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I hate when I go read a fanfic and it feels like I’ve already read every single version of that story. Nothing ever feels new anymore, it’s so frustrating 😔
Summary: A usually unshakable heart surgeon, Shuntarō Chishiya, learns that nothing tests his composure quite like his adorably unpredictable, pregnant, and wildly emotional wife.
Shuntarō Chishiya x pregnant!reader
Words: 1,8k
A/N: blond or brunette?
Buy me a coffee:)
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The hospital smelled faintly of antiseptic and burnt coffee, and somewhere in the distance, someone’s shoes squeaked down the hallway. Dr. Shuntarō Chishiya had long stopped noticing either sound. His focus was entirely on the chart in his hands, the lines of an EKG as familiar to him as the back of his own hand.
He was, by all accounts, a man who didn’t feel much — or at least didn’t show it. Even in a hospital full of adrenaline junkies, Chishiya was an enigma: calm, detached, and eerily composed. His colleagues could be shouting, the OR could be a mess, but he’d still be steady, monotone, efficient.
Which was why, when one of the nurses asked with a teasing smile, “So, Dr. Chishiya, how’s married life? Your wife’s due soon, right?” — he didn’t flinch.
He just said, “She’s fine.”
They all rolled their eyes. “You could at least pretend to sound excited.”
He only gave them that small, knowing half-smile — the one that made people unsure if he was amused or just done with the conversation. “I’m a heart surgeon,” he replied. “I see excitement every day. I don’t need more of it at home.”
What he didn’t add was that his wife was literally the definition of excitement lately.
Because while the rest of the world thought Dr. Shuntarō Chishiya was unflappable, only one person had ever seen him break his poker face — you.
And you didn’t even mean to.
It was almost 9 p.m. when he finally pulled into the driveway. His hands were still faintly stained from gloves, the faint scent of soap and hospital disinfectant clinging to him. The house was dark except for a warm glow spilling from the living room.
He exhaled slowly. Home. Finally
When he opened the door, he heard it — the sound of sniffles.
Immediately alert, he dropped his bag near the entryway and stepped out of his shoes. “(Y/N)?”
You were curled up on the couch under a blanket, phone in hand, face red and blotchy from crying.
His pulse kicked up slightly, reflexive concern, trained instinct — until he caught sight of your phone screen. A cat video. A compilation of kittens meowing softly at the camera.
You hiccuped. “They’re so small, Shuntarō.”
He blinked. “...The cats?”
You nodded miserably. “They can’t even open their eyes yet. They just want love!”
He sighed, crossing the room and sitting down beside you. “You’ve watched that same video about ten times this week.”
“I know!” you wailed, wiping your nose with a tissue. “And it’s still sad!”
He didn’t say anything at first, just brushed a strand of hair off your face. Then, with that calm voice that could command an entire OR, he murmured, “You’re crying over happy kittens, love.”
You sniffled. “I’m pregnant. I have feelings.”
That got him, a soft, rare smile tugging at his lips. “Clearly.”
You huffed, crossing your arms. “You’re so mean. You don’t even miss me, do you?”
That startled him. “What?”
“I said, you don’t miss me!” you repeated, your voice trembling as tears started welling again. “You come home so late every night, and I’m just here alone, and I miss you, and you probably don’t even think about me while you’re doing all your— your doctor things!”
Chishiya blinked twice. Then again. Slowly.
He’d faced heart attacks, cardiac arrests, chaotic emergencies — and yet, somehow, this was what truly left him speechless.
Finally, he let out a quiet sigh, leaning closer until his forehead rested against yours. “You’re ridiculous,” he whispered, but his tone was fond. “Of course I miss you.”
You frowned, lip trembling. “You don’t say it enough.”
“Because every time I do, you cry.”
“That’s not true!”
“It is,” he said, brushing his thumb under your eye. “You cried when I said ‘good morning’ yesterday. And again when I said ‘you look beautiful.’”
You sniffed. “Well, maybe if you weren’t so nice I wouldn’t cry.”
He couldn’t help it — he laughed. Not the small, sarcastic chuckle his coworkers heard, but a soft, warm sound that was all for you.
You narrowed your eyes, offended, even as tears still streaked your cheeks. “You’re laughing at me.”
“I’m laughing near you,” he corrected. “Different thing.”
You swatted his arm weakly. “You’re insufferable.”
“And you’re beautiful when you’re mad.”
That earned him a glare — followed by a watery smile you couldn’t suppress.
The next day, when he got home, you were in a completely different mood.
“Hi, baby!” you cheered, running — well, waddling — to the door to greet him. You were glowing, wearing one of his oversized shirts, and clutching a bowl of strawberries.
He blinked at the whiplash. “You’re...happy?”
“Of course I am! You’re home!” You wrapped your arms around him as best as you could, pressing your face into his chest. “Did you eat? Are you tired? Do you want me to run you a bath? Wait, I made dinner! Oh! And I washed your scrubs!”
Chishiya stood there, coat half-off, eyes slightly wide. “Did you nap today?”
“A little!” you said proudly. “Only cried once!”
“Progress,” he murmured dryly.
You didn’t notice the teasing. “And I watched this video where a baby heard his mom’s voice for the first time with hearing aids, and I—” your voice broke off, and he immediately tensed, but you shook your head quickly, smiling again. “—but I didn’t cry this time! Okay, maybe a little.”
He chuckled, cupping your face. “You’re unbelievable.”
You leaned into his hand, eyes fluttering shut. “You love it.”
He did. More than he could say.
Later that evening, you were curled up in bed watching random videos while he read next to you.
Everything was peaceful. You were giggling at some stupid meme, the sound of your laughter soft and contagious. He allowed himself to glance up from his book, just for a second — watching your expression change with each video, your eyes bright and happy.
Then the next video autoplayed.
A slow, melancholy piano began to play. The screen showed a montage of couples growing old together, the kind with captions like “True love lasts forever.”
Your face crumpled instantly.
“Oh no,” he muttered.
You sniffed loudly. “It’s so sweet, Shuntaro. They’ve been together since high school and he still holds her hand even though she has Alzheimer’s.”
He closed his book with a resigned sigh. “Here we go again.”
“She doesn’t even remember him, but he still visits her every day!” you wailed, clutching the pillow to your chest. “That’s— that’s what love is supposed to be!”
Chishiya reached over and gently took your phone, locking it before you could scroll further down the emotional abyss of the internet. “Okay, that’s enough TikTok for today.”
“Hey!”
“You’ve cried three times in one hour. Your tear ducts need a break.”
You frowned up at him, eyes glassy. “You don’t understand, you’re emotionally constipated.”
