Gotta be a lil delulu

touche me with your kiss, feel me on your lips

[nanamisgirly]

... 𝓦𝓮𝓵𝓬𝓸𝓶𝓮 𝓱𝓸𝓶𝓮 𝓖𝓲𝓻𝓵𝔂 ! ( 流謁 )

you can call me girly ⭒.ᐟ 2ne2 yo!!

✿ 𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐋-𝐁𝐄𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄!

࣪ ׅ 𐔌 𝓛ayout of the new room ⋮ ⌗ Don’t Hide From Us ! ꒱ ִ ࣪ ׅ

MIGHT YOU LOOK DEEPER ᴀɴᴅ ᴜɴᴄᴏᴠᴇʀ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏᴡɴᴇʀ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ 𝗚𝗶𝗿𝗹𝘆 𝗵𝗼𝘂𝘀𝗲 ɪs ᴡɪʟʟɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴏꜰꜰᴇʀ ʏᴏᴜ? DON'T BE AFRAID, STEP TROUGH THE DOOR .ᐟ

࣪ ׅ 𐔌 SLUTOBER!! ꒱ ִ ࣪ ׅ

𝐀𝐒𝐊𝐒 𝐘𝐀𝐏 𝐀𝐎𝟑 reblogs reblogs mootie to be added to the permanent taglist : form

[nanamisgirly]

could we please have the lads men overstimulating the reader so much that she tries to run (primal play) but doesn’t want him to stop?

i did write smthg like that : click here and enjoy :3

[nanamisgirly]

I am OBSESSED with womanizer!Geto, please never go bald ily and your writing!!! 😭

How do you think he’d react to an old ‘close’ friend stopping by to visit reader? This old friend is someone Geto didn’t expect either. Tall, brooding, HANDSOME and dark. He’s staunch and scary but has always been sweet on our oblivious reader and maybe that’s what makes everything worse in Geto’s eyes LOL.

Even tho Geto has devoted himself to reader I’m still holding a grudge over that man, I want to see more grovelling tbh 😭😂

OUUUUUUH wait u have my full attention on this!! what about choso being the childhood friends and hitting on reader IN FRONT OF GETO?? uuuuugh wait imma make that twisted af bro how i love messiness all over the floor 😛

but first i need to finish this nerd!choso fic putting naoya at his place when he disrespects reader …

guys istg i have so many thing in my head but such little time/motivation

[spideyyeet]

you’re dense asf if you’re saying the Israeli government is the problem.

Israel as a WHOLE — the very EXISTENCE of it — is a fucking cancer, and that includes the SETTLERS that actively KILL and r@pe Palestinians with the backing of the STATE OF ISRAEL. And YES every single Israeli is a settler, because they choose to stay and live on stolen Palestinian land. And to those that say, what about the Israeli’s that don’t like their government and stand for a two state solution? you’re even dumber than I thought. If there was a two state solution then Israel would have to stop annexing the West Bank, and killing children, women, and men in Gaza, AND the West Bank, which they would never do because it’s a joy for them. but even if a 2 state solution is possible, what about my grandfathers home? my grandmothers home? the homes, villages, and land stolen in 1948 that Israelis live in now? yeah they never talk about that do they?

France occupied Algeria for 130 years, so Israel will fall and Palestine will be free in my life time!

so genuinely, from the very very bottom of my heart, I hope Israel and any person that calls themselves a “liberal Zionist” or a “liberal Israeli” burns in the PITS OF HELL🔻

[nanamisgirly]

How about edging nerdjo for a change with restraints like the dog he is pwease 🗣️🗣️

“i have to tell you something,” your boyfriend starts. “i, uhm, was talking with suguru and—” he lets his face buries in between your breasts, as though hiding his face deeper will erase the redness creeping up his pale skin. he's truly gathering all his will-power not to sound dumb and express what he wants.

“tell me more,” you chuckle slightly, letting your hands wander on his white fluffy hair, tugging a bit so his head lift and his blue piercent eyes meet yours. 

nerd!gojo chew his inside cheek, glasses sliding down slighting from his nose, arms thightly closing around your waist where he lays in between your legs. “first you gotta promise you won't make fun..”

“i promise” you murmur.

“you say that now, but you always laugh when i—ugh, this is stupid.”

“it's not stupid if it's important to you,” you soothe, tugging again forcing his gaze to lock on you—letting him see you're honest. 

he stares for a long second, then blurts in one breath, “suguru asked me if i was into—into, uh.. edging. with a… collar. and i said i didn't know. i've never tried anything like that before, because—because, you know, you're my first and i don't know what i like yet, but i think maybe,” he pouts oh so slightly and cutely, the tip of his ears completely tomato colored now. “i might like it.. with you.” the words tumble out, clumsy and quick.

your brows lift, lips curving wickedly. you did not expect your sweety nerd to propose you something like that. he was more on the side of proposing you a cute date at a coffee shop where he got to study and hold your hand delicately—and maybe steal some kisses there and here when he was sure no one was looking. 

“a collar?” you echo, savoring the way he instantly ducks his face back down against your chest. “like you'd be my pretty little pet?”

he shakes his head weakly. ”y-you said you wouldn't—"

“i didn't laugh, did i?” you interrupt, letting your nails trail down slowly to the back of his neck. “i'm just askin'. don't you think it'd be cute? you on your knees, whining while i tug on that collar…”

a broken noise escapes him. his arms tighten around you and his hips buck.

you garb his chin and tilt his face up, “oh, you do like that,” you whisper, dragging your thumb over his lower lip. “you like the idea of me pulling on a leash while you're falling apart. god, you're filthy satoru.”

“is it—” his breath catches in his throat as your thumb insists firmly against his lower lip. “is it a bad thing? i just… wanna try it… with you.”

you use your hips to culbute his body—so you can straddle his hips. his wrists are firmly pushed against the bed by your hands. “my good boy,” you coo, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “you'll beg so pretty for me when we do. but unfortunately," you let your mouth wander on his neck, taking his Adam's apple in your lips, sucking delicately. “i don't have a collar, so next t—”

“the drawer.”

“mh?” you stop momentarily your succion, and if you're honest with yourself you're a bit dazed by his scent, his skin, his boner pressing against your core deliciously. 

“the drawer, i—” his nostrils flare as he fights to inhale some air into his system. “mgh, a collar.. in the drawer.”

“you put a collar in your drawer?” you ask mockingly and with a hint of disbelief as you extend an arm to reach the promising drawer.

“that's—” he gulps audibely as your mouth form an O to the sight of the said collar. his cheeks warm up and he prompts on his elbows before continuing. “i bought one after i talked with suguru.”

“oh, my sweet sweet boy,” you settle your weight on his lower abdomen, knees on each part of his side, fingertips tracing the collar. you let it dangles from your fingers, swaying just above his throat, and you watch his eyes track it—the vibrate sky blue color of his eyes eaten up by his dark pupils.

“i think you want this more than you want to breathe, don't you?”

his lips part, words fumbling. “I—I just—”

“no excuses. beg.”

the command slices through him. his cheeks turn a deeper shade of crimson, his throat boobs once again before finally letting out a small, cracked whine. “please. please put it on me.”

“oh, my god.” you laugh as his cock throbs uncontrollably against your ass, twitching with every syllable you say. “you're so so pathetic, satoru. pathetic and perfect. that i must admit.”

he squeezes his eyes shut as you lean down, expecting your lips to meet his... But his body arches up as you straddle him harder, grinding down against his erection and the tip of your tongue traces his earlobe. his glasses slide precariously to the tip of his nose, and you can feel the frantic rise of his chest beneath you. 

“shhh, don't get too excited.” you snap the collar around his throat in one motion, letting the silver ring rest against the hollow there. you tug lightly, “there. my good pretty boy, all collared and ready.”

you roll your hips once, as a result a strangled whimper fills the silence. he trashes under you, but you keep it firm, holding his wrists together with his cravat that was discharged on the bed earlier. “all tied up, hm?” 

you lift your hips enough to stop the pressure on his length. immediately, instinctively, he bucks up hard to chase your heat, whining when he can't reach.  

“pathetic,” you purr, pressing your palm to his chest to pin him flat again. “so needy you can't even think straight. so what should i start with?”

his answer is only another broken whine, his body straining—his large hands closing and opening on the fabric binding his wrists, tears already pricking at the corner of his eyes.

you drag the fat of your thumb slowly over his flushed cheek, and the smallest squeak tumbles out of his generous mouth before he can swallow it down. 

“squeaking already?” you mock, lips curling into a pout that quickly twists into a grin. “my pitiful little genius can’t even handle a collar? and i haven’t even tugged on this magnificent chain yet.”

his whole body jerks at the word chain. his head shakes frantically, white hair a wild halo, glasses hanging crooked. “n-no! i can—”

“you can, what?” the thin layers of clothing between you do nothing to dull the heat of your slick core dragging against his cock; he’s rock-hard, twitching, leaking, and you know he feels every pulse of it.

“i want to—ahh—” his voice cracks humiliatingly high—veins standing out on his forearms with how tightly he’s pulling against his own cravat. 

his whimper is guttural, strangled in his throat, and the collar ring clinks faintly as his body trembles beneath you. you seize it between your fingers and give it a sharp tug, enough to have his head tilt back, baring his flushed throat. his breath stutters, chest rising high, lips parting in a shocked gasp.

