trafalgar d. water law x afab!reader

your med student boyfriend’s idea of helping you study for your upcoming exam is anything but traditional. yet somehow, it’s alarmingly effective.

warnings ; [ 18+ ] nsfw ! established relationship, modern au, university au, implied slight age gap relationship [ law is in medical school, reader is still an undergraduate student ], biological terms used, afab reader, reader has female anatomy, law is implied to be a little bit of a nerdy loser, law wears glasses, praise, slight body worship (?), law’s a bit of a tease, not extremely explicit, slightly self-indulgent, 1273 words

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you should’ve known ‘studying’ with law was going to mean anything but actual studying.

not when your boyfriend was a third-year med student who lived half his life on caffeine and pure spite. not when he’d kissed you like he had been waiting hours for the chance and touched you like it was keeping him alive. and certainly not when his idea of “academic support” to help you prepare for your upcoming anatomy exam involved hovering over you on your dorm bed with a grin like he knew exactly what he was doing.

which, to be clear, he absolutely did.

yet, here you are, highlighter discarded somewhere between your sheets and your anatomy textbook sliding dangerously close to the edge of the mattress. the reading lamp buzzed softly in the corner, casting gold light across law’s profile as he leaned over you, hoodie rumpled, hair a mess, and glasses fogged slightly from the proximity. his forearm was braced beside your head, his weight sunk partially into the bed, half on top of you in a way that made it impossible to concentrate on anything except the slow, deliberate drag of his thumb along the curve of your waist beneath your shirt.

“alright,” he murmurs, voice low, like he doesn’t want to break the quiet hum of the room. just the steady tick of your wall clock, the faint rumble of the mini fridge, and the rapid pulse beating hard behind your ribs. “name this muscle for me, baby.”

his lips graze the line of your jaw until they land just below your ear, two inches down, precise and deliberate. he kisses you softly, the faintest pressure over the spot he knows would short-circuit your brain before you could think of a single damn term.

“law…” your voice came out much weaker than intended, the syllables of his name thinning into the air, lost between the thundering beat of your pulse and the stillness that followed. he hadn’t even done anything. not really. yet somehow your brain already feels like a scrambled egg.

he doesn’t move to kiss you again. instead, his thumb presses just beneath your ear, then drags lightly down your neck, pausing halfway along the side. his face stayed close, breath still fanning your neck, feeling the way you shivered under his touch with an amused sort of patience. his other hand slides a little higher on your ribs. not pushing, not groping. just warm and slow and undeniably present.

“c’mon angel, you’ve got this. easy one,” his voice is soft, coaxing. “don’t tell me you forgot.”

you swallow hard, eyes fluttering shut for a brief second as you take a shaky breath to remember the name that used to sit right at the top of your flashcard stack. “…sternocleidomastoid.”

his grin is immediate, teeth flashing as he presses a kiss to the exact spot his thumb had touched. then he kisses lower—just an inch—then again. slower. wetter. like he was confirming what you’d said with his mouth.

“that’s my girl,” he murmurs. you barely suppress the breathless sigh that comes out of you when he nips gently at the base of your neck.

“origin?” he asks next, mouth not even leaving your skin this time.

you groan, your brain lagging several seconds behind the question. “uh— sternal head starts from… from the shit— manubrium of the sternum.”

“mmhmm,” he hums, teeth grazing over your collarbone. “and?”

“clavicular head starts— fuck— starts from the medial third of the clavicle.”

his laugh is soft, the sound vibrates against you as he kisses down to the neckline of your shirt.

“you’re doing so good, baby,” he murmurs against the soft cotton above your sternum, voice thick with heat and quiet satisfaction. his hand, the one still under your shirt, strokes the soft skin just below bra with maddening slowness, like he wasn’t trying to completely ruin your study flow, like he wasn’t already halfway there. the weight of him above you was a gravity you couldn’t fight, and you weren’t really trying to.

you breathe out hard, head tipping back slightly into the pillow, your brain caught in this strange purgatory between academic focus and the way your body was practically vibrating under his hands.

