many noblewomen desire to stand beside the prince of the nation; for status, lavish life— tons of reasons, to put it simply. and falling for the prince shouldn't be deemed as a crime. still, when there are two princes and your family are part of prince suguru faction, while behind the prying eyes your heart and soul are already devoted to prince satoru, surely it'll be considered treason to your family. ( ... )
notes in red ... i already wrote down everyone who asked to be tagged in the previous masterlist. so, there's no need to ask to be tagged again! this is a part of indie's community event; please do visit other writers' stories listed there. have a good ride! 🤍
❝suguru geto thought he was all alone in the world – until he found you. his muse, his lover, and eventually, his biggest mistake❞
WC 11.2k
CONTENT mdni, heavy angst, smut, some fluff too, vampire au, A LOT of blood, murder, blood drinking, depression, suicidal ideation (implied), trauma, yearning, heavy pining, suguru is obsessed with you, extremely avoidant reader, falling in love, first kiss, making out, oral (f+m receiving), piv sex, timeskips, arguments, love confessions, doomed love kinda, happy ending
A/N this is inspired by "interview with the vampire". art by @/chosoenjoy3r + dividers by @droideplane & @uzmacchiato
What does it mean to be lonely?
Not just in the physical sense. Being alone is a fact of life, an empirical truth that cannot be escaped – but being lonely? That's different.
Lonely is when you lose all hope of not being alone.
When your environment has consistently been empty, devoid of familiar faces and friendly touch for far too long. Then that feeling starts to slowly make its way inside, weave itself in through the very fabric of your being, starting to take hold and germinate like weeds in a garden.
Until the emptiness is fully settled inside.
Empty.
Devoid of hope.
Numb.
A black void of nothing.
The worst thing a vampire could be was lonely.
That's what Suguru Geto used to think.
Back when he roamed the earth alone, destined to walk moonlit streets only, seeking his prey in the dark. It was a life he had grown accustomed to, but every single time he hunted, he was hoping he could find someone else. Just one person.
One person to exchange a kind word with. A soft caress maybe, to breathe life back into this dead body of his.
Just someone like him. Who understood.
The worst thing a vampire could be was lonely, Suguru thought before he met you. Now he knows the pain of heartbreak was far greater.
Because how cruel does this cursed existence have to be, to give one a sliver of hope – and then brutally take it all away again?
You made Suguru realised he wasn't a dark void after all, because if his heart hurt this much, it was surely still there.
Dead, unmoving, but there.
It changed everything.
You changed everything.
You.
In all his years, no – centuries alone, you finally came to him like an angel in the night. Dripping in blood, the red crimson mixing with your skin and glowing under the full moon.
You hadn't noticed him straight away, which he thought amusing. Considering the amount of work Suguru had put into his stealth abilities, he was glad to see it could work even on those of his kind. It also gave him just a few seconds longer to just…watch.
You were pinning down someone under you, teeth deep into their neck as you gorged yourself. Nothing more than an animal at that point, reminding Suguru of the worst part of his condition. But such a primitive, hideous sight was made mesmerizing by you.
You were like a painter.
Blood was your ink. The street was your canvas.
Did you know he was watching? Was that why you took your time in that way?
Suguru always drank with nothing but disgust for himself, swallowing the other person's essence as fast as he could as if a quick death was somehow an apology.
Such a disgusting act shouldn't be made so beautiful.
Where had you even come from?
Suguru had roamed this continent for years and had never met anyone else.
Here you were – the answer to all his prayers. Maybe they weren't going on deaf years after all. Maybe he still deserved a little respite, despite being what he was.
Suguru wanted to cry, but he held it in so to not disturb you. The worst thing that could happen was startle you and have you ran away.
At that moment though, he had decided he'd follow you to the ends of the earth if he had to.
An odd promise made to someone not even aware of his existence yet, but Suguru was desperate – he needed you. Hadn't even met you, but he fucking needed you.
You finally tilted your head upwards, fangs fully on show, red on white.
And then you saw him.
He noticed how your eyes immediately met his, like an invisible thread had pulled you to him. The eyes of a beast, deformed like his were, an unnatural colour that matched the blood you were wiping from your chin.
Suguru saw you get ready to run away, with the way your legs tensed and your posture rearranged. But he was quick to put his hands up, taking a quiet step in your direction.
You cocked your head sideways, assessing. Understanding.
And then your beautiful lips parted.
"How long have you been watching?" you finally asked, the small hint of a prideful smirk tugging at the edges of your lips.
What a beautiful sound it was. Suguru couldn't breathe – your voice was nearly as gorgeous as your beautiful face, now fully visible to him.
You were his salvation. He was sure of it.
An angel sent from above. Or… below, in this case.
"I didn't know there were others" he heard himself say, voice shaking just like the hands he hid in his pockets; too worried of anything that might make you look down on him.
You stared at him for a moment. Taking him in, your head tilted in curiosity.
And then your posture dropped a little, less guarded and more sad. Pitiful, even.
"How long have you been alone?"
That's when the first tears started pouring out of Suguru's red eyes, his body reacting to your question before his mind could.
He felt himself sink to his knees, falling to your feet, tears spilling and spilling like they hadn't in years. Probably not since before he had lost his mortality.
You could have run away. Could have laughed at him, thought him weak like his maker had, and left to find your next victim.
To expect compassion from a vampire was far beyond reason.
But you didn't do that.
Instead, you walked towards him. Slowly, carefully, maybe even wondering if this had been a trap. It didn't hurt to be cautious, not in this world. Not for who you were.
You lowered yourself on your knees – so close, much closer than he had been to anyone he didn't intend on drinking blood from in the past centuries. And then you extended a tentative hand, and cupped his cheek.
"I know what it's like" you murmured.
Suguru didn't mean to throw himself at you like he had, but all reason had left him the second you spoke to him so kindly. His arms crossed your back, pulling you into him and crashing onto you at the same time, crying onto your chest so loud it might alert other people to the crime scene you currently found yourselves on.
But nothing else mattered at that moment.
He had found you.
His angel.
The feeling of arms around his back was foreign to him at this point – how long had it been since someone pulled him in instead of away? Since someone held him?
Your skin was as cold as his, but he could swear his heart felt warm.
And as Suguru cried tears of grief and of relief, you slowly caressed his long strands, shushing him with gentleness a creature like him did not deserve.
Suguru wasn't even sure how long you held him like that. So patient.
You were perfect.
He took you to his apartment that night – you were surprised he even had one. But in all his years alive, or, dead, really, he felt a bit of comfort was necessary. After too long roaming aimlessly, Suguru just wanted a home.
He just never expected he'd actually get to invite someone in, and expose a little more of himself than he had intended. But Suguru wanted to try.
You told him your name. An old sound, not native to this land and maybe, to any of the modern day. But you refused to say more; to tell him who was your maker or how long you had been like this, so Suguru didn't pry.
You wanted to move forward, you explained. Look ahead instead of behind. That sounded great to him – Suguru was never able to look at anywhere but the past. His regrets. The wrong turns he had made. Maybe you could help change that.
Another curious thing about you was that you didn't speak of your vampire condition with hatred at all. To you, living forever was exciting, not a curse. You spoke of lands you wished to see and things you still wanted to do.
The world changed every day and you were changing with it. It was a beautiful perspective, something he had never even considered.
But when he asked of the things you missed, you stayed quiet.
Too quiet.
"What's the point of reminiscing" you scoffed, and Suguru could tell there was a splinter there somewhere.
"I am sorry, I didn't mean to–"
"Don't be" you interrupted, looking him in the eyes once more. If he had a living heart, it would have beat faster, he was sure of it. "Are you hungry?" you squinted, so good at reading him already.
"I try not to over indulge" he explained. He worried you might call him weak for admitting he hated to kill, but you seemed more confused than anything.
"It's almost dawn" you muttered. "Will you be ok until nightfall?"
Were you worried about him?
"I am used to it" he tried to smile.
You were still not convinced.
"You don't like the taste?" you asked, one brow raising as if trying to conceal your judgment.
"It's not that, it's–" he struggled with his words, letting out a long sigh. "I don't like inflicting pain"
Your lips turned into an almost smile, amused. "But you're a vampire" you said, as if he didn't already know.
"Am I?" he teased, letting out a self deprecating chuckle.
You laughed with him. Head falling forwards just slightly, your pointy teeth in full display as you let out the sweetest laugh he had heard in centuries.
"I'd assume so" you teased back. "Fangs, check. Red eyes, check" you paused, humming with a finger to your chin. "Perhaps you are just a deformed human?"
Suguru laughed with you. "I haven't seen my face in years, but I'd hope it wasn't deformed"
"No" you smiled. "It's a very handsome face"
That gave him pause, his mouth hanging open before he could blurt out the next taunt in your back and forth.
You thought he was handsome?
He had heard it often, back when he was alive. But being unable to see his reflection was one of the curses of a vampire.
Truth was, he didn't even remember his human face anymore.
"It is?" he asked, trying to swallow the lump in his throat.
"It is" you smiled. And then you brought your hand to his face, a single finger ghosting over his cold skin. You took your time in tracing every curve and ridge of his skin, your eyes tracking your finger like you were making a mental map for later.
"I like the shape of your eyes" you murmured. "And of your cheeks"
Suguru almost pulled you into a kiss right then, but he was left completely frozen under your touch. It had been years, no – centuries, since someone touched him with such kindness. Looked at him like something to admire instead of fear.
"How is mine?" you asked suddenly, dropping your hand despite how much he wanted you to keep going.
"What?" he murmured, like snapping back from a trance.
"How is my face?" you repeated.
Oh, he smiled, unsure of where even to start. Suguru had many words for it. Beautiful, mesmerising, gorgeous.
But instead, he said–
"I could show you"
Your eyebrows immediately drew closer, head tilting to the side in confusion.
"What do you mean?" you asked.
"I can draw" he nodded to the small notebook lying on the table, some white pages scattered around it. "Would you like me to draw you?"
It was your turn to be completely frozen in place now. He could have sworn your lower lip wobbled a little, tears starting to form in your beautiful eyes, though you swallowed them as best as you could.
"Could you?" you asked. "I don't even remember what I look like"
"I know what that's like" he echoed the words you had said earlier in the evening.
Something happened between the two of you then.
One of those things only poets could really do justice. It felt like that invisible thread had tugged the two of you just a little closer.
And in your face, a myriad of emotions – gratitude. Acknowledgment. Kinship between monsters, who didn't feel very monstrous at all in this moment in time.
Suguru pulled out his materials – parchment paper and ink, while his model watched patiently.
"How do you want me?" you asked, sounding a little nervous, if he had heard it right.
There were a million ways Suguru could answer that question.
"You're perfect just like that" he replied.
Your eyes blinked, whole face tensing before it relaxed finally, and you sat back a little more on the sofa you shared.
"It's mean to tease" you complained with an adorable frown.
"It's just the truth" he hummed, starting to prepare.
The first step was looking at his subject. Suguru took his time to take in every little detail of your expression, unable to ignore how you struggled to hold his gaze or how you tried to force your lips to not smile.
How did he get this lucky?
Eventually the pen did touch the paper, tracing dark lines carefully, hoping his hands would be skilled enough to capture even a fraction of your charm.
You waited calmly, the most patient subject he had ever had. It had been a long while since anyone allowed him to paint them like this – not since this cursed had removed him from society and life.
He had long felt unable to walk among the living.
But now with you, he'd happily walk among the dead.
"Let me see" you said as soon as his hands put the pen down. Not that patient, it seemed.
Suguru turned the paper around, and your hands wrapped around it to bring them closer. Your eyes darted from one corner of the page to the other, taking in everything, every single thing.
"It's beautiful" you whispered.
"You are" Suguru agreed.
You turned to him, and he noticed you were crying.
"Is this what I look like?" you asked, holding the drawing close.
It was Suguru's turn to cup your cheek, thumb brushing under your eyes. "I was only able to capture a fraction of your beauty"
You swallowed thickly, lip trembling, and then you turned to the picture again. "They used to say I had my mother's eyes" you whispered, brushing a finger over the drawing. "I haven't seen her eyes in years"
Suguru didn't know what to say to that. He didn't remember his family's faces either.
You looked back at him, clutching the drawing to your chest.
"Thank you" you whispered among the tears.
Suguru couldn't take it any longer.
He leaned forwards, slamming his lips across yours as your hands gladly found his long strands, pulling him desperately closer to you.
How long had it been since he had been kissed?
He couldn't even remember.
Your mouth eagerly parted for him, accepting him, inviting him, your own tongue searching for his as neither of you cared about how messy you were. Lips, tongues, teeth – all slamming together in a dance of pure need.
He only noticed you were bleeding when he felt the metallic taste on his tongue, reawakening his empty stomach. "I'm sorry–" he said, kissing your lips over and over where he had impulsively bitten them.
But you laughed. "Are you that hungry?" you teased.
"I couldn't help it, I–" he tried to explain.
I just wanted you whole, is what he would have said, maybe. I just need you too much.
But your laugh once again interrupted all thoughts going through his head.
He watched you bring your forearm to your mouth, biting right in the middle of it, and extending the dripping red to him.
"You can feast on me" you said. "I'm already dead"
Suguru didn't know if you were taunting him for his comment earlier, but he gratefully accepted. Vampire blood wouldn't fill him up like human, but it would definitely help quench his hunger.
His lips closed where you had bitten your skin, swallowing your essence as his eyes closed and his throat hummed.
No one had ever tasted this sweet.
He was lost in it. Addicted from a single taste.
His hands held each side of your arm, pulling you closer to him as he gorged on you.
And then you made a sound – small, unintentional, and beautiful. Suguru snapped his fox eyes open to look at you, your mouth open in pleasure as the sweetest whimpers escaped your lips.
Suguru's lips immediately left your forearm to find yours again, needing to swallow your symphony. "Did you like that?" he asked, hands traveling to your waist and lower, settling on your hips where you rolled them with abandon, grinding against his.
"Yeah" you moaned, nodding your head and desperately holding his face.
Suguru didn't need any more encouragement.
His mouth traveled to your neck this time, fangs sinking into your flesh in a blink, your whole body convulsing at the contact.
"Fuck–" you whimpered, as Suguru kept drinking from you, stealing your blood like you had stolen his unbeating heart.
His whole body was caging you in, his hands encouraging your hips to keep moving as you wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him further into you.
"Suguru" you moaned his name, and he was gone.
His hands moved from your hips to your middle, easily tearing the fabric of the clothes you wore, and you looked at him wide eyed with an amused smile, the red still dripping from your neck along the curve of your collarbone.
Suguru repositioned himself, bringing his body lower and forcing your legs to your chest, desperate to taste all of you.
In a quick movement, he was bunching his long hair into a bun, eyes hypnotized by the sight of you, naked, legs open in invitation.
"You're beautiful" he whispered, finally sinking his head between your thighs. He inhaled your scent, so sweet it was intoxicating, and licked a long stripe along your underwear that made your whole body jolt up.
He was sure your strength could match his, but you didn't complain when he pinned you down fully and gave your underwear the same treatment the rest of your clothes had gotten, the tearing sound of the fabric echoing in the room until you were fully exposed.
How long had it been?
Suguru felt something close to anxiety in his stomach, worried he wouldn't know how to satisfy you properly. It had been decades of no practice, after all.
But your hand closed around his, urging him with a single blink of your long eyelashes, bottom lip caught between your fangs like you needed him to.
Suddenly all worry was gone, and the only thing left in the world was you.
Suguru lowered himself, tongue licking a flat strip along your slit, and your other hand searched for his hair, pulling strands off the loose bun he had hastily put together.
He took his time exploring, learning what you liked, paying attention to each little reaction. He was so grateful you let him be here. So grateful you had stumbled into his life.
"Right here?" he asked, smiling against your folds when you let out a particularly loud moan.
"Mmh" you shook your head yes desperately, rocking your hips on his face, and Suguru thought himself the happiest man unalive. "Right there, please, Sugu–"
"You're so pretty when you beg" he smiled, dragging his tongue along the same spot that had you seeing stars.
Your moans kept building and building, echoing through the walls of his small apartment.
"Close already?" he asked, feeling just a little bit smug at how quickly he was making you unravel. Perhaps this wasn't a talent easily lost.
"It's been–ngh–a long time" you explained, hands gripping his shoulders, body folding inwards.
Suguru watched you fall apart on his tongue and it was the most beautiful thing he'd witnessed in all his years.
But not only that – it felt almost a little special, that it also had been a long time for you.He wasn't sure why he had assumed the contrary, but he hated to think life had been as lonely for you as it had for him.
Your nails dug so deep into his shoulders they drew blood now, but you didn't seem to notice in your daze. Gods, Suguru wished he could see you like this every day to the rest of eternity.
He finally stood up, removing each article of clothing slowly, as his smug grin followed each tremble of the aftershocks of your orgasm.
Beautiful.
Your eyes followed each new uncovered inch of him. His defined shoulders, his veiny forearms. How his bun came loose and fell along his broad back, dark strands brushing over the skin of his defined chest.
He was handsome. Perfectly chiselled and perfectly defined like he had been created to bring you to your knees.
And to your knees it brought you. You swiftly pushed yourself off the sofa to kneel in front of this magnificent, beautifully unnatural man, as your fingers hooked to the edge of his trousers, the last bit of clothing that hid him from you.
"You want to take me in your mouth?" he asked, thumb brushing your cheek as you nodded an eager yes. "You're so good to me" he hummed in amusement. Each word from him was a mixture of tender and lewd, his soft tone dripping with desire himself.
You finally freed him of his clothes, a little startled at the sheer size of him. You wanted him so bad, wanted to feel every inch of him–
"Open"
All thoughts disappeared in a puff of smoke, hearing him sound like that.
So you did.
"Good" he groaned, sinking into your mouth. He took his time, slowing down when you gagged around him, holding your head in complete control. A control you relented, considering you could easily bite his member off if you so wished.
But it felt… nice, to not be in control anymore.
A vampire life was calculated, precise, constantly on the look out.
It felt nice to give him all of you.
And the boy who was crying in your arms hours ago, was now rocking his hips against your face with abandon, whispering little praises that motivated you to take him deeper, and deeper, and deeper.
Suguru was close to losing his mind, each thread of reality snapping away at the way your throat constricted around him. He was so close to releasing himself in your mouth, but he didn't want that.
Not before he had felt your orgasm on his cock.
He pulled you away, panting, but didn't give you much time to question it. Suguru was on top of you in an instant, hands on either side of your head, his mouth back on yours.
His body pinned you down on the floor, your legs closed around his waist again – as if neither of you wanted to waste any more time, your hips slammed together in a unnatural pace, all of him sinking into you while your face scrunched at the stretch.
"Too much?" he asked, but you were smiling at him again.
"Not enough" you replied, pushing yourself up to bite his bottom lip, urging him back down towards you.
He was probably the one bleeding this time, but he didn't care, the taste mixed perfectly with your tongue. The urgency with which you kissed him urged his hips to start moving, slamming into yours harder and harder.
His hands came to lift your hips to give him better leverage, while yours held on to his shoulders so you could let him. You had met only hours earlier and now Suguru had you practically folded in half, with scratches all around his back to prove how much you loved it.
"You ngh feel so good" you panted, drawing blood from him again, some of the red dripping against your cheek to contrast your beautiful skin.
Maybe it was because his senses were so much sharper, but he didn't remember sex ever feeling like that. So intimate, so… surrendered. Two deadly monsters rejoicing in pleasure together.
It was the beginning of something he hoped would never fade.
An eternity he finally felt happy about.
"Why do you close your eyes?"
"What?" Suguru's head snapped back to you. There was still a faint trace of red where you had wiped it on your cheek; and he suspected on the tips of your fingers too, where they were interlaced with his. Suguru thought it better to not check, deciding to focus on your red eyes instead, and how they sparkled under the moonlight.
It was a night like any other. Hunting unaware passerby's, walking hand in hand back to your lair as if it was romantic.
You hated when he called it murder. So he didn't.
"When you feed" you answered, the breath coming out of your mouth and forming a haze all around. It was a cold winter, this one. The coldest one yet.
"Do I?" he mused, noticing he had never quite thought about it.
"You do" you replied. "And you avert your gaze when I feed too"
"Hm" his grip tightened around your hand, pulling you in closer ever so slightly. "I suppose it's because I don't enjoy it"
He didn't need to look to see the way your jaw had tightened. "You'd rather go hungry?" you scoffed.
"No, of course not" he replied. His thumb traced lazily over the top of your hand, soothing you – or himself. "Doesn't mean I have to enjoy it"
You stopped moving then, bringing him to a stop before you. You squinted your eyes, assessing him with a slight pout. Suguru's long fingers traveled to your jaw, gently wiping the red still there, letting the touch linger over your cold skin.
Suguru had seen you in every possible state in the months since you had been together – when you were naked and beautiful as an angel on top of him, crying from how good he made you feel; to dripping in blood and looking no more than a beast.
But he always found you beautiful.
Maybe that was a problem.
He didn't care.
"Do you enjoy it?" he asked, fighting against the lump in his throat that didn't want him to ask the question. He was sure nothing you said could make him see you different, but this was walking dangerously close.
To his surprise, you paused, tilting your head so your cheek would rest on his palm. Your eyes met his, but they weren't fully with him, something else clearly on your mind.
"I don't know" you answered, truthfully. "I never really thought about it"
That answer seemed to confuse him even more.
"You never thought about it?" he echoed, brushing his thumb over your skin.
You shook your head sideways in confirmation. "I suppose… it's just what I do" you murmured, and for a moment, you weren't there again.
Too lost in whatever memory your mind had locked you in.
Suguru didn't want to pry, but he also couldn't help wanting to know everything about you. "You never told me about your past" he said, more a suggestion than anything.
It was clearly the wrong move.
Your eyes suddenly snapped back to reality, not tender like they had just been – they locked on his with a hiss, and you stepped back from him like his touch burned.
"I'm sorry, I–"
"I don't want to talk about it" you interrupted, tone final and cold like a dagger right in his unbeating heart. Suguru put his hands up, not wanting to startle you further. If there was anyone who understood regrets, it would be him.
"I'm sorry" he said again, and you finally softened, letting your guard down little by little.
Your lips pursed sideways, annoyed with yourself at how easily Suguru got through your defenses. He half expected you to turn around and brave the night alone, maybe find another victim to take out the frustrations he brought out of you on.
But to his surprise, you moved closer.
A tiny step in his direction, too shy for your eyes to meet. But your forehead leaned in, resting on his shoulder, letting the weight of whatever was on your mind sink into him too.
Suguru tentatively brought his arms around your back, slowly, careful not to startle you. But you let him. Leaned further into him, accepted the embrace and even brought your own arms around him.
Your face was squished against his chest the tighter he held you, but you didn't dare move. Your breath had changed, he noticed as well, but he didn't dare move.
"I'm sorry" you said this time, voice small. Too small.
If Suguru didn't know you better, he'd think you were crying.
His hands slowly brushed your hair back, shushing you softly. Your hands gripped his shirt so tight they threatened to tear at the fabric, and with your strength, he knew you could easily do it.
Here, on this cold moonlit street, you finally let him in a little. Allowed him to see some of the pain you carried, despite not being able to voice it.
To Suguru, it was enough.
He would have held you like this forever, were it not for the police sirens bringing in the reminder of your brutal reality.
"We should go" you murmured, and your voice was cold as ice again.
"Maybe we should go somewhere else" you suggested one night.
You were sprawled over the long sofa, completely naked, your arms stretched over your head where they began to hurt. Holding still wasn't exactly your forte.
Suguru lowered his pencil with a long exhale, looking at you with tired eyes. "You're distracting me, sweetheart" he chided.
You pouted, snapping back into position as he started drawing again with a grateful sigh. Over the years, Suguru had drawn you a million times, in every position imaginable – clothed, naked, happy, sad. All of those now hung proudly on the walls, every inch covered with images of you and times you had spent together.
You thought it was a lovely thing when it first started.
Now you were starting to get bored of it.
The years had passed but you didn't exactly change, did you?
Still, seeing how he focused to get every detail of your complexion right, every little line and crevice and perceived imperfection – it made it worth it again.
Sometimes you wished you could see yourself through Suguru's eyes.
What would it be like to love yourself in that way?
"Suguru" you called. His eyes left the page again, squinting at you, but he seemed to notice something was wrong from the way you called his name alone.
He placed his pencil down fully this time. "What is it?" he asked.
"Do you ever wish things were different?"
The words left your lips before you could really think about them. You saw his desire to come to you straight away, but Suguru wasn't one for unnecessary bursts of passion. No, he always though about what he said. Especially because any wrong move might risk losing you.
"I used to" he admitted, answering your question as truthfully as he could. He also didn't care for going into the long years he had spent alone and miserable, something you surely could understand.
"What changed?" you asked, pushing yourself to a more comfortable position.
"Well" he huffed out, a little shy. "I met you"
You blinked at him, feeling your cheeks warm. "Was that a good thing?" you huffed out self-deprecatingly, but his resolve continued.
"It was the best thing" he confessed.
There hadn't been many love confessions between you two through out the years.
Suguru would have told you a million times over, but he realised soon enough he shouldn't. It's not that it wasn't there, on the contrary – it's that acknowledging it was there would make it too real. Too breakable. Too easy to lose.
Love wasn't meant for creatures like the two of you.
"You mean that?" you asked, and Suguru calmly put his paper down, motioning you for come towards him.
You did, waltzing in his direction with no shame at the lack of clothes – he had seen you like that enough times already. When you finally approached, he opened his thick thighs for you to sit on, a hand already to your waist.
You fit so perfectly on his lap, felt so safe next to him like this. Your leaned your weight on him, resting your head on his as his thumb traced absentminded circles on your lower back.
"Look" he said, picking up the paper again. "Look at how beautiful you are"
Your eyes traveled to the picture, eyeing the person you had seen on paper multiple times but could not relate to in any form anymore.
"It's still the same" you murmured, the words cutting your insides like daggers. This curse had robbed you of ever seeing your face again, robbed you of the natural wonders of old age, of maturity, a body that reflected your soul.
You should have been old now. Hell, you should have been dead.
"It is" Suguru agreed, but he was smiling. His eyes darted all over the page, taking in the perceived beauty of the woman you didn't recognise. Your hands. Your curves. Your mother's eyes. All made beautiful under his pencil, but foreign. Distant. "Isn't that a good thing?"
You tensed immediately on top of him. "How is it a good thing?" you spat. "It's unnatural"
He turned to you immediately, his hand dropping the page and cupping your cheek instead. "Where is this coming from?" he asked, gentle, sweet like honey.
"I don't relate to it at all" you protested. "She's beautiful, yes, but I'm… it's not me"
"What do you mean?" he asked, brows furrowing close. One of his hands tightened around your waist, hoping to keep you close, while the other brushed gently just under your temple.
"I'm not beautiful. I'm a predator, I'm cursed" you kept repeating, your words getting more and more sharp despite how kindly he held you.
"You're not cursed" he argued, bringing your head to the crook of his neck. Despite all the fight in you, you let him.
"I am" you cried.
Suguru felt the cold little drops that escaped your eyes fall on his skin, just under where the bite marks that originally made him this way were. He held you tight, hoping it would be enough.
"You're not cursed" he repeated, kindly. "You're everything"
Suguru couldn't bear seeing the person who had made his existence bearable speak so low of herself. You were the one who made him see this as more – as a gift, even.
But you didn't see it that way.
And the way your breathing suddenly stopped and you pulled away made that very clear.
"Don't pretend you don't think I'm a monster" you growled, before pushing yourself off him completely. "I see the way you look at me"
"The way I looked at you?" he echoed, confused. Surely he looked at you like you were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, because you were.
You were fully standing now, towering over him in your nakedness. Suguru could never not find you beautiful, but right now you reminded him of the power you truly held.
"Righteous Suguru, always feeling bad for his prey" you mocked, starting to wander around the room just to do something. "And horrible me, enjoying having my stomach filled"
"I never said that–"
"You don't have to" you scoffed. "You can't even bear to look at me"
How could you think that of him?
Hearing those words come out of your lips was unbearable. It was wrong.
"I don't like killing, it's true" he tried to reason. "But–"
"You call it killing" you interrupted. "We're feeding"
"It doesn't change the fact these people were–"
"We would be dead too if we didn't" your voice was rising louder and louder, a debate of morals Suguru never wanted to have with you. "Would you prefer that?"
"No, of course not" Suguru said too quick, coming closer to you. But you just kept going, voice rising higher and higher.
"Should we just walk into the sun to protect your conscience?" you mocked again, but the words got stuck in your throat, scratchy. They were meant to hurt, meant to challenge – but there was something far too real about the words you were saying. Like this was the only way you managed to actually utter them out loud.
Suguru understood that too.
"Don't say that" he pleaded with you. Not angry, not confrontational. Just… scared.
His sudden change made you stop pacing.
"You don't even look at me" you rasped out to the floor, like he wasn't even meant to hear it.
"I'm looking at you now" he tried.
But you just shook your head.
"If you can't accept all of me, what good does it do?" you murmured.
"But it's not you" he tried to reason. "If we weren't like this, you wouldn't choose to kill anyone, I'm sure, and–"
"You don't know what my life was like" you spat.
And it's true. He didn't.
"Because you never told me" he exhaled, unable to hide how much that fact hurt him.