“you can't even keep your eyes open when i pull,” you tease, your free hand sliding down from his throat, past his frantic chest, over his twitching stomach and you stop at his happy trail. letting your nails graze over the skin. your fingers plays with the white curls under his navel—his whole body tighten, anticipation written in every nerve of him. 

your palm hovers over the bulge in his pants, the fabric straining so hard you think it might actually crack. “sweetheart,” you croon, brushing your knuckles over him lazily. he bucks up instantly, desperate, and you pull your hand away, leaving him to grind against nothing. “all that brainpower, and this is what short-circuits you? a collar and my hand almost touching your cock?”

satoru finds struggle to focus on your pretty face. all he sees is a blurry figure, the tears not helping to see you. and his eyes rolling back each time you pull on the chain isn't helping either. 

“my clever little genius, too shy to admit he wanted to be collared like a pet. tell me, when you ordered it, did you imagine me snapping it on you like this? did you imagine me all rough and yanking you around by your pretty throat?”

his answer dissolves into stuttering, incoherent noises as you tug again. the sound he makes is somewhere between a whine and a moan, high-pitched. 

“you did,” you breathe, grinning as you watch the panic and arousal wage war in his expression. “you’re disgusting. you probably touched yourself to the thought of me chaining you up, didn’t you? that's what you saw in your stupid hentai too, didn't you?”

“th-that’s not—!” his voice breaks off into a groan when you roll your hips suddenly, grinding your heat over the outline of his cock. his glasses slip again, barely clinging to the bridge of his nose.

you lean down, voice dropping to a sweet intoxicating melody. “that's okay, ‘toru. you don’t have to lie to me. i'm excited too. you feel the wetness between my thighs, right?” you smirk almost like a psychopath as your much smaller hand pull your panties to the side so your bare pussy could hit direcly and drip over his pants. 

he lets out a choked cry when you remove yourself once again, not letting him enjoy fully your hot core. “n—no please—”

and his protest dies in his throat when your palm dives into his boxer. soft hand cupping the roughness of his dick. he starts bucking up desperately but you stay still—forcing him to grind against your unmoving palm. his whimpers are loud now, unashamed and filling his room.

“that's it. rub yourself against my hand like a dog in heat,” you coo, tugging sharply on the collar until his back arches off the bed. and surprisingly—with a weird angle of his hips—he got your fingertips grazing his leaking tip and a sight of relief leaves his mouth. 

“you look so stupid like this.. there's even drool on the corner of your mouth,” you tilt your head, your tongue darting out to lick it clean. “my brillant little satoru. the oh-so-brillant-sciences-college-nerd reduced to whine for me to touch his cock.”

“please—please, am i good? ain't i good? please—mghn—wanna c-cum so—so bad—ahhhh”

you cut him off sweetly by squeezing him and his strangled noise feels like the greatest reward you could ever receive.

[nanamisgirly]

summary ✧ Pulling a baddie at college is not an easy job, especially when you're a virgin nerd like him. But he makes it his mission to pleasure you by learning how to!

pairing ✧ baddie!kind!fem reader x nerd!gojo

content ✧ established relationship, learning, edging with a pencil, oral sex (f. receiving), very flustered gojo and super comprehensive reader, mention of p in v, eating p€ssy, nipple sucking.

author notes ✧ I enjoy this series sooo much hihi ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ you can read each part individually but I recommend reading it in order ˵^ᴗ^˵ you can also send me asks for this trope ^^^

🫐. Kissing for the first time and he doesn't expect tongue. 🫐. Learning through book and internet for next time! 🫐. Edging you with a pencil. 🫐. Learning how to nipple suck! 🫐. Eating you after your workout. 🫐. A little bit of lipstick here, a little bit of lipstick there..

tag list : open complete this form!

arts cred itadakaymasu & smokeigheh (on x)

[nanamisgirly]

bruuuuh this is classified as mature :((((( HOW DO WE REMOVE TS

[nanamisgirly]

HAPPY INTERNATIONAL WOMANS DAY 🩷🩷🩷

HAPPY VERY LATE INTERNATIONAL WOMANS DAY!!!

don’t forget to be mean to ur bf girlies

[nanamisgirly]

Missed Valentines?( ˶o˶˶o˶) !!! that's okayyy, you're Older!Boyfriend!Nanami is here! (⸝⸝⸝-﹏-⸝⸝⸝)

cw fluff, suggestive, early 20s reader & late 20s to early 30s Nanami, brat and shy reader, HOT HOT HOT KENTO HUUUUUUUH 👅 I did not proofread everything

art cred narutoss.ramen on insta!

My precious <3 : Will be home in 40 minutes! Can’t wait hehe ꒰｡ › ·̮ ‹ ｡꒱

Nanami : Walk safe. I love you.

Your older boyfriend, Nanami Kento, couldn’t suppress the lovesick smile tugging his lips. 

He locked his phone before returning to the kitchen. Usually, he would have picked you up from your last class. But you insisted it wasn’t necessary and you preferred walking on your own, letting your mind breathe. 

After the rough session of partiels you just went through—the last before getting graduated—it was nothing short of exaggerating to say the months were exhausting. Yes, exhaustinnnng.

You had practically barricade yourself in your dorm room for weeks. If it wasn’t necessary or you to go out for groceries, you wouldn’t even have stepped a foot outside. You didn’t even have time to see your dear boyfriend during the whole session. Only sending two or three messages weekly to keep updated. All your focus poured into passing with mention. 

And now that the nightmare was long before you.

Another semester just started. 

And you have plenty of time and will make sure to give a lot of time to Kento. Because he had been nothing but patient. 

He had been nothing but but lovely to you (a really really reallyyyy good boy). 

He always made sure to send, (at the very least), an encouraging message daily. He even went out to do special groceries shopping and prepare you your favorite meal! And, of course, he would drop them off himself.

Driving alllll the way to your dorm. He did not care about the other college student side-eyeing him or eye-fucking him when he passed in the hallway fully dressed in his work clothes and definitely making wonder to why an obvious older man was doing there. 

As for now, Nanami glanced at the tiny egg-shaped Sanrio cooking timer sitting proudly beside the backing tray.

He remembers vividly the day you texted him a blurry picture. He had been at the office, sleeves rolled up, tie slightly loosened, drowning in numbers and reports. His head was throbbing. His patience was thin. The spreadsheet in front of him looked like it personally wanted to fight.. 

But the little attachment ‘It is clearly you! Look at the pout. Im buying it hehe’ He couldn’t stop the smile that curved on his lips. He had leaned back in his chair, shaking his head slightly in disbelief at his girlfriend’s antics.

just enough time for him to get busy preparing his apartment this time.

“Well, 30 minutes left,” he says clapping his hands together, talking to no one but him. “I will make it worth it, baby.”

-

“Kento, I’m mad serious,” your groan when you again miss the step. 

“I am too,” he replies calmly, but the tone of his voice unmistakably carries a hint of teasing and that somehow makes you want to bite him.

Your brows are furrowed, your hands extending before you as if it could any way help your case more. 

“This is not what I had in mind when I imagined our retrouvailles after a whole month.” 

“Well,” he hums softly behind you, tightening his big hands around your waist, chest warm and solid against your back as he guides you forward, “if you could stop complaining and accept the surprise…” 

You’re blindfolded and absolutely hate this. 

“Imma punish you for so fucking long, you have no idea.”

“I would enjoy that my love,” he breathes near your ear, and goosebumps ripple across your skin instantly. He presses a slow kiss to your temple, one hand leaving your waist to fish his keys from his pocket. “But later tonight, mh?”

You once more huff and puff. 

“Hell, no. It will be absolutely after I take this blind—” The rest of your sentence dies.

Because the blindfold slips off. And for a second, your brain completely forgets how to function. Kento’s apartment looks nothing like it usually does.

You can’t quiet remember where your mind was even. Your eyes are trying to send as much information as possible to your brain—trying to absorb as much information as possible.

The lights seem to have been changed for a soft, golden glow. Candles flicker across every surface, carefully disposed on the floor and the furniture. Rose petals—so many that you can’t even see the parquet—trail from the entrance all the way to the dining table. Your favorite flowers sit in a glass vase at the center. The table is dressed properly: linen, cutlery polished, plates already set.

“Kento…” your voice couldn’t carry on the rest of your thoughts. 

He steps behind you again, warm and slightly roughed hand closing around your waist once again. He forces your body closer to his, not letting a single space for air to breathe before he rests his chin on your shoulder. 

“We didn’t celebrate,” he murmurs, nose burying into your hair as he inhales. “You worked too hard. I wasn’t going to let that go unnoticed.”

“My eyes sting,” you mumble quickly, blinking up at the ceiling as if that’ll fix it. “I’m going to look soft-hearted.”

“You are soft-hearted,” he replies without hesitation.

“No, I’m not. I’m mean. And intimidating.”

“Terrifying.” He hums in amusement, peppering your neck with soft kisses.

“You pushed yourself harder than you needed to,” two fingers grip your chin to tilt your face toward him—so you have no choice but to look at him. “I’m proud of you.”