He snorted. “That’s a new diagnosis.”
“Yeah, and I’m the doctor now.”
He set your phone on the nightstand and leaned in, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You’re cute when you’re bossy.”
“I’m always cute.”
“I won’t argue that.”
That finally drew a laugh out of you — a soft, sniffling one, but genuine.
And that, he thought quietly, was worth more than any successful surgery.
A few days later, one of his colleagues caught him smiling at his phone during lunch.
“Okay, that’s it,” the nurse said, squinting suspiciously. “What’s got you smiling, Dr. Emotionless?”
Chishiya didn’t look up. “Nothing.”
The surgeon next to him leaned over. “Is it your wife again?”
“She sent me a video,” he said simply.
“What kind of video?”
He paused. “…A raccoon washing grapes.”
There was a collective groan around the table.
“Seriously? That’s what makes you smile?”
He shrugged. “She said it reminded her of me.”
The nurse snorted. “Because you’re both emotionally detached and like to wash things?”
He smirked faintly. “Because we both use our hands a lot.”
The entire table groaned louder.
“Gross, Chishiya.”
He only smirked more.
That night, when he got home, you were on the floor, sitting cross-legged in front of the baby crib you’d just assembled.
You looked exhausted but proud, rubbing your belly absently as you admired your work.
“Hey,” he murmured, kneeling beside you. “You actually did it.”
You beamed at him. “I’m nesting. It’s a thing.”
He reached out and steadied your hand, seeing the faint tremor from your effort. “You could’ve waited for me to help.”
“I wanted to surprise you.”
He exhaled softly, then leaned in to kiss your temple. “You always do.”
You leaned your head against his shoulder, suddenly quiet. “You think I’ll be a good mom?”
He turned to look at you — at your soft eyes, your worried frown, the vulnerability that came in waves lately.
“(Y/N),” he said quietly, “you cry because a cartoon dog gets lost and laugh because someone sneezed like a duck. You already care too much. You’ll be perfect.”
You laughed through a sniffle. “That’s not a medical opinion.”
“It’s a personal one.”
You smiled at him, soft and watery. “You’re sweet sometimes.”
“Only for you.”
That night, as you both lay in bed, you reached for his hand, resting it on your belly.
He blinked, startled by the gentle movement beneath his palm.
“She’s kicking,” you whispered. “She does that when she hears your voice.”
He didn’t say anything for a long moment, just stared at your stomach — the faint thump against his hand making his chest tighten in ways he couldn’t explain.
Finally, his lips curved into that tiny, private smile again. “Guess she’s impatient. Just like her mother.”
You giggled, swatting him lightly. “You love us both.”
He didn’t deny it this time. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I really do.”
The next morning, he left for work before sunrise. You were still asleep, curled up on his side of the bed, wearing his shirt and hugging one of his pillows.
He paused by the door, taking in the sight — the peaceful mess of blankets, your hair spilling across the pillow, one hand resting protectively over your stomach.
For someone who prided himself on logic, Chishiya couldn’t quite rationalize why his chest ached in the best possible way.
Maybe this was the one part of his life he didn’t need to analyze — the one thing that didn’t need to be measured, dissected, or fixed.
Because no matter how unpredictable your moods were — whether you were laughing, crying, or scolding him for being “too pretty to be a doctor” — you were his constant.
And if the hospital was where he fixed hearts, home was where his own finally learned how to beat for something other than survival.
„You‘re still pretty, you know?“ Your voice broke through the quietness of the night in your shared room.
After the 10 of hearts, you had dragged Niragi‘s wrecked and ruined body out of the arena, cleansed his wounds, wrapped him in protective bandages. His entire body was burned with second and third degree burns, the ends of his hair completely fried off and his piercings melted into his skin. You cried for him. He just watched you with those dull eyes.
He looked up at you and scoffed. Him? Pretty? You were telling a corpse it was still looking alive.
But your finger ran ever so gently over his bottom lip. That look on your face- so soft and ruined. Like seeing him like this hurt you more than it did him. Like you felt bad for a man like him.
„Cut the shit.“ His words were harsh, but his voice cracked. You hit a place in his heart he had forcefully locked away.
You smiled weakly. „I mean it.“
„You don’t.“ There it was again- the crack in his voice. Like your smile alone could break his walls down.
And maybe it could.
You scooted closer, the blanket falling down to expose your shoulder. You propped yourself up with your arms, looking down at him.
Niragi swallowed. Your breath fawned against his lips.
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synopsis: It starts as a fight in front of everyone at the Beach—Niragi talking too much, acting like he’s untouchable. You drag him off to a corner, and he tries to fight back, but you don’t let him. He struggles, whines, and eventually gives in, shaking and leaking, while you take control. By the end, he can’t hide how much he needs it.
content warnings: 18+, smut, rough sex, hair pulling, light choking, humiliation, degradation, pain kink, crying/tears, power play, brattiness, top male reader, consensual dub-con vibes, edging, no aftercare, pre-Beach collapse, implied Borderlands violence.
word count: 1.9k words
The Beach courtyard felt like a pressure cooker set to explode the second you stepped out. Hatter was on his soapbox—yada yada, Beach rules, nobody cares—but all the real heat was coming off Niragi. He was a live wire, pacing the dusty concrete like a wolf who'd caught the scent of fresh blood. One minute, he was fine; the next, he was shoving some random guy clear out of the way just because the dude dared to exist in his proximity.
Click. The sound of a collective turning away. Everyone at the Beach had mastered the art of selective blindness. You look away, you survive.
But you? You were never good at following the rules.
"Cut it out," you snapped, stepping directly into his path. It was a stupid, reckless move. You knew it the second the words left your mouth.
Niragi stopped dead. His pacing stuttered, his heavy boots scuffing the concrete. He stared at you like you were an abstract concept that had suddenly manifested in his reality. Disbelief. Then rage. His eyes narrowed to dangerous slits, and that pissed-off, challenging half-smile, the one that promised violence, pulled at the corner of his mouth.
"You got a problem?" he asked, his voice a switchblade, sharp, too loud, slicing through the mundane hum of Hatter’s speech.
"Yeah," you fired back, meeting his glare head-on. "You're acting like a moron."
A few people froze, mid-conversation, mid-drink. They watched, terrified but glued, out of the corners of their eyes. You didn’t care. Niragi took a step closer, crowding your space. You didn't flinch. You didn’t back up.
"Oh, you think you’re tough?" he sneered and shoved your shoulder. It wasn’t a killer blow, just a test. A little nudge to see if you'd fold.
You didn't. You shoved back. Harder.
He actually stumbled. The crowd murmured. Hatter, mid-tirade, actually looked over.