How much longer would he have to wait for you to let him in? Were decades not enough?
"You have no right to know" you repeated what you had said many times already.
"I don't understand" it was his turn to lose his composure a little, that wound growing larger and larger now that the two of you were acknowledging it. "I would never think less of you"
"You already think less of me" you hissed, squaring up to him again.
Beautiful, and naked, but not vulnerable. You were strong like this, the way you made the energy shift in a room showing him how much power you had, no doubt accumulated by the amount of years you had spent as a vampire already.
But that was also speculation. Suguru didn't even know that.
"I don't" he said too quick, putting his hands up. "And I'm sorry, just don't…"
He was the one who trailed off this time, struggling with the words.
"Don't what?" you asked, the words biting into the space.
"Don't leave" he finally said.
You seemed… surprised.
Surely after all this time, it wouldn't be surprising.
But what were years for a vampire, after all? For all he knew, you saw him as no more than a chapter in the long novel of your life. Worst than that, he almost expected that to be the case. And Suguru was terrified of it.
"Why?" you asked.
Suguru noticed it was him who was crying this time, but his lips still formed a shy smile. "Because I love you"
Saying it felt easy than he had anticipated, the words he was so scared to utter just rolling off his tongue, sounding just right. But your red eyes grew wider than they ever had, your feet stumbling back like the words cut instead of soothe.
"You–" you almost tried to repeat them, but you couldn't.
Suguru stood there, unmoving, now that he had finally said it. He wouldn't walk back on them, not when it was the truth.
"I love you" he repeated.
Again, you flinched like you had been hurt. But you stopped moving back, just standing across from him in the middle of the room, chest heaving up and down, up and down.
"No one has ever said that to me"
Your voice was too small for how angry you were just a moment ago.
Suguru's hands balled into fists as he tried to control the urge to run to you. Pull you into his arms, hold you close with a gentleness you should have known centuries ago.
You looked like a cornered animal in the middle of the room, completely frozen. Your eyes were crying again, though you made no mention to dry them. The corner of your lips threatened to move, but to a frown or a smile, he didn't know. You didn't seem to know either.
But your eyes stayed lock on his unwavering, decided ones.
Suguru would stand here, unmoving, for another decade if it meant you trusted him because of it.
"How do you know?" you finally said, bringing a hand to wipe under your eyes.
He tried a step towards you then. "Because just looking at you makes me forget all the bad things that ever happened to me" he said. When you didn't flinch, he stepped forwards again. "Because your laugh is my favourite sound in the world"
You almost moved closer, a barely there shift of your weight forwards. He continued.
"Because laying in our small coffin together doesn't feel claustrophobic, it feels…safe" he almost laughed at himself, the ridiculousness of this vampiric love confession.
Maybe love wasn't meant for creatures like you, but he had found it anyway. And that was a miracle in and of itself.
"You make me feel like this life isn't just worth living, but worth sharing" he completed, standing right in front of you now. Your bottom lip bobbed a little where you struggled to contain your tears, but when his hand reached forwards to cup your cheek, you didn't stop him.
"And I don't see you as a monster" he whispered, thumb dragging along your skin to catch the tears. "Seeing you enjoy killing, it just… makes me wonder why"
Your breathing hitched at that, but you still did not move.
The two of you stood so close, your bodies bathing in the moonlight. It was getting late, and it would be dawn soon – but neither of you seemed to be thinking about that right now.
"I think…" you started, struggling with the words. "I think I might love you too"
Suguru didn't think he even remembered what it was like to feel this happy.
His fox like eyes went wide, his mouth hung open – his turn at surprise. For so long he was so worried you'd get bored of him, that maybe you were too wild a creature to choose this domestic eternity.
Even in his wildest dreams, he never dared to imagine you felt it too.
"Can you say that again?"
You smiled, bringing your hands to cup his face too. "I love you"
Suguru slammed his lips on yours, pulling you in for a desperate kiss that you both completely melted into.
This was what pure bliss felt like.
You loved him.
You loved each other.
Even following all your sins and your ungodly existence, he had found it. He had actually fucking found it. The two of you had just gone against all odds and conquered fate.
"I love you" he kept saying, while his pointed teeth grazed your bottom lip, while your hands held tight to his face, and your mouth's refused to part.
"I love you too" you echoed back, crying, and crying, and crying.
Suguru couldn't stop smiling – and you couldn't stop your tears.
Hadn't he been so absorbed in this miracle then, he might have guessed what happened next.
You weren't there when he woke the next nightfall.
Suguru had grown used to your weight on top of his in the tight space, but he felt none of that when he started to blink his eyes awake. He called your name immediately, lifting the lid of the coffin with a loud creak, asking the void if you were there.
There was no response.
How could he have slept if you were not there? He would have surely woken up if you decided to leave before he did. Was he this lost in his own fantasy coming true? Had he slept too well?
The night was still young, you surely couldn't had gone far if you had just left when the sun went down.
Or… did you leave before that entirely?
Suguru's blood immediately ran cold. You wouldn't leave in the sunlight.
You wouldn't.
You knew what that could mean.
He paced the apartment with so much force his feet made the floor boards sink, but he was desperate. He had to find at least some hint, some clue of where you had gone, why you had gone.
Finally, he noticed something that wasn't meant to be there.
A different portrait sitting on the table, matching the walls full of you that decorated the space. But this one was of him – his long dark hair tied into a knot at the back of his head, his eyes looking far ahead, staring at something off the page.
He didn't remember posing for this, so it must have been made from memory.
Despite the years Suguru had spent teaching you to draw, you never seemed quite able to take it. You lacked the patience, you said. But this was a skillful drawing, no doubt something that would take long to master. Had you been working on it in secret for all this time?
What else did he not notice about you?
Suguru flipped the page around, finding the three words he had been so happy to hear the night before hastily scribbled on the back.
I love you
His response was immediate; Suguru's fist bunched up the drawing, and slammed it back on the table before he could damage it completely. It was a gift from you, he should love it. But where the hell were you?
If you loved him – why would you leave?
Because… you had, hadn't you? And all he had left of you was a portrait of himself and hundreds of images on the walls that now seemed to mock him.
He called your name once more, more pained this time. Maybe this was all a mistake, maybe he was just scared… but how did he feel it so deep in his soul, this truth he had spent years trying to deny?
Suguru's red eyes scanned the empty space, hoping for a sign of you, desperately praying to whoever was out there to listen.
But there was only the void again.
All those fears and assumptions he always had proving themselves true.
The worst thing for a vampire was to be alone. But there was also safety in that, wasn't there?
To love and loose was so much worse.
So, so much worse.
His knees gave out before his brain could keep him standing, loudly crashing onto the floor as every memory of you started storming his brain. He had kissed you on this floor many times, had made love to you right there on the first night you met.
Now it wasn't the sweat of your bodies and the blood you shared staining the wood, but his own desperate tears, falling in a cascade of grief he didn't think himself capable of feeling.
In feeling so much pain, Suguru wished desperately for that void again. To just feel nothing. Nothing was so much better than this.
But nothing wasn't an option anymore – you had made his life full only to tip it over the edge, letting it all spill into a wet mess similar to the one he was making on the floor.
Your name escaped his lips when he lowered his forehead down to the ground, his hands balling into fists next to his dark hair, coming loose all around his handsome features. How dare you give him life back, only to take it away again.
He slammed his fist against the floorboards, so loud the pictures of you rattled on the wall. There were so many – portraits that span years but the subject remained the same, remained beautiful, perfect.
How could you hate that? Suguru loved having you immortalised not just on paper, but in life itself.
It was a gift.
You were the one that made him see it that way.
Why had you changed your mind?
Why couldn't things just stay the same?
Forever.
You had made forever sound so nice.
Another fist hit the wood, his knuckles beginning to split. His skin would heal, but the depth of his mistake never would.
What a fool he was for confessing his love to you. Suguru knew what that would mean, how much it would frighten you – he knew, and still did it anyway.
Idiot.
Suguru couldn't bring himself to throw the next punch, choosing to curl inwards instead, into himself, away from everything else.
He shouldn't have said anything.
What a stupid fucking mistake.
Maybe all of this.
All of it was a mistake.
He couldn't outrun fate, after all.
But pretending sure felt nice.
Suguru finally pushed himself up, making a point to look at every image that decorated the walls. He remembered each one, what the conversation had been about, what you had been doing earlier in the night before he decided the moment was too precious not to capture.
Suguru found himself looking for a specific one, though – that first one. The one that had gained him your trust, your love.
He could have sworn it was still inside his sketchbook.
He turned page after page after page, growing increasingly annoyed that he couldn't find it. Despair turning into anger, looking for any form of release it could find. Until he finally noticed a tear at the corner of the page, right where it should have been.
Had you taken it with you?
His breathing stopped, swollen eyes focusing on the careful way the page had been torn from his book, his finger grazing along it with the devotion he would caress your skin.
In the many years you spent together, you had never once mentioned the image – not after that first night.
Did it mean as much to you as it meant for him?
Suguru's hands closed around the notebook, shutting it tight and bringing it to his chest. It was at least one more proof that you didn't lie when expressing your love for him. That maybe leaving was as hard for you as it was for him.
And among the pain in his chest where his heart should have been beating, Suguru understood.
Being alone was far less scary than love.
What he saw as an act of cowardice, maybe you saw as an act of kindness. Choosing you'd rather be alone than to face the end of this love you didn't think you deserved, his hatred you saw as inevitable.
So you left. Your version of compassion, learnt from a world who had never showed you that in the first place.
You wanted him to hate you, didn't you?
He couldn't do that.
This would be his last act of rebellion against this evil world that had made you this way.
This cursed fate he didn't seem able to escape.
Suguru would love you still.
And he would find you.
Time was a blessing as well as a curse. Suguru had an infinite amount – but each strike of the clock dragged longer than it had before, every coming dawn seemed to linger, every passing season reminding him of what he had lost.
The winter you left eventually turned into summer, longer days meaning shorter nights – less opportunities to look for you.
But Suguru didn't give up hope.
He wandered the streets for as long as he could, every single night, just hoping for your scent. He visited places you had gone to together, wishing he'd find you on the park bench near the churchyard, or the cemetery behind it, among the bones of people who had found peace in death, unlike the two of you.
Suguru even visited your known hunting spots, the seedy alleyways just out of town that tended to harbor criminals and people who wouldn't be missed by society. It was a suggestion Suguru had made, and that you had agreed to. It made what you had to do more bearable, but he still hated every second.
When he finally reached the location, you weren't there. Suguru had hoped to at least hear rumours and whispers about recent kills around this spot, some urban legend beginning to grow that he could tie back to you; but still… nothing.
Had you gone back to preying on whoever you could put your hands on? Was his odd moral compass another thing you resented him for?
"You seem lost, boy" a voice came from right behind him, distinctively not yours. The sharp metal sound of a blade came along with it, as Suguru heard the footsteps approaching – slowly, deliberately.
This man clearly had the wrong idea of who prey and predator were.
Suguru took a sharp inhale in, hating this man for interrupting his search. He turned around, slowly, the reds of his eyes making the man come to a halt a mere feet away.
"You sick or something?" the man scoffed, clearly intrigued by his appearance.
Suguru just stood there. His hands had balled into fists as he inhaled he man's scent. He was hungry, so hungry, and hated the way he looked down at him. Had you been here, you would undoubtedly already have a twisted smile on your face, excited to gorge on the stranger's blood.
"That's a nice coat you've got there" the man mocked, making the knife visible now. It glistened where it caught the light, making sure Suguru could see it too.
A pathetic threat, Suguru rolled his eyes internally.
This man sure had chosen the wrong time for this, because Suguru's blood was already running cold with anger. And he caught himself thinking, just for a moment… that he would enjoy this kill.
No.
This was a line he didn't want to cross.
"You deaf or just stupid?" the man laughed this time, closing the distance.
Another breath in, slowly while the man approached. It didn't matter how hungry, angry, lost Suguru was – he couldn't bring himself to enjoy feeding, would never forgive himself if he lost this last shred of humanity he still was proud of. He couldn't, wouldn't, shouldn't–
But when the man brought the knife to his throat, it was too easy.
Suguru turned around in the blink of an eye, taking his fangs to the tall man's neck as his body effortlessly pinned him down, bringing the two down to the wet pavement in the process.
Blood, tears and sweat spilled everywhere, while Suguru enjoyed the way the much bigger man thrashed beneath him, helpless.
Is this what you wanted all along? For him to be just like you?
It wasn't merciful, and it wasn't clean. This was rage personified, but in the moment he swallowed the sweet taste, Suguru didn't care.
It wouldn't be the last of his kills like this.
In fact, there would be many, many more throughout the years.
He hated himself for it every single time after, sometimes crying next to the limp body he had just ravished, sometimes throwing it all up again. Suguru felt shame at his lack of control, at this blinding rage that made him the monster he tried so hard not to be.
It took him years before he finally decided he couldn't do it anymore.
You had spoken about wanting to leave this pathetic town before, and maybe it was time for him to accept you probably had.
That after a decade of this, you wouldn't be showing up at your shared home anymore.
The place had been cold since you left, but in every sense it still remained the same. The furniture hadn't been moved, the curtains were still the same though faded and full of spider webs now. And, most importantly – your face still adorned the walls.
Suguru knew you probably had left town entirely, but he just couldn't bring himself to leave this.
The home you two had made, in spite of everything.
Did you still remember? Or did you try not to?
Did you hold on to that first drawing and cry, like he did? Reminisce about the good times and the worst times, miss his touch and the way you held each other in that tight coffin?
In the years that passed, Suguru even tried to hate you. Tried to give you what you wanted.
But he just couldn't.
What he hated was how much he regretted confessing his love, the single greatest mistake of his existence. Was hearing those three words leave your lips worth the years of solitude that would come after?
Maybe.
His long fingers ghosted over your face in one of the drawings – one in which you had a rare, easy smile. Had you found someone else who would paint you like he did?
Suguru knew he was only tormenting himself at this point; it was no use lingering on the thought. If he knew you as well as he thought he did, then he was sure you hadn't just found another person to give your heart to.
He believed what you said that night.
You didn't leave because you didn't love him, you left because you loved him too much. Suguru would have to find some comfort in that.
Seeing the world change was a miracle, one thing that did console him. The streets changed just as often as the seasons did now, every day bringing new inventions and curious new ideas Suguru enjoyed learning about.
He found himself sitting by the park more and more often now, drawing the outline of new buildings that began construction far ahead. The future seemed to look brighter than anyone could have hoped for.
But despite the obvious changes to the outside, his inside world remained the same. In the end, he couldn't bring himself to leave.
He had found some peace in the fact that you could find him there, if you wanted. And it didn't matter if it took another decade, or half a century or more – Suguru would stay right here, waiting.
His fingers dragged the chalk over the page, marking the coming of a new age.
When you returned, he'd show it to you. He documented every little thing about this town just so he could share it, and he was hopeful the time would come.
Can you believe they were building shops in the alleys you used to hunt? And how the church had been rebuilt, much larger, after the fire five years prior?
Life changed all around – beautifully so, tragically so too.
But the seasons always came. Winter, then summer again, and just like he could trust in that, he trusted what would come after too. It was a better position to be in than the desperate animal he had become for a few years.
But he would have never wanted you to see him like that, and so, he changed. He–
Suguru's hands dropped the drawing suddenly, his spine going rigid in the blink of an eye.
That smell. He knew that smell.
He inhaled deeply again, shutting his eyes tight, focusing on it.
It couldn't be.
The scent he had almost feared he had forgotten.
Your name escaped his lips in a sound much smaller than he expected, which turned into a desperate cry as Suguru began to turn around, searching for any glimpse of you.
The scent was present, but it was still far away – he had to follow it. Fast.
The picture he was working so precisely on got scrunched up when he rushed to pick up his belongings, shoving it all in his pockets as he began to ran.
Probably wasn't the best to bring attention to himself like this, but Suguru couldn't stop.
He kept moving, letting his senses guide him as he rushed past the night owls and confused strangers. Turning a corner here, going through someone's garden there – he feared he lost it completely when the smell almost faded at the edge of the city, but he turned around again.
Where could you possibly be going? Were you looking for your regular hunting grounds of almost a century past?
Things were different now, didn't you know?
But no, it wasn't that – the smell faded again, and so he followed it back to the main road, finding it again.
It grew stronger and stronger with each step, until it led to the last place he expected.
Home.
It was undeniably strong, so much so his nerve endings were staring to prickle, like they only did when another one of him was around. Suguru rushed up the steps, jumping two at a time, throwing the door open, and–
There you were.
Was it a dream? Or had death finally come for him?
You looked exactly the same. Standing there, staring at the wall of your face with a much smaller paper held tight to your chest.
Suguru remained completely frozen, struggling to catch his breath. When you turned to him, he noticed you had tears in your eyes.
"You kept them?" you whispered, your beautiful bottom lip trembling slightly. The first words he had heard from you in years, and they were a question you obviously should have expected the answer to.
Suguru finally took a step inside, closing the door behind him. He couldn't bring himself to meet you there, even though everything in him wanted to pick you up and wipe your tears and kiss you everywhere.
"Of course I did" was all he managed to reply, but it only made you cry harder.
You brought a hand to dry your face, and Suguru desperately wished you'd just let him. But he was so terrified of making the wrong move again.
"I'm sorry–"
That he couldn't bear to hear.
Against better judgment, Suguru rushed forwards, towards you, needing to touch you to confirm you were real. His body found yours with too much strength, but you completely gave in to it, closing your arms around his shoulders when he closed his over your waist.
You were here again.
Your feet left the floor when he raised you to his level, hiding his face in the crook of your neck as you did the same, both letting the tears flow unabashedly. Your legs came to lock around his waist, pulling him into you completely, the one thing Suguru wanted most in the whole world.
"You came back" he cried into your hair.
"I needed to see it again" you replied, his clothes bunching up in your fists.
"See what?" Suguru asked, pulling back just a little. His nose brushed against yours, so close he could just kiss you, but he wanted to hear your voice even more than that.
"Home" you replied, looking him right in his red eyes. "I didn't think you'd be here"
His eyes held you tighter, his forehead pressing against your. "Where else would I go?"
"Anywhere that didn't remind you of me" you tried a small self deprecating laugh, but Suguru shook his head, forehead rolling against yours.
"I've been waiting for you this whole time"
You cried, cupping his face with both hands. "Don't lie to me, Suguru Geto" you pouted.
"I have never lied to you" he replied.
It was the truth.
It was you that closed the distance this time, urging his face forwards as you leaned in for a kiss. It wasn't desperate like he had imagined, no, it was gentle. Feather light, almost. Far too small for something that was so huge, but also exactly what you needed.
It lasted for the blink of an eye and for an eternity – just a moment in time where everything was just right again.
"I'm sorry I left" you whispered, breaking the kiss and placing your forehead back on his. "I'm sorry I got scared"
"I know" he kissed your cheek, smoothing your hair back. "It's ok"
"It's not" you lowered yourself down, sinking into his chest this time.
"Shh" he kept smoothing down your hair, holding you tight against him, right where his heart should be beating. Getting used to your scent again was salvation for him, but there was also something different about you, something he couldn't quite put his finger on.
"Are you hungry?" he asked, tilting your chin towards him. You nodded your head up and down, some sort of shame deep within your eyes. "We still have some time before dawn, if you want to–"
"I don't hunt anymore" you replied, looking down. "Not people"
Suguru's eyebrows knit together, pulling you up to look at him again. "What do you mean?"
To his surprise, you cried. And just kept crying. Harder than he had ever seen.
"I guess I realised–" you tried to say between hiccups. "Maybe someone loves them too"
Suguru's mouth hung open, in complete surprise. You coming back was something he had hoped for and convinced himself to believe in, but this? This he could have never fathomed.
"You–" he didn't even know what to say, choosing to crouch down in front of you instead and pull you down with him, giving your legs some rest so maybe they'd stop shaking.
"I'm sorry, Suguru" you cried, throwing yourself at him. "I'll tell you why, I'll tell you what happened, I'll tell you everything, just please– please, forgive me"
Suguru stood sentinel while you sobbed, holding you tight. Didn't you know? He had never blamed you for it.
He understood your pain far too well for it.
"I would be glad to listen" he said into your hair, arms closed around your back. "If you want to tell me"
You nodded your head, clawing at his back like he was your salvation.
For a very long time, Suguru could only speculate on what had happened to make you the way you were. But right now, he found his curiosity was the last thing on his mind.
"Here" he said, pulling an arm from you to bring it to his fangs. The blood started dripping from it, as you watched from below while he did for you what you had done for him that first night you met. "You should eat first"
You smiled at his generosity, but brought yourself up again to better match his height. You cupped his cheeks again, leaning in for another kiss, realising there was still something much more important you wanted to say and hear.
"I love you, Suguru"
"I love you too" he kissed you back.
In time, Suguru would show you his sketches depicting how this town had changed, his little documentations of every day life he had hoped to share with you. He would listen to every single thing you wanted to tell him, he'd hold you close when it was too hard to say, and he'd shush you kindly whenever you tried to force words you weren't ready for just yet.
There was so much still to be said, and time was, of course, a luxury you both had.
But right now… in this moonlit night in the apartment you had made a home of so many years ago, the silence was just enough.
A/N oof this one really took a long time to write. I started writing this when I was in a very bad place, and found it very therapeutic to just blurt it out on the page – it unfortunately also meant it was extremely hard to go back to it when I started feeling better (which I am!). there's so much of me in both these characters so it makes me a little nervous to post but maybe you relate as well, and if that's the case I'd like you to know you're not alone! hope you all have the most wonderful day or night and thank you for reading my story <3
▶︎︎ Noble (starring . fire lord!zuko & cult leader!geto)
synopsis . In which the two leaders of two entirely different lifestyles have one other thing in common outside of their lordship—their addiction to you.
content . afab!reader, atla x jjk au, porn with no plot, lots of hair pulling (duh), hints of obsession and possessiveness, eventual threesome & they kinda pass you back 'n forth, brothel worker!reader, missionary, marathon sex, zuko’s a lil awkward here ‘n there, fingering, oral sex, throat fucking, slight nipple play, praise, pet names, sexual use of fire bending, creampies, dirty talk (sugu's filthy like always), full nelson, zuko steams when he’s close/when he cums, manhandling, filth (cum eating), jealous innuendos, prone bone, etc.
word count . 8.7k (dunno how tht happened) || author's note: y’all know i had to. btw this is dedicated to tht one anon who said they’re tired of seeing me write foursomes & threesomes <3 banner art by rororogi mogera!
In a world where things like jujutsu sorcery and elemental benders exist simultaneously, one can only imagine how overwhelming life must be to live.
And yet, you’ve managed to find some sort of balance in the midst of it all as a humble brothel worker.
Well, not just any humble brothel worker but—the brothel worker, as titled by the many men and women of highest ranks in society who’ve had the pleasure of indulging in you for a night or two.
You had gathered many loyal clients over the years, people who'd come in and beg 'n plead for even a few minutes with you. By the time this palate of clients reached those of higher status, your rates naturally went up, and eventually you'd only be visited by those most worthy of you.
Which, is rather impressive for a mere whore.
You're unsure what it was about you that made you so special, but if you had to thank someone for your status in the society of prostitution, that someone would be Geto Suguru, who was the first to openly pick you as his favored escort.
After he came in to your brothel unmasked and open with who he was, many people of higher society began to follow suit until this trend eventually reached royal walls.
It was by then that you were sought out by only the best of the best. And while this was supposed to be a good thing for you, considering it meant much better pay and (thankfully) less harassment, you found yourself facing a new difficulty as your two highest paying clients began to butt heads and clash with their timing...
——
On one hand, you had well known cultist leader Geto Suguru who you'd wrapped around your pretty little finger from his first night with you.
You recall said first night like it were yesterday.
Dimmed lanterns littered the brothel's corners and ceilings, leaving arrays of shadows and silhouettes to splay out across the rich velvet-draped walls whilst the scent of sex 'n sin coated the air.
You were leaning against a scrupulously carved wooden bar, the silks of your robe slanting off your right shoulder—leaving room for a teasing curve of your breasts to spill out to the varying patrons winding about. It'd been a rather busy night for you, as you'd tended to at least three clients back to back prior to finding this short moment for yourself.
Most could hardly afford an entire night with you at this time, even though you weren't considered the best of the best just yet. This brothel brought in all sorts of lost souls, a diverse set individuals who's cash and coin could bring them whatever flesh they craved when their desires ran most rampant.
Your eyes had scanned the room time and time again in search of who to approach, as it was also rather rare that you'd have a second to do the approaching—most came to you. But, this night had been wildly different.
Your gaze plucked out the regulars and you grimaced as the prospect of having to approach one of those merchants who carried leering grins and uncomfortably grabby hands dawned on you. Although you'd a busy night thus far, you were quite hungry for cash.
All you wanted was one more customer before you'd call it a successful night.
You debated on approaching some soldiers who's hands you knew to itch for softness, deeply considering how their pockets tended to run rather deep.
When such powerful fascinations of magic existed, it was only natural that all sorts of people existed as well. There were benders of four different kinds, sorcerers who had the most complex of abilities, mixes of both who existed, and lastly—regular people who carried no special, otherworldly aptitudes whatsoever.
That last category is where you fall. But, you suppose being able to bend your back just right and give people a taste of something far sweeter than any source of supernatural abilities out there was something to be moderately proud of.
It was in this very brothel that you felt most powerful, and nothing nor anyone could take that away from you.
Especially not by the time Geto entered the establishment for the first time.
Staggering in at over six feet tall, cloaked in black from head to toe with half of his face hidden behind an ornate mask, he was certainly nothing to be played with when you first saw him.
You—and everyone else in a hundred mile radius—had heard many rumors and tales of the infamous Geto Suguru. How he slaughtered his own family, was actively wanted for doing so by members of Jujutsu Society, and had some sort of cult brewing about to spread ideals of slaughter in regards to any non-sorcerers.
But, given the mask he had on, you held no idea that the man snapping his eyes your way was him.
Though, looking back on it now, it should've been obvious. Only half of his face was concealed but most should be able to recognize that sharp jawline and those seductive eyes of amethyst hue from a mile away. Not to mention the long tresses of raven black that cascaded down his back, swishing with much elegance as he paced deeper into the brothel—half of it pulled up into quite the signature bun.
"You," He'd been standing in front of you much faster than you had time to prepare yourself for, his voice laced with this smooth purr that—again—anyone should've been able to recognize.
You remember the way you straightened up almost immediately, your gaze meeting his as the tension of his visual scrutiny fell down on you. Luckily for you, you were able to collect yourself just in time to offer a short nod of your head, "Of course."
You had to force steadiness in your voice just to maintain your usual confidence. No way were you about to let some masked stranger get you all nervous.
...Even if the masked stranger in question undressed you with his eyes in a way you swear you've never experienced before.
You ended up leading him up the creaky set of stairs to your left. It was apparent in how quiet he was along the way that he hadn't been a man of many words, at least not to people he didn't know—ergo, you.
Once upstairs, he followed you down the relatively quiet hall, the only source of sound coming from the soft click of a shutting door as you eventually brought him into a private room.
His eyes didn't stay on you long, too eager to take in the intimate space around him. He'd linger his gaze over the wide bed, scoff quietly at the cheap-looking sheets tossed over it, and shift in his standing as he contemplated deeply on all the decisions that led him here.
Then his attention found you again.
Whilst he had reminded dormant, you slowly turned around to face him and wasted little time in working to untie your velvety robes. The fabrics fell to pool at your feet, and for anyone who lived a life much different to this one—the way things played out may have come off as strange. But for you, having a client who spoke very little such as this one wasn't unusual in the slightest.
Hell, it was on nights like that where you preferred it most, honestly.
"Shall I uh..." Your voice wavered a moment but you quickly made up for it via gesturing your hand out to the man. Then you pacing closer to him, "Shall I help you?" You offered simply, your movement extending out into a reach as you went for his clothing.
A hand met your wrist and his head shook, "Not yet."
You'd known the gentleman for no longer than twenty minutes and yet only three words had come your way. How strange.
Unfortunately, you weren't given much time to ponder on his aloofness since you were distracted by the way his hand left you and went for his mask. He lifted it away and you gasped almost immediately at the reveal, stumbling back a bit to move your hands over your mouth.
In one respect, you were scared shitless. The man known for bringing harm to non-sorcerers was currently standing in front of you, a non-sorcerer. And in the other respect, it was hard to be entirely fearful when he had the face of an angel.
Most men prior to this instance weren't always the easiest on the eyes, and it was quite the rarity for you to be in a situation like this.
A few lengthy strands of hair framed the upper half of his now-revealed face and fuck if he wasn't the most beautiful man you'd ever laid your eyes on.
"You look scared," Geto pointed out bluntly, his gaze inert. He watched closely at the way the center of your throat moved with the gulp you took.
Cute.
You wanted to swipe your robes back up from the floor and run for your life, but what good would that really do you?
"Well, you're known for..." Your words failed you entirely but you tried your best to vocalize your scattered thoughts. "A-And I'm not a—"
"A sorcerer? I know," He fills in for you, closing the distance you'd tried to create between the two of you. "But, I don't need you to be a sorcerer to fuck you, do I?"
