Downstairs Neighbor Gets Her Back Broken by HOT Chiropractor! CLICK HERE FOR MORE!
pairing: Chiropractor Oikawa x Reader, ~3.5k, straight pwp lol, Minors DNI
warnings: slight dubcon (into consent), a plot straight out of a porno, creampie, floor sex, oral (f [sorta] and m!receiving), Oikawa is stupid hot what can I say
written for: The Love Hospital Collab by @saumau! Thank you for letting me join ♡
thanks to: @vanille--kiss, @anime-nymph, and @vivianvampyric for saving my life YET AGAIN. one of these days I'm going to have to give you my first born child
part of: the @hqintheclub network!
If you knew you’d end up splayed out over Oikawa Tooru’s floor, feet digging into the hardwood as he pounded into you, you would have talked to him much, much sooner.
He moved into your building a few months prior, though you couldn’t understand why. It’s located in the middle of Tokyo, a small, shabby little building that’s seen better days. The elevator lurches sometimes as it climbs up higher; there’s frequent maintenance that leaves the building without power or gas for hours at a time; and in the summer, your fifth floor apartment gets so hot that you live in front of the fan, begging for Hades to give you a goddamn break.
But Oikawa Tooru. The first time you saw him, you thought he was just visiting. His suit jacket was brand new, matching his leather loafers. His brown eyes roamed over you as he stepped on the elevator behind you, and his voice was like honey when he said, “Tenth floor, please.” He was much too pretty to even look so you settled for pressing the button for him and then scurrying off the elevator with an awkward goodbye once it hit the fifth floor.
It started a casual acquaintanceship, one where you’d hold the elevator for him if he asked, one where you’d make small talk about the weather, or your days, or plans for the weekend.
“I’m a chiropractor,” he told you the fifth time you met but you didn’t exactly believe him. A chiropractor in this rundown building? Surely he could afford a penthouse or somewhere in a high rise in Roppongi Hills, especially with the luxury watches he wears on his wrist or the clothes you see him in.
You didn’t exchange much more than pleasantries until tonight. A customer had bumped into you at work, sending you spiraling hard to the floor and spilling cola all over your uniform. It had been downright embarrassing, made doubly ridiculous by the fact that you could barely stand up straight. Your boss had let you go home early thanks to the pain and you were out the door as fast as you could run.
I must have tweaked something in my back, you lament as you wait for the elevator, smacking your back a few times and groaning at the jolt of pain that radiates in your left side. A hot compress and a couple of aspirin are calling your name, and maybe a beer if the pain is too bad.
The doors are about to close when someone sticks their hand through the front and forces them back open. Oikawa Tooru grins at you as he steps onto the elevator and settles against the opposite wall.
“That was dangerous,” you chide him as you press the ‘close’ button, leaning to your left side since it’s less painful. “What if you hurt your hands?”
“Are you worried about me?” He grins cheekily before his eyes flick down to you and back up. “What’s wrong with you?”
“I tweaked my back,” you sigh. Something in his face shifts and makes you pause; there’s a little more mirth in his grin, a little more twinkle in his eye. “What?”
“I think you forgot what I do for a living.”
“What? No.” You scrunch your nose with a wave of your hand. “I don’t want to impose.”
“You look like an old grandma,” Oikawa snorts, then puts his hands up when you glare at him. “I mean that nicely!”
“There’s no nice way to say that.”
“Come over to my apartment later, grandma. I can help.”
“I’m on the tenth floor,” he smiles when the elevator stops on your floor. “I’ll be waiting for you.”
There’s something about the way he’s so confident in himself that you decide right then and there that you’re not going. You can’t go—can’t let him win this round, even when it’s a struggle to get to your apartment thanks to the pinching pain in your back. An hour after you shower and eat dinner, the pain grows worse even just sitting on your couch doing nothing. Oikawa’s face pops into your head and you groan from the visage, then groan again thanks to your side.
He’s attractive to put it simply. Stealing glances at him in the elevator whenever you ride together is part of your routine now. He’s haughty but charming, but you know the type: if you go up to his apartment, you’ll be greeted by a smarmy smile and some witty come back, something akin to oh, look who decided to finally show up.