That did it.
Niragi lunged. His fingers hooked into your shirt, ready to slam you into the nearest flimsy plastic table. But you were faster. You caught his wrist mid-swing, twisted the joint, and used his own momentum to force him back a full step.
For a heartbeat, his eyes went wide, pure shock. Then, the surprise melted away, replaced by something dark and utterly feral.
"You wanna fight?" he hissed, low and vicious.
"No," you said, your voice just a breath. "I want privacy."
Before he could process the sheer absurdity of the statement, you grabbed him by the back of his neck, a brutal, controlling grip, and hauled him away from the crowd. He cursed, a stream of filthy, furious Japanese, struggling and yanking against your hand, but you didn't slow down. You dragged him down one of the long, empty hallways, his heavy boots scraping and stuttering as he fought to keep up with your relentless pace.
"Let go, you little—" he snapped.
"Shut up," you said, and shoved him hard into a shadowed corner, hidden behind a towering stack of forgotten crates. No one ever came back here. Perfect.
He opened his mouth, fire in his eyes, ready to spit out whatever insult bubbled up, but you had him pinned before a single word could escape. Your hand slammed onto his chest, shoving him against the wall, while your other hand locked around his jaw, tilting his head.
He froze.
Not from fear. Never fear. But from pure, staggering surprise. Like he couldn't comprehend that you, of all people, would dare to manhandle the infamous Suguru Niragi in broad daylight.
"You really wanna pretend you don’t like this?" you murmured, your voice low and dangerously close.
His throat worked, bobbing hard. He glared, the hatred in his eyes warring with the fierce, betraying heat that was already flooding his face.
"Fuck you," he managed, the words a raw rumble.
You leaned in closer, your mouth almost brushing his ear. "Keep talking."
His breath hitched, a stuttered intake of air. That was all the admission you needed.
You shoved him harder against the wall, your thigh sliding aggressively between his legs. A quick, sharp gasp escaped him, a sound he immediately tried to choke down with a harsh scoff. Too late.
Your fingers tightened brutally in his hair. He hissed in pain, and you used the leverage to tilt his head back, forcing his mouth to part on instinct.
"Always running your mouth," you ground out, your voice a threat. "Always acting untouchable. But right now?"
You squeezed his jaw until his eyes fluttered.
"You’re shaking."
"I’m not," he started, his voice thick, but you silenced him with pressure, your thigh driving up and finding purchase between his legs. His hips bucked, a desperate, automatic move, before he could physically stop them.
That finally broke his mask.
"Please," he muttered, the word barely audible, a ragged plea torn from his chest.
You let a slow, utterly satisfied smirk spread across your face. "That easy?"
He looked absolutely furious with himself, like his own traitorous body had committed the ultimate betrayal. You didn't give him time to recover. You spun him around, his chest slamming against the cold wall, and your hand wedged hard between his shoulder blades to keep him locked there. His palms flattened against the rough concrete, and a shaky breath escaped him.
"On your knees," you commanded.
He didn't move. Pure, toxic pride held him rigid.
You didn't ask again. You grabbed a fistful of his hair, dragging his head down with a vicious yank. His knees hit the ground with a dull, painful thud, and he let out a choked sound that he instantly tried to swallow back.
"You look good like that," you said, circling him slowly.
"Shut up," he rasped, but the way he was squeezing his thighs together ruined the bite in his voice.
You pushed your thumb against his lower lip. "Open."
He hesitated. Two seconds of his pridefulness.
Then he opened.
“Good boy.”
You slid your thumb inside. He glared, but his lips sucked around the digit despite himself, his eyes already glassy with humiliation and something far, far needier. When you pulled your hand out, a glistening string of spit followed. His face flushed a deep crimson, his eyes flicking away, ashamed at the speed of his surrender.
"You’re gonna listen," you stated, your hand gripping the back of his neck like a leash. "Or I’ll leave you here like this, hard and desperate."
His breath hitched.
"Don’t," he whispered.
You smiled coldly "Then behave."
You forced him down again, his cheek pressed hard to your thigh, his breathing uneven. You grabbed his hips, yanked him closer to your body, and he let out a little choked noise, half pain, half an uncontrollable rush of want.
He hated how much he wanted this. You could feel the hatred shaking through him.
You pushed him down further, until he was braced against the floor with trembling arms, forehead bowed, his body completely open for you. Utterly broken down in a forgotten, dark corner of the Beach where no one could witness his spectacular fall.
"Good boy," you murmured, guiding him firmly into position. "Now stay still and take it as you need it."
He whimpered, a quiet, raw sound, and didn’t move an inch.
You pressed him closer against the wall, one hand still tangled possessively in his hair, the other gripping his hip. His knees dug into the unforgiving concrete, trembling; his arms braced against the dusty floor. Every inhale he took was a stutter, every exhale a small, desperate whine he tried and failed to swallow.
"You’re already leaking for me," you breathed, leaning in close until your mouth brushed the shell of his ear. "Even though you keep pretending you don’t need it."
He growled, his voice rough, chest heaving. "I, don’t—"
You cut him off with a firm press of your thigh, rocking him down, your hips grinding instinctively against his. He jerked violently, gasping, his fists scrabbling uselessly at the floor. His words tried to fight you. His body didn't care.
"Shut up," you said, your voice a low, dangerous growl. "Move your hands where I tell you."
He tried to resist, huffing curses and muttering, but you caught his wrists, pinning them roughly above his head. His chest hit the wall, forehead bowed, and you leaned in, your teeth grazing the delicate shell of his ear.
"You think holding out will make you strong? It won't," you whispered. "It’ll just make this worse for you."
He whimpered, a sound that was half protest, half plea, trying to twist away. You yanked his hair, forcing his head back, and he let out a sharp, choked noise. That’s the sound you’d been waiting for.
"Good boy," you murmured. "That’s it. Stop pretending you’re in control. You’re mine right now."
His hips bucked, an instinctive, total betrayal, even as his jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed in furious shame. He hated it. Hated that he loved it. Hated that you had stolen this much power over him.
You slid your hand down to the front of his pants, brushing him roughly, teasing, dragging out every single reaction. He hissed, pressing forward, digging his nails into the floor, trying to push back without moving away.
"Say it," you demanded, low and sharp. "Say who you belong to."
He shook his head frantically. "I, don’t—"
You tightened your grip in his hair, tugging his head back further. "Louder. Now."
"I—I’m yours!" he spat out, the words cracking, his eyes watering with the humiliation.
You smirked. Perfect. That tiny, hairline crack in his armour. You yanked him down to his knees fully, spreading him roughly, and he let out a strangled, frustrated whine.