“this isn’t tutoring,” you mumble, your voice thin and uneven.

he only laughs again, warm breath dragging over you as his fingers trail down to the hem of your shirt. he hooks it with just enough pressure to tug the fabric up, exposing the soft skin of your stomach inch by inch. his mouth follows the path immediately, lips grazing over your skin as he speaks. “sure it is. i’m reinforcing recall with kinesthetic association,” he says smugly, and you can feel the grin against your skin. “multi-modal learning, very high-yield methodology, top-tier pedagogy.”

“that’s not how that works,” you whisper, already trembling with the effort of keeping your thoughts from unraveling completely. he doesn’t respond, just smiles, that quiet, crooked thing that says he knows exactly how far gone you are.

his warm fingers skim up your stomach, past your ribs, pushing the fabric higher until it bunches just above your bra. he hums low, eyes dragging over the sliver of skin he’s exposed, then dips his head.

his lips press soft and slow to the center of your sternum, just below the edge of the bra.

then again, higher this time—mouth warm against the space between your breasts, lingering like he’s branding the spot into memory. “you say that, but you’re remembering every damn term.”

and he’s right. you are. it’s humiliating. infuriating. worse: it’s effective.

“alright.” his thumb circles a spot on your ribs, the gentle pressure enough to elicit a soft gasp.

“last one for tonight,” he lies. you know he’s lying. “what’s the insertion point?”

you gasp again when his lips dip low again, dragging over the soft curve of your belly. your legs twitch around his hips.

“fuck— mastoid process,” you manage, voice cracking on the second word, “of the temporal bone.”

“and?”

“superior, uh, superior nuchial line— ah— of the occipital bone.”

“mmm, fuckin’ perfect.” he presses a kiss right to your lower abdomen, lingering there like a reward. “you’re such a good student when you’re like this.”

“horny and pinned to my bed?”

“exactly.”

you slap your hand weakly against his shoulder, but there’s no force behind it. not when his hand slides beneath the waistband of your shorts at the same time, fingertips brushing the edge of your panties, not quite touching where you need but close enough to steal the breath from your lungs.

“law—” your voice breaks.

“shhh,” he soothes, nuzzling closer, nose pressed to your hip. “just one more review round.”

you groan again, dragging your hands through his hair, tugging until his glasses slip further down his nose and his hoodie hikes up slightly where your knees curl against his sides. you’re flushed, undone, already lost in the next wave of heat that spreads outward from every place he touches.

he drags his fingers down, slow and light and utterly evil, skimming over your soaked underwear now. he's mouthing soft, wet kisses down your stomach. “ready for the innervation pathways?” he teases, tongue flicking at the waistband. “i’ve got a few ways we could cover cranial nerve XI.”

you whimper. “i’m dropping out.”

“no you’re not,” he says, kissing the inside of your thigh, “you’re gonna pass with flying colors.”

and then he licks up—slow, claiming, too sure of himself—and whatever part of your brain was still clinging to coherent thought disappears completely.

your textbook hits the floor with a soft thump, you don’t hear it.

@rombug for my favorite law lover <3

"katsuki!" you shriek. you only barely let go of your steaming, freshly-poured cup of tea in time for it not to go flying as your world goes topsy turvy. "katsuki, what are you—?"

the man whose shoulder you find yourself so unceremoniously hoisted atop doesn't say anything, just carries you off in the direction of your bedroom and flops you down—in a surprisingly gentle way—into your bed.

his hair is still damp from his post-patrol shower, like he hadn't bothered to dry it before racing home. his cheeks are a bit pink. his eyes are narrowed in determination, but still loving.

"what is going on?" you breathe in bewilderment, sprawled out underneath your husband. there are butterflies in your stomach that you can't explain. there's an anticipation thrumming through you that you don't quite understand.

"i'm fuckin' sick of people being so damn nosy all the time," he says, his jaw clenching as he spits out the words.

- WAS THAT A… -

multiple x gn!reader

USHIJIMA

You weren't even planning to say anything at first. He looked tired, yeah, but Wakatoshi always looked serious. That wasn’t new. But then you saw it—the barely-there shift in his jaw, the way his shoulders sat unnaturally high, like he was constantly ready to swing.

"You're tense," you said quietly.