It was in that moment, and with those words, that you remembered what exactly your job was. Fearing that this man would harm you despite him literally coming to this establishment to feed into whatever lust lived inside him was mildly foolish on your part.
You eventually let your head nod understandingly, your gaze sinking to the floor in slight embarrassment. Meanwhile he'd found himself amused. He knew from the moment he laid eyes on you that you'd easily become his exception for the sorcerer exclusive world he wanted to eventually create.
Geto stepped forward and went to take your wrists into his hands again, tugging you towards him and guiding your palms to his torso. "You can undress me now," He instructed.
Your hands were shaking slightly as you did so, struggling to swallow that lingering fear all the way down. It wasn't until you'd managed his top off that he moved to grab at your jaw rather roughly, forcing your head up and your eyes on his.
You gasped again, "Lord Geto, I—"
"Suguru will suffice," He murmured before you could even finish, tipping his head to the side and leaning in to caress your lips with his own. "I am yours more than you are mine tonight, alright?"
It was obvious he was trying to soothe your nerves but it wasn't really working until his lips fell onto yours. Your eyes went wide when he kissed you, stuck in your own shock and unable to bring yourself back into the moment.
Then, by the time his tongue darted out to tap at the corners of your mouth seeking entry, you regained some of yourself and managed to part your lips for him. After which his tongue met with yours and it was as though a flip had been switched in your head.
Your body pushed forward into his without second thought and you caught him by surprise quickly enough for him to grunt into your mouth. The taste of Geto on your tongue was something you'd never forget—not by a long shot.
One of your hands flew up to the side of his face to trace his cheek as your other explored the expanse of his abs, fingertips dipping against every sharp curve. Geto's body shuddered under your suddenly initiative touch, his breath clinging to his lungs and refusing to leave him in a timely manner.
A single slip of tongues was all it took for you to feel like yourself again and that was enough to have Geto reeling. Your thumb swiped against his cheek in a fashion more tender than he'd ever experienced in his life and he was completely under your figurative spell until your other hand began to dip past his waistband.
After a few minutes of exchanging saliva and soft moans, he'd unconsciously pushed you back against the bed. You pulled away from him and moved to sink to your knees without him having to say anything—leaving him to miss the feel of your tits against his naked chest.
Geto's hand came to the top of your head carefully as you tugged at his dark slacks, letting them plunge to the floor so that his erect cock could spring free. The man swears he caught a little twinkle in your eye upon watching how his dick came slapping up against his abdomen. Perhaps you were a bit more passionate about your job than he'd realized.
His cock was unduly thick, tannish length standing tall and curved whilst it dripped excessively with precum from the plump tip. You were salivating before you'd even copped a proper feel.
Your eyes flicked upward and he peered down at you expectantly, cocking a brow as if to ask what was taking you so long. You never cared much for being rushed but something told you that his neediness would somehow make everything worth it soon enough.
Then your mouth met his tip and you licked slowly, savoring the new taste of him on your tongue. He groaned faintly before moving to thread his fingers into your hair for a better grip on your head, his hips instinctively rocking forward. Your lips stretched around his cock as you swallowed him in, drool spilling out from the sides and quick to make a mess of your face.
Geto wasn't hesitant in fucking your mouth, especially with how good you were at using it. Your tongue did these tricks against him that he'd never felt before and it had his balls aching for release within a matter of minutes.
Hell, it had him thinking maybe he should've visited a brothel sooner!
"Jus' like that," Came from his purring tongue, "Take every inch of me-, fuck—mhmm, stretch that throat out. That's perfect." He grunted, voice laced with a nasty cadence.
You'd gag slightly as he knocked against the back of your throat, but it was a feeling you'd grown quite used to over time so you've come to enjoy it more than anything. Geto didn't take much longer to use your mouth as if it were specifically shaped to accommodate the size of his fat cock.
When he felt himself growing close, he plucked you right off of him and let the slops of saliva web all in between his tip and your chin. Then he'd hauled you up and tossed you onto the bed, abandoning thoughts of his own pleasure just to come spread your legs and kneel himself between them.
It wasn't unusual for clients to eat you out per-se, but it was quite uncommon.
Surging forward with no preamble, Geto buried his face into your sappy folds, his tongue coming forward with a spongey greeting to soak in your arousal. In the midst of this, you caught the man smiling like he'd proved something to himself just from getting a taste of you. Whatever that something was is entirely unbeknownst to you but, it matters little in the long run.
"Suguru," You tested, letting his name fall from you for the first time and watching how he instantly ground his hips forward to rub his bare cock against the bedsheets.
His lips were glistening in the remnants of you as his head fwipped upwards, "Again, pretty. Say it like you mean it." Geto ordered.
You did exactly that whilst he dove right back in, his hand coming out of seemingly nowhere to add two fingers into you and stretch you open on par with the rotational laps of his tongue.
"Mmngh! Sugu-, shit.." You huffed breathlessly beneath him and the workings of his mouth.
It seemed as though the sudden nickname you spewed was enough to send him into this feral state of feasting, mouth widening against your pussy just to suck 'n kiss alllll over you like you deserved to be sucked 'n kissed on. Your fingers tangled into his hair somewhere along the way but it began to grip and tug as you felt your orgasm approaching.
The skin of your thighs caged his head as your voice grew loud enough to escape the otherwise sound-proof walls of the room.
Directly after your orgasm flooded both his tongue and his thick fingers, Geto had no plans on letting you recover from it.
That first night with him was quick in the best way imaginable.
Geto rose to position his achy cock at your entrance, letting the head smack! in between your puffy folds a couple times before he started pushing in. Your hands went out to grip at the surrounding sheets and you whined whilst he stretched you out.
He was the first client of yours to ever make you feel so immersed in the acts of sexual pleasure, but far from the last.
He waited for the walls of your cunt to adjust to his thick size before he worked a steady pace into you, soon fucking you in a way that's simply incomparable to what you were used to. Your body rocked and rocked against the bed with his every thrust, his hands moving from the sheets to your hips, then to your breasts just to squeeze your body like he felt you needed.
One moment he was groaning and grunting above you about how good you felt, and the next his hands were on the undersides of your thighs, forcing your body to bend how he wanted as his voice curved all into your ear.
"Tell me something," He husked heavily, his hair framing your body with the way it fell out all messily. "How many cocks do you actually enjoy taking, hm?"
You choked.
Sure, men had asked you questions like that before but... most weren't too concerned with the others that you'd been with.
Cunt clenching around him, "I-I... I don't know-, nngh!"
At that, Geto had lifted himself just enough to grab ahold of your face like he'd done earlier, staring your dead in the eyes whilst his hips came rocking down into you—cock fucking the air right out of your lungs. "Well, when you make faces like that... I can't help but feel like mine is the only correct answer, no?"
It was your first night with the man and yet, you knew for a fact you had him right were you wanted him. A few have gotten addicted to you in the past, sure. But their pockets never aligned with their desires.
Not like Geto's did.
He eventually emptied himself into you, and wound up leaving you with a tip large enough to prevent you from working at all if you wished it so.
Then he became a recurring customer. Actually, scratch that, Geto Suguru became the recurring customer (for a while, anyway).
If you were with someone, he'd have them quickly dismissed and pay three times whatever the person you were with had been charged plus some just to make it happen.
Not only that, but he also showed up unmasked after his first night with you. You're unsure why exactly he did that when all this did was bring about attention to you.
Words of your successfully seductive nature spread all across the lands because of him, reaching places you never could've imagined for yourself.
...Such as the Fire Nation.
Or, more specifically, the Fire Nation's palace.
——
With Geto highlighting your sexual talents, you got new clients of all sorts. Other well-renowned jujutsu sorcerers, the most talented of benders from varying nations, etc.
The madam of your brothel helped you to maintain appearances, slowly viewing you differently over time, and eventually realizing that you were becoming her most starred worker—keenly peeping the investment she'd have to put into you in order to keep this flow of high societal members coming.
Your older garments, albeit nothing wrong with them, were quickly replaced with new silks that were more intricate and softer—fitting for a woman of your stature now. Your room had been moved higher within the building, farther from the bumbling noise of the common floor, and closer to those who could afford the best discretion.
Even the way your coworkers spoke to you had shifted. Some interacted with you whilst carrying awe in their eyes, others moving with resentment.
But through all this, Geto kept coming back, continued to remain your most devoted and loyal client.
That is, until Fire Lord Zuko waltzed in one night.
You were tucked into the comforts of your room when he'd visited the brothel, deaf to the commotion occurring just beyond your door.
Whispers flooded the hallways just outside, along with shocked gasps, attemptive passing touches, and failed glances of seduction as he made his way towards your room. Then came one firm knock to your door, the sound loud enough to startle you a bit.
You abandoned whatever it was you were tending to and made haste in approaching the door. As you moved to open it, you were left star-stuck from the sight of regal fabrics alone. Before you even looked up to see who was under said fabrics, you felt your heart lurch in your chest.
Then you peeked upwards and gasped rather animatedly, the folded fan you had in your hand fluttering to the floor. "L-Lord Zuko," You stammered in shock.
It was instantaneous the way you let your head lower into a rightful bow after catching the slightest shift in his brow, to which his face had lightened up a little in surprise.
Then came the tenderness of his voice, "You... don't have to do that." Zuko breathed, moving to lightly take your hands into his own.
You lifted your chin back up shortly after, blinking all dumbfoundedly at the man, "But..." As your words trailed off, he was firm in holding both your gaze and your hands.
His skin was warm against yours, eyes gorgeous in their golden hue, and long black hair falling loose to frame some of his tall figure. It was clear that here—in this brothel with you—there was no veil of inherent royalty between you and him.
The burn scar that twisted his left eye and cheek remain bare for you to take all the way in. It was unreal to have the Fire Lord standing right in front of you like this. One could only dream of such a thing, truly.
Within the spark of a moment that dwindled between the both of you, he let himself unconsciously lean a little closer to you. Husking a soft-spoken, "I'm not the first of royal status to pay you a visit, am I?" He asked.
You cleared your throat, "No, no, of course not."
Then you let your hands depart from his and you took a step back, moving your arm out to gesture him into entering your bed chambers. Zuko seemed to be delighted by the way you regained your comfort thus far, his shoulders relaxing as he inched forward.
Just before his foot fully passed the doorway, he paused and cut his eye back over his shoulder. Everyone who he'd passed whilst making his way here had been watching that entire little interaction, but the moment Zuko looked back at them all, they'd flinched and scrammed to return to whatever mindless tasks they'd been busy with before.
With the hallway cleared from a mere glance—with the exception of one or two fire nation guards—he let out a short breath through his nose and then turned to enter your quarters, the ends of his fashionably red and gold attire fluttering behind his every step.
You shut the door behind him and pressed your forehead against it for a moment. Your heart was pounding with every lengthy second that dragged by.
Fire Lord Zuko is standing in your room.
Fire Lord Zuko is standing in your room.
Fire. Lord. Zuko. is standing. in your room.
How do you even-
"Miss..?" He calls out almost sweetly, unintentionally making you flinch out of your thoughts.
You gulp, swirling around to face him only to swirl yourself right into his chest.
When had he gotten so close?
Your hands fly up to steady yourself—lightly grabbing onto him—and you squeeze your eyes shut, "My apologies, my lord..." You mumble, "As you can see, your arrival has startled me greatly."
Something soft leaves his lungs as his hands carefully meet your arms, "Why's that?" Fuck, his voice was so warm.
Your eyes bat themself open before moving up to meet with his. "...Are you seriously asking me that?" You blurt out.
Zuko stares at you an awkward moment.
He obviously wasn't used to having anyone speak so casually to him, and while he somewhat expected it before coming into this, it still manages to catch him off guard.
Leading him to let out a harmless scoff, "Pardon me for my confusion, miss. I just thought you'd be used to nobles visiting you by now. I've heard the rumors, after all."
You stare right back at him before tilting your head cluelessly, "Rumors?"
Zuko’s eyes skim over every inch of your face, appreciating the lack of space between your body and his already. Then he smiles ever so slightly, "You don't even know what people speak of you, huh?"
Your head shakes.
"They say you're the best," He explains steadily, lifting a hand to whisk a single strand of hair away from your face, "That a single night with you is enough to heal a broken heart of any sorts."
"Does that imply that your heart is recently broken, my lord?" You tease.
His hand halts for a second. Then his grin deepens, "It's not. I'm uh... I'm only reiterating what I've heard of you."
Playfully rolling your eyes, "Well, those rumors of me are wildly dramatic."
His eyebrow raises as if to challenge your claims, “Are they?"
You stand your ground, "I do whatever is asked of me and I get paid, there's nothing more to it."
Zuko doesn’t even try to hide the way he doesn’t quite believe you. Something threading on smug flickers across his expression whilst his thumb maps out the side of your face, drawing itself down towards your mouth.
You get lost in his touch faster than you can even help yourself. Everything about Zuko is just warm—there’s hardly another way to put it. His voice is velvety and tender on your ears, never too much bass or aggressiveness in the words that leave him.
In fact, it’s the exact opposite.
Every syllable slides off his tongue with this crowned elegance that somehow doesn’t ever strike your eardrums as too entitled or belittling in any way. "And yet word of your reputation alone has led me to you." Zuko says, the tip of his thumb finally greeting your bottom lip.
The gloss resting there makes him mouth out the word pretty and you feel your breath hitching, as if his compliment weighed far more than any other you’d ever received.
"For reasons far beyond me,” You murmur in response as he thumbs your lips apart slowly.
Zuko’s hand gathers the rest of your chin into his hold to lift your head further up and he spreads your lips apart from one another fully as he whispers, "Your humbleness is honorable, sweetheart."
Something in your chest flips right then.
Sweetheart.
A nickname you’ve heard time ‘n time again. A nickname you should be used to hearing by now.
But when it comes from him…
The look in your eyes change as you push your mouth against the pad of his thumb, “I could show you some other honorable things, my lord.”
His brow furrows and you hear a breath escape him, having hitched somewhere in his throat. “That's what I'm here for, but I'm not sure honorable is the right… word...” Zuko trails off, quickly getting enamored in the way you move your mouth to take in his thumb.
He’s not entirely a stranger to seduction, but it didn’t take long for him to figure someone like you should be something much more than a mere brothel worker. If this was something you truly took passion in—surely becoming his concubine would be much more fitting.
And with your tongue rounding his thumb in a manner meant to imitate the way it later would his cock, Zuko knows he’ll be returning to this brothel many times before he’s even half way satisfied with indulging in you.
He soon plucks his thumb from your mouth and moves to grab ahold of your face, tipping his head opposite of yours, and then leaning in as if to kiss you.
Zuko slows himself just short of his lips colliding with yours and you nearly whine at the teasing gesture. The man lets your breaths mingle and swirl into one another, exchanging waves of intimacy prior to engaging in the real thing.
Then, just to work you right up, he smirks and utters, “You want it?” as if you weren’t already a melting mess of need in his palms. He didn't realize it then, but you could tell this whole thing was new to him in one way or another.
You nod almost stupidly though, “Please?”
Zuko’s lips slip down onto yours and both of you hum into the kiss almost immediately. He’s holding your face like you’re the most dearest thing to him and you’re reeling in the fact that you’re kissing the Fire Lord himself.
And then in a matter of minutes the both of you go from tentative kisses and gentle moans to the tugging of clothing and a fiery handling of one another.
Zuko very nearly shreds your robes to ash just to get his hands on your bare skin—his touches eager as he soon has your tits fondled perfectly within his palms while still working your mouth over with his own.
He’d kiss you until you were breathless and clinging to him for more, ignoring how your hands tried to dip down for his cock, and smoothly bringing his mouth down to your chest.
His lips cupped one of your nipples before you had time to react, sucking and tugging on the perky bud with much fervor. “Mmmgnh,” Zuko hummed against you whilst rolling his tongue around in pleasureful little circles.
The first night with him was nearly as fast as the first night with Geto had been. Nearly.
There were little differences between the two men when they were with you. Both seemed eager and happy to please you more than they did themselves.
Zuko spent an almost concerning amount of time slobbering against your tits before even thinking of pulling his dick out. And once he did free himself from the restraints of his regal clothing, you’d already been laid down on the mattress in the particular position he planned on taking you in.
You laid on your stomach—body decorated and smothered in all sorts of markings induced from Zuko’s incessant mouth—and he was soon positioning his thighs around your own with his cock swinging out just above your ass.
When Zuko was especially turned on, bits of steam would puff out from his nose. A cute fact of which you come to pick up on over time, of course.
Sometimes you’d feel said steam caress your back when he took you from behind as he was now. The balmy head of his long cock would prod at your weepy pussy lips before he’d ease himself in, and by then, he was already a mess.
You’d push your hips back against him and he’d nearly lose his balance above you, a short huff that sounds dangerously close to a whine slipping right out of his lungs.
“So beautiful…” He’d coo, noticing how you shudder under the heated touch of his fingertips as they traveled the curve in your spine. Then he’d flatten his hand somewhere in the center of it and force your arch to deepen as he humped his dick into your wetly ringing cunt.
Your eyes rolled to the back of your head instantly and drool danced out the side of your mouth along with a moan of his name, “F-Fuuck, Zuko.”
He adored the sound—felt himself growing wildly enamored by it with each time it dangled off of your tongue. The rumors about you were nothing compared to feeling you.
Your walls sucked him in to the hilt without him even having to move much, clenching around his cock in rhythmic motions that had his mind going blank for moments at a time. Zuko was thankful he’d had you in prone bone, otherwise you’d see just how red ‘n pink his cheeks had colored over just from fucking you.
Even so, he couldn’t control the sounds he let out. The way he’d grunt and then thrust as if to distract you from it, loving how you continued to gasp out directly after.
Up until you’d angled your head back to look at him, a gorgeously cockdrunk look dazzling over your glossy eyes. He’d never seen something so sinfully beautiful in his life.
Zuko’s hips were snapping down into you faster than he realized, his hand moving to your chin to force your head further back the moment you tried to look away from him. The nerve you had to give him a taste of such a perfect expression just to hide it from him seconds later.
How rude.
His body craned down and his face was mere centimeters from yours as his cockhead thrashed against the inner depths of your cunt. The two of you panted and moaned in sync, his jaw slacking from how good it felt to be inside you whilst fucking you into making that addictive expression.
It wasn’t until he was getting close that you felt his balls smack smack smacking! against your skin harder, and the faint smell of something burning coming from somewhere to your left.
There’d been incidents in the past—especially with fire benders—where silk sheets had been burnt within the brothel. You were no stranger to the scent, you knew exactly what it was without having to place your eyes on it.
Even so, your head ached to turn and locate the source of the fiery smell, but Zuko wasn’t having it. His veins trailing his cock throbbed and he groaned out all loudly as he kept your head in place with a steeling grip.
Huffing, “Shit-, i-ignore it.” as he continued on, despite the smell getting stronger.
You gasped and your body was conformed entirely to his hold on you, “But-, ah! You’ll burn something, my—“
“Say my name,” The Fire Lord demanded all of a sudden, his brow pressing inward as frustration built up across his face.
“Zuko,” You whined, “The sheets will—“
Again cutting you off, he tipped your head further up and swallowed up your words by kissing you. You struggled to kiss him back properly because of how mean his hips were coming down on you, but you tried your best.
When he finally pulled his mouth from yours, you saw how blissed-out his eyes had been. “Ignore the burning, focus on my cock. I know how to-, fuck.. how to control myself. No fires will be—god, you feel so good—c-caused… I promise.”
Even as he tried to reassure you, he was actively burning a hole into your favorite sheet set. Of course, these could be easily replaced by him—but it was the principle of it all, y’know?
His cock twitched inside you in sync with the flickering flames coming from his fingertips. You began to drool and he panted above you, letting his grunts and faint whines speak for his feels of pleasure instead of his tongue. The bedding was left singed due to his flames but you didn't mind it too much.
At least, considering how he most definitely pays you more than you ever could've imagined for yourself.
He ended up cumming somewhere on your back, with his dick going flaccid just between your ass cheeks shortly after. Your head fell down into the sheets and you found yourself smiling at the fact that the Fire Lord just fucked you.
You didn't mean to brag buuut... no one else could say that happened to them!
Those flames of his died out just after he calmed down and he soon fell to your side, his eyes going up to the ceiling to relish in what he'd just done.
Zuko had been stressed for weeks, months even, but that first night in the brothel with you was more than enough to motivate him for the next upcoming days.
Which is precisely why he kept coming back. Over and over and over and over again until he was just as recurring of a customer as Geto had been.
——
This routine of yours was manageable enough for a time. A long time, in fact.
Months went by before your time spent with Geto and Zuko separately ever conflicted with one another. But, of course, it was only a matter of time before they'd cross paths.
The beloved brothel of yours was alive 'n thriving with its usual throng up until a servant had come banging on your door all urgently, calling your name out with her voice shaking as if freightened.
Her voice quakes from outside your door, "Two arrivals, miss—L-Lord Zuko and.. and Lord Geto. They're both requesting y-"
"Send them in," You call back to her before her statement could even find its end.
"Together?" She squeaked.
You finally approached the door and move to swing it open, flashing a her a gorgeously perfected smile at the frightened lady, "Why, of course."
"...But miss, they're both demanding to see you separately." She warned.
"No matter," Your hand moved to wave off her words, "If they want me as badly as they so claim, they'll come to me regardless of who else decides to do the same."
The servant bats her lashes at you a few times, by far deeming you as the craziest lady currently occupying this brothel. It's not that serving two clients at the same time was uncommon, but the fact that you wanted to take in your highest paying clients—two men of very high status—at the same time...?
You had guts. Perhaps the attention you'd been receiving lately had gone to your head? Suppose Lord Zuko set this entire place ablaze simply because he doesn't feel like sharing, what then—
"The longer you stand there staring at me, the more impatient my gentlemen grow," You remind the poor servant, snapping her out of her gaze.
She blinks repetitively before bowing sharply and then turning on her heels. Then you watch her rush down the hall to go fetch your desired men.
You disappeared back into your room shortly after and patiently waited for your door to fly back open, this time with your sought-after guests. It'd been quite some time since you'd participated in a threesome so, part of you was definitely thrilled at the prospect.
And luckily for you, Geto nor Zuko cared much—or at all, really—about who the other guest coming to see you was. They even came bursting into your room together, Zuko first and Geto following closely behind him.
It was obvious without a word that they'd had enough time on the walk towards your quarters to discuss what was to take place. You could tell by the way they came in all silent.
Before this, you'd known both men to become more talkative over time when they came to see you. Geto would preach to you about his beliefs that you definitely didn't care about and Zuko would spend his free time with you to vent about the weight of royal responsibilities resting on his shoulders.
You enjoyed these things from them, of course. But at the end of the day, you had a role to play. A job to do.
And tonight—despite the both of them entering your room together—was absolutely no different. It was here nor there what few words were exchanged between the time it took for them to get themselves undressed and for you to figure out how exactly they'd decided on sharing you tonight.
All you know is that one moment they were slowly taking off their garments as you watched patiently—awaiting some sort of direction—and the next, Zuko's mouth was on yours.
You wanted to ask them how they decided on who'd get to do what first, especially considering that they're two entirely different people but neither of them gave you a chance to do so.
Luckily enough, your question is answered somewhere after Zuko kisses you until you were a drooling mess between your thighs and Geto lapped away at said drooling mess.
The room was heavy-, nearly clouded with the mixed scent of arousal and sweat, sheets rumpled up from the rapidly escalating actions. First you were between making out with Zuko while Geto did the same with your cunt, and then you found yourself positioned between them.
It was in that same position—arched over like some slut as Geto moved himself behind you, hand gripping over your ass whilst his cock rubbed between your cheeks—that the two finally started releasing more than a moan or a grunt.
You'd argue that Geto started it off by saying, "Ah, look at you.." after gliding his cock neatly in between your sodden folds. He thrust forward once and watched how your ass came bouncing against his sharp pelvis. Then he huffed, "Such a sweet girl, always sucking me in like you missed me-, fuck. Did you miss me, gorgeous?"
Your jaw fell open to reply to him but you were crudely cut off by Zuko, who was busy nudging his cock in between your lips. When your eyes lifted up, you saw how he had a bulky arm over his face as if to his his expression from you. Even so, his other hand was busy working his shaft down the center of your tongue—as if whatever Geto was saying to you wasn't worthy of any sort of response.
You found it funny at first, but then they started to go back 'n forth.
Zuko was matching the pace Geto was quick to set in a matter of seconds, your body left to wobble back and forth between them.
"No one pleases me like you do," Zuko murmured, the sudden praise catching you by surprise. "Fuck-," his voice pitches and you caught how his eyes fluttered. Then his hips ever so carefully grind forward, his balmy tip pressing a smear of precum down your throat and leaving a slopped smooch at the back of it.
Your cheeks hollowed out then and Geto was left to feel the way your cunt suddenly soaked around his dick. His hands latched onto your hips and you shuddered in pleasure upon feeling his fingers ground into your skin as his snapped forward a little sharper.
It was like he was competing with Zuko—silently trying to figure out who could hit the best spots inside you and say the right things just to get you wetter. Unfortunately for the crowned man in front of you, Geto's sneakily slipping a hand under you to swish the pads of his fingers over your clit 'n bring you to a quick orgasm on his cock.
Boasting about it directly after as a crooked smile crafts itself into his face, "There's that sloppy mess I was lookin' for. Shit-, I love the way you feel when you cum on me like that."
"Mmgh-, mmpfh!" You're mumbling against Zuko's dick. What exactly you were trying to say is lost to both men, as they mutually assume you were simply moaning.
Zuko's attention is caught by the man behind you though. His eyes flicking over to him as his arm drops from his face and he frowns. Mumbling, "She only did that cause of me..."
"Oh yeah?" Geto looks up immediately, cocking his head left while keeping his girth dormant inside your gummy walls. He gives you some time to focus more on sucking Zuko off properly, and delightedly enjoys in the way your pussy smothers his cock in a thin shimmery layer of release. "And what exactly makes you think that, your highness?" He mocks.
The Fire Lord rolls his eyes, "Well, she's—ah, heyyy," he looks down at you, "At least give me a second to t-talk, won't you?"
You drunkenly peer up at him, his cock still bulging in between your swollen lips. A trickle of saliva drips down and falls in between the valley of his balls, leading Zuko to shiver as his hand grips onto your head tightly.
Doing his best to ignore you anyway, his attention moves to Geto again. "As I was trying to say... she likes-, hah, getting her throat fucked," He points out with an intentionally jerky thrust of his hips, leading your jaw to ache for a split second from how deep in your trachea he was reaching.
Geto pulls himself out of you, dick flitting up into the air with droplets of your arousal hanging from it in dewy little strings. He glances at the sinful display for a second and uses his hand to grab his cock and tap it against your ass a couple times.
You let out another hum or two against Zuko in reaction.
To which Geto chuckles, "Yeahhh, I don't think she came because of you at all. But, I'll let you think that."
Zuko all but pouts upon hearing that. It was almost as though his honor or something was being contested with those words. So, he releases a chuff and practically snatches his length out of your warm facial cavern. "I don't take kindly to being challenged," He claims, ignoring your mouth that's steadily pressing forward for more.
"Nobody's challenging you, Lord Zuko." Geto shot back before moving his hands up into a surrendering gesture and shutting his eyes calmly. "Alls I'm saying is that she came on my cock, not yours-," His eyes opened slowly and his arrogant expression fell, "Uh, what're you doing?"
"Proving you wrong," Zuko answered casually as if he weren't currently hauling you up into his arms and spreading you out into a particularly debauched full nelson. You feel the firmness of his muscles rubbing against all sorts of crevices and nooks of your skin, only making you soak more.
His arms had hooked under your knees, folding your body into that perfect hold—your arms pinned behind your back, and plush thighs spread out widely. Your pussy was on full display, poor folds puffy 'n wet, exposed to Geto's hungry gaze as he watched intently.
"Like..." Geto blinks once-, twice upon seeing you spread out so broadly. "Like that?"
Zuko tuts, "Obviously."
You're squirming, naturally, but neither of them pay any mind to that either. Not your first—nor last—time in this position but fuck if it hadn't been a whiiiiiile since you'd been held up in such a precarious position.
"Hah. Fine then," Geto moves to slouch back against the bed, "Fuck her good, Fire Lord. Show me how uh," He nearly forgets his wording just from watching the other man's cock nudge up into position, "...Royal seed marks its territory, yeah?"
"Tch." Oh, Zuko was so annoyed.
With the way they were acting now, you hardly understood how the hell they agreed to share you in the first place. There's no way—
Something warmer pressing against your entrance, warmer than anything you've felt before. It wasn't an uncomfortable temperature or anything but there was this certain heat to it that made you flinch deeper into Zuko's grasp on you.
Then came his voice at the shell of your ear, "Feel that?" he whispered, hands holding you steady.
You shuddered, "Y-Yeah. Why're you so-, ah!"
He was pushing up into you before you had much time to question him. Zuko didn't need questions, he just needed to be snug inside that slobbering pussy of yours, stuffing you full of himself, and soon having you cream around him far more than you did on Geto.
...And if it took making his cock feel significantly different than Geto's did inside you via slight manipulation to the heat surrounding it, then so be it! You'd never have a moment long enough to question it anyways.
