heyitsmirae

[heyitsmirae]

satoru gets personally offended when you compliment someone else’s eyes. like dramatically. operatically. even if it’s a celebrity on the tv in passing—you say, “he’s got nice eyes,” and suddenly you hear an exaggerated gasp from the other side of the couch.

he’s sitting up now, spine rigid with disbelief, and when you turn, you catch him blinking at you like he’s just been betrayed by the universe itself. those lashes—long, white, feathery—flutter with full theatrical intent as he slowly leans forward, elbows on his knees, chin tipped down. but his gaze stays locked on yours, pale lashes casting soft shadows over piercing, luminous cerulean eyes that could put entire galaxies to shame.

“these eyes,” he says, voice low and wounded, “these eyes don’t do it for you anymore?”

you try to hold steady. really, you do. arms crossed, brows raised, lips pressed into a flat line. but you’re trembling with the effort not to laugh. you’re married. you should be used to this. but somehow, you’re not. not when he’s gazing up at you with those glittering blue eyes like you just ran his dog over. not when he’s pouting so hard his lower lip has its own gravitational pull.

he scoots closer, knees knocking against yours, expression nothing short of tragic. his fingers crawl up to your hand like a guilty dog begging for forgiveness he shouldn't even need. “you didn’t even mention the flecks of silver,” he adds in a whisper, tilting his head so the afternoon light cuts across his face just right. “or how they go all icy in sunlight. or how my lashes are, like, objectively longer than yours. everyone says that. you used to say that.”

“satoru,” you groan, though your lips are already twitching. you flick his forehead, and he recoils with a wounded gasp, clasping his head like you clocked him with a brick.

“no, no, don’t try to take it back now,” he grumbles, and collapses backward onto the couch like he’s been fatally wounded. one arm flung over his eyes, shirt riding up to expose a sliver of toned stomach, like that’s supposed to help his case. his hair fans out messily against the cushion, those snowy strands a halo of overdramatic despair. “i’ll just be here. unloved. unadmired. blue eyes out of commission.”

it lasts all of three minutes. because eventually, predictably, you crawl over with a sigh and plop into his lap, hands cupping his pouty cheeks as you squish them together until his lips pucker like a fish.

your fingers brush the curve of his jaw, tracing the heat that blooms along his skin. you narrow your eyes at him, your own expression somewhere between fond and exasperated. “you,” you say, leaning close so your nose brushes his, “have the prettiest eyes i’ve ever seen.”

immediate shift. his whole body lights up like you just whispered the secrets of the universe in his ear. his pout melts into a grin, eyes crinkling with delight, those lashes fluttering like he’s trying to weaponize them again.

“i know,” he hums, practically vibrating. “say it again. but slower. and like, with trembling hands. maybe a tear or two.”

you roll your eyes, but you kiss him on the nose anyway, and he goes limp underneath you, arms wrapping around your waist as he lets out a happy little sigh that puffs against your cheek. he buries his face in the crook of your neck like it’s a reflex, nuzzling with the smug satisfaction of a man who has won something he never lost.

he spends the rest of the night trailing after you like a lovesick puppy, peeking at you with wide, hopeful eyes whenever you glance his way.

(two days later, you compliment a dog on tv and satoru doesn’t miss a beat: “his eyes are literally just brown. mine sparkle like the ocean at dawn. tell me i’m right.”)

[heyitsmirae]

satoru absolutely baby talks you when you’re sick.

not in a mocking way. no. this is full-blown softie satoru, disgusting levels of wife guy activated, baby voice on max, coddling you like you’re the most precious, fragile little thing in the universe—and not because he thinks you’re weak, but because it’s the one time you let him get away with it without putting up your usual walls.

because you’re sick. hot forehead, flushed cheeks, big watery eyes that blink up at him like you’re seeing god—or worse, like you might actually cry if he leaves the room. like you need him. and honestly? that does something to him. wrecks him, even.

and you do need him. you’re fevered, shivering, curled up in bed in one of his oversized shirts, your hair a mess, nose stuffy, brain thoroughly fried. your fingers twitch like you want to reach for him but can’t be bothered to try, lips parted in a weak sigh as you breathe through your mouth. your usual bratty, mouthy, too-proud-for-help self? gone. obliterated. absolutely bulldozed by the flu. all that’s left is a miserable little lump of a wife who clings to his sleeve like a koala and mumbles, “’toru… i feel like a soggy towel…”

his whole body stills. there’s a twitch in his brow, like his heart has physically clenched. his lips part, just a little, before curling up in the softest grin. eyes soften behind pale lashes—just a hint of red at the corners from how tired he is too—but none of that matters. not when you’re looking up at him like that. the corner of his mouth tugs upward, not in amusement—but in something far gentler. reverent, even. and then god. he melts. instantly. his heart shatters into a million pieces and reforms just to explode again.

“awww, my poor widdle baby,” he coos, already pressing a kiss to your damp forehead. his breath is warm, his nose brushing yours. “does my soggy towel need her soup? wanna be spoon-fed by the hottest nurse in the world?”

you don’t even roll your eyes. you nod. actually nod. sluggish, dazed. and then flop into his arms like dead weight, forehead nudging his neck, skin hot against his collarbone. you let him hold you like you’re made of glass.

he almost cries. really. because you’re letting yourself be coddled. cuddled. taken care of. no sass. no biting remarks. just tiny, pitiful sniffles and pouty faces and your arms wrapping around his waist like he’s your anchor. like you don’t want him to go anywhere. like you can’t function without him.

and satoru eats that up like it’s a feast.

“you want juice, angel? how about some water? apple slices? forehead kisses every ten minutes? medicine with a kiss as a chaser?”

“mmm… apple. but peeled…” you whisper, voice small and hoarse, eyes half-lidded and glossy.

“of course, peeled! only the finest fruits for my fevered little dumpling,” he gasps, hand dramatically on his chest like he’s been knighted for a sacred quest. there’s a shine in his eyes—something starry, something stupidly in love.

he tucks you in like a burrito, tugs the blankets up to your chin, and then scoops you onto his lap because apparently that’s where you sleep best. his fingers comb through your hair, slow and tender, while your cheek rests limp against his shirt. he puts on your comfort show, even though you barely keep your eyes open long enough to register the sound.

he hums something soft—tuneless and low—while cradling you like a fevered woodland creature. his tone dips lower when he leans in again.

“do you still love me even if i’m gross and sweaty and my nose is red?” you mumble, lips wobbling, brows pinched like the thought genuinely upsets you.

his hand smooths along your cheek. “i love you way more,” he says instantly. “you’re my sweaty, sniffly soulmate. cutest germ gremlin i’ve ever seen.”

“you’re lying…”

“baby, i would kiss your snotty nose right now if you asked.”

there’s something almost reverent in the way he says it—like it’s a vow. and he means it. he’d do it without hesitation, wouldn’t even flinch. because if it’s you, there’s no such thing as gross. not when he’s this stupidly in love. not when every part of you, even at your messiest, makes him want to wrap you up in his arms and never let go.

you groan into his shirt, muffled and pitiful, and he grins like you just serenaded him.

“who’s the most handsome man in the world?” he asks out of nowhere, fingers curling behind your ear, brushing tenderly as if coaxing the answer out. his voice dips low, honey-sweet and just a little smug. not because he expects the answer—no, he needs it. his entire self-worth depends on your silly little validation right now.

“you are,” you mumble, cheeks squished slightly against his chest, nuzzling closer without shame.

his fingers twitch where they cradle your skull. his whole face lights up like a sunrise. pale lashes flutter, and his pupils dilate like he’s just been told he won a lifetime supply of you.

“louder.”

“toruuuuu… it’s you…”

the pleased little noise he makes is downright sinful. his lashes flutter shut as he closes his eyes in smug bliss, and he tilts his head back like he’s soaking in the warmth of your praise. if he had a tail, it would be wagging.

“that’s right,” he beams, practically preening, fingers now stroking under your chin. “say it again. for my health.”

