summary: a new tenant moves into the empty suite adjacent from the higuruma law office. another accountant? no. a tax firm? worse. an acclaimed "spiritual medium." he's seen the business model hundreds of times before. predatory. fraudulent. spurred by the instinct to prove her work as illegitimate, he begins to observe her. but the deeper he looks, the more his certainty begins to unravel.
contains: pre-canon higuruma. medium!reader. rivals to lovers. smoking + drinking. light angst. you're both miserable workaholics. eventual smut at the end. reader and higu are both kinda switchy. higuruma is kinda pervy. oral (f!receiving), p in v.
a/n: i can't even lie this entire fic is inspired by this tweet. listened to sade and gloomy jazz the entire time too. depressing mature office romance higuruma save me. first long fic ever guys don't kill me... just a little #Experiment
playlist link - wc: 16k
the office is quiet in the way it always is in the late afternoon.
papers stacked in neat, deliberate piles. fluorescent lights buzzing if you listen close enough. passing hums of cars vibrating the coffee mug on his desk gently.
hiromi higuruma- scratching his pen idly against the paper, reviewing the same document for the third time.
his eyes don’t flinch at the gentle knock on the office’s door.
"come in," he murmurs, too low for whoever is on the other side to hear. he already knows who it is.
shimizu steps in, brighter than the room allows for. awfully chipper, he notes.
"ah- higuruma-san, you're still here."
"i usually am." dry. automatic.
she glides to her cubicle, shrugging off her coat and tossing it over the back of her chair. "i just thought you'd have been out for lunch."
he sighs, low and long, eyes descending to the next frame of text.
"didn't take one."
shimizu's lip tugs upwards as she gawks.
"hahh? are you still on that fraud case?"
"...no... i'm on the hit and run now."
"the hit and run?!" her voice peaks as she repeats it, disbelief loud enough to echo down the hall.
"yes.” he say it’s like it’s obvious. eyes closed in a brace too late for her noise. “miyamoto-san. the nineteen year old from sendai."
“god, i’m not talking about the case,” she groans. “i’m talking about you not leaving that chair for the past six hours.”
a quiet laugh rumbles in higuruma's chest. "it's my job." as if neglecting his well being is a part of that description.
shimizu clicks her tongue at that, scooting her chair in. unbelievable.
their voices are absent for a moment, just typing and scrawling filling the small office. then, shimizu speaks.
"y'know, i found out a little something about myself the other day."
higuruma grunts in acknowledgment, still scanning the page.
"apparently my star sign says i'm argumentative. isn't that funny?" she rocks back in her chair, entirely unconcerned with her actual workload.
he pauses. just for a second.
"...hm."
“but it also said i’m too empathetic,” she continues, undeterred. “like, i take on other people’s problems as my own. so because arguing is basically my job, i get too invested at my own detriment-”
"accurate, right? it's like it was destined!"
her chair squeaks gently as she pushes back on it, arms spreading out fantasically.
met only with silence, and a dissatisfied look on higuruma's face.
she shrinks in on herself with a pout. this guy ruins everything.
"and who told you all this?"
"the... new tenant..." shimizu mumbled, looking down like a guilty dog.
"what new tenant."
"you haven't seen her? the medium- she's in the-"
"suite 203." he interrupts. short.
yes, he'd seen you. well, not you, but your... "business."
his eyes had hitched on the sign as he came and went the past three days. the plaque itself was neat enough. polished. not some handwritten cardboard advertisement taped crookedly to the wall.
the building already housed enough nonsense to irritate him on principle.
a tax consultant with a waiting room no one ever sat in. a chiropactor that burned incense strong enough to give him a headache each time he passed by it. a software startup that consisted of two men and an idea that would never survive contact with reality.
now this.
'spirits and such consultation office'
no credentials. no framework. no accountability.
"oh- so you have!"
"i haven't met her."
“ugh- she’s the sweetest,” shimizu insists, leaning forward in her chair. “she invited me in when i passed by her office. her assistant made me tea- he looked like a high schooler. isn’t that sweet?”
"that doesn't help her case."
shimizu stills and groans, rolling her eyes as she leans back in her chair. "oh, come on."
he says nothing.
shimizu sighs, half amused, half exasperated. "i knew you'd react like this."
"react like what?”
"like she's running an organ trafficking ring out of her suite."
higuruma clicks his pen closed, file long forgotten in favor of this nonsense- which is now apparently plaguing his assistant.
“she is charging people for divination services,” he says. “apparently with an underage employee as well.”
"so?"
"so," he repeats, drawing out his vowel, "that is generally how scams work."
shimizu makes a face, but there’s no real bite to it. she reaches for her coffee, takes a sip- then pauses, remembering something better. like this'll be the statement to get him.
"she was good. she read my natal chart for me."
higuruma blinks once.
"my natal chart. what i was just telling you about."
he looked at her the same way he did defendants when they'd just made a decision against their own interests. still silent.
"don't look at me like that. i know how it sounds."
"do you?"
"yes." she speaks, puffing her cheeks. "i do."
"then explain why you're saying it to me in this office."
"becaauuse-" she twirls in her chair once.
"it was good."
"good.” he echoes dismissively.
"scary good."
that's it. that hook. the line every conman needed- not just believable enough to hold, but unbelievable enough to prompt repeating. he's seen it all before.
"meaning?” he huffs, folding his arms.
"asked me for my birthday- time and everything. then she drew the whole thing out by hand. explained what each bit was as she did it."
"she drew a circle on paper."
"she drew it fast," shimizu corrected, offended on the strangers behalf. "she knew exactly what she was doing. there was no... no filibustering. no upselling."
"people memorize systems."
"higuruma."
she spoke, her tone announcing how impossible he was being. it did not move him.
"you entered a consultation. you provided personal data-" he starts, tone impatient as if he's lecturing a child.
"i gave her my birthday."
"...data."
shimizu crosses her arms. higuruma taps his pen lightly against the desk, continuing his lecture.
"and she charged you for it."
"oh- please- you weren't even there!"
"i don't need to examine every instance of a known pattern to know what this is."
"a known pattern." she repeats, mocking his flat tone.
he sets his pen down, measured. then leans forward, elbows resting on the desk, fingers steepled in front of his mouth.
"individuals in vulnerable states seeking clarity or comfort," he speaks. not louder. just sharper.
"a 'practitioner' presents themselves as uniquely capable of providing it." his tone is dismissive as he gestures air quotes as he speaks. then he nods towards shimizu, as if to wordlessly say, "do you see what i'm getting at and why you're a fool?"
"information is gathered, reframed, and sold back to the client as insight."
case closed. silence.
shimizu stares, flat faced.
“that's a really depressing way to describe her business.”
"i'm describing a scam."
it's not long before he can put a face to the name shimizu told him.
most of his presumed expectations were met.
he'd caught you on his way out one evening-hallway lights dimmed, offices thinning out. escorting a young, shaken-looking woman out of your suite.
"you don't have to decide tonight," you hum, softly. "just don't ignore it."
the girl nods quickly, sniffling.
"good." you nod, petting her shoulder once before you step back to give her space.
"text your sister when you get home."
the girl blinks. sniffles halted for a split second.
"i-i didn't mention-"
"i know." you smile. so very gently.
and her tears well up with double the intensity.
"y-yes ma'am. thank you very much."
she bows once before turning to leave. you don’t move. you just stand there, seeing her off.
he eavesdrops the entire time, veiling his listening with a calculated jumble of his keys as he “finds” the correct one.
soft-voiced, smooth. pretty enough to disarm. clever enough to use it to your advantage.
a conwoman with good posture and a sly smile.
"ah, you must be higuruma-san."
your gaze met his stare from down the hall- drawn, apparently, by nothing more than the soft click of his office door locking.
he clears his throat, slipping his keys into his coat pocket before he straightens and meets your gaze.
"and you're l/n-san."
"i am," you speak, tilting your head with that soft smile still adorning you. pleased.
"shimizu-san spoke highly of you."
"i'm sure she did." he looks at you flatly, dryness crackling in his voice.
and you can't help but laugh at it.
"c'mon, neighbor- you can't even try to be cordial? have you already decided what i am?"
higuruma scoffs under his breath, stepping past you toward the elevators. he’s never been one to beat around the bush. especially when he dislikes someone.
"i know enough of your business model to deduce its fraudulence."
you fall into step beside him without hesitation as he brushes past you. no invitation, just automatically matching your steps with him.
"i wasn't aware attorneys stopped at 'knowing enough' before cementing decisions."
his stride doesn't break- but something shifts. small, precise.
you hit something.
'she's quick.'
"i don't," he replies evenly. "i verify."
"then you're doing a poor job of it."
his eyes flick towards you without a shift in his face. reluctantly acknowledging your bothersome tone.
"am i."
"mm," you nod, smile lingering. "you know, most people at least wait until i've swindled them before calling me a fraud."
the two of you stop at the floor's lobby. higuruma sighs in his own, brooding exasperated way as you stop with him, cocking one hip to the side with your gaze still fixed on his face. he refuses to look at you, pressing the elevator button with one firm thumb.
"i'm sure that performance is very convincing." he speaks to the yet to open entrance to the elevator.
so serious. his skepticism almost makes him immune to being interesting.
almost.
you tilt your head, eyes narrowed with your smile like you're enjoying this. because you definitely are.
"i could show you."
he lets out the softest sound through his nose. not quite disbelief. not quite amusement.
"you're confident."
"i have to be." you hum. "people don't pay for hesitation."
a pause.
"you know that," you purr. soft and velvety.
his jaw ticks. not dramatic. just once. eyes and brows drawing in irritation.
'this is childish.'
"i'm not your client."
"no," you agree. then, just a little sweeter. "not yet."
the doors slide open with a ding.
"with the current evidence provided-" he speaks, stepping in without offering you the courtesy of holding them, "that will remain the case indefinitely."
he turns to you, nose still turned up at your height- but his eyes meet yours.
you tilt your head, smiling sharply enough for a canine to peek through. but not grinning.
"evidence? i didn't realize i was under investigation." your tongue glazes over the front of your teeth once. slow and purposeful.
you’re flirting.
his body tightens at that realization. distrust churning quick in his stomach.
"you're operating a business that invites scrutiny."
"and yet, you haven't come inside."
he can't help the smirk that tugs his lip at that. you're petty- and restless about it. it's charmingly annoying.
he recomposes himself as he tightens his tie with one hand, the other knitted tightly around his briefcase.
"save your breath for someone it will work on," he gruffs.
you don't respond. just stand there, with that bratty posture and foxy smile. eyes narrowed like you know something.
the elevator doors shut- and with them, the string of eye contact snaps loud enough for it to echo inside the mechanical box.
and with its absence, he finds himself letting go of a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
in the quiet lull of his workdays, he finds himself (reluctantly) taking notice of the activity next door.
it irritates him how often he notices.
more irritating still is that the visits are steady. your reviews are glowing. and worst of all, you’re not technically breaking any laws. he, shamefully so, looked into it to make sure.
that, more than the gaudy floor mat or the soft scent of candles and herbs drifting beneath your door, is what bothers him.
because charlatans survive on momentum. on repeat desperation. on people wanting certainty badly enough to pay for a performance of it.
and yet- the people leaving your office do not look swindled.
the spectrum ranges from relieved to hollowed. but never angry or dissatisfied.
which only makes it worse.
a man cries in your office one afternoon.
higuruma is halfway through a review of witness statements when it starts- muffled through drywall and distance, but unmistakable.
it's not loud or theatrical. it's the kind of crying someone does after spending too long trying not to.
his pen stills.
'focus.'
he exhales, tense, eyes knitting briefly. reads the same line. again. and again. but the words never settle. don't unblur, even when he narrows his vision.
not because he means to listen. because it's impossible not to.
he can't make out the words you two exchange until you're escorting him out- and the soft echo of your voice in the hall carries just enough for him to hear.
"you can miss him without making a shrine out of your guilt."
“that’s not what he wants.”
silence. then a choked thank you.
higuruma does not look up.
he pretends not to notice.
pretend he does not sit in the quiet afterward, turning that sentence over in his mind. observing every side of it like a rubix cube.
it was precise. no vague or softened to give comfort or closure. to some, it could've been viewed as harsh.
are you simply just that practiced? that adept and apathetic to weaponize one's weaknesses that smoothly? and for them to view it as relief rather than exposure?
or-
his gaze drifts, just briefly, to the wall the seperates you two.
is it this "gift" he's heard whispered amongst the other occupants of the building?
he scoffs at the thought, shaking his head and forcing it to return to his- very important- work. work that is too important to be put second to trying to figure out if a fairy tale holds any truth to it.
there are patterns. there is observation. there is inference.
and there is the human tendency to assign meaning where there is none.
he has built his career on understanding that.
and yet- his pen remains still for just a moment longer than it should.
the first time you cross the the threshold of his office, you do it like you belong there.
no hesitation, just two soft knocks against the old veneer of the office door, a permission hummed by shimizu, and you stepping in- decorated paper bag in one hand.
"ah! y/n-san!" she’s out of her chair immediately, rounding the half-abandoned cubicles that now serve as file storage more than anything else.
"mm." you smile, small and easy. shimizu's always such a delight- even when she's hounding you for a reading she agrees with.
“they gave me an extra custard bun,” you say, lifting the bag slightly. “and, tragically, i’m not in the mood for sweetness.”
your eyes flick toward higuruma once, taking in how he's already looking at you without the lift of his head.
what a dour expression.
“so,” you continue, turning back to shimizu with a soft, sing-song tilt, “i thought of you~”
she lights up, taking it with both hands as she nearly jumps in place. delighted in a way so genuine it borders on embarrassing.
higuruma’s jaw ticks at the sight.
'you're a criminal defense attorney, for christ's sake.' he thinks, as if he can somehow beam the thought straight into her head.
“you’re an angel. thank you,” shimizu clasps her hands together in something dangerously close to worship.
"don't thank me yet," you murmur. "it could be terrible."
she shakes her head immediately. "it's from the good bakery. these are the best."
your head falls to one side as your hands lift to shrug with your shoulders. an airy, comedic motion.
"see? now i look thoughtful."
said, plainly. with no effort to sell the joke. it's undeniably charismatic, pulling a laugh from shimizu.
higuruma watches from behind his desk, text cursor blinking impatiently for the next line he's cast aside writing. eyes heavy on you with judgment.
you speak so easily, he views it as calibrated. not false, necessarily. but a version of you consciously dipped and drizzled in syrup. the sort of social fluency that makes people trust you before they realize so.
then you turn to him-
and that sweetness changes flavor.
still polite. still smiling. just sharper at the edges.
"higuruma-san."
he inclines his head in the barest acknowledgment possible.
"l/n-san."
shimizu's eyes dart between the two of you, already sensing tension and enjoying it far too much.
you lean against the doorframe, arms crossed. office quiet enough to carry your voice all the way to his desk.
"still not happy with what you've gathered on me?"
"still charging for vague generalities?"
shimizu muffles the strangled sound that tries to escape her throat with a fist.
"is that what you call it?"
"that's what it is."
"mm."
the little sound. that infuriating, noncommittal little sound.
"you sound very sure," you murmur. "you put a lot of thought into that verdict?"
"as much as required."
"so you do think about me." you lean just a fraction further into the doorframe as you say it, heel crossing over your ankle—posture easy, deliberate.
are you seriously doing this in front of shimizu?
higuruma exhales, slow and controlled, dragging a hand over his eyes before pulling it back to his computer. ceasing his eye contact with you. which is, in itself, an answer.
“if you’re here to be distracting,” he says, voice even, “keep it contained to my assistant.”