Y'know, since you're much too busy getting fucked dumb on his cock shortly after its slotted inside you. You're promptly displayed in front of Geto—who couldn't stop himself from tugging at his dick to the sight even if he tried—and your body feels almost tingly as Zuko plunges in and out of you.
He so easily lifted you up 'n down his cock, your pussy struggling to keep up with the pace as it squelched and left slicks of creaming arousal alllll over him.
The position allowed Zuko to hit deeper than he ever had before—arguably even deeper than Geto had too. Filthy juices slicked his cock, drooling down to his heavy balls whilst he bounced you in his arms.
You found your orgasm more times than you can count in that position but it took Zuko a bit to get there himself since he'd put so much focus and energy into getting you to cum on him harder than you did on Geto.
And even after, by the time he's obscenely thrusting his own load into you, Geto still looks as though he's got something up his sleeve.
The cult leader had spilt into his hand already but that mattered little, as he had one more thing in mind in order to win this imaginary competition he'd set.
Zuko pulled out of you and lowered your used body down gently onto the bed right in front of Geto. A mix of your release and his seed leaked out from inside you. He moved a hand to the top of your head to pat you softly and wiped sweat from his brow before casting Geto a glance, "There. I win."
The sly man smirked, "Did you?"
"I did," Zuko confirms, shrugging. "There's nothing else you can do to—"
He is oh-so-unfortunately cut off by Geto moving forward to nestle in between your legs.
Zuko clears some shakiness out of his throat, "You... You're not about to do what I think you are... r-right?"
Geto merely winks at the man before pushing your jittery legs apart. Your back falls towards Zuko, who easily catches you, and is left to watch Geto angle downwards.
Your pussy glistened with the evidence of Zuko spilling into you, a milky white left to leak from your hole. "How pretty," was the last thing Geto murmured before he did the unimaginable and dove in.
His tongue came in flat and broad as it lapped at your folds, just nasty in the way he scooped up the mingled folds onto it.
He sucked appreciatively on your cunt but you were whimpering above him, tugging at his hair and then pushing at him because your head's all confused with pleasure and the back to back stimulation. Geto's tongue swished around your clit before he sucked on it, and you gasped.
Your hand flew somewhere before you were clutching onto both Zuko's arm and Geto's head as the man cleaned you.
Zuko transfixed on the sight for a long timed before you heard him say, "Doing something so filthy for her pleasure..." He managed a smile in between his words, "How honorable."
Geto plucked his mouth away then, just to respond. "What's with you and this honor thing, huh?"
"Just take the compliment," Zuko hummed.
"Give me a normal one and perhaps I will."
"That is a normal one."
You snort wearily, "Zuko, my dear, there is... hahhh, n-nothing normal about you and your fixation on things being honorable."
Content: contrary to popular belief, the fire lord can't have everything he wants. however, even he’d admit that what he wanted was troublesome in itself, which is why he forces himself to be okay with having you by his side as his advisor. [tw: MDNI, angst/fluff/smut, apothecary diaries coded, so much yearning and longing, porn with plot, there is no power imbalance he’s afraid of your father, zuko’s a little shit tho, we’re already married in his head] wc: 4.8k
m.list | chapter one | next chapter
“You want me to do your hair?”
His lips twitch, fighting back a smile. “Yes, precisely.”
You sigh as you step into the man’s chambers, walking up to the vanity that’s more fitting for a queen, in your opinion. If only people saw this side of the fire lord. Zuko, the pretty boy. He has zero insecurities over the scar his tyrant of a father left on his face, but he’d faint at the sight of seeing too much hair shed on the marble floors of his bathhouse.
“When you decide to have me summoned like this, do you ever wonder, hm— what would her father think?” you ask as you grudgingly pick up the boar bristle brush and begin to brush his hair.
“I do,” he dryly responds. “I like the way you do your hair, though, so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell on me. You wouldn’t want me getting in trouble, right?”
Zuko might be the fire lord, but he still has to watch his relationships with the other clans in this nation— especially with a certain hot-headed strategist that just so happens to be your father. You can only imagine his outburst upon learning that his daughter is playing with the lord's hair, rather than playing your role as his advisor.
Most fathers would be pleased by the information— not yours, he’s a little more… strict. He already doesn’t like him from a joke made over a decade ago, suggesting you’d make a fine concubine, which wasn’t taken lightly.
Your father threatened to usurp the throne, sending a chill running down a then 21 year old Zuko’s spine.
There was no way in hell he’d hand you off to the imperial palace to become a concubine. You’re the only child of his that inherited firebending. If your father had it his way, you’d be a warrior, for fucks sake.
Lord Zuko may have a dry sense of humor at times, but you have your doubts about how much of a joke that statement was, especially with how much he likes to bug you throughout the day.
Perhaps another conflict should erupt— the man has too much time on his hands. Maybe then you’d fulfill your fathers wish of finally working in the military— put your talents to use, as he’d say.
But would Lord Zuko allow the gentle hands running through his hair to commit such violence? Or would that be when he’d draw a hard line with the aggressive strategist?
As progressive as he is, you sometimes wonder just how much it extends to you. Even as children, he’d go easy on you during trainings. He’s only grown softer with you as the years passed. Despite not being a concubine yourself, you wouldn’t be surprised if he saw you as one of the flowers in his garden— one he’s not allowed to touch.
You slide the hair stick through his headpiece, securing the top knot he had you redo. It looks the same, but you hold off on making a comment. “Is that better?”
“Much better.” His eyes meet yours in the mirror, lips curving into a sly smile. “Now— what are we doing today?”
We. You hate how much he likes to emphasize that at times.
“Well,” you sigh. “Aside from the usual council meeting, nothing much. Perhaps you can visit one of your concubines today… for once.”
He huffs out a laugh. “Are you saying I don’t fuck my concubines enough?”
“Precisely,” you say almost mockingly.
It’s all they ever complain about, and honestly, you’re sure you would, too, if you were one of them. Having to wake up and sit around all day, waiting for a man who never comes. And on the rare occasion that he does, he doesn’t stay long. He’ll show up, fuck the shit out of you for a couple rounds, then leave right after. Allegedly.
“Don’t you want an heir?” you ask.
“Depends,” he hums.
With the way he’s looking at you, you can already tell what it depends on, and it has nothing to do with his current concubines. Lucky for you, he never gets the chance to actually say it because he gets interrupted right after, putting a conversation you’d rather not have to a screeching halt.
“The council is waiting for you, my Lord.”
—
The silk district was notoriously known for two things: brothels and bandits. It was the wild, wild west compared to the other districts in the capital due to high crime and the growing wealth gap. The governments always kept a watchful eye on it, which was never enough in your opinion.
Are you surprised to hear that an entire brothel, including the madame, was discovered to be slain and robbed in the early hours of this morning? Absolutely not.
“Send more military officers to patrol the area,” the chamberlain says without hesitation. “We’ve been too lenient with them. If they want bloodshed, we’ll give them bloodshed.”
Yikes, he wants to rule the area with an iron fist when they’re already clearly struggling. You can’t help but think of how much of a dictator this guy would be if he were in Zuko’s place.
You make eye contact with the lord, who’s sitting at the end of the table right next to you. In that brief moment, he notices the concern in your eyes and gives you a subtle nod.
“Perhaps we can send more public aid?” you suggest. “They’ve been testing out a new rehabilitation program in Republic City as well. I’m sure the Silk District could benefit from—“
“Nonsense,” the chamberlain cuts you off, wondering why you’re even here right now— he thought you only assisted in matters within the court, not outside of it. “I-“
“Careful,” Zuko interrupts the man rather playfully as he continues to read through the scroll. “That’s the military strategist’s daughter you’re speaking to.”
The comment makes you nearly roll your eyes, knowing the only reason why he said it was because you’re having to constantly remind him yourself when he gets too close.
The chamberlain, however, straightens up immediately. You have no idea why it took him this long to realize it. He’s been here for nearly over a year, but at least he knows now. The chamberlain can be quite rude at times, you wouldn’t want him to slip up with your father in the room. Not only would that earn him an earful of insults that are as creative as they are hurtful, but it’d also be embarrassing on your part.
That old man embarrasses you enough when he’s around. Following you around like a lost puppy after meetings, asking if you’ve eaten and if your superiors are treating you right, while side eyeing the fire lord himself. You’d agree so yourself that he has too much power in the court. He enjoys holding it over everyone’s head even more. It’s sickening, really.
You look at the chamberlain, who is now pouting, and offer an apologetic smile. “May I continue?”
“Yes, of course,” the old man nods, struggling to hide his shame.
Always one for games, Zuko finds himself suppressing a laugh, which in turn makes the chamberlain’s slouch worsen. He’s grown to find more and more amusement in his daily tasks, a trait his father would definitely disapprove of— good thing he’s not here anymore.
The rest of the meeting went by as smooth as it could be, with the fire lord, of course, praising the chancellor in the end for being so well behaved, pretending to wonder what could’ve changed his usual demeanor. The usual teasings, all while you once again found yourself thinking of how light he’s become. Even after receiving such upsetting news, he stayed calm while finding a solution.
A humane one.
No longer the grumpy, angsty boy you grew up with. He’s actually quite charming. But you keep that to yourself.
The palace grounds are empty, as they should be during the afternoon. Everyone’s off either eating, napping, or tending to duties such as cooking or cleaning. It’s quiet, surprisingly peaceful. Your footsteps echo throughout the breezeway as Zuko defies the basic etiquette of walking ahead of you as a ruler should. Instead, the bastard walks a little slower than you. If given the opportunity, he’d turn it into a mini competition of who could walk the slowest, up until you both come to a full stop, with him looking at you all smug.
“Your chambers are this way,” you remind the said bastard as if he’d already forgotten.
He doesn’t bother to look back as he responds, walking down a gravel path leading directly to the flower garden. “How about we take a detour today, hm?”
You watch him for a moment, waiting to see if he’d stop. He doesn’t, and you shouldn’t be surprised by it. You’re able to catch up with him in just seconds given his slow pace, this time not bothering to walk behind him as he’s clearly in the mood to be extra stubborn today.
You’re all alone and away from the hearing distance of anyone else, yet you still choose to speak quietly as you start to gently tease the man. “What a surprise to see the king taking some time to enjoy his garden.”
He lets out a soft laugh that fades into a hum. “Only around a select few.”
“Oh, wow,” you pretend to be impressed. “How charitable.”
“It’s an honor that you think so,” he says, placing a hand over his chest to add to the theatrics, trying not to laugh once again. “Tell me, when was the last time you walked through here?”
You hum as you walk further into the sprawling garden filled with wooden arches covered with green vines and flowers in full bloom. “Can’t say I actually remember when.”
“That’s a shame. I had the gardener plant new rose bushes,” he murmurs. “Wanted to ask what you thought of them.”
“I think they’re lovely,” you admit, softly pinching a petal, rubbing your thumb over the velvety skin.
He smiles. “I figured.”
They were your favorite after all.
Why is he like this? The garden’s already filled with enough flowers. A new section wasn’t needed.
Again, he’s just bored.
In an attempt to keep the conversation from getting any more personal, you change the subject. “Are you looking forward to your trip to Republic City?”
At the end of the meeting, it was decided that he’d visit with the purpose of getting more information about the new rehabilitation program the city was rolling out. While the chancellor wanted to take a more aggressive approach, he decided to take a more peaceful route. It’s admirable how hands on he’s chosen to be since taking his father's place.
“Mhm. It’ll be nice catching up with some old friends while I’m there—“ he cuts himself off and looks at you with slight suspicion, “you’re going, right?”
You never said you would, nor did you want to, honestly. It’d be nice to take a break. “I’m sure you and some of your subordinates can handle it.”
“Weren’t you the one who came up with the idea, though?” his tone slightly clips as he reminds you.
“I was,” you respond tentatively, taking back your thoughts from earlier as you look him in the eyes.
This man looks like he’s about to throw a fit.
Zuko opens his mouth again, already knowing he shouldn’t be this pushy towards you, of all people, but he is far from perfect.
So with a forced smile and all the resolve in the world, he murmurs, “you’re going.”
You smile back despite feeling an annoyed heat creep up your neck, heart starting to pick up. “Alright.”
—
Imagine being the fire lord, a literal ruler, and getting the cold shoulder from your own advisor. Every answer is so curt and clinical, and it’s going to drive him up the wall.
Yes, my lord. Of course, my lord. Apologies, my lord.
Give him a fucking break.
As if you weren’t punishing him enough, you went ahead and had two of his concubines “accompany” him on the trip. It’s not like he can say no to that, either, since it’s considered to be one of his duties. Not to mention they both come from high-ranking families that would not be very pleased to hear of their neglect.
So now he has to deal with two spoiled, pent-up brats hanging on him during the entirety of this flight, all while trying not to glare at the biggest brat of them all— you, as you sit directly across from him, reading probably what’s some pathetic romance novel.
This is fucking ridiculous. You haven’t looked at him once since you first sat down.
You’re no better than him. There was a strike of lightning in the direction you walked off in, and given how it was a perfectly sunny day, he’s pointing his finger at you for the damages done in the east wing, despite keeping his mouth shut on the matter. Complain about being dragged to Republic City all you want, but you still have it better than most. If you really did have it that bad, you would’ve been punished for such an offense.
Like, seriously? Blowing shit up, like a fucking child— a terrifying one, to be frank, you are absolutely your father’s daughter— just because you had to do your job? Grow up. His grandfather’s statue was shattered in the midst of it all, thanks to you. You’re lucky he never liked the bastard.
In protest, you’re dressed like a noble's daughter rather than a member of the court. Wearing the finest silk and adorned in gold imported from the Earth nation, quietly refusing to represent your actual nation as you claim to be representing your clan— proof that you have enough power on your own to be acting like he’s actively denying you of basic human rights.
As if he even cared about your attire. Be his guest! You look fucking hot. Someone might even mistake you for one of his concubines, and he might just not correct them, since you think you’re more petty than he is.
Zuko gets pulled out of his thoughts when Concubine Aika speaks, still leaning against him and rubbing on his chest. She asked what book you were reading, which is when you finally looked up from it.
“It’s sort of an adventure novel.” You look at the cover, speaking to her with a certain warmth you’ve been depriving him of. “It’s about a girl escaping an abusive orphanage once she turns 18 and follows her journey for the next 10 years.”
So now you’re fantasizing about leaving him? Good luck with that.
“You look troubled, my lord,” the woman to his right, Concubine Saiyo, says. She’s leaning against him as well, now tracing her fingers along his jaw. “Are you alright?”
“M’fine,” he murmurs, trying to fix his face as he takes a sip of sake. “It’s been a long flight.”
“There’s a private cabin you can retreat to, if you’d like,” you suggest, going back to your little book, missing the way you just made the lord’s eye twitch.
“I know,” he says.
It’s his airship.
Without warning, he gets up from his seat. Was it a little rude? Perhaps. But surely the two women beside him could understand what feeling hounded could do to someone. They don’t, they do their jobs and get up as well, which he understands. However, Zuko’s not in the fucking mood right now and waves a dismissive hand.
“No need,” he curtly says, making his way to the back of the airship. “I just want to close my eyes for a bit.”
. . . . . .
The trip starts off strong with a banquet being held in honor of the fire lord's arrival.
Contrary to Zuko’s wishes, nobody’s stupid enough to mistake you for one of his concubines. At least not within the circle of people you’re mingling with tonight, who all recognize your family's crest engraved on your hairpin.
They were an ambitious bunch that spread all over once Zuko came into power— reaching amongst the highest positions within the military, medicine, and even education.
Funny enough, your position in the court was nothing special in comparison to some of your relatives’ achievements. Some are even bothered by the fact. Being the first of all your cousins to master the art of firebending, being your grandfather's favorite solely for bending lightning with the same grace as he did in his prime, all while excelling in your studies.
All of that potential, just wasted on being the lord’s “pet”.
You don’t have much of an opinion on the disappointment some of them have expressed in the past, though it would’ve been nice if their words had stayed behind closed doors. You didn’t want to hear any of it. If you truly wanted to make use of that said potential, you would’ve worked directly under your father as his subordinate.
Maybe it was the result of growing up feeling like you were enough. You have nothing to prove, and quite frankly, you’re content with having a role that really only requires you to share your opinions with a ruler that shares the same ideals as you… for the most part.
If only he’d also agree that you two spend way too much time together.
Luckily, you’re not required to be by his side tonight since you’re attending the banquet as a representative of your clan— something Zuko had no clue about until the moment you stepped onto the airship, which had him looking like he was about to blow a fucking gasket. He absolutely sucks at masking his frustrations. You’re surprised his concubines still had the courage to cuddle up with him. He looked like he was 2.5 seconds away from throwing you off the ship mid-flight.
Zuko would never do that, by the way, but you’re sure he was daydreaming about it.
But even then, with all the distance between you tonight, you can still feel his eyes on you. Just watching and waiting for you to do something he didn’t like. Very masochistic considering how he wouldn’t confront you if you did end up doing something wrong in his eyes.
You spend the entire night avoiding eye contact, which isn’t too hard given how all you’ve done is catch up with old peers from school and relatives who’ve decided to move here to start new lives.
The relatives you got along with, that is.
You were enjoying yourself. Truly. Until Sokka called you over to their table.
Funny how Zuko wasn’t looking at you then and was instead stuffing his face with spicy dumplings, then downing it with whatever liquor was in his cup.
You walk over with two thoughts running through your head— please don’t let this man be as drunk as Sokka and Aang, and don’t let this be a conversation about how work was been. Sokka tends to ask those things at the wrong time, despite his heart being in the right place.
This time around, it’s not Sokka.
“How’s our flaming hot lord treating you?” Aang asks, throwing an arm around a very drunk Zuko, who’s laughing his ass off over the avatar’s words for once.
Your lips may have twitched a little, as well. Only because Aang gave even less fucks when in an inebriated state.
“Oh, you know— the usual.” You let out a lighthearted laugh, and only you notice the way Zuko’s face momentarily drops.
The air around him quickly screams ‘don’t fuck with me’, then settles back into something more suitable for someone who’s already had half their water weight in alcohol.
“C’mon, you can do better than that,” Zuko forces out a laugh, leaning back in his seat.
You laugh a little harder. “Can I?”
“Yeah, you can.”
Sokka lets out this weird, giddy gasp because he loves drama, and cuts in. “Are you two fighting?”
“No.”
“No.”
You and Zuko look at each other after shutting down Sokka’s question at the same time. The fake smiles you’re wearing are not helping your case at all.
“Where’s Katara? I’ve been wondering where she’s been this whole time,” you ask in an attempt to keep the energy between you from getting any more awkward than it already is
Aang grows a little pale— the instant karma feels nice. “She’s a little sick tonight.”
There’s a bit of fear in his voice. She’s totally pregnant. Not that you say that. Instead, you just point in some random direction behind you. “That’s terrible— my cousin actually just mentioned a bug going around. I hope she feels better soon.”
“Thank you,” the man lets out a sigh of relief, allowing himself to be delusional for just one more night.
“What about Toph?”
“Home. Asleep.” Sokka rolls his eyes. “She’s like a little old lady now. You’ll see her tomorrow, though, she’s been volunteering at the center.”
“Volunteering or beating everyone into submission?” Zuko murmurs, and they all erupt in laughter. “She probably runs that place like the military.”
You find yourself starting to zone out as the conversation moves on to a different topic. You’d like to blame some of the wine you’ve been sipping on throughout the night for that. Everything starts to melt together— the live music, the endless chatter in every which direction. The only thing that pulls you out of it is seeing another one of your cousins who had just arrived, waving at you, and you don't shy away from taking that as an opportunity to excuse yourself.
Aang and Sokka were as kind as usual when you said your goodbyes. Zuko, on the other hand, was harder to read through the pathetic excuse of a smile he gave you. One only meant to save face.
If only he knew just how much worse he makes things sometimes. Although they’re rare, this isn’t the first fight you two have been in. Perhaps you have been a little petty towards the man, but it’s not you who grows so frustrated at someone’s anger that you begin to hold a grudge yourself.
You arrive back to your room in the early morning with the regret of not cutting yourself off from the drinks sooner than you did. You wouldn’t say you were drunk, but you were definitely tipsy as you started to shed layers of clothes and jewelry to get in the hot bath that had been prepared prior to your return.
Aang may be childish at times, but fuck was he a great host. Or maybe it was Katara who had all of these amenities set up for you. Candles and bath salts— you could die a happy woman right now as you settle into the stone tub, taking deep breaths, letting your muscles relax.
Twenty minutes in, you hear rattling and heavy footsteps that seem to hit the ground with more confusion than the determination an attacker would usually have. It forces you to leave the warmth of your bath, slipping on a robe. Getting hit with annoyance rather than fear may be a little foolish. Overconfident, even. But there’s still alcohol running through your veins, and you aren’t the pride and joy of your clan for no reason— you can absolutely hold your own in a fight.
When you walk out of the bathroom, you come face to face with exactly who you were thinking of.
“Fuck,” he looks away for a moment, regretting his decision thinking it was okay to just walk in.
Zuko didn’t think you’d be bathing, for some odd, stupid reason. Judging by the fact that he’s still wearing his usual day clothing and his hairs not up in a bun, it’s safe to assume he went straight here after leaving the banquet.
You let out a long sigh. “God— what are you doing here?”
You don’t even sound mad— just disappointed that you have to see him once more before you lay your head to rest, which slightly hurts the man’s ego. Truth be told, he came here to argue with you, but even in his drunken state, he’s finding it quite difficult to do so since he looks like a fucking pervert now.
“Your comment from earlier— what the hell was that about?” Zuko sounds more wounded than anything right now.
You cross your arms, leaning against the door frame that connects the room to the bathroom. “What comment?”
“The usual,” he says with air quotes. “Do you not like me anymore or something?”
“You’re seriously asking me that right now?” Your face twists, just dumbfounded at this point. “You ask me that as if I don’t work for you?”
He scoffs. “So what, you’re saying I’m not your friend now?”
“I mean, yeah— you are, but I’m still your subordinate at the end of the day,” you attempt to spell it out for him, trying to get it through his brain that he can’t just act like you two are a pair of besties.
But he just continues to argue with you.
“Really? ‘Cause last time I checked, people don’t fight their superiors.”
No, they do not. You’re not sure why you even tried to make that an argument, the line between you has blurred a long time ago.
“You know what, just— forget it.”
The thing is, you're not the best at taking accountability. Most of the arguments you’ve had with him have been swept under the rug after a while. Zuko's not having that right now, though.
“Hm— actually, no— I don’t think I will,” he stubbornly says. “You have been punishing me for fucking weeks now and now you just want me to forget it?”
Punishing him?
You roll your eyes, muttering “oh my god” under your breath, not even bothering to look him straight in the eyes anymore as you walk to the nightstand and pick up a small jar of body cream.
“We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow,” you say dismissively, rubbing the jasmine-scented cream into your hands. “I need to go to sleep, and so should you, honestly.”
It doesn’t matter how well he can handle his alcohol— he reeks of it.
“I’m trying to talk to you right now so I don’t have to deal with your attitude tomorrow,” he says, as if he hasn’t had an attitude himself the last couple of weeks.
“Don’t worry, you won’t have to,” you murmur back.
What feels like minutes pass after your pathetic attempt to settle your issues with him. At first, he just lets out a sigh, trying to keep his composure, but then he laughs under his breath.
“So that’s it?” he asks in a condescending tone. “We’re all good now?”
“Yes. Goodnight, Zuko,” you hum.
More silence follows after. You can just feel his eyes on you despite still facing away, now reaching for some hair oil, waiting for him to leave.
He never does. Even after working the product into your hair, you have yet to hear the door to your room close, making you grow wary.
There are many things telling you not to turn around at the moment— your blurred mind and tensed body. But even you make mistakes, lots of them with Zuko, and so you finally turn around.
His lips are on yours.
You don’t know how long he’d been standing directly behind you, you never even heard his footsteps. All you know is his hands are snaked behind your neck and he’s kissing you and you’re letting him.
It takes you a moment to realize you’re kissing him back— too focused on how soft his lips are, how his tongue glides across your lower lip before slipping inside, so commanding yet so gentle.
Then you sober up— pressing your palm flat against his chest and pushing him back so you two can look at each other, eyes wide and filled with instant regret.
“What the hell was that?” you try to snap at him, but the sharp edge was dulled from the start, already fearing what’ll change between you from this moment forward.
“I— fuck,” he stutters, taking another step back. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
Immediately, you cut him off. “No, you shouldn’t have and you know that.”
“I know.” It sounds like a plea coming from him as his chest tightens. “I’m sorry.”
Even you start to look apologetic, which breaks his heart a little since you did nothing wrong. The one who crossed the line was him, after all. “You should go. You’re drunk.”
He opened his mouth to respond, but then closed it shortly after. There was nothing to say.
And so he slowly nods and turns around, still in shock by his own actions as he begins to walk away, leaving you to deal with the aftermath of what the fuck just happened on your own.
This was going to be the longest work trip of your life.
notes: i hope u guys enjoyed this first chapter!! this was supposed to be a oneshot but then ideas kept popping up in my head and i thought, why don't i just turn this into a longfic like defiance lol. the plan is to follow these two around throughout a couple arcs, with the first one being them trying to navigate their feelings and attempting to go back to normal while trying to fix the shit show in the silk district.
series summary ⸺ You and Gojo have been best friends ever since you met him in university, through your long study nights with Gojo, you met his other best friend, Suguru Geto. Although the two of you never really became close, the three of you spent a lot of time together at school. About a year or so after graduation, you had found yourself working a corporate job for some big shot insurance company in the city. Geto, on the other hand, had always been more of a background presence, he was a friend-of-a-friend. That’s why it caught you off guard when, out of nowhere, he reached out to you asking you to catch up, one-on-one. What started as a simple catch-up soon became something else, shrinking the distance that had always existed between you.
pairing ⸺ Suguru Geto x Reader
series content warnings ⸺ this is an 18+ series - mdni, platonic-bestie!gojo, corporate-worker!reader, reader uses female pronouns, reader has a v*gina, alcohol use, smoking (both cigs and weed), drug use, p in v intercourse, oral sex (both ways), semi-public sex, size kink, ROUGH sex, themes of substance abuse & high functioning addiction, a bit of emotional manipulation, exhaustion from working, burnout, corporate world bs, mildly anxiety inducing.
taglist ⸺ check latest chapter
divider credit: @/toastray ୨୧ art credit: @/juziluohai
୨୧ simplygojo masterlist ୨୧ Ao3 series link ୨୧
would you wet your fingers for me?...
would you place a bookmark in me?
LIBRARY
(n.) a playground for books and readers, but also for occasional debauchery
Synopsis: your plan is to avoid your rival, now that you’ve both been hired as assistant librarians, to minimise the chances of getting into hours long debates and committing murder. the problem is that he's everywhere — helping you carry heavy boxes, defending your honour, eating you out in the back corner between the We Shouldn't Do This and the We'll Never Speak of This Again shelves. in all the bickering and orgasms, you're left with one question:
is the smell of books an aphrodisiac?
Warnings: porn with plot, a romcom vibe series, college au, nerd!nanami x nerd!reader, both classical lit students, f!reader, rivals to lovers, forced proximity, they're mean to each other, specific warnings will be added to the relevant chapters, Nanami art by @/thatsallitchief, will be updated Monday, Wednesday, Friday and Sunday, will eventually be available on AO3, comment to be added to the taglist on this post (must be 18+ and have that clear in bio or pinned post), details on this post are subject to change, not proofread
Word Count: tbc
Canto I - The Hopeless Gate
℘ you wanted the librarian job. unfortunately so did he. and the world hates you so you both got the job. now you have to learn how to tolerate his existence with much closer proximity than before. it's doable, isn't it?
Canto II - The Second Circle
℘ this job's not as stimulating as you thought it would be. people are predictable, unadventurous, and too serious. he looks bored too. stoking some harmless competition wouldn't be so bad, right?
Canto III - The Dark Descent
℘ stakes have been added to the pot. you should stop letting him part your legs, should stop allowing him to light your fire, but no harm no foul if you guys just continue as you have been, no?
Canto IV - The Emerging Stars
℘ this was a mistake. all of it was. from the very beginning, it was doomed. you're too similar, too ambitious, too cutthroat. at the end of the day, you're only ever meant to be rivals...aren't you?
just attached the draft for the criminal procedure essay like you asked—reworked the section on miranda rights based on your feedback from last office hours. let me know if it still needs more case citations or if i’m overcomplicating the exclusionary rule again
thanks for staying late to look it over again, you’re saving my gpa here!
tuesday lecture comes and you get there early this time. you sit in back row, legs crossed tight. he walks in five minutes before start wearing his usual black suit, sleeves already rolled. briefcase hits the podium hard. he doesn’t bother looking around before he starts.
“entrapment. page 231. we’re covering it today.”
he paces. voice low and tired like always. “entrapment defense requires government inducement that would cause a normally law-abiding person to commit the crime. it’s not just opportunity. it’s active persuasion, pressure, temptation that overrides free will.”
he stops, leaning on the podium. eyes scan the room slow looking at your section longer than others.