"I'm fine," he replied, but it lacked his usual solid certainty. His olive eyes didn’t meet yours either.

You scooted closer on the couch, placing a gentle hand on his back. "That’s not a no."

He didn’t move away, so you took that as permission. Your fingers started at the base of his neck, firm but slow, and even through the thick fabric of his shirt, you could feel how tight the muscles were.

"You shouldn't let it get this bad," you murmured, thumbs pressing into a knot just beneath his shoulder blade.

He exhaled—long, soft, and shaky.

Was that a— whimper?

You paused for a second, stunned. Ushijima Wakatoshi just whimpered. Quiet and low, but there. Real.

"...Did that hurt?"

"No," he said, voice gravelly. “It feels… relieving.”

That silence stretched again, but it wasn’t awkward. He let you continue, head dipping forward slightly, body slowly giving in as your hands worked the stress out of him inch by inch.

When you finally paused, he turned slightly, meeting your eyes with something softer than usual. “Thank you,” he said. Honest. Bare.

You smiled. “Anytime.”

SAKUSA

“Someone looks tired,” you say, sitting beside Sakusa on his plush white comforter.

For the past hour, he’s been watching volleyball plays non-stop and hasn’t uttered a word.

“I’m fine. No need to worry,” he muttered, hands resting in his hair, fingers curled like he’s holding his thoughts in place. His eyes are glued to the screen, but the tension in his shoulders gives him away.

“You’ve been watching the same rally for ten minutes.”

He doesn’t answer that. Just shifts slightly, jaw tight.

You hesitate for only a second before scooting closer. “Turn around.”

“What?” he says, glancing at you, brows raised in surprise.

“Back. To me.” You tap your thigh. “Come on.”

He stares at you for a second like he’s waiting for you to laugh or say just kidding, but when you don’t, he lets out a quiet sigh and turns. Cross-legged in front of you, head slightly bowed.

You place your hands on his shoulders, and immediately, he flinches—not in fear, but like his body didn’t know how much he needed to be touched until now.

“God, Kiyoomi,” you breathe, gently working your thumbs into the tight muscle. “You're all knotted up.”

He doesn’t reply, but his shoulders slowly start to drop. You keep going, thumbs tracing little circles down his neck and up to his shoulder blades. His breathing gets deeper, slower.

Then—just under his breath—you hear it. A soft, shaky noise.

A whimper.

He freezes the moment it escapes him.

“Don’t,” he says quickly.

He turns around to meet your face seeing a sly smirk on your face.

“Fuck you” he mutters

“Yeah, yeah you can wait for that.”

BOKUTO

“You’re unusually quiet.”

You peek into Bokuto’s room and find him sprawled across the bed, face down in a pillow, limbs flopped out like a starfish. His usual energy is nowhere to be found—no dramatic hello, no impromptu flexing, no hey hey hey.

Just a muffled, “M’fine.”

Which is Bokuto-speak for absolutely not fine.

You cross the room and sit by the edge of the bed, gently running your fingers through his hair. It’s soft and a little flattened, like he’s been flopping around up here for a while.

“Tough practice?” you ask.

He grunts. “Missed, like… three spikes. Then I got in my own head, and I couldn’t get the timing right, and I let everyone down.”

“That’s not true,” you say quietly.

He doesn’t argue, but he doesn’t agree either. His fingers tighten in the blanket.

You hesitate, then gently tap his shoulder. “Roll over.”

He turns just enough to peek at you with those warm, amber eyes—slightly glassy.

“I don’t wanna move.”

“You don’t have to. Just… lemme take care of you.”

That gets him to shift, just enough for you to slide in beside him. He lies on his stomach again, and you climb over his hips, straddling his lower back. Your hands find his shoulders, firm but careful, and the second you press into the muscle, he lets out the softest sound.

A choked whimper.

He immediately stiffens.

“I didn’t make that noise,” he says into the pillow.

“You definitely did.”

“Did not.”

“Bo,” you say, lips twitching into a smile, “it’s okay. You’re literally vibrating with tension. You needed that.”

He groans, half mortified, half boneless. “You have magic hands.”