"i have work to do."
"and now i'm distracting." you echo, hand lifting to your chest in mock offense. "hear that shimizu-san?"
"i meaaan..." she shrugs slowly, surrendering on higuruma's behalf. he diiiid say that...
her eyes look over you, warm and smirking as you relish in this. and then they flick to higuruma-
'so help me god if you indulge this woman.'
"he- uhh. you... ahem."
“i have the right to…” she clears her throat, turning back to her computer with the stiff panic of a hostage reading from a script, “…remain silent.”
you can't help the laugh that pulls from you. such a party pooper. shimizu tries to bite down her own smirk forming, but you two share a knowing girly glance.
then, just as lightly as you came in, you push off the frame.
"i'll leave you to your work," you hum, gaze softening towards shimizu with a nod. "enjoy that before he makes you cite evidence for liking it."
shimizu giggles despite the oppressive weight of her boss’s presence.
"i don't micromanage pastries."
“no,” you say, pausing halfway into the hall so only your upper body remains in view. “just people.”
and then you're gone. with a sweet little wave. to him. dragging the scent of incense with you.
shimizu rolls back into her desk, silently looking up at her boss's despondent expression every few seconds. him sighing loud enough for it to bounce off the office's walls, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose.
"...you are so easy to rile."
"finish your work."
shimizu brings you up with increasing regularity.
"she told me i over-prepare for disappointment." then, annoyingly. "she was right."
"she mentioned something about the transit affecting my tenth house... i think she was right..."
"we should move this case up. mercury is gonna be in retrograde."
higuruma does not encourage this.
he does not ask follow-up questions. he does not look up from his work when shimizu mentions you over lunch.
and yet, she persists.
perhaps because she senses resistance and enjoys pressing on it like the traitor she is.
"she's not what you think," she says, shuffling a stack of envelopes on his desk. it was a quiet afternoon, that one. perhaps in buildup of this.
"that assumes i care enough to form a detailed impression."
shimizu gives him a flat look. "you always care enough to form a detailed impression."
he says nothing to that.
she continues anyway, because of course she does.
"she brought up my brother."
that- gets him. his eyes lift.
shimizu shrugs one shoulder, attempting to play it off casually, but her eyes fall somber.
"i didn't tell her about him," she says. "not once."
a pause.
"she just... stopped me on my way in. like she was... handing me something i left behind."
higuruma's brows furrow slightly.
"asked me if there was a date i'd been avoiding."
"and... and i was. it was his birthday. a week ago."
she looks down at her hands. still holding the envelopes.
"i hadn't reached out."
higuruma watches her. the lack of drama and embellishment. simply recalling it.
"she said i was letting the day pass like it didn't matter," shimizu murmurs. "but that i'd already been thinking about it all week."
not many people know about the tension between shimizu and her brother.
months of silence. a disagreement that went further than it should have.
it is not easily inferred. not something for you to know.
higuruma's gaze drops back to the document on his desk- black text turning to scribbles before him.
"she… could have guessed." his words carry distrust and insecurity in saying them- because how could you have?
"you didn't hear how she said it."
"they lead conversations the same way prosecutors do." he replies. "they watch reactions. adjust. she's been doing this for a while-"
"no," shimizu's voice cuts through his. firm.
"she wasn't even looking at me. she was looking past me- like-" she falters. searches for it. "like she was looking at someone else."
he sighs with something akin to pity. like shimizu's digging herself into a hole.
"shimizu-"
shimizu's palms meet his desk, envelopes discarded to the side.
"she said- and i quote-"
"she doesn't like seeing you two fight."
higuruma stills. eyes meeting hers- boring into him with unshakeable resolve.
a year and a half ago, shimizu's mother died. and everything after that- the distance, the arguments, the now, silence- started there. it is not a public fact. it is not something an objective stranger guesses correctly.
he looks back down, turning his pen over between two fingers.
for once, he has nothing to say. no objection. you were vague, but not vague enough. somehow deducing shimizu's family circumstances with little to no leading or compound questions.
and shimizu, despite her previously grim disposition, smiles a bit at the fact that she got higuruma to think about you.
sometimes he catches you in between clients.
he sees you one evening, later than usual. he’s finishing early for once. gathering his things with the quiet efficiency of someone who has reluctantly decided that he can no longer think productively for the day.
you're not.
you're standing with a girl- young, fragile in the way people are when they've said more than they ever have, to a stranger, at that.
higuruma's hand hovers over the knob, staring into the faint gleam of moonlight that catches as he listens.
"don't call him tonight," you say gently, as if finishing the young girl's thought for her.
the girl lets out a weak, watery laugh. "i won't."
"good." you nod once. "go home. drink water. shower. sleep before you decide something brash."
another brittle laugh. "you make it sound so easy."
"it isn't," you hum. "that's why i'm giving you cliffnotes to follow."
that earns a genuine smile.
something about you and the reactions you elicit in others. you manage to speak in a way that portrays a relationship history deeper than client and saleswoman. it’s enticing. he can see why so many may fall.
the girl nods, clutching her bag tighter. she thanks you again, voice quiet and embarrassed, then turns toward the elevator.
higuruma, standing a room down the hall with his briefcase in hand, pushes the door open to step out and immediately lets his eyes catch on your darkened silhouette.
the moment she leaves your line of sight- your posture drops. composure slipping from you like sand between fingers.
no triumphant crossing of arms. no counting of cash at the door. no visible satisfaction.
you turn toward your office- and for a brief second- your eyes flick past him.
eyes half-lidded, your mouth slackened into something absent, something exhausted. a look so unguarded it hits him with an almost indecent intimacy.
and gone with just a quiet closing of the latch.
you knew he was there.
and yet you made no effort to rearrange yourself for his benefit. no sly smile, no teasing tone, no practiced ease. you simply stepped back into your own space with a quiet latch.
he dislikes those moments most. because they complicate you. they make the initial assumption of pompous conwoman becomes obscured by relatability.
the expression strikes him with the ugly force of recognition. something he's seen only in reflective surfaces. the look of a person who has spent the better part of the day absorbing what other people could not bear alone.
he understands the moral architecture of exploitation well enough. has spent years studying the fault lines in people- victims and perpetrators alike- and observing the outcomes of both ends. some burn the last bit of themselves, holding on to the humiliating human need to believe someone might still know how to help. some convert their desperation into dependency. loan sharks. pimps.
he has always found that sort of predation especially contemptible.
the transaction itself is vulgar enough: a person in pain, another person packaging relief. but what makes it unforgivable is the intimacy of it. the soft white underbelly of insecurity bared with hope and cut open with greed.
he had placed you among those people almost immediately.
but that is not what he’s been seeing between you and your customers. that is not what he just saw.
what he saw was fatigue. depletion. perhaps even empathy, though he distrusts the word in cases like these.
as though you do not profit from pain so much as take possession of it.
he exhales, low and controlled. he has frameworks for this. categories. patterns. motives.
and yet none of them account for the evidence in front of him.
none of them explain why the sight of your face- momentarily emptied of performance, replaced with familiar lethargy- lodged itself under his ribs with such embarrassing precision.
he passes your door on his way out, shaking it off.
he tells himself he’s done thinking about it.
done thinking about you.
but the thought lingers long after he’s left the building.
this time around, the building is dead quiet by the time higuruma finally locks up his office.
the kind of stillness that only sets in after midnight—when the fluorescent lights have been shut off in favor of warm wall fixtures spaced too far apart, leaving pockets of shadow between them.
the elevator retains its usual harsh, artificial brightness. much to higurumas dismay.
he'd stayed later than intended. again. a draft to revise, a client call that dragged, paperwork that refused to become less paperwork no matter how many hours he fed it. by the time he locks up, the busy noise of other businesses has been replaced by stale air-conditioning and something fainly metallic in the silence. even the cleaning staff is long gone.
the front door is already shut. the security system armed. he knows that before he even steps off the elevator. he’s no stranger to staying this late.
he takes the narrow corridor toward the rear stairwell that leads to the back parking lot and communal dumpsters. passes the darkened storefronts. a nail salon, a marriage advisor, the shuttered vending machine with its flickering panel.
it creaks open with a metallic groan, shutting behind him with a small beep as it autolocks behind him.
cool night air greets him first. faint city noise bleeding in from somewhere beyond the alley and a draft too weak to carry anything.
aside from the smell of smoke.
you.
leaning against the low metal railing like you've been part of the architecture all along. one heel hooked loosely over the other, long tan coat swaying loosely.
cigarette glowing faint orange between two fingers- the blue night lights of the city catching your profile in pieces. cheekbone, lashes, and a little glint of an earring when you turn your head.
"good evening, higuruma."
your voice is soft. just a tint of performance coloring it. but looser than usual.
your expression is the same variant of melancholy as the last night he saw you. just a faint, tired smile that ghosts across your face before you bring the cigarette back to your lips.
he studies you longer than he means to.
"you look tired." he speaks without thinking.
you exhale slowly, looking back over the railing as you tap ash into the stale night air.
"that makes two of us."
"is it that evident?" he huffs, a bit humored, knowing exactly how he must look. deep bags made deeper by the moonlight and hours of staring at everything and nothing in particular.
he steps closer, close enough you could call it company. standing beneath the awning to look over the railing. it's not exactly a lovely sight. a lot specked with enough cars to count on one hand.
but you're staring like it's worth looking at.
he'd be lying if he said he hadn't been second-guessing his initial assumption of your worldview. but to do it right beside you- taking in the same landscape as you- it feels perverse. like he's the wrong one now. trying to pry into why you do what you do, even if it's something as minimal as smoking alone in the dead, stale quiet of the lot.
"i don't need to host a seance to see your exhaustion."
higuruma glances at you, just to see you looking over at the same time.
"that was a joke." "i'm aware."
and then,
the both of you laugh- a weak, mature kind of laugh that comes out in a puff from higuruma's nose and a quiet breath from you- before you both look back out into the night.
it settles between the two of you delicately. you, already relinquishing any social upper hand, and higuruma, already filing it away to dissect later.
later, though. not now.
"you shouldn't be out here alone this late." he observes, and speaks before he can stop himself.
you hum, making him (almost) immediately regret saying it. "you worried about me, neighbor?"
"i'm being cordial." he speaks, low and ragged. "i've been practicing."
there's the faintest trace of a smirk. his own body betraying him before he can force it down. he doesn't realize it already has long before that.
you breathe another laugh before you take another puff.
"look at that. progress."
your tone is laced with a sarcastic fatalism. dry. amused. but... tired.
there are no clients. no soft office lamp. no careful positioning of chairs or distance to maintain.
he’s noticed that about you. that no matter what, you enforce that distance. constantly deflect praise and shrug off gratitude like it's inconvenient.
like being owed something bothers you.
none of it fits the woman he expected you to be.
all of it fits the woman before him now.
standing here, with tired eyes and a vice. ran dry by your day of work- whatever that entails. but clearly exhausting enough for you to linger around this bleak, tucked-away part of town.
"are you here often?" he asks.
"at this hour?" you tilt your head. "or smoking?
"both." he supposes.
a thin stream of smoke leaves your mouth.
"only when i'm avoiding going home."
that answer is too easy to be accidental. higuruma's eyes harden at it. like being a witness to your humanity is settling with his spirit incorrectly.
"and you? avoiding something? or just overworking yourself on principle?"
he doesn't answer immediately. the truth is exposing and unimpressive. work had run long. his head hurts. he'd rather stand in the cold than go straight home and sit alone with his thoughts and the stale taste of nothing but coffee still sitting under his tongue.
"if i don't do it, no one else will." he sighs, aware of how pernicious that answer must sound.
"quite the burden you bear."
"it's tolerable."
"is it?" you look up at him, leaning forward slightly against the railing, both elbows resting over the cold metal like it takes less effort than standing upright.
he slips a hand into his coat pocket, still looking out over the empty stretch of concrete.
“if someone else did it,” he says, “they’d only do it half as well.” a non-answer. but speaking his true woes is far too vulnerable.
he lowers his gaze to you.
"i believe you." you speak, immediately. no pause to think of something clever or a flirty tilt of your head.
just the both of your heavy eyes meeting.
"do you?" he questions, peering at you through his bottom lashes. not challenging this time. genuinely curious.
"i've seen enough of your work to," you take one last drag, the ember burning down to the filter. "just be careful. don't let the line between allowing misery in and seeking misery be blurred."
you quell the embers against metal before flicking the butt away. movements economical and words careful, even in fatigue.
higuruma wants to sneer at it. but he can't.
that wasn't to tease or taunt. it was... specific. the same precision shimizu had described. and it's... different being on the receiving end of it.
it’s starting to sound like you care.
".... are you going to charge me for that?"
you laugh at that, straightening your posture and slipping your hands into your coat pockets.
"we can work out a payment plan if you can't afford it now."
that dry humor again.
threaded through exhaustion. mixed with the fatigue under your eyes. the way you stand like you belong nowhere and exactly where you are at the same time.
something in his chest tightens in a way he chooses not to examine.
made worse by the glance you offer over your shoulder, and the sentence you murmur before walking off entirely.
"i'll take a drink in exchange."
you turn, already digging for your keys, footsteps soft as you disappear into the night. and just like that, you're gone.
that distance too.
leaving higuruma to do nothing but stare at the space you once took and decide if he should be annoyed, dismissive, or something worse.
left alone with the cold air, the fading smell of your cigarette, and the distinctly irritating feeling of someone withholding key information.
because you know exactly what you are.
he is... no longer sure.
and he wants to figure it out.
his head hangs heavy as a laugh rumbles in his chest, gravely and silent. a noise only he can hear now.
"unbelievable."
the next few days pass without incident.
he works. he leaves. and deliberately avoids thinking about you every waking moment, despite the fact that you are only a wall away.
it's nothing. just good instincts dressed in velvety language. he’s built a career on identifying that sort of fluency. he knows better than to get involved with his flirty supernatural neighbor. he has more important things to contend with.
going down the rabbit hole of you has proven to be distracting enough.
not because you are particularly convincing. after all, he has retained enough pride to not walk into your studio and sit for an assessment of his own.
but because there is something in the very precise way you speak that feels uncomfortably familiar. you do not embellish or overexplain.
he recognizes that technique.
because he uses it.
he finds himself replaying you at your most composed and most drained. finds himself drawing lines between the two of you.
he does not need to revisit it. he does not need to revisit you.
the case collapses on thursday.
it isn’t catastrophic. no dramatic courtroom collapse, no shocking twist worthy of some bitter monologue on the courthouse steps. just the quiet, familiar kind of failure that settles into his bones worse than outrage ever could.
higuruma stands there, jaw tight, listening to the ruling like it’s being read in a language he doesn't understand.
he does. that's the problem.
he understands every word of it. understands that no matter how precisely he constructs his arguments, how carefully he selects what to say and what to dismantle, how much of himself he grinds down into work- he will still lose.
by the time he gets back to the office, the exhaustion has sharpened into something mean.
everything is a decibel louder than usual. his tie is too tight. his collar feels wrong. it's so bright. did the building always make this much noise? and shimizu's typing- god shimizu's fucking typing-
"shimizu-san. go ahead and go home for the day." he speaks. even as usual.
"you sure?"