“you’re the handsomest… in the whole world… even when your hair’s stupid…”

he gasps, clutching his chest with a hand like you just shot cupid’s arrow straight through it. “rude and true. i’ll take it.”

his heart is doing somersaults. he’s convinced there’s never been a more fulfilling moment in his life. not the promotions, not the accolades, not even the recognition. just this—this feverish little version of you, croaky and honest and too tired to pretend you’re not as in love with him as he is with you.

he whispers the dumbest, softest shit while holding you against his chest like you’re something sacred. calls you every pet name in the book and then invents new ones on the spot: baby, sweetheart, princess, dumpling, snugglebug, fever bean, coughy cake, angel face mcsweats-a-lot.

you blink up at him between fits of sleep, lips parted like you want to say something else—but all that comes out is a pathetic little whimper. his hand smooths over your spine again, touch featherlight.

“what was that, baby?” he whispers.

“love you…” you murmur, eyes falling shut.

his heart flips. flips, spirals, and lands in a fucking somersault.

he kisses your temple and you go quiet.

and when you finally pass out, nose smooshed into his collarbone, snoring faintly like the most adorable little gremlin, he exhales like it’s the best moment of his life. like the universe aligned just for this. like his purpose has been fulfilled. his hand never stops moving—stroking your spine, combing your hair, tracing shapes into your shoulder blade beneath the fabric of his shirt.

he lives for clingy, soft, unguarded sick-you. because even though he adores the bratty, sharp-tongued, little menace version of you that picks fights and flicks him on the forehead and makes him earn every kiss—this version? this sleepy, dependent little furnace wrapped in blankets and his love? she needs him.

and satoru loves being needed. loves being the one you reach for, even when you’re half-delirious. especially when you’re half-delirious.

he leans down again, voice barely audible now.

“rest up, baby,” he whispers, brushing your hair from your clammy forehead. “you’ll feel better soon. and then i’ll go back to being emotionally bullied by my beloved wife.”

[heyitsmirae]

husband!nanami preemptively budgeting for your unborn baby

on the morning after your second positive test, your husband’s standing hunched over the kitchen table—he’d left bed quietly, with the soft deliberation he applied to most things in life. in front of him sits a mug of untouched coffee gone tepid. a yellow legal pad: column after column of figures in tidy script, annotated with 0.5 uni ball pen.

you hover in the doorway a moment, admiring his profile: barefoot in his slacks, hair slightly mussed. he doesn’t hear you until you shift your weight, floorboard creaking underfoot.

“seven weeks,” you say, by way of greeting.

“approximately,” his gaze drops back to the paper. “which, optimistically, gives us about seven months to account for the first year’s expenses.”

“did you know,” he murmurs, “the average cost of a child’s first year is nearly two million yen? that doesn’t include school fees. or medical insurance. or college tuition.”

you step closer, skimming the columns. food, childcare, emergency savings, medical contingencies. even a line labeled ‘adjusted parental leave income.’

“this one here,” he says, tapping his pen against a neat cell, “is a preliminary projection for an international preschool program. in the event we don’t stay in tokyo. though it’s still early.”

you blink. “ken. our child is the size of a blueberry.”

“irrelevant at this stage. what matters is equity of access.”

you fold yourself into the space between his chair and the table, arms looped around his neck, cheek pressed against his temple. his pen halts midstroke.

“i’m not worried,” he adds finally. “i just want to plan ahead. i don’t want you—or them—to ever need anything.”

you kiss the top of his head. “you’re gonna be a great dad.”

he hums, then under his breath, “do you think two air purifiers would be too much?”

[heyitsmirae]

satoru gojo fic recs - pt. 1

[anime fic rec m.list]

· · ♡ · · tysm to the amazing creative minds of the writers for giving me sevaral moments of joy reading your creations

these are my personal favs so pls reblog if you like any of them, and don´t forget to support authors!❤️

a song of past romance - ( @fushitoru ) smut but make it demure, flUFF, greek mythology au, suitor/king!gojo, princess!reader, whimpering gojo agenda (weloveit). PLEASEEEE THIS IS ONE OF THE BEST GOJO PERIOD PIECES OUT THERE. it will have you giggling and kicking your feet TRUST

ranking types of hugs he'd be comfortable with another guy giving his gf! - ( @fushitoru ) fluff, bf!gojo, established relationship. not him being devastated bc of a tiktok filter, lmao we love gojo with his theatrics

the horniest - ( @arminsumi ) gojo smut, ITS SO GOOOOOOOOOODDDDDD, he´s horny af, pussy drunk, obsessed, borderline crazy for that wap

phone calls - ( @kingkonoha ) slice of life, hubby!gojo, dilf!gojo, his wife and his daughter are his only priority, this is so sdkfjskdjfh :´( i love it

too much - ( @risuola ) ANGSTTTYYYY, fluff too, reader and gojo are in a situationship kinda thing where they live together and love each other but nothing has been said yet, they get into an argument bc gojo has a big mouth and says a lot of hurtful things, they´re both just so exhausted

i know you still think about the times we had - ( @saetoru ) angst, fluff, rich bf!gojo, his father makes you break up with him, it´s so angsty omg, they get into this HUGE argument bc gojo´s dad is a controlling mf

sanctuary - ( @arminsumi ) fluff, lowkey angst, weak!reader, bully!gojo, nah he´s just in love but doesn´t know how to say it

flicker of flame - ( @tteokdoroki ) fluff, nervous soon to be dad!gojo, pregnant!reader, he´s going to be the best dad ever

mirror´s pov - ( @teddybeartoji ) smut, "satoru likes jerking off in front of a mirror" YUP, a whole POV of him beating his meat to the thought of you BEAUTIFULLY written, very detailed

thatgirlis..poison!! - ( @gojosprettyprincess ) gojo smut, overstimulation. this is some gewwwd pwp, we love to see it

the weakeast - ( @screampied ) gojo ANNngst, character death mention. yall already know when it comes to angst i´m that girl, i know i good, well written angst when i see it

accidental nude - ( @satoruhour ) gojo smut, AAND HE SENDS A WHOLE VIDEO!!

gojo tried to give himself a haircut - ( @enkvyu ) this is fuNNY ksksks, I love the banter

trying to break up with yandere!gojo - ( @peachsayshi ) yan!gojo. yep, we´re talkin about lovesick toxic obsessed type of gojo, LDKJSDFJDJFHL

too much - ( @risuola ) ANGSTTTYYYY, fluff too, reader and gojo are in a situationship kinda thing where they live together and love each other but nothing has been said yet, they get into an argument bc gojo has a big mouth and says a lot of hurtful things, they´re both just so exhausted

[heyitsmirae]

Have you guys heard of cats. They're great.

[heyitsmirae]

Cross-Examination

✦ One-Shot

Reader x Hiromi Higuruma | 18+ MDNI

cw: nsfw, slow burn turned rough, praise + light dom, legal roleplay vibe, dirty talk,soft aftercare, slight corruption

⸻

The apartment is silent except for the sound of his jacket hitting the floor. His tie comes next, yanked loose with uncharacteristic aggression.

You’re already on the couch — waiting, watching. You know that look in his eyes.

Defeat doesn’t sit well on Hiromi Higuruma.

“I let a murderer walk today.” His voice is quiet, but you hear the venom in it. “They smiled. Thanked me. Like I gave them a gift.”

You rise to your feet slowly. “You followed the law.”

He looks up at you — and for a moment, that calm, righteous mask shatters. All that’s left is a man barely holding himself together.

“No,” he murmurs. “I followed a system built to protect them. I want—”

He stops himself. His jaw clenches.

Then: “I want to feel something pure.”

You’re in his arms before he can say more. He kisses you like a verdict — hard, decisive, hands gripping your waist like he’s anchoring himself.

There’s no courtroom now. No robe. No hammer.

Only heat.

He walks you backward to the desk — the same one where he reviews evidence, scribbles legal theories — and lifts you onto it like you weigh nothing. His mouth drags along your neck, each kiss more desperate than the last.

“Take your clothes off,” he says, voice rough.

You obey. And when you’re bare before him — knees spread, heat pooling between your thighs — he just stares. His tie is still around his neck, shirt half unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up.

“You’re beautiful,” he says simply. Then adds, almost reverently, “Like justice.”