Still that doesn’t keep your mind from wandering. Wondering what those hands would feel like on your body, what that low voice would sound like as he murmurs into your skin. It isn’t the first time you’ve thought about him and it certainly won’t be the last, but it still feels embarrassing to fantasize about your rich, attractive upstairs neighbor.
You decide to go to bed to get your mind off of Oikawa Tooru, even if it’s barely past 9PM, but no matter which way you lay, you can’t get comfortable.
By 9:30, you stand outside of Oikawa’s door, the name plate clearly showing the Kanji of his name.
You listen for a moment against the door and hear soft music playing from inside the apartment. Can you really ask this of him? And be in his apartment alone together? You’re no stranger to what it implies, but if you’re honest, maybe there’s another separate reason why you waited until late night to come see him.
Your knock rings in the hallway and the volume of the music lowers, soft footsteps approach the door and you’re met with a fresh-faced Oikawa, hair still damp from his shower. His lips slide into a grin when he sees that you’re his visitor.
“Nice of you to finally join me.”
Smarmy expression, check. Witty come back, check. He’s 2-for-2.
“I was in the neighborhood.”
“Lucky me,” he jokes and steps aside.
His apartment is like a whole other world. It looks nothing like your small, slightly dingy apartment. It’s twice the size of yours, running the length of two apartments, the kitchen opening into a spacious living room with a leather couch, a workout bike, and chiropractor’s chair next to the floor-length windows. The curtains are tied back and give you a perfect view of the night lights, and looking down the hallway shows multiple bedrooms with the doors closed. Light Spanish pop music comes from the TV and with the click of a button, the TV turns off and the room falls silent.
“I think I’m in the wrong place,” you joke, blinking at him in surprise. “What did you do to our crappy building?”
“I bought both apartments and fixed them up,” he explains, though there’s a glint in his pretty brown eyes when he adds, “I like to fix things.”
“Then can you fix the elevator next?” You smile up at him, holding onto a chair for support.
“Not a chance,” Oikawa smiles back just as easily. “But I can fix that back of yours, grandma. Come on.”
You’ve never been on a chiropractor’s chair before so it feels a bit strange at first. The cotton shorts and plain t-shirt you’re wearing ride up a little bit as you squirm into position, though you wait to put your face in the appropriate hole until he tells you to. Oikawa walks over, flexing his wrists by shaking his hands in front of his chest, and for some reason, the action makes you snort.
“What’s so funny?”
“Are you going to fix me with your magic hands?”
“There’s no such thing as magic hands. My skills have been molded through training and practice. Now face down so I can get started.”
The confidence in his voice makes you grin and nod, and with a gesture of his pointer finger, you do as he says.
Oikawa is gentle with you at first, grabbing your arms, legs, shoulders and cracking places you didn’t even know needed realignment. His voice is so soothing, so close to your ear as he murmurs to relax before pushing down on your body. He has you flip over to your side so he can do the same thing, careful with the twinge in your back before pressing down on your spine. The sound that leaves your mouth is sinful to say the least, and your eyes snap open in embarrassment.
“Don’t worry,” he laughs, but it doesn’t do anything to calm your thundering heart. “You aren’t the first.”
“Still,” you murmur, heat flooding your cheeks at the devilish glint in his eyes.
“No need to be embarrassed, pretty girl. Now flip on your back.”
Pretty girl? Now your embarrassment is even worse, made extra nerve-wracking by the fact that you can see his beautiful face as he works. His look of pure concentration as he runs his hands up and down your skin makes you shiver and bite your lip, especially when his lithe fingers get a little too close to your inner thighs to be a coincidence… right?
“Your hips are tight,” he comments as he maneuvers you to turn slightly so he can work your hips. “Do you stretch at all?”
“I mean, I’m not that old,” you grumble with a pout up at him. “I’m decently flexible too.”
Why does something in the air shift when you catch his eye again? There’s nothing perverse about this, and yet the fact that you’re alone with Oikawa, in his house, with his strong hands all over your body suddenly hits you. It makes you shift on the chair and squeeze your legs together to alleviate the pulsing in your core.
His hands pause on your legs for just a moment and it’s enough to make you look over at him. There’s a strange look on his face—curious, calculating. Then his hands slide further up your thighs, his focus on the way your breathing starts to pick up when his hands reach the bottom of your cotton shorts.