His pride was gone. His body was a complete, messy betrayal. You didn't even bother slowing down. Every brutal push, every possessive grab, every hard press was designed to make him submit completely.
He tried to hiss, tried to curse, tried to snap at you through gritted teeth, but each time his hips betrayed him again, each time his chest hit the wall or floor and he whimpered under your controlling hand, you knew he’d lost.
You drove into him, rough, deliberate. His body shook uncontrollably, arms braced, his back arching, cheeks wet with tears he desperately didn't want to show. He tried to keep his eyes on yours, tried to glare through the hazy desire, but all he could do was shiver and moan.
"Look at you," you murmured, your teeth grazing his shoulder. "All pride gone. Just taking it like you need it."
He hissed, head falling forward, lips trembling. "Stop… please… I—"
You pressed your hand into his jaw again, tilting his head up. "No talking. You’ll get used to being quiet soon enough."
His thighs clenched around nothing. His hands fisted the floor. He was a helpless, desperate, messy wreck, and you revelled in every second of it.
When he finally came, it was choking, small sobs breaking through, his body shaking like he couldn’t contain himself. You kept him pressed to you, riding him through every pulse, every shudder, letting him ride out every humiliating, desirable moment of broken pride.
"Good boy," you whispered again, dragging him back close. "Mine. Don’t ever forget it."
He whimpered, his chest heaving, his pride shattered, tears streaked across his face. He didn’t say anything. He couldn't. All he could do was let you have him, completely.
Kinktober Day 2 - Kidnapping | Suguru Niragi x F!Reader
Kinktober 2025 Masterlist
Content Warning: NSFW (18+); plot-heavy porn, quite a bit of smutty smut, sex in an awkward position, some parts may toe the line of dubcon, but don't worry; Reader is kind of crazy, Niragi is forced to be good for Reader (only slightly subby), Niragi and Reader get walked in on by a character, curse words, brief mention of alcohol
I won't tell anyone what or what not to do, but please interact responsibly ✨️
A/N - This is 1000% not the story I was originally planning to write, but I think I like this more than the darker route I'd written first. Maybe one day I'll release the other version of the story 😘
I am SO sorry this got posted so late, I got murdered at work and came home just to get broken up with . . . so . . . there's that.
“We do it this week,” Niragi sneers to the small group of Militants ironically playing cards at the table around him, "I'm getting impatient." The three men glance up, their eyes locking intently on you – dressed adorably in a slinky polka dot bikini, a flowing cover up tied delicately around your hips. It's like you’re silently daring them to look without even realizing that you're doing it.
The men nod in acknowledgement of the job Niragi has tasked them with. They continue staring at you long after the dark-haired menace has sauntered off, his rifle balanced menacingly on his right shoulder. You would be an idiot to not notice how the group of Militants are gawking, given that they’re essentially burning holes in your skin with their probing retinas. Of course you realize it.
They can’t help it, though, not really. Most men of The Beach and even some women are often captivated by your presence. You’re truly a beauty to behold - perched up on your lounger, the glittering cerulean of the pool reflecting off sunkissed skin. But that’s not where it ends; you're also smart, kind, and have something about you that no one can ever seem to place. Cunning.
The three men that Niragi has threatened the unspeakable with have to figure out a way to get you alone. To lure you away from your seemingly endless tribe of friends without any of them noticing or heaven forbid, fighting back. Their brains shift into overdrive as they consider any and all ways to get the deed done, because if they don’t? It’s Niragi’s wrath they'll have to face. And that's a death sentence.
You have to hand it to him, Niragi, that is. He’s certainly a clever guy, devious and masterful even. But there is one major thing that he is not that really works to your advantage – quiet. The man had been parading around The Beach for weeks bragging to anyone and everyone about his plan to kidnap you to finally get a taste of what you’re like, of what you're really hiding from the world.
Your heart had thrummed like a bass drum in your chest when Tatta had hurriedly whispered the gossip in your ear when sliding your favorite fruity drink across the granite bartop one afternoon. Not out of fear, no. Excitement.
Because from your first glance at Niragi, even through all the horror, violence, and gore of Borderland, you've known it – you definitely want a taste of him too.
There’s just one slight problem – a double-edged sword, really. You're both blessed and cursed with a secret, highly overprotective brother that had come along with you to Borderland. By secret, you mean that he had decided it would be safer for you to not be associated with him publicly, given the nature of his position at The Beach.
And Aguni? Well, he had many times explicitly forbade you from so much as breathing the same air as Niragi or any of the other Militants. And when he caught wind of Niragi’s not-so-secret plan?
“I’ll take care of it. You just focus on not getting your head blown off in your next game.”
“Sure, Aguni. You do that . . .,” you’d thought internally with a Cheshire grin. It would only make your own plan run more smoothly.
Because along with your older brother comes the opposite edge of the metaphorical sword - your older brother’s best friend. Also known as the raging lunatic that had built this utopia from the ground up and the man that would certainly stop at nothing to ensure you were happy.
That’s how you’d finally come to this moment, sat precariously on the edge of the couch opposite Hatter, ensuring your body doesn't touch too much surface area - because who the fuck knows what had been there? Takeru's colorful kimono is just barely draped over his shoulders, his heaving chest bare; he's definitely drunk off his ass at ten in the morning and probably high as well, but hey. Who are you to judge what he does in what could be the last days of his life? Most impressive of all are the two pretty, young girls dressed in sparkling, skimpy bikinis flanking him, their hands running over his skin unabashedly as if no one else has ever existed in this world. Quite the power move - one you'd be locking away into the depths of your mind for later.
His head falls back in a characteristic barking laugh after you've explained what you're here for, his sparkling gaze finding yours over the rim of his aviators. “Our little princess is growing up,” he smirks with pride, “Talking about kidnapping some bloodthirsty man just so he can fuck her brains out behind her brother’s back.”
You glare back at him, tapping your fingertips impatiently against your knee. “So will you help me, Takeru?” you ask when he's finally done teasing you. He sits back with a sigh, his arms splaying over the back of the plush couch behind the two girls, expression turned weirdly serious.
"Aguni has warned you on multiple occasions not to get anywhere near Niragi, and yet . . . here you are again seeking him out," he reminds you irritatingly. You nod curtly before swiftly defending yourself. "Yes, but I already told you, Niragi is planning to kidnap me. I just want to give him a taste of his own medicine," you say with faux innocence, bright eyes widened and tone dripping with sugary sweetness.
Hatter hums, stroking his beard in that grating, condescending way that makes your skin crawl. Your teeth find the inside of your cheek, trying to shove down the disdain you feel for your brother's best friend in this moment. You need his help for this to work.