You let out a shaky breath. “Then why are you looking at me like you’re about to ruin me?”

He presses you back against the wood and lowers his mouth to your chest, his hands traveling everywhere — stomach, thighs, over the curve of your ass.

“Because justice should be blind,” he whispers against your skin, “but I see you. I feel you. And I can’t be righteous when I want you this much.”

His cock presses against your thigh, hard and thick through his slacks. You writhe beneath him, needy, aching.

When he finally thrusts into you — slow, deep, intentional — you cry out. He swallows the sound with a kiss, fucking you like he’s memorizing the evidence of your body.

“You take me so well,” he groans. “So tight, so perfect. Like you were made for cross-examination.”

Your nails dig into his back as he quickens the pace — each thrust sharper, more desperate. One hand grips your jaw, angling your face toward his.

“Look me in the eyes when I make you come.”

You do. And it shatters you.

Your orgasm hits like a gavel — loud, final, unstoppable. You clench around him, crying out, and Higuruma follows a moment later, spilling inside with a ragged breath against your neck.

Silence. Just your gasps. His heartbeat against yours.

He doesn’t speak for a long while. Just wraps his arms around you, presses his forehead to yours.

“You’re the only thing in my life that doesn’t feel… compromised,” he says softly.

You kiss his cheek. “Then sentence me.”

He smiles — not like a lawyer. Like a man.

“I already have. Life. With me.”

໒꒰ྀི ˶• ༝ •˶ ꒱ྀི১ hope you like it!!

be sure to check out my other stuff too <3

[heyitsmirae]

Plz I am feral for this kind of domesticity 😮‍💨

୨୧ — As the clock ticked past midnight, you swayed in the kitchen, spatula in hand, humming softly to the melody playing from your phone. The savory aroma of bulgogi filled the air, marinated beef sizzling in the pan just the way Nanami liked it.

The front door clicked open quietly, but you never once heard it over the music and the sizzling food. Nanami’s tired eyes softened at the sight of you dancing between stirring the meat and chopping vegetables, completely lost in your own world. He set down his suit jacket silently, his years of behind a sorcerer allowing him to move without making a single sound- allowing him to sneak up on you.

You gasped as familiar strong arms suddenly encircled your waist, spinning you around. "Eep~!" you squealed with delight before giggling as you came face to face with your husband's smiling eyes.

"You're still up?" his deep voice tinged with affection, but you could hear the hint of guilt, "You didn't have to wait up..."

"I wanted to," you replied, reaching up to brush a stray strand of his blonde hair away from his forehead, "Besides, you shouldn't eat convenience store food every night." Before he could dismiss the accusation you arched an eyebrow, "you’ve been working overtime so much, Kento… I see the 7/11 wrappers in your car."

Nanami’s gaze lingered on your face, taking in the softness of your features in the warm kitchen light. You were so thoughtful, so loving and kind to him… He was truly grateful you yelled at him all those years ago that he deserved happiness.

Without warning, he gently took the spatula from your hand and set it aside, then pulled you away from the stove.

"What about dinner-" you protested, but he just reached over to lower the heat.

"It can wait," he murmured, pulling you into his arms. His hand finding the small of your back, the other intertwining with your fingers as he began to sway with you around the kitchen island.

Your soft giggles filled the air again, "And what do you think you’re doing Mr?"

"Dancing with my wife," Nanami answered simply, his usual serious demeanor melting away in the privacy of his home, "I missed you today."

You let your head rest against his broad chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. His blue dress shirt still carried the scent of work and hints of his expensive cologne, always the comfort for you after waiting hours for him to come back to you.

"…How was work?" you asked, looking up at him.

"Gojo makes it difficult, but Itadori is improving." he replied, but you already knew it was the same old, his eyes always giving himself away- tired of fighting, of responsibilities, of the weight of being a sorcerer, "But I'm home now."

You raised yourself on tiptoes, pressing your body closer to his, "Yes, you are," you whispered, your lips finding his. What started as a gentle kiss quickly deepened, your tongues meeting in a dance of their own as they fought for dominance. His hand on your lower back pressed you even further into him, the other holding the back of your head now as if you were his lifeline… a low groan escaping him as he pulled back reluctantly.

"It would seem," he breathed against your lips, "as much as I'd like to continue, we have an audience."

You turned in his arms, following his gaze toward the spiral staircase that led to the second floor. There, peeking through the railings with wide eyes and matching tousled hair, were your three little girls- miniature versions of their father with your smile.

"Papa’s home!" the youngest whispered loudly, as if it were still a secret.

The middle one elbowed her, "Shh! They were having a moment!"

Your eldest just watched with a smile, her hands pressed against her cheeks as if watching a romance film.

Rather than embarrassment, warmth spread through your chest as you looked back at Nanami. His eyes crinkled with pure joy, the rare, full smile that only his family got to see spreading across his face.

"Shooould we send them back to bed?" you asked quietly.

Nanami shook his head, then gestured to the girls, "Come here girls. Your mother made a feast."

As the girls scrambled down the stairs in their pajamas, excited despite the late hour, Nanami pulled you back into him so that he could continue dancing, swaying ever so gently.

"Just a little longer," he whispered into your hair, savoring this moment and memorizing every last detail so that he could relive this in his head tomorrow while he worked.

The food could wait. For the night was still young… ish.

And Nanami Kento, your beloved husband was home.

˚₊‧꒰ა. 𝑀𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

[heyitsmirae]

sneak peak..

ac: @momoya348

[heyitsmirae]

୨୧ ― The hotel room door closes with a soft click behind you, the pale light of the moon streaming through floor to ceiling windows.

Nanami had reserved the penthouse suite, ordered champagne that cost more than most people's rent, and even scattered rose petals across the king sized bed like fallen prayers. The man- your now husband, had ensured every detail was perfect for this moment after your wedding.

Because nothing- absolutely nothing, was ever too much when it came to you.

His hands wind around your waist from behind with the same reverence he'd shown sliding the ring onto your fingers hours ago. It was almost like he was memorizing the moment through touch alone. "Mrs. Nanami," he murmurs against your ear, and you feel him smile at the unfamiliar weight of your new name. "My wife," pressing his lips against your neck, the word still foreign on his tongue but sweeter than any bread he's ever had.

You lean into his warmth, the soft fabric of his tuxedo rubbing against the back of your own dress. "Mr. Nanami," you breathe, reaching back to caress his cheek, and you feel him press into you more at the title, his grip on you tightening, "My husband."

His fingers found the delicate zipper at your spine, drawing it down with practiced patience. Each inch of exposed skin received its own blessing- lips, warm breath, soft touches that made you arch against him.

"So beautiful,” he breathes against your vertebrae, "always so beautiful." his breath ghosts over your bare shoulders as the white gown slides away like shed silk... "Perfect," he adds, voice hitching as the fabric pools at your feet in waves of ivory and lace, leaving you in nothing but intricate lingerie. The garter belt sits high on your thigh- his gift to you, adorned with a diamond that matches the one on your finger. 

Turning you in his arms, "Gorgeous," his lips find yours in a sweet kiss, hands tracing your jaw, "Stunning," he whispers, cupping the nape of your neck as he draws you deeper, tongue coaxing a quiet moan from your lips… "All mine." he says with a low growl. All these words heavy with the weight of a man who's never been careless with language. When Nanami Kento calls you beautiful, gorgeous, stunning... perfect, it's because he's catalogued every detail that makes them true.

And it was all reserved just for you. Only for you.

Your hands reach up to push the jacket from his shoulders, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt- needy and impatient until he caught your hands. "Slowly," he commanded gently, "we have all night."

His mouth traced the column of your throat, pausing at your pulse point to feel your heart racing. "I love how responsive you are," he murmured, teeth grazing your collarbone, "how you tremble when I touch you here..." his thumb traced your nipple through delicate white lace… "How you make those little sounds..."

A soft moan escaped as he took the lace covered peak between his teeth, rolling gently until your knees buckled.

"That sound," he groaned, steadying you against his chest, "I'm going to spend tonight learning all the new ones you'll make as my wife."