“You know,” he begins slowly, and your legs tremble when you feel his thumbs push under your shorts and glide along the flesh of your inner thighs. Is this really happening? “You’re not as smooth as you think you are.”
“What… do you mean?” You respond, cursing yourself for the breathlessness in your voice, but it’s hard not to be breathless when his fingers creep higher and brush against the edge of your panties.
“I’ve seen the way you look at me in the elevator.”
“Oikawa-san, we shouldn’t—”
“How could I miss it?” He grins and runs his fingers over the crotch of your panties. You have to force yourself to keep your hips down on the table when he does it again. “You look at me like you want to jump me.”
“I… No, I—”
“You look like you do now.” Oikawa tilts his head as he pushes your panties aside, running his fingers up and down your folds. His fingers are so smooth and make you intake a sharp breath. “Like you want me to touch you. Do you want me to touch you?”
“Nn,” is all you can manage to say before he parts your folds and carefully pushes a finger into you.
It shouldn’t feel this good, you berate yourself as you grind your hips down into his hand. You shouldn’t be doing this—isn’t it against some doctor’s law to have relations with patients? You only came here to fix your back, not have Oikawa’s finger deep in your pussy like some porn movie. But a flick of his wrist and you moan, parting your legs so he can thrust even deeper.
“That’s a good girl,” he praises and you whimper, eyes flying open when he brushes his finger against your clit. Your hands move to his wrist but you don’t push him away—why don’t you push him away? You hold onto him as he slides a second finger into your cunt, eyes locked with his brown ones as he starts a slow pace. “Do you want me to stop?”
A whine tears from your throat when he grinds the palm of his hand against your clit, head falling back against the chiropractor’s chair as pleasure spreads throughout your body. Oikawa grabs onto your knee and forces your leg open further, pushing himself inside your legs as far as he can so he can hit deeper into you. He curls his fingers and makes you groan, your fingers tightening on his wrist as he works.
“Do you want me to stop?” He repeats, voice hardening the longer you don’t answer him.
You open your eyes as you jerk your hips into his hand, biting your lip because you can’t answer him. It’s too embarrassing, you’re too shy, he’s too—
The moment he starts to pull his fingers from you, you clamp your legs closed, shaking your head at him.
There’s a crack in his confident facade for the slightest second; you can see his eyebrows lift and his head tilt like he can’t believe his luck, but then he rips his fingers from you and grabs onto your hips, pulling you off the chiropractor’s chair hastily. You barely have a moment to marvel at how good your muscles and back feel before you’re settled on your knees in front of him, eyes blinking up at the large grin on his face.
“Maybe you could help me, too?” He offers and your fingers immediately move to his sweatpants.
Your fingers loop around the waistband of his pants and tug both them and his boxers down to his knees. His half-hard cock springs free, and you lick your lips before leaning forward to take it in your mouth.
You giggle at the surprise in his voice, wrapping your hand around the base of his cock as you start to bob up and down on his length. Oikawa groans when you run your tongue along the underside of his dick, gathering saliva in your mouth to coat him better. When his hand moves to the back of your head and pulls you closer, you groan, the vibrations making him gasp. He looks downright beautiful—a slight sheen on his temple, chest heaving under his t-shirt, eyes closed with his lips parted. It makes you move faster, hollowing out your cheeks and sucking harder.
“Come here,” he orders with a tap to your head, but you stubbornly shake your head. Your fingers run over his balls as you speed up the bobs of your mouth, and his body shudders with a particularly hard suck.
Oikawa moves fast, and before you can even squeal, you’re on your back on his floor. There’s a satisfied smirk on your face when you see how fast he kicks off his pants and pulls off his t-shirt before he’s on you. His lips are soft and taste strangely like watermelon sherbet when you part your lips for him. Your tongues tangle together and make you groan, fingers running down the defined muscles of his arms.
He pulls back to help you out of your shirt and shorts before he kisses you again. There’s something about the urgency as he slips his tongue against yours, the messiness and heat of it all, the thundering of his heartbeat that you can feel against your warm skin that makes it hard to breathe. Your fingers tangle in his hair as he grabs your arms and pulls you into a sitting position, all without pulling his mouth from yours. With him still settled on his knees, he helps you hover over his hard cock, tip rubbing against your swollen and wet folds.