You giggle, thumbs working into the knots along his shoulder blades. “Don’t boost my ego too fast. I’m not even halfway done.”

“Then don’t stop,” he murmurs, voice thick and sleepy now. “Feels good. Really good.”

You soften, leaning down just enough to kiss the top of his head. “You’re allowed to have bad days, y’know. Doesn’t make you any less amazing.”

For once, he doesn’t argue. Just sighs. Deep and shaky.

You keep rubbing slow, gentle circles into his back, and eventually, the last bit of tension slips out of him. He falls asleep like that, warm and heavy beneath your hands—finally at peace.

today was luckily, uneventful. you were called into your agency to capture one villain, then were sent back home because there was nothing else to do. it truly was a happy and calm day for you, which hadn’t happened in a couple of years.

so you sprinted home, having not taken a car to get to your agency, as it was only a few blocks away. you opened the door with the key you kept in your costume, which probably wasn’t the smartest idea.

once you stepped in, the smell of your favorite food invaded your senses. did katsuki try and make you a meal while you were gone? a smile found its way to your face. the blonde wouldn’t normally admit his admiration or love for someone, but he found multiple ways to express it, like cooking a meal for someone.

the first thing you saw was katsuki’s tall figure with his back facing you. scars lay on his back, scattered, some big and some small, the same as the ones that covered his body. you walked up to him before freezing in your tracks. was he wearing grey sweatpants?

your face heated up at what he chose to wear. he was always attractive, but shit, he knew what he was doing to you.

a hum escaped your lips, “you makin’ something for me, baby?” your fingers ran down his rough back.

his head turned, and a small smile formed on his face. his crimson eyes looked into yours as he mumbled, “making your favorite,” he paused, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you closer, “thought it’d be done by the time you came home, but your mission was pretty quick.” he planted a kiss right atop your head and comfortingly rubbed your hip.

heat began to coat you in a thick layer, making you whimper at the warmth. god, those sweatpants were doing something to you. the way his toned back was so large and his arms were so muscular stood out to you. it was odd. you saw him shirtless all the time, whether he was changing, lounging around the house, or sleeping with you, he rarely had a shirt on. it was especially weird that this time was different. did the pants have that big of an effect on you?

katsuki kept noticing how your eyes were looking everywhere but him, especially not his pants.

you mumbled, “i’m gonna go change,” and pulled away, not without a hug, but a large hand on your wrist stopped you.

he wasn’t going to let you off so easily.

“is it really bothering you that much?” he smirked, forcing you to look at him. “y’know, i would never call you weak, but this is making me rethink that. you’re getting all worked up over some sweatpants.”

your immediate instinct is to deny it, “wh— huh? quit it, katsuki, i don’t know what you’re talking about—“

“oh, but you do.” he teased, leaving you baffled for a couple of seconds. he decided to have mercy on you and rolled his eyes with a smile, “go shower and change. after that, we’ll eat and watch some movies upstairs.” he sent a small smirk your way.

you laughed. there was no way it was just going to be a movie.

Synopsis-You catch Sae staring at ur butt, but when you confront him, he doesn’t even bother looking away.

|masterlist

Sae Itoshi was the epitome of composure—stoic, unbothered, and infuriatingly hard to read. That was the public image, at least. But you? You knew better.

You had noticed it before—subtle glances, lingering eyes, the way his gaze would lower for just a second longer than necessary whenever you walked past him. It was easy to dismiss at first. Maybe you were imagining it. Maybe he was just spacing out, lost in his own world of soccer tactics and game strategies.

But today? Today, there was no mistaking it.

You were in Sae’s apartment, dressed casually in a pair of fitted shorts and a loose sweater, moving around his kitchen as you searched for a snack. Sae sat on the couch, phone in hand, scrolling through something as he leaned back with an almost lazy expression.

At least, that’s what he wanted you to think.

You could feel his stare, burning into you like a physical touch, his phone long forgotten as his eyes traced the curve of your hips, the way the fabric hugged your form just right. You weren’t even facing him, but you could feel it.

A smirk tugged at your lips. So, this is what we’re doing now, huh?

You decided to test your theory, pretending to stretch as you reached up for a cabinet, arching your back just enough to see if he’d react.