"Mmph~ K-Kento~ oh god I-"

"Shhh, I'll take care of you," he promises, fingers ghosting along the lacy edge of your panties, "just like I always do, only this time..." his thumb rubs circles through the thin fabric of your thong, a teasing pressure against the bundle of nerves that has you moaning and rocking against his hand, "i think i'll make sure this whole building knows you're Mrs. Nanami now."

His strong arms hook beneath your legs, lifting you effortlessly to settle you among the rose petals. The bed dipping under his knee as he follows, hovering over you like a man worshipping at an altar, fingers caressing your face as he takes a moment to simply admire the picture you make- sprawled out beneath him. 

"I love you," the words barely audible as he leans down, lips finding the delicate skin of your inner thigh, teeth grazing the delicate skin, "so much." Your back arches involuntarily as he finds the diamond adorning the middle of your garter, giving it a flick with his tongue before tracing the silk band with calloused fingers. "I'm so glad you didn't toss this earlier," he admits... "When you told everyone you were keeping it... I was relieved you wanted to skip that particular tradition."

The diamond catches in the moonlight as you bite your lip, a sweet smile playing at the corners of your mouth, "Well~ I was thinking," you card your fingers through his styled hair, mussing the soft strands, "maybe I could wear just this when you come home from work from now on."

His eyes snap to yours, "Don't," his tone serious- the careful control he's maintained all evening fracturing at your words... "Don't tell me things like that unless you want me taking extended lunch breaks to come home… I don't think I'd be able to control myself if you did." he confesses, and the honesty in his voice has your heart skipping a beat, "I barely manage now."

Without breaking eye contact, he catches the garter between his teeth, his lips grazing your skin as he drags it achingly slow down your thigh, "do you know how many nights I’ve dreamed of you greeting me at the door wearing nothing but this?" With a final tug, he slips the garter free, letting it dangle from his mouth before tossing it aside with a smirk.

"K-Kento please~" You squirm under his heated gaze, thighs squeezing together, trying to relieve the throbbing ache between your legs, but the action only makes it worse… "Please don't tease me tonight. I can't-"

"Please what, darling?" a lock of his hair falls in his eyes, "Tell your husband what you need." He runs his hands up the back of your thighs, lifting and spreading them apart. The sight of his head between your legs, looking up at you from beneath the fall of his hair has you biting the inside of your cheek...

"Please~" the word barely a whisper, "M'need you, Kento. Need my husband to make a mess of me hah~"

Your words dissolve as he removes your lace thing- his mouth finding you bare and fucking soaked, "God," he groans against you, tongue swiping at your slick folds. 

He devours you like communion wine, like salvation itself, tongue fucking into your entrance, a thumb circling the small bud above.

"Nghhh fuck~" Your eyes squeeze shut, the pressure building, hips rolling to meet his tongue, your juices covering his chin.

"So sweet," he groans, the words muffled against your pussy, the vibration making you buck against him, "I could savor you all night."

With that he rises up, mouth leaving you empty and aching, his hands pinning your hips to the bed, "But I think i'll save the rest of my appetizer for later." He smirks down at you, wiping the remnants of your slick off his chin with the back of his hand.

Slowly, he reaches down to unbuckle his belt, pulling it free in a single motion, "Put your arms above your head, love," he orders softly, watching as you obey without question, a soft gasp escaping when he catches both your wrists, securing them with his belt. "This is my wedding night as well, after all…" securing the leather strap around the frame of the headboard, "And I intend to take my time with you."

Your fingers curl around the smooth leather, testing the bindings as his cock springs free, precum already pearling at the tip. The head is flushed, straining, and aching to be buried in your heat.

"Fuck-," he groans, hand gripping the base, thumb sweeping his weeping slit, "you have no idea what you do to me."

He positions himself between your thighs, the thick head of his cock teasing your entrance, sliding along your wet folds, the tip catching your clit, and then he's sinking into you, a strangled groan torn from his throat as you wrap around him like a vice.

Each thrust has the bedframe creaking as he fills you completely, perfectly, his cock stretching you just right. His forehead rests against yours, breath mingling as you move together, the only sounds in the room are the obscene sounds of your joined bodies, your broken cries, his grunts of pleasure.

"Ah! Mnnnh Kento~" You writhe beneath him, tugging at the restraints, body arching and straining for release, but the position keeps you helpless, a moaning wreck, pinned and bound by his cock, his weight, his strength.

"Harder~" The word slips out before you can stop it, and you feel him still above you.

"Are you certain?" His voice carries an edge now, something darker lurking beneath the tenderness.

"Please, Kento. I need… I need you to fuck me. M’need my husband to make me scream~."

The change is immediate. Your sweet gentle Nanami, replaced by his more desperate… pent up, and demanding side- god you loved it when he got like this~. His thrusts become punishing, deep enough to make you see stars- head so dizzy it causes you to babble incoherently. And his words… oh, his words turn absolutely filthy.

"This what my precious wife needs?" he rasps, breath hot against your throat as his cock drives deep, "Her loving husband splitting this perfect pussy open, making her beg for more like a whore."

The headboard rocks against the wall as he thrusts into you, one hand fisted in your hair, the other gripping your hip hard enough to leave marks. "Look how you're taking it," he pants, voice breaking, "Greedy little thing swallowing my cock. You're dripping all over the sheets, darling."

When he pulls out he’s quickly undoing his belt from your wrists- flipping you onto your stomach hastily as you whimper at the sudden emptiness. But then he's slamming back into you from behind, the new angle making you scream into the pillows.

"That's it," he groans, watching as that pretty pussy of yours grips him each time he withdraws, "let the whole hotel hear how good your husband fucks you. Let them know how desperate- how hungry you are for my cock."

His hand comes down on your ass with a brutal crack, making you clench and gush around him. "You like that, don't you? My beautiful wife likes being spanked while she gets her pussy destroyed from behind."

"Y-yesss! Oh god, yesss!" you babble, drool pooling at the corner of your lips as you're fucked senseless- eyes rolling back, "I love it when you ahhhh! when you use me like this!" Your voice breaks into needy whimpers, pussy clenching desperately around his length as he pounds into you, "Yesyesyes! Fuck me harder!"

He sets a brutal pace, each thrust hitting that spot deep inside that makes your vision white out, your body trembling as you lose yourself completely to the sensation. "Please," you moan, saliva dripping from your parted lips, "don't stop... m’need it so bad... need your cock so f’hah- fucking deep..."

"Going to stuff you so full," he growls against your ear, teeth sinking into your shoulder, "give you everything until you’re overflowing with it… until your belly swells with it..."

His movements stutter for just a heartbeat- eyes widening in shock at what he'd just said… Until your belly swells... Did he really just confess he wants to make a child with you tonight? The admission sends a shock through his system even as his cock throbs harder at the thought.

"I- …," he breathes shakily, almost stunned by his own desperate need. But there's no taking it back now… the raw truth is out.

"D-do it~" you coo breathlessly, the words sending a shiver of pure want down his spine. Your fingers push back his hair, holding him close, and the way you look at him... The sheer amount of adoration and love in your eyes, it nearly steals his breath away. You are the light of his life...

His thrusts become erratic, sloppy, each one driven by that new need to create something precious- a son, a daughter… either or it didn’t matter.

"Look at me," he gasps, his voice breaking. "I want to see your face when I- ngh-"

Your eyes lock as his control finally snaps. With a broken moan of your name, Nanami buries himself to the hilt and releases. Hot sticky ropes of cum flood your womb, painting your inner walls white as he empties himself completely. Your own orgasm washing over you from the fullness of him, your pussy clenching and milking every last drop from his throbbing cock.

Afterward, you lie tangled together, skin slick with sweat and cum. He holds you close, pressing soft kisses to your neck as you both slowly return to earth, his cum slowly leaking out of your thoroughly used pussy.

Later, much later, dawn creeps through silk curtains to find Nanami already awake, memorizing the sight of you sleeping peacefully beside him. His thumb traces over your wedding ring, this symbol of a future he never dared imagine…

"Wife," he whispers to himself, the word starting to sound less foreign.

Husband…

Thats what he is now.

And someday, perhaps sooner than later… A father.