"yes. go ahead."
she makes a meek noise of acknowledgement before gathering her things and leaving without another question.
he waits exactly ten seconds after the door shuts.
counts each of them as shimizus heel clacks dissipate down the hallway.
calmly collects the files back into their folder. stands up.
takes a breath to that does nothing to quell the fire of anger now fully realized in his diaphragm.
and hurls the collection of evidence into the wall hard enough that the sound cracks through the office- some papers pluming out with it.
and before he can stop himself from reconsidering- before he can rationalize it, suppress, file it away like everything else- he's already moving. the now ache in his shoulder doing nothing to sober him up.
he rounds his desk. out of his office. down the hall three steps.
he stops.
and knocks once.
it takes just a second for your idle "come in," to be heard, and half of one for him to push the door half open.
there’s no client seated across from you. just you. backlit by the warm spill of the sun through your window. appearance matching the gentle scent of incense that wafts into his face as soon as he peeks in.
you blink at him once, taking in the loosened tie, the strain in his posture, the look on his face.
higuruma doesn't let himself pause long enough to reconsider.
"i'm going to need that drink."
which is exactly how hiromi higuruma finds himself sitting in the corner booth of a tucked-away izakaya with the woman he had been blocking out of his mind since the beginning of this week.
low amber lighting. dark wood. somewhere overhead, old jazz crackles faintly through the speakers, just loud enough to blur the conversations happening. there are only a few other customers, all dressed in some variation of the same exhaustion: button-downs with sleeves rolled, suit jackets draped over chair backs, tired eyes behind glasses.
higuruma makes a quiet observation.
'it doesn't stop. of course it doesn't.'
and then, of course, there’s you. scooching into your seat across from him, letting your coat fall into a loose heap beside you.
resting your chin on your hand as you scroll and tap your phone. paying no mind to him.
which he appreciates- as his blood is still cooling from today’s events and he’s still trying to figure out if this is a decision to regret or not.
the server arrives with menus neither of you really need.
"good evening, kenji." you say, already angling toward him, elbow propped lazily against the table.
"it's good to see you, ma'am." he hums, hands folded neatly before him. "how is business?"
"just fine. your father doing better?"
he nods, a quiet relief in it. "yes, very much so. thank you for asking."
you wave it off, dismissive- but your mouth curves anyway. "that's good to hear. i'm glad."
"yes ma'am." he nods, final. "have you decided, sir?"
higuruma takes a moment to look up, realizing that what he was just eavesdropping on now includes him.
"yes- sapporo premium black, please." he nods, handing the menu back as you do.
"yes sir. your usual, ma'am?"
you nod, dismissing him. allowing the quiet to settle back in.
his expression settled into something much more manageable now that he's outside of his office and away from the file he nearly put through a wall.
the whole place glows with that particular kind of end-of-day defeat. private, ritualistic, almost tender.
and for the first time since he knocked on your door, he lets himself look at you properly. not in passing or through a doorway. just you, across from him. contained in the same small space without interruption or distance to mediate the impression.
you look different like this. the same tired version of you he’s only caught in fragments now sits plainly before him, unguarded as you shift the ice in your glass of water.
it is not an expression he expects to find appealing.
but he does not look away from it.
very real. very disarming. he acknowledges it a second too late.
"bad day?" you ask, pulling him cleanly from it.
his gaze lifts from your hand- the slow, absent motion of your fingers tipping the glass back and forth.
he exhales, settling into the leather. "you would know, wouldn't you?"
"of course. my crystal ball told me."
he scoffs, giving a loose shake of his head. you're funny.
the drinks arrive without ceremony.
the cold malt cuts through the lingering static in his chest in a way the office hadn’t managed to all day. he realizes, faintly, that he's grateful for this.
you sip your own, slower. letting him sit in the silence.
that, more than anything, is what gets him to speak.
“for the record,” he says, “i’m not here because i’ve been convinced of anything.”
you don’t even look up.
“relax.”
a small swirl of your drink.
“i’m not here to sell you on anything.” a pause. "i'm here to drink."
now you glance at him- brief, knowing.
“aren't you?"
you purr it like it’s obvious, hitting higuruma square in the chest with the combination of your glance and tone.
“…i am,” he says, leaning forward slightly, one elbow settling against the table. “i just thought i’d clarify that before you began outlining payment structures.”
you huff into the rim of your class.
“still set on me being a conman?”
“you must understand,” he says, tone even, measured, “that from the perspective of someone who deals exclusively in verifiable evidence- your business model is… difficult to accept at face value.”
you sip, and set your drink down as you listen.
“however,” he adds, after a brief pause, “i would be remiss to say that my assessment of you hasn’t… adjusted.”
he clears his throat, obviously uncomfortable with the confession.
“mm,” you hum. “character growth.”
he exhales through his nose. “i’m being serious.”
“i know you are. and i’m grateful for that.”
your smile softens at the edges, soothing his self-consciousness.
"belief can be a fickle thing," you continue, turning the glass once between your fingers "and you don't strike me as someone who lets it form without substantiation."
he hums in agreement, lifting his beer to his lips. "not usually."
"it needs to have structural integrity. something you can stress to see whether it holds or not."
he's quiet now. simply observing you. there's an intelligent clarity in the way you speak that pairs with the fatigue you're no longer bothering to conceal. simultaneously composed and worn-thin.
what one would percieve as pitiful, he- against his better judgement- finds it compelling.
"i admire someone who can interpret what's in front of them and allow it to press into what they believe."
his drink meets the table with a dull chime- and his eyes settle downstream with it in avoidance of your mature allure.
"you admire inconsistency?"
it's not a jab. he wants to know more of your viewpoint.
you shake your head, lifting a finger in quiet correction.
"belief is often confused for ignorance," you start. "there's a reason why. belief can be the first step toward it."
"i'm sure you're familiar with that idea."
his eyes narrow in recall, still focused on his mug as his thumb drags along condensation.
"i'm familiar with people using belief as an excuse to refuse the truth."
"exactly," you nod. assured. "-because it's easy to do that. less thinking to do."
he hums in agreement.
"i think it's harder to believe something and still remain critical of it."
consideration in the form of silence settles between you. higuruma rests his chin atop his fingers, tapping one against his lip in thought. you can practically see gears turn in his head as he mulls over your words.
flushing a bit as he looks up to study you. the words- and how you arrived to them.
"...that's a convenient position to hold."
"you think so?"
"your line of work depends on influencing others' beliefs. it would benefit you to encourage it."
your brow pulls in. even if he hadn't meant it with the same hostility he did when you two first spoke. but his unawareness of what exactly you see and do is prevalent- being a harsh reminder of your reality.
then, a soft breathy laugh slips from your chest.
"we're both going to need another drink."
you’ve already taken yours halfway down by the time the next stretch of quiet settles.
the citrus alcohol bites at your tongue as you swallow, and you smooth it over with a few taps of your lips and your tongue, smoothing over the roof of your mouth.
"this is more than my career, higuruma."
you punctuate your sentence with the flat clink of your thin, clear glass against varnished wood. voice hollowed of all previous warmth.
"it always has been, and it always will be."
he can't categorize this tone- but whatever it is makes him feel more unsettled than ever.
this is the beginning of the testimony he’s been imagining in his head for… longer than he’d like to admit. your first hand accountment of your career.
and he’s starting to realize that he’s afraid of it.
your gaze stays fixed on the slow turn of liquid around ice. like you're deciding how much of this you're willing to give to the man who's, for the most part, only sneered at you.
he realizes, belatedly, he hasn't given you much.
yet, you continue anyway.
"i wasn't raised on stories about momotaro and hanako-san. before i knew what to call it- before anyone explained what it meant- i was already being spoken to."
you continue, without a tremble to be heard in your voice.
but your fingers tighten around your glass. your brows are firmer than usual and your eyes have gone unfocused and glassy.
small. inconceivable to most.
but certainly not to the criminal lawyer before you.
"they don't introduce themselves. you never fully know why they're there."
your gaze starts at his tie, eyes refocusing on reality as the line of his white collar becomes distinguishable.
"no one believes you when you try to explain it. not when you're a child."
an humorless laugh cracks out of your chest, posture loosening with it. as if you're realizing how little this probably means to him.
but higuruma feels it. the isolation. the early understanding that something fundamental about you places you outside of other people.
he's seen this honesty before. sobbed through partitions and crackling phone speakers. confessed in the quiet of his office.
the sarcastic fatalism. the way you're already reestablishing distance. the way you've already accepted disregard for your vaguely worded suffering. already arrived at the conclusion that there is no point,
you close the space from his chin to his eyes, blinking away the blur with it.
"belief was never really optional for me."
you lock eyes, expecting the usual reaction.
but he's, for once, dressed in an expression different from annoyance and apathy.
it echoes how he looked at you the last time you spoke. pensive. thoughtful. he's actually listening to you- and that makes the both of you uncomfortable.
you lean back, the leather of the booth catching you as you pull away from the table.
distance, restored.
"and like you said, you're not here to be convinced.” you gesture loosely. “or because you have been.”
you exhale, shedding the last of your vulnerability with it.
"so i'm not going to try."
"but i'd like to set the record straight that... what i do for people... it doesn't benefit me in the way you think."
the two of you drink in silence for a beat. until higuruma has decided he's digested enough of your vulnerability to speak with care.
"then what does it cost you?"
there is no edge or accusation to it. a genuine, considerate question. coupled with his chosen attention on you, now seemingly smaller across from him.
your reaction is self-deprecating in every way. a weak laugh that trails into a loss for words. a shake of your head like you're trying to deny your misery.
and that's enough of an answer.
"i thought you were a fraud," he interrupts.
your eyes dart toward him as he speaks. low, even voice- made a bit grumbly by alcohol- grounding you.
"i've seen it all before, really. a business model built around vulnerable people hearing what they've already told you, just dressed up and given back as divine."
you nod along, unoffended. waiting. the soft ember in your eyes crackling back alive in expectation.
"and now?"
he leans back, taking his drink back in hand. considers you over the rim of it.
"now," he takes a few gulps in preparation. "i think that explanation is convenient."
"...for?"
a pause. a pause he fights within. the instinct to deflect and stay in control of the narrative, grabbing for his tongue with desperation before the confession comes out.
"... for me."
the jazz overhead goes on humming, warm and grainy through old speakers. someone at the counter laughs at something that isn’t that funny. glass meets glass. the world, indifferent as ever, continues uninterrupted.
meanwhile, in a small booth tucked in a corner of this tired little izakaya, something has shifted. subtle enough that no one else would notice. enormous enough that both of them do.
two of tokyos most emotionally constipated workers have imbibed the forbidden nectar of vulnerability.
the thing neither of them is built for- the thing the two of them swore off years ago.
and in the drowning feeling of dropping performance and strategy in exchange for honesty-
you laugh.
it's not obnoxious- not loud enough to turn heads. not careless enough to spill past the edges of the booth. it stays contained there with the two of you, low, melodic, and intimately shared.
higuruma feels it land somewhere embarrassingly deep.
"that's refreshingly self-aware."
your voice is lighter now, the last of that earlier gravity loosened by the admission. there’s a smile at your mouth he can’t quite stop looking at-small, real, still touched by the aftershocks of what he’d just said.
higuruma lifts his glass, trying and failing to hide the shape of the smile bleeding into his face.
"don't ruin it." he gruffs before the lip, lacking any sort of bite.
your frame shakes with a giggle, supported by the elbows you're leaning into.
"so what? i've broken your little record of scammers?"
higuruma looks at you for a long moment.
at the loosened posture. the fatigue you’re no longer bothering to hide. that charming smile back on your face that suggests strength.
"...i think," he says slowly, voice ragged around the edges from the conceding of his prejudice and faint buzz in his blood. "that you're either the most committed con artist i've ever met-"
you snort softly into your drink.
"or- you’re simply just carrying a weight that the majority of people cannot imagine.”
“including myself.”
your breath hitches in your throat at his seriousness. it’s probably the most empathetic reaction you’ve ever encountered in your entire life of telling people you can see things they can’t. there’s no disgust or dismissal.
and it's from higuruma.
you can't help but let another string of giggles out at the obscureness of it all.
"that," you breathe, "is the closest you've come to flattering me."
he scoffs, his own smile brought to the surface by yours.
"it wasn't meant as a compliment."
"i’m taking it as one anyway." you grin, finishing off your drink in one swig.
he shakes his head once, attempting to shed the smile with it. but he can't.
"you enjoy this too much."
"being scrutinized? i'm used to that. but watching you try to make sense of me?" you keen. "a little."
higuruma lets out another low exhale. refraining from giving you more sentiments to latch onto. for now.
"you're insufferable."
the conversation drift after that. shimizu is brought up- you explaining how only give her astrology readings because she prompts you to. higuruma is able to picture it with irritating clarity. her badgering you for a reading she agrees with.
his own work his brought up aswell. he answers more than he probably should. but he doesn't regret it.
glasses long forgotten eventually, never to be refilled.
higuruma covers the tab without ceremony. you push back immediately.
"owing people ties me here," you frown, genuinely. "you want me to haunt you or something?"
he scoffs, sliding his card back into his wallet anyway.
"this is me fulfilling my end of the debt. don't you recall?"
your mouth quirks at that.
how'd he manage to remember your words better than you did?
the two of you step into the night, coat and suit haphazardly shrugged back on. air colder than when you entered.
"nothing gets past you, huh?" you murmur, folding your arms as you look up to him. breeze broken by his tall frame as he walks alongside you.
"that's my job." he replies, adjusting his tie with a small, amused exhale. "no loose ends. made sure of it when i looked into the legitimacy of your operation."
"that's kind of you." you huff.
the silence between you doesn’t stretch the way it used to.
not tonight.
he knows he’s already indulged more of your attention than he would’ve tolerated from anyone else.
and yet.
the part of him that wants to keep the conversation going, to keep drawing out that dry laugh of yours and matching it with his own, has won for now. the two of you matching pace down the still buzzing street that alternates between neon and lantern light as it stretches ahead of you.
“your business checked out,” he says. “your assistant seems competent. you pay him legally and only allow him to stay a certain amount of hours. abiding by child labor laws.”
"wonderful."
"your client satisfaction and turnover rate is consistent enough to dispel the idea that you run a business based on falsehoods and peddling packages."
"glowing review."
"the building code is questionable, but neither of us can do anything about that." he shrugs.
"and?" you laugh, breathy and loose. "how am i holding up after your thorough investigation?"
he glances down at you briefly. long enough to make it annoying.
"jury's still out."
half of your lip curls up in a sneer, a noise of disbelief falling from your mouth. "hahh?"
a surprising, rough chuckle rumbles deep within his chest.
"i'm just kidding."
"i just wanted to pretend to be a shitty judge for a change."
you grumble, shoulders hunching up as you try to bury yourself in your coat. heels clicking against pavement to brush past his steady pace.
hoping the warmth stinging across your face dissipates by the time the next crosswalk comes.
"you're telling me i spilled my guts just to get my sentence deferred?"
"that's a favorable outcome. you've no jail time. just probation."
you click your tongue at him, the sound soft, playful. "lenient, are we?" sarcastically muttered under your breath.
he almost smiles at that.
the conversation tapers off after. not awkward, just settled and peaceful enough to allow the night to fill in. city nightlife fading out the more streets you turn. stumbling office workers and lively youth thinning out until it's just the two of you.
the crosswalk light turns red just as you reach it- the both of you stilling in unison.
traffic hums past in slow, steady streams. headlights streaking briefly across your faces before disappearing down the street.
one heel taps against pavement as you shift your weight- hand slipping into your coat pocket with it.
higuruma notices before you even pull the pack out.
"do you mind?" you ask, already halfway through the motion.
"not if you share."
you huff a quiet laugh at that, shaking your head as you slide a cigarette free and slot it between your lips. "i wasn't aware you partook." you murmur, flicking the lighter until it blooms to life.
you take a long drag, then offer him one without ceremony- already holding the flame out for him.