“consider seduction as a tactic. undercover officer poses as a romantic interest. they builds trust, uses flirtation, compliments, physical proximity, promises of intimacy. the target eventually agrees to sell drugs or whatever the crime is because the seduction makes refusal feel impossible. courts have ruled both ways. some say it’s legitimate police work. others say when it crosses into sexual manipulation it becomes entrapment per se.”
he keeps going, he describes cases. like how a female officer in a bar is wearing a low-cut dress touching the suspect’s arm. whispering how much she wants him. leading him to the deal. male officer doing the same to a female suspect. lingering looks, suggestive comments. “let me take care of you.” he lists factors courts weigh: intensity of the advances. repetition. whether the target initiated or resisted. how long the seduction lasted before the crime occurred.
the whole lecture his tone stays flat. no glances your way. he talks about “arousal as leverage” like it’s just another legal element. “when sexual desire is weaponized to lower inhibitions, the line between persuasion and coercion blurs. but the test remains objective: would the average person succumb?”
you feel his stare when he asks the question like he’s personally talking to you.
added the entrapment cases you referenced in lecture. focused on the seduction hypotheticals and court splits. let me know if the analysis is on track.
[your name]
(attachment: Entrapment_Analysis_Revised.pdf)
again, no reply.
thursday you spot him at the faculty coffee stand outside the law building. the line’s short and he’s in front. pays with exact change as he takes his black coffee. when he turns, your eyes meet. you’re three feet away. he pauses and looks straight through you. he doesn't bother acknowledging you, then he steps around you, walking away.
your hands shake holding your own cup.
friday night comes and you promise yourself that this will be your last attempt.
subject: entrapment follow-up questions – example attached
had a couple questions on the objective test for seduction-based entrapment. attached a quick example i wrote up to clarify my thinking. appreciate any notes.
thanks,
[your name]
(attachment: Seduction_Entrapment_Example.docx.)
saturday morning your inbox lights up.
subject: re: entrapment follow-up questions – example attached
you arrive at his office door at exactly 5:30 pm on monday, heart pounding like it's about to burst out of your chest. the law building is mostly empty this late–classes wrapped up hours ago, and the few lingering students are buried in the library or grabbing takeout from the food trucks outside. his door is cracked open, a sliver of warm lamplight spilling into the dim hallway. you knock lightly, his voice cuts through immediately.
"come in."
you push the door open, stepping inside. the office is what you'd expect from your professor.
stacks of case files on the desk, bookshelves crammed with legal tomes, a single window overlooking the campus quad. he's seated behind his desk, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up to his elbows like always, exposing those forearms you've caught yourself staring at during lectures more times than you'd admit. his eyes flick up from a pile of papers, dark and unreadable, pinning you in place.
"close the door," he says, it’s not a request too. when you do, the click of the latch echoing too loudly in the quiet room. "lock it."
your fingers fumble on the knob, but you manage. when you turn back, he's already standing, rounding the desk with slow steps. he doesn't say anything at first, just leans against the edge of the desk, arms crossed over his chest, watching you. the silence stretches, it was awkward until you can't take it anymore.
"professor, i—about the attachments, they were accidents. i swear, i meant to send the essays, but my files got mixed up, and—"
"accidents," he repeats, he uncrosses his arms, picking up a folder from his desk—your emails printed out, you realize with a flush of heat to your face. he flips through them casually, as if reviewing a student's brief. "three times in one week. each one more... explicit than the last."
your cheeks burn. the first had been a simple nude, you in front of your mirror, lace panties and nothing else, snapped for your own confidence boost after a rough day. the second? you'd been bolder, sprawled on your bed, hand between your thighs, capturing the arch of your back. and the third... god, the third had been you on all fours, ass up, looking over your shoulder with a smirk that screamed invitation. you'd meant them for a situationship that fizzled out, but in your late-night haze of studying and scrolling, you'd attached the wrong files. or had you? the thought nags at you now, but you push it down.
"i didn't mean for you to see them," you whisper. his gaze drops to your lips, then lower, tracing the way your blouse clings to your curves under your cardigan, the skirt that's maybe an inch too short for a professional setting like this.
he sets the folder down, stepping closer. close enough that you can smell his cologne–too strong for your liking. "and yet, here we are." his hand lifts, fingers brushing your jaw, tilting your chin up so you're forced to meet his eyes. they're darker now, pupils blown wide. "you didn't delete them. didn't send a frantic follow-up apologizing. just kept sending more."
before you can stammer another excuse, his thumb presses against your lower lip, parting it slightly. "on your knees."
you drop without thinking, carpet rough against your bare knees. he doesn't rush when unbuckles his belt, zipper dragged down loud in the quiet office. when he frees himself he's already hard, thick in his hand as he jerks himself watching your face the whole time.
"open."
he guides the head past your lips, you taste him as he slides deeper, filling your mouth inch by inch until he hits the back of your throat. your eyes water instantly. he groans low, one hand cupping the back of your head, the other braced on the desk behind him.
"that's it," he mutters. "take it."
he starts to move slowly letting you adjust, then faster. shallow thrusts turn deeper, until he's fucking your throat in earnest. you gag around him, saliva pooling at the corners of your mouth, dripping down your chin, but he doesn't stop. his grip tightens in your hair, holding you steady as he uses your mouth like it's his to take. every time you choke he pauses just long enough for you to breathe through your nose, then pushes back in, deeper, until your nose brushes his pelvis.
"look at me," he orders when your eyes flutter shut.
you force them open. his expression is almost detached but the way his hips continuously move faster betrays him. he's close. you can feel it in the way he twitches against your tongue, the way his breathing turns ragged. one more deep thrust and he holds himself there, releasing down your throat without a warning. you swallow reflexively, choking a little, but he doesn't pull out until he's finished, until you've taken every drop.
when he finally pulls out, a string of spit connects your swollen lips to the tip. he tucks himself away, zips up then he scoops you up by the waist like you weigh nothing. your legs dangle for a second before he sets you on the edge of his desk, papers crinkling under you. he pushes your thighs apart with his knee, settling between them, his hands gripping your hips to hold you in place.
"touch yourself," he says quietly.
he wants you to what…?
heat floods your face anew. "w-what? here? that's... embarrassing."
his lips twitch into something almost like a smirk, he leans in closer, breath hot against your ear. "you weren't embarrassed when you sent those nudes. all sprawled out, hand between your legs, begging for attention." his fingers trail up your thigh, pushing your skirt higher, but stopping just short. "show me now or was that all an act?"
shame and desire twist in your gut, but your hand moves anyway, slipping under the lace of your panties. you're soaked already—from the way he used your mouth.. fingers glide over your clit, circling slow at first, and a soft whimper escapes you. he watches, unblinking, one hand still on your thigh.
you pick up speed, hips rocking into your touch, breaths coming faster. but it's not enough—his stare is too intense like he's analyzing you. "please," you whisper, free hand reaching for him, but he catches your wrist, pinning it to the desk.
"no. keep going." his voice is low, commanding. "let me see you fall apart like in that second photo, that was my favorite one you know.”
your fingers start dipping lower, thrusting shallowly. the edge in you builds but just as you're teetering, he pulls your hand away. you whine in protest, but he silences you with a look.
"not yet." he drops to his knees then, surprising you, hands shoving your thighs wider. he drags your panties aside, not bothering to remove them, and leans in. his breath ghosts over you first, making you clench around nothing. then his mouth is on you—tongue warm and broad, licking a slow stripe from entrance to clit.
you gasp, hands flying to his hair, gripping tight. he groans against you, he eats you out like he's starving. his fingers dig into your thighs, holding you open as you squirm, the desk creaking under your shifting weight.
"hiromi—fuck," you moan, head falling back. he sucks your clit between his lips. one hand leaves your thigh, two fingers sliding inside you easily, curling to hit that spot that makes your vision blur. he pumps them in time with his tongue, building you back to the edge faster than before.
it crashes over you without warning, thighs clamping around his head as you come undone, crying out his name. he doesn't stop, lapping through it until you're oversensitive and shaking, pushing weakly at his shoulders.
only then does he pull back, lips shiny, eyes filled with satisfaction. he stands, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, then reaches between your legs again. he tugs your panties down your thighs, you lift your hips to help. he balls them in his fist, slips them into his pocket like a trophy.
"that's enough," he says stepping back.
you blink, still dazed, legs dangling off the desk. "what?"
"go home."
"but—" you start, voice small and wrecked, glancing down at the obvious bulge in his slacks. "you didn't—i want to—"
"i will." he steps closer one last time, brushes a stray tear from your cheek with his thumb. "when i decide. you'll get an email when i want you back here.”
he leans in, lips brushing your ear. "and next time, wear something easier to take off."
he steps back, opens a drawer, pulls out a tissue packet and sets it on the desk beside you. then he sits again, picks up a pen, and starts marking papers like you aren't still perched there, dripping because of him.
you slide off the desk on unsteady legs, fix your skirt, wipe your face. he doesn't look up as you unlock the door and slip out into the hallway.
you still haven't processed what happened but you know you’re going to check your inbox obsessively from now on.
nanami has always believed that reckless decisions lead to serious consequences. and most of the time, he believes, punishment is the only way to ensure you won’t repeat the same mistake again.
lawyer!nanami x female!reader
wc. 4.4k
cw/tw. explicit sexual content, noncon, mind break, baby trapping, age gap, psychological manipulation, unprotected sex, vaginal sex, oral sex, rough sex, overstimulation, semi-public sex, light voyeurism, cunnilingus, blowjob, degradation, breeding kink, bdsm, office sex, shameless smut, possessive!nanami, a lil gojo cameo
18+ mdni
➳ this work is part of THE PERFECT MATCH collection
“This is the third time this week.”
Nanami’s voice is flat and detached, the way it gets when he’s pissed but refuses to show it. He taps one long finger against the printed document in front of him, right over the typo you missed. Encircled with a thick red marker.
“Did you even proofread this?”
You gulp, feeling your fingers twitching at your sides. “I did, I just-”
“Just what?”
He doesn’t raise his voice. He never does. That’s the worst part.
“You rushed. You got careless. Again.” His glasses catch the overhead light as he leans back in his chair, studying you with those sharp, unreadable eyes. “Do you enjoy wasting my and other people’s time?”
The office feels too small suddenly, the humming of the air conditioning is too loud. You shake your head, resisting the urge to fidget under his gaze.
“No, sir. It won’t happen again.”
Nanami exhales slowly through his nose, like he’s counting to five in his head. Then, he reaches into his desk drawer. Your stomach drops when you hear the familiar click of the lock. He pulls out the thick, cream-colored folder—the one with your name on it in his neat, precise handwriting.
“Come here,” he says, and it’s not a request.
Your legs move before your brain catches up, heels clicking against the hardwood as you round his desk. He doesn’t look up at you, his fingers just flip the folder open and through pages up to one highlighted clause.
Section 4.3, Consequences of Repeated Negligence.
“Bend over,” Nanami says casually. “Hands flat on the desk.”
Your pulse thrums in your throat, fingers already trembling as you press your palms against the polished wood. The scent of his cologne—something fresh and spicy—fills your lungs when he stands behind you.
“You know what happens when you disappoint me,” he murmurs. His hand settles heavy on the small of your back, pressing down until your spine bows just right. His other hand slides up the inside of your thigh. “Three errors in one week, really? It’s not even carelessness at this point—it’s straight up negligence.”
The hem of your pencil skirt rasps against your thighs as Nanami tugs it up, the fabric bunching around your waist. His fingers hook into the waistband of your pantyhose and panties next, nails scraping just enough to make you shiver before he yanks them down in one sharp pull. The office air hits your bare skin like a slap and goosebumps rise instantly.
“Cold?” Nanami’s voice is mock-sympathetic, his palm already smoothing over the curve of your ass. “Good. Maybe next time you’ll think twice before handing me sloppy work.”
The first smack lands without warning—a sharp, stinging crack against the cheek of your ass that makes you gasp. Your fingers are scrambling against the desk. Nanami doesn’t pause. He doesn’t give you time to adjust before the second one follows, harder this time, the sound echoing off the office walls.
“Count,” he orders, his voice low and rough.
“One!”
Another slap! Your skin burns hot under his palm.
“T-Two,” you stammer, biting your lip hard enough to taste copper.
The third strike lands dead center, his finger splayed wide enough to catch both cheeks at once. The sting radiates up your spine, sharp and bright, and you choke out a shaky “Three!”
His hand comes down again, harder and meaner, with the slap reverberating through your bones. Your knees buckle slightly, but his free hand presses firmly between your shoulder blades to keep you pinned in place.
“Four,” you whimper, your voice cracking halfway through. “S’too much! I won’t do it again!”
“Did I tell you to speak other than to count?” Nanami’s voice slices through your pleading like a cool, precise blade. His fingers dig into the tender flesh of your hip. The sharp crack of his palm against your reddening skin. “Five.”
You gasp, tears now pricking at the corners of your eyes.
“F-Five!”
The sting lingers as it pulses in time with your rapid heartbeat. His touch shifts, fingertips dragging excruciatingly feather-light over the heated skin he just punished.
Nanami hums, low and considering, as he traces the outline of his handprint across your ass.
“Look at that,” he murmurs. “So flushed.”
His fingers dip lower, sliding through your slick pussy without warning, making your jerk against the desk with a bitten-off whimper.
“Already wet? Disgusting.” He clicks his tongue. The pad of his thumb slowly circles your clit. “You really can’t help yourself, can you?”
Suddenly, there’s three sharp knocks at the door. You immediately try to push yourself up from the desk but Nanami only presses you harder against it. His fingers then press harder, slowly curling inside you just enough to make you tremble.
The person behind that door can either be a client or a staff—either way it’s a horrifying sight for them once they twist that doorknob open.
“Come in,” Nanami calls, voice perfectly calm as if he isn’t currently knuckle-deep in his secretary.
The door creaks open, preceding Gojo’s lazy drawl. “Yo, Nanami—oh.”
The pause is palpable. You bury your face against your forearms, humiliation burning hotter than the handprints on your skin.
Gojo clears his throat. “Bad time, then?”
Nanami’s fingers withdraw with a wet sound, you silently exhale a sigh of relief. You hear the rustle of fabric as he wipes his hand clean on his handkerchief.
“Just disciplining an incompetent employee.” The casual dismissal in his tone makes your stomach twist. “What do you want?”
Gojo’s glasses glint as he leans against the doorframe, clearly enjoying the show.
“Just dropping off those files you wanted. But uh,” he waves an envelope vaguely in your direction, “seems like you’ve got your hands full already.”
The envelope lands on the desk beside your clenched fingers. Nanami doesn’t acknowledge it.
“Leave.”
The door clicks shut behind Gojo’s retreating laughter. The silence that follows is suffocating. Nanami’s breath ghosts over the back of your neck as he leans down.
“You are such a fucking slut.”
Nanami returns to his chair, the leather creaking under his weight. He adjusts his glasses with one hand, the other taps the desk before he waves you off like you’re nothing more than an inconvenience.
“Go fix yourself up,” Nanami says, his tone dismissive and cold. He’s already flipping through the documents Gojo left behind like nothing happened. “Then leave.”
Your throat tightens. You blink at him—at his composed expression, at the way his tie is still perfectly knotted. Your legs feel like jelly when you push off the desk, hands scrambling to tug your panties and pantyhose back up, your skirt falling back into place with a rustle.
Nanami doesn’t watch you. He doesn’t even glance up from his papers. The indifference stings worse than the handprint still throbbing between your thighs.
You fumble with the door handle on your way out, nearly tripping over your own feet in your haste. The hallway outside is mercifully empty, but your heartbeat still pounds in your ears as you rush to the bathroom, shoulders hunched like you're trying to fold yourself into nothing.
Being a secretary for Nanami comes with both benefits and drawbacks—the drawback being the humiliation that follows right after his punishments. The benefits? Well, you guess it’s the paycheck. And the way he makes you feel, sometimes.
Not that you’d ever admit that out loud.
You stare at your reflection in the bathroom mirror, your fingers gripping the edge of the sink so hard your knuckles turn white. You exhale sharply before splashing cold water on your face, as if that could erase the memories every time his fingers are inside you. Or the way he speaks to you like you’re nothing.
Like you are disposable.
But that’s the thing, isn’t it? You aren’t disposable to him. If you were, he wouldn’t have bothered correcting you—wouldn’t have wasted his time punishing you. That’s what you tell yourself, anyway.
“Just a little more. You can do this.”
The words taste like a lie as you whisper them to the mirror, watching your own lips tremble around the syllables. The resignation letter is already folded neatly in your handbag. You’ve rehearsed this moment a hundred times—how you’ll slide the envelope across his desk, how you’ll keep your voice steady even when you feel that lump in your throat.
But then, you remember the way his fingers felt inside you last week—and the whole other times. The way he presses you into the desk like he owns you, the way he growls filth into your ear while you whimper beneath him.
You remind yourself that not all memories are worth considering.
You’ve been his secretary for two years—of course there are moments you’d rather forget. But your traitorous mind loves to drift back to your first month in Nanami’s firm. The way his voice had been razor-sharp when he caught your fourth error. A misplaced decimal point in a client’s settlement proposal. A mistake, as he said, that could’ve cost him thousands.
He didn’t shout. God. He never shouts.
Instead, he’d leaned back in his chair, fingertips steepled under his chin, and asked, “Do you understand what you’ve done?”
The question had felt like a trap. You’d stammered out an apology, promising to triple-check everything next time.
Except that you’re only a mere human capable of creating mistakes. By the eighth—ninth time, that’s when he slid the folder toward you.
The contract was thick, its clauses meticulous. Section 2.7 outlined disciplinary measures. Section 5.4 detailed confidentiality. You remember your pulse fluttering like a caged bird as you skimmed the pages, the way Nanami’s gaze burned into you the moment you hesitated on the dotted line.
“I won’t punish you anymore if you’re not really on board with it,” he said. “But if you wish for me to continue, sign it.”
And so, you signed.
The punishments started small. A sharp reprimand here, a demeaning comment there. Then came the spankings—his palm cracking against your bare skin while you counted through gritted teeth. You told yourself you endured it because the money was good. Because the way he looked at you afterward—like you were something he’d carved out of marble—made your stomach twist in a way that had nothing to do with shame.
The ‘dates’ were worse. Nanami called them necessities.
“You represent me,” he’d say, adjusting the collar of your new blouse with fingers that lingered too long. “I won’t have you looking cheap.”
He took you to boutique stores where the salesladies eyed your flushed cheeks and trembling hands as he picked out silk lingerie you never asked for.
“Try this on,” he’d command, pushing you toward the fitting room.
You always obeyed.
You used to journal. Pages filled with sharp, furious words about how much you hated the way his punishments made your skin buzz long after he dismissed you. Lately, though, your entries have shifted.
Less about the degradation, more about the possessive growl in his voice when he murmurs, “Mine. All mine.”
You used to fantasize about slapping or spanking him back. Now you fantasize about him pinning your wrists while he fucks you raw against the conference table.
The door creaks open behind you, and your spine stiffens instinctively. It’s just one of the junior associates offering a hesitant smile before ducking into a stall. Being Nanami’s secretary comes with having to measure every glance, every whispered conversation in the break room, wondering if they know. If they can smell his hold on you.
So now, you muster up all the remaining radicalness you have left. A resignation might actually be one of the best decisions you’ll ever make in your life.
You glance at your reflection one last time and smooth down your skirt before sauntering your way to Nanami’s office.
Nanami doesn’t look up from his computer, glasses perched low on his nose.
“Did you call Mr. Hansen like I told you to?”
You don’t answer. Instead, you step forward and place the envelope dead in the center of his desk. His gaze lifts slowly, first to the envelope, then to you.
“What’s this?”
“My resignation letter.” Your voice doesn’t shake. You practiced this. “I’m resigning.”
As if it isn’t clear enough.
Nanami stares at you like you’ve just spoken in tongues. His chair creaks as he leans back, fingertips pressing together in that familiar, calculating way.
“You’re resigning,” he repeats, flat.
You nod.
He exhales slowly through his nose. Then, without breaking eye contact, he picks up the envelope and tears it cleanly in half. The sound of the papers ripping is awfully loud. Your stomach drops.
“I think you misunderstand,” Nanami says, pushing the pile of shredded paper toward you. “You don’t resign. You don’t leave. Not unless I decide it’s time.”
The air thickens between you. You gulp hard.
“B-But that’s not how jobs work.”
“Is that what you think this is?” He laughs, cold and humorless. “A job?” He stands abruptly, towering over you. His hand catches your wrist, fingers tightening just shy of pain as he drags you around the desk. “Open the drawer.”
“I won’t! Let go of-”
Nanami doesn’t let you finish. His grip tightens, forcing your fingers around the drawer handle, his breath hot against the shell of your ear.
“Open. It.”
You yank your hand back, but his hold is ironclad. The drawer slides open with a sharp jerk, revealing the cream-colored folder—the contract. His thumb flips it open to the last page.
Section 9.1, Termination of Agreement Requires Mutual Consent.
Your pulse hammers in your throat. “That’s—that’s not legally binding!”
Nanami’s laugh is a low, dangerous thing. “Do you really want to test that?”
His hand slides up your thigh, fingers almost pressing into the sensitive flesh beneath your skirt. You sigh and he pulls his hand away.
“You agreed and signed it.” His voice drops. “Fuck, you begged for it.”
You swallow hard. “I changed my mind. I-I don’t want to do this anymore.”
“Too late.” His fingers curl around the back of your neck, forcing you to meet his eyes. “When you leave, do you think there’s a single firm, corporation, or even small business in this city that’ll take you?”
Your breath hitches. You hadn’t thought of that—hadn’t let yourself consider the web of influence Nanami’s name carries in professional circles.
His thumb presses into the hinge of your jaw, tilting your face up.
“You think they won’t ask why you left? And what will you even tell them, hm?”
You don’t answer. You can’t.
Your pulse thrums louder against his fingers where they dig into your skin, your breath coming in shallow bursts. Nanami’s gaze doesn’t waver. It’s cold and calculating over you—as if he’s already mapped out every possible reaction you could have and prepared for it.
Because, well, that’s just how much he knows you.
“Nothing to say?” He clicks his tongue. “Pathetic.”
The word settles under your skin like a splinter, sharp and impossible to ignore. His grip tightens when you try to pull away, forcing you closer until his intoxicating cologne fills your lungs.
Nanami’s grip on your jaw tightens as his hot mouth crashes into yours. His tongue slips past your teeth before you can even think to resist, scorching and demanding, tasting every inch of you like he’s memorizing the shape of your surrender. You gasp against him, hands fluttering uselessly at your sides before they curl into fists.
He pulls away just as suddenly, leaving you panting against his lips. His thumb swipes over your bottom lip.
“Still think you can leave?” His voice is low and rough with something darker than anger.
Your knees weaken. You hate it. You hate how easily your body betrays you, how your thighs press together just to dull the ache he’s already reignited.
His hand slides down your throat, fingers pressing into the delicate hollows of your collarbones before they dip beneath the fabric of your blouse. A sharp thug and the buttons scatter across the hardwood floor. You shiver when he unclasps your bra, your tits immediately spilling free.
“You belong here,” he growls, dragging his fingers down your tits until they hook into the waistband of your skirt. “Under my desk, on your knees—wherever the fuck I want you.”
The fabric pools at your feet with a whisper, leaving you now fully exposed. His gaze burns hotter than the humiliation crawling up your skin.
“Don’t-”
“Don’t what?” His fingers trace the curve of your hip. “Don’t remind you how much of a slut you are?”
Hot and insistent tears slowly well up in your eyes. Nanami’s face swims in front of you as his lips curl into a mocking pout. His thumb swipes beneath your lashes to catch the first traitorous drop before it can fall.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, his voice thick with false sympathy. “Crying over what? Me giving you exactly what you signed up for?”
Before you can protest, his thumb presses against your lips, smearing dampness across them. The pressure doesn’t relent until your mouth parts on a shaky inhale, and then his thumb slides in, dragging the taste of your own misery over your tongue.
Nanami watches the way your tongue hesitates around his thumb before finally sucking. His pupils dilate, swallowing the hazel of his irises into something bottomless. He pulls his thumb free with a wet pop!
He steps back and settles into his chair. The leather groans under his weight. He adjusts his glasses, gaze dragging down your naked body.
“Bend over,” he nods toward the polished surface of his desk.
Your fingers twitch at your sides. The air-conditioning prickles against your exposed skin, tightening your nipples into stiff peaks. You shuffle forward on steady legs. The edge of the desk digs into your hip bone as you lean forward, your tits pressing flat against the cold wood.
He trails the back of your thigh before hooking into the lace of your panties. He doesn’t pull them. Instead, he drags the fabric aside with a single rough tug.
“Still trying to resist,” he exhales, fingers tracing the swollen folds of your pussy. “Even though you’re dripping.”
You bite your lip hard enough to hurt when his warm tongue finally drags through your slit. The sensation is disgusting. His large hands grip your ass, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he licks into you with a groan that vibrates all the way to your clit.
Nanami’s tongue plunges dip, the wet heat of it curling inside you. Your fingers scramble against the polished wood of his desk. The pleasure instantly coils tight and merciless in your stomach as a live wire sparks under your skin with every slick drag.
“P-Please, stop,” you whimper, but your hips jerk forward into his mouth anyway.
The sound of a belt unbuckling cuts through the wet, obscene noise of his tongue working in your pussy. The rasp of leather sliding free comes next. You freeze in horror when you hear footsteps and muffled voices approaching outside the door. Nanami’s grip tightens painfully around your thighs before he suddenly yanks you backward by the hips, forcing you to scramble under his desk just before the knocks at the door come.
Your knees hit the floor with a dull thud. The space beneath his desk is cramped. Nanami leans back in his chair before spreading his legs wider to accommodate you—and there it is, his cock, already flushed and heavy, curving up toward his stomach. A bead of precum glistens at the tip.
And the knocks come.
“Come in,” Nanami says, voice perfectly composed.
The door creaks open and you hear Gojo’s familiar drawl, followed by two deeper voices you don’t recognize. Their polished shoes click against the floor as they step inside. Your heart beats so loudly you’re certain they’ll hear it.
Nanami’s fingers twitch against his thigh.
Your hands move, palms sliding up his muscular thighs before wrapping around the base of his thick and veiny cock. The skin is fever-hot under your touch, the weight of it making your mouth water. Above you, Nanami clears his throat, shifting slightly as he addresses the clients—something about a settlement agreement.
Your tongue darts out, swiping the salty-bitter taste of him from the slit. Nanami’s thigh tenses under your hands. Encouraged, you take him deeper, hollowing your cheeks as you suck him down until his tip nudges the back of your throat.
One of the clients laughs at something Gojo has said. The sound is jarring, too loud in the room where you’re on your knees as you suck Nanami deep. His hand drops beneath the desk, fingers tangling roughly in your hair to guide your pace. His thumb presses against the back of your head, forcing you to take him deeper until tears prick at the corners of your eyes.
“Now that I think about it… where is your secretary, Mr. Nanami?”
“Handling an urgent matter elsewhere,” Nanami answers smoothly. His fingers tighten in your hair when you gag around him.
Gojo hums as if knowing, “Muuust be very urgent.”
You whimper around Nanami’s cock. The clients keep talking—something about deadlines and papers—but the words blur into static as Nanami’s hips buck shallowly into your mouth, fucking your throat in tiny, controlled movements.
Liquid spills over your tongue, watery and bitter. You swallow around him instinctively.
“—we’ll definitely need those filings done by Thursday,” a client says.
“Of course,” Nanami replies, his voice slightly strained at the edges. His cock twitches on your tongue, now swelling impossibly thicker.
You pull back just to drag your lips along his leaking head, swirling your tongue around the slit like he’s taught you.
Above you, Nanami’s voice remains perfectly steady as he wraps up the meeting, promising to send over the finalized documents. The clients thank him, the chairs scraping back as they stand. Your jaw aches, saliva dripping down your chin as Nanami lets you pull off with a wet pop.
The door finally clicks shut.
Nanami fists your hair, dragging you up until you’re sprawled across his lap, your back pressed against the desk. His cock slides through your slick folds, the tip catching at your entrance.
“Disgusting,” he murmurs, but his hips jerk forward anyway, sheathing himself inside your aching pussy with one brutal thrust. “Couldn’t even wait until they left, could you?”
He stands abruptly and lays you on your back on his desk. The cold wood is unforgiving against your spine, but his hands are scorching where they grip your hips. One large palm slides up your thigh before he hooks your leg over his shoulder.
The position leaves you obscenely open, your pussy slick and swollen for him to see.
“You’re going to learn,” he whispers while dragging the blunt head of his cock through your soaked folds. “No one takes what’s mine.”
He slams back into you with a snarl, the stretch burning deliciously. Your breath punches out in a ragged gasp, your fingers claw at the desk’s edge as he fucks into you with sharp, punishing thrusts.
Your moans come out broken and desperate, each sharp thrust punching them out of you in uneven gasps.
“K-Kento—haahh—please, I can’t-”
Nanami’s fingers find you clit before you can finish the sentence, his thumb and forefinger circling the swollen bud. Your back arches off the desk as a broken cry tears from your throat.
He takes both of your legs to press it all the way to your chest, putting you into a mean, mating press. Your hips are tilted up at an obscene angle, his cock spearing you deep. The stretch burns white-hot, your inner walls fluttering around him in clenching spasms.
“Aww. Look at you,” Nanami coos. “Taking me so fucking deep like you were made for it.”