He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, marveling at you- this woman who chose him, who said yes to forever with a man who once thought love was a luxury- the only luxury he thought he couldn’t afford in his dangerous line of work. Now he knew this, it was the only wealth that mattered… and he was the richest man alive.

˚₊‧꒰ა. 𝑀𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

[heyitsmirae]

JJK MEN X READER !!!

Four roommates. One girl. Zero self-control.

Room for One more ?

Pairing - JJK Men x reader

Status - Ongoing

You moved in for cheap rent, not to get passed around like a shared secret. But with four insanely hot men in one apartment— Gojo, Geto, Toji, and Nanami—it didn’t take long before things get messy. Now you’re cockwarming Nanami at midnight, riding Gojo in the shower, bent over for Geto before dinner, and getting your throat fucked by Toji. College? Peace? Who needs it when you’re getting ruined nightly?

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twenty-four twenty-five twenty-six twenty-seven twenty-eight

twenty-nine thirty thirty-one thirty-two thirty-three thirty-four

A/N: a reminder that Room for one more is a no-limits smut-heavy fic—it’s only going to get more intense and darker, please check CWs and only read if you’re comfortable with that kind of content .

comment down to get included in the taglist! Also I started a backup account in case something happens to my current one - just to be safe lol, So if y'all are interested, @jinjoohaa-blog do follow !

[heyitsmirae]

🦢𓍼ོ 𑜞᭄ೃ always look at me like we're eighty, darling.

like we have sixty years behind us, wrinkles by our eyes, like there's one more ache in my spine and i can't remember yesterday's appointment but i can recall your diamond necklace and the dried flowers in a vase on our very first date.

And when we're eighty, i hope you always look at me like we're both still young with that same fire that used to make us run out of sleep, like it hasn't stopped raining, and like our coffee is still waiting because i lost you in kisses by the stove.

like the love behind your brown eyes is a window to the tie that guided my soul to be with yours.

always look at me like i love you. like i'd never lived unless i wore grey in my hair next to yours like a promise, and like i'd know where to meet you in every single tomorrow and have you as mine all over again. 💕

@yuutaguro thank you sooo much for this beautiful comm I will always cherish of Kento and I and for being so kind!!! 🥹🥹💕💕 please go check them out and support!! 🫶🏽. dividers @/anitalenia. writing by me. 💕

[heyitsmirae]

more selfie leaks from the new jjk movie!

[heyitsmirae]

more detective au — the yappening ...

stay in the loop & get more regular updates here!!

[heyitsmirae]

secretly admiring a lawyer ...

[heyitsmirae]

─── ⋆⋅ a guide on how to decompress ♡

❝synopsis❞ ‣ a simple look into how the men of jjk loves decompress after a long and stressful day.

𓆩☆𓆪 𝙿𝙰𝙸𝚁𝙸𝙽𝙶(𝚂) › jjk men x gn!reader 𓆩☆𓆪 𝙶𝙴𝙽𝚁𝙴(𝚂) › slice of life, fluff, suggestive 𓆩☆𓆪 𝚃𝚈𝙿𝙴 › headcanon 𓆩☆𓆪 𝚆𝙾𝚁𝙳(𝚂) › 2.8k+ » 10min read. 𓆩☆𓆪 𝚆𝙰𝚁𝙽𝙸𝙽𝙶(𝚂) › none really, just cute fluff and men being in love. 𓆩☆𓆪 𝙿𝙾𝚂𝚃 𝙳𝙰𝚃𝙴 › 06.13.25 𓆩☆𓆪 𝙰/𝙽 › look, I know I post every century but like I'm trying xD writing is so overwhelming frfr lol but I hope you like this! I think after everything they've been through they deserve a break, right? lol also excuse any errors, i've been trying to get this out lol. enjoy babycakes!

❝featuring❞ ‣ gojo satoru, geto suguru, itadori yuji, megumi fushiguro, nanami kento, shui kong, choso, toji fushiguro, inumaki toge, aoi todo, atsuya kusakabe, takuma ino, yuta okkotsu, ryomen sukuna, kiyotaka ijichi, masamichi yaga and hiromi higuruma ♡

♦ gojo satoru — clings. 

there's something in the way that your scent lingers that makes Satoru want to hold you hostage in his embrace. Never mind feeling your love and warmth, it's the naturality of how normal being with you feels. It leaves him with ignoring boundaries just to be near you. Your perfume? Makes you even more irresistible and the crazy part? It's the Christian Dior perfume he bought you for your birthday (it's not even stupid hormonal perfume your friend bought you).

Cooking Dinner? His face is buried in the back of your neck as he clings to you like a lifeline.

Laid out on the couch, mindlessly scrolling? He's found his place in between your thighs, hugging the middle of your waist and snuggling his beautiful face into your stomach. Sometimes sleep overtakes him, other times he's being his usual self. Sometimes you'll absentmindedly will start running your fingers through his hair, he's moaning and groaning obnoxiously (especially once you start to scratch at his scalp).

He treasures being in your presence, always wanting to be around when he's home (hell, even when he's not) to the point he thinks he's annoying you. You tell him you don't mind, you love him all the same. You're here if he needs you, regardless to, you'll be there.

The moment he walks through the front door with exhaustion written all over his being, you're pulling him into your embrace.

And, for that, he loves you so much for taking care of him when he needs it the most.

♦ toji fushiguro — sleep. 

Time becomes obsolete the moment he steps through the front door. Home to Toji is being close to you wherever you may be. And sleep just becomes a wonderful embrace once he has you in his arms.

Oh? You’re not sleepy?

Too bad.

You’re being dragged to your shared bedroom even if you're kicking and screaming. It’s not his fault you conditioned him to sleep in your arms, threading your fingers through his hair (which is surprisingly soft now). He clings to you once you’re laid together, an overgrown koala but you don’t mind. You often have to make sure the air is blasting so neither of you runs (too) hot. Toji doesn’t mind being the little spoon. Nor does he mind being your personal weighted blanket on the days you need to unwind.

When Megumi is born, he joins the sleep pile during his nap times. From baby to pre-teen, it becomes sort of a tradition nobody dares to break. When Megumi wants to take a nap, he seeks either you or Toji (when he’s home). Eventually Megs gets to that phase where he feels he’s too old for this but you'll always welcome him with open arms.

Cuddling into the California king size bed for some much-needed ease.

♦ nanami kento — dates/cuddling

Nanami Kento is man of few words. Although he loves listening to you ramble on and on about the latest book you've been nose deep in, he also loves when you both sit in nothing but complete silence. It's his way of decompressing. Book open, world forgotten with you in his warm embrace.

Dinner Dates. Museum dates. Aquarium Dates. Nanami is here for them.

Although, library dates have been a staple in your relationship since he could remember. It was your first date back when you were teenagers, something Nanami cherishes with every fiber of his being.

There's something about watching you sit and read on hours on end as you occasionally take sips from you coffee cup. Walking the aisle so you can find a book that's interesting, love taking that journey into finding something captivating to read. He's observant when it comes to your mood while reading. He thinks it's cute watching your facial expressions on every twist and turn in the book. Arm hooked behind your chair, he forgets about his own book too.

You’re too cute when you’re invested in something.

♦ geto suguru — long walks.

The night walks began when you were young. Teenagers who simply needed a break, sneaking out when you thought no one was watching. It was Suguru's favorite pastime, a memory he's grown fond of as the days carry on.

Even now as he sits and reminisces about the old times... his memory conjuring up the first time he kissed you on one of those walks and how nervous he was. He even remembers when Satoru (unfortunately) found out what you two were up to and tried to tag along. (He began to resent him for that but he quickly got over it). It was your guys’ thing and he didn’t want anyone fringing upon that.

Especially not him of all people.

As long as he was with you, he didn't mind where your legs would take him.

Now that he’s defected… those days are long gone but if he could, one last time, he’d take the chance...

Just to see you again.

♦ itadori yuji — disconnecting.

Yuji is a boy of a lot of words but there's something about being able to cut off his phone to be engulf in your presence.

No phones.

No internet.

No interruptions.