"i try not to." he hums, voice gravely as he dips just enough to meet it.
"cigarette smoke isn’t a particularly reassuring scent when someone’s seeking legal counsel.”
the wind shifts as he speaks- and your hand lifts in instinct to cup around the flame. the warmth of your fingertips barely brushes the line of his hollowed cheeks as you shield the light.
barely there.
but enough.
the light catches between you, small and warm, illuminating only what's closest. the both of your faces, seperated only by a few breaths and a thing line of smoke beginning to curl.
he lingers, even as the tip begins to kindle. long enough to register the touch and realize how little distance there actually is.
he's slinks back upwards, sucking in the slow-burning tobacco in search of respite from the effect of you.
the light chimes as it flips green, presumably ripping you both from the moment.
but the tension doesn't fade into unacknowledgement. you both know that. so it follows, threaded into the space between your next words.
"one on occassion isn't so bad. especially when you're drunk."
"and do you abide by this 'one on occasion' rule?" his eyes narrow in faux suspicion, dark gaze cutting through the thin veil of smoke.
"...you already know the answer to that." you grumble, a small, sheepish smirk tugging at your mouth.
higuruma hums a noise that can only be interpreted as 'i thought so'.
your movements are economical. rhythmic with each inhale and exhale. like you’re following the preset outline of something your body knows too well to think about anymore.
it's not a smoke here and there.
it's habit.
"...still avoiding something?"
smoke leaves your mouth in a slow stream.
"you psychoanalyzing me now?" the words leave with it, permeating the air with something acrid and warm.
"just cross-referencing."
you, hovering around the building after hours, nursing a cigarette the same way you are now. your quiet admission that whatever waited for you after work wasn’t particularly worth returning to.
"you've already said once that home isn't particularly compelling."
you flick ash off the end, watching it scatter and die halfway into the dark.
"and if i am?"
his gaze drags over you once in the moonlight. slow. deliberate. not crude- just thorough enough to make your skin warm beneath your coat.
when it returns to your face, it stays there.
"then i'd say you're waiting for a reason not to go back alone tonight."
your eyes meet his.
a car passes, throwing white across the edge of his face.
"...i wouldn't object to being one."
you lead him down corridors with little flourish. stilling at your door, keys already in hand.
hesitation slipping as soon as it came.
the door opens with a quiet click.
"try not to overanalyze everything," you murmur, slipping in first. "you'll ruin it."
you two had spent the entire night intellectually and morally dancing around the other- it was foreplay enough.
in the time you spend settling- setting your keys in a bowl and disappearing down a hall to your bedroom- higuruma takes your apartment in.
the lights remain off, but the interior is still illuminated by the large window in your living room.
crystals decorate most corners. a geode on your coffee table. placed beside and on books like paperweights.
dreamy art accents the plain walls. one stands out in particular. drawn herbs and flowers with their benefits and connotations beside them.
tastefully you.
"judging my decor?" you hum, reappearing from the unlit hall.
his head snaps to you, your coat now discarded, revealing your standing figure fully. "not at all. it's nice. better than mine."
his gaze softens down at you as you bring your hands to his sides, outlining his waist gently before you begin. as if you're testing the waters.
"let me guess," you purr, sliding your hands into the space between suit and dress shirt. "plain."
your touch settles against him without protest- just a drawn-out exhale once your warm hands meet his sides. he shifts and lifts his hands half into the air to allow you to strip him.
"you'd be right." he hums, low and gravely. an octave lower than what it was outside.
you're meticulous as you take his suit off. feeling the shape of his frame through his undershirt. biting your lip when you graze over his chest.
no.
his pecs.
he is surprisingly firm beneath the dry-cleaned fabrics, much to your surprise.
you press into his chest, then round and run up his lats, hook your hands around his shoulders before running them down his toned arms- desleeving him.
all the while he looks down at you, jaw hanging slightly as his breath trembles into nothing. nearly hissing each time you find a new muscle to feel up and memorize.
you are groping him.
he shudders, fingers loosely covering his mouth.
"y/n-"
"have you thought about this?"
your voice seeps into the silence like blood soaking cotton.
higuruma turns frigid.
"ah. you have." you purr, taking his wrists and guiding them to your own, still clothed, figure.
"somewhat," he grits, gathering as much effort as humanly possible to keep his voice even- just for it to fall apart in a barely audible groan when you push his hand up to one of your breasts.
"yeah?" you keen up at his disheveled expression, releasing his wrists at your hip and bust so you can start unbuttoning your blouse from the top.
two buttons pop free and higuruma immediately forces his eyes shut as your red push-up bra starts to peek through. cleavage now on full display.
just to be betrayed by the hand that's been doctored and fixed there as his thumb grazes where textured lace meets smooth, plush flesh.
"fuck."
"look at me, higuruma."
"you know you wanna."
his grip instinctively tightens at your tone. that godforsaken teasing lilt.
now fully caressing one boob while his other begins to leave finger indents into your waist.
then he jolts- both of your hands meeting his face in a tender, cupping motion.
"open your eyes."
the pads of your thumbs drag beneath his eyes and press gently at the apples of his cheeks.
higuruma obeys- releasing the breath he'd been holding this entire time with another shake as he takes in all of you at once. delicate blue moonlight illuminates half of you- just enough for him to clearly see the line of your breasts down to the sliver of your tummy- blouse unbuttoned and now hanging loose.
and your eyes. good god, your eyes.
lifted by that foxed smile. wet with want. something darker curling just beneath it.
"you're gorgeous."
the pressure of your fingers falters.
then presses in. holding his face tighter. not hard enough for your fingernails to dig in- but hard enough to leave marks of your fingerprints on the clay of his skin.
it empties your lungs of the siren song you were in the middle of chanting.
and you hate- hate- the way warmth blooms low and fast beneath your skin at the sound of it. the way your chest pulls taut around a feeling you don’t want to name. like some careful part of you, honed on wit and appetite and always being one step ahead, has just been nudged off balance by a single whisper.
his jaw tightens after the words have already left him, like restraint arrived too late to be useful. there’s no taking them back now. not with the way you’re looking at him- fox-smile dimmed into something almost stunned, eyes still dark but suddenly far too open. and it's not like he wants to. because he meant them.
without words- solely based on what you find in the others eyes- higuruma tugs you closer by the small of your back, and you pull him down by his face.
simultaneous force, almost ending with the clash of teeth.
his lips meet yours, and the kiss immediately deepens as your palms crawl hungrily to the back of his head.
he groans into your mouth as soon as your soft muscle meets his- immediately exploring each crevice between your teeth now that he's been granted the mercy.
you part like you're fighting against violent waves, gasping halfway before it begins again.
"you're gorgeous."
"you're gorgeous."
"you're so fucking gorgeous."
he's practically growling, ending each phrase with another passionate dive back into you.
you're too caught up in the feeling of his hands grasping at every bit of you he can reach. molding up your back. tightening around your wrists. sliding along the line of your jaw- prompting you to open further for him.
too caught up to realize they're now notched where your thighs meet your butt, and you're in the air. legs instinctively wrapping around his waist- all the while you're still joined at the mouth.
his hand cups the back of your neck, thumb anchoring just beneath your ear- steadying you, steadying himself.
the room shifts around you in a blur of dim light and shadow-
and then your back meets something soft. your bed dips beneath you as you're lowered down, and your fingers catch in his clothes on instinct, gripping, wrinkling fabric at his chest.
but he never drops you. he waits. lowers you down with care until your head meets the sheets. waits for you to settle. waits like he won’t allow this to turn into something careless.
only then does it break.
a thin string of spit stretches between your mouths before snapping, your lips chasing his for half a second longer than you mean to. lashes fluttering when you look up at him.
his tongue drags slow across his swollen bottom lip as he takes you in- searching your face.
your own jaw still slack as your brain catches up with the absence.
you two pant into one another for a moment- both of you scanning the other's face with glassy eyes.
his arms cage you in, braced on either side of your head. pupils blown and lips bruised.
"are you okay?" he breathes, swallowing once before he continues attempting to catch his breath. "i didn't-"
a weak laugh crackles out of you- the sound and sight visibly relieving the tension in his body.
"i'm okay." you murmur, voice airy as it spills out of your delicate smile. "are you?"
he huffs, amused. head dropping as he shakes it at himself.
"...i've been worse."
"i can't imagine how you look at 'worse'." you hum, hands running from his chest back to his face- guiding him until he's look at you again.
"do i look that bad?" he smirks, tilting his head slightly in your hold.
your thumbs press lightly into his cheeks, studying him like you’re weighing something.
"a little," your lips curve, and you catch your bottom one in between teeth. "but i think it suits you."
higuruma rolls his eyes at it, breathing a laugh as you giggle at your own cheekiness.
it fades into his mouth as you pull him back in, thumbs caressing his face as you prod into his mouth. tongues meeting gentler this time. slower. more space given. space you use to prop yourself up on your elbows to finally shed the blouse that's now suffocating you.
fabric is quickly replaced by his slightly calloused hands, long fingers winding around your torso, feeling up to the underwire of your bra before tracing back down your stomach, rotating so his fingers can slide into the waistband of your skirt.
"how long have you known?" his voice is low, rumbling even in a whisper.
“ahh- huh?” you writhe beneath his mouth, huffing against his lips.
"how bad i want you.”
“f-fuck-“ you keen. his hot breath against your ear only has your blood temperature spiking when it’s already at its boiling point. “you never- ah- never stopped me- fuck…”
sharp teeth nip at your neck before you wraps his whole mouth around sections of skin- sucking deep, soon-to-be purple marks into your flesh.
“always entertained me- ngh-“ you bite your lip at his increasing aggression, holding back a weak laugh.
“always looked at me like you wanted to figure me out,”
he’s lowered all the way down to your stomach- skirt now loose around your ankles- matching red lace panties on full display now. he's quick to fill the now-empty space of his mouth with the skin of your thighs. licking, kissing, nipping. coating every inch down to your knees with his saliva.
"fuck- higuruma-" you speak- before feeling a sharp symmetrical pain on the inside of your thighs that caused you to yip.
he bit you.
just for a second, angry marks immediately being soothed in massaging circles by his tongue- and a gentle kiss that contrasts his tone.
"i can't fucking stand it."
"i was dead set in my assumption being correct."
his eyes meet yours through downcast lashes, and you swear you can see a flash of red that brightens his brown eyes to a glowing deep maroon.
his hands dont let up. squeezing imprints into the plush of your thighs, cascading up your lower back, and wringing your waist on the way back down.
"and everytime i saw you- everytime you spoke-"
his words come out in a smog that catches in your throat. he sounds so different in this position. calculated even tone turned gravelly and nearly trembling.
his fingers catch around the string hugging your hips- immediately prompting quick nods from you.
"it made me realize i was wrong."
hooked thumbs pull. fabric is discarded in a second. the pressure of panty strings is replaced by his firm, slightly calloused grip. tugging your hips closer to him in hunger.
his breath ghosts over your clit- sending a shock through your system that has you whining and bucking into nothing.
"and i- fuck- i didn't know why."
he grunts, now fully on his knees and draping your legs over his shoulders- situating your body for you, whilst you can do nothing but look down at him and try not to buck up into the resonance of his words.
"i fucking hate being wrong."
his tongue parts your folds swiftly, met with no resistance from the gummy flesh. his path predestined with your slick. once, twice.
before the tense string of restraint snaps.
he unhinges his jaw and dives in for you. like a predator launching itself from the shadows to sink teeth into its prey- being rewarded by blood filling its mouth. lapping and swallowing every bit he can manage. muffled moan vibrating all the way to your core as he relishes in it.
your jaw pops as it opens fully with a moan, chest rising unevenly as you look down at his debauchery. such a composed suit so brought down by you.
the noises that fill the room are vile, slurps and sputtered groans that only make you arch further into his mouth at the vibration. pulling off with lewd breathy groans and even some laughs. his entire hand comes up to swipe at your clit, just to be met with absolutely zero friction.
the fast 'shlick-shlick's that flutter from your pussy have him entranced, eyes blown each time he separates to gawk at you. so fucking wet.
the sound has got you bothered too. it feels like you're touching a hot stove once your hands meet your face- muffling your moans, pulling at your hair, and desperately trying to get a handle of yourself. but it's useless. each quick drag against your clit has you arching off the mattress and squealing out at the ecstasy that builds up in seconds. just before he lets off and goes back to slurping up whatever dripped out of you in that time.
"pleasepleaseplease-"
"it's my turn." kiss, kiss, slurp, pop! "hahh... my turn to figure you out."
he licks another long strip up you before he dives back in, hands squeezing around your thighs to press them harder against his head. flat tongue pressing against your clit a few times before his lips travel down- down far enough the tip of his nose catches on your clit and drags. that lovely hook pressing against the nub in the perfect point.
it's like he's taking a breath before going underwater. the way he inhales long and deep and exhales with a low, trembling, 'goddd.'
he hitches your butt up once, making you yip a little- before his face is flush between your folds and then unfurls his tongue inside- hot velvet flooding your insides and massaging around until he finds your sweet spot.
"higuruma! f-fuck!"
your hands shoot to his head, knitting in loose brown strands as you're sent into a daze at the feeling- too starstruck to figure out if you wanna pull him off or deeper.
you opt for the second, tugging him forward by the hair and evoking a drawn-out moan right into your pussy.
he nods fervently, hooked nose bumping your clit as he relishes in your anatomy.
"mm-mhm-" he groans into you, vibrations shooting right into your stomach. it's dizzying- this feeling- something other than a firm appendage fucking into you, and his firm nose nudging your clit in rhythm with it.
he seperates with an obscene suck, panting right against you as he licks you off lips to his chin.
"you sound s'perfect like this," he rasps, slurring far more than he was when he was actively drinking.
your cunt clenches around nothing at the praise as you grit a noise back, now that you're made aware of how attentive he's actually being.
"sh-shut the fuck u-ahh-" you start to bite, just to be interrupted by the prod of two cold fingertips swirling at your entrance- collecting your arousal before they pass the threshold.
he keens at it, keeping his gaze set on your face even when you throw your head back in pleasure.
"i'm sorry, can i help you?" his voice is husky and laced with a smirk you don't even have to look at to know is there. rolling his bottom lip between teeth as he breaches your hole, his dick twitching against his slacks as he watches your chest rise and fall. your hands grasping for anything to ground you.
they're not too thick. there is no painful burn, even with two.
but fuck are they long.
long enough that he's gotta fuck them inside of you so you don't clamp down and reject the intrusion. admiring how you grip them each time they retreat to the last taken digit. long enough you're seeing stars without him even grazing your g-spot.
“look at that. you don’t w'nna let go of me.” he hums, licking the front of his teeth.
you gasp once they settle to the knuckle, inhale cut short by the daze the curl of them sends you into. bucking your clit back into his tongue in response as your hand shoots to your mouth a second too late- high-pitched cry already echoing off the walls and mixing with the sound of wet squelches as he hooks your spot again and again.
a chill shoots up his spine and exits with a shuddery groan at the indecency of it all. the sound of you, the feel of you fluttering around his fingers, the smell.
he buries his face back into you, sniffing as he licks up the mess that has painted the entirety of your inner thighs at this point. licking everywhere but the aching bud at the top of your cunt.
your hands shoot back to his hair, knitting more aggressively this time in an attempt to bring him to what you need.
"fuck- pull harder- go ahead-" he grunts, whining into you as you abide and almost rip his hair out by the follicles with how quick you tug him into you.