"I could die in my game tomorrow," you remind him coolly, speaking quickly before he can respond. "Seize the day, right? Take what you want today because you might not have the chance tomorrow? Well today I want Niragi. Help me." There's that cunning again. You'd used Hatter's own words against him, and you knew that you had him.
Hatter constructs a flawless plan for kidnapping Niragi without making a fuss, instructing his team of ridiculously muscular bodyguards on exactly what to do. It almost gives you the creeps, how effortlessly the man is prepared to make people disappear, though you decide to ignore that piece of information for now. Before you leave him to whatever sins he's planning to get up to, he promises not to say a word to Aguni about what had transpired here. Though you grin dazzlingly up at him, hugging him tight as a huge thank you, you don't buy his smug bullshit for even a second.
And you are counting on Hatter to tell Aguni everything.
♤ ♡ ◇ ♧
The excited thud of your pulse thrums in your ears, your breath catching tightly in your chest as you see Niragi begin to stir back into consciousness. Showtime. True to Hatter's plan, his goon squad and yourself had utilized the hotel's CCTV system to locate Niragi when he was away from everyone else, the men knocking him unconscious and dragging him down to this dingy closet in the basement.
He looks almost peaceful like this, asleep under the warm light of just a single, swinging lightbulb. It's as though the weight of the world has been lifted from his shoulders leaving just a pierced, pretty boy for you to absolutely ruin.
"What the actual fuck is going on?" Niragi's gravelly voice demands the second his brain begins to register that he's both blindfolded and restrained to a chair. He's quick to fight against the restraints like a fish flopping on a hook, and you take the opportunity to jump off the box you'd been perched on to walk towards your prisoner. A wicked grin spreads across your face as you look down at him, bending over so that your lips brush against the shell of his ear.
"Looks like I've turned the tables on you, Niragi," you murmur, sharp teeth nipping at his earlobe. Obviously completely blindsided by the turn of events, he jumps at your proximity, whispering your name incredulously like it's a curse word.
"You're kidding me...," he spits. "How?"
Your head falls back in a sinful laugh, slowly ridding yourself of your bikini as if you were performing a strip tease, though knowing that Niragi wouldn't have the pleasure of seeing it. "You underestimated me, Suguru," you say, voice dripping with malice as your strappy bikini top slips to the floor with a tiny clink of the metal clasp.
"You think you're the only one with connections to people in high places?" You chuckle, not giving him the chance to interject before speaking again. Completely bare and full of confidence, you allow your arms to drape over his shoulders, your lean legs straddling his hips as you crawl into his lap. The best part about having Niragi blindfolded is how reactive and sensitive it makes him; the man initially flinching as you crawl into his lap, then becoming characteristically agitated as he realizes he can't touch you.
Before he can begin complaining, you unbutton his shirt slowly, exposing his muscular and scarred chest to you. Delicate fingers trace over each line, every one of them telling a story that you'd one day have to ask about. Arousal floods your core simply at the sight of him like this, and you realize quickly that you're absolutely fucked when it comes to him.
"For fuck's sake . . .," he growls, his wrists straining against the rope and cutting into his porcelain skin, "If you aren't going to let me see you, at least let me touch you." His whiny tone is damn-near pleading, sending a shiver down your spine. You hum in consideration, teasing the dark-haired man underneath you, and honestly? Yourself too.
"I don't know, Niragi," you hum. "Can you be good for me?" The Militant huffs impatiently, because who the hell do you think you are to try to manhandle Suguru Niragi? But for whatever reason, he allows his body to relax against the restraints, showing you he can be good if it means you'll let him touch your naked body.
You lean forward to reach for the ropes binding his hands, ultimately squishing your bare tits against his, making both of you suck in a desperate breath at the unintentional (but very welcome) contact. Your hips instinctively grind down against the rapidly growing bulge in his jeans, busying your hands with getting the ropes untied as quickly as possible.
Niragi chuckles lowly at the flustered way you react, turning his head to press open-mouthed kisses to the delicate flesh of your neck. "You've wanted me all this time, haven't you angel?" He questions dangeously, smirking proudly against your skin.
You swallow a needy whimper, doubling down on the particularly difficult knot to free Niragi's hands. Determination courses in your veins to maintain dominance in this encounter. Even blindfolded and still mostly tied up, he finds the extra sensitive spot near your collarbone that makes you moan, your wet heat absolutely dripping for him.
"I knew it, princess," he mutters between bruising sucks and bites to your throat, "I knew there was something special in you."
The ropes finally, blessedly fall away, followed quickly by the surprisingly soft black and white fabric that you'd loosened earlier. Your eyes light up with an idea, scooping the shirt up and shrugging it over your own shoulders. Despite the barrier of the blindfold you can see Niragi's expression darken - he's obsessed with the idea of fucking you while wearing his shirt. And let's be honest, you both know that you look better in it.
"Fuuuck . . .," he growls, using his newly freed hands to map out every inch of your skin; imagining you completely bare for him in just his favorite shirt, his thumbs eventually finding a landing spot over your pebbled nipples. Niragi's hips unconsciously buck up into your bare, dripping folds, desperately seeking additional friction for his throbbing length.
Your head falls back with heat and desire, but again you stifle the whimper that threatens your control over the man you'd somehow successfully kidnapped and tied up. "I'm in control, or everything stops," you chastise, licking a salacious stripe up the column of his throat. If you didn't know any better, you'd think that he finally let a whimper slip from deep within his chest.
As a reward, your hands finally find the buckle of his belt, expertly yanking it off and to the concrete floor with a loud clatter. With a steadying breath, you're able to undo the button and zipper that are keeping the two of you separated, lifting your hips just enough to allow his thick, veiny cock to spring free. You can feel your core ache at the sight of it dripping and throbbing against his abs, your thumb reaching out in awe to spread pre-cum liberally over him.
"You're seriously doing this?" Niragi hisses through gritted teeth, very obviously trying to hold back from desperately thrusting into your hand, heeding your threat from earlier.
"I've always wanted to," you admit into his ear breathily, whining desperately as you tease his cock through your dripping wet folds before finally, finally, allowing yourself to sink down. The combined moans that echo around the tiny space form the most beautiful melody either of you have ever heard, one of Niragi's arms wrapping around your waist to guide your pace, and the other thumb reaching between you to expertly circle your swollen clit.
Your body melts into his chest, bare skin melding to bare skin as you ride him quickly, messily, and loudly towards the climax that's already coming far too soon. "You're a terrible dominatrix," he murmurs into your ear teasingly, pressing a wet kiss to the side of your face. This time, you can't bring yourself to disagree, far too gone in your pleasured haze to act like something you aren't.