You let out a tiny, frustrated sound and cover your face with your hands. “Stop saying things like that.”

“Praising words?” he deadpans. And fortunately for you, you don’t see the devilish dimple appears as he smirks. You would have actually combusted on the spot. 

One of your hand travels from your face to his shirt. Fingers sneaking beneath his loose shirt and pinching his right nipple, hard. 

He inhales sharply.

“That,” you mutter, trying to sound serious despite the blush still warming your cheeks, “is for making me emotional.”

“I see.” His sharp hazel eyes drops to you slowly. His thumb brushes along your lower lip now, applying slight pressure to open your mouth to an inch. 

“I’m being nice and making a whole home-made-romantic-dinner,” he murmurs, leaning in dangerously. “And your best thank is to attack me?”

You tilt your chin up stubbornly. “Yes.”

His hand leaves your face entirely, only to capture your wrist instead. Said wrist that was still shamelessly attached to his fat nipple. And his much thicker fingers remind you who’s stronger.

Older.

In charge. 

He gently pulls your hand away and turns you in his arms. “If that’s how you choose to behave,” he parts your thighs with his meaty one and steps forward until your back hit the kitchen’s counter. 

Oh.

“I may have to reconsider letting you punish me tonight.” His hands come down on either side of you, palms flat against the counter, effectively caging you in. There’s nowhere to go. Not that you want to. 

You’re exactly where you want to be. 

“You wish.”

Could you have come with a better argument? Yes.

Was your mind functioning, though? No.

“Is that so?” he rasps with the sexiest tone, and it sends a whole chaotic parade of butterflies dancing in your stomach.

He leans down until the tip of his nose traces along your jawline. A feather-light touch. Your breath stutters.

“You’re very brave for someone who was just seconds away from crying.”

“I was not—”

His mouth stops just short of yours. Your body feels like it’s made of flames and static. 

“Oh,” he whispers, barely a breath against your mouth. His eyes are locked on your bratty lips. “But you were.”

a/n wished that was my reality HUGE SIGH

(⇀‸↼‶)

[ef-1]

Israel is bombing Iranian civilians and gleefully put out press release calling it a 'pre-emptive' attack while Iran has been negotiating for weeks. 'Pre-emptive' strikes don't exist in International law. International law doesn't exist either it seems. What exists is Israel, a made up terrorist limb of the cancerous American state and it feeds the capitalist appetite for blood and oil.

[nanamisgirly]

Missed Valentines?( ˶o˶˶o˶) !!! that's okayyy, you're Older!Boyfriend!Nanami is here! (⸝⸝⸝-﹏-⸝⸝⸝)

cw fluff, suggestive, early 20s reader & late to early 30s Nanami, brat and shy reader, HOT HOT HOT KENTO HUUUUUUUH 👅 I did not proofread everything

art cred narutoss.ramen on insta!

My precious <3 : Will be home in 40 minutes! Can’t wait hehe ꒰｡ › ·̮ ‹ ｡꒱

Nanami : Walk safe. I love you.

Your older boyfriend, Nanami Kento, couldn’t suppress the lovesick smile tugging his lips. 

He locked his phone before returning to the kitchen. Usually, he would have picked you up from your last class. But you insisted it wasn’t necessary and you preferred walking on your own, letting your mind breathe. 

After the rough session of partiels you just went through—the last before getting graduated—it was nothing short of exaggerating to say the months were exhausting. Yes, exhaustinnnng.

You had practically barricade yourself in your dorm room for weeks. If it wasn’t necessary or you to go out for groceries, you wouldn’t even have stepped a foot outside. You didn’t even have time to see your dear boyfriend during the whole session. Only sending two or three messages weekly to keep updated. All your focus poured into passing with mention. 

And now that the nightmare was long before you.

Another semester just started. 

And you have plenty of time and will make sure to give a lot of time to Kento. Because he had been nothing but patient. 

He had been nothing but but lovely to you (a really really reallyyyy good boy). 

He always made sure to send, (at the very least), an encouraging message daily. He even went out to do special groceries shopping and prepare you your favorite meal! And, of course, he would drop them off himself.

Driving alllll the way to your dorm. He did not care about the other college student side-eyeing him or eye-fucking him when he passed in the hallway fully dressed in his work clothes and definitely making wonder to why an obvious older man was doing there. 

As for now, Nanami glanced at the tiny egg-shaped Sanrio cooking timer sitting proudly beside the backing tray.

He remembers vividly the day you texted him a blurry picture. He had been at the office, sleeves rolled up, tie slightly loosened, drowning in numbers and reports. His head was throbbing. His patience was thin. The spreadsheet in front of him looked like it personally wanted to fight.. 

But the little attachment ‘It is clearly you! Look at the pout. Im buying it hehe’ He couldn’t stop the smile that curved on his lips. He had leaned back in his chair, shaking his head slightly in disbelief at his girlfriend’s antics.

just enough time for him to get busy preparing his apartment this time.

“Well, 30 minutes left,” he says clapping his hands together, talking to no one but him. “I will make it worth it, baby.”

-

“Kento, I’m mad serious,” your groan when you again miss the step. 

“I am too,” he replies calmly, but the tone of his voice unmistakably carries a hint of teasing and that somehow makes you want to bite him.

Your brows are furrowed, your hands extending before you as if it could any way help your case more. 

“This is not what I had in mind when I imagined our retrouvailles after a whole month.” 

“Well,” he hums softly behind you, tightening his big hands around your waist, chest warm and solid against your back as he guides you forward, “if you could stop complaining and accept the surprise…” 

You’re blindfolded and absolutely hate this. 

“Imma punish you for so fucking long, you have no idea.”

“I would enjoy that my love,” he breathes near your ear, and goosebumps ripple across your skin instantly. He presses a slow kiss to your temple, one hand leaving your waist to fish his keys from his pocket. “But later tonight, mh?”

You once more huff and puff. 

“Hell, no. It will be absolutely after I take this blind—” The rest of your sentence dies.

Because the blindfold slips off. And for a second, your brain completely forgets how to function. Kento’s apartment looks nothing like it usually does.

You can’t quiet remember where your mind was even. Your eyes are trying to send as much information as possible to your brain—trying to absorb as much information as possible.

The lights seem to have been changed for a soft, golden glow. Candles flicker across every surface, carefully disposed on the floor and the furniture. Rose petals—so many that you can’t even see the parquet—trail from the entrance all the way to the dining table. Your favorite flowers sit in a glass vase at the center. The table is dressed properly: linen, cutlery polished, plates already set.

“Kento…” your voice couldn’t carry on the rest of your thoughts. 

He steps behind you again, warm and slightly roughed hand closing around your waist once again. He forces your body closer to his, not letting a single space for air to breathe before he rests his chin on your shoulder. 

“We didn’t celebrate,” he murmurs, nose burying into your hair as he inhales. “You worked too hard. I wasn’t going to let that go unnoticed.”

“My eyes sting,” you mumble quickly, blinking up at the ceiling as if that’ll fix it. “I’m going to look soft-hearted.”

“You are soft-hearted,” he replies without hesitation.

“No, I’m not. I’m mean. And intimidating.”

“Terrifying.” He hums in amusement, peppering your neck with soft kisses.

“You pushed yourself harder than you needed to,” two fingers grip your chin to tilt your face toward him—so you have no choice but to look at him. “I’m proud of you.”

You let out a tiny, frustrated sound and cover your face with your hands. “Stop saying things like that.”

“Praising words?” he deadpans. And fortunately for you, you don’t see the devilish dimple appears as he smirks. You would have actually combusted on the spot. 

One of your hand travels from your face to his shirt. Fingers sneaking beneath his loose shirt and pinching his right nipple, hard. 

He inhales sharply.

“That,” you mutter, trying to sound serious despite the blush still warming your cheeks, “is for making me emotional.”

“I see.” His sharp hazel eyes drops to you slowly. His thumb brushes along your lower lip now, applying slight pressure to open your mouth to an inch. 

“I’m being nice and making a whole home-made-romantic-dinner,” he murmurs, leaning in dangerously. “And your best thank is to attack me?”

You tilt your chin up stubbornly. “Yes.”

His hand leaves your face entirely, only to capture your wrist instead. Said wrist that was still shamelessly attached to his fat nipple. And his much thicker fingers remind you who’s stronger.

Older.

In charge. 

He gently pulls your hand away and turns you in his arms. “If that’s how you choose to behave,” he parts your thighs with his meaty one and steps forward until your back hit the kitchen’s counter. 

Oh.

“I may have to reconsider letting you punish me tonight.” His hands come down on either side of you, palms flat against the counter, effectively caging you in. There’s nowhere to go. Not that you want to. 

You’re exactly where you want to be. 

“You wish.”

Could you have come with a better argument? Yes.

Was your mind functioning, though? No.

“Is that so?” he rasps with the sexiest tone, and it sends a whole chaotic parade of butterflies dancing in your stomach.

He leans down until the tip of his nose traces along your jawline. A feather-light touch. Your breath stutters.

“You’re very brave for someone who was just seconds away from crying.”

“I was not—”

His mouth stops just short of yours. Your body feels like it’s made of flames and static. 

