them the arguments that were filled with uncertainty or the questions you had on why he hasn't committed to you yet. Now you're trying to defend your honour, all while your friends joke about how much of a dick he probably is.

“Guys- Please he isn't like that!” You exclaim.

The other four girls laugh and when you finally compose yourself, the little name ‘Sukuna’ pops up and into your notification centre.

“Ohh i wonder who~” Anna sings.

“It's no one.” You lie to them, internally wishing it was actually nobody.

You push yourself up off the ground using one hand, while the other holds your locked phone. Adjusting yourself, you mutter “I’ll be back”, eyes already glued as you unlock the phone. Now with your back against the cold wall you open your messages….

Sighing after you hit send, you think about how he probably just wants to eat you out.

 You’re almost disappointed...

But you're not opposed to the idea. Because when he is, he’d go at it for hours, fuck it was good, but you genuinely got sick of having to be some sorta pillow princess with his head stuffed between your upper thighs, munching away.  

His notification pops up again but you  choose to leave him on seen.

Before you join the other girls in the living room, you breath through your nose, preparing yourself for the teasing. 

“Andd she's back!” Jen giggles “Sexting again?” 

You roll your eyes, tongue poking the inside of your cheek. 

The hang out turns into soft giggles over phone scrolls, checking your phone and answering random questions from whatever app they saw. Before you knew it, it was already 10pm and you took a mental note of the missed messages from Sukuna on your phone.    

—

He preferred waiting, letting you drift away. Far enough before you inevitably came back to him on your own terms.

But tonight felt different. 

Sure enough, your friends were already packing away their things, about to leave and with your back against Anna’s kitchen counter, you feel your phone buzz and a second later a sudden car beeps outside. Quickly glancing at your phone you catch his notification… 

Sukuna: ‘Im outside’ 

You groan to yourself, Is he fucking serious??? Your jaw tightens as you push yourself off the counter and head toward the hallway leading to the front door. Anna and a few of the girls trail behind you.

“Who is it?” One asked.

“It’s Sukuna.” Your tone is already filled with annoyance. 

When you twist the door handle open, you’re not only greeted by the cold air and a sharp breeze, but by Sukuna’s dark grey Mazda CX-5 idling along the curb, headlights cutting through the night and tinted windows you can barely see through. 

A beep breaks the silence. Before his car door slowly opens, painfully slow. 

Once the  girls catch Sukuna’s car they shrug it off, disappearing into the house without a second thought. Sukuna is already walking towards you in a white shirt underneath a zipped-up loose fitted black jacket and his dark gray baggy sweatpants, that seem to emphasise certain parts. You put your head down as you too step closer, avoiding his gaze. 

“You didn’t even tell me you were here” Annoyed, his eyebrows narrowed. 

“Well I did plus, it’s not my job to report back to you.” Your voice firm, “Seems like you found me anyways.” 

He opens his mouth before closing it right back up, he crosses his arms over his chest  He scoffs, poking the inside of his cheek.  

The cold’s getting to me… you think to yourself.

He huffs and for a second, glances away before bringing his gaze back down to you “Okay but fuck- you can’t just leave me on seen and expect me to think you’re okay” His gaze rakes over you, from to your shirt down to your sweatpants. 

“I'm here now.” Sukuna said, exhaling slowly. With a softer dynamic, his eyes meet yours, “Came to pick you up anyways…. You done or what?”

“Yeah- It’s almost over anyways”

“Ight, ill take you home..” Sukuna says, as he pretends he wasn’t pissed off a minute ago.

– –

Minutes later you’re in the passenger seat, your bags stuffed between your legs while the engine hums underneath you. One of his hands on the steering wheel and his other hand hesitates before it then settles on your lower thigh, his touch firm but unsure.

The silence starts to eats you alive.

You mumble, “why did you come?”

Your eyes lingering on him, you mutter “And don't give me that bullshit- it’s cause I left you on seen”

He doesn't respond immediately but he gently firms his hand on you. Sukuna grumbles, “Uhm…Okay wait, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause a scene back there”

You’re almost stunned, your head turns to see him, his red eyes focused on the road and his hand gently squeezing the wheel, Him, saying sorry? Since when?

“It's.. it’s fine” You mumble before turning your head back.

Sukuna parks the car along your driveway, locking the car once you leave. You can hear him huff under his nose once you reach the door. He holds it open and before you know it Sukuna is already closing and locking the door right behind him. He reaches out and holds onto your wrist, gently enough for you to notice and turn back to face him.