Your toes curl at his remarks, nails scraping uselessly as he bottoms out with a wet squelch. There’s no rhythm to his thrusts. Just the sharp, erratic snaps of his hips designed to make you sob. Your pussy drips around him, the slick sounds filthy loud in the silent office.
Nanami leans down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Bet you forgot all about leaving me the second I had you choking on my cock, huh?”
You shake your head frantically, but your traitorous hips jerk up to meet his next thrusts. The angle shifts just enough for the tip of his cock to kiss that spongy spot inside you—you roll your eyes so hard.
His fingers dig into the soft flesh of your thighs, his grip bruising. His breath is hot against your ear with each ragged exhale laced with possession.
“I’m going to fuck you dumb,” he growls, punctuating each word with a thrust. “Fill you up with my cum until it’s dripping out of you.” His teeth scrape your earlobe.
“Maybe then, you won’t think about leaving me again.”
You feel your thoughts slipping away as it dissolves into the wet heat between your thighs. Nanami’s cock splits you open again and again. His thrusts now grow uneven, hips stuttering as he bottoms out inside you.
“Gonna cum,” he grits out. “Gonna fucking fill you up.”
Maybe there is still remaining sense in you because the words sent a jolt of panic through you. You press your hands against Nanami’s chest, his crisp dress shirt now damp with sweat.
“N-No… no, you can’t-” The protest dies in your throat when he pushes forward, driving even deeper. Your fingers twist into his shirt. “Pull out!”
Nanami doesn’t listen and his rhythm only turns faster. He watches your face twist in protest then pleasure.
“Too late,” he rasps, his hips snapping forward once, twice—
You feel the way his cock pulses inside you as he pumps his release into your pulsing pussy. The heat of it spills deep with your walls fluttering around him in little spasms.
“Fuck,” he exhales while still buried inside you to the hilt. “Taking it all like a good little whore.”
You whimper as your body trembles from the aftershocks. When he pulls out, his cum immediately leaks out from your pussy, slowly dripping onto the desk beneath you. Satisfied, Nanami smiles at the sight of you laying on his desk, while your thighs continue to shake from your own orgasm.
Good thing he had already seen that stupid letter in your bag hours ago. It’s only a matter of time before you realize he’s thrown your pills away too.
The Viscount who didn't love me - final part preview
You are arranged to marry a man you admired from afar, but his heart is taken by another. Before you, he was betrothed to the Lady Jane, and the two fell in love - and were intimate at that. Torn apart by guilt, he cannot open up to you, and Jane has her sights set on being his mistress. Can he open up before it's too late and you're gone, or will he ultimately crush your heart in the end? or will you find love in the arms of two enigmatic lords?
pairings- Viscount Nanami x f!reader
warnings- MDNI - this chap - first time, p in v sex, multi rounds, breed kink, love confessions, a cute lil happy ending with jealous/possessive Nanami.
This is one of my five Patreon series -the ending is out! preview below
“God I wish I just…” He trails off when you kiss his lips.
“None of that ‘I wish’.”
“I was a jealous brute tonight,” you giggle and he glares, pulling back just a bit.
“You were indeed.”
“I saw the way they looked at you, and it made me think how fucking furious I am anyone got to fucking touch you.”
“Oh?” You gasp as he drags you even harder against his body, his lips dancing along your cheek, your neck, moan soft in your ear.
“Yes, all I could think was ‘mine.’ She’s fucking mine, all mine.”
“Yours,” you whisper, “I am yours.”
“All mine?” He tilts your chin up, pressing your back against the railing of the balcony. “Not theirs, never theirs. All mine.”
“Y-yes,” you giggle again. “And I like that you’re a jealous brute about it.”
He chuckles in exasperation, hand slipping to the curve of your ass now, earning your flushed cheeks and dilated eyes. “My little harlot, encouraging my wickedness.”
“Your harlot, hmm?” You wrap your arms around his neck, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “Didn’t you call me slutty before?”
“You are slutty,” he kisses you back, deeper this time, tongue darting inside the hot recesses of your mouth, moaning into it. “So fucking slutty and perfect, just a pretty whore for me.”
“Slutty for you,” he curses now, kissing you even deeper, making you soaking wet between your thighs. “Mnh!”
“I know,” he groans softly, pulling back from the heated kiss and resting his forehead against yours. “I want to ruin you, fill you so goddamn full.”
“Please,” your whine carries and he has to cover your mouth, biting his own lip as you arch against him.
“I’ll give you all of me, but not here. Not like this. Not before I…”
“What is wrong?” you ask weakly, Kento sighs, running a hand through his hair, disheveling the neat blond strands that are always so in place. “Ken?”
“There’s something I have to say, before we…”
“Oh god.”
“Nothing bad,” he assures you, cursing softly as he sees the apprehension in your gaze. “No, it’s just I keep thinking… I almost lost this. I almost lost you.”
Your tears fall as the wind blows your skirts around your ankles, you’re sniffling as you cling tightly to him, your breaths mingling. “I know.”
“Now that I have you, I’m terrified of messing it up, of not being… enough,” his voice breaks your fucking heart.
“Oh, no,” you cup his cheek, your thumb stroking the slight stubble there – that little shadow he grows at the end of the day that you love brushing against your skin. “You are more than enough for me, please.”
He takes a breath, eyes fluttering shut in relief at your words, pressing kisses to the palm cupping his face.
Can he say it?
That he loves you?
ahh another patreon series over </33 that makes three done so far! if you were waiting to binge this toxic mess, now is the time hehe
synopsis: he left you behind. he shouldn't be surprised when you moved on - even if it's with his roommate.
pairing: former childhood friend!geto x f!reader x lovestruck!gojo
content: mdni, angst and smut and fluff, college au, former friends, pining, yearning, emotional hurt, also ft. sukuna, piv sex, missionary, gojo being obsessed and down bad, lowk asshole suguru, jealousy, mixed feelings, regret, so much hurt/comfort, messy relationships, insecurities, partying, drinking, more tags to be found in each chapter
a/n: as requested, i will be continuing this old fic! planning it to be a mini-series!
The twins! There’s nerdjo 🤭and then there’s fratjo too ig, I was really excited when i saw nerdjo trending so I grabbed the opportunity to draw him hehe
Following my previous post, I have the roughest of rough drafts of this fic I’ve been working on (it’s my first one since like 6th grade so ntm) 👀 if I ever finish it TRUST it will get posted, any thing to revive the haikyuu fandom!
a selection of my geto fics for your enjoyment! art from left to right is @dinneratgios @1amglow and @aransmind !
CHOOSE YOUR ACTOR!
✰ no. one party anthem starring...ROCKSTAR!GETO
✰ what's mine is yours starring...BODYSWAPPED!GETO
✰ how to baby trap marry your best friend starring...BABY DADDY!GETO
✰ milk and cookies starring...DILF!GETO
✰ only ones who know starring...HERO!GETO
✰ love me not! starring...BABY DADDY!GETO
✰ your eyes only starring...SORCERER!GETO
✰ simply ear-resistible! starring...BUNNY!GETO
✰ (don't) kiss me starring...FWB!GETO
✰ faking it starring...BROKE!GETO
✰ breaking news! starring...MOTHMAN!GETO
✰ the emperor's new pet starring...EMPEROR!GETO
✰ take a bite! starring...VAMPIRE!GETO
✰ rose-colored boy starring...YANDERE!GETO
✰ four dicks, one human starring...ALIEN!GETO
✰ sex.exe starring...SEX ROBOT!GETO
✰ made for you starring...EVIL SCIENTIST!GETO
✰ who's your whore? starring...GUITARIST!GETO
✰ falling snow starring...STRANGER!GETO
a/n: my gojo cinematic universe can be found here and sukuna's list is here, plus even more geto fics are under his name on my pinned post <3 reblogs + comments are always appreciated adore you all :3
“I sat on your lap.” you say, as if presenting evidence.
His gaze doesn’t waver. “Yes, you did.”
“You got hard, didn’t you?”
The bluntness would have shattered a lesser man. Hiromi’s jaw tightens. He bites the inside of his cheek, a habit you remember from years ago. The physical act of swallowing words he refuses to let exist.
“You already know that.” he says.
GENRE: alternate universe - modern au;
WARNING/S: r18, angst, explicit, smut, romance, fluff young love, exes to lovers, second chance romance, divorce, toxic relationship, slandering, pet names, complicated, protective, possessiveness, mutual pining, cursing, crossing boundaries rekindled romance, emotional baggage, whirlwind romance, power imbalance, emotional manipulation, reputation, scandal, trauma, smoking, cheating, alcohol, explicit sexual content, naked bodies, office sex, desk sex, oral sex, female receiving oral, fingering, creampie, morning after, p v sex, different sexual positions, rough sex, dominance, praising, dirty talk, size difference, unprotected sex, pregnancy, remarriage, actress! reader, lawyer! higuruma;
WORDS: 16k words.
NOTE: this got delayed yesterday because i didn't think it was okay and now here we are with such a long fic......but thats okay i guess, since today is valentines day anyway. that being the case, i hope everyone has a good valentines day. i have nothing to do and no one to spend it with, but im glad im able to give yall something to make you all have some enjoyment with me!!! anyway, i'll see you for nanami's tomorrow. i love you all!!! happy valentines!!!
main masterlist
if you want to, tip! <3
buono san valentino, 2026;
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?” was the first thing he says to you after all these years, and you can’t pretend you didn’t expect it. He has always been brutally honest. Even back then, he had been too quick to strip a moment down to its barest truth, no matter how it cuts. You did not expect anything other than that now.
Even so, the question lands quieter than he means it to, the edges worn rough by disuse. He sounds like a man unused to speaking your name, to shaping words meant only for you. It almost felt like something so foreign to the tongue that mastered it all.
And despite himself, he leans toward the warmth that lingers in your proximity. Once, you had an open door, it was as though spring was waiting on the other side. And it frustrates him to no end. He thought he had left that all behind.
Yet, how wrong he was. For you were just waiting, waiting in what felt like a door sealed for years and years, now forced open all at once with your tender palms, letting that same youthful season rush back into his life whether he wants it or not.
Divorce lawyer Higuruma Hiromi no longer resembles the man who used to fall asleep on open law books and wake with ink smudged across his cheek in your dormitory late Friday night, clumsily whispering what he had learned even in his sleep.
He was the man who argued with every footnote, who treated precedent like holy scripture, and yet, the same man who still let you doodle in the margins of his case files because, he said, the law should remember it was written by human hands.
Hands soft enough, you used to joke, to strangle him gently every night with such passionate conundrums that can rival every argument in the law books. You had giggled at that thought so viciously, almost so innocently, unsure about what he was saying. Yet you were no fool. And neither was he.
Now he looks like a verdict.
And you expected that, too.
Ten years have carved themselves into him.
His tie hangs loose, collar unbuttoned, his body folded into a leather accent chair that probably costs more than your first apartment. You could remember, the one with the flickering kitchen light and the neighbor who played ballads at two in the morning.
The office is dim, lit only by the city bleeding through floor-to-ceiling windows. Tokyo Metropolitan could only hum with humble extravagance beneath you both. The neon blazing, sirens wailing, headlights crawling like arteries carrying the restless.
He looks tired to you. But not the soft kind that invites sympathy. Not the kind you once soothed with cheap takeout and your feet in his lap while he read passages you pretended to understand, pouting as his fingers drifted absently through your hair.
This is a different exhaustion.
The kind that calcifies into bone.
You think in some ways he did not change at all.
You lean against the doorframe like you own the building. As though you had the right to own the night. You stand there daringly, as though the tabloids haven’t spent three weeks dissecting your marriage like carrion birds.
Each and every time, they foolishly, cleverly, disgustingly followed you about. They were picking up the spectacle of your smile, your rings, the way your husband stopped touching you in public months before anyone noticed. You were sure they’re writing about this moment now.
You take a drag of your cigarette, slow and deliberate. "Haven't you heard?” you whisper, blowing the nicotine into the room, a smirk curving your mouth like a blade. “I’m getting divorced.”
The smoke curls between you like a dare. It was like the ghost of every almost-confession you both buried under timing, under unruly, shameless pride. Under the simple cruelty of choosing other people. People who offered advances, advances that Hiromi could not offer to you.
He exhales through his nose, long and measured, as if filing the statement under expected disasters. Of course you would arrive like this. Of course you would burn your life down and come to him for the ashes, to feed it to him until he was choking in it.
“Well, congratulations.” he whispers back, starting to straighten, vertebra by vertebra, as though assembling himself for court. He finally meets your eyes. “What do you want me to do about it, [name]?”
The way he says your name in that flat, careful, tone sends shivers down your spine. It was like evidence he refuses to mishandle words and tones he chooses with intent to underpin the other party. You let the smoke enthrall you whole, for the childish feeling comes and goes, his words land harder than the headlines.
You push off the doorframe. “Well, one simple thing, really.”
He raises a brow, that same precise arc that once dismantled a witness in under three questions. “And that is?”
You step fully into the office, heels silent on polished wood. The city lights catch on your fine gold rings, your glistening watch, the immaculate tailoring of a suit chosen to look effortless and cost a fortune. Armor, tailored. War paint in neutral tones, the red lipstick sharper than anything man had ever known.
“Settle my divorce.” you whisper, mirth flickering in your eyes like something dangerously close to relief. “And destroy my husband.”
Silence.
A long, echoing, courtroom kind of silence echoes in the room. The kind where truth stands up slowly, adjusts its cuffs, and prepares to ruin everyone and everything in its path. His jaw tightens. A muscle jumps.
“……Are you fucking kidding me?”
The laugh breaks out of you before you can stop it. Almost too bright and unrestrained Something that sounded more reckless than a confession to a murder. But you were certain that it was more authentic than anything you had let out in these ten years.
You think that you had portrayed so many people that you found yourself unsure what sort of laugh you truly had now. And it would seem that this is all that was left. After playing the part of a happy wife, there was nothing left but this. This grating, irritating, disgusting guttural laugh of a pitiful woman like you.
You cross to his desk, set the cigarette into his ash bowl like you’ve done it a thousand times before. He watches your every move, eyes dilated. It was like the years between never existed, Everything about it felt like muscle memory to you.
In that instant, it was as if it could resurrect entire versions of yourselves that never got to live, versions of yourselves that had long been forgotten. Yet it did not come naturally. Instead, it came in a cage. Before he can move, you close the distance and sit squarely on his lap.
His entire body goes rigid.
Not with desire.
At least not yet.
With restraint.
“[name], this is—”
“Why not?” you murmur, fingers sliding up his tie, smoothing the crooked knot, the gesture intimate in a way that has nothing to do with skin. “Can't the best divorce lawyer get me out of this trouble?”
His massive hands, those massive familiar hands that were once all over you, now hover in the air beside you, suspended between instinct and refusal. Almost as though he’s forgotten what they’re for.
Almost like the law has finally presented him with a case he cannot argue without perjuring his own heart. Almost like the act of touching you is a crime he’s already been convicted of, and a crime he cannot know if he wants to flee or stay for.
His voice, when it comes, is lower. Far too careful for its own good. “You don’t need a lawyer to destroy your husband.” he says to you. “You married him, you were with him for ten years. Certainly as his wife, you already know where he’s weakest.”
A beat.
A frown.
He expected that.
“And you…..” he adds, eyes searching yours with a precision that used to feel like safety. “You don’t come to me unless you’re already bleeding.”
Your smile falters, just for a second. A crack in the verdict. “Do you find that insulting?”
“No.” He says far too quickly than he should. “I find it foolish. But then again, foolish decisions are the antithesis of the better.”
He still hasn’t touched you.
And that, somehow, is the most intimate thing of all.
Your fingers remain at his tie, smoothing a crease that no longer exists. A nervous habit masquerading as control. Up close, you can see the faint shadow along his jaw where he forgot to shave, the tiny scar near his chin from the time he slipped on courthouse steps during a downpour and laughed while you scolded him for bleeding on legal documents.
He doesn’t laugh anymore.
At least not as he used to.
Not to you, most especially.
“Get off.” he says quietly.
Not harsh.
Not pleading.
Judicial.
You tilt your head, studying him like you’re trying to remember the exact moment he stopped being yours to ruin. “You used to like it when I ignored your instructions.” you murmur.
His eyes flicker somewhere. Not to your mouth, not to your hands but to the window behind you, to the city lights smeared across the glass like fingerprints. He’s looking for distance. For precedent. For anything that isn’t you, warm and breathing and sitting in his lap like a closing argument he cannot object to.
“That was before you decided to marry up for the contacts.”
There it is.
Not jealousy. Not accusation.
A fact entered into record.
“I told you that was my managers—”
“Well certainly you still did it.” he whispers to you, his eyes intently away from you. “Just because you did it with someone else’s intentions, does not mean it was not your actions.”
You inhale, slow. The cigarette smoke clinging to your hair mixes with the clean, dry scent of his office. paper, leather, something faintly medicinal. He has built a life that does not require you. You can feel it in the geometry of the room. Everything was too precise, too deliberate, ever so impersonal.
And yet you are here.
On his lap, like you used to be.
Disrupting the symmetry.
“Still….I didn’t come here for nostalgia.” you say.
“Good to know.” he replies. “because i don’t practice it.”
But his hands are still hovering.
Not pushing you away.
Not pulling you closer.
Waiting for a ruling.
You lean in just enough that your forehead almost touches his. Your voice drops, stripped of performance. “He’s going to bury me.”
The confession lands between you like broken glass. You feel it in the way his breath changes. It was a quiet hitch, quickly suppressed. In the way his fingers curl slightly, like muscle memory trying to remember the shape of your waist and stopping just short of treason.
“Financially?” he asks.
You shake your head. “No, he can’t steal my money. That’s secure, in some way.”
“Then in what way?”
“Reputation. Custody of everything, of my pets. Everything that can’t be itemized.” you say to him. “And….you know that he’s a big shot in the industry. He’s going to make sure I never get roles or work again.”
His eyes sharpen. The lawyer is back now. At that moment, you were not with a man. You were with a sphinx. This version of him is dangerous in a different way. He was focused and surgical, merciless to systems and the people who weaponize them against everyone else. He knew best how to do it. You know that too well.
“Did he hit you?” he asks.
The question is so blunt it knocks the air from your lungs. “No.”
A pause.
“He didn’t have to.” you whisper, your eyes lowering. “He can’t use me if he breaks my face.”
Something in his expression fractures. At least not outwardly, not enough for anyone else to notice. But you see it. You’ve always seen the microcracks first. The tightening at the corners of his eyes, the way his molars press together when he’s holding back fury that has nowhere to go.
His hands finally move.
At least not to hold you.
To grip the arms of the chair.
Control, reasserted.
“Get off my lap, [name].” he says again, softer now. “Go on and sit like a client.”
You search his face for a trace of the man who once let you steal his fries and his sleep and his carefully constructed boundaries. You find him. He’s the one refusing to touch you. You pursed your lips in a tight line.
Slowly, you slide off his lap. The loss of contact is immediate, a draft where warmth used to be. You take the chair across from him, almost like a stranger in that client’s chair. A little further, a little lower. Deliberately so. The distance is obscene.
He adjusts his tie where you smoothed it, fingers lingering for half a second too long. He was starting to reset. No, he was certainly doing more than that. He was armoring. “Go on and start from the beginning.”
You almost laugh. There are too many beginnings. The first lie. The first headline. The first time your husband introduced you as if you were an acquisition. The first time you realized love, in his hands, was a transaction with better lighting on the sound stage.
Hiromi Higuruma listened to the details of your life he had not been privy of with focus. He tried to settle himself in that role of an outsider, as a lawyer and not that man he was. Not the man he still was who gets angry, emotionally overblown when it comes to you.
“He filed first.” you say to him, a second cigarette now on your lips. “It was a sealed motion. Allegations I can’t respond to without violating the injunction.”
His brows knit. "On what grounds?”
“Irreconcilable differences, apparently.” you say, a humorless smile ghosting your mouth. “And with such audacity, moral instability.”
Silence once more.
He sits more straight.
Then, very quietly, he repeats it.
“Moral instability.”
You nod. “Yes.”
“He has photos. Messages taken out of context. Staff willing to testify to things they were paid to misunderstand.” Your fingers lace together in your lap to stop them from shaking. “He’s building a narrative against me. I’m the unfaithful, erratic wife. He’s the patient, dignified husband forced to protect his legacy.”
“And the truth?” he asks.
You hold his gaze.
“I was lonely and I was isolated.” you say with such a morose look. “And he knew it. He orchestrated it… No one could be my friend, or my confidant unless he approved of them. How could I….I could be the one at fault if he’s doing this to me?”
The admission sits heavy in the room. Not infidelity. Not denial. Just the small, devastating truth of neglect. His jaw flexes again. This time he doesn’t look away. “Do you want to win this case?” he asks softly. “Or do you want to survive?”
The question startles you. “Aren’t they the same?”
“No.” His voice is iron. “Winning is a spectacle. Surviving is silence. The law can give you one, it takes good framing. But of course, your choices determine the other.”
Outside, Tokyo Metropolitan’s lights flicker as if the city itself is holding its breath. You lean back in the chair, studying the man across from you as smoke releases from your lips. This was the one you didn’t choose, the one you left, the one who still looks at you like you are both evidence and wounded.
“I want him to never do this to anyone again.” you say to him more honestly. “For him to pay for every bit of those ten years.”
You did not beat around the bush. You said something colder. Something far more cleaner in the dirt you surround yourself with. His eyes soften even more, perhaps just a fraction. But it was echoing with approval. Still every bit of him seemed reluctant. Yet ever so ready to be dangerous.
“Then we don’t destroy him.” he says in reply. “Instead, we document him.”
“Document him?”
“You have the money to drag it along. Why not? Let's make the truth so boringly precise…..” he adds as he narrows his gaze. “That no one can look away.”
Your throat tightens. You hadn’t realized how badly you needed someone to believe you without spectacle. “Does this mean….you’ll take the case?” you ask.
He studies you for a long moment. He was not searching for who you were, but measuring who you’ve become against the cost of letting you stand here again. Many things rush in his head, things he could not comprehend yet, things that he cannot say yet. But he does not move. Nor does he speak.
The office is too quiet once more. Even the city feels distant, muffled by glass and altitude. He looks at you like a man standing at the edge of a familiar cliff, aware of exactly how far the fall goes because he survived it once.
“There are a dozen reasons to refuse you.” he says at last.
Your chest tightens, but you hold his gaze. “And?”
His jaw shifts. “None of them change the outcome.”
You don’t breathe. “Is that so?”
“This is a conflict of interest, between us.” he says.
Your stomach drops anyway. The words are procedural, expected and still they land like loss. “Then—”
He doesn’t look away. “I have prior…involvement.”
Your laugh comes out thin. “We dated in our twenties, Hiromi. You’re not going to lose your license over bad timing and worse decisions.”
“That’s not the involvement I’m referring to.”
The air changes. Perhaps not in the way you would have expected. It came so quietly. There was nothing dramatic about it. There was no thunderclap, no cinematic revelation. Instead, it was just a subtle pressure shift, like a courtroom before a verdict is read.
You go very still. He wasn’t talking about who you used to be to each other. He’s talking about the way his voice lowers when he says your name. About how his hands refused to touch you, certainly not because he didn’t want to, but because he did.
Hiromi cannot let it be. He lets it fester, especially about the fact that you came here first, before the statements, before the damage control, before the world could tell you what your marriage was worth. Your pulse trips over itself.
“Are you refusing me?” you ask, quieter now.
He leans forward, forearms resting on the desk. Not close enough to touch. Close enough that you can see the faint crease between his brows, the one that only appears when he’s choosing restraint over instinct.
“No, not really.” he says. “I’m…merely setting terms.”
“Terms?” you repeat, tasting the word.
His gaze flicks briefly to your left hand. Your expensive ring is still there, still gleaming under city light like a lie with excellent marketing. Then it lifts and returns to your eyes. You could feel your heart skip a beat.
“If I take this case, [name]...you know what I’ll do.” he says, each word placed with deliberate care, “I will dismantle him. Methodically. Publicly if necessary. There will be no ambiguity when it’s over. No narrative he can hide behind.”
The promise is not cruel.
It is precise.
It was why he was good.
“And when it’s done….” he continues, softer now, “There will be nothing left tying you to him. Not legally. Not socially. Not in the quiet spaces where people pretend vows still echo.”
Your throat tightens. “I know.”
“But you don’t walk out of that clean.” he adds.
You blink. “What?”
His voice doesn’t rise. It doesn’t need to.“You don’t get to burn your life down and pretend you’re untouched by the smoke. If I do this, you lose the version of yourself that survived by smiling beside him. You lose the safety of being misunderstood.”
A pause.
“And you don’t come back here….” he finishes quietly to you. “Unless you’re prepared for the possibility that I will ask for something you can’t litigate.”
The words settle between you, heavier than any threat could be. It is not a threat. But it certainly wasn't a confession either. It’s a door that was closed, but not locked. It was with the understanding that opening it will cost you both the illusion of restraint.
“I sat on your lap.” you say, as if presenting evidence.
His gaze doesn’t waver. “Yes, you did.”
“You got hard, didn’t you?”
The bluntness would have shattered a lesser man. Hiromi’s jaw tightens. He bites the inside of his cheek, a habit you remember from years ago. The physical act of swallowing words he refuses to let exist.
“You already know that.” he says.
No denial.
No apology.
Just a fact.
You turn away first, not in retreat but in consideration, letting the cigarette die in the porcelain ashtray. The ember collapses inward, a soft surrender. Smoke curls up, thin and fading, like the last excuse either of you had.
When you face him again, you don’t return to the client’s chair.
You close the distance.
Slowly at first.
More animalistic now.
More deliberately.
You kneel in front of him. Not submission, not performance, but proximity stripped of pretense. The city light spills across the polished floor, catches in your hair, turns your eyes bright in a way he hasn’t seen in years. Not since before careful smiles and strategic silences replaced whatever this was.
Hiromi’s throat tightens. You see it in the movement of his swallow, in the way his fingers flex once against the arm of the chair before going still again, as if he’s afraid of what they’ll do if he lets them move.
“I thought about finding you again.” you say softly. “Years ago. Even when I was married.”
The admission lands like a dropped glass. It was not loud, but irreversible. His brow furrows. “Was I meant to be your secret, then?”
You shake your head immediately. “No. Never that.”
Your lips curve. Perhaps not into a smirk, not into cruelty but into something tired and honest. “You would’ve been as visible as his mistress.” you say. “An open scandal. No shadows to hide in.”
He exhales, a quiet, disbelieving sound. “Then why didn’t you?”
You look down at your hands, at the faint tremor you can no longer disguise as poise. “Because I wanted to believe I was better than him….That if I stayed, endured, kept choosing the respectable ruin, I could pretend I took the higher ground.”
Silence stretches between you.
Not empty nor was it depraved.
Instead, it was full of the lives you didn’t live.
“But I’m lucky, aren’t I?” you add, lifting your gaze back to him. “Now I don’t have to pretend.”
Your hands come to rest lightly against his thighs. You were not grasping, not pulling. Your palms were simply there, the contact almost formal in its restraint. You feel the tension in him, coiled and controlled, the rigid discipline of a man who has built his entire life on not reaching for what he wants.
“And besides….you know I’m no good.” you smiled at him. “But still….you want me anyway.”
“[name], you shouldn’t—” he begins.
You huff a quiet breath, not quite a laugh. Your other hand settles opposite the first, mirroring the contact, a balance he cannot misinterpret as accidental. “Let me make it up to you, Hiromi. Let me love you.”
Hiromi’s hot breath catches in his throat as your hands settle on his thighs. The contact is light, almost innocent, but the implications are anything but. He swallows hard, his eyes locked on yours as he tries to process your words.
"You don't know what you're offering to me, [name]." he says hoarsely. "What I want from you." His hands twitch, hovering just above your shoulders as if he's fighting the urge to pull you closer.
"I've waited too long for this. If we start down this path, I won't be gentle. I won't hold back." He leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear. "I'll take everything you're willing to give and then some. Are you sure this is what you want?"
His voice is low and intense, filled with a hunger that has been building for years. You could feel your heart beating harder and harder against your chest second by second. You meet his gaze steadily, your own eyes filled with a determination that matches his intensity.
"I'm sure." you say quietly to the man you left ten years ago. "I've never been more sure of anything in my life. "You lean in closer, your lips brushing against his as you speak. "Take me, Hiromi. Take everything I have to offer. I'm yours."
Your words are like a match to gasoline, igniting the desire that has been simmering between you for so long. Higuruma Hiromi's control snaps. With a growl, he pulls you onto his lap, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he kisses you with a ferocity that steals your breath.
He stands abruptly, lifting you easily as if you weigh nothing. He carries you to his desk, sweeping the papers and books onto the floor with a single swipe of his arm. He sets you down on the edge of the desk, stepping between your legs as he continues to ravage your mouth with kisses.
Hiromi’s big hands roam over your body, squeezing and kneading your flesh through the fabric of your clothes. He tugs impatiently at your shirt, popping buttons in his haste to bare your skin to his hungry gaze.
He leans down, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the swell of your breasts, his tongue darting out to taste the soft skin. His fingers hook into the waistband of your dress skirt, pushing it up around your hips as he steps closer, pressing his hardness against your core.
You can feel the heat of him even through the layers of clothing, and it sends a shiver down your spine. Hiromi’s cold lips trail up your neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin. He finds a particularly tender spot and bites down hard enough to leave a mark.