"hahh-fuck- if it gets you to shut the fuck up," you grit, hooking your ankles around one another at his back- anchoring yourself so you can hump into his mouth. his head kept in place by the tight hold you have on his scalp.
"you would like that shit, huh?"
higuruma has died and gone to heaven, it seems.
the woman who's been goading him for the past month.
the woman who has spent the past month needling her way into his routines. the one who would step into his office uninvited, lean against his doorway like she owned the space, and pick him apart with that soft, knowing smile. the one who treated conversation like a sexually-charged sparring match and him like a particularly interesting opponent.
is now, essentially, fucking his face.
his free arm travels from up your thigh to press on your lower stomach as his other fucks up into you, angled to thrust directly into your spot each time he buries them to his knuckles.
he takes a moment, pressing his thumb to the front of your tummy like he's seeking something- and then he finds it.
alerted by the wail that rips out of your chest and way you jerk your hips into an arch- his mouth and fingers following and accounting for the shift in position like a magnet.
your blood feels unbearably hot against the a/c of your bedroom, and it gets more intense each time the pads of his fingers press against your sweet spot. each press sending shocks through your body and sends you teetering over the edge as you feel something building up low in your core.
"m'gonna cum if you don't- fuck- stop-"
"please," he breathes between laps, "cum for me,"
he sucks once against your clit before you pops off of it, eyes half-lidded with lust as he speeds the pace of his fingers up, droplets of your arousal spurting out at the force of it.
"cum on my mouth- please."
the sound his already rough voice, made harsher with desire, whining out pleas is what sends you over the edge- a pained, drawn-out sob wracking your entire body as you go taut.
and he doesn't fucking stop.
tongue lazily rounding your clit as he keeps fucking into you, letting you soak the entirety of his chin down to the collar of his shirt. curling them especially harshly, like he's trying to squeeze every last bit out.
"fuck- stopstopstop- holy shit-"
you gasp, finally releasing your white-knuckle grip on his hair and using the legs you can hardly feel to kick him off.
your nerves, now fried, translate the action into weak twitches that hardly meet him- but he withdraws anyway. pressing chaste kisses against your puffy cunt and inside of your thighs, bringing you down from your high with patience.
he lifts himself up with a hardly audible groan, silently cursing his knees and back. your legs fall and dangle weightlessly off the edge of your bed as you lay flat- catching your breath with airy whines that decorate each exhale.
you don't think you've ever finished that hard in your life.
you're rustled back to reality by the grip around your waist that shifts you higher up the bed, eyes refocusing on higuruma. who's occupied with pushing your legs up till your feet meet the mattress. touch turning gentle as he smooths his palms over your knees.
also noticing that he's now shirtless. white linen tossed without a care somewhere on the floor. you definitely ruined that shirt.
"hey, you." he murmurs. voice still raw and loose.
"hey yourself," you rasp out.
you look beautiful in your afterglow. arms gently splayed out beside your head, fucked-out face smirking up at him with the attitude that manages to resurface in every conversation the two of you have.
"you look good like this." the sentiment comes out ragged. flirty- but genuine.
you laugh, all crackly and airy. a sound that gives him goosebumps with how lovely it is.
"shut up." you giggle, forearms coming to x-out your face from his sight.
each genuine praise he murmurs settles in your stomach wrong. like your subconscious is fighting to reject it. overpowered by the flush in your face and flutter in your core.
but still present. present enough for him to notice.
his hands tighten around your knees once before they trace down to your ankles, grabbing the both of them with a single hand to unfold your legs upward. the back of them in line with his tall figure, heels settled on his shoulder.
bulge now pressed flush against your ass.
one hand keeps them in place, while the other soothes circles at your thighs. travelling to the round of your butt to give a few squeezes and a sensual rut.
"f-fuck, higu..." you breathe, knees falling weak at the sensation- but kept upwards with gentle force.
"do you not like it?"
"ngh-huh?" you breathe, eyes meeting his face in a millisecond.
"when i look at you like this."
"when i... touch you like this." his hands stroke over the length of your legs- almost bringing them into a hug.
"when i talk to you like this?"
"i'm... i dunno- ngh- i, i'm just not used t' it." you murmur, another rut weakly rekindling the heat in your cunt as you speak. the isolated attention making it far worse.
"...i'm not either." he hums, thoughtfully.
"but i'm asking..."
"if you like it."
his hips still- like he's holding it over your head until you answer the question with full commitment.
you hate it. you fucking hate it, honestly.
you hate the attention. you hate him calling you gorgeous. you hate him praising your figure, your noises. you hate how good he made- and is actively making- you feel.
you hate that the affections pierce through every barrier around your heart and pierce it, lodging halfway through. you hate that you love it.
you hate that you started this fight, and now you're shying away from his advances. so weak. what's even weaker is that you're letting him close the purposeful distance you placed.
"fuck- i like it, higuruma. i like it a lot."
the last of your clothes have been shed. found a home on your desk chair. tediously folded and set by the ever so kind higuruma. even though you're sure he was just buying time and courage before turning to you.
you're not sure why, considering what greeted you was- without a doubt- the prettiest cock you've ever seen.
thoughtfully trimmed. a mole specking near the pale base. tone deepening with an attractive gradient effect.
and... tall. standing proud.
in the lulls of intimacy, you've noticed higuruma regresses into an almost shy disposition.
funny how quickly his restraint and embarrassment leaves him once you murmur a few words and touch him the right way.
you're splayed on your array of pillows, falling deeper into them with each hungry thrust of his tongue. his fingers cradle the nape of your neck while his thumbs coax your jaw wider for him to have more space to coat with his spit.
the taste of seven stars and liquor has been fully erased by the amount of saliva that's been cycled between the two of you tonight. just a tinge of sweetness remaining from your orgasm earlier.
your fingers drag along the flare of his shoulder blades in search of something to keep afloat on. leading up his spine and nape of his neck.
you've also noticed that higuruma has a detrimental oral fixation.
you part with an airy 'phuah', head slightly lolling to the side atop a satin pillow. lewd blush painting your entire face and every corner of your body. so warm.
and he just doesn't. stop. it's like he isn't sure how to.
kisses smear across your cheek down to your neck- little lovebites and hickies beginning to decorate it as you squirm beneath the feeling of his agile tongue. twirling around flesh as it's being sucked and nipped.
you're granted a brief respite once he reaches your collarbone and gets stuck huffing your skin like it's a line of powder.
"smell so good- fuck-" he grits, and you can feel his hips jolt forward- making you arch up in craving. sexes hardly missing one another.
"mgh- n'you still smell like cigarettes," you huff, biting your bottom lip with a smile.
it's like you live to taunt him.
even if it's not true. even if the scent of his hair gel and sweat mingling into a lovely mix of pine and musk has you huffing the top of his head, and threading your fingers through his strands to rustle the smell back alive.
he shivers at the feeling, elbows buckling slightly as he nuzzles into your skin. only prompting your smile to widen.
"you really do like that, huh?"
"it... feels nice. yes."
a pleased noise echoes in your chest as you gently rake your fingernails against his scalp- and his entire body creaks at it. soft noises spilling from his mouth into the surface of your skin. cocking twitching harsh enough to jolt up and slap against his stomach, precum spotting beneath his belly button.
"ff- hahh- y/n,"
all his noises die halfway through being moaned. the structural integrity of his body starts to falter as your legs entangle with his, pulling him closer into you- gentle hands caressing his head from the long strands at the top to the low shave at his nape.
all to get him to lean forward just enough for his leaking tip to prod against your tummy.
"there you are."
you purr, directly into his ear.
his laugh comes out in breathy puffs, in an attempt to obscure the hiss beneath them.
one hand falls from his jaw to dance between both of your bodies, seeking his neglected cock that. firm and dripping with arousal. instinctively rocking forward once your touch finds and wraps around it.
a guttural groan exits right into your ear and reverbs around in your skull, filling you with desire- only spurring your advances further as you twist your hand in slow, drawn out strokes.
his head shakes loosely, body tensing as he forces his nerves to obey his brain for a split second and lift himself back up.
"can't- won't last-" he huffs, pulling back to give him the space to grasp at your wrist.
"may i-?"
"please."
you're not one to beg. but there truly is nothing more either of you wants or needs right now.
words don't even have to be said to display that fact. not when your sexes are speaking for you. crying out into the bare air with arousal.
arousal that echoes a filthy slap of wet against wet when he guides his tip down to your heat.
he swirls his cockhead at your entrance- mixing your fluids with loud shlicks that permeate the air like a toxin. it's dizzying. made worse as he starts to lean forward and sink the fat head in- pulling a hiss from him and a soft whimper from you.
"i can't- fuck- you're heaven."
he gruffs, leaning onto his heels to find the back of your knees and press in as he starts to fold you at the hip, cock following the motion to sink in another inch.
you're desperately trying to measure your breaths and not float away from the moment, but the soft whines spilling from the man above you- and the agonizingly slow sink of his cock into you, occasionally interrupted by a stutter of his hips he can't control- is making it so very difficult.
you clench especially hard around the halfway point, starting to writhe beneath the cage of him you're stuck in.
"don't stop- please don't stop-"
"m'not stopping, fuck, couldn't even if i tried,"
he's as taut as a bow, words coming out narrow and rushed as your pussy pulls the air from his lungs, and he's grinding his teeth at the tension in his stomach he's trying so hard to keep from snapping.
"taking me so well. my god. you're gonna kill me."
his vision swirls as he opens his eyes, momentarily blurred from how hard he was knitting them together. darting from your unfocused face- mirroring the same tension his is- to your hands squeezing at your breasts. beautiful body splayed out beneath him. gently squirming and intermittently jolting at the slow, blissful stretch of his cock.
"you asked if i thought about this."
he murmurs, plunging the last couple of inches inside until your pelvises are flush against one another.
it knocks the moan out of your lungs, head craning further back into your pillows.
"fuck- i'm so fucking gross-" he laughs, pulling out halfway to sink back into you. setting the rhythm of out halfway, slowly back in, and then harshly closing the last inch of distance.
"higuruma-"
"couldn't have imagined this. doesn't even come close."
you can hardly breathe. he's so long it's winding you each time he bottoms out, made worse by the fact your lungs are being compressed with how he's got you folded in on yourself. pointed tip catching on your enlarged sweet spot each time he fucks back into you.
"feel so good- hahh- smell so good- i just can't."
"i can't take it. i can't take you."
he's hardly started, and you're already clamping down without rhythm. the distance of time between each pulse is drawing shorter and shorter with each brush against your gspot.
"fuck- m' already close, gotta slow down," you whine, voice crackling with overstimulation.
even with the condom on, the heat of your insides seeps up his entire body. this is the most drunk he's felt all night, and it's off you.
"go ahead. do whatever you want." he huffs, your words doing nothing but provoking him to speed up his space. the room around you isn't granted a moment of silence between your shared moans and loud, wet plaps.
"i just- fuck- i just wanna see it."
his chest drops, folding you further in on yourself until he's positioning you into a near mating press. your hands fly to his back, nails hooking in at the first contact of skin into a dreadfully erotic drag that's got him groaning.
"i wanna see all of you. please- ngh- please let me- fuck-"
the desperation in his voice - the out-of-character confessions, begging, and whimpers - all of it has you so flustered you wonder if you're about to get a nosebleed.
the new angle turns what was just idle gspot stimulation into purposeful, filling thrusts that make it so his shaft drags against it with each slam into you. completely under his thumb.
"y'r so big- fuck- m'gonna squirt again i think-"
you wheeze out, immediately starting to go lightheaded from expending your precious, limited air on a warning.
"yeah? let me feel it- fuck- need to feel you finish around me. let it go for me, gorgeous."
it crashes into you like wave- starting at your feet and rolling throughout your entire body until it hits your head- sending it flying back as your vision goes white.
he can't tell if it's blood or sweat collecting at his back, but either way, it's hiking the rush of his climax closer in combination with the gush of squirt that hits his lower stomach as you finish. the near painful-squeeze of your walls around his dick. the panicked hands that grasp at him like he's the only thing present to keep you tied to this world.
"somuchsomuch-ican't-fuck-please"
the drive of his cock slows with intent, turning into restrained slow pulls and harsh split-second pounds that make the bed creak beneath you.
once. twice. three times, and he's emptying his balls into the condom with a strangled groan. your body is already limp beneath him, no other choice but to take the overstimulation that's got you seeing stars.
trembles wrack his bones and muscles as he pulls out, sitting back on the balls of his feet so he can tie off the condom and toss it into your bedside can. aftershocks hitting him in slow waves, sending chills down his spine and trembling recooperating breaths to sound.
he feels like he's about to pass out.
he closes your knees for you, what a gentleman, and shifts to collapse face-first into pillows beside you. one arm draped beneath your bust to keep the two of you connected.
no words exchanged. no gentle, coaxing touches. no inkling of another round in sight for either of you.
just uneven breaths and heads heavy with relief - and every word adjacent to it.
the lines of moonlight cast through your shutters become clear as you blink towards the ceiling. slowly, you refamiliarize yourself with your senses.
heavy warmth seeps into your chest, and you quickly realize it's him. still here. still close to you.
just... unmoving and face down.
"...higuruma?"
silence. just for a beat.
"mm."
"...are you asleep?"
he shakes his head quick enough for that to be the truth.
"...are you... okay...?"
...he shakes his head again. with enough reluctance for that to also be the truth.
you start to shift your side, sighing at the way his arm instinctively tightens. like he thinks you're going to leave.
"m'not going anywhere." you hum, one hand coming to soothe into his back. "just making sure you're not dead."
you can feel the laugh beneath your palm- snuffed out by the pillows he's currently face-first in.
he lifts his head, just to look to you and let it plot down. the both of you just breaths away from the other. steaming with pleasure and now bathing in fatigue.
"still alive. no seance has to be held to bring me back." he grumbles, eyes already half lidded with sleep.
"bold of you to assume i'd want to bring you back."
"mm... you don't mean that."
you're quiet for a beat, looking over his exhausted, fully relaxed figure. small smile sprawling on your face instinctually. it's sweet. he looks different when he's doesn't have a stick up his ass.
"...caught me."
it's weak. telling.
he responds with a firm tug as he rolls onto his own side- pulling you flush to his chest in one, lazy movement. a sweet kiss pressed to the crown of your head.
you lay like that for a while. breaths eventually settling in sync with the other. skin to skin. no rush to get back home before sunrise or allow regret to set in.
you're both just tired. always have been.
"stay the night?" you whisper, small. voice dying out as it leaves your mouth like you're afraid to ask it. doubtful he's even awake to hear it.
just for them to be immediately soothed with a solid, soft palm running up and down your back.