“Oh,” he whispers, barely a breath against your mouth. His eyes are locked on your bratty lips. “But you were.”

a/n wished that was my reality HUGE SIGH

(⇀‸↼‶)

[nanamisgirly]

🏷️ @neocityscreamer @nanamitiddiechomper @riaheatsdrywall @lalaloopssy @cosmiicj @Loloncookies @fictionalmenmistress @sanzusdollie @merm1sta @sadisticssslut @lateforlatte @Simpingdailyforthem @missnottx @Wovopo @lxila-lovelyy @lordbugs @trustfratedtae @Frfrdoda @restingoasis @Fairygardenprincesss @ggiiggiiaannaa @rchltruly @expreissionism @bheaniebeans @angeleclair @yoursange @gojoswaterbottle @Cryostasiscrisis @clumzywalrus @arrozyfrijoles23 @nanamjai @bananabread785 @thequietreaderkid @methiart @irenehart02 @inmysolitudevv

[nanamisgirly]

Missed Valentines?( ˶o˶˶o˶) !!! that's okayyy, you're Older!Boyfriend!Nanami is here! (⸝⸝⸝-﹏-⸝⸝⸝)

cw fluff, suggestive, early 20s reader & late 20s to early 30s Nanami, brat and shy reader, HOT HOT HOT KENTO HUUUUUUUH 👅 I did not proofread everything

art cred narutoss.ramen on insta!

My precious <3 : Will be home in 40 minutes! Can’t wait hehe ꒰｡ › ·̮ ‹ ｡꒱

Nanami : Walk safe. I love you.

Your older boyfriend, Nanami Kento, couldn’t suppress the lovesick smile tugging his lips. 

He locked his phone before returning to the kitchen. Usually, he would have picked you up from your last class. But you insisted it wasn’t necessary and you preferred walking on your own, letting your mind breathe. 

After the rough session of partiels you just went through—the last before getting graduated—it was nothing short of exaggerating to say the months were exhausting. Yes, exhaustinnnng.

You had practically barricade yourself in your dorm room for weeks. If it wasn’t necessary or you to go out for groceries, you wouldn’t even have stepped a foot outside. You didn’t even have time to see your dear boyfriend during the whole session. Only sending two or three messages weekly to keep updated. All your focus poured into passing with mention. 

And now that the nightmare was long before you.

Another semester just started. 

And you have plenty of time and will make sure to give a lot of time to Kento. Because he had been nothing but patient. 

He had been nothing but but lovely to you (a really really reallyyyy good boy). 

He always made sure to send, (at the very least), an encouraging message daily. He even went out to do special groceries shopping and prepare you your favorite meal! And, of course, he would drop them off himself.

Driving alllll the way to your dorm. He did not care about the other college student side-eyeing him or eye-fucking him when he passed in the hallway fully dressed in his work clothes and definitely making wonder to why an obvious older man was doing there. 

As for now, Nanami glanced at the tiny egg-shaped Sanrio cooking timer sitting proudly beside the backing tray.

He remembers vividly the day you texted him a blurry picture. He had been at the office, sleeves rolled up, tie slightly loosened, drowning in numbers and reports. His head was throbbing. His patience was thin. The spreadsheet in front of him looked like it personally wanted to fight.. 

But the little attachment ‘It is clearly you! Look at the pout. Im buying it hehe’ He couldn’t stop the smile that curved on his lips. He had leaned back in his chair, shaking his head slightly in disbelief at his girlfriend’s antics.

just enough time for him to get busy preparing his apartment this time.

“Well, 30 minutes left,” he says clapping his hands together, talking to no one but him. “I will make it worth it, baby.”

-

“Kento, I’m mad serious,” your groan when you again miss the step. 

“I am too,” he replies calmly, but the tone of his voice unmistakably carries a hint of teasing and that somehow makes you want to bite him.

Your brows are furrowed, your hands extending before you as if it could any way help your case more. 

“This is not what I had in mind when I imagined our retrouvailles after a whole month.” 

“Well,” he hums softly behind you, tightening his big hands around your waist, chest warm and solid against your back as he guides you forward, “if you could stop complaining and accept the surprise…” 

You’re blindfolded and absolutely hate this. 

“Imma punish you for so fucking long, you have no idea.”

“I would enjoy that my love,” he breathes near your ear, and goosebumps ripple across your skin instantly. He presses a slow kiss to your temple, one hand leaving your waist to fish his keys from his pocket. “But later tonight, mh?”

You once more huff and puff. 

“Hell, no. It will be absolutely after I take this blind—” The rest of your sentence dies.

Because the blindfold slips off. And for a second, your brain completely forgets how to function. Kento’s apartment looks nothing like it usually does.

You can’t quiet remember where your mind was even. Your eyes are trying to send as much information as possible to your brain—trying to absorb as much information as possible.

The lights seem to have been changed for a soft, golden glow. Candles flicker across every surface, carefully disposed on the floor and the furniture. Rose petals—so many that you can’t even see the parquet—trail from the entrance all the way to the dining table. Your favorite flowers sit in a glass vase at the center. The table is dressed properly: linen, cutlery polished, plates already set.

“Kento…” your voice couldn’t carry on the rest of your thoughts. 

He steps behind you again, warm and slightly roughed hand closing around your waist once again. He forces your body closer to his, not letting a single space for air to breathe before he rests his chin on your shoulder. 

“We didn’t celebrate,” he murmurs, nose burying into your hair as he inhales. “You worked too hard. I wasn’t going to let that go unnoticed.”

“My eyes sting,” you mumble quickly, blinking up at the ceiling as if that’ll fix it. “I’m going to look soft-hearted.”

“You are soft-hearted,” he replies without hesitation.

“No, I’m not. I’m mean. And intimidating.”

“Terrifying.” He hums in amusement, peppering your neck with soft kisses.

“You pushed yourself harder than you needed to,” two fingers grip your chin to tilt your face toward him—so you have no choice but to look at him. “I’m proud of you.”

You let out a tiny, frustrated sound and cover your face with your hands. “Stop saying things like that.”

“Praising words?” he deadpans. And fortunately for you, you don’t see the devilish dimple appears as he smirks. You would have actually combusted on the spot. 

One of your hand travels from your face to his shirt. Fingers sneaking beneath his loose shirt and pinching his right nipple, hard. 

He inhales sharply.

“That,” you mutter, trying to sound serious despite the blush still warming your cheeks, “is for making me emotional.”

“I see.” His sharp hazel eyes drops to you slowly. His thumb brushes along your lower lip now, applying slight pressure to open your mouth to an inch. 

“I’m being nice and making a whole home-made-romantic-dinner,” he murmurs, leaning in dangerously. “And your best thank is to attack me?”

You tilt your chin up stubbornly. “Yes.”

His hand leaves your face entirely, only to capture your wrist instead. Said wrist that was still shamelessly attached to his fat nipple. And his much thicker fingers remind you who’s stronger.

Older.

In charge. 

He gently pulls your hand away and turns you in his arms. “If that’s how you choose to behave,” he parts your thighs with his meaty one and steps forward until your back hit the kitchen’s counter. 

Oh.

“I may have to reconsider letting you punish me tonight.” His hands come down on either side of you, palms flat against the counter, effectively caging you in. There’s nowhere to go. Not that you want to. 

You’re exactly where you want to be. 

“You wish.”

Could you have come with a better argument? Yes.

Was your mind functioning, though? No.

“Is that so?” he rasps with the sexiest tone, and it sends a whole chaotic parade of butterflies dancing in your stomach.

He leans down until the tip of his nose traces along your jawline. A feather-light touch. Your breath stutters.

“You’re very brave for someone who was just seconds away from crying.”

“I was not—”

His mouth stops just short of yours. Your body feels like it’s made of flames and static. 

“Oh,” he whispers, barely a breath against your mouth. His eyes are locked on your bratty lips. “But you were.”

a/n wished that was my reality HUGE SIGH

(⇀‸↼‶)

[nanamisgirly]

hi pookie I love the theme and your works and you mwah

[uzugeto-deactivated20260405]

★ HELL’S KITCHEN DIVINE JUSTICE

your marriage had grown stale, with you buried underneath case load after case load and your husband often times not even bothering to come home at night. you feel like he’s hiding something from you but the last thing you expect him is to be the vigilante hunted down by the police.

★ PAIRING: daredevil! hiromi higuruma x lawyer! fem reader

★ CONTENT WARNINGS: 18+ content, MDNI. marital problems so light angst i’d say. mention of blood and injuries. makeup sex (kinda?) boob play. face sitting and nose mentions (c’mon it’s higuruma). panty sucking (??) unprotected p in v. doggy. cleanup + some aftercare. use of pet names.