Niragi makes good use of his strong ab muscles to compensate for his legs still being tied up, thrusting up into you faster and harder as he feels your tight heat begin to flutter. "Gonna cum already, princess? You like having me all tied up for you?" He teases, your moans and the way your hole clenches like a vice around his length all the answer he needs.
"Then cum, baby . . . cum on my cock," he coos, pressing more firmly on your clit. His hips snap up into you at a nearly inhuman pace. If not from the stimulation, then from the wet, echoing sounds of his heavy balls slapping against your tender skin, you cum hard.
"F-fuck . . . Niragiiii!" you wail, eyebrows threaded together, and lips parted in a low, guttural groan, the rhythmic pulse of your wet orgasm triggering his own. He snarls, balls tightening, emptying rope after rope of hot, white cum deep to coat your walls.
Just then, even over the sound of your heaving pants, sweaty foreheads pressed together as you come down from your highs, you hear a commotion of boots hitting the concrete and men's voices shouting in the hallway. The flimsy door to the closet bursts open, a far too familiar voice screaming your name. "Niragi, did you -" Aguni starts angrily before taking in the full scene, yelping and shielding his eyes from the unwanted view once it registers.
His baby sister, dressed only in Niragi's favorite shirt. Sitting on the dick of the man he'd warned her about time and time again.
And you? You look back at your brother, pleased with your performance. "I'm not a baby anymore," you tell him like it's a conversation over dinner, as though you aren't still sitting panting and dripping on NIragi's cock. "I can make decisions for myself. And this . . . this is my favorite decision I've ever made."
Your brother scoffs in disgust, Niragi chuckling underneath you. "Do you mind?" You ask when he remains frozen there, still shocked by the happenings. "We want to finish."
Completely stunned and speechless, Aguni blinks a few times as if trying desperately to reboot himself or wake up from some kind of nightmare. He scowls again before turning on his heel and walking out of the closet, telling the men he'd brought with him that he'd kill them all if they so much as peeked into the room.
When the door to the closet slams shut and you're once again left alone with Niragi, you blink down at him with lovesick eyes, lifting the blindfold off his head to take in his dark gaze.
"You lost the bet, Suguru. I knew I could successfully kidnap you first," you say triumphantly before finally capturing his lips in a passionate kiss.
Niragi laughs into your mouth before deepening the kiss, his arms wrapping more securely around your frame. "Fuck you're hot . . . thank fuck you're already mine. Was Aguni walking in a part of your master plan?" He asks curiously, brushing some of untamed hair out of your face.
You nod, pressing a kiss to his nose. "I decided to take a page out of Hatter's book. A power move."
A power move that will really work, because Aguni is never going to forbid you from seeing your boyfriend again.
♤ ♡ ◇ ♧
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NSFW Alphabet - Chishiya Shuntaro and Niragi Suguru
Chishiya Shuntaro x reader | Niragi Suguru x reader
I swear this is my last one.. I should be updating my fic soon, but these are a lot more fun than I thought lol + adding songs from my favorite album that remind me of them. Also feel free to request any aib characters you want me to do a NSFW alphabet for!
Warning- Un-consensual sex, gore, ect.. basically Niragi being himself.
Niragi Suguru
A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)
Aftercare? What's that? Your lucky if he even spares the time to lay with you after. Doesn't offer to clean you up after, or asks if you're okay.. maybe he'll take a shower with you after, but only if he gets a second round during it. After all, he loves the idea of his cum still being in you hours after.
B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)
He loves his dick, obviously. I mean, what would he do without it? He gets a kick out of his tongue piercing too, did you know they make vibrating one's? Not that he thinks he needs it to make you cum, but its a nice surprise. Niragi loves your ass and tits, basic - but not surprising. He's a perverted male after all.
C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)
Obsessed with it. Painting every inch of your body with it, fucking it deeper into you, using it as lube, making you suck him completely dry- don't even think about spitting any of it out, he will make you lick it back up.
D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)
Not much of a secret but he's a borderline sadist. Bondage, blood, knife play, he's into it all! He enjoys causing pain, inflicting it, making you feel completely helpless, fully at his will. He tie a chain to your neck like a dog, pulling it harder each time you tighten around him- shoving the nozzle of his rifle down your throat with the safety off, finger hovering over the trigger.
E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)
He's fucking people left and right, what do you think? He chases after his own pleasure always, your own is rarely on his mind - but that doesn't mean he doesn't want you to cum. In fact if you don't, he thinks its a disrespect to his performance. If you don't, that means he'll pull out ever trick in the book until you cum- different positions, different rhythms, hitting every angle of your walls until he finds the spot that makes you shiver- bonus points if your orgasm is involuntary.
F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)
Any position where he has you fully in control. Tied up, laying under his body weight, being constrained to him- it's not like you have a choice anyways. If he wasn't working in front of an audience, he will have his rifle at stand by at all time with several locks on his door.
G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)
Of course he'll laugh, he's doing one of his favorite things! He'll laugh at how pitiful you look, the sorrow on your face, your pained groans- but you laughing? Are you trying to get shot? He'll think your laughing at him, after all why would you be laughing with him? Your laughing will turn into pained wails soon enough.
H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)
Trimmed, most of the time. Although he has no problem letting it grow out if he's lazy enough, and if you don't like it? Who cares! Your opinion doesn't mean anything to him.
I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)
He's a murder rapist. Anything romantic is off the tables. The only thing he knows is the pure bliss of getting his dick wet. Now, if somehow you are able to squeeze past those thick ass walls Niragi has built around his heart- maybe if you treated him like an actual person, anything other than a rabid dog that needs to be put down- than maybe, he'll focus on if your enjoying yourself or not. The most romantic thing he'll do if whisper fabricated praises and encouragements in your ear- or asking if your up to try something different, he won't take no for an answer and if you ask him to stop he'll ignore you- but Niragi will give you a minute or too to calm down before going back at it. That's about as sentimental as he can be.
J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)
Funny. What the hell would you be for if he could just jerk off? The closest thing to self pleasure as he would do is getting off on your underwear, and that's only if your there watching- he'll make you wear the stained pair after too. Something about watching you stroll around the beach, talking with friends and just living your life in general while wearing something so personal that were smeared with his cum always made his dick twitch.
K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)
What isn't he into is the real question. He'll get hard at the slight glance at you drenched in someone else's blood after a game- knowing you fought so hard to stay alive just to come crawling back to him. To his dick. He likes when you cry, when your covered in bruises and scars made by him, when you stare at him, claw at his back, try to fight him off- he loves it all.