"mhm."
gentle. aware. not a trace of regret or prejudice found in his words - and you can't help but curl deeper into his warmth.
thank u for reading! i am publishing this at 5 am after tweaks so not rlly proofread so. but ty anyway for reading my little first longfic prototype. <3
being born into the illustrious hyuga family, neji hyuga was deemed the genius of them all. as the descendants of hamura otsutsuki—the god of the moon—they were gifted the ability to see phantoms that plagued the land of the living. but in truth, neji remained indifferent to them. just another oddity in the city he called home.
that was, until your path collides with his one random evening.
now neji wasn't particularly religious, though his father instilled it in him that it couldn't hurt to pray. so when no one else is there, neji circles to the back of the building where the seemingly innocuous shrine laid and prayed for protection.
it was a particularly long day of work when the rain poured with no sign of stopping anytime soon. it was quite a good day, how could the storm clouds randomly decide that now was the most optimal time to rain, he notes with a tinge of annoyance. but regardless, all neji wanted was to get home without looking too much like a drenched cat.
as he turned the corner, a large looking phantom starts turning the corner, its voice distorted as it keeps repeating "tired. tired. tired." the same thing neji himself mumbled when he left. nothing seemed to stop it as it charged towards him, much faster than it looked. though he was trained in martial arts, neji seriously doubted that such things would be able to take down something of that size.
but right when the phantom was about to jump and eat him, a sword flew through the air before slicing off one of its arms. taking shelter in an alleyway, neji looks up to see a woman on a rooftop, calling out a random name and summoning another sword. there was an almost graceful way with which you took out the phantom, the sword slicing through the flesh like it was nothing. a flash of light shined, before the silence returned once more.
the weapons disappeared before his very eyes and the whole sequence left neji reeling. were you one of the gods father talked about? there was of course the uchihas, the gods of fire. kakashi hatake, the god of lightning and many more he couldn't name off the top of his head.
when he was a child, hizashi would tell stories about the many gods and goddesses that people pray to. and to neji, they were nothing more than silly bedtime stories, even though his father and many others very well believed in them.
"hey, it's gone. you can come out now," you said, smoothing down your clothes.
neji flinched. of course you noticed his presence.
upon seeing you, neji noted that you didn't really have the usual disposition that was befitting of a god. it was as if you were just another person inhabiting this world. though an odd feeling surged in his chest as he allowed his gaze to linger on you for a little longer than he should.
something about you seemed familiar, but for the life of him, he couldn't understand why. and the feeling furthered intensified when you approached him to ask if he was okay. the tension in neji's shoulders relaxed ever so slightly—an instinctive thing that he barely noticed.
and as neji thanked you and continued on his walk home, you didn't leave his mind. even as he eventually drifted off to sleep.
* shinki: also known as regalia. divine vessels that have both human and vessel forms (these vessel forms can be weapons, animals and other objects such as clothing) that have special contracts with gods/goddess to do their bidding. a shinki is meant to obey their master at all times, control their emotions and avoid falling into temptations that lead to committing sins. one can only become a regalia after death.
neji masterlist | likes + reblogs are very much appreciated !!
Description: Neji is a gentleman, Y/n is patient, and maybe getting caught in the rain after training was the best thing that'd ever happened to them.
Includes- Plot Heavy, Accidental Voyeurism, Masturbation (R), Mutual Masturbation, Pre-mature Ejaculation, Cum Tasting, First Time, Getting Together
Notes: No Beta Reader and, i honestly considered just removing the smut entirely and making it a getting together fluff with making out? That's not to say there's so little smut, but this is definitely a story centric smut. I actually ended up going back in and re-writing the end and I like it a lot better now.
Word count: 5 186
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Once, while at a hot spring with the others, Naruto had the bright idea to try and spy on the girls. Neji likes to think himself above the past holier than thou attitude he’d had prior to his match against the offending party during his second chunin exams, but it’s a fact that he both stopped Naruto and discouraged anyone else who would follow in his footsteps. Not only because his cousin and Tenten were over there, and it was his duty to protect their honor, but because it was the right thing to do.
That story has been brought up, never in the face of the girls, to illustrate points of how straight-laced and non-perverse Neji is; much to some of his comrades' chagrin.
This is a completely different situation.
For one, it was unintentional. For another, he’s stuck– his sleeve is snagged on the wall and it would be too troublesome to tear it away and repair it, he’ll just have to remove it carefully.
A shaky breath and strangled whine, or maybe a moan, causes him to pinch his eyes shut and take a deep breath of his own. His fingers still in the fabric of his sleeve, grip tight on the snagged corner. He’s stuck, he’s not standing here on purpose. It’s not his fault the door must have bounced off the frame, leaving it open a crack, it’s a complete coincidence his sleeve caught in the exposed frame and forced him to be aligned with the opening.
He can hear the faint sloshing of the water. The steam from the bathroom warms his skin and weighs down his lungs. His sleeve is still stuck. His eyes are still closed.
Neji cannot think of any way to remove his sleeve without opening his eyes.
Slowly he opens them, focusing a little too intensely on the sleeve of his yukata. There's a tiny stain that he never got out from that time he stopped Lee from face planting in his food, and there’s a pretty embroidered flower where Hinata fixed a tear for him. There’s a scorch mark from when he was up too late writing a mission report, and there’s about to be a new tear from getting out of here.
The water shifts, sloshing against the sides of the tub a little louder than before, and Y/n whines. He probably wouldn’t have heard it if he were anywhere but right in front of the open bathroom door, but he hears it. The whine, sloshing water, the choked whimpers.
He can’t even bring himself to be upset at how improper it is to be masturbating in someone else’s bathroom when they let you stay the night.
It’s just instinct that he looks over at a particularly loud whine. The instinct that keeps him alive on the battlefield has him looking over just in time to catch the way her back arches off the side of the tub. Her shoulders shake, her mouth hangs open, and one hand grips the rim of the tub.
He watches the way her chest heaves, wondering what her heart would feel like as it pounds in her chest. Would it feel the same as when they spar? When she drapes herself over his back while they take a break. Would her nails, scratching uselessly at the tub, leave marks like the ones she laughs about leaving during training? Or would they be deeper, less restrained, desperate?
His head snaps back towards his sleeve, face burning hotter in embarrassment at his own leering.
“Neji,” Y/n sighs, and he can feel the muscles in his abdomen tighten. She’s… thinking about him? “Neji,” she repeats, a little less breath in her voice, “I didn’t take you for a closet perv.”
“I am not a perv.”
He bites his tongue as soon as the words leave his mouth. It wasn’t like he could hide anyway; he looks back over and locks eyes with Y/n.
“Sorry about your tub…”
She pulls her knees into her chest, the water splashing around her, and wraps her arms around her knees– resting her cheek on them to look at him.
“It’s…” he pauses, because it shouldn’t be- “fine. I didn’t mean to-” he clears his throat awkwardly and waves his free hand in her direction, “my sleeve got caught and I was trying not to tear it.”
Y/n laughs. “It looks very stuck.”
Brows furrowed in confusion, and a bit of annoyance at the clear mockery, Neji looks down at his sleeve again. There’s a small hook beside the door frame, his sleeve isn’t snagged it’s just hooked. He can feel his cheeks heat up in further embarrassment as he removes his sleeve from the offending object.
The water moves again and he purposefully keeps his gaze still locked on his sleeve, thumb smoothing over the small dent in the fabric.
“Since you’re here, could you pass me my towel? It’s a little cold.”
A blatant lie if he’d ever heard one, and yet he pushes the door open enough to let himself in. Y/n’s leaning against the side of the tub now, one hand outstretched to take the towel and the other folded under her chin. The steam in the room makes the air thick, it sticks to his lungs and makes his breathing heavy.
It certainly has nothing to do with how peaceful she looks, or the fact that if she leans back even slightly he’d see her breasts.
Neji picks the towel up from the stack and places it in her hand, then he turns to leave.
“Neji?”
“What is it now?” There’s no real bite to his words.
“I can’t figure out how to unplug the drain.”
A better lie than the last, except that Neji had been to her place before and knows her tub has the same drain. He could call her out on it, or at least tell her it’s the same as hers, but he doesn’t. Just like he didn’t keep walking when he saw the door open a crack.
Neji turns back around and pulls his sleeve up, approaching the tub. Y/n keeps herself pressed to the side of the tub, leaving Neji with an unobstructed view of her back and the scars that litter the skin. He’s not looking on purpose, he just happens to be turned to face her while he reaches for the plug. His eyes definitely don’t follow the curve of her spine into the water.
He stands up while the water rushes into the drain.
“Anything else?” He asks.
“My clothes are still wet.”
“I’ll bring something for you to wear to the guest room.”
“Thank you.”
He turns around, and Y/n stands up. The last of the water splashes around her, and then he hears her wet feet stick to the floor.
“Have you no shame?”
“I know you won’t turn around,” Y/n laughs. Then there’s a weight between his shoulder blades, and it makes him stand a little straighter. He feels the gradual pressure shift as she flattens her palm against his back. She gives him a little nudge forward. “Besides, we’re heading the same way.”
It’s a playful act he’s all too familiar with. She’s in his blind spot, or what would be his blind spot if he were using his byakugan. During a match it’s a playful warning that she’s got him, when they’re on a mission it’s a reminder that she has his back. Now, he’s not sure what it’s supposed to mean.
The act is too tender to be a request to leave but her words implied that was the end of this interaction.
Slowly Neji turns around, one hand coming up to grab Y/n’s wrist. He keeps her close enough that once he turns around her hand rests in the center of his chest. She clearly had faith in her earlier assessments because her eyes widen and the hand holding her towel closed tightens slightly.
“I turned around. Anything else you don’t think I’ll do? You’re currently oh for two,” there’s a teasing smile at the edge of his lips, curling its way around his words. “Maybe it’s time I make a prediction.” He lets go of her wrist and turns away again, stepping out of the bathroom and leaving her stunned. “Let’s see if you prove me wrong.”
He never did say what his prediction was, never made a statement like those she’d been making. Neji left clean clothes outside the guestroom door, only knocking to inform Y/n they were there, and they ate dinner across from one another while discussing their previous missions. They’d been training together for the first time in weeks– Neji had been on a mission with team Guy and Y/n had been accompanying team InoShikaCho as their medical ninja– when a storm rolled in unexpectedly.
Being the gentleman he is, or as Y/n was starting to suspect the gentleman he tries to convince everyone– even himself– he is, he insisted she couldn’t walk home in this weather. So here they were, in his home of the Hyuuga compound.
The storm had slowed to an almost peaceful rain by the time Y/n retired for the night. Now she lay on her futon, hands laced on her abdomen, staring blankly at the ceiling. A part of her really didn’t want Neji’s prediction to come true, but there was no way to know what he thought she’d do.
With a huff she rolls out of bed and quietly makes her way into the hall. A flash of lightning illuminates the hall, and Y/n finds herself staring outside as she walks towards Neji’s room. The tree and brush shake in the wind, leaves heavy with rain, and the sky is an inky black with no stars in sight.
She nearly walks into the door she wants, stopping only a step away when she feels the presence of the wall. With a quick half step back she knocks before she can think better of it.
There’s also no time to second guess herself before the door slides open.
“Did I prove you wrong?”
Neji smiles, crossing his arms and leaning against the door frame.
“No. Would you like to guess where you went wrong or should I just tell you?”
Y/n frowns, matching his pose and leaning into his space.
“I asked if I proved you wrong?”
“Nothing so precise, I just predicted you’d show up at my room for some reason.”
“That’s so vague, and stupid! What if we were under attack? What if I had a medical emergency? That wouldn’t be fair.”
Slowly, cautiously, Neji untucks one of his arms and reaches out towards Y/n. His fingers lightly graze her cheek, and then they curl until his knuckles rest against the skin.
“Why were you,” he clears his throat, “doing that, earlier?”
He feels her cheek heat up under his touch as her eyes look towards the ground.
“I should probably actually apologize, huh? It’s just, a routine. To blow off that last bit of adrenaline, you know? But I am sorry, and not just because you caught me. I was really unsure if, you know, I should’ve just ignored it.”
“Someone once told me that it’s unhealthy to ignore one's feelings.”
“This is different. Unless you would have preferred I ask if I could ma-”
Neji’s hand moves from her cheek to cover Y/n’s mouth, muffling the rest of her words as his face turns pink. But he doesn’t look away, instead his eyes take on a more serious expression.
“Seriously, no shame at all.” Y/n runs her tongue along his palm and laughs as his face twists into an expression of disgust, but he doesn’t let go. “Did you just lick me?”
Y/n makes a muffled sound of acknowledgment. After a moment Neji removes his hand to reveal a shit eating grin spread across Y/n’s face.
“No, having no shame would be asking to watch you,” she made a general gesture with her hands like he had earlier, “because you watched me.”
“It was an accident.”
“Hm, but you liked it.”
Neji splutters and then turns on his heels. Y/n expects him to shut the door in her face, but he doesn’t.
“When you say it’s a routine to blow off steam, are our matches not enough? I could understand today,” he stops in the center of his room and looks out the window, a flash of lightning illuminates his profile and disappears as he looks back at her, “but enough for it to be routine?”
Y/n steps inside.
“Now you’re just fishing for answers you won’t like,” Y/n mumbles, slowly coming up behind him and wrapping her arms around his waist. She splays her hands over his heart and smiles against his back when he stiffens. “I like you, Neji, and training with you gives me these ideas that I just can’t ignore.”
Y/n feels Neji’s arms shift and then one hand comes up to cover hers, pressing it closer to himself.
“Ideas,” Neji sounds thoughtful, his fingers curl against the back of Y/n’s hand, “tell me about them.”
“So unfair,” Y/n huffs. “Really, are you trying to humiliate me?”
“Sometimes I wonder what it would feel like to have your thighs wrapped around my head. When you wrap your legs around my waist to flip me over during training, I can feel the way your muscles flex and strain, it’s… distracting.” He pauses, fingers absentmindedly stroking the back of her hand still. “There. Now it’s your turn.”
“Earlier,” Y/n’s fingers curl in the fabric of his yukata, pulling it open just a bit, “when we got caught in the rain, you looked stupidly hot and I wondered, would you look like that if we bathed together? Then I thought, it’d probably feel nice to have you wash my back, and then my thoughts kind of wandered.”
“Then you were thinking of me.”
“Mhm. Is that… okay with you?”
“I told you earlier, didn’t I? It’s fine. If it’s you, that is.”
Y/n slides her hand from his yukata to the exposed skin of his chest, kissing the hair that cascades down his back. Then she turns to rest her cheek on his back and looks out the window.
“Neji, why did you wait up for me?”
“Because I knew you would come. I wanted you to come, because it means you meant it earlier.”
Slowly, as if still unsure of his assessment, Neji pulls Y/n’s arms away from him so he can turn around. His hands cautiously settle on her waist, and she brings hers back to his chest. Maybe they could have stayed like that, silently staring into each other's eyes, breathing each other in. Maybe… if they hadn’t spent so long stewing in their feelings.
Neji leans in first, his tongue sweeps across her lips and slides against her own. The hands around her waist curl into the fabric, tugging at it as though the action might keep him sane. Y/n’s hands slide under the opening of his yukata and circle around his neck, pulling the fabric from his shoulders just a little more.
Their lungs burn as they stumble back into the wall but they’re used to pushing through it. Neji begins toying with the ends of Y/n’s tie, unwilling to open it without her permission but unwilling to pull away. One hand claws at the back of his neck while the other tangles in his hair and she pulls it.
And he moans.
It forces them apart just enough that they can’t ignore the lack of oxygen anymore and they separate enough to get clean air– as much as they just want to keep breathing each other in. The string of spit connecting their lips snaps as Y/n turns her head, chest heaving so hard it knocks against his own. He licks his spit covered lips, watching as her unfocused eyes turn back to his.
“I love you, Neji,” Y/n breaths, voice heavy with the air she struggles to take in. Her head falls against the wall and she lets it roll so that she’s no longer turned away from him. “And you don’t need to say it back yet. I know…” She smiles at him and runs her fingers through his hair as she lets her head fall forward onto his shoulder. “I know this isn’t something you’d do lightly.”
The tension in Neji’s body seems to dissipate, at least a little, but he keeps toying with the tie around her waist.
His head leans against hers, and he presses a kiss to the top of her head.
“May I undress you?”
His breath against the shell of her ear makes her shiver.
“Yes. Can I undress you?”
Neji laughs, soft and breathless. Nearly drowned out by the rain outside. “I think, I’d let you do just about anything.”