★ WORD COUNT: 6.9k

★ JADE’S NOTES: used to have the biggest crush on black suit matt murdock anyways happy reading and i’d love to hear your thots :p

part of jade’s cinematic universe

"it feels like i don't know who you are anymore."

the words settled like a dead weight into the beige-painted room of your marriage counselor's office.

the session hadn't even formally started, a perfectly manicured finger pausing in mid air against the small, ticking timer on her desk. it indicated that only a minute had passed since you'd taken a seat on the overwhelmingly bright lime colored futon.

all your therapist had done was ask: "what brings you into my office today?" and that was the first thing you'd come to admit, the thought haunting you with every night that you spent in bed alone.

with each night you pretended to not hear him opening your window at the dead of night, stalking into your shared room despite each of his movements the same as a mouse skittering somewhere they shouldn’t. pretending like you didn't hear his breath catching in his throat, the man tempted to call you out on your lie, before ultimately turning his back.

there's only a few inches of distance between you and hiromi, a distance that could easily be broken if either one of you so much as dared to extend your hand out. but it feels more like a barrier extended multiple feet tall, a barrier that neither one of you is insistent on breaking. your husband's laying right next to you and you've never felt more alone.

pretending was easier than acknowledging. silence was better than arguing. a thought that the two of you had begrudgingly come to accept as the new norm of your marriage.

your therapist cleared her throat, pressing the timer to begin counting the hour down. the sound of pen scratching against paper filled the silence that your husband couldn't bring himself to break.

tic tic tic.

scratch.

tic tic tic.

you wonder if your therapist's writing down gibberish—anything so she wouldn't have to be faced with the awkwardness that seeped out of the room in thick waves. if she's writing about how you chose to address hiromi directly instead of saying i feel like i don't know my husband anymore.

if she's writing about how your marriage was over from the moment you stepped in the door.

before you find yourself down a rabbit hole of what she could've written in these past thirty seconds, she pushes her glasses up and looks over at you directly. clearing her throat before she asks, "so tell us, why are you feeling this way?"

us—you're suddenly reminded hiromi's sitting right next to you, clinging onto every word that left your mouth much like the woman in front of you. your clammy hands clasp together in front of you, thoughts coursing through your head at a million miles per hour.

"i am feeling this way because—” you take a pause, racking your brain. because of, what? because of everything? that would only lead to a barrage of more follow up questions.

after what feels like an eternity of the two of them gawking at you for an answer, you manage to build all the thoughts coursing through your head into one single sentence, “i am feeling this way because i used to read my husband with ease, i used to know what he wanted to say before he said it.

i know how he likes to drink his coffee, just black. i know what kind of jacket he prefers to court—double breasted with a peak lapel. but lately.. it’s like i don’t know who’s stepping through the door anymore.”

if only you knew.

another few moments of pen scratching against paper, another few moments of pretending like you don’t see hiromi staring from the corner of his eye. “thank you for admitting this. i know it can’t be easy. now i have to ask, when did you start noticing these changes in your marriage?”

the rest of the following hour ticks by painfully slow, with you filling in the blanks from your perspective and hiromi sitting in complete silence.

"okay, next week, i'd really like to hear things from your perspective, hiromi," your therapist speaks up with a calm smile, setting the notepad down. she stands up, crossing across the room to a drawer where a variety of pamphlets decorate the space.

all from self help guides to journaling advice, she pulls out two slips of papers. passing them over to you and hiromi. ‘how to communicate with your partner again! 50 conversation starters guaranteed to work’ written in big, bold letters smacks you right in the face when you start reading through it.

“i want the two of you to practice talking to each other again,” she speaks up, gesturing over to you, “i noticed you took the initiative with our session today. while nothing’s wrong with that, i think the two of you could benefit from expressing how you each feel in this relationship.”

—

expressing how you feel. what a load of bull. the drive back to the firm is filled with even more silence, radio playing some generic song neither one of you bothered to reach out to switch. the atmosphere’s filled with the sound of cars honking, people rushing by to catch a last minute taxi, police sirens swerving through narrow gaps in traffic.

“are you going to be coming home for dinner?” you question once the car comes to a stop, turning to look over at hiromi. the car sits on idle, his fingertips tapping against the steering wheel. when did having a simple conversation become so awkward?

he reaches out for the piece of paper the therapist handed out earlier, tired eyes scanning through the list. trying to find what conversation starter could be plugged into this situation. a vein in your forehead twitches at the sight, even if you’re trying to remind yourself he’s trying.

“i acknowledge how you feel, honey,” hiromi starts off, the apologetic smile on his face when he looks up to meet your annoyed expression fading away into a small frown, “and i recognize your efforts, but i don’t think i’ll be showing u-” you slam the car door before he gets a chance to finish.

hiromi doesn’t pull out of the spot just yet, watching as you headed up the stairs. you don’t turn to look back at him, not even once. “my god,” an agitated mutter leaves his lips, reading through the list once more before shaking his head. he doesn’t realize how long he’s been with the engine running, only pulling out of the space when a loud honk rings behind him.

there’s a manila folder on your door step when you step up to the office—no returning address, nothing to trace back to. no kind of note either, but you know it’s meant for you. daredevil. he’s been dedicating himself to sending little envelopes to your office—no signs of concrete evidence (that’d end up being inadmissible anyways), but enough trails to where finding said evidence was a cakewalk.

this week had been a statement of bank records linking an offshore account to one of fisk’s buildings. it was something, that with enough pressure and persistence, you could get something out of. your heels scruff against carpet as you make your way further into your office, plopping down on a rusted leather chair. a pile of paperwork waits for you as soon as you sit down, from nda’s to settlement offers made by fisk.

an elderly woman walks into the office half an hour later, her head swishing from side to side to see if she was in the right place. that much was a given, you supposed. you only had second-hand furniture around the place—wooden chairs chipped at the ends and worn with age, a coffee maker that ended up burning the beverage half the time, and a fax machine that no one used anymore.

it was easy to think the building was abandoned, in all honesty. you clear your throat, drawing her attention to the open door at the end of the hall. she steps into your office with a stack of papers in hand and a tupperware container filled to the brim in empanadas.

“hi, welcome in,” you greet her with a smile, pulling the chair back for her before taking a seat once more. the woman takes a seat in front of you, her hands resting against her lap. “what can i do for you today?”

her brows furrow. "pensé qué había alguien que hablara español.” you didn’t need to be fluent to hear the disappointment clinging onto her voice.

"that would be my…” you snap your fingers, willing the word to come to you, “esposo, but if you need someone that speaks punjabi, i'm here.”

(hiromi’s attempts at teaching you spanish had proven unsuccessful throughout the years.

white flurries of snow covered the pavement in a thick white layers, every other student in the library already gone to their dorm for the night. orange hues illuminated the path back to your dorm, higuruma walking right next to you and listening to every word.

you were going on about a failed test in your foreign language class, complaining about how hard punjabi had been to pick up. “spanish’s been easy, it’s just the gendering that gets me all messed up,” hiromi speaks up when you’re finally done, air leaving his lungs in thin wisps of smoke.

a groan leaves your lips in agreement, “don’t even get me started on the gendering. i might just have to go to the tutoring center.”

the two of you walk in relative silence, boots crunching against the ground underneath. it’s a peaceful kind of quiet, one that makes you feel comfortable without the overwhelming need to try to fill it.

“how do you say lawyers in spanish?” you suddenly question, turning to look over at him. a snowflake chose to land on his nose at that moment, your finger reaching up to lightly brush it off. a small flush makes itself visible up his neck, his cheeks dusted in a light pink.

every action you took made his heart do a little spitter sputter, almost in disbelief you seemed to like him.

then he remembers you’d asked him a question. “lawyers,” hiromi takes a moment to pause, rummaging through the catalogues in his brain after frying it off with reading review after review and cans of red bull, “oh, abogados.”

“we’re gonna be el grande avocados!” you exclaim, gesturing to an imaginary title. it’s easy to imagine something big, something grand with him. an office where you could solely do pro bono cases, where you didn’t need anything to but a simple ‘thanks’ to be fulfilled.

where bills and building maintenance and rent didn’t exist.

a laugh bubbled out of his throat, the sound a sweet melody in the midst of car horns and police sirens, “that’s not spanish, that’s fruit baby.”

your nameplate still reads avocado at law. you didn’t think that you’d be the only fulfilling this dream, though.)

“but i can take a recording of your testimony and have him transcribe it,” you assure her, pulling out your trusty tape recorder from storage (your drawer). a cloud of dust leaves the surface, a sign of how long it’s been since its last use.

the woman gives you what you could only describe as the most strained smile you’ve ever seen, clearing her throat before starting to speak to the recorder. her voice cracks during certain parts, a couple parts you could pick up—fisk, 150 grand, trash apartment. you give her a pack of tissues before she leaves your office, accepting her empanadas with a warm smile and a gracias that came out sounding like grassy ass.

yet another example of how your husband was neglecting even his work at this rate. you’re not sure when’s the last time you’ve seen him at the office for more than half an hour, and each time you do, he seems to be on edge. like he’s aching to leave, waiting for the right moment to make his grand exit.

the rest of the day is filled with even more tenants coming in with their suits towards the building owner, each one showing images of apartments that were less than livable. mold covered the walls in thick clouds, asbestos found in blood work brought in by the tenants, one who’s child has been affected with lead poisoning.

it’s more than enough to get a formal complaint started up. if only you could get some help to deal with a class action suit like this. a quiet huff leaves your lips, resigning yourself to spending most of your night cooped up in your office.