Even being able to get away for a weekend sounds so promising when all he wants is to be with you. Cuddling on the couch and watching TV, or rather he's watching you watch TV. Or even just being able to sit and talk about your day or any issues you may have had in the past week. Yuji is here for you when you need him and he’ll forever be that person when you need him to be.

♦ shui kong — cigarettes and fresh air. 

When you finally moved into your shared place, Shui was adamant on making sure the place had somewhere he could smoke without having to leave (happy when he found a loft with a balcony). You two quickly fall into the habit of sitting outside to relax after dinner. Watching the world pass you by and listening to the busk of the city. You maintained a peaceful routine. The balcony becoming your sanctuary, a place to unwind and reconnect amidst the chaos of daily life.

It's in these quiet moments that you both feel the most serene. Sharing things that's happened throughout the day, hopes and dreams, and laughter under the fading lights. It's truly a moment a peace and clarity as the cool evening breeze brings a sense of calmness.

Shui feels nothing but peace.

♦ hiromi higuruma — drinking wine and venting.

Higuruma is a social drinker. Rather if it's at a party or in your home, it's mostly wine he likes to indulge himself in. It's when he's four glasses in, he starts to let loose. And, five- well, he's loose lips 'Ruma (is what you and his colleagues call him). After that one mishap, he makes sure to stop drinking so much when he's but that's where your nights in became a routine.

Usually how Marge-san's filling system almost screwed him and a colleague over. Or how Yuki and her secretary are having an affair. Or how the other partner is so ass at the career he chose but there's not much he can do aside from do his part. Or even how the office's relationships change like your underwear.

You’re his confidant. He knows he can trust you with information (cause lets be real, who are you going to tell?).

Eventually the night ends with the both of you drunk, slowly dancing in the middle of your penthouse living room. ‘I love you’s’ spill from your lips as yours finds him in a soft smooch. Something Higuruma will never get tired of because let’s be honest, you’re his person and he knows there’s no one close to being you out there.

He wouldn’t trade you for the world.

♦ yuta okkotsu — entangling limbs

Yuta is (sort of) a fan of private PDA when he has down time. Which much like his cousin is very rare. When he does get to lay with you, he’s on you as much as he can be to mold himself into you. Sigh releasing his lips, all he can do is smile when your fingers thread through his hair or graze his cheek.

Eyes closed, he usually falls asleep to this but then he hates that he misses out on spending time with you so he tries his hardest to stay awake (even if sometime it’s literally impossible).

You don’t have to worry about Rika much since she sees just how relaxed Yuta is with you. She doesn’t intrude and if anything, she watches over both of you while you’re like this knowing he needs this time to relax (it always helps that she absolutely adores you as well).

♦ takuma ino — trying something new.

Finding new things to do comes naturally for Ino but, learning that you like the same things? It makes his mind run with all the possibilities. Random road trips, Mini Golf, Kickboxing- he's down for whatever next adventure you want to do next.

He wanted to try hiking for the first time (which ended with the two of you having to exorcise a curse). Another date consisted of going to a mom and pop café, piecing a puzzle together (that ended with you punching a girl in the face because she couldn’t take no for an answer).

Whatever it is, you’re both down to do what the other wants even if it’s something you haven’t even thought of doing.

♦ choso — playing with his hair.

Choso only lets you see him with his hair down. It's something he holds dear and sacred.

He finagles his way in between your legs as he lets you thread your fingers through it. He looks forward to this little activity, especially when he gets to cuddle into your middle at night. Rather if it's on the couch, in bed— Choso doesn't mind...

In fact, nine times out of ten he's the one initiating it.

He finagles his way in between your legs as he lets you thread your fingers through it. He loves this little activity, especially when he gets to cuddling into your middle as the evening fades into the night life. Rather if it's on the couch, in bed— Choso doesn't mind... In fact, nine times out of ten he's the on that initiates it.

Sitting, watching TV or playing a video game (even if he sucks at said game, he's having fun that's all that matters)? He's sat right in between your legs resting his head on your thigh. He lets the feeling of your nails sooth his irritation, he's quick to turn into putty in your hands.

His absolute favorite thing is when he's showering with you, you always end up washing his hair. He turns into putty in your hands when you start to scratch and honestly, he doesn't know how he discovered this was something that helped him mentally but he's glad you're here to help him figure it out.

♦ inumaki toge — listening to you talk about everything and nothing.

“Ooo, that new pastry place just opened! We should go.” You grab Toge's hand as he silently follows. “I think you’ll like it, babe!”

Agreeing with a silent nod, he stares as you continue talking about everything:

Animals being walked by their owners...

The stores you passed that had a gorgeous summer dress in the window.

The pastries you can't wait to eat once you get home.

He takes note of everything you've said, putting in a with your name on it in his mind. Smiling behind his jacket, all he does is listen. Your voice helps calm him after an overwhelming mission. He remembers asking for you after dealing with a particular curse that caused his throat to hurt more than usual. He listened to you vent and complain, laughed when you told him he needed to take it easy. He knows, he just wants to hear your voice.

He didn't even mind the soreness anymore.

Listening to you vent about him knowing his limits, always made his heart flutter.

“Are you even listening to me?”

He is. He always is and the day you stop talking will be the day his stress will hit an all time high.

♦ aoi todo — exercising/squabbling

There’s something about sparring with you that always makes Todo feel better (aside from sparring with his brother, of course). He tries not to go too hard on you but whenever he gets ahold of you, he's always quick to pin you down. His smile is always broad and he never hurts you (he'd harm himself before he ever lets that happen).

You're stronger than you look and he loves that about you, it's one of the reason’s he fell in love with you. You can definitely hold your own.

Slamming him against the mat (although he let's you do it on purpose), always leaves you in a fit a giggles when you start kissing all over his face. He holds you tighter before redirecting you lips to his.

You make his heart flutter.

Spending time with you will always be something that helps him decompress, even when he’s not truly stressed to begin with.

♦ atsuya kusukabe — cooking together

Kusukabe is a simple man. Work, Home- repeat. He thrives in being around you and well, coming home to his in the kitchen, cooking dinner?

He loves that.

He loves seeing you move about with ease while making whatever food you thought of on a whim. He loves it even better whenever he’s able to help. He hates when you tell him to have a seat, knowing he's had a rough day.

However, he doesn't mind.

He just wants to orbit around you.

With the both of you moving in sync, you're guiding him on what you need him to do. It’s your show and he’s your little helper. Whatever you ask of him he’ll do with no issue.

His favorite part? When the food is done and simmering, he gets the chance to grab you to hold. Lips pressed into your neck as he whispers how he's so in love with you.

♦ megumi fushiguro — listening to music/laying together

The thing about Megumi is he loves the stillness peace and quiet brings. He doesn't want for much, only to be surrounded by you (especially when he's coming home from a troublesome mission). All he wants to do is cuddle with you as you sit in silence or he (half-hardly) listens to you ramble on about your day (it's not his fault, poor baby is tired). Sometimes he even lets you put on music to fill the quietness but other times, you would simply nap together.

All things doesn't mind, if anything he enjoys revolving around you when he can be simply Megumi!

Not (Ten Shadows) Sorcerer Megumi.

♦ ryomen sukuna — sitting on his throne

Slouched but amused, head leaning against the back of one his hands. This is the position Sukuna is usually in whenever you've decided to grace your highness with your presence. He sits as still as ever, letting you straddle his lap as you bury your face into the crook of his neck (your pathetic attempting to get comfortable).

He doesn’t mind.

He’ll kill anyone who dares to look or even mutter a word about your presence as if it’s any of their business. He’s already rid himself of his worthless concubines for you.

What’s a few servants?

He won’t say it out loud, but he beginning to crave times like this. Times where the both of you can simply relax without the cares of the cruel world.

Oftentimes you'll fall asleep like this and when you do, he never hesitates to pepper kisses where he can because what kind of man would he be if could show his woman how much he cares?

A useless one, and that is something Ryomen Sukuna will never be.

♦ masamichi yaga—date night(s)/stay date(s)

Rather if it’s at home or out in about, Yaga has no problem showing you off. Relaxed and cool, these times are the only times he feels as if he can let loose. Be free of anything Jujutsu related.