"You’ve decided but I decided on something too…." he growls against your flesh. "The only payment I’m taking is you.”
Your eyes widen at his words, a mixture of shock and arousal coursing through you. A while ago he was ruminating with the past, with the spring of your youths and the distance that was left behind. Yet it was as if the door had been fully opened.
The implication is clear.
He's not interested in money or any other form of payment. The only thing he wants is you. After a decade, it was still you he wanted. Even when you had abandoned him and made his life a misery and lonely desert, he still wants you to blossom in it.
Your heart races as you consider the implications. This is more than just a one-night stand or a fleeting affair, you were aware of this. This is Higurama Hiromi, your ex-boyfriend, the lawyer you just acquired to defend you in your divorce, was now claiming you as his own, demanding your complete surrender.
"And if I refuse?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.
Hiromi chuckles darkly, his hand sliding up your thigh and beneath your dress skirt. "Then I'll just have to convince you otherwise." he says, his fingers brushing against the lace of your panties. "I can be very persuasive when I want to be. And I want you. More than anything."
His fingers hook into the waistband of your panties, tugging them aside as he seeks out your most intimate flesh. You couldn’t help but release a gasp as he finds your clit, circling it with a gentle touch that sends shockwaves of pleasure through you.
"See how wet you are for me already?" he murmurs to you. "Your body knows who it belongs to, even if your mind is still resisting." He slips a finger inside you, pumping slowly as his thumb continues to tease your clit. "Tell me you want this. Tell me you want me to take you right here on my desk. I need to hear you say it."
His voice is low and commanding, leaving no room for doubt. He's not going to stop until he gets what he wants, not until he hears the words from your own lips. He has waited for so long for spring to come. He was not going to let it go.
You bite your lip, torn between desire and hesitation. The rational part of your mind screams at you to stop this, to push him away and walk out the door. But the ache between your legs is impossible to ignore, and the way he's touching you feels too good to resist.
"I...I want it…I want you." you whisper finally, your voice barely audible. "I want you to take me. Right here. Right now."
As soon as the words leave your lips, Higuruma Hiromi's control snaps in its entirety. With a growl, he lifts you onto his desk, sweeping the remaining court documents, other papers and all those law books onto the floor with a single swipe of his arm.
Higuruma Hiromi doesn't hesitate. He lowers his body, his hands gripping your thighs and pushing them further apart. He leans in without hesitation, his breath hot against your core as he inhales deeply.
"You smell so fucking good, you always have." he murmurs to you. "I bet you still taste the same."
He doesn't wait for a response before burying his face between your legs. His tongue slicks through your folds, teasing and tasting as he explores every inch of you. He finds your clit and sucks it into his mouth, his tongue flicking against the sensitive bud in a way that makes you see stars.
Your hands all but fly to his darkened hair, gripping tightly as you grind against his face, chasing the pleasure he's giving you. Hiromi’s masterful tongue delves deeper, the nostalgia of pleasure hitting you as you scream.
He keeps plunging into your entrance as he fucks you with his mouth. His hands grip your ass, lifting you closer to his face as he devours you. He can feel you getting closer, your walls fluttering around his tongue as he pushes you towards the edge.
He pulls back suddenly, his lips and chin glistening with your juices. "Come for me, [name]."he commands. "Come on my tongue like a good girl."
He expertly dives back in, his tongue circling your clit rapidly as he slides two fingers inside you, curling them to hit that spot that makes your eyes roll back in your head. It only takes a few more strokes before you're crying out his name, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave. Higuruma Hiromi doesn't let up, continuing to lick and suck through your climax until you're a trembling, boneless mess on his desk.
You do not remember much after that.
But you knew that you felt good, far too good.
You hadn’t felt like this in a long time.
WHEN YOU WAKE, IT ISN’T BECAUSE OF THE SUNLIGHT GLEAMING IN. It’s to the low murmur of a voice you know by muscle memory. For a moment, you don’t move. Your body is warm everywhere, especially down there where his cum dwelled ceaselessly.
It was still heavy with sleep everywhere, with the dull, satisfying ache of muscles used and reused, with the unfamiliar safety of not being alone when you open your eyes. The air smells faintly of tobacco and paper and the ghost of your perfume clinging to borrowed cotton.
You’re wrapped in a blanket. Not tucked. You were fully wrapped, securely. With intention to keep you comfortable. Beneath it, a long dress shirt drapes over your skin, the fabric soft from years of laundering, the cuffs hanging past your wrists. It smells like him in a way cologne never could. The starch, smoke, and something clean and dry, like old books and winter air.
You are naked underneath.
The realization arrives without panic.
Only memory.
Dawn, filtered through half-closed blinds. His name in your mouth is like a verdict you chose.The way restraint finally broke, not with the ardent violence that could have been, but with the quiet, tender inevitability of something deferred too long.
You turn your head.
Hiromi Higuruma sits at his desk, backlit by the pale gray of early morning leaking into the city. His upper body is bare, dress shirt discarded somewhere out of sight, tie gone, suspenders hanging loose at his sides. A cigarette rests between his lips, forgotten more often than smoked, its ash grown long and precarious.
He looks like he hasn’t slept.
Not in the frantic, unraveling way you’ve seen in tabloids and courtrooms, but in the deliberate stillness of a man who chose wakefulness over vulnerability. The kind of sleeplessness that comes from watching the shape of a life shift in real time and refusing to blink.
“…No, we have to do it immediately.” he says into the landline, voice even. “Go and file the response by noon. We’re not contesting jurisdiction and I am not arguing more about something ridiculous.”
A pause. He listens, eyes flicking briefly toward you. Somehow not surprised to find you awake, as if he’s been aware of every shift in your breathing. He takes a moment to look at you, taking in the sight of you before he ends up talking back to the other line.
“No, that’s not important.” he repeats, quieter. “And there will not be a statement. That’s not advised right now. That’s it. Yeah.”
Your chest tightens.
Not she.
Not the client.
Not your name.
Just a boundary placed between you and the world.
He exhales, finally taking a drag from the cigarette, the ember flaring briefly before dimming again. Smoke curls upward, dissolving into the dim office air. You find how perfect this sight of him was. How focused he was about his craft, about your business. It made you feel something wanton.
“…Because there is nothing to clarify about it.” he says into the receiver. “The filings will speak for themselves, as they usually do. Fine, yes. Goodbye.”
He hangs up with a soft click. Silence returns in the room. Yet this time, it was not empty. But rather it was dense. Delicately layered with everything that happened between midnight and dawn, everything that still hasn’t been said.
You push yourself up slightly, the blanket slipping enough to reveal your shoulder. The shirt shifts against your skin, cool where it’s lost your warmth. He notices. You can tell by the way his gaze drops for a fraction of a second before he deliberately looks back at the paperwork in front of him. Restraint, reassembled.
“You’re up.” he says. It’s not a question. His voice is rougher than usual, worn at the edges.
“You didn’t sleep.” you reply.
He stubs the cigarette out in the ashtray without looking. “I had calls to make.”
You study him more closely. You could tell the tension in his shoulders, the faint marks at his collarbone you don’t remember leaving but know you must have, the way he sits perfectly straight despite the hour, as if posture alone can impose order on what you’ve done.
“What time is it?” you ask.
“Six twenty-three.”
Too early for the world. Too late to pretend this was a dream. The realization settles over you with the slow certainty of daylight creeping through the blinds. The thin, pale bands stretching across the floor, the couch, the edge of his desk. Morning makes everything real. Night allows for ambiguity. The morning files it into record.
You gather the blanket closer, the wool warm but not warm enough to quiet the awareness of bare skin beneath borrowed fabric. His long shirt hangs loosely on your frame, the hem brushing your thighs, cuffs swallowing your hands.
It smells like starch and smoke and something unmistakably him, a scent that feels more intimate than anything that happened before dawn. You could feel nostalgic, remembering when you were much younger. How he would always smell so good, full of smoke and old oak scent.
Daylight makes you aware of the consequences.
Everything about you two is easily fractured.
You hadn’t realized how fragile this quiet is.
But then again, you had left him to boost your career.
Everything about this is going to be fragile.
“You covered me, huh?” you say.
Your voice is soft, rough with sleep, carrying across the immaculate stillness of the office. Shelves of case files stand in perfect order. The city hums faintly beyond glass. Everything here is controlled, except the space between you.
“Cleaned me a bit…” You attempt a smile that doesn’t quite land. Honesty has made a habit of slipping past your defenses in this room. “But not down there—”
The words hover, intimate and absurd in equal measure. Across the room, Higuruma Hiromi stills. It’s subtle to you. The pause of ink on paper, the faint tightening along his shoulders. But you’ve always noticed the small fractures in his composure. His pen hovers over the document as if the next word suddenly requires more care than the law usually demands.
“I was still inside for quite a while.” he says.
The statement is delivered in the same tone he uses to cite statute. Every bit of it is factual, unembellished, yet just as much impossible to misinterpret. You could feel your ears turn red. He sets the pen down with deliberate precision.
“I didn’t have the heart to see my hard work disappear.”
The corner of your mouth twitches despite yourself. It is the closest thing to humor he’s allowed this morning. It is also not entirely humor. Heat rises beneath your skin. Not embarrassment, not shame, but the quiet recognition of care expressed in a language that borders on claim and stops, deliberately, at respect.
He finally looks up. There’s a faint flush high on his cheekbones, barely visible in the cool morning light. The cigarette in the ashtray has burned itself into a thin column of ash, forgotten mid-thought.
“You were asleep for a while, though,” he adds, quieter now. “You looked…peaceful.”
The word sits strangely in the air, as if it does not belong to a room built for litigation and controlled ruin. It sounds unfamiliar in his mouth, like something he rarely permits himself to witness, let alone protect.
“I didn’t want to wake you.”
Outside, the city continues its orderly ascent into the day. The morning trains gliding into stations on the minute, crosswalk chimes repeating their polite insistence, the low murmur of a million lives resuming their scheduled negotiations. Tokyo does not pause for private upheavals. It absorbs them, files them away, moves on.
Inside, your chest tightens with the weight of what he’s admitting without saying. He chose to let the night remain intact. He chose not to erase you from it. And more than ever, he wants more of it. Not wholly in the reckless, devouring way of midnight, but in the dangerous quiet of morning, where wanting becomes a decision.
Your fingers tighten on the blanket, knuckles whitening beneath the wool. “You could have woken me up and sent me on my way, Hiromi.” you say again. “My driver is downstairs.”
The reminder lands between you like a line drawn in chalk: escape is available. Logistics are intact. The world you built, the one with schedules, staff, and careful exits, is still waiting at the curb. You were certain you even had a schedule to fulfill today.
His gaze lifts to you, steady, searching. Not pleading. Not apologizing. Simply present. “Dl Yes.” he says. “He is.”
Not was. Not might be. He knows. Of course he knows. He noticed the car idling before dawn, the silhouette in the front seat, the quiet discipline of a driver trained not to ask questions. He leans back slightly in his chair, the movement measured, buying himself distance without retreat.
“I could have woken you, like I used to do, when you had auditions.” he continues. “Ensured you left before the building filled. Before anyone could speculate. Before this became… complicated.”
A pause.
“I did not.”
The admission settles into the room like dust in sunlight, still visible, yet so inescapable. You swallow. “Why?”
He studies you for a long moment, as if weighing which truth will do the least damage and finding none that qualify.
“Because you were not a problem to be managed.” he says at last. “You were someone who finally stopped running…At least that’s how I took last night.”
The words land somewhere deep.
You were bypassing your practiced defenses.
Outside, a train departs. Inside, you feel very still.
“And…I know you would have left and discarded it.” he adds, voice lower now. “Sending you away would have made it easier to pretend this was a lapse.”
The words settle into the space between you. It was not accusatory, nor was it pleading. The way you heard it, you think it was simply a truth he has carried long enough to recognize on sight. Many things can be real at the same time. He will see the truth differently from you, most of all because you were sure you had jaded him as much as his profession had.
You purse your lips, the instinct to deflect rising like muscle memory. “You wanted to cage me.”
His gaze holds yours, steady and unflinching. “You caged me first, sweetheart.” he says.
“I know.” you whisper, wanting to look away in shame.
No heat. No bitterness. Just facts laid bare. “You did so ten years ago. And I still am now. What do you think I feel?”
The question lands harder than any raised voice could. The city hums beyond the glass, indifferent. Inside, the air feels thinner, as if honesty has displaced the oxygen. You open your mouth. You wanted to argue, to dismiss his words, to reach for the practiced defenses that built your life and find none of them fit.
“I know and I just—” Your breath catches.
It was not a lapse. You couldn’t even call it an accident. Not even a moment of weakness you could file under is regrettable but necessary. His eyes do not leave yours. He is not rescuing you from the sentence. He is waiting to see if you will finish it.
Your throat tightens. “It wasn’t.” you try again, softer now. “And that’s the problem.”
The admission changes the shape of the room. His shoulders ease at your words. Perhaps not even in victory, but in recognition. As if a tension he’s held for a decade has finally been named aloud. You think you hold your breath for a long time, transfixed in his gaze.
“You think I wanted to cage you.” he says quietly. “I wanted you to choose me.”
The simplicity of it steals the air from your lungs. So plain and so simple. The boring truth you thought to yourself long ago could not be enough. That safety you had risked for this starlight on the stage. Yet they were words you think you were more fond of hearing now.
“I did choose you.” you whisper. “Once.”
“Yes, you did.” he says to you, as you find yourself standing to move towards him. “And then you chose a life that required you not to. After all, the glamor was tempting, wasn’t it?”
Your fingers curl against the edge of his desk. “You think I didn’t feel it? Walking away like I’d amputated something and calling it maturity?”
His jaw tightens. “I thought you were relieved to see your dreams come true.”
The words are so quiet you almost miss them. You stare at him. “Relieved?”
“You didn’t look back,” he says. “Not once.”
Because if you had, you might have stayed.
Because if you had, you might have ruined him.
Because if you had, you might have ruined yourself.
Both of you would have been miserable, you think.
“I couldn’t.” you say, the truth scraping on its way out. “If I looked back, I would have run. Because I would have been miserable….if I didn’t get to enjoy the life I lived—”
“I know.” Hiromi affirms your words as you stand before him, his clothes pooling over you, hiding nothing but the upper half of your body. He lifts your head, your chin tight in his fingers. You were forced to meet his eyes.
“But now you don’t have that excuse.” He speaks to you, a small smile on his lips.
“No, no…I do not.”
YOU DON’T SEE HIGURUMA HIROMI FOR A COUPLE OF DAYS. But he doesn’t disappear at all like he did many years ago. Instead, he takes the time to tell you about many things happening with the divorce proceedings.
He updates you thoroughly, yet all the while still finding it to be brief and concise, polished to the point that you wonder if he’s talking to you more like a client and not the person he seems to be infatuated with. He sent at odd hours, the kind that suggest he drafted them between hearings or long after the office emptied.
Filed motion to expedite proceedings.
Opposing counsel acknowledged receipt.
Estimated timeline shortened by two weeks.
No emojis. No pleasantries. No mention of that night.
You appreciate it more than you can say. The efficiency. The care hidden inside professional language. He’s using his reputation, his firm, his time to make this easier for you in a quieter, faster, cleaner way. A kindness disguised as procedure.
You type thank you more times than you send it.
Because what are you supposed to say to a man whose life you walked out of once, a decade ago, in pursuit of a future you weren’t sure would love you back? What do you say to the man you reappeared before, all the sudden, so desperate and distressed, asking for help dissolving a marriage you built in the aftermath of leaving him?
What do you say to the man you slept with in his office, as if ten years had folded in on themselves, as if the versions of you that never happened were trying, briefly, to exist? And worst of all, what do you say after confessing the things you should have told him ten years ago?
That you were terrified of staying.
That you loved him in a way that made you feel small and enormous at once.
That you chose your dreams not because they mattered more but because you were afraid you would disappear if you didn’t try.
You had watched the words land in his silence, heavy and irreversible. Now there are only his messages. Far too efficient and distant for your liking. But you supposed it was your karma now. You did break up with him.
Work fills the space where he used to be. You went ahead with a coffee in your hand to the early call times, ate some good instant ramen at the late-night shoots, the mechanical repetition of lines you’ve said so often they no longer feel like yours while drinking bourbon.
Wardrobe racks being brought to your trailer, the beam of the harsh lighting on your skin, the directors and staff calling your name. You move from film set to soundstage, from one role to the next, slipping into other lives so you don’t have to sit too long with your own.
It’s easier that way. On set, you are decisive, luminous, untouchable. You hit your marks. You deliver tears on cue. You fall in love with co-stars beneath artificial rain and forget them the moment the director calls cut.
No one here knows that your phone lights up with legal updates from the man you once almost built a life with. No one here sees you stare at his name until the screen goes dark. No one knows that you are starting to become more fond of him again.
It’s easier than thinking about the last time you saw him. His office lights dimmed, case files pushed aside, the city lights glowing through the windows behind him. Easier than remembering how his hands hesitated before touching you, like he was already bracing for the consequences. Easier than the quiet afterward, when neither of you said what you were both thinking to each other.
This changes everything.
But the world doesn’t stop for complicated feelings. Contracts are signed. Scenes are shot. Your manager reminds you of schedules. Your lawyer reminds you of dates. You could feel your phone buzzing from your trailer table again.
Court confirmed hearing date.
You stare at the message for a long time. The sound behind you disappears into nothing. You try your best to think of something. All the sudden your heart skips a beat. Your thumbs hover over the screen, the cursor blinking in the empty reply field like a pulse.
You type: Thank you for doing this.
Delete.
You type: I’m sorry.
Delete.
You type nothing.
You groan aloud, frustrated.
“You okay, [last name]–san?”
You looked up, feeling a bit embarrassed being caught in the moment. “Y–yes….I’m fine. Just some updates on the divorce.”
“Oh, that’s right!” The staff gasped. “I’m so sorry that this happened to you, [last name]–san. It’s really rough to leave a marriage that lasted that long.”
Not really. You think to yourself. I already slept with my ex turned divorce lawyer….
“Uh…thank you.”
Before long the days passed.
The weather changed.
All of a sudden, you were in court.
The courthouse looms ahead in stark gray, all sharp lines and unforgiving symmetry. You arrive early, sunglasses on. You don’t do it for the press, even when they get your best side of the face in the shot. Instead, you do it for the illusion of distance.
Your heels echo against the marble floors as you step inside, each click too loud in the cavernous lobby. First hearing. Divorce proceedings. Routine, procedural, impersonal. You tell yourself that’s all it is. You can get through this.
And then you see him.
He stands near the courtroom doors, dark suit immaculate, posture straight in that way that always made him seem taller than he is. Higuruma Hiromi looks exactly as he always does in court.
He looked handsome in his suit, standing with severe composure. But you notice the details no one else would: the faint crease between his brows, the way his fingers tighten around the folder in his hand, the fraction of a second he freezes when his eyes meet yours.
It’s the first time you’ve seen him since that night.
For a moment, the courthouse noise fades. The murmur of other cases, the shuffle of papers, the distant echo of a gavel. There is only the space between you, heavy with everything unsaid. You wonder if he regrets it. You wonder if you do.
He inclines his head in a small, formal greeting, the kind reserved for colleagues and opposing counsel. Not for someone whose name he whispered like a confession just days ago.
“Good morning.” he says, voice even with professionalism.
Your throat tightens anyway. “Good morning.” you reply, matching his tone.
You compose yourself as he does. You know that the courtroom doors are opening and the world is watching, and whatever you were in his office cannot exist here. Not for anyone else, not for the press and not even for him. Not today.
He steps closer, stopping at a careful, neutral distance. But it was close enough to speak without raising his voice, far enough that no one could mistake the interaction for anything but legal. You found your lips in a tight line.
“What is it?”
“I received confirmation from the clerk.” he says, eyes flicking briefly to the folder before returning to you. “The judge assigned is known for efficiency. If both parties remain cooperative, this should proceed without delay.”
You nod. “That’s…good.”
A pause. He studies you for a fraction too long, gaze softening in a way that would be imperceptible to anyone else. “You look tired.” he says quietly, then, as if catching himself, adds, “Filming schedule?”
You almost laugh at the awkward correction. “Something like that.”
Another pause stretches between you both, something so thin and fragile. You see him taking a breath as he nodded. “I hope you get some rest soon then.”
“I hope this ends and settles itself, so I can get some rest.”
“I reviewed the financial disclosures. You were not lying.” he continues, voice returning to its measured cadence. “There are no irregularities. Your interests are protected.”
“My interests, huh.” you repeat, the words tasting strange. “Thank you.”
He gives a small nod. “It is my responsibility.”
But you both hear what he doesn’t say: I would have done it even if it wasn’t.
The courtroom doors open wider at that moment. You could tell that the people interested in this entire clown affair had begun filing in. He shifts his weight slightly, as if preparing to step away, to return to the role the world recognizes.
Instead, he says, very quietly. “Did you sleep at all?”
The question lands like a dropped glass. You meet his eyes. “Did you?”
A beat passes. He smiles. “No.” he admits.
The honesty sits between you, raw and unfiled, with no legal language to contain it. Footsteps approach. Voices echo. The world resumes. He clears his throat, the sound soft but decisive. “We should go inside.”
You nod. “Of course.”
He gestures toward the courtroom with professional courtesy, allowing you to enter first. As you pass him, you catch the faint scent of his cologne. It was the same, you think to yourself. Everything about it was achingly familiar.
For one reckless second you are back in his office that night once again, the endless beam of Tokyo Metropolitan’s city lights burning behind him, his hand hovering at your waist like a question he already knew the answer to.
Inside the courtroom, you take your place at the table. He sits beside you, close enough that your sleeves almost touch, yet separated by a distance far greater than the width of polished wood. He leans slightly toward you, voice barely audible.
“We will get through this.” he says.
You whisper back. “I can only hope so.”
The courtroom doors close with a heavy, final sound that reverberates through your chest. You sit beside Higuruma Hiromi, your tender hands folded too tightly in your lap, exhausted eyes fixed on the polished wood of the table as people settle around you.
You could hear the loudness of the papers shuffling, the chairs scraping, the loud yet quiet murmurs filling the air like static. You tell yourself to breathe. Then you feel it. Anxiety flooded through you at that moment.
A presence across the aisle. Familiar in a way that makes your spine go rigid before you even look. Your ex-husband is there, even when he said that he wasn’t going to attend, to focus on a new movie he was working on.
He looks older than the last time you saw him. He was already older, yet this time, he was older beyond his years. Grey everywhere, somber in all of his skin. His shoulders are tense beneath an expensive suit that fits like armor.
His jaw tightens when his gaze lands on you, then flicks. It was brief yet sharp and it was towards the man sitting at your side. To Hiromi. The realization hits him in real time. You see it in the narrowing of his eyes. The way his mouth presses into a thin line. The way his attorney leans toward him, whispering something urgent that he doesn’t seem to hear.
Your pulse roars in your ears. Beside you, Hiromi doesn’t move. But you notice the subtle shift in his posture was evident. You could see how his chest puffed. His shoulders squaring, presence sharpening, like a blade quietly unsheathed.
“Do not look at him.” he murmurs, voice low enough that only you can hear.
But the warning came too late.
You already have.
And it made you both sad and angry.
This was the man you married.
A pitiful shell of a man who took advantage of you.
Your ex-husband’s gaze locks onto yours, and for a moment you are dragged back into the life you are trying to leave. The arguments that looped without resolution, the silences that lasted days, the texts and calls with the other women and so much more.
The slow erosion of something that once felt unbreakable came to you, more and more. He glances again at your strident dark haired lawyer. Recognition dawns. Not personal per say. You think it was more professional.
Higuruma Hiromi was a famous high-profile attorney. He has always had a reputation for ruthless precision. A man who does not take cases he cannot win, and pushes forward without a care in the world, so long as his clients are satisfied.
Your ex leans toward his lawyer, whispering sharply. The lawyer’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly before schooling their expression. You swallowed as you found your gaze towards Hiromi who seemed to not be fazed by it all.
“This is going to get messy, isn’t it?” you whisper.
Hiromi’s reply is calm, measured. “It was always going to be.”
The judge enters. Everyone rises. You barely register the formalities. The case number is read, then the names, then you got lost in all the procedural language. It goes on and on, until your ex-husband’s attorney stands.
“Your Honor.” she begins to say. “My client has concerns regarding the accelerated timeline and—” her gaze flicks toward you, then to Hiromi himself. “—potential conflicts of interest.”
The words land like a slap. "Of course he’ll bring it up.”
Hiromi doesn’t look at you. His eyes remain forward, expression unreadable. “Anticipated.” he murmurs. “Not a worry.”
Your ex-husband stands abruptly. “I’d like it on record at this moment.” he says, voice tight. “My wife’s attorney has a prior personal relationship with her.”
The courtroom stills. Every sound seems to vanish into the high ceiling. Heat floods your face. Your hands go cold. Higuruma Hiromi confidently rises slowly beside you, unhurried, composed. He looks at your ex-husband before focusing on the judge.
“Your Honor, this is not a concern.” he says, voice clear and steady. “I disclosed all relevant professional history to opposing counsel. There is no legal conflict that impairs my ability to represent my client.”
Your ex lets out a short, humorless laugh. “Professional history, huh?” he repeats. “Is that what we’re calling it?”
Your chest tightens. “Please—” you start, but your voice falters.
Hiromi’s hand shifts slightly on the table, not touching you, but close enough that you feel the steadiness of it like a barrier between you and the storm. “There is no conflict. I am her legal representative here, not anything else.”
The judge’s gaze sharpens. “Sir, you will address the court with decorum. There is no conflict here. Mr. Higuruma is a lawyer. The record shall state nothing.”
Hiromi nodded at the judge. “Thank you, Your Honor.”
Your ex’s eyes return to you, and for a moment the anger fractures into something rawer. “Him?” he says, quieter now. “You replaced me with him?”
The question is not legal. Not procedural. Not appropriate for a courtroom. It is personal. It always was. Yet it was more than likely a wound for him, even if he had been cheating first. Regardless of whether he knows you slept with Hiromi or not, he knew that Higuruma Hiromi was your ex-boyfriend. That was worth a bleed. Your throat closes.
Hiromi speaks once again before you can. “My client’s personal life is not on trial.” he says, each word precise. “We are here to dissolve a marriage that has, by both parties’ admission, irretrievably broken down.”
Silence hangs heavy for a moment, broken only by the shuffle of papers and the quiet clearing of throats as the attorneys prepare. You glance at your ex-husband. He’s sitting straighter now, jaw tight, hands clenched over the table. There’s a dangerous tension in his shoulders, like a coiled spring that’s only waiting for the right trigger.
The judge clears her throat again. “We will proceed with the matters relevant to this hearing.”
Chairs creak as everyone settles. But the usual rhythm has come and gone with all of its legal formality and its endless procedural monotony. You feel it in the way your hands tremble in your lap, the faint pulse in your throat.
You stare down at the polished table, seeing the reflection of your own face. You were someone caught between past and present, between two men who know different versions of you. Yet you do not want more of the past, even when one of the past sat beside you. You just wanted to move forward.
Beside you, Higuruma Hiromi leans close enough that only you can hear him. His breath is calm, measured, a quiet anchor. “Stay with me here, okay?” he murmurs. “This is going to be a bit long.”
You lift your head, meeting his eyes. There’s something in his gaze. He was firm with it, almost protective, a silent warning. “I know that.” you reply, forcing a steady tone. “Let’s just get this over with.”
The judge’s gavel has barely settled when the clerk begins the session. “This is the first mediation session regarding the divorce petition filed by the petitioner. Today, we will discuss division of assets, spousal support, and any other matters requiring mutual agreement. Please provide statements as necessary.”
You swallow hard, your hands still trembling slightly in your lap. Across the aisle, your ex-husband sits rigid, jaw tight, fists clenched. The air between you is sharp, charged. It was not welcoming. You don’t expect it to be when he wasn’t done with having more influence with you.
The mediator gestures to your ex. “Please begin.”
Your ex rises abruptly, voice taut. “I…I don’t accept the terms of this divorce!” His gaze fixes on you, fiery and wounded. “I don’t agree with any of it!”
You brace yourself, fingers tightening around your own notes. Hiromi leans close, his voice low. “Stay calm. Answer only when necessary.”
But your ex isn’t listening. He stands taller, chest puffed with a dangerous energy. “You can’t just walk away! You can’t—”
Before he finishes, he lunges toward you. Your body freezes. Hiromi reacts instantly. He steps in, positioning himself between you and your ex. Your ex’s momentum carries forward, and instead of hitting you, he collides with Hiromi.
The impact thuds sharply against Hiromi’s chest, but Hiromi doesn’t stumble or falter. Instead, he shifts his weight, steadying your ex-husband without letting him fall, his darkened eyes hard and commanding.
“Sit down. Now, sir. Or we’ll be having these procedures with a criminal assault case too.” Hiromi says, voice low but unyielding. Every word carries a precision that makes your ex pause mid-motion.
Gasps echo through the courtroom. The attorneys snap to attention. The mediator’s pen hovers in midair, but Hiromi doesn’t flinch. Your ex stumbles back, chest heaving, glare still locked on you. He mutters incoherent threats, but Hiromi’s calm presence is unbreakable.