In a breathy voice he whispers, “I waited for you…” – –

Now he has you pinned down, moaning, whimpering, with his calloused hands gripping and gently pushing the back of your knee close to your chest. He didn't even bother removing most of his clothes, only focused on removing the clothes that he says are, “covering what’s mine”. You wish he did remove them though, you did in-fact like how his abdomen would accidentally brush against your stomach whenever he goes up to kiss your open mouth. And how whenever you’re close he'd slow down. Slow and long strokes with his cock were his forte, and sometimes you find yourself surprised at how little he does that. 

“Su..Sukuna” you pant.

Your hands gently, but not entirely, push his head away in effort to not cum. You glance down as he persistently stays on you, his head closing in as he laps his tongue across your damp softness, “Told you-” another lap, "I’ve been good, I even waited for you to finish your hang out” Never stopping, Sukuna’s blood red eyes meet yours. 

You think to yourself about how you have a fucking paper due tomorrow morning. Yet here you are sprawled against your own bed and your boyfriend Sukuna’s tongue pushing inside your cunt.

Your chest heaths up and down, moaning loud as you cum from just his mouth. You glance down as he doesn't stop.

“Why are you -ah-... talking like that?” You moan under your breath. 

Your hips buck against his mouth as you try to stay still, you feel a wave rush in you with a now lingering feeling on your sensitive clit. 

You squirm your hips and try to adjust, without a word, he gently lets go of the back of your knees, while his arms gently hold onto your mid thigh, letting your legs hang in the air  Fuck you, Ryomen Sukuna, you say to yourself, you can’t seem to fathom why or how he has you so easily folded for him. But you enjoy how he can have you bent over because you want to, because he likes knowing he helps you feel pleasure.

You throw your head back as he continues, not even coming up for air… Your breathing became hitched, shallow and your head filled with how good he makes you soak your sheets. Your thoughts were suddenly interrupted by his husk and low voice. 

“Ay, stop getting distracted and look at me”.

And you do… you catch the side of his cheek resting against your inner thigh, one hand keeping him and your leg up while his other hand had his slicked fingers gently circling your clit. 

Your body twitches.. “W-ah-What?” you huffed.

“I said, look at me”

Why is he so serious?, you shake the thought away while your body tries to compose itself, all while Sukuna’s greedy fingers go from small swirling to slipping and curling inside your warmth. 

“What’s wrong?” he says, not even making eye contact anymore, eyeing his fingers in your pussy. 

You don't respond, struggling to find words as you’re too busy enjoying how his fingers curl in and his thumb reaching above, teases your throbbing clit. 

He removes his fingers, glistening under the warm lighting of your bedroom.  

“You’re so wet” he whispers, as he licks away the wetness on his fingers. Sukuna’s mouth goes right back down between your quivering thighs.

Your chest slowly rises and falls and his tongue has never felt better. You take a moment to ground yourself, to look at him. Him and his messy light pink hair and his well-structured back, slightly peeking from under his shirt  as he savours you. 

You feel him pull away and although you can barely see him, you feel his warm breath inches away from your face. 

“I'm not mad at you” you softly mumble, you were expecting something, expecting him to do something. 

“I never said I thought you were mad at me.”  Sukuna says.    

“You always ask for this, to have- you know.” Your eyes try to search for his in the dark.

“I'm sorry, did you want more?” 

Measured, he says "Because I can give you more”.

He presses his forehead on yours and his two fingers find their way to gently circle your clit. 

“Ah- maybe I do want more” you moan. Rolling your head back, you feel his head fall gently onto your neck. His lips kissing at your neck as your soft moans fill the room.  

He wonders, and in a cocky tone he says, “Is that bad?”

You pant, knowing you give up, “N…No, it's not bad at all” 

Sukuna removes his two fingers from your pussy. You feel the cold air against your slick as he kneels over you, clothed, sweaty and needy. – He strips off his white shirt, tossing it to the ground. His hands trails down to his sweatpants, as if he knows you’re watching him. His fingers then pushed down the elastic band, pushing it lower and leaving it once the band surpassed his boxers. 

Sukuna’s bulge was strained against his boxers, aching to be let out, you let out a small whimper as you finally looked up to see his face and was met with a small curl in the corner of his lips.  

“Should I make you feel good with my cock?” He slightly tilts his head to the side. 

Mouth opened, you nod slowly as you hold yourself up with your elbows.

“Asshole” You murmur. 

“Forgive me then” His lips find yours, gently tugging at the bottom of your lip as he reaches down, stroking himself.

He grunts between kisses, “Use your words. Tell me.” 

Before you knew it, his rough grunts turn to soft moans against your lips as he strokes himself a little longer. He pulls away from the kiss, and groans to himself as he looks down to watch his own hand pumping himself. 