L = Location (favorite places to do the do)
Anywhere! At anyyy time! He has a love hate relationship with fucking in public. On one hand, he gets to watch as people scowl in horror, shoving what they can't have in their faces, putting you on display like he was wearing a designer coat. On the other, why do they deserve to see you in such a state? One specifically made for him to see? They shouldn't get to hear you while you reach your climax, perverted fuckers would probably use it to jerk off!
M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)
The adrenaline rush of the games mixed with rounds of rough sex after? Fucking life changing. That's when his stamina is at its highest, high chance you wont be able to walk properly for a few days after.
N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)
If you try to act dominant, he will smack the shit out of you and force you to switch positions or he'll get soft in seconds. That doesn't mean he wont let you ride him or you cant give him small praises (although it will take him awhile to fell normal about it) but calling his a good boy or asking to peg him? He'll stare at you with disgust, waiting for you to laugh and say your fucking with him. If you don't, he'll make you say it either way for his sake.
O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)
Its more like throat fucking than an actual blow job. He's obsessed with the way you don't try and move when he's ball deep in your throat, you know better. Even if your gagging and huffing heavily through your nose, light headed and tense- all you can do stare through heavy-lidded eyes, silently waiting for it too end. Niragi also refuses to let you touch yourself during times like this, the way you desperately shuffle your hips back and forth against nothing always makes him smile. As for you, Niragi is well adjusted to female anatomy. He'll twirl his tongue, lick, suck, push- try anything to see what makes you gasp. Niragi surprisingly doesn't mind eating you out, especially when your so overstimulated you not sure what part of him in rubbing your clit.
P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)
Slow in not in Niragi's vocabulary. It's always hard, always quick, and always rapid. If he wan't to tease you, he'll pull out completely before you climax, or rub himself along your entrance letting himself play with your clit before pushing inside you. Rarely ever with prep.
Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)
If he must, he will. Made militants bring you to his room only to be called to a meeting a minute later? He'll try to bring you too, making you sit on his lap. Groping you in front of everyone, licking down your neck and kneeing between your legs. If he has to suffer the wait, so do they. That is if Aguni lets it pass, if not he'll fuck your throat and finish in seconds. Niragi can hold off for hours if he really wants too, but in situations like this he'll cum early. Plus, he knows you'll still be there when he's back, cause he won't let you leave.
R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)
As long as its nothing putting him in "a pussy situation" as he calls it, he's all for it! Want him to pour hot wax on you? Why didn't you ask so sooner? He will even let the wax get hot enough to leave marks, spelling his name across your waist. He almost cums in his pants when you ask him to fuck you with his gun, safety off and fully loaded.
S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)
However many until he's satisfied. Five, two, eight- depends on the day. If he feels nice he'll move to your mouth instead of your pussy after a few rounds, but only if you beg hard enough. Like I said before, he can edge himself for hours on end, making you climax for the fourth time by his first.
T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)
Not toys necessarily.. but he'll use unconventional items as sex toys if there close by. Fucking you against the beaches communal dryer, making sure your clit is pressed tightly against the edge of the metal. A candle sick as a butt plug, his boxers as a homemade gag, making you fuck yourself with a knifes handle. He doesn't need any toys, your body is enough for him.
U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)
Eighty percent of your time spent together is Niragi edging you on, asking you how bad you want him before suddenly moving a few steps away, removing what ever form of contact you had and smugly watching your body arch towards him, begging for some form of contact. "Oh you poor baby," he'd say with mock sincerity, "Missing something?"
V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)
He's loud and proud. Most grunts and moans, maybe a small whimper here and there but usually under his breath, like he's trying to hide them. He's a man after all, not a sex machine. Surprising, I know. The whole time he's verbal, dialogue never ending- he doesn't even seem to be speaking to you directly sometimes, more like to himself.
W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)
Enjoys anal and somnophilia (sleeping people). Anal is rare nonetheless, he needs to make sure your properly clean first- going as far as timing how long your in the shower. Anything less than five minutes? Get you ass back in there. Although its more taxing, knowing that your full of his cum in every way possible is worth it. Somnophilia makes his job easier. Simple as that. If your always tense and trying to reject him for entering you, why wouldn't he find you when your the most relaxed, most willing - to take you completely. The ease to push himself in you just to tighten a moment later, while fully emerged, sends an nice twitch to his dick.
X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)
Niragi's cocky, and for good reason. He's eight inches while hard, not the thickest but enough girth to make you wince. A light pink going into a harsh red at the tip, raging veins and slightly tilted to the left. He's overly proud of himself.
Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)
On his mind every day- which, are we really surprised? In the morning, at night, during games, in meetings, while shoving a gun in front of a members face, seeing you cry and covered in blood after a game- even if its not his main concern, the idea is always wafting around in his brain. For your sake I hope you match his freak...
Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)
Are you kidding? Sex gives him an energy boost like no other. He's seconds away from jumping around the pool, shooting and fighting people just for the fun of it - hell, he might even join a game early. So, sorry, no cute sleeping together after.
Chishiya Shuntaro
A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)
Quiet. Maybe a grunt while wiping himself up and getting dressed, other than that he's non-verbal. Glances at you here and there, and if you don't clean yourself up he'll ask if you want him too- you always say yes and he always complies. He'll leave wordlessly after, at least for the first few times. If your close enough to be comfortable after the fact- than he'll stay in bed, and after his momentary silence will start spewing whatever analytical thoughts are coming to him. He always gets philosophical after sex.
B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)
Chishiya doesn't have a 'favorite' per say, he thought it was foolish- why would he have sex with you if he didn't like every part of you physically? And sure, he might enjoy the way your bikini top pushes your breast together a little to much. Or how easily your neck bruises and the feeling of your heartbeat escalating under his lips- but that doesn't mean he enjoys anything else about you any less. Once you asked, and he stared at you like you were dumb. "Why? So you can boast about it?" He asked, "So you do have a favorite! Honest, ass or tits guys?" As for himself.. he thought he was fine. Attractive enough to cause glances his way, and nothing close to ugly. Chishiya wouldn't go as far as too praise his himself, but he was comfortable being naked in others company.
C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)
Ehh.. it's a thing? No real opinion. Doesn't hate it doesn't love it- although he can appreciate it's side use as lube. As cold and restrained as he was mentally, his dick majorly missed the memo. Endless amounts of pre-cum and involuntary dick twitches whenever you so much as breathed on it. But like he said it could be useful.. especially when fucking your breasts. But he swears he doesn't care for either ass or tit any more than he says.
D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)
Loves the chase as much as actually having sex. Watching you from afar, prolonged eye contact, seeing how you react to the slight cleavage of his chest when he rolls his zipper down, to his hovering hand by your thigh. It heightens his senses, makes it harder to not want to touch you, not allowing him to see you- after all he has a habit of refusing himself what he wants.