No kids running amuck...

No higher ups demanding the impossible...

Just you, a movie and dinner or doing something either of you enjoy.

(The only one he didn’t do was coloring but he’ll happily sit back with his wine and watch your masterpiece unfold before his eyes).

Honestly, as long as you’re in his arms by the end of the night, (albeit) cuddling or doing nastier things. He doesn’t mind as long as he’s with you.

♦ kiyotaka ijichi — picnicking/surprise dates

You know for a fact Satoru Gojo has been stressing him out. You can see it in his face every time he returns home (when he can since he's mostly on call whenever he needs him). You simply try your best to keep your home stress free. He loves you for this, knowing he's able to leave the chaos at work until he’s ultimately called to pick up one of the sorcerers. Ijichi isn't really a spontaneous person (opposites attract) so he's glad you are.

He loves that you know when he needs a break, picking a day to sit outside and enjoy each other's company, which in return results in you packing a ridiculous amount of food.

Picnic’s sort of became your ‘thing’ after that and to see him smile and enjoy himself, it’s the only thing you strive for while the two of you are together.

© GOJOKIVE 2024 - 2025 ➳ ALL RIGHTS RESERVED! PLEASE DO NOT PLAGIARISE -and/or- TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORK! thank you for reading! & remember: you nice, keep going.❤️ comment(s)/reblogs(s)/like(s) are totally welcomed!

[heyitsmirae]

MINE. STILL.

✦ Bonus II : Polite Smile, Possessive Heart

• MINE

Part I here

-

Reader x Hiromi Higuruma | 18+ MDNI!

cw: jealousy, possessive behavior, suggestive themes, controlling/dominant partner dynamics (consensual), public tension, manhandling (non-violent but intense), nsfw tones

⸻

The venue is beautiful — warm lights, subtle floral arrangements, champagne flowing quietly through crystal flutes. Friends and family murmur over music. It’s all carefully planned, exactly how Hiromi wanted it: formal enough for his colleagues, soft enough for your family.

But none of it matters when you walk in.

You’re in a sleek satin dress — simple, elegant, but devastating. Hiromi’s conversation with one of his senior partners comes to a complete stop.

He forgets the topic. He forgets the room.

He doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe. Just stares.

You catch his gaze across the crowd, offer him the smallest smirk — as if you know what you’re doing to him. Of course you do.

He bites the inside of his cheek, eyes narrow just slightly. His hand curls around his glass tighter.

You disappear into a group of friends before he can reach you.

Mistake.

You’re laughing at something — something a little too loud, with someone a little too familiar. A colleague from your old firm. His hand lingers on your elbow a moment too long.

Hiromi watches. From across the room. Controlled. Smiling politely through conversation.

But his grip on his champagne flute is murder.

A second later, he’s moving. Not fast. But determined.

He slides beside you like he belongs there — because he does. One arm around your waist, the other politely extended to the man beside you.

“Hiromi Higuruma,” he says smoothly. “Fiancé.”

The word lands like a loaded gun.

The man stutters a greeting. Hiromi doesn’t let go of your waist. He doesn’t even pretend to hide the way his thumb presses just under your ribs, firm and a little possessive.

You lean into him and murmur, “Jealous?”

He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“You have no idea.“

Later, when the room’s thinned out and the speeches are over, you two slip away upstairs into the private suite reserved for you. Hiromi shuts the door behind you and leans against it, watching you kick off your heels with a tired sigh.

“You’re angry,” you tease gently, crossing the room.

He doesn’t answer.

Just grabs your chin, tilts your face up, and kisses you — deep, hot, a little too much for someone who’s just spent the whole night being formal.

You hum into his mouth. “So this is how you say thank you for looking that good tonight?”

He whispers against your lips:

“No. This is how I remind you who you belong to.”

And then you’re against the wall — dress hitched, hands in his hair, the sound of your ring clinking softly against his cufflink.

You’ll go back downstairs soon. You’ll thank the guests, take pictures, smile through the rest of the evening.

But right now? In his arms, breathless, dress half undone and his voice rasping your name like a secret vow?

This moment’s just for him.

Just for you.

The music is still playing softly when you and Hiromi return downstairs, your lipstick reapplied, hair half-fixed, though his fingertips still linger on your lower back like a secret only you two share.

You blend back in easily — taking congratulations, sipping champagne, nodding through speeches.

Hiromi’s hand never leaves you.

He’s composed. Controlled. Sharp in his suit, charming with your parents, cool with his colleagues. He speaks when he needs to, but you can feel the tension building in his shoulders, in the slight clench of his jaw when someone looks at you too long.

That finance guy again. He laughs a little too loud at your joke.

Hiromi’s lips twitch. He raises his glass politely. Says nothing.

But you feel it.

Every second of him holding himself back.

Back upstairs. Elevator. Then silence.

“Didn’t say much the last hour,” you murmur, leaning into him as the elevator climbs.

“I was busy.”

“Watching me?”

He doesn’t answer.

You smirk. “You didn’t like him, huh.”

His jaw tightens. “No. I didn’t like the way he looked at you.”

“Jealous?” you tease.

Hiromi doesn’t smile. Doesn’t blink. Just leans down until his lips brush your ear.

“I’m trying very hard not to fuck you against this mirror right now.”

He doesn’t wait.

You barely get two steps inside before he pushes you against the wall. His mouth finds yours with no restraint, hands grabbing, dragging, owning.

“You smiled at him,” he says, voice dark.

“I smiled at everyone.”

“Not like that.”

He lifts you with practiced ease — your legs around his waist, your dress already shoved halfway up. He tosses you onto the bed like you’re weightless and follows right after, crawling over you like a man on a mission.

“Hiromi—”

“No,” he growls, voice rough. “You don’t get to pretend that didn’t get to me.”

You try to hold the smirk, play the brat — but then he’s pushing your knees apart, mouth trailing lower, kissing like he’s starving.

“You’re mine,” he says, somewhere between your thighs, voice muffled but heavy.

“I am,” you gasp, breath catching.

“Say it again.”

“I’m yours.”

He grabs your hips harder, holds you down. “Good.”

You’re lying across his chest, heart still racing, your leg draped lazily over his stomach. The ring on your hand glints again when you lift your arm to brush hair off his forehead.

He looks up at you, dazed. Still breathless. But still… burning.

“I keep thinking about it,” he murmurs. “How that guy looked at you.”

“You already punished me,” you say with a lazy smile.

“Not enough.”

You laugh softly. “Hiromi… You’ve kissed every inch of me. More than once.”

He lifts his hand — big, warm, calloused — and brushes your bottom lip with his thumb.

“Not because I was punishing you,” he murmurs. “Because I’m fucking obsessed with you.”

Your heart skips.

Then he whispers, quieter:

“I never knew I could want someone like this.”

The morning after is warm and lazy — the kind of softness that clings to your skin after hours tangled in expensive sheets, limbs heavy and bodies sore in the best way.

Hiromi had whispered something against your shoulder before either of you fully woke:

“Don’t lift a finger today.”

But now you’re out. Dressed in something casual. His hoodie hanging loosely off your frame. No makeup. Slight hickeys visible at your collar. He insisted on taking you to a quiet café near the edge of town before heading home.

It’s supposed to be calm.

He orders black coffee. You get something with sugar and foam. He watches you eat like he’s still a little dazed. Like he still can’t believe you said yes.

Until the waiter shows up.

And everything changes.

At first, it’s innocent. A smile. A comment about how good you look in “his” hoodie.

Then it’s a joke about how he hopes your boyfriend isn’t the jealous type. You laugh politely — just trying not to make it awkward.

But Hiromi’s grip on his mug tightens.

Next, the guy lingers. Too long. He calls you sweetheart. Leans across the table while refilling your water — too close. His eyes drop to your chest.

You shift in your seat, suddenly tense.

“Sorry,” you mutter quietly. “This is… weird.”

Hiromi hasn’t said a word.

He’s just staring at the waiter now.

The air around him shifts — calm, cold. Like still water that hides something violent beneath.

When the guy walks away with one last, low “Call me if you ever get tired of him,” Hiromi slowly stands.