—

the fluorescent billboard in front of your apartment building’s already painting the room in a deep crimson hue when you arrive, pale moonlight striking through the glass windows. you plop your briefcase onto the couch before trudging your way into your bedroom, the exhaustion of the day finally starting to wear down on your body.

there’s no point in making dinner for one person, you’ll call in for takeout sometime later. and while most people leave their job as soon as they shut their office door, you're flickering through the different tv channels. trying to see if any more reports of wilson fisk have made the nightly news.

it’s nothing interesting other than reports of the stock market, of a robbery gone wrong, of daredevil intervening in some kind of drug trade. “the masked vigilante appears to have been spotted in the scene around eight p.m., stopping a large cargo boat allegedly carrying kilos of cocaine…” you let the news play in the background, picking up one of the books in your shelf.

zoning law and practice, eighth edition volume one. you need as much as you can get when it comes to going up against fisk and his expensive team of lawyers.

a shadow appears from the corner of your eye. at first, you play it off to exhaustion. to some tree swaying in the wind, some bird that flew too close to your window. you don’t think too much of it, you live on the second floor. another section gets highlighted and annotated.

then you hear it. a latch coming loose, a silhouette making itself visible. the highlighter in your hand falls onto the bed next to you, painting your covers in a light yellow shade. a man plops onto your bedroom floor in the middle of the night. a man staining blood with each inch he moved, a man holding a crowbar in a deathly grip.

all of your senses fly out the window.

a loud scream erupts from your throat at the sight of the intruder making their way through your window, slinking onto the floor. a couple lights flicker on from the apartments beside you, neighbors surely waken from the ruckus. still, you scramble to grab the first weapon you can find to defend yourself.

the high heel scattered on the floor? (that you swore you’d pick up tomorrow) no.

the waterproof rabbit vibrator you kept in the top drawer of your night stand? heavens no.

hell, even your house keys? not even that.

your weapon of choice in this case happened to be your eighth edition thousand page leather-bound book full of new york’s zoning laws.

it was enough to give the intruder a concussion and enough to leave your wallet mourning the damages after the fact.

mentally preparing yourself, you’re about to toss the book. holding it over your head when the intruder chooses to slide the black mask over their head. your eyes nearly pop out of your sockets when you see who it is, book held up in midair.

"you said—" hiromi chooses that moment to collapse onto the floor, hand clasped around his bleeding abdomen and breathing ragged, "—you didn't know me. this is who i am."

you blink once, twice, even three times. laughter bubbles straight from the depths of your chest, your head flying back at the absurdity of the situation. hiromi’s not laughing, you quickly come to realize. you pinch yourself only to find out this isn’t some sort of dream, isn’t some sort of sick prank that your husband’s decided to play on you.

you’re faced with the reality that your husband is daredevil.

you don’t only see the big bad daredevil whose mask covered face has been plastered on a corkboard in each new york precinct police department around hell's kitchen with the promise of a hefty reward. the big bad daredevil who’s been painted on news outlets as menacing, as a threat, as an untrustworthy agent working on his own twisted sense of justice.

but you also see the daredevil who’s been helping you out with your case against wilson fisk. the daredevil that’s been protecting women and children from getting harassed in the street late at night, unwilling to kill but eager to incapacitate.

then, you see what’s underneath the mask. what’s underneath the various headlines, what’s underneath the mystique and flashy acrobatics. you see the guy you met in 3l who dared to go against nietzsche’s ethics with a passion, calling his writing ‘half-assed fragments at best.’

you see the guy who’d memorized your coffee order off one study session, never once failing to bring it to your table following after. the guy who didn’t hesitate to go pursue pro-bono cases, accepting payment in the form of baked goods while your classmates pursued prestigious internships defending corporation after corporation.

while everyone else went after the fame and the money that came with being a lawyer, he went to pursue justice for those harmed. whether it be by the own flawed system the guilty have been incarcerated under or the ones needing some sort of defense.

and in that, you see the man that you fell in love with again. the one you planned out the rest of your life with, the one with big dreams who’d made your first nameplate on a napkin and promised to be your partner.

you shove your blankets off your body, hit with the cold air whistling through the crack in the window while you make your way to the bathroom. the first aid kit stowed away in your bottom cabinet is laughable—a couple bandaids and alcohol pads thrown in together in case of a paper cut, in case of a nasty fall.

nothing in case for your husband bleeding out on your floor in the middle of the night.

miraculously enough, you manage to find an old sewing needle your mom left behind on one of her visits and a nylon thread hiromi had borrowed from nurse claire from the floor underneath. you're not sure how many times you've wiped the needle with alcohol, trying to get it properly disinfected before making your way back to the bedroom.

kneeling down beside the bleeding mess that was your husband, you slowly begin to unravel the sopping wet layers covering his upper body. the harsh scent of iron clings to the air, a reminder you need to work faster. and yet, you find yourself hesitating every moment a pained groan leaves his lips.

the layers drop unceremoniously with a heavy plop, staining your ivory floors in a deep, crimson shade. now that there’s nothing in the way, you can see just how profound the slash cutting through his abdomen went. it starts right underneath his pecs diagonally across to just on top of the waistband of his pants.

your fingers trembled, trying to put the thin piece of nylon through the small hole of the needle. you miss once, then you miss again. a frustrated sigh leaves your lips, hiromi’s hands coming to rest against your own. “take a deep breath for me, honey.”

funny how the man bleeding out was the one trying to reassure you. still, you followed the movement of his hands. taking a deep breath in and then exhaling slowly, your shoulders losing tension. you’re able to focus more clearly now, slowly threading the thin string through the hole.

it’s hard to distinguish where the wound starts and where it ends, pieces of flesh sticking out from nearly every direction. but somehow, and some way, you manage to line up the very messy edges you were working on suturing. or at least, trying to.

hiromi tries his best not to flinch, not to move, not to react as you’re threading the needle through his abdomen. “i can hear you thinking, so ask your questions,” he murmurs, the silence starting to become unbearable. you’ve been biting down on your lip for the past five minutes, almost saying something before swallowing it down.

and there were, in fact, about a million questions coursing through your head right now. but the simplest one you could pin point for the time being was: “why?”

why did hiromi higuruma choose to put his life in danger every night? why did he choose to put on a black suit and play vigilante for the streets of new york?

his throat bobbed, watching as your fingers worked on tying the first knot with precision. “i choose to do this because law isn’t always fair. you know as well as i do, that half the people guilty don’t get enough of a punishment that they deserve. and the half that do, don’t deserve that kind of punishment.”

it’s true—you’ve seen more than enough people get locked away for nearly a decade for possession while assaulters don’t even get a slap on the wrist. it’s deplorable. it’s not fair. and yet, “so you’re punishing these people based on your own system of morals?”

“i was in court one day ah,” a pained wince leaves him when you prod in too deep into the flesh, fingers twitching by his sides in an attempt to keep himself still. he clears his throat before continuing, “i was in court one day. a little girl came up to me and begged me to put her dad away, begged me to do something. and all i could do was hear how the jury declared him not guilty.

“i stopped by her house to check up on her a couple days later. her dad was being violent again, yelling in her face for making a case about him. i decided that was the final straw.

“so yes, i am working based on my own morals. if that deserves me being locked up like the cops say, so be it.”

you work in silence for a bit, focusing on tying the knots in front of you as best as possible. “i don’t think you’re a bad guy for what you’ve done. i just wish you would’ve trusted me to let me in on this secret.”

the knots in front of you are nothing short of sloppy despite your best efforts, the stitch job sure to leave a scar by the time it healed. but it was good enough for now, it stopped the bleeding and it closed the wound. with light pressure, you slowly started wiping away the flakes of dry blood with rubbing alcohol.

a sigh leaves his lips, the man slouching against the wall behind him. “i can deal with me being like this, bloody and beaten,” he utters, gaze directed straight into you in a way that makes you shiver, “but i can’t handle the thought of someone hurting you because of me. that’s why i didn’t tell you.”

your breath stutters in your chest, focusing instead on the work in front of you. it’s easier to swipe and soak the pad instead of trying to figure out of your feelings for the time being. you swipe a couple drops of disinfecting ointment onto the wound, putting a bandage onto the skin.

"i'm still mad at you." it comes out quiet. as cold as you’ve been, you’re also.. simply just tired.

you’re so tired of being angry, so tired of feeling tired, so so tired of feeling like you don’t know how to interact with your best friend. as if one wrong word, one wrong pause could simply…set things off and that’d be that.

and yet, you’ve spent so long being angry at your husband that you’re not sure how to feel any other way. if you’ll even feel anything but indifference when the anger subsides.

"i know."