E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)
He's a doctor, therefor knows his way around female anatomy. Where certain pressure points are located, where to find your clit, how to position himself in just the right way to make the heat in your stomach grow. As experienced as any normal guy, not a virgin with a body count under five- although it hardly shown as much. He could've told you he had four current fuck-buddies telling him exactly what too do and you wouldn't be surprised.
F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)
Doesn't have one. Dumb question. If he's fucking you, he's in you anyways right? He lets the situation speak for itself. Your sitting on his lap? He'll guide your hips to ride him. He ends up on top of you- missionary it is. Never would he ever make you go into some obscene position to get his dick sucked a certain way, or too get a quarter inch deeper into you. Their horrible for your joints and muscles, and why would he want to tire you out so soon?
G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)
Chishiya's rarely ever humorous in general, so why would he start now? The closest thing to a laugh he'll give is an amused huff whenever you give a sarcastic quip, or if you do anything he deems is stupid. You let out a nervous high-pitched giggle while undressing? He can't help but compare you too the girls at the beach- the ones who use faulty laughs in hopes of getting laid. If it wasn't for the unpleasant contrast to the other bikini-wearing girl's, it would have almost been something close to endearing.
H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)
Well-groomed, and highly hygienic- Chishiya couldn't fathom why anyone would willingly be dirty. He keeps it trimmed, never letting it grow past a certain point before shaving it down. Unlike most he doesn't care if your shaven or not- he just wants to know how often you shower.
I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)
Having romantic feelings is a big jump. You should be lucky if you can endues any feeling out of the man. He doesn't say anything with intimate underlining no matter how good your making him feel. Not because he's tempted too or he wants too.. and even if he did he wouldn't know what to say. After all the fact that he's letting you kiss him should be enough.
J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)
Chishiya knows the benefits of having an orgasm; it can relax you- physically and mentally, it's a stress reliever, causes a serration boost- yet he's just never felt the need. If he woke up with a boner he'll ignore it until it's gone most days, if it wont, he'll rub a quick one out. Simple as that. In fact its almost annoying, time consuming- having to search his brain for something that makes his dick twitch in satisfaction. At least you given him something to get off too quicker.
K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)
Humping. Feeling your hips running back and forth around his torso as the sheer feeling of the imprint of his dick, letting you get off on his leg while your giving him a blowjob, lazily pumping his dick while watching you hump a pillow because he refused to touch you, you rapidly rubbing your clit against his naked thighs- shorts be damned- you reaching your climax without him even having to touch you? Hottest thing you could do. Did wonders for his ego too.
L = Location (favorite places to do the do)
In a room where he could lay and sit down. Why would he willingly be uncomfortable without reason? And it must be completely empty. No one else in sight. Chishiya didn't hate the idea of fucking in the shower, it made the clean up process a lot faster.
M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)
You. And not because of some sentimental outlook, but because of how real it was. You laid bare in front of him - literally and metaphorically - he knew your story, fears, skills, your treasures of the world- what was stopping him for shattering your esteem while you laid so earnestly below him? Or whispering degrading thoughts in your ear while you reach your orgasm, installing pleasure too your fears? Would he? Probably not. But the weight of another person in there entirely surged him to you. You'd let him kiss you in any way, touch you how he pleased, fuck you how he felt fit- you allowed him to have the higher power. He'd be lying if he said it didn't do things to him.
N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)
Role play. He simply wouldn't be able to get into character, and he wouldn't be able to see you in such a different light. Although he did play doctor once or twice.. but it made sense, if he is an actual doctor he's not playing a character, is he?
O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)
No preference, really. He likes the suction of your mouth, the tightness of your throat, the way you tug on his hair when he's between your legs, forcing his head down- completely ignorant to you blocking both of his airways. He realized that he didn't actually mind.
P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)
Its starts off as with an even pace, slow and deep thrusts- the longer you go for for quicker his hips snap, the harder the headboard hits the wall and the harder he fucks. Your both always a little out of breath by the end of it.
Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)
Doesn't care for it. What's the point in having sex while feeling rushed? He likes to take his time, however how long or short he wants it to be. And the thought of where-ever he had to go to would ruin his sexual tuition, anyway. Chishiya would rather wait it out.
R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)
Depends. Chishiya wound't say he's vanilla, or that he's a sex freak- so the thought of experimenting could go either way. If he thinks there is just a fragment of himself that would enjoy if he might say yes, more out of regard to you having the gut to ask him in the first place. If he doesn't like the idea, he'll simply shut you down.
S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)
Three max. Although he does prefer letting foreplay escalate you to finishing climax before you actually start to have sex- curling his fingers inside you, claiming he's "Just getting you started.", letting his tongue lap at you like a starved man- so a lot of the time, you end up more spent than him.
T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)
Why would you need toys? Chishiya's has two hands and a tongue for a reason. However if you ever brought him a toy, asking if he could use it on you, he won't reject you- but maybe he would make you use it on yourself while he watched, instructing you what too do, purely for his own enjoyment.
U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)
Chishiya likes to get to the point and he wouldn't say he teases you, he just finds amusement in watching you arch in pleasure for as long as possible. Although if you ever heard him say that you would call him a fucking liar to his face.
V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)
As for grunts and moans, more rare than you would like- you would try little tricks to see what would make him react the most- and ever time he did, you felt like you got a little reward. He was decently vocal, talking more than actually make sounds- but you didn't miss when a sharp intake of breath would cause him to pause, or when his words would deepen to low grumbles. Chishiya was vulgar with his words, much to your surprise. Outwardly asking if you liked what he was doing, making you explain how wet the thought of his dick was making you.
W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)
Chishiya liked hearing how your voice would rattle when he grope you a certain way, liked hearing your airy call of his name and how you would repeat it over and over and over again in his ear. He liked forcing you to explain why you wanted him so bad while he refused to let you touch him.
X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)
Six inches exactly, and two and a half inches wide. How the hell he was that wide was beyond you, and Chishiya knew what you were thinking the second your eye's widened. He just looked at you with a small smirk and raised eyebrows, daring you to say something. Pale, like the rest of his, but with an aggravated bright pink tip. Stick straight and small veins runing to his shaft.
Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)
He could go without sex for the rest of his life if you made it a challenge. But you didn't, and it wasn't- so he enjoyed the company when he wanted too.
Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)
If he's tired he'll lay there, eyes closed and completely limp- even though his brain was still wide awake. It always took him a while to actually fall asleep, but depending on how rough you fucked the physical toll with lull him to sleep just a few minutes earlier.