“Can I? Or are you gonna watch me?” He grumbles.

For some odd reason he seems… different. By now he’d stuff himself in and let you lay down all pretty-looking for him. But now, he’s asking for you. And while your throat runs dry, mouth a gap and struggling to even blink away, you watch him grunt at his own hand.  

“Ma- please…” He groans, he turns his gaze up and catches your eyes as it watches his hand on his cock. He notices and slows down, you immediately look up. 

“That caught your eye.” He mutters. 

He lets go of his now throbbing cock and reaches his hand up to your cheek,

“Can I make you cum, baby?” He whispers, enough so it’s just the two of you. 

"Yes.. please” you whisper.

 You were already seeing stars but his question really did it for you. 

You catch him putting on a condom and you wait patiently. While he rolls it on, he turns his gaze to you, almost admiring you. He pauses before finally opening his mouth.  

“Baby- I have something to ask after this, okay?” He softly pants.

Sukuna gently goes back into position and you nod, wrapping your legs loosely around his waist. 

“Breath.” He whispers, as if he was reminding himself.

He holds the base of his cock softly dragging the tip of his head onto your wet folds, momentarily tapping against your throbbing clit before dragging it down and sliding inside. 

He slips in and his mouth turns slightly agape. 

“Ah–ahh”

His breathing becomes shallow and he doesn't move, as if he’s starstruck at how you wrapped so tightly around him. 

He moans your name, as his hips twitch an inch closer to you, causing the head of his cock to push deeper inside. 

Sukuna’s eyes stayed locked onto his cock, creating slow and long strokes as he moved his hips with an in and outward motion. One of his hands firmly grips the side of your hip, while his fisted hand rests comfortably beside your head, holding himself up before he loses himself to you. 

“Ah- It’s fine- S-Sukuna, you can go harder”

Without a second thought, he pulls your hips closer and his tip kisses your cervix.

 “Ah- fuck-“ He groans under his breath. 

He gets used to the feeling before thrusting deeply into your soaked cunt, he was losing his mind in you. 

“Mm Suh-Sukuna!” You pant incoherently between soft moans, panting whenever he’d hit a sweet spot. “Mm… d-don’t stop…ah” You moan louder as your grip onto his shoulders.

He leans in closer, now resting his weight against his forearm. The hand on the side of your hip slowly trails down to then circling over your clit, all while Sukuna grinds his cock into you. 

“Ah-“ You gasp, slightly arching your back off the bed as you feel his fingers swirl against your throbbing clit and his cock coaxing you to cum. 

“You sound so pretty…” He whispers before leaning in and kissing the side of your face, his kisses trail down and onto your collarbone. 

You feel a familiar wave rush through you, “Ke-ah-keep doing that-“ You muttered, as he thrusts a bit harder.  

“Yes ma’am” He smiles. Still rubbing circles onto your aching clit. 

He circles his fingers faster against your clit, thrusting faster alongside the tormenting fingers. You feel your pelvis twitch up, legs quiver beside him and soft mewls escape your mouth. 

“Ah- fuck.. Sukuna just like that-” you moan.  You felt a continuous tangle inside you — waiting for you to cum. 

Before you knew it, you had your legs lightly shaking around his waist, both his hands shake as they grip the sheets above your head. You reach a hand out and hold onto his forearm, while he thrusts senseless into your dripping ecstasy. 

“That’s it” He praises under his breath, pressing his forehead on yours. You suddenly feel warm inside as he slides in slowly, leaving you with long and deep strokes. 

You whimper at the feeling, the wave prolongs as you feel his slow pace and cock throbbing against your tight walls.

He catches his breath before asking, “You good?” He pants. 

Your breath slightly shaking, you were speechless and fucked too much to form actual words. You muster up a soft, “Mmph- mhm” 

He stays inside you as you clamp around him, still twitching from beforehand. He left out a slight moan “Ah- I’ll stay still” He chuckles to himself. 

He grinds sweetly inside of you, you gasp for air and your finger grip into his forearm.

“I wanna go on a date, a real date. Is that okay with you?” He whispers, kissing the hickeys he left in your neck just from tonight. You glance down, catching his ears dusted with pink as he avoids your eyes.

“Really? Yeah, i’d like that” 

And it hits… maybe you can be more.

© 2026 m1ffyp13. Do not modify, translate or plagiarise in any way on any platforms.

[saintlotus03]

sukuna lives rent free in my head fr, I can't stop doodling him lol

[uniicorns-arereall]

you know what, fuck it be free, keep reading that bad fan fiction, keep writing that bad fanfiction, keep using y/n, keep staying up to 4 a.m reading x reader, to be cringe is too be free

(just NO a.i)