"and this-” you gesture between the two of you, "—doesn't fix anything."

a more resigned, "i know."

but a wistful sigh leaves your lips, your hand coming up to rest on his cheek, "but i really want to kiss you right now. i don’t want to be mad at you."

hiromi’s quick to speak up, one of his hands coming up to rest against your cheek. you can’t help the way you melt into the touch, your anger fading away into something akin to longing. “so don’t be mad at me for right now. be mad at me later, honey. be mad at me all you want, be mad at me for the rest of your life. just don’t be indifferent with me again.”

you lean in slowly, breath caught in your throat. it’s awkward at first—you’re out of practice—fingers twitching by your sides until you firmly place them onto his shoulders in a deathly grip, breath caught in your throat, leaning the same way that he does when you’re close enough.

kissing him feels like trying to unlock something you don’t quite have the key for anymore. like trying to revisit an old home only to realize the numbers on the mailbox aren’t for you anymore, that the decorations hanging up aren’t the same old photos of you as a teen. like it’s nothing more than a distant memory.

the thought of that makes you sick. of your marriage being reduced to nothing but good memories. you try it again, his head tilting to the left and yours to the right. and just like that, every piece falls into place. your fingers loosen their grip, one of your hands moving up to his soft cheek.

it’s tentative, the way that his lips slot against yours. slow. his hands move by his sides like he’s also contemplating a difficult calculus equation before they move to your hold your hips. you move forward, back in an arch and he takes that chance to deepen the kiss.

his tongue traces the seam of your lips before they’re parting for him, his mouth swallowing every moan and shaky breath that left your lips. while the previous kisses had been a reacquaintance, these were much more needy. making up for lost time. his lips trail down, placing a small peck against your jaw. against the side of your neck.

“is this okay?” he whispers, his tongue tracing the sensitive flesh of your earlobe. “yeah,” you assure in a breathy whisper, your head thrown back in bliss. his fingers move down to the hem of your faded graphic tee, pulling it over your head with ease. cold air hits your body all once, a contradiction to how warm hiromi was making you feel.

you’re in nothing but an old bra, a simple beige one you pulled out from the back of your undergarment drawer. and yet, higuruma stares at you like you’re an angel incarnate. like it’s a blessing to even be in your presence. his brain short circuits, hands hovering in the air like he’s unsure.

grabbing his wrists in your own hands, you lead him closer and closer to your chest. “wow,” he murmurs under his breath, his thumbs rolling across your pebbled nipples. hiromi’s fingers squish at the flesh, tracing against your underboob. rubbing against all the little spots he knows you’re sensitive: your nipples, your areolas, your side boob.

placing little kisses where his fingers just were, reverent to you after he’s been neglecting the duty for so long.

your head rolls back, a muffled moan leaving your lips. he’s nothing if not eager to please, “let me take care of you.”

—

“you’re hurt.” you’re with your arms folded across your chest, brows furrowed as you take in the state hiromi’s in your bed. bandaged up and wincing when he moves his stomach too much. you didn’t think when he said let me take care of you, he wanted to jump straight into you sitting on his face.

the harsh look on your face makes his dick twitch.

“and you’re wet. like i said, let me take care of you,” he tries yet again, gesturing for you to come over with two fingers. as stubborn as you can be, there’s really no argument to be made. you pad your way over into the bed, avoiding the bandages on his abdomen before plopping down on his torso.

his hands come up to your hips, holding you in place like this is where you belonged. where you were meant to be.

“if at any point, you start feeling pain or you wanna stop, just let me know.” you jab a finger against his chest. he simply takes the digit, placing a gentle kiss onto the tip.

“yes ma’am.”

you moved up his chest, feeling harsh lines of muscle underneath. your cunt drips onto the thin material of your panties as you get closer and closer to his mouth. plush thighs settle by the sides of his head, nearly acting like earmuffs.

he revels in eating pussy, you know that. higuruma could spend hours in between your legs—jaw slack, fingers drenched and pruned, cheeks flushed, and dick weeping—and he’d still be asking for more. still, you find yourself hovering just above his awaiting mouth. you don’t want to end up hurting him any more than he already is.

his fingers grip onto the flesh of your thighs, leaving indents behind as he pushes your clothed pussy to be right on his lips. “you should know how to listen by now,” hiromi chides, tongue sliding across the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. a shudder runs down your spine, every movement making you hyperaware that your vibrator, well, couldn’t do this.

“i didn’t want you to suffocate,” you retort, fingers flying down to his hair. his lips are everywhere but your cunt, running up your thighs, peppering kisses onto your leg before moving back up again. a scoff leaves his lips, insulted at the insinuation.

“that’d be a dream come true.” his lips latch onto the wet patch of your underwear, sucking onto the thin piece of fabric separating your pussy from him. his tongue traces across your puffy folds, drinking every drop spilling from the lace like he wanted to consume you whole.

drool slips from the corner of his lips, drooping eyes fluttering shut in sheer pleasure while he sloppily makes out with your bottom set of lips. the bridge of his nose rubs against your clothed folds, tip nudging against your twitching clit. your fingers tighten up around his hair, nearly pulling on the roots.

all he does is moan in response.

your underwear’s drenched in a mixture of his drool and your slick when he pulls them off to the side with two, thick fingers. “look at you,” he speaks underneath you, reverence lacing his tone while he speaks to your vagina, “i missed you.”

your cunt clenched around nothing. guess she missed him too.

hiromi spits into your cunt and laps it back up like a man starved, every drop that lands on his tongue akin to the finest ambrosia. his tongue's flat, licking broad stripes from your dripping hole all the way up up to your swollen clit. his lips latch onto the nub, shifting between applying pressure that has you mewling and moaning for more and pressure that has you shifting to get away.

using his hair, you begin to swivel your hips against his awaiting mouth. rubbing your dripping folds across his lips, swiping against him like a card. your lips part into an ‘o’, rubbing your clit against the tip of his nose. “just like that, just use me,” he lets out a muffled groan underneath, his tongue dipping in and out of your hole.

his cock twitched and dripped against the material of his tactical pants, tenting up with each time he pushed his hips up into the air. your hand reaches out, giving him a few palms over the material and rubbing the dampened patch on his pants. “wanna cum already?” you ask in a breathy whisper, your own orgasm building up.

“only worried about you coming,” he responds easily, his own pleasure and needs discarded in favor of satisfying your own. two fingers take over where his tongue was thrusting in and out, pushing through a thin layer of resistance. he slowly began scissoring his fingers in and out, getting you adjusted to the stretch. "f-fuck keep going, just like that, please!"

his fingers curl up about a inch in, pushing against the spongy spot that has you pushing your hips deeper into his face. he switches from suctioning around clit, lips latched onto the nub, to rolling the tip of his tongue around it.

spelling out, ‘I’M SORRY’ in cursive. he mumbles the words like a prayer over and over again against your dripping cunt, almost like he wanted to get it through to you he was indeed, sorry.

“o-ooh fuck!” a strangled moan leaves your lips, thighs squeezing all that much tighter around his head. hiromi's lightheaded—whether that be from your legs squishing his head or from the anticipation of your release. he doesn’t let up, he lets you use him as you please. lets you fuck yourself onto his face, onto his mouth, tug on his hair, everything and anything that you need.

the orgasm that hits you feels like a wave, crashing onto you all at once. your thighs squeeze tighter, the grip on his hair gets tighter, everything gets tighter until SNAP! with one final curl of his fingers against your g-spot, with one final roll of his tongue against your clit, you cum.

clear spurts of your release drip onto his expecting tongue, onto his nose, onto his chin. hiromi doesn’t hesitate to swipe his tongue across his lips, lapping it up like a man finding water in a desert. he pulls out his fingers, immediately putting them in his mouth. swirling his tongue around them to get a taste.

you shift to get off, laying on the side of him. you don’t hesitate to pull him for a kiss when you finally settle down, tasting yourself on his tongue, tasting the remnants of iron from his busted lip, tasting what you’ve been missing. your nails dig into his scalp, your tongue moving against his in complete tandem. there’s no fight to dominate, nothing but just sheer bliss.

your lips move down the side of his neck, pressing a kiss against his jugular that has him resisting the urge to burst already. it’s slow, it’s teasing, the way you move inch by inch down the column of his neck. then you move onto his chest, finding it littered with a couple scars that hadn’t faded yet.

tentatively, your finger traces across the seams of the raised flesh. feeling him tense underneath you. your tongue takes place of your finger, tip tracing across the harsh lines that mark his pecs.

“do you think you deserve to fuck me?” you question, head tilted to the side as you meet his gaze.

hiromi’s quick to shake his head, “god no, i don’t deserve you,” he says it like the sheer notion is ridiculous but he’s quick to add anyways, “but i’ll spend the rest of my life trying to be deserving of you. to be deserving enough to fuck you.”

you shift onto the bed, presenting yourself like the most beautiful of gifts. propping yourself up on your hands and knees, your back in the most sinful arch possible. he’s not moving, not just yet. he’s awestruck, watching your ass jiggle from side to side like a hypnosis.

he snaps out of his trance a few moments later, moving over behind you. he’s quick to pull his pants down, nearly tripping over the pant sleeves when he rushes to kneel over your dripping cunt. his cock slaps against his happy trail when he slides his boxers down, tip flushed a deep shade of pink and dripping drops of precum.

one hand grips around the base, giving himself one tentative pump. you push back against him, shaft rubbing against your puffy folds. slick drips onto the shaft, wetting his cock before he slips inside. you’re still tight when he pushes in, walls tightly clenching around the tip. “there we go, you can take it, sweetheart.”

you nod your head fervently, feeling him stretch you out with each inch he started to push in. he’s thick, stuffing you full with ease. a loud moan leaves your lips when he knocks the air out of your lungs, cock fully snug inside of you and black tuffs of hair against your ass.

he pulls away slowly, your hips moving back to meet his cock. his hands firmly grip on to your hips, keeping you still before he’s pushing back in a deep thrust. it starts off like that, slow and deep, feeling him stuff himself to the brim from this position.

your hips move to meet each of his thrusts, his hands cupping the globes of your ass. “you just need some more, honey?” he questions, his tone gentle even if he was everything but. “more, hiromi, please!”

one of his feet plant onto the bedsheets beside you, the new angle allowing to reach in deeper. to mold your insides to the shape of his cock completely. his hips start pummeling into your sopping cunt, squelch after squelch after squelch ringing in your ears. heavy balls twack against the fat of your ass with each thrust, his own breathing heavy.

your hands give out underneath, your head buried against silk pillows and nails digging into the sheets beside you. his thumb rolls around your clit in quick, tight little circles as your orgasm starts to build up. “c’mon, it’s all yours baby, take it, i’m here,” he whispers in your ear, lips trailing down your back.

your eyes roll to the back of your head, his hips stuttering as he’s close to his own release. hiromi tilts your head over your shoulder, hand on your chin before meeting you for a sloppy kiss. he swallows every shaky moan that leaves your lips, every little i’m cumming baby, i’m gonna cum shiiit that you manage to get out.

you’re a babbling mess when your orgasm rolls over your body like a tidal wave. your pussy clenches tightly around his shaft before your release soaks him completely. he struggles to keep up—you’re tightening up, leaving him barely able to move. his thrusts are swallow and quick, running through the different statutes that come to mind to avoid cumming too soon.