“Just about?”
She pulls her head from his shoulder and slides her hands to cup his chin. His own come up to hold them, thumbs tracing arcs against her pulse.
“I would hate to disappoint you.”
“You could never.”
Neji chuckles nervously and averts his gaze.
“I’ll hold you to that.”
In a bid for equality, Neji encourages Y/n to undress him first. Her hands shake a bit as she undoes the tie, buts he doesn’t look away as it pulls apart slightly. She’s seen him shirtless before, so the parts of his chest that are exposed are nothing special, but if it parted just a little more… if she pulled it open…
She swallows hard but saliva quickly pools in her mouth again.
Neji’s hands grasp hers again.
“Would you like some help?”
“No.”
She shakes her head and then pushes the yukata from his body. Neji shivers in the cool air. He watches Y/n, trying to ignore the heat that rises to his cheeks but unable to stop himself from crossing his arms. He’s definitely not feeling a little self conscious.
Y/n clears her throat awkwardly, mumbling an apology and finally looks up at him again.
“You’re gorgeous.”
Neji is thankful for the low light.
Y/n rests her hands on his lower abdomen, and Neji can feel his dick twitch at how close her hands are. He’s sure they’ll feel better than his own, if only because they’re hers.
His own hands find the tie of her yukata.
“May I?”
“Yes please.”
Neji’s less hesitant, maybe because he’s seen her naked– though obscured by the bath– or maybe because he’s nervous about being the only one naked. The shake of his hands is barely noticeable, but Y/n can feel every nudge through the fabric of her clothes.
He’s careful as he pulls the fabric from Y/n’s shoulder, and his gaze never leaves her face. The yukata catches on her elbows.
“Whoops,” she laughs, pulling it the rest of the way off, “where do you want this.”
“You can leave it here for now.”
Y/n nods and drops it on top of his own.
“Hi?”
“Hi.”
They stare at each other as the rain continues to patter outside and then… Y/n laughs.
It bubbles out so suddenly that Neji is caught off guard, but he joins in as she curls into his chest. Her hands rest over his heart, and his come up to rest on her waist. He rests his chin on her head.
Whatever tension had been building, nervous and excited, fizzles down to a simmer.
Neji cups her chin and turns her face up to his. Y/n’s still smiling, but her eyes soften as they meet his.
It’s not hesitant, the way they lean in this time, but it’s slow. Like they’re savouring the moment. Unlike the first kiss they don’t push against each other like some kind of competition, instead they take their time. Neji traces his tongue along her teeth, and hers nudges against his every so often.
He pushes her back against the wall, one arm caging her in while the other still holds her chin. Her hands tangle in his hair, tugging gently as he crowds her.
Neji hisses suddenly, resting his forehead against hers.
“Neji?”
“Sorry,” he whispers. “Can we…” he clears his throat, “Can we lay down?”
Y/n can feel the heat rise to her cheeks as she nods. Neji takes her hand and leads her towards his futon.
She forces herself not to turn away in embarrassment, instead focusing on their hands.
She can feel the callouses and small scars that litter Neji’s hand. Warmth radiated from his skin, and his grip is a little tight and a little sweaty. Or maybe that’s her hand? The futon comes into view by her feet. She forces her gaze up.
Neji’s no more relaxed, and maybe that’s what makes it less scary.
Y/n tugs on Neji’s hand.
“Sit down.”
“Huh?”
“I said sit.”
Neji hesitates for a second and then does as he’s told, sitting crosslegged but never letting go of Y/n’s hand. She doesn’t let him dwell on the command before she steps forward– Neji’s breath hitches as his face is practically pressed into her, his eyes close perhaps out of propriety, and he takes a deep breath– and sits straddling his lap.
His dick twitches, making him hiss as Y/n grazes his length, and his hands drop to her waist to push her back slightly.
Y/n cups his cheeks to stabilize herself, and takes the opportunity to kiss him again. It distracts Neji enough that she can settle more comfortably.
A soft moan breaks the kiss as Y/n grazes her clit against Neji’s dick. Her walls clench around nothing and her clit throbs. Neji’s fingers dig into her hips and he can’t stop his hips from jerking up. His tip grazes her abdomen, and he gasps.
Shudders rack his body as warmth paints Y/n’s abdomen and splashes up her chest. Neji pulls her closer until she presses his dick into his abdomen, the friction and pressure has him rocking against her unconsciously. His breathing is laboured as he keeps their lips pressed together, although it probably didn’t count as a kiss.
Y/n’s fingers slide into his hair and scratch at his scalp, making him shudder again, and her walls flutter around nothing.
His lips slid against her neck as he buries his face in her neck.
“Still not disappointed,” Y/n whispers, smiling.
“Why?” Neji mumbles, lips brushing her neck with each word.
One hand slides from his hair and comes between them. She collects some of his cum from her abdomen and tentatively licks it while he stares wide eyed. Her face scrunches up slightly.
“Why would you do that?” Neji asks, sounding bewildered.
“I-” Y/n splutters, “I read it in a book… It didn’t sound too bad.”
Neji smiles.
“May I, taste you?”
Y/n’s walls clench and she nods slowly.
Neji moves one hand to her back to ease her backwards until she’s laying down and he’s settled between her legs.
“Wh-Neji?!”
“Not a word, unless you’d like me to stop?”
It’s not a threat, or a warning. He’s asking permission, and she grants it.
She’ll bully answers out of him later.
For now she relaxes into the futon as Neji slowly runs his tongue through the length of her folds. Her breath hitches as his tongue grazes her clit. Then she feels his fingers prod at the flesh, mapping it out.
“Tell me what to do.”
Y/n stares at the ceiling.
“Why don’t I give you a better view of what I was doing in the bath earlier?”
Neji buries his face in her abdomen, fingers digging into her hips. She smiles and runs her hands through his hair.
“It wouldn’t be fair.” Neji mumbles, lips dragging along her skin. “I should,” Y/n can feel his face screw up.
“It’s okay, Neji. You don’t need to-”
Suddenly Neji looks up and, even through the low light, Y/n can see the determination in his eyes. Such pretty eyes that she feels stupid for never noticing how they look at her. How much time had they wasted going their separate ways after training?
“I want to. If- If I couldn’t get you pregnant,” Y/n shudders at the thought, “I would ask to bed you but, I can and I’m not going to put you in that position. So I apologize, and ask that you bear with me, because this will have to do for now.” He takes a deep breath and then sits back on his knees. “Sit up please.”
Y/n sits up, knees bent slightly and Neji intertwines their legs. By now his eyes have adjusted enough to the dark that he can just barely make out Y/n’s figure in moderate detail. He’s so used to being her eyes in the dark, having her faith when she’s blind, that he only now realizes she probably can’t see him very well.
“Would you like me to grab a light?”
“It’s fine, I can see enough.”
Neji, partly to calm his own nerves, rubs her calf.
At some point the rain had stopped and the sky had cleared just enough that dim moonlight filters into the room. It leaves Y/n with a gentle silver halo.
“Neji?”
“Yes?”
“Don’t you need lubricant?”
“Ah, yes.” He turns and then immediately snaps back to Y/n because that would expose what he gets up to sometimes. Granted he’d already admitted to jacking off to the thought of her but that was a completely different level of exposure. “Can you-” He stops.
“Do you want me to spit for you?”
Neji’s eyes go wide.
“What have you been reading?”
“What have you been reading?”
“Nothing for you to concern yourself with,” Neji scoffs, making Y/n laugh.
Y/n cautiously pulls Neji’s hand from her calf and spits into his palm. Then she settles her weight back on one hand and focuses on the ground between them.
Neji wraps his hand around the base of his dick and begins to slowly work himself. Y/n, noticing the way the muscles in his legs twitch and his toes curl slightly, looks up to find Neji not looking at her. Or away from her like she might have expected. He’s looking down, and that realization causes her walls to flutter and her core to clench.
Slowly she moves her free hand between her legs, her fingers graze her clit and her breath hitches. She circles her clit before tracing her finger down and then sinking two fingers in immediately, eyes falling shut. Neji’s hand stills, his dick twitches and he swallows hard.
Y/n lets out a long sigh and opens her eyes again to find Neji’s gaze still fixed between her legs.
“You look like you’re about to start drooling.”
“I hate to rush you but, I would very much like to marry you as soon as possible.”
Y/n slowly begins to pump her fingers out and in, and Neji matches her pace. It’s not enough, but their muscles still flutter all the same. There’s something about being watched and watching the other that makes the lackluster pace more thrilling.
Neji squeezes slightly and swipes his thumb over the tip making his hips jerk. Y/n grinds the heel of her hand into her clit and stops moving as her walls clench around her fingers. She rolls her hips up into her hand.
“Faster,” Neji breathes, “please.”
Y/n pumps her fingers in and out faster, the heel of her hand repeatedly knocking against her clit and causing the knot in her gut to tighten. Neji’s pace matches hers as the room fills with heavy pants and squelching that has them both twitching.
The hand bracing Y/n’s weight scratches at the floor, while Neji’s free hand fists the blanket of his futon. There’s no way they can sleep on it after this.
Precum drips from Neji’s tip, mixing with Y/n’s spit.
Y/n whines. “I didn’t think you could look any prettier, ap-” her breath hitches, "apparently I was so very wrong. Neji… touch me.”
He shakes his head. “After, first, I want to see what makes you feel good.”
Y/n slides her fingers from her dripping hole, arousal coats her whole palm, and circles her clit with two fingers.
“I’m gonna cum. Can I?”
Neji feels the knot in his gut twist sharply at her breathless plea. He could say no. Would she get all pouty like she does during training? Could he handle telling her no? He’d cum once already, he should let her cum before he cums again. It’s only fair.
Although technically they are even.
“With me. Cum with me.”
Granted he’s not sure he can tell exactly when he’ll cum, but he has a feeling that watching her will be enough.
Her fingers speed up, her hips jerking erratically as she whines and her breathing gets heavier. Neji thrusts his hips up into his hand, imagining it was Y/n. Y/n’s head hangs down suddenly and her toes curl.
She whines, short and choked as her body goes tense and her hips wiggle against her hand as just enough becomes too much. Neji groans at the sight, and the knot in his gut snaps, painting his abdomen and hand white. His eyes screw shut and he can feel hair falling into his face.
They both continue slowly rocking into their hands as they ride out their highs.
“Neji,” Y/n calls. The same way she had earlier from the tub. “You really are a closet perv,” she giggles.
“Don’t tell anyone.”
“No, this is just for me, right?”
Neji nods, slowly opening his eyes and pushing his hair out of his face with his clean hand. He finds Y/n staring at him with hazy eyes. She winces as she moves her fingers away from her clit.
Her clean hand reaches out to touch his jaw, and he takes that as a sign to move closer. They meet in the middle in a slow kiss.
“May I join you in the bath?” Neji asks as they separate just enough to breathe.
Their lungs still burn from exertion.
“You promised to touch me, don’t tell me you’re tired already.”
“I haven’t forgotten, and I plan to make good on my promise, but I think it’ll be much easier to clean up in the bath.”
Y/n giggles. “Does whatever book you’ve been reading have any suggestions for no-pregnancy risk sex?”
“Do yours?” Y/n turns away and coughs awkwardly. Neji feels the muscles in his abdomen twist at the implication. “We’ll save those for later then. I might have read one or two things that apply here.”
being born into the illustrious hyuga family, neji hyuga was deemed the genius of them all. as the descendants of hamura otsutsuki—the god of the moon—they were gifted the ability to see phantoms that plagued the land of the living. but in truth, neji remained indifferent to them. just another oddity in the city he called home.
that was, until your path collides with his one random evening.
now neji wasn't particularly religious, though his father instilled it in him that it couldn't hurt to pray. so when no one else is there, neji circles to the back of the building where the seemingly innocuous shrine laid and prayed for protection.
it was a particularly long day of work when the rain poured with no sign of stopping anytime soon. it was quite a good day, how could the storm clouds randomly decide that now was the most optimal time to rain, he notes with a tinge of annoyance. but regardless, all neji wanted was to get home without looking too much like a drenched cat.
as he turned the corner, a large looking phantom starts turning the corner, its voice distorted as it keeps repeating "tired. tired. tired." the same thing neji himself mumbled when he left. nothing seemed to stop it as it charged towards him, much faster than it looked. though he was trained in martial arts, neji seriously doubted that such things would be able to take down something of that size.
but right when the phantom was about to jump and eat him, a sword flew through the air before slicing off one of its arms. taking shelter in an alleyway, neji looks up to see a woman on a rooftop, calling out a random name and summoning another sword. there was an almost graceful way with which you took out the phantom, the sword slicing through the flesh like it was nothing. a flash of light shined, before the silence returned once more.
the weapons disappeared before his very eyes and the whole sequence left neji reeling. were you one of the gods father talked about? there was of course the uchihas, the gods of fire. kakashi hatake, the god of lightning and many more he couldn't name off the top of his head.
when he was a child, hizashi would tell stories about the many gods and goddesses that people pray to. and to neji, they were nothing more than silly bedtime stories, even though his father and many others very well believed in them.
"hey, it's gone. you can come out now," you said, smoothing down your clothes.
neji flinched. of course you noticed his presence.
upon seeing you, neji noted that you didn't really have the usual disposition that was befitting of a god. it was as if you were just another person inhabiting this world. though an odd feeling surged in his chest as he allowed his gaze to linger on you for a little longer than he should.
something about you seemed familiar, but for the life of him, he couldn't understand why. and the feeling furthered intensified when you approached him to ask if he was okay. the tension in neji's shoulders relaxed ever so slightly—an instinctive thing that he barely noticed.
and as neji thanked you and continued on his walk home, you didn't leave his mind. even as he eventually drifted off to sleep.
* shinki: also known as regalia. divine vessels that have both human and vessel forms (these vessel forms can be weapons, animals and other objects such as clothing) that have special contracts with gods/goddess to do their bidding. a shinki is meant to obey their master at all times, control their emotions and avoid falling into temptations that lead to committing sins. one can only become a regalia after death.
neji masterlist | likes + reblogs are very much appreciated !!
summary: drinking a cup of tea with you—his lover was the highlight of his day after his seemingly endless shinobi tasks. well, until you start asking a random question that brings about a sappiness that he never though he had, of course.
content: established relationship, very yumeship coded, black reader (though anyone can read !), fluff fluff and more fluff, one (1) innuendo, set during blank period.
author's note: so guess who's back🧍♀️really sorry for going mia. university and writer's block have been taking turns beating my ass but i'm happy to say i came on top. this started out as a small exercise to get back into the swing of things and it just devolved into...This. anyways, i'm gonna probably disappear again to focus on uni so i hope yall enjoy <33 (btw should i post this on ao3 cause idk).
🎧: pride—kendrick lamar
neji masterlist
"if we get reincarnated, what do you think we'd be?"
raising an eyebrow, neji took a sip of tea. the wind chimes sounded from over head as a small breeze flowed. "where's this coming from?"
you shrugged, snapping a cookie in half and handing him one. "eh, someone asked me that when i was at this stall and it had me curious."
you had been back in your home village for around a month, briefly visiting your family before embarking to one of the many islands surrounding the village. the southern most island—6 o'clock if memory served correctly—if the spread of various fruits and sweets on the plate between them was of any indication. one of the many gifts that you brought back home.
as neji chewed on the buttery cookie, his iridescent eyes watched as a pair of birds danced in near perfect sync, swooping and swirling around the setting sky. one of them—a magpie, if neji had to guess—tweeted to its companion before flying off into the distance.
free to fly wherever they pleased.
he glanced sidelong at his lover. there was a shimmer in your eyes, as if they were twin pools. the setting sun's rays only made your skin almost golden, though it paled in comparison to the content smile that brightened your features.
if they were birds, neji thought, he was sure that he would follow you no matter where your wings took you.
the warmth that was building within his core was snuffed out with a scowl as he turned away. why was he even indulging such a ridiculous question in the first place?
a swift poke on the bridge of his nose broke neji out of his reverie.