He pulls his wallet out, slaps a few large bills down onto the table — more than the breakfast costs. Way more.

And then?

He grabs your arm. Not gently.

You look up, surprised — but he isn’t angry at you.

His jaw is clenched. His eyes locked on the back of the waiter. His hand burns on your skin as he pulls you up from your chair.

“Let’s go,” he says, voice low and sharp.

“Hiromi—”

“Now.”

You follow without question. He pushes the café door open hard enough that it slams into the wall. Doesn’t look back. Doesn’t breathe until you’re both in the car.

In the car. Still silence. Then…

The door slams. The engine growls. You’re still holding your breath.

“…You okay?” you ask softly.

His hands grip the wheel.

Then he turns his head slowly toward you — his face unreadable, dark, controlled rage under velvet skin.

“I was one second away from putting him through a fucking wall.“

You swallow. “You didn’t. That’s what matters.”

“No. What matters is that he thought he could. That he looked at you like you were—like I wasn’t right there.”

You went silent.

He is still sitting with his hands tightly pressed to the steering wheel and does not seem to want to drive off.

“Open your legs.”

You blinked at him in the passenger seat. “…What?”

He turned the key in the ignition just enough for music and air.

Then he looked at you — that dangerous, cold lawyer stare, voice low:

“Lift your dress and open. Your. Legs.”

You swallowed and obeyed — pulse racing, breath caught in your throat.

He leaned over the console, eyes locked on your bare thighs.

“He touched you,” Hiromi growled. “And you didn’t pull away.”

“He was just—”

“Don’t. You let him touch you.”

His hand suddenly gripped your jaw, firm but not cruel.

“So now I’m going to remind you why your legs only open for me.”

He unbuckled, pushed the seat back, and dragged you into his lap before you could answer. One quick motion. Dress hitched, panties pulled aside. Desperation.

You gasped as he pushed into you — no prep, just claiming.

The windows fogged instantly. His hand tangled in your hair, the other around your throat just firm enough to own you — not hurt, just command.

“Let him think you were free. But now?”

“Now you’re going to come on my cock in this car — screaming — and tomorrow, when you walk funny at brunch, he’ll know.”

You cried out as he fucked up into you, hard and punishing, hips snapping, the sounds obscene in the small space. The music covered nothing. The rhythm was feral. Pure jealousy, pure possession.

“Mine,” he groaned into your ear. “Mine.”

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[heyitsmirae]

MINE. STILL.

✦ Bonus: “Is This What I Think It Is?”

• MINE

Reader x Hiromi Higuruma | 18+ MDNI!

cw: jealousy, possessive behavior, suggestive themes, controlling/dominant partner dynamics (consensual), public tension, manhandling (non-violent but intense), nsfw tones

⸻

Hiromi had every intention of being on time.

Truly, he did. The plan was clean: finish early, meet you downtown for ring shopping, act like a semi-respectable man and not spiral into unhinged thoughts in the middle of a Tiffany & Co.

But then he opened his work bag.

And froze.

There, tucked into the side pocket beneath some printed court notes — was a pair of panties.

Yours.

Lace. Soft. Slightly sheer. Still carrying the faintest trace of your scent.

He stared for a long, long second.

Then he grinned. Wide. Filthy. Feral.

“…Oh,” he whispered to himself, pulling them out with two fingers, like he was handling evidence. “You’re such a little menace.”

He exhaled slowly, then bit his bottom lip.

And suddenly, the entire day shifted.

He slipped the panties into his jacket pocket and left the office ten minutes later with his tie still loose, barely suppressing a smirk.

When he met you in front of the boutique, you were already waiting — smiling, makeup soft, eyes bright, like you hadn’t just set him on fire for the rest of the day.

“Hi,” you said sweetly.

Hiromi didn’t answer. Just leaned in to kiss you slow, deep, tongue brushing yours like a threat. His hand was already on your waist.

“…Hiromi?” you asked, breath catching. “Are you okay?“

He leaned into your ear.

“Did you think I wouldn’t find what you left me?”

You blinked, innocent.

“What?”

“Oh, don’t play dumb,” he murmured, letting his coat fall open slightly — just enough to flash the edge of lace in his pocket. “You tucked these in on purpose. You wanted me to think about it. About you, bent over my desk in nothing but these.”

You flushed.

He pressed a kiss to your jaw, slow and smug.

“You better not squirm when we’re inside,” he whispered. “Because if I catch you blushing in front of the jeweler, I’m going to excuse us to the backroom and make you earn that ring.”

You walked into the boutique like everything was normal.

He, on the other hand, stood behind you while the attendant presented styles — palm flat on your lower back, thumb tracing lazy circles near the waistband of your skirt.

He leaned in more than once to whisper filth you couldn’t even respond to.

“That one’s pretty. But I’m thinking something simpler, since your hands are usually gripping my sheets.”

“This one’s nice. Big enough to remind every man at your job you’re already ruined.”

“Don’t look at me like that. You left your panties in my bag, and now I’m hard in a luxury jewelry store.”

You nearly dropped your water.

Eventually, you picked a ring — elegant, with a soft gold band, exactly what he knew you’d love. His thumb brushed over your knuckles when they slipped it on, and for a brief moment…

He was quiet.

Almost reverent.

“…You really said yes to me,” he murmured, looking down at your hand.

You smiled, leaning into his chest.

“I’ll keep saying yes,” you whispered. “Forever.”

Hiromi swallowed hard — and kissed you like it meant something.

Because to him?

It did.

-

A few days later you start planning for your engagement party.

Hiromi’s laptop is open, a spreadsheet pulled up with tentative guest names. The coffee table is covered in messy notes, brochures from venues, and a half-full wine glass. Your phone keeps buzzing with texts from your best friend.

You were supposed to finalize the engagement party tonight.

He’s seated beside you on the couch, sleeves rolled up, black shirt hugging his arms, hair slightly messy from running his hands through it. He looks determined. Focused.

And absolutely, distractingly hot.

You can’t stop staring at your hand. The ring.

It glints every time you move — a new weight, a new meaning. Something that makes your stomach flutter every time he looks at you like he’s still surprised you said yes.

He notices. Of course he does.

“Stop looking at it like that,” he mutters without glancing up, typing a name into the guest list.

“Why?” you tease, lifting your hand and turning it in the light. “It’s mine, isn’t it?”

That gets his attention.

He turns his head slowly, dark eyes dragging from your hand to your face. “Yeah,” he says low, almost dangerous. “It is.”

You smirk. Innocent. Barely.

He watches you for a beat longer than necessary. Then turns back to his laptop with a soft breath through his nose — clearly trying to behave.

But the way his fingers tap just a little harder says enough.

“So…” you begin casually, “do we really need to invite your boss? He’s kind of—”

“Touchy?” Hiromi cuts in, voice clipped. “Yeah. No. He’s not coming.”

You bite back a smile.

“Okay. Then what about your mom? Mine definitely wants to—”

“My mom will ask questions if we don’t separate the cake from the dinner. I already planned for that.” He glances at you.

“You’re avoiding the list.”

“No, I’m helping. Emotionally.”

His jaw twitches. “You’re playing with that ring like you want me to take it off and put it back on somewhere else.”

Silence.

Your legs cross. Slowly. Deliberately.

He turns his body toward you.

“You’re being a brat,” he says softly, dangerously.

“And you’re being uptight,” you whisper, just as sweetly.

He stares. His tongue runs slowly along the inside of his cheek. Then he leans in close, his voice dropping like a threat disguised as a kiss.

“If I take you apart right now,” he murmurs, “you’re finishing the guest list naked in my lap.”

You grin, pulling your shirt slightly lower.

“I like multitasking.”

The laptop shuts with a soft click.

He’s on you in seconds.

It’s not rushed — but it’s not gentle either. His mouth finds your neck, hot and hungry, while his hands pull you into his lap like you were made to sit there. You feel the ring press into your skin as he grips your thigh.

“You wanted attention,” he breathes against your jaw, “you’ve got it.”

The party planning can wait.

But the way he whispers “fiancée” into your skin while he’s deep inside you?

That might be your new favorite word.

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+ the whole story • MINE •