You exhale shakily, hands pressed to the table. “I…I just wanted—”
Hiromi’s hand gestures slightly, firm but subtle. “You will speak only when addressed by the court. Go back to your position, sir.”
Your ex glares, mutters under his breath, but slumps back and this time, remains seated. His lawyer seems apologetic to all of you and to the judge. Hiromi sighs as he gathers his composure before going back to his seat.
You lean slightly toward Hiromi, whispering, “Thank you. I…I don’t even know what would’ve happened if you weren’t here.”
He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he slides a document slightly closer to you, the corners brushing your fingers. It’s neat, precise. It was the summary of the points the court will discuss today, written in Hiromi’s careful hand.
“Focus on what matters, okay?” he murmurs, voice low enough that only you can hear. His eyes flick briefly to your ex, sharp and calculating. “Answer only what is necessary. Don’t give him more than he’s entitled to.”
You nod, swallowing hard. “I…I’ll try.”
He gives the barest tilt of his head in acknowledgment, eyes softening just enough to remind you he’s not just your lawyer today. He’s a shield. And just as much, he’s a man that cares for you above all else.
The mediator calls the session back into order. “We will begin with a review of joint assets. Please provide an account of your holdings.”
Your ex-husband leans forward immediately, voice sharp, venomous. “I should be entitled to more than half! She—she’s hiding things! She thinks she can walk away with everything while I—”
Hiromi’s eyes flick to him, icy calm. “Your Honor, if I may?” he interrupts smoothly. “My client has disclosed all joint accounts, investments, and property. Allegations of undisclosed assets are unsubstantiated.”
The ex’s face flushes red. “I—this isn’t fair! After everything—after what she did—”
You stiffen. He thinks he has moral leverage, but Hiromi’s presence is steady, unwavering. “Sir, you cannot argue with the law.” Hiromi says, voice firm but controlled. “And the law does not reward infidelity. Any personal grievances are irrelevant to the division of property. The petitioner is entitled to exactly what the law grants her.”
The courtroom falls silent. Your ex sputters, muttering under his breath, “I can’t believe this… she—she cheated me…”
You feel a flush of anger, your chest tightening. Hiromi leans slightly toward you, whispering, “Ignore him. Stick to the facts. We protect only what is yours. Nothing more, nothing less.”
You nod at him. You took a breath, letting the control of the situation settle in. When asked to provide information about your finances, you answer calmly, factually, leaving nothing out but adding nothing extra.
Your ex grows more frustrated. “And what about the house? The savings? I—she can’t just—”
Hiromi interrupts, smooth and precise. “Your Honor, the petitioner has already offered her fair share for the jointly owned home, as according to the law. Further demands are without legal basis.”
“Without legal basis?” Your ex’s voice rises. “I earned half of everything while she—while she—”
Hiromi’s gaze snaps to him, unflinching. “Your Honor.” he says, voice low and deadly calm. “The petitioner’s entitlement is calculated according to law, regardless of any personal misconduct by either party. Attempts to claim more than legally entitled are not permitted.”
Your ex freezes, jaw tight, caught between fury and impotence. He mutters something incoherent and sits down, defeated for the moment, the tension around him simmering but contained.
The mediator continues, going step by step through assets, savings, the main residence, and potential spousal support. Hiromi handles every challenge, keeping your ex’s arguments firmly grounded in reality. Each time your ex tries to exaggerate or claim more, Hiromi counters calmly, legally, without a trace of emotion.
By the end of the session, partial agreements are reached. The joint assets are divided according to law, the house’s status is clarified, and once it is sold, you share the profit. The spousal support is conceded, because your ex-husband had cheated. He has nothing beyond what the law allows and certainly nothing more.
You lean back slightly, a fragile sense of relief washing over you. The chaos through these many hours, the ceaseless verbal attacks, the endless grasping, the bitter attempts to punish you, has been neutralized for now.
Hiromi leans slightly toward you as you gather your bag, his voice quiet but firm. “Today went exactly as it should. You protected everything you’re entitled to. He won’t take more than the law allows, don’t worry.”
“I know that but I worry.”
“He cheated first. He has no moral ground here, either.” He tells you straight. “Don’t worry about how everyone will react. You are the victim here.”
You exhale slowly, feeling the tension finally begin to drain. “I…I couldn’t have done this alone.” you whisper.
“You didn’t have to.” he replies simply. “That’s why I’m here.”
THE MEDIATIONS COME AND GO, ONE AFTER THE OTHER AND YOU ATTEND EACH AND EVERYONE. Your ex-husband stops attending altogether. At first, it was excuses, vague claims of work obligations, illness. Whatever the reason, the court accepts them, and the sessions proceed without him.
When he does attend, he always causes nothing but grievances to you. The most you would say was bringing the woman he had cheated on you with, as “his most ardent support” in the proceedings. That had caused you much anger, and a verbal match ensued.
It wasn’t long before you started to become infuriated with each and everything he has said, especially with the things he had done. You asked the judge to put a stop to his attacks and the judge all together barred him from his own divorce proceedings.
With every mediation that passed, your ex-husband’s absence became the new normal. Hiromi and you were left alone at the table with his associates, the court mediators, and the procedural formalities, but no one challenged you directly. Your answers remained calm, precise, factual. There was no room for him to maneuver, no way for him to manipulate the process.
Hiromi’s presence beside you made all the difference. His posture, calm and unflinching, his voice low but firm when speaking on your behalf. Every motion, every word, seemed measured to protect you while keeping things efficient.
What should have been tense, exhausting, and emotional hearings had become almost mechanical under his guidance. You began to rely on that steadiness, letting him take the weight of confrontation while you followed his lead.
Eventually, you noticed something strange happening. The tight knot of anxiety you used to carry before each session began to loosen. Sitting across from him, listening to his calm explanations, watching him handle lawyers and mediators alike, you realized you were…calm. Comfortable, even.
It wasn’t just the court. It was everything about being with him. His patience with you in everything was impeccable. In every question, every fear, every irrational worry, it was everything to you.
And it was not limited to the courthouse. It extended into private conversations, even into the quiet moments between you in his apartment, or in the rare times when you found yourselves together at his place after long days. Even in bed, his patience never faltered.
There was no judgment, no rush, no pressure. It was just a steady, patient understanding of you. Wanting you, in ways that your ex-husband never had the patience or desire to desire. Perhaps that was what made it even more beautiful to you.
You let yourself realize, finally, that the divorce was no longer the storm it had once been. The documents, the court dates, the ex-husband’s fleeting threats. All of them existed, but they no longer defined your sense of stability. You were protected. You were in good hands. In Hiromi’s hands, most of all.
And yet, a different worry began to creep in. A worry of a more trivial, but no less real kind. You glanced down at your phone during a lunch “meeting” that everyone assumed was strictly professional.
Hiromi reached across the table to push a menu closer to you, his fingers brushing yours for just a second too long. He didn’t look up from the documents in front of him, but you felt it. You felt the warmth that had long belonged only to you.
A notification popped up on your phone: a journalist’s account of a photo snapped from outside the restaurant. Someone had caught a glimpse of you and Hiromi leaning toward each other over papers and coffee, captions speculating about more than just legal discussions.
You groaned softly. “Great. Just great. We’re officially the courthouse power couple now.” you muttered, not looking up from your phone.
“Maybe outside of the courthouse too, but well. Besides the point.” Hiromi glanced at you over the top of his folder, eyes sharp but amused. “Are you worried about what they think?” he asked, voice low, calm, and entirely too knowing.
“I can’t help it, I suppose.” you said, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Half the time, we’re pretending this is all strictly ‘lawyer and client’ for the world to see but…everyone can see us now. They’re going to assume the wrong things.”
He smiled faintly, the corners of his mouth tilting in that way that always made your pulse skip. “Let them assume. We know the truth, don’t we?”
You exhaled, realizing he was right. No matter the whispers, the photographs, the attention, you and Hiromi knew what was real. That was all that mattered. Only the truth you both hold matters.
Still, you couldn’t help glancing at the phone one more time, thinking to yourself, if someone got a good photo of the two of you laughing over lunch, leaning a little too close, sharing the same umbrella after a drizzle, it would be chaos. But maybe, just maybe, it was a chaos you didn’t entirely mind.
By the time the next formal hearing arrives, something has changed. The courthouse lobby is buzzing with life. A few journalists linger near the entrance, cameras discreetly aimed at the front doors. Then there were more in other places within the facilities itself.
Many people all but flooded in the corridors and the hallways and they all whisper as you walk past them with your bodyguards and your entourage. It’s not that you did anything public, at least, not intentionally.
But your previous relationship with Higuruma Hiromi, the story of your messy, public divorce, and the glimpses of your closeness during mediations came to light, this has also made you both figures of fascination in the public eye.
“Seems we’ve become the courthouse’s most talked-about case.” Hiromi murmurs as you ascend the steps, his tone dry but amused. He adjusts his tie with that effortless composure that always makes him look taller, sharper, untouchable. “It’s been a while since I have had a cult following.”
You glance at him, smirking despite the nerves prickling your skin. “Cult following, huh? Because we’re…efficient?”
He shoots you a look, one corner of his mouth quivering. “Not because of efficiency. And you know that. I know you see the edits on the internet.”
“They’re not exactly what I think of every time we’re together.”
He pauses, his eyes narrowing, getting darker. “Then what do you think about?”
“Something else.” you say almost too confidently, looking at him, and then his body. “You know what I like.”
“Your professionalism wavers easily, it would seem.”
“So does yours.”
Inside the courtroom, the atmosphere is different. Everyone in the room started to glance toward you as you entered, a murmur of recognition passing quietly through the gallery. Some nod politely, others whisper behind their hands. Your presence here, once private and procedural, now feels performative, almost the same as it usually was when you were on the film set.
You slide into your seat, Hiromi beside you as always. His tender, caring hand brushes briefly against yours, not in a claim, but a grounding touch. You notice the slight tightening of his fingers, subtle enough that only you would feel it.
“Focus.” he murmurs, eyes forward. “They’ll stare, they’ll whisper. It doesn’t matter.”
You nod, though your stomach twists. Every eye in the room seems to measure the distance between the two of you, the ease of your closeness, the quiet familiarity that’s impossible to ignore.
The mediator calls the session to order, but the whispered attention doesn’t fade. Your ex’s absence is glaringly obvious now. His chair remains empty. The judge raises an eyebrow, but neither you nor Hiromi flinch. You are the center of the room, the story. You are the ones in control.
Hiromi leans slightly toward you, voice low. “Remember what we’ve done. All your assets, your reputation are secure. He can’t touch anything anymore. This is just…noise.”
You let out a small, almost humorless laugh. “It feels like we’re celebrities in a soap opera.”
He glances at you, expression unreadable. “If it keeps your ex from showing up, I’ll allow the end of the soap opera.”
For a moment, the tension lightens. The eyes, the whispers, the cameras. They are distractions, nothing more. But you feel it, a strange thrill: you and Hiromi, together, untouchable in the eyes of the court, and impossible to ignore.
The hearing begins. Questions are procedural, predictable. But every time your ex’s name comes up, the emptiness of his chair resonates like a victory to you. Hiromi answers calmly, legally, flawlessly, leaving no room for dispute. Every asset, every account, every legal right you have is protected.
As the session wraps, the judge nods. “The court will continue the remaining matters on the scheduled date. This hearing is adjourned.”
You rise, gathering your papers, your bag, your composure. Hiromi stands beside you, close enough that the press and onlookers can see the subtle connection between you. Nothing overt, nothing staged but undeniable.
Outside the courtroom, whispers follow you down the marble steps. People notice the way he walks beside you, the ease of your closeness, the quiet strength in your interactions. He takes your hand in his. Your eyes widened slightly.
Hiromi leans slightly toward you as you exit. “They’ll talk, either way. Close or not, holding hands or not, it’s the same.” he murmurs. “Let them all talk. It changes nothing here.”
You squeeze his hand, fingers curling instinctively around his, feeling the warmth and quiet strength radiating through the simple touch. For a moment, the chatter, the flashing cameras, the whispers, they all fade.
You are acutely aware of the weight of his presence beside you leaning closer at each moment, steady enough to ground you, entirely willing ot be yours in that small moment, as everyone's eyes, everyone's lenses turned to th two of you.
“I…” you start, unsure what to say, your voice low. “I didn’t expect—”
Hiromi gives a small, knowing smile, eyes forward. “That you’d notice? Or that you’d care?”
“Both, I suppose.” you admit, your throat is tight. “It’s……weird. Being seen like this. Everyone is staring. And yet, it doesn’t feel wrong.”
“It shouldn’t, it never should have.” he murmurs, tightening his grip just slightly, enough to anchor you without drawing unnecessary attention. “They can talk all they want. None of it changes what’s real. None of it changes us.”
You glance down at your joined hands, the simple act carrying a weight far beyond its size. The world may have spun stories around you, assigned motives and imagined scandals but here, on the steps, walking away from the courtroom, you feel a rare, quiet certainty.
“Do you think they’ll follow us?” you ask, a wry note creeping into your voice despite the tension. “The reporters, the whispers, the courthouse gossip?”
Hiromi shrugs almost imperceptibly, a small, controlled movement that somehow carries both amusement and warning. “Let them. This isn’t about them. We’re not performing, we’re…here.”
“They’ll call you no good.”
“Then let them.” Hiromi smiles at you. “We’re happy. That’s all that matters here, isn’t it?”
His words settle into your chest like a promise. Amid the chaos of everything that had been happening in that short amount of time, there is a clarity, a center you never thought you’d have.
With Higuruma Hiromi beside you, even a hand held quietly in public feels like armor as much as his words were in the courthouse. It was everything and more.
A flash from a camera catches the corner of your eye. You instinctively glance at the crowd, then back at him. Hiromi’s gaze meets yours, steady and unwavering. There’s a subtle challenge there, but also a quiet reassurance.
“Ready?” he asks.
You nod, drawing in a deep, steadying breath. “Ready.”
And together, you walk down the steps, hand in hand, letting the whispers follow behind you. The courthouse fades in the distance, the world is still watching, still talking but that doesn't matter. Not when you are happy, not when he is happy. You were aware you were no good, but so is he. But that’s better, because you can be the same together.
THE SUN WAS TOO BRIGHT. You moan aloud, the sound tearing itself free before you can think to stop it. On this day of all days, the day the divorce was officially granted, you find yourself trapped in Higuruma Hiromi’s embrace, his body pressing against yours with a weight that is both grounding and consuming.
The world outside doesn’t exist. The courthouse, the whispers, the cameras, the lingering traces of your ex-husband’s attempts to claim what was never his, everything was gone. They all dissolve into nothingness the moment Hiromi’s harsh, yet careful hands settle over you.
Skin slides against skin, slick with the heat of desire and the rawness of emotion. Every movement is charged, urgent, yet precise, a reflection of the man beside you who has guided you, protected you, and understood you in ways no one else ever could.
You arch into him instinctively, clinging to the familiar strength of his body, feeling the steady, deliberate rhythm of his control. He keeps you close, almost cruelly, his hands tracing paths over your curves with a confidence that borders on domination.
“Today…” you gasp, voice trembling. “Fuck….…I can’t…not think of you.”
Hiromi’s lips brush against your neck, his voice low and husky. “You don’t have to think. You only need to feel. Here. With me.”
He had decided earlier that morning that attending court was a waste of time, especially getting out of bed when you were underneath his sheets, tainted by his touch. One phone call led to his underlings being able to handle the paperwork and formalities.
All that mattered that special morning was claiming you, marking you as his own once again. His hands gripped your hips tightly, pulling you onto his cock with each snap of his hips. The sound of flesh slapping against flesh filled the room, mingling with your moans and his grunts of pleasure.
"Fuck, fuck…." Hiromi growled freely. "You feel so good. So tight around my cock."
He leaned down, capturing your lips in a bruising kiss as he continued to pound into you relentlessly. He broke the kiss, his lips trailing down your neck as he bit and sucked at the sensitive skin. He knew he was leaving marks, claiming you in the most primal way possible.
But he didn't care. Let the whole world see that you belonged to him now. He felt your walls starting to flutter around him, signaling your impending orgasm. He reached between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing tight circles around it.
"Come for me, sweetheart.” he demanded. "Come on my cock like a good girl."
His thrusts became erratic, his own release barreling down on him as he chased yours. His thumb pressed hard against your clit, pushing you over the edge. You screamed his name as you came, your pussy clamping down around him like a vice. That was all it took to send him spiraling into his own orgasm. He buried himself deep inside you with a roar, filling you with his hot seed as he shuddered above you.
Even as he emptied himself inside you, Higuruma Hiromi knew he wasn't done. Not by a long shot. He had waited too long for this for a long time, dreamed of this moment with you in his bed for years and years. He wasn't about to let it end so quickly. He rolled his hips, grinding his still-hard cock against your sensitive flesh as he felt himself starting to swell again.
"I'm not done with you yet, sweetheart," he murmured again, voice rough and low, vibrating against your skin. "I'm going to take and take, push and push. We have something to celebrate, after ten years, after all."
You shivered violently, breath hitching. Your hands clutched at him, pulling him closer, needing every inch of his body. "Hiromi… please…" you gasped, words breaking into moans, incoherent, but full of longing.
He didn’t answer with words. He pulled out slowly, watching as his cum leaked out of your well-used hole. Then he flipped you over onto your stomach and entered you from behind in one hard thrust, setting a brutal pace that had the headboard slamming against the wall.
He just moved closer, pressing into you with a fierce, unrelenting rhythm that stole your breath. Every thrust, every movement sent sparks through your nerves, and your body melted against his, all thought and restraint vanishing.
You moaned loudly, arching into him, lost. Lost in the heat, lost in the feel of him, lost in the sensation of being wanted, claimed, worshiped. “Ah… I can’t… can’t hold it…”
"Don't hold back, sweetheart. Keep screaming, keep meeting me half way." Hiromi growled against your ear. "I want to feel you come apart on my cock. I want to hear you scream my name."
You do as he says, screaming loud as his gruff hands gripped your hips tightly, pulling you back onto him with each thrust. The heat makes you feel like you could pass out at any moment. You feel drool pouring out the corner of your lips as he starts kissing you, his tongue pushing deep into your throat as you moan.
The more he pushed deeper, the faster he went, the sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room with echoes that were sure to be more thunderous than before. Your hands on his hair, his lips now kissing your neck, as much as he started sucking and biting.
Your pleasures were mingling with your moans and his grunts of pleasure. He could feel your walls starting to flutter around him once again, signaling your impending orgasm. He reached around, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing tight circles around it.
"Come for me, pretty sweetheart." he demanded of you, this time more hoarse than before. "Come all over my cock like the good babe you always have been."
Your body obeyed his command, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave. You screamed his name over and over, losing the tone as it cracks in the flood of pleasure, your pussy clamping down around him like a vice as you came undone.
Hiromi followed you over the edge, his own release hitting him hard. He buried himself deep inside you with a roar, filling you with his hot seed as he shuddered above you. He collapsed onto you, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath.
Your body trembled beneath him, still shivering from the intensity of your climax, each pulse of pleasure leaving you weak and raw. Hiromi’s weight pressed you gently against the sheets, grounding you even as your mind spun from the aftermath.
You could feel the lingering warmth of him inside you, the heat of his release, and it anchored every shiver, every quiver. He stayed there, chest pressed against yours, breathing heavy, and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat through the thin layer of skin between you was intoxicating.
His fingers traced slow, deliberate patterns across your shoulders, down your arms, lingering in places meant only for him. “I love you. I love you more than I could ever describe. Even when you’re no good, I want to be with you.”
Your breath hitched at his words, the raw honesty in his voice sending a shiver straight through you. “Hiromi…You don’t have to…” you whispered, voice trembling. You…you don’t have to say that. You…you’ve given me everything already.”
He lifted his head slightly, eyes locking with yours, dark and unflinching. “No, no.” he said firmly, brushing a damp strand of hair from your face. “I have to say it.”
“Hiromi—”
“Because if I don’t, you might think—” His hand cupped your cheek, thumb brushing over your skin. “—that any of this is just physical. That any of what I feel can be contained by words, by touches, by…this.”
Your chest tightened. “I…I don’t deserve you sometimes, I hurt you. I broke your heart and I….” you admitted, voice breaking. “After everything—after the mess with him, after—” You stopped yourself, not trusting your voice.
Hiromi shook his head, pressing another kiss to your forehead, soft and grounding. “Stop it, okay?” he murmured. “Don’t apologize. Don’t justify. You’re not ‘no good’ to me. You’re human. You wanted a life and I just….things are different now. Nothing can prevent us from being together.”
You felt overcome with emotion at his confession. “Hiromi….”
“And I…I want every part of you. Every flawed, beautiful, messy part. That’s why I’m here. That’s why I stayed.”
You felt tears prick the corners of your eyes, a mixture of relief, exhaustion, and the lingering thrill of what had just passed between you. “I’ve never…felt this safe with anyone. Only you. Even back then….” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper
Hiromi tightened his hold, pressing his body closer. “Good.” he breathed. “Because I’m not going anywhere. Not tonight, not tomorrow, not ever. You don’t have to worry. You don’t have to carry the weight alone. Ever again.”
“Hiromi.”
“There’s nothing to forgive.” He whispers to you, pressing a kiss on your cheek, then to your lips. He smiles. “Let me love you.”
You tilted your head, pressing a kiss to his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. “I…I love you too, Hiromi. More than words could describe.” you whispered, letting yourself finally melt into the warmth of him. “I’ve been waiting…I’ve been holding back for so long, and now…I can’t anymore. I just…”
“You don’t have to say more, okay?” he interrupted softly, nuzzling into your hair. “I know. Every look, every touch, every time you let me in…it tells me more than words ever could.”
You rested your head against him, chest rising and falling against his, shivers still running through your limbs. “Thank you.”
“No, no.” He shakes his head, smiling wider. “Thank you.”
epilogue
A few months later, the same courthouse that once echoed with the hollow finality of your long suffering marriage in divorce now buzzed with a different kind of anticipation. It wasn’t exactly the same fanfare, but it was everything to you.
The Tokyo District Court was reserved compared to the grand hall wedding you had with your ex-husband. But even with all fluorescent lights, polished floors, and quiet authority, this was probably a better wedding to you than the first one.
The last time you stood there to declare your wedding after the glamorous ceremony, your hands had trembled as the clerk stamped the final page. The air had felt heavy, like something irreversible had just been carved into stone. This time, your hands were steady.
The clerk recognized you. Her brows lifted almost imperceptibly before her professional composure returned. Papers were placed in front of you again. A pen slid across the desk. Beside you stood the infamous divorce lawyer Higuruma Hiromi.
He looked as he always did. Dashing in his immaculate suit, tie aligned with near-mathematical precision, expression composed enough to intimidate a courtroom. Yet there was something unmistakably softer in his gaze when it turned to you. His hand rested at the small of your back, firm and grounding, as though the world itself might tilt without his steadying touch.
“I suppose this is ironic, isn’t it?” you murmured, glancing at the very bench where you once sat alone.
“The law is not concerned with irony. It records conclusions and beginnings with equal neutrality, sweetheart.”
You smiled faintly. “And what is this?”
His fingers intertwined with yours. Warm. Certain. “A new precedent….One I intend to uphold for the rest of my life.”
There were no sweeping violins. No dramatic audience. Only a quiet exchange of vows that felt far more binding than any spectacle could offer. Your voice wavered only once, not from doubt, but from the overwhelming clarity of knowing you were choosing again. This time, without any intention to let go.
When the final signature was placed and the declaration made, the sound that echoed in the hallway was not the hollow stamp of loss. It was your laughter. You stepped out of those courthouse doors no longer carrying the weight of something broken, but the certainty of something rebuilt.
“I’m very happy to call you my wife.” Hiromi whispered against your skin, pressing a kiss on your cheek.
You giggled. “I’m very happy to call you my husband too.”
It caused quite a stir. But of course it would. He was your long time ex-boyfriend, the one who represented you in your divorce and now after just mere months of reconnecting, you were both getting married like nothing happened. Yet that was just life.
Life was as unpredictable as the weather. But this unpredictability was more than welcome to you, to him. It was all you both could have ever strived for after such a long time being apart, suffering in the silence of your own respective chaotic worlds.
But now things made sense.
Being together made sense.
Being happy made sense.
Months later, the world was louder. The red carpet stretched endlessly beneath your heels, a river of crimson beneath flashes of white light. The premiere banner of your new film towered behind you, your name emblazoned in gold.
Reporters called out questions in overlapping waves. Microphones extended toward you like reaching hands. And beside you, as he had been since that quiet courthouse a few months ago, stood Higuruma Hiromi, your husband.
He wore a tailored black tuxedo now, the severity softened by the unmistakable pride in his posture. His hand never left your waist, ever so protective and careful. Your own hand, where your gleaming wedding band shone, rested instinctively against the gentle curve of your stomach.
You were pregnant.
You both were happy about it.
And certainly, it seems everyone is too.
The news had broken hours before the premiere, it was the right time, seeing as you were already far along. Headlines called it shocking. It was so sudden, so unexpected. It was the effect of that beautiful whirlwind romance that people did not even expect.
The internet, as always, had opinions. People always had something to say about things. But none of that noise reached you the way his quiet voice did when he leaned closer. He was all that mattered to you, as much as you were all that mattered to him.
“Are you tired?” he asked, low enough that only you could hear.
“I’m fine, sweetie.” you assured him. “I have a very capable attorney ensuring my safety.”
A faint smile ghosted across his lips. “But I’m not just your attorney now, no?”
You giggled happily. “No, no. You’re also my equally very capable husband.”
“That’s what I like to hear.” he whispers to you, kissing your lips, which makes you giggle even more.
A reporter shouted, “How does it feel to be newly married and expecting while starring in the most anticipated film of the year?”
“It’s amazing! It’s everything that one can dream of, after a long long winter.” you tell them, smiling and waving at everyone. The cameras flicker even more. “I’m with someone that makes it all easier.”
Hiromi’s gaze looked at you lovingly before it flicked toward the cameras, measured and calm. “Life rarely adheres to strict timelines. But when events align in one’s favor, it would be unreasonable not to express gratitude and contentment.”
You laughed softly, the sound warm despite the chaos. “He means we’re very happy.”
The flashes intensified even more as your husband smiled and kissed you again, everyone eager to capture every angle of that kiss. Before long, you both moved along, but even then, everyone was crazed in capturing more of you two.
The protective curve of his arm around you, the way he adjusted his pace to match yours, the softness in his eyes that only ever appeared when he thought no one else was looking. It would be on the front page of every newspaper, article and social media site before the end of the night.
Once, that courthouse had marked your ending.
Now, it was merely a footnote in a far greater story.
You leaned toward him as photographers called for one final shot. “Marrying you in that building might be my favorite plot twist.”
Hiromi glanced down at you with happiness, nothing else mattered now. “Then let us ensure…..that every chapter that follows from here on out surpasses it.”
fratboy!gojo and fratboy!eren who originally made it a bet to see who could get you to fold first, the prize being bragging rights and an unlimited supply of weed. they both approached you at the same time with a subtle “hey” before handing you a cup of alcohol. they kinda just bullshitted with you the whole time. asking you obvious questions like, “oh you’re in our chem class right?” “i think you sit a few seats away from us.”
fratboy!gojo and fratboy!eren who thought it would be funny to ask you about your sex life, but to their complete surprise, you complied and told them everything. what you’re into, your kinks, fantasies, wet dreams you’ve had. all they could do is listen with their mouths wide open and their cocks hard. what started as a bet unfolded into something much more interesting, and much more dangerous. who knew the smartest girl in class turned out to be a slut?!
fratboy!gojo and fratboy!eren who mutually agreed to end the party early just to get a taste of your pussy. none of them caring about the bet anymore, they just wanted to watch the pretty nerd break like a kit kat and fall apart on their cocks. they wanted to do everything you fantasized about to you.
fratboy!gojo and fratboy!eren whose fucking you into oblivion. they have you laying your back on the couch, gojo’s cock sinked deep into your wet pussy and eren standing up, roughly fucking his cock into your mouth. you were slobbering and drooling all over his shaft while gojo’s cock abused your tight hole, his hand rubbing circles around your sensitive twitching clit.
fratboy!gojo and fratboy!eren who talk to you like you’re nothing but a fucktoy to them. “fuuckk yeahh— tell me who this pussy belongs to. us, right?” “fuckin’ love how this virgin pussy feels wrapped around my cock. god you feel so tight and warm.” “gonna make sure our cocks is the only thing you think about. no more stupid chemistry or math— just us.”
fratboy!gojo whose quite literally double comboing you, the feeling nauseating. he’s fucking and choking you at he same time, hips snapping into your pussy as he continues to hit that spot that makes you see stars. “slutty nerds gonna cum all over my cock? aww poor bab— wait— you said you need to pee?!”
fratboy!eren who stares in absolute disbelief as he watches you squirt all over gojo’s cock, he nearly came in your mouth at the sight of you forcing gojo’s cock out your tight hole because of how messy it was. “holy shit— nerds a fuckin’ squirter.” yeah, eren was practically whining at this point.
fratboy!gojo and fratboy!eren who ended up giving you their numbers, not just for the bet but because they were more than ready to link up for a second round with you.