Silence.

Then—a sharp intake of breath.

Bingo.

You bit your lip, barely holding back a laugh. Turning around, you leaned against the counter, arms crossed, raising an eyebrow at him.

“You good there, Itoshi?”

Sae, to his credit, barely flinched. But the way he subtly looked away, the lightest tint of pink dusting his ears, told you everything you needed to know.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, voice smooth, perfectly controlled—too controlled.

You hummed, walking over to him slowly, enjoying the way his gaze flickered to your legs before snapping back up.

“Oh, really?” you mused, standing in front of him now. “Because I swear I caught someone staring.”

Sae exhaled through his nose, finally setting his phone down. “You’re imagining things.”

“Am I?” You smirked, leaning down so you were eye level with him. “Then why do you look so guilty?”

His expression remained impassive, but the slight twitch of his fingers gave him away.

“You’re annoying,” he muttered, eyes flicking to your lips, then lower, again.

“And you’re a liar,” you shot back, stepping between his legs, forcing him to either back away or acknowledge what you both knew was happening.

Sae did neither.

Instead, he tilted his head slightly, eyes darkening, that familiar smirk playing at his lips.

“Fine,” he said, voice dropping slightly. “So what if I was looking?”

── REO MIKAGE ﹕ 御影 玲王 ┊͙ BLUE LOCK ✩

  ❤︎   fem!reader. suggestive — sfw. pro-player! + ceo!reo. established relationship. making out. implied sex. petnames ( baby, sweetheart, handsome ). word count 1470 .𖥔 ݁ ˖ masterlist

Reo Mikage has tried damn near every single high end cologne on the market, yet he can’t for the life of him figure out which ones don’t make your head spin like crazy. In a bad way.

It’s an almost infuriating song and dance. He thinks he’s finally found the one on his way home from the store, raved about and recommended by his most trusted friends. “It’s foolproof,” they tell him, enabling him to drop the average Japanese citizen’s monthly salary on a full bottle of this stuff. “She’ll be all over you for sure.”

Their assurances ring loud and clear in Reo’s ears as he spritzes a few pumps of the perfume onto himself before he knocks on the door, his confidence soaring through the roof. There’s no way you won’t be able to resist him like this, coming home from work after hours apart and smelling like a million bucks.

You open the door for him as always, all smiles as he leans in for an open mouthed kiss, only to be left high and dry when you furiously shake your head and wriggle out of his hold as soon as you catch a whiff of his new perfume.

“Yuck,” you gag, pulling away from his bear hug with a grimace, nose wrinkling up at the stench of artificial fragrance lingering on his skin. “You smell weird.”

Reo frowns, tugging at the collar of his shirt and giving it a sniff. It smells normal, and the notes in the cologne are quite pleasant— he’s confused as to what you find so extremely repulsive. “It’s Christian Dior, baby.”

The palm of your hand comes up to cover your nose as you step away from your fiancé, even dodging his attempts to press a kiss to your cheek when he inches closer to you while stating simply “Well it smells nauseating.”

Kisses with him are anything but short and sweet. They’re rough, messy, intense. And most importantly, they’re full of so much raw love.

His anxiety and fears surrounding being ignored make expressing his feelings through words very difficult, so he often opts for expressing these feelings through actions. How could you possibly ignore him if he’s taking your breath away after all?

This means every kiss with Touya turns into a long make out session. He moves quickly and roughly, exploring your mouth with his own. He pushes you down into the bed or up against the wall, bodies flushed together so closely neither of you can think straight.

His fingers always intertwine with yours as he kisses you. He eats up any whine or whimper that leaves your throat as he messily kisses you. He thrives off your pleasure, your enjoyment. Each signal your body gives him that you’re enjoying his confession of love fuels him to go harder and harder. He needs you to want him, to desire him. He needs you to need him as desperately as he needs you.

When you two finally break apart for air, he moves his hand to cup your face. A smirk creeps onto his face as he watches you pant, lips swollen and eyes wide with need as you’re forced to look up at him. He then grabs your hands again, pinning them above your head as he leans down to kiss the shell of your ear.