"all that scowling's gonna make your face all wrinkly," you pointed out, lips curling into its usual mischievous smirk. "it's a simple question."
"nothing is ever simple with you," neji retorted, briefly taking a peek at the tree before sighing in resignation.
another lapse of silence followed before it was broken. "in another life, i think we'd be birds."
your only answer was leaning closer to his side with a knowing smile.
"obviously," you said, voice playful before it grew into something softer. "you'd be a hawk. you said that they fly the highest, right?"
he had said that. it was a comforting thing, his lifelong fascination with flight unearthing before his eyes. if he closed his eyes, neji could practically feel the cool wind brushing his skin as he swooped across the clear sky. to be weightless in the air meant that he was untethered to those who only considered him to be yet another pair of powerful eyes that could serve konoha.
no shinobi life, no bright green curse mark that signified his subordination. a wonderful life indeed.
a quick peck was pressed to the corner of neji's jaw. the mischief that was brimming in your eyes was stripped away, bringing forth a sweet fondness swimming in its depth.
"so what about me?"
neji cleared his throat, dutifully ignoring the red imbued on his cheeks and the way he stumbled through his words. "well, i supposed you'd either be those snowy owls from the land of iron, or a magpie."
"magpie?" you tilted your head in confusion.
"they're very social," he listed off. "and they're known for their songs. they can recognize their reflections in mirrors and they take what they want for themselves."
for a few moments, you closed your eyes, considering his words. "eh, i don't see it."
"you hum while styling your hair. that's very musical of you."
you laughed, as melodic as the very birds he spoke of. for as long as he could remember, it was a sound that he was quite fond of. "yeah, you think i should become a singer?
"you're also quite brazen," neji rolled his eyes, but the beginnings of a small betrayed him seeing the mock offense plastered on his lover's face.
"brazen?" you asked with a raised brow, finishing your now lukewarm tea. "i just know what i want and i go for it."
that much was true. no one would successfully defeat their father—the head of the clan at that time—and usher in a new era of change when the tight threads of tradition were so deeply woven in the very fabric of the clan and village for centuries if they lacked the boldness needed.
though, with muted amusement, he pushed down the urge to bring up how avoidant you had been in that brief, tentative period before they began dating. if it weren't for your friend sending that scrapped confession letter on that fateful day, they wouldn't be here now, with your head resting on the space between his shoulder and neck as you gazed up at the kaleidoscope of reds, oranges and random splatters of pink that painted the setting sky.
but neji's gaze was stuck on you.
you. his precious lifelong friend, most trusted confidant, and now his lover of nearly a year.
the weight of you next to him felt so right. it wasn't often that you looked so relaxed and unguarded, your shoulders lacked their usual tenseness, nor were your eyes constantly darting about, looking for any and all exits in a given space.
"i guess i see what you're getting at," you murmured.
the beginnings of a smirk began to take form. "you know that hawks eat magpies, right?" that earned you a glare that dared you to continue. "so is this just a roundabout way of saying that you want to eat me or something?"
brazen indeed.
his breath stalled in his throat, much like it did whenever you said or did something ridiculous. though his protests seemingly fell on deaf ears—don't be ridiculous. what makes you think i would ever imply that?—as you turned away and burst into a fit of snickers.
"alright alright i'm sorry," your voice was breathless as you spoke between laughs. "but you make it too easy sometimes."
"don't apologize if you don't mean it." neji scoffed, though it lacked its usual heat. perhaps he had forgotten the person he was dating if he kept falling for your teasing. you teasing neji was as constant as the earth rotating.
as they ate the remaining fruit and pastries, a renewed silence blanketed over them as the wind blew, making the leaves move like they were living things. your lips were glossy from the strawberry that you bit into, and neji found himself gazing at the trail of juice that dribbled down your chin. without much thought, his thumb moved to wipe it away—briefly touching the corner of your mouth.
so enchanted by those plush lips that ensnared his heart in its bewitching grip, neji couldn't think of anything better than to kiss you.
one day, he would try to put those feelings into words. but even so, putting shape to emotions didn't come easy to him, especially with something as elusive as romance. but what neji lacked in words, he made up for it with touch. and truly, he hoped that the simple gesture could convey even a fraction of what you made him feel.
your lips melded against his, pleasure thick in the contended sigh that slipped out. in the back of his mind, he thought that the most idyllic painting couldn't compare to having you in his arms with that sweetness on his tongue.
of that, he was certain.
and the thought stayed even after the kiss came to an end. for some seconds, they were silent—warm and close.
"you missed a thing," slipped out before neji thought of it.
"hm?"
clearing his throat, neji suddenly found the empty plate to be rather interesting. "magpies are also a sign of good fortune."
there was no need for any mirrors to know that his face was on fire. should he even say this? but a reassuring hand on his thigh made him take a shaky breath.
"…being with you," he said, eyes flickering back to you. "makes me feel lucky."
not so alone, sat heavy on the tip of his tongue. awkwardness settled on his skin like a persistent itch. the beat of his heart—more of a drum than the organ it was supposed to be—pounded in his ears at the bright grin that stretched across your face.
wrapping your arms around his neck, neji couldn’t help but flinch, the pounding only grew louder. how you didn't hear it, he didn't know.
“lucky?” you echoed with a hint of bashfulness.
uncertain arms circled your waist, hesitantly pulling you close. after all their time together and physical affection was still this cloudy, nebulous thing that always had him wondering if he was doing this right. was his grip too tight? could you feel the trembling of his hands? was this even appropriate, having one of his hands on the small of your back just so?
"i really make you feel that?"
"yes," neji replied, much too quickly for his liking.
lips touched the center of his forehead, an indelible mark overprinted on the shame that was once etched deep into his skin. all neji could do was blink, words stuck in his throat as your forehead touched his own—hands cupping his face with such care that his heart melted.
you beamed with joy, much like the sun's rays shining down upon the village. though in his mind, it outshone the very sun.
"well, you make me feel lucky too," you said, your voice a quiet murmur. "very lucky."
with eyes half-lidded, neji gazed at you tenderly. their noses were mere inches apart, his hand cupping your cheek and his fingers tangle in your hair.
there was no greater peace than this.
the thought sank into neji's consciousness and settled into the forefront of his mind. and as his eyes fluttered close, the thought persisted as the breeze conducted the wind chimes sang their song once more.
Fanfiction is supposed to be cringy. You're allowed to write bad. You're allowed to be cringe. Fanfiction is supposed to be self indulgent. You're allowed to be cringe. Let yourself be cringe. Fanfiction is supposed to be fun. Stop putting arbitrary rules on yourself and be free.
summary: drinking a cup of tea with you—his lover was the highlight of his day after his seemingly endless shinobi tasks. well, until you start asking a random question that brings about a sappiness that he never though he had, of course.
content: established relationship, very yumeship coded, black reader (though anyone can read !), fluff fluff and more fluff, one (1) innuendo, set during blank period.
author's note: so guess who's back🧍♀️really sorry for going mia. university and writer's block have been taking turns beating my ass but i'm happy to say i came on top. this started out as a small exercise to get back into the swing of things and it just devolved into...This. anyways, i'm gonna probably disappear again to focus on uni so i hope yall enjoy <33 (btw should i post this on ao3 cause idk).
🎧: pride—kendrick lamar
neji masterlist
"if we get reincarnated, what do you think we'd be?"
raising an eyebrow, neji took a sip of tea. the wind chimes sounded from over head as a small breeze flowed. "where's this coming from?"
you shrugged, snapping a cookie in half and handing him one. "eh, someone asked me that when i was at this stall and it had me curious."
you had been back in your home village for around a month, briefly visiting your family before embarking to one of the many islands surrounding the village. the southern most island—6 o'clock if memory served correctly—if the spread of various fruits and sweets on the plate between them was of any indication. one of the many gifts that you brought back home.
as neji chewed on the buttery cookie, his iridescent eyes watched as a pair of birds danced in near perfect sync, swooping and swirling around the setting sky. one of them—a magpie, if neji had to guess—tweeted to its companion before flying off into the distance.
free to fly wherever they pleased.
he glanced sidelong at his lover. there was a shimmer in your eyes, as if they were twin pools. the setting sun's rays only made your skin almost golden, though it paled in comparison to the content smile that brightened your features.
if they were birds, neji thought, he was sure that he would follow you no matter where your wings took you.
the warmth that was building within his core was snuffed out with a scowl as he turned away. why was he even indulging such a ridiculous question in the first place?
a swift poke on the bridge of his nose broke neji out of his reverie.
"all that scowling's gonna make your face all wrinkly," you pointed out, lips curling into its usual mischievous smirk. "it's a simple question."
"nothing is ever simple with you," neji retorted, briefly taking a peek at the tree before sighing in resignation.
another lapse of silence followed before it was broken. "in another life, i think we'd be birds."
your only answer was leaning closer to his side with a knowing smile.
"obviously," you said, voice playful before it grew into something softer. "you'd be a hawk. you said that they fly the highest, right?"
he had said that. it was a comforting thing, his lifelong fascination with flight unearthing before his eyes. if he closed his eyes, neji could practically feel the cool wind brushing his skin as he swooped across the clear sky. to be weightless in the air meant that he was untethered to those who only considered him to be yet another pair of powerful eyes that could serve konoha.
no shinobi life, no bright green curse mark that signified his subordination. a wonderful life indeed.
a quick peck was pressed to the corner of neji's jaw. the mischief that was brimming in your eyes was stripped away, bringing forth a sweet fondness swimming in its depth.
"so what about me?"
neji cleared his throat, dutifully ignoring the red imbued on his cheeks and the way he stumbled through his words. "well, i supposed you'd either be those snowy owls from the land of iron, or a magpie."
"magpie?" you tilted your head in confusion.
"they're very social," he listed off. "and they're known for their songs. they can recognize their reflections in mirrors and they take what they want for themselves."
for a few moments, you closed your eyes, considering his words. "eh, i don't see it."
"you hum while styling your hair. that's very musical of you."
you laughed, as melodic as the very birds he spoke of. for as long as he could remember, it was a sound that he was quite fond of. "yeah, you think i should become a singer?
"you're also quite brazen," neji rolled his eyes, but the beginnings of a small betrayed him seeing the mock offense plastered on his lover's face.
"brazen?" you asked with a raised brow, finishing your now lukewarm tea. "i just know what i want and i go for it."
that much was true. no one would successfully defeat their father—the head of the clan at that time—and usher in a new era of change when the tight threads of tradition were so deeply woven in the very fabric of the clan and village for centuries if they lacked the boldness needed.
though, with muted amusement, he pushed down the urge to bring up how avoidant you had been in that brief, tentative period before they began dating. if it weren't for your friend sending that scrapped confession letter on that fateful day, they wouldn't be here now, with your head resting on the space between his shoulder and neck as you gazed up at the kaleidoscope of reds, oranges and random splatters of pink that painted the setting sky.
but neji's gaze was stuck on you.
you. his precious lifelong friend, most trusted confidant, and now his lover of nearly a year.
the weight of you next to him felt so right. it wasn't often that you looked so relaxed and unguarded, your shoulders lacked their usual tenseness, nor were your eyes constantly darting about, looking for any and all exits in a given space.
"i guess i see what you're getting at," you murmured.
the beginnings of a smirk began to take form. "you know that hawks eat magpies, right?" that earned you a glare that dared you to continue. "so is this just a roundabout way of saying that you want to eat me or something?"
brazen indeed.
his breath stalled in his throat, much like it did whenever you said or did something ridiculous. though his protests seemingly fell on deaf ears—don't be ridiculous. what makes you think i would ever imply that?—as you turned away and burst into a fit of snickers.
"alright alright i'm sorry," your voice was breathless as you spoke between laughs. "but you make it too easy sometimes."
"don't apologize if you don't mean it." neji scoffed, though it lacked its usual heat. perhaps he had forgotten the person he was dating if he kept falling for your teasing. you teasing neji was as constant as the earth rotating.
as they ate the remaining fruit and pastries, a renewed silence blanketed over them as the wind blew, making the leaves move like they were living things. your lips were glossy from the strawberry that you bit into, and neji found himself gazing at the trail of juice that dribbled down your chin. without much thought, his thumb moved to wipe it away—briefly touching the corner of your mouth.
so enchanted by those plush lips that ensnared his heart in its bewitching grip, neji couldn't think of anything better than to kiss you.
one day, he would try to put those feelings into words. but even so, putting shape to emotions didn't come easy to him, especially with something as elusive as romance. but what neji lacked in words, he made up for it with touch. and truly, he hoped that the simple gesture could convey even a fraction of what you made him feel.
your lips melded against his, pleasure thick in the contended sigh that slipped out. in the back of his mind, he thought that the most idyllic painting couldn't compare to having you in his arms with that sweetness on his tongue.
of that, he was certain.
and the thought stayed even after the kiss came to an end. for some seconds, they were silent—warm and close.
"you missed a thing," slipped out before neji thought of it.
"hm?"
clearing his throat, neji suddenly found the empty plate to be rather interesting. "magpies are also a sign of good fortune."
there was no need for any mirrors to know that his face was on fire. should he even say this? but a reassuring hand on his thigh made him take a shaky breath.
"…being with you," he said, eyes flickering back to you. "makes me feel lucky."
not so alone, sat heavy on the tip of his tongue. awkwardness settled on his skin like a persistent itch. the beat of his heart—more of a drum than the organ it was supposed to be—pounded in his ears at the bright grin that stretched across your face.
wrapping your arms around his neck, neji couldn’t help but flinch, the pounding only grew louder. how you didn't hear it, he didn't know.
“lucky?” you echoed with a hint of bashfulness.
uncertain arms circled your waist, hesitantly pulling you close. after all their time together and physical affection was still this cloudy, nebulous thing that always had him wondering if he was doing this right. was his grip too tight? could you feel the trembling of his hands? was this even appropriate, having one of his hands on the small of your back just so?
"i really make you feel that?"
"yes," neji replied, much too quickly for his liking.
lips touched the center of his forehead, an indelible mark overprinted on the shame that was once etched deep into his skin. all neji could do was blink, words stuck in his throat as your forehead touched his own—hands cupping his face with such care that his heart melted.
you beamed with joy, much like the sun's rays shining down upon the village. though in his mind, it outshone the very sun.
"well, you make me feel lucky too," you said, your voice a quiet murmur. "very lucky."
with eyes half-lidded, neji gazed at you tenderly. their noses were mere inches apart, his hand cupping your cheek and his fingers tangle in your hair.
there was no greater peace than this.
the thought sank into neji's consciousness and settled into the forefront of his mind. and as his eyes fluttered close, the thought persisted as the breeze conducted the wind chimes sang their song once more.
Hey y’all I have an announcement! My web app that I’ve been working on, Afro Index, is now live! It’s a visual reference library of Black hairstyles, for artist, animators, writers, and anyone who wants to learn more about them!
Check it out at afroindex.org! 💛✨
A reference library for Black hairstyles with accurate naming,
structured filtering, and curated reference images.
sorry for being mia for most of this month, writer's block has been beating my ass lately. but it's (mostly) gone now, so i'll be dropping stuff soon 🩵