“cum for me hiromi, want to feel you fill me up,” you babble, pushing yourself back onto his cock. his head flies back, unable to keep himself from denying you anything. with two more shallow thrusts and a guttural groan, he’s spurting a thick load that paints your walls white. he doesn’t move just yet—he stays still. feeling your walls snugly around his cock, the air still full of post sex bliss.

his breathing stills, his head coming to your shoulder. he presses one featherlight kiss onto the skin, letting out a relieved sigh. “i love you,” he murmurs, pressing another kiss. it’s the image of tranquility for those two perfect minutes that you sit there still, your heartbeats in tandem.

higuruma pulls off with a loud ‘pop’ echoing across the sex ridden room, dick glistening underneath the moonlight in a mixture of your release and his own cum. he moves across the room, shuffling his way into the bathroom to grab the softest towel he could find.

he lets it run under the sink for a couple seconds before squeezing out the excess, making his way back in between your legs. back home. he swipes the towel in between with care, lightly applying pressure to wipe off the milky trails dripping down your thighs.

“there we go,” he lets out a quiet hum, his lips pressing a small kiss onto your inner thigh, “you did so good for me, my love.” your arms come up, tugging him back to the mattress when he manages to get close enough.

hiromi sets the towel off to the side, making a mental note to pick it up in the morning. he settles back next to you, inching closer like he’s still afraid to test how close you’ll let him. he ends up wrapping one arm around you. “should we call the therapist and say we don’t need her?”

“she’d say this was an unhealthy coping mechanism, husband,” you note, a small laugh leaving hiromi’s lips in response. the air’s light for the first time in months,

your marriage isn’t fixed, not by a long mile. even as you lay there next to him, basking in his warmth, you’re well aware of the fact. but you can’t help how nice it feels to feel like you’re part of a marriage again, to feel like you’ve gotten your best friend and partner back.

first time writing for hiromi so i hope i did him justice 🤞

HIGURUMA SPECIFIC TAGLIST: @backtoyourbed @submissivelittlebella @pinkulraviolencedoll

SERIES TAGLIST: @cherrys-wrld @suguruss1ut @indiewritesxoxo @vanillakirstein @softtashoney @lucy-lulu @yvannaille @nimininini @yarimarjane @bluebell33 @certifiablyunstable @designerpvssy @leonkennedyscums1ut @creamkissed @jenniechuu @melanin90sbaby @heh123321 @bheaniebeans @davienaa @moniless @bootyytickler069 @aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa444 @calebposer @tohru-tales @michiiiisposts @kentokisses @littlemisssatorugirl @itzmeme @tecolote2755 @powerhayakawaa @blushedcheri @dawnsoblivion @nefertiti2003 @kunakizen @lem-hhn @casssiesthings @melonnscrwam @the-midnight-blooms @shadykittyperfection @wavetojulia @partyinthebackroom @mysteryfem @nerosero-requiem @dogggggggblog-kaye @shittypunkbarbeque @kvntybb @b00rants @bamtorriii

[nanamisgirly]

[simplychoso]

*.ೃ༄ shy boyfriend! choso kamo x reader, fluff, timestamp

—2:45pm

today was one of the rare days you got off of work early and choso came to pick you up since he wasn't on a mission. he texted you earlier in the day, saying he had a surprise for you after work and you've been curious throughout your entire shift as to what it was.

"can you please tell me now?" you asked, as he kept his eyes on the road. you can tell he was nervous because his cheeks flushed red, and he's barely spoken to you since he picked you up. which is unusual because most of the time he'll fill your car rides with stories about his little brothers.

"it's called a surprise for a reason babe and besides we're almost there anyways" he mumbles and you drop it because you know how he gets shy and a little stressed out when it comes through planning things for you. he doesn't care for surprises usually but once he found out you loved them, he makes an effort at least once a month to surprise you with a date of his planning.

"OH MY GOD?! ARE YOU FINALLY GONNA TRY TO ICE SKATE WITH ME?" you squeal from the passenger side as he pulls into the parking lot for your local skating rink.

"uh... yeah, I rented it out, I thought since you've been asking me for a while now, it's something you'd want to do together" he says, turning off the car and in his seat to look at you.

"you know, you always act so nonchalant about these things, but i've only mentioned it once and you planned a whole afternoon around it," you say to him, full of nothing but love and gratitude for the man in front of you. choso blushes at your comment and gives you a soft smile before pulling you in to give you a forehead kiss, "let's go then" he says quickly, before getting out of the car and running over to your side so he can open your door.

"are these things usually this uncomfortable?" choso asked, stumbling towards the rink in his skates, laughing at his awkwardness.

“it’s not that bad babe, just don’t let go of my hand, okay?” you say, holding both his hands and helping him into the ice.

choso let out a small yelp, his foot slipping the second he stepped onto the ice. his hands holding yours tightly as you guided him to the middle of the ice.

"you gotta bend your knees a bit, cho" you explained, waiting for him to do so.

"how are you making it look so easy?" choso said, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

"hey, hey, look at me" you said, stopping in the middle of the ice, as he looked at you, "it's okay, take a deep breath" you say, realizing he was getting more anxious than you thought.

"I just don't want to mess this date up" he said, his eyes glossing over slightly. that was one of the things you loved about him, how sensitive he was, he never hid his emotions from you either. skating closer to him, he pull you into a hug.

"you could never mess it up cho. im already having a great time just being with you, it's just fun okay? don't overthink it," you reassure him, he tries to lean down to give you a forehead kiss, but ends up taking a step and slipping on the ice, bringing you both down onto the ice.

"fuck, it's cold" he says, a smirk pulling his lips, "are you okay?" he asks, trying to hold in his laughter. you looked at him, a snort escaping you, seeing his face flushed red, and him trying not to laugh. choso and you both burst into laughter, as you both attempt to stand up again.

© 𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐲𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐨 ; minors do not interact. all rights reserved. i do not allow translations, plagiarism, or reuploading.

[nanamisgirly]

[torucider]

guitarist choso fanart 🫶

[nanamisgirly]

[kiw1o0]

Mwah 💋

I lowkey did this for Valentine’s Day, it was meant to be practice but I figured I’d post it anyways

[nanamisgirly]

[uzugeto-deactivated20260405]

FRAT BRO TURNED DAD OF THE YEAR

what was supposed to be a night of quick fun, a good lay with ryomen sukuna quickly snowballed into you ending up pregnant from a one night stand. it wasn’t easy, it wasn’t something planned, and your baby daddy wasn’t exactly eager, but you’d manage. right?

PAIRING: frat bro ryomen sukuna x nerdy! fem reader (with hints of nerd!jo x reader)

CONTENT WARNINGS: 18+ content, MDNI. unprotected sex. unplanned pregnancy. the topic of abortion. sukuna being a dick. maybe (probably) inaccurate depictions of frat life. more included in the individual posts.

SERIES MASTERLIST

01. DOUBLE SHOTS & DOUBLE LINES

you’re out of your element at one of the frat parties sukuna’s hosting, left to your own devices for most of the night. one thing leads to another, you’re in his bed tonight and with a positive test five weeks later?

02. THE NERD WHO STEPPED UP

without a ride and any support, you find yourself at an abortion clinic with your roommate’s best friend, satoru gojo. do you do it, do you not do it, the thoughts haunt you, gojo’s there to stick by your side through it all.

03. FRAT BRO’S DILEMMA

ryomen sukuna finally decides to man up….three months after he spoke to you last. is he too late or will you let him back in?

04. BABY SHOWER BEAT DOWN

the date of your baby shower comes up, with both gojo and sukuna in the same room together. punches land, cupcakes fly, tears fall, all in the span of three hours.

05. PATHWAY TO HEAVEN

gojo satoru manages to reach heaven only to…fumble the bag?

06. TBD

if you asked to be tagged before this, dw i got you :3 but if you’d like to be added (or removed) at any point, please let me know!

[nanamisgirly]