It’s not the most comfortable position, but it’s outweighed by the pleasure when you sink down on him. He stretches your walls, pulling your hips down so he’s fully sheathed inside of you. You keep your eyes locked on his as you pick up your hips and drop them again, relishing in the way the usually put-together man has his lips parted, cheeks flushed, and eyes blown out just for you. It makes you grin and lean forward to kiss him one more time, moaning against his lips as you begin to ride him.
The flooring is hard under your knees and your thighs burn with the effort, but every sound that leaves Oikawa’s mouth makes your clit throb and your hips move faster. His fingernails dig into your ass as he guides you along, helping you speed up. The squelching of your pussy and the slapping of your skin is drowned out by your heavy breathing. You tilt your back with a whimper that turns into a surprised yelp when you’re pushed onto your back.
Only your shoulders touch the floor, your back arched and hips lifted as Oikawa sits up on his haunches. His fingers dig deep into your hips as he starts to pound into you, and your fingers scratch against his flooring, trying to keep yourself grounded as pleasure explodes everywhere throughout your body. In this position, he hits so deep, making you cry out with every quick thrust.
“My flooring is—ugh, expensive, you know,” he manages through his labored breaths and grunts, and you squeeze around him on purpose to make him groan and shut him up.
“Maybe you—fuck, Oikawa—” You try, unable to continue when his thumb finds your clit again and makes you moan.
“What, pretty girl?”
“Take me to the bed next time,” you groan, hips jerking toward him when his thumb begins quick circles that match his quick but powerful thrusts. His other hand reaches forward and finds your breast, tugging on your nipple and rolling it between his fingers until it’s hard. He holds onto your side by your chest as he works, and you cling to his upper arms, pleasure rippling up your spine at the mix of sensations.
Something makes you open your eyes—a deep-seated need to see what Oikawa looks like as he fucks you, and the way he stares down at you makes you gasp. It’s nearly predatory: half his face darkened thanks to the shade, swollen lips split in a smirk, cock wet as he thrusts into you over and over and over. Your orgasm looms dangerously close and snaps the moment he murmurs, be a good girl for me, won’t you?
“Fuck, Oikawa, ah—” Your cry cuts off your babbling, body arching even further off the ground. You feel light-headed, though you aren’t sure if that’s from the position or the way he fucks you through your orgasm, deep thrusts that keep you whimpering even after your pleasure crests.
“Where do you want it?” He grunts out, flush high on his cheeks as he chases his own looming orgasm.
“Inside me, please, wanna—”
You don’t get to finish your sentence. As soon as you purposefully clamp down around him, he lets out a high-pitched moan and shudders forward. His cock pulses as he spills into your cunt, filling you up and making you grind your hips into his. Sweat drips from his forehead and onto your chest as he leans forward, catching himself with an elbow by your head. You expect him to kiss you or make another one of his dumb quips, but he instead leans down and takes a nipple into his mouth, lazily rolling around it with his tongue.
When he’s satisfied, he pulls off your breast with a pop and looks up. “So you mentioned a next time? Maybe I can knock something else off my bucket list.”
“Having sex on the floor was part of your bucket list?” You answer skeptically, pussy clenching like it already misses him when he carefully pulls out.
“No, but reenacting a porno was.” The slap you send to the back of his head makes him whine. “Hey, don’t hit me!”
“I thought chiropractors were supposed to fix backs, not break them,” you complain when you shift on the floor and something twinges in your back again. “So now you’re 0-for-2.”
“What?” He asks incredulously, sitting back up with a raised eyebrow. “What’s the other thing?”
“I’m pretty sure you’re not allowed to have sex with your patients.”
“You aren’t my patient,” he reminds you, fingers creeping up your wet and sticky inner thighs. When he begins rubbing circles where your thighs and pussy meet, you can’t help the whimper that escapes your mouth. “So that means I’m 2-for-2.”
“I’ll fix your back, promise.” He smiles before his voice drops, and you gasp when his pointer finger pushes into your tight and wet heat easily, beginning lazy strokes that have you pulsing for him one more time. “After I break it again.”